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originally posted in:The New Dojo
originally posted in: THE DOJO
Edited by Crrowly: 12/27/2017 1:51:15 PM
22
[spoiler]Open.[/spoiler][b][u]Der Flammenesser, el Infierno Colorido, the Smokeater, the Eater of Flames.[/u] Southern Ollimand[/b] The sun was setting, going beyond the horizon, leaving the cloudless sky a canvas of mixed colors. A hooded figure walked through town. The cloak was long and black, and did its job of concealing the bearer. One could determine his height to be about 5’11”, and the skin on his right arm had a fair tone to it, but the rest was hidden either by his cloak or his clothing. Speaking of clothing, aside from the cloak, he dressed casually; a dark gray t-shirt, black sweatpants, and solid black running shoes. The town itself wasn’t crowded, but wasn’t a ghost town, either. There were vendors selling things, and people buying them. The streets were made of dust and dirt, while the buildings all had two floors, and were all connected side by side to form a city-like, western style place. But just then, a loud screaming occurred, too panicked and distant to determine what was said. But all the people in the street broke into sprints, all in the same direction; coincidentally, the direction the hooded man was facing. One of the residents bumped into the man, who was still leisurely strolling, oblivious to the world. Upon seeing this, the resident began yelling at the hooded man. [i]“Je to GFJ! Berou rukojmí, běžte!”[/i] (don’t bother Google translating, everything is incorrect) And evidently, the hooded man couldn’t understand a word. “[i]Another[/i] new foreign language....” The man grumbled, pulling down his hood. It revealed the face of a man in his mid-twenties. He had a head of wild, restless black hair, a sharp, handsome face, and stunning emerald eyes. He also clearly hasn’t shaved in weeks. And he replied to the panicked resident with a big, bold: “ME NO UNDERSTAND-O!” However, that was [i]before[/i] seeing the panicked expression upon the man’s face. Then, it was all business, as the cloaked man’s demeanor became serious. He started analyzing the other man’s body language. He quickly managed to determine that there was some sort of villainous organization down the street, and they were doing what they did best. That was all he needed to know, as he, like the residents of the village, broke into a sprint; only in the opposite direction. Towards the danger. He eventually arrived at a street intersection. In the center of the plaza was a fountain, where civilians were being tied up in a circle. Filling up the plaza were dozens of people dressed in black. A lucky break for the cloaked man; he was dressed in black, as well. He pulled his hood back over his head, and began making his way through the crowd of wrongdoers, slowly and inconspicuously. He was headed towards the hostages. As he approached, the hostages looked to him with expressions of fear, but he made no move to explain to them that he was friendly. He only helped tie them up, until the other people dressed in black turned away to face each road, waiting for law enforcement. That was his chance. His right hand extended an index finger, from which a tiny yet brilliant emerald green flame appeared. He carefully used this flame to burn away the ropes that bound the hostages, but then put his hand up, signaling them to wait. He then threw off his cloak, revealing only one thing of importance; his left arm, a sleek, black, cybernetic one. His palm was extended towards one of the four roads that were attached to the plaza. All four exits were blocked by enemies, but that was about to change as the artificial veins in his cybernetic arm began to glow with orange light. After a mere second, a huge explosion occurred. It came from the cybernetic arm, as it blasted forth a hellish inferno of napalm towards the exit. It did its job, burning away the flesh and life from the enemies that served as a roadblock, leaving only their echoing screams. In that same instant, three other things happened. First, the one who launched the napalm yelled at the hostages: [i]“Běžte!”[/i] And they would all stand up and began sprinting towards the path that the man had opened up. Simultaneously, his eyes changed color to a deep amethyst hue. Huge flames that matched that color–amethyst–erupted from the man, expanding until the purple flames formed a massive sphere around him and the hostages. This was all in a single instant, as bullets began flying towards the shield of violet flames. But the flames seemed to serve as protection–the bullets all burnt up and disintegrated as they hit the flame shield, keeping those within it safe. They only continued to run, followed by the flame shield, until they were well away from the plaza. That was when the shield of purple flames shrunk to only cover the one who’d freed them, as he turned back towards the plaza.[spoiler]Enter however you see fit. Sorry if the post made absolutely no sense, I suck at RP’ing lol[/spoiler]
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  • [i]It was [u]him[/u].[/i] [i]From beside the pyromancer that held up the shield of compacted, tamed fire, another shield would be cast down, the base point quite literally touching the rugged earth of the road underneath. Gunfire splintered off of the shield's plating, while it's wielder would bolster herself behind it's wall, as she would draw her own weapon and returned fire back: a Bolt Pistol, from the looks of it, firing .59 caliber sized bolts towards the targets ahead. An intent to kill - a rather harsh justice for those who would take hostages.[/i] [i]The one whom shielded herself was tightly encased within an obsidian black shell of armoring, the compact plates that protected her body consisting of ceramite. The previously holy sigils that were upon her armor surface were now naught: only the knightly helm of which she bore had kept it's sigil - a fleur de lys upon the headpiece. A point to aim for an enemy, and yet a sigil of hope for an ally. Perhaps that was the intent.[/i] [i]Victoria had.. well, seemingly popped out of nowhere to aid and protect.[/i]

