Threat Elimination Protocols: Active

[Enzo Matrix]

In an instant the falling sensation stopped, and he was back. Matrix would never have believed that he would find comfort in the Nexus, but the endless and eerie white expanse was a welcome bit of familiarity after the ordeal in the Graveyardverse. While his senses strained to adjust to another abrupt change in his surroundings, Matrix was already reaching to his hip. His right hand wrapped around his trusted firearm, which was now comfortably back in its holster on his side. That strange knife he’d been forced to battle that monster with was gone, but he didn’t exactly miss it, either.
 
Only after confirming that his gun was intact did he move on to inspect his own body. He could breathe normally once more, and all of his energy seemed to be back. Matrix looked down at himself and saw no wounds or mutilations. For all intents and purposes, he was in the same shape he’d arrived in the Graveyardverse in. It was like it had all been one twisted dream. Or a game. At least some things were consistent with his home world.
 
Mostly for his own amusement, he then brought up his hand and felt the scar around his robotic eye. He would miss his cybernetic eye if he’d lost it, but he also wouldn’t help but be amused and a little bit annoyed at Omni’s selective healing. It was just a reminder that he had very little control over his situation.
 
Satisfied with his state of being, Matrix began to walk. He didn’t want to linger in the open Nexus for too long. There were simply too many types of people passing through that would want a fight, and no environment to use to his advantage should one break out. Luck was not on his side in that regard, because it didn’t take long for him to come upon a small group that was gathering at the fountain. What perplexed him the most was the sight of Smith, Colonel, and Ryner amongst them. They spotted him just as quickly.
 
“Mister Matrix,” Smith greeted his former companion. Like before, he gave a little extra emphasis to the sprite’s name, as if there were some small amusement in it for him. “I was beginning to think we missed you.”
 
“I died,” Matrix slowly said, looking at some of the newcomers he didn’t recognize. “I left all of you behind in that place. How did you get here?”
 
“Clearly, there are mysteries we do not understand about this realm,” Smith explained briefly, but dismissed such a trivial detail in favor of his own goal. “Regardless, we all died. Though we lost you, among others, to that abomination, another emerged in the aftermath to claim my own life.”
 
“Yea?” Matrix let the agent continue. He kept his hands by his side, ready to snatch his gun and fight if need be. Now that they weren’t trapped in the Graveyardverse, anything could happen.
 
“Betrayal, Mister Matrix,” Smith continued, silently noting the positioning of Matrix’s hands. “Those that joined us turned on me at the appropriate moment. We are all here to seek retribution when the traitors emerge from Teucer’s world.”
 
Matrix looked amongst the crew that was assembled. He didn’t recognize any of them, but his first instinct was that he didn’t trust or like them. That wasn’t exactly out of the ordinary for him, however, and he was at least self-aware enough to realize that about himself.
 
“So you’re going to kill this man as soon as you see him?” Matrix snapped, getting himself some curious looks from the others. Obviously there was some backstory between the others gathered here and those he’d briefly fought alongside. None of that changed his feelings about Smith, however. “Why should I believe you’re the innocent one, Virus?”
 
“You are a man of honor, and evil repulses you. You made that much clear when we met in the temple. It was admirable, if not completely unnecessary,” Smith replied. Matrix decided to let that offhanded remark go without comment. “Let the betrayer emerge, and make your decisions from there. Though, I would be remiss if I did not inform you that Colonel, the man you praised as ‘guardian’ was complicit in my death, as well. But that is in the past.”
 
Matrix blinked in confusion as he glanced over to Colonel. Regardless, Smith once again made a good argument. So, the sprite took a step backwards to signify his non-allegiance for the moment, and waited to hear and learn more about what was going to unfold.

[Shang Tsung]

“So what’s the status on the internal situation, Sergeant Reckner?”

Of all the people he dealt with on an almost-daily basis, Abigail Reckner was one of the people that Shang hated the least.  The sergeant did her job, asked little questions, and wasn’t on to kiss asses.  After a handful of conversations with merchants and middling bureaucrats, the sorcerer appreciated someone who he could have ‘straight talk’ with for a few minutes.  

“Recruitment is up.  We got some tradesman and craftsmen who volunteered to lend their services to improving the armories.”

“And the central route?”  He asked, referring to the ‘road’ that led from the Nexus gate to the walls of Darkshire.

“Better gear has motivated some more people to enlist in that group, but it’ll be a while until we have enough men with experience in that region.”

Shang nodded his head as he made a small, scrawling message in his open notebook.  “How’s your superior, Lieutenant…” The sorcerer frowned as he glanced at another paper on his desk.  “Lieutnant McCullom.”

“Green.  Very green, but he means well.  He’ll do all right in the long run,” Recker replied as Shang looked at his list of appointments.

“All right, Sergeant Reckner, I think that’s all the time of yours that I’ll take for today,” he replied as he smiled faintly to the soldier.  The blonde nodded her head and made her way out of Shang Tsung’s office.  Despite the fact that he’d first started his journey in Darkshire as a member of the garrison, the sorcerer didn’t think of himself as a military officer, so he didn’t expect soldiers or anyone else to snap off salutes and crisp ‘sir, yes, sirs!’ every time he spoke with them.

Before the doors to his room could swing shut, a hand clasped around one of them and tossed it back the way it had come.  With a grunt, the Spartan strode forward and dropped down into a seat.

“You don’t look like a furniture saleswoman,” Shang said with a snicker as the gruff man scowled deeply at him.

“You aware of what’s going on in the Nexus?”  Atelos asked before he allowed a smug smile to spread across his face.  “Or you too busy pushing pencils in this oversized cubicle?”

The sorcerer threw his head back in a short laugh.  “You learned a new word!”  He added, causing his ally’s expression to sour momentarily before the room fell silent once more.  “I’m afraid I haven’t, though… what’s happening?  Another spat between fountain fresh primes?  More vagrants trying their hand at fleeing from the Empire?”

“Some prime put out a message onto the Dataverse,” Atelos remarked as he reached to his side and pulled out a tablet device.  While it amazed Shang to see an ancient Grecian handling something entirely too similar to a Microsoft Surface, he kept the remarks to himself as his friend pulled up the new story.  “Most of it is drivel about betrayals, but what stood out to me, Sorcerer, is the mention of ‘items of no small power’.”

Shang glanced through the message and the various replies.  After the initial message, most of what followed was either statements expressing intent to aid or inane interjections from some sort of masked man.  If half the number of bodies involved showed up, then the Nexus was bound to be a busy place.

“The message makes mention of other primes, unrelated to this ‘Smith’ individual’s grievances,” Atelos added as Shang set down the tablet and slid it across the table toward his friend.

“So what are you saying, Commander?”  The sorcerer replied as he brushed the end of his boot along the metal box beneath his desk.

Atelos snickered.  “You want more power for Darkshire?”  He asked before raising a brow.  “Then we smash these people.  We take the relics or artefacts or whatever they have.”

“For Darkshire?”  Shang inquired.

“And who knows, maybe we’ll get some personal pleasure out of it, Champ,” Atelos said with a sneer as he glanced at the belt hanging on Shang’s wall.  “Or you retired from that now, too?”

“You know we both might wind up dead or worse?”  The sorcerer chuckled.

The Spartan shrugged his shoulders.  “There are few things you and I couldn’t stab and punch your way out of, and you know that to be true.”

“Then what are we waiting for?”  Shang asked as he slid the papers on his desk into the top drawer.  “We both have understudies for reasons like this…  Let’s go work off some rust.”

At that, the Spartan let loose a hearty guffaw before rising up from the seat and reaching a hand across the desk.  “Laus and gloria!”

“Laus and gloria!”  Shang declared as he reached forward and clasped his hand around the other man’s forearm.  After a shake, they both set off to set their affairs in order.

***

Nearly an hour later, the Spartan and the Sorcerer emerged from the Pale Moors gate and once more found themselves confronted by the blandness of the Nexus.  While everything seemed to be the status quo at first, once they passed the halfway point to the Fountain they began to see what was forming around the focal point of the Omniverse.

“Oh,” Shang whispered to his companion.  “This will be amusing.”

[Moon]

Who was that, a reporter?

Jupiter watched the group interact with the stranger aiming to "interview" them, standing back all the while. It seemed like she was not exactly the worst of her kind, but still, he remained in the background,  not really willing to go through something like that. He wasn't a camera boy, in any case. His past of sort of laying low kept him silent. After all, he just got here, right? Nothing to give input on. 


"Excuse me, sir. Do you have a moment to introduce yourself?" the woman asked, an almost forced smile covering her face. "Um, no. I'm alright," he retorted,  keeping a calm tone to him. It wouldn't do to become the headline. She nodded, thanked him for his time, and left to talk to the others. That was that, then. Perhaps he should have given her at least an introduction,  though. Just a name. Everything blanked out momentarily,  at the thought.


"Sir. We've got a problem with the main air vent," a rotund woman said, a nervous edge to her speech. There was an anomaly with the ventilation systems.  Probably a dead squirrel,  right?

"Go send a crew to fish it out," he replied, not exactly the most worried, "and keep the experiments safe." She nodded, and sent two people to fish out the disturbance. What they found was never expected. A box, with a timer counting down fast. And just like that, the complex collapsed in itself among a cacophony of screaming and utter panic, the sound near drowning out the cracking that signified the building falling down on the inhabitants. There were a total of three known survivors. 

