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Aberrant: 200X - [Gods of War] Intro: Wayward Goddess


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May 12th, Pumpkin Island, Australia

Jason was sprawled out on a beach chair, enjoying the setting sun and soft ocean breeze in the solitude of a private island Down Under, while catching up on some reading - The Shadows Inside in fact. Dani was right - the kid's rendition of his Dungeon and Dragons character really does bare a resemblance to us, if we had long, pointy ears and greyish skin. The transsexual beauty and media darling was utterly relaxed and content.

The Charity Event for the Victoria Crush had been a complete success and she had just finished the photo-shoot for a new swimsuit calendar here on secluded and luscious Pumpkin Island in the Great Barrier Reefs well ahead of schedule due to perfect and cooperative weather. Even better, she had the private island all to herself, since the agency had had to rent Pumpkin Island for the entire week.

Maybe throwing herself into the spotlight had been a vast over-compensation to the situation she had found herself in after erupting, forcing herself to deal through constant exposure. But the truth was, with a new life and a new gender thrust upon her, and a career as a hockey star gone forever, she needed something new to replace the void before descending into a morass of self-pity. And for the most part, she actually enjoyed it, much to her chagrin.

Still, sometimes she just needed time away, all to herself. No fans, no press, even no room-mates. With a private island all to herself, no one around for miles and miles, and the mainland a forty-five minute boat trip away, Jason couldn't get much more privacy than that. The only one she'd want to share this with was Danielle and hopefully she'd be joining her in a couple of days.

Jason turned the page of the graphic novel, chuckling at the depicted reaction of a teenage boy suddenly finding himself in a bosomy body, then reached for her drink sitting on a bound script book on the sand - a pink melon rainbow starburst. The drink she had mixed for Danielle when they first met.

Jason gave a small sigh at finding it empty save for some sludgy ice, debating with herself if she wanted to get up to get a new one, or simply laze away under the setting sun. Finally, she climbed to her feet with inherent, peerless grace, wriggled her toes in the hot sand, shook out her long mane of argent hair, then started sashaying back to the beach house, hips swaying from side to side.


Inside the beach house, their presence hidden by the sunlight reflecting off the windows, three men watched in instinctive awe, their breaths catching in their throats. The statuesque woman's hair shimmered like silver fire, the sun halfway below the horizon limning her fantastic curves with rose and golden light, every little movement she made a glorious symphony of motion. They could make out the luminous colour of her twilight eyes even from this distance. Her ineffable beauty paid no heed to sexual orientation or taste, drawing all eyes like moths to a flame. Everything about Bombshell proclaimed her ascension from the dross of humanity, a true Marvel among men and women.

"Dayum!" one of them whispered.

And that was why Scrambler decided Jason 'Bombshell' Bellefleur had to go.

A goddess like her, content to pander to and exult in the lust and attention of those who were no more than gnats in comparison. Like nothing more than a cheap whore, spreading her legs open for any zip, letting herself be covered in the cum-stains of their desires. Actress, Model, and XWF starlet - she didn't even challenge herself with the real danger of the prostitution the Elites engaged in. She was worse than that slut Narcosis even. At least Narcosis knew she was better than the zips, used them as sycophants, servants, and dupes, and had them worshiping her for the privilege. Bombshell held herself as no more than their equal, and the decrepit masses loved her for it.

She filled him with disgust and still, he couldn't take his eyes off her. Scrambler's hands tightened into fists, black veins running the length of his forearms standing out in sharp relief. There was no chance of drawing the monkey-loving bitch into the Teragen fold. Indeed, he believed Chang's entrancement and attraction to the woman was in large part responsible for his old Seeker leaving the movement, and for that, she was going to pay.

It was personal, but he needed help. Finding her wasn't the problem, when the whole world salivated at the sight of her. A quick search of the OpNet, and he knew this was the perfect opportunity. Everything he learned about Bombshell suggested there was little he could do to limit access to her capabilities - it was her innate traits that had been increased to superhuman levels and studying her XWF battles revealed her strength, speed, and durability was phenomenal, even for a Nova. Facing her directly would be unimaginably risky, and possibly lethal.

So... he planned on tossing her into an arena with Novas just as dangerous as her, if not more so, without the option of tapping out, and where her zip-loving nature would only be a detriment. He had considered simply dropping her in a volcano or the Merianas Trench, but too many novas proved to be immune to environmental effects, extreme as some of them were, to take the risk. Let the baselines' whores fight among themselves, every one dead leaves the One Race that much stronger, unchained by baseline interests. Bye-bye Bombshell. I hope next time I see you, it's on the news, with you making a particularly nice looking corpse.

Scrambler held up an open hand, then closed it into a fist as he reached for the perception centers of Jason's brain, seeking to close them off. He grunted with the effort - it was hard to look beyond Bombshell's sheer attractiveness to realize she was more than just a pretty face. And he just found out the cunt had a stubborn will, evidenced by dealing with going from a young man to a prurient fantasy of a woman without going insane. Scrambler strained, then relaxed as he managed to cut-off her access to sight and sound. Not as much as he was hoping, but it would be enough.

On the beach, Jason came to a sudden stop, a hand going to her head, then twisting her head quickly from side to side, her eyes wide and unseeing.

"Good, bitch is deaf and blind," Scrambler said smoothly, hiding the effort it took. Without taking his eyes off his prey, he commanded his two companions to initiate their parts of the plan.

"Blinker, open your Warp, away from any cities. Bombshell has no particular movement or long-range communication powers - the longer we keep her from civilization, the better chance she has of staying there. Forever."

The slender figure at his side did as bidden, opening a flickering, circular portal in the air, five feet behind the bewildered woman. "Such a waste," Blinder muttered, "we shoulda tossed her to Levianthan, he coulda used a treat like that and he woulda owed us then. Beauty and the Beast indeed." Blinker sniggered.

"This is my business, not his, nor the rest of the movement's. Besides, I wouldn't trust her not to end up charming the idiot," Scrambler countered. He turned his head, glaring up at his other conspirator. "Get the fuck out there Greg, and get her through the Warp. That's it. And don't break the door, we're getting out of this without anything leading back to us."

"Fury," the seven-foot rock beast protested in an unintelligible rumble, but he carefully slid the patio door open and squeezed his bulk through it. "I'm gonna get her alright, bend the dyke over and give 'er a taste of a real man, a real nova, before giving 'er a send off she'll never forget."

"Just get her through the portal shit-for-brains or I'm going to scramble your fucking node and let her rip you to pieces while me and Blinker blink away. Got it, Greg?"

Fury growled, but nodded, then with mountainous strength, he leaped off the deck, and landed right in front of the unaware woman, kicking up a cloud of sand with the impact.

"I don't give a fuck what Scrambler said," Fury boasted, an ugly leer on his ugly face as he ogled her prominent chest straining against the one-piece swimsuit that concealed less than many a bikini. "I'm gonna play with the Barbie Doll. And I gotta say, zip-loving bitch, you have a more epic rack than even Narcosis."

Fury's large, stone-encrusted hands reached out, squeezing Bombshell's full breasts, the voluminous, plaint flesh yielding to his rough touch... until it resisted. His leer melted into a surprised frown when he saw didn't see a wince or grimace cross Bombshell's gorgeous face, nor hear a cry of pain pass her enticing lips, but rather, a ravishing sneer and a seductive snarl.


Jason squashed the instinctive panic upon finding herself wrapped in an ephemeral cocoon of utterly silent, impenetrable darkness. There were a few fighters she had faced in the Combat Zone who were able to pull a similar trick, and at least she wasn't numb - that always freaked her out. This was just someone playing a trick on her when she thought she was completely alone or something. She opened her mouth to tell them to knock it off, but snapped it closed. She wouldn't give them the satisfaction.

