Mhaieiyu

Arc 1, Chapter 20
The Beast Hungers

Watching his ally descend like a madman into the fray, Kev could do nothing but stare, jaw-dropped. So quickly their plans seemed to unravel, stunted. And yet...

"So you climb up here just to leave me to my lonesome? You could've waited for Emris or at least an order, you brat." Kev smiled, tilting his gun back into place, before looking down its steel scope once more. Perhaps a dozen targets had left the building; even with his awkward angle, he could see that much. More so, a cloud of dust seemed to explode outwards, though no explosion was audible. Even through the debris Kev's infrared scope kept most targets in view. With his victims chosen, the General popped off the safety.

"Still, you're a good man, Xavier," he murmured to nobody in particular. "You best stay alive."

With that, the sniper fired, the bullet whizzing through the air at stupid speeds to pierce whoever was unfortunate enough to end up on the opposite end. With admirable speed, the Head of Military had soon already popped four of the enemies, with the rest being eliminated through external means. Likely Xavier, if not the prisoners themselves.

With his limited field of view, he could count no more targets, and as the sun washed away the night, he was becoming increasingly visible. With that, the soldier slipped beneath the wall and rested, leaning against his rifle peacefully as he placed a cigar in his mouth, lighting the thing with his white-hot barrel. Powerful as it was, the compactness his rifle featured had its disadvantages, and cooldowns were inevitable. Perhaps if that lazy bastard Hephaestus had given it longer than five minutes...

Kev hadn't gotten a decent break in quite a while. While this wouldn't usually cause any major problems, what with his iron-clad endurance, his latest battle in the front lines had given him much to compensate for; and compensating, he was not. If he didn't give his body rest soon——

"Alright you old dog. Up and at 'em," the soldier pepped himself with a slap to his knees. He stood once more, though this time with a different plan in mind. Taking his belongings, the General propped himself up on the wall, sitting on its edge. With a deep take of air and lung-blackening smoke, Kev raised his gaze high, away from the morbid colours of the city — which somehow showed more cleanliness than his own. With a crack of his neck, he asked himself:

"Hey, Em," he started, placing a hand against the surface of the concrete wall, which cascaded down to the roads far below, just above a window. "I'd ask you to hurry, but we both know that's not gonna happen. Say, do you ever wonder who the next guys in line'll be?"

Despite his destined question, he seemed to be directing more toward himself than anyone else.

"I mean, somebody's got to take our roles. Has to happen sooner than later, really. Do you think we laid out the roads well enough for 'em? I sure think I did, heh." Resting his foot against the sleek concrete, the General hopped off the ledge, his boots tearing lines through the building's side as he descended. Windows shattered, concrete crumbled, paint was destroyed... all to slow his seemingly unsurvivable fall. It was surprising he didn't just lose his footing and start rolling uncontrollably through the air. No doubt he had practised this. If only to vandalise the property to the best of his ability.

"Ah, I just 'ope," Kev smiled, the cigar flying out of his mouth. "They manage the ropes better than us old fiends."

Meters before impact, his footwear seemed to almost explode as it released a few violent bursts of air, comparable to an expensive car's exhaust as it's seconds from speeding off. The presence of these bursts pushed back against gravity, softening the fall by just a bit, though not nearly enough to prevent the destructive nature of his final touch against the earth, which shattered the concrete in a fine display of power. The suit, as if rejecting all principles of logic, had barely been scratched.

 

♦ ♥ ♣ ♠

 

The wood of the simple, home-made training sword splintered as it collided with the shield of his opponent, it being sturdy enough to survive the blow though not without further stiffening his bruised hand with its unsteady vibrations. In the same instant, the adversary's weapon—made of equal material—swept in a wide arc, bashing the child's chest and sending them rolling backwards against the grass below, further dirtying his tattered cloth clothes. With victory once more assured, the adversary, a lumberjack with a long beard and a warm, steel heart, allowed the tip of his edgeless blade to pierce the earth with a deep sigh.

