New Beginning 23: One for the Record Books

[Celadon's Penultimate]

Aaron's perceptions would blur for a moment, the psychic equivalent of television static, before a new face came into focus. It was a female Elf, clad in grease-smudged jean overalls and a skull cap, with hair looking to be bleach-blonde. Blinking turquoise eyes, she responded.

"Request a meeting with the Penultimate?" Techne adjusted her cap, "What a coincidence; I'd love to get a word with him as well. Unfortunately, he's not home at the moment. I'd say leave a message, but I get the feeling you'd like to do that in person."

"Database addition complete." a robotic voice came from behind Techne; it was Computress, "Goes by the name of Aaron, though he is also known under the alias Nano. He is a quasi-cyborg, Techne. I detect a psychic field not unlike that which facilitates the Tech Elves' level of Technopathy. Furthermore, he is in possession of Technari material, yet it holds no sway over his mind."

The Tech Elf turned to her left, to address the voice off-screen, "You mean this guy is a Tech Elf?"

"Negative." Computress responded, "I see no energy from the magic spectrum within his biometric signature. Yet his capacity for Technopathy, as a human, is remarkable. More properly, his capacity for Technopathy, as a human, is prodigious. Furthermore, he is the most powerful technopath we have crossed on Earth, who is personally aware of the Penultimate's existence, let alone has psychic potential to attempt interdimensional contact."

"Well, why didn't you say so before?" Techne's ears perked, "Okay, then, Nano, looks like my friend Computress here has taken something of a shine to you. Needless to say, she's just as good a judge of character as the Penultimate, so if she says you're cool, that's as good as an invitation. Computress, initiate Spatiotemporal Warp Aperture Protocol T-725."

"I anticipated as such." Computress replied, "The process is already underway, at 50% and counting. T-minus five, four, three, two, one...Active."

Light rippled into a fiery rainbow-colored aura, all around Aaron's body, within a five-foot radius. The air coursed as a rippling vibration, and Aaron could hear a slow growing hum. In some places, gravity seemed to grow weaker, and in other places stronger. With a final pulse of oscillating power, Aaron felt a singular YANK of pure force, simultaneous across the whole of his body.

When next he blinked, there before him would lay the biggest, most impressive collection of scientific research, study and experimentation he had ever seen. In the center of it all, he would see Techne, with whom he had just been communicating. To her left, a digital face, recognizable as female, splayed across what could easily have been mistaken for a movie screen.

[Celadon's Penultimate]

Watching the untold legions of bots making their way back to friendly spaceways from the observation deck, Tundra Cryos tossed back stark white hair, and called back to Motherboard Prime.

"The bots are back already?" she mused, "Hm. Then I guess Darkess and I ought not waste time. Where is the Witch, anyhow? Have you seen her about, Prime?"

Before Prime could utter a word, Darkess Faye appeared before her in a plume of midnight-colored smoke.

"I figured my presence might be required again soon. I magicked the winds to alert when next my name or thought of my image arose." Darkess dusted herself off, and walked down the deck to Prime's console, "So, I guess I'm next in line to offer up my attack. What do you think it ought to be? Something nasty, of course. A plague? A zombie outbreak? An infestation of cannibal imps?"

At the mention of such tempting options, Motherboard Prime arose from her seat. Attendant droids approached and she took a cyberfruit--synthetic hard-light flesh, shaped and colored like grapes, and filled with congealed, fruit-flavored gasoline--before waving off her attendants to other work. She bit and partook of the fruit, before turning back to her allies.

"The Cold-Walker and I were talking, Witch." she smiled, "I have analyzed the stochastic parameters for success with your and the Cold-Walker's tactics. As suspected, you are both forces to be reckoned with on your own; The Cold-Walker is a denizen of the Plane of Cold and Frost, and was banished for having nearly conquered. Likewise, you are a citizen of Celadon and came within a flea's leg-hair of besting the Penultimate for Celadon's throne. Though, my calculations determined that a more logical course of action would be cooperation. The two of you, plainly put, have powers that compliment one another quite well. And your personality profiles make teamwork the optimal decision here."

Black eldritch power sparked in tiny arcs across Darkess' hands, hearing Prime speak. The Technari Queen had become much less vexatious, and much more charismatic, since taking on a more humanoid form. Her machinations seemed less like the ravings of some megalomaniacal despot, and more like the rousing oratory of a great politician. Her intelligence seemed more reminiscent, now, of the knowledge Darkess aspired to through her magic. She smiled, and turned to Tundra.

