Beneath Paragon City there are many caves, caverns and lairs, but few so large as the one Void Brawler journeyed through now. Set not too far from the heroic capital of the world, the place was almost a city itself, filling an impossibly large cavern. Small buildings and great fortifications were populated with the horde of undead the resided beneath there. The mindless zombies shuffled aimlessly through the wide streets while more cunning Grave Knights took post at the defenses and Liches worked dark magic for their master in hidden circles. The air was fetid, and it was only through the grace of a charm on Void Brawler's person that he was able to walk through those passages without suffocating. Still, his cowl did little to mitigate the stench that assaulted his nose. An acquired tolerance was the only thing that kept him from retching with each step. The dark cavern was lit, though for whose benefit, Void Brawler didn't know, with a series of magically conjured lights, arranged along the streets and outside of buildings. Their glow rose high, but not quite high enough to reveal the cavern ceiling.
The place to which Void Brawler traveled sat in the center of the cavern. Like some horrific cross between a fortress and a mausoleum, the structure literally towered over any other building, it's black marble-like surfaces forming forboding shapes and casting an aura of dread as far as it was visible. The young assassin stepped inside, shuddering as he felt the many wards on the place passing over him. He looked out at the grand entry hall. Monolithic pillars lined the walkway up toward a series of great steps and a set of double-doors made of stone carved into ornate forms. Void Brawler walked along the deep green carpet that laid atop the marble floors, his footsteps eerily silent in the place.
But other sounds were there to fill the hole. The very walls seem to breathe, a low, rattling breath that always felt as if it were right over your shoulder, warm and moist yet with a lingering cold all at once. As Void Brawler came upon the stone doors, he couldn't help but wonder about the lack of guards standing nearby. It was strange at least, highly suspicious at worst. He pushed open the great doors just enough to slide between them. As he closed them he looked over the next room, wide and with several doors at each wall. Gone was the marble that had covered the outside and great hall interior. Now it was dark stone, glistening with a moisture whose origins the boy was sure he would never care to know.
At this point, any intruder or heroic interloper would begin a trek that would surely get them lost or killed, but Void Brawler was neither of these things. He moved with confidence to one door, then up a spiraling staircase, then through several more rooms, moving higher and higher in the great Mausoleum. He eventually came to his destination, a simple room bearing no decoration on its walls. Instead, at its center, there was a summoning circle, lines drawn not with chalk or with blood but with a hardened ooze, green and black and somehow seeming to be shifting ever so slightly. Candles sat at various points around it, illuminating the various runic shapes traced inside of it. Void Brawler stepped over these lines, taking a place in the center, and waited.
After a moment, the candles flickered; there was a faint hiss as the ooze began to expand, filling the entire circle. The boy stood calmly as it drew close to his planted feet. It filled the space beneath him and he dropped through.
The ooze deposited him out of a wall into another chamber, this one large, circular. At its far back wall, there sat a great mirror, created of the same hardened substance that formed the circle. It's outer edges twisted into menacing points and spirals, and where it did not end in points, it appeared twisted, gnarled. Its glassy surface showed not a reflection of the room but of a man wandering through a Council base, his massive fists plowing down atop fascist heads as he came upon them. Another man, if he could be called that, stood in front of the mirror, observing the action carefully. He did not turn around at the sound of Void Brawler's entry, did not acknowledge him in any way.
The boy waited patiently at the other end of the room, head bowed, until the figure waved his hand in front of the image, dismissing it and returning the mirror's surface to that of the room it sat in. He turned around then, showing himself. His skin was ghostly pale with more of a gray hue than anything else. The flesh on his face was partially rotted and he wore a sort of ventilator over his nose and mouth, around which the faint signs of more rot could be seen. His body was encased in more of that hardened ooze and it glistened even in the dim lighting of the room. Toxic green veins coursed along his legs, arms and chest, the liquids always flowing through them and out to various appendages. He wore great black skulls upon his shoulders, great spines rising beside them. His belt was a twisted spine of more of the hardened substance, various black, leather pouches dangling from it. His gloves and boots each sported a trio of spikes similar to Void Brawler's though their purpose was somewhat more sinister. His cape was almost invisible, shredded as it was, yet somehow holding all together in a wispy mass. The very air around him seemed to be filled with a tinted, green aura of noxious power. Blightlord cast his slate colored eyes on the boy, eyes ever filled with malice and contempt. "You are late," he spoke, his voice deep, raspy and cold.
"I'm sorry. I beg forgiveness," said Void Brawler, eyes still focused firmly on the floor. He wondered for a moment if Blightlord would kill him this time. To some extent, he honestly wished he would.
Blightlord watched the boy for a moment before speaking. "If you cannot be counted on with your own will as your guide, I will be forced to replace it." The master of undeath walked forward then, away from the mirror and toward the center of the room, raising a hand as he did so. The floor's center rose with him, forming a round dais, several steps high. He climbed each step that rose to meet his foot, coming to a throne that finished its ascent just as he placed an arm atop its resting place. He sat back then, waiting.
Void Brawler knew Blightlord was expecting him to explain himself so he could then tell him how little the excuses meant to him. But this was a game they had gone through countless times and the boy felt just bold enough to see how things would play out if he acted differently. After an uncertain silence that seemed to last an eternity for the boy, Blightlord spoke. "Your task is a simple one. There is a collection of artifacts to be delivered to the M.A.G.I. 'vault'." Blightlord chuckled at his own mention of the place. "For your delay, rather than giving you the simple task of breaking in once they are inside the vault, I am charging you with taking the artifacts before they reach their destination." Blightlord held out his open palm. The armor upon his hand began to stir, rising to form a small crystal. He hurled it toward the boy who easily caught it. "That will let you sort what I need from what is useless. Do with the heroes who guard it what you will, but I must have each of those artifacts I desire." Void Brawler nodded, turning to leave the way he came. "Do not fail me in this. I do not make threats for my own amusement."
The boy looked back to Blightlord one last time, noting the expression on his face as he sat there above him. There was no doubt in the young assassin's mind that Blightlord meant every word. And so he entered to oozing portal to begin his trek back to the surface.
---------------------
An alarm buzzed, signaling the arrival of noon. A boy shot up from his bed, the sound putting him on edge. His dark brown hair was all askew from his coma-like sleep, and he blinked hard several times before the room he sat in came to focus. "Caleb?" called a women's voice from downstairs. "Are you just now getting up?"
"No, ma'am!" he lied, climbing out of bed and nearly tripping over his clothes from the night before. "Just trying to get something out of my closet."
The voice called back, "That thing is a mess! We're cleaning it this weekend, okay? So no going anywhere on Saturday!"
Caleb Trumper sighed and shook his head, grabbing a towel from the small pile in the corner of his room. He hurried off to the bathroom across the hall, letting the warm water that ran down lightly tanned skin finish waking him up. He stepped out of the shower, tip-toeing back toward his room to get ready for the day.
"Well you must be hungry," said the voice. "Want me to make you a sandwich?"
"I'm good mom, thanks!" he called back down, pulling a red t-shirt over his head. He looked at himself in the mirror, dipping his hand into a small container of styling wax to do his hair.
"Don't forget, we're supposed to meet your father for dinner tonight. You need to be home by five!"
"Okay mom!" He brushed his teeth, put on some deoderant and headed downstairs. When he reached the bottom however, there was no one in sight. "Mom?" He looked in the kitchen, confused to find it empty. "Huh..." Caleb stepped outside, looking to see if maybe she had gone out for the mail. "Her car's still here. Where-?"