She felt the ground tremble, sand pattering across her mostly bare skin, a moment before someone she didn't know made their gravelly boast then grabbed her chest. It was undoubtedly a man, the hands large, broad and blunt, squeezing tight, though it wasn't uncomfortable to Nova Mega-Model. If that was all the asshole could muster, it was a fraction of her or Danielle's strength - they exerted almost as much entangled in bed. She judged whoever it was in the lower end of the Red Circle. She'd half to restrain herself.

"That was a mistake, shithead!" Jason snarled, though it was disconcerting to feel her jaw move, her tongue form the words, but to hear nothing. "Only one girl's allowed hands on my tits, and it ain't you. Let. Me. Go!"

Jason's voice matched her glorious appearance, majestic and commanding. Fury felt himself stiffening at the rich, sultry sound even as his hands sprang free from her chest in uncanny acquiescence. Before Fury could retaliate, Jason raised a hand and smashed her assaulter in the chest with an open, feminine hand.

Fury flew backwards, rocky flesh splintering and stony ribs creaking under the force of Bombshell's blow. He gasped, sharp pain radiating from his sternum. He had been warned, but he still couldn't believe the strength the unearthly beauty possessed. And he had the distinct feeling she was holding back. Fuck this! Scrambler was right.

"Had enough, dipstick?" Jason taunted, taking a defensive stance, her head panning side to side in an effort to locate her unseen and unheard assailant.

"NO!" Fury roared, a sound Jason felt rather than heard, as he swelled in size with the groan of splintering stone. In seconds, a rocky behemoth nearly thirty feet tall towered over the curvaceous, amazonian beauty. Jason could tell something was wrong, different...

Just not what until a foot the size of a barcalounger hit her in the chest and sent her sailing through the air. Though taking some damage, it didn't particularly hurt - she very rarely was affected by pain - and Jason was able to twist in the air with supple grace, landing deftly on her feet. The ground felt different under her feet, hard-packed dirt instead of sand or ocean, but she'd worry about that later.

She had an asshole to beat the crap out of. Her body already repairing the unseen damage she had sustained, the eufiber strings encasing her flowing into the glossy, dark-blue bodysuit with curving, bioluminescent stripes she wore for the XWF, Jason charged forward, sure the stoned motherfucker was somewhere just ahead of her.



All three Teragen members stared at the impossibly stunning woman, even more beautiful in her affronted anger. And that was all she appeared to be, affronted. There was no trace of blood or injury, despite a solid kick from a thirty foot colossus. Yeah, Scrambler was glad he hadn't decided on anything more physical.

"Close the Warp, Blink, close it!" he commanded hastily, seeing Bombshell pounce and Blinker quickly complied. The furious woman was no more than a long stride away when the portal snapped closed. Scrambler heard Blinker's sigh of relief and stifled his own, instead stalking out of the beach house.

He unleashed his most dangerous power and the enormous Fury seemed to implode, collapsing into a pale, young man, about five and a half feet tall, with a pock-marked face. He was on his hands and knees, gasping and spitting up blood, his chest a mass of black and blue, with the clear imprint of a hand right in the middle.

"When I fucking tell you to do something, Greg, you do it," Scrambler yelled, yanking Greg up by the throat.

"Hel... I ne-eee-ed help, she, she... she broke someth-" the former stone giant whimpered.

"Too bad. Suffer," Scrambler retorted callously. "You brought it on yourself. Blinker, help me cover up fucktard's footprints, then get us out of here. It's done."

Leaving Fury to choke and gasp in his grasp, Scrambler and Blinker swiftly concealed the obvious signs of a struggle, then stepped through another of Blinker's portals, leaving behind a tiny flare of light.

Then they were gone.


May 12th, somewhere in Central or East-Central Congo

She must've missed him, Jason thought, knowing she had covered more than twice the distance she had been kicked. She didn't detect any other presence, just more packed dirt beneath her booted feet, then the rustle of foliage against her legs. A few seconds later, she regained her sight and hearing and understood why.

Wherever she was, it wasn't Pumpkin Island. She was sure where she was. The sun shone brightly overhead and the air was hot and humid without the refreshing ocean breeze to ameliorate it. She was standing on the side of a rutted, dirt road, hardly more than a trail, cutting through a lush, deciduous forest. So... it probably wasn't British Columbia. She didn't even have her OpPhone with GPS to help her out.


"Fuck." She raised her quantum-enhanced voice, a strong, sonorous soprano clearly covering several kilometers. "This better not be some stupid game, Katya, 'cause I swear, it ain't funny."

Jason looked one way down the path, then the other, neither direction giving a hint at which way would lead to civilization the quickest. With a shrug, she chose a direction at random and began jogging in a fluid economical lope that she could maintain nearly indefinitely, shifting her eufiber from her fighter togs to a pair of loose, olive cargo shorts, a comfortable pair of cross-trainers, and a tight, black shirt which proclaimed in stretched, white letters, Objects in Shirt are Larger than they Appear.

She could have run faster than any car, but all that might have done was end up sending her the wrong way quicker. She could jog for a week or more non-stop if she had to, provided she could get some food in that time. She would run later if she had to.

A veritable goddess for the Nova age, she strode through a land barely touched by mortal hands... At least, this small part of it.

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As swift as a gazelle and more graceful by far, Jason loped down the track cutting through the rainforest, silver mane streaming behind her, the sun warm on the bare flesh of her lithe, toned limbs. She kept an eye out for any crossing paths or other signs of civilization. She'd been living in British Columbia for almost two years now, and much of the filming for her show Valkyrie was done outside. She wasn't entirely unfamiliar with the rainforest.

But this one was different from the one she knew. The sounds were different, both the wind through the trees and the animals. The trees were different, the foliage a lighter green, more infused with a yellow tint, though that might have been the sun overhead, and the towering conifers of BC were lacking. She didn't recognize the shape or colour of the mountains in the distance - they certainly weren't the Rockies - which would have given her a clue on which way would lead her to people. With the sun straight overhead, she couldn't even tell which way she was going.

More than an hour and over a hundred kilometers later, the forest opened up, stopping short of the banks of a sparkling river, spanned by a worn, wooden bridge. Jason slowed, sauntering to the river's edge. She hadn't had supper and though she wasn't starving, yet, her stomach was starting to grumble. Some water would quiet it, and with her nova constitution, she wouldn't have to worry about the water making her sick.

She crouched down to cup some river water in her hands, when she caught her first good sight of distinctive local wildlife, giving her a clue where she was. The animals didn't seem to care much that they were near a man-made track, few doing little more than shifting away from her. The birds flapping their wings were just birds to her and she noticed a crocodile or alligator crouched in the mud beneath the bridge, but those could be found all over the place too. This doesn't feel like Florida...

On the other hand, the several massive animals floating several dozen feet upriver, only their broad backs and the nostrils, black eyes, and stubby ears on top of their heads revealed were distinctive. One yawned, its huge maw opening monstrously wide, studded with ivory, peg-like teeth. Their black eyes watched her with incurious apathy.

Hippopotamuses?! I'm in fuckin' Africa? Where the hell do hippos live in Africa? It's a big place. Probably not near the Mediterranean...

She had never seen one in real-life before, but seeing one trundle onto the riverbank on its stumpy legs so it could roll in the mud, she saw just how big they were. Considering she had faced BrawlZilla and BabeZilla among others in the Combat Zone, Jason was surprised their size impressed her. Maybe it was because they had been around for millions of years, and Novas - herself included - were freaks of nature who had only first appeared less than fifteen years ago.

They're sorta cute, in a really ugly kinda way, stupid and lazy lookin'... They're like river-cow-pigs. Do people eat hippos? I thought they were endangered or somethin'...

A thunderous bellow made Jason spin around to a standing position, to find three tonnes of angry river-cow-pig charging her from the tree-line, quick for something that large and with such short legs. The sight of such a beast barreling towards someone, the ground trembling under its weight, could paralyze with shock. Jason arched a brow, simply smiling ruefully that she hadn't even noticed the beast before it was careening towards her like a runaway freight train. After all, it wasn't as ugly as B-Zed, nor as bestial as Superbeast - she had faced worst. And it might have been fast, but she was faster.

