W4M - Succubus Seeks Ninja For Possible LTR

November 19, 2015:

A stakeout on a HYDRA warehouse goes terribly wrong with Satana decides she's hungry. What's a girl to do when she is trapped between two very strong mortals and one tests the integrity of her form, while the other tests her metaphysically??? Love them and snuggle them and keep them and name them Ryujin.


It's a warehouse. It has illegal weapons in it.

/NOTE: This log has adult situations and language in it./


NPCs: Hydra Agents



Mood Music: Kelly Sweet - In The Air Tonight

Fade In…

With Cobra declaring an internal war on Hydra, Hydra has started ramping up operations in order to face the threat that has come about from within their own ranks. Which means lots of overtime for Hydra agents, and a lot of lonely nights.

Which is why it's no surprise that eventually there's a post on craigslist:

Casual Encounters: m4w - Group of hardworking guys in town for the week looking for a little entertainment while at work.

The warehouse, down in the harbor district in New York had already been marked as a possible Hydra hideout by SHIELD, and above where the men are working on unloading crates and moving around military style hardware, a lone figure in black watches and observes, as Snake-Eyes is gathering intelligence before calling in any backup or going on the attack. He's had to cut back on his vindictive assaults against Hydra, Fury wants information, not bodies, after all.

Don't be aroused, by my confession…

The ad was looked over in boredom in the coffee shoppe. In fact it was leered upon over the wide brim of espresso mug, but the grin that split across absinthe stained lips smeared red lipstick across the rim just before it all is left behind as if the woman had never been there, the ad left pulled up on the barista's loaner laptop for consumers.

Unless you don't give a good god damn about redemption.

Dusk has a way of playing havoc with the shadows, but the darkness is a blanket, shrouded and encumbering, but the way it /peels/ off the woman in her approach to the warehouse is unnatural and calls havoc to (common) senses. Heeled footfalls rain a crescendo across the crate, casual in the crescendo that shows no desire to sneak up upon, but that blanket of darkness still clings like a dress seeking to be shed…

En-wrapping from where boots leave off, the interruption comes with the pale flow of furred warmth, ankle to just beneath her knee and then above those tendrils slink and coat the contours of knees, thighs and split off - peeling back and away in the deep V of liquid shadows across her front.

When hands fall upon hips nails draw and split the fabric of (reality), leaving gaping openings over the curvature of hips and rings to keep it all R Rated, but what those brimstone eyes focus on ahead may not get the same afforded to them.

The door is approached and when fingers unfurl nails drag over the surface of the metal guard, drawing downward just before she rapped and tapped…


No one knows he's there. Not Snake-Eyes, not Satana, not even the operatives and Hydra soldiers at work well after hours. Storm Shadow observes from the shadows himself, hidden away as he observes the men at work. When you hire men of questionable morality, you sometimes get questionable results. While they had no moral objections to the locals entertaining themselves as they liked, the potential security breach involved showed questionable judgment. What they handled, however, could be of value to Storm Shadow's new employers - he'd done some work for Hydra, but always found them sloppy and ill-disciplined, as these men seem to show all too well.

He would let them have their fun and finish their business. And then he would take what they possessed, along with their lives. Most of them would never feel it, but it was no form of mercy, not when they'd drown in the bubbling pools of their own blood.

Pulling out a couple of heavy grade machine-guns from their shipping containers, the rapping upon the front door grabs the attention of the guard. His hand drops down to his rifle, holding it tight before he looks through the slotted metal slit through the door he slides back and gets a sight to beholden.

"She's here!" he calls out to the others as he pulls open the door to unwittingly allow the daughter of Satan into the midst of their little work-space. "There's a place you can go set up over there." the guard gestures towards the small windowed office where there's little to no privacy. "There's also some pizza, but it's kinda cold, and the beer's warm, but hey." Beggars can't be choosers, right.

Reaching over to his radio, he keys it up. "Entertainment's here boys, and she looks willing and eager for some playtime." he rumbles with a chortle. "Put away what you're doing and take a break, we've all earned it."

