Asura

Midnight Sun: Last Song Over the Horizon

Sirius Elhart Leverant

“You're either with me or against me. Pick one.”

Sirius, to his partner

Personal Dossier

---

_Name

Sirius Elhart Leverant

_Age

18

_Gender

Male

_Origin

Ares

_Appearance

Standing at 6' 1", Sirius strikes an imposing figure and damned if he'll let anybody ever forget that. It goes without saying, therefore, that he possesses a carefully cultivated physique to match his stature—his build is lean and sinewy, like that of a finely tuned predator. But his frame is far from the only thing to be intimidated by. Everything about Sirius, by design, is meant to be striking. The sharp, well-defined profile of his face. The pale alabaster of his skin. The wild locks of jet black hair that contrast it so well, messily styled this way and that. His eyes are perhaps among the most prominent of his characteristics; two piercing silver spheres that stare intensely upon the world, reflecting the many hues of his many emotional highs and lows.

Child of privilege that he is, Sirius takes great pains to dress well when outside of his school uniform. His wardrobe is almost exclusively monochromatic in color, consistency of far too many shades of black and grey, just like his own features. Buttons ups, fine trousers, vests and jackets, hats and scarves. One could certainly poke fun at the effort he puts into looking good, in spite of his own macho tendencies. Such mockery matters not to him. All that matters is achieving his goal: never be forgotten.

_Personality

Many words can be used to describe the tempest that is Sirius. Fiery, domineering, tumultuous, possessive, driven. He is incredibly competitive, aggressive in his pursuit of his goals, voracious for the praise and admiration of those around him, and more than willing to crush any and all who he deems obstacles. Wildly independent, he bucks under authority, desperate for the ability to control his own destiny yet shackled by his deep-seated need to be validated for all his fight. His world exists starkly in blacks and whites: there are those who are beneath him, and those he has yet to place beneath him, with little room in the middle for equals who hold neither sway over him, or who he holds no sway over. The need to conform to this unhealthy, superiority driven world view leads him to acts of cruelty and excess, but also forms the backbone of his implacable willpower, one of the few positive traits he exhibits with any regularity.

_{Background Information}

Sirius is the most recent scion of the Leverant family, whose name may yet remain middling to the greater Confederacy, but looms tall in the history of his clannish home-world, Ares. Descended from the first jingoistic leadership of their nascent world, the House of Leverant rules among six other aristocratic families on the aptly named Council of Seven, the hereditary government which has led its populace to prosperity and strength across its nearly four hundred year history. Established by exiled officers after a failed coup on their homeworld of Mars, Ares held fast to a hawkish military tradition long before its first colonists realized the mineral wealth its surface possessed, and the potential for manufacturing such vast resources enabled.

It was these things—the staunch militarism of its populace, and its capacity to arm that populace—that made Ares an essential bulwark against the Ascendancy during the war some forty years ago. The men of Ares held an ever-shrinking line against the swarms of Ascendancy ICWs until the Valkyrie Program brought an armistice to the wartorn Confederacy. Men like Sirius' grandfather, now among the Confederacy's Admiralty for his hard-fought contributions to the war effort. Men whose legacies have molded Sirius since the day he was born.

As the youngest son of the current head, expectations of greatness and the dutiful acceptance of those expectations were to be second nature for him. Just as they were for his brothers, father, uncles and grandfathers before him. From his earliest years he was expected to thrive in all which he applied himself to, to struggle and fight and win for the sake of the family name and the world they represented. It worked, to a point. He learned the dogged resolve necessary to clinch victory from the jaws of defeat, even in the most trivial of competitions or tasks. He learned to assert himself against those he considered adversaries, to make it known his will was the one to be bowed to. He learned a lot of things, but perhaps chief among them, he learned resentment.

Sirius became something of a black sheep among his family as he grew from boy to teen to man. He came to hate the regimentation of his life, the expectation of deference to the greater good of the line. He lashed out, battled against his father and brothers, alienated himself from them even as he worked himself so hard to match—even exceed—their expectations and deeds. If he wished simultaneously freedom and their approval, he would earn only one upon coming of age: a spot at the prestigious Taiyōtawa Interstellar Piloting Academy set him free of familial machinations on Ares. A thinly veiled exile, ostensibly to pursue his talent as an ICW pilot.