Jupiter blinked, escaping from the memory. It seemed there were a few new arrivals. A man in a red jumpsuit,  and a green-skinned man, seemingly keeping away from it all, like him. He approached the man, hands in his pockets. "Couldn't handle the oddness?" he asked.

[Summer]

“So what’s your name?” Hatate’s bubbly voice shot out the first question, barely-contained smile on her face. The interview had gotten off to a rocky start, with a girl coming out of basically nowhere to assault her first taker and lob some nasty accusations at him. Accusations which weren’t a concern to the reporter, as the only story they’d create wouldn’t be fit for much more than a tabloid. As such, she made a point of ignoring the girl, focusing in on Ryner.

A focus that didn’t last too long. The stench that Hatate had been trying her best to ignore only intensified. Looming over the spirit photographer was an absolute mountain of flesh and metal. She turned her gaze up to him, smile plastered almost painfully to her face as she tried not to gag, and it became quite obvious to the tengu that this beast either was not or should not be alive.

“You had... Questions? Ask and I will answer,” the rotten being rasped, pausing halfway to cough, as if afflicted by some disease.

“Woah, so are you, like, a Jiangshi?” her voice held a genuine intrigue. Had her camera not been flipped open already, she’d have gotten it at the ready in an instant. Not a moment had passed before she had realized what had passed her lips, and her smile fell away. “Oh, sorry. Totally didn’t mean to ask that one. This is business, not personal.” With a small cough and a slight step back, getting in the perfect spot to address both people who had taken up her offer, she reiterated her question.

“Well, my name is Ryner Lute,” the boy answered first, a bit quicker on the draw than the decaying mountain near him. “and this is Ferris Eris.” He gestured to the purple-clad swordswoman beside him.

“Ferris Eris and Ryner Lute,” Hatate repeated, committing them to memory as well as semi-permanent note on her camera, which she held up to her mouth. “And you?” she nodded towards her other taker, who took in a deep, rattling breath before speaking.

“Okor Paleblood,” the walking corpse spoke, voice hoarse, “The Institute’s Dean of Security.”

“Okor Paleblood.” she repeated his name as well, making a mental note to follow up on this “Institute” when she had the chance. Whatever it was, it seemed like it could possibly be a story. “So I assume all of you are here answering a “Mr. Smith’s” call for aid. What are your relations with Mr Smith? Allies? Acquaintances? Friends?”

“I haven’t spoken much with Smith.” This time, the decaying behemoth was first to speak, growling his response while Ryner still contemplated, finger on his temple, on how to answer. “However...” his sentence dissolved away into nothing, the hoarseness of his voice drowning out actual words for a moment. “...As the Dean of Security, I must aid the people of the Omniverse. Especially against threats.”

Hatate nodded along to Okor’s response, humming in interest. There wasn’t really anything there she needed to make special note of, but it was times like these that she wished she carried around a notepad instead of relying on her camera. While it wasn’t any less conspicuous, it was a lot more private, as she didn’t need to actually say what she wanted to note. ‘Okor Paleblood - Not seeking vengeance, could be considered a sort of law enforcer.’ She’d just have to commit that to memory for now and note it later. Her gaze shifted over to Ryner, who now looked like he was ready to answer.

“Well, I fought alongside him in the graveyard,” he started, trailing off for a moment, “but I was killed by the guardian we were facing and-"

"If I would have been present there would have been no casualties. Next time, you shouldn't leave me behind,” Ferris figured then was a good time to butt in, chastising her partner.

“It wasn’t like I had a choice!” he half-heartedly protested, sighing with his next breath, before continuing. “Anyways, he seems pretty... well he is basically like a robot, same as the other guy, Colonel. Not really fun to hang around with, since they are all business, but they don't seem like bad people.”

“Huh...” that small noise was really all Hatate had to offer in response. Smith was beginning to strike her as a really serious guy, which either meant he was the kind who would hold pointless grudges far longer than he needed to, or he’d let inconsequential things slide easily. If it was the latter, then this really wasn’t helping Sasuke’s case at all. Of course, murdering someone in cold blood totally wasn’t an inconsequential thing. The names “Colonel” and “graveyard” were also two things she needed to commit to memory. They’d probably help her figure out a bit more of this. “And what about this “Sasuke Uchiha” you’re hunting? Have you, like, met him personally?”

“I haven’t personally met the oathbreaker.” Okor was once again the first to answer, with a response that seemed to have been formed in preparation for that sort of question. “But what I have heard of him doesn’t speak well.” He trailed off again, something in his throat making his voice coarser than normal. Hatate made a small motion with her hands, imploring him to continue. “He, along with many other primes, participated in Dante’s Abyss. It was only by chance that the coward walked away the victor.”

There were so many new things for the reporter to note, it seemed. If this pace kept up, then it’d be totally impossible for her to remember many of the things she needed to. So in the spirit of overwhelming her memory, she once again turned back to Ryner, ready for his answer.

“He was also one of our allies,” he admitted, perhaps a bit hesitant to reveal that information, as if it were embarrassing. It totally wasn’t, you needed to be an ally at some point to be a traitor, after all. “I wasn’t alive to have seen it, but apparently he betrayed my friends after the fight to take the reward for his own. I'm not gonna let someone like that off the hook. We were supposed to be working together.”

“Wow, that’s like, really underhanded,” Hatate responded, a measure of shock to her voice. If the bulletin was anything to go by, and since it was written by Mr. Smith himself, it probably was, then Sasuke wasn’t the only one in on it. They used these guys and just threw them away, and obviously it affected more than just Smith, Ryner himself was thrown away as well. He helped them in battle against something, and in return, they betrayed his allies. It was totally despicable. She almost didn’t need to ask her next question, but going off the word of one person she’d never met before wasn’t a good idea.

“A Mr Thaal Sinestro...” the tengu trailed off for a moment, not sure if she pronounced that name right at all. “...has described Sasuke Uchiha as “the leader of a dangerous paramilitary organization?” How accurate is that description?”

"Well...” said Ryner, trailing off with a nervous laugh. “I don't know about that... I’m pretty new here, and I haven't even gotten to see anything besides the place we are right now and the graveyard."

“Ah, is that so,” came Hatate’s response, more of a rhetorical question than anything else. He hadn’t been here much longer than herself, which meant his word in speculative matters was just about completely useless. At least there was always things he had participated in directly. The reporter turned again to Okor.

“I too, do not know much...”  he drew in another deep, raspy breath, “...about this organization he is heading.” The soldier’s voice faded away, and, expecting him to be done, Hatate hummed for a moment. It seemed this trail was a dead end, she’d need to ask more people, though she’d been expecting to do so anyway. She opened her mouth, ready to move onto the next question, when Okor’s grating voice started up again. “But if he is the leader, then I can only imagine what kind of... craven individuals would follow him.”

Silence fell over the four at the wake of his last sentence. The reporter didn’t really know how to respond to that. It was personal opinion, nothing really she could use, and she was out of questions. She sort of regretted charging here so hastily, she didn’t even prepare a lot of questions in advance, leaving her with only one thing left to ask. “One last thing. You guys totally wouldn’t mind having your pictures taken, would you?” The photographer lifted her camera up a bit, bringing it to their attention. All three of them gave their affirmation, and Hatate thanked them with a bright smile, taking a few more steps back, and seeing if she could get all of them in frame at once. With the camera tilted to landscape, it was an easy task, and after five rapid clicks, she was good to go.

“Thanks for your time!” the reporter beamed, bowing deeply to them, before turning away and scurrying off to summon a notepad.

[Thaal Sinestro]

The thick-necked ruffian trembled as she dangled over the desert, her feet kick hundreds of feet in the air. Her panicked brown eyes glanced back down to the small specks of color on the vast sea of tumbling yellow dunes, almost not believing that she had been standing beside her wisecracking companions only a few moments before. The suddenness of the moment has jolted not only her senses but also her organs around in her body, so it was entirely possible that she voided her bowls for entirely anatomical reasons.

“No, no, no,” Sinestro scolded her, and a gleaming yellow clamp twisted her head back in his direction. “Eyes on me,” he commanded with a pompous coolness that somehow accentuated his control over the situation. “I have some questions for you.”

She simply stared at him from a moment, suspended by a claw of gleaming citrine around her shoulders, literally plucked from her life at a moment’s notice. The clamp tightened down on her face in the absence of a respose, pushing in on her puffy cheeks. “Whu-“ she stammered, “what are they?”

“Firstly, tell me what you and your friends are doing all the way out here on a path that leads to a black-market fence?” He tilted his head to the side, watching as the little specks below them frantically attempted to escape. “Would it have anything to do with that chopped-down speeder you’re dragging behind that camel?”

She swallowed hard, sweat already streaming down her face. She looked back down to her fleeing companions, and quickly weighed her options. “Yes sir, it does.”

The deputy smirked. “It’s good to hear some honesty now and then.” His face turned back to one of terrible neutrality. “Now…” the constructs that held her in the air flicked and she slipped a few inches, eliciting a quick yelp. “… Tell me what you’ve heard about Sasuke,” he said flatly, his tone conveying his absolute seriousness.

