Arminwraith

Shattered Steel - An Ace Combat/Project Wingman/etc inspired aircraft-based RP

Character

Name: Ryan Hammond-Capotrio

Callsign/Nickname: "Longbow", earned after whiffing a full salvo of AMRAAMs in a practice session.

Age: 23

Gender: Male

Appearance:


Note - Much dirtier blonde than image, almost brunette

Nationality: United States, Florida, Bay Area Combat Zone

Personality: VERY Floridian. He's a very outgoing person, with a near fanatical love of the sky. Being raised in a disaster zone for most of his teenage life, with a family/friend group of blue collar engineers and workers, he has the humor of a day laborer, the mouth of a sailor, and the jury-rigging skill of a redneck. He has a pet Armadillo Girdled Lizard, and will show him off at any given opportunity. Calls his family and friends on the weekends, without fail.

History: Born to a middle class family, Ryan didn't really have much to complain about during his early life. Raised by a loving family, and surrounded by friends, he grew up in St. Petersburg, Florida to no real hardship or pain. Despite the presence of MacDill AFB less than an hour away, Ryan didn't worry too much about the war, or what it meant for his future. As it was, there wasn't much to worry about, right?

The Heavenfall changed all that. When he was 13 years old, the world ended all around him. The ground rippled like the dirtiest batch of oobleck, and his home collapsed with him and his family inside. His father, almost fifty at the time, made it out alive, but his mother, uncle and grandmother were less lucky. Even then, that wasn't all. After a few minutes, the water rushed in from the beaches, as tsunamis battered the peninsula that he lived on, along with the nearly 2 million people who lived in the Tampa Bay Area.

Ryan was 13 years old when his whole family died in one day.

Taken in by his best friend's family, the orphaned Ryan grew up in FEMA shelters and public schools, as his home rebuilt brick by brick. At 15, his new family finally got a new home to live in, a place to call their own. Still on the remains of the St. Petersburg peninsula, in an area that used to be known as Kenneth City. At 17, Ryan was officially adopted by the Hammond family and became brothers with his best friend.

At around age 14, Ryan took an interest in planes, and asked to be signed up for flight classes. He turned out to be a good flyer, graduating flight school almost 4 months ahead of schedule and becoming certified to fly at age 15, before he could even drive legally. Racking up an obscene number of flight hours in a single year, he flew his Cessna almost non-stop. Flying was like an escape for him, and sharing it with his family was something he loved. One time, he even was the pilot for his daredevil fried, who parachuted out the back of his plane.

At 18, two major events happened in Ryan's life.
1. He got his hands on a refurbished BF-109, a plane flown in World War 2 with a recorded combat mission.
2. His home became a warzone, as the Mexican and South American cartels pushed hard in an attempt to mollify the population, and get a distribution spearhead. However, these cartels didn't receive a national response. They received a STATE response. The semi-repaired swampy urban environment came alive with rednecks and pissed off survivors, who threw the cartels out with a vengeance bordering on mania. Ryan helped, flying his new BF-109 overhead and using it to spot hardpoints for the redneck army that came out of the woodwork.

Only a few years later, he was able to "acquire" a run-down YF-12 from the now-abandoned Air Force base that rested on the Tampa peninsula, and refurbish it piece by piece with the help of a few friends he made during the invasion. Replacing outdated parts with kitbashed electronics, he resurrected the old plane and pushed it to the skies once more.

Gear

Personal Gear: M30 Drilling
Key with the tag "My other ride is a war relic" on the keychain
Yellow Sheet notepad with at least 3 pens clipped on by plastic binders

Personal Aircraft: Lockheed YF-12

Aircraft modifications: Tow and Launch hooks that reel into recessed bays for carrier operations
Replacing the AN/ASG-18 Fire Control system with the AN/APG-81
Replacing the AIM-47 ordinace with AIM-174B
Replacing most electronics for more modern versions (eg. radar warning, countermeasure dispensers, EWAR suite)

Funnies

Anything Else:
That Feeling when you dump 4,500 lbs worth of missile
What do you mean "The Bogey is going Mach 3?"
"That feeling when you breach the clouds? It makes you forget about everything else for a while."
"Quick adventure! Let's see what we can find. It'll only take 20 minutes, I swear."

Shattered Steel - An Ace Combat/Project Wingman/etc inspired aircraft-based RP

Character

Name: Ryan Hammond-Capotrio

Callsign/Nickname: "Longbow", earned after whiffing a full salvo of AMRAAMs in a practice session.

