Twilight IV: No More Heroes!

[darkblade]

The Bride

The Bride continues to mow down the thugs, trusting Travis to be able to handle the gunshot on his own.

***

Kirby

Kirby sees the maid as he enters the basment. "Oh. I am terribly sorry. I did not mean to interupt your duties."

[nanobot_swarm]

The bullet knocks Travis to the ground, a thug starts to kick him, but after 10 seconds he is able to get back up and kill said thug. Though he seems to be in pain, the bullet seems to have been more like being hit with a hammer, in fact, there appears to be no entrance wound on him.
"****in *******! My ribs hurt enough thanks to that Edward bitch, don't need to break em. Bullets are just cheap man, gotta kill up close."

***

Jules is disgusted by what he sees happening, sure he spent years of his life as a hitman, but the atrocities he commited were nothing like the level of this. He walks closer to the flame-creature, and then shoots it at where he guesses the upper torso is.

[industrious]

Midnighter

Seeing the Carrier's Door system fail, the Midnighter quickly runs through his other options. Saving his people(as much as he hates the phrase applied to the politicians) had to be his first priority. And while the Doors were failing, his radiotelepathic link with his team's other members was functioning perfectly fine. The nanomachine implanted by the Engineer was completely unconnected to the Carrier, and if that was ever hacked...then Angie was compromised, a far worse scenario than some nut in a white mask.

Hawksmoor would be perfect help. A building demolition was nothing that the God of Cities couldn't handle; the man's alien implants let him command and empathize with major urban environments. Unfortunately, Jack was busy setting policy in DC, and with the Door system down, there was no chance he would be able to get here on time. Angie was busy improving the US energy grid(Read: strongarming energy companies), and while her nanoblood could let her do virtually anything she set her mind to, she suffered from that same problem of actually getting to the Midnighter's location. Hyper-sonic jetpack capable of spacefight? Easy. Teleporation? Hard. Swift and his husband also suffered from that same problem. They were fast. Not nigh-instantaneous. No use going around the world in three minutes if you'll be dead in two.

Of the two members of the Authority who had the power to teleport, the Doctor was likewise occupied. Earth's designated shaman, and the most powerful mystic in the world was serving time in divorce court, his wife still demanding a ridiculous amount of concessions. As powerful and enlightened a being the Doctor was, he was still, at heart, a former Dutch heroin addict and womanizer. Midnighter couldn't sympathize.

As for the last member...his daughter. Jenny Quantum, the Spirit of the 21st century, Earth's last defense mechanism, with the power of...well, anything really. Unfortunately, though, she was technically only ten years old, despite aging herself to sixteen out of boredom. Acting the typical rebellious teen was even worse with nigh-unlimited cosmic power. The cigarettes he could stand-sort of-but the Midnighter drew the line at sex. Or attempted to, anyway. Night's Bringer of War slumps his shoulders as he projects his thoughts to his daughter.

Jenny. I need transport for some slimeballs. Be a dear, and get them out of the city.

Sam Oliver

"Devil power: find whoever the hell(he-he) I'm looking for!" the devil's Heir mutters sarcastically. Though, seriously, what sort of lame power would finding things be? In lieu of that amazingly useless ability, though, Sam settles for asking around to see if anybody has heard of an "Archer" anywhere.

Nicodemus

As he holds the blade closer to his eyes, the weapon's latent power, diffused by his shadow finally activates, initiating an explosion that blows him across the street and into an office building. Through one of the metal I-beams. Stunned for a moment, he wearily gets to his feet, and checks his left hand. The crystal still seems to be functioning. His clothes, on the other hand, are gone.

The arch-enemy of the Church reaches once more into his shadow to pull out yet another Hell-fire sword(if you have over a thousand years, why not have spares?), this one in the shape of a katana, and a spare set of clothing: a gray vest over a black silk shirt(with the noose acting as a tie), and a set of black pants. A leather belt held a .44 revolver, and the vintage (German-made, circa 1942) black leather trenchcoat both held spare rounds and completed the ensemble. Nicodemus smiled. Time to find, dismember, and kill an uppity vampire. In that order.

