April 10, 2018:
The continuation and end of the Suicide Squad mission to Croatia to investigate a town decimated by a mysterious event.
Characters
NPCs: Amanda Waller, Diablo
Mentions:
Plot:
Mood Music: [*\# None.]
Fade In…
You can read Part 1 here
(http://cmbeta.wikidot.com/log:7174)
*
"Screw it." Taskmaster mutters. "Light it up, Diablo." He encourages while pulling up a rounded cannister from behind him, a phos-grenade. It has a twin.
"Lets kill the dance party and take out these shadows. Let it sort out with some chaos." Its the best option he has.
"Sit rep is watch your eyes." Fired out response to Owen as one is lobbed then another, direct opposite of it in long thrown arcs, near the Eastern and Western most gatherings of the shadow clusters. Within seconds they should be spewing blinding, ozone seering heat spikes.
*
Ballistic is choking on water, spewing it from nose and lungs through lips to the ground where her hands still clutch both of the Chiappa's, modified and altered for the lifestyle she embraces.
Dead…ly..
So when she comes to knees those weapons are aimed up! .. No nyad. "Hooker…please, come pla-," A pivot in the massive puddle beneath padded knees and the wave of kicked up water is a veil around her form as the next visual is of her form picked up and suspended in a choking hold that redens the white of only one of her eyes - the other flaring behind squinted lid.
"Here…" A call choked to Diablo in the comm unit sent with coordinates and a rapid pulse. "Beyond 600 Degrees Ferenheit…" Evaporation level for water…and anything else.
The hand not coated or remade into cybernetics tucks a weapon away into its holster slowly, refusing to ~shake~ as she stares at the nyad. Ballistic does not expect backup, even though she called to Diablo, so she prepares as that arm withdraws empty-handed from beneath the folds of attire.
*
And in and amongst those shadows, if the squad could but see it, would be one, equally dark, but imminently more familiar. Enchantress had been sent ahead, the team given no warning, sent, as she often seems to be, of late by Waller, like a dog taken off her leash to hunt its target. Waller had even made it a point to call her 'girl', before sending her off with a map of the location she was looking for.
And so she had gone, and she had walked, and she had seen. She had sunk her fingers into the dead, had felt the chill of the grave, had tasted it on her tongue like rust and metal. She had walked the streets, she had counted the corpses, considered the army she could raise.
And she had waited, even as she had lifted her head, marked the arrival of the rest of the 'team' she had been given to work with. She had waited. Heard the sound of death, and fear, and anger. And she waited.
*
As Quinn hears the call for serious heat, the clown stops her descent to Ballistic's direction. If the other woman wants to pull down that sort of damage, she wants to be no where near it.
Instead, her pale face turns towards the direction of Boomerang and where she saw him last before descending into the scene. And when a reveler gets too close, Harley is quick to pop said party person in the face with her elbow. And anyone else who gets too close or too handsy will find more of the same waiting for them. "Mercer! Where'd ya' get to?" Into her comm piece, she asks, "Anyone got eyes on Boomerang?"
*
The phos-grenades are slightly more effective at disrupting the party as people rush to get away from the burning gas. But it seems to matter little to the shadows that are now coming in from the edge. Though some avoid it, others dance right through the flames. Their forms are more clearly seen now. There's half goat half men fauns or satyrs, there are nyads and dryads and winds spirits as well. They seem intent on keeping the party going though. The phos-grenades are wiped up in the air and sent careening off into the now deserted outskirts of town. The party-goers seem startled at first but then just as quickly forget the excitement and resume their dancing.
Taskmaster finds himself confronted with a faun that sways as if drunk, but then rushes him to tackle him with shocking speed and strength. It's joined by a dryad attempting to stitch Taskmaster to the ground with vines and roots if he falls.
Diablo finds himself picked up into the air and encircled in a flaming hurricane. The flames are his own but the wind comes from a mountain nymph below keen to keep him and his flames away from both the dryads and the partiers.
This of course means that Ballistic is on her own to deal with her own personal nyad. The water creature continues to try and choke her with one arm while simultaneously pulling them both down into the puddle, away into some watery realm.
Harley goes to find Owen and it only takes a few minutes before she sees him, now tactical vest discarded and his shirt in his hand spinning it around. He's apparently having the time of his life in his party to end all parties. Any attacked partiers respond oddly, with a crazy-eyed desire to get close to Harley, to dance and grind or more. They're friendly. WAAAAY too friendly.
The strange music that provides the dance beat for he party starts to slow and to grow quieter. But instead of killing the mood it seems to heighten it. A sense of anticipation builds in the crowd as some of the dancing spirits not currently trying to repel the squad begin to pour vials of liquid over the idiot professor who started all of this. Anyone with magical sense would recognize a summoning of sorts happening. Between the energy from the dance and the vials of what looks like blood being poured out, something wicked this way comes.
