Threaded Mode | Linear Mode

Mr. Oz · (06-07-2016)

Ghost Tank continued on his war path, eliminating and claiming the lives of others, having worked himself down to the fifth floor. There is where he'd meet his biggest challenge.

As he started into the fifth floor, he met a couple of people trying as others had, but it wasn't until he was in the middle of the hallway that three men, about his size in muscle and height.

Oswald grinned.

The men charged him, aiming to grab him, hoping one of the three would grab GT. Unfortunately for them, he dipped low, sweeping his leg at their feet, tripping them up, except one man that hopped and shoulder charged Tank, knocking him off his feet, and he slid onto his back.

The man continued to attack, hoping GT would now be an easier target, only for Tank to kip-up and slammed his right fist into his jaw. He would end up dislocating the man's jaw, but while his friends recovered and went on the attack, he'd let out a guttural growl, snapping his jaw back into place. He went with his buddies, and Tank went defensive, but couldn't always block their attacks. Too many men at once meant Ghost Tank would get hit in the body more than any place else; getting hit in the shoulders, his chest, his gut. Most glancing, but the ones he couldn't deflect, would hit hard, causing GT to grunt in pain.

"We got him!"

Tank got very angry, and thought about the time he killed the bear. He would dip low and charge into the three men, shoulder tackling the one in the middle, and he hit him so hard he flew up into the air, almost touching the ceiling before falling flat on his ass. The other two men continued their offensive, and Tank could feel every bit of their strength. Once he was standing tall and in a defensive stance, he found them all pure strength, barely any agility. So he did what he did best; combining parkour with his strength.

He spun around as if to sweep their legs, but they jumped over his leg, but GT combined the sweep by moving onto his hands as if to do a mid-air push-up, but pulled his legs until knees touched elbows. As they got down and got closer, he pushed and kicked hard into their chests, effectively mule kicking them. This sent them onto their backs. The man he charged was beginning to stir, as Tank landed onto his feet, only to jump high into the air, and landing his knees hard into the breastplates of the men, causing a large crack to be sounded. He got up as the man did, while his friends writhed and cried in pain, having their bones broken. He charged after Ghost Tank, but now without the entire team against him, Tank grinned widely, and he raised his hand up to block the punch, but not just block, but grab hold of the man's fist. With his grip, he squeezed hard, and the bones began to break because of his power.

He didn't relinquish his grip, either. Instead with his free hand, he grabbed the man's pants at the waist, and with all his power, he swung the man so hard that he was sent flying through the wall. The ceiling began to crumble under the power, and large pieces would fall, squashing the man's head, killing him instantly. GT picked up his friends, hands around their throats.

"Enjoy the fall, boys."

And with that he walked them to one of the wide open rooms, and tossed them out and down to the streets below. One man landed head first, the other landed on broken, empty shell of a vehicle, looked almost like a Suzuki Sidekick from 1994.

Ghost Tank walked back into the hall, picking up his scythe that he had dropped from the start of the three on one. He cleared the rest of the fifth floor with no problem. Most had begun to accept their deaths. Though one of the last rooms hit the human side of the large man. He saw a woman cowering with her child, a little girl.

"Please, sir... Leave us be... I beg of you..."

Ghost Tank looked down upon her from under the half-skull mask, through those blacked out eyes... The human side fought with this kill. He wanted to save her, wanted to keep her from death. However, with a grunt and a snort, he'd speak, holding the scythe up.

"Death shows no mercy. Death knows no rank.

Death does not discriminate."

With that he brought the scythe down, slicing through mother and child's bodies, cutting them in half. The humanity screamed, but Death was fulfilled.

He continued through the floors, sweeping through the opposition without needing much force. However the moment stepped down onto the ground floor, saw the two bodies he tossed down the stairwell earlier in the extermination process, and chuckled. However the moment he started to walk to the hallway, a hail of bullets flew past him, and one grazed his left shoulder, an inch to the left and down, it would've hit his shoulder joint, and would have made him useless with that arm as he took cover.

"Fuckers!"

He channeled his inner Morbid Angel with that word and how angry that made him to be shot at. Should have expected it, but still, motherfuckers, all of them!

