Mount Everest

Hardly acknowledging his hostage's pleads, Greed continued the trek upward. The mountains shaking a little slowed his progress, but it meant the Skrull warrior was following him up.

Coming to a stop once he had reached a satisfying height, Greed settled himself back on his feet, before pinning the poor climber to the mountain side.

"Better come on up! Or someone's neck's getting snapped!"

Greed exerted his voice downwards. With a hostage in the middle, this was going to be a fun fight.

Kirei and Lancer(?); The Coalition Against Ninjahood and Now A Schizophrenic Pyromaniac

The clown was not a fighter. Kirei had already discerned that, and so his defeat was received with the quiet gaze that comes with something long-expected. It was quiet because he was trying to quell the throbbing in his chest.

Typhoid Mary, or Bloody Mary, or Mary Walker - so the cyborg had called her, and it was no surprise that her derangements had names - asked for another. Kirei made no reply. He was considering her stance, her style, the length of her limbs, the range of his Black Keys against her katanas.

Analysing the dispatchment of an unskilled opponent was like probing a green bud for nectar. He would bide his time.

The madwoman turned around, gibbering something about second chances. Kirei would have paid more attention if he had not learned long ago never to listen to the insane. She offered the Joker a hand, disarmed his attempt at treachery, raised him up -

Then, as if he were a turkey, drove her knife deep into his chest. Kirei followed the spurt of blood with his eyes. The warmness of it welled within him like blissful ambrosia.

The Joker laughed, a gurgling fool's hoot. As if in tandem, Kirei's mouth creaked.

The rods of steel were overcome. The man of God was smiling. Smirking unashamedly, as if nothing in the world could bring him such illicit, sinful joy. The dullness in his eyes had fallen away like scales - now his irises shone like the very streets of Heaven.

Our Father, who art in Heaven...

The madwoman twisted the knife, kicked the laughing madman aside. Kirei twitched and drove the stakes back into his mind. Forcefully, shamefully, the Executor bound his psyche in chains once more. The life fled from his eyes. The smile dropped slack from his face. He forced his body through the martial rigours, tightening his muscles like a strait-jacket.

Kirei breathed. He bent his left elbow, widened his legs. Angled his right fist down to the dantian, elbow facing out. Raised his left fist up to intercept. The liǎng yìdìng stance of Bajiquan, starting point of countless permutations.

It took less than a second. By the time Typhoid Mary turned around, she would find Kirei poised, ready and waiting.

The crucifix hung from his neck in silent mockery.

edited 22nd Jan '15 7:34:42 PM by troydenite

Troy

This man was like a viper. Cut it to ribbons and it can still strike. But Lambda was not about to let it end here. If she died she would simply go back to the Boundary, and wait for a new body to form. But what if she would go back to Kokonoe. That would most likely happen. If she died here she'd again have the pain of her consciousness ripped apart by the Doctor. She wasn't going to let that happen, not ever again.

She cried out, the only time during the fight she actually showed any real emotion, it was only one word but it meant a lot. "NO!" As she did, she put all her power into her arm and dragged the upwards, intending to bisect the mandarin.

The Master looks at Menardi interested. "As in the classical four elements? Wind, water, fire, earth? Sounds very interesting your mind alone can pull that off."

The Master slowly smiles as he speaks about himself. "I am a man of science myself. I focus on knowledge. At our fortress I have a lab with every material in the multiverse in it that I am trying to examine. However I chose my own personal target because I wish to complement my intellect with magic. Unlike my arch-enemy at my universe I do not write off magic as non-existent or heaven forbid the mad belief of "science of words". That's a childish notion trying to write off the universe into his own little bubbles. But enough about that. I wish to blend magic and technology. To see what my knowledge of the multiverse can add to magic and vice-versa."

Doomstadt

Ahriman stilled as the barrage of incoming lasers dwindled away to nothing, his mind asserting control over his flesh once more. At a glance the sorcerer took in his surroundings, still chanting the words to his spell. But as he processed what he was seeing, he realized he would not need it; his attack had proven far more effective than expected, his ensorcelled bolt rounds having wrought a terrible toll on his foes and the battlefield itself. Scorched robot parts and charred viscera littered the street, scattered amidst overturned and half-buried groundcars. Tongues of flame flickered here and there in the dust, burning in every colour of the rainbow and casting eerie light and eerier shadows across the debris.

To say he found the scale of the destruction perplexing would be an understatement. A mere six inferno bolts should not have been able to cause quite this level of damage.

But then, he reminded himself, this was not the 41st millennium; dangerous though Doom was, advanced though his automatons were, they were ill-equipped for warfare of the scale Ahriman and his brethren had been bred for—warfare that left cities devastated, worlds subjugated, countless alien species driven to extinction, and a galaxy brought to heel and subsequently torn asunder.

A stray thought drifted through the aether then, familiar and brimming with confusion. Cosmin. Beneath his helmet, Ahriman squared his jaw in vexation. The boy must have seen the horn when it snapped off; any more battle damage, any more pieces of armour torn away, and he might begin to realize the Ohrmuzd he thought he knew was merely an illusion…

There was no time to think about that now. Doom himself strode out of the dust, hands aglow with emerald energies, and in the distance Ahriman could hear the faint keening of rockets, see dozens of faint shapes hurtling through the night sky from the direction of Doom’s castle—more automatons, scores of them, coming to their master’s aide.

The situation was rapidly becoming untenable.

Doom’s hands swung up, words of dark supplication booming from the tyrant’s mouth grille. Eldritch rays of power flew from his outstretched fingertips, seven in all (a number oddly fitting of the magic’s colour), veering and curving through different trajectories before converging on his position from wildly different vectors. The Chaos Lord could feel the sheer power of the spell, and it did not take ten thousand years of dabbling in the most esoteric and arcane practices to tell that their convergence would be lethal.

Fortunately, with the sanctuary and the spell of banishment he’d been preparing no longer necessary, Ahriman suddenly found himself with a high accumulation of untapped Warp energy at his disposal—energies he wasted no time in putting to use.

A kine shield would not be strong enough to protect him from the spell’s effects, so he did not even bother to erect one. Instead, Ahriman drew upon his power and will and performed a feat he had not exercised since first awakening on Tatu’s desolate world.

He teleported.

Even as the rays converged on him, Ahriman shaped his will into talons and sunk them into the fabric of space itself, tearing open a small hole centered on his person. To an outsider’s perspective, the Chaos Lord and the air immediately around him seemed to shatter like glass, the shards falling away to reveal a ragged outline filled with swirling light and cacophonous sounds—a tiny glimpse into the ever-churning maelstrom of the Warp.

