Terran National Library and Archives

Cordelia abruptly skidded to a stop, a voice addressing her from the shadows. Turning to look, her gaze swept the expansive library, and a silent thought echoed within her: damn, there's far more going on in here than I expected. It was then she stood up straight, though a slight quiver could be seen as she tried to present herself in a dignified manner. It wasn't fear, as much as, she seemed rather... self-concious.

"Feel..? You can sense the Un?" she inquired, her voice carrying a peculiar blend of pleasantness and hollowness, as if the words echoed within her. There was an accent there, distinctly English. A glimmer flickered in the hollows of her metal mask's holes as she shifted her gaze to the Minutemen and assassins entangled in battle. Stepping back, blades concealed within her ornate cloth revealed themselves, akin to a bird puffing up defensively. One thing became evident as her cloth flowed—she has no arms, at least in the tangible sense.

"Wait, what is the meaning of this!? Have you no grasp of... ah!" Her plea for understanding was abruptly cut off in a shriek as the tall, lanky figure made his entrance. A silvery rift opened above, and OttO slipped through, descending with graceful ease. He stepped out upon the ceiling, dropping down in a flip before one of the Minutemen. His arrival wasn't marked by a bang, but a muted rumble that briefly caused the ground to ripple, as if it was for a moment liquefied. The air itself quivered as he locked eyes with the Minuteman, his own gaze holding a vague and enigmatic quality.

"Ah, a protector against the unraveling chaos? Salutations! I bow to your noble intentions," OttO declared with a dignified voice that resonated through the tumultuous atmosphere. He gave the Minuteman a bow, and the sound around them distorted, leaving only OttO's voice audible over the chaos. "Sadly, no matter your attempt, that terrible end shall never be averted. No matter how much overgrowth you prune, in fact, perhaps your crusade is even the catalyst for the cascade of magnifying chaos that follows, until... dust. How arbitrary this Sacred Timeline is, then, isn't it?"

"Unmaker, you taint sacred ground, surrender now and return to the Abyss!" Cordelia demanded, pushing back her timid nature to try to assert authority, but her soft voice only barely peaked over the chaos.

Somewhere on Langara, in an undisclosed location:

it was to be a simple smash and grab, gather intelligence on the strange anomalies that had been detected on Terra via long range spy drones, and through the prying eyes of the vast Aschen intelligence network. Senior Agent Samuelle armed with a T65 Mk II Combat skin, various weapons grenades, and other devices prepared himself for departure through the newly christened Astral Transit Array, a device capable of teleporting individuals, and small groups across interstellar distances.

"Check your weapons, smash and grab, capture any persons of interest for analysis and interrogation, and neutralize any resistance." Director Angel's voice rang through his communication system.

All systems green, Array opening in T-minus thirty microns

Slamming a fusion cell into his Type 03 Disruptor PDW, a short ranged somewhat inaccurate but fast firing weapon, Samuelle checked the power read indicator and nodded in approval.

"We don't know what we're facing, so be on your toes."

Transit array activation in ten microns!

The ring like device shuddered and began to whir to life as concentric electromagnetic inductors spun and energized, the nadion field enveloped the device, and the portal ignited with a vortex of multicolored light.

"Right." Samuelle growled, and stepped forward to feel the static sensations as the field enveloped his form, and he glanced back for just a moment in perhaps something akin to hesitation. Snapping the visor closed to his T-65 combat skin, the glossy black visor obscured his face, and offered a hermetic seal. With holographic HUD coming to life, the agent took another step forward and embraced the swirling vortex of rainbow light.


---


Inside the library of the Terran National Government, papers, book, and anything that wasn't tied down suddenly began to become agitated by wind that began to swirl from nothingness. In an undisturbed corner of the library, a vortex of multicolored light came to life, slinging books, paper, and tables not anchored down all across the room, this vortex persisted for a scant few moments before dissipating into nothingness.

Phase-shift cloaking engaged, Samuelle checked his surroundings while his HUD began highlighting targets in the distance. It was some sort of battle. Gritting his teeth, his personal shields engaged and he moved forward subtly, and quietly. Wide spectrum systems picking up an anomaly, perhaps a cloaked individual? The blurry outline of Hunter C-21 shimmered, and the residue of weapons fire became highlighted. Gritting his teeth, he opened fire with a short burst from his Disruptor, out of nothingness, searing green bolts of compressed nadion particles and barium plasma, dozens of them were hurled towards the Minuteman. The weapon barked it's sharp series of reports before silence returned.

