DeLarge

"Nothing," sighed Xionis as he moved away from the console, "There are no surveillance feeds available, it appears we have reached another dead end." "Dammit," groaned Garrick, tilting his head back. He really needed this payday, and he had been hoping for a simple cut-and-shut Bounty; this one was becoming far more of a headache than he had really prepared himself for. He turned away from Xionis in a slow circle, running his hands through his hair as he began pacing up and down, his frustration increasingly obvious in his movements. "We must be missing something here," he said, looking around the Train Junction in a vain attempt to find something that might help them, "Our guy is a regular here, he has a penchant for hijacking trains and then crashing them. He was last spotted here, yet nobody seems to have any recollection of seeing a big-ass Ayenean and there are no security feeds available." "Perhaps he was never here," suggested Xionis, frustration as evident in his voice as in Garrick's movements, "It's possible the witness was mistaken, they could have seen another creature that looked like an Ayenean and assumed that it was him?" "It's possible, but from what I know about Ayeneans, they're pretty recognisable, particularly in a place like this. It's more like..." he trailed off as his eyes locked onto something high on the wall of the station they had been walking past. "Flynt?" said Xionis, puzzled. Garrick held a finger up, his gaze never wavering from the spot on the wall, and he slowly began to approach the spot he was staring at, craning his neck to get a closer look. After a moment, a grin crept onto his face, and he gestured towards a spot on the wall. "There," he said excitedly, and Xionis took a closer look. "I don't see anything," the Advent replied, flicking through a number of different vision types as he spoke, attempting to pick up any trace of activity from the area Garrick was pointing to. "Exactly," said Garrick, "There's nothing there, but there used to be. See the discoloration of the brickwork? And those three little holes in the centre of the patch? There used to be a security camera here, but someone took it down." "You think the Ayenean did it?" "He's covering his tracks," replied Garrick, "Nobody around here claims to have seen him, but I'll bet that's because the people who did see him are either too scared or, worst case scenario, too dead to tell us." "That's a big assumption to make. We have no way of telling what they've seen if they are lying, and if they do turn out to be dead then we still won't be able to find the target." "It's an assumption based on what I know for a fact," said Garrick, "A place like this, people will do anything for a few credits. Did you notice how not a single person in any of the places we've been to even asked for money in return for information, whether they have it or not?" "That is odd," said Xionis, a little puzzled. "Which means either the scuzzy criminal underworld has suddenly become a little more classy, or they're so scared of something that they'll even overlook the opportunity to make a few credits. I don't know about you, but my money's on the latter option." "I suppose there's not much scarier than an angry golem made of metal and stone threatening you." "Exactly." "But this doesn't really help us, Flynt," said Xionis, "We're still no closer to actually finding the Outlaw, even if he did take the security cameras we can't access the feed." "Not through a public terminal, no," replied Garrick, a little smugly, "Because these cameras are, or were at least, on a private circuit. See, the cables go straight into the wall of the station, not into the ground like the rest of the systems in this place. So all we have to do is ask the Transport Officials to take a look at the security footage and we'll be golden." "Your faith in your own assumptions is admirable, Flynt," said Xionis with the tiniest of smiles, "But since we have no other leads to follow, we may as well try." --- A few minutes later, they arrived at the Alphonse Security office, a small cubicle with a glass window, inside which a bored-looking old Doraxian in a dark grey uniform was tapping idly at a holo-screen, his black eyes glazed over as he stared into the distance. Xionis took a step towards the cubicle, but Garrick placed a hand on his chest, holding him back. "Steady on, Johnny Five," he said, "We don't want to melt this old guy's brain. Let me handle this." Garrick cracked his knuckles and stepped forward, knocking smartly on the glass and smiling as the Doraxian looked up at him, his movements slow and languid. "Can I help you?" he croaked, boredom etching every word that groaned through his lips. "Hi there," said Garrick, "Me and my associate need your help. There's a dangerous criminal on the loose who was last spotted in this very Train Junction, and we were wondering if we could take a quick look at your security feed to try and find this guy." "Only official personnel and law enforcement officers have the clearance to look at our security feeds. Goodbye," the Doraxian mumbled, slowly turning back to his holo-screen as he spoke. "I see," said Garrick, fishing in his pockets, "Well maybe you'd like to take a quick break, go for a drink on us and we'll say no more about it?" He slid what little physical money he had, a small credit chip and a few crumpled pieces of paper money across the desk towards the Doraxian, who turned to look at the paltry bribe. He slowly placed one of his upper arms down, his spindly hand closing around the money and slowly placing it into his own pocket. "We don't accept bribes," he said, his droning voice beginning to grate, "Please step away from the glass." "Come on, you old bastard!" snapped Garrick, angry at both the Doraxian and himself for that embarrassing show, "I can see the security feeds right behind you, just give me two minutes with them!" He gestured angrily to a small room out the back of the cubicle, with rows of security monitors showing live feeds of activity in the station, and a large metal door with the words 'Holding Cell' written on it in a number of different languages. "We are now closed," moaned the Doraxian, and a heavy metal shutter slid down rapidly over the cubicle, blocking everything from Garrick's sight. "That was successful," said Xionis dryly. "Oh, this is a fine time for you to pick up sarcasm," replied Garrick, turning away from the cubicle, "Especially considering that I have a plan to get us one step closer to catching our Outlaw." "I thought this was your plan?" "No, this was my old plan. My new plan is much better." "Your new plan, which took you literally six seconds to think of? And what might that be?" "Well, I just got a glimpse inside the Security Office, and they have feeds from all over the inside of the station right there," he said, gesturing back towards the cubicle, "And on top of that, they've got a Holding Cell right next to the Security Office, where they hold criminals while they're waiting for the authorities to come and pick them up." "I'm not sure I like where you're going with this." "It's simple really," said Garrick with a smile, "One of just needs to get arrested."

  Fistful of Credits: Body Snatcher   Bounty Hunters: DeLarge as Garrick Flynt Darth Vader as Xionis Vasimo Zulas   Outlaw: Orcus as Arrien aka 'Leech'   ICARUS Headquarters, Burst Nebula   "Garrick Flynt," said Garrick to the strange, cold-eyed Bounty Hunter who had taken him up on his offer, extending his hand for a handshake. The Hunter looked at his hand, almost emotionless in his reaction, and ignored it.   "Xionis Vasimo Zulas," the Hunter replied, turning on his heel and walking swiftly away from the Bounty Board, "We should depart now if we are to catch the Leech and his host."   "Oh good, you're one of those Hunters," said Garrick, rolling his eyes and following Xionis, "Let me guess...dad was distant and unloving and mom was a simulant? No, I've got it - you've got a computer instead of a brain, right? I worked with a guy like that once, no sense of humour at all, but ruthlessly efficient."   "Do you intend to continue this incessant talking, Terran, or will we be attempting to complete this assignment quickly and decisively?" snapped Xionis, and Garrick held his hands up in a gesture of mock defensiveness.   "Well, in the spirit of speed and decisiveness, we should get to my ship and head towards Elrich so we can get this over with as soon as possible," said Garrick, gesturing in the direction of Felicity's spot in the loading bay. Xionis stopped in his tracks and turned on his heel to face Garrick.   "I believe we would be better served by taking my ship. Ter'Rasth is equipped with Advent technology, and tracking this Outlaw will be far easier if I have access to my onboard AIs," he said, a vague air of smugness in his tone.   "Oh yeah? And what kind of ship is Ter'Rasth?"   "A heavy corvette class that I have personally upgraded. I guarantee that it will be more effective in this mission than whatever vehicle you may have access to."   "A heavy corvette class? My apologies, Xionis, I was under the bizarre impression that you actually wanted to catch this Outlaw, but that must be my mistake."   "What do you mean?" asked Xionis, raising an eyebrow.   "Well this thing's a Vemmen, a slimy little brain-worm that's managed to latch itself onto an Ayenean, one of those big golem things you hear about in school. The two constituent parts are a frankly cowardly criminal, and a big stupid animal, and both of those parts are likely to run and disappear into the wind if they see a goddamned dreadnought of a battle cruiser coming at them. I have a five-man starship that's more than capable of getting us to the Alphonse Train Junction in one piece."   "That may be true," replied Xionis, realising that he had overlooked the drawbacks of having such an imposing means of transport at his disposal, "But my AIs will be invaluable in this situation..."   "Flick could kick your AIs up and down this galaxy," said Garrick dismissively, "But if you're that desperate, bring 'em. Felicity's got an external interface for foreign AIs, they can come along for the ride if you can't bear to be without them. Just meet me at loading bay G-87d4 in thirty and we can head out."   "Very well," replied Xionis, "But if this decision hinders our ability to capture our Bounty, I will hold you personally responsible, Garrick Flynt."   "If I had a credit for every time I've heard that...well, I'd probably still be broke. Catch you on the flip, Johnny Five!" he broke away from his fellow Hunter and headed back towards Felicity.   As soon as he could see that he was out of Xionis' presumably-enhanced earshot, he punched a few digits on his wristpad and called through to Flick.   "Did you get it? Are we rich?" she asked, the sarcasm practically dripping from her words.   "That's...complicated. Listen, Flick, they've got me teamed up with an Advent for the next Bounty..."   "Did you give him a demeaning nickname yet?" interrupted Flick.   "I might have called him Johnny Five," replied Garrick, the tiniest shred of guilt in his voice.   "And you wonder why you have no friends."   "I have friends!"   "Women that you slept with once and then never called again don't count, Garrick."   "Alright, I have one friend. That's not really the point, Flick - I need some information on this guy, to see who I'm working with. His name's Xionis Vasimo Zulas, can you pull up some details for me?"   "Did you ever think about just talking to the guy?"   "Flick, just do it ok?" snapped Garrick, and all the humanity drained out of Flick's voice as she responded.   "Fetching records."   And now I've got to deal with a pissed-off AI. This day is going from bad to worse.   ---   "This guy's kind of a badass," said Garrick, flicking through the holographic records hovering in the air in front of him in Felicity's console room, "Ex-PsiOps, that's the blackest of ops. His rep seems to be pretty solid, good feedback from ICARUS personnel. A few instances of partners dying, but who hasn't had that happen?"   "Wouldn't your time be better spent working out how to track down this...'Leech', rather than the guy you're supposed to be working with?" asked Flick, still a little grumpy from their earlier interaction.   "There'll be time for that on the way to Elrich. I'd like to get a handle on this guy while I can..."   He was interrupted by a short, sharp alarm blaring out throughout the ship.   "Registered Bounty Hunter Xionis Vasimo Zulas, ID number 64977-xxv approaching," said Flick, the holographic representation of her on the ship's dash adding a sarcastic smile to the message. Garrick rolled his eyes and waved his hand to shut down Xionis' records, even though he was sure Xionis had done the same to him. He punched the cargo bay release button on the console and headed out of the back of the ship to meet Xionis.   "Welcome to Felicity!" Garrick exclaimed with his arms oustretched, "Let's go get us a Body Snatcher!"   "My ship has superior weapons capabilities," sneered Xionis as he walked past Garrick up the boarding ramp and into the console room, "And this ship is oversized for a five-man vessel."     "Yeah, this is gonna be fun," sighed Garrick, following the Advent Bounty Hunter into the bowels of the ship.

"Rapidly approaching ICARUS HQ, Garrick."   The calm female voice of the ship's AI resounded through the relatively confined space of Garrick Flynt's personal spacecraft as it drifted through the Burst Nebula asteroid field, a journey it had undertaken more times than Garrick could count. The Bounty Hunter could have flown his way through the Nebula to the central hub with his eyes closed, but right now he had more important things to worry about.   Like the blinding hangover he had woken up with.   An almost inhuman growl rumbled from the very depths of his belly as he stumbled into the central room of the ship, hair tousled and eyes puffy. His hands ventured across the various cluttered surfaces of the ship's console room, looking for some kind of fluid to cut through the dryness in his mouth. Eventually he wrapped his fingers around an open glass bottle, the contents of which he promptly poured down his throat, and immediately regretted it as the Doraxian fire-liquor practically burnt the skin off the inside of his throat. Coughing and spluttering, he stumbled into the cockpit and sat down in his seat.   "Well, if that doesn't kill you, it will almost certainly cure your hangover," said Flick, and it was clear that she would be flashing him the smug grin of the tee-totaller if she had a mouth.   "That's enough out of you," Garrick croaked, "Remind me never to go drinking with Allax and her buddies ever again, even if I did catch a sweet Bounty before."   "Setting reminder," replied Flick, and Garrick smiled at her overly-literal interpretation of his request.   "How is our friend this morning, anyway?" he asked, and a series of video feeds appeared, hanging in the air in front of him, showing a rather pissed-off looking Tharl sitting in one of Felicity's four small holding cells.   "Big, grey, smelly and very angry, just the way you left him."   "Good," said Garrick, hauling himself out of the pilot's seat and back towards his quarters, "The authorities will be pleased."   He stepped over the threshold into his messy personal quarters, grabbing the least-crumpled t-shirt from the floor and smelling it. It wasn't great, but he shrugged and pulled it on anyway, throwing his jacket on over it and stepping back out into the console room.   "Requesting identification," boomed a huge, ear-splitting voice through every available speaker on the ship, and sending a bolt of searing pain through Garrick's foggy head.   "Damn it, a little warning next time please Flick," he groaned, and made his way back into the cockpit to open up his comms channel, "Registered Bounty Hunter Garrick Flynt, ID number 250671-xiii, requesting access for prisoner drop-off."   "Access granted. Welcome to ICARUS, Garrick."   "Take her in, Flick," he said, getting out of his seat again, "I've got a Tharl to deal with."   ---   "If I ever see you again, Hunter, I will tear your throat out," snarled the enormous mound of rippling muscle that was Garrick's Tharl prisoner as a small team of feds escorted him to their own holding facilities.   "Get in line, big guy," murmured Garrick as he swaggered over to the front desk of the ICARUS Building to collect his reward. He placed his hand, palm facing upwards, on the desk in front of an attractive young woman in a smart blue uniform that appeared to change colour very gradually as she moved, and flashed her his most winning smile.   "Garrick Flynt, here to collect my reward," he said, winking at her as he did. She rolled her eyes and waved a scanner over his hand, where his account chip was implanted, and after a moment the scanner flashed red.   "Well, Mr Flynt," she said, somewhat smugly, "It appears that you are due a reward of 35,000 credits."   "That is correct."   "But it also appears you owe ICARUS 32,500 credits for destruction of property and purchase of ammunition."   "How is that possible? Destruction of property?" asked Garrick, confused and getting angrier by the second.   "We have intel that shows your pursuit of this Outlaw involved the destruction of an ICARUS probe just outside Elrich." She spun her monitor around and played a brief video clip of Felicity smashing into the camera, followed by the message 'PROBE OFFLINE'.   "OK, that was pretty incriminating," murmured Garrick as the girl transferred a measly 2500 credits into his account, and looked a little too happy as she did it. Garrick turned to leave, but couldn't resist one last opportunity to speak his mind.   "By the way, 35,000 credits for that guy? You guys need to sort out your pricing systems, because that guy damn near ripped out my spine first chance he got. If you don't start treating us Bounty Hunters fairly, we might have to start a union. Proper benefits, tax rebates, you'll be sorry you ever messed with us!" He realised as he spoke that he didn't believe anything he was saying, but it felt good to say it nonetheless.   "Hope to see you again soon, Mr Flynt," replied the girl with a sickly-sweet smile, and Garrick cursed himself for letting her get the last word. He stared at his hand for a moment, a stream of quiet expletives dribbling from his mouth, and he realised he only had one option. The Bounty Board.   ---   "You know there are other Hunters trying to use this thing, right?" snarled an angry voice from behind Garrick as he scrolled up and down the list placed on the Bounty Board, trying to decide if there was one option that was better than the others. He turned his head a little to see a spiny and very angry Moidian Bounty Hunter growling at him, the strange tentacles that made up its 'mouth' quivering.   "Jeez, calm it down Zoidberg," Garrick sighed, and jabbed his finger onto the holo-screen, selecting his Bounty and transferring the information onto his personal screen. He fished his device out of his pocket and looked intently at his new Bounty, ignoring the queue of angry Bounty Hunters of all shapes and sizes that had apparently amassed behind him.   "Let's see what we've got here," he muttered, "Leech...could be worse...never seen an Ayenean before..."   He scrolled down until he saw something that really did not help his current mood.   "Damn it," he murmured, "A team..."   He cursed himself for picking so randomly, then reluctantly stood back up and shouted into the assembled throng of scum and villainy:   "Hey! Anybody want to go hunt a Body Snatcher?"

Welcome to all new players! We're looking forward to seeing your Bounty Hunters in action - Darren will be posting the Bounty Board thread shortly, but until then you can all go ahead and post some introductions to your characters in the leisure thread, also known as 'The Big Black' found here!   As always, any questions or comments can be directed to myself, Darren, Orcus or P.J. McKrafty, and we're all excited to see how this goes!   Sign ups are still open and will remain that way for the duration of the RP, so if you haven't signed up yet then don't worry, you've still got plenty of time.

