[HD] Adrian's Pen (Castle)

[Miyamoto Musashi]

The lone private hustled within her cut off tower, rummaging cabinets for more scope-linkage cables and patch and switch-panels. Little known fact about such towers?

They were automated as all hell. As long as they were weaponized and had at least someone to set them up, they could provide tremendous amounts of fire support on their own. And so, the private hustled. Mounting snipers and gatling guns alike to the automated window mounts and running cables from them, daisy chaining the poor things together.

An electrician would’ve had a thing or two to say about her wiring safety, but private powderhead didn’t have the time to give a hoot about OSHA regulations. Soon enough the crimson haired nutjob had managed to mount a grand total of two gatling guns, and a pair of Terran standard issue C-20A Canister rifles into the openings.

It all culminated into a patch panel that ran into a patch panel with four switches upon it, as well as one big red button. From the switch panel, one final cable ran into the side of Minnie. Reconnecting the scope cable from the massive rifle into her visor, the displays flickered to life once more.

On the corner, she could see four symbols, each of them offline. Flicking each of the switches, the symbols flickered to life as Anastasia could hear the mount servos whirring to life. Adjusting the aim of Minnie, she listened as all four guns turned to mimic the rifle’s scope. Flicking a pair of the switches offline and shifting her aim, and only a pair of the guns shifted their aim.

In addition, she could see the ammunition status of each gun, providing her with the information when she’d need to switch between them.

“Ghuhuhuhu!” a manic giggle escaped from the sniper’s lips as she marveled her patch-job work. Sure, she couldn’t individually, simultaneously aim all four, but she most certainly could leave some aimed elsewhere in preparation.

An acceptable limitation for something built with such haste.

That, and the fact that she’d still have to reload each of them herself. It would’ve been so much easier if even one of the worthless louts up here had survived to back her up. One could’ve said it would’ve been horribly convenient.

Flicking the miniguns online, she aimed them toward the gate before flicking them back offline, and switching onto the rifles. Minnie’s scope sought out the traitorous spies before her fist slammed onto that big red button, and a pair of shots rang out simultaneously, and the spy dropped dead, one Helldiver saved from certain death.

Now certain that the both of them worked, private Gaia flicked off the second rifle, before flexing her muscles for one final time.

“Let’s get rockin’!” she cackled, resting Minnie’s stock against her shoulder once more, as she aimed and pressed the giant red button once more.

BANG!

The canister rifle fired, and a bullet tore into the chest of an unfortunate assassin, blowing a hole in their chest before sinking into the neo-steel construction beneath.

And so began the insufferable game of whack-a-mole. With a sadistic grin dancing upon her visage, the sniper’s target switched mercilessly from one to the next, each graced with another bullet torn gilded-corpse and a grateful helldiver

James would’ve loved this. Her grin grew wider, eyes madder as Anastasia could smell the divine scent of gunpowder wafting in the tower. It was just the best, if only coffee could’ve smelled as divine.

Soon enough, the first rifle clicked empty, the ammunition display completely disregarded by the gunpowder-drunk serial-shooter, her fingers flicking from one rifle to the next.

With each flick of her aim and a press of that gigantic button, another corpse fell, and the scent of gunpowder grew headier within the tower. Soon enough, the second rifle clicked dry and Anastasia lamented.

Perhaps it was time.

It was most definitely the time.

“Jaa-aames~!” she cooed, her rifle aiming into the outskirts as she sought for a proper target. Soon enough, a group of twenty something gilded stains in their landscape revealed themselves as the sniper took aim, her finger coming to rest on the trigger, the scope tracking their frantic, skittering approach across the battlefield.

This time she wouldn’t release that trigger early, the even pressure applied against it intensifying as her tracking aim came to a halt and the trigger clicked.

click, Click, CLICK!

As soon as the trigger clicked, something within the gun clicked again before finally, the enormous, actual hammer shot forth within the gun and slammed into the back of the bullet.

BANG!

