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Sy Duir - Overlord Station
"...really? Just go on, build a nuke. A thing you need a team of hundreds of scientists with Ph Ds in a dozen fields to build. You can totally do it with fuck all resources and one guy who's only contribution has been building a radio..."
At this point, Sy was pretty sure that he was nothing but background noise to the Overlords, so he sighed and began working the controls of computer terminal. He needed to get away from the station, just him, the rest of Tesseract's mercenaries, his ninjas, and none of these other people.
It was just too loud.
He paused for a moment, looking around. Was that Tatu guy, boss of his boss, checking these terminals?
Might as well test.
Tesseract - What is love?
While Amon's world had been small, Tesseract's had not been so. While the likes of Greed, Ahriman, Tatu were not replicated, there was worse. The Faceless Ones. Lord Vile. The prophecized Darquesse.
If those were unleashed on the Overlords, he could not wager who would win.
But Amon had worries. Amon was falling to pieces. Amon... could not handle this life.
"I would make the assumption that Tatu would protect us. A sane man would not recruit people he would allow to be betrayed."
Tesseract paused, and stared at the door.
"But there are those on the 'team' that a sane man would not recruit at all."
He did not consider those words a sign of disloyalty. He would follow Tatu to the ends of the multiverse. But a good employee was one who was not afraid to comment on their employer's faults.
And if Tatu disagreed, then it would be his funeral.
"It would not be powerful alliance we would have. Us, Dio, possibly Vaas. Those of us who are not scheming in one way or another. We would need to gather insurance, defenses against betrayal. Power of our own."
"But yes. I will stand by you, Amon. Even if I cannot love you like a brother, I will stand for you."
Even if only to stop an ally's downfall. They do have medals for almost, and they're called silver!
Dipper fan
Blackfire- Nothing ventured...
"It's very cute," Blackfire thought to Chase as small smile of satisfaction appeared on her face.
Then when Luthor said he was Chase's girlfriend she replied "Not gonna lie, I like the sound of that," she said that out loud with satisfaction her smile growing while she glanced, quickly, at the heylin warrior.
"Fine I will tell you, But we need some privacy," she told Luthor to help Chase gain more time while he was still pondering and getting intel.
Then using her new mind powers he send a message that only Luthor and Chase would hear, excluding Mercy of it. "We are planning on getting rid of the "heroes". That's why we attacked your precious labs, we're getting what we need, working on the shadows until it's too late for them..." —She grinned at him— Why? Well we all have our reasons. I personally will become ruler of Tamaran without any of them behind my back, specially my sister and her friends,"
She then looked at Lex eyes with her attention full concentrated on him, while crossing her arms relaxed. "Now that you know, are you interested?", she said using her voice.
"If he tries anything, I call dibs on Luthor", she thought only to Chase. While Mercy was probably more of a fighting challenge, she wanted to steal all of his knowledge if she had to kill him and supplant him to get control of all his resources.
edited 13th May '15 2:09:53 AM by RPGLegend
Forgiveness is beyond justice, faith is superior than hope, redemption is better than perfection and love is greater than them all.
Vampire Hunter
Dalton
"I shall gather some of the Zealots and begin work on the new teleporter," Dalton said as he finished his design of it. "However, I do wish to ask a question of Greed."
"Greed, does your world have alchemy?" Dalton asked, curious of his answer. "Apparently, we had discovered that this world has its own Philosopher's Stone though unlike the one you and my queen have and apparently in this world and in the world of a new general, Menardi, this Philosopher's Stone is tied to a strange art known as alchemy."
"If it does, then it may mean there is some consistency to even an art as strange as it in the multiverse," Dalton concluded to Greed.
With Menardi
During Menardi's training, one of the Zealots had come into her room. The notable thing about this particular Zealot was that her right arm had been torn off.
"In case you are interested, Greed and my queen have returned," the Zealot had informed Menardi, feeling she might like a break from a potential rut.
edited 12th May '15 6:01:18 PM by GameGuruGG
Wizard Needs Food Badly
huzzaaaaaaaah
Attilan
Behind his mask, Amon smiled.
"Good to hear that." He said, before resting his head against the pillow, putting the vial back in his pocket. "Two hours until our mission begins. I'm going to get some rest- perhaps you should do the same."
Doomstadt
Throughout the entire transformation, Strange remained static. He did not move, he did not look, he did not even blink. As Ahriman revealed who he really was, the man calmly sat in mid air, arms crossed, fingers touching each other so as to form a circle. "By the Mystic Moons of Munnopor!" He chanted, not a bead of sweat dropping from his forehead as the the serpent lunged at him. A small particle of yellow energy concentrated around the circle his fingers were forming... "Show him what a real sorcerer can do!"
Strange opened his eyes with a sharp noise, as if violins were hitting their strings, and Castle Doom melted away. Instead, Doom would find himself in a reality unlike anything he had seen so far in this world. There were hundreds, if not thousands of walkways similar in texture and sound to veins, big and small, leading to several directions, all of them hanging in the middle of a light-blue and purple sky which twisted back and forth as if it was in a whirlpool. Chunks of comets floated by, marvelous multicolor crystals growing out of them in real time, piercing the veins and establishing fortresses of solitude in the middle of this reality. And floating in mid-air, eyes closed, a red eye glowing on his forehead, was Strange- still exhibiting an odd control of his emotions for all that was going on.
◊
"Do you know where we are?" He said, his voice echoing in and out of Ahriman's ears and through every one of his pores. "We are in a realm beyond man itself. A Realm of Man-Eating Shadows. Do you know what lies here?... Nothing. A physical manifestation... of the nothing. This is the place between life and death. Occupied by recent murder victims before they move onto much safer realms. And this will be your final resting place, intruder."
"I may not have held much esteem for Victor von Doom. But I respected him. And I will respect him as a murder victim by punishing you." Doctor Strange floated back, finally standing atop one of the walkways. He raised his hand, the same yellow particles from before pooling around it. "By the Flames of the Faltine! I claim thy power! Grant me this light, to burn this liar!" And out of his hand, a creature made out of bright, yellow, inhuman fire sprouted out. It was a phoenix, one made out of fire and brimstone, as big as Ahriman's current form, its own body so bright, so beautiful, that all the walkways seemed to shrink and tremble in sight of this creature. It squawked, a sound so guttural and powerful that it cleaned the nearby area of any comets.
And then it took to the skies, spreading its wings even further, showing that they were long enough to wrap around Ahriman. The phoenix's eyes, hellfire inside them, focused on Ahriman... and it dove down, trying to stab its enemy's body with its hands and feet so it could peck out the sorcerer's eyes...
Metropolis
Luthor sighed, clasping his hands. "To be frank, no. Not interested." He turned on the sound of his screen in preparation for Captain America's announcement. "Couldn't be bothered with all this 'destroying the heroes' crap. Tried it once... quite boring, actually." He said, finishing his fish. "But you do have my word that I won't intrude upon your plan. And neither will my cabal. We're all content with just... sitting by the sidelines and watching the whole thing go down. Saves a lot of work, you know."
"Though I do have to ask- don't blow up California." He pointed with his fork at Blackfire. "I really want to build a new place there and it'd suck if it was a nuclear wasteland."
Space Base
"You are the ones leading this invasion." Tatu said to the Master as the Housekeepers followed him. "Consider me a simple observer. Which reminds me—" Just as Sy finished writing his message, Tatu appeared besides him, smiling. "Yes, well, I don't know. What do you consider a good activity? Ping pong? Beer run? Complete obliteration of an entire race of people?" He suggested, tapping his finger before making a 'shh' motion. "Our enemies' speech is about to begin."
Washington DC
The speech itself was taking place in front of the, and the crowds were already beginning to pile up, all of them excited to get a glimpse of the heroes. SHIELD had erected a makeshift stage which looked permanent, with enough facility space in the back for all the security necessary for such an event. Piled up in the front row were all the reporters, hundreds of cameras from all over the world pointed at the pedestal in the middle, reporters giving out the news in front of them, a multitude of languages displaying the anxiety surrounding this announcement.
Out he came, Captain America himself, mask down, shield on his back. But he wasn't alone. Walking besides him was Batman, still sporting the cowl, trying to do something that was inbetween his usual scowl and a smile. Reed Richards walked on the other side of Captain America... and then the other heroes came out. Besides Richards was the Invisible Woman, and standing with her were the rest of the Fantastic Four- the Thing and the Human Torch. Alongside them were She-Hulk- an Avenger and honorary member of the Fantastic Four herself- and then Quicksilver, Scarlet Witch and the Vision, the latter two having floated down from unseen parts of the sky. Captain Marvel- Carol Danvers- stood close to Captain America, next to the Falcon. On the end of this section of the group, Wolverine and Beast approached the front of the stage, and topping it all off, with a swinging entrance, was Spider-Man.