  OB Relaunch: Fistful of Credits - The Big Black The Leisure Thread   Welcome to The Big Black, otherwise known as the 'leisure thread' for the OB Relaunch RP 'Fistful of Credits'. Here you are encouraged to post in-character describing what your character gets up to between assignments, but firstly you can use this thread to properly introduce us to your Bounty Hunter character and give us a real idea of who they are.   This initial post can cover anything, from your Hunter handing in their most recent assignment, to just kicking back and relaxing in one of the many seedy establishments across the 'verse. Just use your imagination and have some fun with it!   ---   Tyson Corporation Headquarters, Halstaff [Southern Hemisphere]   "We are always honoured to receive esteemed visitors from the Central Whitefall Government, but if I may ask, why now?"   Garrick Flynt was nudged from gazing distractedly around the vast, pure-white lobby of the multi-planetary Tyson Corporation's headquarters by the question, and he turned to face the tall, slender-limbed Jhinn who had been chosen to be the company's representative in this meeting.   "We were informed of some irregularities in your Archive registry," he replied, pulling a small holo-screen from his bag and handing it to the Jhinn, who took it in two of the pincer-like extremities that his arms ended in, "I'm sure it's nothing, but you know how things go on Whitefall: if the Government says jump, we say how high!"   "Indeed," said the Jhinn, looking over the holoscreen and barely disguising his hesitance, "Allow me just one moment to verify the inspection and I'll take you to the Archives."   ****, thought Garrick. The forgery of his official documents was good enough to fool an eyeball, but his faith in the petty criminal who had made it didn't extend to allowing it through rigorous electronic checks.   "Why, is there something you're trying to hide?" he asked firmly, "This is a routine inspection of your Archive registry, but if you are unwilling to allow me access then I'll have to shut the entire building down." He fished a smaller holo-screen from his bag and began typing away furiously on the touchpad, allowing his gaze to flick up to the Jhinn for just a moment.   "Well...no, not at all," replied the Jhinn nervously, "I do apologise, allow me to escort you to the Archives immediately."   "Please do," said Garrick sternly, although as he spoke he felt the knot in his stomach gradually untangle, and he followed the Jhinn towards the clear glass elevators. The doors slid open and the Jhinn gestured for Garrick to enter first, which he did, and the Jhinn followed quickly after him, stabbing at the button for the Archives somewhere around the thirtieth floor.   "I'm terribly sorry about all that," the Jhinn said nervously, his mandibles clicking rapidly above his mouth, "I'm fairly new here, I'm not completely sure of what I'm supposed to be doing."   The new guy, thought Garrick, Poor kid.   "It's fine, you'll get used to it. Be glad Jackson didn't come down, he's much more of a hard-ass than me."   "Oh...thank you for the warning. I'll be sure to look out for him in the future."   The rest of the elevator journey continued in relative silence, save for the soft, tinny music that emanated from speakers somewhere in the elevator, until they reached their destination and the doors slid open.   "Ah, here we are. The Archives," said the Jhinn, rushing out of the elevator and waving a hand over a panel in the wall next to a large, charcoal-grey door which gradually slid open to reveal a room that was set out more like a small museum than an Archive. There were floor-to-ceiling windows on every wall save the one the Jhinn had entered through, bathing the room in the golden light of Halstaff's early morning, and large stone pedestals were dotted around the room, atop which were alien artifacts of various sizes, shapes and colours, from weapons to works of art and everything in between.   Garrick stepped across the threshold into the room, and let out a long, low whistle at the variety of different objects stored in there, and his fingers began twitching involuntarily as he walked slowly into the centre of the Archive.   "So...where exactly were the...irregularities?" asked the Jhinn nervously, looking from Garrick down to the holo-screen and back again.   "Uh...well, we just needed a little extra information on one particular item," he replied, "The...Ceihlenn Hive?"   "Oh, I see. Well, if you'd like to step over here, I can show you that item and you can note down any extra information you need."   "I will," said Garrick, walking over to where the Jhinn had gestured, "Thank you for your co-operation, I'll make sure I tell my superiors how helpful you were in this matter."   The Jhinn smiled, or at least Garrick guessed that it was a smile, and gestured over towards an object that looked like a huge stone sarcophagus, covered in intricate runes and carvings.   "No, no this can't be right," murmured Garrick, "It's supposed to be much smaller than this. This can't be the Ceihlenn Hive."   "I'm afraid it is, sir," replied the Jhinn, "The Ceihlenn travelled in much greater swarms than many other creatures, and built their Hives to match. Some fossilization has occurred which may have increased the size of the object, but this is most definitely it."   "Well, that's going to make my job a hell of a lot harder," said Garrick.   "I'm afraid I don't understand, sir," replied the Jhinn, but his comment was met with the barrel of a high-end plasma pistol aimed right at his chest.   "Sorry about this, kid," said Garrick, and he fired a single pulse of greenish-blue energy into the Jhinn's chest, stunning him and sending him into spasms on the floor of the Archive. After a moment, he stopped twitching and lay still, completely unconscious. Garrick re-holstered his pistol and went over to the Hive.   "Once I get back to Vyrul," he grunted, putting his weight into shifting the massive object off its pedestal and onto the smooth, shiny surface of the floor, "I'm going to kill you, Nylas. I'm going to shoot you right in the goddamn head."   He leaned his weight into pushing the object closer to one of the large windows, groaning a little as the heavy object slid over to the glass.   And that's when all hell broke loose.   Alarms began sounding, their whooping piercing through the previously-silent Archive, lights flashed from red to black and back to red again, and the huge grey doors to the room slid shut with a resounding clang.   "Intruders will be eliminated on the authority of the Tyson Corporation," whined a tinny, electronic voice from a speaker on the wall, "Surrender, Garrick Flynt. Surrender, Garrick Flynt. Surrender, Garrick Flynt..."   "Surrender?" mused Garrick for just a moment, "Nah, never done that before, don't really feel like starting now."   And with one swift, decisive kick, he knocked the priceless Ceihlenn Hive through the window and watched as it dropped through the air in a lazy, heavy arc.   Then the doors opened and a squadron of sleek, black security drones buzzed into the room, hovering a few feet above Garrick's head-height and bristling with weaponry.   "Surrender, Garrick Flynt. Surrender, Garrick Flynt..." the noise kept coming, now from the speakers on the drones themselves as well as those built into the walls of the room.   "Aaaand that's my cue to leave," smirked Garrick, turning on his heel and diving through the ragged hole in the side of the Tyson Corporation's headquarters.   Yup. I'm really gonna kill Nylas.   ---   [ooc: That's my introduction taken care of, let's see some of yours!]

Good to have you on board, Vectis - I look forward to working alongside the creepy robot dude in the future!   ---   Name: Garrick Flynt Age: 31 Height: 6'5" Weight: 217 lbs Gender: Male Species: Human   Appearance: Garrick is a ruggedly handsome man, battle-scarred from years as a Bounty Hunter but retaining some of the boyish good looks of his younger years. His eyes are an odd shade of light purple, and he keeps his hair short and his beard trimmed at all times. He has a number of scars over his face, notably one through his left eyebrow and another across his right cheekbone, but he wears them not only well, but also with pride.   He sports a number of tattoos across his body: particularly of note are the Roman numerals for the number 13 (XIII) on his right shoulder and a solid black geometric pattern made up of several rectangles on his inner left wrist. He generally doesn't divulge the origins of these tattoos to anyone, for reasons known only to himself.   As for his attire, he generally wears a similar combination of a short-sleeved black t-shirt covered by a well-worn dark blue leather jacket with a large kevlar chest plate on the front. He completes the look with black combat trousers and charcoal-grey boots, with holsters for his pistols at his hips and a sling for his rifle on his back. When flying or hunting (which constitutes most of his time), he wears fingerless black gloves which hide a plain tungsten ring on his right index finger.   Home Planet: Flynt was born on Earth, but he grew up and spent his formative years on Whitefall, a relatively wealthy central planet. However, since turning 17 he has renounced the idea of a 'home planet' and spent his life hopping from world to world in search of adventure.   Equipment: Garrick carries a large number of different items on him at almost all times, particularly his personalised weapons. These include a short-range semi-automatic pulse rifle, which can be switched from single-fire to burst-fire and works well over both short and mid-range, just like his plasma pistols which he wears at his hips - Garrick tends to believe that people who fight at long range are dishonourable cowards and prefers the up-close and personal approach. Both the rifle and the pistols can be used to stun or kill depending on the nature of the bounty, and even have a few specialist settings which he doesn't like to advertise for fear of taking away the element of surprise.   For really close-range, Garrick also carries a telescopic 'stun-baton', which delivers a short, powerful electric shock from the tip and folds away for easy carrying. Much like the projectile weapons he carries, the stun-baton can work on multiple settings depending on the species and strength of the Outlaw he is hunting.   Besides these, he carries a few grenades and small explosives for 'shock and awe' tactics, as well as a small, single-use 'bubble shield' which can extend around him and protect him and one or two others from most small arms and physical traumas. However, this will not last long and will need several hours of recharging before a second use is possible, as the technology is not quite perfected yet.   He also carries a number of other single-use items about his person, but he prefers to keep these secret so his targets can't be too prepared.   Special Skills: Flynt is a highly skilled mid and short range combatant, proficient with a number of different weapon types and is strangely intuitive about alien weapon types, allowing him to use previously unfamiliar weapons after a short period of use. But his greatest strength in combat is his versatility, able to switch quickly between different combat styles to confuse and wrong-foot his opponents, as well as using a wide variety of different gadgets and tech to his own advantage. He is also a decent pilot, and has no problem using charm to get where he needs to go, or to acquire information.   However, his main asset in Bounty Hunting is a simple one: he appears to be essentially fearless. He will throw himself into dangerous situations most Hunters would hesitate to enter into, and take unbelievable risks in order to get the job done. He seems to have no fear of death or personal injury, and often laughs off the latter when it would otherwise force a human being into a state of shock. The reasons for this are unknown, and the one thing he does truly seem to be nervous about is someone discovering the reason for his fearlessness.   Vehicle: 'Felicity' - a sleek, well-designed and built starship, with room enough for four occupants in separate, if somewhat cramped quarters. Felicity, presumably named for someone from Garrick's past, is also well-equipped with impressive firepower and a long-range warp drive which works by actually folding space around the ship and allowing the whole vehicle and all its occupants to shift from one area of space to another within a very short period of time, usually less than a minute. However, this method of travel expends a vast amount of energy, and Garrick generally doesn't like to over-use it for fear of burning Felicity out and leaving her useless.   Felicity is also equipped with an in-built Artificial Intelligence, which Garrick has a friendly relationship with and affectionately refers to as 'Flick'. The AI version usually consists of a seemingly disembodied voice speaking to Garrick, but occasionally appears as a small hologram of a young lady on the dash of the ship. A side effect of this is that visitors often think Garrick is talking directly to his ship which often makes them think he's gone completely space-crazy, but he generally responds by not giving a damn what anybody thinks.   The most unusual thing about Felicity is her size: while not hugely oversized, from the outside one would presume that she would be able to carry more than four passengers at a time. To the casual observer, it would seem as though Felicity has room enough for an extra five or six passengers, but Garrick insists that four is the limit. On the inside, there appears to be an entire section of the ship which is entirely unused, but there also doesn't appear to be any kind of entrance to the blocked-off part of the ship, something which has caused a great deal of confusion for many passengers to fly on Felicity.   Known Allies: Allax Orfenia - As a former (and since then, occasional) lover of Garrick's, Allax has almost every reason to hate the Bounty Hunter, and yet they continue to maintain a professional and personal relationship. She is the best ship mechanic in the Outer Rim, and as long as he can pay for her services, she will always work on Felicity as a priority over all her other customers, and knows well enough not to ask Garrick about the inaccessible part of his ship.   'The Phantom' - An enigmatic figure, the Phantom is the only person in the universe other than Garrick to possess the override codes for all of Felicity's systems. Essentially, while their relationship is hardly cordial, if the Phantom asks Garrick to do something for him, he will drop everything and go to his aid. He won't be happy about it, and he will definitely complain about it, but he will still go to the Phantom.   Reputation: Garrick has a slight tendency to rub other Hunters up the wrong way, his cocky attitude and penchant for bestowing sarcastic or straight-up insulting nicknames on them being the main causes. However, ask any of his peers to give a straight answer, and they will undoubtedly tell you that they respect Garrick, if only because of his complete fearlessness.

  OB Relaunch: Fistful of Credits Proudly Presented by Darren, DeLarge, Orcus and P.J. McKrafty   For the right price, ain't no job in the Big Black won't be done, one way or another. No matter if it's a two-bit gun-runner or a war criminal bathed in the blood of galaxies, you get the word out to the right band of scoundrels and ne'er-do-wells, you'll find your target trussed up like a turkey waiting for you in no time. Hell, you cough up enough credits, you'll get the head of your bounty delivered right to your door, no questions asked.   All you gotta do is place a notice on the Bounty Board.   ---   Welcome to Fistful of Credits, a brand new universe-spanning RP proudly presented as part of the OB Relaunch!   In the spirit of making some changes in the Theater, this RP is going to work a lot differently to those RPs that have come before, so make sure you read up on the new systems we're introducing before you jump on board!   In this RP, we will all be playing the parts of intergalactic Bounty Hunters, scrambling and fighting for every credit we can in a big, wide universe of strange planets, weird alien races and even weirder criminals. And, true to the kinds of characters we'll be RPing as, we all have to volunteer for the bounties we want to hunt, and the potential rewards they offer.   You will be the kind of hardened, battle-scarred Bounty Hunters that can get any job done for the right price, and those characters will progress throughout every step of the RP. But in order to get to that stage, first you must apply for Bounties on the Bounty Board, posted at first by a select group of RPers.   These Bounties are notorious intergalactic Outlaws, vicious and cunning with a vast range of deadly abilities. They will take all your skill, guile and, in most cases, teamwork to track down and overcome, and even then success is not a certainty: even with an entire team of Bounty Hunters, one wrong move could mean your target getting away and you being forced to go home without a single credit to show for all your work.   So, do you have what it takes to become the greatest Bounty Hunter who ever traversed the Big Black?   Then waste no more time, and bring your Bounty Hunter to life!   ---   New Features   As previously mentioned, this RP will be significantly different to those that have come before it in the Theater, and as such there are some new features you'll need to know about in order to play effectively. Take a look at them, absorb them and work within them and everything should go smoothly!   - Players will control a single character throughout multiple threads - this character will be an intergalactic Bounty Hunter tracking down and capturing dangerous Outlaws for the reward money.   - Each Outlaw will have his/her/its own thread in which a pre-selected team of Bounty Hunters attempt to track them down. These Outlaws will be player-controlled, by the creators of the RP at first, but further down the line there will be the chance for you to create your own Outlaws for the other players to hunt down.   - Hunters will apply for each assignment in 'The Bounty Board', a separate thread which will be posted shortly; and will team up with other Hunters to track down the Outlaws.   - Each Hunter can only have one active assignment at a time: however, as soon as your current Outlaw has been captured you can move on and apply for another Bounty advertised in the Bounty Board thread.   - The outcome of each assignment is dependent on a number of factors, including but not limited to the teamwork and writing skill of the Hunter-players, and their ability to overcome obstacles set for them by the Outlaw-player.   - When it comes to the assignments, players should be aware that actions have consequences, and while players are encouraged to think creatively and tackle pursuing their bounty in unorthodox manners, it's always important to keep in mind that bypassing certain methods of investigation could lead to your hunter accidentally missing pivotal information and allowing his/her bounty to escape.   - The reward money from capturing each Outlaw will accumulate over time, and your ultimate goal should be to become the greatest and most notorious Bounty Hunter in the universe by completing Bounties successfully and earning more reward money than the other players.   - Your individual reward money will be updated by the RP creators and displayed in the discussion thread, so you can keep an eye on how much you've earned in total.   - You can write about what their characters do between assignments in the 'leisure-thread', titled 'The Big Black' which will be posted once the RP begins. You are encouraged to both post in this thread and read other players' posts to workshop and develop your characters, create rivalries, and generally have fun with your outlandish characters!   - It's a big wide universe out there - so you can feel free to create planets, systems, areas and groups to your hearts' content, and the only limit is your own imaginations!   - However, individual creations and additions to the universe should not fundamentally change any that were made by other players previously, unless you have that player's permission to do so.   ---   Bounty Hunters   As you will all be playing the parts of Bounty Hunters, you'll probably need to know how to build your characters! Follow this sign-up, create the biggest, baddest Bounty Hunter you can think of and you'll be ready to start rounding up some Outlaws!   Name: Age: Height: Weight: Gender: Species: (give the name of the Species your character is a part of, along with a brief description of their defining characteristics) Appearance: (picture or brief description is great, both is fantastic) Home Planet: (give the name and a brief description of the planet your character came from) Equipment: (use your imagination and give some details of the gear your character uses to bring in Outlaws) Special Skills: (what makes your character a good Bounty Hunter? Are they a tracker, a fighter, a tactician?) Vehicle: (again, use your imagination and create a kickass space vehicle for your character to get from Bounty to Bounty) Known Allies: (who does your character rely on in a pinch? Fences, former partners, family members all go here) Reputation: (how is your Hunter perceived by those around them? Are they a charming rogue, a treacherous backstabber, a fearsome psychopath?)   ---   That should be all you need for now, if you have any questions, comments, or suggestions then PM one of the creators or post in the discussion thread (as soon as it's up!) and we'll get back to you as quickly as we can!   Until then, happy creating!

I don't think I'd necessarily count as an 'oldie', but I frequently think about the RPs of days gone by, and even made a start on putting together some 'redux' versions of my old ones: 'The Throwaways' was one of my favourite stories to put together, both writing the in-universe posts and all the behind-the-scenes machinations as well; and I was keen on giving it another crack possibly with some different players involved, but my schedule (and the subsequent inactivity in the Theater) kind of killed that idea.   Either way, the Theater in general holds a very special place in my heart and I'd be more than happy to lend a hand in reinvigorating it, in one way or another!

