15172/More Power is Always Possible

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More Power is Always Possible
Date of Scene: 02 June 2023
Location: Upper East Side, Manhattan
Synopsis: Illyana summons the Avatar of Cyttorak to a business meeting.
Cast of Characters: Magik, Juggernaut

Magik has posed:
Illyana Nikolaievna is many things: a sorceress and a warlord; a savior and a daemon; an X-Woman and a pragmatist. What is is not is a businesswoman, legitimate or otherwise.

And yet, here she is:

In a royally appointed boardroom, seated at a vast oval table among the furthest things possible from peers, listening silently as the board of Modern Muse Design Works goes over its financials heading into the end of Q3.

And drawing, intently-- deliberately sketching out a pair of curved horns and the cracked stone disk they've been violently carved into. The side of the pencil tip's flush against the paper, smudging shadows into place as the solemn blonde woman draws measured, rhythmic breaths.

Deep, rusty red begins to seep through the paper, beginning at the lower inside edges of each horn and creeping upwards through graphite darkness-- and then she breaks her silence:

"Avatar of Destruction," she whispers beneath her breath, beneath the rote din of business as usual, "let this brand upon the weak shine unto you like a beacon--"

A sharp, sudden stroke on one side is instantly doubled, snapping the pencil's tip right off and leaving a pair of thick, scratchy protrusions jutting from the ends of either horn. The end of the stroke leaves the paper flush against the table; slowly smoothing both hands across its surface makes the paper a wavering, liquid thing sinking into polished wood, disappearing--


"-- and accept my humble offering of soft walls and warm blood," thrums through Cain Marko's being, a cacophony of voices barely wrangled and lashed together into something like a unified chorus.

"Come to me," they -- it -- she resonates as a standing disc of blood-red light stretches into existence just a few feet away, "and deliver the weak to their rightful ends."


"Come to me," Illyana softly repeats as her drawing - etched deep into the wood, red shadows and all - emits twinkling shafts of blood-red light.

"... eign imports... ... excuse me."

On the far end of the room, a middle-aged man with glasses and receding brown hair clears his throat, annoyed as he peers down the table to see which asshole's playing with their phone in the middle of /his/ presentation. "There isn't any chance it could wait," he asks, polite but terse as his gaze narrows in on Illyana, "is there? Ms.--..."

It's not the best of enchantments, the spell that bought her entry to the room and lets her blend in among them: enough to get her in the door and stave off questions; not so much for scrutiny.


The sigil of Cyttorak blazes to life within the swirling depths of the screaming rift in reality before the Juggernaut, a pair of seething red horns beckoning to the part of him that's promised to Him.


It's a matter of efficiency, really: she's not really planning on standing up to all that much scrutiny.
Juggernaut has posed:
Sometimes a man is just trying to get a drink and look at some boobs.

Cain Marko is a man of simple interests and desires. Nevermind that he holds power that, in certain hands, could lead to world domination and perhaps beyond. Power to shake the earth and shift continental masses. Power to challenge, threaten, even kill the mightiest that walk the mortal and immortal realms, despite claims to immortality..

No, he just wants to drink his trauma away and boredly look at naked women. It's not like he doesn't have access to some of the most devestatingly attractive women around via his contacts..though most probably don't want anything to do with him beyond professional mutual business. But still! The point being that..even -this- simple act of attempted entertainment isn't really anything he hasn't seen before. So as his immense body swamps over the chair, watching the dancers do their thing.. He remains bored nad unfulfilled in contrast to the roars of the club around him. It's just not his evening.

"Man.." he finally rumbles, "What's wrong with me when I can't even get a.."

He pauses abruptly as something tugs at him. He hears something but not without his ears. Feels something but not with flesh. Confusion washes across his face and features and he slowly leans forward. The nearest dancer that'd been trying to get his attention looks on, thinking her efforts had accomplished something finally but Cain suddenly slowly stands and then begins walkinga way much to her chagrin and full on eye and neck roll.

