Chapter 37: Chaos Rising pt. V
The hangar was in the bloody grips of anarchy. Corpses were strewn across the floor, the smoking remnants of vehicles lay scattered in burning piles, hordes of Chaos-marked lunatics clashed with squads of furious defenders amidst the wreckage as bullets and curses were hurled back and forth. Where ammunition ran dry, swords and knives were drawn to hack and slash at the enemy in ferocious melee combat. Neither side backing down, neither side offering any quarter. It was a swirling maelstrom of blood and violence that would not cease until one side stood triumphant. And in the midst of all this, standing like the eye of a storm, was Klarion the Witch Boy.
"Oh come oooonnnnnn! Please tell me that at least one in your number can provide more entertainment than this!" he whined, untroubled by the fusillade of gunfire smattering harmlessly against his barrier while red bolts of lightning lashed out, turning anything they so much as touched into piles of ash. But even as Klarion evaporated scores of Chaos cultists, and the occasional ally, both sides kept on piling into each other, and Klarion was quickly growing bored of this.
"Lame," he muttered as a dismissive wave of his hand vaporized scores of friends and foes in a flash of hellish red energy.
"Seriously, I want more fun than this! Squashing bugs is only good to pass the time with for so long!" he continued to whine, prompting his feline familiar to meow at him.
"Yeah, yeah, I know we're supposed to secure the hangar and all that, but can't these losers at least muster something that could be challenging?" Klarion shot back.
"As the saying goes: be careful what you wish for," a sultry female voice commented, right before Klarion's barrier shattered and the Witch Boy went sailing across the hangar with an undignified shriek, a third of his body vaporized. He slammed into the wall with enough force to pulverize mortal beings, but Klarion stumbled back to his feet as if suffering nothing worse than a hangover, his missing body parts already reforming themselves.
"Okay, someone's about to have a very bad day now," Klarion muttered as Teekl reappeared at his side, hissing at the smirking woman sauntering towards them, leaving in her wake a trail of broken bodies and animals in human clothes. It did not take long for Klarion to recognize this particular fellow.
"Circe," he sneered at her, which only made her taunting smirk grow wider.
"Nice to see you again, Klarion. Still slumming it with the mortals?" she inquired.
"Funny accusation, coming from Chaos' newest lapdog," Klarion countered. Though her smile remained in place, her eyes now gained a sharp and deadly look to them.
"Hardly, your former masters are nothing more than a stepping stone for me. I will learn their secrets, then take their power for myself," she haughtily declared, projecting an aura on unshakable confidence. And despite Klarion's best attempts, he could not contain himself and burst out laughing. He laughed and laughed to the point of bending over, and that served to wipe Circe's smirk away.
"Oh man, never took you for a comedian, Circe," Klarion finally managed to get out once the laughter subsided, wiping away some tears of mirth for added effect. Circe was all but fuming at that point.
"Impudent brat. You may have been too weak and cowardly to challenge your masters, but I am not. I will surpass them, and prove myself as the goddess destined to rule all," she spat at him, which only served to make him laugh all the harder.
"Nah, you're nothing but another one of the Gods' stooges, something to amuse themselves with," then suddenly, all traces of humor vanished from Klarion as his once child-like façade warped and twisted into something far more fitting of his true heritage. "In fact, you can consider what I'm about to do to you as a mercy compared to what they will do to you,"
"You can try, deserter," Circe shot back, magical energy crackling around her. Sensing the obvious build-up of destructive magic, both traitors and loyalists silently agreed to a temporary ceasefire as they collectively fled the hangar, lest they end up in the crossfire. And while those two magical creatures squared off, Vandal was kept quite busy by his own opponent. In incredible displays of speed and acrobatics, Scandal kept twisting and turning around every swing of her father, her own claws lashing out to take chunks out of him at every presented opportunity.
"You're wasting your time here, girl," Vandal growled out as the latest batch of wounds closed up.
"Hardly, it's more accurate to say that I'm buying time," she countered while swerving away from another punch that knocked concrete loose from the walls. Except she ended up running straight into a knee that slammed into her chest with such force that ribs shattered and she herself was flung like a ragdoll down the corridor. Barely had her battered body come to a stop before Vandal was upon her, a boot coming down to crush one of her shoulders while a massive fist closed around her head and raising it up just high enough for him to glare into her defiant eyes.
"Disobedience is not tolerated in this family," he snarled before slamming her head into the floor.
"Neither is treason," and then a second time as well, creating cracks in the floor. And finally a third one that sent broken pieces of teeth flying.
