[6] Chasing Rosemary

[Friend or Foe]

Wizard
Juno

Ares


"You don't talk much, do you?"

Rosemary was silent, as expected. The entire jeep ride to the destination, which turned out to be an abandoned military base, was filled with Ares talking to the soldiers in the backseat. She quietly stewed as Ares obviously enjoyed his new position in the game as an ally of Kai Demolic.

"Didn't think so," he continued. The four people got out of the car, and started walking towards the main room. The two guards behind Rose and Juno gave them distance.

Rosemary glared back and then forward again. "I don't speak to traitors," she said. "I'm only allowing you to accompany because that's what Kai wants."

"That what you think I am?" Ares asked, clearly not caring. "A traitor?"

"I don't know what you are yet," Rose said honestly, "And neither do you. Not yet."

Ares stopped her from opening the door by putting his arm in front of it. "Look, sister," he said, clearly annoyed. "You don't know me, and I don't claim to know you. But I do know that I had no loyalty to those people. I was with them because I was being hunted for my life. But I'm a man who likes to win, and I want to be on the winning side. You want to call me a traitor? Fine, I'll deal with it. But let me ask you something. If you care so much, why are you going along with this? Why not help them?"

Rosemary let out a smirk at the man's speech. "Just because I'm a friend of Kai's," she said, "Doesn't mean I'm on his side. I am one of the Four Prophets of the planet Kijara, and I can see deep down what is inside every person's soul. I know what Kai is made of. I know what your friends are made of. I help who deserves it, no matter what alliegiance they hold."

"Yea?" Ares said, interesting. "What am I made of, then? What do you see in me?"

The woman forced the door open, pushing past the man's hand that blocked her path. "I see, Ares," she began, "That you're only being a traitor because you think you're the bad guy. You thrive off of a being hated, and you love being controversial and having people second guess your loyalty. But you know what I think?"

"What?" He said, a little annoyed by her accuracy.

"I think deep down, somewhere in in that cold, black saiyan heart, you're a good person, and that terrifies you."

She walked into the building.

--------

Miles behind the military complex was a jeep. Jackson was driving it, with Wizard next to him making small talk. The usually ladies man was being silent, after losing a coin flip for the right to travel with Piper and Sophia. It wasn't that he didn't like Wizard or Jackson (the opposite, actually, as he held respect for Oliver Nash, something he didn't hold for many men), but rather it was just he really hated that Sophia was somewhere else.

"We're coming up on it," Jackson warned them. "Look, fighting Rosemary head on is a back idea. We're gonna need to come up with a plan to sneak in. She's not that good at hand-to-hand combat, so getting up close and personal is how we get that Emblem."

"Sounds easy enough," Wizard commented.

"Yea, well," Jackson said, feeling Champ's breath behind him as the dog rested by Juno, "The trick is actually getting close. Nobody uses ki like she does. She has like...a relationship with energy that I can't even explain. If you've ever seen her in action, you'd know...there's something different in the way she uses ki. It's like another plain of existence to her. It's a life force."

"I've seen it," Juno spoke up behind them. "I can explain it. It's like a beautiful dance," he said, "Her words trap you, her beauty stuns you...and her movements can kill you."

Jackson nodded, impressed by the poetic description. "Yea," he responded, "What he said."
















(Aight, you guys have creative control. Keep in mind Jackson and Champ are there, and Ares, you're with Rose. As usual, feel free to request roleplays from me, as either or both characters. Try to avoid having a direct confrontation with her, instead just minor scuffles or traps.

Also, IM or PM me for ideas on some of the things she might use as traps, or games like the previous Friend or Foe. I have a list of things she would do and if you can't think of some on my own, I got 'em

One more thing. Remember she and Jackson are friends, but she won't give up the Emblem quietly, even to him.)

[Juno]

‘Doth not rosemary and Romeo begin both with a letter?’

The buggy barreled forward at breakneck speeds, and Juno felt his body rocking along with his transport as they traversed the rocky desert. The occupants felt hot and drained underneath the blazing sun—Wizard often complained about the heat throughout the trip, and Jackson obliged to be polite; but the hybrid in the backseat remained hushed.

His eyes were closed, and his head was leaning back, letting the desert winds—which were as hot and fierce as the sun—dance with his black hair. Before a lengthy amount of time had passed, he had shed the shirt of his dark jumpsuit in favor of letting the heat hit his young chest, which he half-hoped might tan his pale skin. He remembered fondly the tan he’d had on Mercy—his experience on Frost, however, had quickly depleted his skin of the sun’s effect.

Exhaustion slipping over him, he had almost fallen asleep by the time the driver—Jackson—had broken the silence. The fortuneteller started, sitting up abruptly to hear the man’s piece.

“We’re coming up on it,” the faux-chauffeur noted, and though Wizard smiled in contentment that they were reaching their goal, the notice of closing in on the scarfed woman’s location only made Juno worry. “Look, fighting Rosemary head on is a bad idea,” Jackson continued, stating facts about her that Juno knew all too well. Hand-to-hand combat, as the giant suggested, was the best way to go.

“Sounds easy enough,” Wizard threw in. Juno scoffed at the idea—his commentary was not only unnecessary, but completely incorrect.

“Yea, well, the trick is actually getting close,” Jackson informed the ex-cop as the dog slithered away from Juno’s lap towards its master’s voice, allowing him to slide closer to the conversation. “Nobody uses ki like she does. She has, like—a relationship with energy that I can’t even explain. If you’ve ever seen her in action, you’d know: there’s something different about the way she uses ki. It’s like another plane of existence to her. It’s a life force.” Juno nodded along.

“I’ve seen it; I can explain it,” he revealed to the pair. He and Sophia hadn’t really spoken of their encounter with the mistress since it had occurred, but now seemed to be like the best time. “It’s like a beautiful dance,” he explained, dreaming of it in an almost fond manner, “Her words trap you; her beauty stuns you; and her movements can kill you.”

Wizard’s eyes grew wide, and Jackson nodded, an impressed expression washing over his countenance. Juno smiled meekly. “Yea,” Jackson agreed, “What he said.”

As the military base grew ever closer, Juno felt the air inside the jeep getting progressively tenser. Nash seemed to continue having a fine time making small talk, but the two warriors who knew what this woman was capable of—they were clearly getting slightly on edge.

Before five more minutes had passed, the buggy that the three men were in slid to a stop on the concrete that had replaced the sand and rocks underneath them. The confident Oliver Nash was the first to exit the car, and immediately lifted his cannon onto his shoulder. Though its ability to teleport was gone, the ex-cop had found a pair of old missiles in the trunk of their jeep, and though he didn’t know if they’d work, it didn’t hurt to try.

“Nash!” Jackson halted, and the grey-haired man turned to face the foe-turned-friend. “We can’t do anything stupid—now, put it down.” Reluctantly, Wizard obliged, slinging the cannon back over his shoulder and letting it hang by a loose strap there.