Brittany   "Are you sure about this, Slade?" asked Lazarus, genuine concern showing through in his usually cold, indifferent voice, "The second you get in there, Belial will be looking for you."   "He won't need to," replied Slade, setting up a rough circle on the floor of Lazarus' basement, pushing just a touch of the Purefire that ran through his veins into the lines, "I'm going to knock on his front door."   ---   Inferno   Belial stood over the Storm Guard's severed hand, watching as demons of all shapes and sizes flocked over it, some examining it, others attempting to salvage parts of it for scrap, some simply taking their anger and rage out on the now-inanimate object lying before them.   "The beasts ravage our realm, they kill thousands of our kind, and we take a single hand in return," murmured Leviathan, standing next to Belial, "Hardly seems fair, does it?"   "It is just the beginning, brother," replied Belial, "Soon, the time will come when we shall fight back, and then the beasts will be repaid in kind."   "You sound so certain. How do you intend to convince Lucifer her methods are wrong?"   "Her eyes will be opened before long," said Belial coldly, never moving his gaze from the Storm Guard's hand, and Leviathan took it as a cue to stop asking questions. Instead, he placed his hand on his brother's shoulder and walked away, back into the fortress to continue his duties.   "My Lord Belial has a calling," said a rasping, hissing voice from behind the Nephelim. He turned his head and saw a skeletal Husk approaching him, spindly arms and legs in a blur.   "There is no calling more important than my duties here, Husk," replied Belial.   "Apologies, my lord," croaked the Husk, bowing his gnarled head, "But...the calling comes from your son."   ---   "You might want to stand back," said Slade, settling into a seated position in the centre of his now-complete circle, and Lazarus took a single step back from the outer edge of the circle. Slade nodded, closed his eyes and slowed his breathing and his pulse along with it. He felt the lines of the circle crackling with energy, and the Purefire he had breathed into it began to blaze with scarlet light.   "Are you sure this will work?" asked Lazarus, but his question would go unanswered. Slade felt a tug in the centre of his chest as he, or at least part of him, was dragged into the depths of Inferno.   He opened his eyes and saw the deep red brick all around him, the scarlet light illuminating the room with an infernal glow and the heat rushing across his face.   "I seek Belial the Hateful!" he shouted into the cavernous chamber, and heard his own voice reverberating back towards him.   "This is a surprise," said Belial, "This is the last place I expected to see you, son."   The Nephelim strode across the room, his cloak flowing behind him as he moved around Slade, who followed his father around.   "You must be truly desperate to come to me for help," said Belial, locking eyes with his son.   "And how do you know I'm here for your help?"   "Why else would you be here? Certainly not to offer your soul to me, you have made it abundantly clear that you are far too attached to that particular object." Belial turned on his heel and strode towards his desk with the final word.   "That's where you're wrong," said Slade, and Belial stopped in his tracks. After a moment, he turned back to his son, a slightly bemused grin visible beneath his helmet.   "You've come to...to offer me your soul?"   "The whole thing, yours to do what you want with."   "Why the change of heart? Why now?"   "Because you have something I need, and I know my soul is the only thing you will accept in return."   "So you do need my help?"   "Yes."   "And would I be mad to assume that this is about the girl?" Slade grimaced at Belial referring to Layla, an expression not missed by the Nephelim, who quickly hid a wolfish smile from his son.   "It is about Layla," said Slade, "She's been taken, and I need to get to her. Quickly."   "So you seek passage through Inferno? This is what you offer your soul for?"   "Not exactly," replied Slade, "I need something else you have."   "And what might that be?" asked Belial. Slade sighed, turning away from his father for a moment, running his hands through his hair nervously.   "Power," he replied finally, "The man who took her was more powerful than I could have imagined. He destroyed my home with no effort at all, and I can only imagine how powerful the man who employs him is. So that's what I need: power."   "Power is...a fluid concept," replied Belial, taking a seat at his desk, "Particularly down here. You may have to be more specific if you really want my help."   "I need the power to defeat the people who are after Layla. I need more power than I have, but more than that, I need control. Control over the abilities I've had all my life, control enough to direct it at the right people."   "I see," said Belial, "All this, in return for your soul? What kind of saviour do you believe you would be without your soul, Slade? It's all that's kept you from joining me in the past, who knows what you will do without it."   "That's why I wish to bargain with you."   "Bargaining, now? I'm not sure you're in a strong enough position to be able to do that, Slade."   "You give me the power to save Layla from all those who wish her harm. You give me the ability to protect her, and once she is safe and protected, and will remain that way for the rest of her long, happy life," said Slade, his gaze never wavering from his father's face, "Then you can have my soul, and I will stand by you as a Lord of Inferno. I will kill and rampage for you, I will be your personal attack dog, from now until the end of time itself. These are my terms, accept them if you will."   "You would sacrifice yourself in this way, all for this girl?" asked Belial, getting to his feet and walking towards his son.   "I believe Layla has the power to change things, and the strength to do it for the better. So yes, I choose to sacrifice myself to save her. If not to you, then I will find someone else who will accept my terms."   "My son," sighed Belial, placing his hands on his son's shoulders, "After all these years, you've finally found a way to make your old man happy."

Beneath Paris   "We've got nothing," the voice reverberated inside his head as it came through the receiver plugged deep inside his ear, "There's no sign of him anywhere."   The man shone his flashlight into the darkness of the Metro Station, the beam of light doing little more than illuminating a thick fog of dirt and ash in front of him. His breath surrounded him, the noise filling the gas mask he had strapped onto his head as he surveyed the scene, and the acrid stench of brimstone permeated everything, even filtering through the mouthpiece of his mask. He held back a cough, and shifted some of the still-warm ash on the floor with his boot.   "Whoever took this place out really did their homework," crackled another voice inside his ear, "Blasted the whole station with Purefire...there's nothing left."   "Which means that he could be down here as well," replied the first voice, "Kincaid, we could be looking at Bennett's grave here."   "No," the man responded, shaking his head even though nobody could see him, "There's no way this took him out. He's too good for that, he's too...prepared. He's out there somewhere, I can feel it in my gut."   "Yeah, and your gut's never steered us wrong before, has it?" muttered the first voice dismissively.   "Remember Laos?" added the second voice, "I've no idea how we escaped UWG custody that time."   "Alright, can we stop questioning my leadership for just a second?" Kincaid replied with an unseen grin, "Look, there's nothing left here. We should move out, see if we can track down any leads on Bennett's whereabouts."   He turned on his heel and jumped onto the rope his team mates had dropped down into the Metro Station, clambering up with with lithe speed, bursting out into the fresh air in a cloud of ash and grime. He planted his feet on the dusty ground, then tore his gas mask off and threw it to the ground, coughing what little ash had infiltrated his protective mask out of his throat as he did.   "Anything down there?" asked the large, heavily-muscled and tattooed man standing next to him, patting him on the back as he doubled over coughing. Kincaid shook his head, still forcing air and dust out of his lungs and throat, until the tattooed man handed him a bottle of water. He took a great swig, savouring the feeling of the cool liquid cleaning his throat as he swallowed, then handed the bottle back.   "The whole place has been slagged," he said, "He's moved on, we just have to find out where."   A moment later, a slender female form emerged from the hatch that led down to the Metro Station, yanking her gas mask off the second she hit clean air and allowing her long, jet black hair to tumble out from beneath the mask. She leapt out of the hatch gracefully, and unlike her leader she felt no need to stop and clear her throat, choosing instead to march straight over to her pack and pick up her gear.   "Which means we have to follow our fearless leader's hunch," she said as she pulled on a dark green leather jacket, and fixed a long, heavy-looking sword onto her back with a series of straps.   "Really?" asked the tattooed man, "What about Laos?"   "Yeah, we've been over that Titus," said Kincaid, grabbing his own jacket, this one a faded red number, and strapping a pair of holsters to his hips as a third figure emerged in a reptilian, almost snakelike manner from the hatch.   "Are we talking about Laos?" the figure asked, removing his gas mask with a webbed hand and revealing a pale blue, lizard-like face with bulbous eyes, "God only knows how we got out of that one."   "Garrick, we are not talking about Laos! Can you guys just let that one go?" yelled Kincaid, "We weren't even in that prison for long! Please can we move on?"   "So, no Slade," said the dark-haired woman, "What's our next move, Kincaid?" Kincaid looked at her, rubbing his temples with the tips of his fingers.   "Honestly, Aurora?" he replied, "I have no idea..."   ---   Brittany, France   "The thing is, Karl," said the flamboyantly-dressed man as he paced around a pale, sweaty man sitting in a battered old chair under a single, swinging lightbulb, "I'm a man with a singular talent. A...unique ability, some might say. Which means that there ain't no-one else out there who can do what I can do. Which means when people need to make use of my talent, I can charge them whatever I choose. And if that person accepts my terms, and then doesn't follow through on them...bad things can happen. You get me, Karl?"   "Of...of course, Mr Lazarus," stammered Karl, his face contorted in pain and fear, "I...I'm really sorry..."   "Well that's all well and good, but the problem is that sorry don't exactly cut it in this situation, Karl," replied Mr Lazarus, "Which means I have to cut every single credit of what you owe me out of that sweaty block of budget meat you call a body. Well, I say I have to...really, I'm going to get a very large Ripper demon with a very large set of knives to come out and cut my money out of you. And let me tell you..."   He moved in close, so his lips were almost touching Karl's ear.   "...he won't be as gentle as I would be."   "I swear...I swear I can get the money by next week," stammered Karl through a flood of tears, "Please, Mr Lazarus...just give me more time..."   "But the deal wasn't for next week, Karl!" shouted Mr Lazarus, leaping onto the table in front of Karl, "The deal was for yesterday, Karl! And you didn't have the money yesterday, Karl! So I'm going to tear your guts out, Karl!" He threw his head back with a manic howl of laughter, then leapt off the table and rapped his ruby-topped walking stick on the only door of the room.   "Razor, you can come in now!" he shouted, his grin widening as he heard Karl's desperate sobs, "Karl is ready for you now!"   There was no response from the other side of the door, and Mr Lazarus' grin gradually drooped into a scowl. He yanked the door open, calling for his associate, and was greeted with the sight of Razor, a hulking beast covered in deadly-looking spikes and blades, slumped in a chair with three long, black arrows protruding from his chest.   "What the..." he snarled, turning back to the room only to be faced with an arrowhead hovering a few inches away from his nose, and an angry, hooded half-demon reeking of brimstone on the end of it.   "Your blade-man was very rude to me, Lazarus," snarled the half-demon, "I think I improved his manners."   "Mr Bennett," said Lazarus, holding his hands up in a gesture of peace, "I wasn't expecting you. Perhaps you should have made an appointment, then we could have avoided this...unpleasantness..." he waved his hand towards Razor's body.   "You know how it is, busy busy," growled Slade, never wavering as he threatened Lazarus, "But I need you. In private." He jerked his head towards Karl, who was still sobbing quietly in his chair. Lazarus scowled, but soon relented.   "It's your lucky day, Karl," he said, exasperated, "Mr Bennett has given you an extra week to find me the money. I would advise making a start on picking it up now!" He roared the final word, and Karl leapt up from the chair and scuttled out of the room, mumbling his thanks to both Slade and Mr Lazarus.   "Now," said Lazarus, moving gradually around Slade until he could reach his own chair, a plush armchair which looked too clean for this dirty backroom, "What can I do for my favourite vigilante?"   "I need you to find someone for me," snarled Slade, never lowering his weapons, "And I need you to do it quickly."   "You've come to the right place, of course," said Lazarus, resting his fingers on the top of his cane, "But there's a small matter of my payment."   "I leave and you remain un-perforated," growled Slade, "That's all the payment you're getting from me."   "You drive such a hard bargain, Mr Bennett," replied Lazarus with a sly smile, "But it's worth it. You are never boring, I can say that much for you. Who's the lucky half-demon you so desperately want to find?"   "Her name's Junko," Slade replied, keeping his aim on Lazarus, "She's with V.I.O.L.E.N.C.E., but it looks like she's destroyed her amulet."   "Ah, Junko," said Lazarus, "I remember her. Used to pay me quite a few visits looking for that wayward brother of hers. Never could find him, of course, the wily little devil always had some way of blocking my talents."   "I don't need a family history, Lazarus," said Slade, "I just need you to find her."   "Very well," said Lazarus, sarcasm dripping from his words, "You know, I work much better when I'm not under immediate threat of horrible violence..." He gestured to Slade's bow, but Slade shook his head.    "You know who you're talking to, right?" replied Slade, "I may need your help, but I'm not an idiot."   "You know me far too well, Slade," charmed Lazarus, "Give me a moment, and I'll find her for you."   Slade kept his weapons trained on Lazarus, even as the latter's eyes misted over, turning from their usual orange to a pale, milky white. His head jerked from left to right, as if he was trying to find Junko hidden somewhere in this very room, and his lips moved gently as he mumbled something unintelligible in a language that was likely long-dead. He remained this way for a few moments, head jerking and lips moving, until he snapped out of his trance with a sharp intake of breath.   "She's in the skies," Lazarus said, his voice croaky, his tone less confident than before, "Somewhere over the Indian Ocean. Looks like your girl's heading to Australia..."   "Australia?" asked Slade incredulously, "Lazarus, I have no time for your games. I've already lost a friend and a home today, you do not want to mess with me right now!"   "No games..." gasped Lazarus, slumping back in his chair, "Junko, along with another half-demon, are headed for Australia..."   "But Australia's a dead continent. There's nothing there, why would they be going to Australia?"   "How do you know there's nothing there?" Lazarus replied, clearing his throat, "Because people have told you there's nothing there. What better place to hide something?"   "F*ck," snapped Slade, "I need to get there before her."   "You know as well as I do there's only one way to do that," said Lazarus, gradually gaining his composure, "And you know as well as I do that you'll never resort to that."   "I have to," snarled Slade, pulling the string back on his bow a little further, "I've got no other choice."   "Oh my..." said Lazarus, genuine shock on his face, "You're really going to do it..."   "Yes," said Slade, finally lowering his bow, "I'm going into Inferno."

