A Cold Cold Path

[Corporal Light]

He could not possibly comprehend what was going on. Even his shade, the ghost, the very being of logic housed within his body; even he could not immediately figure out what had occurred to Mister Lynch.

The kid hadn’t changed much since the last time he saw him. He still wore all black, had pale skin, and was so skinny he could be mistaken for an ashened skeleton. Yet there was obviously something different, something wrong, about Koal. It required nary a few moments for him to be able to discern why.

A dark, red glow emanated from him.

"You want to stop a war?! Well you're just one man. We're a dime a dozen here Ballad, the natives of this place are probably well versed in the art of eradicating primes!"

Instantly, the kid snapped back, slamming into the rock wall behind him. He brought his hands to his face, fingers arched as if to claw off his skin. Paint his face with his own blood. He whimpered. What in the hell had happened to him?

Instinctively, Ballad took a step forward, his gloved hand reaching out towards him. He then halted as Koal growled at him, piercing him with violet eyes and barely concealed fangs.

Then, without warning, his shadow self appeared to his left, pointing to his hand-pick. His eyes flickered white.

Ballad, you damn fool, attack.

What?!

We do not have time for this. Attack.

Why?! He’s trying to help us, you dumbass!

Was. This isn’t Koal Lynch. Attack.

He barely kept his words underneath a mere whisper, hiding the true nature of his internal argument to all around him. “Koal Lynch,” however, did not appear fooled. He stared at him, seeing nothing but a man debating with himself, his eyes rapidly changing colors from white to yellow to white to yellow again. His arms and body emitted the same black, murky shadows, stopping the argument as the gunsmith looked back at him. Those shadows appeared to be almost like muscle, but upon closer inspection, were thin layers upon layers of shadowy tendrils, all sliding out of the pores of his skin like smoke from fire.

There just wasn’t any possible way it could be. It just couldn’t. It was impossible!

Before SPB could fully think about what he was witnessing, their former ally spoke.

“Are-are you going to kill me? I don't know who you are, but I keep seeing things. I don't know who you are, yet I keep seeing that I've met you. Spoken with you.”

Probably because you have, Koal. What the hell is the matter with you? thought the gunsmith, remaining silent as the kid spoke. It made no sense to the inventor; how had Lynch managed to go from a pathetic, overly needy teenager with an angel guardian to… whatever the hell this thing was?

All that SPB knew, however, was that this thing was not their friend anymore. One wrong step, and they would find themselves on the ground, their innards being chewed up and their bones gnawed; their disemboweled, dismembered corpses fed to birds and all kinds of other nasty creatures. It was only Ballad, the damn moron, that stayed him.

As the kid began to chuckle, the internal debate within his body progressed, no side backing down.

Ballad, you do not understand. We are in danger. Attack, before you get yourself killed!

I’m not laying a damn finger on him until I figure out what the fuck is wrong with him!

Do that, and he’ll kill you. I’ll explain later, but for now, you have to trust me.

No.

BALLAD.

Shut. Up.

He bared his teeth behind his red scarf, growling out the last sentence to the shade that no one else could possibly see. He felt a swift tug in his stomach, a rising heat in his throat. He swallowed, letting out a loud groan of pain as he reached for his neck. His eyes switched to a stark white, holding onto his neck so as to prevent himself from retching into his scarf while he spoke.

“Koal, I have no clue what it is happening to you, but I need you to calm down. I’m not going to hurt you unless you give me an excuse, and right now, you’re acting like you’re about to tear me apart, which is more than enough of an excuse for me to retaliate tenfold.”

He removed his hand from his neck, looking into Koal’s eyes. They were bright red, like that of a demon’s. He was chuckling, his laughter echoing around the cave. He wasn’t even certain if he was even paying attention, but he had to try. The last thing he wanted was to kill the poor soul; as obnoxious as the kid could be, he was still an ally and, to put in the most honest of terms possible, someone to talk to, or at the very least spend a few minutes with before moving on with the day.

“Please, Koal…” he said, his voice low and pleasant, a sound he hadn’t made since he had arrived in the Omniverse, “I do not want to hurt you.”

Finally, the red glow began to dissipate, plunging the cavern back into darkness as the kid’s face softened. Soon after, Chara relit his lantern, having watched the debacle with mild interest before turning towards his flower friend. Scarecrow had evidently left, presumably to let the two sort things out between each other, and the machine had disappeared unexpectedly. In the meantime, the two quickly got reacquainted, though it soon spiraled back into an argument as to why Koal hadn’t gotten the tomes from Coruscant like he had asked.

“What tomes?! I don’t remember any tomes!” said Koal, tossing him arms in the air.

“The tomes that the Coruscant library possessed, o Lynch!” the gunsmith replied, his eyes glowing yellow, “they housed crucial details on every realm that this multiverse has! I distinctly remember ordering you to obtain them as part of a quest!”

He was about to ask what the hell the quest even was when they were interrupted by Scarecrow. They both looked towards the bony, psychotic scientist, staring at the piece of parchment in his hand. Instantly, Ballad knew what he was going to ask. SPB had been correct, just as he had predicted. Soon, a small semi-circle had formed around him, with Ascension taking the back. The sharpshooter took a quick, cautious glance behind him at the metal, genocidal behemoth before listening to the speech.

It did not take long for the others around him to jump forward to sign the document. He and Koal, however, resisted the notion. Why wouldn’t they, anyway? It was clear to Ballad that Koal did not approve of what was transpiring; his face made it all clear to him. He understood; these people were nothing more than maniacal criminals with a thirst for chaos and bloodshed. They were the very thing he needed to rid the Omniverse of.

