Cryo-Wolf's forum posts

#1 Posted by Cryo-Wolf (12343 posts) - - Show Bio

Scott always found packing difficult. It was even more difficult when all he could really take with him was a small messenger bag. He knew that he couldn’t be weighed down by trivial things. Which is why, of course, along with a change of clothes, his costume, and provisions, he packed some comics for light reading.

Being a werewolf came with its perks, like being able to use heightened senses and agility to navigate your dorm room without waking your sleeping roommate. It was funny. For the entire year, Wayne knew nothing about what Scott really was: A werewolf. Half-nephele, a sky nymph. For all intents and purposes, the gods’ hired man and plaything.

He just slept peacefully, ignorant of the real goings on about the world. Scott’s face fell slightly. He felt bad for his best friend at school. Within a few minutes, Scott wrote out a letter to him, leaving it folded on his desk. He was taking a risk, and who knew whether Wayne would even believe him, but he came clean about everything, explaining to him why his roommate would be gone for a time…if he would even be back at all.

In normal jeans and t-shirt, Scott stepped outside into the coming morning light, still dark but brightening by the hour. He listened intently to make sure that no one was moving in the vicinity, then removed his sneakers. Simultaneously, Scott leaped into the air, letting his tail and fur grow while leaping up onto the rooftops of the university.

It felt good to stay transformed, moving freely and swiftly through the morning chill. He fled the campus grounds, moving through the surrounding suburban neighborhood silently, following the train tracks into the city. The city would hold the best promise for transportation, and the first thing Scott needed was to know where he was heading. Where does one even hold the war between Heaven and Hell?

Scott reached the city limits, beginning to weave his way across rooftops and up sides of buildings. When the sun rose in the east, it cast a blinding amber glow in the metal and glass of the New York skyline. The light blue of the sky began to descend upon the atmosphere, except, that is, around the sun itself.

In the east, an unnatural, blood red glow spread like dye through water into the sky. “I’m gonna take a stab in the dark, here,” Scott muttered to himself, “But I’m guessing that’s where the war is, and that the war’s already begun.”

A flapping, similar to wings but far louder and closer, sounded behind Scott. “You are correct, Scott Wolfenson.” Scott spun, claws springing from his fingertips. He bared his teeth and crouched, preparing himself against the sudden stranger.

What he saw, however, caught the air in his chest. He let his jaw fall slack, his limbs heavy. The boy standing before him on the rooftop was Scott’s height and age, but slightly bulkier. His skin was paler than Scott’s human form, the raven hair poking from beneath his bright blue beanie contrasting his complexion. His hoodie was a deeper shade of cerulean, with a spray-painted black bio-hazard sign on the front. The sleeves were cut off at the bicep, and it clung to his frame well. His black jeans hung at his waist, strapped there by a studded belt, leading down to thick skater sneakers. Around the boy’s neck hung a top-of-the-line pair of DJ headphones, connecting themselves to the ipod in his hoodie pocket. The tips of his hair that extended over his forehead were dyed neon blue. The boy showed no emotion as he spoke, “The war is upon us. The time to choose sides is nigh.”

Scott stood up, fighting the fluttering feeling in his chest at the sight of one his best friends. “…Bruce?” He narrowed his eyes. Bruce had been Scott’s best and longest friend, but something about him was off.

Bruce shook his head. “I am not Bruce Marx. I am simply acting through him at the moment. Your friend is an ideal vessel for my kind.”

The idea settled in Scott’s mind. Something was using his most beloved friend’s body against his will. A growl broke free from his lips as Scott held out his hand. The air grew colder, and a swift breeze picked up, swirling Scott’s fur and Bruce’s hoodie around in the gale. “Who are you and what do you want with Bruce?” He snarled.

Bruce held up his hand, another wind battling the gale Scott had summoned, cancelling it out. “Calm yourself, Wolfenson.” Scott could tell from the look on Bruce’s face that whatever it was inside him wasn’t happy. “I am not your enemy. I hope that you will become an ally of mine.” He took a step closer to Scott, standing tall against the rising sun. “I am an Angel of the Lord.” Scott glanced down and saw the shadow Bruce made. In the shadow, two massive bird-like wings extended from his shoulders. Scott couldn’t pretend that he wasn’t the slightest bit uneasy, maybe even scared. He’d never faced an angel before. Demons and Monsters, of course. But not Angels. The Angel continued. “I am on a mission from My Father. He has taken notice of you and your talents…Cryo-Wolf.” The Angel cocked Bruce’s head to the side, as if he was observing a strange creature.

“Listen Wings,” Scott said, “A lot of gods have noticed me. I’m already on loan to the Greeks. Mr. High-And-Mighty is a little late.”

