[NB] The Vault

[Karl Jak]

Face to Face
Warning Shots!​

A messenger, clad in gold-trimmed field armor, handed off a tablet to a Miniskirt Armada soldier, who ran the ‘missive’ up to the top of the Vault.

Roy Mustang, still processing all that had happened, looked through the contents and handed it off to one of his retinue.

Thirty minutes later, a handful of mortar shells exploded in the jungles south of the Vault.

 

[Roy Mustang]

clak kthunk… clak kthunk… clak kthunk…

The uneven strides of Commander Roy Mustang continued to round the steps of the pyramid. His injured limb had been outfitted with a dull brass boot, incasing his foot and leg up to just above his knee. Steam hissed from the joints on occasion as the contraption worked to keep Mustang’s weight off of his shattered shin bones. The uneven rhythm of combat boot and metal casing created a bizarre cadence to his pacing. It was also damn heavy, and noticeably ponderous. There would be no running in this thing, he could barely walk with any speed.

He was better off than many of his men, and better off than many of them would be within the next few hours. They’d relocated to the far side of the temple for the time being, but this structure wasn’t meant to withstand that kind of assault over a long period of time. What had at first seemed a minor mistake now proved deadlier than he could have imagined. Mustang stared down at the clay tablet in his blood-stained glove.

He’d failed. He had been this close, and now everything was falling apart like the army itself was being unmade. All thanks to that golden bastard’s inflated ego. He gripped the tablet tighter, brow furrowed as he rounded the structure for the umpteenth time that day. He almost threw the lump of claw off the edge, but this wasn’t the time for a childish fit of rage. He had hundreds of men still counting on him. He had to keep his head on straight. With a renewed decisiveness, Mustang began his long painful walk down the steps of the temple.

He eventually gathered the remaining officers on hand to his tent. The sun had disappeared behind darker clouds, and a steady rain was doing its part to cleanse the earth of the carnage they had wrought here in the past hours. They came in slowly, weary from the last few days, but too aware of the vitality of the next few hours to slow down. Somehow, Wraith was managing to stand. One arm was slung over Mirage’s shoulder, the other keeping her weight on a crutch. She seemed more… at ease than Mustang had seen over the last several days. Most likely the poor woman was so heavily medicated she could barely keep something in focus. Lieutenant Violet and the young mage Izaneus were also in attendance, but no one had felt a particular urge to include Deadpool’s insights into the discussion.

“The situation has soured.” Mustang stated plainly. He was seated in a chair, arms crossed in front of him, face a stone mask save for a furrowed brow.

“Gilgamesh has a significant force camped within bombardment range of our position. We cannot stay here without being mortared into a paste, and we cannot abandon our post without also surrendering the last foothold the Armada has gained.”

“So we take the fight to him!” Mirage shrugged. Somehow this idiot seemed to have fared the best of all of them in the chaos of the past few days. Maybe he knew more than he let on. Mustang shook his head.

“No. I’m going to surrender the command.”

The statement was met with a moment of silence. It was Wraith that responded first, hobbling forward with an obvious fury.

“You’ll do what? You’d give in to that fool?” She was visibly shaking, though whether it was with rage or exhaustion was difficult to tell.

“Renee, slow down!” Mirage pulled her over to a seat with a concerned look, “You keep that up and you’ll burst those stiches fresh open!”

“I don’t…” Wraith started to retort but found her breathing too difficult to continue shouting. She sunk into the chair with a look of sullen rage.

“This is a wack move, bossman, I’m not going to lie to you.” Mirage shook his head with an uncharacteristic frown.

“Commander, surely this isn’t the right decision?” The wizard spoke up, concerned, “That man’s arrogance seems limitless as it stands! Why would-”

“Because it lets us move forward!” Mustang cut in forcefully, his own voice taunt, “That bastard has the upper hand on all of us here. If we fight each other now we’ll just whittle ourselves down until the Unmaking deigns to come finish us off! These are my orders, as commander of the Armada! Do you understand?”

---

It was still raining some time later as Mustang watched the diminishing backs of the departing troops. Wraith and Mirage understood alright. Mustang had made things quite clear in the tent, and had only evaded his own punch to the face by the poor state Wraith found herself in. In the end a hundred of his men were leaving with the pair of legends. Seven hundred men remained with him here at the temple. They were his responsibility to defend right now. The messenger would reach Gilgamesh's position before the day was out.

From a severe distance, a man he was relatively certain was Mirage turned and raised one hand. In the rain it could just as easily been a farewell wave as a rude gesture. There goes the strongest piece left on my board. Mustang thought. The idiot.

“At the risk of sounding repetitive,” The newly promoted Lieutenant Izaneus spook from beside him, “Are you certain this is the right move, Commander?”

“It’s the only one that keeps us on the right track. I was quite serious about that little speech I gave up there. The Unmaking was and still remains a bigger threat than any of our squabbles. If we cannot see that, we’re assuredly lost.” He rubbed his hands together then shook rain from off his slicked fingers.

“Come Lieutenant, let’s make sure the men have sufficient shelter. This storm is likely to get worse before it gets better.”

Wraith, Mirage, the remaining helldiver troops, and 100 soldiers from the firewall have left this force.

 

[Karl Jak]

The former garrison of Uxmal, led by someone who simply wanted to be a 'non-name' noncom, found themselves at the scene of a batle of startling proportions.

Corpses were everywhere and checked off the laundry list of everything from white man to four-legged jaguar bird person.

"Any sign of the Commander up there?" The noncom screamed to the crew near the flat top of the pyramid.

"No, but this door's open."

"Did you check inside?"

"Fuck. No. It gives me the willies being this close, I ain't going inside."

"Well where the hell is this guy? Is he actually dead?" The noncol sighed as he sat down next to a disemboweled lizard-donkey. "Well at least it could be worse," he muttered.

 

[Karl Jak]

They were marching.

“Isn’t it a lovely day, Roy?” Gilgamesh inquired as he marched a few paces in front of the hobbled soldier. Roy just gave a nod, rather than open his mouth and find himself in a situation where he had to throw a platitude at the gilded commander.

Understanding the intention behind the nonverbal response, Gilgamesh merely grinned a little wider. “Ah, well this is fun,” he muttered as they emerged from the jungle path and found themselves staring at a group of men.

“Commander Mustang?” One of the soldiers muttered as he stepped away from a corpse and jogged toward the collection.

The front column of Babylonian warriors stepped forward, blades out, to prevent the advance of the Miniskirt Armada soldiers.

One of the confused, blue-tinted soldiers soldiers furrowed his brow. “S-Steve? Steve from Erde? That you? What’s with the new get-up?”

Before the gilded trooper could respond, Gilgamesh turned to Roy. “Educate these soldiers about the new normal,” the king replied as he started toward the foundation of the Vault.

“Where are you going?” Roy asked before the commander was out of earshot.

Gilgamesh turned, and the man was so amused that he overlooked the lack of formality. “From what I heard, the last commander who held this place surrendered and abandoned it. A new owner is required.” A stupid, toothy grin spread across the monarch’s visage. “And I think I have the right person in mind for the job.”

 

[Karl Jak]

The doors behind Gilgamesh slammed shut, followed by the audible *click* of a lock. The torches in the room lit in unison, providing dim light to the cold room. A cold breeze had managed to pierce the room, flickering the sconces to and fro. The King didn’t know what to expect as he delved further into the stone chamber.

Chh chh chh … ahh ahh ahh..

The Gilded Monarch spun around quickly, his eyes scanning the room. He recognized that sound and its sinister connotation, but its exact meaning escaped him for just a moment. Behind him, a pair of red eyes emerged from the dark recesses of the room.

Gilgamesh, you have 24 hours to respond to this prompt.

You are fighting Über Jason.

 

[Karl Jak]

In the name of transparency and not taking credit for stuff that's not mine: The first two thirds of this post were ghost-written.