Nidhogg   "People of V.I.O.L.E.N.C.E.!" Malik's amplified voice boomed around the densely-packed meeting hall that occupied a single long carriage of the train, "We are a group divided, and this cannot continue!"   Xavier's betrayal had been rumbling around his thoughts ever since their confrontation some days ago, the fact that a man he had believed to be a trusted lieutenant was in fact a traitor and a threat to the organisation they had built together burning inside his very soul. A public forum wherein he could reveal this betrayal would right the wrongs committed against him, he thought, so he had arranged a meeting, invited every member of V.I.O.L.E.N.C.E. with any kind of influence upon the organisation, and here he would level his charges against Xavier.   "A member of this organisation, a member of my inner circle no less, has raised questions about my leadership. These doubts threaten to tear apart that which we have worked so hard, for so long to achieve!"   "And shall the accused be forbidden from speaking in his own defence?" asked a crisp, clear voice from the other end of the room, cutting through the noise of the crowd and holding its own against the electronic amplification Malik's was going through, "Or has this organisation become a dictatorship underneath our very noses?"   The crowd turned and parted as a small group of half-demons strode across the room, led by Xavier who had eschewed his usual businesslike outfit for a knee-length black jacket with red trim and a bulletproof vest of red and black. His retinue surrounded him, flanking him on all sides to part the crowd as he approached Malik's podium.   "Is it not enough that you betray me in private, now you do so in public?" hissed Malik, leaning away from the microphones to speak directly to Xavier.   "Do be quiet, Malik," replied Xavier witheringly, before taking his place at the podium and turning to the crowd of half-demons in front of him.   "My friends," he said with a warm smile, "Our beloved leader believes me a traitor to the cause, simply because I met with representative of the human organisation WroughtIron."   There was a murmur of discontent from some portions of the crowd, and Malik couldn't help but smile at his new opponent's rocky start. But Xavier hushed the crowd with a calm gesture of his hand, and continued.   "He believes I am a traitor for setting up valuable trade opportunities with a powerful weapons tech company, to provide us with weapons and security to assist us in this ceaseless war, simply because they are humans. The same humans he sent countless thousands of half-demons out to fight under the Ragnarok initiative, and the pretense of destroying equipment and facilities which provided the United World Government with a tactical advantage. But do you know, do any of you know what was housed in those facilities?"   A murmur went out across the crowd, and Malik took a step towards the podium, rage burning in his eyes.   "Nothing," Xavier continued, the word cutting through the crowd like a razor-blade, "Those facilities were empty, and we lost so many lives to destroying them. Malik sent them, your brothers and sisters, your fathers and mothers, out to die. For nothing."   Xavier held back a smile as he heard a number of gasps among the crowd, and a rumble of anger and confusion followed them.   "Malik was correct when he claimed that we are a group divided. But it is not my so-called treachery which divides us. It is his senseless conflict, his genocidal, bigoted hatred of humanity which is tearing us apart, and we must not stand for it any longer! Everything I have done, I have done to protect every man, woman and child on this train and out there in the wider world. That is a claim Malik cannot make, when so many of his actions have damaged, and nearly destroyed this organisation and every single person associated with it."   A number of cries began to go out across the room, feet began stamping and fists were raised in the air.   "Peace cannot be attained through force alone. To end this war, we must begin to understand humanity, to learn how to coexist. In the name of peace, and sanity, we must dismiss Malik as leader of V.I.O.L.E.N.C.E., for his actions will destroy us all!"   A cheer of rage and passion exploded through the meeting room at Xavier's final words, and Xavier felt a rush of energy flow through his body. He smiled, and turned to Malik, who simply stared into his opponent's eyes, his mouth curled into a silent snarl.   "And you wonder why I always wrote your speeches for you, old friend," Xavier said coldly as he walked past his former leader, chants of his name ringing in his ears. Malik saw his opportunity and ran to the podium, to jeers and boos blasting forth from the crowd, and grabbed the microphone.   "Don't listen to him," he cried, trying to force down the desperation in his voice, "He is spilling poison in your ears, no more than-"   His cries were cut off as a deafening explosion rocked the train, hurling the passengers in the meeting room to the far side of the carriage, knocking Malik off his feet. A second rocked the train the other way, and tore a hole in the metal hull of the Nidhogg, allowing a jagged beam of sunlight to pour into the carriage.   A beam which was immediately blocked out by the body of a customized Iron Guard suit, clawing its way inside the train.   "Half-demons of V.I.O.L.E.N.C.E.," the Iron Guard boomed through the speakers mounted on the helmet, a distorted but all-too familiar voice, "This train is now under the control of the United World Government. You will stand down, or you will be subdued."   ---   Beneath Paris   "You did good today," said Slade, wiping the sweat from his brow with one forearm and tossing Layla a bottle of water with the other, "Even gave me a run for my money!"   "Well, I learnt from the best," replied Layla, twisting the cap off the bottle and taking a gulp of the cool liquid, "So, do you think I'm ready to go out on patrol with you yet?"   "Not yet," said Slade hesitantly, "Soon, but not yet."   "Why not? I'm training harder than you ever expected, and I'm doing better than you ever thought I could, you said it the other day. I've even got my ability under control."   "Oh yeah? What about that?" he gestured over to the corner of the hideout, where the walls were covered in scorchmarks, and chunks of wood were embedded into them.   "I totally meant to do that," replied Layla with a shrug, "That training dummy had it coming."   Slade laughed, and shook his head, replacing the training swords they had been practicing with onto their hooks on the wall. He took a swig of his own water, then turned to Layla, his mouth open as he readied himself to speak.   But he was cut off by a loud, blaring alarm exploding into noisy life.   "Oh sh*t," he muttered, grabbing his bow off the wall and immediately nocking an arrow on the string.   "What is it?" asked Layla, drawing her knives and holding them in a readied stance.   "Proximity alarm," replied Slade, "I had an old friend set it up for me, it can even detect when a teleporter is incoming."   "Why's it going off now? I don't see anything or anyone," murmured Layla, scanning across the hideout.   "Because a teleporter was incoming," said a voice from behind them. The pair of half-demons spun around, Slade aiming his bow and Layla tightening her grip on the knives in her hand. They were greeted by the sight of a tall, muscular man with striking green hair sat in one of Slade's chairs, his feet up on the work surface and an open bag of protein nibs in his hand.   "What's with Dr Bondage?" asked Layla with a smirk, observing the intruder's odd outfit.   "Do I know you?" asked Slade, readying the arrow to fire at the intruder, "And be aware, I will shoot this arrow through your f*cking eye if I don't like the answer."   "I would expect nothing less from the big bad Shroud," said the man, getting to his feet and lacing his words with sarcasm as he did so, "And no, you don't know me. But I know you. Actually, the man I work for knows you, and he's very interested in this one." He pointed a long finger at Layla, who shrugged.   "Everyone's interested in me, dude," she said, "I'm the most interesting girl in the whole godforsaken wasteland."   "I like this one," the man said with a chilling grin, "She's got some fire. This will all work much smoother if you just come with me, girl."   "I don't think that's happening," replied Slade, loosing the arrow into the space the man had been standing a fraction of a second earlier. The arrow slammed into the wall, and the man reappeared behind Layla, grabbing her around the neck with a surprisingly strong grip. Layla gasped a little, and Slade felt his anger rising as he saw Layla in danger, Purefire beginning to spill from his eyes and the markings on his body.   "Ooh, Purefire," said the attacker, "Nice trick. But I've got a better one." He raised his hand, and a gout of white-hot, sulfuric Purefire rushed forth from it, burning through the air towards Slade, who managed to duck out of the way at the very last second.   The only problem was, the Purefire slammed into the wall behind him and set it ablaze, the sickly white flames spreading around the room quicker than natural fire could, and hotter than anything the mortal world could conjure.   "Whoops," said the attacker sarcastically, a grin on his face, "Looks like you might need to redecorate. Actually, that's probably not a huge concern, because you'll undoubtedly be dead in a few minutes."   Slade cursed as the Purefire burned through his possessions, and his home, as if they were nothing. But he had more immediate concerns, and raised his bow once more, loosing a Purefire-infused arrow at the intruder's head.   And the intruder caught it.   "This is all very tiresome," the intruder said, pretending to stifle a yawn, as he snapped the arrow in half like a twig, "And I should be getting back. With her, of course."   "Who the hell are you?" asked Slade shakily, knowing that he wouldn't like the answer. But he had nothing more to say, knowing that he couldn't defeat this opponent single-handedly.   "Telling you would make things more interesting, I suppose," said the intruder, tightening his grip on Layla as she began to struggle against him, "But then again, I do like to maintain an air of mystery. So maybe you should ask my sister, I think you know her."   "Who is she?" asked Slade, staring through the rapidly-growing flames.   "Her name is Junko," the man replied, "She'll be ever so pleased to see you. Now, me and this pretty young thing had better be off. Say goodbye, Layla."   "I'll find you, Layla," said Slade, addressing his final few words before the acrid smoke infiltrated his lungs entirely to her, "And I will kill the son of a ***** who took you."   "No you won't!" replied the man jauntily, before disappearing and taking Layla with him. Slade rushed forward, trying to cry out but his burning lungs prevented him from doing so. He paused for a moment, composing himself, and then grabbed his jacket and the few supplies the Purefire had not yet consumed, including several knives which he wrapped in his jacket. He swung himself onto the nearest ladder and clambered up it as fast as his legs and arms could carry him. Flames licked around him, and the smoke had filled his lungs, but he finally beat them and burst into the fresh air, gasping and panting as his hideout, his home, burned away beneath him.   He coughed, his body desperately trying to force fresh air into his lungs, and staggered to his feet, a single word burned into his mind.   Junko.

I can't really get a hold of Orcus, I have no way of getting in touch with him while he doesn't have a computer. But my advice would be if you've discussed it with him then go ahead and move your story along a little bit - your characters are together already, so you should be fine.

So apparently Orcus is having some pretty serious computer issues, hence why he hasn't posted in a while. I'm quite enjoying this RP so I'd like it to keep going as long as possible, but I'm assuming some of you guys are a bit lost about what you're going to be doing in the next few posts. I've spoken to Orcus quite extensively about the RP in the past so I have a pretty good idea of what's going on in the story as a whole, so if you have any questions or concerns about your movements in the RP then you can feel free to address them to me - I'll answer them to the best of my ability, and hopefully we can keep this thing alive until Orcus gets his stuff sorted out!   If they're fairly general questions then feel free to ask them in this thread, but if they're more specific then you can PM me and ask. Let's try and breathe some life into this thing!

Nidhogg   Xavier's immaculate shoes clicked on the metal floors of the Nidhogg as he strode through the halls towards Malik's chamber. He struggled to keep a broad smile from breaking across his face even though he was aware that he was in for a tongue-lashing from V.I.O.L.E.N.C.E.'s fearless leader, and he nodded to several half-demons he encountered on his way through the crowded halls of the speeding train.   A moment later, he arrived at the heavy door of Malik's private chambers, and he stopped to straighten his tie before raising his hand and rapping his knuckles smartly on the door three times. The sound boomed through the halls, and a few seconds later he was invited in with a cold:   "Enter."   The door creaked open in front of him, hauled out of the frame by a hulking half-orc that Xavier knew as Kilgarrah, who subtly registered Xavier as he entered the expansive room. Several half-demons of various physical shapes and sizes that constituted Malik's personal retinue were scattered around the room, some reclining on chairs, others standing to attention, observing Xavier warily as he walked across the room to Mailk's chair.   The leader of V.I.O.L.E.N.C.E. sat reclined on a large, high-backed iron chair that looked conveniently close to a throne, and gestured Xavier over with a long finger. Xavier had to physically stop himself from rolling his eyes at the needless display of grandeur, but somehow he managed as he strolled across the room towards Malik.   "Is this really necessary, Malik?" asked Xavier, "Unlike you, I'm rather busy preparing for the inevitable retaliatory strike from Vela and his forces."   "You met with representatives from Wrought Iron," stated Malik coldly, "You consorted with allies of our enemies, and you did so behind my back."   "As much as I enjoy it when you tell me things I already know, I have no time for this."   "So you don't even attempt to deny it?"   "Why would I deny it? The meeting took place on this very train, I had no doubt that you would find out."   "I always had my doubts about you, Xavier," said Malik, offering his lieutenant eye contact for the first time in this encounter, "But I never believed you would openly betray me like this."   "I hold no allegiance to you, Malik!" snapped Xavier, causing Malik's group of bodyguards to flinch, gradually reaching for their weapons, "You claim to hold the survival of our kind in highest priority, but you care more for lashing out against the humans than for the safety of the half-demons who are supposedly under your protection! I did what I did to protect the people on this train, which is more than I can say for your last futile attack on humanity!"   "The humans threaten to destroy us, Xavier!" boomed Malik, rising from his chair, "The attacks I launch aim to strike our oppressors at their very core, to wipe out any chance of retaliation. Everything I do is for the safety and security of the people on this train!"   "That's your argument?" scoffed Xavier, "That the best defence is a good offence? It didn't seem like that's what you had in mind when you were sending out half-demons as little more than suicide bombers to attack UWG facilities! Facilities, I should add, that housed no technology or developments that posed a significant threat to our race. You send men and women to their deaths, yet we are no closer to winning this war, and you dare to question my methods?"   "You are not the leader of this organisation, Xavier!" exclaimed Malik, "I am!" The two men stared each other down, hearts pounding and chests heaving as Malik exploited his authority. After a moment, Xavier caught Malik's eye, and found the words he needed.   "Perhaps you shouldn't be any more."   The room was stunned into silence as Xavier turned on his heel and strode from the chamber, a wolfish smile spreading across his face as the door was closed behind him. He had sown the seeds of doubt into the minds of Malik's closest supporters, and now all he needed to do was wait.   The pieces are in place. Soon the King will fall.   ---   Above Paris   Layla felt her heart pounding in her chest as she ran at full-speed across the rooftops, leaping over gaps and rolling with the heavier landings. The recurve bow she had customized as her own over the past several days felt comfortable on her back, and she enjoyed the familiar weight of the knives strapped to her legs. But the equipment she was carrying wasn't the only thing that had changed over the course of her training with Slade: she felt more physically powerful, her muscles coiled like springs ready to unleash their strength, and her focus and concentration were greater than they had ever been. Not only that, but she felt more in control of her power than ever, and it allowed her to do perform some rather impressive feats.   She ran to the edge of the tallest building around and swan-dived off, feeling the wind rush about her as she plummeted to the ground head-first. With a modicum of concentration, she willed herself to move, and felt a strange tingling sensation rush through her body as she teleported, her atoms scattering and re-forming, this time facing upwards, allowing her to fling her body high into the air.   At the highest point of the leap, she leaned backwards into a lazy but graceful backflip, and landed solidly on her feet on the roof of the building opposite the one she had dived off. A grin crept across her face as she kept running, her newfound control allowing her some much-needed peace: she hadn't experienced one of her regular nightmares in what felt like weeks, and the concern she had bottled up about her power hurting someone had begun to fade away.   An arrow slammed into the wall beside her head, and as she glanced quickly at the shaft, she saw a scrap of paper dangling from it. Smiling, she read it aloud to herself.   "Stay focused, kid," she mumbled, before shaking her head a little, "Damn it, Slade..."   She started off again at a run, quickly dropping into a slide and dropping through a hole in the roof of the building. As she landed several floors below, a number of wooden training dolls sprung up from the floor in a close circle around her. Without hesitation, she landed a solid kick to the chest of the doll directly in front of her, smashing the wood to pieces and sending the remainder of the dummy skittering across the floor. In the same motion, she drew the two knives strapped to her thighs and sliced them through the air, and the dummies, on either side of her, before slamming the knife in her left hand into the nearest dummy's chest.   As she turned around to dispatch the final dummy, she felt the cool blade of a sword at her throat, and she looked into the eyes of her attacker.   "You forgot to watch your back," said Slade from the depths of his hood, "Rookie mistake, kid."   "There's a couple of things you forgot to watch too, old man," replied Layla with a smirk, gesturing her head downwards. Slade slowly broke his gaze from her eyes and followed her gesture down, until it became clear that she was holding the jagged edge of a Bowie knife a fraction of an inch from his crotch.   "Ah," he said.   "Ah is right," replied Layla, "Now do you wanna take that sword away from my neck before I actually cut your fellas off?"   Slade obliged, sheathing his sword and taking down his hood.   "You did good, Layla," he said with a smile, "I'm proud of you."   "Thanks Slade," she replied, returning his smile, "Couldn't have done it without my wise, old mentor."   "Less of the old, please," said Slade.   "Sorry," said Layla, "I suppose you've still got a couple of good years in you!"   "The way your training's going, you should hope it's more than just a couple..." Slade murmured, trying to hide the smirk on his face as he walked away.   "I heard that!" shouted Layla, running after him.

Inferno   By the ancient rite of the Seven Nephelim, in Defiance of the Great Beast we call Destroyer, the Well shall be activated and the Ritual shall be completed...   The words rang in Belial's ears as he ascended the great spiral staircase that extended from his cavernous chamber, and he found himself murmuring them over and over as he moved swiftly upwards. His heart pounded in his chest, as it had been doing since Lucifer had dismissed them from the Meeting Chamber some time ago.   The Ritual was a risky move on Lucifer's part: she knew it would divert a considerable amount of energy away from its intended purpose, and in doing so could risk the stability of the entire realm. But she, like Belial, also knew that it was their best chance of withstanding a full-frontal assault from the Storm Guard, and in lieu of a retaliatory strike against the humans, it was their only option for their continued survival. Belial knew that her decision wasn't made lightly, and as much as he sometimes disagreed with her methods, he knew that her role in maintaining balance was difficult at the best of times, and near-impossible at the worst.   It was only unfortunate that this time was the very worst he had ever faced as part of the Council of Seven.   The entirety of the vast realm stretched out in all directions around Belial as he emerged from the staircase, and it was only from here that he bore witness to the devastation the humans were already laying down across Inferno.   He watched as the second tallest mountain of Cocytus crumbled under the sustained weapon fire of the metal beasts, as a bastardized form of Purefire spewed from the cannons of a Storm Guard and blasted great expanses of Acheron to sickly, milky-coloured glass, and as thousands, if not tens of thousands of demons of all races and from all regions of Inferno were vaporized, or crushed underfoot, or set ablaze in eternal flame.   He watched as a Storm Guard swung a vast, razor-sharp blade through the air and sliced the very wings from a dragon, as Families of Jinn combined into swirling clouds of living smog, only to be pulled into the engines of the great mechanical creatures and absorbed along with the energy in the very atmosphere, and as the leader of the Storm Guard gradually turned his attention, and his glowing eyes, to the stronghold of the Nephelim, an obvious target protruding from the landscape.   And when he could watch the destruction of his realm no more, he turned his attention to the towers to his left and right. He saw his brothers emerge, one by one, from their own wings of the stronghold, each standing atop their own personal tower, their armour blazing in the dark light and their cloaks flapping in the hot winds of war and turmoil. When he was satisfied that each Nephelim had taken his place, Belial turned his attention to the stronghold's central keep, watching as Lucifer emerged from the shadows and took her place on the simple stone altar at the stronghold's exact centre. His Lady gave him the slightest of nods, and without a moment's pause he felt the Ritual begin.   A surging rush of energy began to build at the base of the tower he stood upon, and he closed his eyes to better react to it. He felt power begin to crackle and buzz in his fingertips, and as he murmured a few words in a language long-since forgotten by man, he smiled as the two sources of energy connected.   In the blink of an eye, he became part of the energy of the Lethe and the surrounding region of Inferno, and the energy of the realm became a part of him. He was connected to every boulder, every pebble and every tiny, insignificant creature within the wide circle of the Lethe, and to his brothers as well. Their thoughts swirled through his head, and his through theirs, until they became a pulsing torrent of energy and consciousness, seemingly forever connected.   And then, when the combined energy of the Nephelim and the region reached a crescendo, the power of the Lethe itself connected, and Belial felt the river far below them swirling, shifting far more than it naturally would, and the Fallen were finally reconnected to the energy which created them.   The air around the stronghold fizzed and crackled with pure power, and the river began rushing in a wide circle around the building. Belial opened his eyes and saw streams of multi-coloured, coruscating flame pouring from his own hands, joining with the energy of his brothers as the Purefire which ran through their veins and across the bed of the Lethe created a blazing, coruscating wreath of fire and energy and power around the stronghold.   But it wasn't enough, and this was only the beginning of the Ritual.   As the ring of Purefire spun faster and burned hotter and brighter, Lucifer felt the raw power of Inferno itself building beneath her. Wind whipped at her hair and her ragged cloak as she attempted to connect with power which did not belong to her, nor should it belong to any creature in Hell or Earth, the tips of her outstretched fingers already aching with the abundance of power her body was preparing to connect with.   She squeezed her eyes shut, and reached deep down into the central keep of the stronghold, through the ground beneath it and far below into a place where no creature should ever set foot, and felt a source of nothing more nor less than pure energy. Energy that created the Earth, that forged Paradiso from nothing and carved Inferno from the fire and stone, energy that the Nephelim had been bound since the beginning of time itself to maintain.   The Well of Souls.   "I call...upon the power..." Lucifer gasped as she reached out, feeling tendrils of energy touch her throbbing fingertips, "I...command the power...of the Well of Souls..."   As she uttered the final spoken syllable of the Ritual, she howled as a torrent of unfiltered, unadulterated energy blasted into her body from the swirling pool of light far beneath her, lifting her off her feet as it threatened to tear the very fabric of her being asunder. She cried out in agony and ecstasy as white light poured forth from her eyes and mouth in snaking tendrils that lashed out and connected with each of the six Nephelim in the circle around her, and the fire and rage of the Lethe itself.   Belial's unearthly voice boomed across the realm, mingling with the cries and howls of his brothers, as the very energy of creation poured into his body and collided with the power of the Lethe. He craned his head downwards and watched as the river of Purefire boiled and swirled, the flames gradually rising from the riverbed.   The Purefire gained speed, and blazed around the stronghold in a wide spiral, a blazing wreath of fire and energy.   But the explosive display of power from the Nephelim had caught the attention of the Storm Guard, and the lead creature hurtled towards the stronghold in an attempt to either block the ever-increasing wall of Purefire, or to evade it and launch an attack on the stronghold itself. Light and flame blasted from every digit of the mechanical beast, but its weapons soon found the Purefire of the Lethe itself to be near-impenetrable.   In a last-ditch attempt to interrupt the Ritual, the Storm Guard swung its vast hand towards the stronghold, weaving in between streams of Purefire and energy.   The Seven Nephelim howled as energy poured into them and from them, and back into them and from them once again, and the spiralling flames grew higher and wider until they had formed a solid wall of ever-changing, ever-shifting, coruscating Purefire surrounding the stronghold, slicing the enormous hand of the Storm Guard off at the wrist. A bizarre mechanical howl emanated from the metal creature as it was denied access to the stronghold, and denied use of its right hand, and the tiniest of smiles crept through the intense pleasure-pain, agony-ecstasy feeling rushing through Belial's body.   So the creatures do bleed after all...   But the Ritual was still not finished: Lucifer drew more power from the Well of Souls and poured it through her own body and those of her brothers. Energy crackled in the air, and blasted from the Nephelim into the Lethe until the river had risen and flowed together above the highest point of the stronghold to form a solid, impenetrable dome of dark, powerful energy.   Only when she was sure that the dome had become complete did Lucifer let go of all the energy within her, allowing the Well of Souls to return to its natural state in a single resonating shockwave that took all of her brothers off their feet.   Belial groaned as he pushed himself to his knees with his weakened, trembling arms. Deep purple smoke rose gently from his body as the final vestiges of power flowed out of him into the atmosphere.   "The Ritual...has been completed..." gasped Lucifer, her voice still resonating within each of her brother's heads, a side-effect of the complex Ritual they had just undertaken, "The Lethe has risen...the Nephelim...are defended..."   Belial looked over to the central tower and saw his sister on the brink of collapse, engulfed in a cloud of the same sickly purple smoke that was still rising from his armour.   Now...he thought, I want to look at that hand...   ---   Afghanistan   A gentle breeze wafted across the empty, barren desert, a rare reprieve from the sun's glaring, roasting rays in this part of the world. The desert bordered on an expanse of Heartfire that no human had been near since just after the portal had opened, but this region at least was as safe as a barren desert could be.   In a sudden rush of energy, a single man in black combat fatigues covered in dented, battered armour plates appeared from nowhere, and immediately dropped to his knees, retching and heaving until there was nothing but air left in his body. He panted and gasped, drawing desperately on his training to quell the nausea that was currently incapacitating him, but this was not something that training could have prepared him for.   Two moments ago, he had been holding a wanted fugitive and dangerous half-demon by the name of Slade Bennett in a headlock, threatening his safety in an attempt to persuade Layla Monroe, another half-demon his superiors had shown a surprising interest in, to come quietly with him. In the moment that had immediately followed, every atom in his body had been torn asunder, effectively destroying his physical form, and sent through space to recombine here, in the middle of an arid desert miles from his home, his base, and his superiors.   "What the f*ck...?" he murmured, spinning on his heel to survey his surroundings, kicking up clouds of dust as he did so, "Hello?" His calls went unanswered, and panic began to rise like bile in his gut as he realised the vast majority of his equipment had been left in a clearing just outside Paris, including his water bottle.   "Help me!" he cried out, "Help-"   His second cry was cut short as a deafening crack rang out across the desert, and a heavy impact shredded the flesh and muscle in his shoulder and sent him tumbling to the ground. He gasped in pain, but his training kicked in and he quickly tore off a strip of his sleeve to stem the already-heavy blood flow: he put pressure on what he now realised was a bullet-wound, and tore off another strip of his sleeve in an attempt to create a makeshift tourniquet.   "I'm not sure you'll have much luck with that," said a voice from in front of the soldier, and he looked up to see the silhouette of a male figure swaggering towards him, "If the blood loss doesn't get you, chances are the neurotoxin the bullet was laced with will drive you insane and make you tear the skin off your own face. And if that doesn't get you then dehydration definitely will."   "Who are you?" stammered the fallen soldier, squinting to better make out his attacker, "How did you find me here?" The stranger barked out a brief laugh at the second question, then knelt down over the wounded soldier: he wore a faded, dark red leather jacket with what appeared to be a bullet-proof vest underneath, and some kind of old-fashioned gas mask covered his face and muffled his words somewhat.   "That's gratitude for you," the stranger scoffed, "First he wants someone to rescue him, now he's trying to interrogate us!"   "Us?" said the soldier, attempting to scramble a few feet away from the man, "There's more than one of you?"   "Of course not," smirked the stranger, his words dripping with sarcasm, "I came out into the middle of the f*cking desert all by myself to find one little lost Sandman. Obviously there's more than one of us, only rookies like you turn up to a place like this all on their lonesome."   "W...what do you want?"   "Now there's a smart question, finally," said the stranger with a grin, "A smart question with a very simple answer..."   He whipped a knife from his belt and slammed the blade into the soldier's thigh, causing him to howl in sheer agony.   "Where...is Slade Bennett?"   ---   ooc: Just thought I'd try and jump-start this bad boy!

