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Battle of New Zealand: Generals; Pro-Oni Team 1 & Team 3
Topic Started: Feb 26 2018, 12:35 AM (8,820 Views)
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The Master
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No wind blew as the rain steadily poured down as men and women alike fought hand against hand and quirk to quirk. They battled atop corpses, neither side willing to budge what land they have. It was now going on nearly 300 years and nothing has been settled, nothing has changed. It was the evening, when a new fresh wave from both sides were sent to the front lines that everything changed.

Many people on both sides volunteered, willing to train in groups and build their own special units of men and women to make flawless slaughter machines. Many of them have trained since youth and some were still in their youth. On New Zealand it was a life and war was all they knew. 10:00PM now and the sun was fully-set as he darkness swallowed the world.The battling was loud, but it all mixed together into a single, muddied murmur of screaming. Their was no rest, even at nights the soldiers on both sides were in their proverbial trenches fighting to their last breathe without a thought.

Many on each side believe outside forces are interfering... the Anti-Oni believe that someone from the inside is sabotaging them while the Pro-Oni forces believe Papa Oni himself was blessing them, helping them be stronger regardless of their smaller forces; however some just took it as the outcome of the Pro-Oni factions savage child-rearing techniques. None the less, it became eerie for both sides when their fresh forces, seemingly set up in the same fashion, appeared to the on going battle. A few voices from weakened, dying voices made moans of traitors, treason, others hated them for not being their to die in their place. The battlefield became electrified with an angry energy that was misplaced to say the least.

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Edited by Mod Bot, Feb 26 2018, 12:39 AM.
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A convoy of trucks rolled along the muddy tracks, towards the fornt lines. Heads light illuminating the area in front of them. The old machines chugged along, engines and chassis rattling over the uneven ground and occasional body. The convoy contained one of the many groups heading to reinforce the front lines. Three of the trucks contained a myriad of black covered cultists. In one of those three trucks sat a man named Arlo. He like the rest of the cultists sat heads down in a deep prayer. Words unrecognizable to an outsider. They were making peace, for soon they were all going to give their lives to the Dark God. With the exception of one, Arlo's mind was on something different. While he did not feel fear for the coming battle, he still felt uneasy. He had a bad feeling about what was to come.

This was not his idea. His plan was to ride this war out, using the chaos and death to open peoples minds open to the dark voice. He wished to continue the war effort in the way that they have been. Hit and run, strike civilian targets. Frontline warfare is not what Arlo of the Darkness wanted. Yet, as a member of the loose group that had established it's self. So, when the current general wished to lead the next batch of reinforcements to the front line, he and his people were more or less strong-armed into joining his group. No doubt with a "keep your enemies closer" kind of methodology. The rest of the Anti-Oni groups didn't trust him and his commune. They seemed to be unnerved by his preaching, but they would believe, eventually. One way or the other their souls will return to the darkness.

The Trucks still came rumbling on towards the Foward Operating Base or FOB, that had been set up. As the trucks got closer, the ground got worse. More and more bodies covered the ground that once, many decades ago was the ocean. The sounds of fighting got louder, along with the moans of the dying. They would soon arrive. Now was the time he expected a speech to be made, normally he would lead a prayer for his men and that was that, but this was something else. He was preaching to more than just his followers this time. The Seemingly faceless man silently motioned to another faceless follower of the dark god. He handed Arlo a radio. He knew the other trucks were hooked in, but if he remembered correctly it was connected to a whole lot of other forces.

Some might perceive this as a power play, him taking the chance to preach to the rest of people. While the general seemingly sat silently, some might call this a sort of a coup. At this moment that meant nothing. He felt he had to. Grabbing the handpiece of the radio he stood up. Using the frame to steady himself, as the rain came down on the canvas tarp over his head. He cleared his throat, as he collected his thoughts on what to say. The entire bed of the truck shook as it hit an uneven piece of ground. So, he began to speak. His booming voice of a skilled orator was not hindered even by the black cloth that covered his face.


We New Zealanders are no strangers to war. After all, we've been fighting for as long as we can remember. War is all we know...
In the past, we fought for imulsion...
We fought for country...
We fought for freedom...

But all that changed after Australia. For 300 years, we've been fighting for our very survival against Heretical, corrupted monsters. But it is a fight we cannot continue. We face extinction unless we end this war, now. We had hoped we would have gotten help from the outside, but we have not, so we must fight stronger than ever.

They've brought with them a force that can sink entire cities. Our last beacons of hope through all these dark days are now at risk Soon we'll have nothing left to defend. And that means we have only one option: attack!

Brothers and Sisters, what I ask of you now is not an easy thing, but it is necessary. If we are to survive. If we are to live long enough to see the seasons change, our children grow and experience a time of peace that we have never known, then we must now take this fight to the Pronis!

We will go to where they live and where they breed and we will destroy them!
This is the day we take the battle to the heart of the enemy! This is the day that we correct the course of human history! This is the day that we ensure our survival as a People!

Soldiers of New Zealand, my fellow Fighters, go forth and bring back the hope of humanity!

The truck stop as he finished up his last few words. Returning his makeshift mike, Arlo stepped out into the rain as it poured buckets down on his hat. Almost imminently he could feel his face covering getting heavy and wet. As he marched out followed by 40 of his followers, her turned to them, throwing his hands up in a v. He followers followed suit, dropping down on one knee, and through his hand up in the same v. Faces looking up at him, and the darkness above him. He spoke again in his orator's voice "My brothers, you have my express permission. The Dark God has gifted us this night." Their lack of face was illuminated by the few small lights that sat around the camp. "In order follow his wishes, The dark god will allow a small reprieve from our bindings. You have my permission to remove your eye, noise, and mouths if you so wish. For we are already shrouded in the Darknesses embrace, such a small omission shall be forgiven. So as to free the souls of those who follow the false prophet back to the darkness."

