Apex growls slightly as his sight cuts out.
"Really, Bran? Has superheroics made you contractually incapable of giving tactical information? Name, strengths, weaknesses, anything?"
Despite the dismissive words, he shifts around to cover the great warrior's back. Apex begins going over his mental picture of the room in his mind, desperately seeking a solution before the fear truly sets in.
Bran's heavy brow knits with annoyance behind his helm, but he gives Apex the less important information nonetheless.
"She is a deadly combatant with knowledge of all the techniques and strategies of Whippoorwill, the Defenders' most skilled warrior. She is resilient as well; her armored skin flows like liquid into whatever weapons or appendages she requires."
"The name's Scythe," echoes the voice out of the darkness. "And don't worry; you'll all get a turn."
A silver blur streaks from the shadows and strikes Bran hard, and fades back out of sight before anyone can react.
Skuld channels the power to cause a small eruption of gale forces inside the room, enough to cause most small objects to go flying and for Scythe to have a difficult time maneuvering in the air without being slammed into random walls. But the gale is large, and as much as it suppresses Scythe, those of you without some kind of anchor or strength find it hard to maintain your place as you're slowly pushed back.
Apex, given your knowledge of the room and a few details from the blueprints you....ahem...came across, you know that Reaver technologies love putting conservation and adaptable technology in their main systems, one of which is tech that will use excess power in non operating systems to avoid a detrimental power surge. IE, too much electricity, the lights will go back on.
Scythe strikes from the darkness, dealing a blow against Bran.
Wind howled around him, but Bran stood steadfast.
She would come soon; the fragile bond forged between them told him this much at least.
Whether this tortured girl was truly Shayera, or, as Skuld thought, some sort of wretched facsimile was no matter.
Either way, he could feel her savage joy and the many, many pains that undergirded it.
She was coming, but he would stop her; he would save her; he was ready.
He was wrong.
She was only in view for a flickering instant. In the low-burning light of his spear her pristine white mask was -slowly staining in the red ruin that had been Shayera's face- an ugly crimson.
He froze.
She didn't.
Metal squealed a gasp of pain as his hauberk tore, the improvised patch that hid the scars of their last encounter flopped loosely free from his chest. For a moment it seemed her living blades had spared him, but within a heart's beat, the thin, deep slices revealed themselves in scarlet.
You can't just hope she'll remember who she is. The new guys clearly have some moves or they wouldn't have made it this far, but you can't let her kill them.
No matter what, I have to stop her.
Gae-Dearg's wicked edge gleamed with the dark promise of magics better left sealed away.
No matter what.
Dropping the wind, Skuld instead chose to do something else: wait for Scythe to reappear. As she was listening for tell-tale sounds of wingbeats to pinpoint, she said without looking at either Flux or Finn "There is a story told among your people that you might find comfort in: an elder man tells the hero of the story that fear leads to anger, which leads to hate, which leads to the side of darkness."
She continues to speak as she moves her head from side to side, looking for the merest breath of moving air:
"Like most elders, the small one's words are wise: allowing your fear to control you will lead to your death surer than a foe's weapon. Stand your ground and live your life, unbowed and unafraid. That is the way that you push back the dark inside, and that is the way that you rise as a hero."
Apex tosses himself into a roll as the winds buffet him, allowing himself to be pushed over to a wall.
Closing his eyes, he places himself in a mental map of the room. Bio-container 2 meters to the right, no, too intricate, console directly across the room, no, too far, monitor back and to the... THERE! That will do perfectly!
He runs a hand over the screen feeling for the seam connecting it to the wall. Pulling out a pocket knife, he pops the system out of the wall and begins feeling out the wires.
This is the ground, which makes this the positive, and this... something I shouldn't be touching without insulation... oh well time to make do, one short circuit coming up hopefully.
Apex's eyes blink open as... nothing happens. "Crap there's no power to this console, nothing to short circuit. Hey! Thor Girl, your wind powers don't happen to come with lightning do they? Because I could use a bolt over here!"
In the dark, none could see her hang her head in shame. "No, I can not create lightning. You are thinking of my father." she said after a moment, the confidence in her voice from just a moment earlier missing.
