Into a Rising Wind

[handsofwinter]

Winter holds the Nexus in its jaws, and its teeth sink ever deeper.

A month into the storm, the snow has yet to stop falling. The number of mouths to be fed has stopped dwindling, almost. Occasionally people go missing, and those who notice hope they’ve found a way back through their portals. It’s not enough to change the maths on their food supplies - all their supplies. Nobody is getting a full meal at a time, not any more. Isidor and Lyall have begun to enforce the rationing with iron hands. Both ignore the look that crosses Captain Kirk’s face when they upbraid a volunteer cook for being too generous – the look that lingers on Runa’s face if she’s close enough to hear. They’re doing what they must. They need a tight hold on their supplies if they want to get people through this. They need supplies even to send expeditions after more.

And expeditions are a difficult prospect now. Those who ventured into the storm and returned have brought stories that spread faster than Isidor hoped. The Crossroads Cafe has become a semi-official hub for those travelling outside or keeping watch on the bounds, a safe resting place kept warm by the combined power of Pokemon and Persona. In the long dark nights, people sit around the tables and share what they've seen, what they've heard from this scout or that refugee. Whispered tales of the creatures out there hunting in packs, hounding people from rooftops, even tearing open walls to reach them…

No-one goes out alone, now. Those brave enough to take the risk go in groups and arm themselves with the best weapons they can find. Sometimes they’re a risk to themselves. Not everyone knows how to handle that black market plasma pistol they picked up two days past. Not all of their team-mates keep their nerve when a figure looms out of the snows beside them. Sometimes it’s hard to tell who’s run afoul of monsters, and who of their own folly. Safer, but little less brave, are the people recruited to keep watch on that shifting line of torches. Just a precaution. The creatures don’t come past it, everyone says. But quietly, everyone doubts.

There've been bright moments, too. A strange alchemist comforting a lost child. An expedition team fighting their way home, back to back. Families brought safely through the snow by soldiers and wizards, by heroes young and old and sometimes surprising. A volunteer cook stepping up to prepare, if not quite a hundred thousand meals, then something that feels close. A young man saving the life of a stranger who'd threatened him. The past weeks have seen people who may never have known one another before come together to offer a blanket, or guiding words, or a helping hand in a search. Small moments, glowing reminders of how much good the people of the Nexus have on their side. But the Winter goes on, and the winds never get less bitter, and the smiles get more strained with every day.

Slowly the line of torches close on the Plaza, a noose no-one can afford to flee. Sheltered space is at a premium. Most of those who remain are settled as close to the centre as they can be. Whether in the big public bunker or the Cafe, people find themselves crammed all together, and tempers regularly fray among residents not too cold and exhausted for fighting. The more responsible Nexus-goers find themselves trying to duck out of (or break up) fights, or spending hours stuffing drafty accommodation with any insulation they can find. There’s snow to be shoveled from doors, pipes to be defrosted, bandages to be changed. Anything’s better than dealing with the problem of working bathrooms.

At one end of the Plaza headquarters, a makeshift screen has been dragged into place to give a semblance of privacy to Isidor’s desk. It’s painfully early in the morning, though the nights are so long and the days so dim beneath the storm clouds there’s little sense of time any more. There’s no-one around yet to wonder about the meeting going on. The only people present are Isidor, Lyall and a handful of senior volunteers – those who remain. Blaze-37 crouches by a makeshift fireplace, stacking the salvaged wood just right before she punches it lightly, setting it alight with the flames that ripple over her fist. The other robot, Ghost, is hovering over the desk playing flashlight for them, shining a pale beam over the maps and reports laid out there. Light, too, is a precious resource, as batteries die and outlets are lost to encroaching Winter. It’s the only reason those here have gotten sleep. They work until they have no light to work by.

“Shouldn’t we wait for Suou?” the Guardian asks when Isidor says they can begin.

“Officer Suou won’t be coming.”

That’s part of why they’re here, Isidor explains. The torches’ march has taken them past the Grand Library. The Crossroads Café is now on the very edge of the safe zone, along with all the people sheltering there. Katsuya’s magic is the only thing that will protect it. He can’t leave. It’s a turning point that only drives home the larger problem: they’re running out of time. They’re running out of everything. Most refugees are in some kind of shelter by now; what they lack is food to keep them alive and fuel to keep them warm. Isidor’s volunteers have counted heads and counted tins and counted everything backwards and forwards and the numbers never get better. Either they do something now, while they have the strength, or the meals will run dry in two weeks. Less, if anything goes wrong.

