DeviousMe

"My opinion's never anything else but slice and dice." the wolflike being chuckled, "But that's just the way I was made. Also I'm kinda under orders not to gut people unless they're, you know, trying to kill others and that sorta crud. Since Poe's just hanging there right now...it's really up to you guys..."

"Because he's got a few very special conditions to meet before he can do anything like that." a chuckle came from the wolflike figure, "Ya see, Noit isn't unlike me. We're both only allowed to do so much. Breaker, remember how I said I couldn't let you pass earlier?"

The behing laughed lightly again, "Well, that's because I couldn't. But if you somehow got past me and got away, I would just have to follow. That 'somehow', however, was a loophole for my own judgment to exploit..."

Ph, I've never been good at those things. 'S mostly why I keep my girlfriend's stuff out of my own writing. Though some people around here have created matching sets of characters - Burning Brawler's got an entire family.

"You may have a problem executing that intent." the wolflike being told Power Breaker, sheathing the sword into the strap on its back again, "I'm afraid Husk Corporation doesn't deal well with only a 'no'..."

((Oh, I'm not stalking you, Khell. I've been wrestling with my better judgement for a while now. Its last defenses just happened to go down when you mentioned LMOUSVEV.))

((Murky Cloud = great end drain resist. Sure, Eggy got a little, but the 'desired effect' kinda went up in smoke. ))

The blade had no time to come back up to disembowel, Egarim's blow thrashing it clean to the other side of the room, taking its wielder along with it.

Clattering against the wall near-vertically, the wolflike being brought the blade back up and to bear again - or was that the other way around?

"Heh, I underestimated you." the creature spat, clearly having been in some manner injured, "Didn't think you'd be smart enough for that, hah hah hah. What's wrong? Come a little closer..."

The wolflike wielder just laughed at the attempted power sink, rushing after Egarim in his murky cloud.

If the Reaper wanted energy so badly, he could have it. A crimson aura once more enveloped the sword, the blade building up to hack Egarim.

Chances were he would just phase shift once more, but by now his actions were dead giveaways. The moment he phased back to attack, the blade would cleave up to disembowel what was left of him...

Now!

The instant before Egarim shifted back into synch with normal space-time, the sword's blade struck out to impale him from the base of the spine to the center of his skull - or at least the comparable positions of the human body.

The cloak of darkness had hidden the weapon well, allowing him to sneak in before the barrier had flared up, not to mention concealing him from Egarim. Now even the Reaper's lightning reflexes wouldn't be fast enough to cut the shift before he became solid with a blade already inside him.

If there was some sort of mechanism that would crush or shove objects out of the way to prevent this...

They would be experiencing catastrophic failure...

((Bah, what's the use? They always say resistance is futile. Maybe this time I'll get someone's story across for once. ))

The room could best be described in a single word.

Dark.

The low, green-white illumination of energy lines set into the dull, smooth metallic walls wasn't nearly enough to properly light the space. Then again, even if it had been, chances are the tone of the metal, a mixture of deep blue and subtle silver-gray, would have swallowed everything back into a dim twilight at best. The low hum of powered systems reverberated in the walls, only underscoring the aura of permanent dusk.

Of course, some creatures preferred such conditions of lowlight ambience.

Footsteps sounded on the floor. The material absorbed much, but the pair of silhouettes advancing through the dim illumination still sounded audibly - one wore heavy boots; the other something much lighter.

"I'm not saying you shouldn't." the left outline continued the conversation, a pair of arms moving through the shadows in supporting gestures of thought, "I'm just suggesting you might want to be less public about it."

"Perhaps you are right." responded the right silhouette, the dark outline of either a large hat or a discus-like head nodding somewhat, "But you know they say a leopard can't change his spots. And I'm afraid I've been a..."

A sudden series of beeps interrupted the conversation. Both figures' attention went to the pager that had lit its LCD screen. The device hung clipped to the cloth belt of the right figure.

"Something up?" the left silhouette wanted to know, the shadowy outline of a long, snake-like tail bending about in the darkness, almost impatiently.

"It would seem so." replied the right figure, the bare fingers of otherwise cloth-wrapped hands removing the pager from its place, holding it in front of the two, "It seems my local associates have just received a contract."

"Oh? How's LMOUSVEV doing these days, anyway? It's been a long time since I've seen Toy last."

