This Thing Don't Look So Tough

[Strazio Rockwell]

“Gamzee, I’m trying to sleep for fuck’s sake,” Strazio groaned.

“Oh right, sorry bro,” Gamzee said, “just excited about tomorrow s’all, we get to go be motherfuckin’ heros and all that mirthful shit.”

“Yeah, well, we’ll see what happens,” Strazio responded, “now go to sleep.”

The duo had made themselves at home in Rumford’s guest room. Strazio had already taken it upon himself to confiscate the troll’s candy, but the damage was already done. The high blood fidgeted about in his bed, filling the night air with creaky springs and the rustle of blankets. Strazio squeezed his eyes shut and tried to fall asleep.

“Strawso?

Rockwell sighed and answered with a curt, “what?”

“How we gonna take that big motherfucker down?” Gamzee asked, “not that I’m scared or nothing, just tryna motherfuckin’ mentalize how this is gonna go down.”

Strazio didn’t answer for a while, but finally said, “not sure, we don’t really know too much about it, but if it bleeds we can blow it the fuck up, now good night”

“Good night Strawso.”

Rockwell turned over and closed his eyes. Planning wasn’t ever something he did well, but Gamz was right, that thing was big. Even the megafauna of Strazio’s home universe paled in comparison to the leviathan that Tarrasque was. Hell the thing was probably bigger in person than in the pictures. Strazio did his best to push the monster out of his mind, it would be dealt with in the morning.

“Hey Straz,” Gamzee muttered.

“Oh for fuck’s sake.”

--

Sleep eventually come to the white-haired pugilist, but not before he took the time to summon a set of earplugs. His dreamworld was filled with nightmares and rancorous visions. This terrible trip through the Astral Verse came to an abrupt end as he was shook awake. Like a viper pouncing on a meal Strazio’s hand snatched the wrist of whoever dared to wake him. Sparks crackled across the mage’s body, searing away a thin layer of cold sweat.

“Ow,” Rumford said and tried to pull his hand away, “let go already.”

Strazio’s emerald eyes locked with Rumford and the two shared a tense moment. The green shimmer in Rockwell’s eyes faded as did the white-hot sparks. He released his friend’s wrist.

“Sorry,” Strazio said, and looked away.

“Right,” Sergeant Rumford said while rubbing his bruised wrist, “at any rate, your friend is downstairs eating breakfast, you should probably join him if you’re going Tarrasque hunting today.”

“Yeah, I’ll be down in a minute,” he said and sat up on the end of the bed.

Once Rumford had left Strazio pressed the heel of his palms against his eyes and groaned. Adrenaline jitters still trembled throughout his body. A copper taste tinged his gums and his teeth ached. It had been a long time since he had grinded his teeth while sleeping. Strazio shuddered and a wave of goosebumps travelled across his scarred skin. Valerie used to say that dreams were but windows into other worlds, ones that perhaps weren’t so different than their own. Strazio prayed that Valerie was wrong. With a sigh the tormented mage stood and threw on his shirt.

Downstairs Gamzee was busy tearing into the breakfast that the good sergeant had made for them. Strazio grabbed a plate and began to scarf down some food himself. Rumford sat down across from them and began to enjoy his own meal. For awhile the three sat and ate and caught up with each other. Strazio had intended to omit their apprenticeship with Tearen, but his candy corn-horned friend launch right into their adventure with the ex-enigma. Rumford listened intently and expressed his wariness of the elder prime in much the same way as Mama Godwin.

In an attempt to change the subject Strazio asked, “where’s Rika? Shouldn’t she be eating breakfast?”

Sergeant Rumford sighed and Strazio immediately regretted asking.

“She’s been having nightmares,” he said, “real vivid ones, they keep her up at night and she has a hard time actually sleeping until the sun starts to shine.”

“Man, I’m sorry,” Strazio said.

Rumford poked at his food, “ain’t your fault, it’s just the nature of this place, Godwin says she’s got some dark juju hanging over her, if you can believe anything that lady says.”

Strazio nodded and nudged Gamzee, “that reminds me, why don’t you go get his gift?”

“Oh yeah, almost forgot about the motherfucker,” Gamzee said and ran up the stairs.

Rumford stood and collected the empty plates. He tossed them into the sink and said over his shoulder, “y’know you didn’t have to get me anything.”

“I didn’t” Rockwell replied, “Godwin did, says its for taking good care of Peter.”

“Right,” he said, “I keep forgetting that boy is her child, he’s nothing like her.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, real timid kind of guy,” he said, “but the weird thing is, when he gets into battle he’s a whole different kind of person, absolutely ruthless when he’s fighting, so I suppose they’re both similar in the fact that their both strange, just different kinds of strange.”

Strazio looked away. He rubbed at the scar that ran across his chest, a grim reminder of his tangle with the werewolf. Maybe there was still lycan blood in the Godwin boy, not that Strazio saw that as a bad thing. You either had to be good at fighting or good at running to survive in the Moors, and well, Strazio was never a fan of the latter strategy.

Rockwell leaned forward and said, “so, let’s get down to business, what do you know about this Tarrasque thing?”

A moment of silence filled the room as Rumford took a few seconds to sit down.

“Not much,” he said, “I wasn’t around when it showed up for the first time so I’ve got little to go on except for rumors.”

“Well, what do you know?”

Rumford leaned back in his chair, “well, last time it was killed apparently it took a group of six or seven primes and they used a ridiculous amount of explosives, and they still came close to biting it, come to think of it I think Atelos was one of the primes that was part of that first group.”

“Atelos?” Strazio asked.

“Man you don’t know anything do you?” Rumford sighed, “you’ve been a defender for quite a while now and you don’t know who Atelos is?”

“Well who is he?” Strazio snapped, “must not be too fucking important because I haven’t heard of him.”

“He’s a member of the council, more specifically he’s the commander of the military branch, in other words he’s your boss,” Rumford said, “if I had to guess he’s probably on his way to Tarrasque right now with an expeditionary force.”

Strazio stood up, “well sounds like I need to hurry up, where is this thing at anyways?”

“Several days away at the Primordial Scar,” he answered, “but Straz, you can’t just go blindly into this, you’re strong and I’m sure your friend is too, but-”

AHHHHHHHH!!!!!

Gamzee’s scream tore through the building, followed by an incredible thud. Rumford and Strazio shared a quick glance before running up the stairs. Their they found the troll in a heap on the ground. Several feet away sat Rumford’s gift, the box now slightly dented and bent. In the corner of the hallway stood a young and frightened Rika. Rumford rushed over to her while Strazio readied his magicks.

“What happened?” Rumford asked, scanning his daughter for injuries.

She was half crying and answered, “I-I-I thought it-- thought it was candy.”

“What?” Rumford asked and glanced back at Strazio who merely shrugged.

The rage mage nudged his downed companion and asked, “what the hell happened?”

He rubbed the curve of his horn and said, “she motherfuckin’ suplexed me and bit my horn bro.”

Strazio raised an eyebrow and crouched down. Sure enough there was the faint outline of the hungry girl’s teeth imprinted into the troll’s candy corn horn. Strazio began to laugh and his magick fizzled. Rumford hugged the sobbing girl.

“Daddy, my teeth hurt,” she whimpered.

[Dane Regan]

Floorboards creaked eerily under the party's footsteps, rebounding silently and gently bouncing a thin sheen of dust an inch into the air. Dane waved his hand, coughing as some of the dead particles trailed down from a nearby curtain, then clicked his fingers summoning a small breeze through the crack of an open window. With a faint whoosh and a slightly louder rustle as the wind blew over his companions clothes, the gust pushed down, staying close to the floor and walls while gradually cycling any loose dirt out of a further window on the other side of the hallway.

This wasn't worth the Omnilium. Admittedly, Dane couldn't really keep track of the stuff, he just knew he had like... a lot? Maybe? It was fluid and weird and he kept getting more. But, he'd already had his fun experimenting with the stuff so there was no use pondering it now. Anyway, however much he'd just tossed away, he could get it back sooner or later - it hadn't felt like a lot.

Idly making a few odd comments to stay part of the group conversation, Dane thought back to the innkeeper. Initially, he's suspected that maybe she was just a bit of a cunt. Or didn't like outsiders. But that didn't make any sense, and the few ideas and feelings he'd gleaned from her mind didn't add up. They were well guarded, secretive, but the old woman was definitely hiding something. He could drop it, of course - everyone had their secrets - but where was the fun in that? There was a mystery to be solved, and he was going to get to the bottom of it because he had nothing better to do. He'd mostly recovered from his earlier wounds already, so after clearing the dust out of the rooms the party had rented and saying his goodnights, he retreated to his own personal room for the moment and waited for the noise to quieten down.

Except it didn't. An hour passed, and with his room - number twenty - sitting opposite to the room Clownpiece, Cirno, Yuuka, and China were sharing - number eleven - he could still hear their conversation through the walls, punctuated with odd squeals and shouts, but nothing loud enough to travel far down the stairs. This place had been empty besides for the innkeeper as far as he could tell, so there wouldn't be any complaints from over patrons. Probably. Deciding that they weren't going to quieten down anytime soon, Dane quietly wrapped a basic spell around himself, muffling the sounds coming from around him. His door opened with a loud creak, audible only to him, and he slowly began to make his way down the hall.

"H-hey, give that back."

"No. It's mine."

"Yuukaaa..."

"Me help master-master yes-can."

"Stay away. No! Don't. You'll rip it."

A long drawn out tearing of fabric was heard amidst the other snippets of dialogue, followed by two muffled thumps and a couple of yelps. Dane shook his head, brushing back his growing hair - now invisible as well as silent. Admittedly, he did kinda-sorta-maybe want to know what was happening in there, but he figured he could probably snag the information sooner or later, as inconsequential as it all was.

With keen ears, he listened out, staying attentive for any muffled sounds on the lower floors. The creaking of his own footsteps, and the subdued noises from behind him, made that increasingly difficult, so without wasting any more time he rushed down the stairs, moving very swiftly. He could afford the luxury of not having to step carefully.

The ground floor was empty. No receptionist. But the doors and windows were locked and barred and the fire was extinguished, letting an icy chill slowly seep back in through the cracks in the windows. As far as he could tell, there weren't any other rooms besides those upstairs. Curious.

It was stupid.

From an objective standpoint, he had no reason to be suspicious. Was he really awake in the middle of the night looking for a fight?

Yet, instinctively, he just knew something was up. Or maybe that was just what he told himself to justify his actions. But, even knowing that could be the case, he subjected the bare room to his scrutinising gaze. It was bare, with the counter in the exact same state as when they'd entered based on his recollection. 

Hmmm.

"Hmmm."

He hummed, knowing no one could hear it through his magic.

"Hmmm..."

He snapped his fingers.

The dust.

There was plenty around the corners of the room and the walls with slightly less on the desk, but what drew his attention was a sheer lack near the rug, like it had been draped over the floor and dragged about. Wracking his mind, he couldn't remember it looking like that earlier.

Experimentally, he crouched down, then began to peel up the rug, peeking under it.

Nothing. Literally nothing.

Just normal planks of wood. 

No trap door.

Lame.

But, he had to admit, a late night perceptive exercise was kinda fun. 

...yet, why was the rug moved?

Thinking about it, if there was a trap door, who moved it back?

Spooky.

Creeeaaak.

That wasn't him.

Standing still, he scanned the room.

Nothing.

Creeeaaak.

Wait. Footsteps. Slight distortions in the dust, starting by the door and heading towards the rug.

Entertaining himself, he drew his shortsword and lunged at his imaginary foe, aiming roughly for the heart.

His eyes widened when the steel met resistance, planting itself straight through the eye of a woman who looked to be about twenty. She had short brown hair and a lean build, but Dane was too shocked to pay much attention to her features, noting only that the reason for him impaling her head was due to the woman crouching down by the rug in time with his strike. Her body had materialised from the blow, falling limp to the ground the moment he pulled his sword free, silently due to Dane's lingering spell and the subconscious support he provided. Crimson pooled over the ground, soaking through the gaps in the floorboards.

That might be an issue...

But, that was also future Dane's problem. He could afford to clear up his totally accidental murder later.

I'll finish this off tomorrow.

[Atelos]

Atelos and Shang rode their horses towards the gate, the grinding cogs whirred into life as the Spartan barked the order to lower the gate. The loud metal gate fell onto the ground with a thud and Atelos clicked his tongue at his horse, raising the reins to move forward.

“Captain? I think your fan club is here.” The Sorcerer slyly replied. Atelos turned his head to see his four recruits running and calling for him to stop. He turned around his horse to greet his soldiers, as they came running, gasping for air.

“Private Lopez, how can I help you?” The delegated leader of the group stood before him, panting. She looked up at the Spartan, fully donned in armor, his war-face intimidating her slightly. She turned to the rest of the group to regain confidence before handing a small bundle of paper with a bow on top of it to the Spartan.

The Spartan’s face turned to one of confusion, “Paper? What am I supposed to do with this?”

