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"Lightning burned through her entire body as the God of Thunder came crashing down."
Somehow this is the most sexual line about Thor in the entire thread, and it isn't even a sex scene.
Cowboys And Aliens: Issue #7
New York City, New York
'Warning: Supernova equivalent heat detected within atmosphere. Seek cover immediately.'
The hero they called 'Johnny' had set the sky on fire, yet the Silver Surfer still stood tall. Jaime could feel the waves of heat radiating from that massive explosion, even while he was still on the ground far below. A bright flash filled the air behind the clouds, a series of colorful lights dancing like titanic embers in the morning sun. The new hero showed a terrible amount of power that would've struck awe into anyone; Reyes was reminded of the mushroom clouds made by the nuclear bombs he'd seen in history class. Yet despite that magnificent display, the Surfer had descended through the smoke and ash, an unfeeling contempt on his stoic expression. The herald of Darkseid was going to crush Johnny in his hand, and there wasn't a single thing they could do about it.
Reyes tried, of course. He had flared his jetpack to life before Sue had finished crying out for someone to do something. A burst of power sent him flinging into the air at speeds that could match an F-22 Raptor. Jaime could tell he still wouldn't make it in time. The Surfer was already preparing the finishing blow, Reyes's arms reaching out in front of him and a desperate cry of "NO!" on his lips just before his vision was filled with a brilliant display of color, and a sound like the crack of thunder drowned out his voice.
It was like flying through a rainbow, if a rainbow's arrival came with hurricane force winds and a shockwave that rocked the coastline. Jaime's flight pattern- it was more like a controlled leap, really- was immediately thrown off by the unexpected blast of alien energy. He was sent spinning through the air and falling from the sky for the second time that day, only this time Reyes wasn't the only one that needed to be caught. He used the same methods he did before, lighting up his arm cannons to direct steady himself enough to catch a glimpse of Johnny's falling form. "I gotcha, ese, hang on-"
'Massive influx of unknown energy nearby- it is 300% more efficient than our current power source. Recommend assimilation.'
"Not the time, Scarab!" Jaime let his jets burst to life, flinging himself through the air toward Johnny-
Only, Johnny wasn't there. A blur of movement filled his vision, and Jaime was only able to track it long enough to see it race out over the bridge and into the city. "-Flash?" There wasn't anyone else who could've pulled that kind of speed off, yet he was still left floating there, awestruck at what had just happened.
Flash wasn't the only one that left him feeling like he was in the presence of gods.
He was close enough to make out the man that had exploded through the rainbow bridge in a ball of lightning and fury. With every throw of his fist, the sky cried out with an vengeful howl, electricity dancing between his knuckles. The man himself was...massive. He had to be almost seven feet tall and packed with muscle. And the power he wielded...it wasn't like anything Jaime had ever seen before.
It left him thunderstruck, to say the least.
With no one left to catch and the sky rapidly filling with clashing gods, Jaime decided to cut his engines and plummet back down toward the Raft, only letting them flare to life right at the end to break his momentum before he destabilized the prison further by crashing right through it. He looked over to the blonde woman from earlier. "I think Flash got him?" He said with an awkward shrug of his shoulders. Any chance he had at impressing the new heroes had been stolen away by the fastest woman alive, leaving Jaime to look like a dunce. It wouldn't be the first time a girl had done that to him, and it definitely wouldn't be the last.
He wasn't given much time to gawk at the duel for the fate of humanity as Spider-Woman called for everyone's attention. It wasn't until she mentioned it that Jaime noticed just how poor the state of the Raft was; it looked like the only thing keeping the prison afloat was duck tape and a couple of prayers. Part of him had mixed feelings about rescuing some of the lowlifes imprisoned here. Many of them were metahumans, and he couldn't imagine there were too many other places that could keep them in.
It didn't take long to throw those feelings out when he remembered that, if not his escape, he'd be sitting in one of these prisons too.
Jaime was just about to speak up when he heard something loud blare out from behind them- an alarm?- and then felt a pair of hands wrap about him. Then the world turned to liquid and he felt himself move faster than any human being should be capable of. It only took a split second to realize the Flash must've grabbed him too, and only a split second later it appeared she was planning on ramming his face through a solid wall of metal. "-OH GOD-"
Reyes was letting out a rather undignified scream when he came to a sudden and abrupt halt, his stomach turning and the world no longer making any sense. They were standing inside the prison, on...the other side of a massive locked door. Flash had put him inside the sinking prison, alone, and had just ordered him to get the door open. "Wait, you can't just-" And she was gone before he could finish.