The Angel twitched ever so slightly, obviously offended at the insult to his God. “He knows of your allegiance to those pagans. But he also wishes to offer you a deal.” The angel held his hands behind Bruce’s back, standing up tall, completely uncharacteristic of Bruce. “He knows your goal is to keep the war from affecting the other pantheons. He is simply offering you a way of doing that.” Scott narrowed his eyes and turned his head, trying to figure out what the Angel was getting at. “Join us. Pledge your services to Heaven. Prevent the war from exploding out of control by winning it for the side of eternal good.”

Scott crossed his arms, shifting his weight. “And why should I do that? Who says the war is a good thing at all? I have no stake in it.”

The angel shook Bruce’s head, an amused smirk playing on his playful lips. “Your ancestors have done terrible things. But you are different. You are good, at heart. We can see this. Serving in His Calvalry is the highest good of all.”

This time Scott was the one to smirk. “I don’t know, man. I’ve heard what your God is like. Wrathful. Smiting. And some of His followers are, pardon my French, Batshit crazy.”

Bruce’s muscles bulged, the Angel was getting annoyed. “Our Father is powerful. But he is also loving. He wants to win this war for his children. He does not want them to die. Listen,” The Angel extended his hand to the streets stories below. “They already begin to panic.”

Scott’s ears twitched as he listened closely to the streets below. From radio and newsstands he heard the broadcasts of a disaster in the Sahara desert, of two armies fighting and tearing the earth up at their feet. News spread by word of mouth, and Scott could feel the panic rising amongst the population.

“The war has already started. I myself would be fighting for the glory of the Lord, but he called me out of the fray to speak to you. He takes interest in you and hopes you will join our side.”

“And using Bruce as a meat-puppet is just to try and entice me over, right?” Scott snarled. He was still angry that the angel would do that.

The Angel shrugged. “A form that evokes strong feeling in you is the ideal form for bargaining, of course.”

Scott looked away to compose himself. “He won’t be harmed when you’re done with him, right?” He added quietly, almost as a condition of his agreement.

The Angel nodded. “He will not remember a thing. Does this mean you agree to take up our cause?”

“No.” Scott answered quickly, setting his gaze back on Bruce. “I’m not joining your side. I do, however, promise to fight for what I find right. Whether that agrees with you or not is not of import.” Scott said adamantly. “Deal?”

The angel shuffled uncomfortably. “It is a start.” He sighed. “But in that case, The Lord has a task he wishes you to undertake.”

“Not very likely,” Scott said, turning toward the building’s edge.

“He wants you to confront Kiara Sullivan.” Scott paused mid-step. “Yes, he thought that would catch your attention. The Queen of Hell has fled the front line. He wishes you to isolate Kiara and take her out. Can you manage this?”

“Will you take me to her?” Said asked suddenly, spinning around as he did so.

The Angel smirked. “That is a yes.” Bruce held out his arms, the flapping of wings dominating Scott’s ears, a bright light causing him to shut his eyes.

When he opened them, he stood amidst crowds of frantic civilians, all of them with dark skin and screaming a language Scott didn’t recognize. The Angel was nowhere to be seen, but he had miraculously changed Scott into his Cryo-Wolf costume, torn pants, hoodie, and all. Quickly, Scott put on his mask, effectively turning him into Cryo.

The sky had turned a foreboding red, and at times the ground shook. Cryo took that as a sign that the battle was not far away. He quickly climbed a nearby building, much at the fright of nearby civilians, to take a look around. To the east, the source of the evil rose. That’s where the battle was. As he looked around, Cryo saw the Pyramids and Sphinx in the distance. He was in Cairo, Egypt. He guessed the river surrounding the island he was on was the Nile. Kiara was around here somewhere, but where?

The answer came in the form of mortal peril.

Cryo heard the rumbles of architectural instability from a nearby bridge. He was off, racing through the crowds on all fours. They leapt out of the way, screaming at the sight of him, as if they already didn’t have enough to deal with in the possible end of the world.

He reached the bridge just as the ground trembled again. One of the pillars cracked and toppled, nearly falling onto a group of helpless people had Cryo not been there to catch the weight. The civilians fled, and Cryo tossed the pillar into the Nile. The bridge wouldn’t hold for long. And the reason was floating above them.

“Found you.” He muttered.With a strange feeling of nostalgia, Cryo-Wolf looked up at the battle-ready form of Kiara Sullivan.

#2 Posted by Cryo-Wolf (12343 posts) - - Show Bio

A lot of things in Scott’s life were normal to him. His grades. His friends. His health. Even the random run-ins with Gods. But the fact that one of them decided to barge in on him in the middle of the night wasn’t.

“Lady Athena!” Scott whispered, stealing glances over at his roommate, Wayne, sleeping peacefully in his bed. “What are you doing here so late?”

Athena cocked her head, just like the owl had at the window. “I told you. The Gods require your service.”

