OminousVoice

Commander Union slammed his fist into his clones face. The impact produced a ripple in the air, a miniature shockwave. The Union clone was knocked off his feet and flew backward into the oncoming army of clones. Union stared in disbelief as three more versions of himself emerged from the mist.

They strode forward like juggernauts. He spotted the Shivan, Steve battling his way through, firing radiation bursts at every clone he could see. Union had battled and defeated Shivans in the past, even Decimators. He knew that if even one of his clones attacked Steve, the Shivan would be in serious trouble. The Union clones were unfazed as they continued their relentless march and were soon joined by the first clone.

Union looked up at the angelic white form of Annie. There was a look in his eyes that betrayed his feelings. He was afraid. Not for himself, but for Annie, for Steve, for the other heroes and for the people of this city. He closed his eyes.

"Go help the Shivan." He said. His voice wasn't loud, but carried both conviction and solemnity.

Union strode forward toward the quartet of his clones. He looked at each of their faces. Each of them was a reflection of his own. Each of them cold and emotionless. All four clones had Union's titanic strength. All four had his megalithic durability. The eerie glows in their foreheads were their weakness, but with their heads being as hard as his, it would require every drop of strength he had to take them down.

He stopped. He had to make sure they attacked no-one else but him. He reached up and removed the blue titanium mantle that framed his face. He let it drop to the ground. Once again he eyed his clones. They marched through the mist like the four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Union planted his feet and stared his opponents down.

"C'mon." he whispered. "C'mon! C'MON!"

The clones rushed him. They came forth with a barrage of blows. Union tried to block or dodge as many as he could but the four Union clones just continued to pummel him. Each punch was like a freight train, sending small shockwaves through the air. Their relentless assault brought Union to his knees. Each time he tried to move another punch landed. Union had never taken beating like this. He had never been hit so hard.

The lamp-post collided with the Union clones forehead. the clones head reeled from the impact. The orange glow flickered for a moment. The clone stood still while this little orange light flickered like a firefly. After a moment the glow stabilised, returning to its original intensity.

Union glanced up at his clone with a look of worry. That bright spot would have to be hit alot harder. The clone swung his arm back, knocking Union to the ground once more. It reached down and retrieved the lamp-post. It threw it at Annie like a javelin. Fortunately it missed Annie by inches and hurtled past her. Unfortunately, a civilian had wandered into the fog and gotten lost. Union watched in horror as the lamp-post struck the poor man with full force, crushing his chest and killing him instantly.

A rage built up inside Union the like of which he had never before known. He clambered to his feet. The image of that mans death replayed in his mind. The adrenaline flowed freely, stoking the fires of his fury, fueling his already titanic power. With an almighty roar, one that would likely be heard by all in the vicinity, Union charged at the murderous clone.

The car flew toward the Union clone. The clone caught the vehicle with ease and tore it in half as if it were tinfoil. Commander Union by this time had figured out that this clone had all of his abilities. If this clone wasn't stopped it would become a major threat to the city and it citizens.

Union had heard someone shout something about the glow on thier heads earlier. Thier weak spot. However, when Union had his clone pinned he had pounded its head, including the orange glow. The clone shared his power, including his molecular density. It seemed this weak spot wasn't so weak.

Union racked his brain, desperately searching for a way to stop the clone. Union knew his only weakness was psychic assaults. But he wasn't sure if that would work on the clone and there was no way to find out.

By now the Union clone was dangerously close to Annie. One punch would kill her, or at best seriously cripple her. Union did the only thing he could for now. He flew toward the clone like a bullet and tackled it. The clone stumbled, but remained on its feet. It brought a devastating double axehandle chop down on Union's back. Union dropped to his knee, still maintaining his grip. Hopefully this would give Annie opportunity to either gather strength for another attack or run. Either way she needed time.

The clone felt the increase in gravity. It lurched under its own increasing weight, slowing, but still moving. It stopped a moment, seemingly pondering its position. It appeared to know what was happening to it. If it was gravity that was hindering the Union clone, it would defy it. The Union clone's feet left the ground and it began to hover. Now even with the localised gravity distortion the clone was still able to move with its intended speed. It floated closer to Annie, priming its fist for another devastating punch.

However, behind the clone, a caped figure rose amongst the murk. From within the darkness a voice boomed:-
"HEY! Pick on someone your own size!"

The mysterious doppelganger reached down and gripped Commander Union by the hair, hoisting him up with effortless ease. It reared its fist back and drove it with full force into Unions jaw. The impact of the punch was enough to break a building in half. Union was knocked back several hundred meters and vanished in the mist.

