Testing, Testing, 1, 2, 3

[HighVoltage]

The Irreverent

Welcome to the desecration, baby

Name:

Marcus Atkins

Current Age:

23

Age at Embrace:

18

Clan:

Iratus

I'm a rat.

Not a snitch, God knows I’d rather snort garlic powder than spill someone’s secrets. It’s not out of any sense of loyalty, just because I’d kill someone if they spilled mine. No, I’m a rat in the sense that I get into places and situations I’m not really supposed to.

Oh it’s truly a touching story. Daddy left when I was too young to remember him, Mommy married a jackass. Soon as I turned sixteen, said jackass decided he was tired of me mooching off him, and I was either gonna pay him for the roof over my head or be kicked out. Dear old Mom just stood there while her son packed a bag and stormed off.

Alistair was the only other person I had left, but he was just a kid like me. He helped where he could, mainly by busking on the street with an old guitar his dad had lying around. He was good, and the money we made helped more than I could do on my own. Then he was gone. Just disappeared one day, no goodbye or anything. The last thing I had going for me, fucking shattered. I wound up under a bridge that night, drinking my sorrows away with the resident bum there, some guy called Ripley. He was a good listening ear, but he was pretty sure he knew what happened to Alistair, that he was taken by some assholes called “Requiem”.

Now I didn’t know who they were at the time, but I was pissed. I was gonna get him back, and there was no way in Hell I was gonna be stopped. Ripley offered to help, and before I knew it he had latched himself onto my neck. It hurt like hell, and I’m pretty sure I passed out more than once. I don’t know how long it lasted, but once the pain finally subsided I was filled with hunger and fire, ready to get Alistair back.

He was dead.

Ripley had been piss-drunk when he bit me, and apparently anyone taken by Requiem is never heard from again. So I ran, again, away from Ripley, away from everything, shouting into the night for Alistair, shouting myself hoarse. Instead of finding my friend, however, I found myself outside a bar. Not just any bar, but jackass’s favorite. And as luck would have it, he had just begun to stumble home. It was only then that I realized I was starving. He tasted like oil, greasy and acrid. But I could finally think clearly. Fuck Ripley, but more importantly fuck Requiem. I was gonna find the one who took Alistair and I was gonna make him pay.

But what does all that have to do with what I’m doing right now? Why am I spilling my life story to this guy who doesn’t understand half of what I’m saying? He’s certainly not Requiem, hell he doesn’t even know what I am. All he knows is this homeless-looking guy broke into his house, past his security, and is rambling on while he’s bound and gagged. But he’s afraid. Sure, an adrenaline high is one thing. But drinking someone while adrenaline is coursing through their veins? That’s a whole new level of high. I chuck my phone onto the nearby table, rough guitars and a growling voice bleeding through the speakers. I look down at the trussed-up suit, his eyes wide in fear. I grin at him, a tongue running over my fangs as he finally realizes what’s about to happen, as the rough voice slides into the chorus, a voice worn down by years of drugs and alcohol and life and living that I sure as shit can’t have anymore. But I can sure as shit do this.

C’mon baby, eat the rich.

 

[HighVoltage]

Name: Mariko "Mari" Ito
Age: 25
Gender: Female, she/they
Appearance: Mari stands a bit shorter than most, with long dark hair that she often lets hang loose. When working on her projects, she does her best to keep it out of her face with a cat-ear headband that she jokingly refers to as her "thinking cap". She always dresses rather smartly, usually in some form of slacks, a vest, and a button-up shirt. One constant is the fox-paw charm that Mari keeps on her belt at nearly all times, as a reminder of her mother.
Features: Mari has lived her whole life with a heightened intelligence. While she was never tested, she personally wouldn't consider herself a genius. She's simply a problem solver. Perhaps as a result, some would call her emotionally stunted, unable to process her own emotions or those of others very well.




[div][align="right"][/div]

Alias: Kitsune
Powers: Like a cat, Kitsune has nine lives. She uses one of these lives whenever she dies, returning to life within 60 seconds. Any damage she's sustained prior to resurrection will heal, but she will still feel the phantom pains left behind. Kitsune regains one life per lunar cycle, approximately 30 days, and is constantly aware of just how many lives she has left.
Alliances: Founder and leader of Nine Tails Inc., working alongside Shiba
Equipment:

• A modular "laser" pistol that can be modified to serve the purpose of other guns.
• Two knives, the blades of which can be heated or given an electric current.
• A handful of proximity alarms with 3D cameras that feed into her helmet.
• Suit made from a slash-resistant, puncture-proof durable fabric.
• Mask with built-in voice modifier, HUD, targeting system, and short-range communicator connected to Shiba's.

