[NB] Pandaemonium Fortress

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Karl Jak

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It's a scary fort run by monsters. It's a bunch of thick, fortified steel-stone walls, but on the inside, the 'fort' is filled with a variety of twisted amusement park rides and 'fun houses'. Abandoned roller coasters, extra spoopy halls of mirrors.
 
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Karl Jak

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From the parapets, the Snake Lady sneered as her bladed, insectoid-like wing appendages twitched with anticipation.

"They march to their deaths. Ready our stratagems."

Battle Statistics

Unmade Carnaval: 1985 Combat Soldiers, Fort Advantage
Hell Divers: 1936 Combat Soldiers

Read this all or I'll literally throw a conniption --- The first phase will cover at least the next IC/OOC day, which involves giving both participants time to write any sort of pre-battle activities (rousing speeches, planning out attacks/defense, etc). After that, Doomguy will need to post initiating the charge (or an Unmade character could initiate a sally, I suppose), and the battle will be out and along the walls for at least another 1 or 2 OOC days. After that, I'll assess and post an update (so no one write exploding the front door and killing everyone or blowing up huge pieces of walls).​

The Pandaemonium Fort
Defenders = 300 Garrisoned Combat Soldiers + "The Swarm" + "The Storm"

"The Swarm"
General-> Snake Lady
Lieutenant(s) -> Unchiha
1085 Combat Soldiers

NPCS: Snake Lady, Unchiha

"The Storm"
General-> Windstorm
Lieutenant(s) -> Graw
600 Combat Soldiers

NPCs: Windstorm, Graw

VS

“Doom’s Marines”
General-> Doomguy
1390 Combat Soldiers
PCs: Caboose - Infantry

“Coming Storm”
Lieutenant(s) -> Zenitsu
346 Combat Soldiers
PCs: Toga - Support, Luck - Infantry, Musashi - Infantry

“Sinking Blade”
Lieutenant-> Nameless Lady (NPC)
100 Combat Soldiers

“Infernal Guide”
Lieutenant-> Tony Redgrave (NPC)
100 Combat Soldiers
 
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Ellie

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The last real moments of respite had been in Eisenstadt. The laughter, the ale, and the buzzing vibe of soldiers ready to mount the island and make it theirs had taken them quite far. Quite far, indeed. Looking back on it almost brought a smile to Zenitsu’s face.

Things changed quickly after that.

The long slog into enemy territory brought with it a mantle of foreboding that draped itself over the host and reminded them that they had entered a war, not a party. Some of the warriors could not be tamped down so easily by the prospect of death and bloodshed.

Zenitsu was not one of those warriors. The pull of enemy lines felt magnetic, and with each step his anxiety grew. A Slayer of Demons? Him? What about Doomguy!? A mass of metal and ass-kicking energy that felt larger than life, while his Coming Storm continued to labor under the delusion that their puny shrimp of a Lieutenant was the man for them. Did they have any idea how his knees quaked? How his heart leapt when he heard a twig snap or saw a bush rustle? The morning after they left Eisenstadt he’d nearly sprayed himself with piss relieving himself in the morning when a rabbit shot out of a warren near his feet.

Despite his misgivings, it was not his unit to swallow the first misfortune. A botched assassination attempt on the Commander had left Caboose, the doofus Zenitsu had met in the pre-game, injured in his CO’s stead.

That was the beginning of it. The next assassination attempt was less successful, but Zenitsu felt the loss of every man. He knew he might be next.

And yet, he was not. Instead, the next to die was a staggering two hundred someodd of their men gunned down on the march. An aerial bombardment - even now, past the scene of the carnage, Zenitsu felt as if he could smell the cloistering stench of blood and anguish. It threatened to swallow him whole.

Yet here they stood…

On the other end of it. Ahead of them rose towering fortress walls, climbing high away from them, blockading the enemy. Their first true encounter with the Unmade since they’d gotten here, save the small skirmishes.

After their losses, it’d come as no surprise that the order was siege. And siege they would - every one of them knew that, to a man, they would siege until every last one of them had crested the walls of the fortress ahead of them or lay dead among the trenches.

He stood ahead of his soldiers, now. His force paled in comparison to Doomguy’s, and looked smaller yet after their losses. They faced him in rank and file much as they had at the Castle before they’d set out days earlier. This time, however, his knees shook and his face was pallid, sweaty, uncertain. He gulped. How could he address them when he knew in his heart that he was not enou-

A hand fell onto his shoulder. Standing next to him, grinning, was Luck - the scrappy boy who’d challenged so many of his soldiers to a spar in days prior.

There was not a shred of doubt on the boy’s face.

“We’ll win,” Luck stated simply. His tone made it true - he believed it entirely.

Zenitsu gaped it him a moment, and whispered to him so that the men wouldn’t hear him.

“A-are you sure?” he hated the fear in his voice. Hated what he sounded like in that moment.

“Huh? Oh, yeah,” Luck answered back. He was looking elsewhere, now. Back at the fortress. “Can you hurry this up? I’m ready to fight.”

Stunned, Zenny nodded, and pivoted his gaze back over his soldiers. Three hundred and forty six of them, and they all stood ready. There two rows back, like she had back at the castle, the blonde girl he’d met at the library fluttered her fingers at him again...and then pulled out a dagger, where she stabbed the open air then gave him a big grin and a thumbs up. Unnerving as anything, but, strangely reassuring.

“A-alright!” Zenitsu shouted, surprising himself as his tone came out in a powerful boom. Who did that voice belong to? “We’re going to given them Hell! We’re going to take a hundred of theirs for every single one of ours they dare touch!”

He was angry, now. The anger at his lost men welled up, the memory of their bodies littering the forest.

“WE’LL DESTROY EVERYTHING THEY’VE WORKED FOR, AND MAKE IT OURS! WE WILL DIVE INTO HELL, AND SURFACE VICTORIOUS! THERE ARE NONE THEY CAN TOUCH US! WE ARE THE HARBINGERS OF DEATH, AND OF DOOM!”

He thrust his sword into the air, and yelled like a fucking madman. He felt in that moment...like a fucking madman.

“WHO ARE WE!?”

“THE COMING STORM!” they answered back, their voices hungry, their weapons drawn.

“WHAT DO WE DO!?”

“WE BRING HELL!”

“THEN LET’S BRING THEM HELL!”

Their roar was powerful, and Zenitsu hoped those Unmade bastards were quivering in their twisted park. Once they breached those walls, they’d take no prisoners.
 

Josuke Higashikata

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"Oooooooo, shiny."

The blue spartan with a lasting concussion poked at the new makeshift medal that his generous commander made for him. An award handed out for Caboose's sacrifice for the Hell Diver's leading commander's safety. There marching comes to a halt, arriving at the designated spot that Doomguy directed his army toward to set up. This particular spot seemed strategic enough to set up camp for preparation before attacking.

All the Hell Divers' marines practiced in certain training activities for everyone to prepare physically and mentally. Where Caboose settles at was the quickly made shooting range, where other soldiers like him get familiar with the chosen weapons in their hands. A line of ten soldiers, including Caboose, stood side by side in an open area where foliage is absent. At the other end of the dead meadow were hanging pieces of round flat plate-like scrap metals on long makeshift dead thick tree branches that a pair of soldiers tied together under a minute. Their rifles were at ease in their hands while a sergeant walks out to assist the soldiers that practiced shooting.

Before they had a chance to fire their guns, the sergeant gave out orders first to stay put and await further instruction.

"Aim!" The male sergeant barks over the armor-clad combat soldiers who appear similar to the UNSC Marines and others similar to the Doom Slayer's old. "Fire!"

Everyone fires their rifles off to hit the targets set up except for one that stands at the end of the line. The blue Mark V spartan is expecting issues firing his gun as he repeatedly pulls the trigger. No bullets exit the end of the snub barrel that connects to the rest of the MA37 assault rifle. The number on the digital screen that projects information about how much ammunition remains in the magazine, starting at thirty-two. Mimicking the constant gunfire that rang out, Caboose projects noise out loud underneath his helmet to pretend he's firing his gun.

"Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!" The foolishly Spartan cries in a goofy fashion, catching the sergeant's attention.

"Private, Caboose! Why aren't you using your weapon! Your enemy has killed you already after everyone else fires their weapons first!" He yells next to Caboose's head over the other rifles continuously firing.

"Excuse me, Mr. Sergy person! I think my pet rifle went to sleep!" Caboose yelling for the sergeant to hear as loud gunfire continues. Still, his brain hasn't recovered fully from the concussion that plagues it.

"Here, give me that!" The sergeant snatches the assault rifle out of Caboose's hands impatiently to figure out what's causing an error. It didn't take a minute for him to figure the problem; a switch on his gun resides in the safety setting. That was the first thing he checked before thinking his rifle has jammed. "You left it on safety, dumbass! Did your damn thick-ass skulled brain learned anything from basic training!"

"I am well potty trained, sir!" Caboose foolishly cries out loud. The sergeant shoves the assault rifle back into the Spartan's hands, fed up with Caboose's idiotic nature.

"There! I set it to full auto, now fire at that damn target!" The sergeant orders Caboose to shoot at the target hanging thirty yards from where he stands, pointing towards his spot to aim.

Immediately, he pulls the trigger, and a barrage of bullets flies at high velocity toward the target. His finger doesn't let go of the trigger, making him spray and pray at the metal target. The assault rifle jiggles steadily in both his hands, causing the sway of fire to go left to right. His bullets miss the mark, resulting in an empty magazine with the digital display on his rifle reading zero.

"Great arbiter! My infant daughter can shoot better than you!" The sergeant humiliates Caboose in front of the other soldiers, but they paid no attention kept shooting their rifles and reloading to not get a mouthful from that tough son of a bitch.

"Yes, I too am starving for Arby's!" Caboose replies on what the sergeant had to say about him, his comment making him bewildered on how the blue power-armored soldier confused his wordplay. The gunfire from the other marines continues with some success hitting their targets successfully.

"Try short control bursts! You'll have more of a chance hitting your target!" He helpfully implies for Private Caboose to attempt "More like five percent chance of hitting it."

The blue spartan reloads his rifle with a new magazine coming from his utility belt, slamming the magazine into place with a satisfying click. Caboose preps his gun mechanics and does the sergeant's advice, pulling the trigger on his MA37 for two seconds and letting go. He does this a couple of times but keeps missing his target. Caboose keeps trying and not giving up on him using a gun. After many attempts, he manages to have one bullet hit the mark but not squarely.

"Did you see that, Mr. Sarge? I did it! I did it! I did it!" Caboose expresses his excitement at doing something successful at least once in his life.

"Good! Now keep going at it, Private! You'll need the experience of hitting that target multiple times to make the kill count rise for the Hell Divers to show everyone on this island and in the crossroads who's the maddest motherfuckers around!" The sergeant yells over the continuous gunfire and leaves Caboose to check in on the other soldiers.

In the meantime, Caboose keeps firing his gun with short control bursts to hit his target again. Hopefully, he will make it through his first siege and not put others in peril danger. His past has proven that point when he does something that he thinks he's helping everyone but makes matters worse. Maybe this time, he will be a good and valuable soldier for his team.

It has shed some light on the whole valuable thing with him by shrugging off an explosion and confusing the enemy, of which one with the fully suited high-tech armor is the real Doom Slayer.
 

Remilia Scarlet

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Our march into Unmade territory had already been a high string crawl into the unknown, an air of unnerving stillness that got on my nerves. The suicide attacks on our positions had us all in jitters, my shotgun in constant sweep after I had a barbed stinger stuck in my armor. The pain still coursed through me, forcing heaving breath when it was at its worst, but I channeled that pain to fuel my focus. My burning desire to rip and tear these beasts, to dig deep into their flesh and free them of their limbs. I knew my anger was a known fact of the camp, and today had my soldiers kept out of arm’s reach. I could feel the cords of my muscles twist tightly, we were all ready for something to happen.

Then the bombardments started.

Whistling shells slammed down on our approach, the fort off in the horizon unleashing ranged fire in a routine rain upon the soldiers. The silence broken with a constant drumming of ordnance slamming into the ground around us. Each blast left some wounded, some dead, all dreading the approach to the twisted walls. The artillery was horrid in their own ways, some unleashing a vile splash of some green acid, burning holes through its victims. Others were living ammunition, bags of flesh that crashed into the ground with scything tendrils or pale faced bug skittering out. At one point heads dropped down upon one unlucky squad. The sight alone was enough to horrify them, then the heads started a manic laughter while rolling across the ground to bite at people’s ankles.

The worse was the fucking circus music, the kind that came straight from your nightmares. The notes were unbalanced and frantic, the instruments rusted yet sharp against your ears. It grew louder as we got closer to the fort, yet seemed to come from all directions. Rest was an impossibility, and it made it difficult to hear the next wave of firebombs until the whistling shells drowned everything else out.

I was unphased, I had been through so much of this shit in my life through Hell and beyond that the sights and sounds around me were just blended with the last blasted hellhole. I shouted the march, any falter soon broken as my men saw me striding out ahead regardless of the withering storm of lead around me. I was confident my display was enough to push them forward, inspired by a man and a half walking though what the enemy threw at them.

I was too focused here. This was not my old command, nor the lone wandering through the warped blood-soaked labyrinths of Limbo. The mundane horrors of charging though machine gun fire could be tampered by leadership, but I alone had lived though what demons and the eldritch monsters in the pits of reality could dredge up. It became apparent that the casualties we were taking weren’t simply shown in the blood of the dead, but the broken laugher of those whose reality was shattered by the terror of the Unmade’s attacks. I was pushing them into something most of them considered the final punishment for the damned. Worse, even between the attacks the sanity of some would finally break. One soldier I had to smash into the ground myself when he rushed his sergeant with a knife.

So when the marble walls laid before us, the sky light broken with the towering lattices of steelwork shaped as carnival rides, I could feel the hesitancy in my marines. This wasn’t some pirate base nestled in an asteroid, this was the madcap theme park made by a sick mind of a serial killer. A whole tribune of serial killers, each smeared in clown paint.

I glanced back as I thought how to break the truth to them, when I heard another bombardment coming. I glanced up, seeing it ahead of time. Another puke bag, toothy mouths around its body as it laughed all the way down. I ripped my shotgun from it’s holster, my hands gripping the stock with a sturdy aim, and I shot it out of the air with the experience shot of a skeet shooter. The bomb gasped as it lost its strength, and splattered across the ground with no effect.

“Demons are not special.” I shouted, my eyes on the failed attack before I turned to my men. ”The things that go bump in the night die like everything else. The things you fear in your dreams are like anything else: they can be bled, they can be outsmarted, they can be killed. Bones can be broken, brains splattered, skin burned. They think they’re invincible, and that is their greatest weakness. Because they have never felt that desperate rush of adrenaline, that burning in your mind. They squander their moment of superiority until their skull is your hand. That,” I point to the unholy cathedral behind me, “is not the base of the enemy, it’s an insult to your intelligence! Are you fucking going to let them get away with that?!”

“No!” I got back, fear shaken from their eyes.

“Then let me show you how it’s done. Bumper, give me that fucking speaker.” We had been using it to get orders to the back row, but once I had it handed to me I quickly strapped it to my backpack. I rammed the cord into myself, and drowned the carnival nonsense in something far more pleasing.


“Doom’s Marines! Fight like Hell!” I shouted, and a wave of armored boots thundered after me as we descended towards doom’s gates.
 

Miyamoto Musashi

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What an eventful 36 or what-not hours it had been, truly so.

From one assassination attempt to another, both laden with casualties - even if they weren’t the intended target. From assassinations to bombardment.

Bombardment that’d left her unharmed thanks to the armor she wore and the skills she sported. Of course, there was dirt, grime and some remnants of suicide-bomber guts on her armour even now, but that had never stopped anyone before.

Not her anyway. Nor would it.

