Godcard

Trigger Warning:
One of this chapter's sections contains explicit descriptions of blood and gore. There is little detail or focus on bodily gore itself, but the descriptions of blood and its presence are (intended to be) vivid and may be unnerving to some readers. If you find such things make you uncomfortable or queasy, it may be better to skip this chapter!

Moonbeast

"Recognized, 003-O, Loki. Recognized, 009-O, 'Amm. Recognized, 062-A, Sirius Wisteria. Recognized, 024-O, Anbay-2. Recognized, 001-O, God. Unsealing."

All of them stepped into the room as soon as the vault door unlatched and admitted them. As their long shadows cast over the inside alongside the faint light of the hall behind them, a chain rattled in the darkness, followed shortly by a grim chuckle.

"I don't think you should be laughing."

"Oh?" An array of teeth bloomed in the darkness, a grin of milk-white shade betraying utter amusement. "And why not?"

"We'll have to ask you a favor." There was a pause, a rustle of papers, and then a document was tossed across the room. It landed with the scrape of the manila folder on the floor in front of the chained figure. "As per usual. But this one is slightly different."

---

"Hey, I'm 'ma head out," Zane said, moving into the vestry to reclaim his brand new winter jacket, camel-shade with black buttons.

It was cold as shit outside and the first snows of November had shown themselves on the streets of New York, alongside gales. It was around thirty Fahrenheit in the mild sections of the city, where the streets were shielded by large buildings and an excess of impure smoke in the air.

"Yo? Priest?"

There was no response from the stringent Father Nicholas, no 'how rude' or a lecture on disrespect. He was staring at his papers and writing something, about as concerned with Zane's leaving of the church - the sort of action that he often advocated against, wherever possible, due to its inherent risk - as he would've been with a coin in a vault.

"I'm going on a date?"

"A date, hmm?" Father Nicholas chose not to question him further, showing a moderate but polite level of disinterest.

Zane quirked an eyebrow at the man. "Not going to give me the talk, Father?"

"Song of Solomon, chapter eight, verse seven. Many waters cannot quench love; rivers cannot wash it away. It'd be pointless if even your uncle's words - and the dire situation at hand - fail to quench your teenage tempest of heart. Don't be out too late."

After blinking disbelievingly on the spot - and deciding maybe to drop this topic of conversation, Zane nodded. "Alright, have a good one."

---

"New York, here I come," he muttered.

Around him were the dark, cold streets - damp with mud near the sidewalks, splashing around with ice that was something between liquid and goo. All of the world's prey surrounded him, carrying umbrellas and backpacks, thick coats and briefcases, unaware of the wolf among them. All of them on their way to some vague, nebulous ends, to work or to lunch, yet so perfectly oblivious to the nature of the reality they lived in - the fact they only survived by his sufferance, by the fact the beast within him didn't hunger with its endless maw for now, for it had already supped richly on the starlight nourishing their symbols.

He chuckled, swayed drunkenly, giddy with frenzy. The beast stirred in his chest, hungering even in spite of the starlight's consumption, its maw reaching out like an invisible dark set of teeth to dine on the souls of the mortals around him.

A brief impulse of self-control, compassion, and it was checked, the instincts folded back, until he was simply a man in a coat, hyperventilating with unnaturally wide pupils. And then, the guilt of almost killing hundreds again wore off, and he chuckled at the absurdity of the situation.

And then he kept walking, mostly unnoticed despite his outburst.

---

It came as no surprise that the location of their double date was a small family joint, unassuming and perhaps - some would say - unrefined, at four stars. It was far below what they could afford, but they had to be secure, especially in times like these.

However, nobody complained, and the night was decently pleasant. At first, Zane had believed that Spike would goof off and make stupid remarks, but his friend was composed as he usually was during alley side business meetings - in adult mode, rather than kid mode, so to speak. It made for a startlingly mature experience, and Zane felt somewhat insecure given their future prospects; it made him consider the fact they were dining in some random place instead of his uncle's restaurant, and the reasons for that. Even now, there were people after him - gangsters and worse, and they wouldn't stop coming.

"And you'll keep training?"

