Beijing, China ... what a putrid stench (Open, Tag: Ladon)

It smelled like ...

"Hnnn ... ahhhhhhhh . . . human nature." the most certainly not inconspicuous cloaked malevolent man mused to himself, after taking a deep breath and inhaling the stench of humanity and its work. If he recalled, he wasn't far from the rail station as he calmly enjoyed his processed fast food meal beneath the splendorous decayed symbol of the golden arches that had sprung from the United States and dug it's giant triple prongs into the heart of this country. Or at least the more urbanized eastern parts of this country, but ... what did it matter to him? The orientals ... oh wait, that included more than just this country, damn.

Alright, the 'Chinese'-parchesy-esh-chezzi who were kind of straddling the line on just what it was they exactly wanted. They had the power structure of the old collectivist regimes that would consolidate power (with the intentions of eventually stepping down ... but alas, human nature was so twisted that one almost never relinquishes power, no matter how permanent). And now they had modernized, except with it they had taken some values and borrowed elements from the rest of the world, a stark contrast to their nationalist attitude and self-assured superiority. It was like watching a self-contradictory parade of clashing ambiguous masqueraders who had no idea what they wanted to be, or rather look like.

And to him, it was 'perfect.'

Perfect as he helped himself to the most likely not at all beef but meat substitute filler constructed at a rapid pace in a bustling small little joint above the ground floor, whilst he sat next to what windows there were overlooking the streets below. How odd people were! How strange their natures were, to exploit and take what they could if they could. That the land is ravaged then built anew, that people crush those underfoot as they take their happiness for granted, that the precarious balance of power in the world gripped each other by the throats knowing full well that if they exert too much ... everything could end. Well, in the end, he wasn't much a philosopher, but the indeterminable nature of human spirits was something that weighed heavily in his mind. He too considered himself just like them, although he had attained a power far greater than most could only dream of.

And it was because of his nature, one that had over time become more blackened and bloodstained, that he had a very special surprise for today. One small little plan excited him more than the thought of being able to leave this blasted place and actually help himself to some bloodied raw flesh, maybe even a cow for once. What was this thing he had in mind? Why should he think about it NOW? That would spoil the surprise!

'Now ... let's see what happens. Ten minutes until the show starts.'

The large and oddly misplaced Typhon grins to express his pleasure and anticipatory giddiness at what was to occur. He might've had a hand in start the gears for what was to come next, but now ... even he wasn't sure what would happen. Such uncertainty, like the murkiness of human hearts, was enough entertainment but! He knew what the end result should be, and so he stuck around to see if his expectations were met.

Or, even more fascinating, defied.

It was time for a trip, a much needed trip, perhaps a vacation? Yeah, a vacation right? Why other would someone go to another country, if it wasn't for work, or other legal reasons? Ladon's reason is certainly more unorthodox, and if he told an actual person, they may either shudder in fear or laugh in disbelief. Yet it was all too real. Already killing 15, he feels that being in the same area picking off passerby would be too...boring, and unjustified. So he made plans, to continue his "mission" in a location that probably needed it most. Bejing, a heavily populated polluted area, it would be a crime to not come here first to continue his assault on humanity. His assault to wipe humanity from existence, to make them pay for the dastardly crimes they have done against nature, each other, as well as the world, it was all unnatural, but it seemed to be Human Nature to do such unnatural things.

"Finally here" A shady looking man, with a build of an average man of about 21 years of age with black hair wearing a trench coat and black dress pants rasped. God the pollution was horrible, i hurts his lungs, and it pains him to speak right, if to speak at all! He opened up his trench coat, a shotgun, and a katana, ah one his favorites, actually any weapon was his favorite as long as it got his job done. He felt around in his pockets to feel his jumbled mess of amulets, taking one out with a dragon on it and putting it around his neck as he smiled to himself, and chuckling which earned him suspicious looking glances. "Let us....begin!" He took out his shotgun, loading it with ammunition quickly. But not quick enough as he forced a small riot, with people scattering...and running into each other like headless chickens. "Psh, pitiful humans" 

He quickly aimed and fired at a young man, seeming well dressed, probably to work, the noise traveling a fair distance and blood splattering on the ground on where the man now lays. He took out his katana quickly pocketing his shotgun, and slashed at a man's head, watching in satisfaction it bounced to the ground. Two people were dead, leaving behind two orbs of light: souls, which he quickly scooped up and devoured, savoring its power that they hold, only to now notice that the whole entire area was practically cleared. "The police will be on their way..." he told himself. Looking up to a restaurant above a stand ground floor. Looks like a mcdonalds.

As he was partway through his artery-clogger with a side order of potential animal cruelty (Hey, this was China, no one's ever sure), he began to notice ... that well, something was off. The dull masses were more excitable at the moment, drawn towards the windows, some of them were even pulling out their little adorable plastic electronic devices that served as memory aid units because the collective intelligence of man decreased with every passing day. What, did a train accident just happen? Since if that was a case, that meant the 'surprise' was going to come of an even greater shock, in part of the bile fascination of normal people, much like these lots who felt relatively safe while flocking in a fast food restaurant of all places.

So, there were quite a few pressing up towards the windows and some who attempted to draw towards his table but (wisely) backed away as he was one of the tallest people in the room and clearly not at all sane given his facial expressions and ... well ... his fashion sense. Enough that even his interest was piqued to see what got the cattle worked up, and just as he chose to look was when the interest probably devolved slightly into ... well, concern for them and panic for the others down below. From what he could tell, it appeared to be another individual, younger than him, with as terrible fashion sense and even less common sense drawing out a firearm of sorts and discharging it at the unfortunate civilians down there.

