Sir Lurksalot

Heroes Reborn: Year Six (OPEN)

January 12th, 2026
Rock of Eternity; 10:48 A.M.

”Historama, let’s cycle through all of the prisoners again,” said Lady Arcana, laying her cheek against the knuckles of her hand. The screen began to cycle through all the monsters--human or otherwise--that she had confined in the Rock of Eternity. ”Sabina’s okay...Oggar’s reading...Kull’s trashed his room again, of course...Wilhelm’s sleeping…”

Easing back in her throne, Arcana let out a heavy sigh. For the past two days she had been afraid to leave the Rock for very long, in case there was another unexpected break-in like last time. Even when there had been breaches in the veil, she had made certain to resolve them as quickly as possible. She was starting to understand now why Shazam had never left to do hero work.

She knew that Zoey really wanted her to start attending the University of Poseidonis later this month, but this latest incident with Wilhelm and the Yellow Lantern Corps had really opened her eyes to just how easily things could go wrong if she wasn’t being constantly vigilant. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t been looking forward to University, but she had far more important responsibilities here--she saw that now.

”I guess I should tell Orin I won’t be going,” she muttered to herself.

---

January 12th, 2026
Grim Grotto, Castle Kasimir; 10:50 A.M.

’Mal… what the hell are you doing?’ Mal heard an annoying little voice that sounded suspiciously like doubt sound off within his own head as he stared down at what he was told was a magical hotline directly to the physical embodiment of all magic in the universe in his hand. ’You have no idea how this thing works, do you?’

Glancing down again at what appeared to be just a freaking rock (albeit, fuzzy and opaque to his eyes), he couldn’t help but agree.

’Nyooope. No idea.’ The teen conceded to… well, himself. Hefting the thing up to eye-level and giving it a downright constipated glare, as if trying to will the damned thing into working ’Buuuuut, let’s try anyway and see what happens’

Clearing his throat and trying to ignore the fact that, on the slim chance he was actually successful, he was going to be having a long conversation with a goddamn rock, Mal finally spoke.

”Err… hello?”

...Nothing.

He felt his brow twitch. Clearly, his mum’s boy.

”Dog Boy to Kare-Bear. Come in, Kare-Bear.” He tried again, with a bit more feeling (and snark) this time around ”Ya there, blondie?”

This time, he noted, the fuzziness his eyes registered within the crystal began to intensify- Perhaps this was actually going to work... Or perhaps he’d activated a security failsafe and was about to get blown the hell up- He wasn’t really sure. Raw magic like this was a tad beyond his understanding.

But, as the saying goes- ’There’s always hope.’

Even when talking to a goddamn rock.

---

January 12th, 2026
Rock of Eternity; 10:51 A.M.

Lady Arcana’s head jolted up when the Historama sprang to life in front of her. Her initial suspicion was that there was another intruder, but this was quickly dispelled by the flashing letters on the screen that spelled “KASIMIR CASTLE”.

Releasing a heavy sigh, Arcana waved her hand to answer it. ”What is it, Zoey?”

It had better not be more dog pictures; she wasn’t in the mood.

’Hoooly shit, it actually worked’ Malcolm couldn’t help but grin a little at that (and the fact that he wasn’t currently blowing up) ’Now, just try and answer in a way that most sane people wouldn’t immediately hang up on.’

”Surprise! You just won a free cruise.” The boy immediately responded to the tired-sounding Wizard in his typical joking fashion, almost out of reflex ”All you have to do is give us your credit card number and your mother’s maiden name!”

’Oh, for fuck’s sake Malcolm...’

Arcana hadn’t expected to hear any voice other than Zoey’s ever coming from the scrying stone. She had given it to her as a means of private communication. Every member of the Justice League (except Emerald Knight, as he had been away when she distributed them) had one, just in case they needed to get in contact with her for an emergency. Of course, Zoey more often used hers for far more trivial matters.

Thankfully, she was able to recognize Malcolm’s voice easily enough, so she wasn’t worried that something had happened there--especially since he was apparently trying to prank call her or something.

”Malcolm, give the scrying stone back to your mother,” she said tersely.

At that, Mal just audibly ‘Hmm’d’ and nodded along animatedly, as if actually considering it while idly tossing this artifact of a Lord of Order between his hands as if it were a mere tennis ball. Clearly unintimidated by Karen’s tone.

”Oh, I will... eventually,” He stated with a slight snort as he sat down at his workbench in the Grotto... and then very suddenly dropped the humourous tone ”...But before that, I was hoping we could talk.”

Turning the scrying stone about in his fingers and giving the unusual object an appraising glare, admittedly curious as to what the hell he was actually observing within it.

”If you’re not too busy doing Wizard things, that is.” He added plainly, perhaps a slight bit annoyed at Karen’s initial response, perhaps not. But knowing that joke would’ve gotten at least a snort out of the Karen he remembered all the same. ”In which case, I’ll let’cha get back to your work.”

Lady Arcana tilted her head to the side, still confused as to why Malcolm was contacting her with his mother’s scrying stone. What on Earth had compelled him to do such a thing all of the sudden? Was this perhaps about the University of Poseidonis? She did recall Zoey telling her that he was planning on attending it as well.

”I’m always busy doing ‘Wizard things’,” she said calmly. ”But if you’re calling to discuss school, then I’m afraid that I’ll no longer be going--I just don’t have time. With the recent breakout here, I realize that I’m needed on the throne.”

She knew Zoey wouldn’t be happy with her for saying that, but there was simply nothing for it. She couldn’t risk another unexpected attack on the Rock of Eternity. Just imagine if somebody like Kull escaped?

”Tell Zoey I’m sorry; I know I promised her.”

’Oh, right. School.’ While Malcolm was literally incapable of forgetting anything, that particular subject had been shunted to the back of his mind as of late.

And was now shunted even further back with what he just heard.

A low sigh escaped him at that as he ground his teeth together, his free hand moving to his scarred brow to try and subdue a fast-approaching headache.

Truth be told, it took him a good few seconds to gather his thoughts on… well, all of that, metahuman brain be damned. But finally, and after a series of unreadable expressions shifting across his face he found his voice-

”...Wasn’t calling about school, either. Ya might not believe it, but I don’t actually take mucking about with what is technically the artifact of several Gods lightly.” The Gotham crimefighter admitted, fingers clamping down on the stone that he’d been deftly turning with his fingers as The Wizard spoke ”-But that’s beside the point now.”

Standing up again and starting to pace a little, the boy took another few seconds to think on his words.

”Does this mean you intend to stay on that Rock of yours... forever? Just watching monsters in cages for the rest of your days?” He finally spoke again, his voice oddly contemplative now ”-Because that doesn’t sound like much of an existence, Karen. At least not one worthy of you.”

Lady Arcana hesitated for a moment. He had more or less put her on the spot with that question. However she answered, there was little doubt that it would find its way back to Zoey and then potentially the rest of the League as well. She didn’t like the prospect of having to explain herself to all of them, but…

”I am the Wizard,” she stated. ”My duty is to defend our reality from the creatures that lurk beyond the veil, or otherwise threaten it. I’ve also decided to defend my home, Earth. I can best do both of these things from the Rock of Eternity.”

She paused, staring through the Historama’s semi-translucent screen to the large pair of double doors behind it. They bore her crest--the thunderbolt.

”I…Karen doesn’t matter. Not next to the responsibilities of Lady Arcana.”

”THAT-” Malcolm almost started to yell, but managed to reign himself in, taking a deep breath and counting down in his head before continuing ”...That is a lie and you damn well know it.”

Now ceasing his pacing and leaning up against the workbench, Mal’s eyes locked onto the stone in his hand once again, scarred knuckles turning white with the force of his grip.

The Wizard had clearly struck a nerve.