On Batman's side, it was a display just as mighty. Wielding his mace, Hawkman lead the charge, approached by two sudden arrivals: Wonder Woman and Aquaman, having been recalled to the US just for this announcement. With a big grin and a wave to everyone, Shazam approached the stage, making sure to fingergun all of the reporters... much to the chagrin of Kent Nelson and Ronnie Raymond- Doctor Fate and Firestorm, respectively- which both rolled their eyes at each other. Dinah Lance- Black Canary- went in after those two, followed by a very starstruck Blue Beetle. Power Girl and Plastic Man were the last two to come in, before a surprise arrival: Supergirl, representing the missing founding member of the Justice League.
Those 26 heroes stood together, and the flashes went off like crazy.
"Ladies and gentlemen..." Captain America began, standing up to the single microphone being used for the event as SHIELD agents littered the field, making sure there were absolutely no threats. "Much discussion has been made about this announcement. About what could make the heroes of Earth come together so haphazardly. Well... I'd like to say that there is no threat. Scratch that, I'd love to say there is nothing to worry about. But then I'd be lying to the people of Earth... and that's not something I can stand for. That's not something any of us can stand for."
"The truth is, there is a new threat out there. We do not know who they are or what do they want. But we do know that they are behind the deaths of superpowered criminals that have recently come to light. You've heard many figure heads in the news talking about all the people who have fallen prey to this new threat... and some have started asking themselves if this is not a good thing. These are the people who have been plaguing our lives for a long time, after all. Criminals, villains. The world is better off without them... right?"
"I won't lie. A part of me sometimes wonders what's the point of this little routine... throw them in prison, they get out, we throw them in prison again. I've considered the quick solution many, many times. However... quick is not right. Who are we to say what do these people deserve? Who are we to be judge, jury and executioner? There's a saying that goes... he who is without sin throw the first stone. Some people say that is an old fashion thought. Well, I think... I think what we need a little old fashion. What makes us human, what makes us unique, is not our ability to kill each other... but our ability to forgive. And we'd be lying if we said villains can't turn into heroes. Many of the people you see today here started out with less than good intentions. Some even committed several crimes. However... I consider them my teammates. My friends. My family. Because they have shown a desire to do good. Not to erase their past... but to change their future."
"Today, we have a choice. To stand by and let these people do what they want... or to unite our strengths and shout in one voice that they are not free to impose their own sicked sense of judgement upon others. Today, the Avengers and the Justice League stand united... to oppose this new threat. But we cannot stand alone. So that is why I call to you-" At this, he turned to the camera. "-yes, you. The people of Earth. For one moment, for one battle, I ask that we all put aside our differences and think of our planet. Of our present. Of our future. For the truth is, you don't need a shield, or superpowers, to fight with us. You have the power to change things in your life, in your community. Help one another, hold out your hand for those who need it, even for those who seem to reject it at first. For the only way to fight this new threat, to force it out of the shadows, is for us to become one. Not Avengers, not a Justice League. But Defenders of Earth."
"Remember this, people of Earth... they will appear to you. And they will claim many things. But do not bend your knee, do not turn on your fellow man. For you, yes, you are a hero. We are all heroes. We are Earth's finest heroes, and united we shall stand!"
edited 13th May '15 1:54:25 PM by Stratofarius
Menardi's Room - Space Base
The Zealot was greeted by a strange sight. The room was in absolute ruins, even the bed and sitting group had been torn to shreds by a number of unseen forces. Menardi sat in what had once been a comfy high-backed chair, focusing on an object levitating in front of her. It seemed to be a large jewel at first, but it was changing shapes so often it was hard to keep track of the rapid metamorphosis.
At the sight of her visitor, Menardi let the practise object fall into dust on the floor. A servant? There was something...off about the woman, but Menardi paid it little heed. The time of experimentation was done, for now. Maybe it was time to test it in the field. She rose, and her clothing was rinsed clean of dirt and even the smallest tear to the fabric was mended.
"I'll be right there."
Menardi left her room, telling the terminal on the wall to restore the room to normal for when she came back. Immediately, the news broadcast on the screen caught her eye. So, the heroes were banding together? Good...she was looking forward to a good fight. But first, where were the other two Stones?
Join us in our quest to play all RPG video games! Moving on to disc 2 of Grandia!
Vampire Hunter
Schala, Dalton, and Zeal
"Oh look, it's Dr. Fate," Schala said, pointing out him among the group of gathered heroes. Dalton gave her a scowl as the conference continued, though he stayed to watch.
"Hmm, Thor isn't with them, which I find curious," Zeal noted of the Avengers while stroking her chin. "May have to figure out why..."
"I must admit many of the heroes are rather attractive though... Not disgusting fat men or psychotic children," Zeal said to the others, eying Power Girl in particular. "They would make excellent servants to me."
"My Hellfire Club, you shall lend me and Greed any resources we desire because we are your Black King and White Queen," Zeal glanced over at the new servants she had gotten from the Hellfire Club, but then noticed Menardi. "Ah, you must be Menardi, the owner of this other Philosopher's Stone... I am Queen Zeal and this is Greed."
"Perhaps we should send a message to them, recorded on what this world uses to record this press conference and sent to them via the teleporters they can track," Dalton suggested to the others. "If these heroes want a public spectacle and we had not exactly avoided our own, then why not just announce our intentions for this world to them and the public?"
"One of Chase's clones could be our mouthpiece in the recording since he has already made a public appearance, and we don't want to reveal too much to the heroes," Dalton added to his suggestion, glancing at the metal orb. "Besides I think being cordial in messaging to the public would be a lot more useful than remaining with Teridax as our only representative."
Wizard Needs Food Badly
Menardi - Space Base
Menardi was also looking at the Hellfire Club, giving them a scathing glance. They gave her the creeps. She gave Zeal and Greed a nod of greeting.
"I am Menardi the Alchemist, wielder of this world's Philosopher's Stone. Nice to meet you."
She deliberately held back on the royal titles. It didn't matter what she'd been before or what she called herself. They were equals under Tatu.
Join us in our quest to play all RPG video games! Moving on to disc 2 of Grandia!
Annoyed Mode: ON
Chase Young - Metropolis
While Blackfire stated what they were planning to do with the heroes to Lex, Chase merely limited himself to watch. Blackfire's response to Lex's "girlfriend" comment was rather interesting, as it gave him a better picture of the Tamaranean's true intentions.
It was good to know he'd have some actual support when he needed it.
It was a shame that Lex hadn't liked what she had told him so far though. But there was still a chance for them to not leave empty-handed.
'Tell him what we plan to do with the world once the heroes are gone,' he thought to Blackfire. 'And... tell him how we've been preparing for that. I am sure he is curious about why the villains were killed in the first place. He might realize that the sidelines are not as safe as he would expect.'
"I can see what you mean," the heylin warrior noted, this time addressing Lex. "Do you happen to have pen and paper at hand? I need to write something down."
Clone - Space Base
"Are you sure it is a wise idea to expose our plans now?" a single clone asked, raising an eyebrow. "You do understand it will be a point of no return, right?"
Clone - Time Chamber
"That is not what I asked."
Chase was starting to lose his patience. He had the feeling that the Flash was not going to be a particularly cooperative servant, evenv though he had chosen that path voluntarily by including his life in the stakes of the showdown. Either that or he was just dumber than he looked. Either way, it wasn't productive.
Was Tatu's offer still standing? Because taking it was starting to sound like a rather good idea.
"I don't care about how much of a pushover Luthor is," the warrior growled, getting ahold of both of the speedster's arms and pulling him down in order to headbutt him. "I want to know about what he has."
Washington DC
On TV, a 27th hero could be seen swooping in through the air above the broadcast. Hot rod red and gold alighted behind Wolverine and Beast, boots clunking onto the platform as repulsors went offline. Iron man had joined the fray and stood proudly along with his fellow avengers.
"Fellas."
27 super powered people. Each of them a formidable foe in their own right. Now they had banded together- united as the Captain said- and anything that happened from now on would only deepen that bond.
From behind his mask Teridax sized each one of them up. Apart from its large size, this team had everything: muscle, talent, brains and of course, popularity. Taking a moment to wave to the cameras, the Makuta took a moment to correct his team.
Space Base
Please don't
Dalton would suddenly find his entire body freezing up- his body suddenly forfeiting him as its owner. Teridax's voice echoed through the confines of Dalton's mind.