Cain moves. Unstoppable, distracted, directed. Searching for something. He doesn't even make it to the back of the club before the portal appears and startled screams ripple through the crowd nearby as the gaping rift yawns open and the will of the crimson cosmos becomes an irresitalbe pull. He stares at it, unheeding to the scrambling mortals around him and then, wordlessly, steps forward just as the energies wrap about him and envelop him into his classic armo. Swell his size towards monstrous heights and widths, causing the entire club to shake as he begins striding into the portal without another word...
Magik has posed:

Illyana terminates his trailing thought with a blunt syllable, framing the sigil between her hands-- focusing, intently, upon it and the baleful light it bleeds.

"I don't think that there is, Mr. Calderon."

As her hands slide apart from one another, she finally deigns to look Mr. Calderon in the eye, catching bemused annoyance and screwing it to the post of her arctic blue gaze. She regards him as if he were an unruly child with the temerity to fuss over bedtime after a full day of coloring all over the walls; the sigil throbs, its crimson glow breathing across the ceiling.

"Remind me: which of your foreign exports are up this quarter...?"

The sigil spreads, swallowing dark wood into its bleeding edges.

"Excuse me--"

"Regulations have made it increasingly challenging to profitably maintain your methamphetamine trade -- or so the data say. You've neither the means nor the courage to make a serious play in the cocaine market..."

The sigil rumbles, rattling not just the table it's increasingly growing to dominate but the room itself. What was already a growing undercurrent of murmured agitation breaks into startled gasps and panicked expressions as the chairs and floor shake beneath the board members.

"It's pills." The whisper's loud enough to ring in all of their ears with the full weight of its judgement. "Isn't it...? Pills,"

The sigil explodes, buffeting the room with the howling force of a vast crimson disc ripping its way into existence where the table once stood; a million shards of glass fall to the streets below like killing rain.

"and something more-- something harvested from X-Farms throughout Eastern Europe," she crisply concludes-- just in time for the mighty Juggernaut to see corporate chaos unfolding just a few yards ahead of him as violent crimson mists part.
Juggernaut has posed:
The sudden arrival of..well..mass..into an area where it wasn't before is always a thunderous rush of gravity, winds and dimensional disturbance enough to shake the ground and churn the wind into a roaring violent blast of force enough to send people too close to it up from their feets, tumbling like reeds within a tornado.

IF that mass is something like The Juggernaut whose very being speaks of unspeakable physical power and mountain moving destruction.. well his arrival is going to be like unleashing a rampaging herd of elephant into one tiny little shop of the most delicate china and glassware one can imagine. The walls warp, the floors ripple and the boardroom and building containing it groans under the sudden pressure of the Exemplar.

A very confused and disorientated exemplar. The sorcery tha brought him here snagged him at oh so ther ight moment. Such calls can happen to him but the armor does some work in mitigating invasive sorcery. Some. Powreful enough magic still does the deed and he wasn't exactly wearing it while trying and failing to get abit of entertainment at one of New Yorks many strip clubs. Not exactly the sort of thing you wear for something like that.

So it's too late. He's here. Caught by the woven web of that summoning sorcery and staggering half drunkenly as the room rocks and shudders under his weight. His violent movements are enough to send a shockwave rippling out as he straightens back up to his full height, head brushing up towards the ceiling and eyes flashing red with bleed off energy as he stretches and bunches up his fiberous physique.

"What th'hell is going on here??!" he rumbles. Deep voice an irate roar now. Between Satana and now this..he's had his fill of unasked for portals. "I thought..Cyttorak.. wait..what??"
Magik has posed:
A hand touches the Exemplar's back, firm and featherlight.

"I would like to bargain," Illyana states, standing behind the titan of the Crimson Cosmos, "and I knew that it would be awfully rude to ask for your time without offering something in return."

"What-- what the fuck--" a wide-eyed Calderon sputters, seated and skittering backwards as best as the warped floor allows. Screams swallow whatever else might've come as board members scramble and scuttle their way towards discovering that not only are the doors locked, they're sealed so securely they won't even budge in their frame.

"A humble offering - parasites, leeches-- pushers in fancy clothes and a glass monument to their own greed - I know; I'll have to make it up to you, of course."
Juggernaut has posed:
The Exemplar's eyes widen slightly as he feels that touch against his back. He listens, growing more and more sober as the moments pass and then he turns, slowly flickering his gaze over the terrified board members and then cutting his gaze over the rest of the room as if slowly, finally, starting to put at last some of the pieces together.

