Retaliation

Charon didn't think that Cirry would move for the kill just like that. Charon rolled the side before hopping onto his feet. Charon stared at the man, his eye just staying focused as he controlled his breathing. Charon was getting tired. It was time to end this.

Charon moves forward with a lunging thrust, aiming once again to put Corry in the defensive. After forcing Corry to step back, Charon moved his knife forward but tossed it to his left hand in an attempt to catch Corry off guard. Charob lashed out his left arm to cut the arm where Corry held his knife. Should that make contact Charon moved to punch the injured arm to try and force His opponent to drop his knife.

The bullets seemed to hardly phase Sam.  They had certainly hit, but he had no more that been jostled by them.  As Sam rushed the two Merc One knew what was coming.  As Sam bolted towards him, he grit his teeth, red flowing between each tooth.  He stood there, ready to take the blow, through raging eyes and a defiant expression.  Merc Two knew it was inevitable, even if he manages to help his partner out of the way this time.  He decided to let him face his end, and jumped back to avoid the blow.  Merc One stared directly at Sam as the gun came around until it contacted his head.  There was a loud clap as the impact busted the side of his skull and he fell to hims right, eyes empty and a pool of blood forming under him.  Merc Two gave no expression change, only preparing his stance.  This was normal in this line of business.  He did not charge in, and instead waited for Sam to attack, ready to counter.

As Merc Three was laying fire on the group, he heard a particularly loud battle cry getting louder.  He turned to see the Janitor barreling at him, shield forward and baton raised.  He shot off a few bullets right at the shield and immediately rolled to the side, landing on one knee and fired again aiming for the Janitors side not covered by the shield.  Merc Four was busy flanking from the other side and so wasn't available to help Merc Three.  He continued laying down fire and noticed their spearhead run off.  He saw Orlando now leading the charge and decided he was a prime target.  He lined up his shot and fired.  If the shot missed it still could have hit one of the grunts following him.  

Corry's shot missed when Charon rolled out of the way, got to his feet, and charged Corry once more.  Corry expected the fight to be over, so he was caught off guard with the charge.  As Charon rushed him, he brought up his knife defensively.  Even more surprising was Charon spontaneously switching knife hands.  Charon successfully slashed into Corry's right arm.  This caused his grip on his knife to loosen.  Charon's punch made contact with Corry's arm, causing his hand to open and his knife to fly out of his hand.  Corry stepped back and grabbed his arm.  While he was in serious pain, he mostly used it to fool Charon or get him off guard.  If Charon went in for another blow, Corry would bring up his leg and attempt to kick the knife out of Charon's hand.  If the disarm was successful, Corry would bring his leg back around and kick at Charon's side where he had been cut.

Sam narrowed his eyes at the last remaining merc before him. This guy was well trained and cautious, so Sam had to be smarter fighting him. If he got a hold of him, the fight would be over, but this lot seemed particularly slippery, so he couldn't just rush in like a fool. At the same time, he hardly batted an eye at his partner dying in front of him, so no sort of taunt was going to be bringing him into a reckless charge either. So the two seemed at an impasse; neither was stupid enough to rush the other one, so Sam needed a way to force his opponent's hand. Sam slowly stepped forward, hefting the rifle in his hand as though about to charge in for another swing, stopped at the remains of the first merc's corpse, and, in a single swift move, dropped to one knee, snatched up the pistol in his free left hand, and fired a single shot at him. The speed at which this was done resulted in the shot being horribly inaccurate, flying far to the man's right, but it was hopefully enough to make the man realize Sam wasn't going to voluntarily throw himself at him, hopefully forcing his opponent to move in with his knife.

