V M [Unmaking] The Nausicaa Incident

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The Nausicaa Incident -- Act III, Part Three
Iris Severity, Davy Jones (!!!), Morene Fellon, Cho, Ezrihel, Ruedlen, Sergeant Swift, Arthur Morgan,
Android Seventeen, Beatrix, Jaina Proudmoore, Zack Fair, Roy Mustang, Riza Hawkeye, Dr. McNinja,
Leonardo, Raphael, Michelangelo, Donatello, Amalia Eckern, Juno Hawthorne, Lilith

“Aragorn,” Iris buzzed. “Who is Aragorn?”

“Never ye mind who Aragorn was,” Jones scowled. “Ye’ve no business standing near his sword, ma’am. Step away.”

Morene obliged. Davy Jones brushed past the android, the earthbender, and the knight errant and stepped up to the statue of this Aragorn person, bending the knee when he got close. He looked up at the ostensibly human man’s face, and from the side, Cho almost could see a salty tear running down the pirate’s cheek.

From behind the group, Ezrihel couldn’t tell how to feel about all this. Those markings had meant something foreboding -- he just knew it -- and now this ‘Jones’ fellow, claiming to be this world’s Arbiter in the flesh, had led them into this chamber with a statue and a broken sword? He scoffed quietly to himself. It all seemed a little… convenient. Like they’d been led into a trap. Jones himself was the most mysterious find of all; how was anyone supposed to believe a person that looked just like any of them wielded that much power? Beyond the fact that all the stories said the Arbiters rarely came to interact with the people.

“I’d like ye all to leave now,” the pirate sighed as he let his other knee fall. “I’d like some time alone with my friend. It’s been… too long since I’ve seen this sacred place.”

“He’s coming,” the frantic whisper of Sergeant Swift resumed behind them.

Jones stood up and whipped around. “Shut yer mouth, wench,” he yelled. “I don’t want to hear any of this culty blabbering from any of ye. I want ye all out, right now.”

“Without even telling us why we’ve been brought down here?” Ezrihel piped up.

“How should I know what brought ye down here?!” Jones screamed, unsheathing his sword. “Didn’t ye come here to save the damn Skylanders?! What brings ye into this holy place?! Perhaps ye should tell me that, eh?!”

Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

The whirring of parademon wings entered the ears of all in the room, and they all turned towards the place Ezrihel, Ruedlen, Jones, and Swift had entered.

“And now ye’ve brought his people down here,” Jones scoffed. “A bunch of rotted, ridiculous cultists ye are! Stay out of me way!” Captain Davy Jones started sprinting towards the oncoming parademon noise, leaving the others behind him a bit flabbergasted. He didn’t even reach the door before a swarm of the insectoid creatures burst in and scattered throughout the chamber, homing in on each person in turn. Those in the room lacking Arbiter powers, though taken aback, quickly jumped into action as they realized the parademons’ aim was indiscriminate.

“He’s coming, he’s coming, he’s coming,” Sergeant Swift chittered madly as parademons flew wildly around her. Ezrihel rolled his eyes, sliding up to the madwoman and placing a hand firmly on her shoulder.

“Hide, woman,” he commanded, “before--”

But then she was gone.

General Althaus looked up. There, just feet away, was Sergeant Swift, being swept up onto the back of a mysterious, enflamed horse that had galloped into the room out of seemingly nowhere. Atop the mare’s back was a man that Ezrihel somehow intuitively recognized -- yet his skull was encased in flickering blue fire.

“...Morgan?”

“General Althaus,” the flaming Arthur tipped his hat. “I’ve got her. Let’s kill some bug men, pardner.”

***

Android Seventeen blinked. What the fuck were these ugly-ass pirates doing here?

The crew of the Flying Dutchman swarmed the streets, slicing down unmade enemies wherever they went. The raven-haired warrior broke his sprint for a moment, letting his breath catch up to him as he realized they’d just gotten hella reinforcements.

“There you are!” Beatrix called, rounding the corner. Seventeen scoffed, lifting the Power Sword and launching it just past the redhead’s shoulder into the face of a shambling unmade zombie on her tail. The blood mage spun around, launching a boot into the gut of the creature and sending it careening backwards. She glanced back at Stephen. “I could’ve handled that.”

“But you didn’t,” the android shrugged, waltzing over and ripping the sword from the creature’s face. It spurted green blood one last time before the pair tried to take stock of their surroundings. “So where’s the lady?”

Beatrix quirked an eyebrow, glancing up on a nearby rooftop. Jaina Proudmoore stood atop the roof, casting spell after spell at any enemy that dared cross her.

The blood mage pointed. “Up there.”

Seventeen, however, had zeroed in on something else. “That guy doesn’t look unmade, and doesn’t look like one of these gross fish-pirates,” the android quirked his head to one side, also pointing.

Beatrix followed Seventeen’s finger to a slightly out-of-it looking Zack Fair, pushing through unmade zombies and looking altogether confused about the fish-pirates.

“Y’know,” the redhead said, “he could be your brother. You favor each other.”

“I don’t see it,” the warrior shook his head.

“Should we help him out?” Beatrix asked.

“Eh,” Seventeen shrugged, “why not?”

***

Roy Mustang and Hawkeye examined the central antechamber with great interest, but their ninja companions had grown rather bored.

“So… should we leave?” Michelangelo said as he leaned against an altar.

“No,” Mustang shook his head, “we were clearly brought here for a reason. Somebody led us here, somebody wants us in this chamber.”

“Yeah,” McNinja piped up, “but, like, do we want to find out?”

Mustang bristled. Yes, he thought, I do. The lieutenant colonel scowled. He’d been on the tail of the unmaking for the better part of a year, always chasing them, even entering that stupid game show again just to get some intelligence on them -- but they’d always been one step ahead of him. Now it seemed like he’d been brought right here for a reason, and he couldn’t fucking figure it out. Dammit.

He punched the side of a nearby dais, not even clocking that it shifted slightly off its platform until it was already toppling to the ground. The pretty large stone throne tipped over, crashing to the floor and cracking into hundreds of tiny little pieces.

“Nice job, Mustant,” Raphael rolled his eyes.

“Mustang,” Hawkeye corrected, venomously.

“Hey, lady, don’t take that tone with me,” Raph sassed, “we’re all irritated, alright?”

Then they all heard it: the cackling.

It echoed throughout the chamber, coming from the entrance. All seven fighters in the room turned toward the sound, horrified to see a slew of probably fifty cultists gathering at the mouth of the tunnel. At the head of the pack, one particularly creepy-looking dude held a young girl and her purple-haired escort by the scruff of their collars. Amalia Eckern and Juno Hawthorne gazed up at the group of warriors with simultaneously fear-stricken and furious eyes.

Hawkeye stepped forward, raising her rifle. “Let the girls go.”

The lead cultist chuckled. “Not a chance, blondie.”

Hawkeye scowled. “I won’t ask again.”

A cultist off to the left of the leader waved a hand, and Hawkeye jerked off the ground, flying into a nearby wall and slamming into it -- hard. Mustang’s face went pale, and immediately he sprinted for his closest ally, sliding up to her unconscious form and kneeling next to her. He felt for a pulse -- still there, thank the Arbiter -- and then turned his gaze toward the cultist and scowled.

“You heard her,” the alchemist growled. “Let them go.”

The leader gripped their cloaks tighter. “No.”

Mustang smirked, walking into the center of the doorway between the foyer and the antechamber. He stood for a second facing the group of cultists, feeling that suddenly the quintet of ninjas was backing him up.

“Alright, but I warn you,” he shrugged, “you’re playing with fire.”

***

Somewhere else, Lilith slithered into place for the final stages of this whole business. A storm was coming, she just knew it… and there was no way she wasn’t going to stick around to see who got struck by lightning.

On the Surface: all characters on the surface are being backed up by the pirates of the Flying Dutchman. This will make the battle’s tide turn slightly, and make it easier for evacuations can happen. Unless you decide to venture down into the tunnels, this is your goal -- get as many people off the island as possible! Davy Jones’ pirates seem allied with you, but not necessarily friendly. And they don’t give a fuck about the Skylanders escaping. Chara Dreemurr is also fighting somewhere, and Jar Jar Binks remains missing in action.

In the Tunnels:

Dr. McNinja/TMNT/Mustang/Amalia & Juno -- you guys are facing off against a slew of cultists that are here to perform some sort of ritual in honor of Darkseid. They are pretty weak, but there are a lot of them. Expect it to be rather overwhelming.

Godzilla/Kopaka/Mickey Mouse/Tobias/The Living -- it’s everyone against the Living! Also the room is caving in. Also, there’s probably some unmade dudes coming to back the snot blob up.

Ezrihel/Iris/Arthur/Morene/Cho -- you guys are fighting with Davy Jones (!!!) against a whole helluva lot of parademons. He is not pleased with you all but will fight with you nonetheless.

Groups not in the central antechamber -- all paths lead there. You try to escape? You get closer to the central chamber. In update four, everyone underground will be gathered there. You can use this map as a sort of reference:

a5440a2e862860e834ae4d2f60663025.jpg


I know this is a lot, so please let me know if there are any questions. Thanks for a great event y’all! Two more weeks!!
 

Ridley

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Ridley’s eyes narrowed with reptilian ferocity, fighting his way across the island as another group of parademons dive-bombed him from above. In matters of sheer speed and agility, Ridley outmatched them in the air, but numbers and a dominated airspace did not help. Did the island not have it’s own aerial defenders? Or were they simply too weak to handle the warriors arrayed against them.

Another Parademon flew after him, prepared to go for a full frontal assault, and Ridley gave a low growl as he approached, carefully keeping to his pace as Darkseid’s minion approached. In the moment before they would collide, Ridley folded his wings and accelerated, catching the parademon by surprise and scooping up the screaming demon in his maw. Claws tore for ridley’s throat, but by then Ridley had pulled the lower half of the body free with one scarred talon, and the parademon’s last struggles in his death throes lacked the strength to cut the armoured tongue beyond superficial scratches.

Ridley had to struggle in the air for a moment to pull the other half of the creature out of his teeth before he could continue.

Parademons aren’t letting up! We do have new allies, though!” Olivia’s voice hummed in his ear. “Looks like some people are getting hit by Darkseid… same as, well, we were, so that’s slowing down efforts in certain areas. The Parademons are getting hit hard by what look like fishy undead pirates, reports of a ‘Davy Jones’ keep appearing, which is a lot like our old earth fables-

“Doctor.” Ridley replied in his calmest tone - a signal Liv knew well meant ‘shut up for five seconds while I refocus the conversation. “The Gnats in the skies are still overwhelming the island. The body count I’ve amassed hasn’t improved the situation.” The Space pirate commander would manage, picking the remains of the demon out of his teeth as he dared the rest of the swarm to join him higher in the sky, Testing just how good they were at changing altitudes. So far, the gnats were getting far more than passable grades, as a wing of Parademons followed him through his skies.

“What has the rest of the air defense occupied at this moment?”

“It seems anything that can shoot up is pretty focused on protecting the hostage rescue ships.”

The Dragon shot orange spit through the air at the notion. “They’re harming their chances at victory to protect civilians. How… disgusting.” The commander spat.

“Well either way, the parademons are densest there. Seems they’re focused on that pocket…” Olivia mentioned, a sudden tiredness in her voice.

“Understood. Get me the coordinates and inform mustang’s division of my focus.”

“Of course, Lord Ridley.” the doctor responded, just a little slurred.

Liv.” Ridley spat.

“Wh-what?!”

“Hot cocoa. Slippers.”

“...’scuse me?” The doctor asked, almost in disbelief.

“You’ve just had Darkseid visit your mind. Have your favorite brand of hot cocoa, and put on your slippers. Are We clear?” Ridley would ask.

“N-nnn… not particularly. I’m a little lost.” Olivia would admit.

If Ridley could give a sigh, the dragon would have, but instead, he opted for a growl.

“Darkseid controls by dictating who you are. By making you forget what you were.” The pirate explained, his tone growing serious, distant. “Those that are forgotten, that forget themselves, who they are, become what he decides. Remind yourself of yourself and you resist. Fail…”

Memories of an endless march along a godforsaken island briefly flickered in Ridley, giving the beast an unseen shiver lost to the skies of Opealon.

“You won’t even know to beg for death. Slippers. Cocoa.” Ridley would mention.

“...Thank you, Lord Ridley. We’ll be sure to compile that data for future reference in our efforts for treating the unmaking.” Roy Mustang’s voice crackled through comms.

“Firefly?!” Ridley spat, eyes growing wide as the comms channel fizzled with light interference.

“I… was about to patch you through to coordinate with them before we started this chat? Remember?!”

Ridley’s lips curled into a disgusted frown as he filled his mouth with plasma. He’d just given away information. About the Unmaking. For completely, absolutely free.

The dragon turned with flames lit across his jaws as he blasted flames through the air, intent on burning the parademons into charcoal. In the absence of anyone else to blame, he’d make sure to teach them a new definition of pain.
 

Ezrihel

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Only a few moments had passed since the Doctor had been unloaded from the transport. This place was an absolute disaster, and a deep frown pulled at the corners of the stony medic’s wry mouth as he sat up and held pressure on the front of his shoulder.

He had to stop the bleeding if he wanted to be useful again. He needed to be useful again. A medic needing a medic, the irony of the fact was not lost on him in the bitter, dragging wait times of the field hospital.

They were overwhelmed.

These proud ‘skylanders’ were desperately, terribly overwhelmed. They rushed across the make-shift relief ground like scattered ants panicking to move their precious brood.

And he was up here, injured.



And Ruedlen was probably crawling through some flooded, monster infested, dark cave.

Intrusive thoughts shoved their way to the front of his brain, her face plastered across a thousand brutal images depicting the cruelties of a no-holds-barred war and he gasped out loud, moved by the weight of the agony his mind chose to inflict upon them both.

Would it have been better for him to be down there in that deep dark crevice with them? He couldn’t tell. His mind swam as his pretty blue eyes unfocused from the blurring world around him. He couldn't stand the high key constant hum of rushing activity in the camp while he sat there, useless.

He hated war. Hated every pointless, stupid thing about it.

What use was he if he was up here, out of the fight and wounded? He sighed deeply, his face dropping into his hands as he forced himself to blink away the tears threatening to sting his tired eyes. Ezrihel von Althaus was right: he was a loser, too much of a loser to be worth anyone’s genuine time- let alone Ruedlen’s.

The dark haired doctor grimaced darkly as he leaned over to rifle through his medical bag. Sometimes he thought it would be better if he had never existed in the first place. Some part of him wretched deep in the pit of his stomach. He needed to focus, so he instead chose to think hard on the burning physical pain that blossomed non-stop in his chest- it was agonizing enough to keep his attention anyways.

His fingers brushed numbly over various packages of gauze, disinfecting wipes, and suturing supplies until he found what he needed in the battered satchel on his side. Medi-gel. A miracle of bio-technology, as it had originally been heralded. It couldn’t fix everything, but it was a damn good advance in battle-field oriented first-response medicine.

Isra studied the tube for a long moment, far longer than he realized when a familiar voice drew him from the shelter of his compartmentalizations.

“Hey Isra! Are you okay? ... Isra?”

His eyes shot up as he tried to focus through his rushing thoughts.

Oh. It was Meng. His overwhelmed brain drifted for a split second before it jolted at a realization.

“Meng? I- What are you doing here? I thought you’d be back on the boat getting our crew situated.” More importantly, he wondered how she had managed to locate him amidst all the chaos when he hadn’t updated anyone. Certainly it couldn’t have been...

“I have the ship squared away- hey, you’re bleeding- has anyone been over here to help-”

“No. The medical relief is busy handling civvies who deserve the treatment more than myself, currently.” There was no bitterness in his voice, it was all laid bare and matter-of-fact.

“More than you, Isra?” Her incredulous tone said much more than her words alone. She didn’t believe his begroaned self-loathing for even a half-instant. “You’re the best doctor we’ve got. Stop forgetting that.”

“And here I am in tattered clothes and looking like a complete disaster victim.”

“You are one.”

“Gee, thanks.” This time the bitterness was more than apparent. He just loved being a pitiless victim of the fates.

“Isra, you know that’s not how I meant it- ugh you’re still bleeding, let me-” She tried to take the tube of medi-gel from him but he flinched away.

“I’m a physician, I can do it myself, Meng.”

With a huff she dropped the bag she was carrying at her feet. She didn’t have the patience. “On yourself? Do you ever really let anyone actually help you, Isra?”

The doc was silent, instead jabbing his wound with the sharp injection needle. He went stiff as the foam expanded in the negative space of the injury, sealing the hole shut with a searing, disinfecting exothermic burn. It would last until he could get back to the ship, back to proper medical equipment and not the shit rolled out into the streets from hospitals and salvaged ward units. These Skylander-Hopers didn’t seem like they’d prepared in the slightest for any sort of disaster like this.

“How did you find me up here anyways, Meng?”

She raked him over with her keen dark eyes. She had wanted to find him, hoped that she would. Meng had prayed that she would be able to find him, and such a vibrant mind as his wasn’t lost, dashed under the rubble or trapped in some dark, bottomless pit. Though right now all his sulking and snarking saw her rolling her eyes and questioning the choice.

“I came looking for you.” Was her tart response. “Althaus contacted the ship to tell us just how bad it was all going and gave us the order to prepare to leave.”

The medic snorted, “Yeah, and I bet he was really pleasant.” Nice and neat that the General or Saerhaus hadn’t managed to clue him in yet. It took just as long to reach out to him as it did the ship.

“You should have heard him, Isra.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I did in the car.”

“Pissed doesn’t cover it, not even close. Anyways, I figured you were either up here with the medical division, or down in the trenches with Althaus and Saerhaus. I brought your list of effects and equipment, by the way.” She nudged the bag beside her with a well worn combat boot.

“You brought my-” He stumbled over his words for a moment in his surprise before he could catch himself. Meng moved to set the duffle bag down on the improv’d cot he sat on, and he quickly started fishing through it. “You actually found and read my list?”

“Well... Yeah. You are the Chief Medical Officer, Isra. You’re always preparing for things, so it’s not like it was really all too hard to get everything in order... Hell, you already had most of it packed. I just checked everything and made sure.” She smiled widely, glad that the ‘gift’ had lightened his mood from the looks of it.

She was lying. He knew when and how he tended to pack field bags, and he’d known that he hadn’t packed anything relating to such a high-class level of disaster. “What do you mean, Meng? I didn’t have a bag like this pre-packed.”

