[spoiler]Apologies for the delay. Work and family stuff.[/spoiler] The three remaining eyes of Rathiks turn toward the voice trespasser violating his ship. He sneers, but his head doesn't move from where his greater right hand supports his chin. It tightens slowly into a fist, one that he desperately wants to put through this young Eliksni's face. "You are a daring one," he notes, "for a pup. You seek to raid my ship, kill my crew and threaten me. I would be impressed, were I not insulted. What have you come for?"

[spoiler]It's ok dude, I saw your other post. Also, you do realize me and my men are all still cloaked, right? That's why I'm throwing my voice here.[/spoiler] "We come for your capture," I said, a number of red dots appearing on the Captains head and chest, "Or your head. You decide which."

[spoiler]Edited previous post for continuity.[/spoiler] "Is there a use for my capture, whelp?" Rathiks demands, his tone hot and angry at being spoken to in such a way.

"There is strength in holding the head of an enemy aloft for all to see. To show greater strength, both of mind and body, is to display that enemy, alive and in chains."

"You have come only to disappoint yourself, [i]Dreg[/i]," he snarls, and then vanishes! The air crackles and pops, and there's a sudden [i]whoosh[/i] as oxygen fills in the space he used to take up. The short range teleportation device carried the Elder Captain halfway across the room, toward the hatch. He's already sprinting as his feet hit the ground. The hatch identifies him and parts, even as Rathiks' form blurs and disappears once more. Eliksni chatter erupts from the nearby consoles as the Devil demands reinforcements.

[i]Shit[/i], I thought, as me and my men put a number of rounds into the large Captain. Most penetrate, but don't do much, as he doesn't slow down, reaching the door far faster than any of us would have expected. His teleport was obviously customized, as he crossed the room in two long 'ports. "Get Bravo and Charlie on the line, and tell them to get here yesterday!" I yelled at Zavak, who I knew nodded before breaking radio silence. To the rest, I said, "Silencers off. Seems we're doing this the hard way. Load ap, keep moving, and make every shot count." A quick round of "Yes sir!" was followed by the sound of ten Vandals falling to the ground lightly, before we sprinted for the door, still quiet as ghosts in our movements. The first group we caught by surprise, none of them knowing what was happening even as we put them down, never stoping. [i]Let's just hope we make it out of this one[/i], I thought, my expression grim. We met a few more small groups, before catching a group in a doorway. When we stepped over their corpses, we had to dive for cover, being met with a wall of enemy fire, some being forced to find cover in the hallway. Still stealthed, I peeked over the box I was behind, seeing the Captain commanding his forces to attack, hand in the air. "Focus Rathiks!" I shouted into the comms above the roar of enemy guns. "Remember, keep moving: they can't hit you if they don't know where you are!" With that, I peeked over my cover, taking down a few Dregs and a Vandal, before sprinting for another firing position. My men did much the same, slowly escaping from the hallway as the wall of shock munitions lessened slightly. Soon enough, we were all in the large room, some climbing the walls for an unpredictable firing position.

"They can't hit you if they don't know where you are!" Rathiks hears the shout over the sizzling [i]snap![/i] of Arc energy flashing across the open cargo space that he had retreated to. How little his enemy knows. He reaches down to where a Dreg stands close by, and claims the smoking scorch cannon from him. The Devil hoists it up onto his shoulder and nods once to a nearby Vandal that's kneeling in cover, working on a panel. The Vandal touches a holographic key and the in-atmosphere fire suppressant system activates. There's a flood of choking chemical smog that fills the hold, spewed forth from nozzles in the overhead. With all of the Eliksni in rebreathers, it poses very little threat to the lungs of either side, but it does create a tense, fog-strewn room for roughly two minutes. Two very tense, but active minutes. There's the sound of orders in Devil battle cant. Hatches hiss open and shut, and feet pound on the deck. As the smog slowly settles to knee-depth, it leaves everything - [i]everything[/i] - covered in an ash-like film. "Fire," Rathiks orders almost casually, as he aims his cannon at a once invisible form scaling the bulkhead. The weapon vomits molten fire and death. The white-hot shot cooks the Vandal before it even strikes him, super heating the liquids in his flesh and organs until he's a husk. Then the round explodes, showering nearby Fallen with their eradicated companion. Devils rise from their cover to fire at the now exposed invaders that are scaling the bulkheads and seeking forward cover. It's a brutal exchange, but it's a price that Rathiks is willing to pay to exact his revenge.

