>>6152096
>Cut through the door and put Ferrara out of his misery
Do you think if he used too many italians for the flesh halls that they would get clogged?

>>6152096
>Cut through the door and put Ferrara out of his misery
Hotspur needs therapy bad after all this shit

>>6152096
>Cut through the door and put Ferrara out of his misery.

Dam ferrara didn't even do or say anything disrespectful to the flesh smith but he still decided to turn him into furniture.

This guy is an absolute menace.

Imagine you go to a super villain offering to pay him tribute in exchange for some of his disposable minions. And he instead decides to turn you into a decoration just because.

>>6152096
>Cut through the door and put Ferrara out of his misery
This is some drukhari type shit.

>>6152124
>>6152125
>>6152455
>>6152465
seems unanimous.

locked in.

There was nothing we could do to help him. Nothing but what would already done for the Flesh-Smith's other victims. I said nothing but drew back my sword, and cut.

The flash of shock across Ferrara's face became a glint of relief before fading away entirely, the door split apart behind him. The door didn't come apart in splinters, but in sticky, bloody fibers, pulsing muscle splattering to the ground. He had been the door itself.

"You've become a ruthless young animal."

The voice came from all around us. The walls. Small mouths puckered wet lips from the walls, and spoke as one in that mild voice of the monster.

"No pity for the ant that finds itself beneath your boot? Ferrara came to deal with me as if I were some mercenary for hire. He learned a valuable lesson. The difference between us and them. But I was not so cruel as to kill him."

"Fuck this," Grit said, trying not to look at the little speaking mouths flowering out of the walls. We walked on, but more mouths bloomed around us.

"I have searched the human body high and low for signs of a soul. To its smallest level I have looked. There is nothing. I have found nothing. Not in the brain or the liver or the kidney. Death is an end from which there is nothing after. So it is cruel then, cruel beyond measure to kill."

"Fuckin' hypocrite," Grit muttered.

The walls, the walls of the room we entered were pale and pasty, dripping with the same body grool as outside. Flesh wallpapering his domain, out from which the little speaking mouths blossomed, full lipped and teeth with clucking tongues behind them.

"I am the end of death," he said, "This city will be the first to receive my gift. But I need the girl to finish my work, the Living Dead Girl you so naively call Ayane."

Dusk gripped her sister's shoulder, but Ayane wasn't afraid.

"Man is nothing but piss and blood and come," he said, "Unconscious. But I will make us something more. More than an animal."

From one room to another, in a downward spiral.

"Why don't you just show yourself, coward?" Ayane said, "Get it over with, come and get me."

"But you're already here," he said, "I have no need. You are guests in my house. A good host must entertain his guests."

"Men in love with themselves always love to talk," Dusk said, "This dragon is no more than a power mad narcissist. How disappointing."

"Disappointing?" now there was some venom in his voice, "You arrogant little bitch."

I couldn't see Dusk's face but I could sense her smile in the squint of her eyes.

"Step into my parlor then, if you're so disappointed!"

There was a rumble in the ground, and before we could do more than gasp the ground beneath us opened with an unpleasant squelch. Ayane gave a short scream. I grabbed her quickly against my chest as the wind rushed up at us, but it wasn't a long drop.

We landed on something soft and wet, and from the fire of my light we saw a ground of rolling pink masses. It made it all hard to keep my feet, and Ayane was half climbed onto my shoulders at the sight of what was beneath us.

People. A translucent film between us and beneath our feet pink, skinless people, writhing together in a thick red soup. Grabbing each other, rolling atop one another, moaning mouths silent together in their agony.

"Or my workshop, I should say."

The voice came from before us. He emerged from the mass beneath our feet, formed by limbs slapping together in a strange embrace before skin slithered up over it to reveal the urbane face of old Hollywood glory, pencil thin mustache and clad in a dinner jacket. From his jacket he drew a cigarette, the Flesh-Smith, and lit it with a silver lighter.

He smiled at us with hooded, mild eyes.

"The surplus population of Chicago," he said, gesturing to the mass beneath us, "Junkies, whores, the homeless, the poor. The unmissed and the miserable. Brought here to serve a higher purpose. With you, my dear, the key to their salvation."

"YOU ARE FUCKING GROSS!" Ayane belted out, glaring at him with such disgust I felt it.

He puffed his cigarette, amused by her outburst. "The princess recoils from her purpose, hiding behind her knights," he said, "But they can't protect you my dear, this is your destiny, I am your destiny."

"You're just a gross old boomer!" Ayane yelled, "Who gave you the right to do any of this?"

Flesh-Smith shrugged. "A falling star."

"Enough with this shit," Grit said, swinging his hammer, "Let's kill this fucker and go."

Flesh-Smith clapped his hands. "Yes! The final confrontation. Although, not just yet! I have some friends I'd like you to meet."

"In the Hebrew bible there is no mention of heaven. No mention of a soul. Man is made of clay, given life by the breath of God. Returned to dust in death. Regathered on judgement day, the righteous and the damned alike returned to nothing. No heaven, no soul, no life ever lasting. Only dust. A great unmaking. But I am a kinder God."

He clapped his hands and they fell from the roof. Three great globs of flesh that splunked down at his feet. From there he twisted his hands, and the globs took shape. Limbs pulled themselves out from the shapeless mass, heads formed to define shoulders, and three tall, unnatural flesh golems hulked before their master.

"Three on three is only fair," Flesh-Smith said, then grinned, "But what's the fun in fair?"

Beneath us the mass of people writhed. The film parted, and fleshless hands reached out. Trying to grab us, to pull us down among them. Ayane screamed as one grabbed her ankle. Dusk's claws struck out, severing the hand at the wrist.

"Oh fuck this!" Grit spat, kicking at the grasping hands, right as the flesh golems charged.

>focus on those grabbing hands, and protecting Ayane
>focus on the Flesh Golems, let the others protect the princess
>write-in

>>6152599
>In his workshop he can just keep making golems and hands infinitely. The flesh smith that is speaking right now is likely just another golem. We need to stop thinking about this fight in terms of individual enemies and focus on reducing his available biomass to zero. Burn as much of it as possible with purging flame.

