A Trail All Bent Askew [IC]

[Quinn]

Crow's mind gibbered, but his body moved without orders. No time to think, said his subconscious. Every fiber of his body registered the sheer terror and raw threat Dagon possessed - an Elder God, made manifest in this bay. It was a Lovecraftian nightmare of near-biblical proportions; the alarms and wards at Parkhurst were probably screaming red right now.

And of the hotel's denizens, the one currently on the scene of this monstrous summoning was the one least capable in practical magic.

And the likely squishiest one. Short of Master de Saens.

And the least experienced one.

Each of these facts was tabled and notarized behind that stark terror - he frantically tried to compartmentalize everything as his feet kept carrying him closer to the Thing That Should Not Be. Lessons drilled into his mind by Mr. Archer took over, for all Dagon's eldritch might and legend, he was still a giant monster. And he had fought those in the Doom Room. Rule number one - giant monsters, aim for vital spots. Ankles, ears, eyes, nose - either topple them or disable senses. Given the distance, he couldn't hope to hit the eyes dead-on, but...

Half-way through a step down the runway, he vanished from sight - appearing on the top of a hangar. Two knives appeared in his hands. They seemed pitifully small...he improvised. The runes of lightning on his backplates burned, motes of raw elemental lightning coalescing in his hands, and in the Talons. The metal started to heat. And then sizzle. And then shine. They'd never last the full trip. But that wasn't what he needed them to do. Cool as could be, Crow flicked the two knives into a proper throwing position, and arced a pair of clean throws; the blades spinning end over end in the air. They didn't make the full trip. But that wasn't the point. Near the monster's head, the two Talons connected, and there was a snap-crack. The smell of ozone. A roll of thunder. And a bright light, blinding to a monster from the depths of the sea, exploded in Dagon's face.

Cannonade heard Crow's voice yell, yes, yell, down to him, and the black-coated figure pointed quite blatantly to the thing's legs. "Knock it down! We need time!"

Time... ... ...I'm going to need a lot of wire.

[trollthumper]

The light managed to make Dagon, master of the lightless depth, scourer of the primordial muck, sleeper within the breast of the Leviathan, recoil and shriek with a noise that nearly tore reality in two. Cannonade managed to plug his ears enough to notice something on the nigh-inscrutable face of the broken god. Fear. He charged forward, aiming for the thing's gut. He leaped into the air and brought both fists down on Dagon's midsection in an overhead swing. The blow... didn't feel right. It felt like it was bouncing off of a tortoise shell, whale blubber, and a jellyfish's protoplasmic form all at the same time. But no matter what it was, it split with an audible crack, and Dagon's wrath was terrible to behold.

"Not so tough, are ya?" Cannonade said. "Maybe you should have spent more time under - gah!" An invisible tentacle, formed out of nothing more than the terrible will of the god, sent him flying down the tarmac. He landed in a pile a ways down, trying to regain his bearings.

"Nah," said Fathom. "He shouldn't even have done that." He charged at the drowned god's legs, impacting with its ankle with a mighty headbutt. The crunch was sickening - and it came entirely from Dagon, now lamed and attempting to balance itself. "I would've followed him. Let's shove this guy back to the most lightless depths of the world!"

[Azuth65]

Wisp watched Cannonade and Fathom's attacks and after steadying herself, she focused her will into swirling pools of energy around each fist. "Hey, Cthulhu-light! H.P. Lovecraft called. He said to go back to R'lyeh and get back to your dreaming!" she yelled as she slammed her fists together, unleashing a blinding blast of crackling blue and black energy streaking at what passed for the elder being's face. She wasn't sure which the creature was more annoyed with, her comments or being smacked in the face by a mortal but she was well aware she'd made it mad...

[Quinn]

Crow dashed along the rooftop of the warehouse, moving hell for leather; a flat-out, gut-bursting sprint. He needed close range, closer, closer, closer, THERE! One second the teen was putting a foot down on tiles, the next it squished into the top of the monstrosity's head...and Morgan had to resist screaming.

Literally.

Screaming.

Ye gods and little fishes - the sheer presence of the monster...Morgan Crowe knew no fear, for he was fear, but even fearless he could feel the age and raw power thrumming under his booted heels. The sheer impossibility of the creature threatened to overwhelm him in such close proximity, and one hand clutched the side of his head as he struggled for balance. A throwing knife appeared in his hand, the blade in his palm, and he squeezed for a split-second - focusing on the reality of the pain spike and dragging himself forcibly back to reality. Focus on what he could do. Focus that this thing was tangible.

They could touch it.

They could hurt it.

