Living_Hellfire

Make her approachable. Make her friendly and kind. She doesn't have to be relatable, but she has to be someone that a person can approach and talk to. The other stuff doesn't matter much. The powers, the background, that is generally all revealed in time, but none of that can happen if people aren't interested in your character. My advice is this - Focus more on who your character is and less on what your character can do.

So sorry to the mods, but you know who I am so I'm pretty sure I can get away with this. I happen to be The Legendary Living Hellfire and I want to know what your main's theme song is. Given that I've been around for quite a while, I'll go first. I'm interested to know what music plays in your head when you think of your Main. Gimme what you got.

Christopher O'Callan loved walking through Atlas Park. Gretchen always brought him through the Blue Line, just North of the square and he gawked as he walked past the superheroes as they made their way, exploding into the the speed force, lifting into the heavens or just simply vanishing into the air as they teleported away, and like any 10 year old boy he was fascinated by superheroes and so he gawked. He reached up to take babysitter's hand and she smiled, accepting it warmly and guided him South and East, around the square towards where Ms. Liberty stood, welcoming admirers. He barely noticed the sound of thunder as it rolled over Atlas Park. She was the very picture of heroism, atop her plinth. Ms. Liberty stood accepting praise and handing out missions to young heroes who then zoomed off. Christopher jumped with joy, waving at the Goddess before gasping and reaching. He had let go of Gretchen's hand and was falling. He reached but Gretchen was nowhere to be found and he tumbled, tearing the knee out of his jeans as he rolled, slamming into the wall on the South end of Atlas Park. "Alright, lad?" The boy looked up to see a red haired man in a bespoke black suit, puffing a cigar. He stared for a moment, as the sweet blue smoke encircled his fedora. "Beg yer pardon, are ye alright, lad?" The boy stretched and stood. The scene was chaos with new heroes all clamoring for attention. He listened for his babysitter, but couldn't hear her over the din. He cried out. No answer. The entire square was a blur of colour and noise. Demons snarled, robots hummed and muttered their replies while ninjas gathered in close circles. Christopher staggered back into the concrete of the raised garden before he heard the voice again. "Alright, lad?" Blurry vision revealed opaque, burnt orange shades. The Man in Black grinned and puffed his cigar. "It's overwhelmin', aye?" He asked. "Ye should jes' take a long slow breathe an' I'll explain everythin'." Christopher took the man's advice and breathed and cried "GRETCHEN!!" The crowd continued to hum, paying Christopher no mind. "Lad?' The boy turned, seeing the man for the first time, his jaw dropping open. "Mister! Mister Hellfire!" He ran over before recoiling back against the ambient heat. In the distance a demonling cackled. He rose again to his feet, holding his arms up against the ferocious temperature generated by The Man in Black. "Are you The Living Hellfire, sir?" Christopher cried. The demonling laughed again and thunder rolled over Atlas Park. "Aye, lad, I am." The sickly sweet, blue cigar smoke coiled around his arm as he spoke. "An' I reckon Gretchen is lookin' fer ye. Ye'd best get along, then." A young woman came out of the scrum and raced towards the boy. There was a stern talking to and when Christopher spoke about The Man in Black who was no longer there Gretchen's breath caught in her throat. The thrum of rookie heroes, the occasional announcement over loudspeakers, the paparazzi's shouting demands, all were gone as Gretchen and Christopher looked up. A streak of burnt, orange fire cut a swathe across the night sky. "Gretchen! I met him! I met The Living Hellfire! He was dressed all in black, an' he - " "I know, I know...." She smiled at him and reached into the back right pocket of her jeans and pulled out an alabaster card, upon which was scorched the words "The Legendary Living Hellfire." Christopher took the card in his hand and stared before meeting Gretchen's eyes and grinning. "So he really does?" "Yeah, he really does." The boy handed the card back and together they made their way home. There may have been ice-cream on the way.