The final person to leave the car was the shirtless half-Saiyan, Juno; he and Champ leapt from the back seat following the two larger men, and while the mutt raced for his master, Juno hung back, overlooking the military compound.

“Come on out, Rosemary,” the hybrid muttered to himself, inaudible to his companions. “I know you’re here.” The cluster of gentlemen stood still and quiet for a few seconds, Jackson and Juno waiting for the inevitable while Wizard tapped his foot impatiently.

“That’s it, I’m heading in,” Nash finally subjected, and pulled the cannon from his shoulder, aiming it at the large hangar door ahead. He had placed his hand on the trigger, prepped to fire, when suddenly, it creaked.

The large, rusted door took a second to get its bearings, but finally begin to slide upwards, revealing the interior of the military base to the emblem-hunters. Inside was an old hangar, decked from corner-to-corner with fighter jets and tanks. Nash was impressed by the artillery, and as he gazed at the gargantuan weapons, he relaxed—even if only slightly.

Rosemary took her chance, and before any of them could do anything to stop her, she had appeared from the shadows and shot a blast of ki right at Oliver Nash. I should’ve seen that coming, Juno scolded himself, notching his body into a battle stance. He leapt forward, catapulting off the jeep and over Rosemary’s head. The red-haired woman’s eyes followed him, and while she was distracted, the tumultuous fist of Jackson Pride connected to the back of her head.

Catching herself, Rose spat out a bit of blood before looking to her attacker. “Jackson?! Why the heck did you do that to me?” she screeched at her friend. Jackson sighed, stepping back.

“Rose,” he said calmly, lowering himself into a stance, “Just give us the emblem.” Juno slid off of the nose of the fighter jet he’d landed on and pulled her up gently. Nash stood by; he was unaware of why exactly the pair was being so calm with whom he could only know to be a murderess.

“What in God’s name are you guys doing?” he yelled. “Finish her and get that emblem!” he called, raising his cannon and squeezing the trigger. Juno quickly reached into Nash’s mind, reappointing his aim to where the missile would crash harmlessly into the wall of the base.

“Oliver, stay calm,” Juno reprimanded his companion as the missile crashed into the wall of the base, leaving it stained with the charred marks of the explosion. “Rosemary—don’t make this harder than it has to be, we don’t want to hurt you,” he told her.

Rosemary smirked, and before the (only slightly love-struck) hybrid could even think to react, she had backhanded him across the face, and slipped back into the shadows. Juno touched his cheek, almost feeling her handprint staining it. Wizard swaggered over to his companion, helping him up off the ground. Slowly, Rosemary’s cackling laughter faded away into silence, and all was still.

“She can be such a whore sometimes,” Jackson sighed.

[Kappa]

The Wizard scoffed as he picked the boy up off the ground. “She can be such a whore sometimes,” Juno said, with the articulation of a high schooler. To this, Oliver said nothing. Instead he looked up at his comrade, the man who stood at seven foot infinity, Jackson Pride. The titan looked a bit … perplexed. Former detective Oliver Nash could relate. After hearing all the hype about Rosemary, it was hard to believe that she would come at them so hard, and so quickly.

“That wasn’t Rosemary,” Pride stated, bluntly.

Juno protested. “But that’s impossible. We all saw her and she moved just like…”

“Her, I know. But that’s what she wanted you to see. It was an illusion, to distract us,” he tried to explain. “Rosemary…” he paused, obviously troubled by this, “…can turn your minds to clay and mold them as she sees fit.” Jackson turned to the others, becoming quite serious, “Keep your wits about you and don’t believe everything you see.”

“In other words, any of you could be her…” retorted the Wizard; to be bitter, but also to break the eerie silence. Surrounded by jets and tanks, Oliver should have felt quite at home. But something about this place gave him the creeps. Cameras aside, it felt like someone else was watching him… prodding him like some kind of lab rat. And the walls, it was like they could breathe, alive with some of presence.

And none of this sat well with the old man.

---

Suddenly, they heard a noise. It was the tapping of boots against concrete, but from multiple sources. So many that the footsteps made a militant chorus … which was not exactly the best of news for the party of three. Juno looked to Wizard, and he to Jackson. There was an unspoken consensus on the audible threat being the ‘bad guys’ and so, they fanned out like soldiers in guerilla warfare.

Juno took cover behind a tank and an orb of ki materialized in his hand. ‘You won’t play me a fool again, Rosemary. Its time to put an end to your games,’ he thought to himself, a psychological preparation for whatever was to come.

About thirty feet away from him, Oliver hammered down on the wing of a jet. His forearm connected with a clank as he tore the feathers from the mechanical bird. Jackson, who had stopped reinforcing the doors for a moment, looked back and tossed him the facial equivalent of ‘wtf?’

“A shield,” he explained, setting up the massive barrier in front of him. It was five feet of metal and rather unwieldy, but it would do the job.

---

The enemy’s entrance was quite literally a booming one, as rocket-propelled explosives rained in on the hangar, obliterating Jackson’s reinforcements on the door, as well as the door itself. There, at the forefront of a battalion of maybe fourty guards, was Ares—the soldier of fortune—unarmed compared to the rest, but only because he preferred his fists. He smirked and called into the hangar, tauntingly, “come out, come out, wherever you are!”

Silence hung about the hangar, as the smoke still guarded the sight of any inhabitants. The mercenary cursed. He was Hell-bent on finding his adversary but he couldn’t see a damned thing. “Nash!” he roared, “Come out and fight, you coward!”

There was a pause before a giant heap of metal and wires penetrated the smoke, headed toward the guards. And then a loud bellow—“Chouginga!”—which was followed by a flaming skull of raw energy that too penetrated the smoke. Moving faster than the first, it collided with the junky airborne pile, triggering a massive explosion that consumed upward of ten soldiers.

Oliver, in the distance, smirked at the larger war veteran. “Using the plane’s fuselage as an explosive? Not bad…” Jackson commented, before they repeated the action and took out another four guards while the rest took cover.

However, the numbers hadn’t died down. Instead, they … increased? Another twenty soldiers replaced those fallen, coming from the sidelines. It seemed as though Kai Demolic had raised his own personal army. When the smoke cleared, they could see just how outnumbered they were – and how screwed they might have been.

Though their tactics had been effective, they wouldn’t hold off long against this army if they didn’t come up with something. And then there was…

“OLD MAN!” Ares yelled; face animating his eagerness to jump into combat. He pumped a wave of energy toward Oliver. Instinctively, the elder warrior raised his makeshift shield, and it lost about half its alloy defending against the blast. The warped, melted barrier was still standing though. Defiant and ready for more.

One thing had gone over the head of the war-loving mercenary, though. He had arrived with only two guards. The others had joined his party along the way, popping out of nowhere. Not to mention the fact that this fighting force just grew larger and larger. Ares just assumed they were reinforcements… but there was something ominous afoot. Something ominous, indeed.

