NeutralNexus

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG (Closed)

Alright, post is up! Specter's powers are revealed!

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG (Closed)

It did not take long for the ensuing commotion to catch the attention of the criminal kingpin, who had stayed outside for a bit after his chat with GeneCo’s CEO. The Cowl sighed in disappointment, his men now hunched over in anxiety, clutching their guns tighter to their chests as the ghostly sounds and chill temperatures swept through the rooms. These were tough men, some ex-military and others were long-time multiple felons, men who had killed and fought for money, power, and sick pleasure. Seeing them now reduced to sniviling cowards at the temperature dropping could only discourage the Cowl, and he hoped it would not affect their performance too harshly, as he needed them at their best if all was to go smoothly.

“W-w-w-wwhat’s happening?” One of the men asked, cold sweat beginning to formulate on his brow.

“We’re being attacked, of course.” The Cowl responded, his tone unwavering as he walked towards the containment unit, his eyes fixated on Racheli as he spoke. “Which is to be expected. It seems our dear Racheli either has very powerful friends or others have caught the scent of such a hot commodity among our collection, though I am much more willing to go with the former.”

“What? W-w-well what do we do, boss!?!” The man asked, the volume in his voice increasing as the panic begin to really take hold. “We can’t fight against magic and superpowers!”

“Not toe-to-toe we can’t, I’ll give you that. We are severely outgunned from the what I’ve seen about the intruders, we do not have the tools to face them head-on.” The Cowl said, turning on his heel to face the other men in the room. He unbuttoned his suit jacket as he spoke, freeing up the access to the plethora of tricks he kept on him. “However, we have the homefield advantage, knowing every nook and cranny of this establishment we should be aware that this is no ordinary Ironworks. We keep the terrain to our advantage, utilizing hit-and-run tactics until Gene Co’s men can come to assist, utilizing the many defenses I had installed here to keep the enemy on their toes and force them to come in stupid.”

The Cowl gestured to one of the men. “You, I want you to radio the other men to pull them back in the building, use the ground to make them come to us.” He turned his attention to another man. “Activate the hidden turrets in the hallways, they may be small and for personnel only, but we can use them as proximity alarms to keep an adequate location on our opposition.”

The men scattered to the Cowl's beck and call, following his orders as they had a hundred times before. As Odette began to chase after one of the witches, The Cowl was quick to stop Specter before he followed suit. “It’s time for you to use your full potential, these enemies cannot be underestimated, but you are always one of my aces in the hole. Do what you do best.”

Specter stared at his leader, letting the order process for a moment before nodding in response. As soon as the Cowl let go of his right hand man, the being disappeared into thin air in the blink of an eye. The sound of footsteps only echoed for but a moment before the boss’s ghost had made his way into the hallways, most likely armed and extremely dangerous. Very few men had seen Specter’s powers, and when the right hand man disappeared, a few of the goons even jumped in surprise, as Specter had been sort of an urban myth before he joined the Shroud many years ago. Undetectable by infrared, sonar, radar, or any other form of visual confirmation, the Shroud Syndicate lieutenant had been one of the Cowl’s most profitable investments, and one of his prized assassins. Perhaps even magical detection could even be trumped by Specter’s invisibility.

Nevertheless, the Cowl had more to plan, now that he could hear more commotion in the hallways. The sounds of shattering glass and gunfire erupting through the Ironworks. Snapping his fingers to grab the attention of a few men, he motioned to the cage as he spoke. “Get that over one of the molten kilns, I do not want her getting out and if heat is her weakness, then we keep her sweating, understand?”

The men nodded, hurriedly holstering their guns to obey the crime boss’ orders. The Cowl himself, however, ducked away as soon as he ordered the move, swiftly beginning to pass into hallways in an attempt to make himself hard to track. Of course, he knew this Ironworks like the back of his hand, it was a terrific front for the drug trade he was conducting in the basement, and as such it was almost second nature to maneuver around the building. Reaching into his coat pocket, he began pulling one of his favorite small tricks to impede the progress of these interlopers.

Small military-grade remote mines. He had them custom made to add to the multitude of armaments he kept on his person, using them typically as throwing projectiles. However, for now, they would serve well as door guards, posted on numerous portals throughout the factory.

But he could not stop there, already the enemy was entering his home and he had much to do. He began to follow the sounds of fighting, moving swiftly between the dim lights, the grace and agility utilized was much more professional than one would suspect of someone who was considered a simple criminal. While he had no doubt the original assault was causing hell for his men, he suspected the true meat of the assault was yet to come, and that would be when all his traps and tricks would come into play.

Besides, Specter was already upon the magical intruder. Silent and stealthy, the metahuman phantom drew a dastardly blade from his coat pocket, keeping his firearm holstered for when it would be needed, as the sound would give away his attack. The lieutenant had headed straight for the sounds of fighting, knowing full well the Cowl had entrusted the task of preventing the first wave to him. He caught sight not too long after the pipes began to burst, seeing the conflict from a nearby scaffolding. A single man had entered wielding a duffel bag and a wooden stick had charged straight in, causing numerous problems for the men in the front with a stream of violent and aggressive curses, with pipes bursting in his wake and flames shooting up around him. Screaming, burning bodies began to collapse in this man’s wake, cutting a small pathway for others to presumably follow.

