MidwayLives
"What's your favorite scary movie...?"
While Odd had managed to turn the tables on Multi's efforts to use Beckett as a weapon, it might have been too late to stop the situation from blowing up as it had. Jean as far as he knew had been killed and he'd passed out not too long after. If only he were awake to see the phoenix that Jean had stood up and become....
Away from the city, back where it all began, at the ruins of the hotel where Beckett and Father Death had their ultimate encounter.
Crane had been presumed dead by Odd but BYOB/Jean refused to believe that Beckett could have gone that far.
The truth itself was something more in the middle. Crane still lived but with the pain wracking his body...well.
"ugh.....at least if I were....dead....I wouldn't be feeling all this."
His cane had been broken in the fight. Which meant he could barely stand upright without limping. As the years took their toll on him, over the years what at one point had just merely been a boyhood incident in which he'd sprained his leg had turned into a debilitating injury as a senior citizen. His appearance had shifted back from the old man that he was to the skeletal preacher that'd stood against Beckett and their friends. But there was the slightest glimmer to his bones hinting that whatever injuries he'd sustained during his bout with Beckett weren't as easy to just write off as he'd hoped. When he was unconscious or on the verge of it, his powers faded and he returned to looking like how he had before 'The Incident' that granted him and the rest of the Crusaders (not to mention Beckett and their colleagues as well ontop of nearly everyone within the vicinity)their 'gifts.' His glowing red pupils situated in the center of his pitch-black eyesockets looked from side to side. The hotel had been absolutely demolished. Beckett had thrown enough force behind their last strike to cleave the building in the twain as though it were a birthday cake waiting to be cut. Rubble laid scattered all around him.
Gripping onto a nearby piece of concrete that'd likely been a part of a once whole wall, Crane staggered forward.
His breathing was ragged and his entire body was awash with aches and chills. His left shoulder/arm had been fractured leaving him really with only one useable hand.
To top it off, that wasn't even the worse part....
That honor went to the army approaching the ruined site of the hotel. Tanks, soldiers, heavy weaponry, the whole enchilada.
Crane snorted derisively, it seemed they'd spared no expense for little ol him.
But mocking as he might have been, the situation was grim and Crane knew it. Men with guns didn't scare him. Neither did whatever else Uncle Sam and his boys had brought to bare. But with his body in it's current shape and his energy levels dwindling near the last of their reserves, a stand your ground defense against this army wasn't going to cut it. They'd overwhelm him with pure numbers and he'd either get hauled away or they'd kill him right on the spot. Crane bared his teeth at the thought and chuckled. Somehow he didn't think they'd be as restrained as Beckett had been. Spotting two soldiers walking towards the section of former-hotel rubble he was slumped behind, Crane weighed his options.
To attack them both with [White Noise] might have been too direct. If either of them screamed or alerted the others before Crane could hide himself again, he'd be left a sitting duck. The glowing red pupils scanned over the debris before locking to a particularly rusty looking stake of rebar that'd been left wedged into the ground due to his and Beckett's battle. Normally handling and manipulating things with his [White Noise] was child's play for even having received his 'gift' as late as he had in life, Crane still did his best to push it's potential. Some of which was unfortunately limited by his age and what his body would allow him to do but something as simple as picking up a stray piece of rebar should have been nothing.
Should have been nothing.
Ragged breaths lumbered forth from Crane's mouth, as the sky above began tilting towards nightfall, the glow of the moonlight cast down upon his features. A stream of colorful blood ran from the upper left of his head staining the skull with a fresh coat of red. The eye on that side shined less brightly than the other, likely due to him having suffered some kind of concussive or facial fracture during the battle with Beckett. Although he and Beckett had fought numerous times, the state with which the hero had left him in this time was the worst it'd ever been. His entire left arm from the shoulder down to his wrist had been rendered completely useless for the time being. It should have been in a sling but all Crane could afford at the moment was to have it hang limply at his side, most of the fingers on his hand bent the wrong way-a side effect of trying to stop or counter a punch from Beckett with his bare hands-. All of this in turn meant that what should have been a menial task required immense concentration. If he pulled it out too fast, he might have ripped a piece of rubble out with it and alerted the two soldiers standing nearby. If he pulled it out too slow, they'd have no doubt heard the pipe being twisted and rattled by the static.
It had to be precise. He had to wrap the static around the middle of the bar and dissolve it in two equally long halves. One to take out each soldier.
A wispy trail of static flickered and buzzed as it moved along the ground like a snake. Traipsing over knocked over pillars and shattered bricks. All while staying low enough that Crane hoped it'd avoid the soldier's detection. Once it reached the protruding piece of rebar, it slowly wriggled it's way along the slab of concrete and began coiling it's way around the shaft. There wasn't much room for error here. The static that Crane had conjured to do this was barely anything, it had about the width of a typical pencil. Anything thicker or longer and the audible buzzing of the static would have given away his rouse/warned the soldiers to his location. Once he felt through the static that everything was secure, he slowly lowered his index finger and began pulling his wrist back. The static tightened around the rebar and after a bit of dust and small chips of concrete were knocked loose by the rattling, the rebar shook from where it was confined, groaning as the metal was bent and twisted from it's current place.