Age: 23

Gender: Male

Appearance:


Note - Much dirtier blonde than image, almost brunette

Nationality: United States, Florida, Bay Area Combat Zone

Personality: VERY Floridian. He's a very outgoing person, with a near fanatical love of the sky. Being raised in a disaster zone for most of his teenage life, with a family/friend group of blue collar engineers and workers, he has the humor of a day laborer, the mouth of a sailor, and the jury-rigging skill of a redneck. He has a pet Armadillo Girdled Lizard, and will show him off at any given opportunity. Calls his family and friends on the weekends, without fail.

History: Born to a middle class family, Ryan didn't really have much to complain about during his early life. Raised by a loving family, and surrounded by friends, he grew up in St. Petersburg, Florida to no real hardship or pain. Despite the presence of MacDill AFB less than an hour away, Ryan didn't worry too much about the war, or what it meant for his future. As it was, there wasn't much to worry about, right?

The Heavenfall changed all that. When he was 13 years old, the world ended all around him. The ground rippled like the dirtiest batch of oobleck, and his home collapsed with him and his family inside. His father, almost fifty at the time, made it out alive, but his mother, uncle and grandmother were less lucky. Even then, that wasn't all. After a few minutes, the water rushed in from the beaches, as tsunamis battered the peninsula that he lived on, along with the nearly 2 million people who lived in the Tampa Bay Area.

Ryan was 13 years old when his whole family died in one day.

Taken in by his best friend's family, the orphaned Ryan grew up in FEMA shelters and public schools, as his home rebuilt brick by brick. At 15, his new family finally got a new home to live in, a place to call their own. Still on the remains of the St. Petersburg peninsula, in an area that used to be known as Kenneth City. At 17, Ryan was officially adopted by the Hammond family and became brothers with his best friend.

At around age 14, Ryan took an interest in planes, and asked to be signed up for flight classes. He turned out to be a good flyer, graduating flight school almost 4 months ahead of schedule and becoming certified to fly at age 15, before he could even drive legally. Racking up an obscene number of flight hours in a single year, he flew his Cessna almost non-stop. Flying was like an escape for him, and sharing it with his family was something he loved. One time, he even was the pilot for his daredevil fried, who parachuted out the back of his plane.

At 18, two major events happened in Ryan's life.
1. He got his hands on a refurbished BF-109, a plane flown in World War 2 with a recorded combat mission.
2. His home became a warzone, as the Mexican and South American cartels pushed hard in an attempt to mollify the population, and get a distribution spearhead. However, these cartels didn't receive a national response. They received a STATE response. The semi-repaired swampy urban environment came alive with rednecks and pissed off survivors, who threw the cartels out with a vengeance bordering on mania. Ryan helped, flying his new BF-109 overhead and using it to spot hardpoints for the redneck army that came out of the woodwork.

Only a few years later, he was able to "acquire" a run-down YF-12 from the now-abandoned Air Force base that rested on the Tampa peninsula, and refurbish it piece by piece with the help of a few friends he made during the invasion. Replacing outdated parts with kitbashed electronics, he resurrected the old plane and pushed it to the skies once more.

Gear

Personal Gear: M30 Drilling
Key with the tag "My other ride is a war relic" on the keychain
Yellow Sheet notepad with at least 3 pens clipped on by plastic binders

Personal Aircraft: Lockheed YF-12

Aircraft modifications: Tow and Launch hooks that reel into recessed bays for carrier operations
Replacing the AN/ASG-18 Fire Control system with the AN/APG-81
Replacing the AIM-47 ordinace with AIM-174B
Replacing most electronics for more modern versions (eg. radar warning, countermeasure dispensers, EWAR suite)

Funnies

Anything Else:
That Feeling when you dump 4,500 lbs worth of missile
What do you mean "The Bogey is going Mach 3?"
"That feeling when you breach the clouds? It makes you forget about everything else for a while."
"Quick adventure! Let's see what we can find. It'll only take 20 minutes, I swear."

Kimetsu no Yaiba AU: Temen-ni-Guru (Arc 2)

Rumble Hashira, Kousai Agatsuma
v.
Former Upper Moon 2, Ryūnoko Keodis

---

After 30 minutes, Keodis and Kousai arrived at the Bamboo Forest, the beauty of the forest outdid anything man made, giving a dead calm that surrounded the two men. Kousai stared daggers into the demon, his mind running wild, his breathing staggered, and his balance off just a bit. A voice echoed through his mind, matching the voice of his deceased twin.

”Brother please. You are not in your right mind. Don’t let your grief consume you.”

”Too late.”, Kousai whispered to himself as he placed his hand on the hilt of his Rumble nichirin katana.

