athereal
. 2D af.
-Arc ONE-
New Universe War
New Universe War
-
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Fandom The Unbroken X-Men
- Thread starter athereal
- Start date
Its_Just_E
The light and the dark are always at war..
“I wonder what crap we can build today,” thought Cedric as he sat at his computer desk looking through Ebay to see what he can buy online. Was another normal day for him, woke up, searched the web for a bit, went to the pawn shop to buy some electronics to fix up, and then came back to make lunch. Easy going morning so far. Cedric lived in a decent size apartment in New York City. Nothing to flashy and nothing too run down, but a nice, cozy apartment. He made his money fixing up old and broken technology then turning around and selling it online for a profit. Since he was good with electronics, it made sense ya know. After a couple hours of messing with an old laptop, Cedric took a break to go hand out in front of the TV for a bit. Plopping down on the couch, Cedric started to flip through the channels to see what was on. He stopped at the news channel. Something caught his eye, the headline at the bottom was saying something about a small explosion near the old Xavier Mansion. He turned up the volume a bit and listened to the field reporter, “Residents and locals near the mansion have reported hearing small “explosions” or something that is making a loud noise around the abandoned Xavier Mansion. Local police are on the scene but so far, nothing has been report…” “Cedric…” Cedric jumped to his feet, instinctively making the gloves on his hands turn into his gauntlets and making electricity form around them. He had heard a voice. Looking around, it was just him in his apartment. He calmed himself thinking he was just tired from working. Then an image of the mansion flashed in his head. “What the hell is going on,” said Cedric out loud. Why was he seeing the mansion and why did he have a small urge to go there? Cedric needed some air. He grabbed his white jacket and bolted out the door.
RingSlinger
Senior Member
The mansion was, as usual, silent. It never felt empty. There was always this strange sense that you'd run into another young mutant as you turned the halls or walked up the steps. Like a flickering ghost you'd see the shape of an oncoming figure, only to blink and find yourself staring at a wall, or a shelf or a vase. All of the affectations of a haunted house with none of the fear. Perhaps that's what hauntings were. Just the sadness. The ever-present sensation that something was missing. That people were missing.
The silent was broken, subtly at first, by the "click click click" of the old-timey gas stove. Marty allowed a soft grin to spread across his face. He would never not be thankful that the gas and electricity here still worked. He had discovered this on accident, but it seemed that the mansion was not connected to any sort of city grid. All of the power came from some source he wasn't necessarily aware of, but one that kept the mansion up and running even with nobody paying the bills. It made sense to him for reasons that he didn't quite understand. Since he had started squatting here he found many things that just sort of clicked for reasons unclear. He found himself using the gym facilities, strolling the yard, and cooking with a level of familiarity that frankly gave him chills.
There was a constant sense that he knew what he was doing here and that he knew his way around, and that had been from day one. By now, of course, he was fairly familiar. By now he did had a decent idea of where things were. Was this merely a trick of the memory? Was he playing tricks on himself? Was he perhaps losing it from the fairly long isolation he found himself in? That was the odd thing about this mansion. He never quite did feel alone.
The uncooked vegetables slid unceremoniously into the pot of now boiling water.
There was a small town that wasn't altogether that far away from the mansion. If he put on a human face, he found himself able to use a combination of sleight of hand and illusory powers he currently held to make slips of paper appear to be money, and he never had to worry about being recognized if he shifted that human face on each visit.
If you were going to steal, he had discovered, it was best to do so in a way that wasn't discovered until much later. He had no desire to run from humans. Not any longer. Not to survive. His human face, however, was discarded now. The young boy boiling vegetables in the kitchen of this manner was a rich shade of green. The tank top he wore, fitted with a faded logo of this very manor, a piece of clothing he had found here, didn't hide the plated armor across his shoulders either. He felt no need. Not only because he was alone here, but also because that's just how this mansion felt. It felt like a place he could be himself.
"Almost..." he whispered to himself, as the oven below the burners began to heat. He held a small pan with a fairly simple seasoned chicken breast upon it. The chicken itself found its bed on a pile of sliced, softly boiled potatoes.
A small ding informed him that the oven had pre-heated to his desired level. "Perfect!" he said softly, opening the oven and feeling the heat radiate across his body as he began to slide the small baking pan in.
"Now all that's left..." he began to speak, but was interrupted, quite rudely, by a thunderous crash. Unbeknownst to Marty, a boy, it seems, had fallen through the roof of the manor. The damage from portions of the building shattering was unavoidable. He must have fallen from quite some distance to cause an impact like that. Marty, however, knew none of this. His first instinct was to clench his fists and assume a defensive position, the scaled armor on his body hardening naturally. A cloud of dust exploded into the kitchen from the impact, ruining both his potatoes and his chicken.
He noticed neither of these things, however, as his mind was suddenly adrift. His eyes rolled back in his head and he found himself buried deep with his mindscape, a brilliant desert, pink sand comfortably below him. He gazed around this place for a moment. It was his mental projection of the inside of his mind. He knew he had been here consciously before but he couldn’t remember when or why. The soft echoes of voices both his and not seemed to fill the empty air around him. “We dont have a choice” “it’s the only way” “you won’t remember.” His eyes fixated for a moment on what looked like a short tower of pink bricks a few hundred feet away from him.
Rising on the horizon, however, appeared to be the mushroom cloud of an atomic bomb. The shockwave echoed across his dreamscape, shocking him out of this vision with a white hot flash of searing pain. His eyes opened in time to find himself, carried by the force of that wave into the kitchen wall. Whatever created that explosion across the psychic domain of his subconscious carried enough force to affect his physical body as well.
The young man’s head thudded unhappily against the mahogany beam on the doorway and Marty Oda lost consciousness immediately, his body landing in a heap on the kitchen floor.
The silent was broken, subtly at first, by the "click click click" of the old-timey gas stove. Marty allowed a soft grin to spread across his face. He would never not be thankful that the gas and electricity here still worked. He had discovered this on accident, but it seemed that the mansion was not connected to any sort of city grid. All of the power came from some source he wasn't necessarily aware of, but one that kept the mansion up and running even with nobody paying the bills. It made sense to him for reasons that he didn't quite understand. Since he had started squatting here he found many things that just sort of clicked for reasons unclear. He found himself using the gym facilities, strolling the yard, and cooking with a level of familiarity that frankly gave him chills.
There was a constant sense that he knew what he was doing here and that he knew his way around, and that had been from day one. By now, of course, he was fairly familiar. By now he did had a decent idea of where things were. Was this merely a trick of the memory? Was he playing tricks on himself? Was he perhaps losing it from the fairly long isolation he found himself in? That was the odd thing about this mansion. He never quite did feel alone.
The uncooked vegetables slid unceremoniously into the pot of now boiling water.
There was a small town that wasn't altogether that far away from the mansion. If he put on a human face, he found himself able to use a combination of sleight of hand and illusory powers he currently held to make slips of paper appear to be money, and he never had to worry about being recognized if he shifted that human face on each visit.
If you were going to steal, he had discovered, it was best to do so in a way that wasn't discovered until much later. He had no desire to run from humans. Not any longer. Not to survive. His human face, however, was discarded now. The young boy boiling vegetables in the kitchen of this manner was a rich shade of green. The tank top he wore, fitted with a faded logo of this very manor, a piece of clothing he had found here, didn't hide the plated armor across his shoulders either. He felt no need. Not only because he was alone here, but also because that's just how this mansion felt. It felt like a place he could be himself.
"Almost..." he whispered to himself, as the oven below the burners began to heat. He held a small pan with a fairly simple seasoned chicken breast upon it. The chicken itself found its bed on a pile of sliced, softly boiled potatoes.
A small ding informed him that the oven had pre-heated to his desired level. "Perfect!" he said softly, opening the oven and feeling the heat radiate across his body as he began to slide the small baking pan in.
"Now all that's left..." he began to speak, but was interrupted, quite rudely, by a thunderous crash. Unbeknownst to Marty, a boy, it seems, had fallen through the roof of the manor. The damage from portions of the building shattering was unavoidable. He must have fallen from quite some distance to cause an impact like that. Marty, however, knew none of this. His first instinct was to clench his fists and assume a defensive position, the scaled armor on his body hardening naturally. A cloud of dust exploded into the kitchen from the impact, ruining both his potatoes and his chicken.
He noticed neither of these things, however, as his mind was suddenly adrift. His eyes rolled back in his head and he found himself buried deep with his mindscape, a brilliant desert, pink sand comfortably below him. He gazed around this place for a moment. It was his mental projection of the inside of his mind. He knew he had been here consciously before but he couldn’t remember when or why. The soft echoes of voices both his and not seemed to fill the empty air around him. “We dont have a choice” “it’s the only way” “you won’t remember.” His eyes fixated for a moment on what looked like a short tower of pink bricks a few hundred feet away from him.
Rising on the horizon, however, appeared to be the mushroom cloud of an atomic bomb. The shockwave echoed across his dreamscape, shocking him out of this vision with a white hot flash of searing pain. His eyes opened in time to find himself, carried by the force of that wave into the kitchen wall. Whatever created that explosion across the psychic domain of his subconscious carried enough force to affect his physical body as well.
The young man’s head thudded unhappily against the mahogany beam on the doorway and Marty Oda lost consciousness immediately, his body landing in a heap on the kitchen floor.
athereal
. 2D af.
Magneto felt the shift long before this moment. The change was subtle, expertly crafted. But Erik wasn't fooled. He could not be convinced of this illusion, no matter how real it was. It was missing something fundamental. He was missing something fundamental.
It wasn't long after they'd arrived in this world that he realized it was entirely crafted by outside forces. Slowly, the feeling of deja vu became memories, flooding his conscious mind. It all started on the day Jean died. She'd been visiting a cousin of hers, a young man who she knew to have the same sort of gifts she did.
The smell of acrid flesh still stung his nose. A few members of the Brotherhood had been psy-mutants. They were betas at best. They went up in flames like the rest. The rest is foggy after that. All he knew was that Charles had been left behind to stitch together a new world from their broken one.
Erik established an underground resistance, the Enlightenment, in order to help the displaced mutants transition into the world that had no rights for their kind. He used his power to build power, but in the end he was succumbing to age. He wasn't the powerhouse he used to be. And he wasn't the only person who knew this. Emma Frost, his right hand and confidant, used his truthfulness about the world to her and only her as an advantage. She sought to create a new world order, with herself as it's leader.
He tried to stop her and was locked away for it.
So it was here, in a cell made of super hardened aluminum, that he sat as he felt it re-enter reality. His eyebrow raised, knowing that the change he needed had finally come. He lifted a shackled hand and twisted it, drawing blood from the wound that formed. He flexed his power and the blood rose from his arm, forming a deadly sharp point.
"Old friend," he said as the blood sliced keenly through the bonds, "Its time to restore your legacy."
It wasn't long after they'd arrived in this world that he realized it was entirely crafted by outside forces. Slowly, the feeling of deja vu became memories, flooding his conscious mind. It all started on the day Jean died. She'd been visiting a cousin of hers, a young man who she knew to have the same sort of gifts she did.
