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Ross or his employees. 0.23809523809524 23.8% [ 10 ]
The insect demon guy. 0.023809523809524 2.4% [ 1 ]
The obvious serial killer. 0.11904761904762 11.9% [ 5 ]
The pretty-obviously-a-vampire religious guy. 0.19047619047619 19.0% [ 8 ]
The dreadhead Atlantean. 0.023809523809524 2.4% [ 1 ]
The wererat shaman. 0.047619047619048 4.8% [ 2 ]
Someone else, the suspects are window dressing 0.16666666666667 16.7% [ 7 ]
Daimonas through a patron. 0.095238095238095 9.5% [ 4 ]
The People's Republic 0.023809523809524 2.4% [ 1 ]
The Liberation Front 0.071428571428571 7.1% [ 3 ]
Total Votes:[ 42 ]
The Devil's hands went to work on the corpse, gouging with his clawed nails at the slain man's joints, pulling with hooked fingers and spreading the cooling flesh wide to unbury the machination of Man. Sloughing through his work with a madness of unbridled inspiration, this wasn't normally in Kain's repertoire but he was entranced in this new work. Morbid and beautiful. Sloughing and suction sounded amidst the gore strewn blind.

A pulse of energy rolled over the infernal creature who was hard at work, a tickle ran up his spine causing him to shudder half in revulsion and regret. He was missing a tremendous show of conflict, but, the compulsion to finish on the mess pulled his attention back to the macabre work. Kain began breaking the ribs from sternum until only the collar bones remain to hold the chest together, sweat creeped down his face and stung his eyes, slowing him, not at all.

Moments more and the muse would stop speaking in his ear, the spark lost on completion, or what he supposed, was a finished product. Kain rolled up the blood muddied sleeves of his coat and ran a razored claw from wrist to elbow, releasing the infernal magics of his lifeforce. The Devil's blood fell to the corpse's joints and pockets of the body that had been constructed, dead flesh seethed with new perverted life. Soon, the corruption would force its way throughout the body, capturing tissue and lingering remnants of the departed's life.

Kain rested on his heels, the wounded artery in his arm slowed the pumping of blood, his wounds slowly closing. A fanged overbite gingerly chewed at his lower lip, savouring the rush. It was a new experience and one, he felt, deserved looking further into.

The tourist's body lurched to its side, head lulling to the ground with dead eyes to stare at its reanimator.
Maneth Turlik's avatar

Dapper Hunter

Maneth couldn't believe the chaos when he finally stepped into view of the battlezone, it could only be described as such with the amount of destruction going on. He ducked low behind a collection of lumber opposite of the Psionic and his mercenaries, completely unaware of the opposing factions or how he could be identified. At that point it finally occurred to him that this was a terrible idea, the voice in his head was becoming all too clear. What could he hope to accomplish? He was a neutral party here, a stranger in a strange land.

His hands obeyed the memory of his training by resting on his daggers, the straps that held them unbuckled and he could feel the ease in which he could expel them with efficiency. You should probably just leave, boyo...but his body remained, huddled behind the construction materials and set to defend himself. Whatever it was that compelled him to stay was winning against good sense.
Alarmed and relying on Gaia-practiced reaction time, she leaned in to dive forward, under the overhead arc of the holy s**t flying car. Her telekinetic flight would let her coast along a few inches above the ground at an athlete's sprinting speed, as if she was laying on a skateboard. The shadow of the holy s**t flying car passed above her, and she rose into the air, arcing as if following the centripetal path of a great wheel. She would be at close conversational distance with the man right now, were she at ground level.

She hadn't had any time to let her jaw drop when he threw a car, but the sentiment was what she was feeling right now. That was much more raw power than she could exert unless she deliberately overloaded her mind.

Then she would hover there within reach of the enemy for half a second, before realizing where she was, and strafing to her right about ten feet at the same speed as earlier. If she had time before the other psychic did something else potent, she would reach towards the site of the, her, car wreck. The stop sign, now dislodged from its foundation on account of tons of steel crashing down and twisting into an ungodly mess, would whirl around towards her hand, on a path that would slap the other psychic upside he head if he didn't move before she would grab it like a weighted staff.

New plans. Need new plans.
Truest Valor 's avatar

Aged Gaian

Stylish dodge.

That's the thought Damon had as he watched the other psychic glide underneath the van, which landed seconds later with a loud crash.The smell of gasoline rose into the air from the crumpled heap and started flowing along towards the site. Damon made a mental note of that, along with the scattered glass and jagged pieces of metal.

