Man-Bat (MPC-90X:79A)
Sept 12, 2021 3:23:57 GMT
Post by supesman on Sept 12, 2021 3:23:57 GMT
"Crime is born under a cover of darkness, my darling." Zack said, perched on the edge of one of Shibuya's endless high rises. He could hear the city beat like a living heart underneath him. Ninety nine times out of one hundred it was the laughter of children as they were tucked into bed, young lovers strolling the lanes and whispering sweet nothings into each other's ears. But that one out of one hundred cocked his head sharply to one side. The sound of panting breath, of shoes falling over and over on unforgiving ground, of silent prayers that, if not for his coming intervention would go unanswered leaving blood in the streets. He turned to face his daughter, her buzzing energy and glittering golden carapace a sharp contrast to her father's dark black and brown leathers and the covering helm with the features of a bat etched in. They shared a loving smile though as he leaped from the ledge.
A howl of pain and change followed him on the wind, slits in the back of his jacket stretched and opened to reveal twin leathery wings that caught the chilled night air like a parachute, leaving him gliding swiftly past the windows of the sleeping city, outlined in the dark blues and gleaming silvers of moonlight. His insectoid companion in tow.
The incident itself seemed so far away now. A bite from a villainous tamer he had caught in an act of the bloody and macabre feeding he had sunken into. over less than a week the bee themed vigilante had changed into something else entirely. But the transformation was only skin deep. Within his chest, stilled by undeath, still lay the heart of a hero. In the end it only amounted to a change in motif as he was no more willing to abide self pity keeping him from his self appointed mission than he would have any other obstacle.
His daughter for her part had taken to him as if nothing had changed at all. He was still her loving father who cared for her and defended her like she was his own flesh and blood. Their sanctuary outside of Rosewood still accepted all comers at any hour of day or night. he was the man she had always known, only now needing to sip the blood of rats or other animals in the night just as any other hunter might.
He finally alighted on the eve of the alleyway, a woman taking a wrong turn through a bad part of town at the worst possible time. Four men, youths with nothing better to do than to flex their perceived invincibility by taking what was not rightful theirs. Money...blood...or worse...He would not allow that, allowing his heavy boots to thud against the stone eve. All eyes turned upward toward him and he could see with his sharpened senses the feelings of terror and frigid fear creeping up the spines of the would-be thugs. He dropped, gliding to a stop between them and the unfortunate woman, his insectoid sidekick floating down beside him, her original red scarf swapped out for a tattered black replacement.
The invulnerability of youth is a powerful thing though and one of the young men was able to pretend enough bravery to step forward and swing, a heavy blow augmented by shimmering brass knuckles. The blow connected, Zack's head jerked back, a twinkling of glass upon the alley floor, Zack bending backward to roll with the impact of the blow, freezing at the end of the inertia and simply hanging there, like a statue of a risen corpse. His voice rose up, first a giggle, then a laugh, then a cackle that could turn blood to ice. He rose, unbroken and unharmed by the hit, old, stiff bones crackling and clicking into place before he regained his eyeline with the thug. What he saw would never leave his darkest dreams.
A single eye, gleaming red, casting an unearthly light onto skin too pale to be alive. None of the crimson color of blood rushing back and forth beneath, only the cold silence of the grave. Zack's smile grew, spreading outward until the group caught a look at gleaming ivory, twin stakes and a long, serpentine tongue that polished them in wordless threat. He did not need to explain what he was, there was a version of what he was in near every culture across the world. A Kuntilanak to an Indonesian, an Asanbosam to the Ashanti of Ghana, Nosferatu, Bloodsucker...
Vampire
The invulnerability of youth shattered in that moment. Four screams of young men who thought themselves entitled to take as they pleased scrambled over one another in order to find a way out before the undead interloper made meals of them all. Zack would never have even thought of it but they didn't need to know that. He waited until their blubbering and raving had faded from the range of a human ear. He turned, softly, facing the woman whose life he might have saved that night.
"Th...thank you..." She said, recoiling from the sight of him, if only for a moment. Some part of her humanity, some part of her empathy keeping the fear from stealing her heart as it had for the men that had accosted her. Zack smiled, much more good natured, no malice, no hunger in those hunter's eyes. He bowed softly, sweeping his hand across his chest, Marigold mimicking the gesture.