"Oh, very well." came the reply, but it was unfocused, almost angry. The right silhouette was still very much focused on the LCD screen of the pager.

"Something wrong?" the left questioned, a clawed finger entering the screen's cone of light, "They requested Toy, not you, so what's the matter?"

"Look at the target name."

"Dojo of the Lurking Shadow? Yeah, I've...oh no...you're not going to...?"

"Oh yes, I am going to! Just look at this here! I'm...I'm...!"

"Oh, for pity's sake, don't...actually, nevermind. We're here. Let it out."

The bright-orange flash of a fireball chased the blue-green illumination from every corner of the room for a moment, accompanied by a monstrous roar.

It lasted only a second or two. As it subsided, the shadows claimed the area once more.

"Feeling better?"

"A little. Thanks."

"Hey, no sweat. Ya can't hurt stuff here with that. I'm just glad it's not ice. So then...I take it you're...?"

"I am."

"And you'd like...?"

"I would."

"There's no way I'm gonna convince you to get off this, am I?"

"I doubt it."

"Alright, fine. Ship, configure drop point for local coordinates - Paragon City, Siren's Call..."

((Okay...not quite getting the logic here, Grey. If you've got more characters, what's keeping them from the old one?))

You and your government conspiracies everywhere...what an active imagination.

Ma'am, we're from the Food and Drug Adminstration, Division 6. We would like to have a look at your cereal.

There's a message in my cereal...

It says 'oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo'...

I didn't like the idea of sending my younger brother off alone.

I didn't like it one bit.

But right now, I had something to take care of - and with his injury, he wouldn’t survive the encounter.

My fingers tightened around the sphere of the paratron as I watched the fighters engage the Concile formation. The battlecruiser was still there, acting as a deflection unit, preventing us from breaking through into the heart of the formation.

It would have to go.

Now.

I threw my wings behind me, laying hard into the cosmic streams, and propelled myself ahead with ludicrous accelerations. The pale-blue streams of particle cannons lanced by again and again, often streaking so close to my flesh I could feel the prickling energies rush past.

I twisted and turned, pitched and rolled, yawed and veered, rushing through a maddening, lethal labyrinth of firepower towards my target.

The battlecruiser came up fast, rushing from a point in orbit to filling my whole view faster than most creatures could react. Its point defense weaponry locked in on me, the beam trails ripping through the vacuum as they attempted to skewer me against the planet's exosphere.

My mind raced, my heart hammered, the ventral hull of the cruiser rushing by 'above' me as I tore by gun after gun, the barrels tracking as fast as they could, blasting their lethal beams after me time and again.

It took me only instants to drive myself past half the ship, and then I sent the commands to my back-mounted launcher. The machine obeyed immediately, and I blasted a volley of multi-missiles right into the midsection, tearing the vessel above me in half in a single, bright-blue detonation.

I quickly fell away from the cruiser as it was torn asunder in a reaction detonation, the explosion chasing me down, licking at the tip of my tail, the Concile ship trying to drag me with it into the depths of oblivion.

I felt the sting upon my flesh as the fringes overtook me, sending a wave of pain racking through my whole form.

No...I'm not that easy. I've still got a job to do.

I burst from the nuclear fireball like the spawn of hell itself, trailing thick streams of superheated plasma behind me, dragging the dissociated gases out into the vacuum.

I didn't stop, pressing on, the other ships already engaging once more. Another missile volley drove off the destroyer coming in high, and it was only through a stroke of luck I noticed the other coming from below and to the left in time, laying a burst of plasma artillery into and through the vessel's shields. Detonations cascaded across its hull as it veered to the side, breaking off pursuit.

I was in the formation. The path was clear.

At least relatively.

SVE vessels sent their particle cannons rushing in my direction, trying to take me down before I could pick their other units apart from the inside out.

Little did they know I was gunning for them as well.

I pitched upward, hurdling over the closely lancing beams of charged particles, then veered left to send a missile swarm streaking into one of their own. Only a moment later, a particle beam seared into my right side.

My flesh burned with pain, and I could feel the cold vacuum of space clawing at my insides, almost see my form now trailing a long trail of bloody gobs through the airless depths.

They were getting faster. I had to hurry.

I passed the paratron to my other hand, pressing the now-free limb across onto the wound as best I could to stem the bleeding. Biting through the pain, I kept rushing ahead, the fictional point in space I had to reach now so very close.

