Path of The Maniac

Warning: This chapter is rated 'D' for Deadpool-ism. Expect more crack out of this character than any others.

"And in the end…killing is all that matters." – A Harbinger.

There comes a time in most people's life, when they are surrounded by insurmountable odds, and still remain defiant until their last breath, even if the outcome had already been decided. For a certain redhead, this was still not that day.

Despite being bound in steel handcuffs, chains and even a muzzle over his mouth, Mason would still be able to bring the roof down on everyone in the compound he was in if he wanted to. Unfortunately, the men that had imprisoned him had kept his weapons somewhere else, and Mason was too lazy to give a shit.

He wore brown leather armour and paddings lined with lead, with rubber boots and a pair of blood-stained fingerless gloves to cover his pasty-white skin. His hair was a frizzy afro that stood almost two feet in height, but was too heavy for its own weight and sagged.

They were walking along a white-washed concrete hallway-with lights embedded into the walls themselves-that was at least twelve storeys below sea level, with at least ten dozen armed guards between him and the only exit to the base.

That's what I get for infiltrating their maximum-security underground lizard base, I guess.

They all wore the same exact grey and white body armour and carried the same exact laser rifles and sidearms. These fucking noobs spammers, using the same damn weapons.

When they reached the end of the really boring and dull hallway, they entered a large hexagonal chamber with bright flare lights shining down from the ceiling which was at least ten metres high. At the opposite end of the chamber was another door where several more armed men were pointing their guns at Mason, while a man clad in grey robes wearing a smooth, polished helmet stood in the centre of the chamber. The helmets itself was also quite boring and… clean. No blood, no blast marks…nothing? Booriinngg

Squinting at the reflective glare of the helmet, Mason could clearly see a white triangle stretching all along the fishbowl of a helmet. Illuminati confirmed.

Mason's focus on the helmet was broken, but that kind of thing happens when you're shoved to the floor on your elbows. The cloaked and helmeted figure approached his prostrated form and kneeled on one leg to get a better angle.

"Look how big you've grown, little cub." It said in a very robotic voice.

"Do I know you, faggot?" Mason asked, receiving a bash over the head by one of the guards.

The figure then rose to his feet and began pacing around Mason. "I wouldn't have expected you to, but I remember you." He then leaned closer to whisper something into Mason's ear. "I remember what your parents and your clan did. Not just to us, but to the world." He paused to chuckle to himself. "I especially remembered their last screams before they died."

Mason merely shrugged. "Eh, noobs get rekt."

"So I've heard." He said as he slowly paced in a semi –circle until he was standing in front of the downed redhead. "Yet here you kneel, in one of our greatest strongholds." He said, raising his arms to either side. "No one has gotten as far as you before, but you will face the judgement of the United Coalition just like every other before you."

After that, the sound of speakers coming to life rang out through the hexagonal, whitewash chamber. "M…Mason Mars," the masculine voice on the other end of the channel was able to get out between static. "-you stand accused of the crimes of man slaughter, attempted regicide, mass murder, arson, terrorism, attempted destruction of an entire town-"

"Successful destruction of an entire town's population." Mason corrected.

A feminine voice chuckled over the speakers overhead. "No, attempted. You missed a couple of people."

"Dammit!" Mason shouted, getting another bash over his head.

"-crimes against the Coalition, cannibalism, attempted genocide, torture, inhumane assault and desecration of the dead." The male voice continued and finished.

"How do you plead?" the helmeted figure asked as he lifted Mason's face by his chin.

"I'd ten out of ten tap that corpse again." He said with a cocky grin, causing Mr Illuminati to lash out and slap him across the face.

"Patience, Phillips." The male voice over the intercom said calmly. "If the accused has nothing to say in his defence, then the final decision is ours." There was a pause as some of the flare lights in the chamber began to switch off, leaving only the central light to focus on Mason and the figure known as Phillips. "We have found the accused to be guilty. The punishment is to be death by Grimm."

At the decree, several of the grey guards began to slowly back out of the room through the two chamber entrances. Three by three they slowly left the room until Mason, Phillips, and two other guards were the only ones left. It was then that Phillips mechanically reached into his robes and pulled out a pair of weapons.

One was a war axe with a brown, rusted hilt and silver blades, with the fore blade being larger and longer than the hind one, with a curved design like a straight hook. The other weapon was a shortsword with a brown wood and leather hilt with a crimson-red blade. Both weapons bore the symbol of a horned skull with large fangs where the blades met the hilt. "These are the symbols of your God, am I correct?" Phillips asked as he held the symbols close to Mason's face.