A path that would only end in ruin. Specter was already stalking him like a walking carcass, gliding through hallways with his blade drawn, he knew exactly where to head this mage off. There was no sense approaching him from behind, clearly from the look of the bullets deflecting off of thin air, Specter had to guess that something was already protecting him.

But his front seemed relatively undefended, and that was where the Specter would strike. Another long corridor awaited the oncoming mage, ending in the chamber where Racheli was now suspended over a large, molten kiln, the red glow highlighting the chains now hooked around the cage to keep her teetering back and forth over its glowing mouth. At the end of this corridor Specter would wait, keeping his back to the wall and the blade in his hand, the sound of the witch getting ever closer.

Specter could hear it now, twenty feet. Fifteen. Ten. Five. The man was sprinting to his very doom.

As the mage came bursting through the door, he would be met by his invisible foe, intercepting him with a tackle to take him squarely off his feet, as the blade driving squarely toward his ribs.

If all went well with the ambush, the blade would pierce his very heart.

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG (Closed)

So due to the power outages and lack focus, my post isn't done yet. It will be by tomorrow.

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG (Closed)

I'd add Trent/War-Pulse to that list as well. I like to think even unpowered he could hold his own for a while.

Although he might be a bit wary of magic users at the moment... if he weren't on the run.

@Hound55

This is an accurate statement. Even without powers, Trent is an extremely talented hand to hand combatant and utilizes his powers in a way to showcase that power, hence why he uses his kinetic power to amp his punches rather than constantly shoot energy blasts.

That being said, yeah, illusions are apparently his bane...and the bane of everything around him apparently.

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG (Closed)

So good news is the power is back, so tonight when I get home I can try to write my post.

Bad news is that I see a second thunderstorm coming...

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG (Closed)

Power is still out as of this morning, storm knocked out some power lines, I am posting from my phone now. Hopefully we will have power back tonight.

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG (Closed)

So due to a power outage, I didn't make as much progress as I'd like. I'll still try to get it in by tomorrow.

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG (Closed)

I should have a post up by saturday.

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG (Closed)

Alright, the final War-Pulse post for S1 is done, now to focus on Cowl posts until S2!

Create-A-Hero: A Superhero RPG (Closed)

War-Pulse’s blood was running hot, his heart beating at the rate of a drumroll as the smoke began to clear from his wicked attack. The sounds of screaming were heard through the ringing from his last blast, his eyes slowly refocusing after his own light had offset his vision momentarily. Still coursing with power, the kinetic renegade pulled back for another blow, realizing his first strike only removed the Sorceress’ companion, not the target herself. He was panting heavily, his eyes filled with mindless rage as he marched toward her, the kinetic power creating cracks in the concrete as he advanced.

And in all but an instant, the sounds and sensations all came to an end, a flick of the Sorceress’ wrist had banished him from the immediate vicinity, teleporting him out to Crystal Lake up in Central Maine. The warmth in his body was immediately offset by the icy cold water enveloping him as he dropped into the murky lake waters. The sobering chill almost immediately calmed him from his battle-rage, his growling now replaced with a surprised yelp which muffled through the water.

Or...was it really water? It felt rather thick to him, moving his arms through it to try and swim felt much more difficult as he powered to the surface. It tasted strange through the mask, almost like the water was metallic, or at least possessed some level of metal. He tried to open his eyes, but found the water stung to the touch.

Only when he got to the surface, drawing in a massive breath, was he able to open his eyes and see the curse Silver Sorceress had laid upon him.

He gasped in terror. Blood. The lake was red with blood, swirling and splashing amongst itself in a crude crimson. The illusion overwhelmed Trent’s senses, he frantically began pushing his way to the shore, letting a few kinetic bursts from his feet propel him towards the shore to get free of the horrid red lake. He clamored his way to the shore, seeing his silver clothes now stained red from the lake. He sat at the water’s edge, his eyes fixated on his now blood-red gloves, palms shaking as he tried to wipe what he could free from himself.

“Hey there, killer. Enjoying the fruits of your labor?”

His head rose, trying to get a bead at who just spoke to him, springing to his feet to whirl around and look through the trees to see if anyone was behind him. There was nothing to see but trees so far, his eyes wide with panic as he remembered his com link was still active.

“Warden?! Oh God, Warden, I was teleported away from the fight, but there’s a fucking blood lake out here! It’s just...there’s so much...it’s just a lake of blood!”

“Well, what are you so freaked out about?” The voice responded, the tone much more sinister than War-Pulse remembered, causing his brow to furrow and his breathing to halt. “It’s not like you haven’t seen blood before.”

“Yeah, but this is just disgusting, who would do something like this?!?”

“Well, maybe someone who made so many gravestones. Someone who took so many lives without a second thought, someone....like you.”

Warden laughed, Warden never laughed. What was going on? Why was he being so casual about this?

“Alright, what is going on with you? This...this ain't god damned normal!”

“It’s normal for us...isn’t it? Or are you so forgetful that you would never think about the bodies you leave behind everywhere you go?”

