Menardi

So, it was over. In the silence that followed Icarax's last words, Menardi found no words to fill in the gap. There were no words left after such an exchange of blows. Had he cursed her, or uttered disbelief at the sight of the complete destruction of his body, Menardi would have spoken out. Instead, she watched him fade away in silence.

Menardi picked herself up from the rooftop, dusting the metal fragments off her with Psynergy as one would dust off dust from a coat. Her Alchemy-woven dress had shown its resilience by shielding her from the worst of it, but the few patches not covered were bleeding. They would require healing.

But first, her right hand took priority. Struggling against her weariness, she tapped into the Philosopher's Stone once more, and made the gauntlet brittle and peeled it off, leaving only the Stone. Having problems reaching the elemental powers, Menardi nevertheless managed to heal her burns and shattered bones with the powers of Mercury. The arm felt tender, but usable. Then, she restored the gauntlet to hold the Stone, and equipped herself with its transmuting touch once more.

From her position on the rooftop, Menardi surveyed the area. Master Koschei was doing a good job causing havoc with the Dullahan at his beck and call, and Ahriman's tzaangors had given their lives to defeat the combatants further east. None more had come to Icarax's aid, and none were coming to stop the Master. She took that as a sign that their opponents were being pressured by the other generals, and that her efforts were no longer needed here. Menardi gathered her things from the neighbouring rooftop, then gently lowered herself to street level on a platform of air. She caught herself hoping for a brief moment of respite, to repair her equipment and regain Psynergy. But there was a grand battle going on, and contacting her allies took priority.

"This is Menardi, on Canal Street south on the island of Manhattan. I have defeated the metal warrior Icarax, and the tzaangors sacrificed themselves to wipe out another group of enemy combatants. It is all quiet here now. Give a word if you require assistance."

Sky, starting to get screwed. Is he doomed...

Sky was now pinned down. Two against one. He's not liking the odds even though Atrocious got rid of one of those pesky, damn annoying ninjas.

The ninjato stab to Sky's SWAT vest protected him from a fatal blow. It produced something akin to being hit by a car from high speed. He got knocked down a few feet back after his vest sparked.

"AAAGH!"

Teridax- message sent:

Shortly after Menardi sent her message there was a burst of static in her right ear. It was somewhere between a wireless transmission and a telepathic message. For a moment the static lingered before someone on the other side imitated a cough. The voice that came through was deep, a tad metallic- it was the other Makuta: Teridax.

   "Ah yes, Menardi. We may have met earlier but in case you've forgotten, this is Makuta Teridax speaking. I must congratulate you on defeating Icarax- that is quite impressive. Now, if you have no life threatening injuries, your assistance in the elimination of some seekers on Wall street would be appreciated."   

With a click, the transmission ended.

The mental knock was not so polite this time round. Instead, Teridax's words cut right through the Kaled's thoughts.

Davros, your presence on Wall Street is needed. I have something of a biological curiosity here in the form of a human juvenile. Enhanced senses, metabolism, motor neuron capabilities. He also inexplicably produces vast quantities of light from his epidermis. I believe his capture and study to be paramount over whatever squabbles you are still having with Kirei, Tira, Dio and Tesseract. The juvenile has company, no more than two. Highly likely that a humanoid with a pocket dimension storage facility is with him. Be warned and don't keep me waiting.

As Sam squabbled with Armani over their course of action, they would both feel a strange sensation. A roving mind acting as a psychic spotlight, passed close by. Teridax was searching. It was like the feelers of some gigantic roach had just brushed the pavement behind them- a tingling sensation along the back of their necks told them that he was getting very close.

...

Teridax rubbed his chin and frowned. His beacon had yet to regain consciousness but he was positive he had lived- after all, he had felt a massive spike of rage in the near vicinity. Rage, controlled and directed. The girl with the hyperspace backpack was a coward and a terrible one at that- she had bolted first so he was quite sure she had survived. However, she did not have the personality to produce anger in any quantity. The cybernetic with the sword didn't seem the type to get angry either- his behavior was too analytical, too experienced in battle to allow such an outburst; furthermore, it was highly likely the man died in the explosion.

Yet Teridax couldn't be sure Armani had survived. It was frustrating but for some reason he couldn't home in on the mind that had triggered his mask of shadows. Every time he tried the trail vanished.

A barrier? Teridax blinked- no, he could over power or slip between most barriers. Some sort of mental interference- or was it the same magic that gave the human juvenile Armani his luminescence? It was a damning ability- most of his shadow energy couldn't even touch the boy. He appeared as a blank spot in his senses; and if the child could expand his light over a larger area, he could hide the presence of others too.

Teridax strode on, his mind scanning every crevice for the slightest hints of cowering mortals. His beacon would be back on within a few minutes- unconsciousness could only last so long in humans. Give or take a minute, Teridax would have his prey.

Not!Wall Street - Nitori

Nitori nodded to Sam's query.

"Of course. Flying is something we kappa can always do, no matter where or when."

She turned back to the jiangshi. This wasn't good. Nitori knew little of Taoism or hermits, all she knew was derived from a couple of fights with two of the other ones back home, where the abilities displayed had varied immensely. She'd come out of it with the impression that Taoists could do basically whatever.

So the assumption she was operating off now was that if this fine specimen of a zombie could see her, then Seiga likely knew where she was as well.

She was unsure if that was a good or bad thing.

Not!Wall Street - Jiangshi #1 + Seiga

"Hi..." the meat puppet said nervously to Sam.

She straigtened her coat as best she could, a nervous tic from when she still lived. A task made harder than anticipated as her motor control had regressed with death. Or was it rigor mortis?

Her eyes darted involuntarily between the different group members. A distance away, Seiga considered what her minion saw. A boy, Nitori, Sam and Armani. If she recalled correctly, 7 people had gone to Wall Street initially. Well, that did not bode well.

Well, the boy seemed a useless addition. Maybe she ought to have her jiangshi tear his throat out and create a new jaingshi? No, she'd decided to let them handle this themselves. All she did was send the location of the group to the rest of her undead group. She nodded with satisfaction as they all immediately complied with the implied command and headed there.

She looked around her. She had raised another batch now. With the addition of these 8, she now had 14. Not bad. And there were still more corpses around. Yay!

She took the time to teleport them all to the surface.

