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The Man in the White Coat doesn't flinch under the Asgardian's oaths. He'd been on a sleek cell phone and paused his conversation briefly to calmly listen to Skuld. "It was a creation of science grown in a lab. What makes you so certain it had a soul to begin with? His question is so smooth, so oily confident, that perhaps he truly knows something that Skuld does not.
Kewl. Thanks!
I was really planning on Scythe doing the villain disappearing trick when everyone's looking away. I wasn't ready for Wingblade to meet with her shadow half at this point.
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.
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."
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.
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.
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.
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.
Elsewhere:
"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.
Wow, this is a neat fight. I'm waiting, though, to give Apex and Flux a chance to get in on this.
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.
Yeah. I can't wait for Default's ruling on this!
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. Elsewhere:
"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."
"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.
A scrape of metal. A tinny, mechanical-sounding yet feminine laugh. A blur of movement. A sudden, screeching scream of pierced and rent steel.
As the lights go out, a chuckle echoes in the inky blackness. "This... this is going to be fun."
Meanwhile again...: The Man in the White Coat studies the progress bar closely while glancing periodically over to the bio-readouts. Everything appeared optimal. Even the reports of a communication blackout on the roof that rendered the security team sent to deal with whatever tripped the alarm did not concern him. Scythe would be ready for deployment in a matter of moments, and his side project would be ready before their other operations could be disrupted. He allowed himself a slight smile. Heroes were nothing, if not predictable. Suddenly, another alert sounded. "Sir! We have a containment breach in the occult research wing!" That briefest of smiles on the Man in the White Coat turns quickly into a snarl. "The godlings. Have Phase Three deployed to Level Four at all possible speed. Oh, and broaden the containment field to the entire area. Scythe may be looking for a rematch, but I would rather it be over quickly," he calmly orders.
Meanwhile...: "Sir, an alarm tripped on the roof; security team has been dispatched," one of the men in white coats reports. "Interesting. I wonder if it's our feathered friend. She's been remarkably quiet." "Sir? It is possible that she died in the collapse. The asset, too, reported --" "I'll believe it when I've seen a body. Give me constant reports on the alarm. It may be a diversion as well..." The man taps his fingers in thought. "Better get the asset ready for deployment. Just in case." "Sir, it's in the process of being scrubbed. After the interaction with the two mystical beings, we had to do a full reset." "We can't risk it engaging Whippoorwill without the scrubbed protocols. Upload the one from the field test." "Understood, sir. But that will have the memories of the engagement with the mystical beings." "We'll have to take that risk. They have no way of finding us." "Unless they cast a spell, sir?" The man sneers at his assistant. But he suddenly looks uncertain. Finally, he shakes his head. "Do as I say. But just in case, let's give them a surprise. Pull Phase Two out of storage and upload my little side project into it." "Sir, Phase Two was discontinued ever since the breakthrough with the alloy--" "I'm well aware of that. But I always felt it had its uses. Hence, Project Bladewing." "You suck at naming projects." "What was that?" "...nothing."
With the mythic heroes distracted, Scythe takes a moment to retrieve her porcelain mask that had landed nearby. She affixes it to her face with a briefly reformed hand, then the metal returns to a wicked-looking bladed instrument. She takes a couple purposeful strides towards Bran, but stops short. She tilts her head as if listening, then shakes her head vehemently. "No! I can take them! No, just let me--" Scythe's protestations to her unseen masters are cut short and her whole body convulses briefly. When the contortions of pain finish, she returns to the emotionless form from earlier. "... Acknowledged." Her wings reshape, and she takes off angling away from the ruins of the training complex.
Skuld's strike to Scythe's midsection is brutal and would crush the insides of most foes. The metallic skin bends inward and as the valkyrie withdraws her fist the contours of her knuckles are plain to see. Instantly, the metal reshapes to the smooth, burnished surface it had been from the start.
"Get. " Scythe screams, her bladed appendages flail wildly.
The metal flows from one deadly implement to another while Scythe seethes in white-hot fury. "You can't hurt me! And I know you won't kill me," she spits. "You and your friends are as good as dead. Do you want your families to die as well?!?"
"I'll settle for being the one who shuts you up," the metal being shouts as she dives in for another killing blow. Scythe's demeanor turns to one of stoic lethality. She seems to only want to kill her foes, and nothing they say or do could change that singular mission.
Her strike is off, but more so due to the swirling winds and not due to any hesitation on Scythe's part.
Actually, where this fight goes depends greatly on if Bioshock is going to be there. If you want to sit this one out, Eli, that's fine. But if you want to say you were either always there and just staying back to protect Hashtag, or that you're just now getting 'ported in, let me know, and I'll try to direct this fight back to the ground.
True. Her arms are wings now.
Scythe hisses when Bran wrenches off the mask. The face revealed is grotesque. The metal comprising most of her body appears to be painfully burrowing into the flesh around her face. What skin remains is tight and stretched. Most disconcerting is the apparent lack of eyelids, but the eyes are fully black and opaque orbs. In response to the unmasking, several bands of metal flow over her face to create a protective grill. "Futile. I know what I am." With that, she spins against the onrushing winds called by Skuld, and throws Bran as hard as she can at the Norse warrior.
Scythe's black, empty eyes bore into Bran as he taunts her. Though the mask continues to remain as expressionless as ever, somehow she manages a dismissive sneer. The metal covering her body shifts smoothly and rapidly. The scythe-like blades part and fan out, growing and spreading along her arms. In a matter of seconds, her arms had become metallic wings, covered in bristling razor-edged feathers. In the same time as her arms morph into wings, her feet sprout curved and grasping talons. Suddenly looking like a metallic harpy, she spreads her wings out in a deadly display and forcing Bran to duck to avoid the honed feathers. She then grabs him with her taloned feet, claws digging into his chain mail like a vise, and flaps hard with her wings. "Like my wings? Don't scream like Bronwyn did," she hisses as she takes flight, bursting through the weakened roof and carrying him high into the air.
The metallic figure pauses in the aftermath of the energy discharge. It leans forward, as if hearing Bran's words for the first time, staring intently at the warrior of old. Skuld can feel it relax in her grip. "You... are... Bran..." comes the tinny voice from behind the porcelain mask. "Friend..." "...of an obselete model."
With a blur of speed, the being sends razor sharp claws at Bran's midsection with one arm, while grabbing away the spear with the other. With a massive twist, Scythe spins Gae-Dearg to make contact with Skuld behind her.
Default, I sent you a pm. Thanks to the new site redesign, I have no idea how it's supposed to notify you of a new message.
Bran cannot perceive the faintest reaction to his words. The metallic blades flash again and again in a blur, promising death if he drops his guard even the slightest. Since his words have no effect, he could only hope that he could wrest control over her from her creators somehow. As one of her scythelike blades pierces the eye socket of his now thankfully empty helm, it becomes deadly obvious that this creature isn't holding back or interested in hearing about Shayera.
After a tense moment of silence, the sound of light footsteps echo in the room, crunching glass between the foot and the floor. Coming into view is a lithe female form, short but slender. Her skin is metallic silver, smooth but burnished, so it lacks a mirror sheen. Its face is covered in what could be a stylized porcelain mask, showing large eyes black as pitch and just as emotionless. Her head moves slightly as she focuses on each hero. Then she tilts her head as if she were listening to something for a moment. Then she nods. In a muffled voice that sounds painfully like Shayera's, she says, "Acknowledged. Target priority override. Elimination in progress." There is zero emotion in her words. She holds up both hands and the metal skin flows and reshapes into large, wickedly curved blades. She charges.
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