10863/Sun King Ascendant: Total Eclipse of the Heart

Sun King Ascendant: Total Eclipse of the Heart
Date of Scene:	15 May 2022
Location:	Somewhere in Queens, New York
Synopsis:	The Heliopolitans--and a couple of allies--fight a pack of werewolves during the lunar eclipse. All goes well until someone in Egypt seals the power of Khonshu, leaving Moon Knight nearly dead from a wound. He survives, but for how long?
Cast of Characters:	Jonathan Sims, Marc Spector, Richard Swift, Tara Tsabedze, Cael Becker, Michael Hannigan, Morrigan MacIntyre

---

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Moon Knight has been tracking a pack of werewolves through Queens, dealing with a few of them here and there but never managing to strike at the heart of the pack. The full moon is not only an obvious time to hunt werewolves, it's also the height of his power as the Avatar of Khonshu, so he's assembled some of the group he calls the Heliopolitans to hunt them down and take them out.

    The moon is high in a brilliantly clear night sky as the group comes upon the werewolves. There's a lunar eclipse tonight, and the shadow of the Earth is already crossing the moon, but this has no obvious effect on Moon Knight's prowess. He's already taken down a straggler or two that lagged behind the rest of the pack with relative ease. As the Heliopolitans fall upon the pack, the Earth's shadow very nearly covers the whole of the moon. The sky is darker than it was earlier in the night, with dim reddish light beginning to fall upon the city streets.

    As the humans come upon the main pack, the werewolves turn as one and their leader growls something in what might be language or might just be code-growling. More werewolves appear from behind the Heliopolitans, surrounding them, and rush in to attack. The leader, seeming to sense that Moon Knight is his counterpart in leadership, rushes right for the Fist of Khonshu with a roar.

---

    The Archivist, for his part, is wearing something entirely new tonight, form-fitting armor in a proper superhero outfit. The torso is teal, with blue side panels and a front panel in gold fabric with a scalloped pattern. The legs are the same gold scalloped pattern, and a long panel of gold-edged teal hangs from the belt. The gold boots look almost scaled, and come up just above the knee. There are gold bracers and armbands, and a wide collar in gold and blue and teal. He's carrying both ankh-topped staff and electrum khopesh decorated with gold filigree; aside from the curly hair that he's dyed in a deep teal he looks every inch the Egyptian superhero.

    As they approach the werewolves, he follows orders previously given by Moon Knight, spins his staff and slams the butt into the ground, and summons glimmering shields up around himself and Cael. Then he runs the staff along the sword--he's been watching one too many video games lately--and imbues the weapon with magical fire, the better to fight the werewolves. He turns to meet the attack of one of the werewolves, keeping it from him with the sword.

    "Do you think they knew we were following them?" they ask over their shoulder to Moon Knight. "Awfully handy for them to have part of the pack /behind/ us."

Marc Spector has posed:
    Moon Knight is dressed for battle. Even if the moon darkens his armor continues to glow with the light of the full moon's power coursing through the Avatar of the Moon god. His gauntleted fists are covered with an addition touch for the evening: spiked knuckles, each well over two inches long, protrude from the impact plane of his closed fists. "It's possible. They are wolves after all," he says without a trace of worry in his voice.

    These creatures, while great in number, were not anything to be significantly worried about. Especially on this night at the height of his power (a full lunar eclipse is, after all, still a full moon.) "Just keep them off our flanks and we'll be fine." The Fist of Khonshu says before he grabs one of the silver crescents from his belt and flings it ahead of him before he jumps into the fray.

    His white cloak spreads out in a distinctly crescent shape as he drops in their midst. He crashes into the pack leader with thunderous force. His own might, while not equal to the wolf alpha, is more than matched with fierce determination and a will to draw the brunt of the ire of the pack. Which would nicely allow the rest of his force to dispatch the gathering while he keeps them engaged.

Richard Swift has posed:
The Shadows embrace a form, emerging slowly as though born to the darkness. The folds of darkness move and slide over the top hat, cane, tuxedo, and shades that adorn a tall, slim man. Walking forward, The Shade arrives, wisps of smoke curling from his body, a kiss of shadow.

"Queens. How...quaint." The Shade sniffs. Loudly. Looking up, the man ignores the full moon, deciding to pay closer attention to what was happening around him. And the helios. "It appears they are surrounded. Hmmm." Shade remains in the shadows, in the rear of the melee. he wasn't a soldier, however, he was drawn to the use of the chaotic scrawlings of Anubis' writings from these...peasants.

A growl. To his right. Sighing, Swift strikes out with his nightstick, a mystical artifact with a very silver bird's head for a "spear" tip, as you were, with all his might.

Tara Tsabedze has posed:
A full moon, the best moon there is for the Kivuli of Bast. Having joined Moon Knight in tracking the werewolves, she had already transformed into her war-form and was prepared for the battle that was inevitable.

For those who might be watching, the form of the Warrior was hard to miss. She stands eight feet in height with a slender yet well muscled body to match, but she is neither a woman nor beast, instead she appears to be something that might have come from a nightmare.

The fur that covers her body is deep, dark black that conceals everything, but the form is clearly female. The head of this monster is without a doubt a panther with large, sharp teeth extending from the maw and long pointed ears standing at the sides of her head. Both ears have been pierced all the way around, the holes adorned with teeny-tiny silver hoops. Her head is covered in the tribal style of hundreds of tiny black braids that hang wild and free down her body and over her shoulders. Cat eyes of golden amber look out at the world with a predatory stare, as if already hunting for her next victim. Massive thick, sharp claws extends from her strong fingered hands and the toes on her feet, built in weapons ready to kill. As if that was not already enough, a long thick tail extends from the small of her back, nearly five feet in length itself.

Then the werewolves appear and attack, she leaps into action like spring that had been waiting to be sprung. "Perhaps they have been behind us all along," she voices, the indications of her East African accent gone, replaced by an Arabic or Egyptian accent. "Perhaps they have access to magic as well."

She has no weapons other than her own claws but she needs none. Darting quickly in to engage the first of the werewolves that looks to be getting too close to the group, her claws attempt to slash at the chest and neck, the desire to rip out the throat or heart apparent in her attack.

Tonight Bast touched by the aspects of war that was once her domain, her goal to rid the world of these abominations.

Cael Becker has posed:
    Cael is dressed in plain, unbranded body armor in black and dark grey fabrics, with greaves and bracers to protect her extremities from possible bites. The toes of her boots are capped in metal that's deliberately tarnished to keep it from reflecting much light, and the gloves she wears over both hand provide additional protection - in addition to a faint but suspicious gleam of metal threads woven into the fabric over her knuckles. She has a bladed weapon strapped into place over her hip - where it remains for the moment, as she aims towards some of the werewolves with what appears to be a simple revolver.
    "I've got the front if you've got our rear," Cael says calmly to Jon - not seeming bothered by the ambush as she starts firing off shots towards the werewolves - attempting to land three shots center mass before switching targets.

Michael Hannigan has posed:
It's a tale as old as time. Not everyone gets all the details. Some just are there at the wrong place at the wrong time. This is a very common thing for Mike. Currently he is not in his human form and is instead flying high in the sky. Seemingly out to just keep his skills with the powers in check.

He wasn't planning on any actual conflict but-

Well, see the above statement.

