[1-3] The Nose

[Okor]

Okor gnashed his fangs as he thought, turgid grey matter slowly coming to life as he pondered their next actions.

The cravens had abandoned the crash site, stalking off into the forest and leaving their hopes of survival behind. Any aid would be watching for a downed aircraft, not a motley assembly of survivors hiding beneath the canopy. In all likelihood, the other survivors had marched off to their demise, to be slowly picked off by disease and predators, all while wandering idly in circles.

There needed to be order.

He turned his attention to the vermillion-plated machine, the subtle hum of systems audible beneath their armoured hide. The arcane mechanisms contained within their optics stared at him, the atomic power buried within them burning into his own oculus. The coruscating crimson corona concealed beneath the hyper-advanced technology had already proven itself useful to the rescue efforts, shearing through sheets of steel like a power blade through mortal flesh.

”Vision, was… it?” The response came quickly, the carefully measured cadence of the false-man’s voice addressing the Champion’s query. “This is correct, Mister Paleblood.” He could not help but cringe at the perfect pitch. The holy spirits of the machine that inhabited his wargear were one thing, but autonomous intelligence capable of killing without man guiding the way? Without a trigger to unleash the synthetic’s power upon the foe, he would have to make use of more indirect means.

”When Syntech comes, they’ll be searching for a crash site, not… a rabble, scrounging through the forests. We’ll need to prepare for more than an overnight inconvenience. Vision, I need you to cut apart the wreckage into salvageable materials.”

He rotated his diseased bulk, his eye burning as he gazed at the dark-haired man accompanying them, pistons visible beneath the numerous cuts and scrapes incurred during the disaster. How many of these false-men were there?” ”Wright, you will aid Vision. It’s designed for... Finesse, not strength. Execute its commands, and carry the steel to where it needs to be.”

There was but one other, who did not count themselves amongst their accursed number, a red-headed young child yet untainted by the pure potential corrupting the other’s veins, or, as seems to be case with the others, hydraulics. ”And what of you, young one? Will you tell me some tragic tale of… a gross abuse of science? How your body failed, and your mind was born anew in chrome? How your dreams are suffused with steam-driven sheep?”

“I’m a Phoenix. And might I ask what kind of deranged Oni devised you? You smell like something crawled inside of you, died, was reanimated using the foulest-smelling dark magic possible, died again, rotted for five months, and then exploded.”

Silence fell over the clearing, all eyes falling upon the monolithic marine as he processed the child’s impudence.

A gurgling racket issued forth from a gangrenous gullet, malformed muscles manipulating themselves to offer up a desperate imitation of mirth.

”Of course you… are. I fear our more mortal companions may not… acquiesce to commands from a machine. Your objective will be to direct them. Get a perimeter established, erect some form of habitation if you can get that done before nightfall.”

The fire-born Fiara crossed her arms, looking the towering titan over as she pondered her options.

“And just what will you be doing while we slave, oh fearless leader?” She spoke, insubordination dripping from her words.

His horned head twisted, warped spine cracking as it struggled to complete the movement. ”We are on unfamiliar ground, with no means of… exit, without support, and with wounded. More than half of our number has fled into the woods to prance… about, and one of our group has already been claimed by predators, disease, or mere… misnavigation.

And in the midst of it all, it seems as if I am the only one who has bothered to bring a real weapon.”

He racked his rusted bolter for emphasis, placing the ancient armament upon his pus-stained pauldron. The verdigris was as thick as it had been for the previous millennia, seemingly eternally entrapped within the endless cycle of entropy.

”I’ll be standing guard. Should we come under assault, I shall endeavour to alert you before they fall upon me. Get the secondaries behind the perimeter, see if you can turn some of this shrapnel into… spears. Don’t be shy about leaving a prime behind. You’re the ones whose lives mean anything.”

With that, Nurgle’s Chosen turned, the ‘man’ cursed to die, to live, and to die for eternity, stalked off to patrol the clearing, his solitary eye seeking out any assailant to unburden his wrath upon.

Abandoned by most of the immortal fools who dared to number themselves among his peers, none could deny that there was any shortage of hatred waiting to be tapped.

[Amaterasu]

Fiara grunted and turned around on her heel, ignoring the looks of a handful of people from their group, and walked around the site once to get a feel for it before she rallied those who didn't have orders yet and began directing them to the best of her ability, which admittedly wasn't much. She was used to solitary work, not teamwork, much less leading a group.

While the being that she presumed to be a Plaguelord was... well, he was what he was, she couldn't deny that he was treating everyone very differently than a Plaguelord would - no attempts to spread the plagues carried in his body, no causing chaos, no random attacks. Quite the opposite, he was proving himself to be a leader - could it be that he'd been a general sometime in the past? She'd expected him to attack after her straightforward provocation, instead he'd let it pass like nothing. It'd made her blood boil, but she'd realized that it wouldn't do her any good. Quite the opposite.

