MidwayLives
"What's your favorite scary movie...?"
Have a group of OCs I'm particularly proud of! Made em for an RP that unfortunately didn't really take off for long. But for the time that it was around? I absolutely adored it and still do. The setting, the lore, the potential for character building. Still really appreciate the amount of work that was put into it regardless. Hoping to continue to re-use/further expand on these OCs as time goes by. I've never been too particularly happy with my skills as a writer so to create something that I'm just genuinely happy with? Really means something to me. Futuristic - Sparked OOC Thread | RpNation <- the RP in question if that's worth anything.
So with a little bit of free time under my belt(I work a LOT so I usually don't get to say that too often....)I figured I'd just write out a little bit with the Crusaders. Nothing too outrageous, just scenes that've been nagging at my brain and I figure I'd just throw onto my empty canvas. Hope whoever might see this and skim by has a lovely day!
~~~
Serving the Lord in the best way he could had always been Henry Crane's goal. That had never changed even as the hand of time ate away at him. He didn't once blame God for the incidents in his life. From his wife's passing to his needing to rely more on a cane than he would have liked. All part of God's great design at work. Somethings were just meant to happen. Even as his own children-grown though they were-voiced their 'concern' for him being so outspoken about the beliefs he'd had since he was a boy, he never hated them for it. They were just misguided as all those who'd stood in his way were. Least of all was the white haired deviant who'd consistently been a thorn in his side from the moment they'd met.
The group he'd lead was known as the Modern Crusaders-a name he felt apt for the change that they'd work to bring about in this new world. One with powers that were surely granted upon God's chosen ones. Which made it all the more irritating that this one kept standing against his group's efforts like a boiling pustule you just couldn't nip. The group of four had been tracked down to a hotel that they'd been staying at under assumed aliases. After some financial research into how exactly said trip had been funded/Odd's connection to the weapons company EXCELSIOR TECH, there they were again. Right on Crane's figurative and literal doorstep.
A demand was given. Though he would not heed it.
To surrender. Hah! What a ridiculous notion. Regardless of what transpired here today, the man that the media had come to brandish as 'Father Death'(a title he absolutely despised. He felt as though it painted him as a villain, somebody to be feared. When all he wished to do was help those who'd been blessed by God fully utilize their newly gained gifts for their benefit.) would not back down. His right hand tightened around the handle of his cane. He glanced briefly over at those he'd at one point looked upon. Two of the 'blessed' that'd stuck with the group through thick and through thin. Odd and Jean. Whatever hangups he might have had about their origins didn't matter anymore. He'd been foolish to ever think it mattered at all. If there was anytime he would have accepted the moniker of an old racist fool? It'd have been then.
"Old man..." Odd murmured, softly enough so as not to be heard by the one waiting on the other side of the door.
"What are we going to do...?" Jean chimed in. Having initially been forced into the group after a pickpocketing gone wrong, she'd oddly grown attached to the other three. Odd in particular despite the blind youth's tenacity for doing whatever came to mind morality be damned. That said even she knew that physically the person behind that door had all of them except BYOB outclassed. Just charging out wouldn't end well but was the other option? To just keep running? Now that Odd's cover had been blown, it wouldn't be long before the feds started getting involved to see why money from one of their biggest weapon manufacturers was finding itself in the hands of domestic terrorists.
Byob's facial expression couldn't be read through his-rarely removed-mask. As energy cackled up and down his forearms, it was clear surrendering was the furthest thing from his mind. "We won't let you face them all alone, Reverend. I'll stick with you to the end."
"Same here."
"....Yeah, what they said, Old Man."
It was a strange sight to see a skeleton smile. Even stranger to see it smile while dressed in the attire of a preacher. "Sadly my children, there's nothing more to be done. At least not for this old soul." He strode toward the door with the bottom of his cane tapping against the floor as he went. "Mister Bob...be a dear and bring Odd and Jean to safety won't you? I'm going to tend to some....unfinished business." Death spoke with his native Georgia-accent slipping through. All three were taken aback by the reverend's words. "Old Man, I might be blind but I'm sure as hell not deaf! It sounds like you want us to bail on you!" "Yeah, Odd's right! We can't let you fight them alone!"
"I can't leave you....." BYOB stated quietly but firmly.
The old man chuckled wistfully.
"I am a firm believer in God's will...but just this once...." The eyesockets which were once pitch black began to shine with the dim of a red light in each of them. "....Accept my will above all else." The television situated upon the wall began to buzz and the image grew distorted as a curtain of static started to seep up through the carpeting in the floor. The creation and manipulation of such a phenomena was the source of Father Death's power: [White Noise]! The static lashed out and grabbed the other three Crusaders. Their cries of protest, especially those of BYOB-the first one to be recruited by Death-fell on deaf ears. The glass shattered as the three were dumped out the window. BYOB would survive the fall with no trouble and if there was any? He'd heal up in no time. Odd wouldn't fare quite as well if he were to hit the ground unaided. Jean wouldn't let that happen. Grabbing Odd's hands, Jean's wings flapped as she tried to descend safely towards the ground.
Keeping a trail of static floating near the shattered window, he'd wanted to prevent any erstwhile rescue attempts. The three had their youth and their powers to further explore and grow. Returning his attention to the door, he never once loosened his grip on his cane. "Everything's on your plate now, Odd. ...My boy. I'm sure you'll do just fine." He thought to himself as another smile appeared on his face.
This wasn't a fight he was going to walk away from.
The door was kicked with such force that when it shattered? He found it too hard to even describe what rained over him as splinters. There wasn't the slightest remnant of what had at seconds ago constituted a door. As the splinters of a more noticeable size started to descend upon him, Death didn't so much as move an inch. Moderate buzzing followed the movements of his static as it caught and absorbed each bit of wood that got just too close for comfort. Physically fragile he may have been but such was the benefit of his power: an ability that would never let another touch him unless he willed it. That was the gift of [White Noise]. Standing in the doorway was a youth that looked young enough to be Death's child let alone his enemy. Their frame also certainly didn't carry any hints that shattering doors to pieces was as low as the ball got on what they could do. Their eyes focused on Father Death with only a minute glance given to the static obscuring the shattered window.
