Character name: Rose Saxon

Character source: Original

Character history: Rose Saxon is more or less a normal person. She was born to parents who, though they loved each other once, eventually grew apart. Not because of dramatic circumstances, but merely because their passion for each other faded over time. The divorce, while painful, did not result in a giant feud between the parents. In fact, Will Saxon and Lilian Clark still meet regularly to discuss Rose's life.

Rose is fairly normal, yes... But she's always had better luck than most.

First, it'd be little things. She tended to win games of chance. Flipped coins tended to land in her favor. She never really practiced any athletic activities, but somehow she always managed to land the important shots. She was used to being in the right place at the right time.

Then she met the love of her life.

It was nearly miraculous. She met John in a cafe by complete accident, spilling her coffee on the floor near him. Their hands touched and sparks flew. Rose thought she was the luckiest girl in the world. John was always so considerate. He held the door for her every time, and never forgot important dates. He always made the cutest faces when he lost board games. He used to ask her how she kept winning, begging for the secret recipe. Rose always replied, "I'm just lucky."

When her house was robbed, she happened to leave the vacuum on the floor, which tripped the robber and broke his ankle. 

She tested her luck by going to casinos, reeling in suspicious amounts of money.

She would try archery for the first time, and either missed miserably or split bullseyes. She aced a multiple-choice quiz by guessing all of the answers. Rose was suspicious. There was no way this could be real. Nobody was that lucky.

And then she won the lottery. Three times in a row.

Then Rose Saxon realized that she may literally be the luckiest girl in the world.

Later in the week, she woke up in blankness, listening to a faceless god about the Omniverse.

Physical Description: Rose has dark brown eyes and light brown frizzy hair that goes to her shoulders. She typically wears it in a ponytail. Her face is a little round, and her chin sticks out a little bit. She generally wears a trenchcoat which goes below her knees over a plaid collared shirt and skinny jeans. She's 5'4", she's bony but not skinny.

Stats:
ATK: 3
DEF: 1
SPD: 1
TEC: 5

Starting Proficiencies:
Ranged (1000)

Starting Powers:
Basic Enhanced Senses (1400), Foresight (1500), Master Acrobat (400)

Starting Moves:
Dad's Revolver (600) - Ranged, Enhanced Senses

A 6-shot .22 Magnum revolver. It does a competent amount of damage and can hit accurately up to 7 meters. Outcome 1: The shot lands. Outcome 2: The shot misses miserably. (Flavor: 70% chance Outcome 1, 30% chance Outcome 2)


I confirm that I have read and agreed to the Rules of Conduct.


Where did you find us?
My bookmark bar about a week ago.

I've already chucked Ruby on my sub accounts, but I can't put Lubbock on for whatever reason ;-; Please assist

Before returning back to the Omniverse
Jacket awakens in his bedroom from his home phone that was going off in the living room. He feels a bit groggy from a nap he taken while a rental movie in his VCR was playing on the TV in the bedroom which the movies was some kind of 80s action flick. Jacket turns his head while lying in the bed towards his digital alarm clock realizing it was 7:00 pm. He reaches the remote right beside him and turns off the TV then the VCR then breathing calmly realizing what he had was just a dream. The home phone kept ringing which was still slowly waking up Jacket from his sleepy state. He goes into the living room hearing the phone then picking it up from the machine which was sitting on a lampstand next to the couch. “Hi this Mark and we have a problem with our air conditioner at our home. We were wondering if a technician was available. If so please go to this address, 2398 Hanson Dr. Thank you for your time.” Said the caller then hanged up even Jacket not responding to the caller. After receiving the call, Jacket leaves his apartment and heads downstairs to leave the building. He walks outside to his DeLorean which was parked on the street next to the apartments. The air of the evening felt warm and tropical due the season is summer and a sunset is happening in the distance. Jacket opens the driver’s gullwing door and shuts it when he climbed in the car. He reaches for the glove department which had his brown driving gloves and puts them on. After prepping for a bit in his car, he cranks ups the engine then drives off into the sunset to do what needs to be done.

