• This section is for roleplays only.
    ALL interest checks/recruiting threads must go in the Recruit Here section.

    Please remember to credit artists when using works not your own.

Active [On the Border of the See and Widersia, as Far South of Clockhaven as the River Goes] - Rise Over Run

Irihi

Evildoer
Roleplay Availability
I am looking for roleplays.
Roleplay Type(s)
  1. Group
  2. Dice
  3. Quests
It was a strange day in Red Haven. The Devil’s Day decorations had long since come down and now the Hearts district was all abuzz with preparation for Veil in Tines; that midwinter’s day when the denizens of The Big Easy would find their hearts (and their wallets) pierced by a thousand needles--tines of love, tines of hate, tines of sorrow and loneliness. Before that, however, mother nature had tried a new trick in her endless battle to scrub the blighted canker of the city by the bay from her swampy shores.

It was snowing in Red Haven, and not just a few flakes to christen the streets--but a good and proper burial, with streets, roofs, and ground six inches under the pale frozen blanket. The day was cold and blustery as well; not the bitter freezes that sometimes seized The Republic, but cold enough to keep most off the streets--and freeze to death some of those with nowhere else to go.

Yet the frosty blanket hid from sight the horrors of their demise. Corpses were swaddled in white, becoming nothing more than lumps beneath the pristine snow. The mostly-empty streets looked almost festive under the veil; whitewashed and pure as the driven snow,

much like the wealthy and powerful of the city--who insulated themselves from the cold and death with “snow parties” in their glittering frosted mansions--white and pure on the outside, with the corruption and rot hidden just beneath their milk-white facades.



Miiya wasn’t a native of Red Haven. She knew snow and biting cold worse than the century-odd storm that had reached the southern bayous. The cold flakes outside held no mystery or mystique for her. “But I can’t believe they’re yfretting closed!” she groused to Stormbreaker, her draconic friend, as the pair trudged through the snowy streets, her wings caped about her, fending off the chill. “It’s just a little snow! Sheesh!

Miiya stopped as they reached the major intersection on the edge of Spades. She surveyed the mostly-empty streets, arms akimbo. “Don’t think there’s much crime to fight today, Essbee. Wanna do some touring, instead?

Despite the snow, and her favorite breakfast shop being closed by it, Miiya was in a pretty good mood. She didn’t have to work her usual 16 hours today---and it was looking more and more like she might never have to, again. I mean, I need to practice, write a bunch of new pieces, and perform, so I’m busy about 20 hours of the day now--but that’s not really work! She thought to herself.

The feathered jack-of-all-trades seemed to be settling into one of them. It wasn’t a trade, really, as far as Miiya was concerned. Singing, songwriting, performing; that was a fun hobby--one her mother had frowned upon, making it all the more appealing to the young Aerial. She was still moonlighting at Vivian’s workshop, but Miiya’s courier day job had been replaced by several small gigs a week, and a couple of really big shows. She hadn’t headlined a concert yet, but her name was out there, in lights, and commensurate money was starting to flow into her pocket. She even had a contract--not a big contract, but still--that paid her an advance bigger than her last six paychecks, combined.

Miiya knew some of her rise to semi-stardom was being facilitated by her shadowy patron. She had shared this with Stormbreaker after they had left Giovanna’s place. Miiya knew she had made a deal with the devil in a desperate moment, and she hadn’t wanted SB to walk into the same trap situation with her eyes closed--like Miiya had. So far, Mephisto’s deal was paying off in Spades, but Miiya couldn’t help the feeling that she was going to end up an unwilling cog in the sharp-toothed monster’s madcap plans.

“It’s okay, Essbee. He… he saved me. Miiya had admitted, one night, in her grotty studio apartment. She had done her best not to glance over at the spot where she had killed Marek Mephisto had gutted and skinned the corpse of her attacker, before making it all go away. There was a reason she insisted that SB take the bed, while she was sleeping on the threadbare loveseat she had pushed to the farthest corner of her apartment.

“I don’t trust-- …I don’t think we should trust any of the patrons of this city, but Mephisto hasn’t asked me to do anything I wouldn’t already be doing.” Miiya had folded her smaller hands over Stormbreaker’s thick scaled fingers. “But I am glad you’re here now. You give me courage to face him,” she admitted. So far, Stormy had just loomed threateningly in the background during Mephisto’s rare appearances--her presence drawing his viscous grin a little tighter and eliciting a snide comment or two.

So, in the weeks since leaving Giovanna’s place, Miiya had been singing, shopping, cooking, caring for SB during her recovery, and continuing to work as Vivian’s lab assistant. She also sometimes helped Stormbreaker practice punching minor bad guys. But that didn't pay anything, nor was it likely to anytime in the future. Thus far, they’d only stopped a couple of purse-snatchers, a shoplifter, and a trio of motherfretting racist pricks who had been harassing a juvenile beastman.

That last act of heroism had been Miiya’s favorite. While all the other riders on the streetcar had averted their gazes from the commotion, Stormbreaker had gotten to her feet.

“I can’t believe you threw them off the bus while we were crossing the bridge, Essbee!” Miiya had chortled afterward. “They flew pretty far, for being wingless.”

The always-broke hero was currently crashing on Miiya’s couch--the other way around, actually; Miiya took the couch. She didn’t mind one bit. In fact, the hero “work” the pair had fallen back into was turning into something of a business relationship. Part of the reason Miiya had wanted to take Stormy to breakfast was to discuss hiring the draconic woman as her roadie manager.

“I mean, you already come to almost all my shows, Stormy, you carry my shu, help me set up and tear down, and handle crowd control.” She grinned at SB over her second protein shake. “You’re basically an unpaid manager; let me pay you for it!”

The large restaurant they had settled on--one of the few to open on this snowy day--was pretty meh in Miiya’s opinion, but they served high-calorie food and had reasonably-clean tables. Miiya put her hands on one of the said tables as she talked, laying out a generous business deal between herself and her friend.

This was something totally new to Miiya; being rich enough to be a job creator, and--truth be told--she was glad she could start with Essbee, because I have no idea how to do this! Miiya had always lived hand-to-mouth since leaving home. She had been a literal starving intern, artist, student, and even street urchin--more often than not--during her teenage and adult life. Arriving in Red Haven had marked a change to all that.

Actually, killing Marek was when my fortunes really changed.
She stuffed that thought down, and continued to eat, talk, and think about the future.

Miiya was swimming in cash now. She not only had a bank account, but it was an account large enough that the bankers brought her (and Stormy) into the private glass-walled rooms with free coffee and snacks and shu. A month ago, they would’ve been looking down their noses at the scruffy skwitch darkening their doors and having the audacity to breathe their air, now the yfretters bowed and scraped; held her door, pulled her chair, and even gave her more money, for her money--because she already had money.

It was yfretting nutso. It’s like I’m suddenly part of this club--this group of elites--and now they want me to stand beside them--on the necks of all the unwashed peasants .

The thing was, even as she looked uneasily down from the private rooms on the rank-and-file patrons, she knew there were higher tiers that were still looking down on her. As she tried to get her friend to accept payment--to be her employee--instead of trading favors as equals, Miiya couldn’t decide if she wanted to claw her way higher up this ladder, or if the climb was already making her nauseous.

Miiya was always hungry, always scrapping, always scraping, and kinda proud of her thrift. If she lost that part of her, what was going to fill the void? What now? She didn’t have to split a twelve-by-sixteen tenement--with barely enough hot water for 0.75 people--with her friend, anymore. She didn’t have to browse thrift stores for clothing or pawn shops for equipment. She didn’t have to fare skip just to have enough coin left to eat tomorrow. Hell, she didn’t have to ride the street cars at all, anymore.

I can buy yfretting retail.

She didn’t say any of this to Essbee, of course, and she emphasized that they were partners and equals but they weren’t--not when someone was paying someone--and that feeling, these thoughts, were a bit of a paradigm shift for the Aerial woman. Miiya couldn’t help feeling, as she extended a hand to Stormbreaker with a “whaddaya say?” just a hint of the long shadow of her patron twining its fingers with her own.
 
Last edited:
Stormbreaker
WARNING/TW: This thread contains mentions of gore, death, torture and so forth. Consider yourself warned.


zWB8Br4.png

Commissioned Art by Feerocomics. Art is here.

Real Name: Arashi Sato
Height: 6"3
Titles: Human, Draconian, Puppet, Kungfu Fighter, Pro Hero
Racial:
Human -
Normal human, plain and featureless. A blank slate full of potential.
Draconian - Humans with dragon heritage descended from the dragonborn. The bloodline is heavily diluted, leaving their appearance mostly human, but it grants them superior physical abilities, superhuman healing, magical aptitude, and, more rarely, partial draconic transformation.

Society - General:
Puppet -
Character was just a means to an end for grander or more influential figures. Whether by choice or by design, they dance to the whims of others. Character is more easily manipulated by others. Character is less responsible for the wrongs they commit.
Kungfu Fighter - Character was part of a street brawl.

Skill Related:
Pro Hero -
Character is a former pro hero in their pre-isekai'd life. They protected innocents and kept the peace.
Stats:
Strength | B Grade
Precision | F Grade
Intelligence | D Grade
Vitality | B Grade
Speed | D Grade

Abilities Active:
N/A - will be spoilered if ability
Abilities Used: N/A - will be spoilered if ability
Passives:
Regeneration | F Grade | 6 Posts
Possessions:
Color: #824ca3 | Link to Sheet

Equipment:
  • Magic Catalyst [Organ] | E Grade | 28 Points
    • Fire today, who knows tomorrow? Good thing it’s fireproof. Probably.
  • Armored Dragon's Armor [Heavy Iron Armor] | F Grade | 7 Points
    • Perfect for any vigilante trying to look menacing and mysterious on a budget. Although the paint on it isn't the best. Caution: may come with the side effect of looking dark and brooding.
  • Natural Weapon [Fists] | F Grade | 14 Points
    • Knock, knock! Who’s there? Justice!​
  • Iron Greatsword | F Grade | 7 Points
    • It’s a sword. Big, heavy, and... not much else to say. If you need to slice through a bunch of stuff, this'll do the job. Though it’s not very good at making small talk.​

This didn't feel as bad as it was in the Republic. It felt cold, but it was nothing she wasn't used to. She had thicker clothing on under her armor to combat the cold, but having a suit on while she wasn't doing hero work was nice. It let her be a normal civilian, after all. She walked through the snow in her boots. She could at least keep herself warm in the meantime via her fire magic, but she needed to keep eating for it to work. "I would prefer if there was crime, but... what can you do?"

Stormbreaker didn't fight Miiya on what she did or didn't do, she just elected to be around the kid whenever she could. She knew Miiya might mess up with making a contact with Mephisto. It's not like she didn't care, she just... didn't know what to do.

In that few weeks, she'd had been recovering fairly well, she had been pushing herself at the gym and training overall, gaining her strength back. She looked much bigger than she was previously, thanks to the food, vitamins and minerals she had gotten, but that feeling of that awful addictive drug lingered in the back of her mind. Her body didn't need it anymore, but her mind had other plans. She did her best to not fall victim to what her memories had done to her.

But aside from it all, SB had just.. been taking the odd jobs here and there. Fetching people's stuff, beating the shit of anybody that hurt others and, of course, stealing their money in return. Often the people she'd beat up were just thugs looking to pounce on others. Some were grateful; others were confused by this black knight protecting the innocent.

But aside from it all, she managed to at least get a job as some sort of security guard at a local grocery store that often got robbed. She easily deterred the thieves who had been stupid enough to enter or attempt to rob the place, as they often ended up with a few broken bones after. This led to crime rates becoming less and less around that area in particular, as nobody wanted to deal with the walking black knight who looked like she would kill you. A simple thing to do. It also came with pay and a discount for food, so that was a bonus! At the night, she became a vigilante of sorts, dispensing justice to lower tier criminals and those not associated with any sort of patron. Picking a fight with any was a bad thing. She was too weak to do that.

She had dealt with some criminals, but one criminal started a fight on the streetcar, which led to her throwing them off into the bridge into the water below. The other passengers even looked terrified of the black knight and some even impressed at the fact the hero had stopped them right in their tracks. Minus the injuries they would have when they entered the water.

As Miiya took Stormbreaker to the restaurant, since her favorite one was closed, she demanded Stormy would get paid. Stormy almost wanted to say no, given her other job... but she needed the money. She needed it there and now. Anything would be better than working some lame security guard job. She could eat all the food she wanted. As they got into the restaurant, she took off her helmet and placed it down on the ground next to her.

Stormbreaker sat down to go and ask for food, which they got her a whole massive stack of chocolate chip pancakes, hash browns and bacon to boot. She needed her protein. Stormbreaker listened to her friend as she poured maple syrup onto her pancakes, and chowing down on them like she hadn't done before.

Stormbreaker didn't like the thought of Miiya being manipulated by that other patrons, but she knows she has no choice in the manner. Miiya wanted to make it big, but Stormbreaker didn't quite know what to do. Stormbreaker didn't know herself what her goals were, if any at all. She just wanted to be a hero, a well-known one. But maybe this could be the start of it. Maybe she could make it big like a hero... with Miiya's help.

"I'm not opposed to it, Miiya. Just I have a concern. Don't lose yourself in your career. I've seen people turn to drugs because of their fame. Just promise me you won't. Stay true to yourself. Don't ever lose sight of that." Stormbreaker felt like she was talking to a kid after all, as she kept eating her food and drank so much milk when she was eating. She was hungry.

Irihi Irihi
 
Last edited:


“Drugs?” Miiya laughed. “Essbee, I can barely tolerate alcohol.” she reminded the draconic woman. Reaching across the table she first patted SB’s hands, then offered a handshake. “But, seriously, it’s a deal. You be my manager, and I’ll try to stay on the straight and narrow.” Miiya chirped, delighted. “Help me stay in trim, okay, Arashi? She said.

While her friend plowed through pancakes, Miiya levied her own form of justice against a mushroom and vegetable stuffed omelet. She had already tried pulling the egg trick on SB long ago when they’d been partners in Azuran. Between bites, Miiya mentioned that memory to her friend.

“Hey, remember the first time you ate eggs with me?” Miiya asked. The birdgirl had briefly pretended to be aghast; as if she viewed SB as some sort of child-eating monster, trying to get a rise out of her friend.

After they finished their meal and deal, Miiya suggested shopping. The snow had shut down much of the town, but one of Miiya’s favorite thrifty venues; pawn shops, never seemed to close. The performer was flush with cash, and afford retail, true, but she still balked at it. Pawn shops were a step up from the thrift stores she usually frequented. The equipment one could find there was used, true, but you didn’t have to sort through a ton of trash to find a working instrument or amplifier. Thrift store stuff tended to be broken or on its last legs. Pawn shop equipment might be worn-in, but it almost always worked.

“Besides, I love seeing what random stuff they have.” Miiya chirped to her friend as they pushed through a shop door. Miiya had been practicing for years, and was a fair hand at most stringed instruments--from violins to zithers--but she found that she liked guitars; acoustic and electric, best of all for composing original songs.

Long ago--so long, it seemed another lifetime--she’d first learned music on the battered old piano at the Rising Sun, where her mother had made her practice before the bar opened. Miiya was more than fair on the ivories, but she’d never had the funds to afford her own piano--and she’d spent her early barding years on the road, where only light instruments like lutes or erhu, were practical--along with vocals. So that was now where her talent lay; in singing and playing strings.

Strings like the collection of Widersean and Western Empire guitars hanging in the back of this place. Instruments from the empire used magic to modify and amplify their sound. Electric guitars from Widersea substituted tech. The two schools of guitar-making produced instruments radically different in feel and sound. Miiya liked both, but she gravitated toward the electric axes; she liked their rougher sound. The jams she made on electric guitars felt more jagged and edgy than the polished sounds of magical acoustics.

Miiya had grown quiet. If SB went to investigate, she’d find her young friend looking up at a bizarre contraption. It was an electric guitar, but some sort of weird frankenstein monster of lead and bass. The device had two necks and a broad sounding board with some arcane machinery bolted to it. It was painted black with a pearlescent finish, that caught the light with just a hint of iridescent rainbow reflection. “Why would anybody…?” Miiya breathed, mostly to herself.

Nobody with just two hands could play both sets of strings… She thought. …except maybe me. If SB helped, Miiya would gratefully accept the tall woman’s assistance getting the instrument down. Looping the strap around her neck, she plucked a few of the treble then a few of the bass strings.

There were plugs for power and amplifier, but there was also an unfamiliar switch and, what looked like, a stirrup on the bottom of the sounding board. Miiya flipped the switch and put her foot in the stirrup. She gave an experimental kick and the reverberations of her last note rang out loudly. “Woa…” she breathed.

I have to try this. She braced herself with a hip against a table of hardware and unfolded her wings. Miiya didn’t like opening her wings in public unless she was going to fly; despite SB’s acceptance of her prosthesis, the winged woman was still very self-conscious about Dauntless. Now, however, she bent her steel feathers forward until they touched the bass strings over the mid pickup. Swallowing, she brought her undamaged wing forward until her stiff flight primaries touched the strings over the bass neck fretts. With her hands, she pressed a chord on the treble neck.

Kicking the stirrup hard, she struck a chord on the lead strings and a harmonic chord on the bass. The guitar thundered inside the shop, causing the owner to jump and curse, Miiya to flinch, and Stormbreaker to experience her own reaction to the shockingly-loud sound.

“NO PLAYING IN THE STORE!!” The owner of the pawnshop had let himself out from behind the counter and was storming over toward Miiya, demanding that she put down the instrument.

For her own part, Miiya was grinning like a fool. She had practically jumped out of her skin at the impressive tones of the guitar, but--now recovered--she was so excited, she said the three words that she never ever said when there was any chance of haggling, and especially when she hadn’t even looked at the price tag. “I’ll take it!!”

Thieves Maybe attracted by the noise, perhaps just in the wrong place at the right time, three figures had entered the pawn shop. Their features were obscured by the hooded winter clothes they wore, and they seemed to be purposefully keeping away from the shopkeeper.

When the owner stormed over to berate Miiya, one of them vaulted over the counter. With practiced swiftness, she slid open the glass cases and began snatching the watches and jewelry on display there--usually under the watchful eye of the shop owner. A second hooded figure started pilfering a rack of designer handbags. The third member of the gang of thieves stood half-hidden between the store owner and his compatriots. If anyone tried to intervene, he’d either trip or confront them, trying to slow any intervention down if someone rushed at his buddies robbing the store.
 
Stormbreaker


zWB8Br4.png

Commissioned Art by Feerocomics. Art is here.

Real Name: Arashi Sato
Height: 6"3
Titles: Human, Draconian, Puppet, Kungfu Fighter, Pro Hero
Racial:
Human -
Normal human, plain and featureless. A blank slate full of potential.
Draconian - Humans with dragon heritage descended from the dragonborn. The bloodline is heavily diluted, leaving their appearance mostly human, but it grants them superior physical abilities, superhuman healing, magical aptitude, and, more rarely, partial draconic transformation.

Society - General:
Puppet -
Character was just a means to an end for grander or more influential figures. Whether by choice or by design, they dance to the whims of others. Character is more easily manipulated by others. Character is less responsible for the wrongs they commit.
Kungfu Fighter - Character was part of a street brawl.

Skill Related:
Pro Hero -
Character is a former pro hero in their pre-isekai'd life. They protected innocents and kept the peace.
Stats:
Strength | B Grade
Precision | F Grade
Intelligence | D Grade
Vitality | B Grade
Speed | D Grade

Abilities Active:
N/A - will be spoilered if ability
Abilities Used:
  • [Intimidation Tactics - Fire] | [Perception F, [Intimidation F], [Interrogation F], [Magic Affinity F], [Explosive Fire Affinity F], [One for All - Full Cowl Lightning F]| F Grade | 0 Post Cooldown
    • The user intimidates the foe using flames by surrounding them themselves with fire.
Passives:
Regeneration | F Grade | 6 Posts
Possessions:
Color: #824ca3 | Link to Sheet

Equipment:
  • Magic Catalyst [Organ] | E Grade | 28 Points
    • Fire today, who knows tomorrow? Good thing it’s fireproof. Probably.
  • Armored Dragon's Armor [Heavy Iron Armor] | F Grade | 7 Points
    • Perfect for any vigilante trying to look menacing and mysterious on a budget. Although the paint on it isn't the best. Caution: may come with the side effect of looking dark and brooding.
  • Natural Weapon [Fists] | F Grade | 14 Points
    • Knock, knock! Who’s there? Justice!​
  • Iron Greatsword | F Grade | 7 Points
    • It’s a sword. Big, heavy, and... not much else to say. If you need to slice through a bunch of stuff, this'll do the job. Though it’s not very good at making small talk.​

"I'm glad you can barely tolerate it. You don't want to know what I'm like while I'm drunk. If anything like my last world is any indication... then I would fight everyone." Stormbreaker took the handshake and shook it back, which was expected of her. "Fine. Just you gotta behave, Miiya. You better not disappoint me."

Stormbreaker shook her head at the thought of that stupid egg thing that Miiya talked about. "Aerials are not non-sentient creatures. I don't have to worry about it. Eggs are tasty. It makes me wonder if dragons are tasty too..." She said outloud to herself. Would they even taste good? Dragons do regenerate, technically it makes farming the meat rather easy...

Stormbreaker followed Miiya to the pawnshop, watching her interact with the shop in question and then watched the birdwoman look up at a guitar. The dragon helped her take it down, because of her height. In the meantime, Stormbreaker went to look at other stuff and then found a bunch of cooking supplies. Old things she was looking over. She could use a new pan or two to help her cook with, and she needed to get more stocked up in her backpack, anyway.

