ProPro

One Piece: New Horizons!

Debris fired off in a shrapnel volley of absolutely lethal proportions. Most of the Rum Runners had managed to protect themselves fairly well, even if they still took some amount of damage. The same could not be said for the exposed crew of the King Crab. Those who had been knocked out in the previous battle found themselves shredded, a number of them dying in an instant. Those that could still defend themselves dove for cover, but most had still been struck. Some died, some merely lost consciousness from pain and blood loss, but none came out of it unscathed. All the while John Krabbe stared in horror, mouth agape and unable to move. Saban was completely out of control, he had to be defeated! It was pure luck that Krabbe had met Saban at a time he had already been split up back when, so he was able to convince the man to join his ship and never come back together with great ease. Split into so many bodies, Saban was an idiot. But this... This might as well be a horrifying force of nature. What could he do? He had no armor, no weapon, his ship had been totalled, there was nothing he could fight back with! Krabbe closed his eyes and accepted the incoming cloud of death.

"Urk!" Krabbe's eyes jerked open when he felt no pain, yet heard a gasp of pain. One of his men stood directly in front of him, arms outstretched. He took the hit for his captain.

"No!" The sailor fell to the ground, bleeding badly and losing consciousness. What could he do?! His men were dying like flies and everything that made him strong had been taken away from him!

Meanwhile, the Red Rum pirates were already hard at work with their counterattack. Kite had managed to completely avoid the attack altogether, performing a Yoshi maneuver with one of the bounty hunters to leap clear over Saban's thrown shrapnel. The craftsman came spinning down at the behemoth of a man with wrenches extended like some sort of bludgeoning helicopter, and the waru waru man took notice. He laughed a hearty laugh, throwing a single hand out to catch his attacker. He snagged Kite's left wrench with his bare hand, then prepared another fist to end the shipwright's life in one blow.

Splat! Oil from Slick struck Saban's fist before he plowed it into Kite's body. "What the-Ow! That kinda hurt!" In his confusion of the oil, Kite's second wrench arm completed its swing and clocked Saban in the side of the head. It seemed to inconvenience their foe more than anything, but it was enough for him to release Kite altogether and distract him long enough for more oil to cake itself onto his body, hindering his movements.

"Look sir. They're... Fighting back." Krabbe looked down. The man that had taken the attack for him was able to talk, albeit barely.

"They're gonna die. We're all gonna die. Saban is a freak, born and trained in the Grand Line. None of us can stand up to that."

"Yet they're making... A difference."

"Waru waru defense!" The oil Slick had been gooing up Saban with began spreading, multiplying from the use of the man's powers. As the mass of oil increased, its stickiness value diluted until it all completely slid right off of his body. All but one little bit in the palm of his hand, which he flung straight for Slick's flamethrower. "And Recall!" All the excess oil vanished in an instant, reconstituting into the original oil that Slick had used to trap up Saban. The gunk now covered up Slick's flamethrower and rendered it useless, at least for now. Still, he had gotten some fire out and Saban's chest had clear scorch marks.

"No," Krabbe shook his head. "They're only delaying it. He's too strong. Stronger than me, even with my armor and my claw. And he destroyed those."

That's when Lilliana was able to enact her plan. An ingenious little device she had tinkered up, she fired the grappling hooks charged with electricity while simultaneously being able to make her escape. Since Saban was focused on the ground, he failed to notice the aerial attack. The wires hit their marks and coiled on him, but he stood strong. Then the current flowed through, shocking him good. "AAAAAAGH!" The burn Slick put on his chest was worsening, agitated by the flow of electricity. The hair of his arms stood on end and his teeth chattered. "NO!" bellowed the giant. He grabbed hold of the wires, fighting against the current, and with one thunderous yank snapped the coils in twin. He had freed himself of being pinned, and the shock, but couldn't react to what happened next.

As the wires snapped, a cannon burst through from below deck, pointed straight for Saban. Still fatigued from the electrical current, still reeling from his power move, the cannon shot its ammunition directly at him, nearly point blank. Metal struck flesh as the fruit user was shot in the gut. He doubled back, spitting up at least two gallons of blood in the process while the cannonball fell limp to the deck.

"Looks like they're... Doing well."