Searing green bolts of light that were unmistakable for the disruptor weapons of the Aschen Empire.

"Unmaker? Why would you say that, Swan? Hm?" Otto's words cut through the chaos of searing green bolts of light. With a deliberate motion, he removed the glove from his right hand, revealing an unusual dark gray skin marked by visible cracks, leaking a monochromatic distortion. Swiftly, he reached up and seemingly plucked one of the bolts of energy from the air, cradling it in his hand like a captured firefly. As he brought it closer to his mask, the energy arced, emitting a shrill screech, ensnared within a field that infinitely negated it.

Amid the violently shimmering energy, shreds of books descended around him, casualties of Samuelle's indiscriminate fire. "Have you no sanctity for knowledge?" he muttered somberly before releasing the bolt upwards through the ceiling. Standing up straight, Otto weaved his hand through the air leaving behind trails of the gray residue, warping and cracking the air where it trailed. The green bolts of charged particles distorting around him as he now seemed more fixated on preventing further damage to the books.

Heralding walked unoticed through a parrallel dimension. Following OttO and Cordelia but he was still unaware of their names. He witnessed the conversation being had, seeing through the outer walls of the library as if they were not there.

Unmaker? What did that mean? The three clones of Heralding that he made earlier, were stationed in a tactical circle surrounding the library. He could reach through the vibrating translucent fabrics of space if he wanted to be right in the action.

However, watching the way OttO simply accelerated through fractions of time. If felt like witnessing a speedster navigating speeds so fast (yet visible) that after-images were being made. However, due to the distortion in space that was happening as well, it was almost as if space was collapsing around its very being; negating the gravitational pull of the fabrics of time.

Truly astounding.

Heralding intended to let things unfold as they were. Right up until the Aschen started getting involved destroying books, robots, and people indiscriminately. Heralding waved his hand, sending a ripple as fast as light through the entire library. Transporting every book, person, piece of furniture and hardware into a pocket dimension.

Every single person present would find themselves in a vast empty room with only the shelves themselves still availible for cover. The flying books were gone, the innocent folks out of harms way, and the precious very old devices and robots that upkept this place, were all safe.

"That outta keep people focused. But stay on alert you three." He muttered to himself, looking at the other clones.

Zii watched Cordelia and OttO community. She also saw the Aschen Soldier descend his heretical ass into this precious haven of knowledge. It was at this point that Zii knew she couldn't sway this situation to work for her. If other Aschen start showing up...

Screams ensued, noise pierced her ears, green plasma sprayed the air. It would be better to leave them to this mysterious powerful organization that showed up through what she hypothesizes to be space/time doors.

When the shooting started Zii accelerated her mind and body further, and time slows down for her. She telepathically sends out a message to The League to retreat with noise. Which was directly when further chaos ensues.

A wave of energy slams into her, and within the blink of an eye, the screaming dissapeared. The books were gone and there was nothing but shelves left.

Zii pulls out a small ball from a pouch and throws it hard at the ground. A giant green smokescreen conceals a 100ft radius. Smoking out everyone present and flowing out the front door and up the extremly high multi-level building.

Zii used shadow transport to melt into the shadows and escape. Heading towards where Yun Yun would be stashed away.

"All units retreat." Jinn said to the shadows.

The League units present all follow Zii out upon hearing the retreat. More smoke screens follow up, creating a further suffocating mess of purple, pink, yellow and black smokes. Completely covering the inside of the entire building.

When Cordelia made her presence known by busting in the door with pretty much her whole weight. Hunter C-21 briefly raised his stunpistol towards the birdlike woman; something felt so hauntingly familar about the woman he couldnt exactly place it. As there were two dozen of the Minutemen scattered in the library. But when they started getting stabbed by thrown daggers, only a few in dangerous areas that could lead to death if not treated. Hunter C-21 started to feel this mission was not excactly going to plan

"Primary Target missing" Came a soft whosper in his ear, one of the other Minutemen had tried to grab Hunt to drag her through a timedoor only to have the targets presumed body crumble into nothing upon arriving on the other side of the door. "Repeat, primary target is not secured!"