“Of course you did. You’re the best medic we have.”

He flinched, not bothering to turn and look at her as he took inventory. Why was she lying to him about something so simple and small?

“... Okay, fine.” She relented with a defeated sigh after a moment. “You didn’t have one like this packed already, but you did have a very thorough set of protocol and procedure listed.”

“Why bother lying about something so trivial.” He grumbled quietly, more to himself than anything as he bent with a grunt to kick off his dress shoes and pull his rough socks and combat boots on.

“Well, I was trying to help you feel a bit better. I thought you could appreciate it some.” She cut in cooly.

The shrewd medic tilted his head to study her for a moment. “Appreciated.” He’d appreciate everything a lot more if she didn’t couple it white lies and sugared-coats, even if she was attempting to be well-meaning.

Isra stood, peeling his civilian clothes off as if she wasn’t totally standing there and trying to talk to him. She felt herself shy away from him emotionally as her eyes dropped from his tasteful form. He’d been so much more warm feeling on the ship, in the medical ward and in the archives- what had happened to that version of him that she knew?
 
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Roy Mustang

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Flame alchemy was often regarded as the most powerful form of alchemy. The pinnacle of its potential. In the wrong hands it could cause untold destruction and terrible tragedy. Lieutenant Colonel Roy Mustang had been given the secrets by its keeper, had been entrusted with their power. Alchemically altering the air imperceivably, so that the slightest spark could ignite in an instant. He did the alchemy by instinct at this point. Years of experience finding the right concentrations to burn precisely what he intended. That was the power of his flames. Destruction in an instant, honed to a razor's edge by the air itself. But Opealon’s air was not Cevanti’s, and the air in this room was barely Opealon’s.

He needed time.

“If you do not intend to release those two then we’re at an impasse…” Mustang strode forwards a few steps, mind racing as he stared down the lead cultist. There was humidity here, and plenty of it. It wasn’t muggy, but the water flowed through these ruins in streams… It would be more moisture than he was expecting….

At the third step forwards the lead cultist roughly shook the girl in warning. She gave a startled sound that she immediately cut off as a blade was produced near her throat. Mustang stopped, his eyes narrowing.

Behind him Raphael gave a snarl, and started to interject, reaching for his sais. Leonardo moved a hand to quiet him.

“We’re outnumbered Raph. We need to be careful. Master Splinter would be saying to ‘keep your center.’ If he were here…”

“You won’t be sacrificing either of them.” The State Alchemist spoke up, “Not on my watch.”

“And you won’t be able to stop all of us, Mustang of Markov.” The lead cultist sneered, “There is nothing you could say that would change my mind, could change his will!”

The man’s robe looked like wool. They had sheep on Opealon? Fascinating… He would need to account for how readily all of that would ignite… The girl and the woman were so close to them…

“Nothing? What about if we surrender?” Mustang asked, raising his gloved hands up besides his head.

There was a moment of silence, then a chorus of loud and radical objections from behind Mustang as all four of the Ninja Turtles reached for their weapons. The ninja in the doctor’s coat was watching Mustang with a furrowed brow and narrowed eyes. Or maybe he was just squinting through the pain of his head injury, it was hard to tell.

“Quiet! All of you!” Mustang ordered harshly, “Do you want those two’s deaths on your hands?”

“...Just like that?” The leading cultist seemed perplexed, “But you were at the front lines of Markov’s siege! You sent thousands to die during the final push!”

There was a slight air current flowing inwards from behind the array of fanatics. It was mixing with the stale air that had been trapped in this room for who knew how long... He would need to factor for that…

“I believe I’ve very publicly shown that I don’t fight a battle that I can’t win.” Mustang scowled, shrugging his shoulders slightly with his hands still held up besides his head.

“And yet you continue to oppose Darkseid?” The lead cultist cackled with laughter, slackening his hold on the two hostages ever so slightly as he boasted. If he moved now, the knife's path would go… Mustang smirked as the madman ranted on.
“Truly you have no idea what you are facing! Darkseid is unopposable! Darksei-”

*Snap*

Hands still held up besides his head, Mustang snapped. Alchemical sparks arced through the air zipping past Juno’s head and over Amalia’s as the lead cultist erupted into flames. The fire's scorched him back to front, but stopped harshly halfway down his arms, mere inches from where he had hold of the hostages. He reeled backwards, screaming, while both Juno and Amalia stumbled forwards. The knife arced past Amalia’s cheek drawing a thin gash across her face as they separated.

Too close… Mustang grimaced, but at least now he had enough distance between them. As shouts erupted from the crowd of surprised cultists, Mustang swept his arms forwards, snapping both hands. A wall of fire blossomed into an arc between The freed pair and the rest of the cultists, both groups shying away from the sudden heat.

“ooOOoo!” Mikey whooped, “It was a distraction!”

“Quick! Before they regroup!” Leonardo shouted, katana shining in the new firelight, “Teenage Mutant Ninjas! Attack!”

“I’m here too!” Dr. McNinja sulked as the five masked warriors raced into action, “You didn’t have to throw in that many adjectives!”

Mustang rushed forwards as well, moving towards Juno and Amalia as they stumbled away from the smoldering wall of flame.

“Sorry to put you both in danger like that, but I have one more request. We’ll handle this rabble, but I need someone to keep the Lieutenant out of harm's way while we do so.” He was mostly speaking to Juno at this point, and the purple-skinned fae gave a firm nod.

“Thanks, I’ll owe you a drink.” Mustang winked at Juno, then moved to confront the cultists as the pair stepped further back into the room.

An exultant cowabunga sounded through the room as the ninjas dove into Darkseid’s devoted. Mustang took aim at the largest concentration of foes, and alchemical fire exploded outwards, sending the survivors reeling. The sound reverberated through the massive room, but Mustang had already set his eyes on the next group of targets. If he was going to try to fight, it was because he felt they could win.

Mustang is using one application of Focus to adapt to the differing humidity in the current environment. 2/3 Focus remaining
 

Amalia Eckern

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Amalia touched the fresh blood running down her cheek and winced. She had begun to shiver, every last strand of anxious energy in her core trying to fight against her shocked state. Her breathing had become shallow and the sounds of battle seemed so incredibly distant. Where was Juno? Amalia stumbled, turning slowly trying to catch sight of the fae, but everywhere she looked became a convoluted mass of chaos. Cultists poured in from every conceivable entrance and filled the room with cloaked bodies and mayhem.

She inhaled sharply, trying her best to ground herself and bury her anxiety. A cultist surged towards her, a glint of steel in his hand. Erin materialized mid-flight and tore into the attacker. The dog-sized raven screeched as it’s talons made easy work of the cultist’s vulnerable flesh.

“Move Amalia!” Erin screamed.

At this she was spurred into action. She raised her hoodie and sprinted across the battlefield. She did her best to remain inconspicuous, hunching over and moving in people’s blindspots. After a year of living on the wharf she had become quite adept at maneuvering through crowds. She managed to peel free from the battleground and move towards the Lieutenant’s limp body. Erin followed after her, swooping above the combatant’s heads to land atop Amalia’s shoulder. Amalia crouched down beside the soldier. She reached out to touch Hawkeye, but froze. Foggy memories of a school mandated first aid class surfaced in her mind. Should she just leave her be? What about CPR? Is that blood? She didn’t want to make things worse.

Erin hopped down and cocked her head, “This one’s brain has been damaged.”

“Wait what?” Amalia asked, her hands still hovering over the Lieutenant's body.

“Her head,” Erin cawed softly, “It is bleeding. She’s already dead, Amalia.”

Oh God, it was bleeding.

“What do I do, what do I do?” Amalia whispered, “Uhm… Ma’am wake up! Fuck… come on Amalia, think.”

Besides her, seemingly appearing from thin air, Dr. McNinja crouched down.

“Holy shit!” Amalia screamed and fell over, “Where the fuck did you come from!?”

The ninja… doctor? person offered a token wave and smiled beneath his mask, “Well that’s a long story, and it all started--”

“No I mean…,” Amalia interrupted before trailing off, “Who are you?”

“I’m Dr. McNinja,” The ninja-doctor person answered proudly, “And, it really isn’t polite to interrupt people’s stories.”

Amalia blinked as her brain restarted. Before she could even process what was happening Dr. McNinja was already assessing Hawkeye’s injuries.

“Is she dead?” Amalia asked.

“Haha, no,” He answered, “Though, she’s probably going to wish she was when she wakes up, I mean look at the size of that knot on her noggin, seriously, it’s like the size of a tennis ball.”

Amalia shot Erin a dirty look for being dramatic and the bird spirit pretended not to be paying attention.

“Here,” Dr. McNinja said, producing a small pill bottle and handing it to Amalia, “When she wakes up tell her to take two of these and uh, not to think too hard for at least 48 hours.”

As Dr. Mcninja stood and turned back towards the battle Amalia spoke up, “Wait, what are these?”

“Ibuprofen duh,” With that said the doctor moved away, stopping only for a moment to add, “Oh, and you probably shouldn’t move her too much, anyways, good luck!”

“Wait!” Amalia shouted, but by then the ninja-doctor was back into the thick of it.

Amalia exhaled slowly and allowed her outstretched hand to drop. Okay, good, the Lieutenant was not dead. Now all she had to do was remain inconspicuous until--

“Amalia?” A familiar voice said, “Is that really you?”

Amalia’s heart dropped. She looked up and saw two faces she hadn’t seen in over a year - her parents. They stood still, their faces just as dumbstruck as hers. Their bodies clad in the same garb as the other cultists.

“Mom? Dad?” Amalia responded, her throat growing tight.

“It really is you!” Her mom exclaimed and quickly pulled her into a hug.

It had been well over a year since she had been hugged. Hell, besides Juno, it had been well over a year since anyone had shown her any sort of affection. Amalia fell into her mother’s embrace and started to cry. She cried until she couldn’t cry anymore. Her mother shh’d her and stroked her hair, gently rocking back and forth. Why? Why after what they had put her through, what they had done, why did she still love them? Hate bubbled up within Amalia’s gut and despite it all she couldn’t help but miss her mommy.

“There, there, it’s okay,” Her mom whispered, “I got you, I got you.”

Erin cawed, “Amalia, do not forget what they’ve done to you, how they’ve made you suffer, command me to and I will remove their throats.”

Amalia swallowed hard and peeled away from her mom. She sniffled and wiped her eyes. She looked from her mom and over to her dad. They seemed older, but the warmth in their eyes had remained the same.

“Mom, dad,” Amalia paused, the words catching in her throat, “...why?”

“Amalia,” Her dad’s brow furrowed for a moment, and a glint of tears appeared in the corners of his eyes, “We’re sorry… God, we are so very sorry for what happened… we…”

“We love you honey,” Her mom said, “We love you more than anything…”

Amalia sniffled sharply and pulled away, stepping back towards Hawkeye’s body. Why had she come here? Was she just supposed to accept their apology? What about Lily? How could they possibly apologize for her sister’s death?

“How could you do that? How could you just throw me to the wolves? How could you let Lily get caught in the crossfire?” Amalia asked, her voice sharpened with anger, “How can you say you love me after what you've done!?”

“Amalia, please…” Her mom pleaded, “Please, just give us a chance to explain, I know you’ve been through hell, but please… just let us explain.”

Amalia fought back tears and failed. Her throat grew tight again and she clenched her fists hard enough that they hurt.

“Okay,” She said, “Explain.”

Her father opened his mouth, but another series of explosions cut him off. A ragdolled cultist flew through the air and skidded past them.

Her father cleared his throat and said, “Why don’t we go somewhere a bit more quiet.”

“Yes, good idea George,” Her mom said, holding out her hand, “Come Amalia, and we can explain everything.”

Every last danger sensor in Amalia’s brain screamed for attention. She glanced towards Hawkeye’s body and then back to her parents. She couldn’t just leave the lieutenant alone. Amalia shuffled in place, her mind still bristling with self-preservation instincts. What if they died here? What if she never found out the truth? How could she come this far and just walk away?

“Erin,” Amalia said.

“Yes Amalia?”

“Stay here, don’t let anyone touch the lieutenant,” She said.

“Amalia!” Erin screamed, “You cannot go with them! They’re our enemies!”

Amalia thumbed Juno’s pocketknife in her hoodie pocket, “I’ll be fine.”

“Thank you Amalia,” Her mom said, “Come on, this way.”

“Hold on,” Amalia said and turned towards the battlefield.

Her hair grew pale and began to writhe violently. The spirit residing in her right leg shuddered as she called upon it. A massive shoulder blade, belonging to a long-dead giant, materialized in front of her. The bone spirit pushed against the confines of the room, digging into the ground slightly as it fully manifested. It was wedged against the floor and the ceiling, forming an osseinic wall between the lieutenant and the rest of the battle. It flickered for a moment before turning completely transparent, vanishing from sight. Amalia’s leg muscles twitched as the spirit’s presence slowly began to tear them asunder. Satisfied with her barrier, she gave Erin one last nod before turning to follow her parents.
 

The Living

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The living spread itself thin on the cracked floor, seeping into it and deepening them as it gathered its strength. The large beast had returned, this time more powerful than before. The psionic cultist had also come back as well, and with them, an odd mouse with a key and an icy robot that gazed upon the slimy creature with an aura of disdain.

Before the slime could fully assess the situation with its limited sentience, the disgruntled Kopaka raised a finger and directed it at the creature, sending a beam of ice to the puddle of sludge, striking it with a snap of frost that turned it into a terrible slab. The caustic touch of the slime only struggled slightly to eat away at the cold ice, feeling only slightly chilly and somehow more wet than before.

“This abomination reeks of corruption. It must be destroyed.”

“Gotcha Koppy, let’s work together on this everyone!”

The slime’s nemesis behind them roared in agreement. So long its allies stayed out of the beast's way, it would make sure to direct its attacks to the right target. Eyes glanced at the ceiling as the roar was enough to shake the earth above them and bring the whole thing down on top of them.

“Do not test the integrity of these walls, they will not hold for long.” Kopaka coldy remarked.

Tobias groaned at the sight, not wanting to deal with the putrid enemy that he had encountered only moments earlier. Though it gave him some sense of relief that he wasn’t alone against it anymore, the feeling of dread that washed over his body failed to dissipate.

With a springy bounce, the slime popped itself together and flung itself at the back wall, sticking to it for a moment as it plotted its course, before suddenly ricocheting off like a bullet, hurling itself towards the smallest of its targets.

"Voltar Thundasir!" came the mouse’s reply, or more accurately, counter attack, as the arc of lightning struck true and sent the slime flying back from the group. The creature sputtered and gurgled, now already significantly smaller in size than when Tobias first met it.

The chosen psion waved his hand and gripped the creature in the air with his telekinetic grasp.

“Where is this power that Darkseid grants you? I see nothing but a waste of energy that is at the end of its life.”

Tobias raised the slime to the towering lizard, who seemed to almost grin with satisfaction as she inhaled sharply, ready to set the slime ablaze and be rid of its stench one more.

Until a sudden slash of claws tore into its flesh and down its back, revealing not just one but two parademons that managed to follow them inside. Godzilla reared back and directed its fire to one of its assailants, shaking off the two unmade demons.

Further behind them, a swarm of the locust-like creatures poured in, filling the room enough to even out the tide. Flames lit the room as Godzilla stomped about with a maw full of fire, causing rubble to drop from above. Tobias jumped back as a large block of stone slammed where he stood a moment before, forcing him to drop the slime and watch his back with the swarm of unmade.

Mickey moved towards Godzilla and attempted to protect its blind spots, locking his keyblade with one of the parademons. A struggle that ended up in his favor allowed him to push them off and swing his keyblade around, transforming it into a pair of pistols to shoot at the lesser locusts.

In the Kajiu’s rage, the most crucial load bearing pillar began to collapse. More jagged stone and dirt fell from the collapsing room, until a blast of cold began to hold it upward, a thin streak of ice binding the floor to the crumbling ceiling above. It slowly expanded, with Kopaka at its base, focusing their power on keeping everyone from a crushing death.

Mickey fought off what he could of the demons, as Tobias moved in to support the Toa. All of them frantically searched around for where the toxic jello had slipped off to.

Hunger.

The slime had retreated along the ranks of the swarm, quickly focusing what little energy it had on regenerating its flesh.

Feed.

A few locusts turned to the creature that had found a dark corner to retreat to, a lurching feeling in their mind forced them closer to it.

Sacrifice.

They came closer, and landed beside it, allowing the slime to reach out with its body and slowly engulf each of them in its gelatinous form. They did not move even with the slime melting away their bodies like sugar in warm water. It consumed their flesh and added it to its own, multiplying its mass in record time.

One by one a handful of locustmen flocked to the corner, out of sight and battle. It was Kopaka who noticed the dwindling numbers first. The Toa scanned the room with Kanohi Akaku until he located the already monstrously sized slime. A quick position change allowed him to find the ideal range as he lifted his sword above his head and called forth a powerful blast of ice that expanded before hitting the growing sludge monster. It held in place for a moment before it rolled over, and began to consume the ice itself. The creature raised itself up, heaving its weight into the air as it squirmed a single line from its body, fully realized with its newfound energy.

“This is the last moment of free will you will have before you become one with Darkseid.”

With a powerful slam the slime spread across the room and slammed into the icy pillar so delicately standing, creating a gelatinous wave of necrotic waste that crashed into the Kaiju first. Another roar echoed in the nearby caverns before Godzilla whipped her tail into the slime, which allowed the force to push through and completely take out a chunk of the pillar, causing half of the room’s ceiling to immediately sink and crush some of the locusts. Mickey found himself at the heart of the collapse, and only managed to escape with a few bruises as Tobias and Kopaka held up enough rubble with their combination of abilities for him to find safety.

The slime however, simply spread itself along the now partially collapsed room, continuing to feast upon the casualties of the battle and grow ever larger. At this moment, nearly half the forces of the unmade in the room had been dealt with, but with each passing moment, more of the floor became coated with slime, and the opposite end of the room from the heroes was slathered in acidic quicksand knee deep. It covered half the room already in the short span of time, and though it could not actively attack at this size, it quickly became clear that there was enough growth in that cancerous blob to trap them in without escape if they did not find a way to deal with it or find a way out.
The Living has used a focus to rapidly expand and try to fill the room. It wont be able to attack or move in any meaningful way, it will only just grow bigger. Think of it like a trap room of sand, except that sand can also melt your face off :D 0/1 focus remaining.
 