Some. Not many, but some. The notion of something being offered to him for somethign to be done. That much is clear.

"I'm not a simple assassin. You calling in a nuke to take out something a super soaker can break?" he notes this simply and neutrally. It wouldn't be the first time he's been used in an action of overkill so he speaks in half truths. Sometimes you just gotta break somebody for some change. Still, taking a swing at these losers seems beneath him. Taking the building out on the other hand..

"So let's bargain then. Make it worth my time and better yet, make it a challenge and I'll throw in a bonus..."

He looks out of the shattered windows as if judging how high up they may be as more and more of this coalesces in his mind. He begins to take a few shuddering steps towards the window.
Magik has posed:
"I'm calling in a nuke to whet its appetite."

There are curses, screams, pleas for mercy; they all roll right off the cold-eyed witch's back as she follows in the Juggernaut's shuddering wake.

"This," comes with a vague gesture behind her, to the board, "would have been a lazy Thursday for me, much less the Chosen of Cyttorak. They keep muscle on retainer, but none of it's here'-- and the silent alarms they're desperately counting on won't summon it in time," she evenly explains. Dressed in a black blazer with an off-white blouse peeking out from underneath, tight black slacks, and several sharply pointed inches of heel, Illyana stops alongside the Exemplar to peer out over the city.

"Nor would the security staff that will be --"

* B A N G ! ! ! ! *

"-- trying their best to beat down the door be enough to shift their odds for the better." Turning her eyes towards Cain, she tilts her head until she's meeting his gaze.

"So let's bargain," she agrees, "while we wait to see whether their investments will pay off."

"This, f-fuck-- fucking, FUCK-- this, this crazy-- this BITCH," spits Calderon after finally managing to bat his fallen projector screen aside, "SNUCK INTO a PRIVATE MEETING-- hey-- hey, you wanna bargain-- you wanna, you, you wanna do BUSINESS--? KILL this bitch-- whatever she offers, I'll DOUBLE it!"

Illyana doesn't avert her gaze. She doesn't try to interrupt Calderon's tirade. She doesn't even move; she drinks his outrage in and even gives Cain a moment to ponder it for himself.

And then, rather than a counter, she offers a question:

"What's the biggest thing you've ever destroyed?"
Juggernaut has posed:
The Juggernaut sighs, flickering his gaze towards the roaring tirade of Calderon. He purses his lips. A clear sign of disapproval and growing disinterest. Miranda Priestly would be proud.

But Illyana's question draws his attention back to her and he turns, swiveling like a rotating sherman tank to finally get a good look at her.

He doesn't recognize her.

His interest is peaked further. Not just by her brazen question but by the mystery of her identity. Few are those able to command sorcery enough to call upon the powers of Cyttorak in any capacity, much less reach out to, find and summon his champion. -Fewer- are those willing to actually perform such an act.

SO he is curious..and there's abit of healthy caution as well. His boasts of unstoppability are only true to a certain point of view. It aint good to get too brazen with unknown magic and its wielders without more context...

"If you're asking me if I can bring this building down.. Easy. But we're in the middle of the city and if there's other people in here besides these assholes then that's gonna be a lot of blood on your hands, girl. And one way I keep heat off of me is that I don't actually go using the Empire State Building as a bat during rush hour. Lets me have a little bit of freedom without panicking hero teams on the hunt because I'm suddenly a mass murderer.."

So he's got -some- sense of restraint. Morals. Scruples... Maybe? "I aint just a nuke with arms and legs. I got a personality.. But to your question..? Mm.." he shrugs idly. He was buried under a mountain range and had to bust his way out back when he was first empowered. Does that count? "What do you got in mind, blondie?" he asks as a question to her question. "Name it."
Magik has posed:
Illyana was only ever a child for an eyeblink before a cruel sorcerer decided to make her his. Nonetheless, she was relegated to a place among the second generation of Xavier's students with other young mutants-- a group frequently held in reserve for its own protection and readiness rather than deployed against the enemies of mutantkind. A creature of cold eyes, blunt bangs, and bespoke tailoring on the precipice of a mass execution, she hardly resembles the student-soldiers of Westchester; unrecognized and unrecognizable.

