Action, Adventure, Excitement, Part 9: Finale Chapter 4 Subject: AAE9: Wolf's Reign On Tue, 03 Oct 2006 23:16:22 -0700 Morgan and/or Roland Said As CAoL Message # 00012850 The wheel bike raced across the mountainside, legs kicking out to throw, crush or grab and swing with gospog, zombies and various Viper soldiers. The bike's blasters have taken even more of a toll on the rank and file; in a smaller battle, she would have made a significant dent in the invasion force. Dracul and Gaiasbane followed, with the Grievous-bot trailing behind, running on all six limbs and rather the worse for wear. Dracul is grinning gleefully, flying along and wreaking havoc on heroic grunts they pass. Gaiasbane, even in his titanic Dire Wolf form, is clearly much less pleased, a rippling snarl baring rows of dagger-like teeth as he races after the Highlander. \Dracul, you damnable immortal,\ Gaiasbane rumbles along the Black Lens Link, \when are you going to stop playing with her? I want her heart!\ \Oh come now,\ Dracul laughs back, \where's your sense of adventure? Besides,\ he notes, \sooner or later she'll run out of room, or I'll penetrate the shield she's woven to protect the bike from my EK, and then we can end this at our leisure.\ OOC note: The Black Lens Link isn't as completely impenetrable as the equivalent in the Army of Light, but it's extremely well protected and loaded with the psychic equivalent of Black ICE -- deadly mental traps to destroy the minds of the unwary. Morgan, meanwhile, is fully aware of the danger her pursuers represent. Also, her use of the bike as a battering ram has had its effect on the machine, and it's not in the best of shape. [Time to change tactics.] She heads straight for a sheer wall of rock, one the wheelbike can handle, barely, but that will seriously slow down Gaiasbane and Grievous. Dracul sighs -- the chase has been fun, but he can't let her pull that stunt off -- so he yanks out some rock to create a horizontal wall to stop Morgan. The sorceress grins. That couldn't have been more perfect if she'd planned it that way. Morgan races up the wall, leaps away, then lets the bike roll along the wall and fly back at the men chasing her. Dracul watches the vehicle drift past in fascination, while Gaiasbane leaps back suspiciously. The Grievous-bot, however, is so intent on keeping up that he doesn't see it descending towards him until it's too late. The resulting explosion sends pieces of Grievous raining over the gospog around them. Dracul chuckles and shakes his head, armor gleaming red and gold in the fire light. Gaiasbane shifts to Crinos just to have a hand to slap his forehead with. "Oh, very nice," Dracul comments. "Grrr -- can we kill her now?" Gaiasbane snarls, drawing from the Umbra a curved, jagged blade, nearly two meters long, that looks like silver tarnished to a solid matte black. He hefts it in one hand, if just barely. "Take her alive, if you can," Dracul replies, all business now. He pulls his own katana, already hanging at his hip, and twirls it experimentally. \Slide right.\ Morgan is already moving as they stalk her, circling around Dracul to keep him between her and Gaiasbane, Aramegil held to one side and ready to bring to bear. In spite of the massive nature of the battle and the cosmic forces above, she is very much in her element. Before she was married to an immortal, before she joined a roving firefight that became an Army of Light, even before she found Callahan's, Morgan Greywolf fought in her clan's mercenary band. She has seen warfare and knows the battlefield. This much, she is ready for. Flying opponents and ten foot tall slavering monsters, that's a little more recent, true. Still, she's got plenty of experience with them as well. So when Dracul half-flies, half-leaps at her while Gaiasbane charges at her, angling in a slight rightward arc and keeping his body low, Morgan's ready. She dances to the left, ducking when Dracul slashes at her. She spins, parries, and leaps away from Gaiasbane. Life magick makes Dracul shudder, but he holds out, responding with several bolts of force that she blocks or dodges, some just barely. When Gaiasbane comes at her from behind to hamstring her -- the archetypal lupine attack -- her legs are already moving, and she rolls away from both opponents. /This isn't working,/ Roland sends with a grimace. /They have the numbers. Our only chance is teamwork. I'm sending Orchid through; when she knocks them off-balance, pass it on. Obsidian's next in the chain; he's facing the evil Seeker and Solomon Grundy, QX?/ /Aye./ Morgan backpedals, parrying both enemy blades with apparent desperation. Then Orchid-9 races through, forcing both men back. It rapidly gets worse when Cheetah runs full-force into Gaiasbane and the evil Jaguar has to leap over Red Fury to avoid colliding into both. Millennia of experience are all that keep the ancient Lunar alive, but Aramegil leaves a long gash in Gaiasbane's side all the same, one that doesn't heal entirely even when he uses his vast pool of mystic power to seal it. Fury grunts and flies straight at her, a dozen forces hammering at her in half as many seconds. Gaiasbane, literally howling with fury, charges forward, but ends up with his blade locked with Seeker-6's twin swords, the two of them glaring at each other in shock and frustration. Obsidian-9 chuckles as he throws a distracted Solomon Grundy into Fury, then grabs Seeker-6 and leaps towards Quantum-9. "Defender," Fury snarls, throwing Grundy after Obsidian-9. Morgan presses her attack on Gaiasbane, and the Lunar is forced to play defense. He howls a chant, and his entire _body_ becomes the same tarnished silver as his sword, except parts of the black are oily and toxic, and in a few tiny places the platinum-like sheen of moonsilver glows strangely. Even that is not enough to keep Aramegil from leaving a few cuts in his metallic fur, but it doesn't take the ancient monstrosity long to regain his bearings. Dracul, finally disentangled from Grundy, flies around to Morgan's flank, and she takes her first serious hit when he slips a lightning bolt through her defenses, leaving her teeth gritted and a few loose hairs standing on end. "I don't suppose you'd surrender," he notes, clearly expecting the comment to get him nowhere. The flatly disbelieving look she throws him is all the answer he needs. Fury shrugs in an 'I had to try' way, then he dives in, stooping like a hawk as he sheathes himself in enough electric power to short out a city. Unfortunately for Dracul (but fortunately for Morgan), Gaiasbane isn't paying any attention to his ostensible leader. With a little 'help' from Morgan's magick, instead of two-teaming the druid Highlander, Dracul ends up pincushioned on Gaiasbane's spiky moonsilver hair and Gaiasbane gets the shock of his life, mercifully mitigated by his metallic body. Granted a moment's respite, Morgan takes full advantage. Attacking that ball of lightning and metal being more trouble than its worth, she heals, recharges from Gaia's endless well of life, and sends a few helping magicks to allies with a desperate need for them. (OOC: Feel free to snag some of this, those who need it.) She's in a ready stance as soon as Red Fury pushes off Gaiasbane, both men snarling. \"Brilliant. Just sprocking brilliant,"\ Dracul growls. Still keeping one eye on Morgan, he nevertheless throws the tainted Lunar a disgusted look. \"I thought I explained that maneuver to you earlier."\ \"Rowr -- Pit-kissing nonsense! We should just tear her in half! Better yet, _I_ should just tear her in half, not have to worry about some spandex-wearing hormone getting in my way!"