Bullets rained from above, from the north, and none was left but to face it. Splatters of crimson and gunpowder alike scattered across the alleyway without a word spoken between either party. The tension had broke, albeit the action was just accumulating now! Echoes of commands from the sky and from the ground rang out from within Alexander's mind; updates of the situation coming in droves. It was a real sudden gang war out here! Soldiers of all sorts were surrounding the immediate vicinity. Civilians were being vacated, the police were arriving, the tension was rebuilding itself at a tremendous pace! Lex began to roll his neck about, haphazardly kicking at corpses as he progressed into the major street way. What a day.
It was by then, however, that Sam was apparently catapulted through a damn building. An obnoxious, thunderous crash of collapsing brick and mortar would've caught anyone's attention; as it did for Lex. The leader furrowed his brow, the flames of the more legitimate sort beginning to swell within nearby properties. Great, that was a loss for later. Nevertheless, more and more of them were bound to be in a tight spot. It all was a clutch at Alexander's heart; bleeding and dying over the thought of his fellows left dead. The sorrow was immense. It threatened to bring the Father of the Hope House to his knees. He was their leader, their figurehead, one they should look to in times of need or those with lacking clarity. Powerful, knowledgeable, wise, competent. Another sting at his eyes nearly welded them shut. Between grit teeth, Alexander exclaimed in an order to the House's tertiary trump card.
"ARVED! HElp THE ASSocIATE!""Yes, boss, sir! You know the works!"Lex wished, with all his heart, that he could flash an equally winning smile and agree, yet that was all but true. His damn voice wavered, for one thing. In the end, a soldier given power is a soldier out of his element. Unlike your everyday soldier, however, Lex wished to harness it in all due time. Time wasn't on his side, though. As Arved launched into action, cannon-balling into the building in which Sam was last seen, several Hope House members began to spill into the street. Traffic had become nonexistent, especially out here, among a surprise gang war, among the utter chaos, among the intensities of the underground world. That was all in good fun, yet there was no control in it; not for the House. Vinny was working overtime, Arved -- while in his best situation -- was no rescue worker, and Virginia wasn't even in East City! Two of the three main captains were attempting to handle the situation; as their leader and primary employer was endangering himself in active combat.
No order of his was perfect. There will be mistakes. It was all in an attempt for such a situation to never arise again; be it peace or aggressive unification; the Hope House would remain above them all in a life of ample support! However, such thoughts were evidently more clouding than Alexander had first imagined. In fact, he was already halfway down the street, several other bodies beyond him. The autopilot kicked in. A sigh escaped the leader. A peek at his now-bloodied firearm. The ol' Sniff & Wesker was reliable, albeit a bit low caliber anymore. A .22, at a time like this? Flinging his left arm backwards, tossing aside his self-manufactured pistol, it disappeared in a puff of smoke! With the same arm, its respective palm dove in Alexander's overcoat, slipping a Hoi-Poi capsule from its ring in one fell swoop. With yet another billow of pseudo-smog, a satisfying click, and a ever-recognizable pump of a rifle -- another of Arved's favorites had revealed itself!
A folding, quadruple-barreled shotgun nicknamed "New Mote" by the Hope House's top weapon connoisseur -- it was Lex's pride and joy. Pump-action, custom-made buckshot ammunition, folding at the end of the chamber for a special sort of -- huh? A police officer, bumbling into a walkie talkie, mentioned something peculiar. A man proclaimed dead, men in black, a trap...? Within the moment, a retreat was called. Glancing to his blind spot, behind him, Lex furrowed his brow; a low sense of dread risen from nothing. A terrible, terrible feeling was had about this. Guiding his palm along his prized shotgun, unlocking the folding mechanism to reload, the second comment unsettled Alexander to his ever-fluctuating core. A number of twenty-thousand, from a man once proclaimed dead? A buckshot was loaded into the leftmost upper barrel. No, it couldn't be. The second left hand barrel was provided a shell. Please, no. The third was chambered. Alexander froze.
