Post by BZA on Jun 21, 2018 16:51:25 GMT
An animated column vaults from the steeped roof tops, the spring in its step crushing and dislodging tiles as it makes its way to the floor below. During its plunge, the luminary light of day strikes across its compact body, in a grand reveal reminiscent of a sensationalized motion picture expose. Hence, by the time it strikes ground, it's revealed to be a man. Landing feet first, he assumes a curled posture, his spheroid body advancing in speed as he grovelled through the dirt. Two meters in the roll, he comes to a halt. From whence he came is the shrill of a whistle followed by the irritating chiming rings of siren bell, foreboding all present of impeding apprehension. No sooner do the onlookers begin to piece two and two together and break into impassioned gunfire does a trail of electromagnetism erupt as the athletic built column disappears. The man in question was none other than M'sondaa. An infinitesimal spec in the grand scheme of things be it on the world, this god forsaken city, the hotels infertile ground on which he stood or his own vapid existence. It is this reality of baseness, that birthed the cornerstone for his ongoing hasty actions. Less that five minutes past, he had taken the liberty to acquaint his fist to the face of a Yakuza.
The recipes of the act had all been called upon & the scene was in motion. The characters, an angered gang, an audacious attacker and now the hound dogs were unleashed. Eight had meet a swift end. Burdened with remorse, the African had mercifully incapacitated the gangsters. These were 'righteous' men, misguided but good. They were all 'comrades'; should one follow the marionette strings on either backs, they would arrive at the same puppeteer. Still, after his fourth kill he cast aside his sense of morality, the end justified the means. All across various levels such acts would be replayed. M'sondaa's instructions was simple, split into eleven groups and have eight cause mayhem throughout the locale. With the gangs occupied with stopping the ruckus, M'sondaa and his accomplice's infiltration of their thinned base was swift and curbed any resistance and reclaim the glory of Fang. Huffing from exhaustion, the slayer takes a right turn. Scene two. An expansive opening west of a single bridge that connected the executive floors to the rest of the building. To the East, the symbolic swaggering insignia synonymous with the subordination of Chinatown. Its golden and ivory adorned doors representing power, its eastern style architecture screaming class and its massive proportions showing solidarity. Tornado's Headquarters.
Scattered before its doors was an army of black. Their singularity a hallmark of family unity. A brotherhood intent on stomping those who bared arms against their justice, peace and love. As he looked over them, M'sondaa could see past their their honor. In the folly which misguided them to march out and face him. They all were witness to his skill, their numbers a testament to his conclusions. Rather honor, they would fight to keep face. In East Chinatown, Yuelang Clan was supreme and their authority should not be questioned. If this was the game they wished, so be it. M'sondaa gripped onto his polearm tightly. The African Gods gathered around to witness the sight. Uppepo cast forth his wind, bringing closer clouds which soon parted and opened the heavens. Bingu called out to his son who responded by bringing forth the gifts handed to him at birth. Mvua trickled and Ares roared, an impetus for his best solider to entertain him. Similarly Kifoo moved through the marine ranks instilling a false sense of hope that saw them charge forward. This wasn't man on man or one against a thousand. This was a beast preying on a flock of sheep and as you would expect the lambs bleated as the big bad wolf clawed through them. The son of Kisoomi crushed bones, opened flesh and electrocuted to paralyzation those unfortunate to get a swift end.
"Yield" he asserted as he mowed the numbers. Finally, few were left before him, their crushed spirits conceding defeat. A new batch of triad arrived most to timid to move. "Is there anyone else?" he hissed. "Die” Screams of unhinged desire echoed as a fury of bullets came flying over. Over the course of countless battles, the harbinger had come to understand that emotional restraint and composure was just as vital as confidence in one’s ability. The dangers of getting carried away by the emotional peaks or troughs of combat often resulted in fatal consequences since in both there were the fatal mixture of egoism and impaired judgement. Yet against his better judgement M'sondaa's resolve in his principle wanes and like the elated villain his rage and superiority complex bares its fangs. What had started as a simple rescue mission had become something more. Forget his accomplice he would use this action to overwhelmingly crush insolence & thwart acts of revolt in smaller opportunistic clans. As he cut down the sheer numbers of men, his compatriot was on the other side of the wing blowing apart Yeulang's general Kung and Selena's limbs. His laughter adding to the menacing grip that danced through this now haunted house.
M'sondaa's moment of glory was short lived as the second group fought with greater zeal and fury. This had gone from a fight of pride to one of survival and sure enough hits begun to land on his body. Soon enough he too was bleeding ten fold. The play had now reached the critical its critical climax. Duma's hands shivered from the cold and the numbing pain of stopping strike after strike. "Damned quirk" Sensing a decline in the power of his awe inducing might one of the goons gave an impassioned war speech to rejuvenate his men. Similarly, M'sondaa wished to move but he could not find it in himself. By this time only two meters stood between him and his soon to be executioners when a series of explosions resounded. Bodies feel by the tens and the splatter of their limbs across the chamber their fates. In the final third his accomplice had poured through from marine building brandishing his rocket launcher and recovered documents. However, more importantly in the stead of the gang insignia that once was something else. With the blood and sweat striking against his eyes, Starkiller squinted long enough to see the jagged teeth drawn in red that towering besides the raccoon. "Nice job but try to at least try to make it past the first day.....OI MSOND..." What came next did matter. Fang's reign had begun & as he lay fading out of consciousness he couldn't help but smile. It felt great to be recognized and addressed him by his proper name.
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OBJ: Perform Crime (Intermediate)
OBJ: Perform Crime (Intermediate)