I must have over judged your intelligence, Dalton. As of now, the heroes of earth do not need further provocation. Send them such an ultimatum now and you will set the glue which binds them together. Imagine a cohesive team of super powered individuals whose combines power surpasses our own- that is what you are trying to create. Now, in a moment I will release you and you will take back your words. Do anything else and I will have you remain a vegetable for the rest of this mission. Am I understood?
Here, Teridax's message was once again for the wider public.
I have the feeling that since the heroes have banded together, we must do the same. We are yet too few to challenge the heroes head on. Thus, I believe that it is time we started reeling in our comrades- of course, Tesseract and Amon are still on a stealth mission- they must be allowed to run their course. But the others: Dio Brando, Kotomine Kirei, Davros, Blackfire, Ahriman, Vaas, Bowser, Yuyuko and Medusa; they have yet to finish their missions. I believe that help can be sent so that their objective may be fulfilled faster. Nevertheless...it is but a suggestion- anyone have something better to offer?
Carefully, Teridax reached out with his mind until one of the tendrils of thought touched upon a shield agent. Then, like a kraken reeling in prey snagged by it's tentacles, Teridax hauled in the mind he had touched upon.
The agent himself would feel only a bit woozy- perhaps he hadn't gotten enough sleep the night before. Then, everything would go dark for him. Though his body still moved, still stood upright, there was someone else behind the wheel.
Teridax began to harvest the man's memories, everything that had happened to him since joining shield- the classified missions, the close calls.
It was over in a moment. The sun shone, the captain spoke and all was right in the world. But inside that man's mind there were two words that weren't there before.
Hail Hydra
edited 15th May '15 6:59:13 AM by biomechtraveler
Calamity is a housewife
Space Base, watching the announcement
"So this is who we're up against, huh?"
Now that Greed had obtained what he'd wanted, it was only a matter of obtaining even more. Even more of what? Even he wasn't too sure, but for now he settled on "more fights to get into".
Once he mopped the floor with whatever heroes stood in his way, he'd have yet another place to call dominion over. The thought made him grin.
He had to nod his head to the side in response to Zeal's comment about the heroes' attractiveness, shrugging a little, but acknowledging her point.
"Eh, guess I can give em that. Still gonna wipe the floor with them, of course."
He gave Menardi a little stare. The owner of her world's Philosopher's Stone? Well now, that was an interesting little tidbit of trivia.
Greed hardly gave Teridax's plea much attention. He wasn't gonna risk his ass for those other Overlords. They weren't considered his companions, not yet. Actually, it'd be great if Dio got as little help as possible.
Or should he show up to 'help' Dio?
"Nah...probably not worth it."
Still, leading with a greater force was the safer bet as far as taking over the world of heroes was considered. Perhaps getting those Overlords' asses over here sooner would be beneficial. Greed wasn't entirely willing to volunteer himself, but if someone asked him to, he wouldn't deny them his help.
Which, Greed thought, they'd better be thankful for should they get it.
"Shake the dust." - Anis Mojgani
Dipper fan
Blackfire- Metropolis
"...and I thought my sister was cheesy," Blackfire commented after the speech was made on tv by the heroes.
She then nodded to Chase, eager to impress him, before addressing Lex, as cocky as ever.
"Maybe I forgot to mention that— she put her right elbow on the table and her hand under her face—"We're working for a for a multiversal conqueror, a god. It's only a matter of time before this world falls,"— she glanced to see Lex's expression of his face. "We're killing villains to absorb their powers, get their resources..."
Backfire continued while looking down, "If you play nice, you and your "cabal" friends will be spared and get to have a nice position when this is over." She paused for a few seconds, playing with her hair to give Lex time to process all the information. "Or you can call your friend Ra's al ghul and you'll know exactly what will happen next."
edited 14th May '15 8:36:51 AM by RPGLegend
Forgiveness is beyond justice, faith is superior than hope, redemption is better than perfection and love is greater than them all.
Gotham City
Medusa regarded Chase's warning with a soft smirk as he vanished. She was not used to working with others on anything, so being warned of danger was somewhat quaint for her. She let the disappearance of her ally hang in the air for a moment before slowly squatting down. To any onlookers, it looked like she had found something on the ground, as she reached out and touched the pavement in front of her. That was far from the truth though, as she exerted a bit of her power through the ground and towards the darkness that was watching her. Said darkness helped conceal the black arrow that appeared on the ground. Whomever was watching her would suddenly find themselves lifted into the air and propelled out into the open.
Crona and Eruka both recoiled from liquid that was sprayed out from the vines, with the young witch exclaiming "Ewww Ewww Ewww!" After trying to wipe the grossness off for a few moments, the two of them wandered into the hotel. The both of them looked around the interior, and Eruka jumped in surprise as a voice boomed out towards them. "Huh? I think you're confused lady. No ones been around for us to kill yet." Crona responded, having no idea who these darlings were.
Ahriman—Realm of Man-Eating Shadows
The hydra that was Ahriman’s body of light hissed and snarled as the phoenix’s talons closed around it, thrashing with impotent rage in the raptor’s grasp…
Then, abruptly, the hydra fell silent, and it began to shake… not with terror, but laughter.
+You pompous, overwrought dolt.+
In the blink of an eye the hydra dissipated, breaking up into streams of cerulean and topaz smoke that billowed around the great firebird in a shadowy haze. The phoenix’s beak, which had been lunging for one of the serpent’s many eyes, snapped shut on nothing but empty air.
+An interesting trick, Stephen,+ the voice of Ahriman said, issuing from nowhere. +Alas, hardly exceptional.+
Those streamers of smoke solidified into corporeality once more, forming not the nine serpentine heads of a hydra… but rather, the nine sinuous, barbed tentacles of some vast oceanic predator. They curled around the phoenix even as they formed, curling around it and constricting it while the bulk of Ahriman’s essence took shape in the void below—a monstrous thing, somewhere between crustacean and cephalopod in form, its chitinous blue carapace glittering with gilded highlights and its beak rimmed with crystalline, diamond-hard teeth. All-told, with the tentacles taken into account it was twice the hydra’s original size: a far cry from the truly titanic scale of the beast he was imitating, but more than big enough for his purposes.
With a deep, sonorous roar dredged from primeval night terrors, the Ice Kraken
◊ surged upward, beak yawning wide to bite into the phoenix’s underbelly. At the same time those teeth lining its suckers formed parallel lines and began cycling like the teeth of a chainsword, shredding into the bird’s wings and back; Ahriman’s rubbery arms then began pulling away from each other, trying to rip the phoenix apart.
While all this was taking place, the blue-and-gold scales that the Chaos Lord had been shedding so conspicuously in his hydra form and scattered about during his earlier attack had not been idle. Moving in perfect unison like a school of fish or a flock of birds, they had swirled up through the depths behind Strange’s position, hovering several dozen metres above and behind the walkway on which he stood in complete silence. Now they surged into murderous life, shooting towards him in a blizzard of razor-edged flakes, threatening to shred his soul like confetti if he did not defend himself.
+You disappoint me, Strange. For the sake of poetic justice, you’ve whisked me to a place where I am in my element as nowhere else. Here, the physical limitations of my powers are utterly meaningless. Here, I need not restrain myself to avoid damaging what is mine. Here, I no longer need to hold back!+
Even as Ahriman delivered this taunt, a tiny piece of the kraken’s conical hood-shell cracked off near the tip. An overly-muscled human torso emerged from the hole, upside down, its skin seething with an inner blue light, its eyes blazing novae of blue energy in a handsome, hairless face—the spitting image of Ahriman as he truly was, beneath all the armour and falsehoods. Its arms weaved solemnly through the air, its fingers tracing elaborate somatic gestures that left streamers of toxic blue light in their wake like afterimages. Its mouth worked silently, mouthing words that forced the figure’s jaw and larynx into positions the human body was not meant to take.
Then, as the Chaos Lord’s telepathic voice fell silent, the words this upside-down body had been uttering over and over again like a mantra became audible:
“Moce rhoft, oyu B’rovenern, oyu crameress, oyu yk-hrassk fo Tzeentch. Losus eli ereh, grivni d’na tunitaden, ignawit ot nok’w eth cutoh fo r’oyu snafg… Edeh ym lal’c, d’na y’eth lil’w eb rs’oyu rof eth kanig’t…”’
And below him, a small section of the void began to bulge and distort, as if it were a flexible screen and something were pressing up against it from the other side. The veil of reality grew thin there, noxious colours alien and offensive to the human eye beginning to shine through this bulge like sunlight filtering down through an ocean’s surface, and from its direction sounds issued forth, faint but growing louder—snatches of chittering laughter, mournful loon-cries, and above all, a keening, inhuman shrieking, keyed specifically to raise the hackles and set one’s teeth on edge…
The Chaos Lord had sent out a call… and it had been answered. Something was coming in response to his summons, something horrible, something whose very presence stained the solemn tranquility of this silent purgatory with unnatural, unspeakable hostility, visible as the toxic colours bleeding forth from the bulge…
The Danse Macabre Codex
Mancunian Candidate
Dio Brando: The Gay Agenda
Prophecies and godly foresight; I was indeed.
