The Myth Made Flesh

It was not the nicest of cities. Crime was bad. Not just bad, but horrific. The back alleys, the old brownstone buildings, the shipping and urban districts were full of the worst society had to offer-from corrupt politicians, well informed mafia men, and masked homicidal lunatics, there was plenty of hurt to go around.

And its mythic, larger than life protector? Well, she wasn't exactly bringing a lot of light to the place. Sure, she seemed to stand for right and justice-but she was as dark and brutal as the city itself was. A certain ruthlessness about her and her methods that chilled the law abiding and law breaking alike. Even other heroes kept their distance. Villains certainly would have liked to-because when the vigilante came down on something, she came down hard.

The media had settled on calling her The Protagonist, after a failed bid to term her Blue Hood. She had no insignia emblazoned on her chest or anywhere else-but she didn't need any. Her attire was enough, her reputation was enough.

The Protagonist wore a dark, twilight blue cloak that gave her a larger presence, the hood deep enough to shadow her features. Her costume beneath it was a thicker, protective material, tight on her athletic form but plenty modest. It looked like motorcycle garb and was the same, blue twilight color. From the turtleneck portion of it, a small cloth was pulled up over the lower half of her face to conceal her mouth and nose. Just above the edge of the cloth mask was a thick strip of black face paint swiped from temple to temple, crossing over her eyes and the bridge of her pert nose.

Flat heeled, steel toed boots came up to about mid calf, black with heavy velco straps across the front. They matched the black gloves and the utility belt she wore, a bolo hanging from one curved hip and a grappling gun on the other-and untold weapons and tools stashed in her gloves, boots, and pouches of her belt.

The cloaked heroine had shown up almost a decade ago, and had been putting the fear of God into the criminal sector ever since. She hadn't been able to stomp out crime, nor was such a thing even possible-but she sure made it difficult to operate, and certainly more difficult to get away with anything too ambitious. Her almost supernatural ability to be in the right place at the right time made criminals paranoid and fearful-and what she did to the people she caught red handed was whispered about in seedy bars and police precincts across the city.

Whatever the demon woman was, she was bad news for anyone who caught her attention...or was crushed beneath the heels of her boots.

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All in all, four men were involved in the heist, not including the new guy.

Each of the men shifted uncomfortably in the basement of Anterior Labs, scanning the darkened hall behind them. The heavy duty drill they had set up bore through the locks, making an unholy racket as it did so. They only had a small window to finish the job once the door was breached- According to the sweating, out of place Leonard, they would be in and out within minutes. Well before police-or anyone else-could arrive.

And he was sweating. In a white dress shirt and yet another one of his outrageous ties, he had donned body armor for the occasion. It clashed with his dress pants and balding head terribly, and the handgun on his hip wasn't fooling anyone-he was out of his element. He was mismatched with the other three men he had brought-not to mention the new guy. The three muscled, automatic rifle toting, large men wore all black and body armor vests in grey.

They were finally through, and Leonard gestured for the blue metal stand supporting the drill to be pulled away, allowing the men to swing the heavy door open and step inside.

A lab counter nearest them held various equipment. Two rows of metal tables filled the space in front of that, but it was the back wall they were really interested in-from floor to ceiling, the entire back of the vault was filled with metal drawers. Samples, files, and various equipment and confiscated items.

Anterior Labs was relatively mysterious. A bit of research would show the lab had a lucrative contract with the Department of Defense-though what this contract involved was unknown, buried under layers and layers of classified documents. The mysterious Lord Rustang wanted something from their vaults, though only Leonard knew what.

Phantom

There was only one in the city who even suspected that he wasn't quite who he appeared to be. In many ways, not unlike his rival, the so-called 'mythic demon woman', he was a shadow as nobody knew who he was beneath the mask. He had a wariness to this new job, despite the fact that it paid well.

