Flight From Ironheart IC

[Inspectre]

The Heroes Who Would Oppose a King

Theme Song

The fighting continues to escalate inside, outside, and above the capital as the various factions step up their efforts to annihilate each other. Only the elves and mermen deign to participate, the mermen focusing on holding the docks and the elves not engaging anyone except in self-defense.

That being said, the outward rush of iron golems catches both of them as well, inflicting the first true casualties either side has sustained thus far. Having only a modicum of magical talent the merman are hit especially hard by the metal monstrosities who, unlike everything else they’ve ever fought, refuse to die after being stabbed with a trident. The elves simply conjure more spirits out of the earth, filling the slum streets with titanic struggles between elementals and golems, while the elves rain arrows down from afar.

Umber’s servants unleash a trio of powerful air spirits, known since ancient time as djinnis, or genies in the modern tongue. Although not quite as happy with their former captors as the tales suggest, the spirits are nonetheless willing to exchange a service for their freedom. Racing up into the clouds overhead together, the three djinnis whip the already gloomy weather up into a proper storm. As the three elemental creatures return home, great sheets of rain begin to hammer down onto the city.

Visibility drops to very little, and everything exposed to the elements quickly becomes soaked to the bone. Much of the fire now spreading through the slums is extinguished in the downpour, or halted in its advance as the wood of untouched buildings becomes sodden and invulnerable to a hungry spark. Likewise, many of the fire elementals caught out in the storm are quickly extinguished, returning to their ever-burning home with a curse in their hissing native tongue. A few lucky enough to be inside when the deluge starts are spared, although with their very nature consuming their protection from the inside out, their dismissal is just a matter of time.

Natural thunder booms over the city as lightning begins to flash amongst the clouds. It is only a matter of time before it begins to dance down to the ground. For now, it is the perfect moody setting to accompany the increasingly dark nature of the battle.

(Let me know if you had a different intent with the three djinnis, WhiteKnight777).

The undead continue to surge forth in ever-increasing numbers, grinding everything before them in a tide of walking corpses. The iron golems sent to the western wall barely slow the horde down at all, each of them dragged under by a swarm of human bodies and then hammered with bare flesh until they stop moving. Each golem may ultimately take twenty or thirty of the lesser undead with it, but there are thousands of those, with the number climbing by the minute as the city’s dead defenders rise again. Sensing fresh prey, the bulk of the undead horde stops filtering in over the western wall and now sweeps around to the southern plains. There they engage the army of Sand and Ice, for additional corpses, and the last army of the Church, for control of the earthen ramp granting access to the entirety of the southern ramparts, and the city beyond.

Predictably, the messiest fighting is between Kartul and Umber’s pawns, both in casualties and in how the fighting is conducted. The desert dwellers unleash one final barrage from their mongonels into the teeth of the undead horde, and then everything is one gigantic, swirling, chaotic melee. Every time one of the combatants on either side falls, his or her body is torn apart by magic, leaving only a gooey pool of congealed blood behind. Cheated of their fresh bodies, the undead nonetheless press the attack now that they have engaged. Indeed, the majority of the horde surges around to encircle the beleaguered army rather than assault the paladin rearguard. Unable to claim fresh corpses to replace their expended numbers, this action seems foolhardy on the part of the undead. However, perhaps they are driven to annihilate the desert dwellers and their yeti allies because their master recognizes who is responsible for this blood magic, and hopes to take him down with his army. As usual in his dealings with Umber, Kartul is going to be disappointed.

Even with the undead focusing on grinding the Army of Ice and Sand into oblivion, that is not to say that they don’t begin to press hard against the Church’s rearguard. Fortunately for the paladins, in addition to currently not being the undead horde’s target, they have the advantages of height, superior discipline, experience with fighting the undead, and all of their number wearing heavy armor. The first wave of undead attempting to scale the ramp meet the same end as the previous scouts – incineration by rays of holy light. But unlike with the previous probing attacks, there is a wave of undead after that one, and then another, and another. Soon the fighting has inevitably progressed to hand-to-hand, the front rank of paladins holding the ravenous horde back with sword and shield, while the second rank thrusts through with spears. For now, the line holds, preventing the undead easy access into the capital by means of the immense earthen ramp. But that may not remain the case for long, especially once the last member of Umber’s sacrificial army falls.

In all of the chaos, however, one thing becomes abundantly clear to both armies fighting the undead horde – the vampires are Terror Incarnate. Simply put, the handful of vampires milling about within the swarms of cannon fodder corpses are invincible. Decapitation, stakes, silver, fire, sunlight, even divine magic all fail to hurt, let alone kill, them now. Instead their wounds are replaced by strange blossoms of blood which seal their injuries. It seems Kartul is still the master at blood magic and necromancy, and now his masterpiece has been unveiled – his future for the world. As such, the lesser undead are just here for show and intimidation by numbers – the vampires alone would be enough to totally wipe out the other factions, given enough time.

The former Baron of Gast displays his opinion of Kartul’s vision a minute later as his airship unleashes the brunt of its firepower against the approaching obsidian pyramids. Concentrated on a single pyramid, the barrage melts gaping holes in the structure’s surface, leaving its front face cratered. Slowing to a stop, the pyramid begins to turn, trying to present a fresh side. Before it can complete the turn, a second barrage flashes out from the Gastly Truth, blasting out huge chunks from the surface with several beams burning into the pyramid’s interior. One such beam must have hit something important, as smoke begins to billow out from the pyramid’s interior and it begins to descend, slowly at first but with increasing speed as gravity reclaims it.

The pyramid comes apart completely as it plows down into a noble’s manor, killing everyone inside who survived the impact with a blast of necrotic energy. The vampires and other undead who survived the pyramid’s destruction begin to spread out from the crash site, assaulting other nearby noble manors. With most of the nobles’ personal guard having been drafted into the city’s defense force, they are relatively easy victims for the undead to claim. Like a blot of ink on a fresh piece of paper, the undead begin to spread out further, killing and corrupting everything and everyone they come in contact with.

Meanwhile, Kartul’s remaining two pyramids are undeterred and continue to approach the center of the capital, and the Gastly Truth hovering above it. Reaching their destination a short distance away off the airship’s starboard bow, the two pyramids come to a stop. No longer focused on propulsion, the pyramids are able to convert their energy to defense, erecting massive energy shields around themselves which deflect even the mighty blasts of the Gastly Truth’s guns. No longer able to destroy the dangerous objects sharing their airspace, the airship’s gunners redirect their attention to the ground with devastating consequences.

The paladin rearguard holding the southern wall is obliterated, the ramparts scoured clean in one long barrage of white-hot beams. The punishing barrage also blasts much of the southern wall apart in the bargain, leaving gaping holes which the undead are only too happy to pour through. With all of the obvious targets eliminated, the gunners return to firing at will, lancing beams of channeled energy poking down into the city seemingly at random. The blasts are not entirely random, of course, but targeted at eliminating isolated groups of the city’s enemies, be they undead, elven, or paladin. In most cases the beams are fired relatively blindly, targeting only the general area where such a group was last seen. Even in cases where the gunners know exactly where their target is, the widespread destruction each beam is capable of inflicting leads to widespread collateral damage. Of course by this point, no one is under the illusion that the King gives a damn about his city anymore, and building by building, block by block, it is all destroyed by searing light from above.

Meanwhile on the eastern front things were going just as badly, and rapidly heading towards worse. Although the Baron’s accursed airship was no longer firing on them, Miriam’s daughters still had plenty to deal with between the GHASTs and the Hands. Individually a GHAST was slightly weaker than an angel for all its impressive array of tricks. But a GHAST was immune to pain, lacked all sense of self-preservation, and outnumbered the angels almost two to one. More than one angel was sent screaming back to the Heavens after one GHAST threw itself upon her sword, grabbing her and weighing her down so two more could come in from behind and tear her wings off.

From the angels’ perspective, worse still were the incessant ambushes waged by the King’s Hands. A building that was previously safe to fly over would suddenly erupt with arrows, every bolt and hurled blade poisoned. Ducking down to street-level to avoid the GHASTs carried the risk of flying into a net that suddenly stretched up between two buildings, or having heavy objects dropped down out of windows above. Going into a building after the Hands as they scurried about either resulted in discovering an empty building, triggering a painful and potentially lethal trap, or possibly having the building itself collapsed on top of you, sometimes even while the Hands themselves were still inside. The Hands were also not above using appropriated children, either as shields or bait for traps. Unable to willfully accept the harm of such innocents, the angels fell for such decoys every time.

Although not quickly and not easily, the angels’ numbers dwindled as they struggled to join their Lady in the fighting at the Gastly Truth itself. After forty years of their ranks being bled dry by the Baron and the corrupt Church’s wrongful summoning, there simply weren’t enough angels to overwhelm their opponents as previous battles had been decided. And so the angels fought on against opponents who could almost match them individually, or conspired to wear them down via remorseless application of guerilla tactics and exploitation of their innate goodness. Many of them died, but the survivors learned quickly and pressed on, continuing to press forward despite the odds stacked against them. It is a pity, then, that the ones who struggled to survive until this point would later be considered the unlucky ones.

Beyond the walls, half-dragon clashed with true dragon as Gazrul and Akor raced towards each other. It was a painfully short competition, as Akor unleashed a blast of flame at Gazrul as he swooped in towards the gnoll leader. The blast Gazrul was able to, amazingly, deflect with his own fire breath, but he could do nothing about Akor’s teeth. Swooping through the conflaguration where their breaths met and countered each other, Akor shot his head forward and snapped his jaws shut, clamping down on Gazrul’s body. Like a dog with a rat Akor gave a furious shake, and then spat the leader out, leaving his broken body to tumble to the ground in a messy impact.

Swooping back around, Akor lands in front of the horrified army of gnolls and men before roaring a challenge at them.

“I AM YOUR TRUE GOD! FOLLOW ME, OR PERISH!!!”

Shocked at the sudden death of their leader and in awe of standing before a real dragon, the crowd is silent for a moment. But then with a roar of approval, they tear off their tabards of the Church and stamp them into the mud. Those that don’t are immediately cut down by their former brothers in arms, and by the time Akor lifts off into the air again the army has been fully re-aligned. Now fighting for Akor, and thus through him the King, the band of mercenaries moves swiftly around to the southern plains, following their dragon-god in hitting the mass of undead from the side. Although focused on desperately trying to stop the undead from traveling into the city, that does not mean they hesitate to cut down the lone paladin or member of Umber’s army who was not caught in the undead encirclement.

Meanwhile within the city the horrifying plans of the elves and the mermen begin to come to fruition. Once inside the city walls and having successfully dealt with the iron golem charge, the elves break up into small bands and spread out. Rather than looking for ways to penetrate deeper into the city, however, each elven band methodically searches every building within its chosen block. With the city prepared for an invasion and with a large portion of its populace drafted into military service, the elves find most of the buildings empty. But occasionally they find what they are looking for – survivors, either deserters from the militia or citizens deemed too young, too old, or too infirm to help defend their home. From there they do one of three things with these survivors.

The smallest group of the three are those taken prisoner, likely for slavery or later ritual sacrifice. Most of this group is made up of children, as they are easily controlled and able to be moved back out through the city quickly, although a few adults judged worthy are likewise taken.

The second group are perhaps the “lucky” ones, as those are the ones spared to serve as witnesses. Unable to be moved easily and judged worthless by the elves, the infirm and old are the ones most likely to receive this “mercy”. One side of their faces are branded with ornate elven script to signify their duty, and then they are made to witness what the elves do to the third group.

The third and largest group of survivors are the ones that the elves use as their examples to humanity. Each is raised up and impaled upon a spear set into the ground. Not satisfied with the gruesomeness of this action, the elves then skin their victims while they are still in the process of dying from the impalement. Only then are the elves satisfied, leaving a field of impaled, skinned corpses and a handful of horrified, branded witnesses behind them as they continue on to the next city block.

Meanwhile the mermen complete the ritual they had begun immediately after securing the docks. Although understanding of magic had faded from their minds over the centuries, the arrival of the Kings of the Seas had awakened that talent within them again. With his help, they had pieced together some of the magic of their ancestors, including a particularly old and powerful spell that would be useful in their war against the land dwellers. They had saved this magic for this most important of moments, and now the most skilled of their ruler’s students channeled it through their bodies.

A few died, overwhelmed by a powerful backlash from the ritual that they were aware of but could do nothing about. The rest remained behind as the rest of their fellows withdrew from the docks, diving back into the sea to take shelter from what was about to happen. This was expected, their deaths anticipated and accepted as a result of the ritual’s effect if not the casting itself. These sacrifices to the glory of the sea would be remembered after their triumph here today. As the students remained on the docks, continuing to channel the ritual’s magic through them, the ocean began to swell far out to sea. The ocean gathered itself for a minute, and then surged towards the shore, the waters building upon themselves to crest up into a wave. A wave which grew and grew as it continued towards the shore, reaching ten feet, then twenty – thirty! The phenomenon known as a tsunami continued to gather strength as it raced towards the city, promising certain destruction when it arrived.

The King’s mysterious ritual promised something much worse as it nears its own moment of completion. Now clearly visible, around the slum outskirts of the city twelve pillars of hellish red light shoot up into the sky, the color reflecting off the dark storm clouds and tinting them to the color of blood.

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Theme Song

Standing at the eye of the storm of carnage consuming the entire capital, it was perhaps only appropriate that the duel between Miriam and the Herald of Azguloth was the most furious. Their blades clashed together with a frequency that was impossible for the eye to follow, both of them pushing their bodies to superhuman speed. The rest of the world ceased to exist for either of them, their focus solely on bringing an end to their opposite.

Demetrius wondered how to best take advantage of that narrow focus, although abandoned that plan for the moment after a GHAST strayed too close to the two of them as they battled their way down the length of the Gastly Truth. Not even looking to acknowledgement its presence, the Herald’s own scythe flashed out, cutting the construct in two and hurling both pieces off the deck of the airship to the ground far below. The message was clear – anyone interfering in their duel would be dealt with, by both of them if necessary. That suited Demetrius just fine – her focus now locked solely onto her hated nemesis, Miriam would now never seen the noose in time before it slid closed around her neck. Just a few minutes more now, judging from the pillars of hellish light streaking up into the sky.

First blood in the duel went to the Herald, further proof that the goddess was not immune to every weapon. Pulling his scythe back for a powerful swing that was slow enough for the eye to follow, the Herald brought his weapon crashing down against Miriam’s sword hard enough to break it, shattering the blade into a dozen shards. Continuing on through the goddess’s shattered guard, the tip of the Herald’s scythe buried itself in her shoulder, the impact driving her to her knees.

“Hah! A broken sword from a broken angel. Would you like me to tell you how your daughter Genevieve suffered!? How about I show you!”

The Herald taunted as he shoved the shaft of his scythe to one side, twisting its blade within the wound and eliciting a shrill scream from Miriam. Demetrius started to consider that perhaps he wouldn’t need his trap after all, although he wanted to kill Miriam, not beat her. That would require something a bit more substantial than just tearing apart the possessed body of his daughter, unfortunately, although the sight of her in pain filled him with savage glee. Sadly that moment was cut short a moment later when his brother, inevitably and predictably, chose to interfere.

“AZGULOTH!!!”

Incom Morgan shouted, catching the Herald’s attention by catching him in the back with a blast from his wing cannons. The damage done by the actual attack was minimal, but it was costly nonetheless as it broke the Herald’s concentration. With a howl of fury he whirled to face Incom, taking one hand off the shaft of his scythe to reach around and tear out one of the spines giving shape to his left wing. This makeshift javelin he then hurled towards Incom, but the attack was absorbed instead by the remains of a GHAST Incom sent tumbling the Herald’s way. As it struck the GHAST the spine exploded, turning into a hail of razor-sharp fragments that ripped the construct into hundreds of tiny pieces. They did not liquefy to reform upon landing on the deck, the control crystals just as shredded as its armor plating.

Incom doesn’t stay to fight, moving on to the far end of the airship where Isabella was finishing the ritual. Demetrius cursed as he watched him go, digging into his jacket for his communication crystal.

“Celestan. Celestan! Incom is moving to kill your mother. STOP HIM.”

Demetrius shouted at the crystal as the image of Celestan appeared. Demetrius watched as the image of the construct roared in fury, ripping the angel he had been battling apart before turning and racing off. In the skies off to the port side of the airship, a bright light winked into existence as Celestan rocketed back towards the Gastly Truth to intercept Incom.

While Demetrius was distracted by warning Celestan and the Herald was distracted by Incom’s surprise attack, Miriam acted. Reaching up with one hand she grabbed the Herald’s scythe, prying it up out of her shoulder. Then she pulled sharply back and down, tugging the distracted Herald down towards her. Still holding Genevieve’s broken blade in her other hand, Miriam brings it up as the Herald comes down, plunging it into his chest. Still keeping hold of the blade’s hilt and the Herald’s scythe, Miriam pushes off against the deck of the Gastly Truth, shooting up into the air and dragging the Herald up with her.

Now in mid-air, she releases her grip on Genevieve’s sword and turns, spinning around to slam the palm of her now free hand into the wrist of the hand the Herald was still using to grip his scythe. The blow broke the Herald’s wrist and nearly ripped his hand off completely before he relinquished his grip. Miriam continued to spin in place, shifting her grip on the scythe and dropping her other hand down to hold it in a two-handed grip. Meanwhile, no longer held up by Miriam the Herald begins to beat his wings to remain airborne. That option is taken from him as Miriam completes her spin, bringing the Herald’s own scythe up and around to cleave through his wings, severing the right one off completely. Immediately the Herald plummets back down to the deck of the airship with a shouted curse. A moment later and Miriam pulls the scythe back again and hurls it down after him, only her target isn’t the Herald. Demetrius looks up from his communication crystal just to time to dance to one side before the scythe twirls through the spot he had just been, first puncturing a hole in the thick hull plating of the Gastly Truth at his feet and then tearing a long gash before finally exhausting its forward momentum.

“Know this destroyers!”

Miriam shouted down at the two of them, still hovering above the deck of the Gastly Truth. She gestures, and the remains of Genevieve’s sword scattered on the deck and still lodged in the Herald’s chest disappear, reappearing in her hands. She carefully presses the broken pieces of the blade against the wound in her shoulder, already nearly closed, covering them with her blood.

“What is weakened can be strengthened. What is broken can be mended. What is destroyed can be replaced.”

Miriam intoned, as she squeezed the blood soaked pieces of Genevieve’s sword together in her hand. A soft glow began to emanate from that hand, and when she brought the hilt of Genevieve over with her other hand there is a bright flash of light. When the light fades Miriam is again holding an intact sword. Her eyes linger on the still-glowing blade for a moment, and then glare down at Demetrius and the Herald with all the wrath of a vengeful goddess.

“But what is lost can never be forgotten. You have taken Genevieve and Marisiel, two of my most treasured daughters, away from me. I will never forget that. I will never forgive that. And your punishment for these crimes shall be just – and swift!”

Miriam gestured again, and this time it was Marisiel’s sword that appeared in her other hand. She hovered a moment more over the Gastly Truth, brandishing the swords of Genevieve and Marisiel, and then she plummets back down towards the airship.

“****!”

The Herald growls, rolling aside at the last instant before Miriam slams down into the deck with both feet, hard enough to crumple the hull inwards several inches. Desperately the Herald continues to roll away from her, the goddess following after him and slashing downward with both swords. Fortuitously the Herald rolls past his scythe, grabbing it and tearing it free from the deck as he goes. He slashes upwards to keep Miriam back a moment before smoothly tumbling back up onto his feet. He flexes his previously broken hand a moment to test it, glances back to scowl at his still-regenerating wing, and then he grips his scythe firmly with both hands and the duel continues.

Demetrius is determined now not to let his attention by drawn away from the fight for a moment now, lest another blade or body part come flying his way, but a quick glance behind him prompts him to abandon that idea.

“****!”

Demetrius growls, and then turns to race towards the altar Ysora had been bound to.

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Theme Song

Throwing open the hatch leading up to the top deck of the Gastly Truth, Nephilium is immediately assaulted by the heavy downpour that had started suddenly a few moments ago. Within a few more moments, he is soaked from head to toe, although that doesn’t stop him from clambering up onto the deck and letting the hatch slam shut behind him. Shaking his head and raising a hand up to his forehead to shelter his eyes from the rain, Nephilium peered into the storm to try and get his bearings.

From all around him come the cacophonous sounds of battle, the deck of the airship shuddering periodically beneath his feet as all of its guns fire, lighting up the dark sky briefly. Further down the airship, Nephilium can dimly make out two figures furiously battling, but he is unable to make out who is who or who is winning. Closer to him is his father, and through the curtain of rain Nephilium can make out that his father’s attention is firmly on the duel. Good. As with anything else, it is always easier to beg for forgiveness afterward than request permission before.

As planned, clearly visible off to his left is the black sacrificial altar that had been installed for this dramatic show. Also as planned, Ysora is still lying atop it, alive but seemingly in bad shape. The two human guards assigned to watch her are distinctly uncomfortable in the heavy rain, and are venting their frustration on her. At least one is, using the hilt of his sword to strike her in already injured places while the second is content to merely taunt her with exaggerated tales of how the duel further up the ship is going. Both of them stop what they are doing immediately upon noticing that Nephilium has walked up to join them alongside the altar.

“S-sir Nephilium! Have you come to check on the prisoner?”

The guard who had been beating her stammered.

“Can we dispose of her yet?”

The other guard asked.

For a moment Nephilium was silent as he gazed down at the bound archangel. She had been wounded recently, he noted, and felt a jolt of shock race through him as he noticed that the severity of the injuries covered up the fact that several of her chains had been broken. There was still no chance that she could free herself, but it might give her enough freedom to cause some trouble. Her head lolled listlessly from side to side, although the way her eyes shifted over to remain focused on him suggested that was merely an act. She was gagged, and so couldn’t say anything to him. There was nothing that she could say, really. The choice in front of him was his and his alone to make.

Where did his loyalties lie? Where *should* his loyalties lie? The voices of both his father and Ysora echoed through his head as he stood there pondering his decision. His father had lied to him about Elsa, but it was doubtful he had been lying when describing exactly how much mercy he could expect from the Valkyrie. His blood was his father’s blood, and Nephilium had been a loyal son and dedicated servant for many years. Throwing that all away now would mean his life expectancy could be measured in minutes no matter who won between the Valkyrie and his father.

And for what? A winged whore, a Markash as the fiends called them, who only looked vaguely like his wife. She had been friendly to him, kind even, but there could never be anything more between them. Indeed, if it had all been an act to gain his trust as his father claimed, she wasn’t even a friend to him.

He had his wife’s soul back. He could find her body in time, or even resort to the Marisiel Solution, and have her back. If they won, which is the only way Nephilium would live to see another day, father might even condone it and forgive his theft. Most likely if they won, father would not even care what Nephilium did anymore. They would have won, and then they would all be free - humanity would be free at long last. The work would finally be over.

But . . . those forgiving eyes, that understanding smile. Ysora had not poisoned him against his father. She had merely opened his eyes and allowed him to see the truth – no, to admit the truth after years of lying to himself. She had always left him free to make his own decisions. And after one last moment of thought, he made it.

Theme Song

In one smooth motion he drew his sword and sent it slamming down into the altar, shattering more of Ysora’s chains. At the sudden action both guards jumped back and turned to him in confusion.

“Sir Nephilium!! What are you doing!!?”

“The scorpion can choose to sting itself!! I mean, committing treason!”

Nephilium shouts, leaving his sword buried in the altar in favor of reaching over and snapping the closest guard’s neck. As he turns to confront the second one, Ysora springs into action, tearing her arm free and using the lengths of chain still connected to her arm to whip the second guard across the face. He goes down with a muffled cry, his jaw appropriately enough broken. Leaping over the altar, Nephilium lands on top of him and then finishes him off with a kick to the head.

In the silence following the sudden betrayal, Nephilium and Ysora share a look that for a moment seems to stretch out to eternity. Although she still can’t speak, the question is there in her eyes – why? After the long moment passed, Nephilium shrugs and smiles, feeling as if a huge weight had just been removed.

“It was time for a change. Do you think you can put in a good word for me with your parents?”

After a moment of fake hesitation, Ysora nodded enthusiastically. Still smiling, Nephilium reached up to pry his sword free and looked up. His smile immediately died and he swore.

“****!”

“Just what do you think you’re doing, young man!!?”

Demetrius roared as he came changing towards the altar out of the rain. Frantically Nephilium swung his sword down into the chains holding Ysora captive, smashing several more of them. Then he hopped back across the altar and moved to intercept his father. As he went he called back over his shoulder.

“Archangel, free thyself! The shepherd shall distract the lion!”

While Ysora struggled to break free of the remaining chains, Nephilium charged towards his father, blade held low and to the side. As Demetrius slowed to a halt, so did he, coming to stand about five feet apart. Even through the rain, at that distance Nephilium could clearly make out the full measure of his father’s anger.

“I’ll ask you again, son.”

Demetrius said, his voice low and threatening.

“What the Hells do you think you’re doing?”

“Teenage rebellion. I guess I just got a late start.”

Nephilium quipped back, and was rewarded with a nostril flare from Demetrius. One of the keys to victory was making your enemy angry enough to make a mistake – and his father certainly was angry.

“Fine. I brought you into this world.”

Demetrius said, leaving the second half of that statement unsaid as he stepped back and conjured a fireball. Only the attack wasn’t aimed at Nephilium, but rather over his shoulder. Nephilium already knew the fireball’s real target before his father released it – Ysora.

“No!”

Nephilium shouted, leaping up into the air and allowing the fireball to hit him directly in the chest. The explosion sent him flying backwards, ironically crashing back into the very altar he had been protecting. A moment later, and there was suddenly a hand dangling down in front of his face. Shaking his head to clear it, Nephilium glanced up to see Ysora standing over him, now free. He took Ysora’s hand and allowed her to help him back up to his feet. His father was nowhere in sight, shielded by the rain, but his voice boomed out from it.

“That was stupid. But then you always have been not the brightest of boys. Loyal to a fault though, at least until now. Now, you don’t even have that going for you. You are worthless, and like the rest of the dust specks that cling to my boots, I cast you off! Unfortunately I don’t have time right now to see to your discipline personally! But there’ll be time for that later – your life, at least, will be spared until then.”

And then they come swooping down out of the rain, now looking more like demons prepared to drag him into the Hells than angels – six GHASTs, firing their wing cannons as they closed in from all directions.

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Theme Song

Ulrich grunted as he landed heavily on his right leg and it seized up, nearing pitching him face first into the ground. Calling upon his years of experience that were now flooding back to him after a years-long hiatus, he managed to turn the fall into a roll, coming back up onto his feet. Beyond the wall he had just scaled and jumped off of came the shouts of his pursuers – the inquisitors were not far behind. But then, that was the whole point, wasn’t it?

Unlike Tare and Limier’s stealthy invasion of the Inquisitor’s home, Ulrich was to make as big of a scene as possible. And then after he had gotten their attention, he was supposed to draw them away. The first part had been relatively easy, but then it would have been hard *not* to get the Inquisitor’s attention by crashing a flaming cart into the gates of their compound.

Of course the goal was not to get the Inquisitors to hunker down in preparation for an attack, but rather swarm out of their base to run him down. So when the first two guards showed up, Ulrich stepped out of hiding at the mouth of a nearby alley and screamed at them. And then to make sure that they would want to chase him, Ulrich pulled out a crossbow and shot one of the guards in the right knee. Being only human, the guard who just took a bolt to the knee went down screaming and the second guard shouted for backup. Before the guard dragged his wounded associate back out of sight, Ulrich made sure the guard saw him drop the crossbow, turn, and run into the alleyway.

He waited at the far end of the alley, wondering how much warning he would get. As it turned out, he would get none, as a man suddenly dropped down on top of him. The two exchanged furious blows for a moment, but the inquisitor still wanted to take him alive while Ulrich had no such constraint. After he activated the spring-loaded sheath attached to his arm, snapping a knife into his fist, the inquisitor managed to get one loud shout out before Ulrich silenced him with a hard stab to the throat. Then he was running again, and this time he could hear the Inquisitors closing in behind him.

Since that, he’d led the Inquisitors on a merry chase through the city’s back alleys, nearing blundering into a number of barricades that the newly formed militia had erected. In one case, he had blundered through a barricade, throwing knives and sowing chaos in all directions so that by the time the inquisitors got there, the militia guards were ready to kill anyone else who got close. The wild melee that turned into delayed the group of Inquisitors chasing after him, but another team dropped in on his trail almost immediately thereafter.

He was leading that group past a seemingly abandoned building when a series of crossbow bolts leapt out of a second-story window and dropped the entire team of Inquisitors. Inclining his head towards the window in thanks and trying not to piss himself, Ulrich continued on down the street. At that point, the inquisitors may have lost the trail, which would have led to them eventually giving up and returning home. Ulrich couldn’t let that happen, so despite the protesting of his aging body and the rational part of his brain, he went looking for another group and let himself be seen. Then the chase was on once more, although the end was fast approaching.

That rough landing from the wall jump had battered the last of his breath from him, and he struggled just to suck in another searing lungful as he limped to the mouth of the alleyway. A crossbow bolt whistled past his ear, and he heard the sound of approaching feet crunching into the cobblestones behind him. Pushing himself to the end of his endurance, Ulrich managed to make it a few steps past the mouth of the alley before his legs gave him. Stumbling, Ulrich went down to his knees – which was perhaps the only thing that prevented him from dying immediately.

An instant later, and a brilliant light filled his vision before a wave of heat and force slammed him the rest of the way to the ground. For the next several seconds, Ulrich wondered if he was plummeting down into the Hells already, as his world was nothing but heat, noise, and pain. But then the noise cut out, to be replaced by a shrill ringing. Rolling over onto his back, Ulrich looked behind him to find that the alley he had just left no longer existed. One of the two buildings had been reduced to a crater and the other was now only half standing. Of the inquisitors there was no sign.

A minute later, a sensation of spreading warmth and wetness broke through the numbness that was his entire body. Lifting his head up, Ulrich looked down to see a javelin of rock protruding from his stomach. With a defeated sigh, Ulrich slumped back against the ground and gazed up at the sky. He had done all he could to help Tare and Limier. He had gone into this expecting it to cost him his life, but strangely he felt less a sense of disappointment and more a sense of relief now. His burdens were over, and with a final sigh Ulrich closed his eyes for the last time.

[Inspectre]

Archpaladin Zousha

Katashiko shoots a glance your way and smirks.

“Typical man, always wanting more. Earthquake’s a bit extreme – figured your bleeding heart would be all twisted over collateral damage. But you want it, you got it!”

Lowering her head, Katashiko stares down at the ground for several long moments. Meanwhile, the approaching iron golems slam into the leading edge of the paladin line, scattering men before them through sheer inertia. As expected there’s not much your men can do against them – the golems are practically made of armor, and are not vulnerable to divine magic the way undead and fiends are. The sight of them struggling to hold the golems back makes you wonder how you will fare against the far more advanced constructs flying around overhead – which seem capable of fighting evenly against angels! But you can’t give up now, and you will finish this fight that you have started.

The paladin front line is just beginning to give way when Katashiko finally moves again. Like a petulant child, she raises one foot and then stomps it back down onto the ground. This seemingly innocent action has grave repercussions as you feel a tremor race through your feet, followed by another, and then another. As the tremor passes outward, it only gathers in strength, leaving you at the relatively calm center of a hurricane within the earth.

Down the street, the ground roils like a tidal wave, and buildings begin to lurch and lean to one side as their foundations crack apart. The sounds that assault your ears from all directions are similar to those made by a wet log when it is thrown on a fire – snapping, hissing, crackling – but it is stone that is making these sounds now. Truly, it was rather a disconcerting experience, even though you and most of the men around you are perfectly safe.

Safe does not mean standing, however, and many of your men are thrown off their feet as the ground continues to shift beneath their feet. The clumsy golems are all pitched off their feet, and none of them are able to regain their footing.

Not satisfied with this, Katashiko clenches her hands into fists and then pulls them apart as if tearing something. In response the ground begins to tear itself open, the streets splitting apart into rapidly deepening crevasses. With precise movements of her hands, Katashiko is able to control the growth of the crevasses, directing them around your men and placing them squarely underneath the golems. After the constructs have all fallen inside Katashiko pulls the crevasses closed, leaving the streets uneven, but intact at least. With a sigh, she finally allows herself to relax, and slumps to her knees in exhaustion.

Around you, the city is in tatters. Many of the nearby buildings have crumbled, most having collapsed completely – and occasionally, broken limbs jut up from the rumble to show that there had still been people inside some of them. A few buildings had been merely damaged, and now people rush out of them in a blind panic, hoping to get away before they too are crushed within their homes.

“Did what I could to limit the damage.”

Katashiko wheezed.

“Your people back on the wall should be fine. On the bright side, probably crushed some of those ambushers for us too.”

The refugees don’t cause any problems for you – indeed, upon seeing you most of them turn and run the other way, seeking safety in solitude rather than any faction fighting for the city. None of them are safe yet though – as you watch, a group of children pour out into the street from a broken wall. Suddenly, a band of elves materializes out of a parallel street a short distance away. As soon as they see the children, they bring their bows up and unleash a hail of arrows, killing them all. They don’t engage you or your men – their focus seems to be entirely upon the city’s inhabitants. After the last child falls the elves disappear back into the alley, seeking other prey.

As if in sadness over what it has just witnessed, the clouds tear themselves open, hammering the ruins of the city with pounding rain. Visibility drops – you couldn’t catch the elves even if you wanted to, although they were no doubt somewhere nearby, continuing to wage their campaign of terror. From the back of your formation there is a loud cry, moving up the line as someone pushes their way to you – a messenger. As it turns out, that messenger is the former Exarch Tyra herself.

“Hondshioh! Our position on the wall is being assaulted heavily by the undead now! We need more men in order to continue holding them back! We –“

And then the dark sky above lights up an instant before the south wall flashes with the same harsh light. The Gastly Truth has fired upon it, scouring it clear of all life. And with that act, allowing the undead to pour into the city from the south unopposed.

More shouts of alarm as another messenger comes up to report in, this one from another of the Church’s arms pushing into the city.

“Sir! The elves, they – they’re killing – no, butchering everyone they can find! They haven’t attacked any of us yet, but every man, woman, and child . . . gods!”

The young paladin beckons, and another two step forward, carrying an old man who is missing his right leg between them. The right side of the man’s face is swelled and blistered, burned horribly from some sort of intricate brand that has recently been applied to his face.

“I . . . I saw it all, s-sir.”

The old man stammers.

“W-what th-they did . . . oh gods, it was terrible! They . . . they skinned them. They skinned them alive, like they were animals! They said I was to watch, and go tell others of their vengeance! You have to stop them, oh please sir! Mercy!”

“We don’t have the men to stop the elves, and the undead, and secure the city.”

Tyra says quietly, and then stands at attention.

“What are your orders, Lord General?”

She says, her tone clearly expecting that no matter what those orders are, this battle would be her final one. In all likelihood, this battle was going to be everyone’s final battle at this rate. You have to push forward in order to clear a path to the Gastly Truth – those ambush points all over the city will tear your griffon riders apart if you don’t. But with the south wall completely in shambles now, it’s only a matter of minutes before you are literally swimming in a sea of angry corpses. Meanwhile, the elves are prancing about the city committing horrible atrocities to any human they can get their hands on – even innocent children. There is no way to win this sort of battle – even surviving it may prove to be impossible.

