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From Beneath You It Devours: And Now For Something Completely Different

Brown Dynamite

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Bayview Heights 
Bayview, Freedom City New Jersey

Wednesday, February 1st, 2017

5:30 PM


So an Avian royal, a psilent human weapon, an elementally empowered university student, and an undead magician walk into a bar.  No it's not a set up.  This odd collection of heroes were investigating a biker gang that had been rumored to have a supply of zombie powder they wished to get back on the streets.  Even managing to successfully track down the biker's favorite dive bar, nestled away in the affluent part of Southern Freedom, Aka Bayview.


The plan was for Errant to keep them mentally cloaked while they scoped out the inside.  That was until he turned his head to the television and heard the Atlantean declaration of war.  All of a sudden his attention faltered for the slightest of moments and they became visible in the middle of the bar.  Completely surrounded by bikers.

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If there was one thing that Jann had been told all the time during his training, from all sorts of people, it was to never question how you found yourself in a certain situation. It wasn’t worth the effort, and it usually made things more confusing. Yet, even then, as the four heroes suddenly were revealed, he was tempted to.



But no, there were more important things to attend to. Namely, the fact that four heroes, all in various sorts of costumes, had just been revealed to be inside this establishment. Sure, he himself wasn’t technically costumed. But compared to humans, he stood out.



Immediately, he acted, out of habit. He took a step forward, his hands hanging by his hips, similar to the way gunslingers in western movies stood. Ready to grip his quarterstaffs, currently collapsed, and ready to get going if the situation called for it. Even if this probably wasn’t the most fair of fights.

Edited by olopi
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Errant had been mum the whole time, there to assist on a first semi-official capacity since...  Bird of Arms was a Claremonter, and given Errant had been a chronic outsider there, Agent Nameth thought it was a good idea that he help with some of the kids' patrols, and he couldn't come up with a good idea why he shouldn't.


And then... then things went wrong, his concentration slipped, and might swore, if he was that kind of person to allow that level of outburst.  As he stood there with his featureless mask under his the hood of his outer jacket.  He hadn't known he could mask them all, as his powers were... a bit off now.  And he couldn't trust them once this got going.  Maybe.

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How did things end up as they did? When was it that Jerry took a wrong turn? One moment, he was minding his business in the university library, going through tomes about Mesopotamian deities, when the radio show he was listening in alerted him on a series of heists taking place in Bayview, picking up his interest. Next moment, after a week of investigation proved ultimately fruitless, he witnessed while on patrol a speeding motorcycle making its escape from a police car. After stopping it, he found the stash of Zombie Powder. Inquiring about the motorcycle's owner, he found himself in a certain shipping company's wharehouse, were he met up with three other superheroes, Phantasmo, Bird of Arms, and Errant, all of whom, for their own reasons, were following the trail of the powder.


Learning that the wharehouse was being frequented by a particular biker gang as an occasional hangout, the heroes continued on with the trail, until they arrived at the bar the bikers favoured. And after discussing with each other and arriving on a common plan, did the heroes proceed to infiltrate the bar under cloak. A plan which worked perfectly... until Errant lost his focus, causing everyone to be exposed to the biker element of the bar. If there's anything that I regret the most, that's not having transformed into air from the beginning. thought Meatheral, as he stood goofily in a semi crouching stance, clad in his white and green costume.


"Sooo... ummm... any of you folks fans of Lynyrd Skynyrd?" He tried breaking the ice with the soon to be angry mob.

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Phantasmo...THE UNLIVING!...Was used to situations like this. He put on a bright smile and let his eyes flow more naturally than usual. "GOOD EVENING, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!" he said, putting an arm around Jerry. He whispered to the young man - "Go along with me, lad, and we may survive this, eh?" 




He gave a smart bow to the biggest guy in the joint. 

Edited by MisterShoebox
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"Give them the Saturday Night special, boys."  An older biker in 40s said from a barstool.  Obviously answering Meatheral's question in a threatening manner.  The rest of the men in the room turned to face the quartet of heroes.  The large biker in front of Phantasmo was shaking his head.  Although it wasn't clear if he was shaking his head at the magician's words in mock annoyance.  Or if he was freaking out at the sight of the walking corpse in front of him.


Of course when you deal in Zombie Powder a walking corpse or two wasn't an impossible sight.  The bikers began pulling out knives, chains, and just plain grabbing the nearest sharp implement they could.  Clearly less concerned with how the hero quartet arrived, and more focused on making sure they didn't leave in the same condition they arrived in.

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  • 2 months later...

Jann waited, not moving a muscle, just staring down the room. Once he’d gotten a good look at his opponent’s armaments, he spread out his wings, managing to hopefully draw some attention towards him. And just a second later, the sound of metal hitting bones, as one of Jann’s quarterstaffs connected with one biker’s head.


