Chase
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Post by Chase on Aug 18, 2013 21:10:30 GMT -5
OOC: No real ideas for this, just getting the ball rolling. Anyone who wants to, jump in. If you don't, I'll just have some fun rambling to myself for a bit. -------------------------------------------------
"When I was a little kid, I thought I knew what faith was about."
The building was dark, lights long since out and dawn still a few hours from breaking. A shadowed figure lay sprawled across the bar, several half-empty liquor bottles and a long knife arraying the countertop above its head.
"There was this... great, benevolent, infallible force out there that knew everything and had plans for everyone, and it was its job to look after all the good little Christians." A break. A laugh. Beside the bar, a figure shifted slightly, restlessly.
"And there were these things, you know? Miracles. These wonderful, unbelievable things that happened if you just held on and really had faith that they would. It was just the greatest concept, like you were never alone. Like God would burst in, guns blazing, and use his powers to stop bad things from happening to good people. And I believed the story. Hell, who wouldn't want to believe that story? My parents believed it, the church believed it, so I believed it too, with everything that I was.
"And so I smothered my baby brother to death with a pillow."
The figure beside the bar started, then froze, gasping and catching the breath before it rushed out again. The young man lying across the countertop turned his head, eyeing the bartender thoughtfully.
"I wasn't looking to kill Matthew," the man continued tonelessly. "I probably loved the rugrat. I just wanted to see a miracle happen." He shrugged, gaze going back to the ceiling. Beside him, the woman allowed herself to blink and to breathe.
"Maybe see an angel, you know? Abraham on the mountaintop." His hand, drifting upward in search of a bottle, caught on the edge of the dagger and lifted it instead.
"But that was a wake up call. Ever since then I've understood that the stories were just that. Total crap. Fairy tales designed to make people feel looked after and loved. Protected. But you know, I've got this theory now, tell me what you think: fairy tales are only a blessing for the complacent. No one seems to realize how dangerous they can be when they're pushed into the minds of the proactive, the curious. They're great in a story, but you gotta know they're a story. Gotta understand what's real and what's not. Can't expect Superman to just fly in and save you from all the evils in the world."
The woman made a small sound, like a sob, and clapped her hand over her mouth. She was standing in the narrow space behind the bar, dressed in ankle-breaking heels and a tight skirt. The nearest door - the entrance to the restrooms - was still around the bar, a good twenty paces away, and locked for the night. The main exit was directly across the room, with the man, sprawled out in front of her like the bar was a psychiatrist's couch, between them.
"But here's the really crazy part," he continued, rolling the knife slowly in his palm. "The really stupid, ridiculous, embarrassing part. I wouldn't say this to just anyone, but it's ok. I trust you won't tell."
And then, in a quick, vicious motion, he sat up and slammed the knife three inches into the wood counter. His expression, except for the slightest twitch of exertion, remained bland.
"I can't believe how many years it took for me to realize the Followers were just another goddamn fairy tale. Just a bunch of blind-eyed priests lying for the other team, preaching a thousand payoffs that never came through." He drew a slow breath, and then there was a shiver of something deep in his eyes: like a ripple in a curtain giving a glimpse of the pure, undirected hatred broiling beneath the surface. The woman's lips trembled beneath her pressed palm.
"And now they're all cold corpses, and the world's still ticking along, and I'm left wandering around, terrorizing people in small town bars because I've got nothing better to do with my time..." He huffed, a sound that might've been a laugh if he were smiling. "I mean, seriously. I don't even enjoy it anymore. It's all so freaking mundane, so pointless. You don't fight back. You just stand there trembling like scared little rabbits." He shifted his gaze back to the woman again, and the expression in his eyes, the disgust, was somehow humanizing. Inexplicably, she felt her terror lessen. He studied her for several seconds, then looked away, scoffing. "You know what? Just go."
She didn't move so he did instead, hopping off the bar and gesturing toward the door. His empty tone had become something of a growl:
"Go. Run. Flee for your sad little life, before I kill you just for the sight of blood."