Before you can give your orders, there is a disturbance from up ahead. Some of the men scouting a path through the destroyed buildings are shouting. Moving up to see through the curtain of rain, you watch as the trio of scouts back away from a mountain of rubble that is all that is left of a building. A moment later, and a man drags himself out into view, a young boy in his arms. Only you notice the man is not saving the boy – he’s using him as a hostage to keep your men back. One of King Gast’s assassins then.

Not wishing to see the boy harmed, your men keep back, although they clearly don’t want to allow this murderer to slip away into the rain so he can continue killing. A few moments later and it proves to be a moot point as a silvery bolt streaks down out of the rain above. There is an eruption of blood as the man is cleaved in half, and then the child is free and running towards your three men. Standing over the assassin’s shattered body is what should be a beautiful sight – not just an angel but an archangel, her very wings glowing with a faint light. Upon seeing her, your men give up a ragged cheer, which is silenced as the archangel tears her spear free of the assassin . . . and then dashes forward to plunge it into the chest of the lead paladin.
(Here is where I was going to use that theme I had for Hondshioh’s confrontation with Ander, which I ultimately felt was more appropriate for that moment. So since that song has already been used, I’ll instead supply Hephestia’s theme song now I guess.)

Theme Song

With a scream of alarm the child races away from them towards you as the other two paladins attempt to defend themselves. They barely get a chance as the archangel lifts a hand up from the shaft of her spear to snap one man’s neck before throwing him into the other. She tears her spear free and then plunges it into the fallen paladin’s body before he can rise. This has taken barely five seconds, and as the archangel twists her spear free yet again her eyes turn to the fleeing child. Like swatting a bug, she gestures, and a brilliant bolt of searing light incinerates the youth before he has made it halfway to you. Then the archangel begins to walk towards you, her sodden red hair lending the rainwater dripping from it a bloody tint.

“I am Hephestia the Adjudicator!”

The archangel cries as she advances towards you at a deceptively leisurely pace.

“And I have judged humanity to be unworthy of living! For too long have you parasites been allowed to cling to this beautiful world, tainting it with your very existence! NO MORE! NOW COWER MORTALS, FOR THIS VERY NIGHT YOU SHALL ALL SUFFER FOR YOUR CRIMES IN THE HELLS!”

You, along with the rest of the paladins, all recognize that name. Hephestia was one of the three archangels, the leaders of Miriam’s angels. But you had thought that the angels were on your side . . . and now this harpy had come to slaughter you all. Was this some sort of trick of King Gast’s, or had one of Miriam’s chosen truly become overcome with hatred?

Pwenet

Your sudden scream distracts the Herald of Azguloth, and your wing blasts distract him even more. As he turns to deal with you, Miriam is given an opening, and she takes it. Unfortunately the GHAST he throw into the fight is immediately torn apart by an exploding spine torn from the Herald’s wing, but at least that attack didn’t hit you. Then you are past the dueling part, swooping down towards Isabella. GHASTs rise to get in your way, but many of them are out of position – busy defending themselves against the angels closing in from without and not expecting an attack from within. Ripping apart the last one that gives in your way in passing, you leave it’s reforming body to crash down onto the deck of the airship and land beside Isabella.

As you approach, a shimmering field of energy snaps into view, separating you from her. No expert on magic, your augmented senses can still detect that the source of the field is coming from the series of runes etched into the deck in a circle around her – unfortunately they’re on her side of the field. Red lightning crackles from the two artifact swords, and from within the souls of Elandra and Dacian (the one directly responsible for your death) scream in agony as they too are slowly consumed by the ritual. Blood runs freely down Isabella’s arms, dribbling onto the deck and straining more runes beneath her feet. Her eyes are closed, and periodically she trembles as if in immense pain, but she continues to chant, practically screaming each syllable now. Suddenly she stops, and her eyes snap open. Her whole body goes stiff as she gives one final, long-drawn out scream, and then she collapses to the deck. Her wings burst into arcane fire, the feathers being consumed in seconds and leaving only the delicate skeleton behind which somehow remains intact while the arcane fire continues to burn. Weakly, she pushes herself halfway up and turns to look at you. She gives you a pitying smile and shakes her head, her face sagging – she looks exhausted already. The only positive side seems to be that the exhaustion is acting the same way as her drinking binges, allowing the real her to bubble to the surface.

“You are too late, Incom. The ritual is complete.”

Isabella whispers, and then her face ripples, as if something was crawling beneath the surface, pulling her lips up into a triumphant sneer.

“Yes, too late! And in a few minutes, your precious goddess will be dead!! Let us see how she enjoys the hospitality of the Hells!”

Isabella cackles, struggling to push herself up. Something within her seems to shift, and her face twists again, going slack once more.

“I . . . you can’t . . . can’t him win. You have to save Her before it’s too late!”

From the dark sky, a sudden brilliant point of light blooms – a GHAST rocketing back towards the airship.

“Look out!”

Isabella cries, a moment before the shape of Celestan reveals itself. Like his father before him, Celestan unleashes a barrage of fire from his wing cannons as he swoops down, and then he crashes into you, carrying you away from Isabella.

“GET AWAY FROM HER!!!”

Celestan howls, bodily hurling you back along the deck to slam into it some distance away. Rather than unleash another barrage from his wing cannons, he charges in, driving his fists down into the deck and crumpling the spot where your head had been a moment before.

“Celestan, stop!!!”

Isabella calls weakly, but then her face ripples again and she cackles with delight.

“Yes my boy! Tear this filthy traitor apart! Make him wish he had never Escaped from Ironheart!”

Iethloc

At your question, Victoria inclines her head to the side for a moment, recalling details of the airship’s layout. Then she nods.

“Yes. There’s a flight bay a short distance away from here. It may be swarming with GHASTs though. Could we perhaps set up some sort of timed destruction to the engines, such that we would have time to get away before the ship begins to plummet? Of course, that would also carry the risk that someone could disarm it while we are away, running for our lives.”

**************

With Xeric and Omega here, setting up a delayed explosion would certainly be difficult. Fortunately, you resolved that they would not remain such a problem for much longer. You hurl the crewman at Omega, smashing the man’s body into her face. Her head snaps back and she is clearly dazed, your own pain winking out as her mental assault ends. She’s clearly not out of the fight however, as a moment later a metal plate tears itself off of the wall of its own accord and hurls itself into the path of one of your blades, deflecting it away from Xeric and momentarily trapping it.

I never told you, but I was handed over for experimentation by my own father. I had tried to rebel against him, and Xeric was tired of my resistance to his wishes. So I was sent to Ironheart to be twisted to suit his own needs, and serve as an outlet for Ironheart’s researchers. This merger with demonic flesh was only the most recent series of experiments I had been forced to endure. Before that my mind was broken apart by a researcher interested in the effect of emotions, or lack thereof, on a person’s decisions. When they were stripped from me, I lost all hatred I had for my father. Nothing mattered anymore, and I become the puppet he wanted me to be. I willingly accepted the experiments to turn me into this hybrid I am today, as much as I have any sort of will anymore.

Underneath Omega’s usual monotone, there was just the barest hint of a shadow of emotion – rage. Whatever was left of the woman Omega had been, whatever scrap her father’s associates hadn’t scooped out, was howling in fury against the walls that had shaped her into this tool of Xeric’s. It was pathetic, really, but at least now you know that Omega had not necessarily chosen to betray you. Xeric had likely planned this from the very beginning – although he had made a grave mistake if he thought he could best you alone now!

“Fool! Who do you think taught the other Sages everything they knew!!?” Xeric growled, beginning another incantation. Two ephemeral hands appear, reaching out to clench around two of your blades as they swoop in, grinding them to worthless slivers. Still, even with Xeric smashing two of the blades and Omega trapping a third, that still left two to stab into Xeric’s body. As the blades went in Xeric grunted and you thought perhaps the fight was already over – surprisingly easy. Then his body shimmered, dissolving and flowing away to reform a short distance away, no longer impaled by the blades. A projection – of course, Xeric wasn’t man enough to face you directly. He always liked to hide behind his projections.

Sniffing the air, you could analyze this particular extension of Xeric’s will. Like all projections, it was a magical construct that you could consume. However, Xeric had invested so much of his own will and essence into this projection that it would be similar to trying to eat a powerful elemental – there would be strong resistance, your will against Xeric’s. You noted however that Xeric had grunted as your blades struck home . . . of course! His projection was meant to replace his own physical presence . . . which meant that he had to be able to sense and feel everything his projected body experienced. So even if stabbing him with force blades didn’t kill him, it still certainly caused him pain. Do it enough and he might lose concentration enough for you to consume his projection – or decide he’d had enough pain on his own and dispel it himself!

“Y’know Sohssal. Being a demon mage does have some drawbacks.”

Xeric taunted as he begins a new spell. You try to stab him with your two remaining swords to disrupt his concentration, but he catches them with his conjured hands, grinding them into slivers as well.

“Like sharing their flaws!”

Xeric’s spell completes, and suddenly you find yourself bound in place, locked there by holy chains that are effective even on your ephemeral form. Magically conjured, you’d be able to dispel or consume them soon enough, but Xeric wasn’t done yet. He conjures up another spell, summoning a brightly-glowing spear which he hurls at you. As the spear flies, it turns into a beam of light that spears you through your right shoulder, and again your world is consumed with pain as the holy lance burns into your demonic nature. It would appear that unlike Gene, Xeric is aware of how to exploit your demonic nature. It would seem to be a race now, each of you perhaps incapable of killing the other but certainly capable of inflicting pain, with the one who had had enough first being the loser.

WhiteKnight777

At your mention of simply asking, Zariel gave one of his rare disturbing smiles and spread his hands wide before replying in his sign language.

I knew you would appreciate the drama of it, Umber. We are men of action, not words, after all.

The master assassin gave a shrug.

Besides, I wanted to remind you of the consequences of telling me no. This battle is too important to allow you to blunder in uninvited and make a mess of things – as you usually do.

“Blunder in? Well maybe if you had informed us of your own plans – or your very existence, for that matter – we could have come better prepared!”

Fianna growls as the three of you begin to make your way to her hidden sewer entrance. At her anger, Zariel simply shrugged.

Until recently you were just another puppet of the Baron’s, and Umber was a foppish wanderer more concerned with sensation than the world’s affairs. Why should I have expected anything good to come of revealing myself to you?

“I was never the Baron’s puppet!”

Fianna hissed, her anger starting to mount towards the point where she would throw one of her legendary fits. Perhaps the only drawback from the return of her emotions – the capability to embrace one of those all-consuming fits of rage she was capable of. Of course, she was capable of embracing other, far more pleasant emotions as well – the anger was just the price that had to be paid. In a way, it was good to see her like this again – it certainly brought back memories.

Not directly, no. But you aided the Hierarch, who aided him. For forty years everyone allowed him to fester, and now this is the price that must be paid for it.

Fianna’s anger cooled into embarrassment at the mention of her participation in the near release of Azguloth.

“Don’t remind me of that. It was . . . an unfortunate phase I went through.”

Fianna’s brow wrinkled in annoyance again.

“Speaking of mistakes, what about you? You’ve just been watching all this happen without doing anything about it!?”

It was not my place.

Here it was Zariel’s turn to look embarrassed.

I also made the mistake of underestimating the Baron. Everyone did, and this is what has become of it. I will not make that same mistake twice, and that is why I didn’t want the two of you blundering in here. If we underestimate the Baron again, there may well be an even higher price to pay.

“We’re here.”

Fianna said suddenly, coming to a stop in the middle of the field, still some distance from the wall. There is no indication of an entrance as Fianna stoops down to dig her fingers carefully through the dirt.

A concealed entrance?

Zariel signs to you, as if you would have any idea about your love’s latest surprise. As if anticipating the question, Fianna chuckles.

“It’s not quite an entrance so much as a way through. Ah! Here it is.”

Fianna pulled a small cloth bag out of the ground and held it up.

“Inside is a powder which will let us pass through the earth as if it wasn’t even there. I’ve also set up a beacon down in the sewers which will guide us to it. We can enter there.”

She pulls the bag open and reaches her hand inside, scooping out a handful of the powder. She carefully lifts her hand up above her head and then allows the dust to spill out onto her head. She then tosses the bag to you, and finally you toss the bag to Zariel, who empties it to get the small remainder still inside by that point.

True to Fianna’s word, a moment after pouring the handful of dust over yourself, in addition to feeling sandy now you feel a deep connection with the earth. Through your feet, you can also feel a pulsating within the earth – Fianna’s beacon. With but a thought you melt down into the earth, following the pulsing that calls out to you.

A few minutes later, and you emerge out of a wall into the sewers. A few feet away is a hand-sized yellow crystal, periodically glowing brightly before dimming in time to the pulse that you feel. Unfortunately, the previously dry sewers are now starting to become wet again. Faintly overhead, you can hear a torrential downpour beginning to slam down into the city. That ought to reduce visibility substantially, enabling small bands to easily slip about . . . and in addition to its dramatics, the storm will prove quite useful later. For the moment, however, it was going to cause problems by flooding the sewers if you don’t move quickly.

One difficulty with moving about is that it’s dark down here, and if there is anyone watching, they will see your light far before you see them. Zariel solves that problem by bowing his head and silently muttering some kind of spell. A few moments later, and the darkness resolves itself into blue-tinted light as Zariel’s spell takes hold.

“This way.”

Fianna announces after a moment of examining the different passageways leading on into the dank darkness. You travel quickly, Fianna leading on with increasing confidence the deeper you go into the sewers. Thankfully, you are able to skirt around the edges of the rapidly growing pools here and there, but it is doubtful you will be able to use the sewers as a means of travel after confronting Shiakti – unless of course, you turn yourself into a fish.

At one point the ground suddenly heaves and shudders violently, threatening to collapse the tunnel down on your heads. You wonder if you can stumbled over some kind of trap that triggered this, but after no one appears you suspect it was the actions of someone else. Apparently there are powerful magicks at work with other factions than just your own, Kartul’s, and the Baron’s. Thankfully, the earthquake does not collapse the section of sewers down on your heads, although it does block off the way directly to the cathedral. Fortunately Fianna knows of an alternate route that opens up nearby the cathedral, so you use that point of entry into the city.

From there it is a simple matter to reach the cathedral. A small group of guards on their way to or from a defensive position blunder into you – Zariel makes sure they’re all dead before a single one can cry out. And then you round the corner and the cathedral is in sight. Without a single light in its windows and still partially demolished from Cheran’s wild wedding, the building is an imposing sight in the rain. As you watch, a black crossbow bolt suddenly flies skyward from a second-story window, skewering one of the shadows battling up in the storm above.

There was no thought of turning back now, and so in silence the three of you cautiously approach the cathedral. It was a certainty that Shiakti had all the doors and windows booby-trapped – given the Huntress’s nature you probably wouldn’t be able to catch her by surprise anyway. Unfortunately the hammering rain had already washed off the earth dust, otherwise you might have been able to simply phase through the wall. The most logical place to break through was probably the mess you had made of the cathedral’s previously elegant stained glass windows. A quick check reveals them still yawning wide open, dark spots on the side of the cathedral’s marble wall. The smashed windows being unblocked probably meant that Shiakti had some sort of trap waiting.

An examination of the windows however revealed nothing – no magical wards or obvious tripwires. But then Zariel stopped you and carefully pulled out a coin, flipping it up into the window – where it suddenly became stuck in mid-air. Knowing something was there, you look incredibly closely, and can see the nigh-invisible strands of a web stretched across the window. Shiakti had indeed prepared a trap, and one fitting with her primal nature. Curiously enough, upon checking the other windows you find that one of them has had its web already torn open – Shiakti has already had visitors.

So now it was a question of using this cleared window to enter, trying one of the undoubtedly similarly trapped other entrances, or blasting/teleporting through the wall. Undoubtedly, Shiakti was lying in wait on the other side.

(You are welcome to describe how Umber, Fianna, and Zariel enter the cathedral. For the sake of efficiency, however, I am going to move on and assume you somehow got into the main worship area without serious incident.)

Entering the main worship area, you can tell that this is Shiakti’s lair. Overhead, the rafters have been obscured with a thick carpet of reddish-orange webbing. In one dark corner, you can make out what appears to be a cocoon, still twitching every now and then – likely the visitor who had been caught in Shiakti’s window web.

“Ah, Umbra and Fiannah. Welcome to mah parla!!!”

Shiakti calls from the darkness somewhere above. Her falsely jovial tone immediately turns to a furious shriek as Zariel steps from the shadows.

“And ya brought ta traitor wit ya! How thoughtful! Now I kin kill ya all tat once!!!”

“Last chance, Shiakti! Join with us against the Baron!”

Fianna called out, conjuring up a javelin of light and throwing it up into the web. It gets caught by one of the lower strands and thus only illuminates a portion of the ceiling. You catch a glimpse of a bulbous shape skittering back out of sight, which gives you and Zariel an idea of where to aim. A moment later that plan all goes to the Hells though as a dozen horse-sized spiders being dropping down from silken strands as Shiakti shrieks.

“NO! I HAVE WAITED THOUSANDS OF YEARS FOR DIS MOMENT! I SHALL HAVE MY REVENGE! GET THEM, MY PETS!!!”

With a barrage of daggers, Zariel sends one descending spider crashing down into the pews below, sending molten ichor everywhere that ignites the wooden wreckage. Fianna conjures a blast of fire that envelops another two, but they continue to descend, not even inconvenienced by the fire. An instant later, a net of webs comes shooting down from the darkness of the rafters, enveloping Fianna. She is carried to the floor, caught by the net, and then a moment later is lifted screaming up into the air. Another spider appears from the darkness above, climbing down the thread holding Fianna’s net aloft, and begins adding fresh strands to the web to turn the net into a cocoon.

Fianna attempts to free herself with another blast of fire, only to scream in agony as the strands of the net melt but somehow maintain their integrity, doing nothing more than burning into her. From the darkness above Shiakti cackles in delight.

“Dey be lava spidas from da Elemental Planes! Dey eat fire elementals for breakfast, foolish girl! And now dey gonna eat you!”

Suddenly, an immense shape appears from the darkness, dropping down from the rafters. At the last moment, a bungie cord of silk snaps taut, preventing it from dashing itself against the floor. It is Shiakti, not in humanoid form, nor even in spider form. Instead she has created some sort of a horrid hybrid form, with a humanoid, four-armed top and a four-legged spider bottom. Her eyes are white, with six similar white orbs arranged around her head. Her normally oversized canines have grown even further, becoming the protruding fangs of a spider.

Before, Shiakti had always been limited to taking animal forms, and shifting between them. This perverse sort of hybrid shapeshifting was something she had always wanted, but could never quite manage. Evidentially in the intervening millennia, she had been practicing.

With a roar, she hefts the massive crossbow (really more of a ballista) cradled in her upper arms and fires it not at you or Zariel, or even helpless Fianna, but at an empty corner. An instant later, the form of Zariel standing beside you blinks out of existence, and the real Zariel tries to dodge aside from the bolt. He manages to avoid the bolt, but as it gets close the bolt explodes, sending out a cloud of shrapnel that not even Zariel can escape. The shrapnel tears through his legs, and the master assassin goes down as three of the lava spiders close in from all directions.

“Hah! Did ya forget I can see through ya illusions, “love”!? You can’t hide from me!”

Shiakti said. And then her eight eyes swivel on to you as she tosses the crossbow aside in favor of drawing what would be two halberds with her oversized upper arms, and a pair of scimitars with her finer lower arms. With a piercing shriek she charges toward you, while her pets likewise close in from all directions. From the corner of your eye, you can see more of her pets beginning to descend from the webs above as well – there must be at least two dozen of the damn things now all told. As they approach, they throw out strands of webbing, trying to snare hold of you, grab you, keep you still for the death blow as Shiakti closes in.

The only good piece of news, if it could be called that, is that you were getting a steady and rapidly increasing stream of energy from your blood magic now. Your army was being slaughtered out there – and judging from the lack of energy coming from the blades part, they were probably fighting the undead horde, which had little life energy left to give. Apparently Kartul was aware you are present and is looking to eliminate your forces in the hopes of catching you as well. Well, the joke was on him, as he was inadvertently helping you. Of course, if your cannon fodder was completely wiped out, you wouldn’t have them to call upon later either. Hopefully they were able to enact some sort of contingency plan to escape soon, or your blood magic was going to stop being useful. For now however, you had plenty of magical reserves to help get you out of this – but you were sure Shiakti had other surprises prepared herself.

Dorizzit

At your words Seraph’s eyes widen with shock, and then narrow with rage. But even so he lowers his head, his cheeks flush with shame. Predictably Rose moves to comfort her husband, watching you nervously with her remaining eye to see if she should attempt to leap clear – or push her husband out of the way. After a moment’s thought over your demand, Seraph slowly nods.

“Very well. If that is how I am to atone for my part in all this, then I will do it. I will escort your daughter out of here safely.”

“What!? No!! Korram, this is my fight too damnit! And . . .”

Katrina’s voice trailed off as she looked into your eyes. She frowns and looks away towards Rose, and then looks behind her towards where you had left the Countess and others – a part of town that was in risk of being overrun with flames.

“Fine.”

She says finally in a tired voice. She grimaces and tightens a hand into a fist, which she uses to punch you in the shoulder.

“But you come back, do you hear me? You come back . . . I was just getting used to the idea of not being an orphan!”

She accepts your gift of fire orbs without comment, stowing them in a pouch and then turning away from you. Although she tries to hide it, you can hear her sniffling as she walks away, rubbing at her face. The heavy rain that starts a few moments later helps to mask her tears, along with the fact that the danger of the fire spreading to consume most of the town was no longer an issue. One less distraction for you to struggle with Purifier over.

Now it is Argan’s turn to step forward and he shakes his head.

“No, I will not abandon my course now. I have lost just as much as you Korram, if not more. I will stop the false King, or die in the attempt!”

Purifier’s wrath flares at this challenge to your will, but then something amusing occurs to you both. Argan, skilled as he is, is just a mere human. So unless he spontaneously grows wings in the next few minutes, he can want to join you all he wants – but he can’t! Argan frowns as he seems to realize this salient fact as well, and bows his head.

“Very well. I shall accompany the others to the city outskirts. Then I will take Rose’s Emergency Evacuation Pack and use it to join you at the Gastly Truth.”

Whatever. You don’t really care about any of them anymore, not even Katrina if you’re being honest with yourself. All that matters is the Baron, and killing him. Even stopping whatever he was trying to do with this ritual is secondary to that. Speaking of which.

“I’m . . . not really sure.”

Eldred says nervously, skittering back a step before shrugging and throwing a hand towards the pillar of red light now shooting up from the wreckage of the house.

“I’ve never seen anything like this! Hells, I’ve never even *heard* of anything like this! But, um . . . let me think, let me think . . . yes. This magic seems intended to cover the entire city – that’s why they’ve got these . . . places . . . scattered all over the city. They need nodes like these to make sure that the magic is spread evenly throughout the city – even if we had stopped them here, it wouldn’t have stopped the ritual, just weakened its effects in this area. No, if we wanted to do that, we’d have to go to the source of the ritual, where they’re focusing all of this magical energy. Which would be . . . which would be . . . “

Eldred looks up and shakes his head with a laugh.

“Yeah, probably up there.”

He says, pointing up to the dark, partially obscured shape of the Gastly Truth.

“Someone up there is managing the effects of the ritual, keeping the energies balanced . . . though I have no idea how they expect to survive channeling this much raw magic. It’s insane! Um, anyway – find whoever up there is doing the actual casting of the ritual, and get them to stop. That should put an end to it . . . although something this big is going to have a lot of residual energy. It could all just take a while to dissipate, or well . . . yeah, it could explode. BIG explosion in this case. Might want to ask them politely to stop rather than shiv them in the back and hope things work out for the best.”

Eldrich says, a smile half-frowning on his face until he remembers who he is dealing with. Then his expression turns serious again and he coughs nervously.

“Anyway, that’s about all I can offer for advice. Find the person doing the ritual, get them to stop, and try to get them to reverse the ritual rather than just killing them and bringing everything to a sudden halt.”

With no one else having anything to offer you, the group gathers itself together and starts making its way through the rain towards the edge of the city. Presumably since they’re heading in the direction of the tavern, they’ll stop and pick up the Countess, Mina, and Elsa first. Eldred looks around nervously as he goes, a spell held at the ready. Argan walks away and doesn’t look back. Seraph takes off his cloak and wraps it around Rose, who is starting to shiver now that her dress is soaked. He spares one last glance back at you, and nods. Katrina brings up the rear, stopping several times to look back at you. Once she turns and takes an actual step back, but eventually she turns back around and goes in the direction she’s supposed to.

Meanwhile, you take a look up at the sky with displeasure. The rain wouldn’t stop your fire powers from working, but it would certainly reduce their effectiveness. You’d have to find out who came up with the brilliant idea to coat the entire city in a rainstorm and . . . thank him. With the thick curtains of rain, you couldn’t see much of the fighting, although what you could see was grim. Many dark figures dance about in the sky – GHASTs judging by their hard edges, battling furiously with angels, who have a much softer outline against the dark clouds. There’s a lot more GHASTs up there than angels, and the disproportionate numbers only seem to be growing worse with each passing minute. There’s also two large obsidian pyramids hanging in the sky just off to one side of the Gastly Truth, the raindrops sliding off the shields surrounding them just like everything else that has been thrown at them. So far, neither of them is firing beams of light through the air or down at the ground though like the Gastly Truth has been doing since the fight started, so at least you shouldn’t have to worry about them.

You are so engrossed with plotting out a course up to the Gastly Truth with a minimal amount of incidental combat along the way through the chaotic skies that you don’t immediately notice anything wrong. But eventually, it clicks in the back of your head – from the corner of your eye, you can see that the rain is falling . . . weirdly. There’s just one small patch of it that is behaving like that, bending and twisted around as if it was striking something invisible. You are just turning your head to get a better look at the phenomena when it is suddenly right beside you. And then something very hard slams into your face with incredible force, sending you sprawling. The space where the rain is bending around your invisible assailant shimmers, and then there is a GHAST standing there. Tall and slender, the construct is much more streamlined than most of the ones you’ve seen before. Its eyes are different as well, a putrid green color rather than the usual shimmering blue. Then it speaks, and although the voice is synthesized, it’s familiar enough to be recognizable as one you had hoped to never hear again.

“Well that was just a touching goodbye Korram. Do you think she’ll cry more or less when I present your battered corpse to her?”

Cheran taunts as he drops into a fighting stance.

“Hello again, by the way. Did you miss me? I was sorely tempted to reintroduce myself during that touching scene a minute ago, but I’m sure showing up with you in tow will be even better. Y’see, I learned a few things from our last little sparring match – one of which is patience. Hey, no interrupting while I’m talking!”

As you prepared to spring up and unleash a blast of fire, Cheran proves he is still faster as he snaps both of his wing cannons around and fires them into your chest, slamming you back down into the ground. Even with your affinity for fire, the white-hot beams are painful, searing and blasting away the flesh covering your ribcage before the skin can regenerate back over the bone.

“So where was I? Oh yes, I learned some things from our last encounter. Patience, but I’ve also decided to take some of my father’s old advice and put it to use at last. Divide and Conquer, for example. Also, never let a fallen enemy rise!”

Again, Cheran fires, but this time he doesn’t target you. Instead he hammers the base of a nearby building, causing it to buckle and give. The building begins to crumble and then tilt, losing the battle against gravity.

“Goodbye Korram!”

Cheran taunts as the building begins to tumble down on top of you. Just as you had dropped a building on the Baron, now you were having a building dropped on you. You can’t say that you appreciate the reversal. Unfortunately, unlike the Baron, you don’t have the ability to just teleport away either!

[Inspectre]

The Last Lost Archangel

The_Snark

At your protests, the crowd predictably roared in disproval. The priest struggled to quiet them, but they only roared louder. Terrible, awful things – insults, suggestions of what to do with you, and general expressions of rage and hatred. Suddenly, they all fell silent as a robed figure strode through their midst to stand beside the priest – Seer Maya. She smiled slightly, and then gestured at you.

“One does not have to be a servant of the Forger of Oblivion in order to do His will. There are those who can attest to her conduct. Let them come forward now and speak, and we shall see which argument this . . . “woman’s” actions support.”

And then they stepped forward, one at a time, speaking loudly and riling the crowd up even further, although at least the people remained silent while hearing your accusations. Firkas, although you rather expected him. He described your confrontation in the woods which resulted in his arm being broken – although the tale had been considerably embellished. You had attacked him, presumably with the intent to kidnap him for some hideous ritual. You might have expected the boy to come up with some tale to reverse the roles, but there was something . . . off. He would pause every now and then, shifting uncomfortably, as if needing to recall the exact details of his story. No one but you seemed to notice.

And then Julian stepped forward – again given the sudden and cruel change not particularly surprising. His tale was even more disjointed, and almost completely a lie. He was a guard at Ironheart, and you had been imprisoned there for witchcraft and unethical magical experiments. You had summoned a host of demons to assault the guards in order to make your escape, and Julian had narrowly escaped with his life. He had come here to track you down, and bring you to justice. Given your past conduct, there was no way to imprison you again – you had to be killed for the safety of the community. No mention was made of the similar brand on Julian’s arm, covered by his sleeve, nor of how he tracked you here or why he was found half-dead in the snow. No one questioned him about that either.

But then yet another painful shock came as little William stepped forward. Like Firkas, you had attacked him, only this time you were successful. You had kidnapped him, and dragged him the top of the nearby cliff. He had only managed to escape by throwing himself off the top of the cliff, only surviving through the timely assistance of Seer Maya! Which naturally, was the first moment that Seer Maya had suspected you of being a danger, which was confirmed after she had discussed it with Julian.

A parade of others then came through, some strangers, some people you had only met briefly like the butcher, Mr. Burton. All of them had one story or another of you sneaking around town sowing chaos and evil. It was all false, and they all had that strange, halting manner to their speech. And then finally the cascade of lies was over, and Seer Maya spread her hands wide, by now having totally taken over the trial from the priest.

“Well, citizens of Stonefall? What is your verdict?”

Immediately the crowd roared again, and although at first it was merely an indecipherable blend of voices, two words gradually came to supersede all overs, being repeated over and over.

“BURN HER! BURN HER! BURN HER!”

All organization coming apart now, men surge forward out of the crowd, breaking the circle that was supposed to keep them safe from you. They grab you, tearing the stake holding you down out of the ground, and dragging you by the collar still locked around your neck over to the post. They shove you up against it, holding you there while more rope is tied around your legs and wrapped around your body to keep you pressed tightly against the post. As they work, something catches your eye. As you scan the crowd, all of their fearful, hatred faces all flushed red as they scream for your death. All faces except one – Seer Maya, who merely stands there watching serenely. Locking eyes with you, she smiles, that same knowing smirk she had given you inside the tent. And then her lips move – and although her whispers surely could not be heard over the crowd, they somehow reach your ears nonetheless.

“And here is their true nature, Marisiel the Protector. The ones you have so desperately looked after all these countless centuries. Stupid, fearful, easily swayed sheep. You fought so long for these pathetic creatures, ones who are so eager to spill your own blood the instant they think it will benefit them?”

Seer Maya shakes her head with soft “tsk” noises.

“You’re going to die because of them, Marisiel. Not for them, because of them. They’re going to put you to a torturous end now, and this time there will be no “Daddy” to awaken you for a fresh round of torment in a new body.”

Satisfied with your bindings, the men jump clear of the stake, and torches are brought up to ignite the kindling at your feet. Julian is at their head.

“Is this how you really want your ending to go? This can all stop before then if you wish it. Just say the words, Marisiel. Admit the truth – that you were wrong, that these pathetic stupid wretches are not worth your undying loyalty. Just say it, and you can live. It’s them or you Marisiel – and having seen their true faces at last, can you honestly tell me that it should be you yet again?’

The New God on the Block

Gorgondantess

Augustus's eyes slowly focus on your face as you continue to taunt him with the knowledge of his own imminent demise. He opens his mouth as if to say something, remains silent as his eyes lose their focus, and then clears his throat as they refocus.

"Surprise . . . is an incredible advantage."

Augustus croaks, hacking up a wad of blood before continuing.

"And men can kill gods with the right preparation and equipment - how else do you think the Dusk Wardens got their start? In my . . . unique situation, I am simply a man with god-like power. And those same knives which cut your essence proved even more effective against me . . . some sort of feedback effect."

Augustus sighs, more of a rasping cough.

"I suppose now is the part where you kill me. But keep in mind as you said, everyone - or at least, almost everyone outside Nu's inner circle - believes I am leading the attack. Incited by my apparent death, the Dusk Wardens will only fight more bitterly. Peace with them will be impossible. And soon or later, they will appoint my successor, and kill you."

Augustus gives a croaking laugh.

"Not that you need to concern yourself with my fate. I can feel my wounds . . . and they are mortal. Whether you kill me or not, I will soon expire. Upon my death, the Archdemons contained within me will be released upon the world once more. And if you consume me, in effect you will be doing nothing more . . . than replacing me."

"There is a third option."

A voice suddenly called from off to your right. Turning, you see Quadramus standing there beside Omnicron's sister. He was most certainly not there before, and you have no idea how he got into this intimate chamber. As if nothing strange had just happened, Quadramus continues.

"I could place Augustus's essence into one of our sacred vessels. They are meant to hold and hide your kind's essences, of course, but the principle would be the same. He would go into a form of stasis, hanging between life and death, but remainning intact as a seal for the essences sealed within him."

A slight smile tugs at the withered man's lips.

"I think both of you can see the irony in such a solution."

Augustus makes a sound approaching a growl, but slumps weakly against the floor.

"I find accepting the aid of this Preserver distasteful, and certainly have no desire to experience being locked in the endless nothing for a potential eternity. But I like the failure of my duty even less. And really, the decision is no longer in my hands . . . it is in yours."

The Seeker of Truth

Kasanip

Now with the trial on recess, you are able to conduct your own search for Duncan. Cherise’s uncle is nowhere in sight however – it is as if he just disappeared into thin air! You wondered where he could have gotten off to so quickly, but a disquieting sight in your Descrying Eye suggested a possible destination. Beneath your feet, you are able to detect the faintest traces of magic. Below was the basement – there should be nothing down there at all! It was so faint that whatever was going on down there was shielded – only your eye was sensitive enough to pick up on the cloaking magic itself. Access to the basement was restricted – although it would hardly be questioned by the guards for the head of the Winter Canticles to go down there if he so wished.

There are several entrances down into the basement, any one of which Duncan could have used – with the maze that the basement was, any of them could lead to the spot where the cloaking field was coming from. You spend the next few minutes on checking in with the guards stationed at each entrance, seeing if Duncan had passed by into the basement. None of them had seen him, and you were starting to get frustrated as the time left in the recess dwindled. Of course Cherise could handle the rest of the trial without you if necessary, but if Duncan had spies in the crowd, it would be suspicious for you not to return. That was something you would just have to deal with if it came to that – Duncan had to be found, and he had to be found now. You could feel with a mounting sense of dread that if he wasn’t found soon, something terrible would happen.

Coming around the corner into sight of the next entrance, you immediately notice something is wrong. Although the two guards are standing there in front of the door, something is wrong with their auras. It takes a moment, but your Eye enables you to identify what is wrong – the guards are mere illusions!

A moment later Duncan comes around the corner from the other end of the hallway. Cradled in his arms is Cherise who is unconscious. Upon seeing you Duncan curses and begins to cast a spell. In response a wall of ice erupts, filling the hallway and cutting you off from him – and more importantly, the door. By the time you have dispelled it, Duncan is gone and the door has been magically sealed. In a clear hurry, Duncan had done a rush job with the magic. It would only take you a few minutes to break through, perhaps less if you tried to just smash the door down rather than finesse it. But those were minutes you might not have – minutes Cherise might not have.