The Avian had barely moved, just grabbed the staff and flicked it forward, but before people would properly realize what was going on, he’d already closed in, hitting the already injured biker head-on, grabbing the staff on the ground, collapsing both of his weapons to about three feet in length, and parrying an incoming blow. By now, people who were attentive enough could see a smile form on his face, as he dodged a blow by simply dropping to the ground, and counterattacked with a legsweep. He planted one of his staffs, now once more extended to full length, on his opponent’s chest, staring down the rest of the bikers.



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While Jann was making short work of his men, the president of the biker club reached in his jacket and produced a small handgun.  Without warning or waiting he immediately fired upon the Avian.  It was a good shot.  One that didn't even manage to crack through Bird of Arms body armor.


The rest of the bikers looked on with worry.  Their brothers in arms taken out in a flash, and the rest of them were armed with things that ranged in impressiveness from pool cue to small knife.  It wasn't exactly a motivating sight to behold.


"Boys, stop wetting your pants.  This pigeon man is clearly the toughest one.  Just smack the other ones around.  They're just kids!"  Their leader assured them.

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  • 2 months later...

Errant blinked and shook his head.  Coming back to present.  There was a painful fuzziness around the edges of his consciousness, a headache.  Made worse with what he just saw, and he reached out far more tentatively to the boss to try and just flatten him by firing off his entire frontal lobe.


That was the goal at least.  It didn't mean that would happen, of course.  As his focus shifted, making his powers easy to shed off, it frustrated him.  But then Thaelia...  So he moved to dive behind the bar, in the hope of getting out of the line of fire, not that anyone would be the wiser for what he just tried to do, but realistically he'd prefer to play being the weakling over going toe to toe, besides.. he had a few more aces up his sleeve.


If I can focus.

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  • 3 weeks later...

Speaking of Aces - While Phantasmo had no idea that that's what the young hero was thinking of, the universe has a way of making it's own little puns now and then. The Macabre Master of Magic conjured a pair of over-sized, razor sharp playing cards and threw them at the man with the gun, juuuust barely missing his hand. Right...okay, that...that was a bit of a bollock, but nothing too worrisome if he played this right.


The zombie smiled widely and laughed wildly, spreading his hands theatrically. "EEEEYAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! THE CURTAIN RISES AS THE PERFORMERS TAKE THE STAGE! WHO SHALL BE PHANTASMO...THE UNLIVING'S FIRST VOLUNTEER?" he shouted, using his "Voice of the Legion." 


If anything, this may buy Errant and the others some time to do SOMETHING useful. Hopefully. 

Edited by MisterShoebox
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The rest of the bikers split up into groups.  Eager to divide and conquer they would corner  Meatheral, Errant, and Bird of Arms respectively.  The moment Errant attempted to sidestep the biker in his path he felt the sharp sensation of a right straight against his jaw.  But, the Claremont Alumni was expecting such a blow turning his head and rolling his shoulders to lessen the force of the blow.  Meatheral was not so fortunate.  "Let's pound these punks!"


The biker in front of Meatheral held him in place just long enough for a second man to get a kidney punch in.  Both men chuckling and actually going as far as high fiving (or tenning as both hands were in play) each other.  Which also provided a moment of relief as he did not continue attacking the shape changing hero.


The men attacking Bird of Arms were the least fortunate.  With the hero actually jumping overhead as they charged him from opposite ends.  Their heads colliding with one another.  "Bro!  Watch where you're going."

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"Uh-oh. The Saturday night special? That doesn't sound so goo-" Meatheral quipped before finding himself get mercilessly slugged in the kidney by one of the bikers, while another one was keeping him in place. The punch got him good before he had time to react to the current situation, causing him to lift from the ground a few inches, bulge his eyes out, and grasp for air. "Ghakh!" He screamed, as the other two men highfived.


Somewhere, in a dimension kept hidden from prying eyes, rested a single book. The book had Tetramegeton written on its cover, and the runes sealing it flashed as they became undone. The book, as if on its own volition, sprung wide open, its pages turning rapidly, until it finally rested on a particular page, a page that contained a complex spell.


"Koff-koff-koff, okay, okay, koff, ti-koff-koff, time out, time out, I think, koff, that we got on the wrong foot here!" He said in a reasoning tone, as he tried to regain his breath. "Why don't we all grab a drink, and start again? Here, let me bring some." Meatheral suggested, pushing the biker that held him in place away. However, he had stopped seeming like he was in the mood for negotiations, and instead his determined eyes betrayed his intent to fight it out. Not giving them a chance to react, he chanted:




The letters of the spell written in the book that was in the hidden dimension flashed wildly, detaching themselves from it one by one, floating wildly in the air. Suddenly, water sprung from within the book, filling the entire dimension with the aquatic element. Everything was water, except for the book in the middle of this infinite space.


