Living_Hellfire

I get that, I know what that's like, I go through long dry spells writing as well. I'm glad that there's a chance that I was able to help in some small way!

Well done, mate. Keep it up! Keep writing!

This might be better for the general chat, but if feels "RP" to me. Some of you may have read my writings about Liv which means that those of you who have done so understand my attachment to the character. While I can write about his various exploits and lay out his back story in painfully morbid detail, what I can't do is share the music in my head while I think about him. At least not in a narrative, I lack that talent. Having said that there are certain tracks of music that I associate with Liv very strongly and I would like to know if you feel the same about your "main" character and if so, what are some of those pieces of music? Liv's primary song of province is "My Hero" by the Foo Fighters, particularly the accoustic version which I've posted as a link. The other is fairly specific and has to do with an action piece that I've yet to write, and frankly likely won't, but it's "Renegades of Funk" by Rage Against the Machine. Share with me the pieces of music that immediately make you think of your main character or the characters that are important to you. EDIT - This song, this version specifically was non-stop in my head when I wrote "Fighting Fire with Fire".

Continued From 'Perdition', circa 2008 Earth Time. The Lord of Hell descended from his throne. "I'm so glad that you're willing to hear my offer, nephew." Fergus said nothing as Lucifer slowly sauntered around him, seeming to enjoy every moment for some reason. "I'm going to let you go. You're going to return to the Ground Floor and rejoin your mortal friends. What do you think of that?" Fergus stared, his face impassive, not really understanding what his uncle was saying but the lesson learned in The Pits was clear; Show no weakness and no fear. He remained silent as Lucifer bloviated. "It would seem that you're not welcome Upstairs, as you are keenly aware. It would also be the case that we cannot break you down here either... " He leaned in conspiratorially "which, between you and I was largely the point, if you recall what I told you on our last meeting." He grinned and winked, a habit that Fergus would pick up, though he would never admit it. "Anyway, you can't go Home and you can't stay here, in fact given that you're not welcome in either place I have no choice but to send you back to the Ground Floor. I therefore present to you your first gift, are you ready?" "Get on with it." His uncle smiled slowly as he backed away. He clapped his hands and spread his arms wide "You! Cannot! Die! At least not once this conversation is over! Oh... make no mistake, you will die, over and over again, but you've nowhere to go. You can't go Upstairs and you're sure as shit not welcome Down here anymore, so... guess what? Every time it happens, every time some asshole shoots you or you end up crushed by falling debris or some dickhead crushes your skull or however it is it happens, you'll just be reborn moments later! Isn't that exciting?!" His smile fades to one of smug satisfaction. "You can't die, Fergus. You will never die, not permanently. No matter what you do, no matter what anyone else does to you, you will be reborn within seconds, or at most minutes." Lucifer smacked his lips "You will watch everyone you love age and die. You will witness the end of humanity, and even the end of the very planet that you call home when the sun swallows it billions of years from now. You will be alone. Forever, until the end of time, forsaken and unwanted with no family, no one to call home and nothing to show for it. In fact, you might even outlive me." He chortled to himself as he ascended the dais once more to drape himself across his throne. "You might even outlive Father." The Lord of Hell shrugged. The silence was deafening as Lucifer savoured his vengeance. "Would you like to hear your second gift? It's a doozy..." Fergus glances to his left, seeing the same demon that had dragged him to his cell all that time ago. Snakes for hair, six arms, bristling with scimitars, from the pelvis down a serpent's tail. The Merilith smirked and shimmied, almost seductively. "Go on, then." He replied, returning his gaze to the Fallen Angel on The Throne. "You're gonna love this... Because of your time Downstairs you will now be a conduit on the Ground Floor! Isn't that exciting? You will channel the very essence of Hell with your very touch. You will burn every single thing with which you come into close contact. You will never hold a glass in your hand again, turn a doorknob, eat a sandwich, shake a hand, give a hug... " Lucifer leaned forward "You will never make love ever again. You will destroy every single thing you touch, quite literally." He chuckles to himself "It's enough to make even the likes of Midas jealous, which is frankly my favourite sin, if I'm being honest." Another shit-eating grin. He doesn't show it, but Fergus' heart sinks as he begins to realize his fate. "Finally..." Lucifer motions and the giant, ornate doors rumble open. Fergus turns to see a two and a half foot tall, blood red demonling being shoved into the room. The creature's wings beat rapidly, like a heartbeat as it realized where it was. It turned to seek escape but the doors had already rumbled closed. It screeched its outrage as it pounded its little fists against the ornate doors. "This..." says The Lord of Hell, bringing Fergus' attention back around "... is Screwtape and he is your third and final gift." The demonling turned and following the most basic rules of Hell attacks what he believes to be the weakest target; The human. Taking to the air on little wings he launched himself at Fergus, clearly unaware that he was attacking a Champion of The Pits. Fergus' well-time backhand knocks him out of the air, sending him to the ground sliding towards an ornate plinth where he comes to rest with a groan. The man who would become The Legendary Living Hellfire immediately bends in half, vomiting the entirety of his nearly empty stomach, his soul stretched and thinned, like dough beneath a rolling pin. In his peripheral vision Fergus notices the demonling doing the same, the stench of bile and half-digested stomach contents permeates the air. "And so it is done." Grins Lucifer "You are now soul-bound. Your third and final gift, nephew!" He stands again, descending the dais to get a closer view of his victory. It seems clear that he has cherished this moment, nurtured it, even orchestrated it. "He will be with you for as long as your first gift allows, Fergus. Oh..." he continues "You might kill him, destroy him, snap his neck, burn him to ash, stab him, dismember him... whatever... but he now suffers the same fate as you. He cannot die, he will always reappear, he will always be at your back, slashing at your tendons, hampering your movements and making your life miserable, the way you made mine miserable. Didn't you?!" The braziers flash with Enraged Angel's fury. The Demonling whimpers. Lucifer masters his temper. Not for the first time Fergus notices the key swinging on the chain around his uncle's neck, like a pendant. He had seen it on his first visit but didn't realize its significance until he had reached The Pits and heard tell of it. He had listened in as his fellow gladiators had spoken in hushed tones about a Key. They had called it The Key to the Room of Many Doors and it allowed Lucifer to teleport to any place. Fergus glanced left again, noting the Merilith, then right where stood a mighty, armoured Glabrezu. A plan began to form. Reaching through his newly formed bond with the disgusting little creature he relayed his intent. Screwtape was less than impressed, but agreed given the lack of other options. Screwtape slowly climbed to his feet, whimpering and holding himself cross-armed. "I reject yer offer, Uncle. I'd jes' as soon stay here, tae be honest." "My boy... it's not yours to reject or otherwise, the deal is done. You had no choice in any of this. You never did." The joviality and feigned familial affection fades from the face of the Lord of Hell as he approached, standing toe-to-toe with Fergus "You are not welcome, Angziel. You are an abomination. You are Nephilim!" The final word shaking the room with the rage of the the Forsaken Son's words. Angziel, born to Molly McRae and son of Kadziel, Opener of Ways stood impassive in the face of his uncle's rage. "I thought ye'd say that." His right hand gripped the chain around his uncle's neck, hauling downwards. Fergus extended his left hand towards the Merilith unleashing a blazing bolt of concentrated Hellfire, slicing her in two at the waist and destroying a burning brazier which spilled onto the floor igniting various detritus, the start of what would later be called "The Ignition" amongst Locals, a tale told of how one mortal started a rebellion. The stream of Hellfire continued its arc burning most of the way through a support column holding up the roof of the chamber as the blast went by. The chamber rumbled. Pressing inwards into the new bond he shared with Screwtape, he gave the signal for the little demon to drive into the lower tendons of the Glabrezu standing guard to the right Screwtape's charge would also be a tale told in the quiet recesses of Hell for some time. The demonling, pressed by an influence he had never experienced beat his wings once, twice, thrice and took to the air while his new Nephilim master grappled with The Devil. Coursing around an ornate column he latched onto the calve of the Glabrezu guard, tearing into muscle and tendon with claw and tooth. The Tanar'ri roared, distracted from his purpose of guarding his master and swung around but to no avail. Screwtape scrambled up the demon's leg to the buttocks taking a sizeable chunk before the Glabrezu got wise and tried smashing himself backwards into a pillar. Screwtape was having none of it, circling inside the larger demon's thigh he took the Glabrezu's entire genital package in his fanged mouth and bit down. The demon roared in agony, slamming all four fists down at his attacker only to mash an already twisted and perforated area for Screwtape was no longer there. Lucifer grabbed his nephew by the throat and gasped in agony as he drew his hand back, realizing his mistake. His second gift was already in effect, any physical contact would result in immolation. A prisoner of his own jewelry and unable to defend himself physically he staggered back and forth as his nephew dragged him to and fro. Fergus' grip slowly burning through the chain that held The Key to The Room of Many Doors. With a final twist of his hips Angziel, son of Kadziel flung his uncle into yet another support column. Holding onto the still disintegrating chain around his uncle's neck Fergus paused a moment, holding him close. He watched, pitilessly as his second gift seemed to melt his father's brother, flesh sliding off his face, bones and muscle mass expanding and cooking with the proximity "How much time do I have tae decide, Uncle? Are ye certain this is the deal ye'd like tae strike?" They both turned their heads to watch as Screwtape scurried out from the torch-light of a nearby plinth, his six inch claws scrabbling along the stone as he charged his foe, clawing his way up the Glabrezu's right leg, along its back to stand on its shoulder. Four inch talons dragged their way across the face of the minor Demon Lord, blinding it with sickening twin popping sounds. The Glabrezu roared its outrage. Without answering The Lord of Hell ripped the key from the chain and drove it into his nephew's chest. The Celestial key tore open Angziel's flesh and bone, settling itself into just behind where his sternum might be, assuming it hadn't been shattered by the blow. Fergus staggered back, breathless. He coughed, the blood spattering on the marble floor. Like a statue toppled, the Nephilim fell over onto his back and breathed his last. There is a splat as Screwtape's corpse hits the marbled floor and rolls into the centre of the room, as thrown by the maimed and whimpering larger demon. The glabrezu leaned against the column, his shuddering gasps of pain rivaling the sharp inhalation of his master as The Lord of Hell slowly straightens and turns back towards his throne. This had not been a good day, and it was about to get worse. The corpse of his nephew began to burn. It was subtle at first, as the King of Hell ascended his throne. The edges of his nephew's corpse ignited slowly, tiny flames dancing their way around the edges. Embers formed. Embers became cinders that danced in the torchlight. Flesh became ash while Lucifer watched in horror, finally understanding the curse he had laid upon himself in his wickedness. Angziel's first Gift made itself apparent as he rose from the ashes, whole and unharmed, floating above the marble floor. "Thank ye, Uncle, I'll remember this gift all the days o'me life." He grinned and winked and acessing the Key to the Room of Many Doors now buried in his chest, Fergus dashed towards an open flame and the tiny demonling followed.

