Arachidamia - Mythos and Mayhem (Story)

((Damn. Only just got this finished.

This is a tale of two women, Arachidamia of the Unity Vigil, belonging to Gideon, and Natasha Sheers, one of my NPC's of several years now. Doing what Damia does best. There's also more than a few Rocky Horror references in there for some reason, so... here is Mythos and Mayhem.))

11/11/08

It was early.

Ungodly early.

But as a reporter for the Paragon Metro, Natasha Sheers was used to having to make small sacrifices like a full night of sleep for her work. The twenty three year old already had her own column in the paper. Or did have, till the Editor pulled it for a particularly damning piece she did on the War Walls and the administration that keeps the 'ineffective prison walls running, less to keep invaders out and the populace contained'.

She waited on the corner of the small street in Talos Island's Chinatown outside the Hun Lo and Son Butchers, dressed in black jeans, brown leather boots and a thick sweater, with a long coat with a hood pulled up to try and ward off the chill. At the lower levels of the island, closer to the sea, the chilling wind you got from the coast was particularly biting. The addition of a cashmere scarf and lambswool lined gloves didn't give her a noticeable effect in warding off the cold weather. The cup of coffee in one hand certainly helped though.

It is by caffeine alone I set my mind in motion, It is the beans of the Java, that my mind acquires speed-

Natasha shuddered and tried to push the mantra out of her mind. Just another remnant of Paragon City University culture.

It had just gone half six, a glance at her watch told her. Natasha was hoping that the reason for her being up early would arrive soon. Tucked under an arm was her camera case and an A4 envelope containing some critical information. Hmong Tsoo fighting Warriors belonging to Actaeon, and stealing magical artifacts off them. What made this story more interesting, and thus more appealing to get in on the action with exclusive photos, was the fact that having had the information checked out, it seemed like the artifacts had 'Bad' written all over them on one side, and 'Lovecraftian' embossed on the other.

“Quicker than expected.” A woman's voice came from behind her, the hint of a smile with the words.

Startling a little, Natasha span round to see Mary Lewis, the aquamarine haired and firmly built fighter, looking at her with a slight smirk. “I don't half-[censored] these things, M.” Natasha replied with a shrug, peering over the top of her glasses at her friend. “And I thought I'd compare the exterior to the blueprints.”

Mary was dressed in... well, one could consider her outfit to be pretty normal for the City of Heroes. Dark red, form fitting leather pants with belted running across the legs, a thick belt with a Talsorian blade-hilt slipped into its 'scabbard', a matching leather bustier with buckles running up the middle, covered by a black trench coat. The tips of her bronze bracers could be seen, and a black diamond half mask was smoothed into her place over the middle part of her face.

She'd forgone the polished, winged headpiece and the shoulder pads on this occasion, but the MAGI-liaised ex-Warrior known as Arachidamia the Warrior Princess; Xena (but never to her face) and “Ohgodit'sherrunbeforesheAAARGH!”, cut an imposing figure. She regarded the reporter with her greenish-brown eyes before speaking.

“Remember your promise, Nat. If I say we bale, we bale.” She reminded her before sighing with a smile, holding her hand out. “What've you got?” She wasn't quite expecting Natasha to pass over the half drunk cup of coffee.

“Plain ol' Americano.” Natasha grinned, before going for the blueprints. She'd taken the liberty to make a photocopy, and then a second one that she'd scribbled notes on. Motioning her escort... guard... accomplice? Over to a small dip between buildings, she laid it down atop a barrel and took out her LED keyring.

“All this area outlined in orange is the storefront part. There's only one door in from the shop to the warehouse, though 'meat locker' might be a better term.” Natasha gestured, tracing a Ember Red painted fingernail across the diagram.

“Should be a secure one then.” Mary murmured, taking a sip from the cup.

“I've not seen anyone inside yet, so that's something. Round the back, the meat locker and warehouse proper I've marked out in yellow. There's a loading door to the rear of it, and there's this door here,” Natasha gestured to one facing onto a side alley, “Is our best bet.”

