Enter The Gut (open, for now)

The sensation of moving through space via alien particle technology was akin to blinking. However the sensation of atoms reforming to reconstruct relocated matter was like a bout of pins and needles that accosted the entire body. It lasted only a few seconds and subsided.

At first The Plexus could not use his eyes, they were unaccustomed to the light. The star closest to this planet was very bright indeed. It did not take long for The Plexus focus his eyesight. As he did so he noticed he had been spawned in what looked like a built up area. buildings towered above him, metal wagons roared past him and humanoid creatures beheld him with great animosity. A passing man looked at Plexus with a look of contempt. "What did you come as, freak?" Freak? It is not I whom appears freakish or fiendish my friend. But you with your tight skin and bland attire. Plexus stared at the man as he passed. The man seemed increasingly agitated by The Plexus's lack of response.

"You wanna stop staring asshole? Or should I put you on your ass?" Ass? My brief research on this planet insinuates that an Ass is a mule type creature. I do not have one with me. Maybe it is a metaphor to be sending me on my way. HAHA preposterous, as if such a creature could threaten me!

The Plexus smiled, although his void like face showed no signs of it. "You are an entertaining fellow. Tell me what do your insides look like?" The Plexus's voice was harsh, gravelly. Yet his accent was similar to a well spoken aristocrat. He had studied every known dialect upon the planet. Becoming proficient in every major language. He believed this to be the way in which to communicate in English. The man's response was a hostile one. He instantly approached aiming to take a swing for The Plexus. His two friends, whom had said nothing the entire altercation, began hollering and rushing in to strike Plexus also. A group of civilians were now watching the scene, baffled at the sight of what looked like to them a native Indian in some kind of traditional ritual garb and three blue collar workmen engaging in a fist fight.

The first man to instigate the attack threw a punch, and missed. his movements were too slow, and even if his blow had connected, it was likely to have no effect on The Gut. Stepping to the man's right he grabbed hold of the mans outstretched arm and drove his knee into the elbow joint, spiking the man's arm skyward. A high pitched scream followed, and a gasp from the crowd. The other two men swung wildly, one connecting with a blow but dealing no damage, in fact, the blow had broken the attackers hand. As they were in close quarters The Gut took the opportunity to slip through a few unruly attempts at striking blows. As he evaded he suddenly lashed out with both hands and gripped both men by the throats. In an instant they were both asphyxiated, Gut's superhuman strength crushing their windpipes instantaneously. As he dropped both men to the ground the crowd began to scream, people scattering in all directions vying to get away from this crazed murderer. What looked like a pair of city guards, police, approached with projectile weapons, guns, drawn.

Plexus ignored them and knelt down to observe his first victims arm. "Poor creature, look at you. Defenseless. I still am wondering though, what do your insides look like?" With that said he thrust his open hand into the mans abdomen and violently wrenched his innards out onto the pavement. Crimson liquid burst out onto the floor and covered The Plexus's right arm. The man on the floor began to scream a blood curdling scream, still alive and in shock from his sudden disembowelment. "How quaint, you have adopted what you call the mammals organ pattern. It must serve you well considering how gluttonous your countenance is." As he spoke the two officers began opening fire, and shouting for backup, panicked from what they had just witnessed. The bullets bore into The Gut's skin but did little to rouse him. Each new bullet wound healing just as a fast as the next one appeared.

Once the officers clips had been emptied The Plexus stood and smirked, again however his black, void like face showed no sign of emotion. "Your weapons can not harm me cretins! I am your new ruler now, I The everlasting Solar Plexus! Your perceptions of hell are about to come into fruition."

Isaac walked down the street, contemplating whether or not to take his AH1x.
There didn't seem to be anyone around who would pose a threat, but you could never be sure. This was the conundrum, did he take it and risk taking the serum should a problem spring up? He didn't much relish the thought of Azrael popping up in a scenario where discretion might be required. Then again, he might be able to convince the other four to put Azrael back in his cage. Nolan would be the hardest one to convince... as always. The self described 'Master Joker' wouldn't give in unless he got something in return, which in and of itself might be worse than just letting Azrael run loose for a little while. As much as he hated it, Azrael was easier to deal with. All he wanted was death. Nolan on the other hand, he might set off a series of explosives along the face of a continent just so people could see his name from space.
The worst part? He was nowhere near as funny as he believed himself to be.

