Paragon's Story

"It won't."

The voice slithered ominously out of the shadows, as dark and cryptic-sounding as it was indistinguishable and foreign. As Hagan and guards turned towards the newcomer, they would watch a tall figure seemingly rise out of the floor, garbed in a hanging black cloak and hood. Only his face stood out in contrast: a mask of brilliant, lunar white.

He did not step forward, but lingered back.

"I wish you no harm," the stranger continued, "give me five minutes of your time and your daughter will be returned to you."

Both mercenaries instantly leveled their weapons on the figure as he emerged, and Hagan turned, stepping back. "I tire of these intrusions!" He called out, narrowing his eyes at the figure, despite the whine of weapons and the leveling of the two mercenaries. "Say your piece." He called out, reaching for the trigger guard of his jeweled cane.

"Five minutes." Hagan asserted.

He made no movements or gestures, his dark figure as stoic and still as inauspicious and vigilant as a gothic statue. Only his cloak seemed to move... thick tendrils of smoky shadow whipping off of the fabric like snakes.

"You will construct the MAC's as intended," he continued, his speech low and monotone, "you will make the demand that your daughter be returned to you within twenty-four hours of the MAC's being delivered. That will give them enough time to inspect the weapons before handing the girl back over to Aschen custody." The mask inclined an inch. "You will outfit one of the guns with a small compartment suitable for a man to hide and cloak himself inside of. I will assume this position. When they take the weapons into their ships for inspection, I will rescue your daughter from where they are keeping her, destroy the MAC guns and deliver to the Imperial armada the precise location of the rebel fleet."

The figure took a step back. "You have no knowledge of this. You do not condone this. The compartment you are going to build is purely for storage purposes. The Kevlin-shield jacket and joule-depressor you will outfit it with is to allow for the containment of energized ammunition. You have not negotiated with me. You have not agreed to anything with me. I do not represent Tech Con nor the Empire."

"All you have to do is make the intended demands and build the weapons. I will do the rest."

Miles Hagan shook his head. "The Divine Shadow has already instructed me to outfit the weapons with a remote switch to disable them, the Belkan and Aschen fleet would stamp the Rebels out after the defenses are disabled... but your proposal adds a bit of extra insurance." He said, stroking his chin.

"How much do you want?" He said, reaching into his desk to grab his checkbook.

"Name your price, and I will gladly pay it, anything to save my daughter."

"You can't risk the rebels discovering the disabling device," he replied darkly, "if they find out that you intentionally tried to double-cross them, your daughter's life is forfeit. Send me in, and there is absolutely no risk. At worse, they discover me and kill me. Since I have no connections or ties that can be traced back to Tech Con, your image is secure. At best, I do all I intend to do. You have your daughter. The Empire has their criminals."

A steady silence pervaded afterwards. Perhaps the figure was thinking. "I demand no compensation for this. Justice seeks no reward except order's swift return."

Miles Hagan chuckled. "You overestimate the rebels. They lack the technological understanding of Aschen technology to even Operate the platforms, they will require Aschen teaching them how to operate the platforms. Though your idea is sound.. I don't know if I could challenge the Divine Shadow on it." Hagan said, waving the Mercenaries to stand down.

"I will bring your proposal before the Divine Shadow, I am sure he won't have a problem, but it's always good to be sure."

A vague feeling of suspicion might have overcome Whisper as the next three stoplights illuminating the walkway in front of her suddenly went out all at once, leaving the next block of sidewalk eerily dark. Strange. Every other lamp on the street was working fine. Surely it was just a technical problem...

Should Whisper choose to continue forward into the darkness, she might immediately be overwhelmed by a feeling of deep unease; an extremely human paranoia that one was being closely and deliberately observed by some unknown power...

...or stalked by some terrible monster...