*skkkkt.....skkkkt*
Crane frowned. He couldn't afford to waste too much time on this. It was a matter of life and death. The rebar wriggled and writhed as the static pulled. From where he was hunched against the piece of wall, Crane could thankfully see it coming further and further out. Once it was at least halfway out, he'd dissolve it in the middle and make his move. But then what would have only been the first of many disasters in this fight struck. Crane felt a sharp pain running across the left side of his body. Not a surprise given the amount of damage that'd been done to it. From a fractured shoulder to a broken hand and being air-punched out a window, it was a miracle that Crane was even conscious let alone still up and trying to defend himself. Gritting his teeth, Crane tried to keep his focus. "Not....yet...Can't...rest....Just yet." Just a little bit more....
"Agh....!"
Grit his teeth as he might and would, it couldn't stop his old bones from aching something fierce. The static lost it's hold and the rebar having been pulled out far enough started to topple towards the ground. If it fell and hit, the echoing from it's rattling against what was left of the hardwood floors would have been a death sentence for Crane. Grabbing onto his left arm, Crane's eyes flashed red as the static bristled and grabbed the rebar split seconds from where it would have crashed against the ground. This wasn't a tenable situation by any means but he'd-at least for the moment-had regained his composure. The static engulfed the half of the bar and then spread itself in two to grasp the remaining halves. The soldiers still seemed unaware. Which meant a sneak attack like this was absolutely pitch perfect. The static-which by this point resembled a sort of two pronged hand reared back. One of the pieces of rebar flew. The soldier heard it whistling through the air and turned his head. It smashed right through the front of his helmet and out the back. The gun fell from his hands and he crumpled to the ground in a heap. Not too much noise, he'd been dead before he could even scream. His partner was to soon follow suit. The static pulled back to launch the remaining chunk of rebar.
*smash*
"Ugh....AGAAAAAH!!!!" The rebar was launched but it'd missed the mark. Instead of going through the head, it'd instead only taken a chunk out of the soldier's neck. Still condemning them to death but not in the quick and easy manner that Crane would have preferred. But he had much bigger issues than that right now. Crane had toppled to the ground and was looking over at a pinsized hole in the wall behind him. Someone had shot clean through it. But he'd been paying close attention and hadn't let these two out of his sight. The rest of the forces were still spreading around the remains of the hotel, attempting to secure the perimeter. There was no possible way they could have spotted him. The proof didn't lie however and neither did the bullet currently lodged in Crane's side. Static buzzed around the tear in his black shirt which was quickly turning a dark shade of red. [White Noise] wasn't limited to solely protecting Crane from exterior attacks. The static could be manifested all around or even inside of him. The bullet fell to the ground and rolled a few inches away from Crane's person. It'd been stopped before tearing through anything vital but the fact that it'd hit at all left Crane perturbed.
These two soldiers, he hadn't even seen them say or communicate anything. Did one of them have a telepathy gift? Or was another capable of sensing him? Had he been too careless and he had been caught redhanded? Too many possibilities and not enough time to consider them. The static lurched around him from behind like a protective sheet as more bullets continued to bulldoze through the shoddy defense that Crane had found himself behind. The static caught most of them but a few slipped by and hit whatever exposed flesh they could-digging a trail through Crane's shoulder, clipping his ankle, etc. His plan to just try picking this group off piecemeal had failed before it'd even truly begun.
*drip drip*
Crane glanced back over to the two soldiers he'd dropped. Well, the one of them anyway. The other was still standing on their feet, the right side of their uniform just utterly drenched in the red stuff. The rebar that was responsible lay just a few feet away with part of flesh and fabric still pinned to the tip of it. Despite the gruesome wounds that were definitely fatal, the soldier continued his duty and shakily raised his rifle. Crane could admire the commitment. To stay the course and do your duty despite whatever may come. But this wasn't the time nor the place to extend such feelings. "Fall, damn you!" He shouted while thrusting his hand forward as a wave of static barreled forward, absorbing dozens of bullets in the process. The static continued to go forward with the soldier, it smashed them up against a semi-sturdy piece of wall that hadn't been quite toppled over yet. With apparently enough force to crack the soldier's neck as their head slumped over to the side causing their helmet to fall off. Crane would have just written them off as persistently annoying but the look in this one's eyes perturbed him. There was just....nothing in them. As though this youth was just completely empty. Those eyes continued to stare ahead.
Whatever was going on here, Crane knew one thing for certain. He didn't care for it. Not. One.
*crunch*
Bit. The soldier spit up a glob of blood and their head fell forward. This time they were dead for good.