Hey bitch, I heard that Nolan muttered, his voice projecting itself through Isaac's subconscious.

"Shut up Nolan" Isaac said aloud, though in whispered tones. He knew Nolan could hear him. They always heard him. All of them.

You know you should probably try to be a little more diplomatic with him. It might do wonders. A smooth voice akin to that of a jazz singer drifted through his mind. It was Nash obviously. He was the only one of Isaac's personalities who would even bother with diplomacy when it came to Nolan.

"You don't really believe that do you?" Isaac replied, still speaking aloud. Even if people heard him, they might dismiss him as a crazy man -albeit a sharply dressed one- muttering to himself, and they would be right. Though, he doubted they would be aware of precisely how crazy he was. Was he crazy? These personalities were very real, there was a definite change in his brain's chemical makeup whenever one of them was in control, elsewise the implants wouldn't do anything.

You want them to see crazy? How about I rip out their entrails and paint a picture of myself on the nearest wall in their beautiful arterial blood. Or maybe I'll tear out their ribs and use them as a pen to carve a wondrous prediction of the future on the nearest wall. It'll read 'You're all going to die'. I'll stand on the opposite side of the street so they don't notice me, then while they're reading it I'll walk up behind them and tear out their spines. Come on, LET ME OUT! a deep baritone blasted through his thoughts, shattering any illusion of clarity he might have had.

Azrael, you really shouldn't be so temperamental, those little outbursts are why we have to keep you inside all the time. Nash replied, his soothing voice bringing a measure of peace back to Isaac's thoughts.

Yo,yo,yo wassup, I was napping. Did Azzy break out again or is he just having another tantrum because boss Isaac won't let his bitch ass out?

It was Simon, Nolan's slightly less homicidally insane counterpart.

Will you all please shut up. It was a command, and though the voice was similar to Isaac's own, it held an ever present air of exasperation and weariness that identified its owner as Elton, the final member of the council that seemed to govern Isaac's every waking moment. Elton spoke far less than the others and desired control about as much as the average man desires castration. He was Isaac's 'favorite' if you could really call him that. They weren't pets. They didn't care about his approval and Elton cared even less, though he didn't actively protest like Azrael or Nolan.

Isaac was brought out of his internal dialogue only by the force of ramming into someone unintentionally.

"Huh? What's going on?" he asked. He had hit the back of a man who was turning to run.

Isaac smelled something. What was it?

The greatest thing in the world, its divine color only matched by its scent and only topped by its taste.

Blood.

Isaac pushed his way to the front of the crowd, battling his increasing headache. The scent of so much blood had whipped Azrael into a frenzy and he was struggling to get out, if only to taste it.

Then he saw it. A thing that looked like a man but with a face straight out of a painting by H.G. Giger, it was standing over the disemboweled remains of a man and two others with severe injuries screamed in pain.

"hehehe" a chuckle escaped Isaac's lips... Oh no....

"Ehehehehehehehe" He was in control

"My, my, my. Quite a work of art you've painted here. The placement of the bodies is exquisite and the fact that you left those two alive to provide such a delicious symphony of pain almost brings a tear to my eye. You sir, are truly an artisan, almost to skilled to kill. In fact, I'm almost envious" Azrael said as his skin shifted to a tan brown, his hair turning white and shortening into a crew cut while his eyes became a piercing gold.

He walked over to the man on the ground who was screaming.

"Though I can find a few flaws, for example, this man's scream is slightly too high pitched. There's no choking from a nearly crushed windpipe" he said as he knelt beside the man and delivered a swift punch to his chest.

The man's screams devolved from a constant and high pitch to a borderline silent hacking noise, punctuated only by the occasional gurgling scream.

"Oh, and that man isn't nearly injured enough" He said as he walked over to the other man and stepped on his already broken hand.

"You have to do it slow, keep them suffering just long enough that they don't lose consciousness. The mark of an amateur is being overzealous without regard for the subject." he mused as he twisted his foot around on the man's hand.