After giving a small prayer to his people, he turned to find the general, and the rest of the vanguard. For up to this point he had been left out to what the strategy was to be. His blood was boiling. The night was filled with those of strong constitution, he could feel it. The dead and dying, their screams filled his soul. After tonight they would be no short of converts, one way or the other. As his people Stood up, and followed suit, their bodies night invisible in the pitch back night, due to their totally black clothing. Many kept their heads down, having spent too much time out on this battlefield, on both sides of the line. Arlo made his way to the man in charge, or rather the banana in charge, and introduced himself. While sure he had met the banana before, never truly face to nonface.

"I Am Arlo of the Darkness, an agent of the Dark One, The Voice of the Endless Void and The Forgotten. I am the sword to smite the Followers of the False Prophit. The Shadow to Consume the Corrupted, and The One to Destroy The Perverted Idol and Release the Souls of The Heretics and Return them to the Darkness. At your service with 40 followers of the true dark god.
." He gave a low bow.

Edited by Muffin97, Feb 26 2018, 05:34 AM.
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General Bahman Anana allowed the madman’s preaching, though he had little patience for it. If it bolstered morale on this battlefield, then it was an whetstone to sharpen his army. The leader, whom he had tended to avoid dealing with in person, introduced himself with a long, much too long, prattling of titles which meant nothing to him. Bahman, from the back of his truck, stood up on his ironsand feet, forged by his own willpower. Bravo and Manaaki, whom had practically raised him, would follow behind him. The soldiers, however, who knew of this banana’s deeds, gave a wide berth, as much as they could in such a space. At the edge of the truck, Bahman stepped into the air, and he floated, and let himself touch the muddied ground wet with rain and blood. “Bahman Anana, General of the Skeptic Army." He looked around, observing the state of the battlefield. If the intelligence the scouts brought back from this battlefield, the famed Generals of the Believers had appeared, and if they were still here, to take them out would be a massive blow to the Believers. One that he could trust nobody but himself to deliver.

And yet, as little as he cared about what others thought of him, he could not allow his authority to be undermined. He floated up, high enough that all would be able to see and hear him. “Some of you have heard of me. Some thought me only a joke. It’s alright, I understand, and honestly couldn’t think less of it. However, you also may have also heard about my one rule...” Bahman raised his ironsand hand in a conspicuous motion, reaching it toward the sky. “Leave no Believer breathing.” Whipping his fist down, it would stretch and strike the earth. Thorns of iron would suddenly burst forth all around them, forming from the ironsand in the area and the trace iron bits in the flowing blood. Each thorn would then burst through the chest of a so-called corpse lying around. Most would be lifeless husks, but a few, he imagined, were playing dead. Some of them, no doubt, were Skeptics. And yet, in Bahman’s eyes, it was better to lose a soldier than risk letting the enemy live on.

The enemy should be near and it was better to be sure their backline remained uncompromised than waste effort checking who was who in this mess. The Skeptics’ numbers were indeed superior, but their organization fractured, split between the Paewai and Cultists and the crazies like him in between that just wanted the Believers dead. He had, through some way or another, been granted command of the forces, but it was still up to him to bring them all in line. The Banana General found that the best way to do so, in contrast to his humorously fruity exterior, was by way of ironfist, both figurative and literal.


Edited by Dondagora, Feb 26 2018, 10:45 AM.
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Cherry found herself in the back of a black, bleak, and boring truck. Not only that, she was surrounded by weak and mindless worshippers of some ugly God. It didn’t make any sense to her, why would they follow someone so boring and ugly instead of someone beautiful and exciting like her God, Theia. Theia even promotes death in a more beautiful manner, so all the fun of killing with the beauty of art and nature! Seriously, these weird guys were so misguided. Whatever, she was bored of these nobodies anyway.

Finally, the truck came to a stop as they reached there destination. She looked out the exit and saw the bloodied battlefield, littered with ugly corpses. She scowled at their disgusting appearance while trying to keep the smell away. She released a little bit of an air freshening aroma around her to keep her from throwing up. Unfortunately, she still felt like throwing up, especially after the weird Death Cult leader gave his loooong and boring speech about the war. Like seriously, this guy was talking about such obvious things! Then he went on and on about his inferior God, it was just so icky!

Thankfully, he finally stooped his speech and all the nobodies were told to remove parts of their faces which was gross, but she didn’t really care. She wanted to see someone exciting. Thankfully, the general arrived just in time, ready to deliver his short and inspiring speech about leaving no one behind. Although when he said leave no one behind, he forgot to say that he wanted no one left alive. And to make an example, he used his quirk to try to kill every single nobody that was still alive on the ground. It wasn’t really going to make a difference but Cherry was pissed either way, she really didn’t want to smell or see any of those ugly things. It was almost enough to make her barf.

Anyways, she decided she should probably step out of the truck. She walked over to the general, being careful not to step on any corpses on the way, without any doubt or second thoughts. She leaned over to look at the banana and she chuckled. “Wow! I didn’t expect you to be a literal banana!” She would say with a bright smile. She was also emitting a very soothing aroma that would block out the smell of the corpses entirely. It was a very pleasant smell that she would use to soothe her sister to sleep at night, it was also her personal favorite.