And hippopotami can't corner for shit, Jason thought, slipping deftly to the side with a graceful spin, then placing a hand flat against the hippo's pebbled, grey, and oddly oily, flank and shoving it off its feet. Apparently, that wasn't enough to deter the aggressive animal, as it rolled back to its feet - his feet she noticed - with a squealing grunt and charged her again, snapping his massive maw at her.

Jason danced around the bull hippopotamus like a beauteous matador, not inclined to kill it, but knocking it from its feet over and over again wasn't making the bastard animal back off either. She could have outlasted the damn thing, but she was lost who knew where, annoyed that someone had tossed her into the middle of nowhere for no reason she knew, and the hippo grunting at her frayed a nerve.

When it barreled after her again, Jason ducked low, getting her hands under its belly and pressed the hippo above her head. Quantum-boosted muscle ignoring physics, Jason turned around, set her feet, than heaved the hippopotamus into the middle of river, hoping it was deep enough, but not all that regretful if it wasn't.

Apparently, it was, as the huge animal plunged out of sight, kicking up a tremendous wave. Birds and other animals coming to the river to drink all fled the drenching onslaught. A long moment later, the hippo bobbed to the surface, blue-green river water sluicing off its back, looking stunned. Jason glared at it, her luminous indigo eyes bright.

The hippopotamus got the hint. The bull and its pod paddled away, giving up this stretch of the river to the dominant woman standing on the river bank.

"Damn right you should swim away!" Jason taunted it, expelling some of her growing irritation, then muttered to herself, "Why the fuck did some guy I've never heard of - Scrambler or something - throw me into buttfuck nowhere, Africa? Revenge for his wife - or husband - deciding they preferred a Bombshell? Has something against transsexuals? What?" She took a deep breath, looked downriver, then upriver. "Now what?"


Hidden in a hunter's blind in the tree-line, where he had spent hours preparing a clear shot on one of hippopotami, Kwame stared in aroused awe at the woman standing by the river, bending over to cup some water in her hands.

He hand never seen a woman so beautiful, so graceful, so powerful, had never imagined such a woman could exist. Tall and curvaceous as only a dream could be, long, loose hair gleaming like the purest silver, surely she was an angel or a divine warrior-queen. And perhaps, the means to his village's deliverance.

Kwame was out here, looking for fresh meat to add to the weekly tribute demanded by the Foreign Devil with fire for blood and inhumanly broad with corded muscle and his interhamwe minions. The tribute was due tomorrow, and if they had nothing else, the Devil would take even more women, maybe even his younger sister. He had one of the village's three trucks hidden in the brush, prepared to be loaded up with as much meat as he could retrieve. He had bagged a warthog, but a hippopotamus would have given them a surplus. Now, there was no chance of him netting one before it was too late.

His heart hammered beneath his sternum, unable to take his eyes off the unearthly woman, hands sweaty on the stock of his rifle. If he but dared to beg the Goddess' aid...

What better to slay a Devil than an Angel?

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  • 2 weeks later...

Kwame gathered his nerve, then picked his way through the brush and stepped onto the river bank. With rising trepidation, he approached the captivating, silver-haired woman, making no pretense to stealth, his heavy bore rifle slung over his shoulder, a large knife sheathed at his hip.

Then she turned to face him with uncanny grace, stopping Kwame in his tracks as the angel's full presence was turned upon him. He saw her tense, hands closing into fists, delectable lips curving into a slight frown at the sight of his weapon and Kwame thought his life was forfeit for his effrontery in daring to approach this heavenly - not to mention curvaceous - creature. His lips writhe as he murmured a prayer, wishing he could have voiced his request before being struck down.

Jason broke into an easy, amiable grin, glad to finally have found someone, especially one who didn't seem inclined to shoot first and drool over her body second. She flicked a strand of wet hair over her shoulder then stuck out a hand in greeting.

"Am I ever glad to find someone," Jason said lightly at the sight of the short, wiry, ebon-skinned man. "I know this is gonna sound weird, but, do you think you can tell me where I am?"

Sudden tears sprang to Kwame's eyes, heart bursting with relief and awe. He was not going to be killed out of hand like the Demons walking the land were wont to do. And her voice! Sweeter than the purest mountain spring, more resonant and powerful than the torrent of the mighty Congo River, it hardly mattered he did not understand her, only that he could not answer her question.

"I am sorry, Goddess, but your tongue is beyond me," Kwame apologized, taking her hand in both of his, bowing his head and kneeling on the sand.

Idiot! Not everyone speaks English! Just pretty much everyone where you've visited, Jason silently reprimanded herself as she hauled the fawning man back to his feet with effortless ease. "None of that now. Um, do you speak French? Français?"

Idiot! Christianity came with the Belgians. Of course Angels would speak their tongue! Kwame thought, nodding at Jason eagerly. "Yes, French, I am speaking this," he said in his broken French. "You are looking lost. You are an angel falling from Heaven, yes?"

A puzzled furrow appeared between Jason's fine brows, then she chuckled ruefully when she realized he wasn't hitting on her. He was being serious, he really thought she was angel. It had been a long time since she met someone who didn't even have a clue of who she was. I'm guessing I won't find a TV or phone anywhere nearby. At least I can talk with the natives.

"I'm flattered, but no, I'm just a... a woman," Jason assured him, "though a nova. My name is... " Okay, why confuse the matter more than it is? "... Jase. What's yours? And... where am I?"

"I am Kwame Kayembe, a hunter for my village. This is the République démocratique du Congo,Angel Jassiel," he answered her, ignoring her evident confusion and mishearing her name to fit his beliefs. He gave her a broad grin, his teeth very white in his dark, dark face.

"The Congo?" Jason whistled, long and sublime. Isn't that one of the one of the countries with all the fightin' and shit, is? Middle of Africa or something. "Please, Kwame, it's Jase and I'm not an angel. Okay, the Congo. Do you think you can lead me to a city, someplace where I can find a phone? Or an airport?"

"The city, yes, I am knowing the way. But An - Jase, it is not being safe. There are many interhamwe troubling the land. And in the city, the soldiers, they are not being better. A Goddess such as yourself, they will try..." Kwame's smile faltered, knowing what men in power did to women in this country, especially the beautiful ones, and there had never been a woman as beautiful as Jase in the Congo.

Jason chewed her lip, but Kwame saw the fierce light in her incandescent indigo eyes. "They can try, but it won't go well for them. But I don't want you to take a risk on my account. Maybe you can just tell me how to get to the city? Or have a map."

"Yes, a map, we have one in our village. And perhaps, Father Johns and the Red Cross man, Jean-Claude, they can be helping you. Come!"

Without a better idea of how to get out of here, other than running and not stopping until she found a coastline, Jason followed the dark-skinned hunter. Several hundred meters back down the track she had just crossed, Kwame turned into the rainforest, uncovering a worn, dun-coloured flat-bed truck concealed by thick foliage. In the bed, there was a dead animal, a pig of some sort, with long tusks. Hunter, indeed. I prefer my bacon packaged, but I guess people can't be too picky out here.

With some deft maneuvering that she wouldn't have wanted to try in a thick forest, Kwame got the truck back on the trail and drove across the wooden bridge. The planks rattled and creaked, but Kwame seemed unconcerned by it.

"How far is it to your village, Kwame?" Jason asked.

"It is being about two hours, Jase," he replied, Jason's easy-going nature slowly helping him grow at ease her awe-inspiring presence and beauty. Keeping his eyes on the road and the rainforest instead of the woman he was sharing the cab with helped too. "But... I... I am still needing to bring back more meat for my village. I am wanting to get a hippopotamus, but..." He risked giving her a sheepish grin.

Jason snorted ruefully. "Um, yeah, sorry about that. How about this? I've never hunted before, but if you point out what you need, well... I can run it down for you."