"...Macth?"The leader's fingers began to tremble; they felt tender, and bloated with an unbelieving blood. Lex could swear that his heart bounced about within his meager, mortal chest. That wiry, steel wool-like mustache was identifiable from anywhere. A chill wracked the leader's body, just as Arved was able to assure himself that the fifth body he was uncovering was indeed Sam. Not pausing to question to guarantee that, however, the man in power armor would wrestle the miniature rascal from such earthly material. The dastard attempt to toss a dagger Alexander's way, yet a immense, metal-laden palm had prevented that. With the pretense that few could ever resist against a mechanically-powered strength, Arved would sling Sam over his shoulder. The time to escape was now! Yet, a glimpse of the Boss struck Arved differently. An extremely brief pause followed. A tap of the wrist. A beep. Evacuation was imminent. The megaton Super Shield had called into additional transport, primarily for safety outside the battlefield.
In the meanwhile, Alexander's facial expression had begun to contort, crumpling at the sight of a man recently deceased. Neither of them considered each other particularly close, yet the kinship between both Lex and the Hope House family was a bond they couldn't ever truly sever. No matter how thin a relation there was, it would persist beyond everything; the one and only Boss could assure that! Alexander, at the back of his distressed mind, feebly reminded himself of this. Be it like wire or rope, that of all things must be assured. Yet, why was his breath quivering as much as his body was? Why? Why must one day bring ruin to so many facades? The image of a true reformer, the new Boss of the Hope House, the one destined to bring only positive change; that image was paper-thin, wasn't it? Two years of both building that image, managing the House from within, learning as he went, was that for naught? No, it couldn't be. Was his effort bound to be made worthless?
"MACTH!"No. It never will be. Death surrounded Alexander, the hollow form of his subordinate before him, proof of his potential shortcomings in parallel to it all. Was this some sort of twisted joke? Was this a test? Alexander's free hand clenched in a willed act of recomposure. The spirit was flimsy, and his words reflected that. A distinct saltiness welled up upon the edge of the leader's eyelids. Tears? Blurriness followed, soon dismissed by the compression of his vision. Sealing his eyes shut, then reopening himself to the world before him, protrusions became visible to Alexander. Macth was beyond himself, yet bound to his body. That much appeared true enough.
"Return to the Hope House, Macth! Whoever did this to you is no ally to you. They surely mean to use you!"Pleading was the first tactic. The moment was against Alexander, as he was struggling to maintain the clarity of his mind. The center of the street, as the two now stood, was ablaze with the din of a street-side war and the glaring flames beside them. A moment passed, yet there was no response. An apprehensive step was taken towards the homunculus Macth. Beside their location, a modest airship had arrived. Arved began loading several East City residents onto the loading bay, prompting them to seek shelter away from the city for at least 24 hours. Meanwhile, an insubstantial tactic continued.
"I beg of you! Open your eyes, see the next chance you have as an opportunity, but not for whoever these Black Lotus bastards are! Can't you see what they've done to you?!"A pause. Another step. Suddenly, the hollowed man spoke, raising a lone index finger to point. The facial expression conveyed refused to adjust to his speech.
"You, killed me. You, had it under, control... did you, not? Why, send, me to, my death?"The grasp upon a named firearm worsened by the word. Just take a stab at his heart, why don't you?!
"I..."Couldn't account for some unknown terror tactics group. The words had failed to emit their sound. Its ridiculous! Can't speak a damn word because of silly, asinine emotions! Alexander faced skyward, sealing his eyelids shut in a display of feigned resignation. It didn't last long, however. The typical thought pattern never worked out in scenarios like this. At least, never in Lex's experience. Nonetheless, risk was all that was left around here. The leader raised his arms, each leveling out at a ninety degree angle when fully outstretched.
"Kill me then. If you hate me so much, then end it.""..."