His armored bodysuit was quite different from the appearance of the other members of this little gang. He was, however, more likely the most dangerous in close and mid range combat. The idiot Leonard was too jumpy for his liking and the others, whilst the unwary would have been intimidated, he wasn't remotely impressed.

The dark bluish black reflected no light and the bronze only slightly did so. The heavy titanium-bronze blades were sheathed over his shoulders, yet he could draw them and strike if he so desired in the brief few seconds between the time of the drill powering down and the heavy steel door opening as the trio grunted with the effort.

He knew that the copper-gold mask made him appear blind and deaf, and in the former case was true as there was a disturbing factor to his sense of sight: he was able to discern the emotions of others, and if strong enough, consume said emotions. It tended to create some more dangerous powers to surface within himself. The only ones he'd found that lacked such emotions were the dead. Unfortunately, this emotion consumption tended to be quite painful and usually left the victim unconscious.

This armored suit and one other were actual clothes and weapons, whilst the other... wasn't in the strict sense of clothing. His hearing, however, was more than enough to make up for the lack of sight. His eyes, when exposed, were a mercurial silver against black scleara, the former rippling with a constant rainbow of crystalline colors within the silvery grey color. The only sign that there were actual eyeholes within the thick mask was a slightly darker bronze pair of markings that would retract the metal beneath, exposing his inhuman gaze.

A thin fog of brooding calm and calculation drifted across a background of grim anticipation. There was always a bit or irritation and anger beneath the surface of whatever the woman was feeling-a prelude to her burning, all consuming rage when she really got going. If he had been so inclined, the strength of that rage would have been excellent fuel for his abilities. It had never come to that, however. Not yet.

But her determination...that was what really defined her, made her stand out compared to so many others. It was stronger than her jaded, weary exhaustion with the city and its corruption, the feeling that nothing was ever enough. Stronger than the resulting irritation and flares of temper. She was determined and her convictions were what made her so damned near unstoppable-along with an utter lack of fear and an unhealthy disregard for her own safety.

And it was that unique signature of emotions, that strong determination that would allow Phantom to know almost immediately that someone in Lord Rustang's operation had screwed up as they entered the vault-The Protagonist had been tipped off.

She was here.

It happened quickly-as it usually did when The Protagonist executed a well thought out plan. Two metal balls flew through the air-each encased in a sticky, thick gel like substance- and hit both of the men on the door, one full in the chest, the other smack between the eyes. They reeled back with startled curses-and then shouts of pain as the sticky 'bombs' dispensed painful electrical shocks to their bodies, muscles locking up before they fell to their knees and collapsed on one another. As soon as the cry went out the lights cut-leaving only the dim emergency lights. The panicked remaining gunman raised his gun towards the rafters, backing away-when a grappling hook wrapped around the barrel of his weapon and jerked it out of his hands.

And then there she was, dropping from the steel beams above in a whirl of her dark twilight blue cloak, boots catching the man in the upper chest and slamming him into the unforgiving concrete. Her momentum carried her forward off of him, the crime fighter curling her body into a ball and landing in a roll. She disappeared behind a stainless steel counter as the wiry Leonard drew a handgun and took shaky aim for the vigilante, his eyes bugging out of his head, they were so wide.

He was well aware that emotions had no real scent, though that was somehow how his awareness picked up on them. To him, the fear radiating off Leonard had a dull golden glow and the unpleasant stench of sulfur, while, to his senses, the mythic woman glowed a dull emerald with hints of ruby and dark rose with the intriguing scents of roses and mint lingering after her. However, he deliberately kept her movements on the edges of his sight as he heard many more boots, around three dozen, almost forty odd people, most wary and uncertain, an unhealthy looking amber-orange to his senses, reeking of the scent of rotten eggs. Only months... nay... years... of dealing with unpleasant, even ugly odors, kept him from reacting. He did, however, sense a dark malicious amusement, to his awareness, like a dark reddish light with the odor of burnt meat. He took a very careful breath, thankful that the scents weren't really scents in the strictest scent where he could actually smell them. It was more a mental trick where certain odors matched certain emotions than the true scent itself.

