DeviousMe

A Few Klicks North-Northwest

She appeared as suddenly as the storm itself, a cascading scintillation of blackest darkness and coruscating violet. The shockwave blasted through the air in all directions, kicking up the spray like the detonation of a bomb. It lasted only moments though, the dull-gray plating of her bow slipping from the murk and down into the kicked-up waters. The rest of her followed on swift keel, and though she was technically a museum piece, her over 120 meters of aquatic armored armament weren't something at which to sneeze.



They weren't as sluggish as one might've expected either, the grumbling gurgle of heavy-duty compressors churning the waters behind her mere instants after the sphere of murk and mire that had brought her here had collapsed back into thin air. Her acceleration may have been wanting, but it was enough, and as such it wasn't long before the island had another ship approaching - and this one at a very direct nearly 90 meters per second...

Immortal. Eternal. Undead. So many words, and yet not one of them meant what they desired. To the right means, the immortal were mortal. When it came time, the eternal were fleeting. Come by the prepared, and the undead were just dead.

Truth be told, he'd never really given any of that much thought. Not until now. Not until the ashes of a friend most dear ran through his fingers in the rain like so much rubbish at the bottom of a muddy river.

He couldn't physically feel them, of course. Oh sure, the alloys that composed his hands had been instilled with all sorts of trickery to convey the same sensation of pressure he'd once had, but that hadn't exactly been much. Not enough to really matter. Beyond the physical however, sensation abound. He felt all the pain, the suffering, the confusion that had been endured. Confusion, yes. That was the strongest. Why? That one word, that one thought had been there again and again, right until they had ceased completely. Why? Time after time. Why? Why? Why?

But there had been no answer.

Not until he'd come, that was.

A hunter he'd called himself. Frankly, he hadn't much cared. His body snapped as easily as always. Then, only then had he received his answers. Bounty. Money. Wealth. The thoughts disgusted him. The man's fate had been sealed even then. But he wasn't through just yet. A few more snaps brought him more answers. Boss. Child. Brat.

Tomb.

So Tomb she called herself. Fitting, considering that's what he'd make of her. Now, where was she? He didn't know. Poor fellow. One more snap, so he wouldn't suffer. He'd have deserved it, but there just wasn't any point. The ones he'd called friends were dead, and their killer's death was little more than means to an end. Of course, that end wouldn't be achieved with but his death. No. It required someone else's.

Tomb's.

But where was she? Logically, there weren't that many places someone like that could hide, especially when making deals like this. Too bad he wasn't a local. But that wasn't hard to overcome. He had help. 'The internet' was such a wonderful invention. Best of all, there was almost never one single spot that held the information one was looking for. In this case, that happened to be a satellite - or rather, the lack of one. A mandated clear zone over international waters. Yes, that wasn't at all suspicious. 'Psionic disruptors' too. Might as well have stuck a big, fat 'evil hideout' label on the place. Not that it was unique, of course. But the location fit more than the others.

La Isla de la Muerte Insólito. Fitting indeed. People here did tend to consider him fairly unusual.

He left the old, rainsoaked castle's ruins with a much greater calm than when he'd arrived. The locals looking on didn't much take note, though. To them, one titanic beastly outline of some unseen monster in the rain was just like any other - especially when its wings billowed trails of steam through the murky night. He knew his cloaks were fairly useless in this sort of weather, revealing his form to any onlookers below.

A layman would've called him a dragon. An expert would've termed him a nightmare. Stretching over twenty meters from the tip of his nostrilless nose to the end of his long, segmented tail, he was that indeed, and in many senses of the word. Narrow, gaunt, practically skeletal was he, as disproportionate in body as he was in mind. Arms, legs, that whip of a tail, even the extended neck that supported his crassly pointed skull seemed more than duly elongates against the tapered torso that gave them anchor, as well as ghastly slim and slender in and of themselves. The only thing that seemed broad enough in any sense were the wings that jutted almost directly from his shoulders, and even those were batlike and skeletal in nature, veiled in the dark and their nimbus of steam.