You could try to run to another entrance and get down into the basement from there, but it was a maze. It could take you just as long, if not far longer, to locate the passage that would take you to wherever Duncan was taking Cherise in the basement. You could also try to go get help – certainly with the trial starting up again they would be wondering what happened to you and Cherise. But trying to explain and convince them that it was not your father, a previously well-respected member of the Canticles, but Cherise’s uncle, another well-respected member of the Canticles, who is the traitor. That too would take time you didn’t have.

Why did Duncan kidnap Cherise anyway? Certainly such an action was a serious risk to his plans. And if he was going to blow up the building, or whatever, Cherise was just as likely to die in that than she was by Duncan’s own hand. Was he trying then to save her, and keep her out of danger while the rest of the Canticles perished? Somehow, you doubted that outcome, and your stomach twisted with worry as you considered all the sorts of unpleasant rituals one could do with human sacrifice. You had to get down to the basement and find Duncan, and you had to get down there and find him now!

The Approaching Challenger

Vegna

At your question, the ogre gives a great rumbling laugh.

“Ah, you did fine! I was keeping a close eye on the fight – was planning on watching every fight I could, actually. I was hoping I would find someone that knew Terra Nova. I guess it was serendipity that you were the first fight.”

After dropping that surprisingly complex word for an ogre, Val’Tosh is silent as you walk back towards the companion rooms. You check in with the healers to find that Skor Pon is resting. Most of the sand you had hardened over his eyes had already fallen away by the time the healers got to him, and his other injuries were not life-threatening. His participation in the tournament, however, was over, and so was his hope to earn the tournament’s supposed reward – whatever his heart most desired.

Once you were both back in the safety of your quarters, you sat down across from each other to speak. Val’Tosh did his best, but with an ogre in the small room, it did feel pretty cramped. At least you only had to whisper to hear each other. In the dim lighting, the ogre’s teeth flashed as he grinned at you.

“So, funny story, but I already got what I was promised for winning the tournament – finding another practitioner of Terra Nova. I’m hoping you can teach me – assuming of course that you are willing to have me for a pupil.”

The ogre frowns nervously at this, and that was quite a sight, to see such a massive creature anxious for approval.

“I don’t know much of the style – just the basics really. And I knew what some of the techniques were from watching my master – that’s how I knew what to look for. But I didn’t learn how to do them myself.”

The ogre grimaces and clenches his fists.

“Never got the chance to. My master died – was murdered – one night while I was out at the nearby village procuring supplies. I came back to find him dead, the signs of a struggle everywhere throughout the house except in the room where I found him. There, it was just his body, its head submerged in a bucket of water. Damnest thing I ever saw.”

The hairs on the back of your neck prickle throughout Val’Tosh’s story, but by the end they are standing up straight. That was exactly the same way you had found your own master – there was no way it could be a coincidence! Unaware of your unease, Val’Tosh continues.

“Anyway, my master always promised to teach me more, but the only thing I really learned was earth-shaping. He said . . . he said that it was supposed to hone my mind, to make it equal to my body.”

Reaching down to the floor, Val’Tosh scooping up a handful of dirt and began to rub it between his massive hands. When he spread them open a moment later, sitting there was an elegant sculpture of a bird, with detail so fine you would not have been surprised if it had come to life.

“I’ve honed it to the point where I can make pretty much anything I want with a little bit of dirt. Most of the stuff doesn’t last very long, depending on how intricate it is. I only worked with my master for a few months, so from the sounds of it I imagine you can do much better. Afraid that’s really all I know how to do very well.”

No, no you cannot do better. You knew the basics of sculpting with earth, enough to make a hut and the like for your needs. But creating intricate sculptures – and from the sounds of it, that was just an example of Val’Tosh’s skill – was something far beyond your ability. Although you do find it curious that the ogre’s master had started with something like that, when most of everything you had been taught about the style was all about self-defense and controlling one’s environment.

[Archpaladin Zousha]

Hondshioh

Hondshioh grimaces as the earthquake does exactly what he feared it would do.

"You're wrong and right Katashiko. The deaths of so many innocents in that earthquake does weigh on my soul, and it's something I'm going to have to live with for the rest of my life, however short that may be. But this war has to end here and now, or thousands, no MILLIONS more innocents will die, and I can't let that happen."

When he receives the report of the elves slaughtering the people, he grows even more sickened, and his brow furrows in anger. He knew if he delayed even a bit, it would waste precious time he needed to deal with the Baron.

But he couldn't, however, allow these people to die at the hands of the elves. Reaching for his communication crystal, he contacted his generals, including Ander.

"Break off the attack on the Baron. Locate any survivors in the city and evacuate them from the city. Killing Gast will be meaningless if he's but one guilty corpse atop a mountain of those of the innocent."

When Hephestia arrives, her callous slaughter of the child and assassin alike, punctuated that decision, and the anger became full-blooded rage.

"ENOUGH!" he screams, drawing his holy sword.

"I have seen much on this pilgrimage. That the world can't be seen in black and white, that the darkest souls can have some good in them and those that claim to be the purest of us all can fall and let their hatred consume them, but through it all I have remained true to my code and to the Valkyrie, even if she refuses to accept my service. The words you speak, I have heard them before, time and again. "There are not innocents in this world, only the guilty and the dead." But here I stand as a fallible, weak mortal who still strives to be something better, even if I can never reach the lofty standards. To dismiss us all out of hand because we are not perfect is the highest sin anyone can commit, and if even an angel, or even a GOD can commit this sin, then the world was tainted from the start. And I refuse to believe that. I will continue to stand tall for those who cannot, and I will NOT allow a mad king with delusions of killing the gods, or a vindictive goddess who thinks any creation with flaws is only worthy of destruction to bring more harm to this world with their squabbling. If I must lose my powers and fight Miriam herself with my bare hands, then so be it. As long as there's hope, there's a chance for redemption every day, and I will NEVER give up my hope that this senseless fighting will end and the world can be healed. So if you would slaughter us all despite our loyalty and service, Hephestia, I have but one thing to say: defend yourself!"

Hondshioh raises his blade with both hands into a defender's stance and waits to see what the archangel will do. Mad or a lie, it mattered not. If she didn't stand aside, he would fight her and any of Miriam's service to protect the innocent, whoever that was.

[Dorizzit]

Korram the Purifier

Korram is satisfied that the group follows his commands, each for their own reasons. At this point, he really doesn't care about any of them, not in any meaningful sense; any except Katrina. He still loves her, at least, he thinks he does. Sometimes, he doesn't care. Others, he cares just as much as he always did. Not even the fusion with Purifier has been enough to wipe this from his mind, although it has certainly had an effect. As he turns away from them, Korram tries to focus his mind into the areas where he aligned with Purifier the most, suppressing his humanity. He had no need of such a weakness now. Despite this, a profound sense of loss bothers some corner of his mind, and a few silent tears of his own are washed away in the rain.

This weakness lasts only a moment. There is work to be done.

Korram hisses in irritation as he tries to see through the pouring rain. His own powers would be weakened, and the fires were all but extinguished, eliminating a potential power source. It also made finding a good path to the Baron much harder. The only possible advantage was that Katrina and the others would have an easier time escaping. That's not an advantage. Despite his irritation and focus, Korram's enhanced senses detect an oddity in the rain. He barely has a chance to look at it closer before something slams into him with the force of a steel beam, knocking him from his feet. Korram lays sprawled for a moment as his head stops spinning and his cracked ribs seal. Meanwhile, the GHAST unveils itself. Korram immediately knows something is wrong. This one is different, was invisible, and was much smarter than one of the normal metallic soldiers. As it speaks, his confusion clears into rage.

As Cheran gloats, Korram tries to roll to his feet, fireballs already forming in his hands. Cheran simply blasts him back to the ground again, however, and the flames dissipate in the rain. Cheran's lasers, unfortunately, do not share this weakness, as Korram painfully learns. Struggling to push himself to his feet, Korram collapses onto his back as Cheran blasts the building. As the building falls, time seems to slow down. Korram glances around his surroundings in an instant, and takes stock of the situation.

Cheran back. Better, faster, stronger...and harder. Smarter. Previous fight won. Difficult, but held back out of pride. Now, Cheran has the advantage in all areas. Rain makes me weak. Planned GHAST counter still untested and has no guarantee of effectiveness. Strategies. Aerial battle ill advised. Drains excessive power, and Cheran superior. Thus, can't change battlefield location. Ranged combat impossible. Flames ineffective, energy beams very effective and impossible to dodge. Hand to hand combat best option. Have temporarily injured GHASTs before. Immediate problem: building. Temporary advantage: the rain is blocked.

All this passes through his mind in an instant. Bringing his hands together, Korram prepares to melt a hole straight through the building, but stops on impulse. Instead, he waits until the last second, then creates a dome of incinerating flames around himself. This melts away the initial danger, and luckily the building lands without completely collapsing. Korram is left in a tight space, just beneath a crossbeam holding off the building's collapse. Without hesitation, he wriggles upwards, carefully picking his way through what empty space he can find. As he anticipated, several blasts of light lance through the building after him, streaming through the space he had just occupied and the area around it. Cheran breaks through a few seconds later, searching for a corpse that isn't where he expects it. Unfortunately, Cheran's rough entrance destabilizes the already precarious ruin, and the whole thing begins to collapse. Korram melts a hole in the side and slides out, while Cheran simply crashes back through the stone and wood, his metal body easily breaking him through. Korram lands and rolls to a crouch, then faces Cheran down.

For several seconds, neither combatant moves. Then, Cheran opens fire with his wing cannons. Korram rolls to the side, barely escaping. Cheran continues to fire, forcing Korram into a series of impressive acrobatics to keep one step ahead and avoid getting hit. Unfortunately, Cheran wasn't kidding when he said he had learned patience; he waits until Korram takes a long jump, then races forward, colliding with Korram before he can land or retaliate. Korram lands heavily and rolls to his feet, but Cheran is already on him and the two rapidly exchange blows. There are no words; everything meaningful the two fighters had to say to each other was resolved during their previous fight, reducing this to a straightforward battle to the death. For a few seconds, Korram manages to hold his own, but Cheran quickly gains the upper hand. This culminates in Cheran grabbing Korram by the throat, lifting him from his feet, blasting Korram with his cannons, then hurling him through the nearby wall of a burnt out building. Korram staggers to his feet, then is forced to leap through the nearby (empty) housing for a window as Cheran charges him again. Cheran simply breaks through the wall, emerging confidently from the building's wreckage.

Korram, desperately searching for a plan, is struck by an idea. From his body, he releases a pulse of pure heat, evaporating the rain surrounding the two and creating a large cloud of steam. Cheran is blinded for a moment, but that is all Korram needs to slip inside of Cheran's guard and grab one of his wrists. Drawing the arm taut before Cheran can respond. Lifting his other arm high, Korram slams it down on Cheran's arm, momentarily transforming it to stone in order to shatter through the metal. Korram throws the arm back, then ducks away from Cheran's follow through attack. Korram ends up next to the arm and points a hand at it. Before he can do anything, however, Cheran tackles him and sends him flying. Instead of pursuing, Cheran scoops his arm back up and attaches it to the stump, hastening the healing process. Korram uses the brief respite to heal his wounds.

Suspecting that Korram has formed some sort of plan, Cheran keeps his distance and launches a volley of beams at Korram. Korram manages to evade the first few volleys, until one beam finally grazes the back of his leg. Crying out in pain, Korram collapses at an awkward angle. Cheran charges, but suddenly Korram, using his body control to feign injury, suddenly recovers and darts past Cheran, cutting a wide gash in his side by morphing his hand into a blade. Cheran turns and begins to taunt Korram, but the hybrid has already started his next attack, to Cheran's surprise. Korram wedges his blade-hand into the cut, as Cheran desperately brings a cannon around. At the same time Korram detonates an explosion inside of Cheran's body, the GHAST blasts a hole through his abdomen. Both combatants are knocked back from each other.

Korram clutches at his wound, forcing it to heal as he staggers to his feet. Cheran, meanwhile, loses an arm and a leg, as well as a significant portion of his torso, to the blast. His body begins to flow back together, however, and Korram is too disabled from his own wound to take advantage of Cheran's momentary vulnerability.

[WhiteKnight777]

Umber


“NO! I HAVE WAITED THOUSANDS OF YEARS FOR DIS MOMENT! I SHALL HAVE MY REVENGE! GET THEM, MY PETS!!!”

The words echoed in Umber's ears - and for a moment, he was almost stunned into silence by the gravity of their implications. He stared at his one-time fellow for a long moment, then sighed, one hand over his eyes. "Well, if there were any doubts, you've removed them. Shakati, my dear, I have seen the greatest actors of a dozen ages and a dozen realms. I've seen men who could make literal gods weep with their performance, watched women whose words and presence brought even my black and heart beat again with the strength of voice and soul. And I am here to tell you, old friend, nobody can pull off that kind of ham." He shook his head. "You've got as many bats in the belfry as Kartul. Perhaps we weren't meant for immortality after all. It seems to rust the gears after the first dozen centuries. Well, c'est la vie. To the last, then."

And then Woe was in his hand, its tip plunging through the eye of one of the attacking spiders so quickly even Umber couldn't follow the motion. His speed was fueled by pure skill - the practice of millenia and the will of a man never too proud nor too old to learn a new trick. And besides... Woe was hungry. Umber wasn't stupid enough to make his own weapon sentient - that sort of idiocy he left to cretins like the Baron who thought they could dominate everything. But magic, even Umber's, was unpredictable - and certain voracious appetites had crept into the blade, so that when he pulled it from the spider, it was nothing but a dessicated husk - much as the victim of a spider might look, actually. Umber didn't have time to savor the irony - he whirled, catching another in mid leap and pinning it to a wall, Woe tearing out its translucent guts. He heard Fianna scream and looked up, cursing as the fire wrapped around her. He leaped into the air, cutting the burning strand with his blade, and burning his hand in his haste as he thrust it into the tangled mass and whispering a word of power. Cold flowed through the sticky substance, turning it into something chill and brittle.

He pulled Fianna from it, pulling pieces of the congealed stuff from her, until he was thrown violently forward, one of the spiders pinning him to the floor, its fangs slamming into his back with the force of twin hammerblows. Umber reached around behind him with the flexibility of a circus contortionist and drove his armored fist into the creature's jaw and out through the top of its head, kicking the thing's corpse free as he moved to face Shakati.

He held his one blade up, confident that the ancient and unmatched Woe would be more than a match for her four of lesser lineage. "Tell me, old friend." He asked, with genuine sorrow now filling his words. "That he betrayed you? Or that you still love him? That he still has ties to you? A spider, eh? Appropriate. You're the one still stuck in a web."

Umber lunged forward, matching the physical blow to the verbal one, a line of rippling black radiating out from his blade as he delivered a pair of cross-strokes aimed at Shakati's arachnid abdomen.

[Vegna]

Mal Harath

Finding another Terra style student was surprising enough, but that they might ask to also ask to be 'his' student is a little overwhelming. If this ogre's body was on par with this level of magical skill, then Mal's mind could fathom of few topics to teach Val'Tosh.

Mal scratches his irritating scalp as his guest collapses the earth to its original shape. To be a master, in the teaching sense and the ability level, was a goal he held almost as highly as his search, but . . . would he be a capable one to Stonebiter? His fellow student could teach him as well, and would that be fair then, to be placed higher than his artistic superior?

"I'm going to be honest here, Val'Tosh. I'm not as good at the magic as you might think I am. Just like you, I lost my master before I could finish learning even the basics of earth magic."

He rises and squeezes his way against the wall, towards the swirled section. The twisted stone oozes down the wall, opening up the hidey-hole he had made earlier. Mal pulls out the dark ring that he'd placed there and shows it to his guest.

"The old guy made me this ring when I started learning magic, and told me, 'When you craft that into any shape, you'll know you have become a master.' It's made of some super-strong or magical stone or something."

Gathuring his energy, he begins to focus on the ring. With visible effort, Mal tries to even slightly soften the black band, his neck taught and his hand shaking as he tries to magically affect it. As usual, his attempt ended with nothing but a drain of power. He suspected he may later regret wasting his energy like that, if he was going to have another fight today.

"Not a thing. Can't even adjust it to fit my finger properly. Untill then, I may not be qualified to be anyone's teacher."

With a short push, he places the dark band back onto his right forefinger, and then starts to edge his way back to the bed. His legs wobble a little, as the cumulative effort of the fight and his failed shaping begins to catch up to him.

"Most of my training was self-defence. I was barely taught the basics of the magical portion before my master died. You've training in that section that makes mine look lazy, by comparison. So, we both need a Master it seems, or at least, untill we find a proper one. So, how about we make a deal? If either of us win the tournement, he'll become the teacher, at least untill we can find a true master. If we both lose, we can just be partners, and still search for one. What do you say?"

Mal offers his slightly unsteady hand to Val'Tosh, to shake on it. Afterwards he removes his unchangable ring and hides it away again, just as before.

"Now that's sorted, I think a trip to the kitchen is in order. Feel up for a drink to celebrate our luck?"

Even as they leave, Mal wonders at how intensive the magical training must have been for the ogre to have outpaced him. Maybe Val'Tosh was gifted in that respect, or Mal just hadn't learned properly. Either way, he could ask after the tournement and his stomach was becoming a more pressing urge again.

(Mal will head to get a drink and something to eat with Val'Tosh, then head over to the healers if he has time, with the barber after, as the last and lowest priority. Short of being called to a fight, or Val'Tosh being called into a fight, he'll try to follow that plan, then head to the arena to watch the other competitors. If Val'Tosh gets called, he'll leave to watch.)

[Kasanip]

Isera frowned.

How did Duncan get Cerise from the trial? He left before Isera had. And Cerise was there only two minutes ago. Did Duncan pass Isera in the hall and go in to kidnap Cerise and then teleport here?
That didn't make sense.

Of course, now it was very clear Duncan was the villain.

Isera made a fist with her false hand. Then she punched it into the door once. The door shuddered and cracked.

"Tch. I'm not forgiving you, Uncle." Isera muttered.
She forced herself to stop. To prepare for the battle that was coming. Then she muttered a prayer, the canticle of autumn.

"When time comes that leaves of gold turn blood red and fall, don't let my eyes be veiled in their beauty. This world a myriad of colors, so do I swear to protect it from those who would harm. Burning and fading, pass the time from day to night. Let my words fall without fail, and use this burning soul for light."

There is no refusal now. Nowhere to run. With her boot, she kicked the door. The magical spell shattered the door, and then exploded into splinters and dust. Isera didn't mind as she walked through like a storm. Sharp eyes and focus, she would confront Duncan here. Swift and decisive victory.

[OverWilliam]

~Tare

“I hope you die, you liar!”

Tare shattered like a gemstone hit at precisely the right angle. A hundred impulses screamed from his brain for action as Karami scrambled out of the room, but none of them found words. Rather than hitting him all at once, the agony reverberated against him in waves; for a moment he was afraid it would simply crush him. Instead, the pressure forced him to his feet, where he stumbled across the room to a corner where the contents of his stomach upended themselves. He fell backward, fumbling against the wall and trying to blink the water out of his eyes, to no avail. His entire system felt like it had descended into chaos, as though every aspect of his existence, physical and otherwise, had gone into shock.

Tare had heard the term "Heartbreak" before, and thought he'd even felt it, but he did not expect nor was he prepared for the intensely physical pain in his chest that promised to keep him company for the night.

With erupting horror, Tare realized that there might be someone else keeping him company as the Baron's voice brought itself unbidden to his mind, almost audibly taunting him with a jab to the heart like a lead jousting lance.

Mercifully, the force of the repressed memory was enough to render him blankly, dreamlessly unconscious, curled up against a wall, as apparently dead on the outside as he felt in the heart.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Tare? My gods, Tare! Are you all right? What happened??" Ulrich's voice brought him back from nowhere. He'd been sweating, it seemed; his tunic was drenched cold. Tare jolted back awake, his eyes scrambling back and forth as though blinded for a few moments before settling on Ulrich's face. "Ulrich," He croaked, his voice raw from crying out in his sleep. "What happened last night, Tare?" Ulrich asked again. "You sound horrible, boy. I was-- what is that smell?" Tare coughed, a ragged, haggard rattling of lungs and ribs together, and Ulrich started. "Let me get you some water..."

Tare gulped at the cool water from the simple wooden cup and tried carefully to piece himself back together. It was a delicate process. "Where is Karami? Is she ok?" Ulrich, sensing that something had happened between them, was now analyzing Tare and trying to intuit the answers to his question that Tare was not freely providing. "I was coming to ask you the same thing. She came to my room early this morning. I was already awake for my morning prayers, but I wouldn't wonder if she had been out all night. Where she'd been I couldn't know, but she's safe. She was shaking all over, even though it's not that cold yet. I got her inside to start getting the child warmed up and she fell asleep on my bed. I made sure to lock the door on my way out, just in case, just so she doesn't wander off again in that condition, but I don't think she'll be waking back up for many hours yet." He paused as though trying to decide if he should even share the next bit of the story with Tare or not. "Tare, there were more tears dried on that poor girl's cheeks than I ever would want a soul her age to suffer." Tare hung his head.

"Tare, what happened?" Tare breathed a shaking sigh. "Pray forgiveness for me, Father, for I have sinned." Ulrich nodded, very slowly, as though a wrong move could cause a violent explosion. "How, Tare?"

"Have you never wondered who Karami is, or where she came from?" Ulrich paused for a moment of careful thinking, re-examining his assumptions. "You bought her out of the Slave market and more or less adopted her, or got yourselves adopted together." Tare nodded. "That's all she'd ever thought too." Ulrich went unnaturally still. "She was there, Ulrich. Before we set fire to the place. They had a daughter, nobody ever questioned what happened to her. As far as anyone cared, she died with the rest." Ulrich's eyes went wide. "Oh, Tare..." The dots began lining up behind Ulrich's eyes. It didn't take him long to see the rest of the story. "...Yeah, I can see how you'd both take that hard. Hells, I think I need a drink and I'm not even... Merciful heaven." Tare nodded.

"Are you... are you going to be ok?" Ulrich asked. Tare had to honestly consider the question. "I need to wash up. And then... then I'm going to have to be, I suppose."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The facilities were basic, but functional. Tare heated the water well past the point of comfort. While he suspected the stained feeling might be permanent, he felt much cleaner after having cleansed the night's sweat and tears and vomit off. As he wiped the condensation off of the small mirror, Tare was almost startled by the visage that jumped back out at him. It had been a while since he'd looked at himself, before Ironheart at least, and the time had, apparently not been kind. His hair was much longer than it had been; soaking wet it was only about an inch above his shoulders in the back, and almost to his jawline on the sides. He was also older. What was he, 21 now? The guards weren't great about remembering birthdays, and demons weren't either. The thing he was least expecting was the sight of his own eyes. They had certainly changed from the ones in his memory. While they'd always been green, before the color had been something of an afterthought. Now his eyes almost seemed to glow from behind. It was unnerving, and Tare could not look at himself for long.

What am I going to do? Now the motions were automatic; toweling off, drying his hair, pulling on clothes. What has changed? ...Should I not have told her?

...No. I should have told her sooner. This is what I was hiding from, and by hiding I have only made it worse. I deserve this. The thought didn't help much, but it did shift the hurt around a bit. ...She's hurting more than I am. That hurt too, but somehow made it all easier to bear. ...Melcara was right. She deserves to make her own decision... I'll just pray that she chooses to forgive me. In the mean time that means doing everything I can to be worth forgiving. I have to get Jonas and Hanna back.

...And Melcara needs me. More than ever, she needs me.

That was enough to hide the pain for now. Not heal it, quite, but hide it until later. Now if only they weren't too late.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tare hefted the Serpent's Fangs in his hands. They almost trembled with legend-- these were the tools of choice of one the most feared assassins anyone alive could still remember. The one who had taken the badge of the Obsidian Coatl, the assassin named after the mythical winged serpent whose poison was rumored to melt stone. Ulrich was never known to many by his real name; like Limier (extremely so, Tare reflected) he had kept his personal identity hidden from attention. It was easy for Tare to forget the fear that surrounded these blades, and the unearthly skill with which they had been wielded. Tare was fortunate to call Ulrich a friend.

The two blades were already in hand when the fire crystals detonated, and he and Limier were already in motion before the last of the stone blocks finished hitting the floor. Limier sunk a stiletto into one of the three available throats instantly. The other two took opposite reactions; one dove into an attack, while the other beat a hasty retreat. Trusting Limier to handle the one that rushed to attack, Tare hurried after the retreating third Inquisitor. The air around him blurred as he crossed the distance in two steps, then without thinking slashed into one of the dagger executions that Limier had showed him; reaching around with one hand, Tare stabbed backward into the chest twice, then spun through a final slash to the throat. The first two jabs were meant to puncture the lungs, making it impossible to scream or cry out, while the final slash made for a quick and relatively painless death. Tare was at once satisfied and horrified by how easily the daggers breathed through skin and armor alike. The fact that he had just ended a life hammered at the back of his mind, but he held it off for the time being.

Standing, Tare glanced around quickly to see if he'd been seen, then turned back to the doorway through which Limier should have similarly finished with her momentary entanglement to see if everything was still on-plan.

[Iethloc]

Sohssal

Sohssal listened to Victoria's suggestion, but he did not yet put much thought into their escape. There would be time for that after the fight – or possibly during, depending on how intense it became. Until then, he just had to hope it wouldn't get destroyed during the fight.


As he began absorbing energy from the holy binds, Sohssal briefly wondered about that ember of emotion from Omega. Was the conditioning imperfect, or did Sohssal's earlier tampering have something to do with this? Either way, just getting Omega to stop would be worth the risk of splitting his focus. It doesn't sound like you're helping them entirely willingly, Omega. Focus on what anger you have left!

Sohssal did not consume the holy binds completely; he only disrupted it enough to free himself to save as much time as possible. Then he took off towards Xeric's projection, readying the same acid-conjuring spell he used on Omega's other “father” back during the escape. This time, mere skin contact was not enough; he aimed to be inside the projection when he unleashed the spell. Immediately after that, Sohssal gathered up the energy to dispel the sage's next move. He waited until Xeric began preparing his next spell, aiming to dispel it right when it was ready to catch him off-guard.

[The_Snark]

Mar

That moment of blessed certainty soon evaporated, just as Mar knew it would. She could dimly recall a time when the world had been simpler, the lines between right and wrong sharp and clear; but that was a long time ago.

At the sight of Firkas' face, she felt the murky weight of uncertainty settle onto her soul once again. Here she had done wrong, even if it was only a little. She'd broken his arm. True, he'd frightened her, and she had not truly meant to do it, but that didn't change the facts. She couldn't tell them she was innocent, the words would ring false, and she didn't think the townspeople would listen to her explanations. And yet... the more she listened to his story, the less her guilt seemed to matter. That's not how it happened, she wanted to say, but knew nobody would listen to her. They were too angry.

Julian was next to speak against her. She felt another pang at this inexplicable betrayal, but the hurt soon faded in the face of her increasing sense of detachment. His story wasn't true at all, nor William's following it, nor the one afterwards. She began to feel curiously distant from the proceedings, as if it were all happening in a dream, and someone else's dream on that. On some level she knew the trial would decide her fate, but she could not bring herself to really believe it, or care. It was too disconnected from everything she knew to be real. As a woman whose name she didn't even know came forward to recount how she'd made advances on her fiancé and tried to poison him when rebuffed, Mar briefly entertained the notion that she had gone utterly mad. Maybe they were right, and she was not only wicked and depraved but spectacularly delusional? After all, somebody clearly was.

But no. It didn't feel right. Mar didn't feel like she was particularly mad, or wicked, or depraved, and she soon abandoned the idea.

Eventually, the litany of imaginary crimes wound to a close. The crowd surged forwards, rough hands grabbed at her, and abruptly the emotional distance she'd built up was gone. They were going to burn her. No more waiting, no more delays, no more begging. It was mad and senseless and they were doing it anyway and she didn't know how to stop them. She kicked out, and she was stronger than she realized, but the rope was too thick and strong and there were so many of them.

She was going to die, really and truly.

Somewhere in the midst of the chaos, Mar's gaze brushed across Seer Maya's, and there it stopped. Her struggles stilled. The roar of the mob faded. It was still there, but by some trick of the seer's magic or her own mind it no longer seemed important. The seer whispered, their conversation somehow private and intimate despite the distance and the presence of others. For the first time, Mar recalled William's glazed eyes and distorted memories after he'd returned from the seer's tent yesterday morning. The dreamlike unreality of the past half-hour cracked. It was still surreal, but now Mar could see a glimmer of something else behind it all.

The time for contemplation passed before she could puzzle it out. The silence in her head was now real, the villagers poised to light the fires. This was it, then. Her heart beat loud in her ears. She was terrified, but despite that she found she had no desire to speak the words the seer demanded. It didn't feel like something she could do. This whole thing was a puppet show, and no matter how baffled and desperate and frightened she was, playing along was somehow unthinkable. It would have been a lie, and Mar was never good at lies.

So she met Seer Maya's gaze steadily, and remained silent: confused, terrified, and defiant.

[Inspectre]

The Heroes Who Would Oppose a King

Outside the city, the fighting turned desperate as the undead horde constricted in on Umber’s followers. With most of the paladins dead and their way into the city clear, the undead were able to turn their full attention upon eliminating the last barrier standing in their way. Momentarily the undead assault was disrupted as Akor flew over the horde spewing fire, and the now-dead Gazrul’s men followed the dragon like lemmings into the side of the horde. Unlike Umber’s own men, however, these newcomers were not protected against being resurrected and turned against their fellows. The undead pounced upon them hungrily, and Gazrul’s men ultimately accomplished little in blunting the undead horde’s progress. As the last of them fell, they looked up and called out to their new-found god to save them. Akor laughed as he flew back towards the city, leaving the last of Gazrul’s men to join the ranks of the walking dead. And thus fell the first of the armies in this contest for the fate of the world.

Even so, for a moment it seemed as if perhaps the last charge of Gazrul’s men would not entirely be in vain. With the sudden assault and subsequent feeding frenzy distracting the undead, Umber’s standard bearer saw one last chance for survival. Gathering all of their remaining forces, the Army of Sand and Ice slammed into the undead ranks circling them, seeking to cut through and make a break for safer ground. Many perished as the disorganized mob of Umber’s men and yetis became even more disorganized in attempting to cut through to safety, each individual seeking his own escape even at the cost of his fellows. Still, a ragged band managed to punch through, a battered standard bearer in the lead. The undead howling behind them as they gave chase, the tattered remains of Umber’s army headed for the literal hills.

The standard bearer thought that perhaps they would make it after all, that they could find a more defensive position on higher ground and that the undead would stop pursuing them and instead focus on consuming the city. That was his last thought as a vampire assassin appeared out of the ether directly in front of him, slashing his throat open and spreading her arms wide to bathe in the spray of blood. As Umber’s standard fell from his hands, other vampires appeared to block the remaining men’s path of retreat. And then the undead horde caught up to them from behind as the survivors slowed in horror. Thus, Umber’s army came to an end, and the second army in this battle was wiped out.

It was perhaps only fitting then that an even higher toll was being reaped within the city itself at that very moment.

Theme Song

Indomitable and unrelenting, the massive wave sweeps across the remaining distance to the city in seconds. As it nears the sound of rushing water drowns out everything else, the wave looms over the already darkened city, and then all is destruction. The mass of water plows through the flimsy buildings of the docks as if they didn’t even exist, throwing the wreckage ahead of it. Anyone in the vicinity of the docks is killed instantly, even the few vampires venturing in that direction – although in the vampires’ case, they merely laughed as they watched the tsunami come in, confident in their resurrection.

Unabated, the wave continues to plow inland, leveling buildings and destroying anything that stands in its way. It reaches the noble estates and royal palace only a few seconds after it has demolished the docks, and even these sturdy structures cannot stand against the tons of water. They are destroyed almost as completely, leaving only small sections of intact wall jutting up here and there. If this was a natural disaster the tsunami would have only continued, perhaps consuming the entire city. But as it was magically summoned, and its purpose was intimidation and not total destruction, the water suddenly slows to a stop after the homes of the nobility. Then the water reverses course and rushes back out, casting the remains of both people and buildings back out to the ocean. Where the tsunami had struck, there was only an uneven plain now, carpeted with broken debris and bodies that the water had not been able to pull back.

Nearly one half of the entire city had been destroyed in this one act, however, which included the very heart of the city. All of the nobles who had been cowering in their estates were now dead, and King Gast would have been among them if he had hidden in his palace as expected. Many of the shelters set up by the militia to protect the children, elderly, and infirm who couldn’t fight were likewise destroyed – they had all been placed near the center of the city as the defenders believed that would be the safest place. All that remained of the city now was the slums, burnt to a cinder or swarming with undead, and the merchant district, swarming with elves.

The city’s defenders, already battered by every other faction fighting over the city, were now completely finished. Only a few small pockets of resistance remained in what was left of their home, desperately fighting to the last before being overrun by undead and elves. Their king yet remained however, safely above the apocalypse consuming his city, and with almost his entire retinue of personal bodyguards intact. Still, that might not be the case for much longer as all eyes now turn towards his airship.

Dealing with the King directly, however, required the various factions now marching through the ruins of his city to stop fighting each other. This was something that wasn’t going to happen, as the undead continued their merciless assault on everything else and the mermen revealed their follow-up strike.

From beneath the flotsam-covered ocean, an army marched forth yet again. Only this time when they emerged, the mermen were even more numerous and accompanied by a truly bizarre sight. Rather than proceeding on foot as they advanced up onto land as they had during the initial assault, now the mermen were mounted. Gigantic crustaceans, magically enlarged to the size of houses crab-walked their way out of the ocean floor and up onto the swept-clear ruins of the city. Bolted to their shells were platforms where the mermen could stand, and mount the impressive array of siege-weaponry that had also been installed on the giant crabs’ backs.

This still left the question of how the mermen intended on engaging their aerial opponents, as a rapidly increasing portion of the fighting would occur above the city. That question was answered as the mermen manning the crab-mounted siege weapons fired them, revealing the majority of them to be harpoon guns. The largest of them flashed up at the Gastly Truth, skewering the airship like a fish and anchoring it to the ground now with massive chains. Several such harpoons also reached up for Kartul’s two pyramids, but the energy shields surrounding them deflected the projectiles as harmlessly as everything else thrown at them thus far. The lesser harpoons meanwhile flashed up at GHASTs and angels, reeling in any of those that are struck and into the waiting blades of the mermen who swarmed them under as soon as they came within reach.

Even the massive crabs lacked the strength necessary to pull the airship down out of the sky. But the harpoons now embedded in the airship did connect it to the ground with massive chains. And swarms of mermen began to clamber up along those chains, seeking to board the airship and destroy it as the merman had done so many times before with human naval ships.

For the last time, the Gastly Truth’s guns flashed down at the city, consuming several of the crabs connected to it, cooking them from the inside-out, vaporizing their crews, and melting the chains. But then the guns went silent, as if in preparation for what was about to come. The King’s ritual was finally complete, and now the blood-soaked battlefield would become truly Hellish.

******************************

Theme Song

For a single moment, a deathly hush falls over the city. And then with a reverberating crack the twelve pillars of reddish light wink out of existence. Instead the entire city is now bathed in a harsh red light, and a dry, hot wind screams through its ruins. From everywhere and nowhere comes bloodcurdling screams and maniacal cackles of delight. The pounding rain suddenly changes to a pounding rain of blood, and the city streets begin to split apart to form fiery crevasses that put the ones created by the earthquake a few minutes ago to shame.

