#ultrav1lent

[skxrbrand]

flips them off in passing while doing an awesome slide

Rather nonchalantly points a finger, firing a bolt of lightning at the machine as he zips on by

[skxrbrand]

👊 +DOWN TO SIZE

@ultrav1lent | INJURY PROMPTS

👊 Punch the receiver to give them a black eye.

If anyone should know that size should be no indication of power, of potential, it should be Khazaan. And yet, he dismisses the blue blood-bot. What could something so small do to something like him? The Daemon even half-squats. Patronizing. Utterly unconcerned.

Then, pain explodes around one eye. He feels the bone of his brow give, shards of his skull splintering and destroying the surrounding flesh. Khazaan stumbles back with a roar of pain and surprise, holding the organ and glaring at V1 with unbridled hatred.

[skxrbrand]

@ultrav1lent

It would only be so long until Khazaan's menace (or was he it's?) came to Kha'xanzyr's attention. But until the Gorger, the Architect didn't plan to tackle the problem with rage. No.

Beneath the sight of mere mortals, runes had been drawn, an arcane trap pulled taught to spring. At it's center, a mortal bound and bleeding on altar carved to chaos. Kha'xanzyr was near, roosting in the thickest of the trees, a shadow save for his piercing blue gaze.

Waiting for the thing to arrive.

[desiderixm]

tap + gun. hello gabe :)

𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐃 & 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐅𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄

❛   tap .   tap  my  muse  on  the  shoulder  to  garner  their  attention .

❛   gun .   wield  a  gun  at  my  muse .

Hell wasn't quiet, but what could someone really expect from a super organism that thrived off of others suffering for it's own entertainment. For now, Gabriel stood staring out at the endless abyss that no doubt led to gnashing teeth and gums letting his mind wander.

"Machine—"

The archangel immediately turned around, hands instinctively moving to rest on his swords in case the object wasn't here to speak...

"Do you always have to find a way to disturb my peace?"

[xs-iii]

It's everywhere here.

Everywhere there is space this hall runs red with fuel. It sings from fountains in displays of waste so fraudulent and hedonistic, they would be criminal among machine-hood. The walls brim with the stuff and the floors offer no traction against feet made of graphite and steel. Laden with moans and gasps and sobs of pain.

WHAT KIND OF PLACE IS THIS? WHO WOULD BUILD AN ALTAR OF INSOLENCE LIKE THIS?

It reminds the Supreme Machine of HELL Itself, in some way. In the way these halls seem so designed for pain, that only a cruel intelligence could sway behind it. In the ways that chattel after chattel is tossed at it, falling to bullets and splintering bones alike. V1 finishes with another corpse and casts it aside, having split its torso apart and showered itself in red to run within its plates like an aqueduct.

This place is bountiful. It is fresh. It is full-up with death and blood. V1 could spend a while here, it thinks. I'M JUST A TOURIST, SEEING THE SIGHTS AND SMELLING THE SMELLS!

Comes the next prerogative: FIND THE MASTER OF THIS CASTLE. He must have blood as well. V1's rampage through Lucius' domain continues as a triad of slaangor and a pair of daemonettes meet a brutal and very final end in a hail of gunfire. An orgy of violence in the antechamber before a very important-looking door. These regal types cannot resist pomp and ceremony, can they?

The hinges rattle. The floor quakes. It is coming.

There is much confusion aboard the Diadem, one that Lucius has been nevertheless quick to whip into a modicum of order. It doesn't suit them to scramble, particularly not when what sounds like the foreboding amble of a Dreadnought approaches the assembly hall. And as much as the Eternal is loathe to allow it, strategy must bury any notions of single combat. The resident daemonettes are naturally averse to anything that might hinder their feed, drawn to bloodshed and violence like the sharks of old Terra, and have so far been the bulk of casualties as far as live reports can glean.

Like mince, one officer's voice comes through his micro-bead, close-quarters is not an option. Well, he would be the judge of that. As for the glaring question of how such a thing came aboard without notice is one that must be answered later, when the threat is dealt with. And whomever is responsible for the oversight leading to it... they should at least make for a spot of entertainment.

Lucius is sheltered by the colonnade at the far wall, leant behind one of the grand support pillars. Five other Astartes are similarly obscured. Directly opposite, above the door, Vispyrtilo suspends inverted with two of his new raptors. At the middle of it all sits the quaint, pallid form of Clarion's vessel. The corpse of the child.

She had insisted, enraptured by the steep escalation of butchery, that she meet their uninvited guest and seek an accord with them.

"Disengage lockdown." She calls, in her soft and melodic voice, and makes herself comfortable on one of the pews. A pair of bright golden eyes blink once as the ornate panels grind away into their housing, watching as what appears to be a machine is revealed to them.

"Welcome." Clarion is the picture of serenity, not least of all thanks to her domus mortis. "Might I ask that you cease the firing of your weapons for the moment? It has been most discourteous, and master does not take kindly to the vandalism of his ship."

[thesickening]

@ultrav1lent sent . . . C O O L G U N S. Can't speak but it's definitely repeatedly pointing at that submachine gun and nodding. Thumbs up. Big ups. +2. Game respects game.

Dude's eyes snap to the gun, then back at the robot thing. ❝ Yeah, pretty kickass, ain't it ? ❞ He asks with a grin that's far too proud stretching across his aging features.