"... Yeah. Yeah, you're right."

"They still need... Your help."

"There's nothing I can do without my-"

"How did you... Get... That armor?"

"I killed a giant monster crab. You know that, you were there."

"Did you have... Armor then?"

"Kookiookiooki, of course not, I hadn't killed it yet-OhmygodIseeyourpoint."

"YOU WILL ALL BE CRUSHED BENEATH DIVINE JUSTICE!" Saban wrenched the two grappling hooks from his flesh, pulling a nice bit of blood out with them, then began flinging the hooks around by the broken end of wires, striking anything and everything in reach. All the Red Rums, the surviving bounty hunter crew, the trashed infrastructure of the ship, absolutely everything. Caesar cried out in a roar and charged forward beneath the hook-whips, machete drawn. The half-mink was able to reach the giant man's underside, unnoticed, and stab his weapon straight down, pinning the foot in place and causing tremendous pain. "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! SPLIT! SPLIT!" And on command his foot split into two slightly smaller feet, right around the machete blade. They reformed into a single foot again in a different position, no longer pinned down or stabbed, but still injured. It seemed that injuring any splits didn't affect the whole once they were recalled, injuring the whole itself still carried injuries forward.

Caesar let out a massive burst of electro into the leg he hadn't yet injured, sending the second electrical current of the day into Saban. He let out another scream of agony, coughed up a second helping of blood, then fell to his knees, hanging his head down in front of Caesar. The man wasn't moving, but his breathing couldn't be heavier, more forced. Then just as it looked like they had beaten this nigh unstoppable foe, out of nowhere with surprising speed Saban headbutt Caesar right in the face. The half-mink was sent flying back as Saban rose to on foot and swung both hooked whips at Caesar in middair. They would have connected too, but were intercepted... By John Krabbe.

The bounty hunter stood between Saban and others, grasping both wires in his two hands. "Let go," Saban commanded.

"No." His response was so simple, so short, yet it carried great weight.

"I said LET GO!" With a mighty heave Saban yanked back on his weapons, but neither they nor Krabbe had moved.

"I said 'no.'"

"Impossible! Nobody is stronger than me! I am Shotaro Saban! I am Divine Justice!" He tugged again with all his might, fruitlessly. Krabbe chuckled.

"You are weak. These pirates took a lot more out of you than you'd care to admit. They did the same for me, but I've still got some juice left in my batteries. But you, Saban? You're done for." The bounty hunter's words were punctuated by the sound of a gunshot, along with the words "Explosive shot!" Saban struggled to turn around, to catch sight of Cedric D. Boone, but he couldn't fight back against Krabbe's grip. Fearful, Saban released his makeshift weapons to turn around. That's when four cannons fired at the same time, every one directed straight for him.

"I can dodge that!" Saban tried to jump to the side, but found his feet wouldn't move. Confused he glanced down to find that a large amount of sticky oil had pooled up around his legs, cementing him in place. He hadn't gotten rid of as much of Slick's oil as he originally thought. "No! NO! WARU WARU NO-"

BOOM! Before he could complete his split, all four cannonballs collided with Saban. Teeth flew from his mouth, blood sprayed out, bones cracked and snapped, and all this occurred as his body contorted backward from the force. His legs firmly cemented in place, the floor snapped and flew up with him. Shotaro Saban, as well as a good amount of the upper deck, blasted off into the sky.

"REEEEEEECAAAAAAAALLLLLLLL!" And then he was gone. Only oil and wood flew through the sky as the entire man completely disappeared from sight. Did he... Did he have another body split off somewhere, to keep him safe? Well, that didn't matter now. Saban was gone, Krabbe's men had been defeated, and the bounty hunter had given up trying to attack them. The battle was over.

"Whew!" John Krabbe fell over, completely exhausted. He couldn't move an inch even if he wanted to. Even though Saban was so critically injured, it still took every last ounce of strength he had left to keep that monster restrained.

Capes of Denver: A Worm RP

The Minutemen

[@Banana]@yoshua171@Old Amsterdam

The old shopkeeper took out a small glasses cleaning rag from his breast pocket, then did some patch work cleaning of his spectacles. Once he returned the lenses to his face, the man addressed the Minutemen once more. "Sheila Jones? I'm afraid I don't know the name, but uh she might be one of my regulars. Oh dear, I have such a difficult time with names these days. You kids will understand that once you're my age, I'm sure." He took a moment to check the time via a nice antique watch he wore on his wrist.