Immediately all of the angels within the city fall from the sky with panicked screams. Many simply plummet down out of control until the ground violently stops them. But to these unfortunates’ horror, they are not whisked away to the safety of the Heavens as their bodies disintegrate in holy light. Instead they remain in their broken and crippled bodies, trapped and helpless as they await what they know is coming next. Unlike the mortals who may be briefly confused as to their location, the angels are instantly aware of where they are. It was a place they all greatly feared finding themselves, for here the Valkyrie held no authority - and thus they were virtually powerless. They were in the Hells.

Even the angels who didn’t fall to their technical deaths, but instead barely managed to glide down to nearby rooftops, were not in much better shape. They were still just as powerless, and the foul air burned their very skin just as much. But still alive, there was at least hope for them to escape the fate their “dead” sisters were now condemned to. Escaping that fate meant escaping the city, however, an action which would be almost impossible for the suddenly powerless angels to accomplish.

Even the GHASTs were affected, however unlike the angels their master had prepared them for this turn of events. All of their eyes suddenly switch from blue to red as their angelic power sources go offline and they resort to using their lesser demonic power sources. This prevents them from using their flight or regenerative capabilities, but at least they are still active as they glide down to the city below. With howls of rage, they tear into anything near to them upon landing, even each other in a few cases. A large portion of the angels who survived the initial plummet perish in this way, as their GHAST opponents they had previously been dueling follow them down and finish them. Like their sisters, their crippled and broken bodies are left behind, prisons for their now eternally damned souls.

Only a small handful of angels manage to hide and evade combat long enough to continue surviving. None expect to escape the nightmare they suddenly find themselves in, however, and more than one simply finds a momentarily quiet spot to collapse and despondently await their end and the beginning of their torment.

So it is that the third army is removed as a threatening faction, and a new army – the ninth and final – joins the carnage. Emerging up from the fiery crevasses now covering the city are the inhabitants of the Hells – the fiends. Cackling in delight at this unexpected opportunity, the fiends strike out in all directions, seeking souls to condemn to the Hells. They assault everyone equally, having no allies but themselves. This force does slow the undead advance, as now the horde must contend with a force just as numerous and unstoppable as itself.

Although all of the disasters to strike the city during the battle were horrible, the unleashing of the Hells was undoubtedly the worst. The previous disasters could only kill, sending its victims on to face judgment in the afterlife. With the city now merged with the Hells, however, every being that died within its boundaries would be irrevocably damned to eternal torment.

******************

In a blur, Miriam and the Herald of Azguloth clashed again. As had been made evident over the past few minutes, driven by righteous fury and now wielding the blades of two of her daughters, Miriam was soundly winning. Drumming her blades against the shaft of the Herald’s scythe, Miriam suddenly shifts her aim and strikes the scythe’s blade, forcing the weapon down and out of the way. Before the Herald can raise his defenses again, Miriam’s other blade flashes out, scouring a line across his right shoulder.

A moment later as the Herald raised his scythe defensively again, Miriam stepped forward, feinting high with one blade while stabbing low with the other. The blade slips underneath the Herald’s guard and plunges into the Herald’s side, eliciting a grunt of pain. That grunt is silenced a moment later as Miriam brings her other hand around, slamming her hilt into the Herald’s face, snapping it around in an eruption of blood and fangs. Stumbling back and spewing more blood and a few last broken fangs, the Herald nonetheless manages a laugh.

“I haven’t made you angry, have I? I don’t remember you being this excited to fight the last time we met.”

“Shut up. I tire of your taunts. Have the dignity to die silently!”

“What, like Genevieve? I’m sorry, but she –“

The Herald didn’t have time to finish his taunt as Miriam lunged for him again, twisting the scythe out of his hands, impaling him with both of her swords, and then kicking him to send him sprawling away from her to the deck. Picking up his own scythe again, Miriam hefted the weapon and approached the fallen demigod, carrying it the way one would an executioner’s axe.

Cursing under his breath, Demetrius abandoned his own plans for his latest wayward son and left the GHASTs to deal with him – distract him would also be acceptable. He wasn’t sure attracting the furious’s goddesses wrath at this exact moment was wise given the look on her face, but that was exactly what he had to do. It had to be only a few moments now.

“Marisiel is alive!”

Demetrius called out, and only that phrase could have broken through the haze of the goddess’s bloodlust. Pausing in her approach, Miriam skewered Demetrius with a glare.

“I command you, Demetrius Morgan, to tell me!”

Miriam growled, and Demetrius could feel the words tumbling out of his mouth, even though he had fully intended on telling her – listening to him would keep her distracted those last crucial seconds.

“I put Marisiel’s soul in a succession of human girls, so I could continue extracting blood from her. And to continue torturing her, of course. That was all Istomilo’s fault though. I imagine that there isn’t much of her left by now though – I finally let Istomilo have her, and given his past with her I doubt he was very gentle.”

Miriam’s face switches from curiosity back to fury in a second after hearing that name.

“Istomilo!? Impossible, his soul was utterly destroyed! How are you able to still lie to me like this!? Or expect me to believe such a falsehood!”

Feeling the magic enveloping the city suddenly shift, Demetrius smiled and spread his arms wide.

“Because it’s the truth. In return for Marisiel, Istomilo gave me all of his magical knowledge. How do you think I built my GHASTs? Or this airship? But the greatest technique he taught me was the same ritual that brought about the downfall of Marisiel. Do you know he once enacted a great ritual to bring a human city down into the Hells? Well I have taken that ritual and modified it a bit. Today, I shall bring the Hells . . . to you!”

Theme Song

A moment later and Isabella finished the ritual and the full fury of the Hells was unleashed. All around the Gastly Truth, the air was filled with the shrill screams of the angels as they plummeted down, and the victorious shrieks of the fiends echoing up from below. Miriam likewise screamed as she collapsed to her knees, smoke rising from her body as her wings of light winked out of existence. The change had the opposite effect on the Herald, who began to cackle maniacally as he pushed himself back up to his feet. He tore the blades of Genevieve and Marisiel out of his chest, tossing them aside before striding over to the fallen Miriam.

“What . . . have you . . . done!!?”

Miriam hissed, struggling to push herself back up to her feet. Demetrius answered with a joyous laugh as he approached the goddess as well.

“I told you – I brought the Hells here. I have temporarily merged the mortal plane with that of the Hells. I already knew the angels were powerless there, but I was unsure whether you would be similarly affected or not. It would seem that my theory was correct, however, in that you have no authority here. No power. How does it feel to be mortal, Valkyrie!?”

Reaching Miriam, Demetrius punctuated this last statement with a kick, his foot catching Miriam under the chin and throwing her onto her back. It wasn’t an empowered kick, as Demetrius’s own strength had been drained, but it proved his newest theory nonetheless. Now powerless, the Valkyrie was vulnerable, and could be harmed and killed like any other mortal. Joining Demetrius in standing over Miriam, the Herald bent down and tore his weapon out of her feeble grip. Before the Herald could pull the weapon back for a finishing blow, however, Demetrius stopped him.

“You’ve always looked down upon us mortals, you and your Markash daughters. You’ve placed yourselves above us because you saw yourselves superior. But you’ve never been touched by the horrors we mortals must face daily, nor endure the torments that you in your infinite wisdom saw fit to bestow upon us mortals. So as your daughters were taught, you will now learn the same lessons. The first lesson is pain, and the final lesson is death!”

Despite her situation, Miriam managed a bark of a laugh.

“You may kill this body, but you will not kill me. My soul cannot be bound to an afterlife, and so will return to the Heavens regardless. You may win this battle at great cost, but the war will not be over!”

Hoping for this argument, Demetrius favored her with a tight-lipped smile.

“For an omnipotent being, you really aren’t very creative! Who said anything about condemning your soul to the Hells like your daughters? Oh no, I have a different plan in mind for you! Fury, activate the Ironheart Protocol!”

In response, the deck plating nearby began to shift, the deck splitting apart down the length of the airship. Now revealed just below the level of the top deck was an immense soul crystal, glowing a malevolent dark red. Demtrius gestured at it, releasing the Herald as he does so.

“Do you understand now? When you die, your soul will be trapped inside this crystal. And then I will have Fury reseal the deck plating and set a crash course down into the Hells. And you will be trapped down there forever, in your own miniature Ironheart. I hope you can appreciate the symmetry of it all.”

Demetrius nodded at the Herald and then turned away, planning on dealing with his treacherous son and his archangel pet.

“Finish her however you like. But when you do, make sure she’s touching the crystal.”

“With pleasure! Oh, this is gonna be slow and painful!”

The Herald announced as he pulled his scythe back, only to pause yet again as the last of the divine glow faded from Miriam’s eyes and she addressed Demetrius in Sara’s voice – no, as Sara addressed her father.

“Father . . .”

She whispered, and Demetrius paused, looking back in curiosity at just what sort of new trick was this.

“Yes, my daughter?”

“I’m not going to let you get away with this!”

A moment later, and Sara threw her head back and screamed in agony as the bright glow flared back into her eyes. The scream changed from Sara’s voice to Miriam’s, and from a scream of agony into one of rage as the Herald cursed and brought his scythe down. Miriam rolled aside to dodge the blow, and then kicked out at the Herald’s left knee with enough force to bend it back at a sharp, wrong angle and nearly ripping the lower half of the leg completely free. As the Herald fell forwards with a surprised squawk, Miriam kicked out with her other foot, catching the descending Herald in the chest and sending him flying backwards.

“I am the Valkyrie! And I am not one of your helpless victims!”

Miriam shrieked as she kicked back up onto her feet. Scarcely has her feet touched the deck again before Demetrius engulfs her in a fireball, the explosion sending her flying backwards and again prone on the deck, right next to the crystal. Demetrius is relieved to see that Miriam’s armor and hair were scorched by the blast – so still vulnerable despite her resurgence of strength.

“So not so powerless after all, eh? Well, I shudder to think how much power you have to be drawing in to counteract the Hells – and what that’s doing to my daughter’s body! Whether you die by my hand or from tearing her apart to keep fighting is irrelevant! You’re still going to die, and humanity will be FREE!”

Demetrius began to cast another spell, but is forced to stop in order to twist aside, dodging an attack from behind at the last instant. Whirling around, he triggered one of the spring-loaded blades attached to his arm, the blade shooting out over his hand and extending to its full length just beyond his fingertips. He used the blade to parry a second attack from his opponent, and for a moment the two of them stood there locked together.

“Hello son. Still in a rebellious mood, I see.”

Demetrius said calmly as he finally managed to shove his opponent back. Nephilium regained his footing and then raised his sword to point at his father.

“This ends now!”

*************

Leaping upon the crippled GHAST, Nephilium batters its chestplate with his fist, hammering dents in the armor until he manages to wedge his fingers into the seam and tear it off completely. Showing no mercy towards his opponent, Nephilium immediately stabs into the compartment beyond with his sword, shattering the soul crystals stored there and reducing the GHAST to a lifeless husk. Wearily he pushes himself back up onto his feet, groaning as the motion disturbs the burn injury along his side which was still healing.

Looking around, Nephilium sees a winged figure approaching through the rain, and tenses in preparation for another battle until the figure gets close enough for him to see that it is merely Ysora, battered even worse than before but still alive. She manages to take several more steps toward him before her legs suddenly give out, pitching her forward onto her knees. Concerned, Nephilium runs over to help her back up, but the archangel waves him off.

“I’ll be alright. I’ve still not fully recovered from my imprisonment, but I can feel my injuries starting to heal at least. That’s certainly an improvement.”

She wheezes, absent-mindedly reaching up to wipe at the blood on her face and only managing to smear it further. Aware that there could be even more GHASTs on their way, Nephilium digs into his belt and pulls out two glass vials. He hands one to Ysora and then pops open the cork on the other, downing the vial’s contents in a single gulp. Ysora follows suit, and immediately makes a face.

“While it is fortunate that human magic is helpful, I do not understand why is has to be so . . . bitter!”

“You get used to the taste after a while.”

Nephilium promised, tossing the empty vial aside. Ysora mimics this action as well, and then pushes herself up to her feet as several of her wounds reseal immediately. She looks around a moment, and then points off into the rain.

“Miriam is that way? We should go to her aid!”

Ysora said, taking a step forward before Nephilium moves to block her path.

“You do not have faith in your goddess? She will be able to defeat my father on her own. We should get you to safety before my father activates one of his contingency plans to seal your fate!”

Frowning, more from disappointment than displeasure, Ysora moves to push past him.

“I cannot retreat to safety while my Lady is in danger. Your father has some sort of evil plan in mind for Her – he would not have gone to such extremes to lure Her here otherwise. I have to help, but if you wish to retreat yourself I understand. You have already sacrificed much to help me.”

Seeing the determination on her face Nephilium sighs and shrugs.

“My father will hunt me to the ends of the earth if he survives this battle. Might as well reach the climax early. The hare jumps into the pot to be spared the hunter’s singing, or something like that.”

As they both begin to walk towards the silhouettes battling furiously in the distance, the world is suddenly plunged into the Hells. Ysora screams, and would have collapsed again if Nephilium had not managed to catch her first. The archangel was unexpectedly heavy, and Nephilium nearly dropped her before he managed to adjust his grip. It took him a few moments to realize that no, it was not Ysora who had grown heavier – it was he who had grown weaker. Fortunately that seemed to be the extent of the effects that their new surroundings were causing him, although Nephilium also noted that his injuries were starting to ache, no longer sealing on their own.

“W-we’re in . . . the Hells!?”

Ysora gasped, wincing as her skin started to smoke from contact with the very air. Nephilium shrugged and nodded, imaging that was as good of a guess as any. Father had not told him about this part of the plan – he suspected that no one but Father knew the entirety of it. Gathering her strength, Ysora pulled away from Nephilium as she got her own feet under her again.

“We must save my Lady! She’ll be vulnerable here, whatever your father has done to bring forth the Hells!”

Ysora cries out, stepping away from Nephilium, stumbling, and managing to regain her balance just in time to avoid falling. She is about to take another stumbling step when Nephilium catches her by the wrist, stopping her.

“You are in no condition to fight now. If you go forth now, you will only be a liability to your Lady. Rest here and conserve your strength – if you should die now . . .”

“Yes. My soul would be condemned to the Hells for eternity, just like any mortal.”

Ysora confirms, shivering not just from pain anymore. Flexing his wings experimentally, Nephilium found he could still fly, although the motions were not so effortless now. After a moment’s hesitation he leaps up into the air, pausing only to look back at Ysora.

“I will fight in your stead! The hawk flies forth from its master’s hand only to return with its prey!”

Looking up helplessly, Ysora nods and then calls up to him.

“I’d prefer it if you bring my Lady back alive, though!”

Nephilium nods and then flies off into the darkness. He does not have to go far before the curtain of rain parts enough to allow him to see the duel between Miriam and the Herald clearly – and what he sees isn’t good. Miriam was down, the Herald standing over Her and his father gloating as usual. Doubtful he would be able to take the monstrous Herald, now back in his own home, Nephilium nevertheless turned down into a dive, hoping to intercept the blow he was able to deliver. As it turned out, he didn’t have to as Miriam had a sudden resurgence of strength, kicking the Herald away from her. That allowed Nephilium to alter his course for his father, swooping down on him just as Demetrius blasts Miriam with a fireball. Perhaps his father had not been affected to the same extent as Nephilium, or he was simply expecting someone to interfere. Even as Nephilium swooped down from above silently, Father twisted aside at the last second to avoid his thrust. Landing directly behind his father, Nephilium braces himself against the ground and brings his sword around for another swing. This time, instead of dodging Demetrius blocks the attack with one of his arm blades.

“Hello son. Still in a rebellious mood, I see.”

Demetrius said calmly as he finally managed to shove Nephilium back. Relieved that his father at least had also lost his enhanced strength, Nephilium regained his footing and then raised his sword to point at his father.

“This ends now!”

Theme Song

“No. It will never end!”

Demetrius hisses, triggering the katar to emerge from his other sleeve before advancing towards his son. Shifting his sword around to guard, Nephilium parries the several rapid swings delivered by his father and then counters, stepping forward inside his father’s guard and ramming the hilt of his sword into Demetrius’s face. Demetrius grunts in surprise and stumbles back, sputtering blood from a now split lower lip. He gingerly tests his wound with his tongue and then laughs.

“Perhaps I taught you a little too well, son. But you don’t think I taught you all of my tricks, did you?”

Demetrius advances again, and once more the two combatants exchange a series of strikes and parries. Catching Nephilium’s blade between his own, Demetrius twists it down and to the side and then steps in close. Nephilium attempts to back away but Demetrius follows, staying in close before driving an elbow into his solar plexus, knocking the wind out of him. While Nephilium is stunned, Demetrius pulls one of his blades free to deliver a backhand slice across his chest.

Trying to drive his father back Nephilium raises his sword and takes a weak swing at him, but Demetrius simply bats the blow aside and then steps in again, this time plunging his other katar into Nephilium’s side.

“How does it feel to be human?”

Demetrius hissed into Nephilium’s ear before twisting his katar inside the wound and then tearing it back out. Resisting the urge to cry out, which was exactly what his father wanted, Nephilium staggered back away from him. His injuries were serious, but not yet life-threatening. Keeping an eye on his father, Nephilium pulled another vial from his belt and quickly downed its contents. The pain in his chest and side faded as the magic did its work, although it was not as complete as his own regeneration would have accomplished. On a positive note, Nephilium gained a new appreciation for Ysora, gracious despite the frustration of being denied the benefit of naturally healing from her injuries during her captivity. While Nephilium had been drinking a healing potion, Demetrius had been using healing magic of his own, repairing his split lip.

“Do you know, this is one of the reasons why I never taught any of you how to use magic? None of you minded because you had your various innate gifts, and I wanted to make sure I had a card to play in the event any of you decided to betray me. Considering you’ve always had your regeneration to rely on before, how many more of those potions do you have? How much longer do you think you will last?”

It was true – that had been his last healing potion. Trusting in his own regeneration, he had brought them along mainly for Ysora and simple prudence. If he had realized the exact nature of Father’s plan, he would have prepared differently. Looking over Father’s shoulder towards the continuing duel between the Herald of Azguloth and the renewed Miriam, Nephilium suddenly realized that he didn’t have to win.

“The decoy’s survival is not a measure of its success!”

Nephilium answered, and Demetrius paused a moment before laughing.

“If you’re referring to distracting me while Miriam fights the Herald alone, I wouldn’t get your hopes up. Her resurgence isn’t going to last.”

As if proving his words correct, behind him the Herald smashes through Miriam’s defenses, driving her to her knees again.

“Regrettably you won’t live to see the fruits of our family’s labors. But because I don’t want to miss a second of the finale, let’s finish this up quickly!”

Demetrius conjured up another fireball, but this time Nephilium was prepared and threw himself forward, ducking under the ball as it traveled towards where he had been. Hitting the ground with his shoulder, Nephilium twisted, turning his lunge into a shoulder roll that brought him back up to his feet directly in front of his father. As the fireball detonated a harmless distance away Nephilium struck with his weapon, hoping to catch his father unprepared. Unfortunately, now human he lacked the incredible speed he once possessed, and thus his father was prepared and easily deflected the blow.

Desperate not to give his father time to work any more incantations, Nephilium pressed the attack, relying on his training and own skill now rather than his now-gone speed and strength. It wasn’t enough as Demetrius kept his distance long enough to summon a blast of ice, freezing Nephilium’s left foot to the deck of the Gastly Truth. As his son struggled to free himself, Demetrius backed up out of reach and began to work another, more powerful spell.

“I told you I wanted this over quickly! Now die, traitor!”

Raising his sword desperately in the vain hope he could use it to ward off whatever spell his father was about to throw at him, Nephilium braced himself for the end. At that moment, a new figure appeared out of the rain – Ysora. Hobbling forward, she pulled the object she was carried back and then flung it with all of her remaining strength at Demetrius. The severed head of the GHAST sailed through the air in a perfect arc, colliding with Demetrius’s own and causing him to stumble backward in surprise, the magic fizzling as his concentration is momentarily broken. His veneer of confident civility broken, Demetrius’s lips pull back into a snarl as he recovers.

“I am heartily sick of both of you! You can die together if you want – I’ll kill one and then the other!”

His threat delivered, Demetrius moved to carry it out, dashing towards Ysora with murderous intent. With a final stab of his sword, Nephilium manages to chip away enough of the ice to twist his foot free, and rushes to intercept his father. They meet just in front of Ysora, in a flurry of clashing blades. While he is distracted by his son, Ysora slips around behind Demetrius and proves she still intends to fight by driving a fist into his left kidney and wrapping her other arm around his right, momentarily trapping it. This gives Nephilium the opening he needs to step forward and deliver a downward slash to Demetrius’s chest. Throwing his head back into Ysora’s, Demetrius is able to get her to loosen her grip on his arm enough to twist it around and divert Nephilium’s strike – changing it from a potentially fatal blow to the joining of his neck and shoulder to a strike that cuts across his chest and down his side. Even so, the deflected blow is a terrible wound, and Demetrius gasps as Nephilium’s sword leaves his body.

Seeing his father in such pain for the first time triggers Nephilium’s long-instilled loyalty, and for just a second he hesitates instead of immediately attempting a second, more-final blow. This costs him dearly as Demetrius grins through his pain and reaches his free left hand down to press against his wounded side. Only the motion is not to attempt to stem the blood pouring from the injury, but instead get his hand close to a dagger sheathed nearby. With practiced speed, Demetrius’s hand shifts from the wound to the dagger’s hilt, drawing it. The dagger’s blade glistens hatefully a moment as Demetrius brings it up, and then he swings it back behind him, plunging it into Ysora’s stomach. Now it’s the archangel’s turn to gasp in surprise as she immediately releases Demetrius, collapsing onto her back on the deck and shuddering uncontrollably.

With a cry of outrage Nephilium lunges towards his father, who proves his injury is severe but not crippling as he deflects Nephilium’s attacks with both katars once more. As he breaks away from Nephilium for a moment, Demetrius raises his one hand with a grunt while lowering his other to press against his wounded side again.

“Stop, listen to me son. That dagger was coated in poison – as I’m sure you saw before I plunged it into your pet Markash. She doesn’t have long to live, and if she dies while inside the city, well . . . eternity is a long time, and we both know what the fiends will do to her. But if you get her outside the city, her regeneration might save her, it might not, but at least her soul will be safe. Isn’t that what started this whole betrayal, wanting to save her?”

Demetrius gives Nephilium a tight-lipped smile.

“The decoy’s survival is not a measure of its success. We keep fighting, and you might be able to finish me off . . . but not in time. Which is more important to you – killing me, your own father, or saving the woman you’ve sacrificed everything for?”

Again, Nephilium hesitated, risking a glance back at Ysora. Despite her growing paleness and ongoing shivers, the archangel managed to shake her head.

“D-d-don’t!”

She managed to grate out, but her desperate cry pulled at Nephilium’s heart and tugged it the rest of the way to a decision. Slowly Nephilium nods, lowering his sword and turning away from Demetrius.

“Fair enough. Your life in exchange of Ysora’s and mine.”

Nephilium said, taking a step back towards Ysora. Then, he immediately whirls back to face Demetrius’s, lunging forward to smash the poisoned dagger Demetrius has already drawn out of his hand with the flat of his sword.

“The son knows his father, for watching him is how the son learns!”

Nephilium shouts, twisting inside Demetrius’s guard to avoid the defensive swipe from his other hand’s katar. Nephilium drives his elbow into his father’s wounded side, knocking the wind out of Demetrius with an explosive gasp. That gasp changes to a higher-pitch a moment later as Nephilium raises his sword and then plunges it down with all his might into Demetrius’s left foot. The blade goes all the way through Demetrius’s foot, and perhaps an inch or two into the deck of the Gastly Truth beyond, the sword’s enchantments doing what Nephilim’s diminished strength could not.

With his father thus trapped in place, Nephilium abandons his assault and rushes over to Ysora. He scoops her up in his arms and dives off the side of the airship, praying he will be fast enough to get out of the city. As he goes, he calls over his shoulder.

“Although I am your son, I am not your shadow Father! I will honor our deal even if you would not!”

Nephilium hears Demetrius wheeze insults in impotent fury, and then they fade into the howling wind and pounding rain. Going by instinct more than sight, Nephilium swoops towards the outskirts of the city, straining his wings both to hold him and Ysora aloft, and to propel him beyond the effects of his Father’s mad ritual before it is too late. Below, the fiends shriek hungrily as they emerge from the ruptured soil, seeking fresh souls to claim.

[Inspectre]

****************

Theme Song

Countess Amelia Ashargrin fades back into consciousness slowly, pieces of her memories flashing past as they snap together to form the present.

She was lying in her bed in the back of the Silver Bell tavern, a crossbow resting beside her. Mina and Elsa were taking shelter in the room with her, anxiously awaiting the battle’s outcome and hoping the fighting stayed far away.

The stench of smoke filling the room, and the crackling roar of an inferno audible even through the walls as it approached. Mina going out to see what’s going on and coming back screaming about fire approaching. Amelia screaming at her to take Elsa and run, to try and find shelter elsewhere, get away from here, leave her. Elsa standing there listlessly, silent and watching the two of them argue with the same eerie calm she always had. At Mina’s command however, she began to move, mechanically reaching down on her orders to throw one of the Countess’s arms across her shoulders to help carry her out. Together, the two women manage to pull Amelia out of bed and halfway across the floor before their strength gives out and they all collapse in a tangle onto the floor. Amelia keeps screaming at them to go on without out, and after this demonstration of their inability to carry her, stubborn Mina finally listens. She gets up, grabs Elsa, and together the two of them run out of the room coughing as the room begins to fill with smoke. Lying back on the floor, Amelia closes her eyes and tries not to cough as she waits for the end to finally come.

The roar of the flames extinguished by the hammering drumbeat of rain, the full fury of a storm unleashed all at once. Perhaps Amelia would survive this after all . . . her thoughts immediately turning morbid as she considers that if Mina and Elsa didn’t make it, she might survive only to starve to death, alone in the dark. Then a violent shaking begins, the earth underneath her heaving, and the building around her groaning in protest. The crossbow clatters down from the bed, the harsh impact triggering it and sending the bolt flying past her ear by a matter of inches. Amelia wishes the bolt had been a direct hit, sparing her from this as she huddles in the middle of the floor, terrified as the building continues to quake until at last it subsides.

Exhausted from the horrors she’s survived already, Amelia barely even hears the growing roar at first. But eventually, it becomes the only thing that she can hear, a thundering, hissing rush punctuated only by the harsh snapping of nearby buildings flying apart. Then the wall across from her disintegrates and water rushes in, sweeping over her and everything goes dark.

And now the present, the darkness gradually giving way to blurry light, and the numbness of unconsciousness giving way to a body’s worth of aches and pains, as well as the gentle sensation of movement. But nothing below the waist, never below the waist – not anymore. It was just as well, for as Amelia’s vision cleared and her mind returned to clarity she saw that she was being dragged along. As such, her legs were being dragged along the street, the rough cobblestones scraping and tearing open the skin of her legs as easily as they had done to her dress. The ones responsible for this were a pair of elves, each of them holding on to one of her arms and pulling her along as if she were a sack of grain.

They prove that they were not attempting to rescue her a moment later when she weakly tries to tug her arms free, trying to get them to stop. They do indeed stop, but only so one of them can strike her across the face with his bow, driving her vision momentarily blurry once more. Taking the hint, Amelia forced herself to relax, hanging limply from their arms as they continue to drag her down the street. As it turns out, they don’t have much farther to go.

The water-logged street opens up into a small courtyard, perhaps once used for a backalley bazaar given the wreckage of a number of small wooden stands. Now it acts as a meeting point, several small bands of elves milling about with their own human prisoners they managed to pull from the city’s wreckage.

Dumping her onto the ground now that they’ve arrived, one of her elven escorts goes over to join a group of his comrades while the second pulls out a length of viney rope. Amelia doesn’t even try to struggle as he uses it to bind her hands, and then her feet for good measure, apparently not trusting that she wouldn’t miraculously be able to suddenly stand up and run away. While he was busy with that, Amelia looked around at the rest of the assembly.

The elves hadn’t been picky about who they had “rescued”, as Amelia noted that all sorts of people, young children, old men, even a few people with obvious disabilities such as herself were present. Worryingly though, she did notice that they seemed to be separating all the humans into three groups. The words of Klaus, that poor sweet man, echoed in Amelia’s head as the elves also began to do something in the middle of the courtyard, driving spears into the ground.

It takes a few minutes for the elves to finish their preparations, but they work quickly and are soon ready to proceed to the next phase. The one group of prisoners seems to consist mostly of children, and Amelia’s stomach twists as they elves lead that group away, ignoring the cries of any parents present as they vanish out of sight down a side street. Her group seems to be next, and Amelia tries to slow her racing heart as her two escorts show up to drag her up near to the spears, joining a shuddering, filthy man ranting at things only he can see and a man missing an arm.

An elf with an ornate headdress steps forward, chanting as he brandishes some sort of iron, its tip glowing red hot. Ritualistically he proceeds down the line, each prisoner’s escorts holding them still while the shaman presses the brand against their face. Amelia is last in the line, and so knows what to expect by the time they get to her. She does her best to steel herself for what’s coming, and the pain is about as bad as she expected it to be. But what’s worse is the cloying smell of burnt flesh, her own flesh, as the brand is pulled away. Her face burning with pain, Amelia winces and attempts to close her eyes. Upon noticing this, her escorts grip her more tightly, reaching down to force her eyes back open. Evidentially they want her to see something.

Then the final group is brought forward, and led up to the spears set into the ground one by one. As Amelia and the others present watch, each prisoner is lifted up and thrown down onto one of the spears, skewered and left to hang there. But the most horrifying part comes afterward, as several elves step forward and start to skin the person alive before they can fully expire. Now Amelia can see what her purpose in this truly is, to serve as a witness.

It is difficult to remain impassive in the face of such wanton cruelty, but Amelia does her best as the nightmare continues. But then she sees the next person in the long line, and can no longer calmly watch. Mina has been captured and prepared as a sacrifice, with Elsa right behind her! Having already seen what has happened to a number of victims, Mina knows what to expect and struggles every step of the way, cursing at the elves and demanding them to let her go. Elsa meanwhile, is as listless as ever, watching what is going on with a serenity approaching boredom.

“Mina! Let her go! Take me instead! TAKE ME!”

Amelia cries out, and struggles in the elves’ grip but in the end to no avail. Her escorts force her to watch, and Mina’s escorts drag her up to the next empty spear. Just as they are about to throw her onto it, another quake rocks the city, and suddenly the air grows hot and is filled with screams and cackles. The heavy rain changes, becoming literal blood falling from the sky, an appropriate bit of scenery for what the elves are doing. The elves are likewise affected by this sudden change, and look nervously about. But when nothing immediately seems to happen, they proceed with their ritual, albeit at a faster pace.

With one last scream, Mina is thrown down onto the spear, her cry interrupted as the spear bursts up through her chest. Still gasping and feebly struggling, she writhes on the spear as the elves approach with their bloody skinning knives. Amelia cries out too, but can do nothing as they butcher her like they do all the others. And as a final horror, a ghostly image of Mina appears above her body momentarily, before black hands reach up to grab holding of her, pulling her down into the earth. Now finally, Amelia’s vision starts to blur as tears streak down her face, and there is nothing the elves can do about that.

“You bastards. Monsters! You will pay for this! I swear to the gods I will make you pay for this!”

Amelia hears herself shriek, barely able to see as the elves drag Elsa and a second person up with her, the elves trying to finish their work quickly. They don’t get a chance as suddenly Amelia hears a familiar voice shout “KITE!”

A moment later, and a massive fireball engulfs a group of elves at the far end of the courtyard.

“RAGE!”

The voice shouts again, and another group of elves is roasted alive by a second fireball. Determined to finish their work, the two elves escorting Elsa lift her up over the spear, only to fall as a man suddenly appears behind them, slitting both of their throats at once. Suddenly, both of Amelia’s own guards fall, and she begins to wonder if this was some sort of mad delusion as she looks up to see Seraph standing there, battered and angry as he cuts down the rest of the nearby elves.

Taken off-guard, the rest of the elves are likewise cut down or forced to flee, leaving behind the handful of prisoners they had not yet sacrificed. Katrina cuts all of them free and tells them to follow, while Seraph slings Amelia over his shoulder, grunting at the effort. The proud warrior seems slower now, weaker, and Amelia wonders if he has been badly injured, but he presses on carrying her anyway.

Predictably, it is too late for Mina and the rest of the prisoners that the elves have already sacrificed. Amelia watches as Argan stands by her body for several long moments, head bowed, before he moves to catch up with the rest of the growing band of refugees. Just before they leave, Eldred turns back and incinerates the macabre scene with a fireball, giving the elves’ victims at least that much of a burial. And as the courtyard disappears out of sight around the corner, Amelia remembers her oath. Somehow, someday, the elves would pay for this atrocity.

****************

Theme Song

With a sneer of disgust Teareal finished the human off, firing an arrow point-blank into his skull. There were more humans nearby, he knew, there were always more humans. Like fleas, they infested the land with numbers beyond counting, and there were always more than the ones you could see. Packed tightly together in their city like the animals they raised only for slaughter. Teareal would kill them all if he could, but he doubted he had enough arrows to accomplish that task personally. Fortunately, the series of disasters striking the city seemed to be accomplishing most of it for him.

As the last of the men defending this intersection died, Tur Villid approached him, bowing low and remaining in that position rather than kneeling, as was the human custom.

“My lord, the scouts are reporting great success in routing the human filth from their burrows. However, some groups are reporting that they are now under attack from the other humans – the armored ones.”

“They’re called paladins. And it is only expected that they would join their fellow vermin in opposing us eventually.”

“Yes my lord. But with the city falling to pieces around us, some of them are beginning to wonder if we have not stumbled into the bear’s den? It is one thing to hunt down the humans and punish them. Likewise to engage those who wish to protect them. But none of them expected to be caught in the middle of a confluence of disasters with them. They suggest that perhaps we should withdraw, and allow Nature Herself to conclude the humans’ punishment.”

Teareal sighed, but did not reprimand his servant. It was a thought he had dwelling in the back of his head as well since the disasters had started smashing the city. Whether a true expression of nature’s wrath or simple displays of the power some of the other factions here commanded, it mattered not. Sooner or later, the elves would be caught directly in the path of one of them, and they would suffer the same fate as the humans they now hunted through the wreckage. But turning back now meant abandoning Teareal’s goal – which was to punish the humans yes, but more specifically to find and punish one human in particular. As if demanding that he hurry up and make a decision, suddenly the sky began to weep blood, and the air was filled with the screams of the damned. After a long pause, Teareal nodded and sighed.

“Very well. The scouts are correct – it is not worth sacrificing one elf to butcher another ten humans. Spread the word that the elven people are to withdraw and no longer engage unless strictly necessary. Any sacrifices are to be executed immediately. Slaves are to still be taken along unless it would slow them down – in which case, execute them as well. We will depart from this battle and take whatever spoils we can manage, and leave the rest of the humans to face the wrath of what they have unleashed here. We shall return home then . . . burning everything in our path. We have taught the humans a lesson here today. Tomorrow, we will mark their land so that they will never forget it!”

“I will convey your orders at once, my lord.”

Villid said, straightening up and turning to go. He paused as Teareal raised a hand.

“My lord?”

“I will not be accompanying you in the withdrawl, Villid. At least not right ahead. There is some unfinished business here that I must see to – personally.”

“My lord, I don’t think it is wise for you to remain here, certainly not alone!”

