Damn, I'm really on a roll here now. Two chapters in the span of a month, haven't had this speed since I first started writing this story. Alas, this will only be a temporary thing. Once the summer is over, it's probably back to the old schedule again. That actually leads into something I've been meaning to ask for a while now. You see, one of the reasons my updates are so slow is because my economy is not the most stable, and I'm constantly balancing on the edge of going bankrupt. Thus, I have to spend more time dealing with real life than writing.
However, other people have recommended that I try crowdfunding myself through , allowing me to continue writing without worrying too much about my money issue. I thus have an inquiry to all of you: In the event that I do start up a account, would you be willing to support me? I would continue to write either way, but with enough support behind me, I would be able to dedicate more time to actually writing and thus get these updates out faster.
Anyway, on with the story.
Chapter 36: Chaos Rising pt. IV
"Watch it, they're coming out of the alleys now!" the call went up as hordes of cultists poured onto the streets and rushed the barricades.
"I've got them!" then they stopped in their tracks as their feet were frozen to the ground.
"More incoming!" but that did little to stem the tide.
"Fuck, we're being overrun!" and there were only a limited number of defenders to keep them back.
"Hold your ground! We've got to keep the civilians safe!" but they stubbornly held on despite the odds, giving their lives to save others.
The scenario described was almost universal across the globe by now. In every country, in every city, similar events played out as the valiant few battled against the insidious many. Central City was no different in this regard. If anything, resistance against the hordes of insanity was stiffer here than in many other places. What differentiated this scenario from many others however, were the people that led the defense.
"These bloody wankers ain't giving up," Captain Boomerang grumbled as he threw one of his titular boomerangs that sliced through the throats of at least seven cultists.
"Should have gotten out when I had the chance," Captain Cold grumbled as he used his ice gun to erect a barrier of ice at one of the roads. "That should buy us some time, at least until the fuckers bring up some heavy ordnance!"
Then there was a flash of light from a nearby mirror, and suddenly Mirror Master was within the barricade, his suit torn a bleeding from his shoulder.
"What's it look like back there?" Captain Boomerang asked as he sent a few explosive boomerangs down another street.
"Grim, but we're holding so far. Pied Piper is taking the wind out of any attempt at storming the back door, so the bastards are now hanging back taking potshots at us. They're either gatherings up momentum for another push or waiting for their friends at the front here to bust through. You holding here, by the way?" in response, Peek-a-Boo suddenly appeared in the midst, cackling like a witch.
"Where the hell have you been?" Captain Cold demanded. Peek-a-Boo merely smiled.
"Wait for it," then there was a series of whistles and explosions that bathed the streets in every color imaginable. There were plenty of agonized screams that followed, but mostly it was just another barrage of inventive curses.
"Started to run out of hardcore explosives, so I improvised with some of my more harmless stuff," Peek-a-Boo explained with a cheeky grin, right in time for a school bus to come charging through the cultist lines. No bullets flew at the bus, as most of the cultists were too busy shaking off the effects of Peek-a-Boo's little firework display. It came to a screeching stop right before the barrier, and the Weather Wizard quickly opened up the doors.
"Everyone out, now!" he shouted, right before a herd of terrified civilians came flooding out of it.
"Get them inside, quick, before the bastards figure out what's going on!" Peek-a-Boo commanded, right before a hail of bullets started flying towards them again.
"Too late for that!" Captain Cold observed as he started blasting away with his freeze gun.
"I seriously did not sign up for this shit!" Captain Boomerang whined as he started chucking boomerangs again. Meanwhile, at the back of the bus, the rear window was knocked loose and the Trickster aimed what had to be the weirdest gun in existence at the cultists. Seriously, the thing was literally a double-barreled shotgun with a huge nose for a muzzle.
"Eat snot!" he hollered as he opened fire, and even the ammunition was as disgusting as the weapon as it consisted of what seriously looked like green snot. But no one could doubt its effectiveness as it melted guns, cars and even people with the same ease. The barrage of ice, snot and boomerangs sent the cultists reeling long enough for the last civilians to get over the barricades. And as the cultists fell back to their starting positions, Captain Boomerang took charge of the situation.