She jumped, then shifted slightly, her legs heeding the warning even while her eyes continued to stare, disbelieving this strange, sudden reprieve. At the edge of the bar, she froze again, hand coming away from her mouth.
"If I run..." her voice was faint and high, "are you going to chase me?"
His lips quirked. When he laughed this time it was long and quiet, and some humor even touched his deadened eyes.
"You know, a few months ago I would've." And he shrugged, turning his back and walking slowly toward the other end of the bar. "Not tonight. Tonight I'm gonna drink."
She was gone before his last word escaped.
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Post by Jonas/Amazarak on Aug 19, 2013 19:35:38 GMT -5
OOC: Ooh, creepy backstory post. I've got no ideas either, but I'd be interested to see what happens if I step in. We'll see if this goes anywhere. BIC: The bartender hadn't been gone long before another figure appeared in the bar. Well, 'appeared' wasn't technically correct. The figure hadn't just popped into existence or teleported from somewhere far, far away. There weren't many demons who had that kind of power and, though Amazarak hated to admit it, he was far from close to that weight class. Still, just because the black-eyed demon couldn't will himself from one place to another at the drop of the hat, didn't mean he couldn't seemingly do so. It was no effort really and to most humans, their senses so dull to the preternatural world that they might as well be senseless, what Amazarak did was just as good as appearing out of thin air. And so the demon moved silently into the bar, only making his presence known after he'd crossed the threshold of the building. He was dressed impeccably, black slacks, black shirt and jacket, black shoes too expensive for his host to have ever wasted money on. At his throat, he wore the white collar, a symbol of priesthood, of purity and Goodness and the Almighty and all that. It wasn't something the demon wore often, but he'd just come from a ...'meeting' in which the collar had appropriated him an amusing amount of trust. And then irony. Those expensive black shoes, tainted only by flecks of blood, clicked on the hardwood floor as he approached the bar. He picked up one of the discarded bottles of liquor, mostly empty, and regarded it with distaste before turning to the young man at the bar. He was much more dishevled since he'd last seen him, which was interesting. Amazarak liked 'interesting'. 'Interesting' was why he'd taught magic to humans back in the old days, why he'd watched as some of them used it to help one another and others used it to run around killing each other. And it wasn't always easy to tell the outcome. 'Interesting' was why he'd decided to use humans to secure his release and why he'd spent the last month and a half learning about the current status of the world while simultaneously gaining a foothold (or choke-hold) there. 'Interesting' was also why he'd ended up in Hell in the first place, but that was a digression for another time. The demon fixed the boy with a stern, but overall emotionless look and stated simply, "You're drunk."
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Chase
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Post by Chase on Aug 23, 2013 18:44:53 GMT -5
The voice, the disapproving tone, was so familiar and so unlikely that Chase didn't even think to jump when he heard it. He lolled his head, caught sight of the figure standing along the side of the bar, and snorted.
"Apparently. Didn't think I'd had enough to get to seeing..." He lifted a hand, waved it vaguely in the hallucination's direction, "...not there people. But go on, scold. Heaven doesn't take people that can't touch their noses and say the alphabet backwards and whatever."
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Post by Jonas/Amazarak on Aug 25, 2013 21:10:03 GMT -5
Amazarak couldn't help but chuckle at the mistake of identity. Many a demon had taken on the identity of their host, but he doubted it was often they were mistaken for hallucinations. Amazarak didn't correct Chase, nor agree with his assessment of his being (or lack their of). Let the kid figure it out for himself if he cared.
Leave him alone!
The demon was pleased to hear the weak protest from his host. Jonas hadn't spoken on his own or fought back in quite some time now. It was part of the reason why, when he learned Chase was in the area, he thought he'd pop by for a visit. He did enjoy, for lack of a better phrase, twisting the knife, but it was no fun if there was no response to it. Still, it was only a small part of why he was here. Jonas the priest was of very little interest to the demon. Chase, as something separate than something to torture his host, was only somewhat more so. Of interest, and possibly of use. It all depended, really.
"What, pray tell, are you doing here, little brother? Shouldn't you be out torturing some hapless soul or whatever it is you do?" Amazarak took a sniff from the bottle. His host's olfactory senses did not take to the smell and he put it back down on the counter. "Such a waste for you to rot away here, don't you think?"
