Nothing More Than Superstition (Neverwinter)

Guest

SETTING: Amici Mansion, Residential Jump
PLOT: When a trade is between the Amici family and
the so-called 'superhero' Backlash, something
supernatural sours the deal.
MOOD: "The Halls of Fear" by Nino Rota,
popularised in The Godfather: Part I
PLAYERS: Honest as Backlash
Neverwinter as Galvora
OTHER: Invite only. Participants
will be timely with replies and courteous
of others' expectations of poignancy.

--------------

IT WAS OMINOUS NIGHTS LIKE THESE with shadows cloaking the world and pale moonlight filtering through the passing low, low clouds that seemed to suffocate the night sky, making made superstition bleed through all proper thought and scientific notions, blotting out reason and responsibility to sanity. Eerie nights like these that shaded even shadier characters as they committed dark and dirty deeds under the cover of darkness. And some of the best people who were good at being bad were the Amici family––Amici, ironically, being Italian for ‘friend’––who were famous for their riches and power and infamous for their crimes and lack of punishment. But as was with most mob families, they had their dirty fingers in enough pies to keep the police out and any onlookers blinded. So nobody really did anything to snuff out the fiery rule of the Amici family, and that worked for her––Katarzyna “Kat” Dolinski. Polish teenage prodigy. Ingenious inventor. Sketchy “superhero” with a penchant for all things punk and nothing pretty. One look at her, and a few things could be discerned right away; one, she wasn’t an ordinary teenage girl; her skin shined a glossy pitch-black, the entirety of her eyes were bright white, as was her long, long hair pulled back into a tight, effectively ponytail. Most people still stared––and really, who could blame them––but not Giuseppe Amici, the head of the Amici family and the most stereotypically Italian baddie. Kata respected him for that, and he respected her. Or rather, he respected her blueprints. Her terms came in simple and short form: payment up front, either in cash or in equivalent exchange. Katarzyna didn’t get around Europe often, and with S.T.A.R. Labs breathing down her neck, the Amici family were the means through which to get the tech she wanted.

So went the deal. The terms and conditions were understood as she and a few of the higher-ranking family members sat around in ridiculously expensive lounge chairs smoking ridiculously fine cigars and telling ridiculously ludicrous stories about old lovers and new enemies and present-day dangers. A sixteen-year-old girl who didn’t speak a word of Italian wouldn’t have normally fit in with the Amicis, but then again, she wasn’t a normal girl.

“Backlash,” on of the men started, voice cutting through the peacefully acquired silence, “I hear they’re callin’ you ‘Backlash’ these days. Wustha deal with that? Ain’t you got a better one lyin’ around with all your superhero stuff lately?” 

Katarzyna––Backlash––shot a look of completely unamused attention at him, effectively dropping the subject with just that one, single glance. She really hated that name, and she hated the term ‘superhero.’ Kat considered herself neither a hero nor super; just... Backlash. “Hmm” she droned blandly, taking a draft of her own cigar and exhaling little rings of smoke, “Thought the media would have come up with something... scarier. Or cornier. Surprised they didn’t call me something like ‘Electrified.’” That earned her a few laughs. “But what they call me isn’t of concern, so long as I don’t get too bloody too often, and at least appear like I’m playing by the rules.”

“Rules don’t suit you, Kat.” Giuseppe had spoken this time; he was one of the few people that Backlash allowed to call her by that nickname. His voice was like a purring jaguar, low and sonorous and somewhat gritty.

Backlash smiled ruefully, “nah, s’pose they don’t. Otherwise I wouldn’t be here, and you wouldn’t be offering me a few fingers of whiskey.”

“Thought you were somethin’ like eighteen, Kat. Y’ought to not ruin that pretty body of yours, wastin' it away with smokes and alcohol at such a young age.” Sixteen, actually, but even the head of the Amici family didn’t need to know that.

Katarzyna just scoffed and brushed off the remark, used to sleazy and condescending ones like that already. She gazed out of one of the massive windows, enjoying the uneasy and freaky mood that ominous nights like these made settle in mortals’ bones. “Full moon tonight, Amici. Hope you have that silver-bullet gun of yours,” she teased. The entire Amici clan were a superstitious bunch, something that Kata never worried about nor cared, nor put any stock into. Giuseppe almost blushed, but like a true Italian man, he hid it well and he hid it fast.

“Don’t jinx yaself, esotico principessa. Ya might be surprised at how supuhnatral Jump gets when the wolves come out at night.”

What... a glorious night. Sometimes, Sophie cursed her existence. Sometimes, it didn't seem worth it. The pain... and the anticipation of pain... it was almost too much to bear. Almost. But... it was nights like this that made it worthwhile, that reminded her why she chose this life, why she had accepted the old god's offer. Why she had sacrificed her humanity and every scrap of peace, of normalcy... and maybe even gave up her soul to the monster inside.

It was the blood, sweet on her lips. It was the fear of her enemies. It was their screams as they fled. She didn't care how much they hurt... or that she woke some mornings with their flesh filling her with vitality. This was why she'd chosen to become a monster. Because these people... these animals... they had to pay.

They would fear her again tonight.

These were the times... when the beast and the girl were in harmony, when she could see the path ahead most clearly, both with her nose and with her eyes, with her heart as well as her soul. Every part of her was bent to the task... of following a scent. She'd done a lot of things to get this far... and though she'd missed, she'd been turned aside so far, nothing would stop her now.

She had Amici's blood.

The opera hadn't gone how she wanted... she hadn't meant to change outside, to let this animal see her coming. Never let them see you coming. The street didn't need to move faster. The path forward didn't need her to run. The scent of Amici and his expensive cologne, of his driver's aftershave, of his fine leather coat, of that fancy car he drove, the premium-grade gasoline it was filled with, and a thousand other things led her along. Even a day late... it was like a yellow brick road. A gentle breath drew down the scent of the fedora he'd worn last night as it rested on her head, the snowy-haired young woman careful to keep every inch of skin out of the moonlight. The stink of him formed a vicious little ball of hate. She found herself wondering what he would taste like as she tore out his throat, as she slaked her thirst for violence on his lifeblood. She could hardly wait.

A mansion soon loomed up out of the night. A part of Sophie wanted to be stealthy about it, to jump his high fence. She could have done so - oh, certainly, maybe taken out the mobster quietly before his men even had a chance to do it. That's what her wolf whispered into her thoughts - the silent hunter approach would serve well here. But the girl bared her teeth, her fangs...

No. They wouldn't get the luxury of any respite. She was coming to kill them in their place of power, where they could be prepared, and more importantly, she was coming to Amici's home. She was striking their heart. Just cutting their face, killing their leader, wouldn't be nearly enough.

She had to break them. It was uncharacteristic for her to be so... so... bloodthirsty, so vicious, but the wolf respected her choice. Sometimes... sometimes her human side could be scary, little girl holding a leash or not.

