16496/The Bushwick Horror - A witch's perspective

The Bushwick Horror - A witch's perspective
Date of Scene:	20 August 2024
Location:	Bushwick (Mutant Town), Brooklyn
Synopsis:	Spawn and Wanda Maximoff trade telepathic
Cast of Characters:	Spawn, Scarlet Witch

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Spawn has posed:
Bushwick, Brooklyn, night-time. The full moon gives off more light than the street lights in Mutant Town, not because the moon is particularly bright tonight but because the city gives less attention to maintenance like shoring up weak electrical connections and old light bulbs. The streets are quiet just after dark, between ten and eleven, mostly because it's a work night and the locals who don't have to worry about that are safely inside their favorite bar or nightclub.

There's been a monster haunting the borough lately, evidenced by neighborhood watch reports of something big that skulks through dark alleys and sometimes flies overhead on silent wings that just look *wrong.* A few, mostly the homeless that even the locals don't listen to, insist that it's a friend of humanity (not to be confused with the Friends of Humanity who it is reported to have clashed with, leaving carnage in its wake). Most just talk about it like one more thing to worry about while walking alone, at night.

Tonight the thing is active. The Hellspawn quit making its presence deliberately known a few nights past, after making a particularly gruesome mess out of a half dozen Friends of Humanity who showed up hunting mutants. Even so, the sighting reports continue to pour in. There are just too many people living in Bushwick to miss the thing, when it has a personal fetish for terrorizing the terrorists and that means letting itself be seen. Anyone with a sense for the mystic, the cosmic, the spiritual, or the profane would feel its presence too. Most reports claim that there's a sense of horrible dread surrounding the thing, just a bad feeling that emanates from it like a bad smell for a span of city blocks, but those with six or more senses can feel it from miles away.

Scarlet Witch has posed:
    Wanda Maximoff steps through the fabric of reality as if it were nothing more than a delicate curtain, her arrival marked by a swirl of crimson energy that ignites the air around her. The night seems to darken in her presence, the stars themselves dimming as if in reverence to the raw power she wields. Her chaos magic pulses through the space, warping and twisting the very essence of the world around her. The ground beneath her feet ripples like water, then solidifies, leaving an intricate pattern of crimson and black symbols etched into the earth.

    Her appearance is both commanding and casual--a paradox that only Wanda could effortlessly embody. She wears a long, flowing black coat that flutters in the lingering currents of her teleportation magic, its fabric catching the moonlight with an almost supernatural shimmer. Beneath it, a simple yet elegant dark red top clings to her form, paired with fitted black pants that allow for ease of movement. Low-heeled boots complete the ensemble, their soft soles making barely a sound as she steps forward. Her hair, a cascade of auburn waves, frames her sharp, yet thoughtful features, and her eyes, glowing faintly with the remnants of her magic, sweep the area with a penetrating gaze.

    As the last remnants of her teleportation magic fade into the night, the air seems to still, as if holding its breath in her presence. The energy she brought with her lingers, a subtle hum of power that resonates with the mystical forces in the area. She can feel the whispers of arcane energies, the echoes of ancient secrets carried on the wind. Wanda takes a deep breath, her senses attuned to the mystical vibrations around her, and begins her investigation, her every movement deliberate, yet graceful.

Spawn has posed:
    The eruption of magical energy is sensed by the patrolling Hellspawn. On such a quiet night in Bushwick any power would bear investigation, but that kind brings the thing running like tortured screams and bad intentions. He was a few blocks away when the portal started opening, and even though everything involving the witch's arrival happens in a second or less he's already heading that direction by the time she's finished and he's moving *fast.*

    The sound of the monster's wings precedes its appearance in the night sky. That sound is like a big leather sheet flapping on a clothesline, and the shadow of the thing cast by the full moon precedes its coming into view over the rooftop edge of a tall building. That seven foot long black body suddenly turns in the air, going from horizontal to vertical, while the cape flowing like fresh blood spreads around him like a drag chute with a loud whipcrack as the "fabric" fills with air and brings him to an instant hover.

    Now bathed in full moonlight from above and that dim street light from below, Spawn's crimson wings stretch and flap slowly to keep him hanging there a hundred feet off the ground. Balefire green eyes stare down into the street, seeking the site of the now-closed portal and signs of who or what emerged from it into his hunting ground.

