Mock Fight: Ballad vs the SoSV

[Corporal Light]

The gunsmith stood at the end of the grand hallway, hands behind his back and staring directly at the entrance. On both sides of the hallway were large, golden pillars that shone as brightly as the sun, and it was a good thing they did, as the windows next to each one shone no light due to the darkness outside. The inventor didn’t quite know why his partner-in-crime, Chara, wanted to place her castle inside the diseased land of the Pale Moors, especially since it wasn’t exactly close to the Frozen Fields. He could only assume it was because she had some sort of connection to the undead that roamed the land.

He glanced down to his right, seeing the metallic box he had placed down a couple of minutes earlier. With the multi-colored buttons and the antenna, it looked like a fairly normal boombox you would see in a traditional city. It was the blue-colored crystal at the top, sitting upon a pedestal, that differentiated it. He thumbed the controller behind his back, the switch on the device set to “OFF.”

If the others listened to him, then that would soon change.

He looked back towards the entrance as he heard footsteps approach. It was the rest of the Society of Supervillains, walking towards him in a disorganized line. He sighed, shaking his head as he spoke.

“That distance is preferable,” he said, holding his hand up to halt them in their tracks.

The other members promptly stopped, some of them eyeing the machine next to him. Before any of them could ask any questions, however, he paced back and forth similar to how a drill sergeant would pace back and forth between his recruits.

“Some of you are most likely wondering why I called you here,” he said, pausing for a bit before continuing, “I’ve been observing each and every one of us during our time together. For a couple of calendar months, to be exact. What I have seen has made me ponder for an extensive period of time. At first, I thought it was merely my standards and my sense of paranoia, but with a combination of observations and inferences, I have concluded the following..”

He stopped, staring at his “allies.”

“Each of you are commendable fighters…”

He paused, listening to the various sighs and murmurs going on within the group he had called for. He smiled, interrupting them with:

“Alone. Any more than that, and you are nothing.”

Almost immediately, the excited whisperings soon turned into annoyed protests. The gunner brought his gloved hand to his forehead, shaking his head. He didn’t get why his partners had to have such magnificent egos to them. If they wanted to win so badly, why were they so unwilling to work with each other to do it? He had learned the dangers of working alone within the first week of him being in the Omniverse! These jokers had no excuse…

“Enough!” he shouted, silencing the crowd, “I understand my words offend you, but I don’t care. The point is, this is problematic, and if any of you want any chances of success, then you’re going to have to realize that, right now, your teamwork is atrocious.”

“Which is why,” he said, removing his hands from behind his back and where everyone could see, “I am going to teach it to you, as an officer of a gargantuan and perfectly trained military.”

“Before any of you ask, this is a simulation device. I had mister Warren make it for me, so you can thank him for it. In any case, I contacted all of you to see if you can’t learn teamwork. How to play off each other’s strengths and compensate for each other’s weaknesses. I’ve watched you all, and as much as it causes you mental anguish to hear this, we are not a team. We are just a collective of criminals who THINK we are.”

He closed his eyes, his thumb slowly pressing down on the switch of his device.

“If we ARE a team, though…”

As if on cue, the crystal on the machine began to rotate, the multi-colored buttons flashing in a rapid manner. In just a few short moments, the entirety of the hallway began to change form into a large room similar to that of a parking building. Cars of various sizes and colors stood side by side where the pillars were, and the faint sound of police sirens rang out from outside of the building. What truly stood out, however, was the fire. The entire room was covered in flames, with two large splotches in particular blocking off the exits for both Ballad and the SoSV members. The gunsmith himself had already placed his device inside his belt, pulling out his revolver and his flamethrower.

“Then smiting me will be a simple task.”

Intro Post Complete!

[Beta Ray Bill]

Scarecrow paced back and forth in the meeting room "You Avengers a foolish to think you could beat us, we combined our powers to thoughts you couldn't have imagined." Crane's words struck hard at the Captain "We'll just have to see about that doctor." He switched off the hologram projector.

Shouting and arguing blared outside the meeting room. Scarecrow slowly walked to the large wooden door that leads outside to the grand hallways. He turned the doorknob and shoved the door open.

"Whats going on here!" He shouted over the crowd, nobody answered. Jonathan peered over the crowd only to see a green man in front of them all, Ballad.

 “Each of you are commendable fighters…” The words stunned the group. Scarecrow pushed everyone out of the way to get into the front. Folding his arms he stared down Ballad.