"Doubt she realizes it, yet... especially with the stupidest of the group. No doubt Bossman thinks me expendable," he muttered under his breath before his ears twitched, his hearing picking up on a metal bat swinging at the back of his head. He ducked instinctively before the runic seals shimmered, catching the outline of a boot aimed at his face which he caught before he forced the kicker off balance and onto his back painfully with a grunt before he flipped, evading a chain lashed out at him and painfully hyperextending the leg as he dropped with his weight on top of the man's upper chest and shoulder as he released the leg, slapping one idiot in the face hard as he rolled and twisted, swatting the injured man in the side of the head and rendering him unconscious with a echoing thud. "Guess the phrase rings true... no honor amongst thieves... though from my guess, you idiots haven't dropped your balls yet... maybe I can help with that," he deadpanned as he drew the heavy blades from his back before spinning them and hurling them straight up, the blades penetrating the heavy steel supports and sticking as he drew the twin tonfa from the small of his back. They seemed to be unassuming thick metal, yet when he flicked them loose, dangerous looking blades extended. He knew they could fire darts that could act much like Taser darts or darts coated with a very particular paralytic that made it all but impossible to move save for blinking and breathing for a little over five hours.

A bolo flew as a man charged Phantom-it wrapped around the large, bear of a man and pinned his arms to his sides-just in time for the vigilante to come out of nowhere and hit him hard in the gut with her shoulder. She didn’t even pause as the man went down gasping for air-she was already twisting to drive her elbow into another man’s face.

An all out brawl. The anger that was always beneath the surface boiled in her blood, nerves drawn taut and her eyes narrowed as she tore through men twice her size with forceful, calculated strikes. When he had ducked the swing, The Protagonist has felt a flare of dismay. When he had drawn his blades-well, she wasn’t exactly thrilled.

Perhaps that’s why she had come to his aid-not that he needed the help-she didn’t want him slicing through her soon to be victims. "Again?" The word was more breathed than spoken, that lowered husky tone she used in costume. As usual when she spoke, the stoic woman sounded a little irritated. He seemed to be everywhere and involved in everything. That he was here shouldn’t have surprised her. This Rustang character was new on the scene-it made sense Phantom would be scoping the villain out. His information gathering made him a useful source..when he felt like being helpful. One of these days, he might get involved in something big enough, bad enough she'd have to take him down. She had a plan for that. She had a plan for everything.

But today-well, today was not that day. For the moment, they faced the same opposition. For the moment, so long as he didn’t start slicing arteries and removing limbs-he wasn’t on her shit list.

Her rising anger at the rabble of men was barely corralled by her discipline-the adrenaline and the building rage matching her increasing ruthlessness. She was intent to hurt all of them. Anyone wielding a gun, melee weapon, even a mean look-The Protagonist was a whirlwind of unforgiving violence. Noses, jaws, teeth, knees, arms and trigger fingers-she broke, fractured, and bruised every man she got her hands on.

And she was pretty quick to get her hands on them.

“Nice friends.” She growled, ducking an arm and disappearing into the chaos once more with a flare of her cloak, intent on the sweating, wildly firing Leonard. Two men had gone down due to ricochet-she didn’t need anyone dying on her watch. Which left Phantom on his own. She wasn’t worried. She also wasn’t sure why he had been attacked in the first place.

