ERA of Challenge #13: Armaments

PART I: TRIAL AND TRIBULATION
One Week Ago
Athena's Coliseum

Throughout his career as a "hero", Armaments has been afraid twice. Only twice. The first moment of fear was over three months ago: an incident involving the deceptive and treacherous "Mister Shade." The silhouetted figure loomed within the deepest fathoms of his memory. Over and over, the bout between "good" and "evil" played. The bullets spent, the punches landed. The conflict that lasted less than 15 minutes was so vivid that it made Armaments' adrenaline pump.

The cruel fascination with the man who caused so much pain. What was the reason? What could be so captivating that he had to remind himself that there he was standing before death?

Beneath him, the ground shook. Cheering erupted from the crowd, all shouting the same name. It was sickening. It was repulsive. It was invigorating.

"Julio! Julio!"

A towering, bi-pedal bovine stood a fair distance away. The Minotaur was the right-hand of Athena, leader of the Warriors. He was also a favorite of the crowd for his ruthless style of combat. The announcers praised the Minotaur, professing their affection for his brutality. The bets were all in the favor of Julio. The crowd continued to cheer, roaring in excitement and anticipation. They wanted bloodshed. Not pools of blood: rivers. Until now, the fights were mediocre at best. Quick eliminations, quick deaths. The spectators knew that with Julio, their pervasive needs would be met.

As mentioned, Armaments (under the guise "Artillery" – A fledgling villain set on absolute destruction) has been afraid twice in his heroic career. Once against the man he aimed to overthrow, and now. The fear was not physically evident, but mentally. Thoughts raced through his mind. What if he failed? Would the mission be compromised? Would Havok think less of him?

Would this be his death?

However, there was no fear in Julio's eyes; no anxiety. There was bloodlust. There was certainty. He would win; he would be the conqueror.

The bell rang, and the fight commenced. With a ferocious snarl, Julio the Minotaur charged at Armaments. Through his visor, several images appeared on his HUD. Most of it was system information: energy outputs, ammo counter; the basics, in his eyes. However, several areas were highlighted on the Minotaur's form. Some flashed red, some green, and one yellow. Green often meant "go", while red would mean "stop." Yellow, though, always had mixed meanings.

The head and appendages were highlighted green. The chest and battle axe were highlighted red. The tail was yellow.

There was little time to act. Within a few seconds of charging, Julio covered the entire distance between the two. He swung the axe, aiming to cleave the man in two. Armaments, reflexes brought to superhuman levels thanks to a drug administered by Shade and the Crey Corporation, narrowly avoided the blow. Alarms sounded within his helmet: ones that were not installed. It caused him to be confused – within that fraction of a second, Julio the Minotaur slugged him in the abdomen.

The ground cracked from where Armaments landed. He tasted blood, and shook the sensation (or lack there of) of feeling away. A voice crackled to life inside his helmet.

"Hey, Lame-aments, did you not see the highlights I made for you?"

The voice: it was the same voice that rescued him in the past. A super criminal with the ability to communicate and manipulate technology. In the non-meta world, he was known as Charles Wells – a technological genius whose inventions rival that of Dr. Aeon and Amon Aser. In the meta world, he is known only as Adaptor.

Armaments rose from the ground, placing a hand to the side of his helmet. He was forced to mute external audio. A single mistake could compromise the team.

"Shut up, and do not interfere. I will deal with you when this fight is over," Armaments said. He wasn't focused on the fight. He was focused on the small icon in the upper left portion of his HUD. Adaptor was lounging in what seemed to be a palace chair. It was too exquisite for the mechanized genius. The villain thought little of anything non-mechanical. There was something that Armaments was missing, something in a larger picture.

A bellow forced him to snap back into attention. Julio was right in front of him, chest heaving with rage. There must have been trash talk that Armaments didn't catch. The crowd was on their feet, expecting a finishing blow. They wouldn't get it.