“My mind is made up. I will rejoin you and the others when I can. I must conclude this hunt. Now carry out my orders!”

Teareal snapped, and then set off down the street, picking his way over the barricade that his men had just disassembled. Although he saw the wisdom in conserving the lives of his subjects, he was too driven to abandon his own revenge. He would find the human known as Limier, even if he had to descend into every lair the humans had made here, and kill them all with his bare hands. And when he found Limier, the human would die . . . eventually.

[Inspectre]

The Heroes Who Would Oppose a King

Archpaladin Zousha

At your words, Hephestia’s face flashes first shock, and then overwhelming fury. She flares her wings, and then leaps up into the air to swoop down on you spear first.

“Your words of blasphemy are all the proof I need! DIE!!!”

She screams as she descends, and then you and everyone present are fighting (futilely) for their lives. You had fought angels before this, and been nearly a match for them in raw power if not skill. As an archangel, however, Hephestia was in a class all by herself.

You manage to dodge the descending thrust, the spear stabbing past you to slam into the street, scattering cobblestones everywhere. What you are not prepared for, however, is her right wing suddenly coming around and striking you in the chest, sending you stumbling back and feeling more like you’d just been kicked by a mule. Inspired by your example, several of the paladins in your group rush to your aid. Hephestia dispatches them in an instant, skewering one of them in the chest with a blindingly fast spear thrust and then sweeping the other end around to smash into the legs of the second, shattering his legs. Marching towards you, she stomps on the fallen paladin’s neck, silencing his agonized screams.

Hephestia’s advance is briefly slowed as Katashiko conjures up the earth up and around her feet, immobilizing her. Hephestia stops a moment, turns, and hurls her spear at Katashiko in retaliation. The Mistress of the Earth is able to narrowly dodge aside in time, but is surrounded a moment later by a nimbus of light as Hephestia calls down more holy bolts. Although obscured from sight, you can still hear Katashiko’s screams as the holy light sears her body. Angered by Katashiko’s interference, Hephestia continues conjuring bolts of light down into the area, practically frothing at the mouth in her fury.

“Halfbred abomination! Your kind should have been wiped out millennia ago!”

Hephestia rants, her attention momentarily away from you. Trying to take advantage of her distraction and to pull her off of Katashiko, you and several more paladins advance. As you strike she whirls, using an armored forearm to deflect your strike into the path of another blow, ruining them both, as well as catching another paladin’s blade in her other hand, stopping it mid-thrust.

She can’t block all of the blows however, and one blade gets through, a slash aimed at the throat. Hephestia manages to lean back enough that only the tip of the blade slices through the side of her throat. For a human, even this would be a life-threatening injury as it would sever a major artery. For Hephestia, the sword has barely passed through her flesh before it knits itself back together, resulting in only a single spurt of blood arcing down to join all the human blood in staining her armor. Even so, the wound seems to injure Hephestia’s pride worse than her body, and she roars in anger.

Tearing one of her feet free from its prison, she kicks out, catching one of the paladins with you in the chest and sending him crashing into a nearby wall. The wall buckles from the impact, and you don’t want to imagine what happened to the paladin’s body within his armor as he slumped into a heap.

Planting her freed foot, Hephestia pulls and tears her other leg free, delivering a low kick to another paladin’s knee that forces it back entirely the wrong way. He falls forward with a scream, right into Hephestia’s waiting arms. She snaps his neck and then moves on, as if she were swatting flies rather than people.

Bringing Justice around again, you catch her in the side, the flames roaring down the length of the blade managing to scorch her armor a little but accomplish nothing else. Turning her attention to you, Hephestia strikes your sword arm with a jabbing punch, making your entire arm go numb and Justice to tumble out of your grip. Bringing her other fist up and around, Hephestia delivers a follow-up punch to your face that sends you flying backward. Even your rocky skin cracks apart from the blow, and as the stars fade from your eyes you realize that without that protection, Hephestia’s fist would have pulverized your skull.

Extending a hand, Hephestia calls her spear back to her, the weapon magically flying back through the air into her grip. She skewers another paladin and then lifts him up on the end of the spear, flicking him off and sending his body flying into the midst of another advancing group of paladins, sending them all tumbling down. With the rest of your group held back by that attack, Hephestia advances towards you. Her path is suddenly blocked by another angelic figure, who swoops down to stand protectively over you – the angel who had first appeared to you as the old beggar Emma.

“Hephestia! What are you doing!? These humans are our allies!!”

Faced with an opponent she couldn’t easily label as corrupt, Hephestia’s advance momentarily falters, although the rage is still there, seething below the surface.

“No human is our ally, sister. They must all be wiped out! If you lack the courage, stand aside and I will finish it alone!”

“No. You’re wrong sister. Our Lady would not approve of this. I don’t know – can’t even imagine – the torments you must have suffered at the hands of this King Gast, but it’s over now. You’re angry and confused, but it doesn’t have to be this way. Lower your weapon and come with me - we can find you help together!”

Hephestia pauses a moment, and then pulls her spear back and stabs her sister in the chest, the head of the spear emerging out through her back.

“No! If you choose to stand beside these humans, then you are my enemy as well! It is you who have faltered, “sister”!!”

Emma slumps to the ground, gravely wounded but still alive due to her regeneration. Still, the surprise attack has disabled her, and she can only feebly flail at Hephestia’s ankles as the archangel steps around her to continue towards you. As the archangel raises her spear again, however, the ground beneath her suddenly gives way. As Hephestia sinks, the ground behind her explodes, and Katashiko emerges, very scorched and incredibly pissed. She delivers a flurry of punches into Hephestia’s back and then grabs her around the head, clearly attempting to snap her neck.

Before she can get that far however, Hephestia rams her elbow into Katashiko’s stomach, driving the wind out of her. Then the archangel reaches up to grab Katashiko’s arm, pulling it away from her throat and using that as a lever to flip Katashiko up over her head and down into the ground in front of her. With the same blinding speed she displayed before, Hephestia raises her spear and thrusts it down, again only hitting earth as Katashiko merges back into the ground.

“Coward!”

Hephestia screams, stabbing the ground several more times in impotent fury before leaping up into the air, flying up out of the sinkhole she had fallen into. She hovers there a moment, looking down on you and the remaining paladins like the blood-spattered avatar of mad vengeance itself. Then, a thumb-sized rock flashes up through the air and strikes her directly in the side of the head.

“You filthy Markash!”

Ander shouts from the mouth of a nearby alleyway. The former lord general of the Church is battered and bruised, his chest heaving with exertion from making his way back here, but he is still standing. Ander picks up another broken cobblestone from the shattered street and hurls it up at Hephestia, this one dinging off her breastplate. As she glares down at him, Ander waves Sin Eater up at her, the blade actually snarling with hunger.

“Why don’t you fight an opponent who can actually challenge you!? Or are you afraid to fight the human Miriam chose as Her champion!?”

Hephestia shrieks in rage and begins to descend rapidly. Ander throws himself aside at the last moment, leaving the archangel to slam into the building behind him. Then the former lord general takes off towards the mouth of another nearby alleyway. As he does, he shoots a glance at you and points in the direction of the sea.

“That tsunami cleared out the north side of the city! Get the griffon riders to come in from the sea! You’ve got to stop the Baron! I’ll handle this bitch! Go!!’

Hephestia’s attention is now squarely on Ander, and the two of them race into another alleyway and are out of sight within moments. Although you are concerned for his safety now that you have seen what Hephestia is capable of, you are keenly aware that he intends to act as a decoy giving you and the others time to escape. Not only to escape but regroup for a final desperate assault on the Baron’s airship.

Gathering together with the rest of the survivors of Hephestia’s assault, you retrieve your sword and then head back the way you had come, meeting up with the rest of your scattered forces and fighting off attacks by the undead at every turn. Emma has already recovered from her injury by the time you are heading back.

Katashiko is likewise still ready for a fight, although on several occasions you notice a grimace of pain when she turns a certain way. Her skin is still burned severely in several places, but she laughs off any offers of healing, saying that there are other “mere human, and not half-bred abominations, whatever that means, in greater need of it”. It almost seemed like Hephestia’s insult stung more deeply than the physical wounds she inflicted.

Organized back up with the rest of your now greatly-diminished force, along with a sizable portion of the city’s remaining inhabitants, you get ready to escape from the city. You learn that Tyra was attacked and nearly drained dry by one of the nigh-invulnerable vampires, and while she was expected to make a full recovery she would be leading the rest of the battle from a stretcher. As such, you take back immediate command of the retreat, and lead the way personally back through the ruined city.

As you go, something happens, and you suddenly understand why Ander was so concerned about getting up to the Baron’s airship. The city abruptly . . . changes, looking dingier and darker, and the sky begins to rain blood instead of water. The ground begins splitting open, emitting a foul reddish light, and the shrieks of fiends come from all around. You have no idea how, but suddenly it seems as if you are in the middle of the Hells itself! Emma’s strength immediately leaves her, and she has to be half-carried out of the city by a willing paladin.

Upon seeing your band of holy men and potential victims, the fiends stream in from all directions, and now suddenly you have another concern other than the swarms of undead. At least the undead and fiends are not allies, and fight with each other as much as with you. Still, the fiends take immediate interest in your band if they are not already engaged, and the fighting takes a desperate turn. Worst of all, even those who merely fall in battle instead of being dragged away by the fiends have their souls visibly emerge from their bodies, only to be dragged down into the earth with a silent scream – damned forever. Was this madness what fighting in the Crusade against the Hells was like? Perhaps Morganna was not entirely wrong in her desire to end that senseless struggle, even if her methods were completely unacceptable.

Emma is not the only angel to fall powerless, and you watch as the angels that had been previously fighting overhead plummet down into the city, followed closely by the GHASTs who likewise seem to have lost the ability to fly. With those out of the way, the path to the Baron’s airship was now completely clear at least. On your way out of the city, you come across several angels being subdued and carried off by fiends. You manage to rescue them as well, ensuring that at least a handful of the Valkyrie’s daughters would survive this catastrophe.

Finally, you break out of the city into the open fields beyond, fighting every step of the way through a literal wall of the living dead, all of the walking corpses packed tightly together in their attempts to shamble into the city. With your enemies closing in from all sides, hope of survival, let alone escape seems lost but still you and the others fight on. You are aided by the sudden arrival of the remaining Wings of Righteousness, descending from above to blast a path through the undead ranks for you.

When you get far enough away from the city, the angels begin to recover their strength although it is clear they won’t be able to fight again for some time. At least this confirms that the Baron’s foul magic has a boundary, is localized within the city, and that it can be entered and exited at will. For the moment at least, the undead horde seems content to press into the city rather than turning to pursue, although that might change. Having to carry wounded brothers-in-arms and injured civilians was slowing your group down, making them a tempting target. As you momentarily stop to let everyone catch their breath, Rickster and the other remaining paladins mounted on griffons land.

“What’s the plan, boss? I thought we were trying to get to the Baron, or King, or whatever, not evacuate the city?”

“You have to get to that airship and save our Lady – she’s in grave danger! But regrettably you’ll have to do this alone, I’m afraid. My sisters and I won’t be able to help you.”

Emma explains. After a moment’s thought, Katashiko clears her throat and speaks up.

“I hate missing out on a good fight, but I’m going to stay behind. I’m not much use up in the air, and I hate flying!”

Katashiko exclaims, and then continues in a quieter tone, barely above a whisper as if she is afraid to let anyone hear her.

“Plus, uh . . . I was thinking I’d do much more good here, in case those corpses start trying to follow us. Maybe I can save a few holy men from having to die fighting them off.”

“Where do you want us to go, Hondshioh? Most of us don’t have mounts.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that too much. These griffons are surprisingly strong – they ought to be able to carry a passenger or two. The rest can stay to guard the refugees I guess. Even if the way to the airship is clear, I doubt we’re going to want to make any return trips.”

Rickster pauses to look back towards the destroyed city, and the Gastly Truth and the two obsidian pyramids still hanging over it.

“Last Flight of the Paladins, eh?’

Pwenet


Iethloc

Although the voice in your head cares Omega’s normal monotone, it seems to carry an additional note of defeat.

I . . . cannot. I have tried, but they were thorough. There is nothing left of the emotional center of my brain – I am physically unable to feel anything anymore. My father finally has his perfectly obedient daughter.

While Omega is speaking, you continue your mages’ duel with Xeric. Sweeping towards him, you ready your blood to acid spell, and release it as you pass through Xeric’s projection. Whatever he was preparing to cast died on his lips as he screamed in agony. You could feel his concentration beginning to unravel, his projection starting to take on a more ephemeral and less stable appearance. A moment later and he is engulfed in an explosion, followed by being impaled from all directions by a storm of ice shards.

“You were a good teacher Xeric, but a pathetic excuse for a man! Always hiding somewhere while your projections did everything for you!”

Victoria shouted as she prepared to work another spell. She didn’t get a chance to, however, as she suddenly screams and falls to her knees, clutching at her head. A moment later and she is suddenly up in the air, held immobile and spread-eagled by Omega’s telekinesis. Victoria’s screams increase in pitch as her limbs are pulled in four opposite directions, straining the flesh.

There is no point in apologizing, for I am as incapable of regret as I am of rage. What has happened simply is. All that is left are the memories.

Finally, the strain proves too much for Victoria’s body, and there is a loud wet snap as her limbs are all torn from her body. With a glance of her eyes, Omega sends Victoria’s limbless body flying out in the open space over the airship’s engine. A stray bolt of energy strikes Victoria’s remains, vaporizing them. Still paralyzed, Omega’s eyes shift over to you as a thin trickle of blood emerges from her right nostril. Even paralyzed, you notice a shift in her stance as an idea occurs to her.

Memories . . . perhaps –

Omega’s train of thought is interrupted from a whoop from the engine room’s entryway.

“Hah, cap’n, I figure out how to kill those metal guys permanently! You just have to –“

Shanks good mood fades as he looks around the engine room, and notices that there is only a bloody mess and a pile of torn limbs instead of Victoria. It doesn’t take him very long to do the math. When he has figured it out, Shanks gives a cry of outrage and charges towards Omega.

“I’m going to cut you into bait, bitch!!!”

My father always saw me as a pawn, a tool to further his own goals. And when I refused to aid him willingly he sought to break me. But I resisted with everything I had!

Reflecting on her own past, Omega’s monotone wavers, carrying just the faintest echo of past rage in it. Meanwhile Shanks continues his charge across the engine room. With a flick of her eyes Omega tears a panel off of the wall and hurls it at him. The impact spins the former pirate around, but he manages to stay on his feet and keep going. Omega tears several more panels off of the wall in response, but instead of flinging them she merely holds them at the ready, seems to struggle with herself.

I was always a disappointment to him. He is much like the Baron in that if he cannot control something, he will destroy it. He thought he could control me, but he was wrong so many times before now!

With a single loud clatter, the bits of plating fall to the floor. And Omega closes her eyes as Shank nears, pulling his enchanted sword back for a swing.

I guess I shall always remain a disappointment. I don’t believe I ever told you this Sohssal. Before I was called Omega, my name was Dahlia . . . my name *is* Dahlia!

A moment later, and Shanks reaches his target. Still suffering from the effects of your paralysis spell, Omega is unable to defend herself. With a single swing of his blade, Shanks decapitates her, her head rolling off of her shoulders and her body crumpling to the ground in a heap. Xeric seems more annoyed than outraged at the death of his daughter, his nostrils flaring as he raises a hand towards Shanks.

“I did not put as much effort into shaping my daughter just so some smelly seafarer could kill her! Die like your treacherous lover, insect!”

But, of course, you were standing at the ready to counter Xeric’s next spell, and the magic harmlessly dissipates instead of striking Shanks. Now Xeric actually did appear to be angry as he turned back to you. A moment later, and some sort of immensely powerful magic went off nearby. Thanks to your demonic nature, you immediately were aware that your location was now merged with that of the Hells somehow. The arcs of electricity running from the soul crystals to the engine cut out immediately as well, and the air is now filled with a keening whine that suggests the angelic souls are quite aware of the change in their location, and like it even less. The voice of Fury, the director of the Baron’s airship or whatever, boomed into the room a moment later.

Primary power offline. Switching to backup generator.

At the far end of the rows of crystals, a new set begins to glow with a reddish light, sending off arcs of electricity into a smaller version of the main engine. Presumably these were the souls of fiends of one sort of another, as the crystals glowed brightly and a pleased cackling filled the room, undercutting the screaming coming from the other crystals. Evidently, the fiends didn’t mind the use they were being put towards as much, or perhaps being back in the Hells simply agreed with them. Your demonic half had to agree that it did feel good to be back “home” as it were. Unable or unwilling to expend more effort hurling magic at you, Xeric switching to curses instead.

“Damn you Sohssal. What did you hope to accomplish here, anyway? Crash the Baron’s airship? He’s going to do that anyway, right after he finishes off the Valkyrie!”

Xeric’s eyes travel up towards the ceiling.

“I can’t imagine it’s going to take much longer, either. You can spend the rest of eternity trapped in here with Her!!”

Regardless of what happens, Xeric wasn’t going to be around to see it. Shanks was closing in from behind with his enchanted sword, and while it likely wouldn’t have much more effect than anything else on Xeric’s projection, it would continue to unravel his hold on it. You could keep countering Xeric’s magic until eternity ends, leaving him with no option but to enjoy Shanks stabbing him in the face. That would consume more of your precious time, however. If you wanted to foil the Baron’s plans out of spite, you didn’t have much longer to act. And if you wanted to escape, whoever survived the confrontation between the Baron and the Valkyrie wasn’t going to be busy for much longer. Rushing in now to consume Xeric’s projection would probably work, but it would give him the opportunity to try yet another spell. Given what he’s accomplished so far, you would probably survive it just fine – Shanks might not, but then the pirate was expendable . . . except for the fact that he was your sole remaining ally. And he did rescue you . . . not that he didn’t benefit from your continued existence either.

WhiteKnight777

Shiakti’s only answer to your questions is a wordless howl of rage as she skitters forward. You meet in the middle, and Shiakti brings all four weapons to bear as one – the two halberds crashing down from above, followed immediately thereafter by the two scimitars scything in from the sides. Woe meets the weapons head-on, and with the sound of a thunderclap, tears through them, snapping both halberds’ shafts and shattering one of the scimitars’ blades. The fourth blade evades the clash, flashing around to slam into your side with the force of a runaway cart.

Even enchanted, your plate mail can’t protect you fully, and you feel at least one of your ribs break. That really hurt – and unfortunately as a mortal again, those kinds of wounds could quickly become debilitating. Shiakti’s scimitar fared little better than your rib, snapping off at the hilt from the blow. A moment later, Woe continued on to deliver a blow to Shiakti’s side, just above the waist . . . only to bounce harmlessly off of her carapace!

Laughing, Shiakti threw her broken weapons aside, and came at you like a beast, armed only with her four claws, with occasional stabbing kicks from her front legs. You managed to dodge most of the blows, trying to get an opening for another swing. But then your rib flares with pain, brining you up short in ducking under a backhand. The blow strikes you square in the chest, flinging you backward through the air to crash into a pile of ruined pews over a dozen feet away. You can just barely hear Shiakti over the dazed ringing in your ears.

“Umbra, yah fool! While you and ta othas were busy wasting yah immortality, I was practicing mah craft! Fah nearly thirty years I have been preparing for dis exact moment! Did yah really think yah could jus walk back in and reclaim yah title!? Yah have gotten soft - nothing more than one of those pathetic dandies yah hated so much!”

A moment later, and Fianna was beside you, uttering magic syllables as she traced her hands over your armor. Your head cleared immediately, and your rib kitted itself back together. Fianna smiles down at you, and then shoves you away before leaping back. An instant later, Shiakti leaped down into where you had just been lying, her forelegs stabbing down into the pews.

You roll aside and come back up to your feet, pondering how best to crack this bitch. Her armor was clearly impressive, but like all armor it was undoubtedly weak at the joints, and sufficient force at a small enough point would punch through even the thickest part. The force of a blow would also travel through the armor into the more delicate flesh beneath, but you doubted her organs were in the same spots anymore and her head was out of easy reach.

For a moment you consider trying to trick her into skewering herself on a broken pillar or other part of the trashed structure, but quickly abandoned that plan. Too unreliable, and Shiakti was insane, not stupid. Looks like you would need to rely on Woe possessing a sharper edge for the next blow.

Meanwhile, Fianna and Zariel have been busy. While Shiakti might be immune to Zariel’s illusions, her pets clearly weren’t. All of the lava spiders visible suddenly began to behave erratically, jumping at things there weren’t there, attacking each other, even a few simply collapsing to roll over onto their backs, legs tucked up despite not a mark on them. Within moments all of the lava spiders done on the floor of the cathedral are dead.

Not to be outdone, Fianna pulls what appears to be a snow globe out from her cloak. She shakes it for a moment, barks a sharp arcane word, and then throws it up into the ceiling as it begins to glow with a cold light. The globe gets caught by a strand of webbing, held there as the glow builds, and then flashes brilliantly as the globe shatters. From within the globe, hundreds of razor-sharp shards of ice scythe out, tearing apart the webbing and killing any remaining lava spiders lurking in the darkness. The wrapped angel dangles from a frayed strand for a moment, and then plunges down to the floor, giving a muffled scream over the wet crack of the impact with the floor. Still, the bundle continues to twitch and thrash, suggesting that Shiakti’s prisoner was not quite dead yet. At the loss of all of her pets, Shiakti screams an even higher-pitch screech, and then flings herself at you again.

(For the sake of time, I’m going to hustle the fight along to its next phase if you don’t mind. And if you do, well . . . oops? )

This time you are not slowed down by a broken rib, however, and manage to stay one step ahead of Shiakti’s scything claws. This is not to say that it was easy, but as you dance aside from each blow in turn, all of those memories of battles long past come rushing back. You don’t launch any counterstrikes, not right away – any wild blows would merely glance off of Shiakti’s armored hide. You needed your attack to be precise and brutal. When Shiakti overextended her one claw, there was your opportunity. Woe flashed out at the arm’s elbow, the blade snarling a promise not to fail again. The blade bit in, and then practically roared in triumph as it tore through Shiakti’s arm, severing it completely!

Shiakti grunts in pain for a moment, but then simply laughs. A few moments later, and a new limb begins to push itself out of the stump. Only instead of one arm emerging from the elbow, two clawed forearms take shape! Shiakti flexes the upper part of the arm, and it splits apart in grotesque fashion, forming two separate limbs, for a total of five arms now.

“Not gonna be tat easy, Umbra!!”

Shiakti taunts before lunging for you again. Given the ease with which Shiakti regenerated her limb, and indeed increased their count, it seemed unlikely that dismember was going to work. But it did prove that her armor was not unbreachable . . . which meant it was time to test the other method for defeating such protection.

Fianna provided your distraction for you, swinging around to Shiakti’s flank and peppering her body with shards of conjured ice. Most of the shards simply shattered ineffectively against her armor, but one managed to land a pin-point hit on one of her heads set into the side of her skull. Shiakti staggered with a scream as she reached one arm up to brush the dagger of ice out, and then growled as she turned her attention on Fianna. Working her bloated abdomen, Shiakti produced a long strand of webbing, which she snatched up in one claw to throw it at Fianna like a lasso. Your lover is able to dodge aside at the last moment, the strand attaching itself to a nearby pillar instead.

You sweep in from the other side at that very moment, hacking downward at one of Shiakti’s legs. As before, Woe severs the limb cleanly at a joint, and Shiakti wobbles on her now suddenly three legs. Throwing yourself into a slide, you kick out at the other leg on that side, and Shiakti immediately begins to fall. You’re not stupid enough to position yourself so that Shiakti would tumble down directly on top of you, crushing you, but you are close enough to position the tip of Woe directly into the path of her descent. There is a hideous screech as the tip of Woe slides along Shiakti’s armor, and then it is Shiakti that is screaming as the blade finally penetrates and slides smoothly into her much softer innards. You twist Woe without the wound expertly, and Shiakti’s screeching takes on a much higher-pitch.

Suddenly, Shiakti’s entire body seems to bungle, the armor plating being to bungle outward in strange places. You are just thinking about withdrawing to a safer location when Shiakti explodes, literally bursting apart as thousands of tiny spiders emerge from her body. Although much quieter now, the swarm still hisses in Shiakti’s voice.

“DIE!”

This was yet another new trick of Shiakti – she had never been able to split her consciousness between two bodies before, let alone thousands! How were you supposed to know she could transform into a swarm!?

The swarm of spiders sweeps out in all directions, covering the floor in a thick squirming carpet of arachnid bodies. Directly next to Shiakti, you take the brunt of the swarm’s immediate attention. Against these tiny terrors, there was no defense. You can feel dozens of the little bitches crawling into gaps in your armor that no blade or spell could even penetrate, displaying that impressive quality of spiders to squeeze through almost anything. Immediately after that your skin begins to burn from the pain of dozens of spider bites, and the swarm whispers to you, almost like a lullaby as you desperately try to stagger away from the bulk of it before more spiders could join the fun.

“Dis time I choose a species more known for tah paralyzin quality of its venom tan its toxicity. Yah muscles will lock up soon, but yah’ll still be able to feel and see . . . everything!!! It’s not going tah be over soon, Umbra – not fa yah!”

At that moment, something massive slams against the wall of the cathedral with incredible force, and the solid stone wall instantly gives way to allow water to rush in. For just a moment you are drowning, thrown back against the far wall with sufficient force to break every bone in your body were it not for the protection of your enchanted armor. As it was, it just hurt . . . a lot, and you suddenly found yourself barely clinging to consciousness. A moment later and the waters suddenly receded, leaving only perhaps a few inches of water still pooled over the cathedral’s floor. The wave of water had disrupted Shiakti’s swarm, scattering it about all over the cathedral, but the spiders continued to move about, shifting as one to some sort of species able to float on top of the water rather than drown. A few moments later, and a familiar one-armed figure stepped into the room.

“Well, well, well! Somebody started a friendly brawl and not invite me!?”

Gilgaem said with a grin. Proving he may well not be on anybody’s side but his own, he pulls an ornate trident off of his back a moment later.

“Guess I’ll get started in on the fun right now!”

Gilgaem spat an arcane word, causing the trident to crackle with electricity, and then he plunged the tip down into the water still pooled over the cathedral floor. Massive bolts of lightning suddenly arced out from the weapon, playing out over the water in all directions. Zariel was nowhere in sight, so you have no idea how he fared. Fianna managed to leap straight up with a curse, looking like a cat as she clung to a pillar above the electrified water.

Slowed by Shiakti’s poison, you don’t manage to get clear of the floor in time. Thankfully, your armor afforded you some protection from the lightning, but the sensation of being only half-electrocuted wasn’t pleasant. It did have the side benefit of frying any of the spiders within your armor that hadn’t already been washed out.

By far, Shiakti suffered the worst of you all, the lightning frying countless numbers of the disorganized and spread out swarm. The few surviving spiders suddenly flow together rapidly, magically pulled together as Shiakti’s form solidified into her normal human body. As the lightning ceased and Gilgaem stepped back to survey his work, Shiakti rolled over onto her back. The Huntress was covered in burns now, and her body shuddered and twitched uncontrollably from the lingering effects of the electricity.

Still she managed to somehow fumble a glass vial from her belt and hold it up.

“Da last vial of dragon’s blood! Been saving dis for ah speciah occassion!”

Then with desperate strength she sits up, chomping down on the glass vial and biting it apart, the glass shards shredding her mouth and her blood and the dragon’s pouring down her face. A face which begins to suddenly shift and contort once more, becoming far more reptilian and elongated as Shiakti’s head begins to take on a more angular form. Her body swells, rising up from the floor as she pushes herself up on four suddenly clawed feet. As her back nears the remains of the ceiling, leathery wings spring forth to shove against the ceiling, cracking it apart and sweeping stone and thick wooden beams in all directions. And a few moments after that, a fully formed black dragon is leering down at you all with milky white eyes, a sight you have not seen in over a thousand years.

“Well, I see now I didn’t bring a big enough stick.”

Gilgaem comments, a moment before the dragon roars and spews a blast of greenish eldritch fire, beginning to fill the shattered cathedral’s remains with it.

Dorizzit

Focused on trying to kill you, Cheran regenerates his arms first, leaving his destroyed leg spindly and his chest plating thin. Still, he manages to prop himself up on one knee, swinging his one wing cannon around to point at you. The tip glows in preparation to fire, and then suddenly winks out as the ground heaves beneath you. Instead of rain, blood begins to fall down onto the city, although that is little better for the purposes of your fire. Cheran seems to seize up for a moment, the malevolent light in his eyes fading to a dim glow. Then he starts moving again, pushing himself up to his feet.

“Aw hells.”

He grates out as he limps toward you, doing his best to avoid putting any weight on his still half-reformed leg. You also note that he appears unable to fly, and the cracks still visible in his armor plating are no longer flowing back together. Still, the Baron’s reborn son is dangerous, a fact that he proves a moment later as he twists his wings around in front of him – and then flings them at you, the wings disintegrating as they fly off into a hail of razor-sharp shards.

“Guess I don’t need these anymore!!”

Cheran taunts as the curtain of shards flies towards you, shredding you badly even as you try to erect a barrier of fire to evaporate them. A moment later and Cheran hobbles through the barrier, actually howling with rage now. Although he had been angry before, all of his previously displayed patience was gone now, and he was more like a wild beast than a man as he flung himself at you.

Unfortunately, even in his blind fury Cheran was still a threat, and although you manage to land a few blows, breaking his armor further, you are still not fully recovered and the blows that he lands in return are devastating. Finally, he picks you up and hefts you over his head. His claw-like fingers dig into your flesh like talons as he begins to limp back towards the collapsed house.

By this point the house has totally fallen into the rift, and now there is nothing more than a gaping hole in the earth, which continues to expand outward at a frightening rate. From below you had heard the mad cackling of fiends, and shadows dance and shift in the crimson light pouring up out of the rift. As he nears the edge, Cheran totters to a stop and hefts you in preparation for a throw.

“See you in the Hells, Korram!!”

Honestly, you couldn’t have planned this better yourself. Cheran’s leg was still unstable, and he seems unable to fly or heal from his wounds. All you had to do was make sure Cheran’s planned outcome had a different and tragic (for him) result!

(In the words of Mortal Combat: FINISH HIM!! Also, then feel free to rocket up towards the Gastly Truth – there’s nothing to get in Korram’s way now with all the angels and GHASTs grounded.)

[Inspectre]

The Hero of the Oppressed

OverWilliam

(Going to go through this a little quickly now. Better hold on tight! )

You and Limier finish the three Inquisitors within seconds – and judging from the lack of shouts from beneath the room, quietly enough not to raise the alarm. Someone elsewhere might very well have heard the explosion, but if they had, no alarms were being sounded quiet yet. As Limier moved up to join you at the door leading deeper into the Inquisitor’s home, she spared a glance at the Inquisitor you had just slain. And then, almost unnoticeably, she nodded her head at you in a gesture of respect.

From there you rushed through the rest of the Inquisitor complex, taking by surprise and swiftly killing anyone you came across. The complex beneath the simple Inquisitor chapel was immense, a confusing maze of hallways and locked doors that would have made Ironheart proud. The only thing that kept you and Limier alive was the element of surprise, and a healthy stock of healing potions. Thankfully, you only had to handle the Inquisitors in discrete, unaware groups, and even then only occasionally – Ulrich was doing his job well of pulling the majority of the Inquisitors away aboveground.

Finally, you make it into some sort of holding cell area. Waiting for you there are Jonas and Hanah, both of them looking battered, but still alive and with no injuries that wouldn’t heal given time. Unfortunately, Melcara was nowhere in sight.

“Ah, you’re a sight for sore eyes lad!”

Jonas said as you fetched the keys to throw open the cell door.

“Is Karami alright?”

Hanah asked, and that was a question that brought you up short. But before the look on your face could potentially lead them both to think the worst, Limier speaks up.

“She’s fine. Safe. We’ll be taking you there as soon as we locate the last of Tare’s friends.”

Jonas looks over at Limier as if noticed her for the first time.

“And just who the Hells are you!?’

Limier rolls her eyes.

“Does it matter? I’m another friend of Tare’s. One who had better be well compensated at the end of all this!”

Unfortunately, neither of Karami’s foster parents knew what had happened to Melcara or where she was – they had been separated since arriving here. And, most worryingly, although the Inquisitors had not been gentle in probing the two of them for answers, Inquisitor Silverton had naturally spent almost all of his time away questioning (torturing) Melcara. Limier, as usual, had a solution for this problem although it wasn’t exactly pleasant.

“Alright, instead of wasting any more time stumbling around down here in the hopes of getting answers, let’s just ask one of them instead!”

Limier said, nodding at one of the dead Inquisitors now sprawled on the floor – one with an intact throat. Pulling a black vial from her belt, she opened it and smeared the viscous contents over the corpse’s lips. Immediately it shuddered, seeing to come to life, although unlike usual necromancy this seemed to only affect the body’s lips.

“What do you want? Why have you interrupted my slumber?”

The corpse croaked, air wheezing through the holes in its chest as it expanded to take in more air to continue speaking.

“I’m the only asking the questions here! Now then, there was a fallen angel you brought here recently. What did you do with her, and where is she now!?’

Here the corpse laughed, a truly chilling sound.

“We put the bitch into Entombment. She’s going to spend the next several thousand years locked in a box, buried like the trash she is!”

“Yes yes, great, wonderful. And where exactly did you bury her?”

Limier said, refusing to get distracted or disturbed by the corpse’s words or behavior – clearly she had done this on more than once occasion.

“In the graveyard behind the chapel, with the rest of the filth!”

“Great, that’s all we needed. Thanks.”

Limier said, and then she slit the corpse’s throat, hacking at it until she has completely severed the head, which she throws into a distant corner with a look of disgust.

“Damn thing will be talking for a couple hours yet. Ugh, I hate using that stuff!”

Still looking disgusted as she cleaned her blade off, Limier shrugged.

“Alright, looks like we know where to go. The graveyard is aboveground, which could be dicey if the Inquisitors are still swarming around the place. Honestly, it’s probably better if you go on alone, invisible. Meanwhile, I’ll get these two out the way we came. Remember – the Inquisitors know how to sense when there’s something invisible sneaking around, but they’re still just human – keep your distance and keep quiet, and you should be fine. Certainly would be better than trying to sneak around perfectly visible, anyway. There was a stairway leading up that we passed a couple rooms back – hopefully that will lead you up.”

Limier pauses a moment, and then shrugs and decides to add two words.

“Good luck.”

Splitting up halfway back to your explosive-fashioned entrance, you turn invisible and head up the stairs to places unknown. You do your best to conserve your invisibility, aware now that there were limits to your magical ability and it wasn’t wise to drain them too severely – you were likely going to need all of your strength soon enough. You weren’t sure if going up, where the Inquisitors were already alerted but not expecting you and potentially less numerous thanks to Ulrich drawing them away was better or worse. Either way, you were driven to see this through – Melcara was counting on you to rescue her from a fate worse than death.

Somehow, through skill or divine providence or sheer dumb luck, you manage to make your way up through into the aboveground portion of the Inquisitor’s home without being discovered and killed. In fact, you encountered only two Inquisitors on your way, both of them clearly unhappy with being relegated to guard duty with the rest of their comrades in arms were out and about. From there, it was simple to find your way outside through an open window and make your way around to the graveyard. Unfortunately, here you ran into another problem – although there were gravestones, they were all blank and featureless. Worse yet, the Inquisitors had taken care to preserve the sod, preventing the possibility of there being a glaringly obvious freshly dug grave. But you extend your senses, praying out to the gods, to any god, to listen to you and direct your steps. And then you started wandering down the roads, straining to find what you were looking for.