\ Gaiasbane's glare and tone both carry a challenge. Dracul's having none of it. \"You fool. The whole point of having a numeric advantage is so we _don't_ have to face these gorram heroes one on one."\ Gaiasbane chuckles mockingly. \"Well if _you_ can't handle it, 'super-villain,' leave it to someone who can."\ Fury stares at him in shock briefly, then flies back. \"Fine. You get yourself killed. I'll come back with reinforcements when you're done getting ripped in half."\ He flies off towards Orion and Kalibak. "Alone at last." Gaiasbane's smile is horrific, even by Champions standards, sickly yellow teeth still managing to gleam with menace. Something crawls out from between them briefly, only to be crushed as he chews it absently. "I've wanted this for years." "So what stopped you?" Morgan replies coolly as the two circle each other in a distinctly lupine manner. She adds muscle and fur, growing several inches as they eye one another. "Your pack," he rumbles, old annoyance rising briefly. Roland gasps in the distance as Anathema's blade cuts through armor. Gaiasbane laughs. "No absurd blue boy scout to come between us today, Gaia-lover." "At least I _have_ a pack," Morgan shoots back. Gaiasbane's eyes go wide. Then he howls in pure rage and hatred, leaping for her heart and throat. Even Morgan is only just able to parry the Grand Klaive, though her difficulty owes almost entirely to the combined strength and mass bearing down on her. Evading the bite is easier; she shrinks to human form briefly, using the monster's own momentum to throw him well past her. Just in the process of spinning around, the werewolf tears three gospog drones to shreds. He barely seems to notice when he roars and leaps again. This time, he moves more expertly, the monstrous blade whipping around with a starkly impossible speed for a weapon that size. Morgan doesn't bother parrying this time, instead sidestepping and using Aramegil's size-shifting to flicker-flash another slice along one leg. She just barely evades the foot claws, which grows to nearly a foot long before retracting. His metallic body doesn't bleed. Gaiasbane wastes no time; he ignores the wound and stays on the offensive. Switching to holding the sword one-handed, he slashes out with his free talons -- and the claws fly out of his fingers, transforming into worm-like creatures with razor-fanged circular maws. He keeps spinning, bringing the Klaive around like a scythe just when the worms would hit her. A wall of flame springs up in front of the druidess, not enough to harm her or Gaiasbane but sufficient to destroy most of the worms. She leaps in the same moment, her toes brushing the flat of the werewolf's blade. One worm, however, survives the flames and follows her up, latching painfully onto her calf. Morgan grits her teeth and wills the flesh it's attached to off her body, preventing it from poisoning her or burrowing into the muscle. She lands and counterattacks, ducking and slashing at Gaiasbane's midsection. Smoothly, the Lunar turns his blade in mid-swing to parry. He tries catching Aramegil in his weapon's many prongs, but Morgan easily pulls back the shapeshifting weapon. Instantly, Gaiasbane turns the hilt-twist into a thrust, but clever as it is, the attack doesn't have the power to force past Morgan's defense; she parries relatively easily. Still, Palpatine was almost less difficult, for all that he was greased (and oily) lightning. There's no strength behind a lightsaber parry, only skill; Gaiasbane is one of the most physically powerful creatures on Earth-9, and he isn't much slower even with his titanic weapon. Again, Morgan tries to take the offensive, forcing Aramegil to grow to almost the length of her opponent's blade. She manages to cut into his shoulder, but the metallic fur absorbs most of the blow. Leaping back again before the vile creature can use his range advantage, she reduces Aramegil to its normal greatsword length and moves into a defensive stance. Gaiasbane howls again, however, and it's as if all the foulness of the world descends on them. Even Morgan can't quite shake that off without feeling it, and as she does, the werewolf charges with incredible speed. The Highlander manages to avoid being carved open, but her foe finally draws real blood, slicing her open along her ribcage. Roland winces. The wound throbs with taint doubled, from howl and sword alike. She's healed worse, but not much; Morgan forces the foulness out of her body and the wound to close, but the damage still shows, and even her movement betrays that some small amount of real damage remains. Gaiasbane barks a laugh, circling the Greywolf. "You're slowing, woman. My cuts are many, but I feel them not, nor the fatigue. You've fought too many today, for too long. I'll have your heart in my teeth before it stops beating." "At least that would shut you up," Morgan growls back. Gaiasbane shrugs and leaps again, meaning to finish it. Morgan isn't as tired or wounded as he thinks, however, and as he descends, she rolls under him and slashes from behind, hamstringing the beast. Howling in fury and frustration, the Garou forces his legs to heal, but Morgan has given him a real hurt at last. He hobbles oddly, unable to favor either leg, but looks no less dangerous for his odd gait. He glares at Morgan, staring at Aramegil so intently it looks as if he means to bore a hole through it. Before the Highlander can deduce what he's trying, he vanishes. It takes a moment for Morgan to realize what has happened. Gaiasbane has "stepped sideways" into the spirit world. It only takes a flicker of thought to allow herself to see into the Umbra. That moment, however, is all Gaiasbane needs to close with her. Reappearing practically on top of her, the sword already whistling down at her, Morgan just barely has enough time to bring her sword up to shield her neck. Gaiasbane's ignorance saves her then, as he lets her blade guide his through her shoulder and half her chest into her heart, where he forces it to stop. There is a ringing of metal on metal as the Grand Klaive glances off Morgan's now-visible torc. Close. Very close. Roland sweats right through his orichalcum sheath. "MOM!" Rachel screams, terrified. That was NOT supposed to happen! [was it?] That's almost enough to let Professor Zoom catch her, but a lifetime of training allows her to slip away, if just barely. Then Gaiasbane levers Morgan with his klaive and pin her to the ground like a bug. Morgan grunts. \"I've never taken a Quickening before,"\ he rumbles with foul amusement. \"I favor the notion of making yours the first. So worried about your necks, you forget your hearts; slowest taking of the power, but the strongest. Yes."\ "no," Morgan replies. With a will to make a Green Lantern gape in amazement, she tears herself from Gaiasbane's blade with no more than another grunt, using her own gash to let it pass through her body as she forces herself forward, and stabs _him_ through the heart, extending Aramegil nearly five feet out his back and snapping his spine like a twig. "I'm not that kind of immortal." Slapping his chest with her free hand, she focuses, and a line of blackened silver turns to flesh from where the blade goes through his heart to the top of his head, where the now-normal hair springs up. Gaiasbane gapes in shock, the last thing he ever does. Then she takes the sword in both hands and literally tears the traitor to Gaia in half with one single slash all the way up through, and past, his skull. He falls partway to the left and the right, then just falls apart entirely, very, very dead. At that point, she falls to one knee, letting the sword drop point-first into the ground, and leans on the hilt just to stay upright. The long, massive wound heals, but far more slowly than it should. Those who can sense such things can _feel_ the wrongness leaking away from it, albeit not nearly quickly enough. "By the Source! Where'd you learn _that,_ Mom?" Rachel blurts. "Just a little alchemist's trick I learned a little while back," Morgan replies with as much of a grin as she can manage, reaching over, tearing a single moonsilver fang out of Gaiasbane's ruined mouth and dropping it into a pouch. "WHO ARE YOU CALLING A PUNY ANT THAT ESCAPES THE WRATH OF A SHOE BECAUSE HE'S SO SMALL THAT HE FITS IN THE GROOVES AND CAN'T GET SQUASHED?" a manic voice yells from the other side of the mountain. Rachel blushes, even running from Zoom, and straightens her hair. *"I meant the _trick,_ not you, Fullmetal,"* Morgan sighs with maternal exasperation. *"Keep your head in the game."