A crash back in the kitchen grabbed his attention. He ran back inside. "Mom, you okay?" He began to feel a sharp pain in his skull then. Caleb grunted, gripping the sides of his head as the pain brought him to his knees. He could feel his temples getting hot and he began to tremble. "No... no, not again!"
***
Caleb shot upward from the threadbare mattress he had been laying on, the sounds of an explosion still ringing in his ears. He was breathing heavily, sweat pouring over him as he fought to regain control of himself. His hand clenched the side of the mattress, fingers digging holes into the already thin material as he bit his lower lip, green eyes shut tight and trying to banish the images. In the back of his mind, he heard his mother's voice. 'And we have to send you away...' Caleb shook his head, trying to be free of the thought. His breathing slowed as did the sweat.
Frustrated, he threw himself out of the bed, padding with bare feet over to the dingy window of his one-room apartment. His only view was of the brick wall of the building next door but if he looked out that window and up, he could just barely see the moon's edge. It wasn't there, which told him it was nearly sunrise. "I guess I might as well get ready..."
He trudged over toward where his clothes from the day before lay. He picked up the pile, carrying it with him to the murky glass shower in the corner of his room. He stepped inside, shuddering for a moment as the cold water ran over him, making him tense up. He stepped back out after a few moments, looking at the small, cracked mirror that sat above the sink on his wall. He went through his morning rituals, using the little sunlight that was coming into the apartment now through the slatted windows around the top of its walls. He walked back towards the pile of clothes, using the jeans to dry himself before putting them on, then the red shirt, the black, cobra insignia on its front coiled and raised to strike. He slid on a pair of worn black shoes and slowly headed back toward the bed.
If he held any illusion that he would be able to get back to sleep, Caleb would have simply flung himself back onto that mattress, uncomfortable though it may be. Instead, he reaced under his pillow for a pair pistols and their black holster. Their shapes reminscent of old-western revolvers and perfectly kept, they were about all he had of value. He clipped the holster on and grabbed a slim, silver mask from beneath his pillow. He put it on, the mask only covering the area just around his eyes. Giving one final look toward the mirror, Caleb headed out the door, not bothering to lock it behind him. It was time for another "rewarding" day in the City of Heroes.
Arc ID: 475246, "Bringing a Lord to Power"
"I'm only a simple man trying to cling to my tomorrow. Every day. By any means necessary."
-Caldwell B. Cladwell
The sun shone brightly that morning, almost obnoxiously so. Caleb had just arrived at the meeting spot in Kings Row, at which he found a truck surrounded by several Freedom Corps. agents. The boy stepped up to one familiar face, a relative rookie to it all, just like himself. "Hey Scott. Thanks again for the tip. What's up?"
"Not much," he replied, moving toward a dolly stacked with three crates. "Like I said over the phone, it's an easy job. Some heroes cleaned this cave of Circle of Thorns out and now there's a bunch of artifacts left behind to be catalogued and delivered to M.A.G.I." When Scott seemed to be having difficulty getting the load up the ramp, Caleb moved to help shoulder it and finish getting the last of the shipment in place. "You, being lucky enough to just have to guard the damn truck, didn't have to be here with an Ancient Mu to English translation book to figure out the titles of all those books... I never want to see another archaic glyph for as long as I live."
"But how are you gonna write your mom then?" said Caleb with a smirk. The comment earned him a half-hearted swat from Scott, but it was clear by the man's laugh he meant no harm.
"Alright ********, get in the truck," the Freedom Corps. soldier said, taking a seat alongside the walls of the vehichle. "We get to hang out in here while the Eagles take the aerial watch." Caleb nodded, taking the seat opposite Scott. He tugged on the belts holding the crates back and away from them, wanting to make sure there wouldn't be any crushing surprises when the truck began to roll.
"So how many are actually guarding this shipment anyway? Didn't seem like all that big a detail."
Scott shrugged. "Six, or so, if you count the driver. There's a Warden riding in the passenger seat with him, a pair of Eagles keeping watch from above, yourself and then, most vital of all, yours truly." Caleb nodded, looking out the back of the truck. Just then the Warden stepped around from the side to shut the back door.
"You fellas gonna be alright in here?" he asked, looking to each of them.
"All set," said Caleb, with a less than enthused smile and thumbs up. The door came rolling down and they were sealed in. Some faint, flourescent lights flickered on above them. "Oh good, we actually can see this time."
"Score one more for the little guy," Scott added with a chuckle, looking around-- though of course there wasn't much to look at. "Don't worry, bud. It's Kings Row to Atlas; this won't take long." There was a slow rumble before the truck began to move forward. The next few minutes passed in a slow silence. "So... you still live in that hole in the wall?"
Caleb was staring off as he replied a simple, "Yup."
"I know I've mentioned it before but... you could come move in with me. There's another room that's not being leased at my place. And it's a lot more comfortable than what you're in now."
Caleb turned to study Scott's face. This was easily the fourth time the suggestion had come around, though this was easily the most direct one yet. He wasn't quite positive why Scott was so set on the idea, but something in his gut told him to run from the idea. "Probably. But I'm fine where I am. It's cozy," Caleb replied, turning back to stare off.
Scott nodded, looking a little disappointed. Eventually, the Freedom Corps. rookie decided to lean back against the wall and tuck his chin to his chest for a small catnap. "Just wake me if Lord Recluse comes knocking," he said, crossing his arms and pretending to quickly fall into a rhythmic slumber.
Explanations for why Scott wanted Caleb to move out of his apartment continually swam through the boy's head, but he didn't like dwelling on them for long. He had found that on occassion, if he got too lost in odd thoughts, that sometimes certain abilities would get the better of him and someone would wind up hurt. Hell, I bet someone already has, he thought bitterly. That train was halted however when the truck made a hard stop.
Caleb and Scott both shot forward, crashing hard into the crates. Caleb hissed, rubbing a sore shoulder as Scott swore loudly. The Freedom Corps. soldier slammed his fist on the side of the truck yelling, "Watch the break checks, there's valuable cargo back here!"
"I know you're not talking about yourself," Caleb said, standing up and trying to stretch the very sore feeling from his back. "I don't think some bad driving could do anything to that face that nature didn't already."
Scott's face scrunched up as he replied, "Oh ha-ha. Listen, kid, if you-" His retort was interrupted by the sound of a hard thud behind him. Scott leapt forward, almost landing on top of Caleb. "Holy hell!" he shouted, trying to casually check that he didn't just pee himself. "Real funny you guys! Bang on the side of the van cause I called you out. Well how about I just-" A cry of pain slowed Scott's sentence. "Oh ****... Someone's after the cargo. Time to earn our money, bud." He moved toward the inside latch of the door, trying to pry it open. "God... it's stuck! Damn it, Frank! Who let the guy with super strength tighten this thing anyway?!"
Caleb rushed forward, reaching for the handle. "You're just not tugging hard enough, move!" He gave it several hard tugs, the sound of another cry of pain and the very audible crack of bone ringing out over the sounds of gunfire urging him on. Caleb tried to push a little psionic pulse behind his tugs, but it simply wasn't budging. "You weren't kidding... Don't tell me we're stuck in here!"
Scott shrugged, shaking his head. "I'm at a loss kid." He ducked in panic as a body landed hard on the top of the truck, denting the roof. "Get your pistols up. Only one thing we can do at this point," he said, tone grim. Scott reached for the rifle under his seat, looking it over thoroughly once in hand. He spoke low, hoping to not be heard outside. "When whatever's out there takes that door down, I'll put one between his eyes. You get low and aim for the middle. After that, get out of this truck. Better to fight in the open than pinned like this."