Now, for the task that he had assigned her... direct the others, get a perimeter established, build some form of roof over their heads if at all possible. She shot one more glance at... the red-skinned individual named Vision had referred to him as Mister Paleblood or some such - then turned back to the now gathered group before her, and clapped her hands. "Alright, everyone, listen up. Our... provisoric leader is patrolling the perimeter. Don't venture beyond where we can clearly see you and you can see us. If you can, stay away from the trees. Only move in groups of at least two. If you don't follow those rules and venture out, the rest of us won't be able to guarantee your safety." She paused for a moment, looking over the group. "We don't know what's out there, so we can't risk rushing in to save you if you get in trouble. You're responsable for your own safety first and foremost. We're all adults here." She didn't exclude herself from that, despite being underage by human standarts.

"If you hear, see, smell, feel something, anything that you feel is unusual, give a warning and don't panic. So long as you keep a level head we'll get through this, alive and well.
Now for the actual tasks... let's see. You four, you'll be the wreckage team. Go help Vision and Wright with gathering materials. Bring back whatever large flat metal plates you can find, anything you think will be fit for a roof and walls.
You three, go find some solid rocks and use them to fashion some spears out of the wreckage pieces. Arm yourselves but don't throw the rocks away when you're done, bring them along. When you have your spears, come back here to me. I want everyone prepared for battle before nightfall. "

This left her with seven unassigned individuals. She looked over the group, people looking up at her expectantly, some wanting her to lead them, to aid them in these times, others were visibly unhappy about the idea of some kid bossing them around. She sighed and took a moment to think while the remaining secondaries looked up at her.

"Okay... I have to entrust those of you that remain with the risky, but also important tasks. You'll be our gathering team. I'll need you to gather wood, stone and anything you find that may be edible. Stay as close as you can to Mister Paleblood, follow his patrol pattern and make sure to always stay within plain view of the clearing. Don't sample anything even if you're certain that it's edible. In fact... right, I know. You three, you'll be our food gathering team. Go to the wreckage and try to fashion some protection for your hands with the tissue from the seats. Try to rip the tissue off in one piece and make gloves to cover your hands so you can touch the plants without getting stung. From there focus on gathering berries, fruit, roots etcetera using your gloves. You get your weapons last, after everyone else is armed. Stick with someone who has one already. Use whatever you find to gather all you can then bring it back to the clearing. Lastly... if anyone hears running water or the sea, which I doubt we are anywhere near of right now, be sure to inform someone. That would be- no, wait. You."

She pointed at one man who wore a particular uniform designating him as the Co-Pilot. "I entrust you with the most important task... get on the cockpit, or what's left of it anyway, and try to send a cry for help. If you can reach where we began flying, that's great. If not, try to reach the group from the rest of the wreckage, if there are any survivors."
Of course there were gonna be. There had to be.

"That's all. Any issues or questions, speak to one of us. And remember, we all want to make it out alive and bring back everyone we can with us, so we'll have to work together. So even if you weren't particularly fond of the idea of working with any of our volunteer group, please do overcome that for a while... thank you."

Everyone left to their assigned jobs, though not all obliged immediately and without grumbling. Fiara stepped away from the spot she'd given her orders from and looked around until she was certain that everyone was at least half-heartedly doing their jobs. At least that was something. Doesn't mean that they'd recognize her as their... leader or anything, but they understood the necessity of her orders. Better than nothing.

[The Vision]

As Okor once more gave command to the three other volunteers, the Vision registered signs of hostility between the undead soldier and another figure. Scans for information remained largely inconclusive, besides basic information like her name. Her heat signature was not unlike those of the other pyrokinetics Vision had encountered.

These were two clearly powerful creatures. Hostility between the two would elicit negative results.

> intercept

The Vision stepped towards the infested carcass that was now leading the +/- 12 other survivors.

"Declarative: approximately 93.3% of the aircraft's personnel and passengers are still missing," the Vision noted in his singsong mechanical voice. He turned to meet Okor's masked gaze. "But the safety of those near us, especially the injured, is equally important. I recommend that our first course of action is establishing a base of operations. Afterwards, we should send search parties to recover said individuals."

The Vision quickly scanned the environment, getting a rough image of the island. With his programming compromised, it was difficult to get a sound analysis.

> point_of_impact = convert(most_recent_scan.png, img->objectsofInterest)
> filter(point_of_impact) medical_supplies.txt, shelter.txt
None found

"Unable to find previous existing structures or supplies in our direct vicinity," the android reported, "However, my scanners are currently compromised. Ergo, my calculations may have errors. Further investigation may reveal additional insight."

Vision turned.

“There is a small hill 40 meters away which overlooks the wreckage which surrounds us. According to my calculations, only a small section of the plane was found with us. With the present data concerning the concussion-induced contour of the arboreal life forms, I would hypothesize that-”

Okor interrupted, “Only a part of the plane is here.”

“Precisely,” Vision smiled.

Okor seemed to pause for a minute. As his head turned, the Vision detected several bone fractures and massive internal injuries. However, such injuries permeated through the soldier’s entire body, and Okor himself did not seem to mind.

“Primes aren’t easy to kill. A mere crash wouldn’t take them out of… commission, and I wouldn’t put it past Syntech to armour this vessel. There’s other survivors.”

