2013.10.04 - Module E2: RAID ON HELL MANSION

Staring into a mirror while psyching yourself up doesn't really work like it does in the movies. This isn't the first time Amy has tried it, but it's definitely the most intense. She keeps getting sidetracked in searching her face for blemishes. Not like those really happen anymore. Thanks, magical god genes.

"You beat Eclipso. You didn't even know what was up with him and you beat him. It was, like, 'sup, got your diamond!' It was awesome. You did that. You can do this."

Amy splashes some water on her face, towels off, and steps out into the charmingly creepy hall of the Sanctum Sanctorum. A man in traditional Chinese dress stands there, waiting.

"Oh, um, hey Wong. Is it almost time?"

Wong nods.

Amy winces. Of course it was. "Yeah. Yeah, um, I remembered. I'll be downstairs in a second. I have to go princess mode."

The Sanctum Sanctorum is imposing or quirky, depending on who you are. It is located in Greenwich Village, though you'd never find it without permission. Through the front doors, guests are guided to a nearby sitting room by the eternally composed Wong. A table and rug have been neatly set aside so that all the couches and chairs are facing a complex ritual circle composed of candles, various gems, salt, and dried blood.

Amethyst, Princess of Gemworld, stands looking out the window. Her mist silk and steel armor gleam in the dying evening light. It was totally an accident, but serendipitously finding the most picturesque place to stand is a pretty good superpower. She greets people as they arrive, begging off answering any specific questions by promising that Doctor Strange will soon answer everything.

She is, after all, the reason everyone is here. The least she can do is be a friendly face as they wait for Hell.

Imposing, quirky, or the jury's out on 'posh' or 'pretentious'. Not that it really matters to Wisdom; the Englishman's scowling, fists jammed in his pockets as he jogs up the steps. "Harper is such a tosspot, drags me into this business and then bloody /bails/ on it. Thanks for having my back again, love, I'm really stacking up the favors here," he tells Rain, glancing back. "This one's a bit beyond the pale, I think."

Pete holds the door for the witch, his eyes almost unerringly finding the strategically situated princess-- and stopping there. Hopefully he doesn't trip. There's very little a man can do but wait to regain his mobility when it's abruptly revealed to him how well and truly screwed he is.

"...Because if I end up stuck there or die there or whatever, I need you to be in -this- dimension to take care of stuff," Booster Gold, who arrived somewhat early, is explaining to Skeets as to why his small robot sidekick is not going to be coming along on this jaunt.

Skeets thinks about this, and then says, "You mean, if you die, I need to cancel your appointments?"

"Something like that," Booster agrees. He rubs his chin as he thinks about this, and adds, "Dying is not on my 'to do' list or anything, I just want to plan ahead. But don't give my stuff away, if it happens. I might get better, and then I'd need my stuff."

TWO THOUSANDS YEARS AGO: Spitting blood out, deep within a cavern, Gilad looked up.

Above him, the tall dark Spirit of Vengeance laughed, loud and maniacally. "The Fist and Steel of the Earth! What -can- you do to me now? The sunlight will not reach here..."

Gilad smiled grimly. "You think so, do you? The Romans are ingenuous people. They can create ingenous traps...

"What have you... NO!"

The lever that Gilad had made his way to all too swiftly is pulled down, and part of the cavern -crumbles- away... revealing bright sunlight.

"NOOOOOOOOOO!"

And when the sunlight hit, a man stands there, holding a black diamond...

One swift punch, and the man falls.

Walking over, Gilad regards the diamond, before reaching down. Clutching it in his hand, Gilad growls. "One diamond down. 999 to go..."

NOW:

Uninvited, unrequested, and yet here this man was, standing in front of the door, arms folded across his chest, his scarred face looking towards Amaya Amethyst. "Hmm. You look less like a warrior than I expected, but appearance can be decieving." Gilad comments dryly. "Well, as long as you can fight, you will do. Now then, the Geomancer, the Speaker for the Earth, has decreed that you are -here- to do -something- about the God of Vengeance. You have the Fist and Steel of the Earth at your disposal. Men call me the Eternal Warrior, and I am told you will have need of such a one." Thumping his chest with a gloved spiked fist, Gilad nods. "So who else has the Earth gathered?"

Rain is following a little behind Pete. She smiles up to him. She has no idea what half of this slang means, but she goes with it. The witch seems a gentle, easy going sort. "That's okay. It's what friends are for, right? I seem to get into this sort of thing a lot," She considers. She feels like a guppy in Shamu's tank. This is so much bigger than her. She was booted out of the Easy Bake Coven for being unworthy. She looks to Pete and beams as he holds the door.

"Thanks. And hi!" Rain? However. Has the sense of self preservation of a ferret. That is to say, none. For a mortal, she seems unworried about this whole death business. It's sort of zen. "Oh wow." Then wait. Who the heck is? A blink at Gilad and the others. She looks confused.

One moment nothing's there, the next a strange and unquestionably imposing figure stands next to one of the wingback chairs. Whatever it is, it's a form, a shape, in black floor-length robes that flow like shadow given form and a red hood and mantle that completely obscures any sort of facial features in darkness. It says nothing. It does not move, aside from a slow rise and fall of shoulders that proves it is alive, or at least that it does breathe. The sleeves are kind of wizardly, so it's not really visible whether or not it has hands. This thing just is, for the moment.