Now, the loss of one person (later two as another man was cut down, as opposed to gunned down, by the same murderous individual) was not a big deal to him. What WAS a big deal were two important details he had a good view of, first the individual attacking at random had chosen to eat the souls of his two kills . . . meaning only one thing. Some bastard was trying to take his kills here! BUT, the second and more important issue at the moment was that bastard had driven out the people from the killzone! The moment the next train stopped and people got off or on for business commutes, assuming the train would even arrive to the station, the overall killings would be significantly reduced.

Those favors, the timing, and some time of his personally spent planning for optimal placement and distribution of the bombs! RUINED! BY SOME PUNK-ASS KISHIN EGG.

"UNACCEPTABLE!" the Titan rises, his voice also increasing to a roar as he also sent his table flying by the sudden movement, canning someone in the face in the process. As if the already jumpy masses weren't terrified of a killer loose on the streets, this giant white man was going berserk over something too.

"I WILL NOT BE OUTDONE BY A HIGH SCHOOLER WITH AN ALLOWANCE AND HORMONE-DRIVEN GRUDGES!" he continues shouting, angered to the point that he didn't quite care who that person was, whether he was a student, a disgruntled salaryman or an escort that was sick and tired of the hand life dealt him and was taking it out on random strangers who probably had next-to nothing to do with his situation except perpetuate the system that put him there. So much that his next course of action was probably as poorly-thought out and wholly nonsensical as he gripped a poor chinaman by the throat and threw him against the window. In less than a moment's pause later, that poor man found himself flying out the window back first while Typhon firmly planted his feet on him and the next few moments could only be tried as some sort of cinematic experience out of a gruesome summer blockbuster.

"PRAISE CHIANG KAI-SHEK. ALL HAIL A FREE CHINA! VIVA LA REVALUCION!" Screamed a two hundred pound six and nine inches tall giant as he soared outwards whilst using the unfortunate Chinaman as a surfboard.


As the human body was by no means aerodynamic, this meant the duo (one instigator and one unwitting tool, literally) crashed down into the streets and the poor crushed chinaman (who probably wasn't even Chinese) was not allowed the mercy of death's cruel embrace until he skidded about the roads, scraping against asphalt and ripping through the flesh on his back and perhaps even crunching his skull. At last, they came to a stop, with Typhon still standing triumphantly upon his, striking a dynamic pose with a single finger pointed to the heavens from his left hand.

'Māmā ... Bàbà ... Where are you? I feel so c-' went the last thoughts of the poor young man as his face, and later entire head was smashed into meat paste as Typhon took a triumphant step (and forceful one at that, practically a stomp really) without so much a second thought at the sickening bone-crushing crunch and later squishy-ness of the grey matter. He was in too much a hurry to worry about trivial things like that, especially since the officers stationed for the train station were coming out and rushing towards him. Well technically they were rushing towards the anarchists without a cause, but since he was facing the direction they had chosen to approach fun, it looked like they were challenging HIM. And he had no patience for fools.

A black blur could be seen after that dramatic entry as he rushes forward, his coat snapping open by the vigorous movement and flying off his person as his arms are pulled back in a ninja airplane arm variety to minimize tearing and to help get the damn thing off him. But his true intention was to reach ahold of twin weapons that he had, since he was out in public in daylight, kept sheathed inside his coat. It should also be noted that, as exactly as he planned, the soul of the newly deceased just so happened to be kicked up by his far leg and slowly and gently drifted up before him.

-NOM-

As if out of a kung fu movie, he had skillfully rid himself of his restrictive clothing, drawn his concealed weapons, and claimed his prize. And now he charged forward with a gleeful smile as his face stared down. A snap of the neck upwards to see where he was going, also brought up the carefully hidden chin-placed guardpiece to come and shield the lower bottom of his face. It seems he could no longer enjoy his surprise and the party that would ensue. Oh no, now, because of some fool, he had to BE the party.

"It's dinner time~!" comes the wholesomely unsettling voice of Typhon, as he closed the gap of a few meters in no time to the poor trio of guards who had no idea what they were up against. Both of his hands rise up in fists, holding his machetes pointing upwards. In a split second, while they are take-aback by his gesture while rushing them, he relinquishes his grip on both cutting implements while drawing back his arms and radially twisting his forearms to invert the positioning of his hands. In no time, he was now holding his blade backhanded, and stretched his arms back as though it were an exercise in chest-bumping. Which he did, slamming body first into the lead officer and using his forward momentum and the strength of his arms as well as the Weapon's (Bianca on the left and Vera on the right) unusual sharpness to dig them partially into the necks of either officer on his side.

"HAIL THE KUOMINTANG!" he roars yet again, and this time punctuates the statement with maniacally laughter as he steps forward and lets out a harsh battle cry of "HYAAAAH!" and cleanly ripping his tools right through the necks of the two, and using the circular motion of travel to arc and slice the first lead officer right through his face. Or rather, right through his head, cleanly slicing at a slight angle downwards from each temple, taking out the eyes. First his left side, his dominant hand, started and finished cutting, slicing very nicely, joined by its sister weapon cleaning up the mess and resulting in the already loose portions of the skull of the target to spray about.