The Union clone turned slowly and spotted the nearby Steve. It watched as the shivan lumbered toward the clone of Amber Banshee. With puposeful strides the Union clone marched toward Steve, priming its fist for a mighty blow. The Union clone got within two feet of Steve. It reared back it fist.

Like bolt of red and blue lighting Commander Union, the real Commander Union, hurtled out of the murk and tackled the clone to the ground like a freight train. He began pounding his fists into the clones face. Each punch causing the clones head to become deeper buried into the dirt. The clone glared back at Union, utterly expressionless. It drove its fist into Unions stomach, sending him up into the air. The clone was on its feet before Union landed.

It had stepped forward to continue it's assault when it was interrupted by a filing cabinet colliding with its shoulder. The clone was unfazed but appeared to be aggravated somewhat. It turned toward the source of the flying object and spotted Annie. The Union clone glared at Annie through mists as it began its march toward her.

The gas rose like an ominous tower of murk. Commander Union's effort had caused it spiral up into a vortex, thus keeping it from spreading across the city. However Union had to keep up a tremendous speed and it had taken its toll on him. No other heroes had attempted to help him and he simply could not maintain his speed. His flight began to dip and he circled lower and lower around the cloud. He desperately tried to fight off exhaustion but it was fight he was losing. He was beginning to slow down. The gas cloud slowly began to consume him as he spiraled closer and closer to the ground.

He collided with the ground at more than 250 miles per hour. The impact was tremendous, kicking up large amounts of dirt and debris. A normal person would've been vapourised, but not Union. His power came from his mutation - an incredibly dense molecular structure. This afforded him titanic physical strength and the durability to withstand a cruise missile.

The viscous murk slowly drifted over the crater left by Unions impact. After a few minutes a hand emerged, clawing its way out of the hole. Union was still conscious. He heaved himself up over the caters cusp before collapsing of exhaustion.

The gas drifted over him like a malevolent spectre. His eyes opened wearily. He saw a shape in the fog, a humanoid shape. The shape moved towards him slowly. Someone was coming to help him, he thought. The shape moved closer and Union could make out colours. Red and blue. Definitely a hero. He then caught sight of the emblem on the figure's chest. A stylised golden eagle much like his own - no, exactly like his own. He watched carefully as the figure approached him. He saw its face - he saw his own face.

My DM/DA brute has lain waste to almost every EB it's encountered. The only ones that gave me trouble were Calystyx and Infernal. That was primarily due to the fact that they have pets summons. Calystyx was a particular pain because I was barely level 20 something and had little in the way of aggro management to deal with those damn coral pets. DM is pretty much a single target set so I have to rely on DA to keep things under control.
Undoubtedly my DM/DA brute's finest moment was knocking seven flavours of caviar out of Barracuda whilst simultaneously soaking up the damage from the dozen or so mobs that accompanied her. Glorious.

The noise was horrible. Commander Union closed his eyes and covered his ears, hoping to blot the horrendous din out. He focused for a moment. Slowly his ears became accustomed and he noticed that the sound seemed to be comprised of several different frequencies. Each perhaps used to affect the various ranges of hearing that the assembled heroes possessed. Union didn't know for sure. What he did know was that this 'visitor' was becoming increasingly intrusive.

He looked down and spotted a plume of gas emanating from the meteor. He watched as it grew ever larger. He caught a whiff of the gas and it left a bitter taste in his mouth. Whatever this was it certainly did not seem friendly.

He dived down towards the edge of the gas cloud. He forced all of his strength into his flight and began circling the cloud as fast as he could. Round and round the cloud he flew. His speed and resultant pressure waves in the air were just enough to keep the cloud from expanding further. However, he couldn't keep this up for long. He was flying as fast as he could, he guessed close to 500mph. At this speed he would tire very quickly and hoped that other heroes might join him before he did.

"Can everyone just stay back please!" boomed Commander Union.

He had struggled to keep the ever growing crowd of civilians from gathering too close to the fallen meteorite. Crowd control was not his forté.

"Please stay back. We have yet to assess the danger, so please keep your distance." He yelled.

He peered over his shoulder to see the budded tentacle that had sprouted from the meteorite begin to the fire its violet pulses. Instinctively he dived in the path of any heading toward the civilian crowd. About a dozen must've hit him as he darted about, intercepting as many as he could. He stopped when he realised that the bolts of energy didn't appear to be harmful. In fact they where almost pleasurable. It was an odd sensation, but not entirely unpleasant.

Still, he was wary. He instructed a nearby PPD officer to call for backup and set up a perimeter. No-one yet knew what they were dealing with and his first concern was the safety of Paragons citizens. He launched himself into the air. He rose higher and higher until he joined the the group of heroes surveying the situation from the air. He peered down upon the massive impact crater. He found himself wondering if any one had been caught beneath that thing as it landed. He called out to a hero hovering nearby.