Putting away the heavier weapons, the four other men working the shift of unloading crates start to make their way to a small makeshift stage that they have said up for the gorgeously under-dressed woman, chairs set up around for them to get a nice 360 degree view of her.

From his own shadows on the opposite side of the warehouse, Snake-Eyes makes his own notice of the entering of the enticing entertainment. Reaching to tap the side of his visor, a small camera takes a series of photographs. He doesn't know that she's responding to a random ad - for all he knows, she could be the Hydra version of the USO, coming to pay a visit to the local troops.

However, in the midst of the photograph, he pauses, feeling something. It tickles at the edge of his senses, makes the hairs on the back of his neck rise on end. It's a feeling he has not sensed.. in a long time. But muddled with the mission and the changing development, it's momentarily cataloged and set aside, unless it should become more challenging. His feet shift on the side of the rafters as he notices the congregation is forming. He could possibly take them down - perhaps take her prisoner. Fury likes prisoners, for some strange reason. Intelligence for the low-levels is useless - but from the possible Hydra Support Girl? That's a higher value target.

I'm praying to stay alive just to die a little longer..

When the door opens, those eyes flicker and flash. The unnatural hue of lava beneath molten rock shifts to an aquamarine, the red hair an auburn laced with vitae, dripping over shoulders and down between blades. Crossing the threshold every step sets a sway beholden to temptation, her eyes scanning the surroundings with a feigned interest and a smile that /drips/ of anticipation.

"Oh, my appetite is /voracious/.. But I already ate." Satana states as she leans along the guard, but the only thing that touches is the walking emulation of index and middle finger up his chest to hook a pointed nail beneath his chin while she breathes him in.

Something flattens in her look after that inhale, but the smile that almost dropped returned, imaginary that hitch? Releasing himm from her proximity she passes and flips a chair to face the stage while using another to boost her upon it in two fluid steps.

The two additions? She does not see them, not yet, but she had yet to try to /feel/ for them, as she would when the entertainment began.

A hand upon the pole her fingers barely touch it, flaring it to a red hue, super-heated in a pulse that could be taken as a play on lighting and tricks, one that has the sudden draw from one shoulder to the next in a sweeping motion - a cape. Magician? Entertainer? Upping the ante, but all she was doing was sanitizing the pole before she dared touch it further.

Now Storm Shadow and perhaps Snake-Eyes really feel it. Because once she turns to face them with a hand wrapped in a coil around the pole with the hook of bent knee, rocking her in and /against/ the cold metal -something- spans outward. A rush of heat, a rush of sensation; those aqua eyes flecked in gold narrowed with the smile that has yet to reach them.

Saviors and saints and devils and demons alike.. She'll eat you alive.

Storm Shadow has the barest prickling of Snake-Eyes' presence as well, just a hint of goose-bump, a familiar ripple like a ghost walking on a grave. Or, at the very least, the desire to make a ghost and dig a grave. He considers investigating it, his body utterly still in the shadows, when Satana's arrival manifests with a power capable of drawing all eyes to her.

He feels the influx of her power, his intense discipline and spiritual rigor the only defense he possesses against her charms. That he feels them at all tells him that the regular Joe Hydras in the room have likely sweated through their clothes at the first glimpse of her. He reaches a hand to his bandoleer and squeezes a shuriken momentarily, drawing a pricking of blood into his palm, the sweet, sharp pain keeping his mind clear as he watches.

Whatever this woman was, she wasn't some mindless slattern brought to be a victim. Clearly, there were other forces at work here.

One of the workers gets up and reaches to grab a radio, setting it down as he takes out a CD to slip into the opening, before pressing play on it. It creaks and scratches for a moment, before a beat starts of drums and synth, and Drake starts to sing.

You used to call me.. you used to to to..

As she flames up the pole, the men start to hoot and holler, they didn't expect her to bring her own show with her, after all. They're passing around the pizza and beer that she passed on as they figure they've earned this.

Ever since I left the city.. you.. got a reputation for yourself now..

