Chapter 236 : Angels' scrap

The depths of the slums were home to many, many things, most of them quite terrible. Beasts, creatures, wild undead... Frankly, the only reason a somewhat mundane life was even possible there was because of the various local powers who kept some form of order around their holdings, prompting the locals to choose between a dangerous, free life amidst filth and monsters or servitude under wannabe warlords and criminal masterminds. Well, some were free to make that choice. Others were stuck where they were born or deemed undesirable by their local powers. Techlord was almost such a case, an orphan growing up on his own in a giant junkyard, and while he could have tried to look for someone who saw more than a mouth to feed and small hands, he resented these crimelords and chose to build his own path instead, even if he dreamed of more. An orphan wouldn't become a lead inventor at their command, after all. Just another errand boy, thief, or, if he was lucky, submissive tinkerer. Chains in all cases.

The various crimelords and Villains had different rules for their little domains, and larger groups even had slight variations depending on locations. The Northern division of Wicked Witchcraft was known to be a safer and better place to live than the Eastern one, for instance, with the mages running the various holdings in the latter being quite interested in sacrificial rites and human experimentation. Those merely interested in free labor in the North were saints in comparison. Same group, same general rules, but differences in leadership that led to very different lives.

The Blood Angels, then, were a similar story. Some locations were deemed safe enough to live near, at least compared to the rest of the slums, while the main known headquarters were... A very different story. The emphasis was to be placed on the 'known' here, as the Blood Angels' true main stronghold was hidden somewhere, known only to the most trusted and elite members. It was a fortress, a vault, a safe cache for their ill-gotten gains where they knew nothing would ever be stolen. It was Marcus' hideout, his hole to hide in when the going got tough. A bunker for the rainy days.

But there was a larger, public space for the gang and its members. A base of operations, near the heart of the slums. Not quite as near the Horror's nesting ground as the other Villain bases, Marcus' cautiousness about his rivals drove him to put more distance between himself and them and the thing every Villain group agreed to purge regularly, but it was in the same general area. It was, for lack of a better term, a chaotic, jumbled mess.

No one could agree on what it once was. Some claim it was yet another giant warehouse. Some say it was a police station. Others yet that it was merely a junkyard, or even a construction site, and that the Angels are the ones who built most of the base structure. Whatever the truth was, the place was now a temple to metal and scraps. It was impossible to look anywhere without also seeing rust. Bits and pieces. Graffiti. Whatever stood there in the city's glory days, it had devolved into a tumor of junk vaguely shaped like a fortress. Or a camp, depending on the day and angle.

Sunburn was taking some time off, enjoying one of his beloved Draskian drinks and smoking a cigar. Of course, his lack of lips made the act a little harder than it should have been, a constant annoyance since the time he... Well, there was no use thinking about the past now. He had made his peace with his loss of flesh and becoming more machine than man long ago. He could still get grumpy at the little problems, though. 

The answer to his problem then was, as per usual when it came to issues with his mouth, adjusting the setting of his mask. The metal contraption covering the lower half of his face only rarely saw its original use as a gas mask put into action, more often than not being a glorified straw holder. Well, straw or cigar, depending on how much he dialed the hole open. Having to finagle with the thing every time he wanted to smoke between drinks or vice versa was yet again an irritating little thing, but he could live with it. He only trusted one man to change how his metal body was wired to his brain, and that man wasn't exactly inclined to help him right now. Sunburn still owed him for saving his life anyway, and he hated having debts. He wouldn't grow his current one for something as minor as control of a single hole in his mask.

Opposite the Draskian cyborg at the table was nobody, which was exactly how he liked it. Moonfreeze was a pesky little brat, and the common thugs they employed were idiots or power-hungry cretins. He preferred the former, they at least were genuine in their idiocy, but both quickly got on his nerves. As for Marcus... Well, Sunburn was loyal, but he for sure wasn't going to be his boss's friend. He was a little too bloodthirsty for his liking. Sunburn wasn't opposed to wrecking havoc and burning folks when necessary, but it was just business to him. Marcus? That guy liked having fun playing with his victims. If it weren't for the Angels backing him with their little Red Dust drug trade, then the maniac would probably just be a Super serial killer. He was single-handedly the reason why no one outside of the Blood Angels' thugs came near the area, since he took out his feelings and frustrations on the poor saps he'd spot outside.