"Huh?" Zane was broken out of his thoughts, dropping the fork spooled with spaghetti that he'd been twiddling around with. "What?"

"Uhm," Helene took a brief look around to ensure no one could hear them, "Your Knight Arm. You'll keep training until you reach Royal Rank in it?"

"I'm close to it," Zane said. He picked up his fork again, started to gather up the pasta and some of the meat to consume as he answered. "I was planning to get done with it as soon as I came back from the date, and then I could join you guys in the fight." He ate.

"Not a lot of it left," Jennifer mused, looking at him with an odd expression - sad, almost, but in a pitying way, and yet also disinterested. Almost like he'd failed her on a personal level and now she was feigning detachment.

"Point taken. Don't guilt-trip me," Zane murmured in defeat.

"Can't win against a sorceress," she whispered to Helene, prompting an eye-roll from her and Spike.

He couldn't make himself eat after that remark, shoveling the spaghetti and then munching on it slowly, letting the sauce sink deep beneath his teeth, running his tongue over it, and contemplating when to swallow.

"Do you guys want to go see Hamilton after this?" Helene offered a distraction. "I've never seen it. It's on Broadway now, right?"

"Sure. If there are any tickets," Spike said with a chuckle, bending over to cut his steak. As his knife made its movement and cut, thick barbecue sauce spilled from the steak, almost like...

---

Blood - endless blood, in every direction. Blood; putrid, fecal, smelling like copper and iron, sweet and salty; filling and rich. It stained his fingers, greasy and wet, and drying rapidly in other places, under his fingernails and over his knuckles, almost like a stain from tomato soup more than bodily fluid.

He stared down at his own hands, bending his fingers, feeling the dry coat of blood, uncomprehending. In the corner of his vision, he could see the mangled corpses at the end of the alleyway - the massacre he'd made. He felt almost like he was in a dream.

He could feel the blood, pooling around his feet, sinking past the soles of his shoes and his socks to let his toes dip into it. He was sitting down in a fetal position against the wall and could feel the warm blood around his butt, like warm water, smearing as he twitched and moved.

Almost unconsciously, he'd moved his hand closer to his mouth, and was smelling the blood. He felt ravenous. It smelled so fucking good.

A single lick, hesitant, shameful, and then a full one when he realized what bliss its flavor contained. He continued to suck down on the blood, almost a slave to his own animal self, with so much force and thrashing that he opened cuts on his own fingers with his teeth.

---

"Dear Mr. Hamilton, John Addams doesn't stand a chance, so who are you promoting..."

As they left behind the off-Broadway theater, Zane couldn't help but feel there was something off about the air tonight. It was supposed to be a new moon, but looking up, he found that he could see the remaining crescent edge of the moon, stained with a reddish tint. "How did you find it?"

Zane looked back down to the rest of the team. After the last song, Spike looked a little somber, as if on the edge of crying, and now he stood - clearly cathartic but also sad. At some point, Jennifer had acquired a small packet of French fries and was chewing on them, offering them to the others occasionally with a questioning rattle. It was Helene who'd questioned him, quirking an eyebrow at how distracted he was, clearly amused by it. He didn't much share her amusement, too weirded out by the evening's... aura.

"Hm? The play?"

"Musical, technically," said Spike.

He almost felt, like a thin premonition, that something bad was going to happen soon. It was weak enough a feeling that he couldn't place it or word it precisely, and yet strong enough that he paused before continuing - a pause long enough for everyone to notice and stare at him in concern.

"It was alright, I suppose. I'm sad that Philip died. It was excessive."

"You do realize that it's based on historic events, right, guy?" Spike looked at Zane as if he were wearing a tutu, on the border of laughter.

"At least I didn't cry when he died."

"Hey! I wasn't crying."

"Those were manly tears," Zane said, to assuage his friend's injured manhood. "It's okay to cry about something that unfair and epic."

"Rrright," Jennifer drawled, looking at her date with amusement. Both of the girls chuckled.

---

And they were silent, again and again. He stared down at their bodies, unmoving - frozen in picture-perfect stillness, like ovals of varied color on a circle of red on a background of drab gray stone. He'd left them surprisingly immaculate - not mangled, as the newspapers had said.