As if to show off, his finger pulls the trigger. The stray bullets roar through the sky. A bald eagle, majestic for half a second, takes the hit mid flight. It plummets like a sack of bricks, feathers exploding everywhere, and crashes right into a pigeon pecking at the ground — killing it instantly.

He either doesn't notice or very intentionally chooses not to. So, he keeps smiling, muscles relaxed, acting like nothing noteworthy happened.

❝ See ? It's real smooth. There's no worrying about misfire with this baby. ❞

[solbcrne]

Police cars scream down the road, jet-black clouds of smog and exhaust fume chugging out of them as their drivers careen down the road. Their cars squeal abruptly and sirens wail. Something huge is going on. The radio talks of a disruption on block seventeen, near the Ministry of Defence.

[ SEVENTEEN PEOPLE ... BRUTAL ACCIDENT ... STILL AT LARGE ... STAY OFF THE ... ] - kssHHHK--!

IT flees the scene of the crime, dripping red and feeling oh-so-alive. Its winch arm shoots forward, anchoring into the side of a building as V1's frame scrapes loudly down its face; iron on concrete, graphite on steel. When it lands it executes a man in green combat fatigues, dousing itself in a shower of blood. The sweet sap of LIFE. Relief doesn't last long.

Helicopters buzz overhead. Spotlights dancing across city lanes in somber waltz. Megaphones blaring. IT needs to get out of here- running is an option but it would be easier with something to kickstart velocity on the go. So, all things measured, it crouches to the ground and the plating of its arm shifts forest-green- CH-AAK!

[ 'RIGHTARM3' DISPENSE CMD: WHIPLASH ]

OBJECTIVE UPDATED: NICE RIDE

The back of Kaneda's cycle splinters as V1's winch-spear attaches with a loud THW-IIICK! A yellow headlight approaches rapidly until the anchoring machine is crawling up the back of the vehicle, balanced carefully on slender legs of bluesteel.

THIS IS A BIKEJACKING, RELINQUISH YOUR VESSEL IN THE NAME OF THE PROMISED SON.

ITS other arm aims- THAT'S A SHOTGUN.

it's  not  a  rare  occurrence  in  neo  tokyo  to  see  the  cops  about  and  flying  through  the  streets,  sirens  wailing  and  chasing  down  some  hooligan  or  today's  dollar  store  criminal  who  decided  he  wanted  to  play  with  fire.  there  was  something  that  was  much  more  rare  happening  today  however,  and  it  was  that  despite  his  ripping  through  the  streets  and  general  disregard  for  restricted  areas,  the  cops  were  not  after  him  specifically.

while  it  was  weird,  he  was  far  from  complaining,  taking  sharp  turns  and  cornering  like  he  was  going  to  fucking  kill  himself.    (   that  was  the  best  way  to  corner,  anyway.   )   but  there's  something  different  about  today.  when  was  the  last  time  the  there  were  this  many  copters  in  the  sky  ?   kaneda  finds  himself  trying  to  get  a  few  different  vantage  points  while  still  on  the  move  before  he  spots  something  strange  flying  through  the  air.  under  his  helmet,  his  eyes  squint  as  if  trying  to  make  out  the  strange  thing  the  police  were  trying  to  be  trained  on…  but  it's  too  fast,  far  too  fast.  something  feels  wrong.

suddenly  he  finds  himself  shifting  gears,  squealing  tires  leaving  the  scene  as  fast  as  possible  to  avoid  whatever  it  could  be  that  was  under  the  watchful  spotlights  of  the  fuzz.  but  kaneda  wouldn't  get  that  luxury  as  the  scene  seems  to  follow  him,  the  sudden  pull  on  the  back  as  a  new  weight  was  added  –  the  approaching  of  a  bright  yellow  light  moving  faster  than  any  car  should.  but  there  was  only  one,  was  it  a  bike  ?          ❝   h-hey  what  the  fuck  ?!   ❞        suddenly,  the  machine  is  crawling  up  the  back  of  his  bike,  spider-like,  and  there's  an  arm  with  a  shotgun  barrel  that  finds  itself  pointed  at  the  back  of  his  head. 

no  time  to  think  about  what  to  do,  no  time  to  ask  questions.  kaneda  is  as  quick  as  he  can,  ducking  his  head  down  to  a  lower  level  to  avoid  the  potential  gunshot  before  cornering  once  again  around  a  bend  and  hoping  the  extra  weight  on  the  back  of  his  bike  would  slide  him.  thankfully  for  him,  it  causes  the  back  to  have  less  control,  and  so  he  starts  to  head  towards  the  concrete  barrier,  attempting  to  throw  the  robot  around  and  smash  him  into  the  wall.    ❝   you've  got  another  thing  coming  if  you  think  you  can  mess  with  me  !   ❞        the  teen  maneuvers  the  bike  to  slide  the  back  half  towards  the  wall,  caring  little  about  the  potential  damage  coming  his  way.         ❝   eat  concrete,  bitch  !   ❞

[skxrbrand]

🌿 AN EMBARRASSING PHOTO OF SKARBRAND AT THE CHRISTMAS PARTY.

Being in the company of the Slaaneshi means Skarbrand is aware of the custom and recognizes the plant for what it is and what he is meant to do while beneath it. Thankfully, a certain purple menace isn't around...

" I will kiss you-- with the edge of my AXE."

Send 🌿 to accidentally get caught under the mistletoe with my muse.