'If you're asking me...'

At first, her tongue's against the back edge of her teeth, waiting; the pause gives her a moment to breathe, slowly. His explanation lulls the quasicoherent urge to wash Modern Muse's sins away on a river of blood scratching at the dark corners of her psyche into a fitful sleep.

"Fair enough," she softly exhales. Her eyes unlid, refocusing on the titan. "I don't particularly NEED a massacre to get the point across," comes with a small, thin smile.

"You aren't a mutant," follows a beat later when the smile's faded, "but you're familiar with their struggle; you've operated along their proximity for years, and you aren't a nuke with arm and legs. You have a mind," she reiterates, deadpan. "Our struggle, against systems of oppression woven into the very fabric of society by small-minded cowards." She gives him another silent beat, this time for absorption.

"The sentiment is eternal -- small minds and cowardice are endemic; there will always be people who hate us... and that's their right." The air seems to grow a degree-- two-- three cooler.

"But I'm tired of waiting for them to tire of murdering us; exploiting us; hunting, and harassing us out of a peaceful existence. Not even the Avatar of Cyttorak could destroy the concept of racism," is tinged with dark humor, "but the systems that support it? Enable it to be weaponized against us...? That's a different story, and it's one I'd love to tell."
Juggernaut has posed:
He looks away from the cityscape and turns his mammoth figure back towards her as she speaks. The helmet does a good job in hiding the particulars of his expression but as she continues, his posture adjusts ever so slightly. He's absorbing her words, indeed, but the veil of neutrality has fallen. A stoic wall taking in the words but not reacting overly one way or the other to the reminder of the plight of the mutants..really any who are oppressed and fall outside of the system so carefully crafted in the world. It's a story he's not unfamiiar with. In his own way a twisted victim as much as he is part of the problem.

"Hn.." Juggernaut rumbles, finally turning away from her to look towards the cowering and panicked board members..and then back towards the young sorceress once again.

"Nice speech.." he finally rumbles. Voice a sardonic attempt at dismissal of her verbiage before saying with more serious and heavy gravity to his voice, "..If muscle is what you're looking for..all you had to do was ask, sister. I happen to like assingments and projects that let me be 'me'.."

His voice quiets for a moment and then he finally moves, gesturnig with a massive arm in an almost flippant gesture, "I'm in high demand. Seems like I can't get away from your folks problems. Magneto, Sinister..you.. Jean Grey wanting to play on my conscience. FIrestar wanting to send me against Wendigo. Fine. But I suppose you're interested in taking a more direct approach then any of them from the sounds of it. So I add you to the list. Maybe even give you priority depending on what you need and offer me in return. In fact.." he slowly grins, "SOmething tells me you're holding out a little bit on me about something to really sweeten the deal. You know who I am and what I am. So make me that bargain you promised before..or get in line with the rest of them."
Magik has posed:
"I know," slips into the crack between sardonicism and business. She smiles big enough to flash teeth, absent humor.

"They're offering... money?" she posits, turning to face him fully and folding her arms across her chest. "Warm feelings? Moral superiority...? Unfortunately, I'm short on all three; however:" comes with a long, slender finger reaching for his armored chest.

"What I CAN offer is the potential for more power," she says while tracing Cyttorak's symbol against his chest. "To uproot entire systems of oppression requires destruction on a scale beyond what your average employer has asked of you," she hazards, "which means offerings of unprecedented carnage to your patron. Help me crush them, and in return, I'll help you when it's time to negotiate with Him and receive your due."

After completing the invisible circle around Cyttorak's sigil, she turns her head to give Mr. Calderon a glance. There's nothing hushed about her offer; the cold, sick realization that 'double' is simply beyond his means has long since set in, leaving him pale and pressed back fearfully against a wall.

She snaps her fingers.

A white disc yawns beneath his feet, swallowing him - screaming - into its depths then vanishing.

"Opposition research," she then explains to Juggernaut, looking up at him once more.
Juggernaut has posed:
It takes a lot to stop the unstoppable. That did.

Juggernaut seems to freeze in place, expression darkening and eyes widening before narrowing to near slits as he stares at her..and considers. Inside of him, Cyttorak boils. -He- boils. He is the avatar after all.