Front gate it was.

She, still hunched against the moonlight with the fedora and the upturned collar of her green jacket covering her face, drew level with the guard house that stood erect outside the heavy cast iron gates of the Amici's mansion.

The night guard, his nametag reading Paul, jerked hard in shock as a five foot and small change little feminine form drew level with his station, and calmly knocked on his window. He opened it, and leaned out to start framing the words "The hell do you want?", but got no farther than the word 'do' in that sentence before a pale hand shot out, quick as a snake, and grabbed him by the throat in a grip that instantly cut off his airflow, making speech impossible.

In an almost leisurely fashion, Sophie dragged the grown man out of the guard house and drew his face level with her own, the violet pinpricks in her pupils visible to her as they reflected off the huge, owlish gaze of the security guard's eyes. He was white with terror. She could smell it on him. But it wasn't the only thing she could smell.

He didn't smell like expensive cologne, or fancy cigars. He had... a woman's perfume on him, faintly... and the smell, faint but present, of crayons. Her grip loosened a little on its own, and he managed to wheeze "P-please! No! Don't hurt me! and Sophie felt a trickle of ice run down her neck and slash straight through her heart.

"Listen to me... closely... if you do anything but run, screaming, into the night... I swear to god I'll kill you. Shay Shay?" she murmured in a husky voice, adding a bit of Firefly into the threat for flair. He was either a fan of the show or he just understood what she meant because he nodded most emphatically, gave a whimper as she let him go, and did just that - ran like blazes, like the devil herself was after him, screaming like a girl as he went.

At this point, the hat came off, hitting the ground as Sophie shook out her hair in the moonlight. Then came her coat, exposing her bare back to shine and reflect the light with pale, supple flesh. Her boots, her sweatpants, both were gathered up with the rest and tossed into the bushes in the shadow of the gatehouse, even as her skin erupted in pins and needles, burning... then searing

Sophie shuddered. No turning back now. She held an image in her mind - a single rose leaving her father's hand and falling into her mother's coffin, a bitter little smile playing on his lips... and Amici had been there. She remembered the bullets tearing into her, remembered seeing her mother fall, a chunk of her chest simply gone. She remembered the laughter of the men who did it, too... and clenched her fists into white little balls. Pain, intense pain, blazed in her flesh like it had been lit aflame, but it was nothing at all compared to the burning fury she felt, the anger that burned so grossly incandescent within her soul that it drowned out everything, left only the ROAR. The transformation was never easy on her... but this anger, focusing on it... helped.

Sophie hunched as her spine stood out stark against her back, a snarl bubbling in her throat. It crackled, popped loudly as it lengthened, the beginnings of a tail sprouting above her rump. Muscles in her back and body stood out hard, jutting as if they'd all cramped at once - they had. She screamed, shrieked in agony, but kept the images, the sounds, the scents in her head. Rational thought began to take a backseat - all other thoughts and concerns were burning away as she fed them to this terrible... wonderful flame of vengeance.

Her head of white hair seemed to root into her neck, and the colors of it exploded down her naked form even as Sophie's femenine face began to jerk forward. Bones decided on their own they were not the right shape for such glorious moonlight and jerked forward, tensing her skin to its limits as that face became a muzzle and her lips parted to accomodate the extra helpings of fangs they now accomodated, but soon the flesh stretched to fit, fur flooding her features.

The pain she felt as her body shook, as it wracked, as hideous pops filled the air and skin stretched to its very limits transformed even as she did. It became... raw... redder... animal pain rather than human torment. The difference was marked. Once human thought ceased in the tide, the monster closed in to fill the gap. And she let it happen - totally. She embraced it with every fiber of her being, in a way she would never otherwise do. She was not at home to Mr. Reason. She would not hear him knocking.

Galvora stood then, her claws extending and retracting as she spasmed a little in the wake of her change. Even the beast's normal thoughts were muted and she saw red. Her eyes were no longer even remotely human - they were pure, unblemished fields of violet, blazing like two radiant beacons into the night as she threw her head back... and roared

The sound of it broke through walls, echoed off the trees around the back of the mansion, reverberated through every room, so great was the force behind it, her voice cracking in the middle but continuing on. Panes of glass shook as if there had been a crack of thunder. Guard Dogs began to howl in terror and bark, surging towards the source of the noise, their handlers quick to follow them.

Galvora gripped the outer gate, then, with contemptible ease tore it, moorings and all, out of the wall. It was hefted - then hurled like a clanging iron shotput at the mansion. It didn't quite make it the entire distance, but it did land on the cars parked in the front, level a marble fountain, and demolish a couple unlucky men who had been stupid enough to stand in front of it. The Beast surged forward.

Gunfire erupted, automatic weapons fire filling the air outside and zipping past and into Sophie's body like angry bees... and that was a very apt description - they only stung. Bullets met her hide, but were spat out again before she even had time to bleed enough to stain her snowy fur. Rage danced, talons came out, and one lucky guard dog stopped dead, tail between its legs as Sophie swiped at it, then instantly lost interest. Dogs who had been trained to kill got within visual range of the monster before them, the demon, and fled, yelping. They had more sense than their handlers.

Sophie caught one on the backswing, her paw bigger than his head as it slapped him in the chest, snapping a couple ribs before flinging him a full thirty feet through the air, only to skid messily across the pavement. Another battle-roar shook the windows of the house, and Sophie charged, moonlight turning her beautiful silver coat into the gleaming edge of a knife.

The outside guards didn't even slow her down. She didn't so much as pause to kill them. She just... ran them over. Her talons tore them, her body crushed them. One was disemboweled, another's face torn clean off, and a third's ribcage was torn open like heart surgery - but they were the hideously unfortunate ones - the rest just broke bones as she barreled through them like a freight train, knocking them aside and into the air to land like ragdolls behind her.

The Furious Galvora was coming for Giuseppe Amici.

Guest

ooc: ( ॣ•͈૦•͈ ॣ) ...holy crap. Neverwinter, you're the best roleplayer I've read since RobynStarling. And that's saying a lot, because she's always been my favourite.

My reply soon. Just thought you should know how much you intimidate me, which is a good thing.

Guest

The howl of a monster, the suspension of disbelief, the shock and awe of alleviated superstition. The wolves really had come out tonight. Above the screams of cowardly guards and the whines of dying dogs, Backlash heard the Giuseppe’s cursing and the unmistakable rush of adrenaline and panic. Werewolf or not, something strong enough to shake the nerves of one of the most composed Italian mobsters hunted freely. On any other occasion, Katarzyna would have left the scene immediately, either teleporting away or simply walking out; this wasn’t her fight, whatever it was. But the real reason why she made up her mind to stick around and see what happened, maybe even fight if necessary, is nothing of justice or a sense of duty to protect her mob friends; simply, she hadn’t received the tech she wanted for an unrelated project and she didn’t want to lose valuable assets.