 

[HighVoltage]

Name: Mariko "Mari" Ito
Age: 25
Gender: Female, she/they
Appearance: Mari stands a bit shorter than most, with long dark hair that she often lets hang loose. When working on her projects, she does her best to keep it out of her face with a cat-ear headband that Spork gave her once as a joke. She always dresses rather smartly, usually in some form of slacks, a vest, and a button-up shirt. One constant is the fox-paw charm that Mari keeps on her belt at nearly all times, except for when she's working.
Features: Mari has lived her whole life with a heightened intelligence. While she was never tested, she personally wouldn't consider herself a genius. She simply sees things in terms of problems to be solved. Perhaps as a result, some would call her emotionally stunted, unable to process her own emotions or those of others very well.

Alias: Kitsune
Powers: Like a cat, Kitsune has nine lives. She uses one of these lives whenever she dies, returning to life within 60 seconds. Any damage she's sustained prior to resurrection will heal, but she will still feel the phantom pains left behind. Kitsune regains one life per lunar cycle, approximately 30 days, and is constantly aware of just how many lives she has left.
Alliances: Founder and leader of Nine Tails Inc., working alongside Shiba
Equipment:

• A modular "laser" pistol that can be modified to serve the purpose of other guns.
• Two knives, the blades of which can be heated or given an electric current.
• A handful of proximity alarms with 3D cameras that feed into her helmet.
• Suit made from a slash-resistant, puncture-proof durable fabric.
• Mask with built-in voice modifier, HUD, targeting system, and short-range communicator connected to Shiba's.

 

[HighVoltage]

To Mariko Ito, everything is a puzzle. Everything can be solved. Even if there is no perfect solution, the one that gets closest to the desired outcome is usually the one that she chooses. Thus, she chose to be friends with Spork.

It was not a choice of ulterior motive, but merely proximity. Being the only two children their age in close proximity, their mothers were desperate for the two to be friends. She did not mind Spork's company, and saw their blindness as nothing more as a problem she added to her 'To Be Solved' list.

Over time, however, this opinion changed. What had once been a friendship formed of convenience began to develop into something more. While Mari saw their blindness as an inconvenience, others saw it as a disability, something to be mocked. Feeling protective, she would have done something about these bullies if not for Spork crafting their own brilliant plan. The blind kid can't see after all, so who's to say they know where every person is standing in a room. And if they received a subtle tap to let them know their target is in range well, that's just being a good friend.

Being friends with the blind kid meant Mari was an outcast, however. Not that she would have known, she was too busy reading and concocting plans to bother with friends. Her father always said that she wouldn't get anywhere with her nose stuck in a book all the time, but her mother was always supportive. She told Mari about how intelligent foxes were, and they quickly became Mari's favorite animal, with her mom even making a little fox-paw charm for her.

The number of people Mari trusted went from 2 to 1 on one fateful day. An unexpected slip and fall sent Mari's mom to the hospital in critical condition. She was not allowed in to hear her mother's last words. She did not cry. Not on the way home. Not in her room after. Not at the funeral.

But weeks later, while with Spork.

It was an ugly grief, one that had been suppressed and held down for as long as it could be. Mari expected Spork to push her off or tell her to stop crying. Instead, they did their best to console her, and Mari realized just how good of a friend this goofball was.

They showed the world what the phrase 'thick as thieves' truly meant. They stuck together through high school, synchronizing their schedules at every opportunity and ensuring assholes were dealt with properly. As college came and went, Mari found herself on the business end of a double major in Robotics Engineering and Electrical & Chemical Engineering, with a minor in Physics. While Spork dropped out halfway through, she wouldn't dream of letting them go. Even after she graduated, they continued to share a space.

Mari first discovered her powers when she was mugged walking home one night. She stubbornly refused to give the man her money, and in exchange he gave her a bullet in the back of the skull. Sixty seconds later, she woke up on the dirty asphalt, a drum pounding in her head and the clear vision of a nine ticking down to eight. She made her way back home and did what anyone in that position would do.

Get even.

Mari researched endlessly, finding the man online, tracking his movements, finding his daily routines. She dipped down into the more unsavory parts of the web, hoping to find someone to track him for her. Instead she found his name and face tied to a hitman listing. She accepted it and, remembering the numbers in her mind, listed it under Nine Tails Inc. She worked feverishly, almost high on the sensation of data discovery and experimentation as she began to work on proper tools. She knew she couldn't kill him with a weapon she owned, so she had to craft her own. She took all the precautions, found him one night and fulfilled the contract.