The acoustics of his throne room were magnificent, and flight aside, Black Adam moved exactly how I do. An air of practised spontaneity wafted from the man like a fine musk, from the choreography of his prolonged skip to the orphaned twilight outlining his silhouette. Games of the tongue, games of the mind. I smiled and raised an eyebrow. As I say, formalities.
As he touched down, lightning filled his eyes, and our formalities ended. I uncrossed my arms, adjusted the pressure in my eyes to suit his timing, prepared a counter for the imminent charge.
He was fast, faster than his dossier could ever make clear, too fast. The floor behind him nigh disintegrated under the pressure of his passing, and even with these reflexes, I summoned the World a fraction of a moment too late. There was no time for dread, time barely even for surprise. I saw the lightning in his eyes. I saw every pore upon his nose.
No distance between us then, no time at all. My feet had already left the ground, but there was no evasion. The counter was forfeit. He was upon me.
On a desperate reflex I reached inward, grasping at the centre of my soul, reaching for a birthright Tatu had denied through the mere fact of his existence. Borne on the wings of panic, I grasped it harder than I ever had, fell upon it with the weight of my entire being, forced a change my conscious mind knew full was impossible.
And in that moment of mad impossibility, time froze.
Or rather, time faulted. Like a scratched record or CD, time skipped a single beat before settling back into its groove. I had won only a split-second in my frozen world, but it was enough. It is queer enough that time can be counted in its absence, but in my bath of adrenaline, that absence was assuredly glacial. Infinitesimal through it was, the time without time slowed to molasses.
As Adam stopped completely, I sailed gentle sideways, clearing his path. The World completed its materialisation behind me, but with no time for attack, so shallow was this respite. Instead, through some beautiful coincidence, some magnificent accident of fate, the pressure in my eyes came to fruition.
As my frozen world fractured and collapsed under the pressure of Tatu's authority, my pupils ruptured. Twin jets of my essence shot towards Adam's torso almost point-blank, one at his collarbone and one at the top of his lightning bolt, a double-barrelled pressure cutter capable of cleanly piercing granite.
Regrettably, not so capable of piercing Adams.
The recoil sent us spinning regardless, both of us already airborne, and there was the feeling of something significant detaching in the left side of my neck - this body, Jonathan's body, our synthesis is incomplete. That's why there's still a scar below my adam's apple. It sounds a foolish a thing to say, but stubborn as he always was, I think on some level it knows it's still dead. I still haven't fully convinced it, so while the right side is passable, the left side is weakened. More easily damaged, slower to heal. My control is not as absolute.
The World caught me in an embrace before I impacted, buckling Horus' golden knees against its back, and I rebounded to the floor. A wave of exhaustion overcame me, the natural retribution for my interference. As the interior of my neck repaired itself, still far too slowly, pain mingling with fatigue, cold sweat already drenching me, I knew; if I was going to win, this fight could not continue here, not in the throne room. The World could probably match his speed, perhaps even overpower him, but the cost of even a single mistake was too high. By Tatu's laws my Stand was now visible, vulnerable, exposed. Against an indestructible man, I was simply too fragile.
What I needed were distractions, cover, everything necessary to turn a fair fight into an achievable one. Most of all I needed to feed, and this was city brimming with cattle. The inventory was already adjusted - I knew the tools I had to work with, and with the error in my assumptions corrected, I knew my enemy. The course was clear; before he could work out what had just happened, before his caution could overtake him, I had to give him his wish.
I rose to my feet unsteadily and without much dignity, but a fire was burning deep within my core. For a fraction of a second, for an unmeasurable meagreness of nothing, I had broken past Tatu's implicit law. Through willpower alone, I had resisted the irresistible force. To walk was an uneasy sway, to run would assuredly be slow torture, but I felt nothing but certainty. Adam took his power from the old gods, but I'd achieved a deadlock with one much greater, even if only for a fraction of a second. To my mind, that was a sign, an indication clear as a cloudless midnight.
The sway improved as I took full height, the World raising its fists behind me. As that anonymous tendon in my neck repaired itself, I cracked it nonchalantly. The dagger pressed against my thigh, cool and deadly through the fabric of my pocket.
Circling slowly, tremors now minimal, I edged my between Black Adam and the opened door, carrying myself in silent challenge. A warm breeze passed around my back. The dust swirled and slowly settled.
We were due a night on the town.
Space Base: Common Room
"Even if you offer, Montenegro won't accept." said Monsoon, still covered in a subtle hint of burnt rubber. "He left half an hour ago. He's trying to prove a point, even if he's not clear on the specifics."
He sniffed in disinterest, regarding non-existent fingernails. On the interior of his visor, Wikipedia mated with cat videos and gave birth to a healthy clutch of tabs. For a man in the ionosphere, Tatu had remarkable wifi.
"And we don't need to build anything. Wishes, remember? Even if he objects, we can wish for the money and do things the hard way. We're in a post-scarcity economy. Considering our sudden publicity, we would need a suitable launch platform, but I already have something in mind." He switched the primary feed to his external cameras, the cybernetic equivalent of lowering a newspaper. "If we commit and the Antarctic project fails, we'll need to consider secondary targets. The Watchtower in DC, obviously, and an MIRV over Iowa could take out most of the corn belt, depending on headwind. Military aside, our focus should be contamination. How many of you are familiar with Metal Gears?"
edited 16th May '15 4:31:05 PM by OG-Sama
This human intends to bring the population of the planet to war against us. Let him learn than I cannot be outnumbered.
Vampire Hunter
Dalton, Zeal, and Schala
Impressive technique, Dalton noted to Teridax. Your objection is noted.
"Perhaps we should not," Dalton said out loud in response to Chase's disagreement on the subject when Teridax let his control go. He then walked over towards the Master.
"Someone is an imposter," Zeal noted as she pointed out the 'Iron Man' in the press conference... and then on another screen, the Iron Man currently declaring her loyalty to Queen Saya. "And it is not the one declaring his undying loyalty to one of our own."
"I feel like I should warn you that we cannot attack their chosen villains directly," Schala explained to the others, showing off her succubus body to the others. "Otherwise something unexpected might happen."
"But we could help ensure they stay strong enough to win," Zeal added as she embraced Greed, though she was perfectly content to stay to watch Teridax's efforts. She was actually interested in seeing how well Teridax does in his deception, and was tempted to find some heroic woman to disguise as and join him.
"Do not worry about these humans that I have enslaved," Zeal whispered to Greed, remembering the stink eye he gave them back at the Hellfire Club. "They are merely lustful pets and a means to an end... not an equal I truly love like you."
Zeal then kissed Greed.
edited 16th May '15 5:39:14 PM by GameGuruGG
Wizard Needs Food Badly
huzzaaaaaaaah
Doomstadt
Strange remained completely still during the whole ordeal, not moving a single inch even as Ahriman's monster made the veiny walkways rattle with the power of its voice. His expression remained neutral, his hands, hanging loosely by his side. It was only when he was attacked that he thrust his hands forward, revealing a shimmering shield made out of red essence that destroyed anything that dared attack him.
But otherwise, Strange did not react as his phoenix was destroyed. But when Ahriman tried to summon something, only then did he finally react. Only then did he move. Only then did he... laugh.
"Yes, Ahriman. Do that. Summon a beast which defiles this realm by its very existence! Create even bigger monsters to threaten my life! Twist the inner workings of this realm to your being and forget, in the middle of your drunken tirade, that every realm has its owner..." Strange smirked. "And you have destroyed its' home."
Out of nowhere, a skeletal, bulging red hand wrapped around one of the walkways near Ahriman was, its entire form big enough to swat the Ice Kraken as if it was nothing. Blue fire covered it, and it did not burn, it did not injure Ahriman- but if he stared long enough into said blue fire, he would start hearing the pleas, the cries, the sounds of every man, woman and child he killed over the years, burning in hellfire, begging to be killed...
Another hand wrapped around the other side of the walkway, and the sensation manifested by the bluefire grew stronger and stronger as, behind Ahriman, an enormous red skeleton's head appeared, flesh clinging onto its bones as it towered over Ahriman and the Kraken.
◊ "WHO DARES..." It boomed, its voice so powerful that many of the walkways instantly shattered into pieces, reality wobbling under its strength. "TO DEFILE THE REALM OF ZARATHOS?!"