The smell of acrid flesh still stung his nose. A few members of the Brotherhood had been psy-mutants. They were betas at best. They went up in flames like the rest. The rest is foggy after that. All he knew was that Charles had been left behind to stitch together a new world from their broken one.
Erik established an underground resistance, the Enlightenment, in order to help the displaced mutants transition into the world that had no rights for their kind. He used his power to build power, but in the end he was succumbing to age. He wasn't the powerhouse he used to be. And he wasn't the only person who knew this. Emma Frost, his right hand and confidant, used his truthfulness about the world to her and only her as an advantage. She sought to create a new world order, with herself as it's leader.
He tried to stop her and was locked away for it.
So it was here, in a cell made of super hardened aluminum, that he sat as he felt it re-enter reality. His eyebrow raised, knowing that the change he needed had finally come. He lifted a shackled hand and twisted it, drawing blood from the wound that formed. He flexed his power and the blood rose from his arm, forming a deadly sharp point.
"Old friend," he said as the blood sliced keenly through the bonds, "Its time to restore your legacy."
A L M O S
I've converted to red
E R I C A ～ R Y K E R - G R E N V I L L E
- W A T C H T O W E R -
It was quiet around her. The sky was both pitch black, yet at the same time covered in light. Beneath her, was a fine white powder - laying deathly still, having not been disturbed since the early seventies. She turned and saw the reason the horizon was empty of stars. Brilliant they might be, they were fickle things, and rarely suffered rivals. And at this distance, even the less impressive among them demanded attention. The Sun. Sol. The cause and effect of both tragedy and miracle. Serving as a god to some, and devil to others. For millions of years a subject of fascination and awe. The moon had been conquered for nearly fifty years. The sun, however... it was beyond ambition. No amount of technology or innovation would ever allow someone to leave footprints on it. No amount of genius would allow one to glide over its surface. 146,000,000 Kilometers away. The sheer scope of space between where she stood on the moon, and where her gaze was directed, nearly overwhelmed her. It had taken her 4.6 days to travel from earth to the moon. A mere 363,104 Kilometers done in less than a work week. To reach the sun... would take 1689.815 days. About 4.5 years.
She could do it. Find an island somewhere, fish for a living - maybe make some extra money as a tour guide... spending every spare moment moving towards it. Spending half a day on this would mean that it would take about ten years of her life. Ten years of being little more than a vegetable on earth. The reward? Seeing the surface of the sun. First hand. Possibly the first person to do so. She could feel the smile on her face. It was a pipe dream. The sun was not going anywhere. No one was planning to visit it. She had the time. For now, she would concern herself with earth. Floating a few hundred feet above the surface of the moon, she looked down towards earth. A deep breath that did nothing, counting for little more than a psychic shrug - before she fell towards earth. Within less than a few seconds she was back in low orbit, moving past Facebook satellites and the I.S.S. A few seconds later she crossed into US airspace. Then New York. Then a small yellow cab moving slowly along a country road. Slowly she moved closer, seeing the vast green fields bordering the roadside. Inside the cab sat the driver, peering at the rearview mirror. In the back sat a girl, seemingly asleep. She had long blond hair, wore a tailored suit, and had an athlete's physique. As Erica moved closer to her body, her astral self-closed it's eyes - and her physical ones opened.
The car smelled like old leather, cigarettes, and hints of vomit. Suddenly she recalled why she went 'for a walk' in the first place. The odometer said that there was still about 20 minutes left before they would reach her drop. She would walk further from there. The way to the Mansion felt like it was burned into her mind. She felt like she had been there before. And she had... in her mind. Never in person. Yet she could remember smells. And tastes, and sounds which she associated with the surrounding space. A depth of feeling she only got when visiting a place in person. For some strange reason... going there, felt like going home. Noting that the driver was still concerned with his music, she leaned back and closed her eyes once more.
Suddenly she was back in Europe. Germany. Berlin. There was always a party in Berlin. Quickly she moved through the clubs, before finding one with one of her favourite DJ's. The room was dark, and even in her astral form, she could almost feel the bass vibrating through the air. Lights of pink and blue neon danced against glass surfaces, as hundreds of sweaty bodies danced too close together. She moved through them, towards the stage, where the Dj stood. Focussing on him, she took on his body and his perception. He had been drinking, smoking - and doing more drugs than she would ever do herself. Sharing in his perception, she experienced not only the high... but also the smells, the sounds and the adrenaline. Relaxing into the music and the noise, she felt a small smile grace her face again. 20 minutes of quality trance... and then she could finally get to the bottom of this whole shitshow. Time to find out who this Xavier person was, and why she felt like she needed to visit his old home.
athereal
. 2D af.
It all felt strange, yet it wasn't. There was a kind of weight that pulled at his limbs when he lifted them. The stark contrast against the mahogany floors wasn't startling as the fact that there was actual color around him. he stood quickly, stumbling a bit before finding his balance. He stood straight and took in his surroundings. It was... Different. Phoenix didn't create this to fool him. There was a heaviness that hummed with life.
He took one step, two, in the direction of Light. He held out his hand to it and the was a softness to the shaft of sunbeam. His hair spilled over his shoulder from where it was tied with a string of an old shirt that was made for him and a smile cracked past his lips.
Moving out of the light, he stepped back and witnessed the area that had been effected with his impact. A part of the roofing had fell through upon his landing. He instantaneously felt guilty for destroying part of someone's home. With barely any though, the massive obstacle lifted into the air and out through the hole that had been created. He'd gotten used to whatever he destroyed being fixed for him in the Room. But that was usually for practice, for control. This was needless and he made a mental note to--
"Fuck."
He'd forgotten this was a house and that meant people lived here. Or should live here. As he ran barefooted amongst the debris, he noticed that this place didn't neseccarily look lived in. It felt empty and yet there was so many things about the place that screamed out to him that it couldn't possibly be. This place felt like a ghost, like the haunting and the haunted. Phoenix warned him that there was a place it couldn't wipe away... That someone wouldn't let him.
After that point, the Phoenix would come to him in one form: A bald man in a wheelchair.
"I can't stay in this form forever," he would tell the young one, "But one day this power will come for you or her. That's it's nature. I will help you control it. And to do that, you must train. Let's begin,"
The staircase that he'd eventually came to led to a foyer and past that was a kitchen. He could see a pot gleaming out past the doorframe. He precariously walked toward the room, feeling something there. Life? What remained of one? He didn't know until he got to the room. It was ever apparent that someone was there. A small cut let flow blood that stained the strange green skin of it's holder. Davin knelt down quickly, gently lifting the unconscious stranger's head up and ripping off what remained of his shirt to stem the flow. A shallow scar glistened on his shoulder, in the form of an "X".
"Hello?" he called out to the emptiness, hoping that his charge had a friend nearby, "Can anyone help me?!"
He took one step, two, in the direction of Light. He held out his hand to it and the was a softness to the shaft of sunbeam. His hair spilled over his shoulder from where it was tied with a string of an old shirt that was made for him and a smile cracked past his lips.
Moving out of the light, he stepped back and witnessed the area that had been effected with his impact. A part of the roofing had fell through upon his landing. He instantaneously felt guilty for destroying part of someone's home. With barely any though, the massive obstacle lifted into the air and out through the hole that had been created. He'd gotten used to whatever he destroyed being fixed for him in the Room. But that was usually for practice, for control. This was needless and he made a mental note to--
"Fuck."
He'd forgotten this was a house and that meant people lived here. Or should live here. As he ran barefooted amongst the debris, he noticed that this place didn't neseccarily look lived in. It felt empty and yet there was so many things about the place that screamed out to him that it couldn't possibly be. This place felt like a ghost, like the haunting and the haunted. Phoenix warned him that there was a place it couldn't wipe away... That someone wouldn't let him.
After that point, the Phoenix would come to him in one form: A bald man in a wheelchair.
"I can't stay in this form forever," he would tell the young one, "But one day this power will come for you or her. That's it's nature. I will help you control it. And to do that, you must train. Let's begin,"
The staircase that he'd eventually came to led to a foyer and past that was a kitchen. He could see a pot gleaming out past the doorframe. He precariously walked toward the room, feeling something there. Life? What remained of one? He didn't know until he got to the room. It was ever apparent that someone was there. A small cut let flow blood that stained the strange green skin of it's holder. Davin knelt down quickly, gently lifting the unconscious stranger's head up and ripping off what remained of his shirt to stem the flow. A shallow scar glistened on his shoulder, in the form of an "X".
"Hello?" he called out to the emptiness, hoping that his charge had a friend nearby, "Can anyone help me?!"
Its_Just_E
The light and the dark are always at war..
Cedric always did enjoy walking. It always helped to ease his mind. He could not however, shake the images that keep flowing into his mind. That mansion. It keep popping up every few blocks he got. He didn’t know it, but instead of just circling the block and being gone only a few minutes, he had walked all the way across the city. All the while, not thinking anything of it. It was as if, his body was on auto pilot while his mind focused in on the images that invaded. Hours had gone by and the y’all buildings that surrounded him had vanished, only to be replaced by smaller houses. When he finally broke free from his thoughts, hit ran right into a tall metal fence. “Son of a gun,” he yelled. Rubbing his now hurting head, he looked around to see where he was. “Where the hell am I and how long have I been walking?” As he looked up, he saw it. “The mansion? How did I get here and why am I here?” Questions upon questions filled the young man’s mind but all of that was casted aside as he her the yell, “help! Can someone help me!” It was coming from inside the house. Without hesitation, Cedric activated his gauntlets, hopped the fence with an electric pulse off the ground, and sprinted inside. He had to help whoever was screaming but he didn’t know why...
Arrt Saunders
Still studenting
The estate Aidan Sweeters lived in, being blind at one end, had a little, fenced-off park at the back. It was a cramped wonderland, filled with old trinkets in the greenery like a rusting bicycle and used needles. In the centre stood a towering apple-tree, its bare branches extending high into the cloudy sky. Half-way up, there was a flattened, mottled limb on which Aidan liked to sit and read when he had a spare moment in his life.
The park, although remembered with resplendent fondness by the older couples in the estate, was a scrub of moss and over-grown weeds. Rays of sunlight pierced through the clouds as Aidan sat on the branch, which provided enough warmth for him to relax without his blue, woollen jacket folded neatly and left on top of his rucksack.
A thick book rested softly in Aidan’s lap, the leaves of which were brittle, curled and yellowed. It was bound in red leather, cracked and ruptured with age, and was barely held together by the original stitching. Taken from a shelf in his father’s study, the pages smelled reminiscently of whiskey and tobacco - Aidan hoped that some time in the fresh air would carry away the pungent odour.
Opening the book, a sun-bleached scratching on the inner cover declared the previous owner to be Lawrence Smithburn, who had sold the book to Aidan at a fair when he was only old enough to recognise the pictures which illustrated the medical complexities within. Aidan, with a well-practised flourish, had recently put his signature beneath the faded scrawl. His marking carried a sense of ownership, like a judicial stamp that invalidated any claim Smithburn had to the text.