"The others won't get far. The Crusaders are done terrorizing the city, Crane."
He chuckled. There wasn't any warmth to it. None whatsoever.
"Terrorize? Is that what you think I've spent all my time doing? My dear...that's the kind of ignorance that I've been trying so hard to weed out of you. Everywhere the Crusaders go, you're there. An arrow in our side, a bullet festering in our infected wound. If you'd only see how blessed you are to have the strength that you do...You'd see that you should join my cause, not impede it!" With a flick of their snow white bangs, they scoffed. "Join the superpowered terrorists lead by a religious nutjob? Sorry, not really on my list of things to do." Death exhaled and splayed his free hand to the side. "Ah well. I suppose I shouldn't be too harsh. You're still young with room to grow. ...All that said, I can't allow you to pursue my children. They're going to continue my work you see."
"The work of hurting people? Killing anyone who gets in your way?"
The glow in Death's sockets got brighter. "You frame me as a monster, Beckett. But you couldn't be more wrong. Whether through your uncle's tampering with forces beyond his control or God's blessing, great change will come through those three and I'll not see it stopped. Not while I'm-" So fast! The static that moved to defend Death from the kick that would have otherwise certainly pulverized him, bulged outward with how far Beckett had managed to shove their boot into it. "So quick to come to blows. I guess talking's over then." The static gripped onto Beckett's leg and without even the slightest of gestures from Death, it whipped them across the room, their body crashing into and through a dresser. Turning his head to regard the thrown hero, he mused aloud. "It's truly a shame you know. Your uncle-despite everything else-he raised a fine youth. It's just such a pity you're on the wrong side." The static surged forward as Beckett got their bearings. Honestly, the dresser had been more affected than them. Jumping from side to side, Beckett nimbly avoided each incoming swipe of the static. They knew better than to let it linger on them for too long. They'd had first hand experience seeing what [White Noise]could do when it absorbed someone: it incorporated that person's being INTO the static. Left in constant agony as all they could do was scream. Their wails lost among the hissing and buzzing of the static. Little more than a ghost in the machine.
"My uncle raised me...tch....to see...agh....The difference between right and wrong..."
"...Oh? Is it not right to help uplift others as I've done?"
Beckett grit their teeth. "Don't even PRETEND what you're doing is helping anyone but your own sick twisted ideology! Were those people at the TV station 'uplifted?' What about the civilians who got caught up in BYOB's explosions?! WHAT ABOUT JOHNNY?!" It'd been through Odd's cold-blooded murder of Johnny that the group had put their efforts into looking into Odd's civilian identity/eventually connecting him as the only living heir to EXCELSIOR TECH. Something that'd put the Crusader's entire operation into jeopardy. Even so....Death had no regrets leaving Odd in charge of things if something were to happen. "Not all of us are blessed." Was Death's simple reply.
Beckett didn't take it too well.
Bursting forward with a kick that even though the static blocked it...the force behind it was still enough to reach Death and send him flying back. His cane was captured by his static and he himself was caught before he smashed into-and likely through-the wall. "If it hadn't been for my [White Noise] that kick...." No, it didn't bare thinking about. Not when he had to focus. It didn't matter what happened to him. Those three needed to be given as much time to escape as his old bones could muster. Coming to a stop and looking down at their foot, Beckett's face scrunched up. The feeling that Death's static left was always uncomfortable. It felt like a dozen of bristling pins and needles wracking their way across your skin. Over and over again. With one additional caveat that if it lingered too long upon your skin? It'd take a piece. But if they just managed to keep their distance and wear Crane down, they could bring an end to all of this. The misery, the suffering, the Modern Crusaders. All of it could end.
Shifting his cane back over to him, Death coughed and leaned forward slightly. "The strength beyond even just a glancing blow...How monstrous. To engage in hand to hand combat would be a fool's errand. They'd overpower me in no time and all my efforts would be for naught..." Gazing over slightly to his left hand, a sly grin spread across Crane's face. Reaching his hand up to his face, Crane bit down on one of the fingertips of the black glove cover it and began to pull it. Beckett's eyes narrowed and they moved forward again, the floor shaking under their power. Their right arm was cocked back and ready to crash through however much static Death put between them and knock this old bastard out once and for all.
*VSSSSSH*
The blow hit nothing but air. The force conjured up by the power behind said strike continuing forward and creating another cannonball sized hole through the wall. "How the hell...Where did he-?!" It was then that Beckett felt something press against their left side inches above their external oblique. The buzzing burrowed into their ears as Death leaned forward close enough for Beckett to feel his cold breath upon the nape of their neck. "Dead Air." Then they felt the sharp bristling that they were used to with Death's static and then a painful ripping. As if an entire chunk of flesh had been torn out all at once. Blood dripped onto the devastated floor of the hotel room as Beckett looked down at where a part of flesh had once resided on their upper torso. Static hummed around Death's skeletal hand as his sockets glowed like raging embers. "I knew I couldn't stop you in a show of strength. So I'll just have to take you into my static....Piece. By. Piece."
Dead Air was a subset of [White Noise] that exclusively manifested in Death's hands. Basically composing itself as a more concentrated version of [White Noise]'s static. It didn't need to go through the whole process of covering the entire length of an object it wished to absorb. Physical contact was all that was required in most cases. With the exceptions of certain materials: water, specific types of metal, and blockades like energy/psychic barriers, Dead Air bypasses an opponent's strength and speed. A touch is all that's needed. Beckett's eye twitched. It was a perk that came with their power but it wasn't too often that they felt pain like this. Sure, they'd been thrown through walls and even had that BYOB guy blow up right in their face, but to have a strip of flesh just....expunged like that. With a bloody space where it used to be, they lashed out in an attempt to strike Death. Kicking off the floor and letting his static 'push' him along, the blow didn't quite land as Beckett had intended. The forcewave shot through the doorway and straight through the door parallel to this room.
