|Scene Title||Atlantean Awakening Pt 1|
|Synopsis||Luchareth and Bardelys are found! It leads to an attack and an invasion of New atlantis by other young heroes!|
Demosia, Amnis and Heshon have been hard at work. It seems that two more of the chosen seven have been found. How convenient that they are citizens of New Atlantis, a beat cop and former astronaut wash-out anda college student. As such, Melanope and Carel have been ordered to bring them back. That means separating, but it's okay, even with the previous assassination attempt, she is willing to go out on her own. And thus, the daughter of Amnis tries to find her lost betrothed, while the son of Heshon goes to bring back one of the royal architects.
The air feels charged, alive in some way Luke Hudson would be at a loss to explain if anyone were to question the new brightness and wonder in his eyes. The city's comfortable, familiar decor seems more right somehow, as if the gods were ever-present within the images of them which grace the streets. Of course they're /there/ somewhere, but they feel closer somehow. So close in fact that he is furtive in his sketching of the fountain of Amnis he sits across from, lest she catch him stealing her graven image. Never the most devout of people, he is a bit fuzzy on how that part works. Better to err on the side of caution, he reasons, humming under his breath as he jots down crude lines in a private 'shorthand' he'll later use to recall the precise inspiration he's having now when he recreates her in wax in preparation to cast the image in bronze.
Officer Barton Dallas is only twenty-five, but he was once a promising candidate for NASA's astronaut recruitment. And then the… Something. Somewhere. Barton rubs at his forehead, trying to get his memories back on track. Ever since he got blown out of the sky, his memory's been hazy. He thinks.
After several moments of trying to remember something, anything, he sighs. Memory isn't with him tonight. Barton returns to strolling the avenues, absently twirling a ring of keys on one hand while he peruses the latest NAPD briefings on his handy-dandy visor display. It sure is a great thing to be alive in New Atlantis, where technology is supreme and the Royal Family is not only generous, but /HOT/.
The Royal Family is very generous. It didn't decide to massacre all the homeless of New Atlantis afterall and instead just had them trained to be cannon fodder so they can die later serving the Royal Family. See? Their generosity runs in spades.
Princess Melanope was told the coordinates of this Barton Dallas. The magic that was performed by her mother and cousins (as Heshon and Demosia are daughters of Amnis themselves) was quiteprecise and she's using a regular GPS in a limo. She travels in style afterall. With the NAPD officer onastroll with the visor display, the GPS bleeps as they have reached their destination as the sleek long stretch black limo stops in front of him.
The window slowly rolls down as she peers at the officer. He's not as muscley as she remembers him, but not everyone can be so lucky as she is in terms of physical appearance. "You. Come here and join me." It doesn't sound like a request. Is she soliciting him for prostitution? Oh noes!
Officer Dallas tilts his head to peer at Melanope through the open window. He recognizes her almost immediately, recognition of the official royal-design limousine follows a moment later. Both terrified and curious, Barton moves closer, bowing his head deeply as he approaches the limo.
"My- My Lady. H-How can I help you, ma'am?"
Poor mortal. So confused.
"Darling, I don't bite."
Did she just call him darling? Oh goodness! Melanope flashes her most charming smile towards the officer as she opens the door and scooches on in, motioning for him to slip on in as well. Oh goodness. Double entendres. Hee. Melanope's such a slut.
"You can help me by stopping whatever you're doing and coming with me." she purrs softly, waggling her brows just a bit.
Carel is not feeling nearly as flirtatious about his own duties, it's not like he's out looking for a Demosia daughter or anything. He's neglected the more technological aspects of location himself, simply having walked to where the last recorded reading was for his target of today's adventure and so he strolls towards the fountain of Amnis and the figure sketching there, "It's allright to look at her. Really. If you fail to notice she has a nice set of tits she gets unbelievably pissy."
"Ye-Yes ma'am, Your Highness!"
Barton snaps off a crisp, sharp salute. It may look odd to see Bardelys perform such a thing. He was always such a free spirit in the day, though he could be very self-disciplined. The patrolman slips into the limosuine and closes the door behind him, quickly reporting in to Central Command a code 977-1B. A very surprised dispatcher registers the 'Royal Family Business' report after double checking with him.
Officer Dallas then looks back to Melanope, head tilted slightly to one side as he fidgets very faintly in the back of the limo. Maybe he's not so different from the Bardelys she knew all those years ago - he's still not terribly comfortable in confined spaces like this, at least when he's not in command of the vessel.
Once Luchareth had a project to occupy himself with, he tended to root himself to the spot until he was satisfied at its completion. This trend persists to the present day where he sleeps in the skin of the mortal student whose aspirations pale before the grandeur that his fully awakend mind will be capable of. He would be easier to find with even more dated information, but the current projection of his whereabouts is spot on and likely would have been for the next three hours.
The young man sitting on the grass looks up with a ready, affable smile bordering on cheekiness-proof that he didn't recognize the voice. His entire aspect changes as he takes stock of the speaker, eyes widening in alarm. He makes a fitful, aborted move to stand, fidgeting in place before he relaxes again, tentatively. "I-ah. Forgive me," he entreats, dipping his head in a quick show of obesiance, "I didn't see you there."
"Mmm, no need to be so formal, Officer Dallas."
It's then that Melanope starts to scooch towards him. Her fingers run over his chest before she starts to massage his shoulders gently, letting out a soft chuckle of amusement under her breath. There's a soft little nibble at one of his ears before she looks to her driver.
"Inform my mother that we've found the crown prince." she says and woosh they go to the palace. "It's been far too long darling.."
Carel is not quite as recognizable as Melanope is, the camera /loves/ her and so she is on it rather often whereas the head of the royal guard mostly gets camera time when choosing to beat the hell out of someone (a not irregular occurrence). "Just got here" he counters back in response to not being seen, "Not staying. Neither are you. We need to get you back to the palace and safety. Your people need you, you are more important than you remember, and assassins prowl the streets. You are far too tempting a target for them while still ignorant of your destiny."
"Ma'a- Erm… Ma'am?"
Barton looks positively conflicted as Melanope starts her attempts at seduction. On the one hand, this is very hot. Yet on the other, she's the crown princess and he's just a commoner. Sure he was in the war - whichever war it was, it's fuzzy in his brain just this moment - but he's no war hero. He's no knight. What would her escort say? Or, well, /DO/ to him? Horkos could probably split him in two in his bare hands.