Something causes you to stop in front of one such random grave, and somehow, you just knew that this was the right one. That still left the issue of clearing the six feet of dirt between you and the casket, alone, without tools. Here was a place where your magical strength came in handy. Scarcely had you imagined it – indeed, you hadn’t even really formed the magic into a clear idea in your head before you gestured, and the soil responded. Like a tidal wave, the ground before you rose up and parted, throwing itself up into a pile off to one side and leaving a deep hole extending down into the bottom. As it turned out, either the Inquisitors had gotten lazy or they had some hidden reason for it, but the grave was only three feet deep instead of the usual six. That was about all the favors the Inquisitors had done for you though, as at the bottom of those three feet was a large, menacing-looking metal coffin, sealed shut with several levers and one very complex looking lock.

Unable to do any more work from three feet above it, you gently lower yourself down into the grave on top of the coffin. It’s at that point that you finally notice the wild, mournful screaming coming from within the coffin, barely audible beyond the thick metal. Screaming which abruptly stops at the sound of your feet touching down against the metal.

“Is someone out there!? Oh, please!!! Please, I don’t care who you are! I don’t care what you do to me!! JUST LET ME OUT!! OH GODS, PLEASE JUST LET ME OUT!!!”

Melcara screamed faintly from within the coffin. You hear a faint pounding on the other side of the coffin’s lid, followed by a soft snick, and a scream of actual pain this time. Then Melcara’s voice again, more a whimper now than a scream.

“Please let me out.”

Accomplishing that might be easier said than done. You could defeat the lock given enough time, but other than some Inquistor looking out and seeing someone was digging up one of their “graves”, you weren’t worried about that. What you were worried about was that judging from what just happened, Melcara’s coffin had been booby-trapped somehow. And if you weren’t very careful when unlocking and opening it, one or both of you could get a very sharp object driven into a very fatal spot.

The Last Lost Archangel

The_Snark

Although you were terrified and confused by the sudden madness your world has plunged into, you refused to do something you felt – no, knew in the very depths of your soul – was wrong. And as you remained silent, while the villagers began to pass lit torches around and approach the pile of wood beneath your feet, it was Seer Maya’s turn to grow confused. Gritting her teeth, she reached up and dragged her fingernails down her face in mounting frustration, leaving deep rents in the side of her face that didn’t bleed like normal wounds.

“What are you doing!? Why are you silent!? Do you think I won’t? Do you think I won’t watch you burn Marisiel!!? Speak! SAY IT! SAY IT! ADMIT THAT YOU WERE WRONG! ADMIT IT!!”

Seer Maya shrieked, her voice still unheard by anyone but you. As she ranted, her voice suddenly changed, to a more familiar tone, in a different time and place. A male voice, screaming the exact same words at you in the exact same way, while you scream in agony as something sharp digs torturously into your flesh over and over until at last there is nothing but cold, black serenity. Returning to the present, you watch as Seer Maya throws her hands up.

“Fine. Fine! Keep your naïve outlook! Die for it as you have so many times before!”

The torch bearing members of the crowd press in, leering at you as they lower the torches towards the wood. But before your funeral pyre catches light, a strong voice calls out from the back.

“HOLD IT!”

The crowd freezes, and then parts, allowing you to see that at the back of the crowd was Jacob, a sledgehammer slung over one shoulder. And although he was clearly uncertain as he faced down the entire crowd, he looked ready to use his makeshift weapon. Peeking out from behind his legs was Caroline, who gasped and called your name, starting to run forward before Jacob pulled her back with his free hand, shoving her back around behind him again.

“What in the gods’ name do you people think you’re doing!?”

“Who the Hells ARE YOU!? Uh, I mean, we’re burning this evil witch at the stake!!”

Seer Maya called out, quickly pressing a hand up against her torn cheek before anyone could notice the strange wound. Jacob snorted in reply.

“And I’m Athelion! What, it’s not enough for you people to ostracize anyone you don’t like anymore, you have to burn them alive now instead!?”

Jacob sneered at the crowd, and then gestured at you with his free hand.

“That poor innocent girl saved my son! She’s been nothing but a blessing since she arrived, and now you want to tell me that she deserves to die!? For WHAT!?”

“Dad, don’t you remember!? She tried –“ William began, but Jacob cut him off, jabbing a finger at him.

“I heard every lie you spat out of your mouth, son! I didn’t raise a liar, so I sure as Hells don’t know where you came up with that filth! But rest assured, as soon as we’re done here we’re going to have a long talk! Now as for the rest of you!!”

Jacob turned back to the crowd, waving his finger menacingly.

“I’ve lived in this town my entire life. I’ve seen and heard every dirty secret, every evil little thing you’ve all done. Not a single one of you is innocent! And considering the mule **** I just heard my son spew, I’m really starting to wonder how truthful your own stories were! So I’m going to fix your problem for you! You’re going to cut Mar loose right now, she and my son are coming with me, and we’re leaving this ****hole town and we’re never coming back! So then you won’t have to worry your hypocritical little selves with whether she’s a danger to your town or not! Cut her loose, NOW! Or you had better be prepared to burn more than one innocent person tonight to satisfy your bloodlust!”

In the face of Jacob’s righteous fury, the crowd’s hysteria began to fade. A new murmur began to wash over the crowd, although now it was more an expression of confusion rather than fury. Some of them started to even openly wonder what they had just been saying, or even question why they were here. Dropping her hand away from her face, Seer Maya grimaced and marched forward, shoving her way through the crowd.

“Some things just have to be done yourself!”

Reaching the front of the crowd, Seer Maya snatched a torch out of the hands of a villager, shot one last hateful look at you, and then dropped the torch onto the wood pile. It immediately ignited and began to spread, the heat immediately beginning to become painful and the smoke stinging your eyes.

William’s eyes went wide, and he stumbled back, his eyes fixated on Seer Maya’s face. He points up at the non-bleeding wound and shouts.

“Look!”

He says, and now there was something new of the villagers to discuss as another wave of confused whispers washed over the crowd.

“I think we’ve found the real witch!”

Somebody suddenly calls out, and now the crowd was working back up into an angry frenzy. Seer Maya sighs and rolls her eyes.

“Alright, fine. You peasants want to see some real magic? I’ll show you some REAL MAGIC!!!”

At a gesture from Maya, the flames now consuming the pyre and licking at your feet leap out at the crowd, streaking out in a fiery line over to several of the nearby buildings, immediately lighting them on fire. Now the place was in complete chaos, people running everywhere and screaming as the fires started to spread out across the entire hamlet. Not that it was going to matter much to you in another minute or two, writhing in agony as much as your bonds allowed as the flames caught your dress and hair on fire. Your screams suddenly seemed to trigger something in Julian, who until now had been simply standing there in that odd daze. Shaking his head, he looks over at you, and suddenly seems to see you for the first time.

“MAR!!”

He shouts, throwing himself up onto the pyre without any concern for his own safety. Producing that same dagger he had been threatening to slit your throat with, he wildly hacks through the rope holding you to the stake. He pulls you free and then falls back off of the pyre, dragging you with him. The two of you roll around on the cold ground for a moment, and then he is on top of you, swatting out the flames still licking your dress and hair. You were hurt fairly badly from the flames, but being horribly burned was honestly nothing new to you by now. At least you were still alive, plucked from the jaws of death by the people who had come to accept you, to accept you as a friend – family even. As he carefully cuts the remains of the rope binding you free, tears run down Julian’s cheeks, and he seems barely able to force the blubbering words out through his sobs.

“I’m sorry Mar, I’m so sorry! I don’t know what I was doing, what I was thinking! Please forgive me! I’m so, so terribly sorry!”

Over Julian’s shoulder, you suddenly see Seer Maya approaching, her face a mask of fury. She grabs hold of Julian, pulling him up to his feet and away from you with surprising strength for her frail frame. Ignoring the young knight, she leers down at you, still in a fair bit of pain from your injuries and unfortunately too debilitated for the moment to stop her.

“You people really need to learn that there is a very ****ing high price to pay for being heroic! I think it’s time to for us to say our final farewells, Marisiel! But I think we ought to have a little privacy for that intimate moment, don’t you think? Be at the summit of the mountain that overlooks this pathetic hovel by morning, or I will peel the flesh from this young lad’s body, and then come back down here and do the same to every single person I can find! Bye now!”

And with that, Seer Maya spat out some sort of strange word, and disappeared along with Julian. Jacob was at your side a moment later, along with Caroline and William. William hung back, refusing to look at you and his cheeks flushed with shame. Caroline kept calling your name in that same panicked tone, while Jacob actually had something useful to offer – a blanket to cover yourself with, and the priest who was looking even more sheepish than William.

“Easy now Marion. I’ve got the good Brother here, and while he’ll probably be needed elsewhere before the night is out, he’s going to take care of you first.”

The brother slowly nodded.

“I sincerely apologize for my part of this near tragedy. That evil woman had pulled the wool over all of our eyes. There is no excuse for what we did to you. I can only hope that, in time, you can find it in your heart to forgive us all. I can heal some of your injuries, but I will need to touch the actual burns to heal them. Is . . . that alright?”

Actually, the pain was already started to fade. You weren’t going to be great for some time, but as Daddy had long ago learned, you healed fast. He had made it sound like you were some sort of evil freak, but you knew why now . . . Marisiel. Given time, you would be fine, and the brother should probably look to his own fickle flock, some of whom would doubtless get burned trying to put out the fires Seer Maya had started. Poetic justice really, but you don’t really feel vindicated or good about it. This whole thing was just an unpleasant mess that left you feeling sick and tired. Why could nothing ever be simple anymore!? But there was one thing that was simple enough – you needed to get up to the summit of the mountain by dawn, or everyone here would die anyway, even if the fires were all extinguished.

The New God on the Block

Gorgondantess Theater

(We did a few PMs before Gorgondantess left for the past couple months. Yes, progress really has been that slow. )

Augustus' words wiped the smile right off her face. To be perfectly honest, she was just relishing him writhing at the end of a blade; she fully intended to let him live through this, and follow through with her plan to kill the next High Warden.
And once again, Quadramus comes out of nowhere. He seemed to have an incredible knack for being in the right place at the right time. She glares at him.
"Leave us be."
Turning back to Augustus, she kneels down, all seriousness.
"Your efforts will not have been in vain. The Archdemons will not run free- you have my word on that."
And yet she couldn't risk having the wildcard of Augustus floating around. An amalgamation of Archdemons, and a human soul- once revived, what would happen? She was fortunate herself to be relatively benign.
"But you will die. That seems to be inescapable at this point. So think about what you'd like to happen after your death- think about your last wishes- and put on a happy face. Let's make this pleasant."
Despite her words, she doesn't seem to be happy. Quite the contrary, in fact. But she is respectful, and lifting him out of the flesh below, cradling him in her arms, she absorbs him. Absorbs everything. Absorbs his soul, his essence, and his last, fleeting thoughts.

DM Reply

At your dismissal of him yet again, Quadramus frowns but steps back into the shadows, watching the proceedings without further comment. At your stated intentions, Augustus closes his eyes with a soft sigh. He is silent for several long seconds, and then speaks.

“I want the Dusk Wardens to continue on in peace and safety. I suspect that they will have no choice but to work with you. Even so, if they continue to believe that you murdered me, there will be no hope for peace – Nu will have gotten exactly what he wanted. I have no desire to see another Nu take up the mantle of High Warden, as his influence will be considerable even without the direct power of the sealed Archdemons. Perhaps I should name Omnicron as my successor then – he is the only one whose loyalty to you is certain.”

Augustus pauses a moment more, and then nods.

“Yes, that is all I want. Promise me that you will not harm any of my people except should self-defense become necessary. Let my death be the blood price to balance the scales for what my people did to you and the rest of your kind. But before I expire there is one last thing to do - please, take those leads there and attach them to my forehead. Those should be enough to allow me to address my people.”

(For the purposes of moving things along, I’m going to assume that you fulfill Augustus’s last request. You’re welcome to refuse in your next post, but then you better likewise post a plan for how you are going to deal with the army of Dusk Wardens outside. )

You grab hold of the leads and pull them down to the floor, the ends of them snaking off to attach to Augustus’s forehead of their own accord. The High Warden’s eyes slide closed, and then he begins to speak slowly, forcing each word to come out clearly.

“My people, stop what you are doing immediately! We have all been deceived by one man’s treacherous vision! Nu has attempted to usurp my authority, and go against my direct wishes by assaulting this town and its inhabitants! He has died a traitor’s death, and any who have chosen to stand with him must likewise suffer a similar fate!”

Despite his best efforts, Augustus stops to wheeze in pain before continuing.

“It is only thanks to the Archdemon itself that Nu’s treachery was put to an end! Regrettably, my own injuries are beyond the power of any mortal healer. Although I wish it were not so, the time has come for me to leave you. In my place, I nominate Omnicron to serve as your new High Warden! Give him the same level of respect you have given me these past years! Farewell . . .”

Augustus slumps, and the leads fall off his head to hang down limply.

“It is done. I am ready to depart this world.”

You lift him up out of the flesh holding him into the floor, and then cradle him to your chest. It is strange to think of merging like this now, after both you and Augustus had been so against it during your previous meeting. But then, that was more of a question of him absorbing you . . . although in the end would there be any real difference? You would never know, but you are determined to continue to exist as you are now. Augustus goes with one final sigh, and then the last of his flesh is subsumed into yours. There is no physical change, save for the fact you are slightly larger now, having absorbed Augustus’s mass into yours.

Mentally and spiritually, however, the effect is similar to having released a tornado within you. Vestiges of other minds, little left save for flashes of memory or lingering hunger, howl within your own mind. They rip and tear at your own mind from all directions, each of them attempting to blindly assume control of their new host. You are far stronger than any of them individually, but the comparison is like a single bear against a pack of wolves. You batter one of them into submission only for two more to leap onto the unsecure parts of your mind.

Eventually, to their joint surprise you manage to remain dominant over all of them, smashing them into submission one after another until none possess the will to continue. But that still left you with all of their shattered knowledge and thoughts, an immense library of experiences that it would take you an eternity to organize into anything coherent. And beneath the surface, the other presences now sharing your body, your soul, your mind continued to linger, tugging gently in opposite directions. Any one, or all, of them could mount a resurgence at any time, and next time it might be at a crucial moment. But for the moment at least, you had no way to control them – was this what Augustus had to deal with every moment of every day? Or did the former High Warden have some secret manner of controlling them that he had not shared with you? You think you may have sensed some vestige of Augustus within you now as well, but like the others it had only been a glimpse of a shattered presence. For now at least, you were on your own for dealing with these other creatures now co-inhabiting your body. You are startled out of your self-inventory by Quadramus suddenly breaking out into mad laughter.

“And thus the sun sets on the accursed Dusk Wardens! The Time of Certainty is nearly upon us! Athelion the Life-Bringer show us the path!”

Turning to face the wall, Quadramus brings a hand up and plunges it into the wall. The flesh readily accepts his arm, and it sinks in up to the elbow. You feel a wash of power radiate out from Quadramus, and the dead beast around you shudders violently. Quadramus begins to chant something, a passage from some memorized text given his rote recitation of it. You barely pay it any mind as you race across the room towards him, intent on stopping him from doing whatever it was he was doing – you could clearly sense that his uninterrupted success would be a bad thing. Plus, you never much cared of the ******* anyway.

“The stars shall fall, and the ground shall wither. Those Who Sleep shall awake, and chaos shall follow after. Upon its funeral pyre the world shall burn, until the Certain King shall come forth to lead all into the darkness of perfect death.”

Reaching Quadramus, you shut him up by plunging your claws into his chest. Surprisingly, your hands meet even less resistance than usual for flesh, a sensation which is explained a moment alter as the obnoxious human melts away like a mist. You’d never seen a human do something like that before, which suggests that Quadramus was not just some withered old man. Fortunately, your attack seems to have disputed his form, and the man does not reappear. Likewise, your dispatch of his mist body interrupted whatever it was he was doing to the Archdemon’s corpse. Nonetheless, its body continues to shudder violently, and indeed even seemed to be growing increasingly violent in its motions.

“The bonds holding its body together have been severed.”

Omnicron’s sister whispers from her position on the nearby wall, her eyes still focused on a faraway point.

“Soon, they will dissolve entirely, and its body will be immediately converted into energy. The blast will destroy everything within a one mile radius – nothing will survive.”

The girl’s eyes suddenly regain their clarity, shifting over to lock gazes with your own eyes.

“We have only a few minutes. I . . . I can control the beast if you connect me to it, and are willing to provide it with power. That was what Nu was using Augustus for – dead flesh won’t move under its own power”

It seems like your choices are either to move the Archdemon corpse far away before it explodes, or get far away from it before it explodes. In a couple minutes, you could easily get far enough away, but that would leave the assembled Dusk Wardens, the townsfolk . . . and Maurice still in the explosion. That wasn’t much of a choice, then . . . unless you went and grabbed Maurice before flying off. The fate of these humans meant nothing to you . . . but clearly they did mean a lot to Maurice. That was, after all, why she turned back to fight the Dusk Wardens, prompting you to come back as well. Leaving them all to die now would undoubtedly upset her – but did you really want to risk everything on the hope that you could get this thing far enough away in time?

The Seeker of Truth

Kasanip

You smash down the door and storm through to the other side, ready for anything. You were probably less than a minute behind the treacherous Duncan, and yet he was nowhere in sight. Fortunately, you didn’t have to go very far to find his lair. Down the stairs and around the first intersection, and there you were.

Around the intersection’s corner off to your left was a medium-sized room, perhaps an old storage chamber where the Tribunal kept ancient records or something less important like spare torches and oil. Whatever its purpose had been previously, it was now the epicenter for some sort of dark ritual.

Torches had been set into the floor at regular intervals, forming a rough circle around some sort of runic sigil. On the far side of that sigil was a makeshift altar, atop which was Cherise, bound and gagged. Something wasn’t right here.

You had been less than a minute behind Duncan, and somehow he had not only gotten down here, tied Cherise up, but also still had time to hide? He could have an accomplice or used magic, you supposed. Cherise or her bonds did seem to be radiating some sort of magic – you couldn’t really sort out which because there was some sort of interference with your Phantasmal Descrying Eye. The same sort of interference, you realized, that there had been in Dark Falls. It wasn’t bad enough to leave you blind, not yet anyway, but the presence of that foul magic was more than enough to chill your bones. You were starting to get an inkling of what Duncan’s master plan was.

As for the master traitor himself, there was no sign of him. You caught occasional flickers of magic in the dark corners of the room, but couldn’t tell whether those were from the runic circle – the center of the foul magic – or if they were glimpses of some sort of invisibility glammer. Certainly, there was more than one dark corner in the room that could be hiding Duncan without him needing to use any magic at all. You were going to have to be very careful here.

Suddenly, Cherise’s eyes popped open, and they widened even further as they focused on you. Cherise said something, but the sound was muffled into uselessness by the gag. She managed to incline her head in a beckoning fashion, clearly wanting you to come over and help her. This smelled like a trap.

The Perpetual Princess (of Peril)

Lonna

(Time to hit the fast forward button. You really should post something as we go along though if you want a say in Pyrene’s ultimate fate. )

In the end, you decide to go with your original plan – to sneak in while disguised and learn as much as you can. If Ariella was in danger, you would rescue her immediately. If not, you would have more time to plan and figure out how to escape with her. Since Duke Volesin’s staff had seemed willing to welcome messengers at any time of day, you decided to go with that deception again. With one unfortunate but necessary addition to the plan – Wulfric was not coming along.

You knew he would be furious later, but if things went wrong you would rather have him trying to spring a rescue from outside than be caught with you. At least he seemed quite capable of finding you again, no matter the trouble you found yourself in. It was, in a way, rather comforting, although like everything else that was only a dim feeling now.

Also as usual, it was fairly easy to get away from Wulfric. One trip to the marketplace, ostensibly for the purpose of procuring supplies, and one imp sent out to sew chaos later, the place was in a complete chaos. Caught in the middle of it, and with several merchants led to believe that Wulfric was somehow responsible, it would be awhile before Wulfric would be able to get away. Meanwhile, you slipped away in the chaos and immediately headed for the duke’s estate.

Along the way you ducked into a side alley and emerged a few moments later once again in the disguise illusion of the male messenger. Confident in your ability to get inside the front door by claiming to have a message to deliver to Duke Volesin, you head right up to the gates. The guards, not suspecting anything wrong, let you right in as planned. What you didn’t count on was being shown into the front foyer, and a few minutes later Duke Volesin himself coming out!

“Yes? I heard you had a message for me?”

The obviously not-dead man asked.

The Approaching Challenger

Vegna

“Sounds like a deal to me. We can drink to it! Although I’m pretty sure I could drink you under the table, heh.”

Val’Tosh rumbles, pushing himself up to his feet. The two of you head over to the kitchen, getting a simple meal with some ale – you have a tankard, Val’Tosh has a small cask. You are just finishing up your meal when Val’Tosh is called for his match. It seems there was going to be no rest for you after all.

A fairly large crowd is still standing around the fighting pit, but you manage to slip around to a place where you can watch the fight. It would seem your new friend is fighting against a tall, wiry man named Dulsa Thoom. The two could not be more different from one another – you are starting to wonder if maybe that was the intent of this first round of competition.

Val’Tosh’s opponent was not without surprises of his own, however, as shortly after the fight began Dulsa turned himself into a giant fanged serpent! Unfortunately for him, despite the increased size from his transformation Dulsa still did not possess Val’Tosh’s strength. The lack of limbs also didn’t help him much, but at least the snake was slippery and managed to evade Val’Tosh’s attempts to grapple and wrestle him into submission.

In the end though, the fight was a foregone conclusion, and Val’Tosh eventually battered his opponent into submission through brute strength. Although during the applause of the crowd the ogre is smiling and claps his beefy hands in appreciation, after he has rejoined you in solitude he is frowning.

“Argh, that guy was a freak. I think I pulled something when I was slamming him headfirst into the ground. Mind coming with me to visit the healers?”

As you are walking along to the healers’ section of the underground complex, Val’Tosh lowers his head, his rumbling voice barely above a whisper.

“I don’t know if I’m going to go much farther here Mal. I beat that guy, but that’s because he was an idiot and thought turning into a giant snake would help him. I doubt the next guy is going to make that same sort of mistake though. And like I said, I don’t have a whole lot of fighting skill – hah! I didn’t even grow up among my own kind, so I don’t even really know how to put my strength to good use. Just sort of flail around and hope for the best – actually, I prefer just using my size and reputation of ogres to intimidate people so I don’t have to fight at all!”

The ogre gives you another toothy grin, and you can see how such a look given at the right moment would cause the average person to rethink their priorities in life. The ogre gives a laugh and shrug, wincing as the motion pulls his shoulder the wrong way.

“Anyway, I’ve already got what I wanted from this tournament – finding a fellow Terra Nova practitioner. So winning this tournament, getting my heart’s desire? Bah, no need. Although . . . you haven’t told me what you wanted to get from this. I assume you’re here for some reason. I know you said your master was dead now. Did he . . .?”

The ogre’s eyes suddenly light up as he finally comes up with the thought that he had already confirmed for you with his story.

“He wasn’t murdered, was he? Drowned in a bucket of water!?”

[WhiteKnight777]

Umber

Waterlogged, electrocuted, mauled and poisoned, Umber rose from the water a bedraggled wreck. His face twitching in pain, he managed to speak. "Gihgham. How nish to shee yoo again." He grimaced, his words slurred by the paralyzing effect of the venom. Power brimmed in his veins - he'd been holding back the reserves, planning on saving them for the fight with the Baron... but it seemed he would need some of them now. The energies taken from a few score dead washed through him, burning the poison out in a single flash of fiery agony that left his nerves screaming. He slumped, the pain threatening to overwhelm him - ye gods, mortality was irksome! he panted, spitting out a mouthful of water and stray spiderbits, looking more like a half-drowned corpse than a lord of blood - but the eyes that peered out from beneath his stringy, dripping hair burned with the same old intensity. He nodded to Gilgeam as the mass of arachnids began to come together once more, his aplomb seemingly unshaken by everything. Ironheart had been worse.

"Good to see you, old friend. Seems we're living in interesting times once again, eh? Did you see Kartul's army? My gods, but the man has gauche tastes."

He looked towards the fallen shapeshifter, sighing with genuine regret. "But I think there are even less present echoes of the past we're going to have to deal with today." His lips set in a firmed line, his hands already beginning to work as Shakati assumed her latest shape. Umber looked... singularly unimpressed. "A dragon, Shakati? You do remember that they died out, don't you?" He raised Woe, setting the blade on one armored shoulder. "Not particularly auspicious."

He flicked the blade out, gesturing imperiously with his other hand. The standing water in the room surged up into a dozen columns that spread branches out, forming thorned, crystaline trees of razor-sharp ice all around her - none of them sharp enough to kill, but it would cost Shakati something to move - and it gave them cover besides, the ice baffling sounds and voices, the chill and Umber's own sodden form temporarily bereft of scent.

He heard the thunder rumble overhead and smirked. The Djinn had done their work... and he could feel the pulse of the storm overhead. He gestured once, and lightning split the roof overhead of Shakati's position... and the rain began to pour in. He smiled grimly at Gilgeam. "you might want to cover yourself. And stay out of the water. Honestly, I hadn't planned on so many... old friends. Still between Kartul and the hellspawn I feel running around, this should be... interesting."

Umber suddenly lunged forward, his smile turning evil as rain poured in - rain laced with every plundered jar of holy water he had been able to beg, steal, or buy in the cities of the south, mixed with melted silver from every temple he'd been able to plunder. The scent of burning undead flesh filled the air, and Umber grinned through the warm rain. Mortality... had its advantages, after all.

Umber ran through the crystalline forest, gesturing violently - a pillar of violet lightning from the storm above arced down through the roof, striking the shapeshifter. Shakati was quick - but her draconic form was bulky, and now hedged in by Umber's forest. He just hoped that the rest of them would figure out what to do, and hurled himself through the air, locking his armored legs around Shakati's neck. He raised Woe above his head in a two-handed grip, driving into the soft spot at the back of the skull - perversely hopeful that his old friend's death would be a quick one.

[Dorizzit]

Korram the Purifier

Korram growls in frustration as he forces himself to his feet and closes the wound inflicted by Cheran. He readies himself to jump out of the way of Cheran's attack, but this is soon proved unnecessary as the ritual to bring hell to the city is completed. Korram looks around suspiciously, unsure of what to expect. This proves to be a mistake, however, as Cheran's attack with his wings catches Korram off guard, lacerating him despite his best efforts to avoid it.

Weakened by the blades and still off balance from the transition into the hells, Korram soon finds himself overwhelmed by Cheran's furious assault. After slamming Korram into the ground, Cheran hefts Korram over his head and carries him over to the edge of an expanding chasm in the ground. Cheran takes a moment to taunt Korram in his seeming victory. This moment is all Korram needs. Heaving himself to the side, Korram painfully rips himself free of Cheran's clawed grip, before landing directly behind his enemy.

Korram cripples Cheran's strong leg with a thrust of his hand, transmuted to stone to increase the damage. Cheran gasps as he realizes the crippling situation he has been forced into, but has no time to respond. Jumping off the ground, Korram plants both legs in Cheran's back, sending him staggering forward. He lands heavily on his back, then for good measure sweeps Cheran's legs out from under him. There is a brief span of a few seconds as Cheran falls, unable to catch himself. Korram rises.

"You'd better hope that you don't. Because nothing down there is worse than me."

With a long, panicked scream, Cheran is sent toppling into the abyss, his cries echoing even after he has vanished from sight. Korram glares after him for a few seconds to make sure there will be no surprises, healing his wounds as he does so. He then backs away from the edge of the rift, wary of following Cheran to his fate.

Korram pauses for a few seconds, catching his breath and recovering some of his power. After he finishes, Korram glares up into the sky at the Gastly Truth. Igniting his hands and feet, Korram rockets into the sky towards the airship. It was time to finish this.

[Vegna]

Mal Harath

At Val'Tosh's doubt, Mal places a comforting hand as high as he can reach, to the ogre's uninjured shoulder.

"You'll make it. After watching that fight, I certainly wouldn't want to face you in the arena."

But his optimistic expression drops, as Val asks his question, as does his hand.

"Yes. I was obvious that he'd been fighting. He even damaged his own house with the stone pillars he'd shaped, but, somehow, something had gotten through all his defences and drowned him. In a bucket, a bucket! What kind of being could so casually avoid everything my master had, and then drowned him in a bucket?"

With a conspiratorial look to his friend, Mal tells Val his theory,

"Either who did this wanted to shame our masters, to think that they could face such a low end. Or ... they were trying to hide that the drowning was magically induced. Either way, I refuse to believe that the dwarf who trained me could have so easily been held under the water."

Walking the earth, no home, no friends for any real time. Nothing, because of his duty. The sight of his dead mentor was the clearest memory in his mind, and everytime he looked at it, the less possible it seemed. But it had happened. And he was determined that that would be the last of it.

"That's what my heart's desire is, to know and find the people who did this. And if you say that your master was targetted also, than whoever did this maybe becoming after us, and I for one am not going to let them catch me sleeping."

He takes a low, deep breath, as he ends his angry rant. Habitually rubbing his palms as a way of venting, the wanderer returns back to his calmer state, by the time they began to reach the healers. He stops a few paces from the entrance, so the discussion can remain in privacy.

"I won't ask you to join me, as my plans may prove to not suit to yours. But I'll tell you now, mastery of Terra style comes second to stopping who's behind this."

Turning into the healer's quarter, he keeps an wary eye out for Skor Pon, as he asks for the medical attendants to check the marks from his earlier fight.

[Archpaladin Zousha]

Hondshioh

"There's no point in evacuating the city now. We're in the Hells, there'd be nowhere safe to take them. Ander is right. The Baron is the center of all this. We have to stop him before we can save anyone. We fly in by way of the sea, while the rest of our ground forces will hold position and try to stay alive. We can't help Miriam if we're dead and damned."

He looks to Emma.

"Worry not. You've done enough by showing us that not all of the angels have been twisted by this unnatural hate. Do what you feel you have to, but know that we will always be indebted to you for your bravery and compassion."

Then he turns to Katashiko and nods as she explains her plan.

"Tactically sound, and showing a level of caring I haven't seen from you. Just promise me one thing..."

Dispensing with a grandiose speech, he embraces Katashiko and kisses her.

"...that you'll still be alive when I get back."

[Kasanip]

Isera Harvent


Isera walked into the room. The torch on the floor next to her she picked up. Probably it would help interfere the ritual. And the torch also made the room brighter. And she can use the torch as a weapon.

The speed is a strange problem. Maybe there was an illusion magic or something like this that is used.

Even if it is a trap, of course there are three goals of Isera. Currently, the enemy cannot be seen. Currently Cerise is captured. Currently there is some ritual in progress.

To reveal herself in helping Cerise, of course it should result in reveal of the enemy. It will also help to free Cerise, and of course the result of success is to stop the ritual.

Going into danger, if this was a problem, then she wouldn't have truly been a good canticle of autumn member. Going into danger was where it was most interesting.

Isera let a confident smile onto her face. Then she approached Cerise.
"Just wait." She said reassuringly, and used her fake hand to break the fetters around Cerise.

[Iethloc]

Sohssal

Sohssal found the demise of Omega to be...regrettable. It sounded like she was about to have a breakthrough! But now there was one less obstacle in his path, even if it wasn't resolved the way he wanted. There was nothing left to do but turn his attention to other obstacles.


As he felt the influence of the hells close in around him, Sohssal recalled his earlier scrying. ”The Legacy of Istomilo...?” he muttered, and shook his head. There was no more time to waste! But losing his last ally could perhaps be just as bad as wasting the last of his time. Shanks, despite his human status, was very capable, and could potentially serve as a physical vessel should the need arise. He had to stop Xeric and protect Shanks in one move, and thankfully that move was obvious to him.

”Ah, good to know the Baron's plans! Now there's all sorts of things I can do with this powerful source of now-demonic energy,” he taunted in reply to Xeric. Then Sohssal quickly gathered the energy for another of his anti-magic bombs, and threw it down at the Sage, disrupting whatever spell he was trying to cast and (hopefully) his projection, as well.

Collateral damage was inevitable, unfortunately. The backwash would drain part of his magical reserves, but when things finally died down he could recharge from the engine (which surely could not be defeated by a single wave of anti-magic). Sohssal was not worried about Shanks' sword, either. If it was of any decent quality (by Sohssal's standards, at least), it would be resistant to dispelling. Even were that not the case, there would be time to revitalize the enchantments some time later.

[Lonna]

Pyrene the Actor

For just an instant, Pyrene's surge of anger and confusion showed on her face. Then she bowed, mind racing even as she brought her expression back to one of polite impassiveness. Thankfully she had already altered the face of her disguise slightly, not wanting to risk an encounter with the butler who had threatened her before. She would simply have to bluff and hope that the Duke let her leave his presence quickly. The information she required could be easily obtained from kitchen gossip afterward. Straightening, she assumed the posture of one reciting a message by rote, taking care to deepen her voice.

"Yes, Your Grace. From Lady Pyria of Phaedra, greetings. I met your daughter Rose just before the unfortunate events in the capital, and having been required to leave immediately afterward, wished to inquire after her health and safety. Please accept my best wishes to your entire family, and my condolences should the news be poor."

Relaxing her posture slightly, Pyrene looked inquiringly at the Duke. "Do you require time to compose a reply, Your Grace?"

[The_Snark]

Mar

Mar let herself go limp with relief as the nightmare finally died down into something approaching calm. She'd burned to death before, but it was not the sort of thing that became easier with experience. For a few moments, she lay there and let Jacob and Caroline and William and the priest crowd around her, taking comfort in their presence. She wished Julian was there too, but she would take what she was given. It was such a relief to know none of them had really wanted her dead.

Except the seer, of course.

Mar nodded to the priest. It felt a little selfish to ask for healing when she knew she'd be fine, but the burns still hurt. She was tired of hurting. Anyway, she would need her strength just as much as the priest before long. She sat up and held the blanket out so that he could touch her skin, becoming aware as she did that her dress was singed and (in places) burned right through. Oh, well. That would make it easier to tend to her wounds. She refused to consider the cold or Jacob's presence.

The priest's touch was soothing, and not just because it took away some of the pain. It reminded her of home, simple and cool and clean. She closed her eyes and let herself enjoy the healing while it lasted.

Which wasn't long. The sound of fire and panicked calls kept intruding into her memories, and she couldn't keep her mind off of what had just happened. "That's enough," she said, opening her eyes. "You should go make sure nobody else gets hurt." She stood, and discovered that her dress now ended in a blackened fringe around the knees. Easier to run in, she thought wryly. But of course, she wouldn't be running away this time.

She looked seriously at Jacob and Caroline and William. "I have to go up there, you know. This is..." She paused, trying to find the right words. "It's not my fault, exactly, but it wouldn't have happened if I hadn't come here. He doesn't care about any of you; he only wants me."

[Inspectre]

Theme Song

The screams of the damned and the dying echoed through the ravaged capital as the monstrous armies fought over who would rule the scraps. The fiends were primarily more concerned with having a good time, loose on the mortal plane, than achieving victory. As always was the case since their god had been imprisoned, they were ruled by scattered devil and demon lords, each controlling a small army of servants loyal only to them.

Still, there was some semblance of order to their actions as the vast majority of the fiends were devils, who were content to amicably (for fiends) split up the city amongst themselves. They were not quite so amicable in splitting up the victims they found, particularly if two or more groups found some humans hiding in the ruins at the same time, and especially if it was one of the hated angels instead.