Now the woman hovered in front of him, and he responded by concentrating his telekinetic energy into his legs and lower body and shooting up into the air. Damon kept his eyes locked onto the other psychic as he rose ten feet above her, placing him fifteen feet in the air. He'd dodged the stop-sign from behind, watching her catch it in her hands.

So she was going to try and use that post like a polearm? Too bad that it was poorly weighted and would just be cumbersome in a fight in the air.

Damon cocked his right arm back and focused his telekinetic energy down the length of his arm, making a thrusting motion downwards. Light scattered and the air between them visibly shifted, creating a sort of translucent "wave."

This shockwave spread outwards like a cone, and on contact would not knock her back - instead it would be forcefully "peel" her flesh. Damon could strip layers off rock with this attack, and used it to weaken his enemies armor. Clothes and naked flesh didn't stand a chance.
The psychic tensed up at the wave. It was too wide for her to dodge, so she focused her will on the space occupying her body just in time. The flaying force would be resisted by the telekinetic control of her own skin and clothes, though not exactly pleasantly. Near her head and torso, it felt sort of like being vibrated from the inside, but at her extremities, her control was less complete--her mind more strongly controlled its immediate surroundings. The wave of force ripped at her gloves, lower sleeves, lower pant legs, and shoes, not to mention a deep exfoliation of the skin.

Her shoes fell to the ground as leather scraps, her gloves now more like hand wraps. Her feet bled from horrible abrasions.

The psychic seethed.

Her sign had been pretty comprehensively ruined into twisted sculptures of metal, save for the actual octagon that clattered on the ground. It bounced a bit, she immediately took control, and it raced like a whirling frisbee to close the distance between it and enemy psychic.

See, the peeling force had left its mark on the octagon. For one, the red paint and bold STOP had been flayed away, not to mention a thin layer of steel. But the thin shape of the sign let it survive by twisting into the peeling wave as it fell, and the edges had had their sides stripped to form a point, reforging the benign sheet of steel into a razor-sharp octagonal disk.

Polearm? Closer to shuriken, really.
Truest Valor 's avatar

Aged Gaian


Damon pulled back his arm and the flaying force immediately stopped. As he watched, the whirling octagon came slicing towards him. Instinctively he tilted his body to the left, just in time to have the stop-sign slice across the side of his face. Blood splashed down the side of his face and an intense burning ran from his cheek and into his eye, making it water up.

As the sign-blade whizzed on behind him, Damon tilted forward and flew towards the other psychic. Since controlling an object with telekinesis requires one to focus their mind on the movements of the object, Damon was going to bring this into a close-quarters mid-air fight. Her attention would have to the torn in three directions - the blade, her flight, and having to contend with her opponent rushing in head-on for some melee.

To soften her up for melee combat, Damon held out his hand and directed four bullet-sized kinetic "shots" towards her face. These were basically telekinetic blasts directed along the length of the fingers towards weapon points on the body, and were able to deal about the same damage as being hit with a fast flying rock. They were fairly difficult to guard against, but someone with a strong psychic "sight" could see them as glowing balls of teal colored light.

If he could take her off guard, Damon intended to close in, grab the sign-post with his right hand and ram it into her chest while trying to place his left palm against her face.
With the whirling blade having moved past the enemy, she started to direct its momentum back around, looping back. However, she lost focus on the movements as it was moving sideways and higher in the air when invisible bolts of something-or-other struck her face. It largely didn't hurt much due to the cushioning of the face mask, but one hit the edge of her left eye socket. She did a long blink, and regained control of the gliding stop sign.

Damn it, she was hoping this would remain at a fair distance; she was not a melee combatant. Her sister did that stuff.

He reached for her. Too much to deal with. She couldn't really independently direct a close-quarters fight, her flight, and the sign at once. The directions for everything merged into one thought: "Backwards". Her flight took her backwards, putting her near the brick wall of a building, while he stop sign moved in the same direction. The enemy psychic wouldn't be able to reach her face, though he could grab the twisted wreck of the polearm, which she simply released because nobody had time for another thing to keep track of. She came to immediately regret this when the end of the post was rammed into her stomach, pressing her against the wall. She retched and lost control of both her flight and the octagon, but he'd directed the latter enough by this point--it was on a crash course right for the enemy's exposed back, whirling hard and flying fast.

In the meantime, she'd fall to the ground, if the enemy let her, landing flat on her butt. Seeing the broken glass around, and having no shoes at the moment, she'd decline to stand up. The psychic needed a moment.
Truest Valor 's avatar

Aged Gaian

Oldest trick in the book was to try and redirect the disc so that it hit the enemy in the back. There had been a lot of warriors that had been hit by the attack, and Damon was aware that he was now in the ideal position to have it happen to him. He was not going to let that happen.

