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

Entry tags:

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

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.

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[Gender doesn't really matter when it comes to life-threatening situations. In fact, it's the furthest thing from his mind, especially when the weapon begins to screech out of position on the statue. All that matters is some length and a bit of the point; he'll ram the damn thing through En Sabah Nur himself, as long as it gets them out of this ordeal.]

He is, [admits the teleporter.] And unfortunately, he's far stronger than I could ever imagine being. [Kurt's not pessimistic, really, but he genuinely has no idea how he and Kavinsky are going to fight this monstrosity.

Chest rumbling with frustration, he abandons pulling on the spear in favor of using those convenient microsuction discs on his hands and feet to climb the wall. After shimmying into position, his feet plant one above the other, hands braced on the smooth marble so he can push with his legs. He knows there's more power behind those limbs and as it continues to give way, there's the slightest glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel.

Or maybe that's just from the menacing outline he can see from his peripheral.] Break it, if you must! We can use it like a knife.

[things are beginning to sound desperate. more desperate. there are levels of desperate. there's the kind of desperate you're at when you're trying to take giant metal weapons off a statue, and then there's the kind of desperate you register when you're willing to break the weapon in half and use it for its pieces because anything's better than nothing.

kavinsky braces his narrow vampire-foot against the statue's leg, and hauls. the screech of metal turns into a low grinding, and then sharpens into another rising shriek. and just like that, the metal spar comes loose. all in one piece. though there are a few chunks of metal where the nubs of the statue's fingers broke off.]

Okay-- [kavinsky totters slightly before he manages to maneuver his supernatural strength into something like balance. he shuffles his bony fingers up the shaft, making sure it sits in kurt's hands. not that he's unwilling to fight, merely because he is again, painfully aware that this world doesn't function with the usual logic of how to beat things up. it's about strength, in quantities and shapes and forms far from the mundane equation of physics. this is kurt's demon.

and admittedly, what with kurt already looking like a little demon himself, the notion of what might scare him feels like a whole 'nother deal.]

What do you say, sweetheart?

[false bright in kavinsky's voice. he ranges out beside kurt once the weapon is in the mutant's hands.] I'll distract him?

[him? is that the word for such a creature, as the one hulking up in leathery purple skin now. gold beginning to gleam on its legs, armor beginning now to form. slow, as if basking in their terror.]

[That could be because things are desperate, what with Kurt using his feet, straining more and more, silently praying that the thing breaks off already. He can't think about what's going to happen if the shadow of Apocalypse gets them or else it'll throw off his concentration and then they're really boned.

Much to their luck, the spear ultimately breaks free, taking the statue's fingers with, except that doesn't seem like something they need to worry about right now; he's pretty sure the architecture isn't going to miss them.

Nightcrawler maneuvers his way off the wall, straightening once on his feet just as Kavinsky is handing over the spear. He accepts, wringing the shaft a couple of times in his hands then bracing his feet while swinging the weapon out in front of himself. This'll be the first time he's ever used a spear, but hey, do or die and all.]

To what? Hopefully, nothing too reckless.

[Shoulders rolling, he tips his head from one side to the other, clears his throat to avoid his voice breaking.] Be careful, [Kurt warns, tone far more serious alongside the other boy's.

Armor creeping up its legs? Perfect, that means he still has a chance to aim for the heart once Kavinsky provides the distraction they need. Anxiety-riddled eyes flick in his direction, silently pleading, then he motions toward Apocalypse with the subtlest head-jerk he can manage.]

[kavinsky knows the spear is free. he knows that kurt is as strong as his demons are, because demons get their strength from the people who harbor them. and yet, as he turns slow-motion to look at this horror that kurt summoned, he finds himself rather afraid.

maybe it's the sheer size of it. the magnetic pull of apocalypse's hatred, the power of him. maybe it reminds kavinsky of the dragon he made, the one built to kill himself with. maybe he just doesn't like to think someone as kind and generous as kurt wagner survived something like this, with all of his heart intact. enough of his heart, anyway.

kavinsky's been growing his own heart back, though. since eudio. he's been getting it back in pinched, misshapen bits and pieces, peeling back layers of sarcasm and grandiose, pessimistic announcements of himself and the world, goth flames drawn up it, turning down the noisy rap music that used to play in the background, so he could sit and hear the quiet voice of his own foolish, awful mess. these days, he knows when he's afraid.

it's not actually any better, if you ask him. except that it means he's alive. and that when someone like kurt says be careful, he is.]

Time to get some motherfuckers, [he mutters under his breath.

and the next minute, he launches. a hundred fifty pounds of post-teenage vampire, fangs out, his brand name sneakers squeaking across the doomsday palace floors, the shadows of glittering columns striping across his calvin klein tanktop. he doesn't belong here at all, but he throws himself into the mutant drama with all of his old mad abandon and all of his new painful courage.

he knocks the slow-armoring figure askew. then butts him in the head, hits him with his elbow. it's like hitting a piece of granite, and his stomach drops when he sees the ancient mutant's eyes flick toward him.]