Gilgamesh, not seeing anything, turned around straight into the palm of the killing machine, Über Jason. The cyborg grasped the neck of the King and lifted him into the air, squeezing on Gil’s windpipe. The Golden King choked, gasping for air and slamming his armored hand against the psycho’s arm. A portal shimmered to life next to his head, to which Gilgamesh grabbed a sword, and slashed it at Jason’s limb. The ornate blade didn’t seem to scratch the monster.

Jason gave another tight squeeze before he flung Gilgamesh across the room. Gil spiraled across the room, like a ragdoll, until he crashed into a stone pillar. Upon impact, the King felt his armor dent, and a few of his ribs give and crack under the immense force. He gasped for air as he scowled at the cybernetic freak.

“I see that Karl couldn’t ignore his favorite pet,” he finally managed to choke out. “So be it,” Gil stretched out his arm, bringing a dozen portals to life. “Die quickly, cur. I have important plans,” he seethed, his portals shooting various weaponry at his foe.

Jason strode forward, the weaponry harmlessly deflecting off of his armor. The Gilded Monarch frowned, opening more and more portals as the monster continued forward. Jason brought his hand down to his side, bringing up his iconic machete with a resounding shwing .

Beads of sweat trickled down Gilgamesh’s face as the finest weaponry in his arsenal was not enough to slow down the cybernetic killer. He sneered at the hideous abomination before pulling out a shield from his treasury. The monster’s footsteps grew closer, and Gil rushed to strap the shield around his forearm. He managed to sling it on just in time and raised it at the same time Jason raised his weapon.

The machete cleanly pierced through his shield, and his arm, stopping a few inches from his face. The Golden King screamed in pain, dissipating the shield as Jason kicked him in the chest, freeing his weapon from Gilgamesh’s arm.

“You filthy rat,” Gil screamed, desperately crawling away with his good hand. “I’ll make sure you’ll suffer for spilling royal blood,” he cried out. Jason replied with his steady, heavy breaths. The cyborg raised his hand for the final strike.

Gilgamesh rushed to wave his hand, portals opening around him, chains bursting out. Each tendril of Enkidu began to wrap itself around Jason’s limbs one by one. The cybernetic hulk, distracted, tore off the chains as if they were made from plastic. He made a heavy grunt before he looked around, searching for his prey.

From behind, Gilgamesh embedded an ax into the monster’s shoulder. The Golden King smirked for a moment, feeling the satisfaction of driving a wound. It was only a moment later when his stomach sank, realizing that the weapon was stuck. He quickly retrieved another weapon and slid it into the monster’s back.

Jason, unfazed, smacked the butt of his weapon into Gilgamesh’s face forcing the King to stumble back onto his ass.

“I’ve never feared you,” the gilded monarch hissed as he shoved off the ground and twisted to avoid a swing of the machete. The blade still caught him down the forearm, but Gilgamesh was unrelenting as he rushed at the cyborg and slammed into him. Against any normal man (or even a normal monster), the attack would have been devastating, but the metallic titan merely stumbled back a step before tilting his head at the sweating and seething Gilgamesh.

“Bow!”

Harpoon-laden chains screamed from fresh portals, but there was only one or two that found purchase against the glimmering titan. Undeterred, Gilgamesh drew a poleaxe from the portal vault, stepped forward, and swung the heavy axeblade deep down into the monster’s chest.

Despite the spark of electricity and the spattering of blood and unknown, ichorous fluids from the wounds, the augmented Jason snapped the handle of the poleax and then casually wrenched the business end of the weapon from his chest.

“I will kill you!” Gilgamesh, dual broadswords in hand, lunged forward to deal the final blow.

Unfortunately, Jason was still armed, and his machete made it through the heavy golden armor and sank into the monarch’s abdomen.

Biting his lower lip to the point of it spurting blood, Gilgamesh inverted his swords and drove them down into Jason’s chest before the silent goliath could disembowel him. At last, the monster’s strength seemed to wane, as it released its grip on the machete and stumbled backwards.

“Die, cur!” he shouted, opening various portals behind him. However, when he looked up, Jason was gone, with two bloody weapons on the floor. “Tch. Filthy mongrel,” he mumbled to himself.

The room began to churn, the doors to the outside world opening again. Gilgamesh brought himself up, cradled his arm, and walked to the center of the room. “Let’s hope this was worth the trouble.”

Gilgamesh has suffered a laceration into his abdomen (Minor Injury) and a second slash down his left arm (Minor Injury)

Über Jason has seemingly been defeated … again (??)

Babylonia claim the Vault, and “The King’s Men” will gain a ‘Boon’ with an unknown (to people who aren’t Gilgamesh, who will decide) effect.

The Vault will close behind Gilgamesh and remain closed until the square has a new owner.

Babylonia will suffer no Morale degradation so long as they hold the Vault.

 

[Karl Jak]

Gilgamesh, emerging from the Vault, smiled at Roy Mustang as he shattered the glass object on the ground and felt the whoosh of whatever Syntech tomfoolery went into the artifact.

"Come now, Lieutenant Colonel Mustang." Gilgamesh replied. "I'd like to try and kill this clown before I become the victim of some woe-begotten heroes' orgy of vengeance."

"The King's Men" have gained 'Boon of the Fearsome'

 

[Karl Jak]

Siege Battle!
​

"This is a suicide march!" An irate Beatrix III growled as they neared the prize of the jungle. Azula was within earshot but the Commander was too busy assembling the force into a tighter position to press the structure.

While the guns to the northeast had fallen silent in the last hour or so, that did little to soothe the frayed nerves of the Armada.

The symphony of shelling drew to a close as a figure appeared near the top of the Vault to address the crowd.

"Hello!" The mouse shouted. "I recommend that you all turn around and march north, because even if you break little ole me, those big guns are gonna resume blasting you all the pieces."

***

Battle Statistics

Miniskirt Armada: 830 Soldiers
Babylonia: 500 Soldiers, Vault Advantage

Note: There will be 3 days for all PCs involved in this fight to post in that time frame. Fighting will start at the base of the Vault and have to progress -- in a terrifying slog -- up to the plateau. None of the big defensive guns are firing anymore, given the risk of friendly fire.

The Babylonian forces are entrenched but will wait until it becomes clear the blue army wants to 'press the issue.'​

"The House of Mouse"
General -> Boss Mouse
Lieutenant -> Smelly Marine
500 Combat Soldiers

vs

"Burning Legion"
General -> Azula
Lieutenant -> Nico Cinder, Stheno (?)
Soldiers -> Gamzee Makara, Strazio Rockwell
265 Combat Soldiers

"Civil Unrest"
Lieutenant -> Beatrix III, Mirage, Wraith
100 Combat Soldiers

"The Terminators"
Lieutenants -> John Connor, Ki
255 Combat Soldiers

"This Sick (Pepsi) Beat"
Lieutenants -> Sgt. Swift, Pepsiman
210 Combat Soldiers

 

[Elise]

"Azula! That's enough. Everyone stand down!"

They say that blue fire burns hotter than red. But today, as Azula stood ready for battle with her hands ignited, her azure flames looked cold as ice. So were her features, blackened by malice, as she turned around to face what was possibly her greatest mistake yet.

"Elise. Your leash got too long...let me guess. Gilgamesh holds it now, hm?" she said softly.

"I work for myself. Just like you." the vampire retorted, stepping from the shadow of a mangrove. She held up a golden lion badge with a ruby eye for Boss Mouse to see, before throwing it on the ground at his feet.

"You too, shorty. Stand down. King says." Elise continued. She swept around back towards the troops and waves a hand signal for them to move back to encampment. As she moved past Azula, she flashed her red eyes at the Princess.

"We need to talk."

 

[Azula]

This was the worst case scenario.