"Oh but do forgive me, I've been rude. You're going to be the first of many in this era to know my name" he said turning to look the beast in the eyes, feeling a strange sense of admiration for whatever twisted entity had crafted its face.

"I... am Azrael"

As Plexus had finished making his announcement a man approached him through the crowds. To The Gut's astonishment the mans visage changed as he drew nearer, his hair shortening in length and his eyes turning a bright golden color. A super powered being! Here!? Now!? How incredulous! Are they as abundant as the legends say? As Plexus observed the man, whom showed no sign of fear at the scene before him, he realized the man was addressing him. He spoke about his actions, observing warily that The Gut's work here had not been executed to it's fullest extent. Though The Stomach was aware he had not inflicted as much pain as he could have done, it simply did not matter to him. It had not been his objective to brutally torture anyone, it simply had been to view the innards of a human being. And it had been very pleasurable. Exiting even.

He watched as this new creature began adding extra details to his work, stepping on a broken hand, caving in a chest. All of it lovely work indeed. However Plexus worked with a different method. His style being much more whimsical. Often finding it more appealing to leave his victims alive, or maybe at least one of them. Leaving them permanently scarred both physically and mentally. The torture would then be continuous, everlasting even, until the time of the victims death. That idea, was far more pleasurable to The Gut.

Finally the man stopped and turned to Plexus, looking him in the eye and introduced himself as Azrael. So this is the fabled archangel of death? Strange, he is not how I imagined him to be "It is said your four faces are made up of a multitude of eyes and tongues, and from your back spawns four thousand wings. Yet, I see you now and you wear the visage of a man. Why would you conceal such an image of abject horror? the concept alone is beauty enough but if you can make it reality, please do so! I wish with all my heart to see such a wondrous thing."

Azrael's face twitched slightly as his eye color shifted very briefly to a deep black as he grabbed his sides and let out a roar of laughter, his voice briefly rising in pitch.

"Aww, Azzy, you got a fanboy. This freak thinks you're the mothafuckin angel of death" Nolan's voice erupted from his mouth, punctuated by insane laughter, only to be quickly silenced as Azrael regained his composure.

"Shut up you worm, I am the one in control" he snarled, looking off to his side, as though Nolan was actually next to him. He uncurled himself and cracked his neck.

"Sorry, I can't show you such a thing. I'm not that Azrael. He pales in comparison to me. Should I ever meet him I would pluck out each of his eyes with a hot iron while I devoured his tongues. I would make a cloak of his skin and armor of his wings, the angel of death is little more than a worm compared to me. I am a god, above any creature on this or any other world" he said, noticing a civilian attempting to run by. A grin etched itself across his features as he leaped to the side, smashing his elbow into the man's neck, putting in just enough force to paralyze the man without killing him.

"You'll serve as a fine example" he chuckled as he dragged the still conscious man over to the already bloodied street.

"Let me show you what I mean, my newest acquaintance" he hissed as he wrapped his hands around the man's head and inserted his middle fingers into the man's eyes. Slowly, slowly, he pressed, delighting as the man began to jerk about, not in control of his actions as his body reflexively jerked and spasmed.

"Shhh, don't scream, I want to hear the sound of your sight being squished into oblivion. The sound is most important of all, not even the feeling of your soft tissue being crushed under my touch can compare" he whispered into the man's ear.

He kept pressing, waiting for the moment of divine sound to come, so close, so close. Then he heard it. The sickening squish as the man's eyes burst, coating Azrael's fingers in blood and fluid. Withdrawing his hands from the man's head, he moved his arms down the man's back, individually counting the vertebrae as he tapped them each in turn.

"17, 18, Ah! Here we go! 19" he yelled gleefully as he moved his hand back before thrusting it forward, bursting though his unfortunate victim's skin and wrapping his hand around the poor man's spinal cord.