Yet even he knew that they were the very same people he needed in order to bring back peace. Who else was going to help him? Not the Avengers, whose website had been posted on the Dataverse some time ago. They were traditional heroes; they were the kind to bring peace by cracking down on illegal activities all over the multiverse. A noble sentiment, indeed.

It just didn’t. Fucking. Work.

They could ring in as many criminals as they could, but it would change nothing. They lived in a world where some people had the power to rise back from the dead, who could make anything they want out of a substance of conjuration, and held immense power above all others. Their actions would only minorly inconvenience them at best. As for the ones who could not do that? They were replaceable; for each non-Prime that fell, three more could be formed to take his or her place. Death held no meaning in this place, no consequence, no justification for existing.

The only thing that would stop them is if they never existed in the first place.

He flinched as Scarecrow pointed at him, asking him to join their cause.

All eyes were upon him. He looked around, seeing Koal’s purple eyes settle upon him. He knew what he was asking. ‘Do not do it.’

He only wished he had an option in the matter.

Without a word, he walked forward, took the pen, and placed it on the parchment, beginning to write.

[Kuzuru]

The demon scowled. His stomach burned and his chest felt tight. It felt like he had swallowed one of those smoke bomb fireworks. A red orb of chalk smoldering in his gut releasing its payload into his abdomen. Every time his thoughts drifted back towards Ballad another smoke bomb was added to his swelling gut. That soul, known as Agern, was quite unlike anything he had consumed before. It held purpose and individuality whereas its peers were subsumed and turned to nothing more than batteries for Kuzuru. Although he’d never admit it, he was frightened by the smoking ball of vitriol that he had swallowed. It was like a grenade, packed tight with hatred. There was no longer a choice for the demon he had to kill Ballad, he had to become the engine for someone else’s vengeance. That thought made him sick.


While the group waited for the blizzard to pass Kuzuru passed the time by rewatching Ballad’s fight in the colosseum. The combatants danced around the screen of his phone and his eyes followed. At the same time countless conflicts echoed through the demon’s cranium. Millions of iterations, every possible permutation of bloodshed all so very crystal clear in his mind. Memories, not originally his, but memories nonetheless. He grinned. Ballad moved well. So far almost every omniversian warrior had impressed his with their skill. First the green-skinned demon Retane, then the impeccable swordplay of Chad Millwell, and finally Cinder Salt’s savage strength. Now however Ballad’s fighting style was on display for the demon’s eyes to gobble up. Every half step, every little momentum shift, and split-second decision, all of them were absorbed, compiled, and digested by Kuzuru’s brain.


“Soooo, are we going to get going or what?” Gaige’s voice grabbed Kuzuru’s attention. 


His smile faded and he paused the video. With clawed fingers the demon slicked back his hair and scratched at the nape of his neck. Doing his best to hide the swelling excitement in his heart he spoke, “sure, he’s not far from here, and the blizzard seems to be dying down.”


“Just how do you know where he’s at?” Dawn asked.


Kuzuru tried not to belch up a plume of smoke. He paused before answering, looking like he had ate something awful. Finally he said, “let’s just say I’ve got a man on the inside.” Choosing not to pursue this, strange, line of questioning Dawn simply nodded as if she understood.


The Ashen Blades left Amber’s fortress and strode into the blistering wastes. For the most part the blizzard had died down, although wind occasionally sent whips of frost against their backsides. Kuzuru trudge along, no longer blinded by snow and pulled by an infernal force. It was as if there was a chain attached to his ribcage, and every step towards Ballad pulled this chain tighter. Agern’s soul was like a dog pulling at its post, hoping to tear the throat out of the mailman. The others spoke little, choosing to steel themselves for the coming conflict. Before long they came to a cave entrance, barely visible underneath tall snowdrifts. Kuzuru stopped and pointed into the cavern, “he’s in there, he probably dipped in there when the blizzard started. We’ll rest for a moment before going inside.” The group made a makeshift camp, and checked their gear. Kuzuru thumbed the little red pill that Renji had earned from a creature in Ambrosia. He smiled, pocketed the pill, and set to work crafting an object from omnillium. After several minutes they packed up and headed into the cave system.


They traveled through winding caves carved from ice before entering the entrance to a large atrium. At the center of said atrium stood several figures, each of them more unsavory than the last. However the one that caught Kuzuru’s eye was a man that looked suspiciously like a green-skinned lumberjack. The demon grinned and announced his presence, not with words, but with an obnoxious strum of the electric guitar which now hung around his neck. This was the object that he crafted from hard-earned omnilium, a guitar without an amp. Dawn sighed softly as her tone-deaf leader once again strummed the instrument. Once all eyes were on him the demon held up a pair of devil horns with one hand and shouted, “good evening jackasses!”


“What the fuck?” Ballad uttered, placing a hand upon his gun.


“What the fuck indeed,” Kuzuru removed the guitar and threw it into a nearby snowbank. He carried a smile and sauntered towards the group, “name’s Kuzuru and these are my bandmates, we’re the Ashen Blades, we moonlight as bounty hunters and it just so happens that green fellow over there has got a pretty sizeable one on his head, and--” The demon stuttered, choking on the words. His eyes sparked and quite literally caught flame. He held out a finger towards Ballad and in Agern’s booming voice he declared, “I’ve come to slay you murderer.” With a hiss his eyes turned back to normal and the demon let out a belch of smoke. “Sorry,” he giggled, “must’ve ate something spicy, but he does have a point. What kind of douchebag goes around throwing bombs into innocent crowds? Hmmm Ballad? Just what kind of man are you?”