...But that didn't mean it did nothing.
Guiding himself to a stop as the soles of his boots, Death looked over to his right shoulder. Blood dripped down onto the floor from where there was now a massive tear across the shoulder of his preacher's cloak. It hurt, there was certainly no doubt about that. But even amid the pain Death still found time to be begrudgingly impressed. "Even with my static shoving me along at speeds equal to or close to your own...You still managed to land a hit on me and ruin a perfectly good cloak." Shifting his arms out of the cloak, Death let it fall to the floor revealing the extent of the damage that had been done. Sitting upon his shoulder was a two finger deep gash. Left in nothing but his black pants and matching button up shirt, Crane's mutation thanks to [White Noise] was shown off. Not only did his head from the top to the neck down resemble that of a skeleton, his arms were no different and yet despite his frankly undead appearance, he bled and lived just like any other man.
'Any other man...no. I'm more than that...'
His eyes glowed brighter.
'I am God's chosen.'
Beckett turned to face Crane and scoffed at his appearance. "Is this what you're so proud of, Crane? Is looking like this what you've got to look forward to in this new world of yours? If you really think God's the one who gave us our powers then they must have a sick sense of humor." The hero chided but Death shook his head from side to side. "Sacrifices are necessary, my dear. I'd hoped after losing so many of your companions, you'd have realized that by now. My appearance might seem grotesque to some but I'll take it upon the chin and do whatever I must in order to enact HIS will. If this is the form that the Lord has chosen for me then so be it. I'm not one to argue with divinity."
"...Or common sense for that matter." Beckett coughed.
"Beckett, my dear, I think it's plainly obvious we're not going to convince eachother. So why not cease with this pointless dialogue?"
"Took the words right out of my-ugh!" Beckett winced as they'd moved to try and take another blow. Blood gushed from where Dead Air had taken it's pound of flesh. Death said nothing but he tilted his head at the sight. 'Did you think I'd simply settle for a glancing blow upon you and leave things up to blind chance that it'd be enough to cripple you? No...Your strength is absolutely incredible. A sheer marvel to behold. With the slightest flick of your wrist, you could have torn that door asunder a hundred times over. I doubt you couldn't destroy this entire building if it so suited you. My [White Noise] needs precious time to fully take in whatever it's ensnared. You're the only person I've ever met to defy that. So when I used Dead Air I targeted part of your abdominal muscles. Try winding up a punch or even twisting your body without aggravating the wound.'
Crane let his cane hover next to his person as he removed his other glove.
'Achilles has shown me their heel and I've taken it! This fight has reached it's conclusion. You'll stand in my way no longer, BECKETT!!!" Grabbing his cane, Death's static launched him forward as he held his free hand out to try and strip another bounty of flesh from Beckett's body. 'Your speed is great but I don't need to finish you off right this second. Little by little I'll whittle you down and soon you'll plague me no longer!" Beckett closed their right hand into a fist and swung outwards. Static poured upwards to deflect the incoming blow just enough so it'd glance off Crane's chin, leaving yet another gash to split open across his face. 'Just another glancing blow did...all that??' He thought as blood stained the milky white bone of his face. "It doesn't matter....I'll have another piece of you! DEAD AIR!" His palm slammed against Beckett's chest, the static buzzed and Beckett's eyes widened.
Seconds clicked by as the two stared eachother down. Their eyes glaring into his glowing eyesockets.
Then it dawned on Crane what had happened. "Dead Air isn't...It isn't taking anything. What's happening here???" Looking down, he'd see the lengthy splatter of blood draped across Beckett's chest. "When you threw that punch at me..." Beckett smirked. "That's right...I knew you'd just stop me from clocking you. But I knew that with the momentum, my wound would throw up enough blood to delay you from taking another chunk out of me. Biology lesson, Crane..." Beckett growled as they gripped onto the arm Crane was currently channeling Dead Air through. "Blood's composed of plasma...and you know what's in plasma?" Crane couldn't exactly express fear on his face, barren as it was, but the desperation in which he tried to pull his arm free got the point clear across. Beckett closed and opened their left hand a couple of times before closing it up tight in a fist.
"70% water."
The punch came in hot.
'If that hits me....'
It'd be all over. It was too fast for his static to mass itself up enough to stop. Even if it did, the force in this proximity would break bones. Possibly even cause internal bleeding. A higher probability given his age. Then if they worked to endure the pain of their wound, they'd catch up to the other three in no time. Having made his last stand here completely pointless in the long term. It'd been a long road to get to the point where the four members of the Crusaders not only tolerated but helped eachother but Crane had left things in Odd's hands in case anything were to happen. He couldn't just let that trust just go to waste! Shifting his cane up in the path of the incoming punch, Death channeled Dead Air through his remaining hand.
"DEAD AIR!"
The punch shattered the cane in twain and swung straight into Death's open palm. The static buzzed like a persistent insect and it was only through Beckett holding his arm that Death wasn't simply flung back by the force generated from the standoff. Due to a combination of the sheer energy radiating off Beckett's fist and the blood staining the knuckles slowing down Dead Air's consumption, the floor began to crackle and crumble due to the strain it was being put through. Their eyes never left the other. Both of them knew that the other had the tools in their arsenal to finish the other off. This was a fight to decide who walked away and who didn't. Static began to manifest under Death's shoes as the floor was practically torn asunder by the two's power struggle. Shaking his head as blood dripped down his chin, Death finally looked down, breaking the stare off with Beckett.
*snap snap*
Two of his fingers and his thumb had been broken by Beckett's punch. If either their hand wasn't absorbed soon or the standoff broken, Death imagined his entire hand would be shattered in due time. A tendril made of static lashed out, swiping at at Beckett's open wound. The hero grit their teeth and tried to dig in. Blood ran down the side of their pants and onto the disintegrating floor and Death's broken fingers flailed uselessly in the wind. One of them had to give.