In truth however, it was all but an optical illusion. Each of the four long, clawed fingers that gave his hands their dexterity was thick as a man, and the palm they belonged to could easily hold more. His feet weren't quite so nimble, consisting of three lengthy toes in front, a fourth claw that formed the heel in the back. They all had a curve, designed for grasping like those of a bird, though whatever perch they fit certainly didn't hang between telephone poles. Verily, they likely could've snapped those in twain without much of a thought.

But it was his face that truly made the nightmare. Rigid, immobile, frozen as it was with but the exception of the jaw - and from that jutted long, narrow teeth, jagged like shards of sharpest glass. His only facial features came in the form of a select few ridges, contoured like solid bone, and a pair of large, lidless slits for eyes that never blinked, never closed, always staring out into the distance with a burning, penetrating fervor.

But right now he didn't much care who saw him and who didn't. Let the Transylvanians speculate. He had somewhere to be. He had someone to kill. The ashes ran from his palm, smooth and slick, washed clean by the rain. The frost took the rest, the tiny spurs of ice forming quickly as he ascended through the clouds, then above, high into the sky, and then beyond. Satellites ordinances could keep away. Him? Not so much. To him, La Isla de la Muerte Insólito was but a tiny speck far, far below. Just a target, painted so carefully against the globe that turned beneath.

A target now the intersection point of a collision course...

Oops. Didn't know there'd be another new thread starting for this. Seems I posted Big V into the wrong place. I shall remedy that.

Also, question - these psionic disruptors. Do they cover the entire island, or just Tomb's main lab?

((*pokes Khell* So...what's the surrounding world up to? ))

((MP, I'd appreciate if you didn't go and take control of the Resistance fighters under Arek's command like that. Yes, they're aggressive and don't like his orders much, but they do know that to disobey him will end badly. This time was in line enough to continue as-is, but please don't do it again.))

"I truly am surrounded by incompetence." Arek huffed a dissatisfied snort, the tip of his tail curling to and fro through the air like that of an angered cat, "I could have sword I ordered you to hold. Am I mistaken in my recollection?"

The Resistance personnel about didn't answer. They knew the question was rhetorical, as well as what the azure Dragon meant to say by it.

"Why?" he then questioned, regarding Lady Praetoria with dispassionate eyes, "So you and the other dogs of Cole can do to them what was done to the last ones who decided it was best to voice their dissenting opinions in public rather than conspire in the shadows? Or would you perhaps concoct an even more gruesome fate? Honestly, I do not care to hear your answer. Mine is no. Ours is no. And theirs is no. So long as you consider the open voicing of dissenting opinions 'dirty work', the answer will always be no."

"Besides," Arek curled his lips into a diabolical smirk, regardless of how it pained him to do so, "they are keeping you so excellently distracted here, away from the precinct about to come under attack. While you stand here and blather, your fellow oppressors will pay with their lives for those you have killed here."

Some of the Resistance fighters about the blue-scaled Drokar chuckled as he said those words.

"Of course, I would expect nothing else." he continued, emerald-green eyes darting to where the Inevitable Fist crept toward them in the shadows, fixing her with their icy glare, "After all, distracting me while your partner there sneaks up to strike me down is a rather good tactic. Unfortunately for you, tactics are my specialty."

His specialty, yes. Those with him? Not so much. Only now brought to enough attention to seek the Inevitable Fist, they gave the ninja more than ample opportunity to strike as they attempted to assume defensive positions...

"Heh. Sorry." Jade grinned a bit sheepishly, hurrying over to where the little fae directed. He took the acorn in hand and placed it atop the little skull as directed, holding it to the forehead, "Like this...?"

An eyebrow rose on the visage of the blue-scaled Drokar as Lady Praetoria dove down, bringing the crowd into the line of fire. So much for protecting the innocent. Then again, she was Powers Division, he supposed. Why should Marauder's lackeys have any real aspirations of saving lives when endangering them brought so much better TV ratings?

Still, he kept outwardly stoic, showing not a hint of emotion, even as first the panicked screams and then the gut-wrenching 'silence' of the four Resistance fighters hitting the street below reached his ears, bones snapping a dozen times over, muscle and sinew alike tearing to shreds with that awful noise of a most painful death.