* Her fond smile belies her stern tone. "[Thank you, Morgan-sama,]" a younger boy's voice replies, albeit echoing as if spoken through a metal bowl. \"Bravo, Greywolf,"\ Red Fury adds, clapping slowly enough to just be slightly mocking as he floats down nearby. \"Nicely done. Rest assured, however,"\ he adds, as Cheetah zooms up and a costumed, armored character with six blades, two in his hands and four floating around him, strides forward, \"that I don't intend to make Gaiasbane's stupid mistake."\ Morgan instantly recognizes the man of many blades as Sheath, Viper's top assassin and one of the few men on Earth-9 who can give her a real fight with a sword -- or six, in his case. Wearily, she stands and takes a defensive position. \"_You,_ my dear...are _mine._"\ All three leap at her... OOC Tag: Hello, old friend. ;-) =========================== Subject: Re: AAE9: Red Dragon On Wed, 04 Oct 2006 10:02:13 -0700 Harlock - Bard Extraordinaire Said As CAoL Message # 00012851 >On Wed, 20 Sep 2006 23:09:04 -0700 >Morgan and/or Roland Said As CAoL Message # 00012838 > >>On Tue, 19 Sep 2006 21:19:00 -0700 >>Harlock Said As CAoL Message # 00012834 >> >> >>The whisper raises to a cutting lash. "You _can't_ run from your >>memories, fool! They made you, even as you made them!" > > Dracul's mouth tightens ever so slightly, and he searches mentally >for the source of this distraction, the better to psi-blast it into >Oblivion. If anybody other than cosmic-level entities could see Harlock at the moment, they would notice a smirk chased away by a hint of concern. [Got his attention with that one. I'd better make sure my three-fold return shield is in place, methinks.] >>The voice drops back to a whisper, almost a croon. "And behind the >>playground bully is a lonely little boy, desperate for his father's >>attention...maybe even his affection, yes?" > > That actually stops Dracul in mid-air. He laughs with genuine, >mocking contempt. Then he redoubles the chase, blasting UNTIL units >and supers who get too close. The heroic Obsidian goes flying, but >manages to land on a pair of goat-demon gospog. As Obsidian-9 resumes >his battle with Jaguar-6, Fury turns a moment of attention to the >voice. "Overreach, and you get your hand snapped off," Dracul sneers. >"My father was a monster to make me look like a saint. That was one >of the best days of my life, feeding him to the Caul." Defender >blanches slightly. "Playground bully. Pah. Go sell your snake-oil to >Viper. Maybe they're buying." [Dolt. He mistakes a probe for an overreach. If anything, methinks I've struck a nerve. Now to change the attack slightly...] The whisper adopts a conversational tone. "So if you hated your father so much, why spend so much time trying to _be_ him, hmm? You may not have gotten his affection, but I would bet you have his approval, whatever pit of Hell he may be watching from." =========================== Subject: Re: AAE9: Shadows of War (fwd) On Wed, 4 Oct 2006 18:38:42 -0700 (PDT) Rob N Said As CAoL Message # 00012852 >Morgan and/or Roland Said As CAoL Message # 00012848 > > Eric's smile shows fangs just before he becomes an untrackable >blur. The Hunter with super-speed is a sight to behold, at least for >those who can see him, and he shreds monsters by the dozens. Still >tracking Zia with a touch of concern, his main focus remains on the >battlefield. And somehow, he remains all but invisible except for the >trail of shredded gospog he leaves behind. > >Rio's bullet ballet doesn't change in substance. Instead, by >directing the Speed Formula into the ammunition, she makes each >bullet move at relativistic speed, at least to a range that satisfies >her (and prevents friendly fire). Even enemies near her targets are >devastated by the space-rippling wake of her weapon fire. Rob smiles for a moment before using the enhanced speed on himself. Most of it goes to moving faster, as he leaves a trail of vanished weapons and fallen foes. But a fraction of it goes to affecting his synaptic gaps and neural processes. In short, he overclocks his brain. Using the skill he practiced when he met Ya-ta-ree, he integrates all his senses into a mental "command center," allowing him to watch everything. Magic, psionics, ki, and a half-dozen other senses of trivial value, plus the normal five senses. Normally, he couldn't do this and keep fighting. With enhanced speed, it's like walking and chewing gum. By the time his mental clock hits 0:00.11 (subjectively, about six minutes from when he used the card - objectively, eleven seconds) the Citadel of Cytorrak is ringed with stolen grenades, blaster power packs rigged to overload, and any other timed explosive Rob can get his hands on, and half of the UNTIL troops in that area have had hastily-written notes warning them away stuck on their gloves. Roughly half a second after that, the grenades go off. The power packs average about five seconds, plus or minus four seconds. Ming's Metal Men, however, are tough opponents - their forces are decimated in the original sense, losing roughly one tenth of their number. As the dust clears, a familiar figure steps up, his clothing neat and clean in spite of the battlefield. And judging by the blood on his fangs, he hasn't been idle. "You may recall that I promised you I would feed on your Possibilities. That time has come. You are separated from your allies. This time, there is nobody to save you." "Manwaring," Rob sighs. A quick glance around shows that the vampyre is correct; Ming's forces are blocking line of sight to all the CAoL. [Damn. One card to play.] "I'm sure you're hungry, then. Just out of curiosity, which Possibility will you consume first?" The undead studies his prospective meal, then blinks. "What happened to you, stormer? There is nothing left..." "Well, there's a funny story there," Rob answers, drawing out his sentences to stall for time. "It seems that I'm not actually a stormer, and because of that, I can't keep my Possibilities when I'm in the influence of stelae. Kind of a bother, really..." =========================== Subject: AAE9: First Hurdle On Thu, 05 Oct 2006 00:10:00 -0700 Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00012853 >On Mon, 2 Oct 2006 19:58:28 -0700 (PDT) >Ziactrice Said As CAoL Message # 00012849 > > "I said, I don't negotiate." James lifts her weight effortlessly, >teleporting near the Demon Unicorn, which snorts and charges them, >bounding far more like a cat than a horse. He holds her until the >last split-second, not teleporting until the charging horn is already >slicing through, disrupting shields, magic and life alike. Jodi barely has time to start screaming. It's more of a loud gasp, really, just before her body is torn asunder. > Even as the life that was Jodi Blake