HoH season 18. Source: valucre.net static Gaia dump.
Garah’s blade pierced Connor’s boot and scrapes off the side of the Carapace armour just under his skin. The point buried itself in the dirt as Connor lashed out with his right foot at the hilt and hand holding it. Crackling energy accompanied a writhing mass that would bite down to break bone and devour flesh and magic alike. If Garah didn’t release the blade Connor was going to shatter either it or his hand.
“I can understand bringing a knife to a brawl but a freaking sword!?”
Silver Alexander Wrote:> And he straight up leaped into her arms like a cartoon character, with his arms around her neck. > > > > "Ebris Dhifi?! That gigantic lunatic from outer space?! Why is he here?! I knew this neighborhood had gone downhill, but..." > > > > Silver looked around in a panic, finally taking in the full extent of mayhem going on across the street.
Raven was a tad short to be carying full grown men, as displayed by the fact that as Silver jumped into her arms his feet almost dragged on the ground, but the five foot tall redhead carried the famous warrior back away from the very dangerous crazies behind them.
"Yup, freaking space-caveman and Athan were about to go at it until Athan got hit by a spaceship." She would unceremoniously put Silver back on his feet half a block further away from the all out cluster ******** of a fight at the parking lot.
Silver Alexander Wrote:> "What the hell is goin' on? Is it a full moon or something? What brings all these crazies crawlin' outta the woodwork?"
"Oh, didn't you hear...? They are throwing a Heaven or Hell reunion tournament, that mess that I was overseeing was kinda the prelim fight from what I have heard. But that reminds me..." Very serious for once in her very long life, Raven took a hold of Silver's arm and made sure that he was looking right into her chaotic orange eyes. "When and where was the last time you saw Sunstrike?"
Connor's appendage trapped Garah's armored right hand, getting him to let go of his sword. Using his hyper-DNA, Garah started to manifest prana in his left hand, producing a blast of ki which he released at Connor's crotch. Extending his ensnared left leg, he got his right foot under him-self and performed a one-leg squat from the bottom position, standing up and care-fully balancing him-self. Then, with a powerful jerk from his right arm, he attempted to pull Connor to his feet and punch him in the head with a straight thrust using his metal left hand.
“Hngh!” Man, what a low blow. The majority of the Prana was devoured by the Carapace butnit still set his pants alight. Liar, liar... The sword was dropped and Connor immediately retracted his right foot and flipped himself over and throwing himself back over Garah as the demon man tried standing. While he was trying to attain balance Connor used that momentum to latch onto Garah’s right arm and transitioned into an armbar and wrenched attempting to dislocate that limb. His pants being hot was uncomfortable but now maybe he’d set Garah’s hair on fire.
Luckily for him, Garah wore steel armor which protected his arms, so when Connor went for the arm-bar and wrenched on his right arm, attempting to bend it out of whack, Garah came a-way from it with a dislocated right shoulder, rendering that arm use-less for the time being. Using his left hand, he threw an-other punch at Connor's face, attempting to give him a bloody nose.
They were back on their feet again, this time Garah’s fist smashing into Connor’s face and breaking his nose. Blood spewed and pain seared through his head. Connor stumbled back, clutching his face before clawing st it and tearing away flesh to reveal features identical to the demon man. “Why do you keep hitting yourself?”
"Sorry a-bout that," said Garah. "Evidently, I do not know my own strength. What in the world?" Garah started. "Why do you look like me? You are either an identical twin or a clone of me. Either way, I am going to pound you, you freak!" Being one to talk, Garah looked a bit the freak him-self being that he possessed no hair on his jutting brow and also happened to look a bit deformed over-all, having bumps on his head as well as knots and kinks on his back, in his legs and in his hooks for arms.
Looking a-round for a sign of the real Connor, as he thought the man in front of him to be either a doppelganger or some kind of voodoo puppet, Garah slowly walked to-ward the being in front of him, restraining him-self from attacking in that he thought he would hurt him-self by punching the other man who looked like him. "What kind of magic is this?" asked the demon man. "Is this some kind of illusion?" Bleeding from his left leg where a barb caught him in the area of his calf which his bronze armor failed to cover, using his left hand he popped his right shoulder back in-to its socket and yanked Excalibur out of the earth, holding the sword in an under-handed grip. "Do you not think you should get some new pants?" the demon man rasped. "I remember fighting you once before, now." As it all came flooding back to him, Garah used his left hand to try to club Connor's head on the right side.
“Pants are for sissies. A real man will fight with or without his junk flopping in the wind.” Connor says this with a grin and pats out the smoldering pants revealing...a codpiece the Carapace has formed to protect the family jewels.
“Remember me? From where? I don’t know you, I’d remember that ugly mug anywhere.”
Being the real deal, the one and only Connor, he stepped into Garah’s reach with right forearm raised to catch the club and left hand attempting to uppercut Garah. A black gauntlet had formed over both arms.