He listened with one intention, to hear the clicks of their weapons, to know they were out of ammunition. He'd poke his head out, to make them blow the rest of their wads. When he heard the rapid clicks, that is when he descended upon them, swinging his scythe and cutting through several people, and that was just the beginning of the hall. In the middle, they'd had enough time to reload, and Tank leaped through a doorway to avoid the bullets. He then saw the men were able to see him as well, and began firing through some of the walls. Tank slammed a broken refrigerator upon the ground and hid behind it, keeping his scythe at the ready.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, man?! Why are you killing all of us?! Isn't our lives already fucking pathetic enough, and now some crazy fuck is trying to kill everyone! What the fuck, man!?"

They fired until the weapons clicked, and he got up, vaulting over the fridge and running broken room to broken room, leaping through crumbling walls and slicing through people inside those rooms, which included ginger twin children, their mother and father. He ran through a half-broken door and into the men in the hall, spearing them through the adjacent room and through a bookcase.

"Death comes for us all. No matter how much or how little you make. It does not matter who you are friends with, or if you're lonely. Death does not care about your health. Whether you love or hate, whether you have a family or not."

He stood up, and began stomping on two men, until they stopped screaming and blood flowed from their skin and mouth. He moved out into the hall, and the people that were once ready to fight, now lowered their weapons, crying as they all knelt before him.

"Wise choice. You shall receive quick deaths."

A row of men, women, and a few of the children from the people were brought forth,

"This will hurt for a split second, but then release from this mortal coil."

With that he swung the massive blade, cutting several heads at once. Much like crops like the scythe had been once been meant to used for to cut, he walked through the rows, cutting heads off. When he got to the children, from different ages, some were still babies, some were about four to twelve years of age. When he killed them, he'd sigh, as if part of him was escaping his body.

Once finished with the main floor, he walked out of the building, with his body covered in blood, and his scythe coated crimson from tip of the blade to the butt of the shaft.

Death had reaped enough people for one night...

"Macbeth, go ahead on focusing upon this stupid gauntlet. You keep focusing on something you'll never win. I honestly could not care any less that I already do, about being in the gauntlet. I mean, come on. I'm already in a title match. I don't care if I become the number one contender for the title. Your title is the one I care about right now. You can send as many of your people to find the title, but they will never get into my home. Every entrance and exit is recorded, I pay top dollar for security. I have enough servants that there's at least two per room, to deal with cleaning the rooms. Your people will never touch the title until I bring it to the match.

Macbeth, you're a waste of talent. You're a waste of that Star of the Month you won. You're fucking pathetic. You're an insult to this company. You win something like that, but then you fucking ruin it by losing your tag titles to fucking Peter Gilmour.

Why do you still wrestle, Chris? What is driving you to move forth? Scully is trying to beat you for the number one contender spot. He doesn't give a fuck. You'll end up losing to the King of

.

Oh, and man. I just remembered something. You said Oswald Copplepot. This even shows how much more

than I thought. His name is COBBLE-POT. Not COPPLE-POT. Seriously, if you're going to try and talk shit, at least the names of fictional character right. Besides, I still wonder, which iteration of Cobblepot you equate me to?

I'm thinking you're thinking of the Danny DeVito Penguin. I mean, after all, you think I'm fat. even though my weight is because of muscle, not fat, you imbecile.

You know what? You don't deserve to have a title. You don't deserve to be the Star of the Month.

I'm done with you, Macbeth. At Warfare, I will end your title reign, I will end you, and I will end The Union.

Not because others want to see your little group ended, but because I can do it. I know I can single-handedly end your group. And when I do, the screams will continue to grow louder. Oh yes, Macbeth. The closer we get to our match, the more I feel and hear your screams! The more I hear the screams of Ted and Dave, of Lawson, of Scully! At Warfare, I will be in the ring and I will end your reign for good! I will light the world on fire if it means you lose your title!

THE HART TITLE SHALL BE MINE!

YE GODS, MACBETH! THE SCREAMS GET LOUDER! THE CUT ME! THEY HURT ME!

Ghost Tank grins wide...

"And I fucking love it... Macbeth, it's almost time... You should be hearing them now, louder than ever before! Can you hear them, Macbeth?!

CanYouHearTheScreams?

Threaded Mode \| Linear Mode The Mortality of Man
Author	Message