War with D.E.S.T.I.N.Y.

[spoofer]

Characters: Ensemble cast, any/all characters of Xistentia!
Summary: D.E.S.T.I.N.Y. comes to Xistentia for the first time, bringing with it violence and havoc. Combat against enemy agents, healing, emergency sanctuary, and "Drift Compatibility" happen here. Refer to the OOC plotting post and the mod announcement!
Date(s): November 4-18
Warnings/Notes: Violence, death, psychological themes, trauma. Please warn for anything else in your subject headers!

WAR WITH DESTINY

By headsman's blade or battle-axe

Fight For Your Life

Everything is, in short, super fucked. Era Ra's warning came at the right time, forewarning of some of the weapons and fighting styles that could be expected from D.E.S.T.I.N.Y.'s agents, but still, the people of Xistentia have not faced a force like this before. The ragtag combination of fighting styles and tactics promises both versatility and confusion.

For better or worse, D.E.S.T.I.N.Y. is in similar chaos.

The first to come are ships from the Western sea, bearing a mix of warriors in and monsters. Some wield old-fashioned steel swords and others bear laser blasters, and their armor is just as varied. Some creatures appear domesticated, while others are feral and snap at their own. However, one primary feature identifies the enemy: their war color is red, which adorns flags and uniforms. Interestingly, the sea and sky of Xistentia seem to be fighting back in their own way, massive waves and a storm, even animals pestering them as they attempt to land the beach. However, it's only a matter of time before the mainstay of their forces reach land, some two hundred fighters. It's then that sentient fires start to whirl into the forests, leaping from tree to tree.

You have the home court advantage. Even the foliage itself seems to cooperate with you, aiding in efforts for stealth by keeping you downwind, twigs failing to crack when you misstep. Soon, you're joined by Xistentia's other forces-- a handful of battered ships taking air, an odd assortment of elves and talking dogs, demons and aliens from outer-space, coordinating counter-attacks.

BATTLE MODE: ATTACK

You're locked in combat with a woman who seems oddly familiar, though you don't know her face and can't think of her name. You hit her in the head, and now a narrow slice of her face shows through her red-rimmed helm. She wields a rifle tipped with a heavy blade, though it crackles with electrical energy. She is a proficient swordswoman, deftly parrying and striking against you, her face eerily expressionless. Her blade has a switch that, when activated, will send out a net that numbs your limbs and drags you to the floor. Here's hoping you won't face this demon alone.

She's not your only problem. You may have noticed, that in every epic battle with evil wizards, there's always some kind of a problematically gigantic elephant. This is one of those days. At least, there's only one, its trunk as wide as a car, its feet moving slow, so that it might crush the trees rather than trip over them.

Fight one or both, or fight the hordes of nameless minions around them. Either way: there's plenty to do. Those of you who thought things were too quiet here? You'll be busy today.

SEEK SANCTUARY

Fighting isn't for you? Well, you'll want to get out of the way, then. The "wards" protecting the city are failing, and people are heading toward The Temple where the protections remain the strongest. Here, the injured need healing in the stone beds. The civilians do their best, comforting children, cooking food, trading intelligence, repairing weapons and armor where possible. Feel free to pitch in; they need all the help they can get.

BATTLE MODE: SUPPORT (PSYLINK)

And here, you've reached the Temple, you've laid yourself down on one of the many glass-and-stone beds within the safety of its stone walls. You know what the other Xistentia residents have told you about it— this is the next phase, after the memory share had raised shields against the psychotropic rain. This is the PsyLink. Through this bond, you are said to be able to activate special defenses. No one seems to know exactly what they are, but desperate times call for desperate measures. And beyond the Temple walls, times are desperate indeed.

Each drift requires at least two people. Your daemons will find and connect you, seemingly at random— and you may find yourself with the unlikeliest of partners.

Drift Compatible

The Kissing Booth participants find it easiest. Everyone else-- it's a wild jumble, finding yourself caught up in a firehose of not only your own memories, but that of someone else. Everything they think, everything they feel, is intertwined with your mind.

You can't get caught up in it. You have to let the memories of the past, your predictions for the future, and the terror of war flow in and out of you, without neither resistance or pursuit, gently tuning them out. And in this serenity, this psychic silence, this acceptance of not only yourself but the other other, you find perfect connectivity— harmony with your PsyLink partner.

In this space, you find yourself having strange conversations. You and your partner will share ghostly images, some of which seem to be images from the past— while others seem to be present-day moments from the battle outside, fighting the enemy, as if you are somehow in two places at once. You must find traction and stay in the now and stay calm, but it's harder than you think.

The instant you latch onto that memory or emotion, it's a mistake... but you forget.

Your shadow is here. Whether out-of-context, or right here where it was meant to be, it's trying to kill you.

But you're not trapped here alone. Someone is calling your name, a familiar voice in the pandemonium. That voice comes from your drift partner. It's up to them to pull you back, remind you of who you are, and balance you. Hold on to them - they're your anchor, but you'll have to do the same for them. A successful drift means helping each other. Do it well, and you'll help to power the temple's defences. Fail, and there'll be trouble for everyone seeking sanctuary here.

Comments

alec lightwood ( ota )

[helical]

A. FIGHT FOR YOUR LIFE
UNTIL YOUR LEGS GIVE OUT

( alec was glad, infinitely so, that he and jace had taken the time to test their new runes before this. the sea was reacting, and alec guided it, encouraged it in the right directions, the right places, to slow down the enemy, to buy the others in the city time to get organized or find refuge. the turmoil of the water matched the turmoil in his chest, but he kept his mind clear, his thoughts focused. one mistake and many could die.

his feet dug in the sand, water splashed at his feet. he stood his ground, barking orders to anyone who would listen, telling people to watch their backs, to get the soldier that washed ashore a few feet on the left. jace was next to him, the two of them using their prize powers together. magnus was nearby, so was clary — and the four of them watched each other's backs. it was too familiar a situation for alec to feel out of his depth, but the new powers and the lack of knowledge about their assailant were a toll.

he didn't realize how tired he was, until he closed his eyes for a second and opened them in the temple. he must have passed out and been taken there by the others. instantly he's sitting up, looking around for the exit. )

I'm not — tired. I'm fine, let me get back to — ( as he stands he knocks over his quiver, cursing under his breath in frustration with himself. he is in control of his body, he is not so tired that the edges of his vision is swimming. in fact, he just needs to reach for his stele and give himself a boost with a rune or two. he can't stand the thought of sitting here and resting while this is going on. he wants to break something, but he feels the tension in his hand as he curls it into a fist. he can feel the cuts and scrapes there, the cracked blood from too many arrows fired too fast. ) I've got to get back out there. ( he says, his voice a hoarse whisper, bringing a trembling hand to run it over his face. )

B. SEEKING SANCTUARY
LAY DOWN YOUR WEARY HEAD

( alec wants to get back on the field immediately, or at least get out there to the citadel, but he's been advised he should get something to eat before even thinking to step out into battle again. he knows it's wise, knows that a nutrition rune might help but that eating will help him remain focused just from whatever little pleasure he can get out of it right now.

so he's thanking one of the civilians who prepared food as he piles a ton onto a plate, making his way to sit off to the side so as not to be in the way. he looks in bad shape, covered in sand, dust, blood from already healed scratches and cuts. his hand no longer hurts, but still he flexes it idly as he chews on a piece of bread, staring off into space, lost in his thoughts. he's trying to think of a strategy, worrying about magnus, jace, clary, rafa, vex, janus, rosie — isabelle back home, max, his mother. it eats at him as he sits here, losing appetite rapidly, looking down at his plate with distaste.

without looking at the closest person, he holds it out. ) Here. You take this.

C. ANYTHING GOES

( prompt me with a starter or PM me to plot something out! )

b

[novelizes]

[ jughead is sitting nearby, his laptop having already been drained of battery, so he's contented himself with scrolling whatever makes for newsfeeds on his cellphone/daemon. he's already tried to make use of himself by offering a hand at wrapping injuries, but not being so good with that, he's settled down again to wait out the battle. because, frankly, he's not made for this kind of thing. he looks like an average teenager and pretty much is, if a bit broodier than most. he hasn't even been paying much attention to the guy next to him until the plate of food is shoved in front of him and he starts, turning towards the guy with a brow raised as he looks him over.

so apparently this guy has been out there in the fight. at least someone is. jughead feels a little guilty for not being out there himself, but he knows he'd end up a casualty or just in someone's way. this isn't riverdale, so he's not used to this all out war stuff. this guy, though, apparently is. ]

As much as I'm a stress eater in times of strife, no offense, dude. But you look like you could use it more than me.

a!!!

[jungianthing]

( it's strange, fighting like this. nothing like vietnam and nothing like his father's war, either. wars are never the same any more, he read that somewhere and it makes sense: things are changing too quickly. and this, the world around him being so untenably different, it doesn't help. it's throwing him. he doesn't feel himself, doesn't know himself any more. he's holding his rifle tight, too tight for comfort, grip hard enough that the skin of his knuckles is pale and strained, but there's a disconnect, an absence, and he can feel that stronger than he can access anything else.

he's sitting by the door when he sees the stumbling, unsteady figure heading closer, and unthinkingly he blocks the exit. his rifle is close by but not in his hand - this is my rifle there are many like it but this one is mine my rifle is my best friend it is my life - so he holds his hand open instead, palm up and out, stop. stop right there. ) You really wanna get yourself killed that bad, bro?

b

[mordacita]

[ Rafa gives Alec a look of utter distaste, and quickly pushes the plate away. He would have trouble getting that down even if he were human, and he's absolutely not attempting it now. No. That's not why he's here.