Bathed in darkness, the red-haired woman sat in a luxurious chair on some unknown level of the base. Her face was veiled by the shadows but a small crack of light hit her cherry-red lipstick. The siren smirked.

[James]

Bullets rained hellfire down on the trio dug deep into the hanger, at the head of the fusillade Ares remained, arms crossed above his chest quietly enjoying the ringing of hot lead and voltage flying inches from him with that same devilish smirk gracing his lips. For being little more than over-paid buffoons with an impressive arsenal they certain did the trick when it came down to providing effective suppression. Although somewhat reluctant to end this fun, Ares raised a fist decisively, bringing a halt to the vicious hemorrhaging of ammunition.

"Those to my left spread along the wall to our backs. Those to the right at a kneel before them facing in," not once did the halfling commander hesitate a word, not even turning to ensure his orders were carried. "Both ranks fire about my position, maintain distance between those I flush out and the others coming to aid the one I do." he skipped forward, dropping into a full on sprint in before the soldiers had even finished organizing themselves.

Jackson, using the few precious seconds following the breach, took cover behind an iron-clad monstrosity of a tank parked a space back in row to the one Juno sat near leaving Oliver and his barrier in the forefront.

"Looks as though I wasn't the only one who you caught attention from." the bald brawler commented on the hybrid and his demands to the elder. Wizard gave a distinct unamused grunt, adding pressure after the newly refreshed onslaught of rifle noise demanded his attention by continuing to whittle away at his makeshift shield. "Shit, Nash!" was all Pride had been able to get out as the ex-officer was suddenly at odds with the burning Saiyan.

Ares tore through the remains of the wing, reaching at the man's neck through a jagged hole which Oliver swiftly took charge of, grabbing the boy's wrist and tearing him through the shield and onto the ground in one fluid motion. His hands moved with ingenuity, taking up the ample remains of the barricade looking to bring it down with divine judgment on the teenager at his feet. He hadn't gotten the bulky material two feet into the air when a gust of wind fled rapidly from his lungs, knocking Oliver back several steps.

That was all the hybrid needed to regain himself, rearing back his legs to his chest and kicking back up onto his feet back and into a sloppy rendition of a Southpaw stance, legs and arms fluctuating with the slightest movement. It was enough to catch Nash off guard who pulled himself back beneath the nearby one-winged jet, still aware of the enemy fire blocking the only obvious route out.

Another explosion rocked the hanger as one of the fuel tankers parked precariously close to a munitions cache burst into flames, a direct hit by Juno who sunk back still heating the ground the organized soldiers stood upon with every blast he could get off. The mercenary stood unstable, falling to the floor to lay wearily on his face almost looking as though some momentary deficiency forced his body to react in the most peculiar of ways.

Oliver raised an eyebrow questionably staring at the unmoving body which slurred a garble of untranslatable words mixed with giggles.

"Wait," Jackson whispered to himself having watched the entire course of the squabble from afar, deciphering the chain of unorthodox moves with a variable index of knowledge obtained over the course of his career abroad. It didn't take much effort to see through the facade; the boy was versed in Zui Quan... the drunken fist.

The giant raised his voice but his speed and the drone of machine guns made any information he tried to spout obsolete. Within arm's length the body of the youth reanimated, hands pushing up as his legs swung around from behind nearly catching Nash if his reaction to the movement had been a second more delayed.

Springing to life the hybrid pounced, swinging punches lackadaisically in correlation with his swerving footwork that seemed to roll in which ever direction the jabs were being thrown. The mature fighter weaved, ducked and dodged fending the blows as they came which also equally varied in strength making every block a gamble in itself. The halfling leapt into the air after a volley of estranged haymakers to bring his heel down over Oliver's head, an almost too predictable move allowing the man to simply shrug it off with a swipe of his forearm looking to bring his other fist to meet the hybrid's gut half way down.

"Here's your fucking justice!" quaked Ares, his palm of ki darting to meet Wizard's fist, the two warrior shot back- from the point of contact the Saiyan was thrown through the broadside of a jet while Oliver found himself amidst a flurry of paper, having landed in what would appeared to have been an office of some type.

The mercenary managed to pick himself up from a crumpled row of seats from inside the large carrier jet, wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve as he stood scanning out the hole he had flown through.

"This is a special opportunity, an offer if you will to liven things up should the tables tilt." Kai explained casually strolling the length of an elegant ivory desk, his hand brushing the length of its seamless surface. "You don't know me, but I know you... your history, personality, ethics."

The boy stood silent. Demolic chuckled, pleased to see all the research his contacts put to work was well worth the money, accurate too.

"Very well. Your role will be the 'ambitious rebel, playing by your own rules and, when the time is right, you'll turn your back on your friends in favor of joining the prevailing evil.' As you can most likely already assume I will not be giving you any further information aside from what you will need to play your part." he stopped short at the edge of the table, taking up a glass of refined crystal with some golden liquid swishing between cold ice inside.

"Anything else?" Ares queried.

Taking a brief wash of the beverage he looked out of the corner of his eye, nodding slightly as he set the glass back down. "None of my lieutenants will know of this. I expect you to remain in role as best as possible at all times. Remember, you're under the trigger just as much as everyone else out there."

The warrior narrowed his eyes, turning towards his legion of soldiers making the assumption of what the mad man said to be true... this would be one of the deciding factors to his representation as the 'devious betrayer'. He snickered lightly remembering what Rosemary had told him about the true depths to his soul. Ignorance is indeed bliss.

[Juno]

Juno’s ki spilt forth over the floor, emerging from his palms in sapphire bursts of energy. While Wizard and Jackson were handling Ares, Juno was handling the lower legions of Rosemary’s guard—but there was something quite different about them. These guards weren’t like any he’d encountered before in Friend or Foe; rather, they seemed to be invulnerable to the Saiyan’s assault; every time he’d hit them, they’d always find a way back up. It was a puzzling concept, but somehow, they were… invincible?

The fortuneteller quirked an eyebrow—how could these soldiers be so powerful? They didn’t seem to be near as strong as the three warriors in any aspect besides endurance. The psychic glanced at his opposition, and decided that now was time for a little experiment. His thoughts raced as two soldiers darted towards him, one raising his rifle in the air while the other steadied his aim.

Juno reached forth and took the blunt-attacking soldier by the wrist, tossing him towards his counterpart. Much to his the contrary of his first inspection—but drastically proving his most recent hypothesis correct—the tumbling soldier tumbled right through his friend, as if they both were ghosts. The other continued to ready his gun, and Juno held himself open, ready for the next part of his experiment. The soldier fired off several bolts of ki, which zoomed right through Juno’s exposed chest. The seer’s realization was immediate.