In middle of the darkened sidewalk pathway was a deep, trenching alleyway. What looked like a mendicant sat cross-legged on the pavement just in front of the black abyss, his dim figure cloaked in shadow. As Whisper approached, the figure would rise slowly, holding out a meek and rag-garbed hand.

"Spare a credit?" a voice croaked.

For a few seconds, the mendicant stood motionless in front of her, ragged palm outstretched. Then, all at once, he straightened up. His shoulders erected into a rigid posture, his squatting knees straightening and locking. The stranger stood at his full height: nearly six and a half feet tall.

A white mask peered out from the shadows of his black hood.

"Answers," the stranger said plainly, his voice a subtle mix between cooing whisper and brooding rumble. "You are hunting someone. I have questions." The hooded figure looked briefly down the streets.

"Too bright here." He began to move backwards, almost gliding on the concrete. "Come. Follow." The figure retreated quickly into the darkness of the alleyway.

The stranger halted, the darkness offering his figure a strange, nebulous ambiance. The dark robes garbing his frame almost seemed to be crawling over his body, the fabric whisping around his physique like a frantic shadow. Only his mask, pale, white and solid, remained fixed firmly in its place.

"You are on a mission," he said calmly in his strange, moon-muted tone, "you've come from Langara with an Aschen captain. You've been quiet. But not quiet enough." The mask tilted to the side ever so slightly.

"Tell me the truth. Are you hunting the former Divine Shadow, as well his bodyguard and consort?"

"A friend to justice," the stranger responded, bowing his head slightly as Whisper attempted to forge an empathetic link. The girl would be able to glean only one emotion off of the mysterious inquisitor: curiosity.

"Sixth months ago, you killed Prime Minister Cranford and several members of his cabinet on this planet," he continued, his voice crawling out of his mask in serpentine tones, "given the standing evidence, it is logical that you were made to do so against your will. You were returned to Langara shortly after, where you suffered from drug withdrawals and depression. Several months later, the Empire collapses. You walk on to captain Nagala's ship, blind and poisoned. You leave cured of all physical ailments and with a new ship of your own. Given Nagala's known feud with Mollem and her driving campaign to bring him down, it is not difficult to deduce that you are working with her to hunt the former leaders of the Aschen Empire."

The stranger's mask lifted up once again. Blank, abysmal eyes stared into Whisper. "I know this. I know all of this because Mollem and his pawns operate in the Dark." The stranger's socketless eyes almost seemed to flash. "I see all things in the Dark."

The head bowed once more. "Confirm that these things I have said of you are true. Tell me why you seek Mollem. I can help you."

The stranger was silent for another few seconds, perhaps considering Whisper's request.

"Paragon is my name," he said quietly, "do not ask for another name. There is none."

Of course, the absurdity of the title might immediately be clear to Whisper. He'd basically just said his name was "Little Red Riding Hood" or "Jack and the Bean Stalk". Paragon was one of the most well-known, if not THE most well-known Multiversial fairy tale in existence.

"I asked for your motive, because that is not something any file or piece of data can tell me. Only you can tell me that." Paragon nodded slowly. "Only you can truly know the reasons for why you do what you do."

The figure lifted a garbed hand. "Justice and vengeance are two ideals that are frequently regarded as synonymous." The mask shook. "This cannot be further from the truth. Justice is a return to order, an answer to evil and suffering in the form of retribution and balance. Vengeance..." The mask nearly scowled. "Vengeance is selfish. It does not seek the end of pain and suffering, but its continuation. It is cruel and viscous and corrupt."

"Now," Paragon lowered his hand, "which do you seek?"

"No. The ends do not justify the means. If even a single innocent must die to accomplish a goal, that goal is vain and evil." He held up a hand; three fingers raised pointedly towards the midnight sky.