Then she realized that she didn’t introduce herself yet. She just offered an informal salute and smiled at him. “Cherry Blossom-Paewai, reporting for duty! Ready to bring victory for our side and paint the battlefield red and pink with Believer Blood and Blossoms! What are your orders, General?” She said in a loud, teasing manner. She meant every word though, she was ready to hear whatever plan their brilliant general had come up with. Along with a lot of the soldiers, she had no idea what the strategy for today’s battle was. An inspirational speech or two was not enough to win a war, and she hoped that someone actually prepared for this battle.

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Tenka Mikazuchi
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A tall and muscular woman was standing on top of the cabin of the second truck in the convoy. Each of her fingers was touching their counterparts on her other hand. In between the triangle that was completed by her thumbs, a small but determined gust of wind was blowing around in circles. The winds swirling around her body were mimicking it's behaviour. The falling rain did not hit her, instead it was buffeted by the wind making it seem like she stood in the middle of the lone dry spot amidst this dreary night.

A soft blue glow was emanating from swirling patterns on her bronzed skin. It was just enough light to see that her face was sunken into a frown. Hine had not liked the idea of driving these wheeled death traps here. For one, she was simply not a fan of cars. For another, driving in a straight line like this, in machines making this much noise was asking for problems. Perhaps you might say that standing on the roof of one of them, illuminating yourself was just as much asking for trouble. However it was not that Hine was not aware she was making herself a target, she simply would rather that their enemies focus their effort on her then the so called soldiers they were ferrying to the battlefield.

She did not agree with the ideas of some of her allies. These cultists as they ironically had self titled themselves made her feel ill at ease. Whatever they believed in, it was not the healthy beauty of the natural world. She still could not understand why someone would willingly follow darkness and despair. The cult leaders muffled voice came from the truck she was standing on. He was using the radio to spread his malicious ideals and that just made her worry even more. So many people were tempted by the darkness already. Oni's followers, these trucks full of men... so many people had been blunted by this war. So many more Maimed, killed, or simply left to die.

Hine closed her eyes as they rolled by more and more people either dead or dying . Their screams and silent suffering alike were to much to take in if she also had to watch the looks on their faces. It did not help, she could imagine their suffering more vividly then she liked. The rain had never touched her skin, but her cheeks were wet now. The voice from the truck ended it's deluded speech, the trucks stopped, men got off and the sound of the battlefield had muffled in the background of their movement. It was now but one of distant misery.

Hine opened her eyes and took a breath, looking up into the night sky. The rain clouds were obscuring the Moon and the stars in their dreary grey. She knew her family was also marching towards disparate battlefields tonight. The war was getting far closer now then it had. Would they all make it back she wondered, she hoped so, prayed they would. But her moment of prayer was interrupted by the general taking to the sky and addressing them all. Following his declaration, Hine only realised a moment to late what he was about to do when he drifted to the ground. And when she did see it coming, her feet were still on the truck, she wouldn't be able to reach the ground fast enough to put a stop to this madness.

She gritted her teeth as she saw it happen, as she heard the last sighs of life drain from friend and foe alike. The rain was already washing away the blood but the horrifying image was burned into her eyes. What on earth would become of them if this was who they entrusted their hopes and dreams, their lives and future to. She balled her fist before jumping of the truck, As her legs hit the earth she bend her knees to absorb the recoil and her fist made contact with the earth. In her anger, the markings on her skin went from shinning in pale blue to a bright green that made her jade eyes seem to glitter with a barely suppressed rage. Hine was normally calm and collected, keeping her emotions bottled inside but now it was overflowing. The ground beneath her cracked and gave way as she hit it. Seemingly the dirt was sucked into her feet as they hit the ground first before a shock wave rippled through the ground from her fist, throwing up rocky protrusions around the area where she had landed, causing the truck to slide sideways and its front wheel to dip into the crater she had just made on impact.

The rain was hitting her body now, running across her eyes and concealing the tears that were flowing free. Cherry was also there, standing next to the banana, and introducing herself merrily as if nothing had happened. Right at that moment Hine was just as angry at her sister but her fury was meant for the banana. She stepped forwards towards him, stopping a few meters short. And giving him a furious stare.

" What kind of a monster would do this to the people who fought for him, were willing to die for him. Who were waiting for him to save them and reward them for fighting to the very end. Slay your enemies in battle general, not at the conclusion of it. There is nothing right about killing the defeated and the broken, especially not your own. You have shown yourself worse then the people we came here to fight, taurekareka. "

She almost spat out the words as she laid her hands atop the ground . Sucking up the earth with one hand and expelling it right back with the other, Slowly the bodies of the generals victims started sinking into the earth as she took a deep breath before raising her voice towards the sky in a song mourning for the dead. It saddened her greatly she would not be able to return them to their families for proper rites, but she was not about to let their bones, friend or foe, lie unburied here after the brutality of their so called general.

  • Hine enters into the thread riding atop one of the trucks
  • She used wind to keep the rain from hitting her.
  • Hine reacted to the cultists and the people dying on this battle field.
  • She got pissed at the banana killing friend and foe alike.
  • Superhero jumped of the truck and did some Earth Manipulation without meaning too.
  • Called the banana the scum of the earth, buried the corpses he desecrated, and started to sing a song of sorrow for his victims
Edited by Tenka Mikazuchi, Mar 1 2018, 02:39 AM.
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This night was especially cold.

It wasn't the temperature that gave Enzo the chills, however, no, it was something else. When he was given orders to deploy here along with the generals, he knew something was up. This was going to be big, so he had done his best to prepare mentally for the upcoming battle. There really was no force that could prepare one for killing countless others, however, and Enzo Solaire knew that. For weeks now, the battles had raged on, towns raided, and people slaughtered. Enzo had lost count now, at how many had fallen to his flames. The Battle of Hawke's Bay had especially taken it's toll on him, both sides fighting until the town had burnt to nothing overnight, fighting in between fleeing civilians, each side harboring so much hatred for the other that no one cared who got caught in the middle anymore. Hawke's Bay turned into a slaughterhouse, pure and simple.