[Cracklord]

The Bride and Travis
Beatrice cuts down the last of the men, and the fight is over. The sniper still hasn't revealed herself, but some sixth sense tells you she hasn't gone.
"Oh, I'm not going to kill you, little boy. At least, not for a long time."

Jules
The shape folds around the bullet, diminishing slightly. Hefting the child, it lobs it at you, then walks, although slithers seems a more appropriate verb, towards you, still tittering.

Midnighter
No answer. You know she hears you, which means she is either being contrary, or in the middle of something. With that, a small, localized explosion goes off under the table, blowing it to splinters that lethally whiz around the room, along with shrapnel and a whoosh of superhot condensed air. Another goes off, and another, as the building collapses with the tortured groaning of stone and metal under strain.
You begin to lose sense of direction as the floor tilts crazily and the air is filled with grit and ash, and you are buffeted, tossed like a leaf on the wind.
...
You're not dead. You are hurt, but you are alive. You are covered in more scrapes and bruises then seems healthy, or even possible, and quite a few cuts will need stitches. A bit of internal bleeding above your right kidney, and an ugly looking cut above you're eye, dripping blood over your face. You can feel the bone of your skull.

Ghost Rider
You emerge from the wreckage unharmed.

Sam Oliver
Most of them are too caught up in emotion to pay you any attention. A few give you wild eyed, angry looks, almost feral. The mob's mood has turned ugly, and you suddenly feel ridiculously small and delicate.
Any of these men could do terrible things to you.
Then, staring up, you catch an explosion on the top of a building.

[industrious]

((Nicodemus is attempting to find Carlisle.))

Midnighter

The extent of his injuries is such that the man can't help it. He laughs. Laughs that he is alive, laughs at the adrenaline rushing through his veins, laughs at the preparation and dedication that his antagonist has shown. And he laughs, because he's just found the perfect thing to say.

"Well, congratulations, you stupid ****! You just got rid of the *******s who ran this city! Saved me a whole deal of trouble, doing that. I mean, have me crawl on hands and knees to meet you? Get over yourself. I know you can hear me, so come on in!"

As he says this, his internal self-diagnostic reveals the implications of his injuries. He should be fully healed in two days, but until then, his normally lightning-fast reflexes, which had enabled him to catch bullets and tie Swift in the 50 meter dash, were barely at superhuman levels. Eyesight in his left eye is reduced to human normal, and his augmented strength is at human norm for the time being. Thankfully, he can still turn his pain receptors down, so that the agony that would normally follow the loss of adrenaline won't be a problem. He still continues his rant, lying atop a bed of rubble and concrete.

"And one other thing. A question, really. Why did you attack me? I mean, sure, I'm one of the Authority. But your little attack took planning, and lots of it. I mean, hacking the Carrier...damn. Full marks to you, nutcase. But you know that I'm not the most politically active one. I'm one of the relative moderates in a group. If you wanted to be political, then you should've attacked Hawksmoor, or the Doctor. But you chose me. Because deep down, your little speech about freedom is a lie you tell yourself at night. You knew you couldn't defeat either of them, even if you were sneaky. So you picked on one of our weakest. Couldn't make a real, true assassination of the symbol of the Authority, so you chose the easiest target. You ****ing hypocrite."

Sam

Sam slinks back into the crowd, and seeing the explosion, thinks of the calm, sensible, rational thing to do...and does the opposite. Trying the door of the building the explosion took place on, he attempts to get inside. Sam sighs. The stairs are going to be murder.