The Vision nodded. “It may be in our best interest to regroup with these survivors.”

“Perhaps,” Okor thoughtfully grumbled, phlegm muffling his every word, “But for now, we should establish a base of operations. Thank you for the intel, Vision.”

The Vision nodded and returned to welding small chunks of metal.

[Marcus Wright]

The ailing giant took a much needed breath to clear his putrid lungs. The echoes of his yelling could  have damaged someone's ears. Okor, a man who covered himself head to foot in armor, expected the "soldiers" to fall in line.  

The group already experienced many setbacks due to "Plan A" not working.  Marcus had to wonder how his group would cope. It was clear the waiter was not returning as soon as there was a loud screaming coming from the bushes.

He saw Okor as the ultimate warrior. He looked like he could survive just about anything thrown at him.  

A far cry from battle, this was no terminator littered warzone.

It indicates the past blending into the present.   Different faces, different places.

A team is only as strong as its weakest link. Marcus made it his business that Okor had become a self-proclaimed leader.  Okor, a grand leader? An undead soldier that wasn't afraid to kill anything but saves himself in the process. He had killed millions compared to the mere three meager lives lost by his own hands.  Marcus was counting his blessings that he was still alive .  The ex-killer thought himself soulless for what he did.  He couldn't imagine taking millions of lives with his own hands. He just couldn't live with that thought of blood running on his hands.

Marcus did not feel pain or remorse making it impossible to reason with him.   These were all human emotions he did not have.

He was still a stone cold killer named Marcus Wright. Who said that would change? Marcus was hesitant to partner with Okor, who was the better soldier to help the group survive.

Marcus ended up looking around the tree-covered landscape. His eyes landed upon Okor as he appointed Fiara the honor of leading the group. In turn, the annoyance Marcus had hid had bubbled up into the non existent gut he didn't have.

This was a surprise as the smaller woman was recently arguing with the Plaguelord.

334 words out of 2400

[Marcus Wright]

“To survive, humans will work together. Accept each other. For a moment, we are all equal. Backs against the wall, human beings are at their finest.”
Okor’s armor was covered with decades of ancient rust as he carried a very old weapon in his hands. The large man's armor was filled with old stains of rust all over from past battles. But not even age old diseases could prepare him for this battle ahead of him.

The giant's breaths sounded like mucus coughs as he pointed out that nobody had a real weapon to defend themselves. Each could be true depending on the situation. The Vision could be considered a weapon itself, Marcus was a terminator but there was no exact past moments where Okor had seen the contestants fight.

Got to work with what you got, right?

Okor had decided to leave the group for guard duty, leaving Fiara, the fiery young prime to take the lead. The woman had to raise her voice to yell over the hustle and bustle of the survivors. "HEY! LISTEN UP!
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
As soon as she had gotten everyone's attention, she began calling out the names of groups. This was the "gathering" supplies team. Marcus, the Vision and four other secondaries met to discuss what would happen next.

Marcus lifted some of the flatter, more stable parts of the plane. It depended on Amy Contreras, Jeff Malkovich, Lee Garcia and Joanne Gill to hold the walls up.
As soon as she had gotten everyone's attention, she began calling out the names of groups. This was the "gathering" supplies team. Marcus, the Vision and four other secondaries met to discuss what would happen next.
Marcus lifted some of the flatter, more stable parts.

It depended on Amy Contreras, Jeff Malkovich, Lee Garcia and Joanne Gill to hold the walls up. They could help the vision hold up the steel of the walls to create a shelter before dark provided they climbed into the jet plane and ripped the leather seating to make gloves so they avoided burning themselves. Amy Contreras was a blond- haired woman who had a husband back home and she was an expert at handling hot food on the cart. She started leading the others into the plane and bent down to start ripping at the leather seats within the plane.

As the secondaries dug, they also tossed some remaining water floatation devices toward Marcus which he slipped onto his trench coat.
Days turned into nights.
The male syntech employees decided to sleep, while the female employees took shifts.

Marcus looked over at the Vision while his heat vision melted the shelter walls. Just like himself, Marcus didn't need any sleep and would keep the others awake if necessary, for nobody knew what would come in the morning.

The co-pilot rushed toward the plane trying to find a way to contact Syntech companies. The co-pilot bent down and dug through the remaining part of the plane hoping to god he could find the “black box” hidden within the plane.

453 post (757/2400)

[Karl Jak]

End of Round 2

The group of survivors was still hard at work when they heard the shriek from the trees around the wreckage.

Marcus was the nearest individual, and when he heard the woman’s cries, he dropped his focus on the dismembered console and rushed to her aid.  Fortunately for the terminator, he was quick enough to catch the ensanguined survivor as she pitched forward.  With a smooth movement, he turned her around so she was looking up and eased her into his lap.  Marcus turned his attention to his surroundings in the hope that someone else would come over here and deal with the situation, because he certainly had zero interest in dealing with the half-dead human.

“What happened?”

The voice was Fiara, who crouched down next to the woman and tried to check her condition.  When her eyes turned to Marcus, the machine gestured toward the trees and said nothing else.