Caleb nodded, looking up as the echoes of the last gun were replaced with a howl. That too was traded for a sickening crunch and the sound of a limp body hitting the ground. For a few seconds, it was completely silent. But Caleb knew it was only a build to what was about to happen. There was a sound like thunder as the rolling door was truck and began to buckle. Sunlight peeked in from the sides where it had folded most, and the second slam widened those gaps. At the third, the door came away from the top of the truck, collapsing just in front of the pair and the shipment they guarded, but the assailant was nowhere to be seen.
Both heroes' eyes scanned the empty air, unsure. After a brief moment, Scott cursed under his breath. "Hop out of the truck. I'll cover and follow." Without taking his eyes off the space in front of him, Caleb nodded. He kept both pistols aimed straight out as he moved in his low crouch to the edge of and then hopped out from the truck. He looked all around for a sign of the attacker but found only a few of bodies of the others hired to guard the shipment, some looking much worse than others. There was a rush of air to Caleb's side that sent the hairs on the back of his neck on edge. He turned around to call a warning to Scott, but was too late. A black and white clad attacker appeared just as he struck the Freedom Corps. rookie in the gut, the force of the blow flinging him back and smashing through the first crates he came in contact with.
It took all of Caleb's self control not to fire wildly into the truck, more for fear of hitting something explosive or Scott than damaging the cargo. The assassin turned to stare him down through a pair of reflective sunglasses. Despite the cowl he wore, Caleb could see clearly that the attacker was no more than his own age. Frustration began to build up in him then as the other boy just stood there. "Well? Come on, you've taken everyone else, what are you waiting for? Let's go!" he shouted, pistols held at the ready.
The assassin seemed to snap back to attention and quickly sprung into action. As he faked to move to one side then leapt to another, Caleb couldn't help but try to follow the villain's movements, which got more difficult as he leapt off of one wall of the truck to the roof then sprung forward to tackle the hero. They rolled across the concrete, Caleb grimacing as surprisingly powerful hands gripped his wrists and twisted them in such a way that the pistols fell from his weakened grasp. He tried to bring a hand around to slug the assassin, but found himself sufficiently pinned as their roll stopped. It was then that Caleb got a real view of his attacker's face, the cowl having come loose and fallen during their tumble and the sunglasses now hanging askew on his nose and revealing a pair of bright, blue eyes. A sudden knee planted firmly in Caleb's gut brought about an explosion of lights and the twist of that knee turned those lots into dark blotches that melded together as he slipped into unconciousness.
--------------
Void Brawler stepped up and back from the downed hero. He quickly readjusted his sunglasses and cowl only just becoming aware that they had come away somewhat in the struggle. The boy knew that it would be smarter to kill him now and not risk being identified later, but the thought made him pause. Void Brawler grimaced, kneeling back down over the hero's unconcious body. He placed two fingers at the other boy's neck, finding a fairly steady pulse. The young assassin stepped back, shaking his head. Somehow, I'm going to end up regretting this..., he thought, before turning to the now free truck. In the distance, sirens were clear. The PPD were finally responding. Void Brawler knew he would only have a minute or two to get through all those crates to the things Blightlord wanted. Feeling for the trinket in his pocket that was supposed to tell him what those things were, he already knew there wouldn't be time to nab everything. I think I already am.
Arc ID: 475246, "Bringing a Lord to Power"
"I'm only a simple man trying to cling to my tomorrow. Every day. By any means necessary."
-Caldwell B. Cladwell
It was raining.
Forsaking any means of shelter, Void Brawler sat atop the roof of a building surrounded by others much taller than itself as he considered his next move. Escaping Paragon City was always interesting. When you worked for Arachnos, often times your means of entry remained there to serve as a means of extraction; a submarine, a helicopter. But when you worked for Blightlord...
The boy assassin suppressed a shiver as the rain finally soaked through his costume and made contact with skin. He reminded himself that things like that should be taken as a blessing because, at that exact moment, he was free and alive, and the feeling of that rain was proof. And who knew how long either of those things would remain true. It was by some narrow chance that he had managed to scrape everything Blightlord demanded into an extra-dimensional pouch and still evade the first-responders. The three-hour chase had finally broken down into more a high-stakes game of hide and go seek, leaving him precious moments for recollection and planning.
He reached into that pouch, drawing out a pair of pistols. A small souveneir for himself from this morning. It had been clear to Void Brawler from the moment he saw them that these weren't simply bought at a Paragon City gun shop or through some other common weapon supplier. More likely than not, these were special to that other boy in some way. It was the least that hero could have given for having his life spared like that. Thinking to that moment, when he had hesitated to simply snap the other boy's neck and be done with it, made Void Brawler's stomach churn. If these two guns really did mean something, that hero would come for them. The smart thing to do would be to dispose of the weapons as quickly and profitably as possible and forget the whole thing...
A flash of lightning was rapidly followed by a thunderclap. The boy whirled quickly, fearing the weather was not entirely natural, but there was no sign of observers, caped or otherwise. Stormy weather used to be something peaceful... Suddenly much more eager to be out of Paragon than before, he dropped the pistols back into the bag and moved to the edge of the roof. Below, Longbow's jet-packed troops flew through the streets, still in pursuit. As he brought an arm up to wipe the droplets of rain from his sunglasses, the boy became determined they wouldn't catch his trail again. Void Brawler inhaled deeply before kicking off the roof's lip and flying through the air, off toward Independence Port where a smuggler could get him back to the Isles safely. For a small fee, of course. The boy thoughtfully felt the extra-dimensional pouch and thought of the two pistols sitting inside, as well as a fence he knew of not more than a few blocks away.
Void Brawler reached a hand inside, pulling out a small, black artifact that hummed with power at his touch. If he was already going to regret one choice today, what was the harm in one more?
------------------------
Caleb woke to the sound of thunder. Vision blurry, it took him several moments to realize he was not in familiar surroundings. The white walls brought flashes of panic to the boy. He rapidly sat up and leapt to his feet, hands immediately reaching for a pair of absent pistols. If he wasn't panicked already, the feeling was certainly there now.
"Sir, sir!" a voice called-- a woman's. "Please, sir, if you could just remain seated for a moment." Caleb turned to see a nurse rushing toward him. I'm in the hospital... He turned to face the stretcher he had been lying on just moments before, frantically scanning it and the area around it for his guns. "I understand you're eager to get back out there, but it's over. You were brought in several hours ago."
Hours? The woman placed a gentle hand on the boy's arm, guiding him to sit down on the stretcher. "Ma'am, I'm missing my weapons. Do you know where they're being kept? It's a pair of pistols, long barreled, about--"
The woman's expression made Caleb's heart sink. She had absolutely no idea what he was talking about. "I'm sorry sir, but you didn't medi-port in with any weapons on you, nor did the Longbow recovery team bring anything by from the incident this morning. Are you certain you had them on you?"
It took a lot for Caleb not to give the nurse a very dirty look at that moment. Tense from head to toe, he replied, "Yes, I'm pretty certain."
"Right... Well, I'm sure they'll turn up. Now, as the only... well, as someone who can tell them exactly what happened, there are some men downstairs who wanted to speak with you once you were up and ask some questions, okay, hun? If you would just sit tight there, I'll go get them." The woman quickly hurried off, not wishing to stick around the awkward situation any longer than she had to.