He didn't even remember who she was.

Mari was ecstatic, not because she'd just killed someone, but because of the new breed of puzzle she'd just solved. She knew this was the beginning of something great. But she had to keep it from Spork.

 

[HighVoltage]

She didn’t believe it the first time she read it. She barely believed it the second time. By the time Lily had finished a third reading and was beginning a fourth, drops of moisture had soaked into the paper, threatening to smudge the green writing. She couldn’t do a fifth, as the letter swam in her vision and she set it on the table, tears silently dropping to the floor.

What did they mean? Lark couldn’t be dead, they couldn’t be. Lily didn’t want to think about the pieces that were clicking into place in the back of her mind, the wistful glances, the lingering moments they had spent in contact with her, their sudden appearance and subsequent piracy, it had all been because of this. How long had they known? How many of those moments had there been, Lark filling up their personal scrapbook with memories to look over before their death? The postscript ran through her head, but she brushed it away. There was nothing else there, it was wishful thinking. Lark doesn’t, didn’t, do love confessions.

Lily remained like that on the couch, head held in her hands, shoulders wracked with silent sobs, for who knows how long. Lark would, they always would. When she finally managed to take a breath, she caught sight of something. Oh shit, the card. She hesitated, hoping that this was still all part of some big joke, that the card would have a little message scrawled on it teasing her. But Lark didn’t do that, they were mischievous, not cruel. Lily took the card from the envelope with a trembling hand, unfolding it to read the enclosed message.

The place was vaguely familiar, she knew the street and could look up the building on the way. The time, shit. Lily checked her phone, the time was soon. Shit shit shit. Lily jumped to her feet, running to her room to grab her shoes before she stopped, flicking off the bathroom light that she had accidentally left on. She stopped dead in her tracks. The shower. If she’d read the mail first thing she might have been able to stop it, she could’ve gotten there sooner. Tears welled up in her eyes before she blinked them back, she couldn’t afford to waste time crying. She slipped on her shoes and flew to the door, stopping as soon as her hand touched the knob, as a familiar emerald light filled her apartment.​

 

[HighVoltage]

​

​

-

V

eljara -

Name
Freyja Ragnarsdóttir

Age
22

Appearance
Freyja stands 6 feet tall with a muscular build, a testament to her time spent in various gyms. Her shoulder-length blonde hair is usually kept up and out of the way, and her eyes can range from the warm blue of a summer sky to the frigid blue of an ice sheet. She boasts an impressive spread of tattoos covering her hands, arms, and back.

Enhanced Physique
Freyja's physical prowess can be described as "a bit above peak humanity". While her strength, endurance, and reaction time would technically be considered superhuman, they barely fit the definition. This does not come naturally to her, and Freyja is proud of the work she must put in to be at this level.

Gifts of the Past
Freyja can summon several ancient weapons at will, including swords, spears, and axes. She is proficient with them, and wields all of them with deadly skill. She can also read and speak not only Old Norse, but any languages that may have descended from it as well.

Bringer of

Ragnarök

Veljara wields the fires of Muspelheim, donning her flame-drenched valkyrja form with but a word. She appears as an ashen-skinned valkyrie, her wing tips trailing into flame, an elaborate horned helm and mask covering most of her face. She wears minimal armor, preferring mobility over stalwart defense. In this form her physical abilities enhance even further, including her durability, to levels where she can easily pierce a man's chest with naught but her hands.

The flames that burn within her often seek an outlet, and Veljara is more than happy to oblige them, adding fire to her weaponry or simply wielding it as a weapon all its own. She can control the intensity of these flames as she likes, although hotter and brighter flames require more of her energy. The flames replenish over time, but she can also draw fire from this realm into her to fuel her reserves.

As a chooser of the slain, Veljara sends those that have died in battle to Fólkvangr or Valhalla. Or at least, she should. In actuality, the only deaths in battle that Veljara tends to are those against her. She takes those she has slain, and adds their essence to her flames. When she needs them, she can call them forward as fiery draugr to fight on her behalf, although they serve as little more than cannon fodder that seeks to kill. Whether they fight out of loyalty, force, or a desire to prove themselves so they may be sent to a better afterlife, none can say.