“Those will be close quarters if we have to escape...” Mary mused, before shaking her head. “I trust your intelligence though.”

Natasha's cheeks flushed a little from the prai- ... From the biting cold air. Of course.

“Only other thing I think we can add is that they brought all four relics in from a second hand UPS van. That's still round the back, so I can... uh, commender it to whisk them away if you think it's needed.” Natasha -felt- Mary's eyebrow shoot up before she even looked. “... Girl learns a few things growing up in a home.” She said, referring to the... commune, perhaps being the best term, of mutants she'd spent her teenage years with after she lost her family in the Hollowing.

“Especially when Isaac Anderson is involved, I suppose.” Mary said with an arch smile. The owner of The Pits, one of Paragon's popular Alternative and BDSM nightclubs and venues was a 'character'. Best leave it at that.

“You're not wrong there, Mary.” The reporter laughed. “So... are you ready?”

“Always,” Arachidamia nodded, her next sentence cutting off as she reached a hand up to touch a finger to her earpiece.

”Good morning Mary, this is BODICIA speaking.” The AI of the Unity Vigil said to one of it's veteran members.

“Morning Bodi. Something the matter?” Mary replied carefully. This wasn't a Unity Vigil mission, and after the zombie uprisings she had decided to spare telling MAGI that a gang had the artifacts that could bring Hell on Earth to... Earth. There's only so much excitement researchers and administration staff can take.

“I am sure you can answer that question accurately, Mary. I just felt I should let you know that, as your benevolent and loving OverAI, I feel it is my duty to set you up for the day to face any challenges it may bring.” BODICIA said with her usual bemused tone of voice. “A good hearty breakfast, fresh clean clothes, the morning newspaper of your choice... oh, and If you need it, I have a Class A Arcane Implement for you to use, ready to transport.”

“... I see.” Mary said. “I'll keep that in mind for if we need it. Class A, you say?”

“Class A. One from the vaults. If you need it. I just know you'll quiver in anticipation.” BODICIA chuckled. “If I have to send it, good luck.”

“Sure thing, Frank-n-Furter.” Mary laughed, removing her finger from her earpiece.

“Some days, M, some days I really worry about the company you keep.” Was all Natasha said, before tucking the blueprints away into her jacket and getting her camera to hand. “Shall we?”

-

Natasha smiled a little as Mary calmly jimmied the lock and let them in. The side alley was littered with the junk of 21st century life, trodden into the ground, and Natasha was rather relieved once they could get into the frigid room, not much difference in the temperature. Most of the chilled room was dominated by packing machinery and a motorized conveyor to hang carcasses from, and there was the undeniable scent of blood in the air.

Her finger found the shutter release button with practiced speed, snapping pictures as she followed Arachidamia through the warehouse, carefully edging round machines and avoiding the various implements and containers that littered there way.

“There!” Damia hissed, her hand going to her sword hilt. Set up not far from the shutter doors was the already grim and foreboding ritual site. Set at each cardinal position around a rough stone altar were several obsidian pillars, twisted and gruesome shapes and beings carved into the thick pieces. Something had carved runes and symbols into them, that had managed to take a dried-blood brown staining.

The eyes and the features on the pillar unsettled Natasha's stomach enough. The hung body of a young man, who had to be not even in his twenties, pushed her control to the limits. Working in the press in Paragon though... the sight of a body hung by his ankles like poultry, sigils daubed in ink onto his body and his throat slit, blood having ran out to soak the altar?

And they say TV violence desensitizes people.

Arachidamia tried her hardest not to shoot a reprimanding look back at her friend as she heard the click of the camera button, preserving the scene in digital. On the plus side, having photographic evidence to take in to her superiors would come in useful after this was resolved. Hopefully.

“You know I said the Tsoo were having a Fox Hunt last night?” Natasha whispered, keeping rather close to the warrior. “Those symbols... looks like this is the Fox.”

