Edit, accidentally posted here like a dope. *Was on mobile, forgot which tab I was on*

“You will all...bow before Xenom.”
The words of his father echoed in his mind as he gazed out at the now barren city and slowly closed his eyes. Over the years since the battle of the Baron, and his father, the city had been deserted, left, and the plants had run rampant in their growth, running up buildings and skyscrapers alike, and leaving an unknowing mind wondering…What had happened to this place? Ryouko stood atop the Skyscraper, Sands imbedded into the ground in front of him. The naked eye would only see a lad, his dark blade reflecting in the sunlight.
But to an eye that could see long distances with ease, they would see something, someone much different.
He wore an Ancient Greek tunic, black in color, that rippled in the wind with his crimson hair and seemed to make the red sands that were imprinted on his shoulders flow in the wind. ‘The Xenom…I am far from my home now.’ Ryouko thought, as he rested one hand on the blade before him. Underneath the tunic, seeming pressed against his skin, was the Hakama, a piece of traditional martial arts clothing. The Obi around the top of the Hakama, positioned at his waist, held the Hakama up and seemed to stay pressed to his skin, no matter which way he turned. One would notice the chainmail Metashi stone, red in coloring, to put less weight upon his form and give him the right amount of armoring. This red Metashi alone could in fact protect him from a great many type of swords, unless the opponent had the right amount of strength and a durable enough weapon, seeing as the force needed to break Metashi was quite immense. Under the center of the tunic, however, was a black plate of Metashi stone, held up by the red chains that linked to the plate rather seamlessly. Leather straps lead the path down his lean arms, and to his gloved hands. The straps were also linked by Red Metashi, and the back of his hands covered by black Metashi plating. Irregular spikes were located on the backs of the black plates. His palms, bare, one hand that held onto the hilt of Sands and another that rested at his side, tapping softly against his leg. His legs, up until his feet, were unarmored, his feet covered by Red Metashi that had three clawed toes in the front, yet large enough for his toes to sit comfortably in. The back of the boots had two spikes, seeming to curve up at an angle and then level out horizontally. His armor itself gave off a dull sheen, glowing beneath the confines of his black tunic in the light of the rising sun, as his eyes suddenly snapped open.
However, these were not his normal eyes.
These were the eyes of the Cyrekennegan, his Doujutsu, that glowed with a crazed and bloodthirsty killing intent. The eyes themselves were as dark as the night sky, the pupils giving off a white light as the veins that ran through them pulsed steadily.
He twisted the hilt of Sands, silently, as the sands of Xenom poured from the top of the skyscraper, running across the rooftop and down the sides of the vegetated building. Due to the Cyrekennegan, Ryouko had an increased control over the sands, which made them flow faster than before, the desert calling to him like a lost child as it poured from the rooftop and down the sides of the tall building, encasing the building in a solid layer of sand, spanning from where the blade was sheathed. Like souls that hissed, the sound of the Xenom sands filled the air, with Ryouko and his blade standing at the center of the flowing sands.
‘Sands…My blade has served me well.’ Sands, the sword that he thought of, and that was embedded in the ground before him, was a weapon much like the blade of Tetsue. The blade itself was seven feet in length, yet made of black Metashi stone, with a crimson red edge, perfect for cutting into armor, weapons, and flesh alike. There were bulbous latches on every 6 inches of the blade, with no clear way to unlock or pry them open. Though, Ryouko did have his own way of doing so. Wires sat on the blade’s interior, being made of the same red Metashi as his chainmail, meaning simple slicing wouldn’t be enough to break the wires themselves. The hilt itself was hollow, though being made of Black Metashi made it even harder for it to be broken. The very bottom was even able to be pushed into the hilt, alluding to the other blade that rested, sheathed, upon his back.

‘…More blood to sate your thirst, my home…’ Ryouko thought, as his emotionless and dark eyes stared out at the city around him, waiting, watching, as he wanted to see his opponents as they came.
Would there be a worthy challenger here?
Would he die in battle, as he always dreamed?
Or would he win for his father, Tetsue, and in the name of Xenom?
He was no fortune-teller. He wasn’t even over the age of Eighteen yet.
But the eyes that stared ahead and at the city below him were the eyes of a cold and brutal killer, the eyes of a warrior that had been trained to hunt and kill his prey.
He was the son of a Predator, the son of Tetsue, and today he met the challengers head on.
For Xenom.

As the musclebound brute made his unwanted presence present, a purple flash and the sound of thunder emanated from above a skyscraper opposite the one upon which the metashi-clad warrior stood. Another small figure appeared at the epicenter, floating effortlessly a few feet above the rooftop as the flare of light faded from view. A midnight black robe obscures his body, allowing little to be seen of him beyond his slight build, and the black iron mask he wears allows nothing of his face save the black glows that are his eyes to be seen...and to see in turn. Black iron gauntlets armor the hands at his side, and boots of the same metal cover his feet.