"Friends implies trust. These idiots... aren't worth my trust. Besides, that lies with another," he muttered gruffly. He twisted, coating the razor sharp blades in a misty sapphire aura that dulled them so he wouldn't slice too deeply. He knew the crimson rose caused blades to be more keen, which he didn't need at this moment. The sapphire snow tended to dull blades but not completely. He swatted aside pipes, chains, and arms, leaving shallow cuts and nasty bruises behind. "You think this is going to stop me? Unlikely," he muttered in a growl as he pressed a trigger that caused a current to flow along the blades, vibrating the edges at roughly Mach 1.3, though it would only trigger as long as his fingers depressed the trigger as the thick chain snapped with the sound almost like gunfire as he sheathed the blades and tonfas before he speared the large biker, his wild dark red hair flaring over his shoulders and upper back before, in the same fluid movement, pushed off into a tornado kick into a man's jaw that sent several teeth scattering over the floor as he dropped another man with a vicious short lariat that slammed him into three others. He didn't stop moving, though he drew a thick needle and launched it with almost inhuman accuracy, hitting the barrel and stopping the jumpy idiot's gunfire that had dropped a good eight of 'his' allies. "Moron... couldn't hit water if he fell out of a boat," he muttered gruffly, noticing that only a dozen or so still stood. He smirked slowly beneath the mask, a look that had anyone seen, would have been feeling almost as much fear as facing the 'mythic demon woman', before he pushed off into a brutal tackling blow which took two men down before he flipped into a handspring and threw both men hard into the shipping crates, leaving fairly large dents. He could see the faint golden-bronze auras that smelled like garlic denoting fear and uncertainty around the unconscious men and several of the still standing. "Figures they'd go with quantity over quality," he muttered gruffly. He had little doubt that there were others who were more... criminal than he with more dangerous talents.

After a painful sounding crack of skull striking skull, it was over. The Protagonist released the groaning pair she had slammed together as their knees buckled-stepping neatly over their prone forms as her hands returned to her sides, the cloak falling closed around her surprisingly petite form. For all the damage she could do, The Protagonist was not the largest of women. Certainly not the tallest.

"Don't they always." She said in response, dark eyes glancing at him before they returned to the whimpering Leonard.

He would sense the anger she had been fighting to control begin to lesson, disquiet and mild disgust taking its place as Leonard gibbered at her feet, curled in on himself and clutching his right, mangled hand. The Protagonist didn’t care for guns. Or cowards. She was facing the open vault door and impatiently waiting the man she had come here for. Phantom was in her peripheral vision. She didn’t trust him not to attack her back.

No, she didn’t trust anyone.

When nothing happened after fifteen seconds, she bent and grabbed Leonard by the collar, yanking him partially off the floor. “Your tech man is still in once piece, Rustang.” She called out, her dark eyes narrowed on the vault entrance. “But I can rectify that.” She snarled.

"No need." He didn't yell, exactly. The word was firm and echoed from within the villain's helmet, sounding a little distorted and very, very deep. Finally, a shadow stepped from the side and filled the doorway. “It’s not him you’ve come for.” ‘Lord Rustang’ cut a terrifying figure. Easily six foot six and built like a bear on steroids, the as of yet unseen villain was a heavy, mobile brick wall. His face wasn't visible due to the almost medieval style helmet he wore, dull blackened metal with a dark red t on the front, across the eyes and down the center of his concealed face. Despite the concealed eyes, one could feel his stare.

Spiked gauntlets and shoulder pauldrons made him even more menacing. His muscled chest was bare, his pants held up around his hips by a red belt with a large black buckle on the front-an R embossed upon it in that same dark red color.

As always, The Protagonist failed to be intimidated. One could almost hear the gears turning in her head as she scrutinized her enemy. She felt a flare of triumph at having finally drawn the villain into the open, a flicker of disdain for his attire, that ever present anger and irritation beneath the measured, cold calculation as she sized him up. And most of all, most of all-her determination and conviction she would stop him.

Her gloved hand opened and she released Leonard, a hard kick to his middle that drove him forward, the man rolling several feet. “A lot of men for a simple robbery.” She intoned darkly, decided on her plan of attack. Beneath her cloak, her right hand grasped hold of her grappling gun. The movement was not visible on the outside of it.