She lets that sink in. Nobody looks surprised: she’s confirming their worst suspicions and that gets a few flinches, but they understand. They talk, instead. By the time there’s a hint of daylight outside and someone knocks on the door for the first shot at rations, they have a plan. They need an expedition, bigger than any before. They need enough arms to discourage attack, the skills to get them to any buried supplies and the numbers to haul them back in quantity. Each of them walks away from the table with a mission in mind and an air of grim determination.

They have a job to do, and they’re going to need help.

((As before, so below: the main missions/subquests for the expedition prep are listed below. Tag any of them, threadhop, or post with your own character. I suggest putting your character’s name in the subject to help keep things clear. The OOC Post can be found here! If you have any questions, feel free to message me or one of the mods!))

Threads of Note

Scouting the Expedition | A Fistful of Torches | Scrapyard Sweep | The Home Front | Medical Attention | Isidor's Expedition Call | Main Expedition: The Raid

Comments

[he_put_the_devil_in_me]

Daredevil is used to fighting.

He's not used to battle.

It's chaos incarnate on his senses, screams and roars and hisses, the grating scents of burning fuel and fumes and blood, irregular vibrations of movement drowned out by truly massive shockwaves and heat. It's taking everything he has to concentrate on the threats closest to him, struggling to shut out irrelevant noise when any sound could be his only warning that an enemy has shifted its target to him.

Above all else, he can hear the deaths.

Thou shalt not kill.

And he isn't. He strikes hard and fast, crippling and disabling what he can, harrying the enemy and drawing their attention only to have them cut down by others in the convoy. Tempting them into exposing their weak spots to those with better aim, those to whom the fifth commandment means very little at all, and tells himself there will be time to feel guilty later, to seek his penance for allowing - enabling - these deaths to happen. No different than knowing Frank was taking potshots at the Hand as Daredevil fought them hand-to-hand, only a few years ago, and doing nothing to stop or discourage him from the slaughter.

No different.

His attention is caught by the sound of engines, more reinforcements arriving, and though the battle is keeping his core temperature running hot, his blood runs cold as he realizes they're targeting the snowmobile and its precious cargo. If these bastards take it out, it's all over. He knows it. Everyone knows it.

He may not be able to take on the big guy, unprotected as he is by any armor whatsoever, armed only with melee-range taser batons. But the rest of the pack are smaller, and just as vital to take out of the equation. Any one of them could bring disaster if left unchallenged.

Matt abandons his position, and makes a beeline for the snowmobile and its attackers, ready to do whatever he can to clear its path.

[outpostcook]

Kinner tries to keep his calm as the alien pirate attacks him. He tsk-tsks, his way of taunting the pirates. "You guys really want to give us a hard time, don't you? Now I'm also startin' to wonder what your problem is."

The already hectic chase aside, Kinner is not thrilled to be faced with a multi-armed alien armed with a sword, and it looks like this one is intent on going after him. He steps back, keeping his grip. He looks at the alien's sword, then at his own revolver. Normally it would be a bad idea to bring a sword to a gunfight. However, these aliens appparently figured out a way around that. If nothing else, they're inventive. Pity they can't put it to a better use.

That has to be cheating, at least by his judgement. The cook decides to follow suit and grabs a bigger gun, more powerful than is trusty pistol, hopefully good enough to shatter that armor. If they cheat, he'll cheat. He aims it at the Fallen vandal's head, going for where the armor is weakest, and fires. Hopefully this'll take it out, or wound it at least. After the vandal's down, he'll turn his attention to the Fallen captain.

[eumenis]

It was inevitable that their opponents should target the transport. Furiosa knew that going in, and she'd have been downright disappointed if it hadn't come to pass. Having it actually grabbed and stopped by a massive creature is not quite what she expected, though.

She doesn't flinch, eyes seeking out the captain's as she revs the engine and wrenches the steering to one side, then the other. The snowmobile itself is the biggest weapon she's got. She can't afford to blow out the engines or break the treads, but she also can't afford to baby it. The way she shifts and turns and pushes the wheel one way and another makes the machine shudder and writhe like it's a living thing trying to escape the captain's grasp, a perfect reverse tug-of-war.

"You're going to lose," she says in a deep, distinct growl. "And we're going to plow you over."

Her gun hand comes up, Glock holstered in favor of a flare gun, which she aims directly at the captain's face. The shot goes wide as one of the vandals slashes at her arm, but she hauls off with her metal hand and swings it at her attacker. Whether claws or fist make contact, there's going to be some damage.

[red_room]

Until the Titan runs out of juice all Natasha can do is sprint after Blaze. Alien sounds she has no frame of reference for flood her ears but the sound of battle is a universal constant. The spy hops over still smoking craters in the frozen earth from where Blaze's hammers have reshaped the terrain.

