06-16-2018, 11:30 AM
Pick-up trucks, vans, even a trio of mini-buses. The vehicles that the Wolfpack showed up in were many and varied, but they all had one thing in common; passenger space.
The gangsters didn’t stop at the pavement, instead turning in onto the concrete plaza, driving right up to the foot of the stairs before bringing their transports to a halt and piling out.
The Takanomiya Group were armed only with handguns and katanas; they had no heavy weapons, so they were forced to simply let the vehicles come on unimpeded. As their foes started to leave the safety of their rides, though, they began firing. At first, the NSW goons tried shooting back, but all the Group members were lying prone on the plateau at the top of the steps, to prevent as small a target as possible, and when the enemy noticed that almost all of their shots were going wide, they quickly fell back to take shelter behind their vans and trucks.
“Cowards!” a man’s voice roared like thunder, as an enormous, bare-chested guy hopped casually down from the bed of a truck, “Charge them or I’ll tear all you little bitches limb from limb myself!”
He wore a huge, black wolf’s pelt on his head and shoulders, brown bracers, grey jeans and black boots. He was a big, buff guy, shooting orders and not giving a damn about personal safety, so of course Hijiri’s people focused their fire on him.
Their bullets bounced off his bare skin.
He never even flinched. He didn’t react at all. He might as well have not even noticed.
After several seconds of this pointless waste of ammunition, the Battle Rabbit snapped at his subordinates to turn their attentions elsewhere… there was clearly no point shooting at that guy at all unless it was at point-blank range.
Though they did their best to lay down suppressive fire, the bulletproof brute was soon able to cajole his followers into a suicidal charge up the steps.
It stalled before too long, of course. Sprinting up a steep set of stairs over sixty metres long wouldn't exactly be a doddle for the average person, and the constant hail of gunfire hardly made it easier for them.
For a short time, is seemed as if their foes would never even reach them... as if this poorly thought out assault would be a one-sided massacre the likes of which Northside had never before seen. But then, it started to become apparent to the members of the Takanomiya Group—as the NSW leaders must have expected—that they were running out of ammo faster than the Wolfpack were running out of clueless minions to send trudging to their deaths.
At some shouted orders from Hijiri, Alejandro, and the scattered-about members of the Security Chief’s retinue of most trusted allies, who had been tasked with acting as lieutenants during the battle, the gangsters slowed their rate of fire, taking more precise aim and focusing on killing as efficiently as possible to conserve bullets.
Emboldened when the astronomical rate of casualties amongst their ranks began decreasing somewhat, the NSW goons hastened forwards, bringing up their own weapons to fire now that they had more than a second or two between reaching the front of the crowd and being gunned down.
Having to keep as low as possible to avoid the gunshots made it even harder to keep firing, and before long the mob was over two-thirds of the way up the steps.
“Fall back!” the Director called, and his gangsters dutifully—if somewhat awkwardly—shuffled away from the edge until they could get up without immediately having their heads blown off. A few had been killed during that shootout, and a few more had to be hauled off by the nurses, but for the most part they were unscathed.
They had reaped a devastating toll on their foes and exchange taken barely any losses themselves. It was an excellent start, but things would only get worse from here on out. They all backed up to the walls and climbed swiftly over the thick, slab-like, glass barricades.
When the foremost of the Wolfpack’s warriors reached top of the staircase, pistols bucked and bullets flew, cutting them down like blades of grass.
But then he arrived. The man in the wolf’s pelt. There was only one person this could possibly be. The head of the wolf. The jaws and the fangs of the NSW. Jarl Fenrir. A Secondary of might unrivalled in all of Northside. From what he had learned through his informants, the Battle Rabbit was sure that had the Jarl cared enough about ruling this little corner of the tier, he could have snuffed out the Pyros’ flame at any time, and had it all for himself. Luckily for those kids, though, he seemed to be one hell of a lazy bastard.
It would appear, however, that building a bigass fucking tower on the outskirts of his territory and publicly challenging him to a fight was enough to lure him out. Good in theory. Not so much if he proved to actually be tough enough to just kill everyone.