"But if someone thinks that those horrible cretins calling themselves the Community will be causing a ruckus here, then I'm sure glad to have some nice Samaritans with your fancy powers by my side. Perhaps I could repay you with some home baked chocolate turtles?" He didn't make eye contact once until he had finished speaking, instead squinting his eyes on the timepiece. It seemed his glasses needed to be replaced if he were having this much trouble.

Meanwhile, a group of 8 youths, ranging from about 14 to 25, were approaching from around the corner. Half wore do rags, all had tattered jeans, and they looked and smelled of bad attitude. That said, they weren't wearing the colors of The Community. Instead many carried pickaxes... The signature weapon of the Rockers.

Capes of Denver: A Worm RP

@PlatinumSkink
That was a highly interesting post, friend. I greatly enjoyed it, and I'm very curious as to what Pro is going to do about it, through Eklipse I assume.

@Old Amsterdam

You'll find out after the next time skip once the Jacks and Wards conclude their battle.

Capes of Denver: A Worm RP

@ProPro
Either Retcon or Decoy, if you'd please.

@Gardevoiran

You've gotta choose, else I put them both down for 1/2 a vote.

Capes of Denver: A Worm RP

Ok everyone, glad I finally got that Inkscape interlude up! I'll try to get an update out for the Minutemen by tomorrow. In the meantime, the Wards and the Jacks can continue to have their first meeting/battle, and a new poll is opening up for the next NPC you'd like to see an interlude story for! Any NPC you want, pick one, and I'll update the vote counter in the first page 0th post!

The Crucible - Winner Take All

I hope whatever has been making things rough is over with, or at least doing better. :)

Capes of Denver: A Worm RP

Interlude 1: Inkscape

This is such a beautiful sight. James Scott, Hermes, his information was right on the money. Thanks to him, I now have such a magnificent canvas with which to work. I cannot help but chuckle as a Bratva flunky is hanging from the ceiling, suspended by the reds and blacks of his shirt and pants. To him I’m certain my chuckle sounded like an ungodly squawking, but considering his current position the man’s comfort certainly didn’t matter to me. He is a criminal, like everyone in this god forsaken building, which meant I could make use of him as I so chose for the sake of my art.

Another man I had plastered to the wall nearby, creating a cascading effect with the variety of colors he had worn. A third nearly got the drop on me a minute ago, but he had been knocked aside with the tremendous strength of Protean. What my comrade lacked in subtlety he made up for in power and variety. Few men could get back up after being tossed with bear arms. Fewer still chose to fight back after recovering. Protean was content to leave the unconscious mobster where he lay. I found the notion borderline offensive. He completely threw off the setting I had made with the other Russian flunkies. To rectify the situation, I manipulate the black leather jacket, tearing it apart at the seams as the leather moved with the pigment I tore from the larger object. The loose strips of leather reached upward, dancing like sky snakes. I wrap the loose straps around the exposed ceiling frame, then release my telekinetic grip on the black dyes. The man hung loose, a life sized marionnette. Still, it isn’t quite right. More I tatter the jacket until it more closely resembles rags, and wrap them around the jacket’s owner. The same is soon done with the pants he wore. More and more I rearrange his clothing in tattered bits until he appears to be an asylum inmate.

Almost done. He lacks… Color. Color the others had. I reach out with my power, feeling all the dyes, inks, and pigments within my range, within this large hallway. There isn’t much. Well, there isn’t anything, actually. Nothing beyond what I already was working with. So this was a limited resource piece. A pressure builds up within my body then finds release as I squirt a large stream of black ink into the air. The ink wouldn’t end until I willed it to, that I learned long ago. I didn’t understand how I could produce such a limitless supply, but it wasn’t worth the effort and time to think about. Just another bizarre change that had overtaken me since I made my deal with that doctor…

The ink doesn’t arc and stream onto the floor. Instead, I sweep physics aside and take direct control of my own bio-ink using my power. The murky black liquid sweeps out in multiple gaseous clouds as I command it all. Some are thicker, darker, filled with more substance. Others less so. Each one plants exactly where I command, and spreads in accordance to my will down to the smallest detail. Now I have finished. I take only the smallest of moments to admire my work, to look at the masterful gradients I have made, how the vibrant colors on the left fade into murky gray and black to the right, before I feel only disgust. This art, it doesn’t satisfy me. Not in the least. The materials that I am working with, they aren’t the materials I want. They aren’t the ones that put my Annabel in the hospital. But they were good practice.