The flashing intro to PCNN blares into the night as walkers-by pause on their way home. "I'm Graham Richardson and this is your Paragon City nightly news!" He shuffles his papers before turning in his chair to the next camera. It focused in on his face, now grave and serious. "At the top of the hour we can report another sighting of The Living Hellfire." The image shifts awkwardly to show a grainy image of a burnt orange streak coursing its way across the night sky. "This footage was taken moments after a car operated by known bank robbers was suddenly halted, all four tires blown out. The police made the arrests and the suspects are now in custody." The image scratches and shifts. "- and that's when seven children ran from the building!" A middle-aged blonde woman implores a reporter "You have no idea what I've seen! He came in from the sky, in a streak of fire and saved those children!" It scratches again and a boy is standing on the street. Behind him is the noonday activity of a familiar neighbourhood. "Well, he was dressed in black and nodded, and then Frankie over there in the ice-cream truck smiled and that's how I got this!" The boy held up a chocolate dipped vanilla cone. The image scratched again and a weathered PCPD Sargent stood in front of a liquor store. "We arrived on scene to find three suspects having laid down their arms." The camera shifts awkwardly to focus on the MP5s on the sidewalk. "And that's it's. They confessed to the crime and we've taken them into custody." In a tenement building in King's Row a little girl plays with a doll. Black and burnt orange with long red hair. She lifts it above her head and leaps off her bed, simulating flight and squealing with joy. Above her a streak of burnt orange flame blazes through the night.

Talos Island, circa May 2025, 0138hrs. Thunder rolled and a streak of burnt orange flame scorched away the clouds above Circle Island, tearing away the cloud cover. It had been 27 hours since the girl had gone missing and The Freakshow looking skyward knew precisely what had come. They hustled towards the the burnt out shelter, scurrying down the porthole into the dark. They whispered and chastised each other as their metal augmentations clanked against the rock in their haste. The world shook above them as the Angel on Fire descended. The four Freaks huddled behind rocks, waiting in ambush and braced as the sound of shearing metal raced down the tunnel towards them, followed by a rush of warm, dry air. "This time!" Whispered the Chief Smasher "Listen for the footsteps, then we'll blow the mountain." The three others nodded, loosening their grips. There were no footsteps. A whirlwind of flame engulfed the little nexus of crossroads, devouring the four Freaks before moving on down the tunnel, a tattered cape snapping in the updraft. The tunnels twisted and roiled, often turning back on themselves. He revised the map in his head many times before finally arriving at the terminal end of the cavern system. It was wide and vast, stretching up hundreds of meters with various, offset platforms upon which were crouched all manner of metal enshrined and enhanced villainy. They opened fire. Lead rounds were superheated and splashed against black, armored plates as Hellfire ascended through the central column of the stone chamber, plasma bolts were deflected by a Celestial Blade and splashed against the rock walls and back into the attackers, sending them sprawling and lifeless. A cone of flame engulfed three Freaks as they cowered behind a steel barricade, forgetting that steel can melt and burn. A single beam of concentrated flame sliced its way through a Juicer Chief as he took to the air, sending his composite body parts crashing to the earth. A blast of kinetic heat slammed into a Champion Swiper as he leaped off a ledge to meet the ascending vengeance and fell, scorched and almost unrecognizable. The Angel on Fire reached the apex of the stone column. "Ye ken who I am. Release the girl." He floated there, wreathed in flame, the corporeal embodiment of wrath. "Oh, you are sumthin', ain't ye?" Cried out a voice. The thumping of footseps echoed. "Ye've a rot, we're the cure!" The voice bounced around the stone column. The violence had ended for the moment, the only sound was the crackling of flame, the only bouquet that of cigar smoke. "Yer delayin'. Where's the girl?" And then she screamed and The Angel on Fire answered. Mizzr_Skibs was an enormous Tank Swiper, a boss chief in his own right and a fearsome combatant and he knew it. He snapped one mallet hand down and slammed his feet, sending a shower of rock debris down into the depths of the mine. He swung the titanic hammer at the streak of Hellfire as it approached and the resulting explosion shook the earth. The remaining Freakshow clambered to their feet and fled as Mizzr_Skibs regained his footing and stared at his adversary for the first time. A man floated above him, copper hair lifting in the updraft, blackened armored plates against a burnt orange nimbus that blazed angrily against creation. Eyes full of flame and anger set into a bearded, square jawed visage, teeth bared. "How many times must I remind ye feckin' gobshites that this is my city. My people." Asked The Legendary Living Hellfire. "Again and again ye defy me an' select amongst these mortals the most vulnerable, the most fragile an' the most in need. Now... " He paused as he floated above the mechanical monstrosity. "Where is the girl?!" There's always a moment where decisions are made. The girl cried out, the Tank Swiper charged and The Legendary Living Hellfire swung the gladius gifted to him by his father and the battle was over. Thunder rolled over Talos Island and shook the cavern. The sweet smell of cigar smoke filled the top level of the cave structure and there was the soft click of hard-soled loafers on stone. "Are ye there, lass?" He called out softly. "Grace?" There was a whimper in the dark. "Jes' come tae me, lass, it's quite alright, quite alright, indeed. Jes' follow me voice." She crawled out of a tiny alcove, yellow shirt, blue shorts with her hair in a ponytail. "Are you... ?" "Aye, lass... Jes' so." He puffed the cigar, the blue smoke encircling his fedora like a halo. The Man in Black stepped out of the shadows left by the burning wreckage of his entrance and grinned. "We've a long way tae go tae get ye back tae yer family, so we'd bes' nae take too much time." "Okay." She stopped short of the carnage. "Best nae tae look, lass." "Can you hold my hand?" The soft snapping of burning tobacco filled the air, like a pause in reality before The Man in Black answered. "Nay, I cannot, but if'n ye jes' close yer eyes an' follow me cigar, ye'll find yer way out. Jes' listen tae me footsteps an' ye'll be alright."