Scott made a hurried quieting motion with his finger up in front of his mouth. “Are you sure this couldn’t wait until the morning?”

“No,” Athena shook her head, making her way over to Scott’s desk, fingers grazing over his textbooks, each written in ancient languages. “This is of the utmost importance.” As an afterthought, she added, “I did now know you were a Classical Studies major. I approve.”

Scott rolled his eyes, dropping the book he was holding onto his bed. “It’s useful considering the Gods use you as a chess piece from time to time.” Scott conceded, walking over to the goddess. “Athena, my friend is sleeping. Could we at least move this outside?”

Athena finally seemed to notice that Wayne was sleeping. She looked between Scott and his roommate. “Oh. Apologies. Is he your...” She cleared her throat, gesturing for Scott to fill in the void.

Scott slammed his face into his palm as he grabbed his sweatshirt. “No, he is not, but thank you for having such an interest in that part of my life, Athena. Shouldn’t Aphrodite be on my case about that, not you?” Scott slipped on his jacket and opened the door, waiting for Athena to take the hint.

Athena shrugged, ignoring or unable to detect the sarcasm in Scott’s voice. “I never forget a service done in my name, Scott, especially the time you helped me raid Alexandria to reclaim its knowledge. I was merely inquiring.” She walked regally out of the room, leaving Scott to close the door to his room in a cloud of embarrassment.

Of course, Athena didn’t wait for him in the hallway outside. She was a goddess. She was probably waiting for him outside already. Scott made his way out of his residence and onto the quad, following the celestial glow of Athena beneath a nearby tree.

He approached the tree, adjusting his glasses in the night, and waited for Athena to begin what he knew was a carefully prepared argument.

“There is a great danger in the foreseeable future, Scott.” Athena said, standing tall and imposingly.

Scott crossed his arms and leaned against the tree trunk. “With all due respect, Lady Athena,” He said, brow skeptical, “There is always great danger with the Gods.”

“This is different,” Athena argued, keeping her patience and composure, “It is outside of the Gods’ domain.”

Scott’s brow creased. “Come again? What could be outside the Gods’ control?” Though he wouldn’t let on, something inside him started to worry.

“We are not the only Gods in this world.” Athena looked down in concession. “You know of this, with your dealings with the Egyptians and the Norse.” Scott nodded, letting her continue. “But there are more. There are as many Gods as stars in the night sky. And this time, it is the moon we must worry about.”

Scott kept quiet for a few seconds, finally speaking up cautiously. “What did Artemis do that’s so bad?”

Athena actually laughed. She held her hand over her mouth, trying to hide her amusement. “No, my Sister is not to blame. I am talking about the Christian God.”

Scott caught his breath a bit. “As in the big head honcho?”

Athena did not nod, nor shake her head, but a strange amalgamation of both. “Not exactly. It is not the God. What I speak of is the progenitor of being.”

“Sounds big…” Scott prompted.

“We all came from somewhere. We Gods’ emerged from the Titans’ reign, and they from the Earth and Sky, but something began it all. This is what the Christians call God, singular. In other words, it is Heaven.” Athena paused, and Scott could see from the torment on her face that whatever was happening pained her. “Heaven and Hell are going to war.”

Scott couldn’t help but sigh. “Then can’t Hades do something about it?”

Athena clicked her tongue, perturbed. “I have told you. This has nothing to do with the Gods. Heaven and Hell lie outside Hades or Olympus. They do not concern us.”

“Then why is it such a big deal?” Scott countered, wanting nothing more than to go back to his dorm and sleep.

“Because a war between Heaven and Hell is a war between Creation itself!” Athena cried out, quickly trying to regain her composure. Scott had to stand back from her anxiety. “Heaven and Hell are unlike anything of other…what you call Mythologies.” Athena began. “Heaven and Hell are pure creation. Heaven is the source of good and Hell the source of evil. A balance between them is what keeps the universe at ease, for the most part.” Athena turned, looking out into the distance. The night wind whipped her robes around her, just slightly. It looked as if she were an owl in flight. “A war of that magnitude could spill over and affect the Gods. All of us, not just the Greeks.” Athena looked back at Scott, commanding his attention with her shining grey eyes. “We need to make sure that does not happen.”

Scott snorted, shaking his head. “You want me to stop a war?”

Athena shook her head. “That would be the ideal, but We know that is not possible.” She turned and stepped closer to Scott. “We want you to keep an eye on it. Make sure it does not lose control. In short, you are Our piece in the master plan.”

Scott nodded, if only a bit cynical. “Sounds like the usual.” Scott stepped away from the tree and gestured back to his dorm. “Lady Athena, you of all gods should know why I’m here. Sure I did a few odd jobs for the gods in high school, but I’m trying to learn here.”

Athena crossed her arms. “And by learning, I assume you mean vigilante tactics in the middle of New York City?”