“Yeesh,” Protean speaks up, scratching the back of his head. “You usually don’t, uh, involve the people themselves in your art.”

”I’m not usually pissed off,” I say back, my voice far more calm than I feel.

Hermes whistles lightly. ”Nice work, I think. They… Alive?” He casually strolls up to the both of us. I give him a stern look as my only retort, uncaring that my alien features greatly inhibit communication through body language. I can tell that I failed to convey my message properly, but it doesn’t matter.

”We need to move. Hermes, scout ahead. Protean, put on your best nose.” Both follow my command, just as it should be. No surprise for Protean, he has been my comrade for nearly three years now. He has more seniority in the Protectorate than any of our other local peers, even if he is near bottom of the command chain. Hermes though, I admit that I had my worries when Director Kens agreed to provisionally take on a mercenary as an official Protectorate cape. His actions as Jaunt leaned toward the unsavory, and mercenaries were nothing if not self-centered. I guess this one is either one in a million, or that sense of self-preservation warned him to how dangerous crossing me would prove. I hope it’s the former, but I’ll settle for the latter for the moment.

A few seconds later and Hermes returns, appearing out of thin air. Movers, man. He gives us the all clear, and soon we three are on the move down the hall. He guides us, and I keep my wits about me. Hermes doesn’t know it, but I’ve planted some of my own bio-ink on his new costume in order to keep tabs, just in case. Decoy assured us that he wasn’t lying about wanting to help, said he ran that lie detection program he has setup, but I like a little insurance. A little just in case backup.

Insurance I wouldn’t need, at least for now. Just like he said, two guards, knocked unconscious by him while scouting. Then we rounded the corner into the warehouse. A number of shipping crates were lined up before us, painted in a variety of colors, all locked up. Just as Hermes reported, a dozen Bratva had been posted in this room, all well armed. Just as one would expect from the Russian underworld. I smiled as best I could in the face of this challenge. They wouldn’t stand a chance. Just as one would expect.

A mobster shouts in surprise at our presence. He is quickly silenced by his own tie, as I pushed out with my power, took hold of the dyes coloring it, and squeezed. Hard. One down already. The rest had been alerted to our presence, but I know it won’t matter. Protean has already charged forward into the fray with a mix and match of his favorite animal parts. Hermes makes use of his teleportation, warping between different foes and striking at them with cheap shots. Not one to be outdone, I rush in as well.

Unlike my peers, I don’t attack any of the Bratva. Not directly, not yet. Instead I fire off blobs of black ink throughout the room. I don’t direct them, I don’t control them. I simply fire at every corner of the room within my reach and I move on. I need to setup the battlefield. I need to lay the foundation of my canvas. Only then can the art begin. While distracted, I’m taken by surprise. One of the Bratva goons swings a bat for my face from behind a shipping container. The metal bat makes contact with my face, but the impact is dampened thanks to my spongy, squishy cephalopod-like body structure. I take the opportunity to strike, allowing my momentum to carry me forward. Three of my tentacles extend outward from within my business suit, wrapping around the man’s arm and chest. He screams from shock. I haven’t hurt him at all. Yet.

And I wouldn’t for some time. From my new position I wrench the bat from his hands and spray my ink in his face, not as a thick liquid but as an enveloping cloud. That man no longer a threat, I continue setting the foundation for my art. I’m able to snake my body up the shipping containers to gain a higher vantage point, one away from the outmatches flunkies blow. From here, I let loose a massive volume of my bio-ink in every direction as I spin in place, not dissimilar to a sprinkler.