Somewhat closer to Wall Street, the rest of the jiangshi started popping up. The first one reasoned that as these were the master's ... teammates? Colleagues? Companions? They were at any rate people to support.

"Uhm... I think we have been bid to escort you where you wish to go, I too can fly."

Menardi - Go South, Young Alchemist

"Understood, Teridax. I'll be heading your way, then."

So, Icarax and Teridax had been acquaintances, then. Too bad she hadn't gotten hold of the mask Icarax had used; she could have used it as leverage or had Teridax owe her a favour. Oh well, spilt milk and all that. Menardi opened a private channel to Master Koschei to tell him her plan.

"I'm going south to help out Teridax. Give me a call if you need help, and I'll rush back."

Not that she thought that their opponents, or Seekers as Teridax had called them, would come back here just to fight the Master when they had not had the numbers to dispatch reinforcements here earlier.

With that, Menardi headed southwards. A number of healing and repairing Psyenergy techniques were swirling around her, giving her an ethereal glow as her equipment repaired itself and her wounds closed. By the time Menardi reached the corner of Church and White Street, she was physically in great shape. However, her Psynergy reserves were drained and her mind weary.

It was then that Menardi saw a wayside Korean restaurant, abandoned by customers and staff alike. And she was reminded that quite some time since she had last ate.

Ten minutes later, she was eating happily from a plate of steamed dumplings with various filling, ravenously filling her stomach and mental reserves as she made her way south. Truly, good cuisine was the one thing that Alchemy could not replicate.

By the time she passed Duane Street, the dumplings were devoured. So Menardi stopped at a pizza restaurant, where freshly fried pizzas were cooling off on the counter. Tempted by their tantalizing smell, Menardi left the shop with a box full of the greasy but oh so delicious favourite foodstuff of so many natives.

Menardi took Reade Street east to follow Broadway south. By this point, she was really enjoying herself, playing the tourist in the abandoned streets of New York. She paused to look at the Manhattan Municipal Building and New York City Hall, paying no heed to the ghostly silence of a city where the traffic had long since stopped and the people cowered in fear.

By the time she reached the south end of the City Hall Park, however, she was getting ready to enter back into fray. Calling upon wind and water to carry her, Menardi flew up to the top of the Park Row Building. From the vantage point a hundred feet in the air, she scouted southwards the path to Wall Street.

The Hand - Near Rockerfeller

The ninja designated House, having joined the flight of several feet due to the fact that he was clinging to Sky's legs, maneuvered in a way that left him straddling the Blue Ranger's stomach, and began raining punches onto Sky's chest and head.

Bear, on the other hand, realizing that his sword didn't seem to have as much piercing power as he had hoped it would, made his way over to Sky and began stamping on his wrist in an effort to get Ranger to drop his Delta Grip.

At this point, after turning the first ninja into a pile of dripping red meat barely held together by a skeleton, Atrocitus would attempt to lunge Bear and maul him to death as well. Whether or not he would be successful, the Red Lantern would soon succumb to his injuries and blood loss soon after, the pain continuing to linger even after his brain would shut off......

Desco Times Square

Desco watched as her attacks proved ineffective. The old man gave himself some kind of aura that blocked the magic. Klarion's knowledge told her it was no ordinary aura, the way it completely negated the attacks without any acknowledgement of them meant something bad. But Desco didn't Carex she was instead starting to get mad as the old man didn't even look at her but paid attention to Blackfire and teleported away.

She looked around and found him still in the area though. Desco stamped her foot, thoguh in the air the gesture didn't make a sound and she leaned forward at Urza. "Yap attention noitnetta ot Ocsed!" With a lash of anger she flung her will as a spell at Urza, putting all she had to make sure that he had to pay attention to Desco. But that wasn't all Desco was paying attention to. Urza teleported, like Seiga. Desco couldn't have that happen again. She righted her body and closed her eyes, holding her hands out and working out the magic formula she needed with Klarion's chaos magic. She started to gather her power in her body, for this one she really needed a good amount to complete the casting "Ni a lanif ssob thgif uoy od ton teg ot nrut dna eelf, os laes ffo siht aera taht enon yam evael! Lla lliw thgif litnu eht lanif ssob serit fo siht emag ro si detaefed!" At four points in the area around Times sqaure razor two razor thin lines each spread and connected to eachother to form a giant square, then a red energy curtain shot up high into the sky where it took a 90 degree turn, starting to converge on the center to form a red box.

edited 30th Aug '15 11:01:53 PM by StephanReiken

Outside of the Chrysler Building, the flock sat, waiting. The majority of this new flock had been saved from the clutches of "The fat man", as their mistress had started calling him. Their mistress had been quite clear on what the role of the flock was. They were to watch, observe. They were the hidden eyes of their new mistress. She had told them of the others she was to work with. She had been quite clear that she trusted none of them. She had instructed the flock to gather any information on them that they could. Ability's, weaknesses, any personal information they could overhear. She wanted whatever the flock could gather, and they were eager to please their new mistress.

Thus, when they saw the odd man jump out the window their mistress had entered some time ago, a portion of the flock broke off to follow. Not all of them would go, that was not needed. It only took a few of them to track any one person, and too many would be noticed. But if only a few went, chances were high that they would go unnoticed. Those that followed the shirtless man made sure to keep a considerable distance in order to remain unnoticed.

Another man in a mask walked out of the ground floor door of the building. The flock considered whenever or not to follow, but decided in favor due to the timing of his leaving and the oddity of the man. Another few members of the flock broke off to follow him, also staying at a distance. The rest remained in position, eyes on the building, and ready to repeat the procedure with anyone else that may leave the building.

Kotomine Kirei; Chrysler Building

He propositions me, Dio Brando. Before plunging through the glass, the magnificent heretic puts two fingers around my unsaid desire and pries it clean from my heart. He has invited me to partake in the slaughter. Humble man of God that I am, what can I do but accept?

Clouded with stiff dissatisfaction, the stern masked man walks towards the elevator. Tesseract, he was christened - or perhaps christened himself. Surely no parent would name their child after something so non-descript, so blandly unusual. Tesseract, a construct of cubes. It evokes nothing save a strange sharp geometry, nothing even remotely human. Which is the beauty of the contradiction.

He seems Russian, but his voice is a slurry of history. I take his man's radio and dismiss the servant with an easy gesture.