>>6152620
Also keep an eye out for his true body

I really wanted to run this arc through Halloween

now I'll be running the Thanksgiving stuff through Christmas and the Christmas stuff through New Years

>>6152627
It is what it is, I'm just glad you're running it at all. There's no bad time of year for spooky stuff.

>>6152620
Seconding this

>>6152620
Burn baby burn

>>6152599
>focus on the Flesh Golems, let the others protect the princess

When when we first made a light to search for Shark it took a lot out of us. Making the sword also consumes a lot more stamina than usual, i can only imagine that trying to turn our sword into some kind of of flamethrower would knock the wind out us.

>>6153085
Maybe it could be a combo attack with Ayane? She was able to recharge and heal us previously.

>>6153101
>>6152938
>>6152682
>>6152620
going with this then.

Oh God imagine if we could've just beaten the flesh smith the old fashioned way and it's revealed that Ayane had the ability to deus ex machina heal and restore everyone to their natural minds and bodies

>>6153245
I don't think the flesh smith is conventionally killable. He literally grew himself a body out of his flesh pit's floor. Last time we fought he he fused with the halls.

As long as he has enough organs and bio mass to work with he can just grow himself a new body.

Burn. It had to burn. If we had a hope of defeating the Flesh-Smith once and for all. All of it. But was the fire in my fist enough? Just drawing my sword tired me. The ground under my feet rolled with the twisting fleshless bodies of his victims, bulging up against the translucent film that separated us. The floor itself a living thing. And while arms broke through the film to grasp out with bloody fingers, the golems strode forward with a lumbering gait.

"Then the Lord God formed a Man from the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and the man became a living being," the Flesh-Smith said, ashing his cigarette, his voice mild as if he were placing an order at Starbucks, "I alone am conscious, and being so I alone am alive. And so I am both Man and God."

"You're fucking insane!" Ayane screamed, pulling herself away from the snaring hands as Dusk slashed the reaching limbs.

"Hotspur, what the fuck are we doing here?" Grit said, backing up to me with hammer in hand, teeth bared in a growing panic, "You got a plan, or just your dick in your hands?"

Burn it out with fire. Burn it away. The darkness, the madness. Give him no ground to run to.

"I have a plan," I said.

And thrust my sword into the ground beneath my feet.

The heat ripped through me and out, down. I needed more of it. All of it. More than I'd ever drawn on before. My pulse quickened, my heart hammered with the pounding of a savage EDM beat in my ears. My mouth dried and as the power poured out of me a terrible hollowness took its place. More. I needed more.

White fire began to web out beneath that thin film, catching alit the skinless nude figures Flesh-Smith had stripped of both skin and humanity. But more, I needed more.

"What is this?" a bead of sweat on Flesh-Smith's face, the mild expression replaced with a sharp glare, "This will not do."

Arms half aflame burst from the ground, reaching for me, grabbing at my jacket leaving bloody hand prints. The ground beneath my feet began to sink. They were trying to pull me down, down among them.

"Let go of him!" Ayane kicked at an arm latched to my collar.

"Yeah, you going to tell us?" Grit spat as the golems dropped onto all fours, "Fuck me!"

I closed both hands around the hilt of my burning sword, body shaking as I did something I'd never dared attempt before. But it wasn't enough. And I grew dizzy, knees unsteady. It was too much. It wasn't enough.

"Ayane," I said through clenched teeth, "I-I need your help."

"How?" she said.

"I don't know," I said, "What you did before, with my leg. I need you to do it again."

"But I don't know how!" a pitch of panic in her voice.

"Figure it the fuck out!" Grit spat.

"Trust yourself, imoto-chan," Dusk said.

Ayane stood paralyzed as burning arms broke out from the ground, and the golems broke into a bounding gallop toward us, letting out a terrible shriek.

>have Grit fight the golems, Dusk handle the arms
>have Dusk fight the golems, Grit handle the arms

>roll 3 x 1d100 dc 95 for Hotspur
Burning all this bio-mass is going to be difficult for Hotspur to deal with alone

>roll 3 x 1d100+10 dc 50 for Ayane
But he has Ayane for the assist

going to try and post a lot more this week and get back to my old schedule, no more two or three days without an update. if there are the players I'll try and get out two or three a day

Rolled 18 (1d100)

>>6154019
>have Grit fight the golems, Dusk handle the arms
Grit's the better brawler I reckon.

>>6154021
Do each of us roll 2d100? One for Hotspur one for Ayane. I'll roll 1d100 in case it isn't.

>>6154033
>Do each of us roll 2d100? One for Hotspur one for Ayane. I'll roll 1d100 in case it isn't.
you can if you'd like, just say which roll is which

Rolled 3 + 10 (1d100 + 10)

>>6154034
Alright, that 18 wasn't a good start so
>Inb4 shit rolls
Here goes Ayane

Okay so...Eric might die here

>>6154033
>>6154043
ok no more rolling from me I see

Or not!

But a failure for both of them or worse, a crit fail on either Eric or Ayane's part sure would be interesting

Rolled 1, 12 = 13 (2d100)

>>6154021
1st for Eric, 2nd for Ayane, or vice versa idk.

>>6154055
Jesus Christ, this is how it ends baka? End me

>>6154055
AH FUCK

HAHAHAHA HOLY SHIT

well unless Eric's next roll is 100 that's a critfail and it looks like Ayane is about to fail too.

>>6154019
>have Dusk fight the golems, Grit handle the arms

SOMEONE SAVE US.

Rolled 18, 7 = 25 (2d100)

>>6154019
So I can roll for both right?
First is Eric, second Ayane

>>6154067
I guess Eric dies

>>6154046
>>6154055

Wow what a jinx, but on the other hand maybe Space Prince has the answer since he popped up in that nat1 against the Ice guy and cut off his hands pretty handily. Eric dies, but Prince Eric is born. lol

I wasn't expecting a result this bad, but that's ok. Failure can be fun!

Need a tie break on what Dusk and Grit are doing, then I'll hit you guys with the next update

>>6154019
>>have Grit fight the golems, Dusk handle the arms

Rolled 42, 32 = 74 (2d100)

>>6154021
Are we done rolling?