"I'd be lying if I said I'm not the collaborating type." Darkess chuckled, "So, Tundra my dear, shall we get to it?"

Coy, as though she had just been invited to dance, Tundra stepped down, extending a hand to Darkess. The two joined hands, their eyes glowing bright, and then grabbed each other forearms, a strange and powerful shock felt simultaneous between them. Locking eyes brought them to an understanding deeper than telepathy, and each understood what the other was. The perfect magic arose between them, and each knew just what to do.

D: Calling forth the deepest black//
T: Frosty and frigid and hateful and cold//
D: Plague and destruction and ruin and wrack//
T: An icy age, like days of old

D: Hecate's hordes of hateful hoods//
T: Hod's allies, all clad in frost//
D: Eris and Lyssa, up to no good//
T: Niflheim's glory, all is lost//

Punctuating Tundra's final word, a wind stirred about them. Their shadows sharpened, and the glow about their eyes extended around their entire bodies. The wind wound across them like a snake slithering through water, before tinging purple-blue like a bruise, the mixing of the two women's power. At last, it grew from a slender, slinking breeze, into a nasty gust, and finally a wicked vortex, tossing about with unreal power.

Prime's base rocked with their combined fury, and the oscillating energy only intensified, grew in size and life, until it encompassed the entire of the Technari Queen's quarters. The entire ship became a beaming bruise-colored ornament, lighting up the depths of space. One would not be faulted for mistaking such a sight for some alien beacon. Except this beacon would herald into another dimension. In fact, multiple veils were pierced at once.

What would now serve as a deadly forcefield all about Prime's floating space fortress, would also double as a portal cross-section between what the Norse knew as Niflheim and what the Greeks knew as Tartarus.

Throughout space, there would spread eerie whispers of the dead, borne on mystic winds. And with them, swaths of shadow, to eclipse the skies. Tartarean Dark, it was called, a living blackness, a psychic substance--smoky and cold--that reacted with dark delight at the slightest negative emotion. When a world's atmosphere was taken over by the stuff, the frigid wind that followed would touch the atmosphere, and cause it to pour fourth fire from the sky.

To be exact, the sky would pour forth Coldfire, composed of energy which repelled molecules which would generate any heat above freezing. Worse yet, it was far more avaricious than its cousin, True Fire, in that it could be set to non-flammable matter, including water. The forests and the seas alike would burn bright blue with its fury, until whatever it touched just had nothing left to freeze.

As the cold lay every world in its path to icy ruin, and the darkness rendered midday into midnight, the worlds could only imagine the horrors next on their way. Where the darkness lay high above, and the ice lay down below, each would bear forth servants after their kind. The dark atmosphere would pour forth black bats and fledgling harpies and swarms of insects and tiny monsters, while great, hateful frost giants and ornery ice ogres and greedy winter goblins and creeping cold imps would arise from the frostbitten lands. The instructions were simple and clear: Leave no building standing. Leave no creature alive. Take no prisoners.

[Marvelous Miscreant]

The Marvelous Miscreant's mind had been slipping. The carnage and destruction of his home and the slaughter of his people had pushed him over the edge. He had become, for the first time, truly and wholeheartedly enraged. He had flown into righteous fury, smiting those who dared approach him.

But even in his rage, he had kept his mind from sliding into the dark pit that slithered and pulsed beneath his thoughts, The black print, left behind by the Dark Planet's influence all those years ago, surged and clawed to get out, but The Miscreant held it back. He refused to give in, to cross that line.

He grappled with that darker half, crouched in his ruined home, clutching his head as he whispered to himself. He was fighting his own mind, desperately holding on. So deep was this struggle that he did not, or could not, heed the cries and calls for assistance from his friends and allies as terror rained down upon the outside world. He could only whisper to himself, locked in an embrace with the black pit in his mind.

Now, as the Tartarean Dark seeped into the world, clawing at the air and stone that hung with empty stillness, the dark print in Marv's mind surged and swelled. As the Coldfire rained through the broken skylights of stone that punctured the once great palace of Kethencia, it illuminated the contorted face of the Miscreant, who writhed in mental torment. The dark heart inside him seized his better half and slowly choked and strangled it, seizing control with vigor fueled by the Tartarean Dark.

