"Ya know... you ain't so bad!"
The speaker was mostly covered in metal, what flesh he had left visible between the plates and steel implants holding him together. Cyberstrike, as the silver and camo green man called himself since the accident that left him this way, was seven shots of everclear towards oblivion now, more than drunk enough to loosen his digital tongue.
"I mean, you used ta be a hero, you know, but now you've done time in the Zig like the rest'a us." Cyberstrike raised his eighth drink and lifted it vaguely in Bloodravyn's direction. "You're all right in mah book!"
It was everything Ravyn could do to not ask why a man who obviously couldn't read was doing with a book. It would not have been a wise comment to make right now; he was surrounded by thugs, most of whom could and did tear schoolbuses in half for fun.
This binge, which he suspected he was paying for, was his 'reward' for a hard day's work doing extremely illegal things. There was more blood on his hands now. Though he'd avoided killing anyone he didn't have to, a few unpleasant demises had been unavoidable. More faces to haunt his nightmares...
"Cyberstrike's an idiot but he's right tonight. Here's to Bloodravyn, the toughest bitch I know!" A beer bottle went into the air, hovering in a field of blue energy. That was Killer Instinct, a homicidal, homosexual psychic known for gruesome telekinetic crimes and... assaults. Being praised by a adman like him was not something Ravyn was particularly comfortable with but right now, silence was a lot safer than saying something. Or saying anything.
Bloodravyn lifted his own glass in silent response to the toast. K.I. winked at him and swigged back his drink, licking thin pale lips afterwards.
Yes, indeed. There goes the comfort zone.
Here Ravyn was, surrounded by eight of the most hardened criminals in the Rogue Isles, all free to walk Arachnos' streets because he's just broken them out of prison. The fight had been a rough one, taking him from the edge of the Zigguraut's outer wall all the way into the maximum security wing. There were hundreds of feet of broken walls and broken people there now, a testament to what he could do.
Before he was broken and left for dead in the Zig himself, Nightravyn had been a dangerous combatant, strong and enduring, but he could never have survived a frontal assault against the world's most secure facility. There were more than a hundred Longbow soldiers scattered across the shattered earth, many of whom would never rise again.
"Hey, cheer up, man!" There was a furry arm around his shoulders now. Feral, a massive lupinoid with clawed hands and a back covered in poisoned quills, was hanging off him with a 40 ounce malt liquor bottle in his other paw. "I think I know why you're all gloomy..."
Revyn cringed. Any weakness around this lot was a bad idea. If they suspected he was dwelling on all the innocent lives he'd taken today, he wouldn't be walking out of this bar.
Then Feral grinned viciously. "Don't worry, big guy. There's lots more Longbow to kill!" Then a wide toothy grin... and the combined smell of dog breath and beer. Lovely.
Ravyn tried not to gag. The hard clap across his back from Feral did not help.
Apparently the mingled look of illness and disgust on his face appeared to Feral as eagerness. The bestial villain grinned wide and downed his 40. "That's the spirit! We can go down to the docks and take out their subs when they come up under Fort Darwin." Feral swiped a random drink from the table and slurped it down, cleaning the glass with his impossibly long tongue. "It'll be great!"
Feral nodded and smashed him in the shoulder again. "We'll paint the beach red, man!"
Then Feral went down under the blur of a fist, moving a dozen times into his snout at a speed that made the air near Ravyn's face thunder violently. The drink Feral stole had belonged to Barrage, a rapid moving street fighter with a drug-enhanced metabolism and a fetish for wearing spiked chains. Apparently, Barrage had taken offense.
"Every day at lunch, you took my fucking milk. No FUCKING way you're doing it now!" Barrage was over the table and on top of Feral, hitting him with hypersonic haste. "No guards here to stop me, furry mother fu--!"
A table interrupted Barrage, making his face a form of red art deco. The only things moving faster than his fists now were his teeth, flying across the bar in off-yellow streaks of pain.
Holding the legs of the big, impromptu club, Fatale stepped across Ravyn to follow up her assault, pausing just long enough to cover his face with her amazing chest. The former wrestling pro-turned-assassin blew him a quick kiss before turning to her victim. Barrage was bubbling past his split lips as the shadow of the seven foot woman of doom passed over him.
"Remember the infirmary, meat?" She said, growling down at him as she broke one of the table legs off to make a nice, sharp stake. "Roll over, you bastard. I'm gonna to do you what you did to me." She grinned at the massive shard of wood in her fist. "And I promise... you'll feel me."
Through all this, Bloodravyn just sat quietly, more than a little stunned by the sudden, inexplicable violence. He was instantly brought back to his senses by the sound of a chair sliding across the floor to rest beside his.
"Don't worry. I'll keep you safe, sexy."
It was Killer Instinct.
And now there was a hand on his leg. And on his back. And on his arm. And on his...
Goodbye, Comfort Zone.
Across the room, sitting along amid the screams of impalement and sexual inhumanity, a blue-skinned elf chuckled to himself. Ducking a thrown bottle, Leth scooted back into the shadows until only his white, sharp-toothed grin could be seen.
This was getting hilarious.