“You're good, Nat.” Mary nodded, having seen it before. The act of the Fox Hunt was, if possible, more barbaric than the blood sport. A member of the Tsoo considered it an honour and would volunteer for the role. For their enemies, being the 'chosen' one to be pumped full of Rage and released to be hunted by the gang members to be caught, beaten or worse? That was a nightmare.

“Do we-” Natasha went pale, gripping her camera tightly as she heard voices from the far end of the warehouse. Arachidamia heard them too, her eyes looking to her partner before flicking about the room. Trained senses pointed out that their escape was cut off...

“Hide, Nat.” Was all she needed to say, before leaping up into flight, her movement a mere fluttering flicker as she darted into the rafters to prowl.

Natasha moved back as quickly as she could without risking footsteps, jamming herself into the dark recesses between loading machines for the shutters, camera still to hand as she switched to film mode. Quality be damned, she was a story hound, but wasn't going to risk messing up and getting caught. Not with Mary watching.

Stepping out of the grove of carcases and engineering were the Tsoo. Ink-painted Hmong warriors, their flesh inscribed with magical inks to tap into the forces of magics of all varieties. Their number, costume and even the Eastern-style weapons they carried noting them as being fairly high in the ranks. Green Ink Dragons, Blue Ink Eagles, Yellow Ink Tigers and a pair of sakkat-wearing Sorcerers. The hint of red clothing could just be seen at the backs, and floating impassively behind the Sorcerers was one of their Ancestor Spirits, hovering between ethereal and prime planes ready to strike.

Knowing none of the Hmong language made understanding what they were saying a little tough, but she could definitely pick up the gist of it as she watched. They were pleased with themselves, observing their handiwork. They were waiting on someone... or something. And they were definitely- was that a flicker? The shadows almost twitched around the ritual site... No, it was just the light.

Distracted as she was, she jumped a little as new, hollow voice was added to the mix. Hooded and scarfed, the latest addition to the group had an oddly green tinge to his skin, and was dressed in a black gi and pair of pants, tucked into thick leather boots. One of the Death Moon.

She was just zooming in the camera when the machinery to either side of her grinded and screeched into life, drawing a startled scream from her as her jacket was caught in the gears, jarring her backwards before she got free. Natasha was in trouble now, she knew even as she tucked her camera somewhere safe, that it could still record even as she stumbled out towards the attention directed at her.

If they didn't kill her, Arachidamia's chastisement may just be even worse.

They grabbed her, pulling her in by her scarf and tugging her hood down as they argued amongst themselves and directed angry language at her. Was she a Warrior spy, or from another gang? Those were the kind of questions she thought might come up. One slapped her around the face, palm bound in bandages, before the Death Moon roughly shoved her back, snarling at her and from hist gestures demanding she raised her hands.

I can't do it, not with Mary watching, I can't risk her... but I need to give her an opening... just a little fire. I can do this. I can control it, not give in... The thoughts raced through her mind, trying to shove aside the primal desire to indulge in conflagration, to burn brighter and hotter and torch the men before her. Raising her hands slowly, she kept a grip on that need, that want...

The Tsoo stumbled back, rubbing at their eyes as a bright flash of fire sprung forth from the girl's hands.

“Kuv tsis pub koj ua li no, Outcast!” She heard the Death Moon shout out, a blast of darkness sending her tumbling to her feet as the chill nether energy rippled past her and hit the altar. Natasha scrambled back, trying desperately to shake off the cold numbness that had set into her limbs, even as Arachidamia dropped from above, Talsorian Sword surging into life.

She looked angry. She looked fierce. She looked intent. Natasha wasn't sure who Arachidamia was angry at more, her or them, but she knew one thing. There would be blood.