“Nash, Jackson—” the supernatural called, “They’re not real! The soldiers aren’t real! They can’t hurt us!”

Ares whipped his head towards the telepath, his eyes shocked with Juno’s statement. Much to the halfling’s surprise, it seemed that Rosemary hadn’t even let her own right-hand man in on the scheme. He chuckled—that woman was such a harlot. She’d concocted this scheme, and now Juno had figured it out—but had that been what she’d wanted?

WHACK—Juno felt a very real throbbing over his head as he fell to the ground, having a spasm from the shock. Since his recent discovery, he hadn’t expected any pain, but looked up to see one of Ares’s bodyguards. They were real.

He struggled to find Wizard and Jackson with his only receptive muscle, his eyes, as the bodyguard stepped on his throat, choking the air out of him. Jackson was struggling with Ares, and Wizard was quickly being dispatched by the other bodyguard—something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong. Juno felt his eyes grow weak, and eventually, everything drowned out around him—except for one, poignant sound.

Somewhere, deep within the complex, Rosemary was laughing.

~

Hot breath caressed his face, and sweat trickled down his forehead. The seer opened his eyes, finding himself laying on the ground, a beautiful young woman straddling him. He sat up in alarm, and the woman was gone, vanished into thin air.

Juno was alone.

Deep in the background, he heard tantalizing tango rhythms being played, but the room around him was empty and bare. The walls, the floor, the ceiling, everything was made of concrete, and there didn’t seem to be anything there or any way out. Was he trapped? Was she planning to suffocate him? Juno didn’t think that Rosemary would off him so frivolously, but then, she had done strange things before.

“Good afternoon, my dear,” he heard her enticing voice over some sort of intercom system. He glanced up out of instinct, knowing she wasn’t above him, but still searching for where the voice came from.

He panted wearily, sweat running down his bare chest. The concrete was warm against his feet; was she intentionally heating this room up? “Where are you, Rosemary?” he beckoned, and her shrill laughter replied. “You slut, I swear, if you don’t show yourself—”

“You’ll what? Burst through six feet of concrete?” she giggled. “You’re not that powerful, Juno. You and I both know that. No—I have a little game I’d like to play with you. It’s a bit of a different version of our previous game, because, you see, this time around, you have three chances to prove yourself, but you must complete two out of three tasks. However, the tasks are suited to your temptations; the hard part is not giving in.”

“What happens if I do give in?” Juno asked. He couldn’t see her, but he could tell that the scarfed mistress cracked a smile.

“Well, then, you get to leave… go free,” she smirked. “But the downside is, you don’t get your chance with me and you don’t get your chance at the amulet.” Juno sighed. The easy way out never seemed so hard.

The concrete slab of a wall just ahead of him began to slide away, slowly revealing a new wall, just slightly farther back. However, much to the supernatural’s dismay, shackled to the fortification was a woman. A petite woman, emerald in skin with flowing orange hair that seemed to have a natural ‘poof’ to it. Her blue eyes looked at him with agony, her white dress stained with the blood she lost fighting for her freedom.

“This,” Rosemary revealed, “is Zangya; your victim.”

“What do I have to do?” Juno asked curiously; suddenly, Zangya’s shackles were opened, and the Ader dropped to the floor, writhing in pain, clutching her reddened wrists.

“Your tasks will be gruesome, Juno,” Rosemary warned, “Are you sure you want to go ahead with this?” It was a disclaimer—Rosemary knew that the fortuneteller wouldn’t give up a shot at her.

Zangya looked up to her companion, fear gracing her features, and pitifully sputtered out one question. “Friend or Foe?”

“I can handle gruesome,” Juno assured his captor, and she laughed audibly over the loudspeaker.

“Okay, Mister Bold,” Rosemary prepped, “Your first task is to strip her, and throw her against the opposite wall. Once there and stripped, shackles will appear around her wrists once more, preparing her for the next task.” Juno sighed—did Rosemary have some kind of homosexual agenda? He scoffed, though—stripping this woman down didn’t seem so gruesome, just slightly violating. So he stepped towards her, and she cowered. He grabbed her by the wrist, pulling her closer.

One by one, he ripped each article of clothing off of her, until she was completely bare in all her bloodied glory. He tossed her against the wall, and as Rosemary had promised, chains once more surrounded her hurting wrists. Juno looked to the ceiling for his next task.

“Now,” Rosemary chuckled. “Have your way with her.” Juno looked down at the scared woman. He didn’t want to force her into anything, but he needed this shot at Rosemary. He stepped towards her, unbuttoning and unzipping his pants, and then sliding off all of his lower clothes in one fell swoop. He sat next to the woman and grabbed her by her sides—she struggled, but he fought back.

“It’s alright,” he soothed, “I can make you want me—” he whispered, preparing to use his abilities to possess her and influence her desires. But she fought bravely, and quickly spat one last thing out at him.

“I HAVE A CHILD!” she yelled. Tears soaked her cheeks, and Juno stopped, sliding back. “I… have a child,” she stuttered, and Juno looked at her, and then closed his eyes. His conscience was overwhelming him. Why should making love to her have anything to do with her having a child? And yet, he found himself swayed by her argument, as if defacing her soul as he was prepared to would somehow scar the innocent child. No one was innocent, of course, not truly innocent—but a child was more innocent than anyone else he could imagine.

“Not this,” he muttered. “Not this.”

Rosemary frowned in her control room. “Fine,” she whimpered slightly. Juno could feel the tension rising in her voice. “You have one more chance, boy, or else no dice!” Juno nodded, and listened carefully. “Kill her.”

He slid back once more, standing and walking towards the other wall. He leant against it, looking back at the nude woman whom he’d just been ordered to execute. What type of torture was this? Moral torture—Rosemary’s specialty. The red-haired woman was especially good at making him think, and he honored her for that much, but how much could one person stand? He slid down, vacillating.

Zangya tensed up, breathing heavily. A fury—or a fear—trickled into her eyes as she concentrated on Juno. The hybrid quirked an eyebrow, but suddenly saw her eyes glow red.

“LADY’S VISION!” she screeched, and two fluorescent beams of cherry light burst forth from her eyes. A bare Juno quickly tumbled out of the way, reached for a sharp piece of stone on the floor. Zangya followed him with her eyes, followed him with her ‘Lady’s Vision,’ but he was too quick. He approached her, and flourished with a mighty battle cry, thrusting the rock into her neck. She screamed in horror, her eyes going dark.

He stood, stepping back in horror. What had he done? The harlot deserved it, he convinced himself, continuing to back away, as if distancing himself from what he had done would make him feel better. He had just killed a mother. That child would never be the same—not without his mother…

The wall fell back, and Juno fell with it, into another chamber. He collapsed to the floor, the wall behind him sealing up, blocking him off from the view of Zangya’s dead body. He looked up to see a throne, and Rosemary sitting atop it. Around her neck was the treasure they’d been searching for—the Raptor Emblem. However, in front of the scarfed mistress was a large, thick wall of glass, which the supernatural assumed wasn’t as easily penetrable as it looked. The red-haired urchin’s face had grown pale.