Now it was safe to say that he had a 'general' idea of how much time he had before the disc struck him in the back, but by no means could he see it coming. Instead he set a very short few seconds aside in which he could act, and thankfully he had already planned his assault ahead. Using his telekinetic energy he pushed his body into hers, keeping a firm grip on the post so that he pinned her against the wall.

He then followed up by attempting to place his hand on her face and unleashing a powerful, concentrated shockwave strong enough to stun her. Finally, Damon would propel himself away from her and off to his right side, hopefully in just enough to avoid having the disc embedded into his back. If not, he was facing a nasty laceration on his left side or in his shoulder, depending on whether or not the disc was horizontal or vertical.

The real thing was that he wanted the disc to slam into her body...
The stunning hit her full force, and her mind was floating off in dreamland for a few painful seconds before she found herself sitting on the ground, up against the building.


She'd been aiming with the consideration that the enemy was in the air, do losing her flight was what saved her here--the stop sign would rebound off the wall a few feet above her head. It clattered to the ground beyond her feet, and she looked towards it in a daze. Okay, she couldn't out-power the man, and he knew what he was doing in terms of tactics.

This might be a problem. She'd barely hurt him, and here she was with various bruises, pains and bleeding feet. With a pained exhale, she rose above the sidewalk and the broken glass around, hovering again, a few feet above the ground. As she rose, she pulled off her face mask and flung her torn-up gloves to her sides, simply flicking them off her hands. The enemy psychic could finally see her face--one covered in pale green, swirling tattoos, the same color her telekinetic bolts were. Similar tattoos also plated her hands.

Hmm. Controlling the disk again wouldn't go well--chances are he could outpower her own telekinesis, since his seemed much stronger and less limited.

Back to square one, it seemed. The first attack always missed, so she experimentally put two fingers to her forehead and shot one of the green psychokinetic bolts demonstrated earlier at the center of his body, to see what he would do.
Truest Valor 's avatar

Aged Gaian


Damon landed back on the ground skillfully, brushing some of the blood off his cheek with his sleeve. Now the two had a sort of stare down. It was sort of against his nature to allow an enemy the moment to breath, but he honestly needed it himself. He took those precious few moments to collect his energies and examine the markings on the woman's face. They reminded him of Ross' tattoos and how they were connected to his magic. Maybe the same could be said for her?

The psion took a step back and felt a sharp spike in her energy, followed by a bolt of green light. Damon's right hand snapped up as though he were smacking a ball out of the air, causing a mirror-like wave to resound off his palm as the light struck it. A shower of fiery orange and green sparks scattered all around him, and he stared her down with eyes of ghostly silver.

Clearly he had no problem counter-acting her power with his own. He was an expert at deflection and diversion of incoming projectiles by forcefully scattering them on contact with him. He'd actually learned how to do this by having his mage shoot lightning bolts at him till he could counter it. Quite a bit of pain was involved in that one.

"Now let me show you."

Damon aimed his right index finger at the woman and felt it grow very warm, as blue light began to radiate off of it. He took in a breath and then exhaled slowly. Crackling blue light streaked from his finger towards the woman's chest like a bolt of lightning - pure psychic energy - the very power that fueled his own telekinesis.

Assuming he caught her attention with that, the moment his attack hit or missed he'd hold out his left hand and make an upwards swipe, causing the disc on the ground to shoot up vertically at her midsection. Since he had such great control of his own telekinetic abilities, Damon was sure that he could cut all the way into her gut.
Seeing her bolt deflected and disintegrated, the psychic gritted her teeth and thought.

Stronger in terms of raw power. Can think ahead, so he's more of problem when you try to use tactics. The woman mentally asked a question, only to herself, careful not to use her telepathy: When are you weak?

He said something flippant, and she looked to his glowing finger. He was giving her a little time, with that slow breath, charging up something potent. She thought about her own powers--they seemed similar. The answer came: when someone is attacking, they're not defending, and now was her chance...do something, before he could do anything tactical. The woman stared him down, her hand still up at her temple. To do serious damage, she'd have to pierce his deflective ability, if it had any passive defensive quality. Her mind strained under the psychic load; her eyes taking on a pale green tint--not the irises, but the eyeballs entirely. Her safe limits were being exceeded--not by enough to seriously hurt her, yet, but there would be a reckoning after the battle. Assuming she lived. Every once in a while didn't tear her apart too much, so she basically had one shot at this before Bad Things happened.

At the moment she saw the first crackle of static, she grimaced, and fired. This time, it would be more than a piddly force javelin. Straining herself to greater heights of power would let a veritable psychic rocket erupt from the space in front of her forehead, a meteor of mental energy wreathed in a pale green corona.

