Time Flies

The horse.

If the dog was man's best friend, then the horse surely ranked a close second. The path to the top of the food chain was often walked with, or on, the equine animal, the beast serving as transport, labour, and perhaps most important, weapon of war. The horse had made the Huns and Mongols nearly invincible for their times. It aided the Europeans in dominating the Native Americans as much as disease did. The Light Brigade's immortal charge, as disastrous as it was, might have been a complete massacre with all hands lost if not for the horses they rode. Until the 20th century, cavalry and its use remained a vital part of any proper army. Battles could, and often did, turn on its proper use.

Some things never did go out of style. Against a thousand pound armored horse thundering across straight terrain, only two kinds of people ran directly AT it.

The stupid, and those who knew what they were doing.

She really didn't look like much on a battlefield, all things considered. She wore her armor well, and moved with general calmness, but when it came down to it, Christine Brynn was 5'8 and 138 pounds soaking wet. It was not surprising for her to go for a fight and find everyone she met being literally twice her size.

But, as the saying about man's best friend went, it wasn't the size of the dog in the fight.

Especially when you were uniquely blessed. Which was why Christine didn't just run directly at the charging cavalry man as it thundered down at her, but promptly used her glaive as a pogo stick and vaulted herself into the air.

One...

The horseman probably meant to say more in his alarm that his easy-target-a-second-ago was no longer on the ground available to be run over or cut down, but now in the air with the high ground and approaching fast, but he only got out one syllable as Christine flew at him. Still, with the weight disadvantage, not to mention the risks of such an unconventional move...

Two...

"FU-"

Any eyes turned to the woman would have seen her form cease to be solid, becoming an impossible blur of motion that couldn't be tracked, just located after the fact, Christine ramming herself into the soldier's mounted form. Slamming her forearm into the armored soldier's chest should have broken said  arm, dislocated her shoulder, or both, and even if she escaped injury, she should have been knocked to the ground in turn from the impact. Only trained eyes would have seen the shimmer of force that rippled up her limb and surged off her shoulder, Newton's Third Law given a selected path in its action, the soldier flying off his mount like he'd been struck by a cannonball.

And...three.

The rest of the world dropped away. Her world was what was below her hands again. Her hands and body, as everything slowed to a crawl. The horse was still going, but ever so slow. The man was still falling, but ever so slow. Christine had to turn, land, and grab, and she seemed ever so slow as the ember burned in her eyes and mind...

If she hadn't found the reins with one had, she probably would have fallen, the world snapping back to normal just before everything was read, Christine slamming down onto the horse's back and saddle, her breath exploding from her lungs as the impact and intense motion of the steed rattled through her body, her fingers coiling around the leather straps that directed the beast, Christine flailing to find a stirrup for two terrifying seconds before her foot finally slipped in. Once she had her balance back, everything else was simple, the surgeon and soldier pulling herself upright and grabbing onto the pommel with her left hand, leaning down and grabbing her glaive as she rode past it, spinning the weapon back around her before she pulled back on the reins.

They so often made staying on the back of a rearing horse look easy. Christine didn't really care that she had to yelp and brace herself with her weapon on the ground to keep from falling off.

"SOLDIERS!"

She didn't really have a carrying voice, and the men that Christine was trying to get the attention didn't hear her over the battlefield din. For a moment, the girl longed for the quiet of a hospital. Just for a moment though. For now, she needed noise.

Actions spoke louder, after all.

Christine pulled the horse into an about-face. The enemy cavalry hadn't mounted a completely successful charge, having been scattered by arrows and cannon fire, but they'd done as much damage as they could before scattering, and they hadn't taken enough to keep from regrouping.

Yet. Christine dug her heels into the mount's side and sent it galloping back into the fray it had just emerged from. To her surprise, the soldier she'd borrowed the horse from was getting up.

"Forjaga."

The armor on Christine's weapon arm lit up, Christine charging back towards the soldier, who looked up to meet a golf swing glaive strike, Christine using the flat of her blade but backing it up with her gift. The man flew again, the shockwave of force roiling up Christine's arm and being expelled past her head in a loud rattling buzz.