The Janitor's thick body armor provided more than enough protection from the merc's bullets as he fired at him, but while no damage was done, the force of so many bullets fired into one spot, still pushed him to the side slightly. Still, he was fairly close now, and he swung with his riot shield at the man on his knee firing at him. The attack was slow and highly telegraphed, but the area it covered was large enough that in the time it would take to dodge it and recover, he'd have his shield back up and be ready to advance again.
The shot at Orlando missed by only a slight margin, the bullet grazing his forehead. He ducked to the ground and let loose with a spray in the direction it came from. It wasn't accurate, but whoever was shooting at him would be an idiot to try and continue firing. After he got a better look at who he was shooting at, he readjusted his aim and started firing for the man's head. He was by no means military trained, but Orlando had spent a fair amount of time on the streets, and he was pretty darn accurate. He'd at least be able to keep this guy more focused on dodging or staying in cover than shooting his team.

Charon watched as blood flowed to the ground, his knife successfully cutting in to Corry before his punch landed and successfully disarmed him. Ha, powers or not a good bit of steel can get the job done. Later Asshole. Charon moved in for another blow, but Corry wasn't out of the fight. Much like Charon had surprised Corry, it was the man's turn to surprise him. Charon felt his knife getting kicked out of his hand before the leg came back and smacked in to his wounded side. Charon was now unarmed and in a lot of pain. He gripped his side as more blood flowed from the injury, threatening to bring Charon to his knees.

Charon could only barely stand as his hands clutched his side. Shit, this wasn't going well at all. So many dead, and Charon might just end up as one of them if he couldn't think of anything soon. Breathing heavily his eye refocused on Corry. "I'm not afraid of you...come over here and I'll still tear your head off" Charon said defiantly as he started to stand up straight. Corry would see the toll the injury was taking on Charon though, it had been a long time since he had faced such an advanced opponent.

Merc Two was ready as Sam began to rush him.  It took him by surprise when he saw that Sam wasn't rushing for him, but for the pistol of his fallen comrade.  Sam was fast, and it wasn't until he already grabbed the pistol that he had time to react.  He ducked and rolled to his left, landing on all fours.  He used the position and pushed off like a sprinter running a race straight at Sam.  His military grade knife aiming right at Sam.  Right before getting to Sam, however, he came to an immediate halt and used his momentum to spin and come around Sam's right side.  From the power of his spin, he would attempt to drive the knife he held upside-down in his right hand into the back of Sam's right shoulder.  Regardless of whether this hit or miss he would continue with his motion, not wasting any momentum, and he would duck out of the way if Sam would make a swipe for him.  As he continued his motion unimpeded, he would brandish a second knife of similar appearance almost out of nowhere and aim to slide the knife across Sam's nearest hand wrist or forearm in an attempt to disarm at least one of his weapons.  Regardless of the success of any of his hits, he would use the last of his momentum to finish his spin, removing his knife if necessary, and stop directly to Sam's left a few feet away, facing him defensively.  

Merc Three dropped, belly to the floor, as the shield whipped over his head.  He rolled the direction the shield was coming from and jumped to his feet, now behind, or at lead to the side, of the Janitor.  Being to close up now, instead of firing off his gun, he took the butt of his gun and attempted to clock the Janitor in the head, shoulder, or upper back.  Merc Four's shot missed, revealing his position.  He ducked for cover as the spray of bullets rained around where he just was.  As soon as the bullet rain ceased, he jumped out of cover and rushed for his foe, ducking and weaving to avoid incoming fire.  As he sprinted, he let his gun hang by it's strap and pulled out a pistol and began firing as he charged, aiming for extremities.  His other hand was ready with a second magazine to switch out at a moment.  

While Charon was busy acting tough and talking big, Corry rushed right in without hesitation and fired a left punch straight at Charon's face, possibly interrupting him.  Corry continued to barrage Charon by sending his other fist in for a right hook, then grabbing his hair and bringing up his knee right into Charon's gut.  Corry flung Charon to the side, letting go of his hair, but not before letting it pull, slightly slowing Charon's momentum and also pulling out some hairs, and then swinging a final left punch right to Charon's solar plexus, possibly breaking a few ribs and sending Charon flying.  Now with a good distance between them, Corry spoke.  "I'm not here to scare you, kid."  Corry let his left palm face up, a sphere of green slowly beginning to swirl above his hand.  His face was serious, devoid of emotion.  "I'm here to kill you."