Without hesitation, his legs bent for just a moment before he placed all his strength into his legs, and shot forward. To the normal eye, he would have vanished, reaching his max speed before using any breathing form, the sake in his system affecting his movement with every step. A frontal assault was the plan, gauging just how Keodis would react, Kousai’s blade sliding from the sheath as he performed an iai slash. Block it, dodge it, or die to it, did not matter to Kousai.

”Bold. I’ll give you that.”

Whipping his sheath to the side, Keodis lets the blade bite into the wooden sheath, the splintering of wood from the impact cracking the sheath clean in two. From within, the blade of sun metal gleams as the ruined sheath falls off of it.

”Unfortunately, boldness isn’t going to win the day for you. It didn’t with the last Stone Hashira, it didn’t with Guen, and it won’t with you.”

Letting the bind rest at his side, a single hand holding the hilt of his nodachi, Keodis shakes his head.

”I probably won’t even kill you. You’re not who I’m pissed at. However, it’s going to be nice blowing some steam off while I shatter that stick of yours.”

Breaking the bind with a quick blade-check, Keodis whips his sword upwards in the motion of Flame Breathing Form 2, noticeably without the hiss of Total Concentration Breathing.

Kousai’s hand flew backward, Keodis’s demonic strength was an attribute that he couldn’t stalemate. Taking a step to the left, the rumble hashira narrowly avoided the attack resembling Flame Breathing Form 2, a technique Kousai was so used to seeing when his brother was alive. His mind could only think over and over why this demon knew Flame Breathing.

”Why does this demon know Flame Breathing? Can he? No. It’s just imitation…it has to be.”

”Thunder Breathing: Thunder Swarm.”
Activating Total Concentration Breathing was a bit harder to do in the state he was in, his thoughts shifting, the alcohol messing with his senses, with no time to purge himself but, he pressed on. Kousai began moving rapidly, circling around Keodis, slashing at the demon, lightning coalescing around the blade. Each lightning enhanced slash was followed by an afterimage, showcasing just a bit of why he was the fastest hashira.

Letting one foot anchor on the ground, Keodis pivots slowly, letting Kousai slam into him over and over, sparks flickering off his blade, interdicting strikes one after the other.

”No real force… come on, you got to hit HARDER! Flame Breathing, Fourth Form. Blooming Flame Undulation.”

The air seems to ignite, a disc of reddish orange flame appearing vertically, nearly 15 feet in diameter as Keodis rests in the center, spinning the nodachi in a circular slash. He looks up, his eyes tracking the erratic movements of Kousai, before narrowing slightly.

”Unless speed is the only thing you have to offer? If so…you’ve made a horrible mistake challenging me. Flame Breathing First Form Modified, Seeking the Unknowing Fire.”

A puff of flame, and a burst of air. Suddenly, a blade swinging at neck height, a streamer of fire following its tip. The modification of the first form is built around chasing down fast opponents, boosting the attacks' already ludicrous closing speed with more movement control. The tradeoff is direct impact power, but it won’t take the power to derail a train to remove a human’s head.

Kousai hesitated for just a moment as he watched a demon pull out a flame breathing technique. If this had been any other technique, maybe Kousai would have been fine, just maybe he wouldn’t have broken the calm that he was known for. His brother spent his life perfecting flame breathing to kill demons and now some demon is using it. It felt like a mockery.

His eyes dilated as he entered an intense focus, perceptions speeding up, and the world around him slowing down. Every movement Keodis took slowed down to a crawl, every detail processing in the hashira's brain at once, thoughts gathering to figure out his next move. The timing of the attack was off just a bit, but not enough to confuse Kousai. He had seen this form before in its unmodified state, so the modification was easy enough to dissect, or so he thought as only with his ability could he figure it out before it cut his head clean from his shoulders.

His foot touched the earth, his body ducked low right under the blade, his perception slowing giving the advantage to foresee attacks like this and process his next option. To Keodis, it would look like Kousai’s entire body just stopped, muscles tensing for a single second before relaxing. His hand already on his hilt, having sheathed it for the next attack. A hiss echoed from the man’s mouth, finally bringing out his fullest.

”I am the fastest under heaven. First Form: Thunderclap and Flash. Godlike Speed.”

What most knew about Thunder Breathing is that the user’s legs were powerful, allowing for bursts or extended usage of high level speed. Most didn’t realize that it was not just the legs that were augmented, but their arms needed to match to generate the types of attacks produced by Thunder Breathing. For years Kousai cultivated the level of speed necessary to surpass his grandfather, not only in his legs but within his arms.

