Board Thread:Role Plays/@comment-26104528-20150531022109/@comment-26130256-20150705001154

''Fritz! You had better not die, because I plan on killing you myself after this is over!'' Azulius mentally shouted as the other man got shot, at least until he remebered that body armor he was wearing. Sympathy evaporating, the magic mobster kept shooting at the cultists, trying to stem the tide of Molotovs.

Finally, he managed to snipe one of the bottles before it could be thrown, which broke and sprayed burning liquid all over about half the remaining Dawnies. Even through the wall of bullets, two Molotovs collided with the top of the truck, coating it in fire. Azzie threw a Water Dust crystal out the window to Stahlfritz, hoping his memory was good enough to understand the idea.

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The mark of a good strategy is not having an obvious way to counter it. The mark of a bad strategy is having an easy counter. The mark of a great strategy is to have what looks like an easy counter, but is actually a trap. As Scarab dove towards the shielded mook, he turned his lance to the side, rolling  off the shield. His pride was a little bruised, but better that than getting his lance stuck four feet into the road like what happened on his first job. To this day, the older family employees loved making "penetration" jokes whenever he was in earshot.

Scarab jumped to his feet, downing the cultist with a flurry of punches and kicks before picking up his lance again. He was just about to turn and compliment Blaine on his perfect shot when he saw the Paladin picking up what looked like two shoddily made flamethrowers. And here he was, with absolutely no cover.

"Oh for the love of--oof!" he grunted as Blaine and Cordera pulled him into the alley and out of the way of a messy, burning death. Despite their timely intervention, his left arm got much closer to the napalm than was strictly healthy and the sleeve of his suit caught fire. Cordera ripped the jacket off quickly, but not enough to prevent some unpleasant burns.

"Come on, Scarab," Cordera complained, throwing the burning garment away from them. "They told me you were a pro!"

"To be fair," Blaine defended, using his supplies of Earth and Ice dust to create a barrier between them and the flamethrowers. "The worst we usually handle most days are HMGs or some explosives.  Flamethrowers are out of our jurisdiction."

"Yeah, gotta feel bad for the new guy," Scarab chuckled through the pain. Then it dawned on him. "Where's Tomillo?  He's not here, so he's gotta be..." The three mobsters looked at the barrier, then at each other. Boss Violet was not going to be happy if they killed a new guy...

People often joked that Tomillo's Semblance was being really easy to forget. Thanks to his panicked run-and-gun routine, he was now behind the flame-spewing mini-mecha, ignored by everyone in the fight, including his teammates, and his weapon was nowhere near powerful enough to be any good. Then he saw the thermite charge, thrown off to the side, and an idea formed. He ducked, dodged and charged his way to the thermite, picked it up, then began shimmying up the side of the Paladin. He attached the charge to the cockpit, then ignited it. Once he estimated there was a good sized hole, he emptied his magazine, trying his best not to get bucked off into a patch of hot napalm.