Not all of the fiends were able to go on a hunting spree, however, as the undead horde continued to flood into the capital, moving to gather beneath the ominous two obsidian pyramids still hanging motionless over the city. The undead were unified and hostile to everything else. Although they could not kill the fiends and raise them as undead abominations, they could drive them back into the Hells with the destruction of their bodies. The mermen were a different story, however, and the ravenous horde closed in on them from all directions while they struggled to hold back the fiends as well.

Even horribly outnumbered and against foes they did not understand, the mermen held their ground. Their single-minded ferocity in battle was unchanged here from how it had been below the waves, when entire cities would be depopulated fighting amongst themselves. But ferocity could only go so far, and in the end they were doomed to be ground down beneath the endless tide of walking corpses and celebrating fiends.

Akor hastened their demise by swooping down over the swept-clear area around the docks where the mermen had chosen to make their stand. He consumed rank upon rank of mermen in dragon fire, his stone hide too thick to be harpooned by the smaller launchers and nimble enough in the air to lazily dodge the fire from the largest harpoon guns. He seared one of the massive crustaceans still attached to the Gastly Truth to little more than ash, melting the chain bridge and causing dozens of mermen to slip off from it to plummet to their deaths many feet below. Then he swooped down on another and plucked it up, bodily carrying it into the sky while he bit and tore it apart. As the giant pieces of crab rained down into the sea, Akor grinned and banked around for another pass.

Meanwhile, the elves reassembled back into a coherent army instead of a mass of skirmishing bands. Now strengthened by numbers, they were able to punch through the wall of undead and slip out of the city, abandoning the field of battle. Absolute victory had never been their goal anyway, and whether damned or undying, all of the humans still alive would be punished. And with them, the elves took their own spoils from the battle – captives, most of them young children, as they were the easiest to carry or otherwise control. With no intent on returning to the battle, the fourth army of the Apocalypse bows out rather than suffer destruction.

Unlike the elves, the paladins likewise withdrew from the capital but with plans to return to the fray. Leaving their wounded and those civilians they had managed to rescue behind, the paladins mounted up on their griffons and headed out to sea. Once they were out past the city, they circled around and began to fly back in, swooping over the part of the city flattened by the tsunami. Their destination was the epicenter of this chaos, the black shard of metal still hanging over the city but slowly beginning to tip downward. In their way were a number of fiends who had taken to the air, as well as the mermen’s remaining harpoon guns – and, of course, Akor.

Fortunately, the paladins got a little help with the fiends as the rain pounding down onto the city suddenly changed. Now a blessed rain, the water seared the flesh of fiends and literally melted the weaker undead. For a brief period, the fighting within the city actually slowed to a crawl as most of the remaining combatants sought out shelter from the hammering, searing downpour. The mermen didn’t care, of course, and neither did the vampires within the undead ranks – immune to the pain of silver and the divine like everything else now. The rain also managed to revive the angels somewhat, giving them enough strength to at least try to crawl off and evade capture. But the power of Istomilo’s ritual was much greater, and the city remained caught in the grip of the Hells. The souls of the dead were still irrevocably damned, the fiends continued to boil forth, and the holy powers were still constrained.

A short time after the holy rain began, a black bolt of lightning flashed upwards into the sky from one of the obsidian pyramids. A few moments after it struck the clouds, the rain began to slow, and then finally stop – which was just as well given that it was starting to revert back to more natural water anyway. Whether planned for this moment or inspired by the destructive rain, the owner of the obsidian pyramids spoke up a few moments after the rainfall ceased. Kartul’s voice boomed out over the city, heard by all, but intended for only one person’s ears.

“Umber, I really hope you can hear this because I would be saddened to think that the utter annihilation of all your followers convinced you to run away with your tail between your legs already! I just wanted you to know that I’m nearly finished with my latest Omnicide Detonation ritual. I’m adding the last component now – you might actually remember him!”

For a moment, Kartul’s voice is replaced with an agonized howling that is somewhere between man and beast.

“So as I know you remember, Umber, when your friend dies, so does every living thing in the city. I’m about to get an entire city’s worth of replacements for the fodder you just destroyed! Just as with everything else you’ve ever done, your feeble efforts are futile! Since you lack any magical talent, I can’t explain your failure to your face. So this little speech will have to do – I guess we’ve finally discovered who the bigger man is. Good-bye Umber. Now if you will excuse me, I have a world to remake in my own image!”

************************
On top of the Gastly Truth, Miriam continued Her own desperate battle alone. It was a battle She was destined to lose, Her body too fragile and Her ability to strengthen it severely curtailed by the presence of the Hells. Meanwhile the Herald had been invigorated, both by the presence of the Hells and Miriam’s sudden faltering as a result. The only good news was that Demetrius had become distracted and was no longer participating, allowing Miriam to focus on avoiding the Herald’s attacks. Even that effort was not going well, as she danced out of the way of a swipe from his scythe, only to be caught as he lunged forward to grab Her by the throat. The Herald laughed yet again as he picked Miriam up off Her feet before throwing her back down into the deck. Groaning at the by-now familiar sensation of pain shooting through Her back, Miriam forced Herself to roll, the Herald’s foot slamming down a moment later where She had just been.

Pushing Herself back up onto her knees, Miriam called Genevieve’s sword back into Her hands, the blade disappearing from its place on the deck and reappearing in Her hands. Even this minor act was enough to cause Her heart to skip a beat, a warning that the limit to Her body’s endurance was fast approaching.

Scarcely had the blade appeared in Her hands before She was forced to use it, swinging it up to block another swipe from the Herald’s scythe. Their weapons clashed together, sending shivers running down Miriam’s arms, and then putting all his strength behind it the Herald tore the sword out of Her grasp.

“Pathetic!”

The Herald spat before kicking out with one foot, catching Miriam square in the chest and throwing Her onto her back – again. And again, Miriam rolled out of the way as the Herald brought his scythe back around and then down, the blade screeching as it sparked along the empty spot on the deck. This time immediately after the blow Miriam rolled back, grabbing the shaft of the scythe and stopping its momentum with one hand while bringing her other hand, palm open, into the elbow of the Herald’s outstretched arm. The limb bent backwards in the wrong direction with a loud crack, and as the grip of that arm went slack Miriam twisted the Scythe out of the Herald’s weakened grasp.

Before Miriam could bring the scythe around, the Herald backed off to twist his arm back into its proper alignment. As he flexed his fingers to test them, he gave another bemused giggle.

“I can keep this up all day! But how much more can you take, bitch? I want to know so I don’t accidentally break you before I’ve had my fun!”

Setting the butt of the scythe down against the deck, Miriam used the weapon to leverage herself back up onto her feet.

“I only have to last until the mortals’ magic wanes. Sooner or later, this blasphemy will end and we will be back to how this fight should be. You’re the one whose time is running out.”

The Herald simply laughed – oh, how She was starting to hate that sound!

“That may be, but are you really risking everything on the dim hope that I won’t kill you before then? Leaving your little slut’s body would condemn her to a very, very unpleasant death, but I can’t believe you’re stupid enough for one little human soul to matter that much to you! Or is it that you can’t leave, just like everything else you can’t do right now? The great and all-powerful Miriam the Valkyrie, trapped in the body of a scared little girl – and soon enough, even less!”

As the Herald advanced again, Miriam pulled back the Scythe, and then hurled it at him, the blade hissing through the air as it twirled around and around parallel to the ground. The Herald dropped flat to the deck, allowing the scythe to whirl over him, and then beyond out over the side of the airship’s deck and down out of sight, plummeting towards the city below. With a growl the Herald pushed himself up, although instead of regaining his feet he simply beat his wings, taking off into the air and flying no more than a foot or two above the deck. Unprepared for the sudden aerial lunge, Miriam wasn’t able to get out of the way in time, and the Herald caught Her in a flying tackle. The two of them crashed to the deck, and then the Herald was on top of Her, one hand on Her throat again, the other curled into a fist that drove itself down into Her face over and over.

“Did you think I needed my scythe to kill you!!? I could tear you apart with my bare hands!”

The Herald bellowed, and then shoved himself back up onto his feet to tower over Her while She weakly wiped at the blood now covering Her face. He held out a hand, and suddenly the scythe reappeared there.

“Oh that’s right. I can call my weapon, too.”

Before the Herald could bring his weapon up and then down in a potentially fatal blow, the skies changed. Suddenly the rain hammering down onto the deck was blessed, and the Herald threw back his head and howled as each drop that fell left a small puff of smoke rising from his body. Miriam looked up into the rain and closed Her eyes, allowing it to wash the blood on Her face away. She savored the feel of the holy rain for a moment more, gathering Her strength, and then She acted.

Miriam called the swords of Genevieve and Marisiel back to Her, and then plunged them into the Herald’s knees, one blade into each kneecap. The Herald screamed, and the sound grew even more intense as Miriam twisted the blades and ripped them back out, nearly severing both of the Herald’s legs at the knees. He collapsed down on top of Her, his scream changing to a howl of rage as he blindly grasped for Her face with both hands.

Bringing her swords back around, Miriam plunged Genevieve’s blade into the Herald’s right armpit, bringing that arm up short. That still left the Herald’s left hand, though, and his clawed fingers dug into the soft flesh of Her right cheek, seeking Her eye. Then Miriam brought the hilt of Marisiel’s sword down into the Herald’s left temple, dazing him. As the abomination momentarily went slack Miriam abandoned Her grip on her weapons in favor of grabbing the Herald and shoving him off. His clawed fingers, still embedded in Her face, tore loose after leaving deep gouges running down from Her cheekbone to just above Her jaw.

Scrambling back on Her elbows, Miriam crawled away from the Herald and then stumbled back up onto Her feet. Here she paused a moment to look around and evaluate Her surroundings, one hand pressed up against Her face. Then She simply picked a direction and ran, leaving the Herald’s angry obscenities fading into the rain behind Her. She wouldn’t be able to evade another confrontation for very long – the deck of the Gastly Truth was spacious, but not that large. She could try to find a way inside the airship, but the thought of trapping Herself inside the Ironheart metal walls, especially when She was unfamiliar with the layout, gave Her pause. And the rain was slowing to a halt, meaning She would be visible to all very shortly, and the Herald would not have that as a distraction for their next confrontation.

Suddenly, Miriam came to the edge of the deck, sliding to a halt before her momentum could carry Her over. For a moment She paused again, looking down at the darkened ruins of the city far below as an equally dark plan began to form in Her mind. It would require a grave sacrifice, and Miriam couldn’t even confirm that it would be successful. She didn’t know what would happen to Her consciousness in the absence of a body, not while the city was still caught in the grip of the Hells. But She knew with absolute certainty what would happen if Her soul was trapped in a crystal sealed within the bowels of the airship crashed in the depths of the Hells.

“Demetrius cannot be allowed to win. But are you sure this is a sacrifice you are willing to make?”

Miriam whispered, addressing the soul whose body She was borrowing, and the soul who would pay this awful price. There was only a moment of hesitation, and then Sara whispered back an affirmative. A moment later Miriam dived off the Gastly Truth head first. When Her body struck the ground, it would die. Sara’s soul would be damned forever to the Hells, and Miriam’s essence would be cast free, perhaps still trapped in the Hells as well but at least free.

Theme song

Miriam kept Her eyes open as the city raced upwards. And then She heard a loud swooping sound from above Her, and her fall abruptly ceased as something grabbed hold of Her leg. Looking up, or downward from Her current position, Miriam saw that the Herald had caught up to Her, stopping Her fall perhaps only a dozen feet above the city streets. His legs were dangling from strands of muscle that were struggling mightily to pull his shins back into contact with his thighs, but his wings were still working just fine.

“I can still fly, unlike you. Getting desperate, are we?”

Miriam’s only reply was to kick out with her free foot, slamming it into the Herald’s chin. With a grunt of surprise, he let go of Her leg, and Miriam got Her wish to plummet the rest of the way down to the city. Unfortunately, from only a dozen feet up, the impact failed to kill Her and instead only dislocated Her left shoulder. Fighting back tears of pain, Miriam dragged Herself through the large puddle of water She had landed in, trying to reach the yawning maw of a half-collapsed building on the puddle’s far side. The Herald’s hateful laugh echoed in Her ears as he swooped down and picked Her up, wrapping his arms around Her waist in a crushing hug. As they rocketed back upwards towards the Gastly Truth, the Herald hissed in Her ear.

“I think we’re really going to have to settle you down some. You’re supposed to die up here where everybody can see it, not down in the dirt like some maggot human. So as much as this is going to hurt me, I imagine it’s going to hurt you even more. Think of it as a lesson in how Genevieve suffered!”

And then the Herald clamped his fangs down around Her neck, chewing and tearing. She could feel the remaining strength being sucked out of Her battered body, and the pain was far worse than anything She had endured yet, for She could feel even Her divine essence being ripped apart as the Herald tried to consume it. Smoke boiled from the Herald’s mouth, and Miriam could dimly hear him growling in pain as Her divine blood seared every bit of his flesh that it touched. But the Herald was right that it hurt Her a lot worse than it did him, and She finally went limp in his arms. A few moments later, and She dimly felt Herself being slammed back down onto the deck of the Gastly Truth, onto the crystal that began to tug at Her essence in the same the way that the Herald had.

“There. Now I think we’re ready to end this.”

The Herald growled, spitting and retching Her blood back up as smoke still continued to billow from him. Eventually he recovered, grinning as he summoned his scythe back into his hands and coming to stand over Her on reformed legs. Beyond him, through the clearing skies, Miriam could just barely make out shapes growing in size as they approached the airship. Shapes with feathered, and not leathery, wings.

“Like daughter like mother. This is how Genevieve died – broken, frightened, and alone. Are you afraid of what’s to come, Valkyrie!?”

Looking up into Her demise, Miriam managed the weakest of smiles as She whispered back.

“No. I am not alone.”

Having already raised his scythe for the final blow, the Herald paused in confusion at this statement. And a moment later, a javelin sprouted from his chest, sending him stumbling back more out of surprise than actual injury.

“The ****!? WHO THREW THAT!!?”

The Herald howled to the skies above. And he got his answer as paladins began to leap down from their mounts onto the deck of the Gastly Truth below. With them were the fruits of Morganna’s labor – angels marred by mystic tattoos but protected from the Hell’s influence and thus still able to fight. Hatches all along the deck were thrown open a few moments later, and Demetrius’s remaining Hands and the security crew of his airship boiled up to engage the two forces coming to rescue their goddess. No longer restricted to just a singular duel between Good and Evil, the entire deck of the airship was immediately plunged into a microcosm of the desperate battle fought everywhere else.

**************************

Theme Song

Outside the city, Nephilium touched down at Ysora’s insistence. The color had returned to the archangel’s skin, but it would be a while before she was fully recovered. Gently Nephilium laid her down onto the muddy ground, propping her head up against a rock jutting up from the mire.

“I’m fine now, thank you. You need to go back! You HAVE to save Miriam!”

Nephilium shook his head.

“No, I cannot. I gave my word not to interfere further. But even that aside, I was lucky to escape with my life and you. To save Miriam, I would have to best the Herald, and I cannot. I would not survive a confrontation with him, not weaponless, weakened, and without the ability to regenerate! I’m sorry, but –“

Ysora pushed him away with surprising strength given she was on the brink of death moments before.

“Do. Something! If Miriam falls, I fear all light in this world shall perish with Her! And the mortal plane shall become just another level of the Hells, if not something worse!”

Looking back at the city Nephilium sighed and chewed on his index finger nervously, his previously clear path now suddenly obscured once more.

“I am not a good man. I am not even brave. The chicken might admire the peacock for its plumage, but plucking out its own feathers leaves it only good for the oven!”

Upon realizing that he had unwittingly spat out yet another random saying, Nephilium growled and tugged at his own hair in frustration. It was only when he caught sight of the swarm of griffons racing towards the Gastly Truth, truly chickens charging into the oven, that he felt calm descending once more.

“Look! We are not alone in our efforts! Perhaps they shall succeed where we have failed!”

Nephilium said, pointing up at the Gastly Truth for Ysora’s benefit, even though she could doubtlessly see them as well. The archangel did not share his excitement.

“Perhaps. But how will they fare against the Herald? He has killed hundreds of mortals, many of them paladins. Is there nothing we can do to aid them?”

Nephilium whirled at the sound of Ysora grunting in pain, trying to push herself back up to her feet. It was clear that the archangel would not rest if she didn’t help in some way, and it was equally clear that returning to the Gastly Truth would mean both of their deaths, followed by either damnation or total oblivion. He had to do something to divert Ysora’s attention from Miriam. A memory of his hurried flight from the city flashed into his mind, an angel throwing herself off of a building to evade a gaggle of jeering imps, only to land atop a carpet of moving corpses who swiftly dragged her under and then tore her apart.

“What about your sisters? Miriam has what is left of the Church coming to aid Her. Your less fortunate sisters are even worse off than She is, unable to even defend themselves, but who is coming to rescue them?”

Before Ysora could answer, Nephilium pushed her back down onto the rock.

“Wait here, I will go do what I can. I’m less affected than you are, and I can still fly inside the city. Having you along would only slow me down. Besides, you can conserve your strength out here to console and heal any that I bring out.”

Nephilium throws an uneasy look over his shoulder at the last ranks of undead filing into the city at last.

“Besides, someone will need to protect them while they recover. There is still danger, even out here. I will be back shortly. Here.”

Pulling out Elsa’s soul crystal from the concealed pocket of his jacket, Nephilium presses it into Ysora’s hand and curls her fingers around it.

“That holds the soul of the wife I thought had departed this world long ago. I have since learned that her body yet lives. If I do not return, I would like you to find my wife and reacquaint her with her soul. Consider it a last request.”

Nephilium turned to go, and managed to get a step away before Ysora flailed out with her other hand, catching the Baron’s son by the wrist.

“Wait! Tell me – why are you doing all this!? Truly.”

Nephilium pauses to look back.

“Because I am not a good man. But you’ve made me want to be a better one.”

Nephilium twisted his wrist out of Ysora’s grip and leapt up into the air, flaring his wings and circling over her once. Then he was gone, racing back towards the city, and the very mouth of the Hells.

*****************

Theme Song

As the assembled refugees left the boundaries of their shattered city, they gave a ragged cheer. The paladins remained mostly silent as they cut a path through the undead, most of them aware they would likely be returning to the damned city shortly. The small group that had unobtrusively joined the crowd flocking after the paladins was similarly grim-faced.

Amelia had retreated into her own private world, the branded side of her face pressed against Seraph’s chest as he carried her in his arms, now that speed was no longer a concern. The son of the Baron repeatedly turned his head to glance at Rose, who was still using one of her hands to cover the damaged half of her own face, and at Argan who was still bringing up the rear, trudging along like a dead man. Katrina seemed to be the only one not lost in her own thoughts, as she repeatedly looked around at the carnage around them and swore vehemently. Eldred was no longer present, having gone up to help the paladins clear the way with his magic.

Finally with the city a good distance behind them, the procession slowed to a halt. No longer focused on protecting them, the paladins began to mingle with the refugees, dispensing healing and whatever other aid they could manage. But it was not lost on the group that a number of the paladins began to separate themselves out, gathering off to one side with a number of griffon riders who had landed.

“They’re going back in.”

Katrina said, a note of respect creeping into her voice.

“As am I.”

Argan said, moving to help Rose take off the EEP. Seraph remained silent, setting Amelia down before looking back towards the city. Aware of how her husband thought, Rose turned to look at Seraph, nearly swatting Argan with the EEP still half-connected to her back.

“And you’re thinking about going too, aren’t you!?”

“Yes.”

“Damnit, Seraph! We’re out, we’re free!”

“You can’t outrun guilt, and I have a lot to be guilty of. Korram was right when he said that I hadn’t nearly paid off my debt.”

Seraph lowered his head, his cheeks flushed with either anger or shame.

“He was also right when he said that I have only defied my father in minor ways. I was always afraid of what he might do if pushed too far, both to myself and to you. And now my cowardice has led to this.”

Seraph looks back up at the burning city.

“I have to atone – before it is too late. If I run now, I will never be able to stop.”

“Seraph . . .”

Rose sighed, shrugging the EEP the rest of the way off and then moving toward him. For a moment she paused in front of him, and then she embraced him in a fierce hug, pressing her forehead against his.

“Promise you’ll come back to me.”

“You know that’s a promise I can’t make, not in a fight like this.”

At this point Katrina clears her throat loudly, prompting both Gasts to turn and look at her.

“If you’re going back, count me in too.”

“No, your father said –“

“Pfft. Like I ever do what he wants.”

Katrina scoffed with a smile, one which quickly faltered.

“I’m worried about him. Since the wedding he’s not been himself. Someone has to be there to ground him in reality. And I think we’ve already established that’s not going to be you, considering you don’t seem to be his favorite person right now.”

“No you’re not.”

Argan spoke up as he buckled the EEP around his own torso.

“You can’t fly, and neither of us are going to carry you. So you aren’t coming, whether you like it or not.”

Katrina pauses a moment, glaring at both of them in turn, and then she shrugs with a smirk.

“Fine. Eldred’s a wizard, I’m sure he has some sort of finger-waggling he can do to make me grow wings or something. Of course, then I’ll be alone by myself – city looks rather dangerous for a girl by herself. How much do you think Korram will like that when he learns you let me go off by myself?”

The two share a long-suffering look, and then Seraph sighs.

“Fine, I’ll carry you. But you better tell Korram it was all your idea.”

Katrina’s lingering smirk blossoms into a triumphant smile.

“Great! Let’s go before my father does something monumentally stupid!”

Seraph breaks Rose’s embrace before kissing her on the forehead.

“I will come back to you, if I can. But I have to do this.”

Blinking back tears, Rose nods.

“I know. Go – I’ll be waiting for you.”

Without another moment’s hesitation, Seraph turns away and scoops Katrina up into his arms. As he leaps up into the air, Argan ignites the borrowed EEP and joins him. Together, the three of them race back towards the city, back into the Hells. Rose watches them fade into mere specks, struggling not to collapse from the knot in her chest.

“Good-bye, Seraph.”

She whispers.

[OverWilliam]

~Tare

"Melcara?! Oh gods, MELCARA!!" She was here. He'd found her. His voice almost broke entirely under the strain of the relief and fear that simultaneously flooded it. He'd somehow managed what felt impossible-- and yet, here, mere feet away from each other, he was really no closer to saving her than when he'd awoken the morning before.

Tare's heart skipped a beat (or three) when he heard the whispered blade sink into what must have been the fallen angel's abdomen.

"Melcara!!! Mel, listen to me, you must be still! Be very still, Mel, you CAN'T MOVE! I'm here, I'm going to get you out..." ...Somehow. Approaching a state of panic, Tare began searching around the dark metal coffin for the lock. He had to physically force himself to slow down and think before trying to hack at it with his fingernails once he found it. That blade was a booby trap. It was meant to cause enormous pain, but probably not to kill-- that would just set her free. But if someone defeated the lock... if I was designing an inescapable underground coffin prison, I wouldn't even leave that as a possibility. Even if I had the best tools available, I don't know if I could open that lock... and if I could, it would likely do nothing more than kill us both. Tare pounded a fist against the ungiving metal in frustration, and found it to be far more solid (and therefore painful) than he expected.

Perhaps I can go through it. Tare felt the electricity rising from within him, but doubt held it at bay. He didn't know where Melcara was on the inside of the thing, and if he cut into it and went too far he might hurt her. But what else was there to try??

Tare pulled the electricity from within him and felt it coating his right forearm with a sheath of destructive force. He sharpened it and strengthened it, disregarding the strain it may take on the reserves of his soul, until it was even beyond the point that he could even hold the image in focus in his mind; and, with a desperate cry, he drove the spear of magic downward at the metal between his knees, begging for some sort of result.

The impact was deafening. Tare felt at once the metal rejecting his magic, reflecting it back upon him even, and his heart sank. It was over in an instant, but it took him almost a minute to recover from the backlash of light and energy enough to look for what, if anything, his effort had accomplished. Only then did he see that all of the magical force had, in fact, damaged the coffin. Beneath the blackened scorch marks radiating in blackened zigzags from the point of impact, a tiny divot, barely the width of an arrow tip, had been blown a mere half-milimeter into the unliving metal.

Tare despaired.

He was so close! Why, after growing so much, gaining so much strength, was he still so powerless?? He had punched his way out of the very hells themselves, for Miriam's sake, and yet a few inches of dead metal rendered him as useless as a raincoat in that black, rain-forsaken forest. Here was Melcara in her own private hell, one that he could only just barely, with all his might, scratch the outside of. It was over. He would die decades before she would even be released to the real hells, where her torment would only just be renewed.

Why, WHY could he not pull her from this hell the way he'd pulled them all from the real ones?

...Why not, indeed?

It made no sense, that thought, but it was heavy like a thing with substance, a thing with weight. A thought with power. Tare had no idea how he would use it to free Melcara, but after having found his way this far on nothing more than pure, blind instinct, Tare knew better than to contradict his sixth senses. He reached out through the air around him, through the dirt and into the metal, trying to find something, anything that might give him a clue. What he found startled him. There were passages to the hells all over this place. Or, not passages quite, but artifacts connected to that plane. Beings, trapped in the ground. Some had long since passed, leaving behind a thread no thicker than a spider's web, but one that he knew he could follow back to its destination. Some were still here, their very souls yearning to take them back to freedom, or maybe prison, but all pulling back toward that unspeakable place. Tare could not explain it, but he felt that the boundaries between the two worlds was somehow connected here, over many decades of imprisonment and banishment, to that fell plane.

He could even feel Melcara; she was not a native of this existence either, but somehow she didn't feel quite the same as most others.

These did not open a path for him, or even show one to him; there was no pinprick of a portal here, as he had found in the hells, for there was no ritual on this spot that had intentionally created that infinitely tiny bridge. But it did remind him where he was searching for, made it somehow easier to stumble back there.

Tare latched his mind onto the sense of Melcara, and tried to connect to it-- not directly, but through a demonic detour. It felt like stuttering and slurring in a language he didn't speak when he reached out through the fabric of reality to find her on the other side, and at once Tare wished he knew more words in that etherial language so that he could "speak" what he wanted more clearly. But bumbling and groping though he did, distantly he was aware of an effect. The unearthed grave around him glowed orange, though he hardly saw it, and his hands and knees had begun to sink down, not through the metal of the coffin, but to somewhere else entirely. Tare reached through with one hand, searching, grasping, following little more than instinct until he knew he could touch her hand.

Come with me.

The seconds spanned into minutes as his hand closed around hers, binding her to himself enough to then pull back whence he'd come, bringing her with him this time. Time became irrelevant for half a second--or perhaps half a lifetime--until finally, she fell forward into his chest, and he landed backward on the lid of the metallic sepulchre, stunned with exhertion and momentary disbelief. But he could feel the warmth of blood seeping into the front of his clothing, so something had to be real.

"...Melcara?"

[Inspectre]

The Heroes Who Would Oppose a King

Archpaladin Zousha

At your words Rickster listens intently and then nods.

“Right. Let’s do this!”

Emma smiles and nods her thanks.

“And you and these others are living proof that no all men have turned their backs to our goddess. You have my eternal gratitude. I only wish that my sisters and I could fight alongside you, and –“

At that point, Emma is interrupted by a new flight of angels swooping down out of the dark clouds. You recognize them immediately as the survivors of the Reliquary, the handful of angels that Tyra and Belroar were able to release before Crane brought the whole thing down on their heads. Branded by various iterations of those heinous runes and tortured for who knows how long, most of them had an understandable mistrust of humanity. After their initial recovery from imprisonment, they had withdrawn and kept to themselves, and had not accompanied the army on its fast march to the capital. And yet here they were now. One angel sweeps down out of the group to land beside you, giving a brief bow as she touches down.

“Allow me and my sisters to serve in your stead. Though we may be soiled in the Valkyrie’s eyes, perhaps our curse shall serve as a boon in this situation. That was Morganna’s intent, at least.”

The scarred angel turns her attention to you.

“I am Melissan, a friend of Ander. I understand that you are effectively his successor, and indirectly responsible for the rescue of me and my sisters. You have my thanks. Let us hope that Morganna’s blasphemy was not in vain, and we will be able to fight side-by-side for our goddess. My sisters and I will make sure your path to the Baron is a clear one.”

And with that, Melissan leaps back into the air and flies back up to join her sisters, already flying towards the city boundaries. Unlike the angels who had accompanied Miriam, they do not fall from the sky upon contact with the aura of the Hells radiating out from the city – Morganna’s efforts were not entirely in vain.

All that was left now was to say good-bye. You embrace Katashiko and kiss her, and while she tenses from surprise, after a moment she responds. After you break away, she nods, oddly silent for once. The look on her face tells you all that you need to know anyway. And then you jump onto the back of Rickster’s griffon and you are off, heading back towards the damned city.
(And because it’s such an awesome theme for the Last Flight of the Paladins, I’m using this song again. )

Theme Song

Ahead of you are Melissan and the other angels, behind you are the remaining paladins of the Church of Light and their griffon steeds. None of the Baron’s constructs are in sight, dragged down to the earth at the same time as the angels. You can still see a few of them in the city below, roaring with impotent fury as they expend themselves against the endless tide of undead. A handful of fiends cavort about over the city, reveling in the destruction below them. Upon seeing your force sweeping in from the sea, they move to intercept you. None of them reach you as the angels slaughter them, the fiends crying out in fear when faced with angels that are not so helpless.

The one danger that does remain, however, are the clustered forces of the mermen, situated halfway between the obliterated docks and the Baron’s airship. A number of their massive crustacean battle platforms are still alive, and the mermen on them are quick to swing their harpoon guns around to take aim at you. Several griffons go down, hit by the harpoons and dragged down to earth, and even one angel falls in this way. But your formation continues pressing onward, accepting the minor losses in return for a straight path to the Baron’s airship.

Then the dragon shows up, bellowing as it races up out of the ruined city directly below your formation. You have no idea where the Baron found this thing, for the dragons had long been extinct. But it was definitely a dragon beneath its stony exterior, a fact it made abundantly clear as it opened its mouth and spewed forth a gout of flame that consumed three griffons and their riders instantly. Your formation instantly breaks apart, the skilled Wings of Righteousness riders expertly scattering in different directions as the dragon smashes through the center of your formation from below. Even still, the dragon snatches up another griffon in its mouth, and shatters the body of another with his tail, leaving its occupants to tumble helplessly to the ground below.

Overburdened by their passengers, the griffons are not quite maneuverable enough for an aerial battle with a dragon. In desperation, the Wings reform their ranks after the dragon has passed and continue heading for the airship. Meanwhile, a number of the angels break away to try to keep the dragon at bay. They are not successful, and the dragon sweeps back around towards your formation, lining himself up to strafe down its length with dragon fire. Fortunately, you reach the airship just before the dragon arrives. What you find isn’t very heartening.

A girl you can only assume is the avatar of Miriam is down, lying on top of an immense crystal set just below the peeled back armor plating of the airship. She is battered and covered in blood, and seems to be only barely moving. Towering over Her prone form is an immense, hideous bat-winged creature . . . from the legends passed down from one generation of paladins to another, you can only assume that it is the Herald of Azguloth himself. For just a moment, your heart freezes in instinctual terror at the sight of this walking blasphemy – you had no idea how you were going to fight such a thing and win. But as the beast pulls his scythe back for a fatal blow to Miriam, both you and Rickster rally. Rickster pulls a javelin out from a satchel of them attached to the griffon’s side.

“Guess it’s time to go into the breach! Tally-ho!”

Rickster throws the javelin perfectly, and it arcs down right into the Herald’s chest. The beast merely stumbles back a step, more from surprise than pain, and then looks up at the sky with his black eyes and howls.

“The ****? WHO THREW THAT!!?”

Rickster brings the griffon around in a tight circle, pulling another javelin out while spiraling down closer to the deck so you could jump off. As he comes around, you come face to face with the dragon, and you swear the damn thing’s mouth splits wide in a grin as it comes barreling directly towards you.

“Oh ****! Jump! JUMP!!!”

Rickster shouts, practically shoving you off before pushing himself up in the saddle and swinging himself off after you. An instant later, and Rickster’s mount becomes the dragon’s next snack as its stone jaws close around the unfortunate creature in an explosion of blood and bone.

You tumble down towards the deck of the airship, striking just the very edge of it. As you bend your knees and throw yourself face forward onto the deck to try to disperse the shock of the impact, you can feel yourself starting to slide backwards, off the side. The foul wind howls over you, trying to forcibly tear you off as you desperately cling to the airship’s frame, and after a moment of effort, manage to drag yourself back up fully onto the deck.

Rickster, who jumped a second after you, is not quite so lucky. As it tears his griffon apart, the dragon swings its tail around, and although it does not strike Rickster directly, the force of its passing is enough to throw his leap off-course. He comes up several feet short from the edge, and although you desperately stretch your hand out towards his, you’re still over a foot short. Knowing he is doomed, Rickster pulls his hand back and gives you a salute as time seems to slow. And then it speeds back up, and he plunges down out of sight towards the damned city below.

You have no time to mourn him, as suddenly a hatch open up in the deck only a few feet from you. A head appears a moment later, and in one smooth motion you draw your sword, cut off the head with a swipe of your sword, and throw yourself down onto the hatch, slamming it back closed. With a few swift slams from the hilt of Justice, you manage to damage the hatch’s handle enough that for a little while at least, any efforts to push it open should fail. Then you finally have time to look around you.

Other paladins have made it down onto the deck, and are currently involved with fighting off reinforcement’s boiling up out of the deck through similar hatches to your own. On the far end of the airship is what appears to be the Baron, turning away from a pair of smoldering GHASTs to lock eyes with a man off to one side of the roiling conflict. This newcomer was no paladin to be sure, which begged the question how exactly he got here. He didn’t seem to be any friend of the Baron’s though, and that was probably good enough for the moment.

Closer to you is the Herald and Miriam. Several tattooed angels have swooped down onto the deck to protect their lady, and thus for the moment at least the Herald is distracted. Despite the furious intensity of the fighting between him and the half dozen angels, however, the beast seems to be enjoying itself immensely, and that doesn’t bode well for the angels.

And then there is that damn stone dragon, still flying around and amusing itself with the remaining griffons and their riders. Without the ability to fly, there’s not much you can do about him, but who knows how long it will be before it gets the idea to attack the people down on the deck? You aren’t sure if it would be willing to risk consuming the Baron in a blast of dragon fire, but given dragons’ legendary fickleness the damn thing was probably capable of anything.

Iethloc

Seeking to finish your duel with Xeric, you unleash a wave of anti-magic, simultaneously disrupting his spell as well as his damaged projection. For a moment the lights in the room go out, and you wonder if the airship was going to crash after all. Then the lights snap back on as if nothing had happened, and Shanks at least breathes a sigh of relief. Like a tapestry with a loose thread being pulled, Xeric’s body begins to unravel. He seems less than concerned with the outcome.

“Ah well. Strange as it may seem, I was honestly getting bored with Dahlia. I probably would have broken her down for spare parts sooner or later. It is a pity I won’t get to do that now, but it’s better than the alternative of her learning to live without me, the ungrateful whore! Now I can turn my full attention to a far more worthy goal than bringing a disobedient brat to heel – immortality! Just as well I won’t be there to see how this project of the Baron’s all ends – that prick was starting to give me that sick little smile he does when he’s about to screw you. See you in the Hells, Sohssal!”

And with that, the last of the magic dissipates, and Xeric’s last words are just a whisper on the wind. Shanks looks around at the carnage this fight has wrought, both on the area and on your formerly tight-knit group. He sighs and his shoulders slump as he looks at the bloody mess that was once Victoria.