Now....about the thousand other ones waiting for him.....
~~~
While Crane had barely managed to kill two of the soldiers, back at the impromptu base/camp that Westlake and his men had set up, Multi was having a bit of a crisis. He was absolutely soaked to the bone with sweat. He'd already expended dozens and dozens of clones just to make enough to support two 'armies.' One to capture the Crusaders and one to capture Father Death. This didn't exactly come without it's own sacrifices. [One Is the Loneliest Number] was the actual name of his 'Gift' and everytime he created clones it felt like it took something with him. These things weren't just like planting seeds after all. Multi needed to memorize every exact detail in his head and had to replicate it from the top to bottom. Which meant knowing the specifics of a uniform/weapon/vehicle(most of which could be answered with either a picture or looking it up) like how big it needed to be or how many of his clones needed them or how much energy he'd need to expend to summon it. All of them had to match after all. It'd drive him nuts if any of them stood out from the other. Which given that left to their own devices, the clones acted pretty much identically said a lot. Unless they were given an order by Multi and only Multi himself(unless he designated someone specific)they usually stood around, staring blankly out into space. Like a cardboard cutout. No one clone stood out though as a child being trained to better understand his gift, Multi used to name them until he was chastised for it being 'too childish.'
Nowadays, he'd make as many clones as it took to get the job done. Something that his child self would have utterly despised him for. Aside from the other children/gifted he was raised alongside, the clones were his only source of companionship, of fun. Now as a young adult it'd been instilled in him that they were just tools, no better than guns. They didn't seem to feel pain or at least didn't react to it in a normal manner. Multi wasn't even sure if they could speak. All of the ones that BYOB had killed didn't cry out even as he'd blasted them. It was only when Multi spoke through the clones either through telepathy or their headsets that they made any sound that wasn't the firing or discharging of their weapon.
Despite all that though, things weren't going too smoothly. BYOB had nearly taken out half of the army he'd sent to NYC. Even as he looked through the eyes of those he hadn't detected as dead(something that caused him a great bit of trauma due to being aware of how/when every single clone dies), they were simply too mutilated to do anything more to halt BYOB. Add in losing control of Beckett and Jean's sudden transformation into some kind of fiery gigantic phoenix monster and you had a total shitshow om your hands. One he'd get the blame for if he didn't at least try to smooth things over here. Sure, if he lost the Crusaders AND Beckett the General would rightfully be pissed. But if his clones managed to capture the architect behind the Modern Crusaders, Multi would be praised. He'd get the respect he'd wanted. He wouldn't just be treated like the kid tagalong anymore. He'd be a trusted 'Gifted' just like the rest of them. Westlake would heap praise upon him.
All he had to do was take down this stubborn old man.
Crane waited until the soldier he'd grabbed with [White Noise] had stopped moving altogether. Receding the static back to him, Crane shivered in pain. Although his gift had spared him from simply bleeding out in the next couple of seconds, if he were still sitting here when the rest of that army came stomping through this rubble, it wouldn't matter. Flaring what little remained of his energy, the static channeled around him and levitated him slightly off the ground, as he turned to face what by all counts might as well have been a impending horde for how little Crane considered his own chances. Seeing that Crane had apparently stopped to finally face the music, one of the soldiers at the front raised their hand and all of them-the tanks included rolled to a sudden halt though they kept their guns trained on Crane's position.
Suddenly, the walkie on the lead soldier's outfit buzzed and chirped.
"Crane, Crane, Crane.~ I gotta say I thought that 'Father Death' himself would have put up more of a fight!" Multi taunted into one of the walkies that the clone to his left was holding near his face. "I mean, I know Beckett did a number on you and all but you don't even seem like you're trying to fight back. Is it...Is it because you realize you have no chance of winning?"
Crane didn't reply, instead only huffing and looking as though he were trying to catch his breath. Blood leaked from the various wounds scattered across his body. His static trailed around his feet with a menacing wail as though it were an attack dog guarding it's owner.
Multi didn't let up on the taunting. "Nothing? Well, that's okay. I think I've got over a thousand reasons why you're surrendering. That is what you're doing isn't it, Crane? I mean, you don't really think there's anyway out of this do you? You, Jenkins, and Pajaro are all getting hit with hard time. Can't speak for Winters..." One of the downsides of EXCELSIOR TECH being a huge sponsor/contractor of the military. Arresting and charging their only living son with terrorism would have put a hearty blemish on that relationship and simply killing Odd was out of the question. Multi's own head would have rolled if he'd let his clones do that. "But he's at least got his parents to look out for him. Who do you have, Crane?"
Crane chuckled.