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  • Of course, the bullets would blow their target’s heads to smithereens, leaving them very much deceased. Four fell to the ground before they dispersed, hiding behind what cover they could find from those monster bullets. Vance would look away from their focus towards the one in armor, a grin on his face as he recognized his... whatever their relationship was. “Eyy, Vic! Been a while! A... long while!” He said, tone apologetic. But before he could get on his knees and apologize for running off like a toddler in a candy shop, he turned back to the enemies in the plaza. They thought cover could save them? The veins in his cybernetic limb began glowing once more. It only took a second to heat up, a second which was used to point the arm in the general direction of where a few enemies went to hide. Napalm was launched from the arm, hurtling forth as a hellish inferno that surrounded the enemies. Their screams were very audible, and it was clear that they’d just been scorched alive.

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  • Edited by Weeaboo Of War: 12/29/2017 4:18:39 AM
    "A while? Not like I've been in two separate wars or anything!" [i]Victoria yelled back, though it was hard to tell if she was genuinely serious about Vance's.. or Victor's.. or Amne's.. or whoever's second disappearance, though she hadn't punched him. Yet, anyway.[/i] [i]Though the super soldier would rip her shield out from the ground once Vance had unleashed his sudden blaze, the fire in the distance flickering off of the black lens that would hide and shield away Victoria's eyes from the ruination of the scene. She sighed a little, staring down at her pistol before clicking on the safety and holstering the weapon.[/i] "They'll be back.. won't they? Or are we coming to them? ...Now all we need is a knocked out child, and this would be deja vu.."

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  • “Deja vu? In what way?” It was evident that though Vance could clearly remember who Victoria was, the details of their meeting were... a little hazy, to say the least. Regardless, he began approaching the scene with caution–his emerald green eyes flickered, changing to a fiery, sapphire blue. His right fingertips were smoldering, giving off thin fumes of smoke with occasional blue sparks. “In truth, I’d like to go to them,” He replied. “I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night until I know this village is safe from these bаstards.” There were still a couple enemies remaining, though that would be swiftly dealt with by a sudden snap of the fingers on his right hand, pointed in the general direction of the hiding kidnappers. After about three-fourths of a second, wild, sapphire flames appeared on them–guttural screams occurred as the unnaturally blue flames devoured and disintegrated their flesh, leaving only their clothing. The blue flames caused no damage. But the napalm had, and Vance went about cleaning that up by simply opening his mouth and inhaling. All of the flames that had been left over from the blast of napalm gravitated toward Vance, literally [i]entering his mouth.[/i] He kept inhaling, and once all the flames were gone, swallowed, exhaled. Their was still the damage from the blast, but at least the fire wouldn’t spread. “On second thought, we probably should’ve kept one alive for interrogation,” He reflected, now that he was trying to look for their hideout. “If they even speak English.”

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  • [i]Victoria would keep her silence as Vance would finish off the remaining combatants that had escaped the wrath of flame and onslaught of bullets. She would also keep quiet as Vance.. well, swallowed the flames, as if devouring them for a later use.[/i] [i]She was a little tempted to see if she could pull that off, jokingly.[/i] "We can wait for them to reveal themselves, but that would beg for a surprise assault. Asking around town, though.. We could do that, if anyone here speaks English at all."