"SOLDIERS! COVER ME!" Christine yelled, putting as much brass into her voice as she could muster, as she sent the horse directly towards the regrouping cavalry. She actually didn't have much experience or training when it came to riding a horse, let along riding it while directing it with one hand and swinging around a bladed staff that was taller than her with the other, nor did she have any idea if she would get any actual cover. She did, however, have training in other matters.

One of which was making what she could do well work well. The first cavalryman she attacked found that out the hard way as she swung her glaive one handed like a baseball bat slash incomprehensible blur, the impact sending him flying backwards at a nearly perfect horizontal line for three seconds before he crashed to earth, the redirected backlash of such an intense blow yanked away from Christine's muscles', bones, and joints and instead redirected as pure force expelled behind her. Christine spun the weapon up with liquid ease, yanked her horse to the immediate right, and speared her next target in the shoulder, sending him tumbling off his horse in turn.

Now she had their attention, two heavily armored forms wheeling their horses around and drawing swords, moving to box her in from behind and cut her down. Christine didn't let slow her stride, as she rampaged through a pack of infantry, her swinging staff sending men and women flying and crashing to the ground, all knocked away so they didn't get stomped underfoot by Christine's own mount. A bad move, perhaps, as the two flanking shoulders closed in.

Christine promptly spun her staff back up, aimed it at the closer cavalryman, glanced to get the range...

Your fault for thinking having a gift means I can't use the Stream too.

The blast of concussive force erupted off Christine's weapon like a shotgun, the horseman's armor suddenly sprouting a dozen new dents even as he was knocked from his ride, Christine spinning her body and weapon around and giving her other pursuer the 'second barrel' before riding on. More cavalry were coming, but they seemed less eager after the most recent display. Which probably meant-

Crossbows.

It wasn't easy to bring a horse low, but a good way was to shoot it at a distance with sharpened metal rods.

A bad way to do that was to blatantly emerge from the fog of war for a clear shot, giving your target an equally clear view of you. The three crossbowmen probably didn't think so though. Christine was a hundred feet from them and they needed a mere second to aim and another to fire.

Their bad luck for picking a target who could make seconds her world. The bolts flew outward, almost reached the horse...and then slowed down to a crawl, Christine lashing out with her weapon and knocking them from the air before she galloped towards her shooters, the trio breaking and running. Christine followed them for two seconds before she yanked her horse to the side, charging directly at a clustered pack of cavalry who seemed uncertain what to do.

They elected to charge back.

Several seconds and ringing blows latter, riderless horses scattered as said riders crashed to the ground, Christine emerging from the shattered cluster with a few hairs out of place but little else, immediately spotting a new line of infantry that she charged through, breaking their unity in turn.

I don't think I'm getting backup, they must still be regrouping...who knows how long Ash...

Christine had a lot of talents, but eyes in the back of her head wasn't one of them. She couldn't stop what she couldn't see, and hence she was thrown from her horse as the crossbow bolts slammed into its side, its agonized shriek filling her ears...

It, I didn't even know its gender...

Christine didn't land as badly as Ash did, but it was far from a graceful, on-two-feet touchdown, Christine slamming down onto her knees, letting go of her weapon as her hands sank into the cold, rocky mud, her helmet flying off her head and her sweaty golden-blonde hair flying free. Unlike Ash, she didn't have a cloak to get tangled up with, and her rapier was firmly tied to her back, so at least there was that. Christine slowly exhaled, then flipped her hair back over her face and looked back at where she'd come from.

The horse had collapsed, making no noise as it lay there, two crossbow bolts buried in its side. That wasn't the problem: the problem was that in its sudden pain it had stepped wrong and suffered the worst possible injury for a horse: a broken leg. The kind thing for most people would be to kill it and put it out of its misery.

Christine was a girl of other options though, as she sprinted over to the horse's side.

"It's okay....okay...hold still..." Christine said, kneeling down and feeling the wound. Barbed length. She'd have to cut some muscles. Christine wiped her hands on her pants and side as best she could, withdrawing her scalpel. No time for caution.

The horse let out another small scream as Christine began to cut, but it was too weak and tired to thrash or move. One small favor, as Christine cut away where the weapons were buried and fixed her gaze on them. No bombs, no problem...

