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[sub]Banner credit to Nitemare Shape. Thanks Boss![/sub]
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[h3]Lost Haven
12:14 pm[/h3][/center]

Naia's attention snapped up to the stranger just as the water pipe burst, and she had the presence of mind to avoid the water as it sprayed out and then [i]towards[/i] the shape forming in the square. Her gaze followed the water as it wormed its way through the air to join the rest, and then she glanced back at the newcomer from under her deep hood. The sparkles of green and gold were fading from under there, as her spells faded, but she couldn't have been eighteen yet. She flipped back the hood and shook her head, staring back into the square. 

"That's Tiamat," she said quietly. "she must have shook off what they were talking about, or else she snapped. I will hold this way, you go help other places." And with that she busied herself handcuffing those Hounds still capable of struggling, not bothering with goodbyes.

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Darya was conscious of the bullets as they slammed into the shape she had created, but only because they were disturbing the surface. The air she breathed felt cool and clean inside the small sphere she had left herself, just tall enough she didn't half to duck. The buzzing in her ears was not due to her radio, she realised, but more from the full concentration she had on what she was doing. More power was welling from within her, and she felt full to bursting, revelling in just being able to [i]use[/i] this much water all at once. Before, she had held back, not sure whether or not she should let go, but here, where people's lives were at stake and the enemy as evil as they were, she had finally accepted the full extent of her powers. And they were [i]wonderful[/i]

It felt like ice and fire in her veins, the cooling presence of her power and the excitement of cutting loose. She didn't even stumble as the plaza buckled under the pressure and weight underneath her, coming as it was from both sides of the paving. Stones cracked and mortar sloughed into the flow as pipes emptied their contents into her creation, building it even higher. At this point, as she looked up in self-indulgent wonder, it was probably over three stories high. The serpentine mass had formed, thanks to her subconscious instruction, a full crest and teeth and whiskers, and the ripples and swirls on the surface even began resembling scales. She could see this herself, but [i]feel[/i] it with her powers.

Down below, the rumbling of the rushing torrents had reached a crescendo, and she gave her power full vent as it did. Out on the street, sewage and brackish water blew forth from manholes, the lids flying up as if launched with rockets and spinning off into the sky. As the effluence poured forth, it spread down either side of the holes it came from, forming chest high waves and washing down the streets and outer alleys, slamming cars and Hounds together with abandon. As her opponents fled into the plaza from the horrifying stench and unrelenting fluids, tendrils stretched forth from her own shielding creation, slapping out with enough force to knock them ten feet away into walls, or otherwise crashing them into the ground, where they lay, dazed or unconscious.

Darya viewed all of this either through her senses of power and what it was contacting or the surreal, bluish window the swirling water of the dragon shape afforded her. She was dully aware that voices were coming over comms, but she ignored them, preferring instead to enjoy herself. As a result, the gushing effluence on the street began to swirl and coalesce into shapes. None so impressive as the dragon head she was in, but vaguely human/wave hybrid began actively pursuing those she could feel still in contact with the water on the street.

It was the dulling of noise, or rather utter lack of it, that led to Darya not noticing the thump of approaching helicopter blades. In fact, it wasn't until a large calibre round tore through her dragon head that she even realised anything was approaching at all. A small window split in her "armour". Letting her see the entry of [i]three[/i] attack helicopters into the fray. No insignia adorned them, no legally required call numbers. Just black matte finish, whirring rotors, and rocket pods, plus the spitting nose guns that tore apart the stone tiles of the plaza into unrecognisable chips in three distinct paths. The water then closed up around her, and Darya began screaming, dropping yet again into panic mode, water tendrils slashing about the square in a blind defense, threatening friend and foe alike.