The entire fortress rang with the shot, windows rattling as the cannon-like sniper fired, the massive bullet howling as it tore first through the air, before it found the chest of one unfortunate Kingsman. Leaving naught behind, his torso was obliterated, as was the man’s behind him. And the next one’s. Aaand the one’s after that.

Finally, the bullet exploded into an inferno as the delayed fuse within the bullet ignited. The mad powderhead had built a timer-based explosive built into the bullet. Just for good measure! Huhuhuhuhu~!

There was most definitely a reason she couldn’t help the Helldivers within, with Minnie. And it was that there wouldn’t have been any Helldivers left to save if she had. For that very same reason she was stationed here, at the castle.

A weapon like Minnie wasn’t designed for being lugged around in the battlefield. Nor was her cooky shooter in any shape to take part in travel-based campaigns. She was at home, holed in towers like this, scheming crazy solutions and madness filled weapons systems.

Ah! Anastasia loved siege battles with Minnie so much. Every shot was pure, unadulterated carnage. True joy!

Muscles flexing as the overjoyed powderhead worked the bolt of her beloved rifle, a forearm sized spent shell clanged onto the floor and rolled aside. One could’ve only imagined the size of the bullet it had recently fired.

With Minnie reloaded, it was time to reload the rest of the rifles.

 

[Altanis]

Within the castle, the scattered defenders haplessly worked their damnedest to try and keep things running. Defending desperately from sudden infiltrators and spies within, and the small army gathered outside. While the Rock and the contingent who had stormed out with him were keeping the brunt of the external threat busy, the internal one was running rampant and wreaking havoc. The sabotage and damage already done to the castle was suddenly quite readily explained, by the numbers that simply sprang up out of the proverbial woodwork.

It was enough to shake what composure the defenders had, and leave most of their defenses in complete shambles.

Most of them.

Smoke rose in lazy curls from deep within the castle, drifting through the hallways with the distinct sickening smell of charred meat. Behind it all there was the steady, droning tramping and stomping of feet, and from out of the haze the lead into the armory there loomed the silhouette of a large, imposing figure. Flame flickered and danced around them, and two points of green light and a bright cherry-red ember wavered unsteadily among the smokescreen.

Tongues of flame licked up and belched out of the haze, as Hell Diver and enemy spy alike whirled around to see what fresh hell was about to be unleashed.

"I AM THE GOD OF HELL FIRE!"

And all at once two lances of flame roared out of the smoking haze, billowing over the heads of the crowd and turning the entire hallway into a sweltering, boiling inferno as the hulking figure came stomping out. Clad in heavy, gleaming armor of the Hell Diver's signature green, scorched and blackened in numerous places, the goliath of a man came storming out. Clenched in his off-white, grinning teeth was an oversized cigar pouring out oily smoke. Over his face were a pair of heavy, thick goggles with gleaming green lenses. Adorning his bald head was a stylized tattoo of roaring flames. Scrawled messily across the chest of his armor there was the single word 'BYRNE'.

And on each of his armored arms, where normally there would be a massive gauntleted fist, there were only the flame-belching exhausts of two oversized, dangerously over-fueled flamethrowers. "Y'all done picked the wrong fucking castle to come crashing into, lads!" he roared, his voice hoarse from his own smoke but filled with the kind of manic glee and utter delight that only came from indulging in absolute ecstasy. He leveled his twin flamethrowers down, his grin spreading so wide it threatened to split his face entirely in two, and he let out a mad, yowling cackle as he let loose a literal wall of fire.

The Hell divers in his way gave some mixture of collective "Oh, shit!" shouts as they scrambled to dive clear of the incoming wave of pure burn-y death. Many of the enemy spies were not so fortunate, and were engulfed in the scorching tide. They screamed and panicked, tumbling and toppling over and shambling out of the worst of it even as they caught and erupted into utter agony.

The blaze reflected in Byrne's goggles, making them shimmer and glow, as he took a long puff of his cigar. "That's what I like ta hear....music to me ol' ears!" He chortled and cackled and stomped forward, through the lingering dregs of the inferno. He didn't even pause as he swept his arms out, delivering short blasts of point-blank flame broiling to any survivors he strode past.