The darkness amplifies the sounds. Footsteps echo as the unseen predator skulks under the cover of the dark. Then it becomes evident the sound of the steps was only psychological because Scythe goes unnaturally silent.
Then Apex separates himself from the group, and she readies to pounce. There's a buildup of tension almost palpable.
And then... nothing.
"We're getting some interference with the feed, sir."
The Man in the White Coat turns from his project and looks at the assistant in front of a screen showing static. "How is that possible? We're right on top of her!"
"Unsure, sir. Perhaps it's an ability from the newcomers?" He begins adjusting the settings.
"Unlikely. Try switching to -- wait. What is that?" He points to a fuzzy image on the screen.
The assistant leans in. "It appears to be a doll's face, sir."
"Oh, hells, don't look at it! I can't believe the godlings would be that reckless! Hit the override, we don't need that spirit getting a hold of Scythe!"
Suddenly, there's a sharp scream from Scythe. Immediately afterward, you hear in a pained voice, "Acknowledged. Priority target reacquired. Elimination in progress."
A hollow look comes over Bran as she screams.
Monsters.
The Fetch-Spirit that had been bound to the doll waned in his sight, the jolt from Scythe's handlers doing much to disorient it while it had been so closely tied to her.
He had intended to use the Fetch as a distraction for Apex, had intended to show Scythe that even a being like that, a fragment of pain and rage, could be freed and, eventually, returned to its proper home.
But his plans faded to naught in the face of her agony.
The reinforced floor groaned as he drove himself forward like a locomotive towards her cry, bringing Gae-Dearg to bear - not to strike, but to siphon off the hateful energy that sent pain coursing through her.
Many people think of super strength as being all about ripping cars in half or smashing through buildings. it's also about jumping; flinging your much lighter body like a rocket towards your goal.
Skuld had been coiled like a spring, waiting for an inkling of sound to show where her target was.
What came was a roar.
Skuld's body, hardened from years of training with sword, spear, and axe, moved on it's own like a missile. Scythe barely finished her sentence and Skuld was upon her.
"Take it off!" Skuld bellows, her normally calm and polite demeanor gone. "You have stolen her face, and I shall have it back!"
Above her, a funnel cloud was brewing. Skuld had said before that she couldn't create lightning, but the blackness that arced through the clouds would refute that claim.
Kenneth is rooting around the bio container only to discover that the area was without power. Was without power. Apex starts to feel drained, and his muscles begin to flex wildly as the conduit he grabbed a hold of somehow begins to drain his natural energy. The lights are flickering on, but only very dimly, but by the time he is able to force his hand out of the threat he is much worse for wear.
Scythe, your defense parameters kick in as Skuld slams into you, elevating her threat level to the maximum. Whether that's tied with the "other" danger is up to you.
The impact sends Scythe flying through the air tangled with Skuld. The brief contact with Gae-Dearg shorted out the corrective measures and the constant hum of input/output. Scythe is, for the first time in her life, alone.
Alone, and with an enraged godlike creature on top of her screaming. Fear and desperation clawed away what little of a personality that she had and quickly overwhelms it. She panics.
The malleable alloy covering her body suddenly shoots out in all directions in jagged, wicked points that do untold damage to nearby consoles and containment units. They sense the threat on top of her and react with deadly intensity, trying to force Skuld away and get clear of the gigantic funnel cloud brewing on top of her so she can listen for instructions.
Somewhere in Skuld's mind, beyond her anger, she realizes that she has failed to summon her armor. She remembers her blade instructor's words: A sword can take a life, but armor makes a life.
As the needles pierce her body, she gasps and coughs up blood, as Scythe manages to scramble away from Skuld.
As she is damaged, her instincts kick in, and Skuld is bathed in dazzling light for a moment, made all the more bright by the absolute darkness around her.
Where before a young woman in a business skirt and silk shirt stood, now there was a warrior, armored in glittering mail armor. The near mania in her eyes, however, was unabated.
Again, she moved towards Scythe's last location, propelled by so much force that she left a dent in the floor. Skuld smashes through a table, narrowly missing Scythe's ankle as she flew out of range.
Now, however, Skuld is moving just a shade slower than Scythe...
"Shayer- Scythe. Stand down. This day can end without further violence, but only through your will.
Make your choice."