“You killed her,” Rosemary muttered weakly, “You KILLED her.”

Juno panted, standing up. A coat rack arose from the golden floor, and the hybrid’s clothing rested upon it. He rushed for it, slipping on a new pair of underwear, followed by his traditional navy pants, shirt, and cloak, his black boots, and his white scarf. He felt at home once more—at least, a little bit home.

Then, he turned to the witch behind the glass. She had come down from her seat now, and now faced Juno directly, with only the glass separating them. “You killed her,” she repeated. “WHY DID YOU KILL HER?!”

Juno shrugged. “You told me to,” he answered brusquely. “I had to see you, Rosemary. I did what I had to do.” Rosemary had a look of horror on her face like had never been seen before. She pressed her hands to the glass, and Juno could see it melting ever so slightly beneath her fingertips.

“No one was supposed to die, Juno,” she choked, “No one.” The hybrid scoffed, looking at the woman whom he felt a certain mixture of hatred and attraction for. How could she be so weak?

“So, now what? Do we fight? Where’s Nash, and Jackson? And the dog?” Juno bombarded her with questions, and she shook her head fiercely, attempting to regain her composure so that she could give the boy his due answers with a clear head.

“No,” she stammered, “It isn’t that easy, Juno.”

[Juno]

‘Ay, nurse; what of that? both with an R.’

~

With a flick of his quill, he underlined that line of Romeo’s and the nurse’s line preceding it, for he knew that his fellow tenant of the room would appreciate the dramatic irony that Shakespeare’s famous romantic work tendered them in such a tenuous time.

The cramped study that was tucked through an ostensibly peripheral door at the corner of Rosemary’s chambers seemed, although inducing claustrophobia in whatever ill-fated soul had the misfortune to be its current lodger, to be homely, at least to the intellectual that currently occupied its confines. The diminutive desk he sat at was antiquated and felt as if it would break at any time from even a pressure as feeble as that of the hybrid’s pen to the age-stained pages of the First Folio.

All of the classic literature of the Elizabethans was set aside for one measly moment while the hybrid considered the outlandish emotion that had bathed him in what he could only describe as pure, unconditional bliss. To put it in perspective, he was naught but the cherry-haired woman’s captive; yet, he felt a new-fangled glee overwhelming him that he had—as of some minutes ago—been vacant of for most of his holiday.

Closing the colossal manuscript with a boisterous THUNK, Juno arose from the antediluvian writing desk and deposited the quill in the equally out-of-date ink bottle; subsequently he turned on his heel, and sauntered in quite the traditionally-Juno fashion en route for the room’s point of entry and—alternatively—it’s point of exit. The rusted knob turned at his fingers’ command, and once more the crossbreed shared the room with the scarfed game-master, of sorts. She eyed him mockingly as he reentered; she had recovered what poise she had shed beforehand.

“Good morrow, dear,” the boy flirtatiously greeted his companion. Rosemary giggled as she settled into her regal throne, eyeballing him through the thick panel of glass that still managed to set them apart. She lifted a hand and gestured towards a comfy-looking recliner that had appeared where the coat rack had once stood; Juno obliged her unspoken command, taking a seat. “Now,” he muttered, “I’ve been wondering, milady: what exactly is not that easy?”

Rosemary flinched—seeming almost panicky—in her mountain of scarves. She didn’t respond at first, but rather cleared her throat, as if stalling for time so she could gather her thoughts. On the other hand, the thought did cross the supernatural’s mind that she was afraid to speak of whatever it was that would obstruct his path. “My dear boy,” she consoled affectionately, “Life is not that easy.” Juno scowled—she was quite palpably evading the subject under discussion. Snarling in the beginnings of sheer frustration, the soothsayer speedily decided that this was no time for her mind games. Patience was a virtue, but not in a conundrum that may well pilot him to demise if gone unanswered.

“Rosemary—” he stammered heatedly, “—I don’t have the time, the patience, or the want to play another one of your games.” The mistress of trivia on the opposite side of the looking-glass smiled oddly, amused with his resilience, even though she’d known he had it in him. He wasn’t afraid to challenge her wit with his own, and she was well aware—but this time, she feared, he was at wit’s end. “I have fought your fake soldiers. I have faced my inner demons. I have answered your petty questions. Now, I have one question for you, and I’m going to need you to be completely truthful with me: friend or foe, Rose?”

It was the first time he’d referred to her by anything other than Rosemary. Though such trivial matters as the name one person called another may seem insignificant to anyone else, to such a clever and insightful mind as Rosemary’s, it meant the world. Why had he gone to such lengths to call her by her shortened name? Few people did, so why him? He could be trying to establish a sense of familiarity, a sense of trust that was a frail and deplorable attempt at getting her to give in, but overall, the hybrid’s motive seemed hazy.

“This is not the time or the place, Rosemary!” Juno pleaded, slamming his fist against the glass in vain. His knuckles turned red with the scrapes, and tiny traces of half-human blood trickled out. The glass, however, had little more than a dent upon it. The barrier was too strong even for Juno’s frustration to plow through; even his Saiyan fury would not help him now. It was so unfair, how the fates chose to cut the strings that would most inconvenience the players. What was Juno without a steady head on his shoulders? He was a flighty young Romeo, similar in character to that pathetic boy in that worthless tragedy.

Rosemary sighed. “Perhaps I can give you one answer.”

[Kappa]

One by one, the Red Queen knocked over the other players like chess pieces, right off the board. They fell ... until eventually they got caught up in her web. There, they were strung up inside their own psyche; manipulated like marionettes. Such a feat would have been remarkable at the hands of a normal telepath, but Rosemary was a master.

The pair of guards looked down at the unconscious bodies laid out before them—of which there were four, Ares included—and shrugged.

“Bring all of them to the thrown room,” Rosemary ordered over a walky talky.

The bigger of the two grimaced, throwing the elderly detective over his shoulder. He waved his associate over to Jackson Pride, “well you heard ‘er, Frank!”

The other mercenary gulped, “You wouldn’t happen t’ have a fork-lift, wouldja?”

---

Drip, drip, drip…

Oliver woke to the sound of water droplets against concrete. His eyes opened, but it was dark, probably night—and darker still in his current dwelling. Getting to his knees he identified the place as an alley; a street alley. The air was thick, as if it had rained only seconds prior. Feeling around, he marked a trash bin at his left and a bolted door beside it.

Finally, he stood up and corrected his posture, only to see a faint light pass through his open legs. Instantly, Oliver did a 180° turn to face the source: a street. A bulb was hanging over the sidewalk, and beyond that was a road. Passing vehicles were illuminated every few seconds, in no particular pattern. All of it was too strange, too … familiar. He felt around the walls of the alleyway as he made his way to the open city block.