The lengths of metal slid out, the cuts and passageways of the war closing up behind it. Christine tossed them aside and scrambled over to the horse's leg. She was no vet, but in this case she didn't need to be. She knew there was a wound, and she wanted it gone.

In eight seconds, it was. A confused horse scrambled up before immediately running off.

"...yeah, probably better." Christine said, standing up. She'd better run herself, back to her lines before...

Christine turned around to hear the click of the crossbows aimed at her face. She hadn't been fast enough. More crossbowmen had snuck up on her, and they'd brought friends, more soldiers and horsemen starting to approach and gather around her.

Her glaive was still on the ground where she left it, twelve feet away. She was surrounded. For all she knew, no backup was coming.

"Bitch." One of the crossbowman said. Christine's eyes narrowed.

"Do you have to be rude?"

"Bitch."

"...I'll bet." Christine said. Hopefully Ash was doing better.

----

"....HHHHHH-!"

THUD.

Hot S***

"Whoever made pickle jars impossible to open should be shot."

"Ash...!"

"I mean, I have decent grip strength and I'm wearing gloves, it shouldn't be like I'm trying to take off a rusted screw with my fingers-!"

"ASH!" Christine screamed, the blonde-haired man finally realizing her tone was indicating danger rather than polite dismissal. Rather than responding, he looked up from the plastic screwtop jar he was trying to open, his eyes flicking around in well-practiced motions.

Not that it was needed. The problem was obvious. Twenty seconds ago there had been several dozen soldiers in front of and generally around him. Now there were none.

Well, correction. Several dozen FRIENDLY soldiers. There were still many unfriendly soldiers further in front of him. Who now all had a clear view of Ash.

"GAH! WHAT HAPPENED TO OUR FRONT LINES?!"

"HIM!"

Funny the things you miss. Soldiers breaking ranks. Soldiers running past you. Soldiers now behind you.

The closer enemy soldier, one covered in black, smoking armor, leveling what Ash was pretty sure was a flamethrower at him.

"Oh, fiddlesticks."

The jellied chemicals leapt from the nozzle of the weapon, igniting and blooming into hot, expanding, consuming fire, the stream erupting across the open space.

---------------

King Incael has gone mad.

That's the only way I can even begin to understand this behavior. Kings start wars, kings want more land, money, power, they want to sate petty grudges, but this...when you're breaking out Pop Rocks, when you're attacking organizations like OutREACH, you're crossing the line. The world's not like it once was, where interfering was tied up in mountains of red tape and unintended consequences. You have anything involving sense, you know damn well that if you start dipping into the war crimes bucket, someone's going to come and tell you to stop. Often at swordpoint. William. Caleb. Valse.

Me.

It hasn't slowed him at all. For all I know, he knew I was at Christine's main camp and he STILL send soldiers to try and wreck the place. He's either insane, suicidal, or...

God I wish Angie was here. But she's not. I'm here, and so is Chris. And so are a lot of good men who could die if I don't get my rear in gear.

Never again.

-----------------
Fire.

Directly in its path. Too small to serve as any kind of a shield for the people behind him. No idea of the max range.

The downside of being friends with perhaps the most powerful thaumaturge on the planet was that she was often too busy to lend a hand.

The upside was you got all the best toys. That, and Ash's belt pouches were a lot easier to open than that pickle jar, the seven-pointed star attached to the silver chains sliding into the center of Ash's hands as he looped his fingers through the rings at the end of the chains.

"KASTA OM!"

The power surged out, washing over the fire.

Reality promptly took a holiday. The dull red fire blanched white, the ethereal heat becoming solid cold, the flamethrower blast transforming into a mass of ice, a sweeping wave of death now a single pillar of crushing, cold momentum.

Which was still heading directly for Ash.

"Oops."

The blonde-haired warrior was uncertain of a few things. One was whether he'd managed to stay in his boots when the mass of ice slammed into him. Another was whether all of his ribs had broken or just generally pulped; he suspected the agony that bloomed in his chest didn't really care for specific details. The last one, as he flew backwards, was that for a moment he thought the makeshift flying ice ram was going to fall on top of him to complete the Wile E. Coyote impression, but it thankfully hit the ground before Ash did, its direct momentum bled off by the interference it had encountered (that being Ash).