The Legendary Living Hellfire descended from the heavens over Sharkhead Isle, leaving a trail of orange flame in his wake. He slowed his descent, the pressure wave from the broken sound barrier collapsing returning to his ears the snapping of his shredded cape and the crackling of his flaming trail as it ripped the sky apart behind him. Casually performing a low-and-over over The Crush he noticed the guards for the Cage Consortium reaching for their radios as opposed to their weapons. Not one to fire first, Liv let them be but noticed that one guard in particular was smirking slightly as he finished his exchange over the air. As Liv descended a little more, testing the tolerance of the guards he noticed that the smirking guard wasn't looking at him so much as past him. 2,500 hundred pounds of scorpion shaped cyborg smashed down on top of The Man on Fire, sending him tumbling and twisting through the air. The first thing he heard was his spine snapping and the second thing he heard the was Black Scorpion's rumbling laughter and the hissing, hollow sound of Ghost Widow's voice "You'd best pray you didn't kill him..." Everything went black. *** He awoke strapped to a table, staring at the ceiling of what could only be a laboratory or workshop of some kind. He looked down at himself. He was still armoured, his cape bundled up behind him as a makeshift pillow. His wrists and ankles clamped tightly with an all too familiar looking metal ore. In fact, the entire gurney upon which he lay seemed to be constructed with it which would explain why it wasn't already ashes. He caught a glimpse of himself in the reflective surface of a surgical tray that had been propped up. Long, burnt red hair, disheveled and splayed across his face, twin flames capering and dancing, one in each eye-socket. "Ah, good, you're awake, Mr. McRae" said a light, effeminate and somewhat frenetic sounding voice. "I see you've come to understand your predicament quite well." A goggled face with wild black hair leaned over him. He giggled. "Oh, not to worry, Mr. McRae I think you'll find your bindings quite secure, quite secure indeed! No need to try to burn through anything, even if you wanted to which I understand is often not the case, but that's a conversation for another time." That manic giggle again as he tapped the bindings on his prisoner's wrist. "Yep, you guessed it, Infernite, harvested from the very shores of the Lake of Perdition itself! And don't think I'm not also aware of that little key in your chest, you know the one I mean." One magnified eye winks grotesquely "What do you call it, again? Ah, yes... the key to The Room of Many Doors. You won't find any shadows to pop through here, Mr. McRae, no you will not!" Liv dropped his head back onto his cape/pillow, sighing, wishing Black Scorpion had just killed him. This would be vastly easier if that had been the case. "Doctor Feckin' Aeon... what is this about then, ye gobshite." He coughed the last word, feeling a stabbing pain in his chest. Clearly it wasn't just his back that was broken. He still couldn't feel his legs. "Oh, I'm not your adversary, Mr. McRae, not at all, nope, nope, nope!" The madman capered about his lab, fiddling with this tool or that. "At least not this time. This time, I'm just the delivery man. It would seem that you've caught the attention of- " he pointed up. Liv stared at the ceiling, confused. "Y'mean, Upstairs?" Aeon paused, "Upsta... no! Lord Recluse! He wishes to speak with you!" A light flashed on a panel "Ah, it would appear your ride has arrived." With that the door to the lab hissed open admitting five young women in green, skin-tight fatigues, swords strapped to the backs and swagger in their steps. Knives of Artemis. Mercenaries and glorified murderers. "This him?" asked The Hand. "Yes, oh, yes! Secured and ready for transport!" The Hand waved the four Blades forward before Dr. Aeon blurted "Ah... just one thing... don't kill him. Whatever you do, do not kill him." "Yeah, yeah, doc we know Lord Recluse wants him alive." "That's... not exactly what I mean, just... don't kill him." The Hand waved him off and out the door they went, hauling The Legendary Living Hellfire strapped ignominiously to a gurney. *** It's a short flight but a long drive to Grandville from Sharkhead Isle. The armoured truck bounced and jiggled its way to the ferry, sending stabbing pain into the top half of Liv's body, the only half in which there was any sensation whatsoever. Futilely he continued to try to channel Hellfire through the Infernite bindings but to no avail. He realized that the only way out of this was to die. He briefly considered engaging the Knives to see if he could provoke them to kill him but discarded the idea, largely because he was curious about what it was that would make Lord Recluse go through all this trouble. More bouncing, more jiggling until finally the truck rolled to a stop, the rubber tires hissing their submission to the blacktop, the squeak of air as the parking brake engaged. Without a word and with the professionalism of any EMT the Knives kicked open the back doors and rolled the gurney out, the legs expanding and locking into place with a soft click. This was the back entrance of Recluse's tower, in the alley on the North side of the building, opposite Grandville square. He remained silent as the young women wheeled him through a service entrance, down a hall and into a commercial elevator which then hummed as it climbed the tower. "Y'know what?" Asked The Hand as she leaned over her prisoner "After all my sisters that you sent to Elysium I should actually kill you." she hissed at him. "Ach, would ye be so kind, lass? Please do the honours, it would make all o' this quite a bit easier on both of us." He grinned. She snorted "Not like this. If you survive what happens next I will find you on the battlefield and I will take your head." "Have it yer way, lass." He winked one flaming eye. The doors dinged open, another hall, another set of doors until finally they reached the throne room. He was wheeled to the centre of the room, feet first towards an enormous throne upon which sat Lord Recluse himself. He was a big man, well over six feet tall, burly and encased in armour. His six cybernetic appendages folded into the themselves as the tyrant lounged casually. "Ah, Mr. McRae, so good of you to join us. Ladies, your payment awaits, please see Arbiter Finch on the way out." The Hand of Artemis nodded curtly and motioned for her lieutenants to follow, the door hissed closed behind them as Lord Recluse rose to his feet. "I do apologize for this, Mr. McRae but sometimes Mr. Rodriguez can be a little... over-zealous, shall we say?" The villain smiled sympathetically. Liv rolled his head left to find Black Scorpion leaning his shoulder against the wall. The cyborg pressed his hand to his lower back and winced in pain, mocking the injury. "Aye, well he an' I'll have our own palaver about that at some point, but I- " He coughed blood as he spoke, it spackled and smeared against his cheek and beard "I would like tae say that the gentle, guidin' hands o'Ghost Widow were most appreciated." He rolled his head right to take in the undead woman "E'en if she does look like a refugee from a Type O Negative concert. Tell me, are they still big with the kiddos? How much traffic is yer Myspace account gettin' these days?" The woman hissed at the insult. A deep, rasping voice from behind him shouted "FIRE MAN BE NICE TO MISTRESS!" The Legendary Living Hellfire paused. Wretch. Wretch was in the room. A plan began to form. "I think that's enough pleasantries for now, Mr. McRae, would you like me share with you why I've gone through this enormous expense and effort to bring you here, as my guest?" "I couldnae give a shite, Stevie." This time the blood was a deliberate projectile, landing about eighteen inches from Lord Recluse's feet. It sizzled and smoked as it burnt through the exquisitely polished marble. The Tyrant's eyes flashed with anger as he worked his jaw, mastering his rage at the insults both in his ears and marring his floor. "Good luck buffin' that out, ye wanker!" Liv chuckled, sending him into another fit of bloody, wet coughs. "ENOUGH!" Raged The Spider King, descending from his dais. "Your insolence does you no service, Mr. McRae! We know you've been in contact with the Freedom Phalanx and that they've offered you membership!" He took a breath, once again controlling his anger. "You will divulge to me what they offered you, as well as your answer." The predatory smile returned to his face "Before, of course, you hear my counter-offer." "I told'em the same thing I'll tellin' ye. Are ye ready?" The man on the gurney, surrounded by arch-villains grinned. "Go feck yerself... Stevie." "My Lord," Began Ghost Widow, her voice like wind through dead leaves, "He will not cooperate, we must contain him, we have the chamber prepared. It will sustain his life without ending it and he will no longer be a threat." Recluse held up a hand for silence, his rancor at Liv's impertinence almost palpable.. "Nay, Stevie, she's quite correct, I'll nae cooperate with ye, ye'd best let the trollop take me tae me room without supper!" He rolled his head right to address Ghost Widow directly "That is what ye do when the men in your life disappoint, aye? Ye enslave'em, like poor Paolo? Insae that right... Belladonna?" Ghost Widow hissed and darted forward only to stop suddenly, her mouth a perfect 'O' shape as she stared down at the blade impaling her. The thing about Infernite is that it counter-acts Hellfire, but it's useless against Celestial Fire. It's as though someone has hit a 'pause' button as everyone takes a moment to register what's just happened. Belladonna Vetrano, also known as Ghost Widow stares down at the six feet of Celestial Gladius so named LightFire running her through. She follows the flaming blade up to the hilt, staring at the hand of the man who has just wounded her so grievously. He releases his grip on the hilt of the Heavenly blade and it extinguishes, forcing her to collapse. She'll "survive" such as she does, the way any undead being "survives" any wound. She knows it, The Legendary Living Hellfire knows it and so does everyone else in the room. With one exception. "FIRE MAN HURT MISTRESS!! RAARRGH!!" Five things happen, very quickly and in the following order. Black Scorpion identifies the landscape of the situation and ducks quickly out of the room. Lord Recluse reaches out, seemingly in slow motion, his mouth forming the word 'no'. Ghost Widow collapses and dissolves into ether, passing through the floor to heal. Wretch charges the Infernite gurney, bringing his enormous fists down upon his target, shattering the entire assembly. Finally, The Legendary Living Hellfire grins and dies, smashed to a pulp. *** "You imbecile!" Screams Lord Recluse. Wretch looks up at his king, his massive fists dripping with blood and viscera. "Have you any idea what you've just done?!" The Spider King flicks open a panel on the wall behind his throne and slams his hand against the button revealed. The tower erupts into alarms. "FIRE MAN HURT MISTRESS?" "Yes, 'fire man hurt mistress'" Lord Recluse mocked "And now 'fire man' is going to hurt us all!" Wretch is confused, staring down at the gooey mass at his feet. He has only a moment to register the embers that burn to cinders that flicker to life as the remains of his victim turn slowly to ash. He looks up, hoping to find some answer from his Mistress' Master but finds nothing but a hidden door closing behind the massive throne as Lord Recluse flees. Wretch steps back, whimpering "Mistress?" The throne room is immediately ablaze as The Legendary Living Hellfire rises from the ashes, whole and uninjured. The concussive force of his resurrection blows Wretch out the enormous, gaudy stained glass window on the South side of the building and he lands as a pulpy, blackened mess in Grandville square. Pedestrians and on-lookers look up, witnessing the angry inferno engulfing a room that most if not all have never seen, but that all know is the throne room of their ruler. Glass and molten rock shaken loose by the explosion rain down on the citizens of Grandville, forcing them to find cover as a streak of burnt orange Hellfire rockets into the heavens, the sonic boom shattering glass and eardrums alike.