Stormbreaker nearly scared herself when Miiya started playing the noise at full volume which made the draconian almost shit herself. "Miiya! You could of warned me in advance! Loud noises are something I hate!" The draconian scolded the young adult about it.

In the meantime, Stormbreaker turned her attention to the three people who entered the shop. It wasn't until one of them vaulted over the counter that she picked up what they were doing. She saw it happen too many times before and was quick to react. She dashed over, grabbing the thief that decided stupidly to attempt to steal from the register and picked them up by the scuff of the neck, throwing them at full speed out of the window into the ground outside. She didn't care about the damages done, she just cared about serving up justice. These fellas would just have to pay for the damages with their wallets.

"Now, now. Stealing is against the law. If you're going to steal, you can taste justice. I won't hesitate to break their damn limbs and make you taste the ground." She threatened, red flames surrounding her hands.

A1: Move to ambush Thief 1
A2: Throw Thief 1 out of Window
A3: [Used Ability Intimidation Tactics - Fire]
Irihi Irihi
 
Hooligans The lookout looked out upon Stormbreaker heading for the counter. ”Hey ****! Mind your business!” he unwisely growled at the draconian, pulling out a folding knife. The blade clicked into place with a meaningful snick!

It would have been meaningful, had he not dropped it as he was suddenly lifted into the air and thrown out the window. Being a pawn shop window, the glass was reinforced, and it was quite an impact to knock loose the bars. They had, however, been installed with the idea that attack would come from without rather than within, so the whole assembly; shattered glass, steel bars, and a chunk of the window frame crashed to the sidewalk outside, along with the man. He might survive the impact, but he didn’t remain conscious. Instead, he lay unmoving on the wreckage of the window.

The thief snatching purses dropped two bags mid-grab and lit out for the door. Usually other shoppers didn’t say anything, or if they did, a threatening flash of the little knife the lookout carried was enough to shut them up. None of the thieves wanted to stick around in the face of determined resistance.

Unfortunately, the girl behind the counter was panicked as well. Flyguy had been their muscle--and he wasn’t all that muscular. Counter girl didn’t want to get caught, or have the roaring draconian break any limbs, so she and purse snatcher both reached the door at the same time, managing to jam each other up in their rush. Purse snatcher came out ahead, shoving counter girl to the ground and making good his escape. The female thief hit the ground with a thump, dropping some of the goods she had stolen. Abandoning the merchandise she tried to scramble to her feet.

Thief 1/Lookout:
Action 1-3: Resist attack - Failed - HP 0/1 - Knocked Out
Thief 2/Bagman:
Action 1-3: [Intimidated] Run TF away - Flees 40 feet, encumbered by colliding with Thief 3.
Thief 3/Counter Girl:
Action 1-3: [Intimidated] Run away - Failed due to colliding with Thief 2.


“Oh shu! Sorry Ess--ESSBEE!!” Miiya was a little slow on the uptake, so enamored was she with the guitar. She kinda sorta thought stormy had just randomly decided to throw someone out a window because she’s mad about the noise or something, before she registered what was actually going on. “Yfrett!” Once she realized what was happening, however, Miiya was quick to (carefully) unloop the guitar strap, set the prized instrument down, and then dart across the shop to aid Stormbreaker.

No sooner had counter girl managed to gain her feet, than Miiya had put her into a clinch. Miiya was just a little smaller than her opponent, but she was many times over stronger and more experienced. She shoved the woman into the wall and held her there. “Don’t yew, yfretting move, skwitch!!” she growled before shouting to Stormbreaker: “I got this one, Essbee! Go run that kalmason down!”

Miiya and SB had thwarted more than a few shoplifters in their day. Back during their crime-fighting days in Azuran, Miiya had been smaller and less experienced. Generally she would fly cover and act as a spotter for SB. That meant that the pair would sometimes lose one or two of the bad guys in a scenario with multiple thieves, like this one. However, Miiya had grown in strength and technique in the subsequent years, and now she was capable of taking down any of these thieves, by herself.

Truth be told, Miiya had mellowed in the years since Azuran. She’d dealt with--or buried--some of what had driven her to snap and throw herself into fights back in those days. She also wasn’t the crusader SB was. She didn’t make a habit of putting herself on the line to protect someone else’s merchandise, but seeing SB in attack mode had reawakened old instincts in the Aerial, and she was kinda having a blast taking down bad guys--or at least this bad girl.

Miiya shifted her grip. “On yer knees, skwitch, or I’ll break yer arm!” she threatened, and pushed the thief to the floor. “I can fly; yew can’t get away, so just yfrettin’ stay there!” she commanded. “Yew get me?!” She snarled and then let go of the thief when she got a brief nod. “Good. Now empty yer--woah!”

Miiya had been about to order the thief to empty her pockets when the shopkeeper approached, holding a baseball bat with a murderous glint in his eye. “Rob my shop!? I’ll show you!!”

“Woa-woa-woa--dude!!” Miiya stepped between the thief and the incensed pawn shop owner. “The hell, man? What, d’ya wanna kill ‘er?!”

“Get out of my way! I’m going to teach this hoodlum a lesson!” The shopkeeper insisted.

“No, yer frettin’ not.” Miiya said, her hands went from being raised in a placating manner, to balling into fists. ”I didn’t stop her to have you beat her to death.” Miiya’s tone had an undercurrent of taunt tension.

Miiya’s crimefighting with Stormbreaker hadn’t been her last fight--and SB had generally kept Miiya away from any fighting with the potential to turn deadly.

Since then, Miiya had served as a deckhand on her aunt Sahar’s brig for a season, and that had been an eye-opening experience. Aunt Sahar was pretty crazy, but even she didn’t maim or kill without reason. With Miiya coming into her adult strength, and learning deadly weaponsplay, her Aunt had helped her usually manage to restrain the emotions that pushed her to put killing strength into every fight. Now, she was on the side of trying to cool down overheated emotions. ”Take a breath, dude.” Miiya said in manner that showed she was calm, but ready to enforce her words.

“I won’t let her get away. Why don’t yew call the cops and check on the guy outside?” She suggested. She figured calling the authorities would calm the guy down. Afterward, hopefully, he wouldn’t be in the mood to beat a helpless man.
 
Stormbreaker


zWB8Br4.png

Commissioned Art by Feerocomics. Art is here.

Real Name: Arashi Sato
Height: 6"3
Titles: Human, Draconian, Puppet, Kungfu Fighter, Pro Hero
Racial:
Human -
Normal human, plain and featureless. A blank slate full of potential.
Draconian - Humans with dragon heritage descended from the dragonborn. The bloodline is heavily diluted, leaving their appearance mostly human, but it grants them superior physical abilities, superhuman healing, magical aptitude, and, more rarely, partial draconic transformation.

Society - General:
Puppet -
Character was just a means to an end for grander or more influential figures. Whether by choice or by design, they dance to the whims of others. Character is more easily manipulated by others. Character is less responsible for the wrongs they commit.
Kungfu Fighter - Character was part of a street brawl.

Skill Related:
Pro Hero -
Character is a former pro hero in their pre-isekai'd life. They protected innocents and kept the peace.
Stats:
Strength | B Grade
Precision | F Grade
Intelligence | D Grade
Vitality | B Grade
Speed | D Grade

Abilities Active:
N/A - will be spoilered if ability
Abilities Used: N/A - will be spoilered if ability
Passives:
Regeneration | F Grade | 6 Posts
Composed | F Grade | 6 Posts
[Resilient] [Fatigue, Pain, Fear] | She still feels them but won't suffer from these three effects.
Possessions:
Color: #824ca3 | Link to Sheet

Equipment:
  • Magic Catalyst [Organ] | E Grade | 28 Points
    • Fire today, who knows tomorrow? Good thing it’s fireproof. Probably.
  • Armored Dragon's Armor [Heavy Iron Armor] | F Grade | 7 Points
    • Perfect for any vigilante trying to look menacing and mysterious on a budget. Although the paint on it isn't the best. Caution: may come with the side effect of looking dark and brooding.
  • Natural Weapon [Fists] | F Grade | 14 Points
    • Knock, knock! Who’s there? Justice!​
  • Iron Greatsword | F Grade | 7 Points
    • It’s a sword. Big, heavy, and... not much else to say. If you need to slice through a bunch of stuff, this'll do the job. Though it’s not very good at making small talk.​

The intimidation given by the thug didn't really phase the draconian. "What you gonna do? Stab me with your puny knife? Pathetic." She said, as she picked them up, throwing them through the window therefore after. She didn't give a fuck. The window made a loud shattering sound and the unconscious thief laid there on the ground. She wanted to show them no mercy, to show them she was the big evil dragon that was going to rock their shit.

As Miiya caught onto one of them, Stormbreaker intercepted the other, opting for a solid punch to their jaw as she intended to knock them out with one singular punch. She was in no mood for any of this, and just opted to deal with the bastards that decided to rob the store. She had saved the shopkeeper from getting robbed at the very least and without breaking a sweat. The draconian then walked over to the thief that was Miiya was holding. "You thought you could walk in here, steal, and walk out without a scratch? No. Not while I'm around. Whichever patron your under that thinks this is amusing is an idiot. Tell me who, now."

"This is my city. My home. You so much as steal from others yet again, I will make you a living example of the countless others who prey on the weak. I will eat you next time. You understand? Human might taste good. After all, dragons do eat humans." Stormbreaker made a threat as she crossed her arms. She then went through the thieves' belongings and took their money, handing it to the shopkeeper. "Here, take their money, since they were stupid enough to steal from you. Should be more than enough to cover the damages that these idiots decided to do."

Stormbreaker glanced across at Miiya as she sighed, hoping Miiya didn't catch the draconian becoming more and more aggressive over the past few weeks. She had changed since they last met. She had become more and more ruthless and didn't hesitate to kill people now that deserved it. Probably as the result of her experimentation. It made her bitter. It made her angry. It made her wanna kill all the criminals in her path. They deserved to suffer.

"Let's just pay for the stuff and go elsewhere, Miiya, after the police arrive. I don't want to stick around here and get more stares. I already scared enough people. I just wanted a peaceful day. Not... this."

Irihi Irihi
 
Shopkeeper “The police? Pah!” The pawn shop owner spat. ”Even if they show up, these punks’ll be out on the streets before sundown. Listen to yer friend; the only justice in Red Haven is what you serve up, yourself.”


Miiya was shocked at Stormbreaker and the shopkeeper’s attitudes. She suddenly found herself in the unenviable position of standing between the criminal and the justice two angry people wanted to mete out. Miiya didn’t really have a choice but to stand aside as SB rifled the pockets of Counter Girl after having pilfered Lookout and Purse Snatcher. The birdgirl looked troubled as a bitter Stormbreaker dumped the looted coin on the countertop while the shopkeeper griped about his broken window.

At least he put the baseball bat away. Miiya thought. For all his talk, the shopkeeper did call the police, and they did come to collect the thieves. Miiya was more concerned about SB’s radical reaction to thievery than her own purse; so concerned that she muttered “Don’t do me any yfretting favors.” when the shopkeeper opened negotiations for the guitar by promising he’d give her a “hero discount”. Miiya was quiet as she did something that cut completely against her nature; she paid sticker price and hustled out of the shop, following Stormbreaker as the draconic woman trudged silently through the melting snow.

Their encounter on that snowy day was not the end of Miiya’s concern for her friend but in the ensuing weeks, Miiya was swamped with the labors of her rising stardom. She had a new instrument to practice. She named the Dual-Necked Widersean Guitar “Dirge” and built herself specialized wing picks in order to play both lead and bass guitar parts on the instrument.

Nights, Miiya leaned on her Terrostoan friend, Vivian; co-opting her workshop to prototype the wing picks. She still tried her best to put in the time she had promised Viv--working on the moving-picture projector, but there simply were not enough hours in the day for Miiya to accomplish everything she needed to do, and her work at her unpaid internship suffered. Vivan was excited for her friend and happily accommodate Miiya’s sparse schedule. She hired an actual paid assistant to replace Miiya’s missing hours, and reassured the birdgirl that she was happy Miiya was pursuing her dreams--even if it meant they spent less time together. “So, when do I get to meet this Stormbreaker?” was her only real request of her winged friend.

That question was one that troubled the Aerial woman more than she let on. Essbee had taken to disappearing more often than not. Nights, when Miiya scraped together a few hours to moonlight at Skydance Customs, Stormbreaker was always nowhere to be found. In fact, she would be gone from their dilapidated apartment for days on end. Miiya--overloaded with work--would be ready to drop everything to search for Essbee, when she would come home to find the draconic woman asleep on the couch. Miiya would fret over the ring of old blood around the bath drain or the signs of violence on Stormbreaker’s person, but keep silent about it. She was worried about her friend, but there was never a spare moment to bring it up.

Besides, she’s getting her strength back. Miiya would console herself as she washed off the day’s grime and crashed into bed, herself. It’s none of my business how she wants to live her life. She lied to told herself. Isn’t it enough that Arashi is getting healthier? She can take care of herself--she has for the past seven years. I should stop worrying.

Whatever Stormbreaker was doing in her free time, she was diligent about her “manager” duties. She was at Miiya’s every show, and often accompanied her to the recording studio or meetings with producers. Even so, there was a distance between them--an uncomfortable lack of conversation in taxis or while setting up for a show--ever since the fight in the pawn shop.

Miiya wanted to talk about that day. She wanted to ask SB where she went at night and what she was doing, but the birdgirl did not even have two seconds to ask the question burning in her mind every time she was around Stormbreaker; Essbee, are you okay?

Miiya was contracted to write, polish, record, and perform an entire album. Her agent had her deeply into a blitzkrieg of fame. She had appearances nearly every single night, mostly as the headliner at small venues, but sometimes as the opener at concerts. She was doing media appearances during daylight hours, auditioning new members and practicing with her backup band, and then cramming songwriting, personal practice, and learning how to play with all four of her upper limbs--and sing--all at once. Her agent was adamant that she have her [Rockstar F(C)] ability ready for a public reveal at her first big concert--scheduled for the end of the month. This was to be her make-or-break moment, and Miiya was feeling the pressure.

Even so, Miiya couldn’t ignore what was going on with her old friend. She didn’t know what she could do to help--or even understand what was wrong with--Stormbreaker, but she knew she needed to try something. Anything.

Maybe it was Spades. Their tiny apartment was claustrophobic and ridiculous--even though, a decade ago, the birdgirl would have found it the height of opulence, compared to the slums of her childhood. But that was then, this was now. Miiya didn’t miss the incredulous looks the limousine drivers gave her when they dropped the rising starlet off at a back alley tenement between two of Red Haven’s roughest districts. More than one had asked her if they should keep the engine running--assuming she was just making a pitstop at her drug dealer’s (or someone worse) place--on her way home. “I’ve gotta get us out of here,” she said to herself, one night, looking over her shoulder as the taxi hastily pulled away.

Later, in the Diamond District “Here we are.” Miiya said, trying--and kind of failing--to contain her excitement as she gestured to the gilded glass doors of the apartment building. In response to SB’s “where?” Miiya at last bubbled over. The entire limousine ride over, she’d been practically vibrating with repressed excitement.

Miiya was taking a break today--and insisting SB do the same. She had something to show her draconic friend, and--no--it couldn’t wait. Everything else could wait. This was for them. This was gonna fix everything.

As the doorman greeted them as “Miss Miiya” and “you must be Miss Stormbreaker” Miiya erupted. “Our new home, Essbee! Isn’t it amaze!?” She told Stormbreaker--on the elevator ride up to the fifth floor--how they were never going back to that little hole-in-the-wall in Spades, ever again.

“Ta-daa!!” Miiya provided her own dramatic sound-effect as she pushed open the double-doors to to foyer of the split-level apartment. Her voice echoed in the empty spaces within, and she turned back toward SB with a momentarily-stricken expression. Miiya hadn’t realized how small and sad the few bags and furnishings--basically her entire life--she’d already had delivered to the new apartment, would look in the cavernous space. Shaking herself, she pasted her big smile back on and dragged Stormbreaker into their new digs.

The apartment wasn’t Giovanna’s--it didn’t hold a candle to the opulence of a Patron’s tower--but it far exceeded anywhere Miiya had ever dreamed of living, even when she was barding for nobility. The space was a loft--the top floor of a renovated factory near the riverfront of Diamonds. Large windows and high ceilings gave the apartment a feeling of openness and space greater than its square footage. Miiya hauled Stormbreaker around, showing off the fully-appointed kitchen, the open-plan living and dining area, the two bedrooms, and the upper-level office space. Pushing past that, she unlocked the door that provided direct access to the buildings rooftop common space.

The apartment, itself was um… great but it felt a little hollow with just Miiya’s threadbare couch, rickety bed, and couple of unopened trunks of instruments, sound equipment, and her spartan wardrobe. She really wanted to impress and delight Stormbreaker with this (insanely expensive) new home, and the rooftop deck was the pièce de résistance. Overhung by a expansive pergola and strung with glittering lights, the deck sported lounges, barbeque grills, a hot tub that bubbled and steamed invitingly, and a gorgeous view of the Diamond District waterfront--one of the chicest commercial districts in Red Haven. “Didja ever think… we’d be here one day, Essbee?” Miiya asked, as she concluded her tour, gazing out over the rooftops of Red Haven. “A place… ya know; like this?”

Later… As hard as she tried, Miiya was still Miiya. She just couldn’t bring herself to call for pizza delivery--not with a rooftop that made such a convenient launching and landing pad, and with a Giovanna-approved pizza joint just a few second’s flight away. So Stormbreaker had the place to herself--giving her a chance to unpack her few belongings--while Miiya went out for food. “I mean, I was a delivery girl, right? And I haven’t had much chance to fly lately.” She’d said, before taking off.

Now, surrounded by empty pizza boxes, sitting on the floor of their pretty-much-unfurnished apartment, Miiya poured some more of the celebratory champaign, she’d arranged for, into glasses set on the tiles between them. Things had gone great! She couldn’t afford this downtime, but--even so--it had turned out mostly like she had hoped; a chance to release the undercurrent of tension in her and Stormbreaker’s life. A quiet moment to celebrate and just enjoy the fruits of selling her soul their labors.

But the tension hadn’t released. Miiya could sense it in the set of her friend’s shoulders as the draconic woman stared out the window at the lights of Red Haven. The celebration, the happy, her chirping sorta-one-sided conversation was as hollow as the empty rooms of their over-large apartment.

Miiya bit her lip as she looked at Stormbreaker. She took a breath, and then asked the question to which she’d been afraid to give voice. “A-Arashi… are yew… Are yew okay?[/S]
 
Stormbreaker


zWB8Br4.png

Commissioned Art by Feerocomics. Art is here.

Real Name: Arashi Sato
Height: 6"3
Titles: Human, Draconian, Puppet, Kungfu Fighter, Pro Hero
Racial:
Human -
Normal human, plain and featureless. A blank slate full of potential.
Draconian - Humans with dragon heritage descended from the dragonborn. The bloodline is heavily diluted, leaving their appearance mostly human, but it grants them superior physical abilities, superhuman healing, magical aptitude, and, more rarely, partial draconic transformation.

Society - General:
Puppet -
Character was just a means to an end for grander or more influential figures. Whether by choice or by design, they dance to the whims of others. Character is more easily manipulated by others. Character is less responsible for the wrongs they commit.
Kungfu Fighter - Character was part of a street brawl.

Skill Related:
Pro Hero -
Character is a former pro hero in their pre-isekai'd life. They protected innocents and kept the peace.
Stats:
Strength | B Grade
Precision | F Grade
Intelligence | D Grade
Vitality | B Grade
Speed | D Grade

Abilities Active:
N/A - will be spoilered if ability
Abilities Used: N/A - will be spoilered if ability
Passives:
Regeneration | F Grade | 6 Posts
Composed | F Grade | 6 Posts
[Resilient] [Fatigue, Pain, Fear] | She still feels them but won't suffer from these three effects.
Possessions:
Color: #824ca3 | Link to Sheet

Equipment:
  • Magic Catalyst [Organ] | E Grade | 28 Points
    • Fire today, who knows tomorrow? Good thing it’s fireproof. Probably.
  • Armored Dragon's Armor [Heavy Iron Armor] | F Grade | 7 Points
    • Perfect for any vigilante trying to look menacing and mysterious on a budget. Although the paint on it isn't the best. Caution: may come with the side effect of looking dark and brooding.
  • Natural Weapon [Fists] | F Grade | 14 Points
    • Knock, knock! Who’s there? Justice!​
  • Iron Greatsword | F Grade | 7 Points
    • It’s a sword. Big, heavy, and... not much else to say. If you need to slice through a bunch of stuff, this'll do the job. Though it’s not very good at making small talk.​

Whether Stormbreaker had Miiya concerned was irrelevant. She didn't really mind much about what her bird friend thought. She didn't have much to say regarding the ride home or anything else. What Miiya didn't know couldn't hurt. While she often disappeared for days on end, to unknown places that didn't even tell her friend, she often found herself out unconscious on the bed when she entered. Bloody and bruised, although nothing her regeneration couldn't deal with. She regenerated from anything, no matter what. Didn't matter whether somebody had blasted her with a shotgun near one of her vital organs, she still got up and fought it off.

