Random citizens of La Perdita gazed across the wide, blue bay, sunlight drenched with a pleasurable evening. They stared with curious abandon at the dark plume that held the immediate horizon, blanketing all sight. Some even gossiped at how strange the weather had begun acting lately, pointing at the localized storm holding steady, far across the crystal waters, near one of the sister inlets of their fair nation-state.
Over a thousand miles up, a few officially non-existant satellites fired thrusters, spinning the arch of their trajected orbit. Other satellites, each a bit more legal...mostly for governmental weather tracking....followed suite. Even more satellites...defense-based mechanisms...altered their own courses to make room for the new paths.
And, caught in an eeriy shuffle, the gleaming orbs danced across the wide orbit of the planet, readjusting accordingly, as a number took position....holding strategically over a small portion of the Caribbeans.
Watching....studying....curiously trying to peek behind the dark curtains that had spontaneously formed from nowhere...
Far down...behind the curtain....on the surface of mother-earth, bass peeled in massive waves of crushing thunder, echoing the fragmented tendrils of lighting mapping the thick, abnormal cloud cover. Two winged figures danced in strobe elegance to the flares of light, blankets of wind and rain breaking with their bodies, like diamond sheathes.
Locking interconnecting rods of steel, Banshee tucked her wings tight, diving with the downpour. The razor-edge of a mid-spear leading her path, her eyes remained narrow, and focused. And, as she neared the ground, her wings suddenly swung wide, catching a breaking gust of thermal release from the formerly-sweltering earth. Her teeth gritted with the g-force, as sparks danced past her vision. Her path swooping straight back up, she glanced behind her to see pieces of the T5 attack-droid falling from her ascent.
She suddenly curved hard-left, dry-white bolts of plasma firing past her into the air. She cut, and curled, dodging the bolts with a calculated grace. Below, the T5 continued repairs on its right turret, the left attempting to track her improbable flight through the photo-pop-skies.
The gargantuan Leviathan sprung past the T5's grounding cables, a throaty growl sneaking past his clenched fangs. He hissed, swiping at the other aerial figure. A sudden steel-heeled boot to the forehead staggered him back a few steps, as Ed bounced from the kick-landing, coming to a solid footing on the ground. The Leviathan immediately launched at the winged-founder, his enlongated jaw meeting a spiked mace dead-center.
Thunderbird let the swing follow-through, spinning on his heels into a duck, as the momentarily blind creature raked his talons over Ed's head. Spinning into a crouched position, Ciccioto snarled as he sprung, swinging the mace like a bat...straight into the lizard's chest.
The resultant impact cracked in a deafening thunderous explosion of sound....the sheer force of the soundwaves knocking the Leviathan off his feet.
Ed stood only for a second, shaking his head briefly, trying to blink the ringing out of his ears. Then, leapt into the fray again....
The wave of thunder had jostled Grissom and Johnny only momentarily, their quick hand-to-hand resuming with an unbridled ease. The wavering light levels, and slickness of rain, held their pure fighting styles at bay with only the slightest loss in impacts. Grissom slapped two quick-kicks from his face, taking care to flat-hand the metal-lined rim of Omicron's boots. Montag also leveled each footstep, knowing he could never allow straight blade-to-blade contact, as the unbreakable sword would slice clean through his twelve-inch-gutter given the right pressure.
Sparks and grunts met each attack and defense, the thief's eyes alive with excitement and pure adrenaline. The weapons were no test of his mettle. He knew that. Omicron knew that. Montag could teleport his adversaries' impressive blade away with the simplest of gestures.
This wasn't survival for Montag. This was a game. His kind of game. The hard-to-win, and easy-to-die game. The kill-or-be-killed. Absolutely, the only way he would have it....
To the naked eye, curtains of water split and crashed by themselves. Halving in the air, the rain seemed to produce minor and brief tunnels of nothing, marking the passing of the blue Scorpion brother.
The fast one.
To the naked eye, he wasn't there. And, although the soggy conditions and adversarial weather held him from his ultimate speed, his was still almost invisible in presence.
But, to the non-naked eye....to an electronic tracking center.....he was merely another target. A target that RoboSquirrel tracked with logical ease.
Flame spit and curled at a three-hundred-sixty-degree hoop around the mini-war-machine, holding the speedster at bay. Walnut-sized seeker warheads, each holding grenade-level explosive capabilities, swarmed circling, constantly tracking the ever-eluding runner. Like a swarm of deadly insects, they flew in packs of eighty, giving the speedster more to worry about than just the licking flames protecting the squirrel from attack.
RoboSquirrel spun constantly, death blooming from his body at an absurd rate.....
Brute Force stood as a hard testament to his name, repeatedly ramming the red Scorpion brother's face into the side of one of the docked ships. The ringing metal played as a back-up beat to the thunder emanating from the skies, and the island itself. Rippling muscles glistening in the downpour, BF's eyes bore a wide, shocked expression, as veins of fury consumed his neck, and forehead. The Scorpion brother....
...the tough one....
....would genuinely attempt to out-manuever his steely grip, shuffling against the brutal spanking his cranium was recieving. But, as with Brianna's once-groomed hair in this torrent, his valiant efforts were in utter vain.
That is, until his long, snaky scorpion-tail began to twitch, and coil around Phillip's rock-hard form....
Meanwhile, quite a ways from the main turmoil, the soaking stranger that had quite suddenly appeared this day, stood facing one of the most powerful sorcerers the planet had ever known.
They were not moving. Merely, they stood there in the rain, sizing each other up in ways that mankind simply wouldn't be able to adequately describe....or understand.
"...is it....you?" Aurochs asked, an amused grin coming over his lips.
The stranger stared back at him, a feeling a familiarity coming over him.
"Do I....know you...?" he asked, his voice genuine, but lined with a hardness that surprised even himself.
Aurochs cocked an eyebrow of confusion.
"...the east Andes....1867..." he simply stated. "....don't tell me you don't remember me...."
The stranger studied him, shaking his head, as if trying to dismiss some strange flash of memory.
"...I...I..." was all he could say.
"What are you doing here?" Aurochs demanded, his eyes narrowing. "With these people?"
The stranger looked up at him, an honest expression of confusion taking hold.
"...I don't know..." he simply replied.
Aurochs nodded, taking this into consideration.
"Very well...." he sighed. "...I have no time for games, then...."
And with that, he threw his hands out, a dark wave of fire following....
