14921/Repo Being

Repo Being
Date of Scene:	14 May 2023
Location:	Belvedere Castle
Synopsis:	A cult invasion! A horrible relic given to someone who's dumb enough to try and welsh on an eldritch deal. Atrun-Rai and unlikely comrades teach him what comes of that nonsense.
Cast of Characters:	Atrun Rai, Mary Jane Watson, Phoebe Beacon, Patience Alperen

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Atrun Rai has posed:
    Central Park. Belvedere Castle, stately and refurbished now decades ago, stands as if it were freshly built, its towers reaching into the night at the summit of Vista Rock. Quiet. Quiet as usual.

    Then, at approximately nine thirty-at night, on a balmy May Saturday evening, something happens in the hazy almost-world that divides the physical realm of this all too imperfect world from the great multiplanar complex that is greater existence.

    Vista Rock begins bleeding.

    Oh, it isn't /real/ blood, of course, it isn't even corporeal; the black 'fluid' that oozes from the stones around the foundations of the castle isn't visible to mortal eyes, but it certainly would get the attention of any wizards or other practitioners of the mystic - like a wound draining upward, gobbets of smoky ectoplasm begins to gather around the borders of the stones, collecting in minutes and beginning to drain...upward. Soon some of those gobbets are the size of watermelons. One particularly adventurous collection of mysterious goop gathers into a mass the size of a Honda Civic, draining away into the starless sky.

    You can't see if it you aren't tied to the mystical, perhaps...but even those with experience with it can feel that something isn't right. Something very, very much isn't cricket. Wrong, even. It might draw the curious - or, indeed, the righteous. Or the reverse.

Mary Jane Watson has posed:
The somewhat addled mind over of Mary Jane has always referred to it as Bellmont castle, thanks to spending time with too many geeks while she was growing up - including her neighbor. She's currently got a Nintentdo Switch out and in front of her, and is somehow cleanly weaving in and out of people going by despite all o fher attention going over to the video game without running into anyone. She would dart back and forth, and be humming the Zelda theme as she would move ahead.

Making it clear over what she was up to. Just moving along and seemingly totally unaware of things.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe had one of those Feelings, that wriggling sense in the back of her mind as she passed through Central Park on an errand, thin hoodie up overher head, her dark eyes pausing as she purses her lips. Her eyes narrow. Her fingers curl inside her pockets as she shoots off a quick text, and then she meanders her way towards the 'feeling', her Bike boots tapping the ground lightly as she tightens her hands in her pockets.

    Until she hears the Legend of Zelda theme.

    "-- ... RIGHT. Tears of the Kingdom came out today -- bet JayJay's already beaten it..." she murmurs thoughtfully.

Patience Alperen has posed:
It was a comfortable Spring day in Manhatten. There were no demons to exorcise, no vampires to stake. No heretical teachings to.. well this is New York City, there are always heretical teachings around. Most of them have little to do with a form of religion... regardless it was a nice relaxing day.

Sitting on a bench enjoying a mocha latte.

Then, of course, things begin to feel wrong and off.

Frowning, the dark haired woman looks up, looking around for the obvious. Dark mystical energy raining 'upwards' is kind of obvious. With a sigh, she stands, tossing her cup, and begins to make her way toward the castle. "So much for a quiet day off..."

Atrun Rai has posed:
    And lo, from the eastern side of the rock, another shudder of damnation - in the shadow of a copse of trees, a narrow slit in the fabric of reality opens, then widens into a triangular gap the size of a man. It is no neat aperture; more like plastic being melted with a lighter flame, eaten away to reveal inky blackness behind it. Cold. Howling, hungering darkness. And it is from this wound in existence, with tendrils of barely-countenanced horrors licking at its borders, that a vaguely Middle Eastern man in a black suit emerges, his dark beard coiled like a Sumerian king and his expression as pleasant as if he were on a sunlit walk through a Victorian garden. He steps out, and the wound seals shut behind him. Reality heals in an instant - but Mary Jane, should she look up from her nighttime gaming, might just catch a glimpse of a man who apparently stepped out of a tree.