"You are not needing to do this," Kwame protested. He certainly never intended to presume upon the Angel's aid in the completion of his tasks.

"I insist. You're helping me out, I can help you out, especially since for me, it isn't much effort."

"If you are being sure..." Kwame agreed uncertainly.

An hour later, Kwame slowed the truck to a crawl, it's first generation HC engine nearly silent, and pointed to the herd of red river hogs snuffling along the banks of a brook weaving through the rainforest. Jason nodded, then slipped out the truck and broke into a sprint. From the bed of the truck, Kwame covered her with his hunting rifle.

It was hardly needed. Kwame watched in captivated awe. And rising hope.

Jason leapt the brook and was among the herd of twenty or so hogs before they even had a chance to react. She flowed through them, grabbing one of the two-hundred pound hogs by the neck with one hand, then another in her other hand. They squealed and twisted in her grasp, but one sharp shake broke their necks. The rest of the herd fled and Jason loped back to the truck, placing the hogs on the bed. Even as Kwame started tying them down, Jason raced back with an even greater burst of speed and chased down two more the hogs. She repeated her neck-snapping shake, and returned just as Kwame finishing securing the first two.

"Thank-you, thank-you, oh beauteous one! This will help my entire village," Kwame praised her effusively. Warrior-Queen, Hunter-Goddess, Avenging Angel. Surely you will stop the Demon when you see him!

"Glad to help, Kwame," Jason said, hiding her thoughts behind a slight smile. It had been frightfully easy to break the thick necks of the heavy hogs and she couldn't but think snapping a human's neck would be just as easy. It was a melancholy thought.

About an hour later, Kwame turned onto a narrow path off the main trail that she hadn't even seen at first, branches slapping against the body of the truck. Another twenty minutes, and they arrived at the village, Kwame bursting out of the truck almost before it came to a stop, and shouting out the news about their guest.

Jason climbed out of the Truck more slowly, stretching, then looked around the village by the banks of a slow-moving, brownish-green river., already drawing attention. And it was a village, wooden shacked with woven roofs. The biggest building was what she assumed was a church, by the large cross rising from the only sloped, wooden roof in the village. Behind it, rose two wind turbines, only one working, to provided limited amounts of power.

Click to reveal.. (Kwame's Village)

Looks something like this, except more huts, and the addition of a rustic church and a pair of wind turbines, one blackened and twisted

Dammit! I shouldn't feel guilty just because I come from a first-world nation.

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But she did, at least a little. Here Jason was, tall and sleek and voluptuous and well-fed, healthier and more beautiful than anything human, dressed in a substance that could be nearly any garment she could imagine. And now, she was surrounded by a people, not a one as tall as her, faces and flesh weathered by a rough life. Their clothing was worn to near rags and their slimness had nothing to do with health but rather bare subsistence. The trials of their lives was written in the deep lines of their faces, even on the children. Their rustic, grass-roofed huts could have almost belonged on a resort in Fiji, but there were anything but.

Yet, despite harshness they endured on a daily basis, the people of Kwame's village welcomed her enthusiastically, in a babble of alien sounding Swahili and Kikongo and rough French. They could have begged her aid, begged for anything she had to give, but they did not. They seemed genuinely pleased and impressed with her presence, if more than a little surprised and in awe, and proudly showed her around their village, not the least ashamed. The interhamwe and the quantum-powered Devils took and took, but they still survived with a unique blend of meekness, humility, and stubborn pride.

With the easy charm and grace that had been heightened further by her eruption and life in the limelight, Jason let herself be lead around the village, making appreciative noises at what they showed her. She knew how to handle fans, though these were a sorry lot. On the other hand, they didn't seem to have the desperate yearning and belligerent belief that they had a right to invade her privacy many fans in the First World.

The sun was setting when the village began preparing for their communal meal, and they eagerly invited Jase to share it with them. Her guilt reared again. She was hardy enough to miss more than a few meals, but she would by lying if she said her hyper-metabolism wasn't craving more fuel, and she could tell they would be disappointed if she refused. In compromise, she offered to tear out the massive tree stumps that had resisted axe and fire in the small fields they had cleared, the tough wood no impediment to the immense strength hiding beneath her stunning beauty.

The villagers all agreed Jassiel, the Nzuri-malaika* was as kind as she was beautiful. Jason stifled a sigh, and tried to take the name - whatever it meant - in stride.

Father Johns, an older man with a fringe of white hair and a neatly trimmed beard, his black clothes faded to grey after many washes said grace, a hint of Ireland in his voice, then everyone began to eat between raucous conversation. Jason was a little bit leery of the food at first, but for all that, it smelled pretty good, if different, and soon, she was digging in too. She shared a few words with Father Johns and the only other white person in the village, Jean-Claude Duvaine, a volunteer with the Red Cross. Father Johns claimed with minor humour that the sight of her made him question his vows, which made Jason blush self-consciously, her Catholic upbringing rearing its dusty head.

Both of them knew what a Nova was, indeed, Jean-Claude admitted to having one of her posters, his face red, but said it was easier for the villagers to grasp the concept through their own beliefs. They also both agreed it would be best if she left as soon as possible. In the Congo, it seemed one Nova drew other novas as lodestone drew iron filings and the village was already suffering terribly under a nova-led interhamwe band.

Unfortunately, unless they left in the middle of the night - and it was hardly safe to navigate the rough trails in the dark - there was too much of a risk Jason could encounter the band the next day when they came for tribute. And as Kwame said, even in the cities, it paid to be cautious, the military growing anxious at the sight of any nova and disguising Jason's nova-ness would be near impossible. Still, Father Johns promised to give Jason a place to stay and hide in the small chapel until the bandits were gone, then Jean-Claude would accompany her with Kwame to the closest city.


While Jason was being shown around the village, Kwame went to the village elder, an old woman with a seamed face, iron-grey hair, and needing the aid of two wooden crutches to walk. But there was nothing weak in her demeanor.

"Eldest, the Nzuri-malaika, I am knowing she will save us from fire-blooded Devil and the interhamwe. She is so swift and strong, the Devil will have no chance against her," Kwame assured her. "I have seen her toss a great hippopotamus into the river as easily as if it were no more than a pebble."

The Eldest's small, dark eyes glanced towards the villagers clustering around Jason, her silver-haired head poking above the ring of black hair. She gave a disbelieving snort. Men and the young were always fools for a pretty face and a heavy pair of teats. "And why would this angel care to help us?"

"Because she is as kind as she is strong and beautiful. Though I tried to refuse, she insisted on helping me with my hunt. Once she sees the Devil and his minions, and how they treat us, the Nzuri-malaika will strike them down in righteous anger."

The Eldest chewed on that, watching the nzuri-malaika being shown the humble village. The Eldest was no fool, she knew the impossibly beautiful woman with a voice sweeter than any music was far more than human. And yet, there was something to her that said she was still young, and unused to the hardness of life here on the mortal world.

"Then we shall have to make sure that the nzuri-malaika has something to see to stir her heart," the Eldest proclaimed softly. And once the Devil sees this one, it will never bother a daughter of my village ever again, for how can a mortal woman compare to the beauty of an angel?


Night fell, and Jason was shown her pallet on the floor of the basic church. Father Johns looked apologetic, but Jason assured him it was okay. Still, she couldn't fall asleep and it wasn't the thinness of the pallet or the fact she was in a church, rough at it was, or the different sounds surrounding her. It was something else, something she couldn't identify.

Jason spent the night outside sitting on a boulder behind the church on the edge of the sluggish river, staring up at the moon and stars wheeling overhead, a soft breeze stirring her long hair into rippling moonlight. She was in another world, a world in which she didn't belong. Yet she still felt a pang for fleeing it. Softly, so softly it blended into the sighing of the wind and the rustle of the leaves, yet still, it permeated the entire village and more, Jason began humming.