He sauntered casually forwards, showing no reaction as over a dozen gangsters turned their fifty caliber Desert Eagles on him and fired. As before, the bullets simply bounced off, as if his body was composed of solid steel. What was worse, in the precious seconds they spent being thoroughly distracted by the great juggernaut of a man striding their way, scores of his fellows poured out onto the ten-metre-long plateau and hurried after him. Other gunners did fire upon them, but they could only do so much. Their own dead and wounded were trampled without concern by the rapidly encroaching mob.
Hijiri fired along with the rest, landing headshots here and there, but even his weapon wasn’t capable of penetrating the flesh of their goliath foe. And then the Jarl reached their wall. The large lump of glass was two feet thick and should, in theory, have been bulletproof.
Hijiri had intended for it to be bulletproof when he had summoned the immense structure, after all.
Unfortunately, Omniverse bulletproof and real bulletproof were, it turned out, two very separate things. The glass could take a hit, certainly, but as the average bullet in Omni’s strange universe was far weaker than one from the Director’s own reality, ‘bulletproof’ didn’t mean nearly as much. Yes, they made for good shelter when the common goons of the Wolfpack fired upon them… but when their leader swaggered up and booted it, cracks ran through the block like bolts of lightning, and shards broke off around the point of impact.
The gunfire wasn’t bothering him, even at point-blank range, so a few enterprising fools sought to strike at him with their blades instead. Mostly, Fenrir ignored them, for they were no more effective against him than the shooters. One unlucky young woman, though, he apparently had decided to make an example out of.
Her katana struck one of his bulging biceps and bounced off harmlessly, whilst she cried out in rage and cursed at him. Before she could manage to draw back, though, one hand flashed out and snagged her wrist, yanking her towards him, onto the top of the glass barrier. He then slammed a palm into her chest, thumping her down onto the surface with enough force to send more cracks shooting through it.
She gasped, as the wind was knocked from her lungs and—more likely than not—at least a few ribs were snapped. He wasn’t done, though. He pulled back with the hand gripping her wrist while pressing down hard with the other to keep her in place. She may not have had any air left in her lungs. One or both of her lungs themselves may even have been punctured by those broken bones. But even so, she managed to scream.
It was hardly something that anyone could ignore, and for an instant that dragged on and on and on, as if the Omniverse’s concept of time itself was mocking them, everyone—friend and foe alike—simply stopped and stared as the hulking brute literally tore the youth’s arm from her body, just as he had promised to do to any of his own followers who hid or fled like cowards.
Her screams took on a new volume as bright, sanguine blood gushed from her horrific injury, and more was splattered across those nearby as the Jarl swung the limb triumphantly, like a gory battle standard, lifting his face to the heavens to howl like a wolf.
Others of his gang did the same, or else cheered boisterously as they now recommenced their advance. In moments, they were climbing over the glass, while Hijiri’s people backed up, firing upon and slaying those in the foremost ranks but achieving little more than slowing the horde as a whole. One guy—rather than moving away to keep his distance from the foe—took a moment to aim carefully and precisely, then shot the dying woman in the head, ending her suffering. Fenrir was hardly pleased to have his act of sadism spoiled, though, and lashed out, connecting with the gangster’s head with a backhand that shattered his skull and sent his body flying.
He lifted up the woman’s limp corpse by the throat and tossed her over his shoulder like trash, to be lost amidst the mob at his heels. Then, with another mighty kick, he smashed in the blockade, sending tiny shards of glass flying outwards in a spectacular display of brute force. He could just have easily leaped over it, but that wouldn’t have looked as cool, and for a guy like this, the Rabbit was sure, that would be considered a major drawback.
Striding through the gaping hole he had made, the leader of the Northside Wolfpack spread his arms, smiled, and said in a voice which was as near to the growl of a feral beast as it was to a proper language, “And so, my pack, it begins! I give you these upstarts, these weaklings, for your feast! Tear out their throats! Devour their flesh! Guzzle their blood! Let none survive...! Let us show Northside what happens to any who would stand against us!”
And then he began to laugh, as those of his people spilling into the building opened fire en masse, and rank upon rank of Group members—for the first time exposed to the enemy’s weaponry without any semblance of cover—were gunned down in a tide of spraying blood and jerking limbs.