“Amici!” Katarzyna called, eyes fixed on the glaring moon and ears trained to the sounds of approaching opposition, “please tell me you weren’t being serious about supernatural things. Please do not tell me that your damned silver-bullet gun is going to actually serve a purpose tonight.” No reply. Very uncommon for a man who loved to hear himself talk. Turning around, breaking the hypnotic trance that the eerie moonlight cast upon her equally ethereal gaze, the Polish teenager faced an empty parlour. ‘I’m on my own, then,’ she realised, ’so much for fair trade.’

Backlash decided that bothering to be amicable and polite by exiting through the front door was something that the Amici family did not deserve... that, and she had always wanted to jump through a window. Sprinting to the one she had just been looking through, Backlash swung her metal arm and punched right through the glass, shattering the expensive panes with a satisfyingly dramatic and destructive force. She leapt from the window and barrel-rolled to prevent a hard landing, utilizing her training as a gymnast to vault herself forward as she sought the source of the commotion.

It did not take more than three seconds.

The creature of lore stood tall and ferocious and mad. And unlike the traditional imagery of a werewolf––dark-furred and ugly––this one’s pelt shone like precious marble, only stained by the bright colour of crimson, splattered by blood and gore. The sight, Backlash had to admit, was oddly gorgeous, fantastical, and alluring. But more than anything, the werewolf terrified her. Now, Katarzyna did not spook easily, she feared very little, she gave no weight to most things that scared ordinary humans; fear itself was a disadvantage. But seeing this mythical beast made her question her beliefs of the supernatural. She equated it the the theological idea that, although she was an atheist, if a god or two came down from the sky and started showing off powers that only a god could wield, remaining an atheist would be hypocritical. Similarly, the steel-minded girl had been proven wrong when it came to not believing in the type of scary things that went bump in the night and was featured in old legends meant to scare children and make adults uncomfortable. But to be fair, in this day of science and magic and beings with powers never before seen, she shouldn’t have been surprised. But nonetheless.

Logging her surroundings mentally and gathering information that could be useful––such as the broken walls and destroyed metal gate, the state of the dead and dying, and the obvious feral nature of her unfamiliar enemy––Backlash quickly decided that using her lightning whips against the creature would be more effective than trying to capture it using steel and other strong metals. One, two, seconds passed and her whips had been deployed, streams of cackling bright lightning licking the ground and searing heat destroying the Amici family’s well-tailoured lawn. As the surges sought more sources of electricity to siphon, Backlash’s eyes seemed to glow even more in tandem with the increasing ampage of her weapons. She would have to stay a relatively far distance from the werewolf, or she would be killed; there was no doubt in the world that the beast could crush her like a toothpick, not only due to its strength, but the fact that Katarzyna stood only a few inches above five feet and weighed little, even with the ubiquitous amounts of clothing and metal she wore.

Long-range attacks, it was.

Advancing cautiously and calculating the distance between the werewolf and herself, the super-powered teen jerked both whips back, making them snap and lurch forward again, aimed right for the beast.

The sound of glass breaking wasn't something Galvora really paid much attention to as the moonlight changed the whole of her world, rendered reality in shades of murderous red, gleaming white and utter darkness. She registered the sound, but she only noticed it like she knew the ground existed - it wasn't important. Soon... soon she would be in the house, inside the prey's den. Her blood ran molten with fury and sang with the exhilaration of the hunt.

Have you ever been... angry? So angry that you wanted to hurt something? To crush the thing that made you so furious, so angry that nothing else mattered but mayhem? It's not a state in which many things reach you or come as anything but a further annoyance. Her senses were already firing on all cylinders - beeping at the rage-addled werewolf brain continuously that there was harm coming her way (automatic weapons fire can do that), but a new scent, a new, strange feeling savaged a small, serene part of her that had no other purpose but to listen, and screamed NOTICE ME!

Burning grass, ozone, a tingle on her fur, it warned Sophie what was coming long enough for her to jerk hard to a stop, but that wasn't enough for her to avoid two big face-fulls of Backlash's electric whip. The ozone-scented lashes contacted her breast an her head full on, searing into her fur and sending a huge charge of electricity directly into Sophie's body core. The world, for Galvora at least, exploded into white-hot pain and flashing light. Every muscle in the werewolf's body JERKED as impulses were sent reeling, and the werewolf catapulted herself thirty feet backward through the air, slamming into a parked sedan and instantly totaling it.

There was a moment, maybe two, in which everything was pulsating, in which every nerve ending was shot and nothing made sense. The werewolf jerked once or twice, then went lax as electricity finished discharging. But... Those lashes were not made of silver. Feeling returned, and moonlight once again drowned out the pulsating, the white at all edges of her vision, and Galvora drew in a sharp breath which almost immediately turned into a bubbling snarl.

Galvora sat up out of the car with a dangerous rumble, violet fields of hate focused all the while on Backlash - the scent of her... the glow... the sounds her weapons made...! Galvora's lips pulled back from a maw of fangs, and she loosed a battle-roar that, propelled by supernaturally powerful lungs and unbridled fury, made a few panes of glass shatter on the face of the mansion.

Even though the whips had struck seconds before... Now they weren't something that could even be noticed on the monster. Galvora's body was very nearly glowing in the moonlight, and though it was hard to tell, the wounds were already healed. The shewolf was already reaching down to seize the wreckage of the car she'd destroyed with her body. The scent of its oil and the steam coming out stung her nose and offended her senses, but with a shift of her stance to widen it, she gave a dreadfully easy heave and hurled the smoking wreckage in Backlash's direction.

Guest

ooc: A+ for on-time response.
bic:

Woman against beast. Gnarly, scary, freaky beast with fangs razor-sharp and roar classically nerve-wracking. Sure, it may be cliché; but true? Definitely. So when Backlash realised that there was more to the werewolf than that of lore––specifically, the regeneration bit––a surge of panic coursed through her veins and made her shudder. She hated regenerative abilities. Both encounters she had with someone with that power had not ended well, although she did manage to get the first enemy––a psychopathic girl called ‘Shivering Jemmy’––to finally abandon her campaign of chaos. Battles with regenerative foes had somehow become a commonplace thing in Kat’s new life as a ‘hero,’ something she decided would have to be solved through science. Plans for such devices flooded her brain at the wrong time, occupying her attention with blueprints and visions of completed inventions. Katarzyna Dolinski’s imagination couldn’t be simply turned off like a tap; once it started going, it would take something monumental and very imposing to knock her out of that technological trance.

Thank god for flying vehicles!