"You are not all Dark," he replied, "no sentient mind is ever only Dark." He took two slow steps back, retreating further into the shadows. One of his fingers fell back into his palm. "I will be watching you closely. Too many have died already because of you. I stay my blade because I believe you are after a good." The figure took another step back, darkness falling over his shoulders like a cloak. His voice deepened, a raw inflection icing over his tone. Another digit folded down. "But if I deem your means of accomplishing this good to be corrupt, I will stop you. You and every last ally that stands by your side. Do not mistake me. Do not dismiss me. Where there are shadows, I have eyes." His hand closed into a fist abruptly.

He took one more step backwards and disappeared from Whisper's line of sight entirely.

The NPA Enforcers were fighting valiantly, their advanced training and armor undoubtedly giving them a much needed-edge in holding back the tide of rampant cyborgs. Arya and Jayden fought from the skies, raining vengeance down on the brutish ravagers below. Police officers barricaded streets and ushered civilians to safety, Invictus Elites covering the streets as best they could. Everywhere, the forces of order and humanity fought against the all-consuming maw of chaos.

But as the battle raged, it became increasingly evident that they were outmatched. Even if they managed to hold their ground against the pressing hordes of zombie-borgs, they could never hope to reach the rest of the city and commence rescue operations. Buildings sat stranded in an ocean of hostiles... terrified citizens able to do little more then barricade their doors and pray for rescue.

One such small collection of coworkers were doing just that, desperately stacking furniture in front of the entrance to their office building.

"Why didn't I get off this planet..." one of them growled as he threw a plastic plant into the pile, "...should have gotten off this planet last fucking month... bought tickets to Misrana... should have left dammit..." His dress shirt was rolled at the sleeves, his tie was wrapped around his bicep where he was bleeding. Sweat pooled off of his skin in rivers.

A scream erupted. "Ohmigod... ohmigod one of them is trying to get in..."

Every head turned and every heart stopped as one of the cyborgs approached the entrance, smashing through the glass doors and madly fighting its way through the crude barricade of furniture and office supplies. A metallic screech filled the lobby. Very human cries of terror followed shortly after.

...and then HE was barreling into it. Wrestling it to the ground. Smashing its gnashing face into the floor and paralyzing it with an arc of electricity from his hand. No one in the lobby had seen precisely where he'd come from. Had he flown in from outside? Emerged from the sewers of the streets? Maybe he'd been with them in the lobby all along... waiting in the shadows...

When the beast lay motionless on the floor, he rose to his full height. His dark cloak fell about his shoulders like a shadow, menacing and discomforting to the onlooking crowd. He was dressed all in black, save for the white mask splayed across his invisible face, stoic and emotionless. Rather then rushing up to embrace their rescuer, the workers only cowered deeper into the lobby, beset with a new, unfamiliar terror. This guy had just saved their lives... so why were they more afraid of him then they had been the cyborg?

He spoke, his voice a subtle mix between cooing whisper and brooding rumble. "How many other people are in this building?"

Every one was silent for a good five seconds before a woman finally worked up the courage to answer. "Uhhh. Besides us twenty in the lobby, there's about... I dunno... maybe... eighty in the stories above? We're the only ones who came down."

"You all need to stay here," the stranger stated firmly, "I'm going to protect this building as best I can before I leave. Do not leave this building. Keep hope. Help will come."

Reaching down, the stranger slung the motionless cyborg over his shoulder before sprinting out of the building all together, his cloak fluttering behind him like a pair of black wings. The crowd only watched in muted silence, unsure what to think of what had just happened. They were glad to be alive, to be sure, but
the nature of their hero was discomforting. Guardian angels were the ones who were supposed to save people... so why had they been rescued by a demon?

The next few cyborgs who tried to enter the building would be mysteriously shocked into unconsciousness.

Arya's Seraphim carrier flew close to the ground, whipping about dirt, old newspapers and just about everything people left when they began to run from the cybernetic zombie horde that had descended on main street not long ago. Not only was that, but now apparently a battle between people with superpowers had broken out.