In the gap between realities there is a room. It exists outside of time and space, at the nexus of all realities. It is a small, windowless room made entirely of seamless stone of apocryphal origin. The only source of light is a pedestal in the centre of the room, atop which burns an eldritch flame, devoid of any apparent source of fuel. The only other thing of note is The Door. This door is The Many Doors, though there is but one. Through it one may pass to any time, place or reality, for all realities exist be they discovered places, times or things or be they simply the creations of the mind through imagination or fevered dreams. This is a story of The Room of Many Doors The Man in Black emerged from the flame burning atop the pedestal in The Room. He was alone, as usual. The smoke from the cigar jammed between his teeth stuttered slightly as it rose from the cherry, creating a zig-zag pattern in the air before simply coalescing into a cloud around The Man's head, encircling his fedora like a halo. He was on vacation, taking a break from the regular patrolling and coaching and teaching youngsters how to use their abilities responsibility, for the benefit of others. Even angels need a day off on occasion. It was time for an adventure for himself. He puffed the cigar before jamming it into his breast pocket. He turned, tugged at his suit jacket, straightened his tie and made his way towards the door, his hard-soled leather loafers clicking their defiance against the oppressive silence of The Room. He adjusted his shades slightly before sighing to himself as he stared at the seemingly simple wooden door with the brass handle. Where would he go? Normally he would simply imagine his destination and open The Door and he would emerge precisely where he intended, but this time... this time was different. He simply wanted to go somewhere else, somewhere he'd never been. He wanted to experience something new, yet familiar and so he held that thought in his mind, closed his eyes and opened the door. He arrived in a city. A loud city. He emerged what appeared to be a barrel fire in an alleyway. Thankfully there was no one about to see him appear, however it did seem clear that this was a place inhabited by persons unknown. A sleeping bag was laid across the rear of the alley with a shopping cart parked near by, full to overflowing with all manner of scavenged personal effects, aluminum cans and various other bits and bobs. In effect, the alley was every alley The Man in Black had ever seen; dirty, dingy, dark and depressing, never mind the smell. He plucked the still lit cigar from his breast pocket and jammed it back between his molars and made his way briskly to the elbow of the alley whereupon he turned right and emerged onto the sidewalk of a busy, boisterous city street. He looked up at the street signs to discover that he was at the corner of Burrard Street and 7th Avenue. The streets were jammed, both on and off the asphalt. Taxis, delivery trucks, construction vehicles and private motorists all competed for the same extra six inches as they waited and sprinted in equal measure between traffic lights. Cars honked at each other and at pedestrians, other cars honked back and pedestrians gestured their meaning back at motorists. A cyclist buzzed past The Man in Black, a bell dinging loudly, forcing The Man to take a step backwards. This wouldn't do. Too many people in close proximity, someone was bound to get hurt. Already the people passing by him as he stood, gawking, were giving strange looks as they sensed the ambient heat coming off The Man in Black. He ducked back into the alley. He would have to get high in order to really understand where he had ended up. The Man in Black restructured the heat around him to lower the pressure above and increase the pressure below, sending himself floating upwards to the roof of the building. He puffed his cigar some more as he strode towards the edge, facing North-East and took in the view. From the roof of the tenement building the place looked very much like Manhattan Island. The buildings to the North seemed like mid-town while to the East it looked very much like the Financial District, with its enormous skyscrapers reaching into the blue. What was strange was that the bridges were on the West side of the island. The Man shrugged and directed his gaze upwards and directly across the street to a tall, drab, grey building with what appeared to be a spinning globe atop a plinth on the roof. A better vantage. He folded the heat around himself, forcing photons to bounce around and past him rendering himself all but invisible as he repeated