Outside Paris   Slade and Layla stood back to back in the centre of a wide circle of Sandmen, their lightweight tactical armour glinting in the moonlight and their weapons tracing laser dots over the heads and bodies of their targets.   "Drop your weapon, demonspawn," said one of the Sandmen, his voice distorted and crackling through the mouthpiece of his helmet, "And surrender the girl to us, or we will shoot to kill."   "Why do they want me so badly?" asked Layla in hushed tones, slowly reaching to her belt and wrapping her fingers around the hilt of the knife hidden away there.   "There's time to figure that out later, but these are Sandmen - the UWG's black-ops specialists. If we don't do something quickly, they'll kill me and take you without a second thought."   "We'd better do something then," replied Layla with a slight grin, whipping the knife from her belt in a lightning-quick motion and slamming the weapon hilt-deep into the nearest Sandman's neck, ignoring the gushing torrent of blood that issued forth as she tucked herself into his body, using it as a shield from the other soldiers as they opened fire.   Slade, without so much as a moment's pause, nocked and loosed an arrow directly between the eyes of the lead Sandman, then slammed a boot into his chest and knocked him backwards into another soldier. He ducked the swinging arm-blade of a third Sandman and stabbed an arrow through his opponent's armour and deep into the soft flesh of his chest before yanking the shaft back out, nocking it and firing it into the hand of a Sandman who had just de-cloaked in front of him.   Layla grabbed the arm of the dead Sandman she was using as a shield, popped the arm-blade and shoved it into the stomach of an oncoming soldier, then lithely flipped over her incapacitated attacker and sliced the already blood-soaked knife blade across the soldier's throat.   The pair of half-demons ducked and weaved their way through the crowd of Sandmen, dodging arm-blades and Soulfire bullets as they whizzed past, leaving a trail of blood and bodies across the clearing as they went.   "I don't know what you were worried about," said Layla breathlessly as she got closer to Slade, "These guys aren't so tough!"   "True," replied Slade, "They could try a little hard-" he was cut off as a lone Sandman, this one clad from head to toe in black armour, de-cloaked from behind Slade and sliced his arm-blade across the half-demon's back. Slade howled in pain and dropped to his knees, but the Sandman grabbed him in a tight headlock and dragged him back to his feet before he could collapse completely.   "Stop this foolish attempt at self-preservation, Ms Monroe," the Sandman said in clipped tones through his mask, "Or I will be forced to make you watch as Mr Bennett here dies a slow and painful death."   "Don't...listen to him...Layla..." gasped Slade through the impressive chokehold.   "A noble sentiment, Slade," replied the Sandman, "But I think we both know that Layla won't allow you to come to harm." On the last word of the sentence, the Sandman sent an electrical pulse through his gauntlets, causing Slade to convulse in pain.   "Too much harm, at any rate," the Sandman said, "Now drop your weapons, Ms Monroe, and surrender yourself to us."   "Get away from him," said Layla, her voice low but her face etched with rage, "Or you might make me do something I'll regret..."   "We have extensive intel on you, Ms Monroe," scoffed the Sandman, "We know you don't have full control over your abilities, and anything you do to hurt us will likely result in Mr Bennett's death as well. Once again, we reach an impasse - the best thing you can do for yourself and Slade is to surrender and come with us."   "I said..." responded Layla, ignoring the Sandman's threats, "GET AWAY FROM HIM!"   A pulse of pale blue light washed over the clearing, a shockwave of pure energy centred on Layla. As the light hit the Sandman, he blinked out of existence in an instant, and the other Sandmen left in the clearing were met with a similar fate, Layla's abilities leaving only their weapons which clattered to the ground as the men and women holding them vanished. Slade dropped to his knees, gasping at the air to catch his breath, and Layla herself crumpled to the ground, exhausted from the exertion but still conscious.   "That was helpful," she said woozily, gradually pulling herself up to a seated position and looking over to Slade, who was searching the ground around the dropped weapons for something. He eventually found what he was looking for, a small pressurized canister with a long nozzle, which he reached around and sprayed across his back. A line of sickly yellow foam squirted across the wound caused by the Sandman's arm-blade, and it gradually hardened into a makeshift bandage to stem the blood loss from the wound.   "Are you ok?" asked Layla as Slade grimaced, but he nodded anyway and lowered himself down onto the ground, where he sat a few feet away from Layla.   "That was...impressive," he said, his tone solemn and concerned, "You're getting more control over your abilities already."   "I was under the impression that was a good thing," replied Layla, sensing the hesitance in Slade's voice.   "It is, it's very good," said Slade, "But the more control you gain, the more people are going to be coming after you. I wish I could offer you a normal life, but things are only going to get more difficult from here."   "Psht," scoffed Layla, "Normal's boring. This is much more fun!" Slade couldn't help but crack a grin at Layla's unstoppable optimism, even in the face of all these things happening to her. He hauled himself to his feet and offered a hand to Layla, who took it and allowed him to pull her to her feet.   "We should get back to the hideout," he said, grabbing his bow from the ground, "We've probably trained enough for one day." He began to walk to the edge of the clearing when something hit him, hard, in the back. He stumbled forward a few steps, then nocked an arrow and spun around to face his attacker.   But he was met by Layla, rolling a rock around in her hand, just like the one she had just thrown at Slade's back.   "You're not wimping out on me already, are you old man?" she asked with a smirk, and Slade smiled back.   ---   Inferno   Belial's cloak billowed out behind him in the hot winds of Inferno as he marched along the bridge which connected his own personal tower to the central column of the Nephelim's home. Everything around him, from the bridge underfoot to the walls of the keep ahead of him was crafted from dark red, almost maroon stone bricks, and the whole area was constantly illuminated by the river of Purefire which flowed around the stronghold.   The huge circular door ahead of him split in two diagonally, sliding open and allowing him access to a place no creature other than a Nephelim had ever set foot: the Inner Sanctum of the Fallen.   It was a vast chamber, the ceiling so far up that it was concealed in inky-black shadows, and in the centre of the floor was a huge circular table with seven seats placed around it: seven seats for the Seven Nephelim. A few of the seats were already occupied, by Leviathan's slender form sitting upright and alert, and the louche form of Astaroth the Slothful, his dark blue armour dull and lustreless compared to the almost glowing green of Leviathan's.   "My Lords," Belial said with a nod, taking his seat next to Leviathan.   "My Lord Belial," replied Leviathan with a smile, and Astaroth said nothing but offered a lazy wave of the hand in response.   "Why does she call us together like this?" boomed a new voice from the far side of the room, and a well-built figure resplendent in shimmering gold armour stormed in, "What could be so important to bring us away from our work?"   "It may have slipped your notice, Mammon," snarled Belial, getting to his feet, "But our home is under attack from the humans. What reason could be more important to convene the Seven in one place?"   "But we cannot abandon our duties, Belial," said a large, stocky figure who stomped in behind Mammon, his armour a sickly green, far from the rich colour of Leviathan's armour, "What could she possibly have to gain from calling us here together?"   "An excellent question from my most voluptuous brother," replied another new voice as a lithe, youthful man in deep purple, almost obsidian-like armour slipped into his chair, "Do you have an answer for Beelzebub, or are you just trying to pick a fight, Belial?"   "Do not think you know me so well, Asmodeus," growled Belial, "I understand the severity of this situation, unlike most of you. The humans are threatening the stability of our realm itself: if they are allowed to continue their rampage unchecked, they will cause untold damage to this dimension and render our adherence to our ancient duty useless."   "Belial is correct," said a calm voice that seemed to wash over the room, "The invading human forces are indeed disrupting the stability of Inferno, and they threaten to undo the work we have done over the past millennia."   Lucifer seemingly glided into the room, her ragged cloak flapping in the hot air as she did, and the other Nephelim took their seats around the table.   "The instinctive reaction to this situation would be to take up arms and fight the oncoming hordes," she said, looking around the room as she took her own seat, "But this is an instinct we must not give in to, brothers. We must stand firm, observe the chaos and attend to our duties as we always must, lest He be unleashed upon all realms."   "That's it? We must attend to our duties as always?" asked Mammon, the anger clear in his voice, "Forgive me, Lady Lucifer, but this information could have been passed to us without gathering us here."   "Agreed," Astaroth said sluggishly, waving his hand towards Mammon.   "Of course that is not the sole reason I gathered you here, Mammon," replied Lucifer, gesturing for Mammon to calm himself, "Do not mistake my unwillingness to engage in direct combat with the humans for a desire to ignore the threat they pose. I am merely suggesting a more defensive stance to protect us from the advancing armies of humanity while continuing to carry out our duties."   "You cannot be suggesting we carry out the Ritual, my lady? It is far too dangerous an action to take," said Beelzebub, leaning forward in his chair.   "I disagree," said Asmodeus smoothly, leaning forward in his own chair as well, "Desperate times call for desperate measures, and this one is about as desperate as they come."   "I stand with Asmodeus," said Leviathan, piping up for the first time, "We need a defense the Storm Guard cannot penetrate. I'd be very surprised if they could pass through a wall of Purefire without incurring considerable, irreparable damage."   "And what say the rest of you?" asked Lucifer, looking around the chamber at her brothers, "We cannot complete the Ritual without our combined strength."   Lucifer's request was met with a murmur of approval from around the chamber, some of the Nephelim offering their services more willingly than others, but all of them eventually offering them.   "Excellent," Lucifer said, "Then we shall carry out the Ritual forthwith. We shall raise the Lethe itself."

