Stephen wakes to the sound of an explosion, the fighting outside making his nap a rather tenuous and fleeting prospect at best, and (finally) enough was enough. He stood shakily, the wine he'd had last night coming back to bite him in the form of a nagging hangover/headache. While he wasn't much of a drinker, his recent raise had given him enough reason to celebrate though the sight from his balcony quickly dashed and lingering hope he'd had of a peaceful day. Combat and assorted battles taking place all over the place due to the warring factions, his lack of coffee and headache making it take a solid three minutes for him to realize that he was no longer in The City, though it didn't look to far from it on the average day to be fair. "Well shit..." he sighs out under his breath, turning back inside to get dressed hastily in what was on hand before going out and walking down the streets, his eyes scanning the desolate and desiccated corpses of buildings around him, searching in vain for a still functioning food market.
It was when he came across a donut shop, the name faded off the plaque and the advertising sign that had once stood proudly in proclamation of the small, ma and pa shop, had collapsed onto the main building, caving in the roof to the point where he would have to actively destroy a large portion of it to gain access, when he felt the first wave of combat being reached. His hat, a thatch sombrero with a fake, stereotypical mustache hanging from a cord to match the poncho he'd procured, fluttered violently at the force of the implosion of the sudden forming of a minor gravitational well, the only thing keeping him in place being a hastily constructed root structure of crystal, his clothes not being quite so fortunate however as his poncho and sombrero flew into the well, being crumpled into little more than a ball of dense plant material that thunked to the ground next to the ball of meat apocalypse and his combatant had been reduced to. It didn't take long for said ball of meat to being reforming into the monster that had been thought slain.
Stephen watched silently, blankly monitoring the progress of the monster's reformation and awaiting it's completeion, the addition carapace formations to assist in the prevention of high pressure compression already forming as stephen's offense, a long, sword-like growth of crystal, formed in his palm, the blade flaking off smaller and smaller until the smaller blades could no longer be perceived via normal vision, a strong wind being whipped up from all the parts being put into sudden motion. If armageddon could not wake within the brief, three minutes these actions had taken place then he would not wake at all.