Lilith

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Wasteland. That was the only word that could describe the state of the town. Exorbitant homes, burgeoning businesses, none were spared from disaster, all lay in desolate ruin amidst the inhospitable landscape. Blankets of fire fluttered and twirled into the sky, their noxious fumes sapping what little breathable air remained. The abundant ocean was irrelevant to the matter. Eventually, the surface would be nothing more than charred rock. The financial loss was high. The death toll was higher.

And yet, not all hope was lost. As Nausicaa drew closer to total dissolution, altruists marched on to salvage the lives they could. The motors of rescue boats spun through the ocean-bound suburb, sounding above the wailing flames and miscellaneous noises of warfare. The transports frantically steered past debris and Unmade aberrations, harried by aerial and aquatic artillery at every corner.

Isn't it wonderful? thought Lilith, watching the madness unfold from atop a half destroyed balcony. The burning pillars made it impossible to see her destination, nor could she distinguish one devastated block of Nausicaa from the next, but that didn't deter the anarchist. If she could rely on one thing, it was her sense of direction. Travel was slow, however. She sensed her surroundings for hostilities, maneuvering around before attracting their attention. After all, the Unmade weren't hers to fight, why waste the effort?

Detour after detour, she made progress, but at this rate it'd take hours to reach the safe haven on foot. Time was wasting away. Lilith couldn't afford to let her prey slip away. How can I speed things along…

The ground began to shudder. From within a building snapped in two, the sadist stood awestruck at the sight of the collosal tentacle spearing out of the earth. It was coated in deep purple slime and rows of suckers, its size so inordinate it blotted out the sun. Why, that had to be the biggest tentacle she'd ever laid eyes on! And she's encountered plenty of enormous ones in her lifetime. It lurched back, preparing to flatten Lilith. Well, not her specifically, it was just so unfortunate she happened to be in its way.

Or was it?

The massive Unmade limb obliterated several entire blocks as it whipped down, upturning a storm of ash and smoke, like a great dark oak tree being cut down and collapsing on a mountain of finely ground wood chips.

I didn't think this is how I'd be going out today. For a brief moment, Lilith believed she'd been removed from the mortal realm and sent back to the abyss. But that couldn't be. She was in pain, she had to be alive. As the dust settled, her body rose off the demolished floor, attached to the gooey surface of the creature that'd crushed her only seconds prior. It seems she had the foresight to subconsciously transform before the moment of impact.

Lilith stood up sideways as her heels melted into the tentacle. The solution was now quite literally in front of her. She'd coax the tendril into launching her towards her goal. With a single objective on her mind, she began crawling up the height, performing the world's largest tentacle ride. Despite its incessant undulations, she was never thrown off balance, as gravity was on her side. Every step or grab bored a hole into the hulking mass of purple flesh. Almost to the top. She just had to make it in time before the tentacle thrashed down again.

After avoiding several attempts at a premature flinging, Lilith clambered to the peak and unleashed a furious haymaker into the humongous worm.

"COME ON YOU SLIMY FUCKER, THROW ME!!" she screamed into the stratosphere.

The tentacle climber got what she asked for. She braced herself as she ejected from the tendril at mach speed, catapulting at least a thousand feet in the air and soaring like a meteor across the scorched town.


Meanwhile, somewhere far away, and soon, very near…

"O Darkseid, O glorious Fallen Arbiter, we invoke your powerful name. Cast your dominion over this land. Let all the miserable insects plaguing the Crossroads give praise to you alone. Accept our humble offering—"

A gaggle of robed cultists gathered at a rooftop, circled around an occult rune inscribed over an omega symbol. Their procession was interrupted by the sudden crashing of a nearby house, signaled by the WHOOSH of an unidentified object.

"What the flying fuck was that?!" cried one of the cultists.

"Pay it no mind! Focus on the ritual!" scolded another. "Again, from the top. No stops this time, do you all understand?"


The tar woman groaned, reluctantly coming to her senses. Her whole body ached and her head felt like it was about to fall out. "Hurgghh…" She tried sitting up, only to fall through another floor of the mansion she landed in.

CRASH

"Oouuwghh…" Now she lay in a mixture of crumbled marble and muddy water. Not the worst spot to let her body recover itself. The damage subsided eventually, but soreness clung to her bones. After regaining movement, she climbed up a hill of broken building materials and headed for the nearest opening in the wall. Her skin returned to its usual colorless complexion, valuing solid ground to rest on.

Lilith always appeared clean, free of cuts, bruises, blemishes, and stains. She never reformed any differently to how she originally was. She used to change, ever so slightly, back when she aged normally. But it's been ages since she's had any discernible development. She was relegated to this semblance, whether she liked it or not. Some might see it as a blessing, but it made her uncanny in contrast to everyone else. If anything, she stood out more.

The completely spotless woman peered out to the neighborhood. She guessed this used to be an especially affluent suburb, judging by the rows of mansions—if you could even call them that. What stood in their place were monuments of tarnished opulence.

From across the decrepit mansion, Lilith spotted the robed figures. It only took a few seconds of listening for her to know everything she needed to.

Ugh, why is this the first place I find a cult? If only there was a worthy entity to worship.

Something disturbed the streets. It was fast approaching.

"What's that singing?"


The merry round of sea shanties came to a halt.

"Drop the anchor!" commanded Captain Cedric Armstrong.

"What be the meaning of this, Cap'n?"

"Thar be blubbering worshippers of Darkseid, the source of our fortune and our misfortune. I say we pay them back—by turning 'em into food fer the Kraken!"

The crew unquestioningly cheered and rallied behind their captain. It was easy to see why; there was no room in the vast sea for Darkseid cultists.

The pirate ship stalled next to the ritual in progress.

Captain Armstrong aimed his cutlass at the blasphemers, challenging "Cower behind Darkseid all ye want, he can't save yer sorry arses now!"


This looked boring at first, but now… Maybe I have some time to kill. Lilith kicked back and spectated the fight between the pillaging pirates and the cultists.


"Stand your ground! They're nothing but small time brigands," hissed the cult leader. His hands lit up in a wreath of mystic flames. The other acolytes brandished daggers, throwing knives, and handguns.

"Ready the cannons, men! Bury every last one of 'em along with Nausicaa!" shouted the captain, his velvet mane bristling in the sea breeze.

The ensuing clash consisted of booming combustions and clanging gunfire. The cultists were clearly outnumbered, but that little fact didn't quell their delusions. They'd already forfeited their lives when they decided to devote themselves to the Unmaker (who, by the way, was not impressive to Lilith).

The cult leader charged up a fireball while his comrades provided defense with ward spells. In his palms he held a mass of violet, crackling, coruscating energy, launching it in a high arc to blast the vessel to wooden splinters.

The pirates were not without their own brand of sorcery. An elderly man with flowing silver hair entrenched himself in the line of fire, supported by a crewman on either side. The three made a practiced motion in unison, bending their elbows and knees a particular way, finishing right before they'd be burned to a crisp. A blockade of brackish water jutted forth on the side of the ship, repelling the bolt of fire and ruining the cultists' costumes in the process.

Captain Armstrong bellowed a hearty laugh before calling out, "Barry, fetch me my Cannon Arm!"

The buccaneer responsible for procuring the attachable weapon returned with a case housing the masterfully crafted prosthetic implement. He swapped his boss's metal left hand for the Cannon Arm, and loaded an explosive shot in the barrel.

"Gyahaha! Worship this you cretins!" taunted the trigger happy captain, before lobbing the flaming mortar shell at the band of cultists, smiting them in a destructive detonation. The ritual site was engulfed by the thunderous explosion, and any Darkseid worshippers not immediately blown to bits soon plunged into the burning building.

Lilith almost felt like hootin' and hollerin' along with the pirates, when she was assailed from behind by an Unmade zombie. It shambled forwards, skin coated in countless pulsating purple blisters, eyes completely sunk and jaw unhinged.

She took the walking corpse's head clean off with a single acidified punch, then ripped its arm off, having yet another taste test. It wasn't as bad as she expected, considering that she was corruption incarnate. A bit on the chewy side, with some strange gunk where the blood should be.

"Hmmmm… oh no."

She keeled over as she began retching black bile.

"Unghh…" Even I'm not immune to an upset stomach.

After that brief distraction, Lilith turned to the pirate ship. How will I get their attention? She could simply call out…

But where'd be the sense of drama, the tension?

She doesn't play the role of the damsel in distress well, but perhaps she could put herself in artificial danger to make it seem real. Her eyes frantically searched for the nearest object to use, landing on a conveniently exposed rod of rebar. Perfect way to hurt myself. She slid her leg under the rusted point, then disturbed the rubble it was sticking out from, crushing and impaling her calf region.

"KYAAAAAAAAUGH!!" she howled in a perverse amalgamation of pain and pleasure, tendons splitting and snapping, blood gushing and pooling.


"Aye Cap, I think someone's in trouble o'er there."

"The sound rings true." Cedric contemplated the best course of action. "We may be thieves but we arn't above givin' back. Alright men, dock to the right!"

Through a combination of magic and engineering, the ship moved sideways. Lilith saw a wooden plank sliding through a missing section of wall, where a squad of crew members moved to remedy the manufactured situation.

"3, 2, 1, lift!" directed one of them.

"Fffrgh…! Can't move…" groaned the faux victim. A thick coating of blood caked the rebar as the seafarers hoisted it out.

"Get her out of there! Patch up that leg!" One of the sailors applied bandages and a splint to the mangled area.


Lilith was guided onto the ship, where she leant against the mast. Amazing they were able to get this thing sailing here. A stout, maroon-bearded man climbed down from his station at the helm, honorably introducing himself.

"The name's Cedric Armstrong, Captain o' the Tidal Champion. And you are, little- er, big lady?"

"Ah… Lilith." She pretended to be out of breath.

"Well met. What brings ye out 'ere?" joked the captain.

"You guys are taking advantage of the tragedy, right? I'm something of an opportunist myself."

"Well, we certainly arn't with the rescue team!" The surrounding crew mates chuckled in unison. "Judging by that accident o' yers, it's not going so well."

"Yeah… I was on my way to the evacuation zone when I got caught up in that predicament."

"Oh, arn't ya an ambitious one. I'd be happy to let ye join the crew, one thief to ano'er. Why don't ye slap down some clothes an' hop on deck?"

"Actually I—" She stopped herself. "...do need that, yes."

Lilith hobbled as she trekked to the lower cabins, but was otherwise fine to walk on her own. She received an assortment of skeevy looks from the swashbucklers, probably because of the whole naked thing, but also because they weren't so inclined to trust her.

After finding a trunk of spare garments, the new member of the high seas dressed herself appropriately for the occasion. She laced her body in the usual black straps, and overlaid them with a bikini top and waistcloth, in matching colors, that were all too small for her larger frame.

There was no mirror to admire herself in, but nonetheless she pirouetted. "Wow, I totally rock the slutty pirate look!" she exclaimed out loud for some reason, with oddly genuine enthusiasm. Donning the outfit, she recalled her first days after stumbling into this fantastical land. It hadn't been that long ago, had it?

Captain Armstrong hailed Lilith over after she returned in slightly less revealing attire. "Aye, let's continue our conversatin'!"

"Sure, I don't have anything else going on. What's there to talk about?" She sat precariously on a rail.

"What's got ye so in'erested in the evacuation zone?"

"Oh, you know, stealing." She flipped her hand nonchalantly.

"Really? Yer infiltratin' all on yer own? With a broken leg?" Armstrong turned to face her as he steered the ship.

"Yeup. It's no big deal, I'll walk it off."

"Hope ye've got a hell ov'a plan then." He wasn't going to question this strange woman's ways, but he was mighty wary of her.



"Arright lass, yer stop's comin' up right 'ere," informed Captain Armstrong.

Lilith salivated in anticipation, scarlet eyes glinting with aspirations of unregulated, rampant violence. I can't wait! I can't wait! The sadist went positively hyperactive, springing up and down so much she might've toppled the boat. She was now in the midst of the prey's nest, and although the air cleared up, the danger remained ever present. The supposed safe haven consisted of an alcove of ships adjacent to the City of Hope, acting as the last bastion of security and shelter, interspersed with tents on makeshift rafts.

Between sending out search teams, harboring survivors, and unearthing the source of the Unmade, the City of Hope's defense force was spread thin. All it'd take is a little push for the fragile balance to splinter apart. From who else, but a being of unbridled, unrestrained chaos and disruption. It was then that Lilith's twisting, writhing neurons fired one after another, devising a plan of pure diabolism. She'd capitalize on the desperation of the rescuers, boarding a ship as an innocuous survivor. Then, with everyone corralled in one place, she'd snuff out the last of their hope.

"Ironic, it be. The sky dwellers have become like the shanty towns they so despised," the captain solemnly remarked. "Right then, where'll ye be departin'?"

"Take me to the freighter," the manic woman requested.

"Goin' fer the big catch, aye?" Armstrong spun the wheel as the ship pulled up to the larger and longer vessel. Up above, a lift was lowered between them. To the guy in charge of bringing in survivors, the pirates looked like any other rescue boat.

Lilith vaulted over the railing at the first possible chance, turning back to wink, waving her salutations to the red-bearded sailor. "Thanks for the ride, my Captain!~"



"Got room for one more?" the new passenger aboard the cargo ship asked rhetorically.

One of the posted guards responded, "Yeah, but you won't find any on the lower decks."

"Oh that's quite alright. I'll make myself at home right next to the open sea!" And Lilith was off to do her own thing.

"Well that lady's taking this mess well."


Lilith stared back as the Tidal Champion returned to haul more loot from the ruins of Nausicaa. Off in the distance, she saw the crew fight off a tangle of tentacles. Captain Armstrong seemed to be loading a missile into his prosthetic cannon. The resultant explosion bathed the ship in purple rain.

"They seem nice."

She began taking inventory of the people that managed to live through the disaster; the same people that'd soon meet their demise. Of course there were the volunteer soldiers. A few families here and there. Lots of widows and orphans. It was such an overwhelmingly miserable sight. Honestly, she was doing everyone a favor putting their grief to an end.

She overheard a conversation between the guards.

"Some of these islanders haven't been on a boat in their lives."

"Yeah, crazy. Probably forgot what one looks like too."

Elsewhere, an impatient aristocrat complained aloud. "This is absurd. What's taking the city so long to lift me- I mean- us out of this hellhole?!"

Admittedly, Lilith wasn't too well-versed in naval engineering. It's not like I can just go asking around for how to sink a ship. She thought for a moment. What keeps a ship from tipping over? They were clearly designed to be balanced as they sailed across the ocean. So if she just shifted the balance to one side, the whole brig would come crashing down. Perhaps by causing an internal flood?

The aspiring boat wrecker closed her eyes, shutting out all the background noise. Bullets flying, turgid waters smacking against the hull, weeping parents and children—silenced. An array of flares flashed in the lightless space, each representing a life. From the fleeting view, Lilith estimated there were several hundred people crammed into the freighter.

She peered over the railing, examining the lower shell plating. After looking over her shoulder, she dove off the edge, cannonballing into the salty abyss. She was growing fond of jumping from great heights. Just beside her, separated by a few layers, was the engine room.

It's time to make my debut.

Morphing her body black as oil, Lilith walked below the ocean surface, choosing a satisfactory spot to rupture the ship. Then, she let loose a cascade of frenzied stomps, denting and corroding the metal bulwark. The saboteur made short work of penetrating the ship's defense, a torrent of water rushing into the hole. But that was only the beginning of her warpath. As sirens and warnings blared, she left a trail of burning holes, turning the plating into dissolving swiss cheese. By now the evacuation order had been given, but she'd not give them the chance.

The lower deck went into a riot, drowning out the mourning with a chorus of discordant screams. As passengers pushed and shoved and tripped over each other, they noticed too late that a hand formed from sludge burst through a window, busting someone's head into a shower of pink and red. The monster responsible for the instantaneous decapitation revealed themselves, burning into the walls and welcoming the crowd of horrified victims.

The ramp to the upper deck was now impeded by a bloodthirsty creature composed entirely of acid and a mounting blockade of bodies. With every swing, kick, or jab, a life was ended, mercilessly, indiscriminately. No option existed for the people to find salvation. Turn back, and drown to death. Try to go above, and become liquefied. Fighting back was an equally useless endeavor. Knives burned into nothingness, bullets only slowed it down. Jump out to the ocean, and toss your fate to the pelagic predators. Sit still, and pray that the slaughter is swift.

Once more she was reminded of that time, when stepping out of the shadows was forbidden, when every trace of her work was erased, when no one knew her name. But now? She was unafraid and unashamed, sharing her despair across all the worlds. Lilith made her mark; no longer was there room for idle bystanders.

The terrorizer continued the massacre, inundating the interior with a sea of innocent bloodshed.


Standing within the sinking ship, which now served as a watery grave, she laughed hysterically.


"Truly, I am an artist."
Lilith is now an enemy of the City of Hope.

Communications are reporting an unidentified creature attacking rescue ships and are requesting backup. One ship has already fallen. Another is on the verge. Hostages and soldiers are in a state of disarray and panic at an attack occurring from within the perimeter. Unmade are quick to take advantage of the break in the fortifications.
 

Android XVII

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The battle had been joined.

At this point, Seventeen wasn’t certain he really understood the entire situation. Their original employment contract had stipulated that they destroy the unmade, but much like Dante’s Abyss, the whole scene was literally jam-packed with countless weirdos, miscreants, and mutants. Who’s to say that fish-faced pirate wasn’t harboring some evil juju within his barnacle-encrusted exterior?

Although the fight had been joined, evacuations had been complicated.

Pushing through the throng, Seventeen and Beatrix found themselves joined by Jaina just south of the swordsman’s position. With his attention fractured in about six different directions, their intended ally seemed a bit relieved when a hail of mismatched projectiles chewed into some of his immediate adversaries, who withered beneath the display.

“Thank you,” the man replied. “Name’s Zack. Zack Fair.”

“I’m Se—”

Beatrix clapped a hand on Seventeen’s shoulder before leaning around Zack to shoot at a nearby zombie. “This is Steve, I’m Beatrix, and the blonde is Jaina.”

“Greetings,” Jaina replied as she planted her staff and released a burst of arcane energy that battered a mass of approaching monstrosities.

“Odds are not in our favor,” Zack replied. “Got any tricks?”

“Only the worst ones,” Seventeen remarked, eliciting a scowl from Beatrix.

“All you have is a quick trigger finger and light-up palms,” the blood magus groaned.

Seventeen frowned. “I control metal! What do you do? Bleed??