Natasha knows better than anyone here that Blaze can't keep this up forever and when the glow fades from her armor it won't be long at all before Ghost picks her up on his readout inserting herself behind the Titan like an extension of her shadow. The stolen Fallen gun is in her hands, singing off its shots with every squeeze of the trigger. There aren't many shots, either. The spy has no way of knowing how much ammunition is left in this thing so she's making every shot count.

Following behind Blaze and using the Titan as cover while she takes aim at anything looking to put a blast in the Exo's back but careful not to stray out into open ground herself.

[walking_on_fire]

Little grunts are no match for Pokemon, but clearly the battle has shifted, momentum is being lost as time passes. It's getting harder for Incinerator to pile-drive the Fallen and Emboar seems to be struggling with punching enemies back. This isn't working and the best thing to do it the call the Pokemon back. However, being targeted herself is making it hard for the Pokemon trainer to reach her Pokeballs.

"Fall back, you two!" The sudden appearance of the Fallen in front of the snowmobile has changed everything. They need to eliminate it or otherwise the mission is doomed. It already seems hopeless, an army of aliens against just a ragtag group of people...

Don't lose here. She has to live. To defeat the odds at all costs.

The two Pokemon begin retreating to the snowmobile, while Natalie flies backward at the fastest speed Volcarona can go. Headstrong and more than willing to face the Fallen captain with fire.

[brother_alone]

Amid all the noise and the chaos around them what has Joshua most on edge while he zips and weaves between packs of the creatures are the bigger guys standing back and taking aim at the entire convoy with those long range guns of theirs. He can more or less keep out of range of the closer combat units but those snipers don't have to be anywhere near him to do damage.

"What the fucking..." What the hell are those huge robotic eyeballs? Black and purple and glowing with charged. Oh. No. Josh swerves as the ground explodes, opening a crater with the blast of purple energy it shot out his way but the servitor might as well have been herding him because his right shoulder is screaming in agony a second later, scarred skin of an old wound burned open again by the blast that clips him from the vandal's gun. He'd thought having a pair of shears stabbed into him was painful. This? Is worse, somehow.

His listing to one side has brought him swerving toward Furiosa's snow mobile and he can see what's happening. His little speeder isn't heavy enough to ram into the big guy, but he does have that rifle he can't use and especially not now with his arm feeling like it's on fire. Josh fumbles for the strap of the rifle and pulls it into his left hand when he corrects the speeder so he can swing close enough.

"Here!" He tosses the gun toward Kinner before swerving off again, oversteering a little bit and having to correct again. Oh man, oh jeez this hurts. But there's no choice but to keep pressing onward....

[handsofwinter]

The big guy at the snowmobile is getting hit from all sides. While his smaller crew wheel to face Matt, he’s snarling as he fights to hold on to the writhing snowmobile. He’s doing better than the vandal attacking Furiosa: her claws rake deep into its cloth-covered arm, slick fluid spilling over them. The seven-foot alien loses its hold on the fishtailing vehicle and goes down scrabbling, making the dreg behind squeal and leap away from its flailing blade. The moment they let up on their suppressing fire Delia’s energy bursts take out another couple of the pack- bonus damage in pummeling their boss.

Kinner has a similar problem – atop the snowmobile there’s nowhere to evade, and the Fallen he’s fighting can see him going for that unwieldy gun. Hopefully he knows how to use a rifle like that, because it’s built more powerful than the weapons of his time. His aim is thrown off, but it turns out of he can brace himself and pull the trigger it doesn’t matter what part of the armor that gun hits. There’s a sharp spray of fluid, a shriek of pain- and a powerful lower limb smashes into his chest in return, throwing him right off the snowmobile.

The captain, meanwhile, is taking literal fire as the Pokemon join in – but the blue light of his shield throws the fire back, long enough for a trio of shanks to rise from the other side of the snowmobile and wind up to open fire on the Pokemon. And then Azwel’s explosion rocks the ground behind them. The Fallen in its range have mostly scattered – those who didn’t are no more – but the blast wave washes over the captain’s shields, knocks a few jars loose from their payload. The captain lets go the snowmobile to turn and howl in utter hatred at the source of the unnatural powers loosed upon his kin…

…Which leaves the convoy wide, wide open to book it through the open ground just cleared. The Captain and his pack are busy now, firing at the Pokemon – and in the captain’s case, lowering his head and driving a powerful shoulder into Matt while he’s distracted by the dregs sweeping knives at his throat and legs. They have a chance to go… they just need to take it. And remember to pick up their friends.