A simple wooden door set next to a shelf of mundane curios cracks open as the last guests arrive, admitting plumes of sweet-smelling, lime-coloured smoke into the sitting room. Mere moments ago, that section of the wall was occupied by a surreal landscape painting and a low table with a glossy old photography book atop it; sometimes, these things happen in the Sanctum.

"Greetings," the Sorceror Supreme says as he emerges from the room; as he shuts the door behind himself, a few last wisps of smoke curl into the air to linger like incense from beyond. "for those of you who do not know: I am Doctor Strange, and in several minutes, we will be entering one of several extra-dimensional realms where unfortunate souls dwell once their mortal lives end," he continues as he approaches the circle, tone every bit as clinical as his name would suggest. His grim, grey eyes move between the allies that his new apprentice has gathered as he speaks, lingering on the shadowy form for a little longer than the rest.

"A 'Hell', in other words; our goal is to find allies in locating and securing an ancient and phenomenously dangerous spirit. If any of you are having second thoughts about this expedition, this will be your last chance to turn away; otherwise..." When his gaze eventually makes it to Amethyst, it stops, and he beckons to the princess.

"... I would suggest you brace yourself; the trip will not be a pleasant one."

"Thanks for helping, Booster," Amethyst says, appearing behind him and touching his shoulder during a lull in his argument with Skeets. She smiles, but then Wong ushers in some random guy talking smack.

The princess turns and stares. She eventually forms some kind of response: "I'm, uh--" She squints. "Thaaaanks?" Wong isn't freaking out, so maybe this is some surprise from Strange. Geomancer definitely sounded familiar. She's read it somewhere.

Oh. There's Lilith. Good distraction. "Hey L--Omen." Omen, right? Damn, superhero identities are soooo weird. Can't accidentally out anyone.

As Strange enters, Amethyst drops her hostess routine and rounds the circle to stand by his side. At his signal, she nods and kneels down at the edge of the ritual area. In cupped hands, the princess summons a dancing purple light that she nourishes with her breath. When it grows to a bright flame, she looks up, her gaze lingering on each person in turn.

"Booster's strong and tough. Intercept threats and keep us safe. Agent Wisdom, um, I just know you're with SHIELD? Rain, you're great with healing magic. Everyone help give her breathing room to do her stuff. Weird guy--fist and steel, right? Omen's psychic, she's on communication and crowd control. I'm a magical princess. Doctor Strange is the Sorcerer Supreme, so we should all listen to him."

She grins without humor. "Let's do our best, guys."

The princess spreads her hands, letting the flame drift down to the circle. The salt and blood ignite and then the world is fire and ruin.

Mephisto's realm is exactly what you expect. Hey, someone had to set the baseline.

The summoning circle is transposed onto a rocky outcropping overlooking a broad plain dotted with ruins. The sky is a hazy red, filled with drifting figures and distant stone pillars. Men and tanks and horses scurry about the ground. The sound of gunfire and screams are dominant. The air is hot and close, like someone else's breath blowing right into your face.

A tall castle looms on the horizon, situated on an artfully dire mountain.

Amethyst rises to her feet. "Wow. Um--I got this. Arena of Tainted Souls. It's where damned people fight eternally for Mephisto's amusement."

Jolted into animation once more by Gilad's ... attack of ... presence? On the entryway, Pete shakes himself out and smiles back at Rain, wry. "Reckon 'wow' is a decent word for it, yeah. And you know you can always ring -me- if -you- need backup." He gives the Princess a respectful nod as louder petitioners prevail, taking in the jarringly motley group of participants, then letting out a breath. He half-whispers to Rain, "You're also here to remind me to behave."

Once Strange has come in, Wisdom shuts up and stops wondering how god-things and Booster's shininess will interact: some sort of violent matter-antimatter explosion? A bizarre chemical reaction? But stops, yeah. He shoves his hands back in his pockets after straightening his sunglasses, and as soon as they're ... where they are, he scowls again. "Some pretty fuckin' impressive stamina," he comments on Amethyst's description, covering the fidgets with lighting a cigarette.

Against the backdrop of Mephisto's Realm, one of the various 'Hells', a monster and his victim are silhouetted. Despite pleas for mercy, screams of torment, the monster continues to drag soul after soul into the darkness of the cloak he wears... Where their screams and cries abruptly stop. The monster appears to be a man. A handsome man, with straight blonde hair that curls upwards at the tips, ice-blue eyes, and even with the smirk on his lips there is no real emotion in his expression. He is passionless, devoid of caring. Neither love nor hate hold a place in his existence. His name is Marcus Cranston, and he is daringly stealing the souls of the damned right out of Hell for some sinister plot... Or perhaps he views them as little more than spell components. Fuel to be gathered and expended.

His personal motto IS 'Death is but a resource to be used.'

But this necromancer is among the dead himself. He knows it is dangerous to be here, in a realm belonging to one who deals in souls. Though he remains masked even from Mephisto at the moment -- at least as far as he knows -- that shall not last indefinitely. So when there is a sudden disturbance in the local energy and his senses make him aware of such, the cloaked figure makes a few quick calculations, gauges what he can about the new arrivals, and determines he does not want to either fight them or get caught up in all the attention they are going to bring. And as a consummate paranoid manipulator himself, Marcus does not imagine Mephisto would assume that only one group arrived in such a manner... He might go looking for other intruders.

