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| Leave No Survivors; Wolf's Head Attack Team | |
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| Topic Started: Sep 17 2008, 10:38 PM (4,015 Views) | |
| Jason Matthews | Oct 5 2008, 02:03 AM Post #61 |
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Unregistered
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As he continued to stumble backwards, Jason managed to catch his last throwing knife hit it's target. Somewhat. The man had managed to keep his eye from being pierced with that strange, impenetrable -at least by conventional means- skin of his. Darn. Jason's arms up to his shoulders were aching and creaky, but they still functioned. He could still fight. A vicious smirk found it's way on his face as the older mutant finally decided to really take him seriously. That was good, and for a moment, Jason was quite pleased with himself. He was fighting an Xman without being completely stomped. Of course, that may not have been the case if he'd been fighting the telepath woman while she was fresh, but Cutter wasn't about to complain. As long as he didn't screw up or die. His joy diminished when he caught sight of the ten finger-whips flying at him, still somewhat off balance. Jason collapsed in an attempt to dodge, but several still caught his arms, adding to the aching from the first attack, and one wrapped around his waist. Jason was certain that he would find angry red welts all over his arms and all the way around his waist. Ok. Plan A didn't work completely as planned. Plan B. Jason felt the impact as his back smashed against the wall, and as he could feel himself flying for another impact, the young mutant could only hope it didn't raise any suspicions when he started throwing up. This was one aspect of his powers that Cutter truly hated. The act of vomiting, even when intentional and necessary, was always messy and unpleasant. Never fun. Of course, in this case, the pain was worth the gain. And there would be a lot of pain, both now and later. As the Amphetamines forced themselves out of Jason's blood, his mutation replaced it with a different chemical. Jason felt himself strike the wall two more times before falling to the ground, suddenly wishing the Xman hadn't decided to take him seriously. Things were actually a lot easier when people decided he was just some kid. He lay there for a moment, a mass of pain, waiting for his mutation to kick in. Forty-five seconds passed, and Jason could feel the PCP kicking in. First came the blessed pain relief... Well, more like numbing, which was strange but at least it didn't hurt anymore. It was as though he were watching a movie from somebody else's point of view. Like he was looking through somebody else's eyes. Whether it was a side effect from the numbing of his whole body (really, it felt like he didn't have one anymore), or a direct effect of the PCP, Jason didn't know. But he no longer felt like it was him that stood and glared off in the direction the grey mutant had gone, remembering his parting words. "Stay down this time niño" For some reason, that irritated Jason. I'm not even his nephew. And very quickly, unnaturally quickly, that irritation turned to anger, which escalated into fury. Irrational fury. The Cutter moved to retrieve his fallen switchblade. He also knew that tomorrow, regardless of the outcome of this fight, he would be wishing he'd just stayed down like the Xman had told him to. He stumbled for a bit, then gained a little balance and moved a little faster, still shambling somewhat. Time for round two. Ding Ding Ding! |
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| Logan | Oct 5 2008, 10:57 AM Post #62 |
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Unregistered
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Logan drew his claws away and saw the blood on them. The wound was shallow, but it was painful. Even the healer had to focus to fight through the pain of facial damage. General body rule: the closer you are to the brain the more your body doesn't like that getting hurt. Pain is your body screaming "Whatever you're doing, stop it you dumbass." Of course, Logan's body hadn't gotten the hint that it was indestructible, but he had gotten used to it. Primal wasn't half bad though. Granted, he didn't break Wolverine's kneecaps but he would have. He did manage to knock the feral down though. Wolverine hit the ground and pushed himself back up just in time to see another headlong rush, another powerful jump. Rage is contagious, particularly when you can smell it on another person and you happen to be Wolverine, who's psychosis induced rampages were well known by anyone who fought with him long enough. Had he been his calm calculating self Primal would be quite dead, but Logan had come into this on the brink of sanity and control, each victim he encountered along the way making him angrier and angrier. Maybe it was the dead children, maybe it was all the pain in the air, maybe it was the fact that all those years ago Logan had been this guy. He had been death incarnate, a simple screaming mass of blades, fury, and inhuman ferocity that cared nothing about who was in the way of his claws. He hated himself for that, hated that part of him more than anything else in the world. So maybe that's why he became enraged so easily when facing this opponent, why he rushed and brought his claws up too soon, trying to slash his opponent down instead of just sticking them out and letting the fool impale himself on them. Had he timed it just perfectly there would have been a few Primal slices running around, but even a mutant with superhuman reflexes would be hard pressed to time it that well. Instead his claws scraped flesh, muscle, and bit into bone a little before the swing passed through and Logan was collided into with fantastic force. All his ribs, and probably his arm, would be broken if it wasn't for the fact that it was impossible to do so. Logan's mind was vaguely aware that structurally unsound did not even begin to describe the building they had just careened headlong into. It was more sharply aware when he felt himself crash into something that maybe would have been best left standing. Logan was not a construction expert, but it didn't take one to know that having a concrete wall start to groan was not a good sign. The building was collapsing, whether their impact broke the camel's back or if it was just it's time was not important as Logan ran headlong for the nearest "not in a collapsing building" area he could find, but he already knew he wasn't going to make it and mentally prepared himself to have to claw his way out of several tons of concrete, which is exactly as much fun as it sounds like. |