"My boy, that's enough," he proclaimed, standing tall once more.

Despite his command, the bested lad stood once more, though he clearly struggled to do so. He had been knocked down countless times, and his shield was too heavy for his tired arms, leaving him defenceless. Even through the fatigue, bruises and scrapes, the child managed to raise sword once more, teetering as he managed to keep his feet under him one last time.

"No, not yet..." the boy asked, pleaded, and demanded. "I'm not... good enough yet."

His breaths were long, his voice was hoarse, his body ached for rest. His resolve was admirable, but his inability to know when to give up was simply irresponsible.

"You won't get stronger if you don't recuperate between sessions. Hey!" the man shouted, his words met with deaf ears as the boy strode towards him once more, his sword dragging against the floor before being hoisted up high once again. Despite his best efforts, his futile slash was parried effortlessly, his weapon slipping out of his small, spent hands.

His weapon gone, the boy resorted instead to step forward, throwing his fists around uselessly before colliding against the lumberjack's bare chest, falling unconscious shortly after. The man huffed, dropping his gear to take the boy's sleeping body in his arms and lug him home.

"Oh dear... Worked himself dry again?" a woman reproached sympathetically as the wood worker entered his home, greeted by his partner.

"It seems our boy is incapable of backing down until he's spent," the athletic, bulky man replied, tucking the fledgling into his bed. Much like the rest of the house—and the entire town—the cloth blankets and mattresses were somewhat medieval in their craft.

To his comment, the contrasting, stick-thin woman wrapped her arms around his massive torso. "Well, who does that remind you of?"

"My bloody genes," he smiled, turning to the kitchen to finish his wife's work, leaving her to her with her son.

She rested on her knees, caressing the sleeping child's scraped face.

"Give Marcy's a call tomorrow, will you? The boy could use a touch-up."

"Sure thing."

"He looks so tender in his sleep, doesn't he?" the woman commented, pinching the kid's cheek as she mused over his rapid growth.

"Ah, I ain't sweet enough to see those things. But he came from me. He'll be a handsome lad."

"And in time, a handsome dad too, I bet. I guess it was true. They do grow fast. Soon enough, he'll look as scruffy as you do, hun."

Nearly dropping the wooden spoon in the stew due to the bulk of his hands, the man nodded. "Och, it does seem it. Maybe he'll drop the whole fighting nonsense and start hacking with his old man soon enough."

"Oh stop it. Let him dream until he grows up proper," the woman teasingly scolded.

"If you say so... Think he'll need a break after today?" the man questioned, clumsily finishing up the food and pouring the contents into two bowls.

Cupping her lips, the woman giggled to herself. "Yes, he deserves one I think. Don't you..."

 

"...Xavier?"

 

"Xavier."

 

"Xavier! Do you copy? Respond!"

The soldier awoke from his daydream with a shake of his head, stumbling to reach his communicator to respond. He could barely see a thing, though he knew well enough where he was. He was so talented at combat he found it second nature to take down his enemies; especially if they were just human. So talented, in fact, that he could perform such expertise while distracted, like muscle memory.

"Yes! Yes, I'm alive. I'm alive Kev. I've infiltrated the courtyard."

"I can see that! Can't believe you'd wander off me like that. Give me a SITREP!"

As the dust clouds started to lift, his vision became clearer. The only people who stood other than him were three individuals, two of which he could recognise.

"I've got them right here, sir."

"Oh, thank the Goddess. Stay put, I'm looking for a breach zone," Kev commanded. "Keep them safe at all costs! We can't afford to lose two perfectly good Celestials."

The Brigadier looked back behind him, witnessing the several corpses that littered the courtyard. Some of which belonged to prisoners.

Maybe I should've stayed with you. Mom, Dad... Ant.

Would I have become strong enough to protect you either way?

Did I really learn anything with these people?