A genuine look of panic flushed the woman’s face, “What? Tell you what I know about who!?”

“Mm,” the red-skinned man said disappointedly, “A pity.”

The claw that held the thief aloft suddenly vanished, and Sinestro took off in a streak of gold after her friends as screamed, plummeting to the ground.

-----

Sinestro’s eyes fell upon the man that had just wandered into the Nexus. He had a strange air about him, something about the way his eyes and face and demeanor lined up. There was a hardness covered with a thin layer of joviality, a friendliness that belied the hardness of his heart. It was a trait he had cultivated within himself and those who studied under him. That is until he became powerful enough to discard such trappings, in favor of the sheen of terror he had taken on by the beginning of the Corps Wars. But that was a different time, a different universe. Here, he was a different man, and he had to wear a different face.

“Thaal Sinestro,” he said calmly and extended his hand towards the stranger, all but ignoring the brute he had in tow.

The dark-haired man’s eyebrow quirked, and he returned the gesture. “Shang Tsung,” he replied with a strange smoothness. The two men shook, their grips firm and their eyes locked. They both learned something of the man they may have had to kill one day.

“Have you two come to join us against Sasuke?” the lantern inquired, turning to the towering Spartan.

The Grecian and Korugaran exchanged their greetings, and he grunted out, “Yes, we have come to… aid you.”

Sinestro’s mustache curled at the obvious implications of the ham-fisted lie. Though the titan didn’t seem to have as much of a radiant wit or air of cunning, his sheer mass and assumed physical prowess was enough to make him a fitting candidate for the Corps. In some ways he was reminded of Arkillo, the former second in command of his Corps: He wouldn’t be conquering the galaxy, but he could keep his ring charged on sheer mayhem and bloodshed if he had to.

Shang peered past the lithe alien and to the gathering crowd. “I assume the others are also here to help Mr. Smith?”

“Mm,” Sinestro asserted, “I assume. Some might be allies of New Babylon that heard of the ambush, but I doubt many of them are. Only an idiot would stay and fight against these kinds of odds.” The deputy rolled his discerning gaze over the crowd, “Others are here, I’m sure, to collect the powerful items he mentioned in his call to action.”

A smirk slid over Shang’s face. “I’m sure.”

Atelos looked upon the yellow-clad warrior and asked, “And why are you here? For the glory, or the prize?”

Sinestro’s yellow eyes darted to the giant of a man, “I’m here to finish what I started.” An image of the dunes appeared before the three of them, spinning gently as he spoke. “I have been on a campaign to bring peace and order to the people of the Endless Dunes. The rulers of Nippur have stood as an affront to that order, and our target is the last member of their dying house of treachery.” The image disappeared, and he shook his head slowly, “Only when we have claimed victory over him can I know that my people are safe.”

“A noble cause,” Shang interjected, “A goal similar to my own in this new land.” He paced around the image, peering down at it carefully. “The Omniverse is so… free of distractions, isn’t it? It seems as though we can truly focus on our aspirations, wouldn’t you agree?”

Sinestro nodded solemnly. “Yes. There is much less standing in the way of progress here, despite the abundance of Primes.” He rolled his fingers over each other, as if there was a grain of sand between them. “It is only a matter of time before a true calm takes root.”

Shang’s eyes narrowed at the red-skinned man’s words, the mind behind them whirring. “Indeed,” he agreed cordially, though unconvincingly. He nodded his head towards the gathering crowd, “I’d like to greet some of the others. Thank you for your time.”

Sinestro nodded curtly in response to the man’s even-handed response. He was always wary of the polite.

[Samus Aran]

Samus steps through to the cold air of the Nexus. The two Kingdom scouts to either side of her nod in recognition.

Once again time seems to have warped around her. It’s disconcerting but she’s beginning to get used to it. Beginning to treat this entire world as some kind of dream that one walks through, not paying attention to the things which don’t make sense until looked at with scrutiny.

She takes the pair of binoculars from one of the scouts and peers through. There are many figures — one she offhandedly recognises from a time long ago. She’s never spoken to the pale-skinned man, but he does seem to get around.

She watches, and waits.

[Ururu Kyuuei]

The chakra clad Ururu hit the ground in a pained crouch at the base of the Fountain of Infinity. Rage burned in her, impotent rage that the spirit had lied like Omni about everything. She had watched the entire destruction of the island unfold and in the end her efforts didn’t regain her love of her life. Didn’t regain her anything. The network devoid of the deep resonating thoughts of them all, just empty. Only the distant echoes of what had been were left and those would only cause her pain.

She couldn’t even make the Spirit face justice for his crimes against her. Ururu was alone with herself-

Rising as her hurts were quickly disappearing Ururu spied something that chilled her blood. A mob, not just any mob but one that looked like it was quickly organizing. More than a few eyes trained in her general location marking her as a potential target before dismissing her all the same. Something was about to go down, even a non-shinobi could see that. And to her, this was screaming violence all over again.

Ignoring for the moment the jewel encrusted sword that was at her feet, Ururu turned her focus inward.

Swallowing, Ururu began to run the numbers. Something had infused her with enough energy to heal five days of injury and pushing herself ragged. Her chakra was refilling as fast as it should have back before on her own world, and more importantly she was whole. How long it would last… she didn’t know but she needed to make the most of it now if another battle was brewing.

With precision that only emphasized how long she had been in this body, hand seals upon hand seals flew across her fingers as she began molding chakra. The initial kicker followed by the raw energy that would catalyze the process. Thank the Sage she wasn’t deemed much of a threat or at least no one had paid attention enough to rush her on the spot.

“Where are the storm troopers when you needed them?” Ururu muttered.

Her time on Coruscant had introduced her to the types, professional to a fault. Also good at following orders. They had developed a knack for keeping themselves alive by avoid situations like this. Then again they only lived once. Maybe that was why this place was utterly empty except for this convention of the multiverse. Pure self-preservation.

The flow of chakra she had been charging began to roil under the skin of her palm and already she could feel the cost she was going to pay for it. One clone here was easy, two though simultaneously… Ururu winced. There was only one thing left to do. She hadn’t done this in a long time. Creating a persona from scratch due to having no other alternatives. She folded her mind, once and then twice, her memories her personality flashing before her… replicating. The good and the bad, the depth of them barely more than a puddle but enough to give it substance. No persona moved to fill the gap. Just herself.

A stab of pain and anger nearly disrupted her technique but she pushed through it even with tears threatening to spill over. There would be time to grieve later. Survival came first.

Twin clouds of smoke plumed on either side of her, clearing to reveal to people of roughly the same size and ancestry as their summoner. Close enough to be near identical siblings. One was boyish the other more girlish, slightly taller maybe thirteen at the oldest and both just entering puberty and thankfully compatible for her to transfer into permanently.

Two sets of focused on her, strangely empty.

“Shikoru,“ Ururu glanced to her left and then her right, “Shiburu, does the night sing or the bird dawn?”

The two feathery, platinum brown haired clones turned to each other, adjusting their dusters and nodded. The network between them whispered a consensus, a feeling that only touched the barest of Ururu’s senses. Shiburu, the girlish one, with actual boobs spoke first, “The bird sings” which was followed almost immediately by her partner.

Shikoru cocked his head his face containing a mix of exasperation and sluggishness of awakening for the first time, “The night dawns.”

And as if that was the only thing needed of him he checked what his weapon loadout was. It was a simple thing but Ururu recognized it as a result of life experience being replicated only by the barest hints her own emotions. They didn’t trust her beyond the directive to listen to her orders but her riddle at least proved they were stable at the moment. Shikoro less so than Shiburu.

A glance at the girl revealed the same thing. Being able to untangle that passphrase meant she didn’t have to deal with rogue clones, but they wouldn’t engender trust either.

They had no souls.

Swallowing Ururu turned her attention back to the situation at hand and the sword near Shikoru’s feet. A burst of thought sent a command and the clone didn’t hesitate to reach down and pluck the bladed treasure from the ground. Who had left it here-

The whole network suddenly shuddered the moment clone flesh met metal as a single rolling sentence tumbled like an avalanche into all hub of the hivemind.

Well this is new… oh um hello there, excuse the intrusion, came an excited if aged mental voice.

Until I decide my final stance I’m hanging back.

[Okor]

Okor chuckled as the strange mutant ran off, raven-like wings flapping in the unnaturally still air of the Nexus, adding an additional spring to their exuberant steps, each stride taking them further from the ‘living’ hulk of necrotic flesh. He could only guess what The Smiling One’s prerogative was for bringing so many young children to his prison, but at least they were largely protected from the cruelties of the world by the curse of eternity blighting their veins. Bones and rusted steel alike cracked and creaked as he looked over the blank canvas that made up this realm, autosenses registering and logging a strange figure on the very edge of his vision, an obscured entity observing the gathering storm. A mere voyeur, or something more? It was a question that, like all things, would be revealed in due time. Of more immediate interest was the young woman hovering near the edge of the gathering, her clothing ragged and torn, the signs of recent conflict evident.

There was something familiar about her, but he just couldn’t put a finger on…

The Plague Marine saw her companions, the ephemeral iridescence still clinging to their bodies, the near-identical features.