I couldn’t see it, but I knew it was there. It was nothing more than an imaginary collection of mathematical coordinates, but in those moments it seemed the only real thing left in all of existence.

I had to reach it - there was no alternative!

I gunned into the home stretch, yawing away from another beam volley, then threw myself into a downward helix to confuse their targeting systems.

Their thoughts betrayed them all.

No sooner did I perceive an adjustment than I broke the spiral and rolled to the right, rushing up and ahead to my goal.

Now!

The touch of a contact plate was all it took to start the pre-rigged overload sequence. It felt as in a dream, no sensation, not even a soft depression in the sphere's surface indicating I had done anything at all.

I released the sphere.

And made a break for it.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl, even in my perception. Instants turned to minutes, beams still arcing my way as I frantically threw my body every which way, each single twist and motion sending another pulse of pain through my frame.

No - I wouldn't give them the satisfaction!

Then all hell broke loose.

The paratron overloaded.

It was as if a sound of thunder had suddenly found a way to be manifest in the vacuum of space, shattering the very fabric of the airless continuum with a cacophony unlike any before.

Now I saw why I'd been told to be careful with the paratron.

It acted indeed very much like a gravity bomb.

The detonation was massive, the energies blasting outward from a single point so powerful they tore space itself to shreds. An extreme amount of hyperradiation literally flooded the region, almost immediately generating an interference hyperbarie.

The shock ripped the area wide open, the naturally familiar energies lashing into the time-space continuum in endless desire to return to their natural environment. A gigantic structural tear opened in no measurable time, ripping everything in its general vicinity into the overloaded continuum of hyperspace.

Great cascades of energy and matter flowed in torrents like into a titanic drain, the Concile attack force swept along by the flood like ping-pong balls tossed into the swirling tumult of a river's most convulsive rapids.

The spectacle lasted but a microsecond - no, less - before the hyperradiation had fully vanished into the tear and everything returned to normal. But the sheer power of its impression would last any witness a lifetime and longer.

The core of the Concile attack force, every single SVE ship in that formation, had been ripped from normal space faster than a human could even blink.

I tried to fathom what would happen to them in hyperspace. The normal units would instantly disintegrate, the overordered laws of the continuum permitting no matter to exist. The energy hulls of the SVE ships might make it, though I cringed at the thought of that fate as well - perhaps instant death was preferable to an eternity spent in hyperspace, lost forever from the world they'd called home.

In the depths of my being, I hoped they could find a way back. They may have been the enemy, but even they didn't deserve such a monstrous fate.

I had no time to think about it.

The battle wasn't over.

Already, the units at the fringe of the formation were coming about again, laying into the fighters and me in vengeful attempts at revenge for the loss of their comrades. I could eel the sorrow, the anger, the bloodlust, drilling itself into every fiber of my being.

I twisted out of the way once more, clutching my wound tighter as it sent a pulse of pain racking through me in response.

Below and ahead of me, a battlecruiser suddenly ascended - I had veered right into it!

In what seemed to take an eternity, I saw its main cannons lock in on me as I pitched up, cold machines tracking me at the beckon of rage-filled gunners.

I’m not sure what sensation was more vehement at that point - the boiling outpouring of rage and thirst for vengeance or the stone-cold menace of looking down a particle cannon's barrel.

Either or...I'd lost.

The cannon fired...

A D4 thread? That is a scary thought...though I think we had something like that already. Well, here goes...

Affiliation: Hydra
Name: Spawnling 10709622703 ("Bob")
Unit Type: Spawn
AT: Venom Blast/Poison Corruptor
Height: 1.94 meters
Age: 48 hours
Hair: You're kidding, right?
Eye Color: Depends which one you're looking at.
Notable Features: Amorphosity.

Biography:

Spawnling 10709622703 was originally created during one of the almost-successful raids of the Rikti on the Terra Volta reactor. The idea was to employ Hydra as cannon fodder to simply overrun the heroes, but if it hadn't been for the team's tanker performing an a mysterious action the heroes have termed 'AFK', things likely would have turned out much different.

Spawnling 10709622703 was a member of the last wave, springing from the Hydra's mass just as the reactor core was breached. The resulting radiation leak could of course not harm Spawnling 10709622703, but it did cause a very interesting mutation, which manifested itself the next day in Perez Park..