The only thing to emerge from there had been the victors on each side, and a nickname that the Anti-Oni troops had begun to call Enzo "The Mustang of War" due to his aggressiveness and his tendency to charge head first into battle. It was oddly fitting, but he was never one for monikers. He would never use it for himself, but when others referred to it, he supposed that in some way, he would live on after this war. Sitting in the back of the convoy that approached, he took out one of his cigarettes and snapped his fingers. A small flame quickly ignited the tip, quickly blown out as the soldier controlled the amount of oxygen permitted to keep it alight, Enzo taking a deep drag. He looked at the strange soldiers around him and listened to their muddied prayers. Any other day, they would be enemies of his, but with this war, even they too were forced into partnership. He almost hated how well he and Arlo worked together, and if Arlo wasn't so bat shit crazy, then maybe they could have been friends. Surely, after this war they would go back to being enemies once again, but he enjoyed the reprieve of knowing he was on the same side as the guy who worshipped death.

The fighting had gone on for days prior to his arrival and the battlefield, unrecognizable from it's previous form, was littered with bodies. Arms here, legs there, some poor bloke completely vaporized, nothing left but his weapon. The battlefield was chaos orchestrated by death and destruction, but both of those were fields that Enzo had participated in extensively. As the truck came to a halt, he would exit alongside Arlo and his men, finishing his cigarrette. Waiting for Arlo to finish his speech, Enzo would stand alongside Arlo, eyeing over the battlefield.

"Got any ideas?"

He was still far from the brunt of the fighting, on the outskirts where most troops were retreating or regrouping or being stitched up, his gaze forward as he observed what he could. With the dead of night and the rain, visibility was low, which he could use on his side. The rain would be no issue to him, against what others believed about his quirk. With the hardened points on his fingers, all it took was a snap to ignite them and create an explosion. Hell, he could even use the rain to his advantage if he played his cards right. He looked around, eyeing the battlefield for strategic points, and oddly enough, craters where water could pool. Those would be needed fo later, if they failed to push the Pro-Oni bastards back.

As the others of their special task force arrived, Enzo would breathe deeply, putting his hands behind his back.

"Listen up, everyone. My name is Colonel Enzo Solaire. I don't care what your backgrounds are or what methods you use to fight," He would glance at Arlo, then to the girl who critisized the Banana General's method of execution, "All I care is that we win. The other side will not hesitate to kill us. They will not hesitate to stomp us out the first chance they get. I've seen the bloodshed with my own eyes and know firsthand what the enemy is capable of. Our goal today is victory above all else. I know some of us do not take pleasure in killing, but diplomacy has been out of the door for awhile now. My advice to you is to swallow that lump in your throat and procede forward in battle. If you don't wish to fight, that's fine. Stay behind and support the troops. But if you get into battle and you run away..." He would quickly glance at each and everyone one of them, glaring at the wary group of ragtag fighters.

"I'll kill you myself."

With those words, he would step away from the group, towards the battlfield, ready to join whoever was willing to fight.

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How a trio of basically children had so easily found their way into the leadership of the Pro-Oni faction was a still bit of a mystery to most. Whether they were inspired by Kyūsai's endless zeal, terrified by Fumetsu's raw power, or drawn to the enigma that was Tyler, people had been flocking to support the trio for years. When the death of the previous general left a vacancy in leadership, it was an opportunity that could not be ignored. Upon coming into power, they quickly realized that their side was outnumbered, but what they lacked bodies were made up for in cunning and brute strength. With skirmishes continuing to end in stalemates it became apparent that the Generals would have to take to the fields themselves if they wanted ensure victory.

The stench of death filled the air around Kyūsai, as she looked out over the Pro-Oni encampment. Behind her, the battlefield was littered with dead and dying warriors, friend and foe alike, from not only the that day's battle, but the hundreds that had preceded it. The cries of the dying mixed with the sound of heavy rain created an even more ominous vibe to the camp, and appeared to be unnerving some of the untested warriors that they had arrived with.

"Does the thought of death frighten you?" Kyūsai called out rhetorically, bringing the Pro-Oni soldiers to attention. " Here, so close to Oni's sacred land, death results in reward for those who are worthy, or a second chance to those who are not. We are the Faithful, Oni's Faithful, what do we have fear in death? Is it not our calling, our sacred duty to reform the heathens who deny Him? If they refuse to be reformed, or take up arms against Him, is it not our purpose to cleanse them of their corruption?"

"For almost three centuries we have fought to keep them at bay." the young woman continued. "Gaining land an inch at a time, only to lose it....No longer! They breed like rabbits, relying numbers to keep us suppressed, hoping that one day they will find a way to create a weapon that can destroy us. Should we give them that chance?"

"NO!" she would shout after a few moments in response to her own question. "We break through their forces tonight, crush their villages, their towns, their cites... How long before we crush their will? They have no righteous cause, no higher calling.... A weak people, with no true purpose needs only one thing: salvation. And whether by faith or by sword, we will save them!"

"Tyler, Fume? You have anything you want to add?" Kyūsai asked her two companions. This was a responsibility that they taken on together, and it would be selfish to not at least offer. With conclusion of their little morale boosting session they would give the signal for their soldiers to charge darkness. The plan was simple. With the cover of darkness and rain clouds, rush and crush the enemy before they could regroup and use their numbers to their full advantage.