“They’re coming,” the woman gurgled, her eyes wide as blood bubbled up into her mouth.  “They’re coming!”  With that, the Syntech employee started to convulse, and Marcus simply dropped her.  Already the terminator’s focus was turning to their surroundings.  The terminator swore he heard rustling in the trees, but before he could pinpoint the location, he was startled by the rapport of Okor’s weaponry.  In that quick moment of distraction, Marcus didn’t spot the javelin until it was buried in his right shoulder.

With his teeth grinding together, the terminator broke the shaft of the javelin and dropped back to cover as the figures started to flood out from the trees.

Unbeknownst to the machine, a little orange box sat amid the console he had been gutting just moments earlier.

Up in the cockpit, Jason Crosby heard the gunshots and the horrible chorus of whooping shouts that followed moments later.  He continued to focus on the battered console in front of him—trying to will the bashed mechanical apparatus to function.  He had power, but the issue was trying to get the correct frequency, because none of them seemed to work.

As he went through them once more, he was just about ready to give up when he heard something through the static.

“Hello?”  Jason shouted into the device.  “Can you hear me?”

White noise responded to the frantic co-pilot as he realized that a shadow had fallen over him.  Looking up, he could only mutter an obscene word before the seven foot savage drove a wooden spear down through his chest and out through the base of his spine.

Updates
You’re all being attacked by flesh-eating savages.  Probably blame Hiro.  He got them all fired up or some shit.  What a jerk.

Your work to establish a workable camp and rescue lives will lend you an advantage if you opt for a pitched battle, but everyone will suffer damage whether you decide to fight it out or retreat into the forest.  The call is yours.

The savages are a little weaker than a fresh prime (so they’re beatable but not like, cannon fodder).  Among them are two ‘officers’ (I’m sure there’s a better word) that you can consider to be around the strength of a level 3 prime.

Marcus took 2 points of damage.

[Okor]

The rad-bolter bucked in his claws as he pulled the trigger, the rusted shell propelling itself forward upon a tail of green-tinged flame before burying itself in the abdomen of a half-naked savage. They were allowed a half second to ponder this development before the weaponized war crime detonated, gobbets of bloody flesh flying through the air as their stomach dispersed about the immediate area.

”Kill!” Screamed the Plague Marine, his antiquated atrocity spitting death once more as the brass shell dropped to the scorched earth. Feral marauders surged forward, their ritually scarified bodies daubed with a mixture of warpaint and fresh blood, their jagged teeth and wild eyes turned daemonic by the flickering firelight. A cannibal draped in flayed skin thrust a spear forward, the obsidian-tipped pike worming its way into Okor’s bone-plated gut, the would-be giant slayer pausing in confusion as the spearhead shattered.

”Maim!” Tainted talons thrust forward as his ancient weapon fired, claiming another life even as disease-drenched appendages pierced the tribesman’s skin, dark curses spilling from the Champion’s fanged mouth like infested water from a discarded and broken jug. Pistons screamed and muscles contorted themselves around rotten bones as he lifted the impaled savage into the sky, the seemingly infinite number of parasites concealed within his husk swarming forth as they began to devour the presumptuous primitive inside-out.

Crimson energy lanced forth from behind the ramshackle palisade, searing beams of heat neatly severing the tendon of an axe-wielding marauder in two, a howl of rage and agony accompanying their fall, the crippled cannibal still attempting to crawl towards the secondaries cowering within the fortification. It was a cut made with surgical precision to spare a life, but it would nonetheless be irrelevant, come the next meal.

Stone and hide wrapped around his outstretched arm, the newly made corpse slipping from his corrupted claws, the rotten flesh unable to sustain its structural integrity as its captor turned to face the latest threat.

A dozen ravagers stood, primitive bolas spinning in their hands, spears held lazily in the other appendage as they stalked forward, hissing amongst themselves in their own tongue. Behind them stood a massive marauder, arms crossed impassively as they regarded Okor’s impending annihilation from behind a reworked skull, whorls of crimson adorning the pristine ivory surface. Twinned macuahuitl hung from a leather belt, the facial features of the unfortunates who once made up its construction barely visible in the dim light.

The pillaging primitives raised their weapons, loosing their javelins and restraints as the Leprous Legionnaire’s hand moved to his belt.

”Burn.” He hissed, sepulchral spears of rotten fangs struggling to form words through the haze of hatred permeating his psyche. A hurled spear pierced his heart as he unhooked a censer from his waist, a bola unable to arrest his momentum as he begun to spin the brass container, the sphere tailing sickly green flame and black smoke as it whirled through the air. Briefly, his assailants stood stunned, watching their foe continue moving even as a lance as tall as a man protruded from his chest. It was only when he released his grip, sending the alchemical atrocity flying, did they begin to run.

It was far too late.

Bare feet halfway through beginning a mad dash were caught as the fragile censer crashed against the earth, splitting open and releasing the ever-burning phosphex contained within. The necrotic napalm spread like feral fire, clambering up limbs as it began to consume the cannibals. Many of them fell, each screaming their own dirge as they were eaten alive by the rapacious flame, the roar of the flame unable to drown them out as their howls of unimaginable agony permeated the atmosphere.