She’d failed — that was all there was to it. As she stood before her hundreds of soldiers, a ridiculous looking mouse backing them into the corner, she reckoned with the idea that somewhere in the transition between her world and this one, maybe she’d lost her shimmer. She had taken Ba Sing Se with only two people by her side… if only Mai and Ty Lee could see her now, floundering. Who was she if not the conqueror supreme?

Of course, they’d probably be happy to watch her stumble and fall. She’d always been short on friends, and then, finally, they’d betrayed her too. She wouldn’t say she wasn’t expecting it, but it hurt just the same — they’d been her only companions, the only people that understood her beneath the fire and smoke, and they’d left her behind like she was nothing. She thought back to what Mai had said to her, and what she had sneered back.

“You should have feared me more.”

She gazed at her hundreds of soldiers, trembling with fear. They were pathetic. Just days ago, they’d been in Fortress Briggs, content to march into oblivion just for this last ditch opportunity, but when the time came… none of them actually wanted to face the goliath of Gilgamesh. She couldn’t blame them — his force was formidable, and his guns were powerful. They’d taken many lives in the past few days, and she wouldn’t knock any soldier who looked at his fallen comrade, shredded by mortars, and feared that he’d be next. It was only rational.

Azula wasn’t rational.

Fear wasn’t something that coursed through her bloodstream. She looked up at Gilgamesh’s force and the guns he’d trained on them and she saw a challenge, an obstacle to be overcome. But she knew she couldn’t overcome it without her fellows. And if they weren’t willing to follow her, full force, into battle — she knew they would fall.

She couldn’t play that game. It wasn’t her.

“We need to talk.”

Elise stared at her intensely, and Azula met the other woman’s eyes. Talk? What was there to talk about?

Azula felt her fingers twitch. She could do it, right now. She could reach out, wrap her fingers around the vampire bitch’s throat, and burn her alive.

…but what good would that do?

“Then talk,” the fire princess muttered, stepping back and crossing her arms. “I’m listening.”

“Gilgamesh has the most powerful army on the island right now,” the vampire said. Azula scoffed, but Elise pressed on: “Facts are facts, girl.”

“That pretender—” Azula started.

“The only one pretending right now,” Elise interrupted, “is you. There’s no way you win this. There’s no way even half of these people get out of this alive. Do you get it, Princess?”

Azula’s eyes rolled so far they almost rolled out of her head. She stalked away from the young woman, looking simultaneously petulant and vicious, before spinning around, blue flames dancing around her fist as she leveled it at Elise.

“So is that how this is gonna go, lady?!” Boss Mouse chirped from the temple stairs. Azula growled, glancing up at the anthropomorphic rodent and then back at Elise.

“Put that shit down, Azula,” Elise shouted.

“Make me,” the teenage tyrant screeched.

“Shut the fuck up,” the vampire howled. “Don’t be a fucking idiot. Either you die here, a loser, or you swallow your fucking pride and live, a glorious warrior who cleansed the island of these foul fucking monsters. Which is it gonna be?”

Azula scowled. Monsters, hm?

They’ve no idea what a monster looks like.

Azula knew, because she’d been one her whole life. It was her full time fucking job, according to everyone around her. According to her friends. She looked around at the company of insects that surrounded her on all sides. On one side, she saw her soldiers, scared of Gilgamesh and whispering mockery about her under their breath. Wondering if she still had what it took to lead an army to victory. On the other, she saw the Babylonians, who saw her as a weakling. Target practice, and nothing more. None of them… feared her.

Their mistake.

“Have it your way,” the princess smirked, with venom. “Bow to the pretender.”

“Thank you,” Elise exhaled, “we will find glory, Azula, I promise—”

“We will do nothing,” Azula shook her head. “I’m leaving.”

“What?” Elise quirked an eyebrow.

“I’m leaving,” she repeated, then turned to Boss Mouse and held up her hands. “Alone. Tell this rodent to get his guns off my back so I can go waste away in peace. I may not win this idiotic game, but I won’t be a part of this.”

And with that, she turned to march, alone, back into the wilderness.

Azula is leaving. She would like to leave alone, and has made a play to ask Elise and Boss Mouse not to fire on her as she leaves. Either way, she will try her damndest to depart the temple back into the wild, and will reject the company of anyone who wants to join except for Stheno.

 

[Jak]

There was a flame lit like a gas stove under everyone and then just like that, the flame died out. John had already suffered one heartbreaking loss, what’s another? Just like that, John stopped in his tracks. His men stared in confusion as they were all being sent back.

And just like that, Azula turned away hissing at everyone left. And back to square one.

The ex-general of a failed squad eyed his ex-commander and frowned, mostly shaking his head. He knew the pain leadership bared upon all: Sometimes it was lonely at the top.

He'd watched people leave, and fall in front of his eyes and now this...

"You aren't a failure, Azula."

 

[Elise]

"Azula! Dammit, c'mon girl!" Elise shouted as Azula stormed out of the encampment. The vampire did her best to keep up with the fiery conqueror, but the bender was even more light on her feet than a creature of the night.

"Azula! Mustang handed you a no win scenario! We just have to- fuck!" Elise cursed as a blast of blue fire rocketed in her direction. She sprang back over her hands as the raging blast scorched the tails of her trenchcoat. Was this girl about to throw down?

But no, it had simply been the fire queen's afterburners kicking in, as she blazed off over a deep gulch and out of site like a streaking, lapis comet. Elise pulled herself back to her feet with a weary groan, and stood silent in the smoldering clearing.

War really was hell. The undead prodigy uttered a disgusted sigh and picked her way back to the awaiting remnants of the Miniskirt Armada. Various lieutenants were popping off and trying to figure out what to do. Good for them.

Elise grabbed a radio kit and set it on blast. Her distorted, overblown words sent a flock of jungle birds flying...but at least it got most of the remaining bodies to look at her.

"Some of y'all may want to defect to Gilgamesh. That's fine, he's happy to have you. Some of y'all wanna keep trying to win something on your own. I ain't gonna stop ya. That's yo' business, not mine." Elise drawled. She paused for a moment, and tried to think how best to formulate her next words.

Actually y'know what, fuck it.

"Me and my boys...Nico, Gamzee, Strazio, what up? I see you. We gonna make sure Gilgermash keeps his deal and go try to stop this game as fast as possible. If you feel like helping, meet us at Fort Briggs in a few days."

A hue and cry went up around the clearing, mostly of confusion and anger. Was Elise defecting or wasn't she? Were they still the Miniskirt Armada? What deal was she talking about?

"Ay ay ay! Pipe down. Syntech fucked up this year, y'all. It's one thing to send a bunch of lunatics to kill eachother on an island but...I seen mothers and children suffer and die this year, y'all. I can't..." Elise sighed and clasped at the hem of her coat.

"...I can't let this go on. We just gotta find a winner to this game as soon as possible. I intend to make it happen. Fight or don't. But if you wanna save lives, that's my game now." Elise finished.

With that, she dropped the mic on the radio kit and hopped down from her soapbox to go find the boys...

 

[Karl Jak]

Face to Face
The End?​

Azula, with people still trying to call to her, got nearly to the edge of the forest when a few trees in front of her were torn to pieces by artillery fire. The woman spun, her eyes aflame as the mouse fired a beam from his keyblade that shredded through her shoulder, spinning the adolescent and causing her to collapse into a heap.

That high-pitched voice managed to carry, even at the great distance. “Running away is not part of the terms!”

Undeterred, Azula kicked off the ground and was into the thick of the rainforest.

Of the soldiers that remained, some opted to try their luck and follow their Commander, and like their peers, they too were gunned down.

A few minutes later, a force of Babylonian soldiers arrived to escort the surrendering Armada soldiers back to where they would be incarcerated.

Babylonia wins the battle by virtue of the Miniskirt Armada force surrendering.