Scarlet Witch has posed:
    The darkness seemed to thicken as the figure materialized before her, hovering above the ground, shrouded in an aura of shadow and malevolent power. Wanda Maximoff felt the air shift around her, the presence of necroplasmic energy and a hellish curse pressing against her senses. But fear did not touch her. Instead, curiosity sparked in her eyes, the faint crimson glow of her chaos magic reflecting the intrigue she felt.

    The air crackled subtly with her presence, reality bending just slightly in her vicinity, responding to the chaotic forces she wielded. Wanda took a step closer, her movements calm and deliberate, as she observed the figure before her. Her gaze, sharp and inquisitive, traced over him, sensing the tortured essence within---the conflict of a soul bound by dark forces yet struggling against them.

    Finally, she broke the silence, her voice calm yet carrying a weight of understanding. "I am Wanda Maximoff," she said, her tone both welcoming and measured. "And you are no ordinary presence. There's a struggle---a fight against the forces that hold you."

    She paused for a moment, letting her words settle in the air between them. The subtle hum of her magic intertwined with the night, resonating with the power she sensed from him. Wanda regarded him with a mix of curiosity and empathy, her expression thoughtful.

    "What brings you here?" she asked, her voice steady. "What purpose drives you to this place, bound as you are by such formidable forces?"

    Her gaze remained locked on him, awaiting his response, her presence calm and composed, yet charged with the potential of the chaos she carried within her.

Spawn has posed:
    The telepathic broadcast directed at Wanda Maximoff, by way of answering her spoken questions, is a full-sensory hallucination. It begins with the first-person-perspective memory of Al Simmons being shot in the back, murdered by a trusted friend and fellow operator during a mission, then lit on fire and left to scream his way into Hell. What comes next are on-and-off spurts of awareness of the pain of burning in Hellfire while confronting demons who tower higher than the buildings on the physical street, followed abruptly by a sudden appearance on Earth and the disorientation of not knowing why or how.

    All that remains is the everlasting agony of every molecule in the body burning in balefire, the constant assault of dozens of hyper-active senses that encompass the physical, empathic, mystical, and some other hard-to-identify spectrums, and the nightly drive to hunt. Somehow the agony of burning in Hellfire seems to fade when the Hellspawn confronts evil, especially when the Hellspawn drives terror into their hearts and minds through telepathic hallucinations like this one or physical torture with his claws and spikes, but is never really gone. Worse, the sensory deluge affects the humanoid soul a lot like having a migraine while standing way too close to the stage at a heavy metal concert.

    The whole upload only lasts a split second, maybe enough time for a living heart to beat one time, and it is undiluted and unfiltered from the memory of the monster itself. When the sights and sounds of it fade, Spawn has descended to the asphalt and his cape has closed around him. Now it stands there, still a respectably non-threatening distance from Wanda Maximoff if there is such a thing as "non-threatening" behavior from a Hellspawn, looking like it's surrounded in a column of gushing blood.

    Finally an auditory hallucination is transmitted at the woman in a voice that's almost human. It's a deep, smooth basso speaking in a conversational tone: "Your turn."

Scarlet Witch has posed:
    Wanda Maximoff's breath caught in her throat as the wave of memories and torment washed over her mind. The sheer weight of Spawn's past, his suffering, his betrayal, and his cursed existence struck her like a physical blow. Images of war, betrayal, and a deal with Hell itself flickered through her consciousness, searing into her mind with vivid, agonizing clarity. She staggered slightly, her hand instinctively reaching for her temple as the visions flooded her senses. But Wanda was no stranger to torment.

    In response, her chaos magic flared---red tendrils of energy swirling around her like a living entity, vibrating with raw power. She closed her eyes for a brief moment, and then, with a deep breath, she let her own memories, her own pain, surge forth. The crimson energy around her intensified, pulsing rhythmically as she projected her own life's torment back to him, a reciprocal wave of anguish and struggle that mirrored his own.

    In an instant, Spawn would see through her eyes. He would feel the crushing weight of her powers---powers that had once ripped apart the very fabric of reality. The memories came in a torrent: her childhood, torn apart by war, the loss of her parents, their screams still echoing in the depths of her mind, and the dark, twisted journey that led her to the discovery of her abilities.

    He would see her, standing amidst the wreckage of a world she had unmade, her hands trembling as chaos itself bled from her fingertips, reshaping reality according to her fractured will. He would feel the constant pressure of the Nexus---a being who exists as a focal point for all possible futures, every decision she makes rippling through countless dimensions. The burden of her existence, the fear of losing control, of becoming the very thing she despises, would crush down upon him as it does upon her daily.