Okor’s verdigris-coated boot descended, the heavy metal disintegrating the blackened bone beneath his tread. Stilled figures laid around him, charred corpses slowly smoking as the hellfire that had eaten them alive slowly faded back into the warped world that had spawned it.

It was halfway through the beginning of an idle muse on the endless cycle of life and death did the Skull-faced Champion strike, leaping from the darkness at the edge of the clearing, unparalleled athleticism carrying them forth to battle. Stone-edged swords bit deep into his chitinous armour, the volcanic glass shredding the lesion-ridden skin beneath as white ichor wept from the wound.

The Plagued One swung, his heavy arm sweeping through the air, skimming over the agile Cannibal as they ducked under the blow, driving a scarred shoulder into Okor’s gut.

This was, as all witnesses would attest to later, a mistake.

The tattered skin hanging over the many-toothed maw was flung aside, twisted teeth digging into the foe’s flesh as a tangle of tentacles wrapped themselves around his torso, attempting to drag the marauder deep into the waiting abyss, the rotten remains of previous victims awaiting the latest addition to their number.

Septic sewage flowed over the tribesman’s musculature, running over ritually maimed skin as they struggled, a bone-laden hand moving to their man-hide belt, pulling a bloodstained knife from its scabbard, driving its onyx length into the mass of manipulators swarming over him.

The festering fetters fell, severed by the prodigious strength behind the blade, granting the foe a chance to withdraw, pulling himself from the gnashing fangs and leaping away from arm’s reach, pressing a bloodied hand to his wounds, his scarred chest heaving as they drew in ragged breaths.

There was a snarl of metal upon metal as Okor drew his own blade, its pitted surface dripping with contagion. The sacred weapon of Nurgle leveled itself at the Skull-shrouded foe, a bead of disease falling from its twisted tip. ”You’re already… dead. Whether by my blade, or by the touch of Nurgle, you will not survive the night.” Hissed Okor, glaring with pure malice at his opponent. ”You will curse Omni for bringing you into this world of hurt, before the end. Every single nerve ending within your… pathetic corpse will scream in agony, and I will ensure every insignificant worm you have ever cared for will hear every single wail.”

The cannibal showed no signs of understanding, their eyes wide and feral beneath their carrion carapace, their body shuddering as toxins and adrenaline fought for control of their biology.

There was only one last thing to be said, hungry eyes prowling through the darkness behind him, a brief moment of calm before the storm.

”Come on if you think you’re hard enough!”

The savages surged forth, brandishing primitive blades as they fell upon the Gangrenous Giant, not all of them failing to dodge his tarnished weapon as it hacked and hewed gangly limbs from boney torsos.

Dodge, cut, thrust, parry. The motions were perfected across millennia of war, ingrained responses to the inevitability of bloodlust. A savage was gripped by the nape of the neck, a fermenting cut across their torso slowing their reactions to the point where they were unable to stop their impending doom. A spear glanced off the curved structure of his atomic-fueled armour, completely helpless to stop the Marine. With a roar of rage, he drove the face of the primitive into the ground, their skull shattering beneath his strength. His elbow lashed out, stalling an attempt at driving a spear into his throat. His pistol barked, setting a face aflame as his blade drove itself into the ribcage of another.

He killed. He maimed. He burned.

Like a titan loosed from the blackest depths of Tartarus, he unleashed his wrath, a relentless killer set upon the severely under-equipped feral warriors. Disease dripped from splintered fangs as he screamed his hatred to the skies, unaware of the skull-masked champion driving their blade into his back, shredding organs, flesh, and skin, long-dead nerves unable to communicate their devastation.

Two SP used. 3 Remaining. Okor is currently surrounded by cannibals, and would very much appreciate some assistance if it can be rendered. 1321/2400 words.

[The Vision]

The Vision spent a few milliseconds processing the situation as quickly as he could. Violence raged around them as those inexperienced in combat fled.

> engage?
#False

“May I request a parley before any more damage is-”

A screaming flight attendant was speared, no more than 3 feet in front of the android. As the hostile warrior prepared to do something similar to the Avenger, the Vision looked down, half in disgust, half in disappointment.

> engage?
#True

The warrior hollered something in a language that the android could not match with any known tongue in his database. Clearly, the words were some sort of battle cry, as evidenced by his ferocious lunge.

The warrior then displayed a facial expression best described as shock. He clearly did not expect the spear to pass through the Vision, doing no harm to the android.

“Please, for your sake,” the android warned, “Stand down.”

The warrior again tried stabbing Vision. He sighed, not for respiration, but to display his disappointment and impatience.

“Very well,” Vision calmly said, “Engaging hostile targets.”

A whirring sound buzzed around the Avenger as his eyes gradually glowed red. The warrior tried to flee, but the Vision quickly blasted a quick beam at the back of the warrior’s knee. The man yelped as he collapsed, his left leg unable to sustain his weight.