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Chase
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Post by Chase on Aug 31, 2013 23:10:03 GMT -5
Chase lifted his head and squinted through the dim-but-still-too-bright gleam from the street lamps toward his brother.
"Is that..." he paused, searching, "sarcasm?" Jonas didn't do sarcasm. Sarcasm made angels cry, or something. He was sure there was a passage in the Bible about that: Thou shalt not express thou'tself in any other form than stern disapproval or puppy-eyed honesty, or something. Chase laughed faintly at his own wit, opened his mouth to share the thought, then lost the thread of it. Ah well, Jonas wouldn't have approved, anyway.
No, not Jonas. The Jonas hallucination. The real Jonas wasn't Jonas anymore, anyway. He was just a Jonas-suit to the demon that'd screwed up Chase's life.
"Don't even see the zipper..." he mused, tilting his head, before some of the delusion's other words caught up with him. What was he doing here? It did seem a waste just to lie about. He was... "Right. See, no. She was," He drew himself up, reached over the counter, and poked the hallucination firmly in the chest: "boring. I'm not fighting the boring not fighting ones now. It's not..." fun. Funny, gamey, gaming... "sporting. Thou shalt not fight people who are too boring to not stab at you back. Right?"
He chuckled slightly, then bent his finger thoughtfully. He'd poked hard, the finger felt the strain of the jab. Not-Jonas was awfully pokable for a hallucination.
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Post by Jonas/Amazarak on Sept 2, 2013 21:06:50 GMT -5
The demon watched the boy's face as he poked him, watched him ponder the physical nature of what he'd just touched. He wondered if this was indeed a person he wanted under him. From what he'd heard from a few cult members he'd ...'spoken' to, Chase sounded like a useful asset for this modern world. Someone who didn't mind getting his hands dirty, who enjoyed it and wasn't an idiot about it. The fact that Amazarak had a link to him made the demon think Chase might be a bit easier to manipulate than someone who knew nothing more than bedtime stories about demons. Chase had seen the very beginnings of what Amazarak was capable of and would see it every time he looked at his brother's possessed face.
Amazarak glanced out the window a moment, his supernatural hearing picking up the sounds of distant car engines headed in their direction. He didn't have much time. The demon leaned his elbows on the counter and turned his attention back to the boy.
"Let me cut to the -" chase. The demon smiled slyly. "-point. This is no life for someone of your skills. There is indeed no sport, as you put it, in terrorizing the nobodies of little towns like this. I happen to have a few assignments in mind that I think you'd enjoy."
Now the sound of engines was audible even to the perception of normal human ears. Amazarak straightened. "No need to make up your mind tonight, but I can assure you, you will be pleased with the benefits of working for me. The Cult may be short a few greedy, visionless insects, but my goals remain in tact. Continue with me and I can promise you blood and excitement as well as certain protections from the law."
The demon then proceeded to pull the white collar from his throat and shove it in his pocket before fixing Chase with a firm stare. "Speaking of which, the police are on their way. I'd give you about two or three minutes before they pull up."
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Post by Chase on Sept 4, 2013 14:16:48 GMT -5
Somewhere past the thin haze of the alcohol and the even thicker haze of Not Wanting To Deal With It, Chase had probably-definitely already realized this wasn't Jonas, or even a hallucination of Jonas, talking to him. His pious brother wasn't exactly someone person Chase liked to expend too much energy thinking about if he could help it. But the second the demon smirked at him, Chase felt stone-cold sober.
Amazarak. Here. In the flesh. Standing and solid and pokably pokable (yeah, so maybe he wasn't totally sober. Blood alcohol doesn't really just get scared out of your system like that). And... offering him a job?
His eyes flicked toward the door at the sound of the sirens. His lips twitched. So, the bartender hadn't been totally useless, after all. He might actually get some fun out of this night. But there was still Jo... Amazarak to think about. Showing up after all this time, making offers that Chase's brain was too muddled to make any kind of decision on. But maybe in a way, the buzz from the vodka was helpful. He had an idea he didn't think he'd be brave (stupid?) enough to consider sober.
