A/N: Everyone that's keeping up with me on this, thank you. It means a lot to me. I just hope this lives up to your expectations.
Disclaimer since I haven't said it in a while: I don't own Jormungand, Black Rock Shooter, or any other franchise or series I may or may not have referenced and/or mocked. All of it belongs to their respective owners, I'm just the guy who thought it was a good idea to blend it together.
Last item before I start: someone PM'd me claiming that I forgot about Strength. I...kinda have. I've been planning this story for two years now, some things are bound to slip through the cracks. Hope this makes up for it.
Karif ran for his life, fearfully sweeping his head around for danger. The fifteen year old Roanapur native wasn't the only one; each of the four people in his group were almost too afraid to blink. It consisted of his mother, father, and his uncle Skaraa, with the last carrying the machine gun while his parents had pistols. He carried a knife himself, but he didn't delude himself by thinking it would do anything to protect him or his family. The tough facade that he'd spent years creating was long since gone.
Having been born and raised in this wretched city, he was no stranger to violence or death. But what he had seen in the past two hours defied everything. His life goal had been to get involved in one of the mafias, elevate himself to a position of importance, and get himself and hopefully his parents out to someplace nice. He'd always wanted to see Italy, the local Sicilian mobsters that made their rounds on his block always shared such wonderful stories about their home whenever he was hanging out with them. Distantly he wondered if those men were still alive.
Now, his only wish was to escape the city alive. Word came from one of the few mobsters left alive that all three of the major roads were destroyed. Traffic for the smaller ones would halt them in their tracks as a result from all the desperate people crowding roads never meant for that number. That left the harbor; there was still a few boats there he claimed. Karif's father had his doubts, but what other choice was there?
They came across the ruins of an army patrol along the way, and from what they had seen and heard no gang was able to fight off the monsters, except the Russians. They and they alone seemed to do alright. Unfortunately they already evacuated hours ago, leaving tens of thousands to their fates. The choice was clear: stay where they were and certainly die, or leave and risk death.
Skaraa stopped and threw himself against the dirty walls of the alley, looking back to see if the rest of his family was doing the same. Thus far his decision to keep to the back areas of the alleyways seemed to be paying off. Many people had rushed by the small family in panic, too busy running for their lives to take notice. More than a few had those monstrous girls in pursuit, with screams never far behind them. Karif didn't want to end up like old man Xinge, dying in his shop to what looked like a foreign girl with a hammer.
Something short and incredibly fast flashed by in front of the alley. Karif held his breath; after a minute of nothing but the hellish background noise he finally released it. Though it was hard to hear, he could hear similar sighs from the adults. His parents were scared out of their wits at the chaos, just like him. He wasn't sure whether to be relieved or even more frightened at that. Skaraa looked back again and nodded, noting the boy's fearful expression.
"It's alright" his father soothed.
The thirtish man took a deep breath. What happened next was the single most risky part of moving: crossing the street. He peeked the very top of his head around the corner, prepared to jump back at the first hint of danger. Slowly he pushed out further and further, glancing both ways. When he finally felt it was safe he left the alley entirely, his hard gaze sweeping around with his finger on his M16's trigger.
Then he ran, eating up ground as fast as he could move. He dodged around an abandoned car (Karif's parents contemplated taking a car but his father thought the risks were too great) into the next alley. A quick sweep confirmed that the space was empty. He sighed again, this time in relief. He looked back to the rest of his family and waved them on. The boy took a deep breath and stepped out of the alley, huddled low to lower the risk of being seen. He made it to the edge of the sidewalk when he heard a scream. A high pitched scream that was too close. His mother and father retreated back, trying to get to him first. But they were too late.
A monster jumped out of a low window of the building above him, one that looked like a sixteen year old girl with long red hair wearing black pants and a low cut top. She hit the ground a dozen feet from Karif. The boy froze; he could only stare at the monster as it stood up and righted itself. Dots of light suddenly appeared on her arm, manifesting into a short ninja sword that she grabbed tightly. The girl cracked her neck and took off, ignoring him entirely.
"Karif!" his father cried out in relief.
Just as the boy rediscovered how to breath, he saw a flash of purple light, and the girl tumbled over limply. For a second there was a burst of gunfire, then a half dozen men ran out from one of the adjacent streets. They were all clad in street clothes and armed with older assault rifles, screaming something intelligible. A few stopped to turn around, spraying bullets at something just out of sight.