He's here because he saw Alec's laboured stance, and still sees him pushing himself too hard. Battle doesn't exhaust Rafa. Far from it; battle leads to him drinking the blood of his enemies, thus strengthening him with every kill. It's likely that his skin looks warmer and more healthy than Alec has ever seen it.

His eyes are harder. That's a thing. But it's also a problem for later, since there's a lot on his mind right now. Stubborn as ever, he stares up at his friend. ]

If you would let me heal you, every hurt would go away. Your strength would return. You could get back out there, at once.

[ This would of course require ingesting vampire blood. Rafa sincerely doubts Alec is about to agree to that, so he lifts his eyebrows, expectant. ]

Otherwise, sit down and rest. I will get food for you. You are in no condition to serve others right now.

c

[estrayer]

[ Jace is by Alec's side, working with him in a way that's both familiar and new at the same time. The last time Jace had been on a mission, he'd died. That's a thing that rolls around in his head. He doesn't let it stop him, though, instead pushing it to the back of his mind while he focuses on the task at hand. Luckily, that requires more concentration than usual.

The swift moves with his seraph blade, the punches and kicks, the rolls and dodges that end with him slicing his blade upwards through a creature and then spinning to throw a knife into the back of another, all of that is instinctual. Jace's runes for speed, agility, strength and concentration are all active, making him a beat faster, stronger and better than the ones he's facing.

But then there's the other thing. The run that lets him move the ground. And there's a fresh horde coming at them. ]

Alec! [ He says, and turns to raise his hand. Between the two of them and the enemy, a sharp crack appears along the ground. Jace grits his teeth as the rune on his forearm glows. Then the crack pulls open, stretching a deep chasm in the ground where before there had been nothing. There's wild panic ahead of them as some fall in, and other flail to avoid the trap. Jace looks at his parabatai, waiting for step two. ]

b

[hasitsthorns]

[ She's fine.

Although it depends on one's definition of 'fine,' maybe. As almost everyone knows, Rose's doesn't quite match up with most people's. She's not injured - not fatally, at least - though there is a definite tinge of exhaustion to just about every facet of her body language. There are no smiles or goofy one-liners today; instead, she almost looks downright apathetic compared to her usual happy-go-lucky self. She feels cold as the eternal she was born of, shaped by.

Worse than that, she still feels blood sticking to her hands. Can still see the light of other's eyes extinguished by her hand. It's her or them, it's everyone she cares about or them. Rose knows this but it's still a difficult thing to swallow. ]

Thanks, dude, [ she says, taking it from him. Her appetite is just as abysmal, however, and so it ends up getting passed further along to whoever else will have it. Someone that can put it better use than her. ] Look like you've seen better days.

[ Like she's one to talk right now. ]

juno steel / ota

[monologue]

i. fight for your life / @ ota

[ there's hot plasma fire that comes from an unseen direction. one shot. and then another. each of these has a deadly aim that doesn't miss. juno is hidden downwind from the fire, as is the forest's will, hidden among the foliage and undergrowth with a rifle in both of his hands. first things first, xistentia is not mars, it isn't hyperion city, it isn't the crowded population and winding neon streetlights that keep him company at night. no. it's lush, green, alive, breathing, singing. it's a promise to keep his home safe so long as he holds up his end of the bargain. and juno tries his best not to break promises these days. the last one he broke? well. that was just something that was unavoidable in the end. but he won't betray the trust of this place, not when mars is hanging in the balance once again.

juno is positioned on one of many thick boughs in a tree, leaves move slowly over him, provide cover for him. while he really doesn't like heights, he's going to stomach them in this case, swallow down the fear because this is some great cover. the theia hums to life and softly whispers to him in her voice that she's calibrating his aim, locking onto targets, steadying his heartbeat, his muscles. so it begins. he lines up shot after shot after shot, aiming to keep both warriors and monsters at bay. if there is one thing that's certain here, it's this, juno plans to take a page out but one of his namesake's great epithets: sospita, savior. protector. shoot alongside him, or join him under the cover the forest provides at least for a brief moment if you want. ]

---

[ it's not pretty, war. hell, juno's never had to see one this up close before, never felled so many people at once. there's no stun setting on this rifle, and maybe he's thankful for it because none of these bastards deserve that kind of mercy with all the havoc they're causing. but because of it, he's pressed up against the trunk of a tree, looking pretty green around the gills. one second he looks like he might be okay, the next he's vomiting straight onto the roots of the tree he's clinging to for dear life. the theia's influence is a burst of adrenaline and focus that he rides with every concussive blast of the rifle, but now that he's not staring down the sights of a gun, the world's spinning.

the tree itself seems to reach a bough down just a bit, brushes the space between his shoulder blades like some kind of consolation. there's blood on his hands from an ambush, blood on his shirt, his skull. ]

Yeah, uh, sorry, Mother Nature.


ii. seek sanctuary / @ ota

[ here's one juno steel on the ground with a small basin of water in a relatively empty corner. he looks relatively freshly bandaged up, some butterfly bandages holding a nasty graze on his temple together, a few on his arms from where he took the brunt of a couple of bad falls. he's crouched in front of a rather large peacock who is looking... unnaturally pink, feathers a gradient of white to red. it seems rather patient, resting a small head against juno's shoulder as he cleans her feathers with a shockingly slow and careful hand. ]

I'm not uncomfortable, [ she says, voice pitched feminine if you listen closely enough. which is weird because that'd make her a peahen wouldn't it? but she's far too magnificent. ] Please don't wet your bandages.

[ juno snorts at her, but his voice is barely above a whisper. ]

Shut up, you're not cute, Dahliad.

[ the gentleness of his motions, however, seems to betray his urgency to get dahliad clean, combing through her feathers with his rough fingers trembling. ]


iii. battle mode: support (psylink) / cw: eventual mention of child abuse / @ janus lefevre
( see ooc drift planning: andromeda and the dragon's peak for more information. )

[ so drifting isn't easy, but at least DAHLIAD chooses someone that juno knows a bit about. staying stable shouldn't be hard, there's a lot riding on it, so clearly sheer determination and focus should win out, but there's a soft voice that seems to tear its way through juno's brain, something that makes him stop dead, blood going cold like an ice floe. somewhere mid-drift, juno feels that sharp tug, like a noose around the neck yanking him back sharply, jostling the entire thing. ]

Now, Juno, [ that same voice slurs and suddenly juno is pretty sure he's on the ground looking up at a very real andromeda, chainmail warrior standing a few feet from him with her sword drawn. she shambles forward, her blade cutting, sweeping, painting tainted silver arcs in the air. ] Just hold still, this will only hurt for a second, I p͍̘͠-p-p͍̘͠r͔o͇m̟̣̫̲͞i̵͕͚̟s̞͕̪̖e҉̪̰.

[ her voice glitches, stammers and stutters and sparks seem to fly from strange plating pieces in her armor. she takes steps slowly like a cat that knows she's got her prey precisely where she wants it. she's just playing with him it seems, and it's definitely not a fair fight by any means. juno's weaponless and on the ground, sprawled while andromeda's voice is warping, a register that's striking off all the discordant bells in juno's head--sarah steel. she sounds exactly like sarah steel.

now, it isn't as though juno isn't trying to stand up and get the hell away. god, he's trying to grip the grass to get some traction and stack himself upright, but for some reason he's stuck on the ground like his legs don't work, like someone's gone and slashed the muscles at the backs of his heels and left him to crawl like a goddamn worm. which is exactly how he feels the more she talks. when he tries again, he just falls, and there's a panic low in his gut that says he can't outrun her, he can't outrun sarah-goddamn-steel because she's all over him, in his blood, in his brain setting him on fire, eating him alive from the inside out like a parasite over three decades old. juno looks like he's trying to say something, anything, but it's deafened by the roar of a dragon in the distance, of a great, booming narrator's voice glitching over and over the same words nightmarishly. ]

Now be a good boy and hold still for mommy so she can f̧͇̥̲̖̼̦̜į͇̗n̫̘͈͓̠i̠͍̱͙̤͉̝s̛ͅh ̫͓t̝̺͕̮͓̟h̡̼̫̩̬̹e͓̖ ̙͔̥̲j̠̘o̞̲̦͈̕b͈̰̞̩͜. Don't you want to be a good boy?

meeeee

[bangitybang]

[a terrible monster, janus thinks. terrible monsters are nothing new, but most of the ones that they've encountered and slewn, in their own world, were not so personal. maniacal vampires, homicidal clowns, diseased werewolves, legitimate zombies, demons that could derive no sustenance except off the flesh of thinking beings younger than eighteen. they've met all sorts, but their relationship with these creatures was always decidedly impersonal. they guard mankind, and all creatures that mean no harm to peace-loving folk, having spent their life fostering a sense of kinship for the vast worlds of innocents they'll never be a part of. but that's different.

different to seeing the substance of somebody's soul peeled back like the flesh off a skinning victim, their surprised flesh and muscle, vessels exposed and squirming to the exam table light. the biological nightmare of the anatomy of someone else's mind. the components are in and of themselves familiar to janus— they've smelled people burning, they've seen swords meet and sparks fly. they've been in the dark and hunted by neon light. they've even been to carnivals. but this is about nothing they've ever done.

this is juno's. janad had told them so.

and out of the dark, the hunter descends. or rather, they ascend, swinging their sword up, lunging to meet the chainmailed woman weapon-first. metal shrieks against metal. they're stronger than they look in reality, and it reverberates into the substance of the psylink— half a ton of strength bursting up to deflect the blade.] And a fine lady, [they tell her, because it didn't seem right not to say something when nightmare words cut juno so.]