The gangsters didn’t stop at the pavement, instead turning in onto the concrete plaza, driving right up to the foot of the stairs before bringing their transports to a halt and piling out.
The Takanomiya Group were armed only with handguns and katanas; they had no heavy weapons, so they were forced to simply let the vehicles come on unimpeded. As their foes started to leave the safety of their rides, though, they began firing. At first, the NSW goons tried shooting back, but all the Group members were lying prone on the plateau at the top of the steps, to prevent as small a target as possible, and when the enemy noticed that almost all of their shots were going wide, they quickly fell back to take shelter behind their vans and trucks.
“Cowards!” a man’s voice roared like thunder, as an enormous, bare-chested guy hopped casually down from the bed of a truck, “Charge them or I’ll tear all you little bitches limb from limb myself!”
He wore a huge, black wolf’s pelt on his head and shoulders, brown bracers, grey jeans and black boots. He was a big, buff guy, shooting orders and not giving a damn about personal safety, so of course Hijiri’s people focused their fire on him.
Their bullets bounced off his bare skin.
He never even flinched. He didn’t react at all. He might as well have not even noticed.
After several seconds of this pointless waste of ammunition, the Battle Rabbit snapped at his subordinates to turn their attentions elsewhere… there was clearly no point shooting at that guy at all unless it was at point-blank range.
Though they did their best to lay down suppressive fire, the bulletproof brute was soon able to cajole his followers into a suicidal charge up the steps.
It stalled before too long, of course. Sprinting up a steep set of stairs over sixty metres long wouldn't exactly be a doddle for the average person, and the constant hail of gunfire hardly made it easier for them.
For a short time, is seemed as if their foes would never even reach them... as if this poorly thought out assault would be a one-sided massacre the likes of which Northside had never before seen. But then, it started to become apparent to the members of the Takanomiya Group—as the NSW leaders must have expected—that they were running out of ammo faster than the Wolfpack were running out of clueless minions to send trudging to their deaths.
At some shouted orders from Hijiri, Alejandro, and the scattered-about members of the Security Chief’s retinue of most trusted allies, who had been tasked with acting as lieutenants during the battle, the gangsters slowed their rate of fire, taking more precise aim and focusing on killing as efficiently as possible to conserve bullets.
Emboldened when the astronomical rate of casualties amongst their ranks began decreasing somewhat, the NSW goons hastened forwards, bringing up their own weapons to fire now that they had more than a second or two between reaching the front of the crowd and being gunned down.
Having to keep as low as possible to avoid the gunshots made it even harder to keep firing, and before long the mob was over two-thirds of the way up the steps.
“Fall back!” the Director called, and his gangsters dutifully—if somewhat awkwardly—shuffled away from the edge until they could get up without immediately having their heads blown off. A few had been killed during that shootout, and a few more had to be hauled off by the nurses, but for the most part they were unscathed.
They had reaped a devastating toll on their foes and exchange taken barely any losses themselves. It was an excellent start, but things would only get worse from here on out. They all backed up to the walls and climbed swiftly over the thick, slab-like, glass barricades.
When the foremost of the Wolfpack’s warriors reached top of the staircase, pistols bucked and bullets flew, cutting them down like blades of grass.
But then he arrived. The man in the wolf’s pelt. There was only one person this could possibly be. The head of the wolf. The jaws and the fangs of the NSW. Jarl Fenrir. A Secondary of might unrivalled in all of Northside. From what he had learned through his informants, the Battle Rabbit was sure that had the Jarl cared enough about ruling this little corner of the tier, he could have snuffed out the Pyros’ flame at any time, and had it all for himself. Luckily for those kids, though, he seemed to be one hell of a lazy bastard.
It would appear, however, that building a bigass fucking tower on the outskirts of his territory and publicly challenging him to a fight was enough to lure him out. Good in theory. Not so much if he proved to actually be tough enough to just kill everyone.