Player ??? Has Entered The Game

[rekindledtitan]

Not far ahead now, Blaze is calling out to them, beckoning even as she pulls the hitherto-unused rocket launcher from her back, lifts the heavy weapon to her shoulder. A vandal tries to come in from behind before Natasha’s new shock pistol turns its helm into a smoking mess. A moment to sight, and then the Guardian sends one, two rockets whistling over the field – up to those servitors lurking in the trees up-slope. One is a near miss, the explosion splintering a tree and rocking the nearest machine; the other hits almost directly. It’s too far to see what damage is inflicted, but in a flash both servitors teleport further back, out of sight. Blaze glances at Ghost’s damage estimate, then twists away to shield herself as a grenade lands in front of her. Another explosion, another shock and scorching heat on her plates.

By now the Titan's armor is muddied and torn, the white paintjob boiled away in splashes, the golden emblem that sways at her hip streaked with organic ash and fluids. Some of it's her own. She can feel the slowly healing rents in her side from a shock blade missed, the grind and burn in her hip where a sniper round punched through. But the convoy is free and clear, and those servitors won’t be firing on them. She is an Exo and a Titan. Pain is irrelevant. Death is irrelevant. They’ve got this. She’s got this. With every kill she makes the Light comes burning stronger within her.

A roar from behind shakes the air... and around them, voices are raised in inhuman answer. A cheer spreading throughout the Fallen troops. Another skiff is dropping out of the sky, and there’s something a little different about its shape. Blaze is already moving toward it when something new and massive grabs a hold of the lower grips and slings itself easily to the ground.

Where the big captains stand near eight feet tall, this one must be nine feet without the helmet. It towers over everything else on the field, lean and powerful. A pair of horns jut from either side of its helm, arching back like a crest; its great pauldrons are ridged with spines, its sigil-marked armor trimmed in heavy fur and decorated with cloth emblems in blue and white. In its upper hands it bears a cannon longer than the height of a human, blades sheathed at its side. A half-dozen of the lesser captains drop down around it, swords unsheathed and armor gleaming.

Reload. She has to reload fast as she walks. The new arrival speaks, and its voice is a guttural rumble of contempt through the air above them. The giant wades through carnage and broken bodies as if through so many discarded toys – and then it lifts its mighty cannon and starts firing heavy explosives toward the convoy…

…No. Toward Azwel?

It gets off two rounds and then- finally- her rocket streaks into it, closely followed by another. And the explosions splash harmlessly against the blue halo of energy that flares around the giant’s body. It turns to snarl mockingly at Blaze. She shoulders the launcher and charges in, calling out on the radio, ”All of you go! Go! Get the hell out of range! Protect the payload!”

She doesn’t know the name of the noble she’s about to duel. It doesn’t matter. Doesn’t even matter if she wins. Not if the food gets away. If she fails, if she dies, she can come back for this beast later. She slings a grenade up and sees it stick, feels the burst of Solar Light bring down the noble’s shield as she dashes past the guards-

And then it very literally puts its foot down.

The giant’s stomp is ground-shaking. Even with all her mass and momentum Blaze is sent flying through the air, plows into dirt and muddy snow before she can catch herself. The massive Fallen laughs at her, harsh and mocking. Then it’s gone, into the trees with a teleport flash. Its guard move after it, purposeful and watching their backs. They stalk through the trees after the convoy.

Swearing, Blaze hauls herself to her feet and charges after them, leaving Natasha to keep up. If they bring the vehicles down that’s the end of it. She can’t see them any more… but she’ll catch up.

[eumenis]

After her one snarled declaration at the captain, Furiosa is a curiously quiet fighter. She's never one to be above victory screams, but more often than not she saves her breath in a crisis. Especially now that she has that one delicate lung. Her flare gun goes off twice more, claws and fist lashing out once again before grabbing at the steering again, now slick with whatever fluid they drew from their enemy.

The trap of bodies starts to give way, and she drops the flare gun, ready to go--but then Kinner falls, and this time she does yell, a wordless exclamation of dismay.

She shouldn't. If she were speeding across open ground, she couldn't. But we are not things, and with only a split second to think she jerks the steering to the side, rounding in a semicircle and running over a couple of the vandals, in order to keep them from mobbing him. The arm that comes down to scoop him up is the left, all chemical-slick metal, but the claws dig into his coat. He'll need to scramble up to help, but she's surprisingly strong, dragging him toward the cab as she hits the gas again.

Even before he's back in his seat the snowmobile is picking up speed, hurtling toward full momentum.

"I thought I fuckin' told you not to fall off," she tells him breathlessly, and her voice is a growl, but she flashes the briefest of grins at him.

[he_put_the_devil_in_me]

Matt has his hands full with the pack, dodging and parrying as best he can, the occasional blade biting through his clothes and catching on skin, but it's just flesh wounds staining his coat red and he doesn't let it slow him down. Can't let his guard down, or he's dead, and he knows it.

