Chapter Text
'I love being a turtle,' Donatello thought, sailing through the air from a kick, limbs tucked under his glyph painted shell. Teeth shattered into bone confetti as he left the mouth of the living trap. Donnie’s partner didn’t look pleased with being gummed, as she wrenched herself from the soon to be screaming door face, but she'd live. A labyrinth stood before them, riddled with traps that would not work. Who knew that robbing a god's vault would be so easy?
Leonardo sat, blades outstretched on his lap, waiting for the real fight to begin. He'd won his circle long ago, and the screams of the arena were reaching a fever pitch as their King descended slowly from his perch, robes trailing through the air in slow motion. The world swirled like the worst kind of sewer. Muddy browns and reds fogging his vision from where that Middle Army freak had clocked the side of his head. Why did it take so long for a god's slaughter to begin?
Michelangelo crooked a thick finger in the direction of the guard in his way to the throneroom. "💢" The word was incomprehensible to most, formed with lips he didn't have, and the flesh of his target melted together into a circle of mesh tendons and uncomprehending eyes. It rose, pulling the stone and wood of the floor with it, and filed in behind him. He wasn't quite good enough with the Arts to form the monstrosity he'd been hoping for, but if the other defenses in the palace had been any indication, this god wouldn't require them.
Raphael walked atop a road of corpses, following in the wake of his enemy. Yaun had slaked his thirst for battle for a brief minute and was finally in range. The world warped around him as he shifted between places, traveling miles with clawed hands that ripped through the boundaries of reality. The scar circling his neck tingled, and the bolts in his skull ached. On this day, a god would fall.
"All hail The Shredder, Demiurge, Bearer of the Word CHANGE, Jonin of the Foot Clan, Harbinger of Mutation and Master of Countless Worlds!" The failure that had haunted Hamato Yoshi's- now Splinter's- dreams for a megaanum roared in his ears as he scaled the sheer cliff-face of Throne. The former warlord's sons had fled the Hidden City, pursuing goals of their own. He didn't begrudge them this, even if he wished just one had stayed. But no, his follies were not theirs and his enemies were his. The many armed shell adorning his back scraped violently as stone arms slammed into the rockface, pulling him further along. What he needed was knowledge, the kind of knowledge only a god could provide.
And with that knowledge, he was going to burn Throne to the ground.