>The Brick has activated the latent ability (MKII), Brickhouse.
As he tossed the brick in his hands toward the incoming profuse amount of flames, a light blue haze filled the area before his eyes as it briefly obscured his head. Energy rushed within his blood and some separated, turning into strands of Mystic thought power that The Brick absorbed.
An insignia of a cartoonish pig, its snout oversized and its eyes beady and yet somehow hungry, there was a police cap atop its head and a nightclub in its maw. Above the trotters were bristled amounts of flesh, and small tusks grew from it as it darted about within the confines of the brick.
Multiple copies of The Brick itself materialized and constructed a wall, blocking off the advance of the roaring flames and diverting them into two separate streams. This gave Vere enough time to move, backflipping and darting around the continuous gushing flares and approach the group from a different angle.
Some of the Burnt Trumpeters noticed, however! Turning their heads to aim their glistening brass fangs coupled with the fire jutting out of their mouths, they ran towards Vere with faltering steps.
Their fire was pointed high, and since Vere was so tall, he had no choice but to slide along the ground instead of duck. Static shock built up as he glided haphazardly across the rugs, his ponytail fluttering due to his lumbering frame's swift yet erratic movements.
Approaching one of the Burnt Trumpeters as they pointed their head down, he forced his legs to wrap around their waist! Then, disrupting the Suspect's balance, he pivoted on his back and seemed to dance along the floor, sending kicks at the man's abdomen with the same ferocity as a series of spear jabs!
Now in a handstand, his hands crossed over each other and back again as he contorted his body to barely avoid the rays of flame gushing towards him. His legs flailed about dangerously as if he was playing Twister!
Kicking and slamming his lower legs against the three Suspects, he abruptly front flipped back to his feet as he sensed the other Suspects getting wise to the movement a distance away. Then, with snake-like precision, he shoved his scaled, clawish hands into a Burnt Trumpeter's mouth, the flames spouting out, spilling over and colliding against the membrane of thought power that tried its best to shield Vere.
The hand was joined by another that stuck around the opponent's neck with a monstrous grip. Black strands of Authority cloaked his movements as the hissing of a [Mamba] sounded, and he pried the teeth out of the Suspect and flung it at the other two reeling by him.
With a firmly placed foot and a ragtime swirling movement, he turned 485 degrees, making a complete loop around and meeting the encroaching blasts of conjoined flames as he tossed the Suspect into its trajectory as if he was aiming a bowling ball.
Then, his line of sight performed vertical 360s as he interchanged the positions of his hands and feet several times, avoiding the brunt of the cross flames of the two blaring screams of the Burnt Trumpeters.
He bent down low as he came to a stop, his right leg outstretched as he lithely kicked up some of the cubicle walls as a response. Streaks of neon light flew in the air as he used the cubicles and their components to attack the remaining Suspects!
One Burnt Trumpeter burst into flames, releasing more of the rampant tongues of fire along the third floor as the body dissipated. Another was bludgeoned to death by Vere as he reclaimed The Brick, and two more were crushed by multiple stacks of cubicle walls he flung.
He wasn't left flawless by this, however. A fire burnt at his clothes and singed wounds into his flesh, yet thought power was at work to minimize the damage he suffered. Though Vere could heal it all immediately, he was still cognizant of the words Morrigan had told him when she was recovering from their training skirmish.
Mental stress would bring about the arrival of Desire Demons, the Id, and the Superego. The nagging strain at the back of his head was from the depletion of his own mental stability from using his cognitive force, and overextending his mental stability more than it could take would result in stress.
So he had to be careful not to let things dally for too long and improve the amount of thought power he could wield at once. The passive cognition shield that seemed intrinsic—no, instinctive—couldn't be used to block all attacks lest he causes himself stress. He simply HAD to take some damage and couldn't force himself to flawlessly heal immediately.