One voice. Two mouths.

Ururu. The child from the road to Minas Trith. Fresh from the trials of that damned Graveyard, it would seem. The rotting revenant began to move forward, corroded warplate aiding mummified muscles in his journey across nothingness. His thundering footsteps tore the youth’s attention away from their current engagements, their recent creations orbiting their progenitor. He stopped several strides short of her, his massive frame looming over the trio, worms and maggots wriggling beneath desiccated hide as a cyclopean eye the size of a fist bore down on them. With a voice like granite slabs slamming shut on effluence-filled sarcophagi, the Ancient Warrior spoke with the weight of aeons behind his words.

”Ururu. It has been… much time, since we spoke.” He ground out, his speech distorted by the twisted vox of his helmet.

“Y-you can speak?” Questioned the shinobi, only her impressive discipline and training stopping her from taking a step back from the ambulant abomination. “I thought that you…. Nevermind. What’s this insanity all about?” They spoke, waving a pale arm towards the assembled killers.

”We hunt an Oathbreaker. Uchiha. Do you... Know him?” Coughed the Plague Marine, his pestilences briefly wracking his ravaged corpse with spasmodic respiratory seizures.

What little colour present in her skin drained from her face on mention of the name, petite fingers digging into her palms, her voice raised in a spark of momentary anger and confusion. “Sasuke? But he’s a hero-”

A claw, dripping with corruption, raised itself to stop her protest, skeletal digits clad in naught but the thinnest tainted vellum ceasing her proclamation.

”Whatever crawls out of that Graveyard is no… Hero.” The Champion spat, his head shaking at the sheer absurdity of the idea.

“He’s the greatest legend of my world, there’s too much to learn from him for you to just-”

”If you seek to learn from a coward and a betrayer, then you slander yourself. I have witnessed you forge a great… beast, from naught but stone and your will. You can create wonders. All this… failure can teach you, if how to consign yourself to ignominy. Whatever made him great, whatever made him worth listening to, was left behind when Omni took him. Every mortal failing, every hint of cowardice your legend once possessed, was severed from your hero, and brought here. This is… not Uchiha. This is the slag of his soul, the darkness and the treachery that he did not have. It is a wraith, a farcical parody of a legend blighting his name with every breath he takes, tainting the truth.”

He took a shuddering breath, some not-yet dead part of his brain remembering the need for oxygen as four tumorous lungs struggled to claim it from the poisoned air inside his helmet.

Olive hands placed themselves on cocked hips concealed by the child’s leather cloak, a near-mocking smile painting itself across their scarred face. “Talking from your own experience, are we?”

The gangrenous giant leaned in closer, hissing through cracked, blackened monoliths. ”Have you not… felt it? Not all of us makes the journey to this prison. Perhaps it is merely a weapon, or some… esoteric technique. But it never is. I could fight a Harlequin to a standstill, but now-”

“Harlequin? Like a clown? That doesn’t sound particularly threatening.”

”When they are as old as I, with the wargear of an Empire older than… the stars, capable of turning a man into a husk filled with red slurry, they become noticeably more… dangerous. I watched them dance across the field of battle, I met them blow for blow, psychic might pitted against my blade. And yet, in this accursed realm, I struggle to parry even a young child. I have seen beings incapable of feeling fear, flee from mere mortals. The Smiling One strips us of our memories, of what we once were.”

“That is what he has done to your... Hero. They have been stripped of their nobility, filled with treachery, and tossed into this prison to vex us. With every breath they take, they… profane the legacy he had yet to leave. They sully his deeds, corrupt every act they would ever do.”

“And they are the only Uchiha this world will ever know. We will never know the lives he saved, the apocalypses averted. While this pretender traipses across The Omniverse, he scrawls his… sacrilege across another page of history, ensuring that your realm is ruined in our eyes. His every step brings shame, his every word is tainted with his… lies. The wraith that dons his face is nothing more than a mistake.”

The leprous legionnaire loomed over the small child, pestilence seeping from every pore as he spoke.

”Pick up your blade, Ururu. Make the world as it should be. Make it a world where… Heroes don’t run. A world where warriors have the courage to face death.

Make it a world worth living in.” Finished the marine, an infected oculus wearied by ceaseless centuries of war looking into Ururu, awaiting the Shinobi’s choice.

[Ururu Kyuuei]

Ururu resisted the urge to glare at armored man, but that didn't take away the terrible emotional pain she had been feeling well before this, still and now worsened. It was a churning pit in her chest that threatened everything, even her morality. She could see how the conflict was arising: parts of her though just didn't plain care.

However she couldn’t deny some of the truth of Okor's words though. This place… this hell was changing her. Had changed her. Hikaru would have had her examine all the angles, though she found even that part of her was barely a weak whisper of her subconscious, an experience of her own, or some lingering flotsam of her memory? Either way...

Groaning, Ururu snapped down her visor and felt the world slow as the connection to the Dataverse was established. Her face seemed to morph between annoyance, consternation and then something else a bit more alien: perturbed indifference. Quick jerks of her hand were the only indication that she had switched to other sources of information and postings. Finally after only a few brief moments she slowly lifted the visor back across her forehead.

Her eyes were cast back across the field of gathering vigilantes and seekers of retribution. She drew in a breath and spoke in a deadly low voice, "Justice? Or is it really greed and revenge for some perceived spite? How many people here even know of Uchiha Sasuke-sama in the first person?"

The question she intended to pin Okor down on barely fazed the rusted juggernaut, a bleary eye regarding her impassively. ”The Omniverse is… Large. I have not met Uchiha, but that doesn’t change what that... coward has done.”

There was no proof to be had in the thread on the dataverse either. Just some poster with an unverifiable claim as to their identity or their right to a Shinobi's life.

That was the thought that really seized her, it rang too closely to the acts her government had perpetrated in the name of freedom. Taking advantage of a budding social media to go as far as legitimize acts of nuclear destruction. Worse was then using the fear of foreign ninja doing the same to polarize and control the population.

"The only one of note I can find is this Thaal and Klaud people, no one else has any legitimacy… and even they are suspect. Surrender or die? And the other simply answering affirmative-" Ururu snorted in disgust.

What would convince you then? Okor rumbled questionly.

Ururu could almost see him cocking a skeptical eyebrow cocked beneath the helmet that obscured his face.

"Witnesses to the crime. This… Colonel-san for example. Hell, I'd take an impartial judge and jury to this… mob mentality!" She growled out in response. It was insanity. Even though Okor's perceptions about the corrupting influence of the Omniverse were true… that did not change the face the fact that one could not just paint entire fucking place with the same red brush.

"If I'm to believe this, then if someone says you killed them in cold blood tomorrow then I should trust and assist them in executing or even banishing you?" Ururu asked.

Her breath, pulse and mind were dangerously close to snapping, she recognized the signs but without Hikaru here she couldn't even begin to reign it in. The Darkness in her was aching to be thrown at someone, anyone, to vent her lethal rage. Unleash all her power and beat those who were a threat to her into bloody pulps and keep at it until she was to tired to even move.

"The Spirit erased the only people I could trust implicitly in this fucking place... who do I trust then? How can I trust ANYONE?!"

Silence punctuated around her, a few conversations paused but then with a light beeping in her ear that was audible even to her oddly talkative necromantic conversationalist. Her Dataverse notification.

That was quick.

With a slap of her hand she brought her connection back online and her shoulders slumped. It wasn't proof, but it was corroboration.

"What is to be his fate? Death or a fate worse than that?" Ururu demanded soberly, her tone though still tinged with the earlier anger.

[Atelos]

The Spartan walked with Shang, passing the red-skinned man who reeked of deceit and cunning. Good thing that Atelos was with the noble Shang Tsung who would never dare to stoop to such levels. Atelos leaned towards the sorcerer, his head darting very slyly from Sinestro to Shang. “I have the feeling that this ‘Sinestro’ has something more that lay beneath the surface, Sorcerer.”
Shang turned his head towards the Grecian, “Of course I know that, Spartan. Let us just hope that his goals do not clash with ours, there is already a large gathering of primes here already.” Atelos turned his head to see the ever growing mass of primes that clustered around. His fingers began to trace up his arm, meeting the black skull of the Dragon that he had slain so long ago. Pulses flowed across his arm and into his body as the Maw called to be used, only dormant since its retrieval.
An all too familiar voice crept from the recesses of his mind. ‘Greetings Spartan...it’s been a while.’ Atelos couldn’t help but groan at the emergence of his inner daemon.

‘Turns out not too much different, you and I. We both love the chaos of battle, the call of power, the feel of it in our hands. Why don’t you give me control for a bit and we’ll show these primes who’s the real threat.’ Atelos muttered a curse before responding to the God of Death inside of his mind.

‘Silence Hades. I do not care for power. While my blood calls for battle, it is for the good of the people not for the destruction that you so desire.’ Shang tossed a concerned look at the Bipolar Spartan before turning his head back towards the main group.

Images flashed before his eyes, memories of not long ago. The tarrasque called to mind, the images of himself giving into the power of Hades. His arm being torn from his body and most of his limbs were broken. The sweet ideal of ultimate power Hades had dreamt of was not theirs currently, he wouldn’t stand a chance against this gathering of primes, even with the added power of the Dragon’s Maw. He turned his head to Shang Tsung, the belt that the sorcerer had earned in Camelot had proved his might.