He reaches his destination parking his car in a parking deck that gives access to the apartment complex that had the address. Jacket steps out of the car then heads towards his hood trunk to get something. The hood unlocks by Jacket’s use and opens up which holds a duffle bag that has his silenced SMG, bat, hammer, shotgun, and his mask. He grabs the duffle bag then shuts the hood of his car and walks over to the access for the apartment. An elevator was the access from the parking deck which was sitting there not being used by anyone. Jacket presses a number on the panel for the elevator to go up which opened in an instance. He gets in the elevator and presses the floor button he needs to go on. Hearing the elevator start to make progress going up, Jacket closes his eyes and receives a flash which was a woman who had pale skin and wore revealing clothes that had a red and blue color mix. She wore a shirt that said Daddy’s Little Monster in Jacket’s flash he got. The elevator makes a ding noise after passing one of the floors which made Jacket get back into his concentration on the task. Seeing his floor getting closer with elevator’s floor indicator, Jacket puts on his mask and pulls out the colorful silenced SMG from the bag. He felt the elevator come to a stop then a ding noise goes off for the elevator reaching to the designated floor. The door opens to a hall with two white suit Russian gangsters who occupied the hallway. They look like they were having a conversation in Russian until one of them got their attention with the familiar masked murder who has been killing them. They reacted too late when Jacket pulls the SMG in one hand on them killing the both swiftly. He carries the bag in the other hand then steps out of the elevator dropping the bag left of him. After dropping it, he reaches in the bag and equips the hammer to his belt even brings out the baseball bat then rests it on his left shoulder. He also grabs his shotgun and puts it under his letterman which was small enough to. Jacket walks quickly past the corpses of the Russians while holstering his SMG on his right side and heads to the door that had the number he was looking for in the address.

Reaching the door with the correct number on it, he kicks it open while a Russian was near it which send him crashing to the ground. The masked murder pounces on the gangster and raises his bat in the air then executing the mobster by bashing his face turning it to unrecognizable. Jacket then makes his way in the living room of the apartment which had three Russians gangsters hanging out on a smoke break. They realized Jacket’s appearance and grabbed their melee weapons which involved as sturdy metal pipe, golf club, and a crowbar. The mobsters rush towards Jacket but the group got pushed back by his complete swing he made. Having his bat in the left hand now, he pulls out his SMG and kills one of the mobsters that was kind of dazed from the swing. One of them got their focus back and tried to attack Jacket which the action didn’t quite hit him but his gun in his right hand which made it fly across the room. Jacket made a clash on the mobster which he was holding a golf club with his bat that threw them in the situation of trying to overcome each other’s strength. The Russian started lowering his club down a bit which Jacket was overcoming his strength. When the club was lowered enough, Jacket did a swift kick on the mobster’s hands and made the gangster let go of his weapon making him defenseless. The Mobster stepped back a bit away from Jacket which he grabbed his shotgun under his letterman and unloads a 12-guage into his face that made his head explode sending chunks all over the room then rolling the shotgun lever around for the next shell. Jacket turns around seeing the last one finally making a move involving swinging his crowbar at Jacket with a war cry trying to avenge his comrades. He aims his shotgun at the man’s right leg and fires away at his target. The man screams in agony and lands on the floor holding his leg which got shot. Jacket puts the shotgun back in his letterman and stands over the last mobster in the room. “You stupid cock fucking cock face bastard! You won’t last long since we have an ar-“said the mobster that his words got cut off by Jacket’s baseball bat hitting his head. Jacket finishes off the mobster by bashing his brains open with his bat. He swings it around his right shoulder and walks out of the room calmly. There were a few mobster’s left in the apartment which Jacket finished off quickly.
The last room he went into to kill the last few was a bedroom having couple of briefcases open filled with Benjamins ($100 dollar bills). Who was present in the room was this overweight Russian with his other normal comrade by his side. “Ah shit! You boys can’t take care of this masked bastard! Looks like I always have to do everything around here!” said the overweight mobster then bringing out his AK-47 and fires upon Jacket’s presence while the other one follows up with him to except he was holding a pistol. Jacket dodge rolls to evade the incoming bullets and uses the bed for cover. With the others across the room trying to kill jacket, he brings out his shotgun again and puts his bat down so he can use both of his hands to hand the gun. The mobsters still continued firing at the bed until both of them started making clicking noises with their guns. When the mobsters have to exchange clips, Jacket jumps over the bed then makes his shots on the two of them. The regular mobster got killed easily but the fat one got hit not deadly but caused him an injury. Jacket walks over to the fat one who is now lying on the floor bleeding from his gut. He looks up with horror seeing Jacket now staring down him wondering what he was in for now. The final mobster of the apartment shuts his eyes tightly waiting his face to be blown apart but instead hears Jacket dropping his shot gun to the floor. From the shotgun dropping, it caused the fat one to open his eyes again in curiosity but sees Jacket across the room at a dresser grabbing a kitchen knife lying there. The masked murder kneels over the Russian closely which made the victim starting to cry emotionally scarred what’s going to happen next. Jacket takes his thumbs and puts them over the gangster’s eyes while he is still crying. He then gauges the eyes out making the slobbering fat mess scream in agony. After making him completely blind, he then takes the knife and cuts across the man’s stomach that was shot making a opening. Jacket was still not done yet with his victim which and grabs his intestines even other organs then taking them out of the body. He finishes by making the ground around the victim a mess with his insides. After finishing the last one, he goes into a bathroom and washes his hands off with the blood of his victims. Ten minutes later, Jacket arrives back at the car with his equipment and puts it in the hood trunk of his car along with his mask. He gets in his vehicle and leaves the place driving off into the city.