Spur/Ayane

Grit Golems, Dusk Arms

>>6154077
ok, locking in Grit fighting the golems, Dusk handling the arms.

>>6154078
I'm afraid Hotspur suffered a critfail and Ayane didn't manage the 40+ dice roll necessary to succeed. Really might be the worst batch of dice rolling in the game, nothing above an 18.

Well
It's been fun fellas

"Grit, deal with the bio-golems, Dusk, cover me!" I panted, voice strained as sweat poured down my neck. The heroes never had strained or cracked voices, not in any of the movies.

Grit spat. "On it!" and ran at the bounding golems.

"Very well," Dusk hissed, and her claws slashed out.

Bloody hands all over me, pulling me down. The cut of obsidian talons tore them away, more kicked back by Ayane until those hands turned to grasp her. Dusk lunged, grabbing the fleshless arm pulling on Ayane's overall straps, and tore it apart. Ayane, released, stumbled into me and grabbed my shoulders, holding on tight.

Clenched teeth bared, I poured more fire beneath me, setting the ground to glow. Burning hands, fat sizzling in the fire, muscle sloughing off down to the elbow leaving white fire wreathed skeletal fingers, snatched and clawed at me.

"Ayane!" I gasped, my heart thumping irregular, everything dizzy, "You need to do what you did or...or we're dead."

"I don't know, I don't know," Ayane shuddered against me.

From out of the ground a burning bio-ghoul tore itself out from the sea of fire beneath us. Muscle dripping from its cheeks, eyes melting in its sockets, bloody teeth bared. It grabbed her from behind, tearing at her with long bone fingers. She screamed as the back of her overalls were torn away, as it snagged her shirt and shredded it, as it readied long sharp fingers to tear into her flesh.

Dusk spun and slashed off its arm at the elbow, spun again and slashed apart its chest, all with a ballet grace and quickness.

"You need to, you need," I was struggling, my head swimming, my power fading. My grip on the fire growing loose, the brightness of the flames beneath us dimming as around us Flesh-Smith's bio-ghouls tore their way free from the purifying flames, filling the workshop with their unearthly shrieks.

With fading vision I watched Grit stand against the bio-golems. The leader of the pack lunged straight for him, thick blunt fingers outstretched. Grit pivoted on his back foot and with a baseball bat swing brought his hammer around. The meaty thump and the deep crack of broken bones rung out as he took it clean on the side of the dome, sending the monster staggering off course to crash behind him. He brought his hammer around on the next to come on him, right down on its clavicle, buckling it to its knees.

But they didn't stay down. The one behind him shook out its head like a big dog would its jowls before standing, and the other with the broken shoulder popped it back in with a flex of its chest. And the third, uninjured, came on. Grit was a small thing against those giants. Standing alone.

"No," I gasped. He swung at the one behind him, again at the one ahead of him, then the third knocked him down with an overhand right that sent him rolling across the surface of the sea of white fire, stone hammer lost. Seeing weakness, the bio-golems closed as Grit forced himself up knuckles first, blood trickling from his mouth. "No!"

Dusk danced among the burning bio-ghouls, black claws tearing out as melting limbs snatched at her, Flesh-Smith's half-formed creations barely more than shuffling zombies, but just as unrelenting. A hooked hand caught black shadow and pulled, tearing it away and baring the flesh of Dusk's left arm. The same again to her right thigh. The bio-ghouls stripping the shadows away one handful at a time, crowding her, overwhelming her. Beating her down.

"No!"

I grabbed at that failing power, the last ember of fire within me. Drew on it, let it fill me. Let it take control.

I burned. Burned in the fire. The fire of creation. The fire of the first light.

I looked upon the twisted misshapen things before me, beneath me. The living walls. And at its source the watching craftsman, smoking a cigarette, the darkness emanating from the deep pit of his soul, few flecks of light left within it, near lost completely to the Lie.

Druj-work, all around us.

"God," I said in that cold alien voice, the voice that lurked in the back of my head, the voice of the prince, "You call yourself God. Nought are you but a toymaker. A tinker."

The Flesh-Smith raised an eyebrow.

"Vile," I said, all around me in those twisted husks the flecks of silver of what had once been living people, "Perverse. Base. And dull, a vapid tinkerer at the margin of things. Lower than an ant, dreaming its an eagle."

The Flesh-Smith smiled. "Less than an ant? And yet you're the one beneath my boot," he said, and raised a hand.

From above me the roof itself came slamming down, a wall of hard tissue that pummelled me through the thin film and down into the hot waters of the Flesh-Smith's uncreation. Whatever the liquid was, it stank and it itched, but it couldn't douse the fire in my fist as I was pulled down. Beside me Ayane drifted away, the fabric of her overalls beginning to peel. She kicked over to me, swimming hard, breath held tight, bangs of black hair a cloud in front of her eyes. Sodden clothes pulling her down, she wrestled her way free of the overalls, down to black Calvin Kleins when she reached me.

The prince took her by the small of the back, pulled her close and pulled us both up. Bursting free into the dank air of the workshop, gasping and wet. Pulled myself out, then her. She coughed and sputtered.

I looked down on her, the maiden. Saw in her the pearl of white that spoke to something inside me.

I knelt. "Princess," I said, "Wouldst though give us thine gift?" Old Englishee, I didn't know what the fuck I was saying. Ayane gasped, face shining from the strange womb liquid of the unmaking waters. I took her chin and tipped it up, to look her in the eyes. She stared back, and gasped. I reached up to pull down my mask. I reached forward, to cup her behind the ear, to feel the tremble of her neck. "I know thine power, I know it, I have tasted it before."

Lips parted, mouths so close, the heat of her breath as they closed. The feel of her tongue, nervous then strong. And with it, the rush. The hot rush through me that answered her soft moan, and a word muttered from her lips once they parted. Fire rose around us, the blinding white fire.

"Arash."

Gone was Ayane. In that moment white hair replaced black, and I looked into the silver eyes of my sister. Serenäe. My sister, my bride, bound in the sacred ways of old...of old...

Red skies and the laughing damned. The dragon! The dragon!