"On that roof!" Arya yelled, rushing to the cockpit to point the pilot in the right direction. A large group of people had taken refuge on the roof of nearby apartment building, it was likely that the building itself was overrun or falling apart due to the fighting on the street.

The helicopter approached the roof, Arya, a few Invictus Elites and a few NPA Enforcers on board reaching out to pull as many people as they could inside. "How many left?" The pilot asked, "Just a few more." An Invictus soldier answered, but as that same soldier turned to grab what he thought was an injured woman he was met with the face of one of the mindless killers.

"Shit!" The soldier shouted, reaching for the revolver on his hip. Before he raise it up the cybernetic zombie was pouncing him. The gun went off, bullet slamming into the back of the helicopter pilot. The pilot, also being an NPA Enforcer, was armored, but the pain he felt only for that moment caused him to jerk his body and lose control of the helicopter.

The helicopter spun around, it's back end clipping a building. Again it spun, the pilot trying to take control once more. But, the damage was done. The helicopter was spiraling out of control, coming down towards Charles.

The wolf had somewhat ignored the horde for now, Infact he had been so enamoured with his own murdering and fun that he hadn't even noticed them. Although the helicopter caught his eye,it was alot harder to ignore a falling aircraft then it was to ignore a shambling horde apparently.

The wolf let out a high-pitched whistle and leaped back as far as he could with his nimble feet. Summoning two clockwork giant golem's from the ground as back-up. Another two monstrosity's to join what was becoming quite the party, or to atleast be a shield from the incoming helicopter and stone man.

The shadows of the area started to quiver as something moved through them. Soon a Dragon appeared from the shadows on top of a nearby building that seemed to be safe enough for the time being. Not that he couldn't handle his own. He wasn't weak, he wasn't completely all that strong either, but he was strong enough to defend himself when necessary. And to him that was enough to give him some sort of peace of mind, if only a little.

Scales as black as night, eyes a dark forest green, Draco of the Shadows had arrived to the scene and looked at what was happening with a cautious curiosity. Some of his attention was towards the Horde of Androids who were fighting the local militia/police/etc. while another small portion of his attention were on the giant metal flying things that he was not familiar with, and finally, the rest of his attention was on the battle between some sort of wolf and stone man. They seemed to be the bigger threat here.

Of course, one couldn't truly blame him for thinking that way, he was over a few million years old (most of that time spent dead) and felt like he could take on the entire world. But that was not his intention, not in the slightest. He was merely observing at the moment.

"I simply can't understand the reason why humans are always trying to either kill each other, or other races, or why other races are doing the same." he thought aloud to himself. "I know Dragon's are no exception, but still, other races, (humans especially from my own experience) just love killing each other." he finished his thoughts with that for the moment, looking around the scene again.

He would not help anyone unless asked, this was not his fight. He turned and headed for the nearest shadow big enough for him to use on the roof. When he got to it, he disappeared within it, and reappeared on another build nearby that seemed much more stable than the one he was previously on. He flapped his wings gently to stretch them out, and his tail twitched behind him. He felt...something odd about this place. This city, it felt off. He had always felt it, but it was stronger than before this time. Though that was probably the air being disturbed due to the Seraphim carrier flying so close to the ground.

The Seraphim spun out of control, rapidly spiraling towards the city below, a collision that would mean certain death for the soldiers on the carrier. The mindless brute gnashed its metal teeth, roaring as it struggled with the Enforcer even as the aircraft descended into a free fall. This wasn't good...

A dark shadow passed over the doomed Seraphim as something flew past it. A second later, a stranger's feet clanged on to the Seraphim's entrance, magnetizing to the floor quickly. His dark cloak fluttered behind him like a raging shadow, the white mask spread over his face betraying nothing. With a flick of his hand, he launched some sort of blurring black projectile at the single cyborg in the carrier, striking the beast in the chest and forehead with powerful force, sending him barreling off of the Enforcer and plummeting out of the opposite entrance.