Snake-Eyes feels that rise in power as it intermingles with his qi, pulling his attention away from seeking out the more familiar presence of his blood-brother as he fingers tighten on the edge of the flash-bang in his grenade belt. He would have already deployed, but something doesn't feel right - the alluring creature dancing on stage is giving off a power he didn't expect, but is palpable at this point as he turns his attention towards the stage again, filming fully now.

..doing things I taught you, getting nasty for someone else…

Now she feels the others, those who did not join this little 'party'. It draws her gaze up, from the HYDRA agents to the door and beyond, but what eyes cannot capture, something else will.

The music begins and for a moment longer Satana is still, her hand ascending along the pole like it is a lover, fingertips trailing to cool what she had heated, only to return it to a warmth against flesh.

Spine bows and hips rock forward, that tight clench against the pole drawing her upward and into a spin that almost emulates coils around the pole in a slow descent, her other leg stretching out to bring heeled appendage back upon the stage floor, but what was a platformed sole is changing, warping to an onyx cloven hoof. But pay no attention to what lays behind the curtain…

Instead that heat reaches out like the intangible sensation of fingers to mimic her own that extend out and beckon one of the agents upon the stage just before her body slithers to the front of the pole and her spine runs along the length, sliding /down/…

"Come. I wish to /taste/…" Those words wrought to the air, all can hear but her lips barely moved and it tugs on those involuntary actions, calling them out of the shadows, almost /begging/, while fingers curl inward to palm and nails grow ever longer. When that smile peels away from teeth the quartet of canines flash to be seen.

When the HYDRA agent comes forward his figure seems to jerk at first, involuntarily, but then the follow up is all too eager. The scramble to get upon stage has him standing before her when she rises from the lowered spread with the pole at her back, sliding upward to capture his face in a palm and draw him in. One hand upon the pole she rises again, but just enough to loop one leg around the HYDRA agents waist and tuck him /against/ her, the cape fanning out, but beneath the guise that cloth is a leathery wing, phalanges of bat-like effigy beneath causing movement that sets the costume to work while tendrils of hair grow and drip like falling blood below that curve of ass, looping outward to crack like whips.

When she draws him in and his lips touch her own the flash of light between them ignites and his body begins to sink, shriveling while in the swaying embrace.

Storm Shadow feels no compunctions about allowing the Hydra thug to be victimized. He can't quite make out what's going on beneath that cape, Satana managing to do something so obviously wrong and yet hide the details quite easily from view. The way the man's body reacts, however, makes it utterly clear that, pleasure or pain, the victim is just that. The ninja watches the man fall to the ground lifeless, while his own blood drips down his fingers, the pain keeping his mind focused and razor-edged.

But he has no intention of intervening. Unless she tries to take the guns for herself. Those, at least, he intends to take.

The other agents are pissed, they wanted to be chosen, not the one that was picked. "Save a little for us, Charles!" one of them calls out.

"Man, I hate sloppy seconds."

"Ha, at least you'll get something. Plus, there's more than one way to have a little.. wait, what is she doing.." one of the men, watching her realizes that there's dripping of blood that becomes hair and cracks out. "What the fuck?!" he says, backing away from the stage.

"Charles, are you?" one of the others asks, that is until Chuck is made into jerky right before their eyes.

Two of the guards immediately panic, reaching for their sidearms. "I don't know what you are, bitch, but you're dead!" one of them yells as the one of the others runs towards the back where the bigger guns are - and there's another that's just looking to run for his life at this point.

Snake-Eyes watches from his perch. While usually he's content to let the woman.. creature.. whatever she is - take point and take care of this problem, that whole nagging point of Fury wanting to have someone interrogate comes back into play. His head tilts to the side as he watches the movements of the alluring woman before he pops out the flash-bang, dropping it down at the entrance of the warehouse, where it explodes in a bright flash of blinding light and over-pressuring noise as the silent master drops down from his perch, slamming into the retreating guard, taking him down and knocking him unconscious. His visor turns to alight on Satana, watching the woman with his mirrored impassive gaze as his foot slides back, preparing himself to go on the move should he have to.