Shang chuckled at the Spartan’s ineptitude at social cues, “I believe that is a gift Captain. Many people today wrap the gifts with paper to surprise the recipient.” Atelos’ face flushed red as he realized his social misstep. The recruits looked hopeful at Atelos, as he mumbled over to the Sorcerer.

“How do I get this gift out of its container? Do I rip the paper?” With a smile Shang nodded his head. Atelos let out a big smile before ripping apart the nicely wrapped gift. Underneath was a finely crafted black, leather sheath with the words ‘Defender of Darkshire’ embroidered into it. Pulling a hilt out of the sheath followed a bronze blade, one that reminded him of his time in Sparta. Giving out a hearty chuckled, Atelos swung the blade, the metal humming in the air.

“This is a fine blade. I shall think of you Privates whenever I use it. Now if you excuse me, I need to be off.” The privates looked rather pleased with themselves as they saluted the Captain. The two primes lead their horses out of the gate and onto their proposed destination.

-------

Tracking the beast was an easy job, not far into their search Atelos and Shang could see the devastation that the beast had brought onto the land. The treeline had been demolished and large footprints created craters into the ground. Atelos was lost in memories of his first fight with the beast.

“So tell me Atelos, what is the mighty beast like?” Shang curiously prodded at the Spartan.

“The enormous monster has a hide thicker than steel and claws sharper than any blade. Worst of all the beast has blood hotter than fire!”

“And here I was thinking you were hot blooded.” The Sorcerer cracked a smile at his joke.

“No sorcerer, while my blood may be hot, this beast has magma flowing through its veins.” The Spartan was completely unaware of the Sorcerer’s prodding. His voice carried throughout the air.

His voice quickly became nothing more than a whisper as a loud, piercing roar echoed. Birds flew out of their trees in fear and everything evil stayed quietly hidden in the forest.

“I fear we are getting nearer, Sorcerer.”

[Dane Regan]

A day late, ended up longer than I expected.

Thud.

Dane gave the corpse a kick, feeling her soft flesh squish against his foot. Limp. Dead. Definitely dead. Winding up his leg, he swung harder, hitting with enough force to roll the body over and send it skidding across the floor.

Heh.

Two things ran through his mind. First - how did she get inside? Second - why was she reaching for the rug? He couldn't see anything important under it.

The first was answered by another brief scan of the room, and him noticing a slight chill had developed. One of the windows, one he'd assumed had been barred, was open but just a small crack. It was still clicked in place and locked by a pair of rusty metal latches, but not quite closed fully. Barely open a millimetre. He was sure it'd been sealed shut before, and silently walked over to push it flat. It didn't budge immediately, not until he applied a tad more force.

That implied, whoever this woman was, that she didn't usually take this window entrance. Otherwise, the joints would have been a little looser and he wouldn't have been blessed with an answer to his question. 

The second was more complicated, mainly because no amount of staring gave him the answer, even after he flipped the carpet over and tossed it to the side. It still just looked like normal planks of wood. Bloodstained, but relatively normal barring a small amount of rot. Normally, he'd have assumed the rug was just to cover up the unsightly decay, but today he was in super-suspicious-detective mode. And he'd just killed someone, so clearly something was going on here.

Shrugging, he turned his eyes to the corpse again, wondering if she had anything useful.

Just two knives and a dull silver ring with a crude amethyst on the front. No notes or other tools, like a key. Then again...

Sloppily, he curled a fist around her finger and tugged the ring off, then slid it up his ring finger. It didn't feel magical, but the rough gemstone matched one of the rotting imprints. Crouching, still invisible, Dane gently punched down into the rot, not expecting much. It was awfully elaborate, and why put a secret door - or thing - in plain sight? If it was in one of the guest rooms, he'd never have found anything.

Yet, nonetheless, a deep magenta glow shone from the stone the moment it touched the grime, causing the wood to appear to melt away. Hastily, Dane stepped back, noticing that the blood was now dripping around the edges of the hole, slowly falling down the sides while sticking to the walls.

Lined with stone and full of grime, a long ladder rested, pinned to the edge of a deep square hole. There was an obvious lever not far beneath the surface, but little else he could see in the dark. It didn't look too deep, fifteen metres tops, so without thinking much about it he drew both swords and hopped down, enjoying the brief moment of freefall.

Crunch.

The stone cracked beneath his feet, scattering fragmented rock and brick into the air. The echo came with enough force to break through Dane's silencing spell. A standard wooden door sat in front of him, with a rusty steel ring door knocker.

"What was that?"

"Is someone out there?"

"I heard something."

"I'll go check."

About four different voices, maybe even more, came from the other side of the door, most muffled but with a couple getting closer.

"Allice, was that you? You're late, and I told you to be quiet because someone had the idea to invite guests." The door swung inwards, away from Dane, revealing a buff man with lizard scales for skin and a large tail. His jaw and teeth also jutted forward, a bit like an alligator. Only one eye was normal, and the other looked like a snake's. He didn't look normal. Even for a lizard-guy-thing, Dane thought he was more deformed, like a messed up hybrid or science experiment. Behind him was an open hall. It appeared to be a storage room from what Dane could see, given the number of crates and sacks. One lean man, probably about seventeen, was leaning back on a box and watching roughly in Dane's direction. No one else was visible in the room from Dane's current angle.

"I told you. They paid well." The voice sounded like the old hag from earlier. "We needed the Omnilium."

"Right. Sure. Whatever." The brute waved a hand behind him dismissively, then stared at the seemingly empty space by the ladder, and the large crack on the floor.

Dane smirked, idly swinging his swords about in the air, pivoting his wrists, bending his elbows, and rolling his shoulders, and warming up. 

"Allice? Ssstop your tricks. We have work to do." The lizardman crouched, waving his hand over the crack. Dane lifted one leg and stepped back with the other, avoiding the arm.

With a faint pitter-patter, two drops of blood fell from above, landing in the back right corner of miniature square space. Lizard-guy blinked, then looked straight up, beautifully presenting the weaker scales on his neck. His eyes widened, the new paint job Dane had inadvertently given the upper layers of the hole clearly visible to his mismatched eyes.

Not giving him any time to react, Dane drove his shortsword upwards, jumping into it from a crouch and putting his full force into the blow. The sharpened steel cut through the lizard neck like butter, impaling it and getting wedged in the humanoid skull.

Whoosh.

To say Dane overshot would be putting it lightly. Both he and the spasming lizardman had been pushed up with enough force that the dying scales had almost impacted upon the ceiling of the main lobby above the ladder, falling short by a couple of inches.

At the peak of the flight, Dane tore his sword free, then kicked the lizard to the side just as he was about to fall down the hole once again, causing Dane to skid on his feet by the side of the ladder top and the lizardman to ragdoll onto the rumpled rug, rolling and sliding with a few quieter thuds.

Grinning merrily at his easy victory, and the subdued yelps and shouts from underground, Dane skipped down the hole again. It was a tad annoying he had to fight so soon, and he was confident striking when he did was the best time. But, given that they all wanted the place to stay secret, and that he'd accidentally killed one of their allies or friends, either he had to leave or something was going to go down. Considering he didn't really feel like running away right now, naturally, there was only one possible outcome.

Crunch.

His invisibility flickered for a moment after his fall smashed the tile under his feet, but the magic held. Bending his knees and pressing his knuckled against each side of the open door, he leant forwards and slotted the bones into little grooves, smirked, then pounced forward, impaling the leaner boy from earlier who had been warily approaching the ladder. It was a swift death. Dane's longsword had been pulled free from the guy's heart before he hit the ground, while the invisible shortsword sliced over his neck, silencing any screams of pain before they could properly form.

Rotating, Dane let the body fall to the side as he stepped into the dim storage room. With a click of his tongue, an orb of light shot up through his sword, floating and searing away most of the shadows while casting new ones of its own. To the right, there was another room with six people, all standing or sitting around a table, most of them were armed. In front and to the left, there were just more sacks and crates.

Invisibility took time to get used to. He was in plain sight of them, and yet, none of their eyes focused on him. Instead, most were moving to look at the blood coming from the stairs, or the glowing sphere.

"Fuck, is Karl? And where is Bruce?"

"Show yourself, attacker."

"It might be the guard."

"No one should know we're here."

"Prepare to fight. Stick together." The old crone hissed, drawing a dagger and slamming the tip down on the table in front of her. Despite clearly being the weakest, she must have held some weight over the group. Despite the expectations the lizardman had given Dane, they all looked to be normal humans, varying in ages from young adult to about thirty to forty-ish besides the older hag. There was one woman beside the decrepit shell of skin and bones, likely in her mid-twenties, she had long blonde hair and fierce blue eyes. Arguably, she would probably be considered attractive, more so if she wasn't covered in dirt and wearing cheap rags.

Grimacing, she vaulted over the table, drawing a rapier and analytically stabbing it in the air. A low growl escaped from her lips, and she delivered a threatening slash through the air while the four others flanked her. "It's invisible." She sniffed the air, making Dane raise an eyebrow. Wanting to see what she'd do, he opted to leave her alive for longer, and immediately teleported behind the guy on the furthest left, slicing his throat before blinking to the other side and doing the same to another bloke. The second was dead before the first hit the floor.

To his surprise, before he could teleport away, blondie lunged with her rapier, nearly hitting him. She would have if he hadn't been quick enough to jump back, crashing into a chair and making his position obvious. She thrust again but hit empty air. Having no intention of drawing this out, Dane teleported behind another man, driving his shortsword up their throat, jerking it free, and kicking the body towards the woman.

It crashed into her with a thud, glancing past her shoulder as she pivoted out of the way. Instead of lunging another time, she drew a knife from her thigh and drove it through the air, throwing it like a dart by the side of her remaining ally's head. She was just in time to get a perfect view of his throat splitting in half, followed by a small spec of blood spraying along her dagger's flight path.

Dane grunted, his invisibility flickering away as the steel delivered a fine cut to his left cheek. "Nice shot."

Her face contorted to sheer horror, mixed with rage. Almost everyone she knew, dead in under a minute. "You monster," her voice broke, trailing off into silence for a moment. Biting her lip, her teeth tore into her flesh, drawing a trickle of blood. Barely a fraction of a second before she pounced, claws springing from her fingers - four-inch spikes of razor-sharp keratin. Her jump was perfectly in time with Dane's last quick teleport, causing her to lose her target and his strong swing from behind her to fall short.

The rapier clattered to the floor, and the woman spun around, opened her mouth, and growled, jagged canine teeth forming in her maw. Before she could pounce again, Dane noticed the older woman had manoeuvred past them, running towards the ladder, most likely in some silent agreement that wolf-girl would hold him off. What also drew his eyes were the corpses. While they used to be completely human, each of them were slowly developing animalistic features. As if reverting to their natural state. A couple had horns, while the other two were growing little tufts of fur.

Dane focused for a moment, staring the woman down. Compared to her former build, strong muscles bulged, veins visibly pulsing. He wasn't sure he wanted to take a hit from those claws, even one he could block. Nonetheless, she seemed content to act as an obstacle, slashing and preventing him from heading upstairs. That didn't bother him. After a few seconds of concentration, he was behind her, sprinting and then jumped, effectively flying the whole way up from the force he delivered to the shattered tile.

Surprisingly, the old crone was already at the top, either waiting for him or her ally. She hissed, then opened her mouth impossibly wide, jolting and twisting her body forward. If he hadn't reacted, her jaws would have engulfed his head. But, he was quick too, already having begun to work energy into his arm when he started the chase. With a sharp turn, Dane's short sword swing into the side of her head, fracturing her skull with the force rather than breaking it. The recoil jolted down Dane's arm, and he gritted his teeth. Meanwhile, her skin appeared to turn inside out as she fell, arms and legs moulding into her body, turning into a long green snake nearly one foot thick. That didn't stop her skidding into the wall, but it did give her the ability to lunge back. 

Snake mouth wide open with deadly teeth ready to snap into him, Dane immediately tried to dodge - only for a sharp set of claws to close around his legs. He hopped, falling back towards them rather than fighting the grip. His heel landed on a hairy face as he kicked the werewolf down the pit, letting himself drop a few metres with her to avoid the snake before swiftly jumping back up.

Breathing deeply, he shuffled back away from the ladder, swirled his swords, and lined up his opponents. Little streams of blood pooled from the front of his calf, but besides his now aching arm and the expenditure of mana, he wasn't much worse for wear. The snake had a large gash, however, likely only holding together through some form of magic, while the werewolf just had some bruises.

Two versus one. Shouldn't be too hard. 

Dane spent 1sp to use T1SU - Blink. So he's at 5/6 sp now, since he's rested. Hasn't fully healed, but only suffered a scratch so he's gud.

[Gamzee Makara]

That motherfuckin' kid bit his horn.

The one on the right, in fact.