Scott looked away from embarrassment. “That’s different.”

Athena shook her head. “You and I both know it is not. You are a hero, Scott. That is why the Gods have need of you. There are not many like you in this modern age.” She paused, and Scott could tell she was about to come from a different angle. “Do not forget, your ancestor did us a great injustice, Wolfenson.” Scott discretely rubbed his hand over the slashed L shaped mark at the back of his neck. “Besides. We do not trust many to oppose this Kiara Sullivan, the current Queen of Hell.”

Scott’s eyes widened as images flashed through his mind. He was in most of them, but at the same time it wasn’t him. There were differences that he couldn’t place. By his side was a tall woman, with pale skin and dark hair. The two of them were the subjects of a flood of images. The two of them standing amongst a group of heroes, NAO written across their uniforms. He and this woman were battles together, sometimes against villains, sometimes against heroes, which Scott couldn’t believe. A lifetime of memories that were not his own, but his all at once, he had shared with this woman. It was not his life he had just seen, but he was the person living it.

He stood breathless, his claws clutching the tree bark for life. He had not realized, but he had transformed in his confusion, Quickly his reverted back to his human form, in case anyone had seen. Scott looked back up at Athena. “Kiara.” The words gave him chills to say. “Who is she? I know her. Why do I know her!?”

Athena quickly shook her head.

Scott stepped closer to the goddess, suddenly serious. “I’ve never met this person, but we have somehow saved each other’s lives the past,” He motioned to his temple. “If they are not my memories of her, then whose are they? The Gods must know why.”

Athena narrowed her eyes. “If you complete the Gods’ quest, you may find the answers you seek. Until then, follow our orders and be our emissary in the war. Have we reached an accord?” She held out her hand.

As much as Scott wished to walk away right then, to leave Athena and go back to sleep for his classes tomorrow, he couldn’t.

He grasped the goddess’ hand in agreement. “Good. It is settled, demi-nephele. Seek out the war and contain it. Make sure the Gods are not harmed. You will be rewarded.” Athena took one last look into his eyes before turning on the spot. Her robes swirled around her, morphing into a beautiful owl and flying off into the night. She hooted an almost mocking laugh as she disappeared above the trees.

Scott stood, in disbelief of what he had just done. He thought he had escaped the Gods’ grasp. Rage took hold in a single moment, and he spun towards the tree. With a roar, he flung his arm as if he were throwing a baseball. The foot long shard of ice embedded itself in the tree.

Seething, Scott stormed back to his dorm room, mentally making a list of everything he would need to run away to war.

#3 Posted by Cryo-Wolf (12343 posts) - - Show Bio

K so I have the next post like aching to get out but sadly it probably won't be until tomorrow. Tuesdays and Thursdays are my free days from class, so those plus the weekend are the big ones, most likely later at night.

But seriously. Like I'm pumped to write it.

#4 Posted by Cryo-Wolf (12343 posts) - - Show Bio

not old Cryo. But you'll see. In a way I'm deifying myself in my way of making him new, but you'll see c:

#5 Posted by Cryo-Wolf (12343 posts) - - Show Bio

Aww, bbys thank you for your love.

Honestly it feels good to stretch Cryo's legs again. And if you'll notice, this is new Cryo. You'll see in the next post, which I will hopefully be able to post tomorrow or the next day.

Glad you all liked it!

#6 Posted by Cryo-Wolf (12343 posts) - - Show Bio

New York City bustled on as usual. Even at this time of night, the streets were as alive as ever. The streets, and the backstreets. The city was so busy, in fact, that no one heard the cries of one helpless individual hidden amongst the labyrinth of alleyways.

No one, that is, except one.

“Please.” The young girl whispered, “Please don’t hurt me.” Her voice shook, fighting to get past the muscled arm pinning her by the neck to the brick wall. Her small, petite form contrasted with the rough, brolic thug looming over her.

“I saw you in yer show, sweetie.” The man’s gravelly voice rasped. “I couldn’t take my eyes off ya.” His grin hinted at more than mere admiration. He licked his lips and narrowed his eyes, flexing the muscles tearing at his jacket. The man moved in closer, pocketing the confiscated money and jewelry beside the straining zipper on his jeans.

Without warning, the air dropped in temperature and a young voice called out to the man.“Y’know,” The man turned quickly and, seeing nothing behind him in the alleyway, he looked above to the fire escape. The girl looked up hopefully, nails gripping in vain at the man’s forearm at her chin. Above them, a figure loomed, crouched on the fire escape railing. He balanced on his haunches, bare, furred feet leading to worn pants torn off below the knee. The form fitting sweat shirt he wore was a vibrant blue with markings drawn over it, the most significant of which was the small ‘L’ over the heart, three claw marks slashed through it. Like the pants, the sleeves were ripped off at the elbow, a furred forearm leading to blue fingerless gloves. The hood was up, brown hair of an even darker shade poking out from beneath it. White eyes glared down from the blue mask the boy wore, canine teeth grinning beneath a lupine nose. Blue tattoos ran over the furred body, and a wolfish tail wagged rhythmically behind him.