This whole lasted for only a split-second, then vanished as if it had never existed. At the same moment an identical rift appeared on a nearby rooftop, spitting out pieces of matter that coalesced into Ahriman in all his illusory gold-and-crimson grandeur.◊

From his new vantage point he looked down on Doom. “You are correct about one thing, Doom,” he called. “A single ant has no quarrel with a boot. But a swarm of ants is another matter entirely.”

Even as he spoke, the Chaos Lord sent a brief telepathic message to Cosmin. +Get back to the children, Cosmin. Have them join hands and pool their powers, and wait for my signal; you must all work in concert if we are to overcome this darkness. Now go!+

Power crackled around the head of his Black Staff, a web of lightning blacker than pitch. This shadowy energy grew more intense as Ahriman channelled his will into the staff, drawing deep upon his own loathing and spite, his mounting frustration with the situation, and converted these dark thoughts and dark emotions into raw, destructive force.

The Chaos Lord lifted his arm, holding the staff aloft like a beacon. Then he swung it down, and that destructive force was unleashed.

Shrieking bolts of dark energy flew from the staff’s head, nine of them in all, arcing through the air on trails of black vapour. Two of them hurtled toward Doom, spiralling around one another before splitting off to come at him from different angles; but the remainder flew towards the robots hovering in the sky, and whether they struck machines or not the bolts detonated with the force of an artillery strike. Ahriman swung his staff up, firing off a second volley of Doombolts, eight of them targeting the robots while the ninth arced toward Doom. He doubted this spell would fell Doom, but it would distract him for at least a moment or two; and more to the point, while it would not get all of the robots hovering in the sky his barrage would at least thin their ranks somewhat.

Once he had finished Ahriman did not remain still; he turned and sprinted toward the edge of the roof, tiles and shingles cracking like eggshells under his immense tread, then stepped off and let himself drop twenty feet to the ground below. The impact of his landing gouged a shallow crater into the street, his thunderous descent crushing cobblestones to powder underfoot, but Ahriman was not even dazed by the fall. Immediately he was off, sprinting across the square, making himself a moving target.

Beads of sweat dotted his brow as he ran, born not from physical fatigue but a spiritual one. That last spell and the teleportation immediately beforehand had depleted his reserves of psychic energy, and he would need time to build up that energy again before he could cast another. So he made himself a moving target, to give himself time… and to take his foes’ attention off of Cosmin.

Charging towards the mouth of an adjacent street, he threw a glance over his shoulder, pauldron lowering automatically to let him see clearly. “Come then, Doom!” he boomed in challenge. “Crush this ant, if you think you can!”

Magic and science...the only relationship Menardi had to those terms was through Psynergy. Magic was what those who knew nothing used to describe it, while science what those who could not use it turned to in an effort to replicate it. However, if this man was truly seeking it, then those terms carried more weight in this world. A man in his position seeking power that could rival Psynergy or even Alchemy itself...ambitious but intelligent. In other words...a man worth keeping tabs on.

"I see. Sounds like a good plan. However...if magic is, ah, hard to come by in your world, I may be of assistance. I have dealt with enemies that use magical powers in the past, and I have some techniques that may come in handy. What do you say? Shall we team up?"

Chase Young - Central City

"You would be surprised at the amount of free time one can have in fifteen hundred years," Chase retorted with a calm expression, even though he had no idea what that "Avatar" comment was supposed to mean. Perhaps he was referring to someone else in that world? Regardless, the job had to be done, and the Flash was an obstacle. An obstacle that he could have fun with, but an obstacle nonetheless.

"Anyway, I have not yet heard a reply to my proposition, so I will be straightforward this time," he stated, his voice acquiring a far more serious tone as he turned towards the Flash. "I challenge you to a Xiaolin Showdown."

Dr. Eggman

"Good," Dr. Eggman said, examining the vial of hypno-pollen Zeal had retrieved. "It isn't much... but it should be enough."

It was then that his Badnik's returned, bringing with them crates of armor, weapons, and other supplies, as well as the Soul Dagger and the Idis Stick. "Excellent" Dr. Eggman said, snatching the two artifacts from his minions as his mouth twisted into a wide, toothy, and decidedly malevolent grin. "Now this is more like it!"

Turning to Queen Zeal, he said "The Ibis Stick, Queen Zeal, is an ancient Egyptian artifact of immense magical power." With this, he hefted the magic wand into the air, so that she could get a better look it. "The files say that this wand was forged by the ancient Egyptian god Thoth as a gift to the prince Amentep, and it is capable of producing nearly any magical effect it's caster can conceive of. If I can crack into the source of this wand's magic, I'll have a vast reservoir of energy at my fingertips!"

edited 24th Jan '15 1:32:59 AM by Dezmo

Metropolis

Queen Zeal quickly pocketed the Hypno-Pollen after letting Dr. Eggman see it.

"I see..." Queen Zeal noted when Eggman commented on the Ibistick though it seemed her eye was kept on the Souldagger as she knew it was an anti-magic weapon. "I can confirm that what you plan is possible... Zealian technology had been designed to do exactly that."

"You may want to keep the Souldagger away from the Ibistick," Dalton suggested to Dr. Eggman, keeping an eye on the Souldagger himself. "I mean the Souldagger is an anti-magic weapon, so it might damage the Ibistick."

edited 24th Jan '15 3:15:08 PM by GameGuruGG

Teridax

Within him, Teridax's spirit blazed with indignation. 'Go fetch and be a good boy' was what he heard from Magneto. Errand boy indeed, Magneto seemed to be putting him through the ceremonies of becoming a brotherhood member which was all good and pleasant except for the voice inside Teridax's head that screamed 'It's a Trap'.

Liars do not trust.

So Magneto wanted him to dive into the midst of a heavily populated city, track down a group of super heroes renowned for their ability to put down 'villains' and then take hostage/ prisoner one of their friends. The idea was suicidal, especially since Magneto didn't even have a plan on how to go about it. And he wondered why we was living in a rubbish dump. Teridax's opinion of Magneto tripped over and fell, so much so that Teridax wondered if he could threaten the man with a wooden gun and live.

The conjecture was faintly amusing but got him nowhere. What Teridax wanted to know was why Magneto wanted Scarlet witch, especially since she was on the opposing team. Teridax distinctly remembered her as being his daughter with quicksilver being her brother. So why did he want them? Fatherly love and the hopes that she might be with him to evade the coming storm? Ridiculous; Magneto was as bad as a father could get. No, he wanted her for her power and great her power must be if he believed her aid would allow him to win his wars.