Hunter C-21 growled softly, keeping as quiet as he could as the Minutemen paired off the soldiers calmly combed through the library. But Hunter C-21 came to a sudden halt when OttO dropped in. Quite literally and addressed him

How did he knew of the TVA ? Unmaker ? He, Her, It knew of Yggdrasil ?

C-21 was so focused on OttO he never heard the Aschen soldier behind him open fire. however when OttO stepped around him, hand out, and caught the pulse of deadly energy in its hands made C-21 pause briefly. The Unmaker, if that bird was correct, just saved his life! He and the remaining unharmed Minutemen focused on the Aschen agent. briefly unsure of what to do, C-21 gave a simple order unspoken.

But when the smoke grenades went off, filling the room with smoke, the books unharmed and elsewhere. C-21 did the next best thing. He ordered silently. Retreat At the TVA Office they could heal their wounded and get an idea more of what OttO was. Hunter C-21 was about to open his own Timedoor to safety when the word rang in his head, "Swan ??" was all he could mumble before diving backwards through the timedoor out of the library.

It was time to go

A note is left at the receptionist desk for OttO:

'I know you are coming, meet me at the temple.'

Unnamed Darkness Corridor arrives, as if on queue.

"Timedoor" engages its warp drive, vanishing before your eyes.

In the midst of OttO's attempt to preserve the literature, his targets of interest slipped away without concluding their conversation. "Ah, a misfortune, it seems, Swan, your efforts, albeit entirely indirect, are at the least... why are you here again?" he questioned, turning his head to Cordelia. At that moment, with his guard down, a disruptor bolt struck OttO's uncovered hand, wedging itself between the cracks of his unusual skin. A strange sound emitted as he lifted his hand, observing the energy that screamed within the growing chorus, struggling to escape the negative hollows of his being. The fissures in his hand emitted an emerald glow.

Reacting instinctively, Cordelia turned and ran in the opposite direction as fast as she could. Shortly after, OttO's hand fragmented and exploded with a peculiar quietness, and rippled distortions of space echoed out from him, turning everything monochromatic briefly with each pulse. Silver cracks in space had replaced OttO, and objects continued to distort. The ripples hit Cordelia, taking her off her feet and stumbling her briefly as she rolled onto the floor, before hopping back to her feet and continuing to flee. The dilations in time were only symptomatic of the greater problem—this entire space had become unstable, and before it got better, it was going to get worse. Everything related to space and time, magical or technological was going to be afflicted by this anomaly.

"Get away, get away from it!" Cordelia cried out, hoping her voice could be heard over the ripples that seemed to have a muting effect as they pulsed through. Eventually she too was taken by the distortion.

The League, Zii, Yun...Heralding watched as they made their movements to escape the cacophony. But it was all to slow in the face of the plasma bolt reacting to the things body composition. It was such a strange reaction. Time slows within time slowing. Pulsating negative forces of energy, canceling out the free radical muons and protons in the air.

Heralding watched the pulses drag, pull and violently shake everywhere. Catching the shadow movement of Zii and her cohorts. They would be flung somewhere entirely different, according to his calculations.

All the clones of himself and the main body, phase shifted their bodies and grabbed at the energy that pulsated at them. Attempting to capture some of it. They all used different methods. One tried to use fabrics of space and positive energy based spells to offset, and jar it. One try to use bags of holding and capture. Another reinforced their body and tried to absorb it. The main body Simply tried to replicate the beings actions and avoid it altogether.

Everyone of them got blasted away, thrown clear out of their parallel dimensions and flung to different corners of the universe. But not before some of them actually succeeding in capturing that energy.

The Minutemen has left the area, heading west towards Government Center.

Unnamed Darkness Corridor arrives, as if on queue.

Cordelia boards "Dimensional Rift".

"Dimensional Rift" engages its warp drive, vanishing before your eyes.

Lewis Stockton has arrived, coming from Government Center.