”Karen Hernandez matters. And I don’t really care if you believe that right now or not. I do. So you’re gonna hear it and it can rattle your magical little blonde head for the rest of eternity.” The Kasimir ward spoke through barred teeth ”Because if Karen was totally irrelevant to the equation, she wouldn’t have been chosen to be the Wizard”

Mal’s eyes flicked down towards his free hand, covered in scars and resting upon a data tablet frozen on a news site touting the exploits of some new ‘Masked Hoodlum’ in the city. A slight grimace forming on his face as he clenched and unclenched his fist.

He, more than most, knew a thing or two about losing sight of who you are.

”So you’ll forgive me if I choose to believe there’s more to you than just a cape, a catchphrase and a giant magic rock in space.”

Arcana clenched her fist with enough force to crush coal into diamond, her eyes flaring. When she spoke, her words were saturated with indignation. ”Selfish, selfish, SELFISH!”

”Don’t you get it? Who is going to mend breaches and fight monsters if I’m away from the Rock frollicking around like a ditzy teen girl?” she asked, shaking her head. ”Who will watch over my prisoners? People could die, and you don’t even care so long as you get your friend back!”

He was acting like she hadn’t even thought this through. Of course she had. It wasn’t like she wanted to sit here for the next several thousand years, slowly forgetting who she once was. But there were things only she could do, and if she neglected her duties, the consequences could be catastrophic.

”If I slack off, there might not even be life for me to enjoy...” she said quietly.

Malcolm’s response was… oddly calm. Measured even. Though the audible exhale was as firm proof as any of some internal turmoil going on inside of his head.

”And what life do think you’ll have to enjoy if you never leave the Rock?”

Tongue clicking quietly as he absently used his thumb to pop the knuckles of his free hand one by one, he took another measured breath and spoke again.

”And yes, Karen. I do care. It’s why I choose to go out every night and do what I do.” Malcolm explained flatly ”But I guess choice is a luxury I’ve always had.”

Another breath. If there were ever a time for her to hang up on him, this was likely going to be it, and he knew it.

”And I choose to believe in Karen Hernandez. And nothing you or anyone else can say is going to change that.”

Lady Arcana remained silent for what must have been over a minute. She wasn’t quite certain how she should even begin to respond to everything he had said. It was all very touching, in truth, to know that he cared that much. But even so…

”Thank you, Malcolm. It means a lot that you feel that way, but…” She released a long sigh, her entire body lurching forward with the weight of recent events. ”It’s not about me. It’s about the people who count on me to keep them safe.”

She smiled sadly. ”How can I just kick back and relax, when I know people could be dying? People I could have saved? I know I can’t save everyone, but didn’t I promise that I would at least do my very best?”

At that, Mal, formerly starving child hellbent on saving the world armed with nothing more than his wits and a lead pipe could only don a sad smile all his own.

”To be honest- I have no idea, Karen.” He admitted without an ounce of embellishment, staring down at what the years and his choices had done to his own body ”...But I can tell you from experience, what we become when we forget who we are is not worth the sacrifice.”

The boy let out a weary sigh, the oppressive weight of this conversation hanging heavy on his mind, though he’d refuse to show it.

”Just… think about it. Please.”

After all that, it was all he could really say- It was her path to walk, after all. Her choice to make.

”...It was good talking to you again.”

”Yeah, it was. And...I will. I promise. I’ll see you soon, I’m sure,” she said. ”Take care of yourself.”

The stone in Malcolm’s hand then went dark once again.

”...You, too.”

Came Malcolm’s reply, echoing across the Grotto to be heard by no one.

Heroes Reborn: Year Six (OPEN)

It is time.

DC Unlimited

And our solo players...

@Sir Lurksalot – Rookie/Champion – Solo – Halifax
@Ruby – Supergirl – Solo – Metropolis
@clanjos – Booster Gold – Solo – Metropolis
@Ezekiel – The Flash – Solo – Central City
@NecroKnight – The Lizard – Solo – Coast City
@The Angry Goat – The Ghost – Solo – Bludhaven

DC Unlimited

Alright, ladies and gents, here's the updated roster-

@Omega Man – The Comet – Active JLU – Metropolis
@DocTachyon – Midnighter – Active JLU – Metropolis
@Archmage MC – Willow – Active JLU – Metropolis
@Simple Unicycle – The Question – JLU Reserve – Hub City
@Dblade26 – Blue Beetle – JLU Reserve – Hub City
@FiroIV - Madame Xanadu – JLU Reserve – St. Roch
___
@Tackytaff – Miss Martian – Active Titan – San Francisco
@Avanhelsing – Kid Solomon – Active Titan – San Francisco
@baraquiel – Aquagirl – Active Titan – San Francisco
@NinaDivine – Red Arrow – Titan Reserve

DC Unlimited

@NinaDivine@Lord Wraith

Hey now, don't go replacin' me so easily! XD

DC Unlimited

A Shit-Magnet of the Highest Order

Player Name:
Sir Lurksalot

Primary Character:
Champion... eventually.

Secret Identity:
Duncan MacAodhan

Status:
Solo, though that'll probably change with time

Age:
22

City:
Halifax, Nova Scotia

Day Job:
Diesel Mechanic at a local shipyard

Powers:
Immense Physical Prowess- Duncan is, for lack of a better way of putting it, really goddamn strong... and fast... and pretty tough to boot; able to match the physical feats of even Kryptonians under a yellow sun, though he lacks all the more fancy bits such as flight, crazy eye-lasers and the tactile telekinesis necessary to lift massive objects and not have them shatter under their own weight.

On paper, this makes him an absolute nightmare of an opponent to square off against. In practice, well...

As a guy who spends almost every hour of every day trying his damnedest to hide his abilities, he's never really tested what he can actually do with them. As such, he has no real idea what he's capable of, what his limits are or if he even has any, only the knowledge that if he does throw hands at the average person for whatever reason, they are most definitely going to die in the most gruesomely spectacular explosion of gore imaginable... and that knowledge alone is enough to make him stuff his hands in his pockets and seclude himself in a corner for most social gatherings.

Weaknesses:
While Duncan possesses Kryptonian levels of physical ability, he is still very much human; He can't fly, he still needs to breathe, possesses no form of crazy eye-lasers or freezing breath and can't survive solely off sunlight. As such, though his physiology makes him all but invulnerable to physical attacks, he is still vulnerable to poison, high voltage, or a good old fashioned drowning (or being strangled or thrown into space, depending on the opponent).

There's also the matter of just how much restraint Duncan has to exercise in his daily life. It takes an awful lot of control and effort to throw a punch effectively when you know that if you put just a teensy bit too much 'oomph!' into it, you will undoubtedly turn the other guy into scattered bits of hamburger meat. Add to that, his increasingly worrying dependence on alcohol, a pack-a-day habit, no small amount of unstated, harshly surpressed self-loathing and the fact that he hasn't had to really exercise or physically exert himself in any way since he was a teenager and we find ourselves with the unusual paradox of a man who could arm-wrestle with god-like aliens being literally as out of shape and weak as he is capable of being.

...And that's not even getting into the fact that, as previously stated, he has no idea what the fuck he's doing.

Skills:
Savvy Mechanic- As a guy who grew up tinkering with cars, machines and the occasional boat in his Grandpa's shop, Duncan got... well, actually pretty damned good at it. If it's big, heavy and full of a bunch of moving bits, Duncan can probably figure out how it works and how to keep it doing so.

Handyman- Though Duncan can't really claim to be anything like a certified carpenter or plumber, he is pretty adept at fixing random things around the house.

Surprisingly Good Cook- May very well be his actual superpower.

Pure Stubbornness- He is his granddaddy's boy, after all...

Appearance:
To read what Duncan is physically capable of, you might picture some sort of hulking mountain of a man with bulging muscles and a jawline chiseled from granite... to actually meet the man however, you'd be disappointed and maybe a little confused- MacAodhan is not a large man. In fact, compared to what immediately comes to mind when you think 'Superhuman', he is downright tiny, standing at only 5'6" on a good day and lacking the bulging, musclebound body of proper superheroes in favour of a lean, though dense and chiseled physique closer to that of a Olympic runner, if anything, though his broad shoulders and some stubborn stains of grease on his hands make a fairly decent indicator of his blue-collar background, to which he also owes the habit of shaving his brown hair into a buzzcut, to cut deal with the heat in his workplace.