Beatrix pivoted from the oncoming zombies and frowned at her companion. “My entire body is a weapon.”

The rebuttal brought a laugh from the cyborg. “Bet you I have tricks you don’t even know.”

“Can you two stop this bickering?” Jaina muttered as she walked over and set a hand on Beatrix’s shoulder. “You can measure dicks after this, but for now, we need to join forces. I’ve heard reports that several other mercenaries are pushing underground into some temple complex.”

“Sounds like a literal plan,” Seventeen replied as he grabbed both ladies by the wrists. In a flash of sparkling particles, the three individuals were gone.

Heading underground, if that is still legal.
 
Last edited:

Dr. McNinja

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“Maybe I should’ve given that lady more than ibuprofen,” Doc thought to himself as he tumbled over a cultist’s shoulders, landing gracefully on his feet.

“The woman’s concussed, bleeding internally and barely holding on,” the voice inside Doc’s head said, “You’re a terrible doctor.”

“Shut up,” Doc replied out loud as he kicked the back of the cultist’s knees.

The cultist looked up at him, bewildered. “Huh?”

“I SAID SHUT UP” Doc shouted, slashing at the back of the cultist’s neck. There. Paralyzed for life, if he lived at all.

“You’re now using your medical knowledge to permanently maim instead of heal,” the voice inside Doc’s head taunted.

“Blah blah blah can’t hear you” Doc groaned as he flung himself into a bicycle kick, hammering brutal blows into another cultist’s chest.

Mikey glanced worriedly at the doctor as he jabbed a cultist in the jaw with his elbow. “You okay, Doc?”

“Just fine,” Doc replied, backhanding the bicycle-kicked cultist to the ground, “Why do you ask?”

“You’re talking to yourself.”

“Mmhmm,” Doc muttered casually, “I think that blond girl got away.”

Mikey looked around. “Oh, yeah! Hey, Leo! The blond girl is gone-“

On cue, an absolutely massive shoulderblade bone erupted out of the ground, forming a protective wall around where Lieutenant Hawkeye was. The sight paused everyone in the battlefield for a brief moment, before the fighting just as suddenly continued.

“I guess she must be guarding Hawkeye!” Mikey shouted as he repeatedly clubbed a cultist’s head.

“Shouldn’t you be helping her, Doc?” Leo shouted, parrying another blade with his own.

Doc rolled his eyes. “She’ll be fine! I gave her ibuprofen!”

“Ibuprofen?” all four turtles yelled, equally surprised.

“Wait, are you a doctor?” Mustang shouted.

“Technically!”

“Then go help her! She needs your medical attention!”

“And in my professional opinion,” Doc said, grabbing the back of a cultist’s shirt and tossing him into a charging cultist, “beating up these dudes is way more fun!”

“What kind of doctor are you?” Mustang snapped.

“The NINJA kind!” Doc shouted with glee as he slapped a particularly burly cultist. The impact sent the cultist into Donny’s staff, and Raphael fell from nowhere with a bent knee. The cultist, after his head was crushed between a quarterstaff and a giant turtle knee, collapsed immediately.

Doc spun around, moving to slash another cultist, but stopped in his tracks. This cultist had charged directly through the wall of fire to attack Doc. Doc stumbled back, stammering. Raphael looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

“What’s happening? You good?” the turtle said.

“I uh… Hm.” Dr. McNinja cleared his throat, gripping his sword. “He’s on fire. I don’t quite know how to… Hm.”

[EN: Dear readers, ninjas from Dr. McNinja’s world are unable to catch you if you are on fire!]

The pyromancer from earlier snapped his fingers again. Embers spun out of his wrist, and in an instant the cultist was caught even more aflame. The man disintegrated into ash before Doc’s very eyes.

Mustang glared at Dr. McNinja. “Well, I’m the Flame Alchemist. I’m going to be setting people on fire. So maybe you’d be better suited HELPING THE INJURED. DOCTOR.”

Doc shrugged and pointed at the ninja turtles. “What about them? They’re ninjas too. They can’t catch burning people.”

“No, we’re fine with burning people,” Raphael said as he kicked back another cultist who charged through the wall of fire.

Donatello swept the leg of another one. “I mean, we’d rather they weren’t burning? We don’t really like killing people.”

“See? Even the nonsense ninja turtles is judging you,” the voice in Doc’s head said with a somehow audible eye-roll.

“ALRIGHT FINE I’LL BE BORING” Dr. McNinja snapped, giving one last petulant kick to a cultist’s face before he left. He then jumped backwards, somersaulting his way across the entire room to the top of the spectral shoulderblade. He flipped once, clearing the bone entirely and landing by Hawkeye’s side.

“Cool name, by the way, Miss Hawkeye,” Doc said, “Don’t worry, I’m a doctor.”

Hawkeye laid against the wall, her skin pale as blood spilled out of the back of her skull. Oh, right. Unconscious.

As another explosion rocked the room, sending dust flying from above, Doc laid two fingers against her wrist. The neck was more reliable, but if her neck was damaged, then pressing his fingers hard against her throat would have done more damage. No pulse. He held his blade against Hawkeye’s mouth. No fog, not breathing.

“What is he doing?” Mustang demanded from behind the wall.

“Look, I know he’s weird but he’s a good guy!” Leo responded, “Trust him! Let him work!”

Doc then forced open her eyes with his fingers and used his blade to reflect some firelight into her eyes. Not the best way to shine light, but enough to notice there was no response.

Damn. She was pretty dead, actually.

Whatever. Doc’s seen worse. Hell, he’s been worse.

Doc reached into his coat. Now, he knows he packed some adrenaline shots somewhere… Ah, there’s the miniature defibrillator. He’d need that too.

There was a loud bang as something hard landed against the shoulder bone behind Doc.

“You okay, Raphael?” Doc shouted over the noise.

“Just - hrrrngh - fine!”

The turtle grunted again as he was thrown against the bone again. There was a whipping noise, and Raphael grunted as he landed on the ground. Doc heard the furious turtle roar as he charged back into battle.

Doc jabbed at Hawkeye’s side. Thankfully, the rest of her body was in pretty good shape for Doc to do this. With a single acupuntural strike, Doc started feeling for what was exactly going on in her skull.

Okay, no fracture on the skull. Good, because there’s no quick way to fix that. Definitely concussed, though, and-

“Oh, goodness,” Doc said, feeling the blood pooling in her skull and her broken neck, “I guess I found me a cause of death.”

First things first, stop the external bleeding. Doc spun his hands, and bandages and gauze appeared in his hand. With a swift motion, he wrapped the lieutenant’s head with the bandages, tightly enough to hopefully stop the bleeding entirely. But not too tight. Don’t wanna make the concussion worse.

Behind him, another explosion rocked the room, and two dead bodies thumped hard against the bone behind him. Ugh, now this little nook smelled like barbecue.

Next, get her breathing again. To eject the blood from her brain without the proper tools, she would need to be awake. That was tougher, since blood flow was pretty required to wake a person up from near-death. That’s fine. Doc will improvise.

“Sorry, Hawkeye,” Dr. McNinja mumbled to the unconscious lieutenant, “This is gonna suck.”

“So this is where you’re hiding, pesky little ninja,” an unknown voice mumbled from behind the bone wall.

Doc spun behind him, and the spectral bone wall shook violently. McNinja squinted as he listened, and heard the telltale signs of bone fracture, as well as the resounding whine of magic.

“Ugh, magic,” Doc mumbled as he continued to work.

He pulled out the adrenaline shot and flicked the needle to make sure the fluid was coming through. Another crack.

“I will tear you apart in the name of Darkseid.”

“I’m treating a patient here, can someone take care of this?” Doc shouted out.

There was no response. Presumably, none of them could hear him over the sounds of battle. Doc rolled his eyes as the bone rumbled with another crack.

“Yeah, that’s enough of that,” Dr. McNinja mumbled to himself.

The shoulderblade tore violently in half, its marrow rotting and spilling bile onto the floor. The two halves of the spectral bone hovered in the air, revealing the still unconscious Hawkeye, now with a bandage around her head and a needle on her lap. The mage prepared to telekinetically crush the pesky doctor. But McNinja was nowhere to be seen.

“What the,” the mage muttered.

Doc was, in fact, hanging onto the inside of one of the shoulderblades. His eyes were closed as he hung onto the inside, hiding from the mage as he focused.

“Do-do mi-do re-te,” Dr. McNinja hummed quietly. His aura pulsed once, like a warm breeze in a field. The eyes behind his mask left a trail of glowing light as he moved silently behind the mage. “Do do-do te re do.”

[EN: He’s singing musical notes, dear readers! Also, “Te” is Bb.]

Doc smirked as he lifted his hands in a trained martial arts position. They sizzled in the humid air, and each knuckle seemed to glow with the concentrated power of the sun. Only then did the mage seemed to notice him, as light was exploding from behind the shoulder bone he was lifting up.

The mage smirked. “There you are-“

In a flash, Doc leapt out from behind the floating bone. He flew impossibly fast at the mage, fist shining as he did. Upon contact, a flood of positive ki shattered its way through the mage’s body, sending glowing ripples through his skin. His blood boiled for a brief second, and the mage’s eyes started glowing in tandem with Doc’s.

“I ain’t afraid of no ghosts,” the physician chanted.

The mage collapsed, screaming and gripping his head, light spilling out of his eyes like tears.

“Never thought to try that on a living thing before,” Doc quipped, “What a bright idea.”

One-liner secured. Doc rushed back to Hawkeye’s side, jamming the adrenaline shot into her chest. He squeezed the syringe’s pump, feeling the resistance of Hawkeye’s heart trying to accept the invasive fluid.

Hawkeye’s eyes suddenly snapped open, and she gagged on her own throat. She rolled over, spewing out blood, then rolled back. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head, and her lungs seemed to stop working again as her mouth gaped for air.

Right. Flooding skull.

“Please try to relax, Lieutenant Hawkeye. I’m a doctor. If you struggle during this next procedure, this could do irreparable damage.”

The woman gave no verbal confirmation that she heard Dr. McNinja, but Doc watched her visibly try to relax, despite her body screaming at her that everything was wrong. Her very head must have felt like it was actually being split open with an axe, not to mention the pain from her broken neck bone applying pressure on her nervous system. Despite the pain, Hawkeye was lying down, perfectly still, not even gasping for air. Yet she was still conscious, Doc could tell from her moving eyes. Doc raised his brow, impressed. What a tough lady.

“Alright, I haven’t tried this in years, but it worked when I did it the first time!”

Doc could sense the disbelief coming from Hawkeye, even with no verbal reaction.

“Whatever. I’m sure it’s fine,” Dr. McNinja said. He took out a sprig of lilyfrass from his pocket.

Mustang, who noticed that he could see Dr. McNinja working on his friend.

“What is he doing now…” Mustang muttered.

Doc, in one swift motion, picked up Hawkeye’s tortured body and slung it over his shoulder. He rotated Hawkeye’s body over his shoulders, spinning her above his head over and over again. Before Mustang could even protest McNinja’s man-handling of a very injured woman, Doc shoved the lilyfrass into Hawkeye’s right nostril and slammed her headfirst into the floor.

Roy Mustang sprinted at Dr. McNinja to punch him. “I’ll kill you, you son of a-“

Doc laid Hawkeye gently on the floor, and Hawkeye wretched as she gripped her stomach. She vomited blood onto the floor, coughing and sputtering. A truly inelegant sight, but the fact that she was moving at all stunned Mustang in the middle of his outburst.

“I’m okay, Lieutenant Colonel,” Hawkeye mumbled, hand against her head, “Little dizzy.”

“Yeah, I had to give the body a spin first before applying the treatment,” Doc said apologetically, “You’re alive, though! And I set your neck in place, but try not to turn your head too quickly. Also, if you were allergic to cats, you aren’t anymore.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Dr. McNinja noticed the mage he stunned earlier start to get up.

“By the way, that mage is getting up,” Doc told Mustang, “Wanna set him on fire too?”

Used 1 Focus to boost Doc’s Deep Pockets and got Hawkeye back up on her feet!
 
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The good news was: they’d finally reached the man in charge!
And it'd only taken getting utterly taken hostage to get there.

It had been Juno’s fault. She’d told Amalia to sit down a second, to fix her wings. The only thing wrong with it was her plant, and in the midst of coaxing the little thing back to life they’d gotten jumped. Juno didn’t have anything but her fists, and Amalia - well -

“I’m not useless, I’m not useless, I’m not useless,” Juno panted, moments after giving her sharp nod to Mustang. “Mustang of Markov” is what the head cultist had called him. Whatever happened, he had just saved her life, he sounded big and important, and he’d just summoned fire out of thin air. She wasn’t about to question the man midway through.
The lieutenant was not hard to find. She could see it, the collapsed figure of a woman resting in the alcove of the wall, her uniform the same as Mustang’s - but in the chaos, she’d seen Amalia slip away. There was no sight of her, now. Juno herself was much taller, and much easier to target. She’d felt the rough yank of a hand in her hair - her hand was slamming into the chin of a cultist, wet boot slamming between his legs before they got a second shot. But it wasn’t good.

“Amalia?” Juneberry shouted. No response, none that she could hear. There was a kid, somewhere here. “Amalia!”

Juno waded through the cultists, bobbing, weaving, clawing where she had to. The lieutenant was there, on the ground - a woman just a bit older than Juno herself. Still breathing?

“You,” Juno said, looking at the crow resting on the Lieutenant’s shoulder blade, nosing it as if it was considering how edible the Lieutenant was.

“Me,” said Erin, dejected.

Juno reached for the woman, but yelped as she felt her hand smack into some invisible barrier- and right on the finger Lilith bent, too. Juneberry opened her mouth to ask, but Erin was there, grabbing her sleeve by the beak, and yanking her around.

Whatever! Weird demon bird taking me places around invisible walls? Whatever! This might as well happen.

The lieutenant was crumpled on the floor, looking for all the world like she was dead. Juno knelt, feeling for a pulse. There, and she checked over the head, ducking as she felt a body swing over her head. Juneberry turned, but by then Erin had launched herself at the body, and come back smelling distinctly of iron and salt. Juno just turned back to the Lieutenant.

“Sorry,” she muttered, fingers fluttering over her holster, “gotta borrow this.”

Juneberry hated Crossroad guns. She hated it. It was a heavy, dead thing in her hands. There was no call of life in it, and there was nothing for her to feed with her magic.

But dangit, when her bullet sunk into the leg of a cultist, Juno thought it might not be that bad.

“Where’s Amalia?” Juneberry shouted to Erin, feeling the bird land on her shoulder as she aimed and fired once more. The Lieutenant was just behind her, so Juneberry wasn’t too worried about anything sneaking up on her. She had to appreciate how prepared the woman was. Juneberry had liberated a few extra magazines, stuffing them hastily into her pockets. Whatever invisible barrier that was surrounding one side of the lieutenant was now shielding her and Erin, which made for a nice chokepoint that Juneberry could aim at. Good thing, too, because she was rusty.

“Off being foolish,” said Erin, but Juno heard the strain of distress in the bird’s voice. “You saw the wall?”

“The wall?” Juneberry cursed and resorted to her fists again, feeling the bridge of a nose crack underneath her fist. “What wall?”

“The one made of bone!” Erin beat her wings, causing Juno to squawk and swat at her. “The one that’s disappeared!”

You want me to notice a bone wall that’s disappeared?!” Juno smacked Erin away from her, firing off two shots and cursing loudly. “Between the, I don’t know, fight and like, half a dozen ninjas in here I might have been a little distracted! Just tell me where she is! Is she safe?”

“Far from safety!” Erin took a pause as she launched herself at a cultist, pecking viciously at their eyes. Juno took the opportunity to pop off two shots into their abdomen, something that Erin looked back at with some level of pleasure. Juno thought she was going to punt Erin into the wall. “She’s found her parents! The beastly things took her away.”

“Her parents?” That’s what she had been there for, right? Wasn’t this a good thing? Juneberry had heard Erin screaming about betraying all of them earlier, so she wasn’t sure if she wanted to take Erin at her word anyways. Maybe Amalia had left the bird to die. Awesome.

“Monsters!” Erin screeched, beating her wings before Juno. “Out to kill her! Always have been, fae, she’s going to die!”

Juneberry turned to Erin fully. “...are you sure?”

“Beyond certain!” Erin said.

Juneberry looked back at the Lieutenant, gentle as if asleep. Then she looked at Erin, the crow’s claws bloody and still hungry for more.

“Can you keep her safe?” Juneberry asked. Erin’s beady eyes looked at her critically.

“Can you?”

By the time Doc had reached Hawkeye, Juneberry was long gone.
 

Ridley

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Cleaving through the parademons that were after the rescue vehicles was far from a simple job. In an unrestricted airspace, Ridley was undisputed king of the skies, able to outfly and burn the Parademons with ease. The fact that their goals in those situations were simply ‘fight’ or ‘flight’ also helped with the issue. The Rescue craft floating through the air and sea were giving cover to the parademons to use, and Ridley had to juggle the job of keeping the creatures off the landers while keeping his own hide safe.

Fortunately, as the Pirate King proved with a swipe clean into a Parademon’s heart, even battered, pricked and blasted the savage beast was more than a match for the savage creatures. They were stubborn, but stupid, and Ridley couldn’t find in himself any form of respect for these creatures.

The pirate’s eyes briefly closed, thinking back to the Carnival. The clown was a buffoon masquerading as a predator… but he’d given Ridley far better pieces to work with than this. As far as Ridley was concerned, Darkseid’s real army had died on that island.

The idea had merit to explore, Ridley grimaced, but there were still a million bees flying about the floating landers to take out, and Ridley was quick to find his next enemy.

With a screech, the Space Pirate commander snapped forward, intent on catching the parademon in his maw. The Pirate missed, and a spear-tip pierced his skin and lodged in his rib-cage, to the Parademon’s satisfaction. Ridley slashed across the freak of nature’s midsection, leaving a bloody trail as his revenge, and the Parademon’s grin faded, as it dove towards the water below.

Ridley Dove after it, not losing in speed with his superior size and wings, but the agile warrior managed to evade the pirate’s Claws for some time using it’s smaller stature to its advantage.

This did not last for long, however, and as they neared the water’s edge, Ridley slammed one Talon into the Parademon’s midsection, bouncing it off the ship before snatching it up on the rebound. Planting Darkseid’s minion firmly against the Ship, the Sadistic pirate planned on taking flight and grinding the weakling’s body against the ship until the flesh and organs were ripped free, but fate had other plans.

In a showering of corrosive acid, the side of the ship dissolved like soggy cardboard, swallowing up the surprised parademon behind it. Ridley snapped to attention as his hand was also dragged in by the sudden shift, and in the darkness his eyes narrowed as a smell struck his nose.

The warning was sufficient for him to drop the parademon just in time, as acid engulfed the unfortunate demon. The creature might have screamed, but it didn’t take long for his tongue to turn to powder, and his teeth to rot into a dirty green ooze before vanishing entirely, so Ridley doubted his lungs were faring any better. The violent convulsing was an entirely silent comedy for Ridley’s pleasure, and for a brief moment a sadistic joy lit his features.

Then, the intelligence above Ridley’s impulses kicked in, and he realized he’d just found a new, unknown problem. One keeping the opealon military from handling the problem he actually cared about, and one happening under his watch.

With a snarl, the Dragon ripped open his own gateway into the ship with nothing but brute force, Tail lashing into the ship with enough power to blow a dragon-sized hole into the weakened metal, allowing the Dragon to smash his way through and into the deck.

He found himself flying just above the floor in a cargo hold. Darkness covered most of the area, with a few terribly underpowered lamps overhead. They were more than enough to see by, And the human corpses in various states of burned were easier to smell than see regardless.

There was something else, though, something stronger than the smell of simian decay. Acidic, almost sulfurous, with a hint of something else…

The Dragon locked eyes on the source, something bearing the silhouette of a Terran woman. The silhouette, and little more, for her skin and hair had more in common with a thick tar than flesh and bone. One of Darkseid’s new creations, perhaps?

Ridley was quick to land on a crate, safely above the current acid level, to observe, tail lashing from side to side as he studied the creature.

“H… help me! Please… I don’t want to die.” A voice spoke from underneath ridley.

A human teenager, from the looks of it, the inklings of hair on the front of his face, a tattered head covering and what remained of a coat across the top half of his body. The bottom half had been completely turned into some sort of goo, and Ridley guessed the actual bones had already been washed away from their owner.

What a witless creature. He was already dead, yet stubbornly clinging on to life. He was no space dragon, to survive to surgery, and yet he felt the need to scream and shout in his last moments as a Terran.

“I just… I just wanna get home. Please. I can-”

Ridley’s patience expired in a flash, and without moving one inch from his perch, the hooked tail whipped out and cut the fool’s body vertically down the middle with one penetrating strike, silencing his cries in an instant.

His eyes still trained on the melting woman, Ridley removed the acid that had crept onto his tail with one casual flick towards the source.

“You are getting in the way of what I want.” Ridley would snap towards the strange mass of acid, testing it for sentience. With a slight mental nudge, he cut the connection to Mustang’s group for the moment, though left his connection to Olivia humming on.

“Bow, or burn! I care not which!”
 

Kopaka

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The Toa reeled back as a pseudo pod of bubbling ichor slashed through the air at him. He held up his shield reflexively, but the ooze's noxious grasp slipped in and around the whirling barrier with ease. Kopaka dug his metal heels into the slippery, shattered tile underfoot and wrenched the grappled appendage free along with a sticky mass of sizzling slime.

He took a few paces back to form a line with Tobias and Mickey. The stooping monstrosity barreled forwards, heedless of strategy or tactic. With a keen screech, she slashed and burned her way into the expanding ichor, luxuriating in her raw destructive power with a gleeful rage.

To anyone else, it would have been quite the spectacle. To Kopaka's eyes, it was a liability.

"The beast seems content to disperse this mess on her own. We should retreat at first opportunity." Kopaka bristled. The armor where the slime had clung to him was polished and pocked with corrosion. He squinted at the damage with cold disdain.

"We can't just leave her!" Mickey whined, parrying a slashing blow from a nearby parademon. The human, who Kopaka did not fully trust, spoke up as he ducked skillfully out from under a crumbling flagstone.

"I agree! This glorious creature was sent by Gal'Skap to aid us-" Tobias started, but the Toa cut him off.

"Your proselytizing must wait. So be it." Kopaka sniffed. He swapped defensive positions with Mickey, to give the mouse a moment to recoup, and focused his Kanohi's optics on the slime flooding the chamber. How best to aid the woman-beast in her thirst for destruction? The ooze seemed intent on collapsing the ceiling on them; this indicated at least some level of tactical cunning. If it had intelligence, then it require information. If it require information, then it must have some form of sensory organ. The biomech slapped an arcing slash from a lingering parademon before skirting back towards the human.

"You, magician!" Kopaka snapped in a hushed tone. The cultist rolled his eyes.

"Brother Tobias, thank you!"

"Tobias, can you conjure illusions?" Kopaka hissed. The cultist quirked an eyebrow.

"Something simple, sure. I don't specialize-" the devout madman offered before getting interrupted again. Who would design such a pushy robot? Heretics.

"It will suffice. Can you place a target over...there?" Kopaka commanded, gesturing near the crumbling pillar.

"Sure, such as?" Tobias sniffed. A popping sound from Kopaka's right alerted him that the slime was expanding further throughout the room. Mickey was firing an array of colorful, confetti explosions into its gathering, slick mass. Yet, the ooze continued to grow.

"Something small and fleshy! Anything!" Kopaka urged. Tobias considered this prompt for a moment, before shrugging. He invoked a few words to Gal'Skap, and gestured in the proffered area. A small, pudgy human baby came scuttling into view from around the pillar.

Kopaka and Mickey regarded Tobias dimly. The acolyte shrugged again.

"Oh don't be like that. It's an image of me as a baby. It would be immoral if it was someone else." he said, gesturing at the illusory infant as it was succinctly smothered and dispersed by a flooding bulge of green sludge. Kopaka decided in that moment that Tobias was, perhaps, more expendable than he had thought. Regardless, the Toa had his answer.

"This ichor relies, at least partially, on sight to find its prey." Kopaka murmured. He watched as Godzilla raged and burned within the pit of caustic silt. She was fierce, surely, but fury could only endure against a war of attrition for so long. The filth would win that race, ultimately.

"Scatter!" he barked

Without further comment, Kopaka cast his hand into the air, and began to shimmer with elemental power. Something inside his robotic carapace whined like a turbine as icy flecks whirled around the uplifted arm with dizzying speed. Just as the ooze began to rise the tide of its bulk in renewed hunger, the entire crumbling chamber went white. A howling blizzard erupted outwards from Kopaka, submerging the entire room in a squall of whiteout conditions.

The Kanohi Akaku hummed to life, allowing the Toa to see through the whipping storm with ease. Just as he had predicted, the massing ooze had lost track of them, only able to send splashing torrents of sizzling grime at where they had been moments prior. Luckily, Mickey and Tobias at least had the presence of mind to obey his direction to move. Now came the second play in their squamous game of chess.

The ooze knew that its prey only had one way out of the room without braving the collapsing foundation. A large bolus of its mass began to shrink and block up the wide hallway passage it had been flooding for the past minute. Kopaka leered smugly as it gathered most of its bulk into one spot. With a growl, he shunted another surge of elemental power into his sword, channeling the raw power of cold through the sacred blade. The biomech grunted with exertion as the Glacier Blast rocketed across the chamber and slammed into The Living at its core. Much of it was flash frozen on the spot, and yet more was dispersed by the resulting spread of ice that bloomed within the ooze's very flesh.

He would have to act swiftly.

"Kopakaaaa!" Mickey shouted over the wind and rumbling earth. He was scooped up by a familiar, freezing hand. Tobias was taken aback, and stumbled to the ground. An icy hand grabbed his wiry bulk with ease by the scruff of his robe.

"Hey-!"

The Living was already reacting; chewing through and feasting on the arcane ice that now pinned a majority of its mass in the doorway. The creature had some intelligence, Kopaka knew this. It was capable of eating ice just the same as it was eating flesh. Perhaps it considered the attack folly. Perhaps it had some expectation of the Toa's gambit. It did not change Kopaka's actions.

The android took one last look at the doorway, memorizing its shape and contour, before summoning the Kanohi Miru. With both of his allies clutched at his side, Kopaka launched into the air and barreled, blind towards the frozen, acidic glacier in his path.

But ice, no matter how corrupted, is still ice.

With trivial mental flick, he shattered the icefield he had created, detonating a proverbial bomb within the beast's bulk. Blinded as it was, it did not see Kopaka and his passengers careening through the suppurating gulf a moment later. Acidic snow and slush spattered against Kopaka's armor. Mickey and Tobias cried out in surprised and pain as they too were pelted by the caustic shrapnel. Despite his caution, Kopaka misjudged his leap, and skidded hard against the hall outside of the crumbling room. He pitched over, and all three of them went tumbling several feet through the damp gravel.

But they were through.

Kopaka was back on his feet immediately. It took his allies another moment or two to retrieve themselves from the floor.

"Hey uh, Kopaka." Mickey coughed, "...warn us before you do stuff like that."

Tobias was silent, and had a grim expression...but he could not argue with the results. Kopaka rolled his arms slightly as he dispersed the blizzard inside of their erstwhile tomb, revealing an even more enraged Godzilla rampaging inside.

"What about her? We need to get her out of there!" Tobias insisted.

This was true. The Living was already crawling its way towards them, sucking and squishing along the walls and floor with hungry intent. But now, its attention was torn between two directions of attack. Hunger was not picky...but which meal would be more expedient? Such conundrums were unrehearsed within its developing psyche. Kopaka did not know this, but he did know a tool when he saw one.

"I believe I can encourage that." the Toa sniffed. With a flick of his wrist, Kopaka slung a bolt of ice at Godzilla's face. It caught her just under the chin, and its source could not be mistaken. A large, reptillian eye rolled towards the three allies where they stood in the hallway, through the door.

"Flee." the Toa instructed.

There was no argument.
 

Ezrihel

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Spirits of Vengeance
The aristocrat’s eyes swiveled across the battlefield, trying to make sense of the constant inpouring of enemies and take stock of the real-time situation. A horde writhed in nearly all of the doorways, locust-beasts crawled up the walls in droves.

The room popped to life with the repetitive flicker of ghastly blue flames as the burning revenant fired into the wretched hive time and time again. Each round punched through parademon and corrupted husk alike, no real distinction made between foes regardless of armor as hellfire sprayed into the crowd. The shrieks of the damned wove in terrible symphony with the pale rider’s harsh chuckles. Differing definitions of ‘fun’. Sure thing, cowboy.

P’thaeyl zipped forward to assess the group of new arrivals, careful to dodge through the air to avoid the swipe of claw and blade alike from hostiles. The AI approached IRIS first, cautious as it observed the trio. One female-presenting individual, one male-presenting individual, and one individual of ambiguous presentation due to a suit of armor obscuring their true form.

The knight-errant in towering armor stood about seven-foot six-inches, their face covered in the heat of battle. Their blade whirred with a familiar buzz as they cleaved through a swath of unfortunate pions. High frequency technology, meant to increase cutting potential. Their armor was silver, accented with black and lined in a glowing cobalt blue that betrayed its deeper mechanical components hiding within. Powered armor made from some sort of advanced alloy or material unrecognized by Andromedan archival records. Curious, inspect further later if possible.

“Query: newcomers, are you against the invading forces?”

“Yep!” Chirped the android as she unloaded into the swell of creatures. She seemed unphased at being approached, and oddly emotive for what seemed like a clearly combat capable model of android.

The android female had snow white hair and bright blue optics. She was the shortest of the group by far and had taken to showing off the homing feature of her pistols. Effective, though not strictly efficient on account of their unstable and chaotic aim. P’thaeyl knew that its master personally prefered a more finessed and precise method of dispatching the cruel-ones, but it hardly felt compelled to critique the bio-synthetic. She looked to be made of high quality materials, titanium alloys? - It was not possible to obtain a closer observation in the heat of an active combat zone.

“Query: Are we allies in this endeavor?”

“If your goal is to blast these nasties, then yeah- we’re all in!” The man in the trio quipped as he stomped his foot down and punched his fists forward, launching a boulder into the tide and smashing several unmade under the earthen mass. P’thaeyl focused its white optics on him now, keen to observe for its Master’s benefit. He seemed a sort of martial artist and earth elementalist, capable of manipulating the ground beneath one’s feet itself. He lifted his wrists in a wave and brought his fingers down in an aggressive tension, a section of the marble floor and rubble liquifying into a sudden quicksand that swallowed up another clump of corrupt locusts.

Incredibly impressive. All of them, for differing reasons. Its master would be pleased by their additions, no doubt. “General Althaus would appreciate any and all help. We have one casualty: a female human named Sergeant Swift, of Lieutenant Colonel Mustang. Query: have any of you seen him or his party in the temple or tunnels? We have lost contact with him.”

“Nah, we haven’t seen anything... Sorry!” The young man answered, pausing to summon up a wall of rock in front of their position to help cover them. “That squid guy- said he was an Arbiter??” Cho quested with a perplexed expression.



An Arbiter. Ezrihel thought as he side-stepped the clumsy stumble of a rancid corpse and divorced its chest from its legs, flicking the filthy black blood from the glistening silver with a flawless flourish before burying the blade through the heart of another, new insectivorous beastling.

He had met an Arbiter. A walking god in these parts. The walking god of this forsaken planet.

The fallen angel lurched forward with a growl, gouging a grey-skinned locust’s eye with the business end of his gilded heel and partially blinding the creature as it attempted to climb a ledge in shortcut. He kicked it from it’s precarious perch with impudence, a scowl twisting his somehow still eternally beautiful face.

’Report:’ P’thaeyl chimed in his head. ’One female bio-synthetic android, capable of ranged combat. One knight augment, wearing powered armor of unknown alloy and wielding a high-frequency martial blade. One male human earth elementalist, can create cover and projectiles.’

And of course the more-than-legendary ’Captain Davy Jones’ himself, with his face covered in grody, slimy tentacles not unlike the purple one that had winded (and separated) them moments prior. Ugh. He fought to suppress his shuddering disgust at the god-thing’s awful appearance.

’Master: the bio-synth has agreed to allow us wireless communications.’

’Route through encrypted channel; permissions: limited. Shut down all inappropriate probing.’


The Inquisitor had to admit, a lot of things were starting to make way more sense to him now- as if puzzle piece after puzzle piece were falling into place in his vast mind. The issue was that he had a few center pieces, and a whole Vaidehi-damned lot of random edge bits. It was all still too vague and unclear. He’d hardly gotten a single solid answer since his crew had arrived on this miserable wet rock (not a corner piece in sight), it felt perfectly thematic that the arbiter of this hellhole was equally as confounding and tedious.

His keen eyes flicked up to watch the rotting arbiter. The living deity on their side was their biggest advantage: Captain Jones was a superb swordsman, his warped body dancing through the lot of pawns as if they were little more than withered stalks of wheat yielding before the harvest scythe.

Opealon was a truly wretched harvest.

How tragic to be the forsaken god of such a god forsaken planet in a miserable little corner of the galaxy.

Ez sighed. He was tired. His lungs ached. His arms stung under the intense rattling vibrato of his blade sundering body after body. How many had he killed so far? He’d truly lost count amid the chaos but the corpses of once-things littered the floor in a thick blanket of cursed, squelching snowdrifts. Evidence of their combined, increasingly desperate effort to simply survive the day.

The noblethem knew better than to speak up and out against a being that so vastly outclassed him in sheer prowess alone. The raw power of a god-being was nothing to scoff at, even to the non-mortal Blondie. That ‘Lieutenant Colonel Mustang of Markov’, who had tempted him with information before baiting him and his crew down into the tunnels, was rapidly earning the (perhaps misplaced) ire of the Andromedan though.

He raised his arms and sword in an attempt to stave off being buffeted in the face with a furious pair of razor sharp wings, instead catching the brunt of the attack across his forearms. He gritted his teeth with a snarl as the slashes stung and wept hot purple blood, before shoving his opponent back down a set of steps. They staggered for only a brief moment and the angel pounced on the opportunity to dart the point of his rapier forward through the front of the daemon’s throat.

All this effort, and nothing but bite marks, bruises and blood to show for it. How long was it going to take for them to finally meet up? Had the man died or been left injured in some dark crevice? The aristocrat had little time or patience to ponder the inquiry. The precious little time they had left was quickly running down along with his good will for the situation...

The creature seized up, struggling on the blade for a moment before its vile green skin and blood started to boil off in awful sloughs. It screamed for just an instant, before the noblethem struck its stem clean through with a fine pull of silver.

First of all no one, not even the governmental institutions themselves it’d seemed, had a singular clue about what was happening or why. It was positively absurd just how disorganized this entire city-state was, how complacent their leadership must have been for there to be absolutely no warning signs of corruption-so-inherent that were spotted. The inquisitor was more than familiar with the slow, creeping decay of entropy and dissolution: it did not spring up suddenly overnight without terrible and massive signs of apocalypse. The people of the City of Hope had become fat, lazy cattle, trading their freedoms for the leftover chaff of security and lies of continuity.

He staggered back, doing his best to not trip over the uneven remnants of foes past. A spear struck out at him, catching him on the side and tearing through his robes to reveal its gift of a nasty looking gash.

And it had all accomplished.... What, exactly? An illusion of peace, posterity and affluence, cloaking a rotten core. A suburb in ruins, a city panicked in terror, countless thousands of innocent lives lost. A scornful defeat because the officials of the city took their prejudices more seriously than their actual safety and willfully chose to let their people become the victim of all their selfish, self-serving and showboating hubris. The City of Hope was little more than a galactic laughing stock over this wretched tragedy.

This place was reminding him more of his birth planet with every passing second. A city composed of glass, raw edges sharp enough to cut and made of notoriously brittle crystal. Beautifully decadent, dangerous to handle, and fragile to a fault.

Nothing but frivolous and useless pomp that deserved to be cut away like an obnoxious, parasitic weed. The inquisitor practically danced through the temple, keeping pace with his expanding crew even though fatigue was starting to nip at his heels bit by bit.

Second, the only person that he’d met so far who could give him any sort of half-reliable information about the situation had abruptly hung up on him after teasing competency. The noble was half tempted to wring that man’s neck out of sheer frustration. They could have coordinated better. They could have communicated more, but that arrogant stallion was true to his name. Ornery, temperamental and wild Mustang, charging in blind and excited because he thought he had the answers.

And yet it was Ezrihel who stood before the shattered reliquary and spoke with the living god of Opealon himself, not Mustang. Part of him took a certain gloating pleasure in that fact, perhaps to offset the seething visceral rage he felt at being trapped in a deep dark pit underground again.