He reached up and gingerly rubbed the deep(ish?) imprint the human girl's chompbones had left behind. But I mean were they noticeable? Were they deep enough to like, be considered by most to be deep? God he was just so very motherfuckin' flustered at the moment. What EVEN just transpired, yo? Like, Gamzee himself cannot confirm nor deny that he himself had too considered that yeah, maybe because troll horns looked like delicious fall-time chewies they also must taste as such, but the thought had never actually crossed his mind to chance a chomp. Why would this child do something so controversial yet so brave?

His eyes dart to and fro, from Rumford's defeated face to the girl's big teary doe eyes. All around the room they roamed, worried that the next unsuspecting bite might come from that chair over there. Or the house plant.

Straz, after a healthy dose of cackling and heckling as the initial outburst unraveled, retrieved the package from its crash site. After giving it a once over, he hands it to Rumford with a shrug. "Never a dull moment, eh?"

"Not with little ones, no," he responds, holding his daughter in a protective hug, before adding in a hushed hiss, "Or with you around." Not that he was comparing Straz to a child throwing a tantrum or anything.

The defender holds his hands up in surrender. Gamzee, who had to his credit somewhat recovered from his mild episode, rose to his feet. He traced the tiny row of craters on his horn with his fingertips, occasionally giving the human girl a bewildered gaze. 
 
Rumford exhaled something akin to a sigh or a groan or both, before picking apart the box containing Mama Godwin's gift. The sergeant just sorta stares at the opened package for a moment, a funny look on his face. "Ruddy medicine woman," He muttered under his breath. Tentatively, he held up something that Gamzee could only describe as miraculous. 

"What is that?" The clown asked with wide, mesmerized eyes. 

His mentor wouldn't believe it if he hadn't watched it unfold right in front of him. "It's a dream catcher," he responded.

"A motherfucking what?" the whimsical boy whispered with a toothy smile. 

"Yeah they're involved in a lot of religions and cultures and beliefs and all that. You hang 'em somewhere near you when you sleep, and they're supposed to catch nightmares, keep 'em from getting to ya," Strazio explains, eyeing the commanding officer and his daughter. Despite seeing much stranger things occur in his adventuring, Strazio found it hard to buy into such superstitions and blind faith. Still, this was certainly a hard to sell coincidence. Maybe there was some magic to Mama Godwin after all.

The dream catcher itself was a beautiful piece of art consisting of three rings. The one in the middle was about the size of Rika's head, while the other two orbiting it were proportionally just a little smaller so as to accent it; the thing was practically a mobile. Mama Godwin must have been inspired by Peter's lycan ordeal, as the dream catcher she created was very clearly originally strung to appear like three wondrously detailed full moons. However, in the bang-up it took from Rika's surprise attack, the two smaller catchers were bent and unstrung in such a way that they appeared to be different phases of the waning and waxing of the moon. The one hanging on the left looked like a quarter moon, and the one on the right was crushed like a crescent moon. But the largest one in the middle held fast, retaining it's gorgeous, expertly strung full moon. The whole thing was made using a a few select colors, but most prominently on display were black for the bordering and background, a brilliant white for the moons, and a lush, lovely violet for the beads and feathers that dangled from the three rings. Rika would later be delighted at the fact that the white string and purple beads both produced an ephemeral glow in low-light, giving the whole structure a luminous aura. 

Gamzee couldn't believe it. It was so magical, so mystical. And the universe totally just left its mark on it, which made the whole situation, the bite, the girl, the dream catcher, the Mama Godwin, all of it all the more miraculous. The world was a beautiful place indeed, and he didn't feel so uncomfortable anymore. 

-----

Rika gave Gamzee the biggest hug before he left, and made him promise the girl he wouldn't get eaten. Gamzee had always been good with kids, though he was never really quite sure how or why. The two became fast friends via tea party, and quickly smoothed over any discrepancies from the accident. "Goodbye General of Jellyland!" She waved, sending them off. Fast friends indeed.

Rumford didn't approve of Strazio Rockwell's tried and true method of rushing in without a plan to beat the shit out of everything in sight, but he supported the boy all the same. "We can't afford to send out any secondaries after this thing, but there are a notable amount of primes already on their way. You shouldn't be in any need of reinforcements," he stated, rather confidently, "if you were anyone else, I wouldn't let you set foot outside the walls until that thing was dead as a door nail."

The officer slapped an arm around his comrade's shoulder. "But it is you, Strazio Rockwell. Letting you run off and get yourself killed has become tradition."

[Clownpiece]

A powerful slam echoed through the once-silent halls of the inn, its decrepit walls creaking and rattling as the sheer force behind the slamming door disturbed them, sending small shockwaves coursing through their old, wooden panels. Small gusts of wind kicked up the thin layer of settled dust leftover from Dane’s magics earlier, lasting for just a moment before dispersing into the air. Deep but soft breaths filled the void left as the echoing crack had faded away, rising from the seething form of Clownpiece, minus her usual, silly purple hat, hovering a fair few feet off the ground, her small hands pressed against door, as if to hold it closed and prevent anyone else from following her. Not that they would, she’d made her irritation quite clear.

Though the thin walls suppressed no sound, the little fairy could only faintly hear one voice, that of her china pet crying and chattering away, a terrified voice professing apology after apology, wondering if his master had abandoned him completely. Good. She thought with a childish sense of vengeance, her teeth clenched and her small chest heaving with one deep breath after another as she imagined what sort of hellish regret he must have been feeling in that moment. She slowly drifted back from the door, turning away as she let out an almost-silent “hmmph.” That’s what he got for tearing her hat...

“Ah, bonjour...” A soft voice suddenly greeted from off to Clownpiece’s side. The star-spangled girl’s heart skipped a beat, her eyes widening and an undignified yelp escaping her as she twisted to the side, throwing herself back just a bit as she turned towards the sudden noise. “... petite féerie...?” The voice, which the hatless child now knew belonged to Myst, suddenly took a turn for the confused, obvious uncertainty creeping into her words and across her face.

“Oh, it’s just you,” Clownpiece said plainly, her small frame relaxing but her voice still brusque as she lowered herself to the vampire’s eye level. She met Myst’s gaze with a piercing glare, her mouth not quite turned down in a frown, but definitely not resting neutrally. 

“‘Just me?’” Cassandra repeated. Just like the fairy, her demeanor wasn’t all that relaxed. “Zat is a bit... impoli... is it not?”

“What are you doing up anyway?” The blonde-haired child almost demanded, ignoring her ally’s question. The same, annoyed look painted her face.

“I could ask you ze zame zing,” Myst responded slowly, eying the festive fairy cautiously. “It is... comment dites-vous... insomnia.... And you?”

“I was playing a game with Cirno and Yuuka,” Clownpiece answered vaguely, almost reluctantly as she averted her gaze from the vampire’s.

“Oui... but...” she leaned in a bit closer. “... why are you out here?”

A pout crossed the little fairy’s cheeks, noticeable even through her averted gaze. Her cheeks puffed out quite obviously, and she debated just not answering that. Like hell she was going to admit that she decided to try and teach Cirno poker. Or that, confident there was no way she was going to lose, she decided to put a rather sentimental object on the line. The fact that she lost said bet was also going to remain a secret. And of course, she was definitely not going to tell her that said sentimental thing got ripped in twain when she tried to renege on their little bet. Though she’d been all too happy to blame it on Afrátos earlier, the fact of the matter was that he just wanted to help her. It wasn’t his fault that his claws tore through her hat like it was nothing....

“Well, some things happened, we got a bit rowdy...” Clownpiece reluctantly admitted, still staring intently at the open door to her left. Dane’s room, if she remembered correctly. “And my hat got ripped...”

“Eh? Déchiré?” Myst shifted a bit on her feet, opening her mouth to continue.

“Yeah!” The energetic fairy exclaimed before she had the chance to continue, golden locks flaring out a bit as she whipped her head around to face Myst again. Though Clownpiece didn’t know the word that she used, she assumed it meant what she said. “Right down the middle!”

“Oui,” though there was a sharp note to her voice, annoyed by the interruption, the vampire nodded along to the fairy’s words. “Perhaps I could coudre... er, sew zhat back togezer?” For a second or so, Clownpiece just stared blankly at her ally, but soon that grumpy expression of hers disappeared. Her mouth turned up in a vibrant smile, her eyes almost seeming to glow.

“Really!?” Her voice betrayed barely-contained elation, leaning and floating forward eagerly, quickly invading Myst’s personal space. “You can do that!?”

“O-Oui...” The brown-haired girl took a small step back from the fairy, only to be followed that step. “I should be able to do zat... facilement.”

“Thank you!” Clownpiece cheered, quickly shooting forward the last of the distance separating them and wrapping her small arms around the vampire. She squeezed Myst with all her might, unexpected strength packed into her tiny form. Myst stumbled back a few steps, thrown off-balance by the tackle, but caught herself before she fell over. There was a moment of hesitation as she debated how exactly to react to this sudden display of affection, but in the end, she hugged the fairy back gently. “I’ll go get it right now!” Clownpiece suddenly exclaimed, pulling herself out of the hug and springing for the door.

The wrong door, as it turned out. The fairy float-stumbled through Dane’s open door and into his dark, empty room. She froze in the air, suddenly falling silent, worrying about whether or not that might have just woken him up. If he even was sleeping... Her eyes quickly flicked over to the bed. Empty.

“Er, zat is not your room, petite fée...” Myst said softly, peeking in from around the corner. Clownpiece didn’t answer, her eyes flicking about as she ascertained whether this room was truly empty. Though she couldn’t see super well without light, she could at least tell that yes, it was unoccupied.

“Um, Myst?” The little fairy said uncertainly, her torch suddenly in her hands, using the maddening purple glow of its flame to illuminate the room just a bit more.

“Oui...?” Her voice drew steadily closer as she hesitantly followed Clownpiece in.

“Did you see Dane leave at all?”

“Eh? Non. I did not see anyzing.”

“Alright then!” Suddenly the hell-child’s voice was pumped up again, and she spun around to face Myst, crossing her arms over her chest. “Looks like we’ve got a mystery on our hands! ‘Where did Dane go?’”

“Eh? But what about ze hat...?” A puzzled look crossed the vampire’s face.

“We can save that for later! Right now we need to find who kidna-” Whatever the fairy was going to say next was interrupted by a loud beep from her phone. Without missing a beat, and without bothering to finish her sentence, she fished it out of her dress. She squinted as the bright screen flashed her face, her eyes already adjusted to the dark room. Her eyes widened again, and suddenly the handheld device disappeared back into her dress. In an instant, she was staring at Myst, a mischievous, almost cruel smile on her face. “Nevermind~” Compared to the purely excited tone she’d shown earlier, her voice now was more... subdued. Hellish undertones scored her words. “Looks like he’s downstairs and needs a bit of help~!”

And once again, without waiting to hear Myst’s response, she took off, pushing past the perplexed vampire and out into the hallway. Her small body sailed almost silently through the air, save for the menacing giggles that she let out under her breath. The light on her torch flared up, a brilliant purple streak carving through the air next to her as the flame shook and shuddered from the wind, but never even so much as dampening. Hallucinatory madness wreathed the little fairy as she rounded the corner to the stairs, the walls absolutely flying past her.

With no footsteps to give her away, there was nothing to give the denizens of downstairs any warning about what was to come. Clownpiece easily bypassed the creaky stairs, exploding out into the foyer in a lunatic blur of red, white, and blue. Though her purple eyes quickly scanned over everyone in the room, she was moving far too fast to make heads or tails of it. Rather, she just made a beeline right for the first person she saw., quickly turning herself over in the air, going from flying headfirst to feetfirst.

Her entire body shook, a powerful, hellish jolt coursing through her legs as she slammed into the unwary werewolf. She clenched her teeth, suppressing a yelp of pain as the hit rattled her entire being. Her opponent went absolutely sailing, crashing through one of the wooden tables with a tremendous crack. That great, echoing sound was soon followed by a much quieter, muffled thud as Clownpiece hit the ground, landing on her feet and stumbling forward a bit.

She sucked in a great, pained breath as the jolt from landing aggravated the hit from just a second ago, but she didn’t cry out, maintaining a confident face as she caught herself. Still enveloped in the mad light of her torch, she stood tall, or at least as tall as someone of her stature could, and stared down at the baffled, quickly recovering form of the werewolf, her head darting about frantically as she tried to figure out just what had hit her.

“Did someone call for back-up!?” The little fairy bravely announced, arms crossed over her chest, knowing that her voice would allow people to recognize that she wasn’t a hallucination, if only just for a moment. All that mattered was that Dane realized she was here.

[13-Jzall]

13 walked into the pale moors gate, he vividly remembered his conversations with Schwi and Serraph although however much time it was between him leaving and him arriving hear remained a mystery to him. Scrap-code showed him walking towards to Coruscant and then turning in this direction but if when Schwi left his side, what she said or even if he was the first to leave somehow a mystery to him. It wouldn’t matter anyway, he would remember soon enough.

As 13 through the gate, his body was immediately covered in moisture. The landscape was a dark plain, small villages dotting the landscape. 13’s first priority was to summon a weapon in case the ‘terrasque’ somehow attacked him without him noticing, Mechadendrites would do nicely. After 13 finished sculpting the robotic arms he set them to work as 13 trekked through the forest, cutting through the dead wood and assisting in getting 13 over the few obstacles he couldn’t destroy.