[Corporal Light]

It is astounding how the very course of history can change in just a few moments. So many periods of time have been influenced, for better and for worse, by the actions of a single man in just four or five seconds. Oftentimes, these four or five seconds would inevitably vilify or glorify the ones involved; it doesn’t matter who are the true good guys or bad guys. In the end, it’s all determined by what happens and how the people around you perceive your actions.

Ballad knew what would happen once he signed his name on that document. He had tainted his name, his reputation, everything; all for the sake of his mission. When people thought of Ballad, they would think of the man who associated himself with the Society of Supervillains. They would think of the green man who committed countless crimes across the Omniverse alongside these villains. They would vilify him.  They would make a monster out of his public image.

He was already used to that, though. He had already killed people, some of whom did not deserve his wrath. His reputation was already low; signing the document wouldn’t tank it much further. He was a villain. In the eyes of the world, he was a dirty villain.

But isn’t that what all the greatest heroes do? Wouldn’t the Knight in Shining Armor, who had rescued the princess and slayed the dragon, wouldn’t he lay down his sword when it was for the best? Wouldn’t a priest, knowing his followers were being led astray, sacrifice himself to the altar to prevent his God from unleashing his wrath on all whom had angered him? Isn’t a hero someone who fought for good? Someone who would never back down to evil, give in to the darkness, and always, always strove to do the right thing for all the right reasons?

He stared at the parchment, his name plastered at the bottom of the paper like a name engraved on a tombstone. His name looked out of place compared to all the others: Chara, Ascension, Scarecrow. His name, intermingled with the names of psychopaths and criminals. Just the thought made him want to burn the damn contract.

But, as with the greatest of heroes, he knew why he did it. There was no denying why he did it; any attempt to deny it would just be a delusion. In any other situation, he knew what he would do. Sadly, his options were limited severely; this was his only hope.

He was doing the right thing.

So why did it feel so wrong?

Just then, as he handed the paper back to Scarecrow, his new leader, he heard the most terrifying sound he had ever heard in his life: the sound of a Lyker. He had quickly pulled out his gun, forgetting the fact he was inside a cave, and turned towards the sound, ready to blow away the snow cat before it could get any closer.

You could imagine his surprise when he found not a Lyker, but a man. And not just a man, but a group of people, all unique in appearance and, evidently, mannerisms.

The first was all too obvious: the man with the guitar. With a “devil’s-horns” gesture displayed in one hand, and nightmarish music played on an electric guitar in the other, as well as greased up, slick black hair and shades to match, his visage screamed of a man with zero respect and zero fucks capable of being given. As well as a man whose primary advantage did not appear to be his intelligence, as bits of rock fell down from the atrium Ballad and his newfound allies stood in. His muscles grew tense; the cave rumbled slightly. He did not want to push the structural integrity of the cave any farther than needed.

The second person of the group was easily the smallest, about as tall as Chara herself. It was an orange, square robot with a circular, glowing eye in the middle of what he could only assume was its forehead. It rolled up to the front of the group, an unusual looking pistol in its hand. As the man strummed his stupid guitar, the robot babbled away with it, a high-pitched voice piercing the very heavens. He squinted his eyes at the robot, gritting his teeth.

The third person was far too similar looking to Koal to not pay attention to. A black shirt that looked way too big for her, and jet black hair that easily covered her face. Perhaps what was most noticeable about her, however, was the rifle in her hands. It was hard to tell exactly what it was made of, but it looked like a long piece of metal. Sort of like the red-hooded teen’s crutch laser shooter thing. Did it also fire lasers?

If the group was friendly, which, given the circumstances, was incredibly unlikely, he would most definitely had wanted them to come closer just so he could see what the thing looked like. It seemed like that side of him never fully died, hadn’t it?

The fourth and final member of the group the man had brought held another long piece of metal in her hands, though it seemed more hand-made, more reality based, than the black piece of shiny construction the other girl made. This girl’s most significant feature, aside from looking like a mental patient, was a robotic arm where a regular arm should have been. According to SPB, it was some form of limb replacement, which some people did when the damage to a particular limb was too strong. Judging from the fact she still had it, he could only make a guess that she had received that kind of injury way before she had ever entered the Omniverse.

The opposing group was varied, obviously; about as varied as the Society, when he gave it thought. Given they were all carrying weapons of some description, however, he only had one thought in his mind.

Friend? Or Foe?

His question was answered in the form of the 60s rock star greaser man tossing his guitar into the abyss below and walking up to them. Ballad kept his revolver trained on him, staring at him. He was NOT going to get ambushed this time.

“Name’s Kuzuru and these are my bandmates. We’re the Ashen Blades. We moonlight as bounty hunters-”

He already knew what was going to happen as soon as the words “bounty hunters” were said. He brought a hand to his face. Again? Were bounty hunters STILL coming after him?! How long had it been? A few weeks? Maybe a month? Couldn’t people just leave him the fuck alone for just a few seconds of his time? Besides, why did people want to go after HIM specifically? Had they seriously not learned their lesson? Or were they just too bloodthirsty and stupid and-

“I’ve come to slay you murderer.”

Oh.

He lowered his hand, his eyes wide with shock. That voice was far too familiar for him to forget. Agern, the son of a bitch. The same Agern that got him the Camelot bounty to begin with. The same Agern that pursued him for his bounty. The same Agern that had sent Immy to him as part of his plan to kill him.