Macth was never a man with a way with words. Granted, neither was Alexander, when it came down to it. One would never get the chance to become such a person; that person's leader was seemingly ever so willing to join them. Simple men often had simple answers to their problems, provided that they could fathom an answer. Would a risky sincerity end Alexander? He couldn't possibly know. Releasing the waterworks, wetting his eye patch and expecting the afterlife -- if there was one -- Lex shut his vision away once more. An anticipation assumed that not a single droplet would reach the asphalt before a personal destruction took place.
Almo, Arved, Avoca, Ayos, Barush, Beath, Berry, Bett, Betton, Braed, Calci, Cassa, Chare, Cheeronimo, Clove, Coco, Coffey, Conuco, Delno, Deni, Didger, Dila, Dimsu, Ellbran, Filly, Fissus, Gargomant, Giovinni, Glus, Hazel, Ise, Isey, Jean, Jell, Juju, Kini, Krad, Lala, Lians, Ligh, Lug, Lym, Makker, Marin, Marka, Marma, Naife, Niar, Painte, Panz, Pasley, Peelo, Pillo, Pocus, Prinro, Qube, Railey, Ratch, Rayne, Reeb, River, Rond, Serio, Simper, Skitch, Sofai, Soya, Strom, Susi, Tabelle, Tama,
Tayapi, Tercres, Thom, Toto, Trodder, Truff, Virginia, Vuzela, Wonto, Wryce -- why was nothing happening?
The reality of the situation was hardly differing from the gravity of it. Menaces of men, both from the underground and each different in their methods, stood in a strange, perpetual silence. That is, until a certain penguin waddled onto the scene; amidst flames and gunfire... as if nothing was going on? Handgun hoisted, pointed forward, and aflame solely within the soul, did the penguin appear with the gusto of a thousand men!
The horror of an unknown origin persisted. It approached the corpse of Macth, staring into the man's very depths. Yet, not one stared at it back. A beat became audible. The beat was akin to the Devil's drum itself; throbbing, deep, and foreboding till the end. A ring of fire, that unlike a demonic summoning circle, encircled the three as if by command. The beat of the drum soon swelled, intensifying. Flames erupted from within the avian's eyes, forever unblinking; its staring bleeding into the eyes of a mere mortal man, seeping throughout his flesh. If he were none but alive, he surely wouldn't be anymore. And yet, the penguin continued. The penguin was frozen, yet so was Macth. Suddenly, indentations began to slowly, methodically, and silently drill through the hollowed man's appendages; it was as if they were bullet holes.
There was no response from either Macth nor the penguin. What once seeped through the flesh soon manifested the victim's own blood. It wrought the fluid beyond the body, molding it into something else. It morphed, solidified, and swiftly impaled the tender membranes of the human. It dragged Macth's frame down to the earth, as if to drag him down into the pits of the deepest hells. The penguin, well and truly aware of what it had done, stepped towards its victim. Yes, it hadn't waddled as it should have. It stepped akin to a man. As it neared the hollowed man's feeble skull, it propped its gun's barrel against the scalp. Not a word was spoken. In fact, not one moment had passed yet; it was as if time had stopped.
All too soon enough, the penguin seemingly began to lust for the kill. The end of the living body, the escape of the soul. The harvest of a mortal coil in the strengthening of its own. Yet, there was something wrong with that. That wasn't its place. No, that wasn't something for a mere penguin to do. In the end, a flipper clapped upon the cranium of a downed man, wrenching away any falsities with a black hole-esque suction. Violent removal of unknown bits, pieces, parts, and miscellaneous fluids conducted itself, as if by an unholy magic. Regardless, the foreign objects within Macth were intrusive, albeit didn't force dependence.
It was then, of all times, that the penguin had finally blinked. Alexander had pried open his eyes. The instantaneous gang war, previously erupted within the sole street of the perpetuated murder of soldiers, persisted throughout additional alleyways. It was spreading. Casualties were piling up. Time was definitely flowing again, right? Did it even stop? Nonetheless, Alexander flinched at the sight of Macth; he who was once standing before him, defying the laws of nature. A facial expression written in moderate distress marred Lex. What in all hell happened? Was he crucified into the ground?! Who did this? Borderline sprinting to his subordinate's side, witnessing the stakes of his soldier's blood dissipate, Alexander was soon at Macth's side. The "New Mote" was set aside promptly. Crouching down on one knee, an inspection was in order: immediately.