Attributes & Other Information

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_{Coordinator Type}

PC

_{Coordination Profile}

Awareness | ■■■□□
Composure | ■□□□□
Endurance | ■■■■■
Instinct | ■■■■■
Intellect | ■□□□□

RWBY: Chasing Shadows

a fox

Huntsman Sheet

Personality

On the surface, Kohaku is something of a wallflower—quiet, shy, and bashful. She isn't especially good at socializing, and often prefers to cede the limelight to other, stronger personalities. It certainly isn't out of a disdain, though. Given the chance to come out of her shell, Kohaku is a warm, friendly, even sensitive girl. She simply lacks the finer social skills to properly articulate herself, a relic of her upbringing in relative isolation. At her core she is empathetic and nurturing and dislikes conflict, attempting to mediate or avoid it when possible.

That is not to say she is cowardly, however. In the face of injustice or abuse she deems unacceptable, so can become exceptionally obstinate and defensive. This is especially true if the injustices in question are laid upon those unwilling, or unable, to stand up for themselves. It is not an exaggeration to say she has something of a hero complex born of the guilt she feels for how she led her life before arriving at Shade. This guilt hangs heavy on her, even though few would be able to see the effects through the facade she puts on. Fundamentally, she considers herself a bad person, unworthy to receive the kindness she herself tries so hard to espouse as a result of her sins. This self-loathing compounds her difficulties connecting with others.

Although her good nature and youthful appearance can lead some to believe she is naive, Kohaku possesses quite the formidable guile. She is a practiced liar, and quite good at putting her empathy to work in manipulating others by pulling on heart strings where they lay. It isn't something she particularly enjoys doing, but old habits die hard, and it has gotten her out of cleaning duty more than once.

Appearance

Standing at an unimpressive five feet in height, with an accompanying lithe build, Kohaku does not cut an especially intimidating figure. Her features are soft, childlike, and possess an innocence unsuitable for the lands which bore her, or the occasional hardness that inhabits her large, chartreuse eyes. Her skin is shockingly pale for a nomad, remaining a healthy, unblemished shade of alabaster through means both practical and genetic. Her velvety locks follow in its example, a pale, sandy blonde mop that lightens in places to a near-white. In both texture and shade it matches the fur on perhaps the most eye-catching feature she possesses—two exceptionally large, vulpine ears that jut expressively out from the sides of her head, replacing the those one might find on a Human. Far from the only indication of her Faunus heritage, a plush fox tail extends from the base of her spine, swishing to and fro with the highs and lows of her emotional state.

“Uhm... Do I need to say something here?”

| N a m e: |

Kohaku Nanashi

| Alias|Nickames|Titles: |

Kohaku

| G e n d e r: |

Female

| A g e: |

16

| Kingdom of Origin: |

Vacuo

| Race: |

Faunus

| History: |

Kohaku was born some sixteen years ago to an unlikely set of parents. Her mother was a chieftain that ruled over one of Vacuo's more sizeable bandit clans, and her father was a Huntsman hailing from Anima. The specifics of their relationship were lost on young Kohaku—whether they parted amicably or bitterly, the girl's father was long gone by the time she could remember anything, and any questions as to his greater identity or whereabouts only seemed to trouble her mother in ways few other matters did. She learned from an early age not to ask those questions, not for fear of reprisal, but to spare her remaining parent any undue pain. Instead she contented herself to live among her mother's tribesmen, a child among killers and thieves.

Against all expectation, her upbringing was somewhat idyllic... at least insofar as much one could describe a nomadic, desert upbringing as idyllic. The clan was among the most successful in its region, and under the strong leadership of her mother, managed to subsume several smaller clans and extort sizable bounties from the trade routes that snaked through its carefully managed territory. But in resource scarce Vacuo, prosperity was scant without its drawbacks.