Marv's limbs spasmed and twitched as the blackness took over, expunging any trace of kindness and hope in his heart and replacing it with fear and hate. Dark crops of stone, black as the void and writhing with hateful energy, grew from his skin, metamorphosing him into a monstrous horror.

Slowly the miscreant stood, his crimson eyes peering into the sky as an evil smile cracked his face.

The Chthonic Miscreant had risen

...and there was no going back.

[The Mediocre Gatsby]

 The lab in which he stood began to rumble slightly. Suddenly, sirens and alerts began blaring through the lab. Aaron's face turned from a look of wonder, into a look of sheer terror.

 "You know, I don't know how things work in THIS dimension, but where I come from, sirens and alerts and everything like that generally means that something BAD just happened. So, can someone please explain to me just what is going on?" Aaron asked, inches away from a complete and total freak out.

[Celadon's Penultimate]

Gears clanked and machinery whirred in the distance of the lab, and Techne sighed in exasperation.

"Okay, don't freak out, kid." she tried to smile, "This house is the best defended fortress you could hope to find. What's outside can't easily get in, and what's inside can't easily get out. We got protocols up the wazoo, and the servants may not look it, but each is certified in at least twenty different ways to make you pass away and/or die, with varying speed and pain. Plus, if push comes to shove and you need to defend yourself, consider yourself privy to any and all weaponry within the confines of our humble little toy box--"

BANG.

RUMBLE.

CRASH.

Something quick and nimble could be heard skittering high up above, followed in tow by untold other quick-and-nimble somethings. A pattern of rumbling tremors could be felt in the floor.

"Footsteps", Techne concluded, before turning back to her companion, "Computress: status report on the outside?"

"Dismal." Computress replied, "The sky has gone black, though the next eclipse on Celadon is not projected for another 186 days, 12 hours and seven minutes. Spectral analysis confirms that the atmosphere has been suffused with a dimensional aperture, leading to the realm of Tartarus. It is pouring forth a myriad of Tartarean monsters, as well as the extradimensional substance Coldfire. Any patch of land frozen by the hail of Coldfire seems to be bearing forth monsters from Niflheim."

Techne cursed in Elfin, "Okay, this is going to be fun. So, look, kid. I figure you can take care of yourself. If the Penultimate wants anything to do with you, that means you're not helpless, and you're not an idiot. That being said, what you're going to see is nothing like what exists on Earth. It's worse than even a bunch of robots under the thumb of a cybernetic despot. This is a horde of otherworldly monsters built to live in some of the harshest environments known to mortals. And they're not arbitrarily hitting whatever they find. Every subject of Celadon outside of this manor has been preserved by the Penultimate, so they're gunning specifically for us. You up for that, kid?"

[Marvelous Miscreant]

The Chthonic Miscreant, revealing in his birth into the dark and cold world that surrounded him chuckled with hideous laughter. The vile laughter echoed eerily through the empty, crumbling ruins of what was once his home, though now he did not recognize it as such. His laughter ceased abruptly as his head snapped to glare at the subtle noise of shuffling feet emanating from one of the dozens of collapsing passages.

A small child, bruised and covered in grim peeked around the corner. His eyes wide with terror at the horrors he'd no doubt witnessed during the invasion. The child looked hopefully to the man he'd once known as the kind protector of Kethencia and whispered in a shuddering voice, "...I...I'm cold. P-Please.."

The Chthonic Miscreant glared at the child as though it were a pile of squirming meat; a thing to be detested and loathed. There was no kindness in his eyes. He lifted his hand to the child, his fingers splayed and curled menacingly. Dark shadows slithered and writhed around his fingers as he replied, "He does not care. Be cold no more."

With that a massive beam of darkness, so black it sucked in any light that dared approach it, erupted from The Miscreant's hand in an explosive spray that engulfed the child and the surrounding rubble. As the shadows subsided, all that was left of the child was a smouldering patch of fine ash that quickly cooled under the Coldfire's embrace.

The Miscreant's dark laughter began again.

He quickly stalked into the town around the ruined castle, black bursts of shadow and obsidian crystal marking his path as he encountered more survivors. The screams of those murdered echoed along the rooftops in a song of despair and fear, creating a score to which The Miscreant marched.