He dove behind cover, a fallen pillar in the central antechamber of the temple, narrowly avoiding the infernal hooves stomping holes in the ground as The Morrígan’s flaming mare caught a swiftly unfortunate parademon underfoot and dashed the creature to gorey pieces. She was a beautiful, obscene skeletal beast of burden and brimstone as she snorted, bitter smoke and tufts of azure hellfire rising from where her fleshy nostrils may have once been.

The Andromedan could feel the mare’s raging fury from here as she pawed at the ground and made for another corrupted husk. This embered mount seemed eager to eradicate the unmade as much as anyone else trapped in this accursed temple.

Ezrihel just hoped he made it off this soggy rock and lived to tell people about it. This lapse in care and consideration was inexcusable, and it absolutely could not be allowed to happen again on another planet.

It was then that Davy Jones decided to enlighten him directly. ‘Oh lad, its already happened in other places. Ya ever ‘eard a’ ol’ Govermorne?’ His question leered with a distinct lilt, punctuated by a wet, rough chuckle.

’No?’

’Exactly.’
The slithering voice rasped inside of the Andromedan’s mind with an unsettling amount of moist amusement before pressing terrible flickers of impressions and memories into his head.

A world undone, unraveling at its seams as it shifted in endless, chaotic darkness. A god dead. Bitter spite quenched in cold loathing and... almost, perhaps... a twinge of existential dread. Ezrihel hated what he saw, from the bottom of his immortal soul an acrid bile of disgust rose to the forefront of his mind.

It was like the Arbiter had known just how to push the Inquisitor’s buttons, how to kick him into action.

Ka’shanti. It was the name his people had given the unraveling darkness that pervaded the edges of their reality. It was the name of the most forsaken, corrupted distillation of the river of change. Anyone of standard breeding and manners would revile associating with such things aside from the clout gained off of purifying a fundamental sin.

Ka’shanti. It had been the flavor of heretic that the council had branded him with, against all contrary evidence. They called him a dangerous heathenous worshipper of Ka’shanti and marked his family for total spiritual annihilation over that false allegation.

His dearest Lily was probably already eradicated, snuffed out with little regard of her innocence like the way one crushes a pesky bug for getting annoying. His darling, his love, his soulbound mate. Dead! Dead! Dead! The screams Morgan had haunted him with earlier flooded back to the surface of his thoughts.

He knew what he had to do.

“Morgan!” He called out from behind his cover.

“What, General? I’m gettin’ shot at over here.” Arthur answered gruffly from a few meters away, behind another piece of rubble. It seemed they were both getting sick and tired of this bullshit as the stings piled up and the thrilling rush faded.

“Get over here then, cover’s better.” It was a bit better, but certainly not by much when the pale azure flame kept giving away the top of the outlaw’s head.

The revenant leaned back against the marble pillar as he studied the andromedan, careful to mind the suppressing plasma fire. “A’ight now, what was it you wanted, pretty-boah? You got some sorta idea ‘at‘ll help get us outta this damn mess we’re in?”

“Do you trust me, Morgan?” The aristocrat asked forthright, though he wasn’t predicting any sort of resoundingly positive answer.

“Eh, just about as far as I can throw ya. Why, what d’ya have in mind?” That response, however, was pretty in-line for what the noblethem was expecting.

"Normally I go on a few dates before getting so intimate with a man...” He grumbled with a coy snark just loud enough for Arthur to likely hear before speaking up, “I'm sorry we have to skip the pomp and circumstance and rush through this but to be frank everything is getting pretty damn overwhelming, my darling cowboy."

Somehow, even before the grizzly, agitated tone of Arthur’s voice could sound, Ez already knew that the flaming skull was giving him the equivalent of a resting bitch face from hell. "What the hell are you on about?"

"Fusing Morgan! I'd like to not die down here, that's what I'm on about!"

"Aw, shit. Why didn't you just say so?"

“Well, it’s normally supposed to be this whole thing- a sacred technique passed down-”

“I’ve done it before, General.” The revenant interrupted, cutting the prim-them off before he could manage to ramble. The andromedan blinked at the fiery man. Thus far, he hadn’t bothered interrupting the aristocrat too much. Perhaps he had taken on this form precisely because his patience had burned down.

“You’ve melded with an Andromedan before, Arthur Morgan?” The disbelief was apparent in his tone, even through the rumbling.

“Ah well, not an... Andromedan, no-”

“It is very intimate. I would not be asking you to share a mind and body with me under normal circumstances, Morgan-”

For a moment their rapid conversation was broken by a hail of lasers firing in their direction.

“Do we really got a choice?” The avenger growled lowly.

“No. I don’t think so... So I ask you again: do you trust me, Arthur Morgan?”

The revenant grumbled then nodded. Althaus had not given the man a blatant reason to distrust him. Yet. “Yeah, I s’pose.”

“Then I need you to repeat after me...”



Nearby Ruedlen did her best to defend Swift as she stood with the rag-tag group of newcomers and P’thaeyl. The inquisitive AI had already deployed its standing drop shield in the effort to create cover viable for the deranged Sergeant.

Honestly, Rue was wondering why they’d even bothered to save this blathering, useless woman in the first place. She’d been nothing but a deadweight, a burden for each of their crew to shuffle back and forth as they progressed through the halls. Ezrihel certainly liked to view himself as utterly pragmatic, but sometimes the death priestess was vividly aware of his in-the-moment choices of morality.

She rolled her glassy white eyes and drove the point of her hasta into the ribs of an approaching once-person with a grim smirk. How many lacerations had carved her body while shepherding the sheepishly unhinged blonde woman? A crooked slice scored her dark brow and cheek, cuts decorated her forearms and knuckles, an errant plasma burn had eaten a hole in her robes and seared the top of her thigh.

She sighed. And she had liked these clothes too, what a bummer of a day.

Rue rubbed the back of her forearm across her face, wiping the slick purple ichor from her eyes when Ezrihel graced her mind for only a moment. Her hearts dropped.

“What do you mean you’re going ‘Aza’?” She yelled out loud in shock at the information she’d gleaned nosily from the surface of his consciousness.

The snowy-haired android next to her cocked her head as she pulled her monowire back in a sharp twist of her wrist, “what’s going on, Ruedlen?”

“Address me by my family name, or do not address me at all, Android. We are not friends yet.” The cold andromedan batted away a glancing spear strike with a backhanded swat of her buckler. She followed up on the gaping wide opening in the corrupt daemon’s defense with her own brutal jab of her haft. She lunged forward and discarded the foul beast from her hasta with a quick kick.

Geesh, the lavender-kissed woman was dry enough to make Iris cock a brow with a slight grimace. Instead P’thaeyl’s voice chimed over her communications system. ‘A desperate measure, for a desperate situation.’


Suddenly the room blazed alight in a cold and pale, blinding brilliance.

Ruedlen’s cloudy eyes widened. In shock or fear she didn’t know. “Aza’zayl?” She wondered in an awed, shaky whisper. Today was very grim indeed.

As the group recovered their vision they spotted it, floating in the middle of the antechamber: a beautiful, terrible specter wreathed in azure flames and composed of living blue-white fire. Long white locks of ephemeral hair cascaded around the heavenly being’s skeletal face. It flexed its ghostly wings, which instantly shifted into a dark cloak on it’s shoulders, as its fabulous dark spurred heels graced the ground. It paused for only a fraction of a moment, surveying the state of the battle. They held their dark gloved palm out, plucking a wispy blue feather from the air as it fluttered down.

The angelic figure whistled, the note pure and high amid the noise, and in almost an instant their trusted steed arrived at their side. The duet climbed on to the skeletal-vegetable and moved to avoid gun fire, pinching the calamus of the ephemeral feather. A spark of hellfire breathed a blue ember into the vane of the plume.

“No. I am the keeper of light. I am Arthrihel, the Fallen Angel of Justice.” Their voice was a frightful echoing choir of countless raspings. With a masterful squeeze of their legs, Radish reflexively knew when to slow down or speed up. They would have smirked, if they’d had lips. Both of them had riding experience, though one of them was used to riding a creature far more exotic than an equine.

“We are at the end of the age; an’ the angels have come forth!” Arthrihel spoke in a low western accent, softened by the nuance of a peeling southern drawl, clutching his black hat to his skullcap as he ducked a bit on the saddle.

“To sort out the wicked from amongst the righteous.” The fire worked the barbs down to ash, consuming it slowly. Their nightmare mare reared back before crushing down on a daemon’s spine to the effect of a graphic crunching splatter.

“We will throw them into that furnace of fire; and in that place there will be a great weepin’ and gnashin’ of teeth!” The feather blazed out of existence as Arthrihel slouched a bit in their saddle. Faithful Radish picked up the cue, slowing to a stop in perfect time.

A wave of divine azure fire raced out in all directions, blessing the innocent and cursing the wicked in equally fair measure of holy retribution. Like sifting chaff away from good grain, the Sinners would be washed away from the Samaritans with extreme prejudice.


THE SPIRIT OF VENGEANCE WAS HERE TO PLAY.

Ezrihel and Arthur have fused! You may call the duet any combination of things such as Arthrihel, The Western Angel or Spirit of Vengeance.

The Arthur Morgan half of the fusion has used 1 application of Focus to continue to keep The Radish relic active. 1/3 Focus remaining for Arthur Morgan.

Arthrihel has used: Fallen Angel Feather x1!
Fallen Angel Feather

Healing Rank 12 (2,400C)
-- Ongoing (+1,200C)
-- Affects Multiple 25 (+15,000C)
-- Indirect (+1,200C)
-- Limited (Only works on the innocent, -600C)
-- Concentration (-600C)
-- Activation (10 seconds, -600C)

Damage Rank 12 (1,200C)
-- Ongoing (+1,200C)
-- Affects Multiple 25 (+15,000C)
-- Indirect (+1,200C)
-- Limited (Only works on the wicked, -600C)
-- Concentration (-600C)
-- Activation (10 seconds, -600C)

Descriptor: A tangible fallen angel feather glistening with shivering blue flame, plucked from the ethereal, fiery wings of [REDACTED]. To activate, this consumable requires the user to slowly burn the consumable to ash over a period of 10 seconds. Once the activation period is over, the user and all innocents within a 500 ft diameter of the feather’s burning are immediately granted an ongoing sensation of paradise-level healing, repairing even the most grievous of wounds.

In addition, a wave of azure flame races across the land, covering all wicked individuals within a 500 ft diameter with a shroud of cleansing blue hellfire, causing extensive physical harm and an ongoing state of being on fire.

This healing/damage period lasts until the end of a scene (usually the end of the user’s post). The user must stand completely still, entirely focused on emitting the wave of divine hellfire. The damage and healing can go around corners/work through walls to encompass the complete inside of a structure.
wick·ed
/ˈwikid/

adjective
evil or morally wrong.
"a wicked and unscrupulous politician"

Evil; Sinful; Immoral; Wrong

Being wicked constitutes intentionally doing harm and/or hurt to the innocent and the undeserving. The only exception it draws to this is for actions done within PvP enabled site events (Dante's Abyss/Carnivale Rosa's Death Game, since all Players IC consent to the events), and actions done while lacking free-will, such as being under the influence of mind-control.
 

Ridley

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Red splashed the vibrant emerald of Chara’s hoodie, as she silently regarded the last of the cultists. She wasn’t sure how much of it was hers and how much was someone else’s - the thought occurred to simply CHECK, to see the knowledge as she often did, but the young mage decided she didn’t really want to see what line 723 said about accumulated blood right now.

With a smirk that hid her exhaustion, she held up her knife-blade. “...still haven’t chosen to run, yet? I’d be willing to spare you.”

“For Darkseid!” the man yelled, his hoarse voice betraying not a hint of fear or emotion.

Chara grimaced. Not a hint of determination in any of them, but they still fought as hard as they could. For… what? Darkseid? Just the fear of him, the attraction of his attention…

Chara had figured killing a human would be pretty hard on her, but these cultists were just… playing at it, by now. Anything human in them had been strangled by their uncaring master’s grip. It was…

You’ve done enough damage to my plans, little mage. Your eyes dance red with bloodlust, your heart calls for true carnage.

As one, both Chara and the Cultist fell to their knees, as something struck Chara in a way she couldn’t comprehend.

CHARA ATK 99 DEF 99

The first fallen human. Harbors a deep hatred for humanity. A mage with a talent for knives and a high level of determination.

Chara looked at the black box popping up, dimly wondering when the hell she’d brought this up, as something flowed through her mind. The cultist had, likewise, stopped. Why had she…

Because she was told to, right? Lord Darkseid wanted to see her skills.

The thought made Chara recoil. She wasn’t sure why she’d thought that, or when she was told, but the next she knew, she was up on her feet and holding her knife again. The Cultist was wide-eyed now, wildly trying to crawl away, and tears were strewn across his face.

The black pounding at the back of her head throbbed, and as she stepped forward, blade in hand,

You kneel, as all do in my glory. Bow, and I will give you the revenge you seek. Become my harbinger, and unmake this foolish city for Darkseid.

Chara stepped forward, one booted foot after the other. Something underneath bothered her, but this idea was just… so entrenched. So firm in her mind. She took one step, then another, slowly. She wasn’t sure where her actions had started, but suddenly, it made sense. Her vision blurred down to a single point, every unnecessary detail faded. All that could be seen was her goal, her target, and she knew exactly what she needed to do.

“For Lord Darkseid.” the human rasped with a slasher smile, raising her knife high as she got ready to execute the weakling who had so clearly failed her master. Her

Her shoulder bumped something atop her shoulder up into her vision, and rainbow cloth obscured her vision…

Rainbow cloth.

Asriel’s scarf.

my brother.

Chara’s eyes watered as the world came back with painful clarity. The snake that had coiled ‘round her heart hissed and recoiled as the knife clattered from the mage’s hands.

The Eldest Dreemurr sucked in breath after breath of air like a dying man in front of a faucet as tears streamed freely down her face. It took a few seconds to see the man in front of her, crying and sitting in the fetal position.

It took a few seconds for Chara to rasp out a retort to the overweight child on the ground before her.

“Looks like we both woke up at the same time, huh? Do me a favor, get rid of those godawful robes and go. Get on outta here.” she managed, giving the Cultists a soft kick in the ribs for good measure. She didn’t get an immediate reaction from him, and gave a shrug. He didn’t really deserve mercy, if she was totally honest, but she was pretty sure it’s what a monster would’ve done. He definitely wasn’t in a position to hurt anyone.

You are a fool to spurn me. Darkseid’s voice echoed through her head, one filled not with hatred or anger, but just a slight hint of disappointment, only as inconvenient as a drizzle.

This time, Chara managed to hold onto who she was, taking the scarf in one hand with a chuckle.

“Harbinger of Darkseid sure sounds nice, but…” Chara gave an exhausted smirk. “Conflicts with a few other jobs I got. I am still trying to earn back my ‘best big sister ever’ position, and I do not think Rei is a fan of dirty Darkseid worshippers.” she shot back. “So to be clear, you can take that job and choke on it!

then fall alongside him on this island. came the reply, and like a cloud lifting, the presence in her mind left without a trace.

Chara’s eyes widened as the full enormity of the sentence. “No, no, he wasn’t stupid enough to- of course he was stupid enough to-to…” The Elder Dreemurr swore. Any doubt left in her mind was cut away by seeing the faint hint in a distance of a brightly coloured rainbow of stars, exploding in the distance.

He was here.

He was here, and he was alive, and he was fighting.

“Asriel!” Chara screamed at the top of her lungs, scrambling to move. The choice was a poor one, as a loose stone sent her tumbling off her feet and bouncing end over end, but the Determined mage didn’t give it a second thought as she scrabbled back onto her feet in a split second. “Asriel!” she screamed, before the rest of her brain computed and she remembered her main power.

Teleporting forward in bursts was a pain, especially with so much of her magic spent, but Chara zipped from scene to scene, jumping from portrait to portrait of the action going on. Cannons going off in the distance with laser blasts, weaponry she recognized from Cevanti, Magic on both sides, warriors meeting parademons in hand-to-hand combat with all assortments of weapons. None of it mattered as she tracked what little she could sense of Asriel’s magic down.

For a moment, after so long, it felt so unreal, that after just getting used to the absence of the central joy of her life, she could really see him again. A happy, delirious grin burst out from a confused, doe-eyed glance, once the tufts of white fur and floppy ears came into view. That same adorable little snout and those stubby little horns just starting to grow out. She noticed at a glance that they might have gained an inch since last she saw him - or was it just that he’d gained an inch.

“Gotta… hold out.” Asriel breathed, fully formed in front of him, and it finally hit Chara that she was standing back in front of the remnants of her parents house. Asriel was missing his scarf, but she could see two golden heart pendants around his neck. Her hand instinctively went to her chest, remembering the day she’d realized she’d lost it, back in the siege.

She had a million questions, but as a legion of Parademons descended on Asriel, they all became null and void. She tried to use a shortcut to leap forward and stop them, but she was locked in place as a spear nearly struck straight through her body.

“Rei!” She screamed, dodging the attack and countering with a slash to the body on the screaming parademon.

She didn’t get a response. She was too far away. He couldn’t hear her. The parademon was far from deterred either, the light slash barely inconveniencing the elite soldier. Chara barely brought her knife up to catch the demon’s hand when it tried to club her with it’s fist, and it plucked the knife from the wound before throwing it away like an annoying splinter.

“Asriel!” Chara screamed again, trying to run forward, but the parademon was quick, grabbing her by the shoulder and squeezing, before holding her up, pointed straight towards the display, and Chara could see now the damage, the scruffed hair, the numerous cuts, the bits of white dust that were unmistakeably the magical bits that made up a monster’s being. Asriel had power and speed to spare, but even with his abilities, the parademons were coming one after the other. Summoning exploding stars, firing beams of energy with the chaos buster…

He’d clearly learned a lot since she’d last seen him on how to sue his power. He was even parrying correctly with his ‘chaos sabers’, just like she’d taught him! But it wasn’t enough, and she could see his strength flagging, could see white dust start to trail behind him.

The brute didn’t try to cause any further harm, because he didn’t want to. He just wanted her to watch, helplessly, as her brother was consumed by Darkseid’s forces. Was this just the Parademon’s sadism, or was Darkseid himself punishing her for going against him? Chara didn’t know, and as she struggled in the Parademon’s grip, it didn’t matter. She wasn’t going to stand for it.

