Justice League: The New Wave (IC)

[ChasNicollette]

Her moonlit wings reflect the stars that guide me towards salvation. (Rose/M'gann)

Concentrating hard Kara didn’t squeeze her hand in excitement, but she did have a rather goofy grin spread across her face like she had a supertabulatic secret and she wanted to tell EVERYONE. But she didn’t say anything.

Beside Rose, holding Rose's hand, Karan was just this nexus nimbus glow of joy, affection, and infatuation, and Rose couldn't help herself--

--that grin was infectious.

She even grinned through Silver Bullet's departure and she tossed him a little wave with her free hand as he vanished away at superspeed.

She managed, somehow, her mind swimming in the vortex of the emotions of the day-- trepidation of all flavors about actually going out and fighting League-level evils, a mix of solidarity and bewilderment with her newly-minted teammates, and that contagious cocktail of delights radiating off of Karan-- to stay focused on the business at hand.

"Right then. Um. Chairman Aquaman?"

"Now I think we're done. But I could be wrong?"

 

[kizkiz]

Rathaway, Spectre, and Black.

New York. Afternoon. Rathaway, Spectre, and Black.

Rathaway had a first name, but since he'd given up on his past occupation and moved onto this one, he'd come to think of himself as just Rathaway. Harvey sat with him, a rare event because they didn't like each other. However, when someone drops off two million dollars as a retainer, well more than one partner got involved. Down the hall their new client lounged in their boardroom amongst the mahogany table and Aerlon chairs. Several of the junior partners and an expert were deposing him. The only person not present was Black, but this situation didn't warrant that yet.

"God damn Rathaway."

Rathaway chewed on his lip, rapping out a harmonic melody that echoed his mood. It had a fast tempo and warbling echo in the room. "The DEO..."

"No shit the DEO."

"If they get him, they won't let him go." Rathaway renewed his lip chewing. "Their backers can't afford this black eye."

"Black eye? It's a god damn beat down, Rathaway." Harvey paced, scowling. "I'm calling Cooper." Harvey went to his desk, shouting into the phone. "Donna, get Anderson on the phone. Remind him of the favor his owes me."

"I already have him on the line, you ready for me to patch him over?" her voice was smooth as silk and as calm as a summer's breeze.

"Yes." The line clicked and Harvey picked up the handset. "Anderson, we've got him. I need. No, of course it's exclusive, yeah. No if the DEO gets here first, they'll squash it. No. Yeah. Okay. Less then five. Yeah. Yes, just like in San Francisco. Yes. Great. Bye."

Rathaway continued to tap away at the armrest. "Okay, okay. We got the PR, I think, yeah, this could work." Rathaway nodded to himself and stood up. He paused on the threshold of the office, looking back at Harvey. "Thanks."

"Just do your god damn job and don't give us a god damn black eye."

Rathaway stuck up his middle finger as he walked out and back towards the boardroom. He watched their newest client through the plate glass windows. The man was huge, a ball of muscle with the most insane tattoos that Rathaway had ever seen. Watching the tattoos messed with his brain. They moved when they shouldn't.

"Well Dr. Moore?" Rathaway asked, entering the room.

Dr. Moore looked like the insane grandfather of Colonel Harland Sanders and Gandolf the Grey. That was the only way Rathaway could describe the guy. Dr. Moore also happened to be the foremost expert on both Quantum Entanglement and Arcane Dynamics Theory. On either side of Dr. Moore were five junior partners in three piece suits scribing away. Two video cameras and a thousand dollar microphone were pointed at the man, Kiz the Void Binder.

Dr. Moore cleared his throat, running his hands through his monstrous beard. "Well, I do declare this man is brilliant. He showed me how to solve for the minimum number and appropriate values of the dimensionless physical constants from which all other dimensionless physical constants can be derived! Marmalade and Jam, my pretty little lamb! And an irrefutable proof that dimensionFUL," The good doctor added extra emphasis on that suffix, "Physical constants aren't necessary at all!" His combing at his beard intensified.

Kiz turned his chair and stared out the window at the mass of ant sized humans moving thirty stories below. "Will that do, Esquire Rathaway?"

Rathaway looked around the table at the junior partners. They all nodded. Rathaway paused and nodded. "Yes, that ties down the science angle. If it comes to a trial of jurors, but that's not how the DEO operates. We need to make you a public figure. Someone they can't hide away."

Kiz turned in his chair, folding his arms over his chest. His massive fur coat parted revealing two chiseled plateaus for pectoral muscles. The line of his abs was a series of furrowed valleys with washboard cut outs. And his hands were massive, scarred things. When Kiz had his fists clenched like they were now, it looked like he had two sledge hammers for hands.

"I would prevent that," Kiz said.

"No collateral damage. You fuck up New York's skyline, and the people will never love you."

"I don't care for people's love."

"Yeah well it's that love that will keep the DEO from crawling up your ass and out your mouth."

"I don't know what that means." Kiz frowned. "I've staved off Armageddon more than once. I doubt an agency of men will pose a great challenge."

Rathaway went around the table and leaned against the window, trying to get Kiz's attention, but Kiz had turned back to staring down at the dots of humanity moving below. "The DEO likes to put people in their place. A place below them. Way below. Trust me, I've been there. They will push you until you want to destroy the world." Rathaway took a huge breath and whistled, playing around with low to middle D. The melody relaxed him. "Anyway Kiz, we need to tread carefully. People are already pissed. This will be won through PR not the law. Although we could win a public trial. They'll just pull the terrorist card or super villain card and use Code 5."

"Code 5?" Kiz asked.

"Alien Terrorist Removal. It's usually public, but they can use Subsection 9 to push for a secret court. They do it with FISA." Rathaway waved his hands, "I'll give you the relevant books as requested. There are ways now for them to be covert is my point.. Once they got you, they won't let go."

"I see. It appears they use thieves to further their agenda." Kiz scowled into the distance. "Folk who have fallen from the path."

"Thieves?" Rathaway said, coming up short. "What do you mean."

"They used a hedge wizard to uncover something that shouldn't have been uncovered. A man who used stolen artifacts to uncover the truth, and knowing the truth they have not released Tanha nor my Herald." He nodded. "I concur with your plan. All systems of man are beholden to men, no matter how much men wish it otherwise. In time, perhaps, your rulers will develop sufficient technologies to escape this truth. Others have, but such trajectories lead off the path."

Dr. Moore perked up at this point. "You refer to a global optimization problem across non-linear, parametric solution space?" He stopped combing his beard long enough to wrap his knuckles on the table. "Not my area of expertise, but there is an absolutely fascinating theory by a friend in Computational Political Group Theory. He's proven much the same. Dr. Goodall is his name. He'd love to talk to you."

Kiz waved away the request. "Many would love to use me." He stood and joined Rathaway at the window. "The DEO does not bother me, but I would have my Herald released. Will they hide her away?"

Rathaway chewed on his lip again, tilting his head up to look into Kiz's eyes. "Not permanently, no she's too public. Just long enough till the situation has been resolved. If what you've told us is true, it's all circumstantial. We're putting in a motion with the federal court, but the DEO has lots of pull these days."

Kiz nodded.

"Mister, ah Void Binder?"

Rathaway turned, scowling at first, but then relaxing when he saw Alice, his secretary, carried an apple pie.

Alice was a big women, more grandmother than super model, but Rathaway liked the maternal vibe he got from her. Plus she was competent. "Here you go, sir." She set the pie down with a knife, fork, and napkin.