And from the initial bombardments, to finally now.

A siege. Or the loose-fitting stage of preparation for one, anyway.

In the distance the metal construction loomed, promising to make it hell for anyone who would attempt to lay claim. Or perhaps insulting her intelligence, if she were to ask the Commander’s opinion.

As for what awaited within, Musashi knew precious little. Other than the demons and horrors - of course.

Her talks with the commander - Gunguy - as she’d taken to calling him in her mind after her most recent flash of brilliance, had been most fruitful. She now knew where she was, how she’d manage to fuck herself straight into this mess in the first place, and what they were fighting for.

And most importantly, she knew that he and her? They were cut from the same cloth.

And so?

The sellsword had little qualms with whom her sword had been sold to. She’d cut, rend, rip and tear under his banner and in his name, in the defence of their men. In defence of their people. There was little question of the fact that she had grown attached to the myriad of eccentrics in both her own unit and their army.

And there was little question, whether she’d dive to the depths of this hell and the next if need be, to cut down any threat and to slay any foe.

Would she commit atrocities for them?
Most certainly.

Did their enemies deserve it, in full?
Of course.

Shinmen Musashi’s eyes grew colder by the second as the thrill of a battle to come descended. Yet a hint of smile danced upon her visage before it was pushed down. She would enjoy this, a chance to put her training and experience to use. To push further towards mastery and beyond.

Today was the day of speeches. Tomorrow would be the day of battle.
 

Luck Voltia

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As their squad marched in line with the Commander’s, Luck had spent his time, as ever, hopping between soldiers, asking for a fight. Few actually said yes, and none of them actually followed through, but Luck had maintained a steady optimism that he would find some entertainment soon enough. When something actually happened, he realized too late that activity didn’t necessarily equate to fun.

People died. Bombardments, suicide, trickery. Those unlucky enough to be in the wrong place at the wrong time didn’t even have a chance. Nothing worthwhile had been gained from any of it; some of them couldn’t even die fighting.

War was supposed to be fun. In some ways, Luck supposed that it still was...or at least, it could be. He sustained the smile on his face as his army marched forward, though his eyes were a bit wider.

Soon enough, they were on a hill overlooking the fort that they would soon be attacking. Electricity surrounded the entirety of Luck’s form, and his fingers began twitching. He had heard Zenitsu talking around him, though the mage had difficulty focusing on many of the words.

“We’ll win,” Luck had said to the lieutenant, though not specifically towards him. The rest of their interaction was brief, and he was distracted enough to reply purely on instinct. All of his focus was on their next destination, and as the officers made their speeches and rallied the soldiers, Luck let his own words repeat in his head like an echo.

We’ll win.

Their commander screamed “fight like hell” and the very ground underneath them seemed to shake from the noise of the ensuing cheers. Luck’s grin widened enough for his lips to part; he envisioned himself fighting the demons, even killing them, besting them in combat until he proved that he was the best.

For a second, he allowed his thoughts to stray towards his mother. She had told him the same thing once. Fight and win and prove he was the best. Since then, it was the only way he could think to make her proud.

Suddenly, a sensation on his face snapped him back to reality; it was blood. He couldn’t even remember when it had happened.

Soon after, however, the soldiers moved towards the fort, and so did Luck, lightning magic flickering around him as he laughed his way towards their inevitable siege.
 
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Karl Jak

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Battle Update
"Doom's Marines" and "Coming Storm" are storming the Fort's outer walls. Naturally, they will be met with resistance, in the form of all sorts of weapons that range from crude (burning pitch) to energy weapons in wall towers. Get up the walls, fight to clear the towers and secure a foothold.

"The Storm", with Windstorm and Graw, are the spearhead of the defense, so feel free to utilize them.

After a couple more posts from ye olde Hell Divers, there'll be an update (ie - did y'all capture the walls/outerlying area or no) and then the siege will advance further. I'll post a causality update at that point a well.
 

Toga Voorhees

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Struggling under the weight of her issued Brute Shot, Toga marched forward with her squad. Nearby, their Sergeant barked orders at his team, but the girl barely heard his words. Her legs were like jello after the last week of hard marching, and rivulets of sweat left clean lines through the dirt smudging her face. Aches and pain were left behind days ago, replaced by a tingling numbness that pervaded her very soul.

Toga Himiko, the perky, young sociopath, was no longer the same girl who had been so bubbly and enthusiastic in the Library. A week under the constant beratement of her team leader had left her as cold and humorless as any long-time veteran would be. As she thought back on those times, her attention wavered, her legs gave out, and she crumpled to the ground. In the end, the forty-two pounds of weapon she'd been assigned to carry finally took its due.

Whirling about, Sergeant Johanson stormed over to the girl, as Toga spit a mouthful of dirt, grime, and blood onto the ground.

"Private Himiko! Who the fuck told you to take a break? Get your ass back on your feet, Soldier!"

"Sir, yes sir!" Toga shouted in reply, as she gasped with the exertion of fighting against her own protesting body. She had not been born for the military life. Neither the physical challenges, nor the yoke of discipline. Her whole life, Toga had lived for her own desires. And, now, she fought for the goals of another. If she'd had time to think, it'd be galling.

Eventually, as her Sergeant screamed into her ear, Toga managed to climb to her hands and knees. Taking deep, shuddering breaths, her eyes lifted from the ground and fixed on the large stone wall not far from her position. Was this where she was gonna die? The thread of fear wormed its way through her mind, reminding her that she can barely even walk, let alone fight.

But, in the end, it didn't matter if she could fight. Or even if she would live to see tomorrow. Orders were orders, a mantra drilled into her mind over the last week of brutal training. And, so, finally regaining her feet, Toga marched on to battle.
 

Miyamoto Musashi

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From the side the tones of sounded heavy overtones of distorted guitar and a drum-beat to match, accompanied by the armored greaves of thousands of soldiers rolling forward. And so our rage-filled, gun-toting, metal blasting Commander had initiated the charge!

“Zenitsu, ‘s time,” Musashi called from the side as the armada of marines beside the Coming Storm’s unit began to roll forth with all the agility of a bewildered beast.

“Hu--hah?!” Despite all the mental reinforcement he’d received from Luck earlier and the hungry gazes of his men behind him, Zenitsu was fighting to prevent his leg from, firstly, wobbling, and secondly, from turning tail and charging into the polar opposite direction from their Commander.

Eyeing their lieutenant, Musashi placed her hand on his shoulders. “See us off, Lieutenant. Together?” she asked, flashing just a hint of a smile to the frightened boy. He’d not seen combat like the sellsword had.

“Y-yes! The Coming Storm, with me!” he roared with borrowed confidence as he took the first step, hand settling onto his sword hilt. Musashi’s hand remained on his shoulder, providing a calming presence as they began to jog forward together, the mass starting to roll with them.

And somehow, the second step was easier, and the third even more so!

He was starting to believe, if only because it seemed that the sellsword beside him, did.

FORWAAAAAAAAAAAARD!” the boy-turned-leader roared again, even as the units directly behind them carried ladders and began to truly feel that they were being led, rather than leading.

And so, the Coming Storm descended into hell as the air began to howl and cackle as the first shell landed to the side with a deafening boom, sending shrapnel and debris along with the flesh-searing fires of the underworld.

Unlucky few soldiers were thrown aside by the explosion, but war had no need for a single man. But of course, what good was a bombardment if it was a single shell?

Fuck all! That’s what.

Having seen that venerable Gunguy had taken out such a shell before, eliminating the explosion, Shinmen Musashi figured she could do the same.

Or rather, she had to, as a shell howled from the sky directly toward the front of their unit.

“Dow-, fuck it!” her warning turned to curse as the manslayer pushed the boy down hard by his shoulder, sending the boy stumbling onto the ground and catching his fall with his hands. Musashi herself sprung forth, armored boot driving into Zenitsu’s back as he used the poor boy toy as a springboard to greatness.
Her blades drew mid charge straight into a slash, one sword after the other cutting through the shell , splitting the cackle-howler into three even parts before it scattered onto the ground, both lifeless and harmless.