While driving, Jacket starts getting more flashes of a somewhat familiar victim he claimed which the person was wearing weird white armor and the face bashed open. He snaps out of the flash after a car in traffic honked it’s horn in impatience. After 20 minutes of driving, Jacket arrives at a convenience store that he usually goes to since it wasn’t far away from his home. The car gets parked in the small lot of the store seeing the neon sign saying still open when the time was 9:15 pm. Jacket gets out and makes his way to the store’s door then entering the small grocery store. The Cashier behind the counter was his usually bearded, long hair, and glasses friend he sees quite often the places he visits to pick up errands. It didn’t take long for Jacket to grab what he needed off his grocery list then makes his way for check out. His friend realizes who the shopper was and greeted him. “Hay man, good to see you again. I see you have been busy tonight as usual. You kind of look tired and worn out from this day huh? It’s not easy to work your butt off isn’t it?” said his friend then after saying that, Jacket starts getting more flashes of the store filled with mutilated corpses of the mobsters and gore except one corpse that was close to him didn’t look like the other’s but looked like the exact victim he had a flash on earlier. Jacket sees the unrecognizable storm trooper squirming around and still alive but making gargling noises that sounds like pain since his face was badly gored. Jacket looks back at his friend which made the flashes go away. “Man looks like you seen a ghost or something huh? I do have to say lately life just feels strange or not normal anymore. I don’t know if it has to do with the weather or just what the news has been saying lately. Anyways no worries on the groceries pal, it’s on the house.” said his friend then checking his groceries out. Jacket goes back to his car then cruises off back to his place. On the way back to his place, Jacket starts to feel uncomfortable or something like this isn’t his life. When Jacket arrived at his home, it didn’t take long for him to
go to bed and get some shut eye.

At 3:00 am, Jacket awakes and oddly enough he is still in his casual clothes instead of his sleeping wear. He was awoken by a hard fast knocking on his bedroom door. This made him curious if it was that hooker he saved and if she needed something. Jacket opens the door and surprisingly it was undead looking Russian mobster which the gangster got blown away from his shotgun that weirdly he had in his hand. From that instant action, it left him in a bit of a shock what was going on then drops the shotgun on the ground and made his way pass the kitchen and straight for the bathroom to get water or wash his face off to get himself into control. He washes his face off in the bathroom but when he looked up at the mirror it showed him wearing the chicken mask then touching his own face he was wearing it. Jacket rushes to living room which there was no sign of the hooker sleeping there but on the couch had another undead mobster sitting there. The phone starts ringing a bit next to the couch which the dead looking mobster replies “You gonna answer that?” Jacket turns back to the phone and picks it up while masked. The caller who responded sounded like masked stranger he seen his dreams which he said “Do what needs to be done…” After the caller said that, he hanged up and so did Jacket but right when he puts the phone up the undead Russian on the couch turns into a corpse that looks mutilated. Jacket turns around and sees his baseball bat lying on the coffee table which he grabs it. He heads out of his apartment and sees the complex filled with more undead mobsters rushing towards him with weapons. This makes Jacket goes on a rampage killing spree and clears the whole building killing off every single undead victim. After finishing, he was on the very top floor and makes his way to the roof. When Jacket arrived everything around him was nothing but complete darkness but there was one person besides him on the roof and that was the undead looking trooper that didn’t have his helmet on. For some weird reason Jacket didn’t immediately attack him but started starting at him realizing who he was now. After staring at him a good minute he becomes that unrecognizable corpse then hears a gunshot right behind him. Jacket didn’t have time to notice who did that but fell to the ground on his back then receives multiple gunshots after that. He blacks out after the whole incident that unfolded on him.