Eventually, 13 found his way into a town and walked into a bar. A few scattered groups were in there with a guard blocking the doorway.

“Don’t come in, this area is still a crime scene and only well paying patrons are allowed.”

“What happened?”

“Yesterday, something came in and slaughtered the entire bar. We only found some of the bodies, the same sick fuck decided to eat them as well. We don’t have any idea who or what it was and it’s right annoying.

“Don’t worry, I’ll hunt them down and kill them. You have my word."

“Good bloody luck, I don’t think I’ve seen this much carnage since… well ever. You might still be able to catch them though.”

13 continued in the direction of the Terrasque and began to summon the Red Axe, an oversized omnissian axe forged from a rare material in Mars itself. For all he knew the killer was also hunting the Terrasque, a large enough axe would hopefully make dealing with both of them easier. He came across another town a few hours later with a large hotel in his direct path. Although a place to sleep would be nice, he had to reach the Terrasque as quickly as possible.

A giant forest was in his way, a foul-smelling wind and a roar came faintly out of it. As he entered, the rotting trees seemed to bend to watch him and the darkness occasionally moved. Suddenly, a giant bear with one of its legs rotting leapt out and attacked him, attempting to tear off his arm. 13's mechadendrites threw it off and started clawing at the eyes and neck. 13 detached his axe and swung at the rotted leg, cutting it severely but not slowing down the bear whatsoever. He turned the axe onto its flat side, attempting to crush the bear's skull and bones which would not be so easily ignored. The bear roared again and arms came out of the ground, pulling at 13's arms and legs and taking his axe. The arms started to dig a hole to bury the axe in but the battle would be over too soon, he drew his pistol and switched to phosphor rounds, shooting at each of the bear's limbs and its head, kicking it to start the fire. 13 leapt back as the bear suddenly dropped, melting into the ground. The Red Axe was let go, picked up and put back on 13's back as he continued his journey.

A clearing was visible in the distance, 13 ran into it and was nearly blown down by the wind. A giant beast made out of rotting flesh, mud and sticks came out and stared at 13, pawing the ground. It charged him and was answered by getting its eyes covered in 13's powder. It shook itself, attempting to get rid of what the forest vividly remembered as deadly but 13 had already followed up by switching barrels and sending a bullet straight into the monster's head. 13 was charged through a heavy blanket of smoke, getting knocked onto his feet only to get back up and swing himself onto the creature's back. He detached his axe as the mechadendrites gripped onto the creature's 'flesh', 13 hacking at the monster's neck until he got thrown off by the wind. The forest's winds went still, the creature slowly melted back into the ground and a path opened in the forest for 13 to leave through. To the Terrasque and the final battle.

[Strazio Rockwell]

Just outside of Darkshire’s fortified walls the two primes found themselves prepping for the coming adventure.

“Okay so according to Rumford the Primordial Scar is a few days in uh,” Strazio took a moment to orient himself before pointing off to the horizon, “that direction, I think.”

“A few days?” Gamzee asked, “that’s like a motherfuckin’ eternity.”

Strazio shrugged, and answered “yeah, well it’d be quicker if we took horses, but…”

“But what?”

“But, I don’t know how to ride a horse,” Strazio muttered, apparently embarrassed by this fact.

Gamzee grinned, clapped a hand on his mentor’s shoulder, and said, “don’t you worry your sparky little head brother, Uncle Gamzee’s got this motherfucker figured out.”

Strazio cringed, but didn’t say anything. With a snicker the troll called upon that miraculous stuff known as Omnilium. Gamzee turned away from Strazio and set to work summoning some sort of contraption. Rockwell raised an eyebrow. Gamzee glanced over his shoulder and motioned for Strazio to turn around.

“No peeking,” the troll said in a sing-songy fashion.

Strazio sighed and obliged his companion. Daylight was being burned, not that the Moors had much daylight to burn, but he still hated waiting. To occupy time he fiddled with the small tin of pellets that he had bought from Godwin. Several pills of various colors filled the silver tin that fit comfortably in his palm. Godwin had said the green ones were good for the body while the blue ones rejuvenated the soul. However there was one pellet unlike the rest, it was a chalky yellow and smelled like a campfire. He pinched the pill between his fingers and tapped it against his tongue. He nearly gagged, the thing tasted like vomit. Godwin said to use the yellow one in case of an emergency and he prayed that he never had to find out just how gnarly the thing was going down.

“Tada!” Gamzee exclaimed.

Strazio turned around and his jaw nearly dropped.

“The fuck is that?” Strazio asked.

Gamzee sat straddling this three-wheeled contraption. It was a motorcycle complete with a sidecar, not that Strazio knew that. Puffs of fruit-scented smoke were coughed out by the exhaust pipes every now and again. A slick black and purple paint job covered the machine’s sleek contours. Gamzee grinned and blipped the throttle, forcing the engine to bark and cough up a cloud of the fruity Faygo smoke. Completing the ridiculous ensemble was a pair of goggles with shiny purple lenses strapped to the grinning clown’s face.

“Motherfuckin’ Mirthful Faygo-powered Motorbike,” Gamzee tilted his head towards the sidecar, “hop on in brother and get ready for the ride of your life.”

“No,” Strazio said, “I’m not getting in that thing, I’ll walk.”

With that said the white-haired mage turned on his heels and began walking towards the Primordial Scar. Gamzee released an audible groan which Strazio chose to ignore. Slowly the faygo-powered cycle revved to life and crept up behind the disgruntled mage. Strazio began to walk faster, trying to outpace the motorbike. Gamzee zipped past him, forcing the bike to belch up a cloud of rainbow smoke.

“Come on bro,” Gamzee groaned, “this thing is so motherfuckin’ coooool and walkin’ is so motherfuckin’ laaaaaame.”

“Nope,” Strazio answered, “not going to do it.”

Gamzee pouted, “Strawsoooo, if we walk s’gonna take forever, and I betcha that Atlos guy is gonna get there before us and take all the Trasq killin’ for himself.”

“First of all, it’s Atelos, second it’s Tarrasque,” Strazio said, walking past the bike, “thirdly, I don’t give a damn about Atelos so if he wants to go get his shit knocked around by the Tarrasque he can be my guest.”

For a moment there was nothing but the soft growling of the faygo bike’s engine and the squish Strazio’s boots.

“Didn’t you say that Atlos motherfucker was part of Darkshire’s government?”

“Yeah?” Strazio answered, failing to see the point.

“So’s your buddy Shang,” Gamzee said, “betcha they’re both going together and betcha they’re going to beat us and take all the glory.”

Strazio stopped in his tracks. Shang Omni-damned Tsung, now there was a person that he could’ve lived the rest of his life without thinking about. Sparks flickered across his body, ultimately arcing from his hair into the open air with a menacing crackle. He took a deep breath, it didn’t help. With his fists white knuckle tight the rage mage turned around and walked over to the sidecar.

“Fine,” Strazio said, “let’s go, but I swear to Omni if this thing gets us killed I’m going to kill you.”

Gamzee snickered and cheered, “you won’t regret it Strawso, now buckle up ‘cause you’re in the for the most miraculous motherfuckin’ ride of your motherfuckin’ life.”

“Just go,” Strazio groaned.”

With that said Gamzee opened up the throttle and the two primes blazed off into the sunset, followed by a snaking trail of scintillating rainbow smoke.

[Little Rose]

Cassandra was right behind the freely floating fairy of hell, she chased after her with the same urgency she expressed a moment before. Not because Clownpiece was in a hurry, but because of her mentioning Dane in need of help. Instantly it struck the vampire that she had to do something to save her friend.

She had no ability to fly and her steps were - as she was - slightly heavy. Her bare feet slapped across the dirty wooden planks that make up the second floor, narrowly they missed exposed nails sticking out of the dirty floor. As she did she began to see strange after images of everything. The golden locks of the American flag girl was a fan of brightly yellow rays that moved like the ocean. She saw her puny fists in her peripheral slow down so that she could see it in motion, like when they revealed to her how cartoons are made - frame by frame…

And in the distance, she could hear the ticking of a clock, the pendulum that she used to keep a beat when she sang to herself signed by a swinging gold arm. It ticked at the seconds but slowed down to impossible speeds, the clicking it made echoing forever down the hallway.

Sandra remembered the hallway as if it were days long, but doesn’t remember how she reached the bottom of the stairs at all. It had been as if she teleported; Mostly because she did.

From the outside, she had been too slow for the speeding off fairy, but just as the blond little girl appeared without warning and kicked the jaw of some poor canine who evoked the wrath of the small girl, so did the girl with short brown hair at the bottom of the stairs. She looked as shocked as anyone else would be if they'd been paying much attention to the spot at the end of the steps.

Instantly she was assaulted. Not by the figures that reared up in arms to fight the hell fairy as well as the initial intruder, but by the intoxicating sweet smell of blood. Every inch of the air was laced with an extremely familiar scent that made her mouth water and her fangs twist in pain. It had been far too long since she experienced even the slightest desperation for blood, this fact made Cassandra happy. It was the opposite conclusion that left a bad taste on the French woman’s tongue, it has been a great deal of a time since she had fed on a human. Suddenly it felt as if it had been way too long.

If she recalled at all, it was a drunk man that barely knew she had been there. It was a gutter in the far-off shadows of France, an empty alley behind walls after walls. It had been safe, and he’d been vulnerable enough. She had done everything in her power to be polite about it, no matter how unresponsive he’d been, how her voice echoed off the exposed stone and mingled with sounds of moving sewage - dripping dirty water off the drying clothes that curtained the sky above them. She’d asked for permission twice, all he had to say were mutters and drunken pained groans.

It had not been the nicest thing she’d done, but her way of life has changed so much since when manners meant anything.

He saw the slumped figure in the distance, like a ghost in her past, then a second later her dazed was pierced by the sight of the snake twisting around the child-sized fairy. She twirled like the toy ballerina in those jewelry music boxes, the slightly off balanced jerk after a few twists included, torch brightly illuminated the room with an insane shade or purple. Dane was fighting not to be mauled by the wolf when he seemed to noticed. He gave the lycan a kick in the jaw which sent her over some furniture and breaking it as she did before he readied himself to be the hero. Or at least not letting the snake kill her before he could punish her for coming alone.

A bit too quickly, however, the wolf-girl recovered from the kick and exploded from the debris that was the lobby’s attempt to be homely.

Roaring out in frustration as she extended her claws, she successfully gathered Dane’s attention in a bored ‘wasn’t expecting that’ kind of face as he mentally does the statistics to see what reaction was worth his mana. The observant type, however, he caught the fur of the transformed flutter to an utter and complete still as the entire room turned blood red as if he was seeing this through a filter. He would be able to hear a grandfather clock's arm ticking away before coming to a complete stop. He may have even swore he heard it chime once.

The next second everything was normal, except he was on the other side of the room, watching the werewolf come down on someone outside his view because they were on the ground now. At first, he wondered if it was an outer body experience, which was strange because this hasn’t happened before in his near-death experiences, nor even his death. He continued to stare at the scene, dazed with his inner thoughts as he watched the wolf rip into the unfortunate body.

He caught brief glimpses of the gore in the Clownpiece's light, crimson liquid following the slice of the wolf's claws, strands of darker brown hair caught in the saliva dripping jaws, shreds of blood-stained cloth.

Dane glanced back over and could see CP’s torch waving frantically, he could see she was screaming and even tears coming to the corners of her eyes. He thought it was strange his death would create such a reaction when she knew he’d be back.

Wait. Something else was off, her mouth, it wasn’t making the shapes for his name...

“CASSY!” Her young voice pierced the illusion he had and struck him with the lightning realization that something entirely different had happened. “Get off her you fleabag!” the young girl's voice broke in a screech. She shook the torch again, a strong desire to just throw it at the werewolf if only she didn’t need it. She cried out in pain as the snake squeezed harder. As if mocking her futile attempts to save the other girl. “WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU DANE!?” She cried out, the folds of the snake coming over her head now.

Behind her the werewolf relentlessly ripped the young girl apart. It seemed not to matter to the ravenous wolf woman that it was not her intended target. The tender flesh of the young french woman ripped much easier between her claws and teeth. Blood sprayed brutally across the floorboards of the ground floor's floor.

Myst's body stopped struggling in the middle of it, her limp arms danced numbly in the air as the werewolf continued to tear into her.

Death Count: 2
In case its still unclear.

[13-Jzall]

13 found himself in an endless grassy plain. There were no trees or landmarks and as soon as 13 lifted his foot the grass rose up as if it had never been touched. Steam came out of his mechadendrites as they picked up grass, analysing and attempting to make a path that he could follow back or others could go across. The grass was like nothing he had ever seen before, it was a dark green made of crystals if looked at closely. 13 stood still, looking at the grass. He was snapped out of his trance as the Sun shone through the grass, lighting it up into an emerald green and making 13 realise he had been looking at the same piece of grass for five hours. 13 threw down the grass with a glare and continued on his way. In the distance, a humanoid figure was lying down on a rock. 13 began to run towards it, looking for answers.