To have plenty was to draw the eyes and ire of those who would covet it. There were was always an ambitious upstart looking to wrest control of the clan away, both within and without, and when they couldn't bring down the woman in charge directly, they directed their eyes to what weak points she had—namely, her young daughter. Kohaku suffered more than one attempt on her life, or ill-fated kidnapping attempt in her youth. Each attempt thwarted, each one punished in ways far more horrific than would be allowed to trickle down to the young Faunus. Try as her mother might to keep her child insulated from the harsh world around them, the sensitive Kohaku could see the worry she caused. She resolved to become stronger, so that she would no longer be a burden.

At the age of ten, she summoned up her courage and demanded her mother teach her how to fight. How to be like one of the clan. Large as the matriarch's shadow loomed over her, the girl had expected to be denied. Instead, she her mother wistfully accepted, declaring that Kohaku had inherited "her father's fire" after all. While her contemporaries in other Kingdoms prepared at prestige combat schools, a firm hand and the wastes around her would mold Kohaku into the warrior she wished to be.

Mold her it did. While she had been largely sheltered from the brutality of deserts in her youth, her brave declaration shed this veil of nicety overnight. She trained at battle and stealth and bushcraft, to live and fight and live outside the confines of a well-hidden encampment. It was hard, brutal work, beyond what hardship she had experienced in the world up until that point—having to hold off on bathing until the rains returned was of little compare to watching the Grimm descend upon a settlement so they could pick through the scraps, or hearing the strained rasp of a caravan guard's last breaths as he sunk back on the blade in his back.

But she labored to survive, and thrive, in her new role. Something she had succeeded in; young as she was, she quickly became an accomplished raider among her people, a feat no doubt attributed to her heritage as much as her determination. It was all she could have hoped for. Long were the days when she needed to fear knives in the dark, or wallow in the knowledge that she was a vulnerability that weighed heavy on the mind of the woman she owed her life to. She was praised, even. A reliable fighter. A useful asset. A suitable heir.

But that praise was all but empty in the face of what she had to do to receive it. It had been easy to live with when she was little. When her mother came back from the wilds with a new toy or a shiny trinket to delight her with, she needn't think of where it came from. Of who it came from. But having bloodied her hands, having taken part in her familial career, she could only wilt. This wasn't what she wanted to do. This wasn't why she had worked so hard. She didn't want to hurt people anymore, even if hurting people was the only way of life they—that she—had ever known. Maybe her mother had been right to keep her walled off in the camps, hidden away from reality for however long it could have lasted. She wasn't cut out to be a cutthroat.

So she summoned that resolve that had led her down the path of banditry in the first place. Made a plan, packed her belongings. She didn't even have the courage to say goodbye. Instead, with a note pinned to the floor of her tent, Kohaku disappeared into the night on the eve of her sixteenth birthday. If she couldn't walk the path of one parent, then perhaps she could walk the path of another. She could track. She could fight. She had even had her Aura unlocked. Even if she knew no other way of life, she knew there was one place that never had enough capable killers: the Huntsmen Academies. Her journey led her to Shade, and the rest, as they say, was history.

| Semblance: |

Kohaku's Semblance, Haze, allows her to superheat things around her. She needs merely be aware of an area, possess the requisite Aura to generate the necessary heat, and have a direct line of contact to the place in question—most commonly through the air, though she is also capable of using the ground—and she can affect drastic increases in the temperature there. On the surface level, it is a very offensive Semblance, suited for dealing horrific injuries or property damage should she will it.

Years of practice, however, have led Kohaku to carefully hone its usage in a variety of more creative, less extreme way. By rapidly heating the area around her, for instance, she is capable of creating sudden updrafts to misdirect projectiles or soften falls. The rapid expansion of air can be used to hasten or impede movement, and more than once she has used her abilities to form rudimentary mirages in the wastes of her homeland. She even managed to utilize it to form a localized thunderstorm at one point.

For all its potential, destructive or otherwise, it does have its limitations. Like all Semblances, its output is directly linked to the amount of Aura spent on its use. Consistently using it to create truly extreme differences in heat is considerably taxing. As the initial heat generation is localized on her position, utilizing it at long-ranges is more difficult than doing so at closer ones. Lastly, as she requires an indirect link between herself and the target, impeding this link makes it challenging to use. Creating gusts of wind to disrupt searing air, destroying the dividing ground, or ducking behind terrain all hamper the effectiveness her ability.