"Hold." Arek nevertheless told the soldiers with him, speaking in that cold, grumbled tone that betrayed nothing of his true feelings. They obeyed, holding their fire, though they visibly didn't like the idea of not blasting her out of the sky while she was busy talking.

"Traitors indeed." the azure-blue Dragon responded to her, "Your lies will not save you this time, Powers Division. Tonight, the people see you for who you truly are."

He moved an arm in the direction of the Dreadnaught, pointing down at the machine with deft accusation, "Monsters. Every last one of you. Deny it all you like. It matters not. The people have eyes, and they can see it is not us taking lives tonight. It is you."

"There was to be no blood." he fixed Lady Praetoria with a stern glare, "But well enough. We can respond in kind. As punishment for the lives you and your fellow PPD have taken, the Destroyers will tear Precinct Five out from underneath you and kill every last one of you inside..."

At this point, Arek could've howled. This was all going so wrong it was practically painful. Well, to him at least. The Resistance fighters with him on the roof grinned their biggest grins yet as they watched the rampaging 'Powers Division' begin its slaughter. But to him, it was practically a kick to the face. Not only wasn't anybody coming to engage him, but now everyone's attention was elsewhere entirely! How the heck was he supposed to get a Powers Division lackey close enough for his plan to work under these circumstances?!

Outwardly however, he showed none of this. He knew he couldn't afford to. No, he stood cold and composed as it took place below, in plain view, his body unmoving while his mind ran. Now what? He couldn't well order those with him to open fire on the Dreadnaught. The machine was doing exactly what they wanted...sort of. In any case, it was close enough that they didn't care about the details. If only he had a team loyal only to him, or at least to his ideas how this should be done...

Make due with what you have.

Indeed. There was no Spearhead Division here. But what did he have to work with? A tech type above. A killing machine below. A spark type with that. One he knew, too. Sort of. A mob of panicked civilians. A wall of PPD. Some Powers Division goons who hadn't done anything yet...and a handful of Resistance idiots spread in gaggles here and there.

Not enough.

No. It was enough. But he had to reposition the pieces. He looked up at Lady Praetoria.

"Fire." was all he said, quiet and calmly. But that was all it took. Resistance fighters tended to be unhealthily trigger-happy.

And they opened up on the heroine...

Jade shook his head. He didn't understand all the details, but had gotten enough for the gist of it. He just hoped this would work...

Arek could've facepalmed. He suppressed a growl at the sight below, glancing to the Resistance fighters on the roof with him, "You people are truly inspiring. I told you to stay back and let them initiate hostilities. What part of that is so hard to understand?"

They didn't reply. Some of them grinned those innocent grins, though. The Resistance wasn't exactly unified, after all. Some of them wanted to save Praetoria. Others just wanted to see it burn.

"Truly, I am surrounded." the blue-scaled Drokar huffed, picking up the unconscious officer with his left hand. Carefully, purposefully he positioned the man at the edge of the roof, taking a step back so as to have the PPD officer in full view and himself thereout. With his free hand, he then aimed the man's force gauntlet down into the crowd and nodded to the Heavy Barrel to his left flank.

"Right." the man cleared his throat, remaining out of view from below as he shouted down with all his might, "Traitorous scum! We'll show you what happens when you go against Emperor Cole!"

Practically at the same time that last word fell, the officer's gauntlet took over the declaration, supporting it with blasts into the crowd, directed seemingly at random. They weren't of course, but it would've taken the eye of a truly expert marksman to discern that the blasts were targeted to intimidate, not to harm. To anyone else, it appeared as a truly vicious assault.

Not that Arek planned to give anyone the time to distinguish. Mere seconds after the apparent attacker had opened fire, the crowd below was miraculously saved from this terrible assailant by virtue of a clawed hand's push. In truth, the policeman was of course still in dreamland, and stayed there well into the sudden forward pitch of his body - at which point he awoke screaming and did just that all the way down into the open dumpster so conveniently sitting there. A cloud of stench and grime heralded his landing (plenty soft to prevent significant injury, but not enough that he wouldn't feel it in the morning), followed by the traditionally comical clamping shut of the trash container's lid just as the man attempted to stand, KOing him once more.