Where the Hell was he? Had he not been on an island only seconds ago, participating in the game show: Friend or Foe? And if not, had it all been a dream? No, that didn’t make a bit of sense. If it was only a dream, he would have awoken to his rusty cage in Deep Blue; not here. There were too many questions and too few answers. Regardless of who or what had driven him from the island, he breached the darkness and stepped into the light, where he found…

“Phil’s Barber Shop,” in the Red Light District. South City.

The smell of the streets, which had once given him a feeling of comfort, now made him sick to his stomach. He wasn’t prepared to be back here. Not yet, not after what happened. It all felt eerie, like some kind of divine intervention by a twisted God. His mind ran in fifteen different directions, trying to make sense of everything, but to no avail. So lost was he, that he stood there on the busy sidewalk—cold and still, like an ice sculpture—for several minutes.

Until—crash!—a paperboy collided with him. The bicycle’s tire quaked against Oliver’s calf, sending the boy (and his bike) reeling. The hard working teen had scratched his elbow on the pavement, and was tending to it, when he looked up at the former detective. He was terrified and confused all at once, probably wondering why this old man was perusing the Red Light District shirtless.

“I... I’m sorry, sir. Clumsy, I am.” The paperboy stuttered at the old man. Oliver growled, but begrudgingly helped the courier up. “Watch where you’re going kid,” he barked, like any other cranky senior.

“Oh yes, sir, of course, sir!”

The teen, with his flustered cheeks hidden behind horn-rimmed glasses, was about to peel away when the Wizard called after him. “Ay, boy! You got a smoke?”

The boy paced back towards his elder and forked up a half-empty package of Cicero’s. Oliver gladly claimed them. “Thanks… er … uh … keep off these things, they’ll kill ya. And you have no business being around here at this hour so get lost.”

“Yes, sir!” the courier chimed before departing for good.

Shaking his head, the Wizard lit up a cigarette and inhaled the sweet nicotine. It was amazing, really. That run in with reality had taken him away from his unending enigma and captured him entirely. This place felt real, smelt real, and looked real… so who was to say it wasn’t? Well, most would leave it alone but not Oliver Nash, who was once one of the greatest detectives in the city’s history. He ashed the death-stick and took to investigation.

He stepped forward, about to scope the city beyond the district. Maybe he would find some clues, if he snooped around the old neighborhood. And so, he took a second footstep, but this one was meant with the crunching of paper beneath his boots. Oliver glanced at the ground and noticed the boy had dropped a newspaper. Cocking an eyebrow the detective picked up the print, inquisitive as ever, only to be struck by awe-inspiring déjà vu.

“No … that—that can’t be right.” But it was. Staring him in the face in bold letters was the hand-written date: September 25th, 0093.

He was back. Back to when it all went wrong. The day that he lost his one and only love:

“Marion.”

[James]

The shivering focus singled in on an eye; a solitary void, black and heartless but oh so vibrant and alive. Peeling back layers of reality with its stringent glare enough to peer deep, deep into the faces. Deep into the faces blocking his view of the others who stood in line waiting for his hand to grace their throats, granting them vindication from the toils of life.

"Is this who you are?"

"Next... next!" Ares twinged, a full plethora of lusts flooding his pallet, overwhelming him down to the core. "Next! Next! Next!" with each call another of the faces plumed into a fountain of fire, its spray dousing his body in refreshing liquid warmth.

Grove after grove filled the air with a displaying inferno unlike that ever met by Hell and its demons as the throngs of bodies kindled the fires. Within this fanciful version of the nether dominated the Saiyan, a master of his domain and ruler of even those to oppose.

"Or is this who you think you are."

"NEXT!"

But there was none more to come, only the surroundings filled with the fallen. In the far distant stood a lone figure amongst the featureless bodies of the deceased, rebellious to take the step towards judgment. The rogue lit the fires within the executioner who struck forth to claim his prize, stepping through the dead masses to happen upon the defiant one's turned back.

He placed a hand firmly on the man's shoulder, whipping him around with a fury nearly catching his own fleeing tongue down his throat as his own image stared back at him. The imposter stepped forward towards the hangman, reaching out and grabbing to bring him in close till they were face to face, his world fading to white as the doppelganger whispered, "Come on... don't fight it."

He awoke again. His breath magnified itself into something of a roar inside the bowels of the chamber, each infinitesimal sound turned up a thousand fold so that even the beat of his heart was more ferocious than any beast he had heard before. The weight of the world spread itself over the largest part of his neck as he struggled to pick himself to his knees on the cold cobble stone floor of the dungeon. He found himself not in the warmth of his kill but rather the placid existence of honoring life and foregoing the cruelties.

All willingness to proceed, even wake to incite the coming events of this new dream danced just out of reach as he sat bent forward, head between his arms writhing in the whirling wash spinning within his head. Ares groaned, turning his head over on its side in his palm still largely unaware of the immediate area surrounding him.

"You're taking this harder than it has to be," that voice felt familiar, heard somewhere before but he couldn't focus. Everything fused together in a tightly bound mess of thread that, try as he might, refused to untangle itself. "Your resisting is just making this worse."

"... fffuu." more noise. His vocabulary had been cut down to little more than the syllables managed through grunts and fleeting air from his lungs, trying to summon strength to form words with his lips.

"Shhh." skin, soft and supple skimmed across his back; touching near his tail, climbing to his neck where fingertips traced the outline of the tensed muscles, resenting the tender contact.

An intense struggle with his eyes ended in a stalemate, dropping his head in defeat as frustration overtook confusion. "Ha... who." the boy managed, clutching his fists in attempt to undergo the necessary will to speak.

"Oh, opening again, are we?" lightly they chuckled. "Who do you want me to be?" she whispered like a snake in his ear, a viper. "Must be wandering through that head of yours... names, places, sounds, anything to give you clues. Leaving you completely vulnerable for the curious to watch."

"Stt-stay out." he growled striking out but only managed to drag his fingers across the damp floor's surface, wincing as the raw tips of his fingers slid across spines of what felt like some nautical sea urchin bristling against a nonexistent current. The possibility of pain was evident yet the thought wasn't enough to drown out the compulsion the grab the prickly item, a strange desire coaxing his palm down with enough pressure to crush it into the ground.

As if knowing what he would have to do his breathing became sporadic, each rise and fall of his chest pulsing a rush of what could only be described as a sexual frustration through his body till his skin punctured the jagged edges. His body trembled while liquid trickled down from his lips, tasting and feeling as though something blocked him from inhaling... with a shock, his eyes opened.

The room was bathed in white; small and very simplistic with four walls, a ceiling and a floor leaving nothing of its construction to the imagination. From his mouth he drew forth his hand, marked and bleeding with imprints of his teeth on the skin where he bit. A slow, rhythmic clapping from sources unknown filled the room now that Ares was fully aware of his location.