He reached across the counter and dug his knife out of the hard surface.
"I don't know," he answered, as the sound of the sirens got louder. "I think we need an audition before we can seriously consider any alliances." Nodding his head toward the doors, where the cops would be bursting in any minute now, he met the demon's gaze. "You up for a good old fashioned brawl with the law?"
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Post by Jonas/Amazarak on Sept 4, 2013 20:19:05 GMT -5
We need an audition? The demon lifted an eyebrow at the knife-happy boy, not sure whether to be insulted or not. He had to admit, he was amused by the idea, but really, it was no contest if he was involved. And though he really did admire the audacity of Chase's drunken suggestion, he couldn't very well start off this little relationship with Chase thinking they were equals. And so, in an instant, the demon sprang onto the bar that separated them, grabbed Chase roughly by his jacket and hoisted him up into the air. "Audition? Good old fashioned brawl? Let me be clear: This is not a brotherly bonding exercise. We will not being going out for Sunday dinners with the family nor will we hang out and watch 'the game'. I realize you're a bit out of it today, but you do realize the severity of the situation, don't you?" he growled, face a mask of cold stoicism. He dropped Chase to the floor on the side with the door. The sirens were nearly upon them. Amazarak sucked in a calming breath then hopped down to stand beside Chase. "That said, I do find this idea of yours... entertaining. However, I have a few modifications to the idea. It will not be we in this fight, it will be you. Prove to me that you're worth having around. Kill these cops and survive, and I'll likely forgo any other tests of your competence that I've been considering. You could also try to run, but let's just say that it will put grave demerits on your, heh, record. And, of course, the last option is dying. I suppose there's also the option of surrendering to the police, but I somehow doubt you would do that. And, if you were to consider doing this out of spite, I will warn you that it would not end well for you." The demon stepped away then and back into the shadows as a squad car pulled up. Even from here the demon could tell there were two officers preparing to get out of their car and make their way into the building. "Don't worry, little brother. I will make things a tad more equal for you," he called. He was still visible, though not immediately to the entering policemen, but barely so. And that was the point. With a smile, his eyes filled with blackness as solidified his power. The police called their warnings and then came in. Their guns were raised, but their flashlights were away. As soon as they crossed into the bar, Amazarak shut the doors behind them. Both officers looked back and one attempted to open it, but the demon easily prevented that. Before they could even make a comment about it, the demon flicked his hands out, his effort now on their guns, and suddenly the weapons were wrenched viciously from their hold and flung into the far corners of the room. Now Chase had a chance. -.-.-.-.- OOC: I'd hoped we'd get around to a fight! Even if Amazarak doesn't want to partake. Hey, don't feel like you have to finish this all in one post or anything. And if you want someone to fight off of, I'll be happy to help!
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Chase
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Post by Chase on Sept 7, 2013 18:55:18 GMT -5
If Chase hadn't had years of experience swallowing down his instincts around the Seven, he probably would've knifed the demon the second it grabbed him. Probably a good call, considering how it had shrugged off stab wounds and bullets the last time Chase had come across it.
Now the cops were in the building and Chase was crouched behind the bar, knife in hand, counting the footsteps. Two pairs of feet, not even a challenge. He shifted a bit and the floor tile wobbled dangerously.
Correction: wouldn't be a challenge on a normal day. As it was, though, he didn't exactly trust his knife throwing skills, and a miss could mean a bullet in the chest. Until he heard a clatter of metal and caught sight of a gun skittering away to a far corner. He felt himself start to smirk. Well, the demon didn't lie. (At the moment.) That was a start.
He squeezed his eyes shut, drew in a breath, and forced his brain to focus. Luckily, mass destruction didn't take too much brain power. Blinking his eyes back open, he reached out and grabbed the nearest bottle of vodka and tugged off the lid. A handful of napkins did in a pinch as a fuse.
"Wh-whoever's in here," Cop #1's voice was a little wobbly. Chase would probably be thrown too if his weapons started running away from him. "This is your one warning. Come out with your hands up."