[spoiler]Clever... Also, sorry for the delay, I have my app refresh turned off on my phone. Sometimes it would just keep going full blast even when I turn it off, and would waste a ton of battery.[/spoiler] [i]Damnit, where are they?![/i] I thought, as another of my men went down - too slow to come down, shredded by Arc blasts. Just then, I felt a searing pain - a wire rifle - and hissed in agony, dropping behind cover. I'd been stuck square in the right primary shoulder, the shot leaving a seared hole. I knew the Vandal went down quickly enough - both in retribution and because he was no small threat - but I also knew I couldn't fire my gun like this. So, I slung it behind me, and pulled out my sidearm, unscrewing the silencer. I peeked over my cover, raised my pistol- [i][b]BOOM[/b][/i] An explosion ripped through the hull of the ship, opening a huge hole in the room. Smoke billowed in, and before anyone could react, dozens of guns started blazing, and another explosion ripped through the enemy forces. [i]'Bout damn time.[/i] The smoke masked my movements as I moved towards the breach. The others moved as well, and I could seen glimpses of a few being supported by others. Once we I was out of the smoke, I ran for the nearest skiff, climbing in before turning to provide cover fire for my men. "EVERYBODY MOVE!" I shouted, doing what little I could to pin down the enemy. Soon enough, everyone was onboard a skiff, even Tiny, our spider tank - though I had seen more take hits as they ran. "GET US THE HELL OUT OF HERE!" I yelled to the pilots, who rapidly complied, taking off and stealthing almost immediately. [i]They aren't going to let us go that quickly.[/i] "Firen, open all known Guardian channels." To his credit, the comms officer didn't question me at all. Once he nodded, I took the mic, and sole into it. "This is the commander of the Mist, calling to any Guardians of The Last City. If you can hear me, we need your help. We are pursued by Rathiks, Elder Devil, and slayer of dozens of our number. If you believe at all in the principles of the Light, then I all I ask is for a second chance. An opportunity to prove we need not be enemies. But for me to do this, we must survive, and so I ask for help. Please." I stepped away from the console, and turned towards the cockpit. "Set a course for The City."

[spoiler]No worries about the delay. I've had a few of my own.[/spoiler] Rathiks snarls in rage as his attacker escapes. He lowers the smoldering scorch cannon from his shoulder and looks around at the damage. The bodies of Eliksni litter the chamber, all in various stages of ruin. His own Devils move about the hold, the butts of shrapnel launchers held tightly to their shoulders as they check the mutilated forms of their enemies and comrades. Not many still live, and those that do won't survive for long. The weapons of the Fallen are brutally efficient. The invaders that will only take up valuable ether to die in the midst of questioning are dispatched with shock daggers, their heads yanked back and the blades pulled roughly across their throats. Their bodies are immediately pillaged. Those that were healthy enough to live but could not escape and were left behind in the raging confusion of combat ( not to mention active Vandal obfuscation kits and a mountain of smoke ) are brought to kneel before Rathiks. The Elder Captain glowers down at them with his three good eyes. As the adrenaline leaves his body, it starts to ache. Places where shock rifles bit through his shields and armor spill a dark, almost violate-colored liquid. The once fine burnished metal is cracked and his flesh burnt. Rathiks lets a hostile hiss escape from between his teeth as he looks upon those that caused him pain. "Name yourselves, your House, and he who abandoned you to me," the Devil demands.