John Connor will assume leadership/responsibility for the surrendered soldiers.

Azula suffers a Major Injury (beam through the shoulder)
Azula escapes.

Stheno uses one application of focus.
Stheno suffers a Minor Injury (shot -- a graze)
Stheno escapes to go after Azula.

About 150 of Azula's most loyal, Burning Legion soldiers, tried to escape to follow her, rather than lay down arms. They were shot/treated as enemy combatants. It is unknown how many survived into the forest.

Unless I receive PMs to the contrary, I assume that Mirage, Wraith, and Ki (along with NPC officers and the soldiers here) will lay down weapons and surrender/be taken into custody by the Babylonian forces. These officers will be cuffed and taken to cells.

Elise, Nico, Strazio, and Gamzee Makara can travel freely and without bindings or harassments, as per Elise’s agreement with Gilgamesh.

 

[Karl Jak]

Face to Face
"The Gauntlet"
PC Entrants: Ki, Ridley, Mirage, Iron Wraith, Musashi, Azula, Roy Mustang, Nico Cinder, Pennywise, Stheno, Altanis, Izaneus Phortea, Strazio Rockwell, Elise
NPC Entrants: Beatrix III, The Rock, Karl UnJak, Baseball Girl, Sgt. Swift, Gamzee Makara, Violet Uzumaki, Steel Wolfe​

All over the island, their collars flickered. Swirls of white and blue particles hummed in the air around them before each was blinked from their former location and deposited at the summit of the Vault. For many, they had seen the place before, but for others, this was their first time at the pyramid. They were immediately awash with the stench of death and rot that had seeped into the sandstone, and as the man who sat atop the peak of the Vault will tell you, it is very hard to get blood out of that stuff.

“Hello,” Gilgamesh spoke from the top of the Vault’s pinnacle structure. Below the man, the gates were open. “Please … enter. You have little other choice.” A stray burst of flame lashed out toward the king but fizzled out six feet from him. “Save that for the Vault.” He laughed as an invisible force gently bumped into the back of the crowd, which filtered down the stairs and through the double doors.

Inside the Vault chamber, the varied crew of soldiers and officers found themselves in a room now illuminated by pillar-encased lights. A number of unmade were already in the room, but out of the surviving members of that army, none of them were the type of start blasting.

“Lovely seeing all of you here,” Karl UnJak muttered as he dabbed at his barely clotted blood. “They didn’t even want to splurge for the beans. How rude of not-me.”

“What are we doing here?” Someone asked as the lights all blinked off.

Chh chh chh … ahh ahh ahh …

After a few more minutes of hushed whispering, the chamber’s light pillars clicked back on to reveal a hulking cyborg standing near the center of the room.

“Oh, him? Against us? That’s not awful,” Karl UnJak chuckled.

And then two and a half dozen more Jasons stepped out from the shadows around the room.

“Ahh,” the producer muttered. “Yes, this is me. For sure.”

***

Logistics!​

Everyone involved will have FOUR days to post a roleplay between 800 (the absolute minimum) and 1500 (the absolute maximum) words.

The PC and NPC characters will find themselves pitted against an army of Uber Jasons (about 30 of them), although we’ll operate with ‘ninja logic’ and assume that since there’s like three dozen of them, they’re all individually less better than one (humor me). Feel free to kill one in your RP, but it shouldn’t be easy, especially since many of you are mangled to hell and back.

To win the Gauntlet, you must be the sole survivor. You can fight solely the Uber Jason(s), which is the PvE element I discussed, you can fight the unmade NPCs, or you can fight each other (PvP). Your choice to fight the monsters or each other won’t affect my judgment in the slightest, and I’ll respect anyone’s ‘I wouldn’t kill this person’ lists.

The ‘Vault area’ is large enough that people can have their own tussles in one corner while nonsense unfolds elsewhere, so it’s also okay if your post is a more personalized affair, despite the dog pile nature of this challenge. If you plan to write with someone, you should obviously reach out to them and follow all normal ‘writer’s etiquette.’

After the four days have passed, I’ll kill off 6 of you. You’ll then have to repeat the process, and I’ll kill off 4 people. Then one last cycle, and we’ll have our ‘Sole Survivor’ who will win the Relic prize. I’ll kill the NPC entrants in a similar manner, but as they’re all NPC officers, they have no effect on final standings, much like I didn’t include them in the Power Rankings.

PCs who die and area playing ‘their account character’ receive a free revival from Syntech and then transit back to their World of choice.

 

[Elise]

“Strazio.” Elise said immediately. She gripped the albino magus by his bony shoulders, and yanked him around to look directly at her. All around them, the Vault echoed with dozens of explosive reports, shouts and screams of intermixed frenzy.

“Look at me. Strazio. You can use that ghost inside of you to your advantage. I’ve seen you do it before.” Elise shouted. A blast of fire roared over their heads, causing both fighters to duck down to the ground.

“Don’t need a FUCKING ghost to fight for me!” Strazio roared, trying to break free from Elise’s iron grip. It was no use - she was freshly fed and had the strength of several humans.

“I don’t know how you used to work, Straz! I don’t know who you were or what you did. But I know what you are now!” Elise roared back. She noted that this was, perhaps, not the best strategy to get the magus to calm down...but the situation had escalated more quickly than she had expected. Karl Jak really knew how to formulate a finale.

Elise glanced up to see a pulsating, wall of sodden flesh. A pitiless hockey mask stared down at them. In the Jason’s hand there hung a wicked machete, already slick with blood.

“Tao Ruhs!” she screamed, falling back on her ass. The glittering fractal shield exploded into the space between them and the towering freak. Jason Twenty-Two was pushed back with a soft grunt before being hit with a screaming, flying tackle from an enraged, red centaur. Strazio was looking at her expectantly. She had his attention, at least.

“Just...breathe with me. I’ve got you.” Elise said, taking his hand and holding it tightly. Strazio shook his head with lingering reluctance, closed his eyes, and tried to calm down. Sounds raged around him. He could hear Elise incanting spells...he could hear honking...the screech of an electric guitar.

But in the midst of the utter, frothing chaos, he found a strange tranquility. When times were, calm, still and peaceful he could hardly sit still. But when Strazio Rockwell was in the middle of a pitched death battle, he found focus. He was in his element, and the battle cries rolled across his mind like so much birdsong.

Elise watched Strazio’s eyes snap open, gleaming with acidic green power. As the magus rose from the floor, he craned his head to look at the awestruck vampire, and a strange smile crossed his face. Words suggested themselves in her mind.

Look at you. All grown up.

Elise’s mouth gaped for a moment, and non existent tears pulsed against the edges of her smoldering eyes.

“Dad…?” she said again. Her reverie was cut short as a stray machete came chopping through the air and embedded itself into her chest. Elise staggered for a moment, and an ugly cry of pain trickled out through her bared teeth. Nope. Not now.

The collar around her neck blinked rapidly as she disengaged the limiter on the device.

“Y’all fucked up, doing this inside!” she shouted into the din of battle. She wrenched the blade free and let it clatter to the ground like the garbage it was. The vampire vehemently mouthed another spell, and a crackling red javelin spooled itself together over her head.

Precision. Not force.

Never quite strong enough, but fucking flawless.

A hulking Jason was tussling with that wizard boy, Izzy something. The meaty giant raised a clubbing fist high into their air. Elise pointed it at Jason Seven’s forearm, and the Arcane Lance slammed into it in a red flash, momentarily nailing the beast to a temple pillar.

It was enough to give Izaneus a moment to blast a flurry of gleaming missiles into the Jason’s shoulder, severing the swollen appendage at the armpit. Her momentary smugness was cut short as a pair of damp, bulging arms hefted her from behind and began to squeeze. Another Jason had broken out of mortal combat with the skittering Pennywise and some half-naked sword bitch to single her out.

