OOC: Haha, I should post more often if it means all of you will get posts in soon after.
IC(Cynegild Picker - Congo Flashback):
Cynegild had not quite stepped out of the booth when he staggered, grasping at a railing as he felt the floor beneath his feet rocked by the first in a series of thunderous detonations that moved across the opposite side of the stadium, kicking up a pale cloud of dust as the timed charges pounded the structure in rapid succession, rolling the thunder of the blasts through the stadium and across the city, shaking the earth and nearly deafening Cynegild for several seconds after the last bomb had gone off.
There was a moment of eerie stillness afterwards as the dust lingered, and, for that moment, it seemed as though the blasts had failed to bring down the targeted portion of the stadium.
It was not to last. As gravity took a firm hold on the damaged structures, a full third of the stadium crackled and crumbled, sagging inwards as the surviving support structures snapped under a weight they had never been designed to hold alone. The dust cloud grew as the stadium collapsed, rolling out across the field in a choking fog. The ground shook more violently than before, throwing Cynegild from his feet as car alarms across the city erupted into a violent cacophony, triggered by the collapse.
Slowly regaining his feet, unsteady in a world that still felt as though it were in the midst of an earthquake, Cynegild looked out over the field, and could only just make out the sacrificial altar through the concrete haze that was, for now, the only visible remains of the demolished section of the stadium. It seemed to be constructed of some black stone, and its form was that of four raised pillars adjoining the corners of a single raised platform. A slight shimmer through the dust implied the presence of a metallic inlay on the platform, but he could not make out more. Leaning heavily on the railing with his good hand, Cynegild made his way down the stands towards the field as quickly as he could, while the world around him was still catching its breath.
-- (Drachentocht) --
In the back alley where the walking wounded did battle with the Brothers of the Yellow Sign and their monstrous allies, the earth shook, thunder roared, and the cultists faltered in their steps, taken off-balance by this sudden development. The Dragon's Daughter, however, had planned this - she knew it was coming, and when the enemy balked at the sound of a demolition crew earning their pay, she knew her side was winning, and she and her mercenaries saw their chance to press the attack against the enemy before them. Roaring her defiance in the face of her enemies, she took the nearest of the cultists with her knife, opening his throat before he had fully processed what the thunder had meant, and leaving him in a pool of his own blood as she charged forth, firing from the hip at the remaining hostiles in the alley.
They moved uncertainly now; uncertain of their victory, uncertain of their orders, uncertain of the lives of their leaders. Though some tried to rally their comrades and push back against the mercenaries they had thought would be easy, wounded prey, the majority shuffled backwards, not knowing what to do but leaning towards running for their lives.
A faint crackle served as the only prelude to shouting coming through over the radios the cultists carried. The words were unintelligible, but the voice carried an edge of panic. It was all that was needed to turn the uncertain, shuffling retreat into a full rout as the cultists turned tail and fled, robes trailing behind them, and the winged beasts that served them took to the skies with a maddened bellow, winging over the city towards the source of the thunder.
Turning to her comrades, Drachentocht gestured briefly, and then took off at a jog after the winged beasts, ignoring the broken and scattered remains of the small army of cultists that now ran in any direction that took them away from her.