"It's been a long time," Kiz said, smiling as he sat down before the pie. "I have only found imitations of these elsewhere."

"Ah yes sir, the bakery at-"

"Alice," Rathaway cut in, "Off you go."

"Yes...of course...if you need me." She shambled out, looking back every few feet.

Rathaway sighed. "Yes, you'll be at your desk where I pay you to be."

Kiz ignored the knife and started taking huge, gaping chunks of the pie with the fork. He stopped, looking around, "My apologizes, that was rude. Would any of you join me?"

 

[Varshanka]

The Arrow and The Rider

Maybe some of his fathers other fancy arrows may not be so bad after all, he thought as he began to follow the trail. After all if he did not have to keep climbing up and down from roofs all the time, but had one of his fancy grappling arrows, this guy might not have gotten away. However that was a thought for another day. Right now he had a criminal to catch.

She’d been following him for a while, tracking him and his activities. Hadn’t been hard, not once a Police Officer had been ‘liberated’ from his possession of a radio. But now she followed a little closer rooftop to rooftop. Occasionally she used the chains like vines and moved from building to building.

Leaping she rolled, somersaulting through the air and landing on the twisted car with two tires. Metal screamed with her landing, leather smooth and supple as it caressed her form. Looking at him through the mirror-like faceplate she gave him a nod.

Stepping down off the crumpled car, she walked closer, her stride ambiguous. Either she was going to punch him in the jaw, or ask for his number, maybe give him hers.

Probably going to deck him. No girl with a tight fitting leather biker wear like that, and a rather eye pleasing form for added effect, ever went out with someone that didn’t have a ZZ beard and beer gut.

And a Harley.

 

[Aussie_Wolf]

Connor heard the screech of metal and looked behind him to see a vision in leather stepping off the roof of the crashed car. By the looks of things she had actually jumped down onto the roof and was now calmly stepping down, so he was not dealing with an ordinary person, still he could have worked that out just from the outfit.

Tight fitting black leather, covered in metal studs, topped with a full faced helmet that had a very shiny mirrored finish. To top it off wrapped around her body was a chain that seemed to glow slightly.

The whole look was an adolescents wet dream, even before you added in the fact that the body under the leather was smoking hot. If she wasn't a model for some motorcycle calendar then it was a waste he thought.

Of course all these thoughts rushed through his head even as he drew an arrow and had it pointed at her heart. It was a mighty big coincidence that as soon as his prey started to get away, she had shown up. Still he wasn't getting a villain vibe off of her, but it never paid not to be careful.

"Well Good evening gorgeous," he smiled without relaxing one bit, "What brings you to this dark part of the docks on this cold night. I really hope you are not going to tell me you are here to help that slimeball who has run off. I would so hate to have to harm a good looking woman such as yourself."

 

[ChasNicollette]

How many ways to get what you want? I use the best I use the rest I use the enemy.

Child Rowland to the dark tower came,
His word was still 'Fie, foh, and fum
I smell the blood of a British man.
— King Lear, Act 3, scene 4.
********​

Constantine didn't say a word in the car. Which was unlike him, at the very least he might appreciate The GNX' rumbling engine and bad-ass sound system, but no, not a word.

Chase wasn't especially garrulous even at the best of times. She focused on the road ahead of her, New York reflected in the black lenses of her sunglasses like The City of Dreadful Night.

Helligan was saying something. It was probably important.

But John wasn't listening.

He wasn't in the moment, which was bloody awful technique for a synchronicititian. He was thinking about where they were going next.

The security guards at the desk in the lobby rose simultaneously as the two women in their black outfits strode in with a fellow (who looked like Phil Marlowe after a particularly bad night in which he had lost his hat) and exuded an aura like they owned the place and a six-block radius.

Helligan and Chase displayed their badges, and with agonized reluctance, the guards waved them up towards the elevator.

As they boarded the lift, John took an mp3 player out of his pocket, strung earbud headphones to his ears, and murmured the only sentence he'd said for over half an hour: "Gimme some juice, Johnny."

Even through the headphones, "Anarchy in The UK" nearly drowned out the elevator's muzak, and for that at least, Chase decided she should count herself grateful.

By the time the lift bonged and the doors opened, John had his head on a bit straighter again. That smirk on his lips. That glint in his devil-may-care eyes.

As they stepped off the elevator he tugged the headphones out of his ears, watching Chase and Helligan again present their badges to the women at their desks.

"Department of Extranormal Operations," Chase declared in no uncertain tones.

"We're here to speak with one of your clients," Helligan informed them.

"Cheers, luvs," John smirked, with a chin-up nod for Donna and no less of a debonair wink for Alice. "Off yeh pop."

 

[kizkiz]

The showdown at high noon.

The usual legal back and forth ensued. Hathaway argued with Chase over whether or not she was allowed anywhere in their offices without a warrant or probable cause. It went on for a good twenty minutes. Of course in the wake of extranormal dangers to American interests, the government had seen fit to waive or at least create exceptions for many of the traditional, constitutional checks on search and seizure. It helped that Chase could print a warrant on demand, considering the secret courts and mandate to keep America from annihilation. In the end, Hathaway lead them to Kiz.

The hallways were empty. There might as well have been tumble weed blowing across the carpet for all the activity. All the doors along the path to the boardroom were shut tight and the shades drawn. Rathaway whistled on the high end of D, that was in the annoying register of sound. He kept his hands visible, swinging in time to the warbles of his ad hoc melody. In fact, he was doing a perfect imitation of a wren's call.

Kiz was sitting on the far side of the board table. He was working on the dregs of his apple pie. His massive bear coat enveloped the majority of his body but hung open in the front to reveal the rippling of his muscles as moved the fork around the pie tin. The fork he held looked like a toothpick in comparison to the hand holding it. His face as relaxed; his face and scalp were clean shaven.

Behind him, her arms crossed below her ample bosom was Tanha. She projected raw hate as her eyes bore into John's face. Tanha ignored the women. A fine, delicate blade was strapped to either hip. She wore clear crystal, woven into chain mail over her torso. The mail flared into a skirt the ended mid-thigh. She had long boots that went up to her knees.

The final participant in the room was Dr. Moore. As the DEO entered the room, Dr. Moore was chuckling, his belly jiggling like a bowl full of jello. "And that's why the wave forms collapse?" Both Dr. Moore and Kiz didn't seem to have noticed the DEO.

Kiz nodded. "The Void exists as neutral space between the probability density functions across and between the wave's potentiation spectrum." He shrugged, "Although our approach to manipulating it doesn't require much more beyond that." His fork hefted up some crumbs to his mouth. He slid them onto his tongue and smiled. "It has been a pleasure, Doctor. It's hard to find novelty after awhile."

 

[ChasNicollette]

Interlude: The First of Four Shadows.

Elsewhere.
Elseworld.
Out of Time, Out of Mind.
*********​

Omnitropolis was burning, and Jack Hawksmoor was screaming.

"The whole..." he wheezed, when he could think enough to speak "...planet is a city. And they're destroying it all over again."

There is, as a wise man once mused, always a bigger fish.

For all the great and impossible threats that The Justice League of Earth-1 had faced over their years, they had not yet trod into the greater expanses of The Multiverse, and certainly not deeper into The Overvoid known as Hypertime. The Multi-Multiverse, The Omniverse... all of them lay so far beyond the universe of Earth-1 that we lack numerical systems sufficient to encompass their breadth.

Thus far, Earth-1 remains largely ignorant of the worlds beyond their world-- and ignorance, in this instance, is bliss-- at least for now.