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| Saint | Oct 5 2008, 11:12 PM Post #63 |
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Hypnosis / Psionic Bolts
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Target hit, Saint thought as he saw his bolts slicing into the wings of the older man. Unfortunately, his blonde companion had stopped him from doing some serious damage to the pair by warning the "Angel", but still, he had made his point known. This showed that The Brotherhood meant business to the X-Men and weren't going to go down quietly. If some mutant blood was to be shed, then that wouldn't be a loss, just as long as they were still alive. Never kill one of our own, that makes us worse than the dogs that they protect. Mutants who turned away from the path of righteousness could still be recovered, yet those who opposed the natural cycle of Mutants taking their rightful place as inheritors of the planet would pay dearly. Even such a public mutant as Warren Worthington, the playboy turned poster boy of mutant-human diplomacy was still a traitor in Kyle's eyes. If it wasn't for a flaw in his thinking, Sain would welcome him with open arms. Now he would welcome him with a blade in the stomach. The blonde mutant took off running as the two dirty blonde men stood facing each other, both with their two blades in one. Angels were metal, Saint's psionic. Who knew which would be sharper, stronger, deadlier? All Saint could assuredly say was that his had a lot more kills than Warrens. The X-Men, so much potential wasted. If they had killed the humans that they had helped, Mutants would be so close to being top-dogs rather than second class citizens. Equality would never work, they were fools to think so. They had power, why not use it to protect your own, rather than leave them open to attack from those who lived with fear, ignorance and hatred? It was foolish and Saint didn't suffer fools lightly. "Don't say I didn't give you a chance. I always stick to my word, just like my dear dad taught me. So when I swore I would kill him, I followed through with it. I also promised to kill all the sapes in this place, so do you really thing that you and your team of X-Men are going to stop us? Now, I need to get back to my extermination of these dogs, so lets make this quick, alright mate?" Saint said, a slightly playful tone to his voice. Intimidation always helped with a fight, his real father had taught him that, along with never fight fair. So Saint lunged. Arm outstrecthed, blades aimed at the winged mans chest, Saint swung his hand, the blade's purple hue glowing smally in the dark. A quick side step and the older mutant dodged out the way and slashed across, his sword headed directly at Saint's chest. Throwing his momentum in a sideways direction, Saint managed to dodge a severe blow into a mere flesh wound, his shirt ripped as a line almost horizontal across his chest was ripped by the cold metal edge. A feel of tiny fire burnt across Saint's body and he hissed in pain. This was going to be a lot more interesting than he thought it would be. |
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| Gambit(Matt) | Oct 6 2008, 12:08 AM Post #64 |
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Kinetic Energy Manipulation, Empathic Charm
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“I don't feel so good.” The chainsaw fell to the ground with a heavy clatter as Buford clutched his arm and began to teeter forward. Being the southern gentleman he was, Gambit actually entertained the thought of stepping forward to catch the man to keep him from taking the full force of landing on his face, but as the thick-built man finally fell, Remy merely stood there and let it happen. His crimson eyes bounced from the mangled remains of his latest victim, to the chainsaw that lay beside him, and back to the prone form of his team mate; a look of reluctant resolve slowly spread over his face as he let out an exasperated sigh. “C'mon... big guy,” he said as he closed the distance between them, bent at the knees, and did his best to pull him on his feet. One arm was draped over the Cajun's neck as he slowly straightened. With the added weight of the machinist he was carrying, Gambit slowly began making his way down the rest of the church's walkway toward his truck. He could still hear the screams of humans being murdered, the thundering of Cain's footsteps, and the occasional scream of Banshee's attacks in the distance. It sounded like everyone else had things well in hand; they could afford to have Gambit secure the ride. Reaching the truck's driver's side, he did his best to pop open the door while balancing Razorback who was fading in and out of consciousness. He then looked from the raised perch of the truck to Buford and back to the seat again – there was no way in hell he was going to put that dead weight in there by himself. He leaned the dazed man beside the door, “Hey. Rise and shine, petite.” When the man didn't respond, Gambit decided to try a different tactic, taking a swing at him instead. |
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| Camera | Oct 6 2008, 05:52 AM Post #65 |
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Unregistered
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Humming delightfully as the screams from victims inside houses and building, Camera continued to do a joyful task. A house caught her eye there was movement. She left her shopping cart and skipped to the house, as she walked in the blonde took out her earphones and said, "Hello? Anyone here? Please I need help." She looked around and was about to speak again when a closet door opened behind her. She turned with a realistic look of fear on her face. Play the victim and get them close enough to kill, that was the plan. The man that was behind her had a weapon and saw the look on her face lowering his weapon... big mistake. Quickly she flung out a dagger and threw it with her good hand into the man's skull. The remaining family in the closet screamed. Camera walked off for just a moment the family still so afraid when she returned, with something aflame in her hand. It was her last mol tov cocktail. With a sadistic smirk she threw it in and closed the door on them. With a small sigh she pulled her dagger out of the man's skull and placed her headphones back in. With a skip in her step and lyrics coming from her voice Camera returned to her shopping cart and carried on with the madness. It wasn't long till