It was a melody that had only been seen written, never heard. Written for her in fact, a testament to the awe and horror her overwhelming beauty lanced into the hearts of all who saw her. It had taken time, but she had grown to accept her appearance, even enjoy it. But here in the Congo, it seemed a shallow thing, accounting for little in the face of all these villagers, and those like them, endured on a daily basis.

Click to reveal..

Nzuri-Malaika: Swahili for Beautiful Angel
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Dawn came, and with it a surcease from idyllic quiet.

Engines, harsh with the protest caused by lack of maintainance, roared outside the church, waking Jason instantly. As she sprang to her feet and moved to investigate she found both Jean-Claude and Father Johns waiting in the doorway, peering out past the ill-fitting door.

"What is it?" Bombshell asked, her sweet soprano filling the small building. Father Johns turned, his expression gravely worried, and made a shushing motion. From outside the engines cut off, and in the sudden silence all three Westerners could hear the frightened babble of many people interspersed with rough voices shouting harsh commands.

"Interhamwe." Jean-Claude said, as though that explained everything then, looking at the uncomprehending expression in the beautiful indigo eyes. "Bandits dressed up as guerrillas." There was no mistaking the disdain in his voice for them.

"Bandits?" Jason asked incredulously, remembering to keep her voice down. Was this the 21st century, or had she done the time-warp at some point?

"They are here for their tribute." Father Johns said. "They will leave the church alone, so long as we give them no cause not to. Such is life in this land."

"What kind of tribute?" Jason asked ominously.

"Food and women, usually." Jean-Claude answered solemnly. Father Johns shot him a warning look, then stepped firmly into Bombshell's path.

"You must not." he said, recognising the tilt to her lovely chin. "I am serious, Jason. You might scare away this band, but their leader is a nova. He might even be with them today, though that's not certain. The natives call him the Devil with Fire Blood, and he's certainly heavyweight enough to keep the Congolese Army away. If you two fight, people will suffer."

Beyond the doors, the picking-out of the best women had begun, and the wailing of women and angry helpless shouts of men filled the dawn air as their daughters and young wives were taken.

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"I'm sorry Father, but people are suffering now."

Jason's voice was cold and pained as with one hand she gently, but inexorably, urged the priest aside, her cargo pants and tight shirt contorting. The eufiber flowed, melded, transforming into an outfit she was used fighting in: A figure-hugging bodysuit of deep, glossy blue with bioluminescent stripes of pale indigo that emphasized her curves. After a moment's hesitation, the tall woman rose even taller, her integrated boots gaining four inch wedge heels. Height was a great intimidator and if she could get through this without a fight, so much the better.

For everyone.

She tried telling herself this wasn't her fight, that as Father Johns said, getting involved would just make things worst, all to no avail. She didn't share the feeling of - and actual - vulnerability of other women, but she was still man enough to not abide watching a woman, or women, being harmed right in front of her. It was the resignation in their cries of protest that struck deepest.

With her rising fury, fists tightened at her side, her presence and bearing grew even more awesome, palpable. Her impossible beauty sharpened, so much that Father Johns and Jean-Claude found it difficult to focus on the Goddess in their midst. Supercharged adrenaline began flowing through her veins, making her skin prickle and her body feel weightless.

Goddess Power Activate!
Activating Awe-Inspiring, Obscurement, Healing Factor, Enhanced Movement, all for the Scene.

QP: -10|WP: -0 |HL: -0

"I'm a heavyweight too, Father. I will attempt to get this Devil clear to prevent collateral damage," Jason murmured, her whisper filling the church and making the men's bones vibrate with the power she possessed.

She took a long breath, lowered her brows over burning, indigo eyes and opened the door, her voice ringing throughout the entire village, a one word demand in a tone that burrowed deeply into the brain of every man, woman, and child. Cold and resolute with dark promise, she strode out of the church, the thump of her heels reverberating like ominous thunder, round hips swaying with matchless grace. She was poetry in motion, predatory and powerful and so, so beautiful.


Every eye was on her, and she met each and every one squarely, a slight curve to her luscious lips, enticing and terrible, looking for the Devil with Fire-blood, so she wouldn't have to see the resigned despair in the eyes of the women, nor the tremulous hope they were afraid to feel.

"You men will leave. Now. Or else you will face a woman who doesn't fear your guns and who possesses a strength you can't hope to match. For every hurt you inflict on these women, I will return upon you tenfold."

Bring It Bitches!
Intimidation Roll, trying to make them all back off, +5 Auto-successes from Awe-Inspiring:
Roll: [7, 6, 8, 4, 6, 2] + mega [5, 9, 3, 2, 4]. Total Successes: 4 + 5 [Awe-Inspiring = 9 Successes.
Could have been much better. laugh.gif

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The merely mortal men there couldn't hope to stand in the face of that terrible, beautiful visage. They were torn between falling to their knees in worship, falling to their faces in fear, and running. Fortunately, the goddess had given them a very clear instruction to leave.

So they did.

Without a word, without even murmuring and keeping their eyes on the ground, the bandits climbed back onto their vehicles and started their engines up once more. Not even the cheerful shouts of praise and thanks from the villagers at their new angel could persuade the interhamwe to look back as they turned their rundown jeeps and trucks and drove back the way they had come.

The people clustered around Bombshell again, their faces happy and respectful as they spoke in a babbling mixture of French and the local tongue, thanking her, complimenting her beauty and grace and compassion in such a heartfelt, sincere way that it made Western media idolatry seem tawdry and cheap by comparison. The appreciation and reverence of these people was spiritual, not material, and though the men and some women were plainly attracted to the tall platinum-haired goddess, they had nothing of Lawler's bug-eyed lust, or the sycophancy or coarse ribaldry of the XWF fans in their manner.

Standing there and actually being worshipped, really, truly revered and respected, Bombshell saw why even some Western novas went 'India Syndrome'. Nothing in a media-saturated First World life could prepare a nova for this total lack of cynicism.

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It was terribly seductive, that painfully honest and worshipful regard, and another reason why Jason knew she had to leave, and soon. She had thrown herself into the spotlight, partly out of fun, partly for the need to do something with hockey denied her, and partly as personal recompense. When she had been a guy, she had gawked and lusted after Nova hotties just like any other guy. It seemed almost hypocritical to deny guys the chance to lust after her now that she herself was a match for any of them, Alejandra, Ausrine, Geisha, Freya Oswain. Knockout.

And if she was being truthful, she turned herself on too, seeing herself model or on the TV and Movie screens. She could make one of the most beautiful women on the planet wear and act exactly how she wanted, she just had to deal with the fact that she was that woman. And she was dealing, in her own way, though her relationship with Danielle helped a great deal.

Compared to what she had witnessed here, the attention she garnered back home seemed... shallow. The only thing she could liken it to was when she visited sick kids in the hospital, yet this was far more potent. She couldn't fight terminal and genetic diseases, but with just a strut and her voice, she had cowed an entire band of god-to-honest bandits, giving the village a reprieve from their deprecations, and saved a bunch of women from rape and worse.

Her only regret was that this 'Devil with Fire-Blood' wasn't here. Taking down his men, armed with guns that couldn't even hurt her, would have felt like beating up children, and just as shameful. It was her hope that getting the living shit beaten out of him by a woman would have quelled the Devil's - and his men - preying on women. That it would have felt incredibly satisfying was just a bonus.

Jason worked her way through the crowd, helping the women to their feet and trying to assure them she was glad to help and that they had thanked her enough. She almost shuddered with how her mere touch was taken as a blessing, the way they thanked the Nzuri-Malaika for her divine intervention. It made her want to beat the crap out of the Devil with Fire-blood all the more. She wasn't a god - or a goddess, rather - but for a moment, she wanted to be one for these people.

Back home, praise came with demands and expectations. Here, or at least for these people, worship was nothing more than sheer gratitude, their prayers nothing more than thanks. And for that, she was inclined to stick around, just for a little while, to have a few 'words' with the Devil.

