Western Corner: Industrial Zone

"Sounds good."

Jaek rubbed his hands together, took in a deep breath, then entered through the window. The guard within turned in horror as large shadow descended upon him from above. A quick punch to the face discombobulated him if it hadn't knocked him out cold. The Frostarian grabbed the guard down at the ankle and tossed him like a doll to the window above for Torm to catch.

He followed the next set of instructions the Kiffar had given him, choking out the next guard to enter. With that he began to make his way down to the lower levels. Boff had what was coming to him.

Torm caught the ragdolled guard with ease, hauling him up and quietly covering his mouth. For a moment, all the man would see is the nigh-emotionless expression on his face, before blacking out. Once he was dealt with, Torm quietly sets him aside, sliding him out of view of anybody on the roof. Weapons stripped of him and tossed away into a nearby trash bin.

Once that was dealt with, Torm leapt across to an intersecting roof, and dropped down out of view of the building. For a moment, the Kiffar focused, allowing his small influence on the world to fade, and hiding his face with the race's fairly typical brown robes, before approaching the building. He approaches the guards in front, and when questioned about his presence, he calmly waves his hand, stating that he was here to perform a simple routine inspection. The gesture held more subtle connotations, allowing him the briefest of moments to influence their decision-making patterns, and allow himself past.

Jaek had begun his descent down to where Ottaga Boff most likely lie. Unless Hemsley lied this should be the place. He'd have a word with Boff. After kicking his ass. And wrecking his shit. And kicking his ass.

The Frostarian mercenary sprinted down the stairs and through whatever corridors lie ahead, effortlessly dealing with whatever guard that happened to be in his way. Within just about a minute Jaek had found his way to the "throne room." Two large wooden doors stood in front of his way. "Now how to go about this..."

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Several tables filled the large room that was the throne of Ottaga Boff, the leader of the Boff Gang. Years of criminal activity under the guise of one of Zenith's most well known businesses had gained the criminal lord massive wealth. The wall to the right of the Minotaur's throne was an open safe overflowing with Zenithian coinage. Out in front and to the left were tables either converted to pool or being used for various gambling games. A hazy fog from the copious amounts of smoking hung heavy in the air.

The usual din of countless conversations suddenly quieted down when they heard shouting outside of the big wooden doors. The guards nearby tensed and pulled out their swords. The shouting soon quieted followed by several seconds of agonizing silence. Boff sat up a bit in his throne and snorted, causing the ring in his nose to jingle.

The large wooden doors swung open, kicked by the Frostarian behind them. One even flew off a few of its hinges. Jaek stepped into the doorway. "Sup bitches."

Ottaga Boff was busy snorting over a pretty blue female who was raining whispered words to his ears and teasing scratches to his chin. He was only a few minutes away from demanding everyone clear the room when there was the racket of the hall doors being thrown open, he puffed when one fell off of the hinges, clattering loudly across the floor. Slowly he stood, chest puffed and one large hand on the handle of his axe.

All this soon deflated as Ottaga got a clear view of who was breaking down his fine Mohagony doors and using such foul language in his hall. A few moment passed, his female tensed and hidden behind his 'throne' and his brutes ready to jump at a pen drop. Snorting, the bull laughed heartily and deeply. "Jaek! I suspected you would be here within a few days time!" He called to the giant. Plopping back down in his seat he slouches a bit while calling his female back to his side with a few snorts from his nose and putters from his lips. He then speaks to Jake once more "Oh! Weapons away! This is a friend! We all know who he is.." He speaks from his chest, naturally, loud, and deep. "Come! Make yourself comfortable." His teeth are impressiely well kept as he smiles.

"A friend?" Jaek spat. "You sent out your people to try and track me down and kill me. I don't know about where you're from, but where I'm from friends don't send assassins after you." Well... That was a lie. Political games like that were played all the time in his homeland. But Boff didn't know that. The Frostarian slowly walked down the few steps from the door the large throne room. "You have explaining to do, Ottaga."

Torm quietly moved through the Crime Lord's front, talking down or even flat-out taking down the men who stood in his way. All the while, performing deep scans of their minds, and pulling what information they would give with the amount of force he was providing.

Granted, he was fairly willful when it came to these types of situations, but some would find the force he thrust upon the minds of these men to be perhaps a little excessive. However, he saw it as necessary. A measure needed to get the job done. Particularly so when he discovered just what kinds of criminal activities were going on beneath the building. Drugs, debauchery, all manner of hedonistic activities, harmful or otherwise. Then, moments later, he came to the stairway leading down, and followed it, carrying one of the men from upstairs by his shirt collar.