Spawnling 10709622703 suddenly had a brain.

It was about the size of a pea, nothing more than a nerve knot, but it was a brain nonetheless. Spawnling 10709622703 could think - and Spawnling 10709622703 had will.

With this sudden, never-before-seen upsurge of free thought, Spawnling 10709622703 was of course caught in a conundrum. It suddenly just was, having no idea who, what, or why it was.

The first thing Spawnling 10709622703 decided was that Spawnling 10709622703 was an overly complicated designation. A fallen billboard for bobsledding equipment, somewhat dilapidated, gave rise to Spawnling 10709622703's new name.

Bob.

So now Bob was Bob. For a moment, Bob was happy just being Bob. But then Bob grew lonely - the other Spawnlings had nothing to offer him; they all just had one mind, and that mind was filled with nothing but anger and rage.

That's when Bob encountered a passing human. Bob instantly recognized this creature as a free thinker like himself, and so was absolutely overjoyed, instantly running up to the creature he would later find out was called a 'wo-man'.

The wo-man greeted Bob with unbridled enthusiasm, performing quick, flailing gestures with her arms as well as loosing loud sounds from her mouth at sight of Bob. Oh, how wonderful it was to be greeted with such welcoming gestures.

Bob didn't want to be rude, and so repeated the gestures of greeting to the wo-man, at the same time taking the opportunity to ask her who she might be in the only way he could.

By dumping a huge gob of slime on her.

The wo-man turned almost instantly, quickly running in a certain direction, still flailing her arms wildly and producing loud noises.

Obviously, she wanted Bob to follow her. She was going quite fast, and the gestures and noises were surely to keep Bob' attention on her, so he wouldn't lose track of her in this unfamiliar environment.

Bob was pleased at this helpful reception by the wo-man, running after her and managing to keep pace. Soon, the wo-man and Bob ran into another human, this one painted strangely bright in blues and whites.

Bob really liked how the human's colors coordinated in crystalloid shapes, and wasted no time telling the man that he thought the colorful outfit looked really cool.

By dumping a huge gob of slime on him.

Before Bob knew it, the man suddenly froze his message solid, followed by Bob himself. The icy touch stung, hurt, and felt really bad. Why would anyone do this to Bob? What had Bob done? All he'd tried to do was...

That's when Bob's tiny brain froze solid as well. Bob's world stopped.

By the time Bob awoke once more, he was in a strange place altogether different from Perez Park. It was gray, dusty, and didn't look like a very lively place at all, especially with that dreary fort-looking thing on the shore, all red and metal-purple.

Bob didn't like the look of that place, and so turned his attention to a back alley of Darwin's Landing, wishing to be alone for a moment to think things over.

Why had the hurtful icy man done this to him? Had he not been polite? All Bob had wanted to do was talk...

That's when Bob noticed another human, much like the hurtful man. Only instead of blue, this man had painted himself red and white.

Not wanting to be frozen again, which the man would surely do as soon as he spotted Bob, the free-thinking Spawn of the Hydra went to work with a loud, "GLOOOOOORBLE...!!!"

Synopsis:

Spawnling 10709622703 ("Bob") is a victim of circumstance, assaulted by a world that didn't understand him. At heart, Bob is not evil, indeed being a very friendly individual. The first encounter with a 'hero' however, has left its mark, and it is doubtful Bob will ever recover from this event.

*Mako enters Recluse's throne room*

"Hey, I just got this..."

*realizes there is no one there, but there is a note on the big chair*

GONE FISHING

((Your character attacked precisely once with a spine. My character teleported out of the way. I see no godmoding there, sorry.

If you are referring to my post undoing your godmoding, then you are correct - I used godmoding to undo your godmoding.

Frankly, I felt insulted that you would take control of my character, who is specifically trained to take down metahumans like Lucertola, without my permission, and have him do nothing as he was attacked not once, but twice.

All I did was have him react as he would if Lucertola began the actions you described. Only instead of doing nothing, I had him do something.

However, I see you are not interested in having a logical discussion here. Therefore, goodbye.))

((Ah, so we are having a problem with my writing style, are we? Okay, then let me sit down and explain this to you:

1. Escape - def: to elude pursuit.

Whether player or NPC, I have found it takes more to escape from someone than just 'running away'. People will stay on you, especially if you're just running down the street. Ducking into a nearby warehouse or jumping down a nearby manhole is the preferred method of comic book villains for good reason - it makes sense. If you can make your pursuer lose track of you, you can generally escape. 'Runing away' does not do so.