"True… enough. But I… have to ask… just… who betrayed who first?" Scandal managed to force out, her scathing glare never once wavering. With an irritated growl, Vandal slammed her up against the wall, knocking what little air was left in her right out before a single fist closed around her throat and squeezed, the other holding her still functional arm at bay.
"A necessary sacrifice for the good of humanity, unlike your childish temper tantrum," Vandal lectured as his grip tightened, leaving Scandal of frantically flail about in his grip like a fish on a hook.
"Fuck… humanity…" was Scandal's answer as her struggles grew weaker and weaker. It caused Vandal to sneer at his failure of a daughter as he leaned in closer.
"And here I thought I had taught you better than that," he commented. But just as he was about to add just the extra needed strength behind his grip, Scandal smiled at him.
"One thing… you taught… me… was… eye for an eye," and then Scandal's free arm, fully healed by now, lashed out with its claws, raking across Vandal's face and plucking out both his eyes. With a grunt of surprise, he stumbled back and his grip lessened, which was all Scandal needed to sever some meaty fingers and slip completely out of his grip. A ceasefire came into effect as both combatants backed off to heal their wounds.
"You can't win here," Vandal stated once his eyesight returned.
"Probably, but I can delay you long enough for the heavy hitters to arrive," a distant boom was then heard echoing down the corridor, the subsequent quake almost knocking both combatants off their feet. "Actually, seems like they've just arrived,"
"You honestly think this will be a victory for you? Do you really think that your new masters will be any better than me?" Vandal questioned, fists raised and ready to resume the fight.
"Don't care. As long as I get to watch you burn in hell, I'll happily pay any price," Scandal declared as she crouched low in preparation for a leap forward.
"What a waste you turned out to be then," Vandal lamented.
"Just like my old man," Scandal shot back, and then they were charging each other again with murder in their eyes.
"Onward, faithful, to gloryAAARGH!" the rest of that sentence vanished in a gurgle of blood, his throat sliced wide open. The Shadow heretics behind him gave a momentary pause at the sight, and that was all the time for their killer to leap into their midst, scimitar turning traitors into corpses with each swing.
"For the Demon's Head!" those still loyal cried out as they surged forward, emboldened by their master cutting his way through the traitors.
"No prisoners, no mercy! Cleanse this stain from our home!" Ra's al Ghul roared, even as he kept driving deeper and deeper into the traitor ranks, his scimitar reaping a bloody toll while the man himself dodged and weaved through every attack sent his way. Traitors armed with modern weapons manned the roofs and balconies above the swirling melee, firing blindly into the mass of bodies below. Friend and foe alike fell to this furious barrage, a small price to pay if it meant bringing down Ra's al Ghul. But the man proved why he was master of the League of Shadows as he moved with near superhuman speed and agility, never letting a single bullet so much as touch him.
Then, those same traitors started tumbling off their perches, bleeding holes in either chests or heads. As Ra's continued carving his way through the traitors, Talia steadily advanced behind him, gun in hand as she picked off the enemy above one after the other with deadly accuracy. Together, father and daughter forced the traitors back, leaving carpets of dead in their way.
"Glory to the Shadows!"
"Death of the traitors!"
"Long live the Demon!"
More and more war cries joined together in a furious chorus as the scattered and confused loyalists united behind their master, hurling themselves into the fray with a fanatical zeal. The eyes of the Demon's Head was upon them, and they would not shame him now of all times. The traitors crumbled like wet paper under this furious onslaught.
"Fall back, brothers! Fall back!" the cry went up, and the traitors fled with all haste. It made Ra's blood boil with rage at the sight.
"After them, let none of these vermin escape!" he roared, already hot on their heels, cutting down anyone too slow to escape him. But the traitors did not get far, for a smaller force of loyalists suddenly burst out straight in their avenue of escape. And at their head, stood an elderly man with scars crisscrossing his muscled physique. The unamused frown he directed at the now very much terrified traitors told everyone that he was not in a fine mood today.
"I very much dislike my lessons to be interrupted by rambunctious hooligans braying for attention," he commented. And then, he was in the traitors' midst, fists and feet striking like sledgehammers, each blow rupturing organs and shattering bones. Confused and terrified, the traitors tried to turn around, to find Ra's al Ghul still carving through the rear lines. The horde promptly fell apart, scattering in every possibly direction, becoming no more than sheep for the slaughter as vengeful loyalists fell upon them. The bloodshed was as brutal as it was swift, and soon only those still loyal to the Shadows still stood.
"It is good to see you still standing, Sensei," Ra's greeted as he cleaned his scimitar.
"Likewise, master," Sensei replied with a respectful bow. "I was in the midst of teaching our latest batch of recruits when these miscreants launched their little revolt. I was quick to teach them the error of their ways," Sensei's proclamation was punctuated by a kick to one of the traitors' corpses littering the field.