A hail of purple bolts engulfed the few that stayed behind, shredding them where they stood. Something new darted out into the street after the remainder, two somethings in fact. The two appeared to be trying to mesh together for a moment before the first went flying down the street. It tumbled through the air before hitting the pavement and skidding. Massive metal objects slammed into the ground, digging wide trenches into the pavement to halt her movement. While that happened another blast of the sliver like bolts cut down what was left of the men.
When the small being threw her head up, Karif recognized who she was: El Diablo (according to his his Honduran friend Miguel). No one else had had a short black outfit with enormous metal arms like that, from what the rumor mill claimed anyway. She was looking worse for wear; she was heaving breath, her scarf was torn, there were scuffs and scratches all over both her and the arms, and some blood traced a line from her brow. Now that he was close enough to get a good look at her, he suddenly realized she looked very similar to the monsters that were killing indiscriminately. Idly he thought of her as the harbinger of the horde.
Seeing her hard glare being directed dead ahead, he swiveled his own head. Karif discovered it was another monster she was facing down. This one was different than the others. She had a black metal cap, a vest of sorts covering a torso, hot pants, and armor plating from her knees downwards. A muted purple flame burned from her left eye. From her back three writhing chains languidly moved around, each with a weapon at the end. A fierce looking sword, a black machine gun, and a cannon with a large bayonet at the tip respectively. In contrast she looked untouched.
Unlike every monster he'd seen up until that point, she moved calmly, almost lazily to her opponent. She displayed none of the fluid speed that characterized the monsters. El Diablo snarled and smashed her fists into the ground, a challenge if he ever saw one. From behind him Karif heard his mother frantically whisper for him to come back. Whether from terror or curiosity, he ignored her to stay put.
El Diablo charged, crossing the distance between the two in seconds. Armored watched impassively until the very last second, where the cannon and the sword leapt back into her hands to meet the fists. When the weapons collided, the sheer power behind the blow created a loud boom, akin to a small explosive. He watched the struggle in astonishment, for the moment forgetting his fear.
Armored drew back and swiped the blade at an off balance El Diablo. She recovered enough to adjust her hands so the sword scrapped off rather than biting. With a fresh snarl she pushed forward, swinging the metal hands for all she was worth. Armored went onto the defensive, actually being forced to back away several paces. Silently he began to cheer her on; her rep claimed she only went after tough targets, if she won she would move on and leave him and his family be. Hope welled within the boy.
Suddenly Armored shoved the large cannon into a brutal stab at El Diablo. The smaller girl was able to clasp her hands together to stop it mid way, even if she was pushed back several inches. Armored kept trying to force the weapon to her, showing some strain. El Diablo on the other hand appeared to be putting every ounce of her vast strength into keeping the triangular bayonet away.
The taller one smirked, letting her own metal arm to fall to her side, where her sword smoothly slid into place. Without warning she yanked the cannon back, knocking El Diablo off balance. Faster than he could watch the blade was swung downwards onto her exposed elbow joint, cleanly slicing through it. One of her arms fell, crashing to the ground. Her look of determination was replaced by one of shock.
El Diablo screamed, loud enough to hurt the boy's ears. Armored darted sideways to swipe again, taking off her other limb at the same place before delivering a vicious kick at her midsection. Her scream was interrupted while she fell, a choked gurgle taking it's place. When she hit the ground it didn't resume, instead she began to hyperventilate in pain. Her mighty metal arms laid several feet away, broken and useless.
Armored didn't even pause, she calmly walked up to the gasping girl and paused when she was standing by her feebly kicking feet. The smirk on her features stayed in place as she easily hefted the cannon around, lining up the end with the literally disarmed El Diablo, only inches away from her head. The last thing Karif heard from the legendary mercenary was a desperate "Please" before Armored shot her in the head. Her body went limp.
The smirk faded back into a detached look as she stepped around the new corpse. Sensing movement she swung the cannon around, letting lose a flurry of shots at the alleyway that Skaraa was in. When it ceased, there was a ringing silence in the air that was broken only by distant gunfire. The boy feverishly hoped that he was okay, just before the being's head turned around the other direction. Her searching stopped when she spotted him.
Karif froze. His own reddish brown eyes were locked in place with her otherworldly purple ones. The cannon slipped from her grip, rejoining it's siblings in trailing after her while she toed around El Diablo's body. She began to stalk in that exacting pace once again, facing directly towards the boy. He jolted to his feet, but she adjusted her course to match him. Fear clouded his mind, preventing him from thinking straight.