So the power of one person who could so compliment Magneto's own that they would be unstoppable. Though Teridax had his doubts, one thing was clear: the girl known as Scarlet Witch must not be allowed to become allied with Magneto: in short: she must remain a hero. However, that also presented the problem: Scarlet witch herself was going to be a force to be feared and must be taken care of efficiently.

One headache after another. He doubted the girl would take kindly to have her dear father killed, despite how bad he was.

Nothing showed through the mask that Teridax wore, nothing. It was as if Magneto had said nothing more than to remark on the shape of the clouds.

"Scarlet Witch"

He said, as if savoring the taste of the name in his mouth.

"And this being can make your dreams come true...what power she must wield. Yet I must confess doubt: you say that she is allied with a group of heroes. What makes you think that by bringing her to you she would change her allegiance? And what allows the thought that she would allow herself to be taken?"

Teridax sat back down.

"There is another problem: I have no idea how to find them and neither do I have a way to travel large distances quickly. I walked here if you want to know. I would like you to appreciate how hard it was to walk through the human streets as a great big hulking robot without being seen: travel at night isn't easy. I sincerely hope you have a way of getting to New York that doesn't involve months of walking."

I look like Jesus, so they say.

Pulled away from the euphoria of becoming one with Dio Brando, an experience which had apparently enraptured him in his entirety, the plant masquerading as a man began to suffer withdrawal. As I absorbed the biomass he'd left behind, its energy combining with my own and closing the wounds he'd inflicted, as I rose to my feet, he began to shriek his lamentations - he needed it, me, he needed the experience of Dio Brando. Needed it. A babe pulled away from the teat, that was his context. I was amused, naturally, but cautious: he was beginning to understand.

But in an instant, his longing turned to despair. Tesseract had stirred long enough to begin assaulting his machine, tearing jagged shards from the console with which he severed the delicate workings beneath. Initially this confused me, insofar as I had time - but I'd later learn this was his way of battling the thing within his own mind, the spores I'd consumed effortlessly having filled him with unnatural urges, forcible notions of the caretaker, in effect a method of thralling him for the plant's upkeep. So, faced with a situation in which he'd already lost, he ensured his conqueror would fall right by his side. No panic, no despair, only action. Tenacity like that is rare. I hadn't misjudged him.

In any case, the loss of his machine did turn the plant to wailing, screaming for mercy, consumed with his failure. And in that distracted moment, in that unguarded moment, I found my opening.

The World's hand still around his neck, a ragdoll in its grasp, and I had it pull him sharply to my right, impacting him against the wall with enough force to buckle it around him. Before he could recover, it swiped him away from me, scraping - no, no, grating - the fragile tissues of his head against that ruined wall, leaving a long streak of green against the pristine white. And at the apex of the movement, roaring low in quiet baritones, it threw him into the air.

For a moment he hung there, sprawled in mid-air, twisting slightly. To my side I caught sight of Tesseract barrelling towards the ceiling, improvised knife already raised against the tendrils that tried in vain to intercept him, and found myself smirking. And then, well;

Muda muda muda.

Further description seems insulting, frankly.

As his remains reluctantly slid away from the wall (he'd rebounded between it and the World's fists several times, wedging himself in an alarmingly lifelike dent) and I recalled my Stand, I myself standing cross-armed on the opposite side of the room, the communicator I'd been issued buzzed into life against my chest. In his urgency, Eggman was already blurting the news out by the time I'd raised it to my ear, but I caught enough to drain the satisfaction right out of me. In simple terms, mistakes had been made. Missteps. A slight mismanagement. An error in judgement. An oversight. To use the honest language of my roots, there had been an explosive cock-up in our planning.

Literally, in this case, on the scale of the entire building. I was curious as to how exactly this had been accomplished without our notice, with the interior security disabled and every exterior entrance completely locked down, with Amon afforded knowledge of every written word, with an unambiguous god providing our intelligence, but the enormity of it pushed that concern to the back of my mind. This time, I had no coffin to hide in. We needed to move.

"Tesseract?" I asked, unsure if he'd regained enough of himself to understand our situation. The machine was already lost, too large to move quickly and, thanks to his efforts, likely in need to extensive repairs in any case. With the only visible result being a particularly argumentative cabbage, it may well have been worthless all along. He, on the other hand, was self-evidently valuable.

"Eggman's found some bombs, probably intended for us. We're leaving."

And with that, I did.

But Mister Jesus is very far away.

"No, no, stop getting up, you stupid fuck!" screamed Vaas over the laughter, digging into somewhere almost plaintive. He'd been lucky enough for the Joker to land on their side of the arena, leaving him in range of constructive criticism. "Jesus fucking - Monsoon, kill that bitch before he bleeds out. And you, you retarded motherfucker, stay down. You're mine. You don't get out that fucking easy, hermano."

"Good. Don't worry, I wo-"

"Go!"

Monsoon lingered for a fraction of a second, considering finishing his sentence just to prove a point, but abandoned the idea as he leapt into the pit below. Unsheathing Dystopia in the air, he landed with more weight than a man of his build could logically possess, catching Mary between himself and Kotomine as the dust cleared.

As he rose to his cybernetic feet, hair slipping around his shoulders, he adopted a stance casual in its fluidity but at the same time remarkably tight, legs apart but not too wide, body side-on, right foot forward while his left took the weight. The sai span between his fingers for a second, something of a tic, before settling in a reversed grip as he pulled his arms up into a loose defensive pose.

The movements and forms all had names, he knew. They'd been drilled into his psyche by degrees as his hobby slowly turned to mastery, as the early mail-order tapes gathered dust in a closet somewhere and instructors became sparring partners, but he never consciously thought about them. He hadn't for years. It was second nature now, something as reflexive as breathing and as natural as moving his own body. Stylistically, Monsoon was all freeform. As far as he was concerned, the names the Japanese had given the techniques affected him about as much as the men they'd used them on.

"Hello, Mary. My name is Monsoon, of the Winds of Destruction. Do you know why we're here?"

edited 28th Jan '15 6:41:16 PM by TheMalignancy

Doomstadt

Cosmin's worries about who his 'teacher' really was were put to side as he quickly ordered the children to gather round and join hands. They began chanting hymns to help them concentrate, as they focused on unlocking the abilities that Ahriman had taught them. This small, but growing source of energy went largely unnoticed by Doom.

In fact, you could say this about everything else. Whilst Ahriman's attacks provided a huge obstacle for the Doombots, destroying them in blasts of fire that would surely be seen across the skies of the small nation, the attacks aimed at Doom were either easily dodged or blocked with a simple motion of his hands and a quick spell. Ahriman had unwittingly transformed Doom into a much more fearsome enemy, for now the dictator's entire focus was on destroying this invader and nothing else.