Circa 2013 The Man in Black was on time and he knew it as he lounged against the corner of a building across the street from a non-descript warehouse in Peregrine Island. He puffed his cigar once, twice and then flicked it onto the pavement, the embers splashing in the cool night air, contrasted by the little puddles of the recently fallen rain. The only witnesses are the streetlamps glaring down impartially as he crosses the blacktop. As he presents himself at the main entrance of the warehouse he is aware of the high-mounted camera following his progress. He slows to a stop in front of the door and from a speaker set into the wall beside the door there is an automated voice. "Fergus McRae, also known as The Legendary Living Hellfire. You are granted admittance. Please enjoy your visit." The Man in Black smirks, knowing full well that this is hardly a neighbourly visit. Not after all this time, not after all he's done. They wouldn't want to see him at this stage if they didn't want something. The door opens to reveal not a lobby, nor a front loading bay that one might expect of a warehouse. Instead, it's an elevator. He steps inside. There is the inevitable and predictable humming as the lift descends, reaching its stop after a moment or two. The doors hiss open revealing a familiar face covered by goggles, skin-tight suit all red and violet. "Hi!-I'm-Synapse-nice-to-meet-you-welcome-to-the-HQ-I'm-supposed-to-guide-you-to-the-meeting-but-can-I-just-say-how-pleased-I-am-to-meet-you-..." at this point listening to the young man becomes like drinking from a fire hose. The Man in Black finds himself nodding along with the rapid-fire patter of the established hero as he strides along at an inhuman walking speed. The high velocity rambling continues as they walk past security gates with steely-eyed guards and more cameras than there are sticks to shake at them. Gated detector after gated detector, to the point where The Man begins to wonder how much of this security is for show and how much is real. This is the Freedom Phalanx, how much security do they truly need? Corridor after corridor, elevator after elevator as he endured Steven Barry's verbal onslaught. A statement followed by a question followed by an observation, none of which allowed any time whatsoever for a response. The Man in Black followed. "-so-anyway-I-found-the-Trolls-hunkered-in-the-cellar-and-they-were-loaded-for-bear-and-I-just..." "Enough!" The Man stopped, his shoulder dropping slightly. "Enough, mate... I cannae unnerstand a single feckin' werd ye've said" Steve Barry looks somewhat crestfallen "I'm sorry... I talk fast when I'm excited." "It's quite alright, lad, I unnerstand yer enthusiasm, it's jes' hard tae keep up." he pauses, recognizing that he's hurt the younger man's feelings. "Yer a good bloke an' I ken ye mean well, it's jes' a wee bit much, aye? I didnae mean any harm, it's jes'... a lot." Synapse nods, mollified slightly but his embarrassment is clear. The Man in Black would recall his teacher's training and recognize that he failed this young man in that moment in that he did not give him the attention that he needed. They arrive at a door. It's always a door. The hallways is a pristine white. The floor is white, the ceiling is white, the door before which they stand is white. It hisses open revealing a council chamber complete with the V-shaped council table. A lone, armless chair sits square and centre, facing forward at the apex of the table at which sits none other than Marcus Cole, Statesman himself. Synapse is already seated at the far left of the table, doing his very best to appear relaxed. From left to right around the table are Synapse, a bundle of nervous energy. Next is Dr. Raymond Keyes in his metal suit, followed by Citadel the android. From right to left are Michael White, also known as the Back Alley Brawler, an enormous man in a tiny chair followed by Shalice Tillman Sinclair and her husband, the rich socialite Justin Sinclair, Sister Psyche and Manticore. Statesman rises from his throne at the head of the table and motions to the chair obviously meant for The Man in Black. "Fergus McRae, it's a pleasure to finally meet you! Please, join us.". The Man in Black grins back at Paragon City's foremost Hero, reaching into his breast pocket producing a cigar. "Aye, a pleasure tae finally make yer acquaintance." He nods to the assembled heroes, jamming the cigar into his mouth, the cherry burning immediately. He saunters slowly toward the chair indicated and casually shoves it with his toe on his way past towards the apex of the table. "Smoking is not permitted in this room". The Man in Black ignores Positron as he approaches the internal apex of the table, standing a respectful distance from The Throne he hauls deeply on the cigar, blowing a plume of smoke into the ceiling of the room. The chair continues its roll, as though fleeing the scenario entirely of its own volition. "So yer Marcus Cole, then?" The Man asks. "Yer the leader o'this wee outfit what apparently does very little tae aid the folks o'this wee city?" Statesman pulls himself up to his full height, the smell of ozone in the air. "In this room you will address me as Statesman, Mr. McRae. Please allow me to remind you where you stand. You were invited here as a courtesy." The Man in Black grins and takes the cigar from his mouth, letting it hang from his fingers as he turns slowly back towards the centre of the chamber. "Aye? An' what courtesy is that, Marcus?" He asks pointedly, jamming the cigar back into his mouth, the smoke rising above his hat like a halo. "Ye've clearly done yer homework on who I am, but ye ferget that I was a teacher. I've done me own homework on who ye all are, what ye can do an' so forth. Moreover, I ken jes' fine when I've been called tae the principal's office." He pauses, turning slowly to address the room. "D'ye ye reckon' I dinnae ken a trial when I see it? It's hardly me first." Justin Sinclair clears his throat, his bow cornered against his chair as he leans forward on his elbows, his fingers interlaced on the polished oak. "Mr. McRae I think we've gotten off on the wrong foot. We've asked you here to discuss with you some of the wonderful work you've done in protecting the citizens of this city and, in fact our very reality as we know it." The Man in Black stands motionless waiting for Manticore to continue his placation. "Largely due to the work of Dr. Keyes and Citadel we have analyzed your productivity. Your interventions have all been excellent with high praise from the media and witnesses, your civilian death rate is quite low, surprisingly so given your skill-set and abilities. Even your social media mentions are favourable. Mr. McRae this is not a trial or a a call to disciplinary action, we asked you here in the hope that you would join us." There is a brief pause. "No." That smell of ozone again. "Why?" asks Statesman, still on his feet, his arms folded. The Man in Black draws on his cigar, this time blowing the smoke directly at the apex of the table. "Because ye called me 'Mr. McRae' an' very few folk have the right er privilege o'callin' me that er any other name. Ye dinnae care about me er what I b'lieve. Ye only care about what I can do an' ye wish tae leash me like a dog behind yer precognistic algorithms about probabilistic outcomes." "Make nae mistake, I reckon ye meant well when ye started out an' I've had me encounters with various malefactors, as ye've so ably communicated." With a nod to Positron and Citadel "However, ye've made a critical error, Marcus." "And what's that, exactly, Mr. McRae?" "Ye've corporatized bein' a superhero. Ye've made it an establishment issue an' profession. Ye've established yerself as a resource tae be at least respected by an' at werst funded by public money." The Man motions around him at the impressive conference room ensconced deep within the bowels of the city. "Yer nae interested in aidin' folk, ye jes' wish tae maintain yer reputation. Ye dinnae care a lick fer the average bloke, the average firefighter, police officer er fast-food worker. Ye allow these cretins tae invade yer city, the city ye were sworn tae defend because intervenin' in this er that incursion might harm yer image." The silence is deafening. "An that goes fer all o'ye." The Man in Black scans the table. "O'er the years I've aided all o'ye with yer various tasks an' errands an' nae one time have I see ye engage in defence o'this city! Ye stand at yer posts, crossin' yer arms, baskin' in yer authority an' reputation accomplishin' nothin'." "I'll nae join this band o'layabouts." *** The Man in Black steps into the cool evening, the sky above him welcome and inviting. The Legendary Living Hellfire steps lightly into the air, welcoming the lightning as it strikes from the Heavens. A burnt orange streak of Hellfire carves its way into the night sky.