When she reached the sidewalk, he backed away with his shoes scrapping the pavement. She never sped, never slowed, and never deviated a degree from her target. Her empty expression told the boy he was going to die here. He was going to die on the streets of Roanapur, like he always thought he would but was certain he wasn't. When his back bumped the wall, he cringed and squeezed his eyes shut. He prayed under his breath, waiting for the blow to finish him off.
Four warm and hard things touched his brow, making him gasp. Seconds later he realized he was still alive. Against all of his judgement, he opened his eye for a short peek. Karif blinked, opening his eyes fully at the unexpected sight. The things on him were gloved fingers. They kept on his face, starting to slide down. Gently, almost tenderly. His frantic breathing slowed a minute degree, asking himself desperately just what the hell was going on.
The monster's features, less than a foot from his face, had softened. The hard blankness had given way to what seemed to be muted wonder. Her eyes were no longer narrowed, the flame over the left had nearly died out, and her mouth had opened a little. The fleshy hand continued to run over his face, not hurting him in the slightest (unless mild discomfort and pants-wetting terror counted). She blinked, as if she couldn't believe her own eyes. To his own amazement, her eyes seemed to be getting glossy.
Karif had no way of knowing it, but he was alive solely because he happened to bear an uncanny resemblance to a boy named Jonah Mar.
When she blinked again, a single tear ran down her cheek from the flaming eye. Her brow wrinkled, though the wonder didn't vanish. The hand finally left the terrified boy's cheek to slowly return to her own face, daubing a single finger at the tear. Her features left his entirely, turning to stare at the tiny drop of water with what looked to be puzzlement. She turned away, as if she had forgotten she was there.
The monster wasn't facing far away enough for Karif to not see what happened next. Her finger began to tremble, spreading to her arm, then systematically to the rest of her corrupted form. Her face shivered, and her mouth began to quiver. A tiny ragged huff escaped her. Most damning of all, her eyes could no longer stay in that horrifying blank state. The gloss in her eyes spilled out, more tears freely running down her cheeks.
The girl's legs gave out, and she collapsed into a pile. Her weapons and the chains that held them limply fell to the ground with a clang after her. Only a seemingly reflexive move of her metal arm that hit the ground first stopped her from landing flat on her face. Her armored form shuddered, starting randomly but soon stabilizing into a rough pattern. More noises escaped her, sounds of ragged intakes of breath followed by sputtered exhales. Karif could hardly believe his ears.
She was crying. No, she was sobbing.
Karif's mother finally took the chance to dart out of her hiding place, grabbing the boy and yanking him onwards. He remembered the situation and moved under his own power again across the abandoned street, avoiding the bodies of the men and El Diablo. The monster made no move to stop them, or even noticing them anymore. Despite what he had just seen her do just minutes earlier, the boy felt a twinge of pity in his heart for her.
In a remote part of her mind she was aware of the humans fleeing. She didn't care. Grief overwhelmed the monster, welling up in a tidal wave that swept the emptiness away. The hollow feeling she had experienced was torn apart, unable to rise again. Memories that were only indistinct flashes before came rushing back in full force. Everything that she was returned.