    Atrun-Rai pauses to look at the famous Manhattan landmark, the crop of rock that bleeds darkness into the sky. Heaves a sigh like a disappointed father. Proceeds toward a path that will lead up toward the castle.

Mary Jane Watson has posed:
Going to walk along, Mary Jane takes a moment to recognize Phoebe. It's the unicorn girl! Mary Jane recalls her vaguely but still has to get in just a few more minutes over of her game right before the void of cold seems to come over towards her and whatever sort of sensation it is.. Her hand -first- goes to save and shut down the Zelda game with the fading chimes of music, and then snaps a palm over to the massive broadsword on her back.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Oh hey, it's MJ.

    Phoebe gives an up-nod to the part-time barbarian, and she makes her way towards the path to the castle as Reality patches itself arounds Atrun-Rai's arrival, and she gives just the smile of someone who can feel slightly mischevious.

    The younger magician takes larger steps, jogging with all the silence she can afford from her training, and strives to catch up to Atrun-Rai.

    "Why is it you always sigh like something personally crossed you, Magi?" she chirps, the literal little Light trying to fall into step with the man who brings the Horror wherever he goes.

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "Magus," he corrects the Unicorn Girl, smiling as Phoebe comes jogging up -- and then pauses, as beyond her a slip of a woman appears to be unburdening herself of a not insignificant volume of steel.

    "And yes," Atrun-Rai says in his pleasant, accentless baritone voice. "Someone's playing with something they shouldn't have. It is my regretful duty to collect it. Is that young woman going to try and stop us? Should I be armed?"

Mary Jane Watson has posed:
Her hand is up and over on the hilt of her blade, and she gives a very, very cautious look over to Atrun-Rai. "Friend of your's?" She would inquire to Phoebe while keeping her hand over on her blade, but not drawing it. Just making the presumption that somethingwas up, and with her life experiences when something was up, it always meant that something would be very,v ery bad.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Just seeing if you're paying attention." Phoebe replies, and she pauses, turning, and walking backwards.

    "She's fought by my side before. Handy to have in a punch." she explains, and she motions to Atrun-Rai.

    "One of the wisest people I've met, yes. Atrun-Rai, this is--" she pauses, and then opens her mouth, and then closes her mouth, and then looks at Mary-Jane. She presses her lips together.

    "I have no idea how to refer to you in the field." she explains, suddenly looking rather sheepish as she pulls down her hood, showing her hair's hdiden beneath a skullcap.

Patience Alperen has posed:
Patience Alperen could be considered late to the party or at least the last to arrive.

Seeing Atrun-Rai and Phoebe, she relaxes if only a little. She at least knows them and that means there are allies to count on in dealing with this dark unease that keeps growing.

Nearing them, she looks between the trio. "Hello.. It seems that someone has decided to ruin an otherwise lovely Spring day, haven't they?"

Atrun Rai has posed:
    Whomever it is squeezing...whatever that is...from the rock, the fluid collection begins to grow. "Ah, Miss Alperen," says Atrun-Rai to the young woman now arriving, "Peace be to you." A nod to MJ then. "And to you, miss. I'm afraid that we should reserve pleasantries to the last; someone is being naughty, and we should see to it that their indulgences are ceased before someone gets hurt. Come with me, won't you? I'll explain on the way."

    Without waiting for an answer, the man in the black suit continues on his way, mounting a path and stairs that begins to climb upward whilst sidestepping a glob of smoky darkness that blurps into being nearby.

Mary Jane Watson has posed:
Well, she doesn't know what to call Phoebe either, so it balances out! "I'm Michelle Jones." She would offer to Phoebe after a moment. NOt really true but close enough. She did try to keep her lives separate - well, there were at least three separate things going on. Two lives which involved stabbing, and one that involved mostly yelling at Peter. "All right." If Phoebe trusted him, then that was good enough for her.