"Women." Jaime groaned, stepping up to the panel. He hadn't a clue how to operate it, or what she was thinking bringing him in there in the first place. "This is why I don't date, Scarab. Women don't make sense."
'You realize that you cannot physically lie to me, correct? I'm well aware what you were thinking when-'
"-Just shut up and help me get this door open." Reyes grumbled, tearing the front of the panel off to expose the wiring underneath.
The screams of the dying and the damned echoed through the night air as the Frailfield colony tore itself apart. A choking mass of smoke and embers had taken to the sky like the ingbillowing hand of an angry god, reaching up toward the heavens to block out the light of the moon and stars, drench Frailfield in darkness. Only the blazing fires that consumed many a home and many a settler alike kept back the heavy shadow of night.
A vicious, brutal warcry left the lips of a father as he descended upon his terrified family with a hatchet, a maddened fear gleaming in his eyes. Right before he was atop them the thunderous crack of a musket sent an iron ball tearing through his lungs, felling him in a single shot. His sons and wife shared a look at one another before they dived across the grass, grabbing desperately so that they could use the hand ax themselves.
Not far from that stomach churning display, a young boy sat atop his best friend's chest, a rock clutched between his hands and held over his head. Tears stained his cheeks, yet he used the stone all the same. Such debase cruelty had taken over the entire colony. Friends turned on friends, lovers on lovers. It was a desperate, senseless struggle for survival against an enemy unseen that had fractured their once thriving community; all that was left was depravity.
Only a single, lone structure held out against the violence, it's steeple unblemished by the licking of the flames- at least for now. The town's church had barred it's doors and set pews against the windows, the congregation all huddled together underneath the shadow of the cross. They whispered every prayer that they knew, desperately holding onto the man or woman seated next to them as they tried to find an anchor amidst the chaos. Mothers attempted to sooth their crying children as other survivors demanded they be silenced, for fear of the others outside hearing them.
Most of them wondered where the Reverend had gone to during this dark hour.
A trio of men in brown, heavy robes descended stood in a tight corridor of roughly cut stone and brick, a set of winding, narrow stairs leading up behind them. They stood before a heavy door of iron, it's lock rusted and apparently ill-used. One of the men, an elderly gentleman with a forked, graying beard, held up a candle to offer them some meager light by which to see. The other man beside him was just as old, though he was significantly broader, and he carried a rugged claymore over his shoulder.
The last of them was the shortest and the youngest, his hair cut down to the scalp and his jaw peppered with a golden beard. He was the reverend that the survivors so sorely missed- and if he were honest, John wished he could have stayed with them as well. Duty had called him away, for there was yet a chance that this horror could be stopped.
"Hurry, John, we haven't much time." The broad-shouldered swordsman, Henry, cried. His voice was broken and uneven. If he had any tears left to give, his red, puffy eyes would've been bleeding them. He had been forced to abandon his wife and daughter to the horde of madmen, for they, too, had been taken by the unseen enemy. John knew that if Henry were a lesser man, he would've chosen to stay with them regardless, his own safety be damned. But Henry was far from lesser, and John...John only wished there was something he could do to ease his friend's pain.
He sighed, his eyes locked on his own hands. They were shaking violently, and no matter how he tried to calm them, he could not. "I'm sorry." John breathed, clutching ever tighter the iron key he held. It was the only chance they had, and he would not lose it- even if it meant losing his soul to the grasp of the devil. The lives of his flock meant far more to him than his own. Fighting to keep himself still, he pressed the key into the rusted lock, struggling to turn it.
Yet it refused to budge. Whether it was because of it's age or lack of use, John couldn't know, but it would not budge. Surely it hadn't broken. Surely...Surely this was not what ended them all. God would never allow such an injustice.
A hand fell on his shoulder, and he found himself moved to the side. His elder, Dale, stepped forward, taking the key from John and pressing the candle into his hands in one swift, silent motion. With a powerful twist of his hands, Dale was able to turn the key, a loud click sounding as the ancient tumbler moved. In another quick movement, he exchanged the two components again, once more wielding the light that batted away the darkness. "Onward, brethren. The Order trusts us to keep the seal." Dale's voice rumbled like thunder, and John felt his heart swell with pride. He had learned under Dale for decades; to be called his brother, even in this darkest of hours, steeled his resolve against all despair.
Yes," John nodded enthusiastically, moving swiftly inside. "Our duty must be upheld." The door led them into an even tighter corridor, where there was barely room for one man to walk alone. They were forced to enter single file, the bearer of light as the vanguard and the swordsman at the stern. Despite having such confident, experienced men around him, John couldn't help but feel a touch of anxiety at the sight of the walls.