"I- … Wait. Wh-what? Crown prince? Darling?"
Oh yeah. Barton Dallas is very confused now. Did the gods decide to pull a Disney on him?
"You will understand soon, my love. I hope you are not too upset with me for finding another man. Mother's orders you see. For the spell to take place she needed a new Atlantean to be born." she purrs, nipping and tugging on his ear as there's a wry grin curling onto her lips. "If you want, when all is in order I will let you kill him." Melanope continues as they eventually arrive at the palace. She expects him to open the door for her of course.
Luke's day to day life takes place in the one environment where detractors of the status quo air their grievances more freely and keenly watch their authority figures and celebrities for signs of weakness or fault. While it's a difficult thing to find with the Atlantean nobility, somewhere there's a college conspiracy buff more than happy to invent what they can't find. It's peripheral exposure to that sort of thing that has Luke more than familiar with Carel's face. He's always been a loyal citizen, if not one to speak out against those whose views differ. All the same, his youthful rebellious inclinations leave him with just a bit of fear around those in authority. So yes, he recognizes Carel, and he is mildly intimidated by him within the first few seconds of recognition. Up close though, he doesn't seem so scary. Trepidation gives way to curiosity…
…and then shoves its way to the forefront again.
"I need to come with you?" he asks incredulously. It bears noting that he tucks his sketchbook under his arm and hurriedly rises to his feet to obey. "Assassins?" He does what any noob civilian would do and looks around frantically to try and spot them; not a thought to what he's looking for, either. "I'm coming," he assures, "I'm ready." His eyes dart about in evident confusion.
"The same ones that tried to murder the Princess and her unborn child the other day" Carel says with distaste to Luke as he begins to move down the street. "Cowardly sorts that strike from shadows, trying to murder those that cannot defend themselves." Here up close there really is something unsettling about the Scion of Heshon, something feral and primal that stands in stark contrast to the streets of New Atlantis. Onwards to the palace that pair goes as well!
Melanope's words don't help Officer Barton Dallas's fears and confusion. He shivers slightly, goosebumps rising as Melanope nips and tugs at his ear, his eyes shifting all over the limo. Perhaps this is some sort of cruel, horrible prank? As the vehicle pulls to a stop, Barton opens the door once more and all but tumbles out in a mixture of abject confusion and growing terror that he's about to be shot (again).
Even so, Barton maintains his manners as he holds the door open for Melanope. He waits, a cold sweat dampening his brow and the base of his neck as he stands in the chill New Atlantis air. Cursed winter sea breeze is only making him feel more uncomfortable, which he finds odd. It always made him feel more reassured in the past.
"Oh!" Luke exclaims. He'd gone on an elaborate mental tangent about as far away from logic and reality as one can get without disconnecting from the here and now altogether, and as things are put into perspective with Carel's explanation he relaxes again. This is short-lived, as the dam breaks in his head and a hundred questions draw his features into a puzzled frown. "W-w-what does that have to do with /me/?" he asks, his voice cracking just a bit. His original assessment is off. Carel is much scarier in person, the difference being that since he's so rarely shown in his composed and peaceful moments Luke briefly deceived himself into thinking he was somehow less dangerous. A furtive study of his escort lays that suspicion to rest altogether. "Are we really going to the palace?" he asks, quite unnecessarily, before the sensible voice in his head can tell him to stop asking questions.
The royal palace of Atlantis is in the center of Manhattan. It makes sense since it's the new middle of the Amnis and Badarus districts of the city. Melanope steps out asshegives Barton a sweet smilebefore she takes his hand, letting her fingers entwine with his own. The major domo of the palace nods and lets them in as she leads him intowhat was formerly a very lavish Ritz. That's the new palace and it's quite nice actually.
"Is everything all right?" as asks, reading his body language before a wry grin curls onto her lips. "Relax, you will remember everything soon."
"… I… I really don't know, ma'am. I-i-I'm just trying to get my bearings and… Well. I don't really know what's all going on, ma'am."
Barton actually pales as she twines her fingers with his, leading him along like the lost little mortal he is. Officer Dallas offers a pained smile, another headache rising into the fore of his mind as stress exacerbates remaining mental trauma from the war. He shivers a little as he wanders through the palace in Melanope's tow.
"No need to call me, ma'am."
A bright smile curls onto her lips as she pulls him into the elevator and presses the access to the rooftop. There's a heated kiss that she lets linger for a few moments, letting her swollen belly bump up against his stomach before she pulls back, letting out a soft sigh.
"That is much better. Officer Barton Dallas, we have been looking for you for quite some time. In a long and forgotten age, you were once Bardelys, Son of Badarus, Leader of the Chosen Seven and the Crown Prince of Atlantis, my betrothed. We went on many an adventure together and defeated one of the greatest and most powerful Titans, Avernus, the Greater Titan of Death. Our divine sparks were sealed by treachery from the other gods who were jealous and now we have returned to this world to rebuild our once great civilization. We cannot do it without you. Atlantis needs you. Your Father needs you. And most important of all, I need you."
Carel guides the way to the palace, answering question with deed. Soon enough the pair are on an elevator of their own. "You were once someone rather important and well regarded, you just might be again here shortly. I am not the one to describe such things in detail, I'm just here to kill people and break things. You'll find out all soon enough, they've been looking for you for quite some time."
Barton Dallas finds himself pulled into a rather intimate kiss with Princess Melanope in a private elevator within the Royal Palace. Vaguely, at the back of his mind, he thinks that he's had this dream before tonight. He wonders, absently, where exactly he fell asleep on duty.
"Um… O-Okay then."
Realistically, Barton doesn't look entirely sold on this theory. He doesn't look about to dispute it though, he's a good citizen and an officer of the law. If the Crown Princess says it is so, then it must so, no matter how outlandish the claim sounds. Absently Barton rubs the back of his neck, staring at Melanope for several long minutes.
In lieu of any further questions, Luke conveys his acceptance of Carel's statement by hugging his sketchbook to his chest and gulping audibly. Right. He'll just focus on being as unobtrusive as possible until they are well out of the elevator. He surmises that someone else will be providing him with more elaborate explanations. The thought floods him with relief.
And they eventually reach the rooftop of the palace-slash-hotel. It's no Atlantean Zigurrat but it will do. There are already two stone altars that are in a circle with the items of power of the two gentlemen. Melanope looks to the officer with a wry smile.