The knife slashed into Sam's right shoulder and across his right wrist; no blood came out, obviously, but he reflexively dropped the rifle he'd been using as a club. He collapsed slightly, clutching his right shoulder. He may have been a super, but he was in a lot of pain, and he was starting to get pretty damn tired. This fight had to end, and it had to end fast. He turned the pistol to face his opponent, more using it to buy time as he prepared his next attack. He pulled the trigger, only to be met with a pointless click. Frustrating, but not worth dwelling on. He threw the gun at his opponent, rose to his feet, and started rushing him again, this time lunging forward with a sideways slash with his right hand; he had forced a great deal of blood out of his wounds, and hardened them around it to form a large, sharp claw. It gave him about three extra inches of reach, and his speed and power meant if it landed, it would rip off a great deal of flesh. He aimed the blow at the man's throat, unsure if it would successfully be able to shred through the kevlar on his chest.

The Janitor stumbled forward with a grunt as the butt of the gun collided with his neck where it met his back. He whipped around, swinging his baton with a slight upward arc as he did. It was fairly slow, but the power behind it would knock his opponent to the ground should it connect with him, and its motion meant he would have to move a great deal, not just duck. The Janitor would use the time created by the distance made to readjust his shield, pointing it directly at his opponent, and begin slowly marching towards him, hoping to herd him into a corner. Orlando continued burst firing his assault rifle as the man charged, but almost dropped it as a stray bullet clipped one of his shoulders. He recovered, but the man was almost on him at that point. He rose from his kneeling position and moved to rifle butt the man with the momentum of standing, buying him a few more seconds as the large group of Typhon around him noticed the merc. They were still focused on the dwindling group of invaders, but Orlando let out a call, drawing attention to the straggler behind them. Two of them turned and raised their guns to him; it was a three on one, and if the merc kept going in, that number would keep tilting out of his favor.

Charon tried to defend himself, but his injuries were just too much. He moved his body, but he just wasn't strong or fast enough. He felt bones breaking and his strength seeping away as his mind grew cloudy. Corry was getting closer, and yet in this time of need Charon could only look up at the ceiling and think of his lost friend. Mute, he was failing him.

Charon had met Mute shortly after the incident. They were both different. Mute couldn't talk, and Charon had a face that even a mother couldn't love. They bonded together over their differences, with Charon taking the time to learn how to sign so he could speak to Mute. Few other people in the East District knew Sign Language, and it had allowed Charon and Mute to silently communicate for years. But now he was gone, and Charon was soon going to be with him. How had it come to this? How had he failed so badly after steadily coming for so long.

Corry would see Charon's grip tighten within his black gloves as he started to push himself up. Thinking about Mute and his rise to power, it was what Charon needed to force himself back up and continue the fight. Charon's eyes narrowed as he focused all of his fear energy right at Corry. "You think you can kill me?! I'm Charon! I send my enemies through hell and you will be no different. Face the fears of a thousand souls!" Charon shouted in a distorted voice before moving his hand forward.

Out of nowhere, a skull fired from Charon's hand, moving forward quickly and moving straight for Corry. The skull let out a ghostly wail, a sound that would pierce Corry's skull as nothing would stop the skull from smashing in to his stomach. Not only would it feel like Charon had landed a direct blow on him, but Corry's training wouldn't prepare him for the fear coursing through him and what it was doing to his stomach. As Corry was on his sides in pain, he'd see Charon walking over to him, his second wind rising to fight the man that had killed so many of his friend.