Above Paris   "This is a waste of time," mumbled Layla as she held the string of her new bow back, shakily aiming the arrow at the makeshift targets Slade had set up on the rooftop opposite them, "Why do I have to learn archery?"   "Archery teaches you everything you need to know about combat and control," replied Slade, pacing on the rooftop behind Layla, watching her carefully, "It requires strength, balance, poise and most importantly patience. Now concentrate on the targets and fire."   Layla rolled her eyes and loosed the arrow, watching it sail over the gap between buildings and slam into the wall six feet behind the targets. She lowered her bow and cursed under her breath as she failed at Slade's challenge once again.   "This is pointless," she muttered.   "You lost concentration," said Slade, hearing Layla's protest and choosing to ignore it, "Clear your mind and adjust for wind, and try again." He handed her another arrow, which she snatched out his hand, nocked and fired in a single movement. It whistled through the air, glanced off the edge of one of the targets and skittering across the rooftop.   "Stop rushing," said Slade, handing Layla another arrow, "Be patient, take a deep breath and fire on the exhale." Layla nodded, clearly frustrated by how difficult she was finding this task, and took the arrow. She nocked it and pulled the bowstring back, making sure to keep her arm straight as she did. She aimed at the target, adjusted for the direction of the wind and inhaled as Slade had suggested.   After a moment, she simultaneously exhaled and loosed the arrow. It soared across the gap between the two buildings and hit the target directly, the arrowhead piercing through the front of the target and right out the back with a crunch which was audible even from the opposite building.   Layla punched the air and a wide grin broke out across her face as she watched her arrow hit the target. She turned to Slade, who simply nodded and handed her another arrow.   "Good," he said, "Now do it again."   ---   Beneath Paris   Slade easily avoided the flurry of blows Layla launched at him, blocking some with his forearms and simply moving out of the way of others. As she swung a powerful punch at him, he dropped to the ground and swept her legs out from under her with a swift, almost fluid movement, and she hit the ground with a thud, the impact knocking the wind out of her.   "Your attacks are too obvious," said Slade, helping her back to her feet, "Too obvious and too slow. You need to be less predictable when you attack - I dropped you to the floor, but a half-demon or even a well-trained Exorcist wouldn't miss an opportunity to kill you outright."   "I know, I know," replied Layla, trying to get her breath back, "I'm just tired..."   "A UWG soldier wouldn't care," said Slade, "A half-demon or an Exorcist wouldn't hesitate to take you out just because you were tired. You could be sick, or dying, and you would get no sympathy from one of the dozens of groups of people out there trying to kill you. It doesn't matter what-"   His speech was cut short by a sudden impact in the centre of his chest, and a flash of icy-blue light, the combination of which hurled him across the hideout and smashing through one of the shelving units set up against the wall. He crumpled to the ground, and felt his lip which appeared to be bleeding.   "How's that for predictable?" said Layla, standing over Slade. He looked up slowly at her, and saw her skin glowing a gentle blue, a faint plume of purple smoke rising from the hand she had just struck him in the chest with, and a smirk on her face.   "We need to talk about your abilities," groaned Slade, pulling himself to his feet.   ---   Outside Paris   "Are you sure this place is safe?" asked Layla, looking around the clearing Slade had brought her to.   "Absolutely," he replied, placing down objects which looked like large fluorescent glow-sticks every few metres in a wide circle around them, "These torches are specifically designed to repel demons. And the UWG rarely venture this far outside the barriers. At worst, we might get interrupted by some Exorcists, but that's what this is for." He tapped the bow he had slung on his back, but Layla didn't feel reassured. In fact, she had a distinct uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach, but she knew what Slade was doing here was important, so she pushed the feeling to one side and ignored it.   "So," said Slade, taking a seat on a log in the rough centre of the clearing and gesturing for Layla to take a seat opposite him, "I want you to tell me all about your ability. It's only with the knowledge of what it's done that we can start working on controlling it."   "Ok," said Layla, taking a seat opposite Slade, "But if I'm going to tell you this stuff, I need to know more about you. You've taken it upon yourself to train me and look after me, but I don't know anything about you. I need to trust you, so for every question you ask me, I get to ask you one."   "Layla, we don't have time for this," said Slade, waving his hand dismissively.   "If you want to know about my ability, we absolutely have time for this," replied Layla, "Question for question, those are my terms. If you don't like them then we should just go now and not waste our time at all." She got to her feet in a silent threat, but Slade stopped her.   "Fine," he said, "Question for question."   "Good," said Layla, sitting back down, "You go first."   "When did your ability first manifest?"   "Well, I grew up on a commune in Brazil. It was pretty safe and kind of sheltered most of the time, but when I was seven they introduced a man to the community who seemed friendly, but he turned out to be some kind of anti-demon fanatic. He attacked a bunch of people in the commune, and came for me afterwards. So I hid, but he found me and I knew he was about to attack me, so I just curled up and wished he would stop. And...well, he did. He just collapsed, like he was totally paralyzed or something. I didn't understand it at the time, but now I realise it was the first time my ability manifested itself."   "So you just...wished for him to stop? That's it?"   "Nope, that's another question. Not before I get some answers out of you."   "Fine, ask me."   "Who was the person I heard you talking to the first night I spent at your hideout? The...what was it...'unpleasant acquaintance'?" Slade swallowed and looked down at his hands, shifting them nervously.   "That was a demon," he said, "A very powerful and dangerous demon by the name of Belial. He's one of seven demons called the Nephelim, and he's...well, in layman's terms I suppose you could call him my father."   "Your...father? Wow, most half-demons don't even know which demon spawned them, let alone have them over for coffee."   "Well he's always tried to be a little bit too involved in my life. But it's my turn: to you knowledge, have you ever exhibited any kind of control over your ability? Even if it's just a vague feeling that you were more in control than usual."   "Do you mean before I kicked your ass back at the hideout?"   "Yes, Layla," replied Slade with a chuckle, "Before that."   "I remember back in...it must have been around 2220...I was helping with a recovery effort in Northern Columbia after some half-demon went out of control and leveled damn near an entire city. There was a family trapped inside the wreckage of an apartment block and nobody could get them out. I stayed with them through the night, talking to them and trying to make sure they were alright and then, just as the rubble started shifting and looked like it was going to crush them, the whole thing turned into dust under my fingers. They managed to get out, and it was the first time I felt...I felt like I could control this stuff, I guess. It comes and goes, and it feels like I'm taking one step forwards and two steps back."   "Every half-demon has the same problems," said Slade, reaching over and touching Layla's arm, "We all have problems controlling our abilities sometimes - I think yours are just more...expansive than most others. It'll take time, but you'll get there. It's your turn."   "What is it that Belial wants from you? You said it was something 'precious', but you never specified. So, what does he want from you?"   "He wants...he wants my soul," replied Slade after a moment's pause, "I don't know why he wants it, but he's been trying to get it ever since I was born."   "Your soul? That's messed up."   "Yeah, and he's getting closer. Every time..." he was cut short by something slamming into his chest, knocking him backwards to the ground.   "Slade!" shouted Layla, rushing to his side, but she was also cut short by something slamming into her back and knocking her to the floor with a heavy impact. She managed to roll over in time to see a man dressed entirely in black combat fatigues covered by dull silver armour seemingly appear from thin air, followed by three more behind him.   "What the hell?" she groaned as more people blinked into existence around the pair of them.   "Sandmen," snarled Slade, jumping to his feet.

Beneath Paris   Slade slammed into the hard floor of the Metro Station, retching in a feeble attempt to rid himself of the overwhelming rush of nausea that swept over him when the dark stranger had teleported him back home. His vision was blurred, and he coughed until he could no longer catch his breath, writhing on the floor in pain and discomfort.   "Please stop that," the stranger requested in a dry, mocking tone, "You're just embarrassing yourself now."   The stranger peered into the darkness of the Metro Station, spotting another prone figure lying on the floor and walking over to her.   "Your little friend is unconscious," he said matter-of-factly, "You may wish to tend to this before she...dies."   A wave of concern replaced the nausea rushing through Slade's body as he saw Layla's body lying in a crumpled heap on the floor. He hauled himself to his feet and shuffled over to her and, noticing her chest still rising and falling with her steady breathing, the concern was in turn replaced by relief. He lowered himself to the floor beside her, cradled her head in his lap and checked her pulse, and her pupils: everything seemed to be ok, and he took the opportunity to take a look around the hideout.   There were oddly-shaped scorch-marks covering the floor around Layla's prone form, around a dozen spindly yet vaguely humanoid silhouettes burned onto the floor tiles and connected by smears of foul-smelling black ichor that Slade oddly recognised immediately. Most worryingly, there was a large pile of ash a few feet from Layla which reeked of the pungent stench of Hellfire, which indicated that a demon had been there.   After making sure that Layla's head was adequately supported, Slade got to his feet once more, turned on his heel and grabbed the stranger by the scruff of his neck, easily lifting the figure's slight form off the ground.   "Who are you, and why did my father send you?" Slade snarled, feeling the Purefire begin to pump through his veins, "Why was he so desperate for me to get out of that prison cell?"   With a roll of his eyes, the stranger disintegrated into the same crystalline powder he had turned the UWG soldier into back in the cell, falling through Slade's fingers and skittering to the floor. A split second later, the powder reformed behind Slade, and he turned to face the stranger as he reassembled himself.   "Your father has taken an interest in the girl," the figure said, gesturing over to Layla, "He wishes you to train her to fight, and to control her rather erratic abilities. As impressive as he considers you, I doubt you could do that from within a prison cell. Therefore, I was sent to bring you back here and allow you to commence her training immediately."   "And that's it? He doesn't want anything from me in return?" asked Slade suspiciously.   "Her training will be recompense enough," the stranger replied calmly, "See that you commence immediately." He nodded at Layla's prone form, and she gasped back into consciousness, blinking her eyes to adjust to the light. Slade ran over to her and helped her to her feet.   "Who's this ugly dude?" she muttered, gesturing towards the stranger, who smiled the thinnest, tiniest of smiles.   "My name is Samael," he replied, "And I believe you will be seeing me again, Layla Monroe."   With the final word, Samael crumbled into that black crystalline ash and dissipated into the air, leaving as mysteriously as he had arrived.   "Well that was f*cking weird," said Layla, rubbing her head, "Who am I kidding? This whole week's been pretty weird."   "I think it's probably going to get weirder," murmured Slade, staring at the spot Samael had occupied until a moment earlier, "What happened here?"   "Some creepy spindly dudes attacked me, came crawling out of the tunnel," she replied, gesturing to the open mouth of the Metro tunnel, "I took care of them, no problems, but then this jerk-off Exorcist gets me from behind - you really need to update your hideout security, by the way, people are just walking in and out of this place - and then...then I don't really remember what happened."   "This is bad," said Slade, "He sent Husks after you..."   "Husks! That was it."   "But he must have sent a demon here as well. My guess is that the pile of ash over there used to be the...'jerk-off Exorcist' you mentioned."   "So what happened to him?"   "Something incinerated him using Hellfire. And not just Hellfire, but Purefire," said Slade, crouching down at the pile of ash and taking some between his thumb and forefinger, "That means something from the real depths of Inferno was here. And it means we really do need to start your training as soon as possible."   "Training?"   "Training," said Slade with a nod, "You need to learn how to defend yourself against stuff like this. Sure, you could handle a dozen Husks without too many problems, but if there was a full-fledged demon in here...well, let's just say you need to learn how to fight."   "I already know how to fight," said Layla defiantly, "I've been fighting most of my adult life."   "You know how to handle street brawls and skirmishes with half-demons and lesser demons, sure," replied Slade, taking his torn, bloodied jacket off and revealing the black tank top underneath, "But when something bigger comes your way, how are you going to fight it? Especially when you don't have complete control of your abilities."   "So you're going to train me to take out the Big Bads of the world?" Layla asked, and Slade nodded.   "Cool," said Layla, "Where do we start?"

Inferno   Battle raged in the outer reaches of Inferno as the Storm Guard advanced through the demonic realm, cutting a swathe through the hordes of creatures hurling themselves at the metal beasts as if there was no resistance.   In the mortal realm, fire and destruction tore apart the defenses of the humans, surely an act of retaliation, or at least an act borne with the illusion of vengeance, for the bold assault on Inferno launched by General Vela. Half-demons and humans alike fought to save those caught in the destruction, but the suspicion and hatred between the two races grew stronger in the ash and dust.   A girl burdened with the weight of ancient prophecy lay vulnerable and alone in the catacombs beneath the human city of Paris, having taken the next important step in becoming the symbol of power both sides of the war needed her to be. She was only just beginning to discover the extent of her power, but it was a journey she would not be able to complete on her own.   And in a dark room in the centre of the city, a half-demon hung from chains, beaten and sedated and awaiting the next punishment his captors could dream up for him.   All of these images flashed on the monitors before Belial, who stood back, coldly observing every significant event that occurred in front of him. They were all connected, every single one of these events, a tangled web of coincidence and pre-determination stretching back hundreds of years and pushing forth into the shadows of an uncertain future.   But with Slade's capture and his separation from Layla, Belial felt the strands of this web beginning to untangle: he wouldn't be able to train her, to teach her the discipline needed for her to control her abilities. If she remained unable to control her powers, they would surely run out of control and threaten the existence of every single living thing in both realms.   He turned from the monitors and strode over to his desk, plunging an armoured hand into the seemingly-solid surface and removing a small, glowing orb formed of a strange pearlescent material. He grasped it tightly with his hand, and the glow brightened.   "I require an audience with the Moirai," he said, feeling his words being pulled into the orb as they left his mouth, the surface of the object flickering as his message was conveyed.   "And the Moirai shall obey," a dreamy female voice replied from somewhere within the orb, and Belial loosened his grip on the object, allowing it to float gently out of his hand and into the air, where it hovered for a moment before expanding into a swirling disc of blue-and-white flame. Belial peered through the flame and saw only darkness on the other side, the mists of a corner of Inferno neither he nor any other Nephelim had ever ventured to.   With little warning, a wraith-like figure slithered from the portal, a ghostly form wreathed in a cloak of oily grey smoke. The creature floated a few inches off the ground in front of Belial, and a moment later it was joined by two other figures, one short and squat, the other tall and lithe, all of them wrapped in cloaks of thick vapour.   "The Hateful One has called the Moirai," said the first creature to emerge from the portal, its voice lilting and ever so slightly mocking, "And the Moirai have answered. What is it Lord Belial requires of us this time?"   "He has called the Moirai so many times," the shorter creature said, this one's voice deep and resonant.   "Because he fears for the future," screeched the taller one.   "Events have altered the future, and I fear it is for the worse," replied Belial, his tone assertive, "Last time I consulted the Moirai, you told me that they were inextricably connected, and they must remain together in order for her to fulfill her destiny."   "The Hateful One speaks the truth," replied the leader of the three creatures, "The Fabled Girl and the Shrouded Man must remain one."   "Well they have become separated," snarled Belial, watching as the three creatures shrieked, "And I fear the web unravelling as we speak. This is why I come to the Moirai: were I to intervene in events, would it damage the web beyond repair?"   "The future is lost to us in the shadows of war, Hateful One," screeched the tall Moirai.   "Your interference would likely cloud our vision further," boomed the shorter one.   "But we are aware that our words would do little to dissuade you from this," said the leader, "So before our Sight is lost to us, we have one final insight to offer you."   "Very well," said Belial, "Speak your truth, Moirai."   "There is a man."   "A man whose true intentions are known only to himself."   "A man with no more nor less in his future than blood, war and destruction."   "He stands at the edge of the web."   "The fog of war surrounds him like a cloak."   "Unless he is stopped..."   "Everything will fall."   "Everything will fall."   "Everything will fall."   The Moirai repeated these words, slowly and carefully, as they gradually drifted back into the portal they had emerged from. It closed behind them, and the pearlescent orb dropped to the floor with a heavy thud, leaving Belial alone in his chamber with only the knowledge the Moirai had offered him.   He walked slowly to the front of his desk, his boots thudding on the ground and echoing throughout the chamber. He leaned down to pick up the orb, and willed just a touch of his own Purefire into the object.   "I call upon Samael," he whispered into the orb, before clenching his fist around the object until it smashed in his hand, leaving only a wisp of black, ash-like powder which he blew into the air. It formed a tendril-like cloud of ashen dust which wound its way from Belial's chamber into the depths of Inferno.   Samael shall do the bidding of the Hateful One... a voice replied, seemingly from nowhere, and Belial strode out of his office, dark purpose etched on his face.   ---   Somewhere in Paris   "I can't believe we got the f*cker," scoffed the UWG captain, staring at the prone figure on the monitor in front of him, "The Shroud, the guy that's been pestering us for years, and we finally got him. He doesn't look so tough any more."   "Well, most people would find it difficult to look tough when they've had enough sedatives pumped into them to kill a bull elephant," replied his second-in-command, transfixed on the man in the cell. There was a palpable sense of excitement in the makeshift holding facility the UWG had set up in the midst of the V.I.O.L.E.N.C.E. attack, and almost every soldier present was eager to get a look at one of Paris' most wanted criminals, the vigilante who had caused them so much trouble and pain in the past.   "Let's hope he wakes up soon," said the captain, a wicked grin crossing his face, "Bastard gave me a scar on my chest two years ago, I've been waiting for the opportunity to give him one of his own."   "You might get your chance sooner rather than later," replied the second-in-command, gesturing towards the monitor, "I think he's waking up."   The captain looked back at the monitor and saw the half-demon stirring, groggy and in obvious discomfort as he hung from a set of chains attached to the ceiling. The soldier smiled, and moved to the door of the cell, ready to get his long-festering revenge.   ---   Slade wrenched his eyes open as the door of his cell squeaked open, and he took a moment to take in his surroundings. The room was dark, dingy and poorly-fortified, leading him to assume it was a temporary holding facility set up by the UWG in the wake of the bombings. He was hanging from a pair of long, heavy chains that were securely bolted into the concrete ceiling, and there was a sticky patch underfoot which he could only assume was a drying pool of his own blood.   He immediately registered several different options for escaping his situation, but he knew that the sedative coursing through his bloodstream would render him slow enough that none of them would work. Besides, he had no idea what was waiting for him on the other side of the door, and even if he could work it out the chances were that he wouldn't be able to stop them in his current state. So he opted to stay put and try and figure out as much as he could from the man now walking into the room.   He was a UWG soldier, that much was obvious from his uniform, but he walked with a cocky swagger that Slade recognised as belonging to someone of a higher rank. He was grinning as he entered the room, telling Slade that he was there for reasons that were more personal than professional, and he wagered that his personal reasons were unlikely to be positive.   "The Shroud," the soldier said, his grin widening, "You've caused us all a lot of problems, you know that? You've killed more members of the UWG than most demonspawn out there, and you've always been able to give us the slip. Probably because you don't associate yourself with those morons in V.I.O.L.E.N.C.E. like most others do. They just don't seem to get that they're far easier to track in large numbers."   "Cut the bullshit," replied Slade groggily, "I'm assuming you're here to do something violent to me, so I'd appreciate it if you just got on with it."   "You're damn f*cking right I'm here to do something violent to you," snarled the soldier, positioning himself uncomfortably close to Slade's face, "You shot me with an arrow while I was out on patrol two years ago. The whole time I was lying in my hospital bed recovering from it, the only thing that got me through was thinking about what I would do to you if I ever caught you."   "You should probably seek help for that," mumbled Slade, "Makes you seem a bit...obsessive."   His snarky comment earned him a swift, hard punch to the kidney, which made him flinch but little else.   "I'm going to make you suffer," said the soldier, backing away from Slade, "And then I'm going to turn you over to General Vela, and he won't be as friendly as I am. He will break you, and then he will crucify you in Trafalgar Square as a warning to all the other demonspawn out there. You will become a symbol of the regime you despise so much, a message that your kind will never win."   There was a pause as Slade took in everything the soldier had said, then slowly lifted his head to look the man in the eyes.   "Can you at least get on with it? Torture would be a gift compared to your monologuing."   The soldier snarled and stepped towards Slade, raising his hand and then stopping in his tracks.   "What are you waiting for?" groaned Slade, who watched as the man's expression turned from one of vitriolic anger to one of surprise and shock. The soldier looked down at his own chest, and saw a black-gloved hand emerging from his solar plexus, turning the clothes and flesh around it black, a blackness which spread gradually across his body until he was engulfed. A moment later the figure of the guard shattered into dust, crumbling to the ground and dissipating on the wind.   In his place was a man in a suit so black it felt as though it was absorbing the ambient light from the room, and yet his skin was so pale it seemed to glow. He turned his cold, black eyes to Slade, and brushed his gloved hand against the shackles which held him in place. They, like the soldier, crumbled into so much crystalline ash, and Slade was released from his bonds.   "Let me guess," he said, straightening up and looking at the stranger face-to-face, "My father sent you."   "Correct," replied the man, "But introductions must wait. I have been tasked with taking you home."   Without another word, the man grabbed Slade by both shoulders, and he felt himself being yanked off his feet by an unknown force.

