Ogo

Herculean Academy, The Top School for Aspiring Superheroes: Prologue

WHOA WHOA...You ARE disappoint?

...you're my parents?!

Herculean Academy, The Top School for Aspiring Superheroes: Prologue

pokes thread
Hey guys! Rune here, on my DS. God this is annoying.

anyways, just saying hi, letting you guys know i'm alive~

@XxFellsingxX
no. No ten year olds plz.

anyways, typing on this thing is a pain, but i've got timefor short little posts~ xP

@Rune_Alchemist

LIVE, RUNE! LIVE!

Welcome back to society. Wanna muffin?

Herculean Academy, The Top School for Aspiring Superheroes: Prologue

<Snipped quote by Ogobrogo>

Yeah, that's what I was thinking about when I made Dorian... I just wanted him to be different from Kitty, so I made him, like, 100% tsundere. I think Kitty is closer to a yandere...

Wagner seems kind of like a nut job. I can see him being fun to interact with. I can also see him traumatizing a bunch of kids by talking about their deaths in vivid detail.

@Nightmare Bunny

Well, when Kitty snaps and starts killing folks with her cast, at least I won't be surprised.

xD He's probably a few cards short of a full deck by now. But I don't see him as being sadistic like Meredith and just horrifying them for the sake of giggles. His form of terror is much more accidental, maybe a slip of the tongue. Never on purpose though. Definitely not. Probably. :D

-edit-
Dammit Fifi xD Earn that ninja badge, why don'tcha.

Herculean Academy, The Top School for Aspiring Superheroes: Prologue

<Snipped quote by Ogobrogo>

Me neither, and I'm a few years closer to that age group than you are. That's why we're presumably not gonna do that.

By the way, Ogo, I like your new character! XD

@Nightmare Bunny

Bwahahaha. Those dirty childrens.

:3 Why thank you. I wanted to try like, completely different from Graham. So enter Dr. Pessimist.

Herculean Academy, The Top School for Aspiring Superheroes: Prologue

I can't get in the head of a ten-year old. T.T

I never thought I'd have to say that in my lifetime. Weird.

Final Fantasy VIII: Tempus Veneficarum [7/10 Slots]

Honestly bub, I haven't played in ages. I played on PC for a while, but this damn thing has been giving me nothing but trouble. Add in an aggressive work schedule and I barely even have time for this xD

Final Fantasy VIII: Tempus Veneficarum [7/10 Slots]

Ramses Q. Reinholdt

Clink.

Ramses scowled. Another one? Or was the bastard coming back, gun in tow, ready to cap a Galbadian just because Timber independence or some other bullshit?

Clink. Ramses pulled up the rifle once more and took cover behind a box. He wouldn’t let the fool go a second him. Two in the chest, then get rid of it. That’s all he had to do. His finger lingered just off of the trigger. He was quick. All he needed was to see that damn hoodie and it would be over.

Clink. It was getting louder. Ramses tightened, ready fo-

It wasn’t the man. It was a SeeD. Ramses lowered his gun instantly. Relief flooded him, but he took care not to show it.

“Why haven’t you been answering your comms…?” the voice carried, not a single syllable higher than any other. Ramses recognized the man, but could hardly recall the name. They were both Balamb SeeD, he knew that much. It was something with a ‘Z’...

Wait.

Comms?

Ramses pulled off his helmet and gazed into it. The built in comm was on?

Wait.

Shit.

He had it on, but it wasn’t yet tuned to the right frequency. What irresponsible son of a…

Oh yeah. That was his responsibility. Another fuck up. Ramses scowled despite himself. That could have been terrible. Would have been terrible. He had been on the verge of calling back to base. He wasn’t sure what frequency the comm had been on, but if any Galbadian had been listening to it…

“Put out that forsaken cigarette.” the monotonous man lectured. He continued on, going on about sight. Ramses stunned for a moment. Not much of a people person, this one, eh? Ramses laughed. Not at the guy, but just in general. He was about to speak, a witty retort to the cigarette comment when the guy spoke again. “To the main topic at hand, it’s time to evac. Let’s get going, I’ve heard spiders are ample this time of year.”