"Everybody hang on!" he roared over the raging wind and the screaming of the Seraphim's failing engine. All at once, he threw back his cloak, the fabric fluttering to either side of him like a pair of black wings. His torso was plated in a tight-fitting shaded armor that could have been metal or buffed leather. The symbol of a crescent moon was etched between his pectorals.

With several swift motions, the stranger cut every seat belt and restraint in the carrier, his abysmal projectiles sticking to the hull of the ship after being thrown and emitting a faint, misty aura. From his cloak shot out black ropes like strands of sticky ink, latching on to every crew member in the Seraphim and pulling them close to the stranger's chest. If all went according to his plan, every soldier would be forcibly tied to the stranger's own body in a matter of seconds.

With the crew harnessed to his own body, the stranger leaped, abandoning the carrier just as it descended into the rows of skyscrapers below. His cloak shot out against the yellowing sky, rippling madly for half a second before straightening into a rigid glider-like structure. Even with what was likely over a dozen people strapped to his body, he seemed to have no trouble flying. A ball of red flame plumed beneath them as the Seraphim crashed and exploded.

They would glide for a half a minute before the stranger safely brought them down on to the roof of a smaller building, quickly detaching the entire group from his body upon touching ground. Assuming everything went as intended, no one would be harmed. Everyone would have survived.

"Is everyone alright?" the stranger looked at the small party inquisitively. His chest was rising and falling rapidly, as if he were out of breath.

The Invictus Elites and NPA Enforcers looked to each other, then to the civilians that had tried bringing aboard earlier. Everyone seemed to be okay for now, the helicopter itself was on it's way down to the street.

"I'm good." Arya told Paragon, "We're all good it seems." The Invictus soldier added, "Looks like we're going to have to get into the thick of it." Sugar, an Invictus soldier with bleach blonde hair, told the group.

"I'm fine with that." An Enforcer said, "I'd rather have kept my .50 Cal, but I can work with my eagle." Arya told the others, "You NPA boys are all armored for a real battle, Bones and the rest of our team will work on getting civilians." Sugar said, "You can tag along or do your superhero thing." Sugar told Paragon.

The pit had been a buzz since the massive events striking wing city. After hours of thought and planning a strike force was being moved to the city. It wasn't an army no it was just a small group of commandos and some close air support. More would be one the way but it would take at least a day to reach the city. This was just a desparate throw of support to the terrans from the Joes.

Will Jackson sat in a sleek helicopter bristling with weapons. Around him were commandos in the latest drop armor, full wingsuits with parachutes. They carried a variety of weapons with them. "Two Minutes To drop." The pilot announced as the approached. The floor below them began to retract as the city came into view. They were still high up. Each commando had a hud Viewer over one eye and their target was labeled. A buliding on Main Street. It was across the street from a few heavily fortified buildings. They Joe strike force would take this and help in the effort to repel this force.


Will opened up his comms to the other forces in the area. "Attention Terran Invictus and other forces in the Area this is Major Will Jackson with JOE. I am leading a small strike force dispatched to provide assistance in repeling and evacuation efforts. I have some fire support assets as well." He said.

"Drop." The pilot Chimed in after will finished. He unhooked and dropped around him 35 commandos formed up. They glided down sticking close the sky scrapers. Soon the building came into view. "Pull!" Will shouted into his comm as the Joes activated their chutes. 5 failed to open and those men and women plummeted to their death Will frowned that rate of failure was unacceptable in his book. He landed hard as the others began to as well.

Overhead more helicopters swept the area, continuing to pick off the cyborgs flooding the streets below. Spotlights swept the buildings to illuminate the abominations as rifle shots cracked through the air. It was from here that Maria lent support to the battle below, firing shot after shot into the fray. As her rifle ran empty, she passed it off to an Invictus soldier who quickly replaced it with a loaded one. Raising it back to her shoulder she sighted down the barrel only to have her vision marred by a form colliding with the side of the helicopter.