"God!" I grabbed my head, and the fire died around us. So badly had the fire swept through in the moment of our kiss it had burned the workshop walls bare to the stone, black scorch marks across its sides. It had boiled through the waters beneath us that they now stood stagnant, what remained match stick things burned of meat. And all that remained were the bio-golems, the bio-ghouls swarming Dusk, and the now sneering face of the Flesh-Smith.

But behind him. Behind him the eyes of the true dragon. Looking out through the abyss. Looking down upon me. Found me, he had found me.

"God!" I fell into my sister-bride's arms. No, not anymore. Ayane, her name was Ayane.

"Hotspur!" she cried, trying to haul me up, but I had no legs to stand on. No, he had cut my legs out from under me. He had cut away my sword arm. He had left me only the one arm left to drag myself by, at his feet, to spit one last word of defiance before he finished it. Finished it. But he had been long in finishing it.

Red skies and the laughing damned, watching in their legions at the end of our world.

"No, no, no!" I whimpered. Not my memories. Not mine. Not me.

"Somebody! Priss! Help him!" Ayane screamed, "Grit! There's something wrong with Hotspur!"

But they had their own battles to fight. And I was losing mine. I was losing...
-
roll for Grit
>roll 3 x 1d100+20 dc 70

roll for Dusk
>roll 3 x 1d100+30 dc 50

pulled the trigger on some stuff early because of that critfail

Rolled 23 + 20 (1d100 + 20)

>>6154123
Grit
The amount of critfails since your return is insane

>>6154140
its definitely kept me entertained

Rolled 92 + 30 (1d100 + 30)

Please space jesus let this not be a crit fail

>>6154146
based on the bonus I'm saying that's for Dusk

>>6154147
correct
My bad

Rolled 12 + 20 (1d100 + 20)

>>6154123
Rollan again for my boy Grit

Rolled 11 + 30 (1d100 + 30)

>>6154123
Dusk of deep hips

>>6154123
Also called Serenae being a bride

Rolled 50 + 20 (1d100 + 20)

>>6154123
Maybe I can redeem myself with a Grit Crit

>>6154215
Clutch roll

Rolled 3 + 30 (1d100 + 30)

>>6154123
Last Dusk roll

>>6154123
>makeout session with our former cat
this is gonna be a tough sell for ivy and ayesha

Both Grit and Dusk pass their checks.

Writing it up now

Okay sorry guys, I don't know who the fuck thought that little crop tool in the text box was a good idea but I accidentally deleted half that fucking update I was working on because I'm too fucking stupid to use a non-text box program to write this shit, and accidentally flushed about an hour's work down the fucking drain.

Really angry with myself right now, but also really fucking annoyed with this stupid fucking website too.

>>6154532
we appreciate your dedication
speaking of dedication I waited 15 minutes to post this so I hope you appreciate it

>>6154546
I appreciate it. I really, really do.

Fuck this site seems designed to screw over quests these days. Ever since those jerks on /tg/ got us kicked over here its been a downward slide with more and more bullshit.

Anyway, had to go clear my head. Going to put this thing back together again and post it.

Grit could taste blood in his mouth. Whether that was because he’d bit his tongue or something in his lungs had been busted he couldn’t tell, but breathing was a whole lot of not fucking fun right now. And gasping on that pain, he got caught by one of the bio-golems, wrapped up and hoisted off the ground.

A mouth full of big blunt teeth opened above his head. It was going to eat. Fuck it was going to eat him. He threw out his left arm, trying to push that mouth back but all that happened was a hard crunch as that jaw snapped over his forearm.

The shock hit him in a wave as something crunched beneath those large square teeth. Puke rose in his mouth. He felt those teeth saw into his flesh, its powerful neck jerking back, tugging his arm at the shoulder socket, trying to rip it free.

He was being eaten alive. He kicked, pissed himself, swung his hammer but the handle was too long. It was going to take his arm off. He needed to do something. Anything!

The hammer in his right hand. He weaved into it with his earth sense. Broke it down, dragged it down across his right arm down to the elbow, remade it into a stone gauntlet. The fucker kept chewing, snapping bones, blood starting to well between its lips.

He swung his stone fist. Hit it in the eye. Felt something break beneath the blow. Saw the skin split. It shook its head, jaw slack enough for him to rip his mutilated arm free. Swung again. An indent now, cheek bones shattering. It staggered, squeezing him in its grip. One last punch and it went down and he was on top of it.

The scream he made as he slammed his stone fist into its head, cracking through the bone to splatter it open, was like nothing he’d ever made before. He wrapped stone fingers around the squishy bits inside its skull and squeezed, ichor coating his palm.

If that had been it, that would have been a job well done. But there were two more of the bio-golems and those cunts didn’t fight fair. He barely had time to stand before he got hit with a shoulder charge and went bouncing across the strange wet floor, roiling beneath him as he rolled end over end, the pain in his savaged arm almost crippling.

When he rolled to his feet he made the stone gauntlet a hammer again, and as it charged on him he swung. Caught it on the chin, snapped its head back, sent it veering off to the side.

The next one though leapt at him over its brother, and Grit rolled forward to avoid being smashed under it. He swung and slammed his hammer into its spine. Its legs went goofy, but that just meant the fucking thing crawled after him.

“Fuck me,” he said, spitting up a slime of blood, vomit and drool, heart pumping on pain and terror.

Give him a room full of triads over this madness. This body horror manga bullshit.

It grabbed for his ankle, looking to snap down on his knee. He brought the hammer down on the dome of its head. Once. Twice. Coated his jeans with it.

“Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you,” he spat, over and over again, left arm limp at his side.

So dizzy he barely had time to react to the last one.
It hit him in the side and he went rolling, his bad arm cracking again beneath him. Grit kicked in pain but forced himself to get up. Not fast enough though.

It charged after him, bringing its fists down trying to pulverize him, to beat him into an easy to eat mash. He rolled back, pushing himself up with his broken arm and regretting it. Bone was sticking out from the muscle and skin. He tried not to look at it. It reared up above him, screaming with a high pitched whine, eyes frightened in the depths of its skull. Grit raised his hammer and twisted it into a shield, catching the falling fists, driven deep into the weird flexible ground beneath him, the water beneath his feet on fire, the bodies in the water burning and cracking in writhing agony, fingers clawing at the thin film that separated them.