The ronin landed with a roll, her armor further dirtied, as she sheathed one of her swords and returned to her Lieutenant.

“Sorry about that, out of options ‘n whatnot,” she noted as her arm extended to him.

PTUI! Zenitsu spat out the dirt he’d been made to eat as he grasped the woman’s hand and together they pulled him onto his feet.

“It’s… It’s okay! You saved us after a-,” given no reprieve, Musashi simply took him by the shoulder again as they advanced.

“We need to reach the wall!” the ronin barked, even as they advanced through the artillery, be it with Zenitsu’s back working with a springboard and Shinmen Musashi destroying the immediate threats, or simply doing their best to cast themselves out of the way.

For how close they were, that damn wall could’ve just as well been on the other side of the fucking world.

HIIIIHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAH!” cackled a puffy-haired, multicoloured, chalk faced fuck of a clown as it climbed forth from the ground, pushing aside dirt, undergrowth and the like, a rusty sickle in one hand and a sizzling, disgustingly green pie in the other.

And it was right in front of Zenitsu.

HAHIHIHIHAHAAAAAA!” The maddening, high pitched laughter began to echo all around the Storm as an armada of clowns rose from the ground armed with sickles, pitchforks and the like. From a glance one even seemed to have floating balloons on a string whilst another sported an assortment of weird animal caricatures in a variety of colours?

“A-a-a-mbush?!” sputtered Zenitsu as he nearly wet himself from the shock and surprise.

This was most definitely hell, thought the ronin to herself as she glanced at the panicking upstart of a demonslayer. His hand was resting on the hilt of his sword consistently. Iaijutsu perhaps?

“Ambush! Fight through!” knowing that she hadn’t the choice of letting Zenitsu gather himself for long enough for commanding their troops, she did it herself, left hand still holding a vice-like grip on his shoulder.

SCHING!

Zenitsu’s sword flashed forth to strike, the ronin barely having the time to match her own strike to his panic-fueled attack as they struck in an off-beat synchrony.

Plop.

Thud.


The pie holding arm fell first, crashing into the ground as the impact sent splashes of the suspiciously liquidy tart flying. With a nasty sizzle it ate into the dirt beneath and even left a mark upon Musashi’s boot.

Thump.

The clown sickle-wielding arm followed right after a satisfying sense of triumph to their victory. Eeexcept that the fucker still stood. His grin ever widening as he began to gnash his teeth, the sharpened whites slowly clacking together, with a hint of green oozing from them.

Great. They wouldn’t die - or be rendered useless that easily.

And that fucker would bite. He’d most definitely bite.

This truly was hell that they’d decided to dive into.
 

Toga Voorhees

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Geysers of earth and fire erupted around Toga, showering her with debris. Smoke hung heavily in the air, choking her lungs and clouding her vision. But still she pressed forward towards their objective, teeth gritted in determination.

Life and death swung on a scales, the tension and adrenaline pushing Private Himiko past her body's limits. Nearby, her Sergeant shouted, even his booming voice difficult to discern over the din of battle.

"Get in vee formation, maggots! Private Anderson! Take point! Private Himiko! You cover our six! Move, move, move!"

With automatic movements born of long days of constant drilling, as well as an innate reflex to follow orders, the small squad of seven quickly arranged themselves. The riflemen (Anderson, Malachi, and Henry) took the points of the formation, with grenadiers (Justice and Killinger) taking position between them. In the center, Sergeant Johansen held his sniper rifle at the ready, leaving Toga (standing somewhat behind him) and her Brute Shot to handle any enemies coming from the rear.

It was a good formation, able to adapt to enemy attacks from any direction, and the unit was well-versed in it. They'd spent most of the last week traveling in just this way. And so, as attacks whizzed to and fro about them, the "Loser's Club" pushed on towards the Fort.
 

Ellie

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Oh, and Hell it was! Zenitsu shook and trembled - everywhere except his sword arm. That, guided by the warrior within, remained infallible and flashed hither, thither, and thy without so much as a bidden thought.

All about them it was anarchy. The noise - THE NOISE! He knew it'd be loud, but he had scarcely imagined this. Music, coming from somewhere that felt like it was everywhere at once, and then the screams. The yells. All of it mixed together, shaken not stirred, and was poured overtop the boy in a vile concoction that churned his stomach which was already a-roilin' to begin with. Too much. At first it was a truckload of too much, then a wheelbarrow of too much, then a bucket, a handful, and finally a pinch.

The siege had begun as a five course meal he'd had no appetite for, but his soldier, Musashi, had taken the first bite. Whenever he slowed, she took another bite, and he was reminded that he was not doing this alone.

Together they whirled and danced in symphony, their blades flashing, striking down Devilspawn in tandem, guarding one another's blind spots. In time they'd carved out a three hundred and sixty degree swathe of considerable diameter within which any stray foe found themselves subject to rapid countermeasures. It wasn't perfect, but it was pretty damn good. Zenitsu's skill with a blade was no parallel to Musashi's, and yet he was a dab hand and he found that what he lacked in innate talent he could feign with speed.

The trouble was that they'd drawn attention. Zenitsu smelled the overwhelming stench before he'd seen them; a loose amalgam of ghoulish fiends clambering their way.

He heard a cackle, saw a glint of metal, and it had begun. One bloated monstrosity in overalls with deathly pallid skin had broken the line of their carefully guarded perimeter. All about them soldiers and chaos continued, but in this, their little pocket of the battle, their ugliest challenge had begun.

“‘S going to be you that takes the big guy, Lieutenant,” commanded Musashi - subordinate though she was, here, she was every bit his commander. “I’ll clean up that riff-raff,” and she gestured with her blade towards a lumbering band of circus themed monsters...six of them, it looked like "Leave those to me! When you're done we'll finish the stragglers together."

She flashed him a winsome grin, and Zenitsu’s heart fluttered - moreso than it had been already in the heat of the battle, that is.

Then it was on.

The monster wielded a halberd which he toted in two enormous hands. Though he was gigantic, he was quick on his feet and his fundamentals were superior to Zenitsu’s. The two circled each other, pacing like wolves ready to strike, during which time the behemoth took the opportunity to grant the young swordsman a hideous gap-toothed grin.

They came together. Their weapons shivered together with rapid speed, each clash sending a jolt down Zenitsu’s arms and into his lithe body; yet, he persisted. The met again and again, each strike a stalemate, neither’s guard faltering. It felt like the confrontation would last a lifetime.

His blade was like lightning preceded by the thunder of his roar. Zenitsu stepped into his opponent’s guard, pivoted, saw the blur of metal coming down at his right shoulder, and swiped the strike away with his katana; smirked, lunged, struck -

Missed.

The blunt of the halberd’s butt came around and pegged him squarely on the forehead with a dull thud and the boy went down, HARD, a sack of rocks limp on the ground. In the final moments he thought of Musashi, her grin, and tried to reconcile his failure...then it was lights out.

“ZENITSU!” Musashi cried out. She tried to turn towards him, but was quickly overwhelmed by the Unmade surrounding her. She had to keep her focus on the battle in front of her.

One more was coming her way, though. Order up - it was the big lug that’d downed Zenitsu, and he looked ready to punch her ticket, too. Musashi fought with all her fervor, but there was no way she’d be able to hold off all of them.

SCHING!

A rending sound of sharp blade through thick meat followed by a sloppy ‘plop’. The head had come clean off the meaty neck of the largest Unmade; the body went slack, then fell over with a thud so loud it could be heard even over the carnage all about them.

Standing just past the monster was Zenitsu, eyes white, body poised in perfect lunge-post-dash, head bowed. He rose slowly, ominously, to a full stand and leveled his pupil-less gaze towards the assembly of villainy plaguing Musashi, most of whom had paused momentarily as the first of them had fallen.

“Lieutenant!” she exclaimed, looking for all the world more relieved than she’d expected to be in this battle. Her boy toy had come through after all! And what was that manly look he wore on his face now?! He moved like an entirely different person!