The explosion still takes him by surprise. The earth heaves below his feet, the shockwave blasting out from some point far too close, his ears ringing painfully with the force of it and temporarily deafening him, making him briefly lose track of his opponents.

He strikes out blindly, unable to feel even the vibrations in the earth that'd hint at their whereabouts, and that's when it hits him.

It's like being struck by a truck, big and solid and heavy, and Matt can feel bone crunch in his forearm and along his ribs on impact, knocking the breath from his lungs. All he can do is lie there wheezing, adrenaline running too high to really notice the pain just yet, his arm stubbornly refusing to help him even try to roll over so he can get to his feet.

The one bright spot is that with him down, he's apparently become a less threatening target, because they haven't killed him yet. Which means they're turning their attention back to the caravan.

No.

Matt fights against his body, sheer determination holding him together as he pushes himself back up, swaying heavily, left arm hanging uselessly at his side, struggling to get a grasp on what's going on around him.

[sweetcandygirl]

Harley was at the epicenter of Azwel's explosion. One moment she was near him, promising to stay with him... and then the next minute the explosion forces her body through the air, landing on hard ground a far distance from where she was.

It is some small fortune that her body had landed near the rest of the convoy, close to the far back, as the others push forward towards the new opening in the Fallen enemy lines.

Her body lands with a cracking thud. And for a moment, her eyes roll back in her head... Her pink winter coat -- a gift to her from Loki -- is in near tatters. Her bat had snapped in half, since it had been the one thing keeping her from actually having contact with Azwel.

In her mind, she sees the back of a purple coat for a moment. And hears a familiar voice. Keep her tied down. But let her struggle. I like watching her struggle

The ground shaking stomps of the Giant Fallen make her eyes snap open. And Harley remembers where she is. And she feels a pain in her chest, where she is sure she has a broken rib, as she pushes her self up and... ouch... to her wobbly legs... fuck is her ankle twisted too?

She stares at the broken bat on the ground. And stumbles forward. As her healing abilities start to kick in, a small quiet and desperate laugh shakes from her lips. Her baby blue eyes are dark with a scary determination, as Harley limps forward towards the Captain and his pack that are still attacking her friends.

She reaches back... fuck... that hurts... and pulls out her fire sword, flames covering the metal of the blade. And favoring her good leg for the moment, Harley spins forward, attacking like a savage beast. Laughing with every slash, as she fights through the pain.

[coldsong]

At last, finally, some of the answers he has sought. These beings, the Fallen, are far from kin to him, but they're interesting in their own right. When the largest of them lands to fight, he pauses in his tracks to watch, fascinated. A lord or a king, he judges, based on the reactions, but one who is not too high and mighty to stand with his army.

It's a hierarchy not unlike Asgard and Jotunheim, actually. And in their kingdoms' heyday, both Odin and Laufey took to the field with their armies, to conquer. Odin erased that history of his, but Laufey leaned into it. They were both fools in that respect. What's been done cannot be undone, but dwelling in past glory is pathetic. What, he wonders, does this kingdom hope to gain here, aside from territory?

The explosion shocks him from his distraction, and he senses rather than observes Harley's body go flying. For a second his heart is in his mouth: that would unquestionably kill a normal human. Thank the Norns, then, that she is not one of those. He makes a move toward her side, but some of the newly-dropped foes are in his way. Whether they intend to face him or whether they are merely milling, seeking places to join the chaos, he cannot tell, but the moment of frustration snaps the thread of his patience.

The glamour hiding him sizzles and snaps like sparks on a hearth as it drops. And as it drops, his cobalt skin glimmers in the light from gunfire and glowing eyes. Drinking in power, he lets himself grow, unfold. He is a runt of a Frost Giant, but he's a consummate shapeshifter, and if he wants to be more, he will be. When his height matches his murdered progenitor's plus a little extra, he reaches out and down and swings, batting aside any of the Fallen small enough that he can do so.
Blades flash in either hand, and he makes for the spot where Harley landed.

He needn't have worried, perhaps. She's up before he closes in on her, laughing and pulling out her own sword. The flames dazzle his red eyes and he finds himself laughing with her.

Because he is not merely Laufeyson, not merely a Jotun, but also Logi the fire-god. An etymological accident, perhaps, but reality is so malleable when it comes to the divine and its providence. One of his twin blades vanishes, tucked into hammerspace, leaving his hand free. And then, as he runs a few steps to catch up with her, scarlet flames streak around him, clearing his path.

He is ice, and he is fire, luminous from within, warring contradictions turned outward against whoever, whatever, he chooses to strike at.

[brother_alone]

"WHY IS THAT ONE SO BIG?!" Okay, no. No on so many levels. No times infinity plus one because Nothing about this scene is okay. The smell of blood and viscera and whatever it is that leaks out of these things when they're injured that smells somewhere between coolant and something greasier that leaves a film in his mouth whenever Joshua breathes in is everywhere but even that is being flooded with the smell of burning flesh that coats his lungs and makes Josh gag even over his own pain.