Mary Jane might read -very- wrong to the others if they scanned her aura. She was like a flaring beacon to anyone with magical senses.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe's left wrist glows a little bit beneath her sleeve, the glob of smokey darkness is given a disapproving face and then hopped over with a murmured 'Watch your step, MJ.' and an up-nod to Patience as she arrives, and she follows the older Magus as he makes his way up the steps and path.

    "You see the smoke and pooling too, right?" Phoeb asks as she pulls her hoodie together, zipping it up. It's slash-resistant, but quite her armor, but it'll do for the moment. At least she can take care of her own injuries.

    "This sh-stuff feels weirder than usual."

Patience Alperen has posed:
Patience Alperen looks amongst the three, though the redhead with the sword gets the most curious glance. Not that she has room to talk, given that she takes a length of wood from her jacket sleeve. It appears to be quite old and has its own holy aura about it. Next comes a bottle of water from another pocket in her jacket. As she looks to the glowing Phoebe, then toward Atrun-Rai, the sense of mystical power flares with her as well. Her brown eyes turn a pale icy blue for a moment.

Holding the wood in hand, she begins to slowly poor the water over it and it begins to instantly freeze and form into a spear of clear, bubble free ice. One made from Holy water.

Spinning the spear once, she looks to the others as her eyes return to their usual brown. "Well I'm ready. Shall we go inform them of their poor life choices?"

Atrun Rai has posed:
    The climb begins. It's not a mountain, but Belvedere Castle does take a few minutes to get to - meanwhile, the odd gentleman confers the news, albeit terribly vaguely: someone and his friends have found an object that Atrun-Rai only refers to as a 'hungry organ', which he confesses is the only real translation of its otherworldly name. A collector of entropy, the relic is busy causing the negative energy of the area to condense and flow upwards into the aether, where it congeals - and serves as a source of power for the so-called organ, which it will confer upon its wielder. Sort of a very gross battery for dark magic, really. Whoever's got it is likely a very lucky idiot.

    Ascending to the top of the castle ramparts, Central Park rolls out like a great and beautiful carpet of green shadows on all sides. On the other end of the complex, the weather tower. Not a soul to be seen. "I think we've made it out without being seen," Atrun-Rai ventures then, smiling faintly - until he is immediately made a liar by the crack of gunfire and a cluster of smoky puffs that suddenly burst from his right lapel. A cluster of flattened bullets fall from what should certainly have been a lethal fusilade, clattering upon the stones at their feet. "Or, perhaps not."

    Fifty feet down the way, ducking behind walls and obstructions, a handful of people in street clothes are shouting in what /should/ be a foreign language, but their words are so distorted that it surely cannot be a tongue that comes from this world. So they let their automatic weapons do the talking, and a hail of lead comes hurtling your way...

Mary Jane Watson has posed:
And going to walk along with the group is Mary Jane. SHe has the large sword in front of her and is going to walk along keeping her hand ready to support her. Glancing down at the men from her position, quickly evaluating them. Their stances, their language, how they were positioned and what they were shooting at. Quickly going to try and track what their targets were as their bullets seemed to pop off.
    "If you need I can deal with them." She would speak from her vantage point.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe draws her eyebrows up, suspicious of being seen in such an open area with an obvious group of very Not Normal people, staying cautiously low as her eyes draw up. She gives a soft snort at the idea of an Organ, which first leads her to the Pipe Organ and then to Other Organs. A particularly evil pancreas. A galbladder with a bad attitude. Very Unhappy Appendix.

    However, the musing thoughts of evil organs are quickly sent from her mind at the sound of gunfire, and as Atrun-Rai's impacted, she raises her shield with one hand, the lazily spinning eight-pointed star with its assortment of Egyptian symbols about it lighting a pale pink as her eyes go wide.

    "I think they noticed us." she states with dry humor. "Think they're the Lucky Idiots and need a rescue?" she questions, and she breathes out.