The shock of the transition that took her breath away. Seeing the two humans in the hallway clutching tiny cannons at her. Falling. A parasite in her arm. Telling the blonde man how to open the door. The pale woman that didn't fear her. Introductions to the eight others. Discovering the joys of food. Odd tests. The cramped space. New surroundings. Danger. Two people, a man and a woman. An ornery man that wouldn't stop talking. Questions at their acts. Oppressive heat, then biting cold. The sting of a gunshot. Death, and wonder. Contemplation. New openings. Wandering, tired but amazed. Relief. Shock at his actions. A narrow miss that made Koko happy. Water, infinite water that tried to kill her. Noisy plane. He avoided her questions. Shooting that arrogant fool and killing his lackeys. Boredom that Koko interrupted with a new task. A secret observation, a secret rendezvous. Suspicions, then an opening. He opened up to her. The plan. Killing, it was a challenge. Leaving Valmet be. She had to do this. Relaxed, let her guard down. Valmet shot. Help came soon. Feeling good, wondering what's in store next. The name of her hated foe. Plans, objectives, anxiety. Only got worse. Is this America? Doesn't look all that special. Warnings, danger, but he held her back. Dead Master dared show her face, taunting her with her own sword. Fight, the hardest fight that she could remember. She lost. But he came, saving her. Irritation at his interference, but gratitude for saving her. Hurt badly, angry that Dead Master is coming along too, with her comrades and friends. Satisfaction at seeing her put down. Koko is nervous about the city far away, why? An old foe may return as a new ally, only not. Returned empty handed. Thinking about him. New place, Japan. Seeing the other boy off. New task. Kaspar, Koko's sister. Took him and her along, made him nervous. But he was fine when Kaspar left. Danger, assassin! Gunfire, despair, then hope. Find the leader, discover another hated foe has returned. He cares, he does, then does something she didn't think was possible. Kaspar gloats, Koko is scared. Her kind let loose, what she feared they thought she was. Driving along, being shot at. Dealing with yet another old foe. Tricked and ambushed. She was shot, the pain unbearable. Black Gold Saw is going after him, must stop! She can't. All of her skill, all of her strength, meant nothing. Black Gold Saw shot him. Black Gold Saw shot Jonah-
She snarled, smashing her fists onto the ground. The sidewalk cracked under the blows, fracturing into bits. She didn't care. Tears still streamed out, blurring her vision. The memories consumed her, ripping her mind apart. She wanted them gone. She wanted the blissful emptiness back; no thoughts, no emotions. Just kill, and kill, and kill. But it stayed. It stayed and brought everything back that she wanted to forget.
"Tut tut tut."
She snapped her head up with a snarl, finding Koko standing a few feet away in the street. The pale woman stood by and watched her, staring impassively.
"Isn't this a bummer. I gave you a chance. I took you in, knowing what you are. Trust and all that. Too bad you really are a monster" Koko said calmly.
She lunged and tore her in half. From behind her came a low chuckle.
"One thing. I told you one thing. Don't hurt my boss, my teammates, or bystanders. Now look at you, covered in the blood of god knows how many people" Lehm said easily.
A burst from the M60 cut him down. Beside him the bespectacled man snorted.
"That's crazy Tojo. Just being paranoid Tojo. Look who was right after all" Tojo taunted.
She threw the chained sword at him to rip open his chest. Another low snort.
"What was I thinking? I should've shot you dead in that hallway" Valmet said coldly.
She lunged and shoved the cannon through her midsection. More voices crowded her.
"I had the chance to stop this" Lutz muttered, without legs.
"A genuine monster, interesting" Wiley went studiously with a chunk of his torso missing.
"You killed him" Chinatsu accused, cut and tears of blood leaking down her face.
"I didn't want to be there" pleaded a white clad mercenary with a hole in his chest.
"What da hell luv?! We weren't dangerous" said the two men in the van, faces torn off.
"Oh no" whimpered Trohovski, an eye hanging out of it's socket.
"M-my god" quivered the Balkan dragon and his companions, their flesh rent and covered in gore.
"We just wanted you to stay away" said the corpse of the Daxinghai guard. Beside him Karen Low nodded, patches of blood spreading out from her chest.
She stopped thrashing around and collapsed, clamping her hands over her ears. Desperately she willed the voices away.
"I fought you because I knew what you would become" Dead Master gurgled from her mangled face.
"Freak" Huey spat with a ragged hole in his torso.
"I was what you pretended to be" Kurosaka stated from the charred stump of her neck.
"Please, I have a family" the shredded face of the SR Unit operative pleaded.
"You're funny. Playing human" Mana giggled through her torn out throat.
"Stop! There's a monster!" the japanese bartender exclaimed without limbs.
"I was close to putting you down and stopping all of this" Black Gold Saw accused, splattered with blood.
"Monster" Strength spat, an uneven hole between her eyes.
She screamed. The voices of the dead and dying grew louder as if to challenge her. She squeezed her eyes shut and hit her head against the ground. It all blurred together, the voices of the damned no longer distinguishable from each other. All she could hear was the fear and accusation in their tones. All of it directed at her. The weight of her sins threatened to suffocate her, and she whimpered. Unspoken apologies tried to leave her lips, but they left as animalistic noises instead.
It took her several seconds to realize the voices had cut out. Reluctantly her hands retracted, finding the hellish noise gone. Her eyes opened, looking wildly for anything or anyone around her, finding no one. Slowly she pushed herself up to sit, dazed. She blinked; then there was someone in front of her. Someone short, wearing khaki short pants and a white shirt with a black hoodie over it. Her head tilted back, numbly tracing over the clothes and the brown skin. Her purple gear inlaid eyes met his red ones.