Jacket wakes up realizing he was in that same dirty apartment he seen in his dreams before and heads into the meeting room finding that same familiar looking chicken masked figure that is sitting in the middle chair. “I see you have came back from a dream you had. Well back to step one, I can tell you were having the time of your life in this new period. Yes now everything is very complicated to follow but if you be patient enough you will know what is going on. Looks like you tried fitting yourself in this new life that was offered to you but took it a bit too far. You seriously shouldn’t be too hard on yourself or you are just going to run in these problems over and over again. I have seen too that you met with someone that you can’t even get your mind off huh? You and her have somethings in common it looks like. I know she maybe a be a bit of a hand full but you guys will work out great. This time just make sure you think more before action got it? Well looks like your time is up with this discussion and please do not try to hurt yourself again this time ok?” said the masked stranger then everything blacks out for Jacket.

I had this character idea that I wanted to run by the mods. So I know the Omniverse is a fairly strict place in terms of in-game mechanics. I had an idea that I'm not sure exactly fits with the site, but I think would be really fun.

The character's superpower is basically extreme and vaguely controllable luck. Not for plot convenience, like "S/he's so lucky that a train came out of nowhere and splattered the other person." It'd be little things, like how well a punch lands or how well s/he can escape a situation. Not enough to define the tide of the battle, but enough to turn it.

I'd use random.org for each "roll" and put the results in quotes or however, and the "roll" would define how successful the move is. (Bit like DnD)

An example move would look like this:

Pistol Shot: Some arbitrary but balanced pistol. Strength is constant. 0-40, move fails. 40-90, move hits, normal damage. 90-100, critical hit. 

So hopefully this part is straightforward. The part I'm iffy about is that I also want moves that affect those rolls. Obviously they'd have drawbacks, but for example:

Double-Edged Sword: Every time you roll, you may flip a coin. If heads, multiply the roll by 1.3. If tails, multiply by 0.6.

Obviously this could all be used as RP fodder but I would like to make this a real mechanic. Like, a critical hit will do considerable damage. 

How plausible does this sound?

I tend to come up with a lot of gameplay ideas out of the blue in a process akin to how Alton Brown thinks of Good Eats episodes.  Of course, considering that I usually talk about these amongst myself, I feel that I could help develop these ideas more thoroughly if I talk about it with people that don't block six school entrances at a time.  So... uh, yeah, here they are.

1) Dungeons w/ Personality
This is my most recent concept.  I was thinking of ways to make multiple pathways in a Zelda dungeon, and only one is required to complete the dungeon, however you start with a single key and can choose which path you take first.  This got me thinking; can I make a temple, fortress or dungeon where how you play the game can tell you a little bit about yourself, or maybe about the character you play as?  Imagine if this Zelda dungeon concept had three paths; one was for wisdom and involved intense puzzles, one was for power and dealt with complex battle scenarios, and one was for courage which was like a mix of wisdom and power, however it also required a little bit of bravery to pull off as well.  Based not only on which path you took, but why you chose it and how well you managed to get through it could tell you some things about yourself that you may not have realized as of yet.  There are other concepts I could use, too, but this is the main one.

2) The Escapists + Homestuck + Fantasy Life
Imagine having the general range of items, values and creation options from The Escapists, expand it to an amount closer to what you'd see in Homestuck, and a progression system similar to Fantasy Life.  Ultimately, I feel that this game has a lot of potential, being able to craft everything from a soda pop blaster to armor made of duct tape and pillows.  Or maybe it's an excuse for me to make a gun that shoots highly pressurized soda a thing, one or the other.

3) Random Music-based Boss
I love to think of scenarios I could create that fit the tone of the music I am listening to, one example being to something I might do here in the Omniverse and with "Threnody for Challenger."  One concept that came from this was a boss that would attack along with the music, however this would not work well seeing as its attacks would seem too easy if you could memorize them.  At the same time, though, if it could attack randomly without losing its sense of flow, then the battle would seem much more unique while still retaining this basic concept.