Soon as the nurse had entered the elevator, Caleb stepped away from the stretcher. He headed toward the trio of elevators himself, pressing the call button. It would be easy to step inside one, ride it up a few floors, then all the way back down to the lobby. By then the Longbow agents should be inside an elevator of their own. The boy would be able to leave the hospital free and right away. He was in no mood for questions about this morning, not when something irreplaceable was missing from him and not when there was a distinct lack of familiar faces in that hospital wing.
Caleb would do a search of his own around where the truck was hit. After that, it was time to go hunting.
Arc ID: 475246, "Bringing a Lord to Power"
"I'm only a simple man trying to cling to my tomorrow. Every day. By any means necessary."
-Caldwell B. Cladwell
Caleb stood outside of the Freedom Corps armory, trying to resist the heavy sigh he felt building inside. Really, he should be glad that he even had this resource, but the actual need to call it in was leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. The teen reluctantly trudged up the steps and through the single door. Immediately, a guard asked for identification. The boy had to make a concious effort not to roll his eyes as he dug for the wallet in the back of his jeans. "Really, with everything I do for you guys..." he muttered, tugging the license from its pocket. Satisfied, the guard waved him onward.
The building wasn't terribly impressive. After the security checkpoint was a short hallway that ended with a wall in which a set of double push doors sat. In front of that, a desk and the large, busy clerk who sat at it. The man was older and balding, face illuminated by the glow of a monitor. In the reflection on the clerk's glasses, Caleb could see images of men and creatures running around, fighting. It took a moment for the boy to realize he wasn't watching some battle feed, but was in fact playing some form of computer game. This time the eye roll made its way forward; thankfully the clerk looked up too late to catch it. He examined Caleb over the rim of his glasses before returning to his screen. "Something you need, boy?"
Already agitated by the events of the last twenty-four hours, the emphasis on boy really put Caleb off. But he needed something from these people if he was going to get anywhere with his search. "I'm calling in a favor. I have a slip here for my order," he said, sliding a piece of paper across the desk. Without taking his eyes off of the monitor, the man continued the paper's slide toward himself. He glanced down briefly at it before mumbling in agitation and switching views on his screen to something a little more official looking.
"You need replacements, eh? Can't hold on to your own weapons so now you want to lose some of ours? Pretty careless of you," said the man, still not bothering to look at Caleb. Good thing too, because the boy was fairly certain his face was scrunching up in a rather angry look. "I suppose I'll just have to go back and see if we have anything for you. Don't get your hopes up." With a grunt, the clerk pushed himself away from his desk, slowly rising into a large, upward stretch. Caleb looked away as the man's too-small shirt rose a tad high, revealing a pretty unsightly image. The clerk waddled into the back, pushing both doors open. As they swung inward, the teen could clearly see the impressive size of the back storage area. He severely doubted they didn't have anything for him, though at this point he wouldn't have put it past the clerk to make it seem some great sacrifice was being made.
After a few impatient moments, the man trudged back in with a metal briefcase. With a slight huff, he heaved it onto the desk, rotating the object so it opened toward himself instead of Caleb. Giving the boy a suspicious look, he covered each latch as he slid the locks to their correct combinations. The two clicks of the briefcase echoed in the hallway and with mock-ceremony, the clerk opened it. He picked up each item inside, inspecting behind the briefcase's cover where Caleb was still unable to see. He gave each an unnecessarily long look before slowly setting them back in place and turning the case toward the teen.
He couldn't help but show his dismay at the two pistols that were presented to him. Simple, dirty metal with grips that was clearly not designed for comfort. Just by looking at them, it was clear they hadn't been serviced in some time and the sights might even need some adjusting.. He hesitantly picked up one, holding it up to the flourescent light for a better look. Nothing was cracked, and at least they were two of the same kind, but they hardly compared to the set that was stolen.
"If you would kindly take a break from that frowning disapproval of yours," interrupted the clerk, "you need to sign for these." The large man pushed a form towards Caleb. When he took his hand away, sweaty marks in the shape of a palm left were left on the paper. "And then I would kindly ask that you leave. We are far too busy here for loitering teenagers to be hanging about."
More than tired of the way he was being treated, Caleb finally shot the man a very dirty look before taking the offered pen. The clerk backed down a bit, second guessing how much he could get away with, especially now that the form was signed. As he holstered the guns, the teen gave a brief, "Thank you," though it caused him some pain to say it, before heading back out of the building.
Once he was a few yards away, the boy took the pistols from their holsters and tried a few basic tricks, first spinning the guns slowly, one at a time, then both, and then finally faster. Each maneuver deepened his frowns as it became clear just how poorly weighted they were by comparison to his own set. He gave the safety a quick check before tossing one up into the air and trying to catch it. The alarm he felt at feeling his hand catching the barrel rather than the grip served to show just how much adjusting he would need to do for these weapons before he did any serious hunting.
In the distance, PPD sirens could be heard, responding to some disaster or other that had just struck. With a brief nod to himself, Caleb re-holstered the pistols and hurried off in their direction. It was time to get in some target practice.
--------------------
Void Brawler was standing very still in the large, circular room Blightlord had deemed for his throne. The archvillain himself was sitting on its glistening, black surface, watching as artifacts methodically flew from the extra-dimensional pouch and into the air for his inspection. As more and more items joined the procession, he began to tap talon-like fingers impatiently upon the armrest. Though the sound cast a light echo in the room, for Void Brawler, it was almost deafening. Blightlord was looking for something in particular that he had not found yet and the boy had a sinking feeling he knew what became of it.
A few more moments passed before the master of undeath abruptly stood, sweeping his arm wide before him. The objects flew hard and fast toward Void Brawler and it was sheer instinct that kept him from violently pelted by them as they continued on their way around the room to behind the throne and through the great mirror's glass. "Perhaps..." began Blightlord, taking measured steps down the daias, "I was unclear. I gave you a means to discern what I wanted from the refuse, did I not?"
Void Brawler rose from the crouch he had landed in, hands clenched tight behind his thighs. He could feel a bead of sweat forming on his forehead, but pushed his courage forward to say fully, "Yes, my lord."
Blightlord stopped some few feet from the boy, slowly placing his arms behind his back. "I would go so far to say," he said, "that such a gesture was almost kind of me. Wouldn't you?"
Though his initial instinct was to wince and nod, Void Brawler again forced out another confident-sounding, "Yes, my lord." His own breath held, and Blightlord never taking one gave the room a horrible stillness. Everything felt suspended in those few seconds before Blightlord would speak again.
"Then you can surely repay my kindness with an explanation of your failure," he said evenly, "since it seems completing this task was asking too much of you." The archvillain's expression was blank. It was not threatening, it was not curious. There was no way for the boy to judge what would happen in these next moments.
And so it was that he decided on a bluff. "I don't understand, my lord. I brought back everything you requested," replied the boy, working hard to keep his gaze locked with Blightlord's and unflinching. The next thing he knew, all the air was pushed out of him as some hit his stomach with tremendous force. Void Brawler felt himself flying back before slamming hard against the wall. His back let out a horrible popping sound on the impact and pain shot to every limb. He struggled to move them, but found himself encased in a sickly, green mass that seemed to constrict tighter each second, hardening. Blightlord lowered his arm, wiping the remains of the same goo away from his person before fixing his gaze back on the boy with eyes burning with fury.