Again the weapons leave his hand after this victorious bout, with the right arm casually tossing Vera into the air, and then distorting in the few seconds as it carried on with its ascent. Afterwards, the arm in question burst into three serpent-headed extensions of himself, reaching out or draping about to nab the souls he had just exposed and swallowing them whole before contorting and distorting to form a normal, armored right limb again. A limb which slowly, perhaps even lazily rose up to reach for the now spinning over-sized machete, Vera, that was plummeting down. No contest, he was very intimate with these weapons and their use, so it was quite a show he put on to catch the weapon by its hilt and then lazily walk back to the scene of chaos caused earlier by the other unnamed fellow.

As of right now, to Typhon, this had eventually devolved into a pissing match. Not that it mattered, really. Considering this whole place was gonna blow, and he'd need to get out. So, while keeping his eye on the new guy, he strolls back away from stations and more towards the open roads of the city, while aiming to get to a car and maybe get the hell out of dodge.

OOC: Soul Count - 4

Nothing can describe such homicidal acts that Ladon just witnessed, but there is one thing he can at least conclude, he wasn't alone on his killings. He witnessed something that can be summed up as someone jumping out of a window, using a man as his surf board, and like a well oiled machine made quick work of the cops. Or rather the cops that were there, as chances are there were much more on the way, especially given the situation of there being two killers, and one of them basically massacring a group of law officials, and probably leaving to do who knows what else. While something deep inside is probably urging him to at least give his kudos to this odd individual...who was admittedly rather titan in terms of height. But to him, it further shows that human scum need to be eliminated, to prevent massive killing sprees like this from happening.

But if I do it, does this make me a hypocrite? In someone's eyes it might make him nothing more than a hypocrite, but his aim is more to punish than to just pointlessly kill, and to show mankind the dangers of their actions. But he doesn't know this fellow's motives, so perhaps he shouldn't judge too quickly, and it also seems his prior actions has gotten his attention. All the more reason to follow... But unfortunately, more police have arrived, as he heard the skidding of tires from a vehicle abruptly stopping, as well as burning rubber through the painful pollution. Almost mindlessly they got out of their vehicles, pointing guns at him as well as wielding shields for protection. I have to change my strategy a bit... He took out his Katana, and rushed towards one of the shield-less officers, slicing him open through the abdomen, and watched as two separate pieces of the now deceased officer fell in front of him

His violent actions provoked one officer to shoot his automatic weapon, shaking in anticipation which did affect his accuracy, which worked towards Ladon's advantage, as through the missed shots he used the upper half of the deceased officer to take the bullets while he approached the other, who was in fear as crept closer. He forced him down with the meat shield and lunged the sword directly in his chest, watching as the man twitched and blood stained his blade. "Oh poo...my blade is dirty." The remaining officers, the only ones with shields, dropped them and quickly aimed at the murderer, firing their rounds, with little compromise in accuracy. Ladon however, using his Kishin ability focused on his dragon amulet, turning his arm into light green scaled one, with a reptilian paw and claws, blocking the bullets which were aiming for headshots. With his free arm, he retrieved his shotgun, still loaded and fired the remaining rounds too the three now defenseless officers, and watched as they went limp to the might of Ladon's weapon, and disappearing into souls once the fire eased down.

Ladon devoured each soul one by one, savoring their feeling of power as they slid down his throat, reminding him of his recent victories, and even feeling a new ability emerging within him, a new ability that he also recognizes, and smiles on how he could use it in his future slaughtering. But now was not a good time to indulge himself in his own power, and its possibilities, his attention was grabbed on the one who did a similar slaughtering before his. He looked back at the blood stained roads, and ran up to the man, grabbing his shoulder and shaking him. "Hey! You!" He at least wanted to get his attention, ask some questions before he took it upon himself to decide his fate.

Well, now that song and dance was all cheerily used up, he felt it was time to bow out and take his leave, disregarding any encore cheers or authority that probably would have come to arrest him with the fool across the road. It was one thing to get arrested, another wholly different one to get lumped in with someone else who most assuredly had nothing to do with his master plan. So, imagine his surprise after not only finding a get-away car abandoned by some hapless chinaman who decided he didn't feel like getting shot, but that said gutless oriental had so graciously left his keys in the ignition! How very thoughtful. BUT, there was one snag in his grand get-away scheme, in that he forgot he jacket over by the presently/pleasantly deceased chinaman, a mistake that he mentally cursed ten thousand times over as those jackets weren't easy to replace.

But, fate it seems was note abandoning him after this colossal screwup to a quickie and clean getaway, for in pulled a couple of patrol cars and cops who were in the vicinity opposite of the direction he was at, and thus behind the amateur who had most ingraciously offended him and his plans. And yet again, Fate deemed that today was his day when the rook decided to turn and deal with five or so coppers on his own, which saved him the trouble of having to go deal with them. YES, the other punk would be getting souls, but that wasn't a priority any more. He had had his fun, and it was time to get out before the 'surprise' was permanently ruined. Or ruin him.

So it was a matter of sheathing Bianca and Vera back into their snug lovely homes that he kept inside the coat, while also checking to make sure his piece was relatively undamaged considering he had thrown the whole article aside when kiling those security guys. Much to his delight, everything was intact and now it was time to get the fuck out of d-

WHEEEEEE-OOOOO-WHEEEE-OOOOOO!