Engine 5 screamed past pulled over traffic on the freeway in Skyway City, lights and sirens. The noise in the truck is deafening, but not so much so that the mobile affixed to the dashboard was drowned out. "Engine five from Dispatch" Captain Norm Smith reached for the hand-held, pulling it out of its cradle as the rig bounced down the road in what could only be called a 'controlled fall towards danger'. He glanced at his operator in the driver's seat to his left as he brought the hand-piece to his mouth. A senior man on the department, Gavin Gilchrist was as solid as they came. Captain Smith noticed Firefighter Gilchrist's eyes flick to the mobile, but made no other indication he had even noticed the transmission. Norm thought to himself in that moment, and not for the first time that Gilchrist would make an excellent officer. "This is Engine five, go ahead, dispatch" "Engine five you are responding on a high priority to a reported working fire at 528 Washington, cross-streets of Delaware and Fourth. Multiple crews on location reporting flames visible sides 1, 3 and 4. Reports of civilians trapped. Car 20 is in command, car 40 is fire control. Please be advise that you have been assigned as RIT." "Engine five copies, responding." Captain Smith replaces the hand-piece in its cradle, grimacing to himself. RIT stands for Rapid Intervention Team and is the crew assigned to assist in the event that a firefighter requires rescue within an emergent scenario. It was largely a boring job that required standing around waiting for something to happen that rarely ever did. He looks back to his crew, Howard "Duck" Marsden and Talia Swayne. Both rookies. The turn-over at PCFD has been high the past few years. The inferno loomed in the distance as Gavin took the off-ramp, black smoke and open flame were the order of the day. **** Engine five pulled up to scene, spilling out all four members. Captain Smith and Firefighters Swayne and Marsden swaggered away while Firefighter Gilchrist took his post at the Engine control panel to the rear of the cab. The radio chatter almost constant as crews reported progress to fire control. Captain Smith led his members to the accountability board, passing in their tags so that they could be counted amongst the crew assigned to various tasks. The building itself was fully involved. Flames showing from multiple floors on no less than three sides. There was an urgency in the air that wasn't normal. Working fires, even in large, multi-unit residential buildings weren't uncommon, but what was uncommon was that people were trapped and in very real danger of life and limb. As horrifying as it might be to be burnt alive, not being burnt alive and having to suffer through the process of recovery from severe burns was worse. Not to mention the slow asphyxiation that comes with carbon monoxide poisoning as a result of exposure and inhalation of smoke. Captain Smith understood after 25 years on the job that his role as RIT commander at this particular fire carried a weight that it hadn't at most other fires. His brothers and sisters were at real risk because they would be inclined to take chances that they normally wouldn't in order to save people in real danger. Norm gathered his crew, briefing them on what he knew at the time, the radio screaming with the voices of firefighters both within and without the building, calling for reports, asking for windows to be taken out for ventilation, asking for progress updates and so forth. As he reached for the radio on his belt to turn down the volume, the Mandown alarm came in. A keening, warbling wail that signaled that a firefighter was in distress. The radio cuts off and the channel dedicates itself to the transmission, uninterruptable and insistent as the 12 second LIPA is transmitted. "Sixth Floor! Firefighter Moore! Trapped behind a collapsed ceiling, require immediate rescue! Will attempt to to self-protect and await rescue!" Captain Smith was cool as ice. He glanced briefly at his crew to ensure that they had their RIT packs secure and motioned them forward at a brisk, yet unhurried pace. His pulse raced, but he wouldn't dare show it to his crew. They needed him and he needed them. What he didn't need, or so he thought was an intrusion. "Beg yer pardon, mate." "I don't have time, sir! Please step back behind the line!" Barks the officer as he strides past. "I dinnae think ye unnerstand, I can aid ye." Out of curiosity at the brazenness of his addressor, Norm spins on his feet as he continues toward the building, just out of curiosity as to who would be bothering him in this moment. It's a red haired man in a flat black suit, burnt orange pin-stripes, a fedora atop his head, a cigar in his mouth. He couldn't be more out of place. Captain Smith stops and almost gawps at the gall of the man. "I told you to step behind the line!" The Man in Black grins and rolls the cigar between his teeth from the left side of his mouth to the right. "Mate, I ken ye've a man in distress." He motions to the burning building "That's of nae danger tae yers truly. Tell me where yer man is an' I'll aid ye in rescuin' him." That grin. Again. Norm Smith is no dummy. He knows where he lives, he knows what his reality is and he now recognizes that this is no ordinary civilian, but time is of the essence and he must affect rescue as soon as possible. He waves his crew forward towards side one entrance of the building, finding himself briefing a total stranger in a bespoke suit about fire rescue. He would later consider this the strangest day on the job in his life. "Firefighter Moore is trapped on the sixth floor in an unknown unit of this building." He shouts over the sound of the radio, the roar of the two and a half inch hoses hitting the building from the outside and the almost deafening sound of the raging fire consuming the building itself. "He is behind a collapsed ceiling and he's believe to be on side 2 of the building, but we cannot confirm." The fire crew and The Man in Black step over the coiled hoses stretching into the lobby of the building. "We have elevator control but it's being used to facilitate crew relief, so we have to take the stairs." Captain Smith looks back to find The Man standing at the threshold to the building. As he places his hand on the door to stairwell A he calls back "Are you coming, or not?" The Man in Black grins that same grin, taking the cigar from his mouth, flicking it out onto the pavement. "I'll meet ye up there, mate!" and disappears. At some point in the next few days Firefighter Swayne asks her captain if he heard the clap of thunder from outside just shortly after that exchange. *** The first flight of Stairwell A was very different than the second flight. The fire had clearly started on the second floor and was well established by the time Engine 5 had arrived. It was an old fire and it was angry and hungry and fire always burns up. "RIT team from command" Captain Smith reaches for the lapel mic "Command, RIT" His voice muffled over the radio from the SCBA mask. "RIT what's your status?" "We're just passing the fourth floor in Stairwell A. Smoke conditions are heavy, heat is high. We're making good progress." Norm glanced back at his crew, taking a moment of pride in how firefighters Marsden and Swayne were keeping up with their high-rise packs and SCBA tanks. There were no finer firefighters in the world than Station 5 of the PCFD. Opening the door to the sixth floor was like opening the door to Hell. The entire hallway was fully involved, from the carpet runner on the floor to the wallpaper, to the light fixtures to the spackled ceiling. The mandown sounded again on the radio, screeching its urgency. "Sixth Floor! Firefighter Moore! High heat conditions, flashover imminent, require immediate rescue!" Firefighter Moore's prophecy turned out true as a pocket of oxygen from a neighbouring apartment lit, blowing the door out of the unit, slamming itself into the opposite wall. The roaring inferno consuming all the air within the hallway and rushing towards the crew of Engine five as they stood huddled against the door to Stairwell A. Captain Smith instinctively tried to shield his crew against the blast, knowing in those deep parts of his heart that his effort would ultimately be futile before they were consumed entirely. But it didn't come. Norm Smith opened his eyes to see The Man in Black standing between him and a roiling inferno. The Man seemed unconcerned, even smug as he somehow simply blocked the raging fire with his presence. That damn cigar still gripped between his teeth, the cherry glowing brighter than ever. "Ye'd best hurry, Captain!" The Man whispered, somehow audible in the cacophony. Engine five crew charged left and down the hall unencumbered while the inferno raged behind them, slowly creeping up. They checked door after door, giving the all clear every time until they reached apartment 614. The outside of the door was black, charred and warped. It took very little time to beat it down and upon entering the unit the crew of Engine five found their lost man. Huddled behind the charred remains of a frightfully inexpensive couch was Firefighter Andrew Moore. Unfortunately he was trapped behind the collapsed ceiling he had initially reported in his first mandown. Now there was a new problem. Firefighter Moore was trapped behind a collapsed assemblage of drywall, wood and melted concrete all of which was entirely ablaze. Without order, the crew of Engine five unlatched their fire axes and halogen tools to dismantle the obstacle to rescue their fallen brother. "Command from RIT" "Go ahead RIT, this is command" "We have made contact with Firefighter Moore and are affecting rescue at this time, however he is trapped behind a significant obstacle. We are attempting to breach this obstacle at this time in order to bring him to safety." "Command copies, RIT please advise if you require additional assets as well as further updates on progress." Norm Smith inhales deeply, his exhale fogging the interior of his SCBA mask as he unlatches his own halogen. "May I be o'service, Captain?" That voice again, that damned Scottish bastard who thinks he can just walk in and out of a fire scene. Annoyed to the point of distraction, Captain Smith just simply gestures to the obstacle before them. The Man in Black steps into the apartment unit, that grin still on his face. How he could just simply walk about a burning building in a fancy suit and tie, that stupid hat on his head and not even have so much as a char mark on him, Norm Smith would never understand. But there he was, in fancy civvies waving Engine five crew aside. It was at that moment that Captain Smith understood who this man was. He watched as The Legendary Living Hellfire held out a hand and manifested a burnt orange blade of Celestial Fire. The temperature in the already burning building spiked. The Man dropped the blade onto the mass of twisted rebar and concrete trapping Firefighter Moore, severing it in the middle. He stepped back extinguishing the blade, allowing Engine five crew to do their work of clearing the debris. *** Engine five crew staggers out of the elevator on the ground floor. Standby EMTs are there to catch Firefighter Moore as Firefighters Swayne and Marsden collapse in exhaustion. On their trip down the elevator from the sixth floor Captain Smith heard command declare the "under control" but couldn't understand why given the state of the sixth floor when they arrived. Leaning against the command vehicle is a man in a black suit with burnt orange pinstripes. He winks behind opaque orange shades and then is gone.

Circa 2009 The phone buzzed on the end-table, snatched up immediately. "Echm... Hello?" "Constable Chris Williamson?" "Yes" "Constable, this is Audrey Kline with a priority directive for forced overtime as issued by the Commissioner's office. You are directed to report to your depot at Talos Island immediately for crowd control and public safety due to a Rikti incursion." A pause... "I understand." **** The police depot in Talos Island was mayhem. The desk sergeant was beyond help, frantically attempting to triage phone calls from incoming senior officers demanding information, while at the same time attempting to direct inbound police members to their assigned duties. Constable Williamson didn't even bother trying to engage them, instead navigating the tide of fellow police as they rushed to and from various assignations he lifted his head in an attempt to find someone who might be able to give him some indication of what was happening. "Hey, kid" "Charlie!" Chris exclaimed. Charlie Taylor stood at Chris' shoulder, the very picture of poise and operational control. Chris assumed he was about 50 or so, but never asked, figured it wasn't his business. "What's going on, Charlie? Something about a Rikti incursion? I thought that was all handled. Why is this happening now, almost ten years after the fact?" The older man shrugged, offering a grin "Does it really matter? We've been called to duty, we have civilians to protect and defend. Just follow orders and you'll be fine." *** Just to the North of the train station in Talos Island is a hill. It offers a wide panorama from all sides. The Warriors and Tsoo had predictably vacated the area leaving an unobstructed view of the obvious kill-box. Constable Chris Williamson had been assigned to hold the Talos Hill against the incursion and, given that he was not a stupid man understood immediately that he was the bait for the trap. Sgt. Taylor seemed to sense this as they mounted the hill, giving him a wink. The hill itself was relatively peaceful. The sandbags were shorn up, it was organized and the police contingent were well-placed and aimed downhill. The PCPD ring about the top of the hill was armed with C8 fully automatic assault rifles capable of firing eight hundred 5.56 ACP rounds a minute at thirty-two hundred feet per second. Steely-eyed and prepared for battle, the men and women on that hill were informed and prepared. It began the way these things always begin, unexpectedly. Energy drinks were tossed to the ground, granola bars were dropped and weapons were gripped. "Drop your weapons and surrender!" shouted Captain Patel. "You will be treated humanely and with respect but if you behave aggressively we will open fire!" The Rikti opened fire. The PCPD fired back. The rounds bounced, almost as though the Rikti had prepared their personal force-fields against ballistic rounds. Chris watched as his fellow officers were mowed down by energy weapons. Huddled behind the sand bags he happened to glance skywards, catching a glimpse of something he almost recognized as flame. "Where's the Freedom Phalanx!?" He screams to his senior officer. Charlie shruggs, having no answer. "Why are Citadel and Luminary just standing there, Charlie?" "I don't fucking know, Chris! Alright!" The fear in Sgt. Taylor's eyes are more than apparent now to the junior officer. "We were given orders and we will follow them, do you understand, Constable?!" The keening sound in the air increased. "Yes, sir!" Cried the officer as he leveled his rifle and took aim. There's nothing quite like the sound barrier being broken. It's a horrendous sound that can shatter eardrums and windows alike, and indeed it did. The windows of nearby buildings erupted, splashing inwards to destroy lobbies and very expensive couches. Cars immediately erupt into intrusion alarms, screaming their distress and the police officers on that hill in Talos Island wearing ear-plugs and ear defenders slam their hands to their ears as Hellfire erupts from the heavens to rain down from the sky along the Eastern side of the hill. A torrent of flame and destruction floods down onto the Rikti, obliterating their Eastern advance to the Hill. Armour melts and the sound of digital cries of anguish and pain flood the radio traffic, forcing the police whose channels had been co-opted by the invading force, to slam their hands to their ears once more. A carpet of Hellfire, hotter than any flame drapes its way across the invaders, forcing them to their knees as The Man on Fire climbs into the sky, gaining altitude and banking right, leaving the melted mass in his wake. The officers atop the hill are forced to shield their faces from the heat as the smell of charred flesh and superheated alien metals permeate the air. Sgt. Taylor recognizes the tactical advantage immediately, shouting "All officers to the North end!" Without hesitation all officers shift, slamming their shoulders into the sandbags against the North end of the Hill. Portals open in the parking lot next to the Infront Steakhouse and Rikti climb through. The ensuing gunfire is deafening once more. Support officers rush to supply front-line members with additional ammunition while medics drag casualties from the front line with the desperate hope that they might be able to save them from energy burns. "Hold!" Screams Sgt. Taylor, as the keening in the sky begins again. Chris has no time to deliberate or argue, the Rikti are climbing the hill. As the first soldier reaches the apex of the climb, Constable Chris Williamson steps out, rifle in hand to engage in hand-to-hand combat. It's a big bastard, sword in one hand and side-arm in the other, it swings. Chris sips a breath and rolls under the swing, coming up and landing three rounds into the back of his attacker. His attacker is unimpressed. The line is collapsing and the Rikti monster staggers under the impact of a barrage of kinetic flame as The Man on Fire soars past, strafing the officer's adversary and laying a barrage of flaming projectiles into the oncoming Rikti host, pushing them back against the short cliff-face at the North end of the square. Cst. Williamson immediately presses his advantage. He fires a round into the centre mass of his enemy, staggering his foe. Another round into the knee of the invader, causing it to pause. Another round to the head, putting it down. He rejoins his squad, nodding to Sgt. Taylor as he slams his shoulder into the sandbag once more. Once more the air sings, as though tearing the very fabric of reality to shreds as the Man on Fire hammers himself down onto the North End of Talos Hill. The explosion is beyond comprehension. The members of the PCPD hunker down behind their bunker as reality erupts in flames. Cst. Williamson would report later that his only memory of that moment is crouching down behind the barricade and hearing a lone voice in an obvious Scottish brogue shout "BURN!!". The Rikti invaders are nothing more than molten metal and shattered glass, not that the PCPD officers notice as they frantically attempt to beat out little spot fires caused by the explosive heat generated by the inferno. "SHIFT!" Cries Sgt. Taylor as the PCPD officers slam their shoulders against the South end of the Talos Hill. Cst. Williamson eyes Citadel and Luminary as they stand at their post, doing nothing, affecting no interest in defending the city they were sworn to protect. He casts his eyes skyward once more, hoping beyond hope that he would see that burnt orange flame, his only hope. The only hope he could rely on for the defense of his kin and he was not disappointed. The Angel on Fire scorches his way towards the interlopers. But he stops. He floats above the invaders, saying nothing. They seem to talk amongst themselves, not advancing, despite the fact that there are no small number of people observing them. The Man on Fire crosses his arms, saying nothing as the invaders pause their advance. The dialect amongst the aliens is digital and incomprehensible, but the message is clear; there will be no victory for them this day. "Who is that?" Chris asks his mentor. Sgt. Taylor pauses for a moment "Y'remember that time about five years ago? At the high school in Steel Canyon, with the Malta?" Chris nods "Remember how there was a teacher that went missing, we never found him among all the bodies?" Chris nods again. "I think that's the guy." Cst. Williamson stares up at the figure floating in mid-air, wreathed in Hellfire. "Are you telling me that you think that that's The Living Hellfire?" His senior officer nods. "Yep... I do. And I think he's here to help." "That's the guy? That's amazing!" There's a short silence as the Rikti lower their weapons. The portals open once more and the invaders slink back into their dimension. "No... " Charlie Taylor looks at his friend "That's Legendary."