Only those who already belong to your father already…

A fore-sworn curse that has been placed on her kept the guard from her sights despite his /want/ being an ambrosia upon her palette, his soul a buffet laid out, mingling with that of his brethren that all caught hold of that display and the reality behind it, causing them to scatter and the husk of the one they called Charles crumbling to knees and then folding in half to crack like a dry branch in a bow before her feet.

Feet that now bear hooves, that fur lining the hock and whispering over fire-forged feet. Every step is a cadence, but backed by horrified yells of vengeance, and when she steps over the body and to the eave of the stage the leathery wings fan outward in a *snap* of motion while both hands extend forward, clawed fingers curling in - a beckoning of their promise to be fulfilled, another wash of that heat to draw them in, confuse their minds and draw on /allure/ despite their terror.

"But I heard you /promise/.." Her lips almost curl into a pout as one hip presses to the side, that exposed press of pale flesh contrasted against the entrapping of liquid darkness… But she smelled it, the blood… Blood that belonged and yet did not - To that light.

A blinding action that has her moving quickly, a downward thrust of wings to slap against the stage and set it aflame just before she disappears from Snake-Eyes' sudden drop, but not for long. Just enough to clear her senses…

"You smell of resistance. Hatred. /Blood/." The words are purred from behind Storm Shadow, and he can feel it for a moment, the pressure of the front of her body lining his back, her lips daringly close to where his ear is covered and the hand along his own where he bled. If he does not react quick enough she and the shuriken are gone!

This does not leave Snake-Eyes alone, from a perch her body remains languidly stretched across a beams expanse, one hand dropping down to snare fingers in a tangle within a HYDRA agents hair, hoisting him from his retreat to dangle off his feet.

"How much do you want him?" And from her other hand (if she got it) that bloody shuriken flashing in her opposing grip.

Storm Shadow was distracted by Snake-Eyes sudden emergence, his eyes going wide in his hood as he takes in the sight of his blood brother. Mask or no mask, costume or no costume, there's no mistaking the man in question - the Arashikage movements are distinctive, every muscle trained just so. When Satana suddenly manifests behind him, he stiffens, a hand going to the short sword at his waist but, before he can draw it, she's gone, leaving him slashing at the empty air before she vanishes.

When she manifests, the shuriken in hand, he snarls behind his mask, then reaches behind him. What he draws however is not a sword but a sub-machine gun, fully automatic and loaded with one hell of a clip.

If Satana is Hydra's answer to the USO, then Snake-Eyes wants nothing to do with their program, especially the dental. When the woman vanishes from sight, a katana much like the one that Storm Shadow produces flashes to life, the blade reflecting the dim light of the room off of it as she draws his gaze up to the figure in white.

The ninja gives pause for a moment, watching Tommy, and he could probably feel the accusatory question from here 'did you arrange this?'. But then his attention is yanked back around to the demoness who is making her presence more and more a factor here. Yet he does not speak. Satana may as well try to draw blood from a rock than any verbalization to entice her to surrender her prize.

He merely gestures towards the boxes, then the Hydra agent and shakes his head. He's not begging for him, apparently, either. When Storm Shadow brings the semi-auto into play, the black suited ninja grabs the shoulder of the agent he took down and drags him towards the office shack. That will have to be adequate cover for the moment as he whips his attention between the two aggressors.

The writhing HYDRA agent is lifted, his kicking ignored as those brimstone eyes no longer under the glamour of falsity skip from one to the other. Her other hand slides beneath the mans chin and keeps his attention focused ahead despite his writhing like a fish on a hook, those nails that curl around his jaw dimpling his cheek as a reminder that snaps him suddenly still. If only for a moment.

"See them? That is skill. To make me /work/ for my taste, for - Just. A. Bite." Her lips travel along as her cheek brushes through his hair, teeth snapping to capture his lobe and tug, a canine piercing the skin and trailing droplets of red upon lower lip, igniting his squirming again.

"You know that I like it when you put up a fight." A hissing draw of breath between teeth and the gesture from Snake-Eyes goes ignored, that shuriken flashing in blood stained hand to drive into the meat of the HYDRA agents shoulder, aiding in her pinning him there while her lips leave his profile to balance just beside his and call forth that moth… A light from his torso that ignites inside him, chokes him on entry as the glowing moth frees from its chrysalis and spreads its wings upon leaving his lips and his body while it bleeds out upon the floor of the warehouse.

