The creature staggers when Furiosa hurls herself upon its back, her grip a vice on its collar as she fires straight into the weak point between collar and helm. Something ruptures, a spray of that chemical mist past her face, and the demon staggers, rears back in shock and agony both. Who even knows what anatomy lies beneath- but the Taurus shatters through it regardless, and the demon is suddenly focused on nothing but saving itself from this assassin at its back. Some of the smaller creatures cry out on spotting the light Azwel gathers, but the big one hardly notices. That is, until the first blade drives into it.
Whatever portal this demon sprung from, whatever haunted world it’s accustomed to cast its shadow across… it has never faced an assault like this. There’s a stutter of blue light as its shield comes back online and collapses again instantly. A ragged gurgle from a throat that can no longer howl in pain. It’s thrown up, and up, and up into the air and then the blades converge and everything becomes a BOOM as physics gives way at last.
Metal shards fly. Charred wisps of carbon and cloth are flung outward. A rush of that ghostly light escapes up from the chaos, a formless, luminous white mist. To Azwel, it looks briefly like a four-armed figure, head thrown back before it dissipates. There’s not going to be a lot left, save half a warped blade sticking out of a wall behind Azwel. Perhaps a few scraps of blue cloth flutter down, to be snatched away by the wind.
The silence falls quite suddenly, then. For a moment only the wind whips around them all, tugging at the cape settling over the fallen corpse. The smaller ones seem to be in shock, or debating what to do now, small chittery whispers passing among them. Then one bounds atop an abandoned car, dagger and pistol brandished- only to hesitate as another snarls behind it. It scampers back into cover after a second’s reluctance. The creatures begin to slink back into the snow, into other streets. Though the team may take another few shots at them, they’re soon lost in the storm.
Only after the team has regrouped and moved on past their battleground are they likely to find what their foe was doing here in the first place. Just around the corner of the street a chest lies abandoned in the snow, prised open by powerful hands. Though it’s definitely not where they expected to find it, the symbol on the lid is one Blaze told them to look for: one of her weapon caches. Its contents are partly scattered around it: civilian clothes, a trauma kit… but no obvious weapons, or armor, for that matter. Instead there are a handful of strange polyhedrons, tinted green or white, each about the size of a football. They look crystalline, but the first person to pick one up will find they’re not that heavy. Natasha might recognize them from things Steve or Blaze have said before. If they try to contact the other team, Ghost will be quick to advise they recover the things, at least as many as they can jam in their packs.
They must have won themselves something of a reprieve: nothing so much as tries to shoot at them as they head for the next beacon. This one was planted on a small green, in the shelter of a young oak tree. The green is long buried under snow, and as they draw near a strange, steady tapping noise is carried to them on the wind.
Through the snow they come, to find the tree lies broken, its splintered trunk jutting tragically into the air. But the beacon remains, knocked at an angle yet still functioning. Atop the sensor box perches an uncommonly large crow, pecking at the flashing green light. The wind ruffles its inky feathers without coming close to dislodging it. Tap. Tap. Tap.
It stops when it takes notice of them. Lifts its sleek head to study them across the snow. It turns a slow, beady eye on each of them in turn; each might feel its stare lingers especially long on them. Then it unfolds its wings and beats its way steadily up into the clouds, riding the churning gales as if they were there for its convenience.
Well after it’s gone they’ll hear the click of the radio announcing Ghost trying to get their attention. “Bravo to Alpha! Please respond!”
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Whatever portal this demon sprung from, whatever haunted world it’s accustomed to cast its shadow across… it has never faced an assault like this. There’s a stutter of blue light as its shield comes back online and collapses again instantly. A ragged gurgle from a throat that can no longer howl in pain. It’s thrown up, and up, and up into the air and then the blades converge and everything becomes a BOOM as physics gives way at last.
Metal shards fly. Charred wisps of carbon and cloth are flung outward. A rush of that ghostly light escapes up from the chaos, a formless, luminous white mist. To Azwel, it looks briefly like a four-armed figure, head thrown back before it dissipates. There’s not going to be a lot left, save half a warped blade sticking out of a wall behind Azwel. Perhaps a few scraps of blue cloth flutter down, to be snatched away by the wind.
The silence falls quite suddenly, then. For a moment only the wind whips around them all, tugging at the cape settling over the fallen corpse. The smaller ones seem to be in shock, or debating what to do now, small chittery whispers passing among them. Then one bounds atop an abandoned car, dagger and pistol brandished- only to hesitate as another snarls behind it. It scampers back into cover after a second’s reluctance. The creatures begin to slink back into the snow, into other streets. Though the team may take another few shots at them, they’re soon lost in the storm.
Only after the team has regrouped and moved on past their battleground are they likely to find what their foe was doing here in the first place. Just around the corner of the street a chest lies abandoned in the snow, prised open by powerful hands. Though it’s definitely not where they expected to find it, the symbol on the lid is one Blaze told them to look for: one of her weapon caches. Its contents are partly scattered around it: civilian clothes, a trauma kit… but no obvious weapons, or armor, for that matter. Instead there are a handful of strange polyhedrons, tinted green or white, each about the size of a football. They look crystalline, but the first person to pick one up will find they’re not that heavy. Natasha might recognize them from things Steve or Blaze have said before. If they try to contact the other team, Ghost will be quick to advise they recover the things, at least as many as they can jam in their packs.
They must have won themselves something of a reprieve: nothing so much as tries to shoot at them as they head for the next beacon. This one was planted on a small green, in the shelter of a young oak tree. The green is long buried under snow, and as they draw near a strange, steady tapping noise is carried to them on the wind.
Through the snow they come, to find the tree lies broken, its splintered trunk jutting tragically into the air. But the beacon remains, knocked at an angle yet still functioning. Atop the sensor box perches an uncommonly large crow, pecking at the flashing green light. The wind ruffles its inky feathers without coming close to dislodging it. Tap. Tap. Tap.
It stops when it takes notice of them. Lifts its sleek head to study them across the snow. It turns a slow, beady eye on each of them in turn; each might feel its stare lingers especially long on them. Then it unfolds its wings and beats its way steadily up into the clouds, riding the churning gales as if they were there for its convenience.
Well after it’s gone they’ll hear the click of the radio announcing Ghost trying to get their attention. “
Bravo to Alpha! Please respond!”