For a time, despite the best efforts of the coordinators, chaos reigned. People scrambled to accomplish their various assignments, and the Margrave was among them. Having joined the search and rescue division lead by Inkscape, he anticipated -and indeed wanted- nothing to do with the terrifying monstrosity known as Behemoth. Sure, he could throw a few cars using his power, but why improvise a ramshackle solution when so many heavy-hitters were lining up to do what they were trained for? Though relegation to citizen-saving just like at the convention center boiled his blood, the Margrave preferred it on the inside of his body, so he embraced the task given to him. Along with the others, he sought out the panicked and confused, helping them flee from the deadly colossus as best he could. No matter how large or heavy the obstruction, it turned to practically nothing before his touch. Whole vehicles could be moved out of evacuation routes, or used to open up new avenues of escape. Fallen rubble could be cleared away in mere seconds, freeing those trapped and, unfortunately, revealing those who'd already left this place for good.

Though no small help in the search and rescue effort, the Margrave kept his ear to the ground. He perked up at attention when a voice reached him through his earpiece, belonging to nobody other than his very own division leader and veteran cape, Inkscape. Lo and behold, the man had found a job that suited him perfectly. He seemed to know the Margrave better than he knew himself. Additional weapons meant a better chance at driving off the damn Endbringer and preventing further loss of life. “On the case,” he declared, and made tracks toward his prescribed destination.

He'd begun moving the containers when activity caught his gaze. Like many others, he watched transfixed as a crashing cascade of ink challenged Behemoth. In awe he watched Inkscape -the leader he never followed, the mentor he never learned from- put his whole being into his attack, driving the Endbringer back. From this distance, the Margrave couldn't see what became of Inkscape afterward, but something in the pit of his stomach told him what had transpired. “The brightest candles burn the quickest,” he murmured, eyes downcast. 

So, that was what a hero looked like. 

He resumed his task, vowing internally to accomplish the last mission given by Inkscape, though he could not keep his eyes off the Denver skyline. In only a few moments, an incredible light filled it, engaging Behemoth directly. This thing the Margrave couldn't identify until a familiar voice reached him over his earpiece. [color=8F9779]”Knock 'em dead,”[/color] he told Tulpa, more venom in his voice than he expected, though whether or not his words would ultimately reach her he couldn't say. Soon after a wild storm of energy suffused the heavens, a pure sensory overload. The Margrave rerouted his focus to running, closing the distance to the staging area with weapon caches in hand. He arrived just as things hit their fever pitch. After the veritable tornado of fireworks came a maelstrom of wind and debris; the young man couldn't even fathom what was going on. Having released the weapon caches from his power and let them loose for all to grab what they needed, he joined their claimers by grabbing one of his own and running after. At this range, none could really do any damage to Behemoth, or even be sure they hit, but the small group needed to do something, and shooting was all they could do.

A voice came to the Margrave through his comms, unfamiliar but dripping with intent. Frustration overtook him; if only he could make people into toys as well as objects. As it was, he could do nothing to help—and if that wasn't the order of the day, he didn't know what was.