Cease [Azoth]

Michael Barton, age 17. Correct build, correct height, and of suitable strength. His hair was the wrong type - blond and straight - and his eyes were the wrong color, but those were simple to supplement. Overall in good health from previous good habits, though the recent changes that otherwise bolstered his candidacy meant she’d have to pay care to the throat and lungs. Depending on the level of damage, she may be in need a second reference. Even so, of the seven potential candidates Azoth had found at the school, he was both most similar to what she needed and the most easily acquired.

She had been following him for a while now. The man who took an oddly similar route “home” with a plastic bag of groceries and cigarettes intermittently throughout the last three weeks was the same who could be found on the kitty corner of a rundown building, in which Michael had found his group and the most acceptable prices. The two of them had exchanged a small few glances, and with it an understanding; Michael wouldn’t bother the man, and the man wouldn’t tell his parents. Certainly not when information on Michael’s schedule; where he went, when, and for how long, would give him a check worth double his yearly salary.

She wanted the body to be fresh when she began on it. The shorter the time between the death and when she sat down at her lab bench before it, the less decay would have been allowed to begin. It could be kept in one of the dozen and growing freezers. That would be suitable for her other subjects, but this one was a cornerstone in her project. She had to minimize any possible inferiorities.

As such, she had known where - and in all likelihood, how - she would collect Michael since her connection had narrowed down his routine and confirmed it with a dealer those three weeks ago, but due to some unfinished preliminary research, she had held her cards. Now she was prepared. Last week she had finished the general models of the major organs - heart, lungs, stomach, nervous system - and the week before had gotten enough of a familiarity with bones and muscles that replicating any common variation in the body would be simple. Presently, she was moving into more detailed work, both with the more general body and with the one that would be fitted to Geata. It was time to gather more specific data.

The street lights in the nicer parts of the docks had lit up, but dusk had yet to fully settle. Michael still had thirty minutes before he needed to depart in order to make curfew. The unassuming used car of Azoth’s hired assistant, an ex-cop; strong, reliable, and loyal to the highest payer, was parked four blocks away. Azoth would enter and neutralize the target - and anyone else who saw the act - and then call in the woman to help move the bodies. The simple system had proven itself quick and productive in the past. For lack of anyone with more than a handgun inside the wayward building, Azoth expected this mission to be particularly so.

The bullet wound in her leg had recovered enough that she no longer needed a cane, but she still walked with a slight limp she couldn’t quite shake. Even so, the trip was short enough and the street unused enough she was unlikely to run into anyone, and the straightaway was dark enough that it was unlikely to be an issue even if she did. Her contact had informed her of the boy’s favorite spots within the building, and she had already converted its layout to memory. In order to maximize her chances of finding him without being found by many others, she would want to prioritize certain hallways, while also taking into consideration overall time spent within the building-

Her powers reacted faster than her conscious senses. The moment an unknown object brushed the surface of her skin, her powers near instantaneously gathered a few pieces of data and fired through a couple logical statements - humanoid, judged by size and vaguely gauged shape, therefore a tactic for dealing with people; location of vitals unknown and too close for such an attack to work quickly enough anyway, therefore a larger-area response. A column of fire erupted in the direction the hand was coming from.

What it did not account for was the continued momentum. By the time the fire came into being, the two were already outside of its range. By the time Azoth became aware someone had a hold of her neck, she had only a brief moment before she made contact with a wall at a speed her body had not accounted for. Her vision lit up as though someone had turned a floodlight on in her face, and the effects of her powers abruptly ceased and dissipated in a final few crackles of fire. For a good several seconds, Azoth hung limp and dazed in Seraphim’s grasp, her mind reeling to restart and get a handle on what had just happened.

Her body felt heavy and her mind hazy as her vision began to fade back and her eyes settled on the blank stare of another person. Familiar, but her mind was having a hard time placing what she was doing, let alone who she was.

Gains in awareness brought no good news. Breathing was harder than it should be, and her feet were not on the ground. The woman had a hand on her throat.

A flash of panic shot through Azoth, though only her widening eyes and a partially realized jolt in her shoulders reflected it. Someone had attacked her. Was still attacking her, and she needed to attack back.

Another cloud of fire burst out around the woman who had a hold of her. As in the past, the flames burned hot enough to leave char marks on the pavement, but none would reach within about two inches of her. She intended to maintain it until the woman dropped her. It didn’t matter if her target saw and fled; she could come another day. It didn’t matter if he never returned to this location; she could find him again, or find someone to replace him. Her immediate well being was more important.

As Azoth felt a sudden jerk to the side, she caught the woman’s wrist with her hands as though that would stop the motion. She let out a strained and high-pitched yell - drowned out a moment later by a boom of sound and fire. What was meant to be a slow release of flammable gas and a bit of heat to maintain a blaze was cut unexpectedly, and for a moment, Azoth lost control. A chunk of what was meant to come next came in a single, large lump and caught all at once, creating a large ball of quickly expanding fire at least seven feet in diameter, and an equally loud noise. The street was again the brightest place around for several blocks.