The purplish black raven's fun is cut short as the odd parade of figures down below come into sight. Most of them he recognizes from various events. Curiousity and, quite possibly, concern wins out and the bird starts to come in closer.

Morrigan MacIntyre has posed:
"Do we know anything about what type of werewolves these might be?" Morrigan asks...and that's going to have to be tabled since everywhere is going into Action! If they passed their curse on via biting there were things that she wanted to keep away from them! The redhead with the white streak gives a frown but shakes her head. Moony was already head off to beat the pack leader senseless.

She didn't pull that short straw!

The Master Mystic fires off a ball of violet energy that carries tendrils of black streaked through it. "Ahhhh fuck." the Irish woman states eloquently before she conjures another. She'd have to deal with other things later.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    A closer look at the werewolves notes that they all appear to bear tattoos in a vaguely Egyptian motif--ankhs and hieroglyphs, that sort of thing. The tattoos glow faintly, resonating with subtle magic even to the un-magical eye. There are enough of them that they cannot all engage the group at once, but those hanging back slightly are clearly ready to jump in should one of their packmates fall.

    The leader and his companions engage Moon Knight in the ages-old tactics of the wolf pack, pulling him away from his fellows just enough to flank him on either side. The Fist of Khonshu is fast enough and good enough to keep either of the extras from darting in to hamstring him, so they circle warily. The leader grunts in surprise as Moon Knight's fists strike and draw blood, growling in a terrible voice, "Silver. Smart, moon-child."

    It's one of the stragglers that's come for Swift, and the strike with the silver "spear" takes it by surprise. There's a yelp of pain and then a growl as the creature launches itself to try to tangle up Shade and pin him down!

    Four members of the pack leap for Tara at once, with more circling near. They seem to have decided she's the biggest threat, or perhaps like is just drawn to like. They swarm her, harassing her and trying to separate her away from the group.

    Clearly the pack doesn't really understand the damage both guns and magic can make. Only one each come for Cael and Jon and Morrigan, with others still hanging back. The one Cael shoots whimpers and falls back, another leaping forward to take its place. A single werewolf comes at the Irish Master Mystic, dodging a ball of violet energy and then catching another on its shoulder. It howls in pain but keeps coming, and one of its fellows paces to try to flank her.

    Jon manages to hold the teeth of the werewolf coming at him long enough to at least notice the tattoos. "The tattoos are magic, but transporta--" The werewolf snarls, its teeth right in his face, and he pushes back with flaming sword, striking the beast across its snout and trying to turn its attention so he can face the rear of the group, where those of the pack not tangling with Swift are trying to flank them all. Phantasm, it seems, has not yet been noticed.

Marc Spector has posed:
    "It worked well enough on the fledging I killed a week past" Moon Knight says as he trades blows, power for power against the leader of the pack. His own grunts of discomfort on the occasional claw and bite he receives, (none life threatening,) are an echo to the chorus of yelps and snarls his own powerful strikes draw from the members of the pack around him.

    Another crescent comes into his hand and he slashes out, tearing the throat out of one of the lessers in a spray of dark arterial blood over the gleaming white armor. It falls back with a gurgling whine and another of the pack closes in on the instrument of Khonshu's vengeance.

    Those familiar with the man would note that his breathing and demeanor are all in the heights. There is little concern or fear in him; it's all adrenaline laced excitement. He is in his element and with those he calls his family.

Richard Swift has posed:
Taking a moment to take in the chaos that was surrounding them, The Shade almost smiles. Now, that would be out of character, so he goes back to assessing the situation from a strategic point of view. After all, his mind was his greatest asset. Well, at least in the top 5.

His eyes glance at each soldier of Helios, one by one, in rapid succession, before calling out. "Pet of Khonshu. Stop thinking with your fists. They knew we were onto them. Something doesn't feel right! Be ready!"

Shade allows the shadows to take him once more before the werewolf he struck could fight back. He was there, then gone, to another part of the battlefield - right near Moon Knight - not remaining behind to see what had happened to the werewolf he had struck. The yelp of pain. Surprise. As though it was beneath him. Another appears in his path, and with a bored expression, The Shade uses his control of shadows to attempt to send the beast to the Shadowlands, where predators more fierce than a little wolf cub would tear it limb from limb."

"This is tedious. Can we skip to the end?" His eyes glance at the Werewolf Captain, then at Moon Knight.

Tara Tsabedze has posed:
Pulling down the energies of the moon in Her fullness, Tara's body begins to glow with a pale silvery white aura that spreads down from the tip of her ears to the bottom of her clawed feet. Silver was the metal of choice apparently, and so it was that her long, thick claws gains a coating of true silver, then the light fades again.

As the magic coursed through her, she dodged and danced with the four werewolves who have chosen to play with her, their claws slashing out at her as her own slash back at them. Not every dodge is a success, their claws finding places along her sides and arms tear flesh, but she continues the fight as if nothing had happened, laughing gleefully as her eyes begin to glow bright amber.

At last the the now silvered claws find a purchase in the chest of one of the werewolves and blood flows over her hand as she digs deep into the creatures chest to pull out it's heart. Another werewolf steps in to take the place of the one that fell, but she keeps right on laughing and dancing.

Cael Becker has posed:
    "There's a lot of them, huh?" Cael remarks as she keeps firing the ICER, her tone calm and even, and her back turned to Jon, trusting them implicitly to cover her flank, as she covers theirs. The shots ring out in rapid succession - and it doesn't take her long to go through her first clip. It clatters to the floor, and she slams in the second clip with a smooth, practiced motion.
    That's all the time that one of the werewolves needs, though, to close on her. She shoves back at it with her right arm, letting the bracer she wears take the attack, while her left hand swings hard with her silver-laced glove. The creatures yelps and flinches back - allowing Cael to take aim, and fire one of the aconite-laced ICER bullets directly into its face.
    The brief struggle allowed some of them to move in closer, though, prompting Cael to grit her teeth in response. "I'm going to have to switch to melee in a few moments, here," she warns Jon, without sounding alarmed.
    After all - she's pretty good at melee these days.

Michael Hannigan has posed:
With the chaos of the battle and the temptation of the nice juicy humans before them, there's little to draw attention to the conveniently colored bird coming down from the night sky. Rather than diving down into the middle to let the three foot wingspan be a bit of a warning flag, the bird ends coming low to the ground. Phantasm approaches underneath the line of sight of the wolves waiting their turn for the main course. As he comes across the plane the wings fold in, and the bird's momentum, and the subconcious intangibility of the unseen extremeties, carries itself into the center of the cluster.

After a moment the bird is no more as Phantasm shifts into a Grey Wolf. Not quite as big as Tara. But- Six feet of length is not bad.

Honestly!

In the flurry of furry, the werewolves start to experience friendly fire. Ok guys! Let's play 'Who struck Balto?'

Morrigan MacIntyre has posed:
Morrigan's not wanting to focus on where Marc is, that just meant she'd be all worried and wanting to cover him. He's got this! Or at least one would hope. She's busy dealing with playing keep away with the two werewolves that are trying to flank her. "I'll tell you what, how about we just calm this down and we won't have to clean up any grey matter off the street tonight. Whether it's from me or you." she points out.

That probably doesn't get a thrilling response, so the woman spins out of the way, not wanting to get stuck between a werewolf and another werewolf. It's like a rock and a hard place. And not in the sexy kind of way!