”RATHIN’ FOOOOOOUR~”
Didn’t take a seer to see that one coming. The problem with the crazy meta Jimbos and Jimbettes Ebris had encountered was that they didn’t understand the importance of mass. As they all chugged unicorn piss to develop their power with as much gusto as college athletes to sports drinks and booze, they forgot to actually bulk themselves up. For some Throne-damned reason Ebris could not get, they always opted to retain their purdy, dainty little forms that snapped and bent under pressure like poles made of badly-wrapped aluminum foil. Sure, when they swung hard enough, they could hurt like a sumbitch.
But when Ebris hit back?
The bounty scum almost winced in sympathy as the chick became a new, albeit temporary, feature to the car frame she slammed into. Almost. He wasn’t too shocked as she attempted to extricate herself from the wreckage, swearing up a storm all the while while coughing up grod that looked a bit too important to cough up. Ebris’ nasty grin returned in its full glory, as he had a host of options to choose from. Though Jimbette seemed to have caught a case of the punchdrunk and was focusing on whatever was closest to her now, Ebris could have easily thudded on over to her to wrap that little scuffle up nice and neat. He could, of course, turn to Cole and grod all over his Wheaties, simultaneously flattening the flying Jimbo from the after effects of their brawl. Or, he could simply mosey on over to any one of these other chumps and ruin their day real quick. Ebris had seen a lot of Throne-damned woowoo go off in the background in his peripherals, but none of it made him too fussed.
But, it looked like someone else had already chosen for him.
”Eh?”
Ebris peered at the Jimbo that wobbled up to him, looking like he’d already caught one too many hands this day. Undeterred, the Jimbo proceeded with the grod talk, and being the gentlemanly type, Ebris rightly obliged and reciprocated.
Dead Myths Wrote:> “You, ogre... you look worthy.”
”Rathin’ kind of yeh ta say so, Jimbo! Lessee if yeh meet my own measure, too.”
With that stated, Ebris began to walk forward. For the entity bonded with warrior, they would notice something curious about the hairless gorilla that trundled up to them. Perhaps something disconcerting. If it were to possess any kind of sixth sense - the type to read auras, killing intent, grod like that - they’d not feel a thing from Ebris. Not a lick of it. Cold, dead, neutral - the giant was utterly unreadable, besides that grod-eating grin that promised violence of a nature hitherto unheard of by those who had not faced that man.
Content as he was, Ebris continued to walk forward, arms resting casually at his side. If the Jimbo didn’t do anything, even ask politely to stop, he’d soon realize the bounty scum was literally going to walk over him.
As the storm finally normalized and The magnetic force around him began to die down, Leon slide came to a half, stopping him right on the edge of where the field was around him. it was well too late to take advantage of a counter attack now. But now he saw something, the man was clearly open. He was attempting to simply pull the car door toward him, Now there was a bit of nonsense with that Leon caught Immediately, he saw how easy he pulled the first car door before, there was no way he was struggling with this one…SUV or not, a Door doesn’t change to change weight regardless of what car it goes on.
“You know, I was under the impression, you were going to fight me, not wear car doors for mittens.”
Words or not, Leon wasn’t going to wait, he was going to strike again. But He was going to show off, he began to play once again. However, something was wrong with this current song. It was Discordant, very low notes that seemed to shake inside the body of the person who was listening to it…also their ears and their bodies. Then with one bend of his guitar string, it squealed.
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Undertow
With a bend of his guitar string, Leon creates a discordant and low-frequency soundwave followed by a high pitched squeal. This sounds which cover a 30-foot radius can cause a case of Vertigo if in the vicinity of the sound itself. However, the effect of said Vertigo becomes weaker after each turn.
Turn 1: Feeling of imbalance, spinning, and tilting, Nausea, Hearing loss (Muffling any sound around the 30-foot vicinity.), Are felt in full force.
Turn 2: The Imbalance begins to relax, along with the Nausea.
Turn 3: Everything begins to return to normal.
Cooldown: Five turns (Starting after the initial effects)
The Guitar released a loud high-pitched squeal that seemed the 30-foot radius that seemed to turn the entire area upside down. A strange surprise was that Leon himself was still standing (The benefit of being trained to deal with these extreme sounds.) From the nauseating feeling to the spinning tilting, and overall imbalance of the area around them, to the sudden fact that the hearing suddenly began to muffle, tunneling to almost inaudible means.
show spoilerhide spoilerCooldown for Eye of the Storm = 2 Turns (Starting now)
Designated Hero Wrote:
Before the ogre took his first step, restless Kova stilled her incessant clamoring. Her presence lessened inside the bloody and battered shirtless shell which was Jak. A person with a sense acclimated to the strange tendencies of phantoms and ghoulish auras may note how the giantess soul shrank into a pinpoint at the center of Jak's being. She uttered no further words to the master of her power.