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  • “Whelp... guess we could call this a date?” He asked with a slight, joking grin. A date through some obscure, foreign village where they couldn’t read or understand a thing, trying to find a bunch of bad guys of which the only information they had were that they were bad guys. Secretly, Vance was quite the romantic. Regardless, he would begin leading the way by exiting the plaza the same way he’d entered, picking up his cloak along the way. He threw the piece of cloth over himself, inserted his arms through their respective spots, then began strolling through the now-deserted streets like he owned the place. As he walked, he’d think out loud, half to himself, half to Victoria. “If I were the leader of a criminal faction in a village I was trying to take over or whatever their goal is... where would I hide?” He looked around at the vendor stalls that were scattered through the street after the human stampede. They were abandoned, yes, but Vance wasn’t looking for people. “Vic, if ya find a map of this town anywhere, let me know,” He said. If nobody was around to ask for information, they could try finding it on their own.

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  • "A date.." [i]Victoria almost laughed at the situation that the two of them were in, and quite frankly, actually did find it.. well, unique. Two abnormal individuals, one of them a fire-eating pyromancer and the other being a super soldier pyromancer, in a town that seemingly only spoke a foreign language, while they were searching for a few assholes that were causing trouble. Victoria liked the sound of it.[/i] "I doubt that they would have a visitor center around here. And I'd hate to disturb some vendor's goods, but.." [i]Victoria would go to studying the empty stalls and the buildings around the town, that emotionless helmet scanning the Western-styled buildings for any signs of.. anything, really. She had doubted that she would find any maps considering how small the place was, but she would study the empty stalls still.[/i]

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  • "Shall I?" "No need. It would look rather suspicious if anyone in the surrounding area died of nerve gas. And I don't recall you ever being a sadist." "True enough. You handle them then, I'll make contact with our POI." "God bless you." "Which one? The irony is never lost on me when you say that." His companion smiled. "All of them. None of them. It's the thought that matters." A few seconds later, one of the fleeing kidnappers was crushed to the ground by a heavyset silhouette dropping on him from a nearby rooftop. His body became more akin to an obtuse angle, form angled into the ground below with shattered marrow and viscera littering the surrounding area. Their assailant was a well-muscled Tibetan man dressed in a holy man's black garb. In a quick-paced heartbeat, the preacher withdrew his weapon's head from the corpse beneath him. A terrible thing, looking like a monk's spade in structure, except corroded with sinew and pulsating flesh. Where a bell-shaped blade used to be were now two jawed pieces of the spade, snapping like a rabid maw. He whirled his spade around his back, slashing the living weapon's end across the throat of the second ruffian. An open scar of cyst-infested flesh was made in the wake of the weapon's warpath, nigh decapitating its target. The preacher's skin itched as he felt the final thug in the air around him: [i]the tense of fear. Fumbling fingers grasping a matte black handle. Then finally, the cathartic moment of squeezing the trigger. [/i] That fool didn't know that the preacher had full control of the situation around him. He became a blur of black, spinning to dodge the spray of SMG rounds. Grabbing a pistol from falling corpse of the second man, he continued his spin to roundhouse kick the firearm out of the thug's hand and end it all by placing a shot in his aorta. Falling to the ground, the thug would witness a few things before he finally passed out and died. His fellows' corpses were rapidly decomposing, the faces of their skulls visible through their wizened flesh. And the face of the preacher, who was looking down at him with his living blade's hungry maw snapping at his throat. "Guide them on their journey, Father, Yahweh, Allah, Creator..." It was all wrong. The bloodstains that darkened the preacher's garb were disappearing, as if the raiment was feeding upon the crimson that was soaking it. As if the clothes he wore were as bloodthirsty as the weapon he wielded. Sympathy was seen in the preacher's eyes. That was the last anthropogenic emotion the thug would see. ~~~ "I must say I'm impressed, good sir! No casualties other than the ones of your making, all hostages accounted for... you handled this quite nicely!" Approaching from the direction the thugs came from was a man in a suit. He wore a dark blue blazer and suit pants over a white dress shirt and a hunter green tie that matched the turban of the same colour. White gloves adorned his hands, contrasting with the skin tone of the Arabic man. A sharply dressed stranger walking in after a hostage rescue... The pyromancer's day was about to get much more peculiar. He raised his hands and slowed his pace to show the hostages' saviour that he meant no harm. "My name is Mr. Moss!" he announced from his distance, "and I am here to deliver a message for you! But first, can I have the reassurance that if I walk over there, I won't end up like those charred corpses you just created!"