“Oh hi there, sorry, but this is my rock and you can’t have it. I’m pretty sure there’s another one in that direction.”

The man pointed in the same direction 13 was already walking.

“As long as I’m not already on it.”

13 shook his head and began to walk away only for the same rock and figure to appear again.

“You can’t escape here you know. Look behind you, you’re going nowhere.”

Behind 13 the grass trail he had made was gone without a trace. Nevertheless, 13 trekked on, attempting to find his way out. Only to find the man again.

“It doesn’t even matter which way you go, it’s impossible to leave. Unless-

you-

defeat-

me.”

13 finally stopped and looked at the man, they got off the rock.

“Now we may as well both shed our robes, we, well most I, want this to be a fair game.”

13 took off his robes, revealing his scarred face. The figure was wearing a monk’s outfit, although their face was rotting yet somehow in a permanent smile. He pulled a staff out of the ground and pointed it at 13, a stream of flies and decaying flesh flying at him. 13 stood still, allowing it to hit him. The Adeptus Mechanicus won through attrition, something hard to find in the Omniverse. Except, of course, the rebels but it was a bit illegal to visit them nowadays. 13 drew his axe and broke the sorcerer's legs, getting his eyes covered in maggots in return. After 3 bullet holes were made in his head, the man slammed his staff into the ground.

“Let’s try that again eh?”

Suddenly, the entire battle happened in reverse, the sorcerer standing as healthy as he was in the beginning and just as annoying. 13 wouldn’t win this through a slow battle, he wouldn’t even win with a well thought out attack. He walked up to the man, gripped their shoulders with his mechadendrites and snapped his neck. 13 was already walking away as life drained from his body and it hit the floor. Almost as if on cue, the grass trail appeared again and was being naturally made without 13 having to pick it.


13 saw the field’s end in sight and what was just beyond it, two paths. One lead to a village covered in what seemed to be a living creature and the other, which had a smiling man standing in the middle of it. He headed forwards anyway, ready for what stood between him, the Terrasque and probably five other primes at most.

[Gamzee Makara]

The motorcycle riding juggalo lets loose a magnificent holler of baffoonery, exemplifying the mirthful spirit. Strazio Rockwell, Defender of Darkshire, does not share his whimsical demeanor. No, as the two tore down the trail, kicking up all manner of leaf, brush, and bramble, the mage could only think of the fight ahead. He sits in the purple sidecar, brooding and concentrating. He's not really sure what to expect in the coming hours, save for a great deal of pain. Probably. There's usually pain involved in these things.

Gamzee slaps an arm around his friend's back, jostling him lightly. "Put this on!" He shouts over the roar of the fruity engine. He hands him a plain helmet the same shade of blinding white as the Nexus, or Strazio's hair. The mage waves it off with a grunt, dismissing all notion of safety for the sake of looking like a badass in his little side seat. The clown himself, however, was absolutely BANGIN' in his helmet. It came attached with aviator goggles to shield his eyes from the whipping wind, and the custom purple paint job was no joke. Strazio could see that large holes were cut into the helmet for the boy's horns, but even then he had no idea how all that wild mess of hair fit into that tiny space.

A frown forms on the troll's begoggled face, a slight bit of worry at his friend's hardheaded nature. Not much to do about it, he supposes. His knuckles whiten as his grip tightens. Driving this thing was a bit like riding his one wheel device, except you know with more wheels. It's all relative, he guesses. Pretty cool stuff. A small tug at his sleeve briefly distracts Gamzee from the road; the little Guu doll slowly wriggles and worms her way past the cuff of Gamzee's leather motorcycle jacket, popping her head into view. She glances around at the moving scenery around her, button eyes gleaming. Her head tilts up to look at her caretaker, sending a little wave his way. The boy can't help but giggle, looking at the gift Mistress Guu gave to him. What a cute lil' motherfucker.

"So that's where you disappeared to," he murmurs quietly, turning his attention back to the road. His voice is lost to the wind, he knows. Strazio can't hear him, and he's not even sure if the doll can understand the words out of his own motherfuckin' mouth. So he tosses his voice, drops it, lets it be swallowed by the lonely, ever winding forest road. What a weird, surreal moment. Seems a little out of place, doesn't it? Motherfuckin' Miracles, he guesses.

The Guu doll curls up, wrapping her arms around Gamzee's wrist in a tight embrace.

[13-Jzall]

13 chose the path with the town, as he entered it was as if the houses themselves had noticed. The biomass on them attempting to hug the walls of each house as he passed by them. In the street, men and women walked around, each dressed in near identical white shirts and blue jeans. 13 got onto the roof of a nearby house and walked past the crowd. Occasionally, one looked around and their blank eyes passed him but nothing happened. 13 jumped off the roof into the middle of the swarm, one saw him and began to scream. Their body blackened as armour began to cover their bodies, claws replaced their hands and spikes appeared randomly on them. Just as 13 shot them in the head the rest of the group turned around and began to transform in the same way. He shot down a few more but as his last bullet hit another grunt, it just made some of the armour fall down with the skin underneath appearing bright orange. He ran out of the group with them running towards him, snarling and tripping over each other. As 13 rounded the corner he encountered something running on all fours towards him, their back covered in spikes which had yellow bubbles dotting them. 13 got out a powder grenade and threw it at the bubbles, blowing up the creature but alerting more of the roaches to his location. 13 quickly threw a grenade at the nearest house, lit it up and ran into the closest bit of shelter he could find as the hoard went to examine the noise.ll


13 quickly searched the ground, trying to find anything that could help. He found a flechette blaster, a weapon normally used by the Sicarians of the Adeptus Mechancius. He had spare ammo for it, of course, but at the same time it was going to be interesting to see how well he could use it. The gun already had ammo in its clip and a dormant machine spirit in its targeting systems. 13 coaxed it back into life and walked out of the cover back into the battle, holding a gun in each mechadendrite and the Red Axe in his hands. 13 began to take down the grunts and breachers, he didn’t know why those were the names he chose but they seemed the most natural. His pistol took down a grunt every second shot with three more falling with each quick “DAKKA” of the flechette blaster. As they ran up to meet 13, he cleaved off their arms or head with each swipe of his axe and it almost seemed like the horde would be defeated and he could escape. Then, a ring of red thorns appeared around him, slowly working their way into his arms and stopping his movement. A woman covered in red spikes leapt out of the ground and kicked down 13, screeching at him. Just as he was getting up, a hulking figure covered in black plates crashed into him and sent 13 flying into a floating yellow abomination who threw a black goo into his eyes, knocking the ranger out.

13 woke up in the middle of a road, most of his injuries healed. He slowly stood up and looked around, the village was still there, but he had somehow been moved onto the other path. 13 memorised the location of it when he could start a one man crusade against the xenos, abhumans and heretics of the Moors. He continued on his path, closer than ever to the Terrasque.

[Dane Regan]

The werewolf's skin was tough, and in a close-up brawl, he didn't have the time to charge up his stronger attack - and he wasn't going to risk anything too uncontrollable. Recognising that fact, and that he would be forced to close in by both the number of opponents and the limited space he had to fight restricting his attempts to evade, Dane dashed forwards quickly and unexpectedly. Impulses stronger than the beast-like entities he'd made his foes.

Steel glinted in the dim candlelight, with both of Dane's swords held in front of him crossed in an X. Just before he met the werewolf, he dodged to the side, twisting and sucking in his chest to evade the deadly slashing of claws. Running completely past, and ignoring the hulking mass of muscle and fur, mana charged throughout his leg. The snake on the other side of the room was coiled, swirling around and hissing as blood dripped from its wound. Poised-

Teeth, right thigh.

Its straightforward instinct-driven gaze made its target exceedingly obvious to Dane's mind, as such - ignoring the thudding of the werewolf behind him - he effortlessly hopped up into the air, flipping over its pounce. He twisted, stomping his foot sideways into the back of its head. There was a crack, followed by a slam sending Dane skidding past from the recoil as pain flared through his leg. The snake, however, was sent spiralling into the into the wolf-girl, glancing off her side and landing a few metres behind her. Dizzy, the serpent flopped around like a dead fish, slowly regaining its composure with the aid of the werewolf.

A temporary victory. He couldn't scratch the larger beast without putting himself in jeopardy, not without something changing. He was going to lose. Die. Both the creatures were strong, even with their wounds. He was merely lucky - said his subconscious. It was more amusing than he expected, being on the receiving end of such emotions. Initiating a fight he couldn't win. Expectations dashed... yet. He didn't care. So-fucking-what. Was he going to die? Would Clownpiece be sad, or maybe even cry for him? Pfft. Death was temporary here, and he hated that. Immortality wasn't sweet. It was lame. It sapped the life out of everything, ironically.

Where was the meaning to all this?

Where was it? What was it?

The answer: there wasn't one.

Life never had a meaning to him besides the one he gave it. And here, that had diminished. Mish-mashed memories previously belonging to Tearen were dispersed through the back of his mind, each giving a little insight into the foreign world. The eldritch being had found purchase in Diablo. A big bad evil guy who was apparently going to destroy everything.

It was short-sighted. Not so much as murdering random people for the fun of it, purposely manipulating the situation so his 'ideals' dictated it to be the logical action. But, let's say everyone won. They beat all the big bad guys. What then? Was there another one? Or would everything revert back to the usual monotonous slog of repetitive life and death?

Heh.

A philosophical debate.

That's what his mind jumped to upon his inevitable loss.

But... Dane didn't do losing. That just wasn't his thing - and people who brought dragons to fights were fucking cheating.

Then again, no shame in bringing a portable flamethrower, right?

Utilising the brief breather, the fleeting lull in combat, Dane swiftly pulled out his phone, firing Clownpiece a quick text before steadying both swords once again. Doing a little jig, he shuffled from foot to foot, rolling his wrists and lightly shaking his head, surprised at how little time had passed.

Instead of converging on him immediately, small black tendrils flashed over the snake's earlier wound, stitching it shut in seconds and throwing Dane out for a beat.

Well... Shit.

Can we teleport? Like before.

No. Even if we get one, the other will have a free shot.

So we stall?

I prefer to call it-

Claws, stomach.

Despite the werewolf looking defensive to his eyes, Dane jumped up, a seemingly random sense telling otherwise. The millisecond he did, fur-covered muscles clenched and rippled, claws splintering the wooden boards as the wolf pounced through the air, slashing claws amazingly fast.

That instinct potentially saved Dane's fake-life.

His feet met the wall behind him, where he twisted and ran along it for a small segment before kicking off and swinging both swords down to the side as a deterrent to his opponent. On the off chance it did jump up to meet him, he was ready. Although it never did. Yellow animalistic eyes pierced the flickering shadows, daring to cut him down, but the beast held still, unmoving.

Dane Regan. Master of running away.

Don't you know it, babe ~ ♥

Leather shoes skidded over the dusty wood. He landed on the ground behind the werewolf, pivoting acrobatically through the air. Tossing a sword up in the air, he clicked, sending a fake crackle of sparks at the snake. It hissed, snapping its mouth and swallowing the illusion. Catching his shortsword in a reverse grip with a clean swipe of his hurting wrist, he smirked, hearing his phone let out a distinctive 'ding'.

"Come on, ya big fluffy furball."

His hop-shuffled to one side, using the larger opponent as a physical wall against the other. Taunts met with a growl and a threatening slash of razor-sharp claws, Dane kept his distance, circling around and stopping the snake from ever reaching him.

As little as he cared for dying, natural movements still fueled his body. Years of practice, training, they couldn't be undone simply by a mental revelation. And, y'know, fighting was kinda fun usually. It'd be a shame to end it prematurely.

His heart hammered in his chest, adrenaline surging, his mind harnessing the strange instincts from earlier to evade the claws before the wolf even swung. Turbulent air rushed past after each failed strike, rippling his clothes. Arms heavy, as if they were encased in lead, he hefted both blades, taking the full force of one swing and spinning around, landing his foot on the werewolf's jaw. Just a nuisance in the long term, but the sharp strike bought him the time to dodge back afterwards.

"Did someone call for back-up?!"

The telltale sound of his ally's chippy voice met his ears. Hopefully, he mused, the assistance wouldn't make everything too easy.

---

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

He'd been on the verge of dodging another set of claws from the wolf, cutting it much closer than usual in the hopes creating an opportunity for him to dodge past and free his trapped ally when everything flashed. His vision blurred. And then, suddenly, he was someplace else with the new girl being gored in his stead.

Incompetence.

Hissing, magic fired through his veins, feeling as if it was literally bubbling beneath his skin. Eyes flickering like they were connecting an invisible series of random dots, he kicked off the floorboards with a crack, leaving a splintering dispersal of dust and shattered chunks of wood in his wake. Swords ready, his afterimage shimmered in the air behind him, his movement a blur. In an instant, crisscrossing lacerations drove into the werewolf's side, drawing crimson as clumps of fur fluttered to the floor.