"Right, they'll be licking their wounds now, but they'll be back soon enough. Let's make use of the time we have. Someone get this bus out of the way, it's blocking our line of fire. Get these civilians inside before the bullets start flying again. And Mirror Master, get that wound looked after, will you,"
"Don't mind if I do," Mirror Master mumbled as he made his way inside along with the civilians. The old bar that had served as a hidey hole for Central City's villains for years had in a matter of hours been transformed into a fortress and refugee center, and the Flash's Rogue Gallery had become its valiant defenders. Would have been hilarious in Mirror Master's opinion if not for it being a matter of life and death by now.
The inside really showed how desperate things had become, with terrified civilians huddling under every available table and the bartender standing behind the counter with shotgun in hand, ready to blow the brains out of any cultists stupid enough to poke his head out in his line of sight.
"What the hell are all these civilians doing this close to the fight?" Mirror Master asked as he slumped into an empty seat.
"Cellar's full, and so are the backrooms. Even had to open up my secret compartments," the bartender answered.
"Great. I bet you we'll have more to cram in here before the day is out," Mirror Master could not help but complained. "Does anyone here know how to treat bullet wounds?"
Someone was instantly at his side with bandages in hand. As she set to work, Mirror Master allowed himself to relax by a slight margin. "Any word from the rest of the Rogues? Barring Zoom, I'd really appreciate some extra back-up about now,"
"Not much to write home about. Either they're already dead or in hiding. Either way, we won't be seeing hide or hair of them before the fighting's over," the bartender reported.
"What about the Flash? Isn't this usually the kind of stuff he'd be all over by now?" all he received was a shrug. Great.
"Right fine mess we've landed ourselves in, wouldn't you say?" Heat Wave grumbled from where he was chugging down a bottle of beer.
"You could say that again," Mirror Master agreed, wincing a bit as the wound was wrapped up. Then the backdoor was kicked in and a frantic Rainbow Raider came rushing in.
"Guys, we need more muscle at the back! The fuckers have found their balls again and are coming in for another go at us!"
"What about Pied Piper?" Heat Wave asked.
"Doing his best, but these assholes have learned their lesson and are starting to plug their ears!" and there went another edge they had. Seriously, was it too much to ask for dumb crooks with hardly enough collective brain cells to reach the double digits?
"I'll handle this," Heat Wave announced as he heaved himself out of his seat and made his way towards the back.
"Need help?" Mirror Master asked, just as they could hear gunfire go off at both the front and back.
"Sounds like they'll need you at the front more. Come on, Rainbow Dash, we've got baddies to fry," and then Heat Wave was off with an irate Rainbow Raider behind him.
"It's Rainbow Raider, you ass!" he shouted at his compatriot. If anything else was said, Mirror Master did not hear it as he lurched back on his feet and walked towards the front door.
"If those losers at the back end up dying and the loonies come through, do me a solid and scream really loudly before you die," he said to the bartender.
"If we survive this, you can forget about getting drinks on the house again," the bartender shot back, to which Mirror Master gave him the middle finger before stepping out into the warzone again.
"Perfect timing, they're coming in hot again!" Captain Boomerang hollered from where he was crouched behind a wrecked car, sending the occasional boomerang flying over and around his cover.
"Oh shit, they've got a battering ram!" the Trickster cried out in alarm as a fire truck came rolling into view, a fire truck with enough metal and spiky bits welded to the front to resemble a grotesque steampunk-esque battering ram. And it was pointing straight towards them.
"Blimey! Gotta give these tossers A for effort at least!" Captain Boomerang commented as the battering ram roared to life and charged headlong at the barricades.
"And that's all they're getting," Captain Cold growled out from behind his cover before poking out and giving a quick burst with his ice gun. And suddenly, there was an ice ramp in the battering ram's path, only big enough for the left side wheels. The driver was given no time to make any evasive maneuvers before his vehicle was tilting dangerously to the right side. Then, gravity and momentum took hold and the whole thing was flipped onto its side, sliding along the road for a few more feet before coming to a complete stand-still.
"Yeah, now that's what I'm talking about!" Captain Cold whooped at the sight, only to duck back into cover with a frightened yelp as a hail of gunfire smattered against his cover.
"I think you may have pissed them off a bit!" Peek-a-Boo commented, right before disappearing. There were a series of bangs and curses over among the cultists, and then Peek-a-Boo was back behind the barricades. "Yeah, you definitively pissed them off!"