I can already see the Russian's soul. I can hear his heartbeat, feel every tightened breath in his will-bound chest as if it were my own. He is like Aakiyah. An assassin detached from his victims, a killer who never wishes to feel the need for prayer. I see it in the controlled sway of his bulging shoulders, in the unearthly silence of his muscular tread.

Tesseract. Mage Killer, bone-breaker. One for guilt, unlike my sorry self - true guilt, mind you, remorse for sin and not chagrin at the punishment. Unlike me, he is human, and unlike me, he restrains himself. It is a wondrous thing. In his debased fashion, he is more moral than I ever was with all my piety. He is almost what I dreamed of being: my father's beautiful man.

I can hardly restrain myself.

"Rejoice, Tesseract! Your wish will finally be granted."

I exult, the smirk burning wide across my jaw. His mask looks out unmoving. Then the doors close on him, and I turn aside.

"Come out, Lancer. I did not bring you here for idle talk."

I speak aloud on purpose. The air fills with his bristling scent, and then he is right in front of me. If the heathen were any closer, no doubt he would be at my neck.

"If Sy Duir has anything of worth to say, should it not fall on my ears?"

"We've talked." The reply is curt, and shot through with hate.

"Then we have nothing left to do."

I step forwards, indulgent, hands behind my back. He twitches, but my purpose is clear. With the quiet satisfaction of a bride I lay myself in his trembling arms and point firmly to the window.

As we fall into the screaming night, I fancy I hear him heaving. The rasp is sweet, like a dying dog's.

Hawkeye and Girl; On Board the Quinjet

"Let's do it this way, honey. My name's Clint. You can call me Uncle Clint, if you want. What's yours?"

Hands on his haunches, Hawkeye peered at the girl, brow raised in faintly silly goodwill. The little hunched bundle peered back up, a mess of brown and dirty white.

"Lay..."

She shivered, and her voice caught. Clint followed her gaze to his back - then he smiled and stood.

"Ah, I get it."

He eased the bow out, flipped it to his other hand and balanced it on one finger. The girl's eyes widened in her grime-caked face.

"Don't worry, it's not going to hurt anyone. Without a string and some arrows, it's nothing but a big old stick. See?"

He dangled it in front of her face, tossed it up, bounced it from palm to palm, then finally sent it cavorting back over his shoulder. A little guided spin and it was back on his back.

"Ta-dah," Hawkeye posed.

The girl giggled. A dry cracking burble, a live spring popping through sand and silt. Clint slackened, grinning in relief.

"That's more like it. You look so pretty when you smile. Now, can you tell Uncle Clint your name?"

She caught herself. The smile slipped. Her face melted back into the fog of childish concentration.

"Lay..."

"Lay..." Clint parroted, caught up in anticipation.

She swallowed, determined.

"Leila."

"Atta girl. We'll find your parents yet, don't you worry."

Leila didn't smile, but she didn't not smile, either. And despite the uncertainty, Clint found himself mussing her hair.

edited 1st Sep '15 7:31:26 AM by troydenite

Ross Dissent and everyone's favourite, Sy Duir, in... The Chrysler Building

"Lass, his words may sound funny to you, but they ain't stupid. You don't get a reputation like his while being dumb." said one of Tesseract's mooks, turning away from handing Kirei the radio and towards Tira.

"Whatcha talkin' about, Ross?" Sy asked, returning from his conversation with Lancer.

"Tesseract just explained tha stock market to tha shirtless lass, and she isn't of the best opinion of his intelligence as result."

"Tesseract said something stupid?"

"Nah, she didn't understand the words.

"Oh. Well, trust me, whatever he said, it's probably right."

Sy moved out of the doorway, and shot a glance at the woman Tesseract had acquired. The boss had explained it that she was gonna be the one who administrated any territory Tesseract took, while they focused on the killing. Made sense: Warlords didn't make good rulers, in his experience.

"You want a shirt?" he asked, turning to Tira. "Your old one is kinda... not there anymore. We have a few spares, and they have some magical armouring on them."

Meanwhile, another one of Tesseract's mooks took a chair from on the sets, and slammed it down behind Maria.

"Take a seat. You'll be here for a while."

edited 1st Sep '15 6:11:47 AM by GeekCodeRed

Tira turned to the man who had commented on what she had said to Zealy. Hey! It's rude to eavesdrop on other people's conversations!

I'm in a very bad mood right now. Tira said as she shifted personalities, along with her stance. Yesterday, it was the 16th century, and my life was simple. Enjoyable. I was free to kill to my hearts content. No one ordered me around, no one dared order me to capture someone rather then kill them. But now I'm stuck here in... She paused a moment while she got the current year from her stolen memorys.

Now I'm stuck in the 21st century, I have yet another annoying voice in my head that I can't even yell at properly, I'm surrounded by assholes who I dearly want to kill but can't, and nothing makes goddamn sense anymore! So forgive me if I don't understand what the hell that guy with the idiotic looking mask is talking about!

Tira then snapped back to her Jolly mood, and a smile reappeared on her face. Ohh, you have magic shirts? I wanna see, let me see them! What do they do?

The flock saw another human exit the building. This one, however, was the strangest of the bunch. While the flock had never known any human able to fly before, the flock understood flying. But this one just jumped right out the window and fell to the ground. Odd. And the human did not even seem to be mildly hurt by the rather long fall.

The flock also noted he was carrying another human. They were unsure why. Perhaps the second human was injured? The flock did not know enough about the human body to be able to tell. Nonetheless, more of the flock moved to follow the odd humans. The flock's reserve was becoming depleted at this point. Were any other humans to exit, they would have to send less members of the flock to trail them.

Dead Seekers, ???

The man in the coat, noticing Bigrench’s attempts to punch the glass, glanced at something off to the side. “I think he’s seen enough,” the man said calmly. “Put… zarro-Banner back under. Set dosage… ximum level.”

“But sir… evel is fatal—!”

“For a human. Not for…tever he is, if… was telling the truth.”

A dial was turned. The fluid in Bigrench’s tank began bubbling fiercely.

His arms went limp, his mind shut down, and he fell back into the yawning white void…

Nodding to Riesbyfe, the SHIELD agent stowed his medical gear and took one of the unoccupied seats.

