Harsh Disagreement
There was no prelude. Like a reverse bolt of lightning, Zane stood up from his seated position on the stairs, flexed his knee, and smashed his foot right into Mephistopheles' face before the man could react. His mask was actual metal, judging from the noise it made, and how much it hurt to kick.
As the man flew back into the stairs, lying supine and grunting, Zane almost tore open the door into the fight club and stepped through, intent on escaping.
Before he closed it, he used the power of Phobos in order to form an illusionary tangle of barbed vines in the path of the door, to deter the man from chasing - he prioritized quality of illusion over volume and quality over the lifespan. If someone stepped into them, they'd feel actual pain, and it'd hurt like an absolute son of a bitch. It'd only last a minute or two, however - not like Zane needed more. And then, he was off, running through the sea-crowd of cheering patrons, pushing them aside with abandon, producing utterances of complaint and a few counter-pushes from the rowdier people in the mass.
He could see Spike, right next to the fighting ring, fists up in the air and screaming. He wouldn't hear a shout.
Zane looked to the sides of the room, scanning the other doors. A few men in dark clothes burst in after a few moments, a visible bulge in their jackets, but otherwise unassuming. Zane grit his teeth with boiling wrath and growing anxiety, then kept pushing through the crowd with a renewed ferocity.
As soon as he reached Spike, he took the boy's wrist and snapped him up closer, to get his attention.
"Hey, ass-!" Spike jeered, before turning surprised as he noticed who'd pulled him in. "Zane, whoa, what gives?"
"We need to get the fuck out of here," Zane growled at him, looking back to observe the dark-clothed men. Zane positioned himself and Spike to stand in the shadow of one of the taller patrons, giving them a few seconds of obscurity.
Spike's radical joy at seeing people beat the shit out of each other disappeared, replaced by cold worry. "What's going on?"
"No time to explain," Zane replied. "I may have pissed off a mob boss."
Spike's worry turned into fear. "What?! What- I-"
"No time to explain right now, I'll tell you about it later, we need to blow this joint," Zane said, before pushing Spike to move onward through what seemed like the clearest path to a side exit. They'd need to break down the door, but Zane had a lot of experience with that, and the door didn't look too sturdy anyhow.
All of the patrons were too focused on the fight happening in the center stage of the room, making sounds of joy or cringe when one or the other fighter started losing. It acted as good concealment for their conversation and movement. The empathic fear and anger of the people around them kept flowing into Zane like a constant electrifying IV-drip of power, feeding him the energy that he needed to form illusions. Maybe it was a trick of the mind, but he thought maybe he was accumulating it a little faster when he was, himself, in combat. It definitely felt like kicking Mephistopheles in the face sent a jolt of power into him.
It wasn't even close to the door when one of the men spotted them and started to rush through in a desperate chase, pushing customers aside and warding off the few who looked at him with glares of his own - fortunately, without alerting the other gangsters.
"Go," Zane pushed Spike, and then moved sideways, at an oblique angle, disappearing to the gangster's view among the crowd of patrons, bending light and sound to obscure himself. As he prowled on back and circled for the man's position, Zane kept himself crouched low, like a predator in the reeds. The man kept following the rough trail between people that Spike had trekked through on his way to the edge of the room, and when the moment was perfect, Zane leaped out of the crowd and tackled the searching gangster from the side.
The crowd of patrons slightly parted, almost on wild instinct - the nearest people laughing drunkenly or shouting in surprise - as Zane started to beat the shit out of the man under him, merciless punch after merciless punch delivered to the forehead, cheeks, temples, and jaw, until the gangster's face looked more like an overripe plum than a face.
Unfortunately, the parting of the crowd revealed his position to the rest of their pursuers, and seeing what he'd done to their colleague, they started reaching into their jackets, willing to fire here, among civilians.
Alright, fuckers. I can play too.
An illusionary Glock flashed into his outstretched hand. At once, Zane fired off three rounds into the ceiling like a madman with no trigger discipline, giving himself tinnitus and causing the people in the crowd to suddenly scream and move around in a wild flailing tangle of escaping limbs, concealing himself once more. Only the people closest to him noticed who'd fired the gun and were moving away, meaning the others flailed chaotically in every possible direction, running around and screaming in a desperate attempt to escape whoever was doing the shooting.
Always trust Americans to react to that magical sound, he thought, his hearing not fully back as he restarted motion.
He used the chaos to his advantage, sneaking up on another gangster from behind - an extremely tall, broad-shouldered beefcake. With a brief moment of focus and expending a decent amount of his illusion energy, Zane formed a fake copy of himself and sent it into the man's line of sight. The gangster reacted as expected, firing off rounds chaotically, dispelling the illusion, and discovering he'd packed a few bullets into his buddy's foot and knee. At the same time, Zane used the fake Glock and discharged one nonexistent round into the back of the beefcake's spine, bringing him down non-lethal-ish-ly.