Oh, and now he was covered with mud, from his impact and further tumble on the battlefield. He doubted an alien hunter would be along to make that fact worthwhile.

After a few more seconds, he finally came to a stop. Coughing, more pain wracking through his form, Ash lifted a muddy hand to try and remove some of the mess from his face. All he succeeded in doing was smearing said mess around...mostly. He could still see. Unfortunately, his view was the guy with the flamethrower stalking forward, unperturbed by Ash's little magic trick and still with plenty of fuel.

The hair on the back of Ash's neck stood up.

It was not, however, because of the flamethrower man.

The world seemed to slow down for a bit. For a moment, all Ash knew was the space between one breath and the next...and the sight of the glaive, the bladed staff seeming to drift through the air like a feather on the wind, spiraling through the air a few feet from him.

Then his perception synced back up with reality. He didn't even have the time to turn his head to follow before the glaive slammed into the flamethrower man, the weapon wielder flying backwards even faster than Ash had. Ash knew what was coming and looked away, the dull sound of the flamethrower tanks igniting and blowing their wearer to oblivion echoing under the general sounds of war.

"Are you all right?" Christine said, arriving by his side a moment later. Her surgical clothing was gone, traded in for golden brown leathers and white, shiny plates of some mystery material that looked like a cross between plastic and crystal, her hair tied up behind a helmet whose eyeslits seemed unnaturally wide.

"Depends. Did my spine fly out my back?"

"Nope."

"Probably all right then." Ash said, pulling himself up, one final jolt of pain running down his spine and ribcage, a few uncomfortable popping noises emitting from his body as he got back into a standing position. He'd kept his boots, as it turned out. And his Fordaring charm, which he slipped back into one of his belt pouches before he removed a Ehetacl's Hand, the small round...

Damn it. He'd lost the 'pickle jar', or more specifically, the coin-like items within it. So much for meshing with those who were opposing King Incael. Well, at least the E-Hand was at hand, Ash planting in on his chest and activating it, the incantation going to work and drawing the mud off Ash's armor and clothes.

"That was Oriam weaponry."

"That was ILLEGAL Oriam weaponry." Ash said, taking advantage of the fact that his gloves were now clean to wipe off his face, the E-Hand going to work to remove the newly acquired dirt on the gloves. It couldn't clean off organic material like Ash's face, but there were always loopholes. "Hemel tech like that is for clearing out mergewraiths, lithefiends, hell, verdenbaak. Using it on a battlefield with non-Risks is a war crime. What the hell is Incael thinking?"

"He's planning something." Christine said, holding up her hand. The glaive dropped into it, the woman taking a moment to inspect its length for damage.

"This does seem too directed for just random madness. Doesn't help us if we don't know WHAT he's planning." Ash said. "Now, if I was a king, resorting to these methods, and wasn't crazy, what would be..."

"Sir Marsello!"

"Yeah?" Ash said, looking at the voice, even as he pulled off the clump of mud the E-Hand had become and dropped it on the ground. Probably wasn't getting that back, either. Good thing he was square with Squares these days.

The speaker's voice did not belay his age: he sound twenty and looked fifty. The horrors of war, though the soldier wasn't letting it get him down.

"Enemy intelligence, sir! Captured! I was told to inform-!"

"Yes yes, gimme." Ash said, grabbing the notebook. "Reinforcements?"

"We have a...oh. No sign of them sir." The soldier said.

"Don't worry about it, sergeant. We'll compensate. You have an unhappy face. Please tell me what's with the unhappy face." Christine said, stormclouds having gathered over Ash's features in the last few seconds.

"Mother of..." Ash said, holding out the book. Christine was a speed reader, and only took six seconds to find and read the imporant part.

"That would explain a lot."

"I just wish we could find these things out BEFORE it's come down to the warfields part." Ash said.

"Blood will out."

"Orders, sir?"

For a moment, Ash froze, an old and hated anxiety creeping up within him.

C'mon kid, you gotta get going or get got...