Flicking through the pages, Aidan relaxed high above the ground. It was a perfect day, one where he could imagine himself relaxing in the openness until the space of sky above him turned the colour of ever-changing violet, the dull street-lamps replaced the bright glow of the sun, and his stomach began to growl from lack of nourishment.
Just as Aidan was beginning the third chapter, however, his peaceful reverie was shattered by a familiar roar.
“Dude, dude! Have you seen this?”
Aidan slowly turned his head to the side, recognising the shrill echo of his friend’s voice. “Have I seen what?” he called out in response.
“This!"
“Lawrence, I’m not psychic,” Aidan chuckled, “I can’t tell you if I have or haven’t unless I know what it is.”
Lawrence Butcher rushed towards the apple-tree with his phone outstretched. Despite being his best-friend, Aidan thought Lawrence had a hen-pecked look, his shoulders hunched together like he was trying to disappear inside himself. Even his dark eyes seemed to be attempting to retreat inside his head. He was a good friend, loyal to a fault, but he was without a shadow of a doubt over-dramatic. In the mind of Lawrence Butcher, a molehill was always the same thing as a mountain. Be that as it may, as he ran through the grass, Aidan noticed that his eyes were wider than usual.
Aidan reached down and plucked the phone from the glistening fist, as Lawrence slumped breathlessly against the tree. Aidan, swivelling so that his feet dangled off the edge of the branch, scanned the headline written at the top of the screen: ‘Explosion at abandoned ruin. Cause as yet unknown.’
“Woah,” Aidan whispered excitedly as he thumbed through the article. “Isn’t that the old house where we used to explore?”
Lawrence nodded furiously: “Yup. It’s all over the news. It just suddenly lit up like a Christmas tree.”
“What happened? Was it a gas leak, or something?” Aidan questioned, scouring the website for information. He froze when he saw the image. The old mansion in the photograph nudged something loose in Aidan’s brain. It was like a forgotten, almost primitive, part of him suddenly remembered something. Although, it was still buried too deep for any chance of recognition.
“Nobody knows,” Lawrence replied, “That’s why people are talking about it.”
Closing his book suddenly, Aidan jumped down from the branch. He landed softly next to Lawrence, handing back the phone. “Well, let’s find out what happened.”
“You’re joking right?” Lawrence said, his mouth hanging open. “I’m going nowhere near that place!”
“Lawrence, come on,” Aidan pleaded with a bright smile, “Aren’t you curious?”
“Yeah, maybe. But I can find out what happened just as fast as everyone else through my phone - as soon as there’s something to know, I’ll know.”
“Dude, there’s an explosion at a mansion that we kept being drawn to as kids, belonging to a guy that history can’t seem to remember. You can’t tell me you don’t want to go?”
“Curiosity killed the cat, Aidan.”
“And satisfaction brought him back, Lawrence,” Aidan smiled, pushing his book into his friend’s hands. “Mind my stuff, I won’t be long.”
“Dude… this could be dangerous.”
“Don’t worry,” Aidan laughed, throwing his jacket over his shoulders. “I’m too good-looking to have bad things happen. If I died, the world would be so much poorer.”
“I begs your phone if you do kick the bucket.”
“And I bet you a tenner I’ll know what happened before you do.”
The park, although remembered with resplendent fondness by the older couples in the estate, was a scrub of moss and over-grown weeds. Rays of sunlight pierced through the clouds as Aidan sat on the branch, which provided enough warmth for him to relax without his blue, woollen jacket folded neatly and left on top of his rucksack.
A thick book rested softly in Aidan’s lap, the leaves of which were brittle, curled and yellowed. It was bound in red leather, cracked and ruptured with age, and was barely held together by the original stitching. Taken from a shelf in his father’s study, the pages smelled reminiscently of whiskey and tobacco - Aidan hoped that some time in the fresh air would carry away the pungent odour.
Opening the book, a sun-bleached scratching on the inner cover declared the previous owner to be Lawrence Smithburn, who had sold the book to Aidan at a fair when he was only old enough to recognise the pictures which illustrated the medical complexities within. Aidan, with a well-practised flourish, had recently put his signature beneath the faded scrawl. His marking carried a sense of ownership, like a judicial stamp that invalidated any claim Smithburn had to the text.
Flicking through the pages, Aidan relaxed high above the ground. It was a perfect day, one where he could imagine himself relaxing in the openness until the space of sky above him turned the colour of ever-changing violet, the dull street-lamps replaced the bright glow of the sun, and his stomach began to growl from lack of nourishment.
Just as Aidan was beginning the third chapter, however, his peaceful reverie was shattered by a familiar roar.
“Dude, dude! Have you seen this?”
Aidan slowly turned his head to the side, recognising the shrill echo of his friend’s voice. “Have I seen what?” he called out in response.
“This!"
“Lawrence, I’m not psychic,” Aidan chuckled, “I can’t tell you if I have or haven’t unless I know what it is.”
Lawrence Butcher rushed towards the apple-tree with his phone outstretched. Despite being his best-friend, Aidan thought Lawrence had a hen-pecked look, his shoulders hunched together like he was trying to disappear inside himself. Even his dark eyes seemed to be attempting to retreat inside his head. He was a good friend, loyal to a fault, but he was without a shadow of a doubt over-dramatic. In the mind of Lawrence Butcher, a molehill was always the same thing as a mountain. Be that as it may, as he ran through the grass, Aidan noticed that his eyes were wider than usual.
Aidan reached down and plucked the phone from the glistening fist, as Lawrence slumped breathlessly against the tree. Aidan, swivelling so that his feet dangled off the edge of the branch, scanned the headline written at the top of the screen: ‘Explosion at abandoned ruin. Cause as yet unknown.’
“Woah,” Aidan whispered excitedly as he thumbed through the article. “Isn’t that the old house where we used to explore?”
Lawrence nodded furiously: “Yup. It’s all over the news. It just suddenly lit up like a Christmas tree.”
“What happened? Was it a gas leak, or something?” Aidan questioned, scouring the website for information. He froze when he saw the image. The old mansion in the photograph nudged something loose in Aidan’s brain. It was like a forgotten, almost primitive, part of him suddenly remembered something. Although, it was still buried too deep for any chance of recognition.
“Nobody knows,” Lawrence replied, “That’s why people are talking about it.”
Closing his book suddenly, Aidan jumped down from the branch. He landed softly next to Lawrence, handing back the phone. “Well, let’s find out what happened.”
“You’re joking right?” Lawrence said, his mouth hanging open. “I’m going nowhere near that place!”
“Lawrence, come on,” Aidan pleaded with a bright smile, “Aren’t you curious?”
“Yeah, maybe. But I can find out what happened just as fast as everyone else through my phone - as soon as there’s something to know, I’ll know.”
“Dude, there’s an explosion at a mansion that we kept being drawn to as kids, belonging to a guy that history can’t seem to remember. You can’t tell me you don’t want to go?”
“Curiosity killed the cat, Aidan.”
“And satisfaction brought him back, Lawrence,” Aidan smiled, pushing his book into his friend’s hands. “Mind my stuff, I won’t be long.”
“Dude… this could be dangerous.”
“Don’t worry,” Aidan laughed, throwing his jacket over his shoulders. “I’m too good-looking to have bad things happen. If I died, the world would be so much poorer.”
“I begs your phone if you do kick the bucket.”
“And I bet you a tenner I’ll know what happened before you do.”
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RingSlinger
Senior Member
Back in the subconscious actualization of his mind, Marty found could see the pink sand dunes high above him. At present he gasped, expecting liquid to fill his lungs. This dream rather he floated through did no such thing. “We’re not awake” a voice behind him explained. He whirled in place to see who had spoken, finding nothing but the void expanding before him. “I’m not awake” he said softly, blinking and looking back up at the pink dunes above. There it was again. That small outcropping of brick and stone. Like a tiny house. Like a prison. “Were not awake. You don’t remember. I remember.” The voice whispered, waves of sound tickling the back of the young mutant’s neck.
His whipped around again.
“I’d like this dream to end now...” he said softly, clenching his fists uncomfortably.
“Then wake up.” The voice replied. Surprisingly, he did.
He had expected to wake with a start, perhaps with a stunned declaration or a revealing comment. His eyes, instead slowly slid open. He stared up into the eyes of a young man, clearly older than him at least by a few years, cradling his head carefully. The young man had something that was, for lack of a better word, magnetic, and for a moment Marty just stared at him as he called for help. Very suddenly it dawned on him that he was in his natural form, and his cheeks flushed a deep, dark shade of green. He considered his options here. It was too late to hide it. He could still shift into a more human face, but what would be the point. This young man had already seen him. He could run. Was that what the boy was calling for help about? His discovery of some monster lying on the floor. Marty’s muscled tensed. He didn’t want to deal with a swarm of angry humans. Certainly not now. The boy’s hand was pressed against his head. Why? That part of his head stung. Was he being tended to? The warm trickle across his skin informed him that he was in fact bleeding.
A thanks, it seemed, was in order. And perhaps an apology. Although the young man hadn’t known Marty’s thought process. He wouldn’t have known the accusatory start.
Marty’s second realization was that he had been lying there, head cradled in the arms of this young man for quite some time now, just staring up into the stranger’s eyes.
“I uh...” he said softly. “I’m alright. Er... thank you.” Gently, he sat up. Turning his head to look back at Davin. “Uhm.” He paused, weighing these next words carefully.
“I don’t know if there’s anyone around to help you... or if anyone is coming... but...”
His muscles clenched and unclenched. As the surface of his skin began to ripple, seeming to fold in on itself. A moment later and Marty sat, a much more -normal- looking boy. Oddly, he felt embarrassed by this change.
“It uh... it seems like you’re okay with what I look like... but people tend not to be... so... if it’s all the same to you... I’m gonna look like this... just in case anyone is coming...” he paused, blinking for a moment, before cocking his head to the side and putting on a very well-rehearsed smile, as he extended a now pink-tinted hand, “I’m Marty.”
His whipped around again.
“I’d like this dream to end now...” he said softly, clenching his fists uncomfortably.
“Then wake up.” The voice replied. Surprisingly, he did.
He had expected to wake with a start, perhaps with a stunned declaration or a revealing comment. His eyes, instead slowly slid open. He stared up into the eyes of a young man, clearly older than him at least by a few years, cradling his head carefully. The young man had something that was, for lack of a better word, magnetic, and for a moment Marty just stared at him as he called for help. Very suddenly it dawned on him that he was in his natural form, and his cheeks flushed a deep, dark shade of green. He considered his options here. It was too late to hide it. He could still shift into a more human face, but what would be the point. This young man had already seen him. He could run. Was that what the boy was calling for help about? His discovery of some monster lying on the floor. Marty’s muscled tensed. He didn’t want to deal with a swarm of angry humans. Certainly not now. The boy’s hand was pressed against his head. Why? That part of his head stung. Was he being tended to? The warm trickle across his skin informed him that he was in fact bleeding.
A thanks, it seemed, was in order. And perhaps an apology. Although the young man hadn’t known Marty’s thought process. He wouldn’t have known the accusatory start.