She uses her magic to mirror herself, letting them bash into the double if they choose so she can hit from the side or behind.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    The shadow of the Earth slides across the moon, ironically enough making it brighter as the shadow passes from pure darkness "eating" the moon into that ruddy red-orange glow that typifies the blood moon. There were people out on the street to peer up at the sight even past New York's lights; those have all scattered. A single form high up on a fire escape has a phone out, perhaps someone who'd been trying to record the eclipse and noticed the fight, but who but Phantasm is going to notice that just now?

    Moon Knight's casual killing of one of his pack, alongside his equally casual mention of killing a fledging a week ago, enrages the pack leader. He leaps for Moon Knight, leaving himself easily open for retaliation. He doesn't seem to have noticed Swift at all, or maybe just doesn't care. But Swift's sudden appearance at Moon Knight's side at least pulls off the two trying to flank the Fist of Khonshu; they converge on Shade, leaping at him from either side, teeth bared in rictus snarls, one going high and the other low.

    Tara and the wolves dance, blood flowing freely and spattering the street, beginning to collect in rivulets and pools. Finally seeming to understand what they're facing, the reserves begin to converge in on the group, two more coming for Tara to make the total six, and more swarming in even as Cael thins out the ranks.

    They might have almost been overwhelmed for a moment, but the confusion offered by Phantasm's appearance keeps things relatively even. Even more confusion comes from Morrigan's mirroring spell; two of the wolves collide in mid-air as they try to jump at the double. The odds are generally in the humans' (and near-humans') favor for the moment. It gives everyone some breathing room, enough to fire off a few more shots or some magic spells. Still, the werewolves don't seem much for conversation, or reason, or much of anything besides fighting, at least right now.

    Jon manages not to worry much about Cael at all, at his back; it's funny, but even without the amulet "in the heat of battle" seems to be the place he worries about her the /least/. He snaps out a quick affirmation that he heard the warning even as he stabs the werewolf he's been fighting through the shoulder and sets it ablaze, causing it to fall back in pain. He's trying not to kill them if he can help it; they're still human somewhere in there. "Spells of protection and prowess," he notes, having gotten a closer look at the tattoos. "Prayers to Anubis. Why would--"

    Then Swift teleports into the middle of the group and the sound of a voice from within the group makes Jon whirl, sword pointing at the spot and sending off a gout of flame almost on reflex. Fortunately, the flame hits one of the wolves flanking both Swift and Moon Knight, but the Archivist's expression is still disapproving. "If you know something, out with it," he snaps. He's clearly presuming Cael's shifted herself to cover the flank.

Marc Spector has posed:
    Being called a pet (while not -entirely- inaccurate) is not a move of ingraciating oneself into the ranks of Moon Knight's entourage. Still he doesn't respond to the man's immediate presence, instead ducking out of the path of the Alpha of the pack and drawing a cut across the monstrosity's flank with the crescent projectile's cutting edge. "Either assist or depart, Shadow Walker" he says to the dapper gentleman (at least it appears as a gentleman), as he turns and bashes another leaping foe in the muzzle with his spiked gauntlet.

    The Fist of Khonshu has seen a few individuals who has similar abilities (at least those on display) as Shade himself. "I'm not going to turn away assistance, but we can banter about greater threats once the pack is dispersed or disposed." He drops and distracts another leaping foe with a flourish of his cloak, increasing the beast's momentum with a kick to send it flying out of the immediate fray around him. Still more close ranks around him. The pack seems endless in their ferocity and undeterred cry for frenzied violence.

    Moon Knight is a mirror to the bloody hue above in his gore sprayed and beaming armor. "If they are part of a greater threat we can decide on that when it's over" he calls to his allies (organized or not--thank you Phantasm), "for now. This is our objective! This is our fight!" He stumbles as one of the pack leaps onto his back, it's hulking mass supported by the strength of the Moon god imbued in his avatar.

Richard Swift has posed:
Everything slows down around him. The Shade watches as the werewolf that he banished to the shadows disappears. The leader in front of him, his fangs and claws glistening in the full moon light. The white costumed soldier of Khonshu beside him. The shadows beckoning him to safety, while the whispers of Anubis bade him to continue on...

Shaking his head, ever so subtley, Swift waits for the response he knew was coming. "Indeed Knight of the Moon. I am doing my best." Ah yes. Bravery. Or whatever they called it in this century. Shade had seen three centuries, and heroes were all the same. He was NOT a hero. "Shall we endeavour then to finish this y newfound ally?"

As both Moon Knight and the Werewolf Alpha + Pack attempt to take their frustrations out on each other, the two converging on the new arrival begs a response. One of course goes down in flames from his "hero", Jon, while Shade conveniently sidesteps into Shadows in the "Nick" of time, anticipating such an attempt on his life. "My word. Such blatant hostility is very unbecoming gentlemen. I use that word loosely of course."

Looking down at the slash the one surviving attacker happens to hit his right arm with, Shade does the only thing convenient. He frowns. This time Shade leaves his portal open for a few moments longer than is necessary, sucking the attacker in, and then snapping the portal closed.

His attention suddenly focuses on the voice pointed in his direction. Jon. "Well. Full Moon. Werewolves. An army. They want something valuable. Where are we? What is their end game? No pun intended." Slade takes a second to adjust his top hat back to perfection.

Tara Tsabedze has posed:
The blood moon.

It seemed fitting to call the moon that, given the amount of blood flowing in the streets. The wounds on Tara's body begin to heal only seconds after they are inflicted, but by no means is it an instantaneous process. It will take several minutes for each to heal completely but before that, they bleed down her body to the concrete.

When four become six, the laughing turns to a low, deep, hissing growl. It was time to end the games and get the job done. With the moon now blocked by the earth, the energy She offered was less for Kivuli, but by no means was she without the energy she needed.

"The time for games is over!" she growls in Ancient Egyptian, most likely Moon Knight and Jon being the only two to understand her.

She doesn't have time to notice the appearance of Swift, or how the fight with the others is going, her attention is fully on those who have engaged her and the power she was pulling from within and with out. Once more her body begins to glow with that beautiful silvery white light, but this time the glow settles in all over her body. Now when the werewolves struck her, they would feel silver and fire, the light forming a barrier of damage inducing pain.

Working magic while dancing with werewolves, eventually the toll would need to be paid, but for now she was still very much alive and kicking. Silvered claws rip across the throat of another werewolves, the quick motion causing a gasp of surprise followed by the gurgling of blood in the throat and lungs, but she has already moved on to rip her claws across the chest of another werewolf even as the one that drops is replaced. In normal circumstances, she would try to lead them off and away from the group, but there were too many for that tactic and so she stood her ground, letting them come at her over and over again.

Cael Becker has posed:
    "Really?" is all Cael says as Jon shifts his focus. Hers naturally shifts as well to compensate as she continues firing bullets off in rapid succession - one of them passing through a- dog? That leaps into the fray, and striking the werewolf behind it. "Where the fuck did the dog come fr-" she starts - which is about when she realizes what just happened. "What the fuck?"
    That sound it followed moment's later by the sound of her dropping her gun, letting it clatter to the floor as she fires the last round, each having been counted silently in her head. The blade at her side is drawn, and with a flick its hanngle extends until she's holding a long lance in both hands - the butt of the staff gleaming silver in the moonlight, as is its bladed end. She swings it around with a smooth economy of motion that seems to waste nothing, bringing the blunt end crashing into the knee of the closest of the werewolves, who had been trying to close in on Jon's back. "No biting my boyfriend," she chastizes the creature - as the business end swings back around to plunge into the chest of the now fallen creature.
    Were they supposed to be leaving them alive? Someone clearly hadn't told Cael. Or maybe she just //really// has an issue with people trying to sneak up on her boyfriend.