"Indeed. Still, the fact that this rot reached so far into our ranks, with all of us none the wiser, is most disconcerting," Ra's commented, brow creased in contemplation as he glared at the carpet of traitors. "And this near suicidal attempt at a coup, it can only be the work of great delusions of victory or supreme confidence of support,"
Sensei looked highly troubled by his master's statement. "Let us pray for the former then. Though of little threat to your position, this uprising has greatly diminished our numbers,"
"Father!" Talia suddenly cut in, distress coloring her tone. "Cheshire just reported in. The traitor Black Spider has drawn the remaining traitor forces around the landing pads, and they've dug themselves in deep,"
Ra's gave his scimitar some experimental swings as he turned back towards Sensei. "Seems like your prayers went unanswered," Sensei just gave a grunt at that.
"Never did place much faith in the divine anyway," soon enough, the group had gathered up the loyalists and led them to the landing pads. Just as they had been told, the traitors had erected a makeshift fortress out of crates and various debris, heavy machineguns aimed at every avenue of entrance and the barricades swarming with traitors. The sight alone of so many traitorous vermin made Ra's taste bile in his throat.
"Your little uprising is over! Give up this folly and lay down your arms! Do so, and I will grant you all a quick and painless death!" Ra's shouted as those still loyal fanned out and surrounded the traitors on all sides. No one answered at first, until two individuals stepped forward. One a lanky fellow in skintight spandex, face obscured behind a mask, while the other was a giant of a man with an equally massive hook for a right hand.
"We no longer answer to you, pretender! We've found a higher calling in life now!" Black Spider shouted back, standing tall in defiance to any snipers out there. Ra's felt tempted to order that very thing, but that would have been too quick for this one.
"A fatal mistake on your part, one that will prove costly for you and your ilk! The Shadows do not forget easily, and we forgive even less!" Ra's retorted. Even with a mask obscuring his whole face, Ra's instantly knew that Black Spider was smiling at him.
"Good thing then that there won't be any Shadows left in a few hours," then they heard it, the telltale noise of helicopters rapidly closing in. And judging by the volume, there were a lot. And they were coming in fast.
"Scatter!" Ra's bellowed, right as the first wave of enemy aircraft soared into view. A haphazard mix of civilian and military helicopters, many with extra weapons strapped on and all bearing the Eight-Pointed Star of Chaos. His loyalists were already obeying orders and basic self-preservation, scattering to all four corners of the wind to find cover. But as the swarm of helicopters aligned themselves above them, Ra's already knew the outcome.
"Rain fire upon the unbelievers! Bathe them in the fury of Chaos!" Black Spider screamed to high heaven, and the helicopters obliged him. A veritable storm of lead and missiles rained down upon Ra's loyalists, shredding those too slow to get into cover and scattering the rest. Ra's was already in motion, retreating back to cover lest he share his servants' fate.
"Bring down those helicopters, or they will be the death of us!" Ra's hollered to be heard over the noise. The Shadows were swift to answer their master's command. Soon enough, heavy ordnance were spat back at the traitors, a barrage of autocannons and rocket launchers swatting many a hovercraft out of the air. But the traitors gave as good as they received, bathing the rooftops and towers in fiery explosions, a wall of lead and death that shielded the traitors below as they abandoned their positions and charged forward with a united roar of hatred.
"Let none escape our fury!" Black Spider shouted, leading his horde of traitors from the very front. Around him, lightly armed helicopters made brief dips to the ground to disgorge their payload of screaming zealots eager for blood before taking to the skies again.
"Blood shall flow on this day! So let our enemies drown in theirs!" Ra's roared, gathering his loyalists around him as he led a counter-charge. Out of the nook and crannies of the fortress they came, the battered survivors still loyal to the Demon. They rallied to their master with hatred in their hearts and charged headlong towards the turncoats and the betrayers.
Onward they both came, both sides hungry for blood and death, while above them the exchange of firepower grew in intensity. And under a burning sky, both sides smashed into each other, ranged combat completely abandoned for the savage fury of melee combat. Slashing, hacking, stabbing, punching, kicking, biting, bludgeoning, any semblance of order fell apart in the maelstrom as the fight devolved into a thousand personal duels. And through this swirling mass of murder, Ra's moved like the keel of ship cutting through the ocean's waves. His scimitar was naught but a blur of silver as anyone that stood in his path with bared steel fell at his feet.
"Black Spider! Come and face me, you faithless cur!" Ra's shouted as he carved his way through the traitors, his face twisted into something befitting of his title. But his rampage came to an end when he became buffeted by strong winds above him. Turning an irritated gaze upwards, he found a helicopter hovering right above him, with a particular passenger peering down at him.