"Touché." an otherworldly voice congratulated him, the one that had visited him in the dungeon now spoke in full from what appeared to be the very room he stood in. "for having no concept of telepathy you guard yourself quite well, Ares." it was Rosemary. Though her personality was different, it was, without a doubt, one of the four Demons. "But I wonder- what is it exactly you don't want me to know, hm?"

Ares' lips parted as if preparing to speak only to close again in spite of himself. For the moment he knew one thing was for sure; where ever he was Rosemary was obviously in control.

[Kappa]

“Hard to believe, isn’t it?” It was a woman’s voice and her smug tone rang familiar. The Wizard instinctively spun around, to face the commentator, but he found no one; the street was empty, besides a few pushers at the corner. The old man grimaced, ‘I should have expected as much.’

“Rosemary!” he roared at the top of his lungs, earning him the attention of the drug dealers who tossed him crooked expressions. “This is your magic, isn’t it?”

The woman appeared inches from his face, in a cloud of smoke that only he could see. Rosemary was ethereal, immaterial … like a ghost. Her treacherously beautiful hair flickered in the wind like a lively fire, as she stared him in the eyes, smirking.

“Oliver, dear, you couldn’t begin to comprehend my magic.”

“What is this? Why have you taken me here?”

“To play a game.”

“A game?! You think this is f—“

“Now, now, Wizard, don’t lose your temper. Take a look at your watch and tell me the time.”

His watch? But he wasn’t wearing a… and there it was, on his left wrist. It had appeared out of nowhere, as good as new. The device taunted him with its ticks as he pulled it in to read. The time was 11:11 PM. That night … the tragedy had taken place just after midnight. He still had time! But none of it was remotely plausible. Oliver furrowed his brow with frustration, before lifting his head to question the witch. But Rosemary was gone—wisped off in a gust of wind.

The night’s cool air embraced his statue-esque figure, as he stood in the middle of the street: alone and silent.


“...damnit.”

---

The Wizard had ascended a ladder in an alleyway off of Young & Bloor and was now scaling the rooftops of South City’s red light district. His Godmark was glowing quite fiercely, animating the passion he carried with each stride. ‘Save her,’ was set on repeat in his mind, calling out from every dark corner of his psyche. Although the possibility was slim, he was starting to come around to the impossible setting; he was starting to believe in Rosemary’s Game. If there was even the slightest chance that he could change that night, he had to hang onto it.

Puffing cigarette smoke into the air, Oliver lunged forward onto a building he knew quite well. His run had depressed to a walk, as he looked over the edge. There was an abandoned warehouse across the street. It was the same one he had found the Ripper in, just five months ago. And it was there, he would find Marion … and change her fate. He stepped out, preparing to vault himself toward his destination, when a cold skepticism hit him like a bullet-train. The Wizard stopped in his tracks.

There was a crack of lightning and a boom of the thunder from the clouds above. It started raining … again. The déjà vu was sickening.

“No, I won’t believe it,” the broken man whispered bitterly, “this place can’t be real. It’s just … a memory.”

It was then that the red-haired goddess returned to him. Her mischievous expression had changed to an oddly sympathetic one. Rosemary’s Ghost sat next to the old man. Her long legs dangled freely off the edge.

“No, Oliver. This world is real if want it to be. Maybe not the reality you know … but it can be that, and more. You see, the human brain is a remarkable instrument with boundless potential. If utilized correctly, it can forge reality, as the creator sees fit,” she paused, struggling to explain, “All the mind needs is a little push and that’s what I did for you.

“You can get your revenge, Wizard. Kill the Ripper … save Marion! You can change everything and start over.”

Oliver Nash looked to the concrete beneath his feet, near the edge of the building’s rooftop. He was quiet … contemplative.

“That power is yours; all you have to do is reach out and grab it.” Rosemary’s tone was soft and genuine. In truth, she had looked into the old man’s soul and saw his existence for what it was: a tortured one. His was a spirit on the fringe of death, with only its ancient values salvaging what it once was. Perhaps she could save him?

---

The Wizard’s eyebrows narrowed and quite suddenly he launched himself off the edge, into the air and above the buildings. He came crashing down hard on the warehouse roof with a ‘thud’. When he got to his feet, the former detective kept his ears attentive.

Oliver was quietly gauging his surroundings, when he heard a whimper. It had come from below, probably two floors down. “Let me go!” a woman protested. He recognized the voice. It was Marion. He didn’t wait another second. With all the might he could summon the man unleashed his Shocking First Bullet on the concrete below him; and he hammered his way through not one floor, but two!

Landing abruptly in a cloud of plywood, dust, smoke, and debris, Oliver’s entrance caught his nemesis off guard. The South City Ripper, with his exposed skeleton and gelatinous skin, accidentally lost his grip on the girl, who shuffled away from the beast. Awed, but relieved, she clung to Oliver Nash; and he could feel her racing heart beat pulse create a dialogue with his own. Her warm touch … he had forgotten what it felt like. Marion was in his arms again—

Crack!

Clearly, he was distracted by the moment, and he paid for it when he tasted the fist of the annoyed demonoid. The self-titled ‘Demogorge’ followed up with a parry of hits, and the girl yelped, agonized by the damage dealt on her lover. A conclusive hit with a little more ‘umph’ behind it slammed Nash into a wall. Blood trickled out of the fighter’s locked jaw and down his chin.

The Wizard simply smirked. Compared to Jackson Pride, the Ripper was an amateur. The old man lunged forward like lightning and caught his enemy unawares, grabbing him by the neck. It was apparent now, that Oliver had made up his mind. But the ritual wasn’t finished. Not yet. Rosemary took a deep breath and spoke; her voice dominating the Wizard’s senses.

“I see you’ve made your choice. But I’ve got one more question, before I go.”

Rosemary’s sentence had come at an odd time, while Oliver’s hands were wrapped around the neck of the South City Ripper, strangling the life right out of him. The beast gargled, defiant, but the Wizard’s grip was too strong. The scar—in the shape of a lightning bolt—glowed, a bright white, as his meridians pumped ki into his fingertips. He crushed the Ripper’s alien jugular with inhuman force.

Her voice boomed that infamous, defining question: “Friend or Foe?”

---

The question echoed through his head for what felt like an eternity; each vowel and consonant lasting an eternity. And Oliver Nash spent that time contemplating his actions, how he had come to this moment, and what exactly he was about to do. “I…” He was struck silent. But someone spoke to him, from within. It wasn’t Rosemary, nor was it his own conscious. No; this was a calling from the next dimension. When he heard its message, he responded. “I understand.”