Liv is a conduit to Hell, but he controls the tap and the flow setting. He simply chooses how Hellfire manifests. It might be a blast of some kind of even a shield. His only real physical melee weapon is a Celestial gladius given to him by his father which he manifests at will, the way you might reach into your pockets for your keys. He just reaches for it and it's there, in his hand. EDIT - So glad this came up again because I wanted to add that Liv will sometimes leave a calling card with a person he believes is deserving. He will snap his fingers and in a puff of flame and smoke produce an alabaster card upon which are scorched the words "The Legendary Living Hellfire" He will hand this card to the person in question with the instructions that should they ever be in danger or distress, should they ever need help that they should burn the card and Liv will hear the call and respond. It's been a hook I've used more than once and every now and again I get a /tell in game where someone has burned the card, either by throwing it into an open flame or simply by burning it with a lighter.

The nine foot tall insectoid Local clacks her mandibles and rolls all six eyes at the man sitting quietly in the cell opposite her own. "You are pathetic, Angel-Spawn. I have fought in these pits for centuries and never have I suffered the defeat that I will lay upon you." She runs all four front legs across the bars of her cell in a vain attempt to get the attention of the man seated across from her. "I have over a thousand victories in these pits, you are nothing". Infernal is a gutteral language, but easily spoken by all Locals regardless of the configuration of their mouth. Even the mandibled mouth of this Mantis Local can form the words, one has only to understand that Infernal is more about intent than it is about the words and grammar itself. The man makes no reply. He sits on the floor, back to the wall with elbows on his raised knees, head sunk between his arms. His hair is greasy, charred and stringy and hangs low, covering his face, but still that same burnt orange. His armour is piece-meal and salvaged from past opponents, it's a hodge-podge of pilfered leather straps and Infernite plates covering basic vital organs and tender places. His exposed flesh is scarred and warped from both combat and heat, looking more like a carved up melted candle than a man. "Do you hear me, half-breed? I will eat your flesh, I will consume your bones and I will feed them to my children" The mandibles clack again in laughter. "Do you think you impress me, X'lt'tcl, Queen of The Swarm? You may have been victorious against Gralfaygen and Morval, but I considered them nothing more than inconveniences. The Masters would not even let me face them for they knew that I would defeat them easily." The man remains huddled, making no reply. "Do you hear me Angziel, half-breed wretch?! I will destroy you, as so many have destroyed you before! I will face you again and again, no matter how many times you return from death!" The rear wall of their cells opens, revealing a circular tunnel that both combatants know will lead them to opposite entries to the Arena. Fergus McRae registers the gleeful chattering of X'lt'tcl's mandibles as he slowly pushes himself to his feet. His posture is tired, his shoulders slumped, his breath laboured. He follows the circular tunnel to a massive gate, beyond which are the sands of The Pit, the thrum of the assembled crowd almost visceral in its intensity. "YOU DIRTY MOTHERFUCKERS!! Cries the announcer in thickly accented Infernal. The crowd screams, the sound so intense that it registers only as hot, white noise in Fergus' ears. "For our final match, we have the queen herself, X'lt'tcl, Mother of the Brood, Queen of the Swarm and Ruler of The Nine Hives! The noise somehow increases. The man winces, resisting his urge to slam his hands to his ears thereby showing any weakness. "Versus, this fucking piece of shit who, for some reason NOBODY can kill! The deathless, the relentless, the ultimate half-breed, ANGZIEL!" To be fair there are a few cheers, but most of the crowd is not cheering. Discarded food is thrown at the man as he steps forward under the now open gate. X'lt'tcl raises her arms to the crowd as they scream their approval, scuttling forward towards the array of weaponry laid upon the arena sands, her glee at being fastest to reach them evident in the clicking of her jaws. The man raises his head and opens his eyes. Twin flames dance in his eyes, hungry and hateful, they caper, their heat raising the hair on his head in what one might almost describe as a halo. As the Queen of the Swarm reaches her target a concentrated stream of Hellfire slices off the first two arms on her left side, continuing onwards to scorch the wall of the arena, extending upwards into the crowd immolating half a dozen attendants as ancillary victims to the slaughter about to play out below. The crowd screams its approval. Fergus McRae stands before his foe, arm extended, palm smoking. The Mantid Queen roars her fury as she bears down, regenerating her lost limbs and no small cost to her internal reserves. Within seconds she has both limbs back, swords clasped in all four pincers, she dashes forward on her rear four legs to close with her enemy. She slashes in a cross-pattern but her quarry is no longer there. She turns, confused, her prey gone. All six eyes scanning the arena floor she fails to notice that her prey is now airborne. The first blast of Hellfire comes from behind, knocking her forward, forcing her to push herself upright. The second hits her thorax, stumbling her. With inhuman speed she turns in place on four legs, finally finding her opponent. The man hangs in the air, arms folded and entirely engulfed in flames. In his thick Scottish brogue, Fergus taunts the enormous insectoid Local "Beg yer pardon, ye mighty cunt, but I didnae quite hear ye in the cells? Would ye be so kind as tae repeat what ye were sayin' about devourin' me bones an' the like?" X'lt'tcl rears back and spits acid at The Man on Fire, the stream of green fluid coursing its way across the arena all, but to no avail. She receives a barrage of flares in return as Fergus, in his rotten, cobbled together armour circles the arena at altitude pummeling his adversary over and over from above. "I said, I beg yer feckin' pardon?!" The Mother of the Brood staggers. Fergus slams down at X'lt'tcl's feet, superheating the sand of the arena, turning it to molten glass. The mantid queen screams in agony as her bottom four limbs begin to melt. She swings vainly with her four upper limbs, a desperate gasp at survival and victory, but she is too late. Already the gladius has been manifested. Floating inches above the molten sand of the arena Fergus McRae holds forth the last gift his father gave him, the Celestial gladius, LightFire. The blades clash in a violent explosion, sending the insectoid Local slamming against the wall of the arena, broken and bleeding. The crowd roars its approval.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE** - As if I'm calling myself an "author", I'm a hack at best. Anyway, I'm borrowing heavily from Richard Kadrey's Sandman Slim series, it's about 10 novels long and it's outstanding. If you like urban fantasy and really like gritty fiction it's right up your alley. I really hope people are enjoying reading this dumb stuff I've posted to this forum as much as I've enjoyed writing. I love Liv, he's largely been my entire persona in CoH since I played Beta. Thank you all for your patience and indulgence with my border-line narcissism about this, my alter-ego. ((Continued from The Fall)) Fergus McRae stands hunched before The Lord of Hell, gripping his still dislocated shoulder, the realization of where he is and who stands before him slamming into his consciousness. His bladder releases. His uncle laughs and clucks his tongue. "There's no need for that, my boy! You are MOST welcome in my halls!" Lucifer spreads his arms wide and descends from the dais. "It's not often we receive guests of your stature." He continues as he saunters closer to naked, huddled wretch, standing in a puddle of his own urine. "And to have not one, but TWO Nephilim Fall to what we Locals like to call 'Downstairs' within a few years of each other is remarkable to say the least!" He smacks Fergus' shoulder, snapping it into place once again sending him to his knees in agony followed quickly by relief. The Prince of Darkness rolls his eyes and hauls Fergus to his feet once more. "I'm afraid that sort of pain is just the beginning, my boy." He slowly circles the naked man, musing his thoughts out loud. "Y'see... " He stops a moment, his face a question mark "It's Fergus, right? That's what the mortals call you? Y'see, Fergus, you were sent here because Father has a certain rule about his first-born congregating with his second-born." He stops to face his nephew, with a grin "Apparently that's a no-no, but it does happen very occasionally, perhaps a half dozen or so times in the last few millennia, but this is very much unexpected, to have two Nephilim Downstairs at the same time? Very unusual. Very unusual, indeed." Lucifer turns and marches slowly back up the steps of the dais to the throne, where he lounges casually. "You were sent here by those fuckers Upstairs as a punishment for the crime of existing. I, however, take a different approach to this scenario." A half-naked, collared slave prostrates himself offering a platter with a new goblet filled with fresh wine. The Lord of Flies takes it without a glance and sips slowly, placing the goblet on the arm of the throne. "You will be tested and trained and maybe, at some point, I MIGHT be convinced to let you go, but only if you perform to my liking. We'll see if you're able to meet the example set by your cousin Jimmy." His smile is oddly beneficent. He grows serious "I'm not your enemy, Angziel but neither am I your friend or ally. If you endure what you're about to experience, if you do not break, if you are successful in the trials I will lay before you I may set you free. You are not mortal, you are Celestial and your blood will sustain you, but you will experience agonies beyond description." "Why?" "Because fuck them" replies Lucifer, pointing upwards. "Fuck them and their rules and their puritanical bullshit, that's why. I'm not doing this FOR you, I'm doing it AT them." He gestures sharply and a six-armed demon, bristling with sheathed scimitars, breasts laid bare with a head full of snakes for hair and a serpent's tail from the waist down slithers out from the shadows, grasping Fergus by the arm and hauling him from the chamber, back to his cell. ********* The thing about Hell is that you're either a discorporated soul or you're a Local. For Fergus McRae neither of those things were true, he was flesh and blood, capable of dying and so he did. Over and over. He died chained to the Infernite rocks before The Lake of Perdition, roasted slowly over the course of days by Hellfire. He died slowly, in agony, impaled in The House of Knives. He died being fucked to death by Succubi in The Withering Brothel. He died laughing at the antics of The Circus of Infinite Mirth. He even died from starvation, dehydration and dysentery in his cell, left unattended and alone for weeks with nothing to keep him company but the howls of his fellow prisoners. Every time he awoke, once again whole and once again breathing the same acrid, sulfur saturated air, his heart beating, his blood full and rich in his veins. There was no release, no peace, no comfort. But the worst of these was The Pits where he was forced to perform unimaginable acts of savagery and violence. Compelled to fight and kill his fellow captives, he grew stronger, much to his horror. Again and again he was pitted against other souls and even Locals. Fergus learned quickly that pity was a liability in the arena. Before long he was faced with the realization that the roar of the crowd at his victory was intoxicating, it both invigorated and disgusted him at the same time. Before long he began to take pleasure in the act of slaughtering his opponents as he learned the art of killing, regularly ending his matches with the entire arena being engulfed in Hellfire he absorbed from The Lake of Perdition. Resisting blows received by his opponents thanks to his exposure from Infernite. His power of flight returned allowing him to soar above the floor of The Pits, encircling his foes at break-neck speed sending an almost unceasing barrage of Hellfire and destruction down upon them. To his shame, he grew to love his power and likewise, he grew to be feared. More and more his foes would have to be forced into the ring to face him. Time works differently Downstairs as it does Upstairs. Was it years? Months? Decades? There was no way to tell, there are very few clocks in Hell, but what he did know is that his second visit to his uncle's throne room was very different than the first. He wasn't dragged naked and bleeding, he was escorted, armoured and well-fed. He wasn't thrown to the ground like a piece of garbage but treated like a dignitary. He stood before The King of Hell, unshackled and unperturbed. "My nephew.... how you have grown. I have a gift for you. Three, in fact... Would you like to hear my offer?" The man who would become The Legendary Living Hellfire nods. "Let's hear it then, ye feckin' wanker." Lucifer Morningstar bares his teeth in a toothy, predatory grin.