In his wake, the sweating and nervous Hell Divers steeled themselves and bolted from their cover to follow after. Gunfire and whatever other projectiles they could muster rocketed past Byrne in a deadly hail, providing covering fire for the pyromaniac to lead the charge forward as they set about trying to burn out the spies and enemies within. They didn't necessarily like the man...but they could appreciate his particular method of handling things.

The rather grim message messily painted on the back of his armor, 'BURN IT ALL AND GO DOWN LAUGHING' was something that made his mental stability questionable...but if nothing else, he wasn't the type to just turn tail and run from something like 'overwhelming odds'. He would keep right on fighting and burning and laughing until he was put down.

Just what they needed right now.

 

[Remilia Scarlet]

The quartermaster was a quiet man, starkly contrasting from his contemporaries in the Hell Divers. Stoic and calculating, good traits for a man running inventory when his men were running rampant screaming violent lunacy into the heavens. Eyes surveyed the battle from his fortified position, the whirl of miniguns heralded devastation upon the enemy as his teams did their work. Adjusting his cap to keep the sun from his eyes, he is never far from his work as he scratched through reams of paper calculating arcs and ammo expenditure as he directed machine gun fire and mortar shots into the enemy army. Let the hot blooded warriors kill with their hands like some primitives, he knew war was won through logistics and precision. That muscle bound superstar may have been the shining baby face in this free-for-all, but the quartermaster knew he would keep this battle from turning into a mosh pit.

The barks of his orders were cut off as he saw battles raging inside the base, the rats had finally shown themselves in full and were now rampaging across the high tech fortress. About time, the quartermaster thought he was done with this two bit game of knives.

“Team Four, twelve degrees right, up two degrees, three second burst” he called, the machine gun team following his instructions as drilled and in moments a flanking charge was routed by a well timed overwatch, troops with marksman rifles picking off what his calculations couldn’t predict.

The supposedly locked door to the office suddenly opened, the officer cursing as he wheeled around with his rifle. Supposed that he got for thinking the keycards weren’t compromised. He barely had enough time before watching a brilliant gold arrow pierce through a loader before he opened fire, a spay of full automatic death keeping the spies ducked down.

“Let's get them!” One young private yelled as he raised from his firing port, turning his rifle towards the open door, only to get an elbow to the face for his trouble.

“Get back into firing position!” The quartermaster bellowed. “Lieutenant Johnson wants his show, and you’re there to keep the unruly crowd from swarming him again. I’ll handle this.” He kicked over his deck, papers and data slates scattering across the floor, and he ducked behind the new chest high wall. He blind fired over the top as he settled in, then raised up to send another burst out. Not for long, as the heavy clacks of his magazine running low signaled his apparent vulnerability soon enough.

“Out of ammo!” One of his assailants yelled, aware of what that sound meant ”Make your prayers, for the King will not-” Any further taunts from the spy during his breach into the room as the quartermaster revved the chainsaw on his lancer, followed by a horrid scream as the spy was left a ragged gore mess under the whirling blades.

The next one was much smarter than his companion, aware of such a trick, and bullied his way into the room with a large golden maul to finish them off. The lancer remained stuck in the mess of sinew and gore, leaving the quartermaster to pull uselessly at the corpse. The attacker raised his blunt instrument high, only to stop with a pop can sized hole in his chest as the officer ripped his boltok pistol from his hip.

Why do these idiots never realize you can carry more than one weapon?

The officer’s relief was short relief, as a rush of boots sounded that they had dropped subtly for brute force.

“Think you can hold all that off yourself, sir?” the soldier asked, still smarting from that earlier hit.

“Son, I'm the quartermaster” He boasted as he adjusted his hat. He slammed his boot onto a single panel, the floor rising up to reveal a full arsenal. “I’m always prepared.”

 

[Karl Jak]

Face to Face
Adrian’s Pen vs The Deadlights vs “Moonlight in Venice” & “House of Mouse”​

Gallantry is something that can be rare in this world. Even rarer in the cosmic melting pot that was the Crossroads, where the multiverse seemed to vomit its most unsavory individuals.