There are my babies. "Why don't yo me and find out, scrub?" Mason taunted as Phillips adjusted the grip on the shortsword like he was going to plunge it into the redhead, but instead stabbed the sword into the ground near him, lodging it in place with inhuman strength.

"Today, your Evil God dies with you." He said as he threw the axe in a horizontal swipe, lodging it into one side of the six-sided chamber. After that, Phillips gestured for his two escorts to follow out of the chamber. That left Mason alone, hands bound behind his back with a muzzle over his face, left to die as the walls around him slowly retracted to reveal several sets of glowing red eyes.

Or…y'know. So they thought.

As the first Beowulf jumped forward to tear Mason apart, he stood up and turned his back to it while raising his hands to where the swipe was going to land.

As it would be, the Beowulf's leap attack placed just a few centimetres from the centre of the heavy shackles that bound him, catching him in the upper wrist slightly.

With his hands now free, he reached for his shortsword, Fuil, with his left hand while reaching for the muzzle over his mouth with his right. As he did so, he span in a clockwise motion on one foot so that by the time the muzzle was removed and the sword was dislodged, Mason was in the perfect position to stab his sword straight through the Beowulf's lower jaw. The end of the sword jutted out from the top of the creatures head as Mason kicked the corpse off his weapon and examined the surroundings.

Even in the limited light, he could still clearly see all the 'casual' Grimm surrounding him. "Let's get some dubstep in here!" he shouted as he transformed Fuil with the flick of his wrist into a heavy slug pistol, the blade folding in on itself while the hilt segmented and bent to form the handle. He aimed it at the last remaining flare light and pulled on the trigger, but nothing happened.

He tried again as the Grimm continued to circle around him, before he realised that the Illuminati had taken all of the ammo out of his gun.

"Fine. Close quarter quick-scoping it is." He grumbled as he transformed the slug pistol back into a shortsword and swung it at a Creep who had the balls to try to attack him while he was getting his MLG on.

From that point, he focussed all of his energy into becoming a whirlwind of death as he made his way to his axe, Bas. When he was close enough, he grabbed the handle of the axe with his right hand while driving the Fuil into the throat of another Beowulf that got too close. He was about to yank the axe out and deal a brutal finishing decapitation, but found that the blade was lodged deeper than he originally thought.

After several failed attempts, he eventually had to use both hands and brace one foot against the wall to dislodge it, completely forgetting about his shortsword as the Grimm it was lodged in tumbled to the ground in a dead heap.

Fortunately, the force he used to pull out the axe was enough to throw him back into an Ursa. He tumbled backwards in a spin, but it worked to his advantage as he hooked the blade of Bas around the Ursa's neck.

The large Ursa tried to throw Mason off its back several times as he pulled back harder on the blade, breaking the tough skin of its neck. In a last ditch attempt, the Ursa made a charge for one of the doors to the chamber (as the walls had retracted) and tried to shake him off with the force of the impact.

All it did, however, was leave a dent in the door and gave Mason the backward-force necessary to drag the blade straight through the creature's neck. Thrown back once again, Mason got an idea from it as he found and reclaimed his shortsword.

As soon as he got back to his feet, he ducked, weaved and hacked his way to the nearest Ursa. He approached it slowly, waiting for it to strike first.

"Come on. Attack already so I can kill you!" he muttered to himself as he stared it down while using his peripheral vision to bat away several Creeps. The Ursa let out a loud roar as it raised a paw to crush him, only for Mason to dodge the heavy attack and climb up the paw to mount the Ursa. Stabbing Fuil into its back while digging Bas into it's shoulder, he directed it towards the door and spurred it as if it were a horse.

"Giddy up!" he cheered as it stumbled forward rather fast towards the door from the pain. He then braced himself for what was to come next, as more Beowulves jumped on the Ursa as well to try to kill Mason.

The Ursa tackled straight into the door, but it only served to make a larger dent and throw the Beowulves off its back. Mason yanked back on the sword, causing it to jolt backwards before pushing the sword forwards and forcing it into the door again and again long after the mask protecting its face had shattered.

"Come. On. You. Son. Of. A. B-" suddenly, the metal bent outwards and both Mason and the Ursa were thrown out into another whitewash hallway. However, this time the guards were ready and had their weapons trained right where Mason was still mounted to the downed Ursa.

"Open fire!" Phillips shouted from behind them as they let loose a spray of bullets. The issue was that they had to target the Grimm while also targeting Mason, giving the redhead more than enough time to dislodge his weapons from the disintegrating corpse and deflect several shots while just absorbing the others as well as move to the side to let the Grimm spill through.