Marty’s second realization was that he had been lying there, head cradled in the arms of this young man for quite some time now, just staring up into the stranger’s eyes.
“I uh...” he said softly. “I’m alright. Er... thank you.” Gently, he sat up. Turning his head to look back at Davin. “Uhm.” He paused, weighing these next words carefully.
“I don’t know if there’s anyone around to help you... or if anyone is coming... but...”
His muscles clenched and unclenched. As the surface of his skin began to ripple, seeming to fold in on itself. A moment later and Marty sat, a much more -normal- looking boy. Oddly, he felt embarrassed by this change.
“It uh... it seems like you’re okay with what I look like... but people tend not to be... so... if it’s all the same to you... I’m gonna look like this... just in case anyone is coming...” he paused, blinking for a moment, before cocking his head to the side and putting on a very well-rehearsed smile, as he extended a now pink-tinted hand, “I’m Marty.”
athereal
. 2D af.
Although the Bald Man taught Davin that it was impolite to read minds without permission, the young man couldn't completely turn the function off. It was like holding your breath--You could try, but you'll only suffocate in the end. At the barest parts of Marty's mind, he could feel that he was embarrassed. Davin wondered why as he stared into the newly formed face that was before him. 'What ever happened to being a proud mutant? ' he thought, backing away slightly to give Marty some air to breathe.
"I liked the way you looked before." Davin said simply, bringing himself to his feet. "And, I see red blood on this shirt." he added, telekinetic ally lifting the wadded fabric up to make a point. "You're just as human as I am... Maybe. I am named Davin Nathaniel Grey. I'm not from this universe. It is nice to meet you though, greetings." He held out his hand, smiling as if what he said would be passable in any other form of normal conversation.
--
The eldest of the Cuckoo sisters nodded to her superiors. Storm nodded back and raised her arms to the sky, clouds rolling in at her will. Sabertooth silently snaked his way toward the Mansion with Psylock and Cyclops in tow. The orders were clear: Ask nicely first. After that, whatever happened just happened. Emma wouldn't send them out to find something they didn't need.
As They closed in on the location, neither party noticed the Boy in the Bushes, The yellow taxi cab in the distance with other people trailing in its wake as well... Of the older gentleman descending onto the widow's walk on the roof above.
"I liked the way you looked before." Davin said simply, bringing himself to his feet. "And, I see red blood on this shirt." he added, telekinetic ally lifting the wadded fabric up to make a point. "You're just as human as I am... Maybe. I am named Davin Nathaniel Grey. I'm not from this universe. It is nice to meet you though, greetings." He held out his hand, smiling as if what he said would be passable in any other form of normal conversation.
--
The eldest of the Cuckoo sisters nodded to her superiors. Storm nodded back and raised her arms to the sky, clouds rolling in at her will. Sabertooth silently snaked his way toward the Mansion with Psylock and Cyclops in tow. The orders were clear: Ask nicely first. After that, whatever happened just happened. Emma wouldn't send them out to find something they didn't need.
As They closed in on the location, neither party noticed the Boy in the Bushes, The yellow taxi cab in the distance with other people trailing in its wake as well... Of the older gentleman descending onto the widow's walk on the roof above.
RingSlinger
Senior Member
Marty's cheeks flushed again, crimson this time, as Davin complimented his natural form. "That's not true... "he paused, maintaining the smile he had put on before. "But it's very kind of you to say." The younger of the two stood up a few moments after the older did. "Human or not. Looking the way I do tends to make people uneasy... even other mutants if they aren't used to it" the younger man took a short breath, wiping the wound on his head instinctively with a sleeve. "Luckily one of my gifts is copying the way people look... Or mixing together the way a couple of people look, and I don't have to look like that if I don't want to..." He paused for a moment, locked into this thought.
He frankly wasn't sure what he wanted to look like. He wasn't sure if he wanted to look green with armor plated skin, or if he wanted to look like a human being. There were moments when he wished he could simply walk the streets in his actual skin, and then moments when he wanted to walk around and terrify people. Moments when he craved their acceptance more than anything and others where all he craved was their fear. Truth be told he didn't know what he wanted.
"...Er ... It's nice to meet... uh... I'm sorry you're not from... what?" Marty puzzled over this declaration. More, however, he puzzled over how much it sounded correct. His instinct had been to simply nod and agree, as if that made sense with him on a deep level. "How... uh... How is that possible? How are you here? What universe are you from?"
He frankly wasn't sure what he wanted to look like. He wasn't sure if he wanted to look green with armor plated skin, or if he wanted to look like a human being. There were moments when he wished he could simply walk the streets in his actual skin, and then moments when he wanted to walk around and terrify people. Moments when he craved their acceptance more than anything and others where all he craved was their fear. Truth be told he didn't know what he wanted.
"...Er ... It's nice to meet... uh... I'm sorry you're not from... what?" Marty puzzled over this declaration. More, however, he puzzled over how much it sounded correct. His instinct had been to simply nod and agree, as if that made sense with him on a deep level. "How... uh... How is that possible? How are you here? What universe are you from?"
Arrt Saunders
Still studenting
The rhythmic humdrum of Aidan’s footfall echoed through the streets, heart and lungs working overtime with every step. His skin flowed with the slick colour of exercise, his wooden jacket driving the sweat from his pores. It wasn’t cold, but he needed that jacket just in case things got hairy.
Since leaving Lawrence in the park he couldn’t get the mansion out of his head. Something major had shifted inside him - he just couldn’t conceptualise it.
It was subtle at first, a childhood memory, drowned beneath those of adulthood, clambering to the surface of his consciousness; but like the blossom of summer slowly changing to the leaf-fall of autumn, the niggling feeling at the back of his mind patiently grew and grew until it dominated his thoughts.
He kept a close eye on his phone, checking the time and the news. As he ran through town, there was nothing strange reported online. No miscreants found. No gas leaks detected. No mutant activity suspected.
Naturally, the internet was alive with speculation and intrigue: the fires of fascination fuelled by the postings of hearsayers and conspirators, people who had never seen nor heard of the mansion until it appeared on their timelines. Everyone wanted their pound of gossipy flesh, even if they knew very little to begin with.
Not breaking his stride, Aidan cut down an alleyway behind the shopping centre, a narrow, secluded path that led to the town library and the mesh-wire fence which curled around it.
His curiosity was quickly building, as was his excitement. He wasn’t consumed with brazenness or recklessness - Lawrence's warning had cut significant ice with him. Hence, the jacket. But, he was being propelled by sheer inquisitiveness and a primal urge to return to the mansion.
Whatever chemical was coursing through his circuitry was addictive.
It wasn’t long before he reached the gap in the fence, a portal cut through the metalwork that separated the grimy town from the heather-filled wilderness beyond the confines of concrete and mortar.
As a child, Aidan would slip through the gap and explore the grounds of the mansion with Lawrence and other friends from the local school. Most of them were mutants and the abandoned wreck was the ideal playground for them to test their newfound powers without any police interference.
He didn’t know why he’d first ventured to the mansion. He couldn’t remember the first time he did - those memories were simply an integral part of him that couldn’t be questioned.
Crossing the boundary, he tugged his jacket around him tightly and broke into a run once more. The smell of the flowers overwhelmed his senses and his muscles started to laugh cruelly at him. He didn’t stop running until he reached the iron curtain around the mansion. Buckling to catch his breath, he leaned against the fence. He gulped in several deep inhalations of oxygen, waiting for his heart to stop battering against his chest.
He moved his hands in small, intricate circles, fluorescent geometric patterns forming in the air in front of him. The disk-shaped force-fields floated in a stair-like fashion, providing a number of steps over the fence.
He climbed over the fence, the hovering disk fading into the ether as he hopped up. As he landed on the other side, he froze for a moment.
He heard the engine of a car begin to quieten and the echo of voices.
Suddenly, he wasn’t alone anymore.
“I’m not the only curious person,” Aidan whispered.
Since leaving Lawrence in the park he couldn’t get the mansion out of his head. Something major had shifted inside him - he just couldn’t conceptualise it.
It was subtle at first, a childhood memory, drowned beneath those of adulthood, clambering to the surface of his consciousness; but like the blossom of summer slowly changing to the leaf-fall of autumn, the niggling feeling at the back of his mind patiently grew and grew until it dominated his thoughts.
He kept a close eye on his phone, checking the time and the news. As he ran through town, there was nothing strange reported online. No miscreants found. No gas leaks detected. No mutant activity suspected.
Naturally, the internet was alive with speculation and intrigue: the fires of fascination fuelled by the postings of hearsayers and conspirators, people who had never seen nor heard of the mansion until it appeared on their timelines. Everyone wanted their pound of gossipy flesh, even if they knew very little to begin with.
Not breaking his stride, Aidan cut down an alleyway behind the shopping centre, a narrow, secluded path that led to the town library and the mesh-wire fence which curled around it.
His curiosity was quickly building, as was his excitement. He wasn’t consumed with brazenness or recklessness - Lawrence's warning had cut significant ice with him. Hence, the jacket. But, he was being propelled by sheer inquisitiveness and a primal urge to return to the mansion.
Whatever chemical was coursing through his circuitry was addictive.
It wasn’t long before he reached the gap in the fence, a portal cut through the metalwork that separated the grimy town from the heather-filled wilderness beyond the confines of concrete and mortar.
As a child, Aidan would slip through the gap and explore the grounds of the mansion with Lawrence and other friends from the local school. Most of them were mutants and the abandoned wreck was the ideal playground for them to test their newfound powers without any police interference.
He didn’t know why he’d first ventured to the mansion. He couldn’t remember the first time he did - those memories were simply an integral part of him that couldn’t be questioned.
Crossing the boundary, he tugged his jacket around him tightly and broke into a run once more. The smell of the flowers overwhelmed his senses and his muscles started to laugh cruelly at him. He didn’t stop running until he reached the iron curtain around the mansion. Buckling to catch his breath, he leaned against the fence. He gulped in several deep inhalations of oxygen, waiting for his heart to stop battering against his chest.
He moved his hands in small, intricate circles, fluorescent geometric patterns forming in the air in front of him. The disk-shaped force-fields floated in a stair-like fashion, providing a number of steps over the fence.
He climbed over the fence, the hovering disk fading into the ether as he hopped up. As he landed on the other side, he froze for a moment.
He heard the engine of a car begin to quieten and the echo of voices.
Suddenly, he wasn’t alone anymore.
“I’m not the only curious person,” Aidan whispered.
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athereal
. 2D af.
"He needs to die." Celeste, the eldest of the 5-in-One grimaced through gritted teeth. Storm couldn't help but roll her eyes at the thought. This mutant was still young, only having been "born" only to aid in this mission. She didn't know the struggles of their kind or what it took to get to this point. The sacrifices the Enlightenment had to make.
"Engage." she ordered, causing Juggernaut to begin his charge toward the mansion. Celeste soared into the air, preparing to disable the target but was interrupted when Juggernaut collided with her. The pair went flying to the outside of the fence, near the driveway.