Though his harvest is less than what he desired, it would be best to leave. A hole in the universe opens, and a babble of voices -- booming deeper than than the grave, and yet each insane syllable clearer than the most musical of bells -- spills forth from the... 'Not portal'. It's not a portal, or a door, or a worm hole. It's an absence of All.

Marcus casts one last glance over his shoulder... And then he slinks into the gap in the fabric of all that is and was and will be, and for a moment ceases to exist... And trusts that the horrors beyond allow him to resume existing back on Earth, rather than simply permitting his existence to lapse.

"Anytime, Princess," Booster replies to Amethyst when she gives her thanks, punctuating this with a wink and a sort of tongue-click as he points a finger-gun her way. He gives Skeets a pat on the golden carapace and lifts his hand in a wave to the others gathered, whether they are friendly or glaring. There seems to be a lot of the 'glaring', but Booster is not going to let this worry him.

After the dimensional transport, Booster floats up into the air as if he were not comfortable having his feet rest upon that ground. Turning in the air, he has a look around, one eyebrow arched up. "Reminds me of somewhere I've been," he remarks, in a tone that is still congenial, although he does not explain his comment.

There is a nod at the others, a quick assessment of the people involved by the all-too-old scarred warrior. The calculated studies fades as he looks up towards the latest Sorcerer Supreme. Not that they'd met, but...

"Sorcerer Supreme," Gilad inclines his head, now realizing just where he'd been sent to. "So you replaced the Ancient One. May you do half as well. I am Gilad Anni-Padda."

With the introduction done, the Eternal Warrior falls in, apparently having designated the Princess the leader of the expedition, and thusly, to be protected.

As soon as the circle transports the party, Gilad is on his guard, sword withdrawn. The semiautomatics could wait until absolutely necessary, but the ancient warrior is almost practically -smiling-, rarely seen on his all-too serious mien. "Excellent," is all he has to say about the prospect of eternal combat...

Familiar faces are good. Rain is quiet, for her part. She looks a little cowed by all this power and these big names and friggin' royalty. Only a few weeks ago, until her aunt's house landed in Gotham, she was very much effectively homeless outside of her stays in Eldred. She nods at the encouragement to do her best. Well, okay then. She's not sure what that'll mean in the face of all this. She looks to Pete and just smiles faintly. "I probably should do that sometimes." Unfortunately, Rain is Darwin's lil' antelope that could. She tends to wander into danger blithely and keep coming out of it somehow. No one's ever sure why.

A nod at Pete. But she's quiet. Hell looks a lot less like Help Desk than she imagined. She just smiles weakly at Pete. She seems to have faith in the British fellow. She keeps close to the group, and it is apparent she has two relic guns for channeling. Seemed handier than a wand. She seems uneasy. A lot uneasy. Like a houseplant at a pyromaniac's convention.

There's a kind of gentle telepathic touch of Rain from the hooded, robed figure's direction. Lomen. Omen? Lilith! Even if they only met once so far, and not for very long, it was at least kind of memorable. But aside from that singular impression, Omen doesn't seem to speak much. There's a kind of telepathic opening though, just after that: it's a bit like when the ears are a little clogged and you yawn, and then it's all so very clear, like it wasn't a moment ago. That must be the communication channel Amethyst mentioned.

"May I indeed," the Doctor replies as Amethyst casts his spell; a small, tight smile is on his lips as he regards the Eternal Warrior. "For all of our sakes."

The amulet adorning the Doctor's chest snaps open as the party appears in Mephisto's realm; the golden Eye within pans back and forth, observing the endless carnage below.

"Correct," he says to the Princess, almost as an after-thought; he's more focused on the rip in the very fabric of the place that suddenly appeared amidst the carnage. It isn't until it just as abruptly vanishes that he turns from the battle to face the group.

"And I'm afraid that we're going to have to cross it." Strange's eyes get a bit distant and glassy as he speaks, but the ever-curious Eye lurking within his amulet is scanning energetically around the gathering. "The Arena itself confounds any attempts to hide from the conflict, and encourages anyone inside to fight; I will do my best to use the Eye of Agamotto to soften its influences, but it will be on all of us to keep our goal in mind as we press forward." As he turns back to the battle, his feet lift from the rocky outcropping, and he gives his fingers a quick wiggle, as if preparing himself. |"Are we ready?"| he finishes without moving his lips.

Here and there, the drifting figures in the sky meet. When they do, several often fall. Amethyst squints up at them. "Are those...?"

A flight of them passes close. They are planes, engaged in dogfights with men mounted on spectral horses. The horsemen throw spears with supernatural strength, making them an even match for the guns of the propeller planes.

Amethyst gestures grandly, unsheathing a glittering saber of light from the oppressive air. "Alright! Booster, Fiststeel, we're up front! Omen, warn us if anyone is sneaking up!" She leaps down the hill, leading by sparkly example.

Meanwhile:

A jackbooted man in a neatly pressed uniform marches down a hallway. He pauses at a large iron door, knocking twice. A slit in the door opens and then closes. The guard posted inside undoes the lock and allows the man in.

He stops, smartly snapping to attention and saluting before a large table. An older man looms over the map posted there, studying the pieces while rubbing his mustache. The older man does not say anything, but looks up with expectant eyes after coming to a good stopping point in this thoughts.

