Immolated

May 19, 2015:

Satana has another run in with Intergang and learns more about others seeking this world (not just herself), from Fantomex.

Greenwood Cemetery

I see dead people.

Characters

NPCs: Intergang members

Mentions:

Mood Music: [*\# None.]


Fade In…

There is something about the cemetery… Perhaps it is all circular. But where to find her is not hard at this point in time if you know where to look, and why. Where the portal had opened has burnt and withered floral arrangements as well as plots in its wake, a reminder of what had happened a week ago and still remains unfixed for intents and appearances of the deceased.

Now… Not a few yards away some thugs have returned, looking for clues, hints, reasons and /who/ had brought their fellows to an end.

Fallen crime scene tape flicks in the nights wind, fluttering like a white surrender flag to the end of ones' time while the trio searches surrounding brush and bramble as well as the grass.

"You cannot be surprised, they seemed tied to something way too deep for us, man. Gems for weapons of that caliber? Shit was askin' for it.."
"Shut it man, they did not /ask/ to be killed."
"We'll find the one who did it and bring them to the same fate."

"Will you now, boys?" The voice that answered with a question was dulcet, but borne upon serpentine hisses amongst the breeze that bears a bone sinking chill, though the eyes that reflect in the shadows show a heat, one boiling beneath the dark and incandescent surface.

In response one brandishes a blade, the metal gleaming against the moonlight, another a gun, untucking it from the back waistline of his pants.

"It's just a bitch." The last states with contempt.

"Yesss. Just a bitch." Satana responds as her hands brace on either side of seated hips that have found rest upon the top of a tombstone, just before curvature slithers from the perch in a liquidesque motion, bringing her to 'feet' cloaked in the fall of fur.

The armed thugs don't seem to see or care about Satana's feet, they are angry and… well, they are generally angry. Also willing to hurt someone as anger therapy. The third man with them, however, has a mission, and Satana is just a bothersome witness.

"Just walk away, freak. We have better things to do that deal with the likes of you." The other thugs pause at those words, but then one of them snickers. "But if we have to deal with you, not biggie. I bet you like to scream." He has a knife just like the one Fantomex had left stuck in one of the dead when Satana arrived.

Satana has already taken a few steps forward, that long spill of dark red hair shines like a fall of bloo behind her, finally descending from the stone to cascade down her back and hang at her feet, the ends slowly curling and lashing up and around her like vines. Easily enough to blame that manipulation on the wind…

Satana does not really hesitate, but the birth she gives them keeps them at arms length, a slow stalk that crescents their left, every step falling over the ground silent and holding sway, a pitch to the way those liquid coated hips roll. Encased in a darkness it splits at a deep pointed angle down her front, tipping off below her navel but leaving the pale spanse exposed 'twixt. One hand comes to rest at plexus as a small 'humble' smile curls her lips, those eyes never leaving the trio.

"I must admit, I do like a man who is up to the challenge. Are you?" Those final two words purred from her lips as the other hand extends, fingers splayed then curl inward in a beckoning motion as her movement finally stops.

"I beg to differ."

"Alright, kill her," grumbles the unarmed man, walking away. "But," he adds from the shadows. "Do not let her scream. Lets keep this discreet for once." The two thugs nods and grin. And then one with the knife jumps forward to slash at Satana's neck. The second one is actually attacking a silence to his handgun. Really serious about doing this quietly, at least from a thug's level of quietness.

"So quick," Satana breathes to the one who lunges to slash at her, her own body parrying in a back arching bend that results in a slash just below her neck across the bare spanse of her chest, across clavicle. "Keep thine enemies closer." With a flicker of movement her hand that had beckoned attempts to grab the lunging thug, and if he does not try to escape her hand will capture him around the throat, claws upon fingers diimpling into the flesh over the beating pulse of artery, feeling every momentum of heartbeat if it begins to race when…

Lips will try to close down upon his own, a covetous gesture that will only bring him in closer until he fights, but resistance is futile - the longer in her grasp the more his body begins to 'age' in her grasp, sucking the life from him.

The other is ignored, save the flicker of her eyes rising from first prey.

The first thug has no qualms about letting Satana get closer. He is almost twice her body mass, so he is sure the advantage would be his. Only too late he realizes the redhead is too much to handle, her strength supernatural. He reaches with his free hand to try grab her wrist and pull away, while the knife stabs from above, aiming to her neck again.