the fire from the buildings caught on. The sweat on her forehead and cheat made her skin glisten in the fire. After throwing the last of her homemade bombs Camera placed her hands on her hip wincing at her injured one. The blonde figured she'd stitch it up when she got back to Murder world. But there was something in the clearing that got her attention. A jet... Camera wandered over to where the jet was and saw a family standing near it. "This just won't do." A family of five, she quickly formed a plot to take them down. She threw a dagger from such a distance and hit the father in a spot that would leave him paralyzed. Even though it would hurt her hand the photographic mutant pulled out two daggers to hit the mom and one of three children killing them. Camera ran fast to the family and grabbed a sharp stick along the way. Throwing the stick like a professional javelin athlete she threw it to the second child. The last child would taste her dagger up close. The child cried and screamed, trying to get his mother to move. The blonde drew out her dagger and tilted her head. She only paused for a moment before throwing the dagger to the child's chest. As that child gurgled and began to die the brotherhood member walked to the paralyzed father who had tears streaming down his face. She crouched down next to him and said, "Sorry sapien. Rotten luck of being on this island when we came here. But don't worry!" She continue with a light tone and a happy smile, "At least you get to die with no pain... Nice and quick." A small chuckle escaped as she looked back to the father of a dead family. Grabbing the knife that was still perfectly place she twisted it and the man died. She stood up, retrieved her knives and stretched. Walking away Camera used the side of her good hand to wipe the sweat from her brow. Unintentionally getting her victims blood on it the villainous blonde made her way back inward to the chaos. She had considered sabotaging the jet, but figured they would have enough especially when they would see the dead family of five under it. Leaving no survivors of Wolf's Head, Camera's task was officially done. Anything more would be out of pure entertainment and thrill. But she could use a pick up right then. Or at least try to find the Big Pig. The blonde went into the fiery town filled with death and destruction, in search of her favorite Javelina. |
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| Static | Oct 6 2008, 07:21 PM Post #66 |
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Unregistered
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What the hell? Cal was never one to enjoy being spoken to as if she was some sort of worthless skank. Sure, she wasn't the perfect picture of chastity, and she'd done a questionable thing or two here and there, but cat calls weren't flattering to her by any means. Had she not been so close to her boss, the occasional shock to ward off overly confident men during work hours would have gotten her fired (it really did irritate her that some people didn't understand the difference between a go-go dancer and a cheap stripper). Even though Cal didn't always think very highly of herself, she wasn't interested in letting other people take advantage of her or treat her like scum. However, she wasn't exactly in the right frame of mind at the moment in terms of defending her honor. This toad man wasn't someone she was interested in impressing anyway. Had she not had so many aches and pains developing, had she not been so concerned about getting Alix off the island, Cal probably would have considered giving this guy a piece of her mind. That was not the case though, so Cal tried to focus on the task at hand. Of course, things could not go her way. It could not possibly be so simple as frying the frog with a single current and getting the hell away from Wolf's Head with Alix. Nooooo. Callan's attempt at a stronger attack managed to miss her enemy, giving him the chance to fire back in a rather disgusting manner. As he launched himself into the air, she prepared to attack again, but when a few delightful loads of saliva came her way, there wasn't much she could do to stop them. Her arms instinctually rose in front of her face to guard her from the disgusting goo and a few sparks lit the air around her. At least the majority of the stuff was on her arms and not her face. Only a small bit of it flew over her shield to land on the upper right side of her aching head. Throwing her arms down to her sides, Cal sent some of the vile liquid flying, but definitely not all of it. The stuff was a lot stickier than she would have imagined. Although that disgusted her, and she would probably yearn for a hot shower later, the thought was barely present in her mind now. She just wanted to see the body of this nasty mutant smoking on the ground. Remembering Warren's words in combination with her growing irritation, Cal started to lose her concern for saving her energy. Her hands were suddenly surrounded with balls of lightning that looked a whole lot like the plasma spheres that kids love to play with at science museums. . . only these things weren't so fun to touch. There was nothing keeping them from going wild other than Static's concentration, and touching them would do a lot more than make someone's hair stand up. "I dare you to touch me," she said with a slightly more seductive tone than she intended, her harsh glare only growing more fierce by the second. Her statement was followed by a series of soft krackling sounds that acted as harbingers for the tiny bolts that began crawling over her skin. If that nasty creature wanted to pull at her with his tongue again, it'd be a little more than just unpleasant on his end, and if he came close enough, he'd get one hell of a shocking punch to the jaw. This girl wasn't in the mood for playing with him anymore. |
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| Buford Hollis | Oct 8 2008, 05:13 AM Post #67 |
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Mechanical Hyper-Competence