"Take off your shirt and lay on the altar. I promise no one's going to rip out your heart, at least not this time." she says with a wry wink asshe heads towards two men who stand there. There'sone that looks like Haldor and one that looks like Scott. How odd. They just stand bythe altars waiting for the other man to arrive.
Barton Dallas blinks a few times. He's pretty sure nothing in his contract to be a police officer said anything about anything like this. Even the military contracts he signed didn't say anything about anything like this. Dallas rubs the back of his head for a few moments and quietly strips off his jacket and shirt, removing some department issue police gear to boot in the process.
Quiet and totally unsure of what to expect, Barton Dallas moves toward the altar nearest the guy that looks like Haldor. He figures, if he's going to die or suffer for the amusement of the Royal Family up here, he may as well suffer at the hands of somebody that looks like they can kill the hell out of him.
Did he really need to take off the shirt? No, not really. Melanope was just being coy. She looks over him appreciatively as she nods to Badarus. It's his show afterall, well rather her mother's. But still, there is chanting in Atlantean the instant he gets on the altar.
The air chills. It starts to getcold. Barton can feel some sort of energy over take him as there are flashes back to another time, another place. Flashes of triumph. Of constant nights in bed with Melanope. Of fighting Titanspawn. Of leading the trek through the unknown territory of Avernus. In his mind's eye, Barton sees all these things and more as the energy starts to over take him completely, back to the the fall of Atlantis.
Things have changed. There is disaster all around him as the gods make their way to destroy all that is Atlantean. Still, he is fighting. Fighting former friends. Fighting comrades in arms against the Titans for the sake of his people. And then there'sasudden darkness.
Barton Dallas writhes on the altar uncomfortably at first as the chill wind washes over him. And then with mixtures of pain and horror as memory starts to flash into his mind. Some of the memories are pleasant, to be sure, but that makes them no less uncomfortable to have unlocked in his brain once more. More importantly, many of the pleasant memories almost demand writhing of a different sort.
Evil descends upon Atlantis in Barton's mind, his mind's eye filling with ever more layers of cultural horror and personal loss. He clutches at the edges of the altar and howls in pain as wounds of a thousand battles are remembered and then healed. Only when darkness descends upon him again does he finally lay still, breathing deep and slow while he tries to calm his pounding heart, his mind racing.
Except, of course, the question is whether or not he is even still Barton Dallas anymore.
The roof is somewhere that Tychon would normally want to be. He's always liked being up high and looking down on the world, seeing everyone far below like a kid watching an anthill. The ants are always so oblivious. It always made him feel important, even when he wasn't, before… everything.
Before the world changed.
This isn't 'normal', though. Tychon stands off to one side, watching sort of nervously as everything that happens… happens. He isn't so sure about this anymore. Changing the world is always what he wanted to do, and showing everyone that he wasn't just someone they could push around seems to have finally happened. He's got every downtrodden guy's dream going for him. Heck, he has his own robot minions! How cool is that?
Something still doesn't sit right. He doesn't say anything, though, just watching with a small frown. He occasionally looks up and around, as if expecting… something.
Fortunately for Tychon, his fellow Atlantean compatriots are blissfully unaware of his feelings. None of them can really read minds anyway, so that is a good thing.
As the transformation occurs, Melanope watches, her eyes widening with excitement. There's a bit of a sadistic streak to the princess and she wrinkles her nose asshe watches the former crown prince writhe in pain. Still, when the ordeal is over, she heads towards him, having a bowl of water and a cloth, dipping it in the water before she starts wiping at his brow.
"Is this still Officer Dallas? Or do we have our Crown Prince once more?" she asks curiously, her brows furrowed at Badarus.
A deep, painful groan echoes out of Dallas at Melanope's question. He starts to answer the question but stops as he screams in exquisite agony. Power ripples over his body, divine energies momentarily visible in much the same way as a tsunami is visible. It is tenuous and translucent, rippling and shimmering with ever increasing force before it buries itself within his body.
Moments pass, his body rigid and contorted, clearly not breathing. And then he gasps, inhaling sharply as his body suddenly relaxes for a split instant. Then he howls in unparalleled pain, his body arching and contorting as some small measure of his divine strength recreates his former muscle mass and his features grow weathered like the adventuring son that he is.
When next he opens his brown eyes, his gaze burns with intensity and passion that did not exist before. He sits up, sweat gleaming in the city lights as he turns to stare at Melanope. One eyebrow slowly arches, his hair seemingly starting to grow with unnatural swiftness.
"Who do you think you have, Melanope?"
'If I survive this', Luke promises as he bolts hellbent for leather out of the elevator the moment the doors rumble open to let him out 'I'll apologize for-' For getting the hell away from the wild, initmidating presence of Carel. He curtails what was shaping up to be a sprint out of some vestige of remembered dignity. It's like running in the halls at school-simply not done. Particularly as his exit from the confined space sees him on the rooftop of the palace, and staggered by the sight before him. He squares his shoulders and clears his throat softly, tucking his sketchbook under his arm as he takes in all the details.
At the question, Melanope just cups Bardelys' cheeks and starts to pull him close for another deep and impassioned kiss. She lets this one linger a bit longer, not minding the bit of PDA amongst the group before she eventually lets go, tugging on his lower lip as she looks towards the new comer.
"You." she tells Luke. "On the altar." she says matter of factly. "And take off your shirt." Once again, all thatis said in clear and curt tones as she makes none of it seem like a request. "We have found two more, Tychon Anthony. Aren't you excited? Once again all seven will be here and we can finish off the plan we initially started." she says with a sage nod.
Bardelys catches Melanope with both arms, pulling her in close for a deeper and more passionate kiss than she may have been expecting. He doesn't so much let the kiss linger as turn it into a series of smaller, more PG-13 rated kisses before finally breaking away. One hand rises to rub at his scruffy chin, the other roaming through his long, but not terribly long hair.
"It is good to see you all after so many years," remarks Bardelys as he gets to his feet. He stretches for a few moments, getting in a good swat on Melanope's butt as she orders Luke about since he hasn't been able to give his betrothed any PDA in countless centuries. The Celestial Explorer frowns again and looks out toward the city skyline, regarding it in silence while the ritual starts anew for Luke.