As Keodis’ blade passed overhead, lightning would shoot outward from the tsuba as the rumble hashira initiated his first form. The attack would happen the very moment that blade passed, striking within the split second before the demon could retreat his arm back for a continued offense or defend himself. Kousai pulled the blade outward from its sheath, lightning surging outward into the air, aimed for Keodis’s elbow. He knew as a demon, being a high level one, that this type of injury would be healed in moments, but the attack would flow into the next bit of offense he had planned.

Using the momentum gained from first form, he spun his body around, raising his right leg upward to chamber it. The soryu training from the other day raced through his mind, his leg tingling from the addition of the scarlet in his blood, before throwing that leg forward aimed at the demon’s stomach. Even if he managed to blade, there was enough force from that kick to move a grown man several feet, and if he used his body to block then he would have to deal with the fact the kick was based in Soryu.

”Ah… there you are, Hashira.”

Lifting the stump of his right arm, Keodis looks back to his blade, stuck tip down in the ground behind him. Dealing with Thunder users is always a question of stamina. Provoking an attack like… that, is a big win, even if you lose a few pieces in the process. Now, the leg, on the other hand, was a much more interesting prospect. It seems that Kenzo’s style has proliferated a bit further than expected.

”Good trick with the Soryu, too. Had fun learning from Kenzy? I remember when he first sprang that fun little tidbit on us. Good times… of course, you aren’t nearly as good as him, but, you take what you can get.”

Brushing off his chest, which doesn’t seem to have taken damage beyond a displaced collar line on his undershirt, Keodis smiles while his right arm erupts back into shape. He shrugs slightly while turning to retrieve his blade. While it looks casual, Keodis’ left hand rests slightly behind, not swinging while he walks. If Kousai makes a move, the hand will dart to intercept and divert.

”That being said, I can’t quite match you on even ground using Flame Breathing alone. Well, nothing to it, let’s see if there’s something new I can show you.”

Lifting the blade with near contemptuous ease, he sets it in a high back guard, and smiles.

”I wonder if you’ve seen this one before.Flame Breath, 9th Form.”

He sets his other hand on the hilt, and digs in his back foot. Ephemeral flames swirl around his feet, and a maniacal grin stretches across his face, as scale patterns ripple across the flames.

”Rengoku.”

A wave of force, a blistering wind. Force personified, in a single forward vector that moves at a comparable speed to the Thunder style. One single strike, in a diagonal downward cleave that carries the roar of a dragon and the force of hundreds of Flame users.

”BROTHER! DON’T! USE MINE!”

The visage of his brother screamed at him, his brain telling him to take the smart option. Unfortunately Kousai allowed himself to fall to his anger, something so uncharacteristic that no one would believe it. The anger that boiled inside him watching a demon perform that penultimate technique of flame breathing, a technique his brother never got to learn. Instead of playing it safe or fighting back with a technique of similar level, Kousai enacted the first form of thunder breathing enhanced with godlike speed.

The sound of a clash, blades touching at the point of impact, Kousai sliding backward with blade stuck into the earth. The clash broke in two the nichirin blade, never meant to clash with techniques like 9th form, a mistake that Kousai knew but ignored. Broken in the middle, the top half sat in the dirt before him. His breath was labored, his right hand reached across his chest to grab his shoulder, blood spewing from the wound, only narrowly avoiding major damage to his body.

”Damn it.”

His eyes moved downward to his brother’s nichirin blade sitting at his hip, wondering if he should use it. He may be wounded but it didn't mean he was down and out. The problem being that Kousai had practiced only a few times with it, having not adjusted for its weight and length. What a fool he had been, and he almost felt the need to prove himself. He allowed him to be upstaged by a demon but maybe there was still a chance to win this. Maybe.

”Tsk, tsk, tsk. No good, huh?”

Keodis stands up from the low ending position of the 9th Form, blade swinging forward to rest on his shoulder. He looks at the shattered blade, before smirking slightly

”Well, I guess that’s that. Now, I’m going to be a bit… saccharine, if you will. Consider this the dregs of my sympathy for you. Leave. Now. Run away, and come back with something that’ll actually give me a warm-up. Like four of you. Clutch that little memento of yours, burn this day into your memory, and always remember.”

A pressure bursts into existence. The world tastes like copper. There is no moon. Only HIM, standing there, wearing the smile of a fox who’s snuck into a hen coop. The spectre of bat-like wings rest behind him, and it hurts to tell if they’re really there, or a figment of imagination.

”You live because I let you. I have not really tried once today, and you are kneeling before me, blade shattered.”