It was the feast that usually led to the mangling, in most cases.

"Enough of this, Connor."

He turned, scratching at his beard on instinct. There hadn't been a chance for him to shave for a month. Had it been a month?

"Oh, Blake, Josh, and... haha, whaw..."

Not only them but also their friends. At least ten Maenads outfitted in full combat gear, armed with sickles and spears, dressed up in seemingly whatever armor had been available, all of them wearing red cloaks. There were the Crosses, and the sixth Cardbearer, the one that Connor didn't recognize. They'd never met, he thought.

"What are you doing, Connor? What have you been doing? You're killing people," Blake said - pointed out - with painful slowness as if he were speaking to a child with some kind of mental... what was the word again? Deficiency?

Instead, Connor found himself replying to his outrage with blatant disregard, "And?"

"'And?' You insane motherfucker," said the male Cross. Aaron? Something on A. "You've brought too much attention on us. At this rate, the police will track you down and notice this. As a matter of fact, we already know they have a lead that paints this as your next strike zone. You fucking moron."

"Let's slow down," Blake said, noticing how Connor had unclenched his fists, revealing claws. "We can solve this. Have you thought about eating animal meat? You don't have to kill people, Connor."

Wrath gripped him, then, so powerful that he felt every muscle in his knees clench simultaneously. So powerful that a whirlwind blew over the warehouse as if the world had responded to the fiery rage in his chest, like a lump of iron that had been set on fire with a flamethrower.

"Do you think I haven't thought of that, you stupid arrogant fuck? Do you think you're better than me, Blake? You're always so fucking smart-assed! Yes, I've thought of it, and it doesn't work! Do you know what it feels like, to be so empty for days on over? We're all pawns in the hands of Olympus! All of you are FUCKING PAWNS! They are using you! All of you! Your lust, your envy, and your sloth," he shouted, pointing first at Yolanda, then at Aaron, and finally at Blake.

Even in his shouting, he couldn't find something to fault Josh for. It was sufficient to cause him to burst out into surreal laughter - a reaction that clearly unnerved the others deeply, as they realized they weren't dealing with someone who's ready to calmly sit down and discuss the circumstances.

And that realization changed the atmosphere instantly, from one of attempted reconciliation and negotiation to one of combative realization.

Both sides were separated only by a space of sixty feet, empty save for a couple of decommissioned machines of the warehouse they were in. They sized each other up.

As his laughter stopped and Connor was forced to put instinct aside in favor of tactical thinking, he considered his foes. Could he really take them on? He'd grown more powerful. His Compatibility meter was at over 3000% at this point, whereas the others had been - last time he checked - stuck at below 200%.

It had been one full moon since then; a full growth cycle for all parties, but his own growth was more than tenfold of their own.

So could he take all of them, at the same time? An intoxicating thought - that he'd finally get to feast on that little bitch Blake's flesh.

He shifted, snarling and growling. His muscles bulged, clothes breaking, pants and boots ripping apart into shreds as he suddenly elevated to become almost three feet taller, mouth distorting into a monstrous snout lined with ivory fangs, eyes like yellow moonlight, pale fur shining with the radiance of a devil moon. He stalked around them in a circle, seeking weakness, when one of the Maenads dashed for him, followed by her sisters. All of them moved in an elegant and instinctive formation, striking from multiple angles and places, using careful distancing and positioning to limit his ability to strike at them and to dodge. And he dodged anyway, too fast.

As he dodged yet more strikes, he kept backpedaling and dodging, sending an occasional claw swipe down at the Maenads, mostly working to disarm them and fend them off, moving fast enough none of them could truly even strike at him - and where they did nick him, the wounds healed in seconds, fast enough he could feel the heat of them pass by in the span of breaths, excruciating and then almost pleasantly tingling against his skin.

As he dodged and stalled for time, he also grew, becoming more wolf than wolf-man; faster, tougher, stronger. As he grew, their spears began to do nothing more against him than scratch against his skin. His eyes were vulnerable, still, and other bodily openings, but he maneuvered with that in mind.

