The X-men run missions and work together with the NYPD, striving to maintain a peaceful balance between humans and mutants. When it comes to a fight, they won't back down from protecting those who need their help.
Haven presents itself as a humanitarian organization for activists, leaders, and high society, yet mutants are the secret leaders working to protect and serve their kind. Behind the scenes they bring their goals into reality.
From the time when mutants became known to the world, SUPER was founded as a black-ops division of the CIA in an attempt to classify, observe, and learn more about this new and rising threat.
The Syndicate works to help bring mutantkind to the forefront of the world. They work from the shadows, a beacon of hope for mutants, but a bane to mankind. With their guiding hand, humanity will finally find extinction.
Since the existence of mutants was first revealed in the nineties, the world has become a changed place. Whether they're genetic misfits or the next stage in humanity's evolution, there's no denying their growing numbers, especially in hubs like New York City. The NYPD has a division devoted to mutant related crimes. Super-powered vigilantes help to maintain the peace. Those who style themselves as Homo Superior work to tear society apart for rebuilding in their own image.
MRO is an intermediate to advanced writing level original character, original plot X-Men RPG. We've been open and active since October of 2005. You can play as a mutant, human, or Adapted— one of the rare humans who nullify mutant powers by their very existence. Goodies, baddies, and neutrals are all welcome.
Short Term Plots:Are They Coming for You?
There have been whispers on the streets lately of a boogeyman... mutant and humans, young and old, all have been targets of trafficking.
The Fountain of Youth
A chemical serum has been released that's shaving a few years off of the population. In some cases, found to be temporary, and in others...?
MRO MOVES WITH CURRENT TIME: What month and year it is now in real life, it's the same for MRO, too.
Fuegogrande: "Fuegogrande" player of The Ranger, Ion, Rhia, and Null
Neopolitan: "Aly" player of Rebecca Grey, Stephanie Graves, Marisol Cervantes, Vanessa Bookman, Chrysanthemum Van Hart, Sabine Sang, Eupraxia
Ongoing Plots
Magic and Mystics
After the events of the 2020 Harvest Moon and the following Winter Solstice, magic has started manifesting in the MROvere! With the efforts of the Welldrinker Cult, people are being converted into Mystics, a species of people genetically disposed to be great conduits for magical energy.
The Welldrinker Cult
A shadowy group is gaining power, drawing in people who are curious, vulnerable, or malicious, and turning them into Mystics. They are recruiting people into their ranks to spread the influence of magic in the world, but for what end goal?
Are They Coming for You?
There have been whispers on the streets lately of a boogeyman... mutant and humans, young and old, all have been targets of trafficking.
Adapteds
What if the human race began to adapt to the mutant threat? What if the human race changed ever so subtly... without the x-gene.
Atlanteans
The lost city of Atlantis has been found! Refugees from this undersea mutant dystopia have started to filter in to New York as citizens and businessfolk. You may make one as a player character of run into one on the street.
Got a plot in mind?
MRO plots are player-created the Mods facilitate and organize the big ones, but we get the ideas from you. Do you have a plot in mind, and want to know whether it needs Mod approval? Check out our plot guidelines.
There was silence, blessed silence. Painful, agonizing silence. The silence that threatened to drown you in its sweet, welcoming embrace. Rex started folding inwardly, his mind racing back along memories stained with regret. He closed his eyes and tried breathing deeply. In, out. Focus on the breathing. It was a technique his therapist had told him to use. Breathe in, breathe out.
Hercules broke the silence, but for once it wasn’t with clarion shouts or booming laughter. At least not as first. The jubilance and zeal came on quickly though and Rex sluggishly tried to follow along, distracted as he was. Too much, just too much, and what on Earth was the man talking about?
Rex rubbed his face again and stared up at the other man. At the man who was flipping from fired up to crying in the span of moments. Rex’s face was blank as he tried to process it all. Master? Child? Injured parents? Totems? He didn’t understand what Hercules was saying so he focused on the only parts that made sense.