Soon, he came to stop at a large stone arch, carved with symbols and runes. It had once served as the bridge to his ally's land, to a world rich with history and culture, to a realm brimming with souls to feed his greed for malice. This great arch was once the portal to Celadon, though now it stood broken and dead.

But the echoes of the bridge still flickered in this spot. The Miscreant could feel them as he stretched out his clawed and crystal clad hands. He could feel them shimmering and dancing through the air. With vicious force he sensed the delicate echoes and pulled at them, forcing them apart. The air echoed with the sickening sound of ripping and tearing as the gate began to reopen, the Miscreants vile hands pulling the doors open once more. With a final crack the gate opened once more and the Chthonic Miscreant stepped into the realm of Celadon...

No doubt his presence would be sensed, but he did not care. He cared only to hate and to kill.

[Philote]

I summon my Soul Sphere to cover me. The Fire Gate opens and Aeon's Elemental Plane of Fire surrounds me like a cloak. The inferno builds until I'm separated from the world by my own condenses dimension. I rise from Celadon's surface and aim upwards into the descending dark and cold. It was time to pay Prime a visit.

[Celadon's Penultimate]

With the darkness and cold even leaving a faint touch within Prime's ship, Sister Siren came in to address Prime about just what was going on.

"I heard and felt the magic." Siren said, "I know that Darkess and Tundra are working together. I'm just curious how long it means we'll have to endure these creepy lurking shadows, and this damn miserable chill in the air?"

A smile crept across Prime's face at Siren's complaint.

"Do not fret, Songstress." she reassured, "There are two interwoven planes concealing us in the depths of space--we'll appear as nothing more than a burgeoning black hole, to even among the highest levels of technology--and yet all we've got to show for it is a bit less light than usual, and a bit of a chill. It's 56° Fahrenheit according to my temperature readings. Circumstances could certainly be worse, no?"

A sigh of exasperation escape Siren's shivering lips, "I suppose you're right. If anyone needs me, I'll be in my echo chamber, meditating with some snow and ice-based songs--even some Christmas carols--to adjust to this cold."

She would depart rubbing her hands together, and blowing into them for warmth.

[Celadon's Penultimate]

From Illyrion, the Penultimate's voice would return to the Narrator, as though the two were right next to one another.

"I'm in Illyrion right now." he started, "It shouldn't be long before I've finished here. So, you can head up the coast to Arboralia, and I'll take on the lands of Sciops."

Further conversation was unnecessary, and so the Penultimate cut the connection and took off. A quick jaunt, and he began through the dark and moody lands of Sciops. At the thought of the rain that he felt through the atmosphere, the Penultimate was relieved; it would help put out the fires that had been set by the rampage of the Technari menace.

At least, the sense of impending rain would be a comfort, at first. Then, he sensed something deeper, darker. On its way through the veils of spacetime was a vile and foreboding night, a hateful and relentless winter. There, through the depths of time and space, death and desolation was fast approaching. He had sensed that nearing essence before: that smell, it was the cold and cruel bite of the depths of Niflheim; that taste, it was the stifling bitterness of Tartarean Dark.

Menacing the approaching aura of devastation, the Penultimate listened into voiceless space, and heard the echoes he had expected and feared. This dimensional breach was not the work of the divine or the infernal: it was the work of mortals, speaking spells and invoking the primordial chaos in spite.

That first voice, it was soft and sultry, with an air of command. The second voice was smooth and charismatic, with a husky edge. No doubt, this was the work of Darkess Faye and Tundra Cryos.

When the assault arrived at last, the Penultimate found himself aghast at the sight. He cast his perceptions about the planet, scanning and memorizing every inch of the atmosphere. He sent out psychic force to mesh within every space within the atmosphere's various layers and gave a great thrust of will to turn back the tides.

Yet, these impending realms were not simply the hiding space of some peon trickster spirit, some low-level hideaway for mages and monsters, no pocket dimension for thieves to hoard untold masses. These realms peering through were divine pillars of existence, Tartarus held by the Greek gods, and Niflheim held by the Norse.

For all the might the Penultimate could muster, body, mind and spirit, he could not easily combat the will of the divine (even if that will was simply collaborating to the will of a mortal). His psyche trembled and wavered under the sheer weight of their imposition, and when he felt the slow trickle of blood down from his nose, he knew that he simply could not bear it any longer. His psyche loosened its grip, and the influence of the planes rushed in. Darkness poured in from the sky, and denizens of cold arose from the ground.