"Macth! Macth!!""..."
"MACTH!!"Alexander hastily grasped at the body's right shoulder and left bicep, specifically. A shake. Two shakes. Three shakes. The penguin, evidently within its natural state once more, tapped Macth's forehead with a bare flipper. Another tap. A third tap. Frankly, whilst it was far more akin to a flat slapping, it was... certainly doing its best. The scene was picturesque, yet the emotion was far too obnoxiously clear. At this point, Alexander's mind was far too muddied to consider checking for a pulse; yet would it matter? As it did within the confines of a cheap fast-food restaurant, it was as if a piece of himself was being seared away. This pain was nigh beyond mental.
'Body of Macth has been spotted. Repeat: body of Macth has been found. Father Alexander has also been spotted. Any soldier ranks nearby should pick 'em both up, now!'A lone soldier, escaping from the cross-fire, took notice of the flames raging around his employer -- as well as the corpse. As much of one as they were, able to give enough attention to note a person within an inferno, they weren't much for suicide. That conflagration alone was threatening to swallow the remainder of the street! Unfortunately, the aftereffects of the titular penguin's intervention was potentially devastating for this little corner of East City.
'Looks like the lot of th'm got bent after a while.'
'Are we winning? Finally?'
'Haaagh. All units, spread out and look for any stragglers. Refrain from looking any more suspicious than you may or may not already be.'
'Hey, I take offense to that!'
'Panz, we both know you're just saying that.'
'...Yeah, you're right.'Reports began to flow in, in time. Whilst the situation seemingly calmed itself, the consequences of the scuffle were likely to be just as evident. Alexander, betwixt flame and burden, would mull over the figure of Macth. What is he to do? Give notice to his family? Merely recover what remains? A megaton impact of a man interrupted such thoughts.
"BOSS! I am here! I have returned this Sam person (among others) to the outside of city lines!"A moment was taken to readjust his posture, position, and pose. Despite this, Arved didn't flash his signature smirk of the century. In fact, he would've, yet there was something amiss. There was no "welcome back", or even a "good job, Arved". The power armored man furrowed his brow, scrunching up his lips, staring before him in a brief pattern of thought.
"Tell me what is the trouble! I am Arved, I may help!"Silence, for the tick, followed Arved's comment. Finally, Alexander cleared his throat enough to ensure a well enough speaking voice. However, there a tinge of shakiness about it.
"Get Macth outta here, Arved."The gigaton Super Shield jumped to attention at the sound of his employer. To be quite frank, he had almost lost focus.
"Yes, sir! Will do, Boss!"A medium whirring prompted the blonde super soldier to yet another pseudo-delicate mission. As stated previously, Arved was no rescue worker, despite it being within his power to be so. Haphazardly bending at a ninety degree angle, grasping at the limbs of his former comrade, the man in a super suit procured what was left of Macth. Refraining from provoking what happened to be left of Lex's demeanor, Arved took to his leave immediately. With a whir, a thunk, and numerous clanks, he was soon out of sight and beyond the conflagration. As one left, two remained.
This was still only Macth; one of three. If one was going to be as much trouble as securing a foothold in East City, what would the other two be? Alexander, with his overall state of mind dwindling, was at a loss. Would he lose Windel and Garland as he did Macth? Were they corrupted or mistreated all the same; in an abominable undeath, no less? Was this still truly part of the Father's responsibility? Mercy killing, of all things? Now truly upon his knees, Alexander wished to himself that this nightmare would end. It was nearing to be all too much. Paperwork, consolation, negotiating, all-nighters, all much more mundane tasks were that of simplicity to him. It was life, but one he'd rather live than death, cults, and the accumulated suffering of his men and women alike. The legend of Atlas came to mind, comparing himself to one who burdened the sky upon his back. Over a hundred men, women, children, and to-be recruits were within the Hope House.