Kyūsai had been waiting for this night for four long years. Ever since her escape all she could think about was wiping out these filthy heathens and restoring all of New Zealand to the righteous path. The generals would move as silently as they could across the battlefield, using the cover of darkness along with the sounds of their environment to mask their movements. The pouring rain, cries of dying men and quiet crunching of old bones underfoot all mixed together to create a melodic music unlike any other she had ever heard.

Kyūsai kept a string tied each of her companions, so that they could signal silently if need be. They would keep their path straight, moving directly to the co-ordinates their scouts had reported the enemy retreating to. It was fair too dark to allow for any alteration, or else they would risk getting lost in the pitch black night. They climbed over the terrain and mounds of slain soldiers, making their way to what was suppose to be an enemy encampment. If it weren't for her complete disgust for the heathens preventing any kind of sympathy for them, she would have almost felt sorry for the soldiers that had been unfortunate enough to be stationed here.

As they climbed over yet another mound of bodies, a new sound would shatter the perfect melody she had been listening to: the sound of heavy tires and roar of engines. She immediately ducked back behind the other side of the corpse pile they had been climbing, lightly pulling the strings to signal the others to as well. With the rain lowering visibility it was difficult to get an accurate distance, but she would estimate they were around 30m away, but they had found their target. Unfortunately, it seemed they were not the only ones who had received reinforcements. Whether it was men just men or if they also had supplies she couldn't tell from here. Whoever these heathens were, they were about to have the worst night of their lives.

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Countless lives have been thrown into this war. It seemed to be a never ending crescendo of blood shed that has forever stained the land of New Zealand. Fortunately, the new generation has taken power, and have proved to the world they are more than capable of carrying its burdens. Giving hope that there could be an end in sight.

What started as a group of three orphaned children, Tyler, Fumetsu, and Kyūsai, have quickly grown into a terrifying force. One that was spearheading an entire faction of followers for the lost god Oni. They were used to always taking matters into their own hands, it was probably why they ended up in the position they were in, but leading an entire army was never on their agenda, a least not Tyler’s.

The congregation of soldiers stopped on Kyūsai’s cue. The rain poured down, creating a mask of noise on top of her words, though every member listened intently to their speech. It was clear the girl was filled with a powerful resolve, one that burned bright enough to ignite the soul’s of those she led. Out of the three, Kyūsai was always the one to speak up first, even now as generals. It seemed fit for her to be the one to address the faction.

“Tyler, Fume? Do you have anything you want to add?”

Unsure of what to say at first, Tyler shrugged. She was not as graceful with people as her friend. “C’mon, it’s not like I’m going to be able to top something like that. That’s putting me on the spot, you know?” She gave a slight chuckle, seeming to make light of a grim situation. “But if you insist.”

Turning to the rest of the group, her once warm, cheerful face turned ice cold. “Only those who have dedicated their entirety will be allowed to fight alongside us tonight. If you are a coward, I ask that you leave now,” her voice raised in volume, “Wasting time worrying about things like living and dying will only result in you holding everyone back!”

She paused, waiting to see if anyone would confess their fear.

“Well, now that is out of the way,” her cheerful expression returned once again. “I don’t see any reason why we can’t blow these Anti’s the f*** out~”

She would then glance to Fume, seeing if he had anything to add.

The group continued on, pushing through mounds of bodies. Tyler had a copper wire, created by Kyūsai, tied to their finger, that connected her to the rest of the group.

In the distance, they could see a collection of trucks and people. Going off of the information that they had at this point, she assumed those were perps they had been looking for.

“What’s the plan?” Tyler asked, looking to Fume and Kyūsai.

Edited by Casshern, Mar 1 2018, 02:39 AM.
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God of Destruction

The ground vibrated softly as Fumetsu's words were silenced. The young man brought his head up from underneath the ground, dragging himself out before beginning to ride around on a bit of boiling earth, rock and mineral mixture. Using the the earth, he tossed himself at Ky, grasping at her back and wrapping his tail around her to secure a hold on her. He blindly stared ahead as she spoke, not caring to much and not seeming at all fired up. "Not too terribly much, just a small bit to add." he muttered, his chin lazily resting over top Ky's shoulder as inorganic material dripped from his corpse. Fume seemingly began to relax and get comfortable like a cat and all but completely melting into them, suction cupping himself in place.

"Don't get near me when I'm attacking." he said with a yawn, taking a nap.

Fumetsu would wake to the words of a few around him against the harsh clashing of battle. Tyler would speak up, asking about what the plan would be and it was then that the trucks rolled in. He was aloof, not carrying as of yet which was good for the Anti-Oni forces. It wasn't that he couldn't think on his own or was truly lazy; he just really really respects and values his friends around him and wouldn't ever do anything to endangering them. Kyusai was mostly the reason Fume was taken from the wreckage of their old prison and Tyler was the one that kept them safe when they were weak and nursing each other. This rag-tag team, this family of misfits was all Fumetsu had, but what came next really didn't settle well with him.

"So, they really sent a Bana-..." he began to say before the actions of the Enemies General took his words away. The man indiscriminately killed men and women on both sides... as the leader of his people. "He... didn't even fucking try to.. do anything?" Fumetsu asked rhetorically. Fumetsu may have warned that he might deal some collateral damage, but what he witnessed wasn't strategic, aimed... it wasn't planned. It was to show his ferocity... and that's what sicken Fumetsu the most.

"Tyler..." he muttered angrily as he nuzzled into Kyusai like a cat would...

"Let's just show these mother fucker's what we were 'Built' to do... Let's not kill him.. I want to deconstruct him into something new... I want to completely destroy him! THEY CALL ME A MONSTER, BUT WHAT IS HE DOING TO HIS OWN PEOPLE!" Fumetsu raged.