"You young folk....." Crane slowly began raising his good hand. "...Sure do love to talk, don't you....?" He cracked wise, a grin spreading across his skeletal face. Before Multi could figure out what the bastard was just so cheery about, he looked through the eyes of some clones to the immediate right of Crane and saw what appeared to be the debris itself shifting under their feet. Appliances that'd been shunted from the rooms after the hotel had been cleaved in half by his and Beckett's brawl, slabs of what used to be walls and ceilings, and everything else including the kitchen sink. Static loomed under all of it and started lifting it high up into the air, casting a massive shadow over Crane for which only his glowing eyes were visible through the darkness. "During all that time.....you could have just shot me. I doubt I could have stopped all the bullets while in this state. Oh well."
Multi screeched. "SHOOT HIM!" The tanks leveled their barrels and the clones began spraying. Crane simply let the debris drop where it may. It wrecked absolute hell on Multi's forces with support vehicles having their hoods caved in by fridge size chunks of concrete, rebar impaling soldiers who strayed too close. Slabs pulverized clones outright killing them if not severely maiming/rendering them useless for battle. The tanks opened fire, the shells crashing through the hailstorm of debris and right into Crane's static. The shells dug deep into the static but stopped before coming out through it and hitting Crane. "Whatever....my [White Noise] consumes..." Crane closed his hand into a fist. "It absorbs...." The shells creaked and groaned before vanishing entirely within the folds of the static. As grand of a display as this all was however, that's all it was. Just theater. Crane saw many of the soldiers who'd been struck still twitching or in some cases even crawling for their dropped weaponry after their arms/legs had been shattered. Whether this was through the use of some kind of morbid Gift or what, Crane didn't know. But he knew enough. That he couldn't stick around here anymore. His body was on it's last legs and it'd only been thanks to Multi's insecurities/wanting to overcompensate for capturing Crane, giving him the time he needed to get [White Noise] to levitate all of the necessary garbage.
"Time to go...." Crane muttered as the static floated under him and began lifting Crane away. This wasn't going to happen. Multi refused to let this happen. He'd never be able to live it down if this entire operation all failed because of him. His brothers, the fellow Gifted he'd grown up with had vouched for him! They'd been the ones who helped convince Westlake that he could handle this. To fail and let Crane go to possibly regroup with the others and convince Beckett to join them? They'd have a national nightmare on their hands. Or at least Westlake's bosses would. That kind of thinking was 'below a grunt like him' is what he was always told. So even as dozens of clones lay battered and savaged by Crane's rainstorm of rubble, he didn't relent even for a second. The clones piloting the tanks burst forward mulching over any clones who happened to be left in the path. The soldiers-even those who were injured but still good enough to walk-sprinted while blasting off their guns. "You're- *bzzt* Not getting a-a-away, CRANE!!!" Multi's real body screamed over the walkie as it jostled and shook while attached to the soldier's hip.
In the condition that he was in and the sheer lack of energy, the static wouldn't be able to act as an effective shield for the torrent of bullets forever. Some would punch through and hit their mark and that'd be enough. It'd spell the end for Crane right then and there. He just had to-
The ground split wide open and Crane came to a sudden stop before he plummeted right in. With an army of soldiers and tanks charging after him, stopping even for the slightest second would have certainly spelled death or arrest but towering over Crane was a monolithic wall made entirely of ice that stretched along to fill the entirety of the fissure in the ground. Standing atop the wall, hunched over with their arms resting on their knees, what looked to be a military flak jacket hung loosely on their shoulders blowing in the wind leaving their bare chest exposed. With what appeared to be icicles growing in and around their bushy dark blue hair, the figure looked down at Crane and spoke with a heavy French accent. "Was my friend not clear enough? You're not leaving, Crane. Not this time."
Crane didn't say anything but the timing couldn't have been worse. Facing an entire army was one thing but aside from there just being a bunch of the bastards and their annoying persistence on getting up from mortal wounds, but another gifted and an elemental one at that? The static from [White Noise] stayed where it was, a careful set of inches away from the ice. Water-in any of it's states be it solid, gas, or liquid, were one of the few materials alongside certain metals that [White Noise] simply couldn't absorb. In fact coming into contact with water at all made [White Noise] sluggish and difficult for Father Death to control properly. It moved slower, didn't react nearly as fast to attacks
autonomously, etc. This was about the worst possible matchup and it was just about to get worse because Crane recognized this young man.
"Zeke!" Multi's main body called out through the walkie, distorted as it was. "W-What are you doing here?? I-I thought I was going to capture-"
"You are, Multi. Relax." Zeke reassured his colleague and the hundreds of clones. "The general just sent me to help speed things up, that's all." Although Zeke couldn't see the real Multi's expression, the '....alright.' that came through the walkie didn't sound impressed or even believed that excuse. As far as Multi could think, the only reason the general would have sent a heavyhitter like Zeke is because he felt things were taking too long/he didn't trust that Multi's clones were up for the task. Which, admittedly given how well things were going with the army attacking the Crusaders.....well...