Ah fucking hell. Looks like his insistence on not having to replace his shit cut off his intended escape route considering ... what ... four patrol cars and one armored personnel carrier were coming from the opposite direction from the first group of cops. So that was somewhere around nine normal officers who were here to keep the peace as usual, backed up by the special tactics equivalent of law enforcement in china (otherwise known as the military) that had about a baker's dozen of guys. Facing twenty-two assholes who so graciously put themselves in the killzone was always a plus, but ... then four more security officers from the rail were coming from the direction in which he had slaughtered their friends, which was only making the situation even worse.

What was he to do? Run away madly and watch the fireworks?

But then, that wouldn't be fun, now would it? And so, his course of action decided, he simply drew the wonderful little piece he had picked up a couple weeks ago and let a single shot out at the first asshole who was closest to him, in this case a rather dumb member of the military who thought that since he had a ballistic shield, he was safe from retaliation by probable gunfire and anything else. The first problem was that there was a nice little strip inside the shield that let the wielder see and anyone on the other end to notice. The second problem was that such shields were meant to be used in conjunction with suppressive fire, either from allies or from one's own weapon to keep an enemy from doing exactly what he was doing right now:  Taking aim.


"Pop goes the weaselly oriental." mutters Typhon to himself with a slightly unhinged grand smile as his bullet sailed right into the very not-modern shield, as they didn't even bother placing something, anything, least of all transparent antiballistic armor. Or more commonly known as 'bulletproof' glass. Which meant the poor man who was currently advanced now had a fairly large hole extruding from behind his head as the bullet embedded through his forehead just below the top of whatever helmet he had on and dug into his skull, but also fragmented partway in and reduced his brain into ground meat.

Meat he would gladly help himself later to, some other time, but right now he was busy. Busy with what. Rushing forward like a madman, lurching forward a bit in his dash forward. Presently, he was out in the open but there were quite a few abandoned cars strewn about the place, including a few not at all parallel with the others as their owners had tried to flee, crashed into someone or something, and decided that leaving by foot rather than risking another accident and wasting more precious time was the better decision. So, in short, it was a matter of time before he at least had some bit of cover from direct fire. Not the best, but it'd have to do.

Or so he'd say after deciding the best way to get amongst a group of coppers who were taking cover to provide the necessary backup while the troops with armor would get close to deal with him was jump, slide on the hood of a car that one poor sucker was using as sweet cover, and kick him right in the face. Needless to say, his buddies were quite confused as they had been more concerned taking cover to actually take note of his position, so the fact he had just sailed over the makeshift barrier and just firmly planted his feet right into the face of their friend, and was now on the same side as them (literally, not figuratively) was enough for them to be taken aback.

Unfortunately for them, the three snakes that emerged from his right unarmed hand seemed to not have any problems. One where his hand used to be, one from out of his shoulder, and one out from his elbow, reaching to nab a sucker on his left, and two on his right, lunging straight for their throats and snapping with enough force to tear flesh asunder as if it were tissue paper and grind bone into dust. Needless to say, they didn't really have much a neck left to keep their heads. Maybe a bit of skin and a little bit of muscle and what was left of their spine. On any other day, he'd probably be gleefully delight at being able to kill so many people and watched the few tortured expressions they had on their face while their head tumbled forward, finally breaking off, and collapsing from its weight combined with the damage he'd done to their necks, splitting off with a sickening slimy ripping noise after separating. But he was busy, after all, there was less than a minute before the surprise happened, and he'd need to brace himself for that. Assuming it happened when he planned it, of course.

So, while the Three Asian Stooges' bodies were disintegrating, his constructs continued on with their meals, remaining extended and suspending themselves as if they were weightless extensions of himself, waiting for souls. At this point, the groaning last officer of this squad attempted to get back up, only to be met with a forceful stomp pushing him back on the ground, face impacting against the rough asphalt while his presently armed left hand simply took a shot at his presently still head. Much like with the other unlucky lad, who's body was just up ahead (which meant the stomachs of these four were much stronger than anticipated, a trait most unusual for filthy orientals like them), this one's brains too were reduced to mush. Unlike his military counterpart, what fragments there were didn't simply just rebound against the skull pressed against a helmet, but some ripped right out, leaving plenty of nice sized holes, as if someone decided to cut them right through his head. Very artistic, but cliche ... six points.

The serpents three soon lazily claimed their prizes as three azure souls gently wafted in the air, left behind by the rapidly decaying and vanishing forms, while they all returned back to reform his natural limb, which 'unexpectedly' plunged down to reach for the fourth and calmly bring it up to his crouched form and swallow it whole. Unfortunately, it was at this point the not-quite-Kishin realized that his attempts to close the distance and brutal slaughter had upped the alertness of his remaining targets, all of whom were now starting to discharge weapons at him and holding their ground behind what cover they had or could find immediately rather than take the chance of trying to fight him at his range. So that left him one choice!

Charge at them and kill them all horribly at melee range? No, he wasn't that stupid. After all, the corpse of the first military punk was only a couple feet in front of him, including that beauteous shield he had been using and was so gracious to offer up, as Typhon dives forward and assumes a prone position, while hold the shield upwards to ... well ... shield his head. Unfortunately for him, no one else seemed to be wanting to get close, which meant, as he lifted his cover up so it could be standing upright whilst keeping a tight grip on its handle with his right hand (and keeping his head down a bit), he needed a new plan.

That plan was kill the less obviously armed security officers who were presently flanking him. How would he do this? SIMPLE! Shoot them~!