Lit by the flare of Skuld's armor and the growing illumination of Apex's efforts, Bran's focus slides back and forth between Skuld and Scythe, ready to leap forward at a moment's notice.
"Apex, Flux, stay vigilant. She cannot be their only guardian."
A string of profanity bursts forth from Apex as he pulls himself out of the electronics. Falling gracelessly on his butt, he glances about the room finally getting his first glimpse of the monster Skuld and Bran are battling.
Terror grips Apex at the sight. I don't belong here. I shouldn't be here. Desperately struggling with his emotions, the boy balls his fists and begins to stand again. NO! I shouldn't have to be here. Something like this place shouldn't be. Someone should stop this, someone should have already stopped this. Someone like... "FLUX! You snivelling coward! You promised me gloves off and you've been hiding this whole time. Get out here and do something."
Reaching down for a piece of debris, Apex stalks in the only direction he can go without fleeing... directly into the melee.
"Sir, we're still receiving, but the project isn't responding. At least the outside interference is ended."
The Man in the White Coat nods smugly, then returns to put the final touch on his project. "The 'Blessed' one is quite insistent, isn't he? This gives us the advantage. And will forestall further interference."
"And what of Scythe, sir? It's still not receiving direct orders."
"Continue to observe. Let's see how the asset handles itself."
Scythe's emotionless mask stares at each of its foes, one out to destroy her, the other to save her. There is the briefest pause, a slight tilt of her head as if in confusion, then she restores the blades on her arms.
"So be it."
Skuld moves to give chase, but Bran steps in her way. "MOVE!" she bellows at him, not even realizing that she had switched her language to the language of the gods.
"Move, or I'll make you move. I'm tired of that thing's games, and if it continues, it will kill them." she points at Flux and Apex.
Oh Shayera... I'm sorry.
After a long pause, Bran levels his spear at the lost girl and rumbles out a promise.
"No. She will not."
Scythe looks at the spear as soon as Bran levels it at her. That, at least, she seems to understand. She becomes a blur of movement as she moves to strike.
She wraps a liquid metal claw around Gae-Dearg and wrenches it away from him.
The resilient metal coating her body absorbs the impact with no harm.
Bran staggered back from Scythe's flurry of strikes, helmet askew as she wrenched Gae-Dearg from his hands.
"The same tricks? They will not save you this time either. Already you have rejected peaceful quarter, and you will find no retreat. "
Trusting to his armor to blunt her fury for at least a moment, Bran hurled himself into her, bearing her over in a rush of strength and speed.
Can't give her a moment to heal. Just have to pour it on til she's out.
After the first blow, his scorched gauntlet left no mark on her mask but a smear of soot, but still he kept on, again and again. By the tenth blow, his gauntlet itself had shattered against her from the force of his fists, splinters of steel scattering around him and staining her armor wherever his bloodied hand made its mark.
Scythe reels under the furious assault, but her armor rebounds and reforms after each strike; the relentless force meeting the implacable foe.
Her hands finally rise up and reshape from instruments of death to those of protection. They flatten and spread out to absorb the bone-jarring impacts of the god.
As Scythe and Bran begin to tussle, both stop paying attention to Skuld, who steps around Bran, puts one hand on one of her wings and the other on the back of her neck, then snatches her away from Bran and power slams her face first into the floor.
While she does manage to pull Scythe free from Bran, as she is pulling back she loses her grip, and Scythe manages to regain control of herself before she hits the wall she was flying towards.
Scythe anticipates and outmaneuvers Skuld in a textbook move straight out of Whippoorwill's playbook. She hits the ground in a three-point stance and slides to a stop, her metallic blades gouging deep furrows in the floor.
A cold wash of rage passes through Apex at Thor Girl's words. Silently, he leaps forward between the two divine heroes raining a hail of blows that bounce harmlessly off Scythe's metallic flesh.
It can't kill me! It won't, I'm better than it, I'm better than her, I'M BETTER!
Despite his quick footwork, the first blow Scythe gets past his guard sends him barreling across the ground.
Reading the rules, its unclear if a failed confront triggers a powerful blow but just in case:
I give ground, its gonna take a bit for Apex to recover from this
Scythe sidesteps Apex's assault. She spins, blades extending once more, and sends a multi-pronged attack toward Skuld. "Are you finally getting it? I'm not your friend; I'm your death!!!" she shouts.