Lacking much in the way of an actual superhero costume (again, actively trying not to be a Superhero), when he does feel the need to nut up and do something somewhat heroic, Duncan simply throws on his workboots, gloves, jeans and a denim jacket over either some plain wifebeater or t-shirt, topping it all off by tying a simple black rag over his face, leaving only his hazel eyes and a bit of skin exposed and putting on an old ballcap he got from some local minor-league sports team or another.

BRIEF Bio:
Despite what one might might assume when encountering literally anyone even remotely associated with superpowers and tights, Duncan's tale is... rather mundane. Born in Halifax, Nova Scotia with a Fisherman for a father and a mother who ran a local diner, the boy in question up grew extraordinarily normally; playing videogames, staying at his grandparents' when his mom was busy at the shop and his dad was out at sea and helping his granddad out in the garage fixing cars and the occasional boat.

And then one day when he was fifteen, he got hit by a truck.

After about a good ten seconds of screaming and another thirty spent wondering why he wasn't dead, he extricated himself from the big-rig's engine-block that had wrapped around both him and the streetlight he'd been leaning against only to find that not only was he not dead, he was perfectly intact. All things considered, that's some pretty heavy shit to lay on a fifteen year old. So it's not all that surprising that when the (very) drunk trucker half staggered, half fell out of his truck at the sight of him, and sirens began echoing in the distance, the kid ran the hell out of there. A few days of trial, error and a lot of Wikipedia later, and the boy had a pretty good idea what all that was about: He was a Metahuman, a one-in-a-million carrier of a superhuman gene that may or may not activate under extreme stress (Like, for instance, getting hit by a truck while waiting for the bus). Frankly, it sounded a lot like a bunch of pseudo-science crap you'd find in an old comic book, but lacking any other explanation for his sudden... talents... it was one he'd have to accept.

Along with the many quietly uncomfortable, life-changing implications that went with it.

Now, usually, when someone finds out they've got crazy superpowers, things usually go in one of two predictable ways; one, they become a spandex-clad boy-scout that dedicates every moment of every day to having the brightest smile, rescuing cats from trees and giving lectures about the dangers of "The Reefer" and sex before marriage or two; going full ham, burning orphanages, kicking puppies and generally being real goddamn edgy just for the sake of it. But to his credit, when the young lad began to realize that he could easily snap a human being like a twig if he didn't exercise absolute restraint at all times, he quickly chose the rarely considered, oft-forgotten third option.

"Yeah... No. Fuck this."

And so, despite the call to adventure literally screaming directly into his ears, Duncan tried his best to carry on as normally as he could- getting average grades, shoveling his grandparents' driveway in the wintertime, wearily trying and failing several times to find a way to have a meaningful relationship despite his 'gifts' and working through his apprenticeship as a diesel mechanic at the local shipyard after highschool. Even while the distance and rigid self-control his situation necessitated made him a pariah and the subject of scorn and open mockery from a rapidly shrinking circle of friends, something he would never admit would lead him quite heavily to the drink when he was alone with his thoughts.

To his credit though, his dogged determination not to be a Caped Crusader seems to be working; he has a pretty decent job, making Journeyman wages, his uncle set him up with a pretty decent place in a decommissioned lighthouse just outside of town and he still gets to hang out with his (very Gaelic) grandpa after work most days, tinkering in his garage, watching the game or just sitting around trading the kind of wit that makes his (very Acadian, very Catholic) grandma stifle a laugh and pretend to be offended. Often strategically, so as to drown out his dad's groaning something along the lines of "Oh God, there's two of them..." and his mum's (un)subtle attempts to pry about when exactly he's gonna meet a damned girl, already.

It's not perfect, and there are some days when Duncan finds himself down, jaded and perilously alone with the drink... but it is a good life, all in all. He has a roof over his head, he has satisfying work and most importantly, he has a family that loves him. What more could a guy like him really ask for?

As it turns out, destiny has a few answers to that question.

And he is not gonna like most of them.

Story Arcs:

Act I: "The Crucible" (Semi-open)

"A Day of Infamy"

It's a completely mundane and average night in Halifax, and Duncan is just about wrapping up his shift at the Yard, putting life back into the engine of an old tug that probably should've been pulled apart for scrap when his dad was his age. Little does he realize as he sits, quietly scrubbing at an old fuel line with a length of pipe-cleaner, that something particularly nasty is headed his way in a shipping container on a freighter coming into his yard to unload.

...And that his 'normal' life is about to go right to shit.

"The Deluge" (Open)

Understandably disturbed by the idea that something like... whatever the hell that was in Halifax has been sitting under his nose for God knows how long, Luthor quickly surmises that he cannot afford to ignore this new potential threat from the north. Thus, he sends every villainous Tom, Dick and Harry he can spare up the coast and across the border to raise hell, gather intel and hopefully put this so-called 'Hero of Halifax' down before it can become a problem... leaving Duncan scrambling to deal with this new onslaught of supercrime bubbling up in his hometown and having to (begrudgingly) learn the hard way how to do this 'Hero' thing, even as he frantically claws to keep a hold of the steadily fading remnants of his 'normal' life with desperate, bleeding fingertips.

The fact that he's all over the media, and they're starting to call him things like the 'Lion of Nova Scotia' and 'Champion' is not goddamn helping.

"Every Dog has it's Day" (Open)

A new and confounding development seems to have followed our hapless Totally-Not-a-Hero home after the events of what local news is now referring to as "The Deluge"... in the most hilariously literal way imaginable-

A dog. And it refuses to leave.

Having developed something of an involuntary aversion to pets, knowing that he would most definitely accidentally turn them into paste if he pet (or, God forbid, cuddled) one with the same amount of love and meaning others do but being unwilling to kick the poor thing out into the cold, Duncan quickly finds himself in the ludicrous position of living with an extraordinarily affectionate pooch he is absolutely terrified of touching in any way.

A pooch that is apparently fast enough to show up at his work the instant he goes on break. And smart enough to figure out exactly when that is. And how to open doors. And possesses the uncanny ability to sneak into Duncan's bed when he's passed out and not fucking die due to his unconscious sleep-cuddling...

...And also might have something to do with the Tameranean space pirate hovering in low orbit over the Earth in her warship loaded with murderous aliens with all guns pointed down threatening to glass the entire east coast of North America if she doesn't get her prized, one-of-a-kind attack dog back.

Just maybe.

Supporting Characters:
Malcolm MacAodhan- Duncan's grandfather, purveyor of off-side, dry witticisms and the source of everything his grandson knows. Not exactly tall, but still built like a brick shithouse, even in his old age and absolutely covered in scars from his time in the war, old Man MacAodhan is an often crude, sarcastic old codger who balances being clever in the worst possible way with an increasingly old-fashioned style of manhood made up of equal parts honesty, stubbornness and very thinly concealed compassion.

Mari MacAodhan- Duncan's grandma, an Acadian woman of Breton stock possessing an almost impossible reserve of patience, the ability to find humour in just about anything and one hell of a singing voice, even in her advanced age; having an adorably uncanny habit of quietly humming or singing to herself as she goes about doing... well, just about anything, really. Now of course, when asked why such an adorably sweet old lady has such prolific scars around her knuckles and more noticeably, a rather large one stemming from her lips half-way up her left check, she'll just laugh it off and say call them mementos from her much more "Rowdy" youth... though that really only provides more questions than answers.

Secondary Character:
N/A

Additional Notes:

DC Unlimited iCheck

A work in progress for now, I really gotta hit the sack.

A Shit-Magnet of the Highest Order

Player Name:
Sir Lurksalot

Primary Character:
Champion... eventually.

Secret Identity:
Duncan MacAodhan

Status:
Solo, though that'll probably change with time

Age:
22

City:
Halifax, Nova Scotia

Day Job:
Diesel Mechanic at a local shipyard

Powers:
Immense Physical Prowess- Duncan is, for lack of a better way of putting it, really goddamn strong... and fast... and pretty tough to boot; able to match the physical feats of even Kryptonians under a yellow sun, though he lacks all the more fancy bits such as flight, crazy eye-lasers and the tactile telekinesis necessary to lift massive objects and not have them shatter under their own weight.