"Hey! Xavier! Are you shell-shocked or something?" the female Celestial shouted, approaching the dazed Brigadier with spunk to her step. "I mean, thanks for the rescue an' all, but you really need to get that head out of the clouds," she teased, poking his forehead slyly.

Ah, that's right.

I wouldn't have met them, he thought, finally escaping from his mind's grasp.

"Xavier! We need to get the hell out of here, stat!" Corvus yelled, earning a grimace from Noire.

With that, the Brigadier shook the embarrassment off his face.

"Right. We have reinforcements on the way. Do you have your sword?"

The winged male raised his cuffed hands for him to see. "I certainly could find it, but I'm a fair bit limited as it stands."

"I can help with——"

Before Xavier could finish his offer, Erica raised a sword to the heavens before hacking it down against Corvus' cuffs, nearly slicing his hand off in the process. While the cuff wouldn't break off completely, it would be fairly easy for the Celestial to split them with the damage executed. That said...

"Victus merciful above— Just what in the hell are you doing!" Corvus screamed in a girlish recoil as his limbs came so close to being severed. "Are you completely out of your goddess-damn mind?!"

With an energetic laugh, Erica fell to her knees in amusement, slamming the concrete with a fist. "Oh my Goddess! You should've seen the look on your face!" she wheezed.

"Is this really the time for this?!"

"Nah, but give me a break, would ya? I only went and thought of you when I went to pick my girl up," Erica smirked, showing off the edge of her halberd.

He plucked the blade from her laugh-weakened grasp, wiping his prison-issued clothing against its steel. "I'll only forgive you for reuniting us. For heaven's sakes, Noire just showed us he could do better and without risking my hand's amputation!"

"Well, yeah, but that wouldn't have been as funny," Erica shot back, wiping her eye of tears. "You're so adorable when you're all worried like that."

"Fuck off!"

Just then, a gunshot rang out into the exterior; its bullet annihilated by Noire's interference.

"What the hell was that?!" Xavier yelled, taking a rifle from one of the corpses and readying it. In that instant, he killed the responsible gunman, who was soon replaced by a multitude of riflemen.

"We're still figuring it out too," Corvus replied, brandishing his sword. So long as he wasn't overwhelmed, the Celestial could chop bullets right out of the air. "Do we have an exit plan?"

"That I'm aware of? No. All I heard was to stay put," Xavier explained, conjuring wind to unsteady his enemies before spraying them.

"Vicks! Who came up with this?!" Erica yelled, halberd in hand.

The four quickly retreated, past the wall Noire had obliterated with such ease, and through the outer-cell core of the prison's junction, towered by a large tesla device that surveyed the area like an electrical sentry. The squad immediately took cover behind a stone traffic guard, looking back as the small mass of soldiers took their positions in a somewhat awkward, lazy way.

As bullets started to siege over their hiding place, drilling holes into the half-wall they sat behind, Xavier turned to Erica and shouted.

"Kev's orders!"

"That madman wants us dead or something." Corvus grit his teeth, ducking his head as a bullet whirred above him.

"What about this guy?" the brig asked, pointing toward the smiling, nonchalant presence of the still-cuffed, silent Noire.

"I'm getting him out of here, but don't take those cuffs off. I don't know if it'll make a difference, but just in case..." Corvus explained, giving Erica's suspicious complexion a look. To his glare, Erica shrugged, robbing the First Brigadier of his pistol before standing up, taking a few potshots.

"You lunatic! Get down!" Corvus yelled.

"Don't be such a puss, Corvee! Go big or go home!" she yelled back, rolling out of cover as a few soldiers entered the battlefield on their side. Anticipating this, she made swift work of two, leaving the remaining pair as her magazine became empty.

"This crazed woman...!" the male Celestial ground his teeth, throwing his sword toward the enemies' pincer attack to aid Erica in her suicidal attempt at heroism, he vanishing with it.

"Well this is a bit of a stir," Noire finally commented, his tone playful and mundane, as though the crossfire was something to chuckle at. "Certainly gets the blood a-rushing."