His buddy just realized something is very wrong, and dashes forward, aiming the handgun to Satana's head. "Let him go, you crazy bitch! I am gonna kill you!" So much for no screaming.

Somewhere ahead, the sound of a stone grinding against stone can be heard.

Lips part… Torn back from the one with a string of saliva coming from the bottom swell of lip, though within it there is an ethereal glow of magenta, a binding thread that she had yet to finish supping from her prey, the motion in tandem with her other hand snapping upward to capture his descending wrist bearing the weapon.

A deadly tango, one of one hand bearing into his throat now with a deadly force of dimpling claws over arterial mass that /push/ inward, pooling blood over pale fingertips, the other holding his wrist and /crushing/ carpal onto carpal until the only thing left keeping his grip upon the blade is her clutch around his.

A gasping breath between pants and those eyes of burning ember settle on the man with the gun aimed for her temple, from periphery that magma like swelling can be seen in the dark. "Do me the favor no other has yet to fulfill. Harken promises on desperate breaths!" When lips draw back that quartet of canines flash, her smile a sinister and darkening thing wrought from an abyss, and yet… When she tango steps to swing his partner between them a single batlike wing beats outward, a full on splay from beneath the veiling cascade of blood huen hair to batter the weapon laden man away from her if he does not dodge.

"Be nice and wait until I am done." Satana croons before depthening that kiss upon the one she holds, sealing back that fateful embrace hinging on his very /soul/.

The man trapped by the succubus struggles to scream as his wrist is crushed and his throat is held in an iron-like grip. He fails. But his friend has no qualms to shot, and he does. But Satana manages to put the trapped thugs between them, and he takes two out of three bullets before a bat wing strikes the gunner and sends him sprawling among the tombstones.

He wasn't nice. He didn't wait. And now he is not waiting to see what happens when the devil woman finishes his friend. He runs.

Satana simply loves it when they put up a fight, and that feel beneath blood tipped fingers gives her the sensation of rising pulse in the struggle, every little liquid laden surge until it stops. When he lips draw away a small moth spreads its wings and takes flight where death rattles and her own oxygen releases, a balance between them until the body crumbles and she snares the ethereal moth from the air by a wing, claws pinching the appendage like a lure until it is pressed between her own lips and devoured.

A single finger draws back from that haven 'twixt lips, her eyes alight now with a deeper burning flame that seeks to pursue the escapee.

"Now, now, you do not just get to be the voyeur and then run. Your turn." But as she states the last her hand rises, fingers flick and a streaking ball of orange tails through the path, lighting its way to land before the gun-bearing thug in a wall of fire that if he lands in will bear into his soul before the effects ever touch his body.

"Now where did the third go," Satana inquires to herself, stretching arms upward while clawed fingers caress over the side of her own cheek and lace through a fistful of hr own hair. "I'm feeling /greedy/."

He was quick, but not quick enough. The gunman is engulfed in the hellfire and shrieks in pain. Satana can see a maimed soul, as dark as they are those who go to her father's realm, yet somehow, this one has been stained further by outside forces. Likely twisted beyond its natural ability to heal.

That man was already doomed, marked by an alien force that not being infernal, feels equally sinister.

It might bear further investigation, but right then there is an explosion of blinding fire, heat and light. Something missed Satana by a few inches, and hit a tombstone behind her exploded violently. The shockwave hitting like a speeding truck. "Alright bitch. You mess with Intergang. So. You. Die. I don't care if you are just strong, or a mutie, or a devil. We have the firepower to handle bitches of all kinds."

That is the third man, carrying a weird looking metal cannon-gun. Oversized, obviously heavy. A bandoleer around his shoulder allows him to carry the device.

The doomed and the marked draw Satana's brows to dip, creasing the flesh above the bridge of her nose and narrowing those eyes. "A cowards death." The summoning has her hand rising higher and the flames engulfing the second man pitch, their hue going to that of a red tipped in green, burning like /hell/ and searing flesh from bone in a rapid manner if not put out.

Satana's focus is shattered, that moment of cast funeral pyre and reverence shattering like the flying stone of exploded tombstone, making Satana pivot and both of those wings snap outward now, leathery flesh shielding the flame she had cast as well as anything beyond.