Before the beast even knew what happened, Dane's shortsword was piercing its calf, thrust all the way through and wedged into the ground. Pivoting around, his elbow met the front of its skull with a crunch, sending it sprawling back, sword tearing through more flesh. 

He gritted his teeth, ignoring Myst's wounds, and simply fired the last of his dwindling mana reserves through his mind, accelerating its spacial awareness enough to execute a quick teleport, bringing him and the woman closer to the snake. The werewolf twisted, spittle spraying from its maw while it worked to free itself from the steel pin, black tendrils ready to stitch up the wound afterwards.

As... misguided as Myst's intervention was, she did give him an opening. Only one strike hit her securely, at least, with the others being much lighter blows. Nothing that would be fatal - for a prime.

Except she was limp. Completely dead in his arms. He let go, allowing her dead to fall to the floor with a thump.

That was stupid.

She'd really just killed herself? Just because it might have looked like he might have gotten hit.

Cannon fodder like that wasn't worth making friends or allies with - the former wouldn't work because they'd just die. The latter was impossible because they were useless.

Myst hadn't even been smart about it. Maybe, if she was a telepath, they might have been able to communicate about it first. But she'd just thrown herself under the bus.

It was a bit jarring, but Dane's frustration at the sheer irrationality of the action slowly shifter to a more humorous outlook. Similar to his opinion on the average overconfident person he thought. Maybe she expected it to all play out perfectly - like a storybook. Heck, maybe that would have happened if she'd swapped with Clownpiece - a fairy that currently needed help a lot more than her did - instead.

Now, the snake.

Keeping up his momentum, Dane held his longsword with both hands, sprinting and spinning towards the serpent. With keen enough senses to track the blur, it uncoiled, shifting and redirecting his strike towards Clownpiece.

The fairy barely had time to widen when the sword soared millimetres above her head, catching an odd strain of hair. Recovering quickly, Dane twisted it down into a stab, hacking it through the scales and driving the steel tip through three layers of coil. Ignoring his lost weapon, one of his hands shifted to tap the hellfairy on the shoulder, warping them both back to Cassandra's dead body.

"Stay here." Dane cracked his knuckles. Might as well use the flood of mana before it could subside, as reckless as it was, both opponents were vulnerable. With no weapons, his fists would do for now.

Clownpiece was about to protest, then took a few moments to look down at Cassy, interpreting his silent comment. He hadn't even needed his telepathy to get it across - she's dead, focus on the monsters. 

"O-okay, Dane." She hesitated, clutching her torch tightly. "You can count on me!" After another pause, she swirled her torch, casting her spell upon Dane with a low growl. "It's Lunatic Time!"

Two layers of magic blended in Dane's body, complementing each other equally. He could only grin. He'd felt it before, but this time his own strength was able to match, his mind honed.

Fluffy the Disgruntled Furball stumbled, ripping out the shortsword with a sickening schlunck. Its leg healing almost instantly, eyes panning from Dane to the trapped serpent, blood dripped from its claws. Tapping the floor with one arm and kicking a leg, telegraphing its charge, it swung one set of claws through the air threateningly, spraying red droplets like a leaky tap dripping water.

Undeterred, Dane walked towards it, arms ready, even more energy flowing through them. Crackling.

Come at me, bro.

It leapt, and on a fleeting whim, Dane immediately dispelled his planned attack to teleport behind it, his forearm wrapped around its neck. In perfect sync, ten of Clownpiece's sharp stars stabbed into its chest, fired from another of her spells. Twisting his arm upwards under the werewolf's jaw, he drove his knee into its back, slamming it down onto the floor. With a satisfying pop, Dane felt the werewolf's head loosen and shift upwards, away from its shoulders. Meanwhile, his knee caved down, forming a notable dent in its back. Gore spewed from the fissure, his leg crumping the rough skin, bone, and muscle like it was putty.

His arm jolted to the side, twisting the head to the side. Annoyingly, it still growled, snapping its vicious teeth even as Dane tore tendons. Grinning, he merely twisted harder, ripping the lower jaw free from its skull. Loose tendons dangled behind the bone, trailing in the air. As before, black tendrils were already forming, stitching back and recreating the beastly teeth.

Just die already.

More forcefully than before, tapping into the full potential at his disposal, he jerked, wrenching the battered skull a full half turn, continuing until the remnants of connecting skin flapped down to the side, exposing a mess of muscle and twisted bone.

Still alive.

Dissatisfied, Dane let go, letting its skull slowly repair and setting his sight on other targets. The snake was slowly getting much closer to freedom, having wiggled the sword upwards enough to unravel one coil. He blinked, already touching its scales by the time he opened its eyes. Calmly, he looped one leg over its body and straddled it close to the head, firing mana through his better arm. 

The former innkeeper, likely realising what he had planned, struggled much more rapidly, aiming to throw him off. He was too strong for its weak flailing to have any effect, so simply bided his time. Just a few seconds.

Kra-Kow!

A myriad of scarlet droplets mixed with a more alien green exploded outwards into a fine mist. Sawdust and broken fragments of nails and stone spread out in a rough circle, a large crater now

The snake had no head. The snake had no anything around the impact site, besides odd chunks and segments splatted throughout the room.

The remainder of its body fell limp. Dead.

Simple.

Easy.

Knuckles busted, Dane blinked the irony fluid out of his eyes, shaking his head before teleporting back to the wolf. Another barrage of pointed stars joined him there, assistance from Clownpiece. She yelled something out, likely encouragements - anger mixed with dread, but he wasn't paying attention. They had time to talk later, he figured.

None of the points pierced deep into the wolfs natural leathery fur armour, although it delayed its rise to its feet. New jaw stretching, panting out gasps of air, it looked like it was trying to form words. Uncaring about its perspective, Dane neglected to look into its mind to check, and instead strolled towards his shortsword after making sure he had its unwavering attention.

Claws held ready, it was more defensive than before, circling carefully until it was between Dane and his allies. Crouched. Poised. Ready to-

Without a second thought, it hopped back, spinning with surprising deftness and gunning straight for Clownpiece. Still prepared, Dane blinked in front of it and ducked, swinging his shortsword with both hands and cleaving through the knee joint. Following up, he shifted behind it and swung down as it fell, driving the blunted steel into its shoulder. Pain wracked his mind as he battered hands protested, but as long as they could still hold a sword, regardless of how sluggishly, he'd continue to use them.

Like a chunk of butter, an arm fell to the floor. By the time it landed, another had taken its place with a swift flash of black. 

Thinking quickly, knowing one hit from those claws could be just as deadly to him as he was to it - at least now, with his immense burst of strength - Dane crouched and grabbed its newly-formed ankle, tugging. Like a child grabbing onto a door to avoid being carried up to bed, it dug its razor-claws deep into the floorboard, tearing some of them up.

It was futile, but one of the aggressive kicks it fired Dane's way almost landed. Reaching the hole down to the basement, Dane swung it over the ledge, buying himself a moment of time. Shrugging, he tossed his sword to the floor, fingers twitching with some near-unresponsive. His eyes met the severed arm, drawing a grin. 

Within seconds the muscley appendage was held in his hands, drawn back to the side like a baseball bat. Playing the easiest game of whack-a-mole of his life, Dane clubbed the wolf on the head with the improvised weapon the instant it sprung up with such force that the elbow joint snapped backwards.

"Why are you hitting yourself?" he taunted. Tossing the ruined limb to the side, he picked up the sword again, then jumped down. His heel crunched into its upper back.

Combat usually went one of two ways. Either it was easy for him, and near impossible to lose. Or it should have been hard for him, but he was able to find a way to win anyway. The later was rare, and the former was more boring once the rush of adrenaline had passed - just a competition of how quickly he could end a few lives. But, both proved satisfying when he got the opportunity to witness someone's hope flutter away before their very eyes.

This, however.

This was just dull.

Why couldn't the beast have been made of literal steel instead? Or been able to match him with a sword?

Nope.

It was just really bloody hard to kill. It wasn't deserving enough for him to hurt himself anymore in his efforts to destroy it.

Blood splattered up against his face.

Steel sliced into more flesh.

An arm was tossed up, landing by the fireplace after bouncing off the ceiling with a distinctive thud.

Dane gritted his teeth.

"Fucking die."

Another arm, this one wrenched straight from the body with the shoulder joint still dangling off. Grabbing it by that bone, he swivelled it around, flinging it up just as before, mentally tracking its path through the collision sounds.

Dane thrust his sword down the back of its neck, trying to twist its neck enough to pop of the wolf head. The more he twisted and leveraged, the more black tendrils crisscrossed over its neck, trying to repair the divide. 

"N-evveeerr..." she croaked, voice as effeminate as her original form.

"You don't get a choice, mate."

Stumbling back to his feet, Dane pushed down on the crossguard similar to one would a shovel. He stomped, wondering how it (she, whatever) had even managed to talk. His butchered blade creaked but still cut through the cracked stone tiles, nailing the werewolf's neck to the musky ground.

"Let's play a game. I want to see who can count to the highest number. Me first!" Biting his own lip harshly enough to draw blood, Dane steadied himself, then grabbed one of the flailing wolf arms. With a heave, he tore it free. "One." It landed next to the last two, following the same trajectory.

"Two."

"Three."

"Four."

...

Dane used his T2 powerup for 1 round (4sp), and got CP's +8 ATK buff. So has 18/0/6/6 for stats. He also used Blink again (1sp). Dane has 0sp left. 

I had to edit this since Myst randomly changed her mind and decided to kill herself.

[Strazio Rockwell]

All of this was starting to become a bit too much for Strazio. For the past hour and a half he had been riding high on an adrenaline cocktail. He had been clenching his fists and grinding his teeth in anticipation for meeting Shang again, but this anxious fixation left his stomach queasy. While Gamzee did his best to keep the motorcycle steady he was no match for the uneven terrain of the moors. Every few feet the sudden impact of a rock or a pothole would violently shake the two riders. Strazio’s stomach turned. That somewhat familiar stench of burnt Faygo tickled his nostrils and he gagged. The mage sunk low in his seat, trying his best to brace himself against the vigorous vibrations. His gut bottomed out and his skin turned paler than usual. Gamzee glanced at him and shouted something that Strazio couldn’t hear over the engine’s roar. They crested a hill and the troll gunned it. There was no coming back from this. Strazio lurched over the side and horked up his breakfast, painting a line of vomit across the hillside. Gamzee slammed on the brakes and the machine skidded to a stop.

“Woah, you okay?” the troll asked.

Strazio shook his head no and climbed out of his sidecar. He fell to his hands and knees as another wave of sick washed over him. He held up a finger and tried to say something but a draft of Faygo-flavored exhaust fumes forced him to gag again. He shuddered and groaned.

“You gonna make it bro?” Gamzee asked.

“Yeah,” Strazio muttered and wiped his mouth, “give me a minute.”

After a few nausea-filled moments Strazio crawled to his feet. He spit out a glob of sour bile and took a deep breath.Tremors rattled his hands and tiny dancers performed somersaults in his empty stomach, but he felt strangely refreshed. Motion sickness released its wiry tendrils from the afflicted mage and he dusted off his cloak. Gamzee watched from the back of his soft-drink machine, unsure of what to do or say. A series of sparks crackled across Strazio’s body, dissipating into the air. He turned back to the troll and climbed back into the sidecar.

“Alright,” Straz said, “let’s roll.”

Gamzee smiled, “you sure you don’t wanna take a sick day?”

“Oh fuck off,” Strazio said with a chuckle, “just nerves is all.”

“Nerves?” Gamz muttered, “never thought you’d be motherfukken nervous.”

“I ain’t nervous,” Strawso answered, “just a bit too excited.”

Gamzee nodded and answered, “me too motherfucker, me too, it’s gonna be great.”

Without another word the two once again rode towards the horizon. Their trip, for the most part, was an uneventful slog filled with nothing but the dreary sights of the Moors. Every now and again they come to a bog or some other impassible block of terrain and have to go around, but other than that they remained unmolested on their travels. As they approached the Primordial Scar two things became quite apparent. Firstly the terrain only became craggier as they approached the crater’s epicenter, which meant that they would have to abandon their mechanical steed before too long. And secondly, they were not the first ones there. A pair of horsebound silhouettes stood at the edge of a cliff. As Gamzee pulled in close and killed the engine Strazio scowled.

“Ah, Strazio,” Shang called out to the duo, “you have a habit of turning up in the strangest of places.”

“Shouldn’t you be behind a desk somewhere?” Strazio replied and pulled himself from the sidecar.

Atelos glanced at Shang and asked, “friend of yours?”

“Something like that,” the sorcerer muttered.

Strazio sized up the spartan and said, “you must be Atelos.”

“I am,” Atelos responded, “and who are you?”

“Strazio Rockwell,” he answered and flashed the crest of Darkshire that hung around his neck, “shame you two came all this way, but Gamzee and I can take it from here.”