Still, the Penultimate was grateful: his psyche was quick to recover, and where he could not stave off the planes' intrusion, he would find it a far easier task to keep the invading forces at bay, until his allies arrived to help him find a solution.

[The Narrator]

Narrator quickly teleported to the lush landscapes of Arborelia.  

"The Varioum, for those of you who don't know, is a book, a compendium of the entirety of reality relating to myself.  It holds a tale of all my happenings, alternate realities, events, etc." 

He waved the keyblade at various portals, closing them while continuing to narrate.

"And why have a book of information that could be my, and alls, undoing?  Well hey, you'd have to be a special kind of person to access the Varioum.  Not just anyone can find it, much less read it. It's blank to all but myself— all versions of me.

And if it's been stolen, only one person could be responsible…"

He stopped.  His awareness pinged continual at various lands, dimensions that were still under attack.  But this one was different. He knew he never been there before, but remembered one of his alternates speaking highly of the food. 

Snapping his fingers, a map appeared. He reviewed it, continuing to close the other portals. 

Finally done he began to mental search for the Varioum, but the current wonton destruction across the planes clouded his awareness. 

"I guess I have to end this calamity, before I can get to you, but when I do you should know I'm doing more than locking you away!" He spoke seemingly talking to no one.

"The Narrator seeing that somewhere needed his attention, went to the area in a poof...."he narrated. 

*poof*

As he disappeared, a spider hanging in a nearby tree retreated into darkness. 

--

[Celadon's Penultimate]

On the other end of his poof, The Narrator would find himself at the peak of what looked like an immense dormant volcano, with doors covering the inner walls; The Hub, where Philote had been not moments ago. It was among the highest peaks in Celadon, so as this new onslaught of darkness and cold drew near, it would be among the first places where the hateful magics would touch down from the skies.

As Tartarean monsters descended, and creatures from Niflheim arose where the falling snow pelted vulnerable earth, some here and there would find towers and temples and shrines to pillage and lay to ruin. Some would knock down statues and defile monuments, but then Lethe Island was not, first and foremost, a home.

The monsters knew this.

While a portion of them took to destroying the landmarks, for the sake of destruction, the others knew a far more devastating tactic to attack Celadon: they banged and clawed and ripped at the doors within the Hub itself, in an attempt to cut off contact to all other worlds. Like so many ants retreating into their hill, the mountain was nearly blotted out by the huddled masses moving in.

[Marvelous Miscreant]

As the Miscreant stalked about the area around the rent gate, he quickly obliterated any of the foolish dark creatures that attempted to attack him. He cut swathes into the swarming creatures until they decided that retreat may be a better option for the time being. With the monsters held at bay for the moment, The Miscreant turned his senses to find more victims to slaughter, but found the many weak and pitiful souls he had sought to kill preserved and protected from harm by a powerful force. The Miscreant's stone cloaked face contorted into a grimace as his joy was stolen from him. He quickly turned his gaze towards to main lands of Celadon, his inhuman senses searching for a challenge.

He felt, rather than saw, three potential slaughters. One was ascending rapidly into the void above Celadon; he dismissed this one. The second was atop a distant mountain, surrounded by the swarming hordes; he ignored this one as well in favor of the third. In a large structure, he recognized as the Penultimate's Manor, he could sense the presence of at least two souls ripe for killing. A twisted smile spread across his stone face.

With an earthen crack, two massive black wings of obsidian bone erupted from The Miscreant's back. The enormous wings lifted him into the dark sky and carried him swiftly to alight on the Manor's peaked roof. His fist crackled with dark fire as he began to pummel his way into the building. Protections kept him from simply blasting his way in, but his constant barrage of explosive blows was slowly weakening the Manor's defenses. Each fiery swing of his fist, shook the roof and chipped away a little more at its defenses.

The Miscreant licked his stone lips in anticipation of the slaughter before him. It wouldn't be long now.

[The Narrator]

The Narrator poofed in a secluded area. 

"So this is the Hub," he whispered. He noticed the hordes of creatures, both Of fire and ice. 

"So this is what I'm stuck with...  These beings look familiar.  Wait, I remember a form of me speaking of fighting with Thor against some plot by Loki.  But how did these creatures get so to Midgard?"

He continued to watch the destruction.  He thought back to the Variorum. 