He turns around, and walks away. The pressure disappears, and the world comes back into color.

”What a disappointment of a Hashira. Didn’t even get good practice in. I hope Guen at least makes me try.”

”Next time, I’ll cut your neck.”

His head hung low as he spoke, his body wanting to continue, fight through the pain like he’s done so many times before, but his mind told him to stop. He needed a restart, to ease his own grief before he could fight Keodis again. To bring out your best, one needed to know who they were, a statement that the Rumble Hashira once held close to his heart. Turning his back to his opponent, he began walking back to town. Next time, he’d bring not only his own strength, but his brother’s.

Shattered Steel - Armoured Fist. An RP about modern armoured vehicles in an alternate world- ON HIATUS

"Contact, contact! Schmidt, punch it you lazy arse!"

With the roar of German engineering, Trottel takes off in a cloud of dust, pushing forwards and to the left of the main advance.

"Clear, clear, cl- CONTACT! 49 degrees, MG nest!"

"Aye sir! Launcher firing!"

With twinned thumps, two 40 mm grenades go sailing through the window of the second story of a building on the road. The entrenched Dushka starts firing, before a flash of orange and a bang silence the gun.

"Confirmed, nest cleared. Keep us rolling, we need to get far enough behind their line to see their artillery before our allies commit to the urban trenches."

"Yea, yea. Speaking of, I got some dust ahead, about 020."

"I see it. Definitely enemy armor... has the silhouette of a BMP."

"Kill that thing before we figure out the hard way it's a BMP-2."

"Yes sir! Firing!"

The main gun speaks once, twice, thrice. The first round lands low, the second ricocheting off the angled front. The third round, however, slams home in the side of the vehicle, and the rotating turret stops abruptly. Smoke wafts from the penetration, and the machine starts to back up, away from it's semi-entrenched position.

". . . Damn, you got the turret compartment. Call that a mission kill, because the gunner and commander are probably mincemeat, along with the gun controls. Keep rolling, and get the big guns on net. We're all but through. Ay, Archangel, you listening?"

"Yes sir!"

"Get your eyes ready, we're stopping soon so you can launch them."

"Yes sir."

Inside the somewhat cramped crew compartment, Gabriel Converse, nickname Archangel, climbs over another soldier's knees while opening up the drone compartment. He pulls out an FPV drone, and a command headset, before shutting the door with a kick. He hunches over, and grabs a rail next to the back door. With a violent forward jerk, Achtung Trottel slides to a stop, and the rear gate opens about 1/4 of the way. Archangel uncerimonously chucks the drone out of the opening, before ripping the joysticks on the controller upwards. Outside, the drone barely misses the ground, flying up and into the air.

"Drone active, sir! Feed is good, and no immideate targets in sight."

"Lovely. Schmidt? Punch it."

Hydraulics hiss as the gate closes again, and Trottel continues it's dash towards the backlines.

"Alright, slow us down. Don't want to have a dust storm around us, only a little plume."

"First confirmed sighting... towed howitzer. Looks like a 2A18M.

"Designate it. Calling up our big friends now."

---

"Ironhide, this is Trottel. Adjust Fire. Grid 439, 445. One towed howitzer, in open entrenchments. Over."

---

"Aight, hold on to something!"

Kimetsu no Yaiba AU: Temen-ni-Guru (Arc 2)

". . . Very well then."

Standing in the street about 40 feet away, he pulls out a flip phone, whips it open with a negligent motion, and presses a button.

"Moshi moshi! Hey, hate to bother you at this time, I know you're busy. Could you stop all the traffic going into... say, four blocks around the Torigoya onsen? things may be getting a little loud. . . . sure, lovely. Tell Omi for me, yeah?"

He then punches in another number, and smiles slightly.

"Heyyyyy, Mura, my love! Sorry to drag you into this, but we're both suffering tonight. One of your clients is bleeding in the onsen, and is also a Slayer who's a mass murderer of humans. You'll know the one, she smells like a buffet. Also, I'm going to be making your street a mess, sorry. Some bravatic yee-haw decided to follow his heart over orders, morals, and common sense. you know the type. Much love to you and your guest! I'll be getting you chocolates for this, don't you worry. The good kind from Amsterdam... Puccini, I believe? Anyways, time to pack up yet another hashira, you know the feeling."

As soon as he hangs up, the teasing tone falls out of his voice like it was a bird hit by a thrown brick. He calmly flips the phone closed, and puts it in his pants pocket.