Another warrior seemed to notice. He flung his spear at the Vision. It was only a small amount of effort for Vision to hyperdensify his fist and slapping the projectile out of the air. In response, he shot another beam at the second attacker’s kneecap. As another spear threatened to skewer a passenger, the Vision managed to shoot it out of the air with another heat beam.

A faint whir told him he was running low on solar energy. His ocular heat beams shut down, gears spinning to close the heat generators behind his eyes. As another tribesman tried to stab him, the Vision stepped to the side, then threw a punch at the man’s cheek. He continued to batter the man with his hyperdense fists until the man fell over unconscious.

Unfortunately, the Vision couldn’t help noticing that he was not as powerful as he used to be. He was having difficulty phasing with the speed necessary to rephase inside a hostile. But Okor seemed to have no such issue with his combat abilities. He was neutralizing a staggering number of the ambushers, using his arsenal to destroy many of them.

The Vision’s momentary distraction allowed a club to crash into the back of his head. The Vision gasped, then fell over. His visual receptors struggled to recalibrate as another blow landed on his back. Finally, the Vision managed to punch a man, stopping him from shredding the android’s exoskeleton. He then blasted his eye beams at the surrounding hostiles, stunning them with extreme heat.

Quickly, the Vision phased himself and ran towards Okor, passing through the other combatants. As he ran, he saw Okor being speared by one of the hostiles. The Vision blasted the attacker away and punched another, his body once again solid.

“Mr. Paleblood,” the Vision shouted over the noise, igniting an oncoming attacker, “You are in need of medical attention.”

Okor looked down and seemed to chuckle, goring another attacker with his sword. “Ah. That’s not an issue. But these warriors are getting too close. I can’t use my entire arsenal without collateral damage.”

“Ah.” The Vision smiled. “That is not an issue, either.”

Okor looked at the android, who nodded with a knowing smile. The plague marine shrugged and threw a grenade into the approaching mob. Okor snarled, “It’s not enough to hold them back!”

The Vision shot another heat beam at the grenade. The warriors were learning to avoid the android’s gaze, allowing the beam to land on its target.

The resulting detonation was devastating. The impact of the explosion flung those who were nearby into the air. The toxic gas spilled into the air, its molecules excited by the intense heat. Some of the contagion was clearly flammable, as the cloud flickered with traces of flame. The nearby attackers screamed as their cardiovascular system became contaminated.

“I disagree,” the android reported.

That same cloud was becoming dangerously close to the defending Primes.

“Vision...?” Okor roared, blasting several enemies with his guns.

The Vision glanced at the cloud and nodded.

> alter_density min
Processing…
Molecules adjusted
> engage(internal_propulsion_engines)
Internal_propulsion_engines engaged

The Vision seemed to almost vanish. Okor noticed, and was about to curse the android when a tidal wave of blue energy exploded where he was standing. Oddly enough, the Vision’s allies were unaffected, but the hostile tribesmen were blasted backwards, helplessly flailing in the air. The toxic cloud started crawling over the force field, harmlessly dissipating as the contagion destroyed itself.

The angry tribesmen began throwing spears again in an effort to disrupt the propulsion field. They seemed to shimmer, then the spears warped as they bounced harmlessly off of the blue shimmering sphere. Okor laughed as he started shooting at the various tribesmen again. Fiora scrambled into the force field as the surrounding tribesmen struggled to invade the bubble. Marcus rushed in shortly after, carrying one of the Syntech employees. The employee rushed into the smoldering wreckage, only half fortified with scrap metal.

After just a few seconds, the bubble began to fade away, the Vision’s body rematerializing slowly.

“I’ve given us some space,” the android groaned, “But I cannot sustain the field, but most of the crew have been moved inside the wreckage.”

The bubble seemed to course with electricity as it burned out of existence. The Vision reengaged the his ocular heat generators.

“I recommend that we conclude this little engagement.”

1 SP used. None remaining. Assistance, I'd say, has been rendered. 969/2400 words.

[Marcus Wright]

Marcus focused on the wreck at hand. He attached two electrical wires to each other and lost focus. None of this helped the hyper-advanced terminator concentrate on the main problem.  One of the female employees screamed.  She muttered something under her breath that could be hard to understand.  “They’re coming! They’re COMING!”  The man with the badass trench coat eyed her and yelled back“Who’s coming?"
The woman kept blabbering over and over, her eyes appearing to roll into the back of her head. “THEM!” “I… I.. don’t know!”
The terminator had a look of pure annoyance including narrowed eyes and breaths full of sighing. He wasn’t planning to stand around and play hero to this woman who barely did anything for him.

He studied the yellow box but forced himself to abandon it.   Wild ruffians suffocated the group from all sides.   In the distance, Okor’s bolter blasted the air with a fierce howl. Cries from the screeching flesh-eaters resonated throughout the forest.