"Katana," he muttered as he beheld the female samurai. As if she had waited for his acknowledgement, Katana now drew her blade and leaped out of her transport. She came down with an overhead strike aimed to cleave Ra's in two, a blow his scimitar intercepted in a shower of sparks. Then Katana broke loose of the deadlock and came at him with a right thrust that was barely avoid before it suddenly turned into a slash that left a red line across Ra's chest.
The pain barely registered to Ra's as his scimitar battered aside the blade as a boot slammed into Katana's chest and sent her sliding back. Then he was upon her again, coming at her with a decapitating strike that was dodged before sidestepping a thrust aimed to skewer him through the bowels. His scimitar came down to sever the outstretched arm, hitting naught but air as Katana twirled aside and came at him with another thrust that was batted away. His own thrust was blocked as well before he parried a slash aimed at his face and sidestepped another swing. Again and again, sparks flew as their blades danced between them. Then, both combatants broke off and then came back at each other in a frontal attack. Blades now locked together, they stood facing each other with only naked steel separating them, stuck in a test of strength and endurance as they pushed against one another. If Ra's expected the edge here, he was sorely mistaken as Katana effortlessly stood her ground.
"Stronger than expected," Ra's gritted out as he glared down at the stoic woman.
"Chaos rewards their servants," she stated as she put more strength behind her push. It took all of Ra's efforts to not be pushed back.
"Why even fight for them? Why align yourself with a faction so anathema to what you used to stand for?" Ra's found himself asking.
"If half the things I've heard of you is true, then it is a reason that you would never comprehend," Katana answered.
"And if half the things I've heard about Chaos is true, then it is a reason that will not be worth the prize," Ra's retorted as he felt his boots slowly sliding backwards.
"I believe that's a sentiment that most of Earth's population would share when concerning your previous actions," Katana shot back, muscles visibly bulging under her clothes as she forced Ra's back inch by inch.
"That's a sentiment that all of Earth's population will not even be able to have if your new masters win," Ra's countered, straining with all his might to hold his ground. It yielded little result.
"Lectured by an assassin, strange times we live in," Katana idly commented as she forced Ra's another step back.
"Arguing with a madwoman, it truly is," and then suddenly Ra's sidestepped, coming but a hair's breath away from being cleaved in two as Katana's blade rushed forward with nothing holding it back. But he timed it well enough, and for a few precious second, Katana was overextended with her side completely open to Ra's. The scimitar was instantly in motion, finding a weak point in the armor and digging deep into soft flesh. Then Katana's sword was coming for him again, and Ra's broke off, ready to receive her again. But rather than continue the onslaught, Katana just stood there, idly poking her wound even as blood freely flowed out.
"Strange, I hardly even feel it," she remarked as the blood flow suddenly ceased. She gave a few experimental swings, made a few stretches, and she gave no indication at being affected by the wound. What an annoyance.
"Now, where were we?" Katana inquired, right before leaping at Ra's again, who gritted his teeth and raised his scimitar.
BANG! And there went another lunatic with a bullet hole straight through her skull, joining the myriad others covering the floor. Two more soon followed her lead, their bodies a head shorter courtesy of a blood-drenched sword wielded by an irate killer.
"Think that's the last of them?" Ravager asked. Behind her, some pathetic mewling for mercy were cut short by the sound of delicate bones breaking.
"I believe so," Deathstroke answered as he threw his latest kill away like unwanted garbage. "Still, that only leaves us as the last ones standing in this base. No point holding it then, especially if enemy reinforcements are on the way,"
"Getting cold feet, old timer?" Ravager teased as she cleaned off her blades, receiving a sidelong glance in her direction.
"Hardly a point to defend something of no value to us or our employers, and this base lost all value the instant it became compromised," he pointed out, to which Ravager simply shrugged her shoulders.
"Point taken," she admitted. Then Deathstroke began striding down the corridor, Ravager following close behind.
"To the communication center, then?" she inquired along the way, but received no answer in return. There was little reason to anyway, as they soon enough arrived at the aforementioned destination. Barely had Deathstroke set one foot inside before diving back out again, hounded by a barrage of bullets every second until he got into cover.
"I think you missed one earlier," Ravager snidely commented, to which Deathstroke only gave a grunt.
"You still have any ammo left?" he asked.
"Always," Ravager smiled as she brandished her gun.
"Then get ready," then Deathstroke drew a flashbang from his belt, pulled the pin, and then lobbed it through the door. There was a bang, followed by a scream, and then father and daughter were barging straight through the door guns blazing. It was over in just a few heartbeats, with the enemy dead in pools of their own blood. But even then, the duo had been too slow.