    And then, deeper still, he would feel her trauma---the constant struggle to maintain her sanity, to hold together the frayed edges of her mind when the pull of chaos is ever-present, always whispering, always tempting. The isolation that comes with being an embodiment of chaos, of feeling disconnected from the world, from those she loves, because she is too dangerous, too unpredictable. The loneliness that cuts deeper than any blade.

    But in the midst of it all, there is also her resilience. The refusal to succumb to the madness, the fierce determination to hold onto what little stability she can find. Her love for her brother, her friends, and the desperate hope that somehow, despite everything, she can still do good in this world. That her power, as terrifying as it is, can be a force for something greater than herself.

    As the visions and emotions recede, Wanda opens her eyes, her breath ragged, her body trembling slightly. The crimson energy around her slowly dissipates, though the air remains charged with the aftershocks of her magic. Her gaze locks onto Spawn's once more, no longer just curious but filled with a deep understanding.

    "Good enough?" she asks simply, and gives him time to process what had just happened.

Spawn has posed:
    The seven foot tall monster stands there like a statue while Wanda's own telepathic broadcast consumes him. The green fire flares in his eyes while it goes on, flames licking up from his eyelids to where his hairline would be (if he had any hair) while the little trails of smoke that rise from the corners become thicker and heavier. Even his cape reacts to what the wearer is experiencing, by pulsing around him and sending out little tendrils of its own blood-red material in imitation of the writhing halo around the witch.

    When it's over the giant thing walks a few steps closer to Wanda, as if to close the distance so it didn't have to speak so loud to be heard, but that's really not needed since he shoots back another auditory hallucination instead of trying to speak out loud. "Touche," is all that consists of, while it continues to advance.

    When he's finally close enough to stand there towering over the woman, glaring down from those literally smoldering eyes, his imaginary voice goes on: "I hunt the ones who terrorize this borough. What are you hunting?" There's an empathic after-thought that seems like an unspoken, 'Me, right?' but that could as easily be an assumption on the part of the receiver as a deliberate telepathic imprint by the sender.

Scarlet Witch has posed:
As Spawn moved closer, his imposing form cutting through the shadows like a blade, Wanda remained perfectly still. Her gaze was unwavering, meeting his approach not with fear or revulsion, but with a calm acceptance. The dark energy that clung to him, the necroplasmic aura that would send most people running, did not faze her. She treated him not as a creature spawned from Hell, but as another being---different, yes, but not undeserving of her respect.

    The soft hum of her chaos magic still lingered in the air, a subtle reminder of the power she wielded, but she made no move to call upon it further. Instead, she allowed the space between them to close, watching him with a measured, thoughtful expression.

    When he finally spoke, questioning her intentions, Wanda tilted her head slightly, considering his words before she responded. "I am not hunting," she said, her voice calm and even. "I'm investigating. Your presence here---it's unlike anything I've sensed before. A disturbance in the mystical currents that I felt compelled to explore. I simply came to take a look."

    She paused, her eyes briefly scanning the area, then returning to his. There was no malice in her gaze, only curiosity, now tempered with understanding. "Now that I know the source of that disturbance, my curiosity is satisfied. I have no intention of attacking you, Spawn. You are not the threat I thought you might be."

    Wanda let her words settle between them for a moment, the weight of her sincerity palpable. Then, her expression softened slightly, a flicker of empathy crossing her features. "I can see that you're hunting those who terrorize the neighborhood. That is something of merit, something necessary. The world is a dark place, and too often, people are left without protection. I know that truth all too well."

    Her voice grew quieter, more introspective, as she continued. "It's something I do myself, though usually on a larger scale. The Avengers---we often find ourselves facing world-shaking threats, but the smaller, more personal dangers are just as important. They matter just as much, even if they don't make the headlines."

    Wanda's gaze softened further, and she nodded slightly in acknowledgment of his efforts. "So, I won't stand in your way. Do what you need to do. The world could use more protectors, regardless of the form they take."

Spawn has posed:
    "Ditto," Spawn's hallucinatory voice answers the witch, still only in her mind. Then its head turns to one side and the glowing eyes shift as if looking up. Not that Wanda can't still see him, but that there is no fight happening here, the monster phases out of alignment with physical light until mortal eyes wouldn't see him at all. Then, with a mighty leap to get him started, the red cape flares out into that approximation of batlike wings which drive him up and away from the site at high speed.