Cerin Cornine
Cerin had learned that it was best to move fast when it came to dual wielding the pistols. It was just a distraction after all from the main event. He knew that they would come back and he had planned, aiming in certain locations. When they came back to tear him asunder, the doppelganger took the brunt of the attack. It turned back to what it was.
He closed his eyes for a second time and felt the air for a brief second and made a small shield around himself. He knew he wouldn't be able to hold it for long. His mastery of the elements was few and they always backfired on him
Cerin knew that he had realized that something was wrong, but he hadn't exactly figured out why his game was good. Open a door and only once he fully acknowledge that he was playing with his emotions, he would stop.
"
My dear man, the bullets were just for show after all," he replied, continuing to probe his emotions with thoughts of sadness, grief. He had decided to add a dash of despair... what was the word for it? Malice. He did one more push for a burst of happiness. Mix and confuse was the name of the game. " Though it's a shame Cerin Junior couldn't be around for long. "
@Cromartous
Cole's vision began to flicker and fade under the yoke of his anguish, and with it, so did his shield, the dancing lights only adding to to his distortion. His arms grew weak and began to cave under the rising pressure, buckling in sync with his knees. Strange visions danced across his eyes - images of death and love, both dancing together hand in him. He thought of Trish, and all those blissful days and lustful nights. He saw her smile and cry, laugh and sigh, then flicker out and die at Kessler's hand. Yet another failure to his name.
His heart grew heavy at the thought of Nix, the spirit of freedom and life. She had always been such a liberated soul, free from the shackles of society, fear and even guilt. It killed him to see the shackles return the moment the Beast snuffed out her fire. There wasn't so much as a body left the weep over.
He saw his city rise and fall over and over. All those who had thrown rocks at him one day and ropes the next had lived through so much and seen so many horrible things and remained strong. Even at the mouth of anarchy, they had stood tall, with brother still reaching out the help brother. It killed him to know that his 'help' had brought about its end.
Wherever he went, he painted targets on the backs of those he loved. He could never have defeated Cell- it was just a youthful illusion, a lie to give himself hope in his final days. Maybe at least Cerin had a shot...
No. He couldn't give up that easily. He couldn't. He wasn't going to throw in the towel just yet. Maybe he had let people down. Maybe his powers had been responsible for the toppling of towers and too many deaths, that was no excuse to surrender. He fought. That was what had defined him. He wasn't some Ray Field Time Bomb. He wasn't a Demon. And he sure as he'll wasn't Kessler's little experiment. He was Cole MacGrath. The Survivor. The Light from beneath the rubble. He was the Electric Man; and Cerin was about to get the shock of a lifetime.
Tensing his quivering body and standing tall again, Cole shook off Cerin's spell, and with it, be released the burdens of life of regret. With a smile, Cole MacGrath was born again in a flash of thunder and fire, his skin coated in a frost aura of newfound confidence and faith.
"Thanks for the push" Cole laughed, rolling back his shoulders and stretching his arms. The warm up was over. "Nice to have a reminder of what I fight for" Leaping forward in a spiral of lighting, Cole swung his Amp at full strength towards Cerin's kneecaps, armed a sword of calm and peace. A dam help his emotions in check for now. And it was time to focus the river's flow into a fight neither would forget for some time.
Cerin Cornine
Cerin closed his eyes and concentrated. Within a few minutes, not too far from Cole was a second Cerin. Had Cerin cloned himself or had this Cerin always been there? It was difficult to tell, but he moved in perfect sync with the original. Both of the Cerins pulled out two pistols and shot towards Cole. Meanwhile, unknown to Cole, Cerin had started to attempt to probe emotions of surrender and suffering into the other's head. Thoughts of suicide and loss. Meanwhile, one of the Cerins continued to shoot, towards Cole in case this failed being on constant guard.
"Stiles Stilinski"
" It is a pleasure to battle with you, Senator Armstrong," he replied, before looking at him. He decided he wasn't going to make the first move, but subtly summoned his flies to attempt to possess Senator Armstrong. If it was successful, well, things would get bad for the Senator fast.
@Cromartous
"Nice to meet ya, kid" Armstrong laughed, reaching out a friendly palm for Stiles to shake. "Name's Steven. Steven Armstrong. Senator for Texas". As the Senator stopped to breathe, he froze, his smile slowly fading from his face. It was as if a strange new presence was lurking behind him, stalking him like some demented phantom. No matter how hard he tried to but it out of mind, he couldn't seem to shift the feeling that he was being... Watched.
It shouldn't have bothered him. It normally wouldn't bother him; he had had hundreds of cameras on him every since he joined his college's football team, and had been soaking up the sweet, free PR like a sponge every since. But the feeling that danced around the corners of his mind as he prepared to fight seemed different... Almost unnatural. It was almost like...
"Ah" Armstrong sighed, recalling his hand. His smile slowly began to return, only this time fueled by smug artificiality. "Nice trick there. But don't fuck with this mind!"
Armstrong stamped his foot into the ground with as much strength as he could muster, sending a rupturing fissure across the battlefield and towards Stiles' position, and wave of rubble soaring behind it. "The US has had
freaks like you on employ since the 80s. The Ruskies have had 'em since the 50s"
A second stamp caused another fissure, Steven's legs now parted life a sumo wrestler and his body lowered like a charging rhino. "They've been training True Patriots on how to fight this sort of stuff since the turn of the century! First thing you learn at old Navy School!" Breaking into a charge, Armstrong stampeded across the chaotic battlefield, reading to ram his foe with an iron skull "They're called Closed-Network-Nanomachines, son! Nothing gets in my head, or 'heart', or anywhere else without my say so!"
@mobile Post
