Demon Dreadnought Ragnarok

[Jasae Bushae]

((after some diliberation i have decided that aces post has not broken any rules since you never specified your shields having and non survilnce blockers
so i have unlocked it and set it adrift into the plot

and just for the record in data towers direction that survalence software is limited to any posts made after your aces posted arival))  

[Silvi Tal]

What's going on, Miso? Are we not leaving?

Siri meant to make a comment, but Iris' - Rin's - glare silenced her.

Quiet, Debbie.

"F... I hate my life. I shoulda just stayed in frickin' limbo... At least there I was threatenin'... NOW look at me - I'm a maid named Debbie..."  

[Magical Snow Dragon]

Ace yells loudly.

"WHOA!!!"

Ace tells piolet to get out of the of the tornado.

"Lets get out of the way!"

They move out of the way of the tornado just barely and the wind of the tornado wiggles the stelth jet aggresively, but they could still hear what's going on.  

[Silvi Tal]

Want me to take care of the intruding jet?
Iris inquired, already stretching her wings for take-off.
I'd be more than happy to, you know.  

[John C. Blues]

John Blues, who hasd been ina light sleep, was awakened by the beeping of an alarm. He stirred. "What is it now computer?" he asked. the computer put up some images on screen. One was of the flying base he had been tracking in stealth. The other was of another jet getting perilously close to the base. John was surprised it hadn't been shot down yet. "So what's the problem?" The computer showed a picture of teh girl he had met before. "Oh right. I told you to wake me if there was a chance either of those two might show up." the computer made a sound very close to duh!, but John ignored it. He prepped some of the engines in case of an appearence. He then set his mind to work. He felt there wsa something wrong with is mind. As if there was something he couldn't remember. The most he could think of was a door marked 19 with a lock on it. He felt that maybe those two might have something to unlock it.  

[Silvi Tal]

Without waiting an answer, Iris, now dressed as Rin, leapt out of the window. Only her eyes had been kept the same, but even with black angelic wings and short ebony hair, it wasn't all that hard to tell it was her... If one knew what to look for, of course. Since the Count didn't, her disguise was fine.

The jet in sight, she let out a roar of warning.
BEGONE! She shouted mentally. Not used to using it, her telepathy could be heard by all within range. Using a disguised mental voice was temporarily forgotten. The likes of you are not welcome here.
She couldn't help but feel irked with Jack that he hadn't fired at it yet, but... his loss was her gain. Blue and green fires laced her hands, flickering, itching to be let loose on the machine to bring it down, eat it until nothing remained.  

[silentdraconis]

ISA was in a very dangerous position: the sights of a very dangerous man, bent on their headquarters and members.
Destruction... His only joy...
But he waited under orders, his bloodlust contained until the call arrived. And he waited on an overlapping plane of reality, outside of the grasp of mortal senses.  

[silentdraconis]

The sun rose, and no message came from the high command. "Heh. He's 24 hours to late to tell me what to do..." The man whispered, and jumped down from his perch.
The wall shattered, rock rocketing in and dust rising as the racket subsided slowly. The wind tore the veil of dust to tatters, revealing the silhouette of a tall man, a shadow against the sudden influx of sunlight. He stepped through the rubble and lifted his head, looking through the soft spikes of void-black hair that fell across his face and masked his crimson eyes. There was the faintest glow in the ruby irises, and a dangerous smirk on his lips. He was handsome in a cruel way, though his skin was incredibly pale. He looked around, the visible canine showing as sharper than normal. Black wings at his back ruffled, a single ebony feather falling to the ground, ripples of crimson light echoing out from it as though it had landed on the surface of a pool.
Allen Aharden.
Those who knew him, feared him, those he knew him and did not, did not because they were not alive to fear...  