[Draxx]

V
Conversation with the target is foolish. While I have a somewhat pathological desire to espouse my own brilliance, when said individual is as dangerous as said target discretion may not be valorous, but does keep one alive.
He can only read my actions if I give him an opportunity. Truly, he is a deadly foe. He reads the killing intent, and prepares the perfect defense. And I do not know how much I damaged him.
"I am a not a man, and as suspect as my cowardice is, allow me to say that even the greatest of symbols had beginnings as humble as this. I am such a symbol. I am on posters, and scrawled on the walls by my unwitting followers, ignorant of the meaning beyond the superficial. I am in the grumbling of the tired, the reminisces of the old, the fire of the mob, the hearts of the people as they reminisce. On every flag my visage is stamped. I am everywhere."
I tip my hat, adjusting it so he can better see the mask. "And you downplay yourself, sir. Power and knowledge do not make a man any more then a man. Other men do. And in you, they have raised a false idol. As to my intentions, well I did not expect to meet any of you for some time. There is no co-incidence, only the illusion of it, but I improvised heavily tonight. Perhaps it will pay off."
I remove a pair of long, knives, folded steel, sharp as a razor, deadly as myself. My companions. This assassination is clumsy, but opportunity does not knock twice.
"And as the guardians grow apart from humanity, I will grow. If loving the virtues that made our country great do make me nothing more then a villain, then I intend to show you just how villainous I can be. Vi veri veniversum vivus vici. By the power of truth, I, while living, have conquered the universe."
As I speak, I slowly flip my knives, but I make no move. I'm waiting for him.

Paladin Alexander
Nicodemus hears the flutter of pages again as he reaches into the shadow, and before they stop the big Scottsman is there once more, weaving a pattern of death with his two blades, his every cut intended to kill. His teeth are bared feraly, and his eyes flash like jade fire.
He doesn't seem human. If death were a man, he couldn't look half so deadly as the paladin looks in that instant. "Ah dinnae ken finnishin' wit' ye chust yet, monster." He growls.

[industrious]

The Midnighter

It is somewhat difficult for the Midnighter to get to his feet. As it turns out, his right foot ankle is broken. Extending his steel bo staff, he leans on it heavily to stand up, blinking the blood out of his eye.

As he prepares to fight the battle one billion times(and choose the most humiliating, bloody painful way to kill the man), his computer turns up...nothing. It's been damaged as well, reverting to its secondary programming. While it can still calculate millions of probabilities, it is now acting purely on the defensive; his opponent will have to make the first move.

"A symbol? Of what exactly? Remember what it was like before we were in charge? The Kent administration? They killed one tenth of the highest, most noble creatures in all the multiverse experimenting with technology that we repeatedly warned them was dangerous. We've saved the world time and time again from foes that the common man has no exact comprehension of. We aren't like comic book heroes, who fight supervillains every week to maintain the status quo. If there is a problem with the world, we deal with it. You had no complaints when we saved your **** from the Ring or Sliding Albion. You didn't mind when we stopped the massacre in Darfur. You didn't really care when we became celebrities, and had interview pieces and parties in the Carrier."

The Midnighter takes a deep, somewhat ragged breath.

"A corporation is far worse than a government. They can deny you anything, keep you from the essentials of life, control the government so that their interests and not yours are fulfilled. They can keep track of you and make enough deductions about you to make a government envious. We go half as far, strike back at them, and we're the bad guys? You really are the symbol of the superficial."

His right hand holds another steel baton. It convulses. He's definitely going to need some R and R once this is over.


Nicodemus hears the flutter of pages again as he reaches into the shadow, and before they stop the big Scottsman is there once more, weaving a pattern of death with his two blades, his every cut intended to kill. His teeth are bared feraly, and his eyes flash like jade fire.
He doesn't seem human. If death were a man, he couldn't look half so deadly as the paladin looks in that instant. "Ah dinnae ken finnishin' wit' ye chust yet, monster." He growls.

Nicodemus

Nicodemus tumbles backwards, avoiding the blows.

"Don't you know how much this outfit cost? Alex, Alex, Alex, Alex. The Church hasn't been finished with me for thousands of years. You are out of your league. Go play with Alucard; I'm busy. There is a particularly annoying vampire I wish to eliminate."

[darkblade]

Ghost Rider

"There is a 'Helped the Authority Burn a Terrorist Alive' tax deduction right?" The ride stands in the face of V, or rather his mask.

"If you want to kill your tyrant, you have to get through me and surely an educated man such as yourself will know the theological implications of killing the recently fallen arcangel Michael, Lilith and Beleezub with my bare hands and giving Satan and many of his children a run for their damned existance. Back down or this will not be pleasant." Blaze threatens, slowly giving way to Zarthos. His flames shift from orange to a light blue and little bulges apear on his back, what could those be?