Storm turned toward the direction from which they were attacked. Bolts of lighting flashed down uncontrollably when she realized who it was.
"Ororo, calm yourself. You know this is not how things are meant to be." Magneto raised his arms up in defense, the thick fence levitating tin the airto counter whatever was coming his way. Storm reacted quicker than lightning, the resulting connection issuing a roll of thunder that echoed out for miles on end.
"Engage." she ordered, causing Juggernaut to begin his charge toward the mansion. Celeste soared into the air, preparing to disable the target but was interrupted when Juggernaut collided with her. The pair went flying to the outside of the fence, near the driveway.
Storm turned toward the direction from which they were attacked. Bolts of lighting flashed down uncontrollably when she realized who it was.
"Ororo, calm yourself. You know this is not how things are meant to be." Magneto raised his arms up in defense, the thick fence levitating tin the airto counter whatever was coming his way. Storm reacted quicker than lightning, the resulting connection issuing a roll of thunder that echoed out for miles on end.
A L M O S
I've converted to red
E R I C A ～ R Y K E R - G R E N V I L L E
- W A T C H T O W E R -
- W A T C H T O W E R -
Erica's astral form weaved slightly from side to side. With every moment spent among the dancing people, she missed them even more. Four months to do an elective course at Humbolt University. In those four months, she had experienced more new things that she had in most of her life. The first song was about 7 minutes. The second about 5. The other made up the rest of the 20 minutes she had left, and reluctantly she took a deep breath, before opening her eyes in the car. A few seconds later it stopped at the start of what seemed a private road of sorts. Without speaking to the man, she placed down the payment and got out of the car, only taking with her a small overnight bag. Before starting down the road she closed her eyes. She did not want to break into the place if there were others around. Especially cops. Or private security. Or neighbourhood guard. Anyone really, who might have some sort of arbitrary power to ruin her day.
A deep breath, before her mind, flew forward, down the road, and across the estate. She was met with a sudden influx of movement, and a display of power. Large pieces of the fence being flung about, meeting lightning from the hands of some woman. A few other people stood about in combat ready positions. Her mind rushed past them and into the house, where she saw a piece of the roof was gone, and two young men seemed to be blushing and rambling about something. Deciding to get a better view from up high, she went up directly - through the hole in the roof and saw the entire estate as though on a map. She saw another person floating over one of the walls, light coming from his hands.
Returning to her body, she quickly ran to the side, reaching the perimeter wall, and quickly climbing over it. Falling on the other side with very little grace, she ran across the grounds, keeping to the brush - making a wide arc around where the fighting was going on. If she could get to the house first, where the other two still seemed somewhat calm - maybe she could figure out what was going on. She would also be rushing past the boy with the glowing hands (
Arrt Saunders
) - who seemed to be just as cautious as she was. That was good. A potential outsider to the goings on, was a potential ally. As she rushed towards where she last saw him, it dawned on her how naturally this form of strategic thinking came to her. It was almost like she had done so before. On these same grounds. Briefly, she had a vision of sitting in a beautiful office with an old, bald man - playing chess with him. She heard his comforting voice, one she almost swooned over - "Think of yourself as a chess player, and the world your board. Your powers give you a unique... somewhat unique perspective. Knowing how the battle is going, is halfway towards winning. Knowing the moves of the enemy, allows you to move your pieces accordingly. Just remember - just like in chess, sacrificed pieces go into boxes. Unlike in chess... the board can never be reset. You can only move on to new games, having learnt from your losses and victories in the past." ----- Shaking her head, Erica stopped for a moment. Her head hurt. It was the same as always, when she tried to recall that thing she felt she forgot. Having never forgotten anything, she could not be sure. Another deep breath, before moving quietly behind a tree, closing her eyes - before looking behind it for a moment. She saw the young man from before. The one with the glowing hands. They were both beside the wall still. Now to see if he was a potential ally. She waited another moment, to see what he was planning on doing.
athereal
. 2D af.
"I... Came from... The Room...," Davin started to say, but quickly abandoned that train of thought once he figured out that he had forgotten himself on the matter. Of course Marty wouldn't know what he was talking about, he'd never been to the Room before, he probably didn't know it existed. Davin opened his mouth to apologize, but the glimmering flicker of a patterned tie caught his attention. It was followed by a young woman, about his age, who looked only halfway present. He gwaked as she rose above them and through the opening in the ceiling.
"Come on, Marty," he said, grabbing his aquiantance's arm and pulling him toward the front door. Opening the hard oak double doors, he found himself in the middle of an impending fight. Lightning struck a car in midair as if flew toward a woman with buzzed, ash white hair. Her opponent, an older man in a red suit raised his hand above his helmeted head, moving another piece of the fence that levitated above them.
"No," Davin whispered sullenly. His fists clenching, Davin's hair began to whip around him in a psychic wind.
--
Celeste recovered first, noticing the three "whelps" that stood near them. She was unconcerned with their presence--her target was gearing up to fight and if she didn't take him out now it'd be too late.
"Take care of them," she said, lifting her dazed partner to his feet. "I've got the wannabe." Juggernaut smiled in a sinister manner as the 5-in-One took off toward her prey.
"Come on, Marty," he said, grabbing his aquiantance's arm and pulling him toward the front door. Opening the hard oak double doors, he found himself in the middle of an impending fight. Lightning struck a car in midair as if flew toward a woman with buzzed, ash white hair. Her opponent, an older man in a red suit raised his hand above his helmeted head, moving another piece of the fence that levitated above them.
"No," Davin whispered sullenly. His fists clenching, Davin's hair began to whip around him in a psychic wind.
--
Celeste recovered first, noticing the three "whelps" that stood near them. She was unconcerned with their presence--her target was gearing up to fight and if she didn't take him out now it'd be too late.
"Take care of them," she said, lifting her dazed partner to his feet. "I've got the wannabe." Juggernaut smiled in a sinister manner as the 5-in-One took off toward her prey.
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RingSlinger
Senior Member
"The Room?" Marty's thoughts buzzed through his head like a swarm of stinging insects. That movie? That 'so bad it's good' movie that everybody loves? That couldn't be it. Before his thoughts could really register any exact idea of what the older boy here was talking about, Marty found himself being pulled out the front door. He was a little hesitant to use the large wooden doors, as he found that the best way in and out of a building you might or might not be staying in illegally was usually not the front door. His nature, though, of being agreeable and trying not to make too much of a fuss took over. He regretted this literally as soon as the doors flung open. The scene outside, while not extreme carnage, seemed right on the cusp of extreme carnage. His mouth opened, but no words escaped as the car in the air was struck by a bolt of lightning. He recognized some of these figures. From television. From the news. There were the sorts of mutants he would likely have tried to avoid, and now here they were, potentially destroying the nicest place he had ever stayed. Trouble, it seems, had followed this older boy here. Not the most perceptive, Marty failed to notice Davin's hair windlessly whipping, instead he focused in on the powers he currently had loaded and ready for combat.
He had a light-bending ability that could create minor illusory images. He could perhaps go invisible and sneak away with this, but there was no way he could protect his new friend, and also given the power level of the Mutants before him, he had no idea whether or not they would be able to see through this illusion. So that wasn't really in question.
He'd have to use something else. Specifically, two of the remaining three powers he had to choose from came to mind.
"Alright," he said with a sigh of resignation, as he bit down hard, clenching his teeth. This wasn't a power he was born with, this wasn't a power that he had grown up using. This was a power he had seen, understood, and now could replica a soft version of, and it sure did cause him a whole lot of pain. The bones in his forearm shifted with an unnatural grinding noise, splitting outwards from the wrist. With the bones themselves, his skin and muscle tissue expanded until his arm itself had flattened to a degree, spreading out like the hood of a cobra. After a moment, the skin itself seemed to harden into a crystalline form. The original user of this power could shape their limbs into weapons and armor, shields and various combat tools, before shifting their skin into an unbreakable crystalline material. Marty hadn't gotten the hang of any of the offensive tools, but he could make a decent shield.
"Stay behind me," he called back to David, side stepping in front of the older boy. Presumably the boy had some sort of useful power, but Marty had learned a long time ago that you couldn't assume a mutant had a useful power, and more often than not their mutations weren't necessarily combat ready.
His non-shield arm tensed as he went to access a third ability. His free arm clenched from shoulder to fist as his hand began to warm. A small ball of pure energy formed in his clenched hand. A little pocket of unstable energy. It sat in peace, however, in the palm of his hand. Waiting to be thrown. The originally use of this power could create any number of small explosive projectiles, tossing them with expert accuracy and maintaining the strength of each projectile individually. Marty hadn't tested the upper limits on his ability to control this power, but he he could create a single energy ball that made a decent impact against most enemies.
Using these two powers at once, the shield he held before him, made literally of his arm, and the energy attack prepared in his other hand, took a considerable toll on Marty's stamina. But he was fine for now. This wasn't the first tussle he had been in. It was, however, perhaps the scariest tussle he had been in. All things considered.
He had a light-bending ability that could create minor illusory images. He could perhaps go invisible and sneak away with this, but there was no way he could protect his new friend, and also given the power level of the Mutants before him, he had no idea whether or not they would be able to see through this illusion. So that wasn't really in question.
He'd have to use something else. Specifically, two of the remaining three powers he had to choose from came to mind.
"Alright," he said with a sigh of resignation, as he bit down hard, clenching his teeth. This wasn't a power he was born with, this wasn't a power that he had grown up using. This was a power he had seen, understood, and now could replica a soft version of, and it sure did cause him a whole lot of pain. The bones in his forearm shifted with an unnatural grinding noise, splitting outwards from the wrist. With the bones themselves, his skin and muscle tissue expanded until his arm itself had flattened to a degree, spreading out like the hood of a cobra. After a moment, the skin itself seemed to harden into a crystalline form. The original user of this power could shape their limbs into weapons and armor, shields and various combat tools, before shifting their skin into an unbreakable crystalline material. Marty hadn't gotten the hang of any of the offensive tools, but he could make a decent shield.
"Stay behind me," he called back to David, side stepping in front of the older boy. Presumably the boy had some sort of useful power, but Marty had learned a long time ago that you couldn't assume a mutant had a useful power, and more often than not their mutations weren't necessarily combat ready.
His non-shield arm tensed as he went to access a third ability. His free arm clenched from shoulder to fist as his hand began to warm. A small ball of pure energy formed in his clenched hand. A little pocket of unstable energy. It sat in peace, however, in the palm of his hand. Waiting to be thrown. The originally use of this power could create any number of small explosive projectiles, tossing them with expert accuracy and maintaining the strength of each projectile individually. Marty hadn't tested the upper limits on his ability to control this power, but he he could create a single energy ball that made a decent impact against most enemies.
Using these two powers at once, the shield he held before him, made literally of his arm, and the energy attack prepared in his other hand, took a considerable toll on Marty's stamina. But he was fine for now. This wasn't the first tussle he had been in. It was, however, perhaps the scariest tussle he had been in. All things considered.