his pressure trick and floated silently and invisibly across the gap, up, up and away to the top of the building opposite him. The Man in Black leaned over the edge of the building, puffing his cigar. The air smelled different, but then it always does when he visits other places. The traffic sounded the same, the buildings were more or less made of the same stuff. It smelled clean, no hint of Locals, even just faintly on the wind. Paragon City was rife with Locals, so it was a refreshing change. Maybe the Celestial War hadn't touched this place, he thought. "Excuse me, sir?" The Man in Black turned slowly in place, reaching up to take the cigar from his mouth. He let his hand drop by his side and the smoke coiled around his arm like a serpent as he took a long look at the man asking for his attention. He was tall, at least 6,4 and well built, but seemed to slouch a little, as though ashamed of his size. Dark suit, white shirt, blue tie, glasses, with thick, dark hair that appeared windswept but only slightly so, the only thing out of place was a coil that rested in the centre of his forehead. The stranger ducked and wove slightly as he approached, almost apologetically. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to disturb you, sir, but... " He paused, opening his stance and showing his palms. "May I ask what you're doing here?" The Man in Black nodded and showed his palms in return, grinning amiably. He had the cigar perched precariously between the first two fingers of his right hand as he turned to face the other man. "Yer quite right tae ask, mate. I beg yer pardon an' didnae mean tae cause a disturbance. I'm a... " he paused, trying to find the word "... a tourist. I'm afeared I've become a wee bit turned about." "Oh!" Said the other man "Well, in that case I would be happy to help you get to where you need to go!" He made a snorting nose as he chuckled, pressing the bridge of his glasses "Ma used to tell me all the time 'If you're not where you're supposed to be, then you've got to just keep going.'" The Man in Black nodded and his grin broadened into a genuine smile. He liked any man that honoured his mother, and he found he liked this man immediately. He jammed the cigar back between his molars. "Name's Clark, by the way." said the man as he reached out his hand. The Man in Black nodded, but stayed where he was a safe ten paces away. "A pleasure tae make yer acquaintance, Clark. Me mum called me Fergus, an' I thank ye fer yer welcome, truly." The other man's genial smile faded, soured and the expression on his face grew accepting as he withdrew his hand. And then Clark stood up. His shoulders straightened and his jaw tensed slightly, his gaze settled squarely on The Man in Black. "Who sent you?" "Beg yer pardon, mate?" Clark took off his glasses and took a pace. "I know you're not from here, Fergus. I don't know what you are or where you come from, but I do know that you are radiating heat that shouldn't be possible." His gaze lingered a while, taking in the Infernite woven, double-breasted flat black suit, the burnt orange shirt and black tie and finally came to rest on the burnt orange shades. "I have a lot going on right now, stranger. Why don't you just tell me why you're here and maybe we can have a reasonable conversation about it. This place, this world, these people, they are incredibly important to me and I won't have them harmed. They are under my protection. So, for the last time, who sent you and what do they want?" The Man in Black took a step backwards, his hands up. "I'm jes' passin' through, mate. I dinnae mean any harm. I'm from a place quite far from here, albeit quite similar in many respects. Where I'm from I'm considered a friend, a helper an' a teacher." The other man opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted by a flash of light to the North. Both men turned their heads and gaped in horror as a ball of light and fire engulfed what must have been 6 city blocks. Rents opened in the sky through which poured all manner of horrors, slavering and screaming their bloodlust as they fell to the Earth on alien looking craft the likes of which Fergus had never seen. He turned back to see Clark loosening his tie, having already shucked his jacket. "Oh, yeah? Well, do me a favour, Fergus." "An' what's that, mate?" Clark tore open his shirt, revealing a brilliant red 'S' in a gold diamond against a field of royal blue "Prove it." And with that, The Man of Steel took to the sky in a blur. Lightning scorched the sky and the heavens roared with thunder and The Legendary Living Hellfire followed, a trail of burnt orange flame in his wake.