"GRRRRRRAAAAAAGHHH!!!"
Putting their back into it, Beckett slammed their foot forward and let go of Death's arm in the process. The static retreated from their wound and Death was flung back. Not just out of the room but the adjacent one and straight through the wall to the outside of the hotel. With the street right below him. Beckett for their part fell to a knee immediately after Death had been knocked away. The toll their watch was taking on them meant that this couldn't go on for much longer. The longer this dragged out the further the other three got away. The more innocent lives would be in jeopardy.
They had to stop him. Now.
No matter what it took.
Having been sent sailing through at least a door and a wall, Crane wasn't in the best shape either. His left hand had been left completely mangled. Only two fingers remained on it that weren't broken and his cane had been destroyed in the process. Leaving him to have to rely entirely on his static for balance. But as he descended down to the street below, he looked at his arm. The bone hadn't been broken(it'd be easy to tell given he was y'know partially a skeleton)and yet in those precious few moments Beckett could have snapped it like a twig. Robbing him of both a hand and an arm. "They could have taken my whole arm if they hadn't let go when they'd punched me.' The shock alone from having his arm forcibly ripped off might have been enough to kill the older man, let alone stop him.
He chuckled softly to himself.
"Such a kind soul....Even to a devil like me."
Beckett stepped into the room where they'd seen Death fly through. There hadn't been any screams or sound of an impact. Which meant that he was still falling. If they jumped out and grabbed him, maybe they could just knock him out mid descent. As they gazed out the man-shaped hole though, they didn't see him falling...or at all for that matter. Looking up they'd catch the slightest trail of static disappear over and onto the roof of the hotel. So even after all that, the geezer still had enough in him to save himself from falling. Well, if he thought that he was going to get the jump on them from up there, he had another thing coming. Spreading their feet apart and clutching at their wound, Beckett braced themselves and jumped-
*CRASH*
Right through the remaining floors and the roof itself.
They'd managed to do it! They'd cleared the roof, they-....they'd jumped perhaps a bit too high. It was clear in a matter of seconds that they'd overshot the strength with which they needed to jump. Looking down at the roof with a now huge hole in it, they'd see Father Death standing and looking up at them. With his static pinning his broken fingers down, he raised both his hands up and laughed. "Hahahahah! I knew you wouldn't be able to resist the urge, my young friend! You'd want to stop me before I made any other moves! To bring this matter to a close! All good intentions of course!" There was a LOUD rumble and Beckett could see static creeping up the sides of the building. A LOT of static.... Enough to almost eclipse the entire building. "It's taken everything I have but I have you where I want you, Beckett! " Static scraped along the windows and it'd be lucky that Beckett had evacuated any other occupants beforehand. Otherwise they might have been terrified of the kaiju-sized wave of static scaling the walls.
"Unless I'm sorely mistaken, you prefer jumping to flying isn't that right? Which means once you've set a path, you're stuck on it!" The static wave vibrated and buzzed and if Beckett peered hard enough, they could see the countless faces of those who'd been consumed by the static. Whether they enemy, friends, or anybody who'd just gotten in the way, [White Noise] had consumed them all. Leaving their remnants here to scream in terror. The static moved to engulf Beckett who was still descending back down towards the roof.
"WHITE NOISE: ARMAGEDDON!!!"
The static tore away at the hotel and the last thing he'd seen of Beckett was the defiant look on their face. Even as the mammoth sized wave of static washed over their person. He hadn't expected anything less. The sheer effort of manifesting so much static had certainly taken a toll upon him. As had the battle in general. Falling to his knees, he panted and coughed. On his 'trip' through the wall at least two-to-three ribs had been broken. If any of Beckett's friends had accompanied them here, least of all that annoying one who could manipulate gravity....Well, he supposed he should have felt at least some degree of sorrow over what had just transpired. In every encounter he always tried to convince Beckett to join the Crusaders. To realize just how powerful and superior their strength made them. They could clear entire buildings in a single leap. They could treat tanks like a child did a toy car. Yet even in the end they chose to spite him.
"Rest easy, Beckett. You'll continue to exist among the halls of my..."
Wait. Where were they? A brief glance over the 'faces' of his static didn't seem to show Beckett's at all. He hadn't even heard a final scream or wail come to think of it. Looking around, he began to panic despite himself. It just didn't make any sense. Their powers were limited solely to their great strength and durability hadn't that been it? There was no way they could have avoided [White Noise] not when they'd been that close!
"aaaaaaah-"
....No, it couldn't have been.
"aaaaaHHHH-"
It wasn't possible..."
"AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!"
Pushing himself up to his feet, Death watched as a small blip appeared to be carving it's way down through his static. With 'bites' being taken out of them here and there, Death focused entirely on Beckett's right arm which was swinging downward in a chopping motion. It hadn't been the water in their blood delaying the static from consuming Beckett. It was just another feat of raw strength. One that Death hadn't accounted for and just couldn't match. Ripping themselves free from the massive wash of static, Beckett grit their teeth and glared daggers down at Death.
"CRANE!!!! IT'S....."
They raised their right hand.
Crane raised his.
"OVER!!!"
"NO! DEAD AIR-"
The force beyond this blow was unpredicted. Even for Beckett's standards. Some of the impact had been absorbed by Dead Air. Likely just enough to avoid what otherwise would have been an unintentional killing blow. Instead, Beckett watched as Crane's left arm/shoulder twisted and shattered and the glow began fading from his eyesockets. "AGH....." Then the force of Beckett's last blow continued to soar downwards. Carving through floor after floor until it reached the bottom. Leaving what had once been a luxurious hotel cut straight in half. As the static started to dissipate/disappear around them, Beckett started to sail downwards like a rock. They watched as the glow faded from Death's eyesockets and his features began to change. It seemed upon being knocked out/rendered unconscious, [White Noise] deactivated and the man that Henry Crane used to be reemerged.