  “I am going to teach it to you, as an officer of a gargantuan and perfectly trained military.”

“Before any of you ask, this is a simulation device. I had mister Warren make it for me, so you can thank him for it. In any case, I contacted all of you to see if you can’t learn teamwork. How to play off each other’s strengths and compensate for each other’s weaknesses. I’ve watched you all, and as much as it causes you mental anguish to hear this, we are not a team. We are just a collective of criminals who THINK we are.”



Crow stepped forward, shaking his head in disapproval. Ballad shifted his thumb and pressed the button. The device flashed multi colors before the world switched around them. This new world reminded Scarecrow of his home, Gotham City. They were all placed in a building,  but there was one problem the building was on fire. The flames roared and circled the entire group, all exits were blocked. Ballad whipped out his revolver and flamethrower.

“If we ARE a team, though…”

“Then smiting me will be a simple task.” These words were defiantly a bold threat. The Master of Fear unsheathed his scythe "Everyone flank him NOW!" 


             

[Jack Darby]

So this is what the technology for the Simulation Device had been required for. Truth be told... Warren was almost impressed.  Of course now that he had his wrist blasters working when it came to ranged combat at least he had one option. "Mick,  Light him up. "    Warren ordered this as he prepared an attack of his own and began charging the wrist blasters that were on his costume. The Z-Tech Wrist Blasters were his own design and made so they could function within the Omniverse.  They were similar to the ones he had originally back home.  Wait.  He missed home.  Of course he had more than just himself here.  Somehow Ricky had come along for the ride.  Of course he couldn't corrupt the young Guardian into being one of his minions as most likely such a thing was doomed to completely fail miserably.   "And I'll make sure he doesn't get back up once you and your cold friend light him up."   Warren said as he continued to prep himself to attack his opponent. "Let's do this!" 

[Skeletor]

Skeletor shot a rage-filled glance at The Fear-master, “I am not some lackey to be ordered around, you overgrown hay bale!” he shouted. Nevertheless, he began to circle around to Ballad’s right, staying on the side with the revolver. He was confident in his abilities to handle this arrogant opponent who thought that he was stronger than all four of them, but there was no reason to expose himself to the worst tools the stranger possessed. That was what the others were for.
 
He began to accumulate eldritch energy as he circled. “So, Gunsmith, you think yourself my superior? I do believe we will have to put that bit of posturing to the test!” Still circling, the Warlock fired an experimental bolt of energy, which Ballad easily side-stepped. What would have once been a furrowed brow passed across the Warlock’s face. Skeletor stopped circling, and focused his aim, firing again only to the same result. “What’s the matter, Trap-jaw? Worried I’ll actually hit you?” Skeletor asked as his anger rose. “Because I can most certainly do that!” The Skull-faced prime raised his havoc staff, firing a more powerful beam, only to see it rendered pointless as Ballad moved behind one of the support beams of the simulation.
 
“Stop that!” Skeletor shouted, his indignation rising. “This is a fight you wanted wasn’t it? Stop hiding and face me!” The gunsmith moved back out from behind the beam, still silent, and dodged yet another of Skeletor’s blasts. Red pinpricks of light shown in the back of Skeletor’s eye sockets. “This will not be tolerated!” he shouted as he gathered more power. “if you truly possess the power you boast of. Show me! So far all I have seen is talk and dancing. And I will soon put an end to THAT!” with a cackle, the Warlock swung his havoc staff in the air,  nearly a dozen smaller bolts flying outward in an eldritch spray. “Side-step this, you Scarf-wearing Scamperer!”

[Corporal Light]

He had to admit, he was expecting a lot less from his newly-formed opponents. At first, he thought it was entirely possible they were going to be too busy squabbling with each other for them to mount up any kind of proper offense. Turns out his words had struck their pride, though, especially that of Skeletor’s, whom had done all he could to strike him down before he had moved towards one of the pillars holding up the upper floor of the building. Why they were only starting now rather than during heists where that sort of thing mattered was beyond him, though.

Leaning back against the pillar, his revolver and flamethrower in hand, he took a deep breath. He had observed each and every one of his fellow co workers in the field. In a sense, he knew them better than they might have even known themselves, or at least he knew their abilities better. Those kinds of observations could mean all the difference in battle, he had learned. Question was, though, had they done the same?

Only one way to find out.

