Gods Among Men Suicide Slum

Saarai

Saarai

Lord of Bondage and Pain
Benefactor
A neighborhood located on the northwest side of New Troy, it's earned it's nickname due to high-levels of street crime in the area. Even the arrival of the Superman has done nothing to put an end to it.

Some feeling that his presence has only made it worse with the appearance of Intergang, a criminal organization based in Suicide Slum that use advanced technology of unknown origin, and repurposed Kryptonian tech being sold to street gangs.

The neighborhood is often patrolled by the vigilante known as Guardian and Titans Mal Duncan, as well as other street-level vigilantes and heroes.
 
"Behold! People of Suicide Slum, the glory that is Trigon!" Clinton shouted to those that passed him by. Spreading the good word of his religion to the masses.

He was a young man dressed in crimson robes, an indication that he was a member of the Cult of Blood.

"Trigon shall return to this world and release you all from the chains of morality, but only if you accept him. If you accept the gifts he gives to you."

"Shut up, weirdo!" A man shouted, deciding to heckle the evangelizing cultist, "Approach, non-believer. Approach and experience what Trigon can give to you." Clinton demanded.

He seemed unimpressed when his heckler revealed himself and began making his approach. The heckler was your typical greaser type, his friends watching from afar.

"Right here, kid. Show me what your god can do." The heckler taunted, looking back at his friends for approval.

"Very well." Clinton said, raising a hand towards the man. He aimed a finger at him, pointing directly at his chest. "Behold!" He said, pulling his hand back quickly.

The result were gruesome as the man's heart seemed to be being pulled from his body violently, but the hardiness of his bones kept it in place.

Mostly in place.

The heckler fell to his knees, spitting up blood. Clinton looked down on him, the man was pathetic. But, he would learn to worship greatness.

"Do you accept Trigon?" Clinton asked him, kneeling down to get close to the man's face. "You do, don't you?" He asked, "Die and be reborn in his image."

Clinton watched stoically as the man fell over, inching closer and closer to death. He stood slowly, outstretching his arms at the crowd that had begun to form around him and the dead man.

"Behold!"
 
A man was watching from afar of how the man died through binoculars. From the distance where the crowd stood he couldn't be seen without pointing a flashlight at him. He had bullet proof armor an with a mask that you couldn't see through. He took out a piece paper and a pencil and began drawing the person from the cult. Once he finished with a not as bad drawing he began running back to his home in New Troy.
 
Within the crowd stood a very odd figure. A tall figure in a suit of armor, red like blood. Though she drew eyes from the crowd, she seemed indifferent to the attention she was receiving. Her eyes were fixed on the cultist, not straying from the man for even a second. She witnessed the shocking ability the man displayed for herself. Though the feat was meant to cow with fear and inspire awe, it merely filled her with a familiar rage. She smelled the scent of dark magic and evil. After the man performed the feat, she moves forward, pushing past the crowd to reach the front. The people offered little resistance, and those that may have complained at her shoving were cowed with a withering glance. As she headed towards the man, her armor made a clanking sound with the pavement, making her stick out.
 
Clinton brought his attention to the armored woman, curiosity on his face at first, but soon his lips twisted into a smile. "Neither cape nor cowl." He said to her.

He raised a hand at her, "I suggest you stay away, warrior, hunter? It matters not. Trigon does not take kindly to those who interfere with his flock."

"This guy's nuts." Someone in the crowd called out, "Kick his ass." Another shouted.

"Arise." The cultist said, the dead man in front of him slowly getting back to his feet.

His skin had shifted to an reddish-orange tone, and his eyes glowed the same color. That was demonic energy, there was no way to mistake that for anything else.

"Trigon gifts you with new life! Power! And, he will gift it to anyone who can destroy this interloping woman!" The cultist yelled at the crowd.

Many were hesitant, but there were others who seemed to actually consider it. Suicide Slum wasn't the best place to live, and this man had shown off an impressive ability.