Arrt Saunders
Still studenting
Stepping carefully through the undergrowth, Aidan was aware of how treacherously his heart was beating. It was so loud that he feared it would escape his chest in zealous apprehension, or alert someone to his position. The blood-rhythm echoing in his ears had turned his excitement to uneasy anticipation. He was still keen on finding out the truth, but there was no fun to be had in discovery if the revelation led to an untimely encounter with someone he could not deal with on his own.
The newly deployed butterflies in his stomach were not discouraged from their flight in any way by the storm clouds brewing on the cold horizon. If anything, the fluttering critters relished the cryptic eeriness.
Aidan didn’t know how many people were on the grounds of the mansion: perhaps there was only one or two; more likely, there was more. He had certainly caught multiple voices whilst hopping the fence. Although the news had yet to comment on anything useful, he suspected there was more than one person lurking closer to the central courtyard. The distant sounds had since ceased, and with them his only clue; the murmur of the engine had also faded into nothingness. He was alone and yet he was not alone; and for Aidan, it was a nauseating feeling of exhilaration.
As Aidan approached an ivy-covered wall, the darkness abruptly intensified. Dampness and the threat of rain filled the air. No one had promised poor weather that day - it was supposed to be sunny with clear, unimpeded skies. He cast his eyes up towards the rippling charcoal-coloured airspace, turning up the collar of his jacket as the moisture-laden clouds staunched the last few dregs of sunshine.
Suddenly, his vision was taken by a bolt of white-hot lightning which cleaved the sky in pieces. He shut his eyes against the brightness, covering his face with his hands. Blinded by the brilliance, he heard the violent crack of thunder, after which came a rolling rumble that dissolved into the surrounding air.
He slowly and curiously opened his eyes, and began to trace a circle above his head. As his sight slowly recovered, a glittering force-field formed above him. The crackling dome of iridescence, summoned to protect him against a stray concentration of electricity, stained his features the same shade of blue as his jacket. He watched as another fork of lightning drove its wiry limbs to the ground, followed by the wail and groan of distorting metal.
His eyes fully open, Aidan spotted a figure standing quietly behind the tree in front of him. He hadn’t seen her before; hadn’t known he was being followed by her; and hadn’t heard her get so close. A few more seconds and she would’ve been too close for him to even realise she was there.
The thunder boomed once more.
He stared.
She stayed still.
His fickle heart skipped a beat.
It was a young woman, looking back in his direction. Unusually, her glacial eyes did not trigger fear nor aggression in him, but a strange sense of familiarity which set his heart at ease - enough for him to stretch out his hand and summon a protective glamour above her head.
He didn’t know who she was, but she didn’t appear to be the kind of person who brought about adverse weather conditions or caused random explosions at abandoned mansions. Maybe she looked like someone from his childhood, memories gushing forward once more - she looked like a blonde and pristine doppleganger of a dark-skinned girl who used to play look-out in war-games on the mansion grounds many years ago. Aidan, trusting his gut, offered her a half-smile of support as the ground started to shake.
A L M O S
The newly deployed butterflies in his stomach were not discouraged from their flight in any way by the storm clouds brewing on the cold horizon. If anything, the fluttering critters relished the cryptic eeriness.
Aidan didn’t know how many people were on the grounds of the mansion: perhaps there was only one or two; more likely, there was more. He had certainly caught multiple voices whilst hopping the fence. Although the news had yet to comment on anything useful, he suspected there was more than one person lurking closer to the central courtyard. The distant sounds had since ceased, and with them his only clue; the murmur of the engine had also faded into nothingness. He was alone and yet he was not alone; and for Aidan, it was a nauseating feeling of exhilaration.
As Aidan approached an ivy-covered wall, the darkness abruptly intensified. Dampness and the threat of rain filled the air. No one had promised poor weather that day - it was supposed to be sunny with clear, unimpeded skies. He cast his eyes up towards the rippling charcoal-coloured airspace, turning up the collar of his jacket as the moisture-laden clouds staunched the last few dregs of sunshine.
Suddenly, his vision was taken by a bolt of white-hot lightning which cleaved the sky in pieces. He shut his eyes against the brightness, covering his face with his hands. Blinded by the brilliance, he heard the violent crack of thunder, after which came a rolling rumble that dissolved into the surrounding air.
He slowly and curiously opened his eyes, and began to trace a circle above his head. As his sight slowly recovered, a glittering force-field formed above him. The crackling dome of iridescence, summoned to protect him against a stray concentration of electricity, stained his features the same shade of blue as his jacket. He watched as another fork of lightning drove its wiry limbs to the ground, followed by the wail and groan of distorting metal.
His eyes fully open, Aidan spotted a figure standing quietly behind the tree in front of him. He hadn’t seen her before; hadn’t known he was being followed by her; and hadn’t heard her get so close. A few more seconds and she would’ve been too close for him to even realise she was there.
The thunder boomed once more.
He stared.
She stayed still.
His fickle heart skipped a beat.
It was a young woman, looking back in his direction. Unusually, her glacial eyes did not trigger fear nor aggression in him, but a strange sense of familiarity which set his heart at ease - enough for him to stretch out his hand and summon a protective glamour above her head.
He didn’t know who she was, but she didn’t appear to be the kind of person who brought about adverse weather conditions or caused random explosions at abandoned mansions. Maybe she looked like someone from his childhood, memories gushing forward once more - she looked like a blonde and pristine doppleganger of a dark-skinned girl who used to play look-out in war-games on the mansion grounds many years ago. Aidan, trusting his gut, offered her a half-smile of support as the ground started to shake.
A L M O S
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Its_Just_E
The light and the dark are always at war..
Cedric was weaving his way through the brush to get into the mansion. Why was he so driven to enter? What was the cry for help he heard earlier? All these questions filled his mind. He was blindly running. He didn’t even notice the other people close by to him. The thing that broke his trance though was the giant lightning bolt coming straight down from the sky. “Wasn’t it supposed to be sunny today?” Curious, he slowed down and turned his focus to where the bolt came from.
As he approached a clearing, he heard a lot more voices now. He clawed through some bushes and then climbed a tree to get a good look. As he got to the top, he saw 4 or five figures. One of them was a women, fighting in the air and causing the bolts of lightning it seems and she was throwing those bolts at an older guy in red throwing back, cars? “Why do they look so familiar? Like I have seen them before,” said Cedric out loud. In his mind, he figured that he should be running away. This didn’t seem like something he should be involved in. Then, he noticed the two boys, about his age, walking towards the fight. One of them looked, greenish, and the other one was putting off this, strong energy. They were walking towards the fight? Why? Cedric watched the boys for a bit. He didn’t know them, but strangely, he felt a desire to help them. To rush to there aid. He jumped from the tree and hovevered to the ground. As soon as his feet hit, he ran to the boys.
As he approached a clearing, he heard a lot more voices now. He clawed through some bushes and then climbed a tree to get a good look. As he got to the top, he saw 4 or five figures. One of them was a women, fighting in the air and causing the bolts of lightning it seems and she was throwing those bolts at an older guy in red throwing back, cars? “Why do they look so familiar? Like I have seen them before,” said Cedric out loud. In his mind, he figured that he should be running away. This didn’t seem like something he should be involved in. Then, he noticed the two boys, about his age, walking towards the fight. One of them looked, greenish, and the other one was putting off this, strong energy. They were walking towards the fight? Why? Cedric watched the boys for a bit. He didn’t know them, but strangely, he felt a desire to help them. To rush to there aid. He jumped from the tree and hovevered to the ground. As soon as his feet hit, he ran to the boys.
athereal
. 2D af.
Storm looked down upon the ground below her and Magneto. At first, she became puzzled. This is what they came here for? It could not be the one with the crystal arm, though his powers did impress her Ororo slightly, nor was it the young man who flew onto the the lawn with what she could feel was an electric field pulsing around him. A bubble of doubt rose in her chest, for Weapon XIV, the 5-in-One, was flying forth to intercept him at full speed.
Then she fell to the ground, kicking up a fair amount of grass and dirt. Storm panicked, but a steel beam flew past her face. Magneto floated, not even breaking a sweat with all the energy he'd been using.
"Typical of you, Erik," she called out begrudgingly, her eyes radiating power and rage simultaneously.
"You cannot have him." he replied, twisting his hand slightly. The beam she'd dodged wrapped around her, binding her only tight enough to force submission. He then thrust his hand downward and Storm fell to the ground, the impact incapacitating her. She groaned from her bindings and struggled to get free, the sky raining sporadic bolts of lightning with her irritation. As she did, she noticed a man with berry blonde hair and a lithe frame descending the front steps of the mansion, extending his arm out past her. Turning her head, it all clicked together.
Celeste shakily stood up, her body poised to attack.
"I don't want to hurt you." his voice called out in her head, a telepathic tenor. Storm looked upward at Magneto, who'd had his eye on the kid the entire time. She knew he had heard him as well, which meant everyone present had heard him. He sounded scared and a pang hit her heart. She knew what it was like to be scared with power. But, she and her unit had no choice. The mission was clear: Take out the foreign psionic anamoly and leave no witnesses.
Celeste knew this order better than Storm did, swiping her hand in their direction. The wave knocked Storm and the electric mutant aside, as they were bystander. It hit his intended target and he flew back in the blast--but didn't land on the ground. His hands braced against the air, as if he was holding the energy from moving any further. The two psychics were locked in combat, with the held energy becoming more and more visible with each second that he held it in place.
Storm lay there in awe until she felt Sabertooth's claws Bending the metal around her. Psylocke and Cyclops looked to be approaching the Mutants who was knocked aside, an unfair advantage but necessary. Storm rose and brought her powers down angrily, causing rain to whip around their heads. Sabertooth turned and started to stalk toward the last kid still on the steps of the manor. And, with Juggernaut hopefully checking perimeter for any other interruptances, it seemed as if their mission would be completed soon.
Surprisingly, Ororo could not feel that there was a rise in temperature in Celeste's direction.
Then she fell to the ground, kicking up a fair amount of grass and dirt. Storm panicked, but a steel beam flew past her face. Magneto floated, not even breaking a sweat with all the energy he'd been using.
"Typical of you, Erik," she called out begrudgingly, her eyes radiating power and rage simultaneously.
"You cannot have him." he replied, twisting his hand slightly. The beam she'd dodged wrapped around her, binding her only tight enough to force submission. He then thrust his hand downward and Storm fell to the ground, the impact incapacitating her. She groaned from her bindings and struggled to get free, the sky raining sporadic bolts of lightning with her irritation. As she did, she noticed a man with berry blonde hair and a lithe frame descending the front steps of the mansion, extending his arm out past her. Turning her head, it all clicked together.
Celeste shakily stood up, her body poised to attack.
"I don't want to hurt you." his voice called out in her head, a telepathic tenor. Storm looked upward at Magneto, who'd had his eye on the kid the entire time. She knew he had heard him as well, which meant everyone present had heard him. He sounded scared and a pang hit her heart. She knew what it was like to be scared with power. But, she and her unit had no choice. The mission was clear: Take out the foreign psionic anamoly and leave no witnesses.