"I apologize for my interruption, but this picture was taken moments ago by one of our pilots." The younger man steps forward, sliding a folder across the table. The older man leafs it open, stopping at the very first picture and resting a hand on it.

"The Cloak of Levitation," he murmurs, "and the Eye of Agamotto. These could only belong to the Sorcerer Supreme."

"Yes. What are your orders?"

The older man lifts his head, eyes blazing. He was human once, but not now. These moments show that more clearly than the horns growing from his slicked black hair. "Launch the Teufelsoldat at once. Kill him. Kill them all."

"Jahowl, mein Fuhrer!"

Adolf Hitler slams a hand down on the table. "And ready the ultimate weapon! I will crush them personally, and with the Sorcerer Supreme's power, I will destroy that wretched Attila once and for all!"

Glaring! Pete's at least not glaring, he's just refusing to acknowledge anything but his cigarette for a second. Finally, the SHIELD agent blows out a plume of blue-grey smoke and eyes Booster up over his shoulder. "Crosstime?" he asks with something that, in someone generally less cranky about this, might be construed as sympathy. There's a wordless sensation of assent from the Englishman at Strange's telepathic question, and he shrugs his jacket straight, starting to trudge after the three on point. But he also lightly hipchecks Rain as they start off. "It'll be all right. We ain't dead."

"...yeah, alright," Booster says, looking at the battlefield without much enthusiasm. He does not seem fearful, merely a little sad. Turning his head, he says to Pete Wisdom, "Something like that." He is glowing faintly now with a golden aura, as if he were inviting other forces to target him; this is indeed the case. He flies forward, staying just above but otherwise abreast of Amethyst rather than charging ahead of her. Through the psionic link provided by Omen, Booster communicates, |"I don't know all of you, so if you're in need of protection at any time please let me know..."|


 * I need no protection,| Gilad announces, as the sword is brandished. |You there, flying one. Hold your hands out...|

And then, taking measure of the flying planes, Gilad dashes, leaps, using Booster's hands as a step up, and goes jumping up and over into a plane cockpit, the better to commandeer a plane. Higher ground, higher firepower, and the better to provide aerial coverage...

That's different. Rain considers the sensations of it all. Oh hey! Rain's got B-mail. That's brainmail. She will politely greet Lilith back, somehow. Braining. She's surprised, though it seems whomever she is apprenticed to does something similar - she doesn't flinch much at it. Odd, that. She looks concerned at talk of the Arena. Deepbreath. Okay. Not a coward. Even if her ancestors all agreed, and the last thing they voted on unanimously was Pantsless Fridays. Rain's a weenie and pantless Fridays. Boy, they get things done around there. All wussiness aside, there's a twinge of sympathy for Booster. And concern, maybe. There's a spatter of emotions. On one hand, she feels bad for the poor saps who just gotta battle. On the other, some relish it.

She blinks at Pete and smiles at the little hipcheck. Silly. "Did you -" Did he need a lift up since apparently - but then that Eternal Fighty Dude seems to have it covered and it's rather intimidating. Otherwise, she's tamping down the cowardice that counters her alarming lack of regard for her own well being. |"Sure thing."| She'll keep an eye out for injuries and linger near Pete, for the most part, unless called over.

Omen, as imposing and potentially terrifying as she is, keeps clear of the direct battle. She's observing, not only with her first five senses, but also with the sixth and further. If anything approaches and proves imminent danger to any of her current teammates, it'll be outlined in clear telepathic imagery from her. Otherwise, she's essentially the telepathic equivalent of a wifi hotspot. In Hell.

"All-Seeing Agamotto," the Doctor chants as his grey eyes flood with golden light and a glittering image of Agamotto's blossoms from within the amulet to form a barrier of sorts in front of him, "grant us the wisdom to glimpse your glorious truth through the bloody haze of war!"

When he follows this incantation up by flying through the center of the Eye to join the fray, the mystical image shatters, and music - whatever each member of the party might most soothing - begins to swell behind the mental chatter, remaining just loud enough to stand out on its own without drowning everyone's voices out.


 * "Do not stop, do not give chase"| he reminds the group as he drops low enough to strafe a company of spectral snipers with arcane bolts, |"and do not hold anything back; these soldiers will rise again, in time! We will not!"|


 * "Booster, are you alri--"| "--woah!"

Amethyst almost stumbles as she spins around to watch Gilad accomplish some real life wire-fu. The plane wasn't even flying that low. Its pilot, shocked, is summarily dispatched despite his badass fangs and horns.

The controls are exactly like they were in World War 2. It may be fueled by demonic ichor and the bullets may be bolts of hellfire, but it's the same basic principle. Several nearby planes divert from their course, heading toward Gilad's stolen fighter. They circle wide, aiming to entrap him from several directions.

"That's... actually a great idea!" Amethyst exclaims, sprinting to catch up with Booster. She's more athletic than meets the eye. |"If we can steal one of those tanks, we could drive across, right? I bet the enchantments won't stop us if we're in one of those!"|

They are into the battle proper, now, clearing this last ridge. It is every last stand scene from every war movie ever, but with Nazis and Huns. Brutality is the name of the game, not strategy. A tank come crashing through the trees, spewing fire from its turret onto a mixed melee of bayonet-wielding infantrymen and scalemail-clad warriors.