Because she was also prone to playing with fire, Azoth’s clothes were as fireproof as she could make them while maintaining a comfortable weight. Charred holes formed and began to grow in her lab coat and the shirt and pants underneath, but they spared what was underneath from anything worse than first degree burns. Her hands and part of her face, however, were not allotted the same protection. Strangely, however, as she grew aware again and hurried to put out the lingering fires on her clothing and hair, she didn’t feel any pain in her hands. The arm facing the fire, where it’d burnt through to skin, stung more. But it wasn’t something she could worry about at the moment.

One part of Azoth’s mind was still digging through the records, trying to figure out why this woman seemed familiar, but it was vastly outcompeted in terms of pertinence by the part that was fumbling to get her out of there. Her ears rang and smoke was beginning to enter the newly formed holes in her gas mask. Her neck throbbed with the weight of her body. She knew she was one hard squeeze away from no more air and a broken neck, and the woman’s stare that sent a chill down her back and adrenaline to her heart seemed to promise she was not afraid to do it. She needed to get out before that happened.

Something else. Fire wasn't working and her subconscious powers could not be relied on, so she needed to take full conscious control and concentrate and do something. But concentrating was hard. Pre logged and well-practiced substances shouldn’t be hard to make, and her deletion abilities were never hard to employ, but location was not so simple. Her mind felt like it was on a boat; the ground seemed to be shifting, the sky looked like it was spinning, even the woman an arm’s length away couldn’t seem to decide on a place to be.

But she knew where she was, whether or not her eyes could make up their mind on that too, and she knew where the woman’s arm was in relation to hers. She was reluctant to use this aspect of her ability outside of her lab in the same way she was reluctant to use her powers in front of others at all when she first got them, but she was desperate. About an inch from Azoth’s left hand, a little farther down the woman’s arm, she began to delete. Normally the process would be near instantaneous, but she intended to cut through the woman’s arm. She was doubtless a super - no unpowered would have been able to sneak up on her and attack her like this woman had - so cutting through super skin would take a bit more time; akin to a knife slicing through bread. A cut about as thick as a hair would begin at the top of the woman’s arm and move down. It wouldn’t follow her arm if she moved it, as Azoth did not want to remove the woman’s arm if it wasn’t required. Such an injury could prove fatal under the correct circumstances, and that was not her intention. She just wanted to be dropped.

Her slice caught nothing but air. Or, that wasn’t entirely true; it caught the remnants movement of the woman’s arm in the air’s current in tandem with her own relocation, the small particles that were always left behind where people used to be, and the slightest bit of smoke, coming from something just slightly, perfectly to the left. Azoth’s eyes grew wide. Nothing was telegraphed about her power. No eye movement said where it was going to manifest, or any gesture how it was going to do so. The only time it required any strange indication was when she wanted to signal it was indeed her doing. This woman should not have been able to predict it like she had.

Any extrapolations that may’ve been drawn from that information were interrupted by the woman’s introduction. They were halted completely by her gaze. The fire and smoke didn’t seem to affect her any more than the air itself. Pain seemed to mean nothing to her, if she was feeling any at all. The thought of looking into the cold, passionless eyes of a reaper flashed through Azoth’s mind. And then the hand on her throat tightened.

The Seraphim was a danger. This was not safe. She needed to leave. Now.

Whereas her body had felt like lead before, she forced life back into it and began to thrash, kicking her legs, clawing at the Seraphim’s arm and hand with her nails, trying to squirm her way free. Her power began to work at full speed, making inch-deep slices at the Seraphim. Azoth didn’t much care where exactly - limbs, back, face - just to spare the front and inside of the chest. Her powers took the half-thoughts and translated them into attacks akin to a swordsman swinging their blade wildly in their opponent’s direction. Fire would not work, but it was only one of several methods of casing pain. Acid, strong enough to sting, began to form within the slices and elsewhere on the Seraphim’s arms and shoulders. As her eyes began to refocus, she’d be able to track the Seraphim’s location and follow it.

Metal? There was metal mixed into the woman’s shoulder, under what felt like skin. Had Azoth had more time and a bit more stability, she would’ve read deeper into the strange piece of data gathered along a lot of empty air. Presently, she was more concerned with following up the strike. Her slashes became faster.

Then, a sharp jab shot through her upper arm. Even in being thrown around and into the pathway of her own attacks, she’d been able to cease each as her powers picked up the first hints of her body signature. This one had no such warning; originating within her, she hadn’t realized it needed to be stopped until she felt it. The makeup of her own skin and blood flashed through her head. She let out a pained yelp. Quickly, she cut it to keep any more from being gathered. The clean, small circle had missed the bone, but not the blood vessel, and had pierced completely from one side to the other. The wound began to grow warm and wet.

Azoth clenched her teeth and kept attacking; deleting swaths of air and replacing it with acid. She just needed to be more careful.

The constant jostling made thinking hard, but there had to be something else she could do; this couldn’t be her only option of attack. The Seraphim had metal in her. Metal was easy to delete, or erode, or electrocute.

The first was failing her, the second relied on the first, and the last was likely to go as all her other tactics had. With no small amount of frustration, Azoth realized she had no ideas.