"What do you make of this?"

Is anything happening with this at all?

The orange glow was unmissable in the darkness, as was the shadow that accompanied it. A hideous grin stretched across the Primogen's pallid face. He outstretched his long bony finger, pointing it toward the shaman womans doorway. He wiggled it, as if to tickle the air. He watched as the shaman womans doorway curtain bellowed in a psychokenetic breeze.

Two days he had sat perched in that tree. Two days of acute sensory scrutiny of the the woman in the clearing and of the village. However his slightly distant proximity to the village meant his monitoring of their activities was not as eagle-eyed as it was in the cave.
The woman was unconscious. She had been bound for so long without food or water. Her lips were chapped and her breathing dangerously shallow. The Primogen had begun to grow weary of waiting. He contemplated putting the poor woman out of her misery himself. He was just about to leave when he heard the rustling of footsteps in the undergrowth. The two men were returning.

He watched as they untied the woman and took her back to the village. Perhaps they were as bored waiting for something to happen the Primogen thought to himself. Once the men and their captive were well out of sight, he hopped down from the tree and made his way back to his cave, moving through the jungle like a shadow.

He sat down on the cold stone floor and resumed his psychic monitoring. As he focused his mind he pondered the oddness of the villagers at night. They always seemed harder to read after dark. In fact some seem to drop off his radar entirely. This thought concerned him. He continued to peruse the thoughts of the villagers for a couple of hours.

About three hours passed. The Primogen heard noises from the village. He peered out and saw the two men once more, this time they were dragging a man behind them. He was bound and and gagged just as the woman was two nights earlier. Their first victim obviously failed to entice whatever beast they wanted to invoke.

The Primogen became even more curious about this new habit of theirs. He swiftly made his way back to the clearing. He arrived unseen and before the hooded men and their new sacrifice. He perched in the same tree as before, remaining a still as a statue.

The hooded men repeated their actions from two night previous. They stripped and bound the man to that hideous skeletal tree. Then they did something new. One of the men drew a blade and swiftly marked the bound man across the chest. The Primogen's nostrils flared as the scent of blood hit them. The men quickly scanned the surrounding jungle before making their way back to the village.

It seemed they wanted to entice their beast with blood. It certainly enticed the Primogen. He had not fed in a few days and was feeling a little peckish. He began to chuckle. Then he stopped. It was him. They wanted him. His face contorted into a scowl. The mark on the bound mans chest was in the shape of a V. V for vampire.

He raced back to his cave as silently as he left. He was furious. It had been staring him in the face. There was a reason behind the elusive minds of the villagers at night. Someone among them was shielding them and the Primogen had a good idea who. Among those who seemed to shroud themselves was the village shaman. This old woman is an influential voice in the village. A little too influential for the Primogen's liking.

Something disturbed him deeply. In twelve thousand years of living there had only ever been one being capable of detecting the Primogen's presence, and the Primogen knew for certain that that being was not here. But this shaman appeared to to be aware of a vampiric presence. Why else would they go to the trouble of setting up sacrifices? However, it was clear that the shaman knew little else. Those quaint little sacrifices might fly with the local bloodsuckers, but not with the Primogen.

The Primogen scoured the village both psychically and visually. He ignored the rest of the village and concentrated on the shaman alone. He would find her.

The darkness was not an obstacle to the eyes of the Primogen. He had seen the two shadowy figures running from the village. This was unusual activity.

The men disappeared into the jungle, they were dragging a woman behind them. They moved quickly and steadily. He could hear her breathy panting as she was being exerted to the limits of her stamina. The view from his cave did not afford him a good vantage of them. The darkness was not an obstacle, but the trees were. This warranted investigation.

He emerged from the cliff face like a spectre, before leaping down several hundred feet to the ground. He could still her laboured breathing. He moved like lightning through the trees, his feet never touching the ground. He didn't have to go far. He found the woman and her dark captors in a clearing not far from the village. They were binding to a hideous white tree. It's dead limbs clawing the air like skeletal hand. The Primogen ensconced himself among the branches of a tree. He sat enshrouded by foliage and darkness. He remained eerily still, like a gargoyle.

The clouds parted and the moonlight illuminated the clearing. He watched as they stripped the woman of her clothing. She was trembling. Partly because of the chilly night air, but mainly in fear. She folded her legs as best she could to hide her modesty. Her tearful eyes glistened in the moonlight. Her whimpers blended seamlessly into the jungles quiet symphony.