Whether that experimentation had done something to her brain was the question. It had. But it never messed with her ability to get on with her pain and not give a damn. That was always there. Her tenacity to succeed was always there. What she had done wasn't for the faint of heart. She had begun to get angry at the world itself and lashed out at everything and everybody. This led to criminals being killed, many who were stupid enough to fight the dragon, only to end up in bloodied messes on the ground. She had been stabbed, shot, however that didn't stop her from killing them. Maybe taking a bite out of their arm as she roasted them alive. Human meat wasn't all too bad. It just tasted like crap raw. She was broke, hungry and had no choice but to kill said criminals to just make sure she wasn't starving. Stealing from them was also ideal.

When she wasn't doing that, she often broke into small shops that were owned by criminals. Just to steal their booze and kill them before making her way elsewhere. They would fear her. Miiya didn't have to know what she did. Miiya didn't know what type of monster she was. All Miiya needed to know that she was alive.

The draconian stayed silent, opting to just drink herself out for the rest of the day, she just wanted rest and then proceeded to disappear when Miiya was asleep again. She needed to continue her crusade. Stormbreaker needed to become the hand of justice. She needed to be better than everybody else, she needed people to know. That same night, she managed to track down a random criminal that had gotten himself arrested by the cops, but had worked for the slave trader known by Nimrod. She managed to overpower the poor guy, kill him and dump his body near one business Nimrod owned. Obviously with a scribbled note with blood telling him that "He's next", in Stormbreaker's rushed writing. She was going to stop the slaver trader by any means needed. She repeated this over multiple days, making sure the idiot knew she wasn't playing around. She needed to be taken seriously, maybe this would piss off the bastard.

Later, in the Diamond District
Stormbreaker didn't say much after they had arrived, opting to just be silent. She hadn't much to say regarding anything, she just... wanted to be by herself. She went into the location and just started unpacking her things, still in full armor. Stormbreaker didn't like taking it off. She took it off to eat her food and drink, but the dragon was rather... silent. Then Miiya asked her the loaded question. The question that she rather didn't want Miiya to ask. "I'm fine." Came the short reply of Stormy. It's important that she doesn't get involved in this. There's no need that she needs to get involved in any of the criminal activity you've been doing.

Stormy placed her glass down on the table and just looked out over the area of Red Haven, noting how quiet it seems at night. Nothing like Spades. House was nice, but I need to go deal with that slave bastard sooner than later. Fewer people will be hurt... and those criminals. They got enough of a scare when I showed up to their doorstep and broke their legs and stole all of their money in their houses. It's blood money, sure, but it's... I could have eaten them instead.

"Don't worry about me. I'm alright. Nothing is wrong." An obvious lie, nonetheless.
Irihi Irihi
Mephisto Mephisto
 


"Trapped Under the Gaze of Nimrod"

#7f7f7f

| Irihi Irihi | Cutiefly Cutiefly |​



If the Red Moon governed the nights in Red Haven, the Black Sun oversaw the days. It was a sphere of shadows hanging in the air, crossing the horizon with diabolical certainty. Some swore that it moved. Some were taken into wards because they thought they could hear voices coming from the writhing mass of darkness. The ring of light surrounding it never abated. It either eclipsed another star or swallowed it entirely, the last dying embers of illumination still unable to reach out to where the city rested in-between reality and oblivion.

Nimrod woke up every single day early enough to watch the exchange. The Red Moon was ever locked in tandem with a cruel, dark sky. The Black Sun inverted this coloration, staining everything a sinister crimson. He would stare out from his penthouse apartment window as the bedroom behind him was bathed in the harrowing experience.

He was a tall man, pale as a corpse and yet with definition to himself. He prided himself on a great many things. One of those was his extensive morning routine. He would strip naked, often not even wearing clothes to bed at all, and exercise. From 3AM to 4AM, he would undergo an extensive routine of stretches and calisthenics. He would hang from specialized bars installed in his bedroom, moving independently of what gravity imposed on him. Repetitive motions worked, though he often challenged himself to greater feats of flexibility and athleticism. He was gifted with a godly power, after all. He did not have to stop at merely using himself as training weight - but it worked as a warmup.

From 4AM to 5AM he would bask in the afterglow of his own sweat. He chose to sit opposite the rising sun, for if he did not watch it then how else would it rise? His deep meditations were his and his alone. He wouldn't move. He wouldn't breathe without rhythm, without a purpose. Each time he would inhale slowly, he would hold it. He had to. It was his air to breathe, to take. Everything he did was for himself. He didn't need to rush. He didn't need to waste. He was his own god, the god of slavery and suffering bold enough to rip his empire from the fresh wound of a weeping city. That was long ago.

This was now.

Each time he inhaled and concentrated, he would force his muscles to activate. Every single one, sometimes a hundred times per second, twitching and spasming waiting to be released in a way his deeper mind desired. He imagined how it felt to strangle an insubordinate. They dared to defy him, they dared to stand up to him. He imagined a thousand rebellions. He imagined squashing every single one. No training regimen could satisfy the sheer haze of bloodlust that caused his sweat to sizzle. His skin popped with the hatred. His muscles ached, screamed for reprieve. Yet he would refuse.

He listened to the agony of a million souls he fed to the fires of industry and exhaled. The sun rose with his consent and his consent alone. He smiled as he stood. He always did. His muscles, roiling and surging with impossible power, locked into place. He looked at himself in the full-body mirror he possessed at the foot of his bed. Every shred of fat he accumulated from his lavish lifestyle disappeared. He was a sculpted statuesque man, stronger than anyone else he could think of. He knew how to control every fiber of his being. He knew how to explode with enough strength to topple a skyscraper. He knew he could rip concrete blocks in half. He had done it before, and so much worse. He often relived a memory of tying a rod of steel rebar across a runaway slave's throat as if it were a necklace.

He kept pulling until he went completely through. He didn't even care about the details that weren't the vertebrae surrendering to the crushing power of the makeshift noose.

From 5AM to 6AM he would shower and apply many varieties of skincare products. He meticulously kept appearances, even to the point of having his clothes tailored specifically to his demands as he performed his daily rituals. He never took a day off. The slaves keeping his clothes from waning in quality were perhaps the most endangered of all. Living there, in the same apartment, locked within the same boundaries as their slaver and master... the terror of such a thing could only be guessed at. The true extent of his depravity was hidden long ago under the mountains of corpses lining his pockets.

By the time he was really - truly - ready, he chose to stand in his bedroom until 7AM. It was then that a knock came to his door. Business only began when he decided it. Sometimes it would be 7AM, sometimes it would be later. He never told anyone because he thought it would be at least a bit entertaining to terrorize those he kept on a leash. None of them could risk being late, so gambling on whether or not he was in the mood to be on normal time was the best they could do.

"S-Sir?" a voice quivered behind the hand-carved portal.

He smiled. He swept his hair back, combing it instantly with his sharp talons. He departed from the loving embrace of his own reflection and adjusted his tie. He opened the door. A frail young woman was standing in front of him, her hands pursed together in terror as her large eyes looked down. She dared not to meet his gaze. It was tender, yet promised nothing of the sort.

"Amelia! What is it, sweetie?" Nimrod opened the door a bit wider.

She was here to make his bed. He knew exactly what she needed to do.

"M-Master... N-Nimrod," the dread in her voice dripped like a leaky faucet as she spoke.

He stood there, waiting for her to finish, blocking her from just getting it done with and leaving to be away from him.

"Y... Your bedsheets... need to be changed... s-sir,"

"There you go! I knew you could do it," he clapped for her and leaned into her ear.

She could feel his sharp teeth clicking less than an inch from her face. The blood in her throat froze and her heart skipped a beat.

"You forgot to say 'please', though~" he teased her.

Amelia swallowed dryly. She was going to die.

She was going to die.

She didn't know if that was a blessing or a curse.

He always taunted them with the "rules of the world". Death meant nothing. They'd be recycled. They'd be found again. They'd be caught again. He'd find them. He'd keep them forever. She swallowed again.

She didn't want to die.

Not again.

"P... Please, s-sir," she stammered.

"Hmmm? Go on~"

"Please... let A-Amelia clean your f-filthy bedsheets s-sir... you don't d-deserve to w-wallow in the filth of this world... o-only we do,"

"And that's becaaauuuse~?"

"W-We... are a-animals... meant for s-slaughter... and M-Master Nimrod takes care of h-his f-favorites,"

He pulled back and gave her a pat on the head. She flinched, feeling the insurmountable power radiating from even the slightest gesture. He could crush her head like a grape. He could kill all of them in a second. He enjoyed seeing them squirm under that fact. He wasn't real. None of this was real. She was dreaming. It was all some horrible nightmare.

But she opened her eyes as he was still standing there, his smile forever burned into the back of her mind.

"Good girl~"

He stepped around her and went on his way, grabbing his suitcase from another house slave and his coat from a third. They were all in a row, fully expecting Amelia to die. Their hollowed expressions were witness to many of the bedroom slaves being killed... or worse... merely for knocking at a time impossible to know or for forgetting their mantra of self-mutilation. Amelia gasped on her tears once Nimrod left the apartment. She would change the sheets and go to cry somewhere else away from the others, the fact that she was still alive more of an insult than a mercy.



He always whistled as he walked to the office. The streets were often crowded, but people knew his stature. They could feel the crushing air of opulence and torment surrounding him like an impending natural disaster. They moved out of his way. Cars and horses stopped.

"M-Morning Mister Nimrod!"

"Have a good day!"

"Pardon me, Mister Nimrod!"

They were all so polite.

He walked through the revolving door, his stride carrying with in the imposing swagger necessary for maintaining such a monolithic testament to his hubris and delusions of grandeur. The lobby itself was immense, lined with gold and silver, with thick dark wood furnishings and imported colored tapestries from the far West and East. The Tower of Babel rose like a challenge to the deities of the world - and he wouldn't have it any other way.

That is, however, until he noticed that the phone lines were busier than usual. He tilted his head, trying to assess what was happening.

"Good morning, Mister Nimrod," the secretary replied to his presence.

"Morning, Dolores," he responded without looking at her.

His stern grey eyes were elsewhere.

"Say, Dolores, what's with all the commotion this morning?"

Dolores slid a packet towards him. He opened it and thumbed through the many photographs inside.

"Some of your lesser agents were found dead throughout the city and piled near some smaller recruitment centers, no big deal. Probably some dumb kids playing a prank,"

Nimrod dismissed her optimistic take on the situation and slid the envelope into his coat pocket.

"Well whatever it is, have it looked into extensively. I don't want anyone dead, least of all some dumb kids," he smiled.

Dolores raised an eyebrow at her boss. He seemed entertained by her inquisitive look.

"Oh, you know me so well. Bring 'em on down. Let's give them a tour of the place. I love meeting adoring fans~"

"Yes sir,"

Nimrod left the desk and went to his top-floor office, leaving Dolores with all the phone calls and paperwork necessary to conduct a District-wide manhunt for the person or persons responsible for advertising themselves so brazenly. As soon as he got to where he needed to be, he slammed the door shut and sat in his chair, turning it around to face the window. He cradled his fingers together as he contemplated exactly what he wanted to do about this vigilante trying to spoil his fun.


 

Miiya got quiet after that. Well, quieter. She made another flight out to a gelato place, since Stormbreaker never said “no” to food. As the pair silently downed the sweet frozen concoction, Miiya reflected on her afternoon with Essbee, recasting the woman’s stoic silence in a more sinister--and likely truer light.

Essbee’s not zen; her chakras are so off-kilter she just… doesn’t talk. Miiya thought to herself. The Aerial had been so wrapped up in he own world these past few weeks that she had been more than willing to write the changes, the signs of damage, and the unsettling behaviors of her old friend off as something simple and easy. That had been childish, and Miiya wasn’t a child anymore.

Later that night, as she lay, sleepless, in the bed she had reassembled in the larger of the two bedrooms, Miiya tried to resolve what to do. I’ve gotta find a way to help Arashi, she resolved. But how? And where the hell was she going to find the time to--I dunno, drag her to therapy?--Miiya pressed her face into the pillow at the thought of trying to pierce Essbee’s emotional armor. She might as well try chewing through her scales with her blunt teeth for all the success she was going to have.

After the concert. Miiya resolved, hating herself for putting that before her friend’s mental well-being. But it’s my big break--Arashi will understand, she justified to herself, not believing a bit of it. Stormy’s been fine--okay--she’s survived these last seven years without my help. She can make it another two weeks.

I’m a bad friend.

She needed to sleep. She couldn’t afford not to, just like she couldn’t afford this afternoon, this apartment--everything that was supposed to have fixed SB, but only just scratched her surface, hinting at the deep damage underneath. Just… just hold on a little longer, Arashi. She thought, and willed herself to sleep.

And then, almost like no time at all had passed, the night of her concert arrived. Miiya had been absolutely buried in work, preparing. She’d leaned heavily on her manager, dragging Stormbreaker all over Red Haven, sending her on errands, occupying as much of the draconic woman’s time as she possibly could to keep her from doing whatever she did when she disappeared and came back hurt . It didn’t work. SB still went out on her nightly raids; she was just more tired, sloppier, less careful than she might have managed to be if Miiya hadn’t been riding her so hard.

And Nimrod’s minions took note.

Miiya’s Big Break Like the days before it, the concert was a whirlwind of nonstop activity. The posters and playbills were barely dry. The marquee with her name in lights was still being worked on just minutes before the show.

Miiya’s bleeding calluses were wrapped in flesh-colored tape. She had stopped Vivian from making any more adjustments to her wing picks two days prior, so they could practice like they would play. The motherfretting drummer was TWO DAYS new to the band, and every song was shaky. Miiya hit her stride three out of four times, but that was not nearly good enough.

The birdgirl leaned forward as her makeup artist tacked a couple more glittering metallic flowers to her heavily-roughed cheek. Over the past week she had gotten used to her world being framed in the darkness of the stage mascara--wearing full makeup day in and day out; she needed to for interviews and promotional events, but she also needed to get used to the feel and sensation of not being herself. Makeup had been an unimaginable luxury of the noble classes in Ryke, and most of Miiya’s barding had been playing street corners or bars with an acoustic down-home country girl motif.

Man, this is sure different. She thought, for the thousandth time, as one of her wardrobe assistants adjusted the strapless bodice of her sparkly drop-waist outfit. It was weird having other people putting your makeup and clothing together, and then constantly adjusting and tweaking it. “I look like a cupcake.” Miiya answered a question from one of her helpers. Then she waved a hand as they repeated themselves. Miiya’s opinion of her look didn’t matter, they just wanted to be sure the outfit wasn’t interfering with her ability to perform. “It’s fine. Yeah, I can get enough breath.” she replied. I mean, I practically pop out of this thing when I inhale, but I guess that’s the point. She thought as she looked over her glitter-dusted shoulder.

She was stage left, out of sight of the crowd of concert-goers thanks to the blazing stage lights. She could see that the venue wasn’t completely packed--she was a new name, after all. Yes, her agent--and maybe the hidden hand of her patron--had ginned up a tsunami of buzz about the trending new starlet and her debut concert, but this was one of Red Haven’s biggest concert amphitheaters and the crowd was easily a thousand times larger than any she had ever played before.

Miiya felt a moment of panic. Holy shu, I can’t do this! All new songs? Brand new band? I’m going to bomb! Her feathers louvered involuntarily.

The uncertainty surrounding the concert was part of the draw. It was unique--a headliner never came out with fully new material and a new star never ever gave a performance without even a single cover. Half the crowd out there was here hoping to go home talking about how they were there when the new idol splashed onto the scene. The other half were hoping to see her implode.

And I don’t know who’s going home disappointed. Miiya tried a breathing exercise to get her panic under control. She looked over to the impassive Stormbreaker, waiting further back in the wings, hoping for an encouraging gesture.

Too late.

It’s time.

Miiyas feet wouldn’t move. It took a push from her agent and a “You got this.” That had the undercurrent of I’m glad it’s you and not me getting thrown to the wolves in the tone, that got Miiya walking tremulously out in front of the monster crowd.

Whoo, it was quiet. The stares of ten thousand sets of eyes, the rustle of arms being folded, the--just the sense--feeling of thousands of brows furrowing. Her entrance should have been splashier. She should have listened to her agent.

[Performance F(D)]

Each Dice:
1= Drops 1 grade.
2/3 = Raises 1 grade.
4 = Raises 2 grades.

Result: [Performance F(A)] - EPIC!

Miiya swallowed and made her way center stage under the glare of a single brilliant spotlight. Oh frett… She leaned into the microphone standing there. “I’m… uh, M-Miiya.”

It wasn’t on. Or if it was on, the pickup was far, far too low. A rustle swept over the crowd like wind over a field of grass.

Shooting a wide-eyed look to her stage crew, Miiya strummed a chord and tried to start into a quiet ballad.

A groan of disappointment from thousands of throats rolled like distant thunder, accompanied by shouts of; ”We can’t hear you!!

Miiya froze.

And then her strap broke. She stumbled, trying to catch her guitar, knocking over the microphone and ending up on her knees, guitar to one side, fallen mic to the other. It was a disaster--an unmitigated disaster. Miiya’s wings swept forward, tenting over her in an instinctive protective measure, hiding her from ten thousand stares as she flattened herself, trying to disappear.

There was just a second’s space before the boos began; a collective inhale of breath as five thousand sighs and five thousand jeers were readied.

The sad little pile of spotlighted feathers on stage shifted. Under it, out-of-sight Miiya worked frantically. She got the strap looped, she got her foot in the stirrup, gathered herself, tensed,

The curtain came up at full speed, exposing the backup band. It seemed like a desperate last-ditch intervention. The brand-new drummer gave a count-off. ”A-ONE… TWO… THREE…!!”

Miiya exploded from the floor with a wingbeat-assisted leap, her sparkly tear-away bodice remaining hooked to the stage--revealing the black bodysuit underneath--as she ripped free. She kicked Dirge’s mechanical amplifier to its max and belted out the full-throated howl that started her first real song.

Flames and sparks exploded from the speakers. The crowd ducked--some actually throwing themselves to the floor--at the shockwave of sound. Miiya cut the ribbons that had burst from her wings even as she hit the chord of the second bar and launched into actual lyrics. Don’t get tangled! Don’t crash! DO BREAK A LEG!!
 
Last edited:
After the Show “Thanks! Thank yew!” Miiya was surrounded by the throng outside the venue’s side gate, despite Stormbreaker’s best efforts. “It’s okay Essbee!” She reassured her manager as the Draconian bulled through the crowd and started pushing fans back with her tail.

Miiya put a hand on the large woman’s shoulder. “Stop, Essbee! Somebody’s gonna fall and get trampled! I’m okay, really! I can fly if I need to! She laughed, still high with the euphoria of her world-class performance. “Can you call the limo around? Otherwise we’ll be here all night! She patted her friend’s arm and shooed her off so she could get back to shaking hands and signing playbills.

The show had been everything she had ever dreamed. Other than a blown-out speaker and one of her bandmates turning an ankle, the concert had gone off without a hitch. Miiya wanted to believe it had been all her, and she more-or-less could. Yes, Mephisto’s long shadow had been present, but besides putting a little extra oomph into her heaviest stanzas, or keeping her upright when she stumbled over a misplaced D-ring, Miiya felt like her epic performance had been all her.

Not every song was going to be a complete hit; she could tell from some of the muted receptions mid-show, but what a way to launch my debut album! It had been insanely daring, and the huge risk was clearly going to pay off. Miiya’s publicist had been literally in tears--almost unable to speak--after the show. I guess I wasn’t the only one who was tense, the birdgirl reflected as she tossed away the empty marker and caught the fresh one someone tossed her so she could keep signing posters.

“Adrian!! Hey Adrian!! Miiya caught sight of a familiar face on the outskirts of the throng. “Guys, make a space--let my friend through!” she used her prodigious lung capacity to get the cloud of well-wishers to part.

God, this night couldn’t get any better. Miiya had had absolutely NO time for any sort of romance--she had basically ghosted Adrian after their encounter--these past weeks. She had been afraid that he wouldn’t come to her show, or that he’d get the wrong impression that she was some sort of stuck-up starlet and keep his distance. Vivian and Stormbreaker were already here. Adrian was the third person she really wanted at the after-party. And the after-after party.

Miiya felt a hand on her shoulder as she tried pushing forward to reach her friend. “Just a second, I’ll sign yer--h-hey!” She had expected just to beg off from an overenthusiastic fan, but the unsmiling face of the suited man--men, actually--stilled the happy words in her throat. A phalanx of them had cut through the crowd. What Miiya had thought was the sound of the limousine arriving was actually a convoy of large black vehicles. More suits--heavies; Miiya wasn’t so far removed from her past that she had forgotten the way criminal muscle carried themselves--were pushing clear a path between Miiya and the waiting transport. “Wha--what is this?! she cried, as she was dragged away.

What it was was unexpected. Miiya was too shocked at the sudden change to put up more than token resistance as she was bundled into the nearest vehicle. “No! Stop! Let GO of me!!” She cried. “ESSBEE!!” Miiya called out to her friend, though she couldn’t see if the Draconian was near.

Token resistance, in Miiya’s case, was a [Thunderpunch E] that laid out one of her abductors even as six more dogpiled her into the van and shut the door. The motor of the conveyance roared and it pulled away with a screeching of tires.

The other suited goons were slower to withdraw. None of them had pulled out any firearms, but the happy crowd had turned into a worried mob. The concert-goers were hurrying to get away from whatever this was, asking each other if that was supposed to happen. Was this the singer’s over-enthusiastic security detail extracting her, or something more sinister?

Miiya’s roadies, security, and the venue employees present, were in no mood to go toe-to-toe with the remaining heavies, as they started to withdraw. Playing the hero in Red Haven was a quick way to find yourself pushing up daisies.
 