Michael Hannigan has posed:
A fight breaks out in New York and someone flims it. Yep. That sounds about right. If it wasn't for the WEREWOLVES trying to attack people he knew, perhaps it might merit more of a look. But at the moment it's just a passing observation.

But right now, the phantasm wolfie is being a bit of an annoying distraction to the back group of werewolves, Here's a swipe at Riff Raff, and a bite for Scar Snout, and a shove for Wilford. Oooh. Sorry about that O'Donnell. Certainly Fox can get some ice for that.

Just... go walk it off.

Morrigan MacIntyre has posed:
Morrigan gives a look over the two werewolves that connect in the air, "Oof." she whispers. Then she's looking to get herself to a more defensable spot. She has to get bowled over by another werewolf as she tries to reposition herself. "You hit like a freight train you big fucker." she growls out as she gets herself back onto her feet. Her twin trick wasn't always going to work.

She instead works on reaching out to see if she can conjure up a nice aluminum bat to bonk these things with.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Moon Knight sends a werewolf flying out of the fray; it hits the side of a building with a sickening crack of breaking bones. Another has its muzzle broken by the Fist's brutal attack. The Alpha howls in pain, and the pack hesitates for a moment before attacking with redoubled ferocity. Every loss seems to spur them on further, at least for now. At some point their collective will may break, but that point has not yet been reached.

    Tara drops werewolves one by one, silver claws in throat and chest, but still they come. The whole pack is engaged now, and so the numbers will eventually thin, but for right now, they swarm the Kivuli.

    Cael, too, has killed her share of wolves and so several of the remainder of the pack swarm at her, fewer than might have if she wasn't back-to-back with the Archivist and his flaming sword. Jaws that bite and claws that scratch come for the mortal, and there's still been no clear indication of how the werewolves' curse is passed on--it's not a simple "bite and you're done," but scratching /does/ seem to be involved.

    Phantasm harasses the werewolves enough that they turn on him, snapping and growling--at first as if chastising a member of the pack and then... well. And then they notice that he looks like a proper wolf and not a wolf-human hybrid monstrosity. They notice that he lacks glowing tattoos in hieroglyphs and ankhs. They notice that he doesn't seem to share the pack mentality they do. And a few of them break off to try to surround the Phantasm. Uh oh.

    Morrigan might want to conjure a silver bat, particularly since a chunk of the werewolves are coming at her. Not as many as are going after the rest, but enough to be worrisome. She /does/ look easy enough to bowl over so they're going for that tactic for now.

    "Don't sneak up on people engaged in battle then," Jon replies to Swift, though some of the bite's gone out of his tone. For all of that, he sounds about as cultured as one can be, English accent out of place here in Queens. "As for what they want? We've been tracking them for weeks. They want to kill. Their end game is terrorizing the streets. If they're after anything else they've given no indication."

    As he speaks, he starts to conjure fire, wreathing his staff in flames and then sending fireballs at werewolves. One, two get burned--that's going to hurt if they survive--and then his little speech is cut off as one of the wolves leaps at him from the side. He turns to meet it with something like a shield of fire but the wolf's momentum breaks through; maintaining two shields plus the flaming sword is already sapping concentration. "Bloody fucking hell," Jon mutters, and summons forth Ma'at, the crown and feather appearing on his brow and wings flaring from his back even as the werewolf and him *thwomp* to the ground together. At least he doesn't break his wings in the fall.

    A tiny sliver of light is all that's left of the normal light of the moon, glowing all the more brightly for being so surrounded by darkness. The last moments before the total eclipse. The last moments before the blood moon falls.

Marc Spector has posed:
    Moon Knight shrugs his shoulders and slams the werewolf on his back to the ground. He hammers a blow into the creature's head, crushing the thing's skull and breaking its neck in a single strike. "Which is more than enough for us to dispose of them" he says, in addition to Jon's delivery of info. As more of the moon grows dim he looks up and his eyes narrow. "I hear you!" he says to no one visibly apparently.

    "Oh... oh no" he says then more aware of the surroundings. "That's what it meant!" he says and takes a blow from a werewolve's claws across his back. He stumbles forward a step and retaliates with an elbow backed by power able to move double-decker buses. The claw leaves a burning tear in the armor and a freely flowing tear on his back, but it's inconsequential in the immediate. "Jon!" he says, pointing up. "Darken the light of the moon! This is what her warning meant!"

    His momentary pause earns him the ire of the Alpha returning to take him to the ground, teeth gnashing out for his throat and claws raking at his chest and face.

Richard Swift has posed:
"Ah I see." Responding to Jon and Marc both, before hiding within his shadows once more, then appearing closer to the Alpha and Moon Knight. "My word, such chaos and death for no end game. It seems almost barbaric, or the work of someone more...chaotic."

Swift stays out of the range of any other Werewolf, and remains more an observer than a combatant. "Your soldiers are doing well, Knight of the Moon. I am impressed. Perhaps I can even help in future endeavours. I am The Shade. Excuse me." A blink and Shade moves out of range of another set of claws. The howls of frustration were music to his ears.

Shade takes a moment to almost admire the combatants. Tara and her fatal claws of silver. Cael and her deathly skill. An artform. Phantasm, his mercurial combat acumen. Morrigan and her unearthly conjuring. Lastly Jon and Marc. "Truly a team of supernatural skill. Impressive. All more used to the light of the moon, myself, a scion of the shadows."

That last comment finally shutting Swift up. Spectre's words. "Darken the light of the Moon." A pause. "No..." Swift's eyes narrow...

Tara Tsabedze has posed:
Moment by moment the power of the moon wanes as the earth moves to block it, the natural ebb and flow of the cosmos as the lunar eclipse continues. There were no choices for Tara, the direct energy of the moonlight would fade, but the night was still her ally. She couldn't see the moon, but it was there and would have to be enough.

Beginning to incorporate a bit of acrobatics, moving from one to the next to the next with flips over their heads to land behind them, there was always one in front of her and behind her, no matter the moves she made. She could hear the conversation over the roar of blood in her head, but she would correct the speaker later. She was not Moon Knight's soldier, she was Bast's soldier who just happened to be working /with/ the Moon Knight.

Each werewolf that dropped was replaced by another, like grains of sand flowing through the glass, never ending. Maintaining the damage barrier was taking what energy she had summoned up, but it was the only real defense against this many at once. She had no intentions of going down to mongrels, to wolves, to canines... that was an insult she would not tolerate.

"Someone needs to think of something quickly!" she calls out in Ancient Egyptian. "When the moon's light is fully gone, my power will wane until the earth passes once again and allows Her light to shine again!"