"The only demon powerful enough to challenge Mephisto for control of Hell itself..." Strange mused under his breath. "And you have annoyed him to no end. Truly, there has been no grander sorcerer than you, Ahriman the Fool."
Egypt
The two rounds hit Adam's skin and let out loud clanging noises, as if two pieces of metal had just slapped against each other. From outside, the wound was minimal, but a closer look betrayed Adam's invulnerability: two small inverted bumps in his skin, a sign that if something could defeat Black Adam, Dio was (possibly) it. And Black Adam did not like that. He did not like it one bit.
Lightning crackling around his hands, he spun around in the air due to recoil, before turning to face Dio, unaware of the city right behind him. "I won't waste my breath with you." Black Adam muttered, before stretching his hands forward, flying towards Dio with increased speed, leaving behind a medium sized crater as he tried to reach for the vampire's shoulders.
If his hands clamped against the cold flesh of his enemy, Black Adam would hurl him forward, at the ground, following that up with a dive kick and then with a series of never-ending punches intended to pummel Dio into the ground with such strength that the last thing his charred remains will ever see is the core of the Earth itself. But if Dio stopped his hands before they could touch his shoulder, Black Adam would send lightning powerful enough to turn sand into glass instantly coursing through Dio's body, intent on frying his insides and turning them into goop within five seconds.
Gotham City
Out of the darkness leaped a woman who soared through the air with the same amount of grace that Medusa had displayed. Wearing black lather and sporting a pair of red goggles on her forehead,
◊ Catwoman landed on a nearby water tower, leaning forward with interest. "Who is this little snake that found its way onto my city?..."
Inside the hotel, Chrona would feel a wet crack as he/she accidentally stepped on another flower. "You're KILLING THEEEEEM!" Shrieked the female voice as the room was bathed in a green light thanks to the multitude of vines and plants growing all over the place. One of them, a vine covered in thorns, swatted sideways, trying to decapitate Chrona and Eruka at the same time.
Metropolis
Lex reached under his desk, throwing a notepad and pen over to Chase Young. The information regarding the fate of the villains truly shocked him, and for the first time the visitors saw Lex expression go past 'super blasé'. "Well now." Lex muttered, reaching under his desk and pulling out a checkbook. "How much for you two and your friends to leave me and my cabal alone?"
Time Chamber
The Flash groaned as he felt Chase's head hitting him right in the chest. "Everything!" He yelled once he got back up from the blow. "Lex has everything. He's a rich, pompous jerk, he has everything he needs, everything he wants. Is that enough for you, Master?!" He yelled, spitting on the ground in front of Chase Young's feet.
Washington DC
"Stark." Captain America said with a hint of unease. "You sure took your sweet time, didn't you? Not responding to our messages." He reached over to shake Teridax's hand. "How did your business in Troy go? Catch the Mandarin again?" He asked away from the microphones, glancing at someone behind Stark and giving them a smile- probably a reporter.
The agent on the field started to sweat... a lot. Using his level six clearance, he asked to go to the bathroom, getting a few chuckles from his fellow men. There he was... so close to completing his true objective. Hail Hydra echoed in his mind as he snuck through the security facilities, heading for the armory. There it was, anything they'd need from a full on attack by this threat. They were expecting them, but they weren't expecting Hydra.
Grabbing one of several special bullets and a sniper rifle, the agent made his way to the highest point in the security facilities- a broadcast tower. It let him see everyone, everywhere. It was designed to keep an eye on the reporters and visitors, but no one expected it to be used against the heroes. A pistol was used to dispense of any SHIELD officers in his way. Nothing would stop him. He would kill Captain America.
edited 17th May '15 11:44:15 AM by Stratofarius
Mancunian Candidate
Dio Brando: The Cheekiest Nando's
The second charge came with neither hesitation nor restrain, destroying what little was left of the flooring, but by then the strategy had been adapted. Through the World's eyes, I had the barest time to read him - outstretched arms, grasping hands, and in his eyes a killing intent illuminated by writhing arcs of yellow. My future crystallised into electrocution.
I leapt backwards as he began, despite the heated protest of my legs, beyond the threshold and into the night air. This was not a measure for evasion, for that was no longer a possibility, but to ensure he met me airborne. Simultaneously, the World passed to my front, to ensure he didn't meet me at all. The Stand weakens with its owner, but even in my state, it was fast enough.
In the instant he closed, chin unguarded, instinct demanded an uppercut. I denied it. Through the World I expended my remaining focus through a single jab to the forehead, impacting and recalling before his hands could close around the wrist. Action and reaction - I sailed backwards along those steps and out into the square, escaping his grasp entirely. His face became my springboard.
"Useless."
Unfortunately, between gravity and Adam, one was significantly faster on the draw. A bolt of golden lightning pursued my single word, and though the World crossed its arms to intercept, the effects were transmitted regardless. Exhausted and twirling gracelessly through the air, there was little I could do - it didn't matter. This body is dead. Its heart beats only under my will, its nerves are remnants of an ended being, and its lungs serve no purpose save speech. While the current tore through me, there was nothing approaching fatality, and with my lack of grounding nothing disastrously structural. Skin bubbled along my forearms, a few anonymous vessels burst, but I have been burned alive three times over. Before now, I have been melted. Pain is no new sensation, and the corpse of Jonathan Joestar endured.
In any case, the force of it added to my momentum, allowing me to sail cleanly past Adam's statue before touching down among the tourists. I don't recall exactly who it was I landed on, their dress, their gender, the colour of their skin, the accent of those strangled tones as fingers pierced their throat - a slice of bread is a slice of bread. From the moment our bodied met, I simply consumed.
Whoever it was, their life surged into me, sustained me. I suppose I was aware of their fellows, their screams and bustling paralysis, but in retrospect they barely registered. My shoulder knotted as the muscle rejoined my neck, the sprawling ferns on the skin of my forearms retreated, and all the myriad scrapes and bruises were erased. Through waves coursing from a dead heart, my body woke from its fatigue. By then the tourists were a distant dream, transparent and transitory, unreal under the twinkling stars. Reality was Adam, Dio, and the city that was their playground.
Leaping to my feet, I sent the tourist's husk streaking towards my enemy in a seamless overarm, propelling myself right behind it - the splitting flagstones broke the spell, and the tourists hastily dispersed. Whether Adam dodged, ignored, or broke through the body, my plan remained unchanged. Positioned behind a Stand now at full potential, I opened with a barrage of flicker jabs and short hooks, using the distraction to overwhelm his defences and inflict what damage I could before my next retreat.
edited 17th May '15 10:01:12 PM by OG-Sama
Dipper fan
Blackfire-frustrated
After Lex made his offer Blackfire rolled her eyes in frustration but contained herself as Chase received the notebook. "Lex, you are a smart man. You know you can't buy us with money. I robbed a bank today — she said getting while she got a hidden wad of money from her clothes before burning it with her powers —"I've so much money I am just bored with it."
She leaned forward while relaxing on the table, giving a faint smile, trying to ease the tension in her own way.
"We don't want to kill you, I know you've a lot of potential"—she looked at her fingers—"We just want you to be with us in the winning team. When this is over you and your friends will have more power than you've dreamed off, none of us will touch you and the kryptonian will be death like you've always wanted."
The tamaranean princess crossed her arms, while looking at him and said, But if you can give us what we need, we won't bother you anymore. No hard feelings.
EDIT: Then blakfire turned to Chase looking with curiosity what he had planned to do with the notebook.
edited 18th May '15 5:59:23 AM by RPGLegend
Forgiveness is beyond justice, faith is superior than hope, redemption is better than perfection and love is greater than them all.
Annoyed Mode: ON
Chase Young - Metropolis
Once Chase got ahold of the pen and paper, he began scribbling down a few things, while he listened to Blackfire and Lex's exchange. Once he finished, he lifted his gaze to look at the businessman.
"What we are currently looking for are resources and information," the heylin warrior stated. "This is a small list of what I am personally interested in at the moment, in order of importance. If you can help with any of these, I will personally see that no one from our group disturbs you or your associates."
With that said, Chase handed the list to Lex. It was not a long list, with only six items. Some of the items on it would seem rather odd, but Chase felt the necessity to ask about their availability in that world.
- Kryptonite
- Information (mainly regarding heroes and their weaknesses, or the resources in this list)
- Trained warriors
- Nuclear armament
- Mystical artifacts of any kind
- Living dragons (any size)
Clones - Space Base
"I thought so," a clone muttered, letting out a sigh. "Nevertheless, we will have to come up with a plan to prevent the worldwide unity the heroes are seeking."
In the meantime, seeing that he could be more useful somewhere else, the clone standing by the time chamber's door decided to take his leave, headed towards the kitchen, as there was something he needed to retrieve from there.