Celeste knew this order better than Storm did, swiping her hand in their direction. The wave knocked Storm and the electric mutant aside, as they were bystander. It hit his intended target and he flew back in the blast--but didn't land on the ground. His hands braced against the air, as if he was holding the energy from moving any further. The two psychics were locked in combat, with the held energy becoming more and more visible with each second that he held it in place.
Storm lay there in awe until she felt Sabertooth's claws Bending the metal around her. Psylocke and Cyclops looked to be approaching the Mutants who was knocked aside, an unfair advantage but necessary. Storm rose and brought her powers down angrily, causing rain to whip around their heads. Sabertooth turned and started to stalk toward the last kid still on the steps of the manor. And, with Juggernaut hopefully checking perimeter for any other interruptances, it seemed as if their mission would be completed soon.
Surprisingly, Ororo could not feel that there was a rise in temperature in Celeste's direction.
RingSlinger
Senior Member
The big one with the teeth and claws stomped closer and closer to Marty. This one Marty had definitely seen on television. This one was absolutely terrifying. He cast his eyes around. Not all of the mutants here were part of this attacking team of adults. In fact, some of them looked like they were lost kids, just like he was. Perhaps not JUST like he was, but not on this very scary team. "Yeah okay well, now or never," he mumbled to himself, tensing his muscles again before hurling the ball of explosive energy at Sabretooth. Immediately in his hand, another ball of energy began to form. He'd maintain his position at the top of the steps for as long as he could. Seemingly, he had the upper ground. However, standing tall that larger mutant was about as tall as Marty was on the top of the steps, so, that might not account for much. He was fairly confident in his shielded arm's ability to block Sabretooth's attacks. He wasn't, however, confident that the horrifying giant wouldn't be able to reach around or past the shield and tear him limb from limb.
His scaled skin would protect his organs more than the pink flesh he currently wore. Did that matter more? Would it be a mistake to show his true form to this many people? They were all mutants, it seemed. Mostly he was afraid of ignorant humans and how they might react, but if these were all members of homo superior, then he didn't have anything to hide. So why didn't he want to shift into his true form.
It was unnecessary. If he felt like the giant mutant might land a hit he'd shift into his real skin. That might surprise him anyway. The element of surprise might help him land an attack or something. Marty didn't entirely believe his own justification, but he felt better staying pink and fleshy, so that's what he did, watching to see the effect his explosive energy would have on the larger mutant.
His scaled skin would protect his organs more than the pink flesh he currently wore. Did that matter more? Would it be a mistake to show his true form to this many people? They were all mutants, it seemed. Mostly he was afraid of ignorant humans and how they might react, but if these were all members of homo superior, then he didn't have anything to hide. So why didn't he want to shift into his true form.
It was unnecessary. If he felt like the giant mutant might land a hit he'd shift into his real skin. That might surprise him anyway. The element of surprise might help him land an attack or something. Marty didn't entirely believe his own justification, but he felt better staying pink and fleshy, so that's what he did, watching to see the effect his explosive energy would have on the larger mutant.
A L M O S
I've converted to red
E R I C A ～ R Y K E R - G R E N V I L L E
- W A T C H T O W E R -
- W A T C H T O W E R -
Erica had hoped not to be spotted. Then again... she was not actually hiding all that effectively. As the boy looked towards her, she fell back into herself - her eyes fluttering for a moment as she recalibrated her senses. The fact that he had not attacked her outright seemed as good an omen as any. When he offered what she could only imagine was a meek, but non-threatening smile. A sentiment she imitated. "Hey, since I am still standing, I am assuming you are not with them-" She nodded in the direction of the fighting, before looking down towards the shaking ground. "Do you have any idea what this is about?" As she spoke her eyes widened again, as she tried to get a better view of the combat. The moment she extended her view she saw a piece of stray rock flying towards where they were hiding, leading to her jumping forwards. The rock impacted with her shoulder, where she had braced herself - the force knocking her a few feet to the side, also deflecting the projectile away from the boy. "Shit. This is getting crazy. Do you have allies? Or should be run? I don't think we should get into the middle of this."
The lightning lady would most likely be able to fry or fly her anywhere she pleased. The man with the metal could also take her out with ease. She was entirely outmatched in this fight. Even if she could stand against them - she had no concrete reason to stay. This entire exercise was to assuage her curiosity. Curiosity is not worth the lives of herself, or those around her. She could return whenever needed - but at the moment - she, and if she included the boy - they, were outgunned, outmanned and outsmarted. "My name is Erica, by the way. I don't see anything for us here. The mansion is not going anywhere. Could we return at a later date?" She ducked again as another piece of metal came flying by, motioning for Aiden to do the same. They probably had less than a few more minutes before they would be spotted - supposed they had not been already. "Stay behind me, if we run - I can take a few hits. Don't know about that lightning though..." She looked up at the sky as lighting burst through the clouds once more.
Arrt Saunders
Still studenting
“I was actually enjoying the afternoon sunshine,” Aidan smirked, glad to see his smile returned as he jumped out of the way of the metal beam. “Whoever is behind this shit-storm is no friend nor ally of mine.”
He dissolved the crinkling barriers above their heads with a swirl of his hands. Erica - if that was her name - seemed to be particularly capable of defending herself without any shield. She had braced herself against a head-on collision with an obnoxious boulder, a colossal weight which would have flattened Aidan without any remorse nor mercy, and stood restrained with nothing but a slight earthy smear on her lapel as a souvenir of the impact. If she could survive such a blow, she could survive way more than most. Although, he noted her reluctance to get struck by lightning. Admittedly, he shared her disinclination.
The day was already going wrong without a thousand volts coursing through his body.
That said, Aidan knew he was lucky. The young woman appeared comradely and just as confused as he was, which meant she most likely was not responsible for the galvanic squall overhead nor the tremors rattling beneath their feet. More importantly, she’d taken a potential lethal hit for him.
Extending his gloved hand, Aidan looked towards the young woman. Erica. Like the reserved look in her eyes, the name sounded familiar to him; but like every other bout of sudden reminiscence that day, he didn’t know why ‘Erica’ seemed like a name he should recognise. As far as Aidan could remember, he had never known someone who went by the name. Perhaps he had seen her name in the news or in mutant records, but he couldn’t say for sure.
“Call me Aidan,” he said with natural charm. “And I would very much like to get away from this place as quickly as possible. My whole reason for being here was simple an exercise in curiosity - I didn’t expect to be arriving on a battlefield. Whoever is out there, probably knows we’re here.”
Glancing down at the flattened grass by his side, Aidan furrowed his brow. It wasn’t the beam which caught his attention, rather the waving of the undergrowth.
The ground was still shaking.
As he shook Erica’s hand, he tallied the time between each earthly convulsion.
Three seconds. Then Two. Two again. One.
“The ground is shaking more than it was a few seconds ago,?” he muttered, listening closely and reading himself to start running in the opposite direction. Self-preservation trumps curiosity any day.
One. One. One.
“Call me crazy," Aidan said to Erica, "but doesn’t it sound like footsteps?”
He dissolved the crinkling barriers above their heads with a swirl of his hands. Erica - if that was her name - seemed to be particularly capable of defending herself without any shield. She had braced herself against a head-on collision with an obnoxious boulder, a colossal weight which would have flattened Aidan without any remorse nor mercy, and stood restrained with nothing but a slight earthy smear on her lapel as a souvenir of the impact. If she could survive such a blow, she could survive way more than most. Although, he noted her reluctance to get struck by lightning. Admittedly, he shared her disinclination.
The day was already going wrong without a thousand volts coursing through his body.
That said, Aidan knew he was lucky. The young woman appeared comradely and just as confused as he was, which meant she most likely was not responsible for the galvanic squall overhead nor the tremors rattling beneath their feet. More importantly, she’d taken a potential lethal hit for him.
Extending his gloved hand, Aidan looked towards the young woman. Erica. Like the reserved look in her eyes, the name sounded familiar to him; but like every other bout of sudden reminiscence that day, he didn’t know why ‘Erica’ seemed like a name he should recognise. As far as Aidan could remember, he had never known someone who went by the name. Perhaps he had seen her name in the news or in mutant records, but he couldn’t say for sure.
“Call me Aidan,” he said with natural charm. “And I would very much like to get away from this place as quickly as possible. My whole reason for being here was simple an exercise in curiosity - I didn’t expect to be arriving on a battlefield. Whoever is out there, probably knows we’re here.”
Glancing down at the flattened grass by his side, Aidan furrowed his brow. It wasn’t the beam which caught his attention, rather the waving of the undergrowth.
The ground was still shaking.
As he shook Erica’s hand, he tallied the time between each earthly convulsion.
Three seconds. Then Two. Two again. One.
“The ground is shaking more than it was a few seconds ago,?” he muttered, listening closely and reading himself to start running in the opposite direction. Self-preservation trumps curiosity any day.
One. One. One.
“Call me crazy," Aidan said to Erica, "but doesn’t it sound like footsteps?”
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athereal
. 2D af.
Sabertooth stumbled upon being hit by the sphere of energy. The smell of singed skin and hair made more unhinged than he previously was. The skin beneath his clothing began to heal from a sure sign that anyone else would have been incapacitated by Marty's attack. He roared like a crazed predator as he charged at the young mutant, his claws striking at the crystalline shield that was the only barrier between the two.
Meanwhile, the struggle between Davin and Celeste was reaching a peak. The woman stood upright as he was brought to his knees. She laughed, a sadistic smile plastered on what would otherwise be a beautiful face.
"This is what we came for? This is your power?," She had been able to get into walking distance of him, now standing over his partially crumpled frame. She bent over in a seductive manner, her shoulder length hair grazing his skin as much as her lips grazed his ear.
"I'm going to scramble your brains and then make your friend eat them for breakfast. He'd make a good slave pet, don't you think? All because you were weak..." Her words crossed an unspoken line. A flux of prismatic color enveloped him, stained in a bright light that was pulsating around the two of them.This was Davin's first friend, the first person he'd come into contact with in what seemed like an eternity. He didn't even do anything, they hadn't even done anything. They were innocent, this was--
"Bitch!" he screamed out, pushing his hands out at Celeste. The reserved force went upright and sent her flying upward. Magneto's body collided with Storms, taking her out of harm's way. As Celeste flew back her features and limbs quickly flared up, like a burning feather drifting in an updraft. What returned down was nothing but a couple of charred bones that remained of the young girl. Davin fell back, hyperventilating from the encounter.
--
The footsteps were indeed close and from the corner came the towering figure known as Juggernaut.
"Found you, brats," he boomed lowly, slowly looming toward them. "You know, I was only brought out here because I used to live here. My father married some rich widow who had no children. I was supposed to inherit this place, but they thought I died in some cave. But, I get the feeling that this place has changed. Irritating, but it's fine." He brought his fist down upon the force field, which cracked it only a little.