On paper, this makes him an absolute nightmare of an opponent to square off against. In practice, well...

As a guy who spends almost every hour of every day trying his damnedest to hide his abilities, he's never really tested what he can actually do with them. As such, he has no real idea what he's capable of, what his limits are or if he even has any, only the knowledge that if he does throw hands at the average person for whatever reason, they are most definitely going to die in the most gruesomely spectacular explosion of gore imaginable... and that knowledge alone is enough to make him stuff his hands in his pockets and seclude himself in a corner for most social gatherings.

Weaknesses:
While Duncan possesses Kryptonian levels of physical ability, he is still very much human; He can't fly, he still needs to breathe, possesses no form of crazy eye-lasers or freezing breath and can't survive solely off sunlight. As such, though his physiology makes him all but invulnerable to physical attacks, he is still vulnerable to poison, high voltage, or a good old fashioned drowning (or being strangled or thrown into space, depending on the opponent).

There's also the matter of just how much restraint Duncan has to exercise in his daily life. It takes an awful lot of control and effort to throw a punch effectively when you know that if you put just a teensy bit too much 'oomph!' into it, you will undoubtedly turn the other guy into scattered bits of hamburger meat. Add to that, his increasingly worrying dependence on alcohol, a pack-a-day habit, no small amount of unstated, harshly surpressed self-loathing and the fact that he hasn't had to really exercise or physically exert himself in any way since he was a teenager and we find ourselves with the unusual paradox of a man who could arm-wrestle with god-like aliens being literally as out of shape and weak as he is capable of being.

...And that's not even getting into the fact that, as previously stated, he has no idea what the fuck he's doing.

Skills:


Appearance:
To read what Duncan is physically capable of, you might picture some sort of hulking mountain of a man with bulging muscles and a jawline chiseled from granite... to actually meet the man however, you'd be disappointed and maybe a little confused- MacAodhan is not a large man. In fact, compared to what immediately comes to mind when you think 'Superhuman', he is downright tiny, standing at only 5'6" on a good day and lacking the bulging, musclebound body of proper superheroes in favour of a lean, though dense and chiseled physique closer to that of a Olympic runner, if anything, though his broad shoulders and some stubborn stains of grease on his hands make a fairly decent indicator of his blue-collar background, to which he also owes the habit of shaving his brown hair into a buzzcut, to cut deal with the heat in his workplace.

Lacking much in the way of an actual superhero costume (again, actively trying not to be a Superhero), when he does feel the need to nut up and do something somewhat heroic, Duncan simply throws on his workboots, gloves, jeans and a denim jacket over either some plain wifebeater or t-shirt, topping it all off by tying a simple black rag over his face, leaving only his hazel eyes and a bit of skin exposed and putting on an old ballcap he got from some local minor-league sports team or another.

BRIEF Bio:
Despite what one might might assume when encountering literally anyone even remotely associated with superpowers and tights, Duncan's tale is... rather mundane. Born in Halifax, Nova Scotia with a Fisherman for a father and a mother who ran a local diner, the boy in question up grew extraordinarily normally; playing videogames, staying at his grandparents' when his mom was busy at the shop and his dad was out at sea and helping his granddad out in the garage fixing cars and the occasional boat.

And then one day when he was fifteen, he got hit by a truck.

After about a good ten seconds of screaming and another thirty spent wondering why he wasn't dead, he extricated himself from the big-rig's engine-block that had wrapped around both him and the streetlight he'd been leaning against only to find that not only was he not dead, he was perfectly intact. All things considered, that's some pretty heavy shit to lay on a fifteen year old. So it's not all that surprising that when the (very) drunk trucker half staggered, half fell out of his truck at the sight of him, and sirens began echoing in the distance, the kid ran the hell out of there. A few days of trial, error and a lot of Wikipedia later, and the boy had a pretty good idea what all that was about: He was a Metahuman, a one-in-a-million carrier of a superhuman gene that may or may not activate under extreme stress (Like, for instance, getting hit by a truck while waiting for the bus). Frankly, it sounded a lot like a bunch of pseudo-science crap you'd find in an old comic book, but lacking any other explanation for his sudden... talents... it was one he'd have to accept.

Along with the many quietly uncomfortable, life-changing implications that went with it.

Now, usually, when someone finds out they've got crazy superpowers, things usually go in one of two predictable ways; one, they become a spandex-clad boy-scout that dedicates every moment of every day to having the brightest smile, rescuing cats from trees and giving lectures about the dangers of "The Reefer" and sex before marriage or two; going full ham, burning orphanages, kicking puppies and generally being real goddamn edgy just for the sake of it. But to his credit, when the young lad began to realize that he could easily snap a human being like a twig if he didn't exercise absolute restraint at all times, he quickly chose the rarely considered, oft-forgotten third option.

"Yeah... No. Fuck this."

And so, despite the call to adventure literally screaming directly into his ears, Duncan tried his best to carry on as normally as he could- getting average grades, shoveling his grandparents' driveway in the wintertime, wearily trying and failing several times to find a way to have a meaningful relationship despite his 'gifts' and working through his apprenticeship as a diesel mechanic at the local shipyard after highschool. Even while the distance and rigid self-control his situation necessitated made him a pariah and the subject of scorn and open mockery from a rapidly shrinking circle of friends, something he would never admit would lead him quite heavily to the drink when he was alone with his thoughts.

To his credit though, his dogged determination not to be a Caped Crusader seems to be working; he has a pretty decent job, making Journeyman wages, his uncle set him up with a pretty decent place in a decommissioned lighthouse just outside of town and he still gets to hang out with his (very Gaelic) grandpa after work most days, tinkering in his garage, watching the game or just sitting around trading the kind of wit that makes his (very Acadian, very Catholic) grandma stifle a laugh and pretend to be offended. Often strategically, so as to drown out his dad's groaning something along the lines of "Oh God, there's two of them..." and his mum's (un)subtle attempts to pry about when exactly he's gonna meet a damned girl, already.

It's not perfect, and there are some days when Duncan finds himself down, jaded and perilously alone with the drink... but it is a good life, all in all. He has a roof over his head, he has satisfying work and most importantly, he has a family that loves him. What more could a guy like him really ask for?

As it turns out, destiny has a few answers to that question.

And he is not gonna like many of them.

Story Arcs:
What sort of stories do you see putting your heroes into? For example, here’s what it might look like for Superman...

Supporting Characters:
This is where you’d list anybody of note from your Story Arcs. I’ll continue to use Superman and what’s above as the example…

Secondary Character:
This is simply where you put down who you want as your secondary character be it original, cannon inspired, or reimagined cannon.

Additional Notes:
Anything else you think we should know?

Justice League Unlimited vol. 2

Metropolis:

---

^{January 20th, 2019 – 12:10 pm | Justice League Headquarters - Metro Tower}

She beat the crap out of his coworkers. Tried to kill his friend's daughter. Made a mess of his beloved kitchen and rec room and most damning of all...

Ruined Lunch.

Yeah, Duncan was feeling pretty damned good after having punched the ancient Kryptonian straight in her genetically perfect freakin' face; standing there, fist still smouldering slightly from the force of atmospheric friction from all the Newtonian Laws he'd both broken and vindicated in that one instant.

"Two hours..." The Champion growled ruefully under his breath, shaking the smoke off his hand and looking more than a little irate "...Two hours I spent making that goddamn pie."

This was immediately followed by a slow deliberate breath in and an exhale of much the same fashion; A coping mechanism that had developed in him in the years since he was just a boy who had a fateful meeting with a big goddamn truck- Realizing early on that losing his temper would be a very bad thing with what he had become.

'Let it go, MacAodhan.' The short hero internalized, as he marched back inside to grab his coat, laying amongst what was left of his beloved mahogany table, before throwing it on and charging out the gaping hole he'd left in the wall 'Let it go.'