2. Godmoding - def: varies, but generally "dictating the actions of a person/object one has not the privilege to control"

You are apparently interpreting this as "my character autohitting your character". This is not so. I never stated either the bullet nor the punch struck; I merely stated what each attack was going for and that it came at very close range, making it hard to evade:

[ QUOTE ]
...a bright-red fist rammed right towards the reptilian's gut...

[/ QUOTE ]

Towards, not into. Hard to evade, but not impossible.

Indeed, if I were to apply this definition, I could state you guilty of godmoding. In your last post, not only did you deny my character a chance to react to the actions of yours (a monologue that took several seconds), but your character also autohitting mine with both an immobilize and a hold:

[ QUOTE ]
roots forth out of the ground which bound the man in place. And then he raised the other hand into the air causing a thorny bush to burst from the roots, crawling up the gunslinger's legs and wrapping tightly around his neck.

[/ QUOTE ]
Were these autohit powers in-game, I probably would have let this slide. However, they are not - and frankly it makes no sense that the man would just stand there and do nothing a all, when I clearly stated:

[ QUOTE ]
If this didn't succeed in bringing Lucertola coughing to his knees [...] he'd just have to up the ante...

[/ QUOTE ]
This very clearly indicated something else was on its way if the punch did not yield the desired effect. Yet you completely ignored it.

As far as I'm concerned, my post was a reaction to undo your attempt to godmode - dictating the actions of my character, who you do not have permission to control, by having him do nothing in response to a lengthy monologue, as well has having him auto-immobilized and auto-held.

Therefore, I see no reason to change it.))

At least that was the idea.

The Family members might have all been super-speeders (which was just about the only explanation as to why they'd gotten away from not one, but two heroes to quickly), but they certainly weren't too smart.

Lucertola had just made a very big mistake. A very common mistake. A pit people fell into every minute of every day. But that didn't change the sheer magnitude of it.

Lucertola had assumed.

He had assumed the energy punch wouldn't be followed up.

He had assumed the Gunslinger would give him time to talk.

And he had assumed the man would give him time to act.

None were true.

Holding such an extensive monologue, standing tall and raising one's hands into the sky, and holding another monologue all required something.

Time.

And Lucertola had just run out of just that.

"Look..." was all the reptilian got out before the second energy-charged fist closed as well, building up its energies as it went. The Gunslinger came down rapidly with a technique heroes and villains alike feared - and commonly referred to as 'Bonesmasher'...

Hm, that wasn't as witty as usual. He's tryin' to throw me off. Well, two can play at that game.

"Later, Sonny-Jim." the man retorted with a low growl, disappearing again wiht the sound of collapsing air.

Running didn't do much good against someone who could get to where you were going without having to cross the space in-between. Teleportation equipment was a very useful thing to do so, and before Lucertola knew it, the dark-blue gunman was once more in his way.

Right in his face.

Calaculating an immediate strike, the man wasted no time. His gloves suddenly crackled with energy and a bright-red fist rammed right towards the reptilian's gut, the other charged gauntlet operating defensively to deflect potentially incoming spines.

If this didn't succeed in bringing Lucertola coughing to his knees - as the general reaction to being socked in the stomach with an energy punch was - he'd just have to up the ante...

It was a gamble, to be sure - running at a Gunslinger in the face of his weapon always was.

And the odds were stacked against Lucertola.

But the man's finger did not squeeze the trigger.

The gray-green eyes followed the swift mutate's movement with almost mechanical precision, meticulously tracking the motions of hands, legs, and the general flow of Lucertola's whole body.

Almost like he was sizing the reptilian up.

Moving different this time...and where's yer buddy, huh? Or did he teach ya to grow trees now? The spine's new too...hmm...

He seemed to be ignoring the Iron American entirely, focusing on analyzing Lucertola's movements into a general picture that would give him the best option to counter.

A choice was made.

As the spine cleaved through the air, Lucertola's opponent vanished from one moment to another. The surrounding air collapsed into the vacuum the man's teleportation had created.

Stumbling into the sudden suction or not, Lucertola suddenly found his opponent a few meters behind him. The man's Desert Eagle reported with a sound of thunder, blasting a liquid nitrogen round away at almost the speed of its own sound.