He peered out from his column, looking up towards the dozen tennis-ball sized balls of fire raining down onto him. Without thinking, he sprinted out of the way, running to the other side of the parking lot as several of the fireballs slammed into the support column, burning its surface. He continued running, letting out an audible groan as at least five of the mage’s eldritch bolts plummeted into his torso, singing his clothes and leaving bruises.

He slid the rest of the way to the other side of the parking lot, stopping directly behind a red sports car. He grit his teeth as his chest thumped with pain, despite his body armor underneath his green overcoat having absorbed most of the impact of the spells. To give credit where it’s due, Skeletor was a very skilled magic user. He was going to have to deal with him as effectively and as quickly as possible.

He lifted his head up, glancing over the hood of the car. The robot was aiming at the car from a few feet to his immediate front, most likely charging his wrist blasters, while Mick Rory and his buddy Snart were advancing towards his position from his right. Scarecrow was charging from where the group had started originally, and Skeletor was hanging back, launching energy bolts from his fingertips. A five man team versus a lone gunman.

I’ve fought through worse…

Standing up, he pointed his flamethrower at the duo coming from his right, pulling the trigger and letting loose a cone of flame towards them. As he did this, he crossed his arm holding his revolver to aim at the robot, pulling back the hammer. Mick Rory and his friend fired their respective weapons, the ice and napalm heat colliding with Ballad’s wick flames in mid-air. Without a moment to spare, the gunsmith shot a couple of bullets at Zimmer, one ricocheting off of his arm and the other impacting his shoulder. The robot ducked down, his concentration fried.

The gunner adjusted his revolver to aim at the duo he was holding back, the warlock’s bolts skimming the top of the vehicle and his clothes. The flames from his weapon were sputtering, its fuel lessening with each passing second. As soon as it ran out and his opponents’ elemental cones drew near, he fired his pistol.

The bullet rammed into the arsonist’s chest, sending him to the ground. Another shot soon downed Snart as well. At least he didn’t have to worry about those two for a little bit.

He looked towards Scarecrow, who was taking the opportunity to charge him. He swiped his scythe in a deadly arc, madness in his eyes.
The green sharpshooter leaned back, the scythe nicking his scarf. He stuffed his flamethrower into his belt, clenching his fist as the “oversized hay bale” vaulted over the car.

“What’s the matter, Ballad? Scared?” he said, staring at the sharpshooter through the darkness of his hood, “you should be! You can’t hope to beat all of us!”

“Logistics inform me that the likelihood of success on the part of your rabble is rather unlikely.” he said, slipping back and into another car as his boss sliced away at him.

He dodged to his left as Scarecrow ran towards him, his scythe lifted over his head. He then brought it down towards the green-skinned man, cutting a clean gash across his left arm. The master of fear cackled, blood running from the blade of his weapon as he readied himself for another strike.

The winter-bred pickaxeman, however, had other ideas. Sliding his .50 single shot down his sleeve and into his hand, he pointed it at his opponent. A loud, booming gunshot rang out around the parking lot as the fear terrorist flew across the room, smashing into the trunk of a car.

He moved his head to stare at the skeletal warlock, whom had taken cover behind a blue truck upon witnessing the scythe-wielder’s flight. He frowned, squeezing his bleeding arm for a moment before moving it behind his back, grabbing the handle of his pickaxe. He then ran forward, jumping over the hood of the car. Tossing his pistol into the air, he caught it by the barrel, pressing down on the glass button connected to said barrel before throwing it at the blue truck Skeletor was behind, the buttons lighting up to signify the countdown.

Word Count: 920
Powers Used: N/A
Moves Used: A Scattering Storm, Energy Projection (Skeletor,) Heat Gun/Cold Gun (Mick Rory,) Scythe (Scarecrow,) .480 Revolver, Flamethrower, .50 Single Shot (Ballad)

Super Moves Used: Tier 2 Super Attack Move: Bomb Setting (Ballad) on (Skeletor)

Current Status:

Ballad: Bruised and slightly burnt torso from Skeletor's Scattering Storm. Bleeding gash on left arm due to Scarecrow's Sycthe. Tossing a Gun-Bomb at Skeletor.

Scarecrow: Possible throbbing pain in his stomach from Ballad's .50 Single Shot. Currently sitting on top of the trunk of a car.

Warren Zimmer: Bullet in shoulder, glancing mark on arm. Taking cover behind a car.

Mick Rory/Snart: Both shot in the chest. Depending on whether or not Mick Rory wants to be in this, they are either injured or dead.

Skeletor: Hiding behind a blue truck and about to be exploded by the Bomb Setting.