***

The Bride

As the last minion goes down The Bride scans the buildings for fireescapes, balconies, awnings, anything that can be used to climb up to the roof top.

[Cracklord]

The Bride
It's hard to see in the light, but there appears to be a fire escape one hundred paces along the side of a building. Only problem is, you're not sure if it is the right building.

Sam
You were right. The stairs are a murder, but at long last you make it to the top. Two men are fighting.

[industrious]

Sam

"Oh...Phew...wow. Time out. Time out. Who the hell are you two?" Sam manages to pant out. The Devil's Heir Apparent looks at the Paladin, then at Nicodemus....then the Paladin's again. His palm acquaints itself with his face.

"This does not bode well for my immediate survival prospects."

Midnighter

"Plus, my team killed God." At Zarthos's stare, the Midnighter quickly clarifies.

"Not theological God. The malevolent alien who created the solar system as his summer resort, and found humanity taking up space. Remember? New Year's Eve, 1999? Silver bio-mechanical killbots?"

[Draxx]

V
"What am I a symbol of? I expected arrogance, but not so much. What you are, when you look beyond your results, is a thug. Stronger then most, and kept on a shorter leash then any, but no more then that."
I take a step forward, the gravel crunching under my boots. “Should I be impressed? I am freedom. You talk about the people, but I have never met them. Nor, I suspect, have you. I have met good men, and bad, men who would rob a beggar blind, men who perform silent miracles every day, men who live their lives behind closed doors and men without the courage to examine themselves, but I have never met ‘the people.’ You talk about the wonders you have achieved, the wheels you have turned, but you do not care about those who get caught in between, the blood that turns them.
I resisted the previous administration as well. Though I was not ready then.
I am not ready now. But it doesn't matter anymore.
The humanity you claim to represent does not exist. You ignore the individual, dismissing it as flawed, and instead uphold your beliefs of what a human should be. Humans are not so simple. And you believe being the strongest gives you the right to say what humans need. Well, as Hobbes told us, we are born equal, and the weak shall team up to kill the strong. Man does not know what it is that he truly desires, at times he needs to be shown. And so you and I are in conflict, both leaning the other ways. And at the end, we will have who is right, and who is dead."
He has ignored Ghost Rider. Hells greatest enemy is not his concern.
Anderson
"His time will come, dinnae doubt tha'." The priest replies, still attempting to gut Nicomdeus. "Ye're pretty hard tae kill. Ah 'spose Ah'll hae tae cut ye oop sae fine ye're life becomes a technicality."

[industrious]

Midnighter

"Enough talk, then. Time to die." He can't make the first move. Not with his battle computer still repairing itself. And injured as he was, his reflexes wouldn't save him from counterattack if he struck first. At the moment, he was dependent on those he was going to kill to kill them. A passing thought struck him; could doing so be labeled suicide?

Nicodemus

Anderson's bayonet guts Nicodemus, and he gasps in pain...and triumph. He steps forward, willingly impaling himself. Eventually, the blade is buried to the hilt.

Around the two, Nicodemus's shadow boils and writhes as it crawls around the paladin, looping itself around his arms and legs, sliding up his body to envelope the priest. The aspect of his demonic form grows cold, colder than Arctic ice, and harder than steel. It continues to move upward, clinging to Anderson's neck, slithering over his face, tunneling through his mouth and nostrils and eyes and ears. Nicodemus steps back, the blade clattering to the floor, turns his back, and speaks to the man who can no longer hear or see or speak or smell.

"Good-bye, Father Anderson. May a flock of angels sing thee to thy rest."

He tips his head to the horrified young man in the room, standing there gaping as the Father dies. It would not do to harm Satan's heir, now would it? Holding the crystal once more, Nicodemus steps into the elevator, and searches for Carlisle Cullen.

Sam Oliver

Sam's burgeoning powers are based on emotion. Or powered by it. Something like that. He isn't really sure, and he really doesn't want to experiment with them. But in this case, it wasn't an experiment. Despite being the son of the Devil, his heir apparent, and destined to bring about Hell on earth, Sam was still a good person. And he wasn't going to let the priest die.

Turning inward, Sam takes his feelings of shock and horror, and acting instinctively, uses them as tools. Arm outreached towards the Father, Sam pulls the shadow from the man, where it takes up residence swirling in a ball just before his hand. It takes a short while, but eventually, the Father is free of Nicodemus's shadow. Sam looks around for where to deposit the stuff, settling for telekinetically dumping it in one of the garbage bags.

Checking Anderson's pulse, Sam peers into the Paladin's eyes.

"Sir, are you okay?"

[darkblade]

Ghost Rider

"I've had enough of you." The rider growls as his chain flies out from around his wrist and towards the masked man's legs.

"Hell awaits you."

***

The Bride

They'll have to do. She makes her way up the fireescape and onto the rooftops.

[Draxx]

Anderson
The huge priest suddenly surges to his feet. His eyes are bulging horrifically, and his face is almost puce, but his cheeks slowly regain their usual ruddy coloring and his expression fades to mere inhumanly vengeful.
"Tha' was ae guide thing ye did, son." His voice was deep and framed by a thick Scottish brogue. Pleasant to listen to, surprisingly. It was rich, and deep, and promised safety. It went very well with his wide, confident smile, that was benevolent and promised nothing but love and happiness to the world. Their was no trace of the insane zealot from a moment ago, he seemed as gentle as a lamb.
"Bless ye. Ah dinnae 'spect ye took a looksie at yon bastard? We hae business." Despite his pleasant tone, he clearly intended murder.

V
"By all means." I mock, raising mu arms and holding myself open. I take another step forward. "You best strike quickly. If you get a good enough blow, perhaps I will be slain and you will survive."
Then the skeleton acts. I had not expected him. I was not ready for him. And I doubted I had anything that could so much as inconvenience him.
So I don't fight him. I leap over the chain as though it's not there, keeping myself fixed on Midnighter.
"You are not my concern, and I am not yours." I say. "He is my enemy. The next world is your chosen responsibilities, not this one."

[industrious]

Sam Oliver

Sam is not at all reassured by the priest's manner. When you a) work for the Devil and b) are in fact his son, the priesthood, especially one who seems very proficient in the stabbing cutting slashing trade become less fatherly(ha-ha) and more...scary dangerous. Even if he personally was a good person. Or at least tried to be.

"Um...no I didn't. And I don't really think you-um-should, Father. Since...well...he kind of nearly killed you before, and taking that shadow off took a lot out of me...and took time. I don't know if I can help if you face him again."

Midnighter

The Midnighter shakes his head.

"Don't you get it? You've failed. Failed to kill me impersonally, and now that we're here, face to face, I'm unbeatable. I've fought this battle in my head, one million times, from each and every angle. I know what your plan is, what your tactics are, and each and every counter for your actions. I won this fight before you even turned up. I'm the deadliest man alive, and even if you manage to kill me, the rest of the Authority is going to make you suffer. So run, terrorist. Run."

Grinning broadly, the Midnighter turns his back on V, and begins limping out to the back exit, using his staff to keep himself up.

[darkblade]

Ghost Rider

"You're right. Normally I wouldn't be that concerned by your actions but I needed this city's records in tact to complete my mission. You blew those up in your feud with my friend here."

Blaze redirects the chain to wrap around V's left arm.

"Thats why I am going to help Midnighter kill you."

[Draxx]

Anderson
"Nonsense. Bastard got lucky is all." Anderson replies casually, and it occurs to you the man really believes it. "Nae matter what he thinks, yon dark apostle cannae deal wit' me."

V
I do the unexpected. I let him go.
Perhaps I over-estimated him. Or perhaps he fears me more then he lets on. Either way, if he wants to spend his time in this city waiting for me to come and jumping at shadows he should have said.
He'll be easier to kill this way.
I turn to Blaze. "They had none. Those you are seeking were smarter then that. You would not have found anything in here." Revealing more knowledge then expected often helps put me on the offensive, where I prefer to be.

[Cracklord]

The Bride and Travis
You begin making your way up the fire escape, when another shot goes off, missing by a fraction.
On the roof, a chestnut haired woman has put aside the sniper rifle, and is armed with a sword, that appears to be a replicant Highland claymore. It's far to heavy to hold it the way she is, she must be like the last two you met. She's certainly beautiful.
"You maimed my son." She says softly, swinging the sword with a flick of her writ. She's a lot better then Edward or Bella was. "You killed the daughter I didn't even know." The blade slides through the air again.
"Never get in a blood feud with the Irish." She finishes, advancing on you. Her terrible marksmanship is explained, she doesn't want you dead, she wants to kill you.

Nicodemus
Five minutes later, you find yourself in a town house, very well cared for, but all but deserted. The feeling draws you to the attic, where a room is lit by flickering candlelight.
At the far end of the room, you see Carlisle bent over something and singing to himself. He has a truly beautiful voice, you note.
“Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound.
That saved a wretch, like me!
I once was lost, but now I’m found.
Was blind, but now, I see.
'Twas grace that taught my heart to fear,
And grace, my fears relieved.
How precious did that grace appear
The hour I first believed.”
Then he stopped singing and humming, needing to concentrate particularly hard on something. The part of the room was well lit with a lamp a few inches above his head, and it seemed he was enclosing the light in a kind of dome of brightness around the shape of his body. As your eyes adjust you see he’s leaning over a steel medical table, and there is something lying on it, though the end is wrapped in cloth.
Then the humming started again, and Carlisle turned to drop something small and fleshy into a metal plate.
"The earth shall soon dissolve like snow,
The sun forbear to shine;
But God, Who called me here below,
Will be forever mine.
When we've been there ten thousand years
Bright shining as the sun,
We've no less days to sing God's praise
Then when we'd first begun."
On the other side of the room, there is another, identical table, though shrouded in gloom.
Carlisle straightens, and walks over towards a low cupboard, where he begins rooting around.
You can now see quite clearly what the patriarch was doing. On the table is a body, upon which he is performing an elaborate dissection. The chest had been cut open with great skill past the lower stomach, all the way to the scrotum. Each section of skin and muscle had been pealed back and held away with pins. Pieces have been removed, bit by bit, with care not too damage any of them.
What was shocking, apart from the way that she was displayed, that alone would shock the most hardened psychopath, was that she was not dead. Her left hand, hanging over the side of the table, twitched every few seconds, as Carlisle continued to root through the drawer, still humming to himself.
You feel as though spiders are crawling along the skin of your back. And then you hear a girl. Another girl, tied and gagged, was on the other table.
“Be quiet you.” He says, almost gently. “Patience. Your turn next.”
He resumes his rummaging, at last straightening, with what he’d be looking for, a long thin skewer with a pincer on the end. “God be praised.” He tested it. Snap, snap. The sound makes you squirm.
Returning to his work, he uses it to remove something small and fleshy, which he carefully places in a container.

Sam and Alexander
Neither of you have any idea where he went, or if you want to go after him.

Jules
The shape folds around the bullet, diminishing slightly, then the flames blaze brighter. Hefting the child, it throws it at you, then walks, although slithers seems a more appropriate verb, in your direction, still tittering.

Archer
Loosing sight of Nicomdeus in the explosion, you spot him again leaving a building at a rapid pace. You have two choices, follow him on your own and hope for the best, or go tell your summoner and follow him together.

Nero Chaos
As you step out into the streets, you are absorbed by the screaming mass of humanity, absorbed into the press and earhurting sound of chanting and blood curdling shrieks.
At the end of the street, a huge man in a greatcoat steps out of the building, and you feel cold. It's Paladin Alexander, the most feared hunter of your kin. He must be here for you.

[industrious]

Midnighter

Once the man reaches the shattered doorframe that leads "outside," he stops. Turning around-slowly-, he hefts his steel rod in his hand. Swinging it a few times, he launches the projectile at V, aiming to shatter the mask. While the rod wasn't reaching his normal speeds, 70 mph was still decent.

