Preparations?  A true master of war stacked the deck before the possibility of combat even clouded the horizon.  Dozens of tiny preparations lay in patient, brooding wait all across the Margrave's body.  His arsenal, invisible to metal detectors, unremarkable to enemies, and always growing as he discovered new ways to utilize his power, would continue to serve him well into the future.  Intent on furthering his advantage, Elliot lent an ear to the Wards' young leader as he repeated what his ultrasensitive ears told him.  He suspected that the enemies thought themselves beyond the reach of surveillance, and that in their false sense of security might be more inclined to let slip a few important details.  In fact, whatever goon Collin zeroed in on dropped an embarrassing wealth of information, not only leaking the size of the marauding force but also those that composed it.  [i]Normies,[/i] Elliot condemned them disdainfully.  How could a gang of ordinary people, unprofessional and unintelligent as this bunch appeared to be, possibly hold a candle to the best superhumans in the city?  After all, even if the Wards were dealt with, the Protectorate's elite would swamp them easily.  The deciding factory, Elliot concluded, was whether or not they had good guns.  That detail would decide the entire battle.

When the door lurched open and Collin stepped out, the Margrave wasted no time.  He shunned the people who surrounded the Wards, intent on snagging a good picture or a quote to feed into whatever news station, journal, or blog they represented.  They served only as distractions, even if none, apparently, wanted anything from him specifically.  His earpiece came to life, relaying the realizations of his commanding officer.  [i]Eyeblight, eh?  First I've heard of him.  No matter how eerie the name, we'll put this scum down before he gets the chance to make a name for himself.  For him, we will mete out a grim fate.[/i]  So focused was he on moving with the team that he didn't notice Epsilon falling back to let him take the point position.  The inane small-talk of Messiah to Epsilon did not so much as reach him.  How could the fools attempt bonding at a time like this?  Evil was afoot, and wherever evil sprang up, there needed to be a prompt, ruthless heel to mash it back down.  This was why the Wards needed him—someone who could do what no-one else could.

Together the Wards advanced, and only when the newcomer Tulpa mention that she could scout did the Margrave deign to give any of them his attention.  He who had the information had the power, so with one of his fists slightly splayed against his lips in a gesture of absolute meditation did he listen.  Satisfaction and assurance arose within him as he heard Tulpa's report concerning the foes' armament.  Melee weapons, so long as not administered as a surprise, would do him no harm provided he could get sufficiently worked up.  The hostages offered a new problem, but all the Margrave gave in reply was a [i]hmph[/i].  The goody-goodies could deal with them.  Once an avenue of attack was upon, the antihero would unleash a storm of steel the likes of which had never been seen before, mighty enough to devastate the entire enemy crew should they not flee in terror.  [color=8F9779]"You may rely on me,"[/color] he told his team through the communicator, [color=8F9779]"To ensnare their attention or to wipe them out.  Whatever is required, a chosen one such as I shall not fail."[/color]  His heart's beat began to quicken.  To the Margrave it seemed like the notes of prelude to a thunderous song of victory.