If the Seraphim was a robot, why couldn’t she beat her? It was flesh that was supposed to be hard; mechanical bodies she could slice into pieces and be done. This should be easy. Yet the Seraphim was avoiding her powers like she could predict exactly where each would manifest, dividing her attention between trying to hit her opponent and not hit herself. It shouldn’t be possible, yet it was. It should be easy, yet it wasn’t. It was infuriating. She still didn’t even know why this super was attacking her - though at this point, it didn’t much matter. If she struck faster, in varied patterns and angles, she would increase her chances of hitting the Seraphim before she could move out of the way.

Pain shot diagonally up through Azoth’s shoulder, eliciting a second yell. She’d missed another.

This wasn’t working. She was hurting herself more than her opponent.

Reluctantly, Azoth’s powers slowed and stopped. Her heart still pounded against her chest, but the hit against the wall and the struggling had caught up with the adrenaline, and a heavy fatigue settled over her limbs and a burning tightness in her chest. The Seraphim’s arm was still tight in her fists, but she fell stationary in her hand.

“Let- Let. Me. Go.” She said through clenched teeth, attempting a growl. Though it came out as less a demand and more as a gasp for air, edged with fear that she would not listen.

She needed to stop the Seraphim’s movements. Mostly, she wanted to stop being shaken about like a ragdoll. A sheet of smooth ice, slick with a small top layer of water, shot out along the ground. Originating around the Seraphim, it wouldn’t appear directly under her feet, but would to both ends of the alleyway in a little over a second, covering any bare ground. A large hole formed about a foot under the pavement, about two feet to the pair’s right.

Azoth reactively tried to brace against the Seraphim’s jarring stop with her arms against Seraphim’s, but one was near ineffective for the hole and the other was both tired, and not particularly capable of stopping much force on a good day. The sudden collision of moving neck to stationary hand yanked a pained cough out of Azoth.

She couldn’t reach the ground, she couldn’t beat the Seraphim’s grip, she couldn’t do much more about the now straining pain in her neck than try to support more of her body’s weight with her one good arm while her other held limply onto Seraphim’s, and she hated it. Not one of her attempts to just be free of the woman had worked and now she was, what was this, mocking her? She’d come out of nowhere, attacked out of nowhere for some unknown reason, and now this unknown super was rubbing in just how little she’d managed to do. Every one of Azoth’s muscles were tense and her jaw was tightly locked. Bandages began to form around her two wounds to stop the growing streams of blood, but her only movement was the light shaking in her arm and shoulders as both tried to support more weight than they were able and the light swinging of her legs; her eyes remained dead set on the Seraphim. The woman was clearly speaking gibberish. There was no need to respond.

Rather, it was another issue that needed to be addressed. “My objective has likely left, meaning there is no longer any reason for me to fight.” She spoke slowly and through her teeth, her voice tense and choked. “I will leave, therefore you can continue whatever you came here to do without my interference. This battle is over. Put me down.”

It was not an optimal move to attempt to fall the Seraphim; she was correct that it was likely the would land on top of her, even with her usual tactics of changing falling trajectories, by the way the battle had gone thus far. Whatever methods or abilities the Seraphim was using to counter her powers made it a much worse option than it would otherwise be, she thought bitterly. She should’ve been able to get free of her grasp by now. But, for the same reason, it was quickly becoming one of her only options. She would take it if she had to. However, it’d be much simpler if the Seraphim would see reason and comply with the customs supers had developed around battles in the city.

Azoth’s eyes shot wide as her breath was stopped in her throat. Frantically, she clawed at the Seraphim’s hand with her own, good one. The thought that the woman wanted more than to simply prove her point flashed through her head, and with it a fear. If the Seraphim wished to choke her - or simply break her neck - would she be able to stop her?

The small part of her that knew she couldn’t - this battle had proven so alone - rose up just before the Seraphim laxed her grip, but was swiftly quieted as Azoth took several deep, shuddering breaths. It was obvious she’d be able to. She’d find a way, even said way required less than safe actions. Besides, the chances of the Seraphim attempting to kill her were extraordinarily low. Only the worst of supers stooped to such means.

As her breath settled, her brow tightened into a deep glare. She’d let her go when it suited her?

“W-why? There is nothing left for you to gain from me.” Azoth said through her teeth, fighting to keep her voice steady. “Do not speak to me of consequences. If you attempt to cause me further harm, I have allies who will help me. I have other means of attacking back. Your threats do not scare me.”

The woman was clearly not going to let go of her unless she made her. Azoth attempted to delete two long, steeply diagonal cuts in the Seraphim’s legs, from just below the kneecap to her ankles. They’d be angled so the high point was facing Azoth - and so hopefully gravity would take her away.

In the case the Seraphim began to fall towards her rather than backwards, she would attempt to slice through her forearm about midway between the wrist and elbow. Even if it didn’t free her of the super, it would mean her position would change, hopefully to a more optimal one. Further, she would create a small square of foam where her head would meet the ice, waiting until near the last moment to do so so as to better account for the expected position change.