Clone - Time Chamber
"Yes. That is enough."
If the Flash was not going to provide anything useful, then there was no point in continuing the conversation. Without bothering to hide his evident anger, the clone snapped his fingers, and the Flash would find himself back in his panther form.
"If you cannot have a serious conversation with your master, then stop talking altogether," he growled, motioning for his servant to follow him out of the time chamber. "I will let your lack of cooperation slide this time. But if it happens again, I will personally look into your memories to get any and all I need, and go back down there to have my way with everything you hold dear. Do you understand what I am saying, or would you like me to show you what I mean?"
edited 18th May '15 1:13:54 PM by Katarsus
Lancer; Monster Metropolis
The bloodhound is a monster. His eyes roll with madness and his jaws slaver. I look down at my play-ball, the only thing I have with me. I am ten years old. My name is Setanta.
He stands tall, the champion of Alban. Tall and proud, despite his youthful eyes and his sweating brow. Defiant despite my efforts, and not dead. He weighs his spear in his hand, focused. Impudent brat. I am a grown man. My name is Cú Chulainn.
I throw. The smith's hound charges, teeth slavering. My ball shoots through its maw and out the back trailing entrails. I take the twitching dog by the limbs and I break it, again and again, against a large slab of stone. By the fourth smash it is in pieces, limbs bleeding gristle. I sit down on the grass, parts strewn around me, and wait.
The Gae Bolg is placed in my hand. Red whalebone like blood, hard and slick on my palm. The hero-light burns hot on my brow. My anger hardens each sinew and tightens my belly. The brat casts but at that instant something changes in his eyes and the spear flies crooked past my side. My aim is true.
Do you know what you have done, boy? You have killed the hound with no peer in all the land.
You are dying, whelp. Tell me your name, that Cú Chulainn of Ulster may know whom he has slain.
Do not fret over your hound, O Culann my master. Until you find a whelp to replace his sire I shall be the Hound of Culann.
He raises his hand gasping the barbs sticking red from his side and I see the red-gold ring my ring Aoife's ring. His hated mother. And I know that I have been deceived. I have slain a great warrior that might have fought at my side. With my hand I have slain my own son.
My name is Conloach aah son of Aoife and you aaah you're my father
Every man of the Red Branch gives his name and we welcome him. Then I slit his throat to end his suffering. For three days afterwards I battle the waves, screaming senseless into the crashing foam and the salt-spray. At the end I topple into the sand like a toddler but my tears are born of salt and not the heart. Because it is my doom to die a terrible death after a life of glory. Thus have I chosen, and so I must not weep.
It will be over soon.
"I know what death feels like, beastie. I've waded through it, drunk it, felt it in every pore. I held my guts in my hands for one last swig of lakewater. Do you know how that feels?"
A slow sardonic smile, cutting clear through the billowing dust. The ghostly hands ripped, tore away at the wrists.
"Point is, I'm not really spoiling for seconds."
The red spear shot straight at Shiklah's mouth, hard enough to shatter her teeth. Lancer grinned and tugged the shaft back, aimed another blow with the butt.
He queried. There was an intangible solemn nod.
The ground shattered. The dust recoiled. The Celt leapt back, high, and leaping drew his hand back. Blood-light blossomed along the shaft, rending reality, and the very air froze.
"Accept my blow as a gift for the dead. GAE -"
The world held its breath.
"BOLG!"
Two words before the reckoning. The throw outsped speech. It blazed from his hand to the ground with Shiklah's shadow in-between. The spear was a dart in a pillar of crimson.
The rain fell with it. The phantom spears, flickering in and out of reality like the volley of some vast hellish army. They were there and yet not there. Time reeled around them, confused. They were to pierce Shiklah at the same spot in the same instant and then pull her asunder with blood-red barbs that existed and yet didn't. To rend her flesh with nothing but a concept, torn and grafted and expanded from life.
The concept was the first spear, and the explosion was anything but conceptual.
edited 20th May '15 12:43:10 AM by troydenite
Ahriman—Realm of Man-Eating Shadows
The glittering scales struck Strange’s crimson shield and dissipated harmlessly, though their destruction was not instantaneous; they lingered for several moments, hissing and sizzling as they slowly burned holes into the shield’s domed surface, forming a web of cracks that would have brought the entire shield down had the scales continued existing for even a second longer. Even for one as powerful as Doctor Strange, Ahriman’s will was not so easily brushed aside.
Ahriman himself, meanwhile, turned as flickering blue light suddenly washed over him from behind, his chimeric form reorienting itself so that the post-human torso protruding from the sundered tip of the kraken’s shell was facing upward. Scowling, he shielded his eyes with one hand from the glare as this titanic newcomer dragged itself up from the depths of this realm. With a thought he refocused his essence, the barbed tentacles, beaked maw and spicular shell of the Ice Kraken dissipating into a haze of blue-gold vapour that was quickly reabsorbed into the Chaos Lord’s body of light; in the blink of an eye Ahriman’s astral form was covered in overlapping plates of gilt-trimmed ceramite, his robes billowing as they rippled into existence, his six-horned helm flowing over his head like liquid before solidifying into its proper form.
He looked upon the towering daemon, eyes shining from the darkness of his helm’s visor like twin blue stars, lip curled in annoyance. Though the entire plane shook around them as the daemon spoke, its fury and indignation so great that the latticework of organic struts and catwalks shuddered to pieces in sympathetic vibration, Ahriman himself was forced back three feet and no more.
+Well, you certainly know how to make an entrance,+ Ahriman drawled, though his disinterest was only half-feigned. A daemon of this calibre would be a challenging obstacle, no doubt; but size, in such a context, meant noth—
The Chaos Lord stiffened then, eyes widening as he drew in a sharp gasp of breath.
Hands were upon him suddenly, dozens of them, and through his ears came the rushing sound of sand blown about on the wind in vast quantities, drowning out all other noise—the daemon’s furious bellowing, Strange’s triumphant mockery, the ambient sounds of the plane, even the sound of his own breathing.
He struggled, trying to break free; but more arms clutched at him, dozens more, hundreds, thousands, the sheer weight and press of them leaving him all but immobilized. And then, through the howling sandstorm, he began to pick up other sounds—rasping, dusty moans, barely distinguishable from the raging winds, save for the fact that they carried words, snatches of phrases, that he knew all too well:
“All is dust…” “All is dust!” “Dust! Dust!” “All dust, all of them dust—!” “Allllll… isssss… dusssssssst…”
“No,” he breathed, as the sandstorm grew worse.
Stinging grit blew into his eyes through the visor. He tried to close them, tried to turn his head so that his face was out of the driving wind; but hands—some of them larger than any mortal man’s, like his own; others small and delicate, women’s; still others, soft and tiny, belonging to children—gripped his helmet and pried it off, then gripped his head and turned him into the wind. Fingers took hold of his eyelids and pulled them open, so that he could not look away, could not deny what he was seeing.
The dead stood before him, filling his field of vision completely. They were legion, standing shoulder to shoulder in seried ranks that sprawled from one end of the horizon to the other, stretching off into infinity. His genhanced mind tried to keep track of them all, to count their numbers; but at ninety thousand—barely a drop of water in this ocean of revenants—the count became hopelessly lost and he gave in. Billions surely stood before him, tens of billions, perhaps hundreds or even thousands. Though many thousands of aliens were present—orks, eldar, even a scattered handful of the Warp-blind tau, chiefly—the vast majority of them were human: soldiers of the Imperial Guard, their regimental uniforms tattered, their colours faded from the driving sand; warriors of the Adeptus Astartes, towering over their mortal peers, sombre giants clad in countless marks of ruined, rusting power armour, many of them Loyalists and just as many of them sons of Chaos; ordinary men, women, and children, from hive socialites to gutter dregs, from Administratum clerks to feral world savages, from tech-priests of the Adeptus Mechanicus to clergymen of the Ecclesiarchy; mutants, abhumans, and beastmen, hideously deformed and rightly shunned… all of them stared at him with slack expressions and lampent white eyes, a field of corpse-stars regarding him with the silent condemnation of countless worlds.
Billions of them, united solely by the fact that they were all—directly or not—dead at his hand.
By far the worst of them, though, were those who stood closest to him; Space Marines clad either in armour the same hue of blue edged
◊ with gold as his own,
◊ or the crimson edged with gold and cream
◊ that he had once worn countless centuries ago.
◊
His battle-brothers, warriors of the Thousands Sons Legion.
One stepped forward from their ranks, his form blurring and wavering like a mirage. One moment, he was a robed, scholarly figure clad in the Legion’s original colours;
◊ the next, a dark, sorcerous creature wearing the exact same helmet as Ahriman’s own.