Jak stood undaunted. Just when the ogre's approach began, the young barbarian had gained his composure and his rightful senses. His aches, scrapes, cuts, and bruises had dulled. His mind had cleared as he took stock of the apish man with a crooked smile. In the late evening, surrounded by beings heralded as Gaia's greatest warriors, Jak honestly could sense this man was worth a bit more muster.
The young barbarian smiled.
With ten feet remaining between them, the young man fetched from his side a large, rusty kitchen knife with the speediest sleigh of hands. He held it tight in his right grip, the tip pointed near the center of the ogre's being. With little sense of subtly, he thrust forward, changing targets at the last second to strike in the direction of the ogre's left thigh. Of course there seemed to be a misjudgment of range. A couple feet of air happened to occupy the space between knife point and flesh as Jak extended.
All was not for naught as an ally appeared beside Jak.
The grisly spirit of Pyramid Head, a slave to Jak's whims after being slain in a battle royal, heralded nightmarish magic at play as Jak attacked. This was his great knife, after all. He was also a fancy distraction if the ogre paid him any mind when he should be keeping a sharp eye on the knife.
Quote: Wrote:> SILENT BUTCHER > > [1 turn/instant; 4 CD] > > Jak evokes the dreadful spirit of Pyramid Head while swinging or thrusting the knife. For a brief moment, reality disolves and the knife Jak holds appears bigger and heavier. It is a quasi-summoning of a sword that’s 5 feet and 7 lbs of crude metal with an edge. As soon as the attack is completed, reality will set back to normal and Pyramid Head’s spirit will rest until called forth again.
Jak's left foot would land in lead as he torqued at the waist to thrust his right arm forward. His left hand cocked back, balled with such trembling intensity, it's as if he was ready to jump forward and sock the ogre in the face the moment the thrust injured him.
[ Cognitive Genome ] Wrote:
Somewhere in the parking lot..
The police box started rattling, and its doors opened. From within, the smell of peat and spice filtered out in a warm current. With it came the shouting. A man and woman were arguing, one a smooth tenor, the other a high contralto with an endearing posh lilt that screamed class when it wasn't shouting derogatory insults concerning a 'tailed b*****d'. After a few minutes, the police box whirred shrilly, then a disheveled looking devil was thrown out of the interior, rolling hind over head. Arresting his tumble with a sulfurous curse and scrambling to his feet, the Outsider patted himself down, smoothed his shirt, then jabbed an accusing finger at whomever it was he was in the midst of a heated debate with, shaking it to exacerbate points in his tirade.
Whatever was said - the exchange being lost in the excessive whirring of the police box - seemed only to incite the pair, and soon various pieces of junk started being tossed out of the interior like missiles. Avoiding being struck by a toaster, a screwdriver, and a vinyl (David Bowie's Station to Station), the Outsider caught his jacket when it was tossed out, fumbled for a few undergarments, and was struck in the head by the well-aimed pitch of a boot. Rubbing his temple, he looked at the offending footwear critically, then yelled something about it not even being his. The argument quickly devolved from there, entering the realms beyond reconciliation. After a while, the police box closed its doors, whirred louder, then dematerialized, leaving the Outsider stranded in the parking lot, flushed with anger. Putting his jacket on and tugging on the lapels, he looked around -- and saw he was dropped in the middle of a brawl.
"What the ******** is going on?"
HonoRaven Wrote:> "Oh, didn't you hear...? They are throwing a Heaven or Hell reunion tournament, that mess that I was overseeing was kinda the prelim fight from what I have heard. But that reminds me..."
Silver looked skeptical.
"Wha...? You can't be serious... There hasn't been a Heaven or Hell in damn near a decade... Who the hell would wanna put one on now?"
He looked back up the street at the mess that was still unfolding, some of the combatants' shenanigans visible from even this far away. He absentmindedly rubbed at his stomach. Like he was hungry, but it wasn't food that he craved. He seemed to just be staring off into space now.
"But that would explain some things..."
HonoRaven Wrote:> Very serious for once in her very long life, Raven took a hold of Silver's arm and made sure that he was looking right into her chaotic orange eyes. "When and where was the last time you saw Sunstrike?"
Her tight grip and intense gaze dragged him back to reality. He reeled back slightly, somewhat taken aback, but he did not attempt to break free from either.
"S-Sunny? I... I don't know..."
Silver glanced down in thought for a moment, then back up at Raven.
"It was a long time ago. Coincidentally, maybe even as long as the last Heaven or Hell Galcier was in... now that you mention it."
He seemed sincere. Even if he could recall, he had no reason to hide it from Raven, at least as far as he knew.
"I... I haven't really kept up with the old gang. I have a day job now. Software for an accounting firm downtown... a-and a modest apartment uptown. Why else do you think I'm in this ridiculous get-up?"