Doom took to the skies, a feat only able because of the astral qualities of his current form. Two fingers stretched out, he pointed at one of the rooftops in which Ahriman would land, and began to call upon another one of this world's deities. Soon, a black swirl appeared on top of that rooftop, the air around it throbbing with power as it started to drag everything not bolted down to the ground towards it, clearly created so as to try and send Ahriman into the void.

Yet, in the Castle, Doom's servants looked on in worry as their master's physical form struggled more and more with exhaustion.

Troy

"You bastard!" The Mandarin roared, reaching for the sword and keeping it down, even as it started bleeding his fingers. "You dare come into my city and defile its history by attacking me?... you may try to defeat me. You may succeed. But my soul shall curse you FOR ALL OF ETERNITY!"

The Mandarin's yells rang in unison with Lambda's yells as he attempted to keep his grip on her head. Blood coming out of his mouth, the man gritted his teeth, shutting his eyes and focusing all of his energy on that blast, trying to fight the pain that came from slowly being bisected.

Ultimately, Lambda won out the battle of wills, and the Mandarin only had a split second to react as his body was cut in two. The stone legs returning back to the ground, he fell on his back, his eyes staring up at the sky as the last inches of his life clung onto him. And then... he raised his left arm, the one still connected to his body, and charged up a shot, aiming it at the sky.

Metropolis

As they were heading to the lobby, Amon suddenly stopped, turning around and pointing at Eastwood. "That accent," He said, calmly. "You must teach me how to speak like that one of these days. It is... oddly poetic." He waved his hands in the air, resuming the journey to the lobby. "As if every sentence inherently rhymes despite the lack of an actual rhyme."

Once they arrived at their destination, watching as the 'dog' followed Joan, Amon made a point to wait for Dio and Tesseract. When they did arrive, the masked man turned to his radio. "Last of us are leaving the building, good Doctor. See you soon." He said, facing Dio as he walked out. "Got what you wanted?" He asked in a pretty blase tone considering he was covered in blood and holding a vial filled with a red, viral looking liquid.

Saranac Lake Village

"New York is a matter of hours away from this village." Magneto replied, laughing inwardly. "Now I know you truly do not belong to this world. And if you are a master like you claim to be, then this will be an easy task for you. Of course, if you were to blindly march in and try to wrestle Scarlet Witch from the grips of the Avengers, then my theory that you lack a brain capable of devising tactics would be confirmed."

"Unless, of course, you feel that you are not up to the task. In which case I would have to reconsider my next move." Magneto raised a hand, as the metal around Teridax seemed to writhe and twist. "After all, you know a lot about me. Can't have someone like that wandering around."

Central City

The Flash stared longingly at Chase Young, before eventually breaking the serious stare with a chuckle. "Sorry, what? Xiaolin Showdown— what's that supposed to be? Is it some kind of combo at a chinese fast food restaurant? Which reminds me-"

There was a moment, where the red blur seemingly disappeared, before returning with a frown. "Place's closed. So it can't be that. Or is it..." He leaned back, wincing. "Oh, man, think you read me all wrong, I thank you for the offer but I don't swing that way, you see?"

Mount Everest

Super Skrull's arrival came not with a bang, but with a whimper, when his hands grasped the peak of the mountain. But Greed would have little time to look down and see that although his hands were at the peak, the Super Skrull's body was quite a ways down, still climbing the mountain. Kicking himself up, he flew into the sky, before trying to fall down on top of the homunculus, trying to hit him with a rocket punch.

He had essentially used the enhanced elasticity of his arms as a slingshot. This move would be pretty dangerous, considering the small area one had to fight in the peak of Mount Everest. But it would most likely harm the hostage as well...

The Hand Hideout

"Don't care." Mary said, holding her hands out and adopting a fighting stance. "Your friend there is dying. Slowly and painfully- made sure of that. Are you people gonna start talking, or are you gonna let Clowny there bite the dust?" Her fists tightened as she giggled madly. "That would be so typical of scum like you. Going around like you own the world." She tilted her head, licking her lips after every fourth word or so. "Think I like that sword. I'll use it to cut off the priest's dick. Shove it down your throat. That enough banter for you?"

The Joker, meanwhile, continued to laugh. "T-though crowd, huh?!" He squeaked, coughing up enormous amounts of blood. Looking down at his wounds, he raised one finger and shoved it inside, chuckling at the fact that the wound went all the way through and was creating a sizable pool of blood underneath him. "Look, ma!" He yelled. "No veins! Huh-huh!"

Chase couldn't help but facepalm at the Flash's antics. Apparently, he'd have to explain everything in the same way he'd do to a toddler.

"Pay close attention, worm," he demanded, at the same time that took a couple of steps back and slowly swept his hand in front of him, after which a small illusion of two men, one black and one red, appeared between them. "A Xiaolin Showdown is a contest in which the Challenger and the Challenged wager something or someone, and then face off in a game of the Challenger's choosing to acquire both objects or people in dispute."

As Chase spoke, the red and black shadows faced each other, and then engaged in different competitions: a race, hand-to-hand combat, soccer penalty kicks, chess, and finally a staring contest. The goal of that was to show the red blur that any and all kinds of competition were valid for a Showdown.

"In this case, I'm challenging you for Multiplex, and offering my own freedom as a wager," the heylin warrior continued, sweeping his hand again to make the illusions disappear. "If I win, you hand him to me immediately; if you win, I will voluntarily put on those shiny shackles of yours. No buts, no tricks, two prisoners or none. Do you accept?"

-Anub'arak watches the female continue to make threats against the other humans, including a newcomer. The Nerubian watching over the Joker makes no move to help or finish him, taking a glance at the thrown knife but knowing better than to pick it up.-

This awesome post was half-written by The Malignancy, who saw it fit that we completely destroy Mary because srsly

Kirei, Lancer(?), and Monsoon; The Coalition Against Ninjahood and Now A Schizophrenic Pyromaniac

"Alright then," replied Monsoon, unfazed if slightly disappointed. The rare words before the fight were an indulgence he looked forward to in confrontations like this, something his unusually sturdy ego and hard-practised eloquence positioned him uniquely to enjoy. Demoralisation was the golden prize, to no-matter how small a degree, primarily because it saved a lot of work in the long run. Anger was useful too, especially if they knew he was right. Working your way into your opponent's head, finding the right leverage and the right words to push it, every self-doubt or moment of clarity, it was a rare accomplishment, and one he took exceptional pride in. But this one, she'd lost her mind a long time ago, that much was obvious just from the file. He honestly wasn't sure what he'd been expecting. Words couldn't affect a woman who wouldn't listen to more than the occasional taunt.