“Hey Sorcerer. I’m glad that we fight together.”

[Thaal Sinestro]

The strange crowd of Primes had grown to a size even larger than it was when Sinestro had first come to the Omniverse, mottled with bright colors, strange shapes and droning voices. The same faces that had stood out to him before were still who he considered to be the most suited for the gift he had to offer, and their target might appear at any moment. It was time to use his newfound abilities.

“Excuse me once again,” he said boldly, his natural voice loud enough to cut through the din of passive conversation. A few faces turned to look at him, but most continued their idle chatter. He struggled to keep his temper under check and cleared his throat, once again proclaiming, “Excuse me!”

When nobody new paid him any heed, his face folded into a snarl, and frustration overtook him. An aura of yellow flared around him, and he thrust his fist towards the sky. A screeching beam arced upward, detonating with a horrible rumble and shower of yellow sparks. “EXCUSE ME!” he shouted, teeth bared and eyes burning.

When the crowd jolted and snapped to stare him, his anger deflated. He exhaled slowly and tilted his head curtly, “Thank you.” He held his ring-hand out in front of himself and clutched as a sphere appeared between them. He continued to speak as he focused on his creation, pouring his ring’s energy and Omnilium alike into his outstretched hand. “In order to bolster our chances of victory in this upcoming fight, I have prepared tools to further equip a select few of you with considerable power.”

Even through the open scrutiny and distrust of the congregation he addressed, more than a few ears perked at the mention of power. Magus’ finally allowed a lazy glance to dart to the blathering lantern, his head propped up by his knuckles. “What are you prattling on about now?” he shouted from the seat of his summoned throne.

Sinestro shifted his weight and grinned at the silver-haired man as he lounged. “I would like to offer you a weapon I think you’d be well-suited for.”

Magus’ eyebrows furrowed into a frown and he flicked his wrist in irritation. “Well, get on with it then!”

Once again the master of the Yellow Light restrained his anger. “I offer you a weapon. A weapon forged from a power that lies within all living beings. This constant, this force, is the most abundant source of emotional energy in this, or any other, universe.” The ball within the man’s hand had continued to grow brighter, now nearly blinding. “But, really, all of that doesn’t matter to you, does it? All you really need to hear is…”

The ball of yellow brilliance flashed out and finally congealed, solidifying into a swarm of gleaming golden bands. For a moment they just hovered there, suspended, as if by their own volition.

“… Welcome to the Sinestro Corps.”

The rings flashed out from his palm, driven by an unseen intelligence as they sought out their owners, leaving streaks of golden light behind them. They twisted and zipped, taking harsh, angular turns on their circuitous and meandering routes through the Nexus, darting about like silent insects on a hot summer’s night. The collection of Primes only had a few moments to gawk before they began to find their homes.

“MAGUS OF [NULL], WELCOME TO THE SINESTRO CORPS.”

“SHANG TSUNG OF [NULL], WELCOME TO THE SINESTRO CORPS.”

“ATELOS OF [NULL], WELCOME TO THE SINESTRO CORPS.”

The rings loudly declared their new owners, though when they attempted to source their home sectors, they could only blare out an error line. Even more troubling was that after the initial three recipients, the remaining rings fizzled out and evaporated before they managed to find their mark.

Sinestro’s expression collapsed into one of concern, and he looked down at his ring in confusion. “I don’t understand,” he said quite flatly, unaccustomed to such blatant failure. “At this charge, the ring should be able to support at least ten duplicates.”

His eyes shot back and forth between all of the collected members, suspecting each before it finally found the true culprit: the fountain. Once again, the nature of omnilium had made a fool out of him. “Damn you, Omni…” he spat, beneath his breath.

Magus startled to his feet as the ring slipped over his finger, his other hand instantly attempting to pry it free. “What is this?!” he snapped.

Sinestro looked over to the struggling sorcerer, “It is your weapon, Magus. It is the most powerful weapon in the entire galaxy.”

“Hnngh!” the man shouted, tugging desperately at his finger, anxious beads of sweat forming on his forehead. “What is it doing to me?!”

“What do you-“ Sinestro began, but quickly cut his words short and looked to the other two recipients. Atelos’ eyes seemed to have glazed over, and he stood there in a seemingly catatonic state. Shang Tsung was nowhere to be found. “Something’s wrong,” he said, his gaze bolting about wildly.

“You!” Magus shouted, trusting his scythe in Sinestro’s direction, “You did this! UNDO IT, OR I WILL TAKE YOUR HEAD!”

“Very well,” the lantern said quickly, betraying the panic that had begun to bubble up in his chest. He once again held his hand out and focused. Several moments passed, but nothing changed.

“Well?!” Magus demanded, taking a step in Sinestro’s direction.

“It’s…” Sinestro’s brow folded as he poured his effort into recalling the rings, but still nothing budged. “It’s not working! The duplicates aren’t deactivating like they should!”

“Unacceptable!” Magus screamed, sweat now streaming down his head and over his cheeks. He stalled a moment, and clutched a hand over his chest. His pupils restricted and his eyes bulged as the feeling within him amplified. “What… what is this that? What have you done to me, kur?!”

“I’d like the same answer,” a deep voice bellowed from across the white void.

All looked to see Atelos, his body wreathed with dark red flame, his weapon in his hand. “What is in these rings?!”

Sienstro took a few steps back, clearly bewildered, before he collected himself and thought clearly. “Fear,” he said to himself, more than anything, “The entire spectrum must be flowing into them.” He held both hands up and shouted over the growing clamor of concerned primes, “The omnilium has made the rings malfunction! You are feeling the full brunt of the yellow spectrum of emotion. You are feeling Fear. Try to remain calm and-”

“FEAR?!” the lithe warlock roared, “I don’t have any fear!” With that, he thrust his hand forward, and a swirling purple sphere erupted from it, spiraling through the crowd and towards Sinestro.

The lantern thrust his ring forward in an attempt to intercept the attack, but his ring only fizzled.

“POWER LEVELS AT [NULL] PERCENT.”

Sinestro’s eyes went wide just in time to catch the full force of the Gloom bolt to his chest, hurling him backwards. He hit the unforgiving white tile and left behind a thin trail of purple blood as he slid to a stop. He shook his head and groaned, his hand clutching the gruesome wound on his chest.

“Good,” the Spartan barked, his voice altogether different than it had been only a few moments before. “Now maybe I can remove this cursed thing!” His arms ignited in a deep, malevolently swirling flame and his thick fingers grasped at the golden circlet. He tugged hard enough that his bulging muscles strained, his veins jutting from his neck and bicep. Still it did not move.

Smith stepped forward out of the masses and straightened his tie. “Gentlemen,” he said coldly, a tinge of disdain in his voice, “Let us remain focused on the task at hand. Do not be,” he paused shortly, as if finding his words, “distracted by petty squabbles.”

“Petty?” the strange voice spoke from Atelos’ lips, “This is hardly petty, pathetic mortal!”

“Alright, enough of this!” Magus hissed, and held his hand up. “We’ll see how these trinkets stand up to the Winds of magic.”

Shadowy purple magic burst into existence in Magus’ other hand, and he held it over the ring. Corrupting forces pulsed into the tiny object, the magister masterfully manipulating the foundational forces of reality in an attempt to cleanse himself. The dark haze flowed over his hand like rolling fog until suddenly they seemed to be drawn into it. Magus grimaces as the ring swallowed more and more of his power, seemingly to pull it from him in deep, greedy gulps. Grinding his teeth together, he the stream of magic swelled, casting rays of purple light against his face and the white tiles below him. Still, the ring drank it up. “What’s happening!?” he growled, and allowed his attempt to die off.

Sinestro moaned as he pushed himself to his knees. “I have no idea,” he conceited. “My ring is acting…“ He cut himself off when he noticed a cloudy purple aura around his own ring. “… strangely.”

“What new treachery is this?!” Atelos roared, a similar affliction seeming to have overcome not just his ring, but his entire flaming aura. Roaring red had transformed to flickering purple, and covered his entire body.

“They’ve linked us,” a cold voice spoke, seemingly from nowhere until Shang Tsung chose to show himself, somehow looming unseen only a few meters away. “And if we are linked…” he splayed out his fingers with a soft smirk, “I suppose we might also take as easily as we can give?”

Clenching his fist, the Outworld sorcerer summoned a cloud of howling souls around himself, and then they folded inward and into his open hand. The purple flames around the ring were drowned out with green spirit energy, the soul-stealer’s complexion began to glow with vigor and youth. Quite the opposite seemed to happen to the other cursed ring-bearers, this skin growing ashen and pale.

Shang Tsung’s smirk grew into a grin, and he laughed, “I suppose so!”

Members of the congregation wore looks of concern, though few seemed to have an immediate response. Even Smith remained silent, watching the conflict resolve with crossed arms and a perked eyebrow. Ryner opened his mouth, ready to offer a solution, only to close it again, dumbfounded.

“Which one of them is the bad guy?” Jim shouted loudly, his lower jaw jutting out. “I need to know so I can shoot ‘em!”