Swift but easy business for a girl who could control metal. Quickly passing the whip in her left hand to the right, she thrusted her prosthetic arm into the air, balling up her metal fingers in a punching motion. The car, only a few feet away from crushing her, was flung back at the werewolf at full speed as if in a game of heavy-duty catch. But this time as it hurtled through the air, Backlash struck it with one of her lightning whips, initiating contact with the oil and settling the car aflame. As she watched the brilliant, burning mass of metal fly, Kat thought of making a Catching Fire joke, but decided it would probably go unappreciated by this homicidal creature of the night.

Sophie was already dropping her stance to charge the girl once the vehicle left her massive paws, her motions furious and rapid. She was in no state of mind to be rational, to plan, to demonstrate tactical insight, but she did notice, as she began to accelerate that the girl wasn't crushed, that she wasn't reacting right to the threat the flying object posed. Instead, the inventor raised her metallic arm and...

Suddenly, the car was flying back at her! Time... Slowed. At least, for Galvora it did. She had a little over a full second to react to the danger the flying object posed to her above and beyond the threat of the tiny, annoying beestings of the automatic weapons that even now raged at her from firing positions in the manor's windows, from one side, from fallen men behind her. And then, the human struck the car with one of the lashes with which she'd blasted Galvora with only seconds before, and lit it up.

The monster roared its defiance, jerking forward suddenly in reaction. It would never have occurred to her not to charge in this frame of mind - and so she hit the hurtling vehicle with one full shoulder, brought her arm up with almost dismissive strength, and sent it tumbling end-over-end at the far wall, where it caught fire properly and burst into a fireball of death.

Movies don't tell you how loud an explosion is, folks. They can't express the pressure wave, or the feeling that you've been rattled to your bone marrow, but the force of it, the physical wave of sound hit Galvora like a hammer, making the monster stagger a moment as the red-swimming world swam. In fact, it slapped some of the mind-bending fury out of her, and those brilliant violet pools of radiance set in her skull faded a bit, irises and pupils taking shape within - human irises and pupils. And the first thing Sophie saw was Backlash. The girl sort of... Stood out, black skin, mohawk and all.

Other things about the monster changed as well. Her feral charge grew more controlled, more... focused as all her attention shifted to the only real threat in the area. Bullets struck the monster's hide, hit her face, hit her flank and back, but they fell away as rains of metal and little trickles of red, more... Irritations. Irrelevent. She rushed Backlash at highway speeds, faster than any man could run.

Guest

ooc:/ Thank you again for your patience. ;A; I promise to keep up with you, now.
bic:/

The vehicular, flaming meteorite turned out to be a sore disappointment by way of being a successfully destructive projectile weapon. But did that matter anymore? No! Backlash had bigger problems on her hands than an unsuccessful hit. Presently, a werewolf––one that had regenerative powers––something that tactics and intelligence would have to be used over blunt force. Another problem would be a pissed-off Amici family because a busted car busted up a good chunk of their ornate mansion wall. And is if that wasn’t enough to deal with, a sudden explosion rocked the Polish superhero’s eardrums. The blast caused such a powerful wave that she could have sworn that her skeletal system rattled violently like the window frames that shattered in a splendour of glass and movie-like magic. Immediately, Backlash was thrown off her feet and knocked to the ground, landing harder than she expected from just a sound boom. Consequently, her lightning whips were torn from her grip, landing a few feet away from her. Katarzyna couldn’t decide whether the fact that only she could activate the weapons was a good or bad thing; maybe the monster would have stopped its assault if electrocution stood in its way.

That gave Backlash and idea.

But acting upon that plan would have to wait, as had so, so many things that she wanted to do; the werewolf, again appearing to be relatively unharmed, had seized the failed car attack to catch her off-guard. Katarzyna had been nearly certain that she could get away from the beast if she really wanted to, which she desperately did, but wanting and wishing, belief and superstition failed her. ‘Oh god, oh god, oh god, I’m going to lose this one,’ the electro realized silently, the key concept being more upset by the notion that she could be defeated in this fight rather than actually live through it. Cliché though it may be, Backlash expected her life to flash before her eyes, but she didn’t even have time for that.

Then came the beautiful, benevolent, bad bullet. Silver bullet. One shot. Shaky shot, yes, but a shot nonetheless, soaring through the pale moonlight like a tiny shooting star, the velocity and sheer power of the mini projectile that granted a wish. “Kat! Catch!” Katarzyna Dolinski never imagine that the sound of an Italian accent could be so reassuring, so important, so gracious. She recognised the voice, too: Giuseppe Amici. So had hadn’t totally bailed, or maybe he did and had enough guilt in him to regret his decision but more likely, not want to appear to be a coward in front of his family and inferiors, “kill it with this!”

And Backlash fully planned to. Rolling to the side as quickly as possible, charged with adrenaline and the fierceness of survival, the teenager almost got away. Almost. The werewolf’s claws had managed to dig into the flesh, and as a result of rolling to the left, the wounds cut across a major length of her arm. Crimson blood seeped from the wound. She would have noticed the pain if her mind had not already been fixated on this mad campaign to destroy something she didn’t believe in. Injured or not, Backlash’s life depended on catching Giuseppe’s silver-bullet gun in time to shoot the beast and end its reign or carnage and terror. Katarzyna didn’t know how many bullets it took to kill a werewolf, but she wouldn’t try her luck in assuming that the single bullet Amici had been able to fire would be enough, let alone if it’d actually hit its target.

Outstretching her prosthetic arm, Backlash made the gun fly directly toward her, locking in on the magnetic field generated from her metal palm. The moment it was within her grasp, she aimed and shot, her target the heart of the monster. ‘Click! Click! Click! Click Click!’ Out of ammo.

“Debil!” Backlash cursed, “Kurwa, Gieuseppe! Jak cie w morde strzel, to cie rodzona matka nie ponza!” So, she would have to wait and find out if the bullet hit and if it’d be enough to defeat the monster. In the meantime, Katarzyna commanded her whips to return to her grip as the familiar sensation of deadly forces were back for her to command. Jumping to her feet, a rush of blood to the head made Backlash aware of the ghastly wounds she had been given as a welcome present. “It would be REALLY nice to have some of those healing powers,” she managed, ignoring the pain, the fear, the dread and fighting it with ambition, stubbornness, and her vow to not lose another fight. “care to share?”

Galvora bellowed as she advanced recklessly upon the female who had dared to strike her, who had been knocked over by the pressure wave that pummeled its way past her own hulking form. That was a bonus - it would make disemboweling this little monkey all the easier.

She surged, snarling, foam-flecked jaws snapping at the black skinned creature as massive paws lashed out, but she missed, for the most part. There was only so far the girl could roll though, and one heartseeking talon at least had grazed the girl, scything flesh as easily as a scalpel, as raggedly as a chainsaw. It wasn't much of a hit, but it was enough that Galvora managed to get ontop the girl, raising her talons to deliver that final... Sweet... Beautiful blow that would end the crooked Titan's career for good when... a shot rang out.