Cael Becker has posed:
    "I think I pissed 'em off," Cael remarks, as more and more of the creatures close on her. She moves with a graceful economy of movement somehow instilled in her by the amulet she'd once worn - but it's a brutal sort of grace as she uses slashes and blows to try to slow and hold back the creatures by the length of the lance she carries. The blows aren't fatal, but they begin to weaken and slow the creatures.
    Hopefully it'll be enough.
    Jon tumbling to the ground behind her, however, is a distraction she can ill-afford however. "Jon?" she asks in concern, her gaze flicking towards him, followed by the flash of the blunt side of her lance, hoping to knock the creature off Jon and give him more room to work.
    The pack uses this to their advantage however with several of them leaping in at once. She impales one of them on the lance, but getting the weapon clear of the dying creature's body eats up precious time. She swings the butt towards a second werewolf, driving it back. The third one closes on her - slashing claws lighting up the shield Jon had placed to protect her.
    "Well what the hell are we going to do about that n- AGGH!" A thrust of the lance drives back the werewolf that had been tearing at her chest - but what she hadn't noticed was that the werewolf she'd impaled was taking its time to die - and now it's teeth were buried in her thigh. "For fuck's sake!" she says emphatically, twirling her staff around and striking it on the creatures neck. There's a sickening snap as the creature goes limp - unable to move, but still breathing - a panicked look on its face.

Michael Hannigan has posed:
Well good news. OPERATION: ANNOY THE WEREWOLVES was a resounding success. Bad news. They're on to him.

Phantasm wolf's ears droop as he gives the most pitiful look. As one of the werewolves lunges at him, he leaps up, allowing for that one to hit the one that was circling behind him.

The jig is up!

As he comes down, he lands on the charging wolf, concentrating his strength to the paws that shove into the creature.

And then there are fireballs.

Magic fireballs

Giving a Yip, he leaps up again to avoid his own version of friendly fire. So now that particular cluster of wolves have caught on, he angles his landing over to another section of wolves, hoping they too did not get the memo.

...

Haaaaay Shaggydog! BUMP.

Morrigan MacIntyre has posed:
"Rio I could really use your big scary self here if you are just...hanging around waiting to assist!" Morrigan hisses out as she realizes that there are more werewolves that are about to try to use her for duckpin bowling! Thankfully her powers do not rely on the moon, but she realizes that others do and that she needs to pick up where others are stuck for the moment.

There is another moment taken, the Irish woman calling on the mystical energies around her. This time she creates two more mirrored Morrigan's. Though with their appearance all three of them seem to have been stricken with some sort of blackness that bleeds into their eyes and down into the cheeks and across the jaw. The stark contrast of black on pale skin is shocking and probably terrifying.

"Come on and get a snack, puppies!" the triplets shout.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    The werewolves cannot touch Swift, too quick is he with dodging, and so they mostly give up on going after him; he's hardly much of a threat, after all, at least obviously. Those that might have gone for him converge on the others instead, harrying their flanks and trying to keep them busy. The numbers are thinning, slowly, as they make a desperate push. They, too, will be weakened by the eclipse--not enough to put them entirely out of commission, but enough that Moon Knight should be able to easily dispatch them. They have to try to swarm over the humans before the moon's light is entirely gone.

    Only six remain on Tara, keeping her pinned, but the bulk of them make a last push, swarming the others in the last gasp of the moon's light before eclipse. Cael's injury makes her an easy-seeming target, even as she breaks a werewolf's neck. Phantasm's trick does not seem to work on the new group; they turn on him and jump for the "normal" wolf as he jumps over at them.

    Morrigan's mirror-selves have a better time confusing the werewolves, splitting them up and keeping things relatively even. The three groups hesitate, briefly, but a howl from the Alpha makes them surge forward. At least fewer of them are leaping at Morrigan than there could be.

    "What?" Jon's a little busy tussling with a werewolf to notice what Moon Knight said at first, his glowing emerald arm managing to keep the thing's jaws at bay however much it clamps onto the magically-summoned limb. Between Cael's lance and a sound kick from Jon, the werewolf finally gets pushed off of him and he rolls to his feet, twirling the oddly-shaped sword before stabbing the werewolf right through the heart. Evidently 'keep them alive' fades away when he's pressed. He stares at the wound on Cael's leg for about two seconds, then starts bringing forth fire again, planning try to hit as many of the werewolves as he can before Tara's power wanes or anyone else gets hurt.

    Then he looks up at the nearly-covered moon and gasps. "Oh, /fuck/. Ma--Moon Knight, you've got to get out of here."

    The last light of the moon flares, and then settles. The moon is entirely in the shadow of the Earth now, glowing orange-red. An eerie, but beautiful sight.

    Somewhere in Egypt, unbeknownst to any currently in Queens, a man who calls himself Amon-Ra looks up through a hole in the roof of an ancient temple to Khonshu. The sun is just rising, and the moon is barely visible, partially covered by the Earth's shadow. But that doesn't really matter--what matters is where Khonshu's attention is /now/. He smiles. "And so it begins," he mutters, and squeezes three drops of blood onto a magical working surrounding the statue of Khonshu.

    Even as their power wanes, the Alpha of the pack surges forward, claws raking at the armor of Moon Knight. And then it puts its fist through Moon Knight's chest, grasping his heart. The Fist of Khonshu /should/ be able to survive that, or come back if he does not. He should--but he can feel that something is terribly, terribly wrong.

    Khonshu's blessing has disappeared entirely.

Marc Spector has posed:
    Moon Knight struggles against his foe for a while. If he's aware of the strangeness in the power coming from the other side of the world, he's not showing it. But he does once the moon turns crimson and the blessing of his god leaves him. "Jon!" he says, using the last of his strength to call to his friend against. "It's not this! It's a dist--"

    He gasps as the werewolf's hand passes through his chest. "I... I..." His body shudders and his fight against the Alpha ceases as a pulpy mass is torn from the newly formed hole. The light around him fades and what is left is a limp and lifeless form in bloody and damaged body armor. The sheen of the Moon god's blessing is gone from the Defender of the Night.

Richard Swift has posed:
That was when everything went to Hel. Swift notes that those pedantic werewolves finally get some sense and leave him alone. Swift does not really care that they turn their attention to others. Well, maybe a little. His eyes watch the sky as things change astronomically, and as his eyes find the battlefield he witnesses the Knight taken off the board.

"Knight..." The Shade says almost as a whisper, hidden by shadows. Now comes a choice. He was close, within striking distance of the Soldier of Khonshu. Instincts almost take hold. His mind was telling him to grab Spector, but he decides against it. If he was to survive he would need his friends.

With a sigh, the Shade moves with lightning fast speed, and swings his cane with the silver hawk tip at the Alpha, hoping to knock him back from the Moon Knight, distracting him and giving the Knight's allies time to rescue him.

Then...before the Alpha can strike back, his shadows envelope him and takes him elsewhere...with a wisp of Shadows it was done. He was gone.

Tara Tsabedze has posed:
The last of the moon's light is gone, as is apparently Khonsu's Blessing. The later is not fully known to Tara as she fights, what she knows for certain is that six remains, just six more, and there is no more energy to be pulled from the night sky.

The light that surrounds her body suddenly explodes into a brightness that matches the sun, the silvery white turning yellow-white, blinding the werewolves around her. When it fades again there is a definite and obvious change to her. Upon the panther's head is an elaborate golden Egyptian headdress, with strands of lapis lazuli, malachite, and gold beads hanging down to her shoulders, and down her back. A white sheath dress with golden heiroglyphs sewn into the white belt around her waist and along the seams on the shoulders, hugs her form like a second skin to her knees, the sides left completely open.