A hoarse grunt was smashed out of her as she struggled against the crushing grip. Even her vampiric strength couldn’t stand against the swamp-fiends rancorous bearhug.

“HONK.”

Elise wasn’t exactly sure what happened, but Jason Nine crumpled like a reeking mountain and hit the ground hard. His grip loosened just long enough for Elise to wriggle free and kick off of his chest in an elegant pirouette. Gamzee faded into the thronging melee without so much as a glance at her, but she whispered a small thanks anyway.

As for this fucker on the ground…

“Let’s see what makes swamp-fuck tick…” Elise grinned wickedly. Jason Nine rolled over slowly, just as Stheno emptied an entire magazine into his back. What a thoughtful distraction.

Elise hummed a nervous tune as she pulled a piece of charcoal out of her scuffed, scratched messenger bag and began drawing on the ground. Faster...faster…

“Oof!”

She stumbled on the ground, gripping onto the charcoal for dear life. Some giant, shaved-head wrestler was locked arm-in-arm with Jason Ten, and the two were circling around heedless of any other combatants.

Elise lamented as they trundled over her half-done Ephemeris circle. She was tempted to give up...but no. No this was going to be the x-factor for this whole thing. The wizard dove back towards her magic circle. It was a harrying half-minute as she fixed up, repaired and finished the arcane scrawlings designed to capture the photo of a being’s essence.

But the undead are nothing if not persistent.

Predictably, the instant the Emphemeris curse was primed, she felt a looming presence behind her.

Chh...chh...chh…

Ahh...Ahh...Ahh…

“Now, Straz!” Elise shouted. She knew the Awakened Magus could hear her thoughts from a mile away. The green-eyed maestro glanced at the giant murdered and willed him to faceplant directly into the magic circle with a titanic crash, just as Elise rolled out of the way. Jason Five was enveloped for a moment by a brilliant whirl of ghostly, violet fire, and Elise reeled as her senses where overwhelmed by the blueprint of the swarming foes.

“Oh shit.”

Elise recoiled reflexively from the giant as Jason Five hoisted himself to his feet. He craned his neck quizzically and advanced towards her with one thundering step before being engulfed in a scintillating blast of blue and orange fire. The vampire caught her breath and turned around to see Strazio hovering a few feet away. He glanced at her with a serene smile as she felt the probing, cold tendrils of the psychic ghost tugging at her.

His eyes suddenly returned to their bloodshot, hateful state as Karl UnJak sprawled onto the floor between them. Jason Nineteen thundered towards him, machete raised. A quick incantation and gesture raised a gleaming ward spell, walling off the assailant’s attack for a moment.

The distorted, yet handsome visage of the unmade Host grinned up at her.

“Thanks for the save, sugarfangs. Y-” he was cut off as Strazio and Elise immediately jumped him with a flurry of hateful, spite-fueled stomps and jabs.

“Not the face! Ow! What the hell?!” he spluttered in between heavy handed blows from the duo.

“Finally found yo ass!”

“Eat shit, clown!”

“Teach you to try and stab an imprisoned magus!”

“I fuckin’ warned y’all!”

An abrupt backhand from Jason Fifteen sent Elise flying over the bloodsoaked moshpit with a hoarse grunt. She landed with a nasty crack against one of the towering, torchlit pillars and blinked for a moment.

Worth it.

Elise will use one application of Focus to override her collar and activate her Healing ability

 

[Miyamoto Musashi]

A lone swordsman stood in the darkness of the temple. The responsibility weighed heavy upon her shoulders, together with the pearl white katana that hung slanted across her back. The sword had not yet found its mark.

While the Helldivers had destroyed the unmade armies and slain through thousands of their ranks, it wasn’t enough.

It could never be enough.

Because that pearl white blade hungered for the blood of just one. Her seething vengeance only thirsted for one life. And so as their former catch phrase went, she would rip and tear. Until it was done. And it wouldn’t be done, until she had that accursed dragon’s head, or he hers.

The lights flickered into life and a variety of hockey-masked hulks wielding anything from matchetes to pitchforks and baseball bats crawled out of the woodworks. Each promising a more painful death than the rest.

But truthfully?

Living was always the more painful option. After all, the survivors had to deal with the consequences. Once you were dead, it was all over.

And so, imagine one Miyamoto Musashi’s delight - or descent to an all-encompassing madness for revenge - as the lights returned. And there, in the distance, hulked one figure over all in the room. One incredibly battered dragon, just as battered as she had last seen it.

“You’re okay. I’ve go-” CRUNCH.

The remaining half of Zenitsu fell to his knees once more before the swordsman’s eyes as her knuckles whitened and her blades drew. The hockey-jocks could all go to hell for all she cared.

For Shinmen Musashi-no-Kami Fujiwara no Harunobu there remained but a single enemy.

“RIIIIIIDLEYYYYY!”

Pain and anguish released in rage as her howl echoed over the chaos of the ensued battle.

Chh chhh ch-

The teleportation of a Jason was much too slow as the rage-consumed ronin rushed forth without a care. Flashes of pink flickering in the dark as she ducked, slid and weaved past any and all in her way, bypassing both those dominating the battle, and those in need.

To hell with them, and to hell with her own life if need be.

The dragon’s eyes squinted as someone called for its name. Metal screeched as agony flared and the old wounds tore open, spewing blood across the stone floor, mixing into the oil that dribbled from the damaged machinery. But despite it, the space pirate turned to face the one who had dared.

The flashes of approaching pink drew closer by the second as realization dawned upon him. It was her. And with that realization, the pirate's anger flared. He had consumed a precious life in front of her. How dare she not be afraid of him?! How dare she challenge him with such visibly seething hatred still?

Metal groaned as the true threat of the unmade opened his jaws, gracing the approaching human with precious few words, “Ah. Did you come to join yo-”.

The dragon’s words non-existent, the silent swordsman took the direct, frontal approach. With eyes on the sides of its head, the dragon’s vision would be the worst there. A flash of pink as Shinmen Musashi’s blades drew and tore into the still talking dragon’s chestplate without mercy nor honour.

Claws hunted for her, joined by that spear-tip tail seeking to claim her life as the pinkette narrowly avoided death. Twirling to the side, momentum followed her blades as Musashi crashed upon the black-armored tail swords first.

Metal screeched as the dragon staggered backward, his super-heated blood still sizzling upon the ronin’s swords before finally cooling.

For a moment, they stood there. Staring. Glaring.

One fueled by the anguish of being robbed of something priceless by a pirate.

And the other by the growing rage that he was being forced to take this puny human seriously. That this puny human’s stature looked so much like a certain bounty hunter’s. Leaving her alive was not a mistake Ridley would commit a second time.

Chh chh chh…

Ahh ahh ahh…

Silent stalemate broken as a cleaver sought for the swordsman’s shoulder, tumbling forward as she narrowly avoided the hulking jock’s strike. Out of the frying pan and into the fire, the swordsman stared down a hungry dragon’s throat as her blades shot forth and clashed with those razor sharp teeth, preventing herself from being snapped in half like her late Lieutenant.

Like a long-necked bird, the damn thing had lowered its head in readiness to her avoidance of the cleaver behind, hoping to end their conflict then and there. Clever bastard.

With a dragon in front and a Jason following close behind, the swordsman dashed beside the dragon’s head, sword dragging against steel as she tried to steal the monster’s eye. A tactic only narrowly avoided by a shift of its neck as that head once more escaped beyond her reach.
With a swordsman approaching his rear, the dragon’s tail screeched forward as the swordsman dropped into a slide, the spike passing harmlessly above and striking into and through the chest of one unlucky Hockey-jock.

But of course, as the demon began to drag and pull on that tail, it simply opened the gates to a world of opportunities for the hellbent ronin, as she returned to the offence.