Luke does a double-take, and a passable impression of a landed trout, as the princess (THE princess!) greets him without any fanfare and rather tersely instructs him to shed clothing and climb an altar. His heart sinks for a moment, but he quickly decides that if the royal family needs his blood or heart or whatever the hell, it's probably less painful to get it over with than to run away. He sets his sketchbook down and peels off his shirt, already afflicted by a clammy sweat. He grinds his teeth as he approaches, trying to maintain at least a modicum of dignity. The affection between Melanope and Bardelys casts everything into a surreal light, and by the time he's ascended the altar to obey her command he's a little queasy and one misstep away from a fainting spell.
Tychon grimaces when he sees what has happened. It's not that he doesn't like having more of them around; it's just that, well, it's like taking someone out of one body and shoving them in another that already belonged to a guy. He isn't sure he likes that much. He composes himself as best he canthus, he's only the /slightly/ nervous scientist nerdand nods, just once, at Melanope.
This seems to be working pretty well so far. He glances away when Bardelys gets more physical with her (ewww, PDA), and sticks his hands in his pockets. He looks up once again, muttering, "Wind's changed," as an offhand remark, nothing worth really noting.
There's a soft sigh as she lets out a wry grin curling towards Luke. "Do not worry. This will only hurt.." and there's a dramatic pause. "A little. Soon all will feel right again and you will join us as one of the Chosen Seven." she saysmatter of factly. There's a nod to Scott and the ritual begins once more.
Skaft places his hands on the temples of his son. There's Atlantean chanting once more as Amnis begins her spell. The gods are only here to activate their children afterall. And so,the process begins anew.It's an initial shock before Luke suddenly feels prickling on his skin. His skin becomes rather red as greenish lines start to form over his body as power coalesces into the mortals forms. And then, there's the memories flooding his mind once more.
The last days of Atlantis. The decision to serve Puros instead of being a pawn. Fighting against former friends and lovers. A couple of million souls of mortals and Scions alike extinguished in fire brought down by the wrath of the combined pantheons. Anger at the loss of his people. Rage at what has become. And then everything is blackness until he comes to.
It's ironic that Tychon says the wind has changed. It has. The ward and unseen shield around New Atlantis is cracking. The gods realized what happened and they want it to end. Bardelys is the first to notice the cracking of the top of the unseen shield. There's another group of four brave Scions. One from the Amatsukami, the Dodekatheon, the Pesedjet and the Loa. They are coming and they are breaking through.
They breakthrough the crack on the top of the shield and start charging. The Loa flies on the winds with dark spirits at it'sside. The Pesedjet rides on a fiery phoenix. And the Amatsukami is dressed in full samurai garb while the Dodekatheon has flowing robes over her young and nubile body. Battle is about to begin.
Moving away from the altar as Luke takes his place, Bardelys leaps up and nimbly catches onto the scaffolding of a broadcast antenna. He hangs from it as though it were a mast and looks out toward the horizon and sweeps the sky with his gaze as Tychon replies. A warm, decidedly unevil smile spreads across Bardelys' face as he turns to look at Tychon even as the 'sky' starts to crack under the onslaught of another Band of Scions.
"How many times have I told you, Tychon? The winds are ever changing, ever shifting like the hand of Fate itself. If you let the winds guide you, you will never lack for adventure, for knowledge, or for new horizons to cross."
Bardelys' smile grows larger still as he turns back to the cracks in the sky, watching the mixed bag of Scions all but raining down upon the Palace. He turns to look to Melanope, "My Princess, I require my map to guide my aim and my gun to strike down those who would dare ruin what you have built here for us!"
Like geomantic force the lines of Skaft's power travel along arcane junctures in Luchareth's body, stirring what was dormant and feeding what was starved. Other lines, brighter and less transitory, begin to /etch/ themselves into the young man, a pattern like sanskrit and circuitry, creeping from just above his collarbone to well below the waistband of his jeans, permanently tattooing the left half of his body from the neck down with pulsing colors, purple, gold, and red, which flare brightly and then die down as the sleeper reasserts himself.
For the space of a breath, tears build in the architect's eyes as he remembers the cruellest part of their fate. He had never been about the war, too busy looking past it to the chance to rebuild, to erect new monuments and cathedrals, new places of power to pin the world back together once the dust had settled. He raises a trembling hand, fingers curling into a fist, and snarls in defiance- a boy channeling the spirit of a beast, that sound is. He turns his head upward to gaze into his father's eyes and shakes his head, stammering the beginnings of an apology before the power ebbs and the ceremony is truly complete.
When he sits up, a portrait of composure and calm, he clears his throat gently and begins to scoot toward the edge of the altar, looking into familiar faces. Then he looks up, and sighs heavily. "There truly is no respite, is there?"
Amnis, Badarus, Skaft and Demosia look towards the sky. There is a faint murmur amongstthe gods themselves before they look towards the gathered Scions. "We will see how you defend New Atlantis. Do not disappointment us this time." says Badarus before the four disappear fromnthe group.
At the warning, Melanope's eyes widen as she motions towards the gathered relics around the altar. Everything they had in their previous life is here, and she clutches onto her scpter on tightly. "It seems we are to defend our home from invasions from the others. "Let us not disappoint and ravage these interlopers, shall we?" she says as a wry and predatory grin curls onto her lips. She plays the meek princess in the public eye, but she quickly changes the scepter in a long sword while getting into a defensive position.
"Gentlemen, do you want things easy or difficult? Shall I dazzle them with my presence?" she asks curiously.
With that said, the other four are charging towards those on the rooftop. Where is Carel? Is he fighting the fifth? Who knows?
The architect has never been fond of battle. He has little skill for it himself. Fortunately, other people do and they leave it laying about where just anyone can emulate and turn their prowess against them. He drops to his feet next to a pair of odd objects, a white slate of gleaming, featureless chalk white and what appears to be a streamlined, smooth wand-shaped device with a fat orange ember burning perpetually at its tip. He hefts the Emitter with a smirk and then zeroes in on the Loa Scion, taking issue with the palpable aura of irreverence that seems to exude from the interloper like an oily vapor.
The samurai of Hachiman is the first to land on the rooftop. There's a soft chuckle under his breath as he lets out a terrifying kiai! His form changes, as he gets into a stance. He is the ideal samurai now. His features are truly frightening. He stands back and just stares at the gathered group, seeing which would be his opponent while he squints his eyes. It seems he's focusing on Bardelys.
Tychon sees it. He sees the cracking of the shield, and sees them coming. It's something that he expected, but didn't really want to happen. Why couldn't they just let it? They were going to /fix/ everything. He glances at Bardelys for a moment, nodding slightly at him. "Right," he murmurs awkwardly. "I knew that."