Storm Shadow can see it, /feel/ it, those eyes that go his way in a moment of slow motion, the woman falling to the floor among the ichor of gathering shadows, landing silently to rise fingers to lips, his blood still there when tongue slithers forth and draws along a single digit and then points to Snake-Eyes where a path razes, that lick of soulfire weaving a serpentine path towards the office he seeks for comfort.

"Ohh how I love men in masks." That shudder running visibly down her spine.

Storm Shadow watches the demon feast for only a moment before he unleashes with his gun. But he fires neither at the Daughter of Satan nor on the retreating figure of his former brother. Instead, he does what he came to do - he begins to mow down the agents, unleashing an unrelenting spray of silence gunfire, a harsh hissing sound like a spitting cobra coming from the weapon as he fans it out. This both accomplishes his initial objection and has the bonus effects of both murdering people right in front of Snake-Eyes -and- robbing the succubus of potential prey.

Given the opportunity, he'll even put a few in the man she feeds on, finishing him off before she can get every last gulp of light from his eyes.

"I don't think that's love you're feeling," Storm Shadow says evenly, spinning and flinging one of his remaining shuriken at the throat of one of the Hydra men still standing.

As Satana summons forth the flames of hell and they wind their way to his protection, Snake-Eyes grabs the poor unconscious agent he's trying to so hard to keep alive and uses his blade to smash out the windows to push him out of the building and into the alleyway beyond.

The manufactured press-board catches alight like so much dry tinder, quickly engulfing the office in flame. It crackles and dances, much like the woman was earlier, as the black suited ninja frowns underneath his mask. Office on fire, Storm Shadow going straight to guns.

The last agent - the only one that hasn't been attacked or otherwise traumatized steps out finally, with a heavy machine gun in his hands. "Suck on this, bitch!" he yells at Satana's back and opens fire on full automatic, throwing 7.62 rounds downrange at a wild pace and accuracy as he's just aiming to hose down the succubus at this point.

With Storm Shadow concentrating on building up his former brother's aggro, Snake-Eyes considers for a moment. Then he comes bursting forth from the flames of the office, pouring on the speed as he races through the hail of bullets. They start bouncing closer towards the ninja as he closes the distance on the demoness, it is only coincidence that the white ninja's shuriken strikes the machine gunner in the throat, sending him backwards as he chokes on his own blood, the trigger still pulled as he fires wildly into the containers, tracer rounds spreading flames as they ignite shipping materials.

With the distance closed, Snake-Eyes' blade flashes in the light for a moment, but he's only feigning the blade attack, instead, his other hand comes around to catch the woman in the soft flesh right between her ample bosom. Storm Shadow can feel the sudden release of qi, as Snake-Eyes calls it up and shoves a piece of his own inner being through the woman in the first step of the seven to the sun.

It may not be magic, but it might just hurt a little.

The untouched one remained that way for a reason. A pact that freed her from Darque's hold and into another who sought to try and keep her on the path of being good. That does not a demon make. Leaving that agent alive and unsupped only made an itch crawl beneath her skin that felt like a race of fire ants, and she knew it was a mistake. He was not /yet/ deemed worthy of her father's hell, but when he opened fire upon her and those within her sights fall beneath Storm Shadows hail of accurate bullets her wings shoot out to full span, knocking aside shipping crates that explode into a light forming around cloven hooved feet, burning the sigil deep into the cement ground with a black smolder of ashes wrought destruction. All bets are off to as far as Satana can /push/.

Cruelty wrought thee orchids, and from the sigil she stood within her wings splay back, narrow and aid in the sudden lunge for the man that sweeps her from her protective spell to just before him, and when those wings splay to cast shadows once more over their little slice of the warehouse they are riddled with holes. A casual launch over her shoulder carries her full circle, putting the Agent into the fire of Storm Shadows, but turning her to meet the blow cast by Snake-Eyes that lifts her off her feet in a manner that causes reaction, her body folding around his fist like a ragdoll just before she lets the momentum take her back in that forced sail that normally would be an unceremonious landing - managing to stay on her feet and skid to a halt with her body lowered into a crouch, protective of her middle where the blow had landed.