Jonah looked down at her with his customary neutral expression. She couldn't believe her eyes. Her ragged breathing picked up, and she hesitantly lifted her hand to him. It trembled, uncertainty clawing at her core. Yet hope welled within her, a feeling she forgot existed. Her hand was almost too him when the blankness on his face was broken.
He cracked a small smile. A line of blood left the corner of his mouth.
Her awe was quickly replaced by horror. Frantically she pawed at him, but it did nothing. In front of her eyes a large splotch of red began to spread out from his chest, where the bullet struck home. Her whimpering reached a fever pitch. His hand reached out to grab her wrist. She froze, feeling the cold dead hand gently encircle hers. Numbly she looked back up, seeing him lightly shaking his head.
"It's okay" Jonah said quietly.
She slumped down again, everything but the hand he held going limp.
"You know the truth. I'm dead" Jonah said, voice calm but determined.
Again tears welled in her eyes, her body feeling like it wanted to join him.
"This can't be changed. But you can do something about it" he offered.
Instantly her head picked up.
"You know who did this. You know how they think and what they can do" Jonah stated.
Her trembling ceased. The weapons rose and planted themselves on the ground, steadying herself so she could rise. Her free hand left the ground, followed by her knees, bringing the full height of her form back up. The hand Jonah held stayed in his grip.
"You know what you must do" he said.
At last her head lifted, showing her shadowed face to him. Her lips were a tight line, her eyes were narrowed, and her features were set. Cold fury radiated from her.
All it took was a shake of his head to shatter her determination.
"No. Black Gold Saw was merely a tool. In the end she's unimportant" he stated.
She couldn't help tipping her head to the side a few degrees in confusion.
"Who did this?" Jonah looked away to wave a hand around to the burning skyline "Who gathered them up and turned them loose? Who burned this city and killed so many?" he asked her.
Obediently her gaze followed his hand. She realized what he meant, berating herself for not realizing it sooner.
"Find her first. Find out what she knows, then kill her. Once that's done, find Kaspar" Jonah commanded.
His hand fell away from hers. She gave him one last look, questioning mixed in with longing. He nodded in acknowledgment. Jonah turned to what looked like a random direction. She realized that the dead that tore at her being were surrounding her once again, all of them silent and grim. The boy she loved raised his arm and pointed, the crowd of the dead echoing him. The being that was Black Rock Shooter-
No, she corrected herself. That was not her name. Not anymore.
"I" she murmured, feeling her voice ache from disuse.
"Am" she tried again, feeling no better. But it was close, she needed to finish it.
"Insane. Black. Rock. Shooter."
She turned to the direction he indicated and ran.
Soaring over the burning city, the two large helicopters skimmed near the collapsing skyline. They were Russian made MI-17s, types meant more for cargo transport than an active combat role. Because of this, the pilots of the two choppers were exceedingly nervous. One of the pilots had a panic attack when a short stream of orange bolts flew from one of the buildings to tear into the side. The armor plating held, though it wouldn't help against a sustained barrage.
Both of the helicopters, bearing a seal on the side of the Royal Thai Army, slowed their velocity in preparation of descent. More small arms fire pelted off the side, fortunately hitting nothing important. It didn't help the attitudes of the pilots however. Both craft steadied themselves, coming to a wavering hover over a large intersection. At a silent signal, both choppers went down at the same time.
The back hatch of the helicopters opened within seconds of each other when they were less than twenty feet from the ground. Once the hatch reached a level incline a bulky figure leaped out of the opening to freely plummet to the ground, yelling "Hell yeah!" Behind him the craft lurched at the sudden change of weight.
With a thump the lone figure hit the ground and went into a crouch, needing only a few seconds to rise once again. He wore the BDUs of the Thai Royal Marine Corps, complete with the particular patch that indicated the rank of Captain. Above his uniform however was a rather strange set up. Black and grey machinery ran from a primary node on his back to run parallel to his body, attached via clamps and straps to his limbs. Certain sections, such as his forearm, had a thick weight of armor attached. On his head was a standard issue helmet. Underneath that was a grinning countenance.
Behind him a dozen other figures left the roaring helicopters at a much more reasonable height, a couple of them jogging up to him despite their perceived bulk. Most went to secure their landing zone, but one stomped his way.