“’Discomfort’?” Skye let out a short, humorless laugh. “Now why would you think that? I mean, it’s not like supervillains levelling Manhattan is anything new. It’s not like somebody gunned down friggin’ Batman on live TV, with the whole damn world watching. It’s not like the Justice League and the Avengers both vanished without a trace, right when we really could’ve used their help. It’s not like millions of people are dying by the minute. And it’s not like we’re trusting the fate of the world to a bunch of people from God knows where.”

As she spoke, the metal walls of the passenger bay began to groan—softly at first, so faint it was barely noticeable. But with every word that came out of Skye’s mouth the groaning grew a little louder, a little harder to ignore, until it had become a tortured, creaking squeal. And if Glacius and Riesbyfe were to glance around, they would see the metal deforming slightly, plates bulging inward or outward seemingly at random.

A woman’s voice came over the intercom then, short and sharp. “Skye!”

Skye started, and immediately the noise stopped. A look of surprise came over her face, quickly morphing into one of remorse. She hung her head ever so softly, and the metal walls straightened themselves out.

“Sorry.” The flippancy was gone, stripped away, leaving her voice brittle and tired. “My powers can go a little haywire when I get stressed out. And after all… this,” she said with a vague gesture towards the gunship’s raised hatch, “I think it’s safe to say I’m stressed out.”

Helicarrier

At Sokka’s words, Coulson turned away and spoke into his earpiece. “May, take your passengers to 30 Rock,” he said. “Then swing by Wall Street, extract anyone who’s still breathing and bring them to Battery Park.”

“Copy that,” she replied, crisp and professional.

Quinjets

Soon after Skye’s outburst and explanation, the intercom crackled to life. “Buckle up back there, we’re inbound for Rockefeller Center,” said May. “Whatever magic spell’s going on over there seems to be breaking up; one of the pillars has disappeared. Still, expect resistance. ETA, two minutes.”

And with those words, the formation of Quinjets split. The one carrying Hawkeye veered off toward the northeast, afterburners kicking in with a hypersonic roar as it streaked across the East River, over Riker’s Island and out towards the open sea. Another, this one with no passengers onboard pulled a sharp U-turn, heading south towards the battle-ravaged and half-flooded Wall Street.

The third and final Quinjet—carrying Skye, Riesbyfe, Glacius, Wamuu and Raven in its hold—continued flying north, towards the seven pillars of crimson light encircling Rockefeller Center.

Seven pillars, where there had once been eight. And as the Quinjet made its approach, another of those pillars began to flicker and fade…

Times Square

The grotesque thing that had been Baf-Met watched Ryuko turn and run, still grinning, growling low in its throat like an idling chainsaw.

“Samus,” it gurgled, licking at its swollen black lips. “That’s the only name you’ll hear.”

The hideous beast straightened up in a choppy blur, and lobbed the Lizard’s corpse in an underhand throw. The headless carcass came crashing down right in Ryuko’s path, hitting the ground with a meaty thunk and threatening to trip her up if she could not dodge in time.

“Samus. It means the end and the death.”

The Baf-Met thing dropped to all fours and crouched, tensing as if to spring.

Then it leapt, hurtling clear across Times Square like a blood-drenched comet. It landed a short distance in front of Ryuko, shattering the pavement with the force of its landing. From this close, she would be able to smell the foul stench of rotting meat and clotted blood wafting from the dog-faced horror, mixed with the sickly sweet odor of decomposing fruit and the sulfurous reek of brimstone. It turned to face her, almost nine feet tall even while hunched over, and flickers of yellow light danced around its bloody, distended form.

For a brief instant those flickers of yellow light seemed to solidify into a single image, as if this monstrosity were sharing the same space with a second being. In this flickering image, Ryuko would be able to see Baf-Met as he’d been before the transformation took place, and though no sound accompanied the phantom beastman, she would be able to read his expression all too easily.

In perfect silence, the beastman’s image—his soul—was screaming in terror.

Then the phantom image broke up, and there was only the monster, leering at her with murderous red eyes.

“Samus,” it slavered triumphantly. “I am Samus.”

And with a shockingly sudden roar it lifted its right arm in a stuttering blur, raking at her with a vicious overhand slash of its wicked black claws. Such was the force of this blow that it would smash a ten-foot-wide hole in the asphalt if it failed to connect with Ryuko.

Menardi’s communicator crackled to life, and the voice of Ahriman—a low, mellifluous baritone—came through. “ So quickly? A pity. I expected them to last a bit longer.” The sorcerer sounded strained and distracted, as if he were not giving the conversation his full attention. Nor did he sound especially concerned that his tzaangors had been killed to a man. His words carried a hint of mild disappointment, but nothing more than that.

“Still, they served their purpose. Congratulations on your victory, Madame Menardi. Ahriman out.”

There came a click then as the Chaos Lord switched to a general channel. “To those of you in the vicinity of Times Square, be advised that an unbound daemon has manifested,” he said quickly. “It was not deliberately summoned, and so it is not under my control; it may attack if you provoke it. If it should turn on you, note that it cannot sustain itself in the physical world indefinitely; if its corporeal form sustains too much damage, it will vanish back into the ether whence it came. Ahriman out.”

And with those words, he closed the channel.

Rockefeller Center, Skies

Fayge did not pursue Mira when he fell back, content to hover in the air, her black locks whipping about in the wind and her naked body surrounded in a crackling sheath of chaotic energies. The daemonhost watched with glowing eyes as the colonel’s wounds healed themselves in a matter of moments, cocking her head to one side like an inquisitive dog trying to puzzle out how something worked.. or a child waiting to pluck the legs off a hapless insect.

Then a look of anguish crossed Mira’s face, and Fayge’s lips curled slowly into a knowing, cruel smirk, as if she could glean the source of his pain from his surface thoughts. In a coy, almost coquettish fashion, the daemonhost brought a blackened talon to her mouth and gave Mira a deliberate wink.

Her mocking expression vanished, however, when Mira started to laugh.

Fayge cocked her head further to the side, so that it was parallel to the plane of her shoulders, a position that should have caused her immense discomfort. Her lips quirked, her brows furrowed, and one of them rose in bemusement.

But as Mira made his threat, the daemonhost’s head straightened up, and the mocking smile was back in place.

“Bold words, little thing,” Fayge said in her disconcerting man’s voice. “But better than you have tried—”

Suddenly he was gone, and the daemonhost’s glowing eyes widened in surprise.