The fortified base held the horrified employees who feared for the worst. The employees would have physical and mental scars from this attack that would last a lifetime.
Marcus didn’t waste any time stabbing the bush-dwellers. They began to dwell at the sight of flesh that was in front of them.  The machine man pulled back and slammed a skinny marauder with his fist of metal and skin which went right into the marauder’s jaw causing loss of teeth. Too bad, this man wouldn’t be coming home tonight. The pain would cause him to lose out on a cup of celebratory blood in a skull cap tonight if he lived.

Javelins fell on the ragtag group of primes while others ran for their lives.

Marcus wasn’t aware of the spear in his right shoulder. He gritted his teeth as the pain radiated through his body.  The lance pierced his skin and went into his machine parts.  He pulled the foreign object from his shoulder and broke it into pieces.

The sounds from the warzone continued to fill the air with antipodal languages.  Okor’s raspy voice was sore from yelling the commands “KILL”, “MAIM”, “TEAR!”. Over 10 thousand years can do that to a guy.
The Vision’s computerized voice dripped with sarcasm as his heat vision sliced another cannibal in half. “How many of you are there, anyways?”
Fiara didn’t say much as she was too preoccupied in the fight.  The redhead carried surviving employees from the wreckage to a safe zone where they cowered as the war raged around them.

The crazed look and haunting laugh of the tribesman disturbed the machine.   It caused Marcus to stalk snail like toward the coward who dared to stab him. He wasn’t one to give mercy easily.  This guy found out the hard way that you don't want to anger a terminator.

The terminator’s eyes flashed a bright, fiery red. He stomped on the tattooed tribesman who started his celebration early before victory was won. He would be the next piece of gum stuck to Marcus’s boot.

The marauder hung to the ex-killer’s trench coat trying to pin Marcus down. The machine pushed him up roughly taking the opportunity to shake him from his coat.  The gibberish the man spoke was unknown.  He was scared and feared for his life. The terror showed in his eyes.
((Author's note: Indonesian Language: Cannibal words))
“Mercy, Tuhan sayang, Mercy”
(Mercy, God please, Mercy)

Yang .. yang .. kau .. Apa yang kamu ?
(What.. are you? Who are you?)

When the cannibal was dead, the killer terminator lifted him by the neck and forced his hand into the man’s back pulling out the vertebrae. He lifted it into the air with satisfaction. Blood dripped from his hands as the emotionless terminator showed his true nature.

He scanned the area for his groupmates. A clan of meat-eaters jumped on Marcus and began to bite him.

Bad move.

It took merely a second to lift the tribal man and fling him at the others causing them to go fly backwards and away from the attack. Of course, this attracted more attention than Marcus would have liked.  
A contaminated grenade rolled into the distance around the primes, a little too close for comfort.  The Vision exploded the grenade, sending pyrotechnics and bio toxins everywhere. The team around them was unaffected.


An electrified blue shield placed up by the Vision protected the remaining secondaries and primes and allowed them to recover faster.  

Meanwhile, Okor the leader of the pack, screamed curses as his bolter shot down what was remaining of the burning corpses.

Nurgle’s champion observed the chaos as the flames licked the ground.  He stomped on the corpses as he grunted “Annoying pests.”

Was there an end in sight?

793/2400 words

[Amaterasu]

While most of the group fought the attacking cannibals, Fiara had forced herself to hold back. Not all of the employees were armed yet, and even if they were the crude spears and maces that they had fashioned out of wreckage pieces were no match for the well-made weapons of their attackers. They were intended so that they would have SOME form of self-defense, something basic so that they had something to hunt and could hold off predators with more than their bare hands. Not to mention that most of the employees lacked any form of combat training and couldn't stand a chance against someone who used their spear on a daily basis and knew the island inside out. If all of them charged in and left them alone, soon it'd be just the four of them left.

She should not even be here... curse her bad luck, curse whatever had crashed the plane, curse the plane for splitting in half and separating her from Saber! She should be finding the only person that she knew by more than looks, so they could make it through together! Instead here she was, stuck with a pair of beings that looked more metal than man and the hulk called Okor that she still wasn't sure about if he was a Plaguelord or not. Curse Okor above all, in fact... curse him for being right. For having pointed out that they needed to stick together, to secure the site, to protect and lead the bunch of people that were with them. She'd wanted to run out into the forest and search for Saber, for the other half of the plane if it was around. But deep down she realized that in a place like this it would be suicide. Except that she didn't want to listen to that voice deep down, though she knew it was right. But now she had been given a role, a responsibility that she couldn't just ignore. She wanted to throw herself into the battle and blast someone's face in to alleviate her rage, but she forced that down too. A voice pulled her back to reality.


"Please... help...!" a meek voice called out from among a bunch of corpses. One of the employees was laying there with a bleeding wound on her leg and the body of one of the cannibals next to her. The latter's torso was a complete mess... Fiara looked up at Okor as she picked up the spear and helped the woman to her feet then handed her the weapon. "Use this as a crutch to get back to the wreckage with the others. Once you're there give it to someone else, okay? You're gonna be fine." There was no way of telling how bad the injury was on such a short notice and in the midst of a battlefield. But this was no time to be honest and tell the woman that she might possibly bleed out. Out of the corner of her eye she caught a movement and noticed Marcus stepping in the way of a pair of savages who had been coming for her, blocking their path. She bit her lip and nodded to him as a thanking gesture before bringing the woman close enough to safety that she could make it, and returned to the fight after that. She ran through the battlesite, wary of remaining behind the other Primes and to dodge fights as she helped whoever else she could to their feet to get them to run to safety, if they could make it.