Sunburn looked up from his drink to stare at the little training ground they had made in their dearly beloathed junk fortress. The place was a mess, it reeked of metal, blood, and rust, but it was home. And he would give his stupid subordinates credit, they were trying to be better. At least those kept around here were. He had no doubt the ones in remote locations were lazing off as usual. Well, he knew some would be proactive and try and climb the ranks, but they were the minority, and frankly, those who wanted to do well usually did dumb stuff that got them into trouble, which meant Sunburn had to go and cleanse the mess. And maybe the responsible idiots, too, depending on how badly they had messed up.

He didn't go out of his way to burn subordinates, antagonizing the work force was a major mistake a lot of wannabe Villains made, but sometimes you just had to send a message. Like when that Joe guy ignored the trouble brewing to write his book instead. He noticed a problem and purposefully ignored it. That was a very bad habit that had to be pointed out to the rest and punished for them to get the lesson. The other guy, Jerome, was possibly one of the dumbest cretin Sunburn had ever seen, but at least the little idiot tried and was loyal. He made mistakes, but mistakes could be learned from. Still, maybe he could visit the place again sometime. See if the little crew got better, and...

Ah, right. They didn't own the place anymore. The team had moved elsewhere following that weird Empress bot attack, and some new guy had moved in. Not any new guy either, but that Silhouette dude everyone in town was talking about. Or so it felt. He did appear on TV quite a lot for a newbie to the local scene. Sunburn would give him credit, the guy had guts for a shadowy creature to stand in the spotlight so often. His new Patchee plan? That got a lot of attention. Sunburn didn't particularly care, the abominations weren't anywhere near as important as their maker had been, but he knew some of their contacts and unreliable allies were a little jumpy at the news. The Patchees were cheap but good muscle, and they obeyed orders even if it got them killed. At least, that was how they used to be. Ever since their maker died, those that the gangs had bought had started acting strange, some even outright leaving. With a public message that someone was trying to take them in and fix them? Give them back their old quiet human lives? Yeah, Sunburn had a feeling only the most broken beasts would stick to their masters.

The Draskian cyborg breathed out smoke as he paid particular attention to one of their newest elite members on the training ground. She apparently used to be some kind of elven beauty blessed by Terra Luna, whatever that nonsense meant, but she found herself developing a Chaotic Core and a very deformed body. He couldn't care less about what people looked like, and he was self-aware enough to admit he would be a hypocrite to negatively comment on someone experiencing a major transformation that left them fundamentally different from before, but he could appreciate the hulk of muscles and mucus ravaging her training partner, some guy with a basic rock body power. Well, maybe he was some kind of golem or earth elemental instead, but he wasn't important enough for Sunburn to bother caring or remembering his name. Nice rock beard though, he'd give him that.

Her mane of tentacles was an impressive thing, each one as wide as a human torso at the base, and the dozens of appendages whipped through the air to crack rock and obliterate the metal shields he barely managed to make out of the surrounding scraps. If Sunburn had to describe her, he'd say she was something between a lion, a slug, and a squid in a vaguely humanoid form, though with a very large hunch. From the look of things, she'd be better off walking like a gorilla, but she insisted on standing upright, using a pair of tentacles to act as a secondary pair of legs instead. He could appreciate the thought of it, even if it was ultimately useless and wasteful. She wasn't using her massive arms and claws to fight, so she might as well use them to walk and leave those powerful tentacles to do their job.