4) Shopkeeper Side-quest
In one of my games, there would be three travelling shopkeepers that each brought something new to the table.  One would sell cheap items that were average quality, but costed less.  The second would sell better items for a higher price.  The third would sell unique items that were useful at the cost of very high prices.  One thing I may want to do in the later half of the middle-game is a really difficult side-quest that would involve three riddles leading to three caves of the shopkeepers.  To solve the riddle, you have to bring a few items from a shopkeeper other than the one who lived there and place them on three pedestals, and when you solve it you can enter their cave and fight that respective shopkeeper.  If you win the battle, they give you a special pass that can allow for incredibly rare items, insanely low prices or a little bit of both.

5) REAL Experience Points
Have you noticed how many RPGs require you to kill monsters to gain EXP?  Well, I don't necessarily think you should stop fighting monsters, but I feel a true experience is more than just murder.  Think about it; what makes a tactical retreat any less of an experience than "FINISH(ing) HIM"?  This is something I want to try; make it so you have to attack to gain EXP, and based on how much damage you do and what attacks you use, you gain that much EXP at the end of the battle regardless if you kill the enemy or not.  This makes sense in a realistic sense, too; when you learn, you don't improve on what you did right, you fix what you did wrong.  Killing things you know you can kill won't get you as much as taking a potential risk and fighting a potentially difficult enemy.  Granted, enemies will have to be especially well designed for this to work without coming off as an irritating aspect of the game for the player, but if it can be pulled off, I think it could shed some light on how EXP is used in RPGs beyond the black and white views we have as of yet, i.e. Final Fantasy vs. Undertale.

Purchases and deductions for Yuuka Kazami go here.

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All moves must be approved here before purchase.

Character name: Cronos
level:1
Character source: original

Character history: Cronos is the last of his kind,he was a commander of the 105th space brigade, he had 5 years in the most prestigious academy. while spending time in the engineering division, he also had a year to train his ability to fight fist to fist and ranged as of the basic training he got  a blaster rifle and a combat knife. his main fault is that if he is dishonored he will go into a rage losing all control but after an hour he will calm down. his home planet was a earth like planet, 25% of the land is lakes, oceans, and seas while the other 75% is mountain ranges, jungles. he had just escaped his ship exploding before this all happened.


Physical Description: 5'4 in height has a elongated head like a shark has tiger stripes on head and arms, stands on two legs and has a basic blaster rifle (its a sniper/assault rifle as it has a scope, he puts it on his back to carry it. and a combat knife. (the combat knife is 10 inches long and is like a trident knife).

Stats:
ATK:2
DEF:1
SPD:3
TEC:4

Starting Proficiencies: (2000) Physical Strength and Ranged Proficiency

Starting Powers: (400) master acrobat.
(800) master super jumping

 Starting Moves:Blaster (900)

 It has the ability to change from an assault rifle to a sniper rifle. The blaster shoots 10 plasma shots in a 3 inch diameter at 25 mph before overheating and requiring 30 seconds to cool down, and it takes 10 seconds to change modes. The sniper mode shoots 1 plasma shot up to ten times at 50 mph, and it takes 5 seconds between each shot to fire again. This can also be used in melee as a bludgeoning tool. (cant use the sniper mode while moving)



Combat Knife (600)
10 inch, trident knife can be thrown at 10 mph for a max distance of 15 feet before it hits the ground.

I confirm that I have read and agreed to the Rules of Conduct. yes

Where did you find us? I was looking for a rpg crossover site to play.

So I have been trying to join a DnD campaign, but I have to keep dropping out thanks to IRL reasons, so I want to host my own, but I would like some one else to GM for me since I have never technically played.

So the campaign is going to start out as a quest to clear out a tomb of a saint from all sorts of nasty things. The plan is for my character to post posters and ads for the quest, since he is a sage. Then most likely we'll meet at a central location and start from there.

Interested Parties:
Amber
DL
Temmie

Confirmed:
Adam
Caira

Characters:
Azure (Wood Elf Druid, with bg as a Sage)

Crowley’s wings stretched and aired loftily above him as he arrived in the blank, canvas-like expanse from before, twin silent shadows smoothing over the pallid white spread out behind him. It felt like falling under some primordial scrutiny, a watchful eye gleaming with silent humor at his expense. Awe overcame him, swelled within the very fiber of his being like low-moored clouds drifting lazily over rippling saltwater, yet grew more carefully guarded the nearer it drew to his heart.
 