"Here they come again!" Mirror Master cried out as he took potshots with his gun, trying to stem the sudden tide of screaming cultists that came rushing at them.
"This ain't good, guys!" the Trickster was firing his snot gun in a blind panic now, not even bothering to aim. Not that he needed to, the horde was so tightly packed that every shot resulted in a melted cultists.
"Alright, I'm out!" and then Peek-a-Boo was gone.
"Hey, get back here, you two-faced bitch!" Captain Cold screamed after her even as he turned one cultist after the other into a human popsicle.
"I think we got bigger things to worry about!" Weather Wizard argued as he blasted away the cultists with gusts of wind. It did little to stop them, and soon it was hand-to-hand at the barricades.
"Can't you do anything better than that?!" Captain Boomerang complained as he jabbed a boomerang through the eye socket and into the brain of a cultist trying to clamber over his cover.
"I've been fighting these freaks for hours! I'll be running out of juice at this rate, dammit!" Weather Wizard shouted back while frying a handful of cultists with bolts of lightning.
"Less talking, more fighting!" Mirror Master cut in with a point-blank shot into the face of a cultist.
"Well, nice knowing you all, at least!" Captain Cold commented as he turned the front ranks into a solid wall of ice, only for the rear lines to clamber right over their compatriots and swarm the ice villain. But then there was a sudden red blur, and those cultists ended up lying on groaning piles by the barricade.
"What the-" with barely enough time for anyone to blink, that red blur flew across the battlefield, sending cultists off into dream land by the score with every second.
"Sure as hell took his sweet time," Captain Boomerang mumbled as he collapsed to his knees, confident of victory. That confidence proved well-earned, as ten seconds later found the whole lot of cultists out cold around the barricades. Then the culprit behind this sudden one-sided victory came to a stop before the barricades, and he looked like he had gone through a meat grinder.
"Flash! Never thought I'd be this happy to see you!" Captain Cold greeted. Of course, that was when they all noticed the numerous stab- and bullet wounds adorning him, and the suit that looked like it had just come out of a war.
"Hey man, you okay?" the Trickster asked, genuine concern in his eyes as he approached the awfully quiet speedster.
"I…" was all he said, and then clamped up. No witty banter, no funny quip, not even a comment about a villain team up. And as he looked at the Rogues, even with the mask on, they could feel the broken and haunted look hidden behind.
"That bad, huh?" Captain Boomerang remarked from where he was seated on the ground, back against the barricades. For once, there was no snarkiness in his tone.
"Worse," Flash answered hands suddenly balling into fists, and his voice gaining a furious tone that no of them had heard before. Then there was a canteen waving in his face, courtesy of Weather Wizard.
"Sounds like you need it more than I," was the explanation offered to Flash's confused look. Tentatively, and with a bit of suspicion in his eyes, Flash accepted the canteen and took a swig. The sensation of strong alcohol burning down his throat had Flash coughing at first, but then he just chugged down some more before handing it back to Weather Wizard.
"Guys, It's gonna get a lot worse before it gets better, and I… I can't save them all…" Flash admitted, voice growing weak and cracked at the end as the memories of the last few hours came back to him with a vengeance. All the dead, all the mutilated, all the suffering. All under his watch, and he was too slow to save them all.
"Then save what you can, and avenge what you can't," Captain Cold offered. It did little to lift Flash's mood, but he did turn his attention back towards the city.
"It's more than just Central City, more than just America. I can't just…" he could not bring himself to say the last words. He did not need to, they all knew.
"Go, do whatever needs to be done. We'll hold the fort down here," Mirror Master said. In any other circumstance, Flash would have probably been gaping at the notion of the Rogues putting their lives on the line to be heroes. Now, it was all he could do not to kiss the lot of them in gratitude.
"See you lot around then," and then he was gone again, off to do whatever he was supposed to do.
"Right then, folks, no time to waste! Those wackos could be back any second now, and I'd rather not be caught with my pants down!" Captain Boomerang began ordering, and the Rogues went about preparing the defenses for the next assault.
Metropolis was going up in flames, no two ways about it. Despite Superman putting his all into it, there was just too many cultists to deal with. For every one he knocked out, ten more took his place. The current group was just another example of this, blasting away at Superman with their guns as if they genuinely believed that would work against him.