The two dark robed men waited for a few moments, scanning the surrounding area for something. They did not see the obfuscated Primogen. Satisfied, they left and returned to the village. The Primogen primed his senses. His nostrils flared, his eyes focused and his ears absorbed every sound.

Something was coming.

That makes sense, though I think 220 would be a better number, so as be be sizable, but not unmanageable.

The Primogen did not reply. There was no need to. He chuckled for a moment. The Countess' aristocratic arrogance served her well at this juncture. How fitting she should choose to be the public face of the LoRDs machinations.

He began his whisperings to the villagers. He mimicked each voice so perfectly, he was indistinguishable from their own thoughts. A little word here, a gentle nudge there. They would never know they were being played so effortlessly. They were a proud and stubborn people, yet so easily undermined.

The Primogen's mind whispered. His haunting mental voice seemly coming from everywhere and yet nowhere.

"A change is coming. Whether it is good or bad I cannot see. Where there was once neutrality, there is now strife. The death of one has brought many into conflict. This conflict I can steer, but a course is needed."

The Eastern Mountains - Liberty Isles

He slowly lowered himself into a sitting position. The small cave was just as he left it. He had been away for several days. In fact the Primogen had left the Liberty Isles altogether and had returned to the Etoile Isles. His departure, absence and return had all gone entirely unnoticed.

He had found himself drawn back to the Rogue Isles. Something compelled him, some primal force had stirred deep within him, something that had to be satisfied. Upon his arrival in the Etoiles, he had soon discovered what it was that urged him. He swiftly satisfied that urge. For the first time in over four thousand years he sired a progeny. Such was a rare thing for the Primogen. He chose his new offspring with utmost care. His blood was supremely potent. His new child would be many times more powerful than other fledglings. He gifted his new child with his protection. She, like him, would remain undetectable. Shortly after, he left the Rogue Isles, fulfilled.

He lay down on the cold damp stone. It was raining outside the cave. The gentle rush of water on rock, punctuated with intermittent drips echoing in the cave was soothing. His mind relaxed and soon the voices of the village below came into focus. He listened. Something had changed. The mood was sombre, mournful. A voice was missing. The village elder whose birthday had recently been celebrated had died. That now lost voice had been an influential one among the villagers. A change was coming, one the LoRDs might not appreciate.

He sent a whisper with his mind to the Countess. "I have news."

Astounding work. My lexicon is inadequate.

From Fear to Eternity

You know me. You know so well. Most try to deny me but I am always there. I am the shiver down your spine when the lights go out. I am the voice of discord. I am the whisper in the dark. I am the turgidity in the pit of your stomach. I make blood curdle and bones tremble. I am that which ceases every muscle and paralyses every thought. I am the scream which pierces your very soul. I am your nightmares. I lie deep within your heart and mind. I am that which you know so intimately. I am fear.

"The oldest and strongest emotion of mankind is fear." - H.P. Lovecraft

Such is my primal nature, for I was the first thing you felt as you left the womb. Indeed, I was the first thing many a consciousness felt as they sprang into existence. To become extant, those first steps into the unknown are where I myself came into being.

I have existed since the birth of consciousness. Long before this maelstrom of stars, galaxies and nebulae burst into existence, I had been extant. Conscience did not begin with this universe. It was in places intangible, incorporeal and ethereal. These first ones were beings of no form or substance, just pure thought and emotion. They moved through the ether, engaging one another, developing, growing, evolving. As they grew more complex, so did I. Now I am everywhere. Every plane of existence, every reality. Wherever consciousness exists, so do I. From the tiniest insect to the mightiest god, all are subject to fear.

"Fear makes us feel our humanity." - Benjamin Disraeli

Without me, without instinct in general, you are nothing. A life without fear may seem appealing, but a life without fear is no life at all. I am the reason you survive. Without fear you would have no sense of danger. Without fear extinction would arrive far sooner. Indeed, without fear you are nothing, but conversely and most importantly, without you I am nothing.

I am everywhere. Whereas some can 'see the bigger picture', I see the whole gallery. Such a lofty vantage point is advantageous, yet it is the finer details that are missed. Your universe is one such detail. I exist there, as you well know, but I wish to know what it is to be there as you are. As a physical entity.

And thus I have created an avatar. A physical manifestation of myself. I chose your world because I felt it was malleable. A place where I could affect the environment as well as its inhabitants. I did not foresee the difficulty in such an achievement. I focused my being into a single point, sharp enough to pierce the veil between the incorporeal and the physical. You will never understand the effort it took. The result was a formless nebulous mass, but it had substance. It was a physical presence.