Giant fists came down with unrelenting fury. The film beneath his feet threatened to break. Grit drove his stone shield into the golem's knee, shattering the cap, buckling it, then with a back hand caught it on the jaw. It wobbled. Burning hands broke from under the surface of the floor, grabbing at them both.

"Fuck this," Grit hissed, pulling himself from their grip. The last bio-golem wasn't so lucky, its on weight working against it. With a splash it was pulled down by burning hands into the white hot waters. Struggling to pull itself out, the white fire caught across its flesh, and the skin began to run like melting wax. Grit had to look away. Pain, revulsion, horror. It was a struggle not to vomit.

It was a struggle he lost.

He looked for Dusk, for Hotspur. For help.

Dusk fought a horde of flaming bio-ghouls like a wild cat.

Hotspur had his tongue in the Japanese tomboy's mouth.

"Fuck you dude," Grit spat, his shield a stone hammer again. No more fucking favors for Hotspur.

-

Where the grabbed her they clawed the shadows from her body, but where they grabbed her she returned serve, claws slashing out to severe and maim. For the first time in her life Dusk was truly grateful for her childhood ballet lessons, pirouetting to catch the bio-ghouls behind her before spinning to strike the ones in front. Blood dashed out from each slash of her talons, ending a life and freeing them from the Flesh-Smith's control.
The Flesh-Smith watched, smoking.

Burning fingers grabbed her chin, her shoulders, her back, and pulled. Shadows ripped away from her mouth, tearing off her shadow mask, baring her shoulders and clavicle. Down to the black sports bra she wore beneath her shadows. She cut her way free from their grip, her target before her. Lunged toward him, the distance too great to clear, howling as she swiped out obsidian talons.

A burning skull, screaming in her face, came apart. Another soul liberated.

There was a time she hadn’t believed in the soul. It felt like a different time, a different person. She still wasn’t sure she believed in God, but she knew the Devil. He watched her now, a cigarette in his hand, wearing a handsome Gene Kelly sort of face. Not his original face.

She knew what he had been. The creature he was. The skulking little mortician quiet in the hospital morgue. A two-bit Herbert West.

He blinked in surprise, smile slipping in shock.

"Oh shit, you're the reporter," he said, that affected tone now something more mortal.

Not today she wasn’t.

“Night has come for you, Leland,” she said, pointing a talon toward him, regathering her shadows around her. Clad in midnight once more.

He swallowed, struggled to put back his own mask, but he managed, and did it with a smirk.

“All you’ve done is delay my work,” he said, “There’s always more material. Eight billion human beings is plenty to work with.” He looked around, a sting in his eyes, “Though this will take time to replace. Kudos to you, hunters. You’ve made a mess of my day.”

“I mean to make an end of it!”

“Onee-san!” Ayane’s voice, it gave her pause before she lunged. Ayane didn’t speak Japanese often. Unlike her she’d never lived in Japan.

She looked back to see her sister on her knees, with the young knight Hotspur in her arms. The boy was slumped over her, shaking. Was he hurt? She couldn’t say. His companion Grit though was, who had his feet but had a maimed arm limp at his side and walked with struggled breathing.

“You alone?” the Flesh-Smith said, too smug, “I think not.”

Dusk’s throat tightened, a hot pulse running through her. A desire to carve the smug grin out of the Flesh-Smith’s face.

>have Dusk attack alone, seek an end to this
>withdraw for now, don’t take the gamble

sorry for that massive, aggravating delay

>>6154604
>have Dusk attack alone, seek an end to this

>>6154604
>have Dusk attack alone, seek an end to this

>>6154604
>>withdraw for now, don’t take the gamble
I shall take the contrarian stance to keep our special effects master from The Thing around for another romp.

>>6154650
>>6154614
Alright, Dusk is going to go it alone!

She raised her right hand, pointing with a claw.

Before the change had come upon her, when she had been a woman working at the local tv station, she had watched every tragedy imaginable unfold on the streets. News stories of murder, rape, arson, robbery, would cross their desks and be dismissed by the end of the day. Men and women forced into the streets in the dead of winter by callous landlords. Health insurance companies denying claims for sick children. Politicians taking bribes from real estate developers, gentrifying poor communities and leaving the residents to rot.

Every injustice, recited for a camera, amounting to little more than the grim kind of water cooler talk.

Not anymore. Not since the Explosion. No more talk.

When cloaked in shadows killing had proven easier than she'd expected, but it was never arbitrary. She put every inch of her journalistic training into picking her targets. Pimps who peddled in children, a frat boy who had escaped justice for killing his girlfriend, a cop who had shot an unarmed boy. Monsters every one of them.

But none worse than the creature that stood before her.

What he had done, what he would do, had to be brought to an end.

For the sake of the world. For the sake of her sister.

It had to end.

"Leland Murphy," she said, "Disgraced doctor, second rate mortician. I know who you are. Cloak yourself in grandeur but I see the miserable failure behind it. You were given a gift, a chance to repair your life. Instead you became something even more pathetic. Call yourself a God, twisted a thousand people into your playthings, it won't change what you are. The pimple faced boy no girl would kiss or any boy would play with."

The grin the Flesh-Smith gave was the bared teeth of a cornered chimp. "You've done your research Ms Takanawa," he said, "I respect that. I always thought you were nothing more than a dressed up bikini model given a microphone. But Dr Leland Murphy is dead. The Explosion killed him. I am something more."

Dusk scoffed. "Then allow me to finish the job."

No more talk.

Her allies were wounded, but he was without his material, his ghouls dead, his workshop in ruins. It was just the two of them now.

He spun, his right arm warping, bone and muscle contorting into the barrel of a cannon. Green fire lit up inside it.

She lunged. Grand allegro
-
>roll 3 x 1d100+15 dc 70

>>6155010
Here comes that nat100

Rolled 77 + 15 (1d100 + 15)

>>6155010

all you have to do now is avoid a critfail

Rolled 35 + 15 (1d100 + 15)

>>6155010

Last roll to see if Flesh-Smith goes down. Try not to roll a 1!