Ryūnoko Keodis
F O R M E R U P P E R H E A V E N 7

@xAlter@Taka

---

In two heavily practiced movements, the nodachi comes flying out of it's sheath and into a low guard, the bade resting behind his body. This is also the moment anyone watching realizes that Keodis has one more trick up his sleeve. He's a Southpaw, or Left-Handed. Every motion or parry will be mirrored form where it's "supposed" to be.

"If you are willing to bear the castigation of the Kyoto Branch, and protect a mass murderer of innocents, then I will oblige you."

"Flame Breathing. Fourth Breath Modified. Seeking Undulating Flame."

From fourty feet away to four in the blink of an eye, the tip of the enormous blade flickers out like a tongue of fire. It starts from behind Keodis' left hip, swings up and around during the movement, and end at the position of the right shoulder, swinging inwards across Kousai's body, directly in the sweet spot where Keodis' own body is far out of reach. In one modification, Keodis has changed a primarily defensive movement of the original Flame Breathing into an aggressive gap-closer.
Following through, he touches the ground with a single step before launching himself upwards to see the two hashira's reaction. Maybe... just maybe that ever-so-interesting fist fighter taught a protoge. The way the fellow dragon appreciator was moving his hands... hopefully he could test himself against Soyama's technique again.

Kimetsu no Yaiba AU: Temen-ni-Guru (Arc 2)

Ryūnoko Keodis

@xAlter

---

"Can we not do this today?"

Standing in the street, Ryunoko Keodis seems... stiff. Many who know him, closely or not, would describe him to have an almost lackadasical posture towards life. Fluid in his movements, Keodis was described as "Graceful, in the way a drunk is. No inhibition behind any movement, like he moves only to experience movement. Not get anywhere in particular." That's not the case anymore. He strides forward with purpose, gloves creaking as the leather is compressed.

"We both know why I'm here, Jae-eun Yoshihide, Progenitor of the Dragon Breathing style and Dragon Hashira. I care not for what... turbulence is currently occurring in your ranks, it's obvious that miss Tomioka Guen has gone beyond her bounds, and acts beyond the Demon Slayer Corps. As of... 52 minutes and 13 seconds ago, gunmen hired by her opened fire on the main dance floor of the Western Dragon, which had in the realm of 400 human civilians. There were 118 casualties and 22 deaths currently. It will be on the national news tomorrow. This will not, and cannot stand."

Resting on his side, an enormous sheath. Nearly 5 feet of lacquered black wood, with swirling gold ornamentation. Resting inside, a weapon not of defense, not of skill, but of battle and war. A full-sized nodachi, nearly 6 feet long from point to pommel. If one were to look closely, they would see the slightest swirls of a deep red resting along the blade edge of the nodachi. A tell-tale sign that this blade is just as fatal to demons as it is to humans.

"I am here to extract an end to this situation. Either by the death of one Tomioka Guen, or the removal of her arms. Personally, I'm gunning for the former, but the Oyabun has been... amused by her flailings for a while. He's called for me to show 'an appropriate level' of mercy."

Surprisingly, the heat associated with radiation is conspicuously absent. If anything, it's slightly cooler. It seems Keodis' Art is tied up even tighter than usual.

"Therefore, there are two choices present. Step aside, and let me give the challenge officially. Or, act in her employ, and stop me. Work against the Kyoto Branch, betray those inside, and fight me. Right here and now."

His ultimatum given, Keodis continues to walk forward. Whether or not Jae-eun steps aside, tonight will see the clash of blades. The question is only which ones.

Tactical Breach Wizards: Fireteam Hex (Military, Modern, Fantasy, Action-Thriller)

(Post under edits, I did an oopsie)

Kimetsu no Yaiba AU: Temen-ni-Guru (Arc 2)