To this, Xavier shook his head, rising from his position to prevent their frontal advance with a counterattack. The sheer lack of numbers seemed unusual in a place so fortified as this. Were they all sleeping or something...? It's as though only a few could be bothered to assist in the fight. Perhaps the majority was already fighting on the front lines between the borders? If so, just how much of their forces had they expended for this war? The only rational explanation would be an attempt at a definitive push, but were they really so careless so as to expend all of their resources to do so?

"Need some help?" Noire asked, his question so simple-seeming that it could almost be deemed as insulting to the turmoil.

"Depends... Can you fight with those on?" The Brigadier ducked down again, spent of ammo.

"Oh, it wouldn't make a difference, really."

"Then yes. Do whatever you think'll help," Xavier accepted, pressing his hand against his shoulder. A bullet had grazed his skin.

"Very well then," Noire nodded, standing tall from his position. He raised his arms high, spread apart like a symbol of peace. And yet, all hell seemed to break loose. The earth crumbled, the wind howled violently, glass shattered and flew... Soon enough, even the six meter tesla had crashed to the ground. Confused as he was, Xavier couldn't risk looking at the mayhem, as he quickly switched on his communicator.

"This is becoming a bomb site! Bloody hell, Kev, where are you?!"

 

♦ ♥ ♣ ♠

 

The sun was steadily rising over the horizon, and his haphazardly plan would have to run its course as quickly as humanly—or inhumanly—possible. He couldn't afford to fail his efforts in Yanksee yet again, lest he be branded a liability among his peers. More so, he didn't want to fail Xavier once more. While this action was, in fact, more a favour than a payment, his participation now would prove most important in keeping the man's faith. That said, the thought that he'd likely lose Xavier through this all wounded his old heart. At the very least, he'd die in his homeland. Whether he could thank the Crimsoneers or despise them for such was a conflicting dilemma.

These thoughts raced heavily in his mind, and yet he was still stuck inside the tinted-window taxi car. He needed to hurry this along. The battle had already started.

"Not... really. I mean, uh, I have my mom and dad, and my cousins over in the north. They'd totally miss me if you killed me or something, I don't know." The driver was sweating profusely, stumbling over his nonsensical words. He was poor enough of a speaker already when he was dealing with normal customers. Never mind whoever this guy was.

Kicking his feet up again, this time with more freedom than with his peers, Emris cracked his neck. "So, you'd like to see 'em again and all that."

"Well, y—yeah," the taxi shrunk in his seat, feeling his life dangle upon a delicate thread.

"What about kids? A wife? Ever thought of any of that?" the soldier asked, staring at his nails.

Gulping, the driver nodded, trying to appease the man. "W—Well, yeah. What man hasn't? I'm just... you know, less lucky and all."

Emris chuckled. "Ah, 'course. Well, give it some time, then."

"You aren't gonna... kill me, are you?"

"That depends on yer behaviour," Emris smirked, peering his head over the driver's shoulder with a sickeningly beastly smile. Something a ravenous animal might pull. "Are ye gonna mouth off to yer lackey fondler shité-stain fat-ass coppers down by the nearest coffee shop?"

"N—No sir!" the man responded with a hoarse squeak. Emris laughed hazily to himself, lying back down on the back seats.

"Then we'll get along just fine."

"Are you guys... like... terrorists or something?"

"We're none of yer fuckin' business," the brig barked, gnashing his teeth.

"I—I know, I know. It's just... I wanted to know if you were a part of the attack last week. F—For curiosity's sakes."

Raising a brow, Emris recalled that his last invasion just so happen to be around a week ago. Acknowledging that no other Syndies had been sent there around the time, Emris shrugged.

"Aye, that was us."

The driver seemed to tense up and pale at his words, though such wouldn't be seen by the man behind him. With a rattled breath, the driver spoke up again.

"Why'd you do it?"

"Ye ask too many questions, mate. Stick to drivin'."

Despite his words, the taxi, emotionally strained, asked:

"What did you get out of it? Was it a political thing? Why did those people have to die?"