He wasn't just going to run away, now was he? The whole point of getting away was to gain distance, enough so that when he made the first move, he'd be protected against counterattack. And once said attack came, his computer would be back to making him the deadliest combatant in the world once more.

Sam Oliver

"In any case, I have my own...mission. Not a calling or anything; more of a debt to pay off. But, um...Father...sir...have you seen anybody calling himself 'Archer' recently?"

Nicodemus

Reaching into his pocket once more for his pouch of Denarian coins, Nicodemus retrieves one of them, and imparts a message to the Fallen contained within. Do nothing until he is distracted. I will distract him, and then you will bind him. Do not kill him; he has something I desire. The immortal keeps to the shadows, where his own allows him to blend in perfectly. The coin is placed onto the ground-carefully, as to not make any noise. Then, Nicodemus reveals himself, as his shadow bears the tarnished silver to the other, bound girl.

"I see that Jack the Ripper hasn't lost his touch, Carlisle. Tell me, though. Why the notes to the police? It seemed rather...flamboyant of you."

[Cracklord]

Nicomdeus
"An affectation I have outgrown." He says without turning around, still concentrating on the girl. "Besides, a little manipulation always helps. They thought they were looking for a psychopath. Quite a lot of medical science has me to thank for it, but while buying corpses and cutting them up helped me understand, I could learn a lot more while they were still alive. God knows, four of Babylons pet whores seems a small price for that. I've never noticed a shortage of such people."
He goes silent, still humming, then makes another small incision, and turns. He is covered with blood up to the elbows, and his white apron is splatted with all sorts of gore, at odds with the all round neatness of the room and his work. All her organs, you see, have been carefully labeled and stored with others of their kind.
"Do you know what's special about these girls? They are gifted. They have it in them to be great magicians. So I will shut down ever organ, every part of their body, until they aren't anymore, and so find out what it is that makes them special. What gives them magic."
He sighs. If he had glasses, he'd be peering over them at you. "Of course, most of the girls aren't talented. The dead-ends are what make us so wealthy. Organs. Children. Beautiful women, made soft, nurturing and pliable. I don't have much truck with it myself, but the kids are good at it, finding the right sort of clientele and supplying them with whatever they want."

[industrious]

Nicodemus

The bi-millennial man laughs, long and hard at Carlisle's statement.

"I'm sorry, Carlisle, but that is nearly the most idiotic thing that I have had the pleasure to hear in a long, long while. You cannot classify magic as science, nor science magic. Science cannot understand magic, cannot test it nor empirically control for variables. You are mad, vampire, to even attempt such a thing."

From up his sleeve, Nicodemus produces a short, gray-white fiber.

"Take this, for example. One of my favorite examples of such idiocy. One of the samples from the Shroud of Turin. They tried to test it back in the 60s, see if it actually was as old as I am. But in doing so, they missed the point of the Shroud. It is a thing of belief, and it has power because of it. Tell me, Doctor: what do you know of the Black Death?"

[Cracklord]

Nicodemus
Carlisle appears... bored. Frustrated you are interfering with his work, more then anything. "Quite a bit. I helped create it, didn't I?" He replies, twirling the knife absentmindedly. "Not a particularly distinguished role, I'm afraid, but I take some solace in how the attempt would have failed had it not been for my hard work, over and above what they demanded. Oh, I admit that conventional science cannot, but then, what is science if not the study of everything? It's all a matter of perspective." The knife stops twirling, and it's pointing directly at you. "I am not totally ignorant about magic, I simply prefer not to taint myself more then is inevitable. But I am right, as this girl proves. No doubt it will shock you that I've already succeeded, these are just an attempt to refine the process. It's all a matter of cutting in more then just the physical way."

[industrious]

Nicodemus

"Oh, I'm not asking out of curiosity. I'm asking because a few years ago, I used a piece of the Shroud to create copies of every disease known to mankind, and infect a subject with said diseases in their terminal stages-simultaneously. I did plan to use the actual Shroud to infect a far greater amount of people with it, but I was...interrupted. But that is the past. I'm telling you this now because all your precious samples have just been contaminated."

