07-27-2016, 12:56 PM
He had to admit, he was expecting a lot less from his newly-formed opponents. At first, he thought it was entirely possible they were going to be too busy squabbling with each other for them to mount up any kind of proper offense. Turns out his words had struck their pride, though, especially that of Skeletor’s, whom had done all he could to strike him down before he had moved towards one of the pillars holding up the upper floor of the building. Why they were only starting now rather than during heists where that sort of thing mattered was beyond him, though.
Leaning back against the pillar, his revolver and flamethrower in hand, he took a deep breath. He had observed each and every one of his fellow co workers in the field. In a sense, he knew them better than they might have even known themselves, or at least he knew their abilities better. Those kinds of observations could mean all the difference in battle, he had learned. Question was, though, had they done the same?
Only one way to find out.
He peered out from his column, looking up towards the dozen tennis-ball sized balls of fire raining down onto him. Without thinking, he sprinted out of the way, running to the other side of the parking lot as several of the fireballs slammed into the support column, burning its surface. He continued running, letting out an audible groan as at least five of the mage’s eldritch bolts plummeted into his torso, singing his clothes and leaving bruises.
He slid the rest of the way to the other side of the parking lot, stopping directly behind a red sports car. He grit his teeth as his chest thumped with pain, despite his body armor underneath his green overcoat having absorbed most of the impact of the spells. To give credit where it’s due, Skeletor was a very skilled magic user. He was going to have to deal with him as effectively and as quickly as possible.
He lifted his head up, glancing over the hood of the car. The robot was aiming at the car from a few feet to his immediate front, most likely charging his wrist blasters, while Mick Rory and his buddy Snart were advancing towards his position from his right. Scarecrow was charging from where the group had started originally, and Skeletor was hanging back, launching energy bolts from his fingertips. A five man team versus a lone gunman.
I’ve fought through worse…
Standing up, he pointed his flamethrower at the duo coming from his right, pulling the trigger and letting loose a cone of flame towards them. As he did this, he crossed his arm holding his revolver to aim at the robot, pulling back the hammer. Mick Rory and his friend fired their respective weapons, the ice and napalm heat colliding with Ballad’s wick flames in mid-air. Without a moment to spare, the gunsmith shot a couple of bullets at Zimmer, one ricocheting off of his arm and the other impacting his shoulder. The robot ducked down, his concentration fried.
The gunner adjusted his revolver to aim at the duo he was holding back, the warlock’s bolts skimming the top of the vehicle and his clothes. The flames from his weapon were sputtering, its fuel lessening with each passing second. As soon as it ran out and his opponents’ elemental cones drew near, he fired his pistol.
The bullet rammed into the arsonist’s chest, sending him to the ground. Another shot soon downed Snart as well. At least he didn’t have to worry about those two for a little bit.
He looked towards Scarecrow, who was taking the opportunity to charge him. He swiped his scythe in a deadly arc, madness in his eyes.
The green sharpshooter leaned back, the scythe nicking his scarf. He stuffed his flamethrower into his belt, clenching his fist as the “oversized hay bale” vaulted over the car.
“What’s the matter, Ballad? Scared?” he said, staring at the sharpshooter through the darkness of his hood, “you should be! You can’t hope to beat all of us!”
“Logistics inform me that the likelihood of success on the part of your rabble is rather unlikely.” he said, slipping back and into another car as his boss sliced away at him.
He dodged to his left as Scarecrow ran towards him, his scythe lifted over his head. He then brought it down towards the green-skinned man, cutting a clean gash across his left arm. The master of fear cackled, blood running from the blade of his weapon as he readied himself for another strike.
The winter-bred pickaxeman, however, had other ideas. Sliding his .50 single shot down his sleeve and into his hand, he pointed it at his opponent. A loud, booming gunshot rang out around the parking lot as the fear terrorist flew across the room, smashing into the trunk of a car.
He moved his head to stare at the skeletal warlock, whom had taken cover behind a blue truck upon witnessing the scythe-wielder’s flight. He frowned, squeezing his bleeding arm for a moment before moving it behind his back, grabbing the handle of his pickaxe. He then ran forward, jumping over the hood of the car. Tossing his pistol into the air, he caught it by the barrel, pressing down on the glass button connected to said barrel before throwing it at the blue truck Skeletor was behind, the buttons lighting up to signify the countdown.
Leaning back against the pillar, his revolver and flamethrower in hand, he took a deep breath. He had observed each and every one of his fellow co workers in the field. In a sense, he knew them better than they might have even known themselves, or at least he knew their abilities better. Those kinds of observations could mean all the difference in battle, he had learned. Question was, though, had they done the same?
Only one way to find out.