And so he was. His body had filed for trial in absentia, and without Lieutenant Zenitsu’s terrified mind there to answer for its shortcomings, the subconscious had taken over. His speed had increased drastically, his technique was unrecognizable to the teen that’d stood there a moment before, and he looked fucking pissed.

He stepped forward and joined his soldier in battle. They whirled, danced, and clashed with the mini mob of enemies and slowly began to widdle them down one by one until not one of them stood.

In that moment they found a lull, brief. Around them soldiers were parrying off Demonic waves of Unmade. In front of them the bravest of the lot had begun to try and erect ladders. A dull thud off in the distance even suggested some of the Doom’s Marines might be attempting a battering ram.

Musashi’s hand found Zenitsu’s shoulder, and she gave her boy toy an appreciative nod.. “You really showed up, there. I thought you were-”

He shrugged off her hand with an unfamiliar callousness.

Then he began to approach the wall, sword sheathed, hand on the hilt. He'd show them. They would feel the Thunderclap and Lightning of the Coming Storm's Lieutenant. They'd all see why a boy like him had been put in command.
 

Josuke Higashikata

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What an adrenaline rush to have, Caboose knowing he has friends surrounding him as they charge forth toward the scary, dark, grim fort that is their goal to overthrow and take in control. The blue/green armored spartan runs with his company as his commander leads them to battle. Badass heavy metal adrenaline-pumping music plays loudly from where Doomguy stands. It blocks out the terrifying horridness of circus music that fills the unmade fort.

"Yay! Dance time!" Caboose's war cry joins with the others that shouted at the top of their lungs for their enemies to feel the quake behind their harsh language.

Everyone had their eyes pointed toward the main gate of the fort that is responsible for crowd control. Artillery shells go off, landing in random areas that the Doom's Marines known to be present. The concussion in Caboose's mind that visualized the gate turned it into rather than a dark, dreary horror piece into a happy, colorful entrance to a theme park that the fortress represents. A fright night theme park transforms into a sunny family-friendly local theme park that had games filled with prizes, fun rides to kill time on, and most importantly, delicious cotton candy. Caboose's smile spreads wide across his face behind the golden one-way visor, creating an innocent child expression.

Horrifying unmade carnival clowns pursue the metal music-driven marines that attack their fortress of defense to their territory. In retaliation, the marines open fire on their enemies while charging. Bloodshed and gore surround them alongside horrifying monsters that want to unmake the living free life of this world. Caboose sees the total opposite, a very innocent scene that his concussion reveals to his eyes. Sad clowns that desperately want someone to make them happy again. In return, Caboose intends to make it their best day ever and be an excellent friend.

He fires his assault rifle that rains bullets upon the murderous clowns but in his mind paints the visionary picture of firing off confetti and candy to the sad clowns that are starting to make them happy again. In reality, the clowns that threaten Caboose fall over dead with bloody bullet holes driven into their twisted unmade flesh. The spartan suppresses fire to the incoming enemies, attempting to protect the commander of Hell Divers by his side but doesn't manage to hit them. Doomguy follows up on Caboose's mistakes, gripping his trusty old pump-action shotgun in both hands firmly and aiming toward the demonic serial killer clowns. A malicious grin spreads across his face knowing the results that were going to happen.

As the two maniacally laughing unmade clowns charged at him with fresh bloody cleavers, the Doom Slayer shoots his deadly demon-killing boomstick that fires out the exploding twelve-gauge pellets when the clowns got close enough to him.

BOOM!

One clown gets devastated by the close-range spreading pellets that torn a gory side out of him, knocking the enemy back by the sheer power force of a twelve-gauge. The other gets hurt by being shot, but his other clown ally took most of the buckshot. Finishing him off, Doomguy grabs the arm that holds a cleaver belonging to the clown that wasn't knocked back and bends the arm backward with his incredible angry strength to avoid the attack. Cartlidge and bones snap similar to a kit-kat candy bar, producing an awful crunch sound. A broken Sharpened forearm bone sticks out from the exposed flesh, with blood pouring immediately.

There was no way for the clown to have control of his arm holding the weapon anymore. Without hesitation, Doomguy stabs his enemy with their flimsy half-torn revealing bone arm directly into their head. The clown dies brutally right when the exposed bone punctured the brain, ending the unmade life. After killing that one, he immediately moves onto the next he knocked back earlier that's walking towards him and Caboose. He grabs the clown's head and brutally forces the clown to bend his head down, bashing it against his armored knee causing brain parts, bone, and blood to spray out by crushing the forehead in one swift movement.

"Wow, you made the sad clowns take nap time quickly than me trying to spread my happiness and candy." Caboose compliments the Doom Slayer's aggressive, violent manner that he takes on the battlefield.

"C'mon, Caboose! Get to that gate and help out the other fellow marines to breakthrough!" Doomguy yells out his order to Caboose in a mix of anger and authority, but his rageful nature has nothing to do with the blue spartan, only those that are demonic, vile, and wicked in this world.

"Yes, sir, Principal Doom!" Caboose accepting the order and rushing alongside the marine that hell fears.

Doomguy orders some soldiers nearby to join up and suppress gunfire on the incoming clowns attempting to thwart off the group of marines that are moving a big metal battering ram required for several hands to hold. The Mark V spartan runs up to the breaching team to aid them. He hooks his assault rifle to his back and joins in to help move the battering ram. Bullet casings and twelve-gauge shells fall on the ground while a gunsmoke smell fills the air as the Doom Slayer and other marines defend the battering ram team, trying to give them enough time to complete the objective.
 

Remilia Scarlet

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A rolling wave of power armor broke from our camp down into open fields expanding around from the fortified carnival, the entire army rushing down with a singular goal: Break through. The flanks cast wide, attempting to get over the walls though the medieval method of erecting ladders. A far cry from the futuristic equipment of their climbers, but Karl’s restrictions were ironclad and it didn’t change the result: Take the walls, take the towers. Doom’s Marines were set to take the front gate, the far more direct path. A personal favorite of mine, and I was relishing the chance to pop these clowns’ balloon.

Not that they made it easy. All forms of ammo rained down on us now that we were getting close, along with the artillery already smashing our charge. Regular machine gun fire mixed with everything that the twisted defenders would wield, from fireballs to throwing knives. A line of shields from the front leading Infantry rose up to meet them, protecting the advance from the baleful gaze of the enemy, but men dropped as those few attacks pierced through their defences. Some fell, medics were already scrambling to stabilize them, but we couldn’t stop to defend them while we were this close and under heavy attack. No choice but forward

We pressed on, my chaingun raised as I decided to give my own suppressing fire. The whirl as the chaingun as it got to speed stirred a smile in me, and soon a melody of high caliber fire power rang out. Stone dust exploded from the ramparts as they struck home, the occasional spurt of blood confirmed when I hit true.
Something was strange, however. Though they fell like any monster, they seemed almost unwavering in their fire. Not suicidal, but the sight of their fallen comrades and flying lead gave no fear. It seemed unnatural, more so than their warped bodies did, and I couldn’t shake that something more than mere fanaticism was going on. Pressing on would be a grinding affair.

The entrance was like a screaming maw, spiked around it like horrid jagged teeth. I expected that to be literal, but I’d have to find that out later. A fire bomb in a coke bottle was flung from the walls, a green ethereal flame coming from the rag. It smashed into the ground head of us, lighting the field ablaze in a fel fire. Small breaks formed in fire, which would have funneled our approach.

“Don’t use the clear spots, they’re traps!” I shouted, I could see through it immediately. But enthusiasm took the best of a few, taking the provided path before either machine gun fire tore through them or pits hidden like a stage trap door opened up to drop them. Screaming, more and more distant to someplace horrible.

“Cover me!” I shouted over the metal music playing from my back, and hefted the rocket launcher to bear. A *thwooosh* heralded the explosive ammo as it, well, rocketed into the flames, the massive boom clearing away breaks as I sent a few more in. I way was open, though the unholy heat still licked at anyone who got too close.