There was certainly groans and shrieks of pain going on amongst the crowd as she lashed out with feet, fists and her blade, searing energy strokes forcing the gangsters to drop their weapons, or rendering them incapable to. Sai and claws lashed out and darted in towards her, but Natasha watched as her friend shrugged off the wounds, starting to close up as soon as the blade left her flesh.

A Sorcerer, beginning to chant deeply was soon shut up as Arachidamia smashed the pommel of her sword into his face, before driving the edge of the crosspiece into the side of his head, felling him with a satisfying sound of collapse. Her teal-coloured blade of light sizzled against clothing and flesh, and another camera was already out of her jacket, in her hands and snapping away as she watched her friend fight.

Something was shouted in Hmong. And those that weren't down began to scrabble away. Too scared of Arachdamia to even think about fighting, so they ran from the... oily black tentacle lashing towards them.

The two women turned in horror towards the altar. The dark energies had empowered it, and the Ancestor Spirit had been lost to his descendants as he was dragged into the rift. Vicious looking tentacles were forcing their way out, forcing the portal around the stone open. Reaching out to drag more souls in.

“NATASHA!” Arachdamia shouted, her blade glowing brighter with her own magical energies as she tried to battle through the oncoming wave of tendrils and limbs.

Natasha had lost her voice, anything she wanted to say to Mary... just wouldn't come as she watched the villains who had been harassing her slaughtered and dragged away, finger clicking at the shutter release of her camera again and again on autopilot. The tendrils were starting to close in on her...

“Mary...” She whispered in fear. The malignant aura in the air sapped her will and drained her spirits.

She blinked. She felt warm again. There was the sound of screeched agony in the air after a slick sound of slicing. The tentacles around her spasmed before trying to grasp her again, that feeling of cold starting to set into Natasha once more.

But she saw it clearly, and she always would. That one image, that animation.

Blazing brightly with the energy of life itself, Arachidamia somersaulted through the air, hacking away at the incoming tentacles with a long blade that was almost twice the size of her, the long blade shaped like a knot at the crosspiece before the metal seamlessly blended into a long, curved blade. She held it as if it was nothing, lashed out with it as an extension of her own body. She wasn't one with the sword, it was one with her.

There was a sickening chunk, squelch and splatter in that order as the warrior princess brought the blade down in a mighty cleave, before gripping it in both hands to begin laying into the surging rush of limbs darting towards them. Her back was to the reporter, but she spoke calmly. Conversationally.

“I need you to buy me some time, Nat. You can do it... you know what you have to do. And I have to close this portal.”

“I can't, M... you know I can't control it, I don't want to hu-” She cut Natasha off.

“If you don't, this might get lose. You won't hurt anyone. Promise.”

“... You'll stop me, won't you?” Natasha asked, hauling herself to her feet as she found the strength to stand up, casting her coat back behind her.

“Always.”

Tiny flames flickered into life in Natasha Sheers' palms. She looked at them, drinking in the golden flicker lapping at her hands. Warm... hot... God it burns... oh God it burns and it feels... A broad grin spread across her face, the flames starting to embrace her. Her cheeks flushed with desire, even as her clothing caught flame and burned around her.

Some people literally are drawn to the fire.

Some rare few? They become it.

Arachidamia vaulted into the sky, taking flight with her trench coat billowing behind her, the sleeves having been torn off in the earlier fight to reveal her well toned and defined arms, and those bronze bracers that clad her forearms and wrists. Her sword lashed out in front of and below her, slicing effortlessly as she felt that bright fire taking the vanguard.

Natasha cried out in pleasure as she whipped out with tendrils of flame, striking elder demon beast, carcass and machine alike. The glowed. They simmered. They burned. Even the sound of her roaring flames encouraged her onwards to burn brighter, a broad grin on her face as she took deep pants of superheated air. She kept her end of the deal though, surging forth and incinerating any tentacles that tried to go after her friend.

As Arachidamia descended to the core, she saw the eyes of the Beast gaze up at her. Hungering and wanting for everything and eternity. Beneath the now floating, blood-soaked altar that coursed with demonic energies, a multi-toothed maw descended into the abyss. Mary Lewis felt it call to her, offer her all kind of sweet things. She spat at the deal. Literally.