He expected something from the cowards - at least a token desire to cling to their unfairly given godly power and the more temporal power they'd gathered using the former, a desire to stop him - but none of the Cardbearers attacked, letting their minions do their work; fear ruling over their other vices. He hated them so much. He'd always hated them, but only in giving in to his animal did he realize the full extent - the full extent of how much a person or a group could be hated for something, for anything.

He sensed an alteration in the battle pattern of the Maenads. As they shifted positions and stances, his eyes tracked them, narrowing in displeasure.

Unfortunately for them, he'd already grown into a big boy. His final stage: the Wolf Unchained.

A few sniffs and a lupine bark revealed the intent of the Maenads in their next round of attacks, their deception bending to his fear - to his domination of raw instinct over complex tactics. It was folly to approach the beast itself with a plan of capture, for the beast knew nothing of plans. It simply devoured.

As the Maenads' plan collapsed, they were left as nothing more than little girls dressed in red cloaks, falling over onto their butts and backs, barely able to crawl away in their terror - and in front of them was a big bad wolf, slowly approaching with grinning teeth.

A swipe of the paw killed them - he didn't even bother using the claws or eating them. It wouldn't nourish him anyhow.

It was sufficient to realize he was far, far stronger than his former friends. As expected of them, Blake and Josh escaped instantly into the former's pocket dimension, having sensed their plan wouldn't work seconds before he slew the Maenads, disappearing in a sudden anima of floating burgundy velvet ribbons, leaving behind the others to be chewed and eaten. The Crosses and the sixth Cardbearer attempted to escape in more mundane manners, running for the doors and windows in some cases. He didn't allow them, moving faster than sound to catch them one by one into his jaws, like a stack of apples, biting down and tossing them back into the middle of the room.

No escape, he growled, and they could understand. Only death.

It was moments later that the police broke down the doors and opened fire on him as he was feasting, leading to his rampage.

---

You have 2.7 Ambrosia. Fusion of Forms and Absolute Favor of Invocation [Sheathe the Blade + Echoes of the Brawler] won last round; Zane will unlock his Royal Rank Knight Arm at the next appropriately narrative moment (ie: as soon as he starts fighting the Mangler.)

A player has purchased 2x "defensive measures" for this encounter, of different kinds. Your odds of survival have increased very considerably!

At the moment, you possess two activations of Brawler of Midwood. Given the magnitude of this enemy, a single activation of this perk will only protect you from death for the span of ten attacks rather than a whole encounter, and it will do so through retroactive causal alteration rather than dumb luck - in other words, instead of luckily dodging, the fight will simply start 'ten attacks culminating in death' later than normal, giving Zane some more in-character time to make use of tactics for an escape plan.

Alternatively, you can spend a single activation of Brawler of Midwood to triple your odds of victory (rather than dice rolled) in this encounter. Unadvisable, statistically, barring good tactics.

[ ] Activate Brawler - Spends a single activation.
[ ] Brace For Impact - Don't activate.

After that, one choice remains...

What is the Mangler's preferred strategy?

[ ] Stalk and Hunt

After catching his scent, the Mangler will prowl the streets of New York in search of Zane Li Black, intent on simply killing him in broad daylight - and fuck the middleman called subtlety. As a result of Brawler of Midwood, the Mangler won't attack from hiding - such as by leaping off a rooftop to engulf Zane in his jaws within an eyeblink to consume him instantly - as he usually would be tempted to, but will instead approach Zane and exchange a few words prior to killing him.

"It's been nice knowing you, kid, but we're all pawns."

*Endangers your friends - if the Mangler can't kill you, he might choose to kill them.
*Endangers the public - almost regardless of tactic or approach, some people will die.
*Better odds of success along all axes, since your friends will be there to support you - not to mention the defensive measures obtained!
*Rough odds of victory: 7.85%
*Rough odds of escape: 88.5%
*Estimated collateral - at least hundreds of bystanders, and as much as potentially billions of dollars in infrastructure destroyed

[ ] Wait and Feast

Why run after the rabbit when you can simply wait for it to hop down into your waiting jaws? Instead of hunting him down, the Mangler will head on over to the church where the scent of Zane Li Black lingers most strongly, intent on simply killing him as he returns. Instead of killing Zane instantly, however, Brawler of Midwood will cause him to find the boy oddly curious for whatever reason and invite him to sit down and have a brief exchange of words first.