"Let me show you exactly what that Azrael can expect should he ever meet me" he said, facing Plexus' once more. The thing's face still awed him. It was so divine in its grotesqueness, the way every line in it was designed to draw you towards the things unfeeling eyes. Their alien complexity burning a hole into the soul of any lesser being. It was marvelous. Azrael wanted to gaze at it for all eternity. To drink in every horrific detail... and tear it off. He wanted that face. He wanted to place it above his mantle, to cradle it at night and wake up with it staring at him. He had seen the face of another god, and he wanted it for his own.

Not once while his thought processes -strangely absent of Isaac and Nash's usual sniveling- took in and plotted his next move did his grisly action stop. The spinal cord was coming loose of the muscle and ligament that held it in place. He could have easily torn it out with a thought, but this slow, measured procedure was far more satisfying. It gave him time to stare at the the thing's perfect face, all while listening to the sickening snap of torn musculature and the popping sound of bones being dislodged from their sockets.

"What is your name, creature. I want to know what to call you when I stare at your torn off face every time I close my eyes"

Plexus suddenly lost interest. This mortal pretends to be the Angel of Death! He is a fraud. A fake. Just as he was about to earn my respect. He has crushed it underfoot, stamping any hope into the dust.

The Gut watched as he rambled on, claiming to be more powerful than a god. In fact claiming to be a god. HAHAHAHAHA foolish mortal, there are no god's, there are only mortals and eternals. He then proceeded to grip a fleeing Human and break it's neck. Dragging his prey over he began to gouge the mans eyes, doing so with utmost care, waiting to hear a particular sound. After he was satisfied he then proceeded to tear into the Human's back and slowly tear the spine out, threatening to commit the same act against the true Azrael. Plexus shook his head, he had assumed too easily and had given awe unto a being that deserved none.

As he slowly tore at the spine Azrael looked into Plexus's face for a period, a look of longing there. Maybe even admiration. He then asked for The Gut's name. So he knew what title to give to his dismembered face. HA, he could not tear my face! The ignorance of this creature knows no bounds

"Heed me impostor of Azrael. I am The Gut, The Solar Plexus, The Devourer, The Digester, The all encompassing Stomach! There were none before me and there shall be none after." He paused for a moment, watching the grueling scene before him. "It is plain to me you are in no way a God or any other creature of that ilk, a being of such description would not refer to himself so. If you think that destroying a fragile, mortal Human would convince me of your ethereal authenticity. You were sadly mistaken"

Azrael couldn't help it, the thing's grand posturing was too much. He burst out laughing, a deep baritone that resonated throughout the surrounding area as he finally tore the spine from the man, allowing the poor soul's suffering to come to an end after an excruciatingly painful treatment. Azrael slung the dead man's spine over his shoulder, holding it like a trophy as the lungs and heart slowly began to slip out through the collar. He had managed to take the man's ribcage nearly entirely intact.
It was a beautiful thing, the deep red of blood and stuck on muscle from the man's chest still dripped and blew in the soft breeze, etching lines along the drying skeletal structure as the blood itself was already tinged with brown. The thing's beautiful face seemed to have a look of disgust and disdain painted across it. He had shattered the poor things vision of him. It wasn't much of a loss. He was going to take its face and sow it to his pillow. A grisly award for killing the arrogant beast that dared to insinuate it was higher than him.

"My, my, my. What a title, it makes me hungry. However, you've got a few things wrong, because -much like your killing of these men- you didn't quite finish your work. I do not claim to be any Azrael but myself. The Azrael you mention and seem to worship is little more than a gnat to me. A bug to be squashed. While you may regard it as a being of great power, it is little more than a fairy tale created by superstitious cowards to explain why the weak are killed. Though, I suppose it makes sense. You seem weak, so you would believe in such children's fables. Also you seem to be under the impression I killed that meat sack to make a point. I did it the same reason I do all things. Because I choose to. You believe yourself to be 'The Great Stomach?' well I look forward to tearing yours out and melting you in its acid" Azrael said with a grin.

He could already taste this thing's blood on his lips. He would take its wondrous face and mount the rest on a crucifix of the dead men's bones. He would watch as his foe's body rotted in the sun, the smell of the decaying flesh would be as ripening apples to him, the blood dripping onto pavement would be collected and used to draw the thing's face along the ground in grandiose scale. He would slaughter anyone who came near if he ran out. He would take this creature's entrails and use them to bind it to the grand monument of corpses. This place would become the site of a wonderful museum to death itself, windows made of skin nailed to walls of flesh and bone.

