Landfall (Open RP)

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Re: Landfall (Open RP)

Post by Atom » Tue Jul 24, 2018 8:16 pm

Over? Was it finally over?

Everything had moved so quickly. Atom’s fist had connected, his suit resizing mid-strike as the transfer of kinetic energy concluded; a crack as Cyrolus’ head snapped backward; the cleaving of an axe as flesh and bone were torn, warm crimson splattering onto the exterior of the ASAPS as Mitchell’s body followed through in flight. Was it his blood? This man they were fighting, this thing, couldn’t possibly have the same insides as those he was facing. No— he felt no pain, no sense of impending death. Stervos had emerged unscathed.

As a devastating thunderclap overpowered his hearing and cast his vision into a blinding darkness, Atom knew he had spoken to soon.


He’d landed not too far away from the site of the shockwave, seeing as the ground itself was near-arctic in the amount of cold that was enveloping his suit. Had he landed near the fallen hero? No, the body had vanished— Cyrolus stood a distance away, arm dismembered with a clone of himself directly mirroring the alien’s stance; no, it was Mitchell seeing double.

”I can’t—“

His words came out, he felt his lips form the words, but he could hear no sound. Nothing but the rushing of blood through his head and a dull ringing that echoed in his ears.

”I CAN’T FUCKING HEAR! I—“ He wailed out in pain and despair, grasping the sides of his helmet as the ringing only grew with intensity. There— the tail end of his words was barely audible, as if he was attempting to speak underwater; the humming in his ears only grew in pitch, rising and rising until a agonizing array of pops crescendoed in his eardrums. Slowly but surely, his hearing returned from the brink.

He felt as if he was about to vomit. No, he was.

The helmet of the ASAPS opened as Mitchell rolled onto his side, coughing up blood as he desperately attempted to hold in his stomach’s contents. Eventually, his will won out; keeping himself from vomiting, Stervos looked around to survey the axe-wielding hero take on Cyrolus single-handedly. Near the fight was the alien warlord’s fallen arm, ripe for the taking.

Alien physiology. Have to get it for research. Move, Mitchell, move your fucking body or so help me God.

His limbs refused to move, ached and yearned to stop but Atom pressed on, rising to his feet and closing the ASAPS’ visor. The wings upon his back extended as he flew forward, letting the suit do the majority of the movement as the remaining two mechanical arms reached out and snatched the arm from its place upon the scorched ground. Within the passing moment, a small container ejected itself from the Quantum Suit’s back; nearly identical to his earlier encounter with Red Scare, the dismembered arm was hit with a small disk from the head of the mechanical limb and was resized, placed within the container and sealed back within the ASAPS.

His work done, Mitchell let his wings retract as he fell to the ground on one knee. His vision darkened upon the edges.

Keep moving.

His muscles screamed to stop. Shrinking himself down to add impact, the wings extended once more as Mitchell propelled himself forward towards Cyrolus, fist cocked back and aiming for the temple as he sought to land a disorienting blow to the alien’s head.

Delay. Delay. Delay, Mitchell, just fucking delay.

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Re: Landfall (Open RP)

Post by Concord » Wed Jul 25, 2018 9:18 am

As a ghost amidst the battlefield took hold of Concord's lifeless body there was no resistance. His body was merely dragged along, the chill keeping his muscles stiff even as he was moved around. Away from the attacks on Cyrolus that would have instantly finished him off, and to a place of relative safety. Placed near the EMTs Terminus was right when he said they couldn't help him. Hell, most of the doctors in Washington wouldn't be able to help him. It would take a miracle to coax him back to the land of the living, a perhaps that was the perfect word to describe what Terminus did.

His surgical procedure had been sound, addressing the key problem areas that were bringing the frozen man closer to death's door. As the defibrillator was placed on his chest his body jumped as electricity briefly flowed through his body. His bloodshot eyes fluttered open momentary in a panic, ripped harshly from his comatose state. While the adrenaline and shock might have kept him from feeling the pain before, but that had long since faded. As the indescribable pain coursed through his mind, it grew to a level that not even the hardened hero could bare. Fainting mere seconds after he'd awoke, in enormous amounts of pain, but miraculously alive.

Yet something was still off, as his mouth attempted to draw in air there was only a sputtering sound as thick congealed blood wretched from his throat. While his damaged organs might have been repaired, there was cold blood pooled in his lungs, preventing him from breathing. A problem that if not solved would quickly lead to his demise.