"Come then little dogs," Bast states, eyes flashing amber as she looks at the remaining werewolves. "Have you ever played tag with a goddess before?"

The taunt over, the goddess herself goes into a flurry of attacks, far more quickly and deadly than Tara would have managed on what little energy remained. Whatever or whom ever had caused the Fist of Khonsu to fail, the goddess Bast had taken notice and she was not pleased.

Cael Becker has posed:
    Cael's posture shifts, taking most of the weight off her left leg, which is now injured. She barely pauses as she swings her lance around, clearing up some breathing room around herself for the moment. "You good?" she calls to Jon - a brief glance showing that they were back on their feet again. That, at least, was one less worry.
    She moves back into position at Jon's back, but her gaze flicks towards Moon Knight as he calls out - and then falls, and she can feel her breath catch in her throat momentarily. "Got your back - go to him," Cael says urgently - though she doubts there's anything Jon can do to save the man. He was... dead. Wasn't he?
    As Jon begins to move towards his friend, Cael limps backwards in concert with him, swinging her lance and trying to keep the remainder of the pack off of them. Even with her combat expertise, it's a lot - remaining aware of Jon's position, moving backwards, keeping track of the werewolves - and doing it all with an injured leg.
    So it's no wonder that a few more scratches land - one scoring along her scalp, and bleeding profusely in the way of scalp wounds, and another along her upper arm, on her right. Neither seem to be slowing her, though.

Michael Hannigan has posed:
Awww...

Fine.

"Yipe!" As they chase after him he leads them towards the first group. The phantasm wolf leaps again, catching a glimpse of what's going on with the man in white.

He really should learn names sometime.

Oh No.

Paws hitting the ground, he immediately leaps back up and over, The fur of the 'normal' wolf darkens as an inky blackness starts to engulf it. The shape shifts away from that of a wolf, becoming more humanoid. A black shrouded figure takes its place, the glow of red eyes and jagged teeth shows from the abyss where the face should be. Claws extend as he comes down near the alpha. Somehow managing to delay the landing after Swift's ...well, swift departure. He spins, slashing at the creature.

Morrigan MacIntyre has posed:
"Kill them?" Doppelganger Morrigan One asks.

"Kill them?" Doppelganger Morrigan Two asks

"KILL THEM!" Morrigan's too late to counteract what has just happened, but her other half going limp was something that she was not planning for in this instance. And the Master absolutely loses her shit! The black and violet energy is unleashed, sending a magical shockwave towards the werewolves as she tries to bite back her anger. Best way to piss someone off was trying to deheart the person they cared the most about. She calls on everything and that is ALOT.

Black eyes are wide and frantic as she tries to get through whatever obstacles might be between her and the limp Moon Knight. "Don't you be dead..." she hisses out as her mirrored selves take on Werewolves.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    The Alpha actually looks /surprised/ that he managed to rip out Moon Knight's heart, but only for a moment. Then he tosses back his head and howls, and there's no mistaking that howl--it's a cry of victory. Emboldened, the werewolves surge forward. A good chunk of the pack is dead or injured, so there are fewer of them--but Moon Knight is down and Swift is retreating. The pair flanking Moon Knight turn to snap at Shade as he departs--do they get him? Hard to tell whether one scratches him or not, potentially marking him for their curse. Even if they had, would it do any good?

    Then Phantasm is there, and the Alpha turns away from what he thinks is his kill to throw Moon Knight's heart in his face; it bounces off and onto the pavement, rolling to rest near the man's body. Then the Alpha, full of bloodlust, launches himself at the Shadowman and his glowing eyes and jagged teeth, howling in joy at the thrill of battle and the seeming victory at hand.

    A little prematurely, maybe. Bast arrives on the scene with brilliant glow and the pack begins to die, one werewolf after another torn apart brutally. The violet energy that Morrigan releases may not be the werewolves' specific weakness, but the wave of it is powerful enough to hurt them all the same; several of them simply explode in showers of gore. Ew.

    For a moment, Jon just stares at Moon Knight's fallen form. The first thought that goes through his head? 'Not again.' Why does this keep /happening/?

    The second thought is that Marc's heart is /right there/ and he just learned how to heal properly. He knows how long a body can survive without a beating heart; he's got a minute or two. If he can get everything reattached in time...

    The Archivist lunges at the heart on the ground, picking it up without care of how bloody it is, rolling past the tussle of Alpha and Phantasm. He encases the heart in a globe of water to wash it off--no need to get gravel in Moon Knight's chest--and then shoves the thing right back into Marc's chest cavity, properly aligned and everything. Having perfect recall and years of anatomy study is useful for once.

    Then they take long, deep breaths, wings flaring out protectively over Marc's body, shielding them both from the werewolves that try to intervene. And try they do, leaping at Cael, trying to get past her to where the Archivist is... evidently going to try to just reattach Moon Knight's heart.

     "Holy Sekhmet, Eye of Ra, lend me your strength. Mother Isis, holy queen--" Their voice, even imbued by the goddess Ma'at, breaks for a moment. "Please," they whisper in just their own voice. "I can't lose anyone else."

    Warm golden light begins to glow beneath the shield of multi-colored wings, but it's going to take time.

Marc Spector has posed:
    Moon Knight's form is still as Jon works the magic to try and revive him. For those with mystic sight they see a man in street clothes standing beside the pair. He looks worried and tired. A soldier who's been fighting his entire life and now with the last fight of his life in sight there's... a sadness in him, a desire to not want it to be over.

    He watches silently as the man he considers one of his best friends tries to save his life and he nods, urging the Archivist's spell to return him before he is led to the afterlife and the maw of the Devourer that he knows will be the final rest for his spirit when his time is up.

Tara Tsabedze has posed:
It was rare for the goddess to take control of her avatar, as usually Tara handles things quite readily on her own. This however, this situation, it got personal fast. The Fist of Khonsu was down, something that should never have been able to happen and yet before her very eyes it happened.

The rage of the protector, the demand for blood that came through with Bast was evident in the way she attacked without mercy. Her movements were like a dance of death, graceful, fluid with her body while claws slashed through muscles, tendon and bone alike. There was a time when Bast was the goddess of war, and the protector of Ra, those roles now fell to Sekhmet, but the fury of battle still sang in the cat-goddesses heart and were released on the battle field this night.

One by one she began working her way through the dogs, never yielding, never faltering. "Die dogs, find no peace!" came her chant, amber eyes seeking out one after the other, intending to ensure that not a single dog was left to harm anyone else, ever again.

Cael Becker has posed:
    Cael plants herself beside Jon, and the lance she carries remains in constant motion, swinging over Jon's head to keep the werewolves off her boyfriend's vulnerable form - and the helpless form of his unconscious (or dead?) friend. "I'm here, Jon," Cael says quietly, hearing that break in their voice - and feeling an echoing ache in her own chest for their pain and fear.
    She's here, and she won't be letting any of them past her, as her lance swings and eviscerates one of the wolves, before the butt sends another into unconciousness with a solid thwack. She swings the lance towards another of the wolves - but moving with almost preternatural speed, he catches the shaft of the lance, holding it in place just long enough for another wolf to move in swiftly, claws raking along the back of her neck, and into her shoulder. Cael wrenches the lance free, and drives the wolf back with a jab from the butt of the lance, then aims another swing at the one who'd momentarily held her weapon in place - but they seem to be falling back from her.
    "I think... we're in the clear for a second, Jon," she remarks, breathing heavily. "Probably because... of our feline friend."