"What the hell was that?" one of the men barked.

As the cyborgs managed to overtake surrounding buildings, they had begun to throw themselves from windows at the helicopters that had strayed too low. A second cyborg landed on the tail end of the helicopter which spiraled alarmingly.

"Fuck, get us up above the buildings," someone yelled to the pilot.

Maria meanwhile rose to wrangle with the one that had appeared in the open side of the helicopter. With a rifle grappled between the pair, Maria managed to keep its head and hands at bay, but the cybernetic enhancements of the undead abomination afforded it a strength to match her own.

Her lips curled into a snarl as she wrenched the rifle back and slammed it into the gut of the cyborg to successfully dislodge it. Before she could regain her footing though, the helicopter jerked beneath her feet and she found herself in a free-fall as she joined the cyborg in his descent towards the ground.

"Shit," one of the men yelled. It was too late to do much for the woman who had fallen from the helicopter though, and the hard movements had dislodged the second cyborg as they cleared the heights of the surrounding skyscrapers.

---

Maria tumbled through the air, her eyes wide before she struck the roof of a warehouse alongside the cyborg she had dislodged from the helicopter. The weight of their momentum broke through the rotted oaken boards of the building and both came crashing through to land inside of it.

Had Maria been human, the fall would have killed her instantly, but even her regenerative capabilities had their limitations against such widespread damage. It would be many minutes before any sign of life was detected from the building.

Torn muscle and sinew, fractured bones, and ruptured organs began to re-knit themselves as gashes along her skin closed over until the woman at last stirred and opened her eyes. Shoving planks of wood and hunks of cement from herself she grit her teeth against the pain of her mending wounds.

Her pantleg was soaked through with blood and she cleared the debris enough to assess the damage. Her calf was perforated clear through by a large fragment of wood which she took in her hand and tore free with a growl. Once free of the foreign object the wound began to knit closed with the rest of her injuries.

She retrieved her rifle from the fallen debris and rose to her feet to shove the cyborg onto its back with a foot, but the creature hadn't fared as well as she had. No sign of life came from it and she left it where it lay as she limped towards the front door of the warehouse.

---

Maria stepped out into the street and raised a hand to the glare of a spotlight that swept past her. It didn't take long to assess her situation. She had landed well clear of the blockade, and deep enough within the thick of the cyborg horde that she hadn't time enough to lower her arm before one of them was upon her. She grappled with it briefly before shoving it free of her to strike it across the side of the head with her rifle.

The crack of the firearm filled the night as she raised it against the cyborg to finish it off before it could rise, but the scuffle and gunshot only drew more of the constructs down upon her position. Shot after shot fired off, but for every one she felled, there were another three to take its place and she was losing ground. Her rifle became little more than a club as the cyborgs overwhelmed her.

When Maria's weapon was torn from her grasp she grabbed the offending cyborg by the head and jaw, twisting viciously until the headless body fell at her feet. Discarding the head, Maria was grabbed from behind by a cyborg who tore into her shoulder and neck with gnashing teeth before she dislodged it to bring it to the ground. She jerked a combat knife free from its sheath on her thigh and drove it deep into the mechanized eye of the cyborg before it could rise again. Blood ran in heavy rivulets down her arm, thick and crimson in the moonlight, but still she fought on with an unbridled ferocity.

More cyborgs piled in upon her, rending and tearing at the woman even as her wounds re-knit closed again, but there was no fear in her as dead flesh and metallic hands dragged her down. A primal fury filled her as her grey eyes took on an amber hue before she was lost from sight beneath the flood of enemies.

The group of Invictus soldiers known as the Custodis Caeleste, lead by the southern belle known as Arya Bones, moved through the building down to the streets. Herding anyone they could find to the NPA Enforcers who were setting up a safe haven on the last few floors and the roof.