“The squid’s up there! Get him!” shouts one. I hear the distinct sound of an assault rifle being loaded. That sound is all that I need to identify the source of danger, and act upon it. I reach out with my power, calling to the paint on the man’s gun. With a thought, I force the weapon from his hand. “What the-? Mother fucker!”

His misfortunes were yet to end. He wears a heavy coat, one dyed a dark blue. The blue pulls him hard to the right, but this man catches on quickly. He spins a bit from the momentum, but orients himself so that I pull the coat off of him, rather than pulling the man himself. Clever, but not nearly clever enough. Nearly every object is processed in our society. Nearly every processed object contains some form of ink or dye, something humans use to artificially color it. This man had made the mistake of becoming one of those processed products himself, a client of the body arts. Tattoos adorned his skin all across the arms, and his chest. All that ink.

“GAAAAH!” I force the man up into the air by way of his tattoos. The surface area of skin I can control compared to his body weight, it surely feels as though he’s held aloft by hooks and chains. To the side I can see Hermes looking on, losing focus of the battle. Just as I was losing focus of my anger…

”Ugh!” I release the man from my grip, and he falls roughly six feet, collapsing from the pain. This wasn’t how I should be conducting myself. Not as a leader. Not as a superhero. Not as an example for the mercenary that swore to do good. Not as a fiance. Noble had a worse temper than me in the field, but the thought of her being hurt… I force myself to regain control, lest I hurt someone far worse.

”Protectorate dogs! I evict you from this territory!” cries out the voice of a strong minded woman. I turn my head, keeping my tentacle-body facing the same direction, and see the secondary objective: Sonika. All the reports I had read and rumors on the street suggested that this air manipulating cape was in the employ of the Bratva. The PRT classified her as blaster/shaker 7, incredibly dangerous. Excessive force authorized. No, it wasn’t worth it. If I throw everything I have at her, I will only give in to this burning anger, and worse still it will completely destroy the art this room could be!

”I think not, vil-” before I finish, she attacks by launching a wall of compressed air across the room. The Bratva minions that could move do so. Those that are already unconscious aren’t given a second thought by the vile parahuman, and so find themselves tossed aside. I brace for impact, knowing I have no way of dodging the attack. At least, that’s what I thought. Suddenly I find myself atop a different shipping container, this one behind our enemy, with Hermes by my side.

”Thank you,” I mutter, not trying to be rude but needing to be focused. In an instant Sonika is on us again, spinning back around and sending another blast of compressed air, this time as a cutting edge. Just as before I barely have the opportunity to comprehend what happened as I am whisked away to a completely new vantage point. This time we are stationed right blow Sonika, who has taken to floating in the air.

She instantly finds our location again, how? Before she is able to let loose another counter attack, Protean performs his own fly-by assault. He had taken the animal parts needed to resemble a griffin, always fond of the mythological him, and swiped at Sonika with sharp talons.

”Ugh!” she cries out, recoiling back. The wound looked shallow to me. Too shallow. I figure she had to have cushioned the attack with an air bubble, or something similar. I push out with my power, reaching for her costume… But there is no dye to manipulate. No ink, o dye, nothing I can use in her white leotard. Internally I curse at myself. It was so rare to come across a costume that has absolutely no dye in it that I didn’t even think it was an option, and my mistake cost us.

Protean swings around for another go at Sonika, but she is ready to counter attack, and unfettered to do so since I wasted time on a fruitless endeavor. She launches multiple air blades which meet their target, and cut into Protean’s left wing. ”RAAAWK!” he cries out with inhuman lungs. The wing is completely severed, and Protean crashlands into a pile of boxes.

Sonika gives chase, no doubt to finish what she started. I cannot let her. Protean will recover on his own in due time, but until he can reform a new body he’s very susceptible to her follow up assault. I don’t give chase. It wouldn’t matter, she is so much faster than me. Instead I reach out to the shipping container near Protean and take hold of the dry, washed out orange paint. In under a second two-hundred square feet of paint pulls free from the container it had called home for years and streaks toward my foe, coalescing into a single ball. The reflexes she displays are completely inhuman. Sonika stops in her flight toward my fallen ally and sends the ball of paint flying with a gust of wind. She turns round to face me directly.