"He looks...Looks just like.."
A regular old man.
Nobody noteworthy.
But as the two continued to fall down towards the ground for whatever fate awaited them, both knew in their hearts.
This had been the toughest fight of their lives.
So with a little bit of free time under my belt(I work a LOT so I usually don't get to say that too often....)I figured I'd just write out a little bit with the Crusaders. Nothing too outrageous, just scenes that've been nagging at my brain and I figure I'd just throw onto my empty canvas. Hope whoever might see this and skim by has a lovely day!
~~~
Serving the Lord in the best way he could had always been Henry Crane's goal. That had never changed even as the hand of time ate away at him. He didn't once blame God for the incidents in his life. From his wife's passing to his needing to rely more on a cane than he would have liked. All part of God's great design at work. Somethings were just meant to happen. Even as his own children-grown though they were-voiced their 'concern' for him being so outspoken about the beliefs he'd had since he was a boy, he never hated them for it. They were just misguided as all those who'd stood in his way were. Least of all was the white haired deviant who'd consistently been a thorn in his side from the moment they'd met.
The group he'd lead was known as the Modern Crusaders-a name he felt apt for the change that they'd work to bring about in this new world. One with powers that were surely granted upon God's chosen ones. Which made it all the more irritating that this one kept standing against his group's efforts like a boiling pustule you just couldn't nip. The group of four had been tracked down to a hotel that they'd been staying at under assumed aliases. After some financial research into how exactly said trip had been funded/Odd's connection to the weapons company EXCELSIOR TECH, there they were again. Right on Crane's figurative and literal doorstep.
A demand was given. Though he would not heed it.
To surrender. Hah! What a ridiculous notion. Regardless of what transpired here today, the man that the media had come to brandish as 'Father Death'(a title he absolutely despised. He felt as though it painted him as a villain, somebody to be feared. When all he wished to do was help those who'd been blessed by God fully utilize their newly gained gifts for their benefit.) would not back down. His right hand tightened around the handle of his cane. He glanced briefly over at those he'd at one point looked upon. Two of the 'blessed' that'd stuck with the group through thick and through thin. Odd and Jean. Whatever hangups he might have had about their origins didn't matter anymore. He'd been foolish to ever think it mattered at all. If there was anytime he would have accepted the moniker of an old racist fool? It'd have been then.
"Old man..." Odd murmured, softly enough so as not to be heard by the one waiting on the other side of the door.
"What are we going to do...?" Jean chimed in. Having initially been forced into the group after a pickpocketing gone wrong, she'd oddly grown attached to the other three. Odd in particular despite the blind youth's tenacity for doing whatever came to mind morality be damned. That said even she knew that physically the person behind that door had all of them except BYOB outclassed. Just charging out wouldn't end well but was the other option? To just keep running? Now that Odd's cover had been blown, it wouldn't be long before the feds started getting involved to see why money from one of their biggest weapon manufacturers was finding itself in the hands of domestic terrorists.
Byob's facial expression couldn't be read through his-rarely removed-mask. As energy cackled up and down his forearms, it was clear surrendering was the furthest thing from his mind. "We won't let you face them all alone, Reverend. I'll stick with you to the end."
"Same here."
"....Yeah, what they said, Old Man."
It was a strange sight to see a skeleton smile. Even stranger to see it smile while dressed in the attire of a preacher. "Sadly my children, there's nothing more to be done. At least not for this old soul." He strode toward the door with the bottom of his cane tapping against the floor as he went. "Mister Bob...be a dear and bring Odd and Jean to safety won't you? I'm going to tend to some....unfinished business." Death spoke with his native Georgia-accent slipping through. All three were taken aback by the reverend's words. "Old Man, I might be blind but I'm sure as hell not deaf! It sounds like you want us to bail on you!" "Yeah, Odd's right! We can't let you fight them alone!"
"I can't leave you....." BYOB stated quietly but firmly.
The old man chuckled wistfully.
"I am a firm believer in God's will...but just this once...." The eyesockets which were once pitch black began to shine with the dim of a red light in each of them. "....Accept my will above all else." The television situated upon the wall began to buzz and the image grew distorted as a curtain of static started to seep up through the carpeting in the floor. The creation and manipulation of such a phenomena was the source of Father Death's power: [White Noise]! The static lashed out and grabbed the other three Crusaders. Their cries of protest, especially those of BYOB-the first one to be recruited by Death-fell on deaf ears. The glass shattered as the three were dumped out the window. BYOB would survive the fall with no trouble and if there was any? He'd heal up in no time. Odd wouldn't fare quite as well if he were to hit the ground unaided. Jean wouldn't let that happen. Grabbing Odd's hands, Jean's wings flapped as she tried to descend safely towards the ground.
Keeping a trail of static floating near the shattered window, he'd wanted to prevent any erstwhile rescue attempts. The three had their youth and their powers to further explore and grow. Returning his attention to the door, he never once loosened his grip on his cane. "Everything's on your plate now, Odd. ...My boy. I'm sure you'll do just fine." He thought to himself as another smile appeared on his face.
This wasn't a fight he was going to walk away from.
The door was kicked with such force that when it shattered? He found it too hard to even describe what rained over him as splinters. There wasn't the slightest remnant of what had at seconds ago constituted a door. As the splinters of a more noticeable size started to descend upon him, Death didn't so much as move an inch. Moderate buzzing followed the movements of his static as it caught and absorbed each bit of wood that got just too close for comfort. Physically fragile he may have been but such was the benefit of his power: an ability that would never let another touch him unless he willed it. That was the gift of [White Noise]. Standing in the doorway was a youth that looked young enough to be Death's child let alone his enemy. Their frame also certainly didn't carry any hints that shattering doors to pieces was as low as the ball got on what they could do. Their eyes focused on Father Death with only a minute glance given to the static obscuring the shattered window.