Patience Alperen has posed:
Patience Alperen falls in with the others, though she seems content to let Atrun-Rai lead the way. It seems that he was inclined to do so. He also had the familiarity with the entiy they were dealing with. Given the reach of her spear, it makes more sense to take up the rear guard. She has the reach and the flexibility.

When they encounter resistence and Atrun-rai is shot, she frowns. "Well.. they have range on us." Her gaze shifts quickly to find cover to use while they advance. Not that some of them need it.

Atrun Rai has posed:
    "Alas," sayeth Atrun-Rai as another few bullets bounce off his nattily-dressed form, "They appear to be better organized than I had expected." A nod to Mary Jane, then. "Please. They are no longer human, you may destroy them without guilt." As he says this he sweeps a hand through the air and draws from it - as if it were a scabbard - a sword of dull gray metal, its leaf-shaped blade nicked and etched with what looks almost like a book's worth of tiny symbols. The handle is corroded bronze. "Alas, we must press forward. To the tower, please, and feel free to get behind me if you cannot withstand bullets."

Mary Jane Watson has posed:
Wait, no longer human? "And what then are they?" Mary Jane's tone would be firm and flat over. She has her blade up and in front of her, seeming to not mind the occasional ricochets going off from bullets passing nearby. No wincing, no flinching, no having to mvoe or duck.. Just watching and evaluating from her position.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "'Lost'." Phoebe pronounces the poor jagoffs. She doesn't think she can save them, and her lips curl into a frown as she shift sher weight, and then she leaps over the wall, pressing forward with her shield still up, glowing and making a nice, convenient target as she gives a low sound of disapproval before she reaches into the pockets of her jacket. Her shield drops, and she slings a few smoke pellets to provide cover for her side, testing to see if they still need to breathe with the acrid, burning smoke.

Patience Alperen has posed:
Patience Alperen has two choices - follow Phoebe with her shield up, or stick behind the already established bullet proof form of Atrun-Rai. She choses him for the moment as he is a larger, uh, shield.

As they get closer and the smoke pellets are used, she realizes she chose wisely as Phoebe's shield disappears in the moment.

She risked a moment to glance around Atrun-Rai's form to see how close they were. Hiding wasn't her preference but they weren't quite in spear throwing distance. Yet.

Atrun Rai has posed:
    Broad shoulders make for a wider bulwark - and though the howling beings down the way focus their firepower on him in the moment, his suit deflects it all without a thread disturbed. Growing closer, even through the smoke, pinpoints of cold white light flare in the pupils of what were once human beings, eyes hard and unblinking even as the choking vapor swirls about them.

    "Lost," echoes Atrun-Rai over the gunfire. "Their bodies live, but their souls have long been eaten by the spirits that animate them now. Put them out of their misery." Not having to worry about being shot to death affords the ancient magician the luxury of being able to sound oddly sad about these words, even as he pushes on toward the cordon and the tower beyond.

Mary Jane Watson has posed:
And that's enough for Mary Jane to know that they're fair game. From however high up they are, she goes to LEAP on down. Seh heads twoards the first of the ones in her way. She raises up her blade in front of her, and goes to charge iN! She slashes at the first one. Blade through the wrist holding the gun. Slashing clean through it. Blade arcing around towards the opposite shoulder, skewering it off him. And now he was essentially armless. And yet she continued her attack as the man did not bleed, leg striking out at her. Her blade would slash down to the middle of the thigh, cutting through it at the knee. The man still kept moving. Blade arced about vertically, dissecting the man through his torso. Then she went to cut it through his head, along the chin. Then down the neck. Then once more through the torso even as body parts were falling and none of them were bleeding.
    It was better to be sure.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    If it's better to be sure, why not fire?

    There's a whisper of Latin, a smattering of heat, and then from the smoke cloud errupts brilliant flame, burning with THE LIGHT!, and Phoebe herself becomes a heady Beacon to follow, her wrists and hands wreathed in the brilliant flame as she launches a fiery wall ahead of her.

    Her target is rendered to ash, collapsing in on itself as her flame burns away flesh and cracks bone to pieces, steaming it from the inside out as it falls to pieces and is scattered before her. Her fingers are dyed in rose-gold as she works.