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Buford had been only semi-conscious on the trip back to his beloved Big Pig. He honestly didn't remember the walk. The only thing that he was conscious of was the pain in his arm. Being shot wasn't fun. He wasn't quite sure of the severity of the wound. He was walking, but losing blood. His arm wasn't broken, he didn't think, so that was a plus. It didn't help that his compatriot had just punched him in the stomach. "Motherfucker!" Buford bellowed. That did push Buford back into the world of the living, if only to repay Gambit for that pain. Little Cajun punk had it comin'. As far Buford could tell, he still hadn't dropped the whole X-dweeb thing. He coughed and spat. He couldn't tell in the poor light, but he tasted blood. Fucking sapes and their guns. Also, Louisiana trash and their fists. They could jump in a lake, too. He realized his surroundings. He was at the Big Pig, and he was missing his chainsaw. While he was hurt, he sure as hell wasn't gonna go AWOL on his mutant comrades. He pulled himself into the cab of the big rig, which was surprisingly difficult when one was lacking the use of one arm. Once inside the truck, he reached over to the passenger's side and groped around for his first aid kit. He knew just enough from his army days to make a field dressing for himself. "What d'ya say we have some fun?" Buford hollered at Remy as he put his key in the ignition. The very ground seemed to rumble as he revved the engine. |
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| Toad | Oct 8 2008, 02:26 PM Post #68 |
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Unregistered
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Toad laughed more as the girl "dared" him to touch her. He was tempted, he'd give her that, but he was not that much of a fool. He took one step back as the woman hissed and her eyes formed into a glare. A beautiful glare, at that. He hissed at her in a flirtatious way as the bolts began to sizzle and crack around her. Toad knew that if he touched her, it'd be....bad... Really bad. "Well I am sorry miss, but I gotta take your buddy here with me, and if I have to, I'll be more than happy to take you along." Toad grinned to her, already knowing he's grossed her out once already. So, he gave himself enough room to circle her a few rounds. Trying to find one place where he could strike. But everywhere meant a huge shock. He only growled and backed away. Might as well try again.. He gathered more saliva in his mouth and shot a nice spit ball to the woman. Hopefully that would be enough to annoy her and he could then make his escape. |
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| Primal | Oct 8 2008, 04:57 PM Post #69 |
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If not for the blind fury, Primal would have cried out as the adamantium cleaved his flesh once again…as it was he barely noticed save for the breath in his lungs freezing and an infinitesimal falter in his step. What he did notice, however, was Logan’s immediate attempt to escape what loomed ominously above them both once they had crashed into the unstable wall-- the reptilian took the same initiative. It was a damn rare moment, but for once he was grateful for his mutation. Leaping like an insane goat on crack, throwing in an impossible twist, Primal just barely managed to escape the mountainous avalanche. Barely, and not quite completely- a sizeable chunk split from the air and crashed onto his shoulder, slamming him and it into the dirt and pinning him underneath it. Rage still pounded around his system, and with a snarled expletive, the reptilian shoved off from the ground, furiously determined not to let a piece of goddamn concrete floor him. His attention was immediately tugged to the searing pain that screamed along his arm, about his neck and shoulder joint- it was dislocated. Stumbling, Primal wavered on his feet, finally really noticing the deep slashes along his ribs, his opposing hand automatically drifting to the patch of damp that was spreading further across an already moistened shirt. Sweat rolled along his spine, down his forehead to sting as saline muddled with blood. Breath ragged from exertion, pain and blood loss, he was forced to drop into a crouch, throwing that same hand onto the floor while trying not to completely keel over. He wouldn’t- wouldn’t let himself pass out, fuck! He couldn’t. There were less screams now, fewer and far between, the sounds of gunfire almost nonexistent. Fires still roared and snapped, and there were occasional explosions; the wind had picked up and was moaning as if in grief. It tugged the billowing smoke around like it would a wayward leaf, and snatches of distorted sobs filtered upon its crest in dribs and drabs. The smell of death was so thick and cloying it clung like a blanket to skin, grimy and gritty. It was harrowing. “Still think I don’t know what war is, you piece of shit?!” Primal screamed gravely at the pile of rubble, over the hubbub, and vehemently spat a glob of phlegm at his enemies’ would be grave. Something inside him still shifted and snarled, wanting to go dig the body out and slam his fists and claws into it again and again until it was an unrecognisable lump of ruined flesh…but that was enough, it had to be- he was about to drop on his feet and fuck that if he was going to get out of here with some face saved. His face. Motherfucker had fucked up his fucking face! It had been about the only thing still worth looking at…god fucking damn it!!! Frustration wrote itself across Primal’s mauled features…he couldn’t even wince properly; it hurt like a bitch, something he continued to mentally complain about as he turned from the battle scene and aimed for the direction of the Big Pig. Every step forward felt like the equivalent of running a marathon, but like the stubborn bastard he was, he kept forcing one after the other. |
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| Gambit(Matt) | Oct 8 2008, 05:58 PM Post #70 |
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Kinetic Energy Manipulation, Empathic Charm
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“Motherfucker!” Buford let out a loud protest as Gambit's fist connected with his stomach; the Cajun couldn't help but give a slight, crooked smile at the man's obvious discomfort at getting a fist planted in his gut to wake him out of the daze of getting shot. What he hadn't expected was for the man to hit back... especially as hard as he did, his fist connecting with the thief's jaw and sending his head snapping to the side, the taste of iron on his tongue. That was the nature of Magneto's Brotherhood – eye for an eye. “You're welcome, mon ami,” he spat sarcastically as he rubbed his jaw. Looking back at his broad-chested companion, his eyes widened slightly at another surprise, the man was actually climbing into the driver's seat of the Big Pig, obviously intending on piloting the vehicle despite his physical state. Gambit just shook his head, muttering a string of curses in French as he began walking around to the passenger's side of the vehicle, stopping to scan the surrounding area. What he could see wasn't