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Re: Landfall (Open RP)

Post by illirica » Wed Jul 25, 2018 4:55 pm

Mourning Glory
Every life was important.
And yet for something so important, they flickered and faded, and sometimes they went out all together. A man was torn open, sundered from the sky, cast down in blood and death. And yet, death did not take hold - it was others that came for him instead, to restart a heart, to protect, to try to save. A shockwave tumbled out, rippling through the land, but the shadows that lay upon it paid it no heed.

Above, the battle raged on. People fought, courting death, but not yet making it an open invitation. On the ground, a shadow slipped across the rubble, ignoring the men and women fighting for whatever cause they believed in. The shadow moved along, beneath it all, above it all. It rippled, and rose, and the girl it encapsulated knelt by the man who lay bleeding, maybe dying.

Would today be the day his story ended? Or, like so many others, did he have more to do? She didn't know. She couldn't decide that - not for him, not for anyone. Her place was not to act, but only to remain. To be something that might once have been something else. So it was, with all dead things. She knelt, and watched the man choke on his own blood, and reached out - but she could not touch. The illusion of fingertips trailed through the blood he had coughed onto the ground without disturbing it, but amidst the stained spatter, a hint of green and white arose.

It would do nothing to change the outcome. She had no power here, after all. Any power she may have had was long ago spent, given away, leaving nothing but a shadow and a scattering of little flowers that rested in the dust, marking the passing of those that - like her - had been nearly forgotten.

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Re: Landfall (Open RP)

Post by Cyrolus » Thu Jul 26, 2018 12:19 am

Cyrolus was staring down what was the equivalent of the barrel of a loaded gun and his movements showed no signs of stopping. His body hurtling forwards towards the only foe that had so far been able to mortally wound him; an enemy he could let live out of fear for what he could do to the inevitable conquest of this planet. The two titans charged leaving shock waves where they once stood and preparing for fists to clash one final time. Only one of the two would be walking away from this and Cyrolus held a motivation far beyond any this being could have. He fought not just for himself but, for his people which meant he couldn't fall here. His life needed to continue for his destiny wasn't over, it's thread still pulled him along.

Then amidst the chaos, amidst the imminent final clash, Cyrolus saw something out of the corner of his eye. Like a fly the tiny machine came to irritate him one more time however, he only had enough time to hit one of them. Any attempt at striking either of the two incoming heroes would give the other a guaranteed impact so he made the choice. His feet planted on the ground just moments before either of them could hit him. His left arm rocketing forwards towards the World Forge while a small fist struck true against his skull.

However, Cyrolus made one fatal miscalculation. Normally his blow would have struck true however, the World Forge was farther than the Atom meaning that his fist struck only the air before he felt his skull shatter with a loud "CRUNCH". His vision grew hazy as everything about his error clicked into place. He no longer saw things with two eyes, rather he saw with only one meaning his depth perception was off. His body fell to it's knees, thick deep crimson blood dripping down from the gaping hole in his skull. Why hadn't he hardened himself, why hadn't he pushed aside his worries, and why did he fall here. As the last bit of light entered his eyes he could see only one thing, his string snapping.

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Re: Landfall (Open RP)

Post by Orph » Thu Jul 26, 2018 12:38 am


"Icarus Black Squad is cleared for deployment." The voice of the team's commanding officer was clipped, almost hurried. They needed to get a team on the ground ten minutes ago. The Black Phantom smiled, and hung up, turning to his team. He cracked his knuckes. "Hot drop in five, gentlemen."

The order echoed in the helmet-mics of every man on the two helicopters, as the whirring of the vehicles' blades were loud enough to drown out all other noise. In minutes, they were over the target area. The special-operatives rappelled down on special lines, save for Abaddon, who trusted in his cloak's special gliding apparatus to let him descend safely.

On the way down, the Second Shadow unclipped a grenade from his belt, and dropped it down, where it impacted by Cyrolus' body. It was just smoke that released from it, nothing harmful, but it would obscure the vision of the various bystanders, as they did their job.