"It was once said, wisdom that I keep with me know, being who I am, doing what I do..." He turned, unfurling his wings and feeling the chill of the night's adventures calling out to him. Some other deed to do, some other life to save, something that needed to be done. This was still the life he had always dreamed of, no matter what complications were thrown his way it would not change the fact that he was a hero, just as he'd imagined. "Criminals are a superstitious and cowardly lot..." he quoted, and with the liftoff of furred wings on cold air. he was gone.
79A Link: digimonforumrp.freeforums.net/thread/7970/mpc-79a-children-night
A howl of pain and change followed him on the wind, slits in the back of his jacket stretched and opened to reveal twin leathery wings that caught the chilled night air like a parachute, leaving him gliding swiftly past the windows of the sleeping city, outlined in the dark blues and gleaming silvers of moonlight. His insectoid companion in tow.
The incident itself seemed so far away now. A bite from a villainous tamer he had caught in an act of the bloody and macabre feeding he had sunken into. over less than a week the bee themed vigilante had changed into something else entirely. But the transformation was only skin deep. Within his chest, stilled by undeath, still lay the heart of a hero. In the end it only amounted to a change in motif as he was no more willing to abide self pity keeping him from his self appointed mission than he would have any other obstacle.
His daughter for her part had taken to him as if nothing had changed at all. He was still her loving father who cared for her and defended her like she was his own flesh and blood. Their sanctuary outside of Rosewood still accepted all comers at any hour of day or night. he was the man she had always known, only now needing to sip the blood of rats or other animals in the night just as any other hunter might.
He finally alighted on the eve of the alleyway, a woman taking a wrong turn through a bad part of town at the worst possible time. Four men, youths with nothing better to do than to flex their perceived invincibility by taking what was not rightful theirs. Money...blood...or worse...He would not allow that, allowing his heavy boots to thud against the stone eve. All eyes turned upward toward him and he could see with his sharpened senses the feelings of terror and frigid fear creeping up the spines of the would-be thugs. He dropped, gliding to a stop between them and the unfortunate woman, his insectoid sidekick floating down beside him, her original red scarf swapped out for a tattered black replacement.
The invulnerability of youth is a powerful thing though and one of the young men was able to pretend enough bravery to step forward and swing, a heavy blow augmented by shimmering brass knuckles. The blow connected, Zack's head jerked back, a twinkling of glass upon the alley floor, Zack bending backward to roll with the impact of the blow, freezing at the end of the inertia and simply hanging there, like a statue of a risen corpse. His voice rose up, first a giggle, then a laugh, then a cackle that could turn blood to ice. He rose, unbroken and unharmed by the hit, old, stiff bones crackling and clicking into place before he regained his eyeline with the thug. What he saw would never leave his darkest dreams.
A single eye, gleaming red, casting an unearthly light onto skin too pale to be alive. None of the crimson color of blood rushing back and forth beneath, only the cold silence of the grave. Zack's smile grew, spreading outward until the group caught a look at gleaming ivory, twin stakes and a long, serpentine tongue that polished them in wordless threat. He did not need to explain what he was, there was a version of what he was in near every culture across the world. A Kuntilanak to an Indonesian, an Asanbosam to the Ashanti of Ghana, Nosferatu, Bloodsucker...
Vampire
The invulnerability of youth shattered in that moment. Four screams of young men who thought themselves entitled to take as they pleased scrambled over one another in order to find a way out before the undead interloper made meals of them all. Zack would never have even thought of it but they didn't need to know that. He waited until their blubbering and raving had faded from the range of a human ear. He turned, softly, facing the woman whose life he might have saved that night.
"Th...thank you..." She said, recoiling from the sight of him, if only for a moment. Some part of her humanity, some part of her empathy keeping the fear from stealing her heart as it had for the men that had accosted her. Zack smiled, much more good natured, no malice, no hunger in those hunter's eyes. He bowed softly, sweeping his hand across his chest, Marigold mimicking the gesture.
"It was once said, wisdom that I keep with me know, being who I am, doing what I do..." He turned, unfurling his wings and feeling the chill of the night's adventures calling out to him. Some other deed to do, some other life to save, something that needed to be done. This was still the life he had always dreamed of, no matter what complications were thrown his way it would not change the fact that he was a hero, just as he'd imagined. "Criminals are a superstitious and cowardly lot..." he quoted, and with the liftoff of furred wings on cold air. he was gone.
79A Link: digimonforumrp.freeforums.net/thread/7970/mpc-79a-children-night