Hercules said he disliked the Welldrinkers and was implying some kind of reckoning, and he said it all with such emotion!
Rex didn’t know how to react. His face remained a blank canvas. What did one say in times like this? Assuming any of it was true, even, and not just part of Hercules’s image-marketing or whatever. So he didn’t address the emotions. “I cannot tell you where they meet,” Rex finally said. “I have told them I washed my hands of them. But I will not invoke retribution from them for spreading their secrets. They have already shown me they know how to find me and I did not enjoy the method they used.”
His face darkened as yet more memories emerged. A burning shop, the pain of the sword slashing across his back. No, he would do nothing to attract them again.
Rex’s glare continued to smolder, the recitation of Exodus ready on the tip of his tongue. He’d have to be very fast, to get out enough of a verse to bring fire before Hercules could move. He doubted he could. He’d try anyway. He wasn’t going back.
His glare abated fractionally as Hercules’s body language….just didn’t line up with a threat. When Raijin had approached him, he was every bit as precise and cutting as his sword. Hercules...genuinely seemed unaware of the Welldrinkers and possibly...sincere.
The bow was the final straw.
Oh God, help me! he prayed. His mouth opened and closed as he couldn’t get the words out. He’d accused this man of being in a cult and was ready to burn him! Twice in the span of a half hour, he’d seriously considered burning someone to death!
Horror and self revulsion washed over him and Rex stumbled back. “No-no, I…” he stuttered and trailed off, his mouth as dry as if he’d been inside a burning building. “I didn’t--it was…” He searched for the words and threw his hands up.
“My mistake,” he finally said. “It’s...not you.” He rubbed his face with a palm. “Ay Dios mio, it’s just...I don’t like talking about it.” He didn’t say “magic”. He couldn’t bring himself to. “I...made some bad decisions. Joined a cult...and....” His voice choked out but his lips kept moving vainly.
Just like that the anger had burned out, leaving ashen shame behind. Rex slumped and abruptly sat on a small stack of wood pallets. “....sorry.” His head hung.
Rex frowned at the bigger man. That was arrogance, wasn’t it? To proclaim himself a god in such bold terms. Or was it showmanship? It wouldn’t make a lot of sense to call oneself arguably one of the most famous gods from literature without playing the part. Or the man could be crazy. Mutants. They weren’t automatically problematic, but they sure didn’t make things easier.
His frown deepened as he saw the glowing tattoos in motion.He blinked and rubbed the bridge of his nose. It had been a long night, the lighting wasn’t the greatest in the mill, and he was tired from the pillar fire being used so many times so maybe he was seeing things. No, he wasn’t. Somehow this man had moving, glowing, changing tattoos. He’d noticed them before, hadn’t he?
Ugh. Mutants.
He transitioned to rubbing his temples, confident that a migraine was coming on soon. The rubbing intensified as Hercules made a joke in very poor taste and let out a thunderous laugh. Rex glared at the man. He did not appreciate people making jokes about fire. Not after the things he’d seen.
Then his jaw dropped as, miraculously, Hercules grew serious for a moment. Rex couldn’t have been shaken more if Hercules had picked him up and thrown him around.
His eyes searched frantically around the room. Why did the man bring up magic? How did he know? What did he know? Was he one of them? Like that Raijin character? Other pieces fell into place. The glowing tattoos, the various abilities. The only people who knew magic. That’s why Hercules had stuck with him all evening. What was his plan? What was his game? And why could the Welldrinkers leave him alone?
Rex forced his face to smooth out into a steely expression but his eyes couldn’t hide everything. He could lie, but honestly Rex was terrible at lying. Instead he stiffened his chin and glared into this false god’s eyes, his own suddenly flaring in anger. “I told you people before,” his voice was low and iron-crisp. “I am done with your cult. I will have no further concourse with you Welldrinkers. I am keeping your secret but this is the last straw. Leave me alone!”
Words in Latin, Spanish, and English leaped into his mind. He knew several verses that could call the flames, and in several languages. He also knew that Hercules could be burned.