In and of itself, the shot was a drop in the pool, another call of thunder like all the others... But an instinct as ancient as the beast highlighted it. The silver bullet struck the monster in the shoulder, tore through her chest, and hit the dirt. Words... Cannot express the pain that blossomed from the deep wound, but it froze every layer of Sophie, from the beast to the human, from top to bottom, inside and out in a crystal of pure fiery agony.

Galvora felt her body get flung as if Giuseppe Amici had struck her with a hammer, and it sent the white beast straight into the dirt, off of Backlash. The shot hadn't been fatal, it missed her heart, her arteries, her lungs... But it had done a fuckton of damage, and the only thing that existed in Sophie's world now was pain, as if someone had filled her veins with liquid fire. nothing had ever hurt so much, never in her life, and the monster convulsed on the ground, legs kicking, body twitching, form curling around her terrible wound as she gagged on a bellow of pain that welled up in her throat.

That position gave her prime chance to see Backlash catch the gun, level it at her chest and......!

Click click click click click!

Nothing happened.

Galvora found her feet again, every pulse of her heart making the wound THROB alarmingly, setting a pulse of pain in place that made the world dance with delirium, but still she was unbowed. Her eyes though... As she stared into Backlash's... were very human indeed. The arm Giuseppe had shot was limp, but she clenched and unclenched her remaining claw, bleeding steadily now. The anger mingled with the pain, and a steady trickle of blood-pinkened foam bubbled out of her throat as she gave a furious snarl and stalked in a slow circle around the re-armed Backlash. They were both pretty seriously hurt now.

"Ami... ci..." the beast rumbled, bloodshot human eyes fading into a feral glow again even as she stared at Backlash, speaking for the first time. But then she roared her pain, her fury, her defiance, and... Charged sideways, smashing through a wall of the Amici mansion like the koolaid man of death. She didn't have the desire to fight Backlash now - she... She had to kill amici... She had to... had to make him... make him pay...

Guest

ooc: I tried cutting this down in length. It didn't work.
bic:

The creature's gnarled convulsion and rather disturbing way of dying invigorated a sense of hope that––‘yes, I can kill it.’ But as the creature gained its footing, two pairs of unnatural eyes locked, if only but for fleeting moments. Something screamed from the expression in the werewolf’s oddly violet eyes, something Backlash couldn’t quite pinpoint but marked as something human. ‘Right. Werewolves are supposed to be human most of the time, right?’ This was problematic. For some reason, she hadn’t made the connection earlier. As cold-hearted and merciless as she’d like to be, killing people––especially psycho people with a loose handle of control––presented an issue that would have to be addressed. ‘How the @!*# did I miss that?’ But the teen’s thoughts could only run about frantically before something that took the prize for strangest event of the night. It... talked. Growled, rather, the name of Backlash’s Italian investors, but still. The name was uttered with a veracity of revenge that made Kat feel a bit bad for the Amici clan. Whatever they had done to piss a werewolf off, it had been bad enough to make it cut the crap with Katarzyna and simply go for Giuseppe himself. ”Idiot can’t even arm his fancy-ass gun properly," she muttered, “now he’s going to be dead and I won’t get my tech. And damned will I be if I’ve seen anything so feral and... disturbingly human.” Backlash shuddered.

She had an idea.

Her body responded to the thought before it could really be completed. Metal fingers outstretched like a metal detector, and not even a second had passed when the single, silver bullet had shot toward her palm as the magnetic signals locked on. Her bleeding arm would have to wait; this plan was too brilliant and delightfully simple to pass on for something as trivial as medical care. Backlash practically ripped off her trench coat and tore at the fabric that held her metal accessories––chains and buckles mostly––and dropped them to the ground. A jackpot of silver lay at her feet, ready to be turned into the kind of ammunition that would make up for Giuseppe’s idiocy. The only thing she’d have to do now was get them into the right shape and size to fit it the gun. ‘Maybe I can melt them with my whips, or...’ or, try out what she’d been teaching herself to do, an idea borrowed from another super who could control metal. Cigar Dude, as she had called him after what gave him his nicotine kick, had been able to take metal and reshape it into what he wanted, made it seem as easy as someone playing with clay. Actually doing so proved to be frustratingly difficult; the way Backlash’s magnesis worked was through her metal arm, which meant that she couldn’t just control magnetic fields by will alone. But with a combo of wits and a little creativity, she had made it possible.

Never thought she would, but Backlash found herself thanking Cigar Dude, as much as she hated the jerk. Taking a fistful of her accessories, she crushed each piece and used the magnetic attraction to bind the tiny bits together. Quickly but efficiently, she made three little makeshift bullets. She also found herself thanking herself for not going cheap with her metal accessories; most chains and buckles were made out of some metal alloy, or no metal at all. But hers? Pure silver. ’Perfect.’ She loaded them, locked them in place, shoved the gun underneath her belt, said goodbye to her beloved trench coat, and retrieved her lightning whips from the ground. The moment they hit her palms, she struck them against one of the fancy electric lamp posts that dotted the Amici estate’s ridiculously expansive front yard. She knew where the werewolf’s target would be heading: his garage where his beloved Pagani sportscar lie waiting for someone to drive it, and tonight, it might have an excuse to reach its top speed of 220mph. Backlash knew both the car and the garage well, so getting to it was no problem at all. Less than three seconds passed, and she was there. And a couple of seconds later, as predicted, Giuseppe joined her. She couldn’t tell if he was surprised in a good or bad way when he found his Polish pariah––not that it really mattered.

“Ever travel at the speed of light, cheapskate?” Backlash flashed a hint of a wicked grin, “I’m gonna make your precious car look like a gimp in comparison.” Before the man could respond, she slid across the cars hood, letting her metal arm scrape mercilessly against the perfect hood, completely destroying its look in value. Giuseppe looked like he was going to faint. As she grabbed him by the waist, she answered the question he wasn’t able to vocalise out of shock and disbelief. “Payback, ass%#!$. For ruining my night, being a coward, and for calling me princess all those time. Oh, and you still owe me the MX13. If I don’t get it, I’ll start auctioning off your cars.”

With her injured and very human arm, Backlash endured the pain that using it to strike one of the lights that lit the dim garage caused, and away the two went, riding the electrical currents to the safe room, nested deeply within the Amici mansion and armoured for Armageddon that made some military bunkers look like cardboard boxes in comparison. Less than gracefully, the they landed hard on the steel floors. And like luck always treated her, it made Katarzyna land on her already injured arm. She screamed in pain and agony, her head throbbed and she felt like she had just been shot. But despite that, she managed to make one of her classically inappropriate remarks.

“Good to see you’re alive,” she wheezed, “only tried that one other time with a pipsqueak less than half your size.” Hoisting herself up to a sitting position, Backlash turned to Giuseppe Amici and gave him a stare that would unsettle the bravest of Navy SEALs. The faintest flickers of red flashed in the blank whiteness of her eyes, where an iris would be if she had them. “Tell me what you know about that werewolf, and it better be good... I’m starting to root for it.”

