Blitz |Solo RP|

OOC - This RP is a backstory. It shows off events of things that Happened before Sigea got to Namek.


"Transmitting again, this is Burroc located on Namek , Captain of Scouting Party forty-thirty." The voice was filled with two things, static and panic, as though taken from a frightened being some time ago when his fear was at it's peak. The combination of emotion and technical discharge made it difficult to hear, so it was fortunate that a video feed accompanied such noise. "This is a message for Captain-General Benu on Raigel 3. Please respond!"

"This is disgusting...such fear."

"Yes, sir, but he is dead now so such cowardice was rewarded."

"Hmmm." The voices were deep and crisp, much cleaner than the audio previously transmitted. As they spoke it past-tense, it was safe to say the transmission itself was indeed old, likely taken some time ago if the aging Saiyan who was no-longer Captain-General and had not been for centuries was any indication. "Continue the feed...let's see what manner of beast had him so spooked."

The image blipped fully-to-screen, displaying a tropical locale with torn fronds and discarded, broken equipment. A smashed Saiyan space-pod sat in the background, and standing before it at a tense attention was a large humanoid with a shock of brown hair and a thick brown tail wrapped around his waist. He was a Saiyan, judging from his physical appearance, and a warrior-class judging from the badge of rank upon the breast of his armor. After a brief pause, during which he jerked around, his eyes peering through the brush as though searching for something in fierce paranoia, he turned his attention back to the transmitter before him and continued.

"Feema and Churro are dead, both of them...their heads showed up in my camp one morning, no sign of any intruder. It...it freaks me out." His voice, though frightened, did not match his eyes which glowed with rage and embarrassment, humiliated at the words that were forced out of his mouth. Even angry, he was in this state...the recording got more and more interesting by the second. "As far as I can tell it is just one...thing. I haven't seen it fully, but I've heard it moving around me. I can't catch it, and if Churro was defeated I can't beat it either. I've been searching vainly for Bravo, but I can't even sense his energy. I don't know if he's dead or not...I don't think so, as his head would probably be stationed beside the other two." He steps to the side, displaying two grisly spears covered in dripping gore and bearing two severed heads at their tip. They were makeshift, not actual weapons, so whatever was killing these soldiers was doing so on-the-fly. That spoke of emotion, which meant something personal.

"Does he keep talking like this?" The gruff voice was disgusted, clearly, and for good reason. No Saiyan Warrior, especially of mid-class, would react in such a way even in the face of death.

"Yes, sir. For one-minute and twelve-seconds."

"Move past it. I tire of his groveling." The feed began to accelerate. "Take me to the part where he appears." There was no question as to who 'he' was. The imagery jumped as Burroc disappeared for a good twenty seconds, then suddenly reappeared with a foolish look that said he had been jumping at shadows again. However at that moment was when 'he' truly did appear...first as a shadow, detaching from the hidden corner of the damaged pod, then as a blur as Burroc spun to find the one who hunted him. He missed him the first time, but caught the figure as he moved back around and came at the Saiyan from the front, startlingly, taking the fight directly to him with no fear at all in his face. Burroc quickly moved to defend as the two squared off, the smaller, nimble horned fighter taking to the air several times and loosing vicious kicks left and right, his arms held always at his side, wrapped as they were in thick bandages which must have been the result of injuries. Once he struck the Saiyan, penetrating his defense with a kick that obviously brought much pain to the larger fighter, then again a short-time later, and a third right after that. His kicks...they were doing far more damage than they should have been, crippling with each connected strike. Burroc was panicking now, his rage spent, his power dwindling as he summoned ki into his hands and fought with his last remnants of energy. His punches met only air, though a forceful air that thundered visibly with each blocked attack.

"Why is there no sound? Why can I not hear anything?" Fury fed the voice of the Saiyan commander, and the other wisely answered in a subdued voice of servitude.

"I am sorry, sir...the feed has not deteriorated at all. I don...wait, it must be from the impacts in the air!" A silence greeted this, to which he explained. "Whatever is blocking those strikes is doing so with an overpowering force. The resulting shockwaves are dispersing any and all sounds that come from around them, sucking such frequencies into the central point of impact and...simply destroying them.

"Are you saying these attacks are so powerful they are killing sound?"

"Err...in a way, yes sir!"