He used his free arm to motion from his head all the way down. Hair pulled back. Glasses. White collar shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Black tie and slacks. Loafers. His appearance and demeanor, especially back at the Parking Lot, certainly led credence to his claims.
"If you're looking for Sunny, I'm afraid I really can't help."
"Disgusting."
When first approached about returning to the Terran Gaian World for some blood sport, Omi was skeptical. Understandably so. Why would he, a relatively well off mercenary-turned-war-monger have any reason to participate in some undignified unrefined and undisciplined sport for a bunch of drooling imbeciles to cheer over?
The Man in Red had more pressing matters to attend to, typically. Even if it was fun to break some upstarts' egos.
That was, until this little matter was brought up to him more... crudely. When a homeless man meandered into camp after murdering three of his soldiers because he had been paid some absurd sum to relay a simple message.
Seth Wrote:> "Boy did this guy want you bad! Sorry about your friends. Haha! I had a hell of a time finding this place and they spooked me. But have I got a ticket for you! Thousands of gold just to deliver a note, amazing boy, amazing! > > > > Wait, why do you seem so mad for buddy?"
"Moonblade.." His deep, rich voice still grumbled underneath irritated breath; lower left eyelid twitching in place.
Omi Barsait was indeed in this parking lot, hearing that the rowdier sort came here to settle their differences. He had low hopes of seeing anything exciting here; just drunkards running their mouths, maybe a few fatalities. But lo and behold had Gaia not changed an iota. Unrestrained magic usage and metahuman capabilities exceeding the limits of reality washed in and out with the day; it was pathetic! They were going through the motions with no passion, no risk. Had they no honor or shame?
It took a lot of effort for a man dressed in blood red clothing with massive snake decorations on his shoulders strutting about in broad daylight to stay subtle and out of sight, let me tell you. Like the namesake of his Serpentine gifts, Barsait was posed silently and so still that none so far had the poor judgement to approach him whilst he stood with his back against a brown junker car that seemed abandoned but not yet towed. All well enough for him. He didn't even have his prime servant here to sort out the riff-raff; so tiresome.
Why even be here then?
To watch. Spending the better half of the day there, not eating, not drinking, not making small talk, not seeking out opponents to prove himself not the amateur; no: to watch.
Fate was not kind, nor was it forgiving, nor was it whimsical. Everything had a grim purpose. And if the man Barsait was drawn here by a now crippled messenger, and now charged to be here by some absurd lunar acquaintance -- well then someone was his destiny's charge; his reason. That was how it worked. That was always how it worked, there was a bigger reason for even the trivialities of this world. This wavy brown haired young man with a gaunt look to his face like that of an insomniac gone without a good day's rest in years seemed lost in these abstract thoughts, the shouting and idle pleasantries around him background static. You would be forgiven for thinking this man was falling asleep with how tranquil and unmoving he were, chest rising and falling the only true indications he did in fact live.
So until he was truly awake..
So on he would watch.
CHAPTER 1: HERE COMES OMI
It must have truly been quite awhile since Ogelsby and herself had been around the other, as he offered the robotic butler and then hesitantly jumped into a confession that he seemed quite worried to tell, Red had to try pretty damn hard to keep from laughing. Her lips pressed together in a tight line, the popcorn remnants being brushed from her fingers as he stumbled through the last of his confession.
"My stem cells, huh?"
She croaked the words out, trying to play off her own sense of hesitancy, crossing her arms over her armored chest and staring off at the brawls still running rampant through the parking lot. She took her time in replying, as if she were trying to decide whether or not to be angry over this news of the boy using her cells without direct permission for the robots. It was true, she'd definitely felt an odd tingle that she couldn't quite put a finger on, and it made sense now what it was; That robot had a part of her in it, she was feeling herself, if only barely.
"That is interesting to hear..."
Mumbling, she glanced over at him with a raised brow, expression oddly void of emotion while the cogs churned in her mind. Well not really, but she was enjoying the suspense he must have been feeling. Her attention shifted for a moment though, two new people had entered the fray that she recognized all too well. Roen fell from a police box, and Omi approached the disaster in the lot as well.
"You thought I was going to be mad?"
The blonde let the smile crack as she looked back to her friend next to her, unable to hold the façade ay longer.
"I think it's genius. It's not like you're like the others' who had tried to use my powers as a battery. You did it without ******** hurting me."
There was some venom in her voice towards the end of her statement, but it was a subject she wasn't interested in talking about. She liked Ogelsby, he was a good person.
'Fighting. Lot's and lots of fighting.'Red glanced over to Roen, dropping a few words at the forefront of his thoughts, barely more than a tickle of invasion. She may have done the same to Omi, but she knew better. Much better.
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Spooky Mittens Wrote:
Not Roen Wrote: