Terry Bogard

An Idiot's Dungeon Union

@Terry BogardYes. Yes.

@ERode

Ah, alright. So we can’t be a mere mortal with powers, then? Lol. But what about half-human, half-monster. Is it acceptable?

An Idiot's Dungeon Union

I’m interested. I have a couple of things to ask, though. First of all, we have to play an OC, right? And does the character really have to be a monster? Thanks!

How many RPs do you have at the same time?

Whenever I roleplay on any site, the first storylines that I’d look after are usually the ones revolving around games, comics, and wrestling, especially when you’re allowed to play canon characters. Right now, I have four that match said interests of mine, as well as one where you have to play an OC. So, yeah, in total, there are 5 that I can think of (two 1×1s and three group RPs). I’ve also been toying with the idea of joining at least two more group RPs if possible.

Noble Arms: The ASEAN War - Thread Three, the Darkest Hour

▶︎• ၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌၊|• 4:07
_{I Walk Alone – Saliva}


Location : Type-004 Nuclear Aircraft Carrier
Date : December 28^th, 2022
Time : 5:21 (UTC+8)

“Leave? Now??”

After seemingly managing to take the Zodiac chimp down, Raja scanned his vicinity, taking the sight of the severe damages caused by himself and the team while battling the opposing army. Having witnessed the explosion that Mikey had caused with the grenade launcher, he knew that the ship wouldn’t have lasted longer. Somebody needed to evacuate them before the tides washed them away. He nodded his head at both Cristina and the arriving Mikey, his facial expression softening.

“Fine. Let’s go!”

The ferocious Sumatran Tiger joined the others, as the Mirage Space was constructed, though he couldn’t help but sense that something wasn’t right. It felt like something was tailing them, and it smelled like… Wu Shufen, perhaps? No way! He saw firsthand how the malicious chimp was tackled, vanishing into thin air without a single trace. He’d petered out, hadn’t he? Hopefully. And so, he gave the gradually sinking ship one final glance over his shoulder before following the rest into the pocket dimension.

______________________________________________________


Location : Mirage Space
Date : December 28^th, 2022
Time : 5:29 (UTC+8)

As the Mirage Space gradually brought them back home, Raja took a moment to contemplate, crossing his arms. He couldn’t tell whether his first mission with the TFO had been a success or a failure. All he could do was take a moment to evaluate his actions. The carrier was obliterated, the opposing army eliminated, and the obnoxious chimp defeated. In hindsight, it seemed like a success, wasn’t it? Or so, he thought? Still, he couldn’t help but sense that something had been clinging close to them on their way back home. Or maybe it was just him regretting that he hadn’t gotten to bring Nil with them, not noticing that she was striving against the bustling tides when he was still at the scene.

“Just saying, but I think we should’ve brought the girl with us. Her name is Nil, isn’t it?” Raja asked, trying to attract the attention of the other Arms Masters. “I just hope she’ll survive out there. Do you think she’ll be fine?”

Part of him actually encouraged himself to return to the scene just to prevent Nil from drowning. He didn’t mind having to be the one staying behind if it meant that others would’ve been safe. After all, having lived in the wilderness for most of his life, the Sumatran Tiger knew a bunch of survival hacks to keep himself alive in the midst of a dangerous environment. But alas, it was too late. He’d already entered the Mirage Space alongside Cristina, Mikey, and the likes.

“!!?”

All a sudden, he found himself alarmed, his ferocious face tensing. When he felt that something was off, he knew it wasn’t just a hunch. Rather, it was his heightened senses cautioning him that a danger was, in fact, imminent. And he couldn’t be any truer. As it turned out, Wu Shufen hadn’t been completely defeated. Rather, he’d now joined the team to the Mirage Space, pulling out another cheap tactic to take them down one by one. What was worse, he even imitated their combined capabilities to execute his malicious plan.

“Cristina, Mikey, look out!”

The sight of Wu Shufen attempting to ambush Cristina then Mikey didn’t leave his watchful gaze. Seconds before both ambushes could connect, Raja quickly summoned his pair of Noble Arms, spectral blades materializing in a split second. He instinctively hurled one of them in the chimp’s direction, hoping that it’d pierce through his torso to trigger a flare of explosion. But if it failed to connect, then, well, he always had a plan B, of course. He might drop the other blade like a lit-up lighter, turning it into a torrent of pummeling force capable of forcing the fire-laced staff out of his grip.

“Goddammit! I thought we’ve gotten rid of you, monyet kecil. How did you get in!?”

FIN.

South Town Scuffle: Two Wolves (Terry Bogard VS Broken Promise)

Posted! Sorry if it took a while. Was struggling most of the week, especially last Sunday. Feel free to catch up whenever you’re ready! (^_^)

South Town Scuffle: Two Wolves (Terry Bogard VS Broken Promise)

_{“You copy my banner, and I’m gonna copy your quote section. Sounds fair?”
— Terry Bogard}

Chinatown, South Town
_{1:28 PM}

▶︎• ၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌၊|• 3:33
_{Osaka Jo Koen ~Kyobashi~ – Real Bout Fatal Fury 2}

“Ha! Well, then. You came just to the right place because I’m ready to throw down with you.”

South Town was—in and of itself—the city of champions. Like wild wolves, its residents breathed and devoted their lives to fighting. Whether authorized or unauthorized, fisticuffs weren’t just allowed. They were encouraged. Fights were held at every corner of the city, and it wasn’t limited to this one. Instead of shying away from the violent nature of them, the people of South Town embraced them. Glorified them, even, as every bout was celebrated and every battle-hungry seeker actively roamed the city to quench their maniacal needs for competitions. And if anything, Terry was one of those people embodying the spirit of South Town—both grounded and larger-than-life. He was their unofficial mascot, after all—the man whom the youngsters looked up to.

When Terry approached Mika, he failed to recognize whether or not she was actually impressed by his compliment. Her voice was flat, almost a matter-of-fact. Her facial expression was pretty much the same, bored yet fascinated at the same time. It was as if she’d been to this part of the city prior, yet at the same time, it was apparent that she was doubting herself—doubting the memories she had just formed around South Town’s renowned East Asian corner. There was more than one Chinatown across the States, after all, so it was more likely that she’d visited a different variant somewhere in the past.

“Oh, so you’re looking for somebody else, okay…” Terry chimed with a nod, his voice wry yet quippy as he halted his strides. While giving ear to Mika’s description of the man she was eager to fight, he couldn’t help but put a quizzical front, faintly furrowing and scratching his golden temple. “Huh? Weird… I’ve never seen anybody like that around the neighborhood. ‘Lifestyle influencer,’ you said? Is he, like, a TV person or something? Or is he just one of those fake gurus I found on the net?”

The name was Bookman. Half-man, half-sheep. Tall figure, dark complexion, jaggy teeth, cyan pupils, and an unusually long facial structure. If only Mika could ditch the ‘head of a sheep’ bit, he might’ve known a handful of residents around the city with a similarly gentle voice, but somebody with the exact descriptions? He had no idea that such a thing would’ve even existed in South Town. The closest he would’ve been to meeting creatures with horns was when he entered the Smash Bros. tournament, but even then, they were space dragons and antropomorphic turtles originating from some places but here. The chances of encountering such an entity should be slim in his hometown, shouldn’t they? Or perhaps, there was something more to this than meets the eye…

Eyes darting elsewhere, Terry caressed the back of his neck, placing a free hand over his hip. “Ah, sorry, my bad… I wish I knew who you were talking about, but…” Then, as he glanced back at Mika, his sky-blue gaze spontaneously fell upon her sheathed blades. Suddenly, an idea crossed his mind—a mischievous one, to be precise. “Wait a minute, are those real knives?” he asked, his finger gesturing at the stowed weapons. If Mika answered ‘yes,’ he’d gradually crouch, a knee pressing against the ground beneath as he raised and extended both hands in defeat. “Oh, Gosh, that’s my weakness. It’s small knives!”

The unexpected gesture managed to fill the mock-up stage with laughs from the audiences. Little did they realize, this was more than just a nod to a certain movie scene. Despite the fierce exterior, Terry was, in fact, afraid of anything resembling needles—or in his words: ‘syringes.’ It was unsure whether this was a result of unresolved childhood trauma or his surrogate father’s death, but one thing for certain, he was partly playing a ruse to trick the esper into fighting him. After all, these people were begging to see his performance again.

A fist was dropped, and a flare of energy flashed. A shockwave was channeled, crawling in Mika’s direction across the ground. “Anything but POWER WAVE!!” he yelled abruptly, then stood upright, managing a giggle when and if the shockwave managed to connect. “Oh, it’s so predictable! Fell for that, didn’t you?”

One could say that he was doing a little trolling as we speak. Feigning inferiority and coming up with an ambush had always been part of the strategy. Terry tightened each of his gloves, then rode his hands overhead, ears absorbing the roar of the crowd like a sponge.

“You heard those peeps? They’re dying to see us fight! How about some good ol’ fashioned beat down before we go ahead and find the guy, huh?” he asked, then clenched his fists, swinging them over his temples. A ready stance assumed. “I mean, if you don’t mind. How many rounds you got? One? Two?”

FIN.

Terry’s Training Room

_{“You copy my banner, and I’m gonna copy your quote section. Sounds fair?”
— Terry Bogard}

Chinatown, South Town
_{1:28 PM}

▶︎• ၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌၊|• 3:33
_{Osaka Jo Koen ~Kyobashi~ – Real Bout Fatal Fury 2}

“Ha! Well, then. You came just to the right place because I’m ready to throw down with you.”

Ultimate One Universe: Resistance

<Snipped quote by Terry Bogard>

Hi, I'm Bounce. It's what I do.

MB's been putting up with my shit for... a depressingly long amount of time now, if we stop to think about it.

@Bounce

Oh, hey, Bounce. Nice to meet ya lmfao.

Yeah, I mean, life can be a pain in the ass sometimes. Responsibilities and, oftentimes, writing block can get in the way. How long have you been waiting for MB, exactly?

Ultimate One Universe: Resistance

And... posted! Took a tad bit longer than usual, but let me know if some things need to be edited. Admittedly, I haven’t read some of yall’s posts, so I’ll be checking them out ASAP.

Ultimate One Universe: Resistance

DEATHSTROKE #3

_{Stark Tower, Manhattan, New York | 11:10 PM
Previously: Deathstroke #2}

Hopper had been staring at the many screens in front of him for the rest of the day, his bearded face one of boredom and exhaustion. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d ever had enough sleep. The young lad had been working as a surveillance operator for the Stark Tower ever since he graduated from college, monitoring and analyzing a variety of footage showcasing many different floors of the multi-storied skyscraper in real time. It wasn’t exactly the kind of gig he wished to pursue as a quantum science graduate, surely, but he had no choice, especially not in this day and age where fresh graduates struggled to find a company willing to give them a chance. For the young Hopper, landing a minor position in Stark Industries seemed like a miracle, considering his resume was either rejected or ignored elsewhere.

His burdened eyes were swift to leap between screens, the movement impressively rehearsed, as he absently slurped the cold glass of avocado iced coffee in his grip. Oftentimes, his attention moved towards the smaller screen much closer to him, strategically playing a game of solitaire with an artificial opponent. Hopper clicked the mouse every few seconds, making sure that the cards on the screen were arranged in a systemic order. While he didn’t have the sharpest brain in the world, he’d always found a way to outsmart the computer even on the hardest difficulty. Unfortunately for Hopper, he’d been so fixated on beating the game that he paid no mind to the horrific sights of motionless fellow employees subsequently occupying the other, bigger screens. It seemed that dangers were near, but he stayed oblivious. And, suddenly, the door was knocked. Plenty of times.