*
"Well ain't that some horse shit." Taskmaster says loudly, the phos-grenades revealing the beast-critters and hes doing a backwards dance, very Jeet Kune Do of him while circling, "We just pissed off Narnia."
Everyone else forgotten for now the Skulled fighter lunges to the side and sweeps his shield out to bash the rim of it on to the back of the Faun's neck to head area, keep it going with it's own momentum. That vine entanglement though has him stumbling, it snaps up around ankles and his knees, yeah, hes at a loss of mobility.
A wickedly curved single bladed sword is slanting out, swiping away.
*
This. Enchantress lifted her gaze, raised her attention away from where she had been walking in her inner landscape, where she had been peering in at the woman who lived inside of her, amused by the screams of horror and fear that only she could hear. They were like sweet wine on her tongue. But this…this feeling of…becoming. This was what she had sensed, had felt like the prickle of an electric charge on her skin.
Enchantress circled, not walking now, but flitting from place to place, seeing, watching, waiting, eyes settled on the man now at the center of the ritual. One of the foolish dead, if he had had but the sense to see it. Something was coming. And she would be ready.
*
"War -," A chocked and nearly drowning gurgle comes over the comms as those eyes even gloss over and reflect the dancing figures. " -drobe." A light laugh, cut off as that empty hand sweeps past her thigh and a 'key' falls into that puddle they are both sinking within.
"Down!" A call to the rest in a final yell that has the concussive grenade lifted and tossed along the ground just behind the nyad, her own cybernetic limb rising to blocade across her face if there is reprocussions at all, but the human hand aims her Rhino it's way.
Douse it, bitch! She will pull the trigger.
Paid to be here for a reason.
*
The closer people get to Harley, the more claustrophobic the surroundings… The more Harley is willing to dish it out. Elbows to faces, boots to knees, headbutts, and crazed fists wherever she can shove them in her attempt to get to Owen - who seems to be in the process of losing his gosh darned mind.
She's not shooting anything else right now, but she's definitely not taking particular care with the kinda-sorta-innocent bystanders. She has her manic glee as she goes, too-wide grin on full display as she enjoys her target-rich environment. "This piggy went to market-" POW. "This piggy stayed home-" CRACK. "This piggy had roast beeEEeeEEeef-" BOOM. "This piggy had none…"
*
The air around professor Horvat erupts with old magic. Power from a time long ago fills the air with a miasma from another age. His form is overwhelmed in a burst of light and is changed into that of a tall, powerful satyr with full rams horns. Once worshipped as a god it has been centuries since he had form in this world. And he is very excited to be here. The being, whom we will call Pan, one of the many names he has held, allows his frolicking worshippers to come to him. And he promptly begins groping, then tearing and finally eating them alive. And far from being perturbed by this turn of events, the revelers seem to be enraptured by it.
Elsewhere, the much smaller and less horrific faun that Taskmaster took down rolls in the grass, bleeding but not quite out. The vines take hold and the Dryad approaches sending branch like fingers to pierce Taskmaster if possible. The blade though is quite effective at chopping away the growing restraints. The approach of the dryad is halted though by a spray of flame from above. Diablo has figured out at least somewhat how to use the wind to his advantage and is spraying down flame at any spirits moving around the outside of the party still. Of course that also is quite close to Task and Ballistic and unwittingly June too.
The explosion from Ballistic's grenade rips through the nyad, quite literally sending her into pieces and knocking Ballistic clear of the teleporting puddle. Being that close to a grenade isn't great though, but thankfully the nyad took most of the brunt of that blast.
With each punch to the face Harley brings a momentary clarity to the drunk partiers. As if for a split second their mind is clear enough to question what is happening, but sadly it only lasts a brief moment. The good news for Harley at least is that they are not overly violent persay, more just overly friendly.
Which brings us to Owen. The idiot. Who is happily dancing his way towards being a part of the human sacrifice brigade. And from the look on his face, it looks like he's all for it. Best night ever! Idiot.
*
Twines of shrubbery envelope Taskmaster ankles to half a thigh, as fast as he can cut them off they're overcoming him. The shield comes up to block piercing shoots but that process has him knocked backwards, losing balance to hit the ground. He keeps that rounded hard barrier between himself and the Dryad only to keep hacking.
"Little help over here." He says quiet at first, a pride thing maybe or hes winded from the fall. "FUC…. " A gusting blaze from Diablo is enough he takes advantage of it, slinging the shield out 'Just like Cap' at the face of the Poison Ivy-kindred creature thats wrapping him up like a deli sandwhich.
"Kiss this, you swampy hooker." He may not be kicking as much ass as he would prefer to but at least he can still talk plenty of trash. If only they had better teamwork!