No, don't panic. Look. Think. Battlefield. Still in full sway. Illegal weapons backing infantry, cavalry, knights. No Stream users encountered, nor any Blackbirds. And perhaps behind it all....

No idea when help's coming. Enemy lines intact. Likely a ticking clock.

Ash spotted something out of the corner of his eye, and when it trundled into view in the immediate distance, he suddenly felt a lot better.

"We don't have enough force with just the two of us to break through enemy lines. Not immediately, and immediately's what we need. Chris, you stay with the front lines, give them aid, you know what to do. Soldier, tell your superiors I'm going to try and weaken the enemy ranks so you can break their lines."

"How?"Christine said, the sergeant running off without a reply.

"Give them something else to pay attention to." Ash said, as he started heading for the catapult.

"You sure about splitting up?"

"You read what Incael might be trying to get his hands on, Chris. I don't have time to be sure."

"You don't have to put yourself at unnecessary risk, either."

C'mon kid, you gotta get going or get got...

"I'm willing to."

"Be careful, pumpkin." Christine said, before she turned and sprinted off in another direction.

...No. Come back. I'm useless without you. Without all of you. I'm just a stupid, lucky, lucky asshole who pawns off his death on other people...

C'mon kid, you gotta get going or get got...

-----

"ANOTHER FIFTY FEET! MOVE! IF THEY GET A CHANCE TO GET THEIR HORSES TOGETHER THEY'RE NOT GOING TO BE NICE TO US FOR GIVING THEM THE CHANCE! MOVE IT! NOW-!" The very broad in body and voice captain yelled at his troops pushing at the catapult.

"Soldier!"

"WHAT?" The captain yelled, turning as Ash walked past him, the young man spinning on his heel to face him, mud squelching under his boots as he tried to walk backwards without tripping on his cloak or slipping in the mud.

"You're about to fire this, right?"

"YES! WHY?"

"One minor addition!" Ash called over his shoulder, as he started climbing up onto the rolling platform.

"What the hell are you doing, Marsello?!"

"Hitching a ride." Ash said, clambering onto the catapult's arm and onto the heavy stone that lay in the 'hand' at the end of it, somewhat surprising himself for not slipping once.

"...ARE YOU CRAZY?"

"I need to get to that castle, sir, and in the process get the enemy freaked out that someone's behind their lines. Is it going to throw off your aim?"

"Probably not!" The captain said, turning around and looking into the distance.

"Okay! When are you firing it?"

"NOW!"

"What, you mEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN...!" Ash said, his words transforming into a shriek as the arm violently snapped upward, hurling the rock, and him, through the air.

He quickly realized a few things. One was that the rock was under no obligation to stay under him.

Two was that neither were his own two feet.

The last one was his cloak wrapping around his face, ensuring that now, not only was he tumbling out of control through the air, he was now doing so blind.

"...is he supposed to be doing that?" One of the soldiers who was standing near the captain said, trying to follow the erstwhile projectile's passage.

"Sometimes I think he's called the Bloody Fire is because he's bloody stupid."

Macbeth

There were different kinds of night.

There were quiet nights. There were stormy nights. There were nights when the darkness was a comforting cloak, and nights when it was a sword dangling above the neck of anyone who dared risk it. There were nights when the darkness seemed just a part of the world. For some, the sun may never have set at all.

The night rarely belonged to anyone. Anyone who claimed such a thing had best be dangerous enough to back it up.

Anyone who would dare such nights had best know what they dare.

To anyone who had stumbled onto the sight, it would seem like the women were staring at nothing. Gathered together, eyes peering into the distant void, the sight would have unnerved most. But anyone who could have possibly discovered the scene by accident would have long ago lost their nerve. And soon, their lives. Some shared images were shared solely between peers. The world would not be privileged to see them.

"...we should resume now. They've left..."

"Will they stay gone, though? You saw what they did. To invaders and creature of this world alike. It's mere chance we didn't catch their eye."

"What are you suggesting, then? That we stop harvesting? Let ourselves wither away because some star people managed to win a few minor victories against foes empowered by different magics?"

"If magic it was. They still won. Convincingly. The only reason those lands are not a mass graveyard is because of their...soft-heartedness. And I do not think we can take advantage of that."

