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Last night, Saint Martha Comicbooks came to me in a dream-vision and told me every single person who exists on Doom's Battleworld. To my great surprise, each something awful dot com forums poster has at least one super-counterpart in these Secret Wars. Post here and I will tell you which of your multiversal alternate(s) survived the Incursions.
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Jul 27, 2015 18:46
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| # ¿ May 10, 2024 06:31 |
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Aphrodite posted:D Your Battleworld counterpart, Aphro-Dee, lives in the previously-unmentioned domain of Leave It to Reavers, a 1950s-styled suburb populated by wholesome cybernetic commandos. Though Aphro-Dee appears innocent, every detail of her physiology has been bio-engineered or cybernetically augmented to fulfill the murderous designs of Lady Cleaver, the domain's ruler. Lady Cleaver intends that Aphro-Dee finally achieve what the knife-handed matron has thus far failed to: destroy the renegade Beaverine.
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Jul 27, 2015 20:11
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RandallODim posted:I am pretty sure I killed all the other versions of me back when I became The One. You must have missed your counterpart on Earth-420, because he survives on Battleworld as Dankhawk. I doubt that you'd have been able to kill him if you had tried; as a member of the Chilluminati, Dankhawk had access to the Infinity Nugs, plus the protection of fellow Chilluminati like Blunt Tom Cassidy, Blazing Skull, and the duo of Devil Doobisaur and BC Bud.
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Jul 27, 2015 20:23
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Sorry for the delay. Family thing came up.Chill Penguin posted:A likely story... Genetic Toaster posted:I'm probably a Summers brother. Soonmot posted:I can only hope that my battle world counterpart is way cooler than me. Shouldn't be hard, actually.  Truly a miraculous thing is happening, goon friends, as all three of these persons have super-analogues in the same domain of Battleworld. And though it much torments my spirit to report such sadness, I must say that it is a grim realm indeed. Using the ancient and terrible magicks of the Darkhold, Dracula has become powerful beyond your most horrible vampire-centric nightmares. He has used evil wizard spells to make it nighttime, all the time, and to make all weapons disappear completely. Also Dracula replaced all government with organized monster-crime syndicates. To replace weaponry, Dracula's gangster armies and those who battle them develop their unarmed fighting prowess. In the domain of Wrestlevania, only the swole survive. Chill Penguin, your counterpart here is El Veneno Negro. Your otherworldly symbiotic mask grants you powers, abilities, and a muscular tongue which have made you the bane of the Fanggia crime family. You fight for vegeance: when you were but a tiny child, your father dared to challenge the Fanggia don Lucho Nefario. The vampire's ion-enhanced strength easily overwhelmed your father's technical excellence. As punishment for defiance, Nefario took your father's mask and shaved his head. Only by grapple-slaying Nefario can you restore your family honor. Your alternate, Genetic Toaster, has died, but still works as a gangster in service of the capo Silvermane-by-Night. You are a "made man"—a frankensteinian patchwork resurrection. While most of your body remains intact, certain organs were replaced with those from deceased mutant brothers. Like the brothers, you now have the ability to absorb various forms of cosmic energy. Unlike the brothers, you channel this energy into your arms, expending it to perform devastating clinches and holds. Some have openly speculated that you could out-wrestle much higher-ranked gangsters, like Triple-Harold or the King of Pins. Within the monster crime community, you're known by the brothers' family name, as the Summers Soldier. Inspired by scientific wonders like the Suplex Soldier Serum, or the atomic drop that turned Jericho Drumm into the raging Hulk Houngan, the scientists of AIM (Advanced Istanbuli Mechanics) toil in secret labs to research and develop new super-wrestlers to deploy against Dracula's minions. Their leader is your counterpart, Soonmot—as well as one of AIM's most powerful wrestling creations. It takes the name MODOG (Muscular, Oil-Drenched Ottoman Grappler).
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Jul 29, 2015 14:59
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Endless Mike posted:I can only imagine Your counterpart in the all-singing, all-dancing domain of Broadway always looked up to popular heroes like Tigra, Hellcat, and Black Panther; adored the mystery of anti-heroes like Fantomex of the Opera; and was thrilled, rather than repulsed, by the freaks from Xavier's School for Gleeful Youth. Sadly, your own powers would prove a crushing disappointment to you. Instead of one of the flashy superheroes you so loved, bombardment with cosmic caba-rays turned you into the invisible Mr. Cellophane.
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Jul 29, 2015 15:27
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Prawn Salad posted:whats a battleworld When the Allies dropped the first Pym particle bomb on Hiroshima, not only did they end the war: they also shattered the barrier between their world and the Microverse. Your analogue survives here, the domain of Big in Japan, as Red Ronin. You serve in the Enigma Force, thr personal paramilitary of deposed Prime Minister Godzilla. Every day, you struggle against the rule of the despotic Baron Karza.
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Jul 29, 2015 15:50
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I'm still here. Family thing bigger than expected. Jetlagged right now. I'll try to post more from the Battleworld Revelation of Saint Martha Comicbooks soon. Sorry for the delay. 
