[center][h3][color=purple]Revel[/color][/h3][/center]

Spectre wasn't the only one listening in.  To the momentary skirmish between the Immortal and Hopper Revel was an ardent observer, fervent in his needless goal to have his important prediction come true.  No matter how many times, Revel knew, he proved his power, there would always be those who doubted it.  It was their loss if they didn't—they hadn't the slightest idea, after all, of his intentions, right down to why he was here risking his life in the first place.  But proving himself to his 'allies' would be an important step in gaining their trust, and as invaluable resources went, trust in the right places outweighed gold.

It came as a shock, then, when the news of Hopper's defeat penetrated him.  Before the realization fully took hold, however, Revel had already determined that he wouldn't allow this to be a setback.  Though he wanted nothing more than to bulldoze over Spectre's gibbering with the exact specifics, he took enough time to think that she was done speaking before the positions of the pieces had become clear to him.  The agony of Evil Eyes, in the meantime, shook him not.  “No.  By now the Immortal's probably used to dealing with the Chimera.  I don't know about the Elementalist.  I think I have a better plan, though.  You overlooked one crucial thing!”  Revel was forced to shout as he flinched in response to the death-bent meta's dynamic entry into the reactor room.  “Not legs.  Leg.  I [i]know[/i] that Hopper only needs one to deliver a kick strong enough to make that push.”  As the Immortal drifted closer, briefly trying to dilute his pain with the savory taste of victory, Revel attuned his com to Crosscut.  “Crosscut!  Bring Hopper in here.  I think there's something he needs to see.  I'm going to give him a way.”  Fiendishly, Revel accentuated his voice in a dramatic twist that sounded every bit like he was about to martyr himself and give his allies a chance.  The Immortal landed before the lip of the reactor pit, looking down at the font of raw power perhaps capable of finally ending his torment.

“Primitive ape!”  Revel called, lashing his whips against the ground to grab the Immortal's attention.  “I see now that the only way into your thick skull is what you asked—everything I've got!  Your madness stops here!”

So shouting, the string-puller fired both his whips straight at the Immortal's face, where they could be easily grabbed and pulled.  Even though he had affirmed the validity of his precognition, Revel sweated profusely.  The line between what he predicted naturally and what his ability provided to him grew remarkably thin at times.  Would the Immortal actually fall for it?  Or was it merely an idea that Revel thought up on his own and mistook for fate?