TheSoviet

The Magus walked slowly down the street, demons unable to sense his heat at all. Behind him, cool mist rose from where he stepped, and the unblinking eyes stared out from under the dragon's skull.

Time seemed to slow down as he walked. Loose papers drifted incredibly slowly, and as he passed a clock ((That was off anyway)) The second hand slowly, slowly moved.

Tick.

He was past the item before the second tick.

He heard people ahead.

((He's using a weird power that slows time, but only to him. As in, he can move really fast by just walking, if that makes any sense. To everyone else he's a quick-moving shadowy figure. Think Dark Servant.))

((Am I with the enemy Trolls?))

Marcus looked around the Mentalist's large head.

"Did you hear that?"

"INCOMING!"

Marcus turned to see Craig listening to his magic radar.

"Several bogeys. Magics...Comin'..."

He adjusted the machine several times before giving up. "They musta sensor-proofed this base for magic supers. They're here, but I don't know where they're comin' from."

Marcus relaxed. "Lower your pluggers, troops."

Turning to the Mentalist, he bows his head a little bit. "Yeh, I can answer any questions ya got. As for why we're here, HQ wants to get its hands on the prototype Heavies. Prolly gunna make 'em into a new Titan class or somethin'. What about you guys?"

"Done!"

Not half of a second after the elevator door was forced open due to dedicated Maltan technology, the elevator shot past them.

"The hell?!" Marcus screamed, looking up the shaft. He saw...

Little did the Rikti know, the Maltans were directly below them, hacking the same elevator.

((Yeah, Devious, we can say they have ties.))

((Oh, fine. By the way, Cowman, Earthworm Jim = best game ever.))

The Circle of Thorns mages looked among each other. Each was older, more powerful than any of these demons would ever hope to be. But they were not going to be staying.

They had a summon to cast.

Thunder strikes the ground and water in Tokyo Bay swirls with whirlpools as they activate the hyper-range teleport spell. In a brilliant, blinding flash of light, and a clap of thunder, their summon is there.

Before them stands a man, the skull of a dragon covering his head. Eyes as chilling as ice stare blankly, a misty blue energy radiating from them. The man is by no means weak-looking - Though no skin can be seen, he stands tall at 6 feet even, with a powerful build shaped under his robes.

None could guess that he was older than Tokyo itself.

The mages seperate, the spell complete. Scattered blessings and magickal energy releases blow in the breeze, and the summoned one looks up.

He knows his job.

---

Stepping to the edge of the robotic defenses of the Tokyo Bay area, he watches a large wolf-like demon eat a promising hero alive. Wordlessly, the summoned one walks out of the safe zone, approaching the wolf.

The beast looks up, snarling, and begins to charge right as the Mage throws something out from under his hood. A small glass vial explodes in the demon's face, a stinging liquid filling its eyes and sending it to the ground. With another vial broken against its body, the demon loses its life. But the Summoned One is not bound by such things.

The demon slowly rises, reforming itself, bones snapping off and on and sinew tearing and seeping away until all that is left is two humanoid skeletal warriors. The mage merely waves his hands, and the skeletons' lower arms are charged with negative power, enabling them superior melee and ranged attacks.

The Circle of Thorns is here, and the demons will soon be gone.

But certainly nowhere but under the heels of the Archmagi of the Thorns.

((Heheheh.))

"Shh. There it is again." Marcus breathed. The thrumming of plasma. He couldn't tell how close it was, or from what direction, but his attention was just about to shift, as six Longbow Minigunners came stumbling around the corner, safties off.

The Engineer Commander had barely begun to yell his favorite curse when the OpOfficer, an African man by the name of Williams, dove forward, ducking several bullets and flinging a flashbang at the Longbow's faces.

When the agents of good could see again, they would only see the barrels of a chaingun of their own design.

Msgt. Williams made short work of them. Marcus clapped. "Good going."

Williams didn't even look up, only saying: "I'm keeping it."

If the plasma-users didn't know they were there before, they sure did now...

((Bing!))

There was no sound.

"Okay, let's get on this door." Marcus growled, his Maltans happily rising and moving to the scanner-locked gate.

"Big."

"No [censored], private."

"Cut the chatter! I always knew this thing would come in handy."

Marcus produced, from a small pouch on his side, a finger in a test tube. Uncorking the bottle and drawing disgusted faces from the grunts of the cell, he presses the lifeless finger firmly against the scanner.

Welcome to A13, Agent Kurst.

The door began to slide open. Craig looked to his commander, who laughed.

"Kurst was a Longbow cryptographer in Mercy. After me 'n Curtis disposed of him I imprinted some of his DNA on this finger. I've got dozens of dead Longbow genetics stored on this thing - only problem is, Longbow's security computers register them as KIA after one use after they die. So I gotta get some new prints every now and again."

As the Maltans walked into the open door, Marcus muttered a thanks to the "Idiots who built this stuff."

((We're in the caves, so we're close.))

The Maltans heard the elevator.

"Defensive positions!" Barked Marcus. They waited.

The Trolls were already there and ready.

"Hoooooowah!"