After Giuseppe had a throwup, and after he'd dragged himself into one of the fine chairs, he pulled a flask from his jacket. He was terrified, sweating like a pig, and a bit damp - there was little pride or swagger in him now. He distractedly took deep drafts of the liquid which smelled to be aged whiskey.

"The monster is my perdition." he said flatly, quietly, with a dreadful kind of fascination. The deadpan of the delivery was somehow a terrible emphasis, but he went on "For the sake of Revenge, she is here... What you saw... What you saw is a monster of my own creation, come to drag me to hell..." he said, and gave a broken smile. He looked... Old. Weary.

"Her name... Is... Is Sophie. Sophitia Ae-cha Michaels. And... I... Am responsible for her mother's death - for what she is. And now... For your death as well. Estoccio Principessa... I am deeply sorry that you are here for this..." he said, then chuckled bitterly.

---

When Sophie burst through the entryway of the mansion, ramming through the doors like a battering ram, she didn't come out into an empty space - it was full of men on the balcony, behind makeshift barricades on the intervening floorspace, on the stairs, all of them holding assault rifles, rpgs, grenade launchers, shotguns, and uzis - all trained on her. The sound wasn't click-clack. The experience was - a sort of all consuming sound, the breath before the plunge into oblivion. But Sophie was already grabbing the heavy door behind her...

Giuseppe leaned back in his chair and his face was shrouded in shadow. "She won't stop." he said with the certainty of the dead.

The world roared, but the door was already hurtling through the air at the assembled might of the Amici. The first RPG struck it, and others took that as their cue to start the fireworks - they veered off course, they blew up, killing some of those fortunate enough to be directly below the blast instantly. They were the lucky ones.

"She has nothing to lose." he said to the background of the house outside the safe room becoming a slice of hell. Fire raged - men screamed, and the saferoom deep, deep within shuddered as if in horror, the lights flickering, dust falling from the ceiling to coat his shoulders like devil's dandruff. He paid it no mind.

"What do you want me to say, girl? It was... it was just business... Her mother was a whore - got a... Business associate of mine over a barrel... was gonna use a kid to blackmail him. Couldn't have that." he took another hearty pull.

Sophie roared in fury - it made the house hum in sympathy even as he voice cracked and the bellow continued as a hoarse scream. Giuseppe shuddered. "So I had her killed. I didn't want to hurt the kid... Never. I woulda seen that she got a good home. I woulda seen that she got loved." and he would have - he was exactly that kind of man.

He sagged - blackest despair and shame gripped him. Here was a man hang-gliding on the slopes of hell. "But... But the kid took a bullet to the head. She lived... She lived but she was a vegetable. Jin blamed me... What could I do? So we put her up in a hospital..."

The house went deadly silent. What was left of the atrium was a gore-strewn warzone. Men lay bleeding or dying, and Galvora...

...feasted.

"I don't know what happened then... One day... she just... Recovered. She was a vegetable - I read the medical report, I saw her brain turned to freakin' blood... but... She isn't a little girl... not anymore. She's here for my blood, principessa. All you've done is damn us both - she'll come for me here. No steel door will stop her."

Guest

Backlash’s guess that Amici had to have done something incredibly bad to warrant the rage of a werewolf was correct. The mob boss spoke wildly of revenge, of perdition and monsters, whores and little girls. Katarzyna had always known that the man practically bathed in blood, but not this kind. Not this... devilry. Muggings, thefts, and the occasional murder were to be expected from an Italian crime family. But killing an innocent woman and putting her child in the hospital? That was dark, even for high-class criminals such as mobsters. The more Giuseppe talked, the sicker the teenager got. The acrid stench of vomit, sweat, and blood threatened to make Katarzyna do the same, but the anger that boiled her blood kept the bile down. The perks of illegal technology soured as more than enough came to light about the character of Giuseppe Amici, her investor and as close as a father figure to anyone than her own, who had rotted away in their little dump of a home back in Szczecin before his little Kata had burned both it and him down.

Only the screams of guards and members of the Amici clan, the faint smell of viscera, the sound of claw and teeth and roar kept her grounded, aware of her surroundings and how deeply in trouble she had waded in. Amici said they were both dead, that she had damned them both. Coward incarnate. “There’s no ‘we’ anymore, Amici,” Backlash spat, “you forget that I can get out of here in less than a second, leave you to the dogs and let you pay for what you’ve done.” She paused, letting the reality sink in for him before continuing. “I’m glad to have had my conscience show up just a few minutes ago, when I realised that if I killed the werewolf, I’d be killing a person. That’s not my style. Following that line of logic, I would normally not let you die. But you, Giuseppe Amici...”

Katarzyna stood, wincing as more blood began to seep through her wounds and pain flooded her nerves. She walked––hobbled, more like it––over to the Italian scum, snatched his flask with her good arm, and drained it in one swig. She threw the flask hard against the nearest wall, letting the sharp ringing reverberate through the room, and grabbed the gun from her belt. Roughly, she pressed it into his palm, crimson-flecked eyes not blinking once as she did so, and smiled. Katarzyna reaped the moment of confusion and hope from the man’s eyes, letting it fuel her own happiness, then crushed the famed silver-bullet gun between her metal fingers. The blood drained from Amici’s face, as the tiniest of hope was ripped clean from his blackened heart.

“...are more of a monster than the creature you created.”

Swiftly, she kicked the chair out from under him, making him slam hard against the steel flooring with a sickening crack from somewhere in his bones. The crimson in Backlash’s blank eyes grew in intensity and started to spread, consuming the white with the same colour that seeped from the claw marks that decorated her shoulder. Grabbing the chair, she broke off two of the legs and fashioned them into crude circles. The rings were forced around Giuseppe’s wrists as Backlash manipulated the metal with no expression on her face other than suppressed hatred. When he realised what she was going, the man began to panic and squirm. She punched him fast and hard in the nose, causing pathetic sobs of agony and despair to join the cacophony of chaotic sounds that served as the soundtrack of the full-moon night. Soon, she had forced the two rings together into a makeshift pair of handcuffs, but the enraged girl wasn’t done yet––lastly, Backlash forced the steel door from the hinges of the room and rammed it against him, hard enough to pin him down and knock him out, but not enough to kill him. Finally, she bent down and tore off his wristwatch, one of the most expensive in the world, an A. Lange & Söhne’s Grand Complication, worth almost two point five million US dollars.

“I’m sure this will buy me some time,” Backlash smiled, and waited for the beast to come for its prize.