"I've pissed of some of some big ticket beings.  Leaving Areson with Loki, tricking Mephistopheles, but I feel like I'm forgetting someone...  Enough of that I got to figure out how to stop these things."

"I can help," called a voice from just behind him.

He turned around to view a slim dark skinned man, somewhere in his thirties. Clad in a deep blue suit with black highlights. 

"You seem so familiar, I'm sorry, who are you?" Narrator asked. 

"I'm Mr. Shanti.  We've met before remember...."

"Oh wait, it's coming back to me. The Caribbean, we helped end some villainous plot.  I remember you're smart, but these are a heap of beings.  You sure you can stop them?"

Shanti smiled, "well of course!"

--

[The Narrator]

Deep within the recesses of the Narrator, his logical side and his silly side stood back to back. Surrounded by rabbits they struggled to fend them off. 

"Quick, let's face chat Anya.  She'd get a kick outta thus!"

"What? You need to be serious for a change…"

"That's what you said last time this happened...."

"What are you talking about Jabberwock?" He said, giving an inquisitive stare. "This has never happened before..."

"Funny Logic, I thought it had...."

Back with Narrator and Mr. Shanti, they grabbed some random items to enact their plan.

Shanti snuck to the Tartarean overtaken side of the field. 

He stepped out and caught their attention.  As they drew closer to him ready to accost him he spoke, "Now before you fiery beings make quick work of me; I just think you should know those Niflheim plan to overthrow you after you take the Hub here...."

Grunts of disdain came from the Tartareans. 

"Now I know what you're thinking, how can we know that I'm am telling you cunning creatures of conflagration a truthful statement? In short, you don't."

The creatures stared at each other grunting.  Just then a rain of ice and snow rained on the fiery monsters. 

The creatures howled in pain. 

Mr. Shanti backed away as the Tartareans confronted the Niflheims.  

"The time distortion worked Narrator, the fools never seen it coming."

The Narrator distorted time temporarily allowing Shanti to speak to both leagues of creatures convince them the other was plotting against them. 

Somehow this just seemed too easy to Narrator. 

--

[The Narrator]

"Look at the fools," Shanti said as he and Narrator stood off viewing the now opposing beings began fighting, "they never stood a chance..."

"And with all that steam down there i could iron my clothes for weeks," Narrator responded. 

The two continue to still near the hub awaiting the chaos of the mythical creatures to settle.

--

[Celadon's Penultimate]

At the sound of the forceful thuds landing outside, Techne turned to Computress, "Now would be an awesome time to bring out the big guns. Maybe the B.O.B? If nothing else, then certainly the Kitty of Doom."

"Scans identify more than known Tartarean and Niflheim species in the Manor's immediate vicinity." Computress replied, "I would appear that the Marvelous Miscreant is among our onslaught of attackers, under the influence of infernal forces. Protective fields are at their near-maximum, but not much more can be done to raise them, with the Penultimate's power diverted elsewhere. That means I just may have to set the Manor's technologies on autopilot."

"You're joining the fight, then? Excellent. It's been a while." Techne replied, grabbing what weapons she could get her hands on, she replied, "Hey, Nano, looks like you're about to get a real crash course in butt-kickery from a master."

In the midst of Techne's preparations, there could be heard mechanical background noise, like the inner workings of a mechanic's workshop. When the noise died down, a mechanical sliding could be heard on the side of Computress' screen, and then the clicking of shoes. There walked out a form indistinguishable from a human female, hair in a bleach-blonde pixie cut, and clad in a sleeveless one-piece blue catsuit. She looked at Nano with emerald green eyes, and a smirking expression looking expertly human. Computress.

"I have set weapons systems, including the B.O.B. and the G.V.S.M. to high alert, and the maids and butlers are in their battle stations." she stated, "Every trap and defense has been set as high as resources will allow, and the Penultimate's monsters have been driven into position."

Before Nano could manage a response, Computress turned to retrieve a Warp Siren Rail Gun from a rack, and tossed the boy a Gravimetric Oscillator for his own personal use. When everyone in sight had a weapon in hand, her eyes blazed light blue and the PA system called out in her voice.

"Charging Antimatter Cannons.

Arming Supernova Capacitor.

Engaging Warp-Drive Disruptors.

Preparing victory pie ."

The first weapons, the Antimatter Cannons, trained on the Marvelous Miscreant. When the beams went off with a great thunderous hum, Computress' eyes went back to normal, but her smile was full of mischief. Now what could she cook up for the monsters encamped all about the Manor?