The figure showed no signs of slowing or relenting in the face of such onslaught either, even when one ki-infused punch melted halfway through the hull of the space pod. Point-of-fact that is when he struck, and struck hard. A leaping, spinning heel-kick that caught Burroc along the jaw and would have sent him spinning had another not followed immediately after in such a way that it jolted him solidly and locked his body into place with the pure physical bone-breaking force. Another, this one just as quickly after, broke his jaw, while the following fourth one sent the splinters pushing through the flesh of the Saiyan's cheek and out into the air. He continued, one kick after another, always the same leg as he spun in-place using the growing centrifugal force to make each attack stronger than the last until finally, and blessedly, he struck with such speed and force that the head itself ripped free from the neck and went tumbling onto the ground seemingly directly under the camera. A collective gasp echoed, from more than two voices, as the scene grew still and the figure seemed to pause yet never lose his combative aura. He strode off-camera, his footsteps rustling as sound was returned, but came back a short-time later holding a makeshift metal spear. He thrust the steel in front of the camera, which was followed by a sickeningly wet sucking sound, then pulled back his trophy. Burroc's bloody, broken, fear-filled face lit the screen and brought a second collective gasp which turned into various chattering and whispering noises. The figure turned and, with one quick toss, sent the spear spinning through the air to land beside the other two where it embedded in the dirt and jolted back and forth before remaining upright and visible. The bandaged fighter turned his back on the camera and made as to leave, but paused suddenly as though realizing something. He spun slightly, only enough to turn his head and gaze over his right shoulder...dead silence resounded in the room as everyone took an involuntary step backwards under the penetrating gaze of this murderous warrior. His eyes, even upon the decayed, ancient feed bore through with their full bloodlust and ill-intentions, striking to the very core of those who saw it, secondary as it was. A small flash filled his eyes, then a barely-visible distortion that moved to the camera in the space of a heartbeat and suddenly there was no more. The feed cut off, at the end, but quickly sped backwards to freeze upon those glaring red eyes. no one spoke for the longest time, then a whisper.

TWC - 1,313

"That bastard wasn't killing Saiyans...he was hunting them..." A thunderous crash, as the Saiyan commander drove his fist through the steel table, folding the metal as if it were paper and demolishing the console as easily as he would squash a bug. The small reptilian alien at the console dove backwards in fear, cowering instantly and unwilling to face the enraged humanoid. "NOBODY HUNTS SAIYANS!" The speaker himself a Saiyan, a large and imposing one with steel-grey hair and a thick mustache that wore full-armor and a number of golden medals spun in-place and loomed over a previously-unseen figure. "You are certain this is the same one you saw yesterday?"

"Y..y...yess, Admiral Benu sir!" The man, who bore three eyes, blinked all of them in fear as he gulped heavily. "He was leaving the latest cruiser after it docked. I recognized him immediately, having been the video surveillance supervisor fifty years ago when this transmission was sent." He paused, then nervously added: "I didn't notice until...well...his eyes are hard to forget! I...I could show you, if you want." Benu affixed him with a knife-like gaze, which forced him to gulp again. "I c..can repeat my memories for a short time, if they are recent."

"Why did you not tell me this before?" Benu was growing angrier by the second, which was never a good thing for any non-Saiyan.

"I..I'm s..s...sorry s..s..sir! I...I...I...I...I..."

"ENOUGH!" Benu grasped him firmly, his hands enveloping the man's entire shoulders, then glared deep into his eyes. "I tire easily, weasel! Show me NOW!" The humanoid closed all of his eyes save the third and central one which not only remained open, but began to glow a faint blue color. Immediately the air above him shimmered and distorted, slowly forming an image of Spaceport docks during sometime the previous day. The image was that of a Saiyan Cruiser, one of only three it's size and unmistakable. Several personnel were leaving the ship, and though there were other passengers, only one of them stood out as much as 'he' did. It was him, without a doubt...garbed all in black with those freakish horns protruding from his head, the way he walked spoke of danger even moving down a small steel ramp. As if to drive the point home, as the image centered upon him, he turned and fixated those hellish red eyes onto the watcher, who was of course 'weasel'...instantly the image tinted yellow. The figure turned away again, a slow and deliberate turning of his head, then quickly disappeared among the taller, larger beings that moved around him. The image disappeared, though Benu was still not overly pleased.

"Why did the image turn yellow? I could not make out his eyes clearly!"

"I..I'm sorry, sir, but my inner-vision distorts based upon my emotions."