"Give it up, you've got no chance at winning here," Superman ordered as bullets harmlessly bounced off his suit.
"Kill the unbelievers! Burn the blasphemers! Ravage the innocent!" the leader of this group kept screaming, driving his motley band of former gang members and street rats into greater heights of frenzy. They now abandoned their guns and ran at him with knives and crowbars. In any other situation, Superman would have found their dogged determination to be amusing as they started hammering away at him like children trying to topple a skyscraper with sticks. As it was, their refusal to see reason only aggravated him further, as it meant he had to waste more time that could let more innocent people die elsewhere.
"Enough!" he shouted whilst clapping his hands, creating a shockwave that sent the cultists careening through the air in every direction before slamming into the ground. They gave out weak groans, but did not rise again. Except for one kid with a crowbar in hand, even though it looked like he would keel over at any moment.
"Stop this already, you know you can't beat me," Superman said as his eyes began to glow an eerie red. He did not like scaring children, but he did not have the time to play nice here. The kid stood his ground for a few moments, crowbar gripped in both hands and shaking like a leaf, but then the crowbar was dropped from his grip and fell to the ground with an audible clang.
"Go home, kid, and stay there," Superman warned before he took off into the sky again, super hearing leading him to the next band of psychos in need of a beatdown. On and on it went, with no end in sight. Once one gang was dealt with, another would pop up somewhere else. Finally, the noise of battle lead Superman to the once place he really should have expected to be equipped for a siege: LexCorp.
The ground floor had been turned into a veritable fortress. Sandbags, makeshift bunkers and heavy weapon emplacements, with snipers and missile launchers on nearly every floor and enough men and ordnance to level a city block. Luthor did not mess around with security. Good thing for LexCorp's employees too, because the whole building was under siege by a veritable sea of cultists, and these ones were packing more heat than those Superman had been dealing with so far. In fact, unless he was very much mistaken, many of those really high-tech weapons looked like Intergang material. As if they weren't enough of a problem already.
Nevertheless, Superman was not about to sit idly by and let more innocents get hurt, regardless of what his opinion on their employer was. It was over before it had even properly begun. Once Superman got involved, there was little the cultists could do but throw down their arms and flee. Still took them a while to get the hint as Superman plowed through their ranks. But in the end, victory was theirs. However, the second the cultists lost hard and tried to flee, the defenders surged forward.
"Don't let the bastards get away!" the commander shouted as he wildly sprayed with his gun, his soldiers following his lead as they gunned down the fleeing cultists.
"No, stop this!" Superman cried out as he became a blur of blue and red, disarming the startled defenders in the blink of an eye. First to recover was the commander, and he was not amused.
"The fuck to do think you're doing?!" the commander roared as he stomped towards where Superman had dumped all the guns in a pile.
"They're already beaten, there was no need to kill them," Superman argued, and got a trembling finger shoved right in his face by the now livid commander.
"Fuck that shit, you dimwitted alien! Those fuckers you just let get away will be running to fetch their buddies and then come back for another go at us! I know this, 'cause we've already gone through this song and dance three fucking times!" he screamed with such ferocity that spit was flying all over the place, and Superman reeled back as if physically struck.
"Look… I… it-" he fumbled for words before the commander just waved a dismissive hand at him.
"Tell you what, you shitfaced boy scout, why don't you go save a kitty from a tree or help an old lady cross a street, and leave the fighting to real soldiers?" he sneered as he stormed back to the defensive lines, his men boldly marching forward to reclaim their guns. Superman did nothing to stop them this time.
"Oi, asshole!" the commander suddenly called out to Superman, who turned towards him in confusion.
"The boss wants to have a word with you," a single finger was pointed upwards to the top floors of the building, and Superman felt a sense of disgust swell up in him once he realized who the commander must be referring to. Still, this was not the time to be picky, so Superman reluctantly flew to the top of the building. He found the window already open for him and the man in charge waiting for him.
"Superman, always a pleasure," Lex Luthor greeted amicably.
"The feeling is not mutual, Luthor," Superman stated with his arms crossed and a glare directed at his nemesis.
"Really now, must we be at each other's throats now of all times? We do have other things to worry about, after all," Luthor admonished, and it made Superman's fists tighten.