ends, poured out on this >uncaring stone landscape, James reappears, arms seeking a hold around >the Demon Unicorn's upper neck and head, seeking to throw the beast >over while the deadly horn is still somewhat encumbered in the corpse >bound in platinum. "Disgusting," an arrogant voice intones from above, jets only slightly distorting the sound. Lex Luthor, clad in green and violet battle armor, gazes down pitilessly at the Unicorn wrangler and his victim. "No less than she deserved, I suppose, but that lacked a certain style, don't you think?" Even as he speaks, Luthor acts, projecting waves of vibration on multiple levels designed to keep driving the Demon Unicorn wild. Secondary weapons fire from multiple ports in the armor harry several heroes and tear into heroic armies. Defensive screens that make Jodi's look laughable -- and however easily James tore through them, hers _were_ considerable -- overlap one another with a crafted genius to make a Mozart weep. Interwoven in the defenses are counterattacks of subatomic disintegration and mental annihilation to give even Superman pause. As well they would, given who this is. \Don't underestimate him, Luthor,\ Red Fury warns. \He's a hyper-branch of the _original_ James Bond, with supernatural powers no less.\ Luthor laughs. \Yes, I know. Magic. Bah. That, my young friend, is why I brought...an ally.\ Another bald foe literally emerges from the ground, as if an elevator had pushed him up through the dirt. He looks remarkably like the Baron Samedi from the movie "Live and Let Die." He grins, puts his index finger to his lips, and shushes both superspy and Unicorn. He is, presumably, ignored (there doesn't appear to be any magickal effect involved). Luthor frowns briefly, wondering if he has recruited a madman. [Where _is_ that over-muscled alien? Surely his pretense of 'honor' would require him to help his devoted disciple.] Cold eyes slide over to Defender, whom he observes with a moment of _very_ grudging respect. [Perhaps his true colors are finally showing. Ah well. To the matter at hand. I suppose this Bond character might give me a moment's challenge.] He attempts to teleport microscopic spheres into James and Zia the Unicorn alike. They are not immediately harmful, but flat filaments, like super-tough film, unwind from these spheres to jam the most stubborn motive systems, biological or otherwise. The 'Baron' laughs. Then... >On Wed, 04 Oct 2006 10:02:13 -0700 >Harlock Said As CAoL Message # 00012851 > >>On Wed, 20 Sep 2006 23:09:04 -0700 >>Morgan and/or Roland Said As CAoL Message # 00012838 >> >> That actually stops Dracul in mid-air. He laughs with genuine, >>mocking contempt. Then he redoubles the chase, blasting UNTIL units >>and supers who get too close. The heroic Obsidian goes flying, but >>manages to land on a pair of goat-demon gospog. As Obsidian-9 >>resumes his battle with Jaguar-6, Fury turns a moment of attention >>to the voice. "Overreach, and you get your hand snapped off," Dracul >>sneers. "My father was a monster to make me look like a saint. That >>was one of the best days of my life, feeding him to the Caul." >>Defender blanches slightly. "Playground bully. Pah. Go sell your >>snake-oil to Viper. Maybe they're buying." > >[Dolt. He mistakes a probe for an overreach. If anything, methinks >I've struck a nerve. Now to change the attack slightly...] The >whisper adopts a conversational tone. "So if you hated your father so >much, why spend so much time trying to _be_ him, hmm? You may not >have gotten his affection, but I would bet you have his approval, >whatever pit of Hell he may be watching from." Dracul does 'stumble' at that, though in the air it's more of a flying stutter, stopping then resuming flight fast enough to look decidedly odd. [Is this character really that completely off the mark, or...] he glances suspiciously over at Defender, who is still fighting desperately for his life against two phenomenal swordswomen. [Phoenix has already guessed more than I'd like. Contrariness is a very effective tool in this sort of battle. I've used it enough times, myself. Then again, appearances being what they are...if this would-be Jerek doesn't know what a Caul is or does, not that anyone who hasn't been to Malfeas does...] "Shut up," Dracul snarls. [There. Let's see if my tormentor bites on that, or if 'he' really knows more than he seems. Either way, however, enough is enough.] The Black Lens flares. \Seeker.\ \Yo.\ Seeker-6 laughs as he and Scarecrow hound Jaguar-9, having traded foes. \I have an Ear Worm,\ Dracul explains. Seeker's laughter stops. \Neverborn?\ \All busy.\ If anyone eavesdropped, the conversation would be disturbingly like listening to Defender and _his_ Seeker work together. Seeker nods, slashing at Jaguar-9, who parries with his klaive. \Let me know when it wriggles again. I'll pull it out.\ Fury smiles viciously and slams a heroic speedster he doesn't recognize into Kalibak. The hero crumples and, while not dead, doesn't rise. Defender. Fighting Bloodwolf or Anathema would be difficult enough. Solitaire-6's double-ended blade, like the bastard child of Aramegil and Darth Maul's lightsaber, moves like a tornado forged into steel. Anathema's greatsword is slower, but she moves with a lazy grace that belies her skill, her ESP matching his prediction for prediction. His utter mastery of telekinesis is all that keeps him alive now, nudging blades into the right places to block or dodge. Attack isn't even on his mind at the moment. He needs little of his _power_ for the duel, however, and his cosmic awareness expands across and through the entire battlefield. Roland Phoenix is their leader, and he does not neglect his duty, even now. Endymion, a Superman analogue from a world the Champions aided, scoops up Johnny Rocket -- Dracul's victim -- and blasts an approaching Tharkoldu Demon Lord with azure Force Vision, guarding Kalibak's rear. Obsidian-9 throws Quantum-6 into his evil analogue, Obsidian-6 aka the Black Prince, and he drains her for a moment without realizing (or does he?). Before the Black Prince can counterattack, however, Obsidian-9 is gone in a super-leap, replaced by Eric, who blocks the attempted ch'i drain almost contemptuously before throwing a sun-spike and vanishing into the shadows again. An overwhelmed UNTIL squadron suddenly finds itself with a huge gap in Viper's forces to drive through as bullets reverse direction and fly back into the barrels of the enemy units, guns exploding but not killing their wielders. Voormas, an arch-master of Entropy and a mage beyond even most CAoL members' power, brings a scythe down in a final killing blow against Dante, a Virtual Adept who is literally fighting in five battles at once, only to find a plate of mecha armor in his weapon's path. That Dante-split winks and vanishes. A giant spider who could eat Shelob for breakfast casts a web to wind Hachi Mara-Two only to find herself suddenly wrapped up in her work. Mara leaps to Kurst's side after that, laying down covering fire to protect him from a Deep One assault. All Defender's doing. Nevertheless, Roland will have to do something about his two opponents sooner or later. Preferably sooner, especially before they multiply. Jezrael, the new High Lord of Tharkold, is approaching him, carving a path through the heroes. Thratchen had been almost too much for him _alone._ He winces as Gaiasbane nearly slices his wife in half. Enough is enough. Focusing more of his power into his current battle, he thrusts Bloodwolf back into a knot of Black Spiral Dancers, who mistake her for her counterpart. While she disabuses them harshly, Roland turns his full attention