A shudder shot through Ramses. This guy must have seen his file or something. Spiders. Ugh. He hated the damn things. Too small to sense, too quick to shoot. What good were they anyway? And...didn’t he say they were to evac? Leave? There’s no way. Why would they...He must have misheard the guy. Not that he could clear up the confusion though. The SeeD had already turned to leave. Ramses noticed that he seemed to be deliberately choosing his steps. Retracing his path? Not a bad idea but…

Ramses checked the helmet again, tuning it to the right frequency. Nobody was going to hear about this one. No. One. He placed it back on his head, grabbed his rifle, took a last drag on his cigarette and tossed it. He hit the comm button, causing it come to life.

All of a sudden, he was hit with excited chatter. His eyes widened. It was the away team. They were receiving information but...Holy shit, they actually did it. Evac...the guy was referring to this, then? Ramses shook his head and hurried up, heading back to base. His tracks would be fine. He was wearing ‘Bad boots. Around here, that was as natural as the birds. He caught up with the SeeD, but didn’t say anything. His head was swimming.

They actually did it.

They actually did it.

THEY ACTUALLY DID IT.

This...this was…

This wasn’t just a pipe dream. They had actually did it. They could actually do this thing. WE could actually do this thing.

Watch out Deling...we’re coming for you.

Herculean Academy, The Top School for Aspiring Superheroes: Prologue

~Reginald Wagner~

Nineteen.

Twenty.

Twenty-one.

Twenty-two.

Twenty-three.

It came.

The train rushed forward, charging at speeds it ought not hit. The passenger beast tried it’s damnedest to hold onto the tracks, but it was for naught. It rocked, once. Twice. A horrible screech flooded the air, the sound of brakes grinding into nothingness, desperately trying to perform their job. It rocked the third time. It had had enough. The train, for the smallest moment, had become a bird, a plane...no...a burning wreckage. It left the tracks, and collided with the wall of the tunnel, stopping instantly. Brakes, eat your heart out. But the rest of it kept on it’s path, trying to drive through the train.

It succeeded.

The first car lie split in two, it’s passengers either gone or going. The second car had met with it’s fate as well. And the third. Something exploded. One of the passengers, a young super possessing some form of Fire control if Reginald had to guess, had in his final moments, met with extreme emotions. And that fed the fire. The tunnel collapsed around the wreckage, an impromptu tomb.

All those lives, snuffed out in just a handful of seconds…

Then he was no longer watching the train from an impossible angle. He was sitting at his desk, hands holding his pulsing temples, surrounded by wadded up papers. It was too much. It was the first day, the day the students were to arrive, and as usual, the daydreams were terrible. Always terrible. Always…

It had been the twelfth vision he had had that morning. They were constant. One after another. He had thought the last had hit him...even started to write a little to occupy the thoughts, but he had only hit the interlude. The last one had been one of the worst outcomes. But the familiar question, one he hated to ask himself for he had no answer, rose to the lips of his mind. Would that be his reality? Was that the world in which he lived? Or would it be another?

Drained both mentally and physically, Reginald could hardly find his legs. He didn’t want to. He’d much rather just collapse into a dull nothingness. His thoughts flew to the third drawer down on the right in his fancy mahogany desk. Just one or two might be able to…

The tall man rose, slowly, letting his balance come to him. He looked down at the mess, and without thinking, starting picking up all of the wads. Three, then throw in the bin. Three, then bin. It had to be three. Two would not suffice, and four would break it. Break...what? Reginald wasn’t sure. He didn’t care to find out. Were the walls of this world so thin that such an act would tear them down, Wagner refused to be the one to poke the first hole. Let one of the others do it.

Three, then bin.

Three, then bin.