((Continued from The Trial)) The story goes that you end up either on a Stairway or a Highway. Regardless of who you are, you end up on one or the other. For Fergus McRae it was neither; It started with a kidnapping, proceeded through a trial and ended with The Fall. As he tumbled through the inky blackness, over and over he realized no point of visual reference. His powers gone, his attempts to use his natural powers of flight to right himself in the tumbling dark gone. Grasping futilely at walls that weren't there he spun, over and over through the dark until slamming down onto the wet, stone floor of yet another cell. There's a snap as his left shoulder dislocates, his lower extremities pounding into the stone, sure to leave extensive bruising. For the first time in his life, even though he doesn't know it, Angziel is mortal. Or at least as close to mortal as a Nephilim may be. Naked, bruised, cold and bleeding he gathers himself to his feet, leaning against the wall of the cell. It's a standard 6x6 cell, but nothing else. No toilet, no bed, no sink... just a cell with a barred door. A barred door that slams open revealing a beautiful woman with a forked tail. She is the very picture of sexual desire. She openly appraises the red-haired man in the cell. "Very nice, I might have to try a piece of you at some point." She says with a predatory grin. Despite himself Fergus feels an almost primal need for her and he hides his shame. Her tail whips as she jams a thumb in her belt. "Alright, come with me, the boss wants to see you." The march forward is as educational as it is humiliating. The Succubus drags Fergus forward, the latter's hands bound in a wreath of flame that he somehow cannot control or influence, but it burns. Why does this fire burn? The pitiful creatures occupying neighbouring cells cower at their passing, some human and others not. All victimized and held against their will. Up through the various passages and corridors as they wind their way to their destination, the stench of fear and various effluence flooding Fergus' nose. Finally, they reach what appears to be a kind of grand entrance. The marble work is beyond description, brilliant reds and luminescent blacks shining, reflecting the light of the Fires of Perdition burning brightly and shining through the windows. Figures hang in the air, frozen in time, their faces a rictus of agony and defeat, having been found guilty of various crimes and sins. As he passes through the space Fergus cannot but be as impressed as he is horrified at the torture inflicted upon these souls. He tries to concentrate on the sound of his bare footsteps on the marble floor as the Succubus drags him forward to a set of heavy, Celestine constructed doors, his attention finally caught by the sound of them as they grind open to reveal The Throne. Upon The Throne is a man in a suit the colour of blood. He lounges almost thoughtlessly, a goblet in his hand. His presence is overwhelming, oppressive. The Demoness throws the naked man on the floor like a sac of potatoes. "My Liege," she begins "I bring to you the prisoner you have demanded." She bows her head. Lucifer Morningstar rises to his feet from the throne, casually discarding his goblet, the sound ringing out as it clashes with the marble flooring. "Nephew! Welcome home, we have much to discuss!" The handsome man grins at the pathetic wretch before him.

This was not a good day for Raziel, first lieutenant of Michael, Lord of the Seraphim. Having seen combat with the Infernal legions already this day he was now relegated to prisoner transport, hauling this pathetic Abomination to Trial against the Father. Hot to the touch, this prisoner has proven nothing but problems, scratching at the floor, refusing to be transported in a dignified fashion. The Arch-Angel must haul this prisoner by force as he fights every inch of the way. Raziel has no pity for this wretch, this abomination unto his father. He sneers, flexing his fist, dragging what is technically his cousin down the hallway towards the Holy Chamber wherein waits the Father of All Creation. The doors boom open, revealing an alabaster chamber carved from Celestial marble, blisteringly white. At the far end is a plinth upon which sits what can only be described as Infinite Grace. Braced by this omnipotent being on either side is a gathering of Raziel's cousins and siblings, armed and armoured in the most brilliant of white and soft yellow light. Behind them the same doors echo their closing with a shattering collision that signals into the Universe that The High Court of Heavens is now closed for session. One figure steps not from down off the plinth, but from the side. Human in aspect, surrounded by wings and with a voice that would evaporate the head of any mortal. "Angziel, son of Kadziel, opener of ways and foresaken by our Lord and Father, I am the Tetragrammaton, Voice of God and I speak in his name. Do you hear me?" The naked man curled on the floor nods, his burnt red hair still shrouding his face. The Arch-Angel continues "You are the spawn of Celestial and Mortal and are therefore Abomination. Given that you are born to a mortal woman, sired by one of the first sons of Yahweh, you stand accused of being Nephilim. How do you plead?" The naked, bleeding wretch on the floor is silent before chuckling a moment. He coughs blood before smearing it across his face. "Guilty as feckin' charged, ye feckin' wankers." The defeated man spits his last breath in the direction of the shining figure on the Throne. "Do you have anything to say in your defense, Abomination?" The words echo and return to silence. The naked, defeated man gathers himself into a crouch, his head bowed low, his hands clasped in his crotch as he gathers himself to his knees before his grandfather. Long, red hair falls before his face, shrouding his eyes slightly but a close observer can see the flames. "Aye, so I do." The broken man raises his eyes to meet the gaze of Omnipotence. "Allow me tae ask ye this, Granda... Have ye e'er been fishin'?" There is an awkward pause in the Celestial Chamber. This is not a question that has ever been asked or even considered. The man grins as the portal opens under him sending him Downstairs, he is gone in an instant. There is a moment of quiet in the Celestial Chamber which serves as a throne room for The Architect of Reality and His Host. It is not customary for such silences to occur after a summary judgment, but somehow the assembled Host knows quite well and understands that this is the not the last they'll see or hear of their cousin.

Deborah Mogenthaller was not expecting to be the victim of a kidnapping and bank robbery on her third day at the Skyway branch of Paragon City Bank, but here she knelt, on the floor in front of her teller's booth with a 9mm aimed at her temple. Later she would look back at the memory and recall how fortunate she felt that there was no panic. She folded her hands in her lap and rested her buttocks against her heels and just simply waited, somehow confident that things would work out regardless of how dire things seemed in the moment. She would tell her children, years later how she thinks she should likely have been so terrified that any sort of memory of the event at all should have been impossible and yet her recall is crystal clear. Her colleagues and the various bank customers knelt around her, similarly at gun point were not so calm, but not out of control. The sound of weeping and quiet begging was punctuated by the occasional shouted threat or thump as particularly obstreperous persons were reminded of the threat of violence in no uncertain terms. The scene is chaotic, the robbers clearly underestimated the PCPD response time and now find themselves surrounded. Their only chance is to bargain for hostages. Deborah recalls hearing a child's cry, distracting her before the sound of the front door of the branch creaks open. Her attention shifted to the entry and a man strolled casually into the branch. Of middling height, a flat black suit with burnt orange pinstripes, black leather loafers and a matching fedora atop his head. The man's face is grizzled at closer inspection, almost aged in an artificial way, but most striking is the cigar jammed between his teeth, in the corner of his mouth. "Howdy!" Declares The Man in Black, as one might greet a friendly neighbour. The miscreants immediately train their weapons on the newcomer. "Get on the ground!" Shouts the lead robber, a particularly ugly specimen of a person. Her hair is disheveled, eyes bloodshot. The gun wavers in her hand as she aims it squarely at the man's chest. The Man chuckles, shaking his head, the blue smoke from his cigar encircling his hat like a halo. "I dinnae think so, lass." He saunters, quite literally over to a nearby counter, leaning one elbow against it and takes the cigar from his mouth blowing a plume of blue smoke into the ceiling. At 2900 feet per second three Parabellum rounds exit the muzzle of the 9mm handgun, hurtling towards the chest of The Man in Black. There are three sharp splatting sounds as the melted rounds all but explode in a metallic goo across the chest of The Man. He makes a face of disgust while brushing off the spent bullets, now smeared harmlessly across his exquisite suit. The momentary silence is deafening in its own way. The Man in Black allows it to happen, his eyes flickering with Hellfire behind his opaque shades. The lead robber shakes her gun in frustration before shouting "Get on the floor now! Before I start executing these people!" The Man in Black shakes his head slowly "Ye ken how this ends, lass." He jams the cigar back into the corner of his mouth "Ye'll give up. Now, er I'll have yer guts fer garters." The lead robber points her weapon at Deborah's head, cocking the hammer, finger on the trigger. "Dude, you will get down on your knees right now or I'll blow this woman's brains out all over the floor, RIGHT NOW!" The Man grins, the smoke obscuring his face slightly as he straightens to a standing position. Hands up, palms forward his grin widens as the woman screams in pain, dropping the gun to the floor. The butt of the gun glows red, the lead robber's hand blistering and useless. The Man in Black moseys into the centre of the room, turning to face the other three bank robbers. "What'll it be, then?" The thieves slowly lower their weapons. The Man is gone by the time the PCPD storm the lobby of the bank.