"It's like someone renovated the entire thing, but just left it here. Weird, seeing as it hasn't been inhabited in a little over 30 years. No matter. See, Ms. Frost ensured me that if we found some other brat and snuffed him out I could have my house back. And I'm thinking of repainting the walls...with your blood mayb--"
The sound of gurgling was followed by him spewing a fountain of blood. Then, his body jerked and his head rolled in the opposite direction of where his body fell. The giant tumbled over, revealing a man clad in an muscle tank and Levi's.
"Should have stayed home, shit smear." James "Logan" Howlett spat, taking a drag of the cigarette in his maw. He turned toward the two encased in the force-field and retracted the claws that were exposed from his hands. He held them up, trying to convey the fact that he wasn't gonna harm them.
"Erica...Sweets...I know you don't remember me. I remember you. Erik sent me...we're the good-ish guys..." He approached the bubble slowly, hoping that his former students would remember him on some small level.
--
The pristine lack of color was the only thing that calmed Emma at the moment. The color, not the race, was a sign of purity in her eyes. That was what she wanted for her kingdom and her subjects--the purity of uniqueness. The current world state, with race wars and oil wars and the constant fight to remain on top, was a minefield for mutants. Weren't they the superior? And they came in many shapes and colors. Emma believed that the the Homo Inferior needed to be purged to form a unified world, once and for all.
But not one part of her grand image would be realized if there was a resistance. She knew Erik had escaped. He could be dealt with.
This threat was new and she knew exactly who he was. If Erik's papers on his existence were to be believed, he could be a massive threat to not only her plans. THe plans she betrayed and seduced so many to turn over to. All that work...for naught.
"ARRRRGghhh!" Emma screamed as she threw her glass of vodka in rage. She needed a countermeasure. An equal and opposite force that could take on this nobody before he and whoever he could recruit could become somebodies. Fortunately, she had an ace up her sleeve. Her white silk outfit swished gracefully as she turned toward the only foreign spot of color in the room: A head of shaved red hair, hung down in shame.
"Weapon Red," he announced, placing her hands on her hips, "Would you like your freedom?"
Meanwhile, the struggle between Davin and Celeste was reaching a peak. The woman stood upright as he was brought to his knees. She laughed, a sadistic smile plastered on what would otherwise be a beautiful face.
"This is what we came for? This is your power?," She had been able to get into walking distance of him, now standing over his partially crumpled frame. She bent over in a seductive manner, her shoulder length hair grazing his skin as much as her lips grazed his ear.
"I'm going to scramble your brains and then make your friend eat them for breakfast. He'd make a good slave pet, don't you think? All because you were weak..." Her words crossed an unspoken line. A flux of prismatic color enveloped him, stained in a bright light that was pulsating around the two of them.This was Davin's first friend, the first person he'd come into contact with in what seemed like an eternity. He didn't even do anything, they hadn't even done anything. They were innocent, this was--
"Bitch!" he screamed out, pushing his hands out at Celeste. The reserved force went upright and sent her flying upward. Magneto's body collided with Storms, taking her out of harm's way. As Celeste flew back her features and limbs quickly flared up, like a burning feather drifting in an updraft. What returned down was nothing but a couple of charred bones that remained of the young girl. Davin fell back, hyperventilating from the encounter.
--
The footsteps were indeed close and from the corner came the towering figure known as Juggernaut.
"Found you, brats," he boomed lowly, slowly looming toward them. "You know, I was only brought out here because I used to live here. My father married some rich widow who had no children. I was supposed to inherit this place, but they thought I died in some cave. But, I get the feeling that this place has changed. Irritating, but it's fine." He brought his fist down upon the force field, which cracked it only a little.
"It's like someone renovated the entire thing, but just left it here. Weird, seeing as it hasn't been inhabited in a little over 30 years. No matter. See, Ms. Frost ensured me that if we found some other brat and snuffed him out I could have my house back. And I'm thinking of repainting the walls...with your blood mayb--"
The sound of gurgling was followed by him spewing a fountain of blood. Then, his body jerked and his head rolled in the opposite direction of where his body fell. The giant tumbled over, revealing a man clad in an muscle tank and Levi's.
"Should have stayed home, shit smear." James "Logan" Howlett spat, taking a drag of the cigarette in his maw. He turned toward the two encased in the force-field and retracted the claws that were exposed from his hands. He held them up, trying to convey the fact that he wasn't gonna harm them.
"Erica...Sweets...I know you don't remember me. I remember you. Erik sent me...we're the good-ish guys..." He approached the bubble slowly, hoping that his former students would remember him on some small level.
--
The pristine lack of color was the only thing that calmed Emma at the moment. The color, not the race, was a sign of purity in her eyes. That was what she wanted for her kingdom and her subjects--the purity of uniqueness. The current world state, with race wars and oil wars and the constant fight to remain on top, was a minefield for mutants. Weren't they the superior? And they came in many shapes and colors. Emma believed that the the Homo Inferior needed to be purged to form a unified world, once and for all.
But not one part of her grand image would be realized if there was a resistance. She knew Erik had escaped. He could be dealt with.
This threat was new and she knew exactly who he was. If Erik's papers on his existence were to be believed, he could be a massive threat to not only her plans. THe plans she betrayed and seduced so many to turn over to. All that work...for naught.
"ARRRRGghhh!" Emma screamed as she threw her glass of vodka in rage. She needed a countermeasure. An equal and opposite force that could take on this nobody before he and whoever he could recruit could become somebodies. Fortunately, she had an ace up her sleeve. Her white silk outfit swished gracefully as she turned toward the only foreign spot of color in the room: A head of shaved red hair, hung down in shame.
"Weapon Red," he announced, placing her hands on her hips, "Would you like your freedom?"
RingSlinger
Senior Member
Marty pulled a grimace as his attack seemed to have no effect on the larger man. But that wasn’t accurate was it. His eyes narrowed as he focused in on what appeared to be damage to Sabretooth’s outfit. His eyes widened again as he caught the tail end of the mutant’s skin stitching itself back together. He wondered immediately how powerful it was. The amount of time it had taken for the wound to seal itself up under Marty’s curious eye, compared against the damage the big mutants clothes had taken implied that the power was likely substantial.
“I want that” he muttered softly. He’d need a better view. Fortunately, he had the feeling he’d get that better view as claws of the lumbering brute clanged against the crystalline shield that was Marty’s arm.
Marty planted his legs hard against the ground. His opponent was considerably stronger than he was, but that was fine. He just needed to last here for a few more moments to accomplish what he wanted.
“Here hold this” dropping his shield arm for a second and tossing another explosive ball directly up into the direction of the bigger mutant’s face and torso as he himself slid backwards and leapt out of the way. If he had judged the momentum correctly, Sabretooth’s downward push towards the shield would carry him directly into the explosive energy, while Marty himself ducked backwards. The bigger man would, of course, heal from this. But Marty would see how it worked.
From where he landed he tucked and rolled again, glancing to his new friend Davin before bringing his eyes back to Sabretooth. The boy looked all out of sorts.
“Davin” he asked, panting, “you alright?”
He didn’t look to the other boy again. He needed to focus entirely on his opponent.
“I want that” he muttered softly. He’d need a better view. Fortunately, he had the feeling he’d get that better view as claws of the lumbering brute clanged against the crystalline shield that was Marty’s arm.
Marty planted his legs hard against the ground. His opponent was considerably stronger than he was, but that was fine. He just needed to last here for a few more moments to accomplish what he wanted.
“Here hold this” dropping his shield arm for a second and tossing another explosive ball directly up into the direction of the bigger mutant’s face and torso as he himself slid backwards and leapt out of the way. If he had judged the momentum correctly, Sabretooth’s downward push towards the shield would carry him directly into the explosive energy, while Marty himself ducked backwards. The bigger man would, of course, heal from this. But Marty would see how it worked.
From where he landed he tucked and rolled again, glancing to his new friend Davin before bringing his eyes back to Sabretooth. The boy looked all out of sorts.
“Davin” he asked, panting, “you alright?”
He didn’t look to the other boy again. He needed to focus entirely on his opponent.
Arrt Saunders
Still studenting
A war of emotions began to rage within Aidan. On the one hand he felt grateful to be alive yet suddenly nauseous on the other. Like a shot, he turned away from the blood-soaked behemoth, who lay pale and lifeless on the grass like a prized kill, and the iron-clawed wolf who had skewered the beast.
His body started to heave, chest contracting violently, and it took every ounce of strength he had to stop the contents of his stomach from reappearing. It was suddenly very hard to breath.
Aidan had never witnessed such violence before, and it left him weak. In medical school, it wasn’t unusual to encounter injury or even death but the barbarity was completed new to him. With the lightest of touches, someone could’ve knocked him to his knees. The towering hulk had been telling some story before his lifeblood sprayed Aidan’s force-field. Only seconds later, Aidan couldn’t bring a single work of it to mind.
The smell of metal tainted the air around him, fresh with the redness of blood and viscera. Gone from Aidan’s body was the adrenaline of curiosity which, like always, had dulled his fears and spurred his truth-seeking, replaced by the horrifying realisation that he may have bitten off way more than he could chew.
He simply wanted answers to some gaps in his psyche and a hard-earned tenner from his friend: never had he expected to be beside a corpse with an indestructible woman and a man who’d called him ‘Sweets’, as if he knew Aidan enough for sarcasm.
He couldn’t speak for Erica, but he hadn’t one idea who the man was.
Steadying himself, he slowly stood up. He didn’t dare face the man who had come to his aid, as well as that of Erica, for fear of losing more control.
Sighing heavily, he whispered to the woman beside him: “Do we trust this guy?”
The hypocrisy of his question was as vile as the acid in his throat. Whoever the man was he had just saved his life. Whoever Erica was she had just saved his life. He was prepared to follow Erica, but not quite prepared for the big bad wolf.
His body started to heave, chest contracting violently, and it took every ounce of strength he had to stop the contents of his stomach from reappearing. It was suddenly very hard to breath.
Aidan had never witnessed such violence before, and it left him weak. In medical school, it wasn’t unusual to encounter injury or even death but the barbarity was completed new to him. With the lightest of touches, someone could’ve knocked him to his knees. The towering hulk had been telling some story before his lifeblood sprayed Aidan’s force-field. Only seconds later, Aidan couldn’t bring a single work of it to mind.
The smell of metal tainted the air around him, fresh with the redness of blood and viscera. Gone from Aidan’s body was the adrenaline of curiosity which, like always, had dulled his fears and spurred his truth-seeking, replaced by the horrifying realisation that he may have bitten off way more than he could chew.
He simply wanted answers to some gaps in his psyche and a hard-earned tenner from his friend: never had he expected to be beside a corpse with an indestructible woman and a man who’d called him ‘Sweets’, as if he knew Aidan enough for sarcasm.
He couldn’t speak for Erica, but he hadn’t one idea who the man was.
Steadying himself, he slowly stood up. He didn’t dare face the man who had come to his aid, as well as that of Erica, for fear of losing more control.
Sighing heavily, he whispered to the woman beside him: “Do we trust this guy?”
The hypocrisy of his question was as vile as the acid in his throat. Whoever the man was he had just saved his life. Whoever Erica was she had just saved his life. He was prepared to follow Erica, but not quite prepared for the big bad wolf.
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