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The young woman--girl, really--whimpered in fear as the ordered line of silent, hooded acolytes gazed down upon her. She was bruised, terrified, captured off the street as she had been out at the market. Stripped and raped, she was chained down, spread-eagled, on the altar that was stained with dried rivulets of human blood. As the hooded figures edges closer, she tried to shy away from them, afraid of their violent and violating touch. She did not move far; the chains binding her to the stained table gave no slack.~There was a hushed murmur from the cowled mass of worshippers, and one of their number, more ornately clothed than the rest, stepped forward towards the raised dais with the bound girl. The figure's arms stretched towards the ceiling, and the robed fanatics began to chant in a guttural, ugly tongue.~"Great Arimars! For decades we have prepared for your coming!" the high priest called, his cries echoed by the acolytes. "God of the Stained Knives, this girl is prepared for you! Blood of the great Kielaziv, First of your Servants, she is worthy." The crazed prayer of the hooded man assaulted the young woman's mind, driving her sanity to its brink. The mass of hooded figures shuffled forward, and she say the glittering of metal amid the sweeping robes. "Eighty years you have waited for the child promised you by Kielaziv, and, tonight, you shall have her!"~Amid this, the bound girl could only struggle against her chains like a fear-maddened animal, for while she heard and understood the words, she knew not what they meant? "Promised?" She had been a girl born to a noble family, and none of this made sense to her. The only thing that made sense now was the pain these fanatics had visited upon her.~The frontmost rank was within a yard of the woman, and she began to squirm in a blind, terrified panic as she sensed what was coming. Held in each acolyte's hand was a thin hexagon of metal, the size of a large coin and razor-edged. Forged of steel from a star that had fallen to the earth, each of those shards was held sacred by each worshipper of the god Arimars as a gift from the heavens. And they were instrumental in the brutal Ceremony of Blood.~"MAY ARIMARS FEED! BLOOD, INNOCENCE, AND MAGIC!"~The acolytes closest to the girl stepped forward, brandishing their hexagonal blades. She again tried to shy away, but the chains held fast even as the first hooded figure leaned over her, hand outstretched. The young woman screamed as the razor-edged coin was drawn along her shoulder, nicking her, and the paper-thin cut reddened as blood began to build up underneath. The first acolyte stepped out of the way, dropping his bloody coin to the altar, and again a blade flashed, slicing her stomach with another miniscule injury. The horrible procession continued, each of the five hundred acolytes ensured a turn to let blood from their sacrifice.
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Curtain Of Steel
 Force Field: Supreme
The knife descends, and it seems to move so, so slow. My mouth is gaping as I scream, but even the sound of it seems distorted in my final moments. I tense up, knowing it will do nothing, but I do not care. I only care about the knife that is--~Stopping. There is a clang, a flash of sparks, and the knife ricochets off of something. I continue to stare at the path the knife would have taken, so shocked I haven't realized I have been saved. Or, at least, that my death has been delayed for a few moments. My focus wavers, and I shift my gaze to see... what in the world?~A dozen razor-coins, stained with my blood, are hovering above me, interlocking to form a curved shield of star-steel. I stare in astonishment, and I faintly hear the priest roaring out to the masses.~"See! Bear witness! The god himself comes to feed! Tonight, Arimars is among us!" The hooded turns to face me. "And, Great Arimars, I will spill her blood to bring you honor!" The knife again falls towards me, towards me throat and where the wall of steel does not cover.~Except the barrier shifts, and again the knife clatters off a wall of steel. The steel pieces flare as if burning with a crimson light as they move, and with a shock I realize that the blood that stains them is producing the illumination.
Nimbus Of Steel
 Matter Animation: Superior
The priest stares, and I hear a rumble of muttering from the acolytes. They seem... uneasy with whatever is happening. Is this not part of their barbaric ritual? The priest turns to the horrific idol of Arimars, and falls to his knees in front of it.~"Lord Arimars, you of the Stained Knives, speak with me, your humble, servant, so that I may know what is unsatisfactory with your sacrifice."~Nothing. After a moment, the fanatic slowly rises to his feet, and wheels on me. Even underneath the hood I can see the insane rage in the man's eyes. "Brothers, we have been tricked! The Lord Arimars is not here! It is but the wench corrupting the metal of the god himself to--"~I lose track of the conversation as something... odd happens to my mind. I feel... greater, all of a sudden. My world spins before my eyes as I grow dizzy and sickened by the new sensation of hundreds of parts of me. I almost vomit, but I fight my rising gorge and keep the content of my stomach where it belongs. My entire body goes numb for a moment, and I cannot move anything save my lungs.~Slowly, ever so slowly, warmth returns to my hands, and I weakly clench my fist to see if it is still there. I feel my fingers curl at the same time the odd, many-parts sensation returns... and out of the corner of my eye I see a score of blades whirling about, mimicking the motion of a hand closing. The priest, his eyes wide with shock, growls and charges at me. With a jerk, I extend myself--parts that aren't parts of myself--and a whirling cyclone of hexagons picks the priest up bodily and hurls him into his followers. The whirling steel swirls around me, and I feel my limbs come free as I feel the mass of metal smash apart my chains.