Rolled 85 + 15 (1d100 + 15)

>>6155054
>>6155010

>>6155056
that's a combined roll of 100

writing up the Fall of the Flesh-Smith!

Speed and ferocity carried her over the distance with a scream. The arm cannon of the Flesh-Smith ejected hot plasma, a blast that could have torn her in half, if she hadn't grabbed herself mid-flight with vines of shadow, pulling her to the ground before him in a cat crouch.

"Missed," she hissed, smiling beneath her shadow mask, and swept a claw upward.

It opened his chest, but where a man would have had bones and lungs, organs and blood, his was just a squishy soft tissue like human clay. She swiped across with her other hand taking off his arm. But the flesh closed over the wounds, oozing, gluing together until they sealed shut.

"Bitch!" he spat, "I told you I can't be killed! I told you, I'm a-!"

She shut him up with a swipe to his throat, then another across his face. The Flesh-Smith tap danced back and she followed, filleting him as he put his arms up to shield his face. Fury in each strike, hate on her lips as she panted ragged breaths. But more than that was fear. Fear for her sister and what he had planned for her.

"I'll kill you a thousand times if I have to," she said, "A thousand more until you stay dead! I'll tear you down to your last molecule!"

Flesh flew in a spatter, oddly bloodless as she threshed into him, and when he tried to flee shadows rose to bind him.

"You...you stupid whore," he said through the bloody ribbons of his face, bound up tight by the living shadow vines, "I was going to save the world!"

"Spare me," she sneered, driving her arm through his chest and out the other side. The Flesh-Smith shook in his bonds.

"Bitch, you evil bitch!" his voice now rose a tone more high pitched, his handsome Hollywood face melting away to show the gray chinless face of Leland Murphy, beady little eyes and too small nose on a far too large head. "I won't let you. I won't! I have a destiny! The stars have called me, they called! You can't do this!"

"Pathetic," Dusk said, "Hotspur is right, you're nothing but a delusional little pervert."

He spat at her, she slashed it aside. Raised him up in his bonds. Ran her cutting claw along his much reduced jaw line. Watched him shiver.

"This is the real you," she said, "You've lost all your ghouls, Hotspur burned away all your resources. All your lies. Now there's only the truth to face. Only me."

"The dark," he croaked.

"The light casts a shadow," she said, grabbing him now by the chin, her mask drawing back to show her lips, "And I am the shadow of the light." She squeezed her grip as she planted on his cheek a soft kiss. The flesh and bone gave way, blood spurted out from beneath her claws. "Now, go to the light."

And she drew back on her mask, a last hard squeeze of her claw, and his head came apart on his nervous whimper, scared in the last. Terrified. The terror of death. If ever a man deserved to go with terror...

She tightened her shadows until the rest of him came apart in a spray.

Hot blood dripped down her. She let out a gasp, tracing a claw down her neck, savoring it. The dragon slain. She should not enjoy this thrill so much. When the shadows were gone she knew it was wrong, and would be disgusted with herself later. But for now she bathed in it.

Until she remembered her sister.

"Ayane!"
-
They tried to get me to my feet, Ayane and Grit, but my feet wouldn't obey.

"You're a heavy piece of shit," Grit said, "Where you even hurt, man? I barely still got this arm hanging on, you look like you ain't got a scratch."

I didn't know where, I couldn't say. I couldn't speak. I was mute with the shock rolling through me, my fire gone out in a moment of horror, the vision of myself slaughtered at the foot of that thing. That thing, that dragon. Towering over me on a dead world, surrounded by his cheering legions. Keeping me alive to watch the destruction of my home. The pillars pulled down, the forests despoiled, the sky itself burned. Watching. The agony stretched out before the light was at last extinguished. But the vision was pulling away from me now, the memory more real than the world around me fading, leaving behind only the horror.

Between the stars it saw. The darkness it filled. And it knew me. Had seen me. The dragon. He was coming. Faster now he was coming. And his legions with him. To extinguish the light once and for all.

The war, the war. The war been waging since the first dawn light. A war we were losing.

"Ayane!" Dusk came running. A midnight figure born of light. She stood before me, looking to my sister. Her sister.

No. I tried to shake my head. Not mine. Not me. Him. We weren't the same. Go back to sleep. Leave me alone. Let me be Eric. Let me stay Eric!

"Hotspur," Dusk looked down on me.

"There's something wrong with him," Ayane said, tears in her eyes, "What he did, it took too much out of him. Priss, I think he's dying!"

Dusk shook her head. "No, not dying," she said, "Not yet. But, he needs rest. You, Grit? Do you know his people?"

"I know people who do," he said, snorting, "but I got my own problems." He tried to hold up his mutilated arm.

"How are you still standing?" Dusk said.

"They don't call me Grit because I'm a fuckin' pussy," he said.

"Fair enough."

Dusk crouched before me. "The Flesh-Smith is dead, Hotspur, you have my word on it. And I owe you. Call on me when you need me and I'll come. But for now you need help. I can take you back to my apartment, or leave you with Grit. Which would you prefer?"

Answering wasn't easy. Keeping my head up even. "Nod once for my apartment, twice to be left with your friend."

I was starting to slip away.

>go with Dusk
>go with Grit

sorry for so many dice rolls lately. will ease up on them for a little while

for anyone who'd rather Eric go somewhere else, he's not really in a state to communicate anything.

>>6155091
>go with Dusk

>>6155091
>go with Dusk

>>6155091
>go with Dusk

We can't keep having shit like this happen. We need to figure out a better working relationship with Arash

>>6155303
20 bucks says it requires plowing his staer wife on the regular

>>6155305
Sister wife*

>>6155155
>>6155109
>>6155097
Going with Dusk wins

Sorry for the delay, a friend of mine had to put down his dog earlier and we've been hanging out.

I nodded once, it was about all I could manage.

"Can we get out of here? This place gives me the creeps," Ayane said.

"Let's fucking go," Grit said, letting his stone hammer drop before hoisting me over his shoulder. Even with a broken arm he had enough strength to carry me. Dusk lead the way out, but as we went I was failing fast, failing...falling...

Swallowed up by the black.