This crypt bore in it the bodies of every other guardian the Order had sent here. The walls of the corridor had been carved in such a way that small inlets could contain the corpses of the fallen. There were at least three of these miniature death beds on either side of the corridor at any time, skeletons in varying states of decay and drenched in incense filling most of them. The deeper within they got, however, the sparser the dead became, until all that remained were empty slots for future guardians to fill.
The trio of hidden figures exited the stretch of graves, stepping into a single, large room. It was too symmetrical to be a natural cave, yet it was far too large to have been carved by any of the settlers that came before. Bricks of smooth stone made up the walls, ceiling and floor, alien symbols and magic runes cut into most of them; their meaning was lost on John, all of them too ancient for him to even begin to understand. Those swirling vortexes that traced about the room in an endless, vertigo-inducing dance seemed to stare back at him whenever his gaze lingered for too long.
When he was first given access to these sacred halls, the reverend had asked what it all meant. He had wondered, too, at who could've possibly created it. But he was given an answer to neither question, save for a reminder that all would be revealed when he was elevated to the position of a true brother...when he finally proved himself to be worthy.
The Unseen Enemy had made sure John would never see that day come. It caused his heart to ache, if he were honest with himself. Perhaps, in some twisted, dark place in his soul, knowing that the truth would never be shown to him caused more pain than any of the rampant slaughter that took place on the surface.
Did that make him a bad person?
Or simply...human?
"Here." Dale called in a deep, baritone voice that could give thunder pause. John was dragged back into the present by that unshakable authority that rang with his elder's every word. He crossed over to where Dale stood atop a raised dais in the center of the chamber. Unlike the cool stone bricks that made up the rest of the room, the dais looked as if it had been transplanted there by the hand of God. It was made from shining obsidian blacker than the night, molded so smooth and perfect that one might think it the work of the Great Potter Himself.
John climbed up beside Dale, the iron key still clutched in his sweat-soaked palm. He held it so tightly that he thought it might meld into his very flesh; it was more than simply the means of the opening the front gate. It was the tool which had been passed down from keeper to keeper as long as any could remember.
A vicious, brutal warcry left the lips of a father as he descended upon his terrified family with a hatchet, a maddened fear gleaming in his eyes. Right before he was atop them the thunderous crack of a musket sent an iron ball tearing through his lungs, felling him in a single shot. His sons and wife shared a look at one another before they dived across the grass, grabbing desperately so that they could use the hand ax themselves.
Not far from that stomach churning display, a young boy sat atop his best friend's chest, a rock clutched between his hands and held over his head. Tears stained his cheeks, yet he used the stone all the same. Such debase cruelty had taken over the entire colony. Friends turned on friends, lovers on lovers. It was a desperate, senseless struggle for survival against an enemy unseen that had fractured their once thriving community; all that was left was depravity.
Only a single, lone structure held out against the violence, it's steeple unblemished by the licking of the flames- at least for now. The town's church had barred it's doors and set pews against the windows, the congregation all huddled together underneath the shadow of the cross. They whispered every prayer that they knew, desperately holding onto the man or woman seated next to them as they tried to find an anchor amidst the chaos. Mothers attempted to sooth their crying children as other survivors demanded they be silenced, for fear of the others outside hearing them.
Most of them wondered where the Reverend had gone to during this dark hour.
A trio of men in brown, heavy robes descended stood in a tight corridor of roughly cut stone and brick, a set of winding, narrow stairs leading up behind them. They stood before a heavy door of iron, it's lock rusted and apparently ill-used. One of the men, an elderly gentleman with a forked, graying beard, held up a candle to offer them some meager light by which to see. The other man beside him was just as old, though he was significantly broader, and he carried a rugged claymore over his shoulder.
The last of them was the shortest and the youngest, his hair cut down to the scalp and his jaw peppered with a golden beard. He was the reverend that the survivors so sorely missed- and if he were honest, John wished he could have stayed with them as well. Duty had called him away, for there was yet a chance that this horror could be stopped.
"Hurry, John, we haven't much time." The broad-shouldered swordsman, Henry, cried. His voice was broken and uneven. If he had any tears left to give, his red, puffy eyes would've been bleeding them. He had been forced to abandon his wife and daughter to the horde of madmen, for they, too, had been taken by the unseen enemy. John knew that if Henry were a lesser man, he would've chosen to stay with them regardless, his own safety be damned. But Henry was far from lesser, and John...John only wished there was something he could do to ease his friend's pain.