"Ahh..." Benu suddenly grinned in disgust and amusement. "You pathetic weakling, did you piss your armor while you were at it? Bah...get out of my sight!" The small Human was all-too happy to oblige his orders and was gone in half a second, leaving Benu to stand alone as the others stood silently around him in wait. However he paid them no mind, inferior beings all, and instead focused again on the image where it remained frozen. "Interesting...perhaps we can use him, then. He certainly seems capable enough, if he could take out four Saiyans." His smile grew larger until it nearly split his face. He continued to muse as he absently stroked his mustache. "If he is in fact as strong as he seems, we can most-certainly use him against our highest enemy. He could become our weapon, killing with but a glance!"

He spun and leveled a finger at a nearby officer. The man snapped to attention, nearly impaling his face on the decorative pike he held in his hands. Benu jerked a thumb towards the door.

"Search the charters and get his identity...then I want you to find him and give him a platoon. Any platoon! I don't care who he is with, I just want it to be one of the outer-rim companies." The man seemed surprised and hesitated, to which Benu flared his aura in his usual display of anger and exploded: "MOVE!" The man was gone the next second.

---------------

"You!" The voice was deep and commanding, halting all those gathered in the small, squat quarters. "You are Sigea correct?" Activity resumed for those who were, in fact, not Sigea as they turned from the Saiyan guard and went back to their gambling/drinking/talking. Only one did not resume his activity, which had actually been simply standing there in the first-place. Instead he stared at the guard, who shivered in spite of himself, and nodded once over the high collar of his cloak. "Good...you have been given your assignment. You are to report to West-Bay Eleven. You've been tasked with a ground unit." Activity froze again, as everyone gazed in surprise at the smaller, weak-seeming figure that was the target of the appointment. They could not remember the last time a non-Saiyan had been given a command upon Raigel 3, yet here he was...and such a small, puny one as well! Sigea, for the most part, remained impassive though his natural skin above his eye did quirk upwards ever-so-slightly. This successfully broke his penetrating gaze, which allowed the guard to breath once more. He quickly thrust the papers at Sigea, who took them with a bandaged hand that came from the shadows of his cloak, then saluted and disappeared down the hallway once more. Sigea moved to follow, unaware of the silence around him, but his path was cut off abruptly as he was forced to swerve and duck around a cup that was rather forcefully thrown at his head. He paused and spun around, glancing sidelong at the culprit who was already standing and glaring angrily at him.

"What the hell is this?" He resembled a cow, or perhaps rather a bull, with long spiraling horns and a thickly-muscled upper torso. Obviously the brute-strength kind of soldier...the weakest kind. "I've been slaving away as a grunt for ten years, yet you come in and get a command job right off the bat? Who the hell do you think you are, pal?"

"Easy, Gaav." The voice was softer and feminine, coming from the far end of the room where Sigea could not see. "I'm sure Benu picked him for a reason, so don't go getting all jump and getting your ass kicked." Several snorts of laughter echoed around the room, but these only served to make the Minotaur angrier.

"Screw that! I'm Eleventh-company, and there's no WAY I'll serve under a runt like him! I'll take him out and then take his place, just you watch!" Sigea turned fully, fixing his crimson eyes on the mad-bull, but the bulky warrior was far too enraged to feel fear. He stepped back a bit but seemed to overcome the glance, snorting heavily through his pierced nostrils and rumbling forward on hoofed feet. The others around him, however, were subjective and felt the full-force of Sigea’s gaze. They all moved backwards, quickly, afraid of what was coming...however in the end it was too swift and small to be of any real destructive force, yet large enough to take down the ready-to-charge insubordinate. Sigea, with a casual cartwheel into the air, swung his leg down and onto the thickly-corded neck of the one known as Gaav. Nothing seemed to happen, though Gaav grew deadly silent...then suddenly the left tendon and the muscles underneath it simply caved in upon themselves. Gaav cried out in absolute pain as the others roared in shock, but Sigea merely landed upon his feet and turned with a swirl of his cloak to leave. Behind him the others stood stunned, too afraid to even approach the agonized Minotaur, yet he did not even give the situation a grim smile...it was a waste of his talent and time.

"Damn." Back in the room, the feminine voice was closer to the front than it had been. Forcefully a tall, lean blue-skinned female with emerald eyes and fiery red hair around her twin frontal-horns pushed her way through the throng to stand next to Gaav, who was growing silent and starting to drool uncontrollably from the pain. "It's not gonna be fun, serving under him." She ran a hand through her hair, her taloned hand careful not to prick upon her horns. "I should probably warn the others so we don't lose another soldier." She moved quickly through the doorway, turning the opposite way that Sigea had and blending immediately into the thick throng of people milling about in the streets beyond.