Fangs Of Steel
 Mechanized Armor: Superior
Surrounded by swirling steel, I lift myself to my feet and off the altar. My knees buckle as I step down, but this steel that is now a part of me supports me when I stumble. The hooded fanatics are staring at me, even the high priest. Suddenly, I hear a roar of utter rage, and the hundreds of acolytes draw curved knives from underneath their robes. Fear hits me like a shock, and I feel myself backing away.~Wait. No, I'm an idiot. The spoiled, stupid little woman I was before a lifetime passed during this night would have cringed in fear as death came. No, damn them and their god, I am not that same girl... and I will not go quietly. I cull the cyclone of steel to myself, and it swirls around me, sheathing me, and I form the seething mass into the shape of a horrific demon, more savage than even Arimars.~The acolytes do not stop, and the nearest one reaches me, slashing with his dagger. I draw back a hand--paw?--and lash out, the inconsequential power of my merely human body reinforced by the movements of whirling steel. The hooded man is flung back, trailing entrails, and another acolytes stabs at me. The knife grinds to dust against the seething metal of my armor, and I pick the disarmed fanatic and hurl him with bone-shattering force into the mass of acolytes.~I open my mouth, and the amorphous plates hinge open so that it appears my hulking, seething armor has opened up its heavy jaw. I snarl at the acolytes who still rush blindly at me, and as I bellow at them, the reverberation and echoes of the armor transforming something high-pitched and puny into something bestial and terrifying.
Rain Of Steel
 Damage Shield: Supreme
For every hooded fanatic I kill, two more take his place, and even as they are splattered by the blood of their gutted comrades their sheer weight of numbers drag me down. Hundreds of men is too much, and even with the steel helping me push, I cannot break loose. They will just hold me here until I asphyxiate or am simply crushed, cyclone of steel or not. No, no, it can't end like this. I have to... I have to break free! I struggle, near-frantically, but I cannot even move my arms. No, no, no, no...~The steel that has been responding to my thoughts is not enough. It cannot push against the scores--hundreds--of men piling on top of me. Wait... the steel. The steel used in the sacrifice to the bloody Arimars, the steel used to cut me! With a scream, I extend my will and the armor dissolves into the hundreds of hexagonal, razor-edged coins, and the full weight of the men bears down on me. I'm being crushed, and I can't draw air into my lungs. I... I have to... hold on!~Screams tear the air, the screams of men in mortal fear. The weight on my body eases, the acolytes leaping from me in their haste to escape the grinding shards of steel that are ripping through the air like half a thousand razor blades. I shove the last corpse off myself and climb to my feet. Past the cyclone of blades I see the acolytes of Arimars fleeing in mortal terror as they try to stay out of reach of the seething star-steel razors. Some make it. Most do not.~Soon, I am alone in this vast cavern, save the dead and the... pieces of the dead. Upon these men I've visited horrors beond anything they would have visited upon me. Somehow, that pleases me. No one will ever again be fed to Arimars.~I slump to the ground in exhaustion, shivering, and the hexagonal coins clatter to the floor around me, forming sedate stacks and piles. My blood is splashed on each and every coin, and only now do I remember the stinging pain from five hundred cuts. Shivering in the cold--I am still naked--I again gaze down upon Arimars' coins.~I am the result of some pledge the first of Arimars' followers made before the Bloody God. Eighty years, was it, that my forebears were monitored so that I would be born to be fed to the horrific idol? The very though of it is sickening, yet I'm proof of it. Thankfully, living proof. And perhaps--I pick up one of the coins, peering at the blood drying on the metal--this is why this metal meant to feed Arimars is mine to command and control.~I wonder as to the why. Did another god, a rival to the Bloody Arimars, send it down from the heavens for me to use? A coincidence where I am just the right person at the right time? Or, maybe, irony of ironies--I look to Arimars' bloody statue--Arimars is displeased with his acolytes and has chosen me to obliterate the cult.~I'll have time to think about this later. Bending down, I strip a dead acolyte of a not-too-bloodstained robe, place it over my shoulders, and depart, the blades trailing after me like a nimbus.
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