"Damn," Deathstroke was not a happy man as he inspected the absolutely wrecked equipment. Everything of value, smashed and crushed beyond the point of salvation.
"Guess they really didn't want us getting in touch with the higher ups," Ravager remarked as she idly poked on a trashed computer.
"So it would seem," Deathstroke's growling tone told her all she needed to know about his current mindset.
"No point hanging around here then. Let's just hope something in the hangar still works, or it's gonna be a long walk," Ravager commented as she casually strolled out of the room, Deathstroke following close behind.
"We'll head back to the States for this. The concentration of heroes there will surely have taken some of the pressure off," Deathstroke announced, earning an unconcerned shrug from Ravager.
"Whatever you say," she said, before a grin began growing on her face. "But I'm calling dibs on travelling to Los Angeles," the look she got in return was well worth it in her book.
"Just don't let your hormones get the better of you," he warned. She adopted the most innocent look she could muster in return.
"Who, me?" but Deathstroke was already striding ahead of her, not deigning her with a response.
"Days like these really makes me wish the Light had more youths beyond me and Icicle Jr.," she muttered as she followed.
"Get those damn trucks moving! Penguin is pushing hard on the left flank, and they'll need all the muscle we can send!" the youth shouted at a group of trucks packed full with ammunition and fighters, his orders being obeyed without question. Around him, cultists rushed back and forth trying to fulfill his many orders.
"And why the fuck are those bazookas still here?! Our boys downtown need them to blast through Gordon's line!" to have this much power should have excited him, made him feel powerful and important in the world. Feelings he never got in any of his old work. Feelings that had lured him into the embrace of the true Gods in the first place. Feelings that he knew would be needed to change the world for the better.
"You lot, get down to the docks and find out what's taking so damn long! The fuckers down there were supposed to smash through Black Mask and flank around Gordon!" but now, he felt none of it, only fear and frustration. This was supposed to be his moment, his ascension to the higher echelons, his chance to prove that he was worth more than these faceless goons. If only he could reach that high, he could finally begin on his true work.
"What's the status of the hospital? I wanted that place under our thumb an hour ago!" instead, it turned into one giant disaster. A quick and easy victory became bogged down by downright fanatical resistance and was now a fucking war of attrition. One his army could afford, but not his reputation. Each hour wasted fighting saw another piece of his dream wither away.
"Anyone got word of the Falcones? The last thing I need is those bastard sneaking up to give me an assfucking while I bulldoze the competition!" with the benefit of hindsight, maybe he should have seen this coming. This was Gotham, after all, home to more psychopaths and killers than any other rotten cesspool in the States. It was a tough environment that bred tough inhabitants.
"And someone please tell me we got eye on the fucking Bat!" none of which served as any comfort for him as he tried to salvage this mess and produce worthwhile results for his masters. Xuasus, your sacrifice will not be in vain, I will not let it be in vain.
"Quite a messy situation, wouldn't you agree?" a new voice suddenly cut in, and when he spun around to face it, his day went from bad to worse.
"Lord Anarky, an honor to have you here," he said with a quick bow of subservience.
"It take it you are in command here?" Anarky inquired, completely ignoring the bow as he surveyed his surroundings.
"As close as you can get. No true command structure was established in the field, and most of our followers are only interested in loot and vengeance. It leaves much to be desired in discipline," he explained as he struggled to keep his bitterness in check.
"Indeed, such is the tragedy when you rely on unruly mobs to do the work of soldiers," Anarky lamented, and he quickly found the need to defend himself and his fighters.
"With all due respect, we've done the best that we can. We have the numbers and the will to keep going, but the enemy has the firepower. The big criminals have all rallied against us, and we're close to getting sandwiched between them and the GCPD," he argued as he trailed behind Anarky, who had begun to leisurely walk through the impromptu base.
"I understand the situation perfectly, and I commend you for keeping up the pressure for so long. In fact, that's why I'm here. I'll be taking command of our forces in Gotham and get this circus in order," Anarky explained. It sounded like the death knell of his dreams. His chance to prove his worth gone, and with it the chance to achieve his goals.
"I… understand, my lord. I'll inform the others of this change," he managed to force out as he turned to depart.
"Not so fast there, young man. You've shown some actual promise keeping it all together for this long, and I could use someone like you," Anarky's words halted him in his tracks, hope resurging in him.
"Of- of course, I live to serve," he assured with another bow, which brought out a small chuckle from Anarky.