But Fayge was still a daemon, and her senses were far more acute than those of any mortal woman. She looked down, just in time to see Mira rushing up at her from below. She reacted with inhuman speed, trying to twist aside—

But she wasn’t fast enough.

Mira’s blade bit into her abdomen, and Fayge’s mouth opened impossibly wide in a silent screech as it clove outward, carving a deep line clean through her from her navel to just above her left hip. Blood, viscera and toxic green light gushed from the wound, and the daemonhost let out a rattling hiss as it clutched at the hole in its side with one monstrous black hand.

She looked up at Mira then, and she was no longer smiling.

The corners of Fayge’s lips split, so that her teeth were completely exposed from one end of her jawbone to the other. The canines elongated into inch-long jaguar’s fangs in the blink of an eye, and her tongue split down the middle into a forked serpent’s organ as her eyes and mouth blazed with unholy fury.

“Mortal WORM!” she raged, her hair flaring around her head like a nest of vipers. “SUFFER!”

And with that shout Fayge’s jaw unhinged like a snake, and she vomited up a liquid stream of blue-green hellfire at Mira. Even as she unleashed this attack, the flesh of her side was beginning to knit back together. She was healing, and with unnatural speed, but nowhere near as quickly as Mira had just done a moment ago.

Even as Fayge attacked Mira, Ahriman’s thunderous voice rang out in the distance. “Vol’ghur. In servitutem abduco, I bind thee fast forever into my service…”

One of the seven remaining pillars began to flicker and fade, the figure held within its light undergoing a hideous metamorphosis much as Fayge had done moments before. Soon there would be six…

Rockefeller Center, Streets

Even as the wounded Atrocitus rounded on his attacker, Bull, and tore the ninja limb from limb in a blood frenzy, the staff reached out with a minor twinge of will, the psionic equivalent of flicking one’s finger at a bothersome fly. A puff of telekinesis caught the Red Lantern’s finger, flinging it down the street and out of Atrocitus’ reach.

The staff hovered, watching the fight which ensued for several moments. Then a ghostly sigh cut through the air.

+You are known to me, Atrocitus of Ysmault,+, said the voice of Ahriman, cutting through the haze of pain and fury in Atrocitus’ mind like a hot knife. +I confess myself to be disappointed. I had hoped a warrior of your calibre would meet your end with dignity.+ There was a measure of respect in the Chaos Lord’s telepathic words, even as his tone hardened. +But if you are going to spend your last moments behaving like a rabid dog…+

Silently, the jackhammer—forgotten amidst the chaos since Sky shot it out of the air—rose off the ground, angling itself toward Atrocitus.

+…Then I shall put you down like one.+

The staff’s eye flared. The jackhammer shot forward, impelled by telekinesis and the will of a would-be god.

It struck Atrocitus point-first, right at the point where his jutting brows met the bridge of his squat, pug nose. There it stopped, held steady by an invisible hand of telekinetic force, like a nail being balanced by a pair of fingers while waiting for the hammer to fall.

And fall the hammer did, in the form of a telekinetic burst to the jackhammer’s handle.

The jackhammer stove in the Red Lantern’s face and burst out the back of his skull, its blade caked with bits of blood, bone and brain matter.

Unnoticed in the confusion, the charred and half-exploded carcass of Toph Beifong lit up faintly with a peculiar colourless glow, and a thin, humming strip of white light passed over her body several times. Then light, glow and hum all cut out, and her remains began to decay with unnatural speed, like the process had been captured with time-lapse photography…

Rockefeller Center, Ice Rink

Raising an eyebrow, Ahriman let his hands drop to his sides. “So we are a simpleton, are we?” he asked Gavrill, his voice soft. “A dumb brute without the wherewithal to tell a head from a hand?”

The Chaos Lord gave a tight-lipped smile. “An amusing notion. But I think not.”

Then his smile disappeared. His hand lashed out like a striking cobra, gently pressing his armoured fingertips to Gavrill’s right temple—and her entire body locked up, her muscles frozen, as solid and unyielding as the roots of a mountain.

Ahriman’s tone became deadly serious. “I hope you realize that if I were so inclined, I could tear the information straight out of your mind,” he said. “I would have the truth then, and there wouldn’t be a thing you could do to stop me. You could try to resist… but all you would accomplish is burning out your own brain, beyond any hope of recovery. Then you would spend the rest of your days as a drooling vegetable, unable to fulfill even the most basic and rudimentary bodily functions without assistance.”

His eyes narrowed, seeming to suck all the light from their surroundings until only they remained, lurid blue crescents in a sea of darkness. “That is what awaits you if you tried to stop me reading your thoughts, Gavrill Madaraki—life as a mindless, helpless, and above all harmless invalid.”

Then a frown crossed his features. He cocked his head to one side, cupping his free hand around his ear as he glanced toward the south. Gavrill, if she listened closely, might hear a sound coming from that direction, a sound half-hidden beneath the din of battle and the rumbling of the clouds.

It was the rumble of jet engines, far off but growing steadily louder and closer.

Ahriman’s face took on a vacant expression, and he stared off into the middle distance, his glowing eyes darting back and forth as though reading words that only he could see. After a moment or two awareness returned to his gaze, and as he looked upon Gavrill he smiled again.

“Fortunately for you, I am not so inclined.”

And with those words he pulled away, releasing her from his psychic grip. His helmet, floating in the air until now, descended over his head, locking into place with a hiss of equalizing pressure.

“An opportunity knocks. The strands of fate converge on this location; several of your former friends will be here shortly.” The Chaos Lord folded his arms. “Kill them, and I’ll be willing to overlook your sleight of hand with Jack Cayman.”

edited 1st Sep '15 8:52:06 AM by SullenFrog

Armani, some...where...near wall street?

"Wha—" he clamped down with his jaw to keep from yelling out. "Let me go, Sam", the greek hunter hissed.

He pushed off in a wild rage against Sam's shoulder, the back of his head, everything he could get in arm's distance. Then resorting to trying feebly to push against the man's back — alas, he wasn't in a good position for leverage. He moved maybe a grand total of a couple inches, and in hindsight that might have just been Sam adjusting his unruly cargo.

Still, if there's one thing to make a mad hunter kneejerk, it's to suddenly grab them, so his squirming and low growling continued for a good 30 seconds, unintentionally forming the silly tableau of a whining child being dragged away from the playground. A metaphorical child who was currently producing enough swirling moonlight to choke a makuta and growling lowly like a wolf.