His voice soft, low and threatening, Blightlord spoke. "Free will is not a right you hold, boy. It is a privilege granted by my grace alone, and you would do well to make yourself appear worthy of it." He began to move toward the trapped teenager, hand clenching and unclenching, nails beginning to drip a foul-smelling substance. "I would have thought lying to me to be an obvious mistake, but..." Blightlord raised his hand, considering the toxin that dripped onto his palm and down his arm, "It seems you still require tutelage." Blightlord swiped his nails into the boy's exposed leg, dragging them down the calf to the ankle. Void Brawler cried out as the poison burned in the gash like an acid. Dizziness began to set in as dark spots clouded his vision and an overwhelming urge to empty the content of his stomach arose. Blightlord took a casual step backward as both overtook the boy, vomit soiling what parts of him weren't covered by the now rock-like ooze.
With a light chuckle, Blightlord moved forward to examine his handiwork. The color of the blood that escaped the wound was of particular interest to him, now that it was clear the effects of the toxin worked fast enough. Perhaps even too fast. Not quite as much time was spent in pain as the necromancer would have preferred. Satisfied, he laid a hand atop the mass that suspended Void Brawler. Instantly, it softened, the boy sliding through it to land in a slump against the wall. As the ooze itself melded into the wall, Blightlord waved a hand over the boy. An almost quicksand-like pool formed beneath him, dragging the boy under and out of the Master of Undeath's sight. If the mood struck him, there was always time to test more concoctions once the boy awoke.
Arc ID: 475246, "Bringing a Lord to Power"
"I'm only a simple man trying to cling to my tomorrow. Every day. By any means necessary."
-Caldwell B. Cladwell
It would be a massive understatement to call the Rogue Isles a strange place to live. It would be even more of one if you were not a member of its more 'elite' population, the soldiers of various villain groups, shady entrepreneurs or clawing Destined Ones; because while those with power and means could carve out a living for themselves and perhaps even find some comfort in their loosely defined home, the rest of the Isles' citizens can only scrape by on what remains when the more advantaged had already taken their pickings. This was how Caleb had lived these past few weeks, as one of them, most recently as part of a group of scavengers taking refuge in a run-down warehouse.
When he first made plans to leave, Caleb knew very well just how little Longbow could or even probably would do for him. Far too often he had heard the stories of how even the best undercover operations they ran were immediate targets for every villain with a newspaper and a few basic connections. More of a concern though was the idea that his prey might catch wind of the arrival of a familiar sounding hero with a grudge and flee to some other part of the world, never to be heard of again. That was unacceptable, so long as that same villain had his father's pistols in tow.
There was the real reason Caleb had gone through the trouble of sneaking into the Isles without Longbow aid or even awareness; not to avenge any of the agents that were injured or maybe even killed that day, not to bring anyone to justice, just for those pistols. As he struggled to survive while keeping a low profile, ear to the streets at all times for mention of a certain assassin with blonde hair and fists coated in dark energy, what was a determined hunt had begun to feel like much more. He needed to find this boy and-- and then what? Kill him? Do enough damage to end his career? Demand the pistols back and just leave? And that led to the ever-present fear that he simply didn't have them anymore, had sold them off immediately after the whole ambush and they were gone forever. In those most desperate moments when this became his prevailing thought, Caleb tried to convince himself he could squeeze information about the buyer from his attacker, but deep down he knew this was his only real shot. And thus, it became an obsession.
Why else would he continue to fight for food this way? For shelter and warmth? Let common villains he knew were far beneath him push him to the ground with the rest of the Isles' poor and laugh? Clutched helplessly at the inferior Freedom Corps. pistols and watched while citizens were tormented for sport? Caleb swore that when this was through, he would take the next Longbow assignment to help clean up this disgusting place, deadly attention be damned.
But first things first; for in these hard weeks Caleb had listened for any opportunities, granting him three pieces of important information:
His target is called Void Brawler.
Void Brawler was given a contract to bring in a Council deserter for questioning.
That deserter took shelter in this same warehouse.
-------------
Void Brawler landed silently in the square, unseen by the passersby. The assassin managed to fight off the urge to grimace as his leg flared up in what now seemed like a dull pain compared to the agony it originally sported. The claw marks Blightlord had left were only just now beginning to turn to simple scars from the infected mess they were before. Even so, whatever was in that toxin had yet to allow any full healing yet. Bitterly, he wondered if it would ever stop hurting completely.
The boy shook his head, trying to bring attention back to the task at hand. It was a simple job-- bring in a Council deserter alive for Arachnos, most likely to be tortured for potential secrets, or perhaps just for fun. It becomes hard to tell with Arachnos after a while. It should be as simple as strolling in, selecting the man who matches the provided description and then flying off with a passenger in tow.
Should be. But Void Brawler didn't survive this long in the Isles and more importantly under Blightlord by following the assumption that just because something should be easy meant it would be easy. Not when his gut was giving him every reason to abandon the whole thing and go home. And so the boy assassin, cloaked in shadows, crept into the warehouse, alert for any odd traps or ambushes. Every bit of intel stated that the occupants were nothing more than hopeless refugees, but something kept him on edge.
In the far corner, a group sat huddled about a trashcan fire, talking loudly as they watched an unlucky rat, stuck through with a broken piece of metal piping, slowly roast over the open flames. Void Brawler studied each of their faces, noting the silver edges on the brown hair of the one holding the pipe and, more importantly, of the chunk missing from his cheek where supposedly a rookie villain had taken a swipe some years ago. This was the man he was sent to retrieve.
Actually seeing the target calmed the boy's apprehensions somewhat, made him think perhaps he was just being jumpy about what really was a too easy task. So when he grabbed the deserter from behind and began to rise into the air with his cargo, the subtle sound of a weapon being drawn was almost lost on him.
Almost.
The gun fired and it was sheer instinct that allowed Void Brawler to drop out of the air in time, the bullet whizzing just over his head. His target landed with a harsh crack, crying out in pain as he clutched at a very broken ankle.
Thankful that he at least wouldn't have to worry about his contract running off, the assassin frantically searched for the owner of the gunshot as the refugees ran screaming for the door. He saw him then, the only one not fleeing the scene, a familiar boy with brown hair, tanned skin and a pistol in each hand, both pointed directly at him.
"Don't move, Void Brawler, or the next shot won't miss," he said, eyes hard, maybe even a little hollow. What had this boy been doing since the robbery?
Void Brawler raised both of his arms partway into the air, weighing his options as he spoke. "If you shoot me, how are you going to get what you want?" Ah, there it was, a twitch in gunslinger's face. He wasn't here to kill, he was here to recover, which meant it was time to have some fun. "What if I told you I didn't have them anymore?"
"I'd call you a liar," he snapped back, almost immediately. Every hunch Void Brawler had that day was confirmed in that little exchange. Those simple guns did mean quite a lot, obviously enough to drag this hero to the Isles. The only problem was the assassin still didn't entirely understand why he did it in the first place. "Give them back and I'll arrest you in one piece."
"So if I never give them to you, you won't arrest me. Sounds like my decision is made." Void smirked as shadows rapidly formed around his hands and moved down his arms until he himself was completely invisible. "Are you going to risk shooting at what you can't see?" The assassin silently padded back to the still moaning Council deserter, carefully positioning him as a human shield before returning to the air.
"Don't think I won't try it," answered the hero. "You're not getting away this time."
"I'll make you a deal," Void Brawler quickly replied. "Let me finish my contract without being chased down and I will meet you at Bloody Bay's docks before sundown. Neutral territory where you will get back your guns and everybody can get home safely when we're done. Fair?" He could see the other boy thinking heavily on the offer, probably trying to judge if it was sincere or not and taking too long for comfort. "This guy is really heavy and at this rate I'm going to be late turning him in, so let me put it this way: It's the only way you'll ever know what I did with them."