Atelos clutched a hand to his heart and staggered, but managed to find his feet steady beneath himself. “Damn you, sorcerer!” he boomed in his twisted voice. “I will not allow you to drain my vessel in like this!”

No sooner had the brawler finished his challenge than he charged forward with an inhuman burst of speed, flying into a shoulder spear into Shang’s midriff. The sorcerer grunted out most of his breath and then hit the ground, and the green stream of energy ceased.

Finally the deputy was on his feet, and he angrily stared down his source of power. “Ring,” he demanded angrily, “identify malfunction!”

“NO KNOWN MALFUNCTION.”

“Damn it!” he screamed into his fist. “Fine!” he leveled his ring at the wrestling pair, “Then WORK!”

A beam of yellow light wedged itself between them, expanding into a pair of toothy maws which pried them apart. Pivoting on his heel, he whipped the same beam around towards Magus. When it struck his shoulder, it wrapped around him like a rope and firmly held him in place. “Enough of that,” he said condescendingly, “calm yourselves while I find a solution to this problem.”

“I think I have a solution,” Magus said snidely, “I’ll take your head!” He lifted his ring into the hard-light construct, and it was instantly absorbed, breaking him free of the binding. He then nimbly leapt onto the string of yellow emanating from Sinestro and sprinted along it. A puff of magic gasped between his hands, and when is dissipated, a wicked scythe was revealed.

As Magus reached the end of the thin, golden line, he sprung into the air and flipped over Sinestro’s head, swinging his weapon at the apex. The lantern frantically twisted the amber beam and expanded it into a hexagonal shield to intercept the curved blade. A shower of citrine sparks showered down over them as Magus landed in a crouch.

Their fight was interrupted when all of Atelos’ mass slammed into them in a heap. Shang Tsung stood across the floor, his foot still hanging in a perfect side-kick. The titan howled in blood-thirsty rage, his aura igniting to the brightest it had been, and kicked himself up to his feet.

Rolling to the side and into a prone position, Sinestro quickly fired off bolt towards Shang Tsung. He reeled when the color of the blast was a burning red, just the same color as Atelos’ fires.

Magus stared in disbelief for a moment, then tentatively summoned an orb of Gloom. It too was an angry red. The two warriors shared a glance at each other on the ground, but their attentions were violently shifted when the muscle-bound Grecian snatched them both up by their necks.

Holding them both aloft, Atelos spoke with an otherworldly authority, “That’s my power you’re using.” He then slammed their heads together with a dry CRACK and tossed them aside like litter. “Now, old friend,” he rumbled, stalking towards Shang Tsung, “we have some busi-”

The man was battered to the side as Shang’s foot impacted the side of his head. The spry martial artist then called forth a burning skull from the earth, which instantly exploded in a viridian bloom between the grounded pair.

The green energy was predictably devoured by their rings, leaving behind only a wispy trail of jade smoke. Sinestro and Magus looked to each other, and a silent agreement was made. They quickly rolled counter to the other and tumbled to their feet. The temporary allies stepped in on either side of the sorcerer and launched a flurry of attacks.

The canny warrior managed to block the initial volley, but hit after hit slipped through his guard. A stiff kick to the leg put his knee down, and the pommel of a scythe sent him into the ground.

The duo wasted no time betraying each other, both lashing out with bright bursts of energy which collided in the space between. The force of the collision sent them flying in opposite directions, hitting the ground with heavy slaps.

The four men lay equidistant on the cold, unyielding ground, a crowd of bewildered primes staring down at them.

All four groggily staggered to their feet, each of them far beyond words. Instead their actions spoke. Shang thrust two open palms at Atelos, who quickly lifted his shield, red aura roaring. Magus thrust an orb of shadow energy at the same time as Sinestro unleashed a bolt of hard-light energy. All four powers met in the center, and in a flash, they melded into one blinding mass.

Each of the four men struggled and pushed, the confluence of their collective might being pushed backwards and forwards through the center. No sooner would it tilt in one direction would it then jerk in another. The very earth seemed to shudder beneath them, and the color of their energies scintillated and pulsed.

Somehow it happened slowly, yet all at once. A hole opened up in that twisting maelstrom, deeper and blacker than any night. It seemed to fall inward from every angle, a singular void of true darkness against a background of dancing colors and white. And in this hole fell everything. It devoured the quarrelling fighter’s energy, it devoured their strength and the breath from their lungs.The fighters resisted its pull, but even a few mere moments in its presence was too much. They were drawn in.

As the men were sucked, screaming, into the void, it sealed shut with a hiss, leaving nothing to be seen, and only dead silence to be heard.

The gathering could only stare in wonder at the empty space where their allies had once stood, not a trace of them to be found. Even the blood that had been shed had been neatly cleaned away, and not a scrap of their battered clothing was left lying in their wake.

A voice from within the crowd, but it couldn’t be said who’s, called out, “What the hell was tha-”

In the very same place the men had disappeared, a shockwave erupted outward. The sound of a terrible gale, or perhaps shrieking spirits, followed that burst of pressure, deafening and terrifying to any that heard it. A single flame blossomed, though it did not move nor appear as fire but something entirely different. It was no larger than a head, and segments of it slowly warped and fluctuated: first green, then purple, then red, then yellow. Another surge exploded outward, this more powerful than the last, enough to take a few off their feet.

There, in the epicenter, stood something. Something none would call a man, but neither could they call it anything else, for nothing like it had ever been.

It knelt there, its skull hanging low with a fist on the ground supporting it. The silhouette of a skeleton loomed behind a body made of ethereal fire, ever changing between those which the previous fire had predicted. A broad, bronze pauldron reflected the wavering lights of the flame, and a chain rattled and clinked as it hung from that shoulder to the opposing hip. The heat that wafted from its burning form pushed a deep red cape into a billowing flutter, the fire nipping at its edges and folds, but it never seemed to fully catch. A three-panelled ō-yoroi was draped down from its hips, yellow and black as Shang-Tsung’s had been.

Slowly it lifted its head, and from within the deep sockets of its eyes, baleful smoke sizzled outwards, its gaze unseen and unknowable. Pushing it’s conflagration body from the ground, it held a skeletal hand in front of itself, turning it back and forth, seemingly in amazement at its own body.

“What the hell is that,” the same voice asked in a trembling timbre.

The creature’s attention turned, slowly, to its audience. “I-” it began, its voice a chorus of the men who had created it. It shook its head, “We hear so many voices...”

They let out a long, haggard exhalation might of reminded you of a bellows breathing into a flame, and stepped forward, a trail of ashes and woe in its wake. “We are the bringer of many things…” The aura flashed wildly between yellow and green, and the flickering images of Shang Tsung and Sinestro were momentarily juxtapositioned over the creature’s frame. “... Hunger,” it growled, “Terror.” Red took the place of yellow, and Atelos grimaced, “Ruin.” Finally a deep purple with Magus’ toothy grin, “Loss.”

“Yes, we will bring so many things to this world,” they spoke in unison. “We are The Harbinger.”

[Enzo Matrix]

Matrix glanced over to the man that had addressed him. The guy seemed nice enough, and he certainly had the right idea about this insane bunch. Matrix gave a small scoff and nodded.
 
“Something like that.”
 
Fortunately, his was spared from being forced into any other conversation by a sudden brawl breaking out amongst the members of this party. Now, Matrix gave a full on scowl. This hunt for justice was interrupted by a squabble within the mob’s own ranks. He shook his head and took a few steps back, then glanced to the man that had spoken to him before.
 
“Later.”
 
That was enough for him, and he began to walk away. Suddenly, though, he was distracted by the dispute’s sudden end. He spun around and witnessed the arrival of this new being: The Harbinger. Matrix’s cybernetic eye turned red as he scanned this…thing. Its power was astronomical, more than he had ever seen in the Omniverse, by a long shot. He stared in awe as its readings appeared on his internal H.U.D.
 
But just the same, he shook his head. This was getting to be a bit much. He was still finding his footing in the Omniverse and he had begun to think that maybe he’d become involved in something much larger in the fallout of this Graveyardverse. He needed to get back to the Vasty Deep and find AndrAIa, and let her know he was alright.
 
So with that, he gave a somewhat polite nod to the man he’d loosely been speaking with, and departed without another word. It was a long trek to the gate, so he needed to get moving.

[Ururu Kyuuei]

Ururu felt a grinding sensation in her stomach as the fight unfolded and she did nothing. Okor may have made his case but that didn’t mean she was going to participate in a blood feud. This was a mob rule, no different than a group of fear fueled heads of government trying to squash something perceived as a threat.

When it all came down to it, Okor didn’t even bother with parting words, he just went.

Something about him sparked a sense of respect for him within Ururu but it was tainted with this newly formed an unfolding memory. Just like everything else here in this Sage forsaken universe, violence was law, belief was held as fact, and life was a sanctimonious asshole that everyone felt like kicking each time it tried to get up off the ground. Kicked in the crotch at that.

Displays of power over the course of seconds began to light up the Nexus as flesh met flesh in a clash worthy of drunken Shinobi in slow motion. Once she could have taken all these fuckers single handedly in the mockery combat that was being expressed here. It was inelegant, a debasement of humanity both in the sheer stupidity of bloodlust but also as showing simple lack of training. Idiots doing everything short of screwing each other in a clusterbuttfu- Ururu paused thinking back, no those four men had done that as well. It was frankly tiring.