The figure does not appear to bear any sort of weapon, yet he silently radiates an aura of timelessness and power that might be felt even through the background feel of this place that housed the battle it did years ago. The black holes of his eyes seemed to bore through the space separating him from the young warrior, paying no attention to the fool near him. Demons seek many things...some great power, some utter destruction, some challenges of the body or mind, and some simply to obey the whims of their masters. In the case of this one, it was something worthy of his time.

The Timelord of Dol-Tiras had come.

As he raised an eyebrow, hidden by his crimson bangs, the young warrior turned halfway to face...Gonad...such as the brute's first person style of speech, which Ryouko concluded, made him Fancy Boy and made the brute, Gonad. He quickly deciphered the manner of speaking the brute used, as the thunder rang overhead. The Xenom parted around the brute, though still flowed steadily.

"The dung hole would be inside of one of the buildings, Gonad." His voice was slightly raised, though emotionless and calm, as he glanced to the skyscraper opposite of his own. His lips quirked into a grin, as with his rather good eyesight, he saw the other figure, the timeless one.

'No weapon..?' He thought as he uprooted Sands, spinning the blade once in his hand, as the sand spewed forth like a geyser, like oil had been struck in a brand new well. He observed the man, his aura that radiated power causing his eyes to widen, his grin wider than before, showing that his white teeth were slightly pointed at the edges. He hadn't been a predator in the wild before he had found his father for nothing. Some meat could be very hard to tear into.

The sand that flowed down the building had began to accumulate, spreading out and covering ground as the whispers of the desert filled the ears of the young lad. His eyes, though black and white, held a gaze that, if literal, could burn through titanium as he called out to the timeless one. "You seem to have arrived."

And with this, his mind swimming with the whispers of the death and destruction that the Xenom wished for...that it craved... He hefted the large blade onto his shoulder with ease, in silence, as the sand washed over his body, his frame, and fell with the sound of a pounding rain upon the streets that began to fill. Waiting for a move to be made? Most definitely.

The Timelord's gaze shifted to the sand encasing the opposite building and engulfing the streets, before returning to the man with the sword. It was certainly a massive one...larger than the man who held it, it seemed. He disdained using his voice to respond to the statement of the other, his thoughts crossing the gap and making themselves far clearer than mere sound.

~You expected me. Such is to be commended. The sands of time are not so easily predicted as those of your blade. Or are your expectations so large that time has merely to fall into place within them?~

His hands remained empty, no weapon appearing to impress his enemy with their power. The Timelord had no use of such crude tactics to wield for intimidation...time's greatest point of fear, was its intangibility.

"There is one that has always stood out to me. I want her here, I wish to propose something." Alpha muttered, dismissing his messenger who bowed in respect to the command and turned high heel out of the temples Throne Room. Alpha's gaze narrowed upon the disappearing man with hateful intent. The fact that anything other than his Variations existed within the Xenom Desert made him only hungry for death.

The Lord casually leaned back into his golden, jewel incrested, throne that sat subtily within the chamber whilst surrounded by large pillars of torch-lit stone within the open room. It nearly was like a maze if it were not for the singular path that lead from the throne to the sun-striken desert some twenty feet before him. Though his distaste for the mortal was quickly over come with his endearing thoughts of another, the female he had fetched his messenger for. A warrior that stood the test of time in Alpha's mind from his original attacks on the Arena, many years ago.

"Tasuke..." he whispered, his dark red eyes staring down to the cracks of the ancient stone at his feet, reminiscing upon the 'fight' the two had had. Both had blades, but neither had drawn. Instead the two had seated upon a bench and merely spoke. Philosophies of different cultures passing by their lips instead of blood and it not only enlightened him, but drew something deep within SEED before his split that resonated through the original SEED down into Alpha. Respect and admiration.

From the shadows, however, came a whisper that broke Alpha's sense of thoughtful admiration, "So the invasion is to begin...shall I dispath Ryouko to initiate our calling?" Alpha did not need to even acknowledge the existence of the being that spoke to know it was his right hand Variation, Beta, the Brute that had taken on a similar form and weaponry as the previous ruler of Xenom, Tetsue Yanagita. He had their shared DNA to thank.

"Yes, dispatch the Bastard boy. Have him draw the desert into their world and we too shall come with it."

"Yes, m'lord. And the others?"

Alpha lifted his gaze up to the brightening entrance to the throne room and lifted himself up from the throne, brushing his gentle hands along his black kimono of any lingering dust before casually strolling forwards. His eyes squinted momentarily as he walked out of the throne room and was engulfed by the bright sky and over to the edge of the large Aztecian temple, staring out over the crimson dunes. The Lord inhaled deeply and was brushed upon by the winds of the desert, taking in the very essence while listening to the calls of the desert while ebony strands of silken hair danced playfully around his head.