Another slap and Rex stiffened. That...was starting to get annoying. He sidestepped, pulling away from the brute and escaping arm’s reach. In doing so, he had a better view of watching the healing process on Hercules’s hand, the one that had smashed into Brazen’s burning fist. It had clearly been badly burned but Rex could see the damage repairing itself before his very eyes. Rex still had an urge to offer assistance and medical help, but then remembered he didn’t have any supplies on him. Besides, from what he’d learned in EMT training, mutants with regenerative abilities usually just needed time and calories before they were good as new.
So instead Rex focused on the other thing that had caught his attention. “You think you’re a god?” Rex asked clinically, his eyebrow arched. His blank expression returned. Of course. His name was Hercules, he was strong, tough, healed, had a club. Clearly a mutant playing up an angle, like the X-Men tended to do for marketing purposes or what-have-you. “Oh,” he said, things making sense.
The last thing he needed was a crazy, self-deluded juggernaut of a mutant running around spreading blasphemies and such.
“Glad I could assist,” Rex said automatically in response to being thanked. Wait, was he glad? He furrowed his eyebrows slightly before smoothing them out. Yes, yes he was. Several dangerous people had been taken down this night and numerous innocent people rescued. That was good. Good. Very good. Right? Yes. Good.
“Good work,” he forced himself to say to Hercules, his eyes taking in the partially-missing thumb without blinking. He’d seen far, far worse in his time. At least the smell of burning flesh was also fading with the healing. Rex knew on his own, he wouldn’t have done any of the things he’d done that night.
Not that he was sure how he truly felt about any of it. He just felt...strange.
“See you around, I guess,” he said very awkwardly. What did you do in these situations? Rex wasn’t a superhero or FBI or anyone who did this kind of thing. Hercules seemed to alway know what to do in each situation they’d encountered so Rex just kinda looked at the man with questioning eyes.
By the time Hercules was finished with his second make-shift containment contraption of the night, Rex was off the phone. He’d highlighted that this was connected to an attempted ATM robbery and that Brazen had been captured, as well as a number of his associates. He’d remembered to mention the woman...Razorbeak’s...poisoned feathers, as well as all injuries he’d ascertained.
Which meant he’d missed the signs of weakness or the change in attitude of Hercules, as well as the latest round of declaring himself a god. That was probably for the best though.
Instead he was treated to a bellowing post-battle speech and a slap on that back that, while not sending him staggering like before, was still enough to put a hitch in Rex’s breathing for a moment. “Please stop slapping me,” Rex said in a low voice. It wouldn’t do to correct the man very openly, but as that was possibly unavoidable (and waiting for a better time could risk more slaps in the meantime) Rex just tried to be quiet about it.
He smiled back though. Or maybe grimaced. He wasn’t really sure how he felt. “Likewise,” he said, even though Rex really hadn’t done much of the fighting. He’d tackled two people tonight and threatened them with severe burnings. Was he any better than Brazen? After all, both of them scared the hostages. Even looking at them now, they turned from his gaze. They didn’t seem to be doing that to Hercules though. Because Hercules just humiliated a crime lord. I threatened to burn a man alive.
Oh God.
Rex’s shoulders slumped.
“We'll probably need you all to stick around so the police can get your statements,” Rex said to the hostages, not looking them in the eyes either. “So if you could…” He’d glanced up. It seemed those had been magic words, because the people started rushing for the exits without even a “thank you” or “bye”. Soon, it was just Rex, Hercules, and what was left of Brazen’s court.
Rex quickly yet carefully removed the flamethrower apparatus from the man, who offered no resistance. Through the man’s protective mask, Rex could see his eyes were shut and he was otherwise limp. It seemed like heat exhaustion, to Rex’s trained eye. Not fatal, but it would need to be remarked to the authorities when they called them.
