Wrath's Day
Imagine thinking that you could change the world.
A snapping tendril of pure darkness - vantablack, darker than anything Zane had ever seen before - moved out of the Mangler's jaws like a snake, reaching forth sinuously through the air, and then cascaded down into a hundred bolts, like a Lichtenberg figure, aimed down at Zane.
Imagine being that stupid.
Although he'd miraculously dodged the few that came near him, the rest of them pierced the asphalt underfoot and drained it fast; crumbling tarmac into dust, and dust into nothing, and then sucking it in. Like a straw drawing in liquefied food.
He dashed, as soon as the nearest tendrils cleared, jumping off a tiny bit of concrete that hung suspended in the air in the hundredth of a second between existence and full disappearance, and he somehow made it across the field of streaking darkness and into the clear air. After that, Zane sprinted, forcefully punching aside large blocks of rubble, sliding cars, mailboxes, street lamps, and crumpling beams of steel, making his arms burn. It seemed the Mangler was drawing in the destroying features of the terrain to himself, like a werewolf-sized black hole, at speeds that must've seemed, from a normal person's perspective, to be like those of an arrow.
He reached Mephistopheles a second of dashing, running, dodging, and sprinting later and clasped his hand firmly, anxiously closing his eyes. There was a pop, a displacement of air, and a sensation like being dipped in lukewarm water for a moment before they reappeared elsewhere.
They re-appeared in something resembling a spacious office, with a mahogany desk atop which sat an expensive monitor, some documents, a stationary phone, and a small picture frame. Around himself, Zane saw both Johnny Buddha and Spike, as well as a couple of unknown or almost-unknown Cardbearers.
He recognized Hephaestus among them the most, but there were three others, too.
There was a man with a bushy beard and dark hair tied into a ponytail, wielding a trident of shining gold, observing their dual appearance with a raised eyebrow. There was also a pair of man and woman who stood close enough together to outline them as teammates, dressed in avant-garde red and blue outfits respectively, as well as face-concealing visors. Both of them smiled, then promptly frowned, as Zane stumbled following the teleportation and grasped onto the nearby desk for support. He was feeling ill, like he wanted to throw up. Fucking teleportation.
A moment later, he realized that sinking feeling in his gut wasn't caused by the sudden teleportation, but the wounds he'd sustained making themselves known as the adrenaline flow in his body rapidly diminished. All of a sudden, Zane could feel the spikes of heat digging into his forearms where the Mangler's claws had pierced down past major nerve clusters. His entire chest felt empty, like an egg that had been sucked of its yolk, and incredibly cold, like a radiator turned off.
He almost blacked out right there. He exerted every iota of willpower to keep standing, but the edges of his vision crawled with darkness, like a tunnel closing in on the center of his sight and threatening to overtake him.
A moment later, he coughed and felt his entire stomach and throat heave together in one, wet pulse. A thick pool of blood, scarlet red, splattered over the desk he was holding onto. It was only a few seconds later that Spike ran over and examined him.
"Shit."
"He needs medical attention," concluded Mephistopheles sharply. He didn't sound particularly distressed, walking over to a corner of his office to roll down the window blinds. A moment later, he made his way over to another part of the office and pressed his thumb against a portion of the wall, causing it to sink in like a button. A hidden compartment opened behind, underlit by cyan neon lights, displaying various items: guns on racks, a katana with a gold-white hilt, and a first-aid kit with a red cross on it.
Zane looked away at that moment, in order to wretchedly vomit blood again. It fell down from his throat, leaving a feeling of bile and copper in his mouth. It was somewhat darker, almost edging towards black. He didn't know what that meant.
"He's bleeding black," Spike noticed. "Maybe lay down?"
"Mm. His blood oxygen level is low," said Mephistopheles measuredly, with little compassion. He tossed something over, that Spike caught. "Give him that, to start with. It should help. Make sure to hit the vein, next to the shoulder. I'll look for blood bags and an IV drip."
"Don't move, buddy," Spike whispered as he raised up a syringe filled with some kind of translucent fluid, and pressed it gently into Zane's arm, giving him a shot. It pricked, but not worse than the wounds the Mangler dealt him.