This resulted in his shirt burning in various patches as the fabric disintegrated into ashen particles encased by wisps of flame. In addition, areas of reddish-orange burnt away, exposing portions of the ornate tapestry of tattoos that covered Vere's torso.
The most significant elements were various flowers and a skeletal snake. The letters E-D-I-T-H were spelled atop its head in an elegant cursive font as it looped around a bed of broken bones and sprouting flowers.
Flame obscured the pearlescent glow of the tattoo, aiming to swallow Vere whole in its corrosive warmth. Vere gritted his teeth and swung his clawed hands past the flame, looking like a bat out of hell as wavy fire lines chased after him as he sprung forward.
Brutality commenced as a hunchback ominously tolled a bell.
Brick in one hand, delivered via [Magpie], and a revolver with empty chambers in the other, he began to perform Range Play.
Brass fangs caught against the tattered exterior of the worn revolver while The Brick smashed into their face. Some of the biting Burnt Trumpeters lunged for the supple flesh of his upper torso and face, only to be met with a chip in their fangs as they collided with black scales.
Eerie yet sonorous singing came from the Flarechestras as fire gushed from their fingernails and mouths. The aurora of flame and discomforting heat created an arena of the inferno as the fire rampaged all over the third floor, curtaining the fighting group in reddish-orange flickering illumination.
Ashes spread underneath the footsteps of Vere, outlined by the shape of his boots. Blazing heat, a sickening crunch, and gushing Suspect blood. As the man's shirt was reduced to a burning mess of half tatters, he planted his foot into the chest of a Burnt Trumpeter and pried its head off.
A kick brought the midair revolver back into his hand as he leaned backward and left the ground. Then, hooking his leg against a Flarechestra as he pressed through the flame barrier, he exploded with power as he tossed it into another!
Rotating vertically objects-in-his-hands-first, he slid all over the ground as the searing heat burned holes in his plants and burnt more of his flesh.
The revolver's barrel entered the line of sight of a Flarechestra, prompting it to shut its mouth as Vere's serpentine digit softly clutched against the trigger.
Nothing fired.
Yet the intimidating wreath of thin black tendrils eclipsed the man, casting a shadow over the upper half of his face. A faint grin was the only thing the Suspect would remember before their brains spilled onto the floor.
[Press!]
As the man's scarred back faced the approaching Suspects, they couldn't help but reel back as they saw it. Several sinister, runic patterns emitted jet black luminance, and the various bullet scars and bizarre, jagged lines were quite intimidating. The tattoos along the back couldn't hide much; a series of crosses that looked like paintings of stars around the surface of the back. A large, marring cicatrix that seemed to resemble a stigmata due to its mysterious feel and laced patterns that were like vines was on the left of his shoulder plate as if something was ripped out from the area.
Ash began to float aloft as a black wave spread, Vere at the center. Messy strands of hair flowed like a steady gust of wind softly brushed them upwards. The listless apathy of his eyes barely cloaked the exuberant glee of viciousness, his amiable even grin quite unnerving underneath the yellow-red light of the moon that streamed in from the windows.
PANG! PANG! PANG!
A yellow-red aura stemming from around his feet wrapped the room, the sound of gunfire resounding just a bit afterward. The foundations of Vere's thought nexus shook as he utilized his Conspiracy thought power to mimic the sounds of his revolver, shocking all of the Suspects into inaction.
With a seemingly casual toss over his shoulder, air visibly fluctuated as The Brick was sent flying over his shoulder and sent square into a Flarechestra. The barrel of his revolver raked across the charred, charcoal faces of the Burnt Trumpeters and drew bloody gashes in the faces of the Flarechestras.
Fire madly weaved and grew amongst the place, and Vere's movements blurred as he got to work. Finally, a series of crunching blows reduced the Suspects to disintegrating bodies and Remnants, which were promptly caught by the [Magpie].
Vere stood there amidst the flames. Then, with a sweeping gaze, he looked over his shoulder, patted off the embers on his shirt, and left.