[/class][/class]

Code by Reyn
Header art by frostworksart
Sidebar art by Drawsouls

 

[HighVoltage]

When Sköll and Hati sink their fangs into the sun and moon, when Jörmungandr causes the seas to roil and Naglfar sails, when Fenrisúlfr and Surtr walk free in Midgard, when the three roosters crow and the Gjallarhorn is blown, Ragnarök will come. The Æsir, the Vanir, the jötnar; all will fight. All will die. Until that day comes, I can only prepare.

The girl now wanders, but she is not lost. She knows that the end must come, and that she will play her role when it happens. But until then, the unworthy, those who have wronged her, must be slain. And Veljara is well-equipped for that task. Wielding the flames of Muspelheim, she can transform into a flame-drenched valkyrie with but a word, any arms that she desire at her fingertips, along with the knowledge of how to use them. She can read and speak Old Norse, as well as any languages that may have descended from it, such as Icelandic.

The flames that burn within her often seek an outlet, and Veljara is more than happy to oblige them, adding fire to her weaponry or simply wielding it as a weapon all its own. She can control the intensity of these flames as she likes, although hotter and brighter flames require more of her energy. The flames replenish over time, but she can also draw fire from this realm into her to fuel her reserves.

As a

valkyrja

, as a chooser of the slain, Veljara sends those that have died in battle to Fólkvangr or Valhalla. Or at least, she should. In actuality, the only deaths in battle that Veljara tends to are those against her. She takes those she has slain, and adds their essence to her flames. When she needs them, she can call them forward as fiery

draugr

to fight on her behalf. Whether it is out of loyalty, force, or a desire to prove themselves so they may be sent to the afterlife, none can say.

Code by Reyn

 

[HighVoltage]

It started with a girl, as these stories often do. Raised by two historians, lovers of the ancient world, she was brought up on tales of old gods, of myths and legends. Yet her favorites were the tales of the Norse pantheon. Time and time again, the girl would ask her parents to retell the stories that she knew by heart, and they would lovingly oblige.

But again, as so often happens with these tales, darkness lay on the horizon. Their contracts ended, work was scarce. Sickness befell them both, and their loving daughter would have drowned herself in debts if it meant that she could save them. And yet she couldn't. It was weeks before she could return to that house, the one that was once so full of warmth and laughter, now empty save for herself and the ghosts of memories long past.

It was even longer before she could dare to enter the office that her parents shared. Part of her still believed that as long as that door remained shut, she could still pretend that they were simply hard at work, absorbed in the translation of some new runic text. But eventually the door was opened, the curtains drawn back, the mounds of untouched paper, work that was to be done later, threatening to have her just close the door and never return. She gathered it all, the half-written theses, copies of ancient texts, runes painstakingly copied with hand and ink, all of which meant nothing to her anymore. It all went outside, to a small pit in the backyard. There had been happier times here, times of laughter and marshmallows, tales of giants and men and monsters, her father's low gravely voice paired with the dancing flames reflecting in his eyes that made a younger girl squirm up against her mother for protection, yet still keeping her ears uncovered to hear more of the story.

As the last of the papers were hauled away, something was still left: a circle of stone, red and gold, runes circling the outside that she could not understand, nor did she have any desire to. The rune in the center was nothing special, what appeared as a capital M with extra lines. As she held it in her hand, hot tears ran down her cheeks. The paper was just that; notes, research, other work being consulted. This was tangible. This was what this office was being used for. Her fingers gripped it tight, too tight. Whether to ensure she didn't drop it or to shatter it in her grasp, she did not know. The sun had set by the time the girl had decided. She stood, returning to the backyard, and placed the stone in the papers. A match was struck, such a small, simple thing, and tossed into the papers.

And as the remains of her parents, of their work, burned, the girl let loose her grief. Wracking sobs, cries of anguish and sorrow, rivers of tears. The two most important people in the world had been taken from her, and all she wanted to do was to have them back. She didn't care if everything else collapsed, so long as they returned to her. She stayed by the fire for hours, a wretched display, until the embers were all that remained. Well, almost.

The stone, that cursed stone that she had thrown in, was whole, undamaged by the flame. But it was not unchanged. The runes encircling it were glowing, and the symbol in the center had changed, shrinking and being placed at the top of what almost looked like a winged key. Some force compelled her, although she knew not what, and the girl approached the embers, reaching out and grasping the stone.