"Plant a seed among them then. Let them..."

"The renegade associates with them. He would foil such a plot. And since his boon, I have been unable to even scry on his blood. He's more or less untouchable."

"Then WHY do we even bother to meet? Are you actually claiming that there's nothing we can do now, Mireya? That we should retreat to our grounds and wait to turn to dust?"

"I think perhaps your own wishes for me are coloring your words, Kaldri. No. Our mothers did not let the world's occasional ingratitude turn them away, nor will I let it do the same for me. But the circumstances are unique. We must not only work together, but we must find a way to match their danger."

"And what do you suggest?"

"Let us roll the burned bones, Alkyone. All of them. We will seek a future in the flames, as we have done before..."

"Why should YOU roll the bones?"

"We cannot play this game, Kaldri. If you let your ego blind yourself..." Mireya said, waving a hand and summoning a golden bowl that burst into flame. The natural light of the night and the forest, already muted, seemed to shrink even more, leaving the three women lit only by the dark blue fire that lapped from within the bowl.

"You summon the fire and then claim our fetishes are needed along with yours? You..." Kaldri said, Mireya's smooth face beginning to crease with anger.

"You may as well hand them over. It won't change anything."

The three women had shared dissimilar expressions, but the voice proved to be the first thing that could unite them, their eyes filling with loathsome rage as the figure strolled from the darkness.

"You wish to die, mongrel? You needn't have picked such a roundabout way." Mireya said, black sparks flicking from her free hand.

"I'll die."

"But so will you." Lyall said. "None of you could trust the other, so none of you are in your place of power. Where we are, this neutral ground...yes, I'll die. But so will at least one of you. Probably two. Would you like to try and work out which one will survive?"

"You don't have the STONES." Alkyone said. "You didn't recruit any of those star people to your cause, hopeless as it is..."

"Hopeless? Then why are you the ones meeting in shadow, so concerned you actually show your faces to each other without trying to kill each other? And why, despite this sacrifice, are you finding no answers?"

The Haruspex could only glare at the Therian. Their naked rancor did not slow his step, as he walked right up to where Mireya had left her fire, floating in the golden bowl.

"What you're feeling right now? That was my life. Waiting. Knowing how bad it could go. Knowing I'd have to fight anyway, because the other option was worse. Knowing I may as well have been trying to bail out the ocean with a bucket. Something I've learned living with a yoke. Most can't bear it at all, even a little. They break."

The hood hid his eyes, but the Haruspex could feel them anyway. Meeting their own.

"So why take chances? I know what's going to happen. The numbers have finally changed." Lyall said. "You have feasted, parasites. Feasted long and well. Suckling away at the lifeblood of people like a stubborn, swollen leech. But it's all coming to an end.

"They don't like your kind. They likely won't be distracted by others this time.

"As of now...THE POWER IS OUT OF YOUR HANDS."

None of the Haruspex saw Lyall's hand, as he slashed down and slammed the bowl aside, the power holding it aloft vanishing, the fire within it consumed by the night, the darkness devouring the four forms in turn.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"...what do we do?" Alkyone said. The Therian had had dared tell them to their faces that they were doomed had used the darkness to vanish. His presumption had rankled the Haruspex so deeply that the nearest vegetation to her was beginning to die and rot, seething negative energies rolling off her soul in a poisonous, angry wave.

The voice that answered her, however, was considerably more confident.

"...we feast. If he assumes we are already done...then it is to HIS folly." Mireya said. "...Thank you, Therian. I think I may actually have an idea now." 
      

Cornwind Cutting Room Floor 2012

2012 could have been a better year. On one hand, the world didn't end like the Mayans (didn't) predict. On the other hand, Zoofights RP suffered from a lack of an actual Zoofights and other problems, some in real life. As a result, the season petered out with many plot threads unresolved. With 2013 mostly starting fresh, those threads will never be revisited. Ergo, here are the people/beings (all villains) that would have appeared that did not.