"Good talk. Now die."

*Endangers Constantine - he could still be working at the church.
*Rough odds of victory: 1.5%.
*Rough odds of escape: 65%.
*Estimated collateral - at least a few rooms in a church, potentially an entire church; maybe a few bystanders if they are nearby when it collapses

Hunter and Hunted

As they were about to head on over to the HQ, a man in shabby clothing approached them.

He wore a dark coat, frayed at the edges, and leather gloves that betrayed anxious fingers, folding and unfolding unsteadily as if the man were impatient and fidgety. He was unshaved, a beard of loose, tangled hairs on his face, marking his age as mid-thirties.

His voice, when he spoke, was coarse and rough, as if he were a nicotine addict, or as if he didn't speak often, "Are you… Zane?"

His eyes focused, then unfocused. His pupils appeared to dilate.

"Who's asking?"

"Olympus sent me," replied the man. As casually as one might speak about the weather, he clarified, "To kill you."

It was confusing at first, and then somewhat frightening once he realized the man was actually serious. Zane's blood froze in his veins, and it only became worse as he stood, transfixed by the man's eyes. There was no heartbeat to feel, no sounds to be heard. Just sheer terror. It was tangible as if it was a disgusting stench filling the air.

"Oi." Spike interrupted, eyes darting around. "There's people around. Who are you?"

"I'm-"

"ULTIMATE BIND!"

A sudden whirl of snowflakes converged upon the sooty man from somewhere above, so fast that it could be scantily tracked with one's eyes; a half-visible distortion of the air falling upon him like a leaden shroud - a translucent arcane net made of material heavier than a mountain compressed into its fibers. The unkempt man's reaction was immediate and shockingly aggressive - his eyes became pale citrine orbs, with impossibly dark pupils growing and growing, his fingernails lengthening into raking talons, face snarling. All of the hairs on his head seemed to rapidly gray and fall out, while the beard on his face grayed and spread, up to his eyes, and down his neck.

As he looked into those eyes, Zane realized who the man was.

"He's the-"

"MANGLER, YEP!"

Johnny Buddha dropped from above, the apparent caster of the spell, and then promptly took Zane's wrist and turned him to run in the other direction. All of the Wardens followed, Jennifer lingering behind momentarily to stare in shock as the Mangler worked himself and transformed, increasing in size and growing fur on his cheeks, teeth sharpening into needle-fangs. As civilians noticed this transformation, many of them stopped their daily tread in order to observe, while others - smarter ones - ran for it.

The Wardens didn't really pause to look back, taking Johnny Buddha's implicit lead and running for it, barreling down the streets. As they ran, Zane could feel Jennifer casting some kind of spell, muttered under her ragged breaths, that seemed to slightly but cumulatively enhance the speed of their sprint over time, with diminishing returns.

Around two or three minutes later, they were a good few blocks away from where the Mangler had apparently decided to murder Zane. It was the moment when Johnny started slowing down, looking at them and thinking.

"Zane!" Johnny shouted, "Do you have the Royal Knight Arm yet?"

"Uh, basically, yeah!" Zane shouted back as they ran into an alleyway, leading to the interior yard between several tall apartment buildings, headed for another alleyway - a shortcut into the heart of Manhattan, next to one of the bigger metro stations. It'd be their ticket out of there.

A moment later, Buddha's eyes acquired a dark quality under his sunglasses. "Shit. He broke the spell. We need to GTFO, he tracks by scent."

"Hold on."

All of them slowed down their run, then stopped entirely, eyes focused on Zane who stood with his eyes closed, with a nervous energy running in the air between them. Seemingly out of instinct, Spike manifested his Arms of Terror, his dark sword sheathed at the hip, and holding onto the blazing violet lightning-head javelin in readiness to throw. He started looking around as if to find the Mangler perched on one of the roof ledges around them like a bird of prey, looking distinctly paranoid, more than usual.

After a moment of breathing and concentration, Zane summoned his Knight Arm into his hands - as neither tekko nor flower, but something in between.