While relatively insignificant to its combat potential, possession of Haze has given Kohaku an innate resistance to extreme temperatures. While it is likely a trait meant to insulate her from the effects of her own powers, it has been of greater help in surviving the deadly climate of Vacuo's wilds.

| Weapon and Fighting Style: |

Kohaku's primary weapon is Requiem, a Multi-purpose Projected Dust Caster (MPDC). To call it a weapon would be considered insulting to those who painstakingly crafted their own at Remnant's many combat schools—it is little more than Atlesian salvage cobbled together into a miraculously functional staff. Canisters of Dust housed at the base of the clunky, rusting head feed into a central projector mechanism at the center, where it is then ignited and shaped based on her will. The staff has room to house four standard sized canisters, which Kohaku fills with the most common four—red, blue, dark orange, and white—to create fire, water, earth and wind based phenomenon respectively. The staff also functions as a foci for her Semblance, extending her range significantly.

Her fighting style is equal parts evasive and crafty. Utilizing the agility afforded to her by her stature and physique, she deftly maneuvers into mid-range against her opponents. Here, where her Semblance and casting potential are most optimally deployed, she wreaks havoc with the multitude of tactical opportunities her Dust-based fighting style affords her, though she typically avoids using the more destructive or lethal options in her repertoire.

Despite her stated preference for Dust casting, Kohaku is almost always in possession of a weathered, curved knife commonly used by the nomadic tribes of Vacuo's desert regions. Details from her entry examination would imply she is significantly more proficient in its use than she is with Requiem.

| Strengths and Weakness: |

Kohaku is a product of her environment, as contrary to that as her appearance would indicate. Beyond her significant combat potential, she is surprisingly agile, talented at going undetected in a variety of environments, is a skilled in desert survival, and adept at jury-rigging technology. Her Faunus heritage, beyond earning her scorn from the more traditional inhabitants of the Kingdom, bestows her with incredibly sharp senses of hearing and eyesight. She also possesses a level of grit one would expect from a future Huntress of Vacuo; to call her stubborn once she sets her mind to a task is an understatement.

Her weaknesses are readily apparent upon looking upon her and, if one was so inclined, learning of her background. She is short, and not especially powerful physically, making her unsuited to feats of strength or physical robustness. Her upbringing has made her clannish and distinctly lacking in charisma, and she lacks the greater understanding of technology and academia many of her peers possess—prior to arriving at Shade, she was entirely illiterate. This has not changed much in the interim between the entrance examination and the start of the school year.

| Greatest Fear/Fatal Flaw: |

Kohaku, for all the resolve she tries to muster, has many fears. Some of them minor, like her belief that she will find no acceptance in this world; that her peers at Shade will shun her for her past deeds should they ever surface, and that her clansmen would never again accept her for the weakness that drove her from them in the first place.

On a higher scale, she fears herself. Her few years in the wastes taught her that properly motivated, she is capable of monstrous deeds, and she wishes never again to engage in them. Equally, she fears that this unwillingness to do what so often must be done—no matter how unpalatable—makes her unworthy to be called a Huntress. The two sides of this struggle wax and wane, making her indecisive at critical junctures. A fatal flaw for those who wish to hunt the real monsters that stalk Remnant.

| Miscs : |

Cashmere wishes it could be as soft as those ears. Seriously. It's a problem.

Asura's Shrine

A N D E R S
A N D E R S

^{“Our best course of action might be what's called a 'tactical withdraw'.”}

C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T _________________________________________________________ C H A R A C T E R D A T A C H A R A C T E R D A T A _________________________________________________________ True Self Charles Gaillard Persona Anders Pathos Thyrien Role Tank Weapon of Choice Spear Domains Earth, Metal; Divination, Enhancement, Protection Playstyle & Attitude Battlefield Controller; Pragmatist ♬