And like that, the south side of the room was clear. Much like the crowd of fleeing patrons, Zane fled upstairs through the now-open side exit. Outside, a man ambushed him, leaping from the side of the doorway with a knife, but Zane switched to the Boreads in the last moment and caught the blade into his hand, before delivering an uppercut to the bastard's chin. It wasn't enough to make him let go of the knife - Zane punched again, in the chin and then the nose, and finally, the man stumbled back three or four steps into another fleeing patron, both of them losing balance and falling.
Zane crouched down briefly and stabbed a knife into the man's foot - producing a scream of wild-eyed agony - before he broke off into a sprint, outside.
And there, finally, it seemed like the coast was clear. Aside from a bunch of people jogging off and looking around themselves to locate the shooter - there was none, as Zane had dispelled his own gun, and tricked one of the other gangsters into firing his own - a brilliant move, in retrospect, since it'd muddle up any police investigation.
After a minute of searching, he found Spike, and they both silently moved north for a couple of minutes, passing through side streets, alleyways, and obscure areas of the city, until finally ending up at a cold spot beneath an overpass.
"What the fuck was that?" Spike asked him immediately, in between ragged breaths.
"Superpowers," Zane answered with a grin. "Ever since I beat the Zuchezzis, I had 'em."
"Holy shit." Spike's eyes widened, before narrowing dangerously. "And you weren't gonna tell me? Dick."
"Calm down your ass, I was trying to find a way out. And then the boss of the Gravesend Demons took exception to me waving around my dick, I guess," Zane said, with a final exhalation. "So I kicked him in the face and refused his polite offer of being a personal wind battery for the rest of my life."
"Wait," Spike reacted in surprise, "The boss of the Demons? You mean-"
Zane slammed the palm of his hand onto Spike's mouth. "Shut the fuck up. I don't know how it works, but he can appear in front of anyone who says his name. Don't ever say that shit, alright?"
Spike nodded, and Zane let go.
Spike's gaze fell down as he realized something profound. "Fuck. I'm in deep, too, aren't I? Because I'm your friend?"
"Probably," Zane noted bitterly. He hadn't intended for that to happen, but judging by how one of the gangsters went after Spike in the fight club, their orders were to fuck up any of Zane's friends, too. They'd need to warn Brick.
"Any ideas on what to do now?" Spike questioned. "Aside from maybe finding a safe place and telling me about your superpowers?"
---
You have 6 Ambrosia, and purchased Brawler's Repute. Due to his exceptional rolls, Zane didn't need to sacrifice any of his activations of Brawler of Midwood, leaving him at 3/3 for the rest of the Arc.
As a result of refusing to submit to a rather powerful enemy, and then using the concepts of deception, fear, and panic as weapons during mass combat to dispatch the enemy, you've gained ++++Compatibility with Phobos. Currently: 20.25%.
As a result of refusing to surrender your freedom to an unacceptable outside authority and not even thinking twice about rescuing Spike, you've gained ++++Compatibility with Boreads. Currently: 42.75%.
How do you intend on moving forward, from this?
[ ] Remain Hidden - Do not take any risks. Move into one of Uncle Shen's apartments, explaining the situation to him, while avoiding the painful fact that you were unwilling to part with either of the Godcards. Spike and Brick can move in, too. Keep going to school, but when moving around in public, use Phobos to alter your facial appearance in order to deter any possible stalkers or would-be assassins.
[ ] Strike First - Although his knowledge of the gang's upper hierarchy is fragmentary, Spike is vaguely aware of the location of the Gravesend Demons' would-be headquarters and key places of operation. You don't expect Mephistopheles is willing to let this go, so don't let Mephistopheles breathe. Let Spike and Brick practice with the Cards a little to see what kind of powers they'll gain, teach them the basics of self-defense, and then make directed attacks at some of the gang's more important locations. Bleed the devil's empire dry and he'll come to you himself, offering a truce.
[ ] Alert the Police - Maybe it's a stupid idea to pick a fight with a criminal organization, and maybe it's a stupid idea to hope they won't find your address? Inform the police about the events. All of the gritty details - such as whether to leave out the Godcards or magic from it - will be decided should this option succeed, first.
[ ] Skip Town - Maybe the wisest choice altogether. Fuck school and fuck Brooklyn - sacrifice your dreams on the altar of survival. As soon as the option is available, Zane will take a bus to some nice, quaint town in Massachussets and start a new life there, away from all of this nonsense.
...Coward.