---

On her knees and crying like a child who lost everything, Solara sat. And in front of her lied Kitsune, unconscious, but clearly alive. The heroic girl had done more than her part, occupying the Kryptonian long enough for others to get outside.
Solara’s shouts of emotional pain quiet all of a sudden. Her tears of ache did not exactly stop, yet lessened. She lowered her hands, wiped her bloody nose and looked down on the girl, who had bested her on a whole new level. Grudge replaced some of the sorrow on the smooth face.

Then a white blur flew past and suddenly Supergirl was holding the sleeping League member. Gently she put her down on the road. Concrete tickled the back of Supergirl’s hands and she almost lowered her guard and became Lara again. It felt good being out in the sun and let it warm her skin once again. It’s generous energy giving her the strength to protect the people she loved so dearly. If only she could share such moments with Solara, and not use its power to defend against her.

Then shouts of fear drew both Kryptonians to look at the Hello Kitty building. Not exactly loud sounds, but neither of them needed such to hear.
“… some kind of sick enhanced individual! A scary mess of a madwoman!” a man said into a phone. Fear cluttered his breathing as Solara eyeballed him.

“You… You don’t even know who I am? You’ve forgotten m-me? After everything I…”
A devilish fury fought with the still present grief and sobbing, and she launched forward. Was then stopped with enough force to crack open the street, had Supergirl not been careful. She swung Solara around and separated the woman's contact with the ground, as she spun her backwards in a controlled throw. A short one, and not exactly meant to hurt, as much as merely put more distance between the civilians and the one threatening them. “Don’t want to fight you,” Supergirl muttered.
Wherever she looked this was the place with most people in it and the spot to stay and defend.
“Get out, everybody!” Supergirl yelled loud enough for even the top floors to notice her. She planted her feet in the pavement, with the sound of steps fleeing the building behind her.
Jimmy approached from the Tower and Supergirl almost allowed herself to smile.

Sometimes being a hero isn’t about punching or moving heavy stuff, sometimes it’s about not moving … not for anything.

---

Traversing big cities was always a pain in the ass for the Champion- Yeah, sure, hypothetically he could just jump to wherever he needed to be, but realistically, well...

He wasn't Supergirl or Shazam. He had momentum to worry about. So, in lieu of crashing through buildings, cars and people like a deranged pinball, the only real option he had was what he was up to right now- Jumping from building to building and cursing vehemently every time he landed just a bit too heavily and broke some brickwork with his foot.

"Aw, fer..." Said vertically-unimpressive Canuck grumbled as his toe ate through the concrete lip at the edge of one of many unfortunate rooftops that would be ruined by the superhuman and his awkward locomotion that day.

Being the strongest man alive kinda sucked sometimes, when every waking moment was a constant, frustrating exercise in restraint.

Pushing that thought from his mind and finally arriving at the place where the Kryptonian had apparently landed (judging by the hot pink dome of light he'd seen earlier), Duncan came to a landing, making a small crater in the paved road and a small line of sheared cement as he came skidding to a stop.

What he found was... not what he expected, to say the least;

Kitsune loudly snoring on the ground.

Solara sobbing uncontrollably.

His teammates gathered around not entirely sure what to do here- not that he'd blame them- It'd been one of those days.

Of course, all of that inaction came to an abrupt halt, as was the norm, when Solara found the strength in all of her grief to stand up and keep swinging. For which she was abruptly thrown on her ass by Supergirl.

'Stupid, stubborn piece of... The Lion ground out internally, as he let out a clearly annoyed breath and his fists clenched... but then unclenched as he took another look.

The aged Kryptonian was not just some insane alien bent on the world's destruction.

She was just... grieving. And lashing out.

A person.

Between the tears running down the weathered Kryptonian's face, the screaming and all the Kryptonian crests before him, on both of the physics-defying women in his vision and painted on the garrish Hello Kitty statues above, something began to click in the back of his head; Something he'd heard a while back-

"...To reach out to those in need and inspire others to do the same. That is life's greatest necessity and its most precious gift."

A long sigh escaped the Champion as he stuffed his hands into his pockets.

"...Goddammit, Clark."

Calmly walking behind the still-prone, shaking Kryptonian and casting a quick glance Supergirl's way, he finally spoke out loud.

"That's enough, Solara. It's over."

"It's... never over... Mutant..." Said woman rasped as she slowly got to her feet, battered, bloodied but still not giving up as she immediately jumped at him with a clumsy, punch-drunk haymaker "NOT FOR ME!"

There was a loud, sonic crash as the blow connected, and had the Canuck not planted his foot firmly in the ground, he would've clearly gone for a good flight eastward through the city.

As it was, he just... stood there, completely unmoving, hands still in his pockets and face unchanged as his eyes bore holes into the Kryptonian's own, even with her fist still planted upon his brow.

For a moment, Solara just stood there in wide-eyed pause, clearly unsettled by that... before a thunderous shriek of raging defiance escaped her again and she began swinging wildly at his mug once more. To which the Champion responded by... still not moving, or really reacting in any percievable way as consecustive blows of thunderous intensity continued to slam into his face.

Maybe it was the cloud cover from being on the East Coast in the middle of January. Maybe it was something else. But the raging Kryptonian's strikes grew steadily weaker and weaker the more she swung until finally she could swing no more, clutching the front of Champion's open jacket in a death-grip as she stood on shaking legs and sucked in as much oxygen as she could.

"So, Kara Zor-El..." Duncan asked, pausing to wipe a trickle of blood now flowing freely from his nose, even in her weakened state, Solara was still a Kryptonian, after all "Did all this bring your planet back yet?"

His response was an inarticulate shriek as Solara reeled back and slammed her fist directly into his gut, with all the rage and intent she could muster but almost none of the strength she had before.

"Shut. Up. Mutant." The Ancient Kryptonian strained to hiss, still holding onto the shorter man's jacket "You know nothing. of my World!"

An indignant growl escaped him at that.

"I know that whether you like it or not, you are fuly half of all that remains of your people. And as you were so goddamn fond of pointing out the only one who remembers them at their greatest." The Lion of Nova Scotia continued without missing a beat, a sliver of curiously calm anger making it's way into his voice "Why don't you take a look around? Use those superior eyes of yours and see how that great, glorious people of yours are going to be remembered."

That gave the alien pause, as her eyes took on a familiar glow and darted around her, X-ray vision revealing what normal eyes would not; people running for their lives, huddled up in rooms together taking shelter, hearts beating swiftly... afraid. So very afraid.

The anger on her face twisted and melted slightly as some unreadable expression wrenched it's way onto it.

The shaking returned.

"That's right... look at it." Duncan continued, unrelenting in his psychological offensive "All the history, all the progress and greatness of the Golden Age of Krypton, and all that will be remembered of it on this world and any other they encounter in the years to come... will be one raging, rampaging monster."

An icy chill ran up the Kryptonian's spine at those words and she tried to jump away from the man as if bitten, only for his hand to snap out of pocket and hold her right where she was, yanking her forward, even, so he could stare directly into her trembling, panicked face.

"Is that what you want?"

His response was a wheeze... then a sniffle... followed by a high-pitched, nasal sound as Solara did everything in her power to ignore the grief that had bubbled just under the surface after Kitsune's efforts.

"N-No... I... I..."

At that, Duncan's other hand made it's way unto her shoulder, and his tone softened.

"Then let us help you."

That did it, as the dam on Solara's grief finally broke and her legs gave out beneath her, only spared from smacking into the cold cement below her as Champion held her upright in something resembling a hug as she openly wailed into his uniform. Breathing a small sigh of relief and shooting Supergirl a grin and a "We good" thumbs-up, even with his nose bloodied and a small shiner forming around his left eye, where half his domino-mask had been sheared off under Solara's punching, The Lion of Nova Scotia then quickly fished his ear-piece out of his pocket and flicked it on.

"Q, it's Champ. Ya still in the Monitor Room?"