Swords twirling from side to side as she mercilessly struck anything in reach, her blades sought to tear upon steel and flesh alike, screeching whenever they clashed with armor. All the while her brow furrowed as that neck remained beyond her reach.

Ridley on the other hand, pulled his tail closer, claws reaching out to the Jason as he grasped the man by his shoulders and tore his tail into freedom. As the hunk was thrown aside into the darkness, the both of them knew it’d be back sooner rather than later.

Yet the both of them had bigger fish to fry.

Unexpectedly, that spear-like tail slammed down from the skies, sending the swordsman tumbling to the side before it already followed, shockingly swift in its movements. With barely time to bring her blades to a guard, the tail screeched into her blades, the force behind it sending her tumbling across the stone floor, thud after thud before she slid to a halt.

Knuckles white, Shinmen Musashi had somehow held onto her weapons as she panted, clambering onto her feet as her swords sheathed onto her hips.

Untying the knot upon the string that held it in place, the ronin lowered the pearl-white sword and brought it onto her left hip, just above her own sword. Her hands came to rest upon the scabbard and handle of the blade.

A swordsman's soul could’ve been said to reside in their blade, or so it was believed amidst Samurai and Ronin alike. And so, the manslayer sought to borrow from the deceased demonslayer, his will etched onto the side of his blade.

“Destroy Demons”, it read. And destroy demons she would.

“Zenitsu sends his regards,” Shinmen Musashi whispered as pink lightning crackled, shrouding the avatar of vengeance in its wake. The stones threatened to crack beneath her iron heels as the swordsman shot forward, twirling beside the laser that fired from within the dragon’s maw.

The darkness flashed pink as thunder boomed, echoing within the stony halls as the pearl-white katana drew, delivering its strike in a single flash before the blade sheathed itself once more.

Claws hunting for her, the swordsman’s technique echoed in the halls once more as her blade struck and withdrew, time and time again, each strike hungrier than the one that came before.

Shinmen Musashi-no-Kami Fujiwara no Harunobu had begun to truly hunt for the apex predator known as Ridley. Her borrowed blade would show no hesitation nor mercy, for it sought only one thing.

His death.

 

[Izaneus Phortea]

Izaneus watched as once more the "battlefield" desolved into Chaos. It had a familiar quality to it by now. Those fighting to survive, those fighting to kill, those for vengeance, and those for love.

Chhh chhh chhh ahh ahh ahh

"Ah. I see why Roy was hurt so badly-" Izaneus stated, as a knife floated inches from his face. His telekinesis almost not catching the sudden attack.

With a swift hand movement, he threw it back with the same swiftness.

It simply lodged itself in his leg, without any sort of indication that it had done anything.

With a nervous chuckle Iza let loose a barrage of magic missiles, aiming to take his weapon out of his hand.

The magic slammed into Jason, this time, making him step back a small bit. Before slowly walking forward to Iza, menacingly staring the Arcanist down. Machete still in hand.

"Welp, I should probably move-" he advised himself, starting to run in a circle around the "man" if it could be called as such.

He launched magic missiles on the move. Trying to stay away.

It wasn't long though until he had to look where he was going, lest he be bit by a stray attack of some variety.

Chh chh chh Ahh Ahh Ahh

before he could react, Iza was grabbed by the arm and slammed against a nearby wall. Following up with a large swing from his machete.

One the mage was barely able to block by quickly conjuring an arcane shield.

"Whew! Knew this would come in handy!" Quickly dispersing it, and ducking out of the way, Iza used his telekinesis to push down on Uber Jason's knee, forcing him down for but a moment.

Iza took this time to back up, and keep his sight on the man. Before letting loose another barrage of magic.

Wiping a bit of saliva from his mouth after the slam, Iza watched as Jason quickly threw his machete at an incredible pace. And strength.

Iza tried to catch it with his telekinesis, but all he accomplished was it simply being knocked off course.

Jason grabbed him once more from behind, putting him in a choke hold. And holding him there. Watching as the mage began to suffocate.

Losing air quickly, Iza looked, and tried to think of anything he could do.

The machete! It was right there.. He just had to..

He had it!

Still feeling the burly hands of Jason squeeze on his throat, he turned the blade around, and launched it straight through that Jason's head.

Or... He thought he did.

One moment he was losing air. The next he wasn't, and that Jason disappeared as if he simply didn't exist.

"Well.. I see why Roy didn't like you..."

 

[Roy Mustang]

This place again. Mustang tensed as figure after masked figure loomed out of the shadows. Keeping track of this many would quickly devolve into chaos, even if he could have trusted the people he had entered with. It was a large space, but just one of these monsters had been lethal enough. They needed to coordinate, but instantly, the battlefield spiraled into dozens of directions, as frustrations found an outlet and grudges became achievable. Disunity in an instant, in the face of an overwhelming threat. This was bad. This was very bad.

“Form up!” Mustang shouted, heedless of whether any of those remaining would listen to him, “Pick a partner, stick with them! Do not get yourselves isolated, whatever you can do, keep these bastards from sneaking up on us!”

Mustang took a position near Izaneus, his bolt-action rifle sliding from his shoulder and into his gloved hands. “Fire isn’t going to be as reliable as usual here, kid. These things don’t seem to have the decency to recognize it when you kill them. Priority is keeping them at a distance.”

“I… noticed….” The young mage coughed, already beginning his next spell. “You going to have enough firepower with that gun?”

Mustang smiled through his grit teeth.

“The nerve of that woman, wearing my gloves nonstop for almost two weeks! They won’t be sparking after that much exposure.” He leveled the rifle at Jason three, “But I can improvise.”

He pulled the trigger. The bolt-action rifle remained silent and still. There was no sound, no bullet. There was, however, a spark.

Controlled alchemical fire spiraled out the barrel of the rifle in a tight line before blossoming into a full-fledged explosion in front of his attacker’s face. The undead cyborg slid backwards smoldering and burnt, but far from finished. Silent as ever, Jason three began to approach once more.

The gap did buy Mustang time to get his bearings. One of the helldivers had chosen to direct her attention entirely on Ridley, the sound of metal on metal reaching a fever pitch even above the growing morass of shouting and conflict.

“Watch yourself.” He focused on his next target as he spoke, “We’re not all on the same side here. Quite a few unmade left here and there’s no guarantee someone else won’t have a grudge. An attack could come from any angle.”

Jason ten shouldered the Rock away with inhuman strength, then turned towards Mustang with unblinking eyes. Mustang fired again, searing the monster’s face with a charring blast. The smell of seared flesh wafted outwards as the cyborg fell over backwards with a thud. Mustang turned to his next target, not seeing Jason ten’s eyes spring back open. Silently, the killer began to rise behind Mustang’s back.

“Know your role!” came an airborne shout as the People’s Elbow was brought to full force against Jason ten, driving the cyborg back onto the ground with extreme prejudice, “Keep your eyes on your own plate! The Rock has claimed your ass already!”

Mustang didn’t even note the rescue, already under assault from yet another silent killer cyborg. Mustang brought his rifle up to intercept the swipe of Jason nineteen, the machete scrapping across in a shower of sparks. Izaneus appeared at Mustang’s left, a barrage of blue-tinged energy striking the cyborg repeatedly. The mage spun away from Jason nineteen’s counter strike, and Mustang stepped backwards.

With a flash of red-white pain, his booted leg nearly gave out from under him, and Mustang stumbled down to one knee. With a growl he fired anyway. Once more flame alchemy belched forth from the barrel of the rifle, this time far more powerful. Blackened and smoking, Jason nineteen was sent careening backwards, slamming into Jason eleven and knocking them both to the ground. Mustang was sure they would get back up. They always seemed to, so he would have to as well.