"No.
For our sakes and for yours, I will not permit it."
She's too tough. Who knows what horrors they'll be able to unleash if we try to wear her down, if we can wear her down.
We need to change the game.
Bran's oozing fist cracks against the side of Scythe's head like a clap of thunder, hurling her off of Skuld in a rush. With a gentle toss, he sends a pair of high-tech manacles, sized for a much slighter build than he possesses, arcing towards Apex, before he follows up quickly on Scythe's heels.
Grappling her could easily prove deadly, but even as tough as she is, she has to keep her claws flattened into shields to withstand his blows, cannot disregard his relentless assault, has to hold them before her to be shackled.
Crawling up on all fours, Apex shakes his head trying to clear his mind. A loud clank draws his attention to the manacles now skidding across the ground. Reaching out, he pauses as a flicker of doubt crosses his mind.
They're stronger than you, they're faster than you, you can't hurt her. Just as he is about to give up one last thought rekindles his rage. And they will always be better than you.
Grasping the manacles by the chain, he darts towards the mass of metal and begins spinning the cuffs like a flail.
Swinging in an underhand blow, Apex cracks the restrained Scythe across the jaw, disorienting her enough to get him past her shifting metallic guard and latch one end around her wrist. Getting the other end latched though proves to be a different matter.
It's obvious why Scythe's masters see her as an improvement over the old Wingblade project. Their creation is withstanding brutal punishment, deftly avoiding the worst blows and absorbing the impact of the others. Her metallic skin ripples like waves but always restores itself in time to catch another blow. With part of her arm flattened into a shield-like shape, she's the closest thing to invulnerable. It suddenly becomes a question of who's endurance would last longest.
Until the newcomer throws a punch barely worth dodging, except it's followed up by a sharp *click*.
Scythe's featureless mask looks down at the restraints around her appendages in what appears to be shock. She shakes her head once, as her metallic limbs begin to shift and search for a way out of the high-tech devices. "You think this is going to stop me?" she asks in defiance. "It'll only -- YEEEAAAAHHHHH!!!"
Scythe screams as some sort of pain erupts within her, causing her to convulse and spasm. A panel opens in one of the walls of the dimly-lit room, spilling bright light into the area and harshly illuminating the wrecked lab. A figure stands like a silhouette in the doorway, and it's clear it has something in its hand.
"Finally. Control is restored. I believe it's time we ended this, don't you? After all, we wouldn't want anyone to get hurt." The voice coming from the figure in the doorway is smooth and oily; contemptuously in control. "You've proven your point. I believe that Scythe has proven hers. Therefore, it's time for you to leave."
Bran peers into the shadows, and circles towards his spear.
"You mistake our aims. This is not some vainglorious challenge. We are not here to bloody your nose and flee. Your victims will be freed, your works ended, your deeds judged.
Surrender, lest judgment fall upon you more heavily still."
Heaving after the strain of trying to stand up to Scythe, Apex feels his stomach drop at the sound of the new voice. A quick appraisal of the newcomer's posture and demeanor brings a terrible thought to the young hero's mind: This might not be the only one... what other horrors does he have behind him.
Backing away toward his friend, Apex reaches out to grab Flux's hand. "It has been good working with you, Bran, Thor Girl, but I'm not sure we want to be in the middle of whatever family squabble we have going on here." The edge of fury that had tinged his voice was gone, replaced by a control that didn't quite mask the quiver of fear.
Climbing back into the elevator shaft, Kenneth struggles to remember the schematics of the building, trying to find the fastest way out possible.
I can't die, can I?
It was the first time that Skuld had ever even thought about it before. Like most immortals, she had not given any thought to her own mortality, assured of the superiority of her powers to overcome any obstacle a mortal could throw at her. There was, however, something in the voice of the automaton that gave her the slightest moment of pause...
Can I die?
Her thoughts were interrupted by the mortal man, who made his tiny proclamation.
Given the chance, her black rage came flooding back in.
"You would threaten me, child? I. AM. A. GODDESS!"
Skuld punctuated each of her words by directing the gale force winds at the walls in each of the cardinal directions.