Well, they done did it now.

"Today will be the day they see why, I--my Dad didn't name me, but just refereed to me as Project: Immortal World." he hissed as his body boiled, melting to the ground.

"Plan? I say... hard and fast."

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Nightfall. Rain. Not unfamiliar conditions and certainly not the first time he’d fought in them. It just made everything all the easier. Looking over the other end of the battlefield the eight foot tall behemoth saw that the Skeptics… seemed to be… bickering amongst themselves? He let out a deep chuckle to himself. Poor fools. How the Believers had yet to slaughter all of them was beyond him. Perhaps they just needed true leadership, true power to lead the assault. To that end he was glad he was paired up in this operation with Fumetsu and his two lady-friends. Tyler and… he couldn’t quite recall the last ones name.

Still he supposed it didn’t matter. He’d learn their names soon enough. To most the cold and rain would be a hellish environment to fight in. The freezing rain sapped energy and made it hard to see and even harder to move among the slick, muddy area. But Traherne didn’t mind. His body temperature was already naturally in the negatives and he hadn’t felt what water felt like in years due to the outer shell of petrified wood and bushes that coated his body.

Listening to the generals speech he stayed silent, not responding to any of them. When Tyler asked for all the cowards to leave, Traherene stood firmly planted, nodding to the generals. “Look at how they slaughter their own men. They’re nothing more than rabid dogs.” The giant tree would speak. “And rabid dogs get put down.” Mason and Stonewall were... somewhere. Nearby, he knew that. This new family of his was the only thing that mattered, and he wasn’t just going to sit at home while they fought off these cunts.

Seven years. Seven years he’d been waiting for this moment. It had been under that… things orders that his parents had been murdered. Under that banner that so many innocent children had been murdered the name of ‘justice’. It infuriated him just thinking about it.

Ice began forming around his claws, and the temperature in the area began dropping ever so slightly. “Feed the banana to Fumetsu first.”

Edited by Psycho, Feb 27 2018, 10:25 AM.
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It had been 20 something years since Mason was on the front lines of No Man's Land. He was finally back and this time with more to lose. The middle-aged man trudged through the muddy ground with the others in his group with a serious expression. When he learned he was working with the generals of the fighting force the man was happy to be seeing familiar faces. Then he learned it was new people, kids on top of that. So many lives that haven't had the chance to do anything besides fight. It was the fault of people like him for not going back and trying to enjoy their false peace this war was still going on.

After the rousing speech, the older man figured it was time to get moving. Mason rolled his neck as he walked over to the growing crowd at the edge of the camp. He had gotten over the corpses when he first served, but it still made him sad to see so many wasted lives. Joining his group with the generals Mason took the chance to speak up before getting too close to the enemy. "Name is Mason Sharp. Been awhile since I was here. I feel bad about not going back into the war once I was healed up. I can't stand the thought of so many young people still having their lives torn apart by this conflict. Not that I doubt your fighting ability, a matter of fact I've heard how strong some young people are nowadays. I wouldn't stand a chance if I fought when I was a teen."

Mason watched silently as his small group moved forward. The outburst made the man sigh, even if they were his leaders they never had a chance to grow up. The ball-headed man snuck closer to the heads as the sound of truck engines came to a stop. "I know you're one of our general, but stay calm. We still have the element of surprise while they lost it," he whispered, hoping it wasn't too late. The actions of the enemy were what he expected from typical Anti-Oni. Deep down he had hoped the higherups were better people, but that hope was dashed.

"My skills are suited to staying at range and slowing them down. Consider me artillery and suppressing fire. Unless I'm called on, I'll mostly be hanging in the back. Don't hesitate to call on me if you need assistance though," he explained in a hushed tone. It was likely that this would turn into a brawl as most fights did. He just hoped that nobody would throw their life away needlessly. There were enough corpses on the field for his liking and they were largely outnumbered. Someone going down would risk the whole force.

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Banned. Sorry to those who i was threading with.
Chords of music would play from an old war guitar that had lost most of it's power over the years. Those who had met the wielder of the guitar knew it as Brütal, a guitar that had been around for almost as long as the war itself. But it's message was clear and simple. it was a song of sadness. The very air about him seemed to have an air of sorrow as the group made it's way to the front.

As Johnny made his way across the battlefield, bodies strewn about all around, his smirk of false confidence would shift into a frown of disappointment. Why did it have to come to this? When he used to train with Jack the war was never as bad as this, yet it kept escalating more and more with time. Over the past several months, his usual calm and cool demeanor had been harder to keep up as he saw more and more death as he tried to protect more and more while raising a son and teaching his student.

Johnny had been away from the group for almost a month as he went back to visit the graves of those who came before him. He had left Bahman in charge as he was gone and trusted Manaaki to hold down the fort and do some soul-searching as Cool Kid Training. The main reason was to make amends with his parents in case he died, as even he was afraid of death. The second reason was to make sure The Slab and it's contents were safe. if the Skeptics were to fall, then who would be able to carry on the legacy? He wasn't sure who, but he'd rather play it safe, just this once.

Bravo would walk forward as people made way and parted like Moses and the sea.

He could only stare in horror as he watch his adopted son ruthlessly attack those on their side. Did he learn nothing? Leaping into action he'd go over and try to stop the attack, but he wouldn't be there in time as he saw the attack recede. Going over to one of the bodies he'd feel for a pulse as it slowly went away. Putting his hand onto the dying man's chest, he'd speak. "Rest, my dude, for your battle is over. I hope that you find peace in whatever comes after."