Ryūnoko Keodis

---

". . . goddammit, that TV was EXPENSIVE."
Turning to face the enraged Hashira, Keodis seems incredibly at-ease with the presence of one of the greatest human warriors in the world being within 50 feet of him.
"Alright, let's hear it. Come on in, and try no to let what remains of my door hit you on the way in."
Keodis walks away from the entrance, slipping through a velvet-roped queue and stepping through a door that says "VIP LOUNGE". Inside, the thump of the club floor's music travels through the walls, giving the entire room a vibration. There's a small full-service bar, and seating for both a formal board meeting, and a traditional meal. On the wall, a set of sliding paper doors are built into the foundation. They are painted delicately, displaying the art of Ogata Korin, specifically the piece "Red and White Plum Blossoms."
"Do you like the space? I put it together for the times any person with a more... mature artistic taste takes a trip to my humble home. That right there, is a genuine Edo period fusuma. I beg of you with my whole soul, PLEASE don't break it. That costs more than the sword in your hand, and every sword back in your compound, combined."
Keodis goes, gets two platters of sake, and sets one down on the traditional table.
"Now, to the reason you broke my door. I can't give you too much info, as, well... you aren't a paying customer. However, I will give you this, free of charge. I swear upon my parents and progenitor, I did not give away the location of Wasegawa. If the secret is broken, it wasn't by my hand or word."
He smiles slightly, and takes a sip of his sake.
"Now, for what you could learn. I could tell you just how the infiltrator knew. Or, I could tell you how they got in. Or, I could tell you who exactly it was. However, you've been... quite rude, haven't you, Mr. Guen."
Keodis lets his shades slide down his nose, exposing the slashed eyes of an Upper Moon.
"You broke into my establishment. A place that is recognized as neutral ground by both Tsugikuni and Ubuyashiki. You hurt one of my employees, who is human and was doing nothing other than his job. You demanded information from an informant, who has been working with you for years now. And finally..."

"You tried to threaten me. Nuclear Fury Manifest."

He holds the silence for a few seconds, before scoffing, and slowly reeling himself in.
"You may want to take some Potassium Iodine pills once you see yourself out, Water Hashira. If you want the information, send someone else. You've burned your goodwill here, and you are henceforth banned from the Western Dragon's premises, along with any of my other holdings. DO. NOT. DISTURB. MY. PEACE."

Shattered Steel - Armoured Fist. An RP about modern armoured vehicles in an alternate world- ON HIATUS

Leaning back, Nishikawa looks around the interior of the crew compartment of Achtung Trottel. Schmidt is leaning over the drive controls, looking at... something. Hammond has a poptart, the foil crinkling so quietly, it can barely be heard over the engine. A thump resounds from the back, probably Rossi slamming the heads of a few recalcitrant grunts' heads together.

"Ey, you jokers get word yet? I ain't been doing nothin' back here but keeping Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumber back here from playing with explosives."

Speaking of which, there's Rossi poking her head in.

"Indeed we did. I know you're going to love it, too."
"Well, get on with it!"
"We're the spearhead going into the town."
"You're jokin."
"Do you see me laughing?"
"Faaaaaack! These idjits back here are as green as the grass!"
"You'd better make sure they're going to be ready, then."
"Sure, sure."

With that, the hatch slams shut, and the sound of yelling marginally increases. Suddenly, the crew-net crackles, and Hammond's voice crackles through.

"Alright, so for anyone not paying attention, new orders just came through. We're no longer on the clearing sweep who will be clearing out resistance after the streets are clear. Now, we're on the first push into town. Now, I can hear the whines already, so lemme make this clear. This wasn't my choice, we're going to do our jobs, and be ready. we're rolling in 15. Take your restroom break now."

Another slight crackle, indicating a channel change.

"Alright, now, with the grunt's curiosity satisfied, here's the actual plan. Schmidt, we're going to be heading to the left, towards the southern end of town. Once we make contact, hook us outwards towards the desert so we don't accidentally bumble into an AT trap in the city. Nishikawa, you know your marks?
"Yes, Hammond-san. Use the main gun for light armor, missiles for anything heavier, and the launcher for entrenched infantry."
"Call out your marks before you send them to the Almighty so we know how many Spikes we have left in the bin, but you got it otherwise. And, just call me Hammond."
"A-ah! Yes, sir!"
". . . we'll work on it. Anyways, Angie, love!"
"What?"
"Once we clear the edge perimeter, we'll probably be out far enough that we can see the enemy artillery and AA. When we're out there, grab Gabriel and get those drones of his up and spotting for our artillery. If we can send those guns to god before they start hurling shells at the streets, this will be much more buttery to deal with."
"Understood, Dino."
"Alright, this next part will be the meat and potatoes of our little play. There's a mosque on the far side of town, that is our marker for the turn-in. We don't go farther southwest than the mosque. Imaging has a road about 200 yards in front of the mosque that turns into the city, and drops us off right on the front door of the suspected command post. When we get there, it'll be a typical scramble deployment. Grunts pile out and into the building, we take Trottel on a block circut around the building to make sure the OPFOR doesn't get any reinforcements while Angie and her Spring Children are clearing it out. Make sense?"
"Yea, I got one."
"What now, Schmidt?"
"D'ya think if we can pull that command post before the rest of the groundpounders get it, we could go get ice cream?"
". . . Goddammit, Schmidt."