The boots danced a pitter-pat about the monster's head as four knives appeared between his fingers, then - each the more aerodynamic ones with the wire loops on the pommel. Quick spins and tugs like a puppeteer, and dwarven-forged high-tensile-steel wires spun outwards in a mesmerising display around the god-creature; winding about limbs and tightening painfully. Wait for the right moment...and YANK; with a near-silent hiss of breath Crow expelled the wind from his lungs and gave a mighty pull, leverage and the creature's own motions pulling the wires taut. The rune of lightning flared again, throwing the black hero's half-covered face into sharp relief as a truly staggering amount of electricity, of raw, elemental power coursed down the wires and lashed into Dagon's form! As it began to list sideways, Crow threw himself from the head and vanished, appearing beside Cannonade and rolling to a stop; breathing heavily.

"Huff...huff...wards..." Louder. "The city wards! Wards! Hit it while it's dazed! Get it closer!"

[trollthumper]

The trapped lightning surged through the Elder God, resounding through inhuman nerves and unnatural protoplasm. It was little, compared to the storm raging within its head. But the cable cut tight, especially with the current to serve as a warning against pushing too strongly. Dagon was lashed to the spot, unable to move against the constricting bonds. As the dread thing from the depths was unable to do much of anything at the moment, Fathom pushed up ahead, taking advantage of the blind thrashing to leap up on the god's nose. He drove his claws into the unnatural amalgam of sea life, drawing ichor. The roar was dreadful to behold, but passed quickly.

"Those bonds should keep it, but not for long," he said. "Hit him with all you've got!"

"Got it," Cannonade said, clearing his head. "Just let me work off the last of the double vision..."

[Azuth65]

Hearing Fathom's call, Wisp didn't need to be told twice. Taking a few deep breaths to steady herself, she began focusing energy into her hands, the blue and black crackling power growing larger with each inhalation and pulsing again as she exhaled.

Once the twin balls of power were large enough, the white haired hero slammed her hands together and allowed the power to rush from her arms to streak towards Dagon and slam into the massive abomination with the force of a half dozen missiles. She watches with grim satisfaction as it trashed against the bonds briefly before falling limp, the fight seemingly take out of it.

[trollthumper]

The blast caught the god of the Deep Ones right in the snout... and caused the thing's entire bulk to ripple. The roar it let out was the sound of the earth ripping open, and its claws desperately dug for purchase on the tarmac. But its efforts overtaxed the already strained Dagon, and its form began to collapse. Gelatinous ooze fell from its body in massive chunks, splattering to the runway and reminding Cannonade of dead jellyfish he'd seen washed up on the beach. It broke its bonds in one desperate, final strike, and began to slouch back towards the ocean, only barely remaining together before getting waist high into the water. It collapsed there, toppling like a melted iceberg, the rest of its bulk melting away into water.

Instantly, the tenor in the air around them shifted. Before, there had been something like nameless dread bearing down on the heroes. Now, there was just the salt air, the ocean breeze, and the lights of the distant city. And a feeling of something else. Something like... safety.

"We did it," said Cannonade. "I mean, it is dead, right?"

"That which is dead cannot eternal lie..."

Cannonade looked up to see a woman floating down towards the runway. She wore an open robe emblazoned with the sign of a compass over Colonial-era men's clothes, and hid her face behind a slender mask.

"...but it can retreat to the sea to tuck its tail between its legs." She looked over to Fathom. "Sorry I'm late. That damn thing was giving me an incredible headache."

The seal-man let out a massive grin. "Good to see you up and about, Architect."

[Quinn]

A medium-sized figure in black appeared beside Wisp, looking somewhat worse for wear after the shindy against a forgotten god who dwelt between time and space. And underwater. Come to think of it, Crow looked slightly damp as well. Still, despite the vaguely grumpy posture, the eyes were smiling over the bandanna - and he promptly gave Wisp one helluva hug before turning the mischevious look towards the Architect.

"For the record, I was standing on the thing. Headache would be putting it mildly." A low chuckle. "Glad to see you too, Architect."

And now that that's over, here comes the hard part...now how the hell do I ask for her and their autographs without wrecking the mystique.

[Azuth65]

Wisp snaked her arm around Crow, returning his hug before turning to eye Architect. She was not sure what exactly she had been expecting but colonial era clothing had been fairly low on the list. Though, the teen had to admit the woman pulled off the ensemble nicely.

Nodding her head towards the new comer she smiled, "Glad we could help." Eying her boyfriend she added, "Next time we come to visit your hometown, let's try to avoid Lovecraftian behemoths crawling out of the ocean, okay? Otherwise when I take you home for Thanksgiving, we're stopping by Hull House."