As the other Scions land, Tychon takes a step back. He grabs a newer, smaller remote from his bag, flicking a switch and hitting two different 'CALL' buttons on it. The fact that they're on the palace makes this a particularly effective tactic. He drops into a crouch and looks up and around, taking a breath and trying to stay out of the line of fire for the moment.
Beneath them, red optics begin to gleam in the dark, one large and many small. Mechanical legs propel the machines outward and upward at their master's command.
Melanope really doesn't like having other women around. She really doesn't.At least not anyone nearly approaching her in beauty. She stares at the daughter of Dionysus and clenches onto her scepter. There's a stare, it's the beginnings of a catfight betwen the two women, that's for sure. Who knows? Maybe they'll end up making out in the end.
Suddenly and abruptly the Scion of starts to charge. Both their eyes widen and they catch each other in a serpent's gaze. Suddenly they both freeze still several feet away from each other in astaring contest for the next five ticks. At least they'll be immune to each other's social fuckery in the end. Sadness.
Meanwhile, the Loa Scion mutters something under his breath. The Atlanteans present would recognize the language as Yoruban, as he starts a careful dance. Green orbs of energy start tocircle his wooden stick with a human skull on the top. The eyes of the skull start to glow before he tosses the orbs of energy towards Luchareth! Oh noes!
Finally, there's the Pesedjet Birdman. He stares down at Tychon Anthony himself. There's a soft chuckle as he looks at towards the seemingly least threatening of the group. But he's the seemingly least threatening as well. There's a chant as he starts to draw hieroglyphics in the air, keeping his distance from the others.
Or Melanope could totally ignore Bardelys' totally legitimate request for her to throw him his gun and his map. Really? She ignored her husband to go have a staring contest with some Greek hottie? Even though it would have been totally epic for Bardelys to catch his gear while hanging from a broadcast antenna as though it were the mast of a ship?
Clearly times, they are a changin' and Bardelys does not entirely like how they have changed. This much is evident as his weathered features curl into a snarling grimace and he swings himself around the antenna. Bardelys lets go of the antenna and sails through the air, executing a somersault before he lands neatly a few feet from those items of his past.
Half-naked, cold, and angry, Bardelys snatches up his belt and loops it about his hips, letting it hang loose while he busies himself tying his map in its heavy wooden container to the small of his back. Bardelys then snatches up his ancient Atlantean sabre, spinning it a few times in hand as he turns to face the Scion of Hachiman. This proves to be a bad idea as Bardelys can feel his sabre rattling uncomfortably in his hands at the thought of battling such a samurai hand-to-hand just now.
No, the smart thing - the first thing - that Bardelys must do is turn the battlefield to his advantage. The Celestial Explorer rips his Old West-looking revolver from its holster and leaps up onto the altar, his eyes surveying the battle field. First act to turning the circumstances to his advantage?
"DIVERT THY EYES FROM MY WOMAN, WINE HAG!"
The Celestial Explorer whirls on one foot, his sabre skidding across the edge of the altar to send sparks spraying outward while he brings his revolver to bear on the Scion of Dionysus. He holds fire a fraction of an instant while he intuits his balance. When he does open fire, a single small harpoon erupts from the barrel of his gun, whistling through the air toward the Scion of Dionysus.
Where has Carel been? It's a good question really, but then the whole magic thing never has been of much interest to the Scion of Heshon in the past, and his interest in shirtless men is negligible, that is more Melanope's thing. So he was downstairs having some drinks, chilling out and relaxing when the reports of violence came through and now he is ponderously on his way up in the elevator. Already he's crackling his knuckles, limbering up, a brawler just looking for a brawl. One of his tattoos is already starting to glow with a malignant sort of red light, the depiction of a terror bird upon his flesh given a terrifying aspect and his own movements becoming more poised, focused, deadly. Oh yes.. a brawler looking for a brawl. A predator looking for his kill.
It seems Bardelys has found his white whale. The harpoon strikes the immaculate white dress of the stunned daughter of Dionysus. Her eyes widen in pain as she falls down to her side causing a couple of the men to gasp. Perhaps no one is angrier than a fifth new comer who was just coming through the hole in the unseen shield surrounding New Atlantis.
Moving faster than thought, he dives towards who he sees doesn't have an enemy. This is a very honorable band it seems which is unfortunate, since their opponents don't have much honor. As he continues to dive down, he goes towards Carel, the Scion of Sun Wukong coming down towards him.
"CRANE STYLE!" he cries out, already changing his position as he focuses to channel the crane…
With the spell complete, the Scion of Ra lets out a hearty grasp. He pulls out two scarabs from his pockets and throws it towards the rooftop. As they land, they start togrow, their black carapaces rather shiny with moonlight striking them at the right angle. The scarabs chitter chatter while starting to head menacingly towards Dr. Horrible. Of course birdman thinks he has this in the bag.
Tychon takes a couple more steps back as the scarabs advance and grow. He glances up at the Scion of Ra and asks, "Think you're pretty hot stuff, huh?" He waits a moment, listening for… something. Maybe he's focused on that wind again, glancing behind him to see how far down he'd have to fall if he kept going, or…
Tychon suddenly gestures with one hand, sweeping one hand forward. The wind picks up in a suitably dramatic manner, sweeping his labcoat (what, you guys pulled him out while he was working) up and behind him like a cape.
Giant spiders made of brass and etched with all manner of religious iconographyAtlantean, this timeskitter onto the roof. They interpose themselves between him and the scarabs, hissing electronically.
Tychon may or may not have also added chainsaw fangs to this model.
"Lets dance, Harvey Birdman."
No sooner does Luchareth have his own feet under him again (an odd thing to think, since he still remembers putting his shoes on this morning and dying in the midst of a hellish betrayal) than the unsavory figure with the skull-stick launches sorcerous black globes at him. It's all he can do to conjure the alabaster shell of ichor from his pores to blunt the impact and even so he staggers back from the impact. He studies his attacker for a moment, feeling reflexes that don't belong to him lend surety to the grasp he holds the Emitter in. "Soon," he vows under his breath, before ducking down behind the altar. As he shakes the stars from his vision his fingers dance over the featureless slab of his tablet. It comes to life, its face turning smooth and black with light dancing across its surface. He keys in a sequence and then leans back as needle-thin rays of light spray outward from a central point on the device, 'drawing' a figure of a bird in the empty air in front of his face. Reality settles into place upon the thing, and it meets his eyes with its ruby optics, nodding once in recognition. "Oh, I've got something for /you/," he mutters to his opponent, far too softly to actually be heard as he hides behind cover.