"The others won't get far. The Crusaders are done terrorizing the city, Crane."
He chuckled. There wasn't any warmth to it. None whatsoever.
"Terrorize? Is that what you think I've spent all my time doing? My dear...that's the kind of ignorance that I've been trying so hard to weed out of you. Everywhere the Crusaders go, you're there. An arrow in our side, a bullet festering in our infected wound. If you'd only see how blessed you are to have the strength that you do...You'd see that you should join my cause, not impede it!" With a flick of their snow white bangs, they scoffed. "Join the superpowered terrorists lead by a religious nutjob? Sorry, not really on my list of things to do." Death exhaled and splayed his free hand to the side. "Ah well. I suppose I shouldn't be too harsh. You're still young with room to grow. ...All that said, I can't allow you to pursue my children. They're going to continue my work you see."
"The work of hurting people? Killing anyone who gets in your way?"
The glow in Death's sockets got brighter. "You frame me as a monster, Beckett. But you couldn't be more wrong. Whether through your uncle's tampering with forces beyond his control or God's blessing, great change will come through those three and I'll not see it stopped. Not while I'm-" So fast! The static that moved to defend Death from the kick that would have otherwise certainly pulverized him, bulged outward with how far Beckett had managed to shove their boot into it. "So quick to come to blows. I guess talking's over then." The static gripped onto Beckett's leg and without even the slightest of gestures from Death, it whipped them across the room, their body crashing into and through a dresser. Turning his head to regard the thrown hero, he mused aloud. "It's truly a shame you know. Your uncle-despite everything else-he raised a fine youth. It's just such a pity you're on the wrong side." The static surged forward as Beckett got their bearings. Honestly, the dresser had been more affected than them. Jumping from side to side, Beckett nimbly avoided each incoming swipe of the static. They knew better than to let it linger on them for too long. They'd had first hand experience seeing what [White Noise]could do when it absorbed someone: it incorporated that person's being INTO the static. Left in constant agony as all they could do was scream. Their wails lost among the hissing and buzzing of the static. Little more than a ghost in the machine.
"My uncle raised me...tch....to see...agh....The difference between right and wrong..."
"...Oh? Is it not right to help uplift others as I've done?"
Beckett grit their teeth. "Don't even PRETEND what you're doing is helping anyone but your own sick twisted ideology! Were those people at the TV station 'uplifted?' What about the civilians who got caught up in BYOB's explosions?! WHAT ABOUT JOHNNY?!" It'd been through Odd's cold-blooded murder of Johnny that the group had put their efforts into looking into Odd's civilian identity/eventually connecting him as the only living heir to EXCELSIOR TECH. Something that'd put the Crusader's entire operation into jeopardy. Even so....Death had no regrets leaving Odd in charge of things if something were to happen. "Not all of us are blessed." Was Death's simple reply.
Beckett didn't take it too well.
Bursting forward with a kick that even though the static blocked it...the force behind it was still enough to reach Death and send him flying back. His cane was captured by his static and he himself was caught before he smashed into-and likely through-the wall. "If it hadn't been for my [White Noise] that kick...." No, it didn't bare thinking about. Not when he had to focus. It didn't matter what happened to him. Those three needed to be given as much time to escape as his old bones could muster. Coming to a stop and looking down at their foot, Beckett's face scrunched up. The feeling that Death's static left was always uncomfortable. It felt like a dozen of bristling pins and needles wracking their way across your skin. Over and over again. With one additional caveat that if it lingered too long upon your skin? It'd take a piece. But if they just managed to keep their distance and wear Crane down, they could bring an end to all of this. The misery, the suffering, the Modern Crusaders. All of it could end.
Shifting his cane back over to him, Death coughed and leaned forward slightly. "The strength beyond even just a glancing blow...How monstrous. To engage in hand to hand combat would be a fool's errand. They'd overpower me in no time and all my efforts would be for naught..." Gazing over slightly to his left hand, a sly grin spread across Crane's face. Reaching his hand up to his face, Crane bit down on one of the fingertips of the black glove cover it and began to pull it. Beckett's eyes narrowed and they moved forward again, the floor shaking under their power. Their right arm was cocked back and ready to crash through however much static Death put between them and knock this old bastard out once and for all.
*VSSSSSH*
The blow hit nothing but air. The force conjured up by the power behind said strike continuing forward and creating another cannonball sized hole through the wall. "How the hell...Where did he-?!" It was then that Beckett felt something press against their left side inches above their external oblique. The buzzing burrowed into their ears as Death leaned forward close enough for Beckett to feel his cold breath upon the nape of their neck. "Dead Air." Then they felt the sharp bristling that they were used to with Death's static and then a painful ripping. As if an entire chunk of flesh had been torn out all at once. Blood dripped onto the devastated floor of the hotel room as Beckett looked down at where a part of flesh had once resided on their upper torso. Static hummed around Death's skeletal hand as his sockets glowed like raging embers. "I knew I couldn't stop you in a show of strength. So I'll just have to take you into my static....Piece. By. Piece."
Dead Air was a subset of [White Noise] that exclusively manifested in Death's hands. Basically composing itself as a more concentrated version of [White Noise]'s static. It didn't need to go through the whole process of covering the entire length of an object it wished to absorb. Physical contact was all that was required in most cases. With the exceptions of certain materials: water, specific types of metal, and blockades like energy/psychic barriers, Dead Air bypasses an opponent's strength and speed. A touch is all that's needed. Beckett's eye twitched. It was a perk that came with their power but it wasn't too often that they felt pain like this. Sure, they'd been thrown through walls and even had that BYOB guy blow up right in their face, but to have a strip of flesh just....expunged like that. With a bloody space where it used to be, they lashed out in an attempt to strike Death. Kicking off the floor and letting his static 'push' him along, the blow didn't quite land as Beckett had intended. The forcewave shot through the doorway and straight through the door parallel to this room.
...But that didn't mean it did nothing.