[This isn't their actual plan, right? Creating a diversion and hoping the spear will be everything that they need to defeat Apocalypse? During the first battle, it'd taken all of them and then some, considering two of En Sabah Nur's followers defected to the side of the X-Men.

Kurt, of course, has no clue about this. He was unconscious during the whole epic finale where Jean unleashed Hell on the first mutant and while he's been told the story many times before, there's still the barest hint of hope that he and Kavinsky will be enough.

Baring everything in mind, he has to remember: Kavinsky's not even a mutant and he's thrown himself into the fray with a recklessness that can only be described as blind gallantry. The least Nightcrawler can do is use the distraction, ram this weapon through his nightmare's heart, and (hopefully) bring an end to this.

The fledgling charges, throws all of himself toward Apocalypse, which results in a fleeting expression of shock. He hasn't got time to be distracted, though, and the attack really does prove to be a perfect diversion because once the archaic man's focus is on his attacker, he won't see Kurt coming. It's a blink of the eye teleport, then with all the strength he can muster, he thrusts the spear toward the shadow's chest, legs bracing for more leverage. There's absolutely no way he can lift him, but he has no need to when he's short enough to duck, bend and twist in any particular way he needs to gain better force.

A sickening shlick warns him of the weapon's penetration. He never found out if Apocalypse bled; the heat that pours over his hands feels plenty real, but regardless, he continues forcing the handle forward, until the blade pops out through on the other side. ]

Oh my God, [he whispers-- for himself, for his partner during this battle.] Please.

[Let this work.]

[it works.

crunch. the head of the spear bites into bone, then pries it apart, grinds in deeper, the shaft sliding a wider opening through purple flesh. the ancient mutant twists his head to stare at kurt. funnily enough, the growth of his armor doesn't stop entirely though it does slow down, crawling up his body still like a time-lapsed video of moss growing for a documentary. it even closes around the spear, climbing around the sides of it, linking over the top of the shaft where it pierces into the monster's body.

and then

and then apocalypse's eyes roll back in his skull and he begins to fall.

fall

fa l l

and there's another rush of energy, a confusion of light, disruption of space and time. kurt doesn't know where he is; he has only the most blurred, the briefest and vaguest impression of kavinsky with him, somewhere and somehow, fighting enemies. but the next moment, when kurt comes back to himself, he feels the chilly gnaw of stone beneath his back. his body prone in space. and he hears the grumble and mutter of kavinsky waking not far away.]

Jesus fucking Christ, kid, [the boy vampire says, sitting up.] You got some shit in your head, you know that?

[metal scrapes bone and kurt winces-- with the effort it takes to break through and at the unbearable sound of a breastbone cracking, ribs snapping as the spear goes through. his head jerks up, meeting apocalypse's stark white eyes, even witnessing the way they roll back before he turns away, releases the weapon to clutch his head.

the monster falls and everything comes surging back, distorting his vision, but through the haze, he can vaguely glimpse kavinsky. then, silence, the cold press of the rock slab beneath him, making his eyes open with a sense of urgency he's never felt before, except.

he can't move right away.

nightcrawler can hear kavinsky, breaking up the lingering fog on his drift-scattered brain. he rises onto an elbow, lifts the free hand to rub the nape of his neck, head leaning and eyes blinking.] ... I know, [he says simply, trying to comprehend what exactly he'd experienced. a memory, the rush of fear he felt during that moment, then relief when the threat was eliminated for a second time.

blue's head turns in kavinsky's direction, lips quirked with the slightest bit of mirth, an attempt to hide his unease.] Guess it isn't just my appearance that makes me a freak.

[self-pity is a far more attractive look on kurt than it is on kavinsky, but kavinsky is too much of a dick to be able to acknowledge anything like that. he knows that something he said bothered the mutant. he knows it's bad when a blue boy calls himself a 'freak.' but he only knows how to play rough, so all he says is,]

Guess not, sweetheart.

[and then he's beside kurt in the blink of an eye, blurring into place with vampire speed. tattooed fingers reaching over, pinching the other boy on the hip. up close, his smile is feral, fangy, nightmare fresh.] Takes one to know one, [he says.] I'll see you on the streets, devil boy. [and just as quick, he's gone, his daemon scrambling after him.]

[he hadn't meant for it to come out like that, but kavinsky's response surprises him, his easy agreement not unfamiliar to kurt, except the way the dream thief says it sounds ... well, he can't say 'comforting.' it's straightforward, reassuring in a way that he never knew he needed.]

Ah— [kavinsky's at his side so suddenly; it always surprises him how quickly the other boy moves. for a minute, he's briefly reminded of quicksilver because that's all he has to compare to vampire speed.

he opens his mouth to retort, releases a yelp of bewilderment instead when his side is tweaked, hand promptly reaching over to rub the spot. then, just like that, he's left watching joseph's retreating backside, blinking dazedly because takes one to know one? devil boy? his own companion nudges beneath his chin, drawing him from his stupor.] ... see you, [he responds to the now empty room.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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

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tw suicidal ideation

tw for im...paling?

not the sexy kind, either.

oh my god china lmfafdsfg

steering this to fade since we have current day unease to rp out :D

yes this is a perf spot to fade