Rustang said nothing, merely stepped inside the vault and began to advance with heavy footfalls and powerful strides forward. Phantom would be able to feel the dark amusement, the homicidal intent. Perhaps there had been no planned theft after all, or it was secondary to the real plan, the actual target.

Rustang was set to remove Protagonist from the equation. She was the one piece in his intricate puzzle and intricate plans that did not fit. With her out of the way, the criminal underworld and the city was ripe for the taking. Her battle to keep them under her boot, to keep any one power from becoming too great-it was over. She had to be eliminated. And unlike the fallen foes-he was not afraid, not the least bit concerned of harm or failure. If anything...he was filled with a cruel anticipation, as if he were a predator about to corner and devour its prey.

He knew something The Protagonist didn't. There was something different and dangerous about him, maybe even otherworldly.

"Damn, not very appealing to the eye, obviously," he muttered gruffly glaring at the 'Lord' Rustang. "Ugh," he muttered in a growl as he sensed the large man's emotions like heated needles pushing slowly into his skin; the empathic talent was an unfortunate side effect of his own.... dangerous abilities. "Tech guy my ass. Guy makes a spring look like concrete," he muttered gruffly, glaring at Leonard as tiny arcs of golden bronze and copper electricity flickered over the dark bluish black armor he wore. This peculiar effect only showed itself when he was annoyed or angry. "The... energy... feels... dark," he muttered gruffly. He had a very dangerous secret of his peculiar and dangerous abilities: whilst he was able to absorb the emotions of others and feel them with what most would most certainly call 'unnatural' keenness, there was one very dark secret of his abilities and it relied on one simple thing: his faith in life and people... that held back that very dark secret.

"The... energy... feels... dark,"

The Protagonist's dark eyes took in the tiny arcs of electricity that were flickering over Phantom's armor, and they rested on his helmet a beat longer than usual after he spoke. He would sense a brief moment of pause-and then solidifying determination. It didn't matter. Lord Rustang had to be stopped. She would have preferred to have more information before facing him-but nothing good could come of letting him break into and leave with ANYTHING from Anterior Labs. Besides-this was her goddamned city, and it had enough criminal figureheads to keep her very, very busy.

A flare of fierce possessiveness in the vigilante. Her city.

So. Best see what this 'Lord' could do.

Throwing open her cloak with a quick draw of her grappling gun, she fired it skyward and allowed herself to be drawn up part of the way-swinging forward and driving the the heels of her feet into him-a move the giant absorbed with one massive blocking forearm that...was glowing a dull red. Whatever it was, it kept his arm from shattering.

Her legs extended to propel her backwards, back arched and essentially flipping midair to right herself, landing in a runner's starting position. She wasn't surprised he was a meta. There were a lot of them, after all. It didn't so much as slow her down. The woman issued a growl, and her powerful legs propelled her forward once more. The small woman barreled into the man and executed a series of brutal strikes, attempting to outpace the strange energy that swirled into life wherever she struck.

He was large but not entirely slow-and while she grew more and more determined with each strike he either physically blocked or the strange energy deflected, Lord Rustang grew more and more amused.

Amused...and something else.

The Protagonist feinted towards his face-and when the red light swirled into life she dropped down and surged forward to ram her elbow into his gut instead. THAT finally got his attention-she followed up with several bloodying strikes, too fast for him to retaliate initially. There was a surge of approval and lust in the giant before he grew tired of the game-

An inhuman growl within the confines of his helmet and he blurred into motion, his position merely a red glowing after image as he straightened and shot a fist forward faster than she would have thought possible for such a huge man-she barely threw her arms up in time to block him. The blow was strong enough-but it was the flare of red light that accompanied it that really ruined her day-it widened and hit her with enough force to send her flying.

Blown backwards and slamming into and over one of the steel tables, The Protagonist was briefly, very briefly-stunned and surprised. She lifted her right arm and shoulder, intending to roll off the table and get her feet under her again-when Rustang was suddenly there, one of his massive hands around her throat.