Stormbreaker


zWB8Br4.png

Commissioned Art by Feerocomics. Art is here.

Real Name: Arashi Sato
Height: 6"3
Titles: Human, Draconian, Puppet, Kungfu Fighter, Pro Hero
Racial:
Human -
Normal human, plain and featureless. A blank slate full of potential.
Draconian - Humans with dragon heritage descended from the dragonborn. The bloodline is heavily diluted, leaving their appearance mostly human, but it grants them superior physical abilities, superhuman healing, magical aptitude, and, more rarely, partial draconic transformation.

Society - General:
Puppet -
Character was just a means to an end for grander or more influential figures. Whether by choice or by design, they dance to the whims of others. Character is more easily manipulated by others. Character is less responsible for the wrongs they commit.
Kungfu Fighter - Character was part of a street brawl.

Skill Related:
Pro Hero -
Character is a former pro hero in their pre-isekai'd life. They protected innocents and kept the peace.
Stats:
Strength | B Grade
Precision | F Grade
Intelligence | D Grade
Vitality | B Grade
Speed | D Grade

Abilities Active:
N/A - will be spoilered if ability
Abilities Used: N/A - will be spoilered if ability
Passives:
Regeneration | F Grade | 6 Posts
Composed | F Grade | 6 Posts
[Resilient] [Fatigue, Pain, Fear] | She still feels them but won't suffer from these three effects.
Possessions:
Color: #824ca3 | Link to Sheet

Equipment:
  • Magic Catalyst [Organ] | E Grade | 28 Points
    • Fire today, who knows tomorrow? Good thing it’s fireproof. Probably.
  • Armored Dragon's Armor [Heavy Iron Armor] | F Grade | 7 Points
    • Perfect for any vigilante trying to look menacing and mysterious on a budget. Although the paint on it isn't the best. Caution: may come with the side effect of looking dark and brooding.
  • Natural Weapon [Fists] | F Grade | 14 Points
    • Knock, knock! Who’s there? Justice!​
  • Iron Greatsword | F Grade | 7 Points
    • It’s a sword. Big, heavy, and... not much else to say. If you need to slice through a bunch of stuff, this'll do the job. Though it’s not very good at making small talk.​

Stormbreaker was fine. She told herself that over multiple days that was she fine. She had to be. Stormbreaker was a hero. A proud hero with nothing to lose. But even when Miiya was trying to get her to stop her from doing her crusade, she had bigger... better plans. She was going to get to the source of all evil, the slave trader. So she did. She started attacking bigger targets, ones with more power. But those began to take more a toll out on the dragon. She was tired, more injured. Every time she kept killing people, she'd rack up damage to herself. She couldn't let Miiya see how broken and damaged she was, so she just kept it to herself. She needed to be strong.

Her goal was to this by herself. Something she would come to make her regret her actions later on. She kept to herself most of the time. Nobody else had to be involved in whatever she was doing. That's what she kept telling herself.

Then came the night of Miiya's concert. All things went well, but she was tired and just emotionally drained and possibly slightly drunk. The draconian didn't say much other than, walk around in that armor of hers as she played bodyguard and protector. Whatever Miiya planned after wasn't happening as she witnessed her friend get held captive in front of her. Something in Stormbreaker just... snapped in that moment. And fury was the only thing in her eyes. This wasn't Miiya's regular security. Stormy herself knew that.

This was something else. Something relating to possibly the sloppy hunting she was doing. That same bastard whose goons she was hunting down. She felt every instance of her body just erupt in pure anger. "BASTARDS! GIVE ME MIIYA BACK!" she shouted, as she got into a combat stance.

One goon just looks over at her directly. Smirking all the while. "Nimrod sends his regards. You've should have known to not mess with us. You should give up while you have the chance. You can't stop us."

"Who said I have to stop you? All I have to do is beat the shit out of you." The draconian in full armor, pulled off her cape, throwing it to the ground. "All I have to do is make you regret you wish you ever were born." Stormbreaker lunged forward, fighting off the guards one by one. It lasted a while, the whole fight lasted a while. She managed to beat up a few, but at that point she had more than enough wounds to kill a person, but she just continued to stand up.

She stood there, exhausted. They weren't as tired as she was. Her armor was broken, beaten up, and she struggled to catch her breath. Blood dripped from her wounds and from the cracks in her armor. Half of her helmet was destroyed and there was blood dripping from her jaw and mouth. Her wounds weren't healing fast enough. She had been too tired, too exhausted to heal properly, and her regeneration wasn't keeping up.

Even with all of her strength, she couldn't win this. She had taken about half of them down, but the other hand was still standing. These weren't weak goons like she had been dispatching, this was something worse. Much worse. She didn't have the strength to take them out, but she could at least attempt to take them out before she fell down onto the ground. Or so she hoped.

"Give it up already. You can barely stand. So much for all that rage, you're just a weakling-" came the voice of one of the goons as she attempted to push their face into the ground, but that was cut short as she was suddenly shot directly through her armor by a bullet from a surpressed weapon, and then another... it wasn't enough to kill her, Stormbreaker coughed up blood as she stopped in her tracks, her hands covered in blood as she looked down in her wounds. She wasn't dead, not yet.

She felt weak suddenly, her vision going blurry. Was she poisoned? Potentially, but her rage was the only thing that kept her alive in that moment. She took one more step forward, tasting blood in mouth and fell over. One of the goons kicked her in the ribs to make sure she was out. She was. She didn't seem to react after that, near death and out of energy completely.

Irihi Irihi Mephisto Mephisto
 


"Trapped Under the Gaze of Nimrod"

#7f7f7f

| Irihi Irihi | Cutiefly Cutiefly |​



As the unmarked van disappeared with its victim, the crowd dispersed with a mixture of apprehension and disappointment. Miiya had just gotten her start as a rising sensation. She had fans. She had admirers. She had people who attended her shows, sent her letters, and wrote poems about how they felt about her songs. There were tears. Some children cried, exposed to the harsh reality of their world. Anyone could disappear. Anyone could vanish. Anyone could be stolen away, even right in front of hundreds of witnesses. They realized quickly that the time and place for such atrocities needed not to be in a dark alley, surrounded by enemies.

Their idol was snatched without so much as a warning. Her truest friend and defender, the dragon Stormbreaker, had many faults of her own. She kept secrets. She lied for the sake of keeping the unpleasant truth from boiling to the surface. She even killed. Criminals still had families to feed. She made orphans of their children, inspiring a new generation of lost souls that would seek out the same protection their parents enjoyed. It was a vicious cycle. It was an endless parade. The nightmare Stormbreaker found herself in did not end with defeat at the concrete floor.

After all, her bruises and broken bones were nothing to the pain of failing her friend.

Miiya had grown up so much. It seemed like just yesterday they were having goofy adventures together, learning about the world and coming to terms with what they were able to do in it. Ever since they reunited, however, things... were different. Miiya had been approachable, even going so far as to be downright protective of Stormbreaker. Yet when the subject turned back onto her... she bristled. Defensive measures were taken, strategic conversation pieces that aimed to distract or flip the topic back onto Stormbreaker. Did she know? She couldn't have. Stormbreaker might have been able to twist and bend the truth for the moment, but eventually it had to come out.

But it was too late. She was gone. She poked the hornet's nest by interfering with Nimrod's business. He might have had a rotten soul. He might have needed to be taken down. But to challenge a Patron and expect nothing other than complete disaster was a fool's errand. The weight of her sins compounded with the fact that she might not even see Miiya again. She was useless, laying on the ground like a wounded dog.

People passed her by, leaving her to her condition. They had no place to disturb the status quo. Touching her would mean risking Nimrod's wrath. They had mouths to feed, they didn't want to die. Only one approached her out of the hundreds that scattered to the four winds. He knelt and looked at her, a warm smile spreading across his face. He wore a simple suit, nothing too out of the ordinary. His shoes were polished. His hair was pinned into a long black ponytail. His green eyes met hers.

It was then that she would know.

"Long time no see," Amon spoke.

"Arashi~"



Meanwhile, Miiya would wake up in a lavish apartment. It was the very image of luxury, something that would immediately remind her of Giovanna's place of residence - yet obviously not as grandiose. There were soft couches, a fully-stocked kitchen, a grand piano, all of which stood out as collector's pieces, items of immense wealth and extravagance that even the wealthiest families in Red Haven would struggle to afford.

And yet... she knew she was trapped.

The windows, while offering a view challenged by few, would not open or even so much as shudder against even the strongest blow or weapon. The only door to the outside was locked and sealed with powerful magic. It led into a series of hallways none could navigate outside of the wardens of the prison, for a prison it was. Nimrod kept his best and brightest here. This was the method by which he broke their minds, complete and total isolation. Though they had everything they needed to survive, they also had everything they needed to end their lives if they chose to do so. The caveat - however - was that not even death was an escape.

The twisting energies of the Tower of Babel thrummed with a storm of eldritch power. Once taken here, Nimrod commanded both body and soul. It was a beacon of his cruelty, highlighted by the permanent atmospheric change hanging in the sky. Looming above his portion of Red Haven, a sign of his unholy attachment, was the Black Sun. It usually only flickered into existence once a Patron decided it to do so. Some whispered that it was the source of their power, summoned to the unreality of Red Haven out of forbidden magic in order to wreak apocalyptic destruction.

Yet Nimrod showered his subjects with its un-light, bathing them in its hatred. They feared him, for the Black Sun was a reflection of his spite. His true nature boiled along the ebony solar flares licking and crawling along the atmosphere.

He did not knock. He appeared where he wanted to go. He smiled down at Miiya, cornering her despite her ability to fly. The sheer weight of his presence pinned her in place. Much like Mephisto, he eyed the nape of her neck through her skull.

"Hello there, chickadee~!" he chuckled, the wording eerily familiar to Miiya.

Did he know? He had to have known. It didn't matter if he knew. Did he want what Marek wanted? No, even now Miiya could feel the anger behind his cold grey gaze. Yet it wasn't pointed at her. Nothing was. No blades were at her throat, yet the crushing anonymity of his rage smothered everything else. He couldn't just kill her. He could erase the fact that she ever existed. Stormbreaker would be thrown into the streets as a raving lunatic, screaming for help - help for her lost friend.

Help that would never come.

Her survival instincts would tell her to call for Giovanna, for Mephisto, for anyone she could think of who could fight this monster on even terms. He held her by the head, cradling her skull. She could feel the immense power in his fingers, something she never knew before. He was holding back most of what he was capable of doing. Everything beneath his skin tensed. He wanted to break her apart.

"Sorry about bringing you here on such short notice," he wasn't.

"But you wouldn't happen to know anything about a certain... dragon woman, would you? Goes by the name... gosh, what was it?"

He tapped his finger against his chin, crossing his arms and leaning against the kitchen counter. He knew it. He knew her name very well. But if he learned anything, mixing fear with insult provided quite the intriguing reaction.

"Starcrusher? Strafedrifter? Streamglider?"



"Stormbreaker,"

He was completely different from the frail scientist she knew before. He had a new body, one he inhabited after his presumed death. He seemed immensely proud of himself, beaming with energy that matched his youthful appearance. He pressed a finger against her forehead.

"Right now you might be thinking of ways to kill me again. Your little escape plan with Mephisto certainly made a mess of my Monster Factory. I wanted revenge at first, but then I thought about it. You only ever wanted to be strong for your friends, right? You never cared about what else that entailed. You don't even care about killing people anymore. I can't believe you used to be a hero. Are all of them from your world as savage as you?"

He chuckled slightly from the thought, pushing some of her scales aside as his finger pierced the skin underneath. This didn't hurt, but she would feel the sensation of his finger entering her skull. She was too injured to move or fight back, after all. Even then, her body was forcibly pushed down by his psychic presence. The ground under her shuddered with the weight. Small stones and debris scattered away from them as he entered her mind yet again.

"Don't worry. I'm giving you what you always wanted. Consider it a gift. You want enough strength to save the people you love and keep them safe forever. But you never told me to keep your personality intact. Your mind is often considered collateral in your exploits, so why stop now?"

He pierced her brain. He psionically linked with her entire nervous system, turning her muscles into a firestorm of power and energy. Her thoughts were clouded with nothing except for anger. He stepped away, admiring his work as her body twisted and mutated into a hulking mass of strength beyond even her own control.

"Sad to say that your friends are all dead or gone. Would you like to blindly chase after the one person who hasn't abandoned you? She's at the Tower of Babel. Remember that as your mind succumbs to its own volcanic rage,"

He even pointed in the direction she needed to go.

"Or don't. It would be a pity to waste all of this on rescuing one person. So go on, be strong! Be the monster you were always meant to be,"

He smiled amidst the inevitable devastation she would cause.


 
Stormbreaker


zWB8Br4.png

Commissioned Art by Feerocomics. Art is here.

Real Name: Arashi Sato
Height: 6"3
Titles: Human, Draconian, Puppet, Kungfu Fighter, Pro Hero
Racial:
Human -
Normal human, plain and featureless. A blank slate full of potential.
Draconian - Humans with dragon heritage descended from the dragonborn. The bloodline is heavily diluted, leaving their appearance mostly human, but it grants them superior physical abilities, superhuman healing, magical aptitude, and, more rarely, partial draconic transformation.

Society - General:
Puppet -
Character was just a means to an end for grander or more influential figures. Whether by choice or by design, they dance to the whims of others. Character is more easily manipulated by others. Character is less responsible for the wrongs they commit.
Kungfu Fighter - Character was part of a street brawl.

Skill Related:
Pro Hero -
Character is a former pro hero in their pre-isekai'd life. They protected innocents and kept the peace.
Stats:
Strength | B Grade
Precision | F Grade
Intelligence | D Grade
Vitality | B Grade
Speed | D Grade

Abilities Active:
N/A - will be spoilered if ability
Abilities Used: N/A - will be spoilered if ability
Passives:
Regeneration | F Grade | 6 Posts
Composed | F Grade | 6 Posts
[Resilient] [Fatigue, Pain, Fear] | She still feels them but won't suffer from these three effects.
Possessions:
Color: #824ca3 | Link to Sheet

Equipment:
  • Magic Catalyst [Organ] | E Grade | 28 Points
    • Fire today, who knows tomorrow? Good thing it’s fireproof. Probably.
  • Armored Dragon's Armor [Heavy Iron Armor] | F Grade | 7 Points
    • Perfect for any vigilante trying to look menacing and mysterious on a budget. Although the paint on it isn't the best. Caution: may come with the side effect of looking dark and brooding.
  • Natural Weapon [Fists] | F Grade | 14 Points
    • Knock, knock! Who’s there? Justice!​
  • Iron Greatsword | F Grade | 7 Points
    • It’s a sword. Big, heavy, and... not much else to say. If you need to slice through a bunch of stuff, this'll do the job. Though it’s not very good at making small talk.​

She felt the cold ground beneath her as she struggled to get back up. The draconian laid in her own blood. Nobody dared to help her. She had failed to help Miiya. She had failed to protect the only person she cared about. What a failure of a hero. She couldn't even bandage her wounds up. She was better off dying here and now, but something about Miiya being captured made at least stay conscious for now. Then along came some stranger, as her vision blurred in and out. She didn't recognize them at first, but then it clicked. This was... the same bastard that hurt her. The same one that experimented on her.

She wanted to get angry at him being alive and then kill him again, but she lacked the strength to even do that. Couldn't even lift her head up to even react to what he was doing. Let alone barely talk. "I'm not yours... I told you.. I'm..." She managed to speak out loud enough as he got into her mind. Stormbreaker tried her best to fight it off, but she felt it. She felt her anger. She felt it so deeply. She feels the anger so deeply in her body.

Unable to stop the villain that killed her family. Unable to do anything right. The regrets. The anger she faced. Stormy felt it all build until she felt it deep in her bones, deep in her mind. She couldn't do anything right. She couldn't do anything worth fighting for.

She felt like fighting, but what more was there to fight? She couldn't fight the person who experimented on her. It had taken a toll on her mind greatly, chipping her way at her sanity over time. Until the point where she started breaking. She was driven to kill and eat people, doing things she wasn't meant to do. Dispensing people via her own brand of justice. It was never enough.

Do you even want to save her? That damned voice again, the same one that told her to kill Amon originally. It taunted her, wanted her to be weak, pathetic and just to give in whatever it was doing. She knew she couldn't survive without it. Give in. Give in. Give in. She kept hearing in her head, telling her to give up and let that damned anger of hers take over.

But part of her humanity was still there at that moment. She didn't want to turn fully into it. But it felt like her grip on it was slowly being destroyed. She didn't feel like a human anymore, she felt more like a beast, a wild animal that needs to be controlled by stronger people. One that can be brainwashed and controlled for their own schemes. She tried to move her own body, trying to get it to resist the changes, but her body wouldn't respond to her commands.

What the hell is this? My body won't listen to anything I do. What are you... she thought to herself. Stormbreaker growled in pain as she tried her best to even resist what she was happening. She was completely at the mercy of her anger now, and her humanity was fading quickly. Soon they wouldn't be anything of her left, nothing more than a monster of Amon's own design. Then it happened. Stormbreaker gave up, giving herself up to the anger she had against everything. She felt the draconic rage fully take over, changing her body as well with it, making her draconic traits prominent than before, more scales on her body overall. In her eyes, they were nothing but fury, no other emotion running through her head, no more resistance, no more hatred.

This world deserved to burn down to ash. This world took everything from her. This world... it was going to suffer, all of it in hellfire. She was going to start with that bastard Nimrod first.

However, she did have to wait till her regeneration kicked in to feel the full effects of it, as it did, making her eventually to the Tower where Miiya was held. She'd pay no mind ot Amon after this, as all she wanted was revenge about Nimrod. But first she wanted to go insane on his goons and kill many of them before starting on the leader.
Irihi Irihi Mephisto Mephisto
 

Dumped unceremoniously into the strangest and most opulent jail cell she could have imagined, Miiya had passed some time exploring her surroundings. As expected, the windows were impenetrable. Some unfortunate handyman was going to have to putty, plug, and re-drill the holes where Miiya had ripped down the curtain rods to see if *they* could smash through the glass.


“Nope.” The Aerial girl looked at the bent and battered steel rod and the score marks she had managed to put in the--whatever it was. Not glass, certainly. Miiya could break glass. “Yfretting magic.” she groused.

Before she could destroy too much more of the apartment’s furnishings, he had appeared. She hadn’t even heard her cell door open or close, but she turned, and suddenly he was there, the weight of his presence crushing her, flattening out the pique, erasing the veneer of droll macabre humor she’d been trying to maintain in order to keep a hold of herself.

Miiya didn’t do well in captivity, and only the high ceilings and distant walls let her pretend this was anything but. Because I… I… I can’t. I can’t be here--

Nimrod’s arrival was heralded by a change in the skies. When she turned to find the patron looming behind her, she beheld his countenance illuminated by the dying rays of the black sun--it’s sickly light replacing the ambers and ochers of the true sunset. The red moon--that same sinister beacon whose light had spilled into her apartment on the night of her deal with Mephisto--was rising behind Nimrod, haloing him with its carmine glow.

He was terrifying and kinda breathtaking in his presence. As he stalked and talked, the Patron carried himself with the assurance of one who was ever in, ever had been, and ever would be commander of his surroundings. Miiya shrank from his touch, but found herself captured nonetheless. Her khoal-rimmed eyes widened, the dark stage mascara only accentuating the panic-wide whites around her chestnut irises. The metallic flowers tacked to her cheeks sparkled like tears.

Miiya’s mind spun with the Patron’s presence and words, or maybe it was she that was pinned in place while Nimrod commanded to spin the world around the two of them. Either way it was a dizzying whirl, and who knew where it might end?

Well, it turns out that it ended on fatalism. Here she was, gripped by a power from which even Mephisto’s Long Shadow hid; the power of a monster man used to getting his way.

With contrarian suicidal abandon, Miiya decided she didn’t want him getting it. Not this time, arfline. She stayed silent, she stayed frozen, until Nimrod released her to lean against the kitchenette’s peninsula, postulating about her draconic friend.

“Okay, okay, I get it; I understand.” Miiya said, trying to keep her voice from cracking. “Look, yes, okay, yew want me to say it? Okay: ‘yer my number one fan,’ and I think that’s awesome. But, dude, if yew want my autograph, yew gotta wait in line, like everybody else.”

When Nimrod began to react Miiya cut him off. “No, I’m serious. I mean, I see you’ve got… mommy and daddy’s money; yew’ve got this cool tower, yew’ve got time for an… amazing skincare routine and for… whatever this is,” she spread her hands, indicating her captivity. “But I do not, Okay? I’ve been in stage makeup for about eight hours now, and I sweat through this thing twice before the show. That’s why there’s a line; if I spend all my time signing autographs and hanging with fans, I can’t write the awesome songs yew all love me for.” She tossed off irreverently. ”Anyway, I’ma shower.”

Nimrod had taken his hands off her, he had played the casual host. Miiya was doing her damndest to take advantage of that to put at least some imaginary distance between them. Before the Patron could stop her, she darted into the bathroom, closing the door and flattening herself against it.

She knew it was just an illusion of safety; Nimrod could crush the door as easily as her skull, but the veneer of pretend--that she was a guest and this was a civil conversation--was all that she had, and she intended to play that to the hilt. Miiya slid to the floor, her back against the door, and pressed her hands over her mouth to stifle a sob. “Mmp--” His name wouldn’t come--not in this place.

Somewhere in Red Haven a beclawed finger twitched back and forth. “Ah-ah-ah, my dear. No spoiling the surprise.”