Nothing pained him. He was whole once more, no uncomfortable wounds marring the skin of his vessel or breaking unpleasantly through his torso. His clothes, red like the juice of a pomegranate and running with fine seams of black, contrasted sharply with the white world; the Fountain of Infinity’s streams of water shone translucently like bluish-white beadwork. The demon’s yellow eyes glittered with a conceited and private delight as he regarded the sleeves of his dress shirt, straightening them until they were impeccably aligned.
 
The second thing Crowley noticed upon his arrival in the Nexus was the complete and utter lack of the weapon he had grown to appreciate— admittedly a little more than he should have. A crumpled wisp of paper, like one might find in a fortune cookie, crinkled up at him from the sparkling white floor. When he stooped down and brought it up for inspection, noting with supreme satisfaction that his sunglasses were once more where they belonged, Crowley gave a light ‘hmph’ at the numbers scrawled upon it.
 
It was a receipt, in case you were wondering, for the gun he had unluckily lost.  The numbers listed upon it were so outrageously large of a sum that Crowley had to wait for an embarrassingly lengthy moment before they successfully registered in his mind.
 
With an even more exasperated huff, Crowley crushed the letter in his palm and squinted irately around at his surroundings. ‘That old coot. Can’t even explain things properly, that’s the ancient Grecian way, you practically have to—‘
 
A brief shuffle of sound came from over his shoulder, as disconcerting and dreadful as silent weeping in a sterile hospice room. His head turned, a thorny quality hovering about him in dangerously palpable warning. At that juncture, the demon went absolutely still, his body abruptly so rigid that it was almost as if he had been frozen in ice.
 
Deliberately, cautiously, Crowley blinked at the large group of staunchly-guarded Primes watching the Fountain of Infinity from a measured distance away. And, by default, watching Crowley.
 
He hissed some muted obscenity under his breath, as if to stretch the timbre of his voice in the prevailing quiet. Well, quiet save for the red-skinned man in yellow tights drifting above them all and the snappy robot clanking about on faulty wheels. Crowley believed he caught a glimpse of Magus, who seemed impressively healed since he had seen him last, and waved shortly in greeting.
 
The demon certainly didn’t know what was going on here and he also didn’t especially relish finding out. Something great and terrible stifled the customary radiance of the place, a boundless machine whirring with oily conspiracy and most probably death. It grated heavily upon his nerves, sent a nervous skitter dancing through his limbs like a freshly hanged man. Yes, it would be best to move and move quickly.
 
But where to venture off to? This was not the world he knew. Such a precipitously ominous storm of gathered Primes might be preferable to aimless wandering— at least here, among these wielders of great power and strangeness, he might find some precious resemblance to the former infernal unity he had once been a part of. Did he really want to chance death in the pursuit of glory?
 
No, Crowley decided. No he did not. He might be a tool or a pawn, but he certainly wasn’t going to let himself become ensnared in a game of moral questioning and fear-devouring regimes. That was the very kind of poison even some of hellish make despised, and he didn’t want even a single choice nibble of it.
 
“Er,” the demon blurted, angling his head in a random directly and letting his body follow suit, as if nothing were amiss and really he had to be going elsewhere, no time for such trivial shenanigans or silly witch hunts, no thank you…
 
So it came to pass that Crowley turned and left, drifting in a rootless, wavering pattern that led him towards the crumbling, sand-dusted remnants of a gateway arch. Much of his time traveling was spent walking, occasionally sending backward glances lest any ill-intentioned fellows be in pursuit, and so it was quite a relief when he stumbled across such a peculiar landmark.
 
A discerning look was directed at the sun cracked gate, the dry, arid scent of frankincense itching at the demon’s constitution and prompting a subtle sniff. Blessed allergies.  His skin practically crawled as a trail of dust skittered out and across the pristine white of the Nexus floor, lightly sprinkling it with glassy and fine granules of glinting sand.
 
Affixing his sunglasses once more upon his face, Crowley warily regarded the portal swirling before him. It wouldn’t be so bad, would it, for him to just… slip inside real quick, conveniently escaping any hostile notice? Certainly not.

With little preamble and only a brief, hesitant skid, the demon slipped soundlessly through the portal.