“I don’t really know which is worse.” The boy smiled, gazing down at the scene. “The fact that you’re assaulting this woman or the fact that a guy like you went to a Broadway show.”

The man made an annoyed grunt almost like a growl, baring his free hand into a fist. The boy flipped down, landing lithely on the asphalt. He stood tall, slightly shorter than the man, and placed his hands on his hips. “C’mon, big guy. You call that a growl?”

The man, deciding that the boy was a bigger threat than the helpless girl, spun around and threw a punch to the boy. In a blur, the boy leaned to the side and caught the man’s fist in his own hand. The man’s anger grew, but the boy just found it even more amusing. “I’ll show you a growl.” The boy pushed the man away with one hand, causing him to stumble backwards.

The boy only breathed in quickly, but let loose a roar so powerful that the attacker was thrown into the brick wall behind him. Dazed, the man staggered forward, trying to see straight. He found the boy still in front of him, and ran forward. He brandished his fist and sent it flying forward a second time. The boy sidestepped, spinning and sending a roundhouse kick to the man’s head. The man hit the ground hard, bouncing up from the recoil.

When he didn’t move to get up, the boy relaxed and wiped the dirt from his fingers. He turned to the woman, who had hid herself behind a nearby dumpster. She cautiously looked out at the boy, evidently scared of him as well. The boy noticed her fear and spread out his hands. “Oh…sorry.” Like the flick of a switch, the fur and tail disappeared, leaving behind a simple teenager.

The boy scampered over to the girl, who stared blankly at the boy. “I’m actually a really big fan.” He whipped out a pen and small booklet, the same as the show she was a dancer in. “Could I get an autograph?”

The girl looked from the booklet to the boy and grabbed it from his hands, shakily signing her name and shoving it back into his hand. As she turned and fled, the boy jumped up and down, excited that he got an autograph. “Sweet!”

The boy was so excited that he leaped back onto the fire escape and up onto the building rooftop, dancing around all the while. “And it’s ok that I was following her since I saved her life in the end!” He told himself in sing-song as he retrieved a messenger bag from behind a chimney. Within a minute or so, his costume was swapped for a simple t-shirt and jeans. He put on his glasses as he made his way to the rooftop edge, swinging nimbly down to the ground.

Seamlessly, the boy blended into the background of NYC as he made his way to Penn Station, catching a train onto Long Island. In an hour or so, he was back at his rural university, keying his way into his dorm room. He made no noise, making sure he wouldn’t wake his roommate, Wayne.

He let out a breath of relief, as he placed his bag beneath his bed. Quietly, he unzipped his jeans and dropped them to the ground, changing smoothly into plaid pajama pants. The boy walked over to his desk and grabbed a book covered in Ancient Greek. As he turned to his bed by the window, he heard a sharp rapping against it. A pure white owl perched itself on the window sill, cocking its head.

The boy shot a quick glance to Wayne, who merely shifted slightly in his sleep. The boy sighed. Walking over to the window he rolled his eyes, opening the window enough to see the owl. “Yes?” He asked the owl, as if talking to an owl was completely normal behavior.

As an answer, the owl flew past him into his room. Before he could protest, the owl landed and there was a quick flash of light. Standing in the owl’s place was a beautiful woman dark brown hair and pale skin, the same color as the owl’s feathers. An elegant Grecian toga hung from her frame, and her bright, owlish eyes studied everything they looked upon.

The boy made to speak but was silenced by the woman’s refrain. “Scott Wolfensohn. The Gods have need of you.”

#7 Posted by Cryo-Wolf (12343 posts) - - Show Bio

 The rain fell. That's it. It simply fell. It wasn't pouring, nor was it drizzling. It simply rained, the type of rain that faded into the background until you never knew it was there. You couldn't feel the drops, but you could feel it raining. It was an odd type of rain, that only seemed to fall when you were in some way sad.
 
That fit perfectly with him. He sat in a faraway tree ten feet from the ground, straddling a bough with his back against the trunk. One leg was lifted up so that his arms could rest on his knee as he stared through the gaps in the canopy. The sky was a pallid shade of gray, a blank canvas that had its painting ripped off too soon. He stared up at it blankly, hoping for some reprieve that wouldn't come. Every now and then, he would bang his head lightly against  the trunk, to remind him that he really was there, and this wasn't all some strange, vivid dream.
 
He wore only a long-sleeved baseball t-shirt and jeans, despite the chill in the air. His name was Cryo-Wolf. Cryo for short. Well, technically, his real name was Scott Wolfman, but he never went by that anymore. It was a long story that involved house fires, vampire hellspawns, and the death of his parents. In his human form, he would have bronze glasses covering chocolate brown eyes, with hair of the same chocolate pallor maneuvered into a faux hawk. But Cryo had more than one form.
 