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"And judging from the information I'm pulling from your men, assassination doesn't seem to be the end of it." Torm adds, walking down the stairs and setting aside the semi-conscious worker he was carrying. The Kiffar quietly taps the man on the head, noting "You have much to account for, Ottaga Boff. I do not blame you for following the nature of every sentient and sapient, but Jaek is correct. You're under arrest."

The bull puffs through his wide nose, making his ring flail slightly. He looks tense for a moment, in deep thought as he lightly strokes his own jaw. Then he shrugs and smiles again "Me? Ottaga Boff? Assassinate people? Hurt my friends? Come now, Jaek and Friend.. You don't think me that cruel do you?" He places a hand on his thick chest, splaying his fingers over his heart.

His goons had gone back to their activities but now they were quiet, slow, and tense as they followed the conversation while waiting for their boss to give them any sort of signal.

Really? Unfazed even at Torm's observations of his criminal activities? The fact that he'd straight up ignore those allegations and work towards trying to mend things with me... He must think he can win against the Kiffar alone. How foolish.

"Don't play dumb with me, Minotaur." Jaek pulled a piece of ragged cloth with an embroidered B in red and gold from a pocket in the baggy pants he wore. "Only your most faithful carry these. You don't just dish these out. Special ones get these. Including me." He pulled out another. This one was neater, not as ragged, and folded neatly. In the bottom right corner sat the intials J.I. "This is mine, Boff. You betrayed me. Why." It was not a question. He was not asking for an explanation. His tone demanded.

Torm simply stands at the Northerner's side, already drawing his weapon. This was going to take some doing, particularly if the Minotaur decided to lead the fight off with a charge. Size meant nothing to him, but velocity certainly did. Minotaur could get up and charge quickly, almost as fast as a Kiffar could concentrate to get a hold of them. It would take some doing indeed.

Torm was visibly sizing up every single individual in the room in a manner of moments, going straight from Ottaga to the next goon closest to him, flicking his gaze back-and-forth as he took the measure of each of them as best he could, doubtless the fighting would take mere minutes to begin, and he wanted to study up on his targets as soon as possible before he so much as ignited his blade.

Ottaga gave pointed stares to Jaek's Kiffar pet. Who is this shmuck? His chest heaves as he puffs impatiently, his eyes drifting sideways to one of his men.

The being, another minotaur but a bit smaller, literally black in skin tone with light grey eyes feels Boff's gaze. And when the boss shifts in his seat to pay his attention to Jaek, he caught the glimpse at the Kiffar and shifted his own position, shuffling his playing cards.

"My. I never thought I'd see a Frostarian whimpering over an embroidered cloth." He smirks, boredly placing a fist under his chin while waving his free hand through the air "Fine. You want to know why I dropped you? You and your people are too close. You're risky business, Frost Giant." The bull stands, his hooves thumping on the stage of which his throne was on. "You think Ottaga Boff wants to do business with some brick who likes to tussel with Zenithian Guard Captains?" He takes one step forward, raising his voice more. "With one of the most closely watched species in this city?" He stands on the middle stair of the three that led to his stage, his men paused in each of their activities as they glared at the visitors. "With someone who dances in and out of the Court Mage's Tower!" He bellows, naked chest heaving.

"Do not think me a fool.." There was a long pause before he chuckles, turning and slowly sauntering back to his seat. "Now.. What my men here have done to keep this company running smoothly is of no known knowledge to me." He sits with a sigh in his chair, slouched again. "So try and persecute me for their actions if you wish."

"You are a fool!" the Frostarian challenged. "You're the fool for dropping me. I, who tussle with Zenithian Guardsmen and their pitiful Captains who never could imprison me. I, who has no connection with my countrymen but rather fought against them for Zenith's walls, unlike some Minotaur," he spat. "And I, with such connections as the Court Mage to get jobs done."

Jaek took a few steps forward, ignoring the nervous shuffling of the few guards near him. He dropped the token and crushed it underfoot. "All of those poor excuses you just gave were what made me your most valuable asset. As long as I worked with you, you were next to invincible. Untouchable." A single luminescent and verdant eye stared the bipedal bovine down. His voice suddenly lost its deep and menacing projection. "And then you sent out a kill order." His voice was soft, svelte, calm.

"Crossing the mercenaries you formerly employ is a stupid thing to do. Especially when that mercenary is me." Jaek began to slowly draw his longsword, Mortem. A drawn out SHING echoed across the stone walls of the throne room as pureblack obsidian blade came to light. Runic writing appearing in Fringelandic cuneiform lay etched across his blade.