After the events of the Graveyard her… anguish brought on by Okor…

Nothing changed. Reality only ever saw fit to show her the worst that people could bring out in themselves and others.

Ururu was done.

Gritting her teeth, she relaxed the hold on the claws and her power. The chakra cloak instantly began to fade away completely like a dying flame that had been smothered by to little oxygen and far too much fuel. It left it bare, with only her thoughts as company. Even that had been tainted; the sword in her clone’s hand had interrupted them. But then it had gone quiet.

A prerecorded message maybe?

Odd, but today alone Ururu had seen far more unique things. It was just another thing she would have to think about later. No. now wasn’t a time for thinking or puzzle.

Shikoru, keep the sword for right now, Shiburu keep a watch out for the fight if its coming my way.

The two clones nodded but said nothing. They just didn’t care. Like everyone else, the thought of violence didn’t give them the least bit of pause. After all what she had made them from was the portion of herself that she had run away from all those years ago. The portion of herself that had been partially unleashed on the graveyardverarse.

She gave one last look of regret at the figures far beyond her, as Uchiha Sasuke made his stand for who knows why.

Carefullly, avoiding the fight in periphery, Ururu began the trek towards the Coruscant gate where she could see two lone Stormtroopers… holding the line.

Ururu made a note to get both of their names and buy them a drink.

Maybe let her do some good, or get a decent fuck out of it. Why not both?

If she was going to pick up the pieces of her life without Hikaru, she had to start somewhere. Mindless sex with complete strangers was a good place to begin.

[Summer]

Not more than a few moments after Hatate had created a notepad and ink brush, as she was still sort of gawking at it, surprised at the rules of this world, a voice rang out over the crowd. Her head turned up in curiosity, at just about the same time as everyone else’s each brought up by the person’s cry for attention. She faintly recognized the person who was shouting as one of the figures she had seen as she had floated above the crowd. Who exactly it was happened to be unknown to her, however.

Questions rose up from those within the crowd, some spoken to be heard, others whispered amongst themselves. Most of them were along the same lines though, wondering what the yellow man trying to command attention wanted. Hatate briefly wondered if this was the start of the hunt, disappointment stirring in her heart. She had hoped to get in a few more interviews before it happened, but now she might just have to track down survivors after the fact.

Keeping an ear on the gold fellow up front, she quickly began jotting down what she remembered from the previous interview on the first page of her new notepad. Fortunately, notes were something she wouldn’t publish. So her hastily-written scrawl, legible only to her, would be useful for getting down what she remembered before anything else came up that she would have to commit to memory.

The reporter’s swift writing saved her in that regard. In no more than thirty seconds after she began, she had finished, just in time to witness the man who had been gathering their gazes summon several golden rings out of thin air. Hatate’s eyes widened, and her hand instinctively shot down to the case at her hip. She deftly flipped it open and lifted her camera out in one fluid movement, quickly bringing it to bear and snapping it open with a flick of her wrist.

With the flash safely off, she was able to snap photos of the moment relatively subtly, with nothing more than the click of the camera to give her away. This wasn’t something that she could miss. Even more so when something happened, and those who had actually been gifted the rings erupted into an all-out brawl.

Hatate took to the sky, hovering out to a nice, safe distance from the scuffle, where she could take pictures of their fight without interfering or being hit. Odds were that these pictures would be entirely useless to the main article she was going to write, about the justice mob closing in on Sasuke. A nice little side article could come out of this though. ‘Loose Alliance Broken’ or ‘Lawlessness Among Lawbringers.’ After all, some of them were really quick to jump onto the brawling bandwagon.

Then four people became one and the reporter damn near dropped her phone. From well away, Hatate stared at the amalgamation which called itself “Harbinger.” Her lazy drifting picked up in pace, as she began to circle the group like an eagle. A consistent clicking sounded from her camera as she tried to get pictures of the being from every angle. She grinned widely, something like this could possibly make an even better front-page headline than what she had originally planned.

The very brief appearance of Sasuke only served to further that expectation. Her camera captured the moment of attack, as fleeting as it was, and the boy was tossed away almost effortlessly. In one quick moment, the hunt that everyone had been gathered there for was over. With the odds so stacked against the criminal even before the amalgam, Hatate hadn’t expected much of a fight in the first place. She had mostly been there for some witness questioning. If she was quick about it, she could swoop down and question more people before they split up and dispersed.

That was her plan, until, in a totally human fashion, some of the party attacked the Harbinger, causing yet another fight to break out. It wouldn’t do to just up and leave this, as it tied in with everything she planned to write about. The camera continued to click sporadically.

[Samus Aran]

Samus watches, stunned, as the Harbinger forms. As the fight breaks out. As Sasuke is impaled against the fountain.

"Are you going to go in there?" The right soldier asks. "Try to stop that thing?"

Samus responds by turning her back to the fight, and stepping towards the gate. "No," she says. "Justice has been served."

[Shang Tsung]

The exorcist Yu Kanda grimaced as he tried to fight back against his adversary.  Compared to the burning, empty sockets of the skull monster’s countenance, the man was all grit and determination.  Sweat had stained all along his brow, and the lower half of his face was a mask of gore.  Kanda opened his mangled maw to speak words, but his breath was stolen from him by the butt of the gestalt’s hammer.
 
With that, Yu Kanda stumbled backwards, his eyes a blend of confusion and fury as he tried to work through the metaphorical stars swirling around his head.  Before the warrior could bring his blades back to bear, he heard the thunderous crack of a bolter pistol.  A moment later, a chunk of the exorcist’s shoulder exploded into a wet cloud of blood, sinew, and flecks of bone.  By the time his knees had hit the floor of the Nexus, Kanda was spouting blood from two more places on his chest.
 
The plague marine lowered his bolter just in time for Ryner to jump him from behind.  The young man clawed at the armored soldier for a few moments before a gauntleted fist closed around his shoulder and squeezed.  For his part, Ryner withheld a scream just long enough for a battered, half-conscious Orihime to launch herself at Okor like a human spear.  While he was shuddered by the woman’s sudden assault, the marine remained upright and swiftly responded with the barrel of his weapon.
 
Removed from the immediate battle, Gamzee had managed to catch his breath, but before he make his mark felt, he saw the shadow befall him.  A beat later, a serrated Rathalos claw tore through his abdomen, lifting him a few inches from the ground before he was thrown at the Harbinger’s feet.
 
“All things must end.” The gestalt spoke as it lifted its hands up into the air.  Those with the faculties remaining to do so watched as chunks of the shattered fountain and broken pieces of the floor wiggled a few times before lifting up off the ground. 
 
Blanketed by a faint yellow glow, the now airborne pieces of debris swirled around the Harbinger before they started to settle near the remains of the Fountain of Infinity.  Chunks of gray stone and the white material of the Nexus stacked upon themselves before being held together by sections of the metal material that had once controlled the flow of the fountain’s water.  In a matter of moments, the debris had been crudely stitched together into an unevenly shaped cross that would have cast a long shadow had there been a sun in the Nexus.
 
A mockery of any real religious icon, the cross bled yellow and green vapors into the air.  It was almost as if the blasphemous thing was infecting the world around it.
 
Even though he was bleeding out, Kanda managed to grasp his katana with both of his hands.  He dragged his battered carcass up to his feet and glared at the monster that stood before him.  “Your existence should offend any rational individual,” the exorcist rasped before throwing him at the gestalt.  There was a fleeting moment when it seemed that the Harbinger wasn’t going to defend itself, but then the sword stopped harshly in the air.  Halfway up the weapon, a bony hand was clasped around it.
 
“Your existence offends us.” The monster’s voice echoed as it squeezed down on the katana.  What followed was the dreadful sound of metal breaking apart as if it were made of wood.  As Kanda stumbled forward, he could only watch with muted horror as the shattered end of his own weapon was thrust through his left lung.
 
Fresh blood started to sputter from around the blade as the exorcist felt his knees buckle beneath him.  Instead of the ground, he was stopped by a skeletal hand closing once more around his throat.  With a swift motion, the Harbinger spun and slammed Kanda against the central shaft of the cross.  A beat later, Kanda felt one more sunburst of agony as the other half of his sword was driven through his heart and into the stone behind him, pinning him to the Harbinger’s monument.
 
Turning toward the sound of gunfire, the Harbinger watched for a few moments as Okor tried to gun down his two adversaries.  When the marine didn’t quickly dispatch the two fighters, the gestalt willed a hardlight chain into existence and lashed out at the woman.  Already mangled and focused on her adversary, Orihime never saw the chain coming, and by the time she could grab at the warm construct around her neck, she was already being dragged back to the Harbinger.
 
Eyes wide, the young woman struggled against the pull of the chain, but fate was moving too quickly against her.  A hammer swung down, and just like that, she lost any remaining feeling in her right hand.  The chain vanished, but before she could find a scream, a hand closed around her jaw.  Viciously pulled up onto her feet, Orihime swung with her good arm in vain as another hand grabbed at the clips she wore in her hair.  With little regard for the rest of her head, the Harbinger tore the clips out along with a fistful of red locks.
 