Round 1 is complete! Onto Round 2!

[Beta Ray Bill]

Scarecrow fell off the trunk of the car, picking himself up off the asphalt. He stumbled across the parking lot, his vision blurred. "Ouch." The ground rumbled from an explosion, allowing Crane to wake himself.

Scarecrow turned to the green gunsmith and charged for another attack. Slicing back and forth with his scythe cutting Ballads overcoat apart. Ballad countered most of Crow's attacks but one nicked a small cut into his left thigh, deep enough to bleed. Ballad reacted by backhanding Jonathan.

"You're fast Gunsmith but not fast enough, I will break you!" The words didn't seem to impress Ballad one bit. Ballad jumped for Scarecrow's scythe and yanked it out of his hands tossing it out into a general direction. Scarecrow enraged rose his gauntlet and dashed for Ballad. The Master of Fear's gauntlet Stabbed into Ballad's Abdomen, Shouting in pain Ballad placed a boot into Scarecrows face forcing him into a car window breaking the glass, small shards of glass sliced into his back.        

Doctor Crane jolted out of the window in pain, forcing him to arch "Fuck you."

[Jack Darby]

Pain shot like a hot knife through butter into his shoulder.  Looking at the shoulder he realized he'd have to get the wound treated later. There was also a mark on his arm he was going to erase.  Blasts of energy were clearly useless in this fight and so perhaps he should go for something with a bit more oomph behind it namely a certain sword that he had made.  Summoning the Chaotic Energy Katana to hand,   Warren took about a minute to make sure he could properly swing the sword just to be on the safe side.  Once he was certain he could use his sword he immediately charged at Ballad despite the bullet in the shoulder.  It was sending hot lances of pain through every inch of his body.  For now he could afford to ignore the pain,  and focus on the battle but if he got injured worse he knew he'd be out of the fight. "For the injuries you've given me,  the Sentence is Death."   With that he'd swing his Chaotic Energy Katana at Ballad in a frenzy of slashes.

[Skeletor]

The pistol arced through the air before skittered across the floor of the building, coming to rest a short distance behind Skeletor’s position. He looked at it curiously, momentary confusion passing across his featureless face. He bent over and picked up the handgun. There was a blinking light, but the gun seemed otherwise unbroken. Skeletor stood up from his hiding place, the discarded weapon in one hand. “Oh dear?” He taunted his green-skinned opponent, “Have you run out of bullets already?” He waved the pistol at his opponent as he spoke, the flickering lights catching the corner of his eye. Were those lights blinking faster?  “We must have you in dire straits if you're throwing your weapons at us! You think you can beat all five of us? You will need to do better than tha…AAH!”
 
The warlock’s taunt was cut short by a sizable explosion, as the revolver shattered outwards in a growing fireball, only a foot away from Skeletor’s face. The simulated building shuddered, faint gridding appearing momentarily as the simulation tried to adapt to the unexpected damage as quickly as possible. The skull-faced prime was flung away, his hood flaming and his skin torn by shrapnel, to slam against the side of another truck, denting it slightly. The Warlock fell to the ground near a burning tire, and remained unmoving for some time as the last few tatters of his hood burnt away. He was vaguely aware of the others, doing their best to engage the Gunsmith, or at least keep him occupied. It was clear however that they lacked the combat experience to stand for long against the gunsmith.
 
Slowly, blood seeping from the shrapnel that had peppered his body, Skeletor got back to his feet. They were behaving exactly as the gunsmith had said they would, without coordination, without a plan. At this rate the arrogant upstart would be proven right, a humiliation that Skeletor would not suffer to see pass. Leaning on his havoc staff for support, Skeletor did his best to stand firm. “Scarecrow, check on the gunmen! Zimmer keep him engaged at close range! When I say to run you will do so!” Skeletor shouted at the two of them.

The duo were both down, possibly for good, and the Fear-master was looking almost as bad as Skeletor himself. Only Zimmer seemed to be more or less unhurt, having taken only a bullet to the shoulder thus far. Skeletor had the inklings of a plan forming, but he would need time, and more firepower to capitalize on the opportunity when it arrived. Firing the occasional missile to support Warren and keep Ballad on the defensive, Skeletor slowly made his way towards the rest of the team. They would only have one chance at this, as much as Skeletor hated to admit it, the Gunsmith had somehow put the five of them on the back foot. Skeletor ducked behind a minivan near the prone forms of Rory and Snart, and poured energy into his Havoc Staff. He would NOT lose.