Earth-14, wreathed in mystery and crackling with power, is not so ignorant.

One of the worlds closest to The Speed Force Wall that barricades The 52 Earths of this Multiverse apart from the greater hypercosm that is The Sphere of The Gods, Earth-14 had endured many aftershocks kicked up by the wars that waged in that Sphere. As a result of their proximity to these incomprehensible cataclysms, Earth-14 had been subject to vibratory effects that had caused them to spawn off other, younger, still-forming Earths not yet stable in the structure of the 52-Earth Multiverse. (Such as Earth-395, "Throneworld," a place of magic and medievalism in which no hero or villain was safe from death and the ambitions of others.)

The premier guardian force of Earth-14, The Judex Luminary Authority, had to contend with the great devils of their own world as well as the torrential backlash-- the static discharge of the hyperstorms of The Sphere of The Gods --as well as safeguarding these off-shoot upstart Earths still finding their vibratory frequency.

But now-- now-- they were in the eye of those hyperstorms.

Wonderworld had once been a fortress planet traveling at hypertemporal speeds throughout a previous iteration of this region of spacetime-- appointed by The Gods of The Fourth World as a bulwark against the ancient, timelost weapons of The Old Gods of Urgrund, The Third World. With the escape of an Old God Warbringer named Mageddon, however, Wonderworld fell in fiery demise carrying out the very defense it had been created to mount-- with only an Earth remaining to make a last stand for that Universe.

Now that that same previous Universe had been fissioned into this Multiverse, the graveyard ruins of Wonderworld instead served as the cornerstone of The Speed Force Wall. The lynchpin of the boundary between The Sphere of The Gods and the Earths we know.

And it was upon that cornerstone, that Wonderworld lost, that The Judex Luminary Authority of Earth-14 now made a last stand of their own against the unfathomable primordial tides-- the dark clash of unspeakable titans that waged and raged beyond The Bleed.

...and they were losing.

The impossible skyline of Omnitropolis had once encompassed the entire surface of Wonderworld-- it should have made Jack Hawksmoor, The King of Cities, into an unstoppable juggernaut, the greatest city he had ever bonded with even with its citizens long dead and buried. But his symbiosis with urban sprawl was both boon and bane. As the Great Darkness they stood against crushed the ruins of Wonderworld underfoot, Hawksmoor felt that planetary city breaking inside him. Just as he resonated with the power of a city, so too did he shatter with its destruction.

There were two of them there in what remained of The Council Chamber of The Theocracy of Wonderworld. Jack who lay dying, and the healer who could scarcely restore him as fast as he disintegrated.

"I can feel them, I can feel them dead," Jack shuddered, hugged himself, clenched shut his red red eyes. "Everything that happens in this city, all this pain and carnage and despair. They tore Midnighter to shreds, numberless mindless hordes, he should have been able to fight whole armies by himself but he couldn't read their tactics without minds... they collapsed Jenny Quantum's waveform using a Quarvat and snuffed her out with a burst of undiluted entropy. The Engineer and Swift were destroyed when they tried to reawaken The Blacksmiths' old armories in a counterattack. The Flash, Barry-- just-- they flung him into The Glimmer's Hyperwheel, must have sent him skipping across The Speed Force Wall like a stone. Apollo, Majestros the Manhunter, even the mighty Eve-One that you so painstakingly resurrected... they were in The Museum District when The Great Darkness just... devoured it. They're gone, they're gone, they're gone."

He twitched, and shuddered, blood beading on his brow like fever-sweat.

And kneeling over him, hearing him recite the names of the dead like a litany... was The Doctor.

Her name was Jamie Hamilton, and she was The Planetary Shaman of Earth-14, the guardian of that Earth's Gaia-Spirit and the custodian of the racial memory and entelechy of humankind. Having inherited vast mystical abilities with the death of the previous Doctor, she found herself thrust into a cosmic battleground-- and possessed of the ancient wisdom of all the previous Doctors back to the dawn of human thought. The trouble was-- now she faced a cataclysm unprecedented, undreamt-of, since beyond before the sentience of her species.

She watched, biting her lip in horror, her heart aching in her chest, as Jack Hawksmoor came apart in front of her at the systemic level--

--even her power to reignite life-forces would only sustain his agony, as resurrecting The King of Cities in a devastated city would only devastate him all over again.

"Jack," she shuddered in her Estuary accent, wiping the blood from his brow with a kerchief from her pocket. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

She wore a long brown coat, and she wore glasses, and her long brown hair spilled down over her shoulders. Beneath the coat she wore a brown-pinstriped suit and a tie... and on her feet she wore off-white rubber-soled Chuck Taylors.

"Jamie," Jack keened. "You need to go, you need to get out, there's nothing you can do-- you need to preserve The Authority. Get-- get into The Multiverse-- find other heroes who can-- make a stand where we've failed-- just like-- just like the history of Wonderworld-- find that Earth, Hamilton, find the right Earth--"

He stopped mid-sentence. The light went out of his eyes.

And Jamie didn't need her twenty vastly elevated perceptions to know that he was gone.

She stood, and trembled a little, and steadied herself as a temblor rocked what was left of this once almighty planet.

And she closed her eyes and held out her hands.

Jack had not been able to long survive outside of urban environments, but he had been able to teleport between cities by creating himself "transit wombs," concrete pods that would facilitate his vanishing from one city and materializing in the other.

Well, as powerful as The Doctor's magics were, she was an avatar of The Gaia Hypothesis, and being empowered by the spirit of an Earth didn't do you much good for traveling between Earths. Like a land animal bobbing out there on the ocean-- she would drown if she tried to traverse The Bleed.

One of her 20 enhanced senses allowed for the perception of Time, the ability to traverse it in more than one direction, to comprehend how it flowed and ebbed...

...and she could accomplish anything she set her mind to, anything at all, provided she could imagine it, structure it, phrase it in poetic terms. She had to be careful with this power, as it tapped the lifeforce of The Earth itself-- resurrecting Eve-One had shaved a full millennium off of the end of Earth-14's life --but beyond that her only limit was her imagination.

And so she made herself a transit womb, of sorts. A way to reach the other Earths in this Multiverse.

She crafted it from imagery she had known from her childhood in England... she built its capabilities drawing on The Garden of Ancestral Memory in which dwelled all other previous incarnations of The Doctor... Einstein, Newton...

The surface of Wonderworld bucked beneath her and she knew this was her only chance.

"Allons-y!"

She ran for her transit womb--

--she would have to come up with a better name for it than that--

--shoved in through the doors of this rickety-looking wooden box.

And--

VWORRP.
VWORRP.
VWORRP.

--that box faded out of this existence and into Eternity.

Just before the shadow of The Great Darkness fell across The Council Chamber of The Theocracy and with it, the fallen form of Captain Jack Hawksmoor.

 

[ChasNicollette]

The Clock Strikes Thirteen.

'E's huge.

Of course 'e is, it's like The Rock being a walking billboard for Under Armor, the bigger 'e is, the more skin 'e 'as to slap beasties on.

Constantine leaned back in his chair, meeting Tanha's glare of reprehension with an intrigued stare of his own.

Part of him was surprised to see her here.

Part of him wasn't, really.

The connection between a Void Binder and his void-bindings was reputedly so subtle and profound-- it wouldn't matter if they'd basically dipped Tanha in cold iron and surrounded her in Enochian wards painted in dragon blood, her Void Binder would have still been able to summon her back without much more effort than it would take to flex a glute.