Era Ra ☘ OTA

[astralera]

☘ fight for your life

Era had known something terrible was going to happen, though she hadn't known what or when, exactly. Just that it was going to be bad.

The Blessing of the Light thrums through her, granting Era the strength that comes from pushing past her limits in battle. She hits harder and brushes off attacks that might otherwise have made her stagger despite her heavy armour. She has people to protect and she won't let them down. Flash. Rage of Halone. Total Eclipse. Ultimatum. Despite her small stature she is skilled at making opponents pay attention to her and only her. A Paladin is meant to be a living shield; a protector of those unable to defend themselves. And Era does just that, felling swordsmen and gunmen alike without pause.

Her movements seem effortless and unbearably quick - like she knows what her opponent is going to do a few moments before they do it. Sometimes the Echo fails her however, for not everything can be dodged even with her speed, and not everything can be blocked, even with her treasured shield. Occasionally she's forced to throw herself in the path of a blade or bullet or bite to prevent another comrade from falling, yet still she doesn't stop.

Perhaps you're one of the ones Era leaps in front of to protect from a particularly nasty attack. Sword planted in the ground behind her heel and shield held in front, aetherial blue wings spread out behind her like a warm embrace, protecting anyone in their range from taking the full brunt of any attack. Passage of Arms is a flashy ability, but it's powerful.

☘ battle mode: attack

There was only so long Era could say on the defense - eventually she needed to flee the battle in order to change her method of attack to something with more... fire power. As a Red Mage she sacrifices her immense defensive abilities for more mobility and overall power. She shoots alternating jets of violet lightning, green wind, and explosions of white-to-black. Leaps into close range with a Corps-a-Corps to attack with her rapier before backflipping away to a safe casting range.

She's more vulnerable as a spell caster and needs to rely on Aymeric and her companions far more to keep her safe as she tries to literally blast her way through the enemies.

There is no confusion as to why someone such as Aymeric would treat her with the highest regard as a warrior after seeing her fight - there is no mortal being on Hydaelyn currently stronger than her, and it definitely shows. She exists as a living weapon, and she's good at her job.

Her skill is even more apparent after the fight has gone on long enough for her to draw upon the energy built up by her party members, casting the immensely powerful and blinding Vermillion Scourge. The downside to channeling such a massive amount of aether is that she's left open to attack while casting, and stunned for a precious few seconds after the light from her spell has died down.

☘ wild card

{ Era Ra#4916 / froakie for plotting shenanigans. or feel free to just throw a starter at me and I'll roll with it! }

psylink, lmk if it doesn't work (and you can totes ffw to the actual drift if you like!)

[remarkablymodest]

It was nothing short of incredible to fight by Era's side again. They flowed like a steady river together, moving through enemies in a surreal sort of harmony. Between the both of them as tanks, no one within close proximity so much as suffers a scratch.

The battle isn't waning by any means but their forces are and he makes the call to Era to fall back to instead focus their efforts on protecting the temple. Most people seem to have gathered there and it'd be better to stay centralized. He wants to ensure that as many citizens of Xistentia stay safe and he can't think of anyone better a protector than the Warrior of Light.

Once they've situated themselves there, he's informed of a way that people can help. How they can help even further than they already have.

"Era," he starts, approaching her when she has a moment to catch her breath, "I think it would benefit everyone if we were to try this and aid how we can. We can only active certain defenses through this Psylink, which requires two people to work, and I can't think of anyone I trust more than you to join me in this."

[servomotor]

a} labyrinth; (steve, whomever!)

[Tunnel after serpentine tunnel of stone give way to random, shitty chambers cluttered with STARK-labeled crates and boxes. It smells acrid in here, not of fire but the kinds of contemporary chemicals that are supposed to fuck you up on a cellular level with enough exposure, even at a low grade, over enough time. Outside, it's a barren wasteland of sweating, arid heat, but in here it's cool, lit only by electric bulbs coarsely embedded at intervals in walls, the ceiling, rotting on the vines of exposed wire work.

Tony doesn't have a suit. Not a big, lumbering one of alloy parts and scrap, nor the polished, aerodynamic masterpieces of irreplicable modern technology that he machined inhouse in Malibu. He has a gun. No, he doesn't have a gun, because the Winter Soldier just slapped it wholesale out of his hand, and now it's rattling away across the floor, spinning like a plastic toy.

He's forgotten this isn't real. All he can feel is the pressing terror of warlords shouting in the distance, their voices echoing in the corridors.

All he can look at, is the Winter Soldier's countenance. The eyeliner-- which he can't even get his shit together enough to make fun of right now, the ragged hair. The metal arm, segments shifting and tightening in melodic segments as he makes a fist and swings. All he can think about is his parents dying in the dark. The Soldier clips his shoulder and sends him spinning, sprawling against the wall, his eyes huge in his head, sweat pouring down the collar of his idiot Led Zeppelin shirt, but he's winded by the impact. He can't move. Not yet.]

b} closed to loki;

[Tony has never been to Asgard. It's pretty, in a baroque kind of way, like Tony never thought that the dozens and dozens of stories of the Avengers Tower or his diamond-encrusted Rolexes were 'too much,' but the opulence of gold leaf and naked statues in the traditions of Ancient Greece had always seemed kinda. Gaudy. It's a matter of taste, maybe. Not 'some' versus 'none,' but the style of your upbringing.

This is the kind of family home where Tony can almost, sort of, imagine wearing drapes up through his teens. But he knows it isn't his, of course. He's revisited his private nightmare a couple times by now, snapping out of it each time a little more exasperated that he keeps falling in, but it's disorienting, horrifying, utterly convincing when he's in it. The fact he remembers himself here, right now, tells him that he's about to find someone else in this labyrinth, losing their shit.

He has half a guess as to who, but he doesn't want to make assumptions.

So he moves through the vast hallways. No suit, just a Rolling Stones T-shirt and designer jeans, sneakers. Dreamspace saw fit to equip him with a pistol, which seems like the punchline on a joke somebody forgot to tell. It's fine. He flattens himself against one shining wall, then peers around the corner.]

b} battle; (shepard, whomever)

[It's a bird. It's a plane. It's Iron Man, in red and gold, propelling himself through the sky with technology that would be impressive in most worlds, except maybe not the one that's said to contain the entire multiverse in its databanks. While Tony's sense of Hella impressive technology and the manipulation of physics may no longer be impressive in the grand scale of F.A.T.E.S., he's still a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield.

He dodges a small missile and then fells a tree using a repulsor, to block the rushing charge of a red-cloaked horseback rider. He swoops and dives in the air, agile as a magpie.

And then he plucks you up off the ground, easy as picking daisies, and carries you out as a hideous black chopper comes roaring by, guns blazing at the trigger-fingers of the crimson soldiers within.]

wildcard!

[Whatever you like! He'll definitely be at the Temple, too.]

[alleyfights]

[The last person he'd expected to drift with was Tony. Not because they couldn't be compatible enough for the process, but rather, they really haven't come to terms with everything yet. It was a conversation he kept putting off. One that they needed to have soon. Unfortunately, life had other plans and they had a fight to win.

He doesn't recognize the cave system that he's in but the weapons crates labeled STARK are clue enough that whatever he's experiencing, it's not out of his own mind. At least, he assumes as much until he turns a corner and watches in muted horror as Bucky? takes a swing and sends Tony flying.]

Buck, stop!

[He calls out as he rushes forward, pushing into the man with all his force. It barely sends him skidding through the dirt and when they make eye contact, Steve's breath catches in his throat. His eyes are empty. Not like the eyes of the man he'd met on the beach here or the one he'd left in a cryo tube. The soldier's eyes. Empty and lifeless, a threat.]

Tony get up. [He takes a step towards him, blocking the soldier's view of the man.] Get up now.

loki (ota)

[dothelokimotion]

[ a. And I fell right into a burning ring of fire ]

[ It was too hot. Loki tugged at his collar as he threw a few illusionary doubles around him, his knives unerring finding their targets. With a quick magical flick of his fingers, he recalls them, gripping them tightly in his hands. His illusions were always his best line of defense as they circle around the invaders, taunting and laughing. However, illusions were no shield and even his usual telekinetic aura cannot repel a larger blast at close range.

Loki grabbed one invader by the neck, crushing the windpipe instantly. He drops him immediately, stepping over the carnage. Fires had erupted around the forest. On any other day, he would have leaped to find out how this place worked in their favor but even while the flames did not touch him, he can barely breathe . . .