As we got in spitting distance, a group nearby pulled away from the main line. They stood with thicker armor, though still mismatched as everyone else. Some were in armor of adamantine, relics of their great crusade meant to board enemy spaceships. Others had utalitaring designs, letters like “SWAT’ labeled on the back. What united them was their weapons: Large, intimidating blunt objects, which crashed through doors and skulls alike.

They were Hammer Squad, and they had a lot of nails ahead of them.

But the enemy weren’t going to let us get in unscathed. Long legged monsters, like twisted stilt walkers, stepped down from the walls to loom over my marines. They were wearing gaudy clothing, moth chewed and faded of their colors, yet what was more noticeable was their similarly long arms ending in rusted, oversized claws. One swooped their arm over those in the front of the assault, one unfortunate screams as the claw dug in, then was lifted up by the impossibly thin limbs and flicked away over the castle wall.

“Welcome to the happiest place in the crossroad!” One called out, his voice ragged and his mouth almost out of synch with his words. “Give in to Darkseid, and never feel pain again…” added, almost horrible in his tone, though I had no sympathy for it as the enemy attempted to skewer the long spikes at the end of it legs into one of my men

“Keep Fighting!” I shouted, my shotgun tore through the face of one of the long legged freaks, before my chainsaw roared in my hand. I needed to communicate my displeasure with them. I strafed around as it swiped at me, a narrow miss scraping off my shoulder armor, before I dug into one of the legs. Meat and bone chips answered, but I merely pushed in harder and soon the enemy toppled over to be finished off. “We didn’t get this far to stop at the front door!”
 

Karl Jak

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Battle Update!

The Hell Divers will secure the main gate and the surrounding walls. You may write your breach of the gates and push into the 'interior' as you please. It's an amusement park and many of the rides will have monsters in them trying to kill you.

Lieutenant Unchiha and (Soldier) Graw have withdrawn toward the 'heart' of the fort, which is an enormous haunted house attraction with weapons on its upper floors capable of raining death throughout the fort complex. It looks like old wood but it's made of out ... I have to guess, space-wood that is as hard as steel-reinforced concrete/stone (fucking Multerra, lol). Securing this facility is the goal of the Hell Divers.

Lieutenant Windstrom and the bulk of "the Storm's" remaining forces have reinforced themselves in the streets in an around the central complex, particularly the surrounding attractions, as noted above). The Lieutenant is commanding her forces from a haunted roller coaster attraction (the types with those convoluted themed areas that double as long as lines? I fucking love amusement parks so ask me if you need examples or something).

General Snake Lady is unaccounted for.

This phase will last at least TWO days. So most Hell Diver PCs will be expected to post at least once. After this time period, I'll post a culminating 'F2F' and we can all wait with baited breath for the conclusion of the siege.

The Hell Divers have lost roughly 250 soldiers.
The Carnaval have lost roughly 400 soldiers.

These are estimates that you'll have to 'run with' in the meantime. I'll have detailed and accurate reports about causalities *after* the battle is decided. In the heat of the battle, it wouldn't make sense for any of these parties to step back and count how many corpses are lying around.


 

Miyamoto Musashi

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“Follow the lieutenant!” Commanded the ronin, her voice booming over the cacophony as she watched Zenitsu’s advance. She didn’t know what exactly had happened to him, but the lad’s eyes and attitude alike had changed - and she hadn’t the time to look this particular gift horse in the mouth.

SCHING!

SCHING!

SCHING!


Three of the demon’s fell, each with a masterful display of his iaijutsu talents, even as Musashi ascertained that, for one, their ladder division pushed forth in his wake, and that for two, the boy wouldn’t be mercilessly flanked and shanked.

Fviuuuu!

Whistling through the air a javelin hungered for Zenitsu’s blood, fired from one of the ballistae in the ramparts. Zenitsu himself took no notice of it as he advanced, leaving Musashi to dive forward across the air, her blades forth and crossed before her chest.

CLLRRRRRINGGGG!

Steel screeched as the sharp tipped javelin dug into the foremost of the blades, even as the airborne manslayer ate the impact, thrown across the skies as the momentum behind the projectile forced her both back and aside. She had not the mass to stop the projectile in its tracks, especially airborne, but she could still affect it.

CLANG!

With the projectile averted, the misdirected weaponry clanged into the rocks, and shattered.
Meanwhile, the ronin tumbled into the dirt, groaning in pain from the impact. By now her normally pinkish hair had acquired a natural, if not disgustingly dirty brown hue to it,

The ladder division faltered, their first instinct to help their thrown aside comrade as the ronin’s eyes still struggled to focus. “

“GO!” she screamed furiously, her command punctuated by a disoriented arm flung vaguely to the direction of the walls. She’d not have them falter for her. There were more important things at play here than herself.

“Aaaaaaaa! JOIN UUUUUUUSS! WORSHIP THE DARK MESSIAH!” howled a scarecrow-like madman as Musashi rolled aside in a last ditch attempt to dodge.

Zzzzt!

The energy shield of her armor whirred and whizzed as the technology desperately fought to keep her safe from the fiery poker wielded by her assailant. Sizzling as it dug into the ground where she’d been mere moments before, the shank showed no signs of cooling down.

Nor did her assailant, for that matter.

The demons had gone from inventing fire, to inventing eternal fire it seemed! Damn great.

Head still ringing from the impact, the ronin clambered to her feet with her swords clawing into the earth for support. One poker? Two? She knew for sure that she saw two but had only caught wind of one’s worth of sizzles.

Both of them swung for her, promising to grant her something she’d avoid with the fury of a cornered beast. Death.

Staggering back the swordswoman yanked her blades free from their earthly confines, The movement tore through the ground with the flats of her blades, casting forth a scatter of dirt, grass and undergrowth into the air as if flung by a shovel.

The strawhat madman’s vision momentarily stolen, the ronin dashed forth, her armoured boot kicking the ground as she dove underneath both the pokers, swords howling through the air as she delivered a pair of high-starting strikes, each seeking to cut an opponent in half through the gap of their ill-devised swing.

It was just that, one of her strikes predictably missed, threatening to throw her off balance as it failed to find the expected resistance. With help from the western gods, Karl Jak, or Tenman Dai-Jizai, or just by pure, dumb fucking luck, her other blade found purchase.

With no mind to how it’d ruin the cleanliness of her strike, the desperate swordsman threw forth her entire body weight onto the blade as it forcibly tore through the suddenly rasping lunatic.

Crackling, his ribs shattered, snapping one by one under the sheer momentum behind her strike, before suddenly slicing through like butter as the bones ended, sending Shinmen Musashi tumbling into the dirt - again.

THUD!

Pulling her blades close the swordsman rolled, the green-clad and dirtied girl disappearing into the confines of the undergrowth. Branches and shrapnel alike ripped open minor cuts onto her refined visage.

Her opponent on the other hand, fell to the ground, messily torn in half.

-----

Meanwhile, with the safety and time they were bought by others, the ladder division had finally reached the goddamn wall - with Shinmen Musashi none-the-wiser.

Zenitsu defended them with claps of thunder and flashes of lightning speed as they were pushing up the ladders, hammering them solidly into the ground to prevent an easy toppling from topside and hooking them to the top of the ramparts as best they could.

They would get up this damn wall, if it was the last damn thing they did. And for that end, the ladder division began to storm up the ladders.

“BRING FORTH THE STORM!” they roared with their first victory fueling their hearts.
 

Toga Voorhees

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Even above the din of battle, the Losers' Club can clearly hear the explosive penetration of the main gate. Immediately assessing the situation, Sergeant Johansen calls out to his squad.

"Objective breached! Move, move, move!"

As just one part of many, the team becomes lost in a mad dash for the gate. The hail of gunfire from the Unmade Defenders never ceases, but they rush on, a shout of imminent victory permeating the air. But, inside, the carnage continued. Massive, bloated beasts swung arms of bone and steel, cleaving men in two with the ease of a farmer harvesting wheat. Smaller creatures, little more than rifles with legs, marched forward in unison, firing into the invaders with reckless abandon. Even more bizarre Unmade monstrosities poured out from doorways and even burrowed forth from the ground itself. A legion without end.