He felt smoke start rising from underneath his clothes, puffs of it flowing from his coat sleeves. He took a deep breath, trying to keep his wardrum of a heartbeat down and his finger off the trigger for the moment. He half expected SPB to open his mouth, saying some clever, diplomatic phrase so as to lessen the tension.

Nothing. The shade was silent.

His eyes flickered white as he whispered to himself.

SPB. What the fuck am I looking at here?

Yellow eyes.

He reformed…..

I didn't notice. WHY?!

For once, I cannot answer.

He was about to answer SPB’s lack of answering when Kuzuru spoke again, silencing him entirely.

“What kind of douchebag goes around throwing bombs into innocent crowds? Hmmm Ballad? Just what kind of man are you?”

He did not reply. Instead, he looked around, taking a few moments to gauge the reactions on everyone else’s face. He thought he saw a look of outright disgust on the girl’s, the one with the black rifle, face, as well as a similar look on Koal’s. Everyone was doing the same thing; all eyes were on him. Due to that, they could all see his own eyes. Instead of the glowing, intense lights that were visible in any darkness, they were dimmed, as if they were lanterns running off of low fuel. What kind of man was he indeed. What kind of man ran around, killing people, treated others like shit, and expected loyalty from all who interacted with him?

The one who cares, he answered to himself. That was the answer. He cared. He took no pleasure in killing. He took no enjoyment out of widowing a wife, out of orphaning a child, out of ruining people’s lives. What perhaps made it worse, though, was that most of the deaths he had caused were accidents. The bomb was an accident; they were not meant for the innocent. All he had tried to do was kill one bandit, and he had paid the price for his impulsiveness.

Just like before, because of him and the things he made, people were buried in the ground, and the world was far worse off than it was before. A cycle of violence and death that never seemed to stop. No matter how hard he tried, he could never get it to stop.

The only way to stop it is to ensure it never started. The only way to stop violence was to be so violent that no one would be violent out of fear of being violent, thus stopping the cycle in its tracks. That was how peace functioned; a society where unrest and disputes were at their lowest was a society where peace was most prosperous. He could not let his past failures stop him from completing that goal now. Yes, innocents had died. But it was all in the past. He was never going to be satisfied with himself until he was finished. Until peace had finally been restored.

So, with a heavy sigh, and a hardening of his heart, he turned back towards Kuzuru. The greaser was staring at him, a cocky smirk on his face. He allowed SPB to take over.

“A very good question, o Kuzuru, a very good question indeed,” he said, the greaser and his buddies’ eyes widening in the sudden change in his voice, “to which I shall respond with another: what kind of man are YOU?”

“I don’t think you are in a position to be asking questions, Ballad,” said Kuzuru, Agern’s voice sounding out from his mouth.

“On the contrary, Agern, I am. In case you cannot recall, Ballad slayed all forty members of your band singlehandedly. I am of the belief he is more than capable of fighting just four of you.”

He continued to speak, sounding as polite as could be despite the content of his words, “Especially when said four look less like bounty hunters, and more like an incompetently organized camarilla. Allow me to estimate as to why you are here, hmm?”

Before any of them could say anything, he stepped towards them, lowering his weapon for a brief moment. He pointed towards Gaige, who regarded him with an eyeroll as he looked her over.

“You. You’re here for the same reason mister Kuzuru is here, correct?” he said, gesturing towards Kuzuru, “you desire my criminal recompense?”

Before she could reply, he held up a hand, continuing.

“Of course. You’re bounty hunters; you slaughter for money. A criminal business in and of itself. But that’s not the only reason, is it?” he said, glaring at the rock’n’roll greaser, venom in his every word, “no self-respecting bounty hunter would announce his presence by almost killing himself and his whole party by playing that instrument in a cavern system. That makes me wonder about your priorities surrounding death. The thrill of danger… that drives your adrenaline, does it not?”

Again, before a reply could be formed, he had moved on to the next person: the girl wearing the beanie. He was on a roll, and it was clear he would not be stopped unless someone forced him to stop. The other members of the SoSV merely stood back, watching with varying amounts of interest.

He stood, arms crossed, in front of Dawn, speaking in a low volume towards her after a brief moment of staring and of obvious contemplation.

“You. You hold disdain for me, don’t you?” he said, her blue eyes piercing his own. It was clear as to how she felt about him.

He sighed. “You probably want to murder me because of my actions. Well, in contrast to SOME other members of your posse,” he said, glancing towards Kuzuru as he opened his mouth to speak, “I have not made attempts to mislead you. Those civilians I bombarded? I did not intend for that to occur. I was trying to kill one of my assassins, whom your FRIEND here had sent. If anyone is to be blamed for the event happening, it is him. What had happened was nothing short of a tragic accident. Do I deserve for what amounts to a mistake?”

And, finally, he stopped in front of the robot, whom was looking right up at him. Ballad did not say anything; honestly, there wasn’t much to get out of something that could not show emotion.

Without another word, he moved back into the atrium and away from the Ashen Blades, positioning himself in the middle of the semi-circle that had been formed by the Society of Supervillains.

“You cannot accuse me of evil, of misconduct, and of misdeeds when I have been one-hundred percent forthright, upfront, and honest about them while you stand there and hypocritically try to uphold an image of self-righteousness, of dealers of justice, when half of you only want to kill me for the money and for petty revenge. So I ask, members of the Ashen Blades, what KINDS of men are you? Because, to me, you all are no better than the petty criminal of a so-called ‘patriot’ that mister Kuzuru has locked away inside his body.”