"Such enthusiasm. Keep that up, and you'll go far. Now come along, there's much work to be done," Anarky's announcement, coupled with his rapid footsteps, had him scrambling to keep up with his new master.
"Oh, by the way, what's your name?" Anarky suddenly inquired, and he straightened p as he answered.
"Lonnie Machin, my lord," hope restored, Lonnie felt extremely confident as he marched after Anarky. This world is rotten, corrupt, dying. But now, now I can save it. I can make a true difference.
In record time, the officer corps of the Atlantean army had assembled at their king's command. The army would still take a few days, but that gave the leaders time to plan their operations in detail. Though so far, it was only vague outlines of general areas to focus the military, and many a voice was still raised in protest over this or that which did not fit a particular general's ideas. All in all, a chaotic planning, but still on track and getting work done. Which was why general Jaruk did not see a great need to add his voice to the noise surrounding the king.
A man of middling skill, with no greater ambitions than his family and villa, Jaruk was the kind of commander that rarely came up with plans and instead carried out the plans of others. He fully expected to be subordinated to a more competent peer, probably command a flank or maybe the vanguard, and so his ideas would not add much at this stage. So he just hung back and allowed his betters to plan the grand sweeping strategies, patiently waiting for when they found him a cozy little spot in the coming war. It was this that made him the only one aware of the guard entering the hall and approaching him.
"My lord, your wife needs to speak with you, it's apparently an urgent matter," the guard explained with a hushed tone so as not to disturb the gathering. Jaruk felt his face twist into a scowl.
"She specify what exactly?" he asked, but already knew the answer.
"I'm afraid not, my lord," the guard answered. Typical.
"Infernal woman," he grumbled under his breath before turning to the guard. "Very well, lead the way," with a quick salute the guard did just that, leading Jaruk out of the hall and down the winding corridors of the capital. It took a while, but soon Jaruk began to notice where exactly the guard was leading him.
"Awfully strange for my wife to meet me this close to the dungeons," he observed, suspicion beginning to creep in. Orin's reign had by and large been a peaceful and prosperous reign, so the dungeons had seen very little use compared to his predecessors. This left them with very few guards and no servants in sight. A place more suited for secret meetings these days than a spat between bitter lovers.
"She would not explain herself to me, my lord, and it is not my place to question her," the guard answered, and it sounded like a fair assessment to Jaruk. His wife was notoriously pompous and arrogant, her attitude frozen in the old feudal times. But still…
"Then please be kind enough to fetch her for me. I'll wait for her right here," Jaruk proclaimed as he came to a complete stop. He had never been an ambitious man nor a particularly clever one, but he could see that something was not completely right here. The guard in turn made an obvious sweep of the hallway to confirm if they were alone, an action that had Jaruk already laying a hand on the pommel of his sword.
"I suppose this will have to do then," the guard announced, and Jaruk drew his sword for combat. Only for the sword to be yanked out of his hands by an invisible force, which then snared around and slammed him into the wall. No, not an invisible force, but the water. The water itself was somehow alive and attacking him!
"HE-" Jaruk tried to shout, but his mouth was sealed shout by a piece of water that solidified into something much sturdier.
"Hold him still," the guard instructed before swimming over and looking deep into Jaruk's eyes, and why did this eyes look so weird? He got his answer to that question when the ethereal image of a human emerged from the guard and rushed straight towards him. Jaruk only had enough time to widen his eyes in panic before it flowed into him, and his struggles instantly ceased. The water surrounding him withdrew, but he made no attempts to flee. The guard meanwhile was shaking his head groggily as he stared around with bleary eyes.
"What… where am I…?" the guard asked, right before a sliver of water solidified into sharpened steel and sliced his head clean off.
"Could have just broken his neck, you know, rather than leave a blood trail to follow," Jaruk idly commented, stretching his limbs as if trying to get used to them anew. That was when the water solidified itself into a single humanoid mass.
"Don't worry about that, I can easily clean it up," Metamorpho assured, to which Jaruk shrugged his shoulders.
"If you say so. Just be sure to not leave anything behind, the last thing we need is for the Atlanteans to suspect an infiltration of the capital city," he explained.
"Yeah, yeah, I know what's at stake here. You just focus in getting as much Intel as you can, I'll take care of the rest," there was a moment of silence, and then Jaruk nodded in acceptance.
"Very well. Take care then, Metamorpho," he said, and Metamorpho gave him a lopsided smile in return.
"You too, Jericho," and then the two of them parted ways, Jericho guiding Jaruk's body back to the meeting, and Metamorpho dissolving into water again as he began working on disposing of the evidence.
"Well, that could have gone better," Raven mused, left hand encased in a pale white light as it was pressed against a bleeding wound on her right arm.