The faceless hero gave a curt reply between hisses of pain, "Yeah Champ, still in the Monitor Room... Sorry I couldn't help out with some bots to keep Solara busy, but I guess it all turned out for the best that I didn't."

"Eh, don't sweat it. It's just been one of those days." Champ mused, grunting slightly as Solara clung to him just a bit harder and began sobbing even louder "But while you're there, would you mind firing a wide-band transmission into space? Towards Saturn, if ya can swing it."

Shifting slightly again, he elaborated.

"The Tameranean Defence Force has a comms buoy orbiting around Titan. Just let Commander Koriand'r of the Third Fleet know that her 'Brother-Duncan' needs a favour."

"... Tameranean Defense Force?" Shaking his head with a laugh, Question sighed. "Damn Duncan, you have friends in the weirdest places." The faceless hero sent the message out following Champion's instructions.

With a small snort and chuckle of his own, Duncan agreed;

"Man, you have no idea..."

Heroes Reborn - A DCAU Roleplay (Always open!)

December 25th, 0232 Hours
Mount Olympus

Ted’s brow furrowed slightly at his cousin’s rather… theatrically blatant threat, glancing back toward Karen with no small amount of concern in his eyes, even as he maintained a stiff upper-lip through it all.

This seemed like a terrible idea, and he was clearly thinking that as his eyes flicked back towards their foe, sitting so smug and chewing the absolute hell out of the scenery on her stolen throne, before finally they knit shut and a weary sigh escaped him.

’Aw, fuck me- Sam’s gonna ream me out for this one...’

”Ya heard the crazy, genocidal lady, Kiddo.” He finally managed to say as he lifted his hands out of his pockets, his skin beginning to peel back once again- though not only on his hands as before, but his face as well. ”...Off ya go.”

Karen looked up at Ted, looking rather shocked that he thought she would be capable of doing such a thing by herself.

But then, the woman on the throne had apparently left them with little alternative in that regard. If either of them attempted to help her, she would surely attack all three of them right then and there.

And given that she felt confident about taking the two of them on, Karen didn’t feel like her contribution would make much of a difference.

Sensing her discomfort, Ted took a moment to give her a small, reassuring grin. Even while the skin on his face was starting to peel off, revealing increasingly hot, ember-like flesh.

”Kid, you just fought your way to the top of Olympus. Even with our help, that’s a first in history.” He snorted away her worries dismissively. ”Don’t worry, you’ll think of something clever- You always do.”

”...Okay,” she frowned up at Ted. ”I’ll um…try and be quick.”

A small chuckle escaped the diminutive Titan at that.

”Take yer time...” He called after her with something resembling confidence. ”...I made it through President King and ‘Nam. This should be a cakewalk.”

Karen had already started heading for the golden doors to her left, only to freeze in place at Ted’s words. She glanced back over her shoulder at the Titan in confusion.

There had been a sense of familiarity about him since he had first arrived, but she hadn’t been able to place her finger on it. Now...it seemed so obvious. That old man back in the alley, when she had first been given the mantle of Wizard...it was him!

...He really wasn’t in any danger back then. Shazam, you rotten liar. Heh.

Sprinting towards the doors again at full speed, Karen slammed her hands against them, forcing them apart. Soon, the teen was through them and out of sight as she dashed down the long hallway behind them.

“Well, then,” Eris finally spoke again, rising to her feet. “Who would like to be the first to obtain their shiny golden ticket straight to Tartarus?”

Still smiling slightly after Karen, Ted’s eyes flicked back to his brother as Eris spoke, finding him looking right back with his arms crossed and a quietly smug look on his face, despite the situation they were in.

”You sure that’s not your kid, Ted?” The older Titan asked one last time, as his massive musculature began to slowly harden and glow, smiling ruefully the whole while.

”Like ya said, Laz...” The younger brother responded with a small chuckle, as his eyes began to pulse a violent, fiery red and the ground began to shake malevolently ”...They’re all my kids.”

And then, to the unimaginable screaming of the very air around them burning and the thunderous, earth-shaking force of two Titanic hearts beating like the drums of war the pair vanished in a massive inferno, obscuring them from view and causing the marble columns of the throneroom to buckle and crack under the combined thermal and percussive force of what was happening.

When it subsided, there was a glowing crater. And in it, stood the Sons of Iapetus, in their true flesh-

Enduring Atlas, Bearer of the Heavens and the personification of overwhelming strength and Prometheus, the Bringer of Fire and former Champion of Mankind.

“Gasp!” Eris clasped her cheeks in mock amazement, before smirking. “I see you two still haven’t lost your penchant for theatrics.”

”Said the girl with the black lipstick and the movie one-liners.” Prometheus retorted mockingly, indicating towards his cousin with his burning hammer. ”Now are we gonna do this or what?”

Eris stepped forward down the golden stairs that preceded her throne. Once she had reached their base, she folded her arms and lifted gently into the air above them. Staring down at the Titans, her black lips parted into a grin.

“Come then, let’s find out if your pathetic existence as a human has dulled that flame of yours!”

Without warning, her dark wings swept forward to encapsulate her slender form. This lasted for only a brief moment, however, for they soon parted with stone-shattering kinetic force. Black feathers rained down at the two deities, and those that struck the golden floor erupted in brief-yet-blinding flashes of light.

While the size of the blasts were not terribly impressive, the concentration of power in each of them was more than enough to harm even the likes of them.

”Kids these days…” Atlas grunted as he dug his foot into the golden floor and ripped a massive chunk of it, large enough to shield both he and his brother, upward and then forward towards his cousin and the massive volley of death headed their way with a thunderous kick from his other foot ”...And what’s the deal with the golden freakin’ everything, anyhow? Isn’t that a bit too much, even for people like us?”

”Zeus’ idea.” Prometheus replied dryly, with a slight click of his tongue as he raised his free hand toward the still-moving ribbon of solid gold and firing what appeared to be the teensiest little spark of a fireball into it, which violently burst outward in an immense explosion of tactically compressed fire-magic, (hopefully) engulfing the rest of the doom-feathers in it’s wake as well giving the wave of moving metal a superheated second kick of momentum ”I wanted to go with marble, seemed a bit less… opulent. But ya know who’s always right...”

Eris calmly raised her arm at the approach of molten metal, backhanding it away as if swatting an annoying fly.

Stretching out her hands towards them following this, her grin grew darker as she spoke; “Rot.”

Pouring from her palms was what could only be described as raw, untempered pestilence and decay, a black miasma that swept over the throne room and threatened to engulf the two deities in a deadly fog.

“You’re both boring me,” Eris said, lulling her head to the side. “At least make our first reunion in millennia interesting!”

”Oh, ya hear that? We’re boring her.” The Firebringer noted with a hint of amusement as he casually hefted his hammer to his shoulder and raised his free hand once again.

”Oh, we can’t have that, can we?” The Heaven-Bearer added with mock thoughtfulness as he rubbed his hands together in a deliberately mocking fashion.

”So… Akkad Maneuver?”

”Akkad Maneuver.”

With that decided, Prometheus clenched his fist shut for a brief second, before snapping it open again as it glowed white hot and unleashed a yet another, even more dense ball of compressed fire straight into the encroaching cloud of agonizing death and the face of the Goddess standing in the middle of it as Atlas reeled his massive arms back and brought them together in a thunderous sonic clap that dwarfed all others he’d done that day by a wide margin and, more importantly, forced a colossal amount of oxygen into the already hyper-dense, explosive ball of fire.

The effect was immediate, as a miniature sun abruptly came into being where Eris stood with an impossibly loud-

BANG!

Which, hopefully, caught her attention at least long enough for her to lose her grip on her magic murder-fog... if it didn’t already dissipate in the leviathan explosion.

The gas Eris had spawned had been instantly burned away by the miniature sun, and no more appeared afterwards. For a time, it was difficult to see what exactly had become of the Goddess of discord, the light of the newly born star obscuring her comparatively miniscule form. Then, the sun began to flash and oscillate violently…

Like water being sucks into a drain, the star began to dim. Soon, it was shrinking, and shrinking fast at that. It was at that point that they were finally able to see the form of Eris again, her mouth pressed against the dying star. After another few moments, what was once a golden orb of stellar power was reduced to a mere white spark, which was quickly consumed as well.