A thick smokescreen had formed because of all the Grimm dying around him as well as the evaporating metal around him the shots that missed him and hit the walls and floor. Then, suddenly, the shooting stopped and the Grimm had all died. All that could be heard was the near-soundless smoke drifting up into the air.

Big mistake, scrubs. Mason thought as he charged forward with a burst of speed towards the enemies, a sickening war cry leaving his lips as he did. They immediately resumed fire on his form as he plummeted towards them.

In the span of two seconds, he was able to clear the distance to the lines of guards and tackled the closest one he could to the ground. As soon as he knew where the ground was, he got up to straddle the man and began carving a niche out of his chest with Baz. He then got back to his feet as one of them tried to bring a machete down on his head, blocking it easily with Fuil. He then used the opening to drive his war axe into the man…sorry, woman's chest twice, only breaking through the Aura after the second swipe.

Mason felt his semblance activating, as a blood red glow began to surround him. He yanked Bas out of the woman, as he swung it around with into a soldier's neck like a flash of lightning. The glow became brighter as he threw Fuil behind him, straight into a soldier's kidney before kicking him in the groin, propelling him into the air where Mason pulled Fuil out of him, in midair, bringing the blade down and up. One of the other guards clutched his throat as time seemed to have paused and now resumed for him, helpless as he slowly bled out from the large vertical slash along his throat. Mason's semblance went into overdrive, all the blood fuelling his hunger for more. As the Bloodfuel set in, his vision darkened, and the blood red glow increased, so much so that it almost looked like he was sweating blood. Although, that maay have just been from all the dismembered body parts as the Bloodfuel made him strike incredibly fast, almost leaving afterimages of himself as he went from one guard to the next. None of them even had the chance to cry out in pain.

Not that it would have mattered.

Within just half a minute, the whole contingent of guards were officially and quite permanently…reassigned to dismembered limbs and pools of blood. Mason leant down and deeply inhaled the blood from a vertical slash along a neck that was attached to a face with an expression of abject fear and bewilderment.

Licking his lips, Mason stared down Phillips, who hadn't done anything the entire time and was now walking away down the hallways.

Mason charged to follow, but a pair of rockets that had come from the end of the hallway stopped him as he was thrown off his feet by the explosions. Sitting up, he saw two guards carrying double-barrelled rocket launcher walking past the robbed figure and taking up places on either side of the hallway, followed closely by two more battalions.

Mason had to move quickly to loot one of the corpses around him for a magazine that he slipped into the hilt of Fuil, transforming it into its slug pistol form. Although the shots weren't as large as normal, they would suffice as the two guards fired off another salvo of rockets.

Twirling the gun in his hand for dramatic effect, he fired two shots at either rocket, destroying them mid-flight. "Bam! Twenty points!" he said as he took aim and fired at either guard, knocking them to the ground. The redhead then took advantage of their downed forms and quickly threw his sword deep into the other rocketeer's neck while dodging the shower of bullets that were being sent his way.

He made a sprint for his sword, retrieving it from the man's shattered spinal column before he took up his rocket launcher and fired the last two rounds in the chambers at the battalions, disorienting them and knocking most of them to the ground.

He turned his attention back down the hallway and saw Phillips rounding the corner, but was then distracted by the spattering of gunfire around him. Thinking about the distance he had to cover, Mason got an idea and threw his axe at the remaining rocketeer. The axe dug itself deep into his helmet and caused blood to gush out in a shower as he dropped the rocket launcher he had primed to use against the berserker.

Firing at the battalion of guards the whole time, he made a mad sprint for the rocket launcher. Once he got to it, he fired off one of the rockets at the guards again, causing them to scatter before using the last rocket at point blank range, propelling himself through the air down the corridor with a demented glee.

Skidding across the floor in a forward roll, he watched as Phillips casually walked down a slope and through a small doorway

Of course, Mason moved to follow him, discarding the empty and broken rocket launcher. Running through the small doorway, Mason found himself in a dead end, with Phillips cornered in the large, rectangular room.

"Wait, are you telling me that this hallway just leads to this one room? Is that where all those guards were waiting the whole time?" Mason asked, sceptical about the logistics of the architecture. "So, were they all just-"

"Enough!" Phillips said as he pulled a cross off his belt. "You wanted a duel?" he asked rhetorically as the ends of the cross extended until it became a longer, larger version of its original size, making it more like a spear with a cross-guard. "Then this is where you will perish."