as littered with dead bodies as he felt it should have been, what with killing the inhabitants of an entire village, but a few bodies could still be made out plainly from the structure fires placed throughout the island. Gambit shook his head sorrowfully as he stared at the prone body of the teenage boy laying in the doorway of a house only thirty yards from his position. He couldn't make out much, but if he were to guess, he'd say the boy had been between fourteen and sixteen, and Gambit reflected on his own life at that age... literally half his life. He'd done so much by sixteen... experienced so many things due to the circumstances of his birth and childhood, yet he'd done so much more with the last fifteen years of his life. And this kid probably hadn't experienced near as much as Remy had at that age. The whole thing made Gambit's stomach twist in knots at the fact that he had been here... witnessed the murder of countless people robbed of some great moments in life. "What d'ya say we have some fun?" The question tore Gambit from his depressing thoughts; his unusual eyes lingered on the dead teenager for a few moments as he tried to process what he had only half heard. Finally tearing his gaze away from the lifeless body, he callously turned and grabbed the passenger's side door to the large truck. Popping it open, the thief jumped in the seat, his trademark crooked smile on his face. “Now that's de best news I've heard all day. S'long's it don't involve your cousin's ass, Arkansas, count me in.” |
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| Static | Oct 9 2008, 11:47 PM Post #71 |
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Unregistered
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"Well I am sorry miss, but I gotta take your buddy here with me, and if I have to, I'll be more than happy to take you along." Enough messing around. Callan had never forgotten about the importance of time in this situation. It seemed too late for her to really save the people of Wolf's Head, but she still had to worry about getting Alix out safely. . . and maybe there would be something she could do to help out the X-men that had come to help out. From the looks of it, Warren hadn't brought many of them with him. Their arrival was a relief in a way, but they hadn't come in time to stop the slaughter before it got out of hand, and they were still outnumbered. Cal waited until her enemy nearly disappeared from her peripheral vision before turning to continue watching him as he circled around her. He was like some sort of animal circling his prey, waiting for a good time to strike. . . but this wasn't Africa. He couldn't hide amongst tall grasses and sneak up on her, and she certainly wasn't exactly a fragile antelope. If he decided to pounce on her with all of that excess electricity floating around, he deserved what was coming to him. The low growl that escaped his throat indicated that he knew this, and wasn't too happy about it. However, he still had that nasty saliva to rely on. Unfortunately for him, this time Cal was ready for it. At the first sign of goo, she turned her body like a batter would turn from a stray pitch, avoiding the majority of the vile material. It barely made contact with her upper arm, and as she turned back to face its creator, she erupted in a bright flash of bolts. The violent strings of electricity ranged from 100 to nearly 60,000 volts, threatening to do some serious harm. Many of the smaller currents were still capable of sustained muscle contractions, and the most severe currents were capable of much more than that. Yet despite the powerful nature of her attack, it was not at all precise. The majority of the bolts headed in the intended direction, but they darted out to the side, zig-zagging sharply as they approached their target. Many of the smaller bolts shot out to the sides and behind her, disappearing quickly into the air and the ground. If the toad creature was lucky, he'd manage to avoid the currents that would have a field day causing ventricular contractions. Even though Cal was more than thankful that she was capable of such intense displays of power in situations like this, she knew that exploding into a collection of bolts like this was not always the wisest decision. She had done it in the DR on a few occasions, at least one of which ended in a rather fierce nosebleed and a splitting headache. She was only able to sustain her attack for a few seconds before all of the currents were ended abruptly, leaving her with only the hope that she'd bought herself some time and avoided crippling results that would leave her vulnerable. The tingling and numbness was noticed immediately, but she was used to that. The dizziness and ringing in her ears, however, was not something she'd ever gotten used to. Holding her arms out slightly, Cal closed her eyes briefly and focused on trying to keep her balance and releasing the tension in her muscles. Her hair which had been lifted by the charges surrounding her began to settle, and as she looked to see what effect her attack had on her enemy, she tried to listen for things beyond the ringing which, thankfully, seemed to be dying down. |
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| Buford Hollis | Oct 10 2008, 07:14 AM Post #72 |
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Mechanical Hyper-Competence
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Buford grinned as Gambit got into the Pig. He wasn't the type to hold a grudge. Buford got his revenge from a nice right hook. He even let the crack at Arkansas go, because obviously, the Louisianan was just jealous. After all, who wouldn't be? Arkansans worked hard and partied hard. They lived lives worth living, and anyone objected to that could suck Buford's shotgun. "Buddy, we're gonna make sure these X-dweebs don't bother us another day." He put his foot on the gas. The Big Pig barreled forward. "Pig, Motorhead, Ace of Spades." The familiar sounds of Buford's favorite brand of rock -Loud and hard, for the curious- swept through the van. If you like to gamble, I tell you, I'm your man. You win some lose some, its' all the same to me Buford charged forward, circling the island. "This sucker is done. I say, we gather the troops and split before we attract some real trouble, besides the these dead-enders." Something caught the eye of Razorback. Strong purple lights, on his left. He didn't know all his comrades, but he did know that none of them had purple lightning comin' from their fingertips. And lo and behold, she was tryin' to lay the smackdown on Toad. Razorback wasn't the biggest