Behind him, Kotomine Kirei put one foot forward. He let the shift ripple up his stance and build in his diaphragm. The priest locked his limbs.

"So, slowly, huh?" asked Monsoon. "Good. That gives us time to finish up."

He attacked right after the full stop, knowing there was no response worth listening to. Kicking his weight off his right, sai already spinning back to an offensive form, the cyborg shot forward like the chisel of a jackhammer, hair in a shimmering halo. Without any real distance between them, he was on Mary immediately - attacking low with opening stab from the left aimed for the hamstring, followed by a slashing diagonal right across the torso.

Kirei did not take the opportunity. He simply noticed it and stepped through. His arms flew out. The Black Keys flashed from his vestments, arcing around to slice at Mary’s back. His legs sprang, driven by the explosive release of his lungs. His arms came in, slack and sharp at the same time. In a move so regimented that it flowed without effort, the Executor leapt forward and aimed two blows straight at Mary -

One at the head, the other at the heart. He did not strike at her. He struck through her, like she was nothing but a bag of skin and sand, and every muscle in his body bore down on the thrusts.

The two attacked in perfect sync, each somehow more machine than man. If Monsoon’s slash landed square, the combination of a high-frequency blade and CNT muscle fibre could well send Dystopia clean through her chest, let alone a forearm.

If Kirei’s fists found their mark, the blows would spiral straight through Mary’s organs. If his Keys spun home, they would flay her back. If he came close enough to ensure both, he would take another breath, snap his arm out and fling her straight through the latter.

With a human target, guards were of no importance. The wind blew, the rain fell, and the strong preyed upon the weak. As they charged in unison, both men knew - this was just nature taking its course.

edited 29th Jan '15 5:52:06 AM by troydenite

After a short jog to the lobby, the lunatics in the halls having learned to keep well clear this time, I was accosted by Amon on the doorstep. He seemed to have fared about as neatly as I had, my jacket stained red and green, missing an arm, and generally not refundable - he himself was tattered around the edges, slightly battered, and caked in a respectable amount of dry blood. I could sympathise. Humans are surprisingly wet creatures, at least once damaged, and the stains they leave once set are ludicrously stubborn. Something about the heaviness of iron oxide, perhaps, or properties of the clotting factors. Toothpaste is often necessary.

Stoic in the face of rebuilding his wardrobe, he asked me a simple question. Did I get what I wanted?

"Not as such." I replied, smiling, as we crossed the threshold into the night. For a second my eyes caught the vial in his hand, vibrant and slightly garish, but it could wait. "The previous owner took offence, and we lost the Accelerator in the fighting. Still. He won't be bothering us again, and I discovered Tesseract is a man without a single inch of give in him, so I'd call that a net gain. He could be a useful man to know, our Russian friend. Incidentally, whose blood is that? Anyone exciting?"

Zeal

Zeal crossed her arms, frowning as Amon and Dio confirmed that they were leaving. She shifted her outfit to be a long black strapless dress with matching long black gloves and long black high-heeled boots... Each had a greenish tint to them.

"While this mission has been good at obtaining mere items, it has not been good at obtaining allies," Zeal noted to the others. "Or enough of an item for me..."

"While I shall let you study the Hypno-Pollen, Eggman, I refuse to let you use up my sample of it," Zeal added her stipulation. "I may need to use it in the future and... well, if this sample is to be of better use, we need to be able to create more Hypno-Pollen."

"I may be able to use my newfound magic to create more if I knew what the Hypno-Pollen was made off," Zeal mused to Dr. Eggman. "And if the Ibistick works as you describe, you could easily replicate my own magic with that item as well."

edited 31st Jan '15 8:28:40 PM by GameGuruGG

Doomstadt

Ahriman’s one saving grace was that his foe had aimed too high. Had Doom torn this singularity open at street level rather than above the rooftop, Ahriman surely would have been pulled into its event horizon and destroyed before he could even think to defend himself; but as it was, the distance between himself and the yawning void gave him just enough time to react.

Drawing upon his will, Ahriman harnessed what little psychic energy he’d managed to recover since launching his volley of doombolts and channelled it all into a single act—slamming a wave of telekinetic force down on himself from above. The impact drove him down to one knee, made him snarl in pain and crushed all the cobbles within ten feet of his kneeling form to powder. Pinned in place, he could not rise, could not move, could barely even lift his head or lift his arm… but by the same token, the black hole’s gravitational pull found no purchase on him and he remained firmly on the ground.

For now, at least.

Leaning heavily on his staff, Ahriman grit his teeth. Beads of sweat rolled freely down his scalp, trickling into his eyes, and on his lips he could taste the hot coppery tang of his own blood, running in turgid rivulets from his nose. The Chaos Lord’s might, though vast, was not limitless, and just now he was reaching the limits of his endurance. The telekinetic pressure field would last only as long as his fraying willpower did, and when it inevitably gave out he would be sucked in, dragged to annihilation.

And yet, despite the dire situation, he smiled.

His shoulders heaved with slow, laboured chuckles. With considerable effort he looked up, staring at Doom’s airborne form.

“I really must thank you, Doom,” he said. “In all my long years, few have managed to give me such challenge. In all the galaxy, only a handful come close to rivalling my power, and only one exceeds it. You are not of his calibre, not by any stretch, but you certainly number amongst that privileged few in my estimation.”

There was no deceit in his words. Ahriman was being entirely forthright in his praise.

The sorcerer shook his head and sighed. “A shame matters had to end this way. Minds like ours are such terrible things to waste. Had you and I met under different circumstances, perhaps we could have been allies.” Then his expression hardened, as did his words. “Alas, that is not why I am here. And I have no intention of dying this day.”

Even as he finished speaking, Ahriman sent a tendril of thought to the children’s hiding place. His little speech should have given them enough time to pool their abilities, to generate a significant amount of power. +Now, children!+ he communed. +Open wide the floodgates and channel your power into me!+

And with that command given the Chaos Lord’s telekinetic field at last gave out. Gravity’s pitiless talons closed around him, and Ahriman found himself lifted off the ground, hurtling toward that event horizon with increasing speed…

Teridax

"Oh I'm sorry, were you thinking that I might not be truly not of this world? And I was not aware that you formed theories, especially ones so idiotic."

Teridax got out of the chair. He was reaching the end of his patience with this man- especially with the constant antagonizing.