Cryo was a werewolf. Well, not a werewolf technically. More like a synthetic, man-made werewolf created in a military super-soldier project by accident. Again, long story. But there he sat, brown fur coursing over his body, blue tattoos criss-crossing the length of the fur. His hair had grown into a shaggy mop that extended to just past his ears, which themselves had grown more wolf-like along with his nose. His eyes had changed into a vibrant bluem the same as his tattoos. His tail flicked nervously, like it did whenever he was deep in thought, or when he was waiting for the next episode of Power Rangers. 
 
"Are they still there?" He spoke to no one in particular.
 
Below him, two figures stood. Well, one stood, the other sat. The one who stood, the boy, faced of into the distance, focusing anywhere but the sight before them. He was about Cryo's size, with his arms crossed over his chest. He wore black converse with baggy black jeans, as well as a bright blue zip-up hoodie that was two sizes too big, a bio-hazard symbol adorning the front. The bagginess of his clothes made him appear bigger than he actually was. He was actually quite thin, but strangely muscular at the same time. He wore a dark gray billed stocking cap over his jet black hair, the ends of which were dyed the same blue as his hoodie.  A sweep of his hair fell below the cap, covering his left eye. He had a sharp, angled chin that anyone would fall for, that is, if they hadn't already seen his dashing blue eyes that seemed to glow against his light skin. A pair of headphones hung around his neck, Bodies by Drowning Pool blaring from the speakers. That was Bruce. One of Cryo's best friends.  He didn't talk very much. He was more of the musical type. To put it simple, he was a fairly normal teen until he listened to his music.
 
The girl sat with her knees lifted to her chest, facing the large crowd that had amassed on the opposite end of the meadow that lay at the foot of their hill. She wore purple sneakers and black skinny jeans, and a black and purple striped zip-up hoodie. Her raven black hair striped with violet was pulled back into a ponytail that rested over her right shoulder. She had her hood pulled up over her head. Her round, angelic face seemed to be carved from white marble, both due to its color and its sheer perfection. Her eyes were open wide, her strangely mesmerizing violet eyes literally glowing as opposed to Bruce's, which only had the appearance of glowing. Every now and then, her lip would quiver. A black messenger bag hung from her shoulders, its contents forever a mystery until she pulled something out of it. That was Ghoul, real name Verona Darkmage. Another of Cryo's best friends. Her nickname said everything about her.
 
"Yup." Bruce said, not even looking at the crowd of people. "Still there."
 
Cryo lolled his head to the right, seeing the ruins of statues sticking up through the crowd. He recognized some of them, a fact Cryo wasn't too proud of. It was how he'd been able to find the place. It was the old Vine Villians headquarters. Cryo had once been a member. Well, not Cryo, exactly, but the beast within him. It was a dark time he didn't like to bring up. But he couldn't help but think of it, when he remembered why they were here. "Then he's really dead.?" Cryo asked, in the halfhearted, distracted tone as before. Him. DC. One of Cryo's past acquaintances. No. Not acquaintance. Friend.
 
Ghoul mumbled something unintelligible that Cryo took for affirmation. They had been passing through when they got wind that he'd died. Cryo had dropped everything and came here. He was the only one who knew where to go. They all agreed they didn't want to attend the funeral. Instead, they'd watch from afar. They shouldn't be in that crowd anyways. All of those people new the DC that died. But not Cryo. Bruce, Ghoul, and Cryo remembered the DC that lived. They didn't know what he was like when he died. If they went into that crowd, they'd learn what he was like. And they didn't want their memory to change.
 
Cryo smirked with nostalgia. "I wonder what power he had? I still remember when he stole the powers others." He giggled, remembering the time DC had borrowed Cryo's abilities and subsequently suffered from a wicked case of fleas for a week.
 
"He knew a fair amount of dark magic." Ghoul piped in, finally at a discernible pitch. "I can feel its strength from here." Ghoul knew a thing about magic. Ghoul was a ghost. Not only that, but she was a witch as well. Oh, and a daughter of Hecate, Goddess of Witchcraft and the Supernatural. If she was sensing some serious dark mojo, then it was big. That was something Ghoul and Cryo had in common. They each had a god for a parent.
 
Cryo pulled his gaze away from the crowd, instead staring off into the distance. He held out his hand, and droplets of rain fell from the surrounding leaves, forming a ball of swirling water above his palm. Being a Son of Poseidon had its advantages when it rained. He stared into the waters for a while, thinking. He heard the song still blaring from Bruce's speakers and looked to him.
 