[Dawnika Snow]

Ocean eyes swept into Ballad’s soul as he looked upon Dawn. He was not lying about the hatred she felt for him. The young woman had no idea who Ballad was personally, but his action speak louder than words. As continued to ramble nonsense about his “justified act of self-defense”, she could not help be catch herself clenching her teeth in anger. Once he finally finally finished his useless drabble, Dawn’s voice arose.

“It's the notion of a coward to pin blame on another man for his own mistakes.” The anger in her voice apparent. “Whether or not you believe the incident was your fault or another's, you blew that bomb. We may all be criminals, but at least we understand morality. That’s what makes us different you worthless piece of shit.” The rest of the Ashen Blades were mildly shocked. Dawn’s tone had never left a calm, easy-going girl. Now she was so angry she could hardly speak past her grinding teeth.

The gunsmith glanced off to the side, his eyes dimming again.

“You still do not recognize what I have informed you of? Regardless of what you perceive yourself as, you feminal, recalcitrant child, you act hypocritical through your accusations. You are no better than I. You are just as much a murderer and a criminal.¨

¨Besides,¨ he said, ¨what happened was out of my hands…” Ballad said, his eyes reigniting even despite the low volume of his voice.

The Vigilante wanted to shoot. Her gun was nearly roaring for a pull of the trigger. She was not stupid though. Giving in to her anger is just what he would want her to do, it would be too predictable and leave herself open. No. Fingers off the trigger.

Dawn took some deep breaths and recollected herself. Looking Ballad dead in the eyes, a glance as cold as her eyes were blue, she spoke again. “At least I murder the people that need to die.” The anger in her voice subsided slightly. “I don't murder innocent civilians in thought of ‘This is my only option’. At least I have some honour.”

“You lack proper explanatory capabilities. Elaborate.” Ballad said.

“At least if I die, I'll know what it was for.”

He shrugged, waving her off with a brush of his hand. “Luxuriate in perishing for your self-destructive, unnecessary, and pharisaic cause then. I shall remain for mine.”

The young woman remained quiet. She had nothing more to say to this psychopath.

[Beta Ray Bill]

The sound of Kuzuru's guitar was enough to make a grown man go insane, but not as much as their insufferable claims to Ballad's morals and actions. Most of what they said seemed to be true seeing as Ballad himself knew what they were talking about. Morals didn't really matter to Scarecrow, it's the fear that really mattered. Fear brought people back to reality; it pushes everything  to its limits and eventually leads to  control. Or that's what Scarecrow wanted: to manipulate those around him, for people to shiver in terror and learn that there was no hope.

Ballad made a good point on what the "bounty hunters" were. They were the same thing as  what they hunted; they were common criminals, vagabonds of society. They just didn't know it yet; either that, or they just accepted a lie that they knew was not true. The bounty hunters were doing exactly what Scarecrow's  old nemeses did. They were bearers of false hope and light,  things the world truly didn't need.

Doctor Crane stepped out of the semi-circle that made up the Society of Supervillains. Placing his right foot on a small boulder that was set in-between the two groups, he raised his hand that held his gauntlet injector and clenched his fist. He then gave a big grin and a soft chuckle as the amber liquid filled the  tips of the gauntlet.

"So... you Ashen Blades want Ballad's head, hm? Well, I'm afraid to tell you that I can not allow that."

He stopped, quickly  turning and  paceing back and forth in-between the two groups. Suddenly, he put his hands together, as if to pray to some sort of god.

"Ballad works for us now. He is a member of my perfect society. In unison, we are strong. I put into words what you bounty hunters think you are. You Ashen Blades are bringers of false hope and light, cracking  bone and killing those you deem unfit to live for what you call  order. In truth, we are the ones who bring the world back to its reality. To teach the world that terror is the only way to learn. Do not lie to  yourselves that we are what weakens the world. You all rot it to the core."

Scarecrow then stopped  now in front of his group. He raised both his arms in a preaching stance. A cold breeze whipped through the entire cave. Crane's coat flapped up and down as the breeze hit, shivers running down his spine. Then, with a loud cackle, he began to speak again.

"WE ARE YOUR IMPENDING DOOM! WE ARE WHAT YOU CONSIDER MISFITS OF SOCIETY! WE ARE THE VILLAINS TOO, BUT TO OTHERS IN HISTORY WE WILL BE THE GOOD GUYS!" The words echoed throughout the cave, snow and ice began to fall from every corner and crevice of the frozen cavern.

[Koal]

I Koal felt his disgust with Scarecrow grow with each word the worm uttered out of his mouth. Koal felt each syllable take through his mind, and his blood began to boil. The raven haired teen clenched his eyes shut for but a moment, and when they opened once more, they were of a Stygian composition. 

His back straightening and his lips curled back in a fierce snarl, the Demon grabbed Sarecrows shoulder and spun the man around to face him. Koal relished in the wave of surprise that quickly vanished from the abominations face, Scarecrows Brady eyes scanned Koals face, but found nothing but cold hatred pictured across it. His eyes seemed to strangle the light around them, and they captivated the Doctor for a brief moment. 

"Reality is but a concept of the mind, Doctor. You do nothing to ground people to it; if anything, your actions make people seek a way from it. Hope is vital to any being, you pathetic worm." His voice was but a whisper, but it carried across the cavern, the rasping echoes rebounding back and forth between unyielding ice and rock. "You claim to be better than anyone, but in all honesty, were all damned." His eyes pulsed red with the last word, and he released Scarecrow. The Doctor seemed to be trembling, and a clawed hand shot out to impale his shoulder. But Koal quickly grasped the offending limb and shoved the impassioned psychopath back.