That seemed to clinch it. Nearly fuming, the other boy replied, "Fine. By sundown. And if you go back on this, I will find you again."
Void Brawler felt an odd sort of relief when the gunslinger agreed. He wasn't sure why, as he had likely just led himself into a later fight that wasn't necessary at all. "I'll be there. In the meantime, you seem to have picked up my name but I don't know what to call you."
"My registered name is Twist Shot."
Void Brawler nodded, not the hero could see it. "Twist Shot it is," he said. "Until later, then." The assassin flew out a hole in the tin roof with his target in hand, leaving Twist Shot where he stood, staring blankly at the space he had been hovering in a moment ago. He would keep his promise to the gunslinger and meet him on those docks. What would happen next, he couldn't say. He knew the smart thing would be to figure that out beforehand, but all the same pushed the matter aside for later. After all, they both had acted against their better judgment once today already.
Arc ID: 475246, "Bringing a Lord to Power"
"I'm only a simple man trying to cling to my tomorrow. Every day. By any means necessary."
-Caldwell B. Cladwell
There was little Caleb could do but fume as he began walking to the nearest ferry. Yes, he had agreed to a meeting or a rendezvous or whatever, but he didn't exactly like the idea. With the boy actually gone, all the reasons why it was an awful idea had begun to race back to him-- it could be a trap, there was no guarantee he'd show and worst of all, he may have just screwed his one chance at this. From there came the endless line of reasons why he didn't just take the shot. So what if he hit a Council soldier? Because he wasn't a soldier then...
Caleb shook his head. Decisions had been made and all he could do now was follow-through with them. He would go to the docks, trap or no, and wait. As the ferry began its slow across the water, he kept replaying the brief exchange over and over again in his mind up until the moment it pulled into the isle where a helicopter that would take him to Bloody Bay resided. Without a word, he climbed aboard, absentmindedly click the safety of one of his pistols on and off the entire trip. After nearly an hour of this, someone spoke up.
"Kid, you mind? I'm nursing a migraine over here."
He looked up to see who was speaking to him. It was a strange looking man, even by Rogue Isles standards; pale face covered in tattoos that looked mystical if anything and wearing what looked like a black and powder blue knock-off of Circle of Thorns robes. Across his lap was a long staff with a large knob at the end that looked as if it had been ripped straight from some kind of off-color tree. Caleb mumbled a, "Sorry," before busying himself with cleaning the weapons.
The stranger eyed him for a moment before speaking again. "This your first time going into the Bay, child? Let me give you a warning. Watch out for the big fish like me if you don't want to get eaten alive. All that meteor rock belongs to The Great and Powerful Arctic Wizard."
An uncomfortable moment passed as the strange villain sat there, arms in the air as if he had just given a great proclamation and Caleb continued to stare intently at his weapons.
"And do you know who The Great and Powerful Arctic Wizard i--"
"I really don't care," interrupted the boy gunslinger, not bothering to look up as he did so.
With a loud harrumph the strange man sat back in his chair, arms crossed like a pouting child and stayed that way until the pilot announced they were nearing their destination. It wasn't until that moment that a paralyzing thought struck Caleb: they would set down in the middle of a heavily fortified Arachnos base.
A dozen curses immediately streamed through the boy's mind as he tried to figure out a plan of action. To let the helicopter set down would be as good as putting a bullet in his own brain. The bullet might even be preferable to what Arachnos could do to him. Caleb's eyes fixed on the pilots ahead of him as they busily flipped switches and prepared to land. Deciding in a matter of moments, he sprung from his seat, cracking the grip of his pistols into the faces of both pilots as they turned at the commotion. He tried to turn around then, but suddenly felt a sharp pain in his legs as they became rooted to the floor.
The strange man lowered his staff, giving a melodramatic sigh as he rose from his seat, wobbling a moment as the uncontrolled vehicle began to veer off. "If you needed a means of getting around, this was maybe not the best way to gain one." He touched the knob of the twisted, wooden weapon to the floor. Caleb could see his breath as the temperature dropped rapidly, felt what he knew was a block of ice around his right foot creep up his leg as another formed on his left.
I wanted--," began Caleb, trying hard to not let his teeth chatter, "to impress you. I s-saw what a great villain you were and w-wanted to work for you. This chopper is f-f-for you."
The wizard paused, mouth open in a silent 'o' that did not need much time to become a wide grin. With a broad, sweeping gesture, he dismissed the cold, letting the temperature return to normal almost too quickly. Caleb felt the blocks of ice holding him down almost immediately evaporate, causing him to stumble at first. "Well my boy, you've made a wise decision! As my pupil, you--"
He didn't get much further than that as the back of a pistol cracked against the side of his skull, sending the man into a slump. The boy gunslinger frowned as he examined the grip of his weapon, contemplating if there might be a better way to knock people unconscious that wouldn't hurt his things. A sudden jump by the helicopter reminded him that it was currently moving of its own volition and that it was time to make an escape. He found an emergency pack stashed under of the pilot seats and quickly strapped it on, moving to open the circular door Arachnos favored in everything they built. Caleb turned back to the three men passed out on the floor and said, "Here's to a safe landing," before leaping out into the open air above Bloody Bay.
Arc ID: 475246, "Bringing a Lord to Power"
"I'm only a simple man trying to cling to my tomorrow. Every day. By any means necessary."
-Caldwell B. Cladwell
As Caleb sat on the docks and waited for the assassin's arrival, his mind began to drift. It started innocently enough-- noting the color of the water, thinking about exploring some of the meteor landing sites, wondering where exactly they came from, questioning if they came on purpose, deciding if he believed they were part of something bigger; what it must have looked like when they impacted, dirt flying into the air, the ground rocking violently, a deafening explosion. And suddenly he wasn't seeing the meteors anymore, he was seeing his old home. He was seeing what was left of it and the fires crackling, feeling his head fight to split in two as his vision swam and--
"You alright there?"
Caleb turned, his thoughts broken. He was dimly aware of a little clattering sound as he watched the assassin fade into view. "Uh, yeah I guess so," he said as he stood, wary, but not reaching for his guns yet. Hesitantly, he added, "Why?"
The other boy pointed at the ground around him. "You were lifting the rocks. I thought you just shot at things."
"I do," Caleb replied quickly, "... Only shoot at things. So if you'll give me back what you stole." The two locked eyes for a moment, or at least, Caleb thought they were locking eyes. It was impossible to read anything the assassin was thinking with the sunglasses and the cowl that concealed his face. The only identifying feature he let show was his short cut blonde hair.
A few seconds went by before he actually reached into one of the pouches on his belt, one that surely should have been too small, and pulled out the stolen guns. Caleb immediately reached out to take them, but the other boy yanked his own hands back. "But-- I want something first."
This made Caleb angry. Games. All games. But being so close, he forced himself to answer calmly. "What?"
"A name."
"I gave you my name."
"No," said the boy. "You gave me an I.D. I want a name."
"And then you'll give me back my pistols?"
"Yes. As soon as I get a name."
He sighed, wanting to think over the risks of doing just that, but with the end so nearly in sight and time ticking as it was-- "Caleb. My name is Caleb."
The assassin nodded, stepping forward and handing over the pistols. "Then here you go, Caleb. Sorry for all the trouble."
He stood there, feeling the familiar weight back in his hand, eyes scouring the surface of the weapons to see if there was any damage or forgery when what the other boy said made its way through. "Wait, sorry?" Caleb cocked his head, a smile masking his angry disbelief. "You're apologizing for stealing something of mine after you attacked me, keeping it from me for weeks to where I had to hunt you down to get them back, make me jump through ******* hoops, and you just say sorry?! Who the hell do you think you are?"