Armaments reached onto his back for his retractable bow. One right after the other, he let loose three specialized arrows: a sonic arrow that would cause intense vibrations, weakening the structure of anything physical; an acid arrow that would further weaken all physical objects (in this case – the armor); and an oil slick arrow to cause the beast to slip and fall for a short period of time.

The armored man replaced the bow with his new tactical sidearms complete with laser sights. Adaptor howled with laughter.

"Those potato guns won't hurt him! Well, I guess they will. Aim for the legs!"

A small window appeared next to Julio's image. In the window, the legs were zoomed in with crosshairs three centimeters above the knee caps. The image brought something to Armaments' attention: Adaptor was helping him. The green areas were weak spots of the Minotaur. The red spots were areas that should not be attacked. The red area on the chest turned yellow, however*– Adaptor must've noted the acid eating away at the chest.

In quick succession, Armaments shot eight rounds into the crosshairs. Julio snarled with anger, clenching his legs as he fell into the oil. The man lowered his guns, the barrels smoking.

"Why are you doing this?" Armaments calmly asked. He had not been known for his rash attitude, but rather his actions on the field involving extreme prejudice.

"'Cause it's boring in this place. I want to see you get down to the real fights." Adaptor said, distant from the conversation mentally. He must've been communicating with some thing, or some one. Armaments first noted this during his bailout. When talking to the machines, Adaptor would make comments that sounded as if he weren't wholly there. Like a child answering questions while playing video games.

Armaments glanced up to Julio the Minotaur. The crowd was furious at the assault against their hero. The "hero," however, subdued the crowd's rage with yet another savage roar. Armaments removed the standard clip from his pistols, and pushed in two fresh ones. These, however, would be enough to subdue the beast. The ammunition type were classified as "I" for Incendiary. In layman's terms – fire bullets.

There was no need to specifically aim. Three shots rang out, and all of them struck home. The first bullet caught the Minotaur's chest. The burning sensation of the hot metal caused him to fret. The second bullet caught the oil underneath his feet, setting it aflame. He howled in pain as the fire ate away his fur. The third caught the hilt of his battle axe, forcing him to drop the weapon. The crowd went silent.

The clips clattered to the ground. He would make no error. Armaments slid in two new clips, marked "P" for Chemical. He distinguished the "P" and "C" due there being cryo- and chemical bullets. The beast gazed up at him. There was something in his eyes. Something that Armaments was all too aware of.

Fear.

One bullet was all that was needed to drop the beast. The bullet went through an exposed section of the Minotaur's chest, releasing the chemical into his blood stream. It was not a deadly toxin, but it would put him out for quite some time. The crowd was motionless, standing on the very edge of their seats, willing the creature to stand and fight. It did not move, but laid slump against the ground. The fire doused itself, suffocated by the monster's body.

"And it's over! Artillery has won the first match. Julio the Minotaur, you are in our heart's and prayer's that you will recover soon from this diabolical dilemma!" The announcers cried.

Armaments walked away, remaining silent. He got the subtle nods of his team mates. They knew he wanted to finish the creature off, but he would have to wait. This was not the time to strike. Adaptor sighed, irritated.

"You are never going to win the tournament if you don't show some muscle, dude."

Armaments made no comment. His goal was complete. He passed the first round. It was satisfaction enough.

"Alright, whatever, Buzz Killington. If you aren't going to talk, just wait."

He paused. Adaptor knew something.

"What do you mean?" Armaments asked. It was a simple request, but he knew Adaptor's demeanor.

"I'll make you talk a whole bunch, is what I'm saying. Well, I won't. You'd beat the **** out of me, but someone else will," Adaptor said. He was staring right at the camera. The helmet that protected shielded his facial features, but from the tone of his voice, Armaments knew there was certainty. There was something coming for him, something that would make or break him.

amazing battle scene man. great work.

