The inner sanctum of the fortress echoed softly, the ravages of war escalating outside. A dim haze of dirty gold light hung in the air, drifting as with the whim of chance. But, with a purpose as insipid as doubt, fear, or disgust. It was the wraith-light of the eternal dark. The sunset of the abyss.
It was the light...of Hell.
Doors...as tall as the Eiffel Tower...four city-blocks wide...rose up the main core of the hive-like structure. Mined from the despair of rotting souls, the ashen, metallic frame moaned with the wails of damned seraphim.
Naecken's wide nostrils flared, drinking in the endorphin devouring musk that seeped through the barely open gateway.
"...delicious...isn't it?" his rasping voice commented. His arms wide, the dark lord stood before the massive structure staring into the tiny cracks of oblivion.
"It's madness, Naecken..." Mick responded, his pale face squinting against the tainted forces creeping along the light.
"One man's madness, is another man's genius." he replied, turning from the writhing light towards his bound captive.
"No, man....this is no one's 'genius'!" Mick half-yelled, head lurching away from the stone column his body was forced to embrace. "No one wants hell-on-earth! No one! Ask around, and, I promise you, NO ONE will say 'Sure, unleashing the forces of hell is a cool, and can I say, smart, thing to do', okay?!"
Naecken opened his mouth to speak, pausing as the fortress shuddered slightly.
"...this has gone just about far enough..." the former MBLer muttered, turning back to the trans-dimensional gateway.
"Naecken! No! Listen to me, man!" Mick pleaded.
"No...no more listening....no more waiting..." he replied. "...my army awaits me....on the other side...."
And the massive doors began to tremble...
****************
"Believe it or not.....I'MMMMM walking on air...." Luchadore sang horribly off-key, even as he dove to miss a flare of energy.
He twisted completely around in mid-air, arching backwards.
"...I never thought it could feel so reee-heee-heeeaal..."
He paused, gritting his teeth as he caught one of the massive androids near the ankle-area. Grunting with a single burst, he tossed the android into two more. Spinning upside down, the flare of the explosion roared under his body.
"...flying away ONNN a wing-and-a-prayer..." he sang, turning hard-left.
Three more droids sailed past him, as he altered course just in the nick of time.
"....whoooo could it beeeeee..." he sang, looking back over his shoulder at the near collision. "...believe it or not---"
That is, of course, when he ran head-first into the mountain-like fortress.
His body flipped end-over-end, as he tumbled with an aboslute defiance to grace, straight down the side of the titanic structure. Face-planting into the hard, icy earth, Luchadore just lay there for a moment. Then, with an audible moan, lifted himself up.
"...it's just meeee..." he sighed, jumping to his feet.
Across the battlefield, Dr. Huerta skimmed across the frozen wasteland. Not so much leaving footprints, as more of a continous flattening effect on the ice in his wake, Vanguard's resident 'meta-shrink' slid neatly to a halt behind a large boulder of ice and rock. Kneeling down to catch his breath, Huerta hugged the boudler tightly as another explosion ripped just on the other side. The shower of muddy flakes slipped easily off his friction-less field.
Unfortunately, the man's nerves had no such field from which to wipe away the chaotic panic he felt.
It was a battle unlike any he had ever witnessed. And, even as he used some basic text-book psychological skills to reassure himself, he could not help but feel like a man out of place here. On this field of battle. Of war. Of death.
He was a doctor. Just due to his very nature, he was about helping people. Not fighting them.
Certainly not killing them.
He sighed with heavy frosted breath, realizing that attacking former teammates-turned-demon-lords was just outside his field of expertise. Lost in his own thoughts, it was a moment before he realized something odd. The boulder, on which his gloved hands still gripped, was......soft.
He glanced up at his right hand, seeing that the icy stone ended about halfway up his palm. His fingers ran across, what looked to be, a rough, naval-blue material.
The thermal gear. It was a...sleeve? Embedded in the rock?
The good doctor slowly stood up, even as the din of battle roared across the plains. Wiping away excess ice and snow, Huerta came to find the figure of a man, face-down, imbedded in the surface of the boulder.
Sliding his fingers under one of the shoulders, Huerta's face began to turn red from the strain as he attempted to pull the body free. It took another two or three tugs, and, finally, the body ripped free, falling back into the snow with Huerta.
The doctor lay there, briefly, panting from the exertion. He looked over to see the body sit up.
"...ow...dammit..." the man muttered.
"You...you're one of the new guys...right?" Huerta asked.
The white haired man looked over at him.
"Yeah. Baxter. Ozzy Baxter." he replied, cracking his neck a bit.
Huerta looked at the boulder, and back again.
"What happened?"
"Well, I wasn't about to be biker-boy's bitch, so I bailed out with everyone else..." he replied, watching as four more androids swarmed overhead.
"...and you fell, crashing into that boulder?"
"...yeah..." Ozzy nodded, slightly embarrassed.
"Why didn't you just use a parachute like everyone else?"
Baxter jerked his right hand up, showcasing a ripped pull-string from his still attached parachute.
"I DID!" he barked.
"Oh." Huerta replied, even as Ozzy tossed the cord.