Meatheral's body had now completed its transformation. Gone was the flesh, bones, and the costume; in its place was a body composed entirely out of water, malleable and fluid. "Hope you can hold your water well, fellas. Cause if not, this here will knock your heads off!"

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"Eh!  You're all washed up bub!"  Five bikers all surrounded Meatheral.   Each attempted to throw an errant strike at the liquid man.  The first two found their fists going through gaps formed inside his form.  Rather than be discouraged by this development they continued throwing wild punches.  None of which was any more successful than the last.


Next came a particularly motivated biker who attempted to actually tackle Meatheral.  He went right through and instead found himself tripping on feet rolling into a nearby booth.  Another yelled angrily and actually attempted to poke Meatheral with a straw.  Repeatedly failing to hit his mark he tore the straw in half and began stomping his feet repeatedly aggressively.


Finally, the last one grew frustrated and picked up a nearby bar stool.  Wasting little time he chucked it at the aquatic hero's head from behind.  Whether by luck or skill, this time the blow struck its mark.

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  • 5 months later...

Anger.  Anger was a useful thing at times.


Errant rarely felt it was, as it tended to leech his ability control himself. his powers there, waiting for him to let him slip his leash and lose himself in the power.  Because all it took was to reach out reach out to flip a switch.  For him there was no problem, it was that simple.  


He was back on the beach watching the Atlantean rebels attack Thaelia.  He was staggering to get up from the sand dune he have been battered away to, like a child's doll. It was happening again.  She was in danger.

To Errant everything went slow, everything was quiet, and he grabbed a barstool, flinging it at a nearby person, and his power followed suit after that. Guiding the stool from guy to the next, careening at impossible angles, and impossible speeds until it collided with near everyone.  His eyes focusing on the man standing upright.

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From his position above the heads of the thugs, Jann surveyed the situation for just a moment. There were many, but he and his allies could take them out given the right opportunities. He gripped onto a light dangling above him, ripping it out and throwing the entire thing towards one of the men closing in on him.


From there, he dropped back onto the ground, connecting an upwards jab onto one of the two men that had tried to attack him before, before grabbing yet another barstool currently flying through the air, towards him, and using it to finish off his opponent.


The second man attacked him, a broken bottle in hand. But he was too slow, his attack clearly showing his intent, giving Jann ample time to slip in, take control of his arm, and redirect the stab into the man’s own leg. Jann kept up his grip, throwing the now cursing biker forward, into one of his friends that were attempting to charge in to assist.

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  • 2 weeks later...

"Bloody hell - C'mon, lads! No need to get punchy - Right then, ducky!" The zombie said as he picked up a biker by the jacket before hurling him into another biker, sending both to night-night ville. 


A flick of a pair of conjured cards pinned the sleeves of two others to the wall. Phantasmo nodded before looking at the young heroes. Seeing that they had things well in hand, the zombie nods and has a seat at the bar.


"Ahhhh....Johnny Walker! Lovely stuff!" The zombie cheers, before pouring himself a drink and raising it to the unconscious bartender. "Cheers, ducky!" He downs the shot and turns to the younger costumed characters. 


"All right, lads? Need old Phantasmo to step in?" 

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Their assault continued until finally the room was cleared of bikers by the combined efforts of the heroes.  Bodies were strewn about everywhere.  Furniture was broken and upturned.  In fact at some point a pool cue had found its way wedged into the wall itself.  No doubt part of Errant's psionic display.


"Alright, so that's the way you want to play it?"  The leader called out, with his back turned from them.  He was hunched over on the bar.  His eye clearly beginning to swell.  Hand reaching for his cell phone the leader simply left the phone on the table.


"Bonjour," a thick Cajun accent called out from the mobile's speaker system.  "It seems you have given my employees some trouble, non?  I can't have that anymore."  Soon an assortment of tones would sound in the room.  Signifying that the phones were all getting a notification.  Including their own.  "Since you, all saw fit to greet my men so kindly.  I've decided to give you my own personal greeting.  Every person inside of the Bayview and Port Regal areas has just been given a very personal invitation.  A chance to collect a million dollars...per head.   A chance to catch the traitors aiding les poiscaille."


Checking their phones to confirm the story would show the heroes four picture messages with their images.  And a video, clearly edited, of them breaking into the Freedom City Water Supply and dumping a white powder inside.  The editing job was impressive enough if a bit hastily done.  And the obvious answer would be to head West.  Away from Lonely Point.  Away from where the Atlanteans were flooding in from.  Away from Thaelia and the rest of the Atlantean Royal family.  "Au Revoir."



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