Should he fail them? Of course not. Could he? Has he not already?
'Twin Twine Avenue! Twin Twine Avenue! It's Windel and Garland! IT'S WINDEL AND -- AGH --!'
'Oh god -- hey, Lug, where's your -- BLAGH --!!'
'Fuck! The hell's that shit on their head!? Is that doin' it?'
'Any nearby soldiers must retreat immediately! If Macth is anything to go by, those two are highly dangerous! This is a lethal threat to any member of the Hope House! RETREAT, NOW!'The echoes of hell had breached the deployed Hope House soldiers once again. Alexander, grasping his ears, breathing as if he couldn't dare, lurched forward in a despair he rarely knew. Whatever was out there that cured Macth, do so again! Alexander knew he couldn't do anything about this himself -- he couldn't do anything at all! He was no Saiyan like Tercres or Pasley, he wasn't any kind of Majin like Lala or Pocus; just another Human with a couple of guns! A worthless, powerless Human with a few fancy words to his name! Ramming his forehead into the ground, unleashing an almighty, visceral scream into the hells that Macth faced, a desperation took hold of the Father's heart.
"Fuck! Fuck! FUCK! FUCK!!"There was no further low than admitting his own faults. A man with no more than glowing bullets, a lowborn origin, little depth perception, and a damn special needs penguin --!
Bap. Bap bap. The essence of "knock knock, its me" struck Alexander's scalp. The "leader" shifted his gaze upward. It was that damnable penguin. Spewing pitiful tears from his fault-filled eyes, the visage of a flightless bird entered the view. Upon his single bare flipper: a rubber thumbs-up eraser. Where did he...? How --? Was it trying to say "it'll be okay"? Was it attempting to appear supportive? Did it understand? How could it? A moment passed, that of a pause. Sirens blared in the distance; that of firetrucks and additional waves of police. As if in response to this, the penguin suddenly, and swiftly squished into itself. Popping back into its previous position, it almost seemed akin to a nod... albeit with excess steps.
"...Are you -- are you trying to console me?"The penguin partially unhinged its beak, allowing an audible squeak to let loose.
"God, what a pathetic shit I am."Willing a smile to crease his facial features, Alexander made an active attempt to appear returned to form. An ache still struck his heart, all the more so knowing his likely future, yet nonetheless --! Shoving his arms beneath his torso, thrusting himself to his feet, Lex spoke with a renewed sincerity.
"Whining like an isolated, baby-bitch-made, pale-ass little shit kid with a fauxhawk. The hell's today, huh?"Another squeak from the penguin; one even more akin to a dog's rubber toy this time around. Whilst still beyond the mood to even exhale sharply in amusement, Alexander still miraculously shook himself from his predicament. Eyes red with tears, his eye patch soaked, his resolve in shattered fragments, all he could go was up and beyond his rock bottom! Finally risen to his feet, there was one last shake off to commit to.
"...Hey, penguin. You're a cutesy piece of it, know that?"The avian shook its head.
"Well, let's hope you can bear with me. I'm afraid you'll be stuck with me for a while."A nod. A sniff was audible from Lex. A smidge of disgust via a meager exhale followed.
"Can't have any more of that. Pathetic! Won't have that. Hey, penguin, maybe call some backup."Between additional throat clearing, face slapping, and jogging in place, Alexander was hastily recovering himself for the trials ahead of him. Get psyched. Get psyched! Get psyched!! Get going, get going, go now!! Another shout, barely breaching at the top of his lungs, Lex wrenched himself from the rut that he dove into less than twenty minutes ago -- to the next bout of shit-filled suffering! Clasping the fingers of his right palm around the penguin's portly body, haphazardly grasping his favored shotgun off the asphalt, the pair shot off at a velocity far greater than normal! Twin Twine Avenue was two four-way intersections away, there was no time to lose! Admittedly, Alexander was fairly unaware of enhancing his body with this "Ki" business that River had recently introduced him to. From first rising to power within the Hope House, to meeting and negotiating with Sam, to running from gunfight to gunfight: Alexander Roberic Hope was merely at an advanced civilian level.