"Matt."
Any momentum Caleb felt from his speech was sucked out of him by that simple, calm reply. He reached out for that anger he felt a moment ago, but it refused to answer his call, preferring instead to scatter into the air. Flustered, the best he could spit out was, "Well... **** you, Matt. No, I won't even call you that. You got a name and an I.D. I want a name and an I.D."
Matt shrugged and answered, "Sounds fair to me. Void Brawler."
Caleb raised an eyebrow. "Void Brawler?"
"Yeah."
"What the hell kind of a name is that?"
"What the hell kind of a name is Twist Shot?" Matt replied quickly.
"A... a damn good one?" This brought out a laugh from Matt, who walked over, shaking his head as he took a seat on the dock's edge. "Oh, screw you," said Caleb, sitting down as well. "Like any superhero names are that great."
Matt chuckled. "Right. I mean, War Witch? Aurora Borealis? They didn't have one friend willing to tell them they're name was terrible? Some heroes have no idea how to come up with a good name."
"Villains are worse," Caleb said, shifting to sit comfortably. "Captain Mako, Black Scorpion," then, with a snort, "The Great and Powerful Arctic Wizard."
It was Matt's turn to **** his head this time. "Never heard of that one."
Caleb laughed now. "Trust me, nobody has."
"But they are indeed about to!" The two boys whirled around quickly to see what was, for one of them, a familiar face. His imitation Circle robes a bit worse for wear, singed and soaked as they were, and a good chunk of his beard missing, the Arctic Wizard would have been a very comical sight if it weren't for the large crowd of Arachnos agents behind him. "You'll excuse me bringing guests to this party but they seem to be missing something. I thought you could tell them what happened to their lost helicopter? I lost track of it after the medi-porter saved me from you trying to drown me."
Matt began cracking his knuckles as shadows slid over the boy's gloves, readying for the fight. "After we beat these guys up, what do I ask about first? The drowning or how you stole a Black Helicopter and thought that would end well?"
Caleb clicked the safety on his pistols, giving them a few good twirls to make sure they felt right. He smirked at how naturally they fit. "Ask about the helicopter. It's a much better story."
Void Brawler nodded and said, "You got it," before fading completely from sight. Twist Shot took that as his cue to roll behind cover, not wanting to be the only one out in the open.
The Arctic Wizard let out a big, phony, evil cackle. "Yeah, run from me! Run, children! Now, my minions, atta--" But the Arachnos agents had already begun their charge, practically trampling the Wizard as they did so. A trio of Wolf Spiders ran to where they saw Twist Shot duck under, clubs ready to swing, only to find him not there. They started to turn when suddenly they came under fire. The rounds peppered their armored chests, but not piercing through. As they staggered, three quick shots were followed by them dropping one by one with considerable dents in their helmets.
As the Wizard tried to bring himself to his feet, two clasped hands wrapped in shadows suddenly came down over his head. The blow slammed the mage back to the floor as Void Brawler appeared over him. The boy raised his fist for a finishing blow when his feet were suddenly taken out from underneath him. He quickly followed the fall's momentum into a roll, springing back up to come face to face with a Night Widow as she let her claws slowly extend, venom dripping from them. Stone silent, she gestured for him to attack.
Void Brawler ran forward, arm held high as if to strike. The Widow struck low, hoping to catch him open, but that was the boy's intent. He reached his other arm forward, gripping the Widow's wrist and forcing her arm and shoulder down. Void Brawler whirled back to back with her, bringing his elbow into the back of her head and sending the Arachnos assassin stumbling forward. He ran forward leaping with legs out first to bring her down, but went sailing overhead as she dropped to her knees at the last moment. Void tumbled, ending his roll and coming to block an overhead swing from the Night Widow. They exchanged blows back and forth, each blocking and ducking and dodging in close combat, neither really scoring a noteworthy hit until she jerked to the side, nearly tripping as she did so. Void Brawler didn't miss the opportunity, slamming both fists into her open side and dropping his opponent. He turned to see Twist Shot standing atop a nearby building, firing from behind a rooftop door as the Arachnos soldiers took cover behind storage containers from the frighteningly accurate shots. He watched as one got brave, or perhaps too much of the opposite, and tried to charge building, only to be dropped as soon as he did so. It seemed that despite the numbers, he had the targets well under control.
Save for the group of six Void spotted entering from the side. Seeing a chance to be of use, he willed the shadows around his fists to cover his whole body and slipped from sight before kicking off of the ground and flying through the air. Anticipating them somewhat, he rose to a higher floor, forcing open one of the windows and swinging inside. Already he could hear the footsteps approaching as he made his way to the landing. As soon as they came in sight on the stairs below, he sprung into action, taking hold of the banister and flinging himself right into the middle of the attackers, flooring two with his heels as he landed. Taking the moment of surprise, Void Brawler backhanded the nearest Wolf Spider and followed the spin to land another good punch across the jaw of another. The two not reeling were aware of what had happened by then and had raised their maces to strike. Void ducked under the first clumsy swing, the weapons proving awkward in close quarters, and used both hands to push aside the second before striking at the neck of the offending soldier.
He turned then to see the last Spider had run up a few steps and now had his weapon aimed to fire. There was the faintest grin of satisfaction on the Arachnos agent's face as he fired in rapid succession, spraying the entire staircase in deadly bolts of energy. The weapon grew hot, too hot in fact, and threatened to explode before he stopped, confident he had left the boy injured at least. A sharp whistle from above drew his gaze to where Void Brawler clung, arms and legs spread wide to hold him in place between the edge of the stairs and the wall. The Spider cried out as the boy dropped fists-first into his face, tackling him. Void brought his hand up, then down atop the last soldier, and his job was finished. He stood up, taking a moment to make sure no one was getting back up before half running, half flying up the stairs to the rooftop door to see how Caleb was fairing.
It was actually a surprise when he opened the door, heard the click and felt the proximity of a gun barrel near his temple. In that moment, Matt thought it was all over, and he was torn. Any other day, this would have been a relief, a welcome end to a long nightmare. But he was actually saddened by the idea, by this betrayal. He clenched his eyes shut and waited for the boom.
"Oh! Damn, be more careful, I could have blown your head off," said Caleb, holstering the gun.
He opened them, blinking in disbelief, not that Caleb could see. "Right." Matt shook his head, snapping back to the moment at hand. "My bad for saving your *** from an ambush I guess!"
"From the herd of elephants?" Caleb smirked. "I had it covered. I was wondering what took them so long. Got bored once I took care of the front group."
Matt looked over the edge of the roof to see the crowd of unconscious, or he assumed they were at least, Arachnos soldiers below. He nodded appreciatively, looking over the rest of their handiwork; the soldiers, the Night Widow, the Wi-- then he realized someone was still unaccounted for. "Hey, what happened to the Circle reject?"
"Ran off after you took down that Night Widow. Don't worry though," said Caleb, stepping up beside Matt and pointing a little bit further out. "I took care of it." He saw it then, the bolts of ice whizzing through the air as a mass of gelatinous monsters closed in on their prey. Matt watched as a large, frozen spike sailed through one of the creatures who continued marching on as if nothing had happened. It was clear someone would be returning to the hospital soon. "Saw him trying to make a getaway, so I got them a little riled up."