*
And, then, as if the spirits were not enough, as if jokes really were only cruel, the bodies that littered the ground began to twitch and spasm, as though they were marionettes, and their strings, no longer cut, were now being pulled by invisible hands. They rose, to the left, to the right, in front, behind. They rose. They made no sound, no air passed through cooling vocal cords. They were the silent, shambling dead.
But they were not mindless. They moved with what seemed like a single purpose. They sought, without err or fail, the shadows, the mad nature spirits that were now assaulting the team. The combatants they did not attack at all, they retaliated not at all should they take a blow. Indeed they attacked none of the living, save for those within whom those dark shadows still resided. Those they simply latched on to, their dead flesh drinking in the shadows as a dry sponge might absorb water. Indeed, that seemed to be the aim of the dead. To quell the shadows. The ritual at the center, though? That they did not approach at all. But the Enchantress? She approached. She flitted and danced, her figure never quite gaining complete substance, until she was fully in the light of the fire, in the glare of the thing that had grown out of the husk of frail humanity that had been its conduit and vessel. "*Péhuson." An old name, but then, so was this thing. Perhaps not so old as she, but then…
*
Wet grenade is not effective grenade, that's for sure! She meant to bring distraction and aid to everyone else as well in the 'Wakey-wakey!' call of concussive blast, but at least once Ballistic is no longer choked and drowning…
Wet slaps litter the concrete around her as she lifts from belly to all fours, all fours to knees…
Rambo ain't got nothing on the peel-away fingerpaint on her face that clears her eyes of mud, mire, and entrails, although only two of the five fingers in the cybernetic arm are working…
Pinky and thumb. Don't read into it, Cass loves no one! (Sign language)
"Teamwork?" A spit to the side and she fishes out a moist, yes… moist cigarette to light it as she rises and peers the cybernetic eye in Taskmaster's direction due to his call. "You should know better." And after sever 'flicks' of her *Bic* smoke plumes past her lips, the light showing singed hair and a light trail of blood running beside the cybernetic eye as she pointedly aims the massive handgun at the dryad attacking and pulls the (also moist) trigger… Several times for the sake of —-
Enchantress' arrival though turns her gaze for the moment, enough to slow blink and be sure that this is 'The One' in the files she was given, if at all?
*
"Tee?" Quinn's head swivels sharply at the sound of that quiet request, looking in his direction from where she's presently found herself perched on the back of one of the larger partiers, clinging with her arm strapped across his throat and waiting for him to fell over.
But - for better or worse - she's got her own plan for now that keeps her further from Taskmaster's location, so she continues trying to cut a way to the dancing idiot that is their teammate, Owen. Because she's gonna beat some sense into him next. "Boomerang! What the hell are you doin'?! Getcher head on straight!"
…And then the dead walk up. Because of course, they do. And Harley's mouth twists into a grimace. That… is super creepy. But at least they're on the Skwaddie side. For now.
*
Despite the shield's force the dryad seems almost unperturbed by the blunt object, she stumbles back a litle but that's it. The flames however are a different story and certainly the blade. The spirit has to move away and seek cover from the flame attack but she doesn't have to be close to continue to manipulate the vines that are trying to ensnare Task.
Thankfully for the team, Enchantress's dead minions begin to absorb some of the lesser spirits. The bodies controlled by dark magic are walking tombs, encasing the nature spirits in magically animated decaying corpses. Once inside the bodies the spirits find themselves bound by the will of the enchantress, not able to conrol these dead hosts. This leaves Diablo free to start burninating with a purpose, first any nymphs not already ensheathed, and then some of the corpses for good measure. How the flame interacts with the corpses, the spirits and the spell is not something that Diablo thought through, but maybe it will be fine. Maybe?
The newly awakend god at the center of it all though takes a moment's respite from tearing into the humanity around him at the approach of the Enchantress.
"What do you want witch?! This is my party, and I did not invite the likes of you..
Energy crackles and pops around Pan's eyes as he thrusts a hand suddenly upward, a molten rock shooting up from the ground at Enchantress, making it clear exactly how unwanted she is. Of course the party goers dressed in togas aren't exactly lava proof and as such many are horribly burned and mangled by this cascade of burning liquid earth.
Owen hears someone calling out to him and pauses, just missing being permanently disfigured by scalding rock. He catches sight of Harley and smiles, glad that she's come to join the fun. A particularly friendly older woman gets a stiff arm to the face and pushed to the ground as Owen's focus shifts at least for the moment.
*
The cyber-blonde is telling him he should know better? He'd say something witty, chauvanistic or just crude and low class but Taskmaster for once comes up blank, largely due to the fact his shield just harmlessly bounced off and didn't return like it was angled to, density or perhaps just a bum through… he never has those.
"Lady… " All he manages while hearing Harley shouting for him, its muffled quickly as zombies begin to filter past, these he uses to grab ahold of and shove between himself and the 'beast-fae-things' while sorting his gear, hes not exactly equipped to find the supernatural and well knows it.