Or shoot AT them, considering they had wised up and were taking cover. And while shooting at them, start marching over to them while holding on to the shield as if it were his only lifeline. All this, at which point the other fledgling Kishin('s Egg) was about finishing his killing spree on the other end. Not that he was aware of it, but he needed to hurry since these two events happened to align with the final stretch of time he had before the surprise. And so, with one last saving dive, he launched himself in front of the bumper of the SUV behind which the other four security fellows were deciding made good cover. And was seconds away from getting shot by one of them right between the eyes an-

A brief silence, a lull in the fighting and the chaos so far. And the whole place shook, metaphorically speaking, as the surprise went off. Grand explosions that consumed the entire area he was in, away from the little department area of shops and consequently, away from Ladon who had conveniently moved far enough from the kill zone and who turned to witness the explosions rather than him standing still or looking for a car. All about, the shockwaves rippled for a massive area, as probably the entire face of one building, part of the rails, several of the cars and of course much of the ground below were then engulfed in the consuming, searing flames. Needless to say, as most of the opposing forces had taken cover parallel to the oncoming explosions as opposed to perpendicular to, they were essentially torn to pieces (regular coppers), seared and now bleeding out or crushed underneath chunks of debris that had refused to be broken down into much more manageable sizes.

That was for the roads, on the other side, the rail station was practically consumed by flames, with any civilians who had been waiting from the commute and later hiding out from the crazy madmen going around with guns and blades, screaming in collective agony from the shrapnel wounds and possibly being on fire!

Still, that took care of his problems, as the blast had decidedly to gently nuzzle him and push his prone form back a few ways so that he was now positioned behind the four suckers that were just about to kill him. Needless to say, they didn't quite get far, considering he slammed the shield edgewise right into the first sucker's balls, while propping himself back up to at least his knees. The last three fellows, after realizing he was NOT dead and had just nutshotted their buddy took aim. At the black-painted ballistic shield that was now flying at them. In actuality, he was just leaping forward while holding the shield in front of him, but whether he rammed them or leapt into them, it didn't change the fact they all ended up in a collapsed heap with himself on top, having discarded his gun and now drawing Bianca and ...

Well she's a cutting instrument, honestly. What do you think he's going to do with it. Give them a manicure?

... Well, actually, he did once try to give a manicure with Vera, but Bianca was a little jealous, so he instead decided to switch from nails to hair, and solved his client's hair troubles by removing her head with both of the girls.

So, now that there were three lifeless corpses that he had stabbed right into repeatedly, and also ripped out at angles at which the human body probably shouldn't split naturally or really at all, meant there was just one last sucker who- Oh wait, no. He dealt with him already. It was quite simple, really. I mean, he was doubled over on the ground, gripping his balls, his foreheads scraping a bit against concrete as he tries to hold in the agonizing pain.

Unfortunately for him, Typhon decided to help him by attempting to perform a crude form of surgery involving piercing Bianca (the naughty girl) right through ... ... oh no, this is just disgusting. I'm not going to descri- Ugh ... just ... Typhon bifurcated him, starting from the lower end, okay? Let's just leave it at that.

So, with the slaughter finished (and one more shiny soul to add to his bunch), the mostly amused giant of a man walked back a couple meters to the car of his choice, upon which he had dumped his jacket while he made the initial run past to kick a cop in the face. At this point, as he was on the passenger's side of the car, retrieving his coat (and replacing it) Ladon should have been making his way over to get his attention. Unfortunately, the fledgling Kishin chose to reach out and attempt to shake him just as he had already cleaned Bianca (NAUGHTY, NAUGHTY GIRL) and Vera, sheathed them and was working on reloading that nice gun of his.

So when he felt a hand grip his shoulder and attempt to shake him, it was all a matter of leverage as he shifts his right foot bit outwards to pivot on, while raising his right arm, resulting in a snap turn that resulted in his arm slapping the hand of the punk aside while his left calmly retained it's grip on the handle of the gun and trigger and was now in plain sight, pointed directly at the individual who had just tried to touch him in such an insulting manner.

"Grab my coat like that again, and I WILL shoot you, kid. Now get in the damn car before more cops show up." grumbles Typhon as he absent-mindedly steps back and circles around the back of the car to get into the front seat. Of course, if the kid chose to attack him during this time, he wasn't going to just idly not respond. BUT, if he did get in the car (unlocked passenger door after all), well they'd be speeding the hell out of here for a quick get-away and maybe a nice chat while whoever the other person would be horribly frightened or horribly amused by Typhon's driving skills. Or lack thereof.


OC: Soul Count - 4 + 9 =13
Kill count = ????????

Was...that...what I think it was? Explosions? Fireworks? Despite his ignorance to what actually happens around the area, fireworks definitely seems to be something that was least likely to happen. As he walked ever so closer, he looked back behind him to see an array of explosions, a practical light show in fact! Well....except maybe the fact that these light shows seemed to be man made. Important buildings just being consumed by explosions?! Department stores?! Small Shops?!...Civilians...Fortunately for our amateur murderer, he was barely away from the blast, but he was safe, but felt the heat as they erupted in splendor. The explosion was rather mighty, and some lives would at least be lost, it almost tempted him to go back, go back and scavenge any souls he can fine to aid his war on mankind, to make himself stronger and for those to fear him and hear his words!