How tough can he be? I've faced Core, Superbeast, Maxx Mauler, and more in the Combat Zone, and matched them blow for blow, beat most of them too. Yeah, but this is real Jase, no tap outs, no callin' off the match when someone is too hurt to continue. It is real - do you really think this Devil won't come back once he hears the most attractive woman he can imagine is here? And what will he do to these villagers, these women, when he finds out I'm gone? No, he's gonna be back, and he's gonna be back soon.

Jean-Claude managed to work his way through the grateful villagers to Jason's side, placing a hand on her shoulder and standing up on his toes so he could speak in her ear.

"Bombshell, you did a good thing, and without anyone getting hurt, even," he said, as impressed as any of them, but still concerned for what might happen next. "But now, we should leave, before they come back with their Nova leader. They're going to come back, and come back for you."

It was such an easy out. Just warn the villagers to tell the Devil exactly when she left and where, then get the fuck out of The Congo, and never look back. But she couldn't bring herself to take it.

"No," she said with resolute finality, hoping she wouldn't end up really regretting this, hoping she would see Alex again, that she'd hold Danielle in her arms again. She slapped a fist into her open palm with a sharp crack, stilling the praises of the villagers. "I'm gonna face the Devil, gonna show him that some women are strong enough to fight back."

So, you're a woman now? Right now, I am.

"How long will it take the enterham - interhamwe to get to their leader and get back," she asked Jean-Claude, and Kwame, who was holding his sister, tears bright in his eyes.

"Several hours, perhaps half a day if they stop to pick up any more tribute before heading back to their camp with news of their failure and of... of, well, you, Jase. The Nzuri-Malaika."

"Okay, then we have time to prepare. Tell me everything you know of the Devil with Fire-Bloood."

And the villagers cheered. The Nzuri-Maiaika, the Beautiful Angel, was going to confront the Devil with Fire-Blood on their behalf. Their women would be avenged by a Goddess among women.

Only Father Johns, Jean-Claude, and the Elder of the village were silent. Two with hope and concern, one knowing she was taking a gamble with her entire village.


The interhamwe bandits fled from the terrible and gorgeous Nzuri-Malaika, fear and arousal making every one of them painfully hard. Their leader would be furious with them for failing to return with the tribute, yet they all knew with each woman they brought back, the Devil with Fire-Blood grew ever more unsatisfied, his powerful lusts no longer satiated by mortal women. Not for long, at any rate.

Perhaps he would be merciful after hearing of a woman worthy of him, strong enough to handle his unending thirst, so beautiful as to make any woman in comparison seem bland, at best. And perhaps, after he had broken the Nzuri-Malaika to heel, he would be grateful to them revealing her existence and whereabouts to him. There would be the chance they would each get the chance to ride a Goddess.

They had one more tribute to collect, and unfortunately for the village, the interhamwe were merciless in their unrelieved arousal. They took several women right there, growing even more frustrated as their manhoods withered, cursing the Nzuri-Malaika. They had just been in the presence of ineffable beauty, and any woman in comparison was found lacking.

Snarling in embarrassment and shame, the bandits beat the women, took the offered food and other goods and left, returning to their master, haunted by the memory of the Nzuri-Maiaika. And the villagers, helping their women, bruised but not abused or taken, wondered at this Nzuri-Malaika, who had so incensed the interhamwe, that they did not even take a single one of their women.

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  • 2 weeks later...

Nightfall had come without the appearance of the Devil-with-Fire-Blood, and Jason fought against the instinct to relax. She'd spent enough time in idle conversation with Einherjar over beer and pizza during filming Valkyrie to remember the maxim of 'you can only be caught off-guard if you relax'. It tied into another one Einherjar had been fond of - 'you can only be betrayed by someone you trust'. Jase wondered how anyone could live that way, and had actually asked the large Elite that once, wondering if he'd take offence. Ein had simply grinned his pirate grin and answered "Longer."

Okay, but I don't critique Sun Tzu and Machiavelli in my spare time whilst listening to audio tapes of Von Clauswitz. I'm a model, athlete and fighter, not a frickin' mercenary. So think, Jase, think. Bombshell mused as she walked the edge of the village in the twilight, her platinum hair shimmering in the vivid purples and pinks of the setting sun as she went over what the villagers had told her. Cover the bases. You're up against a nova with fire powers, who's strong and can fly. The flying's the important part. Mobility is important on the battlefield just like anywhere else, and this fucker could feasibly stand on air and fireball the hell out of me. She'd already considered that angle, having prepared piles of rocks and sharpened saplings for throwing with the help of the eager villagers. He'll come alone - he'll know his men will be useless against me. But he might sic them on the villagers while he keeps me busy. Gotta be ready for that. A small part of Jason was proud of rising to meet this challenge, even as a smaller part wished that Dani, Einherjar and her friends were here to help her. Even Sunshine. Alex could handle a flying dude with fire powers no problem. Jael's more vicious than me - she'd have already tracked the guy down and visited him with the hurt in his sleep. Dani can fly - she'd just *zip* and knock this guy down to the ground. Shit. I am so not ready for this! Chill, Jase... This is nerves, just like before a fight. Yeah, only a gajillion times worse, because people will die here. Shut up, brain! Stop fucking with my confidence. I can handle some bandit king with a node.

The goddess's musings were jerked out of their dark cornering of her psyche by a shout from one of the game trails leading into the jungle, accompanied by some crashing as of someone blundering through the thick brush. As she sped to the spot, a burly man came stumbling from the forest, his black skin gleaming with sweat and blood. He was naked but for a cloth around his waist, chained shackles around his wrists and ankles hobbling his movement to a shambling run.

"Help me." he croaked in French as he spotted her, starting to fall only to be caught in a graceful flicker of movement by Bombshell. "The Devil... The Devil..." he murmured, the whites of his eyes plainly visible as he gasped the words. "Came to my village earlier today, many hours ago. Angry... So angry... Killed many, enslaved many. I escape... come to find the angel..." Blood speckled the chains around his wrists - it was plain that he'd fought for his freedom. "Water... please..." The last was uttered in a groan.

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  • 2 weeks later...

"You've found her," Jason assured the escapee in flawless French, her dulcet voice filtering through the dusk-shrouded verge of the village. A knot of melancholy despair squeezed tight beneath her breasts. "I am going to get you help," she promised, gently scooping the man up in her smooth, sleek arms, her glorious eyes flaring with a hard light, soprano growing sharp with anger. "Then I am going to find this Devil and give him a hell of his own making."

Stupid! Stupid bitch! She had been so sure once word of her reached the Devil, he would come for her - whether to prove his superiority or just to perv, he would come. And she would seen the man on fire easily, kept him clear of the village, and given him the biggest beating of his life. Flight or no flight, she had planned on handing him his balls, maybe literally.

But he hadn't. And now, others were hurt, enslaved, dead, because of her. Not by her hand, but it was her fault all the same. She didn't consider herself a hero, she didn't blame herself for every tragedy that afflicted the world. Like many in the first world, she rarely even thought about them when they happened half a world away, when they happened to places she never been to, to people she never met or knew, beyond a few words of regret when she read about it in the paper, then a subconscious sigh of relief that it hadn't happened to her and hers.

But when catastrophe struck right before her eyes or to those she cared about, she always found herself stepping up. And this time, it had caused more harm than help. Damn it! Why did I wait?! I should have grabbed one of those bandits and made him show where the Devil was and took him down right away! she angrily castigated herself.

Jason's long legs scythed through the underbrush and carried her across the village in a fluid glide, so smooth the man in her arms felt like he was riding on a cloud. Half conscious, one of his hands fell upon the heavy swell of a breast, squeezing instinctively. Jason's full lips tightened, then tightened further when she felt a turgid length pressing against the underside of her bust. Even beaten and bloody... I'm too sexy for my own good. Maybe for everyone else's good too...

Jason raced across the village green in three bounding strides, approaching the back side of the chapel where the priest and Jean-Claude had set up a first aid station close to the water, barely hearing the cries of the other villagers. They'd need plenty of water and enclosed places of wood and thatch were a hazard around fire-wielders.