The monster rose. Pain and the scent of death satisfied something primal that no amount of lesser destruction could alleviate. She was bleeding from a thousand little wounds and exhausted, so as she stood again, and licked her paw clean of a bit of gore, the shewolf gazed upon the hell she'd made of the Amici family mansion... And grunted, as the red mist abated.

The beast, tired but still a furious flame in her breast, groggily roused as the little girl in its called to its attention the most important detail of all, the entire reason she'd done this. She had not yet gotten... her revenge. This was just her breaking the spine of the Amicis. Next, she would cut off its head.

Clapping sounded through the decimated hall. Not a gun was left firing, nor a man alive to groan - Galvora had seen to that. She jerked her head sharply and saw... A man. He had an expensive suit, a cane to walk with, and so help her a matching fedora. He wore a big fur coat about his shoulders with the casual ease of a man holding his wife's coat for her while she powdered her nose. The scent of him was... Strange. Wrong in a way that had nothing to do with ichor and demons, and everything to do with a chemistry lab. Even so, her beast instinctively hated him passionately as he clapped, a huge %#!@-eating grin on his lips as he said

"Oh well done. I really should do more background checks on the help I hire... One little doggie and they just went all to pieces, didn't they?" he asked conversationally and reached the bottom as he faced her.

He lit a cigar, staring her down as she emitted a wet, bubbling growl and extended her talons again with a silken noise very like 'Shk!' He didn't appear intimidated. He merely glared.

"Oh, you think so?" he said coldly. "You can barely stand, doggie." but the shewolf's steady growling rose into a snarl, even as the bleeding abated... And flesh closed, little tinkles on the cracked marble floors marking the passage of bullets and shrapnel from the werewolf's hide. The apparent Devil took this calmly, though his eyes narrowed and he shut his gob.

Through her once again reddening vision, Galvora managed to let the girl through for just one word, bearing with it all the vindictive, callous hate of a child who saw her mother's head burst.

"Die." the monstrous werewolf spat, and blurred as it rushed the Black King.

Chaos swore as he brought his hands forward to cross in front of him in a classic block, and an arm of blood-red slime the size of a pickup truck absorbed the force of the werewolf's charge. Tried to, rather - so incandescent was Galvora's fury at this point that he might as well have tried to stop a train, biting off his cigar as he grit his teeth, pouring all his will into the act of just keeping her from tearing him apart. Eventually though, he managed to get his powers under her, and flung the massive shewolf out, where she slammed and broke through a stone pillar with a gigantic backhand. He knew in his bones he hadn't won that by strength - just because he was devious, much more devious than a rampaging monster.

It was almost depressing to the old devil, but not at all unexpected as Sophie got up again, pushing aside one-ton slabs of stone as easily as one might dust themselves off. It was difficult for Sophie to think coherently at the best of time through her rage, but as she rose, there was already a massive form of that same firm goop that had flung her taking shape from the corpses and blood coating everything. Even as she watched a shredded bowtie was dissolving into the mass that looked for all the world like a knight, a man in platemail.

The shadowy figure in the suit merely grinned, and limped towards the door. "I'll leave you to it then, little $%@#." he said, and before Sophie could even charge after him, his slime golem had plucked the remaining stone pillar up and was already swinging it like a baseball bat at her.

Her claw grazed the fluff of the Black King's coat, but got no further - she was busy being batted across the atrium by a fastball slayer, instantly cracking her ribs and sending her soaring into the doors at the top of the stairs, busting through them with ease. Maybe it was luck, but the building's lights had gone out and she' landed in a pool of moonlight from a shattered window.

Galvora felt the light enter her system, and even the silver wound's pain was muted a tiny bit in the roar of energy that flooded her! After its absence, its touch on her was like the caress of a blowtorch to sheet metal - it made her incandescent, reflecting the light like a mirror. She stood, just as the giant red knight crested the stairwell and shouldered its way through to doorway to stand tall in airy hallways.

It held one of the massive oak front doors as a tower shield, and wielded a stone pillar one handed. Sophie merely glared and took stock of her unhurried foe. It was huge... Strong, and probably didn't feel pain or fear. It stood at about... Fifteen feet tall, maybe. And it smelled chemical yes... but also strongly of blood and gore. This... was unexpected.

For some reason, in all of this, a metallic sound came as very sharp and for some reason her mind highlighted it instantly. PTING! She had no idea what she'd heard in the mansion, but she'd in fact heard Backlash throwing the flask. And took her eyes off of the golem for a second.

Oops.

The massive thing lunged forward and simply brought the pillar down on the werewolf's head. Or... Tried to, that is. Time slowed for Galvora's perception, and she had just enough time to look up, see the oncoming death, and roll aside, letting the pillar smash into the flooring, caving a good sized bit of the floor into the space below. Galvora snarled in defiance, then loosed a roar with all her fury and strength behind it as she launched herself at the giant's face!

A hand like a small moon came and hit her like the wrath of god, sending her actually -through- the wall, and the next one immediately behind it. In the end, she hit the outer side of the safe room with a WHAM that knocked the plaster from the wall inside as it dented a foot inward.

Stunned wasn't the right word for what Galvora was. The punch itself hadn't hurt as such, not compared to going through walls and meeting steel, but there was... Such a lot of hurt to go around. No, perhaps concussed was the correct word. Yes. The werewolf was knocked senseless for at least six seconds. It was only a small mercy the giant knight couldn't reach her to finish her off as the world spun around her and her body healed. But it did heal... And as she rose again, she panted. Then twisted, dodging the next attack that came -i

The giant somehow launched the pillar down into the hallway it'd use her to create.

It hit the saferoom with a sound like tortured metal and masonry, and four feet of stone jabbed into the room, missing Backlash by inches, and Galvora only snarled again.

Guest

Backlash would have screamed, had she not been shocked at the sudden impact––the one she had not been expecting. When the vertical slab of stone punctured the wall, the girl leapt back in surprise, landing just about a few feet opposite Amici. She immediately thought that he had been on the receiving end of that particular blow, but no signs of viscera or pieces of an expensive Armani suit could be seen. In fact, the impact was so huge that it caused the ceiling to crumble, enough debris to create one damn effective of an impromptu barrier. Facts were, however, she just didn’t give a damn anymore.

Shaking her head violently, Backlash shook the debris from her long ponytail and coughed out some of the fine powder that had just been loosened. ’So the werewolf can use freaking HOUSE STRUCTURES as battering rams? What exactly l have I gotten myself into?’ For now but not for long, the misguided teen superhero had thought the werewolf was responsible. “You missed!” she croaked in a voice that sounded like it hadn’t even known water to exist. “Both of us!” She wasn’t quite sure what compelled her to say that, but unfortunately, she didn’t understand a lot of what was going on.