TWC - 2,763

Shiff

"Did you hear that?" The blue-skinned four-eyed alien peered over his shoulder, as his three arms nervously shuffled the blaster-rifle he held against his chest. He was wearing a dark purple military uniform, lightly padded and meant mainly for long-range fire...to either side, several men deep and stretching out through the dirt trench for as far as the eye could see were those similarly attired though of varying races and attentions.

"Rrork, it's all in your head." The speaker, another blue-skinned alien only this one with but two eyes and a row of fanged teeth smiled insultingly and readjusted the barrel resting upon his shoulder where he sat against the outer-wall of their line. "You've been jumpy ever since you heard those stories...just relax and realize that's all they are. Enemy propaganda to get us all spooked over every little sound."

"Yeah..." Rrork chittered absently, still peering around, but at least he released the trigger upon his weapon and resumed a normal attentive stance. It wouldn't do for the watch to continuously look everywhere but the direction of the enemy...an attack could come at any moment. "Still, those stories are centered around truth. We've no word from the third platoon for days, and they've already confirmed the annihilation of fifth."

"This is a war...people die, especially us soldiers." The second alien puffed at a large cigar, sending a plume of smoke to quickly disappear on the wind that swept the barren hill they were defending. It was a desolate war-zone, the earth torn from mortars and blaster-rifle barrages. Not a single plant stood where they could see, stretching across the broad plateau, only dirt and numerous trenches. Theirs was the first, after the enemy had positioned a few cannons to take out the previous two. However the overlooking ridges could not reach this far, of that they were certain. All they had to do now was wait...wait for the charge so they could mow the enemy down from their advantageous position. Only the charge hadn't come, not for days. They were in no danger of running out of supplies, but morale...

Shiff

"THERE!" Rrork spun and nestled the nozzle of his rifle upon the ground, scouting out along the terrain behind them. In the moonlight he could see the next trench some thousand-yards behind them, the tips of their own rifles peeking out over the dirt terrace like a line of gravestones. None of them seemed alert or spooked either...maybe it was just him. He settled back down, leaning against the concrete bunker, or rather what was left of it, and settled the butt of his rifle into the mud at his feet. Nobody said anything, though more than a few were watching him with amusement. He turned to look at them all, then slid down the wall and hunkered around his rifle. "They...they say he moves like the wind, a shade so black you can't even see him against the night."

"Gods be damned, not again." A large, plated mutant muttered under his breath as he turned his back on Rrork, who kept talking regardless. He had a captive audience he knew, all of them knew. The story was not so old that they would not listen to it again, if for no other reason than to pass the time and bullshit about it when it was over.

"It's always unnoticeable at first, but slowly you can hear him coming. Just a rustle, the shifting of fabric as he moves that's almost inaudible, especially with gunfire. That's how he caught the third. He waited till they were goofing around, taking pot-shots at the enemy at the tip of their holes, when he appeared right among them. They said blaster shots were everywhere, but not a single one found it's mark."

"Except for those that found allies or fellow dirt-rats." The plated behemoth turned and glared at Rrork, stroking an oil rag along the barrel of his gun as if to drive his point home. Rrork swallowed his words, afraid to continue, but the blue-skinned alien spoke again around the alien tobacco he was smoking heavily upon.

"Aw Gru, let him talk. It's not like it does any harm."

"It creeps me out, that's what it does!" Gru quickly reassembled his weapon, snapping each piece into place efficiently and without pause until he was able to rest the butt on his hip with his hand around the grip and his finger on the trigger. "It's bad luck to speak like that...he's gonna jinx us all , Eller ,just you wait and see."

"Not good to believe in luck, but not the boogeyman." Eller, the second blue-skin, rose and strode over to the group around Rrork. The others chuckled at the boogeyman reference, but the other three didn't seem so amused. "The third got off lucky...most of them were taken down by their own, shot out of fear as everyone tried to find what was killing em. The fifth...now they weren't so lucky."

"That's right!" Rrork pitched in again, his knowledge somewhat disturbing. "They were torn to shreds, most of them sliced clean through." He drew a line from the top of his head straight down his body with a free finger. "Real clean-like, too neat for a bayonet. They were caught out in the open, too, still as day...but they still said they heard it, in their transmissions. Said it was...was a shuffle..." He shivered in spite of himself, glancing around once more while the others remained silent and speculative.

"Shuffle." Gru spat noisily to the side. "Jus' wind moving off of whatever blast took them out is all. Nothing can move too fast to be caught at least once, not with a hundred men in ready-formation."