"Father Johns! He needs help. I should have listened to you. Because of me, the Devil is on a rampage!" Jason said, carefully laying the man down on folded blanket.

The man watched with a gleam in his eyes as the most beautiful pair of hands he had ever seen, so feminine and sensual, flawless oval nails possessing a clear, opalescent sheen, reached out and grasped his shackles. Long, elegant fingers flexed as she deftly tore his steel shackles apart as if they were no more than play-doh.

"No! Malaika, Jason, this is not your doing. It is the work of the Devil-with-Fire-for-Blood," Father Johns said firmly. The woman, as beautiful and powerful as she was, was still young. "You cannot take responsibility for the actions of evil men. That way leads to a broken spirit, and is rank hubris besides."

Despite being told to lay down on his back, the man sat up, his eyes riveted on the Nzuri Malaika. He had never imagined such a woman. He could see her smoldering anger in the tautness of her shapely shoulders, in the way her hands closed, crushing the iron shackles and chains into a tight ball with the soft sound of distressed metal.

"These wounds, there are not too bad," Jean-Claude determined after wiping the blood clear. "I will bandage them, then rest should do the rest. Sir, can you tell us-"

"Listen!" the man exclaimed, who body tensing and cocking his head to the side. "Do you hear? The Devil and his men, they come!"

Jason shared an uncertain look with Jean-Claude and Father Johns. They didn't hear anything. Perhaps his ordeal had traumatized him, and justifiably so, making him hear... Then they heard it, the faint sound of gunfire, and belligerent shouts in the distance.

"Shit! I heard them," Jason affirmed, standing up and looking in the direction of the gunfire, the ball of metal held loosely in her hand as easy as if it was made of styrofoam. She glanced back down at the men. "How close are they? How far does gunfire fire travel?"

"They are too close!" the man exclaimed, an avid glint in his dark eyes. "You must go, Nzuri Malaika before the Devil and his men reach the village and burn it to ash."

Something Ain't Right
Roll: [9, 4, 1, 8, 10, 3] + mega [8]. Total Successes: 5 - 2 (Difficulty) = 3 Successes.

Jason was about to do that, but paused, a niggling suspicion tracing an icy finger up her spine. She had a fair amount of experience with how men reacted to her, helped in part with her own experience with once being a man. What she had taken to be terror... wasn't. Beads of sweat glistened on the man's onyx brow and his loincloth was straining to contain his rigid manhood, his heavy muscles tensed and swollen. Jason was dismayingly used to men being attracted to her, but this guy was burning with arousal, his breathing hot and heavy, and there wasn't a hint of fear...

And then she swore she saw his eyes flash fiery red.

"What the fuck?!" the goddess-like woman exclaimed, her natural musical tones discordant.

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  • 4 weeks later...

And the world exploded in fire and noise as the man roared in exultant, triumphant release.

Caged quantum energies coursed out from him, sheets of fire raced over a body suddenly grown larger and more heavily-muscled as the man - no, the Devil With Fire Blood slammed both his fists into the ground. The earth bucked and jumped like a landed fish, the shock of the terrific impact sending Father Johns and Jean-Claude's broken bodies hurtling through the air. The church beside them collapsed, the solid construction no match for the quantum infused muscles of the nova. The flimsier huts up to fifty feet away stood even less of a chance, flattening as though an angry god had reached out with the palm of his hand and swatted them down.

Bombshell alone withstood the awe-inspiring shockwave, feeling the force pummel her but leave her unbruised as the Devil straightened in front of her. His dark skin was alive with coruscating red flame, and batlike wings of crimson fire sprouted from his back. The brutish face was all solid planes and unyeilding strength, and was currently set in a leer as he stared at her lasciviously.

"I have come for you, angel." he said in accented French. "I see my men did not exaggerate your beauty." He laughed, a sound like the crackle of burning bodies. "Or your 'goodness'. I'm sure I shall enjoy both to the full."

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Bombshell's glorious eyes narrowed under the force of the shockwave, thin crescents of indigo blazing with guilt and fury, her long mane of hair flaring behind her like an argent banner. Jean-Claude and Father Johns were thrown behind her like a pair of broken dolls, the village falling apart as if they were built with Popsicle Sticks, and in the pit of her stomach, rage and self-reproach welled up like molten lava.

Walking the ruins of Victoria had been horrendous and soul-rending, but being in the midst of indiscriminate destruction as it happened was far worse, regardless of scale. My fault! I brought the Devil here myself and couldn't stop him! My fault! The intense emotions trickled up, searing her throat, demanding escape...

Beautiful hands balled into fists, perfect lips parted and Jason screamed. The excruciatingly feminine soprano ripped apart the night, echoing across kilometers like the clarion call of an angel's vengeance, inhuman and sublime and terrible. Divine.

The Devil's arousal peaked even as a trickle of apprehension shivered up his spine. In her righteous anger, the Nzuri-Malaika was so beautiful, laying his gaze upon her was painful, eyes narrowing to slits. He had never witnessed a woman so much more than human who was yet so... intrinsically human.

"You may be on the receiving end of my 'goodness' and 'beauty,'" Jason hissed in French, the accent hard and voice cracking like a whip of ice. "But I assure you, Devil, you will find no pleasure in it. This time, there is someone who is going to make you pay for your actions. Me."

She could feel the heat coruscating from his flesh, making her skin prickle, but she did not hesitate, crossing the distance separating them a swiftly and graceful as the fall of moonlight. Like a dark-clad sirocco wreathed en silver, Jason spun in a blur, building momentum, the captivating lengths of her legs flashing like scythes. One went high, seeking to remove his head from his shoulders, one went low, sweeping his legs out from beneath him.

As the monstrous Devil fell, an elegant hand reached out and twined around his wrist, heat racing up Jason's arm though her flesh appeared as flawless and unmarred as ever. Her other hand joined the first and continuing her pirouette, she threw the Devil-with-Fire-Blood down the river and away from the village, then raced after him, her gait impossibly fluid and unpredictable, voice rising in a haunting keen.

Combat Stuffs

Activating Obscurement for the scene (-5 to hit her when targeting with visual or auditory senses) [3qp]

Activating Healing Factor for the scene (recovers 2 HLs or 1 Aggravated HL per turn) [3qp]

Multitasking Roll (1st Die Mega): 6d10.hits(7) = 2 successes. Multitasking Active. [1qp]

Taking 4 actions (-2, -2, -3, -3)

Note: I'm going to let you roll damage Ein, since you know the Devil's soak and anything else he has. M-Strength adds [20] damage.

Action #1: Kick, called shot to the head (total difficulty +3, damage Str +5)

Attack Roll: 5 (Dex) + 5 (M-Dex) + 5 (M. Arts) + 1 (Style Bonus) + 4 (Muscle Coordination) - 2 (Multiple Action Penalty) = 18d10

Kick to the Head (1st 5 dice Mega): 18d10.hitsopen(7,10) = 13 Successes - 3 Difficulty = 10 successes

Action #2: Sweep (Difficulty 0, Damage Str +1)

Attack Roll: 5 (Dex) + 5(M-Dex) +5 (M. Arts) + 4(Muscle Coordination) - 2 (Multiple Action Penalty) = 17d10

Sweep (1st 5 dice Mega): 17d10.hitsopen(7,10) = 11 successes

Action #3: Hold and Throw (Difficult 0, Damage N/A, unless knockback counts)

Note: I'm not really wanting to hold him, just want to throw him and this looked like the best way, if it takes 2 actions to do so, use Action #4 for this as well.

Attack Roll: 5 (Dex) + 5(M-Dex) +5 (M. Arts) + 4(Muscle Coordination) - 3 (Multiple Action Penalty) = 16d10

Hold and Throw (1st 5 Dice Mega): 16d10.hits(7)= 10 successes

She should be able to throw him about 600 meters (Might total times five times number of damage auto-successes = 6x5x20), but she'll only do about half that and trying to keep him near the river so she has a better line of sight on him.

