Jericho had paused at the sound of Alex's voice, had begun turning to locate the massive man who they called a friend, their very first friend. The stench of super powered individuals was overwhelming. It stank like rot, like flesh and meat and hunger.
It stank like glorious power, sweet glorious satisfaction, like a purpose meant to be completed! They would have their carve! But. Alex would be disappointed, perhaps even angry, and survival would be in jeopardy if Jericho kept going the way they were. They had to calm down, they had to back away from the fight, return to hiding! They-
Something clattered off their haunch, the scent of wind-scraped plains, of dust and gale, caught their attention. The air shoved Alex out and away from Jericho, shoved the prey that surrounded the Polymorph away.
The fog descended, and Jericho gave in to their instincts for battle, for the hunt.
There was a brief black-out moment, where J-3 would not remember even moving to attack Scarlet, where it wouldn't remember having its' haunch shoved by a wall of wind that threatened to topple it over. The meat of J-3 would remember turning, flinging a cadaver at 'Scarlet' and rushing her right after the corpse flew through the air.
It would remember cleaving a path through meat that stood in its' way, ripping a witchfinder in twain with brutal efficiency, sending the halves scattering their contents to the ground as they continued with single-minded determination.
It would remember watching Scarlet blocking and deflecting the corpse of a witchfinder with her skateboard, would remember leaping up, spinning about midair, and flexing its long tail.
The length of meat and metal split apart like a horrifying flower. A multitude of eight thinner but no less armored, lined with iron 'fangs', tentacles spread out.
The tendrils swept through the air like whips, and the first three to come into contact with Scarlet's board tore it in half. Another lashed forward as J-3 landed, spearing through the air with the intent to harpoon and kill.
She disengaged her ‘shield’, holding each skateboard piece by the truck like she was about to start dual wielding them, and ducked. Far too slow. Half her face began to melt away as the tendril shot through it, particles floating up into the sky, but she felt the sting. When the tendril whipped away, and she regained a full solid form, her hat had been knocked off and there was a thick, red gash on her forehead, spilling blood down her face and soaking into her mask.
J-3 Unleashed another roar, their chest ballooning outward and swelling with silver-black ink. The sound was that much louder, like a blast of thunder and animal-fury. The noise was a grating bellow mixed with the chittering whine of an insect, the screaming caw of some parrot-like bird supplemented it all. They shook the ground with the force of it, completely lost to the shift and shake of combat. They spun about, swirling on one armored hind leg, as their limbs lashed out at everything nearby. Another Witchfinder lost an arm, the one who ran to avenge her comrade found her face slashed by a clawed hand that spared no mercy or care for her existence.
Meanwhile, across from the whirling dervish, a certain someone thought to themselves.
Christ, that was a big set of lungs. Would be a shame if somebody-
Scarlet flipped her hood back on and punched forward, air cannon engaged. And concentrated. It blasted the creature, and the sickening noise of ribs turning inward cracked over the conflict. The creature’s chest caved in as it was blown back, the air forced out of its lungs. Vic gladly held onto that. And didn’t return it.
J-3 was thrown back, chest caved inward and starved of air. It locked its' gaze on Scarlet, still blinded to reasoning by the thrill and excitement of the hunt. It stood a solid fifteen or more feet away from Scarlet now. The tails on its hindquarters flicked, and lashed forward with an abrupt speed that left them blurs to the naked- or non super eye. Ink swirled on the tips of the tails as they moved, quills of bone and barb forming and soaring through the air between the two combatants. Four sank into the flesh of Scarlet's left shoulder, right and left forearms, and one just barely scraped by her hip as she once again 'POOFED' to avoid the worst of it.
J-3 thrashed for a moment longer, before shuddering and staggering side to side, desperate for oxygen.
The middle of a roar was no time to have the air stolen from you. Asphyxiation was a bitch.