"Are you ready Oh great digester? Because I'm itching to turn you into my latest piece of art"

Without hesitation The Gut thrust his hand into his bowels and forcefully removed his stomach. He wrenched it free of all chords and held it aloft to Azrael. "Then you may have it, feast as you will"

The pain was undeniable, excruciating, but fleeting. Plexus's innards were already beginning to heal, his immortal body reforming to be whole again. "I do not need to prove my authenticity to a mortal like you. Be gone, I wish to find someone worthy of my time." He dropped his stomach and some of his intestines on the ground and walked away. His abdomen was almost fully healed now.

Overhead the police had been arming themselves and had deployed helicopters above and armored SWAT cars at each end of the road. If they wish to contain me they will be disappointed with the results. The was a loud order for him to stop walking, however he did not. Then just as before with the police officers, there was an order to "drop him" As soon as the order was given a multitude of loud blasts could be heard, echoing through the street, bouncing off each wall. The bullets striking The Gut's skin were doing little to stop him, his healing rate far exceeded their primitive weapons. They could not harm him. Around him stray bullets ricocheting through windows and blowing holes through doors and car tiers. The scene had become very messy very quickly.

Azrael's eyes widened. Was this arrogant excuse for a creature daring to dismiss him as though he were no more than a mere nuisance?
It even took all the fun out of disemboweling by beating him to the punch. He wouldn't allow himself to be treated like some sort of insignificant flight of fancy.
Then he heard it, the familiar blare of sirens. It brought him back to that wondrous night, so many bodies, so many screams. It had been as if an orchestra had played a wondrous and eternal requiem for all the souls he had damned that day. Each one had let out the most pleasant cry of anguish and despair as Azrael tore through their ranks. They had shot him, stabbed him, tried to stop him with heavy machine gun fire and even some explosives. He'd run through it all, relishing the look of undeniable shock on their faces as he leaped over their pitiful
barricades and massacred each and every one of them.

The jeeps they had sent after him became makeshift projectile weapons as he hurled them around like cheap toys and only after several tank shells did he finally fall. Even then, he'd fallen in a pool of blood surrounded by those he had slain, his impact with the hard ground softened by the comforting embrace of the corpses he loved to create. Their bright red arterial blood mixing with the marrow and bone shards ushered forth the most pleasant aroma. He had lived exactly as he'd envisioned he would. That moment when he hit the soft meat chunks of his creations, immersed entirely in their scent and the still warm feeling as the blood itself clung to life, even as its former master faded into oblivion was like touching the face of god. But he had been denied that sweet release. He had been forced into a tiny box to share with five others. All but one sniveling cowards afraid of death and unwilling to indulge in their true nature. The only one even remotely close to likeable also happened to be completely insufferable. While his love for destruction rivaled Azrael's own, his childlike demeanor and love of collateral damage as opposed to sheer carnage disgusted the would-be-god.
Azrael stood alone. He needed no one. He would kill until he was all that was left, and then he would tear himself apart in a glorious moment of true art. A final sculpture to that great mistress he revered with such absolute love and devotion. Death. However his musings were interrupted by the feeling of something tapping against him. He was being shot, he realized. It had been so long he'd nearly forgotten the pleasant sensation of bullets quashing against his skin like snowballs against a young child's jacket. Turning, he saw several armored men reloading their guns. Not one of them carried anything chambered higher than a .50 calibur. Fools, they wouldn't spill his blood with such weak attacks, let alone kill him. He rushed them, leaping over the being that dared call itself 'The Devourer'.

As he landed several yards in front of the being, he grabbed two of the officer's heads and smashed them against each other, pulping them on impact. Not one to waste free resources he grabbed the flapping neck cord still dangling from the stump where their heads had once been and began to use the men's decapitated corpses as improvised clubs, smacking away their former comrades.