“Asriel!” She screamed again, causing the Parademon to growl at his captive. It was a big mistake, as Chara struggled and kicked out, smacking the Parademon hard in the teeth. That seemed to set the creature off it’s current goal as it opted to open it’s mouth wide and bring the squirming teenager close, ignoring the tiny human fists as it opened it’s mouth and leaned in to bite Chara’s head straight from her neck.

It was a big mistake, as Chara’s eyes burned bright red, and she brought her hands forward into its mouth. embers jetted from the Dreemurr’s hands and burned their way into the Parademon’s insides, and it gave a surprised gurgle as it stumbled back.

The last sound the parademon made was a surprised squawk, before flames bubbled out from it’s eyes and mouth.

Chara hardly noticed as she ran forward. Asriel was managing to hold his own against Darkseid’s chosen, but with attacks from all directions, a mistake would happen eventually, and Chara’s blood froze as she saw a spearpoint headed straight for Rei’s spine.

The Eldest Dreemurr’s breath caught in her throat as she saw it. Couldn’t parry a thrust like that outright, couldn’t throw Rei out of the way in time, she was far too light, never really learned to block with all of her magic, way too out of shape to do enough damage to stop him…

Chara exhaled in the same moment she moved. There was no fear, no regret in her thoughts. If she lacked the skills and the tools to stop the parademon, well, she knew the easy shortcut, and with no eyes on her once more, she stepped forward and took it with confidence.

The world distorted around her with painful clarity, and she came into view face to face with the sneering parademon just a second before he plunged his spear straight into her body.

“...Chara?!”

His voice was haggard, and worn, and soft, but it was unmistakeably his, and as the Spear sank through her, Chara wished she could respond, but right now, her heart had to be stone and solid for this next part.

Red energy of determination filled her knife, as the surprised parademon tried and failed to yank the spear from Chara’s hands. As determination filled her body with energy, and her blade with power, Chara raised her knife with eyes completely devoid of mercy.

The blade glowed scarlet, the magical sheath of energy doubling it’s length, and Chara slashed straight through the parademon, leaving Darkseid’s elite soldier cut in two halves.

For an instant, she felt pride and relief. She’d struck the parademon down, and the rest of them had leaped away in alarm, unsure of what to make of this new development.

“Chara!” Asriel screamed, his swords thrown away in the aftermath as he reached out for his sister.

“Course me. I told you...” Chara quipped, giving the best attempt at a grin she could as the numbness took over. Teetering on her legs, Chara made the mistake of looking down and seeing the spear impaled right through her torso. “You’re way too precious…”

Chara stumbled to her knees, as she felt her body starting to go a little numb. “For anyone to bully but me. Hehe…”

Fuzzy arms caught her before she could fall, and a certain warmth came to her cheeks as she saw Asriel’s face. “Rei.” she choked out, putting one hand to his snout.

“Chara.” her little brother sobbed, and even with all the pain wracking her body, Chara’s smile couldn’t have been wider.

“You lost your scarf, dork.”
 

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In the midst of its fury and rampaging against the steadily expanding and suffocating slime, the kaiju felt something else. A different kind of impact from all the rubble and stinging burning slime.

Something cold, a stinging pain striking just below its chin.

Slowly, its boiling fury ground to a halt, and its head swiveled down, fixing the bizarre trio with an unblinking glare. Its already thinly slit pupil swiftly grew narrower, as a dull crackling of energy began to ripple up along its spine.

Insects.

"Flee." the cold, metal one stated shortly, as it and the other two small fleshier ones complied and turned to retreat down the passage they had managed to reach.

Pests.

The crackling energy along the great behemoth's spine grew to a feverish intensity, blue lightning sparking and rolling off its spines. Like a lightning bolt, its tail crashed into the wall, splintering stone and rubble and ice and any surviving debris from the room itself, and sending sparks flickering and racing throughout the chamber.

Vermin.

Its eyes blazed with intensity, bright blue pools of light as raw plasma and atomic fire welled up in its jaws.

A roar that shook the earth, and sent a billowing waft of hot, fetid air blasting down the hallway after the fleeing trio sounded out, shortly before the kaiju reared up and let loose its fury in the form of a fresh wave of atomic death. Its breath exploded outward, the blue flame and energy engulfing virtually the entire room in a massive conflagration, tongues of the radioactive death scorching and burning everything.

Chunks of rubble turned to ash. The sand and dust of shattered stone were reduced to sparkling glass and then melted away into nothing. The slime mass of the necrotic entity of hunger was boiled away and repulsed, slowly blackened and forced back. The last dregs of the unmade creatures and their corpses burned away to nothingness.

PITIFUL.

The small ones had been in an uneasy alliance. The cold one. The fleshy man with his metal stick. The tiny rat.

They had been fighting the same foes. Not allies, not friends, but enemies of the titanic lizard's enemies.

Then they had betrayed all that. The icy one had attacked Godzilla directly.

A tiny stinging wound, the cold of it already beginning to fade in the face of the King of Monsters' boiling wrath.

But they had dared to attack the kaiju.

From the withering atomic inferno, the great beast hurled itself, smashing and breaking through stone and slime and slush, into the hallway after the traitorous, fleeing trio. Even reduced and shrunken as it had been after being pulled down into these tunnels, it was still hard-pressed to squeeze itself into the passage.

Scorched and burned badly by its own atomic wrath, the beast heaved deep panting breaths, driven more by its own indignant fury than anything else. Clawed hands reached forward, shredding and shearing the stonework to make handholds to haul itself forward through the doorway, and then began to clamber forward virtually on all fours, down the passage after its new prey.

You cannot run far enough.

Tongues of blue fire flickered and ran from its jaws, streaming back behind it as the titan lurched and clambered along at a staggering pace in spite of its poor condition and the cramped confines. Its eyes, still reduced to blank pools of blue fire and wrath, remained fixed steadily forward in an unblinking, predatory gaze.

Anything that dared to get in its way now wouldn't last long enough to regret its poor choice.
 

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In the darkness of the tunnels below the island, in the room swarmed and nearly overrun by cultists...the assorted defenders fought valiantly against them. Ninjutsu and alchemical fire were proving to be a very effective roadblock to the warped goals of the massed cultists, but numbers were often a very important thing and could make things...difficult.

As the fight raged on, the pungent smell of blood and scorched flesh began to overpower everything else within the room. The sounds of chaotic shuffling and fighting slowly started to escalate and grow louder and more intense, the frantic noises of the mob of Darkseid's "faithful" threatening to drown out even the thoughts of the defenders.

In every increasingly brief and fleeting moment of silence, however...a new sound slowly started to join the fray. Distant and nearly silent at first, but growing steadily louder and clearer. Soon enough it became clear that it was...music? The cheerful, lighthearted tone and melody were starkly and boldly at complete odds with everything else in these Arbiter-forsaken tunnels.

The quiet, rhythmic tapping of footsteps pacing down one of the hallways went unheard over the sound of the music and the chaos of the fight.

Until the last second, before the one responsible for such odd antics burst through the doors in a prancing leap.

More ragged and scuffed than before, the Man in Red came gracefully sailing through the doorway in a spinning leap. A violin tucked to his chin, gloved hand lightly holding the bow as he continued to play as if he had not a care in the world. He landed lightly on his feet, and twirled about in place.

The pointed toe of one of his formerly-immaculate dress shoes struck a cultist in the back of the neck...and the blow may as well have been a war pick for the force behind it, slicing through flesh and muscle and bone to nearly decapitate the man in an instant.

"Who in the name of..." Lieutenant Colonel Mustang was, for not the first time, left almost speechless at this show of complete absurdity. He couldn't afford to let it distract him for more than instant, but the sight of this new arrival was definitely concerning.

A whimsical chortling laugh rose up from the masked man as he righted himself in his prancing dance, both heels clicking to the floor before he leaped up again. The bow of his violin swept out as he paused for a moment in his song, and the string was coated in red as he sliced open the chest of one cultist, relieved another of her arm, and tore out the eye of a third.

He alighted upon the head of another cultist, his merry song and dance resuming as if it had never been interrupted at all.

"Is he on our side?" Doctor McNinja ventured warily. "He looks like a bad guy. But he's fighting these guys."

"Enemy of my enemy is my friend," one of the turtles piped up. "Just focus on the trouble going on right now!"

"...he's right," Mustang begrudgingly admitted. "Right now, we need any help we can get. Even if it is only temporary." He fixed the foppishly-dressed man with a cold stare, trying to judge whether he was some kind of madman...or just playing the part. "I don't know who you are," he finally said, his voice lifting up over the chaos of the fight as he let loose another torrent of alchemical fire to engulf several more robed cultists. "But we're grateful for your arrival. My name is--"

"Lieutenant Colonel Mustang, of Markov," the Man in Red piped up, in a sing-song tone. In a flourish, he discarded the violin and its bow as he instead swept up the hands of a nearby cultist into his own, as if for a dance. "I know you very well, indeed, my dear little soldier."

Mustang scowled darkly, his eyes flashing. "Do you, now?"

"Of course." He swept his 'captured' foe aside with him, in a graceful and artful twirl as he — they — stepped and dove through the crowd, scattering and disrupting the cohesion of the gathered fools and madmen like bowling pins. "I am far from all-knowing, but I do have my eyes and ears in many, many places... Always monitoring and keeping tabs on things. Watching for any promising individuals, who might make good future players in my little game."

"Your....game?" At that statement, Mustang was caught off guard. And for a fleeting moment, chilling reminders and flashbacks of his time in Dante's Abyss ran through his head. "This is hardly the time or place for—"

"Ah, ah, ah~" the Man in Red admonished. He spun his dance partner out, holding her hand in his long, spindly fingers as his other arm snapped out to wag a finger at Mustang like a parent to a naughty child. "This is no recruitment, my good little soldier-boy. This is merely...a happy coincidence." He spun in close again, taking his 'date' in both arms and leaning down as if to whisper something to her, or perhaps kiss her on the cheek...and suddenly she went rigid and stiff, as her body convulsed...and abruptly she simply collapsed and went still as death, eyes rolled back into her head as she was casually tossed aside and dropped to the floor.

"You see, I cannot run my games in a universe that does not exist any longer," he went on, as he straightened up and rose head and shoulders above the crowd. Like some elongated and stretched out scarecrow, cresting seven feet even without his tattered hat, he loomed over the chaos. His golden eyes gleamed from behind his mask, as he spread his arms wide. "Whether as director or performer, I am nothing without a stage and an audience, Lieutenant Colonel." His hands were unnaturally gaunt and large, the long thin fingers making them seem more like spiders than anything like a human's limbs. "So as it happens...I find myself quite opposed to this entire business.."

He seemed to blink, then...the gold light in his eyes fading out to be replaced by a bright, flickering blue. And then his entire body seemed to waver and fade out of existence just as hostilities turned upon him. Blades and magic struck at him only to meet empty air.

His echoing laugh sounded again as he twirled back into solidity again, at the side of his new 'allies', and swept an outstretched hand toward the remaining throng of madmen. "Now then, ladies and gentlemen and assorted deranged entities..." he spoke up, his voice rising to a clear and ringing pitch. "As a very disgruntled and unpleasant man once said..."

Behind his mask, his eyes again blinked out and were replaced with a dull, toxic green color. "Breathe it in." And from the sleeve of his outstretched arm, thick clouds of smoke and fog billowed out, carrying the acrid and foul smell of poison with them as they belched out into a huge cloud, swallowing the cultists and much of the room toward the entryway he had come in through in a poisonous, choking haze.


I'm sorry. But I'm really not!

The Man in Red will be flippant and not take things too seriously, not answering any more questions directly aside from the ones above, but will be happy to chat and banter with the others. He is never ruffled and hard to upset, and takes everything like a game; he tends to sing-song or mock the tone/voice of others, and speak in rhyme.

He is a prime acrobat and performer, and makes things a game. As well, for added 'fun', he can mimic and copy the abilities used by other participants of his games. So enjoy that!
 

Ridley

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Chara noticed her hands were shaking as the warmth of Asriel’s body contrasted with the ice clinging to her skin.

“Chara! Oh god, I’m sorry!” Asriel wept, “I’m so sorry! I couldn’t find you after the siege, a-and I found your locket, and…”

Chara just put up a finger. “Shhshh. It’s okay, Rei, it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not, you’re dying!”

Chara supposed that was true, as she laid against Asriel’s chest. “But I got to see you again first. So it is not so bad.”

“...I thought you might have died in the siege. I… I’ve missed you every moment since I left. I was so stupid running off. I just…”


“Rei… why did you come here, of all places?” Chara interrupted, laying into him as he kept watch on the parademons.

“You’d mentioned this place, once or twice when you were asleep. I figured… maybe this was where you were born, on Opealon. I didn’t have much to go on, but since I… since I didn’t protect you, I figured I could at least protect your family. But…”

Chara bumped against his chin with her head, giving a smile.

Monsters were filled with kindness. Unreasonable, unceasing kindness. Even to the people that had raised Chara the way they did, he really just thought of them as family.

“You know I never liked them, right?”

“But if they never existed, you wouldn’t.”

Chara took a deep breath, having no response to that, even as blood began to dribble down her shirt.

“...Listen, there is no more time.” Chara mentioned to Asriel, looking up at her brother with a frown. “The Parademons are going to attack again, and you’re out of magic.”

“It’s okay, I’ll manage somehow. I’m a dreemurr-” Asriel mentioned, before Chara took his fuzzy snout in both hands and focused him.

“Asriel. Take. My soul.” Chara uttered, before going into a cough.

“Wh… no!”

“With my soul added to a boss monster? You could annihilate these clowns, no problem. C’mon.” Chara would urge him, trying her best to put on a happy face. “We’d be the absolute god of Hyperdeath! Like your Cevantart OC!”


Asriel’s face didn’t change, as he gave her a determined glare, no longer in the mood to be embarassed. “You’ll die if I do that.”

“...Hate to say it, Rei, but I think I’ll die even if you don’t.” Chara mentioned, as the Parademons circled closer. “I just wanna do it knowing my baby brother’s gonna be okay.”

Asriel’s expression changed quickly, from rage, to stubbornness, to absolute grief as he clung to Chara tighter.

“Don’t make me do this. I’m not ready to say goodbye again. I’m not ready to lose someone like you again. I’m… I’m so alone, Chara. I’m so afraid.”

“Rei… it’s okay. You’re ready to live your life. You will make new friends. So many. You will get through this.”

Asriel’s head slowly lowered, as he held Chara.

“I love you.” he finally replied.

“I love you too.”



The silence of the moment was swept away by the sound of cannon-fire, Blackpowder muskets, and flintlocks, and in Chara’s blurring vision she could still see the tell-tale orange beam of phasers streaking through the air, as the Parademons turned from their prey to see a united military.

“Alright teams, search and destroy, clear the district.” He heard one well-disciplined voice say, followed immediately by a more raucous one.

“Ho ho laddies! Seems we found a bunch o’ ugly parrots caught with their pants down. Send ‘em to the locker!”

Chara blinked, as Asriel looked shocked.

It seemed the cavalry had arrived, after all.

Neither group necessarily had time to stop for the two right away, but their presence was more than enough to set the parademons on the defensive, as Davy Jones pirates mixed with Opealon’s security teams to take the fight to Darkseid.

“W-well… that’s convenient.” Chara managed, before giving a smirk to Asriel. His brother gave a cheeky grin in response, that turned to laughter, one that ended as soon as Chara’s laugh turned into a bloody cough.

Asriel’s attention shifted at that. “Hold still.”


“...Rei?’ he’d ask.

“I saw Papyrus, after… everything.” Asriel mentioned, grabbing the spear and with no small amount of magical energy, snapping it off, before slowly pulling it from Chara’s wound. “It won’t be fast, but he taught me how to…”

Chara looked up in amazement, eyes wide, as his brother’s eyes flashed green. Magical energy entered him in the form of little green sparks, and an unreasonably tingly feeling forced a shiver from her as flesh began to re-knit and blood started to flow again,

Falling back, delirium still struck her as the world went Dizzy.

“Chara! Hang in there! I can replace the muscles, but you’ve lost a lot of blood. It’s going to take me a while longer, so… Don’t go to sleep.” Asriel yelled, and Chara looked up in amazement.


The world in Chara’s eyes shifted - the top of a mountain replaced the sky, and a field of golden flowers had taken the place of the ground. It looked just like it had back then, when she had fallen. Back then, Asriel had carried her all the way back to his parents place, and Toriel had fixed her broken leg, a lot like this.


Chara gave a soft smile, as she felt something resembling warmth entering her body again. Darnit. She was the cool older sister, yet somehow…

Somehow this Dork was always the one saving her, anyways.

With a few blinks, the world restored to normalcy, as she looked up to Asriel, his chanting coming to a close as the healing magic completed it’s course.

“...hey.” she whispered, looking at him. “I’m ready to go. How’s your magic doing?”

Asriel’s response was a loud, adorable snore that, like usual, sounded halfway to a sneeze.

Chara chuckled,, as she picked her little brother up onto her shoulders.

“Alright, alright, you earned the nap. Guess it is my turn to carry you.”
 
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Lilith

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The top of the deck rumbled in pure pandemonium. The usual parademons, circling overhead like starving vultures. A militia of soldiers, both conscripted and volunteer, struggling to hold their footing against the onslaught of Unmade. A colossal mutated octopus straight out of Lovecraft's wet nightmare congested the center, thrashing the ship with tentacles that numbered far more than eight, each spindly limb lined with rings of serrated teeth. Its wrinkled, bulbous head was littered with beady, bulging eyes, maliciously scrutinizing everything in sight.

I can't let 'em have all the fun.

Lilith flicked her darker-than-dark hair, loitering atop the prow of the transport, bearing witness to the madness. "Such beautiful creatures, wasting their potential in service to a mundane god," she lamented, barely hearing herself over the commotion. Truthfully, she'd accept anyone else causing this intergalactic threat. In her eyes, Darkseid failed as a god, in most part because the Arbiters simply didn't compare to the esoteric Old Gods. There was no intrigue, no mystery, it was fairly obvious what his nature was. And as just some evil guy, Darkseid failed in that regard too. The answer: equally simple; Lilith hates world domination plots. She much preferred small-scale carnage, always giving her work a personal touch. Darkseid didn't seem like the kind of guy to go out and kill with his own two hands.

Boring.

The soldiers hadn't taken notice of the dormant monster yet. I'll fix that. Lilith amped herself up, feeling the adrenaline glutting her veins (it's unclear if she has any such structure in this form; it all looks the same inside). She strutted into combat, approaching a guardsman from behind, as they were occupied fending off a wave of flying hostiles. They were alerted by hefty footsteps clanging on metal, turning to see a shadowy palm subsuming their visor—the last thing they saw, as their head was crushed like a grape filled with blood and brain matter.