But Johansen wasn't having any of their shit. Barking orders to take cover at his team, the man dove behind a massive, steel-plated corpse and began to return fire. His sniper rifle was a slow and ponderous weapon, but whenever he pulled the trigger, another body fell.

Using a smaller remnant of the destroyed gate, Toga tried to keep her head down. Her breathing was erratic, and she didn't even lift her head to aim as she pulled the trigger to her weapon. The recoil nearly dislocated her arm, and she screamed in pain. Huddled beside her, Corporal Justice growled in irritation.

"Goddammit, Himiko! Ya know ya can't do dat shit! Ya gotta brace yerself, or da Brute will rip ya to pieces!"

With a shudder, Toga rolled her injured shoulder and took a deep breath. And then another. Once more for good measure, and then she swung out from her hiding place, Brute Shot held firmly in both hands and braced against her hip. This time her aim was true, and the recoil was absorbed by her pelvis. Impacting in the middle of a small group of Unmade, the grenade exploded, sending body parts flying.

A small chunklet of flesh splattered against the girl's chest with a wet slap and eliciting a small shriek of panic. But, upon seeing it, Toga couldn't help but to smile. Moving quickly, and praying to anyone who would listen that she wouldn't take a dome shot on the way, Private Himiko, darted over to her team leader with the bit of flesh in hand.