"I apologize I can't give you each the attention you deserve, but you see you've interrupted a private event and I'm in a bit of a rush to get back to it." he said maniacally as he smashed a man with the corpse, breaking the neck bone in the process and leaving him with little more than a tiny stump in his left hand. Though the right corpse remained relatively intact, it seemed less poignant to use it without its would-be-partner.

Smiling Azrael turned back to Plexus, his eyes ablaze with excitement.

"I'm going to tear off that lovely face of yours, but before I do, I'm going to murder everyone who might interrupt our little dance, so what do you say beautiful.... Wanna be my dance partner?" he asked somewhat sarcastically. He fully intended to kill everyone present, though if it meant his newest fascination disappearing then he would happily ignore them to achieve his goal. After all, they would run out of bullets before he ran out of blood lust.

Yet again he was being accosted by this ridiculous cretin. Though it was evident now that Azrrael may have been stronger, and maybe even more sinister than Plexus had originally assumed. In all fairness seeing him bat away the guards with two decapitated bodies nearly made The Gut break out in roaring laughter. How ridiculous of a thing to do!

There was a Human expression that first encounters mattered most. But how would one know someones true intentions by their first meeting? In a sense Plexus had broken their first meeting by walking away from Azrael. Now as he walked away they were engaged in their second meeting, and this, second impression. Was doing a lot more for Azraels character than the first.

"You my try and take my face, I will not begrudge you that, in fact I would relish it. But I must sadly decline your request. For I can not dance. However, I will gladly pulverize these primitive Homo sapiens with you to pass the time!" He did not waste his time, He launched forwards, leaping over the head of Azrael (just as he had done before now) and landed with a hard thud among the back line of officers. Many of them backed away quickly, trying to form defensive positions behind their vehicles. "HAHAH these blockades can not stop me you foolish ingrates!" He gripped the underside of a SWAT van and with a brief grunt proceeded to lift the van into the air and over his head. The guards knew what they were dealing with now and knew they could not handle these two alone.

"We need back up on broad street northwe--" Before the officer could finish his sentence the van came baring down in him and several others close stood close by, crushing them instantly. For the first time in an eon The Gut actually chuckled. "This planets gravity is a wonderful thing."

Rey Miller, Atlanta's most well known lawyer was eating at Morton's Steakhouse in downtown Atlanta when he heard something flying down the streets outside, looking out the window he blinked realizing it was a police car whose sirens flaring and he was moving at high speeds as if something was going wrong. Sighing to himself he shook his head, waved over his waiter payed for his check, took another bite if his steak and a sip of water before walking out and getting in the car. "I can't believe I'm doing this again..." He mutters to himself jumping into his Ferrari and taking off after the cop car.

Upon arriving at the scene he blinked looking at all that was going on, stopped his car and rolled down the window. Looking outside he whistled at the destruction going on shaking his head he turned around and went back the way he came, stopping the car about a block away he switched into his 'outfit' grabbed his bow and quiver, pulled his hood down and raced off back to the scene of the fight. Two super humans, obviously super human strength and skilled fighters to an extent as they had already taken out a swat car, some civilians, and a couple lone cops. He hated super villains. Racing off at full speed, around a 500 mph give or take stopping behind the two. Pulling out his bow he loaded two electric net arrows and fired them off at the two 'supers' individually. One at the odd faced man and one at the gold eyed man.

Moving from his position he took off once again and dashed over to the left side off the gold eyed man about fifteen feet away an exploding arrow aimed down at him. "As a member of The Phantoms and G.U.N I am giving you two an opportunity to stand down and turn yourselves in. This is your only chance." He said steadily holding the arrow in place ready to remove it in a notices moment. The Ranger, The Crimson Archer, Atlanta's Savior was back and he was going to protect his city unlike the disaster in New York.

