Mandelovia
Five Minutes PreviouslyA platoon of the undead made their way down Ellis Avenue, leaving a swath of carnage and terror in their wake. From flaming slugs tearing from the barrels of their dark weapons, to the grunts, heaving copper blades forged in the pits of Hell, they destroyed all life in their path.
That is, until six seconds ago, when their physical forms were shattered like glass from the backwash of a speedster breaking Mach-4.
In the sulfur-filled skies above, flashes of crimson lightning randomly illuminated the sickening, leathery hide of the airborne demonic invaders. Spanning bat-like wings, webbed with blood vessels of six-hundred and sixty-six rapists, beat against the rushing wind with the moans of psychopaths. Their mouths constantly vomited bile, while their six tongues babbled lies and deceit. Glittering fangs seethed toxin, each drop igniting the very air it touched.
Their numbers nigh-infinite, the aerial swarm of attackers constantly dove in strafing runs against their adversaries on the ground.
That is, until about four seconds ago, when five flying metahumans barreled through them with the concussive force of napalm.
Mandelovia was all but lost.
That is, until three minutes ago, when the Metahuman Analytical Network deployed a strikeforce into the heart of the city.
|||||We've just lost Brazil|||||
"Dammit!!" Prometheus shouted, the haggard 'voice' of Grimm, the 7th MAN, echoing along the tele-link. |||||Klarion, give me a broad-band|||||
|||||Go|||||
|||||This is the 1st MAN||||I want the Mexican contigent to re-route to the 7th MAN's location immediately|||||
The 21st MAN: |||||Acknowledged|||||
The pulverized pavement of the street just outside the Palace suddenly ripped upwards into a pair of enormous hands, mimicking Ghaelon's own. A clap of concrete sounded as the sorcerer slammed the hands together, crushing twelve advancing soldiers.
"...in my day, I would have used a Tarvin Illuminator chant in unison with a Necro-Puppet...." Avatar commented from behind, noticing this new Mage's efforts.
"...'your day'?" Ghaelon asked innocently.
"Never mind..." Kreagan mumbled, launching his current sword into more zombies.
Prometheus dove quickly to the ground, a billow of acrid flame spewing overhead.
|||||Things are getting hectic||||Begin coordination for the States|||||I'll be busy for the next few minutes|||||
|||||Understood|||||
"Uh-oh..." Bibbo commented, looking at his ring.
"Bibbo?" Pro asked, staring up at the man who had hugged the tree next to him.
"The ring's running low on juice..." he stated, shaking his ring-hand. "...that little interdimensional stunt drained it pretty raw."
Suddenly, a random demon soared down towards the two. Without even pausing Bibbo dropped him from the air with a solid punch from his steel fist.
"The old-fashioned way, I guess..." the sailor grimaced, noticing the demon beginning to rise from the ground.
That is, until Bibbo began beating him repeatedly with his metallic knuckles.
The demon did NOT get up.
Fires blazed all around them, as MAN agents streaked through the skies. Swarmed along the ground. Filled the harbor. From the pyrokinetic, August Tallmoore, to the micro-morph Amazona. From the speedster called Reflex, to the invunerable Dio. From Quax-Ren, the 21st Century reincarnation of the Ghengis Khan, to the 14th MAN called Agent Tuxedo, the Network continued to push forth as hard and as fast as a rolling storm.
Yet, already, twenty agents had fallen in battle.
Prometheus had noticed this. He had noticed this, and had come to a realization. A terrifying conclusion that was difficult for him to admit. But, it was a logical fact, nonetheless.
TOMB was not going to win this one.
No matter how many more agents he brought in. No matter how much back-up, or how much firepower he was supplied with, the forces of Hell continued to mount Earth's plane of reality.
Their numbers were almost limitless.
Earth's forces were dwindling by the minute.
This was all cannon-fodder. The true threat had yet to be realized. And that was what TOMB needed to deal with. Not the demons. Not the zombies. The real threat. The cause of this all.
The X and The V.
As he picked himself up off the ground, Pro noticed something of an abstract thought clinging to his mind. Something of no importance on the whole. But, in the midst of this chaos, something almost....humorous.
"...look at that..." Pro said, a small, sad smile coming to his face.
"What?" Bibbo asked, turning around, expecting another enemy. Or disaster. Or death.
But, following Pro's eyes, he realized what the ex-godling was on the verge of laughing over.
The Palace.
Still standing. Without a scratch.
"Son of a bitch..." Bibbo breathed. "Of all the times...."
"Yeah..." Pro chuckled through a delirium of exhaustion. "...any other time, a small wind would probably decimate the place..."
"Gob knows we've rebuilt the thing almost every other month..."
"Heh! But, of course, with the Apocalypse upon us, the old girl doesn't even have a broken window..." Pro stated, beginning to chuckle.
"Ha! Ha! Ha!" Bibbo began to laugh as well. "Hell...heh...Joker1 could probably have a cup of coffee, and reduce it to the ground...any OTHER time!"
The two men began laughing hard at this. It wasn't true laughter, really. Not the normal lazy-day laughter that accompanied so much of their precious free-time.
No. It was the laughter of fatigue. Of an unending torment. Of exhaustion plagued by depression.
Of watching their lives crumbling around them.
The laughter of finality. Of true sadness, and the ultimate irony of life.
The two men laughed hard, tears streaming from their faces, as their city crumbled around them.
Finally, panting hard from the spell, Pro glanced over at his friend, the sailor. His leader. He stared at him with such empathic eyes, that Bibbo knew what he was thinking without a word.
"We aren't going to win this one, are we?" Bibbo asked with an undercurrent of sorrow lining the question.
Prometheus sighed, watching one of his agents careen into the side of a far building. Watching as the man's body crumpled against the impact. Watching as chunks of bone-mixed blood sprayed from his chest, splattering the ground with a cushion of fluids that met his body in a sickening thud.
"...no, Bibbo..." Prometheus nodded. "...not this one."
Bibbo just stared at him, a look of near-defeat on his face.
"The war?" Pro added. "The war itself has yet to be lost. But...this battle...the battle for this city?"
An explosion ripped upwards some three blocks away. Screams sounded in their midst.
"No." Prometheus said. "No. For now...for right now....Mandelovia is lost to us..."
"And the longer we try and fight...here..." Bibbo began.
"...the more people we lose..." Pro finished.
Bibbo set his jaw, a mix of anger and helpless fatigue setting in.
Then, hardening his eyes and flipping his comm-link, Bibbo made the toughest call of his life....
"TOMB...this is Bibbo. Pull out. I repeat, withdraw from Mandelovia. Re-group in Thunder City."
"That's an order."
One minute later, Abaddon, a demon-lord from the pit, called into being by another, appeared in Mandelovia. The size of a small mountain, the hoof of his steed materialized directly on top of the Palace.
Leveling it to the ground.
Sadly enough, things had yet to get worse...
[ 08-28-2001: Message edited by: Prometheus of The X ]