Matt nodded again, this time with an amused smile poking through. "Pretty impressive. So," he said, turning to face Caleb. "What do you say we head back to your home turf for some Up-N-Away Burger and you can tell me aaaaaaall about this whole hijacking a helicopter idea."
Arc ID: 475246, "Bringing a Lord to Power"
"I'm only a simple man trying to cling to my tomorrow. Every day. By any means necessary."
-Caldwell B. Cladwell
"Wait here..."
Swift Cut nodded at the empty air, the female assassin listening carefully for the sounds that had become very familiar these last few minutes. She clenched her hands tightly, not looking forward to hearing the sounds of former friends fall once more, but it had to be done. They had come after her. This was their choice, their fault.
She heard it then, that slight rush of air before the sickening pop of snapping bones, a body crumpling to the floor, the unreal, airy rushing sound of dark energies moving across their newest victim. There were a few other hurried grunts, the sound of a pair of fists rapidly slamming into a foreign body.
"All clear."
Swift hurried around the corner to see her escort standing over two more of her former comrades, two more either dead or seriously injured because of her. She looked up from them to her guide through the sewer, little more than a boy really. Perhaps seventeen with blonde hair cut short into a front-spiked haircut. His eyes and face were obscured by a pair of sunglasses and a black cowl. His costume was also largely black, spandex, with a long, white flame pattern that ran up his arms and legs. Both his gloves and boots were spiked in the back, clearly as an added weapon possibility. The belt around his waist held a jewel-like object in the center, but she knew that was more of a storage container. She had already seen him pull the odd, candy-like substance from it before an encounter. Swift could only assume it gave him some temporary boost. He had just begun to fade out of sight when she spoke. "Do we really need to do this, Void Brawler? Hurt them all, I mean. If you cover me, I'm sure we could both just sneak right by them all."
"You hired me to do this," he replied, unseen. To Swift's trained ear, she could hear a lot of trouble in his voice, more than she would have expected from one so young-- even in the Rogue Isles. "Besides, if we don't at least take these assassins, they'll kill you the minute you're in that sub and not my problem. Trust me and let me do this job my way."
Swift Cut nodded, though not happily so. These men and women were her friends at one time, her family even. And though they clearly no longer saw her as such, she still felt every strike on them as a personal sting in her chest.
The boy's voice called from ahead. "I think I see the exit up ahead. You're clear to move forward."
Cut looked out across the sewege, wondering at that moment if there really had been no better route to the submarine that would give her safe passage out of the Isles and into Paragon City. She glanced up at a set of piping and at a walkway a little way away that would get her across the room unmolested by the very suspiciously colored water. "Coming." Swift bent her knees, eyes locked on the pipe just overhead. Like a cat, she sprung upward, hands grasping it firmly. She was relieved to feel that it wasn't slimy and therefore a pretty secure purchase. The former assassin began rocking backward and forward, building momentum until she could swing herself onto the catwalk.
She landed softly on all four, not making a noise even on the rusted metal. She silently ran forward, leaping again off of one of the safety bars to the safety of the concrete walkway that led to the sewer grates. She smiled to herself, if just for that moment. For the first time since she had entered this sewer, Swift Cut felt she was making the right decision.
"So what will you do?" asked Void Brawler, still unseen. "Once you get to Paragon City, I mean."
In truth, Swift hadn't really thought that much of it. It was simply the need to get out of the Isles and away from her now murderous, former comrades that propelled her into dealings with the PPD. It was clear in the talks she did have that they would want something from her in exchange for the safe housing. But the idea of exposing the secrets of the people who had been her whole life for so many years was too much. "I suppose I'll take up hero work. I'll pay my dues to the city and... maybe get a real life back." She had never thought of it that way before. That she could have a real life, not always dabble in secrets. She could move freely through the world. Well, soon; first she would need to make it to Paragon City, prove her willingness to change.
Void Brawler didn't respond, merely opened the grate and stepped inside. "Count to ten, then come up after me," he said. She could hear the faint sound of flight as he rose upward through the piping. It was really very lucky that she had managed to get a hold of him. Despite his youth, he did have some reputation for being well-trained and thus able to spot some of the tricks common to the trade. Her ten seconds past, she hurried upward after her escort. She did to see a sight that stopped her heart.
Silent Blade stood across from Void Brawler atop a garbage float, eyes locked. Though neither held a weapon, the tension in their bodies made it clear that any moment that would change. "Sister!" Swift Cut called. "Don't do this!"
Silent's head turned toward the sound of the voice, all the opening Void needed to rush forward and thrust a shadowy fist firmly into the other assassin's abdomen. The punch lifted her off the ground ever so slightly and set her down on her knees. Quickly, she swung her legs around, taking Void's own out from under him. She rolled backward, drawing her sword in the same, fluid motion and held it at the ready. Void Brawler rolled back as well, standing in a low crouch, eyes watching her for some indication of where she would strike next.
"You have betrayed us sister," said Silent Blade, her eyes this time not leaving her opponent. "You know we only do what we must." Swift Cut shook her head, trying to shake the tears from her eyes. She ran to the edge of the platform that overlooked the battle. "And I will do what must be done. Once I finish this dishonorable coward."
Void Brawler wasn't goaded by her insult, choosing instead to let the shadows that enveloped his hands cover his entire body, stealing him from sight. Silent Blade's grip on her katana tightened then, taking the tension from the rest of her taut muscles as she listened for telltale sounds to give away his position.
She heard it then, the slight tap of foot on metal just behind her. She swung in a wide arc behind her, feeling a little resistance just before a pair of clasped fists came down on the back of her head. She stumbled forward, losing her balance and sprawling on the filthy ground. Void Brawler felt the not entirely shallow cut in his side, hissing a little at the discovery that it stung more to the touch. He hurried forward, this time watching for her to make a move to recover. And move she did, rolling over to throw a trio of shuriken his way.
Void deftly twisted as he moved, letting them sail right past him before he slid forward to straddle Silent Blade, pinning her to the ground. He said no words as dark energies coursed from him into the female assassin, then back, taking some of her life force with them. His wound knit back together, remaining only as a red line across his side. He gripped the back of the very weakened Silent Blade's head, preparing to smash it down into the solid floor of the garbage float and end this fight.
"Void, don't! You've won, she'll back down." The young assassin looked back to where his client stood, her hands clenched just below her chin, fear plain in her eyes for her sibling. He looked at her for a moment, then down at Silent Blade who already laid there, still. He sighed, letting her head simply drop on its own. Watching as the medi-port took her away. He heard Swift Cut padding along then, coming up behind him. "Thank you," she said, handing him a golden credit card. "Please, take all the funds you want. The entire account is yours. I don't want it anymore. It's all blood money, and it's the least I can offer you for all this." She smiled a little as she wiped a tear from her eye. "It'll be good to start completely over anyway. And I couldn't have done that without you. Come on, the signal for the sub is over this way."
She hurried toward a crate near the water, Void Brawler walking along behind her. "Your new life as a hero, right?"
Swift Cut looked back, still smiling faintly, a smile for the possibility of a better life. "Yeah; I almost can't believe it." She looked down at the signal in her hand and the button she just needed to press to begin her freedom.
She felt a pair of hands from behind wrap themselves firmly around her chin and the back of her head. Void Brawler's voice whispered softly in her ear. "I hate heroes." A tear blurred her view of the inactive submarine signal just before her vision was forced to the side and a sickening crack turned it all to darkness.
Arc ID: 475246, "Bringing a Lord to Power"
"I'm only a simple man trying to cling to my tomorrow. Every day. By any means necessary."
-Caldwell B. Cladwell