Marcus would then turn to Bravo, the frown on his face deepened. How could he have been so blind? Was Bahman always like this and he never took in the wise words of those who came before? Or did he just regress back to his old self as he made contact? Bravo wasn't sure but he'd have to do something he knew he'd regret later if they won. Taking off his mothers shades to reveal his piercing blue eyes, he'd address Bahman, using the power of his diaphragm to make sure he and the others would hear him.

"BAHMAN. I may have been gone for almost a month, but to come back and see that you fell back to when I first found you? I though I raised you better. As of now I invoke Dux Noctua. You are no longer General of the forces, and I will be taking your place until The Council sees you fit to be able to once again. This is NOT up for debate. It seems it was a mistake letting you lead. We WILL talk about this once the war is over, understand SON?"

Everyone would know that this was very much unlike Bravo, as he never rose his voice. Those who were standing by him were in shock as the anger of the coolest member was a shocker. Putting his Mother's shade back on he'd turn to the army.

"LADIES AND GENTLEMAN. while I would have rather not of done that, it seems my son has forgotten something, something I thought I taught him before he ever became the general. We are not monsters, and neither are those who were dragged into this war, not by choice, but because it was that or death. Remember, War isn't Hell. Hell is full of sinners and uncool people, but War is filled to the brim with innocent bystanders. If those of the Believers surrender, you will let them surrender and take them into custody. If they attack afterwards to trick you, then," Johnny would pause, chocking a little "Then you can kill them. Bahman, you will stick by me and Manaaki. Hine will stick with us while Cheryl will work with the others. As for the rest of you, I trust in your judgement to stick with your teams. Do not be the monsters they make us out to be!"

Turning back to the front, he'd strap Brütal on his back and mentally prepare for the battle. His hands and quirk were at the ready, though his heart wasn't quite there yet.

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Mai sat next to her younger sister, who seemed to be irritated by the situation. Mai was in high spirits per usual, but it did sadden her heart to see her sister in slight anguish. Her family meant a lot to her, so she had to protect them. That’s the whole reason she took part in the war. Oni was a false Shepherd, and someone with that much influence could certainly negatively impact those that she loved and cherished the most. He had already spread his wicked influence on her younger sister, who had left home and joined the Pro-Oni faction. Mai and her family couldn’t just let her go down a path of treachery and despair. They had to get her back, and Oni, well he had to be stopped. His influence on the world had to be snipped right at the bud.

Mai hummed a tune in her head while sitting in the back of the big truck. She didn’t feel like being much of a sourpuss at the time, so she remained cheery and in high spirits. They weren’t quite at their destination, so she didn’t have to be super serious. She wanted to play a game to pass the time, but everyone looked so stiff and stern, and she didn’t feel like dealing with that at the time.

After however many minutes of driving, they finally arrived at the battlefield. It was dusted with bodies and specs of blood. Mai could have barfed at the sight, and she nearly did. She put her finger in her mouth and said “BLEH” after looking at the battlefield. It certainly was gross, but if those were the bodies of radical Oni supporters, the sight would have been a lot less horrific.

The sight was a little poetic to her, nonetheless. They were lambs being lead to the slaughter by a black sheep, and they didn’t care. Their ignorance drove them to their ultimate demise, but even in death, they probably still didn’t care. It was tragic, really. In hopes of finding salvation, they were slaughtered and left to decompose on a barren land. Their “leader” wasn’t even there to give them a proper burial. He didn’t care about them, all he cared about was pushing his influence onto the world. Mai sighed. It was really tragic.

She exited the van and saw her general, who was quite literally a banana. It was shocking, but if he was chosen as general, he must have been strong. There couldn’t be any denying that. Mai was quite strong herself, so if she wasn’t chosen as general and he was, his strength must have been immeasurable, which was good for her side, but the Oni supporters had a big storm coming. Mai jumped out of the van, jumping a little bit too high and hitting her head on the top of the truck before she exited the truck. She then quickly recuperated and saluted her general, trying her hardest not to laugh at herself.

Edited by SailorMoon, Feb 28 2018, 02:07 AM.
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War was hell. A futile exercise in pain and death. Decidedly not cool. For what was neither the first nor the last time, Manaaki regretted the "gift" of hearing, so much finer than an ordinary human's, passed on to him by his panda ancestors. Screams and moans of the wounded hammered at his brain much as the rain beat a staccato rat-tat-tat on the roof of the truck. The pandaman had seated himself towards the back of the same vehicle as his master's surrogate son and comrade-in-arms, Bahman Anana. There, at least, he could shelter his eyes from the fields littered with the dead and dying, stoic in the face of harsh reality. It was a luxury of the innocent and the deluded, shutting out the horrors of a centuries-old conflict by hiding from them, yet it was one that Manaaki gladly accepted.

At last the truck came to a stop, and Bahman, that ever-eager banana, exited first. Manaaki decided to hang back, ill at ease without his master. These men of darkness, those for whom he should be fighting, impressed him not at all. It was only the will of his master and the precept that abandoning a cause was lame that kept him in this place. Bravo had been gone for over a month, embarking on a quest to tie all loose ends before what may well have been the final battle. Great panda tears had been shed, not out of loneliness, but out of pride. Truly only the master of all that is cool would so perfectly understand his priorities. In that respect, Manaaki still had much to learn.

Emerging last, he took in the sight of a fallen one, choking on their own blood, mere inches from Manaaki's feet. His countrymen were dying here. This beautiful land, the fertile soil perfectly suited for a grove of bamboo, was left barren, tainted by the stain of blood and bone. Where there should have been a field of delicious treats, there was naught but corpses, piled higher than the earth could sustain. Solemn, he took a knee, giving the soon-to-be corpse comfort in their final moments with a warm hand in theirs. The night was perfect for his darkening mood, and the cascading rain fell to the ground like endless tears of grief. Manaaki himself did not cry. Cool guys didn't show their sorrow.