A trio of horsemen round a blast-riddled wall, shouting and taunting as they drive toward the squishiest thing they can see: the back line of Pete, Rain, and Omen. Up on a rocky ledge, an gun emplacement whirrs to life, belching hot lead down from above. It's inaccurate, but getting better every second. Drama.

Amethyst springs forward, catching errant flame from the tank with her offhand. It swirls above her, caught in some invisible bowl and growing every second. Soon, even though the tank is intent on burning the corpses of its earlier prey, all of its fire is diverted to Amethyst's magical trap.

"Go up there? No-- ta-- better aim from solid ground," Pete tells Rain, distracted; he's watching Gilad jump, too, and his face is expressionless. Because what can you actually say. Mostly-- mostly: he's watching. If his focus is on the members of the party, it'll be harder to distract away into the battles, into the challenges, into the things...

...the people he thinks he's seen before, the faces he hasn't seen in years, dying, or dying again, or reaching for him, calling for his help--

--which is why his focus is on the whopping powerhouses who could flip out at any second and go charging into battle with electric guitars. His hands are loose, though, and he's certainly got more than one cigarette, so if he has to drop this one in a hurry, it won't be a horrible miscarriage of justice.

It's when there's an actual attack starting instead of just taunts and temptations and carnage that Wisdom changes the balance of his attention. Now it's on the horsemen: his first round of hotknives, razor sharp slivers of sun, are flung in a spread that's aimed for the heads of their assailants. Hasn't got rid of the cigarette yet, anyway.

After helping to throw Gilad upwards, Booster starts to turn, because he instinctively wants to shield the more fragile members of the group. When Amethyst suggests they steal a tank, his expression changes to one of thoughtful consideration. "Makes sense to me," he says. He flies up and around, towards the back of the tank, but instead of attacking it--because he wants it to be intact for their use--he drops down and gets beneath it. For a moment, it looks as if he might have gotten squashed under the huge treads.

Gritting his teeth, Booster diverts some extra power through the nanocircuitry of his suit and starts to lift the tank. The back end of it goes up, first, as he 'walks' his hands forward closer to the middle, and then the entire thing starts to rise up as if it were hovering. After a moment, Booster can be seen lifting it up overhead, his feet leaving the ground before the weight can sink him like a pillar into the soil. Once he has a good grip on it, he starts to give the vehicle a violent agitating, as one might do with a cocktail shaker.

A glint shines in Gilad Anni-Padda's eyes as he puts the fighter through its paces, firing away. These were old planes, of course, not really suited for climbing and diving, and modern fighting techniques wouldn't hold up. But old-school dogfighting tactics...? Hans von Hammer would have been proud of the display. Immelman turn, perfectly executed, takes out a few fighters, as Gilad steers a specific path, taking the fighter towards the gun emplacement.

And as the plane crashes into the emplacement, Gilad is already leaping out, going down towards the ground and into a melee.

Gilad's sword flashes, and heads and limbs began to fly.

There was going to be Nazi blood flowing freely in Hell for days afterwards...

It was pretty impressive. Rain seems relieved, though for all the humor it's wrapped in, realizing one's genuine, deepest flaw is sort of painful in its own way. No chasing, no running away. Right then. Rain decides to draw her relic pistols, just in case. She lingers near Pete, then. Most of her combat experience has been against supernal creatures, though she's seen her fair share of horrors. Is that - no, it's - that's not quite right or fair... Twinges of fear and lashing out like a cornered animal. The music is nice, countering the urge to just tear into battle. It's more of a fear thing than any ferocity.

It feels wrong in this Arena, mostly. For now then, she prepares to blast some sap, concerned when Booster - seemingly - oh, not squished. That's a relief. She sticks to being out of melee combat, if she can help it. Still, it is somewhat unusual she can use either bullet or magic blast. Though, she ends up setting one Nazi's pants on fire and eeps as another gets turned into a newt. Most literally.

Fortunately, Omen is very good with illusion and distraction. Even if they are diabolical shades casting their shade as they man the guns and horses, they're no match for the telepathic might of someone who can perceive infinite earths. Even if they should draw close enough to strike, Omen is possibly the greatest teleporter known to Earth, and she's not about to let herself or those she has agreed to assist fall to such simple attacks. Not so soon, not so simply, not while she has will and energy to forfend it.Her own telepathy adds a little bit of the hippie chick's pacifism to the affair, at least to an extent enough to prevent her allies from being drawn into the tempting bloodlust and endless battle.

"Images of Ikonn!" Strange exclaims as he soars away from a scattered sniper team; as he turns to bear down on a group of infantry, a copy of the Sorceror - as convincingly real as the original, if one ignores its sudden appearance and the soft, emerald nimbus surrounding it - races onwards to engage another crew of marksmen, transforming their rifles into venomous snakes with a wave of its hand before vanishing.

As he flies across the battlefield, hands and lips moving at rapid speeds, more duplicates emerge in his wake. Some are almost immediately perforated by gunfire - at least, until the emplacement is taken out - but others last long enough to back the rest of the party by bedevilling Hell's gladiators with a spell or two: the ground beneath one of the tanks not currently being man-handled by Booster yawns open to swallow it, smoldering fires unexpectedly roar to life to consume a mortar team, and dozens Nazi and Hun alike are vaporized by vibrant, colourful bursts of eldritch might from the Doctors' hands before they can reach the less durable members of the group.