Circa Spring 2004 Paragon City High School in Steel Canyon was abuzz with anticipation over graduation. Banners hung in the hallways congratulating graduates, windows were open in the classroom, allowing the warm spring air heavy with the scent of lilac to filter throughout the school. Students were ebullient and eager to begin, in most cases their summer vacation but for a lucky cohort it was time to start a new chapter in their lives. Even the teachers and staff were a little more relaxed than usual, knowing that they had completed their task for the school year. The staff room was filled from floor to ceiling with quiet talk about summer plans. A bespectacled, handsome, youngish looking man with burnt red hair pulled back into a pony-tail makes his way slowly down the hallway, threading his way through the throng of students moving from class to class between periods. With his sharp, corn-flower blue button down shirt, beige khakis and brown patent-leather shoes tied neatly in a bow he may not be wearing a sign that says "Teacher" but he sure is wearing the uniform. Frequently delayed by students thanking him for his class, wishing him well or otherwise chatting him up his progress is glacial. Hugs, fist-bumps, shoulder taps and handshakes are the order of the day on this, the last week of the school year for what seems to be a favourite teacher. Fergus McRae finally ends up at his destination, the teacher's lounge. His bare hand registering the cool metal of the handle as he presses down and shoulders the door open. "Fergus!" comes the call from across the lounge. "Howdy, Walter! How's that pool comin' along, then?" Walter Niewendyke, looking every inch the science teacher with his pocket protector loaded with pens and tape around the bridge of his glasses, places his paper coffee cup on the table and stands to greet his friend amid the gathering of other teachers, most of whom are absorbed with a sheet cake provided to celebrate the birthday of one of the admin staff. Fergus shakes his friend's hand and they sit down together, the former drumming his fingertips on the wooden table. After a brief moment the smile slides from Walter's face. "Not so good, buddy... it seems Sheila wants a divorce." Fergus is stunned "I... I'm so sorry, mate. Was there any warnin' at'all?" he drawls in his Scottish brogue, an accent he could never seem to lose. "No, man... I mean... maybe?" Walter pushes his glasses up his nose "But, I mean... you know me, I'm mostly socially clueless. Apparently so bad that I can't even pick up on signals from my own wife." Fergus taps his friend's wrist with his palm, attempting in vain to comfort his friend. "May I share with ye a wee spot o'wisdom from me own mum, Walter?" Walter looks up at his friend, tears in the corner of his eyes behind those thick glasses. "I'm all ears, pal." The Scot nods "Here it is..." "EVERYBODY FREEZE!! HANDS UP!!" There is immediate bedlam in the staff room as what is clearly a Malta agent wielding a strange, long weapon stands in the doorway. Behind him the hallways are a scene of absolute chaos as panicking students are being rounded up by men and women in dark blue uniforms, body armour and positively dripping with advanced weaponry. The agent in the doorway of the staff room fires a burst of three rounds, the second two end up in the wall opposite him but the first takes out the sheet cake, splattering Mallory Wise and Jessica Johnson with Costco's finest confection. Without pomp or ceremony the agent stands to the side of the door, waving his weapon towards the opening to the hallway. The teachers and staff in the room shuffle out with their hands over their head, eyes wide with fear and more than a few cheeks stained with tears of absolute terror. As they join the shuffling mass of students Fergus McRae realizes they're all being taken to the gym, the only room in the building that could conceivably contain every person in the school at once. He's aware of the sounds around him, the sobbing and weeping, the pleading for mercy, the cries of terror and pain as someone is occasionally kicked or knocked down in the mayhem. Before long the masses are gathered in the gym where the commanding officer struts about, coordinating his subordinates. The students are lined up in rows, on their knees while two dozen Malta agents line the wall, facing inwards with guns raised. "Hello, all!" Cries the lead Malta agent. "My name is Maroon-834 and I am in command of these soldiers. The soldiers are in command of you. That means I'm in charge." There is a brief pause "Here's how this is gonna go! I will... " There is a buzzing sound in Fergus' ears, he can't concentrate for a moment "... at which point you will be given... " more buzzing "... is that clear?" Silence in the gym as nobody utters a sound. Maroon-834 raises his sidearm and puts three rounds in the ceiling. Screams and cries of fear and terror echo in every corner "I SAID IS THAT CLEAR?!". There is whimpering and nods of assent in reply. "Wait, please, just wait!" Walter cries from his kneeling position "They're just children! They don't - " Whatever he was about to say goes unheard as the butt of a rifle caves his head in. Fergus stares at his friend, now dead, the back of his head entirely crushed by the force of the blow. Even almost 20 years later he still doesn't remember what happened next. All he knows is that everything went burnt orange, then white, then... nothing. ************************************************************************************* A smartly dressed man with a fresh haircut sits behind a desk. "Hello, welcome to your six o'clock news here on KPTV, I'm Robbie Simons and with me as always is Claire Simons, no relation." He says with a wink to the camera. "Yes, thank you, Robbie." Says the pristinely coiffed co-anchor "Well, there sure was a dust-up at Paragon City High School in Steel Canyon today, wasn't there, Robbie?" "There sure was Claire" Says the man as he faces the camera. "The Steel Canyon based High School was besieged this afternoon by a large group of heavily armed Malta agents. Their goal was unclear, but they did take all staff and students hostage and force them into the gym. While their demands remain unclear at this time, please be aware that this is a developing story. With more we have Katie Griffin on scene, live with eye-witness account and footage of the aftermath. Katie?" A beautiful young blonde woman with a sharp yellow blazer fills the screen. Behind her is what's left of the high school. "Thank you, Robbie. I'm here on the scene of Paragon City's most recent meta-human terrorist attack and as you can see behind me - " the camera zooms past her shoulder to the school. "The entire roof of the gymnasium has been ripped away with heavy scorch marks and even a few spot fires left." The camera does indeed show steel girders, warped and twisted as they are with strangely dark, burnt orange flames alight of them, like ghastly candles in the cool Spring evening. "While the school has been heavily damaged and many vehicles in the surrounding parking lot were damaged or destroyed by the falling debris and, frankly, general fallout of the incident it appears that there are very few civilian injuries. One teacher was killed with what is reported to be blunt force trauma and another appears to have gone missing, but no students were harmed in any way. However, that's not to say that there were no casualties, the Malta agents themselves have all been declared deceased at scene. Due to the graphic nature of their condition we cannot show you these images, but they all appear to have been burnt to death at extremely high heat and extremely close range." "Wow, Katie. What can you tell us about the Malta's goal or purpose?" Asks Claire, so professionally that one might think that she wasn't, in fact reading from a prompter. "Well, Claire, at this time we have very little information about that. We have reached out to the Freedom Phalanx to see if they can offer any insight but as of this time there has been no reply back. I do have an eye-witness account of what transpired, however." The camera shifts over to include a rather dowdy looking older woman, horn-rimmed glasses askew, the once neat hair bun now disheveled and askew. "This is Mallory Wise, a drama teacher here at Paragon City High School and she has agreed to tell us what she saw, Mallory?" "Well... " Mallory begins shakily "It's... somewhat hard to say. We were gathered up in the Gymnasium. Walter - " she breaks a moment, a soft sob escaping "Walter..." she continued, her voice tight "Cried out about harming the children and... and they... they just killed him." The distraught woman wipes her nose with an actual cloth handkerchief before continuing "And then there was a flash of red and, like... a kind of burnt orange and then there was this man, floating in the air. At least I think it was a man, but he was on fire - " She rushes to explain, pulling the microphone back towards her "But it wasn't regular fire, you could feel it differently. It was hotter and almost... hungry! It was like if you turned regular fire up. It was the way I would imagine Hellfire would feel, but the man was alive and making choices." The words are tumbling out now "He... it moved with a kind of speed I've never seen before, he didn't even stop or slow down he just changed direction, setting on fire agent after agent until finally there was an enormous explosion and the rest of the agents were just... charred and smoking and the Hellfire man was gone." "Thank you, Ms. Wise. And there you have it, Robbie." Katie says, staring back at the camera now centered on her. "It would appear there is a new player on the block. It's only a matter of time until The Freedom Phalanx become involved, but one thing remains clear, and that is that despite the physical collateral damage, this 'Living Hellfire', whoever or whatever it may be saved a lot of lives today. Robbie?" "Thank you for that excellent reporting, Katie. And now we turn to Kevin with our daily sports report. Kevin?"

The Man in Black lounges in his pocket dimension, the Infernite infused leather of the couch creaking as he stretches and points the soles of his shoes toward the open fire in the centre of the room. His fedora resting on the cushion beside him revealing shoulder length, burnt orange hair pulled back into a pony-tail. A tiny, blood-red demonling gnaws on a bone that looks suspiciously like a human femur within touching distance of a young German Shepherd named Bosco. They aren't so much getting along as they are ignoring each other as they both lay peacefully. The Man puffs his cigar, tapping the toes of his shoes together as they gather warmth from the fire. Almost as one Bosco and the demonling alert to something. Bosco rises to his feet, barking, moving away slowly while the blood-red creature beats its wings, backing away to the opposite corner, chattering away in some incomprehensible language. The Man in Black puffs his cigar. A flash of light and a being with a dozen wings and a hundred eyes upon them appears in the space between. Formless, seamless, impossible to percieve in its truest form and yet ever-present the being seems to occupy not just the space, but reality itself as though somehow it brings with it the very essence of another place. A place of love and hate, of acceptance and condemndation. A Voice - "ANGZIEL. ABOMINATION. SPAWN OF KADZIEL, OPENER OF WAYS, FORSAKEN BY OUR LORD. YOU ARE FOUND." There would be silence in the space as both Bosco and Screwtape cower, but there isn't. Instead there is the smacking sound of the wet end of a cigar being chewed. "Aye, so I am" Says The Man. "An' what of it?" More smacking, more blue smoke blown into the ceiling. A Voice - "YOU WILL BE TAKEN TO THE HIGH COURT OF THE HEAVENS WHERE YOU WILL FACE SUMMARY JUDGMENT FOR YOUR EXISTENCE AND RETURNED TO YOUR PLACE OF CONFINMENT IN PERDITION, IN ACCORDANCE WITH THE WILL AND WORD OF OUR LORD AND FATHER. SO IT SHALL BE." The man grins, taking the cigar from his mouth, shifting comfortably on the over-stuff sofa. "Aye? An' who might ye be?" He sniffs the air, his chuckle more of an outward sniff "Yer new, are ye not? Yer jes' a jumped up wanker lookin' fer a way tae get noticed, are ye not?" The strange, almost formless being seems to tremble in anger, clearly not used to being spoken to this way. There is an audible distortion of noise, like an overamplified speaker, buzzing and shaking. A Voice - "YOUR DISRESPECT TO OUR FATHER'S HARBINGER HAS BEEN NOTED AND WILL BE ADDED TO THE RECORD." "Aye?" Asks The Man as he gets to his feet, taking three steps forward to meet the being's gaze in its eyes, as much of them as possible. "Ye tell ol' Granda he's a feckin' wanker too. Ye ferget where ye are, cousin. Yer in my home, aren't ye?" A glint flashes in The Man's eye from behind the opaque shades. A Voice - "YOU WILL NOT ESCAPE JUDGMENT, ABOMINATION. COME WITH ME NOW AND YOU WILL BE TREATED JUSTLY, IN OUR FATHER'S EYES AND WITH HIS MERCY." The Man puffs his cigar for a moment, appearing to consider the offer before chuckling. "I dinnae think so... Lads!" At that both the German Shepherd and the tiny Demonling change their posture from one of trembling fear to rage. They lunge at the Angel, tearing it apart. The Holy Cries of one of The Host is unbearable... unless you happen to be Fergus McRae, son of Kadziel, Opener of Ways and architect of his own pocket dimension. The din quiets down, the Angel gone, Bosco and Screwtape return to their spots with the latter laying down a brand new bone right next to his old one.