Patience Alperen has posed:
Just a few more steps and they are within range. MJ begins to attack and Phoebe begins killing things with fire.

Stepping out from behind Atrun-Rai, Patience leaps forward. Her arm draws back and unleashes her spear. It streaks forward and impales one of the living, but not, figures. Embedding the spear head into the husk's chest, the frozen holy water snaps off and remains in the husk. Following through, she runs up to reclaim the severed spear shaft, ready to use her artifact's powers to create a new spear tip for the next fight.

Atrun Rai has posed:
    Lux Invictus, irresistable steel, a spear of holy purgation - the long-inhuman possessed are erased one by one as the four progress forward, and as one of the bestial things wearing human skin draws near him Atrun-Rai flicks his corroded sword with so little effort toward the creature as if he might simply have waved it, only for its head to go sailing away over the wall of the rampart into the night. Grim-faced, he progresses. These are nothing, after all, for the goal.

    All about, the stones of the castle begin to sweat their stored darkness. It is not a pleasant thing; even Mary Jane, without arcane sight, would be able to start seeing the shadowy suggestion of /something/ emerging from the mortar between bricks. "Kill them quickly," he calls over the nose of chattering guns - guns that are being turned into clubs as their ammunition runs dry and the monsters elect to go from bullets to bludgeons. "We need to stop this before the power is collected!"

Mary Jane Watson has posed:
Kill them faster? She could try! Red Sonja goes to quickly evaluate how to disable and dismember them. Quick strike to arms to remove ability to fight. Slash to leg to immobilize. Bisection of head and torso in different strikes. If the things did not stop from being dismembered, at least they could be struck in enough pieces that they wouldn't be able to fight. This was the type of combat that Sonja could handle.
    Blade deep in a berserk frenzy, the only thing different than usual being the lack of blood and guts splattered over her. A shrieking battle cry in ancient Hymkarian that likely none could understand or know.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    It is grim work. Phoebe cannot feel anything of the humans that they once were inside of them as she moves, smoothly ducking below a swung gun, the smell of singed flesh and hair hanging about her as she tilts her head back, rolling a shoulder as she brings her hands up.

    "Omnia coram me ure, et cinerem redde!" she commands, and the fire wreathing her wrists and outstretched hands, curling and consuming that which was before her. Her glowing fingers curl, providing a fiery cover for Patience to retrieve her spear, punctuated by the 'whoof!' of fire quickly capturing, purifying and returning to the Earth th eashes of whatever poor soul had been consumed in the process of this Evil Organ, and as she turns, the fire fades and is replaced by her own weapon made of Light, striking and scattering the aches.

Patience Alperen has posed:
Patience Alperen gathers up the shaft of her spear as her eyes again glow icy blue. The shattered length is regenerated in her hands as she closes in on the next of the in-human husks. She dodges an attack and leaps away from the flames Phoebe is casting to purge the remains of those already dispatched.

Spinning away from an attack, she arcs the speartip around, slicing through the husk shoulder to shoulder.

Atrun Rai has posed:
    They fall apart, bloodless and empty - burned into ash or their parts scattered across the ground like broken dolls. And like that, the defenders are gone; terrible things that would present real threat to everyday mortals, but nothing before the inexorable march of these mystic warriors. The guns of the creatures falling silent, somewhere in the distance police sirens can be heard - but by then, the darkness is flowing thick and fast into the night sky, and they are at the tower door.

    "Pathetic," mutters Atrun-Rai as he reaches forth to grip a skin of darkness that has grown over the doors - hair-thin and shadowy, it tries to resist his touch, but is quickly torn away like gossamer. He spares no ceremony, instead kicking in the metal doors, the lock of which gives away beneath the sudden violence and imponderable strength of the wingtipped foot that drives it open. Metal screams, the portals whistle open. Inside, the tower foyer is dark.