"If you have food, water, medical supplies, clothing, cellphones, radios, take them with you. There's no telling how long we'll be here or what will happen." Sugar said as he and the soldiers marched through the building from floor to floor. "Incoming transmission." One of the other soldiers said loudly.

"Caeleste, this is Sandman of the Benevolentia and Team Ripper. We've got these... things moving in on the Palace, the rest of my team are out trying to get civilians to safety." Sandman said over the soldier's communication devices, "We need a distraction or they can't get in. Can you make it?" Sandman asked.

The Invictus soldiers glanced to each other, gauging what the general consensus was on the matter. Most nodded their heads, a few giving thumbs ups or shrugs of their shoulders. "We'll be there in fifteen." Arya told Sandman, "Hold the fort." She added, gesturing for her men to follow as she began to rush down the staircase to the ground floor.

She knew what was waiting on the other side of the door, but she wasn't sure if she really wanted to be that close.

Will had landed on the building as did the rest of his team who went to work barricading the lower floors and taking up firing positions. Will was on the second floor, he had his sniper rifle loaded with 50 cal explosive tipped rounds. These were usually reserved for taking out armored vehicles but they would suffice here. He noticed that the cyborgs were jumping from buildings so he began to pick off ones he could see above their position. "1...2...3." He mumbled trying to keep track of his kills. Around him he could hear the other commandos firing their munitions. He broke off of his attack and lowered his rifle for the moment opting for a commlink.

"Jackson To command Requesting munitions supply drop at our location would be nice to get some heavier weapons down here." He said.

"Copy supply drop in route, We have close air support in range but be mindful of Civilians Major." A robotic female voice responded through the commlink.

So they give me these toys but then I can't use them? He thought rolling his eyes. He retrieved his rifle and resumed taking shots at the cyborgs. He had to switch Targets as the joes location was swarmed he began to fire below into the street. He retrieved a grenade from his belt and tossed it into the street below. "Hornet, this is Foxtrot requesting you sweep the street on our location Over?"

"Roger." Responded, an F-18 Could be heard as it's 20mm Gatling gun opened up on the cyborgs in the street thinning the numbers a bit but from a skyscraper another jumping cyborg clipped the planes wing. It spun helplessly out of control crashing into the mob in the street in a plume of flames and a deafening explosion.

“I see you… But, where did you come from?” Chromatic eyes magnified every mile of distorted chaos, which immediately unraveled, after their appearance. The aforementioned chaos was the instilled aspirations of another like-minded being. Perhaps, this was a night for death and despair; a fate surely taken into the hands of mortals, and out of gods’. Though, which hand manipulated these poor souls? More importantly, which would succeed the other?

He saw them, all of them: The roaring, undead creatures, which appeared miserable in every feat they achieved, and each one they failed to. His presence had remained away from the bouts of destruction; the burning aircraft, the dramatic screams, and the dead and dying bodies of victims. He did not disregard the heroics of certain individuals. Achievements, which were made by the winged demi-god, held a certain comedy about them. His spectacularly colored irises reflected the pit of another heroic massacre; that is, the ones of shade and ash. Why do the powerful assist the powerless? The reactions and interactions of good and evil had always attracted a pandemonium. Though, chaos has always remained a neutral thorn in the hide of both light and darkness.

“What was it the Americans once said? ‘Give me Liberty, or give me Death.’ What a horribly desperate quote.” Teeth so white were glistening in the shadows, as they had been revealed by a grin so wide. He stood in the darkness, and watched from a distance, which was unbeknownst to anything but his own conscious mind. “My proxies,” The electronic whispers of a silent order streamed through the waves of air, and perked the ears of many hidden bodies within, and out, of the steadfast mob. “Have the first lines of the crowd disperse. Be prepared for the first wave that comes your way. Hopefully, you all have your markers on, unless you don’t care to be shot.” Only a light pause was to pass between the addressed orders and the secured line, before the unknown numbers had readied themselves mentally for the city-wide battle.