Dean sat on the sandy floor of the shack he had been holed up in for awhile now, cold beer in hand, and looked at the wreck of the Impala resting on the ground in front of him. Since the fight back in Nippur the demon had been doing his best to restore his ride out in the middle of no where, to somewhat limited success. Thinking back on it now, he probably should have asked someone for help, but at that point in time he just wanted to get the hell out of Dodge. 

After the fight he had simply reduced what was left of his car to it's pure Omnillium state, pocketed it, and then went wandering into the desert in the direction he thought the Town With No Name was in.

Looking back, this had been a terrible idea. 

The Winchester wasn't sure how long he had walked in the dunes until he came across this lonely shack, probably hours if not a full day, and took shelter inside of it. From the looks of it, the structure had been part of a larger house, possibly for some folks who tried to live life outside the city, but most of the structure was long gone. By the shoddy state of the few burnt support beams that stuck out of the ground beside his little shack, a fire had destroyed the rest of the building, and then over time the sand had reclaimed the space. 

Now, only this shack remained, and it was perfect!

'Perfect for what?', some might have asked him at the time, to which he would simply reply that it was the perfect place to rebuild his ride in peace and quiet! Dean had wasted no time recalling the wreckage of the once proud Impala in a gleaming shower of Omnilium, and while it took up most of the place, there was just enough room to work around it! Using a slightly charred bench, the demon went about using the bare minimum of Omnilium to start summoning tools, rags, and the like. First things first, he was going to dismantle the engine and reclaim whatever parts of it were still usable. 

Now here he was days later, sitting on the ground with a beer in hand, staring at the car with very little work done to it. He realized now that he needed far too many parts, extensive metal to fix the body, and cloth and the like for the upholstery. The radio was probably going to be a complete write off unless he was lucky enough to find something to replace it. 

The demon had briefly thought about just using that silvery metallic substance that seemed to be a fix all for everything, but he did not want to sink that much of a precious resource into this— beer, on the other hand, he was more then willing to do it for. Besides, all of this time spent working was giving him a brief break from all the excitement of this place to think of exactly what he was going to do in this damn world now that he knew he was stuck here. 

In the long term, he couldn't see himself doing much other then wandering the sands and killing things, though he remembered something about other gates existing in that white room or whatever it was. Some of them had been guarded though and the lands beyond probably were too, random acts of senseless murder might not go as unnoticed there. 

Short term though? He needed to find some parts and he had no idea of how he was going to do that! Taking a swig of the beer, the demon closed his eyes and attempted to let his mind wander when the sound of a rumbling engine off in the distance brought him back to reality. There was one— wait, no, possibly twovehicles out there. 

Maybe his luck was turning around, after all. 

Chugging what was left of the beer, Dean got up and made his way to the open doorway of the shack, making sure to stay close to the left side of it as he peeked out around it and into the wastes. A small beat-up looking car was leading a rather large truck, one of those old troop transport looking things, and they were heading in his direction. The demon hoped the truck was full of supplies he could use, and if not he could always strip the vehicles of whatever might be useful.

The Winchester remained pressed against the wall next to the doorway while he waited for the vehicles to get close enough to see who was driving, two in the car and only one driving the truck. Only the one not driving the car seemed to be armed with a rifle, which was good for Dean, and hopefully the others didn't have anything more strapped to their sides than a knife or even a pistol.

Reaching down to his side, Dean gripped the hilt of the First Blade, the mark of Cain flaring to life as he did so, and with his other hand he readied his pistol as the two vehicles came to a stop outside of the shack. He waited until the occupants were just starting to exit before he made himself known.

Though, by making himself known, this of course required Dean to put four rounds into the man with the rifle and then drop the driver of the truck with the remaining three. The driver of the car seemed to be in shock only for a few breaths before going for the revolver at his side. Using a burst of speed Dean rushed at him, forcing his blade against the man's throat.

“I was going to joke about taking your stuff or your life, but odds are,” the demon paused to smile wickedly at the man, “I'm just going to take both.”

Before Dean could even make a move the sound of footsteps from inside the back of the truck made him pause. Glaring suspiciously at the man in front of him, he frowned slightly before speaking again.

“This is an actual troop transport, isn't it?” The man nodded in answer to the demon's question. “Well, shit.”

Pushing the edge of his knife into the man's throat, Dean spun around to face the incoming group behind him as the driver slumped to the ground, scarlet blood gushing from the jagged cut in his throat. Dean had no time to make a witty comment as the assembled men and women started to open fire.