Guiding himself to a stop as the soles of his boots, Death looked over to his right shoulder. Blood dripped down onto the floor from where there was now a massive tear across the shoulder of his preacher's cloak. It hurt, there was certainly no doubt about that. But even amid the pain Death still found time to be begrudgingly impressed. "Even with my static shoving me along at speeds equal to or close to your own...You still managed to land a hit on me and ruin a perfectly good cloak." Shifting his arms out of the cloak, Death let it fall to the floor revealing the extent of the damage that had been done. Sitting upon his shoulder was a two finger deep gash. Left in nothing but his black pants and matching button up shirt, Crane's mutation thanks to [White Noise] was shown off. Not only did his head from the top to the neck down resemble that of a skeleton, his arms were no different and yet despite his frankly undead appearance, he bled and lived just like any other man.
'Any other man...no. I'm more than that...'
His eyes glowed brighter.
'I am God's chosen.'
Beckett turned to face Crane and scoffed at his appearance. "Is this what you're so proud of, Crane? Is looking like this what you've got to look forward to in this new world of yours? If you really think God's the one who gave us our powers then they must have a sick sense of humor." The hero chided but Death shook his head from side to side. "Sacrifices are necessary, my dear. I'd hoped after losing so many of your companions, you'd have realized that by now. My appearance might seem grotesque to some but I'll take it upon the chin and do whatever I must in order to enact HIS will. If this is the form that the Lord has chosen for me then so be it. I'm not one to argue with divinity."
"...Or common sense for that matter." Beckett coughed.
"Beckett, my dear, I think it's plainly obvious we're not going to convince eachother. So why not cease with this pointless dialogue?"
"Took the words right out of my-ugh!" Beckett winced as they'd moved to try and take another blow. Blood gushed from where Dead Air had taken it's pound of flesh. Death said nothing but he tilted his head at the sight. 'Did you think I'd simply settle for a glancing blow upon you and leave things up to blind chance that it'd be enough to cripple you? No...Your strength is absolutely incredible. A sheer marvel to behold. With the slightest flick of your wrist, you could have torn that door asunder a hundred times over. I doubt you couldn't destroy this entire building if it so suited you. My [White Noise] needs precious time to fully take in whatever it's ensnared. You're the only person I've ever met to defy that. So when I used Dead Air I targeted part of your abdominal muscles. Try winding up a punch or even twisting your body without aggravating the wound.'
Crane let his cane hover next to his person as he removed his other glove.
'Achilles has shown me their heel and I've taken it! This fight has reached it's conclusion. You'll stand in my way no longer, BECKETT!!!" Grabbing his cane, Death's static launched him forward as he held his free hand out to try and strip another bounty of flesh from Beckett's body. 'Your speed is great but I don't need to finish you off right this second. Little by little I'll whittle you down and soon you'll plague me no longer!" Beckett closed their right hand into a fist and swung outwards. Static poured upwards to deflect the incoming blow just enough so it'd glance off Crane's chin, leaving yet another gash to split open across his face. 'Just another glancing blow did...all that??' He thought as blood stained the milky white bone of his face. "It doesn't matter....I'll have another piece of you! DEAD AIR!" His palm slammed against Beckett's chest, the static buzzed and Beckett's eyes widened.
Seconds clicked by as the two stared eachother down. Their eyes glaring into his glowing eyesockets.
Then it dawned on Crane what had happened. "Dead Air isn't...It isn't taking anything. What's happening here???" Looking down, he'd see the lengthy splatter of blood draped across Beckett's chest. "When you threw that punch at me..." Beckett smirked. "That's right...I knew you'd just stop me from clocking you. But I knew that with the momentum, my wound would throw up enough blood to delay you from taking another chunk out of me. Biology lesson, Crane..." Beckett growled as they gripped onto the arm Crane was currently channeling Dead Air through. "Blood's composed of plasma...and you know what's in plasma?" Crane couldn't exactly express fear on his face, barren as it was, but the desperation in which he tried to pull his arm free got the point clear across. Beckett closed and opened their left hand a couple of times before closing it up tight in a fist.
"70% water."
The punch came in hot.
'If that hits me....'
It'd be all over. It was too fast for his static to mass itself up enough to stop. Even if it did, the force in this proximity would break bones. Possibly even cause internal bleeding. A higher probability given his age. Then if they worked to endure the pain of their wound, they'd catch up to the other three in no time. Having made his last stand here completely pointless in the long term. It'd been a long road to get to the point where the four members of the Crusaders not only tolerated but helped eachother but Crane had left things in Odd's hands in case anything were to happen. He couldn't just let that trust just go to waste! Shifting his cane up in the path of the incoming punch, Death channeled Dead Air through his remaining hand.
"DEAD AIR!"
The punch shattered the cane in twain and swung straight into Death's open palm. The static buzzed like a persistent insect and it was only through Beckett holding his arm that Death wasn't simply flung back by the force generated from the standoff. Due to a combination of the sheer energy radiating off Beckett's fist and the blood staining the knuckles slowing down Dead Air's consumption, the floor began to crackle and crumble due to the strain it was being put through. Their eyes never left the other. Both of them knew that the other had the tools in their arsenal to finish the other off. This was a fight to decide who walked away and who didn't. Static began to manifest under Death's shoes as the floor was practically torn asunder by the two's power struggle. Shaking his head as blood dripped down his chin, Death finally looked down, breaking the stare off with Beckett.
*snap snap*
Two of his fingers and his thumb had been broken by Beckett's punch. If either their hand wasn't absorbed soon or the standoff broken, Death imagined his entire hand would be shattered in due time. A tendril made of static lashed out, swiping at at Beckett's open wound. The hero grit their teeth and tried to dig in. Blood ran down the side of their pants and onto the disintegrating floor and Death's broken fingers flailed uselessly in the wind. One of them had to give.
"GRRRRRRAAAAAAGHHH!!!"