He needed to stab. To butcher and slay, to hear a monster's dying cry, to satisfy this wild beat of the hunt that played through his mind and quell this horrible feeling. Rage birthed bloodlust, his darker instincts roaring. He craved nothing more than Teridax's death — and the death of his fellows.

Unable to break free, he blindly sneered at Sam's back. How to remove this obstacle? The man who's arm was of steel, he had a back of flesh. An arrow to the back, now that would get him to drop him!

—...that's...a horrible thought. What am I - no—

Armani's growls ceased forcibly as he pushed his hands onto his face, rubbing his eyes harshly.

Count to ten...count to ten...ten, nine, eight

Gods but this place smelled awful

seven, six....had it been painful for them? Did this universe have an afterlife to welcome all?

five, four. Armani's grip increased on Sam's back and shoulder till his hands turned white.

This is beyond bull, all of it. Moja was a real joker, sending them here unprepared. Stupid space gods. Stupid enemy teams.

Three, two...finally the images began to fade

one...and the hunt has returned to rest.

"Let me go, Sam..." The rage and rebellion had mostly disappeared from his voice, though it still soldered quietly within. Now his pleading was neutral, in his usual way, but touched with distraught exhaustion.

...

"Tactical retreat?" He deadpanned after Sam hissed at him, his arms crossed poutingly in front of him. "Is that what it's called when we three stooges run off and hope to find something better, when the night has already consumed half of our teammates? Pray tell oh glorious captor, where do we plan on going? To die against other enemies? To retreat back to the floating base, where at this rate it might turn out to be just us three versus the entire enemy team? If you aren't quite understanding what I'm getting at here, it's that things just look a bit grim wherever we go."

"...Just so you know, I mean..." He took a steadying sigh. He didn't particularly LIKE being sour, but it was hard not to.

"Maybe I'm just being cynical" — he was just thinking out loud at this point, easier than to try and keep it straight in his slightly strained head. It helped to banish the remaining soured emotions and to restore his neutral state of mind, "But if we are retreating, we probably need to figure something out more than 'head in a direction and walk'. Can't help anyone if we're lost, confused, and probably like to run into trouble again...not that we could help anyone anyway cause we're use—" Nope, bad sourness, go away.

~This hasn't been an entirely fruitless quest, you know. Haven't you forgotten someone?~

—Huh?—

Armani blinked, then glanced to the side. He had completely forgotten about Jinta in all of this.

—His family is all dead, you know. Probably not going to be the happiest when he wakes up.— All the same, Armani's lips slightly quirked. Yeah, alright, maybe they had managed to do one thing right...a much needed spark of relief kindled within. It was a small light, but even a small warmth is comforting in the dark.

Alas, it didn't last long.

He sniffed. "Ew, do you think we can NOT pass right over corpses Sam?" The stench of rotting flesh was multiplied by ten all of a sudden.

Huh, there was someone else who had joined them now. Armani tried to rotate to see him, but he couldn't from his position. A jiangshi...what were those again?

The smell got worse

Oh Hades's darkest sweatpits, no.

"S-sam? Sam?" Armani hissed at him, suddenly squirming in his grip again. "Sam, tell me there's not a stinking zombie right behind me. Sam, come on."

   "Uhm... I think we have been bid to escort you where you wish to go, I too can fly."   

"No, no, we'll be quite alright", Armani hastily insisted. He was not flying with a zombie! "I mean..." he paused, his mind scrambling for a reason to not do that. What if he got offloaded onto the thing!?

"I mean, Teridax could float and things, right? So wouldn't we just be visible targets in the air? Yup, yup, better to risk running on the ground." With him far off to the side. "Or...to go through the sewers or something. Or to crawl into a building and hope for the best." With the zombie standing outside. And if it was the sewers...with the zombie being left outside still.

"...hurry up, we have to choose right now. So let's be smart and do anything but flying with — I mean, flying." With a total lack of desperation...mostly with a lack of desperation.

edited 2nd Sep '15 12:44:40 PM by tvtropesnoob

Maria Renard & Queen Zeal, Chrysler Building

Maria sat down in the chair that she was offered and turned towards Tira, "If it makes you feel better, I'm from the 18th century and I didn't understand a thing he said either."

Queen Zeal laughed at Tira's comment about a Great Depression being caused by Dr. Eggman's weight. It was a rather apt line of thought.

"Don't worry about it, Tira," Queen Zeal finally said. "It's far too complicated and has nothing to do with murder, so you'd find it boring."

"So Davros, where are the homing devices you made?" Queen Zeal asked the Kaled, wanting to move back to Times Square again especially now that she heard Ahriman's communication about a slight problem.

Schala, On Route to Chrystler Building

Schala flapped and flapped and flapped her wings as she flew towards the Chrystler Building... It was rather tiring work for someone who never had wings before. However, she will get there, eventually.

Sy Duir and Co - Chrysler

For a moment, Sy and the rest of Tesseract's mooks stared at Tira as she made her outburst about wanting to kill most of her allies. Although it was likely that quite a few of their allies felt that way, no-one was insane or dumb enough to say that out loud.

Except the woman in front of them. And they were willing to bet on the "insane".

Sy took his backpack off, and made a show of looking through it, before zipping it back up and putting it back on his back.

"No, sorry, forgot that we're fresh out." he said, shaking his head.

Even if she was their ally, they were not giving armour to a woman who had just stated her homicidal intent.

At that moment, the elevator dinged, and the ninja of the Hand that hand been labeled "The Courier" walked into the room, and deposited an unconscious Fletcher Renn onto a table.

Which Fletcher promptly fell off of because of the golf bag on his back. He hit the ground with a soft thud and a snort from one or two of the mooks.

The ninja picked Fletcher back up, cut the golf bag off (because the shackles were in the way of taking it off normally), and deposited him on the table again.

Sy stepped over to the sleeping blonde, and went to grab him by the shoulders, but hesitated.

"Do these guys have any communication devices?"

Tira frowned at the man as he "failed" to find any armor. So you're saying you've wasted my time? Goddamn it! I hate you stupid, stupid people!

Tira then flipped around to Zeal, all smiles. Hey, Zealy! You have magic stuff too, right? I bet you could make me some magic armor, something that looks 10 times better then anything those losers could make! Could you make me something? Please? She asked, giving Zeal a puppy dog look.