(http://thenameisjaek.deviantart.com/art ... 1458106144)

"Your men will face legal prosecution. But your culling is now. And I am your executioner."

Torm steps forward alongside his cold compadre, drawing his weapon and igniting its cool silver-and-blue blade. He calmly states "Justice is blind, but revenge is only missing one eye." and readies his poise. The Kiffar is already staring holes into the Minotaur second in command. This one would be his first target, he was ready to cut this room apart man-by-man, starting with this particular man.

He was tensed up like taught rope, ready to snap at any second, ready to let loose all that energy he was bundling up. This minotaur was marked, and if he was at all paying attention, he knew it.

Ottaga's round black eyes stared down the annoying Frostarian. After his call, the bull slammed his fist on the arm of his throne. "I want them dead! The both of them! Now!" He roars.

His men jump into action. Three tables flip and four chairs clatter in the duos direction as the Boff swarm, growling, hissing and circling. There was a rainbow of weapons ranging from spears to spiked clubs.

Ottaga himself reached behind his throne and pulled out a medium length, double sided ax. As he fully pulled it out he rose and approached his black furred, right hand man and began mumbling and snorting. The bull was already up and waiting for him, nodding as he accepted orders. Once it was done he holstered his gun and aimed for the Kiffar.

Boff puffed and waited at the bottom of his throne, often digging his hoof into the ground. Jaek would be with him soon, at the least, if Tehran couldn't hold off the Kiffar.

Inside the circle someone threw the first hit and it was the swing of a sword by a lean looking male with skinny mustache tentacles. The swing was at Jaek and as soon as it was completed another tried to take a club to Torm's knees. Now everyone was yelling and attacking at once.

So he realized his mistake.

It wasn't unlike a Minotaur to attack when cornered. They were such a primal species anyways. Most of the hybrids, that being a derogatory term for most species that appear to be a combination of a non-sentient creature and typically a human, still retained a lot of their animal instinct. For a "beast of burden" such as he, especially for war, he was lucky to have such a position as one of the crimelords of Zenith's crime underground aptly nicknamed the Moon.

"Let's have it then!" the Frostarian roared in defiance, readying himself. As soon as the first swing came flying in, the Nephilim parried with unreal ease and sent a crushing kick to the gangster's chin, sending him, blood, and several teeth flying. Jaek skillfully blocked and riposted any offensive move thrown at him, but he wouldn't stay on the defensive. It wasn't in his nature.

The mercenary Frostarian first made his move by running his stark black blade through the chest of the nearest criminal before flinging the body off of Mortem and into two others. He faced a orc with a halberd and promptly cut through the staff of the pole-arm before truncating the greenskin. Another goon came from behind attempting to get in a back stab but was stopped short an elbow to the face that nearly collapsed the purple-skinned humanoid's skull.

Within meager minutes the Frostarian went from gangster to gangster that lie in his path to Boff with quick succession. As soon as he was free of the circle he launched himself at the Minotaur, screaming. "BOOOOOOOFF!"

Tom could sense the blow seconds before it came, and that was all the time he'd needed to throw himself backwards and ignite his weapon. The telepath lands with a light clack and engages the two men to his sides, parrying a bright-orange humanoid's broad strokes with a broadsword, before stepping to the side and dishing out an off-hand strike to his head, providing enough blunt force to put him unconscious, but not kill him. These men were to receive justice, not mindless death.

Next, he approaches a well-muscled, red-skinned humanoid with a handaxe. He side-steps his opponent's first blow, an overhead strike, ducks under a horizontal cut, and simply brings his weapon up, cutting off the head of the axe before delivering a swift kick into his chest, sending him flying backwards into a now-split table.

After a moment, he spins to focus on the Minotaur, weapon raised.

Boff puffed and lowered his head, baring his thick horns to the oncoming Frostarian as he called and came for him.

Now a Frostarian and a Minotaur were a worthy match, especially if they both had weapons. Although one was slightly taller, they were nicely paired by brute strength and Ottaga was no peanut when it came to intelligence so this was also something to take into consideration.

There was the cringing sound of swords meeting horns and the call of a bull as Ottaga came for Jaek just as hard as he was coming for him. When the Frostarian would swing his weapon, the bull would parry with his horns, finding his balance by placing a foot back. Once the hit was parried, he would plow forward with fists, ax, or horns again.

As soon as Frost Giant and Bull collided Tehran fired a single shot at Torm, aiming for his left shoulder. If the shot were to miss, the bovine would snort and slowly step to the left, always keeping his eyes on the Psychic.

As this went on, there were still more thugs to be taken care of. Either they were the few left in the room or the many more trailing in through the broken doors, weapons galore.