PART II: I AM BECOME DEATH
Three Months Ago
Orthrus Inc. Holding Facility

Boots thudded against the floor, echoing throughout the desolate halls. The facility was on the outskirts of the Rogue Isles: out of the jurisdiction of both the Isles "government," and the United States'. While the purpose was to research and document unnatural occurrences in the meta-human world, it often acted as a penitentiary for the captured threats. This threat in particular caused the sinister Mr. Shade trouble in the past… but no more.

"Take him to the Omega Wing," said Shade to his agents.

The agents saluted once, and went back to the portable containment unit. Within the unit was a man that had the audacity to oppose all that Shade created. The intrusions into the Orthrus mainframe, the treason against Orthrus: it was nearly unbearable. Unbearable for those who were not Shade.

He had read their files numerous times. Psychological profiles, abilities, backgrounds. He wasn't surprised, he is never surprised. Shade watches as the agents push the containment unit past him. He mutters, facial features unseen by the black mask that covers his entire mask.

"James Ford… Armaments."

Ford was one of the best in his eyes. He lacked the the social qualities of Johnny Turbo, and the natural influence of Red-Havok, but he was devoted, loyal. Softened beeps emitted from the security panel on the wall. Shade heard the doors hiss open. He called out to the two agents before the doors shut.

"No one is permitted to see him, except the directors."

The agents saluted, and he was alone in the hall. He tightened his hand into fist, and proceeded to the Blackhawk that was waiting for him.

*****

It was postmortem, the scream. The death happened faster than humanly possible. That was the problem, however: it wasn't human at all. It was a parasite. It was a monstrosity. It was death.

The creature thrived on emotions. It lived on the fear, on the displeasure of life. Negative energy is what breathed life into it's veins. It breathed death on to those within it's reach. Darkness filled it's morbid heart.

The fallen agent fell to the ground, and the symbiotic process went into effect. The fear was gone, now replaced with a grim emptiness. What the man possessed – skills, knowledge, personality – was gone now, consumed by the void that was the parasite. It stood, reflexively opening and closing its hand. Behind it's armored face, the creature had a demonic smile.

The agent possessed a vast amount of information that would be useful: watch rotations, those within the facility, and the dates in which the Directors would be present. Humans were fools for not protecting this information better. It was not a fool. This information would be delivered to those that could use it properly.

A chill ran down its spine. It stood straighter, mouth slacked slightly. It licked its lips from the salivation.

There was fear. There was anger. There was despair.

Something – or rather, some one – was in its presence. The amount of emotion radiating from this person was inconceivable. It was not fluxing, but consistent. It overwhelmed the creature, causing it to stagger forward with hunger.

Hunger. Hunger was its mortal enemy. It was not positive thoughts, or heroic efforts. It was the insatiable hunger. Negativity was constant in the world, but this much could keep the hunger at bay for weeks, if not months. It had to have it. It needed it.

Fellow agents called for their fallen brethren. It was overdue for a status report. A pity that they would never receive one. The creature sank into the shadows, an ability it replicated from a previous host.

*****

Four Hours Later
The Castle – Bavaria

Sebastian Kain sat in a chair of regal design. It was fit for a king, it truly was. The castle, grandiose in appearance, was his. Appropriately, he was its king. The structure was nearly empty, save for the inanimate objects. He sighed, resigning to the fact that it would be days before his "colleagues" would return. That thought brought a smile to his face.

"My colleagues," he muttered. A union of the world's most conniving and ruthless individuals. How he managed to persuade them all to unify was often beyond him.

Behind him, a shadow took form. It rose from the ground with unnatural beauty. The sight often left him in appreciation of certain abilities. Kain stood, instinctively reaching for a cane that he had little need for. One of his finest huntsmen had returned.

"Ghostmaw, you've returned sooner than expected. I assume the mission was successful?" He asked. While "man" was not accurate, the creature was as much a man as any. It could think, it could essentially breathe. The symbiote was loyal to him. After all, he possessed little fear of it. That was one of its few weaknesses, and one of Sebastian's greatest advantages.