He sauntered casually forwards, showing no reaction as over a dozen gangsters turned their fifty caliber Desert Eagles on him and fired. As before, the bullets simply bounced off, as if his body was composed of solid steel. What was worse, in the precious seconds they spent being thoroughly distracted by the great juggernaut of a man striding their way, scores of his fellows poured out onto the ten-metre-long plateau and hurried after him. Other gunners did fire upon them, but they could only do so much. Their own dead and wounded were trampled without concern by the rapidly encroaching mob.
Hijiri fired along with the rest, landing headshots here and there, but even his weapon wasn’t capable of penetrating the flesh of their goliath foe. And then the Jarl reached their wall. The large lump of glass was two feet thick and should, in theory, have been bulletproof.
Hijiri had intended for it to be bulletproof when he had summoned the immense structure, after all.
Unfortunately, Omniverse bulletproof and real bulletproof were, it turned out, two very separate things. The glass could take a hit, certainly, but as the average bullet in Omni’s strange universe was far weaker than one from the Director’s own reality, ‘bulletproof’ didn’t mean nearly as much. Yes, they made for good shelter when the common goons of the Wolfpack fired upon them… but when their leader swaggered up and booted it, cracks ran through the block like bolts of lightning, and shards broke off around the point of impact.
The gunfire wasn’t bothering him, even at point-blank range, so a few enterprising fools sought to strike at him with their blades instead. Mostly, Fenrir ignored them, for they were no more effective against him than the shooters. One unlucky young woman, though, he apparently had decided to make an example out of.
Her katana struck one of his bulging biceps and bounced off harmlessly, whilst she cried out in rage and cursed at him. Before she could manage to draw back, though, one hand flashed out and snagged her wrist, yanking her towards him, onto the top of the glass barrier. He then slammed a palm into her chest, thumping her down onto the surface with enough force to send more cracks shooting through it.
She gasped, as the wind was knocked from her lungs and—more likely than not—at least a few ribs were snapped. He wasn’t done, though. He pulled back with the hand gripping her wrist while pressing down hard with the other to keep her in place. She may not have had any air left in her lungs. One or both of her lungs themselves may even have been punctured by those broken bones. But even so, she managed to scream.
It was hardly something that anyone could ignore, and for an instant that dragged on and on and on, as if the Omniverse’s concept of time itself was mocking them, everyone—friend and foe alike—simply stopped and stared as the hulking brute literally tore the youth’s arm from her body, just as he had promised to do to any of his own followers who hid or fled like cowards.
Her screams took on a new volume as bright, sanguine blood gushed from her horrific injury, and more was splattered across those nearby as the Jarl swung the limb triumphantly, like a gory battle standard, lifting his face to the heavens to howl like a wolf.
Others of his gang did the same, or else cheered boisterously as they now recommenced their advance. In moments, they were climbing over the glass, while Hijiri’s people backed up, firing upon and slaying those in the foremost ranks but achieving little more than slowing the horde as a whole. One guy—rather than moving away to keep his distance from the foe—took a moment to aim carefully and precisely, then shot the dying woman in the head, ending her suffering. Fenrir was hardly pleased to have his act of sadism spoiled, though, and lashed out, connecting with the gangster’s head with a backhand that shattered his skull and sent his body flying.
He lifted up the woman’s limp corpse by the throat and tossed her over his shoulder like trash, to be lost amidst the mob at his heels. Then, with another mighty kick, he smashed in the blockade, sending tiny shards of glass flying outwards in a spectacular display of brute force. He could just have easily leaped over it, but that wouldn’t have looked as cool, and for a guy like this, the Rabbit was sure, that would be considered a major drawback.
Striding through the gaping hole he had made, the leader of the Northside Wolfpack spread his arms, smiled, and said in a voice which was as near to the growl of a feral beast as it was to a proper language, “And so, my pack, it begins! I give you these upstarts, these weaklings, for your feast! Tear out their throats! Devour their flesh! Guzzle their blood! Let none survive...! Let us show Northside what happens to any who would stand against us!”
And then he began to laugh, as those of his people spilling into the building opened fire en masse, and rank upon rank of Group members—for the first time exposed to the enemy’s weaponry without any semblance of cover—were gunned down in a tide of spraying blood and jerking limbs.
![[Image: Hijiri_Name_Sig.png]](https://image.ibb.co/k1H7Hd/Hijiri_Name_Sig.png)