Massive gaping holes appeared where what amounted to a tornado smashed through each of the walls. When the wind smashed through the last wall, it died down, and Skuld's anger along with it.
Clearly her rage was something that she had also inherited from her father.
Skuld's gale-force winds ripped through the large research room, causing walls to buckle and debris to fly about. The silhouette grabs onto the door frame and holds on with all its strength to keep from getting swept up into the miniature cyclone while Scythe turns her feet into claws and anchors herself on the floor. The buffeting winds howl and roar as walls are ripped inwards, exposing more and more of the complex. Apex and Flux are fortunate they slipped out before the tornado begins, and only the two godlike beings stand resolute and firm under the furious assault.
Until suddenly, in a massive rush, a wall to the outside is blown outwards.
Daylight spills into the room just as debris is sucked outside. Ears pop at the massive shift in pressure.
A large glass cylinder with all manner of tubing and wires at either end is wrenched free from one of the newly exposed rooms and flung through the air and into the center of the lab. The winds die, Skuld's anger abated, and the cylinder crashes to the floor, shattering. Its contents spill out, rolling and separating from the tubes and wiring.
"Is your tantrum over?" the silhouette, now exposed to be a nondescript man in a white coat and thick glasses, asks testily.
Scythe is buried underneath a large section of wall. She groans softly.
The contents of the cylinder also groans in an almost identical voice. It stirs in the silence after the storm. Wires and tubes still cover much of the body, which is otherwise covered in just a simple hospital gown. Straight black hair is mussed and wind-blown.
The figure sits up, blinking in the daylight. She is a young girl of Asian ancestry, lithe and fit. And she has metallic wings on her back.
Her eyes focus on the two gods in the room, and she smiles.
"Bro-- Bran? Skuld? You're all right!"
Oh my God
She's alive. She's here and alive and here and...
Heedless of the many, many reasons for caution, Bran rushes forward to scoop Shayera up from the ground. Tears of joy and relief fill the eye that peeks through his rent visor.
"I knew we would find you. How could You be defeated by so small a thing as death."
Wingblade's air rushes out of her lungs from the fierce and unexpected hug. She pushes against the embrace to catch her breath.
"Um, Bran? Melodramatic much?" she says in confusion. She achieves enough separation to get a look at the ancient Welsh warrior. "Wow, you look like crap. I stopped the missile, didn't I?"
She looks around at the devastation in the room. "Wait. This isn't the same lab. What's going on?"
Bran's throat catches for a moment, before he sets Wingblade down, self consciously backing up so she doesn't have to crane her neck all the way up to meet his gaze.
"You- you did stop the missile, but..." You died. He reaches up his unarmored hand to touch her shoulder as if reassuring himself that she's really here.
"...They took you. The tale is longer, but this is not the moment for it."
He raises his gaze to the madman who thinks himself wise.
"We are still in a den of dangerous fools."
Wingblade studies Bran for a moment, her brow furrowed as it starts to sink in how much seeing her is impacting him. She forces a laugh but it quickly loses momentum when she senses his thick emotions. "Bran? You're serious, aren't you? But I'm--" she pauses as she looks down and notices the hospital gown she's in. She grabs a handful of the fabric, tugging it away from her body and noticing the wires still running to sensors taped to her skin. "--fine."
Skuld blinks, then spends a just-slightly-too-long-moment just staring at Wingblade.
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The Man in the White Coat smiles at Bran's bending of the truth. "Of course I took you. It was the only way to make you better. You were quite badly hurt."
Wingblade turns to look at him. "I don't remember that. I remember flying toward the missile, and then... nothing. Waking up just now."
The man's smile continues. "Exactly. You sustained terrible damage to your wings. So we sort of turned your brain off while we repaired them."
"My wings?!?" she says in alarm. She looks over her shoulder and extends them, taking a few test flaps. She turns around so Bran and Skuld get a good look.
They're different. Still metallic, but they look far more like natural wings, rather than a collection of katanas and sabres in a general winglike configuration. They move more fluid and graceful as well, but the edges of the metallic feathers still glint with a deadly edge.
"They're beautiful!" Wingblade exclaims. She runs over to the Man in the White Coat and gives him a big hug. "Thanks, Dad!"
Oh God.
The magic spear filled the knight's hand, comfortably heavy with the weight of doom.