He blinks owlishly, focusing on whoever is close. Not red. He clears his dry throat. ]

I don't suppose you have any water on you?

[ b. he doesn't care (no really) ]

[ Healing is not one of his arts. His natural ability to heal does most of the work for him. Eir, of course, had passed along some basic training. Every warrior needed it after all and Thor had all the grace of a one-legged duck. He could never sit still either, constantly needing to move and act and jostle his wounds until the healers threw their hands at him, exasperated and called for Loki, just make him stay —

Well. That was a long time ago. Loki lets the moment pass, but some urges are too ingrained. He can even hear Eir's voice, telling him he's doing it wrong as he watches some poor fool struggle to finish his splint or apply the medicine. Finally he snaps, annoyed. ]

Give it here before you make it worse.

[ c. wildcard ]

[ write your own starter / pm me for an idea at captainkink or this journal / plotting comment ]

A.

[astralera]

[ Despite the impressive display, Era takes no time to admire Loki's combat prowess. While he took care of his opponents she focused on her own, taking them down with preternatural skill and efficiency. The heat of the fire doesn't bother her - her first memories are of the desert and she adapted to the dry, scorching heat very quickly. It's the cold that consistently gives her pause.

Immediate vicinity cleared of opponents, she takes the moment to turn her attention to Loki. His query is answered as Era pulls a small jar of water out from somewhere, tossing it to him with her free hand. Studying him, it seems as though he could use more than just some water. And she could use a minor healing herself, so it only makes sense to cast a quick Clemency spell; holding her sword and shield in front of her as she focuses her aether, bringing a halo of light into existence above each of their heads to shine healing rays down on them both.

It isn't as powerful as it would have been had Era been fighting as any of her healing jobs, but it's enough to lessen any serious injuries to something more minor and fully heal any minor ones. The added bonus of being healed herself when casting it on another is nice, fully healing a cut on her scalp and easing the pain of a particularly uncomfortable abdominal injury. ]

I have some healing potions to spare. [ Era decides to let him infer her meaning himself, as it should be obvious enough. Do you want any to carry with you?. ]

kurt wagner [nightcrawler] ❧ ota

[shadowblends]

❧ fight for your life
the moment to live and the moment to die

[Kurt, for once, is far happier than he should be about having battle training. So far, it's aided him in keeping others safe, propelled him into a more leadership type role, urging him to guide others to seek shelter or ready themselves for conflict. He fights back as many minions as he can with a knife that isn't much bigger than his hand, disabling them left and right, regardless of his apprehension on, well, murdering people. (Yes, okay, they're attacking them, but--)

He uses the helpful environment to his advantage, teleporting between foliage to avoid flames, gliding with ease across branches and treetops. Every now and then, he'll pause-- maybe it's to help a fallen civilian or comrade, bamfing from one place to another to get them out of harms way. Then, he will backtrack to continue restraining their foes.

It's more back and forth than he'd like. One of the things that keeps him going is Magnus' words from their first meeting: "Working together to benefit us all as a whole."

Something that becomes a mantra after too long.]

❧ seek sanctuary
if no one is standing beside you, be still and know i am

[At some point, he'd made it to the temple, still aiding others inside, despite his battered and bruised form.] I'm all right. Never better— really, [he insisted, trying to brush off any concerns for his wounds, until he found it was getting harder and harder to stand.

Finally, after some coercing, Kurt relinquishes and allows himself to be helped, fidgeting uncomfortably at the idea of others being hurt. The people that bandage him up demand he rest for a decent length of time, but a full day surely can't be enough, can it? That's all the time he takes, though.

Soon enough, he's back on his feet, darting between people in the temple, checking their well-beings, making sure no one has perished. Clad in some tricked out armor (thanks, Stark), sans faceplate, the azure-skinned mutant finds it hard to sit still with the ongoing skirmish just outside.

Much to his dismay, the blade he'd been using before had gotten busted in an earlier situation, leaving him weaponless for the moment. Not that Kurt's doing any complaining about not being out there. He had watched plenty of people fall, some by his own hand; a break was necessary at some point.]

How are you holding up? [he asks the approaching person, preoccupied with focusing on gingerly rebandaging a gouge on his forearm.]

❧ battle mode (and a closed prompt for pillz)
my power's turned on

ota;

[When it comes to the 'drifting' part of the mission, he'll be hesitant to do so, but if he feels like he can trust whomever decides to go through this link with him, he'll do it-- for the protection of their home.

Luckily, after the first time, he's gained a bit of control over his memories, so there's less 'rabbits' to chase, as it were.

Please, note that whoever does associate with him might have to pass through some triggering stuff to obtain a connection.]

closed to kavinsky;

[Being initially intrigued by this whole 'psychic link' thing had brought about the brilliant idea for him to talk to his daemon, which then led to her searching for a practicable partner for him to 'drift' with. He's nervous, unsure as to what she has brought up for him, although he is open to anything that will give them an upper hand.

Ricocheting, back and forth, tail lashing with uneasiness, Kurt can't seem to keep still. His guardian watches with those peculiar eyes, her head tilting to the side. Then, the sound of footsteps captures their attentions, causing both of their heads to whip around in the same direction.

Sheba looks ridiculously proud at the newcomer, whereas his brow furrows with confusion.] Him? [he questions, skeptical.] Sorry, that sounded rude. I just— [pause] Nevermind.

Nice to see you again.

❧ wildcard (for anything else!!)

[ooc: i've got kurt's plotting post here, if anyone would like to discuss stuff or maybe plot something out!]

meeee

[pillz]

[kavinsky is already flopping himself down on one of the stone beds. he's noticed that, for stone beds, they're pretty comfortable. it's obviously the surest sign of magic because there's no way that stone should be fucking comfortable, the hell.

his daemon, moonshined, regards shebad with interest. as odd a pair as kavinsky and kurt make, no doubt, shebad and moonshined are stranger to look at— an ocelot and a husky, a cat and a dog. true symbolism for the mismatch of their masters. moonshined rears up onto her hindlegs to place her forepaws on the interface nearby, stooping her head. unfortunately for everybody who likes cute animal memes, she doesn't actually try to type with her paws or anything! whatever link happens with the computer is much more subtle.

in the meantime, kavinsky calls out,] Sup motherfucker? [and flings his arms back, folding them under his head. like he's on a hammock in the goddamn bahamas instead of a cold temple in the middle of an interdimensional war.] You wanna start a fight, might be better to head outside. Lots of people for you to punch, sweetheart, and I'm into the whole genre-confused warrior LARP aesthetic you got going right now.

hanako 'rosalina' nurumi 🌹 ( ota + closed )

[hasitsthorns]

when it's fight or flight, I always pick f i g h t (ota);

[ Only a couple souls are privy to the life that Rose led before her time in Eudio. Even before the doofy music-loving roadie persona that rolled onto the island there was the yokai, the brawler, the black rose. Despite telling herself she would never be that monster again, here she stands tall and- Well. Not proud. No part of her would ever be proud of this though she is definitely good at it.

It's almost scary, honestly, how fast the mental switch was flipped. How it all came back in a rush and she was fighting before she even truly registered that she was. Her self-preservation instincts had always been strong.

Speed is her strength. Like a snow-white bullet, the wolf woman dashes in and out of sight. D.E.S.T.I.N.Y. agents are a little tougher than the average opponent but she's still just as fast in her mind as she is on her feet. A swift kick to the back of the knees, a slice of claws to a throat, and the crumple of one body after the next. Her dogs have followed suit too, all eight of them suddenly turned vicious. They bite and scratch and attack where they can though Rose is carefully keeping tabs to make sure they aren't injured.

Red is a stark contrast to her snow white fur. Amber eyes stare hollowly down at a soldier she just incapacitated. There's a gentle rise and fall of her chest but beyond that she's pituresquely still as she seems to lose herself in the midst of battle for just a moment. ]

battle mode: support (closed to vanyel)

[ Once the adrenaline has worn off from fighting and she's the Rose that everyone recognizes, she'll take a moment in the temple to find Vanyel. It's not an easy thing to do. Honestly, part of her is still saying that there's time to back out, that she doesn't have to because there will be plenty of others to give their energy but-

She wants to. Help, that is. Vanyel's the only one she'd let see the whole of her too she thinks. The good, the bad, the grotesque. All of it. It's terrifying, honestly, what he might think about her more maudlin memories but. He loves her, doesn't he? She needs to believe that that's maybe enough. ]

Hey, if this. If this'll help. I think we should try.

[ And they do, but- It's disorienting. One moment Rose is in the Temple, then she's stepping through Tamriel's wilderness. Only a blink after, they're instead in a modern office. They're in a place she recognizes. A red-haired man in a business suit gives her a Chesire grin and she can't stop herself from getting ensanred in this memory. ]

Charlie, [ she says. Her lips are thinned in discontent, eyes sharp and voice even sharper. ] Charlie, we need to talk about what happened.

Do we, Rose? I thought everything was pretty clear, [ the man answers, voice a low tenor that sounds somehow easygoing in contrast to Rosie's tightness. It's a strange dichotomy between them, an odd relationship indeed. ]

at the temple (wildcard, ota);

[ During the down-time between battles, Rose can be found ghosting through the temple. She's a lot more quiet and solemn than usual, seemingly having a lot on her mind.