Her mind was flooded, rapidly shifting images flickering along her synapses: gods, men, dwarves, elves, monsters, runes, realms. It all seared through her, veins glowing under her skin as if the blood were replaced with liquid flame. Her grief, her shattered sense of self, was reforged in that moment, molded, heated, and tempered into a white-hot anger. The world took her parents from her, and she was going to take what it she was owed.

You can't expect the gods to do all the work.

Code by Reyn

 

[HighVoltage]

Mari shrugged, picking the glove back up and tuck it away. It was a tool to add to her arsenal, nothing more. Could be incredibly useful if she got up close, certainly more useful than a knife. A scenario clicked through her head, business meetings with a target where all she had to do was shake their hand and hold it tight, then they’d be dead. No marks, no damage, no evidence. Of course, she could only use it once before anyone who wanted to work with Nine Tails, Inc. would never trust Kitsune during a meeting again.

You don’t kill people in meetings, that’s the coward’s way out.

She nodded in agreement as Auraliese gave an explanation. It actually made sense to her. Auraliese’s ability functioned with specific individuals, for Spork it would essentially be like trying to build a weapon for a brick wall. It just wouldn’t work. Then she asked who it was for, and Mari jumped a little. Of course that was a normal question to ask.

“Spork.” she said quietly. “They already get themselves hurt plenty, and I want something there as a backup. In case things go really wrong.” Her phone buzzed in her pocket. Speak of the devil.

Mariiiiiiiii. I’m hungryyyyyyy. Can you pick up some food on your way home?​

Mari let out a sigh, putting it back in her pocket and moving to pack up her equipment.

“Sorry for cutting it short, Auraliese. Spork wants me to get dinner, and if I don’t head back now they’ll probably try to eat a pigeon or something.” She smiled awkwardly as she adjusted the back full of weaponry and melted plastic.

“See you later?” It came out as a question, although she didn’t seem to stick around for the answer, heading out of Tinkerbelle’s shop with a small wave as she went to get something for her and Spork for dinner.

 

[HighVoltage]

Steel screamed, as did the corpses of those who were under Veljara’s sway. Her shield, wielded in the hands of the Phoenix, rent them in twain. The Wolfhound slavered as their blades met again and again, his gnashing teeth begging to take a hunk from her flesh. The valkyrie would not let him dine upon her, no. His final meals would be within Hel’s hallowed halls. He pushed and she gave, sliding backwards as he dropped down. Veljara saw the shield in time, but caught the Wolfhound’s attack too late. Her gaze flew between the two warriors, weighting each option.

The shield buried into her shoulder, the metal hissing as it struck true. Veljara braced herself with a step back. She had expected the pain, but not the heat. As the Woflhound swung his sword her own snapped out to grab his, to intercept and redirect, to force it down into the dirt. Veljara let her blade fall, instead reaching up to grab the shield. The harsh cry of tearing metal echoed across the battlefield as Veljara ripped her own shield in half, still leaving part of it embedded within her. The metal was still warm under her touch and a thought came to her.

The Phoenix was immune to flames, but the child of

Fenrisúlfr

has no such predilection.

Flames licked along her arms, her golden gauntlets flashing in the light they threw. The valkyrie stabbed at the Wolfhound with the superheated shard of her own shield, not caring whether it struck or not. Her real fight was with the Phoenix. The air around her grew warmer as the flames of Muspelheim grew around her, wreathing her body, the edges of flames trailing behind her back. It would be so easy, it would be so right, but not yet. They must wait.

Leaving the Hound to deal with her dead, Veljara rushed to meet Phoenix, flaming spear coalescing in her hand. She sought to simply run her through, the flaming weapon itself hard as forged steel. The dead would find themselves directed to attack the Hound, to overwhelm him with numbers and fire, their glowing claws, begging for his blood.

Before she could unleash wings of her own, Veljara would clip the Phoenix’s.

Code by Reyn

 

[HighVoltage]

Their hands slipped apart as Lark kept standing when she sat down. For a brief moment, worry tickled at Lily’s mind as she wondered if she’d done something wrong. Lark seemed to shake themselves out of whatever daze they were in, however, and planted themselves next to her, close enough that their knees brushed. Lily adjusted her position on the crowded blanket, and if her knees ended up more firmly in contact with Lark’s well then that was just how sitting on the blanket had to work.

Her stomach growled embarrassingly as Lark opened the basket and the smell of warm sandwiches hit her nose, reminding her of all the activity they’d done over the past day. Had it really only been a day? It seemed like it had been so much longer, in the best possible way. Lily thought for a moment, as all thoughts of what food she liked flew out of her head as the light glinted off Lark’s hair.