"Fuck. Shouldn't you disinfect my skin first?" Zane growled through grit teeth.
"Won't matter." Mephistopheles returned with a blood bag, a small needle, a tube, and a few other medical appliances. "If you die today, it won't be something as puny as an infection that gets you. If you're coughing blood, that indicates extensive internal bleeding, and that's far worse than an infection. Believe me. Give me your arm."
He didn't know why he complied with the demands of the man who'd attempted to kill him and trashed his uncle's restaurant in the process - maybe it was the bone-deep awareness that he'd probably, indeed, die anyway, so what the hell?
He extended his arm, as much as he could, and Mephistopheles grabbed it and pushed him, forced him to sit down in an office chair.
Zane merely grunted as his back thumped against its surprisingly comfortable leather. Mephistopheles then worked, in slow, patient motions, connecting him up to the small blood bag. After it was done, he handed it over to Spike and instructed him to hold it up so the blood will flow in properly. As the transfusion took place, over the course of well over a minute, slowly, Zane found himself focusing once more and regaining some portion of his attention. All of the people in the room watched this, and then lapsed into a slow conversation, which Zane found difficult to follow until his eyes snapped open, and he felt inexplicably attentive again.
"How do you know my blood type?"
"I know the blood types of all my enemies," said Mephistopheles, as if that explained anything. He was doing something on his phone. "Now that you're all conscious, let's discuss. According to the latest reports, the Mangler is currently tearing up... Hell's Kitchen, attempting to find us. It'll be at least five minutes before he relocates your scent and two more before he reaches Lower Manhattan. It's clear that you are his primary target in this massacre. My contacts at the oh-so-brave NYPD informed me the National Guard has mobilized, and the Army is soon to follow. Between you and me, they can't do much. Any ideas outside of the obvious would be appreciated."
"Evacuate. The city," said the man with the trident, a small tone of insistence to him. He sounded like he was used to giving out orders and wasn't happy about being stuck here, among would-be equals or superiors.
"Unwise," Mephistopheles said casually, coughing a little, then leaning against his desk. His gloved hand touched Zane's blood vomit with a wet sound, and the man held it up and grunted disgustedly, wiping it off on a stack of papers, before deciding it was futile, and removing his glove altogether.
"How is that unwise?" Hephaestus asked him, voice tense, yet calm like she wanted to punch him in the face.
"Because it accomplishes exactly nothing," replied Mephistopheles, with a scathing venom, turning on her. He coughed again, far more hoarse than before, and continued to speak with a raspy voice, clearing his throat in between words and sentences, "The Mangler is faster than a bullet; given time, deadlier than a nuke, and he can't be destroyed. I could attempt to contact the McNessas and in doing so, accomplish nada. The Wardens are moving already, but too slow. And the policemen are sleeping on their fucking job. The Mangler will kill as many thousands of people as he pleases and we can't do anything. Focus on something we can do."
"Move Zane outside the city," proposed Johnny Buddha ardently.
"Fuck that," Zane answered, ripping the IV out of his arm with a growl. "I'm finding Persephone, getting better healing, and I'll fight that fucker. I almost had him last time."
"A fascinating method of suicide," Mephistopheles said, voice filled with nothing less than pure admiration for his choice. "I debated that one myself - fighting the Mangler. It sounds like such an exalted way to have your fucking guts ripped out."
Mephistopheles laughed at him, and at first, Zane was angry, but then, the man's laugh transformed into a rasped fit of coughing. He coughed, and doubled over, almost falling to his knees, and Zane's anger disappeared, replaced with confusion. The coughing persisted for almost ten seconds, when the man finally stopped, breathing in.
"Are you..."
"I'm dying," said Mephistopheles, raising a hand. He spoke, snappily, to preserve his voice and stamina, "Had to sacrifice health, power. Irrelevant, currently. Focus on Mangler. Save myself later."
"Fuck. I don't know. Use me as bait," Zane said, throwing a random idea at the board. "I don't want people to die because of me."