"You carry great power within from which you take pride, but it has bred an arrogance for which you almost died," Etrigan lectured from where he crouched next to her.
"A minor slip in concentration, nothing more. Besides, I've not stooped so low yet as to be lectured about arrogance by a demon from hell," she snarked at him, but Etrigan hardly even seemed like he cared about what she thought.
"Take my words as an offer of aid, for it would be a travesty if you fell to anything else but my blade," he explained, and Raven huffed at his words.
"Gee, I get all warm and fuzzy on the inside from your comforting words," she deadpanned before lowering her hand, the cut on her arm now gone with only torn clothes and bloodstains to mark its previous existence. "Now change back to Blood, I need to speak with him," the look she received at that was less than friendly.
"To give an order to me is bold, when I can match your strength by tenfold," Etrigan warned. A pebble bounced off his nose in return.
"If you're quite done being all macho here, I need to speak with Blood about an urgent matter. Besides, you're unlikely to find more stuff to kill for quite a while," Raven stated. A low growl and tensed muscles gave the indication of imminent violence from Etrigan, and though she remained unmoving from where she leaned against the wall, Raven's power began flaring around her in warning. But then, with an annoyed grunt, Etrigan relented.
"Gone now, O Etrigan. And rise once more the form of man!" with the rhyme spoken, hellish flames engulfed the hulking demon. And when they dispersed, Jason Blood stood in its place.
"So, you are still alive, girl. Though I have to say, you couldn't find a better spot to have this conversation?" he inquired with a wrinkled nose, disapproving eyes taking in the sewers they were currently taking shelter in.
"Not much of a choice in the matter, I'm afraid. The surface is a never-ending battlefield at the moment," Raven explained.
"So why aren't we up there fighting the good fight?" Jason's question had Raven let out a tired sight as she rubbed her sore wrists.
"Because we're trying to dig a trench with a teaspoon. Those cultists we've been butchering are nothing more than pawns, mindless fodder thrown into the meat grinder by the real enemy, and every minute wasted fighting the hordes is another they have to work unopposed," she answered, voice cold and detached even as she could feel the pain and anguish above her. I'm sorry.
"So we're going for the head instead, letting the hordes run rampant in the meantime?" there was no true accusation in his words, no anger or disgust, there was only a casual observation. It still felt like a stab straight to her heart.
"You got any better suggestion?" she snapped at him with more heat than she intended.
"None. It is cruel, but is necessary against what we face," Jason assured her. It did little to comfort her, even as her face remained as aloof as always.
"Then we just need to find our targets and strike," she stated, and he nodded in agreement.
"Indeed. Luckily, I know a few spells that can help us here," then, he paused, and what could almost be described as sympathy appeared on his face. "There will be far more bloodshed though before it's over, as we'll leave the people defenseless. I hope you can live with that,"
For a moment, Raven felt like she would not be able to do that. With her empathic powers, she felt it all around. Pain, anger, agony, sorrow, hatred, despair, all these and many swirling like a maelstrom of murder and debauchery. She felt it all, and yet she knew that she could do nothing about it. But amidst it all, she felt one other thing. A sparkling ember of iron hard will and determination, shining like a beacon of defiance against the darkness. Though small and alone in a sea of depravity, this one ember refused to be extinguished, and it brought a smile to Raven's face.
"I wouldn't worry too much about them, they've got someone else looking after them," she answered, to the confusion of her companion. Steel yourself, girl. He would never give up, and neither can you.
Young Brandon was a nobody. Ten years of age, parents long since gone and family unknown, he had spent years alone and forgotten in the orphanages, ignored like unwanted garbage. None had cared for him, none had shown him more than contempt for existing, and none had tried to help him. Then the strangers came, kind and generous. They brought sweets, food, games and toys, and they told of places where they could find more, but warned that we could never return to the orphanage if we went. For Brandon and others like him, it had not been a hard choice. In the dead of night, they had slipped away and entered a new world.
It was everything they had been promised and more. In these secret covens, they found friendship and camaraderie, were treated as real people. There was food aplenty, there were more games than anyone of them had ever seen, they even got some pocket change to spend whoever they wished. Sure, there were some strange things involved as well. Like the weird sermons they had to attend that involved a bunch of symbols that gave him a headache and plenty of big words that he did not understand, or the occasional errand they had to run like spying on grown-ups or sneak packages past cops. But all in all, life was perfect.
Ten hours ago, all of that changed. They day started as any other, with Brandon and his friends playing another shooter game with a bag of chips passed around. Then the grown-ups had burst in with sacks full of guns. No explanation was given, no reassuring words or warnings of what was to come, just a bunch of screaming about getting up and doing their duty. Then they all were given a weapon and a single command.