From that position her head tilts, those long tresses of auburn laced with vitae hue pooling at her feet and pouring outward like rivers all the while she rocks back and splays fingers across the exposed flesh, though with the way her fingers /touched/ it seemed more exploratory.

"Oh, you I -must- have." And when her tongue escapes her lips it is forked, curling upward on a lascivious manner with that animalistic growl escaping just before she rises to a stand and leaps for the body of the HYDRA agent and the shuriken, ripping it free and in turn flashing it towards Storm Shadow just before drawing that honed weapon along her cheek, eyes closing and the personification of pleasure escaping, /pushing/ out to them just before her own blood mingled with Storm Shadows and that spell came like whispers from her lips.

"Question is… /You/ or /him/?"

Storm Shadow had no stakes in a fight between Satana and Snake-Eyes - if anything, he probably rooted a bit for the demoness on principle, but not so much so that he felt compelled to take her side. He would have his reckoning with Snake in time, oh yes, but today was not that day. When the other ninja strikes with his qi, the power flowing into Satana and briefly knocking her back, he shakes his head a bit, drawing his blades, one in each hand, with a slick, metallic sound.

And then Satana's power pushes into him, making him grit his teeth for a moment. Monumentally skilled, painfully disciplined, he is still a mortal man and with the key of his blood on her skin, she can affect him more deeply. He feels the blood stir in his veins, half-boiling, making his muscles tremble a bit as he crosses his blades in front of him. There's no faith there to give power to the warding of it, just those razored edges outthrust towards the demoness.

"This is what comes of your meddling. Once again, you strike at what you cannot kill," he snarls at Snake-Eyes derisively.

As he slides, ready to pursue the woman down to continue the attack to hit her pressure points, but then she recovers exceptionally fast and is up and has Storm Shadow again. The black-suited one comes to a halt, his expression causing his head to tilt as he looks through Tommy and to the woman that is currently holding him hostage.

Something doesn't feel right. Why is he being so passive - so accepting of what Satana is doing to him. And then Storm Shadow is mocking him, calling out to him, forcing him to choose.

The Lady or the Shadow.

Backing up several feet, he watches the two of them, as if trying to figure something out, as the black, silent one steps back several feet, visor on the two of them.

His sword remains out and he turns to face Satana, raising his hand, and then wiggles it in a come-hither fashion as he holds his place. He's not surrendering. He's daring her to strike down his blood brother.

He's calling a bluff, he hopes.

That weapon, that double edged /spell/ whispers from lips and makes her eyes -burn- with an unholy light, one that calls the flames to push out from her like a backdraft and the darkness quarters within. The mingling from the tiny incision below the defined ridge of cheek is brought forward, dimpling upon lower lip that thins pillow of flesh with the birth of amphibious smile. Storm Shadow's words echo in her mind, the reflection from his blades crossed glistening like that sweep of saliva that smears with the caress of tongue in /taste/ of him.

This does not belittle the focus on Snake-Eyes, his touch still a bruising feeling but not upon flesh, /deeper/, and one she will not cast aside either as his own silent gestures bring her to speak as the shuriken is drawn downward, trailing over lower lip, chin, that dimple over her throat and betwixt bosom to where he landed the blow, pointedly tapping upon that expanse of exposed flesh. "You do not wish of his life?" A perk of manicured brow above that lavaesque gaze and she steps forward, but moves around Snake-Eyes. "But I do love a game of /fate/."

The movement to close the gap between them is rapid, a flicker like flame hit by an open window, there and gone as her finger only touched upon Snake-Eyes' masked lips once, her own on opposing side of it. "Shhh…."

…And gone, only to reform behind Storm Shadow, one arm coming around to embrace him, /smearing/ her hand along his front before the shadows devoured her from their view. "But this fate is mine to play the voyeur and ventriloquist. You were wrong. I am going to /love/ this."