And as such, it's hard to conceive of 'more power'. He is the unstoppable force. His strength seems to be without limits..restrained only by his own fear of what could happen if he truly yielded to being Cyttorak's champion. He is effectively indestructible. The strongest blows from The Hulk may stun him, yes, but he's never feared actual true physical harm. The strongest mortals and immortals fear his strength and if they don't fear they have healthy respect. But..therein also lies the rub. They are his peers. He cannot claim without contest true superiority over them all and that grates on him. He claims being unstoppable but there are wyas to stop him, even hold him.

So yes. More power is always possible. But--

"You're talking something pretty large scale, blondie.. I see you know magic..and you were able to call me by calling on Cyttorak's power but you don't look like no Doctor Strange to me. Cyttorak's domain..at least the part that I deal with..is pure power. Pure destruction. I've even faced him before. Don't offer something you can't follow through on. Your tricks and acting chops are pretty solid but you're walking across the redline with that..." he warns. "How do I know you're capable of that and won't just get yourself blasted into nothing or trapped in the Crimson Cosmos. You haven't even given me your name, sweetheart."

The casual portal use isn't missed either but Cain barely reacts to that and stares at Illyana now, expectantly.
Magik has posed:
"My name is Illyana Rasputin."

She turns towards the city, peering out over it through empty window frames and clasping her hands behind her back. Cold, clinical calm subtly shifts towards something more mindfully measured-- restrained, rather than utterly rational:

"And because I had the will and temerity to claim it, I am the queen of Limbo. I am not Doctor Strange: when the time comes, I won't be approaching your patron as a humble petitioner, but as his equal -- as an infernal Lord in my own right. The worst He might do is deny us," she states, low and confident as her eyes narrow, "... but I've a feeling that - faced with a dutiful champion soaked in more blood and chaos than ever before - Cyttorak's very nature is such that His interest will be piqued."

A fire roars over the horizon, steadily growing from a burning point to a flaring ball as it races towards the skyscraper.

"Power loves nothing more than to be taken," she remarks with a bare sideways glance, "by those bold enough to wield it confidently-- and you certainly don't lack for confidence."

Screaming through the skies, that flaring flame has a face: one of its eyes is narrowed in deadly focus and the other is obscured behind a ruby monocle cladded in steel and snaking around to the back of its head. Its mouth is wide, baring far too many teeth in its predatory glee.

"... ah," Illyana exhales, turning away to look outwards. "I can't speak to whether it'll challenge you or not... but their contingency seems to be arriving."

Screaming - literally, loudly, violently screaming - through the skies, the flame has a face--

"Pardon," the blonde says before promptly dropping into another one of her white portals and sinking out of view.

-- and a body: a colossus of steel, synthskin, and cables with rocketfire streaming from his feet and back. Careening through the space Illyana just occupied, Modern Muse's insurance policy lands in a building-quaking crouch with his back to the Juggernaut. Deep blue armour plates slice out and up from his shoulders, matching the thick gauntlets wrapped around his wrists and heavy, sparking boots. "The LEAST," he growls, all ten feet of him unfolding from his landing; neck rolling around his shoulders with a chorus of pops and cracks as loud as gunshots, "you could've done is wait for me to get here before you started tearing the place apart. You could have written it off; I could have had the pleasure of slamming some moron's head through glass..."

He turns his head to squint at Cyttorak's champion, still smiling big and bright despite his grievances. The fire has a face, a body, a voice cut with subtle electric distortion and a not-so-subtle Italian accent; it has a name:

"... oh," accompanies lifting brows and a widening eye. "Nevermind: it looks like Overt-Kill's about to add 'Killing the Goddamned Juggernaut' to his resume--!" His other eye's wide too, hidden as it is. The difference is that it emits a broad, searing beam of focused red light towards Juggernaut's chest.
Juggernaut has posed:
The Juggernaut listens. This type of bargaining...this back and forth..concerns matters far graver, daker, more serious and more world shaking then a simple inflated bank account. He can always get more money. This..? This is the stuff of gods and monsters and when Illyana states her name, her title and her ambitions. He believes her without question. Confidence does a lot here. He could just have easily laughed in the face of someone else who dared claim the ambition of becoming on equal terms with a primordial force of magic and destruction.