Indeed, he had grown most tired of Magneto's smirk and his smug voice. A man that while trying to milk the bargain prodded and pried at him without the slightest subtlety. Perhaps what made it worse was the fact that in the last 10000 years, no one had dared to make him their errand boy with so much impunity. This man, this human (make no mistake about it; though he tried to differentiate himself by calling himself a mutant, grasping pathetically at that slight genetic mutation that made him into an omega level mutant, Magneto was still human. His brain, his body, his psyche were all those of the homo sapien race. He was No Different) dared because he could control metal.

Ah yes, the control of metal. The fact that the humans had incorporated metal into such fundamental levels of their society was the reason Magneto was a power, nay, a super power of this world. However, he had noticed in the track records only one instance of him controlling the metal inside the body of another human. Strange, for humans incorporated metal into the deepest parts of their anatomy.

Perhaps even Magneto had his limits.

The wrath in Teridax subsided, forcibly. With a sigh, Teridax relaxed and was about to sit back down when he noticed the metal around him. The metal was writhing.

So that is your game is it? Black Mail?

Teridax froze, his gaze riveted on Magneto as the man declared that his duty to cut loose ends.

"And if I feel that I'm not up to the task? Unfortunately yes, I am not up to the task for the capture of scarlet witch."

Slowly, like a cobra, Teridax rose and regained his usual stance.

"The situation with scarlet witch from what you have told me is complex and requires.....further consideration. Unfortunately you are running out of time Magneto..."

Even as Magneto exerted his will over the metal around him, a single thread like projection rose up directly behind the mutant leader. It was almost invisible for it was as thin as spider string and the same colour as the dark vagueness of the night. A needle balanced on a string. Magneto would not know of it's existence, the mutant could not detect such subtleties.

"Thus, I would indeed council you to reconsider you next move. However, you made a miscalculation. I won't be going anywhere, much less wandering. No, I will be staying by your side till the end, the end of this war."

Teridax waited and mentally, prepared himself for every method of destruction that Magneto might unleash. Compared to Teridax in the darkness of night, Magneto may as well be fighting blind.

"I think I see now why you have been cast into a dump like this: you trust no one, distancing yourself from even your fellow brothers. Instead of spreading your arms in welcome you attempted to use fear as your weapon only to find that when crucial times came, there was no one to stand beside you. The people that you thought could be trusted turned on you, the people you saw promise in deserted you. And then you exiled yourself, believing yourself to have been abandoned. I came because I thought to help you, to present to you a trustworthy ally and yet here we are. You with your metal and me with my big mouth."

edited 30th Jan '15 5:34:09 AM by biomechtraveler

The Master smiles and nods. "I'd be honored Ms. Menardi. I need something to do anyhow. Sitting here contemplating my strategy gets old after a while. If nothing else I can add some excitement to today while I plan."

He laughs. "Man it sure is fun to explore a new world! Almost forgot what it felt like, honestly."

Success. Menardi smiled. Having another body in a battle always made things easier...even if only as a decoy. She'd keep an eye on what skills he displayed on the battlefield.

"I am looking forward to working with you. Shall we travel down and defeat Dr. Alchemy, then?"

It was hard for her to conceal the excitement she felt over potentially attaining this world's equivalent of a Stone of Sages. Also, she was in top fighting condition and itching to go. The teleporter was already prepared, and once The Master agreed, they could go to where the records said the Doctor was waiting.

Doomstadt

Although his astral form sat benevolently on the sky, its legs crossed and its arms raised, intently keeping the void open, the actual Victor von Doom was suffering heavily from the effects of this battle. In his castle, in a hidden bunker, servants afraid of getting the death penalty for interrupting their master's moment watched as his muscles went through a process similar to that of a man lifting up a truck.

Yet Doom never once betrayed that exhaustion, seemingly keeping himself in fit form, an image befitting of a god. And when Ahriman praised him, Doom did nothing but stare down at his foe. When the speech ended and the Chaos Lord slowly floated towards his death, Doom chose his next words very, very carefully.

"Pity." He said, his words shrugging even though his body didn't move. "I wont remember you after today."

At that moment, Ahriman would feel the power of the children he had been teaching open up to him, as if they had forced open a gate into a pool of energy- precious, life-giving energy. Take this! chanted his students, and a very uneasy Cosmin. Take this and defeat the one who has destroyed our lives!

STAR Labs

Dio's question regarding the blood gained nothing more than a cursory glance from Amon. "Seventy five percent of this blood came from bystanders. I was the witness to precisely five rampages on scientists who were attempting to escape the facility. I had to watch as they were mercilessly slashed into piles of guts with the same cold detachment one has when transforming pigs into sausages, before having to fight with the being responsible for the rest of the blood, my ruined uniform and the injuries underneath it. Many times he attempted to use said pile of guts as a weapon. I am one hundred percent sure I accidentally inhaled the internal remains of human beings."

He looked up at his burly friend, before shrugging. "Moderately exciting."

Saranac Lake Village

"Trust is overrated." Magneto spoke quickly, a smile still on his face even as the prospective battle seemed to be tipping to the side of his enemy. "After all, trust is only for idiots who need others to assure them of their grandiose. Perhaps... like an outsider, attempting to fool a weary old man with his half-baked promises and badly slithered lies, who trusts in himself and the world around him so much that he never stops to wonder: where is that girl from earlier today?"

At this, there was a sudden blast of light coming not from anywhere near Teridax, but rather from the sky itself. Logic was being defied right in front of his eyes as the clouds of darkness split open to reveal the light of the sun, the day returning for one last encore in this garbage dump. The source of this transformation became clear when, standing atop a nearby pile of dump, Teridax would be able to see the girl from before, Briar, and another man, holding his hand up to the sky.◊

"I am not one for theatrics." Magneto said. "But I could not hold back the urge to do this. Did you truly think that Briar would just reveal my location to you? That someone who follows a known fugitive like myself would trust a random robot claiming to be something he's not?... did you think you were the only one who could look into other people's heads?... did you think you were the only one who had friends in higher places?" He waved towards the newcomers. "Meet Marco Mardon. Perhaps one of the only people I can call 'a friend'."

"Now, my friend. Perhaps I should rephrase my previous words." Magneto said, as he raised his hands into the air, metal bits and pieces streaming out of the piles of dump and forming into twelve thick and jagged steel spears. "Welcome to Earth. Go to hell." And with that, the twelve spears moved in from different directions.

Central City

"Ah, I see." The Flash said, suddenly admitting an entirely new stance. "An elegant way to battle for a more civilized age. Right, I can agree with this. But how about we up the stakes a little, hm? After all, this is a big chance. Can't pass this up to go all in or nothing."