C H A R L E S G A I L L A R D : A L L T H A T G L I T T E R S C H A R L E S G A I L L A R D : A L L T H A T G L I T T E R S ________________________________________________________________________________________ Affluence. Privilege. Prestige. These words describe much of the life Charles Gaillard has led. While he was not born into the ultra-wealthy, Charles' parents skirted the margins just enough to ensure their son would never want for anything, be it material things or, as he grew from boy to man, opportunities to climb ever higher on the social ladder and secure a position even higher than their own. A natural extrovert and keen study, it was all but assured that Charles' schooling was an easy affair. He passed through his secondary schooling at the top of his class. When it came time for higher education, familial connections assured him a place in the Ivy League. As connections spawned connections and his magnetic personality won him fast friends during his raucous college years, a degree in business and finance transitioned him to a cushy position at a prestigious New York firm. And so life turned and turned. Financially secure and content in the business of making money off of other's money, Charles' life played out like so many others. He tomcatted around for a while, met that special someone, tied the knot, and bought a house out in Queens. Their marriage proved fruitful, and three beautiful children followed. It was familiar. Comfortable. It was boring. For those so deprived, a lifestyle of conspicuous consumption seemed luxurious beyond measure. But for Charles, a lifetime of so easily achieving one's desires did little to quell his desires. So he found a thrill in other things. Alcohol, women, and the occasional illicit substance. Evermore he found himself at home less and less, focusing more on his career than his family. His excuses grew lamer and lamer. Eventually, his wife stopped asking what was on his breath, or where that glitter came from. Eventually, he stopped bothering to make up the stories. It was familiar. Comfortable. Until it wasn't. Three days after his youngest set off for Upstate, she served him in the papers. It hurt, at first. Then it hurt even more when he realized how much it hurt. It was easy to become bored with routine. With the constants in life. To take them for granted and push them from one's mind in search of something new and exciting. But all too often, only after it is too late, does one realize just how necessary they are. That was a lesson even Columbia failed to teach him. The divorce went as smoothly as could be expected, after twenty years of marriage. And in the absence of his wife and children, Charles fell back into bad habits. But substance abuse, he knew, was a young man's game. So in place of the bottle, he searched for other frontiers to occupy his mind. Virtual reality was a strange one, especially for an old hound like himself, but it was cheaper than pills. Pariah Online swiftly became a refuge to escape a reality that, for the first time in a long time, ceased to readily welcome him. A N D E R S : T H E W A L L W H I C H S T I N G S A N D E R S : T H E W A L L W H I C H S T I N G S ________________________________________________________________________________________ Anders has been playing Pariah Online since day one of its launch—as he pre-ordered it a few days after the lawyers finalized his divorce—and so considers himself something of an old hand, even if the game is relatively new. A smooth-talking wisecracker, he proves to be an amiable and entertaining partner, though popular as he may be with random party members, he's made only a few concrete bonds in the game. Instead, he fancies himself a wanderer, moving from place to place and helping out wherever newer players need it. His experience in dealing with more difficult raids and tendency to enable more reckless DPS players assures that he has little difficulty sliding in and out of parties. The game serves as an outlet for Anders' less appealing qualities. It allows him to seek the thrills that keep him titillated in a risk-averse way, carefully weighing the pros and cons of every engagement with the assurance even a mistake ultimately costs little more than a few minutes of wasted time. His focus on crowd-controlling and directing the flow of fights allows him to maintain a sense of control over the situations he finds himself in. An appealing prospect, given what awaits him when the headset is set aside. Perhaps most importantly, though he would be hard-pressed to admit it, it gives him a chance to prove he can be what he was not for his family. A positive influence. A protector. To prove he can be there when he is needed.

---

Spells & Spell-like Abilities

Ready in Eight Directions
_{Divination + Enhancement}

A keystone of his defensive play, Anders rears back and assumes a wide stance with his weapon, enhancing both his senses and his reflexes in the process. Ready in Eight Directions allows him to enter an almost meditative flow state, immediately lashing out to intercept, parry, or otherwise deflect any attacks or enemies who enter into his reach with startlingly speed and precision, effectively turning him into a roadblock of flashing steel capable of warding off a great deal of damage.

Thunderclap Rush
_Enhancement

Empowering the muscles of his legs, Anders moves in a direct line so swiftly as to almost appear instantaneous. He uses quickly to intercept or engage with enemies, or reposition himself while maintaining Ready in Eight Directions, as the rapidity of the movement allows his concentration to go unbroken. So named for the signature cracking noise caused by his displacement.