But it didn't end there.

"People of Praetoria!" Arek bellowed down from the rooftop, now in full view as the supposed savior that had pushed the madly firing officer over the edge just in the nick of time, "Be not afraid, for you are not here alone! Take back your liberty! Your freedom! Your independence! We stand with you, and together we stand strong! Together, we will prevail! Together, we cannot be denied...!"

Arek grumbled. This was completely unsatisfactory. Standing at the roof's ledge, a dim silhouette against the dark night sky, he watched the bright-lit street below with growing displeasure. Where the heck was Powers Division already? If they didn't show up soon, there wasn't any way his plan would work.

The handful of Resistance fighters with him stayed silent. They knew better than to interrupt the azure Drokar when he was in thought like this. Not that he'd actually do harm to them (and they knew this), but they still preferred his attention elsewhere - i.e. not on them.

No, they much preferred t to be on the two that were presently dragging the unconscious riot cop through the stairwell door, though more than one of them wondered at the purpose of this as they laid him down beside their current leader. Was he really going to chuck this guy off the roof...?

"Dispatch!" the officer's voice practically leaped into his transceiver with a bark of anger and frustration, the man keenly bringing his large riot shield about to protect himself, just as he'd been trained to do, "Unit 20 here, officer is down, I repeat officer is down! It's the Cole damned Re-"

He didn't get any further than that, the open palm of a metal a gauntlet brimming with neon-blue energies slamming the shield against the face plate of his helm, crushing both it and the embedded electronics in the process. The blunt force trauma sent the officer to the ground, the savage pain of the strike gone as suddenly as it had appeared, swallowed by the blissful envelope of unconsciousness.

"Not a bad swoop." one of the riflemen complimented the group's Heavy Hands with a sinister smirk, "But he still got off a tattle. Golden boys've probably got the ringy-dingys goin' in every badger den in Pleasantville by now."

The gauntlet-wielding Resistance fighter growled at this, turning back to his comrades while his glare of displeasure passed over the medic ducking past his side to help the downed PPD officer, "You think I don't got those cogitations? If you'd gone and scamped this blueberry, we wouldn't have to worry about that."

A beat of silence passed. The feeling was mutual. Still...

"We got our orders." the rifleman replied steadfastly, "We're just tearing up the screens. No one's getting rattleslapped."

"Smell the rosebuds!" the Heavy Hands barked in return, visibly infuriated, "I don't care what the top-hat said! This is all sideways! No way this mish-mash is gonna go down tea and cookies style! If we don't slam these sheeple...!"

His words stopped there, without warning and from one instant to another. The reason was the collection of frightened expressions on the faces of his comrades - or more accurately, what they stared at behind him that was causing those expressions.

"You have a problem with my orders?" a large, azure hand gently laid its clawed fingers upon the man's left shoulder, the calm, deep grumble of its owner's voice reverberating in his ears. He couldn't see him, but he knew what it must've looked like to have the over two-and-a-half-meter tall Drokar towering over him like that.

He also knew it wasn't really a question. That didn't change his answer, though. With a roar and a whirl, he came about, powered gauntlets aglow, seeking to taste the face of their target.

Regrettably, all they tasted was the ground.

"Now that we have that out of your system," spoke the blue-scaled Dragon after he'd heaved the man through a suplex, a foot on his back and a hand on his head, "if you feel you cannot contribute to the plan as it is, then leave. I will not have you spill further blood due to my negligence. Should you find yourself unable to accept this, I feel I will have to...how do you say? Give it to you polar-bear style without the syrup."

"This applies to the rest of you as well." he stated as he stood again, letting the gauntlet wielder up, "Now move. They are certain to have heard that little outburst of yours..."

Jade smiled softly, glad Paxtera was okay. He waited for her to answer...

I could bring some Laser Beam Dinosaurs...if'n yalls don't renege on the open RP part and go boo to players in America again. <_<

The alien flinched back as Negative Rise's slash reduced her suit's mobility, weakening her defense. Well. That was certainly new. Good thing he stopped to talk shortly thereafter, letting enough time pass for the effect to expire. By the time he attacked again, his opponent's defensive abilities were right back where they'd started.