KNOCK…

KNOCK…

The noises were heavy yet gradual, almost as though the door was knocked with a stifled force. Initially, Hopper chose to ignore them, but the obnoxious noises wouldn’t go. They grew louder and demanding each time, and he couldn’t bear them anymore. He stood out of his seat, striding towards the door.

“One second.”

He grabbed and twisted the knob, drawing the metallic panel in his direction. The young lad could’ve only guessed that it was one of his superiors ready to tell him apart for, apparently, not doing his job too well, despite his overworking and lacking sleep. Much to his surprise, however, it was somebody else. A figure much more menacing, covered in mask and tactical armor. The mysterious figure glared through his crimson lens, Hopper’s facial expression instantly dropping in fright.

“What the—”

SMACK!

And the figure—better known to the criminal underworld as the ‘Deathstroke’—hurled the solid tip of his own lance against his face, not even letting him finish his question. The poor lad’s nose was immediately restructured, crimson fluid spilling out of his nostrils as he toppled on his back unconscious. Like a rag doll, Deathstroke kicked Hopper’s motionless form aside, then fired barrages of energy beams towards each and every monitor across him.

BLAM!

BLAM!

BLAM!

BLAM!

Eventually, he only left the smaller one that was still running the prior solitaire game played by the operator. Approaching the desk, the masked mercenary stowed the energy lance back into the sheath attached to his armored back. He closed the application, then went on to search for the folder containing the records of his brutal yet silent actions within the skyscraper. It took him a moment to scroll through the sea of files named with undecipherable codes, and the only clue that Deathstroke could comprehend was an arrangement of numbers by the end of each file’s name. By the looks of it, the numbers seemed to indicate the date and time when the raw, unfiltered footage was recorded. With that in mind, it should be easier for him to track down the…

Bingo!

…records of himself, supposedly. As expected, once discovered, barely a single one of them depicted his actions as clear as the sky. He always knew to avoid surveillance cameras when necessary, keeping his movements silent and calculated while moving from one floor upon the other. Though, surely, there were some of his victims who were accidentally caught on camera, either reacting to his ambushes or drowning in their own pool of blood. Obviously, he wouldn’t want to leave traces like those behind, preferring to either keep the authority guessing or charging whoever the soaring amateur the Kingpin had trusted to raid along. After deleting every file containing the brutal sights, the masked mercenary pulled his pistol out of its holster, then destroyed both the remaining monitor and the processor each with a moderate bang! A crater was formed on each one of them, electric sparks flaring out of their severely leaked forms.

That should do.

Now that every monitor had been demolished, he should’ve been able to reach the laboratory in peace, not having to worry about getting caught redhanded. Stowing the pistol back into its holster, Deathstroke, once again, drew the energy lance out its sheath, spinning the thin yet lengthy weapon with his gloved fingers. He strengthened his grip around the lance, his gesture making it seemed as though he was holding a rifle. Based on the tower’s blueprint he discovered earlier at the lower floor, there were emergency stairs nearby the control room that could lead him to the back of the laboratory above. The path to the upper floor was long, yet he had no choice since the elevator was positioned far across the control room.

Each stride the mercenary drew was silent and deliberate, as he climbed on each and every step ahead of him. Oftentimes, his only functioning eye paced from one side to another, making sure that nobody spotted him before placing his gaze back ahead. So far, nothing was found hampering his path until the other end was near. From a fair distance, he caught the standing form of a security guard facing his opposite, seemingly sporting a forage cap and a neatly kept hair bun. For a moment, she didn’t seem to be alarmed by his presence until…

“Hold it right there!”

…she turned in his direction, beginning to pull a pistol out of the holster. However, before she could even touch the weapon stowed by her side…

BLAM!

CRUSH!

…Deathstroke had fired his lance, the burst of energy beam instantly exploding her cranium. The once standing form had now lifelessly tumbled down the stairs, spewing out a massive rain of crimson fluid all over his vicinity. He merely sidestepped towards a handrail, avoiding the headless figure from stumbling across him. The one-eyed mercenary still kept the lance tight in his grip.