Tactical Breach Wizards: Fireteam Hex (Military, Modern, Fantasy, Action-Thriller)

Day 1: 17:30:05
The World's End Pub
Village of Pristupin, Libor Province
Republic of Polavia

Keodis Novikov

---

The moment time ticked to a stop, Keodis crossed his arms. Not to be aggressive, or obstrepperous to his captors, but for another reason entirely. Watching the confrontation happen, he slowly undoes the velcro on his bulky wristbands.

"WIZ-TAC, this is Battlemage Actual, we've got HVT confirmed. Moving to arrest. We'll be twenty mikes to primary extraction."

Fucking amatuer. Letting us all know you think we're done for. With the straps on the bracelets loose, he lifts his hands slowly, watching the floating vodka bottle over listening to the soap-opera next hostage over. The moment that bottle even wavers, shit will be kicking off. With the resident precog... yup, not in attendance to the stickup, there WILL be hell breaking loose here soon. All that needs to happen is one. Little. Distraction.

Suddenly, the Holding Witch at the back started to look like she convulsed.

"Idi Nahui!" Oksana yelled, in perfect, prim, Polavian, well and truly, a "Go Fuck Yourself" delivered in a manner that felt almost too cinematic.

The entire bubble of time burst.

Showtime.

As soon as the bottle started moving in the air, Keodis' hands drop and one slaps the muzzle of the box-fed machine gun away from the firing line into his chest. Stepping inwards to make the gun worthless, he punches the other man in the armpit the moment he lifts a hand, and keeps engaged to make sure that machine gun isn't used.

Struggling for a few seconds in their own scuffle, the moment his opponent kicks out at Oksana, Keodis seizes on the opportunity. One hand grabs the carry handle on the body of the gun, while the other spaces him for a shoulder tackle that sends his opponent stumbling back into the mob. If he broke his fingers hanging onto the grip of the gun... eh, they have mediwitches for that. Turning around, Keodis caps his whisky, and shoves the bottle into one of the enormous pockets on his cargo pants. Looking back, he looks across the state of the room.

Hold Witch: Still disoriented, has a gun, still a threat.
Battlemage Actual: Mobbed by Polavians, shocked and vodka-coated. Safely ignored.
Breacher: Human shield of Borys.
Former Gunner: Getting up, has a secondary weapon.
M4-Witch: Covered in acid, aim-opENINGFIREGODDAMMIT

Thinking quickly, Keodis slides off the armbands, and takes a pitchers stance. He takes a quick breath, before throwing one armband at full force at the M4-Witch. Now, here's a fun fact about those armbands. As you can guess, they're not decorative. When Keodis worked with Reactor, his main weapon was a modified version of a crew-served weapon that he carried around. A Mk. 19 grenade launcher weighs about 70 pounds without ammo, and about 90 with a full belt. Keodis wanted to stay in shape, so he got special armbands that had compartments for weighted sandbags, that he could use to keep up the arm strength needed to use his weapon if he ever needed to. All in all, each armband weighs about 45 pounds.

At about 82 mph, the M4-Witch is clocked in the side of the head with 45 pounds of sand and kevlar. She goes down like a dropped pig carcass in a meat processing facility.

The second wristband meets a similar fate, being flung (much more gently) into the face of a drunk Polavian who goes down just as hard. Stretching out his arm, he huffs softly while finishing off his whisky glass he abandoned at the beginning of the encounter. "I should have stayed in fucking bed this morning."

Pushing off of the bar, he rushes at the now casting Former Gunner, grinning wildly as he grabs the stool out of the telekinesis and pulls hard, straining and eventually snapping the object out of his control. He proceeds to break the chair while swinging it into the side of the Former Gunner.

Looking at the dazed and bruised spec-ops fighter, a near-slasher grin spreads across Keodis' face. He grabs the poor soul's plate carrier with one hand, while looping his other between the man's legs. Lifting the man up on his shoulders, Keodis hikes the man over his body, and slams him vertically face-first into the bar in a standing brainbuster. Dusting his hands off, Keodis grabs the M249 by the handle, which was conveniently next to the now laid-out form of it's former owner, and starts walking around the side of the fight.

This plan is utterly derailed as he is summarily superman tackled out a window by a drunk Polovian, who he proceeds to punch the daylights out of. Rolling the slightly overweight man off of him, Keodis stands up, brushing off the glass shards on him, and looks down the street to see Borys' form swinging a bottle of... is that fucking Medilandia? Poor bastard didn't check the label before leaving. He walks over, pulling the intact whisky out of his pants pocket.

"Well, that was... a way to wake up. Need a drink?"

"God, I fucking love Polavia."