581 words according to the site.
No response to the Super move, Skeletor didn't figure it out in time.

[Corporal Light]

Loud, ear-piercing car alarms reverberated around the parking building, the gun-bomb having disturbed the vehicles enough to cause them to shriek. The blue truck that had once been the skeleton’s hiding spot was now nothing more than a scorched piece of scrap, its parts scattered all over the lot. The building rumbled, pieces of the rooftop beginning to fall on top of the combatants, some of which ended up crushing some of the uninjured cars and trucks. Smoke rose into the air from the fire spread around the lot, polluting the oxygen the fighters so desperately needed at that moment as well as reducing visibility.

Ballad turned his head towards the charging robotic man, his extra-sensory eyes detecting his form clutching the glowing blade. He kicked Scarecrow out of the way, sending him into a patch of fire. He ignored the screams erupting from the fear terrorist as he charged at Zimmer, pickaxe in hand.

Their weapons collided as they slid to a stop. The gunsmith leaned back, his left arm wobbling as blood dripped down from his shredded sleeve. The two pushed against each other, neither fighter willing to pull back. Sparks flew into the air as plasma slid against hand-crafted metal, large magic blasts flying past them as the mage shot as much magic as he could into the fog. His bleeding gash shot pain up his arm; he wheezed as he inhaled the fumes around him. He placed his cut left leg back, the energy katana getting dangerously close to his head.

For a moment, it seemed like the scientist had gained the upper hand. Here he was, bleeding out of almost every part of his body imaginable that wasn’t his face, while the scientist had nary but a single bullet in his shoulder. Zimmer chuckled, lifting his sword up to end this whole thing.

A surge of adrenaline rushed through the inventor’s body as he kicked forward, slamming his boot into the robot’s knee. Warren stumbled back, gasping. Ballad thrust his pickaxe forward like a spear, the wooden tip ramming into his chest. The robot slashed and stabbed at the winter-bred man, each move deflected. The duo continued their melee, moving back and forth, dealing bruises but nothing more.

The sentient machine then lunged with his plasma blade, the tip aimed for his chest. The gunsmith parried, arcing the blade in such a way that it sailed right past him. If Zimmer had eyes, they would be as wide as dinner plates as the green-skinned man struck his head with the butt of his pick, discombobulating him. He then brought his pick back, swinging it forward like a golf club.

The robot jumped back, though not before the pick sailed directly into his sword arm. He let out a loud cry, shaking his arm free of the weapon as his sword dropped to the ground. Before he could pick it up, however, Ballad careened the blunt end of his instrument into his head, knocking him to the ground.

He looked up towards the gunner, time seeming to move in slow motion. Blood oozed out of his abdomen, though it did not seem to affect the gunsmith all that much. However, the teared up coat that revealed his burnt white body armor, combined with the smoke that seemed to envelop his form and his glowing yellow eyes, made him look less like a man. Such things were more befitting of demons. The sharpshooter himself would have likely agreed.

The sharpshooter lifted his pickaxe, bringing it down onto the fallen robot.

He was halted, however, by a sudden blast of energy through the smoke clouds. The bolt smashed directly into his chest, his body armor splitting into two as he was launched off of his feet. He landed on his back, the back of his head landing on the hood of a car.

He coughed, the deadly smog moving through his scarf and into his lungs, which only served to fuel the stabbing pain in his chest. He could hardly breathe, so sudden was the attack. He squinted, his vision blurry.

The only thing he could see was a hobbling skeleton walking towards the fallen robot, and a hooded man running towards him with a scythe.

He slid his .50 single shot down his sleeve, loading it as fast as he could as the master of fear drew closer.

Word Count: About 730-750
Powers Used: Burst Movement (Ballad) ((2))
Moves Used: Pickaxe (Ballad), Energy Katana (Zimmer,) Energy Projection (Skeletor,) Scythe (Scarecrow)

Status's

Zimmer: Other arm pierced with the pickaxe, possible dent in head piece from getting smacked with the butt of Ballad's pick.

Ballad: Shot directly in the chest by a charged shot by Skeletor. His chest is now properly burnt and his body armor has been split.

Scarecrow: Kicked into a fire and burnt.

Skeletor: Unharmed in this post.

Round 2 is now over! Next is Round 3!

[Beta Ray Bill]

A red screen of fire smothered Scarecrow, burning every inch of his body. His skin shot in pain, the pain spread everywhere on his body. Crane's coat and hood melted off of him. The Valves that held his fear toxin burst, spewing out its vile fumes into the air. There was enough toxin in the air to affect everyone in the vicinity.