A sudden sound caught them all, silencing them, raising the tension by entire leaps and bounds and forcing all to quickly grab/draw/cock/raise weapons in a continuous sound of shifting iron. The gesture ran down the train, moving man-to-man until everyone within a hundred yards was pulled and ready while half still didn't even know what for. Almost all were gazing forward, watching down the hill where they expected the attack to come, but they saw nothing. The only ones who saw anything were those around Rrork, who were standing with him, backs to the hill and eyes locked on the trench behind him. They, too, were moving and getting ready, though it was unlikely they knew what for either...however they had all heard it.

TWC - 3,845

A shuffling.

It moved rapidly, past them astonishingly though they saw nothing, and headed straight to the trench behind them. A black blur was the only visible effect, which was soon followed by screaming and flying...pieces. Arms, legs, weapons sliced clean through the stock, all of them went airborne as though tossed together. The others could only watch, horrified, as the first stretch of line was decimated before their eyes, and quickly the rest of the line went up in great gouts of flame from some sort of blaster that fired large spherical balls of energy. The agonized screams of the dying filled the night air, catching everyone's attention and turning them away from the hill, but the display was only just beginning.

"Gods help us, it's him!" Rrork was actively shaking in fear now, but neither he nor any around him made any movements other than watching open-mouthed...and then the sound started once more, moving from the trench and heading directly towards their position. The sound of fabric, rustling from quick movements, rubbing against legs which pumped heavily in a dead sprint. But the scene before them made this sound so much more sinister, like the awning of Death himself...they knew they were going to die, despite their best efforts, and this by itself was enough to scare the shit out of them.

However when he appeared, it became ten-times worse. First a simple shifting of the darkness before their very eyes, then a monstrous face, set with deep-set darkness where the eyes should be. This head detached, pulling a piece of the night with it, leaving it trailing behind as the figure ran, nearly bent completely over, the darkness billowing behind his stooped, sprinting form. The closer he got, the louder the noise got, drowning out everything including the shots those few brave, stupid souls actually fired his way. Nothing met it's mark, bouncing harmlessly off when they even managed to get close...all firing ceased when the darkness parted to reveal the eyes, bright crimson, bright and wide with a penetrating stare that attacked the very core of their hearts and froze it solid in absolute terror. These eyes did not belong to a man...they were the eyes of a demon, the mark of a madman...the last image many of them would see. As soon as the eyes broke the darkness, piercing through like twin ruby headlights, the figure leapt skyward and, with a great rustle of cloak, leapt into the center of them with a vicious hooking kick. Rrork and everyone even close to him died in an instant, carved in half by a great sweeping slash of the creature's foot...this snapped those nearby into motion, and as one they began firing rapidly into the darkness before them. The cloak seemed to actually absorb the shots, showing no damage, giving no burst or explosion or report of damage other than slight muffling sounds from within. However none of it slowed the demon down, as he charged straight through them, his mere passage alone enough to kill those unfortunate enough to get in his way. He leapt and kicked, spinning and pivoting until he had carved a large enough hole to move through...and move he did. His speed was amazing as he ran through the center of their trench, heading towards the end, to where their captain awaited. He had a mission, then, and no time to waste on mere soldiers...it was then that the Calvary arrived, as a second figure appeared out of nowhere. He raised his four arms, threading them through the air and charging Ki into each palm until a large square sat within his grasp. This square swirled black and blue, a vortex of energy from which sprang a humongous, easily twelve-feet-tall figure who bulldozed straight into a barrage of fire and kept going, brushing aside a rank of soldiers as if they were nothing and sending them flying through the air and down the hill which was now swarming with enemy soldiers. Most tried to surrender, throwing down weapons and raising their hands, but the attacking men would not forget fallen comrades...the resulting confrontation was ugly at best.

"Wow...nice hardware." The four-armed man bent over and picked up the three-handed cannon Rrork had been carrying, admiring it openly as he shifted it from hands to hands and stared down the barrel. He was brown-skinned with a topknot of black hair and slanted, orange eyes. He seemed shifty, yet trustworthy...a careful, unique combination. All four of his arms were heavily muscled, as was the rest of him though he seemed to be much more speed than strength. "These guys are well-equipped, I'll give em that. It's nice to see our fearless didn't do any leg-carving into this beauty either."

"You know, Spre, instead of eye-humping that toy gun you could be helping them take out the few enemies remaining." The large, hulking giant knelt so he was at least able to look the four-armed man in the eyes, but the latter didn't even bat a lash. Covered with thick black plates at the head, shoulder, pectorals, wrist and knee he was green-skinned everywhere else with a hide like that of an elephant. His face, however, was soft and often bored though a precise intelligence sat behind his small, black eyes. Only a fool would think him all muscle, and of those there had been many. He made a reach for the gun, as if to inspect it, but Spre moved it out of his reach.