The Scion of Hachiman is most definitely intimidating. He continues to scan the area as he'sletting the willof the gods guide him in his attack. It's two versus one since the Celestial Bureacracy brawler is also attacking, but they do work oh so well together. It's probably because they're both Asian.
With the sword behind him, he lets out another loud cry. The reflection of the moon can be seen in his sword as things start to change. The force of gravity starts tobend around him, pulling Carel towards him as he snickers softly. Taking advantage of the charge and the gravitational pull, he starts to slash with his sword intenting on slashing the head of the royal guard in the chest.
Tychon doesn't do much but decide to defend himself. He gives the Scion of Ra the once-over visually and frowns a little, nodding to himself and getting ready to keep the hell out of the way of anything he might have up his sleeve, trick-wise. It would be bad to get blasted by a sun death ray or something.
The spiders, meanwhile, leap at the scarabs and proceed to attempt to flip and gut them with their spikey legs and chainsaw fangs. They are simple creatures with simple desires.
Like to EX-TER-MIN-ATE THE DOC-TOR.
Having already injured one pretty well, the Loa Scion lets out another hoot and hollar. His eyes widen a bit at the magic versus technology bit as he shakes his head a little. He reaches from his back and places a rather large mask over his features. It's not a Loa mask by any means, it's more of an African mask as he starts chanting, preparing something under. He's hooting and hollaring as he starts to convulse, doing what seems to a cross between an ecstatic dance and booty shaking.
That all stops when Melanope gets into psychohosebeast mode. Really, it's a real creature from Atlantean times. PHBs are known for rampaging and eating and being fat. Melanope is pregger and hormonal so it works. There's a scream of annoyance. "Hear me! You will not trample on my people again. I will not allow it!"
There's a brief bit of hesitation from the others, but it seems the Loa is the only one intimidated by the princess. Alas.
The slutho of Dionysus is all nice and bleedy. No, she isn't on her period, but all that stops as she closes her wounds and her body is soon covered in a pearlescent liquid that soon hardens over her young nubile form. She seethes at the group. "Two can play that game, bitch." she says as her own presence starts to spread over the gathered Atlanteans. Just like it was shrugged off earlier with a willpower spend by the others, it's doable as well, cept for Luchareth who doesn't see the crazyhosebeast of Dionysus.
Harvey Birdman chuckles as he watches the scarabs fight back the spiders. It's an interesting sight really and he tumbles and rolls to the side to avoid being knocked off the building as magic continues to face SCIENCE! There's a predatory grin curling onto his lips as he starts to run after Tychon, pulling out a khopesh. It's time to play tag, but a bit deadlier. As hegets closer, he lets the curved blade try to slice Dr. Horrible…
Carel is not immune to the effects of the sudden gravitational shift in his vicinity, a surprised grunt escaping from as he barely manages to step back in time to avoid the Samurai sword slash aimed in his direction. What do the asians have against him?!? It doesn't seem to matter, that grin which had already been twitching at his lips as the fight began only growing more so as another joins into the festivities. "Good. There are two of you. I was afraid I'd just be left with the one and that would hardly be.. entertaining" Carel says. Despite his words he is working to even up the odds to become on on one, defensive stance against the Samurai even while he lifts a hand towards the child of the Monkey God. A sharp motion of one hand and the tattoos upon his arm suddenly blaze in a chaotic display of colors, a momentary disorienting burst meant to shatter the mind and fragment the thoughts. An effort to see it remains one opponent at a time.
Bardelys watches to make sure that his target goes down - except that she gets up again and starts healing. He was not entirely expecting that, but her suddenly secreting SUSPICIOUS FLUID actually causes him to turn away. It takes a force of will to not look in her direction just to gape in abject confusion.
Fortunately Bardelys' vision in that direction is quickly blotted out by fire. GLORIOUS FIRE. You see, those sparks that Bardelys' sabre sprayed when it scraped along the edge of the altar? They met some flammable chemicals on the rooftop, likely originally part of the mystical ritual that just reawakened his divinity and that of Luchareth - who was almost renamed Luchese in this pose - and set a short semi-circle ablaze.
Instead of looking at Melanope and Dionysus' slutho daughter while they fight as psychohosebeasts, Bardelys focuses his attention upon the fate of Carel. A double team? Those poor, poor Asians, they are so very outnumbered. Bardelys continues spinning and next brings his gun to bear upon the Scion of Legba. With a leap, Bardelys lands in front of Luchareth and whirls himself around to snipe the Loa Scion while he is dazzled by Melanope's power.
Crane man was in a crane style kick. He was using his rage and his continued mastery of the air currents to go towards Carel. Just as he thinks he's going to make contact, there's the sudden acidtrip. He can taste the colors! He just drops down on his back in a daze and stares at the pretty, flashing colors….
Luchareth closes his eyes for a moment and takes a few quick breaths, feeling intuitively for the purloined competence that seems to gather in the second knuckle of his trigger finger. Yep, still there. He opens his eyes and nods to the Shrike, which takes flight with miniaturized VTOL rotors in its wings, giving them a perfunctory flapping so that the golden shape rises from behind the stone slab with its master popping up not long after, drawing a bead on the helpless Scion with a savage grimace of smug satisfaction.
The Coruscating Beam Emitter is a sculpting tool, used for precisely shaping matter into artistic designs. It was meant to build homes and create beauty. But it does a whammy on living meat, and makes some impressive sounds in the process. Smaller beams lance outward from the Shrike's jeweled optics, also trained upon the interloper.
Carel once more manages to avoid the Crane dudes effort to kill him, bird versus bird with martial arts move as he ducks away and weaves away from the blow in a way that somehow seems distinctly less human than it does animal. Then the Scion of the Monkey God is collapsing to the ground and Caryl is there rushing forward, despite the currently helpless nature of his opponent there is no holding back and the marks upon him once more glow with a terrible fury as he drives his first down into his opponents chest with fingers splayed before pulling it back out with the heart of the Scion in grasp still beating away. Turning then towards the Scion of Hachiman he raises the heart to his lips, taking a great big bite of the living organ while the blood and juices tricking down his chin like some even more demented and twisted version of Chariman Kaga with a particularly ripe and juicy apple.