And yet, he felt a sudden pain...no...he shouldn't feel such remorse, people die for a reason, and this possible man made explosion was another reason to show how destructive mankind can be! Throwing caution to the wind, not caring for their own species, slaughtering tens of people, if not hundreds in these blasts alone! But he was still torn, almost shedding a tear...quite sad how he felt remorse for his enemy, he clenched his fist tightly, reminding himself that this is what humans do. And set off to the strange man.
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"Get in the damn car before more cops show up!" Was what was barked at him. He took this person's violent threats against him with a grain of salt, as shooting someone for touching a coat was a tad extreme, but if it did come to that, he would be ready to retaliate as well. But with no choice it seems, or rather due to lack of thinking, he got in the car; in the passenger side next to the stranger(even though he probably could hold his own against cops). He hastily buckled his seltbelt, marveling at the fine light brown leather seats, before taking off abruptly! The force bouncing Ladon back hitting the head of the chair!

The car accelerated forward, before quickly turning around, the sound of tires streaking, and the smell of burning rubber filling the air, the car using its gained momentum from the sudden U turn and rocketed from its position, practically flying towards the area where the explosions detonated, and the fire there burning with rage. Then a quick right turn, speeding through main streets, ignoring traffic, destroying property, and killing civilians! The leftovers of their now deceased bodies painting the front of the car in red, sometimes even in guts or parts of the actual bodies themselves, the car severing them like knives! A quick left turn was made, but not gracefully as the car collided with a fruit colored popscicle stand, as well as the cart owner. 

With the engine of the car constantly revving as it worked diligently, it drowned out the sound of a police chopper which also pursued them, but seemed to be having a hard time keeping up given the driver's such reckless driving. However once nobody seemed to be chasing them, it pulled to a stop in a large alley. Ladon practically carsick from the small...trip, but rather not bring his nausea to the driver's attention. "Okay...listen, I don't know who you are, or why you even wanted me to get in the car with you to escape the police, but I must know, why did you kill those first officers? And do you know anything of the explosion?" Not knowing what the driver was capable of, Ladon placed his hand in his trench coat, making sure to have a weapon handy.

Well that was fun. He honestly couldn't remember the last time he'd gotten behind a wheel, but considering he hadn't crashed the car (albeit the front bumper DID get ripped off during the vehicular mayhem), this was probably a good drive. Still, that didn't matter as he got out the car, and began dumping what appeared to be random bits and bobs, and magazines onto the hood of the car from god knows where inside his coat. At the time, while his erstwhile technically 'kidnapped' passenger exited from the vehicle, he was already at work attaching the various pieces together. Maybe he kept a sack full of the stuff inside his coat, and that's why it was so important to him?

"Okay...listen, I don't know who you are, or why you even wanted me to get in the car with you to escape the police, but I must know, why did you kill those first officers? And do you know anything of the explosion?"

"Well, I WAS going to secure my client, who is a wanted man I might point out. But then you went about firing your little guns and killing civilians, so quietly extracting him and getting the fuck out of dodge was no longer an option. So, I figured it'd be best to remove anyone who would pose a threat to his safety, that's the cops and security, mind you.

But fuck me, someone REALLY wanted him dead. Maybe one of his rivals, which is a damned shame since it means I don't get the rest of my payment. Ahhh, the boys ain't gonna be happy about this." Typhon mutters bitterly, as if annoyed he wasn't going to get an imaginary payment from an imaginary client. Technically, it wasn't all true, this WAS a job, and he wasn't going to get paid since he went above and beyond the call of duty when explicitly told not to. But, the punk there didn't need to know that.

"At this point, I'm planning on getting out of the country," Typhon plainly states again, a bit of a smile on his face as he reconstructs from the pieces he has a pistol and calmly snaps one of the magazines into with a loud clack. "What about you? What on earth were you even doing down there, and what are you even up to now?"

He hefts the new firearm leveling it away from the individual he was addressing, testing how it felt before gently setting it down on the hood and beginning to construct a different weapon.

A client? Who was a wanted man? What was he wanted for? And what exactly is this man's job if he has to secure clients who happen to be wanted? And payment?! What exactly was his job? Or am I simply being mislead...Fair assumption, but at the same time not enough was present to back up his suspicions. He took his hand out of his trench coat, feeling that maybe he shouldn't kill this man...yet, as even though his story honestly wanted him to vomit as it just reeked of what humanity has become, this person was obviously no ordinary person to say the least. He had witnessed this man kill some cops, and while it built up his hate for someone he didn't even know properly, admittedly him slaughtering lone officers with littler to no effort was a pleasing site, and reminds him of his cause, except...it wasn't.

His question about himself was a bit off-putting, yet he saw it coming, and while he can sell a lie, making up an excuse now would be pointless, half baked, and shady as well. With all these possibilities lining up against him, it would be better to tell the truth, no matter how extreme or ridiculous it sounded, depending on how you see it. "I came from a flight all the way from North America, I was actually planning to kill a few people while I was here, to help my cause." He paused, and looked down, questioning last minute on whether he should make his intentions known to begin with, before sighing and looking back at the man. "My cause is to wipe out humanity, as strange as it sounds. Or at least cripple it and make myself known. And as of now, it would be nice to probably kill a few more civilians...so I can get stronger and be able to face any opposition...but I'm probably a wanted man now and my face won't go unnoticed, so while I appreciate for giving me a ride, I must keep moving."

"I came from a flight all the way from North America, I was actually planning to kill a few people while I was here, to help my cause."