His Long Shadow was present--it never left her--but it was obscured, deep in her core--bubbling up her throat only to glue her lips together when she tried to summon her patron.

From behind the door, Miiya got control of her voice enough to yell an answer to Nimrod’s query. [color] “Yeah, yer thinking of Stardust; my head of security; good old Dusty. She’s a naga, actually; but people mistake her for a drake pretty often. Yew want her digits? I know some guys are into snakes.”[/color] Miiya had the feeling that Nimrod could see how fearful tears were streaking her mascara, despite the walls and door between them. At least here she could lie to herself and tell her all she needed to control was her voice, because there was no way she was going to scrub the abject terror from the rest of her body language.

Vocal control. Focus on that. Miiya forced herself to her feet and actually did make it to the sink. Removing the stage makeup gave her something else to focus on--something other than the nearness of death, looming on the other side of the door. She turned on the shower to obscure the sounds of her activities. “But, dude, yew don’t have to sleep with Dusty, my head of security, to get backstage.” She grunted as she crouched and launched, a wingbeat-assisted leap allowing her to wedge herself in the shaft of the bathroom’s skylight. “Hey! This bodywash is… (yfrett)... amaze! Can yew grab me a baggie or something so I can take some home?”

She swore under her breath as she found the skylight just as impenetrable as the windows. Miiya dropped back to the bathroom floor and threw herself against the door, feeling that Nimrod’s patience was wearing thin and he was coming in. “Yfrett dude! Not NOW!!” She shouted. “What, yew nouveau riche or something!? Yer parents raise yew in a barn!? Yew don’t walk in on a lady showering!!” She snarled. “At least Giovanna knows how to be a couth host!” Miiya tried to bite back that comment, but something-- No, not something, that was Mephisto; what is he playing at?! pushed the Patron of Diamond’s name out between her teeth.

She stood back from the door and regarded it, trying to keep from hyperventilating. Can’t sound casual then… but am I really going to disrobe? She had to keep this illusion of casualness going, and she couldn’t stay in here forever--nor could she emerge in costume with dry hair. “Like I was saying; yew’ve got great product, guy! Let me take some home with me, and I’ll make sure yer backstage at my next show.”

Closing her eyes and gritting her teeth, Miiya stepped into the shower. Okay, lightning round. The Aerial had grown up washing with a half-a-bucket of cold water. She could make a reasonable impression of having scrubbed in just a few seconds under the luxurious deluge of the suite’s shower. The water was practically scalding--Miiya had it turned as hot as it would go, hoping to steam up the bathroom good and proper. She had the beginnings of another futile plan there. “WHAT?! I didn’t catch that!” she shouted, even though she was pretty sure Nimrod hadn’t said anything. Keep him talking. Control what yew can.

Okay… yfrett. Here we go. She kind of couldn’t believe she had pulled it off; getting out of her makeup, stage outfit, and actually cleaning up a little--all while under a Patron’s thumb. On one hand, she was feeling just a little proud of herself. On the other, she was terrified of the retribution. Nimrod seemed like the vindictive type, and Miiya was certain that carving out this little victory was going to cost her dearly. Still, she thought, as she gritted her teeth and grabbed the doorknob, I did it.

“Oh, Shu, dude…!” Miiya said as she emerged, clad in a robe from the bathroom, towling her short-cropped hair as an excuse to keep from locking gazes with Nimrod. “...we haven’t even been introduced! I mean, yew obviously know who I am…” Now, her gaze did rise to meet Nimrod’s. “But i have no idea who the frett yew are.” The dismissive sneer died on her lips as she withered under the Patron’s burning stare. Even so, as she swallowed against a suddenly-dry throat, a defiant spark remained in Miiya’s own gaze.
 


"Trapped Under the Gaze of Nimrod"

#7f7f7f

| Irihi Irihi | Cutiefly Cutiefly |​



The Patron, despite Miiya's best efforts, remained calm and aloof as she demanded his attention with her quips and yarns. He watched her with a small smirk crossing his lips, turning his head this way and that to accommodate for her hyperactive flurry of movement and jittering features. She was young. She was naive. He had defiance as a defensive mechanism, the trait of someone who had been methodically abused time and again only to survive by the skin of their teeth. He'd seen it before. He'd see it again. Yet for all of her chittering nonsense, she would noticed two things. Two things about Nimrod would send a signal cascading along her spine. It told her to run. It told her to hide. It screamed at her to leave the room as quickly as possible.

He never blinked. She would be speaking directly into his face, exhalations crossing his eyelashes, but he'd never so much as wince.

But the more unnerving of the two was perhaps the fact that... under certain lights... they would glow. The membrane of an alpha predator shimmered as his gaze was caught under low saturation. Much like a beast drawn from the innards of the deep forest or caves, he was there waiting for her in the cold night. As the Black Sun crawled into the sky, this was made all the more evident. He was merely biding his time.

Perhaps if she kept talking, he'd just keep standing there... watching her. Yet she knew her time was coming to a close. She had just instinctively cleaned herself just to be devoured, like a chicken plucking its own feathers and diving headfirst into boiling water. Nimrod didn't have to do a thing. Her own nervous nature allowed herself to gift him the nape of her own neck. He took hold of her hair, grinding a fistful of it between his fingers, and lifted her off the floor.

"Shut. Up," he commanded, glaring deep into her soul with those cold grey eyes of his.

"It's my turn to talk. Understand?"

He placed his other hand on her throat. Whatever she did, however she thrashed, would just slice through his clothing and expose the statuesque flesh underneath. She couldn't harm him. He plunged his thumb against her windpipe. He could have crushed it, but instead caught one of her gasps. He wanted to make it perfectly clear that he controlled her breathing now. Anything she did was governed by him now.

"Do you know what the Bible is? Animals like you probably can't even read. In the Book of Genesis, there was a great hunter who conquered everything around him and enslaved millions to build a tower to heaven. He was struck down for his hubris, but his will was never forgotten. When I died, I realized that I inherited that willpower - so I took his name,"

He squeezed Miiya's neck even more now, giving her the bare minimum of breathable air. She'd turn purple, begging for release, fighting for her life, but he wouldn't budge.

"My name is something that you're going to remember forever. I'm the man who will defy the gods. I'm the man who will build an empire on the corpses of a billion slaves. My name is Nimrod, and you're going to become part of the foundation to my own Tower of Babel,"

He threw her to the floor, but pinned her lungs in place with a polished shoe. Her sudden, deep breaths were cut short by yet more physical abuse as he squeezed her diaphragm almost completely flat.

"That is... unless you do what I say. You will do whatever I say, right~? You can at least understand that I'll do horrible things to you and everyone you love, right~?"

He laughed and removed his foot from her torso. He squatted next to her, tilting his head slightly.

"Of course you do. You're smarter than the others. You sure wasted a lot of my time. Are you waiting for someone? Anyone? You mentioned Giovanna... did she put you up to this? If she did, that's really stupid of her,"

He removed the folder from his pocket and threw the photos onto the floor for Miiya to look at.

"Did you do this? 47 of my associated are dead, 112 are hospitalized with fatal injuries. They're dropping like flies. Do you know what all of them are saying? A dragon woman attacked them. You have a dragon woman for a friend. That's one hell of a coincidence, don't you think~?"

He helped Miiya to her feet.

"Go get dressed and then we'll talk," he gestured towards the bedroom, standing in the living room with no intent of following her.

"Make sure you get all the details right, too. Wouldn't want the wrong name slipping out again~"

He gave her a wink before sitting on the couch, waiting for her to join him - not that she had a choice.



Memories of Amon faded into obscure, blinding hatred. She would not forget him, but her new obsession was costing her. She was turned into something monstrous, neither dragon nor human. Pedestrians would watch her in hushed awe, thinking her a return of the old draconic gods. Others chalked her fiery approach up to a new kind of parade decoration in preparation for Veil in Tines.

The truth never dawned on anyone. Nor did it have to. Red Haven moved around her in cyclical orbit to the suffering of everyone within its boundaries. There were moments of reprieve, but it existed as any other city. Her tears were not the only ones to have been shed. Her blood was no the only shade of scarlet spilled. Her rage, although impressive, was a product of her own stubbornness and pride.

Perhaps that was something that existed in the back of her mind. Perhaps it could never fully be smothered. But for now, it seemed righteous. It seemed to be the noble course of action. Yet this could have been avoided. Perhaps she knew that, or would know that one day. If not, then the status quo would simply carry on.

The Tower of Babel loomed before her, an obelisk of suffering. She would notice the Black Sun growing ever brighter as she approached, its own absence of light writhing under the dying illumination of something it either blocked or devoured long ago. It would not be long before she engaged in battle.

It was what she wanted. She was born for this, to be a hero, to break chains and bring the wrath of the dragon down upon all evildoers. Villains had no right to defile the world as they pleased. She would become stronger, stronger than even what Amon turned her into. This was only the beginning, a rampant explosion of power that she would master. It didn't matter how many people she killed. It didn't matter how many orphans she made. It didn't matter how many families she split apart or destroyed entirely. The lineage of evil would forever burn in her pyre.

Generations of criminals swearing vengeance upon her would meet the same end. They would all be cremated. They would all be cast to the wind. Because that's what she wanted. She wanted to purge this world - every world - of sin. Burning away even the slightest tumor meant an ideal society. It meant prosperity.

It meant peace.

...

Right?

...

The Tower of Babel was upon her - and so was the yawning abyss of her bottomless anger.


 
Stormbreaker


zWB8Br4.png

Commissioned Art by Feerocomics. Art is here.

Real Name: Arashi Sato
Age:
36 (at the time of death in previous world)
32 (currently)
68 (chronologically)
Height: 6"3
Titles: Human, Draconian, Puppet, Kungfu Fighter, Pro Hero
Racial:
Human -
Normal human, plain and featureless. A blank slate full of potential.
Draconian - Humans with dragon heritage descended from the dragonborn. The bloodline is heavily diluted, leaving their appearance mostly human, but it grants them superior physical abilities, superhuman healing, magical aptitude, and, more rarely, partial draconic transformation.

Society - General:
Puppet -
Character was just a means to an end for grander or more influential figures. Whether by choice or by design, they dance to the whims of others. Character is more easily manipulated by others. Character is less responsible for the wrongs they commit.
Kungfu Fighter - Character was part of a street brawl.

Skill Related:
Pro Hero -
Character is a former pro hero in their pre-isekai'd life. They protected innocents and kept the peace.
Stats:
Strength | A Grade
Precision | F Grade
Intelligence | D Grade
Vitality | A Grade
Speed | D Grade

Abilities Active:
N/A - will be spoilered if ability
Abilities Used: N/A - will be spoilered if ability
Passives:
Regeneration | F Grade | 6 Posts
Resilient [Fatigue, Pain, Fear] | She still feels them but won't suffer from these three effects.
Color: #824ca3 | Link to Sheet
Equipment:

  • Magic Catalyst [Organ] | E Grade | 28 Points
    • Fire today, who knows tomorrow? Good thing it’s fireproof. Probably.
  • Armored Dragon's Armor | F Grade | 7 Points
    • Perfect for any vigilante trying to look menacing and mysterious on a budget. Although the paint on it isn't the best. Caution: may come with the side effect of looking dark and brooding.
  • Natural Weapon [Fists] | F Grade | 14 Points
    • Knock, knock! Who’s there? Justice!​
  • Hero's Claymore | F Grade | 7 Points
    • It’s a sword. Big, heavy, and... not much else to say. If you need to slice through a bunch of stuff, this'll do the job. Though it’s not very good at making small talk.​

Stormbreaker made her way to the Tower of Babel, not even having a care in the world about what the civilains had to say. She was mindless, not even taking on what they said or cared to say about her. She was more than human after all. As she walked, she couldn't help but people staring at her. She needed to be the hero. She needed to free to Miiya but first she was going to kill that bastard Nimrod. But this had a price, she didn't think. She didn't think to stratgerize ahead to fight. She was acting like one of those monsters. No thoughts. Nothing. Nothing but rage. IT WOULD ALL BURN.

Later, in front of the Tower of Babel A group of thugs stood around the entrance to the tower, standing guard. They looked to be on edge, carefully holding their guns. The five of them seemed to be terrified of what was going on lately. Their friends, the people they cared about how gone missing... or ended up hospitalised. This hadn't happened in such a scale before. But worst of all, it was just the lower ranked people being affected by this. Nobody higher up was being killed. This person who was killing their friends was careful enough to not kill the higher ends. Probably because they were too much of a threat.

"So... you heard the news, right? Poor Johnny went missing last night. His kid came to ask us for help. When we got to his apartment... the body was ripped to shreds. The poor kid was horrified and kept crying for his dad." The thug said, smoking his cigarette as he threw it to the ground and snuffed it out.

The younger guy of the thugs spoke up, looking frightened. "It's been pretty scary. Greg, my cousin, is barely alive in the hospital. His arm was torn off. He's going to be taking off life support in the next few hours. This phantom is hitting us hard. Boss man can't seem to stop them. I hope to god he has a plan up his sleeve, you know."

The beast man who's cleaning his gun as she sits on a chair nearby, just looks up and down the guys. "You're all humans. That's the issue. This phantom is only targeting humans. You guys are just unlucky."

"Says the one who chases laser pointers in their free time. Tough luck coming from somebody who's a cat." The younger thug said, glaring at the catman.

The beast man’s eyes narrowed, and a low growl came from him as he slowly stood up, towering over the younger thug who had spoken. “You got a problem with me, kid?

The older thug, sensing the tension, stepped between them. “Alright, enough. We’re all on edge here. Doesn’t help to pick fights with each other. We’ve got bigger problems than cat jokes.

"You're right. We do. We have much bigger problems than some cat jokes. We were told to keep on watch, right? For Stormbreaker?" That beastman said. The others all looked at him with a glance. "What?"

"Don't say that name again. The elite grunts already murked her earlier. She's dead. Thank god for that." The older guy pulled out cigar out and began to smoke it, lighting it up with a lighter he took out of his pocket. "Shot her with so many bullets, she wasn't moving. Hopefully, she can't regenerate."

"You know, maybe they should have disposed of the body first-" came the voice of the younger thug, before he felt a presence behind him. Stormbreaker was standing right behind the younger guy and just threw him through the wall, directly near the front desk. He was completely lifeless after that.. but the reception staff looked on in horror at what happened.

"What the actual... fuck. It's her! Fucking shoot her!" The older thug turned to open fire on her, but he was quickly punched through the chest into the nearby wall with a resounding crash. Stormbreaker just looked into the other three with hatred in her eyes. The other three thugs pointed their weapons at her, afraid to fire.

"Hey, now... we can talk about this..." the beastman said, him struggling to hold the rifle up as he looked at her.

"You're... with Nimrod. You die. Like... the others. Justice will be mine." She spoke, growling as she did so. It was clear she had completely lost it. The draconian just went to go lift up by the throat, dragging him inside. She looked like a monster. Blood all over her, rage in her eyes and that'd damned look that made it feel like she was going to kill you.

The civilians inside just looked terrified at the draconian dragging one goon inside. Many others had just hid or just looked across at her directly. She was a monster. They had to potentially stop her. Somebody had to. Before more people died. Stormbreaker glared at them and hesitated. She felt hesitant to kill this guy was she holding. But that only lasted for a second, before she punched the bastard she was holding through the chest with strength alone, blood spilling everywhere as she did so, staining the ground beneath her.

She didn't care. That was a criminal. A criminal that deserved it. These people were scared, but they weren't the targets. They were innocent. The actual targets were those goons. Anybody that was a criminal wound paid with their life. With their blood smeared onto the ground beneath her.

Mephisto Mephisto Irihi Irihi
 




So the gloves were coming off. Miiya cried out as she was lifted by the hair. Where a human woman might try to relieve the pain in her scalp by grabbing at the arm that lifted her, Miiya had an extra set of appendages for that. Her wings snapped out, providing leverage in the air to replace what she lost from being lifted from the ground. She lashed out, driving her knee into Nimrod’s groin, only to find her strike deflected by his thigh. So she hammered that, instead.

The man’s haughty speech was a little less impactful as he had to keep turning aside a sustained assault on his delicate bits. Further, Miiya slipped the shiv--she had made from the hand mirror she’d quietly broken (wrapped in a towel) while screened by the shower’s noise--out of her robe’s sleeve and went straight for Nimrod’s eyes.

Miiya was a scrappy street fighter when cornered. Had it been anyone else--any ordinary mortal--she would have pulped or sliced something delicate, and at least extricated herself.

But Nimrod was anything but ordinary. Yes, he got a thin bloody line on his face, and another opened in his forearm by blocking the glass shard. Yes, there was a grunt or two of effort tinging his speech explaining the biblical origin of his name. None of it mattered. Miiya--fierce as she was--was helpless against the Patron’s power.

The girl had an advantage in limbs. Nimrod decided to remove it. He caught her second shiv strike, enveloping her smaller hand with the irresistible power of his grip and squeezed, using just a fraction of his strength.

Miiya screamed as she felt the bones in her hand crack and fracture. The glass shattered and was driven into her crushed appendage. Her other arm left off stabilizing her assault on Nimrod’s nethers and cradled her broken and bleeding hand. The Aerial hung limply from Nimrod’s grip, finally allowing him to throttle her and finish his speech.

She moaned as she was thrown to the floor and held down. Even after being choked and being denied a single decent breath, Miiya was not so distressed by the lack of air. Though she had not been aviating at altitude much, recently, she still had her race’s phenomenal cardiovascular fitness and tolerance for hypoxia. Miiya could keep herself aloft by muscle power alone at altitudes that would be deadly to most humans. When she wasn’t aviating, she had no great need for oxygen. The majority of her distress came from the pain in her hand and the threat of death--having felt her vertebra crack and pop warningly under Nimrod’s foot.

Miiya’s face was white with shock as Nimrod helped her to her feet and dismissed her to the bedroom. Her hand was destroyed; the bones within shattered. She hunched over the injured limb as she stumbled wordlessly away. She did not even have the presence of mind to close the bedroom door behind her.

Somethingone else did.

In the Prison’s Bedroom
“Tut, tut, my dear.” Yellowed knife-like teeth clacked together inches from Miiya’s ear as Mephisto’s Long Shadow peeled itself from the floor, manifesting the Patron’s face fading in from the darkness that had taken residence in the birdgirl. “No need for such theatrics over such a small thing; here--let me give you a hand. ha-ha.” He chuckled, another tendril of shadow manifesting a limp scrap of rubber before him. Mephisto made an exaggerating motion of blowing as he inflated a glove-shaped balloon and booped Miiya’s nose with it.

The birdgirl was descending deeper into shock, and barely acknowledged the macabre joke with a blink. She wasn’t even weeping; the damage was so severe that her body had stilled all emotional and pain reactions in a survival mechanism similar to crash syndrome.

“Oh, poo, you’re no fun.” Mephisto intoned, beclawed digits manifesting where his shadow had dropped the balloon. Grabbing Miiya’s hand, he brought it to his razor-fanged mouth, where globules of saliva glistened--like the hungry look in his ruby gaze. However, instead of amputation by saber-teeth, Mephisto gently blew upon Miiya’s thumb--much as he had the balloon. With a wet popping and cracking noise, Miiya’s digits straightened, the glass shards were pushed out and the bleeding cuts knit themselves together. When he was done, Mephisto had inflated the birdgirl’s hand to its former shape, color, and dexterity. “There you go, my dear; good as new!”

Miiya looked, uncomprehendingly at her suddenly-restored digits, wiggling her fingers in disbelief. The pain was gone, her shock was fading; it was almost as if the mutilating injury had never happened--save for memory of helpless terror.

She was not finished being terrorized, it seemed, for the room around them darkened. Mephisto’s shadow grew, his carmine pupils dilated and glowed with that self-same predatory sheen as Nimrod’s. His sharp-toothed face seemed to fill the entire room as he whispered a reverberating threat to Miiya. “Now… if you want me to continue to keep him from tearing you apart, you’re not going to mention our little deal.” The monstrous manifestation growled quietly at her. “Don’t lie; he can smell falsehood--just… help guide him down the path to blaming the Patron of Diamonds for you and your friend’s… exceptional resilience. ah-HA ha…” Mephisto’s shadow neck cracked sickeningly as he tilted his head to the side. “There’s a good girl. Now off you pop. He said, his countenance evaporating into a dark fog that seemed to withdraw back into Miiya.

Miiya lay on the floor after that, still clutching her restored hand. I… can’t. I can’t do this. She gritted her teeth and curled into a tight ball. I can’t face him.

Having her hand crushed had brought back all the terrible memories of her mutilation; the shock of an instant sea-change to her life, the terrible rapidity with which the healers had insisted she let them cut off a part of her to save her life. The long slow road to recovery after her amputation; the weeks of sleepless nights in constant pain, the misery of rehabilitating what she could of a limb that would never work properly ever again. There had been many nights when Miiya considered killing herself after she lost her trim tab, and the casualness with which Nimrod had crushed her hand had sent her perilously close to that dark place again.

The defiance, the desperation, the flippant fatalism had all been washed away by the Patron’s fearsome monstrous nature, like paper-mache in the rain. Miiya risked becoming another of Nimrod’s glassy-eyed thralls; ever shrinking and scraping--just trying to avoid his wrath and the pain it brought.

How could he? A sob escaped the fetal-curled girl. How could he do that to me? The guywire that had clipped her wing had been unthinking in its cruelty. It did not know the years of suffering it had inflicted--it couldn’t. Despite being a thinking, breathing creature, Nimrod was worse; he didn’t know and he didn’t care.