A pair of finger-wraps made of pitch-black vine, sprouting with ivory spikes and metal-white thorns gleaming in the dim November sunlight, running up his forearms almost like wreaths of laurel deprived of leaves, only appearing as dark brambles.

"I've learned an Invocation called Sheathe the Blade," Zane informed the others, slowly plotting a series of actions that resembled a plan. "As soon as I activate it, I'll become difficult to perceive. I'll run back and distract the Mangler, keep him off you. All the rest of you go to the metro station and out of here."

"That's the worst fucking idea I've ever heard," Spike sneered.

"How powerful is the perception effect?" Johnny asked.

"Very," Zane said. "It's pretty much my strongest Invocation right now."

"Stronger than the Mangler's tracking?" Johnny asked for clarification.

A pause, as Zane stopped and considered. "I don't know."

There was a moment of dumb silence.

"It's worth a try," Johnny said.

"My point stands - we need to get the fuck out of here," Spike said with a kind of tortured insistence in his voice, ragged, like they were being stupid children misbehaving at an amusement park and he wanted to pull them back into the car.

"Hold on. Can't we… fight him?" Jennifer asked, with a voice that sounded like she felt stupid even as she said it.

"Fight the fucking Mangler?" Spike asked, sounding mildly aggrieved. "Are you people insane? We need to run, all of us."

"The Mangler's primary ability is that of transformation," Johnny said. He reached around into his backpack and pulled out what seemed to be a sheathed and frankly, rather cheap, store-bought katana. However, as he unsheathed it, it made the telltale hiss of steel. "He goes from man to wolf, and the more wolf he is, the faster, stronger, and more durable he is, and his tracking gets better. He's also way angrier as a wolf. Like, uncontrollably mad. He's in a blind frenzy. However, it also makes him dumber and easier to dupe. Even if we run away using the metro, he'll simply keep transforming until he can run after us."

"Escape is pointless," said Helene, bringing to a spoken conclusion what mostly everyone was thinking. "And you think, because of that, that Zane's plan has some merit?"

"Yeah. We need to distract the Mangler and wear him out. At least so the US military gets a fucking idea and intervenes," Johnny said. He considered the facts momentarily as he ran a damp rag over his katana's blade, polishing it. "Or maybe to give you time and find Constantine? Do you have his phone number?"

"I'll call him," Helene said, reaching into her pocket and moving away.

"Can I help?" Despite his earlier protests, Spike looked at Zane with an indiscernible expression under his helmet.

"Actually, yeah," Johnny said, nodding in response. "Although you're nowhere near Zane or me, you're fast enough to notice the Mangler and throw lightning bolts at him."

"Hold on," Zane butted in, looking at Johnny Buddha with a suspicious squint in the eyes. He'd noted it, more as a subconscious fact to be filed away for later when the man dropped that binding net on the Mangler, but now he needed to say it. "Since when are you such a fucking badass? Last time we saw you - I mean, yeah, you were pretty helpful with those goons, not half bad, but nowhere in the territory of Mangler-slaying."

There was a distant noise, high-pitched - metal tearing apart metal and crashing into stone, loud and ruinous. It was distant and yet so loud and close that all of them winced on instinct; a simultaneous cringe by the entire group.

"I was holding back, duh," Johnny said, then half-turned. "Look alive. He's about to find us, and he won't be happy."

"So, do we run?" Jennifer asked.

"Yeah. Neither you nor Helene have the reaction speeds to fight the fucker," Johnny replied.

"Wow." She reacted with something like mild affront, breathing out - a combination of nerves and humor. "Leave it to the boys, huh?"

"Let's go," Helene shouted from the back of the alleyway, drawing back Jennifer's attention to the plan at hand. After a moment of hesitation, Jennifer sprinted over to her, and both girls made their way to the metro.

"Shit. I'm gonna die, aren't I?" Spike chuckled.

"I dunno," Johnny said. "Maybe."

All three of them stood side by side, facing the entry of the alley they came from and waiting for the inevitable to arrive. There were sounds over there, a block or so distant, of cars swerving around and crashing, honking. There were sounds of people screaming, and a generally nervous air. After several moments, a car with its top crushed swerved ahead of them, visible outside of the alleyway, and skidded on the curb of the sidewalk, falling over a moment later due to the imbalance inherent in its half-crumpled structure. Its driver visibly dropped onto the other seat, and then stopped moving, either in too much pain to do so, or completely unconscious.