He's crying, though his gear hides the tears. How did any of them think they were going to walk out of this alive? Who were they kidding when they thought this was a good idea? But it was the Only idea. The only one left.

All around him his own team are falling to blasts or blows. Running off into the forest--but the convoy has an opening. They can get the supplies out of here, at least. The few that are with it, at least. Josh can escape with them. He could stop to help up his downed comrades but that takes a kind of heroics the Canadian just doesn't have after everything he's seen. He sees his chance to see the mission done and to get out of here. With a jerk of his arm Josh swerves into the woods to give him some cover from the snipers while he circles round to catch up with Furiosa.

He's not going to get a better chance to escape.

[handsofwinter]

The farther he gets from the battle the more those awful sounds are covered by the wind and the rumble of his bike. It may feel like a blessing, for a little bit. But without the noise to orient him the storm is disorienting. The trees look much the same. There are rocks and more snow and- shouldn't he have come back round by now? Where are the others? If he circles back around too fast he'll-

Something cracks above his head, splinters flying out from the nearest trunk. He's come back almost to the battlefield. To the left a pack of those four-armed snipers have seen him. He glimpses one taking aim while the others scurry up the bank, horrifyingly fast on those many limbs of theirs.

[brother_alone]

It's better this way. The burning pain all down his right arm isn't going away but he feels safer already. Out of the view of anyone who'd want to shoot at him and out of range of the stench of the fight. Joshua's used to horrifying scenes, images of gore and death. Sights and sounds that aren't real but so awful. He can feel every frenetic beat of his heart down his arm though, and Joshua knows this is real.

All of it.

It's so much worse when the monsters aren't just in his head. He's only been this afraid before once, and even then, he was blissfully numb from delusions for a chunk of it. This time? This time he's aware. It's not an improvement from where he's sitting. Has he been this way before? He couldn't have gotten lost he was just ducking out of sight. The tree line and the road should be right her--

"Fuck!" The branch that explodes into a shower of fibers and singed wood nearly makes him crash the speeder. It certainly hasn't taken them long to pick him out again once he's close to open ground. He can't take a look over his shoulder but the movement in his peripherals is more than enough Bad. He feathers the throttle while he darts around a large rock but still flinches when he hears the shot clip the stone as he darts by.

He's almost out in the open now and much faster than the convoy. He can catch them.

[lady_sif]

The chaos of the battlefield is difficult to navigate, even for an experienced warrior, and Sif is untested in many ways. She's bleeding from a few nicks and scratches that she's earned, but she is a force of nature in her own right, and she has gleaned the blood of her enemies tenfold for each drop that she has bled. It's easy, in many ways--she finds herself spoiled for choice here, surrounded by foes on all sides.

There are friends as well: she fought, laughing, side-by-side with one of Loki's ghostly clones for a spell before their paths diverged, but they are outnumbered now. She doesn't fear her own death, for surely Valhalla awaits her if she falls this night, but the lives of her compatriots are not so easily dismissed. Certainly there is no shame in dying for so great a good, but is it not better to live and partake in the good as well?

Explosions and blasting beams and gunfire all vie for her attention, but it's hard not to notice when allies and friends are sent flying through the air like paper dolls, when their bodies crash and crumple. Being a warrior means respecting your comrades to fight their own battles, but it also means never leaving someone behind if it can be helped.

Her swords rejoin into their singular form, a double-ended spear she can swing with one hand as she runs to check on those who have fallen. Harley is up on her feet with surprising speed, and Loki is with her. Instead, Sif singles out Matt's masked face and braces his body with hers. "It's me," she says, in case his senses are too overwhelmed for him to ascertain her identity. "Come on."

[walking_on_fire]

Seeing a forward attack is one thing, but getting surprised by a flank assault should've been predicted. There's a shocked reaction from Pokemon and trainer alike when the fire gets reversed back at the targets, thankfully not doing much harm. No, that's the job of the grunts, who begin shooting at Incineroar and Emboar mercilessly. Shots gets dangerously close and actually do graze the Pokemon, causing them to cry out in anguish before attempting a return attack.

Natalie, however, dives down among the forces, Volcarona covered in searing flames. The shanks don't stand a chance, but a wild shot hits Volcarona's wing in desperation. The Pokemon is able to recover, but Natalie gets thrown to the snowy ground, immediately feeling the wind escape her lungs. Every one of her Pokemon more to protect her, but instead of giving commands, she recalls everyone back to the safety of the Pokeballs.