Jaek wouldn't have any of it. The bull knew how to utilize his horns well which only added to the array of weapons he had. Horns, fists, hooves, his axe, all of it would be applies to the Frostarian's body with deadly force if he wasn't careful. But then again, Jaek wasn't as weaponless either.

The mercenary Nephilim pushed back the Minotaur's head with the use of his sword being parried by those horns. Once free, he sent a kick aimed for the bovine's chest. The move was meant to put some distance between them. The Frostarian had reach, the Minotaur not so much.

Torm was already anticipating the shot, despite the quiet nature and rather theatrical timing of the gunshot. Torm almost wanted to take the bullet so the Minotaur wouldn't be disappointed in his choice of tactical decision. However, that did not mean he wouldn't stop it. The psychic shifts to his right, his sliding footwork affording him the reach to slip the blade of his emitter into the path of the bullet, which melted on impact with his weapon, sending a splotch of melted lead off to collide with a wall or an unfortunate victim elsewhere.

Should Tehran fire a second time before he could reach out and grasp the bull's gun, Torm would simply deflect it with a small sheet of energy, which would send it glancing off to the side. Once Torm had thoroughly avoided melted lead, he reached out with his mind and grasped the Minotaur's gun, before throwing it sideways, attempting to rip it out of his grasp and send it skittering off to the side.

Neither bulk was going to have it.

Ottaga grunted and took the kick to the chest, tensing seconds before impact to minimalize the damage as he slid back a few feet, having to hunch over with a hand on the floor for balance. Immediately he stood, scraping his hoof on the floor as he glared at Jaek. After scraping his hoof he began slowly sidestepping, his ax hanging at his side.

Tehran called and held tight to his weapon as he moved with the force that was trying to rid him of it. He bounced to the side, strangely majestic for such a muscled beast. As he moved he began letting off rounds, careful not to take out his men, ceasing to fire whenever they were in his path.

As the four faught, brutes came running over to add in their own attacks.

The kick had worked, however this meant Boff's minions would flock over to him to give their boss a moment to breath. Jaek reacted to each of the five who had been brave enough to come after him. Sidestepping, dodging, parrying, riposting, punching, kicking, slicing, stabbing. The Frostarian was not without cuts, scratches, and bruises. His kind were strong, especially adept at combat, but not invincible. What normally would have been glancing blows to his armor instead fell upon flesh and blood.

Years of living in the wilderness of the Fringelands accompanied by an almost as equal amount of time spent honing his skills began to take over his body's movements along with the Bellum Sanguis, the traditional Frostarian name for the hormone composition exclusive to his kind that consisted of a mix of adrenaline, testosterone (for males), and a few other hormones.

With its wide reach, Jaek managed to catch two of the gangsters in the abdomen with Mortem. As they cried in pain and clutched their stomachs, he whirled around and delivered a kick to the shield of another, sending them skittering to the floor. A satyr with a sickle-like weapon advanced upon him quickly, using his speed and short stature to no doubt attempt to cut the backs of the Frost Giant's knees. With a frantic block with his obsidian blade, he quickly shifted his feet and swung the light blade with relative ease and severed the faun's legs at the knee from his body. The Nephilim made quick work of the remaining criminal.

Boff had had enough time to catch his breath. It was time to pour it on. For such a "sophisticated" species, the combat tendencies of many Frostarians seemed to pay an odd homage to the beasts that roam the earth. Perhaps it was the primal man within.

Jaek let out a roar, one of pure carnality, like that of a lion letting the surrounding savanna know he was king, and made for the Minotaur once more. With blinding speed he was upon his former employer, black blade dripping red, ready to strike.

Torm deflected many of the shots send his way, using the other additions to the fray as cover whilst engaging them as well, forcing Tehran to cease fire for a few moments to give him an opening. After quickly dispatching his most recent opponent, Torm picks him up by the shirt, and throws him at Tehran with a hefty velocity. The Psychic uses this forced lapse in fire to rush the minotaur, blade humming through the air.

Once he'd gotten up close, he went for a vertical blow, bringing his weapon upwards to hopefully cut through the barrel of the minotaur's weapon, if not simply take him down with a moderately deep cut across the torso.

Tehran's beady eyes widened as a body was tossed toward him. Quickly, he grabbed the man by the neck, nearly killing him with he grip while he stumbled back. But the bull quickly found his footing and shoved the male forward while muttering. "Forgive me."
The blade of the Psychic cut too deep into the body of a brute being held by a bull, since said bull shoved the mass forward to meet the weapon.

Now either the swing was forceful enough to cut the body in two or the shock of the body coming back to the thrower would catch the blade under the rib cage.