Then her attention was drawn by the new guy being dragged in. She laughed as the man comicly hit the floor, then started wandering over to him, ring blade in hand. Oh, you brought a new playmate! How thoughtful of you. Hey, Maria, do you know this guy? Maybe I should cut off one of his arms too. Get myself a full set!

Queen Zeal, Chrysler Building

Queen Zeal frowned when Sy Duir refused to outfit Tira with armor, but then the Courier Ninja had brought another of the Seekers in and dropped him on the table.

"Fletcher!" Maria yelled in horror since she knew the implications of Fletcher being out of commission. Their group would have no teleporter anymore which meant they'd be unable to escape effectively.

Sy Duir asked if they had communication devices, and Queen Zeal nodded to the affirmative.

"They do have a communication device, but why should I tell someone who refused to help an ally?" Queen Zeal said to Sy bluntly as she walked over to the unconscious Fletcher. "I know you still have armor in that backpack, since you wouldn't have offered otherwise."

"No matter, for I shall help Tira in regards to her armor situation," Queen Zeal checked Fletcher's ears and then pulled Fletcher's Linkpearl off. "Ingenious method in hiding it as jewelry though."

After pocketing the Linkpearl, Zeal moved back over to Tira, and looked her body over.

"Hmm, rather minimal material, but I think I can find some to use," Queen Zeal said as she looked at Maria and used magic to create an opaque bubble around herself, Tira, and Maria. Then Zeal began to work, using magic to remove and unweave both Tira's and Maria's outfits so she would have some base material to work from. After an examination of both Tira and Maria, Zeal soon decided upon the outfit that both would wear. Once she was done redressing the both of them, the opaque bubble was dispelled revealing Tira and Maria in their new outfits.

Tira's outfit had ended up being very similar to her old one, but there was a number of key differences. First was the most obvious difference to those watching which was that the outfit covered Tira's body up. There was no hasty stitching or tears in the outfit, but it still followed a similar design motif... Second was that the new outfit still showed off Tira's body, being quite form-fitting, though there were still obvious breaks where the outfit could be removed as if it were a shirt, pants, gloves, and boots. The difference that Tira herself would notice was that it was made of a latex-like material with the thickest, hardest part of it being covering her center body as well as her long gloves and boots. Even the feathers, which were still prominent around her neck, thighs, and wrists were made of this material. However, despite its thickness, Tira felt that the outfit was as flexible as her old outfit was.

Maria's new outfit however was much more minimal, a green outfit made of similar material to Tira's as it also showed off Maria's body and was form-fitting, but was a shirt and shorts combination. However, there was no thicker material to any of it and the shirt exposed her belly much as Tira's old outfit had done. In addition, it seems like Maria's arms and legs were now tied to the chair.

"What do you think about the new outfit, Tira?" Queen Zeal asked the assassin. "It is based upon the superhuman outfits of the world. I've tried to make it both strong, yet flexible. It should be able to survive decent amounts of damage."

edited 1st Sep '15 2:26:06 PM by GameGuruGG

Sy Duir - Chrysler

At Tira's words, Sy tapped her ringblade away his sword, it's gilded pommel shining out from under his hand. He shot her a glare with that.

"Tatu wants these guys. I'd recommend not pissing off the space god by pre-breaking his toys."

Another glare went in Zeal's direction, the glare magnifying when she plucked the linkpearl from Fletcher's ear.

"And no, I don't have spare armour. I thought I did, but it looks like I forgot to pack it. Or maybe I left it with the rest of my men. And we could've used that communicator to feed the heroes false info, but, well, too late."

And with that, he shook Fletcher by the shoulders, with no effect.

He frowned, and shook Fletcher harder, to no effect.

Raising an eyebrow, he gave Fletcher an almighty wallop across his right cheek, the skin reddening instantly... and got no effect.

"Huh. Gimme a sec here."

Sy pulled one of the Master's communicators from a pocket on his vest, and opened a line of communication.

"Hey, Ahriman, we've got Fletcher captured and his magic bound. If you're psychically keeping him asleep, you can stop now."

Rayman-Times Square Demon Fight

When Greed shoved him out of the air, Rayman moved with the blow, landing with a roll.

Rayman hopped up from his roll just in time to witness one of the beast men straight up turning into a demon, and tearing the Lizard in two with a single bite. "Hocus Polokus..." Rayman muttered, staring at the twisted demon that was Samus. He looked like he had crawled right out of the darkest, most twisted nightmare Polokus had ever had. Definately not a foe to take lightly. Something needed to be done about this dark beast, pronto.

Being sure to stay out of Samus's line of sight, Rayman gathered his hands together, and began channeling magical energy between them. A magic sphere formed, and quickly grew in both size and intensity, magical energy crackling off of it from the intensity of power contained within. Then, Rayman fired the charged up sphere straight at Samus's side, following it up with a quick barrage of regular power spheres. Then, before the attack struck, Rayman leapt behind one of the nearest cars and waited to see just what effect his attack would have

Donnie-Revival of the Ninja Turtle

Donnie's eyes opened, bleary and tired, to the sight of of some sort of lab, filled with tubes. "What the...this isn't the base." Now that his eyes were focusing more and his brain was firing up, Donnie could make out shapes in the tubes...and after a few moments, he noted with a start that they his fellow seekers. This was...someone else had stepped in and revived them elsewhere. Was this the work of SHEILD? Or were the Overlords stealing the bodies of dead seekers now? There was nothing Donnie could see that indicated who owned this lab.

As soon as Donnie has started thinking about his current situation, however, the memories of his death and everything that preceded it flooded over him.

The building...Gah! It had so obviously been a trap, and yet he had walked right into it. Most of the team had. Master Splinter had trained him better than to ignore his instincts like that. Splinter had trained him to be ready for these things...to see them beforehand for what they were and react appropriately. Darn it! He was supposed to be the smart one! He was supposed to know better than to just walk into traps like that! But they'd done so anyways, and things had only gotten worse from there. All those people who had died, just to lure them into a trap...They had to get better than this. If the seekers, and the rest of New York, wanted to stand a chance at all, then they NEEDED to be better than that.