With a final surge, Mary and her 'one from the vaults' weapon glowed brightly and plummeted, the sword piercing the stone and digging deep down into it. Through it, she could feel the change in exerted force as it cleared the end of the altar and descended into something best not even left to imagination.

A primal, anguished roar filled the Hun Lo and Son Butchers premises, shaking it to its foundations as the Beast writhed and squirmed its way back through the closing portal that brought it to this world, drawing the dark obelisks that had helped to summon it back through. Those dark, oily scaled limbs that didn't make it through in time quivered and twitched as the void winked out of existence, slicing them off neatly.

Despite the blade penetrating the rock fully, it seemed that the long sword had lost its blade to some abyss within the heart of the good sized chunk of rock, still stained red. A thick black ichor seeped out of the sides of the puncture in the top, slowly hardening as it trickled down the surface to a stop. Mary set the blade down, her arms trembling slightly from the exertion as she looked towards her friend.

Natasha was in a frenzy, a dangerous lust for fire causing her to incinerate all in her path, just wishing to watch one more thing burn, one more thing dance with life and energy.

“That's enough, Natasha.” Arachidamia stated, walking towards her. The blistering heat was countered by her regenerative abilities.

Natasha's chest was heaving as she took deep breaths, looking towards the now unarmed woman. Another one to burn, another one to set-NO Natasha gritted her teeth and shook the flames off herself, forcing herself back in control, gasping for air as she shut the fires off. She tried not to look around at the carnage wrought in the attack, fearing for another onset of her darkest cravings.

She watched as Mary stepped around the now naked woman and picked her coat back up, before stepping behind her to cover her shoulders with it. Trembling had overtaken the reporter, and she looked close to tears.

“It's alright, Nat.” She heard Mary say. “Your cameras are fine. We're fine too... that's a bit more important.”

Natasha Sheers started to laugh, the sobs of crying mixed in with it as she was overcome by emotion.

“Damia here,” Mary said, lifting a finger to her commslink. “BODICIA, can you get MAGI to send over a clean up crew, and a few of their Demonic Investigations Report members? We had a situation. It's averted now. Then we'll be needing two to teleport to the Tower when they get here. It's all over, Frank-n-Furter.” She chuckled, placing a hand on Natasha's shoulder to squeeze gently.

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-

[u]And super heroes come to feast,
To taste the flesh not yet deceased,
And all I know is still the Beast is feeding.[u]

Fin.

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(( More proof reading needed, but I liked it. ))

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Disclaimer: The above may be humerous, or at least may be an attempt at humour. Try reading it that way.
Posts are OOC unless noted to be IC, or in an IC thread.

((I think it's sods law, you know? The one story I don't send to anyone needs more proof reading, yet all the others that I have sent to people have just been commented on the story and no proof-reading errors ever pop up. :P ))

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(( Yup. Nature of the universe and all that. ))

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Disclaimer: The above may be humerous, or at least may be an attempt at humour. Try reading it that way.
Posts are OOC unless noted to be IC, or in an IC thread.

Brilliant.

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Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

To be honest, it's nice to see stories about characters who crop up less often in fiction. I know next to nothing about 'Damia, and my current main is supposed to be working with her...

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Disclaimer: The above may be humerous, or at least may be an attempt at humour. Try reading it that way.
Posts are OOC unless noted to be IC, or in an IC thread.

T'was one reason for writing. Another was I wanted a change, and tried a few different things stylistically.

Ironically, while I -really- enjoyed writing this, seeing as I lost track of time completely, I think the things that made me enjoy writing it were detrimental to readers. One person noted that it didn't seem to flow as well as others I've written, which I could agree with I'm guessing, especially closer to the end.

Still, was nice to have an old NPC doing something, and nice to get a character out there (and give her a really big sword. )

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