"Captain Veera!" a man with lieutenant's pipings called out, sounding distinctly aggrieved. The recipient of his anger grinned.
Arthit Veera was his name, Captain to anyone that he thought needed to be reminded of his rank (i.e. everyone). Twenty two of his forty years were spent in the Royal Marine Corps, a job that he had precisely zero regrets taking. Unlike the majority of his fellow soldiers in the military, he had been overseas several times, including two missions in Iraq alongside the Americans. When the army's new program went public he was one of the first to volunteer. Because of this, he was chosen to lead the newest unit of special operators, outfitted with some unusual equipment.
The American officer and his aides that introduced it to them called it the XOS-3 powered exoskeleton. The men called it the Jacket. Captain Arthit Veera called it the Fun Suit.
"What!?" he shouted back over the noise, trying to seem solemn and serious but failing miserably. The rest of his special operations platoon fanned out from their landing zones while the fat helicopters spooled up the rotors in preparation of leaving.
"Sir, regulations forbid-" the young man tried to protest, beginning to stab a finger with his increased bulk. Fortunately for Captain Veera a burst of gunfire cut him off.
"Lieutenant Suchart, take a team and take that out. I'll lead the platoon, move it!" he barked, throwing a hand out with much more grace than the younger man in the general direction of the unit. Out of all the men trained to use the Jackets, he was the best single operator.
The much younger man would've jumped if he didn't weigh three times as much as he did normally. Captain Veera looked away without checking to see if he was following orders; after weeks of drills with the new gear he was eager to test it out in the field. He really wanted to put it through it's paces as soon as possible, and to see if it was as fun as it looked. So far it seemed promising, but only a real mission could tell him for sure whether or not it was. If all went well the army would expand the Jacket unit into a company, perhaps someday a brigade.
Two men detached from the bulk of the tiny suited unit (he tried not to gripe about a captain leading a mere platoon's worth of troops but it was hard) to 'jog' up after him. A common complaint during training was the lack of mobility the Jackets offered. Captain Veera's own running time was almost twice as long compared to his normal load out. To compensate some lightweight armor was attached, partly to protect the equipment but mainly for the wearer.
One thing it did do exceptionally well was to let the soldiers carry much more equipment than normal. Currently Captain Veera hauled a MAG-58 with a small army's worth of ammo on hand, a far cry from his normal G36. He had to control himself carefully; it was unseemly for an officer of any rank to giggle like a schoolgirl, no matter the reason. Luckily he wasn't the only one with that problem.
"Contact!" one of his flanking guards yelled, snapping him out of his reverie.
Captain Veera's years of training kicked in. After a glimpse at the other man to see he snapped the machine gun to the direction the other man was looking. Beside him the two men thumbed their safeties off; he discovered a long time ago how to do it without anyone noticing. He needed seconds to identify the target, then several more to make sure what he was seeing was for real or not.
At an intersection he saw one, then two, then four blurs zoom by, almost too quickly to track. One blur looked their way and skidded to a stop, revealing itself to be a teenage girl. One with pale skin and an even paler dress (which would've been entirely white if it wasn't splattered with blood), armed with a rapier and a musket in each hand. A close enough match to the reports the recon teams radioed in before they were destroyed. She glanced their way and grinned.
Captain Veera returned it.
"Hold fire" he barked to the men, holding the machine gun out for the soldier to hesitantly take it.
Once the weight left his hand he began to stroll away in the direction of the girl, smirking at seeing her head tilt in evident confusion. He was willing to bet everyone that faced them down either ran away or shot whatever guns they had then ran, not march at them with a swagger. Before it started Captain Veera reached to his belt to retrieve his Bowie knife, a 'gift' from an American lieutenant who thought he was better at poker than he really was.
The pale girl charged, moving inhumanly fast. He grinned and started to move at her as well, sidestepping a hurried boom from the musket. It missed him entirely, an attempt to get the man to panic. By his side his fingers discreetly dialed up the Jacket's battery. Captain Veera's grin widened when she got close enough to lunge, swinging the rapier in a wide arc at an incredible speed.
She found out firsthand that the Fun Suited human was faster than she was when he not only dodged the blow, but swung his fist out to match. The inhuman girl was dumbstruck when it collided, hitting with the force of a moving vehicle. He put so much power (with the suit's help) into the blow that the girl was actually sent flying, tumbling through the air to gracelessly bounce against the pavement.