fan of the brat, but he didn't let that stop him. Nobody, but nobody, messes with the Brotherhood when they're doin' the Lord's Work of wipin' out the not-so-great apes. Just as he was came down on the Toad and his undoubtedly dorky X-men opponent, he slammed on the brakes and turned the wheel, hoping to hit the gal with the side of the Big Pig's trailer. Sure, the lightning might make him redo the paint job, but he had pretty good insulators on the side and he didn't want to risk messin' up the electrical system. He rolled down the window. "Get in," He yelled at the greasy pain-in-the-ass known as Toad, "We're about to get the hell out of dodge." Toad better have been pretty quick, because he stepped back on the gas only a few seconds after that. Pushing up the ante, I know you've got to see me, Read 'em and weep, the dead man's hand again, I see it in your eyes, take one look and die, The only thing you see, you know it's gonna be, The Ace Of Spades The Ace Of Spade His stereo droned on. |
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| Warren Worthington | Oct 10 2008, 08:34 AM Post #73 |
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Unregistered
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JP WARREN AND SAINT Warren resisted the urge to roll his eyes as Saint gave his little spiel. Different story on the surface but it was all the same really; look how tough and scary I am. Warren shifted the grip on on his sword, flicking the blade out a little bit as his hand tightened around the handle with a quiet creak of leather gloves. The shift in the man’s position alerted Warren and he dodged swiftly out of the way, his sword whipping up to impale Saint. His eyes narrowed as his opponent managed to avoid the blow and Warren stepped past, flipping his sword into a backhanded grip to stab into the kidney’s of the BH member. The fine line of blood drawn by Warren made Saint think for an instant, one that almost cost him as the armed mutant swung at him again, the blade glinting in the firelight. Throwing himself forward, the blade missed his vital organs and instead sliced across his side, angling his body so that it would slice across rather than into him. Despite that, it bloody hurt! Tears stinging at the side of his eyes at the pain, the mutant fanatic rolled on the floor to righten himself and with the momentum of the roll continuing, lashed out his left leg to the side as he rose, aiming for the knee of the winged man. He didn't say nothing, not wasting his breath talking anymore to this race traitor till he had him down, begging for mercy. That was, if Saint didn't become freshly sliced mutant in the process. Warren turned quickly, watching as Saint hit the ground and rolled, lashing out suddenly towards his knee. Stepping back quickly, Warren avoided most of the blow, which was glancing at best, enough to cause him a brief moment of pain and a small buckle in his knee but nothing more. He kept his balance as the other man rose, flipping his sword into a normal position again as he moved quickly into the other man, his fist, clenched around the hilt, lashing out to punch the man in the face, which his other hand rose rapidly, aiming to use the blade to slice into the upper arm of his opponent. He wasn't going for killing blows, just enough to disable, the punch to face disorientating while slashing through enough of the upper arm would render if effectively useless, if the blows connected. He had gotten a near enough blow in on the taller man, yet it was not enough to knock Warren to the floor like he had hoped. In fact, it seemed to barely register at all, his attack useless. He spun up and around, turning his head to face his combatant, only to be on the receiving end of a punch to the face. His nose crumpled underneath the blow, a crunching pain as the fist broke the nose. At the same time the sword slashed at his arm, cutting deep inside the skin, nearly striking bone. Screaming out in agony, he formed a fist as Warrens hand withdrew, his blades forming into claws. The pain was intense, but it only served to fuel his anger, his resolve to beat his foe. With his spare arm that was still good enough to use, he attempted to shove his fist towards the stomach of his foe, hoping his "claws would do damage. The problem with getting in close enough to attack was that he was also near enough for Saint to attack him. The other man's cry of pain registered, but Warren felt little sympathy for him considering what he had done in this town, the lives he had taken in cold blood. He saw the blades form like claws and Warren's wings spread to their full span, sweeping down to lift him swiftly away from the weapons. Not quickly enough though as he missed the brunt of the blow but the blades still sliced five blazing trails into his abdomen, to match those on his back, slicing through skin and muscle with the uniform doing very little to deflect it. His boots hitting the ground with a jarring thud, a groan of pain escaping his lips. Breathing heavily from the pain, the metallic tang of blood in his mouth, Warren forced him to straighten, both swords held defensively, waiting. A sadistic smile spread across Saint's face as his claws raked the stomach of Warren, creating several bloody slash marks. So, he wasn't so strong after all, thought the fanatic. If he could be cut, he could be taken down. From what Saint had figured out, the X-Men didn't know as much as they thought they did. Otherwise they would of brought more people on this. That was their mistake and it would cost them dearly. Warrens wings lifted him from the gutting, their kick-back making Saint stumble back a few steps. But he saw Warren look at him, waiting for him to attack. But if his body was weaker than the X-Men's in this fight, maybe his mind would be stronger. He glared into Warrens gaze, his eyes slowly turning purple as he forced his will onto the winged mutant, trying to take the will power from its natural place and to make the rival mutant drop his guard so Saint could make a brutal final move. Saint's eyes began to glow purple and Warren tensed, waiting for some kind of blow. Nothing came, his mind over-ridden swiftly by the mutant's psychic powers as Warren very slowly lowered his swords, a small part of him fighting the control. His resistance was about as effective as trying to put out a fire by spitting on the flames, his mind naturally vulnerable to the mental control. Warren's arms went slack at his side, fingers unclasping around the hilt of the sword both of which dropped with a clatter to the ground. Very few people could beat Saint when he