“Hmmm. Honestly I just like food. Lotta meat, lotta veggies, oh! Olives, I love olives. And sweet chili stuff, I don’t know why just the combination of sweet and spicy hits different, y’know?” She glanced back at Lark, cheeks reddening slightly at her excited tangent about food. To cover her embarrassment, Lily reached into the basket and pulled out two bottles of cider. A cobalt blade appeared in her hand, and she expertly popped the caps off, sending them flying it into the air before catching them both with her now blade-free hand.

“So what about you?” Lily asked while offering a bottle to Lark. “What sandwich toppings make the great and enigmatic Lark’s stomach grumble?” She took a sip and let her eyes scan the area around them. It was beautiful, it was calm, they were beaut-. They were beautiful. Lily let herself have that thought. For once she’d let herself have it.
​

 

[HighVoltage]

Tee hee

“Coming soon."

 

[HighVoltage]

Fate

"What can I say? Girls just wanna have fun."

Age: 25
Gender: Female
Height: 5'1"
Weight: 105 lbs
Occupation: Criminal
Residence: Pittsburgh, PA (formerly Chicago, IL)
Family: Dead

Tarot Reading

Fate has created two decks of tarot cards, each card imbued with magic power that she can call upon at will. When a card is used, the design on it fades and leaves a blank sheet behind. In order to use that card again, Fate must repaint it. The amount of time and special materials this takes heavily depends on the type of card being painted. While repainting a card, Fate may take breaks, step away, even take days between working on a card. However, she must remain awake, or else she will have to start over.

Minor Arcana

The Minor Arcana deck consists of 56 cards divided into four suits: Cups, Pentacles, Swords, and Wands. Each card is numbered, ranging from ace to 10, with the face cards being Page, Knight, Queen, and King, in that order. The power of the card increases with their value, with the face cards requiring a person to target, in essence becoming the Page, Knight, Queen, or King. Each suit has a theme and a corresponding element that helps to determine their powers and the materials required to repaint used cards. For example, if Fate was repainting a Wands card, she would need to use materials from a metahuman with powers based around fire or the mind. When wielding the Minor Arcana, Fate can draw a hand of 3 cards, reminiscent of a typical three-card spread. She must use these cards before she can draw more.

Major Arcana

The Major Arcana deck consists of 22 cards, numbered from 0 to 21. These cards are much more powerful than the minor arcana, but Fate has limited access to them. These cards take significantly longer than the major arcana to repaint, with the tradeoff that Fate can use her own blood as the metahuman material in order to paint it. When wielding the Major Arcana, Fate can only draw a single card at a time. Because these cards are so much harder to repaint, Fate tends to save them for special situations.

Where Fate keeps her deck is a mystery, however it always appears to be on her person. When drawing a card, she usually seems to pull the card from thin air, although nobody knows whether she is actually doing that or if it's simply very good sleight of hand. She also seems to do this with other items, usually her seemingly endless supply of Monster Energy that she drinks while she's working on repainting a card.​

 

[HighVoltage]

Ever since she was a child, Kimberly was known as the weird girl. The daughter of a fortune teller and a painter, she'd often been told to express herself by her parents, to be proud of who she was. Where with most children this would manifest in some form of creativity, with Kimberly it instead took the form of a deep interest in odd topics, in the weird, the occult, the macabre. Teachers reached out, concerned about what she'd been looking up on school computers or disturbing drawings she'd made. They simply said their daughter was expressing herself, and that was the end of it.

It didn't take long before Kimberly picked up tarot reading from her mother. After all, she'd spent plenty of time in her mom's shop, listening to her give readings to her customers, scrunching up her nose at the stench of incense and burning sage. Her mother had let her look at her cards before, but never let her do a reading with them, suggesting Kimberly make her own deck in order to properly attune to it. Kimberly embraced the idea, taking a stack of blank cards and a set of paints from her father.

She wanted more than just to be in tune with the deck, though. Kimberly wanted the deck to be hers, to be special and unique, bound only to her. Magic was primarily intent, as her mother had told her, so Kimberly decided to add a little something special to her deck. A quick trip back into her father's paint studio, he was always hard to distract when he was zoned into a painting, and Kimberly returned with a small x-acto knife. She dragged it along her index finger and let a drop of her own blood fall into each of the paints, mixing thoroughly. She didn't think anything of the fact that the paints should have been much more discolored by the addition of a drop of red than they were.

