Bombard
"Hey, darling. Sorry I missed you, again. Just calling to make sure that you and your mom were doing okay. Say hi to your dad for me, too! Let him know I'm sorry I roughed him up a little bit. I didn't mean to. Sometimes I just don't know my own strength! Call me back sometime soon. Bye!"
Taron grunted after ending the call, pulling his coat a little bit tighter while he walked. He was always cold. Didn't matter what the time of year was. Was it a side effect of his powers? Perhaps. Just meant he needed a better coat.
She wasn't calling him back. Bitch. No, no! He mentally punched himself. "She has things to do. Of course she's busy." He probably had things to do, too. He could fight crime! That was his job now, wasn't it? As Bombard, the Destroyer of Evil? Not that anyone called him that except himself. Still, the criminals would learn to fear his name. Someday.
Crimefighting, then. He bent his knees and leapt into the air. The first explosion beneath him sent him rocketing into the sky, feet first. He yelped as he tumbled, end over end, before blasting himself further into the sky. Slowly, slowly, he pulled himself together, and a chain of smaller air-blasts stabilized him. Bombard flew through the air: not gracefully, not effectively, but he flew.
Another explosion caught his attention. "That wasn't one of mine," he mumbled, steering himself toward the sound. "Is that--fuck!" A lapse in his concentration blasted him horribly off course. Taron spiraled down toward the city rooftops. He'd lost control: it was all he could do to not smash through the roof of the building he landed on. Instead, he bounced hard, rolling over and over along the gravel-covered surface.
When he sat up, pain lanced through his body. Not from the fall, but from the myriad of minor laceration on his hands and cheeks. "Damn gravel," he moaned, sitting up slowly.
Lightning erupted past the roof, and he winced and jumped backward, scrabbling to his feet. He dashed to the edge of the roof just in time to see multicolored copies of someone running around like chickens without heads. They were attacking people, attacking them viciously. This looked like something he could help with!
Phantom
BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM--
Even intangible as he was, David still winced when the explosions started. It was human nature. "Where the fuck--" Another blast rocked the world around him, though he didn't feel it.
One of the techniclones evaporated, smashed through by the invisible bomb. The clones had also gotten to him: one minute there'd been a woman, next there was two dozen. They didn't harm him, as per usual, but they seemed dangerously close to overwhelming the others.
Phantom faded into view, multicolored cloak rippling in psychic winds. He punched another clone, passing right through the form and hopefully killing it. He flew up toward the armored woman -- Spectrum was her alias, he thought -- and punched another clone right in the throat. "I really need to figure out a better thing to do than punching people," he grumbled, before diving again. The others were in danger, but him...Phantom could help without worrying about being hit. Not like he could smell in the dream world; if he concentrated, he could see shimmers representative of scents, but nothing more.
"Where did they go?" he called out, wading in and out of the chaos. He struck wherever color bloomed, but he had no idea if he was helping or hurting them.
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