They had revolvers, pistols, and was that an actual Winchester rifle? Oh my! Dean's body jerked back and forth as the bullets tore through his torso, arms, and legs before he finally fell to his knees. He started to chuckle quietly under his breath as blazing wounds riddled his body, glancing up at them with his now pitch black eyes, before breaking out into a hysterical laughing fit. Dean wasn't sure if it was that they were out of ammo, or if his little psychotic display had unnerved them, but instead of firing again the woman with the rifle came up and slammed the butt of it down into the demon's face.

It was at this point that everything went black. 



Dean woke up with an uneasy claustrophobic feeling, like something wasn't quite right. He wasn't dead, though he was probably pretty damn close at this point, so it wasn't that. It was the fact that he seemed to be unable to move much, or see, or do much of anything at all, really. In addition, it felt like he was laying down in very tight, enclosed..... OH GOD, THOSE FUCKERS HAD SHOVED HIM IN A BOX AND BURIED HIM ALIVE!

If he had been able to, Dean would have howled in that unearthly voice he seemed to get whenever he was really pissed off, he had escaped from being buried before and he could do it again! Though burying him with his weapons was not the best idea, was it possible they did it in a hurry? Were they that afraid he might jump back up and get them? If he had been able to, honestly, he probably would have. These pressing questions would have to remain unanswered for now, though, as he had better things to do. 

He began to pry at the wood of the crate, trying to find the weakest board and snap it free. He found one, loosed it, and tossed it down beside him. He did this again until the sand started to fill the box, the demon straining upward as he pushed the wooden lid up and started to dig his way out to the surface. 

As he crawled his way further up, Dean could feel his rage building, seemingly getting greater and greater the closer he got to the surface, it was as if it was swirling around inside of him and mixing with the black smoke that now made up his actual existence. His skin began to itch and burn, and not only because of the sand getting into his wounds, as it started to feel like it was breaking apart. His back also began to burn as the flesh seemed to split and something started to grow from the open wounds, pressing against the cloth of his shirts. 

As far as anyone on the surface could tell, the shack and surrounding area was completely empty— that was, until a grasping hand burst through the surface of the sand. The fingers were elongated and rather inhuman, and black smoke seemed to slowly ooze out of cracks in the skin. Soon it was followed by another as a monstrous form seemed to pull itself up from the depths of Hell itself. What was standing there was no longer the Dean Winchester that the Dunes had come to know and despise.

This one was worse.

It wasn't only his fingers that seemed to have stretched out to ungodly proportions but the rest of his arms as well. His skin seemed to be cracked all over, and judging from the smoke billowing from under his clothes, it was almost head to toe, though in two spots on his forehead the smoke seemed to be collecting into horns. The back of his clothing was torn and protruding from his back were two broken wings, the black feathers seemed ruffled and out of place while a majority of them were missing. His eyes were still black as sin, but in contrast to normal this time his pupils and iris were a dark red. 

Scanning the area with a swivel of it's head, it seemed like this new creature was looking for something, most likely something to hunt. Finding nothing, it tilted back it's head and opened it's mouth to let out the most haunting and feral howl a creature possibly could, and if that wasn't enough to unsettle you, the jagged teeth that now filled it's maw probably would.

The sound slowly started to die off and the creature let it's head slump to it's chest as it collapsed to it's knees. Slowly all the supernatural features seemed to recede as Dean reverted back to his ruggedly handsome, if not still completely evil and pissed-off, self. 

He was still badly injured, though, and while it was going to take awhile to heal he needed to get moving. Forcing himself to his feet, the Winchester slowly made his way over to shack, looks like he was going to have to use some Omnillium to fix his ride after all. 

As he entered, Dean froze where he stood. A dry wind blew through the empty building, fragmented dust drifting down and the boards rattling with the powerful desert gust.

It was gone. His car was gone! Those fuckers took his damn car and they were going to PAY FOR IT! He would cut out their throats one by one for this! Looking down at the ground he saw the drag marks of where they had gone about pulling the car out of the shack and to their truck. He then saw tracks leading off, the car and the truck he assumed, though the truck seemed to be digging deeper into the sand and it should be easier to follow at least. 

He was going to hunt these fuckers down and nothing would prepare them for the horrors he was about to inflict