-

A bird twittered outside. The sound of children playing

I opened my eyes. I was seated at a table. There was a comic book in front of me, the smell of frying eggs, soft humming. Sunlight streamed in through a port house window.

"Kids, lunch time!" a familiar voice called as she came in with a tray. Ayesha, in a white blouse, hair tied back under a headscarf. She looked older. How much older? She set the tray down. "Eggs for you," she said, popping a kiss on my cheek, "Veggies for me and the kids." She set out the other plates.

I tried to talk. Nothing came out.

"Ivy said she'd be home late, something about an incident at the embassy," she said, "Kids! Lunch! Get it before Dad eats yours too!"

"Nothing for you to worry about," she said as the kids came charging through the door.

Three of them, all around the same age. A dark skinned girl with curly brown hair elbow passed a blond boy to get at the chair while behind them another, dark haired girl sulked. She was younger than the other two, though not by much.

"Quit it!" the boy snapped at the girl, she stuck her tongue out at him, "Mom, tell her to quit it!"

"Be nice to your brother," she said.

"I am nice to him," the girl said, "It's hard because he's a chicken ass but I am."

"Don't call your brother a chicken ass."

"Yeah, you're the chicken ass!"

"And don't you keep it going. I swear, you kids..."

They sat to eat. I stared. What was this?

"Do you think we can go fishing tomorrow?" the dark haired girl asked, almost shy in how she asked it.

"If your father isn't busy," Ayesha said that with a look to me, "Are you busy tomorrow, Dad?" She said it like it was a joke, but I didn't get it. She smiled, the start of crow's feet around her eyes.

I tried to answer but no voice came out.

"Why's Dad got to do everything?" the black girl scoffed, "He's trained enough ashavan by now. Can't Auntie Natalie or Uncle Jack do it instead?"

"Because Dad's the best," the blond boy said.

"Suck up, I'll be an ashavan before you are," the girl pulled her cheek at her brother.

"Don't pull your cheek, and neither of you will be ashavan, Light willing," Ayesha said, "You've seen what it's taken from your father."

They all now looked at me. The blond boy and the black girl beamed with pride, their dark haired little sister dark with worry. But I didn't know them. I didn't know what they were talking about. What did they mean, what had it taken from me?

"What it keeps taking," the voice wasn't Ayesha's this time. It was a hiss in the back of my mind. "It will take and take and take. Look, look at those smiling children."

I looked, and saw as they chatted, cracks formed along their faces. They continued to talk and eat, oblivious to the deepening cracks. The boy passed his plate to Ayesha. A crack ran up his elbow, and his arm came off, shattering like fine glass on the table, but he chatted on regardless, everyone blind to what had happened. The black girl snorted with laughter, and as she did a neat shard of her face fell outward. They crumbled around the dinner table, the children, their mother beaming with pride.

The sun shone and the birds sang. The girl lost her fingers.

"Your life, your soul, your future. All of it."

I whimpered behind a mute tongue.

"We will take it all."

I whimpered and the dark haired girl looked up from her plate. A crack ran through her eye. She stared as if she could almost hear me.

"All of it!"

And in my mind I saw white teeth widened to show a gray tongue, lapping out for me,

As her siblings broke apart, the girl looked at me. Through me. Past all this and to the real me. To the demon in my head. And she glared, no longer timid.

And said.

"No."

-

I bolted upright in the dark, panting hard, sheets damp with sweat and tangled around me. In a bed, not my own. In a room. Not my own. A thin bar of light came from under a closed door, the red numbers of an alarm clock, the distant buzzing of electricity. A smart pant suit hung from a hook in front of a walk in wardrobe. There was another door, must be a private bathroom. My suit was hung up in front of it, stained with filth and blood.

Something in my head. Trying to eat its way through. They'd tried before, but I am a wizard's boon and have powers of my own besides. Druj or demon, whatever had tried had failed. A dream. I tried to grab it.

What was the last thing I could remember? The Flesh-Smith, the fire in my hand, burning the unmaking sea beneath us. Then nothing. Where was I?

I got up and nearly fell over. Legs wobbly. Though I might puke but held it in. Hungry. Hungry beyond words.

Needed to eat. Not able to think. I pushed my way out the door towards the light. The sound of something, people talking. No, a tv show. The room was dark but the tv was on.

"I picked up takeout," a woman's voice, "If you're anything like me you'll be hungry after."

My head swivelled around. Food. A bag on a countertop in a smart kitchenette. Burger King. I ripped the bag open. Whoppers. I barely had the wrapping off before my mouth was stuffed with hot grease and tomato, barely chewing as I wolfed them down.

"It's a great trade off, I can eat like a pig now and not have to worry about my figure. Maybe I can go back to Miami and do Swim Week and not want to kill myself the whole time."

The voice. I looked for it. She was on the couch, watching the tv. Dressed in a black silk dressing gown, slouched into the depths of the chair. Not Dusk, just Priscilla Takanawa. She didn't even sound the same. Face framed by a professional bob cut, the tv show reflected in her eyes, her skin shone as if she'd just dried off from a shower.

"Sorry I had to strip you, but those sheets are Egyptian cotton, and you were covered in a lot of sewage. Speaking of, you do not smell good. Maybe jump in the shower when you get a chance."

"Hngh," I said through a mouthful of burger.

"Ayane is back with our parents, she's missed enough school," she said, "It wasn't easy to get her to go. She's really taken to you."

I swallowed.

"I dropped your pal Grit off with some guy called Doctor Ramsey. He'll be ok."

She leaned back over the couch to look at me. "Sorry if I was a bit intense back there. When I'm wearing my shadows its like I...I almost become a different person. You know? But not, just, it heightens some things and dulls others. It's hard to explain..."

I took a big slurp of coke.

"Is there anyone I can call to come pick you up? Maybe bring a change of clothes? I mean you can stay if you want, but you can't stay forever."

She stared at me a while.

"You know I wasn't expecting you to be, like, this young," she turned her head to the side, "What are you, sixteen, seventeen?"

I dabbed the sauce from my mouth on a scrunched up wrapper, feeling a little better. "Sixteen," I said, "Just a kid, right?"

She shook. "No," she said, "You're young, but not a kid."