"Don't act like you care about the people getting slaughtered out there," he spat at the millionaire, who did not even bat so much as an eye at the accusation.
"I don't, but I do care about Metropolis. It's my city, Superman. My technology built it, my will keeps it going, and nearly two thirds of its population work for me whether they know it or not. I have never been a saint, and I never will be, but I always protect that which I have a vested interest in," Luthor calmly lectured.
"Until it's no longer profitable for you," Superman pointed out, to which Luthor merely shrugged.
"True, but there's no money to be made in fighting for fanatics and lunatics, so you shouldn't really concern yourself with what I'm up to,"
"Don't try to play the innocent card with me, Luthor! I know you, and I know you're already thinking of ways to profit from all this chaos!" Superman looked ready to deck Luthor then and there, a look that only grew stronger at Luthor's infuriating smirk.
"It's business, Superman, someone will always make a profit at another's expense," and that just served to increase Superman's ire, and could not keep his mouth shut on the matter.
"I'd be careful if I were you, Luthor. With all the chaos going on, you might end up tumbling down a pit even you can't crawl out of," he warned, but Luthor just shook his head like a disappointed teacher trying to teach a particularly thick-headed student.
"Naïve as ever, I see. Chaos isn't a pit, chaos is a ladder," he stated, a smugness overtaking him as Superman fumed at him.
"I'll be keeping an eye on you throughout this," Superman declared.
"And here I'd hoped you would be more reasonable, what with the whole world at stake. Oh well, I suppose this is the closest to a truce that we're ever going to get," Luthor lamented with an overly dramatic sigh.
"Just keep your goons out of my way," Superman said through clenched teeth, right before his enhanced hearing picked up gunfire right below them.
"Trouble?" Luthor asked with a knowing smile, right before Superman took off. On the streets below, another wave of cultists were charging the defenses, no regard given to their own lives as they ran screaming out in the open. The defenders were more than happy to take advantage of this as they mercilessly gunned down anything that so much as moved within their fields of fire.
"Keep pouring, dammit!" the commander yelled as his boys created a carpet of corpses in front of their lines. Then Superman came swooping in again, knocking cultists flat on their backs and causing gales of wind strong enough to knock the defenders over.
"What the fuck?!" someone from the defenders yelled, but Superman cared not as he kept ping ponging between defenders and attackers. No more needs to die here.
"Forward you dogs, to victory!" the cry went up from the cultists, and they surged forward again.
"Look out, here they come!" and the defenders replied in kind as they opened fire with everything they had. It was all Superman could do to keep up with this senseless slaughter, constantly forcing the cultists back while blocking as many of the bullets as possible. But then it happened, a momentary lapse in concentration while dealing with a particularly rowdy band of cultists, and another group slipped past Superman. They were met by unrelenting gunfire that ripped most of them to shreds, but one of them made it all the way through. With a dozen bullet wounds and rapidly bleeding out, this lone cultist leaped over the battlements while pulling the pin on his bomb vest.
The panicked screams alerted Superman of danger afoot, and he was off with the speed of a bullet. Alas, he proved too slow. And in that miniscule instant, that fraction of a second before Superman would have reached him, he got a good look at the suicide bomber's face. That face would be forever burned into his memory. Not only because it was just a little kid, but also because it was a kid he recognized. In fact, he had met that kid just a few hours earlier, a young cultist with nothing but a crowbar that Superman had sent home with a stern warning. And now this very same kid was here, about to blow himself and at least five other people up, all with a joyful smile on his face. Why?
Then there was fire, and noise, and shrapnel, and a sudden shockwave that mildly staggered Superman. Not everyone were as lucky. Those closest simply vanished in a ball of flame, while those further back were flung aside as shrapnel ripped through them and the shockwave turned their insides to mush. All the while, Superman stood unharmed as fire and death splashed harmlessly against his invulnerable form. Barely had the dust settled though before the cultists surged forward again, howling with joy. Superman rushed in to stem the tide again, but the cultists smelled blood in the water and kept on pouring no matter how many he knocked prone.
"We've been overrun!" and now the cultists were clambering over the barricades, heedless of the hundreds of casualties sustained just by getting across the street, and the defenders began to fall back in a panic. All the while, Superman valiantly struggled to beat them back. He had the speed and the strength to end it all in a matter of seconds, but each punch was restrained to prevent a killing blow, forcing him into a slow and grinding slugfest. By now, the cultists had learned their lesson and simply ignored the Man of Steel and tried to run past him. And every time he downed a cultist, he would be forced to move on before properly securing the target. Then, a few minutes later, that cultist would be back on his feet and charging into the fray again.