Bruce knew Cryo's question without even having him ask it. There were so much alike in that regard. Ghoul and Cryo were the best of friends. Each one either complemented the other, or their personalities synced up. With Bruce, it was different. They were complete opposites, almost, but that's what made their connection strong. They were two grapes of the same vine, but Bruce was the sour one, and Cryo was the perfectly ripe one. Bruce turned, facing the same direction as Ghoul. "It was DC's favorite song." He said to Cryo. "He was always the metalhead when I need one. I could go to him whenever I needed a good headbang." It was a marvel for Bruce to talk this much. "Sorry, dude." Bruce said, sensing Cryo's perturbed gaze, "You were always my emo screamo alternative bud, anyways."
 
Cryo had to smile at that. His friends always made him feel better, especially these two. Cryo looked closer at Bruce. Stoic and taciturn, he never talked nor did he ever have a facial expression, pretty much, which led many to the conclusion that he had no emotions. Hell, even Bruce said that often. But Cryo knew better. His face was emotionless as stone, but Cryo saw the meaning behind his eyes. They glistened, as though thoughts were flying behind them. Bruce was taking this as hard as Cryo and Ghoul. He just didn't show it.
 
Cryo's ears twitched as he heard someone speak at the funeral. Calling people fakes and such. Cryo turned his head and growled, baring his fangs. Not everyone there wanted DC dead. Whoever the hell this guy was, he was obviously drunk or something. Still, Cryo couldn't stand it.
 
"Easy there, big guy." Bruce said, turning to flash Cryo a look. 
 
Cryo let his growl die down, but he still held his grudge. Someone had insulted his friend. That was the one thing to get on Cryo's nerves. He looked back at Bruce. Their gazes met, and Cryo nodded in agreement. He laid his hand upon the bough of the tree, and, using his acrobatic prowess lifted his himself into a one-handed hand stand. shifting his weight, Cryo swung down onto the ground, landing on his haunches beside Ghoul. Ghoul turned and smiled the best she could in her state. Cryo reciprocated the best he could as well. 
 
Cryo stood, still bending the ball of water in the air. "Let's do this." He said. Ghoul nodded up at him, standing up with his offered hand.
 
Ghoul opened her messenger bag and brought out a mangy old book. The leather was cracked with age, and the once golden buckle was bronzed with rust. This was her grimoire, the book from which she drew her most complex and difficult spells. She waved a hand over the buckle and it flew open. Ghoul turned to a specific page and nodded to Cryo to begin.
 
He knelt down by the base of the tree and began digging with his claws, forming a small hole in-between two roots. He stood, stepping back. He held up the ball of water, and extended his other hand to the rain outside the tree's cover. A few drops flew from their intended path and added to the ball's mass. Once it was of an appropriate size, Cryo began molding it in mid-air, changing certain parts to ice while still keeping it fluid. When he was done, he let the finished product drop into his open palm--7 inch tall statue of DC himself, for remembrance. Channeling an extra bit of power into the ice, Cryo willed it never to melt, but instead to spread the cold outward, which would in turn keep it frozen. He knelt and lay the statue in the hole.
 
Bruce stepped forward, bringing the objects he'd gotten out of Ghoul's bag. He knelt and produced a stack of about five CDs. All of them were DC's favorites that Bruce was giving up from his own collection. Sure, he had all of the songs still on his iPod, and that's what he used most of the time, but the CDs were symbolic. He placed them in the hole beside the statue.
 
Ghoul extended her hand toward her bag, her other hand still holding the grimoire. her eyes glowed pinkish-purple, and an object floated from her bag. It was a small, palm-sized stone shaped almost like an oval. It was a stone Ghoul had prepared before they arrived at the burial site. It was a spell she had found in the grimoire and made sure to remember it. She had carved some runes around the edge of the stone, and had later poured all of her memories of DC into it, including the first time they met and all of the good times they shared. The stone now glowed with a slight shine that signified the memories' presence. It was a common ritual, attaching one's memories to a physical object to make sure they're never forgotten. It floated from her bag into the hole along with the other objects.
 
Then the three of them reached into their pockets and pulled out a small mechanical device, akin to a walkie talkie, with the letters NAO imbued over the speaker. They had kept their NAO communicators. The three of them were on the team with DC. Ghoul's eyes glowed once more and all three communicators floated into the hole. Ghoul nodded to Cryo, who then covered the hole up.

Cryo and Bruce stood on either side of Ghoul. Dropping her eyes to the mystical runes written on the pages, Ghoul began to chant in an ancient language with her hand extended to the covered hole, and the wind around the tree picked up. Her words mingled with the rustling leaves, and soon grass began to grow over the disrupted earth, making it seem as though it had never been disturbed in the first place. Then, a small bud poked through the ground over the spot where the hole was. It grew taller and sprouted leaves, until a tall black rose stood, its dark bud blooming fully and lusciously. 
 