Lewis steps in through the doors silently, entering into the foyer of the library. He didn't usually ever go here to compile notes, but he was on this side of town today, so he figured it couldn't hurt.

Generally, the analyzing was a mixed process of reasoning and guesswork, mostly predictions based off of what had worked in raids before and what had nearly gotten him killed, a process he had picked up in RUST's Combat-Crisis unit. Planning never hurt, even when it was just guessing on interior layouts and writing down notes from the previous days of in-field surveillance.
It didn't feel as secure, maybe, sitting out in public where anybody could be watching, but he figures at worst he'd look like some older college student studying for... something.

I guess this is why the superheroes in the stories usually have a buddy to do these things for them, he thinks to himself. Sure, it would be nice to have somebody to do all the observation work, dig up maps and names, and so on, but there wasn't anyone he could trust enough. Anyways, even in the stories that "reliable sidekick" ends up overestimating their ability and getting captured, usually then used to push a plot where they end up rescued and so on, and on, and on. That would be perhaps the single worst use of his time, having to go after some hotshot techie or amateur P.I., or any other of the hundreds of hundreds of tropes. Better to just put in the work himself.

He freezes in place for a split second, his eyes, normally fixed forward and emotionless, suddenly flickering back and forth around his surroundings. Something is off. It was quiet, and not the sort of quiet you get in a library. A post-trauma kind of quiet, one that settles after a bomb goes off or a building collapses, unnatural stillness.
There was a mask of some kind, resting on the front counter, and he realizes in a moment that there's not a computer-jockey or attendant behind it. Bad.
Think. The gut-feeling was reliable enough, but it didn't tell him anything beyond what he could subconsciously recognize. So, what were those things?

Stockton takes a half-step back, moving his head from left to right to look around.
Ornate mask on table, first. No title, not an art piece. Probably... weird somehow. Deeper in, past fourth line of shelves... What looks like books or papers scattered along the floor, hard to tell. Nobody around at all.
There. Some... kind of- hazard. Abnormal dancing of light, heat waves or something, don't know. Avoid it.
Something else, too. What?
... Watch has stopped ticking at regular tempo. Something's really off.

If it wasn't a government building, he might be armed, to some extent. The best he had was a pen, right now. Better fix that.
He slowly steps over to behind the counter, then kicks over the wooden chair behind it, slowly crouching down to rest both of his hands on a single leg, eyes still pointed inwards toward the shimmering as he pulls it free with little effort.
He stands up again, adjusting his grip on the makeshift club, and steps carefully into the large opening room of the library. With his arms half-raised in a ready position, club held in one hand, he moves warily to the shelves, looking carefully around.
See if anyone's injured or incapacitated before the WCPD gets here, get some answers, leave. Be aware of combatants, adjust as necessary.

Aftermaths really sucked, but he was used to it. There was always a risk, he just happened to be the guy to take it.

Slowly pacing through the library, Stockton steps past the rows of shelves. His eyes carefully watched his surroundings, scanning back-and-forth along the cases filled with books and the several upturned tables.

His gut felt like it was burning. He very sincerely wished he had brought a pistol, or at least something he could stab with. I'm never first to the scene. He takes a moment to stare at a neat, head-sized hole burned horizontally through a bookshelf, the edges of the interior still smoldering. I usually cause this kind of s... Nevermind. I need a firearm.
He walks over to one of the books on the ground, quickly crouching down to grab it. He flips to the very end, where the extraneous papers are, and carefully tears it out as quickly as he can. Withdrawing the pen from his shirt, he raises a knee to serve as a surface. Glancing around and stepping behind the poor cover of a shelf, he sketches out a shape, then fills in the details with smaller symbols.

He takes a deep breath, then tears the page in half. In the brief moment that the paper takes to split into rough, jagged halves, there's a space of nothing. He uses this moment, shoving his hand into the rift, withdrawing a handgun. There's a still-smoldering scorch marked into the slide, which he quickly inspects. Should still function.

He ignores the sudden wave of nausea that strikes him a few seconds later, the aftereffects of using raw, broken magic. It always felt like somebody was twisting his stomach into knots, and doing it often enough could cause him to black out.
He avoided that the best he could.

He chambers a round in the pistol, a Wildebeest .44.
Damn. Guess it's time to roll.