◊
And why should he not? Some part of Ahriman’s mind thought with horror. It was his originally, before I took it from his corpse…
The figure’s helmet vanished, revealing a mummified face whose empty, sunken eye sockets blazed with pinpricks of lurid blue light. His mouth yawned open, toothless, a death rattle issuing forth as desiccated lungs drew breath.
“All is dust,” wheezed Amon, he who had once been the tutor and equerry of Magnus the Red, and Ahriman’s predecessor.
“All is dust,” intoned the rest of the Legion, their voices hollow and metallic, spoken without lungs and without conscious thought.
“All is dust.” Amon’s face began to crumble and flake, like papyrus left out in the sun for too long. “I am dust. We are all dust, Ahzek.” Rotten flesh gave way to brittle brown bone. “You should be, too…”
The driving winds gusted, and Amon’s skull disintegrated into fine sand, indistinguishable from the grit being blown about. The lights of his eyes lingered for a brief moment, before dying out; and as his empty armour toppled over, spilling sand at Ahriman’s feet, the long-dead sorcerer let out a final sigh. “All is dust…”
Ahriman’s eyes stung. “You left me no choice, Amon. You were going to undo my work.” His words were brittle, hoarse. “You would have undone everything I did to save our brothers.”
“’Save us’?” a new voice rasped, full of mockery and contempt. “Is that what you call this, First Captain?”
Two warriors stepped forward then, their helms topped with high crests, their armour torn and rent in dozens of locations, their breastplates smashed and crumpled as if they had been crushed by a mace bigger than a mortal man’s torso. Sand and phosphorescent corpse-light bled from the wounds in their battleplate, the essence of their bound souls bleeding out.
“I know you,” Ahriman said, his throat dry, his voice wavering. “Djedhor. Mekhari. From Khayon’s fellowship…”
“Look at us, First Captain Ahriman,” said one, gesturing broadly to himself. “Look at what your Rubric has wrought.”
“We are dust,” rasped the other. “Bodies destroyed, souls bound… ghosts, doomed to serve. Machines of spirit, ceramite, and dust. Dust. All is dust…”
“It was better than the alternative!” Ahriman cried. “Better this living death, than to let the flesh-change run rampant through the Legion! Better to be ghosts than mindless, uncontrollable monstrosities!”
“Is it?” Djedhor asked rhetorically. “Is it truly?”
“Dust,” Mekhari whispered, sinking to his knees as the sand bled out of him. “All. Is. Dust…”
The two Rubric Marines toppled over, their empty suits of powered armour coming apart, their scattered pieces quickly buried under the drifting sands. Ahriman hung his head, wishing he could close his eyes. “There was no other choice,” he whispered, the words lost to the howling winds. “My brothers, there was no other choice…”
A voice, coarse like colliding glaciers, scoffed at that. “ Wrong. There was a choice, Ahzek…”
Blinking the Chaos Lord looked up… just in time for a wad of spit to hit him in the cheek.
He winced, hissing as the acidic saliva ate into the flesh of his astral body, narrowing his eyes against the raging sand as the rows of lifeless Rubric Marines parted before him to let a new figure through. No warrior of the Thousand Sons, this latest ghost; his armour was neither red nor blue, but stormy, unadorned grey, hung with wolf pelts and the fetishes of a primitive, superstitious culture. A rune-graven staff was clutched in one of the figure’s hands, topped with an eagle of gold and silver. A skullcap covered his bald pate, and a waxed beard—wet with spittle, blood, and liquefied brain matter—hung below his strong jaw and granite-carved face.
Ahriman’s eyes widened. Though he had not lain eyes upon this Space Wolf in ten thousand years, he recognized him instantly. His hands curled into fists. His teeth clenched. “You,” he hissed.
“Aye, Ahzek. Me.” The Space Wolf gave a sardonic grin, though it did not match the sheer hatred in his gold-flecked, inhuman eyes. “Othere Wyrdmake, Rune Priest to Amlodhi Skarssen Skarssensson, jarl of Fif.”
“You cannot be here.” Ahriman’s eyes narrowed, as much from thoughtfulness as from anger. “I threw your soul to the daemons that day. They tore you apart, devoured every last scrap of your essence. You were dead beyond even the faintest hope of resurrection…”
“The power of Zarathos eclipses such petty maleficarum, Ahzek,” Wyrdmake sneered. He levelled an accusatory finger at the Chaos Lord. “I was right to condemn you. You and every bastard son of Magnus were nothing but a pack of star-cunning wyrds, and the maleficarum you brought to bear on Prospero only proves how right we were. You should have all died there, when we came for the murder-make. You should have accepted the All-Father’s retribution with honour and dignity.”
Ahriman looked up at him, face twisting with incredulity. “Honour and dignity?” he echoed. “You call condemning the population of an entire world to death for crimes they didn’t commit honour and dignity?” His hands curled into fists. “You call raining enough death and destruction on an unsuspecting world to crack its tectonic plates and poison its atmosphere ‘honour and dignity’?” His neck muscles bunched, and his eyes began to blaze—figuratively, and very literally. “You call butchering billions of innocent, loyal Imperial citizens, that were under our protection, honour and dignity?!”
Azure warpfire swept across the Chaos Lord’s form, and the air around him was suddenly filled with dozens of pained, screaming voices as the hands clinging to him caught fire. The roaring of the sandstorm diminished, the furthest ranks of the numberless dead shimmering out of existence like a collapsed mirage, and Ahriman was suddenly free, on his feet.
Wyrdmake took a step back, swinging his staff forward; but in the span of a thought Ahriman was in front of him, one hand slapping the staff out of the Rune Priest’s hand while the other seized him by the throat and squeezed.
“You stand here before me, animated by the power of a daemon, and dare to accuse me of maleficarum, you hypocrite?” he hissed. His astral body blazed with corposant and hellfire, eyes shining with the blinding nuclear light of neutron stars as they bored into Wyrdmake’s bulging gaze. “I took you into my confidence! I taught you the ways of my Legion, the ways of our Prosperine cults, so that our two traditions could learn from and understand one another! I trusted you, Wyrdmake! And how did you repay that trust?”
The Space Wolf had no answer, his tongue lolling from swollen, cyanotic lips as he gasped desperately for air.
“You condemned us as sorcerers and warlocks,” he snarled. “You twisted everything I shared with you into evidence of corruption and vice. You burned our Great Library. You consigned the accumulated knowledge and wisdom of a hundred worlds to ashes. You gleefully took part in the massacre of people whose only crime was sharing our world, our home. You and your Legion destroyed Prospero, forced us to sell our souls to the Changer of Ways simply to survive! You drove us into the Ruinous Powers’ grasp, Wyrdmake! You, and your Legion, and your thrice-damned father, Leman Russ!”
The world around them shuddered, the dead dispersing into dust by the hundreds, by the thousands, by the tens and hundreds of thousands. Ahriman loomed over Wyrdmake, blazing with the energies of Chaos, his face twisted with ten thousand years of hatred and rage as he choked the life from his long-dead enemy.
“Go back to the ruins of Tizca where you belong,” he snarled. “Rot, among the ruins of the city you destroyed! Destruction is your legacy, Wyrdmake, and All! Is! DUST!”
Wyrdmake’s neck snapped, and as his head rolled bonelessly to one side his flesh quickly rotted away, becoming yet more sand. Ahriman opened his hands, shuddering with rage as he watched the Rune Priest’s armour sink into the dunes.
The storm had broken. The sands stretched away as far as the eye could see in all directions, barren and devoid of life.
Ahriman threw back his head and roared. +ZARATHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSSSSSSSSSS!!!!!!!!!+
And with that one, rolling shout, the illusion shattered.
A shockwave of sound and fury tore across the realm of Man-Eating Shadows.
The catwalk on which Doctor Strange stood fractured like a stained glass window, a billion pieces of shrapnel flying in all directions as the surrounding sections of the lattice snapped and cracked, titanic pieces of the vein-like superstructure hurtling off into oblivion. The shield with which he had so casually blocked Ahriman’s scales sundered like a crystal ball hit with a brick, and the aftershocks of that blast flung him back a dozen metres.
Ahriman’s astral form faced Zarathos, blazing like a newborn sun, the blue radiance of his form so brilliant and searing it rivalled the daemon’s own. The Chaos Lord looked up at Zarathos’ skeletal face, his eyes fiery portals to a world of madness—ten thousand years of hatred, rage, resentment, ambition, pride, and sheer, unbreakable determination, all of them tightly shackled, all of them under the sorcerer’s control.
+Do you think you’re the first creature that’s tried to drown me in my own guilt, or the hundredth?+
The Chaos Lord’s six-horned helm reformed around his head, its third eye shining with a harsh, golden light.