"Pah, they're so scared there won't be any fighting, just wholesale slaughter." He pulled a small strap from a belt across his waist and connected it to the intended points of the rifle. "Besides, Rozu is over there chasing after fearless...I don't think they'll need anyone else to mop-up."

"Then you could at least try to remain professional." The female voice came from behind them, atop the hill where a humanoid figure stood bearing a tall metal staff affixed with a sword-blade at the tip. Like the other two, she was wearing black figure-hugging garments topped with a bone-white chest-plate and bracers running from her forearm to her knuckles. All three of them looked like professionals, elite fighters who were to lead the charge and decimate the enemy lines...unfortunately their leader tended to be over-zealous, and they rarely had to do anything except clean up after him. Her fire-red hair waved in the wind, gliding from her back to out behind her like a small mantle of fire. "We are Procinctu Semper, in case you had forgotten."

"Of course not, oh wise and beautiful Allistar." Spre bowed, two arms splaying wide in proper etiquette while the other two clung to his newest prize. "We are again humbled by your presence and insight, and we beg your forgiveness for a most heinous slight of protocol." He then quickly ducked, barely avoiding the heavy-metal haft that swung for his head. With a chuckle he bounded away, moving down the line and firing off an occasional round into a still-moving body with about as much emotion as stomping on a bug...however one look into his eyes showed he did not agree with this work.

"What about you, Devogg?" She turned her fiery green eyes to the behemoth, quirking an eyebrow as if expecting something. He turned slowly and shot her a lazy, unconcerned glance.

"You talkin to me?" He shifted and stood, displacing a large portion of dirt as his legs brushed the sides of the trench. "If you mean you expect anything from me like Spre, I might have to take that little toothpick and paddle your bottom with it." Allistar laughed and glided down to the trench floor, her feet floating above the ground and her hair swaying behind in the wind. She landed and stuck her spear into the soil, then moved past Devogg with a loving pat to his side and started down the trench...however she did not get far before a muscular shadow fell across her from the upper lip of the trench.

"Now that would be somethin to see, wouldn't it?" The manner of speech was hard and half-spoken, slurring through most words in a grating dialect left only to those of the lowest class. However it was also female, though not quite as musical as Allistar's. The red-haired fighter within the trench paused and turned her eyes upward, squinting against the spotlights the army was using to spot the few remaining pockets of resistance, but she already knew who was there.

TWC - 5, 271

"Don't tell me you couldn't keep up with Sigea, Rozu?" The female Saiyan gave a loud, harsh bark of laughter and flopped down onto the trench wall, her legs splayed in a very unladylike position with her right arm propping her up while her left scratched idly at a scar along her jaw. She always did that, when speaking of the Commander...the scar had been his present to her, upon their first meeting, and it was only by luck that it had not taken her head. However she now followed him like a loyal dog, doing whatever he asked without question and making no attempts to hide her infatuation, as Allistar did. For this reason the two of them were always going at one another, rivals in every sense of the word, though they strangely did not argue when Sigea was present. Rozu, unlike Allistar, was all muscle, being a Saiyan after-all and a warrior throughout. A crop of thick black hair spiked off of her head, falling past her shoulders like a mane and framing her cold black eyes. She had no tail, but no longer needed one...instead she wore a divided skirt made from the skin of some brown, giant ape-like beast. She would tell no one why she wore it, but treated it as her most prized treasure. Other than that, black spandex shorts and sleeveless shirt under her white armor with no weapon to speak of, naturally.

"Keep up? Bah." She rubs at a red spot on her armor which smears into a gory streak. "I was close enough to catch the splash-back when that jackass commander exploded." Devogg raises a hairless eyebrow, but Rozu only shrugs. "Couldn't tell ya. All I know is I barely avoided a leg as it went flying through the bunker doorway." Allistar sighs, but Rozu only laughs harder. "Don't worry, kitten...I'm sure underneath that hardened warrior is a scared little boy you can cuddle to your heart's content."

"Rozu..." Allistar growled around the Saiyan woman's fierce laughter, advancing a step as if offering a challenge, but both soon quieted and turned as one to face the newest arrival who Devogg had not even noticed yet. However after their reaction he knew instantly who it was.