Once they had completed their descent, one of the specialists stepped up to the body, and sprayed it with containment foam, with a specialized gun, connected to tanks of the stuff on his back. It was impractical to use, but for high-level Brick-class metahumans, no precaution was deemed too paranoid. Even dead, his body would be a dangerous weapon, and if he had regenerative or resurrective powers, best he not wake up fully mobile in transit to their specialized facility. Next, Abaddon attacked a clam from a loose-ganging rope to the rapidly-solidifying chunk of foam, and pressed a finger to his earpiece. (It wasn't necessary to activate it, but it let people know you were talking.)

"Black Squad is clear for extraction."

With that sentence, all of the cables began to retract, and the Icarus crew disappeared as quickly as they'd arrived, their unmarked black helicopters taking the tyrant's corpse with them.
A myth where ultimate evil turns its gaze on humanity and humanity gazes right back and says "Gotcha."

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Re: Landfall (Open RP)

Post by Atom » Thu Jul 26, 2018 1:46 am

Mitchell resized within seconds of his confirmed hit, falling to one knee as he watched Cyrolus do the same. The alien’s body looked to him one last time before tilting over, life draining from his body; still on the mode of attack, Atom pounced upon the warlord’s fallen body and began landing punch upon punch onto its damaged visage; hearing the deafening roar of helicopters above them all, Stervos stood himself up and fell to the side onto his back, his body practically shutting itself down from the ordeal he had put it through. It had been arduous, and it had been damaging, and it had been horrifying. The visor upon his ASAPS warned of so many things— so many words, emblazoned in crimson as they flashed upon the screen before his eyes. Had the cost been too much? His vision blurred; his body, his mind was dying, he knew that much, but there was little time to do anything.

It didn’t matter. In the end, they had won. D.C. was safe. No cost was too great.

Smoke enveloped Mitchell as his eyes threatened to close on their own accord, the thought of his mission finished bringing some sort of closure to his consciousness— but no, he forced himself to stay awake as shadows descended from the heavens, appearing from the smoke and snatching Cyrolus’ body from the ground before departing as hastily as they had arrived. Part of him wanted to voice some semblance of protest until he remembered the arm he carried upon his back; hopefully, the key to preventing something like this from ever happening again.

The smoke dissipated shortly thereafter and Mitchell gave a shaky exhale, looking to the man with the axe. An afterthought crossed his mind— maybe recognizance, or fear, he didn’t know what it was— but it was ultimately ignored as he stood up from his position upon the scorched earth, surveying the horribly damaged D.C. landscape around them.

”It’s over.”

The two words came from a hoarse voice, his throat dried from a lack of swallowing all this time. Mitchell gave a vacant stare to the cracked obelisk behind Weltgeist as he looked backwards to the men and women who’d helped— Nicolas being recognized among them, along with the dying man who’d been so brutally wounded by Cyrolus.

”For now.”


Mitchell took a singular step towards Weltgeist before stumbling and falling to one knee, breathing heavily as the damage to his head and body began to rapidly catch up with him. His vision blurred and became tunneled with a void of black; slowly he looked up to the Eldest, his expression obscured behind the cracked yellow glass.


Stervos fell to the ground, his stomach hitting the earth as his arms gripped at the ground. After a moment, he raised himself up to one knee and brought himself to a standing position, evidently disoriented and slightly in shock.

”I’m f-fine.” He muttered to nobody in particular— most likely the Eldest or himself— before stumbling again, catching his footing upon the ground and disengaging the ASAPS’ helmet. Blood ran freely from his right ear and both nostrils, his head severely damaged from Cyrolus’ repeated blows— not that he noticed, not that he cared, because he couldn’t fucking think straight, get those fucking images out of his head from the nightmares—

”I’m alright. I’m fine.”

The last part of him that offered resistance gave out, leaving Mitchell to fall down to the earth once more. His vision blackened as he stared up at the darkened sky, a thin stream of blood leaking from his lips.

“God f-fucking dammit. Not here, not now. He whispered to himself, his eyes burning with tears as everything around him began to shift out of focus.

Cold. He felt cold.

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Re: Landfall (Open RP)

Post by Mach2 » Thu Jul 26, 2018 4:37 am

Consciousness teased the edges of Tremor's mind. She was nowhere, she was nothing. She was floating in a place where hours and minutes meant the same thing. And oh, that was so much more peaceful than what was about to come. Her senses began to scratch away at the blackness, bringing pain to the forefront of her awareness.

A weak groan escaped her mouth before she'd even opened her eyes.