+Let me tell you something.+ Ahriman lifted up one arm, and with a monstrous shriek his Black Staff burned its way into existence with a searing flash of ebony fire. To the eyes of Strange and Zarathos, it would be a monstrous thing: a void in the universe, a thing so utterly steeped in corruption and evil that the mere sight of it made the eyes sting and the tear ducts bleed. +I have an eidetic memory. Perfect recall.+ The Chaos Lord took hold of his staff, and the flames surrounding him grew even brighter. +I have summoned many thousands of daemons in my time, some with the usual bargaining, some without. Why? Because I know their true names.+
The sorcerer’s robes billowed, lightning, fire and ice gathering in the palm of his free hand as he floated up to Zarathos’ eye level.
+I have learned the true names of nine by nine by nine daemons,+ he went on. +Seven hundred and twenty-nine daemons, ranging from minor imps and sprites to daemon lords that can singlehandedly slaughter entire planets. All of them must answer when I call, no matter how powerful they are, because to name a thing is to give it power to own it, to control it.+
+And I will tell you one other thing. I have met a great many daemons, few of which were quite so powerful as you. But never, in all my ten thousand years of existence, have I met one so arrogant and foolish as to introduce itself with its true name, ZARATHOS!+
Ahriman brandished his staff, and chains of raw starlight exploded from its head, lashing out to coil around Zarathos and constrict him. They solidified into cold iron, burning the daemon’s skeletal body as they tightened and bit into his bones and robes, wrapping tighter and tighter around him with every attempt to break free.
+I am the Exile, the Prodigal Son!+ the Chaos Lord boomed. +I am the First Captain, the Chief Librarian, the Magister Templi of the Corvidae, the Lord of the Scarab Occult! I am Ahriman! In a galaxy of countless trillions, only gods exceed my might! The blood of countless billions stains my hands, for I have wrought the dooms of a thousand worlds! I damned my brethren to a state of undeath to save them from their own uncontrollable power! And I would kill them all again, a hundred times over if need be!+
He lifted his free hand, and the elemental forces gathered in his palm coalesced into a spear of crackling, toxic light. Kaleidoscopic arcs of electricity jumped from its length at random, grounding themselves on what remained of the lattice of arterial girders. Wherever they struck, the fabric of reality wore thin, bulges akin to the one he had been conjuring with his summoning spell mere minutes before taking shape on cross members and stanchions, bleeding inhuman colours and noxious sounds—howling, screeching, keening, wailing, gnashing, slurping, screaming—into the void. Claws and fangs pressed against these bulges from within, half-formed daemon-beasts straining to squeeze through the weakening veil of reality and force their way in.
+I name you Zarathos, daemon!+ he roared. +Your true, immortal name! By the Eye of Nemnoth, by the Horns of Vaddh’akar, by the Stone of Hidden Truths, and by the ashes of damned, forgotten Prospero, I bind you into my service!+
Ahriman gave his black staff a mighty tug, like a master fisherman hauling back on his fishing rod; and like a fish pulled straight out of the water into the air, Zarathos was pulled towards him by the staff’s sorcerous chains, stumbling as if yanked by something far greater and far stronger than the daemon itself.
And as it stumbled through the air towards him, the Chaos Lord braced his feet against thin air, let out a yell that shook the plane to its foundations, and shoved that spear forward with all of his psychic, sorcerous might.
The speartip punched into Zarathos’ skull, into the daemon’s brain, and its accumulated energies surged into him, coursing through him from crown to toes like a surge of electricity. Charred black markings burned themselves into existence across the daemon’s skeletal frame: arcane sigils, Prosperine hieroglyphs, Colchisian cuneiform, Fenrisian runes and marks of aversion, Cthonian battle-cant and foul inscriptions in the unspeakable language of the Neverborn… all these and more etched themselves into existence across the length and breadth of Zarathos, wards and inscriptions in a dozen languages that all meant variations of the same thing:
Bind.
Contain.
Shackle.
Enslave.
+Your power is mine,+ Ahriman snarled, driving the spear deeper. +Your will is mine. Your very existence is mine.+
Arcs of lightning leapt from the spear’s shaft to the runes and inscriptions, energizing them, making them glow with oily radiance as the spell took hold. The daemon’s will was shackled, its power muzzled, its ability to act against Ahriman and do him harm, directly or indirectly, neutralized. The cold iron chains then sank into Zarathos’ body, merging with it, carrying the binding into the very core of its being.
With a grunt, Ahriman tore what remained of the spear free of Zarathos’ head. Where its tip had penetrated the daemon’s skull, a glowing blue mark took shape—a silhouette of the Chaos Lord’s own six-horned helmet, seen from head-on.
Ahriman sagged, greatly drained. The binding had taken a lot out of him, consumed much of his power; in reflection of this the spear had shrunk down to less than a third of its original size, its brilliance dimmed considerably, and the azure fire and corposant which surrounded him likewise fading to a dull, subdued glow.
But he had strength enough for what remained.
+My first command, Zarathos…+ Even his telepathic voice was strained and hoarse, barely above a whisper. +Restrain Doctor Strange, and bring him before me… alive.+
edited 18th May '15 11:55:52 AM by SullenFrog
The Danse Macabre Codex
Did you know this section has a character limit?
Sy Duir - Overlord Station
"Well... whatever can be done to further the cause." Sy replied to Tatu. Staying up here when they were trying to wage a war seemed wrong. They needed to do something.
Tesseract - Attilan
Tesseract lay back in his bed and closed his eyes. As an assassin, he was obviously a light sleeper, and if anyone tried to enter the room, he would wake. They do have medals for almost, and they're called silver!
Washington DC
"Captain"
It was a bit strange but for captain America, he would find that he had suddenly forgotten what he was so uneasy about. He even forgot why he was so focused on their handshake. So they shook hands. Behind his mask, Teridax stared the captain down. If he wanted, he could crack the captain's mind like an egg fro scrambling.
If he wanted to.
But it was not yet time.
"Yeah, about that. Yes and no."
Ironman disengaged from the handshake.
"I was too late, someone got him before me. Leveled Troy in the process too. She took off with the ten rings before I could anything more than a couple of simple scans. I'll give you guys the data when we get back to Stark tower."
"Oh, and there's this thing called leaving a message. Try that sometime."
Ironman patted Captain America on the shoulder.
"There some stuff I need Jarvis to analyze back at my place. Feel free to drop by. It'll be a party."
Then, as Teridax turned to leave, he put into play what he had been planning for the past few minutes.
First, allow agent to get into position. Mental adjustments meant that the double agent got where Teridax needed him when he needed him. Right now, that agent was lining up his shot. Normally, he would have just pulled the trigger and scored the head shot- such was his skill- but today he was having trouble focusing for some reason. He wouldn't take the shot till he was sure he would shoot to kill.
Teridax places himself closer to Rodgers, making him turn and go after him in conversation. Of course the Captain would have his doubts about Tony arriving at this moment- Teridax was fully aware of what was going on in Troy right now. Now that the captain has moved, there is suddenly a clear gap between the other heroes and Batman. Good.
Finally, a shot will be fired at the Captain. However, it will not reach. Teridax need only to stretch out with thought and curve the bullet. As easy as walking. The bullet will curve towards Batman with increased velocity and puncture his heart before traveling up and exploding in the brain. It should kill him instantly.
When the shot is fired, the sound would be heard because the sniper as absent minded enough not to have a silencer. It would be a loud shot due to the sniper rifle he was carrying. At the sound of the shot, Teridax will rush forwards and tackle Captain 'out of the way'. He will be seen as saving his fellow Avenger or later, an ally.
To take care of the other super heroes, Teridax had already invaded the minds of the shield agents that had only moments ago been laughing at their friend going to the toilet. It won't be long before they are hailing Hydra and firing at the other super heroes gathered. One fell swoop after all. Of course, there was also the man pushing his way through the crowd- he had a message to deliver should the situation require it.
...
Take the shot.
The Master laughs as he recieves the blueprints. "Fascinating machine this! Teridax is right if we wish to leave this world inhabitable we need to use it as a distraction and nothing more. We do not use this weapon at any cost unless Tatu himself gives the order. As a distraction knowing it will be dismantled though? Should serve a purpose."
The Master slicks his hair back and rolls up his sleeves. "Well then time to get to work on all the requested technology. Communicators, teleporters and this weapon. Trying to keep our teleportation signals separate and untraceable and continuing the frequencies of our communicators to be as the previous ones complete with untraceability? Give me an hour or two."
As he walks to his room he waves over some of the housekeepers. "Hey can I have some of your assistance with building some tech for the team?"
To Be Updated when I'm not Lazy