"Pardon me...." Static hissed and crackled around Crane's person. "But I do feel I'm being left out of the conversation..." The preacher turned self-styled freedom fighter/terrorist leader joked as Zeke finally looked back over at Crane, his bright blue eyes peering over the top of his cherry red sunglasses. "That voice on the radio, they called you 'Zeke?' The elemental gifted also known as the 'Man whom the Rain doesn't touch.' Am I mistaken?" Zeke shook his head no. "No, mon ami, I think you're right on the money. Which only begs the question..." Zeke kept his hands tucked in the pockets of his pants. "Why are you still looking as though you're going to fight us?"
Crane would have blinked if his skull allowed it.
A laugh would have to do instead.
"I just suppose 'giving up' just ain't in my vocabulary, son. Neither is losin." The static reared back with a palm thrust forward, it blasted forward and split apart at the ends, the 'tendrils' seeking to grab and engulf Zeke from different angles. For his part the gifted didn't seem too eager to dodge. So uneager that he just didn't. The static devoured him and Crane stood there, almost dumbfounded. Was this boy so confident in his own abilities he'd just let himself be taken like that? There was nothing but unending agony once you were absorbed by [White Noise] You didn't just die, your physical being ceased to exist and your consciousness was eternally trapped within the screaming plains of the static, your agonized wails filling the air every time Crane activated his gift. Ice and water in general may have greatly hampered the effectiveness of [White Noise] but this approach-if you could even call it that-was downright suicidal.
The clones had stopped their march.
Multi sat back at camp, his arms folded across his chest and one leg crossed over the other. He had to watch through the collective eyes of his clones to keep a beat on the situation but why bother, at least for right now? Zeke wasn't in any real danger. As if to hammer that feeling home, Crane paused. Normally when a living thing was absorbed into [White Noise] , Crane would have felt it. If one had to describe the sensation it'd be like experiencing goosebumps running down every inch of your body. That overwhelming sense of victory as the victim you've entrapped ceases to be little more than a screaming spectre trapped within his endless void of static. Zeke was still alive and fighting. The area of static that had engulfed Zeke began to glow and pulsate as though there were a disturbance in it. "Ugh...." Crane put his only working hand forward in an attempt to simply crush Zeke and be done with this.
But the energy he was working against was....Just too much for him. The static tore and crackled as though it were part of a TV set that was slowly dying out. The buzzing grew quieter and standing amid the retreating static with what looked to be a ethereal dome of blue around him, Zeke stood completely unharmed. Crane hated the sight of it. 'Just...The energy alone from his gift was enough to stave off my static? It didn't even touch him, not once..' Even Beckett had to avoid getting completely encased by [White Noise] and maybe on a better day, Crane might have been a better opponent. Zeke wasn't here for a fair or fun fight however. He was here to get shit. Done.
"Are you done?" He asked, casually, as he closed his left hand into a fist and drew it close to his chest. "Because if you are.....It's my turn." All of a sudden, Crane felt a shiver run down his spine. Maybe it was borne out of fear, maybe it wasn't. Mostly though it felt like someone had opened a freezer and locked him in as a cold wind ran over him and seemed to circle around Zeke's person. Was this some kind of attack? "Come back to me, [White Noise]!" Crane called and the static did it's best to obey but whether it was just the amount of cold air that Zeke was currently generating or just his energy, the static already seemed slower than usual. "Damn it.." Taking full control over the static, Crane moved it to prepare for whatever was coming.
"Zeke!! Wait!!!" Multi called out as his clones started to back up. "If you freeze him, how are we gonna bring him to the General?!?"
"He'll thaw." Zeke raised his closed fist and swung it in Crane's direction. "[Icy Wind]!" The area around Zeke's hand seemed to briefly twist and distort and before Crane could try to piece it together, he had what appeared to be the onslaught of a full on blizzard headed straight for him. [White Noise] did what it could, shielding Crane like a warm buzzing blanket as the wind overtook Crane. For his part, Crane couldn't even see the effects that Zeke's attack was having on either his static or the surrounding area. If any part of him got frozen then that was it. He was done for. He was in no physical condition to try running on foot and he was getting tired...."This cold...." It felt like it was sapping what little strength he had left just to try and stay warm. Eventually, the raging winds outside seemed to die down and come to a stop. But it wasn't a pretty sight. [White Noise] struggled to even budge. The buzzing had gotten so muffled over by the cold that it sounded more akin to a distant humming than the loud reverberating 'bzzttttt' of old. Even with direct control over the static, Crane could hardly get it to move.