What had she done? Where was she? Her eyes cracked open, and blurred shapes began to swim before her. A woman, looking down at her. Green hair. She remembered the sound of the woman's voice, something she had said earlier. "Let me know when you're spent. I'll see if I can pull you back to the evac zone." The woman's lips were moving again now, but Tremor couldn't hear the words. Only an incessant ringing in her ears as her bruised brain attempted to sort out the details of what had happened. She remembered a fight. She remembered fighting. She remembered her palms connecting, for a shockwave that would rock the grounds of the Washington monument. Why had she...?

And then she remembered the sight of a villain's fist tearing clean through a man's stomach.

Tremor rolled over, pushed herself onto her knees. Too quickly. Her head spun and her stomach tensed. She reached up, pulling the motorcycle helmet off of her head, certain that she was about to throw up. But a few deep breaths later, things settled once more. She turned back to the green-haired woman. "I'm done," she said. Her words were slurred, and she could barely hear them in her own ears. She spoke again, the same words, in confirmation. "I'm done."

She didn't know if the fight was over. She didn't know if they had won. She couldn't even keep her eyes in focus long enough to make out who still remained on the battlefield. She didn't know if she had helped or hindered. But she knew that she was finished. If there was more fighting to be done, she wasn't going to be the one to do it.

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Re: Landfall (Open RP)

Post by Magnusson » Thu Jul 26, 2018 7:21 pm

The Forge lay face-down in the grass, the collision with the invader sending him sprawling. He was nestled in a small crater, one of many which littered the battlefield; his body had dug a ditch for itself upon landing, not unlike a grave. Propping himself onto his elbow, he coughed and rose, blinking a few times in pain. Looking up, he saw a familiar silhouette carting away the corpse of the invader, which brought a wry smirk to his face. Efficient little bugs, these ones. He coughed.

It was hard to say how much worse for wear he was, especially when compared to those around him. The girl had potentially passed out; Concord was being rushed to a medic; before him, the man in the yellow battlesuit stumbled and fell, staggering about as though drunk. As he lost his footing, the Forge caught him with his cursed left arm, the clank of ironflesh on armor offensive to the ear as he lowered him to the ground.

But he? He had escaped with nary a scratch. The burns that covered his entire upper body had mostly healed, and now his skin was only a soft red, rather than blistering. The spear-wound on his stomach was purple as ever, but he'd felt his bones reset from when he'd been tossed through the obelisk in the middle of it all. Like old times, yes. All was well.

He coughed again, this time for a full twenty seconds, his grand shoulders rising and falling arrhythmically. Covering his mouth with his right hand, he found it stained crimson when he pulled it away. His gaze fell.

So this is it, he thought solemnly, as emergency technicians scrambled around him. The beginning of the end.

Somewhere far away from DC, in the mountains of Appalachia, the stormclouds burst. Lightning sundered the sky above a small town in the hills.

Something grand made landfall.


[align=center]TO BE CONTINUED[/align]

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Re: Landfall (Open RP)

Post by Drake » Fri Jul 27, 2018 10:26 pm

It didn't matter.

Fire raining from above, desperately spewed by such a frightful construct of despair and agony, only to be utterly ignored due to a single man. A stoic last stand, admittedly the most quintessential action taken in order to safeguard the smudged shitstain many of the present - Qaleroth, to an extent, included - called home. Now a rather ashen wasteland of a location, beads of grey besprinkled across what used to be a field, spread in such apocalyptic fashion one could assume the world ended if they envisioned only the area encompassing the clash. Nonetheless, it was meaningless. Utterly meaningless. America was the unbeatable land of heroics and rebuilding. It oozed its sinful ideals, impregnating every single individual's mind. If Satan himself mightily ascends from the most arcane depths of Hell, their mask-clad superstars would handle it somehow. They would rebuild, even if it took years.

An annoyingly unbrekable spirit.

One dipped into the mouthwatering lakes of sin, imbued with devilish purposes of its own whilst still maintaining an innocent, well-nigh pure shine.

Qaleroth often ignored it, it was no more troubling than flies wheezing by during lunch, from any perspective it was an entirely unrelated subject to the demon's intent. Yet flies can flock together, swarm the decayed fields where putrid, deformed corpses lay, awaiting their consequential ascension or descent. And for those travelers coursing the path through such fields, flies will bother them to no end. Minuscle, inferior beings, irritatingly buzzing their flamboyant wings pridefully, causing such a ruckus, almost as a victory cry themselves.