Ki was a foreign concept, yet technology wasn't. Nanofibers laden with artificial enhancements were experimental enough for a tryout session, yet they were perpetually worn by the Father of the Hope House. A layer between the outside world's visible pant legs and a man's skin laid an enchanting set of bare chips, conduits, and wires. With any luck, these would become obsolete. Unbeknownst to Alexander, as his pants became more and more tattered swerving between firefights, there were few functioning fragments of this technology remaining. What was left, by now, diving amid numerous brick buildings, were enhancements of the body
by the body. Today, however, wasn't the day to take notice of this fact. Windel and Garland, victims of experimentation and corruption, were the stars of this show!
A spray of bullets and plasma was visible within a garbage-encrusted alleyway. Like an iconoclast, the hollowed men in Windel and Garland both were shrugging off the majority of it all. Struggling to a stop, digging his heels into the patchy, filthy earth, Alexander soon was able to peek further into the street. Vehicles were upturned as makeshift cover. Fire from Tilfield Drive -- most likely -- had gone and spread somewhat. Fortunately, only the garbage and personal belongings were ever that flammable around here. Nevertheless, the pair approached as robotically as Macth surely did. It was the same thing controlling them; the same piece 'a shit puppeteering them as they did with Macth. Drawing in a deep inhale, then swiftly expunging it all in a dramatic exhale, Alexander fortified himself for what he was about to do.
A few, particularly stubborn family members of the Hope House were holding their ground as others fled. Utilizing the aforementioned upturned vehicles to whatever advantage they had left, their bullets were merely grazing their assailants. It was as if they were managing to dodge just well enough; yet kept fucking it up. Windel's ears were pretty badly torn up by plasma and laser fire; the earlobe barely dangling by a film of flesh. Garland, on the other hand, was getting his overcoat torn up by bullets. Beneath the overcoat, however, were rash-like marks bordering on appearing akin to burns. Lex furrowed his brow something fierce this time, folding his firearm to count up his chances. There was no telling what he could do anymore, especially given what little was done to Macth. In the end, Alexander's best chances were left to "New Mote" and the power of buckshots in less a foot away.
"One, two, three, fo -- great."Cracking the shotgun into its unfolded position with a bump, twirling the entire firearm for a comforting measure, the penguin wrested itself from its newfound handler's grasp. Indifferent to the matter, Alexander pressed his back to a nearby wall, maintaining eye contact with the situation at hand. A scarlet blood and a ludicrous, rainbow colored vomit(?) layered itself beyond the shell of one of the vehicles. Windel and Garland were still advancing. The duo of terrors were nearing Alexander's position. A final glance. Dousing his vision in the spiritual nonsense he hardly knew, an overwhelming flash of life force damn well near blinded Lex! However, as far as the already half-blind leader could make sense of: they were both approximately similar in willpower. Unfortunately, that translated to "REALLY FUCKING STRONG" on the level of "FUCK, WHY".
Whilst swiping at his singular, currently functioning eye, Lex wasn't able to pinpoint the penguin's whereabouts. Did it piss off? Was it going to initiate? A third wipe of the general eye socket area shortly revealed an answer. Of course, the avian beyond any sense of its description was... on a roof?! Wriggling its pudgy frame onto the ledge of a rooftop, the penguin was seemingly attempting to garner attention. Alright, new plan. Work off the penguin's lead! As if on cue, several shots, likely bordering on emptying the little fuzzball's chamber, tallied up at the feet of each hollowed out man. The right side assailant, under the guise of Windel, took to retaliation first. With a stiff twist of the nape, his gaze struck the penguin with a glare laden with a sanity lost to external effects. In response, as cheeky as this penguin was, the miniature cad curled its odd lil' tongue about; promptly sticking its point into its minuscule nostril for some spiteful picking. Eye contact, while unnecessary, seemingly asserted a point of dominance.