Storm Shadow feels the strange mingling of Satana's magicks upon him, melding a bit with his own emotions of hate and distrust and disdain for his former brother as he finds himself facing off against the silent ninja. The Arashikage heir cocks his head slowly - he embraces his dark side and so he far from rejects the feelings of hatred stirred up within him, the bloodlust, the desire for death and pain. But that does not mean he has lost himself in them - as always, the cool emptiness that is his soul remains still within him, the cold corpse of the empathy he drowned when he lost his family and his legacy.

He tightens his hands around the grips of his swords, "Fate comes from karma, creature, and the turning of the wheel. It will trample my brother beneath it in time, grind him like grain to make my bread. Whether that's today or a dozen years from now, it makes little difference for me. Fate? His was long ago sealed."

Brothers know blood well, as the Arashikage master watches Shadow, listening to his biting tongue and words. His shoulders move in what could be a touch of disappointed. He is not the one that murdered the Hard Master. He is not the one that created conflict where camaraderie once flourished. He is not the one that drove the wedge between a lifelong friendship.

He's waiting, patient. As Satana reappears to playfully shush that which has no voice, his strike is serpent quick, another qi assisted hit, this one aimed at where her abdomen starts to fade into her pelvis, a strike to her heart followed by one to her core. Step two. She's gone again, and then she fades into the shadows.

His attention turns to Storm Shadow again. But he doesn't walk away, this time he runs forward and leaps, bouncing from floor to shipping crate, to container, and then to rafters where he ends up next to Storm Shadow. Is this where he drives his blade through his brother's back and ends the feud that has become so deep between the two.

The black one offers his hand to his brother. He cannot do so. He does not have all the answers. He must know why Storm Shadow saw the need to assassinate the man that was uncle to them both practically.

And that is his weakness.

The second blow that had landed is one that is also felt, but the reaction only seems to edge and border on /pushing/ her further and that swathe of heat falls again, a consuming force unlike the soulfire that dwindles after consuming the fallen bodies, leaving ash and husks behind while just along that beam where the brothers rest the density of the shadows gathers and unfurls, those wings dropping and sinking, consumed by the flesh between shoulder-blades with a rolling of skin and the timbre of resetting bones.

One hand holds out, every bullet that was lodged in a body being counted out to fall upon the floor beneath them with a flick of her thumb. A 'heads or tails' motion that does not seek to be caught. The other hand rests with fingers splayed along the spanse of abdomen just at the very tip of attires deep 'V', spreading along the spanse and pushing at the shrouding of liquid attire while she walks forward on heels that spike into rafters. Felineque, her weave does not even acknowledge the lack of ground as she circles the two, that hair falling into place where wings were hence, teasing at the base of achille's beneath laces that ascend up backs of boots.

"Loathe and love. They are the same. I will not fight a battle not mine in the making." But when her hand that held the bullets splays outward she gleans that shuriken, touching a fingertip upon the blood-fed point, and with a snap of wrist seeks to throw it into Snake-Eyes.

Storm Shadow just stares coolly at the hand that Snake-Eyes offers. Snake, of course, doesn't know the whole story. He doesn't know that, for all the rivalry and distrust that had grown between them, Tommy had not, in fact, killed their teacher. He had been framed, falsely accused, his own weapon used to strike the fatal blow. But he had never tried to disprove it, never claimed innocence or plead for mercy. They had all believed it, right away, even Snake-Eyes. They had believed him not only a killer - and he was a killer, had always been in his heart - but a betrayer of his own blood, his own legacy, his own family. They had believed it without a second thought.

That is why Storm hates him. That is why Storm hates them all.

He slaps away the hand with a sneer of disgust behind his mask, twisting and throwing a thrust kick designed to drive Snake right into the path of the demon-born shuriken.

The hand was offered in apology, acceptance. He could not bring back the Hard Master - but he could try to understand why. However, as Snake-Eyes is once again betrayed by his blood brother, the feel of the kick that knocks him off of the edge of the rafter hurts nearly more than the shurkien that finds purchase in the twisting ninja's midsection, cutting into him, injecting her own blood within the Silent Master.