Awwwwww, nuts. That meant this was just some lunatic with weapons. In short, his earlier rant about "hormonal-imbalanced rage-induced temper tantrum highschoolers with too large an allowance and don't know when to rub one off for stress" being the profile for this punk was true! Or maybe he embellished a few details, but still! It was true enough, and if it wasn't, well he rejected that reality and substituted his own!

"My cause is to wipe out humanity, as strange as it sounds. Or at least cripple it and make myself known. And as of now, it would be nice to probably kill a few more civilians...so I can get stronger and be able to face any opposition...but I'm probably a wanted man now and my face won't go unnoticed, so while I appreciate for giving me a ride, I must keep moving."

"Feh ...

Goes a bit of an odd sound from Typhon, perhaps a combination of amusement tinged with disdain for the lack of thought obviously put into such a lofty goal. Or maybe it was just him laughing at how silly the goal was?

"Fuahaha. Ha ha ha ha! HAH HAH HAH HAAAAH~!" Never mind, he was clearly just all-around amused at what he just heard, as he now constructed a much too short (barrel lengthwise) gun to which he was calmly loading an oversized curved magazine into.

"Quite a lofty goal for a young man such as yourself. That's seven billion monkeys or less you want to kill." He continues, while checking inspect the new weapon, and again testing the feel of it.

"Sadly, I am contract worker, so that means if you went and killed everyone, and now that gun, soon found its way pointed at the other fledgling Kishin in no time flat, "That'd be bad for business, y'know? So tell me something before I get it in my head to cap you now and be done with you, how serious are you with this goal of yours? Serious enough to die for it if it could happen?"

The question is posed in a much steelier tone, at least compared to his potentially mocking lighthearted attitude earlier. Now, fun and games was over, it was time for business, and the first rule of business for him was to size up his targets. The usual wicked smile that had been on his face the entire time had disappeared into a possible light frown, while he kept the menacing glare, the steady aim, and the gun all pointed at the other individual. All it would take is one answer to determine what happens, and either way ... in the back of his mind, he considered the kid to be a bit alright. Taking on a goal that large isn't a simple task, and he could respect even something as ridiculous ... nay, ludicrous, as that: But only if the kid was serious about it. If it was just hormones influencing him to rage against the world, rather than something deeper ... then the world would be better off without him.

Despite how odd this individual seemed, Ladon was expecting this guy to fear him, to run away in fear or call for help pointlessly before he laid the final blow himself, knowing in satisfaction that he was instilling fear into hearts from motive alone, and then he would feel bad knowing that he probably seemed like a monster to most people...strange how he actually planned this out, from a possible person's reaction to his own emotional whiplash. So one could image the disheartening moment when he saw this strange getaway driver laugh in his face at his goals. Were his motives that out there? Where they that impossible to reach that even the common public saw it as no threat unless he was actively killing someone? They would probably think I'm a Lunatic. And he honestly couldn't blame them, but seeing how important his motives was (to him at least) this person's initial lack of seriousness swung at him like a bat.

But granted he was expecting too much, he did witness this person "surf" out of a fast food restaurant on the back of a poor native, and then killing a small cluster of cops before gradually walking away towards this here vehicle. But the feat that he wanted to reach seemed much more...larger than it seemed prior to this stranger's words. Seven Billion?! It only seems like a number, but that number combined with how many of those "monkeys" were littered across this widespread planet made the goal seem all the more impossible, and unfortunately for him now as well he was a rock in a hard place, as he was no suddenly in a victim situation, that we was admittedly not expecting, and was also faced with a question that challenged his thoughts.

"I couldn't care less about your business..." He said coldly. He had one eye on the man and the trigger of the gun. Death was not something he feared, but it would put an obvious stain on his goal if he were to be deceased, a rather bloody stain at that. "And I'm serious enough to die for it...but if I die, then what would it matter if I can't reach it?" He quickly put his hand in his coat and took out his katana, aiming for the gun wielder's hand, with the hilt, and promptly putting the edge of the blade at the man's neck. "I ask that you don't aim such a weapon at me," still retaining his cold and dry demeanor in his words.

OOC: Sorry for the wait.

"I couldn't care less about your business..." Such a plain response, but a bold one nonetheless. It was enough for Typhon to slacken his grip, easing up on his aim (albeit the gun was still pointed in a forward direction at this time) and for the smile to return to his face in all its maniacal glee. BUT WAIT! There was more!!

"And I'm serious enough to die for it...but if I die, then what would it matter if I can't reach it?"

'So he believes his cause worthy enough to die for, and yet he doesn't tell me the motivation behind it? Pfah ha ha ha, cheeky little sneak.' Without a doubt, Typhon's prior annoyance dissolved to make way for amusement and interest in the young man before him. Here was one who had declared his goals with no irony and hyperbole, and even if this wasn't a sufficient test, he damned well did pass it with his nerve ... or nerves, really. The individual before him could no longer be identified as a hormonally driven rampaging punk. Well alright, still a punk (to him), but he had a good head on his shoulders so far!


"I ask that you don't aim such a weapon at me"

Is what a presumptuous individual who was up against some ordinary thug with a gun would have been able to do, but not him. Oh sure, he had no intentions of shooting him, since he was proving to be more interesting than he had let on, but Typhon wasn't going to idly let him draw a weapon and do as he please with it. His free hand, which had been drifting aimlessly on the hood in front of him merely had to shift a mere inch aside to grip the pistol he had put together and bring it upwards. BUt, unlike the fully-automatic weapon he held in his left hand (which was also simultaneously lowered), this one he held upside down and without placing a finger against the trigger. His exact intentions were made apparent as it took an almost lazy gesture, a raising and perhaps dismissing flick of a wrist to place his clenched fist, gripped on the handle of the gun, directly aside his face, placing it right in the line of path of the blade.