to Anathema. The Paragon of the most cunning Pride serving the Wyrm. She smiles coldly, then attacks full force. The Phoenix Rod whirls fast enough to howl, blocking slashes and thrusts in rapid succession. His attacks slide off her power sheath, which she has focused in the traditional duelist's manner for Immortals. "Your powers won't save you this time, boy." "I don't want to do this, Anathema," Defender replies desperately. Gate Key spikes make her wince, and Roland manages to get a solid strike in with the Rod, but it does little more than make Anathema grunt in annoyance. "I wouldn't either, in your position," Anathema laughs harshly, kicking him in the leg. This doesn't do any more than his Rod strike, but it throws him just slightly off-balance, and that's more than enough to allow her to drive her sword through his abdomen. Force field and armor alike slide apart like butter. She misses his abdominal Gate Key center, but not by much. She twists the blade, and he hisses in pain, falling to his knees. "Don't...I don't..." Roland grunts. He points the Rod weakly at Anathema. She laughs and pushes closer to him. In an instant, the Rod becomes the Claw, piercing her heart. Anathema is paralyzed, an astonished look locked on her face. "...I don't...want...to kill...you..." A blade of pure shadow flickered out, slicing through Anathema's neck and sending her head flying. Markoth's satisfied grin appears as the Immortal's body falls. Then both men scream as power explodes through them, millennia of Eternal power and knowledge crashing through them. Bloodwolf stays clear, as does anyone else with a lick of sense. Markoth vanishes again, while Roland falls over onto his hands and knees. "...nass..." Fingers clutch the ground briefly, tearing grooves in the earth. [...and on top of everything, Markoth got her swordsmanship. Figures...] That's when a massive yellow mallet pounds him into the dirt. Sinestro chuckles cruelly. "You wielded this power once," he mocks, an array of alien devices pummelling the Champion constantly. "You threw it away. What do you think of that decision now?" "I think--" Roland is cut off as a cross between a drill and a jackhammer rips his back open. He closes it again by force of will. "--I'll get by--" a spiked piledriver pounds him. "--with a little help--" Sinestro's next attack is unceremoniously cut off by an emerald burst of power. The 'sunburned David Niven' turns in astonishment as Hal Jordan, Green Lantern of Sector 2814, appears from hyperspace. John Stewart is close behind, as are several other core members of the Justice League. They sweep expertly across the battlefield. "--from my friends," Defender gasps with a grin. Of the Legion of Doom, only Luthor is pleased. [At last. Once I deal with the spy...the alien. At last.] Meanwhile -- "YOU!" the Gaunt Man rages at Hal, astonishing even Sinestro and Defender. "I _DESTROYED_ you! I rent space and time asunder! Wove Parallax into the very fabric of the Source World! Shattered the string of Hypertime that renders you coherent! HOW?!" "Where there's a will, there's a way," Hal quips, busting Sinestro in the jaw. The Korugarian goes flying. "Besides, Defender there figured out it was you." "Honest, fearless, indomitable will, cosmic power...it wasn't exactly rocket science to figure out you'd hate that," Defender adds through labored breath. The Gaunt Man gapes at Roland for a moment, outrage and disbelief warring on his ruined face. Then, as if cut off like a switch, his calm returns. "Clever, boy. But you have yet to learn that for your every ace..." He snaps his fingers. The Crime Syndicate appears out of a hole cut in space/time by a Stewart-like Power Ring, and they attack their counterparts. "...I have a trump. Should you continue to escalate this battle, there may not be a universe left to claim," he notes with a sadistic, toothy smile. *If _I_ keep escalating?!* Defender replies psychically, clearly outraged. The smaller Crime Syndicate doesn't occupy every member of the League -- Aquaman is engaged with Black Manta, while the Stewarts' battle leaves Hal free to continue pounding Sinestro -- but Roland's ace has been, if not trumped, then all but neutralized at least. *_You're_ the one who pulled fracking _Azathoth_ out of his sprocking _pocket!_* Defender has one last trick up his sleeve, but he's saving that for the opportune moment. "Would you like to see," the Gaunt Man says with menacing satisfaction, "what other powers I have 'in my pocket?'" Roland snarls and stands, striding towards the Gaunt Man. He stops when Bloodwolf steps in front of him, blocking his path. Jezrael tears a last trio of UNTIL agents apart and lands behind him. Defender sighs. "Ohhh boy." -- Roland Phoenix, (ex-)Freelance Immortal "They don't pay me enough." =========================== Subject: Re: AAE9: First Hurdle On Fri, 6 Oct 2006 09:58:27 -0700 (PDT) Ziactrice Said As CAoL Message # 00012854 >On Thu, 05 Oct 2006 00:10:00 -0700 >Roland X Said As CAoL Message # 00012853 > > "Disgusting," an arrogant voice intones from above, jets only >slightly distorting the sound. Lex Luthor, clad in green and violet >battle armor, gazes down pitilessly at the Unicorn wrangler and his >victim. 'Sounds like Blofield, but high-tech. Bald.' James conjectures on what little he can surmise without sight or psi of this new enemy active. His muscles strain, his enhanced strength barely enough to throw the Greater Beast despite his leverage advantage. Psionic force flows through deep channels long-established as he seeks past the Logrus signs effects for the woman he knows within. The anger from the Stardragon seems to color the very air red, but James learned to work through anger so great it led him into madness. Now the emotion only makes him even more focused and deadly. >"No less than she deserved, I suppose, but that lacked a certain >style, don't you think?" Even as he speaks, Luthor acts, projecting >waves of vibration on multiple levels designed to keep driving the >Demon Unicorn wild. James, having had more than enough time to establish 360 degree vision through psionic technique, is able to react as soon as the waves strike him. The scaled head still held in his arms is slowly in its struggles. There is a ripping snort as the waves first arrive, but James is a fine telekinetist. He damps them out with canceling vibrations, taking only seconds to adjust them into nothingness around him and the Demonicorn. Sarah fields the energy Rob had gifted her, sending most of it onward to him just when he needs it, to deal with this new threat and bring Zia back to her senses at the same time. The rips and tears on his hands heal as Morgan has a brief second's surcrease to lend aid across the battle field. Whimsically, he even has the strength - and the split-split-instant that is all his mind, now in quite a high-speed gear, needs - to materialize and repair cloth to fix his tuxedo, rendering him once again immaculate. Zia always held that appearances were important, after all. >Secondary weapons fire from multiple ports in the armor harry several >heroes and tear into heroic armies. Defensive screens that make >Jodi's look laughable -- and however easily James tore through them, >hers _were_ considerable -- overlap one another with a crafted genius >to make a Mozart weep. Interwoven in the defenses are counterattacks >of subatomic disintegration and mental annihilation to give even >Superman pause. As well they would, given who this is. A few mild probes of nascent strength - without any investiture of himself to be traced back through - is enough to convince even James that bulling through that set