She decided she didn't want to go in order, and instead Kimberly started with her favorite card: The High Priestess. She had a design in mind and began diligently painting; columns on either side with something curling around them, roots on the bottom leading up to a feminine figure with an obscured face, draped in a veil with a crown of what could be finger bones. Above her sat a large ornamental eye.

As Kimberly went to finish the eye, she spun the card around so she didn't accidentally smear her work. As she placed the finishing touch, she couldn't help but stare into the eye, feeling herself almost get drawn into it. When she managed to look away, she was no longer in her bedroom, but instead in a dark courtyard. Massive pillars stretched above her, strands of something white coiling around them. A figure stood between them, clothed in a white dress, her face obscured, a smile all that was visible.

The High Priestess gestured to a handful of stone basins laid out before her. Kimberly shuffled forward and peered into one. Reflected in the liquid she saw herself. She was older, in a suit, working in an office. Everything looked dull and gray. She shifted to the next one and found a similar sight. So it was as Kimberly went through all the basins, all showing boring, uninteresting futures. It was not until the final basin that Kimberly saw something that made her smile.

She saw herself, clad in black and red, the eyes of everyone upon her. Her hair was black and white, she had piercings, and power crackled at her fingertips. More than that, though, she was smiling, laughing. She was having fun. This was the future she wanted. Kimberly looked up at the High Priestess, who merely gestured towards the basin. Kimberly cupped her hands and dipped them into the cool liquid before bringing it to her lips. It tasted sickly sweet and sour, and burned as it slid down her throat. When she opened her eyes again, she was back in her room, the finished card staring up at her. But Kimberly's mind was now clear, and she knew what she had to do. And so she set her plans into motion.

That night, both her mother's store and the apartment above it were destroyed in a fire. Only two bodies were recovered. Magic always has a cost.

 

[HighVoltage]

Minor Arcana

Being the lesser of Fate's two decks, the cards of the minor arcana are much more varied in their effects than the major arcana. Their effects are much more flexible and open to interpretation, allowing Fate to get creative. The cards are still limited by their suits, however, which denote the general theme that their effects must follow.

Cups

The suit of water, representing emotions, situations involving the heart, and interpersonal connections

Pentacles

The suit of earth, handling money, home, career, and all material and tangible objects

Swords

The suit of air, dealing with action, conflict, change, and power

Wands

The suit of fire, sparking creativity, imagination, and all ventures within the mind and spirit

Major Arcana

The major arcana, being much more powerful, are significantly more limited in the scope of their effects. Whereas the cards of the minor arcana are only restricted by the themes of their suit, the major arcana are bound by the card identity itself, usually tied to a specific effect or a specific theme.

0 - The Fool

Summons a copy of the person it is used on for a period of time. While it cannot accurately imitate people's mannerisms and personality, this duplicate is an exact physical copy. It can be taught to imitate the original, but the extent is limited, given its short existence and stunted mental capacity.

I - The Magician

Activating this card summons an explosive aid. Whether this is literal or symbolic is dependent on the moment, as the decision is made when the card is activated.

II - The High Priestess

This card focuses on mystery and revealing secrets. It can remove the veil of what lays hidden, lift the fog from one's mind, give insight into missing objects, or show the way when the path is lost.

III - The Empress

Envelops the wielder in a warm, comforting aura that negates any psychic or intangible threats. To outside observers, it appears as though a stern, matronly figure walks at the wielder's side, protecting them.

IV - The Emperor

Creates a spectral figure that stands behind the wielder, usually hidden and intangible. When the wielder is faced with physical threats, however, the figure appears to defend them, blocking attacks but never retaliating.

V - The Hierophant

Summons a being that is omniscient about a specific topic or subject. The exact nature of this being is unclear, but any question asked will have an answer provided. At times it is known to be infuriatingly vague or cryptic, regardless of attempts to assert influence over it.

VI - The Lovers

When touched to the target, the card summons an illusory version of the target's current or ideal partner. The target believes this illusion is completely real, and the illusion acts as the target would expect, albeit with Fate's goal in mind.

VII - The Chariot

Arguably the simplest of the major arcana, this card allows Fate to create portals that let her pass from one location to another.

VIII - Strength

Harnessing the power of emotions, this card summons a great being that represents the wielder's imagined symbol of strength itself. It obeys the user unquestioningly until it is either dissipated or destroyed.

IX - The Hermit

Revels in the clarity that can come from isolation, and is used to distance oneself from others. Depending on the intent of the wielder, the card may do so literally or figuratively.