Volcarona and Politoed are the only two left, the frog Pokemon throwing up a protective shield to deflect any attacks. It won't last long, as Volcarona hovers close, quietly urging her trainer to stand once more. In that moment, Natalie looks around weakly, hearing a haunting voice calling out to her in the back of her brain.

Is this what you wanted to see? It's a reminder that you're not a hero and that all things must die.

Her head is raised enough to see Blake and Natasha rushing towards the giant, it's terrifying eyes burning into her psyche. Now she understands what they mean. Chaos. Destruction. She's seen that glare from humans, enemies and allies alike. Beings that care about only themselves.

"This is what I signed up for..." She gets to her knees, coughing up blood, while pocketing the pokeballs in a safe spot. Off comes her coat, driven by a feverish heat within, most certainly adrenaline. Stumbling to the snowmobile, she's going to make sure the rest of her team gets handed off to Furiosa before they depart. It's too easy to run right now, but she's of no use to people on the convoy.

This is the place where she plans to make her last stand. Win or lose. Do or die.

She reaches for her radio, hoping her message can reach the Guardian. "Blaze. I have a trump card up my sleeve. I can't use it while moving though. Tell me what position to take and I'll unleash it on the Fallen."

[outpostcook]

Kinner's startled when the Fallen strikes him, and he finds himself falling off the snowmobile. He barely has time to register that he was able to land a hit on the vandal that was attacking him, pretty good for someone against a larger, armored opponent. At least he went out fighting this time. That's a relief for him, if only a small one. Furiosa said she woudn't be able to go back for him. If he's lucky, he'll survive the fall, but then again the Fallen are waiting for him on the ground.

He's going to die, he's pretty sure. With any luck he'll be able to take one of them out with him.

When Furiosa grabs him, he scrabbles back onto the snowmobile, helping her as best he can. He still has his gun, turning to her with a small smile. "Hey, tried. And thanks. I woulds been a goner, huh?" He turns back to the battle, ready to do whatever she orders him to.

The Convoy is the Other Way, Natasha

[red_room]

"I really don't like the sound of that." Perhaps not even Ghost will hear Natasha's muttering when the air shakes and trembles with the cheer rippling down the slopes. She's not shouting to make herself heard, though the spy twists to watch the new skiff come in before her gaze drops to Blaze's push and Natasha is forced to hurry to keep up.

Trying to keep pace with a Titan is about as stupid of an idea as trying to keep pace with Thor in the middle of a battlefield. Even with her injuries Blaze doesn't seem to slow, at least not to a point where the human acting as her shadow can keep up easily.

There's no time to stop and stare when the largest Fallen by far stands tall from its landing with all the air of a warrior king taking to the field. How warped has her reality become that the sight of this behemoth doesn't immediately root her to the spot? That her first thought was immediately 'Steve's going to be pissed he missed this' instead of something sane or rational?

But there's as little time for introspection as there is for awe. A half dozen of those captains would by itself be a terrible addition to this fight. The..whatever that is. General? That's a bad sign. A bad terrible sign that Blaze is running towards.

Okay. Of course Blaze is going to punch the big general. Natasha follows as carefully as she can. Reynard was here before. He's watching and close by. Her next exhale judders slightly with her fear, though no one will be able to hear it. Even this far back the giant Fallen's stomp knocks her feet out from under her and sends the spy to her knees in the ice and the mud. It won't take Natasha nearly as long to get up as it will for Blaze. A boon considering she'll have to run if she expects to keep up with the Exo as she disappears into the trees with her shock pistol still kept in one hand.

It blue light has started blinking softly and the bar that had been over its sights is much lower than it had been before. She's nearly out of ammunition.

[rekindledtitan]

The Fallen boss and its attendants have moved ahead quick and quiet through the trees. They have a head start, and though Blaze knows - expects - that they're tailing the convoy, it's easy to get disoriented as the hill and the road curve apart and the trees obscure the lay of the land. And it's surprisingly quiet, but for the wind and the gunfire just over the hill. No explosions, no heavy steps - even the deep footprints in front of them vanish from the trail. Blaze slows down, swears in frustration.

"Ghost, can't you get a signature on that commander?" She yanks off her cracked and fritzing helm, the better to see and hear. Plowing through the deep snow , she heads in the direction of the convoy, casting about for signs of the Fallen noble's trail. If nothing else they know they need to go this way. She just doesn't want to get taken off-guard from the side, or behind. Especially when Natasha's with her.

She glances up, in case the Fallen have gone climbing. Seeing none, she takes no notice of the crow huddled black on the branches above them. Watching them, and waiting.

[red_room]

Natasha hears Ghost tell Blaze to give him a minute while he does his scans. The break is giving her a moment to catch her breath. Every ragged inhale stabbing needles of cold into her lungs but she doesn't care. It's a break she's needed after the toil of making it this far. The spy falls into step behind Blaze.