Azrael turned, compared to the bullets that had just been patting him, the arrow seemed to be moving in slow motion even though the man who had fired it was beyond his vision. In a moment he had moved the body he still clutched in his right hand to block the arrow, allowing the net to wrap around the corpse as he continued his turn and chucked it at his aggressor. The man had made the foolish mistake of speaking when he should have been attacking. Azrael had no patience for such fools nor did he have any desire to engage in conversation with one who willing to use less-than-lethal force. As he saw his aggressor he made note of the man's attire and his gear.
He wore a ridiculous outfit, a bright red suit that looked like something out an eight year old's wet dream for his future. The man carried a bow and quiver, that was obvious, though going on what he had seen already, Azrael highly doubted more than a few were truly 'arrows' rather than cheap tricks. The man seemed to think himself great because he shouted out two names that meant nothing to Azrael. Were they more people he could kill? Would they put up more of a fight than the pitiful police officers sent to stop him? Or had they been sent to stop his newest acquaintance? He didn't know and he didn't care, all that mattered was that they had been poor sport, easily dispatched and full of blood. Though he didn't mind the feeling of easily crushing his foes, a challenge was something Azrael desired.
Something to stimulate him, to make him bleed. A fight that would truly bring him pleasure when he killed his opponent. He looked at this man, who was dressed as something off of power rangers and cracked his knuckles. Reaching for the back of his hand, he switched on his shock fist to the highest setting.

"I'm going to enjoy killing you" Azrael yelled as he slammed his foot into ground, causing a chunk to raise up. Spinning he kicked it at his new opponent. He sincerely hoped the man dodged it. With all his bluster, it would a shame for him to die from such a simple attack.

He hoped the man rushed him, he preferred to look his prey in the eyes before he crushed them, preferably starting with those very same eyes. He wanted to see rage and defiance in them up until the last second. That one moment where the courage in the soul died and was replaced by overwhelming fear of their inevitable death. Even if he didn't see that instant he would feel it. There was always a change in the way their body moved, as if it had accepted the future and was just waiting for the pitiful brain it was toting to figure it out as well. Some might call it accepting your fate, but Azrael sincerely doubted anyone -least of all one so obviously prideful as this man- would accept such a thing even as it stared him in the eyes. Azrael would enjoy watching him bleed.

The Plexus had been completely unprepared for such an attack. The net had caught him quickly and he lay on the ground in bewilderment. When had this happened? It did not matter to The Gut, he looked up at his previous aggressor to find him beginning a frontal assault on a brightly clothed soldier. How intriguing. The Gut watched for a moment as they squared off, placing his bet as to who would come out on top. As he did so he could feel the bites of bullets in his back. The city guards still seemed to be there wanting a fight. Had it not occurred to them that they could not harm neither he or anyone else of his ilk? It was of little consequence to The Stomach, he simply ignored the constant poking and continued his watch on the fight commencing in front of him.

((Hey plexus just remember if he tries to struggle the net the shock affects up to seven durability))

Ranger watched as the man moved the body he was holding in front of the arrow, the net wrapping its self around the corpse instead of the intended target. The other arrow fared better off as it wrapped itself around the odd faced man sending him to the ground. One down, two to go, both would soon face the justice they deserved. He wasn’t sure who they were exactly but he knew they didn’t belong in Atlanta, not in his hometown, and especially not when he was on watch. The strength the man displayed by slamming his foot upon the ground and sending the slap of earth flying out at him was impressive but slow, Ranger easily maneuvered around the lumbering piece of earth.

The Ranger shook his head as he did so he muttered out “you asked for it,” before releasing the exploding arrow, his strongest arrow in his arsenal at center mass at the man. To fire off such an arrow as the exploding arrow took expert skill unmatched by many on this earth, the weight of it was different than most arrows as it was much heavier in the middle than it was at top or bottom. One had to fire it at the perfect angle or its accuracy would be completely off but, these were Rangers arrows that he himself made, so he knew what he needed to do to fire them off; and he rarely missed. Quickly notching a tranquilizer arrow he fired it off at the man on the ground, tangled in the ropes, intending to put him out of the fight for about ten minutes while he dealt with the man still standing.

He didn’t truly know the man’s durability so he wondered if the exploding arrow would be too much, wondered if it wouldn’t do the job exactly, all these thoughts flooded his head as he loaded one more tranquilizer arrow. This one though was intended to be fired at the standing man in case the exploding arrow didn’t do its trick exactly, or if he was somehow still standing from the explosion. He wasn’t aiming to kill anyone but he certainly wasn’t here to be nice. They attacked his city, and deserved everything that was coming for them, being locked up and put through court was the only thing they’d get tonight he thought to himself as he released the tranquilizer arrow.