”It seems I will not be finishing off one until you are removed from the equation. Very well.” The air around this enemy distorts and she blasts straight for me. Before I finish blinking I’m on the opposite end of the room. Hermes’ power, without it I know that I would likely be dead now. She’s just too fast.

In that instant she turns round and heads straight for us again. How can she know where we are? Like before, my newest team member takes us to a new location just before she can strike. It happens again, and again, and again. Five minutes this goes on. By now she should have tired, or at least gotten sloppy from irritation, but that wasn’t to be. Sonika was far too focused. ”Can you-keep this up-a while-longer?” I ask, in between teleportations.

”I’m getting-pretty winded-by now-but I can-go until-I’m exhausted.” Excellent. Hermes could go a little longer. That’s all I needed to know. Any doubts I had for the former mercenary had evaporated as the man continually saved my life. My plan would be put into motion any moment now. Just a couple more teleportations…

”And stop!” I shouted, signalling to Hermes. He did as commanded, keeping us put. Just as every other time before, Sonika instantly turned to my position and charged forward. We had to have missed a thinker classification when analyzing this Russian villain. Yes, it was the only explanation. She probably understood air currents around her, felt our breathing, or how we displaced the static air. Well now I counted on her coming right for me. I had set up my trap.

I reached out with my power on final time, grabbing every last paint, dye, and ink in my radius. A radius that had been greatly expanded, in a manner of speaking. While Hermes whisked us to and fro, I took those precious couple seconds with every new position to grab as much of my resource as possible, and moved it toward the center of the warehouse. Sonika was too focused to notice the containers and walls no longer had paint, or that everyone’s clothing was colorless. Tunnel vision spelled the doom of many overconfident capes.

Every last bit I had collected was pooled together in the center of the room. Sonika crosses that center to come for us, and I spring my trap. Like an otherwordly maw, the collective inks rise up to swallow her in a mixed technicolor sphere. I see her eyes open wide in surprise for the split second she remained visible. My analysis paid off. Ink doesn’t disturb the air flow, so she couldn’t sense it. Not until it was too late. I make the sphere collapse in on itself, pinning Sonika down to the floor under a large goopy mess. I smile, and she scowls coldly in return.

”Do not think that you have won yet, Inkscape.” It didn’t sound like a threat, but a statement of fact.

”I don’t consider it a victory until you’re locked up in the Birdcage,” I retorted. She merely smirked in response.

”Then you do not win today, even if I lose. I hate losing. I will be back.” Sensing danger, I press down on her inky prison hard, but meet resistance. It is then that I see what is happening. Sonika has filtered air beneath her body, and is now expanding it outward! I force her down harder with my power, but to no avail. A large bubble of compressed air explodes outward, sending my ink flying in every direction. Sonika has freed herself. She takes the opportunity to immediately run, or rather fly, to her escape. I turn to face Hermes, but he has been knocked back by the force of the blast. By the time I get to him, she is already gone and he cannot teleport the two of us to her position.

”Damn,” I hear a mumbling from off to the side. I turn to see Protean approaching, rubbing his left arm. He had reformed into a new body at this point, uninjured, but lost a good amount of biomass. Probably 15 pounds, by my estimate. ”I hate when the bad guy gets away.”

I sigh. ”She’s a dangerous one to be sure, but we did a lot of good here today. We’ve dismantled the Bratva in Denver. That’s a major crime syndicate, done for. Besides. This was only a practice run.”

”Practice for what?” Hermes asks.

I reach into my breast pocket and pull out a gold plated ring, taking a moment to soak in the engraving on the inside. Martin Anderson x Annabel Loeks.

”For The Jacks.”

Reign: Kingdom Come

@AngelofOctober Just to confirm, Favian is at same cottage as everyone else yes?

@Eklispe

He's at a completely different location, according to the first GM post.

Reign: Kingdom Come

@Spiffy

Wait how does that work in my case? I have no one really to interact with right now. Walking? I barely know who my character is and I wouldn't know what inner inspections to do.

@AngelofOctober

That's where you'll get to really shine to make this character your own, ya dig? Turn those memories, thoughts, and feelings into how you interpret them.

Capes of Denver: A Worm RP

<Snipped quote by ProPro>

Thank you. Looking over the Power Classifications and trying to work out what fits best.

@t2wave

What idea(s) do you have?