Three-

A growing sound from outdoors alerted the man. He binned the paper with a grimace. Was that enough to throw it off? Please no… He squatted by the bin, pulling the wads out. Three, then floor. Three, then floor. Once the last had left his hand, he stood, walked to the window and looked out. He saw students forming on the platform...but he hadn’t saw the train. Had he seen this version before? He couldn’t be sure. The lines were...blurry as of late. He saw the nurse, Lost and Meredith discussing something. Then Schmidt joined the fray. Nobody looked particularly banged up. There didn’t seem to be any rescue teams forming.

Wagner closed his eyes, suppressing tears. He hadn’t seen this outcome. He liked it much better than the others. He pleaded with the nothingness, begged for this to be what he saw when he opened his eyes.

So he tested the waters. One eye slowly opened, eyelashes pulling back the curtains to the world.

And there the same scene stood, a painting formed by the world.

Reginald smiled an uneasy smile. Then turned and returned to the bin.

Three, then bin.

Three, then bin.

Three, then bin.

The commotion outside had picked up a bit, students obviously glad to stretch their legs and get to know the ones around them. It hadn’t surprised him. New supers were usually always ecstatic to meet others like them.

He hadn’t...but he had saw them before he met them. He had saw them win, achieve victory and glory. He had also watched them lose, losing their lives in the process. Some of the ones he would have never guessed were the ones who begged and pleaded the most pathetically. He was rather numb when they had found him, coming out of one of those relentless spells, sprawled out by (not on) on his bed, wearing nothing but his skivvies and clutching a bottle so tightly, it might burst in his hands. He had known they were coming, obviously. As to who it would be...well, that differed. He was either to die, to be recruited, or to be ignored. There were other options, but those were the most frequent.

His truth turned out to be the second.

Reginald shuddered. He didn’t like thinking about the past. The future was bad enough. When he started delving into things that had happened…

The mans hand shot to the drawer. He produced a key from somewhere. He always did, not that he was ever absolutely positive where it had come from. His hands trembled, but he managed to get the key in the lock, turning it.

He pulled the drawer open. Laying there was freedom in a brown paper bag. Peace in a bottle. Liquid relief. He couldn’t hold himself anymore. He shakingly brought the paper bag out of the drawer, along with a small glass. He sat back into his brown, comfy high-backed chair. He laid the glass out and reached into the bag, unscrewing the cap. He tipped the bag, allowing the dark, amber river to flow into the glass. He watched the lake fill, and when he was certain it would take no more without overflowing, he ceased, screwed on the cap, and returned the bag to it’s home.

He stared at the drink for a moment. Then his hand closed around it.

“Un, deux, trois.”

Bottoms up. The glass hit his lips, and Wagner threw his head back. Over the lips, past the gums, watch out stomach, here it comes. He winced. He always did. Then he opened his mouth and drew in some air in a gasp. The burn was awful. But the burn was also much better than those visions.

Those damned visions…

Herculean Academy, The Top School for Aspiring Superheroes: Prologue

Reginald Wagner

Real Name: Reginald Wagner

Superhero Alias: N/A

Gender: Male

Age: 47

Appearance: How dapper is he, the tall, thin man in the flawless brown pinstripe suit? From his dress to his stance, not a single wrinkle nor even so much as a loose thread, the man would appear to be a gentleman straight out of an old romance novel. So how strange is it that such a neat man would carry the look of a madman?

Despite a neatly trimmed moustache, Reginald’s ever-thinning, ever-graying brown hair twists and contorts in all directions like the thin arms of a terrified house centipede scrambling from the sure death of an angry boot. A hint of terror always lingers behind shifty light blue eyes. Eyes always moving, always searching...

Power Set:

Formally Precognition: Users have the ability to foresee possible futures and observe what may happen. As knowledge of the future invariably causes that future to change, visions of the future are subject to frequent shifting. While not being able to select futures or travel through time, these visions may assist in possible courses of action

Formally Chrono Vision: The user can see any point in time, from only a few days or months into the future, up to events all throughout time, whether that be along their own timelines or along the timelines of others.

Currently Omnichronal Perception: The user can see every event across all of the infinite timelines simultaneously.