Her gaze sweeps the trees surrounding them. The tracks and lack thereof. The branches above them for invisible assailants who would only be noticed by the flicker of their movement--and lands on the crow watching them.

Dry lips part in a moment of shock before she inhales sharply and glowers as hard as she can back at the bird. There has to be a way. There has to be another way. Will Reynard let them go back with their prize? He's already assaulted one of the convoy. Her gaze strays from the crow to the direction of the others. None of them are dead, so far as she knows. They've trained for this.

They have a literal god on their side, with Sif joining in the fray. The odds are as much in their favor as they can be.

Natasha looks back at the Exo and her Ghost. The Little Light who holds the keys to Blaze's immortality. Her exhale shudders. If they ask, she'll blame it on the cold.

[courtofmurk]

Gods and monsters and preternatural powers of all shades. And even at that, for all the fire leveled their way, for all the hundreds of blades arrayed against them, not one of their little band has spilled their lifeblood onto the snows. Precious few shields and so much fire and yet they have burned without being burned.

They've been so very lucky, haven't they?

It's a question of cost. Every prize carries a price.

Blaze is plowing ahead, barely remembering to glance back when she realizes she's pulled away from Natasha. Calling out to ask if she's all right.

The crow above them is gone when the spy looks back, but a low caw heralds a flutter near the ground. A different bird, a little smaller, sleek and dark-eyed as she perches on an arching tree root and stares up at Natasha from the shadows. The Magister's voice is low and rasping, "The time is come, Knight of the Court."

[red_room]

I don't do that anymore.

It's all a question of who, isn't it? She still kills. She's killed today. No one she knew, no one she wants to know. But the Fallen are people, too. It's ether that stains her hands today, not the crimson of blood. They're dripping with it just as everyone else out there slicks their hands the same. Worse than Natasha's even.

Without the food, all of them will starve. All of them except Blaze. Blaze who doesn't eat, doesn't sleep. Who can take a minefield on and get back up. To a Guardian, what is Death, exactly? But there aren't many who can know of Blaze's powers. When would they have an opportunity in the Nexus to see them? There has to be another way.

And perhaps there is.

If Death is no consequence to a Guardian, if Reynard is an enemy that Blaze so eagerly speaks ill of...Natasha wipes a bit of grime away from the sight of the shock pistol in her hands and stares at the charge left in it. Reynard won't know any difference, will he?

"You take this offering." Her words are grit out through a clenched jaw. "And you leave us alone." The chance and the choice are hers. Natasha lets out a breath, steadies it until she's sure it will be calm. The spy counts the steps it takes to catch up to Blaze. She's going to wake with nightmares for months of this moment, when her right hand so practiced in ending lives raises the shock pistol to Blaze's head with such a casual grace that neither are apt to notice until it's too late.

"Trust me." Natasha tells her friend.

A shot rings out in the woods.

[rekindledtitan]

Blaze has time to hear the words behind her. She doesn't have time to understand. To turn and question. To know what's in Natasha's eyes the moment she fires.

The shot punches through her metal skull. There's a spray of something chemical, lighter and less strong-smelling than ether. But mostly there's a crackle and hiss of burning circuits. The Titan crumples into the snow, her broken helm tumbling from her hands, all her strength and power shutting down in an instant. Like any mortal.

But unlike a mortal, something stirs within a moment: a small flash of light as Ghost appears, rises from above his Guardian with a wary optic on Natasha.

"Agent... Natasha? What are you doing?"

She's their friend. They should trust her. And yet...

He doesn't understand. And that worries him.

[red_room]

There are no tears. Decades of training, of programming, have prepared her for this exact scenario. Win someone over and put a bullet in their skull when the opportunity presents itself. It's not even the hardest kill she's had to make. That was her first. It's always the first.

After that? Everything gets easier with practice.

But where Natasha is often unreadable in the face right now she is anything but. Her guilt is evident in everything from her vitals to the way her jaw ticks staring back at Ghost. Her shoulders tremble ever so slightly for a moment before the spy takes a breath. She can't say what the plan is, and she can't stay here if she's going to walk away from this alive.

"Trust me. This was the only way." Natasha throws the spent shock pistol to the side and steals Blaze's sidearm off of her belt and tries not to look at the gaping hole and frying circuits that exists because of her. But by her hands, blood has been given. A life ended for Winter's tribute. One of Reynard's greatest foes, even.

Ghost is small and he knows to lay low. She has to get back to the convoy, or at least follow after it and pick up anyone who's been left behind.

Natasha doesn't waste any time in turning and running back for the tree line. Back to the others. Back to the fight.