"That would be a very bad decision on your part Doctor. I have no quarrel with them, but I need Ballad alive. I need answers." Ballad looked over at Koal, his white eyes flashing yellow for a split second, before changing back. The Demon narrowed his eyes and looked toward the group, nodding respectfully to the leader, and to an individual that caught his eye. His red eyes met her blue ones, and he quickly looked away, scared at what he saw.

Himself. 

Retreating backwards, he took a position next to Ballad before the shadows on his arms constricted, forming his muscle-like claws. His face settled into an impassive, grim mask. 

Inspecting each of the opposition, Koal felt his stomach plummet, yet he resisted the urge to fetch, instead opting for a low growl, deep in his chest.

He was hungry for blood.

[Claptrap]

While he knew he should be feeling tension before a fight with someone as dangerous as Ballad, Kuzuru's guitar solo had bolstered Claptrap's confidence to unforeseen levels, which wasn't saying much when the normally nervous little robot was concerned. Claptrap checked the ammo in his pistol as Ballad delivered his speech, making sure his clip was full. It was, of course, as he hadn't used it since he fought the Harbinger in the Nexus, but it was better to be sure than to end up one bullet short of a dead enemy.

As Ballad came up to Claptrap, the robot was hoping for a nervous compliment to his imposing stature and incredible strength. At the very least, he was expecting a laugh in the face and a request to bring out the real opponent. When Ballad simply passed him by, however, indignation built up inside of the robot. 

Struggling not to give Ballad a piece of his mind, Claptrap observed the people he would be fighting. First was a girl, surprisingly young and a short as Claptrap himself. This didn't sit well with Claptrap, children had no place on a battlefield. The really young ones, at least, Gaige had proved that some kids could take care of themselves.

Moving on to the next person in line, his eye settled on a young man with black hair and a cold expression on his face. Claptrap was about to nudge Shadow before the boy sprouted a pair of shadowy claws, momentarily freezing Claptrap in shock. When he recovered, the robot put away his pistol and pulled out his shotgun, just in case he needed the extra firepower.

The third opponent was a creepy looking guy with even creepier needle claws, like something out of a bad horror movie. He seemed to be having a disagreement with the angsty demon boy, which was just fine with Claptrap. A team who didn't work well together was much more vulnerable. Claptrap has first hand experience with this, with his voice sounding like a malfunctioning autotuner and all.

Finally, Claptrap came to the man himself, Ballad. The strongest of their opponents, as well as the Blades' paycheque in human, or at least Claptrap thought he was human, form. At a glance, the executioner wasn't overly intimidating. He just seemed to be a guy of regular build, presumably with a coupe of guns. What made him intimidating, however, was his demeanour. Ballad seemed to ooze an imposing aura from all of his pores, so powerful that Claptrap would have more than likely just fled instead of fight the man, but he had a job to do and he wanted to finish it and bring the man to justice, sweet, wallet filling justice.

Pumping his shotgun and making a noise presumably meant to mimic a gulp, Claptrap turned slightly towards Kuzuru, waiting for the order to attack and trying not to accidentally pull the trigger out of sheer anticipation.

[Marisa Kirisame]

As Chara glanced around at the two parties in a standoff, she put away her knife; and slipped on her sweater for a little more defense. She then put on her cutesy exterior before retorting "Hello I am Chara, so you are bounty hunters huh? Well, the last time someone threatened my family or life they died, so I would suggest you withdraw your idiotic posse."

She decided not to move her hand to her knife as she knew how to kill quite proficiently. She looked away for a second and then showed her Demon face and giggled slightly.

"What are you doing with this group, and what are you?" said Dawn; But she, after waiting a second, started to speak with a very regal voice

"Oh well I am called many things, The hope of the underground, a demon, even a queen to my people the monsters. Now you may be wondering why I align with "monsters." No, I mean the skeletons, ghosts, and many, many other monsters that live in the underground."

She shook her head as if she knew the punch line of a joke no one else did "Humans are all the same, they kill anything they don't understand and if not; Then they hurt each other for personal gain, I killed myself to free the monsters from there injustice you humans caused. I just had to get six human souls, and you humans killed me and my brother! Now it is time to reap the sinners."

She pulled her knife out and laughed, grinning from ear to ear and her body flashed black and white. She had locked in someone's fate at that very moment.

[Kuzuru]

Kuzuru stood by, watching them all through the darkened tint of his shades. There was a stupid grin plastered across his face as everyone said their piece. Once again that itch scratched at the lining of his skull. His veins pulsed with the urge to do violence, but he stayed his blade. After all blood was like a fine wine, it only got better with age. A younger Kuzuru wouldn’t have even opened his mouth, but he had found some time ago that some banter before the fight made the eventual victory that much sweeter. To listen to a man’s ideals, his declarations, before his inevitable death was something of a preamble to the coming bloodshed. And so it was with the grin of a man about to eat a five-star meal that Kuzuru watched his prey.


He was more than content to stay silent, to bask in the oncoming violence, but that girl had to open her mouth. She claimed that he, of all people, was human, and she claimed it with such fucking arrogance that Kuzuru felt a twinge of anger. Sensing a lull in the conversation Kuzuru stepped forward. He removed his sunglasses and hung them on the neck of his jacket. With a red-stained hand he slicked back his hair.