”What?” the spartan’s voice boomed, “I will not be spoken to like some kind of weakling, this beast is far more terrifying than you can imagine.”

Strazio scowled and said, “nothing we can’t handle, you’re free to watch if you’d like as long as you don’t get in our way.”

[Clownpiece]

Grotesque, sickening sounds wafted up from the open door of the cellar. Disgusting squelches, those of flesh and muscle being torn, and bone being ripped apart, accompanied by surprisingly feminine cries of agony. Those noises weren’t Dane’s, they were the werewolf’s, who Clownpiece hadn’t known had been a girl, not until she heard the beast screaming up from the hole in the ground she’d no doubt crawled out of.

“...Five...” This time it was Dane’s voice. Each and every one of those absolutely torturous noises had been followed by yet another limb, another missing, hairy arm tossed up to the floor above. And this time was no different. A furry arm flew up over the lip of the ledge and landed right next to all the others with a soft thud, and the little fairy simply watched, holding her torch close to her chest. The maddening purple flame of her torch danced and flickered just in front of her face. So close, and yet since no heat emanated from it she didn't really notice.

“Aww is that all you’ve got?” The swordsman’s disappointed voice followed after that limb. “I was hoping to get six or seven more out of you.”

Had this been any other fight, Clownpiece would’ve been right there with him, mocking the werewolf, showing her what hell on earth was really like. Hell, she probably would’ve been commenting on how delightfully brutal Dane was being. How if he kept up that sort of behavior, he could probably get a job bestowing punishment upon the sinful souls consigned to hell. She even personally knew the Goddess of Hell! She could give him a glowing recommendation and basically guarantee that he’d get accepted. And besides, he could almost match her in strength! That made him strong enough to be a major player down there. Or at least made him strong enough to be recognizable to some degree.

Of course, this wasn’t any other fight. The little spirit of madness turned her gaze away from the hole, away from the sounds of glorious carnage, and down towards the still form of Cassandra Myst, eyes eternally open in a glassy stare, and head lolled off to the side. Where her chest once was, there was now just a gory, blood-filled cavity. The Lycan's claws had just... torn her asunder, completely. Other than a few flecks of bone fragments and what seemed to be shredded flesh and cloth here and there, there was just nothing recognizable. It sorta reminded her of a blood eagle, but... messier. This was something she was supposed to see in the many torments of hell, not here, after a fight.

Well, that was the rule of hell, she thought, scarcely noticing as the blood leaking not only from Myst, but from the snake flowed thickly over the floor. Her star-spangled tights soaked up the viscous crimson liquid, plastering them to her feet. The weak died and the strong lived. Did her brief stint in Gensokyo really make her forget that? Or was it hanging around fellow fairies so much? Making friends with hell fairies wasn’t an uncommon occurrence by any means. Down there, they tended to make some of the most... permanent friends, in that they couldn’t die. Not permanently. But even so, even if she might have been a little bit biased towards her friends that just couldn’t die, she still saw enough death and torture to balance it out. 

Not just of the sinners either. Sure, they died, they got consigned to hell, and then they got tortured until someone saw fit to try reincarnating them and hoping their soul got better. But there were others, as well. Natural-born denizens of hell loved to fight, drink, torment, and kill. It was just the way things were down there. Too many people picked fights they couldn’t win, and got killed from it. Some of them, like fairies, came back from it. Not everyone was so lucky though.

And the native-born hellspawn knew that the girl at her feet wasn’t one of the lucky ones. She wasn’t a fairy like she or Cirno or Eternity was. She wasn’t as silly and impulsive as them, she didn’t have the body of an eternal child. Nor was she a divine spirit like Honorable Friend. She lacked the strength, the raw power that those sorts of people had. So it was probably the end of the line for her. No redoes, no more chances. Just dead. All because she decided to jump in front of an attack like that.

A heavy grunt sounded from vaguely where the hole in the ground was, tearing Clownpiece’s attention away from her inner thoughts. She hadn’t noticed it before, but the cries of pain had long since stopped. Her head turned back up, her eyes flicking away from the corpse of Myst at her feet, and towards the sound she heard, her expression almost... uncaring. The blond-haired and blood-covered form of her friend clawed his way up and out of the cellar, his demeanor back to being as uncaring as ever. In his right hand, he held the decapitated head of the Lycan he just killed, perhaps as a memento, or perhaps just something he held to make absolutely sure it was dead.

“Well, that’s done...” Dane said with a grunt as he hauled himself to his feet, sounding out of breath, even bored in a way. Cassandra was lying there dead at her feet, he just got finished torturing a werewolf to death, and he just... addressed her so casually. Almost like he’d just got off a grueling shift filling out some paperwork over at the Ministry of Right and Wrong. Three deaths, two from enemies so tough he needed to call on his fairy friend, and one of an ally who threw away her life to protect him, and there he was, still without a care in the world.

“You good there, kiddo?” He asked, perhaps noticing the lack of reply from the fledgling lampad. Or maybe it was how she just sort of... stood there, regarding him with a deep purple gaze. Either way, he stepped towards her, each step over the blood-soaked floor sending little splashes of that life-bringing fluid everywhere. Whoever had to clean this up was going to have one hell of a time. Clownpiece took a deep breath, the familiar, metallic scent of gratuitous amounts of blood easily overpowering that of the usually dusty inn. “Yeah, I know, it sucks...” He started, eyes flicking down towards the vampire’s corpse. One blood-stained hand, the one not currently holding onto a werewolf’s head, lifted up towards her currently-hatless head, before falling upon her golden hair, fingers splayed as he began aggressively ruffling her locks. “But she’s a prime, she’ll respawn at the fountain just like you and I did.”

Right, that was a thing. Clownpiece had honestly forgotten. She was so used to respawning normally that it just seemed like something that happened. Her head tilted up, almost seeming for a moment like she was leaning into the hand patting her head, but that wasn’t what the action meant. She blinked at him, her neutral expression suddenly shifting into something childishly annoyed. “I knew that!” The star-spangled child exclaimed petulantly, her cheeks puffing out in a pout. “It’s just... Someone like her would never make it in hell!” She crossed her arms over her chest, her pout only growing stronger as she stared at Dane. “Who does she think she is, just jumping into danger like that!”

“Yeah...” The swordsman agreed, though his expression didn’t really change. “That was dumb of her.” And that was all that he offered. His hand simply fell from her head, and no further comment came from him. Whether that was because he had nothing to offer, or simply because he didn’t want to dump anything more on her, the fairy couldn’t tell.

“And that goes for you too!” This time all the ire in her gaze was directed at Dane himself. A small look of surprise crossed his face, but only for a brief moment. “I’ve had to save your skin twice now! In two days!”

“Yeah, but I’m alive, aren’t I?” Dane said, deliberately not meeting her gaze, and instead just bringing his hand right back up to ruffle her hair again. Something to reassure her. Clownpiece’s only response to that was to cast a quick, pointed glare down towards the corpse at her feet, slowly dissolving into Omnilium. The message was clear. Yeah, but you couldn’t be.

To that, the swordsman simply shrugged. “You know I know how to fight. If I was in any real danger, I’d have just teleported outta here.” The hellspawn frowned, opening up her mouth, ready to argue with him more.

But never got the chance. The relative silence of the inn was completely shattered by a shout and the distinct splintering of wood. Both Clownpiece and Dane whipped around, towards the sound, just in time to watch as the already well-worn door exploded right off its hinges and sailed a good meter into the room, before crashing into the ground and sending up a splash of blood from the puddle it landed in. Boots slammed against the floor as four guards flooded into the inn, crossbows at the ready, their strides rattling the shaky foundation. 

Both the fairy and the swordsman froze, careful not to make so much as an unintended twitch while the guards fanned out, crossbows trained on the two of them. Dane smiled awkwardly, letting the werewolf head he had been holding onto fall to the ground with a wet and squishy thump. Not like it mattered, they’d already seen him holding it. “What seems to be the problem, officers?” He joked, his tone light in spite of the situation.

[Illidan Stormrage]

The earth flowed like water beneath him. Green light tinged the corners of his vision as he skated through the air, winding and writhing like a serpent. A dull beating shook the green light edging his sight, weak but alien. It thudded with a peculiar beat, as if irregular, or multiple beats overlapping each other. His vantage point skimmed the dirt and the beating grew stronger. It slipped through solid ground and into a tunnel burrowed through solid rock and soil and soared along it, twisting and turning with each bend.
 
Lord Illidan...
 
Despite the light unable to penetrate the earth, he could see perfectly fine. Through the jagged rent under the ground he flew, until light indeed poured down over his viewpoint. He ascended and looked down at the devastation. The tunnel led right into a huge upheaval of earth and soil, leaving behind a massive, asymmetrical tear in the ground. The light at his vision’s edge thudded fast and bright – his quarry had been here before.
 
Lord Illidan...
 
Floating higher, he scoured the land in sight. The beating slowed.
 
Lord Illidan.
 
The night elf opened his eyes. His consciousness whisked back into his body, passing through the new fel crystal hovering high above the fortress spires. The throne room surrounded him. Illidan uncrossed his legs and dangled them over his stone throne. A werewolf knelt before him.
 
Illidan breathed audibly out of his nostrils. “Yes Clawfang, what is it? I hope this is important enough for me to leave my meditative trance.”
 
“The werebat scouts have returned, my lord,” Clawfang said, his eyes on the ground. “They bring news of the creature.”
 
“Indeed?” Illidan said.
 
“The monster has vanished from sight, but there is a large chasm in the ground thought to have been made by it.”
 
Illidan rose from his throne. Clawfang took a hurried step backwards. “Yes. I have just seen it myself. Clawfang, see that Torandril meets me at the castle gates.”
 
“Yes, my lord.” The werewolf stood, bowed deeply, and retreated. The night elf gave him a few moments before cracking his neck and following after.
 
Torandril stood at the gates with hands clasped behind his back. His cowl rested over his eyes, shadowing everything above the bridge of his nose except the two ram horns that curled out of his forehead. “Lord Illidan. Clawfang informed me of your summons.”
 
A tall, purple skinned woman walked past, her eyes made of yellow fire. Her six arms swung as she walked. She gave a curt nod of her head to Illidan and continued on her way.
 
“How goes the Shivarra reassimilation into the Illidari?” Illidan asked, watching the svelte she-demon saunter into the courtyard.
 
“Without issue,” Torandril said. “It has been a great boon to have Mother Malevolence and her ilk rejoin our forces. They relish the chance to serve again.”
 
“They always were the most cunning of the Legion’s forces,” Illidan said, folding his arms. “Their assistance to our cause will be of immense benefit.” The kaldorei looked to his second-in-command. “And what of Azzinoth?”
 
“Still chained in the deepest dungeon of Poenari Castle, my lord. His rage know no bounds, but our spellwork keeps him and his powers contained until you see fit to deal with him.”
 
“Good.” For once, it felt like everything was under control. Regis and Dracula’s cronies, except for those that remained loyal to Clawfang, had been expelled from the castle grounds or executed along with their master. The demon hunters and naga still worked faithfully for his vision, and with the addition of the Shivarri and the Broken draenei, the net loss to his army was minimal. Not to mention that he trusted those who had joined or stayed on.
 
But now, there was a new problem. One that didn’t just threaten Poenari Castle, but the whole verse.
 
“So, what did you need me for, my lord?” Torandril asked.
 
“There is a creature... I don’t know what sort or what it looks like. I don’t know how big it is or whether it is one of Dracula’s machinations. But it is a threat to us.”
 
Torandril nodded. “There have been rumours of a monstrous beast that swims through rock and soil like a shark through water. I have felt the ground tremble for no reason.”
 
“Indeed,” Illidan said. “My meditation, enhanced by the fel crystal, has taken my sight beyond this area and to an unnatural system of tunnels carved beneath the ground. I could still feel its presence, though weak. I don’t know where it is now, but I may find a clue about the beast if I travel to the path it has left behind it.”
 
Torandril anticipated his lord’s reasoning for the summons. “You are leaving to investigate.”
 
“As sharp as ever,” Illidan said. A curtain of black smoke enveloped him. When it dissipated, the terrifying demon form of Stormrage stood in his place. “You are to take command while I am absent. Ensure repairs to the fortress continue and that the Broken and Shivarra integrate without any problems. I will return.”
 
Torandril bowed as Illidan flared his wings and shot into the sky.

[Ash]

The gate she entered was as good as any other gate. In theory. If luck smiled upon her, she’d be in Coruscant where she could take care of business much easier. Of course, that would be too much to ask for. Ash had just stepped through the top of the gate, her body swinging up and over the arch.

The next moment she shielded her eyes from the sudden shift in lighting differences between Void and Moor as gravity, the ever cruel mistress, pulled her down and towards the lush green - yet hazy - grounds.

Before 13-Jzall had a chance to begin his journey once more he caught a shadow on the edge of his peripheral vision. When he looked up he more sensed the falling being than saw it and out of skilled reaction held out his arms to catch them.