Azrael snickered as the red robed man danced and flicked about like a fairy, his gaudy colors offsetting any threat he might have posed. Azrael briefly glanced at Plexus, the creature was trapped in a net like the one that had been fired at him. From his brief examination, the net appeared to be of quality make and was highly durable, otherwise that magnificent faced beast would have easily torn through it, just as Azrael had torn through the police officers. Then he saw it, the arrow released from the bow was flying straight at him... at what seemed to be a snail's pace. The man -though quite fast- could not force his arrows to move faster, regardless of what they were made of. Azrael easily sidestepped the projectile, listening as it whistled past, colliding with the side of a building some meters away. He heard the scream as the building's occupants tried to escape. Some made it, one didn't. Azrael regretted that he didn't have time to watch the poor man suffer from the blast. The concussive force alone would probably kill someone, combine that with the heat and shrapnel, not to mention the debris, and you had a deadly weapon on your hands.... if it hit.
Azrael glanced as the man released another arrow aimed at Plexus, this one traveling just as slow as the last. The head on it was different from the explosive that had just been directed at him, but he doubted it was anything less irritating. He doubted he could reach his captured acquaintance in time to prevent the shot from hitting and besides that, he had no reason to do so. The thing whose face he had fallen in love with was trapped like an animal, its dark majesty reduced to little more than a squirming beast. How had he let himself get captured by such a crude -if well constructed- device. Azrael examined the man's quiver and though he wasn't able to get a count of the arrows left, he knew that he could dodge them with all with ease so long as he kept his distance. If the man tried to get in close, he would simply deliver a rather shocking lesson in the form of an electrical gauntlet. Azrael could beat him, and he damn well knew it. Azrael backpedaled several feet before deciding to have a little fun.

"Oh great and powerful Stomach, how the mighty have fallen. Look at you on the ground, writhing like a worm on a hook. What happened to the great beast whose face I wanted for my own" he called, the mirth in his voice barely outmatching the malice. That was when he realized, he had been feeling a light tapping this entire time. He was still being shot at by police.

'Oh well, more meatshields' he thought deviously to himself as he leaped over and drove his hands into the throats of two of the offending officers. They weren't quite dead, which made it far more enjoyable. They would feel whatever punishment his opponent intended to inflict upon him. Their cries of anguish would be made all the sweeter by the notes of betrayal it would carry. To be killed by the one who swore to protect them. Azrael turned to face his opponent, his hostages-turned-shields both held tightly in his grip.

((The Gut isn't a human in any way other than that he is humanoid. I don't think you're tranquilizer arrows will have the desired effect as his blood and body is made up of different genetic material to say a mammal. However it is likely it'd have some kind of effect on him. Just not the desired one. To be fair though he's not going to break out of that net so there's no need to worry.))

The bastard of a human had fired and arrow into his abdomen. He could feel the needle injecting a serum into his body. Instantly The Gut could feel a change in his mental state. He became woozy, and a little jovial. His vision became blurry and a turn of the head made his brain swim. The effects of this drug were proving to be quite enjoyable to The Plexus. He began to laugh uncontrollably as Azrael lept high into the air and thrust his hands through the throats of two city guards. Azrael had asked him a question. It had taken Plexus a few moments to digest it.

"There is something you should know about ME oh great Azrael. I do not consider this any kind of defeat. FOR YOU SEE! The Gut is a curious creature, I would like to know what this man shall do with me once I am captured." He tried to stand but as he did so was shocked suddenly and thrown down into a prone sitting position. He giggled. The shock was unexpected, but welcome. "Hohoho, oh you vibrant hero, you are tricky." He wagged a finger that was not even in the direction of whom he intended his comment. "In truth however I had not expected the would be hero to be so tricky! In my experience projectile weapons of this nature have not had the capability to become snares. However the turn of events are quite amusing to me. I should like to see how they progress." He hiccuped, and sat with a glazed half smile on his face. An expression hidden by the darkness that enveloped his visage.