"I could tell from the first second that my gift countered yours." Zeke called out as the static dispersed just enough to show him holding up the hand he'd 'launched' [Icy Wind] with. "The static of yours always seemed to stay just out of reach of my ice, keeping a safe distance. Can't exactly do that if you're blasted with the force of a mini-blizzard, no?" Crane didn't reply, he didn't want to give the punk the satisfaction. "I hope you weren't expecting a fair fight, Crane. Such liberties..." There was a squelching sound of flesh being rendered as the blade of what looked to be a sword made out of ice ripped it's way free through Zeke's outstretched palm. All the way up until Zeke was left holding the handle in his-surprisingly non-bloody-hand. The blade resembled something akin to a European knight's typical sword of battle. "Are not privvy to criminal scum like you." An ice trail flashed forward and it was only through Crane's quick reaction time that he created a miniature 'cloud' of static to step upon as the trail extended under the protective 'web' his static had mostly formed around him. If he'd just been a hair of a second off, it's likely he'd have gotten his feet frozen to the ground. If they were snapped off at the ankles....
"It's over, Crane!" Zeke jumped and lunged, thrusting the sword forward. Defending against it would no doubt take the last of Crane's energy and he'd pass out on the spot. They'd have Crane in custody and be one big step closer to bringing this group's reign of terror to an end. Watching as the blade smashed through and past the web of lethargic static, Crane thought of the only thing he could do. Sparing the briefest of glances at his left arm-pretty much rendered useless due to the multitude of injuries afflicting it-and using the static from the feet-saving cloud he'd made, it gripped onto the arm and pulled it-
"Zeke!" Multi's main body called out through the walkie, distorted as it was. "W-What are you doing here?? I-I thought I was going to capture-"
"You are, Multi. Relax." Zeke reassured his colleague and the hundreds of clones. "The general just sent me to help speed things up, that's all." Although Zeke couldn't see the real Multi's expression, the '....alright.' that came through the walkie didn't sound impressed or even believed that excuse. As far as Multi could think, the only reason the general would have sent a heavyhitter like Zeke is because he felt things were taking too long/he didn't trust that Multi's clones were up for the task. Which, admittedly given how well things were going with the army attacking the Crusaders.....well...
"Pardon me...." Static hissed and crackled around Crane's person. "But I do feel I'm being left out of the conversation..." The preacher turned self-styled freedom fighter/terrorist leader joked as Zeke finally looked back over at Crane, his bright blue eyes peering over the top of his cherry red sunglasses. "That voice on the radio, they called you 'Zeke?' The elemental gifted also known as the 'Man whom the Rain doesn't touch.' Am I mistaken?" Zeke shook his head no. "No, mon ami, I think you're right on the money. Which only begs the question..." Zeke kept his hands tucked in the pockets of his pants. "Why are you still looking as though you're going to fight us?"
Crane would have blinked if his skull allowed it.
A laugh would have to do instead.
"I just suppose 'giving up' just ain't in my vocabulary, son. Neither is losin." The static reared back with a palm thrust forward, it blasted forward and split apart at the ends, the 'tendrils' seeking to grab and engulf Zeke from different angles. For his part the gifted didn't seem too eager to dodge. So uneager that he just didn't. The static devoured him and Crane stood there, almost dumbfounded. Was this boy so confident in his own abilities he'd just let himself be taken like that? There was nothing but unending agony once you were absorbed by [White Noise] You didn't just die, your physical being ceased to exist and your consciousness was eternally trapped within the screaming plains of the static, your agonized wails filling the air every time Crane activated his gift. Ice and water in general may have greatly hampered the effectiveness of [White Noise] but this approach-if you could even call it that-was downright suicidal.
The clones had stopped their march.
Multi sat back at camp, his arms folded across his chest and one leg crossed over the other. He had to watch through the collective eyes of his clones to keep a beat on the situation but why bother, at least for right now? Zeke wasn't in any real danger. As if to hammer that feeling home, Crane paused. Normally when a living thing was absorbed into [White Noise] , Crane would have felt it. If one had to describe the sensation it'd be like experiencing goosebumps running down every inch of your body. That overwhelming sense of victory as the victim you've entrapped ceases to be little more than a screaming spectre trapped within his endless void of static. Zeke was still alive and fighting. The area of static that had engulfed Zeke began to glow and pulsate as though there were a disturbance in it. "Ugh...." Crane put his only working hand forward in an attempt to simply crush Zeke and be done with this.
But the energy he was working against was....Just too much for him. The static tore and crackled as though it were part of a TV set that was slowly dying out. The buzzing grew quieter and standing amid the retreating static with what looked to be a ethereal dome of blue around him, Zeke stood completely unharmed. Crane hated the sight of it. 'Just...The energy alone from his gift was enough to stave off my static? It didn't even touch him, not once..' Even Beckett had to avoid getting completely encased by [White Noise] and maybe on a better day, Crane might have been a better opponent. Zeke wasn't here for a fair or fun fight however. He was here to get shit. Done.
"Are you done?" He asked, casually, as he closed his left hand into a fist and drew it close to his chest. "Because if you are.....It's my turn." All of a sudden, Crane felt a shiver run down his spine. Maybe it was borne out of fear, maybe it wasn't. Mostly though it felt like someone had opened a freezer and locked him in as a cold wind ran over him and seemed to circle around Zeke's person. Was this some kind of attack? "Come back to me, [White Noise]!" Crane called and the static did it's best to obey but whether it was just the amount of cold air that Zeke was currently generating or just his energy, the static already seemed slower than usual. "Damn it.." Taking full control over the static, Crane moved it to prepare for whatever was coming.