Just her and him. "You're a different kind of evil. I don't know if I like that but I am willing to try all types." Finger tips still coated in the red of one of his fellows blood wiggles his way in a haughty wave followed by that redirection, the fire cutting a path around her, the brief zipping of smaller lines to etch a sigil beneath cloven feet and then direct back towards the third, seeking to burst him into flame.

"Keep talking dirty to me though and I may just let you get the upper hand. For a minute."

The man snarls and shoots again, and again. Each a pulse of fast-moving plasma bolt carrying the power of a cannon shell. Then Satana's spell hits him, and he burns himself. But he has barely a second to scream before the alien weapon overheats and explodes violently, pretty much atomizing him and leaving a small crater on the ground, the dirt glowing and crystallized.

That has definitely draw a lot of attention, although the cemetery watchmen are notoriously absent. The police will arrive in a few minutes, as well as some curious, but the first one to arrive is a gleaming flying saucer that gets there not twenty second after the weapon explosion.

The smile etched in blasphemy, the smile the cheshire would have shied from unless he was the one of nightmares. Satana's face twists with a form of determination as her hand goes from a directional aim to the man with the plasma cannon to a fist, seeking to have him swallowed whole, that is until he fires again, and again. She saw enough. This place is hers to conquer, /HERS/ alone for the cost of a throne.

Only enough time to withdraw her pale skin ripples with the sheen of scales, wings folding in a gust of wind, splaying and then slapping in to encompass her body from one of the blasts, cocooning her in fleshly folds when she goes down. Tucked into a ball and covered by now burnt limbs only so much guard could be set, enough to not vaporize the limbs, that silver linings shield that birthed from the ring of the pentacle falls away like a deadened firework and ends when it hits the ground, outing the insignia.

By the time the saucer is arriving Satana's wings unfold, falling behind her to trail like her hair, one drawn across knelt lap to slowly stroke fingers over the ragged burnt and torn skin, and with each touch a small glow is incited, fingers drawing away bearing it like threads, stitching her wounds with the dark magics over time, uncaring for the wolf-howl of sirens.

The saucer flies over the cemetery and drops Fantomex along the way. He lands a few yards from Satana and gives her a long, hard look. "You are hurt," he notes, not unkindly. "Are you living here?" He looks at the burning and destruction. "Sacre bleu, what am I going to do with you? I can offer you some immediate medical attention, at least. Looks like you… pretty much annihilated the Intergang thugs."

"Is there a better place to live?" Satana had hesitated a moment when Fantomex arrived, but his voice is distinct, only one of it's kind she had heard since arriving here and so it does not meet that boiling rage that is slowly quelling within her. When she inquires a brow rises slightly, her head only tilting his way, much like a woman seaming her dress and heeding the word of a man she only pays half a mind to.

"Immolated." Satana corrects. "I immolated two of the three, the final did unto me what I did to his brethren, but it backfired. His death is sadly his own. His life would have tasted so…" An inhale is sucked between clenched teeth, a small shiver running down her spine. "Filling. What a waste."

She did not accept nor decline his offer for help, the other wing still hanging burnt and lame behind her in the pool of noir and vitae mingled strands. "Though their minds…" The final few words trailing off with a shrug. Darkness was everywhere, non?

"Well, indeed. This is a place to be dead," deadpans Fantomex. "I knew the Intergang had a cache here, though. Hrm." He should search, but Satana is all burned up and the police is coming. "You can't stay here tonight. The police would want to detain you. Even if the people that you killed probably needed to die, they would restrain you for a while." So E.V.A. is coming down, reluctantly.

It almost look as if she was rearranging the skin, shifts and folds of leathery flesh slide beneath her fingers, manipulated up into the burning threads, restringing the complex marionette and mending its wounds of misuse. "He came at me with his cannon from over there.." Satana gestures off behind the brush to the south, those fated strings whisping to and fro, bending and bowing in a breeze that EVA lowers upon.

"They wanted to detain me as well, look where that got them." A nary a care wave of her other hand towards the charred remains of one and the drained husk of another.

"I have an insatiable hunger." Satana says, a smirk painting over those dark stained lips while dual tipped tongue traces over the lower.

"It is not the same, chere," comments Fantomex, heading to where Satana was pointing. "Killing gangsters is dangerous, but they have limited resources and are forced to remain in the shadows. Killing policemen will make you a hunted woman for the whole government, with your face in the front pages of the newspapers, and if you can handle normal humans, they will send super-humans of all stripes after you." He glances back at Satana. "Or was it a rhetoric question?"