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As for the dangerous, psychic lightning, uninterrupted due to being simultaneous with her own attack, she'd just have to endure it at full blast. But chances are the enemy would be too disrupted to gut her like a fish with the stop sign.
Truest Valor 's avatar

Aged Gaian

What's the old saying, "expect the unexpected?"

Damon didn't anticipate his opponent's attack right in the middle of his own attempt at a surprise attack. This left him pretty much wide open as he sent the blast of raw psychic energy towards his opponent. In a haphazard attempt to shield himself, Damon put his left hand up and projected a "wedge" of force to split the incoming blast. Since he hadn't the time to properly focus his defense, Damon's force was quickly overtaken and he suddenly found the world whirling end-over-end.

Her rocket of energy had struck Damon head on, with only some of the energy behind it being spit away. The psion turned a rag-doll backflip in the air and landed hard on his stomach. For a few seconds he couldn't feel, hear or see anything other than a cloud of brown dirt rising around him. Then the pain in his chest started to creep up and taking in a breath of air felt like trying to digest a cup full of needles and sandpaper.

Damon quickly tried to push himself up, but found that his left hand and forearm had become unresponsive. A quick look showed blood and a very contorted angle. The words escaped his lips in the most unprofessional way possible, "b***h broke my arm."

Yeah. That is what happens when you put your delicate limbs in between you and incoming raw force.

As bad off as Damon was right now, his opponent had to have taken the full brunt of his psychic blast. No doubt she'd either be dead or in an extreme world of hurt, because he had poured a lot of his raw power into that attack. That much energy by itself had been enough to let him throw a van through the air. If he hadn't been counter attacked by this point, Damon would stand up and look around for his opponent. Because of his really strong will-power, he managed to ignore the incredible pain in the side of his body and the dull throb starting to build up in behind his eyes.

What was he looking for? Mostly something resembling a person that was on fire or blown apart.
At this point, the enemy psychic would probably hear, in his mind, some choppy telepathy. The same voice. It indicated that she was not only alive, but conscious. If not, well, in any shape to continue physical fighting

She lay against the building's wall, blown into it by the force of psychokinetic lightning. Some of the power had struck her in the torso, reducing big disks of polyester to blackness and drilling into the flesh below. Her left hand had been struck, and while it could probably be reconstructed by a surgeon that knew what they were doing, that was far from her thoughts right now. The psychic was just trying to size up her situation, fighting through the diabolical pain in her...everything, really. Her left shin had partially flayed open, and her right thigh had a strand of muscle sinew loose from a wound.

Being psionic herself, she too had a very strong will, though not at the enemy's level. She couldn't simply IRONMAN this damage; the pain slashed her mind and soul.

<<Anyone there -- -- find near -- you'll know -- >> Not much coherent was getting through, because she could only steal instants of time between spikes of agony. A huge welt on her cheek accompanied her grimace and slight writhing in place, while blood leaked from the various tears on her body. Flight, though necessary, would be impossible to maintain until some endorphins kicked in--pain has a way of being really, really ******** pressing to one's attention, and mass quantities of it don't change that fact.

She couldn't see what was going on with the other man, but on the chance that he hadn't had a hole punched in him like a piece of paper...well, not-so-heroic last stand, she supposed.

Telekinesis pulled the skin of her open shin back together, and replaced that sinew strand into her leg. It was actually fairly easy to focus on putting that back together, because the pain focused her mind on exactly what to do and where to do it.
Truest Valor 's avatar

Aged Gaian

By this time, Damon knew that his attacked hadn't killed the other psychic. However, he could tell that he had done quite a large amount of damage. He didn't figure that the other psychic was in much shape to continue the fight.

To reinforce this, three of Damon's mercenaries came charging up with their guns drawn. And they were all pointed at the psychic woman's head.

Damon would gather his energy just in case, and would walk till he was standing right in front of her.
She knew when she was beat, and having three guns pointing at your head when you need morphine is usually "beat". The psychic gritted her teeth and looked alternately between the three mercenaries. Of course, her opponent was coming back. His arm was bent wrong, at least, but she couldn't focus on her progress due to the intense pain.

<< Is -- -- I die? >> the telepathy stuttered, and she shut her eyes tightly, tensing her shoulders. She could try to take out these guys, but it was pointless to try and go out with a bang; all that mattered in a situation like this was living. It didn't really matter if her group was the only people to die here, or if she took down some enemies. Either way, dead.

She opened her eyes again and looked towards the other psychic, trying and somewhat succeeding to keep her gaze fixed on him. Best to go out with dignity, instead of succumbing to the end while acting like the meek toy of some sadistic god.

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