Lumine

From: Mega Man X8

The transformation of Air Man to Zephyrus in Season of ZFRP would have unintended consequences, namely in causing the set future of the Mega Man games, that being the Mega Man X series, to begin to unravel. Lumine, the ultimate reploid slash Maverick, would have refused to go quietly and be erased, and hence traveled back in time to test/destroy Zephyrus via constant assaults via other Mega Man X reploids, while also disguising himself as a young fan of Zephyrus to observe him close up. Several of the Reploid attacks did happen, each leaving behind a letter that would have ultimately spelled out TRALPHIUM, another name for Helium-3, which is found in great quantities on the Moon, which is where Lumine was confronted in his game and where his base was. The Kobbers would have gone there, confronted a final trick (Mega Man X8 Sigma, who was going to present himself as the Lord being back, to try and anger the Bargoers into just destroying the fake Lord and leaving without asking questions) before Lumine revealed himself, his whole motivation being that Zephyrus should not exist, as it was destroying his whole universe. Rejecting the notion that Zephyrus should negate himself to save one possible timeline, the Kobbers would have fought and bested Lumine, who would be erased from existence afterwards, lamenting that it seemed that fate would allow one being to exist at the cost of so many. Ultimately, it may have been best not to happen: not only would certain things (like certain villain returns) be clarified later as something players would not want to happen, even as a trick, but the TRALPHIUM code word/clue to the moon ended up being an unexpected cheat, as Helium-3 is not officially known as tralphium (it was called that in a video game, and someone added it to Helium-3's Wikipedia page as official fact, which I blindly accepted because hey, it was on Wikipedia) and hence tralphium is not a word that actually exists, a fact that utterly baffled the players playing in the RP who attempted to use dictionaries and word engines to figure it out (A famous joke was that with the letters that ended up being officially provided and it being established there was nine letters, the only word they could spell was a strange bird name called Tangwhaup). Such an event would have likely played a big role in Zephyrus retiring after Season 2, one thinks, had it managed to occur without issue. One final vague detail of the aborted storyline's early parts; it lead to Zephyrus, Sine, and some others poking through Wily's wrecked fortress to discover a being-built Zero, who they rigged to explode before they fled. But it's possible Zephyrus and Sine didn't actually succeed in blowing up Zero.

The Leprechaun

From: The Leprechaun film series.

The Leprechaun would have teamed up with Radu to bother the Bar. Odds are Radu would swiftly be given the boot in that partnership. after which the Bar would have swiftly rendered the Leprechaun dead. But he's been dead before. He's also been in space before. So perhaps he may yet return in a new story form.

The Vathack Deadliners

From: Extreme Ghostbusters

The Mark of the Yellow King would have had one last surprise in store for the Bargoers in October, summoning the malevolent writing spirits from Extreme Ghostbusters to plague the Bargoers. Considering their near-indestructibility, some fun would have surely been had, and who knows how the Bargoers would have dealt with them. It might have been even more absurd than how the show tried to.

The Knights of Myaer

From: X-Men-First Class. Sort of.

This one sort of applies, as they only appeared in a brief blog flashback. A group of six (three shown) dimensional aliens of immense power and ennui, who battled each other using planets as their warground (the planets being destroyed in the process), they would have been the enemies in the second half of the aborted Sine-focused Blog series called 'Run'. With Sine would caught their eye due to her dimensional tech, after running a bunch of missions the Knights (originally called the Knights of Hykon in their source material, changed to Myaer for later wordplay) would have confronted Sine, wrecking the world she'd delivered her blue ruby to and forcing her to flee. With her actions with Zephyrus and Jonesy having left her without a single Kobber ally, Sine would have forced into a long retreat as she desperately tried to escape their grasp. During which, she would have crossed paths with Caine (and caused the events that dumped him at the Bar) and also with Doomrider (which may have ended very ugly for Sine had the Knights not angered the biker demigod more). Ultimately, Sine would have stopped running and tried to make a final stand (One idea I had was that she would make use of this machine to upgrade her equipment and give herself a fighting chance). Exactly how it would have ended was never decided: time muckery was considered, but ultimately the story was never written. Between real life and others not agreeing with the scope and design of the plot, the events still officially happened and made Sine realized how much she'd screwed up, but they will never be told in detail. Does this mean the Knights might yet return? Well...Sine does tend to make a poor combatant...