This time, the little fly had a face.

Well, partially, at the very least, since masks did serve to conceal identities.

The insect would draw away Qaleroth's treachery which stained the skies, feeding on its unbearable heat, nurturing from within the sentiment of, possibly, all those in the area. An embodiment of their hope, an avatar of their justice, regardless of its validity. To unorthodox eyes, that man shone lighter than any beacon could, harnessing the power as he so desired, fingers pressed against the palm of his hands, teeth gnawing the tasteless sense of victory. He molded that fire,claiming it as his own, a truly wondrous spectacle to any fond of heroics. If his previous beam had been devastating, the sheer potency with which his novel, improved ray punctured the sky astonished Qaleroth himself, an amused grin disguised due to the lack of any lips.

Obsidian rock ruptured with a thunderous crack, an unbearable wailing viciously echoed as the faces were drained of their very life. Bubbles of tangerine garnished the sky, pursued closely by an equally magnificent trail of dark smoke. The behemoth of a construct waned from above, attempting to sustain itself. The damage, though, was worse than it could ever recover from. A precise, vermilion beam which caused its demise, split in half the creature succumbed. Its hellish features leisurely dissipating as the vehicle once more regained its shape.

Back to eternal punishment it went.

Four worrisome faces trailing right after it.

His personal highlight, though?

Witnessing as the very same man's abdomen mimicked his work, a fist vigorously rammed against it, effortlessly shattering bone and mincing meat, a lesson of life to never trust such faux hope. Heroes were, indeed, a marvelous gift to the modern world, figures inspiring thousands, rallying masses as cattle towards their one 'shared' goal. It was gorgeous to observe how rapidly such a magnanimous figure could be turned into a martyr, shock the world, remind them feet are supposed to stay on the ground, not drifting away to an impracticable utopia. Oh, such delight.

They flocked around their fallen, an army touched by the fall of a single soldier, prey sympathizing with their equals instead of fleeing the inevitable. Humans, for such brilliant species, were rather idiotic sometimes. Not that it bothered Qaleroth, he was used to the so-called compassion and heroic ideal, couldn't quite comprehend where it came from, but it was always there. Lingering within the heart of his human counterpart.

Such feelings towards their casualties gave Qaleroth enough freedom to do as he pleased. At least for a short while. The laughter ceased, everything went back to whatever could be called 'normal' in that situation. That was what everyone but a single person would see. The dying were always in-between two worlds, not prepared to leave their mortal shells, not ghastly enough to be taken anywhere else. So in that man's eyes, and in his eyes alone, he could see an unbeknownst figure step his way.

Human, darker hair perfectly combed back, but blurry nonetheless. In his ears, the ringing would cease, maybe the world would go entirely blank, or just mute, or remain the very same. It didn't quite matter. Not now. Not to that man. "Such an unjust game." The wind caressed his ears, regardless of the distance of his new unidentifiable 'friend' found himself, those words would echo inside his mind as if someone whispered right by his side. "You did everything you could, but it just wasn't enough, was it? They couldn't understand, sending in needless forces, endangering more lives than saving them, but still... You stood there, and you upheld your values like a true hero. It was a soothing tone, pleasing to hear. "If only you could do this more often, teach them how real heroes handle the task. Show them your hope... But alas, you cannot proceed. Every step closer to salvation makes a new tombstone, how many bodies did you have to step over to reach where you are? How many more are to come? Will you become one of them? So much to consider, so little time."

A dramatic pause, seconds went by and all those worried visages surrounding him would definitely be clearer by the minute, if they even changed at all during their chat.

"I can help you, though. A simple contract, you see, and I can grant you enough power to stop this mindless despair. Enough so no more stepping stones are made. Enough so your drive is not in vain as it seems it will be." An amicable smile surged amid the blurred man's face, crystalline as water. "Your time is short, so choose wisely."

The whirring of helicopters drew near by the second, a humongous shockwave scattered once again, this time barely knocking the flaming skull out of its feet. It was about time... In a swift motion, his bike once again returned, a trail of fire underneath its wheels. And, as soon as the dying chose its own path, it would instantly vanish, leaving not but a trail of smoke behind.
Drake was feeling just fine again today.

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