Landing on the ground in a pained crouch, he looks between the two and starts to move backwards. They are in concert, unison. Storm Shadow will not be an ally in this demoness' attack, even as he willingly seems to be giving himself to her. A few steps are made in retreat, leaving a small trail of blood as he stumbles into the flames and through one of the windows of the building.

The wail of sirens announces that the NYFD is finally starting to respond to the fire that is raging within the warehouse as Snake-Eyes hefts the Hydra agent over his shoulder to carry with him.

Can you feel it, coming in the air tonight?

The blow that sends Snake-Eyes into her accursed shuriken warps her smile, a slow forming gesture doused in darkness that only seeks to find solace upon facade, and now the Cheshire gesture reaches eyes bearing slit pupils among the darkness, the flame imbued backdrop dancing like an unannounced celebration. But you see, this curse and spell works in manners that she knows all too well.

Satana has a brother, and those ties are just as powerful as they are bound by blood. But where they can shrug off birth, they cannot the -rite-, forever entombed in a lifelong struggle of this well played yin and yang. Now they will /feel/ it. Storm Shadow will feel the pain that shuriken inflicted on his brother, a snap of pain just before…

*Snap* Two fingers strike together, claws hooked and dangling threat upon cupped palm.


Slowly Satana steps towards Storm Shadow, those eyes sweeping from toe to masked facade, a slow roving gesture that also could be felt where not touch had been lain, that /push/ that /desire/.

"Intriguing. I think I shall keep you both." A single digit ascends, the claw dragging along his attire and leaving a faint line where threads -should- have split but did not, only left that reminder…

A blink and she is standing over Snake-Eyes' blood. "I left my new shiny weapon in his stomach." A kiss blown and she steps through the flames to follow the blood-trail.

Oh lord.

Storm Shadow cocks his head as the succubus taunts him, eyes flicking down to wear her claw teased along his chest. He sheathes his swords with a crisp motion, watching as both depart. He feels a twinge from that magic, that line of binding that connects the three of them now, even as it stretches filament-thin with distance. Whatever it is, he'll deal with it. For now, to business.

He quickly grasps the last heavy-weapons case, tossing it in the back of the truck and padlocking it shut. The encroaching sirens don't frighten him. He finds the last Hydra member cowering in the cab of the truck. The white-clad ninja drags him out by his hair and casually snaps his neck, tossing him down like a sack of potatoes. He strips the man's generic jumpsuit and pulls it up over his own costume, removing his mask and setting his blades on the passenger seat before he slips in. He kicks the truck into gear and pulls out, rounding the corner just as the cops pass him going the other way. In a few hours, he'll reach the safehouse in New Jersey and be able to drop off a nice, new shipment of stolen weapons for the Cobra cause. His patroness will be pleased.

Satana will follow that blood-trail outside, and then she will find a roll of duct tape smeared with blood where the ninja taped the shuriken into place to staunch the bleeding and allow him to begin to move again.

Carrying the Hyrda agent over his shoulder, he makes his way into the shadows, disappearing into the darkness so that he can make his own escape, unaware of the ties that he now shares to the succubus and his blood brother.

Reaching the end of the blood trail she lowers to a crouch, fingertips sweep through it and bring them up, thumb swirling through the texture of the mingled essence of blackened ruby. Rising to a stand she glances back at the burning warehouse, her fingers dancing in a call like a orchestral conductor and the soulfire shifts, a dance of two dragons all consuming rising upward in their effigy of Ryujin with gaping maws and where smoke billows it becomes swallowed and then in one roar much akin to thunder they belch forth a flame that burns blue from one and red from the other, the warehouse glowing white and suddenly exploding outward in a spray of debris and shrapnel that will wave outward but not consume anything else in its path aside from its target.

Satana clears her throat as the wave of flame curls around her, the explosion untouching in her hunt, hands smoothing down over hips like a cleaning of hands after a hard days work. "Let's not have nosy mortals dabble in affairs no longer theirs."

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 License