Glancing away from Tanha, he regarded Kiz, again, and then the man Kiz was talking to, both of them blithely ignoring the legal beagles yapping away.

The bearded fella seemed like a decent gent, if a bit... 'round the twist. Familiar, almost, like he'd run into him once or twice. But definitely knackered in the brainbox, poor git.

Not that that was stopping Helligan from taking furious notes on every word out of his and Kiz' mouths... absently fingering her necklace even as she jotted shorthand about Void-wave potentiation.

...and then there was Chase.

Squinting at Rathaway-- she'd taken off her sunglasses at some point, John noted-- she shook her head.

"Do you really need to keep whistling birdsong while we're talking, Counselor? I'm sure I don't have to tell you to pipe down."

Rising from her chair, she glowered. "We can talk in circles until the rats and kids come home, but the bottom line is this. This is an office building. It's not a church, it's not an embassy or a consulate, it's not The Hall of Justice-- it's not a sovereign entity. This is not a legally recognized sanctuary from the juridical process of The United States of America, and this man-- this man is a Person of Mass Destruction who can destabilize local society just by waltzing into town. As sworn officers of this nation's courts, you are bound to recognize that. You can further discuss your case with your client in jail once he's processed, just like any lawyer with any client. If my Department decides to bring charges against your client within an appropriate interval, you'll be the first to know. But in the meantime?"

Chase brooked no hesitation and offered no quarter. "He's coming with us."

 

[kizkiz]

And so at last...I understood...GO!

Chase brooked no hesitation and offered no quarter. "He's coming with us."

"No," Kiz said, turning the full weigh of his attention upon Chase. "No, that I will not be doing. You have heard my story through means guaranteeing its authenticity. If you are not swayed, you never will be."

He stood, rising to his full height. His face as hard as stone. "I walk on." His attention shifted from Chase to John. "Don't follow." Kiz turned, his eyes swept away from John, along the table, up the side of the wall, and through the window. He paused for a moment. Then he was gone.

Tanha, however, remained. She grinned a wicked, barbed expression. Her hands were on the hilts of her swords in a flash, the clear crystal blades hissed as they were bared. "Now the fun part," Her eyes narrowed. "Revenge. This is where you squeal like a pig or die." Then she lunged at John. She was fast. The air exploded with glitter and gossamer in her wake. If only she could cut out John's tongue before he could react.

 

[ChasNicollette]

It's Time to Duel.

"No," Kiz said, turning the full weigh of his attention upon Chase. "No, that I will not be doing. You have heard my story through means guaranteeing its authenticity. If you are not swayed, you never will be."

"Do you disrespect the rules of every planar stratum you come to?" Chase fired back. "You must not make a lot of friends. If you're innocent, you can make an Alfond plea-- trust the system."

He stood, rising to his full height. His face as hard as stone. "I walk on." His attention shifted from Chase to John. "Don't follow."

John chuckled. "Y'ehn't the boss of me."

"Kiz," Helligan called out, "Kiz the Void Binder, stand down, it's not too late to handle this rationally--"

Kiz turned, his eyes swept away from John, along the table, up the side of the wall, and through the window. He paused for a moment. Then he was gone.

John's eye twitched.

The three of them swung their gazes to Tanha, half-expecting her to get pulled on along with Kiz on whatever ectoplasmic elastic connected the two at the psychospiritual hip.

Tanha, however, remained. She grinned a wicked, barbed expression. Her hands were on the hilts of her swords in a flash, the clear crystal blades hissed as they were bared. "Now the fun part," Her eyes narrowed. "Revenge. This is where you squeal like a pig or die." Then she lunged at John. She was fast. The air exploded with glitter and gossamer in her wake. If only she could cut out John's tongue before he could react.

Before Helligan had transferred to The DEO, she had been a metahuman specialist with The FBI. This was largely a redundant position, given how often The DEO would exert jurisdictional muscle over cases involving superpowered beings, and she had been roundly mocked by her co-workers behind her back.

In transferring, Helligan had switched to a team that would more respect and utilize her talents-- but those old FBI muscles lingered on.

Tanha drew her blades and lunged and Helligan instantly went for her gun, drawing it swiftly: "METAHUMAN ENGAGEMENT!"

Chase, meanwhile, didn't utter a word, she flung out the palm of her hand, tried to exert her own low-level metapower--

--but John didn't need the help.

Without even blinking, as Tanha hurtled across the conference room table, Constantine leaned back in his chair, put his feet up against the edge of the table, and shoved hard-- hurtling back away from her initial attempt at elinguination--

--just long enough to bark: "[TRUENAME REDACTED], STOP!"

And Tanha lurched to a halt before she could take another swing at giving him a glossectomy, snarling and snapping in fury and bitter distaste.

John took a breath, and looked not quite apologetic. "Fuck away off, Tanha."

And she vanished, banished.

Of course, since she was void-bound to Kiz, he couldn't banish her especially far-- not back to Faerie, that was for sure. Just to whatever murky subspace this bloke's beasties went when he put them back in their Poké Ball.

John stood out of his chair. Straightened his tie.

"Constantine--" Helligan protested, as though thinking better of asking him to ride herd on the stampede that was Kiz.

"Too late for that now, 'El," John harrumphed.

He glanced at Dr. Moore. "Oi, mate. Lay off the mushrooms, all right? Do yehself a favor."

Constantine didn't bother to look at Chase. He just looked out the window, the same window that Kiz had just looked out of.

He hadn't gone far, Constantine could feel the synchronicity wake of Kiz' teleport.

Just on the roof across the street. Watching. As though waiting to see what John would do next.

Well, one of the first rules of showmanship was giving the people what they want.

"Time to make the fucking doughnuts, ennit?"

He didn't even need to name-check Pharamond for this jump, why waste the marker on so small a transit?

He surfed that wake, rode The Synchronicity Highway--

--and just as instantly he was standing on the roof behind Kiz, his mackintosh flapping in the wind, his hands in his coat pockets.

"In the Name of The Order of Simon Magus of The Grimoire," Constantine drawled, "I invoke the challenge for Championship of this Earth and all its baronies and fiefdoms, powers and princi--"

He stopped midsentence, and rolled his eyes.

"...yadda, yadda, yadda."

"Shall we dance?"

 

[Varshanka]

"Well Good evening gorgeous," he smiled without relaxing one bit, "What brings you to this dark part of the docks on this cold night. I really hope you are not going to tell me you are here to help that slimeball who has run off. I would so hate to have to harm a good looking woman such as yourself."

Silent Death. Some called her that through the ages. The Reaper. Spirit of Vengeance. They didn't know the half of it.

Leather boots stepped onto cracked concrete. And the teenagers wet dream tilted it's head looking at the arrow. Spreading her arms - she was daring him to shoot her in the chest - and the chains that encircled her body twitched. Vibrating of their own accord, anticipating his actions.

One hand shifted from an open invitation into a pointing finger. A finger pointing down the street to a rather dark alley, the light at the end shattered and burned out. The 'he went that way' gesture obvious.

 

[kizkiz]

The disappointment of Saint Constantine the Great

earning a Fae's True Name was hard, especially one Void Bound. Remembering a Fae's True Name for any length of time was even harder. They were living things, in the case of the Unseelie, it was like accepting a nightmare to shit all over your most cherished memories. It took great training or a natural gift to have held it this long. Kiz nodded. He'd thought the sorcerer a charlatan who'd cut so many corners as to no longer even deserve the title.