Whilst Nicodemus has been talking, he has been fiddling with the string; at the end of his little monologue, he tears the thread in half, releasing the spell, and irrevocably corrupting all of Carlisle's experiments. From the one barely alive to the neatly labeled organs.

[Cracklord]

Carlisle raises an eyebrow. Turning his back to you he takes a look at the girl, then another at the case. "So you have. Oh well." He drawls, facing you again. He still looks bored. "Are you done, or is your fragile ego so easily bruised you are going to write some obscenities on the walls and yell insults as well?"
He sighs. "For what it's worth, I am sorry about my earlier actions. I wasn't thinking... clearly." He taps his head. "Besides, knowledge is in here, and I don't really need to show anyone my work. It is, after all, for my own benefit. Still, when it takes longer then expected don't come crying to me."
With that he stretches and walks past you, heading for the staircase, knife still in hand.

[industrious]

Nicodemus

The Denarian's shadow stops Carlisle in his tracks, coils wrapping around his arms and legs, and inserting themselves down his mouth, and one nostril. The vampire is dragged back to the operating table, now clear of Carlisle's experiment.

"Hardly. I'm going to kill you now. It isn't personal; well, it was, until you apologized. But I need a sufficient metaphysical mass to power my next ritual; your unique status is perfect for the job. If it is any consolation, Doctor Cullen, then know that your death is for a higher purpose."

Nicodemus unstraps the live girl from her table, and hands her a scalpel, a grandfatherly smile on his face.

"My dear, how would you like to perform a little game of role reversal?"

[Cracklord]

Nicomdeus
To all intents and purposes, she's already dead. The dissection was... thorough. One of her lungs her been cut carefully along the ligaments, her heart is exposed, and everything from her spleen to her stomach has been removed.
You doubt she's lucid enough to understand what you are saying.
The other has been sedated, with what you couldn't say for sure, but her eyes are glassy, and everything she does is unsteady. Rather then speak, she mumbles and slurs.
As you look at the vampire, you notice a silvery light shining around him, perhaps half an inch thick, which the shadow is impotently battling against. It no longer seems to be getting any results.
Carlisle sighs, but doesn't move. "Weak, Nicomdeus. Very weak. I'll be blunt. The ritual won't work. I have been awarded something of a total dispensation until the last day of winter. Until then, you may as well try to kill god. Understand?"
He sighs. "As to why, that is beyond you're understanding, based on your answers to what I explained to you. You're a primitive, not a thinker. If said ritual is so important to you, I believe my youngest son is in the room downstairs. Now stop bothering me."

[nanobot_swarm]

Jules dodges the poor child, and then shouts at the shape:
"Motha****er you pissed off the wrong brother. might have let you live had this been some other **** you been tryin to pull, but not now. There's this passage I got memorized, that quite applies to this situation. Ezekiel 25:17. 'The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the inequities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he who, in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of the darkness. For he is truly his brother's keeper and the finder of lost children. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know I am the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon you.'" He shoots the shape three times, the bullets have much more impact thanks to the verse.

[Cracklord]

Jules
The bullets hit the shape where it’s vitals aught to be. It shrieks, and collapses into itself, until the shape within the fires vanishes. A dreadful feeling of cold, a chill that sinks to the bone settles within you, as every fire in the building goes out. You blink, your eyes not adjusted to the lack of light as spots dance across your vision.
This personal indulgence didn’t bring you any closer to the Cullens.

[Draxx]

V
The blow misses me by almost a foot. I don't seem to so much as twitch, of course reading the intent of a man in a mask is somewhat difficult, particularly one as cagey as myself.
My head tilts a little to the left. “Penny for the Guy?” I’m far from home. He may not get it, but that’s too bad.
I dare do all that may become a man; Who dares do more is none.

Anderson
The priest stares at him. "Tha isnae somethin' a lad like ye wants tae get involved in. Ye should gae home and thank god it's none o' ye business if'n ye ken what's best for ye."

[darkblade]

The Bride

"Wait what? Bella and Edward were siblings?" The Bride stops in shock not even drawing her sword.

"Your kids were screwing like rabid monkeys. You might want to work on your parenting skills for the next batch."