I am very glad to hear this news and I am so thankful to the HC team for all their work. I am proud of this community, the finest online gaming community I've ever experienced going all the way back to 2004. The value of the labour put in by volunteers cannot be overstated and neither can my gratitude.

The Pocket was quiet as the portal flared and The Man in Black stepped out onto the corrugated steel floor. He adjusted his fedora before jutting his chin to tighten the black tie around his neck. The sound of hard soled loafers echoed on the ramp leading up to the common bar and Isaac turned from his patrons to glance up at his friend who nodded back before disappearing upstairs. He made his way around the winding concourse to the second floor and stared at the guests gathered around the usual spot. It was the common assortment of youngsters, a strange mixture of bravado and shyness, flirtatiousness and dismissal but most of all uncertainty as if they had only just arrived. He wove his way through the thin crowd at a respectful distance to find a lonely stool at the end of the bar and promptly sat, pulling an already lit cigar from his breast pocket and jamming it between his molars. He turned to make eye-contact with Jenny from behind his opaque, burnt-orange shades and she nodded with a gentle smile and reached down to find an old dusty jug in an infrequently used cabinet. She filled the strange little, stemless goblet The Man in Black had already placed on the bar with a noxious smelling fluid before nodding again and returning to her other charges. "Why do you spend so much time here, Abomination?" growled the little demonling as appeared at the man's shoulder. "Ye ken the answer, Screwtape. I've tol' ye before, these youngsters need guidance." The Man in Black sipped from the little goblet and coughed before twisting to face the little, red-winged horror as it perched itself on the back of the booth. "And yet none of them listen." He sneered. "You talk and you talk, you even lead them into battle and they still don't listen. Why do you waste your time with them?" The Man in Black ignored his tormentor and focused on the room. All manner of self-styled heroes and villains alike mingled, as well as everything in between. The hum was familiar and he puffed his cigar and spun his little goblet in his left hand as he leaned against the bar-rail. The demonling prattled in his ear, joining the ambient noise of the space as he watched people in capes and tights and tactical gear and all manner of costumery meander back and forth. Time seemed to accelerate as more and more the interactions seemed to take an almost cartoonish aspect as they sped up. They began, carried on for a time and ended. Over and over as The Man in Black sat on his stool and watched. "Angziel?" He woke from his reverie to find an empty bar. Even Jenny had gone, but not before filling his goblet once more. The only other present was a beautiful woman with dusky skin in a white suit, as alabaster as his own cards. She leaned against the bar, filling his vision. "An' who's askin'?" The click of her heels left an impression as she stepped back once, her hands raised in surrender. "I'm just here to talk." She replied in Infernal. The Man in Black knew how it ended if he broke the truce of The Pocket. He could smell Downstairs on her. She was a Local. She returned to English. "My name in this place is Claire. I was sent by your uncle to parlay." The demon dragged a stool over to a safe distance and perched upon it. She stared through the shades into the fires that lay beneath. "Will you parlay... Fergus?" The Man in Black straightened and the cherry of the cigar still gripped between his molars flared and a sweet, blue smoke filled the room. "Did he tell ye that'd werk, then? If'n ye called me as me mum did?" The woman scoffed. "Surely you don't expect me to call you by that ridiculous name as introduction?" She snapped imperiously. "Ye've called me all the others." He plucked the cigar from his mouth and rested his wrist on his knee before sipping from the little goblet, coughing slightly as he laid it back on the bar. "It's what they call me, an' it's a name I cherish an' protect an' ye'll nae e'en say it once." He popped the front of his fedora with his free hand to meet the woman's gaze from behind burnt orange shades. The woman pulled herself to her full height on the stool and smoothed down the front of her blazer. "It would appear I've offended. I sincerely apologize, you are of course The Leg-" The Man in Black held up his hand. "It's jes' Liv." He watched as she tried not to roll her eyes and failed. He smirked. "Liv, the war is going poorly, for both sides." "Is that so?" "Yes, and I've been tasked with- " "Fer whom?" "Excuse me?" He shook his head and stood, draining the goblet before sliding it back into his breast pocket. "Fer whom is the war goin' poorly, lass?" She shifted on her stool. "Well, for both sides and I've been asked to- " "No." "Angziel, you have to underst-" "The answer is no." There was a flash as she stood. A blip and for just a fraction of a second in her place was a fearsome visage as her rage clashed against the curtain of The Pocket. Scarlet red skin bled through the designer suit, hooves in the place of heels, fangs hung over perfectly lined lips and leathery wings blotted out the pot lights in the ceiling. And then the image was gone, but not soon enough. "Angziel, son of Kadziel Opener of Ways, I address thee in tongue of your kin! Your Captor, Lord and Master commands your aid! Defy him at your own peril!" The fallen angel's voice shook The Pocket. Bottles rattled behind the bar, stools stumbled as of their own accord and toppled over and then, predictably he was alone again. "You can't just do nothing forever, Abomination." quipped the demonling as he uncurled from his nap, stretching languorously along the bench of the booth. "Aye, Screwtape, I reckon that's so." replied The Man in Black as he flicked a match and stepped through the flame into The Room of Many Doors.