Cold could see a large group of Trolls entering one of the team areas. It looked like a Caliban, three Gardvords, and several Trollkin of various sorts. There was 'dyne all around, and they didn't look friendly...

"Let's move it." The OpOfficer snarled, "This place gives me the creeps. Feels like some catwoman or angsty [censored] super's gonna jump outta tha frikkin' rocks."

"Quit that talk, soldier." Marcus sighed, "You know we could take 'em."

"Yeah, still don't like it though."

"Shh."

Marcus heard...

Plasma, somewhere near.

Not many groups use plasma.

((Isn't the WL an EB?))

((Oh yeah, and if Marcus were to get sent packing, I have another group that would be...

...interesting.))

((Right then.))

The gunslinger's training holds true, and as a bullet sinks straight into the barrel of one of the cannons, it sputters and emits a surge of power, sending electricity down the hall and shocking the other cannons out of commission.

"Well, if there's robotic defenses in here that didn't know we were here, they do now." Marcus snarls, "Good shot, but let's get moving. We don't have time to stop everything, so employ stealth where possible. Copy?"

"Copy."

"Good, now let's go. Someone gimmie a cigar."

"Sir, you said be stealthy. The cigar would add to thermals..."

"To hell with that, now gimmie that smoke or I'll smoke you."

"Yessir...."

Marcus nodded to the Gunslinger, who rubbed his hands. Licking his lips and securing his Stetson, the pistoleer loads up two clips of EMP shot, one for each magnum. Peering out at the cannons, he thinks he can make the shot. Taking a good long look at the guns, he is interrupted as one of the TacOps sneezes.

And the cannons whir up to fire.

"Dammit, you!" Marcus snarls as he dives for cover, Craig throwing down an autoturret to draw the fire, "Shoot it now!"

The gunslinger empties his clips.

((*Rubs hands together evilly and hands Marcus a cigar*))

Marcus took a drag of his cigar.

"Okay, cell fourteen, let's get rollin'."

The ex-gangster surveyed his small cell. Him, a Gunslinger, an Operations Officer, a Sapper, his apprentice Engineer Commander, Craig Weston, ((Just a Tactical Engineer.)), and four TacOps. Only nine.

Damn.

At the sound of a snapping twig he waves his men down, sending the squad prone and crawling. He checks his GPS - The entrance is a mere fifty yards ahead. He quietly rises behind a tree and surveys the door.

It was open.

"Odd." He whispered into his Commlink, using a heavily encrypted channel only useable by his own cell. "Seems some fool Longbow has left the gates swung open for us. Let's not insult his hospitality."

A few rustling moments later, and the entire Maltan crew is sitting in the branches of a tree right outside of the door.

"Don't touch the ground. Possible minefield." Marcus breathes as his fellow engineer draws a grapplegun. With a thumping noise, it is secured just above the door, and Marcus is sliding into the belly of the beast...

((Marcus is the boss, by the way - The Gunslinger is a lieutenant.))

((Well...I use (())'s to signify that I'm speaking out of character. It's widely accepted in most roleplaying circles around CoX.))

1. I'd say.

2. Completely sporatic, cannot be defined.

3. Pretty much all of that time.

4. 7. Ramier shares my sudden decision making and love of explosions. No, I'm not a communist.

5. It opens a new world; Our world is boring. Lasers and superpowers are not.

6. Yes. And yes.

7. We are a roleplayers only group.

8. I'm not sure...You'd have to go to our website. ((www.killersofvirtue.net)) and ask there.

9. Can't count on me in game, but I'm pretty much a forum troll here, so that wouldn't be a problem.

Snikker takes his hand and shakes very heartily. "Me'z Snikka, latz look awesum 'n dat armor."

"Skah, noh, dis is ma trop-ee-kul vaykayshun!"

"Akorse ah'm goin' ta mersenairee skool!!"

((Bing!))

The next entry nearly fell out of the boat.

"Whooooooooa. Dat wuz a kraZee ride!" Snikker the troll said to noone.

"Dat was almost as gud as dat 'dyne dey gayvme when me got dat testin' f'r da Cownsul!" He giggled, starting to fall again. But he stopped himself.

With a solid construct of darkness.

Shaking his head, orienting himself, he surveys the other two students. A dog and a 'bot? Nodding to them, eyeing them as seriously as a Troll can, he sits down on the beach, juggling small bolts of negative energy. He didn't know if he would like this all that much. Why couldn't he get sent to that goody-goody school like his brother, Prikker? They coulda really screwed things up there....But this looked boring.

Skah.

((Any problems with Trollish can be asked. It took me a bit to get it; Skah is profane. It's pretty much the only Trollish curse, but as you can imagine, it's used quite a bit!))

"HOOWAH!"

"HOOWAH!"

The Trolls let out hooping hollers in turn as they sprint out of the camp, flipping through the air and cartwheeling in excitement.

"HOOWAH!"

"Der he go, der he go, it peanut-butta..."

"AHM DA JUGGANAWT BEEETCH!"

Running and laughing, the Trolls are charging unthinkingly into combat. Darkness seeps from the very earth itself, and vines seem to swell in size.

And the Trolls are fighting, once again.