[Marvelous Miscreant]

The Antimatter beam plowed into The Miscreant's chest, catching him off guard and throwing him him several feet backward. His feet dug into the roof of the manor, carving deep ruts as the force of the beam pushed him back. The Antimatter blasted at his chest, eroding away his quartz and stone armor in small chunks slightly faster than it could regenerate. That mad him mad. His attention now focused on the Antimatter Cannon.

The Miscreant raised an open hand to shield himself from the cannon's onslaught, his quartz coated fingers cutting paths in the beam as it flowed by. Slowly the beam began to bend away from The Miscreant as if the space around him were bubbling outwards, deflecting and stretching the antimatter beam around him. The bubble grew quicker and quicker, bending the beam in an unnatural orb around The Miscreant until suddenly, it burst. The antimatter erupted outwards, vaporizing several creatures that had strayed to close and rebounding into the antimatter cannon, frying its internal structure and disabling it.

Blood red embers burned in The Miscreants eye sockets as he roared in anger at the defeated cannon. His gaze quickly returned to the roof he had previously been attacking. With a final decisive and explosive strike, he blasted through the final defenses and dropped through the smouldering hole in the roof. He landed gracefully inside the manor and quickly scanned the room for signs of life.

"Where are they? Where are the tasty morsels?" He purred to himself.

[The Mediocre Gatsby]

Nano looked at the weapon in his hands.

 "Huh... let's think. Those things outside, they're used to dark and the cold... so maybe they won't like me using light and heat." he thought. He closed his eyes and breathed. He felt the technology in the room, as if he were connected to it through the air. The Alpha Drive gave him a serious power boost. He could tell, since to feel this level of connection with any technology, he'd have to be touching it.

 "Wait, if I'm going to build a weapon. I should probably have some armor, wouldn't want to look like a weirdo." As he saw pieces of tech pull themselves apart and reassemble to make a weapon and a small amount of armor, Nano had another thought. "I don't want to lug this armor around with me everywhere, I should probably build it so that it can be compact when I'm not in battle. Maybe I should make it collapse into something else, something cool. Oh. Oh, yeah. I know JUST what to do." Nano said aloud.

 Suddenly, a figure burst through the door. Nano knew who it was. That Miscreant dude. Luckily, Nano's creation was all set and ready to go.

 "Hey, Miss-creant! You want a fight? You've got one!" Nano said, standing next to his creation. It was a beautiful, cherry red motorcycle. It seemed to be bulkier than most Harley's, but it looked as if it were built for speed. it looked almost like something out of a Tron movie, with a single circular headlight in the dead center. Nano climbed atop the bike and put on a matching red helmet. As he fitted it into place, and pulled the visor down in front of his eyes, the visor went completely dark, but then presented the room as if through a screen enabled with Augmented reality, wired directly to his brain.

 "Scorch Cycle: Engage Armor Sequence" Nano said. The bike began to shift around. Soon the wheels collapsed into equal halves and made their way towards his legs. The Bike split more and more apart, and reattached itself to different parts of his body. The Headlight made it's way towards his chest, the exhaust pipes were attached to his forearms, and the handles of the bike made their way to the palms of his hands. The red metal of the bike shifted and coated his body as, within the visor, small icons appeared at the bottom of the screen with new data about the armor. Soon, Nano was standing before the Miscreant in full battle armor, ready to defend himself.

 "Every new technology needs a Beta Test. I guess you'll have to do."

[Marvelous Miscreant]

The Miscreant's wild smile widened to reveal pointed black teeth. His voiced hissed from his toothy grin, louder than it should be at that distance.

"Just the way he likes his morsels. Crunchy on the outside.....gooey red on the inside...."

The Miscreant lunged forward with ravenous glee, lashing out with a razor sharp, clawed hand.

[The Mediocre Gatsby]

"Aaaaaand not even two quips in, and we're already to that creepy thrid person junk." Nano said, dodging the large clawed hand lunging toward him. But not before a loud SKRREEECH could be heard. Nano looked at his arm and saw a nice white scratch on his arm.

 "DUDE! WHAT THE HELL?! THIS IS A NEW PAINT JOB!" Nano yelled, clenching his fists. As he clenched his fists, the exhaust pipes on his forearms flipped around and began spewing blue-hot flames. "SERIOUSLY!"