That is, until her retreat path was cut off by two of the attackers who had split off from the main group and now grinned beneath their war-paint as they thrusted their spears at her, forcing her to step back. Did they want to separate her from the others? No, they wanted to cut all of them off from the wreckage so they could attack the weakest link of their chain, the holed-up employees. She could still hear Okor's weapon somewhere and the others had held their ground too, so they weren't dead, but... could they have been caught up in their own fights and forgotten about the ones they were protecting? More of the savages were going for the plane, though at least the spears of the employees slowed their advance a little as they thrusted them through any openings there were and kept them at bay. But that wouldn't last forever.

Fiara gritted her teeth and balled her hands into fists as the Phoenix Blasters on her wrists sprung to life and wrapped around her lower arms, entering their battle state. With mechanical clicks the mechanisms got into place, the muzzle pushed its way out on the front side and the ammunition was loaded. "Out of my way, idiots", she hissed at them. They probably didn't understand her but she wanted to vent her anger. When they just advanced and readied their spear for more stabs she screamed with rage and threw herself right at them as the flames on her wrists lit up brightly. That sudden explosion of flame was what saved her life - she would have been pierced through the chest otherwise. But the flinch caused in both men made them mis-aim their attacks, one of which grazed her right shoulder and neck and only left her with a pair of bleeding, but shallow cuts, while the other spear cut deeper into her left side slightly beneath her chest and was stopped by Fiara's ribs. Before the pain could make its way to her brain Fiara slammed both hands forward and punched the men in the warpainted faces, still screaming in rage. Then she fired her Phoenix Blasters.

At a close range the shotgun-like gauntlets were designed to add to the strength of one's punch by firing projectiles of kinetic energy, typically knocking an opponent back or even sending them flying, if applied to the chest or stomach area. They could also leave severe injuries. But against the unprotected heads with a small area to target the effect was amplified by a lot. Neither of the men had time to scream or even register the pain as a part of their head - the left and right side, respectively - disappeared in a red cloud. Fiara's jump and the dual blast knocked them both to the ground, where Fiara fell onto the corpses and the spear in her left side dislodged itself and left her with a deeper cut. Then, just as the automatic pump mechanism of her Phoenix Blasters threw out the empty shells, came the pain... Fiara's enraged scream turned into a pained one as it flooded her mind. She could do nothing but curl up and press her hands to the cut from which blood poured, frantically covering it with her shirt. She was going to die here, wasn't she? What a stupid way to end her search...

It was then that her former efforts saved her. Two of the employees, now armed with decent spears from the cannibals, ran out of the wreckage and covered her body while a third one used disinfectant and the spare bandages from a first-aid kit that they had found in the wreckage to treat the wound. They had no doctor with them that could have properly treated Fiara, and even if they had it would have been with severely limited resources, but it was better than nothing. The bandages slowly turned red but they held back the blood. Fiara had had the great luck that no organs or arteries had been hit by the spear, nor had it been poisoned. Had it slid between her ribs it might have caused much worse damage. It hurt, certainly, but it wasn't life-threatening. Then again, anyone struck by pain like this would have thought that they were going to die.

The adrenaline began to take effect inside the phoenix girl soon after, and with her injury treated she pushed herself to her feet, grabbing the spear that had pierced her. "Go back to the wreck. I have to..."

"You're coming with us", the employee that treated her cut her off. "You're in no condition to fight."

Fiara glared at her, but the employee sternly looked back. She was a mother of two adolescent daughters, she got glares like that every day. Fiara might be a bit older but that didn't matter. "You can still help us. Protect the wreckage while your friends do the cleaning up. Come now." She passed Fiara's right arm over her shoulder and helped her to her feet, careful to not touch the wound, and Fiara grunted but followed after.

Her flames continued to burn. She was angry. There the others were, fighting like true heroes, like samurai on the battlefield, determined until their last breath. They probably had sustained worse injuries than her already. And yet it was her who was being carried from the battlefield after one scratch? The woman seemed to notice what Fiara was thinking and followed her eyes towards one of the fighters that was holding off a group of the cannibals. "Take it easy. There will be more fights before we're off this island. You'll have plenty of time to prove your worth, Fiara."

"A samurai never backs from the battlefield unless their general tells them to", Fiara replied, but the flames were dying down.

"Then go out if you want to get yourself killed. Or stay with us if you want to actually help."

And Fiara stayed. Like Okor, this woman had a point. One she did not like, but one whose truth she could not deny. She gritted her teeth and took a stab through a hole in the wreckage, forcing an attacker to back off. Next time, then... next time she'd show them all.

1709 words.
Also just for clarity, the medical treatment is intended to be RP fluff, not actual healing or damage reduction.

[Karl Jak]

End of Round 3