"Gather all the SEED's. We will be going in full force."

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Present Day: The Invasion

Years had passed since the battle between Tetsue, the God-Killer, and the goliath beast and had left the giant city they had battled in in nothing less than ruin. Decades had gone by and the corpses of the innocent had become nothing more than fertillizer for bacteria and fungai to grow and manifest into a flourishing forest along the barren, broken streets. Skyscrapers had become habbitual zones for animals to fester and live, at least the ones that were left standing.

The broken metropolis and its once thriving population was nothing more than a distant memory. Now, it had become a whole new world. But also, it held something valuable. This value could only be found, and respected, by those of the Xenom Empire. It was one of the last places Tetsue Yanagita had fought in before his fall to SEED. It was not often that anything was left to stand when the God-Killer fought, so to see anything standing is of a mighty remark to the prowess of the opponent that stood against Tetsue and his failed attempt to attack this world.

Alpha was one of the few that could honor and respect this result. However he had only ever heard of fight through stories of the previous Xenom members, before they had become extinguished by SEED's new leadership. So for him to be able to see the result with his own eyes would be nothing less than a treat.

Crimson sand and traveling voices wrapped around Alpha like a caccoon, forcing his eyes closed and his arms to be wrapped around his chest as he shifted through the Xenom Sands, as if he were actually apart of the deserts body itself. His speed picked up, flowing at such a rate that his body slowly began to feel like it would be ripped apart, but he did not flinch nor acknowledge the reputable pain that enthralled his figure. Instead he simply waited it out until he finally slowed to a stop.

SEED had arrived.

Slowly his dark, long hair punctured the surface of the shifting sands and his body soon followed with grains dripping off him like water. With second passing more of his body had revealed itself until he stood straight right infront of Ryouko, his back to the Bastard son, whom undoubtedly towered over Alpha seeing as he was a mere 6'0" tall.

Alpha's eyes opened.

Darkness and decrepid hate quickly filled the area as he took in the healing devestation of the city, inhaling deeply. The God-Killers scent still remained and it filled his core with absolution, needing to fill it with death. "Your father was here, I see." Alpha whispered, his crimson gaze shifting about, practically ignoring the others who stood around the two Xenom Warriors.

He then turned around to look up at the Bastard and clenched his teeth, holding back what it is he truly wanted to say...or do to the boy. "Make sure you do not fail here like your father did. I do not know if he won or lost the fight here, but seeing as this place is not conquered land of Xenom he certainly did not succeed in his own invasion." he snapped, prodding an extended finger against the Boy's chest.

Alpha then casually looked around, glancing at the two others that apparently had anticipated the invasion. "Why are there people here, already? Ryouko?" he growled, figuring perhaps a spy had unvealed their plans. Was it Tasuke? Did she lie about her bought allegience? He thought cautiously. "Forget it, keep the Sands open for the rest to come through. I have brought all 9 of the Variations with me and are within the Sand Stream, they will be here shortly."

With that in mind the Lord slapped his hands together and immediately the stench of copper populated the air around the skyscraper, becoming a dense rough smell that seemed to originate from Alpha. "I shall help protect the Sand Stream until Beta and the rest can completely come through. It is time, Ryouko. Make sure my decision to keep you alive was not a mistake, or end up like your pathetic Father." he threatened.

The Invasion had finally begun.

Around five miles above an indescriminate desert slap dab in the middle of shitfuck nowehere, Operative 'Lone Wolf' (or informally 'Gun') was dodging two pairs of guided missiles like it was clockwork, the bulky and clunky munitions simply not tailored for the pursuit of of such a small target being able to skillfully access more oblique planes. Halo's of light were issued around him from an out of place golden blade that rested on his back, halting all of his inertia and speed suddenly before pulling up in a fashion only capable by an in-human beast(for those sudden G-forces to not explode him all over the place) as the gunsteel-grey Grim Anarchy III's propulsion system redirected bursts of force about his axis of gravity, that in conjunction with some fine ass motor control skills allowed him to dodge out of their path, and instead direct them into each other.

The F22's in chase of him lag pursuit style weren't so easily swayed, however, as they sprayed relatively harmless 30mm caliber bullets that dinked off of the Grim's thick carapace-like backplate and smoothed aerodynamic helm like rubber. A single glance over his shoulder would be the last thing the fighter pilots would ever see as he suddenly maneuvered into a Pugachev's Cobra after deactiviating his G-limiter for precision control, causing them to overshoot him completely as his Mark II 'Obelisk' Railcannons unslid from under his arms and lined up perfectly. A fraction of a second passed between pulling the triggers and the jets being blasted out of the sky into glorified shrapnel. Where he would have normally veered back off to wherever his destination was, something instead caught his eye that made him raise a brow. A green symbol on a piece of the shrapnel that fell to the desert floor. Specifically, a rapier being plunged through the world, the hilt enthralled by the grip of a snake.