Well...not exactly.

Just why so many people seemed to expect their adversaries to do nothing when they monologued was a good question, but not one for which the woman cared to find an answer. So instead, she did something. Multiple somethings, in fact. As he laughed, she let the Slavkov's sensors perform surveillance on her opponent, analyzing his offense and defense - especially those shields of his to give her a greater chance of getting through them. Furthermore, she used the gathered information to adjust her stance and increase her own defensive capability, making it much harder for the demon's attacks to strike true so long as he remained in melee with her.

Like right about now.

As his fists came down, her hands went up. Palms caught knuckles and fingers deftly found the gaps between the demon's claws, the woman catching and holding fast both arms of Negative Rise in a fashion much comparable to an industrial vise. But even if the crushing pressure didn't break every bone in those hands (which she somewhat expected; after all, nothing they'd done had affected this guy even in the slightest for some unexplained reason), her armor's attempt to outright incinerate him with the 'fire' it produced in reaction to demon contact wasn't something even Baphomet could've just ignored.

Not that she was going to take that chance. Martial combat was called that for a reason, and thus she simultaneously attempted to crack his skull with a headbutt that came like some twisted form of sledgehammer...
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Eleven Forest

"Uh-oh." Jade's lips retreated and curled down to form that same toothed expression of shock as before, the Dragon hesitating not a moment in darting after Ildela, trying to discern Paxtera's status as well...

Elven Forest

"Um..." Jade looked for (and if possible, to) Kethara, his face an uncertain mixture of both hope and concern, "I'm not...is she...?"
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At

The challengee stopped momentarily in response to the demon's words, looking almost deflated. A grumbled Slavic tone came through the electronic modulation of the exosuit's speaker system, a gruff female voice complaining with a garbled sigh, "Why do I always get the prattle imps?"

She didn't leave Negative Rise (or anyone else, for that matter) a chance to answer that question - though the look of her comrades seemed to have them at a chuckle. Instead, she simply stepped forward to deliver an uppercut, trying to waylay the demon with a well-placed imaginary freight train to the jaw. She didn't split even a lick off for defense, as if his claws weren't something she had to worry about.

While not the truth, it wasn't far therefrom. While the Cerosian-modified Slavkov armor that protected her from harm didn't grant any true invulnerability, it was pretty damn tough. Slashing weapons in general could do little harm to it, often having as much as 90% of their oomph sucked right out of the impact, and this applies to a whole slew of other physical attacks.

But that wasn't the worst of it. Not if the attacker was a demon. The moment Negative Rise made contact with the Slavkov, he'd find out why.

It burned.

Hand, claw, ten foot pole, it didn't matter. If a demon held it, the inscribed script upon the armor attacked it, trying to absorb and bind the essence that gave the demon life. In short, to take apart and imprison the target within the armor, severely weakening it in the process...
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Somewhere Cold

Hunter-killers weren't bright. But we've covered that before. Still, their programming allowed for a few liberties. One of these was to investigate sudden changes in the landscape, and the appearance of a whole low of snow, certainly applied.

And thus it came to pass that one of the machines roughly the size of a small attack helicopter broke off its usual patrol, slowly swiveling about by virtue of the three powerful, compact, and yet presently almost silent jet engines mounted on a pair of fuselage winglets and in a tail sconce. Though they weren't what kept the machine aloft (an unseen field of energy did that job), they were free to pivot with several degrees of freedom, giving the aircraft the exceptional speed and maneuverability that made these machines such efficient hunter-killers.

Well, aside from their heavy payload, that was. To these things, there was no such thing as overkill - only 'open fire' and 'time to reload'.

Reporting its position with a quick databurst, the flying arsenal picked up speed and crossed the new 'border', heading into the snowscape...

((Mkay then, since Rotten and Kyzock seem to have gone MIA...))

Jade breathed a smiling, deeply satisfied sigh as he departed the eatery after he'd finished...well, just about everything that had gotten anywhere near his reach. That had been necessary. He loved being able to eat again.