Rex left the man lying where he was, after removing his mask so he could breathe more easily. Thundering blows marked the continuation of Hercules’s fight. Rex watched for a moment or two and realized Hercules was holding his own, especially as the molten fist had noticeably cooled. Now that was fireproof. Which meant Rex would be of no use whatsoever. At best he’d hurt his own...ally.
He turned back to the hostages and approached with his hands in clear sight...as if that was actually going to reassure them. Instead he saw fear shining in their eyes and half of them were still watching Brazen’s battle. But the other half were staring at him and backing away.
Rex’s face fell and he stared at his own hands. Hands that called up fire and wrestled a man into the ground until his protective clothing started breaking down - yet he was unmarred. “Oh God, what have I done?”
Rex back away from the people, who were still reluctant to leave. After all, Brazen knew where they lived. He could still find them. He could--
Brazen’s fall rumbled through the floor and Rex whirled around, the collision ringing in his ears. He watched as the metal monstrosity weakly reached up for Hercules’s face with his non-captured hand before slumping back against the ground, his head echoing as well with a minor crack of concrete.
“I...submit,” he said, glaring in his fury at his failure, even as he remained unable to budge the man’s hand. His own hand was almost back to it’s normal bronze color.
Rex looked on in grim fascination as Brazen slowly lost that bronze color, as metal morphed into flesh. Brazen gasped as exhaustion from maintaining that form through force of will under so much abuse swept through him and he spat blood at Hercules. “You won this round, but I will see you dead for this!” he promised.
Rex was already pulling out his phone to call the police.
The recitation ended and once more a column of fire roared to life around Rex, blazing around him in a vengeful vortex. He could just make out the alarm on the flamethrower-wielder’s face through his protective helmet and the fire was upon him.
The river of thrown flames were swept into the current of Rex’s fire whirl, devoured by it’s ever-burning hunger. The fire kept pouring forth but it might as well have been a gentle breeze for all the good the flamethrower was doing. Rex stayed in front of the man, merely yards away, but not one flame licked his skin or singed a thread.
“Dios mio, it worked,” he breathed in relief. The hostages were regrouping at the other end of the room away from everything, seemingly too terrified to actually leave lest Brazen come a-knocking on their doors later. Brazen never lost a fight. Better to stay and risk incineration - at least it’d be quicker than molten hands melting your arms off inch by inch.
Rex didn’t know that, though. All he saw were people, terrified and panicked, and a person starting a fire. For the first time all night, he knew exactly what to do.
The flamethrower sputtered out as the last of its fuel was burned away, but Rex’s inferno was still going. And going. And going. And getting even closer as he walked forward. And then he lunged.
The person had realized too late that the flamethrower had been ineffective and stood there stupefied as a column of fire lunged at him. But that’s why he had fire retardant clothes! He went down hard as he was tackled and began grappling back, but that’s when he realized something.
Fire retardant is not fireproof.
“Yield,” Rex said loud enough to be heard around the fire, the fire whirling around him and the man both. But Rex’s clothes weren’t in danger of melting or being burned away. He held the man close, in almost the same hold he’d used on the thief earlier in the night. The man scrabbled to get free but the heat was sapping his strength.
“Yield!” Rex repeated himself even louder. The flames seemed to burn even hotter. He could tell the man’s clothing was going to start failing soon.
The man went limp, whether from exhaustion or surrender. “Good choice,”Rex said. The fire vanished.
Rex’s eyes widened as he saw Hercules suddenly learn to fly. That wasn’t good. Not at all. Especially since Brazen hadn’t moved one bit when Hercules had punched him. And now Brazen was picking up a massive steel girder and starting to swing it at Hercules.
It didn’t look like it was going to be a long fight at all, so Rex needed to move now.
He slipped through the doors and his boots struck concrete flooring as he dashed across the open space. There was very little cover and he knew he didn’t have time to plan anything better. With Hercules momentarily occupying Brazen, Rex somehow had to take care of the other two bad guys and get everyone out.