Arm, back, legs, all worked as one, and the great spear thrummed as it cut through the air.
The monster fell, a vivid red blooming across his white coat.
The spell was broken, the princess freed.
And they lived happily ever after.
But I don't have my spear.
And this is no enchantment to be so easily dispelled.
Bile filled Bran's throat as the depth of the Man in the White Coat's cruelty became clear.
"They are beautiful, Shayera. Perhaps a test is in order. As Skuld has thoughtfully created new windows in these chambers, would you-" "Fly with me." He shook off the whisper of a too true dream. "...stretch your wings, and leave this place."
Wingblade takes a step toward Bran, but suddenly looks uncertain. She turns her head back to her "father" expectantly. He shrugs. "I don't see why not. Your wings should be much stronger now. You could probably carry him."
A flash of excitement crosses Wingblade's face but it quickly fades. "That's cool and all, but hold up. What's really going on? Why is this place wrecked? Bran, you're a mess, and you're wound up so tight you could spontaneously combust. And I'm getting a deer-in-headlights vibe from Thor Girl." She spins around as she surveys the scene.
Her eyes suddenly go wide. "Whippoorwill! Is she all right? Right before the missile, we were going to save Blink so she could rescue Whip from the aquarium. She she get out? Is she okay?"
Every sentence Wingblade speaks drives a new dagger into Bronwyn's heart.
Oh God, oh Shayera, what did they do?What kind of monsters would do this?It's worse than Scythe's leash. To cut you free-it means I have to remind you,have to make you relive what they did to you before Whippoorwill found you.I have to take away a father you love.I don't know if I can,I don't know if-
Her mind spun as she tried to come to grips with, with everything! Concern wrestled with outrage wrestled with dread wrestled with love wrestled with total numbness-
No.
This is what they want.
She fought down the nauseating tumble of her thoughts, trying to shut it all out so that she could see her target.
The finish line's in sight.
No matter what He's pretending, this isn't what they want. They don't want their lab destroyed, they don't want people to see them under their rock. They aren't winning.
So, they're using her as a weapon.
That's the only way they think of her.
He said it would be alright if she left. She's brainwashed, not under remote control, so he has to tell her what he wants.
If he wants her to leave, it's because he hopes we'll just go so they can salvage this place and flee. Or it's because her true target isn't here.
They can't think they can still use her as a spy. What they've done to her is too imperfect, too obvious. They think they're smarter than everyone else, but they don't think we're idiots.
So she's an assassin, or she's a distraction.
Either way, if he wants us to leave, we stay.
Just hold on, Shayera. We'll be home soon.
I hate how much this will hurt.
"Yes. Skuld, Hashtag and I saved her from the aquarium, just as you and Bioshock saved Blink from the train. But that is not where you... That is not where the missile struck you.
"Do you remember the hospital? You were surprised you weren't there."
Wingblade exhales a huge sigh of relief at hearing Whippoorwill's all right. She snorts dismissively when Bran mentions the hospital, though. "Yeah, right. Like I'd ever need to go to a hospital. I mean, Haxxor messed me up pretty good, but Bioshock fixed it, and then I hit that train pretty hard--"
She pauses, thinking hard. She recounts the events in her head, moving her hands and whispering to herself. "Okay, that's weird. I go from crashing into a train to flying toward a missile that was aiming for a lab of some kind. Vick was there, you two, Bioshock... But that's it."
The Man in the White Coat gives Wingblade an oily smile that she doesn't seem bothered by. "Some loss of memory is expected. But I'm sure your friends will help you fill in the gaps."
Wingblade appears comforted by that. She brightens. "Well, I don't remember ever introducing you, so let's do that! Dad, this is Bran the Blessed and Thor Girl from Asgard. Bran and Skuld, this is my Dad."
The Man in the White Coat inclines his head slightly to the two gods. "It is a pleasure. I've heard so much about you."
"I am glad to know your face, sir, but I must say these gaps trouble me.
Shayera, do you remember how you met Whippoorwill?"
Please God, let me be wrong. Let these memories only be obscured behind His lies.
Wingblade nods to Bran, but her face is a mask of confusion. "Sure I do. She attacked the lab where I was created. We fought. She beat me."