It was terrifying to see. It was like a lowkey apocalypse happening right in front of them, simply because of people attempting to escape the Mangler.

"Alright, Zane," Johnny said. "Sheathe the Blade, now."

Zane nodded. His Knight Arm faded away and disappeared along with him from normal perception, and catching onto his shoulders, so did Johnny and Spike. All of the world around them seemed to come into contrast, a little sharper and brighter.

A few moments later, the edge of the outer wall of the alley clipped as the Mangler - now in the form of a quadrupedal wolf, the size of a large elephant - rammed into it with his snout, breaking off several bricks as he breathed madly, sniffing around in the air. He went further down the alleyway, walking past them with keen dexterity as they moved closer to its walls. His movements were rapid and fast; much too rapid and fast for a creature his size. It felt unreal in a way that was difficult to conceptualize or describe like they were viewing a clay animation or computer-generated imagery of a huge wolf, rather than an actual creature.

He was terrifying to behold like this. A wolf large enough it could probably slide a man down its throat and bite off everything above the belt in one go.

Zane felt a tugging on his shoulder, as Buddha ushered him to move back where they came from. A distraction plan of some kind; go back and twist the scent, make the bastard walk in circles - this much was implicit in that choice of direction.

Ever-so-slowly, all three of the boys, connected at Zane's shoulders, moved for the mouth of the alleyway. There were nerves in the air, all of them scared almost to the point of maybe pissing their pants, as they nearly stumbled over each other's feet. All three were eager to chance a look back and view the Mangler, to see if maybe he hadn't turned around already to go after them, but all of them also realized that'd disrupt their steady tread out to safety. It was too much risk of being noticed.

A moment after they made it out, the Mangler suddenly spun around and growled at the empty air, then swung his clawed paw in the spot where they stood ten seconds ago, boring a deep hole into the building's corner, upsetting its foundation.

Another such strike delivered near another corner and it likely would've started to wobble, or maybe it'd fall over entirely.

The Mangler's swipe, however, was a motion so fast and powerful that it produced a shockwave in the air, like an artillery shell whizzing past, causing the dumpster and trash cans across the entire alley to fall over like so many children's toys, and come flying out of the alleyway's mouth like pellets from a shotgun, most of them banging against the wall on the opposite side of the street, breaking through the glass of a storefront, or even hitting fleeing bystanders, most of whom stopped moving shortly afterward.

Behind them, the Mangler growled, apparently displeased at his failure to kill them.

He'd figured out the trick, at least - they were invisible or something like it. He started to make gentler pawing motions around the alley, slowly moving in their direction, every blow shearing away pounds of brick, mortar, and concrete from the surrounding infrastructure, releasing shockwaves that ruffled their hair and clothing, pushing them slightly away, as if they were active participants in a rollercoaster ride, even at the distance of forty or so yards.

"Shit," Spike whispered, faintly. "Let's move."

All three of them moved further down the street with measured and hurried steps, heading south into what seemed to be the street the Mangler had run through in his chase, close to where he accosted them.

Around the street, they could see infinite carnage. There was a police car half-embedded in a three-story house, flaming at the hood, its windshield cracked. Among the distant noises before, they hadn't heard anything even vaguely resembling gunshots - none of the police officers even had the time to draw their weapons.

And the corpses scattered around the street were another thing entirely - like a phantasmagorical display out of some kind of sick, fairy serial killer's book. Zane did his best to not look, but even in the corners of his eyes, he could see the evidence - the plainly laid reason for the Mangler's name. Most of those victims, he understood, weren't people he'd attacked directly - simply people that he happened to run past, who suffered as a result of his ruinous power, in the whirlwind of his motions. He'd been powerful and destructive months ago, and he'd likely advanced by leaps and bounds since then.

It was terrifying, enough to make Zane's arms shake.