And while Superman struggled like a lone cup trying to stem a flood, the defenders fought and died, firing until their guns ran dry and then punching until their knuckles turned red with blood. And so the slaughter continued.
"Strange, isn't it? From this far up, the world looks so calm and peaceful. Why, you'd never even suspect that there was a war raging below," Markoth mused as he gazed at the Earth from aboard the Watchtower.
"Indeed, my lord," Azkillon answered from his position behind and to the right of his master.
"Ah, how I long to join the slaughter below, to bathe the world in rivers of blood and crush the so-called heroes under my boot," Markoth continued, as if Azkillon had never spoken in the first place.
"Your time will come, great one. But for now, we must be patient and-"
"I am well aware of this, sorcerer, I do not need your nagging to remind me," Markoth snapped at him, briefly turning to glare at him before returning his focus back to the world below. "Still, I've heard that the enemy is putting up a stiffer fight than originally anticipated, particularly this Light organization,"
"A minor setback, I assure you. The Light has already lost two of its members and the rest will surely follow," Azkillon assured him, but Markoth only scoffed at his words.
"Two of its weakest members, and Klarion still runs free. I would hardly call that a great victory," behind him, Azkillon felt the urge to glare at his master in annoyance, but resisted the temptation to avoid earning his wrath.
"Perhaps, but it is only a temporary matter, my lord. We will soon have dealt with these bothersome pests," he tried to assuage his lord.
"Hmph, I did not rise this far in Lorgar's favor by taking unnecessary chances. No, this matter need to be dealt with right now, and I have the perfect candidates in mind,"
"Command, and I shall obey, my lord," Azkillon included a subservient bow for safety's sake, but Markoth never even looked at him.
"I believe it's time we put those pets of yours to good use. Send them to deal with any persistent nuisances," he declared.
"What about us, my lord?" a third voice joined in the conversation, and both Markoth and Azkillon turned towards its owner. Three others were with them, each marked as a champion of the Gods. The one currently causing the scene bore the marks of a Khornate chmpion.
"For now, you will stay here aboard the Watchtower. Once we have found appropriate targets for you, we will strike," he explained.
"That's not good enough! The Blood God demands skulls, and I will deliver!" the Khornate snarled out as he took a threatening step towards Markoth, who remained completely aloof in the face of the challenge.
"Speak to me with that tone again, Saareban, and it will be your skull that's delivered to his throne," he stated without a shred of doubt. Saareban let out an animalistic growl, but backed down nevertheless.
"Now then, is there anyone else who wishes to raise any objections?" he challenged the remaining champions.
"Your will be done, my lord," the Nurglite wheezed out, barely understandable with all the pus and bile clogging up his throat with every word spoken.
"Always the suck-up, ain't you, Gorm?" the Slaaneshi cackled with a sickening grin on his face.
"Watch your tongue, Kadesh, or I'll tear it out," Gorm spat at Kadesh, whose grin only got wider at that.
"Go ahead and try, old man," he beckoned with a single finger, and Gorm grabbed the heavy bolter hanging from his back.
"Enough, both of you. I will not tolerate any infighting between my subordinates at a time like this," Markoth declared, and both of them instantly backed down while bowing to him.
"Now, you have your orders, carry them out," with a dismissive wave of his hand, Markoth turned his gaze back to the world below, and the champions quickly bowed before withdrawing from his presence.
"You best be careful, Azkillon, you're no longer the most essential part of the mission. Someone might come along and steal your spot now," Kadesh whispered, eyes alight with joyful madness as he licked his lips.
"Careful there, that sounds like a threat to me. One should be careful about speaking threats in the open like that, you never know who might overhear and see you as a threat to be removed," Azkillon coldly replied, but Kadesh just cackled before blowing him a kiss.
"Always the charmer," he cheekily commented before strolling away.
"One of these days," Azkillon muttered before summoning the powers of the Warp and teleporting away, rematerializing in another section of the Watchtower. There, the many heroes and villains recruited over the months awaited him.