"If you win... I'm gonna serve ya. Noble butler, office boy, lackey, whatever you want. I'll obey your orders. You'll have the fastest man in the world ready to respond to a snap of your fingers." After doing just that, the Flash leaned in. "However, if I win... you tell me everything to know about who you and your friends are."

"Yeah, I know something's fishy going on. Just before I came here, Thor was talking about someone killing an Asgardian. Whilst we were fighting, I got a warning that STAR Labs was being invaded. And that little trip I had seconds ago? It wasn't to a restaurant. It was to check if Tony's report was true: someone knocked on Doctor Doom's door and is battling him right now. This is worldwide, maybe even bigger than that, and you're definitely involved with it."

"So, I win, you tell me everything: who, why, how, when and how can I kick your friends' butts so hard they'll have to buy new pants. We got a deal?" He finished, holding out his hand.

The Hand Hideout

Mary's eyes were focused on Moonsoon even as he made his attack, staring right at him with the intensity of an animal staring at the headlights of an incoming vehicle. She made no move to dodge or deflect his attacks when he lunged forward at her, simply letting them hit her. Mary did not make an effort to react...

Yet, at the same time, she moved. When Moonsoon ran towards her, the woman made no effort to react to him. But when Kirei did the same thing, she reacted, whilst still maintaining her disinterest in the cyborg. Her hair suddenly flared up... and quite literally at that, as her ginger locks turned into actual fire, fluttering in the air as fire also replaced her eyes. She raised both of her hands, establishing a shield between her and the Black Keys, stopping them halfway through.

As the Black Keys stuck to the air, Moonsoon's sai stabbed her in the leg, but before Dystopia could slice through her chest or the priest could land a hit, she clenched her fists and yelled loudly, her yell reverberating through the arena, hiding a quiet pop underneath the cyborg. She grinned and flared up again, as the pop turned into a psychic and explosive blast, one with hopefully enough strength to send Moonsoon flying up, disrupting his second attack and the priest's attack.

Mary went along with them, slowly flying up into the air, charging up a big ball of fire in one of her hands and unleashing it upon the two, not aiming to burn them, but to create an impact strong enough to at least break something inside them. Meanwhile, the Joker's laugh continued to echo through the arena, as he started gurgling up more and more blood.

Iron Heights

Menardi and the Master suddenly found themselves in the corridors of a damp and sturdy-looking stone building. The sound of the waves outside indicated that they were on an island, but if that wasn't enough of a giveaway, the fact there were heavy duty steel cell doors every few feet or so meant they were dealing with the kind of building where society stashed its undesirables: prison.

Lighthouses peppered the outskirts of the island, constantly scanning the shore of the place for anyone trying to escape. Even so, what little windows this place had were covered in heavy metal bars, making it almost impossible to discern what was going on outside. Luckily, the duo's target wasn't out there, trying to escape.

In fact, right in front of them, behind a heavy duty door, sat Albert Desmond◊, surrounded by piles of books and candles, having turned his cell into a bonafide medieval laboratory. Whoever ran this institution allowed men like Desmond to keep on wearing their costumes, which meant the man at least fit in with the decoration of his cell. But soon, they wouldn't be the only ones visiting poor Albert, as the sounds of an alarm ringing through the corridors could be heard, followed by the words INTRUDER ALERT being spouted by a mechanical, synthesized voice.

edited 31st Jan '15 7:16:06 AM by Stratofarius

Teridax

The Makuta stood in silence as Magneto unveiled what appeared to be a plan long in the planning. He looked and he listened and he concluded that Magneto knew more about the situation than he had first imagined. Well, wasn't that annoying. An inward sigh was also made upon the realization that had he destroyed the woman from earlier, he'd have one less thing to regret. He would never make such mistakes again.

Frustration returned of course because not only had Magneto refused to play his game, he had tried to humiliate him by playing games of his own. He had wasted his time...or at least, most of it.

But now there were unknown variables. Two of them in fact. The girl he was talking to earlier and another. One with his hands stretched to the sky (Time reversal? Weather control? It was unclear but he was the one causing the sun to shine) and the other....just standing there.

Magneto continued to ramble on but something he said gave a spark to Teridax' bored eyes. A person who could read minds? Of course, why hadn't he bothered to inquire earlier? The perimeter that cut off his psychic abilities was not by machine it was by another psychic. Obviously he did not expect it and he was also prepared to work under conditions where he could not use mental assaults; but having a machine filter out psychic interference was one thing, having a mutant block it with their own power was another.

The difference between them was the same between a kinetic barrier and a meat shield. Good, that made everything much easier.

Now Magneto was nearing an end to his triad, his metal spears were almost intact, and then the 'farewell words' of "Welcome to earth, go to hell" was uttered.

Teridax Laughed. It was a horrible sound, filled with utter contempt and malice. It was the laugh of a being that reveled in the ungodly.

The metal spears shivered in the air, waiting their master's commands.

"I see, brilliant performance. So uh...I guess we are done talking then?"

The spears shot forwards, intending to skewer their target. Each a lightning bolt of Magneto's judgement.

Within the next millisecond, Teridax analyzed the situation, noted every spear- their position, their trajectory, their relative speed and how long it would take for them to reach him; he then memorized the stance of Magneto, noting particularly where his shadow fell (a very small shadow due to the sun but a shadow nonetheless); he then noted where the others were, their stance, where they were looking. Then entire picture, at a single glance.

And then he acted.

He twisted to the side allowing two spears behind him to shoot past him into the ground. His arms swept up in tune with his movement: his hands brushed two of the metal spears- still traveling, inches from his face. The two spears turned to dust. He lowered his body and another spear grazed past his mask. He shifted his stance and deflected three spears with his arm and elbows, these in turn knocking yet another spear off it's trajectory. His hand caught two more spears even as they came in for his stomach- the spears existed then forfeited their place in the material world. That left the last spear to hurtle with speed into his back.

There was an ear splitting clang of metal against metal and Teridax staggered forwards. But that was pure theatrics: the metal did not puncture into his body. All in all, he had done a whirlwind performance: a stellar presentation of combat training and martial arts. It was but a performance; for his elaborate gestures were but a distraction to an assault that would wipe the smile off any one who dared think they had Teridax like a rat in a trap.

Even as the first spear moved, Teridax had unleashed a pent up blast of psychic energy at the mental barrier. The intangible attack for one of psychic disposition was like a storm of knives, except the knives were made of acid and ate away rather than simply cut. The power within the psychic blast was enough to melt the brain of normal psychics and it fell like a thousand thunder bolts on the psychic barrier.