“Father, forgive me!” he cried as he pulled back on the busted shotgun and hurled it as hard as he could at the woman with the rifle. It busted her across the face and she went down hard. The hostages made various sounds of surprises and gasps, but Rex wasn’t listening. The man with the flamethrower was on the other side of the hostages, and Rex didn’t have any better ideas so he just plowed through them, shoving them out of his way and yelling, “Hey, hombre! Take your best shot!” And he continued to yell out as he crossed the distance, trying to make himself the best target and highest threat, even as the barrel of the flame thrower rose up and a flame lit.
The shout echoed around the vast room, picking up a tinny sound from all the leftover metal. Silence fell after.
A small group of six people were gather around a trio of tables, seemingly dragged in from a break room. They were the hostages, each person important to one of the thieves that had already been busted. Siblings, lovers, parents, lifelong friends, children - it didn’t matter. There always had to be a hostage.
The hostages were normally treated pretty well. In many cases they volunteered, knowing the risks but accepting the outcome. Brazen was known in the area as tough, but as reasonable as you could expect for a crimelord. He treated his people well and was loyal to them if they were loyal to him. He didn’t allow other criminals to operate in his territory and he paid very, very well.
He’d only had to kill three hostages before, which was a pretty low rate. Most people got clued in quickly - do what Brazen wanted and you lived, and lived well. Cross him, and you and a loved one dies. Nothing personal, just business.
But a man bellowing his way into his sanctuary and clearly having defeated his sister Razorbeak and wiped the floor with two of his lieutenants? That was very, very personal to him.
“Thank you, Aquilla,” he said to the riflewoman, who’d finished her report just a moment before Hercules burst into the room. She nodded and jogged over to the hostages, where she took up position over them along with a man in fire retardant clothing and what looked like a full-fledged flamethrower.
Brazen, a generally non-assuming man, nobody you’d remember in a crowd, stood up from his chair with the groaning and creaking of metal. And not from the chair. His entire body was metal, from his head to his feet, in the exact gold-like color as his sister's wings. The ground suffered the slightest of tremors as he took a step, his left hand leaving the blowtorch he’d had set up near his chair. His metal hand glowed white hot as it maintained the heat. He smiled slowly, revealed metal teeth, and assumed a boxing stance. “Well, I’m Brazen,” he addressed the man in a metallic voice. “Come and get some.”
Rex, meanwhile, pulled himself out of his hiding spot. He sprinted over to check the fallen shooters. They were still alive. Good. Probably need significant medical attention. Possibly broken or sprained bones. But he didn’t see much blood so it's likely they’d be fine. He picked up the crushed shotgun by it’s mangled shaft. There was no way it could be fired now, but that was fine. He dragged it along with him as he slowly approached the double doors and peered out through one of the windows in it, immediately trying to scope out the room.
Rex heard bullets and pellets echoing and bouncing off of metal surfaces, the sonic effects magnified by the close quarters. Cordite was starting to fill the air and Rex was assaulted by the sounds and the smells.
His back flat against the wall, he desperately prayed. This was so far beyond reconnaissance. This was a job for SWAT or someone, not a firefighter! But he’d been an idiot, getting caught up in Hercules’s bravado and jubilant nature that Rex had gone along. And now they were likely to die.
Peeking out from his hiding spot, Rex saw the quarrel burn through the club, but his mouth really dropped when he saw the other man plunge into the midst of the shooters and start tearing them apart. Things snapped and crunched and Rex wasn’t entirely sure if he was hearing bones, wood, or guns. But he definitely saw blood. “Madre de Dios,” he breathed, even as Hercules’s earlier words echoed in his head. This man thought himself a god? Rex’s eyes widened and horror grew in him. What new tests and trials were going to come from this night?
The third shooter, the woman with the rifle, saw her comrade thrown to the side and backpedaled quickly, still firing controlled bursts at the behemoth assaulting them. Then she turned tail and ran, leaving the man to face the brute alone. She wasn’t worried about retribution - he would’ve done the same. Brazen expected this kind of behavior - self sacrifice for the group was greatly rewarded and no sense losing everyone in one confrontation. Besides, if this man really wanted to see Brazen that badly, well, maybe it was time he get exactly what he wanted.