What landed in his arms was both surprisingly light in body - easily liftable by a child, really - and unimaginably heavy on the soul.

The ranger looked upon with unblinking eyes a woman with bruise-colored skin, raven black voluminous hair, ebony dark horns that met point to point in front of her forehead, and almost nothing covering her body. Silent alarms sent him mentally on high alert.

Her eyes, blank white spaces on either side of her nose, looked as though they stopped functioning years ago. Again it was more the sensation of them looking back into his liquid-filled goggles than him able to confirm visually that they were. She instantly flashed her savior a grateful smile. “Well, you look friendly enough.” She teased, sweetly.

Her hand grabbed his shoulder before 13-Jzall could adequately respond to this new experience in the Moors, and she began to slide herself out of his grip.  His fingers released her without needing to apply much force, he has yet to put her danger level to a solid number and was content on just observing her for the moment.

Ash stepped with her back to the figure who’d caught her, giving him a vision of a raven whose feather’s matched her hair so perfectly trying to fly off her bare shoulder. It was a tattoo, but it must have taken hours to perfect. It’s eye trained on him while his eyes stared thoughtlessly at it.

The first thing that greets her after this, was a familiar and much missed internal alarm that she had an email. With little effort at all, she resummons her Cyberdeck, which was just a bunch of holograms at this point anymore. The visor materialized around her eyes and she pushed aside her work from the Underverse to read the message. Cryptic numbers made her curious, but she pulled back out of it to see her earlier logs.

A smirk curled the pierced blue lip as a simple but interesting idea came to her. Mentally she began to unravel her notes and make simple additions. Edited. Her mind working faster than she could put effort into typing. In the meanwhile, she was very aware that her prince in slightly scuffed armor was staring. As if she’d died, she returned to The Omniverse in little more than rags. White, of course. But unlike her last visit with the fountain, it only covered her slightly.

The observer took in her image and figure for the sake of science, but she could sense that her demonic looks struck him on a different level than most. She watched him come into her peripheral and put attention onto her tattoo. The one on her stomach, the elvish script that looked like someone just painted it on. When she’d been younger and still appeared human, the tattoo had been pink. Now it was just as dark and a similar shade of blue. If he was familiar with the language he’d read it to be roughly translated as ‘do or die’. A philosophy she’s seemingly had since the dawn of time.

13-Jzall could only see one other symbol on her body, fresh blistered and burnt skin that he hypothesized having happened fairly recently. New scabbing supported this theory as he took a mental picture of it but wasn’t completely aware of what it meant. He knew what a brand looked like, and was knowledgeable of the purpose of it, this design was just a bit… Different.

By the time they were face to face again, Ash had her message typed up and sent. She dismisses her equipment and looked down at her body. On her chest was a new piece of artwork, one she didn’t notice until now. When she did think about it, though briefly, she remembered that she’d experienced a delightful burning sensation in that same spot while being in the palm of her ‘new master’. Another brief idea entered her head to possibly cover it, but since she was in the Pale Moors of all places she didn’t feel the need to.

“You’re staring.” She teased him with a flirty giggle.

The mechanical man glanced up at her face, his silence reminding her of that of a mime’s. He wasn’t attacking her on sight either, which means that he wasn’t her enemy. Yet.

“Sorry, I just got back so I had to check on some things. Time to fix this barbaric way of dressing.” She assured him, a playful wink before she began to concentrate.

An electric blue neon light encircles her waist. Like a rapidly reproducing cell, it splits into two and travels across her body. One goes down to her hips, splitting in two when it reaches the middle of her thighs. The upper circle of light splits into two more and travel across her lifted arms. In their wake left a presentable enough outfit.

"What do you mean you just got back?" He asked, circling her and observing how she chose to summon a change of clothes. "From where did you come?" His voice bordered between a deep human male and an electronic filter. Not at all unlike Desman's when she first met him.

"Ever hear of the Underverse?" Ash asked, still concentrating on her clothing, able to spare a few words. "Full of demons and other magical things?"

If she didn't have his complete attention at this point in time, she did now. "You mean The Warp?" He asked. It sounded precisely like it. "The fighting grounds of the Dark Gods?"

She could feel the suspicion in his stare, thick enough to cut. "I didn't think they were that Godly, but sounds about right." She tried to not think too hard about how that could have been a statement against her opponents or Diablo himself. "Nevermind, if I start telling people I've escaped the Underverse they will start thinking I am crazy."

She stood on leather ankle boots with a studded cuff, long black thin socks reached to mid-thigh, topped with a large floral lace design that seemed to be more of a body stamp than fabric. From her waist hung a layered black skirt, going no further than it had to down the thigh, leaving a desirable 4:1:2.5 ratio of fabric, skin, fabric.

Over that was a jacket top with coattails. It matched the same red as 13’s robes. Six large black buttons bind it to her body, the top stopping short on her body and showing off her cleavage, and the new mark. Around her arms are black sleeves, starting at her biceps, puffy sleeves with large fabric roses stitched into the elastic bands of either arm. The sleeves go past her knuckle, the sleeves tight up until her wrists where the bell out for visual pleasure. Her black hair floated over her shoulder, covering the straps that go up to her neck and tie off like a bikini top.

She shifted her eyes back onto the man she didn’t even know the name of. Her eyes did her own scan of the figure. He moved strangely. Robotically, yet human. Especially with the glowing blue goggle. She took a long hard look at him before saying anything. "Nice catch, by the way. What's your name?" She asked as if this was the most innocent thing to ask after falling from the sky. Again.

[Illidan Stormrage]

Illidan wasn’t sure how easy the monstrosity’s trail would be to find from the air. He flapped his huge bat wings and dipped beneath the clouds. The meagre sunlight that struggled to the ground left much of the below surface in moving shadow, but Stormrage’s sight didn’t need it. The ragged scar ripped in the earth could not be ignored.
 
The edges of the tear curled up and around, as if some massive beast stood up out of the ground and it bent around its colossal frame. A black abyss filled the yawning hole. As Illidan soared over the top of the chasm, he realised he had seen the exact same image from his meditation. This was definitely the landmark he was seeking.
 
Illidan’s cloven hooves touched down on the edge of the hole. Magical energies still lingered in the soil, coiling upwards like coloured smoke in his magic vision. For something to have left such potent markers of its passing, let alone the giant rent in the earth, made Illidan question what sort of creature could have caused it. He plucked the upturned soil between his forefinger and thumb, rubbing the grains until they cascaded back to the ground. Was this a creation of Dracula? Maybe even the Burning Legion? Or did it simply exist as a wild beast, living dormant beneath the surface and periodically burrowing free to feed?
 
In any case, Stormrage couldn’t let this thing roam unfettered. He would need more than just his own power to bring it to heel, but first he had to locate and identify it. Searching aimlessly with an army was fruitless, and battling a creature with magic that was impervious to it was foolish. At least now Illidan knew the magical scent of the beast, and though it was faint in all directions from the wound in the earth, he would be able to identify it when he next came across it.
 
But what was his next move?

[Shang Tsung]

Strazio Rockwell always had a tendency to show up at… interesting points.

The last time the sorcerer had crossed paths with the raven-haired warrior had been on the eve of Darkshire’s attack. Prior to that, there had been the incident at the fountain and the ‘festivities’ in Camelot during Shang’s short sojourn from the Moors.

“Die lately, Mr. Rockwell?” Shang inquired, stone-faced, as he angled his horse around to stare down at the pair of men seated in their strange little cycle. When no response came immediately, Shang furrowed his brow as he stared down his fellow Defender of Darkshire. With the overcast being extra thick above them, the sorcerer had failed to notice that Strazio’s cheeks were nearly the same hue as his hair. “Are… are you unwell?”

Teeth ground together in Strazio’s mouth as he tried to settle the churning acid in his stomach. Gamzee’s damned Faygo-fueled contraption had left him with more nausea than he’d find eating a few pounds of raw meat. “I’m fine,” he finally barked from his seat, eliciting a fleeting smirk from Shang’s visage. Strazio’s teeth went back to grinding in his mouth—he hated that fucking grin. That smug, aristocrat grin that barely concealed a mouth filled with the shark who smelled blood wherever he wanted. Shang could play bureaucrat all he wanted, but the mage knew it was an elegant façade.

“Gamzee, is it not?” Shang inquired with all the formality of a state dinner, which only served to make Strazio twitch more in his sidecar.

“Top of the morning, guv’nor,” the troll remarked as he tilted a nonexistence hat toward the horse-mounted politico. “Nice day for a tea party, init?”

“Aye,” Shang shot back with just a slight hint of an accent. “Did you get my copy of Fifty Shades Whiter? You were one of the people who received the print proofs, if I recall.”

Gamzee scowled. “No, I haven’t. Must have been lost in the mail.”

“What a fucking shame,” Strazio growled as he exited the sidecar of the bike and rose to his full height. “We know what you’re after, Sorcerer.”

“Obviously,” Shang replied. “Peace and prosperity for the Pale Moors. The p-squared.”

“The P-P,” Atelos echoed, which promptly caused the seated Gamzee to lose himself in a fit of chuckles. The Spartan scowled and turned to his companion, who had just barely managed to conceal a smile. “Is your angry friend’s companion broken?”

Shang shook his head. “He’s just a very affable individual, that’s all.”

Atelos nodded in return. “I understand. Where I’m from, the army often traveled with giggly, ‘affable’ men.” The remark was punctuated by the Spartan letting his wrist go limp, which only served to worsen Gamzee’s fit of laughter.

“We know you seek the Tarrasque,” Strazio spoke over his companion’s guffawing. “Your help isn’t required.”

“Too bad,” Shang smiled. “The way I see it, Mr. Rockwell, is that you need us. Hell, we probably need the two of you, and even then, I’m sure this will be truly awful.”

“We’ll be fine,” Strazio rebuked.

A freshly composed Gamzee raised a hand from his seat. “Hey spea—”

“We will be fine.” Strazio reiterated after flashing a withering glare to his companion.

Shang’s grin did not falter. “Mr. Rockwell, you couldn’t handle little ole me during our prior… scrimmages. How will you contend with a mountain-sized monster? We will likely need each other.”

Gamzee looked like he was about to start snickering when another sideways glance from Strazio caused him to quickly divert his attention to a container of Faygo in his cup holder.

“We shall see, Sorcerer.”

[13-Jzall]

13’s mind whirred as he caught Ash and asked her questions, the answers would be looked through at a later date but there was a much more pressing issue at hand, a new species.

+++
Species?
+++

+++
Unknown humanoid, possibly an abhuman.
+++

+++
Warp taint?
+++

+++
Negative, appears to be closer to a Tzeench daemon while acting more like Slaanesh Daemonette.
+++

+++
Appearance?
+++

+++
Human with dark blue skin, similar to a bruise. Horns meeting in front of forehead, possibly usable as a weapon but most likely for show. Perhaps a way to attract mates or only purely cosmetic. Low amount of clothing, possibly due to chaotic forces but a possible lack of wealth or unknown factor. Multiple symbols, one in the shape of an avian species, another in an unknown language and a marking that doesn’t match any known records. Multiple pieces of metal on their face, possible cybernetic augmentations?
+++

+++
What do they act like, do they speak low gothic, high gothic or the Cant Mechanicus?
+++

+++
Simple low gothic, though all speech seems to follow a pattern. Subject acts differently to most known species, as if they aren’t scared of anything, possibly even death. Perhaps they recognize that they too are a cog in the machine or are they too lost to care anymore?
+++

+++
Information satisfactory, upload to databanks at the earliest convenience
+++

+++
ALERT
Subject is now wearing clothes with a similar red to the cloaks of a Martian although the material and design of it is severely different. The mark has also faded from view, albeit slowly.
That is all.
Deus est machina
+++

+++
Deus est machina
+++

His whole body filled with adrenaline and a strange happy feeling, as if this was his greater purpose. There was always the chance she was warp tainted but it was low. He focused on her question now, his name was easy information to get and if Schwi was able to be trusted how bad could this xeno be?

“13-jzall, ranger of the Skitarii, servant to the Omnissiah. State your name and species before continuing.”

Ash tilted her head slightly to the side, no one ever asked her that question. Normally people just assumed that she was a demon from hell. This one would be fun.

“I’m just a normal human, I look like, well, this because of magic.”

“Mhm, well I’m on a journey to defeat the Tarrasque. Come along if you wish but you do not appear to have the most… combat ready frame.”

13 continued down the path only to find it completely empty, entire houses were removed and replaced with empty plots of land surrounded by grass. Even the smiling man was gone with the only indicator he was there in the first place a pair of markings on the ground. 13 walked on cautiously, slowly followed by Ash. He walked through, small animals running through the long grass. This was interesting, it was almost as if someone had lifted up everything and brought it away. Maybe it was a trap and Ash arriving had thrown something off, making plans change. 13 stood still, trying to sense anything in the long grass that wasn’t a small animal. He shrugged and walked past through the nearly empty patches of grass towards whatever was ahead of him.

Ash falling on top of 13 wasn't really planned so I'm probably going to return here later