Ghostmaw, often unaccustomed to speaking, spoke with a rasped voice. The smell of putrid flesh filled the air.

"The facility. Orthrus employed its finest." The creature, Sebastian could tell, was nervous. It had little reason to be, but a brief smirk flashed across his face. It did not want to displease him, it seemed. Humbling, but it was of little use.

"Tell me, then, why do you return? Would it delay our goals? Are you not fit to remove them of their duty?" Kain asked. Something troubled it. That was different.

"No," Ghostmaw replied, voice softening. "There is something I need, but cannot have. I need your assistance." Obsession ate at its words. Its remembrance of the negative energy caused salivation once more. It needed the energy.

It wanted Armaments.

Sebastian Kain nodded once. He reached into his jacket, producing a small communicator. The creature had a satisfied grin, if the exposed mouth meant he was grinning. It was hard to tell what was a facial expression when the creature did not know true happiness.

"Consider it done. You will have a feast fit for a king," Kain said, his voice filled with confidence. He set the communicator to an encrypted frequency. An annoyed voice answered.

"Yeah, what do you want? I got things to do, y'know."

A brief smirk appeared on Kain's face. Always with attitude.

"Adaptor, this is Sebastian. I need you and Kineticrash to head to an Orthrus Holding Facility. They have someone we need."

Another aggravated sigh. Adaptor seemed to be up to his neck in busy work, something he was unaccustomed to. First the spy games, now this.

"Alright, but if something happens to Busters McBruisers, don't come crying to me."

A sacrifice filled with apathy. Adaptor was learning. Learning what, it didn't matter. He was becoming a true villain, something he expressed interest in. Sebastian turned off the communicator, returning it to its familiar place in his jacket. He turned from Ghostmaw, staring out the window.

"You will have your meal, Ghostmaw. I promise you this."

Another excellent entry.

Part II: I am become horny for more story

Johnny Turbo | Phanto
THE CHALLENGERS: Challenge Accepted
HONORARY MEMBER: WARE.gov (Said I couldn't officially join because I'm too good at PvP)

((Awesome. First time i've read about Ghostmaw. Dope character.))

PART III: DECEPTION
Five Days Ago
The Caves Below Athena's Coliseum

The sound of water dripping echoed through the cave. It was the only sound, aside from the staggered breathing of those in attendance. The lack of civilians was reassuring: Athena prohibited the attendance of non-combatants. The fights were becoming more and more violent.

A chill ran down Armaments' spine. He had his next opponent, and it was one he was looking forward to. The Malicious Mongoose, a hired thief. In reality, it was a member of his team: Foxy Ferret. She was intelligent, compassionate, and a valuable asset to the Infiltrators.

A sense of sadism caused him to shudder. The Ferret was the light to his darkness. He had little problem doing "dirty work." If a threat needed neutralized, she would counter the assignment with an assessment of life, protecting the target from neutralization. It was infuriating. It went against an order.

She was thirty feet away, though. He had his orders, and she had hers. She would not back down, and neither would he. The Ferret's cunning was the perfect match for his own. The tension of anxiety grew, and somehow, Armaments knew she was feeling the same. It would be only a matter of minutes before the match began.

"Three, two, one!" The announcers screamed. "Begin the match!"

Armaments was like a whirlwind of movement. Within seconds, he pulled his twin pistols from their holsters. He had no need to swap out the ammunition – he had done that before entering the caves. Incendiary tracing rounds hailed from his assault. He moved in the most complex patterns imaginable. The disguised hero aimed for every area possible within the cave. It only took one to put her down.

The "one" would never occur. The barrels were smoking, glowing from the innumerable amount of bullets shot. Armaments surveyed the area, seeing no trace of a downed combatant. He looked left, a blur catching his eye. The Ferret, in all her cunning, had wedged herself between a protruding stalagmite. She had moved with inhuman speed, forcing her palm against his chest. He hit the ground hard. Even the announcers must've heard the disorienting grunt.