"How old are you?"

"Twenty eight come new years," she said, "Born January 1st."

"I thought you were older," I said.

"Do I look old?" she asked with half a smile.

"No! Just, because of the reporting and...never mind..."

"So, who should I call?"

>call Dad
>call Ayesha (Ivy doesn't have a car)
>call Misfit
>call Jimmy Green
>write-in

>>6155644
>call Jimmy Green
We need magic help badly

>>6155644
>write-in
"Call for more takeout."

More Priscilla time, more Ayane time. Possibly more space princess time.

>>6155652
Second. Magic shenanigans are afoot.

>>6155644
>call Jimmy Green

>>6155644
>>call Jimmy Green
We really need to buckle down on figuring out this mystic reincarnation thing

>>6155644
>call Jimmy Green

That family member I told you guys about passed away a few hours ago. I might still run today but might not. Still sorting out my feelings. Just thought I'd give you all a head's up.

>>6156083
Damn, my condolences. Take all the time you need Bull.

>>6156083
Condolences Bull

>>6156083
My condolences Bull, I really hope you and your family are okay

>>6155914
>>6155899
>>6155892
>>6155765
>>6155652
locking in calling Jimmy

>>6157398
Does Jimmy have a car? Does he drive? For some reason I like to imagine he has to ride his bicycle over.

I called up Jimmy Green for a lift. It couldn't be a text, had to call to make sure he was awake.

The red wizard wasn't happy to hear from me.

"Do you know what time it is?" he groaned.

Actually, no. I checked the clock on Ms Takanawa's wall. 2 AM. She leaned back in her couch, knee raised, sipping a beer while watching football.

"Yeah," I lied, "Look, you know I wouldn't call if it wasn't important. We need to talk."

His sigh was deep and resigned. "Fine. Send me the address. But I'm going to take my fucking time getting there."

"Fair," I said, to the beep of him hanging up. Sometimes I got the feeling Jimmy didn't like me much.

"You ask for a change of clothes?" Ms Takanawa asked. I shook my head. She sighed and got up, turning off the TV, "Sungoliaths are looking bad for next year." I had no idea what she meant by that. She turned to me with a pointing finger, nostrils rankled. "Hop in the shower and wash some of that sewer out of your hair or I'll make you wait for your friend outside. I might have some clothes that will fit you."

"Yes ma'am," I said.

A hot shower would do me some good anyway. She showed me the way to her bathroom then went off to fetch some clothes.

Being in her bathroom I was aware of the number of wax strips and skin care products lain out by the basin. Face creams, moisturizers, it put Ayesha to shame. I guess she was part of that class of 'professionally pretty' women so it made sense, but the smell of cream was heavy in the air.

I dropped out of my underwear and into her stand in shower. The water got hot quick and almost hurt. grabbed some puffy thing off a hook and scrubbed. There was no getting clean from what we'd seen or what we'd done, but I was going to try. I practically flayed myself under the hot jets of the shower, scrubbing away flakes of dried 'something' across my forearms. Done scouring myself I got out, pink all over in the clouds of steam.

A polite knock on the door and Ms Takanawa's elegant hand reached in, holding out a folded up shirt and a pair of jeans.

"My dad's old jersey," she said.

I took it. It was a white shirt with red horizontal stripes and a pink flower over the breast. I pulled it on.

"The jeans are from an ex," she said, "It's funny what gets left behind. I have a drawer full of guitar picks."

The shirt fit fine but the jeans were too long in the leg. I had to roll up the cuffs, feeling a bit too 'Hobbit' when I did it. I'm not even short. I'm perfectly average height. Maybe even a little above average. Seriously.

I pulled on the collar of the shirt.

"Dad played for Japan's University team," Ms Takanawa said, "He could have played for the National team, but decided to focus on his medical career. He's still a massive fanboy about it though."

"What like soccer?" I said, pinching the fabric.

"Rugby," she said, "That's actually how I got my big break, covering a puff piece on the Midwest Rugby Premiership for the station. I was the closest thing to an expert they had, and I have a nicer smile than the next best option, a guy named Whitman who played on his university team. Go Lions, right?"

I had no idea what she was talking about. "I'm more a basketball guy," I said, "Rugby's like football but without the pads or something?" I didn't even know we played Rugby, but then I don't even follow our own brand of football.

Ms Takanawa sighed. Talking to her up close, without the shadow mask or lethal tone to her voice, I could better see the resemblance with Ayane. She had a wider face, and Ayane had a light trail of freckles across her cheeks. She was also taller, as tall as I was. But other than that it was very clear they were sisters. I wondered for a second if they got their looks from their dad or their mom.

"Thank you again, for looking out for Ayane," she said, "And for helping me with the Flesh-Smith. I don't think I could have handled him alone."

I shrugged, its what I do.

"As I said, if you ever need a favor, just ask," she bowed slightly, all of a sudden very Japanese.

Something did occur to me...

>invite her to join Fire Watch
>no, she was a bad fit for the team

>>6160192
>invite her to join Fire Watch
With what's coming we need all the help we can get

>>6160192
>invite her to join Fire Watch
We made Grit work

>>6160192
>invite her to join Fire Watch

"I want you on my fire staff."

Captcha - V4RKA
Varka - latin name that means 'Foreign Woman'

Yes captcha we must get more hot asian women, right away

>>6160192
>no, she was a bad fit for the team
Classic superhero team of do-gooders + Morally grey vigilante who is a good person but kills is a trope we all know well. We either compromise the whole group and Hotspur integrity, or people leave, or we literally turn people from the group against each other, there's a reason the Shark isn't a official member.

I say is better to keep her as an associate. Remember how God Brother was acting, even if we know she's good, he doesn't like how she's a killer, and if we keep her from killing she could end up don't liking us. Is better if Eric aligns better with her and viceversa instead of trying to shift Fire Watch as a whole

On another note, I feel that maybe Dusk is as important in this whole war against the Drug as Ayane, as in, a metaphysical/magical sense. She said it herself, she could've the Shadows of our Light, and no, this isn't my pitch to try and add her to our Harem, is already wear with Ayane tiptoeing in it

>>6160384
>>6160373
>>6160344
locking that in