Captain Veera cackled in an ungentlemanly way when she swung herself back on to her feet, jerking back to him wearing a hateful glare. One of his soldiers coughed nervously, but he ignored him.
The girl attacked again, this time being smarter about it. Instead of charging headlong she darted to the side, firing off shot after shot at him. To answer that Captain Veera grabbed the other item from his belt, an Israeli made 50. cal Desert Eagle (another 'gift' from a visiting Hebrew speaking officer that didn't know card counting when he saw it) to answer. To his delight, the Jacket absorbed the near painful recoil of the oversized gun, making it feel more like a 9mm than a hand cannon.
Feeling the large bullet whistle by just inches away convinced the girl that she was out of time. She ceased dodging and leaped, attempting to deliver a sideways cut. Captain Veera was expecting that and narrowly ducking out of the way, but her speed still caught him off guard. He let out a tiny whimper when her sword clearly sliced through his treasured BFG. Rage filled him, determined to avenge his favorite gun.
She hit the ground and attempted to rebound, but he met her first. A quick punch was parried by the rapier, leaving her wide open for him to plunge the ten inch blade through her solar plexus. Her entire body jerked, a tiny grunt escaping her lips as her eyes went wide with shock.
"Yeah" Captain Veera said with a smile, before twisting the knife and ripping it out of her. Amazingly she managed to put her hands on the wound and stay on her feet for several seconds while her lifeblood poured out, staining her pretty white dress red even through her clenched fingers. Finally she collapsed unceremoniously, falling to the pavement like so many others and going still.
Captain Veera bent over for a second to tear off a cleanish part of her dress. A part of him thought it was a shame, a few more years she would have been a real looker in his opinion. He glanced up as he easily wiped off his knife, noting the wide eyes and slack jaws of his soldiers, one still holding his machine gun for him.
"So, what's next?" he asked rhetorically.
One blinked, twitching his head and bringing his Negev up. Captain Veera frowned and turned around.
Another of the murderous girls darted into the intersection from the street, panting and injured. She didn't even look their way before she raised a small machine gun looking contraption back the way she came. Before any of the three men could do anything about her, there was a flash of purple toned light that made her pitch backwards in a spray of blood. Seconds later a lone figure landed into view, apparently leaping from the same direction that the fallen girl came from.
"Oh" Captain Veera murmured when she jolted back to her feet, three chains with weapons at the ends lazily rising up.
When her armored form snapped their way, he dropped the odd fabric to the ground to stomp towards her wearing a fresh grin.
"Sir?" one of his men said nervously, seeing the armored form of the newest monster march to the captain to match.
"Relax soldier, with these bad boys we can fight hand to hand with no issues" he yelled over his shoulder.
Captain Veera grinned as he bore down on the girl. Her armored form failed to give him pause, the same went for the three weapons behind her. In just a few seconds he was close enough to attack, and he threw an enhanced punch that could shatter concrete at her jaw with the knife ready.
Her metal hand caught his fist, too fast for him to see. All the power that he put into the blow went into her palm and stayed there, locking him in place. Captain Veera blinked.
"Oh shit."
She brought her leg up and kicked, still holding onto his fist. His arm and the powered joints strapped onto it tore off with a sickening wet crack and a screech of tortured metal, and he thumped against the ground. Her feral glare never changed; the two men watched their fearless leaded land, and they watched the monster give the limb a once over before tossing it aside. And turning to them.
Both men opened fire, spraying hundreds of bullets in a hail that should've turned her to perforated mush. Instead she charged, the cannon taking one hand while the sword took the other. The two were mortally afraid, they stood still instead of moving. The jagged sword sliced the first man in half at the waist while the cannon shattered the body of the second.
She paused, letting her hearing take everything in. Shouts, screams, gunfire. Not far away, and getting closer. She snarled in irritation.
Her hearing picked up something else, making her freeze. It was a rhythmic thumping noise, like beating drums in the sky. Her head swiveled up, hearing the noise grow steadily louder.
A black shape with tiny blinking lights soared above her, close to rooftop level. It was dark, if not for the glow of the fires she wouldn't be able to tell what it was. A UH-60 Blackhawk, military equipment. She tracked it for a second, seeing it go in the direction of the ocean.
Insane Black Rock Shooter followed it, killing anyone that got in her way.