And just as instantly, John was standing on the roof behind Kiz, his mackintosh flapping in the wind, his hands in his coat pockets.

Kiz turned, satisfied no threat remained behind him. Now he faced the man. He studied the man's facial features. It tugged a two-thousand year old memory. Well, in an absolute sense, but not relative.

"In the Name of The Order of Simon Magus of The Grimoire," Constantine drawled, "I invoke the challenge for Championship of this Earth and all its baronies and fiefdoms, powers and princi--"

John stopped midsentence, and rolled his eyes.

"...yadda, yadda, yadda."

"Shall we dance?"

A sorcerer's duel was won as much by strategy as it was by ability. On a backwater world like Earth, Kiz knew not to expect much adherence to the formal doctrine of the duel. Still, he'd dueled enough of Earth's sorcerer's over the past twenty thousand years to know they held to some semblance of the strictures. His first move with Tanha had served two purposes. The second was a setup to his next move. Intimating a precedent that Kiz would attack from the front, where John would have time to react.

"You wear the same face as Flavius Valerius Aurelius Constantinus Augustus." His eyes watched John's every move. "I aided him in Eboracum." Calling forth Havel would be ideal, considering Havel's shield, but the death knight always fought fair and straightforward, even in death. So Kiz fixed the space six feet behind John in his mind, attuning to that point in time and space.

"He became emperor after that battle. He slew great evil against long odds. He earned the title Constantine the Great."

Kiz pulled Qayin through the Void. Qayin materialized six feet behind John. Kiz was tall and strong for a human, but Qayin was the bastard child of a Jötunn Chieftain through rape. Still, Qayin was a scion of Niflheim regardless of the actions that spawned him. Hated upon birth by his mother, reviled by her people, he knew only pain and cold. Undeath hadn't made Qayin any happier. Qayin needed no elaborate instructions. He was a killing machine. It was his hobby and occupation.

Qayin clutched the spear Elivágar. Elivágar had the width of a man's arm and was twice as tall as any human. Her body was all that remained of one of the oldest rivers of Ginnungagap. It was comprised of the most depressing colors of winter: gunmetal grey's and morose blues. The tip of the spear had been torn from the heart of Nilfheim's oldest glacier, the smallest caress of that tip inflected debilitating frost bite and hypothermia. Qayin was a silent killer; he killed like the cold of winter's night long after despair has settled in. His twisted body was more trollish then human, but still his black plate armor gave him the outline of a man, just the horrible, undead nightmare of one.

Kiz continued as if nothing had happened. In the space between his last sentence and the next, Qayin was lunging at John's exposed back. "Saint Constantine's line has fallen far." Kiz shook his head.

He wasn't yet sure how strong John's tie to the Synchronicity Wave was, but Kiz afforded John the same curtsy he would have Saint Constantine the Great. The path had pitted him against the line of Constantine, so he gave no further thought to his long dead friend. With a heart of stone, he turned his full attention towards putting John down.

 

[ChasNicollette]

"Get used to disappointment."

"You wear the same face as Flavius Valerius Aurelius Constantinus Augustus." His eyes watched John's every move. "I aided him in Eboracum."

"If 'ad a quid for every time I 'eard that one," John quipped languidly, keeping his hands in his pockets for now, faux casual, ready to move-- but not-- yet. "I just 'ave that kind of face, I s'pose."

And he did. As far back as the most recent incarnation of Camelot, Jason Blood swore one of his childhood friends had had the same face as John. Something funny swam in Constantine's bloodline-- completely unrelated to the blood transfusion John had gotten from a demon one time. And one result was a sort of... spatial genetic multiplicity. There was even a woman-- Lady Johanna Constantine-- she'd been active during The French Revolution, Queen Victoria's Court-- she'd been a real Hellblazer in her own right.

Apparently not just faces ran in Constantine's family, but troublemaking too.

"He became emperor after that battle. He slew great evil against long odds. He earned the title Constantine the Great."

"Good title, that, rolls off the tongue, fits nicely on a business card," Constantine mused. "Not really my style, though. I 'ate to put on airs."

"Saint Constantine's line has fallen far." Kiz shook his head.

Quick as a snap, John's hand came out of his pocket. Holding a circular disc of red, black, and white. The Mystic Symbol of The Seven, "borrowed" from Constantine's fellow member of The Trenchcoat Brigade, Dr. Richard Occult.

And Qayin would find his path impeded by a forcefield invisible to the eye but dome-shaped, protecting above, before, behind, and as Qayin collided with that abrupt defense, John whirled to half-face the death knight, keeping his shoulder towards Kiz-- he wasn't putting his back to either bruiser, not by a long chalk.

"I may not be Great, I may not be a Saint," Constantine grinned, though there was steel behind the smile. "But I've got friends in low places."

Holding the Symbol aloft, he announced with a bellow-- "Undead creature of evil! By the Seven, I command thee hence! Begone!" --and The Symbol unleashed a torrent of fear that would surely put a chill in even Qayin's frozen heart... The Symbol was anathema to all manner of evil supernatural monstrosity, and from what Tanha had told him of the death knights, they certainly qualified.

 

[Aussie_Wolf]

Silent Death. Some called her that through the ages. The Reaper. Spirit of Vengeance. They didn't know the half of it.

Leather boots stepped onto cracked concrete. And the teenagers wet dream tilted it's head looking at the arrow. Spreading her arms - she was daring him to shoot her in the chest - and the chains that encircled her body twitched. Vibrating of their own accord, anticipating his actions.

One hand shifted from an open invitation into a pointing finger. A finger pointing down the street to a rather dark alley, the light at the end shattered and burned out. The 'he went that way' gesture obvious.

'Okay', thought Connor. So she is not scared by a arrow pointed at her chest. Either she is very confident in her ability to dodge it, or it would not do her any damage. Either way, not good news.

Still smiling though he watched as the chains moved and his eyebrows raised up, then he followed her finger without his aim moving from her chest.

"Well then,why didn't you just say so earlier," he chuckled as he lowered his bow and replaced the arrow in his quiver. "Care to join me my lady. It looks like we may be after the same prey and it might be fun to have some... Pleasant company for a change," he said looking her up and down.

Then he ran towards the alley and finding the blood trail began to follow it.

"Of course you will have to keep up," he teased her.

 

[Varshanka]

"Well then,why didn't you just say so earlier," he chuckled as he lowered his bow and replaced the arrow in his quiver. "Care to join me my lady. It looks like we may be after the same prey and it might be fun to have some... Pleasant company for a change," he said looking her up and down.

"Of course you will have to keep up," he teased her.

Giving a shrug as if she didn’t give a damn about diddly shit, the lady biker listened and watched as he spoke. Almost disappointed that he didn’t shoot her in the heart with an arrow. And then he ran away towards the alley, follow what was one of the most obvious blood trails in the world. Victim/perpetrator was bleeding from a severed artery or something.

And then came the challenge.. keep up.

As if.

Stepping around the wrecked car she gave chase. Silent as a shadow her footsteps were more of an echo from ages past, or the aether.

 

[kizkiz]

Qayal's Abdication

Hatred. Fear. Pain. Cold. These were the cornerstones of Qayin's existence. He'd been born by a mother that hated him, a people that feared him, and they'd all inflicted pain upon him. They'd used the full artists palette to sketch the horrors and atrocities they would inflect upon him. His mother had left him just a day old outside their longhouse. She'd let the blizzard's fury bury him in biting snow. The caress of the storm's wind was his first encounter with touch, and it was a vile, hungry thing.