Shouldering aside the pain still arcing up his leg, Mustang staggered back up onto his feet. A pair of Mirages were dancing around yet another Jason, his robot ally nearby would be able to keep an eye on him. Violet was locked in combat with a blonde man Mustang didn’t recognize. He sidestepped a burst of blue flames, unsure if Azula had even been targeting him as she lashed out at an approaching Jason with a ferocity he would not have expected from her prior displays of absolute control.

A shout called Mustang’s direction back towards his left. Izaneus had been forced to pull back, another of the cyborg killers bearing down on him. Mustang lined up the shot and fired a concentrated burst of alchemy into the monster’s back. The remaining flesh scorched in a perfect circle, and the creature staggered in its swings.

Mustang’s satisfied grin turned to panic as a large unseen hand grabbed his neck from behind. He fought for a breath, then found himself lifted bodily into the air, only to be hurled backwards into a heap. The rifle skidding across the room away from him. Mustang’s vision blurred and his ears were still ringing, as he began to crawl towards the lost weapon. The chaos of battle provided him some cover, but as his hand closed around the barrel of the weapon, an instinctive feeling told Mustang he had been noticed.

“Ohohoho!” came a disturbingly undisturbed voice. Mustang looked up to see the grinning visage of Pennywise the clown, “Quite a lot of folks around! Wouldn’t you say, Mustang?”

No time to reach the trigger. Mustang whipped the rifle around like a club, swinging it into the side of the clown’s head. To his disgust the monster merely bent with the swing, its head and upper body twisting impossibly far to evade all but the faintest of impacts.

“That’s not how you fight, Mustang.” The monster laughed, its features melting before his eyes. Blackening, charring, shifting. Mustang froze, the weapon dropping from his fingers. He stared up at the scorched visage in front of him. The temple was gone, the enemies were gone. He was back in Cevanti, in Markov, in Ishval. He stared up at the grinning, near incinerated corpse, unable to move. Mustang’s mouth ran dry. He had done that, that and so much worse, to the people of his own city! It was all back. The acrid smoke that stung his eyes hours later. The constant whining of Markovian alarms. The stench of freshly burning flesh. The sticking of his lips from the evaporated fats of his foes, of his victims.

“This is how you fight, Mustang…” The black charred corpse leered down at him with too white teeth, “Your fear, it runs deep and rich. Delicious, delectable, fear!”

Fire washed over the corpse from a distant source, and It screeched in surprise and pain. Writhing unnaturally and stepping away from the state alchemist, Pennywise wheeled about to face this new threat, then immediately had to backpedal as a Jason closed in on him. Slowly, Mustang blinked, trembling as he tried to get a hold of himself. He was fighting for his life. He couldn't afford to break down here!

“Aren’t you the one who said not to get isolated, sir?” Izaneus stepped over, turning to face the next incoming threat. Mustang struggled onto hands and knees, gripping his rifle in shaking hands.

“R…Right…”

 

[Ridley]

Ridley’s eyes burned with clarity as the flames erupted through the vault. Many fought across the echoing halls, but his gaze was focused on just one.

The cloud of Jasons had been insulting to the dragon - he’d already killed this prey, and the wyrm didn’t even bother looking as he caught one of the backstabbing cyborgs straight across the chest with his hooked tail even as he charged down more important enemies.

The swordswoman. She’d leaped back just far enough to avoid his grasp, continuing her ridiculous acrobatic display, and Ridley had pressed the advantage. He swiped one armoured talon with enough force to slash through steel, and hit only air as the little human insect snapped itself back in the air. He snarled, sending a blast of wind to buffet the woman out of the air with his wings. The gale force threw the warrior woman towards a nearby pillar, but instead of smashing against it, the nimble little bug planted her feet and used it to kick off, rocketing towards the Unmade General.

Ridley screeched at the samurai and blasted from his maw a spray of plasma to catch the Ronin. The flames came too late to catch the Helldiver veteran, and twin blades drew fresh blood through the xenomorph’s collarbone.

“Pfahh!” The dragon screamed, bringing a hand up instinctively to protect his chest area. He didn’t know if the samurai had noticed his weakness, but she dropped down to one knee below him regardless, ready to deliver a slash across his heart.

The drake looked down and blasted plasma *through* his gauntleted hand, burning through his own flesh to melt the vermin beneath it.

The samurai was fast enough to jump away, but not without catching the tail end of the plasma. The pink hair showed signs of singing as Ridley’s eyes caught the brat’s clumsy roll to the side. The Ronin’s protective body-suit had stopped the worst of the damage, but Ridley could see hints of burns and partly-melted pieces here and there across the suit.

It didn’t stop that fucking look, though.

The last time the dragon saw her, she’d been nothing. One of the cavalcade of fools that failed to live up to their commanders prestige. The Slayer was a warrior Ridley had been forced to respect for his power, choosing to take the commander’s life personally.

Shinmen Musashi-no-Kami Fujiwara no Harunobu, on the other hand had proven herself every bit the unimpressive rat he’d read of, and had been practically indistinguishable from the common grunt without her partner. They were fools playing knight and he’d felt nothing but disgust and contempt for both of them.

She was without the slayer, without the energy-wielding abomination, or the lightning mage. no armored moron in sight, no mutated human in a speedo, even the foul-smelling psychic had abandoned her. The only slightly distinct thing she had left was gone.

And she was still alive. She hadn’t taken her eyes off his once. She’d done more in one exchange than every other helldiver lieutenant combined!

What was…

Ridley’s eyes flew over the golden blade, and something akin to bile threatened to exit his throat. sentimentality.

He spat at the samurai in disgust, before barreling towards her, determined to end this farce. He was a born killer. He was revolted just to be part of the disgusting human grieving process in this fashion. The pirate’s glare was met by that same, stoic glare, and Ridley’s hatred wouldn’t be sated until he’d pulled its owner's head from her shoulders.

The dragon’s slash met air as Musashi pirouetted behind him in one precise motion. The Samurai had lost all sense of caution and came within an inch of Ridley’s back, sweeping between his wings with pinpoint accuracy.


Ridley lashed his tail up to grab the swordsman and crush her in his grip, but wasn’t ready for the counter. Sparks flew as the blades struck into the end of his tail, leaving thin cuts and forcing it down. Monomolecular blades cut through stone and formed an “X” over the Space Pirates primary weapon, pinning it.

Ridley turned with a screech of rage, “You’re nothing like the Slayer.” The dragon raged, “there’s nothing more useless than a dead man’s weapon.” He spat, flames spewing forth as he brought his hand forward.

The old pirate knew she’d seen his weakness now, so as Ridley caught a glint of silver beneath him and saw The samurai’s stance, he was ready. Talons reinforced with metal grabbed the katana and snapped under the pirate’s tremendous strength. Like that, Ridley could at last find a grin, as he caught his foe in checkmate, plasma glowing down his throat as he threw the shattered pieces to the side.

“What can a broken fang do?” Ridley growled, before a flash of gold cut him off. His uniquely positioned eyes gave him the dubious privilege to be able to simultaneously focus on both the pieces of the rusted old blade he’d thrown to the side clatter to the floor, and the demon destroying blade carving through his chest-armour, and the raw flesh beneath.

“Rip and Tear.” Musashi replied with a voice of steel.

“G-Gahhhhh!!” Ridley cried out, and the dragon stumbled backwards, dislodging the blades pinning his tail with an errant kick before falling like a drunk, spread-eagled on his back.
The fuel cells hadn’t been fully cracked, but every bit of damage the slayer had done to the middle of his chest burned with a new, fresh intensity, as blood fell from the Unmade General’s stitched-together wound. The chestplate had been built to last, but it was thinner to allow for the fuel cells, and to keep stress from his heart. Zenitsu’s blade had cut a solid trail through that plating like a knife through butter.


Another Jason had stumbled into their duel, and seemed content to finish the monster for Musashi with a chop across the Space pirates neck. . Ridley reached a steel-taloned claw upward, digging the blades into and through the creature's arm.