"Zeke!! Wait!!!" Multi called out as his clones started to back up. "If you freeze him, how are we gonna bring him to the General?!?"
"He'll thaw." Zeke raised his closed fist and swung it in Crane's direction. "[Icy Wind]!" The area around Zeke's hand seemed to briefly twist and distort and before Crane could try to piece it together, he had what appeared to be the onslaught of a full on blizzard headed straight for him. [White Noise] did what it could, shielding Crane like a warm buzzing blanket as the wind overtook Crane. For his part, Crane couldn't even see the effects that Zeke's attack was having on either his static or the surrounding area. If any part of him got frozen then that was it. He was done for. He was in no physical condition to try running on foot and he was getting tired...."This cold...." It felt like it was sapping what little strength he had left just to try and stay warm. Eventually, the raging winds outside seemed to die down and come to a stop. But it wasn't a pretty sight. [White Noise] struggled to even budge. The buzzing had gotten so muffled over by the cold that it sounded more akin to a distant humming than the loud reverberating 'bzzttttt' of old. Even with direct control over the static, Crane could hardly get it to move.
"I could tell from the first second that my gift countered yours." Zeke called out as the static dispersed just enough to show him holding up the hand he'd 'launched' [Icy Wind] with. "The static of yours always seemed to stay just out of reach of my ice, keeping a safe distance. Can't exactly do that if you're blasted with the force of a mini-blizzard, no?" Crane didn't reply, he didn't want to give the punk the satisfaction. "I hope you weren't expecting a fair fight, Crane. Such liberties..." There was a squelching sound of flesh being rendered as the blade of what looked to be a sword made out of ice ripped it's way free through Zeke's outstretched palm. All the way up until Zeke was left holding the handle in his-surprisingly non-bloody-hand. The blade resembled something akin to a European knight's typical sword of battle. "Are not privvy to criminal scum like you." An ice trail flashed forward and it was only through Crane's quick reaction time that he created a miniature 'cloud' of static to step upon as the trail extended under the protective 'web' his static had mostly formed around him. If he'd just been a hair of a second off, it's likely he'd have gotten his feet frozen to the ground. If they were snapped off at the ankles....
"It's over, Crane!" Zeke jumped and lunged, thrusting the sword forward. Defending against it would no doubt take the last of Crane's energy and he'd pass out on the spot. They'd have Crane in custody and be one big step closer to bringing this group's reign of terror to an end. Watching as the blade smashed through and past the web of lethargic static, Crane thought of the only thing he could do. Sparing the briefest of glances at his left arm-pretty much rendered useless due to the multitude of injuries afflicting it-and using the static from the feet-saving cloud he'd made, it gripped onto the arm and pulled it-
*shunk*
Seconds clicked by as a droplet of blood ran down along the shaft of the blade before plummeting to the ice below. Another followed shortly thereafter and more weren't far behind. Having used his static to grab his arm and pull it in front of his chest, the blade had gone through the limb and still had just enough tip to slightly dig into Crane's left breast. "Sacrificing your arm?" Zeke asked as ice started to spread outwards across the skewered limb from where the sword had plunged straight through it. "I find myself asking for what end? You only delay the inevitable, Crane. No matter what you do, what tricks you pull, your criminal escapades stop here." Crane winced as he felt the bite of the ice growing along his arm. If he didn't do something soon, the entire arm would be lost to him, frozen over and useless. Elementals like Zeke were generally considered on another level from those who's abilities leaned towards more physical or mental support such as Crane's [White Noise] making up for Crane's own physical deficiencies/weakness given his age. The fact that he'd been called in to apprehend Crane showed-at least to the former priest-that the government was done playing around. The Modern Crusaders were a legitimate threat and needed to be crushed.
"I....I don't think I can beat you, young man." Crane's index finger on his free hand twitched. "You've got, speed, strength, shoot your gift even counters mine. Unfortunately for you..." The static which had been bundled up and buzzed erratically due to the mini-blizzard Zeke had put it through, began to creak and moan, little shards of frost falling to the ground. One tendril of static whipped towards Zeke and wrapped tightly around his arm. "What the-" Crane spread his fingers apart and the palm of his right hand began to surge with static. His [White Noise] couldn't absorb Zeke's ice and it couldn't stand against it either. Which left him with only one other option: get Zeke within range so Crane could decide this fight with one blow. [Dead Air]-a sub-technique of Crane's gift that would 'absorb' pretty much anything. It was how even though his own physical strength paled before Beckett's that Father Death was able to inflict a gruesome injury on the hero by 'removing' a chunk of flesh from their side. Zeke attempted to wrest his arm free of the static but it was too late! Crane swung his hand towards the side of Zeke's head, static roaring from his palm.