And, just like that, Miiya found her spark. I can’t make him care, but I can make him know. The thought, the feeling, the blinding rage that flashed through her lit her skin on fire. She felt the Long Shadow surge and dance in the flames, but they weren’t from Mephisto. This was the deep vein of hatred that ran right through her core. It had lain quiet and buried beneath the strata of years, until Nimrod had unearthed it. Miiya remembered--she remembered how she wanted to hurt someone--really hurt them. Hurt them so badly that death would be a mercy. Miiya’s teeth nearly chipped as she gritted them with the tightness of her helpless rage.

I’m not helpless. I might not win this, but I’m sure as frett not letting him win.

She was still crying when she staggered to her feet; when she re-tied the robe that had fallen open during her struggles. Get dressed?

My sign is no.
My name is no.
My number is no.
Not gonna let it go.


In the Prison’s Living Room
Nimrod raised an eyebrow as the bird reappeared; blotchy faced and still wearing the terrycloth bath robe. “I thought I told you to get dressed.” Though he said it casually, he noted that she was no longer cradling her destroyed hand. Interesting.

“Says the man who named himself the biblical equivalent of “dipshit” Miiya laughed, and it still came out as more of a sob, but she was angry enough not to care. She had a job to do, and--I’m sorry for this Ms Fontana--but yfrett all yew motherfretting patrons! Miiya scoffed. “I mean, dude, I thought yew just had really mean parents,” She laughed, and it came out with all the jagged edges of Mephisto’s smile. “...but turns out that, nah--yer dumbassery is self-inflicted.”

Nimrod sighed, rolling his shoulders. “Trash like you shouldn’t pretend to be brave.” He pushed himself to his feet. “It isn’t your place, and it doesn’t suit you.” He took off his cufflinks and began to roll up the sleeves of his fitted white button-down shirt. “I don’t take as much satisfaction out of ripping you apart as you think I do; it’s just not a challenge.”

“Y-yeah? Miiya tried not to wince as her voice cracked. She was shaking, and it wasn’t with rage. Well, it wasn’t wholly with rage. She couldn’t help it--she was afraid of Nimrod, even with the darkness inside her, and Mephisto’s Long Shadow, stiffening her spine. “Yer face says otherwise, arfline!” Miiya tapped her own cheek, pointing to where a thin red line from her shiv attack graced Nimrod’s handsome features.

“You know,” Nimrod said as he started toward Miiya, “I’m not going to tell your Patron how plucky you thought you were--oh yes,” He smirked as Miiya’s eyes widened in shock. “I see you have one; I know I crushed that hand of yours--just like I’m going to do to the rest of you.” He continued to stalk forward as he spoke, following Miiya as she backed up. “It’s going to be pain like you can’t imagine. This is my realm, and their power will fail you here. This is your first time--and your last, but I’ve done this many, many times,” His unblinking eyes glittered as his gaze remained locked on Miiya. “to people much stronger than you.” Miiya had reached the wall--as far back as she could flee, and so Nimrod made his final offer. “No, Miiya, you are going to die, and it won’t be a brave death--you’re not brave; not even in the top thirty percent; not even worth mentioning.” If she were, she would have already attacked, instead of shrinking and wishing for some other way. “I’ll make you scream your patron’s name--and the names of everyone you love. People that I’m going to punish, the same as you, for wasting my time.

Nimrod was upon her, and she hadn’t reacted. He was right. She was trash. She couldn’t stand against him. She couldn’t shield anyone from him. She could feel the heat pouring off him; they were that close. Miiya’s wings, elbows, knees; every delicate joint was pulled in tight, as if she could keep them from being shattered. Please don’t. Please don’t. She couldn’t help it; she closed her eyes.

“Or, you can just tell me.” For an instant, the inexorable pressure of the Patron’s presence relented. “...no, your throat is too dry now, isn’t it, Miiya? No more insults, eh? That sharp tongue can’t even move, I bet. Let me make this easy for you; you can just nod your pretty little head; It is Giovanna, isn’t it? That miserable greedy ****. She’s always wanted to undermine my tower; my greatness!”

Miiya inclined her head slightly, letting out a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. Almost at the same time, the wall against which she was pressed shook. They were so high up that the shockwave which bowed the windows arrived a fraction of a second later. Nimrod, distracted, looked over his shoulder. “What was that? But he already knew.

His tower was under attack.

“She’s going to stop yew.” Miiya whispered.

Nimrod drew back, a bemused smile gracing his features. “So… you were stalling, all along.” He shook his head, disbelievingly. “You must really mean something to Giovanna, to be this daring.”

He stood back, arms akimbo. “Clever.” He said, almost conversationally.

“But not that clever.


At the Base of the Tower
Tower employees fled, some screaming, some covering their heads, some helping colleagues injured by flying debris. There were several bodies on the ground already, and a raging draconic woman piling more up by the moment.

Nimrod’s tower was heavily fortified, not by armor and walls so much as by legions of the Patrons’ gangsters. There were legitimate businesses within the tower--though most had at least a few fingers in the Patrons numerous criminal pies. The first line of defense were private security guards that made at least some attempt at looking legitimate.

They didn’t last long. A few of (the bravest of) them tried to slow Stormbreaker down with less-lethal weapons. The expansive lobby at the ground floor was filled with dust and smoke as a few beanbag rounds did little but annoy the raging dragonoid. Spent taser wires criss-crossed the ground, a few of them still had their leads embedded in the woman, but all their charges had been expended in futility.

Next up were Nimrod’s regular thugs. These men sported heavier and more deadly weapons than regular security, but Stormbreaker seemed ready for them by the time they came piling out of anterooms and from elevator doors. The elevators gave convenient warning to each discharge of a half-dozen thugs, issuing a pleasant “ding” and allowing the draconic woman to slaughter a few of the men and block or bowl over the rest.

Finally, the alerts made it out to Nimrod’s paramilitary forces that defended the tower--and enforced his will across the city and region. These shock troops arrived properly locked and loaded. Each operator was a skilled warrior and proficient in hand-to-hand, infantry weapons, and heavier equipment up to and including armor-killing self-propelled explosives.

They were still not doing so great. Not a lot of information was getting out to each successive wave sent to deal with whatever disaster was unfolding in the lobby. Stormbreaker’s attackers were being killed or disabled too quickly to send anything coherent back up the chain, and the heavier weaponry they brought to bear, the more enraged the berserk draconic became, fighting fire with fire and explosive with explosion. This culminated with a two man fire team--still not wholly sure what they were facing--only that a dark shape had come blazing out of the smoke and had killed their third operator--launched a light anti-tank weapon at a shadow in the smoke. They hadn’t hit Stormbreaker, but they had managed to blast a pretty good chunk out of a primary support beam of the tower. There were fifty such beams, and the damage wasn’t enough to significantly reduce the structural integrity of the tower, but the blowback killed both men and sent a shockwave rumbling up to the very top of Babel.

Not long afterward, an eerie quiet settled over the devastated lobby. Everyone whole, with a radio, had been told to hunker down. Everyone injured who could still move had dragged themselves clear of the combat zone, or had bled out trying. Only a few faint groans and cries came from the few who were injured enough that they could not move, but had not yet succumbed. Here and there a rustle or clink could be heard where Nimrod’s paramilitary were hiding, but--to an enraged draconic--it would seem there were few targets left to kill.

The large elevator--the one that just looked like a wall--at the end of the row of lifts sounded a deeper tone. This elevator was special; it only stopped at Nimrod’s floors, and it carried only him or--on rare occasions--his most favored acolytes.

This was not one of those occasions. The boss had arrived.

“Stormbreaker… come on out. The Patron called in a calm voice as he peered into the settling dust and smoke, lit by the few flickering sparking lights that had not been completely destroyed. “I have your friend here, and I will rip her in half if you don’t show yourself.”

The threat did not seem an idle one. Nimrod again had Miiya by the throat with one hand, the other was gripping her leg. The Patron was holding her out in front of himself; a literal human shield.

He was in slight disbelief at the carnage that had befallen his beloved tower. For the first (ish) time in the night, a jag of genuine anger prickled down his spine. Along with rage that tightened his grip, he felt just the slightest hint of--if not fear, then--caution. At first he had disbelieved that Giovanna would try anything so audacious as a bald-faced assassination. He had assumed this was simply a calling card--the opening to hostile negotiations. Yet, the explosions, the massive scale of the assault gave him pause.

Yes, the Great Hunter would have preferred to stride out into his territory, claiming this hunt as his. However, there were other powers in Red Haven that might rival his own. Draconics could be quite strong--and a draconic infused with the power of a Patron might actually threaten even the inexorable Nimrod.

He had resolved to destroy whomever had done this--and then crush the Patron that sent them--but he would do it on his own terms. “Give yourself up, NOW, or she dies. There will be no second chances.”

He held up the Aerial woman, loosening his grip on her throat slightly and squeezing her leg until her femur creaked. Miiya made a half-choked gasp. Nimrod only wanted her cries to punctuate his words; not give some hidden or coded direction to the warrior who had come to save her. “Or fight me, and kill her; I really don’t care.

But I’ll wager you do. He tensed, smiling wickedly, ready to use his irresistible strength against the helpless Aerial.
 
Last edited:
Stormbreaker


zWB8Br4.png

Commissioned Art by Feerocomics. Art is here.

Real Name: Arashi Sato
Age:
36 (at the time of death in previous world)
32 (currently)
68 (chronologically)
Height: 6"3
Titles: Human, Draconian, Puppet, Kungfu Fighter, Pro Hero
Racial:
Human -
Normal human, plain and featureless. A blank slate full of potential.
Draconian - Humans with dragon heritage descended from the dragonborn. The bloodline is heavily diluted, leaving their appearance mostly human, but it grants them superior physical abilities, superhuman healing, magical aptitude, and, more rarely, partial draconic transformation.

Society - General:
Puppet -
Character was just a means to an end for grander or more influential figures. Whether by choice or by design, they dance to the whims of others. Character is more easily manipulated by others. Character is less responsible for the wrongs they commit.
Kungfu Fighter - Character was part of a street brawl.

Skill Related:
Pro Hero -
Character is a former pro hero in their pre-isekai'd life. They protected innocents and kept the peace.
Stats:
Strength | A Grade
Precision | F Grade
Intelligence | D Grade
Vitality | A Grade
Speed | D Grade

Abilities Active:
N/A - will be spoilered if ability
Abilities Used: N/A - will be spoilered if ability
Passives:
Regeneration | F Grade | 6 Posts
Resilient [Fatigue, Pain, Fear] | She still feels them but won't suffer from these three effects.
Color: #824ca3 | Link to Sheet
Equipment:

  • Magic Catalyst [Organ] | E Grade | 28 Points
    • Fire today, who knows tomorrow? Good thing it’s fireproof. Probably.
  • Armored Dragon's Armor | F Grade | 7 Points
    • Perfect for any vigilante trying to look menacing and mysterious on a budget. Although the paint on it isn't the best. Caution: may come with the side effect of looking dark and brooding.
  • Natural Weapon [Fists] | F Grade | 14 Points
    • Knock, knock! Who’s there? Justice!​
  • Hero's Claymore | F Grade | 7 Points
    • It’s a sword. Big, heavy, and... not much else to say. If you need to slice through a bunch of stuff, this'll do the job. Though it’s not very good at making small talk.​

Stormbreaker’s breath was heavy, ragged, as she stood amidst the chaos. Her tail flicked angrily as he looked at the bastards who decided to show up. They pointed guns at her, but that lasted a lot of time as she just charged towards them, then shooting bullets into her body. She didn't react the way they expected her to. Most people wouldn't charge at you while riddled with bullets, but she did. She didn't care, she wanted to kill, to show them who's boss.

So she did. They attempted to use tasers on her, didn't do much other than stop her for a few seconds as she pulled the wires off and looked at them with that horrendous glare. She then proceeded to punch through their chest, killing them instantly. Over and over, they ended up dead the same way. Blood all over the ground, the beanbag rounds in her body. Her roaring over her victory, like a damn monster.

As they came through the elevator, Stormbreaker did her best to beat the shit out of them, grabbing their weaponry and killing them or killing them with her strength alone. This alone was a bloodbath. The draconian was covered in the blood of her enemies, with much gore on the ground. The civilians nearby just looked on in horror, some even becoming sick at what she just did.

As soon as the paramilitary forces arrived, they had arrived to Stormbreaker eating an actual human being who was on the floor. To say they were mildy disturbed was an understatement. These were the elite—the ones who didn’t flinch in the face of danger, the ones who could handle the worst criminals and survive. They had been briefed on the situation, knew exactly what they were walking into, and had been prepared for anything.

Except this.

The sight that greeted them was beyond their worst nightmares. Stormbreaker, drenched in blood, was eating one of their friends. Somebody who one of them was friends with. One of them had the urge to puke his guts out when he saw the draconian and what was she was doing. But they didn't hesitate to shoot her and start shooting her.

But even that was futile, riddled with armor-piercing bullets, she kept continuing. Call it willpower or tenacity or whatever the fuck, it was an understatement. She wouldn't die. No matter how painful her wounds were and what organs the bullets hit. She regenerated her wounds after a while and kept regenerating her injuries. She thankfully dealt with alot of them. But she kept searching for the remaining ones... till... she heard the ding from the elevator that Nimrod took. She turned her head in that direction, despite all the smoke.

She then heard the voice of him. The voice of Nimrod. That bastard that attacked and captured Miiya. She then heard his threat and lunged through the smoke with no second thought, no reply, just pure instinct. That was until all her fighting caught up to her. Her anger had betrayed in that moment, leaving her to feel all the pain of her injuries and regenerating at once and collapsed just a few feet away from Nimrod, fully out, covered in blood, but out cold there entirely. She had spent all of that energy, that anger, trying to fight that she forgot to converse it in its entirely to beat the shit out of him.

Irihi Irihi
 
Nimrod The draconic assailant’s appearance was somewhat anticlimactic in the end. “Hmph.” Nimrod dropped Miiya unceremoniously on the debris-strewn lobby floor. The birdgirl was no threat to him, and it seemed his security forces had effectively neutralized Stormbreaker. The patron stalked over to the prostrate form of the woman who had caused so much destruction, contemplating Giovanna’s intentions. The damage to the lobby was annoying, but it was superficial. The losses in security personnel were much more grievous. It took time to recruit and train the men and women who would replace those Stormbreaker had slain.

“What is Giovanna playing at?” Nimrod toed the prostrate draconic. Was this the Patron’s idea of a valentine? As far as the slaver was concerned, Giovanna had started this by sending her draconic warrior after his street thugs. Had they inadvertently crossed into her territory? Nimrod wasn’t given to self-reflection. If this was the Patron of Diamond’s answer to his escalation of kidnapping her little starlet, then he’d modify the business transaction to suit his desires. “Take her. Put her in B-3.” He instructed his security forces to incarcerate the draconic woman in the strongest monster holding cells the tower had. “Keep her alive, for now,” he said. “I have a call to make.”

As he turned, he noted that the obnoxious birdgirl had rushed to the side of her fallen friend. “Fuck off, trash. This one is mine now. Go cry to your patron.” He kicked half-heartedly at the kneeling Aerial as his security forces swarmed Stormbreaker. He had no more use for Miiya, and she did have some popularity among the scum. Holding her was proving more trouble than it was worth. Better that she limp back to Giovanna and report how Nimrod had dominated her draconic. Maybe releasing her would settle the old bitch down.

“Let the feathered one go--unless she tries to follow you,” he decided. “Then, shoot her.” Miiya might take one or two of his operators by surprise. She wasn’t anywhere near the level of the Patron or SB. He had every confidence his remaining security could deal with her.

As he returned to his personal elevator, Nimrod leaned over one of his thralls--who had taken refuge behind a large marble sculpture. “Get this place cleaned up. I want Babel open for business by daybreak.”

The indentured employee stammered an affirmative under Nimrod’s baleful glare. Though she was only a low-level secretary, she had seen how The Master held accountable those who failed to execute his every whim. Simply having him acknowledge her existence empowered her with a fraction of his authority. She knew this rocketed her into an exalted position among his minions. However, with her newfound power came an even more crushing responsibility to The Master. If she failed him, he would remember, and make her and her family pay. Her first action, therefore, was to scramble back to the front desk, stepping over bodies and trying to push down the horror of what had just happened.

She had a job to do. To do it she needed a working phone--and one other thing. The thrall stopped. Fighting down her rising gorge, she took a submachine gun from the half-eaten corpse of a tower security guard. Now, to find that phone and keep herself and her loved ones alive.



Miiya coughed--partially from the dust and smoke affecting her sensitive vascular system, partially from being choked again--as she scrambled on all fours to Stormbreaker’s side. “Essbee!” Oh god, what have they done to you?! Part of Miiya wondered if this nightmare was ever going to end. She forced the rest of her to care about nothing other than her friend’s survival.

It wasn’t easy. Because Stormbreaker was a proper monster now, and that was hard to ignore. It was hard to ignore the blood and gore coating the fallen woman’s skin and clothing. It was hard to ignore the half-eaten corpses strewn all around and the ribbons of flesh caught in Stormbreaker’s jaws. It was hard to ignore dozens of bullets, electrodes, and shards of debris that were slowly being pushed out of SB’s body by her regenerative powers.

“Wake up, Essbee! Wake up! Even as she exhorted her friend, Miiya wondered if she really meant those words. The aftermath was so horrific; could Miiya really handle seeing what Essbee was capable of now? If the woman stirred, the birdgirl wouldn’t be able to hide her face on Arashi’s cracked armor--as she was doing now. She wouldn’t be able to deny the awful things all around them.

She wouldn’t be able to pretend that this was the same Stormbreaker of those light-hearted days “fighting crime” together in Azuran. Miiya thought she had known what Stormbreaker was. She thought she understood when the woman had occasionally let slip a few short words about the evil that had stolen her family, her life, and her soul away from her. Miiya thought that she understood the darkness lurking in the draconic woman.

Now, surrounded by the death and destruction Arashi had wrought in her name Miiya realized that she had understood nothing. “Essbee…” Now wasn’t the time for weeping, but what else could Miiya do?

Well, she could get kicked, apparently. Kicked aside like trash. The birdgirl looked up at the towering figure of Nimrod as he barked out orders and threats. Orders with real authority. Threats with real consequences. Miiya had thought her rising stardom gave her authority, that the adulation of the crowd lent her power. Now, here, surrounded by death and monsters--shoved aside by fearsome powers--those illusions were shattered.

While she sat where she had been kicked, Miiya watched with a stricken expression as armored security swarmed Stormbreaker. They’ll kill me. She looked at the shattered lobby windows and doors. Run away. You can’t help anyone. Just fly.

back at Nimrod, stalking off toward his elevator. He wants you gone. He’s lost interest in you. He’s taking your friend, instead. Be grateful. Run. Miiya’s wings twitched out to quarter-spread, so powerful was her urge to flee--to flee before Nimrod changed his mind; before she became someone’s prey again.

My name is no.

In Nimrod’s Elevator
The Patron looked down at the Aerial woman, bemused. “I thought I told you to leave.”

Miiya didn’t look at him, she just stared straight ahead. She didn’t think she could keep her nerve if she met the monster’s gaze again. “Yeah, so?”

“I could kill you, you know. I have no use for you.” He scoffed.

“Does it look like I care?” The more Miiya talked, the more nerve she managed to find. There was still that vein of hatred--of everything. It was dangerous. It was dark. It said “good” when it saw a half-eaten guard hanging from her mother’s partner’s friend’s claws.

It twisted with pleasure when she slipped the knife through her skin, watching the blood bead as the hurt came. It turned the scalding water burning her skin cold; like a balm on ivy blisters. It had left the indelible scars of her blunt teeth marks on the carpals of her index fingers when she’d bit through the skin. Feed it with pain, water it with hurt, and watch the flower of evil bloom. Its petals were the power of the powerless.

It let her finally look up at Nimrod and say: “Let Stormbreaker go.”

Nimrod’s mouth dropped open. He had meant to laugh, but laughter did not come. After a moment, the lift chimed and opened to his penthouse. He stepped into his sanctum, and--like a scrub jay pecking a coyote’s head, Miiya followed. She wasn’t speechless, that was for sure.

“Frett yew, arfline!! Yew don’t get to kidnap me, hurt me, hurt my friend, throw her in a hole and then just go have a nap!! Yew can’t… yew won’t get away with this!!” Miiya sputtered the words out, her rage filling her mouth and choking off the biting lines she had thought she would deliver. “Yer shu! Yer scum! Yew think yer fancy clothes--yer…” Miiya trailed off as Nimrod stopped, facing a window, his back turned to her.

He reached down and pulled, the giant pane of the window slid open. They were dozens of floors up. There were no screens or safety nets. Nimrod had thrown people from this window before. “Get out. Last chance.” he said, before walking on.[/COLOR]

Miiya stood, flushed with anger, quivering with rage. Leave. A little voice in her head told her. Go. You can’t hurt him. She took a step toward the open window, her eyes flitting first to the exit, then to Nimrod, sauntering casually deeper into his penthouse. You’ll only hurt yourself, she insisted.

But the perfume of the flower of evil was oh-so-heady. It quieted the voice of reason and loosed things far worse.

Miiya jammed her fists on her hips, took a deep breath, and employed the full power of her lungs. “NO!!!” Nimrod’s apartment was large, but it wasn’t the size of a concert venue. Miiya didn’t need amplification to make her fans in the back row wince in pain. Her canines showed in a vicious grin as she saw Nimrod twitch.