The riders go down, one two three with hotknives through their furry helmets. The agent's on point and there's only so much dodging someone can do in a saddle, especially when you're busy screaming your lungs out.

There are shouting three ice cubes in Booster's cocktail shaker. After five seconds of nano-augmented mixing, they are silent. It is not so morbid when one considers that these, by Strange's account, are demon Nazis that will soon rise from the dead to continue murdering.

With a twist of her fingers, Amethyst turns the massive ball of flame she's collected into a charming storm of flower white and pink flower petals. As maddeningly whimsical as this seems, the petals are soon caught up in a mysterious breeze, casting them far and wide. Where they touch the ground, plants bloom: hulking stems the size of men, with lash-like protrusions that flail and catch demonic interlopers. The little flowers dotting them definitely liven the place up, as well.

Amethyst's jaunty barrier cuts off an entire avenue of attack, shielding the group from one direction. She moves forward, relying on Omen's wisdom to keep her appraised of what's going on.

"This is the best kind of ridiculous," she says to no one in particular, pausing to survey the plane crashing, eldritch slinging, hotknife tossing, psychic teleporting, tank jiggling, newting flurry that has beset this front of the eternal war. Her magic plants have her back. One grabs a nazi and throws him like two hundred feet into the air where he hits a ghost horseman. Awesome.

Until:

The sky roars. A dark shape rises up from over the horizon, a blot in the distance. It turns and speeds closer, shrieking as it comes. It is the sound of rocket engines, seventy years too late to win the war.

It is fast. No matter how far out it seems to be, it takes moments to arrive, bulging and swelling as it comes to unveil its improbable threat: it is a zeppelin covered in swastikas with an amphibious troop transport lashed to the bottom by muscly sinews and veins. A powerful array of speakers point toward the ground. They really want you to hear Grosser Festmarsch. It's always Wagner, isn't it?

"You are trespassing on sovereign soil!" a voice breaks over the orchestra, thick with mania. "This land and everything upon it belongs to the German people!"

The transport's wide mouth swings open. A clawed, titanic hand slithers out, grabbing the lip of the exit. It pulls a massive bulk forward, revealing a hideous face. It is like a dog's skull, but horned, and with tendons still gripping the bone. Two bloodshot eyes roll in empty sockets, turning independently to survey the battlefield.

A place has been carved in the forehead and enclosed with a glass bubble. A man with a tiny mustache sits in a pilot chair inside, working two levers.

"BEHOLD! THE WEAPON THAT WILL WIN US THE WAR!"

The monster throws itself from the zeppelin interior, revealing the full breadth of its madness: fifty feet tall, a body like a shaved ape, with rocket launchers instead of forearms and gun emplacements dotting its body.

It never stops shooting, ever.

"HELL IS EQUAL FUCKING OPPORTUNITY, YOU TREMENDOUS FUCKWIT!" Wisdom shouts upwards, instantly whirling-- making sure Lilith and Rain are between him and the ... ... plant wall ... flower ... petals ... whatever. He is between them and bad things, that is what should be taken away from this description of placement. And -- flicking his cigarette into a Nazi's eye -- he leaves the Zeppelin crashing to the Red Baron up there and minds everyone else's positions, cutting a path of smouldering cauterized demon Nazis toward Booster's tank. His hands are like enormous white-hot claws, slicing fascism into julienne fries, and if there's any hint of breathless furious glee in his attack, well, he never claimed to be a role model.

"Here's your tank, Princess, although you'll probably have to uh. Throw some stuff out of it." Even though the beings they are fighting are undead, Booster is still a little uneasy using excessive force. He is starting to set the vehicle down when the mecha-monster emerges, and pauses, hefting the tank a bit as if he were judging its use as a blunt weapon. But, there are people with him who could really use this thing, so he does set it down on the ground, back onto its treads. Flying upwards, he hovers before and above the tank, between it and the monster. Holding a hand up, a translucent golden sphere balloons around him; it does not encompass the tank, because that would prevent others from getting to it, but the sphere is large enough to shield and deflect any shots fired towards it.

It is pretty redonk, but Rain is in awe. The Newtzi scampers off. She's staying near Pete. She seems to trust the hot knifing fellow. Though, she quietly seems concerned. "Just be careful not to get too into it," She offers quietly to Pete. They are in HellArena. "Although, --" She had a thought and then holy crap that mech that doesn't stop shooting. Why couldn't she get iron body or something super strong? Either way, a hapless duo of undead Nazis gets lightning'd. She's keeping an eye out reflexively, though. Mustn't run screaming.

There's a little bit of a stronger impression of that peaceful hippie vibe for Pete, but Omen presumes he won't let himself be lost in the fury of the moment. If he is, well, she'll just have to do her best with the ones who aren't consumed by rage and violence. If any of their foes venture too close to Rain or Omen, they'll find it extremely difficult to actually target the two women: Omen's telepathy has made it all but impossible to actually focus on them at all. They're more likely to fall directly into Pete's deadly path, or harm each other in the attempt.

Any remaining Strange simulacra shatter as Hell's Most Offensive Zeppelin(it was an infinity-way tie between it and every other zeppelin in Demon Hitler's fleet) darkens the skies, and the Doctor himself draws to a halt near Amethyst's living barrier to observe the descending monstrosity with raised hands and hard, determined eyes.