---

“Hrrraaaagghhh—FRIEND!” He roared, throwing one last punch in the face of his arch nemesis as he cried out his answer. Turning, the Wizard gave the confused maiden one last look. The gaze was soaked in sorrow, but at its core burned a love that was stronger than anything else in the Universe. The pained contestant closed his eyes, held out his arms, and in a blaze of white aura: burst through the open ceiling, out into the sky. From below he heard her cries, begging him to return. But he couldn’t.

Saving her now, in this mock reality—no matter how real it could be—would never undo what was done. It couldn’t erase his memory of that fateful night. Revenge, despite his undying hunger for it, would not bring his love back to life. It could have been the perfect existence, but he rejected it.

Because one day, he would leave the world—the real world—and be reunited with Marion. But for now, he had to live on … to fight. Because that’s what she loved about him, and that’s what she would have wanted.

"I will live on-"

Lit up like a comet, he blasted through the atmosphere, from the Earth, out into the cosmos…

"-for you."

…and a single tear fell from the stars.

---

Oliver arose like Frankenstein, elevating himself ninety degrees to face the red-haired manipulator. His gaze was dark, cold. And it fell on Rosemary, like the barrel of a gun. He got to his feet.

The Wizard looked right into her eyes, ignoring her siren's song, and spoke.

“You look into our souls and see us for who we are.” His wrinkled face was expressionless, “well guess what? I see you, too, Rosemary. The real you.”

There was a pause, an eerie tension between the two. Juno looked on, uneasily.

“I see a false prophet.”

“Wizard, I don’t think taunting her is going to do us any g—,” Juno protested, but it was in vain and he was cut off.

“I see a little girl who’s taken up the front of an amateur deity,” the Wizard taunted, seething between words, “I see someone who thought they could stop all of this, and needed our help to do it.

“So you sat in God’s chair for a while and tried to make us better, good enough to beat this game and defeat your old friend Kai.

“…but its due time you realized that the chair’s too big for you, sister.”

The Wizard stepped forward, up to the plate. His right fist was cocked and crackling with energy, as he dragged himself halfway across the thrown room. Grinding his teeth, the old man lifted an arm and pointed it at the woman, accusingly.

“You're playing people like chess pieces; and that makes you no different than him," Oliver spat.

"Such actions have consequences. No more games, Rosemary. Give us the emblem or face your judgement that is long overdue.”

[Juno]

She was like a spider, and they were liked flies in her web. She had lured them into her trap, and now they had no choice but to sit back and wait to see what the scarfed woman had in store.

“No more games, Rosemary,” Nash commanded, “Give us that emblem or face the judgment that is long overdue.” The grey-haired man stared intently at the woman on the other side of the looking-glass, and watched with pride as she sighed, telekinetically lifting up the thick wall of glass.

She was wide open; this was their chance, and the young tailed boy knew that it would be their last. Wizard was too quick, though. Juno yelled out in warning, but it was too late—his eagerness cost him dearly as the witch blasted him in the abdomen with a large blast of magenta energy.

He flew backwards through the throne room, and she stepped towards him, her heels clicking on the golden floor. He struggled up, attempting to move away, but she closed in, and lifted a palm.

“No!” Juno screamed, his conscience taking over. He ran after the red-haired woman and placed both his palms on her head. All of his energy was pushed into his palms, pushed into incapacitating her, pushed into hopefully saving them from her wrath.

Rosemary was much more powerful than he, however. Electrifying sparks flew from the psychic encounter as they clashed, met in the middle; the two psychics battled fiercely. Wizard looked on with awe as the color faded from Juno’s cheeks and Rosemary’s pupils grew dilated.

Her hair grew frazzled, fuming with static as she pushed back at Juno mentally. The two telepaths seemed to be in a deadlock until finally, the Saiyan’s fingers loosened their grip. Rosemary exploded in a cloud of ki, knocking him off of his feet and sliding across the throne room.

“Juno, Juno, Juno,” she muttered, turning her attention to the rebel. He cringed, his mind dead from the mental attack that had just recoiled back onto him. “You insolent punk.”

The tailed boy tried to reply, but could do nothing more than sputter incoherent sounds. He struggled for breath, his lungs pulsing, his heart beating rapidly, as if it was about to lurch forward out of his very chest. Rosemary shook her head in disappointment.

“You were my favorite player, Juno,” she sighed. “I longed to play more games with you. Let me tell you, you’re a tough one to figure out. And I respect you for that. Now, however, I think I might’ve finally figured out what makes you tick.” She knelt down beside him, staring at his scrunched face as he struggled to reply.

“You—you know nothing about me,” he choked at last, looking up to her with deadened eyes. Rosemary frowned, disappointed.

“I didn’t want to do this,” she told him reproachfully as she placed her heel on his neck, “But you’ve left me no choice, my little fly.” Juno almost thought he felt one of her tears hit his cheek.

Rosemary pressed down.

[Friend or Foe]

"No!" Somebody shouted in the midst of all of the tension in the room. With her foot only about an inch away from cracking the top of Juno's spine through his throat, she paused for the split second it took Ares to tackle her backwards, sending her into a desk and himself over it. He rolled over it expertly, legs flying in the air as he struggled to land, which he did barely. "I am tired of you!"

Rose was up quick, already launching over the desk. Juno hadn't seen a physical side to the redhead yet, but she certainly could move. Her foot smashed into the side of the saiyan's head, then spinning in mid-air to land perfectly on the ground. Even as beat up as he was, Ares struggled to stand again.

"You don't know any of us," Ares said, limping his way towards her.

Rosemary backed up slightly to give herself some room. "Ares," she said, "Your resolve is strong and your determination to get justice is admirable...but now is not the time. If you strike me..."

"Give them the emblem," he demanded, "End this nightmare of a game."

The woman narrowed her eyes. One of her hands started sparking. "I'm warning you..."

The saiyan launched forward, his whole body quaking as he put pressure on one of his bad legs, "No!" He shouted, leaping into the air, "I'm warning you!"

Rosemary caught the man in both hands, though the one that had built up a tremendous amount of ki sent a shockwave through the body of Ares. It looked like it was charging him up, to a point that his body could no longer contain the amount of ki that was stuffed into it. Out of his back came a blast of energy as his torso could no sustain the power. Rosemary threw him aside.

There was a silence. Rosemary said nothing, but she was certainly not looking happy. Juno was up by now, not sure what to say or do. He still stepped forward.

"Is that what you're going to do to me?" He asked, "Kill me just because you're annoyed? I thought you were a good guy."

The redhead stuck her arm out and grabbed him by the neck. She squeezed and lifted him up off of the ground. "No," she told him, "I'm going to send you away. Where you can think back on this and ask yourself, 'why wasn't I strong enough?' And one day, Juno, the day will come when you will be the hero. But today, is not that day."

A flash of light emitted in her hand, and then covered Juno all together. Then nothing was there, except a beautiful glowing woman in a yellow scarf.

















(Ares is dead, Juno is teleported far away. Wizard advances to the Final 7)