The N2 round had a dead bead on Lucertola's back, and at this range it was almost impossible the thing would miss. Upon impact, the reptilian would be frozen solid in a rapidly expanding layer of solid ice in less than a second...

((What's this? Nobody wants to help the returnee out? Where are da family? No Tro'boyz? Skah! Haven't seen Tsoo many Tsoo either...))

"So ya like Malta, eh?" the cowboy-esque man chuckled at being called a 'young man' with his obviously graying hair, "Ya don't got much brains up there, do ya? Now ya let the man down nice an' slow, or I'm gonna be findin' myself wearin' a new pair of snake-skin boots."

Apparently, he hadn't forgotten about the other Family members either, reminding them sternly, "And don't yalls be gettin' any funny ideas. I'd hate to ruin them nice clean suits o' yers with moth holes..."

From the hangar gate shot two large forms, relativistic accelerations creating the appearance of streak-like blurs. A glance almost gave the likeness of fightercraft.

The truth wasn't far removed.

Roughly the size of F-14s, the blurs had often been described as semi-skeletal dragons, though they had little in common with the creatures of human legend. Their frames were long and thin, and the clearly defined arms and legs sat in large proportion to the torso. Neck and tail followed the same schemata, long and flexible, as did the head, which bore some semblance to the skull of a Pterodactyl.

Their hands held four digits, thumbs and fingers armed with claws, as were the feet, three long toes forming the central bone bridge, a fourth claw the heel.

Razor-sharp teeth rimmed the lipless mouths of sharply pointed skulls, the jaws' only capability of movement being that of opening and closing, and large pupilless eyes sat deep in their protective niches of the head, incoming light reflecting in a burning orange glow.

A pair of large, leathery wings anchored itself at the base of the shoulders, where a human's shoulder blades would approach the spine. They appeared as a bat's would, fine long 'fingers' of bone stretching the leather-like membrane between the gaps of the 'hand'.

In the last moments of light from the hangar, the creatures' hide reflected the illumination in a dull blood-red, the armor-like plates of keratin-like material shielding their bodies from the hard vacuum like protective exoskeletons.

And there they went, and all...

Little brother, stop rummaging about in Kerat's mind! Focus!

My thoughts backflipped over themselves. I hadn't even realized how deeply I'd been focusing on Kerat, the Khelari practically beating his mind into a mental wall because we'd stormed out...and there was nothing he could do about it.

Still, I quickly redirected myself on the task at hand. I watched the ship fall away behind us, the planet skimming below, the stars once more surrounding us with their familiar radiance.

I knew this environment to be lethal to most beings. Harsh solar winds, the biting cold of airless vacuum, the blistering heat of undeflected solar radiation, and the constant bombardment of cosmic waves were more than they could stand.

I never found myself able to understand this. Out of the ship's atmosphere once more, I felt most at home. The chilling cold of the vacuum relaxed, the burning rays of the system's sun invigorated, and the many forms of cosmic background radiation caressed gently over my wings as I moved. I could feel every change in the flow, glide through it like a bird would through air - and no other sensation even came close by comparison.

My elder brother and I were perfectly adapted to existing in the bare vacuum of space. We had no need to breathe, no organs with that function, and the hydrogen that catalyzed our metabolisms could be found just about anywhere, in all four natural states of matter.

They have detected us. Be ready.

The soundless voice of my brother echoed clearly in my mind. We lacked the capability to speak (which really wasn't that useful in a vacuum), but nature had ensured us a method of communication not impaired by such little environmental defects - telepathy.

And it hadn't only been restricted to us.

I looked ahead to the rapidly approaching SVE ships. Their crews brimmed with the rush of the moment, the thirst for glory, and the fear of death. Their minds were a veritable waterfall of thoughts and emotions, virtually impossible to describe to anyone not capable of perceiving other beings as we did.

Alongside us now closed the fighter units of Gamma Flight. The eleven-ship group had lost four of its original flight in the battle so far. Even the ludicrous acceleration and maneuverability magnitudes the fighters could achieve weren't a security guarantee against the Concile's tracking systems.

Gamma Flight is in position. echoed the lead pilot's thoughts in my mind, Awaiting orders.