She burst through some double doors and into the main production area was located, so much of the equipment having fallen in disarray or missing so many pieces, having been salvaged for parts many years past.
Rex frowned. “What? No, I’m...nevermind,” he said. It wasn’t worth explaining his job, especially as this Hercules didn’t seem too focused on any particular moment and was raring to go bounding off to the next thing. What did he mean by era, though? He wasn’t talking quite right.
The firefighter shook his head. There was no point trying to figure it out. Who knew what went on in the heads of mutants? Crazy, the whole lot of them. He remembered when that one mutant had tried creating an entire church based around his healing powers. It was sacrilegious and blasphemous and just sheer insanity that anyone would associate with it. Yet it had happened.
He consoled himself with the knowledge that after this night, he’d never have to see Hercules again.
It turned out he was correct. Hercules has already bounced back, in more than one way. Rex didn’t miss the comment about gods and titans, but he dismissed it as hyperbole. He was starting to suspect Hercules of being a part-time actor of some sort. It would explain his bombastic manner and over-the-top braggadocio. Although those tattoos probably prevented him from landing a lot of choice roles.
Rex followed behind at a safe distance as they made their way into the now-open mill. He didn’t reply to Hercules - hadn’t they already established their roles? Besides, it just made sense since Hercules was tough, strong, self-healing, and shining and glowing like a Christmas tree. Rex himself was not bullet or knife proof so he was going to stay out of the way.
At that moment, footsteps started echoing through the hallway. Three figures appeared, all dressed in dark, regular clothing. Two women and a man, one with a shotgun, one with a crossbow, and the third with some kind of rifle. Rex jumped into a doorway as soon as he saw them, and not a moment too soon. Unlike the winged women, these three didn’t bother with opening discourse. They started shooting.
A shotgun blasted and the rifle gave off a series of barking shots. Bullets started ricocheting and clamoring off things. The crossbow quarrel suddenly started sparkling with scarlet light and it was fired straight at Hercules.
Rex ducked down inside the doorway, swore, and made the sign of the cross.
Rex narrowed his eyes as Hercules laughed at his question, but soon resumed an impassive expression as he took in the explanation and checked the woman over. He said he didn’t kill people, but freely admitted to placing a woman in shock after breaking bones? That was so…callous!
The firefighter nodded sharply, not so much in agreement or even acknowledgement, but an ambiguous gesture. He’d sort out his feelings later. Right now there were more important things to do. The woman was indeed alive and her pulse and breathing were even. That was good. He didn't bother moving her any more - who knew what further damage could be done? As it was, he tried his best to keep blood off his hands, or whatever that golden liquid was that was coming from one of her wings. “I am well,” Rex said, having done nothing more than break a minor sweat. He stood up and this time, as his hands were empty, he responded to Hercules’s offered hand….and his arm was clasped instead. Momentary surprise flickered across his face before he caught on and returned it with a squeeze. “It’s just my job,” he said, falling back into a familiar rhythm. If nothing else, Rex was used to people praising him for bravery. It was awkward and embarrassing every time.
He frowned. “Wait, poison?” He stared at the woman’s wings. In the absence of firelight, the streetlights revealed a very faint sheen on many of the woman’s feathers. Ah. That explained it. He looked Hercules over once more. He didn’t seem to be having problems moving anymore and Rex couldn’t see a wound on him anymore. It seemed cellular regeneration was also on the man’s list of mutation-derived abilities. “Nevermind,” he said. He’d just need to remember the poison when he called the event in to the authorities later. It would be horrible if someone else got poisoned trying to help the woman.
“Agreed,” he said simply and turned on a heel. “I located an entrance.” He strolled back to the door he’d found. He figured subtlely was worthless now and time was more of the essence. Thanks to the bellowing, everyone on the block must know they were there. Well, time to make the most of it.
Pausing a safe distance away, Rex held a hand out in the direction of the door. “After you,” he said.