Shit.

He closed his hand around her collar, but the metal mesh underneath kept him from crushing her windpipe or truly cutting off air-but that didn't mean it felt nice. She dug her fingers into the pressure point in his wrist, and he retaliated by planting his second hand on her face and dragged/slid her along the metal surface, clearing the desk with the cloaked vigilante's body.

She curled inward with a snarl and managed to kick him in the face.

Lord Rustang's helmet snapped back and he released her, staggering back a step before he laughed- reaching to grab the heavy steel table and flipping it just as she sprang off of it herself. Her face mask had been pulled down to expose a pert nose and full lips, the latter of which was a little puffy and bleeding.

She was pissed. She was more than pissed-she was furious, and that fury helped her focus. The Protagonist drew a baton in her left hand and with a flick of her wrist extended the electrified weapon, snarling and moving for him again-and what followed was a brutal fight on either side. But he was toying with her. Letting her get a hit in here and there, but mostly defending himself with that red energy, moving faster than the eye could follow, bearing down on the smaller woman more and more until wearing down even her stamina. Any minute now, some of her hinted at, rumored abilities would make an appearance. She'd vanish in a puff of smoke. Or pick him bodily up and throw him through the wall. Suspend him upside down with a wave of her hand or bash his face in with a super human kick.

But none of that happened. She was becoming more and more exhausted and was taking more and more glancing blows-and when he tired of the farce, seemed to realize nothing extraordinary was coming- he sent another pulse of red energy, then another, and another-until she was being backed into the wall of metal drawers, unable to counterattack in the swirl. Finally he took her off her feet and slammed her back into the wall of drawers, causing several to slide open and dump their contents onto the floor.

He drew her closer, then slammed her again, again, again-rendering her briefly senseless before he threw her across the room. With a swirl of her cloak, she crashed into a few free standing pieces of equipment and was briefly out of sight. For good measure, he lifted a table and hurled it in her direction.

It wasn't looking so good.

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Fuck. Fucking fuck. What a stupid asshole she was-this had been a trap. The oily punk must have been intentionally misinformed and planted to draw her in. Get her where she could be cornered and finish her off once and for all-Rustang probably knew she wouldn't have come after him just yet otherwise, not blind like she was about him.

She felt like a lance had been driven through her lower back, and her head and shoulders ached from being slammed around and knocked backwards. She'd had worse, early on. Lost a fight or two, in the beginning. It had been years since anyone or anything had been much of a challenge. She felt both alive and angry as hell it was happening.

She half turned, gritting her teeth against a sound of pain when she heard the scrape of one of the tables-and saw one hurtling for her.

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With a loud crash the table landed awkwardly against the wall, slamming into the equipment but not flattening against the floor or wall. Rustang felt a measure of satisfaction and disappointment. She had been no challenge. He was sore in spots, but no real challenge.

He was both surprised and amused when the table shifted, a pause-before it slid further, The Protagonist-bleeding, battered, and more than a little disheveled-shoving it aside with her shoulder to the metal surface. Her hood was down and her dark hair was tumbling out of its bun, little curls framing her uncovered face. The swipe of black across her eyes had been smudged on one side, her eyes a little dull and struggling to focus. She was breathing a little ragged, her right hand concealed beneath her cloak.

Still angry, still determined, still everything she ever was-but it was all filtering through exhaustion and the enclosing darkness of unconsciousness.

"This is how you die, woman." Rustang intoned within his helmet.

"Maybe." She said grimly and without concern-and then opened her hand to drop a small black ball that rolled into the space between them-Rustang took an uncertain step back-and then it exploded with force, filling the room with an oppressive, dark smoke after hissing a strange liquid onto his bare flesh.