He turned off his main thrusters as he descended to the floor where he sifted through the disjointed junk until he got to the symbol. "Well shit, I guess they really didn't want me to have you." Gun said as he stabbed the blade into the sand and pocketed the symbol emblazened shrapnel. The organization was named Templar, and was the second to most recent in his long list of people that wanted him dead and vice versa. After all, he couldn't blame them. He did defect before ransacking their research fatility, stealing their new fancy sword, and then proceeded to run an intergalactic group of vigilantes that made life an overall chore for them. But still, he didn't think they'd track him all the way out here near the Rim. That's where the most recent group that wanted him dead comes in.

A few days earlier, he was contracted by the speakers of a particular area in space that served as a back door to the Multiverse. Apparently Templar got the memo, too. Whatever wannabe spatial conquistador was knocking on the multiverse's door, he was close. Very close if Templar was all the way out here scouting him. And Gun would be a terrible killing machine for good if he didn't go deal with it.

***

Gun landed on an adjacent building to the Student and his apparent master, separated by some odd five blocks or so, the crimson light that escaped the visor to his helm gleaming like headlights. From behind the helm, atmospheric and chemical information were fed to him in transluscent digital panels of techno-jargain as he went over the gleamable properties of those present. He took stock of the others. The time-lord, and the raving half-naked neanderthal, to be exact. This is what I have to work with? No fucking wonder they called us for help.

He drew the blade from its panel on his back, holding it outstretched so its edge faced the base of the rooftop. It bled opulescence from his hands, a shimmering curtain of light that would be registered with the intensity of a flash grenade to those with quotidian sight, but like piercing needles to those whom employed sight beyond sight, as the world would collapse and fold upon itself in a keleidescopic, crystalline view. In the second or so that permeated the surge, thousands of S-Cells began to pool into his hands like water into a glass, taking the shape of a sickly misshapen javelin, their overstretching ability creating a dense electromagnetic current about itself and Gun's arm.

In the same moment Seraph expanded her undying will across the land, only edifying it further and becoming a secondary boon to his perceptual frameworks. A low pinging rung like bells in the back of his mind, and from within its eldritch tombs, its conscious moved in unsettling motions. His head cocked back to the Sandman whom clasped his hands together, and not that he needed seraph to draw the connection, but it became quite clear he was being warned of a hostile psychospiritual presense. A fanged smile would creep on his lips from behind the Grim's helm.

When the curtain of light would have fell(only ever lasting about a second), what would be standing there instead of a single person would now be two. Though Gun now no longer held his sword, but a crude javelin in its place.

"Oh my, oh my. An invasion, indeed."

Account Deleted.

The man stood within the shadows, stagnant in nature as he looked straight at the two men in the center of the room. His twin sons stood clad in their suits--One that had a large 'X' on the side of his face, the other with a gargantuan 'Y' enscribed on the chest plate. The man in the shadows chuckled a bit, "look after your mother," he said softly over the sounds of weeping in the next room over, "she can be very...emotional, when I go away for too long without her."

The twin boys nodded before turning away, marching in the opposite direction. He had heard of the battle going on, and knew that he had to join. To be God, he had to defeat the Lucifers. A magnificent plan that would soon come to fruition--Stomping the heads of his enemies had become a great pass time. The man stood there for a few more moments before suddenly dematerializing, becoming one with the shadows.

****

He came during the flash of light. The split second that would blind his opponents and grant him larger shadows to pick from when the objects emitted long shadows in response to the flashing light befalling them. When he appeared, he was sure to make his presence known to the unfortunate, temporarily blind.

He's got the whooooole world...in his hands.

When he sang, it was melodic, yet slowed and malevolent. His voice carried across the waste of the desert, putting up the facade that he was whispering in the ears of his opponent. His lullaby was beautiful, albeit terrifying.

He's got the whole wide world...in his hands

He's got the whole world in his hands...

He stood next to the man of light and the other simply known as Gun. A red coat hung over his shoulders, brought together by golden buckles. Beside his waist sat a sword, sheathed and unseen. At his legs swirled the shadows he had gathered, acting like a mini tornado that kicked up the occasional sand.

His face was partially covered by his shoulder length black hair, however it neglected to cover his greatest features. Eyes of pure black stared into the souls of the other two opposite of himself, his lips curved into a knowing grin. The elongated scar that ran from beside his right eye all the way to the jawline was what people remembered most about the Nightshade King, second only to the shadows surrounding his frame.

He chuckled lightly, clenching his fists. His whisper once more carried over to his enemies, although this time his words were seeping with venom, "I'm here"