Watching Fantomex, Satana's expression looks bored as he explains. The only thing she is missing is a yawn. Instead she slowly rises, her jaw setting and teeth clenching. Those damaged leathery appendages shivered and then lifted, spanning out and up like spires towards the sky, ensuring rightness of the tissue before they slowly morphed, rolled and sucked into her back. Bones popping, ligaments tearing, muscles shifting to make room. But as they disappear and he body literally absorbs to mend in hiding her spine arches in the process, fingers curling into form fists all the while that long hair lashes around her, a string gust of wind parting it from the way.

One shuddering exhale and the wings are gone as well as that sheen of scaled skin, leaving behind what the scales did not protect from, the burns that sank deep beneath. Despite even that the almost-human appearing woman smirks in a lean over Fantomex's shoulder, those brimstone eyes sliding from him to what he was looking at. "I thought you understood how I like to /play./"

Fantomex glances back and chuckles. "I told you: Learn the rules first. Then you can bend them." He reaches a mausoleum and looks curious, circling the small building with a curious look. "I am just trying to keep you alive, mademoiselle. You are a new player here. Please, do not think you are… ah? Royalty? The apex predator? There are guys out there that can move mountains, shoot laser beams from orbit, explode like nuclear weapons or blanket entire countries with thunderstorms. Some can even do several of those things at once."

One step followed by the other, bare feet trod over the grass here that has been untouched from flames and (new) death. One hand draws upward and paints fingertips across the cold stone of the mausoleum, pausing upon the stones intricate detail along a framing pillar, one hand extending up above her head, stretching out in that slight lean while she watches him, the magma backdropped eyes slowly fading into a chilled blue. Subarctically frozen.

One bare hip tips inward to press against the cool stone, the other exposed side that spans from beneath ribs to the curving thrust of pliant flesh is blackened, obviously staying untouched for a reason. "What would you want with their weapons? The one the final man bore was nothing good. What their intents are with them…" Satana pauses and slides forward, her body not parting from the 'crete overlay, /scraping/ that liquid attire and unharmed skin across it in her stalk closer.

Suddenly smoke comes from beneath the door of the mausoleum, whether right or wrong. "That is not my kind of darkness." If it is not with her, it's against her. She'll see it all -burn-.

"I am curious. And definitely do not want them in the hands of my enemies," replies Fantomex. His gaze returns to the woman, looking at those wounds that seem to hinder her so little. Not many humans would be able to move with those burns. Fantomex could, but only because his primary nervous system is actually a freaking flying saucer.

Then he spots the smoke and sighs. "Chere… now you are messing up with my games. Oh, alright." He reaches for her and tries to gently pry her away from the mausoleum, and usher her into E.V.A. "lets see those burns. And lets avoid the cops for now, oui?" |

"Their dark master is not me or my father, and I cannot have that." A small clicked tsk escapes Satana's lips as he seems to admonish her act to light the mausoleum of possible weapons cache up in flames.

His grip around her to tug her to him and away has her accepting, though not without her own reaction, one that has her hand stroking lightly down his white-clad chest. "And I have not seen deep enough into you to ensure your intentions are pure, as so far.. I have enjoyed this game you play."

Her words are borne on the barest edges of a smirk while she leans in and whispers against the masked side of his face where his ear should lay. "Don't let a girl down." Satana may be appearing worse for the wear without the outward expression, but the pain… She feels it but refuses to show weakness.

Fantomex chuckles lightly, "don't be too greedy. Dark masters abound, and so do their minions." He helps Satana into a seat inside E.V.A. and brings a first aid kit from a cabinet. "You are a mess, chere. I am going to clean and bandage those burns. And apply local anesthesia. I got to admit I have all kinds of 'intentions' with regards to you. But none of them involves leaving you to the police, injured in a cemetery."

"I can be as greedy as I want. I am what I am." Satana states with a waffling gesture into the air, the seat taken slowly but shifting, leaning to one side and resting upon hip to keep the spanse of her burnt side from pressing against edges.

Those chilled and illusory blue eyes rest upon him now, a curiosity behind them, but all faux with that smile that never touches her eyes lest it make them further dangerous. Lies. Its palatable, because he knows the heat in those eyes and as he nears her it is dense, hanging in the air around her like a lingering storm.