Level B-3
The guards were taking no chances. Or at least they were taking as few chances as they could manage. They needed to restrain Stormbreaker. They also needed to get her into a cell as fast as possible. They had improvised by wrapping her a fire hose as they carried her to the cargo lift. They continued to wind the tough material around her--layer after layer--until they reached the cavernous cells of B-3.

It was unthinkable that the woman, holed by dozens--if not hundreds--of rounds of small arms fire, was still alive. But not only was she alive; she was clearly regenerating. The guards knew it was only a matter of time before she revived and resumed her slaughter. Only the absolute certainty of death at Nimrod’s hands made them risk death at Stormbreaker’s.

If they managed to get her into her cell before she revived, the draconic woman would be dumped--still wrapped in the hose--into a large empty room. It was the size and shape of a giant racquetball court--square, brightly lit, with a submarine-style hatch that closed flush against the wall. The hatch was the thickness of a bank vault door and held in place by dozens of titanium rods sunken into a titanium frame, that was, itself buried in the meter-thick steel-reinforced concrete walls. Narrow periscope-style optical tubes provided the majority of views into every corner of the empty cell. There were backup viewports high on two walls, but--due to the thickness of the walls and glass--these provided only limited visibility of about ¾ of the cell.

This particular cell had a few pieces of human-sized furniture; a folding cot, a single chair, a steel toilet, and a steel sink. The metal of each furnishing was thin and easily deformed. While it would be easy to destroy the furnishings, it would also be impossible to fashion them into useful weapons. The plumbing had exterior check valves designed to prevent the cell from being flooded.

A long chute--too narrow and highly pitched for a person--was used to deliver packaged food. The guards had been ordered to keep Stormbreaker alive, and Nimrod had not yet ordered torture or deprivation, so a few packets of tasteless gruel would pile up at the bottom of the chute by the time she revived--if she ever did.

The cells had been built to house the world’s most fearsome monsters. Time might tell if they would hold Stormbreaker. But she would have to wake up, first.
 
Stormbreaker


zWB8Br4.png

Commissioned Art by Feerocomics. Art is here.

Real Name: Arashi Sato
Age:
36 (at the time of death in previous world)
32 (currently)
68 (chronologically)
Height: 6"3
Titles: Human, Draconian, Puppet, Kungfu Fighter, Pro Hero
Racial:
Human -
Normal human, plain and featureless. A blank slate full of potential.
Draconian - Humans with dragon heritage descended from the dragonborn. The bloodline is heavily diluted, leaving their appearance mostly human, but it grants them superior physical abilities, superhuman healing, magical aptitude, and, more rarely, partial draconic transformation.

Society - General:
Puppet -
Character was just a means to an end for grander or more influential figures. Whether by choice or by design, they dance to the whims of others. Character is more easily manipulated by others. Character is less responsible for the wrongs they commit.
Kungfu Fighter - Character was part of a street brawl.

Skill Related:
Pro Hero -
Character is a former pro hero in their pre-isekai'd life. They protected innocents and kept the peace.
Stats:
Strength | A Grade
Precision | F Grade
Intelligence | D Grade
Vitality | A Grade
Speed | D Grade

Abilities Active:
N/A - will be spoilered if ability
Abilities Used: N/A - will be spoilered if ability
Passives:
Regeneration | F Grade | 6 Posts
Resilient [Fatigue, Pain, Fear] | She still feels them but won't suffer from these three effects.
Color: #824ca3 | Link to Sheet
Equipment:

  • Magic Catalyst [Organ] | E Grade | 28 Points
    • Fire today, who knows tomorrow? Good thing it’s fireproof. Probably.
  • Armored Dragon's Armor | F Grade | 7 Points
    • Perfect for any vigilante trying to look menacing and mysterious on a budget. Although the paint on it isn't the best. Caution: may come with the side effect of looking dark and brooding.
  • Natural Weapon [Fists] | F Grade | 14 Points
    • Knock, knock! Who’s there? Justice!​
  • Hero's Claymore | F Grade | 7 Points
    • It’s a sword. Big, heavy, and... not much else to say. If you need to slice through a bunch of stuff, this'll do the job. Though it’s not very good at making small talk.​

She drifted in and out of conconciousness for a while. Her rage didn't subside. It only got worse. She wasn't strong enough to stop the urge to destroy. She needed to, she was a monster now, more or less. One created by the society of the world. The world would burn. It had to. She had to protect Miiya using that anger. That rage.

She was fine back in her previous world. She didn't need to use her anger that intenstively to protect anybody. Nobody suffered until that bastard Frostbite showed up. He killed two of her mentors, nearly murdered Kasai and Akatsuki and was this close to killing her. Then she died after gaining all the power she had. She was the top of the world after all. Strongest ever. Nobody could be stronger than her.

Then she ended up in this shitstain of the world. This damned world. The Republic was interesting. They all had similar names to her, but Draconians generally kept to theirself. They didn't like mingling with the other species of the world as quite alot of them thought they were straight up superior. Unlike the rest of her tribe, Stormbreaker was different. She was one of the rarities, having full dragon blood. Which was both a blessing and dangerous thing in disguise. Sure, it made you much stronger, but at the cost of your anger. It made you more Draconic. It's why she refused to get angry often, as it'd take over her. She had heard stories of the last person who did that, as they turned more into a Draconic monster than she was. It took a great deal to take them down and kill them.

Stormbreaker vowed to never become that monster. That was until Amon decided to play with fire, quite literally. He managed to trigger that part of her and it corrupted her over time. She never wanted to be the monster hiding under your bed. But she quite literally became it. She became the monster he had wanted her to be, just unchecked. Uncontrolled. She'd continue to be that monster, destroying everything in her path in instinct. In rage, till it was all gone at her feet.

Y̴o̴u̷'̶r̷e̸ ̵d̶o̷i̷n̸g̸ ̵t̴h̶i̸s̶ ̷f̵o̴r̴ ̴h̵e̷r̵ ̵a̵f̷t̴e̴r̵ ̷a̷l̴l̵.̵ ̵K̵i̴l̵l̸ ̸t̴h̴a̵t̴ ̸b̴a̸s̶t̶a̵r̴d̴ ̸N̷i̷m̵r̶o̶d̷.̴ ̸K̸i̶l̴l̶ ̴h̸i̷m̸.̶ ̶K̶i̴l̵l̴ ̸h̵i̶m̴.̸

̶H̸e̶ ̸w̵i̸l̴l̶ ̷b̵u̶r̵n̷.̷


Arashi was born as a Draconian in her next life near Paizu Mountains in the Republic. She was an a type of dragon which took on mostly humanoid features rather than being born in dragon form. However, because of her race, she could not shift like many true dragons into pure dragon form. Her race could only transform into a pseudo dragon form that gave the strength of a dragon while humanoid. Arashi knew she was special, she had pure dragon blood unlike the rest of her tribe, which led to unreal expectations put on her. Her tribe wanted her to lead.

She didn't wake up immediately, her body was too injuried for that. Too exhausted to wake up immediately. It took her hours to wake herself up. Even then, that was hell. She was awake, looking up at the ceiling, not knowing where she was. But her body felt like hell... it felt weaker than it had ever been. She couldn't feel the magic coursing through her veins, it had been nullified.

She rolled over to the side, breaking free with from the hose with her strength. It kept her down for a bit, but it was nothing compared to her pure draconic strength. The draconic got herself up, unsteady on her feet. Her body felt weaker, her mind slightly clouded. By something, maybe some sort of sedative. She was still feral and ready to beat the shit out of anybody. Her strength wasn't completely back. At least they cleaned her up by a massive amount because she went completely insane back there, only leaving the wounds on her body to heal up. Stormbreaker knew despite regenerating, it didn't stop her from getting infections or so forth by wounds, she knew damn well she had to take meds for that purpose.

At least she didn't have any infections when she looked at her body, her clothes however were worse than wear. She didn't have her armor on anymore, nor any of the stuff she had lying around on her body, other than her damaged clothes. The cell was large enough but that wasn't the issue right now. Stormbreaker did glance up and notice what seems to be a vent, but it seemed too small to fit anything through. It felt more like a vent for gas or whatever. No need of venting through small places, it wouldn't be needed.

Stormbreaker turned her attention to the door. Maybe she could get to destroying it. Maybe it was her one way out of here. She went to punch it. Harder and harder she punched. Not even a dent. She tried so hard. She couldn't manage to even dent it over a large amount of time. She continued for hours, until she collapsed from exhausation, exhausted herself out in the process. The draconian couldn't break the door. It was too thick, big and she couldn't even land a dent in it with all of her strength. Well her nullified strength.

She had to get out of here no matter what. For Miiya. For herself. TO KILL THAT BASTARD NIMROD.

Outside the Cell
The guards outside the door, however... were rather concerned at the amount of noise they heard from inside. They exchanged worried glances at each other as they hold the non-lethal guns they have on hand. Thankfully, the weaponry they have now is enough to stop her. It would be a waste if it couldn't. They needed to keep her captive and in that cell until Nimrod was ready to deal with her.

"That gas has at least managed to keep her more calm, at least for now, but who knows how angry she'd be if we didn't have that." He shrugged, checking his rifle.

The younger guard looked concerned. “I know. But what if she gets too angry? I mean, how long before she’s strong enough to—

A crackle from his radio cut him off. The voice that came through was calm, almost eerily so. “Report.

"Awake. She's punched the hell out of the door." He picks up his radio and responds to it. He then looks at the viewport. "She's now knocked herself out onto the ground though. Seems to be exhausted."

"Good, make sure she stays that way. Report back if the situation changes. Over." came the crackle of the radio again.

"Understood." the young guard replied back as he paced around to watch the cell. "You know, I hope she doesn't get out. It's not likely she will... considering nobody has escaped this place past the blast doors before. No monster or human can bypass it."

"Yeah, but... why isn't she like goddamn restrained? Surely the boss knows we can't drag her out of there. She'd kill all of us before she even gets out of here."

"You realize we can just up the sedation and drag her out that way right?" The older guy sighed. "I swear, you have rocks for brains."

"I'm not stupid, Garrett. That thing killed over 100 people. Worst of all, it's Giovanna's fault she sent her guard dog after us. We were doing our job and this patron of the Diamond District wants to end us by sending a literal nuke." Blake, the younger guard, seemed to be getting a little annoyed.

"Not our problem. The patrons want to cause war with each other, then let them. That's on them. We at least stopped her little guard dog." Garrett sat down on the chair near the cell door, cleaning his gun. "We're just here to do our job, Blake. Now sit your ass down and wait till we get switched out. I'm not getting killed because there wasn't two of us watching this prisoner."

Irihi Irihi Mephisto Mephisto
 
Last edited:
In Nimrod’s Penthouse
”If I must listen to you scream and whine about the unfairness of life, I’m going to need a drink.” He tossed over his shoulder to the irate, loud, birdgirl. “Remember this, though, trash; when I've destroyed you--and you are forever broken--I gave you the chance to leave. If you live, be sure to tell Giovanna as much.”




Everything Nimrod did not do was infuriating. He didn’t seem to even acknowledge the biting insults she hurled at him, and--when those had no impact, the crystal whatsit that shattered on the wall next to his head.

“Yew think having power over people makes yew strong?” Miiya snarled, hovering behind a half-wall, wanting to get closer to Nimrod, so she could spit in his face, but holding herself back. “Yew have no idea what strength is! Yew’ll never know cuz yer so scared of the very shu yew put others through!” The Aerial woman gave up the last restraint holding her back and stalked over to the seated Patron. “Chickenshu kalmasons like yew cut off my mom’s wings when she was twelve! She’s tiny, she can’t fly, and she’s still a thousand times stronger than yew’ll ever be!!” Miiya sneered. “Look at yew! Soft skin; full belly. I bet yew’ve never gone hungry a day in yer life; never gone through a night so cold yew couldn’t sleep fer shivering. Frettin’ pathetic nightcrawler worm is what yew are!! If yew didn’t have all this shu handed to yew on a silver platter, Me an’ Essbee would drag yew outta yer hole and eat yew alive, prettyboy!!” she crowed, spitting her words in his face. “Yer worthless, yew make nothing! Yew just stand on other people’s necks to keep yerself above them!!”

Nimrod didn’t even blink. He just took a sip of the amber liquid in his glass and directed a long-suffering stare at the ceiling until Miiya paused to draw breath. When she did, Nimrod set his glass down with a quiet clink. “Boring.” Effortlessly he rose from his seat, rolling his shoulders and causing the vertebrae in his neck to pop and crack quietly. “You tell yourself all that, but you know it’s not true.” he said. I am strength. You are the weak one; protest all you like. You, and your mother, and your friend are right where you belong.” He looked down at the diminutive winged woman. “Beneath me.” His eyes shifted to Miiya’s prosthesis and a tiny grin appeared as she noticed and tried to fold it under her good wing. “I see the apple doesn’t fall far from the whore tree.” Now this Nimrod loved. He loved knowing a slave when he met one. Clapping them in chains and throwing them in jails was good, but binding them with words and imprisoning them in their own minds was simply delightful. Maybe this evening wouldn’t be a complete waste, after all.

“Yfrett yew, yew fretting fret!! Yew can’t say that to me!! I started from nothing and now I’m… I’m a star! I’ll fretting kill yew! I’ll fretting HAVE yew killed!” Miiya snarled, losing any semblance of composure--not that she’d had much to begin with.

Watching Miiya’s feathers louver with shocked fury, he knew she had already bound herself up in his traces. All he needed do was take hold of them. “Oh yes, I know what you people are good for, once your wings are clipped.” His lip curled and he took a step forward. “Why don’t you show me why you really came here; put that mouth of yours to better use than spouting all those lies you tell to make yourself feel better.”

“What. The. Yfrett?!!” Miiya was seeing absolute red. She never should have mentioned her mother--it had been too personal, too core to her being, and Nimrod had so casually reached out and twisted that knife. She took an involuntary step back as he advanced.

“Starving, freezing, whoring; that didn’t make you strong, it didn’t make a better person.” Nimrod scoffed. “It’s just what trash does. You’re trash, and your family is trash, and you’ll always be trash, no matter how many songs you sing, no matter how the rest of the trash love you. You’re nothing, Miiya, and you’ll always be nothing; while I am everything.” He put a friendly hand on her narrow shoulder. “You and I both know our places.” He squeezed tightly. “Let’s take them, shall we?”

Miiya looked up at the Patron with pure unadulterated hatred in her eyes. She grabbed his wrist. Though her fingers were bent into talons, though she put all her strength into them, they did not even encircle it. No matter how her nails dug into his skin, not even the slightest hint of discomfort crept into the gaze with which he transfixed her. All of Miiya’s malice lodged in a burning brand in the middle of her chest, choking off her words and only a cut-off sob escaped her lips, relieving none of the pressure of the lance of helpless fury that speared her heart.

Smirking, Nimrod loosened his grip. “The garbage chute is open. You can still see yourself out, chickadee,” he offered,

knowing she wouldn’t.

Later
Nimrod finished buttoning his shirt, pulling the freshly-starched fabric down over his statuesque physique. Glancing back at the wreckage of the birdgirl on the floor, her wings splayed and bent, a few of her downfeathers mixed in the tangled sheets, some more stuck to the sweat-smeared window, Nimrod sneered. His perfectly aligned pearl-white teeth parted, yet the parting insult was stilled in his throat.

A tiny crease crept into his brow. It had gone just how he knew it would. He’d put the trash in her place, time and time again. He’d hurt her. He’d seized and used his power over her.

So why couldn’t he shake this nagging feeling that he was the one who had been used? Maybe he should finish her off? Put her out of her misery. He was pretty sure he could. She was shockingly resilient. Aerials were tough, but not that tough. Something Giovanna--her patron--had done had held her together no matter how frustrated abusive he had become. Had Giovanna wanted this to happen? Had Miiya?

Would it be poetic to sweep the broken trash under the rug--or… or was that just hiding from how she had diminished his power? No. He was Nimrod. He was uncertain of nothing. He was always in command, in control. He was dressed and ready to get on with business after this stupid intentional diversion.

“Clean this place up and throw her out.” Nimrod ordered as he strode past the bowing housekeeping staff he had summoned. “Humiliatingly.” He snapped.

There it was again. Hadn’t he humiliated her? Why did he need to depend on his staff to do so? I did. I don’t. He insisted to himself as he savagely punched the button for level B-3. He’d feel better after he took out his frustration on her draconic friend. He’d feel better after he re-established who was in control.

I was. I am.

Housekeeping
The maid leaned over the prostrate Aerial woman, placing a tentative hand on her shoulder. “Miss? Miss? I’m so sorry, I have to ask you to leave now. I-I can’t give you anything. If… If I help you, he’ll know. This was how The Master wanted it, so this was how it had to be. Sometimes she could help them--usher them out one of the secret exits, call them a taxi or give them the name of a discrete doctor. ”I’m so sorry. He… he won’t let us--h-he was very clear.” she stammered apologetically.

Miiya slowly drew her wings back in, gathering her other limbs under her. Her face was hidden by her hair until she got her bruised arms and legs under her. Raising herself up, she turned her face toward the maid. The Aerial woman tongued her loosened teeth, tasting the blood seeping from her split lip. Beneath a swelling eye, her canines showed in a viscous grin. “Good.”

The flower of evil was in full bloom. She’d rooted it deep in her heart and watered it with depravity. The seed had been sewn. When it came time to reap the whirlwind, Miiya knew she could do so without restraint.

Level B-3
It wasn’t possible to undog the hatch silently. So no one had yet dared to open it. They controlled, or tried to control, Stormbreaker with gas. Not now, though. The Master wanted her awake and aware. He wanted her whole and as fit as she was going to get.

The muted clunks and thuds of steel bars retracting were accompanied by a feeling of the magic dampening fields being shut down. Stormbreaker was unleashed.

It wouldn’t matter.

The gentleman in the bespoke tailored jacket, tasteful cufflinks, and million-ryke watch had to duck as he stepped through the hatch. He left it open behind him. Were Stormbreaker’s eyes to shift to the open portal, Nimrod would shrug. “If you want to run, you can try.”

He stepped away from the hatch and made his way to the flimsy chair, shrugging his broad shoulders out of the jacket before draping it over the back of the seat. It was more of a gesture than a necessity. His material wealth was such that he casually destroyed what others would slave their entire lives away to afford.

“So… at last I meet the almighty Stormbreaker.” Nimrod didn’t even sneer as he spoke her name. He didn’t need to. He was back in control. “I must say, you’re a little disappointing. I wasn’t expecting much, but even my low expectations were too high. It did not matter if SB held still for Nimrod’s insults, prepared herself to attack him, or immediately threw herself at the Patron. Power radiated from the man. This was Nimrod, who commanded the black sun to rise and the red moon to set. He could turn aside a frenetic draconic assault as easily as he could a poisonous stare.

“You made a bit of a mess in my lobby--something I don’t particularly appreciate.” He sniffed. “Your little starlet paid for that,” He grinned wickedly. “But there is still a balance due--and I’m going to take it out of your hide. Nimrod said, rolling up his sleeves, now that he had set cufflinks and watch on the chair next to his jacket.

“Oh, no. Don’t worry--I let her live. She’s crawling back to your patron as we speak.” He reassured the draconic woman, with not a single shred of reassurance in his tone. “Now… whether I continue to show Miiya my largesse depends on you,” he said. “Serve me. You seem to enjoy slaughtering criminals. Kill the ones I tell you to, and I will leave your birdgirl alone. If Stormbreaker had yet to attack, Nimrod would take up a casual fighting stance before her. If he had been deflecting her attacks until now, the Patron would begin to put some real [Strength S] behind his counters.

“I have a little time for sport, so I’ll give you this one opportunity to test me. When I’ve broken you, like I did her, then you’ll do my bidding--or I’ll kill you both, he said, and gestured for Stormbreaker to come at him.
 
Stormbreaker


zWB8Br4.png

Commissioned Art by Feerocomics. Art is here.

Real Name: Arashi Sato
Age:
36 (at the time of death in previous world)
32 (currently)
68 (chronologically)
Height: 6"3
Titles: Human, Draconian, Puppet, Kungfu Fighter, Pro Hero
Racial:
Human -
Normal human, plain and featureless. A blank slate full of potential.
Draconian - Humans with dragon heritage descended from the dragonborn. The bloodline is heavily diluted, leaving their appearance mostly human, but it grants them superior physical abilities, superhuman healing, magical aptitude, and, more rarely, partial draconic transformation.

Society - General:
Puppet -
Character was just a means to an end for grander or more influential figures. Whether by choice or by design, they dance to the whims of others. Character is more easily manipulated by others. Character is less responsible for the wrongs they commit.
Kungfu Fighter - Character was part of a street brawl.

Skill Related:
Pro Hero -
Character is a former pro hero in their pre-isekai'd life. They protected innocents and kept the peace.
Stats:
Strength | A Grade
Precision | F Grade
Intelligence | D Grade
Vitality | A Grade
Speed | D Grade

Abilities Active:
N/A - will be spoilered if ability
Abilities Used: N/A - will be spoilered if ability
Passives:
Regeneration | F Grade | 6 Posts
Resilient [Fatigue, Pain, Fear] | She still feels them but won't suffer from these three effects.
Color: #824ca3 | Link to Sheet
Equipment:

  • Magic Catalyst [Organ] | E Grade | 28 Points
    • Fire today, who knows tomorrow? Good thing it’s fireproof. Probably.
  • Armored Dragon's Armor | F Grade | 7 Points
    • Perfect for any vigilante trying to look menacing and mysterious on a budget. Although the paint on it isn't the best. Caution: may come with the side effect of looking dark and brooding.
  • Natural Weapon [Fists] | F Grade | 14 Points
    • Knock, knock! Who’s there? Justice!​
  • Hero's Claymore | F Grade | 7 Points
    • It’s a sword. Big, heavy, and... not much else to say. If you need to slice through a bunch of stuff, this'll do the job. Though it’s not very good at making small talk.​

Stormbreaker's anger came back to life when she got up. The draconian sat up, breathing heavily as she tried to break the door. She sat there for a while, until she heard the door open and in come's the big boss man himself. She looked over at him, angry as could be as he spoke. "You. Bastard. You..." she growled at Nimrod as he got closer. "I don't have... patron. Doing this. Myself. You are a slave trader, I must destroy you."