"H-hey Sarge… I got an idea…"

~~~~~~~~~~

Within the Haunted Heart, a strange creature smirked as he watches the bedlam outside. It was almost poetic, in a way. Ages ago, in a world far removed from this one, he'd been called Sasuke. And, when faced with an invasion like this… he had run away. In the face of his mission to avenge the Uchiha clan, even the bonds of friendship and camaraderie had been nothing to him. He couldn't risk dying and losing everything he'd fought so hard to obtain for such a petty reason.

And, yet, in this world, he stood defiantly in the face of his attackers. Perhaps it was the Unmaking that made him more confident, or just their superior numbers, or the fact he was safe and sound within the Heart, but the reborn Saltsuke Unchiha stood fast and fearless. Steel "fingers" tapped the sill as his eyes surveyed the field of battle. He felt… something out there. A presence…

Electrical energy sparked from the cybernetic monster as a sudden realization washed over him. Out there… somewhere… one of the douchebags who had killed him. They were fighting out there. It was faint though, a strange feeling of nostalgia, vengeance, and vindication. Whoever it was, they weren't the same as they were back there.

"They'll pay all the same," he said with a righteous grin. "For the indignity of that day, I'll rip the very soul from their being!"

A flash of motion catches the attention of the sensors that replaced Saltsuke's left eye, and he whirled about to face the intrusion. His misshapen form relaxes a bit as he spots one of the Unmade soldiers shlumping over his way. But only for an instant, before the boy tenses again.

"Wait… why are-"

His words are cut off as the creature lunges forward, a jagged hunk of steel clutched in its bloated hand. As the makeshift blade tears a red-hot gash across Unchiha's chest, his attacker's face melts away, revealing the fanged grin of Toga Himiko.

"You're kinda cute," she quips as the Lieutenant hops away with a scowl. Closing the gap with a girlish skip made incredibly jarring by the Unmade body still clinging to Toga's form, she continues.

"But I already got a boyfriend, and he's WAAAAY cuter!"

On the back-foot, it's all Saltsuke can do to just avoid taking the blade between his ribs. Every time he attempts to make some space, the girl follows in time. As he steps out, she steps in. When he leaps to the side, she follows. A dance macabre with life and death in the balance. But, the cyberninja had one last trick up his sleeve, something he'd saved just for such an occasion as this.

"Pocket Salt!" The mechanical menace suddenly exclaims. Toga staggers back, blinded as a handful of the irritating substance is thrown into her eyes. With a shout of victory, the Unmade Ninja twirls about, striking the girl in the face with his cybernetic heel and sending her tumbling across the room. Sprawled onto the filthy floor, a harsh cough ejects a gout of blood and several teeth from her mouth.

"Did they really send a CHILD to kill me?" Unchiha gloats, his voice tinged with the sound of razor blades cutting through wet meat. "These Hell Divers are even more pathetic than I thought!"

"Ugh…" Toga groans, rolling onto her back. The twisted visage of the young ninja sneers down at her, his hand sparkling with blue energy as Unchiha looms over his blonde prey. With a bloodied grin, and a wry chuckle, Private Himiko locks eyes with her foe.

"Fine… I guess you are my little POG champ…" she says through bloodied teeth. Her right hand slaps the lump of faux-flesh forming the fake stomach of the creature she'd masqueraded as. Lumps of a light-brown clay-like substance splash away at her touch, revealing the Brute Shot she'd hidden within it. The Unmade Lieutenant's eyes widen with sudden realization, but before he can move, Toga lifts the weapon and pulls the trigger.

"Come 'ere," she says, as a massive conflagration drowns out both her words and the two combatants.
 

Ellie

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Zenitsu stood atop the wall with the mountainous and rugged Bors at his right hand and the far more ordinary big-nosed, mustachioed Schnozz to his left. The wall was wide enough for five men to stand shoulder to shoulder from battlement to battlement, or, length-wise, one could cram a nearly limitless column of men as long as they stood side by side.

That’s how they stood juxtaposed behind segments of battlement cover: the Lieutenant and nearly one hundred and fifty of his soldiers in a row. They were ripe for suppressing fire, but the partial cover of the wall itself was adequate to reduce the bulk of the danger and they had little intention of staying still, anyway. The flag of the Coming Storm flapped in the wind, a grey cloud floating across jet black canvas with but a single steak of white-yellow lightning jutting from its underside to punctuate the coloring.

Storming the ladders hadn’t been easy, but they persisted. Zenitsu’s eyes remained milky white and vacant, his body on auto-pilot by the warrior within, and though he surveyed the Hellscape before him it was unclear if he was taking any of it in. Curiously, his nose quirked up into the air, and he inhaled deeply.

He’d caught the scent.

Speaking on his CO’s behalf, Bors roared out: “BRING THE STORM!” while jutting his lengthy halberd in the direction of the twisted carnival below.

They descended the wall by ladders looking for all the world like a flood of ants trickling into the park. The hundred and fifty Coming Storm soldiers fanned out and canvassed the area moving to gun down, slash, and bash anything that crossed their paths. The troops’ morale had reached a fever pitch post wall breach and they stood proud, hungry for Unmade blood.

The amusement park itself was enormous, and they were forced to assume a wedge formation with Zenitsu and his top-ranks at the helm. Eventually, as the throng found itself funneled through the gap between two carousels, they became more flexible and filled in gaps wherever they could. Adaptive, with their bloodthirst at a zenith, the Coming Storm pounded the butts of their polearms and stamped their feet in marching rhythm and sounded like thunder personified.

“FORWARD, MARCH!” shouted Bors, though even his powerful tone was drowned out in the stormy sea of noise.

A glowing sea of green power armor surged out and over the straggling Unmade. The bulk of their forces were scattered and susceptible to being swallowed by the wave of Coming Storm soldiers, so the wave kept a-rollin’ with the fiercely slashing blur of samurai armored Zenitsu at their helm. Demon Slaying was the battalion business, and business was booming.

A little too literally.

“GRENADE!” popped off a voice behind Zenitsu.

“That’s gonna be – !“

Whatever Bors was about to say was drowned out by the ensuing explosion. Shrapnel ripped through a handful of men in the center of the formation whose screams joined the chorus of battlecries and fought against the percussive symphony of steel on steel.

They spread out much further, then, and at just the right moment because that was just the beginning of an onslaught of grenades. They lobbed them back where they could and dodged them where they couldn’t to keep casualties to a minimum. Those wounded by the initial grenade were left behind. If they weren’t cleaned up by the Unmade the wounded would be tended to after the battle.

They were led by Zenitsu’s nose – not Schnozz, his left hand man, his actual nose – straight through the fray. As they drew closer to the towering roller coaster up ahead detachments of their battalion broke off or stayed behind to fend off the ghoulish beasts and disfigured humanoids that plagued their flanks. They all worked towards one goal: escorting the Lieutenant and his newfound fury right to the coaster, atop which resided the enemy Lieutenant.

As they drew close things became labyrinthian. Of the hundred and fifty who’d marched only one hundred had been fortunate enough to continue on while the rest splintered off to fight smaller squabbles amongst the theme park. Now that lucky one hundred had a decision to make.

Zenitsu and thirty of his best entered the vaulted entryway to the roller coaster. It was constructed to look like an enormous drainpipe from which a steady sheet of blood red water flowed in a sheet over their marching feet. The other seventy Coming Storm footman remained outside where they’d stand sentry and engage any Unmade they found.

Zen and company moved forward slowly, and their caution hung about them in a thick haze. It was hard to hear if any Hellspawn were approaching or not – the steady flow of water at their feet echoed about the cavernous queue, reverberating, and swallowed up any outside noise.

“Smells like death in here,” Bors grumbled, wrinkling his nose in disgust. “Not in the ‘we’ve killed the enemy’ way, either. In the ‘something’s been rotting in here’ way.”

Zenitsu’s honed sense of smell cut through it though. He stopped so suddenly that Bors almost bumped right into him, and Schnozz did bump right into Bors’ broad back. The column behind them followed suit and nearly dominoed themselves into a drainpipe plug.

They waited, wordless, while the Lieutenant’s blank eyes stared ahead. Then he surged forward in a flash, pressed his blade against its sheath, and drew it so quickly that the movement was hard to perceive. An ensuing schluck followed by a muffled splash proved that he’d found his mark. An open mouthed clown’s head flowed past the soldiers, staring vacantly upward.

“You can’t come through without WAITING IN LINE!” announced a shrill, cackling voice from further in the tunnel.

“Dear Lord,” murmured Schnozz after a sharp intake of breath. “A line? I am not waiting in a line!”

“FUCK WAITING IN LINE!” bellowed the steel voice of Bors, who stood a head and shoulders above the rest of the soldiers, and therefore carried better volume. “STORM THE COASTER!”

The huzzah echoed the chambers and bounced back twice as loud upon their ears. Zenitsu led the charge and the ectoplasmic glow of his thirty strong followed him. They fought hard, taking their lumps, and lost a couple along the way…

But they found the track. A series of carts bearing the likeness of a yellow eyed, orange haired clown waited for them there. They were silver, adorned with red pin stripes, and bore the mantra ‘Come and float!’ across their sides in jagged blood red lettering.

The Coming Storm opted out of the carts and instead mounted the wooden panels of the roller coast in force. They clambered over the guard rails and mounted a full-on charge up the sloped ramp of the first climb – always the steepest – atop which they spied the silhouetted form of Lieutenant Windstrom flanked by her honor guard.

Rank and file Lieutenant Zenitsu Agatsuma’s squad slowly climbed towards their foe, banners flapping, ready to strike down the Unmade Lieutenant or die trying.
 

Josuke Higashikata

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"1… 2… 3… BREACH!"

The marines howl as they push the battering ram with all their might against the main entrance metal gates. They finally made success; a loud metal scrapping and breaking noises sound off when the gates gave into the brutality of forcing it open. The multiple chains broke free that bind the gated entrance. They all let out a short victory, "OORAH!" completing their first objective to conquer the fort. The breaching team throws the battering ram to the side and charges forth into the darkened amusement park.

"BOOYAH!" Caboose cries out their battle cry incorrectly, being pushed through the main gates by the flooding Doom's Marines.

In the front, Commander Flynn leads his marines into the park while heavy metal booms off the speaker behind his back that drowns out the dreadful carnival music. Unmade clowns and other horrifying demonic carnival beasts meet the marines at the ticket booths that lead visitors into the amusement park.

"Welcome to the fun-filled unmaking amusement park! Get your tickets here to experience the most unmaking place here, on this island!" A worm-like grotesque clown unmade monster positions behind a ticket booth threateningly greeted the invading marines. Still, Doomguy's response is shooting a twelve-gauge to the face, obliterating the worm's half-melted clown makeup face.

"Oh great, how are we going to get our tickets now?" Caboose foolishly says after the ticket vendor monster dies, not thinking twice of the horrific and life-threatening situation they are strapped into now.

"I can get your tickets right here! Hahahahahaha!!!!!" Another clown monster in laughter pops out from another booth across where the spartan stands. An unnerving wide permanent grin spreads across the unmade clown-inspired monster's face, insanity filling its eyes. Without hesitation, it readies to throw axes at the not so bright Mark V spartan but halted by Hell Divers' commander by blowing the unmade creature to bloody pieces thanks to his deadly pump-action shotgun. He pumps the gun with an angry, rageful smile that appears through his helmet's visor. "There, I punched our tickets in! Let's go rip and tear these unmade freaks to shred. Hell Divers, Move out!"

Caboose cheerfully follows the marines into battle, entering the main street of the fort filled with fun carnival games, except they don't have the usual prizes you would expect. Only the bloody gore, decapitated heads, and miscellaneous severed human body parts hang freely from all the game booths that the unmade amusement park offers. Those "prizes" belonged to the murdered victims of the carnies that claimed their killings. The unmade viscous monster carnies that operate these games step out of their booths to the unwelcomed Hell Divers. They clashed against each other, marines shooting their guns or throwing grenades at the incoming carnies while the opposing force pounces some of their victims.

Whoever got caught by these monster carnies were dragged back to their games and butchered to be made into more gory mutilated prizes.

During the chaos, Caboose stayed close with Doomguy while they encountered multiple enemies. Shotgun blasts, and an MA37 assault rifle rattling goes off throughout the battle caused by the two space soldiers. Doomguy showed no mercy to the enemies that dare cross his path while Caboose wasn't hitting targets back-to-back. Sometimes he would hit a target, but most of the other times, he would miss.

Other marines helped the commander and private, covering their sixes as they attempt to progress throughout the fort. Gunfire went rapidly against the monstrous clowns, with their sizes ranging from small to tall or skinny to fat.

"There are so many unhappy clowns! I can't make everyone smile all at the same time!" the blue spartan yells out from the gunfire as he tries to aim and take fire.

"Keep pushing private! Don't let those fuckers get the best of you, marines! Rip and tear! Rip and tear!" Doomguy furiously yells out throughout the firefight as he brings out his Gatling gun and proceeds to spin the barrels rapidly, firing upon any unmade soul that dares come closer to them.

Off in the distance, Caboose's wondering eyes caught something that is shining and sparkling with colorful light. A merry-go-round ride catches his attention suddenly and begins to draw near it, similar to a fish in the abyss fooled by an angler fish's light bulb. He could not be helped by how his mind processed the fun-filled scene childishly.

"Oooooo, pretty," Caboose speaks underneath his helmet and starts frolicking through the battlefield between the Hell Divers and unmade forces. He gets attracted by the ride that is thirty feet away from him.

"Caboose? Caboose! No!" His commander yells out, warning the poor innocent spartan that approaches the carousel. The Doom Slayer chases Caboose quickly to catch him before the spartan enters the ride.

"But it looks so fun and shiny! I want to ride the ponies!" The Mark V power armored soldier yells back at his commander, helplessly approaches the ride.

Catching up to Caboose, he reaches his hand out to grab Caboose's shoulder in time before he steps on the ride. Unfortunately, the unsuspecting spartan steps within the carousel's circle where the riding horses built into the rotating contraption. Doomguy steps within the ride too, and suddenly, it whirls to life. A trap sets forth in motion as the carousel spins at a steady pace. The ride picks up speed quickly, making it hard to jump off the ride safely. Unmade clown demonic monsters start to appear out of the merry-go-round's hidden panels, approaching the two soldiers. The Doom Slayer whips his shotgun out and pumps it with furious madness for these unmaking assholes yet annoyed by Caboose's antics.

"Goddammit, Caboose!"

"Tucker did it."
 
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