Something tells him she might ahve a shot at that.

"Hn.." he rumbles, considering things. This is almost like a contract with a devil. Perhaps literally so..and it's questionable which of them is the proverbial devil. He could demand proof of her ability to do what she's claiming. It's a lofty goal but it's also noe that could take a thousand or ten thousand years.

These questions and more settle into his mind and he redirects his full attention to her..to give an answer only to snap his attention up as he hears the screaming roar of the approaching fireball and he frowns lightly and then back to Illyana as she suddenly portals away.

"Hey what the..Wait a sec--"

But she's gone and then the floor explodes, raining debris and shuddering the building violently as a truly rare site greets him in the form of a titan equal in immensity to himself and with a big smile that's a mirror to his usual one though at the moment he's still distracted by Illyana's words such that he barely truly acknowledges the challenger.

Until he speaks to him and Juggernaut allows his mouth to gape open slightly in surprise before answering the titan in his own deep wall rattling voice, "Are you kidding me? C'mon Overt-Kill.. Do I really gotta sit here and ball you up into a pokeball or something? I thought you were smarter then this.."

The beam of energy blasts right into his chest, exploding a blazing corona of fire and light which carves more damage into the building and floor as the energy washes over the red behemoth.

Juggernaut just grins, arms at his side and chest swelling, "C'mon then. What're you doing...give me a tan?"
Magik has posed:
Fire, light, and a rain of burning rubble evoke a fresh round of screams from trapped executives, all of whom scramble as best as they can to get behind Overt-Kill-- and as far from this clash of titans as they can. Both eyes widen, and the laser steadily widens with them; cables slither from his heavy cybergreaves all the while, snaking down his ankle and along the floor.

"This ISN'T--" the cyborg starts to snap, only to catch himself and regain his composure, exhaling slowly. "Croatia was a long, LONG time ago," he sneers. His grin creeps back into place, shadowed ominously beneath the violent light of his laser eye. "My Tac-Computer-- patched! My teeth-- adamantium-plated, supported by acidic jaws! My muscle bundles-- twice as dense with four times the tensile strength--! Every last, glorious inch of me is NEW--"

The cables taper to slender tips-- slender enough to slip into every one of a wall outlet's openings and burrow deeper still.


The lights flicker on and off rapidly for a couple seconds--

"-- UPGRADED beyond recognition--!"

-- and then they die.

The air conditioning dies.

The projector - toppled, cracked, but still miraculously plugged in - dies.

Everything electric in Modern Muse's tower dies as the killing radiance pouring from Overt-Kill's eyes explodes into a scintillating pillar of raw destructive fury as vast as the two titans themselves. The sheer force of it shoves the cyborg back several feet until he widens his stance, lowers his center, and launches anchoring spurs from his boots that sink into the ground to hold him in place.
Juggernaut has posed:
In many ways they are so alike. Perhaps bizarrely so. Titanic mercenaries with unfathomable physical power prone to boasting about it and declaring said power against those who dare to stand against them. It's an unusual mirror being lifted to Juggernaut. It's rare he faces other mercenaries, let alone ones that operate in the same general field and capacity as himself, who don't lay down and give up at sight of him. Few are those that think they can match his power. Fewer still actually able to do it.

And then there's that nagging offer by Illyana again. More power. Power which Overt-kill seems to have in abundance and then some as he begins charging himself up by tapping into the very building their own. The screams continue and increase. Overt-Kill's power raises and Juggernaut's eyes widen slightly as his mouth tightens into a frown..a split second before the light washes over him completely and blasts out of the side of the building behind him to go shooting over the city skyline with a roar of electromagnetic energy that flickers the lights across the islands as the torrent of energy continues..and continues..and continues...

and then is abruptly finds Juggernaut's vast hand, wreathed in light, reaching forward through it as he's now closed the distance between himself and Overt-Kill..seeking to lunge forward and clamp down other behemoths head and smoother the vast energy assault right at its source.

Behind him, massive footprints can be seen in the scorched floor of the office, showing how Juggernaut had begun plowing forward as the lightshow began to reach its intensity, walking through the onslaught even though he was unseen due to the display washing all out with its brilliance.