“Tell our friends what lies at their backs. As, I’m sure their cards are already being dealt out, let them know what it means to be low on chips.”

Seconds passed, as the independent horde took valid strides down the Main Street, and toward the line of authorities. They spread to either side of the street to endow the vanguard with more force. He, the voice of the crowd, could smell the uneasy fear mounting the officers and soldiers alike. “WE ARE THE CORE! This is Wing City! It will forever, and always, remain our home! Stand fast, if you can!” His voice spouted through the speaker of the mega-phone, as it pierced ahead at the gun line.

An effort to protect this city from the fallacies of control had amounted to an ironic hope for the ones losing control. The ‘Thousands Core’ would not stop its march. The people maintained a varied armament of weaponry and explosives. A single question rose as a flag in the minds of the once defending soldiers, and careful officers. It was a choice of whether to turn and let this army of citizens charge the corruption of the undead, or to hold their line and risk a death, which would be deemed as a crime.

“CORE, CORE, CORE!!” Their voices pounded the air as a rampant beast. The call was enriched with an impressive pride, as it craved a sacred mate: The wreak of havoc. It would reach from northern Main Street, several miles down to the southern Main, which held the screams of several innocents. They demanded their adversaries to stand aside.

“God-speed to the fools,” A chuckle preceded the unrewarded appearance of a suited man, who stood atop the roof of a building, and remained entertained. His feet came to the edge, as if to bait his will with a gush of invigoration. It was not time to enjoy this folly, not yet.

As the cyborgs piled upon a seemingly doomed Maria, a dark shadow would suddenly fall upon the sprawling hordes. Paragon slammed into the street like a bolt of lightning from the sky, a shockwave of wind and asphalt throwing many of the nearby robots flying into street lamps and public benches. The mysterious warrior advanced on the mindless metal zombies with impressive speed, weaving through the beasts in a blur of black and white. As he finally approached the merciless dog-pile, he thrashed out with a series of violent punches, arcs of high-decibel sound shooting out of his knuckles with every blow and slamming into the wretching beasts, forcing them off Maria by the dozens. He would attempt to reach the woman as quickly as possible, fighting through the monsters as efficiently as he could.

In the distance, he vaguely heard a strange chant rising from the chaos. "Core... core..." Curious. No time to dwell on it now, though. Lives needed saving.

The first criminal was easy. The large man had been smoking, looking out for his criminal friends inside the warehouse nearby. The smoke didn't drop, the Vicar had been too though. The first criminal's head violently exploded into bloody fragments of skull and viscous blood, splattering all over the concrete wall.

"For the Dark was wretched, cold and cruel." The Vicar snarled, his mouth lulled open by thick leather strap, his half-helmet giving him perfect night-vision and an eerie red glow in the night. The criminals were laughing inside, examining a shipment of firearms imported from the Taiyou Empire. Warn them. Please, they're not that bad.



The Vicar kicked open the door, his weapon in both hands. "And thrived in fear and pain." he screamed, caving in the skull of the nearest man, kicking another in the chest so hard that there was a distinct crack and the man spewed blood all over the uncaring floor, all while bullets flew everywhere. "With murd’rous lust it sought its goal." Vicar added angrily, seizing a nearby criminal cocking his sidearm and using him as a human shield for the hail of bullets that came his way, the screams of pain filling the warehouse.

"And so a war waged tween’ the frays" yelled the Vicar, throwing the body forward into another criminal and swiping upwards with his mace, shattering another skull in a flicker of electricity. "This vicious cycle, night and day."



The Vicar threw his mace, colliding with the second to last criminal in the warehouse with a loud splat, intestines violently hitting the other side of the wall. The last criminal dropped his gun, but wasn't fast enough to make it to the back exit as the Vicar fell upon him, lifting him high into the air with one augmented hand.



The Vicar growled, quoting the works of the Paragon as he raised his other hand in a fist to smash the face to pulp, screaming the name of his god over and over.