Ridley growled a curse in his own tongue and sent the mental command.

Full power.

“Battery leakage apparent, Lord Ridley. Be cautious.” his AI unit warned him. As if he couldn’t feel the overheating fuel cells burning inside his ribs already.

His failing batteries only had so much time left to them before he would inevitably run out of power - he’d kept the majority of his systems powered down to ensure he’d have them for the long game.

But Ridley didn’t care about the long game anymore. Nothing in this moment existed past mounting the swordmasters head on the front of his starship, and everyone else…

The pirate grinned as an electric pulse went through his talons, zapping his fellow cyborg with enough volts to cause his body to temporarily slack - long enough for the metal dragon to throw him across the room with one hard tug.

Missile racks opened inside Ridley’s body as he sprung to his feet, unleashing a familiar barrage of explosives at the ronin.

Everyone else could wait their turn.

 

[Altanis]

Altanis still felt the world spinning as she had slowly hobbled into the temple chamber. The presence of the remaining unmade on this island had quickly galvanized her re-ignited her rage-driven urge to exterminate every last one of them.

Even as the lights flickered back on, and the herd of undead, cybernetic goliaths shambled into the thick of things...her eyes barely registered them. They were no more than obstacles. Just some further trash to be swept aside and ignored.

She had other targets.

Things immediately fell into chaos, everyone present taking the fight to the Jasons in their own ways. It was a natural reaction, to fight back against the things trying to murder you, after all. Altanis, however...did not have a natural reaction. A wordless screech of unfiltered venom spewed forth as she threw herself into motion against the protesting of her injuries and still-lingering dizziness, psychic force rippling out ahead of her and scattering everything in her way.

The Jasons. The other assorted soldiers. Any minor bits of rubble or debris.

She reached her first target as he skittered away from an incendiary confrontation with some others. The clown had whirled around and tried to fend off a machete blow from one of the Uber Jasons...only to find himself smashed against the undead cyborg as the both of them skidded back several feet from the impact. The bizarre clown only had enough time to twitch and hurl himself free of the subsequent impact before the burning red blades of a trident skewered Jason clean through.

If the metal-augmented swamp freak even noticed the injury, he didn't give any indication. He just lurched forward and swung a devastating blow with his machete, the blade missing red demon-flesh by mere inches as it put another deep gouge into the ground.

"Out of my way, you pest!" the tactician snarled, wrenching her weapon free with her mind and storming after Pennywise.

The clown chortled and snickered as It skittered around in some manic game of keep-away from Altanis, doing a remarkable impression of the ball. "Well, well, well, what have we here?" It sing-song sneered at her with a lopsided smile. "All these tough-looking folks around, and you come after me? Now, what did little ol' Pennywise ever do to you?"

"You existed," came the growled response as jabs and swipes of her trident rained down, trying to eviscerate the frustratingly evasive circus reject. "You came to this island and let yourself become just another one of Darkseid's little puppet-pests."

"Someone's a vindictive little thing, aren't they?" the clown snickered, with a grin that showed far too many teeth. A grin that only continued to grow wider, and wider. Like a shark, rather than a human. Like a snake, filled with a maw of gnashing spines. Like some hellish machine meant to shred anything put into it within its vortex of gleaming teeth.

In spite of herself, Altanis recoiled from the site, something in the back of her mind realizing the danger an instant before it was too late. She jerked back, in time to avoid the sudden massive CHOMP that would have taken her head off.

The giggling not-clown landed back on the ground, the ridiculous little silver bells adorning its costume jingling merrily. "Aw, whassamatter, little horse? Not suddenly scared of the big, bad clown are ya?"

Everything in the sight of the demonic tactician hazed over with a dull red. A rushing noise roared in her ears. The word 'scared' echoed in her head, first quieter and then louder, in an endless sing-songing chorus. Her vision narrowed to a tunnel that had only the jeering form of Pennywise the Dancing Clown at its end.

It left her completely open to the sudden surprise attack from behind, as a machete blade suddenly struck true, piercing out through her chest in a gory spattering of inky-black blood. Altanis twitched, staggering as she coughed up a wad of the same blood. She snarled and reared back, thrashing and raging to try and buck off the hulking undead even as he almost methodically ripped his blade free and maintained an iron grip on its quarry's hair.

"Looks like you've got your hands full there." The clown mocked her openly, mouth once more returned to that insufferable mocking smirk. "Maybe I should just leave you alone to your play date, huh?"

In response, Altanis levied a wordless shrieking noise at him and a rippling wave of telekinetic force blasted out. The clown was struck and sent flying across the chamber, skipping and bouncing along the ground like a stone over water, bowling over and flashing past other fighters as he went.

The Jason harassing her, meanwhile, was dealt with by virtue of a blind, desperate maneuver; twirling her trident around and thrusting the blade back behind her. The burning blades grazed her own side from the wild angle, but there was a sharp impact as the energized plasma and fire struck true. Soggy flesh steamed and hissed and metal bits sparked and popped as the weapon bored into the chest of Jason number thirteen.

Fueled by her psychic prowess, the weapon began to spin, slowly and torturously but quickly beginning to build up speed. Shredded flesh and metal bits flew out wildly, and the death grip the undead freak had on his prey began to slacken until she could wrench herself free. Staggering forward several paces she whipped around to face the brute, and with an extended hand she recalled her weapon back. "Insignificant...little..!" she rasped, and lurched forward to levy a sweeping strike across the cyborg monstrosity's body.

A bright flash of crimson, and a deep gash was rent open across the torso of Jason number thirteen as he staggered back and toppled over onto the floor. He still tightly clutched his machete in one arm, but the opposite arm barely hung on. It wouldn't be enough to finish him off, she knew, but there were other things to worry about...

Sucking in a breath to galvanize herself again, Altanis turned to survey the room and caught sight of another of the objects of her ire. A step forward, and she threw her free hand forward just in time to project a shimmering tether of psychic energy. It closed around the pink-haired form of her last remaining 'ally' in this absurd event and yanked her abruptly to one side as a rain of missiles crashed into and around where she had been standing.

Before the ronin could so much as utter a response, a second wave of the demonic general's hand sent her rocketing back into the fray, a high flight arc sending her sailing over the other combatants to crash down on Ridley from above.

A brief cough escaped the horse-woman's throat as she wheeled around again, momentarily staggering as her vision swam. This level of performance and energy expenditure couldn't be kept up forever...much as she was loath to admit it, she had been pushing herself beyond rational sense for days, now, in the last few battles. For how much longer her strength would actually hold out...she couldn't even begin to guess.

Steeling herself, she straightened up as best she could and once more marched into the fray. She had lost sight of the absurd clown when dealing with the undead brute, but...her vision singled out the smarm-empowered visage of Karl Unjak among the crowd. A fresh wave of agony erupted in her chest and head, the wounds he had inflicted on her previously, and the red haze returned to her sight. She ground her teeth together, and without even wasting breath on her normal anger simply reached out with her mind and grasped the unmade executive in a crushing grip. Like the hand of some giant, he was simply picked up and bashed against ceiling, floor, and then hurled aside, rocketing directly toward his assailant.

In spite of his surprised state, however, the man proved he wasn't out of tricks. He tucked into a deft twirling flip in midair, managing to avoid the disembowelment awaiting him as Altanis's trident swung up in an arc. He landed behind her, skidding to a halt as he spun around and faced her. "Oh, you again? Don't you ever get tired of this old song and dance? I can only come up with so many creative ways to stab you."

"This...ends...now..." the furious centaur hissed.

"Oh, well." The unmade producer shrugged helplessly. "Suit yourself. Mind the Jasons, though." When his foe predictably jerked to one side to avoid a hulking goliath that wasn't actually there, Karl Unjak grinned and bolted forward to slam a ki-wreathed fist into her unguarded human stomach.