Thank you, that's very kind of you to say. I hope this doesn't disappoint you, but I generally don't do ongoing series of stories, they're all generally one-offs, but I have many written if you're interested. They're all here, in the RP page of the forum. Cheers, friend.

Thunder rolled over Paragon City and a streak of burnt orange flame tore a hole in the sky. The clouds obscured his view of the metropolis below as The Angel on Fire soared dangerously to the very top of the tropopause, the point where the planet's atmosphere meets the ozone layer. He reached out a red hand and grazed the barrier between himself and the stratosphere leaving an angry rent. Reality roared in defiance and he grinned. The vapor growled but rapidly gave way as he dove down and down through the mist. His tattered old cape snapping angrily in the wind behind him, a constant reminder of his bondage. His grin widened. The view of his city exploded into view before him as he cast his arms out to catch the wind. None had called him this day. The cars rolled on throughout the city streets, folks went about their lives and not one alabaster card had been tossed into the fires for him to hear. He considered fishing or perhaps making himself available to youngsters who may be of need but even angels need a day off from time to time. He returned Miss Liberty's wave as he passed over Atlas Park and climbed once more into the ether, scorching the air behind him. He soared above the hard blue barriers constructed to protect the city against the Rikti and rolled through the black smoke of Cap Au Diable. The usual shenanigans were occurring, but nothing out of the ordinary. The would forever devour each other and themselves. Heads swiveled upwards as he passed, fingers pointed and certain characters of interest scattered. He pretended not to notice as he pressed on, the trail of burnt orange Hellfire snarling angrily behind him. The heavens over Monster Island North of Portal Corp ruptured and the air screamed in protest as he emerged from The Room of Many Doors to a dismal view of abandoned facilities overrun by flora. Enormous, raging creatures comprised of leaf and vine and fungi tore through what remained of civilization but all of them paused as he circled overhead. The wind raged in his ears as he gazed down at them and they slowed their mayhem. One horrific abomination grasped a nearby boulder and hurled it skywards but it was a wasted effort as The Angel on Fire was already gone. Grandville was the worst of all and if there was any doubt at all, the welcome would put it paid. It would seem the guns were already primed, ready and aimed at reality's tear when he emerged. The air detonated around him as flack cannons poured on their own very special sort of attention. He rolled and pitched downwards towards the concourse, pouring on speed that barely outmatched the tracking software programmed no doubt by the spider himself. The sound of the sonic boom shattered the holographic emitters lining the grand promenade as a missile shaped like a man tore itself across the square. The cannons never ceased their bombardment, shattering windows and caring not at all for any sort of collateral damage as they tracked their quarry, climbing upwards into the night sky. He waited there, above the world and folded his arms with all of creation below him. The cannons had stopped but he knew they were still trained. He eyed the tower at the end of the promenade before stretching his arms out and falling backwards into a terminal dive. The atmosphere screamed as it shredded behind him. The first sonic boom knocked over the antennae of the closest skyscrapers, pausing the flak cannons as they were forced into a failsoft backup, but they soon caught up. The second sonic boom went largely unnoticed as the spider's own guns tore apart his own city in pursuit of an illusive prey. The burnt orange streak ripped open the sky as it streaked towards the tower and Lord Recluse had no choice but to watch as it approached. This was neither the first nor would it be the last time that he had faced this foe. Time seemed to stretch as the Spider Lord braced himself for the impact that never came. The Angel on Fire blazed a trail past the tower and seared a course upwards into the clouds once more. Today was not about adversaries or enemies. Today was not about redressing sins or avenging evils. Today was about the wind and the sky. Today was about embracing the heavens and The Legendary Living Hellfire soared onwards.