The Symbol of the Seven attacked him not with Fear as the mortal John understood it. It was a sort of fear, just not one that a human would recognize. For the first time in his existence, Qayin felt what the love of a mother should have been. A warm bosom and a kind smile, a hug that enveloped with security, a presence that watched over him and swooped in whenever disappointment turned to sorrow. He'd fought through occult sigils that forbade his entrance, he'd battled death on the field of battle, and he'd prevailed all but once.

Qayin turned away, throwing an arm over his faceplate. "No." He groaned, taking a half-step away. The compulsion to attack rang in his mind. Kiz's order could not be disobeyed, but the pressure of that complete love, the tenderness of the Symbol's acceptance of everything he'd done wrong was too much. He leaned his body into the light pouring from the symbol.

He dropped Elivágar to the ground, and she exploded into a river of frozen ice ten feet wide running over the northwest corner of the buildings edge. Ice poured down the side of the building like a frozen waterfall. The air near the remains of Ginnungagap's second oldest river was frigid.

He kept his left arm flung over his faceplate, and his right hand now free trailed behind his body. Wind and snow vomited from his right palm in ever increasing quantity. A small blizzard ballooned behind his body.

The light was too much. He sank to his knees. The black spikes jutting from his knee joints rent the roof's concrete.

--- --- ---

"You have quite a number of useful trinkets. Many not intended for you." Kiz watched Qayal's struggle against the light of the Seven. Of course every major artifact, of which Constantine possessed at least two, was catalogued on Zerox. The minor ones not known to the Time Lords could make no dent against his prisoners. Qayal was all but spent. Before the light of the Seven dissolved all of Qayal's seeming, Kiz dismissed him.

The blizzard lingered, covering three-fourths of the roof's battlefield in mounting piles of snow. The frozen river of Elivágar remained draped over one of the roof's corners. As an alternative seeming of Qayal, it could linger as long as Kiz wanted it to. It was a draw on his power, but maintaining several minor incarnations of his prisoners was doable.

"Your move." Kiz said, even as he prepared to unleash is next attack.

 

[Aussie_Wolf]

Connor had to admit, the trail was one a two year old could follow. Obviously whoever had been in the car had been severely wounded and was now just running out of habit. If he ran much longer he was going to run himself right into a grave.

Not that that was any skin off of his nose, except he did try not to kill people. At least that was what a hero was supposed to do right? Of course if this guy wanted to kill himself before he could save him, then that was not his fault. He should not have been out at night trying to rob and Rape defenseless young ladies in the first place.

He had to look behind him to make sure the lady in leather was still following him as he could not hear her. It seemed that the word silent had been made especially to describe her. It impressed him how someone dressed all in leather and covered in a metal chain could actually move so silently, but he was not going to show it. Especially as it seemed like she was just gliding along behind him without much effort.

Still the trail seemed to be coming to it's end. The blotches of blood were now coming together and were now larger and circular, meaning the person was not moving fast when they had been made. Scanning the area in the general direction they were headed Connor saw a disused warehouse with a side door that had not been closed properly. Several old cars were parked in the shadows around it and unlike other places they had passed, flies actually buzzed around the bins.

Turning back to the mysteriously lady he smiled at her, pointing at the warehouse. "It seems our prey has decided to seek shelter in it's lair. Would you like to go in the front door all gung ho like, or shall we look for a more quiet entrance? I am sure a place like this must have several different ways into it. I will give My Lady the choice," he said with a little bow and a cheeky smile.

 

[ChasNicollette]

"I thought it fitting considering the rocky terrain."

It was, perhaps, unfortunate, from his spot on this battlefield, that John Constantine had no earthly comprehension of the unconditional love and forgiveness with which The Mystic Symbol of The Seven infused Qayin.

He could perhaps have benefited from a love like that, for at least a moment or two, before his cynicism creeped back in.

A lot of people could. Benefit from that.

Qayin turned away, throwing an arm over his faceplate. "No." He groaned, taking a half-step away.

"G'won then," John growled, oblivious to the nature of the anathema, aware only of its pragmatic effect, and kept up the pressure. "On yehr bike!"

"You have quite a number of useful trinkets. Many not intended for you."

Snow tumbled from the sky despite the departure of the cryokinetic death-knight, though bless him if he didn't make quite the exit. Constantine supposed that it was thematically appropriate, considering that it was technically February, but given how unseasonably warm this past winter had been-- it still seemed out of place.

"Yeah," John tugged his coat closer around himself against the cold and damp. "I beg, I borrow, I steal, I wheel and deal. We're not all 'anded power in this life-- but we do what we must to protect ourselves and the doddering, unwitting masses from the monsters that would consume us. In a world where eldritch abominations eke their way out around the edges of the map, I'll take whatever advantage I can get. Because more often than not, no-one else will."

He smirked faintly at that. "S'pose that means we're not so different, you an' I."

"Your move." Kiz said, even as he prepared to unleash is next attack.

"Fhanks ever so awfully," Constantine bobbed his head in a parody of a chivalrous nod, The Symbol of The Seven vanishing again into his pocket.

And what came out again was perhaps unexpected.

The feather of a dead peacock.

"Must 'alf itch," Constantine mused, "all them beasties inked on you, wailing and gnashing their teefh. Four and twenty blackbirds baked in your skin. But me? I never leave 'ome without me favorite backscratcher."

And he threw the feather down upon the snow-swept rooftop, and it burst into a puff of dust...

...and not so very far away, the NBC logo atop The Comcast Building, 30 Rockefeller Center, exploded away from the side of the structure and became, to the horror and startlement of all beholding, a fiendish, skeletal, undead peacock titanic in size...

In a rush of wind and unearthly speed it soared to the wintry rooftop on which the wizards dueled, landing in a billow of dead feathers between Constantine and Kiz.

It called and cawed, ear-shatteringly loud, and with tattered tail flaring wide in display it stormed for Kiz with bony beak stabbing...

"Now that is what I call 'Must See TV!'"

 

[kizkiz]

The Path of the Necromancer

Constantine smirked faintly at that. "S'pose that means we're not so different, you an' I."

Battles were too confusing and chaotic to ever win by allowing doubt to creep into ones heart. Kiz always acted as the hawk, swooping into a flock of pigeons. He didn't get distracted. He didn't change his mind. He took what he had sought and left. So Kiz afforded the same respect to his opponent. It didn't prevent him from sowing the seeds of doubt, as they had taken hold verse past foes, but nether did he ever pin his hopes on it.

"Everyone is a hypocrite." Kiz shrugged. "A thief who justifies thefts for the greater good, attacking the greater good. This thing is common."

Kiz watched Qayal's body start to evaporate into black motes like the floating debris of burning plastic. "You are a sorcerer who was born with the power but lacked the guidance to tap it. Many such as you feel jaded and justified in walking down unsavory paths justifying each step. Have you ever wondered why you are able to wield artifacts you aren't supposed to?" He didn't expect an answer. It was more confusion to be sown on the field of battle, a duel as much in the minds of the opponents as the bodies.

Kiz watched Constantine's pockets. He was beginning to get a sense of how they worked. All conjurations touched upon the Void. He watched Constantine pull forth a vile artifact. For the first time in the battle he was surprised. The Time Lord's had not mentioned any of these were on Earth, but it was confirmation he'd made the right choice in coming anyway. One of the Necromancer's battle golems. The feather of the dead peacock had been a spade on many battle fields across several worlds.