This was more than a story about a crooked superhero making arms deals with an infamous Italian mob family. This was an epic about a crooked superhero making arms deals with an infamous Italian mob family whose head patriarch had ruined the life of a woman and her daughter, who had later become the violet-eyed werewolf that sought revenge against the crooked superhero’s only solid connection to incredibly illegal technology, who turned out to be more of a scumbag, more of a Moran than Capone figure. “Bugs” Moran earned his name for being one-hundred percent crazy––he did what he did because he got kicks from it. At least Capone wanted money. Just add a giant goo monster, and you’ve got the ultimate Godfather-meets-Supernatural-meets-Teenage Angst Incarnate-meets-Creature So Bizarre You’d Likely Find It On A Doctor Who Episode. Weave in some really messed up family ties, so many bodies scattered and eviscerated that there at least had to be enough blood to fill a hospital’s donor bank, and you’ve got exactly what Backlash didn’t understand. Or rather, couldn’t comprehend. This was out of her league, and she needed backup. Fast. Especially because the pain in her injured arm was growing to an unbearable agony. She thoughts about taking risk dying while teleporting even though her energy reserves could barely keep her heart beating, rather then stay around for the final act. Only problem: she couldn’t find her whips.

Cue the call to S.T.A.R. Labs and the virtually immediate arrival of an unforgivingly familiar face to Backlash, Dr. Brooklyn Gray, her caseworker and the incredibly pissed-off new arrival on the scene of carnage. The S.T.A.R. Technician and former field agent had followed Katarzyna after getting an anonymous tip that her Polish charge was having a little get-together with the nefarious Amici family. “On your left,” came a frighteningly steady voice through the earpiece that Backlash had completely forgotten about. “Dear lord, Katarzyna, you’ve gotten yourself into some really deep $%@#.” 

“Thanks, Captain Obvious!” Backlash spat back, her spiteful words dripping with heated sarcasm. “Now be a darling and get out of my head and help me out!”

The line of communication went dark for a few seconds before Dr. Gray came into view, fancy super-gun cocked and ready. She carried a small first-aid kit that she used with the precision and quickness of a professional medic, unrolling and cutting and securing gauze where needed, but it was a bang-up job at best.“You need to get back to S.T.A.R. You’re losing blood too fast, and even if you––” That’s when the good doctor saw the giant, gelatinous, hulking red knight that had made a door into its shield. The pillar connection didn’t take long. “You mentioned a werewolf, not a goo monster!” Gray screamed.

“There is a werewolf, you idiot! What the hell are you even talking about? A goo mon––” That’s when the battered Backlash saw the giant, gelatinous, hulking red knight that had made a door into its shield, too. The pillar connection didn’t take long, either. “Find my whips, Gray! For the love of god, find my whips!” Backlash ordered.

“But your arm is––!” 

“I’M KINDA USED TO HAVING ONLY ONE FUNCTIONAL ARM,” Backlash screeched hysterically. “FIND. MY. WHIPS!”

And finding no way to contest that fact, Gray handed her gun to Katarzyna and started sifting through the rubble. Holding it weakly but well enough to fire some decent shots, Backlash fired off a round of bullets as long and thin as human fingers straight into the gut of the newest giant beast that had joined in on the fun.

Now... where did that werewolf go?

There are a few key differences between wolves and werewolves, quite apart from intelligence, humanity, and shape. A wolf that faces injury and pain will back down, it will surrender or run to preserve its own life if such is possible - live, and fight again. Werewolves approach it the same way - but they run in the opposite direction. They don't run away - they charge. At least... That's what The Furious Galvora did. Loosing a battle-roar that knocked a bit more ceiling down in the safe room and filled the air with sound that could deafen, the red-soaked massive white lycan rushed her massive foe, surging through the remnants of walls without so much as twitching as she hit them - plaster, ornamentation, wood and stone could no more resist her advance than a kitten could resist a semi truck.

The great red knight brought the heavy shield around, almost a ton of reinforced door seeking to make the shewolf into paste, but Sophie didn't even notice. She went right through it, her snarl rising in pitch as the door splintered, and as the giant's arm and the remnant of the door pinwheeled to either side, she leapt.

Another key difference is their approach to threats. A wolf will know its own mortality, and only face a foe they could easily beat without getting hurt, because injury is death. Werewolves will merrily charge almost any foe. As now, in fact - as the supernaturally strong leap drove Sophie right up at the behemoth's face. The giant staggered into a pillar, knocked off balance, and before it could even get the presence of mind to flail at her was borne backward to the ground. Sophie felt pain - a LOT of pain, but recognized this only in the way that she knew the air existed. It was there but it didn't effect her very much. She was berserking again, tearing at the slime's face and chest savagely with gleaming claws, roaring out savage incoherences at the hard, crystalline armor plates she tore off and the simulacrum of a face she destroyed.

But goo doesn't have anatomy. Goo does not feel pain... Or fear. Or have any apprehension of its own mortality. The slime knight reformed an arm from the gunk, and brought it up and around at the distracted shewolf, forming a massive, four foot spike it drove home in her side. It hit with a sound like a shovel meeting wet concrete, and Galvora let out an animal wail of pain. So spiked, she was flung savagely at the outer wall, and sent into the moonlight soaked outer air, left to bounce off cold pavement and skid to a stop in the cool grass.

The slime golem forced its way out of the hole it had made, widening it, and provoking a significant portion of the mansion's outer wall to collapse in its wake. It was a sturdy home, but nothing could put up with this kind of abuse. The giant stood then 'pon the lawn, the spike forming a sword as its face and arm reformed... But this time into a hand holding a gleaming, wicked looking crystal sword.

For her part, Sophie felt the world switch off a moment. As she bounced, as she skidded, she felt... Blissful nothing. But gravity, grass and asphalt cannot kill werewolves, and moonlight made [i{damn[/i] sure she was reminded of that. Pain flooded back into her world, and with it a white hot surge of... What, rage? Was this rage? This burning pale of flame, this sheet of fury? Humans did not know this burning... this living undeath, carrying on through organ failure. Her heart had been jarred into stopping, but moonlight pushed her blood. She felt her chest creak and she had to, was forced to breathe in, despite the fact that her freaking rib cage had collapsed. Fur burned in the moonlight, seared as steam rose from her body... And she rose.

The wound in her side that had speared her lungs and heart closed rapidly, and life flooded her eyes once more as bone was pushed out. But even as she recovered, even as sacred moonlight soaked more and more into her monstrous form, the golem had other plans. Chaos... had other plans. He could not... believe how impossibly tough she was. She recovered... From that?! The golem brought the sword around, and for Galvora, time slowed. She didn't apparently move - she simply wound up inside the giant's reach. Claw and fang lashed out viper quick, and the sword, arm and all, flew loose of the body, instantly flashing into water as it hit the ground.

Before the giant could recover Galvora was already charging ahead again, leapt, and with all her weight and momentum struck the giant in the center of its mass, actually lifting it off the ground with the force of the blow, knocking it savagely backward so it fell onto the wreckage of the mansion.

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