“Okay girlie,” Kuzuru said, trying to fill his voice with as much vitriol and condescension as possible, “I don’t give a damn about your life story, but let’s get one thing straight -- I’m about as far from human as you can get pipsqueak.” The demon turned towards Ballad and pointed a bony finger at the man. “You ask what kind of man I am?” Kuzuru said, “I’m just like you Ballad, I’m a killer, only real difference is that I don’t make excuses for what I do. I own every drop of blood my blades have spilt and every ounce of flesh I’ve taken has my name carved into it.” He stepped closer to Ballad, slowly removing his jacket and casting it aside. Underneath he wore a black wife beater shirt, revealing ruddy muscular arms. “What kind of man am I Ballad?” Kuzuru repeated, “I’m the kind that isn’t afraid to embrace what he is, I suppose the real question is.” The demon stopped walking. Two blades, one on either arm peeked out from underneath his skin and with a schink they extended to their full length. Kuzuru smirked and asked, “are you?”

[Dawnika Snow]

After that meaningly argument, Dawn attempted to calm herself. A cloudy mind can easily throw seasoned warriors into needless danger. Many people spoke up after her outburst. This ‘Chara’ girl seemed to think she was powerful. As far as Dawn knew, the only powerful entity that existed within the Omniverse was Omni himself. Then came us primes. Chara was most likely no stronger than anyone else in the room, if not the weakest.

The black haired adolescent caught Dawn’s attention when he interrupted Needle-Fingers. It seemed that this group of asshat was hardly as functional as their group of asshats. How charming. The man returned to his side with Ballad after putting the windbag in his place. His eyes glanced at Dawn for a second. When they made eye contact, Dawn felt a spear of emotion pierce her heart. Those eyes. It was like she was looking in a cruel mirror. One that wanted her to relive her childhood.

His soul burned as bright red as his eyes glowed. He knew what pain was like. Life had been as shity to him as it had been to her.

Koal noticed Dawn’s staring at him. “You got a problem I can help with?” His snide comment reached to Dawn’s ears. The woman replied with a gentle shake of the head and a sigh.

“Don't worry, you'll understand one day.” She said back, glancing away from him. She refused any other eye contact after that statement. She could not bear to see herself in him any more.

“What the hell are you talking about?” He said angrily, only to be answered with another shake of the head. This chick was going to answer some questions after he kicked her teeth in.

[Gwendolyn]

Ascension shifted the overlapping plates of his chassis irritably, a low and permeating hum resounding through cavern, not quite loud enough to draw attention, but enough for each of he others to feel a vibrating deep within their chests. The Reaper could deduce that emotions were high-strung, and that it would take little to set off something that would be good for neither side. Slowly moving its jointed legs, the machine rotated its body towards the leaders of both groups, who were glaring daggers at one another. 

"It would seem the other individual is correct, Ballad. The reasons for which you kill are irrelevant in this, and any, situation." Ascension felt the heated glare of the gunslinger. He could feel the malevolence and deadly intent focus on his, though Ascension din't respond, instead opting to continue vocalizing its thoughts.

"You seek to hide your deeds, for whatever reason, it doesn't matter. Once an act is committed, it cannot be taken away. Yet, you still continue to hide your dark past behind fanciful words and deflection. As for the other individuals in the room, many of them display their deeds in the way they move, in the way they choose to carry themselves, and how they react to certain triggers." Ascesnions gaze met the red irises of Mr. Lynch. 


"You, as an example, display many signs of PTSD, and react very violently to oppressive and commanding figures, such as Dr. Crane. Your eyes dart about, looking for any and every sign of danger, and your body language displays a deep-seated need for some kind of vengeance.

"You do not hide, as Ballad does." Koal looked away, his red orbs turning back to their usual violet hue as he reflected and absorbed the speech. Ballad's glowing eyes were rapidly changing colors, and beneath his heavy clothing, The Reaper could almost see the tensed muscles and clenched jaw.

Shifting back around, Ascension's inset-like legs moved the advanced piece of tech away from the group, and toward the exiting tunnel of the glacial cave.

"I shall not participate in violence based on emotion platforms. So I shall take my leave and await the victor."

And with a final, rumbling hum, the machine disappeared into the deep and unrelenting shadows of The Frozen.

[Corporal Light]

Ballad remained completely silent, allowing every one of his unlikely allies to say their piece on the matter. Scarecrow was, predictably, over-the-top and extravagant, his crackling voice causing more and more bits of the cave to fall down on top of them. He took a moment to glance up to the darkness above, letting out a small grunt as a pebble flew past his nose. He bit his lip; any more noise like that would surely cause the entire cave to collapse right on top of them.

Koal, on the other hand, was far more subdued, at least when compared to the Fear Doctor himself. He had grabbed hold of the offending individual, hissing in a soft but menacing tone. Almost immediately, a short brawl had almost occurred between the two persons, only stopped by Koal’s insistence that he wanted Ballad alive. What for was unknown to him, but SPB had already gone to work deciphering his intentions. As far as he was aware, something had happened to Koal between the time he had sent him to Coruscant and the present, most likely having to do with the boy’s apparent memory loss. He could almost imagine the anger that the kid would surely have when he would discover he not only didn’t have an answer for him, but SPB himself wanted nothing to do with him anymore. He had looked back towards him as he moved up to him, his eyes glowing white with pity before control was wrested away from him.

Finally, the last of his allies was the small child herself, Chara. Her speech was much more personal than everyone else’s, though seeing as how she was more than willing to share it with complete strangers mere moments earlier, he could only assume she did this more from child-like innocence more than anything else. And besides, this was the Omniverse. He had already met two other strange kids, one a brat and the other a gigantic tentacle monster. It must have been Omni’s way of making it up to them for removing them from their homes and whatever families they had. She, too, had moved up along with him, knife and lantern in hand. Scarecrow himself followed soon after, brandishing his needle gauntlet.