Michael Hannigan has posed:
As the wolf howls in joy, the shadowman's expression twists. With a swift motion, the clawed hand of the Phantasm swings, through the chest of the Alpha. As the arm becomes tangible, the teeth in the abysss twist into the bastardation of a smile similar in the level of ecstasy the Alpha demonstrated just earlier. The head tilts as the nightmaric phantasm's burning eyes looks into the werewolf's own.

Turnabout is fair play.

Morrigan MacIntyre has posed:
Morrigan's freaking out internally. No, nonono. We'd just gotten over huge crisis. Why now?! Doppel One and Doppel Two are handling what they can of the left over werewolves, assisting the others as she runs for Marc and Jon, "Did...did he rip his heart out?" she asks as she stares at the hole in Marc's chest. Everything is fine, don't panic!

WE ARE PANICKING!

"I'll...can I help?" The black eyed woman asks as she settles down next to the two of them.

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Werewolves die. Whether to Bast's claws, or Cael's lance, or Morrigan's magic, werewolves die. As many as there seemed to be in the thick of the battle when they were fighting one-on-one, there aren't nearly so many as there seemed. A large pack, to be sure, but the group could have taken care of them just fine if Moon Knight hadn't fallen.

    Marc may be dead, but the red-haired, dark-skinned guide that usually comes for him does not appear at his side. Instead, she's standing across the street, visible only to him, shackles at ankles and wrists. Watching. Waiting, maybe, as if the gods of the Underworld are waiting to call his soul to its final judgement until the avatar of Ma'at has had a chance to try to heal the wound.

    "I've got this," Jon says to Morrigan, voice strained. "He'll need rest after, though. Like he got a heart transplant, except it's his own." The glow around Marc's chest swells, and swells, and suddenly flares bright as the sun, casting noon-day shadows across the street. Nerves and blood vessels reattach, the pericardium re-grows, the ribs fill in. The muscles of his chest and then the skin itself finally grows back in, leaving him whole and unblemished, though the suit itself does not re-form.

    As Moon Knight's heart starts to beat again, the Alpha's heart is grasped by the Phantasm. It takes the tiniest of efforts to pull out the werewolf's heart, and it's almost as if the Alpha's life is being traded for Moon Knight's. Is it? Not entirely. But there's a poetic symmetry to the actions.

    The red-headed psychopomp smiles brightly at Marc, and in that moment Moon Knight, the Alpha, and Phantasm--so closely linked to the Alpha's death--can all see her and hear her words. "Excellent. The warning reached you in time. The Eye of Ra will not protect the Sun King, but I can do no more. You'll excuse me if I say 'get the hell off my lawn.'"

    Then her dark-eyed gaze swings to the Alpha as his soul steps out from his body, which begins to slump to the ground. "I am Alya, avatar of Sekhmet, guide of the dead. You called upon Anubis for power. Now your soul, and those of your pack, will be subject to the judgement of the gods of Khemet." She smiles, almost viciously. "Lord Anubis would like to speak to you particularly about what you have deigned to do in his name. I doubt the discussion will be pleasant. Come."

    And that's that. The Alpha is dead, the vision of the lands of death fade from both Marc and Phantasm. With their Alpha dead, the remainders of the pack break and scatter. With Marc's heart beating Jon's wings and circlet disappear, and he wavers like he's about to fall over. "That," he gasps, "would've been a /lot/ harder without the heart."

Marc Spector has posed:
    The gasp for air that Moon Knight takes carries all the need and requirement attached to the breath of life. It is followed by a coughing fit, before the man in the armor curls in on himself protectively. He lives, but the sheen of the protective aegis of Khonshu is still missing from his form. He glances up at Jon with a tired grin. and tries to push himself up.

    It's a slow thing. Much slower than he should be able to. "I... I can't feel his touch" he says, looking up at the slowly retreating bloody-sheen over the full moon above. "Something happened to Khonshu... something that's... I've got to get to Egypt" he says, attempting to rise further and failing, before stumbling onto all fours.

Tara Tsabedze has posed:
Taking a few more slashes at the departing dogs, Bast spins around to see if there are any others who do not scatter. She could give chase, she wants to give chase, the very nature of the cat is to chase the prey that runs, but there are more important matters to tend to now.

She should be covered in blood, that of the dogs and her own, but there is none to be seen. The wounds are there, the ones that Tara took, they merely aren't bleeding any more.

Striding toward the Moon Knight, Jon and Cael, she kneels down beside them and lays her hand on Moon Knight's back. "We will see you to Egypt when you are recovered brother, we will find the answers, this I promise" she says softly, then looks to Jon.

"We should not stay here, are you able to move? I can carry him if needs require, but this is not the best place to be. I can take you all anywhere you wish to go," she looks back around them to ensure that none of the dogs are reconsidering their retreat. "I am at your service chosen of Ma'at."

Cael Becker has posed:
    "Jon's got this. Let them work," Cael reassures Morrigan - quite honestly with more confidence in her voice than she actually feels.
    Jon didn't save her. How could he save someone whose heart has been torn out?
    But then the light flares brightly, and when she glances down at Moon Knight- shit. Is he... breathing? Is he //alive//? And then the man is talking - and even trying to get up.
    "Holy shit, Jon." He looks like he's about to swoon - and the wolves are retreating, so with a flick she manages to retract the lance, before she crouches, putting an arm around the exhausted Archivist. "I've got you," she murmurs. "...do I need to call us an Uber out of here?" she asks with dry amusement, though her gaze shifts towards... Tara? "I mean, unless you've got it covered." Her attention shifts to Jon once more as she adds, "You both look like shit."
    Then in a low whisper she adds, "Been practicing, huh?" She makes no mention of her own injuries - they're still bleeding, but not badly enough to be life threatening. They'll definitely need treatment, though...

Michael Hannigan has posed:
Heart in claws, Phantasm watches the eyes of the Alpha as they start to glaze over. When the finality of the situation is apparent, the shadowy form pulls back, dropping the heart onto the ground.

The newfound voice causes for the shadowman's head to turn, looking over to Alya.

The odd encounter seems to have an effect as the shadowman's form melts away a little. Claws take more the shape of hands, and the glow of the eyes and jagged teeth fade, leaving just darkness.

The gasp that comes from Marc causes for him to look over to the man in stained white.

"You're still alive?!" Mike's voice states, tone still questioning.

OH.

How's that for dumb luck?

Morrigan MacIntyre has posed:
With the others retreating, the Doppel Morrigans deteriorate into a shadowy mass and then blow away on the wind. That was a neat trick. The redhead that was kneeling beside Moon Knight is all bated breath as Jon works his magic. A bit of a black eyed look is given to Cael and she nods to her, understanding. But that lizard brain is worried. Wanting to make sure he's alright.

When he gasps there is a sigh of relief breathed out, "You just had your heart ripped out and they hacky sacked it across the sidewalk, you can take some time to recover and /then/ Egypt. Khonshu will understand I'm sure." Morrigan states.

The blackness hasn't gone anywhere...which is odd, but, that was something they'd deal with later. "How do you want to go back home? Teleport, Portal or something else?" she asks.

She then turns her head, "Michael?"