Paris   Slade flung chunks of concrete and metal bigger than himself aside, his muscles burning and the markings on his body blazing as he hauled people out of the smoky, dusty wreckage of so many buildings in the centre of the city. He could see that their fear over being trapped, buried alive was quickly replaced by fear of the strange figure wreathed in crimson fire tearing his way through the rubble, but he had no time to reassure them. Instead he chose to continue his work wordlessly, ignoring the pain tearing through his entire body as he rescued as many survivors of the attack as he could.   But a single thought remained in his head, clear as day, through the hard work and the pain and suffering.   Xavier.   The man who had perpetrated this horrific act, this show of force that had claimed the lives of so many innocent people. The sinister brains to Malik's brute force approach, differing greatly in his methods but no less dangerous: in fact, Slade had often wondered whether Xavier was more dangerous than Malik, the tendrils of his influence spreading far and wide in the half-demon community.   Right now, his focus had to be on the people trapped in collapsing buildings, the men and women half-crushed under mountains of heavy rubble: but when this was done, he knew that he must turn his attention to Xavier and the men within V.I.O.L.E.N.C.E. who had allowed him to commit this atrocity across the entire globe.   "There he is!" shouted a voice from behind Slade, registering in his mind but as nothing more than a far-off noise, a minor addition to the cacophony that was ensuing around him, "He's a half-demon!"   Slade bent his knees to grab an enormous slab of metal and concrete in an attempt to hurl it off the car it had half-crushed, but his rescue attempt was cut short by a blunt force slamming into the back of his knee. He dropped to the ground, his knees slamming into the concrete as a grunt of pain escaped his mouth; a grunt which swiftly became a gurgle as he felt immense pressure on his windpipe. His eyes flicked around, and he saw that he was surrounded by UWG soldiers, one of whom was pressing his telescopic baton down on Slade's oesophagus with considerable force. The others levelled their weapons at him, and he smelled the sulphuric stench of manufactured Hellfire in their guns.   "You'll pay for what you did to this city, demonspawn," snarled the soldier who was slowly choking Slade, "By the time we're done with you, you'll feel the pain of every person you've killed ten times over."   Slade felt his vision go dark, and he collapsed into unconsciousness even as he felt the soldier's batons slamming into his body over and over again...   ---   Beneath Paris   Layla's fists slammed into the training dummy over and over again, and she felt herself getting lost in her anger and pain. Tears dribbled from her eyes, mingling with the sweat that was now dripping from what felt like every inch of her skin, but she blinked the stinging fluid out of her eyes and continued her assault on the dummy.   Her arms burned with the stress of her frustration-venting session, and with a final hammerblow she tore the dummy's head from its body and sent it flying across the room. She stood, panting and staring at the now-headless dummy, her rage and horror at the events she had just witnessed still coursing through her veins with every beat of her racing heart. She wiped the sweat from her brow and tore the strips of cloth from her hands as she walked over to the bench where Slade worked on his bow and arrows.   I don't know why he uses these things, she thought, picking up one of the arrows and watching as the tip glinted in the sickly neon light, Surely a gun would work better.   Her thoughts were interrupted by an odd noise from a few feet away, a noise which she had never heard before. It sounded like a cross between an insect's mandibles clicking together and the screech of a bird of prey, but at the same time didn't sound like either. It seemed as though it was coming from every direction, and gradually grew louder and louder until she had to clamp her hands over her ears just so she could hear herself think.   For a moment she considered calling out to see if it was Slade returning from the city, but the rational side of her brain kicked in and told her that there was no way it was him. She closed her eyes and attempted to concentrate on the sound, to identify where it was originating from, but it still felt as though it was coming from everywhere. Shifting her feet slowly, Layla began to pace around the hideout, listening for shifts in the volume of the noise, and she quickly realised that it was getting louder the closer she got to the Metro tunnel's entrance.   Her feet landed squarely as she dropped off the platform and made her way slowly over to the dark tunnel. She squinted her eyes in a vague attempt to make out the source of the noise in the darkness, but it was no use, so she returned her concentration to the noise. It was loud now, almost deafeningly so, and she knew she had found the location of the sound's source, so she moved gingerly closer to it.   In an instant, the tunnel mouth exploded into a flurry of noise and movement as a dozen spindly creatures crawled out, along the walls and ceiling as well as the floor. Their limbs were stick-thin, their skin brown and leathery, and their eyeless heads tapered to a strange beak-like protrusion through which they made the horrendous noise that was filling the hideout.   Layla leapt back onto the platform, yanking the curved knife she had stolen from Slade's wall earlier from the back of her trousers, and rushing over to the wall to grab another, this one a straight blade which was more of a short sword than a knife. The creatures rushed towards her, swinging the razor-sharp claws on the ends of their spindly arms at her, and thrusting their beaks towards her as well. She dodged their attacks with surprising fluidity, feeling the weapons as extensions of her own limbs, and feeling the metal slice through the creatures' leathery skin.   She cried out as one of the creatures scored a hit, slicing a long, thin gash across her exposed shoulder, and she returned the blow, burying the curved blade up to its hilt in the creature's neck. A torrent of foul-smelling black ichor gushed from the wound as she withdrew the weapon, but she had no time to clean it off, or to retch in disgust as another of the creatures leapt at her.   They continued this dance across the floor of the hideout, in a maelstrom of claws, beaks and razor-sharp metal, the creatures occasionally landing a blow on the girl, only to be cut down where they stood. She fought as hard as she could, slicing the creatures limb from limb and slicking the floor with black ichor, and it took no more than a few minutes for her victory to be complete. The creatures lay wounded or dismembered entirely on the floor of the Metro station, and she stood above them, weapons in hand, smeared with the blood of the creatures and her own. She knelt down by the nearest living creature, and held the knife to its neck.   "Why are you here? What do you want from me?" she asked, breathless.   "There...there are many who have taken an interest in your fate, Layla Monroe..." rasped the creature, "None more so than our Lord..."   "Stop speaking in f*cking riddles!" she snarled, pressing the edge of the knife-blade into the skin of the creature's neck, "Tell me who sent you, and what they want with me!"   "Our Lord would be most displeased if we were to tell Layla Monroe why we were sent here," the creature screeched, before pushing its head forward and forcing the knife through its own neck, killing itself in a spray of dark gore.   "Dammit," snarled Layla, wiping the ichor from her face and standing up. No more than a second after she had made it to her feet, however, a searing pain shot through her shoulder-blade, and she collapsed to the floor, twitching. With a few jerking movements, she rolled onto her side and saw a long, thin cable running from her back to a weapon clasped in the hand of a heavily-scarred man who now stood over her, smirking.   "You're a difficult woman to track down, Ms Monroe," said the man, popping the cartridge out of his taser and reaching into the pocket of his combat fatigues for another, "In fact, if these Husks hadn't alerted me to the presence of something important, I doubt I'd ever have found you. You see, Husks are the personal servants of the Nephelim: formed from the flesh and bone of so many long-deceased animals, and given just enough of a mind and soul to follow orders."   He popped the new cartridge into his weapon as he knelt down by Layla, who began to feel in control of her limbs once more.   "Basically, Husks don't show up in the world unless they're doing something for one of the Nephelim. And if the Nephelim want something on Earth, that usually tells me that it's something important. So I followed them here, and who do I run into but the half-Jinn girl with the power to alter reality. It's almost as if fate wanted me to find you here today."   He laughed and ran his fingers across Layla's face, before getting up and looking at his surroundings.   "And in league with the Shroud, no less!" he exclaimed after a moment's observation, "Two birds with one stone."   Layla struggled as he spoke, writhing on the floor trying to return feeling to her arms and legs. She made it to a seated position, and gradually shifted until her legs were under her, hauling herself slowly to her feet as the soldier peered at the variety of weapons strewn across the room. She raised herself up until she had both feet flat on the floor, as stable as she could manage, behind the man who she now assumed was an Exorcist.   "I wouldn't try anything if I was you, Ms Monroe," he said casually, turning around and bringing the taser up to her neck. She snarled, and slammed her hands onto either side of his head, gripping it as tightly as she possibly could.   "Don't move," she rasped, "One twitch and I can erase you from existence. Nobody will ever remember you. That's what you get when you try and take down a half-Jinn girl with a power to alter reality."   She kept her gaze locked on him, forcing her muscles to stop twitching in an attempt to fool him into believing her bluff. He returned her gaze, looking deep into her eyes and smiling.   "You shouldn't try so hard," he smirked, "Your efforts give you away." He raised his weapon, squeezing the trigger and watching as electricity surged through it. She snarled in return, and felt all the rage, fear and frustration of the last few days rush through her, pulsing through her veins and burning through her arms.   "I...have had...ENOUGH!" she howled, and every inch of her skin ignited with deep scarlet flames, wreathing her arms and blazing from her eyes and mouth. Her hands, though, burned hotter than the rest of her put together, and the Exorcist let out a deafening, animalistic scream as the Purefire burned through his skin, his muscle and his bone as it they were no more than candlewax. Within seconds, his entire body had been incinerated by the unearthly flames, and what was left of him crumbled into ash in front of Layla, who let out an ethereal cry as the Purefire dissipated into the atmosphere, leaving behind nothing but scraps of charred skin and fabric, and a lingering sulphuric stench.   "I had no idea I could do that," gasped Layla in disbelief, before everything went black and she slumped to the floor.

Inferno   A lone figure looked over the chaos raging in the gateway between Inferno and the mortal realm, her ragged cloak rippling in the hot, burning air. She sighed as she saw horde after horde of demon footsoldiers hurled themselves at the gigantic metal figure ploughing their way into the demons' world, pure white energy beaming from their every extremity.   She watched as Orcs, Vampires, Succubi and Wraiths went to their deaths, torn to shreds by the Storm Guards, crushed under their colossal feet and vaporized by the gouts of white energy blasting from their hands and chests. Fury flashed in her eyes for just a moment before she quelled her true feelings and went back to observing events with cold detachment.   "The day has finally come," said Belial as he strode out onto the balcony to stand beside the figure, "The humans have declared war on Inferno."   "They know not what they have done, my Lord Belial," said the woman, her gaze never wavering from the intruders on their realm, "Our world holds secrets they could never conceive of, and they threaten to unleash them upon their own realm. They are blind, arrogant fools."   "Fools, yes," replied Belial, "But well-equipped fools. Their Storm Guards hold power beyond anything we believed them capable of: they have turned our greatest asset into a weakness."   "You sensed the Purefire in their cores," replied the woman with a nod, "They are dangerous indeed, but we must not concern ourselves with these matters. If we forget our true duty then devastation is the only thing that will follow."   Belial turned to look at the woman with a look of incredulity on his face, his eyes blazing with scarlet flames.   "They invade our realm and you propose we do nothing?"   "You have twisted my words, Hateful One," said the woman calmly, turning to meet his gaze, her eyes gently flickering with purple fire, "Of course we should defend our walls if the metal beasts choose us as a target."   "Then you agree, we should fight the mortals?"   "No," replied the woman coldly, "We should not. Our true purpose in this realm is of far greater importance than the petty squabbles of men and demons. We represent the only thing which keeps utter devastation from causing every single realm to crumble."   "Your obsessive need to conform to these ancient rules will result in our destruction," growled Belial, "We have the power to stop the mortals, and you would stop us from using it?"   "Yes. The power we have been gifted is considerable, but it was given to us for a reason. To use our power in a show of strength against but one of our many opponents would be a perversion of our duties..."   "Duties!" interrupted Belial, "Have we not been beholden to our duties for long enough? Is it not time for us to alter the meaning of our own existence? To fight the oncoming hordes and let our duties be damned?"   "Silence, Belial!" shouted the woman, her eyes flashing with rage, "I have heard enough! Our duty cannot be neglected or forgotten, and I will not have you question me further on this matter! Do you understand me?"   Belial stepped closer to the woman, her smaller stature doing nothing to diminish her obvious power. He looked into her eyes, scarlet meeting purple, and growled under his breath.   "I understand," he snarled, "But if the time comes I will not stand idly by and watch the Nephelim fall to the humans or any other threat. I assume we understand each other?"   "We do," she replied, the flames in her eyes settling just a little, "Now return to your duties, Belial. I will not hear another word on this."   "Very well," said Belial, stepping back and bowing his head, "My Lady Lucifer."   He turned on his heel and strode away from his leader, the rage still burning in his chest and visible in his eyes.   ---   Beneath Paris   Slade and Layla watched in silence as the small television set showed flickering images of metal giants entering the Underworld, Hellfire meeting steel as humanity waged war against the demons.   "I...I can't believe they've finally done it," murmured Layla, "The wormhole has been there for years, I never thought they'd try and go through it."   "General Vela believes he is doing what is best for humanity," replied Slade, still healing from the wounds inflicted on him by the cadre of Iron Guards, "But he has no idea what he's bringing down on the world."   "What do you mean?"   "There are things which dwell in Inferno that are so much worse than anything humanity has encountered. The Storm Guard may be powerful, but I don't believe even they have what it takes to conquer the Underworld."   "What kinds of things?" asked Layla, her voice emanating genuine curiosity, turning to look at Slade.   "Honestly, Layla," replied Slade, "You don't want to know. These things would haunt your nightmares for the rest of your life, you're better off not knowing."   "I've seen my share of bad stuff, Slade," said Layla indignantly, "You don't get to decide what I need to know."   "In this case, yes I do," he said, "I know you've been through a lot, but..." He was interrupted by an odd vibrating noise from the other side of the hideout, and hauled himself off the mattress with considerable effort.   "Slade, stop," said Layla, getting to her feet, "You'll get internal bleeding if you move around too much."   "I know my limits," growled Slade, walking slowly over to where Layla had placed his jacket and pulled his V.I.O.L.E.N.C.E. amulet from the inside pocket. It was flashing blue and vibrating, and Slade felt his heart skip a beat as he watched it glow.   "What is it?" asked Layla, peering over Slade's shoulder, "That's a funky piece of jewellery, Slade, I didn't think you were the type."   "It's an amulet, given to me by a very dangerous man," replied Slade, his blood running cold, "And he's calling me."   "So...just ignore him? It's not that difficult," said Layla.   "You don't understand," said Slade, dropping the amulet and pulling his jacket back on, "If he's calling me, it means he's got something planned. And I think I might know what that is." He grabbed his bow, swinging it onto his back along with a full quiver of arrows, slipped his sword into his belt and rushed towards a ladder opposite the one he had left by earlier.   "Slade, where are you going?" yelled Layla, "If you go out there you'll kill yourself!"   She watched as Slade ignored her and swung himself onto the ladder, clambering up it much quicker than a man in his injured state should have been able to. Layla rolled her eyes and ran over to the ladder, clambering up it behind Slade.   The ladder was far longer than she had expected, going past where she believed ground level was and extending up through what looked like an abandoned office block. She looked up and saw Slade jump off the ladder at the top, and increased her speed until she was able to hop off at the top and join him staring out over the city.   "What is it, Slade? What has this dude got..." her words were cut short as explosions blossomed on the sides of buildings across the cityscape, blasting dozens of large industrial buildings into rubble. Fire and noise swamped the horizon, screaming and crashing filling the air.   Layla clapped a hand over her mouth and watched in sheer horror as half the city was levelled. She could only imagine the death and destruction this attack would have caused, and her eyes filled with tears as she looked out over the cityscape.   "I never thought he would do it," gasped Slade, looking out over the city, "I knew he was ruthless, but I never believed he would do this."   "What's happening, Slade?" asked Layla shakily, "Who did this?"   "This is...Ragnarok," murmured Slade in disbelief, "A single, co-ordinated attack on every UWG facility in the world. They've crippled the government in a single blow."   "What do we do?" asked Layla, fighting back her tears.   "You have to stay here," said Slade, gesturing towards the ladder, "Stay underground, and stay safe. I have to go out there and help...everyone."   "You'll die if you go out there!"   "And other people will die if I don't go!" barked Slade, "Just go back down, and keep yourself safe!"   "I want to help! Let me come out with you, I can help people too!"   "No!" shouted Slade, "It's too dangerous, just go back down and let me do this! I won't tell you again!" On the last word, his eyes flashed with red fire, and Layla took a step back, seeing the hooded man from her nightmare.   "Fine," she said shakily, and clambered back down onto the ladder, trying to hide her fear from Slade.   He took a deep breath as he watched the clearly-terrified girl climb down into the bowels of the earth, regretting letting his anger lash out like that. He turned back to the city, pulling hood up, and leapt from the window of the building into the warzone that was once Paris.