Scarecrow ran out of the fire frantically patting himself. His coat and hood were no longer on him, revealing his pale skin and scars from his encounter of Killer Croc. The Master of Fear's disoriented face was fully exposed. The wires and gas mask parts were no longer present on his face, his mouth hanged low.

"You FOOL! Do you know what you have done!" The words reached the sharpshooter noticing that now the three men were togehter. "The fear toxin is in the air we breath, in an estmated 5 secondes we will all be crying over our worst fear!" Scarecrow dashed for his scythe and raced against the others to attack Ballad.

Each step Scarecrow made the world around changed, right as  he got to Ballad a swarm of bats crashed into him knocking him back. Scarecrow shrieked in terror, he swung his scythe trying to kill the foul creatures. It didn't help, Scarecrow backed into car shaking in fear.

[Skeletor]

Skeletor barely heard the shouting of his supposed commander, he was too focused on the gunsmith in front of him. The green-skinned sharpshooter was holding his own, despite overwhelming opposition, and none of the three of them still standing would be able to handle him head-on in direct combat. Skeletor had to admire the skill with which his opponent fought, never wasting time on an opponent that he had neutralized, but moving on to the next threat. Smoothly, methodically, like a well-tuned machine of destruction. Against any one of them, Ballad had proven that he would easily and soundly be victorious.  
 
He had even disrupted Skeletor’s plan. The two gunmen were probably dead, Warren was down and bleeding, even Scarecrow was crouched against a car, hands warding away some imagined threat as the pathetic scientist bawled in fear. There was no one else to help him, no team to open fire on the target when the plan was enacted. No point to any of it at all.
 
“You think you’ve won, don’t you?” he shouted at the sharpshooter, as his foe rose slowly. There was blood everywhere, and the gunsmith seemed to be moving sluggishly. They were close to victory, Skeletor was sure of it. “I don’t know if you’re getting enough air through that scarf of yours, Gun-boy, but we’re all about to lose. The hay-bale can’t keep his gear together, but it won’t matter.” He raised his havoc staff, tracing frantic lines in the air. Short swathes of flame sprung into being all around Ballad, and he was forced to sidestep to find a space he could stand. The Sharpshooter squinted, the flames of the building mixing with this new conflagration, as ash and smoke filled the air.  He had lost sight of the Skeletal adversary.
 
There were shouts of surprise or perhaps pain from Warren and Scarecrow, as they two were caught in the firestorm. “We will all burn together in the bonfire of our own desires." The Warlock cackled with insane laughter. "The straw man seeks respect, to have others at his command. The robot seeks power, that none may oppose him.” Skeletor advanced, his eldritch fires bending to create a path for him. “You seek order, that your concept of 'peace' may come to pass.” he continued, he was almost to his foe now, he could almost make him out through the smoking haze. Skeletor forced himself into a charge, Havoc staff ready to deliver a finishing blow. “But for myself, I seek to dominate. I will rule all, as is my right! And neither you nor anyone else will stop me!” the Warlock shouted, as he burst through the flames to smite his opponent.
 
“The only thing you’ll be dominating,” the figure said, as Skeletor stopped his charge abruptly, “Is an Eternian prison cell, Skeletor!” There, where he should have found a burnt and bleeding gunsmith, stood the most powerful man in the universe. Without Skeletor’s focus to maintain them, the flames withered away, leaving the primes singed and smoking.
 
“But…but that’s impossible!” Skeletor stammered, as he beheld the Eternian hero, hands his hips and cocky smile in place as always. How had he found them, here of all places?
 
“That’s what you think, Skullface!” He-man laughed, and raised a .50 pistol directly into Skeletor’s dumb-founded face.
 
The gunshot echoed against the concrete walls of the parking garage, as the flames continued to spread.

[Jack Darby]

Unlike the others however there were no fears that could be exploited against Warren. Given his only fears had been faced down in his world,   Warren noticed his father appear. "Nope. Not afraid."   The illusion vanished that had been caused by the gas as his injuries and the effects of the Gas wore off due to the Advanced Regeneration he had.  Clearly not pleased with what was going on Warren charged at the location of Ballad and raised both of his hands,  charging them for a couple of seconds.  Once they were charged he would release 5 foot ball shaped blasts of energy from both of them aimed directly at Ballad's face.  "You don't TOY with my emotions... ASSHOLE!"