"Even when all special needs looking, I'll make your ass grass." the penguin definitely said, with words, and a voice box.
Despite this portly blubber ball squatting atop the very edge of a rooftop corner, Alexander was unable to witness much. The gun that penguin held, "Shadow Dragon", was -- oddly enough -- just enough to obscure the little dingus's rotund cranium. Whatever it was doing, however, was plenty enough to induce combat between the two. Windel shot up, beyond the street, lunging towards the miniature emperor penguin with a ferocity past himself. A fist was catapulted forwards, with the modest avian ducking his noggin between his shoulders. If one were providing enough observant notice towards this nestling... didn't it seem like it hardly cared? Regardless, a spray of leftover ammunition was hurled against the humanoid arm just inches above it; yet, they all skirted past the cartilage and skin. Was the penguin truly in a panic, despite how it gawks?
"Alright. Alright, Windel's first."Alexander attempted to brush past his reservations of this scenario. He had to. There was no choice in the matter, clearly. Once again, unknowingly, Alexander burst from the knees; launching himself well and above the furthermost layer of the brick and mortar. Just as he did so, bullet casings curled onto Windel?! As if controlled by a mysterious force from beyond, these 9mm casings plummeted into the hollow's flesh! They... outlined something! Alexander caught on quickly, and just as he began to descend. Windel's body contorted, swirling in ungodly angles. The man's scalp bubbled, gurgling as if possessed by a parasite -- and the bullet casings erupted from their resting place! Returning his own skull to its proper form, the penguin began to vibrate bodily, without constraint; a stray casing shot at Alexander in the meantime -- rupturing the skin of his right shoulder and piercing the far side of the right supraspinatus area, albeit still beneath the clavicle. The plunge Lex was taking now was of an even greater risk, especially as his aim was disrupted.
Extremely brief, the leader fumbled with his shotgun in a mild frenzy. Wincing through the newfound agony, gritting his teeth past an affliction of unrealistic sorts, the iron sights were set at the nape. Take the shot. Take the shot! Adjust for spray and let 'er rip --! B A P O O M ! ! As if defying fate, no buckshot burst out of the barrel; but a fine line of life force energy: Ki. It was middling at best, perhaps too much so to be considered as much. But within it all, a shell would've been inaccurate -- it would've legitimately killed off Windel a second time. To be frank, this ain't Phoenix Mode, but Alexander would be damned if it was Classic. Hardly withstanding the recoil, despite the alternative ammunition, the blast caster was slammed into a parallel set of bricks. As the aforementioned "blast caster" in Alexander slid towards the ground, however, the penguin caught Windel by an unforeseen, invisible force. Without a word, the mage hand-like, mystical force flung the body of Windel into the street. A satisfied squiltch escaped the avian, signifying a modest contentment.
Alexander crashed into a pile of bagged bile. Ass-first, the landing was far from pleasant. Another ripple of aching torment reverberated throughout his right shoulder. Shit. At least he was left-handed, usually. Haphazardly rotating at his hip, forcing himself to stand posthaste, Lex soon found himself jogging into the sidewalk; speedily catching wind of Garland's position. Echoes of soldiers, as well as Vinny's brisk mental commanding, racked Alexander's mind. They all boiled down to "hurry the fuck up, we're all dying here!". A jerk of the upper spine let loose a multitude of crackling and popping. Heard 'em all loud and clear. With a great, exaggerated inhale --
"GARLAND!!"The attempt alone scraped at his throat. Thankfully less shaky and nowhere near as much of evidence towards weeping as once prior, Alexander steeled himself for the bitch-slapping he was bound to receive. Putting forth the roughest glare he could, a foothold upon Garland's scrutiny was rightfully obtained. The vacant puppet of a man was just a yard's length or so away from Alexander's remaining Hope House members. Having barely traversed beyond where the alleyway currently set itself, Lex had yet one meager opportunity to ensure -- CHACK!