was trying to force his dominance on their mind. His hypnotism could work from all out offensive paralysis techniques to planting suggestions in peoples minds, yet Saint preferred to follow the path between the two, where his victims knew what they were doing, yet couldn't resist. He was the puppet master, Warren was his puppet. And all puppets got their strings cut off at the end. He strode the few steps towards Warren, still maintaining eye contact at all times. On his remaining good arm that wasn't heavily bleeding, he manifested four thin blades to attack with. This was going to be a more intimate win than he previous fights. Flexing his hands, he did one swift movement, slicing at the throat of the other mutant. A thin line of blood hit the floor to the left of the pair, and Saint lifted his hand up, staring at the blood on his fingers. Warren could see Saint's approach, the part of his mind that was still his own struggled wildly against the control, the only result being the slightest twitch of his hand and movement in his fingers. He watched with mounting fearing and desperate frustration as the blade's appeared from other man's hand, which moved in a blur to Warren's throat. There was a burst of intense pain and then a warm gush of blood and suddenly Warren was able to move again. His hand jerked up to his throat, liquid pulsing over the leather as he found the four gashes, though with his glove on he couldn’t really ascertain how bad it was. The amount of blood leaving his body, from the slits to his throat and the injuries to his abdomen, was a fairly good indicator, a slick dark stream on his uniform. Calmly he acknowledged that Saint had probably hit an artery but the fact that he was still standing meant that he hadn’t severed it... or that his healing factor was dealing with it. Either way, he found his vision swimming, dark spots expanding across his view of the ruined town. He raised his eyes to Saint, wondering if the killing blow was coming, but a glint of metal in the night sky over the man’s shoulder made him smile grimly, a triumphant hint to it even in his current situation. Scott had shown finally. “....might be a... good time to... leave.” Warren whispered laboriously as he sank to his knees, consciousness leaving him entirely as he fell forwards. |
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| Black Tom | Oct 10 2008, 03:20 PM Post #74 |
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"I did, but I don't need him to make ya cry like an old woman" Sean growled angrily. Tom’s dashing cousin rose up quickly. Sean was using his head as a battering ram and his target was Tom’s face. Tom’s amateur boxing days had been some time ago. He was much younger and healthier at that time in his life. He was rusty but he wasn’t totally out of the game. He jerked his head back to avoid the brunt of Sean’s attack. The top of Sean’s head struck Tom in the cheek. Bright flashes of light appeared before Tom’s eyes. He stumbled back from his enemy and slapped his hand to his cheek as he swore loudly. Tom took a couple of staggering steps away. The attack had been quite unexpected and he’d nearly been caught off guard. The dark Irishman growled and spun back around to face his cousin. As Tom came around he planted his right foot and kicked Sean in the leg. “That hurt like a bastard and I hope this hurts more,” Tom grunted. He clenched his fist and swung a hook at his cousin connecting with his ribs. That was followed by an undercut to the stomach. The nights he’d dreamt of doing this to his cousin. Why was Sean the one that was praised by the family? Why wasn’t Tom the one to shine in the sun? Tom was the rightful heir to the Keep and had drunkenly gambled it away. He’d held up his end of the bargain and Sean wouldn’t let him live the loss down. Tom grabbed Sean up and slithered around behind him. He wrapped one arm around the front of Sean’s neck and used the other to add extra leverage for pressure. Tom breathed heavily as he strained against his cousin. “Don’t worry, Sean. This is all catharsis,” Tom groaned. Somewhere nearby loud rock music began to pound the air. Keeping his grip, Tom looked about to see what the disturbance was. You know I'm born to lose, and gambling's for fools, But that's the way I like it baby, I don't wanna live for ever, And don't forget the joker! It was Razorback and the Big Pig. It looked like Tom’s allies were leaving the scene of the crime. The large truck was already pulling away. The Irishman looked back to his cousin. It would only take a few more seconds to choke the life from the do-gooder but each of those seconds would put more distance between Tom and his exit strategy. “Another time, cousin,” Tom sneered as he shoved Sean away and broke into a run towards the Big Pig. Tom scooped up his shillelagh without breaking stride. His feet beat the pavement. His lungs were burning and his muscles strained to catch up to the truck. It seemed to slow for a second and Tom neared the vehicle. He pushed himself harder. The escaping truck was now just a few paces ahead of him. With a grunt and a groan, Tom leaped forward, grabbing a rail on the back of the truck. He wobbled uncertainly but his feet found purchase on bumper. This wouldn’t be a suitable ride back to the city but it would do until they left the island. ((let me know if I need to change something, banshee)) |
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| Cyclops | Oct 10 2008, 08:48 PM Post #75 |
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Punches from the Punch Dimension
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(I hope this is ok now. I am lost as to where everyone is. If you have not yet escaped, I would do so, while we are recovering from the sight. X-Men, feel free to NPC a Shield Agent to pull you out of the rubble or whatever. Brotherhood if you want to take an agent out on your way, go for it, but make it quick or Fury will plant a foot in your ass. ) Piloting a Quinjet might have been something Scott enjoyed, if he wasn't fuming at the moment. His team was in danger, his team was in battle, and he was not with them because he was handling the beaurocratic bullshit that he might not be the best at had it been a meeting with anyone else. Since it was with Fury, perhaps, he was exactly the best candidate, however, though it had kept him from being here. He piloted the jet with precise movements, his face grim, his thoughts dark. Fury, who had only reluctantly given up the pilot's seat to the young mutant leader, watched out of his one eye, as Cyclops prepared himself mentally for what they were going