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  • Edited by Crrowly: 12/27/2017 8:05:55 PM
    Peculiarities were common in the man’s life, as they apparently were in many others’. He, similarly to others like himself, learned to roll with it, and so seeing the strange happenings occur–the flawless execution of a plan, the merciless slaughter, and most of all–the disintegrating corpses. He was silent for a moment, reviewing the action that had just unfolded in front of him. But seeing that Mr. Moss evidently meant no harm to him, it should’ve been alright to let his guard down... right? And so, even though it probably wasn’t the smartest decision–he’d seen countless people fall prey to the “we mean no harm” act, before getting the shit beat out of them–the man nodded. He wasn’t gonna attempt to burn them up. Unless they attacked first, of course. “A message? For lil’ ‘ol me?” He replied rhetorically, intrigued.

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  • "Consider it a job opportunity," Mr. Moss stated, "now I can understand your suspicion, because if I was in your situation, I'd be a little wary as well. So to make my intentions perfectly clear, I'll keep this distance from you. I can say the same for my companion." From where the preacher was standing, a thick miasma began to emanate from the corpses, enveloping the decomposing men and their killer. "How often do acts of violence like this happen in the Dojo?"

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  • He first raised an eyebrow at what was becoming of the corpses–it was some questionable, shady stuff, but that never matter to anybody. “In the Dojo? Hell if I know. Probably too often,” He replied. “I don’t spend much time in one place, but from what I’ve heard, the place is a riot.” He shoved his ash-covered hands into the pockets of his sweatpants, jumping up to sit on one of the many empty vendor stalls in the plaza.

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  • "A riot is an understatement." He brought up one hand to gesture to the plaza around him. "I'm sure you know that this place has no limit for people like you. The talented, gifted, cursed. The different. Imagine if one of those men were capable of the damage you just did. There most likely wouldn't [i]be[/i] any hostages left from the fight. All of this could've been wiped out in a blink of an eye with how capable some of these people are."

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  • “You’re totally right,” Vance replied, unsure where Mr. Moss was going with this. “But that’s common knowledge. A few guys can’t do much to prevent people capable of mass destruction from causing mass destruction... right?” Unless Mr. Moss had something to offer– he [i]did[/i] just mention something about a job opportunity.

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  • "You're right," Mr. Moss admitted, shrugging in admittance, "this place is a Purgatory for the powerful and abusive. However, there is still work to be done to prevent them from continuing. A "few guys" as you call us are capable of many, many things. We contract third party assets like yourself for our cause - those that are already embedded in the community. From there we post assignments and give missions that range from asset retrieval to elimination of dangerous targets. Like the people I mentioned before. But the most field work you'll be doing right now would be information gathering. It helps the cause and can help take out one monster that's willing to do what you just stopped -" He nodded his head towards a pile of ash that Vance left behind. The remains of one of the kidnappers. " - or things much worse."

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  • “I’m interested,” Vance responded. After all, it might not be too different from what Vance was doing now and before–roaming the world with only one clear goal. Stopping wrongdoers like these. “Where do I sign up?” He debated asking whether it would come with cool stuff or not. Probably too early for that.

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  • Mr. Moss arched an eyebrow. Somebody was eager. "You'll most likely be doing standard tasks like information-gathering. It's helpful to have someone who already has history in the Dojo know about the going-ons. And of course, eliminating threats where need be." He raised his forearm and tapped his watch, bringing up a holographic keypad that his fingers glided across easily. "You'll know more as time goes on. I hope you'll understand that we don't give you our name or access to the majority of our resources yet, but those are the rules. And speaking of which..." Approaching from the site of the planned execution, the burly man in the preacher clothes walked towards the duo. Behind him, no sign of the bodies were left. Only traces of the battle. "May I introduce you to Yaksha, our..." "Morale administrator," Yaksha finished, extending his hand to Vance, "it is important to nourish the hearts of all my brothers and sisters in a congregation like ours."

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  • [b]Bang. [/b] [b]Bang. [/b] [b]Bang. [/b] [i]Three shots rang out in an aggressive trio, finding their places amongst the spines of three capturers. The first bullet found its mark in the back of the one with the flamethrower, forcing him to fall in pain. The second one traveled through the air and collided with the tailbone of another, making him fall face-first and drop his gun, which impacted the ground and shot a bullet into his head. And the third was reserved for none other than someone who had just watched his friends get killed or injured, and the bullet traveled through his throat and into the part of the spine that connected to his skull. The shooter had approached the man with the flamethrower from behind, now in visible sight. It was a cowboy, dressed up in a tattered and torn duster with a matching brown hat sitting on top of his head. He extended his left hand out and grabbed the shoulder of the man, flipping him over with a blackened, skeletal grip. The man faced the machine and he put his iron grip around the throat, lifting the capturer up into the air. A gout of fire spewed forth from the cowboy; The flamer's face dropped onto the floor below, where the cowboy dropped him. The man reloaded his revolver and put it back in one of the two holster belts on his hips, before looking to the hooded one. The man in the hood would see an intense gaze staring him down, an electric blue thousand yard stare that came from a grizzled man, which was clear from both the dirt and light scarring on the cowboys face to the rough brown beard he had on him, and even the clothes he wore beneath his duster - a pair of jeans and a white shirt, both dirtied slightly and faded - and let's not forget the arsenal on him, consisting of revolvers, shotguns, rifles, lassos, and a plethora of other tools. But the cowboy didn't make a move, he just stared. [/i]