"Suggestions? I am runnin' low gimmicks." A look at the Dryad then at Pan, "I'm not opposed to making deals with devils or… politicians even. Just sayin."
*
"I was old in this world when they had not yet learned to speak your name, *Péhuson. I go where I wish when I wish." Set against the giant satyr, the Enchantress seemed almost tiny, frail and nearly insubstantial, for she had only June Moone's slim figure as her canvas. And yet, there was no fear in the sorceress. She was fear. She inspired it. It was not inspired in her.
The bright plume of lava that spewed from the earth fell around her like a fan, casting its incandescent glow on her skin, making her seem nearly translucent, but leaving her completely unscathed. She was a rock, the waves splashing around her but leaving her untouched. But there were, ever, two sides to the Enchantress. And as she confronted the god in this plane, she sought for that link, the tether that he had used to pull himself to this plane. She sought for the means to snap and break it.
*
"I'll be on the next Uber to the nearest airline out." There's Ballistic's suggestions as the tiny country behind her turns into a magical warzone, and she holsters her weapon while she walks away. "You should do the same."
There is her suggestion, while she pauses only to unfasten a wrapping of her holstered tactical gear and tosses it Tasks way. Gimmicks.
"Shows I have a 40 minute wait, I hear their home-brew is amazing…" Next town over, of course! "You got this…" Hearing Harley in the distance trying to reel in Owen as Enchantress fully bursts to life. "Tee."
"Oh sweet mother —" Due to the broken cig that she flicks aside, or the overall chaos, who knows.
*
Of all the times to not have her punching glove gun.
So many people have come down on her favorite gag weapons, but now is a time Harley Quinn really wishes she had that one. So she could shoot Owen and his dopey party face with it. But if wishes were horses, beggars would ride.
"At this point, Tee," she says, "I think we just get out of Witchface's way. I nearly got Boomerang, and then I—" Another fist flies as she loses her thought, and then she simply dives and rolls between two hopped up love festers rather than deal with them. "UGH. This gig is the worst joke ever!"
*
He's being lifted in the air. That's new. Owen seems oddly at peace with being picked up like an oversized shirtless doll and then flung by the tantruming minor god. He sails through the air, crashing into a building and then sliding down with a thud. Still conscious Owen pats his pants as if checking to see that something is in place and smiles to find it there. He is also not the only plaything uprooted by Pan as he roars, "No! You can not! You are not supposed to be here!" Strong winds converge at his command on the Enchantress trying to will her away with the force of gale winds.
Taskmaster and Harley might find only a little resistance now if they wish to flee. Diablo has already decided that he's on corpse cleanup duty, lest those spirits find their way back out to haunt them.
Which just leaves the witch and the giant goat man to square off. But really the goat boy the party god is not much of a match for the timeless magic wielder. She is able to find the tenuous connection to this world that was just formed and with a twist.. severe that line. The scream that fills the air pierces through the music now almost inaudible and seems to snap the revelers from their daze. They are confused and then horrified at the chaos and bloodshed that surrounds them. The professor, the inadvertent caller of the old god is now lying lifeless on the ground. The punch, the so called elixir of life, a recipe meant to entice the fool hardy into summoning Pan back to this realm remains, though no one rushes to drink it now.
*
Understandable someone wants to flee at the sight of Enchantress and what she can do, Taskmaster has felt that same 'feel' himself but right now, she's the cavalry. Unexpected as she's not been seen for some time but she's very much a welcome sight. It's a bittersweet moment as he thrashes free, collects up his shield and slides it in place. "Bout damn time." He says, no thank you, nothing on that.
"Hold up!" He yells at Ballistic before shes fully out of range, "Satan will blow your shit if you run… bargain didn't mean run the hell away… " A snap to and he's looking from Harley's direction towards Owen, not because he's concerned or nothing. Behind him in the backdrop cleanup detail involves a fire show from Diablo. The stench is going to be beautiful for some of that.
*
There was, for the dark witch, a doubling, as she saw the world of the physical laid out around her, real and solid, and the world that was not physical, but that was, for her, and for the other creatures like her, as real as any mortal realm. And as the winds buffeted her body, whipping her hair and the few streams of fabric that seemed to swirl around her, she reached out, in her mind's eye, with the force of her will for that wellspring of power, that tether where no tether should be, that drew the young god from his plane to this one, and she tore it apart, the wellspring of his power flooding her as she fed on that taste of his magic.
And then he was gone, the godling, returned to the plane from whence he had come. And as he went, as she felt his power shatter, so too, her corpses began to fall inert, their bodies once again scattering onto the ground, as the Enchantress stepped away from her field of battle, moving towards the punchbowl, the sight wholly incongruous as she conjured a jug to use to store what remained of the punch.
*