of defenses would require far too much time and effort for this situation. He almost instantly has a different, more workable idea, but establishing a rescue link to Ziactrice's personality comes first. Split-seconds feel like hours as he deliberately moves his mentation speed up exponentially higher, until even vampiric reflexes cannot keep up. He sets up a programmed link to keep his coordination in tune, with the skill of someone who has had to do this extreme sort of mind-body challenge countless times before. Finally, there a connection to something of lesser power, but still congruent in being. He strengthens that, and thickens the virbational damping to also screen out the overwhelming fury the Stardragon is emanating, finally having time to send a bolt to register his displeasure and frustration at being so sorely beset by nominally allied entities to Oracle. It is unlikely they can do anything to prevent the anger, but a complaint should at least be registered to tell the creature it's causing problems for the less-than-galaxy class empaths. > \Don't underestimate him, Luthor,\ Red Fury warns. \He's a >hyper-branch of the _original_ James Bond, with supernatural powers >no less.\ OOC: Hah! Original not so much, in James' ficton, as you know, GM. The Shadows only reflect copies of the real originals, the Elders of Amber. Or Chaos, as may well be the case for James. Still, I shan't complain if Red Fury doesn't have as much understanding of Amberites as Roland does - any advantage, however small, looks to be useful in this confrontation. > Luthor laughs. \Yes, I know. Magic. Bah. That, my young friend, is >why I brought...an ally.\ > Another bald foe literally emerges from the ground, as if an >elevator had pushed him up through the dirt. He looks remarkably like >the Baron Samedi from the movie "Live and Let Die." He grins, puts >his index finger to his lips, and shushes both superspy and Unicorn. >He is, presumably, ignored (there doesn't appear to be any magickal >effect involved). Presuming usual actions on James' part is fraught with disappoinment; the debonair Brit nods and replies politely, "Thank you; it seemed a logical solution to the problem." James really shouldn't attempt to sound modest; it doesn't really work for him. He delicately extends a shined shoe and trousered leg and slides the body off the wickedly sharp horn, and the Demon Unicorn rolls woozily up somewhat, to lay on all four legs. His hand still coiled around the lower head as if not sure if the creature is steady yet. James rises to crouch near it, and nonchalantly brushes himself off, as if on no more than a pleasant picnic in the park. > Luthor frowns briefly, wondering if he has recruited a madman. >[Where _is_ that over-muscled alien? Surely his pretense of 'honor' >would require him to help his devoted disciple.] Cold eyes slide over >to Defender, whom he observes with a moment of _very_ grudging >respect. [Perhaps his true colors are finally showing. Ah well. To >the matter at hand. I suppose this Bond character might give me a >moment's challenge.] He attempts to teleport microscopic spheres into >James and Zia the Unicorn alike. They are not immediately harmful, >but flat filaments, like super-tough film, unwind from these spheres >to jam the most stubborn motive systems, biological or otherwise. The >'Baron' laughs. Assuming that Luthor has highspeed record and playback, he'll be later able to see James' eyebrow crook microscopically as he analyzes the spheres on the instant of their appearance. Immediately, the spheres from James re-teleport into the Cross pen shaft in James' pocket, cryogenically freeze without somehow burning James through his shirt, as both ends of the pen crimple shut and self-weld together. The spheres from the Demon Unicorn vanishes even more quickly, but their telemetry reports respond from the corpse. The platnum and mercury enchanted chains James had created only mintues before warp, shifting as radiacally as possible without disturbing the glyphs of Titania's magic, as one end of what was formerly a cuff widens, and slides over Luthor, shields, amor and all like a huge balloon, then the hole shrinks to a needles-radius leaving Luthor enclosed in a thin shell of magically-unbreakable metal, complete with Titania's curse to desend if he actually does just pop the balloon. Although James doesn't think the probability of Lex being rash enough to set the boobytrap of that off on himself is very high at all, the British spy is not fond of being bitten by his own gadgets. He sets a time limit of one minute on the self-destruct just in case. Luthor is smart enough to subvert it, better to destroy it once use is past. All of this happened at far faster than eye-following speed, just fast enough the platinum itself wouldn't melt from friction sliding through the air, though there is a sharp crack of abused atmosphere as it broke the sound barrier. Knowing that won't hold Lex Luthor - maybe not even the whole minute - James doesn't slow down enough that anything less than supernatural could interrupt. Unless Baron Samedi somehow prevents his exit, James and the Demon Unicorn wink out. The two reappear standing inside Rio and Sarah's killing ring, fortunately NOT in a space Rio's bullets were occuping at that second. James throws himself up to mount - though the truly discerning will note he actually is floating just a centimeter or so off that obsidian-knifescale hide, and then he smiles. Apparently, being a spy and not a man of honor means retreating to a more defensible position to continue trying to heal Zia is quite all right in James' strategies. Although it is certain that Luthor will not appreciate being, ah, hood-winked. Hopefully he'll take it out on his compatriot the way Blofield was so marvelously inclined to do. Before coming straight back with an even nastier approach, of course. James is quite acquainted with egomaniacal geniuses bent on conquering all who stand in their way, after all. "I suggest defensive positions. Luthor is going to be... perturbed. I haven't quite gotten Zia back yet, but I think I can keep it from getting worse if I stay close." -- James Bond-Keenan the only man I know who'd give platinum balloons as a parting gift =========================== Subject: Re: AAE9: Shadows of War On Tue, 10 Oct 2006 20:23:41 -0700 (PDT) Rob N Said As CAoL Message # 00012855 >Rob N Said As CAoL Message # 00012852 > > The undead studies his prospective meal, then blinks. "What >happened to you, stormer? There is nothing left..." > "Well, there's a funny story there," Rob answers, drawing out his >sentences to stall for time. "It seems that I'm not actually a >stormer, and because of that, I can't keep my Possibilities when I'm >in the influence of stelae. Kind of a bother, really..." "You're lying. I can sense some faint Possibility energy in you even now." "True, I do have a few tricks left." Manwaring blinks as Rob's Possibility spikes, and the ground under him turns into a pool of brown liquid. "And given enough effort, I can push through an artificial cosm." While the vampyre makes his way to the edge of the swimming pool, and pulls himself out of the beer, Rob racks his brains for ideas. [He bounced a fireball earlier, he's faster than I like to think about, no known vulnerabilities...waitaminute...sir, I have a cunning plan!] Manwaring is visibly annoyed. "I suppose you think that was funny. I hope you are still laughing after I rip your soul from your body." With that, he lunges for Rob, who evades the blow by a fraction of an inch. As the vampyre presses the attack, his prey continues to dodge, using everything he can