Peregrine Island, August 5 2022, 0235 EDT, 18°C Samantha Harris was raised Catholic but described herself as reformed over drinks. She had said grace before supper and had said her prayers before bed-time at her parents urging but had never really believed, but on this day she prayed as Malta operatives chased her through the streets of Peregrine Island. She didn't pray to the gods who had never gifted her a bicycle. She didn't pray to the gods who had never punished Jenny Turner for slamming her into a locker. She prayed to the silent gods. She prayed to the gods who hear the call of those in need, and her prayers were answered. Thunder rolled over the skyline and a burnt orange glow flashed above the clouds, briefly illuminating the streets below. Sam reached out and grasped a standpipe to swing herself into an alley off of Church street, the apartment buildings loomed above her she hurtled between the bricks as the sound of jack-boots rang in her ears. Carnies paused and glanced as she passed, shaking off the reverie of their games as they became aware of the oncoming storm. Jugglers and Strongmen abandoned dice and cards, ignoring the young woman as they made good their own escape. Sam turned another corner and sprinted before crouching behind a dumpster to catch her breath. She tapped her breast pocket, reassuring herself that the data drive was still there before closing her eyes once again. Sam crouched behind the dumpster, gasping for breath with her entire future in her pocket. She squeezed her eyes shut and said one more prayer "Please, whoever is listening, if you can hear me... I need you. I can't run anymore" She heard the jackboots arrive and opened her eyes before turning her head to stare down the barrels of six standard issue Malta BRK-47 Plasma Lances. Thunder rolled once more over Peregrine Island. A man's voice, hard like gravel and crisp like winter "Miss Harris, my name is Green-04 and I'm here to take you into custody for the theft of proprietary information from Crey Corporation. If you'll please come with me." The Cowboy ambled out from between the Malta agent, all blacks and blues, from chaps to hat. He rested the heel of his right hand on the butt of the modified Peacemaker on his hip. Sam watched as the head of every agent at the other end of every gun swiveled left, down the alley and into the dark. The Cowboy quickly placed a finger to his ear and motioned, sending all six agents into cover position with rifles aimed down into the black. Sam eyed the way she's come thinking to run but was forestalled when she heard the click of a hammer cocking behind her ear. Green-04 held the gun pointed at Sam's head and time stood still. It stood still for so long that Sam began to wonder if she could leave before The Cowboy called out. "We know you're there! Just come out, already!" His voice echoed off the buildings and vanished into the streets to be swallowed up by the hiss of rubber on pavement and the sizzle of streetlights. He placed his finger against his ear again and Sam could barely make out the words "... priority one ... leverage ... target Hellfire ... backup ... ". The silence was palpable until the cough. "Beg yer pardon, mates." The Scottish brogue cut through the night, followed by the click of hard-soled loafers. A bright, burnt orange glow blazed in the shadows of the alley, down-gun of the Malta agents guarding their prize. All of a sudden Samantha Harris was no longer the center of attention as The Man in Black stepped out into the light. Not a man of great stature, but one that commanded attention. A flat black suit and tie with burnt-orange pinstripes, shirt and shades to match. The Man jammed the black fedora onto his head and stuck the cigar back between his molars before offering a grin. "Mr. McRae! On the order of White-01 you are under arrest! Get on your knees and prepare for immediate detainment!" The Cowboy's Peacemaker was no longer pointed at Sam's head and so she crept out from under her captor's gaze, sidling towards the way she'd come, hoping to escape once more. It seemed like a good plan before she kicked a small plastic cup that rattled and clattered for what seemed like an age. All heads turned and then Samantha Harris was the center of attention once again. She looked past The Cowboy and the Malta agents at The Man in Black. She couldn't see past the lenses of the opaque shades but she knew he winked. And so she ran and the world exploded. Plasma fire echoed in her ears as the world slowed. One step in front of the other as Sam raced down the alleyway towards the street. Men and women screamed in agony behind her. Three more steps and she heard the Peacemaker fire once, twice and then she was almost thrown off her feet as a rush of super-heated air carried her forward in a whirlwind of trash. Sam watched as the rooftops spun above her as she was carried forward by the sharp exhalation. She grasped, finding security in the little lump in her breast pocket as she was propelled forward. Her feet touched the earth again and she willed them forward. It was hard to breath, the air was so hot. And then it was over. Everything was red and blue and white as the buildings spun over and over and before long she heard a voice asking her her name and her date of birth. A warm breeze washed over her before she lost consciousness. Talos Island, July 2023, 1337 EDT, 23°C Samantha Harris watched her son play with the other boys as she sat on the park bench and drank her coffee. This was her favorite time of the week despite the fact that the other moms chided her about drinking a hot drink at this time of year, but ever since that day Sam had never really minded the heat. She looked across the street and caught a glimpse of a man in a flat black suit and smiled to herself as she reached instinctively for the data-drive that wasn't there. He nodded and the cherry of the cigar flared and then he was gone.