I noticed my right hand subconsciously tugging at the wide straps about my chest once more, making sure they sat secure. The elastic bands held in place a combination missile launcher on my back, as well as several types of charges where they crossed over in front, from proximity mines to timed fastener munitions.

I'd strapped similar equipment to both my lower arms, the intricate assemblies of what were considered artillery-grade combination cannons secured in their positions on the upper side, the dual barrels of each assembly terminating just above my wrists.

In my left hand I held a sphere no larger than three meters or so, the short, spoke-like protrusions giving it an almost wagon-wheel appearance.

It was called a 'paratron'. What it did, neither of us truly knew.

As far as I understand, its working principle isn't far removed from a gravity bomb. my brother had told me, We will overload it and drop it in the enemy formation. The affected volume will be very large.

I hoped he was right. The physics made sense, but there were elements in this thing's design that neither of us could make tooth or claw of. Hyperdimensional designs were often infused with complications that went against all general logic, unable to achieve their desired effects otherwise.

Don't worry, something'll happen alright. came the response as my brother sensed my doubt, If I remember one thing about talking with Ace about it, it was that this thing should never be overloaded.

I sent an acknowledging impulse in response, then focused ahead on the incoming formation. They didn't seem to care about us, hell-bent on getting to the Gunship before it could complete the drop.

No.

They weren't getting anywhere near it!

A gigabomb detonated at the center of the Concile's formation.

That was our cue.

We shot forward from one instant to another, my brother taking tactical command of the fighter unit. They gunned their afterburners, we threw masses of cosmic energies behind us, and together we rushed into the enemy formation.

Gigantic spheres of bright-yellow detonations now pierced the enemy unit, but it wasn't enough to have them veer off - the initial shock had passed. They had accepted their nimbus of invincibility was no more.

And now they dealt with it.

By targeting us.

Pale-blue streaks of charged particles shot by as I pitched, yawed, rolled, and twisted every which way I could think of, space spinning about me in a maddening, downright insane series of spirals and corkscrews.

The planet below changed its position at least twice a second, the pyramid-like formation of the enemy detachment circling in my view, their beams licking hungrily towards us through the blackness of space.

We countered with heavy impulse blasters, the normally invisible weapon trails setting the planet's exosphere ablaze. Our beams crashed into enemy shields with a vengeance, concentrated fire cracking through energy barriers like eggshells, rending and tearing at the hulls underneath.

Missile munitions swarmed out from both sides, the launcher on my back jolting slightly in report at each multi-missile that left its launch tube. It didn't take long for everything to descend into calculated madness - but somehow my brother kept track of it all.

Watch yourselves - there's a lot of fire coming from the right side of that battlecruiser.

Understood. They're using it as a deflection unit.

Then we'll have to take it out. Brother, Gamma Four, Gamma Six, form on my flank.

Detecting energy buildup on the surface. Someone's thrown on a reactor.

Incoming ground fire!

My brother's warning came almost too late, the beams of the defensive fort spearing through our loose formation. I threw myself left, trying to evade their volley.

Apparently, I wasn't quick enough.

A horrid burning sensation suddenly branched out from my right upper arm, and I found myself shocked as I discovered the upper layers of my flesh had been seared right off. I think only my present state of mind prevented the racking waves of pain from completely paralyzing my movements.

My brother was over me before I realized it, tugging me out of the way of another beam from the ground fort.

Then its fire ceased.

They're targeting the Gunship. my brother told me, trying to take the paratron from my hand, Take that fort out. I'll handle these losers.

But you need...

I need you to protect the ship. That's what we set out to do. If Allen doesn’t get that support, he's as good as dead.

I had no arguments to counter. The paratron left my grip as I opened my hand.

I tried to block out all emotion, the pain in my arm shrinking to nothing compared to my brother rushing headlong into the Concile formation.

As I lurched down into the atmosphere, I strained to push the image from my mind.

He'd strike at them, alright.

Right through the middle...

The planet came fast.

The defense cordon faster.

A unit had assumed wall formation directly in my path, the 1500-meter spheres of the SVE ships radiating their bronze-gold luminance out into the dark of space. Scattered among them were other units, though 'my' sensors reported they were prepared to bail at a moment's notice.

I could use that.

Their first barrage didn't keep me waiting long, long-range gravorockets streaking at me with ridiculous accelerations. I twisted to port to evade, just as they had predicted, and a wall of pale-blue energy beams struck right into my path.