With her claws extended, she began lashing at the exposed sections of his body. He extended a pistol up to her chest, but the Ferret took noticed and evaded the potential assault. He glanced about, but she was no where to be found. He hurried and replaced the pistols with his bow. The man removed a specialized arrow from a compartment on his back. The flash arrow – capable of illuminating the entire area, and temporarily (or permanently) blinding those that gazed into the light. He released the string, the twang filling the hushed cave.

Five seconds went by, then ten. The arrow failed to detonate.

"Yeah, I don't think she'll be going to the light for a while," came Adaptor's voice. He had managed to worm his way into the match again. It was becoming a habit of his to be in the defining moments of Armaments' career. It was irritating.

"I don't have time for this, fool," said Armaments. He didn't hide the annoyance in his voice. He heard Adaptor laugh.

"Yeah, you don't, but I do!" Adaptor replied. "Look, how about you stop being a little twerp and start wailing on this chick? Do you really want beat by a girl?"

Armaments ignored the commenting, releasing several specialized arrows. The first two were glue arrows, meant to cause slow movement. They failed to release, again because of Adaptor. This lasted for three more arrows. He heard the Ferret laugh. Rage swelled inside of him, but he kept his voice even.

"What do you want, Wells?" He had known his name. Armaments, like all of the Challengers, saw fifty names on the Blacklist. The Blacklist was a list comprised of several notorious villains. Adaptor, in all his glory, had managed to acquire it as well, handing it over to those on the list.

"I want you to beat the crap out of this chick! I mean, seeing as you're such a pansy, I guess it won't happen." His voice seemed distant. He was using his ability of technopathy – communicating with technology. Armaments thought he was psychic: several readings flashed across his HUD. Systems malfunctioning, several contacts on radar. It was the final straw.

Armaments reached behind his neck and ripped the wire connecting his internal computer to his HUD. The lights flashed, and went off. He was alone once more, but it was too late. A strong force hit him square in the back, causing him to fall forward. Claws dug into his skin. The Ferret had been behind him the whole time during the ordeal. She must've thought he was having an internal conflict. Correct, to a degree.

The suit began to hiss and whine. Smoke erupted from the neck and arms. An electrical fire started and went out on the lower section of his armor, near his heel. The announcers were shouting the Ferret's undercover name. She had won. He had lost. Adaptor voiced his concern, dismissively.

"Y'know, you wouldn't have lost if you listened to me. Instead, you got your butt handed to you by a girl. A girl on your own team, nonetheless!" That was it.

"Listen, you insolent little child. If I find you… when I find you, you will learn a new definition of pain. A definition that will not be found by any computer you speak to."

Adaptor remained silent for a few moments. Perhaps the threat got to him. He began laughing, hysterically. It was disturbing. It was unnatural.

"Bingo! Thank you, Lame-aments. You made my job a hell of a lot easier." Static washed over the communicator, then stopped. He was alone once more.

Armaments had lost, in more than one way.

*****

Several Seconds Later
The Shadow Shard

The formations of the Shard rotated. Each formation was comprised of several islands, coated with the Soldiers of Rularuu. One island was free from the fiends, though. In their place was a monster more terrifying, more brutal.

Ghostmaw.

It stood, perched on a outcrop like a gargoyle. It sensed the rage of Rularuu, but it was not enough to satisfy the creature. It sensed the fear of the Vanguard, but it still was not enough. Nothing but that nexus of darkness could dull the hunger, and that's when the symbiote sensed it.

It was miles from the Shadow Shard, but it was in reach. The anger, the despair, the fear. All of it, all of it and more. Sebastian Kain promised him a feast, and he would have it.

Why did you color every "of" red you ****?

Actually, that happened to me, too. Whenever I clicked Xan's link through the list of stories in the ERA thread, it had that. I don't know why.

But thanks a ton, guys. The next story is going to be pretty dark, so I tried saving some shock factor. I'm really invested in this story and character, it's sweet. I love reading the other ERA's, too.