Name: Layla Monroe Age: 82 (appears to be in her late teens-early twenties) Gender: Female Appearance: Layla stands at approximately 5'6", with an athletic build that hasn't quite lost the awkwardness of youth: nonetheless, it is clear to anyone who looks at her that once she has fully grown into her body, she will cut a graceful figure. Her skin is extremely pale, and tends to glow pale blue during times of emotional stress, just one of the side effects of her demonic heritage.   She keeps her bright red hair cropped so it hangs just above her shoulders, wearing it in a ponytail whenever she is outside, and her eyes are a shockingly bright green, although her pupils are slightly ragged around the edges. She doesn't wear make-up or jewellery, believing it to be a waste of time, and anyone looking at her would agree that she doesn't really need any.   When it comes to clothes, Layla prefers practicality over style: her usual attire is a combination of tight-fitting combat trousers tucked into thigh-high leather boots, a tank top and a jacket of some kind, often with a ragged scarf around her neck.   Personality: Layla has always been something of a tomboy, willing and able to fight  when it is necessary: however, she is still young by demonspawn standards, and possesses many of the fears of a young person born into a war they had no part in starting. She has been toughened up slightly by the confrontations she endured in the early years of her life, but she was always surrounded by family, friends and guardians who protected her, and when she was thrust into the world alone, she was confronted with the reality that the world she lives in is a terrifying place.   When she knows or feels that she is safe, however, Layla is a confident, headstrong young woman who is not afraid to speak her mind, even if it is likely to insult the person she is speaking with. She has a dry sense of humour and trusts people surprisingly easily considering her surroundings.   Species: Half-Jinn Species Description: The Jinn are the mythical 'genies' of fairytales and children's stories, although in reality they are far more manipulative than these fables suggest: whereas the fiction leads one to believe they offer wishes to mortals through sheer benevolence, the truth is that they lure unsuspecting and innocent humans into sinister deals, trading precious moments and memories for their heart's desire. Jinn grow more powerful the more of these mortal memories they possess, as they are able to twist and warp these memories into grotesque weaponry with immense destructive capabilities.   Most often, Jinn have very slight physical forms: they mostly exist as thick, choking clouds of vapour which are able to create brief recognisable shapes before dissipating back into their gaseous forms. Due to the nebulous nature of their form, Jinn gather in groups known as 'Families', clouds of collective consciousness which can mean that a single cloud may consist of up to fifty individual Jinn.   When necessary, however, Jinn are able to briefly possess physical entities, meaning they are largely untrusted by other denizens of Inferno, and are incredibly dangerous and difficult to defeat if they are ever allowed to reach Earth.   Abilities: Along with the increased physical prowess that comes with being half-demon, Layla has latent acrobatic skill, allowing her to pull off incredible physical feats with relatively little effort. She has some combat training, but mostly defensive rather than offensive skills, although she has found herself to be a reasonably decent shot with both pistols and rifles.   Her demonic abilities, however, are far more difficult to define, as even she isn't fully aware of her own capabilities. Ever since she was young, there have been moments in her life, usually in the midst of great danger, where something she has wished has, inexplicably, become so. The earliest example of this was when she was a young child and a man, recognising her as a half-demon, attacked her with the intention of killing her: she simply wished for him to stop and he fell down, completely immobilised.   She was completely unable to control when and where this ability manifested itself for a long time, to the point that she began to believe she was simply the luckiest little girl in the world. However, after several instances of her ability allowing her to do borderline-impossible things as she was growing up, she realised it was an ability which needed to be controlled, and she began seeking out someone to help her do just that.   Layla also suffers from terrible, violent dreams, which her precognitive half-Moirai foster-mother believed are prophetic, but whether there is any truth in this assertion remains to be seen.   Supplies: Layla generally carries a medium-sized backpack on her travels, full of food and water, fluorescent light-strips and ammunition for the rifle she usually has strapped to her back. She also carries a knife in her boot and another strapped to her leg, but to this date she has never had to use them. Having never come into contact with V.I.O.L.E.N.C.E. (possibly due to her ability allowing her to avoid them), she does not own an amulet and is therefore unable to teleport to the Nidhogg.   Background: Layla's real parents died mere days after her birth, as they stood between her and a group of Slayers who wanted her dead. However, she was saved and delivered to a small commune in Brazil, one which was populated by humans and demonspawn alike, and wanted no part in the quarrels of the world. She lived here happily for much of her childhood, remaining somewhat sheltered against the harshness of reality by a loving group of friends and family.   However, when the commune was discovered by anti-demon forces, it was levelled: every demonspawn residing there was slaughtered, every human was arrested and found guilty of treason against the United World Government. But Layla survived: her ability had trapped her deep underground, safe against the fire and steel of the Iron Guards who attacked the commune, and she remained there for days before finally tunnelling out and starting to run.   She travelled across South America in an attempt to find someone who could help her control her demonic abilities, but everyone she found either lied to her or wound up dead. She even ventured into North America, but seeing the oil fields of Texas burning in eternal Rotfire warned her off that particular path, and she headed to Europe instead.   Avoiding Great Britain, she found herself in Paris, and did not fare so well: she lost her supplies and was hounded mercilessly by a group of Slayers hell-bent on murdering her. She was rescued, however, by a man named Slade Bennett, a man who could be either her saviour or a harbinger of her doom.

Beneath Paris   Either this guy is the ultimate badass, thought Layla as she ran her fingers across the damp walls of the Metro Station, Or else I've shacked up with a half-demon psychopath.   She looked across the rows of blades glinting on the walls of Slade's hideout, each one sharp and highly polished in complete contrast to the rest of the cavernous space. She paced around the chamber, past the workstation covered in thin, tough arrows with wickedly-sharp heads of different shapes and sizes, her gaze wandering across the faded maps attached to the walls, covered in pins and strings and small, neat writing.   She turned to drift past the training dummies set up in the middle of the floor, each one pockmarked with holes caused by arrowheads and knives, with some of those objects still lodged in the heads and chests of the dummies. She dragged her fingers across these pockmarks, enjoying the contrasting smooth and jagged textures of the dummies, and finding a kind of childlike intrigue creeping into her mind.   The brave knight who saved the helpless young girl from the bandits, she thought, and a faint smile drifted across her face, before it crumpled into a frown.   Yeah, right, she corrected herself, slamming the base of her palm into the head of the nearest training dummy, throwing the whole object a few feet backwards in a cacophony of noise and echoes, Helpless young girl my ass.   Her eye was caught by an odd, roughly-drawn symbol on the wall of the Metro Station, made up of concentric circles and interlocking triangles, surrounded by strange glyphs belonging to a language Layla did not recognise. She looked closer, slowly running her fingers along the lines and attempting to unlock some meaning in the symbol.   But her musings were interrupted by a loud, metallic grinding noise coming from several feet above her. She looked up, and a small circle of light appeared in the dark ceiling, a circle which was quickly filled by a human-shaped silhouette. Layla's heart skipped, and she grabbed the nearest blade from the wall closest to her, a short curved knife, holding it behind her back as the figure descended down the ladder.   A few feet before he reached the ground, Layla recognised the figure as Slade, grunting and groaning as he lowered himself down the ladder into the hideout.   "Slade!" she called, "Are you alright?"   He dropped to the floor hard, his legs crumpling underneath him as he landed, his body slumping to the ground.   "Slade!" she shouted, running over to him as he gradually lowered his hood, "What happened?"   He looked up at her, and she gasped as she saw his face: it was heavily bruised, with a deep cut across the bridge of his nose and another above his left eyebrow, and an odd area of blackened skin around his eyes, almost as if it had been burned or charred. Upon closer examination, his right thigh was also injured and bleeding heavily, and he was breathing deeply and unevenly.   "You look like shit!" she gasped as he hauled himself to his feet.   "Thanks for that," he groaned in response, limping slowly over to his workstation.   "You need to lie down, Slade," she said witheringly, catching up to him easily and placing herself under his arm, directing him over to the mattress she had woken up on a few hours earlier. He reluctantly followed the direction, leaning on her a little and limping over to the mattress, which he lowered himself down onto gradually.   "What the hell happened out there?" Layla asked, grabbing the open medical kit beside the mattress and rummaging around in it for something to sterilise his injuries with.   "You don't want to know..."   ---   Outside Paris   Sparks exploded outwards at the point where Slade's sword blocked the swinging metal fist of the Iron Guard. He ignored the pain shooting through his ribs and the steady trickle of blood running down his face as he held off the Guard's attack.   With a monumental effort, he pushed the Guard away, swinging his blade through the soldier's knee-joint and almost completely severing his lower leg. The Guard toppled and hit the ground hard with a screeching crash, but Slade had no time to celebrate his minor victory as a second Iron Guard charged him from behind, throwing him to the ground.   He landed hard, but managed to twist it into an awkward roll back to his feet as the Guard fired a concussive grenade at the ground he had occupied a split-second earlier. It detonated immediately, blasting Slade off his feet and back into the wall of the building behind him.   A white-hot burst of pain rushed through his right thigh, and as he glanced down through blurred vision he saw that a few scattered pieces of shrapnel had lodged themselves into his leg, which was now oozing blood.   "Oh, I'm really going to regret this," he groaned, hauling himself to his feet and trying to block out the shooting pain rushing through what felt like every inch of his body. He stared at the Iron Guard, which was helping his comrade to his feet, and felt a prickling heat rushing through his body: his eyes started blazing with scarlet flames, as did the markings over his chest and arms. The pain from his injuries faded into the background, replaced by a tingling, buzzing sensation caused by the Purefire currently rushing through his body.   With a deep breath, he charged at the two remaining Guards with inhuman speed, a chilling howl escaping from his lips as he moved. Within seconds, he reached the first Guard and slammed his fist into the soldier's chest, forcing him backwards.   The spot where Slade's fist had connected glowed red-hot, and after a second began melting away the metal shell of the soldier's exoskeleton.   But Slade had no time to admire his handiwork, as he spun around to block the gun-arm of the second Iron Guard. With a twist, he grabbed the arm and pulled it off in a shower of sparks and metal debris, spinning on his heel and slamming it into the Guard's body, sending him crashing to the ground.   With a single fluid movement, Slade grabbed the recurve bow from his back, nocked an arrow and loosed it into the head of the downed Iron Guard. The Purefire-infused arrow burned through the soldier's head, and both the Iron Guard and the man inside the exoskeleton died with a blood-curdling screech.   A faint smile crept across Slade's face, one which quickly turned into a grimace as he dropped to his knees, a flicker of scarlet fire bursting out of his mouth as his eyes and markings faded, and the pain from his injuries came rushing back worse than before.   "I knew I'd regret that," he gasped, struggling back to his feet and starting the arduous journey back to his hideout.   ---   Inferno   A tiny, glowing sphere of scarlet light rushed down the vein-like tubes that lined the walls of the cavernous building. It moved at blinding speed through rooms that looked as though they had been carved from solid rock, chambers that appeared to have walls made out of flickering green flames, and corridors that seemed to be made of solid, shiny obsidian.   It rushed past countless creatures of different shapes, sizes and appearances, from humanoid creatures with horns and hooves, to floating, nebulous creatures made from dust or vapour.   Finally, it reached its destination, falling from the opening of the tube into a large, perectly circular pool, like that which lies at the base of a fountain, and was absorbed into the mass of pulsing, constantly shifting matter which filled the pool. A stocky, muscular man wearing armour which appeared to be formed of ever-shifting scarlet fire watched as the sphere dropped, his eyes glinting the same scarlet as his armour within his glowing helmet.   There was a loud noise as the doors of the cavernous chamber swung open, one which resonated for far longer than it would in a mortal structure, and a tall, slender figure entered, his own armour of a similar design, but made of a more solid jade-like green material.   "My Lord Belial," said the slender figure, nodding as he entered the room.   "My Lord Leviathan," replied the stockier man, nodding his own head in response.   "Do my eyes deceive me," Leviathan asked, strolling across the chamber to a large structure a mortal may recognise as a desk, "Or was that another fragment of the boy's soul coming through?"   "Your eyes have never deceived you when it comes to the souls of our children, Leviathan," replied Belial, following Leviathan over to the desk, "You know that as well as I."   "Your child is becoming more reckless," scoffed Leviathan,  scouring what appeared to be banks and banks of television monitors lining the wall of Belial's chamber, "If he's not careful he'll find himself in the company of his father all too soon."   The screens glared, each one showing Slade Bennett destroying a contingent of Iron Guards on the outskirts of Paris, unleashing the demonic abilities that would gradually bring his soul back to his father.   "I believe he has more hatred to spread before that time comes," Belial replied, moving over to stand next to Leviathan in front of the monitors, "Besides, I can't allow him to join us yet. Not without the girl, anyway."   "Ah yes," said Leviathan with what seemed to be a smile beneath his helmet, "The prophesied girl. Seems like an odd coincidence that she ended up in the custody of your son."   "Coincidence has nothing to do with it. The two of them have been connected for some time, they just needed to finally encounter one another." Leviathan took a sideways glance at Belial, and chuckled.   "Never thought subtlety was your forte, Belial," he said, "But I must say: I'm impressed."   "I care little whether you are impressed, Leviathan," growled Belial, moving past his fellow Nephelim, "Our time grows short, and the humans are growing more and more bold by the day. It will not be long before they venture into Inferno and attempt to destroy us on our home turf. I am merely collecting my greatest assets, and I suggest you do the same."   He moved to sit down, apparently onto nothing, but multiple tendrils of red flame snaked out of the ground beneath him, forming a large, horned throne which he took a seat on. Leviathan nodded and strode across the floor of the chamber, stopping at the still-open door to turn back to Belial.   "Belial, I want you to remember: as much as you want to believe the opposite, Slade did not inherit his father's quick temper. He will take his time with the girl, he will be methodical and he will be patient. If you place all your faith in him, you may lose."   "Goodbye, Leviathan," Belial grunted, and Leviathan left, closing the door behind him.   Belial drummed the fingers of his gauntlet on the desk, the sound reverberating like a rhythmic war drum. After a few moments, he flicked his hand out, and watched as a gout of red fire blasted from it, gradually coalescing into a spindly, vaguely humanoid figure.   "What does the Hateful One desire of the Husks?" the figure hissed through a pointed, beak-like snout.   "I have an important assignment for you," Belial growled, "One that involves my son."

Outside Paris   Slade's arm trembled ever so slightly as he held the bowstring back, the muscles quivering a little with the strain of holding his shot. The only sound in his head was his own deep breathing, and he focused his eye on the metal-clad soldiers on the streets below.   His vantage point was one he had found several months ago while tracking a group of half-demons who had been slaughtering any innocent humans who wandered outside the city. He was crouched in the floor-to-ceiling window of an abandoned high-rise built long before Frederick Castle had clawed his way out of the Inferno, his bow trained on the leader of the Iron Guard contingent as they patrolled the outskirts of the city.   With a long, slow exhale, he felt a tingling heat rush down his fingers and into the arrow, then released the bowstring and watched as the arrow sailed through the air towards the Iron Guard leader. The arrowhead struck the shoulder-joint of the robotic armour, the Iron Guard paying as much attention to it as a man would pay attention to a mosquito bite.   A moment later, however, the arrow melted into boiling, molten slag, cutting through the metal armour like hot water through ice. The Iron Guards exploded into motion, the two flanking the leader recoiling as the leader fell to the ground, ejecting himself from the rapidly-melting armour. The soldiers began looking around, searching for their attacker, aiming their weapons into the abandoned buildings to all sides.   Slade shuddered as he watched the soldiers panic, blowing a small plume of smoke from between his teeth.   "Shouldn't have done that," he groaned, readying a second arrow; this one had a long cord attached to the end of it. He quickly released it, sending the shaft spinning into the wall opposite the high-rise; the cord went taut and Slade leapt onto it, sliding down the cord towards the Iron Guards.   He leapt off the cord into a lazy backflip, and felt an odd burning sensation rushing through his body as he fell towards the soldiers.   "No, not now!" he howled as a torrent of sulphuric flames engulfed him and spat him back out onto a hard metal floor. He leapt to his feet, his eyes burning with scarlet flames, and looked around to see where he had been transported to.   "Greetings, Mr Bennett," said a crisp voice from somewhere in the darkened room, "I hope we didn't catch you at an inappropriate moment."   "Any moment V.I.O.L.E.N.C.E. catches me is an inappropriate one, Xavier," snarled Slade, "Anyway, I thought our coming here was supposed to be voluntary. Otherwise what are the amulets for?"   "Well, I admit that my methods of getting you here were slightly against Malik's protocols, but they were effective nonetheless. Half-demons have all sorts of abilities, you should know that," said the well-dressed man as he stepped out of the shadows, "Naturally we have a few trackers and a couple of teleporters who can help us find those...less willing members of our little organisation."   "What am I here for, Xavier?" asked Slade, "And no bullshit."   "Straight to the point," Xavier replied, "That's what I've always liked about you, Slade. So, to business: we want you on board."   "Pass. Can I go now?"   "Not so fast," said Xavier, "You won't know this considering that you spend so little time on board the Nidhogg, but you're something of a legend amongst the younger half-demons on board. Not only are you the child of one of the Seven Nephelim..."   "Don't remind me," interrupted Slade.   "...but you've also taken it upon yourself to protect the innocent," said Xavier with a withering look, "That kind of thing resonates with the people on board. It's a positive image, and one we wish to utilise."   "I have no interest in being your poster-boy, Xavier," said Slade, approaching the well-dressed man, "I do what I do to help people, not for popularity."   "You would still be able to help people, of course. But we only ask that you take some of our newer recruits under your wing, teach them the kind of thing you do. It wouldn't change anything."   "It would change everything, Xavier," spat Slade, "You'd be surrounding me with innocents. It's too dangerous, for them and for me."   "We don't blame you for what happened, Slade. It wasn't your fault."   "Of course it was my fault. And it will never happen again!" he roared. Xavier looked Slade up and down, and Slade took a step back and did the same. His tattoos were glowing gently, and he knew without looking that his eyes were doing the same, and he turned away from Xavier, breathing deeply to calm himself down.   "See what I mean?" he said quietly, "Even just being here is bringing it on. I'm a timebomb, and being around you people...I just can't..."   "Fine," said Xavier, "I understand. But there is another matter I wanted to discuss with you while you're here."   "Which is...?"   "We understand you have recently come into contact with a young half-Jinn girl," said Xavier, turning to look out of the window of the train car, "We would like you to turn her over to us."   "Why?"   "We just believe she would be better off under our protection," replied Xavier, turning back to face Slade, "Surely you don't disagree? You were just saying how dangerous you believe yourself to be."   "But you're never interested in someone unless they're useful to your cause."   "We're dedicated to saving all the half-demons we can..."   "I'm not talking about V.I.O.L.E.N.C.E., Xavier. I'm talking about you personally. You couldn't give a shit about protecting or saving half-demons, not unless you believe they could turn the tide in the war. So why is she important?"   "We believe...I believe that she has valuable information about the Storm Guard armour that Vela has unveiled."   "I said no bullshit," replied Slade, "There's no way she has military intelligence like that. She's just a scared kid, so what's the real reason?"   "That's classified."   "Fine. Then she stays with me. Can I go now?"   "You're free to leave any time. At least give her this," he handed Slade an amulet, "Leave the choice in her hands. It's only fair."   "Goodbye, Xavier," said Slade, snatching the amulet out of Xavier's hand and feeling the familiar rush of sulphur and heat as he was transported back to where he had been previously.   "Damn half-breed," spat the Iron Guard who stood over Slade as he reappeared outside Paris. The soldier aimed his grenade launcher at Slade, who smelt the gunpowder and felt the heat inches away from his face.   "Son of a bitch," growled Slade as the weapon fired.