"Must 'alf itch," Constantine said, "all them beasties inked on you, wailing and gnashing their teefh. Four and twenty blackbirds baked in your skin. But me? I never leave 'ome without me favorite backscratcher."

"I endure." Kiz said, his voice cold. So far, John had used artifacts granted by divine beings and great sages. These were artifacts Kiz could respect. Now though, this vile perversion was something he could not stand. But, it was as it should be, while Constantine monologued away and the feather flew to animate stone into undeath, Kiz made his next move.

Serrah appeared within the blizzard. >>Cold, master. Hungry, master.<< The clouds were moving closer towards Constantine, and Serrah took her time gliding within those violent purple clouds. It took coordination, as she could not see, but Kiz helped with his bond like a man steering a kite.

He turned his head as the undead peacock reach him with claws extended. He waited until the last moment. The peacock's dive having picked up so much momentum changing course would be impossible. His head turned, he attuned to a place at the edge of the blizzard to Constantine's right. Kiz materialized there as the undead peacock dove through the metal guardrail and got entangled in the wrought iron and concrete. The force of the dive and the building did as much damage as Kiz could have hoped to on his own.

Kiz knew that unless someone was trained well in maintaining situational awareness, it was hard not to be distracted by either ones summoned peacock tearing up a side of the roof or Kiz's reappearance somewhere else. Either would do for a distraction. It was a point in his favor, that the property damage being done was the doing of one of the DEO's contractors.

>>Now!<<

Serrah burst from the blizzard, making her own dive at Constantine's back. One giant lion's paw made for Constantine's head while her lion's maw gaped wide, her goat's head lowered its horns to impale. If that failed, she always had her snake head tail.

 

[Varshanka]

Turning back to the mysterious lady he smiled at her, pointing at the warehouse. "It seems our prey has decided to seek shelter in it's lair. Would you like to go in the front door all gung ho like, or shall we look for a more quiet entrance? I am sure a place like this must have several different ways into it. I will give My Lady the choice," he said with a little bow and a cheeky smile.

Walking up to him she stopped a pace and a half from his face, her leather gauntleted fingers closed, but the center uncurled as she flipped him the bird. Turning she walked up to the door and ripped it off it’s rusted hinges. Not really a show of strength so mush as attention getter for whomever was in the warehouse.

Stepping across the threshold she saw him even as he fired. The taint of his soul made hime blaze in the darkness much more than the flame spurting from the tip of his weapon. She felt them punch through and through, ripping out parts of an upper right lung and reverse ribcage, the piercing of her heart by bone and shell fragments as the obverse ribcage splintered and exploded. The solid punch to her large intestine, and a ruptured left kidney.

Two solid exits, and one left inside tickling her heart. Damned they hurt. But all it really did was piss The Other off.

 

[ChasNicollette]

Can't spell "necromancer" without "romance!"

"Everyone is a hypocrite." Kiz shrugged. "A thief who justifies thefts for the greater good, attacking the greater good. This thing is common."

"Gotta eat t' live," John replied, blithely. "Gotta steal t' eat. Otherwise we'd get along."

"You are a sorcerer who was born with the power but lacked the guidance to tap it. Many such as you feel jaded and justified in walking down unsavory paths justifying each step. Have you ever wondered why you are able to wield artifacts you aren't supposed to?" He didn't expect an answer.

"If I 'ave power of me own t' speak of," Constantine mused, "it ehn't in creation, but in mimicry. In redirection an' misdirection. Any cunt can win with raw muscle. But grit... ingenuity... wicked wisdom... intention and intensity... me fingernails an' th' skin of me teefh... I work with what I've got. Anyfhing I can get."

He turned his head as the undead peacock reach him with claws extended. He waited until the last moment. The peacock's dive having picked up so much momentum changing course would be impossible. His head turned, he attuned to a place at the edge of the blizzard to Constantine's right. Kiz materialized there as the undead peacock dove through the metal guardrail and got entangled in the wrought iron and concrete. The force of the dive and the building did as much damage as Kiz could have hoped to on his own.

Constantine swore, luridly and candidly, as-- its structural integrity overtaxed, for all how formidable it looked, it wasn't much for blunt force trauma-- the peacock shattered into bony fragments and bits of feather, which then in turn converted into shattering rainbow light, which then in turn rematerialized as that selfsame logo back on 30 Rock like it had never left.

He had been so damn sure it would be the ravens next, but Kiz had simply beaten the peacock by sidestepping. Constantine'd overplayed his hand too quickly!

Perhaps happily, he was pretty damn good at situational awareness. You had to be, to pluck the strings of Synchronicity.

That having been said--

>>Now!<<

Serrah burst from the blizzard, making her own dive at Constantine's back. One giant lion's paw made for Constantine's head while her lion's maw gaped wide, her goat's head lowered its horns to impale. If that failed, she always had her snake head tail.

--a cry of exertion and vexation exploding from his lips, he hurled himself to the left, diving and rolling, a lion-claw clipped his shoulder, a goat-horn gouged his side, he roared in pain and dismay, though not as much as if he had stayed in the lunge radius of that hissing snake-tail. But he lived. Staggering to his feet yards away, he lived.

And this time in his hand he came up with a weapon that had been meant for him.

The Moonblade.

Its silversteel blade gleaming even in this unearthly snowstorm, it was a weapon that reflected the power of The Moon. As the moon waxed and waned, so too did The Moonblade grow to the length of a longsword or shrink to the size of a dagger. Now, so soon after the fullness of the moon, it wasn't at its maximum length, but big enough to do some damage.

Hopefully.

Against a chimera.

He had perhaps one advantage.

The Moonblade, like the legendary Soultaker, could absorb the souls of those against whom it was wielded.

Constantine had already held Tanha's truename in his consciousness, forcing her to divide her subordination between her Master and The Hellblazer--

--would Kiz risk sending the chimera against John if he might nick another of Kiz' toys?

Nick in more ways than one.

"Phwoar, this one's not winning any beauty pageants," he grimaced through the hot red pain of his injuries, as he twirled the blade from overhand to underhand and back again. "But they do say people tend t' look like their pets."

 

[Aussie_Wolf]

Walking up to him she stopped a pace and a half from his face, her leather gauntleted fingers closed, but the center uncurled as she flipped him the bird. Turning she walked up to the door and ripped it off it’s rusted hinges. Not really a show of strength so mush as attention getter for whomever was in the warehouse.

Connor shook his head at her back but ran to the side of the building and up the fire escape. So she was something more than she appeared to be. Of course he had been sure she was, but it was nice to have his suspicions confirmed.

The way she had ripped the door right off the wall had been impressive, even if it was already half rusted with age. It would still require better than average strength to do that and he was sure she had more than that.

Stepping across the threshold she saw him even as he fired. The taint of his soul made hime blaze in the darkness much more than the flame spurting from the tip of his weapon. She felt them punch through and through, ripping out parts of an upper right lung and reverse ribcage, the piercing of her heart by bone and shell fragments as the obverse ribcage splintered and exploded. The solid punch to her large intestine, and a ruptured left kidney.

He heard the gunshots as he made his way across the roof to the skylights. Why every warehouse seemed to have skylights was beyond him, but it sure made his job a hell of a lot easier.

He glanced down into the darkness and could make out the position of the guy by the muzzle flashes. He was holed up behind some kind of barricade, but from up here it would afford him no protection at all. Smiling he knocked an arrow and prepared to fire. Whatever she was doing at the door was certainly capturing his attention.

Two solid exits, and one left inside tickling her heart. Damned they hurt. But all it really did was piss The Other off.