The sound of his sinew bunching and muscles creaking can be heard. His knuckles crack, sounding like sequioa tree trunks splintering as he clenches his other fist and continues pushign forward, intending on pushing Overtkill backwards as he continues looming forward with his unstoppable movement even as smoke billows off of his smouldering form and his eyes flash crimson.

"Didn't you get the memo!! I'm THE JUGGERNAUT, BITCH!"

HIs free fist comes hurtling in as his legs pump, adding more speed and power to his already incoming momentum as he seeks to drag Overt-Kill up and backwards with the force of the blow and carry him backwards out of the other side of the compromised building.
Magik has posed:
Rockets fire wildly, burning deep furrows through the floor and wall.

Dense, hypertensile muscle bundles flex beyond their limit, popping audibly and visibly coursing beneath synthetic skin.

Titanium jaws leaking acid powerful enough to burn through a Helicarrier work desperately to catch Cain's finger between adamantium-clad teeth--

But nothing has ever stopped the Juggernaut, and Overt-Kill isn't going to be the first-- not in this iteration. The two giants fly through the burned and shattered ruin of the skyscraper's western face. A split-second later, the cables hooking him into the building's grid snap, sending convulsions through the towering cyborg's body. The laser eye shut itself off as soon as the temperature spike generated by Juggernaut's reversal demanded it, but Overt-Kill was still running at an energy deficit-- still in dire need of the extra energy the tower provided, if only to recharge; the sudden, cascading failure of every one of his subsystems starts with Overt-Kill's skull cracking when its already overworked kinetic dampener just quits. Rocketfire sputters out of existence a beat after that--

-- and by the time the two land, the cyborg's body is locked in agonized contortions, a dead weight in Juggernaut's grip.
Juggernaut has posed:
Would any iteration work? Cain would say no. Most would. Science is not without its surprises though. Indeed the one closest to having the ability to make the effort is a product of science gone mad and psychological trauma unleashed. But Overt-Kill's got no gamma in him and so this day..this day..the two tumble towards the ground, far below, carried by the force of The Juggernaut and into the ground below, sending an earthquake rocking the city that triggers seismometers far away from the impact zone.

The ground sinks in and in, fire hydrants spewing waters, parked cars sinking and pedestrians hurtled from their feet as the shockwave rolls out and the dust cloud plumes upward violently and fills the air and the streets as it rides the shockwave out and away from ground zero.

Then, it quiets and as the dust and debris cloud dissipates, Juggernaut is left there, looming over Overt-Kills inert body with a massive raised overhead for a meteoric strike.

But he holds, as he sees that the cyborg is done. A foolish arrogant tactic doing him in more then just this fall. It's a pattern Juggernaut's fallen prey to himself only this time..well..he was the one with the bigger stick by far.

"Huh. Why don't you try installing a new version of windows or something, next time." he sneers, knowing full well Overt-Kill is in no means to hear him or respond. Heck, maybe he's got some sort of cyborg-patened black-box thingie that'll record that anyway.

"No point in flattening you further, tough guy. See ya around..." Authorities will no doubt collect the cyborg if the giant doesn't reboot himself fast enough to get out of there.. But Juggernaut's little interest in seeing how that fares and so clibs out of the crater of his own making and begins heading down the streets in search of a wide enough alley to disappear into before any more nuisances arrive.
Magik has posed:
A white disc snaps into being, standing a foot above the pavement.

"... this'll do," Illyana decides, peering around as she steps onto the street. The skyscraper's gutted upper floor gets a lingering look. Lingering, narrow-eyed--

"We can go, if you want," she offers as her eyes settle on the giant, crimson dome looming far above her. "I'll send you back to wherever you were, before... this."

Overt-Kill gets a vague, disdainful gesture.

"Or we can discuss things further."
Juggernaut has posed:
"Can't go back there now. No need to explain why. If these things can go anywhere I'll tell you where to send me."

Juggernaut looks her over and then says, "Come find me in a couple of days. You seem to know how to do thqat. I'll give you an answer then. I don't make snap decisions and I bet neither do you."

He gives Overt-Kill one final glance and then looks back to her once more.

"Let's go."