Tommy "Two-Times" Fertucci hated a lot of things. He hated pastrami. He hated his brother-in-law. He hated the fact that he had to wear orthotics, but more than all that Tommy hated that he had been burnt. Every time Tommy looked in the mirror and his gaze caressed the warped flesh of his mutilated face his hatred was stoked all the more. He looked down at the back of his melted hand, wrapped around the butt of a Sig Sauer P320. He looked up further, down the iron sights to stare into the opaque shades of The Man in Black, that damned cigar still smoking between his teeth. "Now what, mate?" The Man grinned, drawing on the cigar sending plumes of blue smoke into the night sky. The Scottish brogue echoed off the brick of the surrounding apartment buildings but was overmatched by the sound of slamming windows. "You motherfucker, you got some stugots showin' your face ta me! You scarred me an' you didn't have to. Didn't have to!" Tommy shook the gun in fury as he stared the other man down. "I was just there on a job, on a job!" "An' what of it? Ye took the job didn'ye?" The Man in Black grinned in anticipation and shifted his feet, the black leather loafers scraping at the pavement. And that's when Tommy shot him. The bullet passed through the other man's forehead, throwing him off his feet. A fedora, a cigar and a pair of burnt-orange shades floated upward, twisting and spinning in the air before landing unceremoniously in the gutter. Aside from that, nothing moved for a few moments. The echo of the gunshot disappeared into the ether, no sirens were heard, no dogs barked. Tommy shrugged, turned away and moved to replace the weapon in his shoulder holster and then stopped. The mobster braced himself against a sudden gust of wind that rushed in towards the dead man. As quickly as the wind came it vanished, only to be replaced by a roar. Tommy turned and had to shade his eyes as The Man in Black lifted off the street cradled in the wings of Hellfire. The black, two-piece, three button suit with burnt orange pinstripes was gone and replaced with blackened armour plates of otherworldly origin. His hair, wild and loose floated in the upcurrents, a ragged, scorched and shredded cape hung from his shoulders. The Angel on Fire straightened and folded his arms as he stared down at Tommy Fertucci from sockets dancing with malevolent flame. "How... how did you do that, do that?!" Tommy raised the gun again and this time there was no hesitation. He squeezed the trigger, and then again and again, but the rounds seemed to just splatter as they reached the target, superheated to the point where they were more liquid than solid. "I tol' ye, Tommy. I tol' ye ye should turn yerself in, but ye didnae listen, did ye?" His voice snapped angrily as he spoke, his voice shaking the recently closed apartment windows. "I tol' ye tae turn yerself in, Tommy!" Thunder rolled over Independence Port and Tommy Fertucci closed his eyes against the flash of light. When he opened them, for the last time on Earth it was to the sound of hard soled loafers on pavement. "An' now yer comin' with me, lad." The mobster screamed in agony as The Man in Black gripped his forearm with a bare hand. A portal opened, scarring the street and setting off car alarms. Streetlights flickered and buzzed out while still others flared before bursting. Tommy's screams were heard long into the night after the portal closed and both men were gone. The howls seemed to haunt the neighbourhood in a way they hadn't before, on those other occasions when this community had witnessed this sort of thing. It's almost like Tommy "Two-Times" seemed to scream twice as loud and twice as long as he descended to Hell. Slowly, windows began to open, letting in the cool night air.