Words, indistinct, buzzed like irritating flies around his head. Perhaps, had he been listening more closely, Manaaki could have stopped what came next. A stake of iron, unmistakably Bahman's, plunged into the dying one's chest, staining Manaaki's white fur with blood. Shock struck him like a thunderbolt. Fighting for a cause, pretty cool. Special banana powers, really cool. Indiscriminately killing the wounded? Not at all cool. Manaaki rose, cords of muscle standing out even amongst the fur. His face was impassive, but his heart burned with the rage of the betrayed. This was his failure. He had been told by his master to keep an eye on the young banana. Allowing his friend to stray so far from the path of cool was his burden to bear, and it was just as much his burden to put a stop to it.


A voice cut across the darkness. Master? Manaaki paused before he could take another step, turning to see the Admiral of Awesome himself, his beloved master, striding through the battlefield. His heart soared with joy and relief in the same instant that his stomach plunged. The man was angry, a sight that Manaaki had the displeasure to witness only once or twice in their long time together. For their banana companion, this could only mean terrible things.

As it was, his master did what Manaaki had come to expect: He kept his cool. Taking control of the situation, orders were given and a semblance of calm restored. If his master said the banana would get his due, then there was nothing more for Manaaki to do. The pandaman needed no second bidding. Stay with his master. Support the front. Kill only as necessary. Cool. Very cool. With confident steps, he took his place at his master's side, a firm pat on the shoulder the only confirmation his master needed that his disciple was here. His own misgivings about the bloodshed were put aside. It was neither his place, nor his desire, to stand alone against a cause that his master believe in.

Manaaki folded his arms and observed the approaching conflict, keen ears picking up the sound of their opponents, growing ever closer through the darkness. He knew his role. Violence had never been his way, so he would fight in the best and only way he knew how: By supporting others. He took his preferred position behind and to the left of his master, facing a perfect 45 degrees off center. After all, a disciple's pose mustn't take the spotlight from his master's.

War was hell, but it was about to get a whole lot cooler.

Edit reason: Added Anti-oni image

Edited by sealthedeal, Mar 1 2018, 02:43 AM.
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The bear’s scarlett soles had been stained a dull auburn, the mud painted on after the extensive march to battle. Stonewall now stood full attention, basking as the downpour of icy rain left the plains of No Man’s Land a loamy mush. The raindrops bounced off his waterproof fur, the woolen fabric providing a seal that water could not adhere to. The night was dark, nasty, and the exact definition of war.

A decade had passed since he had last trudged this hellzone, the stuffed stalwart having left the life of combat for quiet normalcy. The toll of friend’s bloody corpse took on his mind was too much, the defensive extraordinaire previously unable to stomach the thought of returning. But with Mason and Traherne’s insistence, the bear was easily swayed. They wouldn't meet a similar fate, he’d ensure it. Their squadron was entasked with proving backup for the Believers’ Generals, a trio of untold power despite their age. They were young, nearly the same age as his students. Had the war actually devolved into this?

No idea why you’re surprised, Stonewall. They’re about the same age as you were.

The bear’s beady, onyx eyes showed little emotion behind them, an unnerving image to both allies and enemies alike. Although stuffed bear was far from a sociopath, These dull plastic peepers were many a Skeptic’s last sight a decade prior, and it seemed tonight would revive this R.L. Stine-esque terror. Tonight was a stark contrast from the evening before, the woolen warrior having shared celebratory drinks with his two comrades in war.

The cries of anguished bodies pierced the thunderclouds, the sandy tendrils indiscriminately piercing the near-death corpses which littered the battlefield. The brightly colored banana apparently deemed intimidation necessary over stealth, the sadistic fruit an unappetizing blend of cruelty,arrogance, and stupidity.

Who was he trying to frighten? Surely he knew such a vicious display wouldn't draw fear in the Believers’ hearts. It must've been towards his own people, a telltale sign of someone who lacked the capability to lead. To have to lead his own army through fear? Disgraceful. The bear’s crimson snout would rustle up and down, the words somehow Although Stonewall didn't dare avert his gaze from the enemy, Mason would know these words were for him.

“Coward. Does he actually need to rely on sadistic bloodshed to frighten his men into line? The Banana’s either a poor leader, or weak. He will crumble tonight, mark my words.”

The words were frigid and harsh, the bear fully confident in his statement. He soaked in Mason’s introduction, the fellow elder finding it pertinent to explain his capabilities to their command. It would ensure proper strategies could be crafted, and the insulated defender would quickly follow suit. He provided a brief summary of his combat abilities, ensuring that only pertinent information would be provided. It's war after all, there's not much time for gabbing around.

“Name’s Stonewall Ferguson. Put me up front, and I will not crumble. Good for crowd control, and overall damage absorption. There’s not a living soul that can breach my hide.”

The bear’s gaze was still unmoving, determined not to break against the enemy forces. This focus was momentarily broken, however, as Traherne’s It was an uncle’s warning, meant to forwarn against the icy trevant’s attitude. He, too, was young.

“Don’t lose yourself to war, Traherne. Mason and I will ensure your safety, no matter how strong you are. I know we've taught you well, but even the strongest can fall.

Stonewall was hellbent on ensuring the safety of his comrades, determined to not relive the mishaps of previous war. However, there was little use to overextend. He simply awaited the Anti-Oni’s incoming assault, his arms still tightly coiled behind his back. How would they respond to the pair of unblinking eyes staring back at them as their attacks simply bounced off? Stonewall knew the answer; it was as constant as war itself.

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