Ghoul uttered the final word, and the incantation was complete. Ghoul shut the grimoire and lowered her hand, walking over to the flower. she cupped the bud in her hand and sniffed its aroma. Smiling, she said, "It's done." She stood, turning to the boys. "The rose won't die, as long as the memory that spawned it stays alive."
 
"Good. That won't happen." Cryo said. 
 
There was a pause of silence, filled by the falling raindrops. Bruce spoke up. "We'll be in the car, bud." Bruce said, putting his arm around Ghoul and walking toward the rain.
 
Cryo was about to follow when he froze. He breathed in a scent he hadn't smelled in forever. He spun, looking closer at the crowd. She was here. Kiara. He almost cried. He hadn't seen both Kiara and DC in forever, and now one was dead and the other was within reach. He wanted to run up to her and hug her, he'd missed her so. He took a step to run towards the crowd, and he felt a firm grip on his shoulder, from a hand that never failed to stop him in his tracks. He looked back to see Bruce, his eyes more serious than usual. He shook his head firmly, and as he did, Cryo felt a hand slip into his own. He turned his head to see Ghoul looking up at him. "It's not worth it." she said. She'd sensed Kiara as well. "We can't involve ourselves, Cryo." Bruce patted him hard once more on the shoulder and turned, flipping his hood up and walking towards the rain. Ghoul stood on her tiptoes andwrapped her arms around Cryo's neck, burying her head in his shoulder. Cryo reciprocated, engaging in the hug he knew he needed. "I miss them all too." He heard Ghoul whisper. She stepped back, blinking away the tear that rolled down her cheek. she nodded and gulped, turned and meeting up with Bruce. He wrapped his arm around his girlfriend's shoulder, and together they waited for Cryo.
 
Cryo looked back at the crowd. With great strength, he pulled himself away and stepped toward the rose. He knelt, touching the rose gently with his claw. He didn't know what DC was in terms of  beliefs, or even if he had any. But Cryo had them. He muttered some words in ancient Greek, wishing DC's spirit safe passage through the Underworld. Cryo then took his claw and scratched out 'DC' on the tree trunk, just above the rose. Cryo stood, looking down at their makeshift memorial. The new DC would have his grave, and the DC they remembered would have his. He wouldn't be forgotten, and when Cryo thought that, he saw the rose bloom a bit more. "Goodbye, DC." Cryo whispered to the wind, hoping it would carry the message to its rightful recipient.
 
"Let's go, leg humper." Cryo heard Bruce say. Cryo couldn't help but smile and DC's nickname for him. He looked to his two friends and nodded. They all stepped into the rain, walking down the hill to the road, where Cryo's car, Areion, was parked. Bruce and Ghoul had their hoods up, Ghoul snuggled close to Bruce, but Cryo let the rain fall on him. It reminded him that everything was real, as in these cases, he often liked to think everything wasn't. Cryo opened the door to his white Buick Skylark with blue racing stripes, and Bruce and Ghoul piled into the back seat.
 
Cryo sat down in the seat, looking over to Simba, his dog, in the passenger seat. Simba slicked his ears back and leaned in to sniff Cryo like he did alot. "I'm fine, buddy." Cryo said. Simba wagged his tail, his ears once more returning to their upright positions.
 
Just then, Cryo felt his pocket vibrating, and Be Prepared from the Lion King filled the cab. Cryo pulled out his phone and slid it up, pressing the phone to his ear. "Jag." He spoke into the mouthpiece.
 
"'Sup, Furball?" Jag spoke. Jag was their techie, put simply. He was a Son of Dionysus that happened to be very skilled in computers. He called Cryo and the gang every now and then to tell them some information they might want to know, give them a certain mission, or talk to Cryo about the latest Pokemon news. He was just as nerdy as Cryo was, with an intelligence to match. "How'd it go?"
 
Cryo nodded. "Fine." He turned the ignition and Areion roared to life, revving with pent-up power. Cryo put it into gear and pulled out of their spot, beginning to drive down the rain-plagued backroad. "What have you got for us?"

#8 Posted by Cryo-Wolf (12343 posts) - - Show Bio
Methos said:
"
Cryo-Wolf and Methos
"
I logged in just so I could say....

I lub this pic! (n_~)b LOVE IT!!!!!!!!!! XD
#9 Posted by Cryo-Wolf (12343 posts) - - Show Bio

Shameless Plug of a bad video I made a while ago...

I have stories for most fo them, but in order: Egyptian(son of Anubis), Feudal Japan(Ninja), Viking times, Wild West(Bandit), Wild West(Native American), 1700s/1800s(Pirate), Future(Cyborg), Medieval(Knight).

#10 Posted by Cryo-Wolf (12343 posts) - - Show Bio
reluctantly takes box of scooby snacks, takes to his room

I'll be in my room....hangs do not disturb sign on doorknob