On either one, Tehran would use the certain pause to ram his massive fist into the side of Torm's head, pushing his human shield deeper onto the weapon or tossing it aside altogether.


Ottaga let out a Bull's cry that would nearly match that of the Frostarian's, swinging his own ax forward.

Clang! The sword and the ax came together as Ottaga strategically put them in a battle of strength. He had turned his weapon in such a way that it would catch Jaek's own in the slight space between blade and body of the ax.
His weapon may not be forged by the weapon smith's of the North but. It wasn't forged by some fools playing with fire. His muscles flexed as he pushed to keep Jaek's blade from coming down and into his shoulder.
"This is good." He chuckled while grunting, loud enough for the pale being to hear but close enough so that the message was only for him. "Let all the anger out. I know it must've been hard to face the fact that Ottaga Boff let you go. A Frostarian like you with so many connections." His nostrils flare.

The goons were still advancing.

The muscles in Jaek's arms bulged and pulled taught beneath his skin as he matched the bull's strength. These creatures were almost shear muscle and raw power.

"The loss of me is more dire for you," the Frostarian sneered, getting his face closer to the Minotaur's so they could smell each other's breath. "Not only do you lose the benefit of those connections..." Again, that sadistic grin of Jaek's spread across his features, baring his long and pointed canines, "But you now have me pursuing your head as my prize." The Nephilim forced the blade of his foe's axe down so that the points of their weapons dug into the floor at their feet. He pressed his head up against his adversary. "And you know how relentless I am."

Torm is unsurprised when the minotaur uses his accomplice as a shield, he assumed that would happen. However, what did catch him off-guard was the immediate sucker-punch to the side of his head upon being spun sideways. Granted, the body of the brute did not split, but he was certainly impaled by the weapon. When the brute fell by the wayside, it took Torm's weapon with it, deactivating mid-fall for a nice fling across the room, only to clatter against a wall, a light-blue smoke wafting from the weapon.

Suddenly weaponless, Torm is caught momentarily out of the loop when he takes that blow to the head. However, he recovers quickly. Rather than being ragdolled to a distance, like the minotaur had likely been thinking, the Psychic instead turns on his opponent. For a moment, there is a vacuous sound, as if the air itself was being sucked away in a moment. Before he raises both hands, fingertips splayed forward, unleashing a burst of electrokinetic energy, shocking Tehran with a furious amount of bright blue lightning. The sudden shock, and the sudden convulsion of his muscles, would likely fling the gun from his opponent's hands. Granted, even if he held onto it, the voltage would not only cause him more harm than simply tossing the weapon (both due to the additional conductivity of electricity into his hands, and the potential nerve damage of forcing himself to grip a metal object being electrocuted. The latter being potentially permanent.), but the barrel was now warped by the sudden transfer of energy and heat and the rifling was ruined, rendering it useless and even outright hazardous to attempt to fire for fear of simply detonating.

After a moment, the Kiffar takes a step back, breathing in a slightly more labored manner than before, and says "If you give up now, I promise you some leniency in the court. Don't make this worse for us both." It was fairly clear the psychic still had much of his strength left, but perhaps there was something he knew that the minotaur didn't. Maybe that burst of energy made him weaker in some fashion.

Tehran cried out and fisted his hands as electricity rippled across his skin and stunned his muscles. Immediately his weapon flew from his hand, clattering across the floor and bumping into the foot of a bystander.
Once the shock passed the bull took a knee, snorting and breathing heavily as a thin smoke rose from his body. He flexed his hands and blinked firmly a few times as he swayed lightly, his heart beating quickly and his breathing ragged. Once Torm was done talking he shook his head from left to right, snorting once more before rising to his feet. "Bite me." He puffed as his eyes narrowed and he stamped his hooves. Evening his breaths he squared his shoulders and burst forward towards Torm, ready for a match of strength.
Boff men had created a ring around the two, their weapons raised in case the scale tipped too far against the Black Bull.


Ottaga pushed his soft fuzzy forehead up against the cool skin of the Frostarian's forehead. He smiled at Jaek's chilling grin, unphased by it. Well the hair on his back did raise a bit. Nonetheless, He stepped forward, his own muscles flexing and straining. "Certainly." His nostrils flared. "So show me a challenge!" He roared as he reared back and slammed his head right up against the Nephilim's.
The bull was made for head butting so he would be unphased by the blow he caused. When it hit, it would either cause his foe to stumble away from him or simply to jerk his head back. If he indeed stumbled, Ottaga would unlock his ax and bring it swinging back around for Jaek's knees. If not then Ottaga would simply chuckle menacingly.