"Gather around, my children, we have work to do,"
The streets were littered with bodies, and terrified civilians were fleeing in every direction. Behind them, cackling with malicious glee, were packs of deranged cultists out for blood. Already their assortment of crude weapons were drenched in blood, and a grizzly assortment of skulls and scalps dangled from their belts, and they wanted more.
"You guys disgust me," and then the leader fell over from a shock arrow striking him in the chest, out cold with violent spasm before he even hit the ground. His minions only had time to stare at him in bewilderment for a second or two before a yellow blur was among them, knocking more of them out.
"Unbelievers! Spill their blood for Khorne!" one screamed, right before something fell out of the sky with enough of an impact to kick up a cloud of dust. When it settled, they found Superboy standing with his arms crossed in a small crater of his own making.
"You want a fight? Try me on for size," he challenged, and the cultists happily obliged as they charged him and hacked away at him with everything they had. They might as well have been trying to cut down a mountain for all the good it did them, and Superboy just backhanded the lot of them into unconsciousness, sending broken teeth flying with each blow. More were piling in from the alleys, but they ran headfirst into a smoke bomb. And as they stumbled about coughing, a small shape darted into their midst and starting laying them out.
Gunfire rang out as cultists with machine guns poured everything they had into the melee, felling many of their comrades without any remorse or hesitation. But their true targets proved too fast and nimble as they dodged and weaved into cover. And then the cultists found themselves without weapons, as an invisible force ripped them out of their hands.
"Up there! A xeno witch!" the call went out, and then every cultist was glaring with savage fury at Miss Martian hovering above the battlefield. So blinded by their mindless rage, they did not even noticed Aqualad charging in from the rear until he was in amongst, two water hammers in his grip and smacking the cultists around like ragdolls.
"Watch out, he's got a flamethrower!" Robin called out in warning when he spotted a cultist with said weapon aiming at Aqualad. He tried hurling a few birdarangs at him, but other cultists leaped forward as human shields, taking the blows in their comrade's stead before charging at Robin. The flamethrower meanwhile was bathing the street in fire, roasting his comrades while Aqualad hid behind a shield of water.
"Die, filthy abhuman, die!" the cultist cackled with sadistic joy, until an arrow struck with pinpoint accuracy and severed the fuel line. It took him a few seconds of staring dumbfounded at his weapon before he got the hint, seconds that bought just enough time for Aqualad to close the distance and sock him straight in the jaw.
"Is there no end to them?" Artemis asked from her vantage point as she sniped anyone that looked even vaguely important among the cultists.
"Doesn't look like it," Robin answered, sounding almost nonchalant despite being surrounded by cultists. Not that it did them much good as he kept knocking them out one after the other.
"Man, running out of juice here," Kid Flash commented from where he was now leaning against a wall, out of breath and frantically munching on an energy bar while Superboy acted as a living shield for him.
"We need to finish this, now," Aqualad declared as he ripped open a fire hydrant and summoned forth a wave of water that washed away the cultists. It did little good, as more kept piling in. This had been meant as a quick strike, to ease the pressure on the beleaguered police of Providence due to the absence of other heroes. But now, the Team was bogged down in a vicious urban war of attrition, as every cultist was seemingly converging on their location.
"This getting us nowhere," Superboy growled out, completely unconcerned with the assortment of cultists literally ganging up on him. He just shook them off like they were nothing but pesky fleas.
"Can't stop now, we gotta buy more time for the civilians to be evacuated!" Robin shouted.
"You guys think Krieg's alright? I mean, if we're having trouble here, I'd hate to imagine what a place like Los Angeles has to be like right now," Artemis suddenly questioned. There was no answer to that question for a while.
"He can take care of himself, we need to focus on the here and now," Aqualad eventually declared, and the fighting dragged on.
"For the Dark Gods!" the cultists charged yet again, screaming and chanting to their foul deities. It did them little good as Krieg gunned them all down as he casually walked towards them. More kept coming, and more kept falling until Krieg ran out of ammunition. With practiced ease, he dropped the gun in his hand and drew the fire axe in one hand and the kukri in the other. All the while, he was reciting a prayer.
"Before the swollen gaze of the Dark Eye, do I stand. I hold for He who long ago sacrificed for man," the cultists were picking up speed again, but so was Krieg as he went from walking, to jogging and then to full on sprint.