Liquid Steel Flow
_{Enhancement + Metal}

One of Anders' more underhanded, but doubtlessly effective tactics. Liquid Steel Flow allows him to alter the properties of his spear on the fly. Most commonly, he uses it to alter the length of his weapon, either shortening or extending its reach to best fit the situation he finds himself in. A favorite tactic of his involves changing his weapon's range mid-strike, allowing him to keep his opponents constantly off-guard.

The Earth Flows
_Earth

A strictly utilitarian form of magic, The Earth Flows allows Anders to shape the terrain around him to better suit his purposes. Whether it's creating higher elevations to attack from, creating a quicksand pit beneath an opponent to throw them off balance, or hurling an ally out of the way using a sudden bulge from the ground, it has proven an essential tool to disrupting his enemies.

Immortal Blade Triumphant
_{Enhancement + Protection}

One of the only truly offensive tools in Anders' arsenal, Immortal Blade Triumphant can broadly be broken down into two parts. The first part is the actual spell itself: a ward placed upon the head of his weapon that sits dormant until such a time as his weapon collides with something. Whether it be an enemy's blow, their flesh, or even magical projectiles, his spear absorbs a small portion of the impact, storing away the force throughout the battle. The second part of the spell makes use of that stored power, allowing Anders to release the entirety of it to unleash a startlingly powerful counterattack. Usually released in bursts using explosively empowered thrusts, Anders is also capable of venting all the stored energy at once, hurling the weapon at an opponent to avoid the resulting detonation.

Character Feats

Close Quarters Technician

Anders' is a masterful practitioner of defensive fighting, his style of battle akin to that of an out-boxer. His sense of timing and spacing are incredibly precise, and he leverages his reach and speed to counteract his opponent's attacks and corral them into favorable positions at spear-point, either shutting down their offensive potential or helping keep them off his less robust allies.

Long Haul Combatant

With his strategy being one of attrition rather than speed, Anders possesses a deep reserve of stamina and a living knowledge of how to best leverage it using patience and efficiency of movement. He is nearly impossible to exhaust and thrives in extended battles where an opponent might burn through their resources before he does his, whittling them down by a thousand cuts before they can land a telling blow to defeat him in kind.

Acute Awareness

Part of being a controller means having a sharp sense of the battlefield and the ability to keep track of multiple things at once with precision. Anders excels in this field. His spatial awareness and prodigious reflexes allow him to swiftly react to things mid-combat, whether it be allies losing their coordination or enemies launching unexpected attacks, and correct them before they manage to spell disaster, thereby dictating the flow of battle.

By Any Means

An inherent danger that is thoroughly hidden beneath his friendly, devil-may-care attitude, Anders is a ruthless pragmatist. He has little qualms in using underhanded or dishonest tactics to get an advantage over his enemies, whether it's extending his spear through them amidst a gesture of surrender, or using his earth magic to throw loosened soil into their eyes. History, he reasons, is decided by the victors, and he has no intention of letting his side be forgotten by it.

Silver-Tongued Devil

A skill born from a lifetime of experience and natural charisma, Anders is a smooth-talking man. Easy-going and sanguine, he is easy to like and difficult to dissuade when he decides to work his magic, carefully swaying others to his point of mind with rhetoric so carefully disguised as casual banter that few have the skill—or natural distrust—to see through it as a matter of course.

RWBY: Chasing Shadows

《 R W B Y :: Grimm Adventures 》

Yín Yuèliang

Yín Yuèliang

Basics

Full Name:
Yín Yuèliang
Nickname/Alias:
Yin
Age:
17
Gender:
Female
Race:
Faunus
Appearance Description:

Allusion:
Moon Hare

Personality

Personality:
Likes:

• Item A
• Item B
• Item C

Dislikes:

• Item A
• Item B
• Item C

Motivation:
To prove her worth—and the worth of her people—to the world.
Sexual Orientation:
Heterosexual

Biography

Country of Origin: Atlas
Bio:

Combat

Weapon: Eclipse Phase
Semblance: Panacea

Isekai'd into a Fantasy World and tasked to help a little lord build nation. What could go wrong? [Interest Check]

I'm into it but only if I can usurp the little shit when he least expects it.