X - The Wheel of Fortune

The effect of this card is completely random, although whatever effect it may have is still within the power limits of the rest of the major arcana.

XI - Justice

Creates an area of effect around the wielder where none may tell an outright lie, lie by omission, or speak in any way that hides the truth. The wielder is immune to this effect.

XII - The Hanged Man

Offering a change in perspective, this card allows the wielder to enhance a single attribute of theirs for a limited time at the cost of another. For example, one could enhance their hearing at the cost of sight, their smell at the cost of taste, etc. Both the enhancement and sacrifice are temporary and revert when the card's effect ends.

XIII - Death

Simply put, this card brings about an end. It could be to a life, to an action, to a plan. Whatever it is comes to an end, although not always in the way that the wielder intends.

XIV - Temperance

Used to heal serious injuries and damages to the body and mind.

XV - The Devil

Thriving on chaos and sin, activating this card temporarily amplifies any and all negative emotions in an area, with a particular affinity for the seven deadly sins: pride, greed, wrath, envy, lust, gluttony, and sloth.

XVI - The Tower

Symbolizing destruction and upheaval, this card inflicts lightning-strike changes upon its wielder or their surroundings. What these may be is often only understood after the fact, when the thunder rumbles.

XVII - The Star

A symbol of faith, of beauty, of comfort in one's own skin, this card allows the wielder to take on the appearance of any whom they have met. Any powers the target has are not present in the assumed form, and those with heightened senses will be able to detect the deception.

XVIII - The Moon

Twisting, dangerous waters lurk beneath the gleaming light of the moon. This card summons a twisting hallucinatory labyrinth that is constantly shifting and changing, threatening to sweep those caught in its effect away.

XIX - The Sun

A shining symbol of hope, this card renews the energy and vigor of those caught within it, replenishing their energy and healing their wounds.

XX - Judgement

A moment of reflection, of sentencing, this card binds the wielder and one target. Until the card expires, anything the target does to the wielder also affects them, and vice versa.

XI - The World

The penultimate card, the wielder draws upon the power of the other metas. By selecting one and touching them with this card, the wielder is granted the target's powers for a very limited period of time. Once used against a target, they are forever immune to the effects of this card.

 

[HighVoltage]

Not too far in the future, an odd string of crimes began to occur throughout the greater Chicago area. They seemed unconnected at first. heft, assault, an occasional murder. The only thing that tied them together was eyewitness accounts. Every onlooker reported the same short, feminine figure dressed in red and black with white-streaked dark hair. One such eyewitness even swore he made eye contact with the figure, stuck staring in horror as she stood over a bloodied body, smiling at him and waving her fingers.

This criminal figure finally received a name when she took the patrons of an entire bank hostage. Camera footage showed the desks and floor come to life, sprouting branches and thorns and binding all the patrons as the figure casually walked back to the vault before exiting. Nothing seemed to be taken, in fact bank records show that nothing was actually taken from the vault. Before departing, the figure went to the head teller and whispered something in his ear.

"When they ask you who did this, you go ahead and tell them that it's Fate."

The little stunt seemed to be just for attention, and it certainly had caught the attention of Chicago PD. However, it also caught the attention of another interested party.

Fate hadn't set out to join a metahuman borderline terrorist organization, but when the Chicago sect of Slate offered her a spot in their ranks, it was hard for her to say no. Whilst part of the Chicago sect Fate flourished, sowing chaos and disorder whenever it suited her. More importantly, she had access to supplies and materials, fully finishing her deck. Things were good, for a time. At least they seemed so on the surface.

The Chicago sect had grander ideals, however. They wanted to go rogue, to separate from Slate as a whole and challenge Obsidian for control. Naturally the boss had caught wind of this rebellion and sought to handle this matter personally. Unfortunately, he was too late. By the time that Obsidian had heard about his rogue sect and decided to take care of them, the issue had been settled. Scorched earth was all that was left of their headquarters, and the only member that could be found was their newest recruit: a dark-haired girl dressed in red and black.

Obsidian had wanted to destroy the Chicago sect, but Fate had gotten bored first.

Seeing what she could truly do, Obsidian extended an offer for her to join the primary sect of Slate in Philadelphia. Fate readily accepted, and has been happily causing mischief ever since. It's been a while, now, especially since the core membership left to start their new branch in Pittsburgh. Now with Malachite dead and Fate being called to join the "family" in Pittsburgh, will she find an invitation awaiting her? Or simply an opportunity to cause more chaos?