[silentdraconis]

Red light, like lightning flames, arced up around the figure of destruction. His left hand held a sword, his right was open and crimson power gathered into a sphere above his palm. A moment later it was released.
Another wall shattered inwards, and his blade flicked dangerously, something about it hinting that it was far more than it seemed.
He walked on, ignoring the rubble or corpses under his feet; there was not much difference between the two, to him. And he continued his methodolical destruction of the Immortal Spirit Army headquarters with the careless zeal of someone paid to do something he enjoyed. Slow, measured steps would bring him closer, and closer, and closer, to the place where he could most dramatically finish ISA off.
And perhaps a good portion of the city below, as well... A cold chuckle, full of maliscious intent, brushed eerily through an empty hall and faded.  

[silentdraconis]

Time trundled on, and each passing moment, each day that dawned or set unnoticed was another that usheered in their inevitable destruction. He had taken the job for its excellent pay--which was not in platinum, as many suspected, and many others accepted, but in blood, death, and the euphoria that came with Destroying.
The ripples of crimson light spread still, and there was no telling what havoc, or magic they wrought as they shimmered across the building. What the purpose of that light, whatever it was, was known only to Aharden, and he wasn't about to explain to those who died at his hands. It was an amature mistake, gloating at the Hero captured and bound as the fellow worked his way free to run a carelessly discarded weapon through the mastermind's cold heart.
Allen Aharden was no such fool. He would destroy this Base--what kind of headquarters was so poorly guarded as this?--and find more work he would enjoy. His blade was now a similar color to the power that arced around him and pooled into his palm to destroy more and more of the place as he took to the next level. Blood dripped to splatter on the floor in his wake, none of it his. No true resistance yet. It should have worried him, were he the type to worry, but it didn't. If trouble dared rear its head at he who'd birthed it, then it could welcome the feel of cold, burning steel biting through its neck.  

[silentdraconis]

His steps fell lightly on tiles and carpets that turned steadily darker as the death toll slowly stretched upwards. He smirked perpetually in a wickedly amused way, like this was but a game to him. And maybe it was. His history was unknon to the people of this area, and Allen Aharden was a new face, one that brought with it the hovering fog of obscurity and blood, hot metal and death.
And he continued to destroy, whimsically, with no apparent strategy except to leave very few things intact before moving upwards, floor by floor. Indeed, it seemed as though only enough was left to ensure some degree of structural solidity, however small.
And the crimson ripples slipped further upwards, echoing out from that single, fallen feather, as black as night and cold as death.  

[silentdraconis]

Glowing eyes pierced another cloud of dust from another shredded wall. A scream ended in a bloody gurlge, and he walked on, his sword withdrawing from the man's throat with a shnk sound. Blood flowed.
He only tilted his head for clearer view of what he was doing, and walked on.
Plip.
...
Plip.
...
Plip.
The blood dripped steadily from his blade, and as of yet, Aharden had taken no damage. No one had even come within a hair's breadth of harming him.
Such weak beings.  

[silentdraconis]

A hand lifted. A blue eye, the other a ruin of blood and gore, pleaded. Red waters fell painfully soft down the side of a face, hair dark in the crimson. A sword flashed. A scream rose and shattered.
Allen Aharden was not merciless. Mercy was a thing for mortals, humans and the like. He was none of these. He was a destroyer. He thrived on the agony of others, on their blood, pain and tears. Fed off their screams, pleadings and rivers of blood.
He was cruel only in the eyes of those who thought him mortal. Those who thought that, like others of similar build and look to him, he had a heart, that he was once capable of caring, and might still be.
They would be doomed to disappointment.  

[silentdraconis]

Somewhere, people say, there is a clock that measures the progress of the Universe, slowly counting away towards the end of Time itself. They say it is carved from the obsidion of the sky between the stars, that its gears are the turning Galaxies of billions of lights, and that its numbers are what's left when Galaxies collapse. It's hands are stretched pennant-flares of thousands of dying stars.
And somewhere, in its incomprehensibility to mortal thought, that clock was slowly ticking away towards the annihilation of the Immortal Spirit Army, as well as the end of Time.
Though one would come long before the other.
Crimson light flared, beckonning the ticking hands onward.