(If you want anything specific or to plot something out, hit me up at puddingandpie! Or my Discord at Pudding#5286.) ]

drifting, whee

[drehnifusbahi]

[He took up a position defending the temple, when the fighting broke out. It's easier to find moments to duck inside and down a healing or stamina potion when he needs to than it would be if he were further afield. And also... there's his promise to Rose to think of.

Even knowing Rose promised not to venture far from the temple, same as he did, he very nearly starts at her sudden approach. A testament to how weary he is - and how hair-triggered.]

It certainly can't make things worse. [He says by way of agreement, settling into a seated position and tugging her down with him. It's a bit surprising she even volunteered, knowing as he does how she dislikes talking about large swaths of her past more than she can help. It speaks to just how badly these defenses are needed.

And to her trust in him. He may be the only person in the city she'd consider linking with like this, and that's... more than flattering, in ways he doesn't have time to unpack just now. He holds her just a bit tighter than is strictly necessary, brushes a kiss over her cheek before nodding to Zeymahd-

For a moment, they're standing on the road leading to Lakeview Manor, on a summer evening- then the scene switches before he can blink, to something far less familiar. An office, a red-haired man. The stranger speaks, and Vanyel feels his hackles rise, as much in response to the sly grin as to the tension radiating off of Rose.

Rose. He reaches out to her instinctively, catching her hand and squeezing, firm but gentle.] Rose, [he murmurs in her ear, just as gently] this isn't real.

Mandy Slade | OTA + closed

[smileslie]

Sanctuary; OTA
[for all her anger, Mandy isn't a fighter. Oh, she's thrown a punch and put her knee between the legs of more than one handsy bastard, but that was different. That was just making sure that people understood that just because she wore heels and glitter it didn't mean she was weak. This..this is nothing like that. She doesn't know how to fight against monsters that aren't driven by the hate that's bred of ignorance and fear of anything different, but are just….monsters.

But she does know how to care, as much as she'll try to pretend she doesn't. She's hesitated in coming here, not because she doesn't want to help--she does, because she hates feeling like that pretty airhead she pretended to be--but because this is a side of herself even Arthur hadn't seen yet, not really. He might have lived something of the same life that made it a necessity to know how to deal with black eyes and bruised ribs if not for yourself than the people you cared about, but she knows that even if he treats her like a person she's still something of a star in his eyes, and it might be shocking for him to see this. But right now, she actually can't give a fuck about keeping up the mask of being untouched by the horrible things that teach a person those lessons.

Which is why nearly anyone who's really crossed paths with her before might be surprised not only to see her hair pulled entirely away from her face instead of draped down to hide it as it often is, but to hear her voice totally absent of that fake accent that usually weaves in and out as she speaks so there's nothing but the blunt American when she sees someone clearly about to fall over if they don't at least get someone propping them up]

Jesus. Come here, let's get you sat down before you break yourself more.


Psylink; closed to Arthur. CW for mention of drug use, eventual mentions of emotional/physical abuse and sexism/homophobia in both of their labyrinths
[Maybe it's because they've at least shared scraps of memory with each other or maybe because of everyone here Arthur is the closest to knowing who she really is, but this linking business it's as difficult as Mandy would have thought something like this should be. At least, not at first. At first it's not too unlike the best times when she'd get high with Brian, when they were totally in sync with each other, feeling almost like the same person and tuning out the rest of the world.

But then it's like that sensation of tripping just as you're falling asleep, the world catching and slipping under her, and then--

Then she's walking across a floor covered in newspaper, stepping over snapshots of her life. Everything's white. All the technicolour glitter she'd tried to cover the world in has been washed away, replaced with white sheets and dusty photographs. But not quite, because there's a flash of blue moving out from behind one of the covered chairs and the light strikes it in just the right way to send bright sparkles into her eyes so she's nearly blinded as the figure moves towards her and speaks in a raspy voice]

Mandy

[her heart jumps at first, and she doesn't know if she's angry or excited or terrified, only that like always he's making her feel too much, and her throat is so tight that her voice is much smaller than she'd like when she starts to reply]

Hello, Bri-

[But his name sticks hard in her mouth when she realizes this isn't the too-skinny man her husband has become as of late. Instead there's the sparkling god she'd created in his image, leaning against the chair and smiling at her with too-red lips, and she's suddenly dumsbtruck by his image just like everyone else in the world]


wildcard
[hit me up at keenquing if you want something else]

[astralera]

[ So maybe she's a bit... drained. But Era definitely is not in bad enough condition to need to sit down and rest for long - just enough to switch over to a healing job and heal the worst of her injuries. As a paladin she had taken a lot of damage, but her defense was strong enough that it was almost all superficial. More recently however, as a red mage she had taken a great deal of hits that she probably should have avoided regardless of Aymeric's attempts to cover her.

It was casting Vermillion Scourge that was the final straw for her current energy levels - such a powerful Limit Break always came at a cost, and while she had managed to continue fighting for a good length of time afterwards there were only so many Vercures she could cast on herself before needing a quick rest. Possibly a few Elixirs to get her energy levels back up.

Mandy's approach startles her, if only because the change of accent is unfamiliar to her. Era has heard it slip a few times in the past, but never so completely. ]

I will be fine in a few moments.

[ Era puts her rapier away and pulls out her cane. Instantly her clothes change from a fancy red outfit to a crisp white robe, quick as a blink. Next it's just a matter of casting Benediction, and within a second all of her serious wounds have been made superficial and all of her superficial wounds have healed.

It doesn't aid with how tired she feels now that she's away from the battlefield, body still quivering from the adrenaline of fighting for the lives of herself and her allies. Peki is somewhere behind her, all dressed up in armoured barding now splattered with blood - his crisp golden feathers are dotted with crimson as well, along with his beak, and Era feels an immense surge of affection for her most steadfast companion. ]

nico di angelo ▪ open

[deathkid]

𝗳𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗹𝗶𝗳𝗲 ➨

[ when the battle begins, nico is at his and will's apartment. but he feels the sudden oncoming of death and destruction in his very bones, making them sing as if he's being called. it's a sensation he hasn't felt since the war with gaea and as soon as it hits, wave after wave of it, nico is moving around the place, gathering what he knows he'll need. he shouts for will, quickly catching the son of apollo up on what's going on before grabbing his sword. he doesn't have his stygian iron armor, but the last battle he fought, he hadn't had it then either. what he does have is a fantastic medic for a boyfriend and a keen sense of battle skills. so after giving will a kiss and making sure his boyfriend has his own items gathered, he cloaks them in shadows and transports them to the beach.

just in time for one of the many feral monsters to bound towards them both. nico side-steps away from will, drawing the beast's attention and in a matter of seconds, has his sword swinging, slicing through the monster with deadly accuracy. to his surprise, it doesn't disintegrate into gold dust, blood splattering everywhere, but that just makes it more clear how dangerous everything is. ]

Get to a high spot, Will! There should be a few places to hit them with those arrows of yours. I'll handle it from here. Keep the ambrosia and nectar ready, but I don't plan on pushing myself into a shadow coma today.

[ with that, he dissolves back into the shadows, finding a new location to take up a fighting stance, just in time for a soldier to come bearing down on him. holding out his sword, he closes his eyes, keeping his senses keen and aware as he stabs the ground and mutters a quick serve me in ancient greek.

the enemy soldier is knocked off his feet as the beach begins to tremble, as though the earth itself is moving underneath the sand. but it's not the earth. soon enough multitudes of skeletal hands are clawing their way to the surface, one by one breaching the sand to stand before nico in a perfect battle formation. they all seem to be dressed in cobbled armor, as if from ages past, but where they came from, even nico couldn't tell you. besides, he's focused at the moment, watching with slitted, dark eyes as one of the skeletal soldiers decapitates the enemy. ]

Go.

[ and they're off, wading into the battle along side nico as he whirls around, taking out monsters and soldiers alike with his keen, sharp stygian iron sword.

come fight at his side? ]

𝘀𝗲𝗲𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘀𝗮𝗻𝗰𝘁𝘂𝗮𝗿𝘆 ➨

[ at some point, nico will have to take a break. raising the dead, shadow traveling here and there, it tugs at him and drains him of energy even though he's at the strongest he's ever been. so with a shadow jump to where he feels the most life, he finds himself in the temple.

unfortunately, this isn't really his scene. granted, he knows a few tricks of the trade when it comes to bandaging wounds, thanks to will solace, but nico has always been more of a fighter than a healer. still, sheathing his sword and settling down, he takes a moment to assess things ( and catch his breath ) before getting up again and offering his callused hands in bandaging people up. ]

Here, hold that out and I'll wrap it up.

𝗮𝗻𝘆𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗴𝗼𝗲𝘀 ➨

[ want something else? ping me at alkahestic or in the discord chat! ]

[healingdork]

[You can take the medic out of the field, but you can't take the medic out of the medic. Even if there hasn't been that many situations where Will's needed to pull on his combat medic experience, he's still always kept a bag ready to go at a moment's notice. You never knew what could happen. So it doesn't take him long at all to be ready to go, bow in hand, quiver of arrows across his back, medic bag over his shoulder, dagger sheathed at his side. He flashes Nico a smile after that kiss and says:] Just like old times, huh? When this is over... I have something to give to you, so don't get hurt, okay? [Then they're off and on the battlefield.