[spoiler]Well, this is interesting. Didn't expect this. As such, this will be a bit of shift in perspective. I prefer to be in first person, but this calls for third person selective. No problem, though, I was curious as to where you would take this.[/spoiler] All but one of them stayed stoic, the last one chuckling under his breath, the sound slightly distorted by the blood in his mouth. "I'll congratulate you as the first to do this much damage to us, and your cunning is impressive." At this point, the humor quickly faded from his eyes. "But you are a fool if you think we will give you anything more than the blood and ether in our veins. Either way, you will fall for what you have done: we will not take such an offense lightly." Then, they all started to whisper a chant, which Rathiks could only barely hear, spoken in Cityspeak: "Out of the night that covers me..." Despite any effort to rouse them, they stay like this, unresponsive to anything, even grievous injury. [spoiler]And now, back to our regularly scheduled program. Also, cookie if you get the reference.[/spoiler] "How many?" I asked wearily, as on of the medics tended to my wounds. I could hear the grief in Zavak's voice as he spoke: "Thirteen. Nine dead, four captured." I hissed in pain, both of body and soul, before relaxing back into my seat as the medic resumed his work. "And the tower?" I said, looking to the comms officer, who shook his head. "We aren't being tailed, at least. Though I doubt that will stay the case for long." I released another strained breath at that, before I returned my attention to comms officer again. "Set the message to repeat at five-minute intervals, and wake me if you get a response." With that, I closed my eyes, to get some amount of rest. ~~~~~~~~time skip~~~~~~~~ I awoke to someone shaking my left primary shoulder. "Sir, we're receiving a response. It's Commander Zavala." I nodded, and stood, still slightly weak from blood and ether loss. I made my way to the comms station, and took the mic the officer offered me. "This is the commander of the Mist. To whom am I speaking to?" My well-spoken words seemed to throw him off guard, as there was a pause before he responded. "I am Commander Zavala, Titan Vanguard of the City. What are you called?" "Only my men have a name for me, and that is simply "sir". Other than that, and my position, I have no other titles, nor have I need for them." Another pause. "Very well. For the time being, may I call you Mist?" I took a moment to look behind me, at the fierce loyalty of my men, before turning back to the console. "Yes, that will do. Enough of this, though. There are far more important matters at hand. My purpose in coming to you is simple: redeem my race, in the eyes of all who watch, and raise us back to where we fell from. This I do, not for the sake of old glory or power, but so that we may survive. We are in the sorriest state we've ever been, and now, I fear we will not survive. Not without help." This time, he was silent for a good few minutes, before another voice spoke. "I am Ikora Ray, Warlock Vanguard. What is it you offer in return?" To this, I answered without hesitation. "One less front on which to fight, and a new ally to draw strength from on all others. All I ask for is the chance to defy that which we have represented for centuries: hate, greed, and cruelty." "You stack yourself against great odds." Said Ikora after a moment. I chuckled. "Never tell me the odds." There was a faint "Did he just say-" in the background, before their mic was muted. Now, all we could do was wait, and hope we didn't get blown out of the sky. [spoiler]Damn, this was long. Sorry if it's a bit much. Also, I think we might need a Guardian character, unless you want to take the reins for the Vanguard, perhaps still then.[/spoiler]

[spoiler]I think this is a good place to stop this particular thread. I'll start a new one soon enough. I've got a Guardian character, but I know another player who might enjoy jumping in. I liked how you did the Vanguard, by the way.[/spoiler] The fate of the four captured Eliksni is...brutal. Their lower arms are ceremonially cut from their bodies, reducing them to Dregs. The rest of their limbs soon follow, but it's the lesser arms that define an Eliksni's status. Vandals have value. Dregs do not. And now four enemy Dregs, their extremities removed, decorate the outside hull of the ketch, secured by chains welded directly to the metal. They're left to die from exposure. It's a cruel death, and with their demise comes a message: the mysterious leader that attacked the ketch might have gotten away, but he cannot escape the fury of Rathiks.

[spoiler]In order: alright, that makes sense, message me when you do; I also have two that were interested in my character when I first got it approved; thank you for the compliment; and I do hope you aren't too attached to Rathiks, as he is going to die. Very painfully and very brutally. As the one guy said, the Mist will not take such a thing lightly. If need be, it can happen behind closed doors, but it's going to happen. No hard feelings, though. ;)[/spoiler]

[spoiler]He's an antagonist. He's meant to die. He won't go easily, but I didn't plan on him surviving anyway.[/spoiler]