By your calendar the year was 6400 BC. My new form had no power. I could feel the rest of myself, the fears of others, yet could not hold sway over them. I suppose a suitable analogy would be being able to feel ones fingers, yet unable to move them. I found that this ambient fear was forging connections between myself and my avatar, and soon enough I found my avatar able to move.

Time passed. I could feel it. It was a strange feeling. To be bound in three dimensions and only experiencing the fourth in infinitely thin slices. Strange indeed. The passage of time was synonymous with my avatars increase in strength. No longer was my avatar a vapourous cloud, but a solid shape, a humanoid shape. I would stalk among the human populous, feeding from their fears. Often my appearance would itself inspire fear within others, further feeding my avatar.

"Time is the longest distance between two places." - Tennessee Williams

The slow creaking cogs of time moved ever on. Centuries. Millennia. It was a slow ache, throbbing. I have yet to get used to it. The year was 932 AD. The heart of Europe was in the grip of superstition, dread and fear. My grip. By this time my avatar had a name - The Knightmare. As the Knightmare I resided at the epicentre of the Dark Ages. My power was such that I was connected to every mind on the planet to a greater or lesser extent. All were my puppets.

I had taken the guise of a colossal black knight. I would ride out out and spread terror and destruction. I brought the mighty to their knees and caused the courageous to cower in terror. To look upon me was to look into the abyss itself. I created legends, whispered tales and forbidden folklore. The name of the Knightmare would become a curse to those who uttered it.

I did not, however, go unchallenged. There were some who had power of their own. Mages, wizards, sorcerers. A cabal had banded together. They had discovered the truth and they feared it. They drew upon forces as yet unquantified by humanity, that which is known as magic. They used to it severe my avatars connection with them. They then suppressed their emotions further in an attempt to ensure I held as little sway over them as possible.

"Courage is not the lack of fear but the ability to face it." - Lt. John B. Putnam Jr.

Battle commenced. My power eclipsed theirs by many times but their courage and determination spurred them. I admired them for it. They knew they had not the power to destroy my avatar the Knightmare, but they could weaken its connection to me. And weaken it they did. Even then it was still an effort to maintain my physical form. Their assault taxed me further. In thier final, fatal effort they succeeded in banishing my avatar to the incorporeal plane known as the Void.

The connection was severed. My avatar was was nothing but a powerless, motionless husk. The vast, almost godly power it had accumulated was scattered across creation. It seemed my brief sojurn into corporeality was at an end. It mattered very little to me, as it was merely an experiment, an excerise in curiosity. I would continue as I always had, existing as instinct among consciousness.

It is called the Void for that is what others see, but it is a misnomer. The Void is its own universe, with worlds and conscious entities, much like your own. To them it is as physical as your universe is to you. For more than a thousand years my dead avatar remained in the Void. As glass in water it was invisible to the Voids inhabitants, yet its presence was undeniable.

Then something happened. The increasing interdimensional activity antecedent to the use of portal technology and various other means caused a shift. My avatar was shunted back to the physical plane. I felt the threads of connection return. I found myself as the Knightmare in the middle of a breakout in the place known as Ziggursky Prison. I was weak, very weak, but the ambient fear was thick and heavy. I soon gained strength enough to maintain my form and fight my way out.

Now I am returned to this world, the Knightmare Revenant. I find myself in a world permeated with fear, dread and trepidation. Despots and warmongers rule. Invaders seek to destroy. Terror threatens to grip the hearts of the masses. In the months since my return my power has increased substantially, yet it is no where near the level it was during the Dark Ages. I feel the ache of time once more. It is only time that lies between me and continuation of what I began.

Death Shroud is an odd power. It's benefits aren't immediately seen. It's damage output isn't great and the end drain is quite high, but it does build fury, albeit very small amounts. Speaking of fury, once it's high enough DS does do noticeable damage and can really help with your DPS.

I felt arty, but not particularly energetic, so here's a rough sketch of my main villain.

Knightmare sketch

...and here's a couple I did earlier.

Knightmare looking evil and stuff
Commander Union looking swish
(Yes I know those last two have been posted before, but by the power of Greyskull, if I want to show them again I will. )

Sounds like a cracking notion. Yes that costume creator is truly magnificent. Despite its vast scope, it is still ultimately limited, and it takes some creativity to come up with something thats stylish, unique or just plain awesome looking. I think it's a great idea Hates.

I'm in. I've got a couple of cossies that might be worth consideration.

Whoohoo! Cheers guys! Thank you so much.

I took the liberty of adding categories for VEATS, as there are now articles that link to them.

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almost everyone's build is different.

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Eh, yeah, right.

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Well, technically I am right, though in fairness those differences are minor. An enhancement here, a bonus there.