He peered out from his column, looking up towards the dozen tennis-ball sized balls of fire raining down onto him. Without thinking, he sprinted out of the way, running to the other side of the parking lot as several of the fireballs slammed into the support column, burning its surface. He continued running, letting out an audible groan as at least five of the mage’s eldritch bolts plummeted into his torso, singing his clothes and leaving bruises.
He slid the rest of the way to the other side of the parking lot, stopping directly behind a red sports car. He grit his teeth as his chest thumped with pain, despite his body armor underneath his green overcoat having absorbed most of the impact of the spells. To give credit where it’s due, Skeletor was a very skilled magic user. He was going to have to deal with him as effectively and as quickly as possible.
He lifted his head up, glancing over the hood of the car. The robot was aiming at the car from a few feet to his immediate front, most likely charging his wrist blasters, while Mick Rory and his buddy Snart were advancing towards his position from his right. Scarecrow was charging from where the group had started originally, and Skeletor was hanging back, launching energy bolts from his fingertips. A five man team versus a lone gunman.
I’ve fought through worse…
Standing up, he pointed his flamethrower at the duo coming from his right, pulling the trigger and letting loose a cone of flame towards them. As he did this, he crossed his arm holding his revolver to aim at the robot, pulling back the hammer. Mick Rory and his friend fired their respective weapons, the ice and napalm heat colliding with Ballad’s wick flames in mid-air. Without a moment to spare, the gunsmith shot a couple of bullets at Zimmer, one ricocheting off of his arm and the other impacting his shoulder. The robot ducked down, his concentration fried.
The gunner adjusted his revolver to aim at the duo he was holding back, the warlock’s bolts skimming the top of the vehicle and his clothes. The flames from his weapon were sputtering, its fuel lessening with each passing second. As soon as it ran out and his opponents’ elemental cones drew near, he fired his pistol.
The bullet rammed into the arsonist’s chest, sending him to the ground. Another shot soon downed Snart as well. At least he didn’t have to worry about those two for a little bit.
He looked towards Scarecrow, who was taking the opportunity to charge him. He swiped his scythe in a deadly arc, madness in his eyes.
The green sharpshooter leaned back, the scythe nicking his scarf. He stuffed his flamethrower into his belt, clenching his fist as the “oversized hay bale” vaulted over the car.
“What’s the matter, Ballad? Scared?” he said, staring at the sharpshooter through the darkness of his hood, “you should be! You can’t hope to beat all of us!”
“Logistics inform me that the likelihood of success on the part of your rabble is rather unlikely.” he said, slipping back and into another car as his boss sliced away at him.
He dodged to his left as Scarecrow ran towards him, his scythe lifted over his head. He then brought it down towards the green-skinned man, cutting a clean gash across his left arm. The master of fear cackled, blood running from the blade of his weapon as he readied himself for another strike.
The winter-bred pickaxeman, however, had other ideas. Sliding his .50 single shot down his sleeve and into his hand, he pointed it at his opponent. A loud, booming gunshot rang out around the parking lot as the fear terrorist flew across the room, smashing into the trunk of a car.
He moved his head to stare at the skeletal warlock, whom had taken cover behind a blue truck upon witnessing the scythe-wielder’s flight. He frowned, squeezing his bleeding arm for a moment before moving it behind his back, grabbing the handle of his pickaxe. He then ran forward, jumping over the hood of the car. Tossing his pistol into the air, he caught it by the barrel, pressing down on the glass button connected to said barrel before throwing it at the blue truck Skeletor was behind, the buttons lighting up to signify the countdown.
Quote:Word Count: 920
Powers Used: N/A
Moves Used: A Scattering Storm, Energy Projection (Skeletor,) Heat Gun/Cold Gun (Mick Rory,) Scythe (Scarecrow,) .480 Revolver, Flamethrower, .50 Single Shot (Ballad)
Super Moves Used: Tier 2 Super Attack Move: Bomb Setting (Ballad) on (Skeletor)
Current Status:
Ballad: Bruised and slightly burnt torso from Skeletor's Scattering Storm. Bleeding gash on left arm due to Scarecrow's Sycthe. Tossing a Gun-Bomb at Skeletor.
Scarecrow: Possible throbbing pain in his stomach from Ballad's .50 Single Shot. Currently sitting on top of the trunk of a car.
Warren Zimmer: Bullet in shoulder, glancing mark on arm. Taking cover behind a car.
Mick Rory/Snart: Both shot in the chest. Depending on whether or not Mick Rory wants to be in this, they are either injured or dead.
Skeletor: Hiding behind a blue truck and about to be exploded by the Bomb Setting.
Round 1 is complete! Onto Round 2!
C&C Thread
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New to OV? Need a question answered? Want a C&C of your work? Send a PM to me!
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