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  • The one who had previously worn a cloak (it had been thrown off) was unfazed by the intense stare of the cowboy–not because he was some hardened badass of steel like many others tried to be, but because there were more important things to deal with–such as the fact that there were a lot more than three captors in the plaza. After JT had shot down three of them in a single instant, the majority stood in shock; where had the cowboy come from? How did three of them die so quickly? And why did the two men who’d just ruined their plans look so intimidating, fearless? They were outnumbered, after all.... But that was clearly no matter, for the both of them. The Flammenesser gave a curt nod to the cowboy, as the amethyst flames arose once more around him. Bullets flew at him but were quickly burnt away by the shield of fire. The man sprinted for cover behind one of the many vendor stalls, allowing his flames to disappear. The veins on his cybernetic arm began glowing again, and he extended it over his head, pointing at the opponents, still spread out throughout the plaza. Napalm was once again unleashed, merciless heat overwhelming four enemies. Six remained.

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  • [i]The Marshal turned and looked to one, his eyes conveying a feeling of raw power with a single glance, a stare hard and strong enough to put the fear of God in a man. He approached the sixth man and picked him up by the throat - His right wrist snapped back and a blade popped out, driving itself into the stomach of the figure. JT dropped him and he slid off the weapon. The next in line tried to run at JT with a bayoneted rifle, but he soon had the weapon's tip batted to the side, swatted like a fly. The blade found itself entering his head, though a second one came to the stomach. JT held in his left hand a rather strange weapon for someone like him - A dagger, ornate and jeweled with a hilt of bronze, almost like an Arabian blade. The wristblade extended into his arm once more and the hand snapped back; It reached into his duster and grabbed one of three blades, this one a long and blackened katana. Strange, but it had been a reward for the cowboy, and he intended to put it to use. He jumped into the air and soared, each foot into the air making his lack of humanity quite clear. He move swiftly but not gracefully, yet CE came clashing down and brought the tip of his blade into the shoulder trap of another man. One more had his gun raised and tried to shoot the cowboy; Each of his pistol's bullets plinked effortlessly against his chest. He slapped the fourth with the hand holding the knife and turned it into a full spin, slashing at his throat. The blade warped and extended, almost like it wasn't abiding by the laws of reality, as it cleanly cut off the head of the fourth. The last two, however, he left to his ally. He didn't want to keep all the fun to himself. [/i]

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  • By the time the cowboy had finished taking care of those four thugs, the other two had long disintegrated; all that was left of them was their clothes, left entirely undamaged yet covered in ashes. It was like their bodies were burnt away with no regards to their clothing. Small blue sparks of sapphire colored flames could be seen in the remaining ash; flames that only damaged organic material. Finally, the man clapped his hands together, shaking away the ash that covered his arms, both organic and cybernetic. As he turned to gaze at the cowboy, JT might’ve felt like he recognized the man; after all, they’d met before, the man under the alias of Dean. “Thanks for helping clean up,” The man said with sincerity, then paused. “Wait, you speak English, yeah?” At this point, he could never be sure; he’d run into so many different foreign languages that he’d lost track.

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  • [i]"Well I sure as shit don't speak Taco or General Tao Chicken," JT said in a sarcastic tone, looking over to the man. He never forgot a face - His augmented memory never let him. The blades found their way into his sheaths and he relaxed. [/i]

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  • “Wait, you don’t? Could’ve sworn there was a cowboy around here that spoke Kung Pao chicken,” Vance replied in an equally sarcastic tone. Despite having loosened up after their opponents were... dispatched, brutally so, there was still some smoke and blue sparks coming off his body. It only added to the fiery persona of the pyromaniac. “Oh, yeah. You were the guy that hooked me up with this arm, a few months back–burned up some nests? Ring a bell?”

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