Wiping her mouth with her arm, Eris smiled down at them. “Well, guess I’ll be laying off the Vitamin D supplements until next month. Anything else?”

For a moment after Eris had just swallowed what was essentially a small thermonuclear explosion aimed directly at her face, there was a pregnant pause. Broken only by the slumping of the Firebringer’s shoulders and a small sigh.

”...Yeah, that just figures, dunnit?” He finally said with a weary shake of his head and a slightly annoyed glint to his smoldering eyes.

”Well, c’mon, we both knew it wasn’t gonna be that easy.” Atlas added with a shrug as he popped his knuckles ”So... ’Deep End’ it is, then?”

”Eeeyup.”

With that agreed, Prometheus abruptly snapped his fingers and disappeared in a burst of flame, just as Atlas dug his heel into the golden floor and rocketed forward, his immense strength propelling him with such speed that he seemed to simply vanish in a loud blast as he made the sound-barrier his bitch. Fist cocked low to deliver the mother of all gut-punches as his brother came back into being behind and a little to the side of the Goddess of Discord, already swinging his burning hammer directly at the back of her neck with all of his Titanic might, one thing became perfectly clear-

The Sons of Iapetus weren’t fucking around anymore.

“Uh oh!” Eris gasped when Prometheus vanished, her eyes settling instead on Atlas as he rocketed towards her with likely enough force to shatter the Earth into dust. His brother, too, had now descending on her from the opposite side. It seemed like they were getting serious.

She supposed it was time to return the favor.

Twisting in midair so that they were now closing in on either side of her, she raised a single hand for each of them, closing her eyes as Prometheus’ hammer and Atlas’ fist were respectively stopped dead by her outstretched palms. “Uh oh.”

Gripping both Atlas’ fist and Prometheus’ hammer, she sharply jerked the latter forward and issued him a kick to the stomach with a force that would even make Zeus pale in horror. She then released her hold on the hammer and brought her now free hand up beneath Atlas’ chin in an equally devastating uppercut. “Uh oh…”

A wet sound, as well as a small spatter of blood that resembled molten steel escaped the Firebringer’s mouth as he hurtled backward under the ludicrous force of Eris’s kick, only able to stop his rearward momentum by digging his hammer into the shining floor of the throne room.

’Well... that kinda sucked…’ He groaned internally as he finally slid to a stop, struggling to rise back up and take a knee, even as the combination of his divine nature and the old Curse of Zeus began knitting his thoroughly damaged insides back together. ’Probably should try to avoid any more of those…’

Casting an appraising glance back towards his… deceptively dainty cousin, he somehow found the strength to produce a sound that was honestly trying to be a chuckle, but came out more of a gargle as he spat more glowing onto the floor.

”Well, you’ve clearly been eating your wheaties.” He finally managed with his usual, dry humour as he steadied himself on his hammer ”Ya been hitting the gym recently or what?”

Eris stared down at him with a slight smile.

“If by ‘the gym’, you mean Tartarus, then yes,” she replied. “In fact, I managed to hit it so hard that I dislodged a spark of the Godwave from it.”

Lowering her hand, she rubbed her stomach. “Now it’s in here, granting me power beyond anything you could ever imagine.”

A moment of silence followed that statement, as Prometheus just stared at his cousin in incredulous silence, clearly trying to wrap his head around that one.

”You… ate a piece of the Godwave?” he finally asked, with a tone that strongly suggested that that was perhaps one of the most ludicrous things he’d ever heard in his immortal life. ”...Are you stupid?”

Eris tilted her head in confusion at his remark.

“And whatever is the problem with that? I’ve effectively become a primordial!” She spread her arms, grinning broadly. “The equal of the oldest beings in the universe. I fail to see any error in obtaining such a magnificent power.”

Leaning slightly more on his hammer and cocking his brow, Prometheus didn’t relent.

”You’ve spent millennia living in a massive massive golden palace atop of a massive magic mountain surrounded by the most egotistical and prideful beings that ever existed. And not one of them ever tried it.” The Firebringer explained, almost as though he found himself in the awkward position of having to explain that water is wet. ”Furthermore, in order to actually get it, you had to go to a place where both Cronus, ego personified, and my other brother, the literal God of Arrogance have been left stewing in their ravenous hatred for the rest of the universe since before you were born... and not one of them tried it either.”

Tilting his head slightly, he concluded;

”...You didn’t think there might be a reason for that?”

Eris paused at this, cupping her chin in thought.

A few moments passed between them, the goddess ultimately smiling and offering Prometheus a nonchalant shrug of her shoulders. “I imagine they had their reasons… but then, their goals were completely different from my own.”

“I’m not interested in ruling Gaia,” she said, drifting towards the ground. “I’m not even truly interested in ruling Olympus -- it’s just the most effective means to meet my ends. After I defeat you, I’ll allow Cronus to purge Gaia of humanity, so that he can build his new ‘Golden Age’...”

Her lips twisted into a malicious grin as her feet touched the golden floor. “Naturally, he’ll then seek to betray me… he cannot accept any ruler but himself, after all. Even if he somehow doesn’t, I’ll force him to. I’ll unleash devastation on his pathetic little paradise in a war that will last an Age.”

“An Age of Discord.”

Resting her face against her hand, she released a delighted sigh. “It’s all I’ve ever dreamed of, you know? And once I’ve extracted every ounce of suffering that I possibly can from Gaia, I’ll move on to some other world, and start the whole thing over again!”

Prometheus maintained an oddly stoic silence throughout the God of Discord’s monologue, letting her talk unimpeded as the Curse of Zeus finished repairing the damage done by her colossal kick to his gut, the grip on his weapon tightening steadily with every insane, genocidal word that came out of her perfect little mouth.

”...You are a real piece of work, y’know that, Squirt?” He finally stated, voice even, calm and for the first time, lacking any trace of his customary wit. ”I’m gonna go have a talk with your parents, why don’t you take a seat.”

And it was with those words that Atlas, invulnerable, unimpeded by the crack to his chin earlier and quietly waiting for his chance to do so while the Goddess of Discord prattled on, abruptly ripped Zeus’ throne out of the floor and whipped it at Eris’ head in one motion.

The throne slammed into her skull, the metallic chair bending against her form. Reaching up, she pried the now U-shaped seat of the God-King from her body, a brow arched. “Now, I find it hard to believe that you expected that to work. What are you up to?”

”Wait for it…” Prometheus simply stated as the force of gravity slid open a pair of hidden compartments on the arms of the throne, where Zeus, being a creature of absolute dogmatic habit, kept his goodies.

Like his emergency stash of hardened lightning, the likes of which he had used prolifically throughout the Titanomachy, which came tumbling down toward the floor made of highly conductive metal.

Time seemed to slow at that moment.

Atlas leapt off the floor.

Prometheus vanished in another burst of flame.

And each and every one of those crystalised warheads of pure electricity shattered as they hit the floor, engulfing the room in a blinding flash of light and coating every golden inch of it with enough energy to power the Eastern half of North America for a good century or two.

Gold had been replaced with white hot electrical energy, enough to begin melting the ancient throne room that had stood for so many thousands of years and had overseen the entirety of human civilization. Far from mere gold, it had been enchanted by Zeus himself to be nearly indestructible. It did, however, still have limits.

After what seemed like a solid minute of divine electrical discharge, the blinding light dimmed enough for them to once again see Eris. Her feet had sank into the now liquid gold, which came up to her ankles. Her conductive golden armor had likewise melted, and her hair was now smouldering slightly.

”So...” The Firebringer inquired as he burst back into existence above the smoked Goddess, unable to hide his shit-eating grin. "...Still bored?"

Her eyebrow twighted ever so slightly as she ripped the ruined armor of Zeus from her body and threw it aside. “That...hurt, just a little.”