He sighed, his eyes locked on his own hands. They were shaking violently, and no matter how he tried to calm them, he could not. "I'm sorry." John breathed, clutching ever tighter the iron key he held. It was the only chance they had, and he would not lose it- even if it meant losing his soul to the grasp of the devil. The lives of his flock meant far more to him than his own. Fighting to keep himself still, he pressed the key into the rusted lock, struggling to turn it.
Yet it refused to budge. Whether it was because of it's age or lack of use, John couldn't know, but it would not budge. Surely it hadn't broken. Surely...Surely this was not what ended them all. God would never allow such an injustice.
A hand fell on his shoulder, and he found himself moved to the side. His elder, Dale, stepped forward, taking the key from John and pressing the candle into his hands in one swift, silent motion. With a powerful twist of his hands, Dale was able to turn the key, a loud click sounding as the ancient tumbler moved. In another quick movement, he exchanged the two components again, once more wielding the light that batted away the darkness. "Onward, brethren. The Order trusts us to keep the seal." Dale's voice rumbled like thunder, and John felt his heart swell with pride. He had learned under Dale for decades; to be called his brother, even in this darkest of hours, steeled his resolve against all despair.
Yes," John nodded enthusiastically, moving swiftly inside. "Our duty must be upheld." The door led them into an even tighter corridor, where there was barely room for one man to walk alone. They were forced to enter single file, the bearer of light as the vanguard and the swordsman at the stern. Despite having such confident, experienced men around him, John couldn't help but feel a touch of anxiety at the sight of the walls.
This crypt bore in it the bodies of every other guardian the Order had sent here. The walls of the corridor had been carved in such a way that small inlets could contain the corpses of the fallen. There were at least three of these miniature death beds on either side of the corridor at any time, skeletons in varying states of decay and drenched in incense filling most of them. The deeper within they got, however, the sparser the dead became, until all that remained were empty slots for future guardians to fill.
The trio of hidden figures exited the stretch of graves, stepping into a single, large room. It was too symmetrical to be a natural cave, yet it was far too large to have been carved by any of the settlers that came before. Bricks of smooth stone made up the walls, ceiling and floor, alien symbols and magic runes cut into most of them; their meaning was lost on John, all of them too ancient for him to even begin to understand. Those swirling vortexes that traced about the room in an endless, vertigo-inducing dance seemed to stare back at him whenever his gaze lingered for too long.
When he was first given access to these sacred halls, the reverend had asked what it all meant. He had wondered, too, at who could've possibly created it. But he was given an answer to neither question, save for a reminder that all would be revealed when he was elevated to the position of a true brother...when he finally proved himself to be worthy.
The Unseen Enemy had made sure John would never see that day come. It caused his heart to ache, if he were honest with himself. Perhaps, in some twisted, dark place in his soul, knowing that the truth would never be shown to him caused more pain than any of the rampant slaughter that took place on the surface.
Did that make him a bad person?
Or simply...human?
"Here." Dale called in a deep, baritone voice that could give thunder pause. John was dragged back into the present by that unshakable authority that rang with his elder's every word. He crossed over to where Dale stood atop a raised dais in the center of the chamber. Unlike the cool stone bricks that made up the rest of the room, the dais looked as if it had been transplanted there by the hand of God. It was made from shining obsidian blacker than the night, molded so smooth and perfect that one might think it the work of the Great Potter Himself.
John climbed up beside Dale, the iron key still clutched in his sweat-soaked palm. He held it so tightly that he thought it might meld into his very flesh; it was more than simply the means of the opening the front gate. It was the tool which had been passed down from keeper to keeper as long as any could remember.
Would it be selfish of me to make a claim for it?
I've had my epilogue written up for a while now and I feel like it'll be fairly impactful and may even help shape the direction of the next game a little. But I've played such a role in the MME that I don't want to appear to be hogging the limelight, as it where. I think @Byrd Man and @Lord Wraith are the only two people to have seen it so perhaps they could speak to my claim also.
With how well you've been juggling the Fantastic Four and the Surfer, I think you've earned it.