The staff of the Pen and the numerous soldiers stationed there exhibited nothing less than absolute gallantry, even when the spies opened fire on them and threw open the doors to the Castle.

The Rock withdrew, his massive arms cradling two rocket launchers as he belched hot death at everything that emerged into his range of sight.

Monsters slithered through the walls. Gold-plated warriors goose-stepped through the ravaged lobbies of the industrial ‘castle’ complex. If the Rock wasn’t mistaken, he was certain he’d heard someone mention that more enemies had arrived as the night wore on.

His weapons clicked empty as a wave of unmade creatures erupted through a nearby steel wall. Throwing the firearms at his attackers, the Rock drew a pair of fully automatic shotguns from his hips and mowed them down just like the overhyped trash they were.

“Candy ass sons of bi—a”

The Rock grimaced as the keyblade tore into the side of his abdomen and started to literally burn his insides. As if they were light pistols, the superstar whipped the shotguns backwards and was delighted by the yip of pain as the mouse staggered backwards.

Turning around, the Rock raised an eyebrow at the sinister, gray-skinned and red-eyed mouse who stood in the throne room. “What in the blue HELL are you?” Dwayne asked, once again finding himself completely befuddled by an enemy leader.

“I’m Nega Mouse,” the anthropomorphic rodent spoke in a voice that was some sort of spooky, raspy facsimile of the bombastic mouse who had launched this attack in the first place.

“Who?”

“Ne—”

“It doesn’t matter what your name is!” The Rock pulled the triggers, and the mouse deftly lunged to the wayside as the floor was blown apart by the twin rapport of the shotguns. Following the mouse with the stream of automatic fire, the Hell Diver leader scowled heavily as Nega Mouse scampered up the walls and across the ceiling before vanishing into an open vent. “Sons of bitches,” the man grimaced as he holstered one of the shotguns and closed a burly hand around the keyblade still lodged in his impressive physique. Sweat beading all around his ‘hairline’, the Rock took a few controlled breaths before wrenched the unorthodox weapon from his body and discarding it across the room.

Blood ran thick down the interior of his armor, and he could feel it trailing down the side of his leg, but the wound itself wouldn’t be fatal.

“You can surrender, you know,” a calm voice intoned as a man in loose-fitting clothes he’d clearly stolen from a renaissance fair stepped out from the shadows. Unarmed, the smarmy blonde lifted his hands to convey that fact as he closed a little bit of the distance between himself and the castle’s guardian.

“You can stop right there before the Rock puts some shells straight up your ass,” The Rock replied with a cheeky grin.

“Mi dispiace, Lieutenant, but your battle is over. Finito. I implore you to stand down.”

The Rock lifted an eyebrow, even as he heard the sound of footsteps in the hallway. “Look ‘e here, you salami-munching, strudel-gobbling jabroni, the Rock doesn’t surrender.”

“Attaccati a sto cazzo.” A dagger poofed into existence in the man’s hand as he lunged to close the distance.

“Come have some of the Rock’s spicy meatballs!” Dwayne shouted as he pulled the trigger.

The assassin dropped and seemed to spin himself forward, his hands abruptly smacking the barrel of the gun to the wayside. With his free hand, the Rock punched the Italian in the face, but the impact didn’t have that satisfying crunch of fist on nose bone. Instead, it just seemed to literally smush the man’s nose into the rest of his face.

“That’s new,” the Rock muttered as the man buried his knee into the Great One’s crotch.

“How’s that on your meatballs?” The assassin rasped as he drilled a boot into his foe’s chest, causing the Rock to lose his grip on the shotgun and go tumbling backwards. Conjuring another dagger, the blonde smiled widely before throwing one of the knives and watching it sink into the Rock’s chest.

“Where are your catchphrases at now?”

At that, a booming mascot voice entered the fray. “Did someone say catchphrases?”

A crushing burst of carbonated liquid smashed into the assassin, plucking him from his feet and spiking him into the far wall.