"You got it wrong asshole, I'm here to kill you"

Merc Two successfully staggered Sam, but he was not ready to charge in just yet.  Sam aimed the pistol at him and pulled the trigger.  He rolled to the side in an attempt to predict and dodge an incoming bullet, but he knew the clip was out when he heard the dull click, the empty gun just missing him as it flew by thanks to his roll.  He planned to rush in immediately once again and continue his hit and run tactics, but by the time he fully recovered from his roll, Sam was already jumping at him, a red claw forming around his hand.  Merc Two immediately went to jump back, just barely making it out of the range of Sam's hand.  Or so he thought, until he felt a sudden lurch forward.  He looked down to see the tips of Sam's red claw snagged at the chest of his Kevlar.  He tried to pull away, but the claws were caught too well.  Panic began to shoot through him.  He had to find a way to escape.  Merc Two brought up his two knives and went to plunge them into Sam's forearm, one from the top and the other from the inner side right.  Sam's arm was held in place, so it would be difficult to dodge his blades.  The question was, would it be enough to stop the inevitable?

The butt of the gun made contact but it didn't have as much of an effect as Merc Three would have liked.  Of coarse there was instant retaliation as the baton flung from below and up towards his head.  Even though the attack was slow, Merc Three hadn't expected such a quick recovery, so the baton rammed right across his mouth, sending him backwards off his feet nearly parallel with the ground.  He was able to recover though, and continued the roll, doing a back-flip in the air and landing on one knee and his hands to steady himself.  There would definitely be a bruise from that hit and it was already stinging.  Merc Three could taste his own metallic blood now.  He wiped the blood off his face onto his forearm and looked up to see the Janitor already having placed the shield between them, slowly advancing.  He was being cautious while trying to figure out his next course of action, minding his surroundings.  One of Merc Four's shots managed to hit, if barely.  He continued his charge but noticed not only was Orlando preparing to melee him upon his arrival, but he was also alerting his friends who were now turning their attention to Merc Four.  He immediately skid to a stop and switched weapons back to his rifle.  He opened fire with precision accuracy on the two that had turned their attention to him, before ducking behind cover behind some debris.  He was breaking a sweat now.  A few seconds later he burst from the other side of the cover and continued to open fire on the group, aiming in particular for Orlando and others who had noticed him.  

Corry thought it was over, that it was time to finish this and kill the leader of the enemy.  He was almost ready to blast Charon and finish him for good, but Charon had more left in him to fight.  When Charon started going off and shouting about how he would send Corry to hell, he thought it was simply the ramblings of a desperate dying man.  After all, Corry knew Charon's power.  He had dealt with mental powers before, and knew that all he had to do was know the source and use his own mental fortitude to resist it.  He had no way of knowing Charon had something like this in his arsenal.  Just seeing the smoking skull fire speeding at him was enough to startle him and make him hesitate.  The cackling was ringing in his head, and he watched the skull laugh at his impending doom.  By the time he had recovered, it was too late.  The skull rammed into his gut, taking him off the ground for a moment before he was sent sprawling on the ground, the smoking skull disappearing upon contact.  The acid sphere forming in his hand been knocked out of his grasp and a small puddle of acid formed on the ground.  Corry coughed violently, but managed to help himself up to his hands and knees, panting.  What the hell was that?  I never heard anything about a physical attack like that.  That thing hit like a fucking truck.  Corry glared at him as Charon stood up, and he gave a low growl.  Out of nowhere he felt an uncontrollable sense of vertigo wash over him.  He clenched his stomach, and retched up the contents of his stomach onto the ground.  He was looking at the ground now, panting even more.  He felt so dizzy, it was like the world was spinning around him.  He couldn't even focus on what Charon was saying.  He felt his stomach rise again, as more watery vomit spat from his mouth, and his eyes began to water.  Some of his acid was there this time, burning away at its surroundings.  He could do nothing in response to, nor did he notice, Charon's approach.  It was all he could do just to keep from toppling over.