"Constantine," Spike suddenly offered. "We need to find him. If we can fight with him at your side, he'll be able to even the playing field - make the Mangler weaker, and you stronger. And he can bless us, let us coordinate better. It could make us more relevant to the speeds you're at."
"Then we need to find him," said Mephistopheles, voice still hoarse, lightly punching his chest. "Call him."
Spike did, but to no avail. After a nervous few moments, the call didn't even go through.
"Fuck," Zane cursed. "I'm going after the Mangler, then. Teleport me."
"Stupid." Mephistopheles laughed again. "And I can't. I can only go where they call my name. Don't worry about the Mangler, he'll come to us soon enough. If we're going to fight the beast, come up with a battle plan."
"I assume this building doesn't have anti-Mangler defenses?" Johnny Buddha asked, voice almost hopeful.
Mephistopheles' voice, in turn, was mildly spiteful. "No. It does not."
"Then we should leave here pronto," Johnny Buddha said. "He can kinda cut down buildings like a lumberjack, my guy. Skyscrapers especially."
After a moment of blankly staring into space and clutching his chest, right near the heart, Mephistopheles asked, "Car or helicopter?"
"You have a helicopter?" Spike asked. "Wait, who even are you?"
"Doesn't. Fucking. Matter," answered Mephistopheles, voice going ragged with sheer, vein-boiling wrath. "If you make it, you'll find out in the newspaper when they post my obituary. Focus on the fucking question. If we flee by car, our options of escape are limited, we'll be limited by terrain features, and the Mangler will definitely be faster than us. If we flee by helicopter, we'll limit his attack vectors and we'll be much faster, but I could die in the middle of the flight, or pass out, and force you to save yourselves. Can you all survive a helicopter crash?"
"Uhm. I can," Buddha said.
"Me too," Spike offered.
The man with the trident nodded.
After a moment of thought, the man in the red outfit said, "Hm, I suppose I could transform into a pontoon or parachute and save Bonnie here from the subsequent fall, so I suppose we're all good."
"Alright then. Your choice," Mephistopheles said, looking over at Zane.
"How is it my choice?" He wanted to react with a laugh of his own - this was ridiculous and illogical.
"He's pursuing you, so you're the one fleeing. All of the rest of us are there as willing backup. If you want to fight here, we can't do much to stop you. If you want to escape, again, not much we can do - but we can at least go with you and help you if the Mangler catches up," said the man, drawing in a sharp breath, as if to center himself in all this stupidity. Zane was surprised at how straightforward his response was, and even more surprised that a mob boss would actually give a fuck about what happened in regards to a Mangler massacre.
"I think we should take the chopper," opinioned Spike, drawing everyone into a discussion of the merits and demerits of each option. It was, however, ultimately Zane's choice as to what he did.
---
As of right now, you have 2.5 Ambrosia.
Select an escape plan, or a general plan of action:
[ ] Hunker Down - As of right now, your priority is to put down the Mangler and make sure he can't deal more damage. Fortify the building as much as possible using Johnny Buddha and Hephaestus' shared powers, and then make a plan to defend it.
*Minimizes collateral civilian deaths and overall damage.
*Also increases your odds of death.
*Mephistopheles is confident he can provide you with better medical attention in the meantime, to get you back into fighting shape and then some (apparently, he can enhance you further in some way to give you an edge.)
*Actual tactics improve odds of success.
*Johnny Buddha, Hephaestus, and Poseidon favor this plan.
[ ] Air Escape - Use a helicopter to run away. A non-zero chance that Mephistopheles dies before you leave city limits, making you crash. A rough 5% chance he dies in general while you're in the air. It's possible - maybe even likely - that you'll lose the Mangler this way.
*Spike, Bonnie, and Clyde (Sun Wukong) favor this plan.
[ ] Ground Escape - Use a car to run away. Even if Mephistopheles dies, someone else can easily take the wheel and keep driving further down the road, and most of you won't be especially affected. At the very least, it's possible you'll leave city limits before the Mangler catches up.
*Mephistopheles favors this plan.