Anyone would kill for a little power.
 
Before he was able to leave the area people began shouting more and Jordan heard the words "destroy this interloping woman!". He ran back to the crowd to see the dead man has gotten up surrounded by an orange color. He readied his shock baton and began running to the crowd of people.
 
“Fools…” Muttered Hertha, one of her hans lifting, her palm upward. “Those whom do not wish to die, leave now. I have no quarrel with humans.” She turned to the cultist and the demonic. “As for you, spawn and puppet of Trigon, you are beyond saving.” A fire ignited in her hand, not dissimilar to the energies which revived the dead man. “Now burn.” She set the fire forth onto the walking corpse. She tried to keep the fire from hurting the crowd, but she could only control it so much.
 
Jordan stopped infront of the crowd with the baton in his hand. He was in awe. He put away his shock baton and took out his Glock and aimed it at the cult guy's head. He fired multiple rounds at the man.
 
The cultist planned to stick around to see what would, but when he caught glimpse of a weapon he began to run into the crowd.

The gunshots that rang out prompted others to do the same, no one wanted to stand around to be shot or burned.

The revived man hurled himself at Hertha despite the fire, but he met his second death before he could get far.

The cultist on the other hand, he was long gone. Or hiding. A trail of blood on the ground showed that he'd taken a bullet or two.
 
“You can stop shooting now. The man is dead… for good this time.” Spoke Hertha, she frowned as she looked around, seeing the now practically deserted streets. If the man were a full demon she wouldn’t have so much trouble tracking him, but now she was without a lead. That is, until she noticed the blood. She knelt and looked at it.


“If we follow the blood, we may catch up with the cultist.” Hertha spoke, though she wasn’t confident the blood would lead anywhere. Cultists of dark powers had ways to disappear. Still, she began to follow the trail anyway. “Perhaps we will shed more blood yet.”
 
The blood trailed went down the sidewalk into a dark alleyway. There was no shortage of them in Suicide Slum these days, but this one was special. As special as it could be. It led into Intergang territory, and everyone knew they had a relationship with the cultists that had been evangelizing in the city. And everyone knew they were dangerous.

But, other than a few drug addicts and homeless people, it looked like they weren't out tonight. The cultist had to be hiding close by. There didn't seem to be anywhere for him to go.
 
Dr. John watched the show develop. He sighed as the cultist got away. He was ranked high among magic users though he did not like showing his skill. He brushed his fingers off from the scone he was eating and shoved the rest of it in his mouth. As Dr. John ran his fingers through the blood and muttered a spell. He could feel where the man was and started slowly after the man.

Dr. John stuck out among the homeless. He was tall and almost skeletally thin. His fine black pinstriped suit made him look even more stretched. Pulling a scalpel from his doctor's bag. Dr. John moved slicing open his thumb and smearing the blood on the entry of the Ally. Walling it off magically from the world. He hoped his prey was inside. With that, he raised his voice with a touch of a southern accent. " Come on out now ya' hear. we need to talk. Or if you want I can summon something nasty. So you two can have a chat ?" Dr. John asked as he took a sip from his to-go coffee cup. He was one of the few mortal beings who was able to call upon things out of this reality. Though some spells he avoided like the plague. Summoning a monster or manifesting constructs of magic that where tentacles where one thing. But opening a rift to the plane of reality he pulled things out of was dangerous. And Dr. John shuddered at the thought.
 
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"You picked the wrong alleyway." Clinton, the cultists said, voice bouncing off the buildings. "This belongs to Trigon." He continued, was appeared to be dark red sludge moving towards John's feet.

It came together in front of him, rising slowly to form the body of a man.

The man was dressed in crimson robes like Clinton, though he wore a red mask that concealed his entire head. One could see part of his neck, he had fair skin and what looked like rope burn.

"Speak." He said, voice different from Clinton's. Clinton was still hiding, licking his wounds.
 
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