Other Skills: Reginald is a very successful fiction author, with thirty-eight novels published and many more short stories floating around. He is also an incredibly proficient marksman.

Weaknesses: Alcohol. Mr. Wagner is a terrible alcoholic. Compounded with a fairly low tolerance, he commonly finds himself shit-faced to the point of incompetence. He is also not exactly what one would call a brave or selfless man. In the face of danger, Wagner will take flight over fight any day.

Subject: English

Personality: Paranoid. If anything can define Reginald, it would be his paranoia. He is always on the lookout, searching for signs of the coming end. If not outwardly expressed, then it’s bouncing against the walls of his mind. But laugh, go ahead and laugh, but we’ll all be weeping in the end.

The author suffers from Obsessive compulsive disorder, the culprit behind the paranoia, behind the ritualistic behavior, behind the repetitive words and actions. He is very aware of it, but despite his many attempts at combatting it, he is a slave to it, a puppet pulled along by a cruel puppetmaster.

But that is not the side that Wagner would ever allow his students to see.

While not completely able to suppress his nervous body movements, he can hide them well. He is rather well-spoken, always carefully selecting his words to charm those around him. Add in a fairly friendly smile and he could almost pull off a sophisticated persona.

Almost.

But Reginald Wagner is a tormented man. His mind is constantly on the edge of just snapping. Between his OCD, and the constant barrage of nightmarish possibilities that come with his powers, Reginald can hardly function. So he drinks. A lot. He drinks until his mind is dulled. It helps...quell the madness. The visions stop. The rituals are suspended. Not always a surefire solution, as sometimes they manage to slip through the gate of booze, but often enough to provide some greatly appreciated peace. He has found himself having to drink more and more lately, just to get back to the peace. Whether his mind is adjusting to the booze, or something more sinister is occurring is yet to be seen.

Backstory:

WARNING: It’s a long one!

Reginald Wagner, where does one start with you? The beginning, one would assume, but one would be wrong. Unlike many of his ‘colleagues’, Wagner’s abilities did not start until much later in his life.

But perhaps that is jumping a bit?

Oh, alright. Fine. I’ll tell you, but do try to stifle those bored sighs.

He was born to a lovely set of folks that are now ashes sitting upon his sister’s mantle. Raised in a small, nameless town in New York, Wagner had an average life. Not really adept at any subject in particular, not really skilled at any instrument or sport, he somewhat coasted by. Not that it mattered. Mother and Father would take care of any college fees. Heavens know they had more money than they even knew with which to do.

He attended university in Maine, originally for Psychology. But classes bored him. He had more motivation to attend various parties across campus, rather than study. He was good at parties. But that eventually caught up to him, as such things tend to do. His grades dropped. Then he dropped. Why explore the works of Freud, Skinner, and Pavlov when one can explore the works of Jack Daniels, Captain Morgan, and Jim Bean?

The next few years were a drunken blur. Then the visions started.

They started small. Maybe he would recall exactly where his lost keys were. Or perhaps he would answer the phone moments before it rang. But they rapidly grew more frequent and more...powerful. He would catch himself zoning out, having the most peculiar daydreams. Men in suits shaking hands, the Yankees winning the World Series, a white numbered ball shooting into a line of similar balls.

But something was off about these visions. They were always so...vivid. And he could remember them so clearly after coming out his dreaming.

Then there was 9/11.

Reginald had awoken in the middle of the night, just a few weeks before the horrible tragedy. He had to piss something fierce. Yet as he was tainting the porcelain bowl, he floated away. He found himself suspended in air over what could only be New York. He felt so weightless. So...light. And such a breathtaking view. He could see all of Manhattan. Which was weird. He had never been to the Big Apple.

Then the plane hit the tower. And then he heard the screaming.

He awoke hours later to find himself sprawled out on his bathroom floor, drenched in, judging by the smell, something he’d rather much wish was water. Dazed and confused, he went back to his bed to sleep off the massive headache.