Heading to the little fae's retreat with relaxed, yet still just a tidbit cautious step, he gave a nod to the fairy to convey that he was ready. If there was nothing else she meant to do first, he'd take her straight to the elf's workshop, and with that to the 'remains' of Bisys...

((*pokes Rotten* Hello? Anybody there?))

Elven Forest

"I..."Jade started, not entirely sure what to say, Kethara's words coming somewhat close to his own inexperience. He'd seen pancakes before, sure. Knowing what they tasted like, however...

Yeah, that pretty much made up his mind. He'd ask for pancakes as well. And if they weren't available...well, he was just about okay with anything so long as he could taste it.

"You sure?" he inquired of the little fae, "You're not hungry...?"
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At

Vetdjat's spirit wasn't going anywhere, this Negative Rise could easily discern. In fact, just a glance at the Khelari's angry eyes would've given any onlooker more than clear indication he was still alive.

He just couldn't move. Oh, how he hated shockers.

Tamrat was nowhere to be found, at least not in the general vicinity. The attackers' equipment, on the other hand, was a good bit easier to make out - powered armor, hermetically sealed and clearly though enough to survive the environment of Khelaris (temporarily at least, but the demon didn't know that), and weapons that resembled Steyr AUGs, at least in the most basic definitions of form. Judging that they fired disabling blasts of energy, they very clearly weren't from Earth.

In addition, the attached magazines gave a fairly clear indication that shocker blasts wasn't all these things could fire, and by the looks of the long cylinders these guys carried on their backs, they likely packed some additional firepower they hadn't pulled out yet. The word bazookas came to mind.

However, the most subtle element of their armament - though it may well have been the most noticeable to the demon - were several discrete patterns etched into their suits themselves. While alien in nature, it wasn't too far-fetched that he just might recognize the purpose of the bulk of them.

Binding runes.

And with their shockers having no effect, the armored troopers seemed rather intent on putting them to use, specifically the ones that graced their knuckles.

And their feet.

And their elbows.

And their knees.

The difference in styles courtesy of two forms being worlds apart couldn't much mask the martial motions of the challenged alien in the powered armor as the gun formerly in hand was let loose to dangle from its shoulder strap. It wasn't the same. But it was close.

Muay Thai.

And as the others stopped firing, the challengee approached...

Wait a sec...the party pack as a facepalm emote? Hm. I might just reconsider the purchase of that...

At

"Oh, a very decent amount, if I say so myself." the elder Khelari smiled, "I'd imagine you'd be most interested in hearing about worlds much like the on you come from, though. Let me think...I believe the last of those they called Kurok. Fascinating place. In essence two worlds on one, so somewhat like here, but not as numerous. They had this crystal web up in the high atmosphere..."

Vetdjat obviously wasn't hesitant to comply with the demon's request, talking at length about this planet where one species had split into two, with the first part living on the planet itself and the second on a gigantic floating structure they'd built about their entire world. It wasn't as amazing as it sounded in the end though, what with some war the two were fighting over reasons long forgotten. It had left the surface devastated, the population that once lived there now underground, and making guerrilla strikes against those living far above them, whose official position was that they had won. Vetdjat made special mention that when he'd asked just what they'd won, they hadn't really been able to give him a reasonable answer - at least not from a Khelari point of view.

"...but what I found most interesting..." he raised a finger, but whatever this most interesting thing had been, the words that were about to tell of it never emerged. Instead, a sound of thunder crashed through the entire complex, followed by at least five more in snapped staccato, plumes of bright-blue flames belching themselves into the sky at several points of the Khelari structure's perimeter.

The floor shook and Vetdjat blinked, still rising up in confusion as the clinks and clangs of metal on metal echoed from the ends of the grapple lines that had attached themselves to the transmission assembly above. The armored troopers that occupied their other ends weren't far behind, vaulting over the transparencies about the communications center and swiftly forming a circle about the two.

They said not a word, instead opening fire immediately, the unseen pulses of their heavy shockers slamming Vetdjat off his perch and to the floor, body rendered numb and uncontrollable from the disabling energies. The attackers didn't restrict themselves to the Khelari, however. In fact, if Negative Rise had a guess, it seemed a good bit more of them were firing at him than Vetdjat...