To his final comment, Emris' annoyed snarl froze as he gave his accusation some thought. There was no way he was just exaggerating, unless he was being toyed with.

"Oy, are ye tryin' to fuck with my head? If ye want to keep yer tongue, stick it in."

"I need to know. My aunt was in the skyscraper you assholes blew up. I need to know why."

"Th' fuck'd I——?!" he cut off his barbarism, standing straight before the words were processed in his head. He may have caused a few little incidents, but nothing even close to an explosion took place; never mind the destruction of any buildings. He remained silent, watching curiously as the driver tightened his grip on the steering wheel.

"I don't know how the hell you did it, but you guys wrecked the whole fucking street. Was that some kind of movement? A vengeance? You guys killed..." His breath hitched as he recalled the numbers. "One hundred and twenty-eight soldiers. Over three hundred civilians. All in the span of one minute."

"Kid, I——"

"One fucking minute! What kind of maniacs are you guys?! There is no way you could've planted those bombs in enough time before being caught — Just who the hell did you hire?!" the driver shouted, venting his frustrations and almost crashing the car in the process. He breathed deeply, his heart pounding into his chest. His blood had rushed to his head in a mix of anger and panic. If he had somehow angered this man, his life might as well be forfeit.

Should he crash the car, just to give himself a chance?

 

Emris pushed his head back against the leather seat, trying to cling to the memories of his past invasion. The odds of Yanksee having been attacked by any other menaces was borderline impossible, and unless the Syndicate had made any advances without him knowing—a possibility that was in itself unrealistic—then he could only bet on either a terrorist organisation's intervention, or his own alcohol-addled chaos. While his magic was leagues from tearing a building apart, he had dabbled in explosives more than once. The fact he could remember none of it still made him doubt the likelihood of his action causing such mayhem, but with no other resolution in mind, and no better answer to give, Emris' complexion stiffened, his lips forming a horrific snarl.

"They hired me."

"It was... you?" the driver asked, turning his head away from the road to face him.

"Probably, aye."

"What the hell does that mean?!"

"It means," he started, withdrawing his canteen to take a swig of the stiff drink within. With a rough groan, Emris smirked. "I drink too much for my own good. Drop us by your place."

"You drink too much for your own good..." The taxi tilted his head, completely baffled. Acknowledging that he was, in fact, dealing with nothing short of a psychopath, the taxi simply turned course, driving silently toward his humble abode. As much as the driver fancied strangling the bastard's liver right out of his throat, he knew well enough that if he tried, he would be torn apart and hung on his own innards.

Once the car had parked in the dingy lot in front of his apartment block, the taxi driver simply looked back at the man, avoiding eye contact with the maniac.

"We're here," he said, his tone cold and almost zombified. No wonder he was so distraught. Such an encounter might even scar the lad.

"Did ye love yer aunt?" Emris asked, his voice too somewhat off for his normal self.

"No," the driver simply answered, looking forward again. Emris reached in front of the cab, handing him a generous amount of cash for the fare.

"Here. Get out of the car; enjoy life. Try to remember ye only live it once, and ye never know when it might end."

"Are you taking my car?"

"Nay, just borrowin' it. I'll leave it by the forest's edge, by Signa."

The driver didn't object. In fact, his body language became almost robotic as he simply exited the vehicle with the bundle of cash in his hand, watching as the man squirmed to the driver seat with an unreadable expression. Before he could quite take off, the owner of the car asked him one last question; though it sounded more akin to an affirmation.

"You're one of those Syndies, aren't you."

"Aye. But they're nothin' like me," Emris replied, locking the doors. "Don't let me be yer perception of 'em. I'm a fuckin' mess."

With that, and a clenched-teeth grin, the veteran yanked the handbrake and started his drive. His destination was close enough; that much he could be thankful of. His plan was about the most ridiculous assortment of tomfoolery one could possibly squeeze within a quarter hour gap of time, but sod it — he was known to be fashionably late to just about everything.

