Board Thread:Role Plays/@comment-5999656-20190205035159/@comment-25389303-20190507170135

It wasn't often that Diaboli miscalculated the power balance of a conflict, but he supposed even he was capable of making mistakes. So he was surprised when, despite their superior firepower, the tide of disorderly criminals somehow managed to successfully charge the police's line, inadvertently changing Diaboli's role from being the backbone of the defensive position to the tip of the spear that plunged into the ranks of the oncoming wave. Within moments he found himself lost amidst a sea of bodies.

What followed was a brutal business. Diaboli's Danse Macabre sent countless sinful souls screaming to the afterlife as his whip-arm, the Hand of Charon, cut, ripped, and tore a bloody swathe through the bloodthirsty horde. By the time the Huntsmen arrived to drive off the ragged remains of the criminal resistance, Diaboli was already drenched in the blood of his enemies.

When the SAINTS and the Huntsmen moved on to pursue their weakened prey, Diaboli stayed behind to catch his breath. The remaining undercover officers' expressions were ones of fear and morbid awe as they watched his bloodied figure stalk over the countless bodies now littering the auction room floor, until finally he came to a stop besides the body of an older man sitting on the ground, leaning against one of the room's walls as he tried to stem a stream of red flowing from a gunshot wound in his upper leg.

"Bastards shot me..." Craine hissed through gritted teeth as Diaboli knelt beside the man, motioning for the growing crowd of officers to give him some room.

"Here, allow me..." Diaboli said, moving aside the man's hand to clamp his own tightly around the wound. "I think it hit an artery," he noted somewhat distantly.

"Bastards..." Craine muttered again, the back of his head lightly hitting the wall several times as he spoke. He seemed more annoyed than anything at this turn of events. "Help me up - I can still walk."

"I'm afraid that's not happening, Craine," Diaboli told him in a firm voice.

"Nonsense, my men need me," the officer replied. But as he tried to rise, Diaboli quickly pushed him back to the ground.

"I'm going to have to insist, old man. Your men will be in good hands, I assure you."

Craine gave him a dark look, as if he could tell the younger man was up to something. "What do you mean by that, exactly?" he said in a low, simmering voice.

Diaboli leant forward. "There's been a change of plans," he said quietly, glancing behind momentarily to eye the undercover agents milling aimlessly around the body-strewn battleground. "Tell these men they work for me now. This is my operation. You'll just slow us down."

As Craine processed this ultimatum, Diaboli reached forward with his spare hand to fish inside the man's coat pocket.

"You bloody idiot...they're cops, not some street rats you can just patch over," Craine growled, voice growing dangerously loud. "They won't follow an outsider."

Diaboli was silent for a moment, before nodding. A moment later, Craine's body suddenly spasmed - a short cry of pain escaping his lips from some unseen agony.

"Ah...It seems I may have...touched a nerve," Diaboli whispered, a small smile forming on his lips as he glanced at Craine's flowing wound. "You should think twice about raising your voice at me - it'd be a shame is you had to walk with a limp for the rest of your life. Believe me, you wouldn't be the first cop I've crippled."

Diaboli eased the pressure on the man's nerve, eliciting a small sigh of relief from the officer. Still smiling, the blood-stained mob boss pulled a wallet-shaped object from the man's coat and looked at it.

"'CCC', huh?" Diaboli read aloud. "How very interesting. A member of the Crime Control Committee, here on the front lines?" He gave Craine a curious glance, but then shrugged. "A question for another day - regardless, this will do nicely."

Diaboli pocketed the ID, noting how pale the Council's undercover agent had grown. No doubt he was bordering the edge of unconsciousness.

"Thank you for your assistance, Mr Craine. And don't worry - when I have your men drag those lizards back here in chains, I'll be sure to give you all the credit."

Craine's eyes bulged as Diaboli gave the nerve in his leg a savage twist, his mouth widening in a silent scream before his body slumped over on its side. Seeing this, one of the casually-dressed officers hurried over.

"Is he ok?" the fresh-faced cop asked worriedly, clearly new to witnessing such unbridled carnage. Diaboli pretended to be unsure for a moment, before rising to his feet.

"He's bleeding badly. Someone get him to the medic." Then, in a louder voice that the seemingly leaderless band of undercover officers could all hear. "The rest of you, come with me. We're moving on."

Without another word, Diaboli turned and began marching in the direction of the fleeing criminals. Slowly, and with noticable reluctance, the dozen remaining plainly-dressed officers still capable of walking began trickling in behind, following the bloodied outsider's crusade towards the facility's black heart, and whatever dangers awaited them there.