find for cover - trees, boulders, people, and anything else that is handy. But even with judicious use of his stolen speed, he only barely stays out of trouble. [Come on, come on, need that spell to pull this off...] The Gaunt Man's stelae are powerful, but Earth-9's normal state is fighting them as well. As the barrier thins, Rob smiles...and mis-reads Manwaring's feint, dodging into the following punch. Rob tumbles ass over teakettle, with a familiar pain in his side. [Yeah, those ribs are cracked,] he decides after a quick mental survey. A final burst of speed brings him back to his feet in time to meet the undead horror's lunge, and counter it with a whirlpool throw. "I was wondering when you would start fighting," the gentleman undead says, as he stands up. He takes a moment to brush dust from his suit before continuing, "Not that it matters much. Without your enhanced blows, you aren't even raising a bruise. Frankly, I find you boring, Cathayan. It is time to end this." He rushes forward, faster than ever. At that moment, his prey's Possibility spikes upward again. [Damn! Magic, but not the right magic. No choice, though, roll with it...] As he pulls the crystal from his pocket, Rob speaks one of the brief verses that guide the magic of Prysmos. "The arrows turn, the swords rebel, let nothing pierce this mortal shell!" The rose quartz dims sharply, as armor forged of magical light surrounds the former street fighter. Manwaring nearly breaks his hand on it. "Impressive. It appears you aren't completely helpless." "I'm not done yet," Rob replies, as he adapts his next spell to the conditions at hand. "The stars aligned pour forth their light, and fill the fighter's frame with might!" Light from Cthulhu's dimension, where the stars are aligned to favor the Great Old One, lances out to strike the crystal, which brightens for a moment, then goes dark, as its wielder's eyes take on a reddish glow. "Let's try this again." Manwaring blocks the first punch, which sends him skidding back several feet. Now it becomes the vampyre's turn to dodge, and he proves more adept at evasion than Rob was. "Impressive, but what will you do when your spells run out?" he asks, as he slips another blow by shadowsliding. "And they will run out before you hit me. After that, I'll show you what a vampyre can do. And once that's done, you'll beg me to drain you. But I won't. Not until I can take somewhere where all your Possibilities are alive, and you are a meal fit for a vampyre lord." "Talk's cheap, Vic," Rob responds. [I just wish I were as certain as I sound.] Manwaring ducks under a kick, only to be caught by a punch as he stands up. Fortunately, there's a nearby cliff to stop him. Then the spells fade. "Now," the vampyre growls, "you are mine." Manwaring strikes from every direction, using his ability to move through shadow to make himself nearly impossible to block. Rob staggers under the barrage of punches, barely managing to force his way through the stelae. This time, he pushes his Ler out as a purple aura just as Manwaring's next blow lands. It feels like trying to beat up a power substation. The shock throws Manwaring back, stunning him long enough for Rob to follow up by shifting his aura to yellow, and throwing a six-foot square of it at the vampyre. "WALL OF SOUND!" It hits, raising a cloud of dust. "Tough guy," Rob notes. "Wonder if that finished him?" He relaxes his pressure against the stelae, waiting to see what happened. The dust finally clears, revealing a rather annoyed vampyre. Manwaring's suit was simply beer-soaked. Now, it is beery, dusty, ripped, and missing its right sleeve. Its wearer, however, shows no signs of caring. "If that was the best you can do," he purrs, "I may as well end this right now." He launches himself at Rob, ignoring the faint spark of Possibility as he drags his opponent to the ground. The two roll across the battlefield, Rob throwing weak punches and parrying Manwaring's blows as much as possible. The tumble ends with Manwaring in control, dragging the young fighter to his feet. "You froze me once. It's time I return the favor." The cold is not only physical, but spiritual, the essence of fear. Rob screams for half a minute he is tossed aside. As his prey works its way to hands and knees, Manwaring asks, "Now, do you surrender, Cathayan? Or must I do that again?" "...never...broke...before...not breaking for you. You...will lose." "Pitiful. You couldn't hurt me before. Weak as you are, you can't possibly hurt me now. And yet you persist in defying me." Manwaring spreads his arms. "Go ahead. Hit me, for all the good it will do you." The roundhouse kick is one Manwaring has seen hundreds of times before. Perhaps even thousands. And every time, the attack was ineffective, not even throwing him off balance. And every time, he consumed his opponent's Possibilities as casually as a couch potato would a potato chip. It knocks him to the ground. The vampyre picks himself up, working his jaw to make sure it isn't broken. After over a millennium of being proof against any normal blow, this...this jumped-up ord actually -hurt- him. He senses the Possibility burst more than he sees it, but when it ends, his foe is healed. "Did that hurt, *vampyre*? Good. It's nice to know what garlic does to you." "Garlic?" Manwaring reaches into his breast pocket, and pulls out two cloves of garlic. "Where did this come from? You didn't have the power to teleport it into my pocket," he remarks as he drops the garlic on the ground. "No, I didn't. But I had enough power to summon it." The vampyre feels that faint spark of Possibility again as more garlic appears in Rob's hand. "Then all I have to do is keep you at a distance." Manwaring whip kicks the garlic out of Rob's hand, then tries to follow it up with a jab from his leading hand. Rob catches the punch, and kicks the undead in the knee. It still hurts. As he backs away, limping slightly, Manwaring roars, "HOW?! I got rid of your garlic!" "You got rid of one pocket's worth," Rob replies. As he aims a punch at the vampyre's throat, he adds, "I won't give you time to check the rest." Manwaring blocks the blow, and counterattacks. "You think that will help you? I am twelve hundred years old. I have studied fighting for longer than you can imagine. I learned Savate from LeCour himself." "And - how long - did it take - you - to attain - your yellow gloves?" Rob asks, parrying every attack. "Two years, it was. I spent every hour of every day practicing." "I was - considered - ready to teach - Ler Drit - after three years," Rob replies. Then he parries the vampyre's next attack, turning his opponent's momentum into an example of Unpowered, Non-Aerodynamic Flight. "Of course, -I- only had classes twice a week." As Manwaring's eyes widen in shock, Rob charges, recalling the strikes he learned in a world where undead were more numerous than humans, and slaying them required rare technique. Wave And Shore flows into Wind Through The Reeds, leaving an opening for The Scalpel. As Manwaring stands up, Rob continues his assault with The Whispering Hand, The Lion's Paw, and Hammer Into Anvil. Any one of those blows would have killed a normal human, or ended a lesser undead. But even with his greatest powers stripped away by garlic, Manwaring is not human, nor is he a lesser being. He is battered and bruised, but not beaten. Then Rob hits him with the Leopard Blow. Blind with pain, Manwaring has no defense against the thrust to his heart. As his vision clears, he glances at his chest, and sees a yellow piece of wood with a "2" on it...and an eraser on the end. "It's not traditional," Rob remarks, "but it's what I have. Now, as I recall, if staking doesn't do it, decapitation is the usual follower." Manwaring, nearly paralyzed by the improvised stake, can only watch as Rob steps up and grabs him by the chin with his right hand, and places his left hand on the vampyre's shoulder. "I learned more than just the Psycho Chiller from the Lin Kuei. They wouldn't let me go without learning this, even though I told them I'd probably never use it." Rob pauses, an odd look coming over his face. "Damn. If I ever see Frost again, I owe her ten bucks." With that, he hauls upward, tearing Manwaring's head and spine away from the rest of his body. "Nishikawa wins. Fatality," he whispers. Then he tosses the head aside, and starts walking towards the main fight. /Anybody need a little help out there?