When Nico instructs him to get to a higher spot, Will does so, pulling an arrow out so he'll be ready to fire at any moment.] I've got your back.

[He doesn't need to do a whole lot though, because his boyfriend is a complete bad ass, he thinks with pride as he watches Nico summon up some skeletons and start decimating the bad guys. Anything that starts getting closer to Nico that the skeletons don't pick off though, he shoots an arrow or two at with a child of Apollo's accuracy to drop it. He might not be the best archer, but in the heat of battle when there's no room for error and the love of his life's safety is on the line, his focus is sharp enough to aim true.]

jughead jones ➨ open

[novelizes]

𝘀𝗲𝗲𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘀𝗮𝗻𝗰𝘁𝘂𝗮𝗿𝘆 ➨

[ this is just ridiculous. not only has he been somehow, in a way he can't quite explain, been scooped up from riverdale and dumped in a new world, but it's a world at war too. a war that jughead is in no way capable of fighting. he's only sixteen! the last dangerous thing he did was break into a crime scene. okay, so he's done a few dangerous things as of late, but nothing to this level. so he sticks to where most people seem to be congregating, where it appears to be safest, with his back to a wall and his laptop out. he's busy tapping away, documenting everything he sees when he occasionally looks up, and pauses only when someone draws close to lower the lid on his laptop, shielding its contents from view.

at some point, though, he notes that the battery is beginning to die and he knows he'll either have to save his work for later or plug in somehow. glancing around, he takes note of his cellphone—daemon—and regards it with a speculative air. ]

Any chance you can charge my laptop since you're now some magical speaking cellphone?

[ the voice that replies sounds suspiciously like a mechanical archie andrews, making jughead sigh as crowned speaks. ]

You know I don't work that way, Jug.

Yeah, yeah. Well, my battery's just about dead so I better find something else to do.

You could always help with the injured. [ crowned's voice almost sounds hopeful. just like archie's would. coupled with the thought of betty looking at him with pleading eyes, jughead stores away his laptop, gets up and rolls his own. ]

Great. Nurse Jughead to the rescue it is.

[drapes]

[ thor's been coming to and from the temple, dropping off non-combat ready civilians he'd escorted to safe haven through the city war zone, and it's just as he helps a man with a twisted ankle to take a seat against a wall nearby jughead's typing spot that he overhears part of the conversation - enough to realize there's an electronic that needs charging, piping up as he turns. ]

I may be able to.

[ after all, he super-charged tony's suit, and the container that birthed Vision into the world. however, when thor turns to look at the boy who spoke, and down at the device that seems to be in question, he's rethinking the offer.

That is pretty tiny and brittle looking, and even he distinctly remembers Tony's entire suit sparking up something fierce after that moment. he's not really ever tried to be a battery for such a little contraption. Hrm... ]

Though, I can't promise a device so small will survive the experience.

Farraige (ota)

[cantseame]

A. Fight it out

[When battle came, it was something Farraige met with some dread in his heart. He was hoping there would be some way, any other way to hold off what was happening here. But these assailants were committed to their path of destruction. Maybe someday there would be some way to talk them down, but now? There would be no words, only the potentially terrifying ramifications of what he could really do with water. Massive tentacles composed of water thrashed about, shaping into great waves to wash away or crush those that stood to assault the innocent.

Farraige himself was not one to fight at a distance, no. He would be in the thick of it, striking with his staff or using water to lash at his opponents. Perhaps most disturbing still of his magic manifesting was the appearance of a spectral jellyfish protruding from his back, seeming to glow and pulse with great exertations of magic. Its tendrils seeming to jerk and shift with the movements of Farraige's limbs, though exactly what this meant to a regular observer was uncertain. Though for anyone tuned to seeing magical energy, it was clear that his spectral companion was providing plenty of firepower all its own. For anything trying to catch Farraige from a blindspot was met with the wrath of Beag's own magic. So far, the two seem to be cooperating, but how long can this truly last?]

B. Sanctuary

[When breaks in combat come, Farraige focuses his efforts on retreating with those who can't fight in tow. For now, Beag has receded back into his form. No need for it if he won't be fighting for now. When he came to the Temple to rest for a time, he did not remain idle for long. No, there were too many who needed medical assistance. People he could help, even after trying to save a great many lives.

He's honestly looking a little tired, for all his running about. But when addressed, he puts on a smile and cracks a joke. Anything to keep the mood light, right?]

C. Wildcard
(ooc:hit me up on plurk at plurk or in the discord chat for specific threads!)

a;

[hasitsthorns]

Incoming! [ The call comes from above as Rose descends from- Well, honestly, who the fuck even knows. A tree, probably, that she likely scaled to get a good view of the battle scene unfolding and found Farraige in the midst of it all. While she knows (and could see) he's entirely capable of defending himself, she'd still felt compelled to assist. He's her boyfriend, alright, and what kind of girlfriend would she be if she wasn't worried for him regardless?

Soon as she drops in, however, she's a blur to the human eye. A blink and she's there one moment, gone the next, and then after that some poor D.E.S.T.I.N.Y. soldier is slain. She tries to fight in sync with him but admits that she's... unsure about the jellyfish. It's unnerving, seeing it so attached to him in that way. Especially knowing what little she does about it, about its origins.

Once there seems to be a break, she'll stop to ask, ] How're you holding up, dude? They probably won't stop for long.

joseph kavinsky | ota

[pillz]

closed to murphy;

[you ain't lived life until you see two red-armored shitlords floating in the air, grabbing at guns that are floating in the opposite direction, looking only a little bit clumsier, probably, technically, than the fairly new-fledged telekinetic who's fucking with them using his newborn powers. maybe they should have practiced.

they probably should have practiced killing people with their superpowers before all this, but it's not one of those things that teenage boys think to do, even teenage boys who are assholes, when they have options like buttsex, getting into turf wars with the local wildlife, wearing each others' clothes, and negotiating the ins and outs of vampire biting. which is mostly a polite way of saying that murphy doesn't like the idea of getting bit, still, but kavinsky was working on it, right up until the enemy saild in with guns blazing and a gigantic fucking elephant, i guess.

whatever.

a running leap, and kavinsky smashes into one of the red soldiers that murphy had been holding in the air. like baby kong jumping a boeing in the air. some kind of monster smash, but on a tiny, regular person scale. he doesn't particularly need murphy to set them on the ground after that, choosing instead, right there and then, to bite his fangs into the enemy's exposed neck, with a liquid crunch of impact. he has super balance now, you know. he can do this in the air or on the ground. he forgets, conveniently, about the possibility murphy will be judging him along the way.]

open/wildcard;

[though confined to fighting at night, kavinsky is a wicked little hellcat in designer jeans and a bloody tanktop. he could likely knock an enemy off you, tearing at their skin, stealing their own guns off them to shoot them with. or he might be seen on a panicky tear, running away from fire, one of the few true enemies that vampires have. regardless, he's drunk on blood and battle, laughing like a jackal in the dark, thinking little of the psychological consequences that might find him later.

during daytimes, you'll find him resting in the temple, curled up on stone or applying new gel in his hair, rinsing blood off his tattooed skin. still high from battle, inevitably, and eager to hunt again when nightfall comes.]

[mordacita]

[ Rafa sits next to Kavinsky with little ceremony. He's spent the day on the battlefield, and his dark clothes are the worse for wear. Rafa isn't, though. he's uninjured - or, if he had been injured, he's healed - and his skin is flushed and warm. His eyes hold a strange kind of energy, but at the very least he looks healthy. A taut smile tugs at his lips. ]

Do you recall my telling you that you should train for war? [ He says, conversationally. Jessie the umbreon comes up beside him, considerably more tired than he is. She climbs up between the two of them and curls up into a ball against Kavinsky's hip. ] You were so against it then, in Eudio where all seemed safe. But you made me proud today.

[ He reaches up to smooth Kavinsky's extremely gelled hair. He makes only the slightest face when he feels how sticky it is, and then wipes his hands off on his pants. ]

Amanda

[miss_brilliant]

Closed to Kavinsky; eventual tw for medical trauma
[If anyone had told Amanda a year ago that not only would she be living with the foul-mouthed young man beside her, but that she'd be linking her mind to his, she would have laughed.

But she really wasn't laughing now. Because this was insane, and not in a wondrous way, and she had to be useful, and even if she might threaten Graced with a variety of alterations that could make her much less fun, she couldn't argue with her daemon's choice of partner for this. Not really.

All right, she might argue with Graced about it after this is all over. Right now, she just takes a deep breath and tries to smile, the brief memory of the first time they met--when she thought he would be a little closer to her mind than he wound up being, given that she didn't understand his powers--coming to mind, more specifically 'tell me how you say try not to die in alien'. Considering everything that's passed between them, the fact this is one of the things her brain remembers is...not that bad]

'Comdo non mori' [she actually manages to give a weak thumbs up before she lays back. And she tries to focus just the objective, like when he was showing her how to be a dream thief, but that hadn't been life and death. The only thing at risk then was her apartment. This is so big, and she can fry a few machines and use that watch to gain a few precious seconds, but what is she without machines in the end, what…]

What are you doing out here, sweetheart?