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Aug 4, 2015 09:06
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Kelp Plankton posted:RIP battle world  Zowie, a 29-person backlog! Better get crackin'.
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Sep 11, 2015 23:30
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| # ¿ May 10, 2024 06:31 |
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Aphrodite posted:There's an easy way!  If only the mysteries of Battleworld were truly so easily resolved! But while I refine the next set of revelations with the aid of many medicinal herbs and spices, let's make a quick stop at the Shield.  Wanderer posted:Somehow I suspect I'm on the Shield. Or I was, before what's referred to as the "Incident." Don't pretend that you didn't volunteer for this. On the Shield, bravery doesn’t help anyone. To serve the Shield with distinction, you need one of two traits, preferably in excess: The first and best is a sense of duty, the kind that crushes you with the anticipatory guilt of letting anyone living above the wall suffer the predations of the monsters living below it. Ideally, your heartbeat (or equivalent) beats can’t quit, can’t quit, can’t quit at rest, and pounds don’tlet’emdie-myfaultiftheydie-don’tlet’emdie-myfaultiftheydie when it races. The only other trait that’s ever proven helpful for serving on the Shield is the kind of madness that blinds one to the hopelessness of the Shield—the sort of ill-calibrated mental state that leads one to believe that it’s possible to actually, finally win. Let’s say a light-to-moderate megalomania with a dusting of plain vanilla mania. Though useful, this madness is less useful to one’s Shield-mates, in absolute terms, than the aforementioned sense of duty, though frequently more entertaining. Bravery, though—not so useful. Bravery leads to otherwise-intelligent people charging down from the Shield, into the southern wastes, trying to fight the monsters back at the front lines. Bravery leads to Hel-Rangers and then regret. Bravery on its own is bad enough, but worse, it invalidates the benefit of the useful traits: bravery plus duty leads to noble suicides (  in peace Skurge, a robot turned you into bio-diesel); bravery plus madness leads, with uncomfortable consistency, to attempts to build personal kingdoms in the wastes (which, spoiler alert, do not fare well).But I’m getting away from the point. Go back to the beginning of this write-up—not the part about volunteering, although that will momentarily be relevant. This part: Squizzle posted:To serve the Shield with distinction, you need one of two traits, That part didn’t mean at least one. You want exactly one of these traits. Either one of these traits can lead to distinguished service on the Shield. You don’t want both. A sense of duty plus that kind of madness leads you onto a Morituri Strikeforce. Sometimes, Doom help us, protecting the Shield demands retrieving something from south of it. Maybe it’s intelligence, maybe it’s a person, maybe it’s a bug doomsday weapon or a robot doomsday weapon. (In an uncharacteristic show of fair play, the zombies shy away from the doomsday weapon racket.) This isn’t Hel-Ranger work; Hel-Rangers have an unfortunate tendency to charge out and die in romantically tragic and/or hilarious ways (see above, re: bravery). You want someone who knows, deep down, that the mission needs to succeed, and somehow believes that it actually can. Everyone on a Morituri Strikeforce has volunteered for the job: go south, under the wall, and make sure something comes back. Almost none of them expect their whole team to make it back to the wall, on any given mission. Deep down, every single one of these volunteers is both willing to die for the mission, but somehow believes that they, individually, won’t have to. Duty plus madness. Morituri volunteers all die the same way: surprised, accepting, but a little disappointed. Ok, not all of them. One Morituri Strikeforce has yet to lose a member. This team has, time and again, mission after mission, year after year, navigated the most treacherous conditions under the Shield, and returned with their objectives complete and no one on the team lost. I’ll probably end up talking about this team a few times, for two reasons: it’s unusually large, so there are a lot of members to talk about; and because, to a one, everyone on the team is an alternate reality counterpart of a Something Awful Dot Com forums goon. Doom works in mysterious ways. Anyway, back to you, Wanderer. Yes, you are on the Shield—or were sent to the Shield. If we’re being nitpicking goonlords, you’re frequently south of the Shield itself. You lead the premier Morituri Strikeforce. But on your team, no one is above grunt work, and you set a fine example by also acting as the squad’s wheelman. You operate the war-fitted Powered Convoy, a big rig capable of plowing unhindered through zombie Hulks and vibranium deathbots, while adamantium wiper blades (thoughtfully donated by an undead Dakenapes, when you neutralized the High Devolutionary and his zoo-vembies) clean the remains of the Annihilation Wave from the reinforced windshield. On your wrists, you wear the Citizen Bands. Given to you long ago by your mentor, Nebulon, these artifacts that allow you to tap into the primordial energy field that links man and truck: the Masterforce. At the least impressive, this gives you the power to telepathically drive your rig. When the haul gets tough—and it inevitably does—you can also slam the bands together, tapping into the full power of the Masterforce. Your body sublimates temporarily into pure Masterforce power, joining with your Powered Convoy to transform into a towering battle-mech. In this form, you help protect your team with piston-powered fists of Detroit steel. In either form—man or mantruck—you’re proud to lead the premier team beneath the Shield. You consider it an honor to be called Under Shield-1—US-1, to your friends. Welp OK 28 to go!
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Sep 18, 2015 01:08
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