①⑨⑥⑧

①⑨⑥⑧

The Blue Beetle

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx I S S U E #1: First Contact VII L O C A T I O N Bayonne, New Jersey. 12:20 AM T A G S @Hero@DocTachyon

<<Enemy approaching to the right. Deploying- Target neutralized.>> So caught up in his new found heroics, Jaime had apparently missed one of the aliens maneuvering past the surprisingly robust defense the Scarab had conjured up. Of course, the Scarab itself hadn't been caught so lacking—or the Lantern, for that matter, as the teen as quick to realize after looking to his right side and seeing the two plummeting towards in a melee. If the Scarab had been so worried about these green guys that it labeled them an 'extreme threat', then it was probably safe to assume they were more than capable of handling themselves against these slavers. Instead, he could focus more on- "Hey! A little help!?" Or not. Luckily for Jaime, it seemed the alien who kicked this entire affair off was more than happy to volunteer herself, and swooped down towards the earth below to deal with it. In her absence, she left the job of handling the remaining ten invaders to him. Lucky indeed. Resolving to be more vigilant, he exercised what control he had over the suit's airborne movement and maneuvered his way between the impromptu allies he had on the ground and the jetpack wielding enemies raining down lightning bolts on them all. It was like trying to play goalie, only the other team didn't have to stay on the field and could shoot at you from any direction they wanted. The way each bolt flattened and crackled against his shield, he wasn't so worried about himself—terrifying as this all was, whatever the heck Mr. Kord had cobbled together seemed more than a match for these guys. But the other two, well, he wasn't too sure. The girl seemed scary strong and scary fast, but the fact these guys had her in cuffs probably meant her last run in with them hadn't gone her way. The Lantern... well, he was a toss up, but not one Jaime wanted to risk getting hurt on his account. "I think it's about time we went on the attack," Jaime said as he twisted through the air to narrowly catch a projectile on the very edge of his shield, "I'm gonna regret asking this, but what do you have to put them down?" <<Potential countermeasures: Innumerable. Suggested countermeasure: Judicious application of thermal energy.>> "For the last time, no fire! I don't wanna kill these guys, just... knock them out. Can't you do that?" <<Non-lethal countermeasures: inefficient. Host must eliminate of Gordanian presence before Lantern Corpsmen coordinate.>> "I swear I will let these guys shoot me in the face if you don't set some kinda phaser to stun!" There was a short silence, punctuated by another duo of bolts crashing into the surface of his shield. <<Host: Unacceptably belligerent. Deploying repulsor cannon. Locking targets. Depress trigger mechanism at will.>> This time, the metal on the left arm began to shift and morph. Like before, his hand was replaced by a gun barrel, although this one seemed much sleeker and less... well, terrifyingly likely to blow up the city. With a duo of the big, ugly looking bastards above zooming down towards him in a hail of covering fire, Jaime didn't have time to question the lethality of the weapon in question. Following the reticle that popped up in his field of view, Jaime pulled the shield aside just long enough for the Scarab to guide his arm into the proper position. A high pitched whine followed. Then, in a flash of blue light, Jaime finally got to return a shot of his own. It raced through the air fast as lightning, and struck the nearest Gordanian with concussive boom that managed to rattle him some thirty feet away. The hulking bastard went flying back up into the air for some ways, before gravity took hold and it went plummeting down towards the bay. The teen scant had the chance to marvel at the kind of power his second skin was able to produce—his arm jerked to aim at the second Gordanian, who had been briefly halted by the force of the first blast. Another high pitched prefaced his fate, and a second blue beam of light sent him packing across the sky and racing towards the water below. "I am so glad I didn't let you take care of that Rottweiler." He muttered as the remaining Gordanians—apparently realizing the threat he posed—began to focus their fire on him, necessitating him to raise his shield once more. Mission accomplished.

Living Life as a Monster doesn't Sound that Bad - Another Isekai RP

We got an ETA on a thread?