Two more steps to take…

His instincts were telling him to scan his vicinity once the other end was reached. Contrary to most of the floors beneath, the top floor was less busier than the rest, and it was meant to be both the developmental and the testing ground for the latest Stark’s inventions. Thankfully, the surveillance cameras had been switched off, and the prior lady was the only security guard guarding the area. Slowly but surely, the Terminator stowed the lance back into its sheath, preparing a gas grenade formerly tucked under his utility belt. Thankfully, his mask was designed to resist all kinds of hazardous scents, so if the grenade was triggered, he wouldn’t be affected by it at all

When activated and thrown, the gas grenade expelled a cloud of fog continuously occupying the laboratory. Noises of coughs and desperate gasps were heard all across the top floor, as the researchers fell atop the floor one by one, being forced to sleep. Deathstroke strolled through the sea of scattering humans, scanning the spacious laboratory serving as a not-showroom. The fog cleared itself, and a row of sophisticated yet underdeveloped armors became apparent. There were also gauntlets, automatic firearms, and iron scraps scattered all over the floor, seemingly leaving the grip of their now unconscious co-developers. A bunch of them did intrigue the Terminator upon discovery, most notably the specially designed gauntlets and missile launchers on the table next to him. There was also a massive prototype of what would be a Proton Cannon, though surely, he wouldn’t have been able to bring the weapon with him due to its sheer size. He inspected the weapons closely through his crimson lens, sky-blue gaze narrowing at the weapons on the table.

“Hmm… Well, these look interesting,” Deathstroke pensively muttered, his gloved hands taking hold of one of the gauntlets. He could now understand why Tony Stark would’ve taken pride in each one of his technological marvels. From the looks of it, the gauntlet was perfectly crafted, its dark silver figure partially painted in blue. There was also an appendage attached to the wrist, containing an array of multiple firearms that could be activated automatically. Not sure about how it functioned, though, but he might like to test it out right there and then, hoping that this one was nearly completed.

“Let’s see how this bad boy works…”

And so, Deathstroke wore the slightly larger gauntlet over his gloved hand, reeling his hand upside down to get a better glance at both the wrist-mounted gun and the glimmering palm repulsor capable of firing beams. He seemed more tempted to test out the wrist-mounted gun somehow. Fingers curled, he clenched his metal hand tightly, gradually pointing said gun towards the window across from his upright frame. Firing sparks flared out of the barrel, and rounds of bullets flew through the window, shattering the glass into sharp smithereens.

BUDDA–BUDDA–BUDDA–BUDDA!

CLING–CLING–CRACK!

It still felt a bit rough around the edge, sure, but it worked just fine. Perhaps, it was time for him to say goodbye to a wide array of conventional firearms in his possession, given that these kinds of technologies offered better practicality.

“Mhm… Superior tech, indeed,” Deathstroke mumbled, an impressed smirk across his veiled face. “I’m taking this bad boy with me.”

He settled an empty duffle bag formerly clinging to his shoulder across the table, ditched the gauntlet around his gloved hand, then began stowing each and every piece of superior technology he could find scattered or showcased nearby—a pair of both the gauntlets and shoulder-mounted missile launchers for himself included. As much as he was tempted to use them immediately, he’d rather keep the stolen weapons of his choice for the next occasions. After all, a number of parts still needed modifying. Once done, the masked mercenary zipped the bag, swiftly slinging its strap over his shoulder. It was time to head back to the Fisk Towers, he believed, letting the ‘Vulture’ take care of the rest.

“Good luck with the gig… amateur!”

Quick yet composed, Deathstroke strode out of the laboratory, subsequently climbing down one stairs to another. When an elevator was reached, he eventually chose to use it as a shortcut to get himself back to the ground floor in no time, eventually heading out of the raided interior and onto his motorcycle parked behind the skyscraper. However, just when he was about to get on the seat and switch the ignition on…

CLICK!

Somebody had loaded and pointed a gun close to his bright orange temple, clad in a similar mask and tactical suit as he stood right beside him.

“I’ve finally found you, Deathstroke.”

Who could this mysterious person be?

FIN.