Particle beams; naturally shield piercing.

They were good.

But we were better.

I twisted upward with ludicrous values, eluding the firing concentration almost completely.

But not entirely.

A crash rumbled through my very being as several beams made contact, gnashing against my Overload shield. Its structure unlike most shielding, it prevented them from coming through, but the impact still felt like a kick to the head.

I felt my body for a moment as g-forces racked through 'me', a direct result of the sudden maneuver in tandem with the increased drain on the Overload shield. Even evading their main concentration point, I had just been hammered with enough energy to vaporize a small planet.

The beams kept on me though, licking greedily right on my tail, several more finding their mark and crashing against me like scores of charging giants.

By now, Fire Control had taken down a good number of Concile units. I felt their fire wane, but it wasn't enough - again and again the titanic hammers of particle beams rammed into me, piercing the Overload barrier on more than one occasion.

I felt no pain (the ship's structure was incapable of transmitting such a sensation), but every damaged section and system flared unrelenting in my mind. Space twisted and lurched all about me - though in reality it was I who was moving - and my mind frantically looked for a way out against the myriad of enemy vessels slowly surrounding me.

Position and course reports fed directly into my mind, and with increasing frequency the enemy was denying me paths, moving to block wherever they could, trying to get me into their focused fire.

The day you get me there's the day I retire!

I twisted about fully, feigning a retreat maneuver that any sane being would have clearly seen as my last way out by now. They maneuvered accordingly, repositioning to cut me off almost instantaneously.

Hah! Fell for it!

I backflipped, grinding through high g-forces once more, then gunned it and jumped right into a split-second linear maneuver, rushing past their lines in the over-ordered continuum of linear space. I dropped back into the normal universe just a few hundred kilometers from the planet's surface.

The Concile forces were thrown into confusion once more. A linear maneuver this short was dangerous, reckless, and downright impossible to pull off for any ship or pilot in existence - the sheer amount of multidimensional calculations was insurmountable for any one entity.

But not for two merged together.

I pushed onward, slowing to orbital velocity with negative acceleration values that could have driven Styrofoam through granite. My body ached from the strain, but I didn't let that stop me, pushing through the pain to get myself where I needed to be.

Where my friends needed my to be.

The Concile forces didn't pause for long, already striking after me, now an easy target.

I started the drop.

The enemy closed.

C'mon people, get the lead out. We got incoming.

Several SVE ships were already closing to range once more, their drives superior to the regular units of the combined fleet. They would be here in mere moments.

A soundless voice suddenly responded to me.

You do what you need to. We'll hold them off.

For a moment, my hand twitched.

Negative! We need you on the surface! Al's going to need air support!

The fighters can handle that. Relax. We'll keep them off you.

I felt a hangar gate lurch open. Turbopumps streamed pressure fluids, forcing the hull apart in only moments.

Negative! I say again: negative! Do not engage! Do not...!

The hangar gate wasn't responding to me. It had been manually overridden. I swore.

Fire Control, salvo tact four at incoming enemy units! Get those two some cover ASAP!

I felt the targeting systems re-orient. Time seemed to slow to a crawl. Here I sat, mid-deployment, and couldn't do a thing about what would now happen.

I knew this to be the best course of action. It was undeniable.

But my mind just couldn't accept that logic.

The enemy units engaged, particle beams once more streaking hungrily towards me.

The brothers were ready.

At least so I hoped.

They'd be going right into the fire...

A commanding shout cut through the air.

"Reach fer the sky, varmint!"

The source was a man in the garb of a Malta Gunslinger, the deep-blue uniform meshing well with the visible portion of the man's slightly graying black hair. The gray-green eyes of the two-meter tall Gunslinger fixed the mutated Family member with what seemed to be the coldest glare a human could muster.

Still the eyes held little in comparison to the heavily modified Desert Eagle in the Gunslinger's black fingerless glove, the barrel of which pointed squarely at Lucertola.

If the reptilian mutant had any sense at all, he knew not to pull anything funny right now. Standing at a distance of roughly twelve meters, the Gunslinger's round would find its target before he could so much as twitch.

Malta's Special Qualification Marksmen were lethal at distances up to fifty meters with just a regular 9mm. What this man could do with the futuristic-looking weapon he wielded at a mere twelve...

That was anyone's guess...