He shrugged it off as just a bad, whiskey-infused dream. So when his dream was replayed on the big screen, Reginald knew something was up. Either he was going crazy or…

No, that was pretty much it.

Wagner treated himself, mainly by writing down his ‘daydreams.’ He wrote. And wrote. And wrote some more. Eventually he started going over some of the stories, fixing them up a tad, making them more pleasant to read. And he sent them in. And got published.

His writing career took off afterwards. Sometime during the release of his sixth novel and the rights to his fourth book “The Marvelous March” being picked up by a studio, Wagner stopped drinking. He returned to school. With an interest in a subject now sparked, he easily snatched up an English degree. Some certifications later, and he would be teaching in a New Jersey public school whilst continuing his novels.

So just a man with the gift of sight. Nothing unusual, no?

Perhaps. Until one cursed night. Reginald was reviewing some quizzes over a nice cup of coffee. Then he felt one of ‘them’ coming on. What he saw was unlike anything he had seen before. There was no sense of weightlessness, as he was now accustomed to. He felt himself ripped from his body, ripped from the world. Ripped from the galaxy. He saw eons pass instantly in front of his eyes. Then there was nothing. And beyond that, there was something.

Oh how that terrified him.

It took all the man had, but he managed to wrestle control of himself, returning back to his apartment, to his coffee and his cats. He didn’t know what that was. He had never experienced anything like it before. He didn’t want to, ever again. All he did want, was a drink. He was just so goddamn thirsty.

The daydreams continued though. And whilst the nothingness never returned, the visions became more vivid. But the most terrifying thing, was that Reginald found that he could direct them. He could think of something or someone, and his daydream would star them. He saw his father’s death, a violent car crash, mere days before it actually happened. Then he saw his father graduate high school. He saw his mother weeping on her wedding day.

He could see anything.

Then years later, Reginald poked the bear. He tried to reach out. Not to a person, or a place, but to reality itself. And he was successful. Oh boy, was he ever. He found himself not being dragged but sprinting headlong into the abyss. First time. Then everything. Then nothing. Then something, once more. But instead of turning around, of leaving good enough alone, curiosity spurred the man.

So the arrogant man threw back the curtain, expecting to see Oz the Great and Terrible.

But Oz was not meant to be seen. Could not be seen. Mortal eyes had no place in the beyond. Yet here was Reginald. He died, forever. Then he lived. Then died. It continued for what could only be described as eternity.

But that didn’t happen. That was someone else. Reginald did not look upon The Beyond. But his mind’s eye peeked.

Everything shattered. Reginald was torn apart. Even The Beyond was no longer. Then Reginald awoke in his apartment. He had lived countless lifetimes, died infinitely more, but no more than a handful of seconds could have passed. And…

Oh God.

He could see everything. He couldn’t look away.

Everything.

Reginald might have went mad. Likely did, too, but he returned. From the sheer power of his will to live, he returned. But the whispers started...and Reginald desperately wished he hadn’t.

It was The Beyond, speaking words that could not be spoken. Always there, but never there. He would die, but keep on living. Others would die, but keep on living. The world would die, but keep on living.

He dove back into the booze. Hard. Trying to end it, to end anything. And it worked...somewhat. It dulled the sight, keeping the unthinkable from entering his mind. The more he drank, the more muffled it would be. In the small periods of sobriety between drunken nights, Wagner would experience the worst of it. The visions were still dulled, but if he focused, he could see any of them. And the whispers...sometimes he believed they were gone. But as more and more booze wore off, the louder the whispers got. It was never as bad as the first time, but he knew what could happen. He gazed into the abyss which was never meant to be. What laid beyond, gazed back at him.

So how does Herculean Academy fit into this? He got a job as an English teacher at the school. Just a means to an end for Wagner, desperately searching for a means to silencing his power.

For the majority of his adult life, Reginald tried to expand his sight. For the rest, he would try to blind it.

Final Fantasy VIII: Tempus Veneficarum [7/10 Slots]

My post might be a bit delayed. Exhausted.