Action #4: Dodge

Dodge Roll: 5 (Dex) + 5(M-Dex) + 5 (M. Arts) - 3 (Multiple Action) = 12d10

Note: Not sure if Muscle Coordination should apply to this, it says you can apply M-Str to Martial Arts rolls as regular dice (at least the alternate version), but I don't see the regular technique having an equivalent bonus.

Graceful Dodge (1st 5 Dice Mega): 12d10.hitsopen(7,10) = 3 Successes. Monkey Balls!

Activating Quickness [1qp]

Action: Moving towards The Devil and ready to dodge out of the way.

Dodge Roll: 5 (Dex) + 5(M-Dex) + 5 (M. Arts) = 15d10

Graceful Dodge (1st 5 dice Mega): (15d10.hitsopen(7,10) = 10 successes.

QP: 20/28, WP: 10/10, HL: 13/13

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  • 5 weeks later...

The kick to his head rocked the Devil sideways despite his quantum-infused strength and density, but he wasn't able to even stagger more than a step before Bombshell's second spinning attack swept his feet clear of the ground. The heat of his flames licked at her skin, searing and burning, but the Nzuri-Malaika was relentless in her anger, her shootfighter training and experience carrying her through the perfect maneuvers despite the horror and grief numbing her soul as she hurled him clear of the village.No more innocents would die because of this man - none at all.

The Devil with Fire Blood was dazed and bleeding as he felt the wind rushing around him, the impact of Bombshell's kick to the head carried away somewhat by the sensation of freefalling. His anger peaked - how dare the bitch handle him so! How dare she! - and that familiar red-hot warmth cleared his head further. He spread his fiery wings and turning the downward arc of his fall into a swoop, coming back up again and looking around to see the silver-haired woman racing towards where she had thrown him with inhuman speed, covering the ground with those long legs that he would feel writhing around his torso before the day was out. Of that, the Devil With Fire Blood was sure.

Roaring his own challenge, he let fly with a searing jet of red flame from his eyes that missed the running woman, crackling as it engulfed and set fire to a portion of the jungle. His miss further infuriated the man, and he bellowed again, his rage nearly incoherent.

"Fight you! Fuck you! Kill all your family, you bitch!" he roared in French.

Healed 5 levels of Bashing damage

Activating Flight

Dex and Q-Bolt for the Devil: First 3 are Mega.

Owns-The-Night *rolls* 11d10: 4+8+9+9+5+3+6+7+5+10+4: 70

7 succs

= Miss

QP 24/30, WP 8/8, HL 12/15

Note: Bombshell takes 1 Lethal from contact with the Immolate (Ping damage)

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"No. You won't," Bombshell replied coldly, mellifluous voice echoing with rippling promise. Danielle was her family, Alex was her family, and this fucker would never touch them, just like she would never let a man fuck her (for real - the illusion of it for a movie or TV part was acceptable, mostly).

She too imagined wrapping her legs around him, though only to snap his neck between her thighs. The searing heat hidden under her flawless flesh faded as she raced across the surface of river, her blurring velocity allowing her to skip across the surface tension.

As she ran under him, she leaned far forward, her hands dived into the water, throwing up a pair of wakes. When she straightened, she held a smooth river stone in each hand. They were only roughly the size of a baseball. Movies and TV were plastered with images of Novas tossing around cars and boulders, but the reality was, when you can back a baseball with more force than a tank's main weapon, the effects could be every bit as devastating. Jason would have preferred the spears she and the villagers had made, but she wasn't willing to risk leading the Devil back.

Now past the Devil with Fire Blood, her enticing and infuriating presence ever leading him on, Bombshell pirouetted atop of the river, arms windmilling in a blur as she launched her missiles with a keening scream. Her feet sprayed up water as she danced a serpentine pattern on top of the river, daring the Devil to come closer, letting him believe he was out of reach.

Combat Stuffs

Activating Enhance Movement for the scene (speed is increased by a factor of 6) - 3qp

Activating Multitasking - 1qp

Roll: [2, 4, 9, 6, 3] + mega [4]. Total Successes: 1. Fail.

Healing Factor restores 2 HLs

Taking 2 actions (-2, -3)

Attack #1 (Dex+M-Dex+Atheltics -2)

Roll: [8, 1, 9, 7, 2, 5, 9, 10] + mega [7, 7, 1, 2, 9]. Total Successes: 11.

Damage = [20] (M-Str) + 5 (Str) +1 (rock) + Overage Successes

Attack #2 (Dex+M-Dex+Athletics -3)

Roll: [5, 1, 4, 1, 9, 4, 2] + mega [7, 2, 2, 10, 1]. Total Successes: 6.

Damage = [20] + 5 (Str) + 1 (rock) + Overage Successes

Activating Quickness - 1qp


Roll: [8, 4, 9, 6, 10, 3, 10, 5, 7, 9, 7] + mega [2, 10, 7, 10, 3]. Total Successes: 15. Forgot to reroll 10s on that, but I think I'm good. ;)

QP: 15/28 | WP 10/10 | HL 13/13

Active Powers, Enhanced Movement, Healing Factor, Obscurement

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  • 2 weeks later...

The Devil was clipped hard on his left side by the first ballistic stone, snapping several of his ribs with a loud crack and spinning him in the air. Jason's second rock, expertly aimed, took the twisting, falling nova right in the back of the head.

There was a spray of blood from the impact, and the flailing limbs of a nova desperately trying to regain control became dangling, useless limbs of a nova beyond any care as the red-skinned man dropped like a 300lb stone into the river fifty yards from Jason.

Einherjar *rolls* 11d10: 6+7+8+3+9+1+8+7+5+5+8: 67

[WhiteRain.vc] 1:34 am: That is pretty sucky, yeah.

Einherjar *rolls* 11d10: 3+8+4+7+2+9+6+9+3+6+10: 67

Total of 11 Bashing damage.

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  • 2 weeks later...

There was no sense of satisfaction, no triumph in Jason's heart as The Devil-With-Fire-Blood tumbled into river, his sheath of flames winking out in a large cloud of hissing steam. All she could see what the injured man she had brought into village, who then revealed himself to be the Devil. Father Johns and Jean-Claude, good, decent men both, had paid for her mistake with their lives. She didn't plan on repeating it.

She stalked through the river - no longer dancing atop it - an unrelenting warrior queen, with each supple stride, the water parted effortlessly against the immense strength residing in her long, perfect legs. She found the over-muscled form of the Devil laying on his back, an elongated pinkish penumbra around his head in the water. Without the fiery wings and writhing flames over his skin, he seemed... smaller, less. And she still didn't trust him not to be faking.

Bombshell grabbed him by the neck, slim fingers constricting with diamond crushing force, and lifted him in the air, her other hand cocked back for another blow, to make sure he was down for the count. There were no refs here, to call the match before it went to far...

"You motherfuckin' sonavabitch!" Jason cursed venomously, her voice rippling like angry chimes across the river and through the forest.. "I'm gonna drag you back to your men, show them what's left of ya, then I'm... I..."

Only know did Jason notice the thick, turgid flow of deep crimson leaking from the Devil's head and nose, trickling over her fingers, and trailing down her arm, to drip from her elbow. He wasn't breathing. Swallowing hard, Jason turned him around, and felt her gorge rise up in her throat. Her rock was still imbedded in his head, in the chunky, shredded mass of greyish brain matter. The back of the skull had completely shattered under the power of her missile, but it still had enough resilience to prevent the rock from penetrating all the way through.

The Devil had been slain, and she had slain him.

She had killed a man.

She shuddered in the aftermath of the revelation, then her head snapped around, silver hair lashing like a whip, as she heard the sharp report of gunfire in the direction of the village. The Devil's minions were still on the loose. Jason took a deep breath, she had no time to collapse now, she had a gang of unrepentant bandits to deal with. Later would be time to come to terms with the blood on her hands...

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