"No, this is where I teabag your corpse, filthy casual!" Mason shouted as he lunged forward in a leap attack. Phillips raised his spear to block both of Mason's weapons with ease as he descended, kicking the berserker away with one steel boot.

He tumbled for a moment before getting right back on his feet and charging the man again. Phillips easily blocked his strikes with lightning-fast reflexes while his robes twirled and fluttered behind him. The exchange of blows continued for several seconds, neither of them giving way, until Mason's stance separated his legs too far apart from each other, which Phillips took advantage of by kicking them further apart, causing him to lose balance. He stumbled as his guard was broken, giving the robbed figure the chance to twist the handle on his spear, making it glow a brilliant white before he brought it down for a diagonal swing.

The blow created a shockwave, throwing Mason back several feet and leaving a deep gash across his face. The redhead berserker lay motionless for a few moments as blood dripped from his face.

Blood…sweet blood.Mason tasted his own blood, and instead of the typical, logical, and sane reaction of fear or self-preservation, Mason disregarded those silly little thought such as impending death or eventual morality. For there is no place for such ideas in the MLG.

Through Phillips' shiny helmet, no expression could be seen. However, as Mason looked up with death and blood in his eyes, he could tell he was afraid.

He suddenly lunged forward from his prone position on the floor, resuming the assault instantly. This time, he was pushing Phillips back, every swipe he delivered causing the man to take a step backwards, as mason drew blood time and time again.

At this point, his Semblance was working in overdrive, as he threw Fuil to the ground to use Bas with both hands, bringing it down as he delivered a series of overhead attacks that Phillips struggled to block.

Eventually, one especially strong overhead swipe was enough to break the gilded spear in half, staggering Phillips and leaving him without a weapon. Mason took full advantage off this, picking up Fuil off the floor and unleashing his full fury. In a brief second of furious strikes, red lines suddenly appeared across Phillips, deepening to large slashes, and then huge gashes, Mason glowing brighter the entire time, until, at one, sudden move, all of his semblance transfers its power to his weapons, making them glow a blood-red as he decapitated Phillips with Bas, the force of the swing much stronger than he anticipated. So strong, that there wasn't enough resistance in the decapitation that the axe flew out of his hands and embedded itself into the wall.

His head toppled to the floor, and his body followed soon after, but there were no arteries gushing with blood, rather only cooling fluid and sparks came out of the stump where the head once was, as Mason caught his breath, exhausted from the continuous battle and his raging hard on.

Then, the head started speaking again. "This fortress will be your sarcophagus, little cub." It said, before it started to flash bright-red as the rest of its body began to glow and spasm.

"Fucking martyrdom!" Mason yelled as he quickly made a break for the exit, knowing what was to come. Retrieving Fuil from where he left it on the ground and Bas from the wall, he entered the hallways to find that all of the surviving guards had left.

"Run, little one." A voice suddenly spoke out over a speaker in the base. "But it is already too late." Those were the last words he heard before explosions of fire ruptured from both ends of the base, trapping Mason as the ceiling collapsed on top of him.

From their monitors at another remote location, far away enough from both the Kingdoms and the Grimm, the heads of The United Coalition watched as one of their most well-designed, well-hidden bases of operations was destroyed through the safety of a holographic projection.

Years of planning, priceless equipment, hundreds of loyal men and resource allocation…all wasted on a single target. It had truly been one of their greatest strongholds, with its unique design making it inescapable from the inside. This had all been part of the plan; it always just seemed greater than it actually was.

"How're you holding up, Phillips?" A blonde-haired man asked Phillips, who was wiping his eyes while taking off a glass helmet.

"He's a tough one, I'll give him that." He grunted as he twisted his neck, cracking and popping some of the joints and bones. "Jeez, my head hurts like hell." he groaned. "Being forcefully disconnected like that sucks."

"Do you think it killed him?" A woman spoke up from one end of the oval table where the heads watched the live feed, completely ignoring Phillips' plight.

"I doubt anything could have survived the blast." Another man spoke up as he fiddled with a pen. "And if he did, then the tons of concrete being dropped on him should do the trick."

"I still think we could have used him." Another grey-haired man spoke up from another end of the table. "We all saw how effective he is."

"We also know how chaotic his kind can be."

"We've re-educated worse."

"You're asking to allocate resources and time we don't have into a project we don't know will work." The woman snapped. "Let's just all be glad the last of those mad cultists has been dealt with."

No one else spoke, their eyes glued to the holographic projection in shock as the camera focussed on something stirring from within the rubble.