Really, a lot of people let their powers done because they weren't ready to commit. Sure, he could understand his powers weren't the most inconvenient thing, but getting turned into a tin can turned out to be a similar experience. Trying to stick to human life when you were not human was a fool's errand. Embracing the change was necessary to grow, nay, to live and thrive. A human body wouldn't be able to take as much punishment as his metal one could, and that girl's freaky form would be a blessing in the right hands. Hells, Serpent was just a massive snake with four arms, and that reptile used every one of them and every muscle in their tail to wreck their enemies. A pure melee Hero reaching their level was incredibly rare unless they had one or two additional busted abilities, and they didn't. No insane regeneration or even island-shaking strength. Just mighty muscles and skills, and a willingness to embrace what made them different. The legless lizard was probably one of the only Heroes of this dimwitted country he could respect.

Noticing his drink was empty and his cigar almost out, Sunburn grunted. He could light up another one, he had nothing better to do for now, but he figured he might as well try and help the girl out. She was showing talent, even if brutish and unrefined. She'd never be the next big Villain, but she might make for a good enforcer. With Wicked Witchcraft slowly collapsing as their territory eroded, nibbled by every other power, getting new heavy hitters ready for the big brawl that'd follow was only tactically sound.

His sleek and almost skeletal black body gleamed in the sunlight as he got up, the glowing orange spots through which his power flowed surging as he rushed to the fight, his propulsed by flames flying out of his elbow but leaving the fist uncovered. This was a spar, not a murder. The girl did show talent with her head starting to turn his way, he didn't actually expect her to have such good reflexes yet, but it was far too slow.

He heard a crunch as his fist sank into whatever that mass of flesh that passed as her cheek was, and she was thrown away and through multiple junk walls. Hm. He wasn't sure if she still had bones and he'd just broken or cracked them, or if that was just the sound of the impact against her thick flesh. Some blubber over the muscles, he noticed. Good. Blubber was always an effective thing, even if idiots only saw fat and fought it was a sign of weakness. His hand was left slimy by the impact, and he was surprised to see that the thing was thick enough that he had trouble moving his fingers for a second, the viscous fluid getting into the seams and joints. That girl was proving more interesting by the second.

Speaking of, a groan came from the former elven girl as she came out of the pile of scraps that used to be a... Shed? Outhouse? Whatever it was, the thugs had built it when they got bored and decided to play sandcastles with junk. One of her hands was rubbing at the spot he'd hit, and he noticed her eyestalks were out, even if she was slowly retracting them to look 'normal' again. Another bad habit. Her eyes were on stalks for a reason, trying to keep them in her skull in honor of nostalgia was just ruining their potential.

"Hey, who the hell did... That..."

The girl finally realized who exactly was standing where she'd been, waiting for her at the end of the path of destruction her flight had caused. Seeing the dark green of her flesh pale did warm Sunburn's heart a bit. It was always good for them to know their place, and more importantly, to recognize a threat. He could have easily killed her right there if he had wanted to, after all. 

"You. What's your name, girl?"

"I... Evadelyn, sir. I... I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done... Whatever it was that made you attack me."

"Hmph. So you don't know, then? Care to take a guess?"

"I... Got too violent and maybe harmed my partner? You alright, José?"

Her rocky partner chose that moment to give an attempt at a reassuring thumbs up, even if he, too, was obviously overwhelmed by the sight of their faction's greatest warrior standing right there after attacking his friend.

"Everything good here, Eva! Just, maybe try to hold back a little more next time?"

"Hmph. Good try, but no. The reason I attacked you, girl, is because I knew you could take it. The problem is that you didn't block it. Now come back here. It's time for you to learn to fight without flailing around like this. Anyone who knows how to fight properly would dismantle you and turn you into sushi in seconds."

José, realizing what was happening before Evadelyn, gulped as he addressed his superior.

"Uhm, sir? Will my presence be required for your... Coaching?"

"Hm. You did a good job surviving so far. Do as you wish. You could learn a thing or two, too, but you're free to go mend those wounds instead."

Evadelyn, for her part, quickly found herself questioning if what was about to happen would be worse than her Chaotic Awakening. She had a gut feeling Sunburn wouldn't a kind teacher.