[the voice is saccharine, and there's a woman crouching in front of her. Her uniform and everything else around her is white, except her blonde hair and very red lips. And her hand is so big, and Amanda's so small and she can't do anything but stare when a hand grabs her wrist. She can't even answer, because she doesn't remember, but she doesn't want to go-]

You know you're not ready to be out on your own yet. Let's get you back to your room where you'll be safe

[nothing about this woman or this bright, cold hallway is safe but she can't find the words for that. Or anything. All she can do it stare, as the woman's nails dig into her arm and Amanda has to believe what she sort of remembers someone telling her, that the people here just want her to be safe, because she can't move even when she thinks she sees blood on her skin, dripping onto the cold white tiles]

tw ableist language, slut-shaming/sexism, the usual i'm sorry

[pillz]

[they're in her head. by now, kavinsky understands how the psylink works. he's gotten fucked up with fire and screaming terror half a dozen times now, and even though the pain of it fades every time he becomes lucid, he remembers enough to understand the concept driving this shit. something about psychic synchronization in the interest of a greater good, powering some weird psuedo-scientific magic-kind-of subroutine in this reality.

something about falling out of synchronization here or there, getting sucked into the deep pockets of your own shitty past. he met the same fiery doom, every time he slipped out of alignment with his other partners. and he's seen different dooms-- fiery or otherwise— every time he's seen the others fall, themselves.]

Amanda!

[not gimp queen, not dweeby good tits mcgee, not my padawan. you know shit is getting serious when kavinsky is shouting her real name, even as he comes running through the weird white halls of her nightmare.] Yo, slut! [his attention cuts toward the white-uniformed woman, sudden as a slap. a slap he is for the moment, too far away to perform himself.] Let her go. This ain't your fucking reality, you get me? Amanda!

[he's out of place here. dressed, as in life, in his wife beater and jeans, his hair in spikes, a pair of white sunglasses bouncing against his collar. but they'd always been the odd pair, the two of them. unlikely roommates, even unlikelier friends.]

wyatt lawson | ota and one closed prompt

[bratpack]

A. Fight to the Temple (ota)

[ This is crazy. This is absolutely crazy.

Wyatt is surrounded by a swarm of activity. There are friends and enemies are alike, and it's confused. It's chaotic. He has no idea how to navigate it. The first few times something bears down on him, he tries to shove it away, punch it, kick it, anything. Then his lack of productivity on that front combines with his fear and anger about it happening in the first place, and he shifts into his wolf form before he can think anything more about it.

His clothes lie in shreds around him. But now his teeth are bared, his hackles are raised, and he leaps at the nearest talking enemy dog to tackle it to the ground. You might be the lucky person he's just dragged an enemy away from, or maybe you're an ally he's caught by mistake. His method is all instinct; biting teeth and scratching claws and not a lot of actual strategy. In short: he's dangerous, but against these trained warriors, he'll get himself killed if he doesn't get away from them. He's aiming vaguely towards the Temple, but he keeps getting turned around in the panic. He yelps as a knife sinks into his back, and then he wheels around to grab the culprit by the neck, shake them, and toss them away like a beaten ragdoll. He bares his teeth. Anyone who'd like to be next can step forward now. ]

B. Drifting towards Failure (closed to Cain)

[ You know, when they said there'd be war, Wyatt didn't really know what that meant. He's never seen war before. Not like this, not real war, against multiple, huge, scary opponents. The fight for his life had literally been a fight for his life, and then he'd gotten to the Temple and known there were others left behind. Others, who were still fighting, and maybe there was something he could do to help them. Maybe he could shift again. Maybe there's something he can offer, something he's supposed to offer.

But he doesn't go back. He's thought about it, even resolved to do it more than once, and he freezes before he gets to the Temple doors.

He feels like a coward.

This is new, and so much bigger than him, and he's not trained for combat like this. But he still feels like a coward. ]

Is there nothing we can do from here? [ That's aimed at Hunterd, who has stayed with him, and thus far has followed Wyatt's own intent. He hasn't pressured him to go back. Instead, the daemon regards him with interest. ]

There is a way to support the Temple's defences. It will help the soldiers on the ground. It's not easy, but if you would like to try -

Yeah, I want to try. [ Wyatt moves forward, nodding. Maybe there'll be guns to shoot, or shields to raise, or something. It really doesn't matter. ] What do I have to do?

You need a partner. Now scanning for available options.

[ Wyatt nods, and while Hunterd does that, he scans the gathered refugees for anyone who looks available. ]

C. Wildcard (ota)

[ Wyatt can otherwise be found in the Temple, dressed in whatever mismatched scraps of clothing he'd managed to find there. He's trying to help by handing out supplies or sitting on the floor, his head down while he broods about his other failures. Feel free to interrupt him at any time. ]

c

[deathkid]

[ eventually, nico has to take a break from the battle. multiple shadow jumps on top of summoning the dead has left him feeling exhausted and worn. there are cuts and scrapes along his arms, his shirt is torn, but he's otherwise okay. that seems to also be the case for wyatt and nico notices him handing out supplies. he looks physically all right, but the way wyatt keeps his head down, doesn't look at others has nico concerned. wyatt's become such a dear part of his life that nico feels a pang in his heart for whatever reason wyatt must be feeling upset. so he draws close, enough to take the offered package of bandages before reaching up with his free hand to brush dirt from wyatt's cheek. ]

Hey, it's good to see you're surviving.

Rafa | OTA

[mordacita]

A. Into Battle (ota)

[ Most of Rafa's Eudite friends have never seen him in battle before. They know a softer, gentler and more romantic side to him. The truth is, Rafa has spent far more of his long life either in battle, or commanding legions to do it for him. He's heartily sick of it, that's true enough. He'd been fighting for hundreds of years before his people found any kind of peace. He doesn't want to fight. He doesn't want any of this.

But it doesn't matter. It's still what he's good at, and what he was made for. Old routines come easily. In the dark, in the night, he's at home in battle. He dresses in dark clothes, the palest of which being the wolf pelt that he has no choice but to wear. That's because it gives him a power he didn't used to have.

With it, he calls Xistentia's predators to his side. The bison from the forest, the rock trolls, the kirin, even the raptors, they all answer his call.

He stands on top of a bison, crouched with one foot between its shoulder blades and the other on its head. He raises his hand, lets out an old, Italian battle cry, and they charge together - Rafa and his army of forest creatures. His umbreon, Jessie, runs along side them, the golden rings on her dark fur glowing while she throws out balls of concussive shadow. Rafa leads the bison against the giant elephant, while the trolls and kirin fan out to help other people. If you need support, call to him.

Meanwhile, with the animals tasked, Rafa himself becomes a demon on the battlefield. He's lightning quick, zipping between enemies to snap necks back and sink his fangs in. Every death he brings strengthens him, filling him with more blood. Maybe he pulls a soldier off you to drain them before your very eyes. Maybe he pulls you out of the way while one of his rock trolls takes your place, forcing the enemy back. He might even fight by your side for a while, though his speed makes him best when he's moving. Rafa may not like war, but he's good at it. If this is what he has to do, he'll bring down as many as he can. ]

B. Blood Drive (ota)

[ His glasses give him four hours of sunshine a day, and that's not enough to risk battle against what's out there. There's too great a chance he'll get caught up in a fight, or worse, break the glasses altogether, and end up burning in the sun. That's not what he's about. He saves his battling for the hours of darkness, when he's strongest, and the rest of the time, he lays low in the temple.

That does not mean he's ever idle.

He's managed, with great effort, to bring the blood cloning machine with him. During the times he's not battling, he sets up a stand in the main hall, and sends Kyd off to rally people's attention. If you find a tiny, awkward unicorn prodding at your shin to get your attention, this will be what that's about. When he's ready, Rafa gets the unicorn to send a brief message to all daemons: ]

everyone. this is rafa

i have brought the blood machine to the temple. i ask you to contact me. the injured will require a blood supply
donate, so that i can clone your blood for them and we will not run out

you have my word that this is not for vampires to feed. this is to save lives. so help me, please.

[ Then he sits in wait, and studies Kyd's maps of the area while he does. If he's not being useful out there, he might as well strategise for when he can rejoin the fight. ]

C. Wildcard (ota)

[ Choose your own adventure! I'm available for plotting at halfbloodly. ]

b

[novelizes]

[ there hasn't been much jughead's been able to do to help the war effort. with all these people and their crazy magic or powers, jughead's been left in the dust. he's just a normal human. but when his daemon pings him with a message on the network, asking for blood to help the wounded, he's up immediately. it's practically the only thing he can do, so he makes his way through the temple until he finds a strange guy with some weird contraption. figuring it's the guy who made the post, he drops his bag nearby and tugs off his jacket. ]

You're the guy who was asking for blood, right?

mikaela hyakuya ▪ open

[infatyuated]

𝗳𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗹𝗶𝗳𝗲 ➨

[ fighting is what mika is used to. since joining the city guard of the vampires, he's been trained to fight. normally, he'd avoid it if he can; he's not a glory hound who seeks out battles. but as the battles rage around him, he knows there's no avoiding any of it. so he draws his sword and steps into the midst. he doesn't care if he takes out soldiers or monsters, all of them are sliced through with a swing of a sword. even in the heat of the day, he keeps fighting, the black anti-uv patch on his uniform keeping him from frying in the sun. when the fight gets particularly tough, he holds out his sword and with a Drink my blood veins wind their way out of the hilt of his sword and wrap around his hand, drinking his blood and staining his sword a ruby red. now, when he swings it, a rush of wind escapes the sword, knocking back enemies and slicing through them like melted butter.

it's only when the fires break out does mika retreat. fire, a vampire's worst enemy aside from the sun, is deadly and with so much he still needs to do in order to save yuu and his world, mika has no plans on dying. so he turns to whoever's closest, fighting by his side. ]

C'mon. It's time to get out of here.

𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗱𝗰𝗮𝗿𝗱 ➨

[ between battles, mika can be found in the temple, sipping blood from a bloodbag or merely reclining against a wall. he doesn't eat and doesn't look tired, but his eyes are weary as they flit over the other people. perhaps come talk to him or ask him about the blood staining his white uniform. anything goes! ]

Marcus Wright/ Terminator:Salvation/Final Battle [Open]

[anewhero]

-d- Labyrinth of Destroyed post apocalyptic 2023 Los Angeles- (Marcus, open)

[A few stranded areas lead to a destroyed Los Angeles in 2023. It's a nuclear winter with scent of blood and oil everywhere. Beings with metal alloy are killing humans all around him, in the bloodiest way possible, tearing out their hearts.. etc. Marcus holds whatever he could find in his hands. He is punching terminators metal and all absorbing blows from the terminators plasma rifle. The man who made it ten times worse on everyone in the resistance was out somewhere.

The resistance was suffering and it needed help fast. ]

-c- Fight on- [ You see a man taking on what appears to be red minions as he takes several gunshots but it doesn't bother the terminator. He is a terminator, if only half one. He sees you and grabs you out of the chaos. His name is Marcus Wright. ]

wildcard!

Throw me a pm or plot ideas at redscribbles on plurk!

Barclay Odell ⛵ Original Character

[disbands]

Closed to Kenzi;

[The truth is, Baba Yaga has a way of taking her back. Sure, she's a faerie now, with a voice that can start fires and throw chairs. She's survived unimaginable horrors and incredible adventures. And yet, flung down on the floor of the shabby, rustic kitchen, she's small again. Weaker than she should be. And the preternatural strength that was in her voice has given way to the girlish Russian mumbles.

Fear in her heart. An ancient fear. The stories go back generations of generations before hers, and in the darkest recesses of her own memory, she had been painfully young when she had said the witch's name twice and gone no further. And even though she looks like the woman who came into Xistentia, the feeling isn't gone from her.]

Slop and empty promises. That's what you're made of, my dear! Or Bo would have lived. [It makes no sense, of course— blurred and distorted; the survivor's guilt of Xistentia twisted up with scraps of memory from the old world. Just like the monster walking up to her now is a twisted version of the old hag from before. There are chains wrapped around her neck, and her hair runs long, scraggly, like her domovoi. Fire traces the air behind her, like the garuda. And her voice is a playful shriek and giggle, more like Kenzi's own aunt than any of the fae she'd ever met.

Yet her clothes, the smell of old decay-- these are the same. And the walls around her are too, grim and musty, but wrought with corridors she'd never seen before. Baba Yaga steps toward her, a potato knife in hand.] Don't you want to be free? Like Elena?

---

Open;

[He doesn't have powers. He's merely a man, an eighteenth century pirate. But he's been killing at war since long before semi-automatic pistols and spacecraft were a thought in anyone's mind. You'll find him protecting the perimeter of the city, using the terrain for ambush with cutlass and flintlock, and his possum-shaped daemon for coordination. Perhaps it's even Flourd who reaches out to your own companion, warning you of two interlopes coming around the corner. Be ready to fight. It's time.]

[moshennik]

[ Bo isn't here to save her this time, neither is Dyson. And despite her newfound fae-ness and increased inner strength, Kenzi is terrified. She's brought back to being a little girl, terrified that everything she'd done wrong would be reported back to this old hag and she'd be dragged away (never mind the fact that she'd been banished from her own home by someone far more human).

She can't find her voice, she can't stop trembling to save herself. And tears well up in her eyes when the witch mentions Bo, mentions the fact that her best friend is dead, more than likely. She couldn't have been stuck in the void for that long. ]

S-Screw you, you old cat lady without cats.

joker ( ota )

[jungianthing]

A) FIGHT FOR YOUR LIFE
MARINES ARE NOT ALLOWED TO DIE WITHOUT PERMISSION

( he's bone tired and ekes out of every pore. the world out here is so different that it's making him sick to think about it, but the rules of war are always the same: you can be the meanest motherfucker ever to walk the earth, but you go so long without sleep, without rest, and with your enemy hacking you to pieces every chance you get, and you're nothing more than a corpse that doesn't know it's dead yet. he thinks about the poges back in vietnam, thinks that he was one of them for too long, that his legs had gone to jelly and that the jelly had gone to water and the water had evaporated; he'd been too settled in his skin, and it fucked him up. a couple weeks in infantry before it all came crashing down around him wasn't enough to pull back the impenetrable outer shell he'd built up in boot camp – he breathes in blood and spits out teeth but it makes the child inside him cry and whine and shrink away – so there's fear on him, fear and inadequacy, and it —

shit. he ducks, barely in time to avoid a projectile flying over his head, flattens against the ground. his heart shot up his throat and it feels like he's choking on it now. he swallows it down, hard and forceful. he low-crawls, stomach dragging against the half-melted scour of earth underneath. the heat is making him drowsy, but down here the smoke is thinner, and he can breathe clearer.

you'll find him like this, flat on the ground, either hiding or waiting depending on the observer; or dragging himself up, running ahead and just a few steps shy of running into a searing mass of fire that comes swinging from nowhere, ready to eat him up; or crouched low, reloading his rifle, face swiped with soot and dirt. )

B) SEEK SANCTUARY
YOU DON'T HAVE TO BE WHO YOU ARE ANY MORE

( he's no good as a healer or a medic; he has no patience for it, and all he's ever going to do in a situation like that is get in the way. he takes the time away from the front lines to write, legs folded up against his chest with the angle working as a makeshift table, hunched inwards so he can scribble in the tiny, botanical-printed pages of his journal. somehow he makes himself small, despite the length of his limbs. he's chewing his lip, focused in, drilling the words into the page. he writes in scrawling, hard-punched capitals: Your Boy Scout shit is wet with sweat. Your right index finger is on the trigger of your M-16. Here I come, you say to yourself, here I come with a gun full of bullets.

abruptly, he pockets his pencil, which is blunt and small from oversharpening, and looks up at whoever's just stopped to lean against the wall nearby. ) You're standing in my light.

C) BATTLE MODE: SUPPORT (PSYLINK) · MORE INFO
WHAT IS YOUR MAJOR MALFUNCTION, NUMBNUTS?

( someone says: ) Everybody hates me now, Joker.

( joker is making his bunk. he turns around to source the voice, but the room is empty, cavernously. it echoes. fold the blanket and the sheet back together, a four-inch fold. okay? got it? he turns his head, but the room is empty. a bullet casing hits the floor somewhere. he looks ahead. the room is empty.

someone says: ) Even you, Joker.

Nobody hates you, ( he says into the ugly yellow-green nothing.

someone says: ) I can't do anything right, Joker. I need help, Joker.

( he says nothing back. hapless, hopeless eyes are drilling into the back of his head, and he knows that for a fact. joker turns before he thinks he should and sees him, leonard, buzzcut hair and the opposite of threatening, smiling at him. he's loading his rifle and there's a red stain on the sheets of the bed he's sitting on. wordlessly, joker gets up, and heads for the door. there are no audible footsteps but it's like he can feel himself being followed. he shuts the doors behind him, because leonard is lumbering and slow and he'll never catch up, but he's pounding on the door hard enough that it shakes before joker has time to clear his head. he hears footsteps this time, sees someone he doesn't recognise approaching from in front, and blurts out, thoughtlessly: ) I'm trying to help him. I'm really trying.

D) ANYTHING GOES

( drop a comment here or shoot me a message on pvtjoker if you wanna plot! )

a. fighting!

[servomotor]

[Joker feels the blast of air-- not the searing heat of fire, which had been approaching from his right. But from above. That would be Iron Man's repulsors, in his boots as well as his gloves for stabilization. Yep. Iron Man. Repulsors. Shit like that is real in Xistentia, and probably no more unbelievable than semi-sentient natural disasters or spacecraft, but definitely up there.

He looks like a robot, something out of sci-fi. But there's something undeniably human about it, when he drops squarely onto the sodden jungle earth beside Joker and asks,] Need a lift, soldier?

[He'd recognized that belly crawl. Nobody does it like the United States Armed Forces, no matter what branch or era. Of course, it's marine and not soldier as far as Joker goes, but he doesn't know that. He extends a glove toward the young man, expectant. No more glowing white force coming out of his hand.]

a: fighting

[anewhero]

[From the ground, comes a man with a leather jacket who is running a little faster than normal humans could run. Alright, so the man wasn't exactly human but he prefered it that way. ]

This guy looked like a man from the outside but whatever... sentient fires and whatnot..

"Come on, I'll help you walk if you need it, Let's get out of here."