"I will yield no ground, I shall take no step back. In His name and for His will, I will never surrender," then he ran on top of a wrecked car and leaped over the first rank of cultists to land in their midst.
"Pierce my flesh, break my bones, take my life. These matter not," the axe became a whirlwind of destruction as he swung it back and forth in deadly arcs that sent limbs and heads flying.
"In my sacrifice, ye of the Dark Gods shall know defeat. For even in Death shall we be triumphant in His name," confused cultists tried to turn and face the sudden threat among them, but Krieg plowed straight into them with no regard for personal safety, axe reaping a bloody toll.
"Lo! I have fallen in battle for He and his flock. Prepare my place, O Lord!" suddenly, it was stuck in a particularly stubborn cultist's back, and the rest took their chance. They forgot about the kukri, which hacked and slashed at them with blistering speed.
"I shall stand by thee side until the End Times. Until Thy will be done," a flashbang was suddenly dropped at his feet, and the subsequent bang left the whole lot of them screaming in pain with blinded eyes and bleeding eardrums.
"Take heed, ye who have surrendered to the Darkness. We shall be unbowed and unbroken," Krieg soon had his axe wrenched free, and he just swung it back and forth into the paralyzed masses, tearing through the disoriented cultists with laughable ease.
"For where there is darkness, His light shall shine. And the darkness shall retreat," but more kept on piling in, even was Krieg became drenched in blood as his axe hacked and his kukri slashed.
"We who have bled shall be redeemed. We who have fallen shall be exulted," soon enough, a veritable carpet of bodies lay at Krieg's feet, and he just kept on heaving, never even slowing down as his swings felled one cultist after the other.
"We who have sacrificed shall be rewarded. We who have died shall be avenged," a lucky blow bounced off his shoulder pad, and the kukri found a throat to slash open. A knife got stuck in his kevlar, and a skull was then promptly cracked open like an egg.
"Stand, O warriors of the Emperor! Let no despair fall upon thy blessed hearts!" the kukri ended up buried in a cultist's eye while the axe split a head down the middle, then Krieg had two pistols in hand as he popped off one headshot after the other. One, two, three, four, five. Honestly, he was not even counting as the cultists fell all around him.
"Stand and fight! For it is by thy sacrifice that thee shall be remembered!" one sneaky bugger made it through, but his swing hit naught but air before he fell over choking on blood thanks to a crushed throat.
"By our deeds shall we be known. Let these deeds be a mighty sword from which He who rests upon the Throne shall wield," then the axe and kukri were back in his hands, and he dived right back into the thick of it. Terrified cultists frantically swung their weapons at this unstoppable killing machine, striking their own more than the actual target as he weaved and dodged among them.
"For with mighty deeds shall the darkness be thrown back into the Abyss. And in them will thee prevail," finally, the last cultist fell over with a missing head, leaving Krieg the lone one standing amidst a carpet of corpses. Save for one, that is, that was even now trying to crawl away.
"Take succor in His strength. Steel thy soul with His word. Armor thy personage in faith to He. Arm thy self with His will," with calm, measured steps, Krieg followed after this lone survivor.
"Please, sir, have mercy on me!" the cultist pleaded for his life, and went ignored as Krieg closed in.
"I have a family! I only did this to protect them!" and yet the cultist continued to plead his case.
"Suffer not the Unclean. Suffer not the Impure. Suffer not the Weak. Suffer not the Heretic," Krieg could not have cared less as he placed a boot on the cultist's back to stop him from crawling away. Then he raised the axe high overhead, ready to be brought down like an executioner's blade.
"No, please, I beg you!" the cultist screamed and cried as he flailed about like a worm on a hook.
"Amor Imperator! Fiat Justicia! Go forth in His name and find victory!" then the axe came down, and the cultist screamed no more.
So, as you may have noticed, the fights here are written a bit differently than what I usually do. This is because I was growing tired of my old style. Felt it was overly detailed and tedious to write, so I'm trying out new a new style that is more vague a free-flowing, leaving more of it to the viewer's imagination. Personally, I like this style much more already, but what do you guys think? Is it better? Is it worse? Do I need to refine it in some manner or is it good the way it is?
Also, Saareban, Gorm and Kadesh are OCs provided to me by deathwing17.