Is there going to be a 'best hero entrance' in the next awards show? 'Cause I can think of a couple candidates by now.
wait who is being a cop now
Supposedly they have “police” in “”Scotland””
Cowboys And Aliens: Issue #6
New York City, New York
Though the blast struck true and the Surfer thrown through a slab of concrete with enough force to vaporize almost anyone else, it proved all for naught. Despite giving it all of the power the Scarab could muster, the herald had risen up again, the only change being a slight disruption in the chrome of his skin and a darkened, serious expression on it's face. It was hard to explain the despair that had weeded it's way into Jaime's gut as he stared the other alien in the eye. That was all he had. He had poured every last drop of power into that shot, and they'd lost Wonder Woman in the process. It had cost them dearly, and yet...it was all for nothing. The Surfer was fine. He was better than fine.
He was just getting started.
With a declaration of no quarter on it's lips, it used the Power Cosmic to quake the entire facility. Massive cracks formed in the concrete as everything shook and shattered around them. Jaime was thrown from his feet, his head smacking painfully against a chunk of broken stone. Splayed out on his back, he was given the perfect view of the rising Surfer and that terrible crimson that had found it's way into it's eyes. "...Damn it all." Jaime breathed a sigh of defeat. He knew what was coming next, and he wasn't sure there was any point in continuing the struggle.
Then the Surfer went flying from his board, and it went careening after to catch him. Jaime's head was on a swivel in search of the attack's source when he spotted a blonde woman in a strange outfit running toward him. "You guys must be the cavalry. Welcome to the party." He tried to hide the wince in his voice when she pulled him up onto unsteady feet. He wasn't sure if he could take much more.
The newly arrived foursome, however, looked fresh and ready to give the Surfer a beating. The massive rock golem and the flaming man in particular looked like a fearsome duo. "You ever been to Cali?" Jaime shot toward the charismatic pyromaniac. "Those guys are all dicks. All of 'em." It was a meager joke, but he was glad he could still summon up the will to make one. It meant he hadn't quite given up all hope yet. Maybe the new blood would help reinvigorate the ragtag group of heroes.
Then the eldest of them began to speak. A tired, ragged looking man that, at a glance, wouldn't amount to much. But when he began to speak, Jaime and the others could do nothing but listen. Captivated by an authority and intelligence that no other man on planet earth could hope to match in that moment. He began assigning roles to everyone with quick efficiency, explaining it all so quickly and so efficiently that it was difficult to be confused by what he wanted.
The man came to Jaime and the Spider-Girl- Spider-Woman- a grim yet determined look on his face. It was an...odd request, to be sure. One that made him glance uneasily at his partner. But there was something about how the stranger in the spandex spoke that made Reyes trust him. "Yes sir." He nodded. "You can, uh, you can count on me." Even as he left and Jaime was left with the Spider at his side, Reyes's gaze lingered on the stranger's back.
'Who is that guy?'
The voice beside him drew his attention away, and he turned to face New York's resident heroine. "My mama taught me to keep my hands to myself, esa. No worries." He was quick to throw his hands up defensively, just to assure her he was harmless. "Sorry about the whole, uh, almost killing you thing, earlier. My bad." He tried to play the apology off as partially a joke, but Jaime wouldn't soon forget that wrenching he felt in his heart the second he saw the bolt headed for her. Even if there was never any intention, and it wasn't really even a mistake, he wasn't sure he could deal with that kind of blood on his hands.
He had another joke about getting to ride Spider-Woman that came to mind, too, but Jaime decided to bite his tongue. 'I'm bad, but not that bad.'
It wasn't the time to consider such things, however; he had a Spider to mount and an alien to shoot in the back. The position was...awkward, to say the least. He hadn't done anything like this since he was a little kid, and it felt like there was little space for him to wrap himself around Spider-Woman. If he was even a little bit taller the whole situation would've been impossible- this would be first time he'd thank his parents for his terrible genes, coincidentally.
Jaime went to work on the Silver Surfer. Each blast from his hand cannons was weaker than the full on beam he'd used before, since he couldn't exactly fire that off on top of Spider-Woman without throwing himself off her back or knocking the two of them to the ground. He was relegated to mostly normal- yet still deadly- bouts of plasma. Each was only loosed when he was sure the Surfer was distracted by one of the other heroes and open to fire. It didn't feel like he was doing much. Spider-Woman even less so. They were mostly just swinging around and hoping someone else would land an actually critical blow.
Then the Spider said something that gave Jaime an idea. "Speaking of Star Wars, you remember what they did to the AT-AT's?" He called forward to her over the sounds of battle. "'Cause you've got some pretty strong cables there, esa, and I happen to have two jet engines on my back. I think we might be able to get take the Surfer out of Silver Surfer. 'Course, that would require you being as strong as they say you are..."
Daddy?
<Snipped quote by Superboy>
But the Scarab might.
Not compatible.
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