to find there. The signs of devastation were soon visible, even though there were no lights on the island. Here and there fires burned and the lights from the small fleet of Quinjets lit up... "Good God, it was a massacre...." came a voice over the radio. One of the Shield agents. "Stow the chatter, Agent," Fury responded, coldly. "Sir, we have a... a... truck it looks like, traveling at a high rate of speed, off the island over the..." "Put a tracker on it, Agent, let them lead us back to whoever is responsible for this," Fury ordered. "Let them think they've gotten away. Devastation like this... it's not random violence. I want to know who ordered this and why. All Units find a place to land and spread out, One and Two take the upper quadrant, Three and Four take the Lower. Cyclops, set us down in the square." Scott didn't answer but did what he was ordered, bringing his communicator to his lips. "All X-Men, report. Status, location." The moment the Quinjets touched down, the Agents weapons drawn rushed out in trained precision, searching the town for answers, for villains... for survivors. Fury and Cyclops immediately disembarked, the expressions on their faces identical... blank control. "Animals..." Fury murmured. "I want light people! Someone get the emergency beacons working." "For once we agree," Cyclops answered. He lifted his communicator again, "X-Men, report. Status and Location." But still there was no answer. Where the hell were they? Had they... No, he wouldn't allow himself to think that. He may have lost his brother, but he was not going to lose anyone else, dammit. He flipped open the face on his communicator, and activated the homing beacons, finding several faint signals, and one very strong one, marked Ang. "Angel," he said, to himself, breaking into a long legged run, his stride not breaking as the Shield Agents managed to set up the emergency light trees, revealing just how disgusting this attack had been. As he tracked his missing team, Cyclops swept the bodies with his eyes, looking for signs of life. So far he was finding none, not one person clinging to the world with even the most tenuous of grips. This was a town of the dead, and that was becoming very very clear. The Brotherhood had done this? For what purpose? For what reason? What had they accomplished? He spotted a teenage boy sprawled on the side of the road who had skin like an alligator's, scaled and green tinted.... a mutant.... they'd killed a mutant. This wasn't some attack on humanity. It was an attack on the Island. The Shield communicator he'd been given was filled with Agents reporting that they were finding the same thing... just dead bodies and destruction. No sign, so far of the attackers, no explanation of what the hell they had been looking for. But, Cyclops had at last found what he was seeking. In the road, a figure crumpled in a heap of leather and blood and impossible impossible wings stained with dirt and soot and gore. Scott dropped to one knee beside his teammate, beside his friend, and muttered, "Dammit, Warren," He slipped off one of his gloves, and placed two fingers on the Angel's torn throat, seeking a pulse, gingerly rolling Warren onto his side, mindful of his injuries, mindful always of his wings. The pulse was there, weak and erratic but there, and Scott risked wiping some of the blood from Warren's neck, seeing the wounds there, red and raw, but already showing mild healing at the edges from the constant basting of the Angel's healing blood. He was definitely hurt bad, but the fact that his body was reacting to heal him was a good sign. "Angel," Fury said, joining the mutant, "Dead?" Scott glared up at the soldier, finally showing the anger that Fury remembered from when he first met him as a child, not yet developed the control that he was now infamous for. "He's alive, but badly hurt. I lay this squarely on your shoulders, Fury." "Oh, come now, Cyclops," Fury retorted, "Your own people reported it was the Brotherhood." Not rising from where he was semi supporting Warren, Scott snapped, "The Brotherhood is a desperate organization, made all the more desperate by the repeated oppression and subjugation of our people. Sentinels, hate crimes, legislation calling for registration and categorization of what is a natural progression of human evolution. You are god damned, Nick Fury, Director of SHIELD, the most powerful 'non-power' in the world and you've stood by and allowed this fear and paranoia to escalate into war! Something has to be done, Fury, and my people cannot be the only ones who are trying to make things better, not worse." He looked back down at Warren, "Besides, if I hadn't been at the helicarrier making nicey-nice with you and begging for a little slack in the choke chain, I would have been down here with my people." "And, likely been in the same position as your man there," Fury retorted, "You aren't invulnerable, Cyclops. You aren't Captain American with a quirky 23rd chromosome, despite what idealistic nonsense your teacher filled your head with. If this is war, Boy, your people fired first." Cyclops didn't look up from where he was studying Warren's wounds, trying to discern any healing, any hope that his friend was going to survive, "You had better hope, Sir, that we don't chose to fire last." "Is that a threat, X-Man?" Fury said, his expression still neutral. Now Scott looked up and behind his visor, the red glow that filled his eyes was like hellfire, "The X-Men are still committed to ending this war, Fury, to bringing whatever kind of co-existence between our two peoples that there can be. But make no mistake, the more you and your kind tie us down, the stronger the philosophies of Magneto ring in the heads and hearts of my kind. We are losing ground to the Brotherhood, because humanity is digging away at our foundations. Magneto is going to use the Sentinel program as a stepping stone to destroying you all, and the more you criminalize us, the more criminals you make." He slipped his arms under Warren, who despite his heavy wings carried no more weight than a normal man thanks to his hollow bone structure, and lifted the fallen X-Man. "I'm taking my man to the Quinjet for medical attention and then I am going back out there and finding the rest of my team. If they are not alive, well, the only good mutant is a dead mutant, right?" Fury watched the angry young man go and he chewed the end of his cigar. He stooped, and ran two fingers through the congealing puddle of blood left by the Angel, and rubbed them with his thumb, thoughtfully. |
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8:15 AM Jul 11