One of the merc's knives slashed off a good amount of skin from his forearm, while the other snagged in Sam's flesh. He gritted his teeth against the pain, but he had his opponent right where he wanted him. He lunged forward with his left arm and grabbed his opponent by the throat, forcibly lifting him into the air. He pulled his claw free from the kevlar, and proceeded to choke slam the merc to the floor. While he was still reeling from the sheer force of the move, Sam removed the knife from his forearm, threw it to the ground, and rolled the merc onto his back. He straddled the man and wrapped his hands around his throat, rage and pain burning in his eyes. The last man who he had fought who was wielding to knives was Lazy Eye; he lost that fight, and Father died because of it. Lazy Eye then had to be handed over to Charon; Sam didn't even get the privilege or pleasure of avenging Father himself.
The rage that was meant for Lazy Eye was now being directed straight into this poor merc's throat as Sam slowly squeezed the life out of him, his right claw piercing skin and cartilage, causing him to choke on his own blood. Sam wasn't sure whether the man died from blood loss, strangulation, or drowning in his own blood, but what he was sure of was that the bastard wasn't getting up again. Sam stood up, blood dripping from his right arm, not a sign of weakness, but of volatility. He looked around the scene, looking for anyone else he'd be able to rip apart while the adrenaline was high.
The Janitor continued lumbering towards his target, not making any moves to attack him, knowing that this guy was too fast and would dodge and skedaddle the second he did. He was going to be nothing but reactionary, as that's where the power was in this sort of situation.
One of the men by Orlando took a bullet to the shoulder, and he collapsed to the ground, clutching it in pain. None of the others who were firing at the merc reacted and continued their suppressing fire, attempting to clip him in his bold dash out of cover, and two other turned when one of their friends fell on them, joining the fray. They weren't moving in; just turning into an ever-growing firing squad.

Charon stopped for a moment as he looked at his hand, seeing where the skull had come from. He had never done any move like that before, it felt good...it felt powerful. He watched as Corry was blasted off of his feet only to try and recover and soon vomit all over the floor. He was having a hard time controlling his body, and Charon planned on making good use of that. He ran over, launching his foot forward and having it collide with Corry's face. The mercenary skid against the ground before Charon walked over once again.

"Not so strong now are you?" Charon asked before grabbing Corry by the hair. He lifted him up only to punch him back to the ground with his other hand. Charon repeated this twice more, his blows just damaging Corry's face repeatedly. Charon dropped to his knee and dropped an elbow right against Corry's ribcage. Finally, Charon stood up before picking up Corry fully. He spun around once before launching Corry right into a nearby plaster wall, chunks of the wall breaking from the force of the blow. Charon glanced down and saw Corry's military knife. He picked up the knife, felt the balance of it before seeing Corry start to push himself up. Charon just smiled before throwing the knife, and enjoying the scream that came from Corry as his own knife imbedded in to his hand, pinning him to the nearby wall. "I'll be back for you" Charon promised.

Charon turned back to see where the rest of his boys were fighting against the mercenaries that were left. "Let's end this boys!" Charon shouted as he withdrew his pistol and started firing at the mercenaries, showing that he wasn't out of this fight yet.

As Sam grabbed Merc Two by the throat and lifted him into the air, he attempted to claw at Sam's hand, trying to pry it away.  When he was slammed into the floor, what little air remained in his lungs was knocked out.  He gasped what he could of air before a violent fit of coughing set in, spitting up some blood, until Sam returned his attention to him and wrapped his hands around Merc Two's throat once more, the claw piercing his neck.  He struggled for a moment, but soon his body relaxed, the last sliver of life draining from his body.  