/ Behind him, Manwaring's corpse turns to dust. =========================== Subject: Re: AAE9: Cosmic Conflict On Mon, 23 Oct 2006 19:28:33 -0700 Dane Said As CAoL Message # 00012856 >Roland X wrote: As CAoL Message # 00012847 > > The glaive does damage Malfael, though it doesn't look it to >observers -- every extremity lopped off, every slash ripped in the >body, slithers back into place with a sickening, bubbling >pseudo-fluidity. This costs Malfael energy, more than it should seem >to, until it becomes apparent that the extremities are warping with >each blow. They harden on a multidimensional level, the limbs growing >blades, and ooze along the length of the glaive's shaft towards >Hydra. > That's when it gets _bad._ /*"Hydra, incomming."*/ Oracle warns. > Krona, the exiled Oan, appears behind Hydra, of a size with the >combatants. He smiles viciously. "You know the Secret." He strikes, >with the skill of an Oan and a power bloated from the energies of >entire universes. "I was certain he lied, but he spoke true." He >doesn't unleash all the might he's accumulated -- that would probably >shatter Earth-9 and half its universe like an egg -- but what he does >wield makes the entire battlefield, from the plains of Hy-Brasil to >the star battle around Neptune, to ring like a bell on the psychic, >magickal, and primal levels. He wields it like a scalpel, meaning to >open Hydra like a high school biology project (albeit in several more >dimensions than any high schooler can comprehend) and find whatever >'Secret' is within him. "I will enjoy extracting it from you." Hydra stagers from the impact of Krona's attack, opening himself up to several of Malfael's attacks. It takes almost all his concentration, control and skill to redirect the Oan's attack out of the arena of conflict an into a waiting power. The Stardragon simply 'licks its lips' as the energy pours into it. This however opens Hydra's defenses even further, and Malfael takes advantage of every millisecond of distraction, ripping and tearing at Hydra's very being. Hydra is able, just barely, recover. However it is clear he is BADLY injured. > Roland's jaw tightens. /Hydra, you need backup?/ /I would not say no to assistance, friend./ Hydra answers. > _That_ strikes home, at least somewhat; Ebon's mind seems endless, >but the strikes do cause him pain, even through shields that would >have made Eddorans gape in astonishment. Worse, though is the >spiritual strike. There is far less raw damage than Aurora must have >hoped for -- the Ebon Dragon has clearly faced this sort of attack >before -- but the _pain_ is like being alive to endure what the >Eddorans might have felt the instant before annihilation. *"You >DARE!"* The Dragon replies, and the very _existence_ of where Aurora >is, is unmade. Even at their altitude, there is an inrush of >substance; space itself warps to fill the non-space that results. Aurora just shrugs slightly with this attack. To a being capable of existing between universes, and even outside of that which lies between the universes, maintaining what little she needs for continued life is simplicity itself. > A debonair blond man in a stylish mockery of a supers costume >(http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/thumb/3/30/Neron.jpg/200px- Neron.jpg) >appears next to Aurora. *"You called?"* > *"Finish her, Neverborn!"* Ebon demands, redoubling its attacks. > *"A moment."* Neron's smile is cruel and calculating, yet >surprisingly human -- and all the more disturbing for it. ^Exquisite >Aurora. You would be a delightful addition to my collection, and >combat is so...distasteful, wouldn't you agree? So I have an offer >for you.^ Of course. Neron is always a big one for bargains. ^You, >and your Light-aspected Starspawn, will swear, now and forever, to >never interfere with and leave to me, the dimension your leader >calls...Earth-6.^ His smile becomes cunning enough to conquer nations >and sharp enough to shave the charge off an electron. ^What need have >you of that universe, anyway? This is the one you fight for, and you >can see what its Champions are like. A small price to have a chance, >no matter how slight, against the Ebon Dragon, wouldn't you say?^ ^You are correct, in saying I have no need of that universe. However you could say the same about THIS universe. I have no need for it. I and my people do not battle for control, or even need. We battle for what is right. So my answer must be no. I in turn would offer YOU a deal. Leave this arena of battle now, and you will not be pursued. In short order The Stardragon will be entering this battle. The Gaunt Man's forces cannot win against that. When the battle is done, those who fought against us will be pursued and, in most cases, destroyed. You can avoid that by leaving NOW.^ Aurora answers. > Azathoth is as far beyond Cthulhu as Cthulhu is beyond a Deep >One. Only the Elder Sign seems to restrain it from obliterating the >entire battlefield (could the Gaunt Man have predicted that? No, >that's impossible), but its impossible nature is more than enough. At >first, even to its foes, it seems to attack the four Starspawn while >analyzing them. Then it becomes clear that the analysis was so >invasive and unreal that it acted like an attack. Otherwise, Azathoth >plays defense for the moment. > No, wait, maybe it was _tasting_ them... One of the four Starspawn looks up momentarily to see what is happening to Hydra. He then issues an order to the other 3. /*"Omega 1. NOW!"*/ In a single tik of time, the four take positions around Azathoth. Then from their outstreached hands a web of energy takes form. As the web solidifies, those who know what they are looking at are aghast. They are seeing a multi dimensional Elder Sign, with Azathoth's one true name woven into the form, completely encompasing him. With their free hands three of them toss small objects into the nexus points of the web. Upon impact the objects 'detonate'. The infinite energies released with their detonation do NOT expand outward, but instead, run through the 'web' turing tiny strands into tremendous bars of pure energy. /""Dragon's Bane, NOW!"*/ The leader of the four commands, and from space the Dragon's Bane II fires its main weapon, not into the web, but into the Starspawn who had called for the strike. As the beam of energy hits him, the other three Starspawn turn the web over to him. The strike from the Dragon's Bane is routed through him, and into the web. As his life is riven from him, to give life to the Elder sign, he has just enough time for one last sigh /*"Good bye, Mother and Father,. I love you."*/ With Azathoth encased and confined, the three turn to aid Aurora. Those with the senses to perceive them see a momentary look of sadness come across both Aurora and Hydra, and a single tear trickles down the equine cheek of the winged unicorn. ===========================