Chase snorted, his hands busy at work digging out a match from the plastic container full of them.
"Come on, if we're gonna have some pre-battle banter, at least don't talk in cliches."
The inching footsteps paused. The match lit.
"Pre... what?"
The sound of the voice gave Chase a sense of where to aim. The napkins went up in flames, the match was dropped to burn out on the floor, and the flaming bottle flew over the bar and exploded as it hit the floor. Both policemen shouted and Chase moved, hand out on the ground to steady him as he sped to the edge of the bar and darted around, catching sight of the two men.
They were both young enough - late 20s, early 30s - in good shape, and neither, unfortunately, on fire. The bottle had broken between them, the burning alcohol sprayed in patches across the middle section of the room. The guy closer to Chase had been smart enough to pull out his baton, but not smart enough to know a distraction when he saw one. He was staring at the flames, apparently baffled, as Chase moved in, knife raised, to strike.
----- OOC: Yeah, if you want to jump in and narrate for the cops that'd be fine. I'm cool either way, and if you just want to float around as Amazarak being judgey that's cool too. Whatever you want.
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Post by Jonas/Amazarak on Sept 8, 2013 10:29:25 GMT -5
From his place in the shadows, the demon nodded in approval. An improvised Molotov. Clever. He watched in silence as the distracting flames caught and held the attention of the officers. One had drawn his baton, but was obviously shaken by the explosion of fire before him. The demon saw Chase charge out from his hiding place and head straight for the distracted man. Unfortunately for Chase, cop-the-second saw him too.
“Tony, move!” the second cop shouted while simultaneously grabbing his partner and jerking him to the side. The flames obscured Amazarak’s line of sight, but by the way the first cop, Tony, shouted, it sounded like Chase’s blade might have still found purchase.
As Tony stumbled to the side, the second cop pulled out his own baton and swung towards Chase’s knife arm.
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Post by Chase on Sept 10, 2013 16:38:16 GMT -5
Chase's blade came away red, but just barely. The annoying, observant cop had managed to pull his partner out of the way before Chase could do any real damage. Tony winced and clutched his arm where the blade had skated flesh, but Chase had no time to take advantage of his new distraction, because the other guy was coming in swinging.
He didn't have time to step out of the way and didn't trust his balance enough to do a bob and weave without getting dizzy, so he simply twisted away from it, letting his leather-covered back take the brunt of the blow. He winced, grunting at the impact but it was better than a broken arm.
Flipping the knife in the air and catching it backwards wasn't something Chase needed to be sober for. Hell, he probably didn't need to be conscious. The policeman was closing in behind him, probably to do something officerly like try arresting him. The blade, out by Chase's pinky, was facing the right direction to be jammed right back into the other man's gut...
But what then? Kill the cops, impress the demon, become his little errand boy? Chase stalled, the notion bugging him more than he'd expected. And he nearly got hit in the head with a police baton. The sound of it whooshing through the air behind him sent him rolling forward before he really registered what it was. He came out of the roll sloppy, the sleeve of his jacket hot where he'd tumbled straight past a patch of burning floor, and balanced against the edge of a table as he glowered back at Not-Tony.
"In the head? Police brutality much?"
Tony had recovered from the slash in his arm and was circling to block the doors, as if Chase would be looking to run. He wasn't. ...But what was he doing?
He'd been a pawn to the Seven, more disposable than he'd ever guessed. He could've been Jonas, if Jonas hadn't shown up to be Jonas. Or something. He had no regrets about Amazarak slicing and dicing the lot of them, but still... did he want to go back to just falling in line, following orders, killing whoever he was ordered to kill?
Did he want to be no better than those strung up Puppets... than Alonna? 'The key pawn.' Had he ever been any better? Had he ever been anything else?
Damn it, why did he have to be one of those introspective drunks? This wasn't the time for this. He shook his head slightly to snap himself out of it, glancing around for another weapon as the cops continued to circle.
