<div class="floatleft">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/f/fd/CarnageBlades.jpg)</div><hr/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: arial;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 14pt;"><strong>Name: </strong> Cletus Kasady<br/>  <strong>Title: </strong>Carnage<br/>  <strong>Affiliation: </strong>Apocalypse<br/>  <strong>Location: </strong>New York City, uptown<br/>  <strong>Tags: </strong>Open<br/></span></span><hr/><br/>God<em>damn</em>, NYC had never looked so good.<br/><br/>No matter which direction he turned, there was nothing but chaos as far as the eye could see. And it sounded just as good as it looked. The screams and moans and sobs of the dying rose from the city like a sweet melody, underscored by bass explosions, the shearing of metal and cracking-crunch of falling masonry, the staccato pops of gunfire and broken bones. Man, he hoped someone was recording this for posterity. He'd wear this fucking soundtrack out.<br/><br/>A bullet to the occipital lobe reminded him to stop gawping at the scenery like a yokel. He didn't even have to turn around to see who was shooting at him this time. The symbiote just knew. “Well, howdy there, little ol' black-eyed pea. What I can do you for?” Tendrils lunged but the big man was quick and all Carnage did was ventilate that stylish leather coat. Cue chase music!<br/><br/>When he jumped over a crushed taxi, intent on his target, he wasn't expecting a face full of flamethrower. Variety is the spice of life, they say. The symbiote shrieked in rage and peeled back, away from the heat, revealing the man within the crimson suit. Well, not exactly a man. A good half of him was metal now, shiny morphable metal, courtesy Apocalypse. Quite a generous fella, the Big A.<br/><br/>Cletus brought his bionic leg up in front and sliced clean through the muzzle of the weapon with a brand-spanking new adamantium blade jutting from his ankle. The backwash of fire set the big man's coat ablaze. Through the dancing orange and red Carnage watched his enemy stand tall, like it weren't no<em>thang </em>to be fucking on fire. The would-be hero emptied his pistol point blank into Cletus' eye. It was a good try. A gold star effort. Before the world ended, it might even have made a difference.<br/><br/>Not now.<br/><br/>He took care of business as the symbiote slid back into place and they become one again. With a satisfied chuckle, Carnage jabbed a memento onto a shoulder spike and licked the blood off his fingers as he rounded 42nd Street onto 7th Avenue. And there she was in all her glory. He had to gawp again; it was just too pretty. The grand ol' S.H.I.E.L.D. helicarrier, broken into  multiple smoking chunks the size of city blocks, was spread artistically across the bomb-blasted, roughly oval crater that had been Times Square. Wreckage had crushed buildings from 41st all the way up to the Ritz from the looks of it.  Aw, there were no more bright lights in the big city. Nobody was going to make it here after all.<br/><br/><div class="floatright">(http://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/3/37/CityRuins.jpg)</div>Every jagged tooth in his maw was shining. He'd never seen so many bodies. Not when Xavier's school crumbled and children screamed. Not when Stark Tower fell over like a glass redwood tree. Not when Four Freedoms Plaza melted in a lake of acid and napalm. This was a step beyond any of that. Hawaiian-shirted tourists and black S.H.I.E.L.D. uniforms all jumbled together and scattered like dry leaves over every inch of rubble. Hip deep in some places. This was just plain perfect.<br/><br/>Wiping away a tear of admiration, Carnage spotted the furtive, halting scuttle of survivors a few hundred yards off. Moving slow, most of them wounded, a little group inched towards a subway tunnel that was only partly blocked by an overturned bus. Well, well, the big man was buying them time, wasn't that cute? Heroes were so fucking cute.<br/><br/>He leaped silently after them, fluidly, pouring over corpses and ruin and feeling pretty damn good about himself. The survivors, most of them in familiar black bodysuits, halted at a blood-splashed wall only four feet high that ran along the edge of the subway entrance. Once over that they'd be underground. But right now they were still in Times Square! They had to see the show first.<br/><br/>Carnage circled the bus and hit the other side of the barrier, opposite the helicarrier's escapees. With a barely suppressed giggle he slipped the memento onto his hand. Just as he'd hoped, there was a cacophony of gunshots and screams when Nick Fury's severed head poked over the wall like a grisly puppet. “<strong><em>I have had it with these motherfucking superheroes on this motherfucking helicarrier!</em></strong>” Carnage roared his impression theatrically, wiggling his fingers to make the broken jaw flap up and down. “Jesus, I kill me!” he added, flinging the wet skull through a bus window to rain broken glass over his targets.<br/><br/>“So,” he hissed as he mounted the wall, looming over the panicked group, “where do you pussies think you're going? CATS is closed down.” The first able-bodied survivor jumped at him and ended up with a slit throat, spraying blood all over the others. An array of tendrils sprouted from Carnage's back and arched towards his victims, their tips morphing into razor-sharp blades. “How about we take in a little Sweeney Todd instead?”