With a rough push against the brakes, the car came to a sudden, screeching halt. He had absent-mindedly stopped right before the building he would soon harass the inhabitants of.

The National Armoury stood before him, right where he needed it. With minutes on the clock, the Brigadier exited the car in a rushed, yet casual strut. The two coffee-sipping officers guarding its entrance managed to spell one syllable.

 

♦ ♥ ♣ ♠

 

The external rims of the prison's courtyard, where the officers would stockpile resources, exchange information and vigilantly observe the prisoners during their recreational time had been smothered by the effects of warfare, with the crumbled dust setting a somewhat eerie presence of unknowing among the two combatting frontiers. Despite their outmatched numbers, the quartet of antagonists had managed to persevere with little dilemma. Xavier had run out of ammo, and was treating a minor flesh wound behind a barricade while the monstrously powerful Noire covered for him, unfolding his chaos with a disturbing amount of enthusiasm.

At the same time, Corvus and Erica kept the Yanksee Military from overwhelming them by keeping the backdoor in check, eliminating any soldiers that enter the slim corridors with masterful expertise. Close quarters was their speciality, after all, and the lack of electrical lighting—provided their destructive efforts—aided the pair in the less comfortable darkness of the interior veins. That being said, despite their best efforts, their main concern still lay at hand. They couldn't afford to simply stay put and keep the fight going, as they would surely tire before long. Kev refused to respond, much to the First Brigadier's concern, and Emris had seemingly vanished without a trace. Even his communicator lay out of range, not that Xavier had really attempted to re-establish a connection.

The enemy fire had reduced significantly through the haze, as inaccurate, stray bullets would serve them no well. Any mortar shells dispensed had long-since been refrained, as any shells caught in the air were swiftly annihilated or redirected at them via Xavier's air-based trickery, and no larger machineries were available from their inconvenient position. The prison had been designed to defend against external threats rather than internal, as any bouts within would be typically handled by the tesla machines or the guards themselves. A dull, inefficient design indeed, though few could've predicted such a dramatic breach to occur.

It was due to these weaknesses and lack of options that a last resort had been issued by the higher officers in command. And with it, the rumblings of either a bastardly-sized machine or a beast of huge mass began to resonate throughout the battlefield, halting the crossfire temporarily. Thuds and cracks continued to resound through the courtyard as whatever may be continued to approach the lot. Lowering his arms, Noire simply watched.

 

Crush

 

krang

 

klunk

 

The thundering steps grew closer, confirming the presence of a beast. Xavier's breath hitched.

 

Snap

 

clang

 

huff

 

A pair of horns as thick as cannon barrels pierced through the suspended fog, and with it a loud chuff parted the air around it, revealing the demonic features of a bull's head as the hulking beast stepped forward, unveiling the rancorous Cryptid from the earthy mist. Its fur was thin and black, revealing several blotches of rock-hard pale leather. Its eyes gleamed a hateful peach as its colours clashed with their natural yellow. Its entire body sported tremendous, lean muscles, showing off the raw strength such beasts could harness through proper training and diet. The monster's arms were as thick as logs, and its hands could crush about as much if not more.

As if its features weren't terrifying enough, the Minotaur's shoulders were double-jacked, and with them he wore not two, but four hulking arms; each spreading out into a singular mass of perfectly crafted physical might. The beast smirked, showing its dull yet rock-hard teeth as it gazed upon the pair. Despite the display, Noire seemed just as entertained as previously, and though he did nothing to act against the threat's appearance, the man managed to keep his smile in place.

Xavier, on the other hand, looked mortified.

"Midas..." Mustering his will, the Brigadier stood tall, allowing the Cryptid to capture his every feature. To compare their body mass would be to compare a twig to a fully-grown oak tree.

Clutching his four fists before slamming each pair into each other, the Minotaur's smirk broadened as his joints crackled together. "If it ain't a fuckin' Syndie. Guessin' my fame's reaching far, if ya know the likes o' me."