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Post by Jonas/Amazarak on Sept 17, 2013 21:19:32 GMT -5
Amazarak scowled when Chase failed to use his prime opportunity to take out one of the policemen. The opening had been so clear, so obvious. The demon sighed. He supposed this was just what happened when one imbibed a bit too much. You missed opportunities. Still, the boy was agile, dodging out of the way of the oncoming strike. Off to the side, Officer Easily-disturbed, aka Tony, was searching for the baton he'd lost when he'd been struck. The officer with his whits about him was attempting to keep up with Chase, all the while demanding that Chase cease and desist and 'for crying out loud' come quietly. As director of this little scenario, Amazarak thought the scene could use a little more drama, a little more danger and risk. So the demon directed his gaze at the fire. And as the blackness in his eyes grew, so too did the flames. The orange glow flared and a gust of heat shot out in all directions. The floors and wooden tables and chairs would catch fire soon. The demon had only to coax the flames just a little and soon the whole place would be alight. Whether Chase and his cop buddies made it out, well... that was yet to be seen. After all, he was still keeping the doors closed. -.-.-.-.-.-.-.- OCC: Sorry for stalling out on my posting for a few days there, Chase. I hope this makes up for it.
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Post by Chase on Oct 4, 2013 16:12:52 GMT -5
OOC: Haha, no problem, I'm clearly way worse. -------- --------- ----------
It was getting harder to see, harder to breathe, and Chase was starting to feel like the cops weren't the biggest enemy he had to face in here. Not-Tony and his more Tony-like counterpart were starting to look concerned as well.
"Hey," Not-Tony coughed, falling back as Chase swiped out with his knife. "We've gotta call this in before it spreads."
Tony shifted, squinting back through the smoke toward the entrance.
"But... the doors..."
"But nothing. They blew shut in the wind."
"They didn't open."
Not Tony paused, considering.
"He must have friends outside, tried pinning us in. But they're not gonna hold them shut now. Not gonna be locking their pal in here to burn, are they?"
As interesting as it was to listen to the law being as ignorant and off-base as usual, Chase took the opportunity to crouch low to the ground, pull the front of his t-shirt up over his nose, and squint across the stretch of burning floor. There. In the corner near the bar, a gleam of metal shining brighter than the fire around it. On hands and knees, shallow breaths burning already-raw lungs, he crawled his way across the floor and grabbed the cop's gun.
"Wait... where'd he go? Tony, where'd he go?"
Chase pushed himself back to his feet, squinted through the haze of heat and smoke, and aimed.
"There," Tony shouted, pointing. "He's got a gun, duck!"
But before they could move, Chase opened fire. On the nearest window.
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Post by Jonas/Amazarak on Oct 30, 2013 20:34:21 GMT -5
Thick black smoke had hung in the air, choking those who needed to breath, but with the breaking of the window, the smoke rushed for the new exit even faster than the humans trying to escape it. Amazarak watched the proceedings with a stony expression. So the boy was going to make a run for it, was he? Hadn't he warned Chase what would happen if he tried something like that?
Whereas the new opening in the wall seemed only an exit for the smoke, the oxygen from the cold air outside seemed to please the fire and without any urging from the demon quickly began to grow. The hot, yellow flames were whipping around much of the bar's first floor now, licking at the tables and the tall bar counter. The demon stood amidst it, the blazing heat scalding his human flesh and singing the black jacket, but he remained where he was, glaring out at the three insects who were trying to make a break for it, deciding how he felt about it all. It wasn't where he'd expected the game to go, certainly. But then, that was part of the fun, wasn't it?
The cop who wasn't Tony spotted Amazarak, standing rigid and unconcerned in the glowing flames and paused his attempt to urge his partner towards the way out Chase had opened. There was no mistaking the demon for a bystander caught in the flames and it was obvious the policeman had no idea what to make of him. Amazarak didn't really notice as, with an effort of will he turned his entire being, his human disguise as well, into a crackling black smoke, somewhat similar in color and thickness of the fiery smoke currently choking the bar, and moved outside to the parking lot to await any survivors.
Inside, Tony managed to get his partner -who was babbling nonsense about a black-eyed man in the smoke- finally moving towards the broken window and towards life. Tony only hoped the crazy boy with the knife wasn't hiding in the smoke for them.
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