The Rock, his vision starting to double even as he fought to pull himself up into a seated position, watched as Nega Pepsiman stalked toward the fallen cutthroat. Behind the evil mascot, the sneering mouse watched with a degree of delight.

“Make that one squirm extra,” Nega Mouse muttered as he turned back toward the Rock. “I believe we have some unfinished business, Fella?”

Sputtering as he tried to talk, the Rock lifted a middle finger, an homage to one of the Brahma Bull’s most potent rivals. “Bottom line is… you can’t handle the Rock’s jock on your own, Mouse.”

Nega Mouse, bloody keyblade popping into existence in his hand, grinned he leveled the weapon with the upright lieutenant. Before he could fire, the doors to the left of the throne room exploded outward as a contingent of Hell Divers flooded the throne room, opening firing on anything and everything in sight.

Nega Pepsiman, his body quite literally popping and fizzing as the bullets punched holes through his suit, willed up a tidal wave of Nega Pepsi that crashed into the soldiers in the moment just before the mascot collapsed into a pool of bubbling hydration.

On the other side of the room, a batch of explosives went off, showering fresh smoke and debris into the throne chambers as Boss Mouse hopped over the ruined segment of wall.

“Well, this is awkward,” the gilded mouse replied as he stared at the Nega rodent.

“There can be only one, ah-huh!” Nega Mouse rasped as he swung his keyblade for his adversary’s throat. The identical weapons met in the space between the pair of dueling rodents with an almost mute ping as the Rock dragged himself up to his feet and tried to spy where his shotguns have gone in the fracas.

“Going somewhere, Mr. Johnson?” An Italian-accented smarm inquired as the lithe assassin pounced.

Rolling along the wall as they jockeyed for position, the Rock used his skull as a weapon, whilst his willy foe opted for the tried-and-true method of ‘jam your fingers into their existing wounds’. Teeth clenched to hold back the screams, the Great One managed to get both of his large hands around the assassin’s throat as the two mice continue to hop around and shoot teeny, adorable mouse lasers at one another.

“Do the Rock a favor and die,” Dwayne seethed as he choked the life from his adversary, yet despite the lack of air, the grinning Italian seemed nonplussed. “All right, we’ll do it the Hell Diver way.” With that, the Rock grabbed the man’s jaw and tore it clean off his face.

“Well, that’s just rude,” the assassin slurred as he stumbled backwards, his tongue lolling downward along what should have been a horrible display of gore. Instead, it was almost as if the man’s head had been made of some type of high-grade silicon. With a scowl, the Italian peeled away the rest of his face to reveal an inert steel edifice.

“Do you know how much these cost?” The robot inquired as he tossed the useless face to the floor. His accent was unimpacted as it issued from a soundbox somewhere, and as he spoke, some lights flickered behind what would normally be eyes. “I think it’s time I bid you farewell.”

The Rock pondered a catchphrase before opting to simply charge his robotic nemesis. Before he could close in to attack, the assassin dropped back, and using the Rock’s incredible momentum against him, the Steel Wolfe sent the Great One through the far wall of the throne room and down into the foamy seas that surrounding the Pen.

Nega Mouse stumbled as he fell to the ground, his knee scraped as his sneering adversary strode toward him.

“Last words, Pal?” Boss Mouse asked before taking a moment to glance down at a stinging scrape on his left leg.

Before Nega Mouse could reply, the evil mouse had his throat slashed open by the robotic Italian assassin.

Brow furrowed; Boss Mouse scowled deeply.

“I’m sorry,” the Italian assassin spoke. “I just had the uncontrollable urge to cut that mouse’s throat.”

Adrian’s Pen has fallen – its defenders have or will fight to the last.
The Rock suffers a Major Injury.

All of the Unmade Forces have been destroyed.
Nega Mouse has been killed.
Nega Pepsiman has been … dehydrated?

About 250 Babylonian Combat Soldiers, across the two units, died.
Steel Wolfe suffers a Minor Injury (damaged left arm).
Boss Mouse suffers a Minor Injury (bruised left leg).