This was supposed to be a routine assignment, just helping out an old friend. I'm not even on active duty, I'm retired, but I guess old grudges die hard. Such are the thoughts of The Legendary Living Hellfire as the modified X-36 Chronos Titan backhands him out of the air, sending him crashing through several crates and cylinders. As he rolls through the debris left in his wake to slam into the corner of the giant warehouse he begins to consider the possibility that his old friend set him up. Faster, stronger and built specifically to withstand Hellfire summoned from the deepest parts of Perdition, the X-36 stands peerless amongst other models, at least in terms of counter-acting Paragon City's foremost Omega Level defender. Liv slowly gets to his feet, ignoring the immolation of his immediate surroundings, metal cylinders melting, the floor under his feet charring and buckling. With the back of his wrist he wipes blood from his mouth, smearing it across his beard forming a ghastly grin. "Alright, then, ye feckin' c*nt, let's see what else those Infernite plates do fer ye." The Ghost of Paragon City climbs to his feet, his armour askew and misshapen with the conflict, his cape even more shredded and tattered than before, but the Hellfire dancing in his eyes burning brighter than ever. With a thought he summons his father's last gift, the Angelic Gladius. A long blade forged of Hellfire and Starlight named aptly "Lightfire". The Legendary Living Hellfire leaps to the air from a crouching position, streaking towards his foe. He drags Lightfire across the front of the monstrous construct. The blade sears and sparks, an awful keening noise breaks the momentary silence and one of the 14 plates drilled to the Titan collapse inward, producing sparks and small explosions within the chest of his foe. Now airborne The Man on Fire continues his progress, arcing around the interior of the warehouse, brushing the inside walls at breakneck speed, a trail of Hellfire in his wake. The Chronos Titan retaliates with a blistering beam from its ocular modules, blazing a burning arc along the path of its target's progress, but too slow. The eyebeams burn through the supporting beams, causing a partial structural collapse of the ceiling on the South side of the building. As the roof cants low there is a tremor, causing the X-36 to adjust its footing slightly which is just the opening necessary. The Legendary Living Hellfire seizes the opportunity, seeming to defy inertia the arc of Hellfire and vengeance turns abruptly, slamming into the floor of the building at the Titan's feet. The concrete floor buckles and cracks at the impact, the titan staggers again before becoming engulfed entirely in flames as Liv summons Hellfire from the deepest pits below. Before long the X-36 Chronos has regained its footing, but The Ghost of Paragon City remains standing under it. With the calculated decision making process of any machine it simply takes what is clearly a perceived advantage and stomps heavily down upon its target. There is a sickening crunch as the Man who is Hellfire is crushed unceremoniously beneath the enormous metal foot. The silence that ensues is almost deafening, if it weren't for the ancillary spot fires and the slowly crumbling building. The Chronos Titan stands still, awaiting further orders. Before long the silence is spoiled by the stomping of military boots as Malta agents pour into the now almost collapsed warehouse. A woman in chaps, boots and a cowboy hat marches into view braced by a security detail, weapons ready, safeties off. "Sienna-456 reporting. X-36 is successful, the target is down. Repeat; The target is down" She signals to a Tactical Officer who keys something on his wrist-band. The Chronos Titan lifts its enormous foot, revealing a gooey paste of bone and viscera. A Malta Operative approaches, fiddling with a pouch. Kneeling down they produce various knick-knacks designed to take samples. As the pouch empties onto the cracked and blackened floor all heads turn at the sound of a throat clearing. A man perches on the end of a stack of crates. He's relaxed, but clearly ready for trouble. Black hair pulled back in a ponytail, wrap-around shades on his head. He's a handsome man, but most striking about him is the cybernetics. Every limb, joint and muscle is clearly enhanced. Dark wiring coursing under his flesh from one relay to the next. He drops to the floor, addressing the Malta assembled around their now liquified prey. He saunters towards them, grinning like a shark. "You've never understood his nature. After all this time." He shakes his head. "You still have absolutely no idea what you're dealing with." "Subject 4278 you are instructed to stand down and await detainment!" Sienna-456 is confident in her order. A trained officer, she is used to being obeyed. The man tosses his head back gently, admiring the officer's attempt at command presence. "Nice try, whatever colour number you are... but I'm not under your control anymore." The man flexes his wrists, producing three long, curved blades from each hand. "My gooey friend has a saying," he says as he slowly circles the gathered Malta task force. "I'd like to paraphrase it. My name isn't 'Subject 4278'. My friends call me John, but you can call me Syxxblade". The Malta open fire, but not before Syxxblade launches himself at a stack of shipping crates, rebounding and hurtling himself towards the centre of the group. The claws of one hand eviscerating a Malta soldier, his entrails spilling onto the warehouse floor. Now amongst them, the Malta pause knowing that any missed shot would hit their fellow soldiers. They switch to close quarter combat tactics, much to their demise. The carnage is immeasurable, men and women are ripped apart at close range as indestructible claws guided by a positronically enhanced brain not only predict their tactical responses but meet them more than halfway. As the cannon fodder falls amid squelches and cries of anguish, Syxxblade straightens and turns to face Sienna-456. "You still don't get it, do you? This wasn't a trap for him, it was a trap for you. You have never understood him." The handsome man in the wrap-around shades almost appears to be saddened at the claim. The Officer is not to be deterred or intimidated. She draws her side-arm with her right and summons her artificially granted ice powers with her left. "Subject 4278 you will stand down immediately!". Syxxblade crosses his arms and smiles slowly. "You haven't heard a word I've said, have you? Maybe you'll hear this... " At that, a rumble begins. The Chronos Titan, still and quiet now that its operator is dead shakes slightly as the pile of gory viscera at its feet catches fire and begins to coalesce. Indigo-456 opens fire on her enemy, hoping for a lucky shot that never lands. The rounds reflect harmlessly. Meanwhile the juicy mess that was once The Legendary Living Hellfire continues to burn with increasing intensity, to the point where the Chronos Titan staggers backwards. "Here it comes, sweetheart!" And with that the Notorious Syxxblade leaps upward, grabbing a relatively unscathed roof-support, flips himself out of the building and into the night sky. "X-36 ERROR! ERROR! INSUFFICIENT COOLING. CORE MELT-DOWN IMMINENT. RECOMMEND IMMEDIATE SHUT-DOWN. RECC - bzzt...." The world is in flames. All of existence is fire and pain and the sweet release of death as The Legendary Living Hellfire rises from the ashes. The Chronos Titan topples, its ability to cool its internal systems entirely overwhelmed. Sienna-456 is nowhere to be found, obliterated in the consequences of her failed attempt to capture her prey. Satellites report temperatures reaching well over 6,000 Kelvin and then... gone. Instantly cooled. The media will report a generator overload, but The Legendary Living Hellfire and his old friend know different. The clink of glasses signal another victory. One of many past, but also one of many yet to come.

I love most if not all the changes, but one. Apparently you can no longer have a vanity pet active neither can you summon one if you have the "Walk" power active. Furthermore, they cast differently now in that you can't "face" them in the direction you want to anymore. You used to be able to cast a vanity pet whilst holding the right mouse button so that they would face the direction you wanted them to instead of just facing in the direction you've cast them. So... for instance, if I'm facing South and I want to cast my demon pet behind me but also have it facing in the same direction as me, all I would have to do is orient the camera south, put the marker down and activate it whilst holding the right mouse button while it cast and the demon would appear facing South like me, but behind me. Now it only ever faces in the direction I cast it, so in that situation were I to do as I did before this Patch the thing faces North because I can't orient myself whilst casting. I'm hoping these are unintentional changes that can be changed back easily.

Hello, friends, The Legendary Living Hellfire coming in hot. I present my first in my limited series of conversations with community members on the Excelsior server. On this, our very first conversation I speak with Englebert. This is his character name and he has asked me not to use his global name, which is an entirely reasonable request in my view. Shortly prior to us sitting down in The Crucible, which is the name for that cozy space in my base where these conversations take place, I had the opportunity to see the base he had constructed which you will see referenced in the conversation. It truly is an impressive design, very large, very detailed and in the style of a spaceship. I very much encourage you to check it out if you have the opportunity. Now, a couple things about this chat from a technical point of view. I realize that the rules I have laid out say that there will be zero editing, however this conversation began before it even occurred to me that transcribing these conversations for this project might even be a good idea, so there is a portion of the chat that is redacted, but it's all at the beginning and is extraneous and not really relevant anyway. Moving forward once the chat begins there will be no editing for content, spelling or anything. Further, this is transcribed directly to notepad for two reasons. Primarily because I feel that despite as cramped as it might seem it maintains the authentic feel of the chat itself. I'm trying to duplicate as much as possible what it would be like to experience this chat in game in the very chat channel where it occurs. Secondly due to the nature of the way /copychat works formatting the chat to seem more pleasing to the eye, because I'll be honest this can seem like a wall of text, would be almost prohibitive in terms of the time it would take to do a more rich-text format. Having said that I'm happy to field suggestions and ideas about how it could be done so quickly and easily without being overly laborious, but again remember that authenticity is important in terms of how these conversations should read. Without further ado, I present my very first conversation in this limited series; Hellfireside Chats with The Legendary Living Hellfire featuring Englebert, master base builder and all-round interesting guy. This conversation took place over the course of just under two hours, but it should take far less time than that to read. I encourage you to comment and discuss in the comments of this post. I look forward to your participation in whatever form you feel comfortable participating. Cheers; -Liv Hellfireside Chats - Englebert.txt

Y'know, honestly, if I wasn't doing shift work I probably would have started them up again but I would miss literally half the Saturdays of the year, so they just aren't feasible for me to run anymore, but I'm glad you remember them! I had a blast doing them and would sometimes have enough people to run two or three teams! Cheers!

Not at all, all these conversations will take place in my base around that little fire pit that I have pictured above and all bases can be accessed through Pocket D. I will provide you with the code to enter, of course and we'll just sit and chat. Thank you for your interest! I should have my first conversation posted soon™.

Hi. I am The Legendary Living Hellfire. You might know me from beta or on Live on the Justice server. You might know me as the guy that started the Saturday Matinées or the guy that led the team that won the first ever Timeforce competition, and yes I still have the clock that was the prize. You might know me as being a member of the Forum Cartel on the Live forums. You may know me from this very server. I'm here to announce my new series of conversations. I love this community, I have always loved this community and I would like to get to know it better. I would like to invite you on a journey of discovery of your fellow players. I would like to start a project where I have a short series of conversations with my fellow community members. These conversations will take place in my base, in this space. We will sit and talk in /local chat and I will ask you questions about you and try to get to know you better. These conversations will be copied and pasted, in their entirety into a post on these forums for all to read. Obviously some of you are not interested at all in participating and I understand and respect that, but I do invite you to read these conversations and please know that your participation in any conversation that results is also invited. For those of you that are interested in participating and having a conversation with me, The Legendary Living Hellfire, please DM me. I have some simple rules about how these conversations will work; 1. If the conversation becomes belligerent or overly adversarial the conversation will be terminated. This is about community and meeting and understanding our fellow community members. 2. These conversations shall be in /local chat and will be shared in their entirety, typos, mis-tells and all. These conversations are not staged or scripted and to maintain their authenticity I will not be editing them in any way. 3. These conversations can be in character if you would like to role-play, or they can not be in character, I'm okay either way. However you would like to present yourself to the community is what I would like to support. 4. These conversations happen at my discretion, by my choosing, on my schedule. I invite you all to participate how you like, as you like.

So, the enhancement in each set that is the "Chance for <additional effect here>" cannot be boosted... I assume this is normal because it doesn't work on any of them in any of the sets I tried, so should I attune those or just leave them as is...

Okay... soooo... followup question. Let's assume for a moment, hypothetically that I have this *ahem* "friend" who already has some purple sets slotted but I already... I mean HE already attuned them. Is it worthwhile, assuming I can afford it (and I can because I'm The Legendary Living Hellfire), to replace them with fresh enhancements in order to bump them to +5?

Thanks, guys, this has been really helpful.