Three beams, one fat rippling lance of pearlescent light and two pencil-thin rays, core the Loa Scion's chest and head, eradicating a hole through his sternum while burning out his eyes and then pressing on to etch shallow grooves in the stonework behind him. "Told you I had something for you," Luchareth mutters bitterly, casting about for his next target. "I wonder how much of his stuff I can salvage…"
This is not good. The Scion of Hachiman stillhas the gravitational pull of the moon around him,pulling his enemies closer to make things easier. In addition to that, he is still the fearsome samurai as his squinty eyes widen upon the death of not one,but two of his comrades! Oh shit! This was not what was supposed to happen. No it wasn't. They were supposed to easily win this battle and would be commended for their efforts. They would then get a manga after them like the Power Rangers!
All these thoughts and more go through his head as he starts charging towards Bardelys. He's channeling all his courage at this point as the odds have clearly gone against him and his comrade. There's five Atlanteans and only three of them left. Not good at all.
"Hachiman! Guide my sword!" he cries out as he starts slashing in the air working upa kata hoping to combo slice the Atlantean pirate. Yar!
Birdman decides to take a shot at Tychon. Tychon does not like this plan. He jumps backwards, his incredible reflexes keeping him out of harm's way and preventing him from getting gutted like a fish. "Is that the best you can do?" he taunts, half-weakly. He's not exactly… heavily armed, so he can't do much else.
The spiders keep swinging and chainsaw-fanging. They push forward at the scarab opponents, not stopping until they rip them to pieces, using the rooftop to their advantage by practically boxing them in. It won't be pretty when they're done.
Birdman did takea shot at Tychon. This does not make Melanope happy at all. Tychon is squishy and must be defended, even ifit means being defended by a preggo woman. She looks towards Bardelys with an apologetic smile. It's one she's given him before. The last time that grin was given, he was able to savagely beat a demigod that was more powerful than him. It's one of those smiles.
With that, she starts to slink through the field, moving rather quickly fora waddling penguin pregnant lady. Her clothes are sheer and she already gives the Birdman a come hither look as she whispers something behind him. It's so soft that only those with enhanced senses can hear it. Of course, thoe who do hear it will know what she says..
The slutho of Dionysus is one of those women with enhanced senses. Her once beautiful features are marredby a terrible visage. She's pissed. Imagine, one slut ho mad at a slutho. Fate decides thesethings. She pulls out a dagger, a sacrificial one and throws it towards Melanope's back.
However, once the effect of love is in effect, the Birdman twirls Melanope around, happily as he raises herin the air. It's because of that that the dagger misses it's mark, slamming into one of the concrete posts on the rooftop. A wry grin curls onto Melanope's lips as she motions towards the Scarabs.
"Make them play dead, darling. Can you do that for me?"
There's resistance..he's hesitating. And so the scarabs still continue to fight and slash at the spiderbots.
Turning to shoot the Scion of Legba proves to be a dangerous choice for Bardelys. He has his back turned to the Scion of Hachiman until the sound of the samurai's prayer catches the Celestial Explorer's ear. Bardelys' body suddenly goes supple, silty brown-grey muck starting to pour out of flesh to armor his body as he whirls and twists.
Fast and flexible as he becomes, Bardelys can't quite evade every slash of the frenzied samurai's blade. Even as his earthy, silty, ocean-floor-like Body Armor hardens into a protective shell, the Scion of Hachiman's blade finds purchase on Bardelys' exposed chest. A deep gash is carved across his chest from shoulder to opposite arm pit, his silty ichor splashing upon the roof top as Bardelys staggers backward.
The Crown Prince of Atlantis topples over the altar and rolls across the roof and into a bank of snow beyond the edge of the ritual area. For a few seconds, Bardelys lies still in the snow, allowing it to turn crimson with his blood and ichor. Slowly though he sits up, laughing his damn fool head off like a madman. Bardelys remains prone as the snow momentarily goes liquid before freezing up under and around the Celestial Explorer, power rippling outward from the wooden case strapped to the small of his back. When the changes cease, he lounges almost casually upon a small, featureless throne of ice. Legs hang over one arm while his head and shoulders lay over the other arm.
For the moment, Bardelys keeps laughing as he brings his Sea Revolver to bear in the general direction of the Scion of Hachiman. Oh what entertainment the Celestial Explorer King finds in his own pain and the emotional agony of his honorable enemy. Guffaw with Bardelys, everyone, you know you want to.
Carel takes another bite out of the heart of his former adversary, a large chunk of the raw meat being worked down and swallowed. WIth nothing more flinging itself in his direction, and his companions seeming to have matters well in hand he takes things easy for a moment. Finding a convenient wall upon the rooftop to lean against and folding his arms over his chest to watch his fellow Atlanteans go all punchy shooty mindfuckery. Go Team Atlantis!
The past few minutes have left Luchareth in a rather acidic mood. Being jarred awake after so long, forced to re-live the tragedies of Atlantis and the loss of all he had ever built, and then expected to defend his home against interlopers who don't have the decency to give a body time to put his shirt back on before laying siege to the palace, it's got him a bit out of sorts. He's looking for something to kill.
"I'm a builder, not a warrior," he keeps muttering, like a mantra, through his chattering teeth. He skirts around the altar, continuing to use it for cover. Even armored in alabaster ichor he doesn't feel particularly courageous at the moment, there being a distinct lack of safety, tactical advantage, or warm clothing in his present circumstances. He signals the Shrike, hovering overhead, with a nod toward Dionysus's child. Under better circumstances he might feel reluctant to mar her beauty, but right now he's warming his embittered heart with daydreams of what she'll look like with a blackened nub where her head used to be. He's not a good enough shot for that, so he settles for center mass, aiming to sculpt a gaping rent in her flesh while the Shrike dispenses lasery death from its beady, glowing eyes.
The spiders are faster than they look. For something that, when flat out, could be the size of a pickup truck, it is pretty quick. The first brass spider jumps around the scarab and nimbly evades it's attempt to fight back, the electronic screech that follows a prelude to it's lunge with the spiked claw-arms of the mechanical beast, an obvious attempt to overpower and pin it.
The second doesn't fare quite as well; the scarab comes down on it, but it doesn't penetrate the obviously armored hide. It throws itself forward to hurl it off, and then jumps up and down onto it, chainsaw-equipped 'teeth' darting down to go for the kill. It isn't wasting any time.