"Greetings, Commander." All three bowed respectfully to the newest arrival, a small, slight figure wrapped completely in black with an equally-darkened horn jutting forth from his forehead. It was the being who had swept upon the trench like the Reaper manifest, though he showed no signs of fatigue or injury at all, even after the fierce battle. He also bore no signs of blood, which in itself was normal, save he had apparently caused someone to detonate earlier. The three of them all glanced at his cloak, looking for some leftover sign of gore out of sheer curiosity, but it was as spotless as ever.

The metallic rustle of a large blaster-cannon echoed behind Sigea, and a thick blue cylinder rested almost directly over his shoulder with the barrel pointed forward. Spre grinned, from where he held the rifle alongside his leader, and turned the weapon as though admiring every inch of it.

"Hey leader, thanks for leaving me this cannon...I know you thought of me, when you were carving innards." He winked to Devogg and the two women as he continued. "Such a softy, he is...always thinking of his men." The three shook their heads in bemusement as Sigea half-turned his head, but only to glance along the gun in question. Then, to all their amazement, he reached a bandaged hand out of his cloak and quickly flicked a thick chunk of rock out of a sectioned plate resting near the tip of the barrel. Instantly the cannon shifted, the plates separating and sectioning to reveal a larger, more powerful barrel that was accompanied by a hiss and sudden gust of steam. Spre, caught off-guard, instantly gave an 'O' of amazement and brought the gun back to his chest as he admired the new ability of his latest weapon. Sigea, with a softening of his eyes that might have almost been a smile, withdrew his hand just as quickly as it had appeared and moved forward past Rozu and Allistar to the edge of the trench where three men bearing heavy bars of rank all stood gazing over a map.

As he moved, the faint rustling shiff filled the air, giving warning to his approach. The three men, commanders all, shivered in spite of themselves as they raised their heads to meet him...they had been with this man through all of his attacks, so they knew first-hand the power of this shuffle and the being their enemies referred to only as 'Demon Eyes'.

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Shiff

The rustle of fabric brought all in the hangar to attention, as they collectively stood and waited expectantly, some of them angrily, but all of them curiously for their new commander to arrive. In the center, seated atop the front of a hover-tank, was the only one to have see him thus far...the blue, dual-horned woman from the small Saiyan dormitory. The others were a large number of races, every one different and unique in their own way. Men, women, sexless aliens...amorphous blobs, humanoids, hulking animal-hybrids. It was as diverse a crowd as could gather, being fifty-strong and hardened veterans, all. They had to be...Eleventh Company was renown for the crap missions, missions that were usually suicidal and intended for failure, yet they kept somehow coming back and swelling in rank. It was to this motley crue ( hehe ) that Sigea now walked, though he himself had no idea.

"I'm telling you guys, this is probably a really bad idea." The blue-skinned demoness stated for like the twelfth time, trying to dissuade her comrades in their course of action...however they were, above all-else, interested in just how strong this new commander was. They all knew Gaav, and though he was not the strongest he was still more powerful than your average grunt. If anyone could take him down with one effortless attack, well, they had to see this to believe it...or to respect it.

"Then just sit where you are, Demona." A large green jelly-like being smacked one gelatinous hand into the other, the form holding despite the appearance of his texture. He was still solid and had flesh, only his insides were nothing but millions upon billions of small microbes. He was known as Jelly, and though at one time this might have been an insult, it was now what even he referred to himself as. The woman, Demona by name, rolled her eyes and reclined back against the face of the tank.

"I think I'll do exactly that...I've no interest in getting my ass handed to me, especially not after I've seen what he can do." She rested her hands behind her mass of red hair and yawned. "You all are on your own."

Shiff

Sigea turned the corner, walking into the hangar bay with his head even and his eyes, which barley peeked over the high collar of his cloak, straight and emotionless. His horns gleamed, once, as it crossed a path of sunlight from outside, but other than that he was total darkness. Every step, every movement of his all-encompassing cloak, seemed to send chills down the spines of those in his presence until many began to question the intelligence of their proposed plan. All of them stood, either at floor-level or above on the catwalks leading to the various vehicles...and all were attentive and alert, watching Sigea’s every step with wary, hardened eyes. None of them allowed fear to become visible, though any fool could feel the tangible effect in the air, however Sigea took no notice of any of them and continued forward until he stood in the exact circle created by their tank regiment directly in front of Demona. She sat forward, suddenly nervous and uneasy, but before she could say anything the others flew into motion.