"You do not even give pause to me or my intentions, but you have your own." Satana states, that charred side now given a moment because if he nears it she will capture his hand and hold him at bay for what it may do to get his serious attention. "Normally fire does not harm me. Their intentions have become my concern." On that final note her hand will release him to do as he /intended/, but watching him carefully.

Fantomex seems amused about Satana's attitude, and distrust. "Of course I do, mon bella diablesse. All the best intentions." He comes with surgical scissors, to cut away the dress from over the burned skin. "Looks like plasma is too hot for your immunity to fire. Or maybe this was caused by… ah, damnation. E.V.A. tells me these are hard radiation burns. You are far sturdier than you look."

Satana is watching him as he cuts away at her attire, her upper lips withdrawing, those elongated canines bared in a flash as her attire is ruined in such a manner. "Your intentions are delicate, Fantom." But even as she states as much she is watching, several errant strands of twisted red on black fall over that iridescent blue gaze.

"All the more reason to disapprove of their intentions, hm?" even in asking as much she does not look away from the charred skin and his careful yet deft work to repair her. Give her time… Unused to such care she almost stopped him. Almost. Instead a feline curiousity seems to dominate, her hand rising to press at the unmaimed flesh, reddened around the wound, one eye batting lightly at the sensation.

"I will burn more then their radiation if I see more of them again."

Fantomex actually knows some medical procedures, so she is relatively safe. Of course, radiation wounds are somewhat beyond a first aid kit. Maybe he will raid a hospital later. For now he just cleans the wounds, sprays analgesic over the burns (which might do nothing, since she is not human) and then bandages them. He doesn't stare too much when some extra skin is revealed. Her dress is left in tatters, but the bandages end up covering more than it did, anyway.

He really hopes she has some impressive healing abilities. E.V.A. is unable to figure out her biology, but that is normal since neither of them have experience with supernatural beings. The radiation would have killed any normal human. In fact, any normal human would die in hours or dies with a tenth of what she took.

Even someone like Fantomex would be rather sick for hours. Mental note: avoid Intergang plasma guns. "Intergang is weird. They are blunt and at the same time, they are very elusive. I am not going to mess with them on general principle. But definitely I have to will encourage them away from business with anti-mutant groups."

From one look he gives her to… another she watches from him to her wound and then back, settling on him as he finishes dressing the wound to the best of his ability. When he is finished she sits up, letting the parts of her dress fall away, uncaring of what is or is not revelaed, the shadows cast from the massive fall of hair do enough to keep the imagination working.

"So this is a rival of yours obviously. One brazen enough for many enemies has many friends. Thusly begins war." Leaning forward she closes a bit more of a gap between them, slowly bringing one leg to cross over the other, the gesture done with resituation of posture and one arm resting along the armrest of the seat. Keeping her posture regal and yet restrained. She will heal… When she gets to feed. Once is not enough, not for this.

"Their lord. They fear and revere his, as many should one who rules. But no lord I have ever heard of nor faced can do this. What is this radiation and how do I get some? Aside from the obvious…" Though that thought has her eyes wandering to her side and then to him, her other hand rising to caress along his jawline, a slight drag of finger to bring him closer if he wished to follow such a touch.

Fantomex smirks and sits at her side. "That is a complex question if you are not at least somewhat versed in physics," he explains. "Light is radiation, usually harmless. But in large amounts, or if the streams of particles are phased, it can cause serious damage. But light is just one kind of radiation. You could consider it… hmm, in the middle of a band of energy that goes from radiation that is so low in power that can't be felt by living beings, to a side that is so high in energy that it damages the very molecules that form physical matter, causing them to break down into other elements. This kind of hard radiation is very deadly to living beings. It is like a spreading burn that consumes them, destroying the internal organs and nervous system."

So that is what Satana got. Good thing she has little need of human internal organs, right? Magic energies and souls is what keeps her moving, not blood and bone and a beating heart. Well… to a point.

"And look, this is not a war for resources," he tries to explain. "I am just…" well, being altruistic. But that sounds odd. "Protecting my people from those who would see us all dead. Intergang has weapons I don't want in the hands of my real enemies." The comments about the 'lord' of the Intergang are interesting. He has no reason to doubt they are true. He doesn't know who is behind the gang, of course, no one does.

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