As he fired again Connor let loose. The glass in front of him broke but his arrow still sped straight and true and from the sudden high pitched scream he knew he had hit his mark. It was just a pity that he had only been aiming for the guys hand. If it was up to him he might just have put an arrow between his eyes considering what he had planned to do, but he was a good guy right and they didn't do that.

Looking down at the thirty foot drop he again sighed. His father's grappling arrow was looking better and better by the second. Maybe he might look into some of his dad's old trick arrows and look about updating them with today's technology. Of course that assumed he could find out where to get such things made and find the money to afford them. Well he guessed he would just have to wait and cover his partner from up here for now. She should realize it was safe to come in now.

 

[Varshanka]

Stepping back as the slugs ripped her leathers apart and punched large holes out her back, she groaned with the sudden pain. She’d gotten lazy, over confident. The Other surged pushing forward, and with an ethereal slap she knocked it back down. “Enough Rider, let me do what I must without interference.”

“See.. Look.. feel…”

WTF? The Rider never offered a suggestion. Looking she watched as Robin Hood fired through the overhead window. Stupid place to put the things, even if it was to save electricity. Natural lighting BS.

There. Just below the surface of reality. A second image.. a skin rider. Body walker. Pulling her chains loose she snapped it back and then forwards, links fired like a spray of red hot bullets. Each of them in a narrow field. Each of them ripping through the fucking body rider that had dared shoot her.

Walking forwards, blood seeping from her own wounds even as they closed, her boots scuffed on the floor, the chain snapping in her fist.

 

[kizkiz]

A woman scorned!

"Phwoar, this one's not winning any beauty pageants," Constantine grimaced through the hot red pain of his injuries, as he twirled the blade from overhand to underhand and back again. "But they do say people tend t' look like their pets."

"She has feeling; you know this." Kiz shook his head, the ghost of a smile on his lips. "And she is jealous of other's opinions."

Serrah soared overhead, her lion head roaring and her goat head baying. Her snake head at the end of her tail flicked caustic, blinding poison at John as she swooped just out of his sword range.

Kiz watched the Moon Blade dance through a few maneuvers, judging his opponent's martial prowess by such wasteful displays. He wasn't impressed. The novice longed to look like the journeyman, the journeyman the master, the master the grandmaster, and the grandmaster like the novice again. The grandmaster never wasted a move, the novice didn't know what moves to make. Constantine was somewhere in the middle. A novice or a grandmaster wouldn't have bothered. The journeyman and master were more exuberant in their displays.

>>Fear. Death. Loss.<<

Kiz frowned picking through the words Serrah sent to him. He could lose her to the Moon Blade. If it was a true Void Blade it might shear the connection between them and consume Serrah. What Kiz struggled with was did he care? He wasn't supposed to. The warden should remain aloof from his prisoners, but a few thousand years dirtied his perspective.

"Very well," Kiz said, nodding his head. "Here I come John." Kiz sprinted towards John, when he was at the edge of the blade's reach, he disappeared. It was in that moment that Serrah sky dive hit John.

Kiz materialized three feet into the blizzard. The barrage of snow and wind was an effective camouflage as Kiz planned out his next move. He watched the melee as Constantine battled for his life.

 

[ChasNicollette]

We got more scorn where that came from.

"She has feeling; you know this." Kiz shook his head, the ghost of a smile on his lips. "And she is jealous of other's opinions."

Shaking out his shoulder John bounced from side to side, darting his eyes from his opponent to her Master and back again, a bemused laugh rolling up from his throat. "My guitar gently weeps, luv!" he roared up at the monstrosity.

Serrah soared overhead, her lion head roaring and her goat head baying. Her snake head at the end of her tail flicked caustic, blinding poison at John as she swooped just out of his sword range.

He twisted the flat of the blade and held it across his eyes, shielding them from the spray, but he was too slow too slow too slow to catch her on the backswing as she soared past. High ground was a moot point with flying creatures...

The novice longed to look like the journeyman, the journeyman the master, the master the grandmaster, and the grandmaster like the novice again. The grandmaster never wasted a move, the novice didn't know what moves to make. Constantine was somewhere in the middle. A novice or a grandmaster wouldn't have bothered. The journeyman and master were more exuberant in their displays.

Kiz' analysis was on the money.

Constantine's martial prowess was not his strongest suit-- but you didn't go vampire-hunting with Mister E, or go to war against The Cult of The Cold Flame, or-- totally accidentally hijack a Lazarus Pit from The League of Assassins when you needed to jumpstart Frankenstein in a hurry-- without picking up a few tricks.

Not to mention, John had been a punk rocker and a footy hooligan, and had rarely shied from a scrap.

But he wasn't Tatsu Yamashiro. Even though this blade had been made specifically for him-- he hadn't precisely been born with a long blade in his hand.

"Very well," Kiz said, nodding his head.

Constantine's eyes blazed at Kiz. "What're you on about now?"

"Here I come John." Kiz sprinted towards John.

His eyes widened for an instant and then he gritted his teeth, if he could snare The Void Binder's soul with The Moonblade then this would all be over, Kiz' horses and all Kiz' men would-- hypothetically-- spiral down into the blade with him. The slimmest of chances, but he couldn't ignore it! "YEAH, C'MAAARN!"

When he was at the edge of the blade's reach, he disappeared.

He vanished like a popping soap bubble the instant that Constantine's perfectly respectable overhand slash with plenty of follow-through should have cleaved flesh from bone... and spirit from flesh...

...Constantine swore again in disappointment, he knew he'd been played, stupid, stupid, knackered git...!

It was in that moment that Serrah sky dive hit John.

He managed, by sheer luck and Synchronicity, to avoid disembowelment. A twist-- a shift--

--he felt teeth clack inches from his face--

--but her mighty paw came down hard on the flat of The Moonblade and knocked it from his grasp, and it was only pitching himself to the snowy roof-bed onto his bloody, injured shoulder that saved him from the follow-up snake-bite as she swooped upward once more.

He'd lost his weapon in the snow and Serrah was banking, coming back, he needed-- he needed--

--his hand came out of his coat pocket holding a metal box lined with lead.

A perfectly normal-looking box.

And yet. Legends were frequently disguised in the mundane.

According to its folkloric provenance, this box had been part of the armor worn by Saint George the Dragonslayer, patron saint of England, and had been used to encase his fears and doubts during a low point in a battle.

But a thing so legendary never forgets what once it was.

And all he had to do was make it remember...

He clapped his palm down atop the box.

Whispered words that were old when The First Camelot arose 8,000 years before Christ.

And in a flare of green green light-- those memories-- the power of a living saint's fears and doubts buried in metal alloy, the mythic triumphs of The Dragonslayer--

--the lead box remembered being armor, and thus it was armor once more.

It was heavy as Hell-- and John could barely see--

--but a suit that could withstand the sheer crushing force of a fire-breathing dragon could weather the attacks of a chimera basically indefinitely.

That said, it had been awhile since he had worn something like this, and when her next swoop blew past him, her goat-head battering-rammed into the center of his chestplate and knocked him off the side of the building.

Cursing a blue streak, he lashed out with one hand and dug the gauntlet's fingers into the waterfall of pure ice unleashed by the death knight earlier, carving his way down the side of it like an Errol Flynn pirate down a sail.

He hit the ground with a stagger, somehow stayed standing.

Snapped his gaze to the sky, searching through the snowflakes for the winged one-beast menagerie, he roared: "Is that... hnnnh... the best you've got?"