And then his final moment flashed through his mind, and Donnie could only utter a waek "oh no" in response. Memories flashed before his eyes...Teridax drilling into his mind (even though Teridax was SUPPOSED to be dead, it must've been a duplicate or something), even as he was breathing his last breaths, discovering what he knew about SHEILD...this could be real trouble. Now that Teridax knew about the existence of SHEILD, there was no doubt that he'd begin tracking them down.

Donnie had to let SHEILD know about Teridax. He had to do SOMETHING to make up for his failure back at the building, even if it was just delivering a warning. But...there was no real way to do that at the moment. At least not until he knew where he actually was and get his gear from...wherever it had ended up. Not to mention that while his cognitive functions were back up, his strength hadn't returned to him...maybe, for now, it'd be best to just stay still and observe what was going on. He could hear some voices off to the side...

Rockefeller, Skies

Saya recieved Arihman's message. To be honest, dread filled her. She had intended to stay out of the fighting unless she was absolutely needed, but she couldn't very will ignore the call of an ally. It took her a moments deliberation, but eventually she relented and began to fly towards Rockefeller.

She surveyed the area from a distance and found that the biggest possible remaning threat, that she could see was Mira. No dubt whatever he was fighting was on the side of the overlords, it certainly talked like them. From her position she formed blades made of a dark energy and sent them flying, laser focused and faster than a bullet, right at Mira.

Rockefeller Skies

Rage. Icy, focused rage flowed through the bionic man's mind, sharpening it further and further with every second. It released him of his limits, of his softer mentality and moral chains. All he wanted at the moment was to kill and kill and kill some more. Until the skies rained blood and the ground drank in spilled life fluids. Until this wrath was finally spent. For the desecration of children and honorable people, Mira gave in and became a Monster that his previous reality wanted him to be. The World's Worst Monster had been reborn on this hell on earth, the environment ideal for this dangerous being.

"What's the matter? Are you aggrieved that the lowly me has managed to wound you so?" Mira all but leered at the demon with glowing crimson eyes and a tone of voice that was meant to drive people over the deep end, a voice that declared they were being looked down upon and thought of as trash. It was a stratagem meant to disorient the enemy's thoughts and make them easier to react to, blinding them of calm reasoning.

Dodging the liquid stream of questionable substances was already easy for the silver haired soldier given that it was slower than most projectile attacks which the man had been trained to fight against, as well as giving him the tell he wanted via the writhing of hair and unhinging of mouth. Operating by that logic, Mira reacted. All he had to do was simply turn off his anti gravity ability for the moment and plummet like a stone out of the way of the attack.

Even more luckily for Mira, the moment he chose to allow gravity to do the work was also the ideal time to do so given that he had dropped out of the way of the sniped blade, which grazed a few strands of his hair before traveling towards the demon who he had previously been engaging in mortal combat with. The man saw this and if anything, his bloodthirsty smile grew even wider as the blade that had almost tagged him continued towards his enemy in a bout of friendly fire.

The now sadistic man just LOVED it when things like this happened, especially since the demon was likely blocking her own line of sight with that special attack... Mocking laughter continued to echo out from below as Mira darted in between buildings like he had prior before slowly melting away into the quietness of night once more.

After all, if there were multiple enemies, why not make it harder on them? He was a soldier. He killed people for a living, and held his own life as sacrosanct. He had survived countless battlefields and built up a veritable treasure hoard of experience, one the colonel decided to cash in and put to good use, wringing every experience he had to fight against his oppressors.

In between the alleyways, the man loaded up a cartridge into his gauntlet with a genial smile on his face, eyes closed and mouth quirking up gently. Electricity crackled to life as his arm reconfigured into a cannon and began charging up intense energies... It was a peaceful expression that was so dissonant to what the man was feeling, it could have scared even the most jaded of soldiers, especially as palpable waves of bloodlust emanated from the man.

As soon as something came close enough to give chase, the man would discharge his volatile shot via a buckshot pattern like that of a shot gun, shooting vast amounts of small plasma shots over a wide fanning area. If not, then he would have a sniper battle with the newest attacker and the demon, firing from cover and in long straight lines of focused plasma that was oriented for high speed penetration... "Cry! Scream! And then, die!~" The man happily stated in a sing song voice as he went about his actions, his mindset utterly focused on the art of war.

edited 1st Sep '15 10:33:42 PM by Makaioh

Tira looked over her new outfit before responding. Ohh. I like it! Thanks Zealy! I knew you'd be able to do a lot better then those losers! She took a moment to stick out her tongue and spit at them while her Gloomy side internally raged at Sy's words about not being able to break the new captive, both at Sy for pointing it out, and at Tatu for denying her yet more fun and blood. Once the worst of the rage had passed, she turned to Sy, her eyes drooping as she shifted to her Gloomy personality.

And as for you, you can go right to hell. The master may not let me kill you, but try to pull something on me again, and I'll find a way to make you pay. She then turned her attention to the other newcomer in the room, the man who had brought the captive, a man in red ninja garb. She walked up to him, a frown still on her face. And what the hell is this? Who the hell brought a ninja with them? I hate ninjas, always throwing around those annoying ass smoke things and randomly teleporting all over the place. Its stupid and annoying!

Sy Duir - Chrysler

Sy grabbed a fistful of Fletcher's shirt, and wiped the spit off his vest with it.

"Yeah, pay, right. Anyway, the ninja's mine. I'm the leader of the Hand, a clan of ninja."

One of the other soldiers, the one who had given Maria the chair in the first place, pulled a tablecloth from one of the tables and draped it over Maria, leaving her head uncovered and mumbling something about "preserving her modesty".

Meanwhile, Ross decided to lie down for a bit. To that end, he walked up the wall and lay down on the ceiling. Or lay up on the ceiling, depending on how you looked at it.

Rockefeller Skies, Battle Start!

Was this man truly one of the heroes she had to capture? It sounded to Saya like Tatu wanted virtuous souls in exchange for his service. But this raving lunatic wouldn't do, certainly not. Which meant she got to have some fun with him, chasing him into the alleyway was no doubt what he wanted, a good strategy, but Saya didn't have to play along.

She held up her arm and activated one of the ten rings on her finger with a mental command, Daimonic. A moment later the two buildings Mira was standing between began to creek and groan underneath an unseen force. Cracks ran up the concrete, becoming wide fissures, and the buildings began to collapse towards each other.

edited 2nd Sep '15 6:29:45 AM by Azure