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The small changeling, amazingly, seemed to already know their plans. As soon as the large group of soldiers moved, all of them springing forth towards their new commander, Sigea stopped instantly where he was and bent slightly low...a large welling of Ki was the only warning, as a gigantic sphere of crimson energy issued forth from the stooped, cloaked figure and expanded at a rapid rate. Everyone was quickly caught mid-air with this release of energy and thrown wide, the lucky few flying far away to the point they could right themselves and land upon their feet, whereas the others were slammed bodily into various, stationary objects such as tethered aircraft or metal walkways. Sigea stood straight again as the simultaneous sound of several bodies falling to the ground filled the hanger, even Demona who thought herself safe had to scramble from the back bed of the tank she had been seated on with a disshelved look to her.

"Gods, stop you idiots!"

Her shout went largely unnoticed, as several of the more fortunate ones clamored back to their feet and charged Sigea once more. He made no move to repeat is attack, and instead slid to the side and pivoted, moving to meet the closest one which he batted aside with a quick spinning kick. Several more came at once, their fists and feet lashing out, all their skin put into this unified attack that Sigea seemed to dance around. He dodged and ducked, slid between blows while pivoting and retaining his footing only to turn and lash out in half-hearted blows that would only slightly injure, not cripple those who sought only to test him. Soon the battle was joined in-full, with ten at once surrounding the small changeling and loosing barrage after barrage of punches and kicks while the man in the middle merely swerved back and forth, moving under and around each blow without countering at all or even using his hands to block. He maintains this effortless defense for a good full minute, then suddenly breaks through the blows and leaps skyward, his body spinning mid-air until he hangs upside-down above the circle of attackers and, with a sudden crimson force fired from his hands, detonates the ground between them and forces all into a hasty retreat. Among those moving away from the blast he quickly runs, attacking each one forcibly before they can even react, adding impact to each landing and sending them sprawling until he reaches the final one. This foe, larger than all the rest, recovers and spots Sigea coming enough to ready himself and launch a pre-emptive hook that thunders through the forceful air around him. Sigea watches the blow coming and, with a sudden shifting of his head, halts it completely. The fighter, lucky beyond reason, pulls his punch back at the last instant and stares in wide-eyed horror at the razor-sharp horns a scant centimeter away from penetrating the flesh of his hand...in this instant, not even moving his head as much as a hairsbreadth, Sigea spins his right leg in and drives his foot into the man's midsection, kicking him back into a skid that sends him completely across the hangar and into the steel sliding doors where he impacts and falls forward onto the cold concrete floor, leaving a dented-silhouette within the steel at his back.

A solemn silence reigns throughout the room, as the downed fighters refrain from even groaning in pain. Sigea straightens from his crouch, without scuffs or marks upon his body, and turns to face the only person left standing and able: Demona. She jerks as though shot as his eyes find her, and quickly raises her hands from where she stands at the tail-end of a large Saiyan tank.

"H..hey, they didn't mean anything by it. They just wanted to test you." She gulped heavily, attempting to slide out from behind the tank, but as Sigea suddenly moves she freezes in place. The Changeling, standing stationary, raises his right leg almost parallel to his body with the heel facing the ceiling, then swings it downward and onto the front nose of the tank. The metal rends apart with a horrifying shriek, vaulting the mass of steel and circuitry into the air above, over, and behind Sigea where it crashes into the floor and slides to rest against the entryway doors. Demona, shaking in fear, falls onto her backside as Sigea turns and walks away from her, moving instead to another, undamaged tank. He leaps easily onto the top, straddling the open hatchway and turning to face the fighters who were finally beginning to stir. None were too damaged, only bruised and battered but otherwise none the worse for wear. He watches them, making certain he has their attention, then gives a short, curt nod and actually speaks in a quiet, crisp dialect.

"I am Sigea, your commander." His eyes catch the gaze of every single soldier in one simple sweep. "We leave tonight at sunset." He then moved off of the tank, leaping upwards again and landing upon the central grating that carried soldiers from one wing of residence to the other, the homes of tenth and eleventh company, the two squads who shared this hangar and it's facilities. As soon as he was gone, the soldiers all collapsed with a collective sigh and groaning of pain. There was no sound other than heavy breathing for the longest time, though a few moments after Sigea’s disappearance a set of heavy footsteps were heard from the other side of the blocked doorway. A grunt of exertion, followed by the squeal of metal-upon-metal as the tank was forcibly shoved across the floor, and then a familiar face peeked around the nose of the flipped assault vehicle.

"So..." Gaav flexed his shoulder, which seemed to have been fixed. "I'm guessing we're all introduced now?"

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