The sharpshooter quickly looked to the people around him. Complete strangers, perfectly willing to risk their lives for someone they could just as easily had given up to them. Hell, they probably could have just back-stabbed him, and share in the spoils. But, here they were, weapons drawn, snarls on their faces, and itching for a fight. It was… strangely ironic, in a sense, the gunsmith decided.

Of course, with the talking done, the ringleader of the whole operation against him, Kuzuru, had to keep it going. Couldn’t let the idea of a quick kill satiate his bloodlust, now could it? As he spoke, the green gunner clamped his teeth together, small puffs of smoke bellowing out from the sleeves of his winter coat. The only thing that kept him from popping right then and there was the sudden removal of the man’s jacket, revealing a set of incredibly thick biceps underneath his greasy wife-beater shirt. His eyes trained on them for a few moments before rising back up to the man’s eyes. It was clear to everyone within in the room; the man WAS strength, and it was the kind not even the gunsmith could emulate. Not that he’d ever admit that, though.

Then, as the man paused in his speech, two blades popped out from the underside of his arms, causing Ballad to visibly cringe before the man finished it off with his question. He remained silent, though it wasn’t of recollection or pondering this time. Rather, it was the only way he could keep himself from letting loose a tirade of insults and curses at the outlandish, psychopathic, and just plain disgusting excuse for a being that formed the demon of Kuzuru. Here he was, having just gotten done celebrating his lack of regard for basic human and non-human existence and having proved to the shade-possessed man that he absolutely CRAVED adrenaline of some kind, and having the GALL, the sheer NERVE, to try to compare himself to the gunner? To say that he was somehow BETTER than him because he was willing to admit to himself he was a cold-blooded killer?!

Yes, he had killed. He was more than willing to admit that to himself. But NONE of the deaths had been because he had ENJOYED IT. He had NEVER killed because he just FELT like it at the time. He ALWAYS killed when left with no other option, and the few other times where that wasn’t the case were the times he was willing to admit he had fucked right up.

But never, in the history of ANYTHING, was he a psychopath. He WASN’T a killer!

He was just about to lunge forward to tear the demon apart when a hand grabbed his coat. It was Chara. The white glow of her lantern illuminated the area around her, showing that practically EVERYONE was chomping at the bits at each other, particularly Koal and the girl with the black construction rifle. He kept his mouth shut, practically biting his tongue in half as he looked to see what the small child wanted.

The kid gave a few small glances from her lantern, to the ground in front of the Ashen Blades. At first, he stared at her like she was a fucking idiot, but it slowly dawned on her just what she meant. He nodded before looking to his left, seeing Scarecrow was nodding as well. He did not catch the conversation between Dawn and Koal.

What he DID catch, however, were the words of Ascension, the giant genocidal machine. He had completely forgotten the thing was there, which somehow made it even more frightening to the military recruit. Any fear he might have had for the machine, however, was replaced by an biting urge to tear it apart along with everything else in the vicinity. The reasons made ALL the difference! Why would manslaughter and murder exist, then, if there was no distinction? And besides, what difference did it make? The thing was a machine BRED FOR WAR AND GENOCIDE! What basis did it have to criticize him for making excuses when its very PURPOSE is to kill?

Despite all of that, however, the thing had a point. He looked away from Ascension, closing his eyes to hide the rapidly increasing brightness of them from everyone else around him. He kept them closed all the way until the machine had left them all, leaving the room in complete silence.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he reopened his eyes. They were glowing so bright they could have practically blinded everyone in front of him, and yet despite this, he still maintained the demeanor that SPB wanted, speaking as politely and as slowly as he could.

“In completely earnestness, I had originally believed I might have been capable of presenting a cogent argument as to my innocence and provide many a reason as to why my death would be more harmful than beneficial,” he said, his eyes darting from Kuzuru to Dawn in an alternating order, “but with everyone having publicly announced their intentions… I can only come to the conclusion that the individuals standing in front of me are nothing less than hypocritical, self-righteous, completely and utterly reprehensible excuses for beings I have had the displeasure of meeting face-to-face.”

He took a quick look back to the leader of the SoSV, Scarecrow, seeing that their eyes had met for more or less the first time since they met. He was giving a slight nod. They were ready. He looked back to the Blades. All of them were preparing for the inevitable fight, reloading weapons, brandishing blades, and just waiting for an excuse to charge forward and end them all right then and there.

The gunsmith looked past them, seeing the cliff face just a short run away from him. Below that was the abyss the guitar had fallen into. His hand began to reach down towards his hand-pick; a plan was already forming within his head.

The demon’s eyes lit aflame once more, the familiar voice of Agern sounding out from his mouth. “You’re going to pay dearly for what you have done, Ballad,” he said, advancing forward.

He glanced down to Chara. She nodded, her grip tightening on the lantern.

“Attack!” shouted Scarecrow.

A split second later, the form of the small child had flickered in and out of existence, teleporting right in front of the advancing Blades. She then smashed her lantern against the ground, glass shards flying all around as the light that had given them all sight promptly disappeared.

The gunsmith was already running by the time the light went out. He slid towards the cliff face, whipping out his hand-pick as he began to fall off of the edge. As he fell, he slammed his pick into the side, slowing down as he descended into the darkness below.

Annnnnnd that's all, folks! The fight officially begins! Good Luck!