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    "You're not going anywhere until you've had a lie-down and a proper look-over," Jon says sternly in agreement with Morrigan, reaching out to put a hand on Marc's shoulder. Marc, not Moon Knight, not right now. Not if something happened to Khonshu. "We should get back to the Mission. Hole up there for the night, see if this passes once the eclipse is done. And then..." And then Egypt? Well, not right off. But soon, presumably.

    He looks up and around at Mike and blinks. "Hannigan, right? You want to come with us? I don't know what the pack's going to think of you killing their leader, but we can keep you safe, if nothing else." He glances to Morrigan. Does she know him better?

    A chuckle, then, at Cael. "Yes, I've been practicing. The, ahh, former Archivists healed with light. Ra's light, you know? The sun. Khonshu can heal, too, but if Khonshu was available for that... well, it wouldn't be an issue. But here, let me..." He fumbles with the emerald arm and reaches toward Cael's leg with more glowing light, though she could bat him off and insist he wait. He /does/ look exhausted, but holding up. And usually all he needs is sleep to recover from these things.

    Up above, someone is still filming the whole thing, and there are sirens off somewhere in the distance. Whatever's going to be done, it should be done soon, before someone figures out just who the vigilantes are. Before authorities come to look at the bodies of the werewolves, which will turn back to human bodies when the full moon sets.

Marc Spector has posed:
    Marc sighs, thankfully the mask hides his face for those he hasn't shown his face. "Portals are probably the best bet considering our states" he looks to Morrigan and Jon. "I've a full medical suite at the Mission. It's safe ever since Frenchie put in a security system that would probably get the attention of a few militant countries out there."

    His attention shifts fully to the red-head. "You feel like spending some time at my place for a change?" he asks. At least his humor is still intact even if there are edges of worry in it. He takes a few deep breaths and holds up a hand for assistance from Mo, or Tara, or even Michael, whoever would be willing to help him to his feet given his weakened state. The armor is -not- lightweight.

Michael Hannigan has posed:
Phantasm turns his head as he hears his name. Having a look at the redhead, the head tilts. "Oh...Hey M-." He pauses. Now when Jon adds in the last name, Mike looks over to the Archivist. "Maybe say that a bit louder. I don't think the guy on the fire escape quite picked up on that."

...

And you thought he forgot.

He sighs, "Well. Might as well. I'm probably overdue for a nap. And I really don't want to explain what just happened here."

Tara Tsabedze has posed:
Bast was right there, knelt beside Moon Knight, so as he moves to stand she also stands and assists him, slipping an arm around his waist. Right now, she has all the strength in the world, she is after all a goddess, but that will fade when she returns control to Tara. For now however, she requires the power and she will keep control.

"I do not think the guy on the fire escape can hear us," she states to this Michael person. Tara knew him, she did not, nor at the moment did she care to know more than he was an ally. Tara would apologize for the rudeness later.

"Come in close to me," she then instructs. "I will take us back to the Mission."

Once everyone is close enough, the silvery white light moves out from her body to envelope everyone, blinding and radiant like the sun for all of ten seconds, and the group finds themselves in the main hall of the Mission.

Cael Becker has posed:
    Cael slaps at Jon's hand, an amused look on her features. "I'll be fine with a little medical treatment, so you can save the healing for after you've //slept.// You're a //mess,//" she points out firmly - before leaning in to give Jon a gentle kiss, murmuring against his lips, "Good job, love."
    Her eyes shift next to Phantasm, studying the being with a curious expression, but not offering any comment. What she says instead, is accompanied by a breathy laugh that's all adrenaline. "Now, that was a //fight.//"
    As the being that //was// Tara (is Tara?) ushers them in, Cael helps Jon to their feet - an arm around their waist - and a faint wince playing across her features, as the effort pulls at some of her wounds. The relief of being somewhere safe, though, is palpable. "Thanks for the lift."

Jonathan Sims has posed:
    Jon practically beams at the kiss from Cael, grinning at her a little foolishly. "Glad you liked it," he murmurs, letting her pull him to his feet.

    He blinks at Michael for a long moment, and then his gaze tracks up to the fire escape. "Oh, /fuck/," he breathes. "Well, this is going on the 'Archivist' profile," he says with resignation. "Wonder if they'll decide it's more evidence I'm the anti-Christ, or some kind of miracle worker?" He's a fairly public figure, himself, impossible to miss, and he's been on /international television./ He doesn't bother with Bat-style internet-scrubbing. What would be the point?

    Besides, something in the Archivist balks at the idea of /erasing information/. Even if it's inconvenient for him, it's still a record of what happened.

    But then they're teleported, and he doesn't need to worry about it any further. He looks to Marc. "I'm sticking around here for the night at least. We can make plans in the morning." He sighs. "I'd better call Agnes, tell her not to worry about whatever she sees about me online. And that she's home alone for the night unless she wants to join us at the Mission."

Marc Spector has posed:
    Marc nods and once back at the Mission he starts, with Morrigan's help to head down to the medical suite in the amory room. "You know where to find me." He pauses and looks to Mike. "There are apartments downstairs. GO ahead and claim one for the night if you wish. You've more than earned my gratitude and that of the Moon god as well."

    He and the red-head pass behind the large statue of Khonshu dominating the central area of the Mission and vanish down the hidden stair to the armory below.

Tara Tsabedze has posed:
Now that they are all safely in the mission, and going in separate directions, there is a passing of shadow over Tara. The vestiges of Bast fade away as the shadows slip away, leaving the woman standing there in her normal form with quite a few questions that will need answering later. What she knew, Bast had taken control and had now slipped back to her usual place with in the back of Tara's mind.

"I will remain here tonight as well," she offers, having heard Marc's comment as her change took place. Apparently they'd won, she hurt and felt drained, but eclipse was already passing. She would have the moon's energy to draw on again soon, then she would sleep.

It was then that she spotted Michael and a smile touched her lips. "I remember you," she says softly, the East African accent back in place. "Good to see you again."

Cael Becker has posed:
    As everyone starts to go their separate ways, Cael nods to Tara and Michael, then guides Jon into one of the bedrooms, settling them in with an amused smile on her lips at their various protests. "Look - I'll go get medical treatment - I promise you. I'm fine," she assures Jon, giving them another kiss. "You did good. And I'll even call Agnes for you. Yeah? And once I'm patched up... I'll come join you."
    She makes her way out of the room after a third kiss, frowning at the streaks of blood she's leaving behind. That'll be a bitch to clean up later. After finding her way to the infirmary, she subjects herself to Morrigans treatment while she gets on her cellphone - calling Sara first, to ask if the woman was free to stay over at Jon's apartment for the night - and then calling Agnes, to reassure her that both of them were fine, and they'd see her tomorrow.

Michael Hannigan has posed:
As the group ends up being teleported out of the public eye, Phantasm glances around the new location. Being that Mo and Jonathan basically just gave his name to the others there was really no point to keeping up the Phantasm ability.

Also THAT guy showed up.

He hates that guy and would rather not have him pop back tonight.

The shadow faded away leaving the mirrored visage of Michael Hannigan. It soon corrects itself, leaving the scar on his left forearm to move back to its original position on the right.

Looking over to Tara, recognition comes across his own features. It was indeed a, unique way to run into each other. "...Sturgis, right?"

Mike scrubs at his face before starting to look for stairs. "Ugh. What a week."

And it's only Monday.