Of course, when the Infernal Führer's trump card is unveiled, that determination gives way to wide-eyed shock; his hands, meanwhile, simply twist into strange shapes. |"Gilad,"| he thinks as golden sparks leap from his fingers, |"prepare yourself."|

"Let the carnage surrounding us be turned to noble ends," he chants, spreading his arms wide, "and these shattered implements of war be cleansed through the ceaseless power of Balthakk--" Across the battlefield, hundreds of hunks of metal that were, just moments ago, airplane wings, tank engines, or any one of countless other vital parts of the Nazi's infernal war machines lift off from the ground, hovering briefly before hurtling towards the Fist and Steel of the Earth. Rather than collide with the Warrior, however, they stop just short and hang in the air around him until there's nothing but junk surrounding him in a jagged, twisted cocoon; inside, bits of junk are shaping themselves into something like a throne for the Warrior.

The junk doesn't stop coming when there's no more space to occupy, instead slamming rather predictably into the shell that's already been formed; the impacts are accompanied by colourful sparks, and followed, less predictably still, by each new piece of junk grafting itself onto what's already there until, instead of merely being a jumbled pile of refuse, it begins to take shape: an arm juts from one end of it, and it's soon followed by a leg, a head...

"--and the unbreakable Crimson Bands of Cyttorak!" the Doctor concludes, thrusting one hand to the skies as his ersatz war machine rises; it's still a few stories shy of the demon ape's eye level, but it's a good thirty-plus feet in its own right. Ruby light flashes across the ersatz war machine's surface, and inside, a panoramic view of the battlefield spreads itself across the cocoon/cockpit's surface while a set of pedals, control sticks and buttons sprouts within easy reach of the throne. All of the controls are labelled; eighty percent of the labels include the words 'gun' or 'sword'.

The Doctor hopes, as he settles to the ground to crouch and catch his breath, that Gilad can figure out what to do from there.

Somewhere in the middle of the hacking and slashing, of dismembering Nazi zombies, Gilad's answer was short and sweet: |Who... Very well, Sorcerer Supreme.|

Still, when the magic forms around him, Gilad's surprise is evident: |Sorcerer?|

Finding himself in the equivalent of a giant walking tank, it takes him a moment to orient himself. What was he... ah. The giant nazi ape. A quick review of the controls. Very much like a tank, then.

An unholy look of bloodlust crosses his scarred face, then, and two spiked fists grab ahold of the controls.

The war machine rears up, tromping to engage the ape. First the guns, then...

BRATATATATATAA!

And then...

Two fists slam together, and draws forth a blazing sword and...

"Well it seems kind of useless now!" Amethyst shouts. The constant screeching of the ultimate weapon's rocket launcher hands make it useless to talk. Luckily: |"I said, it's kind of useless against that!"|

The landscape is riddled with bullets and explosions. Booster's shield may be able to reduce the demonic chaingun fire to raindrops, but the titanic explosives spewing from demon ape's main guns are vicious. One bursts across his defensive bubble, exploding not only literally but figuratively--with hate.

It's Hitler's greatest export. It's why he controls three fourths of the Arena of Tainted Souls. The Nazis have the bomb and the fallout is bad vibes. It's crushing, mentally, even to the most fortified minds. There is one exception: Omen's hippie umbrella blazes bright white, a visible aura of relief in the reddening battleground.

Amethyst raises her arm to shield her face, conjuring a translucent purple shield to ward off the barrage. She still makes for the tank, trying to find solace underneath Booster's shield. Not that it's going to help, with what she has in mind.


 * "Booster! Go get that guy in the skull! Flashing weak point, seriously!"|

The princess rests on the other side of the tank, giving her a front row seat to two things: first, she breathlessly watches Doctor Strange weave what is effectively a complex golem. He did it with no prior planning and apparently made it self-animate. She has trouble with self-animation by itself, never mind all this other stuff on top of it. There is a reason he's boss wizard.

Second, Omen's little bubble of good vibes. Amethyst holds the sides of her head. That's what's pounding in her head. It's magical radiation. "Just golems. They're just golems. Doc invoked magic and tied it off to animate his golem. The other one must--"


 * "HATE! IT'S POWERED BY HATE! LIKE, LITERALLY, FOR REAL!"| Amethyst thinks as loud as she can. She rises unsteadily to her feet, gesturing toward Gilad's fighting golem with all the fey grandeur she can summon. Its weapons shimmer, sheets of purple crystal enveloping the length of Gilad's mighty sword.

All these years learning about crystals turned out to not be lame at all. It helped Amethyst pick up some cool magic things you can do with them. For instance, the amethysts sheathing the sword are on the same resonance frequency as Omen's good vibes.

The demon monster roars in triumph. Hitler, frothing at the mouth, slams his controls forward. His mount lurches toward Gilad, bayonets the size of tractor trailers sprouting from its rocket launchers.

Amethyst narrows her eyes. The crystal-enchanted sword glows with the happiest kind of light.


 * "Okay. Gilad, teach him the meaning of friendship."|

"Ugh, dude, I can -taste- that," Booster remarks with disgust, as emotional flak washes over his forcefield. Then, using the psi-link so as to be 'audible', he points to the tank and communicates, |"It's still good as cover. There might be a lot of shrapnel in a moment."| He takes in a breath and exhales it. Being inundated with hate is not a new experience for Booster, although this is a very direct form of it. It always sucks but you have to concentrate and do the job in front of you.