The end result was a sharp clinking noise as the already nicked blade would find itself pressed against the pistol in question, pushed a few inches further away from his neck as intended.


"Fair enough, but drawing a weapon on someone who isn't me would make them more likely shoot you, you know? Not me, though ... heh heh heh, ohhhhh noooooooo. I like your style, kid." came his response, a deep and gravelly voice expressing both amusement and perhaps an inkling of respect where it was due, punctuated by an even lower guttural chuckle partway through. Forcing his right arm outwards would provide enough force to hopefully get the point across that this fellow should sheathe his weapon, either way his arm would continue until it was extended all the way out from his side and then return to rest, thus placing both guns at his side.

"So, since I don't think we were properly introduced, my name i-" Unfortunately, before he can give himself a proper introduction, as a person should before inquiring for another's name, he found himself rudely interrupted by some local trash barking some order in some foreign language that sounded like a cross between mating kookaburra-donkey hybrids and ... well ... no, that about sums it up. Ungodly, ungainly, and just plain unpleasant horrific sonic torture, so much and he knew this was true not just for himself, that he was gratefully amused and also smugly confident in his prediction of what happened next. To keep things short, a triumphant blast sounds from above catching perhaps his potential new business associate offguard, but most CERTAINLY catching the attention of the unwitting policeman who had thought he could apprehend him? And by catch, he did in fact mean that his head was vaporized into a red mist of blood, muscle and bones from the impact and passing of a very large caliber of bullet cleanly impacting his face.

"Excellent shot!" Typhon states approvingly, while the mystery gunman makes himself known. Or rather, herself. A she, with auburn hair and carrying a ridiculously oversized rifle to boot dropping down with what appeared to be no concern for her own practical safety, and yet managed to not only maintain herself but land against the ground and not breaking stride to keep her weapon covering the end of the alley that the unlucky lawman had come from. "As I was saying, I am Typhon. And I am businessman who deals in fighting and death. But no more, for you young man have reminded me of something very important today! That there are always grander goals to take, ones that can drive those borne of humanity to take on the very world!"

At this point, a black van screeches in, slamming into the corner of a building and coincidentally crushing the partner of the less unfortunate lawman (by comparison) into meat paste, before pulling back, swerving to make a U-turn and then backing into the alleyway. On its approach, the backdoors are forcibly opened to reveal not one, not two, but perhaps five individuals altogether inside: One riding shotgun, one maniacal driver who casually disregarded traffic laws, two daredevils who had a flair for theatrics that handled the impressive show of lack of concern for personal safety, and the last one who appeared to have strapped himself against the wall while clutching an electronic device.


Finally, the van had come to a complete halt, allowing the red sniper to make her way aboard and Typhon strode towards the vehicle as well, but took calculated steps backwards while making his statements to the other yet unnamed individual, his voice rising with a strange passion and giddiness.


At this point, he burst into a maniacal fit of laughter, while casually tossing his guns into the vehicle in question. At which point, one of the daredevils, a youth perhaps younger than the individual he was addressing now hopped out and nabbed the key that Typhon lazily drew from his pocket, while approaching the vehicle with a large duffel bag that he promptly deposited in the back seat.


Now, arriving to this stage, he was taking an extreme gamble. Deciding to kill humanity was no idle goal that anyone, even a hormonally-enraged possibly-suicidal pathologically-depressed teenager would settle for something less ridiculous. And the fact that this fellow had demonstrated his will and intentions meant his reasons had to be grand. It's not that he wants humanity gone for the SAKE of it, no. He had to have desired the end of humanity for something bigger! Otherwise, the pieces just wouldn't add up! Clarity and composure went in tandem, not in opposition! BUT, if he was mistaken, perhaps he would look the fool here, for his ranting AND for assuming so much of the other that had fascinated him so far.


At this point, the other raven-haired youth had retreated back inside the van, while Typhon was resumed his rant while standing outside the van, he was clearly quite passionate about the subject matter, and needless to say, he had given quite some thought on the idea of wanting to 'change the world.' After all, it was the grandest desire a megalomaniac like himself could have! Disrupting the status quo of today, and rejecting the future that would inevitably bring! Topple the world order as it is now, and build on its remains the foundations of a new order. A new tomorrow. A new world. A new future! With one last deep sigh, as he paused to regain his breath, Typhon then stepped into the back of the van, but still faced towards the young man who he had been addressing all this time, and reached out a gloved hand towards him, and this time not a maniacal smile but one of pride and ... warmth? shone outwards.

"Come on, then. If you really were serious about what you wanted to do, then come with me. Come with me and my crew, and I'll give you everything you need! The power you need, the soldiers you need, the supplies you need, the fame you need! Come with me, and show me how serious you want to face all of the world's evil WITH evil! AND I'LL THROW EVERYTHING I HAVE TO BACK YOU UP!"

And then another pause . . .

"Or if you don't wanna, at least come along and I'll get you out of the country with no troubles, free of charge." He decides to finish with at least a simpler and more utilitarian offer, in case all that ranting he did was fruitless and whoever this guy was just plain wasn't interested.