    Standing in a messy, simple circle, inscribed with some white substance that could be paint or some other godforsaken substance, a man - utterly plain and forgettable, bland dark-haired Caucasian from Central Casting - stands with hands lifted toward the ceiling. In his hands is a.../thing/. Organic, pulsing, gray flesh veined in yellow. Like a stomach with too many tubes, open and grasping at the open air. Above them, the darkness has collected into a kind of nimbus - tendrils of it pour like footage of spouted gas in reverse, down into these hungry, questing orifices as the blasphemy shudders in what can only be delight.

    "Thomas," speaks Atrun-Rai in the stern voice of a father, or perhaps an angry school principal. "This ends. Put the Hungry Organ down."

    No reply from the man. Just a smile. He, too, shares in the shuddering ecstacy of the thing that fills his grip - after all, as a moment further spent looking on reveals, his hands have fused with its flesh.

Mary Jane Watson has posed:
Plans are never really Sonja's thing. this time is not one of them either. Even as Thomas is told to put down the Hungry Organ (which REd Sonja hadn't bothered to remember the name of anyways) she's charging in a blur. Her sword is out and in front of her as she goes to charge from the flank. SHe can run fast. Very, very fast. Superhuman fast. She goes to charge in from the side, sword up and out in front of her, using the full sprint to add to the inertia of her strike!
    While 'Thomas' is busy smiling and posing all morbidly, Red Sonja goes to sprint! Full sprint over fifty meters, able to run at least fourty kilometers an hour for that distance, swinging with a blade that had a core of Hyborean steel layered with secondary adamantium, and a swinging strength of abou ta ton..
    Well, hopefully even for something with superhuman durability the strike would be /messy/. If she hit. And if it wasn't protected by some sort of magic. Or could only be harmed by magic. But, stabbing was always a good start.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    "Well, *that* is gross." Phoebe comments as she slips in behind Atrun-Rai and Sonja's brilliant charge, her nose wrinkling as she feels the darkness and evil of the Evil Organ, the gray flesh veined in yellow, breathing, living and so very, very *wrong*. Bile rises in her throat as she narrows her eyes, her brilliant staff casting its light through the unnatural darkness as Phoebe stands back, ready to pop her shields again as Sonja goes in for the kill.

    She steps in and to the side, ready to follow up, flooding the room with her Light, pushing against the binding of her wrist tattoo which glows a brilliant white on her left wrist, the magic and light of it seeping like a cascade of dustmotes, readying fire should Sonja's blade fail!

Patience Alperen has posed:
Patience Alperen slows as they near the source of the unsettling evil, spear in hand. She spreads out from the others, letting their numbers cover a larger area as she watches Atrun-Rai speaks to the affore mentioned Idiot.

Honestly it's rather difficult to look on the grotesque sight even with the experiences she has had working for the Church. It just serves to prove this is a vile encounter that needs to be stopped.

Atrun Rai has posed:
    True to form, Sonia/MJ hurtles forth with blade upraised, a redheaded guillotine with legs -- swinging her mighty sword, it almost seems as if she might just do the disturbing apparition in swith that swing of her blade. Certainly it would have fallen the tower had she gotten a good swing through the masonry! And, also true to form, the sword finds its mark; scything through air the ancient blade bites deep into the man's torso, and...stops, having cleaved him half way from collar to navel. But there is no blood, no spilling organs; indeed, there is only darkness, living, quivering shadow within his body and whatever human veins once spread through his fleshy complex are now colored vivid yellow. It is they who hold the sword in place.

    An eye opens in that darkness, angry and staring in Sonja's direction -- and with that stare, a pulse of telekinetic force flings sword and wielder across the room.

    "You cannot take it from me, Ancient One," spake the apparent amalgam of man and horrible flesh. "Your masters gave it to me! The deal is done!"