"[DEAD AIR]!!!!!"
"Zeke!!!!!"
"....!"
Crane could smell that his attack had gone off like he'd planned. The sensation of burning flesh wasn't anything he was unfamiliar with. The intended goal had been if not to kill Zeke-to severely maim him at least. Just long enough for Crane to get his wits about him and use his static to make a hasty retreat. Find somewhere to hide, lay low, and attempt to meet up with the others. If they were even still okay. "For all you....youth talk....You should have just acted....Hehehe...." Crane threw back his head and started a cavalcade of laughter. "Hahahahaha!" It didn't truly set in that something was terribly wrong until he saw or rather didn't see any sort of reaction from the army at his back. The one behind all those soldiers and Zeke had been allies no? So, where was the cry of pain, of anger?
Instead, there was nothing. Not so much as even as a complaint escaped from the walkie that lead soldier in the front wore. Then the pain started "Ag...Agaaaaahhhh!" Crane felt the ice running along his outstretched arm as steam hissed off where he'd struck Zeke. [Dead Air] had completely deactivated. Brushing aside the steam revealed a horrendous sight. At least for those who had never truly seen what an elemental like Zeke looked like. The 'regular' look that Zeke used to walk around and function in day to day life was nothing more than a skin suit. Created by him manifesting his energy. It was little more than what Zeke wished he'd looked like. The real him looked a touch more monstrous. Crane's frozen hand rested against what appeared to be some kind of blue ice-like material vaguely shaped into a humanoid form with a glowing blue pupil staring back at him. [Dead Air] had done what it was supposed to do and cleared away part of Zeke's face but only the exterior-little more effect than peeling off one's halloween costume-and upon coming into contact with the gifted's real skin, Crane's power dissipated. Couldn't do a damn thing against water in any of it's forms. "Don't you know what they say about assuming, Crane?" Zeke spoke with his voice carrying hints of sounding as though glasses were being clinked together. "If I were a 'normal' Gifted, your little plan might have worked. You'd destroy a portion of my head. I'd die." Tightening his grip around the the hilt of the sword that was still stuck in Crane's arm, Zeke gave it a sharp twist. "Not this time." The blade was snapped off at the hilt leaving a chunk of blade left in Crane's arm.
Both of his arms hung at his side, one bleeding, the other frozen solid.
Crane was helpless.
"Tch....agh....." Watching as steam from [Dead Air] continued to hiss off Zeke's true skin, the gifted lunged forward and smashed his knee into the bottom of Crane's jaw. "Aaaaaaahhhh!!" The reverend was launched up into the air, his static barely able to keep up with him. Holding his left arm out to the side, Zeke began encasing it in a thick layer of ice to the point it almost resembled a knight's gauntlet. "Ice..." Creating miniature platforms to jump on, Zeke made his way upwards until he was level with Crane in the air. He pulled his left arm back. "Drop!" The static attempted to move to Crane's defense but it was just too slow. The gauntlet struck Crane square in the back and he screamed in agony.
"AAAAAGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHhhhhhh!!!"
The static started to disappear and Crane's skull began fading away, returning back to his normal appearance, a tired older man. Crashing into the ground with a thunderous 'krakoooooom!', Zeke touched back down and looked over at the blossoming crater. In the center of it was Crane, his eyes closed and no static anywhere to be seen. There was to be no second winds or getting up this time. Zeke had done what he'd come here to do : wrap things up. Multi...didn't quite see it that way. Having at least a dozen clones still train their guns on Crane's unconscious body, the main one or at least the one that Multi had deigned to speak through stepped towards Zeke who was currently trying to regenerate the part of his 'costume' that Crane had destroyed. "Well....You did it, Zeke. Thanks for the 'help.'" Multi spat, clearly not bitter at having one of his childhood friends steal this victory from him. "Of course, Multi. It was your win after all. How could I not help the one who brought down Father Death?"
"Wha-No, Zeke, c'mon. My clones didn't do that, you-"
Zeke reached out and gently placed a cool hand atop the clone's shoulder. "I came to help. I did. I'm certain that if I didn't, your clones would have wore him down. Whether you believe it or not, this is your victory. Imagine how proud our comrades will be when they hear of your exploits." The idea of the other gifted that had been raised/trained to be soldiers like Zeke and Multi praising him did get Multi to smile a little bit. "....Alright. I'll have some of my clones slap the anti-gifted cuffs on him and get a stretcher."
"Perfect. Now, Multi. What about the rest of the Crusaders? Surely your clones must have them under control, yes?"
Uh oh.
"....Well.....About that, Zeke....."
"What???"
Thanny
zz' and glancing down, he saw a small trail of static condensing itself into something of a miniature cloud for Crane to stand upon to steady himself. 