"Calm down, keep moving," Johnny whispered, as they rounded a street corner. A few dozen steps later, he made them pause, then continued to whisper: "I'll leave here. As soon as he rounds the corner, I'll drop another Ultimate Binding on him. Zane, bring Spike into a good sniping position. As soon as the bastard's immobile, clap him."

Both of them nodded in response, nervous at the plan, but with no better idea. As Buddha stepped out of the anti-perception field, the Mangler's reaction to his sudden presence was much faster than any of them expected to be possible - he came trotting down the street, out of the alleyway and down the corner, and immediately zeroed in on their position with his eyes, acquiring a wild look of bloodlust.

"ULTIMATE-"

The Mangler moved so fast it seemed like teleportation. All of it happened like flashes of photography - individual frames in a movie.

One moment, he was standing across the street from them, tense and coiling as if to pounce across.

And the next, he was standing in the place where Buddha had been, a horizontal slashing motion with his claws moving to bisect Johnny Buddha at the midriff, a shockwave of air so powerful that cars seemed to slowly flip over, and both Zane and Spike were about to be flung. As Zane observed this, time appeared to slow down minimally.

---

Make a decision.

[ ] Save Johnny Buddha

Almost instantly, Zane unsheathes the blade and moves to interpose himself between the Mangler and Buddha, attempting to parry the former's attack in order to save the latter. After that, combat begins, and your chances of escape grow null - there exist only chances of stalling long enough for someone to save you, too.

*+1 Ambrosia for heroic conduct.
*High chances of death.

[ ] Then, Perish

Fool, there is no salvation. It's every man for himself.

*Almost certain that Johnny Buddha dies.
*Almost certain that Johnny Buddha has no method of self-resurrection.
*Good chances that you'll be able to continue your escape attempt without the Mangler's overt notice.
*It was stupid to leave the perception field anyway. H-He brought it on himself, right?

You have 2.7 Ambrosia.

There is yet another decision to be made. As a result of a certain defensive measure, a group of food-sacrifices to the beast allies may be found nearby! Due to how long you've stalled for with your actions, you may pick any two of the below

[ ] Fine Wine

As the Mangler rages, several Maenads come to your rescue, alongside Dionysus himself. All of them are far better equipped than during their last duel, with silver armor and spears, as well as pistols with silvered rounds.

*However, Dionysus isn't a combat specialist, and the Maenads are hardly fast enough to keep up with the Mangler!
*It's a risky choice. As a worst-case scenario, maybe you'll be able to claim Dionysus' Card for yourself?

[ ] A Jeezee Sandwich

There was no reason to call for Constantine, as he's already responding to the disturbance. He finds the Mangler and uses the Sign of Conquest to show him that he's not the only great power in this city.

*Almost assured to be relevant to some degree. If you can distract the Mangler, Constantine will be able to sanctify the area against him.
*A low chance of killing the Mangler.

[ ] Fresh Bacon

All of the Police Faction's Cardbearing members, prepared to fight, in addition to several ESU teams outfitted with arcane equipment and silver rounds, a pair of helicopters with silver-round .50 cal machine guns, a detachment of the FBI's paranormal containment division with special devices, and several related forces in a joint operation.

*Godcard - Episode V: The US Government Strikes Back.
*Also provides interesting opportunities for the future... ++Game Options.

[ ] Marni-Laduree Gold Leaf Macarons

A scattering of powerful independents: Nemesis, Sun Wukong, Hephaestus, and Poseidon were having a business deal in the area, when the Mangler attacked you. None of them are afraid to engage, and they are powerful enough to provide some help!

*Meaningful aid, politically neutral and versatile in power.
*However, you barely know any of these people, so how can you be sure?

[ ] Viking Seafood

The McNessa family, in a surprising twist of events, deploys some of its stronger Cardbearers in order to fight the Mangler - with the intent of claiming his Godcard, but also coincidentally helping you out along the way in a temporary ceasefire-slash-alliance!

*Some of the McNessa's Cardbearers are very powerful, relevant even at this stage.
*It's a solid overall choice - may result in more diplomacy with the McNessas?

[ ] A Spicy Treat

A mystery box option - the ally who'll appear should you choose this option will be kept a secret unless you do so! All I'll say is that you likely aren't expecting who it is...