With his golden glow becoming brilliant, Booster flies fast towards the monstrous war machine, pressing his hands together with outstretched arms to make his body into a javelin. He aims himself at the little bubble in the skull, a living missile streaking through the sky in an effort to pierce through the cockpit and, probably unavoidably, its occupant.

Oh no: Wisdom's not about to get lost in some kind of berserker rage, he definitely left the Viking mushroom soup at home. "Told you you were here to make sure I behaved," he tosses over his shoulder at Rain, and then-- the-- yeah, that's big, all right, and it's shooting a /lot/, and most damning of all is not that it's piloted by Demon Hitler, oh no. It's that it looks /dumb/ to the discerning science fiction fan dressed in a sharp secret agent suit. "TA, BOOSTER--" he yells up, then hurriedly helps whoever he can get into the tank into, you know, the tank. So they can get this show on the road. If he /can't/-- though it seems Rain and Lilith are at least willing to comply-- he gets up on top of the thing anyway and stares up at the zeppelin, a-chargin' his lasers.

That means his eyes are glowing visible behind the sunglasses, yes.

And. Doctor Strange is making a Junkion for a prehistoric psychopath-- to-- fight giant mecha Demon Hitler ape-- and-- Pete goes flying off the top of the tank via Wave Of Explosive Hate, because one always gets past the forcefield. While he's in midair, before he gets the wind knocked out of him, the Englishman brings his own hands -- white hot glowing plasma -- together in a thunderous clap; it sends a blinding blade almost half his size screaming upwards through the air, and it

GOES AROUND BOOSTER'S FORCEFIELD

and rockets straight and true toward the tail of the Most Offensive Zeppelin In That Part Of Hell's Sky: if he's aiming it right, the Zeppelin may, indeed, also crash into Mecha Hitler Ape, necause hippie love is /itchy/ and helps focus ire. "I LIKE SCOTCH. AND CHELSEA FC. AND DOCTOR WHO. I LOVE MY STUPID BEAUTIFUL PLANET. HATE CAN DIE IN A-- whuff." Ground, meet Peter Paul Wisdom's back.

Maybe someday Pete'll, you know, get that friendship is magic. It probably won't be today.

Building giant golems from scrap takes an awful lot out of a man, even when that man is the Sorceror Supreme; his first instinct upon landing is to conjure a shield for himself, but his incantation summons little more than faint blue wisps that mockingly orbit his fingers before winking out of existence.

Thank Oshtur/Omen for the pacification field; he would be cursing under his breath in Sumerian, otherwise.


 * "My power is spent for now!"| he exclaims, scurrying behind an undulating vine to find some cover from the weaponized hatred filling the air. He continues darting breathlessly from plant to plant in the hopes of staying a step ahead of the onslaught - not to mention the plants themselves, which thrash angrily in his wake once struck - but it's only a matter of time before he has to stop.

Hang around a few thousand years, combating whatever threats exists to the Earth, be it mystical or not, and very little fazes an Eternal Warrior.

The sparkling happy sword, on the other hand...

Still, even the grim-faced warrior had to admit that to combat the darkness, one had to use light.

And so, with a feral cry that reverbs through the air, the sword comes up, and then down onto the head of the giant Nazi weapon, aiming to cleave from head through the body...

With Hitler locked in combat with Gilad, Booster is spared dodging rockets. His shield braves the anti-air barrage, though there is an intelligence behind the guns. One locks onto him, and then a second, and then a third, but before it becomes too much, Booster flings himself forward.

"THIS IS NOT WEAPONIZED HATE! IT IS WEAPONIZED WILL!" Hitler shrieks, slashing wildly with bayonet arms against Gilad's expert defense. When the blade comes down, the fuhrer meets it with one blade--which buckles. The flashing sword slides across the bayonet-arm, finding purchase in the monster's shoulder. It cleaves downward through bone and muscle and machine, leaving purple flame as it goes.

Pete Wisdom's hotclaymore pierces the largest swastika on the blimp, located directly on its nose. The blade ignites the hydrogen within. They never learned. The fabric of the balloon crumples and folds inward into the flames, leaving the troop carrier to drop like a guillotine.

The ultimate weapon staggers, then roars. Booster impacts, a bullet through the brainpan. It goes hideously stiff. The flaming blimp comes serenely crashing in, slamming into the back of the monster's back, puncturing the helium reserves, and exploding a second time.

A body falls from the collapsing, burning hulk. Hitler, minus the arm that Booster took with him, lands hard on the ground and doesn't get up. He manages to roll over, but that's it. Amethyst saunters up, head still fuzzy from the magic hate radiation. Burnt pieces of blimp and who knows what else drift across the field.

"Hey. Hey. Hitler, hey. You alive?"

She kicks him in the ribs. Then again, and again. This goes on for some time. Long enough for people to join in.

With a flash of flame and a whiff of brimstone, a demonic man stands behind the princess. Go with the classics. He is dressed in a fine suit, though he appears to be a servant more than a master. He smiles, showing finely pointed teeth. "You have made quite an appearance. An excellent evening's diversion. May I ask what your business is?"

Amethyst gives Hitler another taste of chunky Sailor Moon boot before she turns around, wiping some ash from her face. "I am Princess Amethyst of House Amethyst, rightful ruler of Nilaa. I ask the hospitality of Mephisto."

The messenger's smile widens.