Dread crept into the soldiers at the realization of yet another enemy invading the vessel. They relayed orders to regroup and focus fire, but any sort of strategy or tactics they had were for naught. Bullets and lasers pelted Lilith's flesh, vile ichor spluttering out from and reabsorbing into her body in a constant cycle. Her slow, methodical walk went unabated. Unsure of which direction to fire, and with rapidly dwindling room to stand, several soldiers were plucked out by the carnivorous cephalopod, their bodies constricted and blended into a slurry of viscera. The sadist could only imagine the sensation of being grinded down to a pulp from every possible angle at once.

Then, Lilith had an epiphany. She didn't have to go past the Unmade octopus to descend to the lower decks. She could punch a massive crater into the floor and drop in on the not-so-unsuspecting civilians, and massacre her way to the bottom—which is exactly what she did.



The second time around didn't spark the same excitement in the genocider. She could only eviscerate so many defenseless slabs of meat before growing tired of it. Her ability wasn't terribly efficient, but its power lay in its assurance of the inevitable. She carved a trail of gaping perforations wherever she went, breaching the walls, choking off the survivors. The impious woman wondered how many people died just from being cramped in the increasingly confined space.

Lilith found herself at the bottom deck, swathes of victims fleeing towards any area that didn't include her or some other danger—of which there weren't many. Subtly, almost imperceptibly, she sensed something very interesting lurking outside. She brushed it aside for now, choosing instead to puncture more iron plating. A torrent of sea water surged out, as to be expected. What she didn't expect was the giant gnat that collided with her, flailing helplessly before melting into dark green slush.

I didn't know they swam.

Lilith was too self-absorbed to put the obvious connection together. The anarchist moved on to tear a hole in the floor, basking in the background music of sonorous screams, but gave pause when she noticed one of them stopped short.

"Hey! I was listening to that—" she started to complain, before laying her scarlet eyes on the downright handsome beast before her.

"Woah, he-llo~ Tentacles and dragons? This day might just be perfect." She stared off in a wistful daydream, her attention snapping back when she heard that fierce, commanding voice.

"Oh. Yeah. Sorry, how am I in your way? Now correct me if I'm wrong, but I'm pretty sure I'm what you want~" She struck a pose with a hand on her hip, blowing an imaginary kiss.

Somehow, in the dim emergency lights, Ridley saw a smile curve onto the creature's acid-laden lips. His reply to the absurd attempt at flattery was a biting sneer, which seemed more than satisfactory to the luststruck fiend. The most disturbing revelation was that this monster was talking back at all. Since when could Darkseid's lackeys speak so coherently? And how was it that they had such a 'distinct' personality? A terrible, harsh truth dawned on the space dragon. There was a possibility that this human-shaped monstrosity was not Unmade. If it were true, then…

"So like, are you a hero? 'cause you don't look like one. I shouldn't be all that surprised, I've suddenly become very popular."

"Silence, filth," Ridley snarled, hurling a resentful volley of plasma breath at the talkative nuisance.

Lilith yowled in pain, her skin erupting in white hot sparks, before being doused in a fresh coat of acid. "There's only one way you can shut me up~ … Get it? Y'see it's funny because I'm alluding to se—"

Ridley was just about sick of hearing this… whatever it was, drone on. He leapt from his perch and swooped in with a savage slash of his claws, keeping his distance off the steadily rising flood. Only a moment later did he realize the strike did more damage to him than his enemy, screeching not in agony, but in wrathful indignation.

The sapient sludge was already back on her feet to give another remark. "You wanna play rough, hm? Come down here and fight me, dragon."

Ridley would oblige, but not before sizing up his opponent. In terms of sheer upfront power, they had the advantage. However, the pirate king's strength came in the form of superior speed and range. He bounded from crate to crate, soaring faster than Lilith could keep up, bombarding her with a fusillade of draconic fury. The woman staggered towards the nearest point of cover, an empty shipping container.

Attempting to hide from the space dragon was utter folly. He clambered on top, denting the roof as his jagged tail lunged inside and pierced the acid being's torso. He whipped their body out and slammed them on the floor.

Lilith was having the time of her life. "Harder!" she nearly- definitely moaned, likely a force of habit. She produced an exhilarated growl, sending a heavy, viscid kick to the tail penetrating her.

Ridley squawked an enraged roar, lashing the sadomasochistic monster across the room. His tail was slowly deteriorating, and flicking off the black mucus seemed to only worsen the pain.

Lilith was plastered to the wall like a morbid rendition of abstract art. "Listen, can we wrap this up some other time? I'm busy right now but I'd love to know ya better~" She walked up to the floor above, stepping through a previously created hole, partially to finish off the few victims remaining, partially to avoid the water.

By this point, Ridley was fuming. Who dared have the gall, the audacity to run from his challenge? And yet, he had to admit that cutting his losses was the better option. Every attack came at a cost to himself; a direct confrontation was not viable until he ascertained its weakness.

He paused to reflect on this influx of information. That creature fought for the thrill of it, absent of the intent to kill. The pirate king puzzled how to defeat an opponent wholly disinterested in fighting, starting to ponder how to manipulate the situation to his favor. The scientist in him said this… woman? (was it even human?) merited further analysis, and she seemed eager to listen to the dragon. Too eager. But nonetheless, her infatuation could be put to use.
 

Amalia Eckern

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“The City of Hope is rotten,” Her father said as they started walking through increasingly complex passageways.

After another sharp turn her mother agreed, “Yes, it is a terrible and stagnant place, Amalia.”

Amalia lagged behind, hindered by her unfamiliarity with the network of tunnels that had been bored beneath Nausicaa. Her leg continued to throb and ache as the unrestrained Gashadokuro spirit continued to invisibly gnaw into the limb.

“But that’s changing, Amalia,” Her father said, “He has bestowed His gifts upon us and allowed us to be ambassadors of change.”

“He has truly blessed us Amalia.”

“Whose ‘He’?” Amalia asked, following them around a corner.

The narrow passageway entered up into a small stone room. A stone dais sat in the center, no doubt used for some sort of ceremony at one point in time. Fresh carvings of Darkseid’s symbol covered the walls, and multiple half-melted candles provided just barely enough light. Amalia caught sight of a claw hammer sitting on top of the dais. Her parents stood in front of the dais, offering her a warm smile.

“Well, Darkseid of course, honey,” Her mom said.

Darkseid, the name felt familiar in Amalia’s head. She vaguely remembered hearing about some distant planet being attacked by his followers. Makrov she thought it was called, or something like that. A chill fell over her like a blanket. This was a bad idea, she wanted to turn around, but she couldn’t remember the path back.

“Your mother and I were very fortunate to have you, Amalia,” Her father said, his voice smooth and even, “The City could have never recognized your gift, but us, well, we saw it for what it was -- a blessing.”

Amalia narrowed her eyes and took a step back, “Then why did you turn me in to the anti-paranormal divisions?”

Her father sighed and looked away, seemingly ashamed.

“We wish things would have turned out differently, we really do,” Her mom began to explain, “But, they were going to find out about your… gift, sooner or later, and, well, if we were caught harboring an anomaly we would have been exiled as well.”

“So you’d rather throw your own daughter under the bus?” Amalia asked, “And what about Lily? Was she just collateral damage then?”

“We did what we had to, you’re strong Amalia, and your spirits have always protected you, we knew you would survive, and Lily...” Her father said, stepping to the side of the dais and placing his hand on the hammer, “I wish we could have spent more time together, as a family, but that isn’t how the world works.”

“No, it isn’t,” Her mother added, “But, He has given us another chance, Amalia, don’t you see?”

Amalia wasn’t sure what she was supposed to see, other than the fucking claw hammer in her father’s hands. She reached for Juno’s folding knife, holding it tightly in her hoodie’s pocket. Her body began to lock up as her mind started to race. How was this going to end? She shouldn’t have left the lieutenant. She should have brought Erin with her. She should have never returned to Nausicaa.

“Your mother and I, we’ve done our best to serve Darkseid, but there is only so much we can do,” Her father explained, “We’re just human after all, but you Amalia, with your gift, you could be Darkseid’s greatest servant.”

Her mother added, tears in her eyes, “Oh, it’s what we’ve always wanted for you honey, ever since that dreadful little bird first popped out of your hair we knew you were destined for great things.”

Amalia could feel her heartbeat in her throat. She wanted to pull her hoodie up and crawl into a ball. She wanted to forget all of this and go back to thinking her parents hated her. She wanted to go back to her stupid little shack on the wharf and die of old age. But, something sparked in her gut. Anger that had been planted and cultivated ever since her parents had betrayed her finally bloomed into a beautifully twisted tree. She pulled the pocketknife out, flicking it open with one motion.

“So that’s it then? That’s all you’ve seen me as? A tool to be used?” She asked, her voice dripping with venom.

“Amalia…” Her mother said, offering a smile, “You’re more than just a tool, you’re our daughter - you’re the greatest gift we could give Him.”

With that she pulled out a small stone cube from her robes. Amalia’s head throbbed as she laid eyes upon it. Energy, thick and malicious, oozed invisibly from the cube. A million whispering voices invaded her thoughts. Her stomach lurched and she instinctively stumbled away from the cube.

“What… what is that?” Amalia asked.

Her mother placed the box on top of the dais and answered warmly, “It is a spiritbox, Amalia, and we’ve gone to great lengths to keep it hidden from the paranormal divisions.”

She had heard of spiritboxes before, tools used to trap and contain spirits and non-physical anomalies. Their efficacy was supposed to be unrivaled, and the mere fact that she felt any presence emanating from it was not a good sign. She moved towards the door, but her injured leg gave out from under her.

“Stop, please,” Amalia begged, “Don’t do this, I… I love you.”

“We love you too, honey,” Her father said, bringing the claw hammer down upon the box.

It shattered into a thousand pieces and calamity was freed. Spirits of all forms poured forth from their prison, swirling around the room in a screaming tempest. All at once they surged into Amalia, swallowing her body whole. She struggled against the invading spirits, but her body’s nature made her exceptionally vulnerable to possession. A thousand disembodied voices filtered in through her head, each of them fighting for dominance.

“Amalia!” Juno’s voice cut through the screams, “What the fuck is going on here?”

Of course Juno couldn’t see the spirits, not until they were manifested anyways, at most she’d feel a general unease. Amalia could barely see her through the swarm of spirits, but she did catch sight of a pistol in her hand. Juno’s hand broke through the storm, grabbing Amalia’s arm and hoisting her to her feet.

“Don’t you touch our daughter,” Her father said, stepping forward with the hammer.

“Don’t you take another step,” Juno countered, raising Hawkeye’s pistol, “Now, what did you do to Amalia?!”

“We’ve fulfilled her potential,” Her mother said.

Amalia shuddered as the last of the spirits slipped into her body. She became intensely aware of every last inch of her insides as the spirits shuffled about. While they took up no real space, they did need something to anchor themselves onto. Her organs quivered as spirits infested them. She groaned at the sensation.

“Juno…” Amalia muttered, “You... need to leave.”

“Not without you,” She said.

It was a sweet gesture, but whatever nasties had taken residence within Amalia had no use for such pleasantries. Amalia’s hair began to writhe and grew pale white. Juno exclaimed as a dog-like creature burst forth from Amalia’s mouth. Nearby an ogre-like creature began to take shape, flesh and bone materializing from thin-air. A disembodied head with bat wings swooped towards Juno and she put it down with a well-placed shot. In the confusion Amalia’s father lurched forward, raising the claw hammer high.

*POP*

Juno fired again, hitting him in the stomach. Amalia watched as her father fell to the ground, blood gurgling up in his throat. She’d never forget her mother’s screaming as she knelt down beside her husband. Before she could even think to speak, Juno yanked her roughly out of the room, dragging her into the winding hallways. As they ran more and more creatures began to manifest themselves around Amalia, each of them more grotesque than the last.

Amalia is largely incapacitated and is barely able to stand on her own. Evil spirits of varying shapes, sizes, and abilities will begin to manifest themselves in her immediate area. These spirits hold no allegiance to anyone and exist merely to cause carnage.
 

Demetri Malius

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Iris watched in awe at the sudden presence of an angelic being filled the room, bellowing their call to all who could hear. Arthuriel was a sight to behold, and not to mention the coolest thing she had seen since Cevanti.

She was only distracted for a moment, tossing her monowire forward at a parademon as Cho erupted a slab of rock between them. The android pulled the wire taut, pinning the parademon to the slab as if part of some ritualistic sacrifice, the electricity powered from her frame jolting the demon as the wire dug into its flesh and began to sever it in half.

At least until the warning popped up on her HUD.

WARNING: OVERHEATING DETECTED

Iris blinked; she suddenly felt her insides ignite, feeling circuitry fry as capacitors popped and nanomachines struggled to put out the many fires in her body.

“I,” the android started, stumbling back. “I don’t feel so good.”

HEAT LEVELS EXCEEDED MAXIMUM

Her vision began to blur as her ears received only feedback from her receptors. She felt herself become limp and fall to the floor, unable to even catch herself. There was a certain familiarity with the feeling. The darkness that approached her from within. The last time she felt this damaged she was somewhere in the wastelands of Cevanti, and she underestimated how much the enemy had been on to her. She stared blankly in front of her, seeing the parademon recover in her peripheral.

She blinked a few more times, trying to recover as more errors popped up in her vision, leaving patches of visual data that she could barely comprehend. In her last moments of consciousness, she swore she saw someone familiar enter the room.

EMERGENCY SHUTDOWN PROTOCOLS INITIATED

“Iris! What’s wrong?” Cho intervened and shoved off the parademon she had been executing with a stomp that caused the slab to throw it towards one of the doors to the temple, taking only a moment to breathe before kneeling beside his companion. Morene was next to arrive beside him, eyes wide behind her helmet at how Iris could be taken down so easily. Arthuriel’s spell ran through her head, having just felt the wave of healing that had just coursed through both her and Cho, forcing her to wonder.

There was no way that Iris would have been considered evil.

“It’s always a shame when they burden artificial intelligence with unnecessary free will.” Arthuriel simply scoffed at the sight, clearly offended that such an intelligent artificial lifeform could be so corruptible. Without further words to spare, the fused being continued its assault on all the unholy unmade that dared to bask in its presence in such defiance.

Morene clenched her teeth, she hadn’t even seen Iris do anything remotely evil since meeting her. Sure, she was a bit ditzy and forthright sometimes, but evil? She heaved the android on her shoulder and searched for a good corner to set her down.

“Cho, would you be able to-”

“My my, what a mess.” Morene turned to the voice, finding herself looking at a tall figure who held the damaged parademon in one of its four hands. ARTUR squeezed until he heard the sickening crunch of the creature’s throat before letting it slump to the floor.

“A shame that I won’t be able to enjoy some personal time with my favorite rogue android today. She is usually so feisty. I suppose I will settle with taking her off your hands now and bringing her home.”

“Home?” Cho looked back at Morene, who stood silent against ARTUR, staring in her direction.

“Yes, to those that made her. You should be grateful that the company doesn’t push charges for theft, convincing her to follow you around while you do,” he waved a hand around with a disgruntled frown. “Whatever this is. Heroism? What a waste of time.”

Morene quickly assessed how much room they had to work with. Fortunately, Arthuriel’s spell and presence had cleared the room of most of the lesser bugmen and parademons, and it would take some moments for them to lead another assault into the temple. She would have to play along with this android that seemed to know exactly who Iris was.

“And what if she doesn’t want to go with you. She didn’t seem in a rush to head back.”

The android chuckled. “Well of course she isn’t. If she was, they wouldn’t have sent me. I am ARTUR, built specifically for this reason. Clearly she must have corrupted one of her data cores in the last mission she was sent out to complete.” He narrowed his eyes. “Unless you had something to do with that on Cevanti?”

“No, I did not.” The knochten refused to give any more information to the stranger.

“Well, in either case, you clearly have not taken care of her. Look at her, you might as well have set off an EMP next door.”

“And why weren’t you damaged by the spell earlier?” Cho piped up.

ARTUR paused. “I truly do not know." His head tilted slightly. "If I had to guess, it might be because Iris and I are different in our protocols. She was always the type to disobey orders if she felt like it. Perhaps there is some vulnerability in her system that I lack.”

Morene’s mind raced to connect the dots. It’s not that she thought that Iris lacked free will, but it seemed at first glance this was something that was not shared with this other unknown android. Now, this android was asking that he take her friend away, most likely never to be heard from again. Not only did it turn her stomach, but the way he spoke about her made her seem like some type of slave. The few intimate moments that she shared with flashed through her head, the sincerity of loss that she felt trying to think about where she was from. Even with the context of what ARTUR has said, it was clear that her friend did not want to return before the loss of her memory. Whatever care they had in mind was nothing other than an attempt to enslave back what they keep losing control over.

ARTUR suspected their hesitation, bracing both of his upper palms forward and glaring at the knochten. Cho glanced between them, unsure of how to handle the situation. The mood of the tall, lanky android seemed to have immediately soured.

“This is not a request. You have five seconds to comply.”

“Cho!”

The earthbender nodded as they gave a wide stance and thrusted with their palm to erupt a thick wall of stone in front of ARTUR. Morene hurried to prop Iris against the wall.

“Cover her, we need time and we can’t have her exposed.

Cho clapped his hands together in a triangle and created a shelter for his friend. From here, there was a slit where light poured into the makeshift personal bunker and allowed air in for their recovering friend.

Back at the wall, ARTUR had blasted two holes in the stone wall, a pulse of energy that seemed to force it to shatter. He stepped through and revealed that his lower arms were now jackhammer-like appendages, with thick shafts of metal that narrowed down to a wide edge. On his upper arms, energy light up, ready to most likely shoot some sort of projectile or blast that they hadn’t seen yet. A soft grin spread across his face.

“I see why she might like you. You share her defiance.” The edges of his mouth then slowly curled downward as he stared at them with utmost pity. “It’s a shame I will have to let her know that I had to dispose of you to retrieve her.”

ARTUR would get some time to enjoy himself after all.

IRIS is now unconscious, she did some evil stuff with her artificial free will in the past, even though it wasn't entirely her fault. ARTUR here doesn't worry about pesky things like morality, it isn't in his programming. Quite literally. His current lower arms are set with Damage and Move Object settings. Some rough abilities are on my Roster to give a gauge of his abilities!
 
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