Putting their back into it, Beckett slammed their foot forward and let go of Death's arm in the process. The static retreated from their wound and Death was flung back. Not just out of the room but the adjacent one and straight through the wall to the outside of the hotel. With the street right below him. Beckett for their part fell to a knee immediately after Death had been knocked away. The toll their watch was taking on them meant that this couldn't go on for much longer. The longer this dragged out the further the other three got away. The more innocent lives would be in jeopardy.
They had to stop him. Now.
No matter what it took.
Having been sent sailing through at least a door and a wall, Crane wasn't in the best shape either. His left hand had been left completely mangled. Only two fingers remained on it that weren't broken and his cane had been destroyed in the process. Leaving him to have to rely entirely on his static for balance. But as he descended down to the street below, he looked at his arm. The bone hadn't been broken(it'd be easy to tell given he was y'know partially a skeleton)and yet in those precious few moments Beckett could have snapped it like a twig. Robbing him of both a hand and an arm. "They could have taken my whole arm if they hadn't let go when they'd punched me.' The shock alone from having his arm forcibly ripped off might have been enough to kill the older man, let alone stop him.
He chuckled softly to himself.
"Such a kind soul....Even to a devil like me."
Beckett stepped into the room where they'd seen Death fly through. There hadn't been any screams or sound of an impact. Which meant that he was still falling. If they jumped out and grabbed him, maybe they could just knock him out mid descent. As they gazed out the man-shaped hole though, they didn't see him falling...or at all for that matter. Looking up they'd catch the slightest trail of static disappear over and onto the roof of the hotel. So even after all that, the geezer still had enough in him to save himself from falling. Well, if he thought that he was going to get the jump on them from up there, he had another thing coming. Spreading their feet apart and clutching at their wound, Beckett braced themselves and jumped-
*CRASH*
Right through the remaining floors and the roof itself.
They'd managed to do it! They'd cleared the roof, they-....they'd jumped perhaps a bit too high. It was clear in a matter of seconds that they'd overshot the strength with which they needed to jump. Looking down at the roof with a now huge hole in it, they'd see Father Death standing and looking up at them. With his static pinning his broken fingers down, he raised both his hands up and laughed. "Hahahahah! I knew you wouldn't be able to resist the urge, my young friend! You'd want to stop me before I made any other moves! To bring this matter to a close! All good intentions of course!" There was a LOUD rumble and Beckett could see static creeping up the sides of the building. A LOT of static.... Enough to almost eclipse the entire building. "It's taken everything I have but I have you where I want you, Beckett! " Static scraped along the windows and it'd be lucky that Beckett had evacuated any other occupants beforehand. Otherwise they might have been terrified of the kaiju-sized wave of static scaling the walls.
"Unless I'm sorely mistaken, you prefer jumping to flying isn't that right? Which means once you've set a path, you're stuck on it!" The static wave vibrated and buzzed and if Beckett peered hard enough, they could see the countless faces of those who'd been consumed by the static. Whether they enemy, friends, or anybody who'd just gotten in the way, [White Noise] had consumed them all. Leaving their remnants here to scream in terror. The static moved to engulf Beckett who was still descending back down towards the roof.
"WHITE NOISE: ARMAGEDDON!!!"
The static tore away at the hotel and the last thing he'd seen of Beckett was the defiant look on their face. Even as the mammoth sized wave of static washed over their person. He hadn't expected anything less. The sheer effort of manifesting so much static had certainly taken a toll upon him. As had the battle in general. Falling to his knees, he panted and coughed. On his 'trip' through the wall at least two-to-three ribs had been broken. If any of Beckett's friends had accompanied them here, least of all that annoying one who could manipulate gravity....Well, he supposed he should have felt at least some degree of sorrow over what had just transpired. In every encounter he always tried to convince Beckett to join the Crusaders. To realize just how powerful and superior their strength made them. They could clear entire buildings in a single leap. They could treat tanks like a child did a toy car. Yet even in the end they chose to spite him.
"Rest easy, Beckett. You'll continue to exist among the halls of my..."
Wait. Where were they? A brief glance over the 'faces' of his static didn't seem to show Beckett's at all. He hadn't even heard a final scream or wail come to think of it. Looking around, he began to panic despite himself. It just didn't make any sense. Their powers were limited solely to their great strength and durability hadn't that been it? There was no way they could have avoided [White Noise] not when they'd been that close!
"aaaaaaah-"
....No, it couldn't have been.
"aaaaaHHHH-"
It wasn't possible..."
"AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!!!"
Pushing himself up to his feet, Death watched as a small blip appeared to be carving it's way down through his static. With 'bites' being taken out of them here and there, Death focused entirely on Beckett's right arm which was swinging downward in a chopping motion. It hadn't been the water in their blood delaying the static from consuming Beckett. It was just another feat of raw strength. One that Death hadn't accounted for and just couldn't match. Ripping themselves free from the massive wash of static, Beckett grit their teeth and glared daggers down at Death.
"CRANE!!!! IT'S....."
They raised their right hand.
Crane raised his.
"OVER!!!"
"NO! DEAD AIR-"
The force beyond this blow was unpredicted. Even for Beckett's standards. Some of the impact had been absorbed by Dead Air. Likely just enough to avoid what otherwise would have been an unintentional killing blow. Instead, Beckett watched as Crane's left arm/shoulder twisted and shattered and the glow began fading from his eyesockets. "AGH....." Then the force of Beckett's last blow continued to soar downwards. Carving through floor after floor until it reached the bottom. Leaving what had once been a luxurious hotel cut straight in half. As the static started to dissipate/disappear around them, Beckett started to sail downwards like a rock. They watched as the glow faded from Death's eyesockets and his features began to change. It seemed upon being knocked out/rendered unconscious, [White Noise] deactivated and the man that Henry Crane used to be reemerged.
"He looks...Looks just like.."
A regular old man.
Nobody noteworthy.
But as the two continued to fall down towards the ground for whatever fate awaited them, both knew in their hearts.
This had been the toughest fight of their lives.