Kill.
Brandon had been terrified as he and friends had been herded out of their lair and thrown into a mob of screaming lunatics, then they had been unleashed upon the city. The previous warmth and camaraderie that these people had given to Brandon were washed away in the blood of the countless innocent he had been forced to watch being torn to pieces by those he had once called kind. He had screamed and cried at the horror, but those he had once thought cared about him simply told him to get to work or he would share the unbelievers' fates.
By some cruel chance of fate, Brandon managed to avoid having to stain his own hands with blood, he just needed to learn to be silent and the grown-ups ignored him as they ravaged and tormented those not sworn to their depraved cause. But as he followed behind the insane horde, too afraid of what would happen should he attempt to run, he was forced to watch one atrocity after the other, each one eating away at his consciousness and very sanity. And with each innocent butchered in the name of cruel and fickle Gods, Brandon felt that judgment would catch up with them all.
And now, judgment had done just that. Swooping down from the roofs above, axe in hand and with the face of death itself, Brandon's former friends had stood no chance. Their savage fury had crashed against silent condemnation, and they had broken against this lone executioner. In the face of this butchery, their courage abandoned them, and the survivors fled in terror. Though Brandon felt that they had finally gotten what they justly deserved, he too was gripped in fear of this silent reaper, and he too fled in fear. But this did little to stop the killing, as their executioner stalked after them. One by one, he picked them all off, until only Brandon still breathed.
Now he was fleeing down the alleys in terror, feeling more than hearing that death was still following him. In a panic, he ran into an apartment complex, desperately taking the stairs two at a time. He ran down corridor after corridor, trying to throw off his pursuer. Finally, he hurled himself into an empty room, slammed the door shut and crawled into a closet. Deeply buried beneath piles of clothes, biting his own tongue as he tried to hold his breath, young Brandon waited in terror.
Then he heard it, footsteps in the distance, slowly drawing close. There was no hurry to these footsteps, no sound of running, just a calm and sedated pace that slowly but inevitably drew closer to the room he hid in. Finally, the footsteps were just outside the door, and then they stopped. It took all of Brandon's self-control not to whimper as a single eye peeked out of the closet to stare in fright at the still closed door. More silence, and Brandon's heartbeat skyrocketed.
Then, the footsteps began again, walking on further down the corridor. With baited breath, Brandon waited as the noise grew fainter and fainter. Finally, when it grew quiet again, Brandon dared to breathe again as he hesitantly crawled out of the closet. Peeking out of the room, he could see no one in sight, so he slowly tiptoed his way back the way he had come from. And which each unopposed step taken, the easier it became as his fear slowly drained away. Finally, when he stepped back out on the street, Brandon felt hope within himself again. That was when a shadow fell over him, quickly followed by something smashing into his back with enough force to launch him straight into the wall.
Barely had he touched the ground before a steel-tipped boot slammed into his stomach with enough force to knock the air out of him. It would have been enough to make him empty his stomach as well, but he had done that hours ago already. Then a gloved fist closed around his throat and he was hoisted back on his feet, where he came face to face with death itself.
"Did you think you could run from me?" the creature in a greatcoat and with a skull for a face snarled as it slammed Brandon against the wall, hand tightening around his throat. "There is no escape for your kind now,"
"M-mercy… p-p-pl-plea-se! I… I ne… never ki… k-killed anyone!" Brandon pleaded as he fervently clawed at the hand that was slowly strangling him. A growl came from the creature before a fist slammed into his face with enough force that his vision started spinning and he tasted blood in his mouth.
"Silence, heretic. Your lies and excuses will not save you now," Death declared as he released its hold on Brandon to grab something else. Sobbing uncontrollably, and with nearly every part hurting, Brandon futilely tried to crawl away.
"I don't wanna die, I don't wanna die, I don't wanna die," he babbled as he crawled on. He never got far before a boot came down on his hand. He screamed as his fingers were crushed under the blow, and he wailed as the boot grinded into the broken mess. Then the hand was back around his throat, hoisting him back up with his back to the wall again.
"Please… I don't wanna die…" he tried one last time. The barrel of a sawed off shotgun was shoved into his mouth in response.
"Then you should have considered that before betraying humanity," Krieg announced without an ounce of mercy, and then he pulled the trigger. The back of the heretic's head exploded, spraying the wall behind with his brain matter. And with the deed done, Krieg hurled the body aside like the unwanted garbage that it was as his eyes were drawn to the horizon as the last rays of light vanished behind it.
"Day 1 over. More to come now," Krieg stated as he walked on down the alley, on the hunt for more heretics.
