Charon looked at the gathering of heroines, observing them through his bone-white eyes, before making a simple gesture; a gesture all to familiar to those who experience what he was going through. Simply put, he raised one finger in front of him, turned to the side, and vomited up a smoking and hissing pool of violet ectoplasm onto the ground. Charon continued to hold up the finger as he retched and dry-heaved for a little while longer, before spitting out a last gob of the spectral energy and composing himself. "Sorry about that, ladies." He apologized simply, idly pulling the knife from his cloak and freeing himself. "Sometimes an impetuous soul takes control of my body without permission. Annoys the hell out of me, you know? But it comes with the territory; can't summon ghosts without playing the part of a host every once in a while. Now, where were we?" He mused, raising one finger to his chin and tapping it contemplatively. "Oh, right. About to get in a fight. Well, I suppose I ought to stop lollygagging around, right? No sense wasting all this time on nothing." Charon grinned as he said this, a joyless sort of grin that could curdle milk and peel paint. He raised his arms over his head, and thrust them towards the ground, struggling to lift them again, his fingers bent in a claw-like fashion. As he lifted, however, a duo of ghosts formed out of the ground, their bodies composed of the same violet ectoplasm Charon had vomited up moments before. One ghost was instantly recognizable as one from the first generation of villains, a man known as Lazarus. Lazarus's spirit stayed true to his body in life: skinny, with arms that looked as brittle as dry twigs and hair that seemed matted to his head. His hands, however, were more reminiscent to a bear's paws than to anything on the body of a human, as was his power: Lazarus was one of the first shape-shifting villains, and one of the first to resist an entire change to become more like their chosen avatars. The second spirit was less recognizable, though. For all intents and purposes, it seemed like the random spirit of a bodybuilder, which is exactly what it was.
Charon smirked as the two spirits slowly took form, their strength growing and fading the longer they stayed above ground. "Ladies, I believe you've heard of our guest Lazarus, who I must say is quite admirably living up to his name with his special appearance today. On the other hand, this gentleman was one of the first superhero-caused casualties. He's a good man." Charon snickered and folded his arms over his chest. "Well,
was a good man, I should say. Unfortunately for him, and not so much for me, our overly muscular friend here isn't exactly on the physical plane anymore." Charon's grin dropped like a stone in a lake a he said this, and his tone became all the more solemn. "It's a shame, really. According to his life-thread, he was going to have powers opposite of mine one day, making him one of the few people that could have posed a legitimate threat to someone like myself." Charon spat on the ground in disgust, scowling towards the heroines. "Thanks to your lack of insight, I don't have a proper rival anymore! Do you know how pissed that makes me?! There is no one out there that can bring rest to these souls, and all this killing is only making this problem exponentially worse. You're all making my job just that much harder! All these spirits, day and night without cease they scream in my ears! It's enough to drive a man to villainy." Charon smirked once more and stepped away from the wall he found himself near, edging towards the park. "Well, I suppose it's a bit too late for that for me." He laughed, a sound more kin to metal scraping on concrete than actual amusement. "I just hope you know that these spirits won't be able to get any rest, and they only grow angrier the more I must call on them. And an angry ghost isn't good news for any of us." Charon laughed once more, and the ghosts of Lazarus and the unnamed bodybuilder fell into formation in front of him, striking similar poses to his own. "It's such a shame that Brightside left, ladies. It's a bit unfair that there's only three of you, and so many of us dead people." Charon spoke with the finality of a hammer driving the final nail into a coffin's lid. "But, alas, I am afraid I must be going. It's awfully rude of me to infringe on your hunt for the infamous Brightside like this, you know." Charon added after a slight pause, removing his phone from his pocket absentmindedly, checking the message he received from Red Coyote. His finger flew as Lazarus and the unnamed ghost stood watch over him. To quote his reply;
- Code: Select all
Yes I can give them the slip. I grew up around more observant heroes than this lot, you know. If I can escape a psychic easily and consistently, these three should be nothing. And why can't I have a little fun once in a while, hm? I just so happen to like facing off against Trampez... and the other ones too I guess.
Charon chuckled, drawing shadows from the trees around himself to hide his escape. "It was nice talking to you, ladies. I'm sure we'll do this again in the future." He called as he slipped away unseen into another alleyway and transformed back into Cain's outfit, retaining the facial features of Charon.
Walking quickly and determinedly, Cain made his way to the industrial district, only stopping once to get a cigarette and light it. He opened the door with a show of bravado and strode towards the stairs, hopping down them on his way to the basement. "You rang, you introverted loon?" Cain called from the stairwell, not wanting to try his luck if his suspicions of booby traps held more basis in reality than he cared to admit.
