I would really appreciate some feedback on the story before I continue - specifically about the Golden Apple of Discord. Are most people familiar with the myth, or do I need I to expand upon it further within the story?
Bad Voodoo by @Beyond Reach. Arc ID #373659. Level 20-24. Mr. Bocor has fallen victim to a group of hooded vigilantes who have been plaguing Port Oakes, interfering with illegal operations and pacifying villain's powers. He demands that revenge is taken on these miscreants and his powers are returned! You look like just the villain for the job. Challenging.
An average man, of an entirely average height, average appearance, with an average demeanour, dressed in an average beige three-piece suit walked up the steps towards the Atlas Park bank. He would have been entirely disregarded, if it were not for the host of thugs, tights pulled over their heads, following him inside. And it was clear even to the most casual observer that they were not pursuing or harassing him, these men were following him.
It was mid-morning outside, but it took the superfluous fluorescent lights within to illuminate the fact that the average man was in fact wearing tights pulled over his head as well, beneath that fedora. But they were torn, almost symmetrically, the tears appearing to form a sinister grin across his otherwise expressionless face. Standing at the entrance to the bank, he produced a single handgun from within his jacket with his black leather gloves, just as the thugs behind him produced some rather more dangerous semi-automatic weaponry of their own. The people within the bank paused for a moment, before screaming, some rushing for the door only to be knocked back by the thugs blocking it.
Ladies and gentleman, please stay calm, murder is not on my agenda for today. His words, seeming to shake the air with a supernatural...what could only be called persuasiveness silenced the previously hysterical room. Behind the counter the tellers struggled with the emergency buttons that produced no response and the phone that was dead.
I can assure you, bank employees, that I have saw to it that the police will be completely unaware of our- The average man suddenly clutched his head as an overwhelming pain flooded through it.
An average woman, of an entirely average height, average appearance, with an average demeanour, dressed in an entirely average grey robe sat in a place that defied all description. Its incandescent, indeterminable, ever-changing beauty defied any attempt at mortal description, or perception. It's brilliance persisted seemingly in spite of this average woman. The magnificence of the being that stood behind her surpassed even her surroundings, an effervescent idol that shook one's soul both with an unbearable weight of having witnessed such height of pulchritude one would only bear sight of lesser things until the end of time, and the heartbreaking realisation of one's own insignificance in the face of a being that gave off a very aura of transcendent power. The average woman was the first to speak.
I suppose brother, that you as well will be attending that forced charade, while I am spited without an invitation? Spoke Eris, Goddess of Strife and Disorder.
You lie with your very appearance sister, do you expect one such as yourself to be brought to a celebration? Spoke Ares, God of War. Eris sighed with an annoyance that masked many other much more complex emotions and an instant of brilliant machination.
I hate that my own brother speaks such ill of me, this will not do. I seek to change this sad state of affairs, so forgive me this action out of character. Here, she produced a wondrous golden apple in hand, take this to the celebration. Lay it quietly on the table with the other gifts, I wish only to affect the opinion of my brother with this action.
Ares took the apple. He paid no heed to such baubles, he would bless Peleus with a mighty sword, so he barely glanced at the apple. Eris had anticipated that he would never notice that she had inscribed upon the apple: 'for the most beautiful'.
Broken Verse cried out as the vision faded; disoriented, he saw a shaking security guard raise his gun and nervously aim at him. Verse was still dazed, his mind trying to collect itself from the strange invasion it had just suffered. There would be no way he could react before that bullet had pierced his skull. A bang and a hole appeared in the security guard's head, he dropped to the floor. Solomon, the man of constant moral ambiguity, and the only one of them who was not wearing tights over his head he wore an olive hood and a scarf pulled up over his face returned his pistol to it's holster. As Broken Verse managed to gather his bearings and his breath, he muttered under his breath...
Two murders in two weeks Solomon, the hero of the people has such blood on his hands... he raised his voice, everyone proceed as planned. Disruption is only a fact of all us. Empty the vault.
This is war. Solomon retorted in a whisper. Innocents die, it's just collateral damage. Regardless, I couldn't exactly let you go and break your promise, could I?
You are an interesting man, Solomon...Forever clinging to your rules, through the chaos. Do you feel-
-save your rhetoric Verse, I have no taste for it. Solomon spoke loudly as he interrupted him. Have we not established that?
I'm sure to some it's an acquired taste... Broken Verse regained his voice as he straightened his posture. He stared out into the crowded room. But these people, I'm sure they'll just eat it up. He approached them with a nefarious grin broadening across his face. Solomon grabbed his arm.
I have questions, Verse. This was an order from the young man to the creature with the face of a man, many years his elder, and many years since one could really call him human. Broken Verse's voice dropped low again.
...of course you do. All consumed with the search for answers, struggling-
I said I had enough of that. Solomon was beginning to get irritated, although this was not uncommon for a man who saw himself as 'good' sharing time with an utterly amoral psychopath. Will you answer my questions or not? In a blur of movement Broken Verse has grasped the wrist of Solomon, who was still holding onto his arm. The leather of his glove audibly cracked as he tightened a close to bone-cracking grip around his wrist. Yet he simply lifted Solomon's hand off his arm, the most passive, and gentle of motions.
I will answer you. Though I tire of your need to know things. I assured you many times, you would be better off in ignorance. These people certainly are. He gestured as he spoke loudly towards the crowd.
First of all: what happened to you earlier? You seemed to have some kind of sudden migraine, but it only lasted for a few seconds. What's wrong with you? If you're dying, you better get moving on holding up your end of the bargain, and not wasting my time with this ********. Which leads me to my second question: why the hell are we robbing this bank anyway?
Only a few seconds you say? Well isn't that interesting...The truth is... Broken Verse suddenly burst out laughing and pointed his gun at one of the hostages as he wiped a tear away from his eye...Solomon grabbed his arm and pushed it down again. Nevertheless Verse pulled the trigger, shooting one of the hostages in the foot, provoking a massive scream. Solomon moved to hit Verse but he merely turned and looked Solomon straight in the eye, and he backed down.
I apologise... he said to the crowd, I just find the word truth, he paused and giggled a bit, so hysterical! Now where was I....I don't have the answer to that question I'm afraid Solomon. Who knows, maybe after all these years I'm going insane... Solomon observed the first moment he had seen from Broken Verse that seemed to demonstrate some real, tangible emotion.
As for your other question I thought better of you. Surely you would never ask me, why I would do something? We both know that the answer is utterly irrelevant...if even existent. He grinned at Solomon, returning to his expressions of utter falsehood. But his emotion appeared again.
The Broken Verse heard his name whispered. He spun around, terrified, eyes searching the room for anyone who may have spoken, his hand clenched tightly around his gun. There was only one man alive who knew his name, and that was not his voice.
Bad Voodoo by @Beyond Reach. Arc ID #373659. Level 20-24. Mr. Bocor has fallen victim to a group of hooded vigilantes who have been plaguing Port Oakes, interfering with illegal operations and pacifying villain's powers. He demands that revenge is taken on these miscreants and his powers are returned! You look like just the villain for the job. Challenging.