    "They gave you something to make you a better magician," counters Atrun-Rai, still grim and disapproving. "You seek to tear open a hole between worlds. Reality /must/ be preserved, Thomas. The bargain is broken. And now, so will you be." With that, he lifts his hand; the corroded blade shines with a glum sort of radiance, sparking into a billowing gray flame that instantly sucks the color out of all it touches. Bright, black-and-white television, that's what the room has become with its irrepressible light, the direct mirror of that flame which Phoebe conjures. For hers is love, light; his is merely annihilation. But it is, in the moment, potent indeed. "Let us end this."

Mary Jane Watson has posed:
The barbarian woman is flung through the air, over to impact against the wall over as she hits it and SNAPS! THere's a brutal sound as she goes to break through the concrete, and goes to get up and out of it. She takes a hand up to her jaw to brutally SNAP it back to the correct place, then over to do the sane to her arm, wrist hanging at an angle like a twig. One rib in a way that it shouldn't be.
    "LEt us end YOU." She's feral now, even as Sonja has taken over fully. Mary Jane rarely lets Sonja have full control. THere's a feral glee in the air as Sonja goes to chant in Hymkarian. Chanting for the goddess. Chanting for her lady. Pledging herself to the carnage. And with her one functioning hand she goes to charge at 'Thomas' again over from behind. Whether or not existence is breaking down. Whehter or not things are changing. He is a wizard. He might be a god. He is a monster. She does not care for the specifics.
    He is just a thing.
    He will die the same as all the others.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe had never witness Sonja in full control, nor the gray flame Atrun-Rai has summoned, the opposite of all she embodies, and as her magic will destroy, her powers are those of Creation. She creates the fire she summons, letting it wreathe around her again before she draws it out in a long line, whip-like, serpentine as she directs the flame, her rose gold-tinged eyes and fingers directing the fiery field to strike at Thomas.

Atrun Rai has posed:
    The pallid, heatless fire of the Void is a hungry and monstrous as the plane from which it comes - it wreathes the sword in Atrun-Rai's hand like a torch, and though it leaches color from that which surrounds it, its wielder stands out bright and colorful in complete defiance of its power. Or, perhaps, it is because the plane from which they come are one and the same. Monstrous sorcerors are not just on opposing team tonight, it would appear.

    And, as Sonja charges forward, so does Atrun-Rai, moving far faster than his otherwise human appearance should allow. And yet, the thing that was 'Thomas' twists, splitting wide where Sonja's blade had cleft him; the Hungry Organ held yet on high, a horde of yellow tendrils boil forth from his sundered body, edged in thorny spikes. They sweep in legion about the body, forming a flensing hedge for anyone who comes to deal wounds up close and personal. These also serve as a shield; Phoebe's flames consume a few of them, lashing away into ash, and Atrun-Rai's sword burns away yet more of the tendrils even as the blade makes contact to sever them. The thing that the man has become wails in seething anger, but it does not die.

    "Kill it," thunders Atrun-Rai; the darkness above pours into the organ held aloft now in earnest. "We must kill it before it becomes too filled with power!"

Mary Jane Watson has posed:
Her blade spikes. And scythes. And stabs. Sonja's hand snaps down to the small needler pistol that is standard off-duty SHIELD Agent. she uses her hand that's snapped at an angle like a twig. She goes to unload the clip at him from roughly a meter and a half away. A needler fires small pins from a magnetic accelerator. The clip has about five hundred pins in it. She empties it over at his face. Namely his eyes. Even if he's a wretched being of no life whatsoever, eh'll still need such sensory organs to /see/. And even if it effects nothing.. Having several hundred beestings suddenly put in your face will be a distraction. Hopefully. THis is also accompanied as she goes to keep on slashing. Thorns dig into her. She ignores them. Lashes rend her. she ignores them. Her lcothing is shredded. Caked in blood.
    Down to just a cross-stitched bit of a top left colored dark grey, bits of gunks from the concrete, the twisted metal, and the rock covering it. Even the not-blood from the greyed things that were once men.
    Over her hips her jeans are burnt off, left sizzling over almost to the skin, legs slashed over from the rain of thorns. She does not care. she slashes with the sword. Spiking. Aiming at wrist. And neck. And knee. And elbow. And shoulder. She is a berserk frenzy as she slashes. Whehter or not her blade strikes anything to any effectiveness. She screams. She curses. She frenzies.
    Even if the attacks do nothing, having a bloodlusted barbarian trying to skewer every inch of your body not seeming to care that she's partially crippled is a nasty distraction.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    You know who isn't a bloodlusted barbarian trying to skewer every inch of your body?