"Not really fame, I would call it. I met your brother," Xavier nodded, assuming a battle stance.

In spite of how hilariously impish the human looked, the hot-headed bull knew better than to assume his strength. Still, he gave a mock laugh. "The puny shit's alive, eh? I'll send 'im with ya once I smash that thick skull of 'is back on straight," the Minotaur declared, folding his arms, feeling no need for such trivial positions.

"Shall we dance, then?"

"Hah! Sure."

With polite and fairness settled, the Brigadier narrowed his eyes before moving, raising himself high to make better use of his air magic, assaulting the beast with a blast of powerful wind, barely nudging Midas from his spot. Not wanting to give the bull any time to recover, the Brigadier chained the attack with a sweeping kick, guided and strengthened by his abilities. The impact was strong, and could easily smash even the densest stone. And yet, the bull might've been bruised at most, standing there arrogantly with his arms still folded.

Before the champion could retreat or proceed, the Minotaur whipped his hand through the air, slamming against the soldier too fast for him to retaliate, sending him flying into a concrete wall with a cruel chuckle. Standing up with some difficulty, Xavier spat blood, grasping an exposed pipe before tearing it off its place. With this, he jumped forward and shocking speeds, catching Midas by surprise as he utilised his wind magic to overwhelm the bull's senses, before propelling himself toward his skull. Whipping away one of his flailing hands, he span through the air, before colliding the pipe against his temple. The impact bent the pipe considerably, and the Minotaur's skull turned the other way from the force. And yet, despite his fruitful advances, the Brigadier was quickly yanked from mid-air, before being thrown with the mighty power of a grotesquely oversized, maddening animal.

The two's brawl continued for several seconds, each time starting with a new tactic from the Brigadier before being thrown back by the powerful beast. Noire simply stood there, as if admiring a show, his inaction excused with a somewhat unbelievable tiredness.

As impressive as the soldier's efforts were, his attempts seemed to do little to overpower the Cryptid as each of his hits seemed to be effortlessly absorbed by his steel-strong body. With an aggravated charge on all fours, Xavier narrowly avoided those deadly horns, but not without exposing himself to yet another merciless impact from the beast. The Brigadier rolled against the ground like a floundering fish, reaching an eventual stop. His body ached and burned, and his reserves were quickly depleting. At this rate, the battle would soon turn into one of attrition, and his swiftness would slowly diminish his defences until left entirely exposed.

Through the ringing in his ears, Xavier could hear the arrogant beast's amused bellows as he inched closer, his steps tearing through the stone floor beneath him. Even Erica had attempted to join the fray, only to be unceremoniously thrown against the floor, burying the Celestial in the stone alive. The tide seemed to have quickly turned against them, and through his blurry vision, the weakened Brigadier could see the bloody thing continue to smirk at him. Despite the pain, and his dampened energy, the champion stood once more, as if defying each and every one of the ungodly beast's blows and throws. Exchanging looks with Midas, the two seemed to fight even through their eyes as Xavier prepared yet another fruitless charge.

Midas braced himself, widening those arms and preparing a grab.

Seconds from the attack occurring, however, a sudden explosion knocked the pair of their feet as the wall to their left was obliterated in a loud bang, almost robbing the Brigadier of his consciousness. Even the Minotaur had been toppled by the blast.

Through the dust of the explosion, a human-sized figure walked within the complex, a mind-bending smirk on his face. His stumbling walk was noticeably rough, almost drunk-seeming as he rivalled the beast's own expression with his own. Cracking his neck to the side, the figure, revealing himself to be Emris, popped a finger's joint and announced.

"Oy, this looks real charmin'. I haven't had a decent dinner in a while. I fancy me a good ol' smoked, juicy sirloin, and ye look real lean."

His societally-cannibalistic threat issued, Emris arched his back forward, taking a deep breath of the smoke before gnashing his teeth together. A beast dressed as a man. And the beast hungered.