Her eyes shot up to where Prometheus had reappeared. Her eyes had become abyssal pits of hate, her lips twisting into a sneer. She began to slowly raise her hand towards him.

“But this is going to hurt a lot.”

Heroes Reborn - A DCAU Roleplay (Always open!)

December 25th, 0122 Hours
Mount Olympus

The waves of Myrmidons hadn’t ceased once they had cleared the stairs. More had soon arrived, floods of the mindless creatures all raining arcane-fueled firepower down at them. Even after clearing those, they had barely been given a moment’s rest. Cyclopes had soon arrived, carrying with them the same magitech as the ant-men.

These were no mindless brutes, however, and used their superior strength to wield a much larger, much more powerful arsenal of weaponry.

“Man is a blight!” one roared, unleashed a small storm of arcane missiles that detonated on impact in an orchid ball of fire, the force behind the explosion dwarfing any conventional human weaponry by a great deal.

“Gaia must be purged!” Another declared, firing what Karen could only describe as a magitech autocannon from above his hip.

She was on the defensive, once again unsure how to fight these clearly sapient creatures with her unfamiliar powers. She had been clipped a couple of times, and it had hurt...she wasn’t nearly as invulnerable as was normal for her.

’Well, that’s not good.’ Ted deadpanned internally at the sight of the new and improved welcoming committee and their new toys. ’Couldn’t just come at us, screaming, with clubs and axes like the good ol’ days, could ya?’

Yes, even in his own mind, Ted somehow found a way to make light of their current predicament... but that didn’t mean they weren’t in trouble.

...Well, not him and Laz, mind you. They were Titans, not exactly the easiest things in the universe to kill, never mind make stay dead... Karen, however, was a still very much a squishy little mortal underneath all that magic armour and was slightly more prone to becoming hamburger meat under concentrated fire.

Which was kind of a bad thing, considering that pretty well all of them had just decided to level their shiny toys at her.

The sight brought him pause for a moment, before a low growl escaped his throat and the flesh on his arms returned to their glowing ember state he’d shown on the stairs earlier.

”Charon’s Jokes, this was a lot easier back when I just fried the bad guys and went home...” He grumbled under his breath before launching himself between the girl wearing his gear and the One-eyed Monsters and their big guns. Calling out to her in his usual casually grumpy tone ”Okay, Kid. Listen up.”

Rushing forward and ducking under a barrage of missiles, the scarred old man bore right down on his first victim, getting right into melee range and reeling his fist back… before just anti-climatically tapping the magic weapon with his knuckles and skidding between the giant’s legs before he could swing at him.

”They’re holding big metal guns and you control fire and heat.”

It took a few long, comical seconds of confused silence for the Cyclops to register what just happened and why. Before it began screaming in pain and juggling it’s red-hot weapon around like some sort of cartoon character, before throwing it off in a panic and in the process smacking his brother in the face with the damned thing, who also began to scream.

”They’re also awkward, clumsy and prone to doing dumb shit when they panic. Think you can work with that?”

Karen honestly felt rather dumb for not thinking of it at first. She was used to being a lot more quick-witted than this while fighting...was it because she didn’t have the Intellect of Mnemosyne right now?

”R-right! Thanks,” she called back, now having a moment breath thanks to the Cyclopes being distracted by his attack.

Taking a page from the one who had given her this power, she leveled her palms at the sizable weaponry carried by their opponents. Blue flames burst from her hands to engulf them, and sure enough the Cyclopes carrying them began howling in pain and throwing them aside. Not that they would’ve been of any use: her mystical flames had partially melted them almost on contact.

The three of them had by this point ascended through multiple levels of the great golden city, powering their way through endless scores of every sort of mythological creature: cyclops, centaurs, harpies, minotaurs, even a kraken that guarded the lake that sat just below the palace of Zeus.

Karen was, in all honesty, beginning to feel exhausted, beads of sweat trailing down to her brows. Her stamina had certainly been enhanced by the armor Ted had given her, but it wasn’t limitless. While she wouldn’t be giving up, there was little doubt in her mind that her usefulness as a fighter would soon reach its end.

The battle to breach the palace and then the throne room was a whole new level of brutal. Tight corridors, close quarters combat, and the most elite warriors they had yet to face. Most terrifyingly, Gorgons now joined the ranks of the creatures they now faced, a fact that had nearly resulted in her death via petrification.

”Nngh…” Karen averted her gaze from the snake women before, an action that was immediately exploited by a towering minotaur. Slamming its oversized axe into his torso, it bit into her armor and knocked the breath from her lungs. Flying back into the golden wall of the staircase they were fighting on, her impact left a heavy indention as she fell back to the ground.

”Shit.” Ted hissed, wincing slightly as Karen slammed into the wall behind him- That didn’t look fun ”...Laz?”

”I got this.” The older Titan snarled, eying the reflections of the Gorgons on the polished gold of the wall and bringing has hands back and then forward in another of his signature sonic claps, made all the more effective by the tight spaces of the stairwell. ”Go check on yer kid.”

If the apron-clad Titan was expecting the same brand of grumpy retort for that statement he’d been receiving from his brother since they arrived here, he never got it; as Ted wordless closed the distance to Karen’s still stunned frame, gripping her shoulder and easing her into a sitting position.

”How ya holding up, Kiddo?” The scarred deity asked, a note of concern in his voice… before he looked away for a moment to deliver a thundering jab straight to the dangly bits of a Minotaur who’d been sneaking it’s way up the stairs behind them, axe at the ready with all of his Titanic strength, sending it half wheezing, half screaming and fully airborne back the way it came ”Still with us?”

Karen was dazed, her head ringing after the impact with the wall. Still, she was just able to make out the sound of Ted’s voice, giving him an ambiguous groan. Forcing her eyes open, she slowly staggered to her feet - though not without using the old man for support. They couldn’t be far from the throne room now. The big guy’s thunderclap had also cleared the stairs before them for the most part, too.

Placing a hand to the wall as they ascended the remaining steps, it took only a few minutes of climbing before they finally stood before a pair of large double doors. Before any of them could even think of knocking them down, they began to smoothly slide open.

Before them now was the resplendent throne room of the King of Olympus, every bit as opulent and brilliant as the city it ruled over. But it was no King that sat upon its throne.

“My, my,” the dark haired woman on the throne exclaimed, her black wings fluttering. She wore a golden diadem and a suit of flawlessly crafted armor of the same color. “If it isn’t the Firebringer and the Skybearer, and the little Wizard as well. I must confess, I never considered that not one, but two of the Titans would decide to stand against their brethren for the sake of the Gods who so abused them. Just what, exactly, are you thinking?”

That gave Ted pause, a sharp sound escaping the scarred man’s lips with the force and disdain of the ugliest curse imaginable;

”Eris.”

Of all the deities and divine lunatics who could’ve been sitting on that throne causing all this madness, it just had to be her.

Giving the room a quick once-over for any sign of her husband and clenching and unclenching his fist once in thought, the now-identified ‘Firebringer’ stepped forward, sparing his brother a quick glance as he did so.

”What I’m thinking? Frankly, I’m not entirely sure whether I should be surprised or disappointed.” He began, his voice calm, even as he studied the Goddess of Discord on her stolen throne. ”You honestly thought I’d just sit on my hands while you wipe out the entire human race? C’mon Eri, you know who I am. And you know better than that…”

Sticking his hands in the pockets of his flannel jacket, the Titan spared one more glance around the room.

”So… where’s the pretty boy?”

“Doing something even he should be incapable of failing at,” Eris replied, resting her face on her knuckles. “He’s guarding the very much incapacitated forms of the old Pantheon. They’re just over there, through the doors.”

She lazily gestured to her left, at the large chamber in the distance, the golden doors shut tightly.

“Your little friend there,” she glanced to Karen, “is welcome to try and free them...not that she would stand a chance against my husband as she is, pathetic though he may be.”

Her black lips then curled slightly into a smile. “As for you two, however...you’re both going to stay right here with me. We have a lot of catching up to do...”