    Phoebe.

    The teenager braces herself, and she drops her own magic, curling her fingers tightly, condensing the light tightly in her fists before she slings a baseball-sized ball of Light at the Organ, seeking to strike it and try to apply Light to... err.. anti-light. Like what happens when you apply Matter and Anti-Matter. Big Boom... right?

Atrun Rai has posed:
    The sword, as fearsome as it is, can be batted aside with threshing tentacles. The cloud of steel needles? Not so much. With a howl, the thing that the magician has become staggers back, his head glittering with the sudden mass of metal that sprouts from his ruined face. Her sword goes in undeflected after that, and a significant portion of his torso is cut away, spinning away across the room. Only the unnaturally horror that he has become keeps him alive.

    Meanwhile, Phoebe's hurled orb of fire strikes the pulsing relic; it doesn't explode, as she might have expected, but the sheer volume of positive energy pouring into its mass staggers him entirely. Flames begin to gush from his body, and a shrieking howl escapes the wizard as he falls to his knees, defeated. There is no method of survival against such an assault, not for a wanna-be sorceror fueled by external power such as he. Not in the face of these four spiritual warriors. New flames begun to boil from the Hungry Organ itself...and then it is Atrun-Rai's turn to step in.

    The blade in Atrun-Rai's hand flicks forth, a white torch scything a glimmering arc, and severing both of 'Thomas's' hands at the wrist the extradimensional meat-relic falls away, burning as it goes. In that moment, his blade extinguishes, returning color to the room. Thomas falls back, the monster that he has become swiftly beginning to dissolve into a filthy-smelling grease slick. Atrun-Rai stoops to collect the horrible organ now, picking it up in his hand as the flames gutter out, and looks over at the three of you.

    "It is done."

Mary Jane Watson has posed:
Never call Red Sonja a spirital warrior. She's a berserker. Not fighting for anything particularly for a higher purpose. She fights because her lust for it is so strong that even after ten millenia of death she still strives for it. Even whatever small fragment left of her soul that spent howeer long in a rusted, ancient sword had sprung to life at the possibility of conflict in this far off rage.
    As the wizard disintegrates, Sonja goes to howl with laughter over as she chants. But, as the thing melts away, Mary Jane goes to slowly take over. WRist hanging at an angle where herhand looks like a broken accordion with the way the fingers are arrayed, arm even after beign snapped back into place isn't quite moving the way it's supposed to.. Her working arm goes up to SNAP two ribs back into place, holster the needler, then go to work around to take her sword over to the front of what she has left of a shirt,other hand forcing up the material to take over to the blade to clean it down despite the protestations coming from her hand. Blade cleaned, it then goes to the sheathe on her back.
    "I really, really hope that thing stays down for awhile." Not dead. Down. She knows you can't expect something from the unlife to stay that way.

Phoebe Beacon has posed:
    Phoebe looks a little queasily at the snapped hand, and she looks over to Mary Jane, and raises her hand a moment, then rubs the back of her neck with her other hand as all the light about her dissipates.

    "Uh... I can help you with your injury, if you want? I think." she states, a little hesitantly.

Atrun Rai has posed:
    While the others tend to their injuries, Atrun-Rai frowns at the thing in his hand - but simply looks past it to his comrades. "You must go," he informs them. "Before the police come. I will cleanse the scene of all evidence."

    And true to his word, there will be no trace of the event upon the morning; what happens to the bodies, the damage, the horrible relic or the man who took it are gone as well, mysteries to be solved at another time. For Atrun-Rai is gone again, disappeared into the night which spat him out, to tend to more business of the dark gods that command him from the ruined wastelands of the Void.