While one would expect the dragon to attempt to fight him, she didn't. She knew she couldn't face him, even with her strength back. She wasn't strong enough. She couldn't handle any of them, she was too weak. Too pathetic, and this was the only way she could save Miiya. Even in that feral state. "I don't take orders from you. I belong to NOBODY." came the roar of the draconian.

Stormbreaker rushed towards the door, using her speed to rush past it in order to get out. She needed to get out of here, no matter what. Maybe freedom would do her good, what she didn't expect next was the second she left the cell... was a massive flash of light and then suddenly a huge electricity blast aimed at her pushed back, hitting her directly and sending her flying into the back wall of the cell. It was more than enough power and force to kill a regular human being, but it damaged her greatly.

She spaced out for a few minutes, breathing heavily as the electricity did a number on her system. The shock greatly hindered her, paralyzing her whole body. But she got up after a while, shaky on her feet however. The guards at the cell door seemed to be alert in case she tried to get out again. They wanted her to stay in here. The one who fired the cannon seemed to be cautious, watching the draconian.

Her body was failing her. The electrical surge had fried her nerves—her limbs were slower, sluggish, betraying her. Even more sluggish than when they had partly sedated her earlier. But something about her tenacity kept her functioning, she kept going, she needed to protect her. With all her might, she launched an attack at Nimrod, but he countered, overpowering her with ease as he threw her against the wall. Her bones broke as the result, she struggled to get up. Broken leg. She tried to fight him, her body screaming in complete agony.

One attack after another led to another broken bone. First it was her left leg, next was her right arm and her ribs. She could barely stand after a while of fighting. But something about the pain kept making her fight. Her regeneration was slower, but it was the one that kept her alive. For now.

She wasn't done, he's going to pay. Stormbreaker has spent all of her energy trying to get up that she couldn't feel Nimrod place his boot down on her back and press down, painfully. He then proceeded to break the bones leading to her spine, it didn't kill her and she could regenerate all of her broken bones easily... but still the pain. The pain was unbearable, despite her rage, she felt like crying.

"Stop it..." came the cries of Stormbreaker. It was then she was picked up by the throat and held in Nimrod's grasp. She was too weak to fight him, all she could do was continue to be held like a damn rag-doll. She was in too much damn pain currently. Her nerves were fried, her bones broken. She was better off dead. Stormbreaker knew that. But what good would that do? She wouldn't be around to protect Miiya.

Irihi Irihi Mephisto Mephisto
 


At Skydance Customs
Miiya hadn’t gone home; she probably couldn’t--or at least shouldn’t, considering the photographers and newspapermen that had been clustered outside Babel. Good

Marched right out the front of the wrecked lobby, Miiya hadn’t really understood why they were there. They didn’t want to know about her show, that was for sure. All the shouted questions she had ignored were about Nimrod. It was salt in the wound.

Good.

Miiya hadn’t even flown. She could have, her stage dress was wrecked, but it wasn’t that wrecked. Instead, she’d taken the trolly, and the reporters had followed. As she’d sat with her face in her hands, she’d seen--through closed eyelids and pressed fingers--the white of flashbulbs.

Good.

She’d only got free of them once she arrived at Vivian’s shop. Miiya had roomed here for a couple of weeks before she had found the little tenement in Spades--there was a cot and a emergency shower--for chemical spills--that could serve as an actual shower in a pinch.

It was cold as hell, and it made her cuts and abrasions burn.

Good.


It had been late, late night when she’d arrived. The reporters hadn’t hung around long--if they were going to make the morning edition, like the boss demanded, they needed to hustle.

While typesetters worked through the wee hours of the night, so did Miiya. She was still at work, when the locks clicked and thudded. The shop’s front door bell chimed as Miiya’s Terrostoan friend let herself in. Seeing the light on in the back workroom, she folded the newspaper she had been reading and hurried to the back. The tall purple-skinned inventor stopped in the doorway. She took in the puddles on the floor around the chemical shower, the pieces of machinery strewn across the workbench, and the small figure hunching over a long dark shape.

“Oh, girl!” Vivian rushed over, wrapping Miiya in her long, flexible arms. “I’m so sorry! Are you okay?” She held on even while Miiya leaned forward, not stopping what she was doing. “I don’t believe it; not a word!” she continued.

That gave Miiya pause. The birdgirl looked up at her bendy friend. “A word of what?” she asked, her eyes narrowing. She tracked Vivian’s look of panic, and her attempt to hide the paper she was still holding. “Viv. Give it.” She held out a hand.

“Miiya, this isn’t what you need to see right now,” she protested, but eventually handed over the “Entertainment” section of the Red Gazette.

Shooting Starlet Hits the Wall

That was the title of the hatchet job Nimrod’s underlings had commissioned, along with a quarter-page photo of Miiya on the bus and a smaller picture of The Tower’s wrecked lobby--cleaned of bodies and bloodstains and, instead, festooned by torn streamers and deflated balloons.

The article had tied it all up in a nice sullied pink bow. Miiya’s abduction had been her ditching her fans’ and friends’ concert afterparty to attend one of the famous bacchanals of Babel, instead. The disturbance at the tower had been Miiya and her Draconic manager trashing the lobby after overindulging. Nothing was explicit, but it was implied that she was a ditzy starlet who’d crashed into the notorious Red Haven elite party scene by letting fame go to her head and biting off more than she could chew. There were plenty of salacious hints dropped in interviews with supposed eyewitness staff about how Miiya had been coming on to everyone at the party--especially the host.

While Miiya read, Vivian shifted nervously from one foot to the other. “I know it’s not true, Miiya. I saw them kidnap you…” Her eyes drifted to the object Miiya had been working on. “Look--no, you can’t… shouldn’t--let me take you to the clinic, Miiya they can…” She trailed off as Miiya looked up at her.

“He didn’t rape me , Viv.” She said flatly, causing her friend to wince. ”I’m going to use your phone.”

Vivian’s brows knit. “Okay, sure. Are you calling a doctor? The police? Your lawyer--I mean, this is still libel… Vivian trailed off as Miiya shook her head.

“Better. I’ma call my publicist.”



Highs and lows Miiya thought. Yesterday afternoon her publicist had been over the moon, this morning they sounded suicidal. The panic she heard in the voice over the phone actually made her feel a bit better. Eventually, Miiya had calmed them down enough to wring a promise to find her a tabloid, pamphlet, or conspiracy rag that wasn’t under Nimrod’s thumb, so she could do a sit-down interview. Miiya knew it didn’t need to have a wide circulation. Nimrod had a big net. One of his little fisher fretts would bring it to him.

Returning to the workbench, Miiya found herself confronted by Vivian. “Miiya, I know you’re angry and hurt, but this isn’t what you should be doing right now; look at you! You need to take care of yourself! You need…”

“I’m fine, Viv; we Aerials are built tough. I’ve walked away from worse crashes, and… it… works different for my people.” Miiya reassured her friend. “I don’t need a doctor,” I mean, I’m sore as hell, she pointed to the object on the table. “What I need, is for you to help me finish this thing, like you promised you would, if I ever needed it.” Miiya’s usually soft chestnut-brown eyes had a steely look in them as she stared at Vivian. “Because I need it.”

Later Miiya’s place felt empty, and she regretted leaving Vivian. Being alone wasn’t the best idea right now, the Terrostoan had warned her, and she was right. Miiya hid from the silence of not having the huge draconic woman banging around their apartment by showering again--this time in hot water, with no monsters outside her door--just one inside; wrapped in her flesh and bones. As she sat under the stream of steaming drops, arms around knees pulled up to her chest, she didn’t feel like she thought she would feel. She thought this might trigger memories from the night, or that there’d be a come-down from the jagged rail of fury she was riding.

There wasn’t. She didn’t cry as she scrubbed the bruises and cuts clean. She didn’t feel sorry for herself or panicked over what terrible things Nimrod might be doing to Stormy. She felt nothing besides a steely resolve. I’m gonna kill that kalmason.

Apparently Sen’s voice didn’t always manifest berating her daughter for being lazy, unstudious, or a failure. It seemed Miiya could channel her poisoner mother through the flower of evil as well. But first I’m gonna frett with him.

The birdgirl wiped the fog from the mirror. This is the face of a killer, she thought as she stared back at her face, perfectly okay with that.

The Interview
Miiya sucked her teeth. “Um… disappointing.”

The tabloid reporter was on the edge of his seat. This. Was. Fantastic. He’d showed up expecting a broken tearful starlet, desperate to defend what shreds of reputation she could to anyone who would listen. But this crazy bird was leaning into every salacious rumor from the Gazette’s article, and then trebling them. ”Disappointing? How?”

Miiya held up her thumb and forefinger, her features folding into an amused half-grimace, half-smirk.

“That’s our front page!! Get a picture!! Get a mother****ing picture!!” The reporter hissed to his cameraman.

Miiya leaned back after the flashbulb. “I mean, he was rough, but--like--how do I put this? Not in a good way, right? It was weird. You’d think a guy with so much power wouldn’t act so… I dunno…” She shrugged ”...inadequate?”

They were hanging on her every word, and Miiya found she was kinda enjoying herself. Nimrod’s parties were legendary, and--like his buildings and his gangs--he’d built a reputation of god-like prowess. Yet, he’d been careful--up until last night--to make sure all his ”partners” were paid, persecuted, and powerless enough that none had ever dared defy him by letting slip a single word--let alone a tell-all like Miiya’s.

Sure, this was wrecking the image she’d thought she was going to present to the world before last night, but she didn’t care. All she wanted to do was be enough of a thorn in Nimrod’s side to get Stormbreaker out.

Peck, peck, Mister coyote.

Let’s see how you like losing control of the narrative.

“Hm… Well, I’d rather not.” She began to answer the question she’d made her publicist give the reporter. “Except he yfretting kept something of mine. And, hey,” Miiya raised her hands. ”I don’t wanna kink-shame---except, I think he’s like,” she made a disgusted face, “actually using it, and the thought of that is just so… skeezy.” She shivered and rubbed her arms. “So… I really don’t want to see him again but, you know, I do guess I’ll have to ask him to give it back. Cuz it’s really not cool. She finished, and then waved off the reporter’s demands for more details. “No… I can’t. It’s too embarrassing, I don’t want to hurt the guy. I-I shouldn’t have said anything.” She tried to keep the fang out of the little supplicating smile. “D-don’t publish that, please, okay? She begged, guaranteeing that her words would make it into print.

At The Tower of Babel
She’d slept. She’d had to.
She’d eaten. She needed to.

Miiya had hated every second of delay, but she’d needed to give it time; time for her little puff piece to make its way to him--but not enough time for him to decide to do something drastic about it. She needed to go to Babel while he was still pretending not to care. While he was still maintaining the illusion that the sun shone out of his butt obeyed his every command.

The problem was that she hadn’t expected the explosion that followed. It was wildfire. Affairs between entertainers and Patrons were not news in Red Haven. When they weren’t quashed by the powers that be, it was because that how those powers wanted it.

Miiya’s was different. Or was it? The budding starlet had rocketed onto the entertainment scene and then immediately crashed into Nimrod’s Tower of Babel. She’d shaken the biggest (or allegedly the smallest) tree in town. It was all anyone and everyone could talk about in every circle. It was almost as if the power of a Patron was promoting helpless to stop the gossip. Even the papers under Nimrod’s thumb--which were most of them--couldn’t wholly ignore the talk of the town. Yet their editors were stymied as to how to get in front of the story, without looking like they were trying to get in front of the story--and thereby making everything worse. Doing that would get you killed, enslaved, and killed again and again.

But it wouldn’t stop the story.



Miiya wasn’t sure if her reputation was poisoned or polished, but she didn’t care, so long as she had hurt Nimrod. Apparently she’d done something, because she arrived at The Tower with an entourage of reporters.

Good.

“I’m here to get my shu back,” was the only answer she gave to their shouted questions.

Unfortunately, the fun ended at the door. As she stepped into the heart of Nimrod’s domain, the absolutely icy dread that seized her threatened to overcome her resolve.

No, I’m getting Essbee out of here, or I’ll yfretting die trying. She insisted to herself as the dead-eyed security detail escorted her down to B-3.

Nimrod did not deign to make an appearance. “Yer boss scared of me or something?” Miiya suggested.

The last shred of her smarm fled as the guards undogged the hatch to Stormbreaker’s cell. They didn’t say a word, but just shoved Miiya inside and then slammed the door again, locking the Aerial woman in with the Draconic monster.

“E-essbee?” Miiya had to hold her breath to keep from retching. The cell was an absolute horror story. Blood and entrails were everywhere. Stormbreaker was occasionally sedated so that the bodies of the victims Nimrod threw down here--or what was left of them--could be removed, but they didn’t do a very thorough job, and the fire suppression sprinklers only washed off the surface blood where their spray could reach. It looked as if a mad painter had decided to try to color the entire cavernous cell blackish-red.

And there, hunched over her latest victim, in the corner, was Stormbreaker. “Oh god, Arashi…”

A gonging noise cut off Miiya’s horrified whisper. It was the summoning bell; meant to spark the drug-reinforced pavlovian response in Stormbreaker. A new enemy has arrived. Kill them for your meal. Kill them for your reward.

Miiya backed away, looking around her. There were observation ports, but obviously no escape route. What if he’s not even watching? What if he doesn’t even care? The flower wilted a little. Fear was toxic to it.

No. He’s yfretting watching, She told herself. He wants to see you panic. He wants to feel in control again. Yfrett that. “This what yew think yew need, pretty boy? Is it gonna make you feel like a man again?” She shouted, trying to keep the fear out of her voice. Trying to keep riding the lightning. “I really got yew good, huh? They saw me come in; if I don’t come out, what’s that going to look like?”

Stormbreaker was getting closer, but Miiya kept backing up. She knew Nimrod wanted to see her beg, cry, hug and try to save--and get killed by--the monster he’d made Miiya’s oldest friend. Nah. I’m peck yew, instead, skwitch. She really hoped he was listening, and she wasn’t just wasting her last words. “Not just to us “trash”, but to yer fellow Patrons; what’s Giovanna gonna think?” She forced a laugh as she fluttered aside. If Stormy was really so far gone, Miiya could probably fly away from her for a little while. Long enough to keep needling Nimrod. “I know; she’s gonna--they’re all gonna realize yer a WEAK LINK!! THAT YER WEAKER THAN TRASH!!” Miiya shouted.

The sprinklers came on. Hard. Miiya’s wings would quickly saturate, her feet were already slipping on the blood-slicked floor. Stormbreaker would catch her soon. “HA!! I KNEW yew were listening, arfline!! YOU CAN’T HIDE FROM ME, YEW LITTLE SKWITCH!!” She screeched over the thundering cascade of water.

Miiya flapped, allowing her wings to completely saturate in the deluge. She landed in the middle of the room and made an avian-based gesture to the viewports. Instead of Nimrod, she directed her last words to the oncoming Stormbreaker. “Yfrett this guy, Essbee! The weakling’s throwing a tantrum. I can hurt him more if you kill me--lets do it!” Miiya wasn’t sure if she meant it. She couldn’t tell if there were tears or just water running down her face. But this was her last shot. If she was going to die, she didn’t want her last words to be cursing her enemy.

As Stormbreaker roared and rushed her, claw-like hands outstretched, Miiya ducked under her guard and caught her berserk friend up in an embrace. She buried her face in the draconic woman’s neck, squeezing her as tight as she could. “I love you, Arashi.” she whispered, and held on, holding her breath, waiting for her friend’s teeth and claws to rend her apart.[/I][/COLOR]
 
Last edited:
Stormbreaker


zWB8Br4.png

Commissioned Art by Feerocomics. Art is here.

Real Name: Arashi Sato
Age:
36 (at the time of death in previous world)
32 (currently)
68 (chronologically)
Height: 6"3
Titles: Human, Draconian, Puppet, Kungfu Fighter, Pro Hero
Racial:
Human -
Normal human, plain and featureless. A blank slate full of potential.
Draconian - Humans with dragon heritage descended from the dragonborn. The bloodline is heavily diluted, leaving their appearance mostly human, but it grants them superior physical abilities, superhuman healing, magical aptitude, and, more rarely, partial draconic transformation.

Society - General:
Puppet -
Character was just a means to an end for grander or more influential figures. Whether by choice or by design, they dance to the whims of others. Character is more easily manipulated by others. Character is less responsible for the wrongs they commit.
Kungfu Fighter - Character was part of a street brawl.

Skill Related:
Pro Hero -
Character is a former pro hero in their pre-isekai'd life. They protected innocents and kept the peace.
Stats:
Strength | A Grade
Precision | F Grade
Intelligence | D Grade
Vitality | A Grade
Speed | D Grade

Abilities Active:
N/A - will be spoilered if ability
Abilities Used: N/A - will be spoilered if ability
Passives:
Regeneration | F Grade | 6 Posts
Resilient [Fatigue, Pain, Fear] | She still feels them but won't suffer from these three effects.
Color: #824ca3 | Link to Sheet
Equipment:

  • Magic Catalyst [Organ] | E Grade | 28 Points
    • Fire today, who knows tomorrow? Good thing it’s fireproof. Probably.
  • Armored Dragon's Armor | F Grade | 7 Points
    • Perfect for any vigilante trying to look menacing and mysterious on a budget. Although the paint on it isn't the best. Caution: may come with the side effect of looking dark and brooding.
  • Natural Weapon [Fists] | F Grade | 14 Points
    • Knock, knock! Who’s there? Justice!​
  • Hero's Claymore | F Grade | 7 Points
    • It’s a sword. Big, heavy, and... not much else to say. If you need to slice through a bunch of stuff, this'll do the job. Though it’s not very good at making small talk.​

Stormbreaker sat in the corner for what seemed to be weeks. She slept most of the time, not fully conscious. Not fully awake. Stormbreaker felt humiliated after what Nimrod did. She wasn't strong enough to escape or get back up. She wanted to fight to show up who's boss, but they had upped the sedation after that. She felt too relaxed and too docile to even bang against the walls.

It before long started. It felt like weeks, but they at least gave her food at first. Then it got much worse. They started to starve her. Her body could handle it for a while, but she felt the hunger after a bit. Anger rose through her body, she needed food... she needed a way to relax all the way from this. It was then they sedated her enough and the next thing she knew was some random civilian was in the cell.

They tried to look at her. The poor civilian wasn't meant to be there. He placed himself up against the wall as the dormant SB sat in the corner. She wasn't moving, hell she barely even noticed him amongst the heavily sedated state was she was in. He just saw how much of a monster she was and backed off. Nimrod had captured him for a reason, he had betrayed Nimrod and was due punishment. He was a dirty criminal. One that Stormbreaker would kill.

And before she knew it, she heard that dreaded noise and the next thing she knew that she had murdered the person that was brought into the cell. She didn't hesitate. This happened too often. She killed any criminal brought before her. She had lost her mind in that moment, only eager to fulfill the command of a reward. It was the only thing that felt better in that moment.

Having dealt with her victim, she then waited what felt like forever before she heard another person enter. She didn't even hesitate to get up once that heard that noise got up. She needed to kill them, not even knowing it was Miiya. All she heard that was in her head was Nimrod's voice.

A new enemy has arrived. Kill them for your meal. Kill them for your reward.

This wasn't the Stormbreaker that Miiya knew. She was dangerous, not willing to talk, and just lunged herself at the girl. The water didn't stop the draconian, it only made her angrier. More lethal. "Kill you. Master would be proud." Was all she managed to speak out before she lunged, Miiya had dodged her so much at this point, but Stormbreaker was acting like a wild animal. Crazed. Insane. Like she was being controlled.

Miiya then hugged the draconian and, for that moment, Stormbreaker froze. She didn't know what to do. She didn't feel somebody to kill her or somebody trying to run away... she felt somebody trying to hug her. The guards wouldn't dare to do that. They would sedate her with tranquilizers before picking her up and taking her elsewhere to continue reconditioning. They would treat her with some sort of damn animal, muzzling her outside of her cell so she wouldn't hurt anybody.

But.. this felt different. For a moment, she forgot who she was. Nimrod wanted her to kill Miiya. He wanted the draconian to tear her to shreds. "...Miiya...?" the name felt weird. It was that hesitation that made her want to stop and think, it wasn't till she heard that damned noise of that bell again that she fell back into her conditioning.

She wrestled Miiya out of a hug and went to go and grab her arm. She wasn't thinking right. For that split second that Miiya thought about bringing her back, it only worked till Nimrod decided to control her again. This time, she was aiming to play with this criminal. Not kill them straight away. Kill her. You are his. You obey. Came the voice in her head.

She listened. Obeyed. She was going to please her master, no matter what. One less criminal was all it took. She grabbed Miiya's arm and that moment, attempted to bite down on it. It wasn't enough to fully hurt somebody, as she had the strength of a goddamn human, but it would hurt enough.


Irihi Irihi Mephisto Mephisto
 

Users who are viewing this thread

Back
Top