Tychon himself stands back, legs slightly bent, arms at his sides, watching the hostile Scions. He's ready for another one coming at him, but he isn't doing anything to get himself killed. Not here.
Alas, the very pretty head of the Scion of Dionysus does not go splattering in response to the well aimed shot, although it does come close enough that the air is filled for a moment with the scent of faintly burning hair. The beautiful figure lets out a howl of despairing rage at the affront to her person and she turns those perfect features upon Luchareth, words like honey as they flow from her lips "You do not want to hurt me. You never want to hurt me again. You'll do anything to protect me. Anything."
The Scion of Hachiman maintains his focus upon Bardelys as he is seated in the icy throne, samurai footsteps echoing as he rushes towards the place and swings his katana in a savage downward arc. The throne may be doomed, so may Bardelys if he does not vacate it in a hurry. Birdman continues to be a fairly useless waste of space while Melanope whispers sweet nothing at him trying to get him to shut down his own robots. This continues to fail to happen. Still without his input and guidance Tychon's bots do have an edge and the spiders begin show that advantage, vicious mandibles tearing and legs stabbing.
Laughter is not the best medicine for gaping chest wounds. Or, at least, not for Bardelys. Maybe he's just not taking the right dosage of Guffawicil. Whatever the case, the Scion of Hachiman comes charging at him, sword upraised and ready for a terrific stroke of murder!
In one smooth motion, Bardelys moves with the samurai's descending blade as it carves into his icy throne. He rolls swiftly out of the throne and to the roof at the samurai's feet, looking up at the Scion of Hachiman with wide eyes and his laughter has come to a halt. One hand clutches his wounded chest while his other hand points the pistol straight up at the samurai's now less terrifying face. Bardelys' gun arm, however, keeps its elbow in contact with the throne, even as Hachiman's son carves through the throne and bounces the blade off of the roof.
A heartbeat passes before the icy throne simply explodes into a great torrent of water that whirls about Bardelys' body for a few instants before washing outward and over the Scion of Hachiman's legs whereupon it flash freezes once more. Bardelys smiles brilliantly and rolls out from between the Scion of Hachiman and the samurai Scion's blade, casually getting to his feet as the leaping flames he sparked up earlier cast eerie shadows across his face.
"Tough luck, mate. Looks like you're a bit stuck."
Under other circumstances, Luchareth might be more susceptible to the blandishments of a lovely Scion with weapons grade endowment, but the rational part of his mind that's steadily offering a frank and rather wry assessment of his circumstances deconstructs the absurdity of her argument with all the delicacy of a window intercepting the mad dash of a hummingbird. Splat. He hesitates for just a moment as ichor infuses his brain and then shakes his head, leveling the Emitter at her once more.
"Oh, yes I do," he replies. "I really, really do want to hurt you. Especially now." A sudden rage comes over him, tensing his features into a mask with teeth bared in a snarl. "How /dare/ you…?" He takes aim and releases another beam of murderous intent.
Luchareth's shot this time is still not a killing blow, but flesh is found instead of simply hair and a jagged disfiguring mark now mars the young woman's shoulder. Dropping to her knees, her beautiful complexion marred in pain she looks suddenly vulnerable. An act? Does it matter? If he chooses to finish her now might well be the time.
Even with movement limited the Scion of Hachiman is an incredibly impressive fighter, an inhuman lunge of the sort driving forward to dart at Bardelys's leg in a blow that might leave his own movement hindered should it connect.
Melanope is.. getting awfully fondly with her chosen target. Hands groping, words whispering, the two close, intimate, and finally as he leans in for a kiss she shoves birdman off the edge with a negligent shove. For a birdman he does not fly all that well when terribly mindfucked, and many many many stories below a van is more or less crushed into the earth as the Scion collapses into it.
Sparks fly as Bardelys and the Scion of Hachiman find themselves engaged in a short, sweet sword fight that may actually spawn a legend all its own. Katana versus sabre in an epic fight, pirate versus samurai. In the end Bardelys takes another blow, this time to his leg, that sends sparks and hardened mud flying as the katana solidly impacts his Body Armor ensconced person.
Bardelys staggers back a half-step before fresh mud and silt oozes down to cover the chink in his Body Armor. Although a critical blow, it seems to have been unable to truly penetrate Bardelys' flesh and armor. He smiles broadly, the expression somehow more awful for the muck and mire coating his face. The Celestial Explorer levels his gun at the samurai's throat.
"Sorry, mate. You're looking a bit… Stuck for time."
With no further finesse or awful punnery, Bardelys fires his Atlantean Sea Revolver. Another small harpoon flying, this time aimed at a samurai's throat.
There's nothing particularly epic or even all that dramatic about Luchareth's approach to resolving conflict. He stands up from behind the altar and cautiously approaches the distraught Scion of Dionysus, shaking his head in disgust. He nods to the Shrike, who flutters down to land in front of the woman, peering up at her curiously and making a shiny, glittering distraction of itself. It peers up at her with its head at a slight tilt in a clever mockery of a curious living creature, while its master silently steps up behind her, presses the glowing end of the Emitter into her hair until it touches scalp, and then discharges a burst of power into her skull that causes her pretty face to rupture messily and spray across the rooftop as the Shrike takes wing, deftly avoiding being sullied by gore.
The Samurai at least manages to dodge enough he is not hit in the throat although the impact of harpoon against the armor of his shoulder creates a ringing sound, the force of it driving him backwards and breaking him free from the ice holding his feet. Here he turns his gaze one more time around what remains of his companions, all dead now accept for him. There he gives a deep bow and he intones to Bardelys, "I expected to find such dishonor as we discovered here. I did not expect to find such skill. Next time we will be prepared." Then he is off, flying, flying up and away towards where the shield had earlier broken making his escape from New Atlantis to carry word of this defeat back to the Gods.
The hot chick will be sending back no more messages, she simply screams out horribly while her final fate overcomes her. Perfect beauty rendered into it's component bits. She's really not as attractive on the inside.
With a laugh, Bardelys salutes the fleeing/flying samurai with a tip of his head and gesture of his revolver. The Celestial Explorer turns to face his allies, blood still seeping from the gash across his chest as his oceanic Body Armor starts to crack and shatter. It falls away from him as he starts to move, slowly, toward Melanope while surveying the other Atlanteans.
"Let them come. Let them break upon our unyielding countenances, they shall break as the waves upon the shoreline, but they will never erode our resolve. They shall never again destroy Atlantis."
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