Alexis Èirílae

"I don't think that is this night," he muttered gruffly as he retracted the monofilament wires attached to the hilts of his blades, the metal glowing like dull golden-bronze flames had ignited within them, the outer silvery white edge giving off a high pitched whistling as he flicked them, launching them at the larger villain before shearing through the thick steel support half leaning above, dropping it on top of the self proclaimed 'Lord'. "Kinetics seem to be deflected or redirected. Have to make sure," he muttered in a growl as he twisted, barely evading a quick spray of bullets as he retracted one blade, then the other, deflecting the bullets up and away from himself before pushing off and quickly punting the heavy crate into the gunman's face with an meaty crunch that, unless he was mistaken, signalled a broken nose and severely shattered jaw. "Not easy to just hide someone with his distinctive talents," he muttered gruffly, his awareness seemingly causing time to slow to a crawl. "It's assholes like you that push my darkness to the surface," he grumbled as he sheathed both blades and darted quickly, grabbing the 'mythic demon woman' whom was evidently far more human than many, likely even herself, would admit. He headed for the rooftops, which admittedly wasn't that difficult for him.

Had to focus. Had to fucking focus. Protagonist needed to press her attack. Protagonist needed to win. She had seen him go down to one knee before the smoke obscurred him. The drug had worked on contact. But for how long?

She straightened up off the sideways table she was leaning against-and the smoke filled world seesawed, causing her to stagger back into the wall, leaning heavily against it for a moment. She touched at her side and sucked in a painful breath. Broken or cracked? Didn't matter. Had to finish this. If it wasn't just a trap, if there was something here he planned to steal-she couldn't let him have it.

Couldn't...let him...have...it?
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The thick steel fell, a flare of red swirling into life, but still taking the giant of a man down another notch beneath it and the resulting debris.

He was temporarily weakened by whatever had been within the smoke bomb, and blinded on top of that. He was seperated from his prey. She was no longer a warrior doing battle-she was a child hiding behind flimsy toys. Perhaps she did not deserve a warrior's death. Perhaps he would kill her more slowly.

After dealing with the other one.

His rage fueled him, and where his body was failing him his curse did not-it warped and glowed even brighter, a low growling noise in the smoke. He was gathering his energy and his strength. Charging something.

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The fallen vigilante jerked awake with a left hook when touched-she hadn't seemed to even realize she'd lost consciousness-her emotions flared confusion and anger.

"Can't leave." She breathed as she was pulled to her feet. She clearly wanted to continue the fight. Grimly, she was resolved to see it through one way or another. If she died she fucking died, and it'd finally all be over.

But she reluctantly allowed herself to be led to the door, his steadying hand around her toned upper arm. "Relaxant won't work for long." The vigilante murmured, looking dizzy, her brows furrowed as she focused on putting one foot in front of the other. She had a rather beautiful face as it turned out, beneath the mask. Ironic, given the rumors she had either a metal jaw or rows and rows of sharp spiked teeth-neither of which the Hispanic woman possessed.

It was sheer willpower that allowed her to make the stairs, pressing her grappling gun to his chest as her head throbbed. "Here. You go and I'll..." Whatever she had been intent on doing he'd never know-she had lost consciousness again, the petite woman crumpling without further thought or emotion.

And this was the condition she had wanted to continue the fight in.

Phantom - Alexis Èirílae

"Better to flee and survive than remain futilely, gaki," he muttered gruffly as he flicked a couple of tags with odd markings on the floor a few feet away from the 'Lord' that would instantly trigger if the giant stepped on them or if debris struck them.



He hefted her over his shoulder, wincing at the minor dent on the thick golden-bronze helmet he wore as he darted quickly and fired the grappling hook quickly, letting it yank them into the darkness. "Have to get out of sight," he muttered in a growl. "My base isn't likely to be useful, though I do know one useful post," he muttered gruffly. He knew that his base didn't have much that was impressive, unfortunately. It was around twelve miles offshore, though, on a forgotten thick clifside with a wild, supposedly haunted island attached. ","