"Shi --!"Garland, unlike Windel or Macth, wasn't particularly fond of awaiting readiness. In fact, there was always something interesting about his first name: Leeroy. Unfortunately, now wasn't the time to poke fun about conspicuous first names; the dastard had vanished without a trace! With barely a nanosecond -- or what seemed as such -- to brace himself, Alexander hardly brought his arms to his front before a large fist collided with both. Attention wasn't required to hear the bloody, audible snap of tender human bone. Dark, soot-esque sleeves fulminated within that very instant, baring their respective, now battered forearms. Supersonically launched into the asphalt without moderation, Alexander felt as if he were to be turned into powder in just two hits! Then again, were such thoughts in Common, given all the ear-blasting wails he was unleashing? True enough, within the craterous impact that Lex was now housed by, howls of justified, tortuous pain racked the front of his body. Due to the lacking blocking maneuver, several ribs immediately fractured upon contact as well.
Garland was no quitter; undead, hollow, puppeteered, or otherwise, the job should be finished, no? With his revolutionary increase in strength, burly palms clasped themselves around the area housing Alexander's kidneys: the mid-torso. With a firm squeeze, a sharp intake of air following, the left palm was released. Unfortunately, it balled into a fist, prepping itself from the kill-shot with one final wind-up. It appeared to be aiming for the head; Lex's head. Was there nothing left of him? Was there nothing remaining of the man the Father of the Hope House once knew as Leeroy Garland? ...Is this the end of it all? A harsh glare met with he who was once Garland, a streak of tears once again manifesting itself upon Alexander's cheek. Between the ruptures he felt within both his body and soul, as another searing sensation struck Alexander's back, he uttered his final words.
"See... you in hell, Garl... and. Don' for...get, the p-princess... next time."Leveraging his movements against his assailant's clutches, Lex slung his shotgun out of his utterly bashed left hand with his foot! The firearm flew skywards, reflecting against the Sun itself as it barely could obscure its light!
"E-EM...PY!"A miniature, blubbery shape streaked across the skies. The shotgun vanished just as the shape's shadow did! Garland propelled his fist forward, leaving no additional time for Alexander to --! B L A M ! ! All Alexander could do, in that moment, was blink at the face of death. Yet, there was no all-encompassing silence. No light at the end of some nondescript tunnel. There was only the ass of a damnable penguin in his sights, instead. A stout, cushy avian pressed against its handler's facial features as recoil overwrote any other movement. Alexander's eardrums were ringing. There was a bit too much sensation rattling within his limbs. In the end, the only one that lost their head was --
"Garl-and..."Grey matter was only strewn across the asphalt once a foreign object had also been tossed about in a similar manner. As a result, only a quarter of Garland's facial structure had ever had a chance of surviving; and, evidently, hardly did as much. Fragments of teeth, miscellaneous bone, blood, tissue, and other unmentionables (when removed) had been scattered from their collective brain case-related location. Suddenly, the grasp upon the leader lessened, allowing him to collapse unto the asphalt. Unable to properly support himself, Alexander proceeded to groan and bemoan over his condition. Mumblings of "shit, why" and "dammit", among other things, were just barely audible. Ultimately, however, between desperately acting to survive, protect, and prevent further disaster: Alexander's consciousness had begun to fade. The penguin, now labelled with the impromptu name of "Empy", rolled off of his handler's grubby visage. Landing on its webbed feet, Empy turned to meet Lex in the eyes, watching in an unwavering stare as the unconscious state befell him. As Alexander faded out, however, the echoes of familiar words rang throughout.
"Boss!"
"Chief!"
"Sir!"
"What a madl--"
And so begins the saga of the thirteenth Father of the Hope House, with tears upon his face and a wound upon his heart. Would he survive until Sam's contract with him is due to expire? Time could only tell. For now, however, let time run its course; we may yet see where it takes us.
WOOOOO I'M DONE SORRY FOR THE DELAY I DID MY BEST
Sam Aeil !
Alexander activated Desperation [x4]!
I'm also told that this is the final post.
...
Worth it.