“Yeah...but...but those guys all deserved it, right?”

“And you have authority do decide that from who, exactly?”

“That ain't fair Warden, it was a bunch of war mongers, crooks, and militants, they knew what they agreed to!”

“Sure, the men you fought agreed to their abysmal fate,but what about those in the crossfire? What about those of circumstance trying to just feed their families?”

“Those are unavoidable!”

“But no less permanent, or do you not even bother to acknowledge that little destructive setback?”

On Warden’s words, War-Pulse blinked once, watching as the trees upon the shore had instantly morphed into gravestones. A field of uncountable gravestones that stretched out as far as the eye can see.

“Warden what the fuck is this?!?” War-Pulse screamed into his comm link.

There was no response from Warden, only static at first. No, no it wasn’t static, it was just a lot of noise. War-Pulse tried to pinpoint it, deciphering the noise. It was human, lots of humans.

Screaming, the ear-splitting sails of those in the throughs of death, calling out to gods or loved ones as agony choked their words.

“This is your legacy, War-Pulse.” Came another voice, a ghostly figure clad in exotic, tattered garb manifesting from War-Pulse’s peripheral. Colorful superhero tights and a long, torn cape, the colors now mixed with blood as the figure’s faded eyes locked onto the panicked mercenary. “The legacy of the Kinetic Renegade, the ‘Force of Nature’ himself! A mercenary who only leaves bodies wherever he goes.”

“Oh, come on, not you too!” War-Pulse whined, his knees buckling as the presence floated towards him. “How was I supposed to know you were a 17-year-old kid?! I’m sorry alright! I’m fucking sorry!!”

“Sorry? You think ‘sorry’ absolves you of your sins?” The figure responded, gesturing towards the graves. “For every man you kill, you affect their families. For each man’s blood you spill, you jeopardize their loved ones. For each criminal you worked for, you destroyed a territory. For each empire you crumble, you buckle a nation.”

War-Pulse watches in horror as the graves all began to emit a fog, each stone revealing not only the men he killed in ghostly apparitions, but those they were closest with.

“With the power you have, you could have been anything. A hero, a savior, a defender of the people. You could have changed the world, War-Pulse, but instead you chose to attack it. You chose to slaughter its people, to ravage its landscapes. You beat, extorted, and tortured, and for what? Money? Bragging rights?”

“That isn't fair! You can't blame me for all this!!” War-Pulse shouted, grabbing at the cloaked figure With a free hand and charging up a kinetic blast with the other. “War is war, you can't say it's all my fault!”

“But I can say you were a part, and deep down we both know that's really what matters.” The figure said, offering no resistance as the kinetic beserker snatched him out of the air. “But it's all you know, isn't it? You only know how to kill, it's all you ever bothered to know. Even now you want to solve this by ripping it apart, nothing more than a savage with powers. All the power in the world, and you use it to sate your bloodlust.”

“Fuck you!” War-Pulse screamed, anger and terror overcoming his body, tossing the cloaked figure in a rage. Who merely stopped his momentum in mid-air. “I never asked for this power! Nobody ever asked me if I wanted it!”

“But you needed it to survive,” came yet another voice materializing into the fog. A middle ages woman in a lab coat, auburn hair curling over her aged but angular features. “Which I why I gave you this power.”

War-Pulse froze, his pupils shrinking in his widened eyes as the cold sweat came trickling down his forehead, absorbing into his facemask. His shoulders drooped, a shaking hand reached out toward the newcomer as the words slowly came to him

“M...mom?”

“And what do you do in repayment?” She continued, as if he never even spoke, her eyes boring into him as she gracefully crossed the small beach Trent was standing on. “You ran away from home and went off to play the glory hog, building fame and renown on the backs of the bodies you broke.”

“And what, stay with you?! After what you guys did to me?! What you were willing to do to me!? You were going to turn me into a weapon!”

“You mean like you did.” She responded, circling him. “Instead of being a fighter for a better cause, you became a fighter with no cause, who kills only if you got paid well enough.”

War-Pulse tried to scream back, but nothing came out. She was right, that was exactly what he had done with his life.

“Who knows? Maybe if you had listened to your mother you wouldn’t have killed me.” The cloaked figure said. “But it’s too late now...your fate is sealed.”

By this point, the ghostly apparitions had made their way from their gravestones and were circling the mercenary, clouding around him with whispers echoing around the terrified merc.

“Killer…”

“Psychopath…”

“Monster…”

“Murderer…”

“No! Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP!” The Merc shouted, falling to his knees as the cloud of the dead etched ever closer to overtaking him, clutching his head and shutting his eyes to block them out.

“It’s time to accept what you are, Trent.” His mother said, standing over him as he cowered in her presence. “You are War-Pulse, slayer of men.”

“Indeed.” The cloaked figure said. “You are a killer, War-Pulse. Nothing more, nothing less. There is no redemption for your ilk.

Accept it.”

Just before the undead aberrations overtook him, he found himself springing up to a sitting position, screaming in horror and drenched in cold sweat on a beach on Lake Sebago. The Illusion provided by Silver Sorceress had ended, but the damage had been done.