Corry could hear Charon's voice, but it sounded distorted as if through glass.  He felt the tug on his hair as he was lifted, the the pain from being repeatedly punched in the face slowly bringing his senses back.  Corry felt himself drop, soon followed by an elbow right to the center of his chest, a small crack indicating a rib was at least fractured.  The wind knocked out of him, even with his senses returning to him, he wasn't able to react in time to avoid getting picked up and hurled into the wall.  He landed back flat against the wall, a crack ruptured in the wall upon impact.  He fell to the ground and was finally given an opportunity to recollect himself.  He put his hand against the wall he was just tossed into to steady himself as he arose, but before he could, he felt a sting pierce through his hand.  His own knife stabbed through his hand, pinning him to the wall.  A low grunt escaped his mouth, attempting to hold back a scream, but he couldn't hold it back completely, as the grunt transitioned to a howl of pain.  He could hear Charon's voice more clearly now as he was told Charon would be back for him, the vertigo having subsided either thanks to time, or the pain of his beating.  Charon had now turned his focus to the rest of the fight.  

Merc Four ducked behind cover again, reloading his guns.  He glanced over to see his boss Corry get pinned to a wall by the enemy leader.  Things were getting bad.  If Corry was taken out then it was time for a retreat.  He finished reloading and jumped out once more, rolling a canister right to the center of the group.  After a moment, a copious amount of gas sprang from it, blocking their vision, assaulting their lungs, and causing a distraction.  He used the opportunity to dash towards Corry, dancing around Charon's field of vision.  Merc Three was about to try a fake-out the Janitor until the commotion from the smoke bomb going off caught his attention.  His eyes darted to Merc Four, seeing him rush towards an impaired Corry.  Obviously that meant it was time to get out.  While the Janitor was distracted with the incoming smokescreen, Merc Three took the chance to follow his companions lead and run over to Corry.  

Merc Four made it to Corry just before Merc Three arrived.  As they did, Corry had his hand around the blades handle and wrenched it free from the wall and his hand, gritting his teeth through the pain.  The two mercs, having figured their companions were dead or about to be, helped Corry up, each having an arm over their shoulders, and sneaked away in the commotion of the few remaining invaders.  Without any leadership or flanking support by the mercs, the remaining Mammon forces would get swiftly taken out.  Leaving a destroyed arena and a room that wreaked of blood.

Sam saw one of the mercs firing on Orlando and his reinforcements, and he started making his way over to him, deciding that this would be his next victim of the day, but then he threw a canister into the crowd, gassing his friends. Sam was close enough to the blast that his eyes stung, and he had to turn away, coughing and hacking.
The Janitor was getting close to his prey, and was about ready to push the advantage, when he heard a loud pop from the room, and he saw the smoke screen fast approaching. He hesitated for a moment, which allowed the merc he had cornered to escape from him.
When the smoke cleared, Sam looked around to see the chaos. The adrenaline was wearing off, and he saw the carnage. "Men, get the wounded out." He ordered, feeling light headed from the gas, blood loss, exhaustion, and pain. He collapsed to one knee, struggling to remain conscious. Before he could say anything else, the Janitor had picked him up and slung him over his shoulder. "I gotcha, big guy. You leave the rest of this to us."

Charon saw the smoke cannisters and stopped firing, not wanting to damage any of his allies in some sort of a crossfire. He waited for the smoke to clear, only to see that the mercenaries had cleared out with their leader. Charon narrowed his eye as he saw the bloodstain where Corry's hand had been pinned only a minute before. They would see that guy again, but Charon would make sure that he got what was coming to him.

It only took a few minutes for Typhon to execute and capture what was left of the Mammon forces. Charon walked over, seeing the Mammon grunts pushed to their knees as they were face to face with the boatman himself. Charon looked to some of the men that were still standing strong. "Do whatever you wish with them...but hang their bodies somewhere other Mammon forces will see them" Charon said and left it at that. He'd allow his boys imagination to do the rest of the work.

Charon moved away from the group, hand to his head as he felt the strain of his power and the energy he used in this fight. He only took a few more steps before suddenly falling forward. Typhon men ran over and turned their boss over, seeing that he was barely breathing and completely unconscious. They'd soon arrange for one of their doctors to meet with them at Charon's apartment. Despite being a normal apartment, it was the safest place to keep Charon while he recovered. Something was wrong, but they had no idea what it was.

If Charon didn't wake up, who would lead Typhon against Mammon's continued assault?