“Leave us.” The creature spoke as it jammed its fist through the woman’s ribcage and stabbed the accessories through her heart.  A beat later, it lifted her form the ground and dumped her over the right arm of the cross.  With a sharp turn, the Harbinger grabbed Ryner’s outstretched hand and wrenched it sideways.  The young man got halfway through a scream before he was thrown to the ground and taken out of his misery with a thunderous, skull-shattering hammer blow.  Grabbing hold of the shattered head of the man, the Harbinger lifted up the corpse and draped it over the other side of the cross.
 
The Rathalos took that moment to let out a deafening roar as she rolled Gamzee’s half-conscious body over to her master.
 
“We would be lying,” the Harbinger spoke as it lifted the horned man up to his feet with a bony fist.  “If we said this didn’t bring some of us some pleasure.”  Red shimmered through the aura of the Harbinger as it summoned one of Gamzee’s deuce clubs into its free hand.  The first blow was enough to break the bone, but the monster continued until the majority of the face had been bludgeoned away from the shattered bone underneath.  The last dull thud of club upon broken skull snapped away one of Gamzee’s horns.
 
With the man limp in its grip, the Harbinger turned and tossed the corpse at Yu Kanda’s feet.  As it glanced to its side, the gestalt saw the ninja’s sword lying on the ground. A lazy hand gesture from the Harbinger caused the katana to telekinetically skip across the ravaged floor of the Nexus before coming to rest at the feet of the plague marine.  Neither the armored juggernaut nor the burning gestalt needed to exchange words.  Despite their lack of visible facial features, they understood the transaction that had just taken place.
 
With that, Harbinger turned to face the corpse-coated effigy.  Fresh blood soaked the cross from the bodies staked or draped over it.  Any life that remained in the primes had since fled what remained of them.  The gestalt lifted its hands as green flames danced across its skeletal frame.  “Your souls are ours.”

***

 
A few minutes later, the hands of the Harbinger dropped to its sides as the final vestiges of the monument faded.
 
Powdered omnilium floated in the air where the remains of the concrete and stone cross had once been.  In time, the Fountain would renew itself and the damage to the Nexus would vanish into memory.
 
Trailed by the Rathalos, the Harbinger turned and departed.  By the time it reached the halfway marker between the epicenter of the Nexus and the gate to the Pale Moors, there were four men walking in tandem.  They shared no looks.  No high fives.  No smug sneers.
 
There was only silence and the memory that none of them would forget what it had been like to taste the power of the gods.

Okor gets the Blade of Kurnisagaflagaharashai
Shang Tsung receives the Golden Rathian Egg
Magus receives the Silver Rathalos Egg
Gamzee, Ryner, Orihime, and Yu Kanda were killed

[Okor]

His blood was irredeemably tainted. A legion of viral plagues ravaged his rotten flesh, parasites squirmed within his ruined organs. This was a situation that had lasted for millennia, the blessings of his patron infusing his very essence. His breath was pestilence, foul new life grew in his wake, and his hunger was that of a thousand famines.

And yet, for the first time since he swore himself to The Lord of All, he felt sick.

The craven’s delicate blade hung from his hip, the Omnillium-forged blade mag-locked to his thigh. The shame that came from taking such a pathetic waste of life’s belongings as a trophy was unavoidable. He had sought to deal justice, to execute a traitor to Primes, to enforce the unspoken rules of humanity upon this warped realm.

But no, the mercurial inhabitants of this realm were never so sane.

Stubs of fingers curled into a infantile fist from the stump of his arm, fresh pallid flesh a scant few centimeters of a slowly advancing sludge replacing his lost ceramite. The loss of a limb was no hindrance to one as blessed as he.

It could have been justice. It could have been right, it could have been witnessed by all as an example: Brutal, fair, unforgiving, just.

But they had turned it into a slaughter.

His cloven hoof impacted against a discarded stormtrooper helmet, another casualty of the endless war between Camelot and Coruscant remembered only by the porcelain armour that flew through the air, bouncing against the uncaring surface of the Nexus. The forgotten fabrication could have been a craven, a champion, an advocate for the cruel mercies of peace, or an agitator for the bloody forges of war. It didn’t matter now. It was a world of constant, endless, infinite change, an infinite spire of haphazard creation piercing the heavens, the collapsed monuments of the past forgotten in the self-destructive drive. Every prime built their own tower of babylon, every brick in the grand cathedral to themselves mortared with their own blood.

It was disgraceful. Okor squatted before the dented helmet, the filth-caked length of his tabard touching the impossibly clean landscape of the nexus. They forgot. They always forgot, their own minds turned inwards, their psyche an impenetrable silver marble into which nothing aside from themselves could enter. Twisted echoes of their own desires, infinitely reflected and warped within their mind.

Shattered sable shards of teeth arranged themselves into a manic grin, a corroded gauntlet raising the ivory helm to his face, corruption seeping into armour from his mere touch. The porcelain purity flaked away as Verdigris overtook it, the Omnillium within it forcing it into an unnatural arrangement, a horn rising from the formerly smooth surface. With a final crack, the wargear was set into place, the aeons-old inertia of Okor refusing to be stalled by something so insignificant as dismemberment and destruction, a hiss of repressurization trapping him within his foul atmosphere.

He was not like those fools. They set themselves ablaze and sought to burn their way into whatever poor excuses for legend this realm had, their every action to be a glorious stand, their every battle one to shake the foundations of reality.

He had dreamed of being a hero, once. He had sought to topple tyrants, to free the galaxy from a false god atop a throne of gold.

He had dreamed of marching, side-by-side with his brethren, the huddled masses of humanity cheering them on as he broke their chains, sprung them free from the mortal coil, delivered them unto Nurgle.

He had dreamed of glory, of righteousness, of being hailed as the prodigal son, of laurel wreaths placed atop his crooked skull in recognition of his duty.

And he had awoken to blood. The deaths of worlds stained his soul, virgin flesh still remained wedged between his fangs. He was broken, battered, betrayed.

And yet, he still went on.

A claw ran across the obsidian surface of the gate, the heat singing the deceased flesh.

He was to kill a titan of legend, a beast the size of a fortress, a monster that had claimed the lives of thousands. It had spawned a nigh-endless brood, its maw was home to a breath that could melt adamantium, its talons could tear him in two, and it lurked inside its own lair, awaiting the fools that came to take its skull.

He was to do his duty.

He stepped through the steaming portal, a flash of flame marking his departure from the Nexus.

[Summer]

Deep, heavy breaths escaped Hatate, the exhaustion from her long-distance aerial photography starting to take its toll on her. She had hovered above the battlefield for far longer than she had wanted to, the worry of getting caught in the crossfire, or drawing the ire of Harbinger having kept her up there. Though with the fight she had been watching now finished, she was finally able to land. The photographer slowly descended to the ground, neutral expression on her face as her eyes darting across the ruined landscape of the Nexus.

Of all the souls that had stood up to the amalgam and the plague knight, not a single remained. Everyone, save for the few that had fled in a totally smart move, had been slain. Maybe, if they knew what stakes had been on the table, something Hatate herself wasn’t aware of until that final slaughter, they might have fled too.

The reporter hummed lightly, her eyes shifting over to her notepad. Several pages were now filled with notes she had taken of her observations from the battle, and from the only interview she had managed beforehand. She briefly wished she hadn’t paused her data collection just to summon a notepad. Hindsight is clearest, however. There wasn’t really any way she could have known the fight would have taken this turn.

The battle notes were notably less important than her interviews, as they consisted of quick yet legible scribblings of the various Primes’ motivations in that battle, and brief descriptions of attacks that looked important. Thankfully, everyone was really shouting their mind in that fight, so she didn’t have to dig for motivations. And the attacks, lacking a certain beauty that spell cards had, wouldn’t really be useful for the article she was beginning to plan out, but if something came up, it was nice to have.

Her gaze then switched over to her still-open camera, and she flicked through some of the photos she had taken. While there were a few that were junk photos, too blurry or off-center to use, and the sheer violence in some of the pictures made them unsuitable for her paper, enough of them were good to go. Of course, none of them were good enough to just plop onto a paper and call it good. She’d have to edit them in post to fit the article better.

As she sorted through them, Hatate’s mouth cracked into a small smile. Even though she’d taken these pictures from the air, so many of them looked like she had been right in the battle herself, getting in everyone’s way.  It was a kind of quality that could only be produced with her thoughtography.

The camera flipped closed with a light snap, and the photographer’s gaze turned back to the charred and ruined landscape. Her eyes darted between the bodies scattered about, which were already beginning to dissolve into Omnilium. Wordlessly, she turned away and started making her way back across the Nexus, depositing her camera back into its case. She really needed to rest and get started on her article. Hopefully she’d be able to find a place to stay, or she could make her own. A nice little secondary print station, to last her until she could find her way back to Gensokyo.

It was a long walk to one of those gates, though, and she didn’t think she had it in her to fly there. Paper rustled as she flipped her notebook open to a blank page. If it was going to be a while, then she could at least get a first draft written up.

Victim of Betrayal Seeks Justice
Reads the title of a public bulletin, posted by Mr. Smith in a call for aide...