Hidden by his flames, Rex scuttled from side to side so the column would continue being a moving target. It also meant he wasn’t likely to scorch the ground if he didn’t stay in one spot too long, which was still something he instinctively tried to avoid. Fire damage was not cool, even if he was the one doing it.
Another salvo of metal feathers sliced through the flames and missed him by about a foot or so. The angle was different on these though - it appeared the woman had changed altitudes before throwing them. That wasn’t good. If she got high enough and close enough, it wouldn’t matter that Rex was crouched - the blades would still slice into him and he certainly didn’t have any kind of a first aid kit on him.
He heard Hercules’ booming voice and Rex immediately moved in the opposite direction, at the very least hoping to split the woman’s attention. It worked. A fan of feathers lanced again through the fire at a height that would’ve disemboweled him if he were standing. Which meant she was aiming lower and lower. Rex wasn’t sure he’d avoid another strike.
But then it didn’t seem to matter.
Rex felt the impact in his bones as the two figures crashed to the earth. His own sight unmarred by the fire and the light, he stared slack-jawed as the man with the glowing tattoos and the woman with the glistening golden wings. The woman wasn’t moving.
The fire winked out and Rex froze. Was she dead? He forced himself to move. He ran over to the two, automatically assuming Hercules was once again unharmed. “How is she? Is she alive?” he reached out toward her in attempts to start checking her vitals.
Rex made it across the street and figured he was in the clear. If this flying woman was all that was sent out, it stood to reason they felt she was sufficient to guard the place, or at least raise an alarm. Then again, judging by her boredom, it was likely nobody cared. Who’d be foolish enough to invade the base of someone with a reputation like Brazen’s?
Rex smacked his forehead again as a massive thud shook the ground. Rex whipped around and saw Hercules in a little crater throwing something at the woman, who nimbly dodged it. Then he saw Hercules stumble. Even his taunts were sounding a bit off.
The firefighter stepped forward but stopped himself. The man would be okay. Clearly he could handle the physical problems. That had been one massive leap, after all. In Rex’s experience with mutants, strength and durability tended to go hand in hand, as exemplified by daggers bouncing off of Hercules’ skin.
Rex glanced over at a side door he saw in the mill. It looked weak enough. He could bust right in, probably. But that would involve leaving Hercules behind.
That’s not going to happen!
He started speaking softly. “In the daytime also He led them with the cloud, and all the night with a light of fire.” Once again fire erupted from all around him and swirled with hunger and fury into a column of flames. He knew he couldn’t touch the woman, earthbound as he was, but he figured he could at least provide a target impossible to ignore. And hopefully if she was focusing on him, Hercules could get a lock on her position. He strolled forward in his blinding pyre and shouted to be heard over his flames, “Enough! Stand down, lady! We’re here for your boss!”
He had just a moment to duck down as another golden dagger sliced through the flickering flames where his head had been. It started off the ground and Rex decided that it was probably best to stay crouched. At the very least his flames should be ruining her night vision, since she clearly had to look at him to throw a dagger.
Despite the distance and despite her helmet, Rex could just feel the woman rolling her eyes. He...he couldn’t blame her. He wanted to do the same. What was this fool thinking?!
Rex glanced again and recalled. The fool was probably thinking he was resistant to injury and incredibly strong, probably tough enough to consistantly win in one-on-one fights with other people. Rex had seen him throwing around a giant earlier, after all, and had casually deflected knives. So maybe he wasn’t a fool after all.
Mutants, Rex thought. They just made things more difficult.
“Fine, whatever,” the woman yelled out. “Let’s get this over with.” If you could possibly sound more bored, Rex had never encountered it. The woman launched herself high into the air and in the same moment, hurled her golden knives straight at Hercules.
Rex figured this was a good time to move since Hercules clearly wasn’t going to do anything but make a scene. Rex darted out of the alley and took a diagonal path across the street, hoping the woman would be too focused on Hercules to pay attention to him. Maybe he could possibly find the hostages, too.