But that was not all. Though his first string and needle had been annihilated with the arrival of the sun, making it again was like moving an arm to Teridax. Thus even as Teridax began to evade the spears of Magneto he called upon the powers of darkness. He drew on the hate and the anger that burned within him. Anger at having his time wasted by an aging fool; frustration at his over estimation of Magneto's capacity to play mind games; hate for this pathetic world. He took each other these emotions and gathered them like ripened grapes in a wine press.

Then the Mask of Shadows took these things and multiplied them bountifully.

Hundreds, if not thousands of needle like projections erupted out of the oppositions' respective shadows. Totally silent yet drilling through the air with deadly grace, the thin strands of shadow energy immolated their targets. Like a hive of enraged wasps the shadow projections fell on Magneto and his two accomplices. These same projections, being able to take on properties similar to those of high frequency lasers could cleave through Toa armour. The humans were not armored, much less had skin like metal. They would be torn apart in seconds.

Yes, torn apart in seconds. If they weren't, Teridax would savor the feeling of tearing them apart with his bare hands.

edited 31st Jan '15 12:25:00 AM by biomechtraveler

It took Menardi a moment to get used to her new surroundings. So, she was in a prison, with the Doctor just inside. An alarm was sounding; she had to move quickly.

So, she had two things to do. Get into the cell and kill him, then find the Philosopher's Stone. Clearly he didn't have it here, or he'd have escaped a long time ago. But then where was it? Confiscated and kept in a secure location? Was it here in the prison? Or had he hidden it away before being taken away? Menardi had half expected to just appear on the Doctor's doorstep, kill him, rob him and be gone. This situation called for...creativity.

"Master Koschei, do you have a way to get this door open quickly?"

In theory she could blow it up with her Psynergy, but it was something of a waste of power in case they had to fight later. And there was a chance it would kill the Doctor inside before she got the chance to interrogate him properly.

Doomstadt

If Doom expected his words to cut Ahriman, he would be disappointed.

The children offered their power up to him, and he took it all. Strength and energy coursed through the Chaos Lord’s veins, revitalizing his aching body and bolstering his spirit. All the power he had expended in the course of this hectic battle was replenished in the blink of an eye, returning him to his full mental and physical strength or near enough as to make no difference.

Roaring jets of iridescent fire exploded from the soles of his feet, thrusters born of pyromancy that flared and shrieked as they strained against the pull of the black hole. Telekinesis was then brought to bear, imparting him with sudden motion and inertia, working in tandem with his improvised jets.

Ahriman’s body strained against the pull, widening the gap between him and the deadly event horizon inch by agonizing inch… and then he was free, rocketing towards the ground.

The Chaos Lord veered up sharply, passing so close to the ground that his jets of flame and force turned a stretch of cobblestones to burning clay. He rose into the air on pillars of fire, safely out of the black hole’s reach, and came to rest at the same altitude as Doom himself, standing on empty air some twenty feet from his masked foe. Electricity crackled around his free hand, and his staff blazed with a corona of black fire visible only in the mind’s eye.

Here he cut himself off from the children. He’d taken all the power they had to offer, and they did not need to feel what would happen next.

“Right you are, Doom.” Ahriman’s tone was polite and agreeable, as if he were discussing something as banal as the weather with a colleague. “By tomorrow, you’ll be dead.”

And with those words his mind reached out, shaped into seventy-and-twenty spearing tendrils of malevolent psychic force—aimed not at Doom, but at a number of homes scattered across the city of Latveria. Their locations were fixed firmly in his mind’s eye, their every detail captured as exactly and accurately as any remembrancer’s holopict, as familiar to him as if he had lived there all his life.

But the homes themselves were not important. What mattered were their inhabitants.

His seven-and-twenty tendrils crossed the city at the speed of thought, and found seven-and-twenty deviants standing furtively at their windows, staring worriedly out at the chaos unfolding across Doomstadt. Outwardly normal, these men and women were the dregs of society—the murderous, the deranged, the high-functioning sociopaths who hid their warped and damaged minds from society with a mask of unassuming normality. Every one of them had been marked by Ahriman during the last week, each one carrying hypnotic suggestions implanted into his or her mind without ever being aware of his scrutiny, every last one of them a tool with a part to play in his original scheme.

That scheme was in shambles now, but they would still serve him in another way.

The masks they wore to hide their insanity from the world offered them no defense. Ahriman’s seven-and-twenty tendrils punched through what meagre defenses their minds could throw up, their efforts as ineffectual as trying to keep a sandstorm at bay with tissue paper. He entered their minds, crushing their pitiful resistance without conscious effort, and impressed a single, inviolable directive into their thoughts:

+DIE FOR ME.+

And they did.

Heads were smashed into walls and doorframes. Knives were pulled from kitchen drawers and drawn across wrists and throats. Necks snapped as men and women flung themselves down flights of stairs. In these and other ways, seven-and-twenty men and women took their own lives all at once. And no matter how they died, each uttered two words with their last breaths:

“For Ahriman!”

With their deaths, the life force of seven-and-twenty flowed into Ahriman: nine-and-nine-and-nine, a sacrifice of blood and bone. Bereft of even latent psychic ability, their lives meant little on their own; but twenty-seven lives was another matter entirely. Ahriman drank their deaths, taking their life energy for himself—a tawdry boon, less than a third of what the children had given him, but with it he was nearly a third again as strong as he’d been when this battle began.

An aura of kaleidoscopic energies formed around the sorcerer’s armoured figure, gas and fire and lightning and sleet shifting through every colour known to man and several that were not. Aglow with power, and well beyond the prying eyes of his students, Ahriman let the Orhmuzd illusion drop: Red gave way to cobalt. gold lost its lustre and faded to dull silver. Prosperine hieroglyphs and cuneiform became blasphemous runes and sigils of eldritch power. Scrolls and parchment became fetishes and tattered robes. Curling horns sprouted as if from thin air atop his helm, one broken where a stray lasbeam had snapped it off. And beneath the emblem of the Third Eye, twin points of azure flame stared out at Doom from within his visor slit, cold and utterly merciless.◊

“You dealt with three of my doombolts easily enough.” The head of the Black Staff surged with dark energy, as the sorcerer once more drew upon his spite and hatred. “Let us see how you handle three cubed.”

Ahriman swept the staff right-left-right, three tightly-controlled swings—and with each swing, a volley of nine seething doombolts erupted from its head to arc toward Doom, twenty-seven in all. And this time, there were no automatons to deal with, no swarm of targets to thin; all seven-and-twenty came straight at Doom, veering around to strike at him from different angles.