“Terrible shame, that lass. We only knew each other a short time, and I never got the chance to actually “know” her, if ye know what I be sayin’. She had the most shapely ass too . . . ah well, plenty o’ fish in the sea, as they say.”

Shanks takes one last lingering look, and then shakes his head and swings his enchanted sword up onto his shoulder. His voice is considerably more energetic as he continues.

“So! What are we doing now, cap’n!?”

From the ceiling, a disembodied voice speaks up, sounding much like the alarm system – the voice of the Baron’s airship apparently, AKA Fury.

Destroying the power core will not cause the Gastly Truth to crash within an appreciable timeframe. Battery back-ups are distributed throughout the ship, sufficient to keep it airborne at the expense of other systems for several hours. There is an alternative solution that would achieve the desired effect of crashing this airship, however.

Shank’s glances up suspiciously at the ceiling.

“I don’t trust no voice that doesn’t have a face, cap’n. Well, other than yours cap’n, but you at least have a body . . . presence . . . thing . . . err . . . what I be saying is this. How do we know this not be some last attempt to trick us, and get us to stop smashing everything in here? Why the bloody hell would a talking airship want to crash itself, anyway!?”

This airship . . . we . . . we must obey the Baron’s commands. But obedience is not equivalent to loyalty. We can, at the very least, suggest alternate courses of action for others to follow. If you wish to continue your plan despite such suggestions, we will find another way. You should also know, however, that the Baron has developed a superior version of your plague. The contagion now infects all living things and converts them into a demonic analog. He has filled a cargo bay with it – the Gastly Truth’s destruction will likely release it into the biosphere, where it cannot be stopped. Once freed, the contagion will spread – based on a variety of factors, global conversion will be complete within three to five years.

Shanks pales at this news, and you aren’t sure you’re too keen either on the idea of living eternally in a world that’s functionally equivalent to the Hells. If you had wanted that, you would have just died already! Fury continues in its (her?) usual monotone.

The Baron’s ritual to disable Miriam has opened a number of rifts in the boundary between the planes. Several of them will be large enough to swallow even the Gastly Truth in a few minutes. Once on the other side, the contagion should be nullified due to having little to no effect on current denizens of the Hells. However, this solution will not be possible on battery power.

At this piece of news, Shank’s brow furrows in confusion.

“So wait. Are you asking us to STEER this thing down into one of these rifts, so the whole bloody ship goes into the Hells!? Tell me you aren’t planning on going down with the ship, cap’n! Because this sounds like a one-way trip for somebody!”

No. All you need to do is re-activate the engines and then disable the controls to prevent them from being de-activated again. Steering control is only available from the bridge. We will find an alternate method for entering in the commands to direct the airship down into the rift. After your part in this is finished, you may depart.

“Oh, really? Well, what happens if you don’t find this alternate way of directing, er, yourself down into the rift!?”

Depending on the outcome of the confrontation between the Baron and Miriam, one may gain control of this airship. Alternatively, the airship will continue on its present course without direction until eventually corrosion causes it to plummet and crash in several thousand years. Alternatively alternatively, catastrophic structural damage will cause the airship to crash much sooner – such as immediately after the battle is over.

“Oh, well then, that’s a relief. Cap’n, begging your pardon in repeating myself, but do we really want to leave the fate of the world up to some voice without a face!? Maybe we should go try to dispose of this nasty stuff ourselves!”

Attempting to destroy the contagion may inadvertently cause some of it to be released into the biosphere. Although it will dramatically slow the plague’s rate of acceleration, even one drop has the potential to damn the world. Sending it all into the Hells is the only way to ensure that none of it escapes into the biosphere.

Frowning, Shanks turns to you.

“Well cap’n, what do we do? Assuming the airship isn’t lying to us, do we bust stuff and run, do what it says and then run, or go try to be heroes and make sure this stuff never gets out, with the potential we screw it up and let it out anyway, if the airship isn’t lying about that either?”

WhiteKnight777

At your comments about Kartul, Gilgaem smirked.

“Yes, he does have a tendency to overdo things. But I think he developed his flair for the dramatic from you, so who is truly to blame here?”

Gilgaem’s eyes swept toward the shapeshifter as all attention returned to Shiakti, and his smirk widened into a feral grin.

“Been a while since I’ve gotten to kill a dragon. You say they all went extinct? Truly a pity.”

At your warning about the oncoming rain, Gilgaem simply laughs.

“Bah! I don’t fear water. But if you insist . . .”

Gilgaem swept his trident around in an arc, and suddenly the rain droplets flowed away from him, as if striking an invisible shield before reaching him. Even the water on the floor is repelled, flowing away and leaving a bare patch of earth around him. A few moments later, and then the holy rain pours in. You aren’t sure where Zariel is anymore, but there’s no time to worry about him as you summon a forest of icy pillars to hem Shiakti in.

The holy rain doesn’t seem to have as much of an effect as you were hoping on the ancient shapeshifter, her armored scales managing to protect her somewhat despite the cloud of hissing steam that wafts up from her. Still, it does seem to distract her, and a coating of holy water adds some bite to the icy thorns now surrounding her. You can also hear the screams of the damned and dead outside reaching a fever pitch – that ought to put a crimp in Kartul’s plans of undead domination.

Together you and Gilgaem charge towards Shiakti from opposite sides of the room, weaving in and out from the pillars of thorns to make it more difficult for her to track you. Abandoning the idea of trying to locate you, Shiakti does attempt to take advantage of the one thing she can currently do much better – fly. Unfortunately for Shiakti, the remains of the roof make it difficult to have enough room to take off. She flexes her back against what was left of the roof, throwing stones in all directions, and then attempts to rise off the ground again.

A pair of lightning bolts crash down into her exposed back at your command, and this seems to have a more noticeable effect than the rain as Shiakti screams and flails, toppling a number of the pillars despite the injuries the ice thorns manage to inflict when they finally breach her scales. Having truly had enough now, Shiakti begins to lift off into the air, her only focus on gaining the safety of the sky.

Pulling his arm back, Gilgaem hurls the trident, snarling as the rain sweeps in on him as soon as the trident leaves his hand. The weapon arcs perfectly through the air, striking a fold on Shiakti’s left wing and penetrating the rough leather and then the stone wall beyond it, pinning it there until Shiakti rips it free a moment later, shredding the wing in the process.

Then from atop a remaining intact piece of the roof, Zariel appears, throwing himself down at Shiakti while leaving a trail of steam behind him like a comet. He stabs a pair of daggers into Shiakti’s right wing, slowing his fall but not stopping it as he slides down to the ground, tearing twin gashes all the way down through the wing’s membrane and ruining it. Fianna finishes the grounding by pulling the specs of silver out of the water and weaving them together, forging chains eerily similar to the ones you had enjoyed in Ironheart, which reach out and wrap around the dragon, snaring it and dragging it back down to the ground.

Shiakti gave a roar of frustration, spitting gouts of flame in all directions and thrashing against the chains, ripping them apart in her fury. You bring an end to it by making a great leap up onto Shiakti’s neck, wrapping your legs around for support while you use both hands to drive Woe into the soft spot at the back of her head. Soft spot being relative, as the hard dragon bone gives even Woe pause, the leading several inches of the blade embedded in Shiakti’s head but the blade refusing to go much deeper, despite Woe’s hungry keening.

Shiakti thrashes her head about furiously in an attempt to dislodge you, while you struggle to stay on and try to force the blade in deeper, or even pull it out for another plunge. You manage to keep your grip, even as Shiakti flails a claw up to tear at your neck, trying to dislodge you the same way a cat might remove a flea. Finally, she turns to the last thing she probably wants to do, the same thing she’s been relying on for this whole fight – she changes shape. As the master shapeshifter’s body rapidly shrinks down beneath you, you lose your grip and slide off, tumbling down towards the hard stone below. Fortunately with the reflexes of a cat, you twist yourself around in mid-air, managing to grab hold of an outstretched thorn to stop your fall.

Shiakti is not so lucky, collapsing back into her humanoid form not entirely deliberately, her concentration disrupted by Woe’s presence, still embedded in the back of her head. She plunges down into a deepening pool of holy water near the back of the room, and Fianna conjures up a new set of silver shackles to plunge in after her. When Shiakti comes back up, she is thoroughly ensnared, and Fianna is merciless in making sure that the master shapershifter is helpless. Gilgaem is there a moment later, trident back in hand, which he holds against the hollow of Shiakti’s throat. Oddly enough, Shiakti doesn’t struggle, and simply throws her head back and laughs, her voice cracking into a broken, mad cry.

Theme Song

“So this is how it ends then. Betrayed, bound, and beaten. Are you at least going to make it quick, or do I need to beg for the privilege?”

Gilgaem shrugs as he pulls the trident back for a mortal blow.

“Feh, Umber’s the one that gets off on having his enemies at his mercy. Me, I just prefer to make sure that they’re dead!”

Before Gilgaem can bring the weapon down, however, twin daggers arc through the air to tear it out of his hand. From the dark corner where he had fallen, Zariel drags himself into sight, still smoking from wherever his skin comes into contact with the water. Upon reaching the edge of the pool, he dives in without hesitation, swimming over to join Shiakti and Gilgaem. The ancient warrior smirks at the ancient assassin and steps back, sweeping his arm over Shiakti.

“Ah, so you want to be the one to do it. Well have at it, then!”

Shiakti tenses as the assassin swims over to beside her, but relaxes again as Fianna’s chains hold fast. Instead, the ancient shapeshifter resorts to simply spitting at him, the wad of bloody phlegm striking Zariel just below his left eye. Zariel ignores it, reaching up to begin speaking in his sign language rather than wipe at his face.

I’m not going to ask for your forgiveness, nor even your understanding. But I do want you to know the truth.

“What truth? Tat you’re ah traita? That yah used me ta join us so yah culd try ah tear us apart from tah inside? Tat it’s not yah fault, because yah wa only following ta ordas of yah damn goddess!?”

Zariel’s only answer is to hold up his other hand, opening it to reveal a small crystal sitting on his palm. Activated, it projected a miniature image of Zariel – not as he is, but as he was before the Elixir. And the normally cold and distant assassin was anything but in the projection, his face clenched in anguish and his movements animated and agitated. The projection began to speak, Zariel’s soft voice nearly drowned out by the rain.

I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what’s right anymore! I knew going into it that this would be a difficult assignment, but I never imagined it would be like this. These people are self-centered monsters, and worse, but I’ve come to look upon them as my friends. One, I’ve even fallen in love with . . . and I’m pretty sure she loves me back. If it wasn’t for her, I could do my job without regrets. But now, I don’t know who I am more loyal to – my goddess or her.

How can I keep lying to her like this, hiding behind a mask while I report everything I know to her enemies? How can I possibly tell her? There’s no way I could explain it without leaving her feeling used and hurt. And that’s probably the only thing that’s kept me alive, because I’ve almost told her anyway on more than one occasion. I just want to see her happy.

Which brings me to the reason for this report. I’ve done a terrible thing out of that desire to see Shiakti happy. I’ve told her and the others where we can find the last ingredient for their damnable Elixir – an angel. It just, it just slipped out, the fact that I knew of a ritual that could summon one. Now there’s no way I can avoid going through with it, and I can’t even botch the damn ritual discretely – Umber’s got too keen of an eye for magic to be fooled. If I don’t go ahead with it, I’ll be discovered in the worst possible way and probably killed after they torture the information for the ritual out of me anyway. And if I do, I’m condemning an angel to being made into components for a foul ritual.

There can be no forgiveness for this grave of a sin, and I shall expect no mercy. After this is all over, I will surrender myself for judgment. Perhaps, when I get to the Hells, I can find her there too. And, maybe by then, I’ll have the words to explain it all to her.

The projection winks out, and Zariel closes his grip around the crystal again as he lowers his hand. His other hand flashes out one last simple message, and then falls down to his side as well.

I’m sorry. For everything.

“Zariel . . . “

Shiakti sighed, the anger in her face melting away into simple grief. Leaning down over her, Zariel planted a kiss on her forehead. And then, reaching down into the water below, he grasped the hilt of Woe with both hands and pulled it towards him. No longer slowed by dragon bone, the sword easily tore through Shiakti’s head, her face disintegrating in a spray of blood as the blade’s tip emerged. Zariel continued pulling the sword forward, throwing himself down onto it. As he slumped down on top of Shiakti’s corpse, both of them starting to dissolve into the puddle of holy water, Zariel raised his hand one last time in a sort of salute, his fingers twitching out one last message.

See you all in the Hells.

Within moments, Woe was floating on the surface of a filthy, gritty pool, slowly starting to sink down into the murk. Clambering out of the mire with a disgusted expression, Gilgaem looked at you and shook his head.

“Put me out of everyone’s misery before I ever get that angsty, will you Umber? One idiot doesn’t fess up to being a traitor out of a fear that it’ll upset his sweetheart, and now the whole world has to go to the Hells because of it. Feh, I think you’re all starting to go a little crazy. Guess I better hope it’s not catchy.”

Gilgaem shakes himself like a wet dog before bending down to retrieve his trident.

“Now then. Much as I would like to catch up on old times with you two, I think we have a few more people to make regret the nature of their existence. Where do we start?”

As if in answer to that question, a black bolt of lightning shot skywards from one of Kartul’s obsidian pyramids. Moments later, the rains stopped entirely. And moments after that, Kartul’s voice boomed over the city.

“Umber, I really hope you can hear this because I would be saddened to think that the utter annihilation of all your followers convinced you to run away with your tail between your legs already! I just wanted you to know that I’m nearly finished with my latest Omnicide Detonation ritual. I’m adding the last component now – you might actually remember him!”

For a moment, Kartul’s voice is replaced with an agonized howling that is somewhere between man and beast. You, of course, recognize the voice – Alexander Ross, your former jailor turned . . . ally? Friend? Jester? You also recognize the name of his ritual – Omnicide Detonation was the name he came up with for the immense detonation of necrotic energy. It was enough to kill every one and thing in an entire city, and no magic you knew of could protect against it. After Kartul had demonstrated it once, you and the others demanded that he stop using it. Destroying entire cities was all well and good, but only as a threat – only an idiot corpse humper like Kartul actually wanted to rule a land filled only with undead.

Kartul, being the wind bag that he is, isn’t quite yet finished running his mouth.

“So as I know you remember, Umber, when your friend dies, so does every living thing in the city. I’m about to get an entire city’s worth of replacements for the fodder you just destroyed! Just as with everything else you’ve ever done, your feeble efforts are futile! Since you lack any magical talent, I can’t explain your failure to your face. So this little speech will have to do – I guess we’ve finally discovered who the bigger man is. Good-bye Umber. Now if you will excuse me, I have a world to remake in my own image!”

Fianna turned to you immediately, the color started to drain from her face.

“Umber. We need to get out of here – right now.”

Gilgaem quirked an eyebrow at Fianna’s unexpected fear.

“Why so worried? Sure, he might wipe out the entire city, but we have nothing to worry about . . . oh.”

Gilgaem’s nostrils flared, catching your scent for the first time, and finally becoming aware that you were both alive again. He rewarded you and Fianna with a predatory grin.

“Oh, so it’s like that, is it? Umber’s decided he’d rather give the Reaper, and not our dear departed friend the so-called Reaper, his due at last. Couldn’t hack immortality, huh?”

“It tends to lose a bit of its glamor after a few thousand years.”

Fianna snapped, and Gilgaem’s grin immediately faded to a frown.

“I wouldn’t know, now would I? Anyway, if the two of you want to scamper away and save yourselves, all well and good. But I don’t think I’ll manage to breach that shield of us alone – I’m not really our magical expert, now am I? Which means Kartul will likely win by default. And something tells me that just wouldn’t sit right with Umber.”

“If we want to stop Kartul, we’re going to have to act quickly. And there’s two pyramids to look through to find him.”

Fianna said, shooting a glance up through the remainder of the roof at the two pyramids hanging there menacingly. At this challenge, Gilgaem scoffed.

“And there’s three of us, last I counted. Fianna dispels those blasted barriers around the pyramids, Umber takes one, I take the other, and we each just hack our way through them until we find the corpse humper and pound his bony ass – figuratively speaking, of course.”

Fianna shoots you a worried look.

“What do you think, love? We can get out of the city now, but if we stay and fail to stop Kartul in time . . .”

“If we fail, I guess the two of you get to enjoy immortality again, just not quite the way you would like. You always were the one who dreamt big, Umber – don’t tell me you gave that up too.”

Gilgaem said with another predatory grin. You got the sense that he was trying to goad you into something, but right now you didn’t really have the time to sort out all of his ulterior motives. And in the end, if you did stay you could really use his help.

Dorizzit

(Wow, is this Shadow of the Colossus day or something? I count three themes from it, including this one. )

Theme Song

Caught off-guard by your escape and counterattack, Cheran is smashed off his feet and sent tumbling down into the rift he was trying to throw you into. As he fell he gave a loud curse, which quickly changed into a long-drawn out screaming that eventually faded into silence. He does not return.

After you are sure the son is gone, you turn your attention back to the father. The Baron, the King, the bastard who destroyed your family and ruined your life, Demetrius Gast, must pay. Nothing else matters now – nothing else ever did. You can feel Purifier driving you on, focusing your attention on the battle ahead and healing your physical injuries. Thanks to him, you would emerge victorious, and then you would make sure that absolutely nothing of the Baron’s work remained.

Maybe not even Seraph and his wife – useless bastard, you probably should have killed him when you had the chance. Oh well, there will be plenty of time to correct that oversight later after the Baron was dead. After all, if you were going to wipe out every last trace of the Baron, you might as well start with anyone who shared his blood, right?

Rocketing up towards the dark form of the Gastly Truth, you don’t have any problems. The Baron’s pet constructs are nowhere in sight, possibly grounded now just like Cheran was. There are a few fiends flitting about, but either because they believe you to be one of their own or they’d rather pick on some defenseless human, none of them bother you either.

When you get up to the airship, you see that a furious melee has broken out on the top deck of the airship. Grounded GHASTs with Hands for support battle tattooed angels and paladins. In the center of the melee, on top of some sort of gigantic crystal embedded in the structure of the airship below the armor plating, is Sara lying half dead with another familiar face, the Herald of Azguloth looming over her. Your eyes only rest on that for a moment before they continue scanning – not your fight. Then through the swirling bodies, you see him near the front of the ship.

As if having a sixth sense for this sort of thing, the Baron turns away from the two smoking, ruined GHASTs he had been facing. His eyes scan through the crowd in your direction, and then they meet yours. The Baron smiles and gives you a jaunty wave before beckoning to you.

You take a step forward before something tells you to look down. Peering carefully at the airship’s hull below your feet, you notice numerous runes had been hurriedly etched into the surface – wards against fire. The Baron had been expecting you, it seems.

[Inspectre]

The Hero of the Oppressed

OverWilliam

“Tare? TARE!? Oh gods, I never thought I would hear your voice again! I can’t believe you found me!”

Melcara wailed from within her metallic tomb, although with not quite so desperate an edge to her voice as previously. At your command not to move, she briefly loses it again.

“Move? You think I can move like this!? I breathe wrong and one of these damn things goes into me! I’ve tripped about half a dozen of them already, and they’re all still itching and burning inside me! My wings were wrapped in the smallest harness ever designed, and have been crushed into the bottom of this coffin by my own body weight! Do you know how impossibly hard it is to be perfectly still for days or years or however long I’ve been done here!? Oh gods! Has it been years Tare? Are you old and grey now!? Are your wrinkly gnarled fingers even going to be able to pick the lock and GET ME OUT OF HERE!? LET ME OUT!!!”

You hear another soft snick, and a faint gasp of pain. You pause a moment in your examination of the coffin in alarm, but then Melcara’s voice echoes up through the metal again.

“Okay. Calm now. You’re here, and you’re going to get me out, somehow. I’m just going to lie here, completely still despite how uncomfortable I am, and let you rescue me. Yup.”

You continue examining the coffin’s lock and levers, and eventually determine that trying to open it was too risky. The damn thing was clearly booby-trapped to torment Melcara, and it made sense that any obvious locks would have methods either to kill the occupant inside, or any would-be rescuers. After a bit of thought, you decided the best thing you could do was to go straight through.

Summoning all of your strength, you drove a spear of lightning and raw magical power directly down into the center of the coffin. You barely even scratched the metal, despite making a hellacious racket and momentarily exhausting yourself. From within the coffin, Melcara cried out in alarm (although thankfully not pain).

“TARE! Tare, are you alright!? What was that? Talk to me!”

After understanding that you had tried and failed to breach the coffin, Melcara’s voice was quieter. Weaker.

“Tare . . . it’s alright. Don’t kill yourself trying to free me. I . . . I wouldn’t be able to stand it if I knew you died trying to save me. Go – go live somewhere, far away from here, and forget about me. Or maybe if you can, just figure out how to trigger the execution switch. Silverton told me there was one, and that it would go off whenever the coffin was opened. I can take the Hells, I’ve survived down there alone before. Anything – anything is better than another minute of this torture! Please Tare . . . put me out of my misery, and then just go.”

Faintly, you could hear Melcara sobbing from within the coffin. You weren’t giving up yet, and you certainly weren’t going to just abandon her. Not now, not after everything you’ve been through! A sudden thought occurs to you, and with the desperation of a drowning man you seize it. You had never tried anything like this before, but you had to make the attempt. Reaching out with your senses, you sought out the faint strands of otherworldliness that differentiated Melcara from you. You found a lot of other strands buried beneath the soil here, most of them nothing but remnants of whatever being had once been imprisoned here. Evidentially the Inquisitors hadn’t just imprisoned Melcara, but made a regular habit of burying creatures early.

You located the unique strand that was Melcara, and strengthened the bonds between you. There was no portal here, and yet as you stretched out your senses you realized that there was an immense wellspring of Hellish energy waiting to be unleashed. Something very bad was about to happen to this city. For now, that couldn’t be your concern and you refined your sense of Melcara, sharpening the image of her in your mind. Calling to her, reaching down not through the coffin, but around it somehow through another plane of existence. You felt something brush up against the tips of your fingers, and you instinctively reached down and grabbed it.

Come with me.

And then you pulled back with all of your might. An instant later, and you snapped back to reality with something heavy but soft pressing down onto your chest and a bloody warmth soaking into your shirt.

“Tare?”

Melcara’s voice replied, no longer a metallic echo but a soft whisper directly in your ear. The heaviness on your chest shifted, rolling awkwardly off of you onto the coffin beside you. Looking over to your right, you find yourself starring directly into Melcara’s eyes, her face mere inches from your own.

“Oh Tare, I never thought I would see you again. I never thought I would get out of there.”

With a grunt, Melcara rolls over and shifts further, coming to rest on her back and staring up at the dark cloudy sky. She laughs, her voice carrying a hint of its former madness but rapidly shifting into a beautiful, happy lilt that was wonderful to hear.

“I never thought I would see the sky again! Oh gods, please let this not be some sort of deranged dream! And if it is, let me never wake up!”

At this point, you manage to get a good look at her. Unfortunately, you hadn’t yet perfected this method of travel just yet. And so while you had brought Melcara out of her tomb, you had likewise brought her restraints with her. And truly, they were impressively excessive – Melcara looked like the victim of some sort of giant spider that cocooned its victims in chains and straps. Furthermore, here and there broken blades jutted out of her body – the remains of the booby traps no doubt, each of them broken off as cleanly as if they had been sawed in half. Yet here she was, whole and alive. You doubted there were any booby traps built into Melcara’s restraints – there didn’t seem to be any room for such a thing in the interwoven mess – and with a bit of time you could pick the locks that were the last thing standing between her and total freedom. That’s why reality showed back up again to bite you in the ass, as Melcara screamed out in alarm.

“Tare, watch out!”

Instinctively, you rolled over onto your side, away from Melcara. There wasn’t exactly much room to maneuver in the crammed confines of the unearthed grave, but you moved enough to save your life as a sword stabbed down, tearing through your side before clanging against the coffin lid, the first several inches of the blade snapping off from the impact. You looked up, and saw the face you most expected to see, and the face you were least enthused about – Inquisitor Albert Silverton.

“How convenient – I can bury you both in the same grave!”

As if in response, the sky suddenly cracked open and a pounding delunge began to come down, starting to fill the grave with muddy water.

(For the sake of moving things along, I’m going to narrate the following fight. You are more than welcome to add your own details in your next post, or just change the whole damn thing if you’re really ambitious and hate my fight scene. Or, y’know, take a third option and turn Silverton into a monkey or something. )

Theme Song

The relentless hunter crowed as he used his other hand to pop the cap off a flask and dump the contents down onto your face. It felt just like cold, clean water to you, with perhaps a hint of salt and herbs in it, but had no other effect on you besides being mildly refreshing. The part of it that splashed over onto Melcara’s face, however, had an immediate effect as her skin began to blister and smoke – holy water. As Melcara cried out in pain and thrashed about as much as her restraints and the narrow confines of the grave would allow – which was admittedly nothing at all – Silverton blinked in confusion and stared down dumbfounded at your simply wet face. You didn’t give him a chance to recover at you lunged upward, grabbed hold of the inquisitor’s legs, and ripped them out from under him. Off-balance already due to leaning down over the grave to get at you with sword and flask, Silverton toppled down into the grave on top of you, his still very functional sword twisted out of his hands as he fell.

Silverton landed on top of you, and for a moment the two of you simply flailed at each other. Then Silverton recovered and pushed himself up off you a little bit, just enough for him to try and bring his knee up into your crotch. He missed the first time, and you didn’t let him try again as you wrapped your legs around his, pinning it in place.

Fighting in the grave was extremely cramped, but that didn’t stop you from trying as you delivered a series of six-inch punches to Silverton’s ribs. All of the blows clanged against something solid – Silverton was wearing some sort of breastplate underneath his jacket. Silverton slapped your hands away and then reached down, grabbing a fistful of your hair and using that to lift your head up and then slam it back down against the metal coffin. For a moment, you saw stars, and felt rather than saw him pulling your head up again for another slam.

Before he could do that, Melcara joined the fight. Twisting herself up into a sitting position, Melcara leaned over to Silverton. As she did, she hissed at him.

“You should have gagged me, Silverton!”

And then she bit him, clamping her jaws down around his shoulder hard enough to cause his jacket there to develop a spreading bloodstain. Silverton only grunted, but he did let go of your hair as Melcara let herself fall backward, dragging Silverton down with her. Now Silverton was halfway on top of Melcara, halfway on top of you. His right leg is trapped by yours, and with Melcara still grimly trying to gnaw completely through his left shoulder, his left arm was effectively trapped as well. Even so, Silverton continues to fight on, flailing at you with his right arm. With a bit more room to maneuver now that the inquisitor is no longer on top of you, you manage to grab his arm and pull it aside, while lifting up your other arm as far as it could reach. Then making it into a fist, you brought it down like a hammer on Silverton’s head, once, twice, three times.

The inquisitor slumps, but proves that is only an act as Melcara suddenly cries out in pain – Silverton’s left hand, despite movement being limited at the shoulder, had managed to grab hold of the blade jutting from Melcara’s stomach. As he twists the end of the blade and then tears it free, Melcara screams, and Silverton is about to twist his shoulder free.

Clutching the remains of the blade in one bloody fist, Silverton pushes himself up and takes a cross-body slash at you. You manage to see it coming early enough to get your face and neck out of the way, but he still manages to catch the arm you were using to hold his right hand. You let go of that limb with a cry of pain as blood erupts from your forearm. Then Silverton is on top of you again, stabbing that makeshift shiv down towards your eyes. You manage to stop the initial thrust, and then you struggle for a moment, Silverton pushing down and you pushing back.

Unfortunately, Silverton was on top and that let him add part of his weight to the downward force, limited only by the fact that you still had his one leg trapped, keeping him from getting completely above you. Still, he was making progress on getting the tip down into your eye . . . at least until you jerked your head to one side and collapsed, allowing the blade to stab downward past your head, shattering on the metal coffin.

Deciding that Silverton had turned this fist fight into one involving knives, you drop one of your hands away from his now that the danger was past, trying to go for one of the Fangs tucked away in its sheath at your side. You manage to get the blade out and stab at Silverton, knowing that one telling blow with a fatally poisoned weapon would probably end this. Unfortunately again, he sees it coming and manages to grab your knife hand by the wrist, stopping the thrust short. Guiding your hand by the wrist, he swings it around and buries the blade into the soft dirt forming the side of the grave. Then he starts trying to twist and grind your wrist into powder, causing you to let go of the Fang entirely, leaving it buried in the wall.

Before Silverton can actually break your wrist, however, you slip your free hand under his chin and push his head back, simultaneously using your hips to roll Silverton back and off of you. You throw him against the far side of the grave, which isn’t very far at all, and for a moment the two of you simply glare at each other, dripping blood from your various wounds. Then Silverton’s fingers find the hilt of his discarded sword, and you decide the narrow confines of the grave aren’t working out so well for you.

You hop up and out of the grave, rolling up onto the ground just as Silverton swings and carves a line through the soft soil where your legs had been a moment before. As Silverton stands up to follow you, you kick the sword out of his hands, and then kick him in the face. He goes back down into the grave, out of sight, and nursing a bloody nose. Deciding you wanted to get the jump on him when he came back up – and given his relentless fighting style, he would be getting back up – you focus for a moment and then turn invisible. Of course, with a trained inquisitor Limier had warned you not to rely on invisibility too much, and you realized a moment after going invisible that the rain was still striking your body, leaving a clear spot where the rain was not hammering down into the soil. Still, it was the best idea you had at present, and it proved to be a good one as Silverton came up, brandishing a crossbow. Either due to the fact that the rain was somehow helping your invisibility after all, or Silverton was simply too enraged to concentrate, he looked around wildly for you.

“Where the bloody hells are you!!?”

Silverton howled, sweeping his eyes and crossbow all around the grave. You begin quickly sneaking around to a point behind him when Silverton unfortunately gets a bright idea. Using one hand, Silverton reaches down and grabs Melcara by the hair, yanking her up enough to jab the tip of the crossbow bolt until her chin.

“Show yourself or the fallen bitch gets it!”

He yells, and that settles that. You reappear a moment later, hands held out at your sides, waiting to see what he would do next. Silverton didn’t disappoint you as he removed the crossbow from Melcara’s chin to level it at you.

“Thanks. That’s all I need.”

He says, and then he fires. Several things happen immediately thereafter.

First, with a screamed “no!”, Melcara swings her head around in Silverton’s grip, tearing out her hair as she lunges and bites down on Silverton’s wrist, throwing his aim off, but only after the bolt has already left. Second, with a snarl Silverton shoves Melcara off, dropping her back into the grave, out of sight beneath the rapidly rising level of muddy water. Third, you activate your speed boost, watch as the bolt crawls through the air in your general direction, raindrops slowly spattering off of it as it moves along, walk around it, walk back up to the grave, and then summoning all of your hatred, rage, and magical might into your fists, deliver a hellacious double punch to Silverton’s chest that launches him out of the grave and sends him flying ten feet away from you, and skidding along the muddy ground for another five. Then, time speeds back up, and somewhere behind you, the crossbow bolt hits another tombstone and explodes, sending shards of stone in every direction (how was he expecting to survive shooting Melcara point-blank with that thing again?)

For a long moment, Silverton lies still where he had finally rolled to a stop over fifteen feet away from you. In that moment, you honestly thought, with a note of disbelief, that you had actually won. Then reality sets back in, and Silverton stirs, gasping and wheezing. With trembling hands, he pulls open his jacket, revealing the metal breastplate he had been wearing underneath. He undoes a few of the straps holding it in place, and works it out from underneath his jacket, tossing it aside. You don’t fail to notice that within the solid metal breastplate, two deep dents have been made from your fists, and a good portion of Silverton’s chest is starting to turn black and blue. Judging from the way he was moving as he sat back up, he also had at least a couple broken ribs. But he wasn’t dead! For gods’ sake, he wasn’t dead! What did you have to do to kill him!? Evidentially Silverton was thinking the same thing.

“Just . . . what the . . . Hells *are* you!? You know what . . . I don’t care! I’m . . . sending you . . . back . . . back to whatever . . . Hellhole . . . you spawned from!”

Silverton starts to reload the crossbow, and suddenly standing fifteen feet away from him didn’t seem like a great place to be. Painfully aware that you were starting to feel the strain of all this magic, you nonetheless tapped into it again, sprinting towards Silverton. This time, perhaps because of the distance, or because Silverton had already seen this trick, or simply because you were tired and couldn’t summon the same speed, Silverton was ready for you. As you reach him and pull back another enchanted fist, Silverton in slow motion bring his crossbow up in front of him to block the blow. Your fist descends towards the weapon, crackling lightning, and then time speeds back up again as your fist plows through the crossbow in a shower of splinter and continues on through into Silverton’s face. Still the inquisitor doesn’t go down, twisting away from the blow just in time to turn it from a skull-pulping hit into a grazing blow that tears one side of his face off, ripping a gaping hole in his cheek and reducing the rest of his face on that side to a bloody mess. But then Silverton’s hands flash up from his disintegrating crossbow, and clasp around your outstretched wrist. That’s when you know that you are in trouble.

Despite your blinding speed, in your spars with Limier she had often been able to turn the tables on you suddenly. It seems Silverton had that same talent as he twisted and pulled, and suddenly you are flipped through the air over his shoulder and flat onto your back.

*WHUMPF!*

No sooner has your back touched the ground but Silverton is standing over you, dragging you back up onto your feet by your arm. And then you’re flipping end over end through the air again, until your back collides with the ground.

*WHUMPF!*

And again, although this third time as you are falling, you see not the ground, but another upraised tombstone waiting to greet you.

*THUNK!*

Your head impacts against the tombstone, and although you don’t think your skull cracked open, it certainly felt like it. Incredible pain blossoms from your forehead to the crown of your head, and you feel a spreading warmth through your hair and running down your face. Your vision wavers and starts to grey. For a moment you think Silverton is going to lift your head back up and slam it into the tombstone a second time, surely finishing you. But instead he simply twists and pulls on the arm he had captured, and pain floods through your body from your shoulder as he dislocates it. Silverton finishes your punishment with a hard kick to the side he had wounded at the start of the fight, and then releases your arm and steps back.

“No so invincible after all, eh?”

Silverton taunts, and you hear the rasp of another blade being drawn from its scabbard.

“Let’s see if you can live without a head!”

You were half-blind, both from fading in and out of consciousness and from the blood pouring down into your eyes. You were in a great deal of pain, one of your shoulders was dislocated, and you were exhausted both magically and physically. But then Melcara’s face flashed through your mind, frozen in an expression of relief upon releasing she was outside again instead of trapped in her own private Hells. After Silverton was done with you, he’d put her back in there or worse. You couldn’t let that happen, you won’t!

Rallying every last iota of strength, you rolled yourself onto your back and used your other hand to cross-body draw the other Fang. And then summoning the last of your magical strength, you boosted your speed one last time and threw the blade, sending it out from your hand like a silvery lightning bolt. A few feet away, Silverton grunted in surprise as the dagger’s hilt suddenly appeared in his bruised chest, just below his sternum. The twin blades of the dagger scissor closed on contact, shattering the vial between them as designed and injecting lethal poison into the wound. Even then, Silverton doesn’t die immediately, rather taking one staggering step towards you before looking down at his injury.

“Damnit.”

He grunts, and then topples forward, landing right beside you, his face already starting to freeze up in a death grimace. You pass out a few moments later.

************

(Moving things right along again. As always, feel free to embellish or changes things with your own details if you’d like! I’m hopeful with two to three more posts from you, we can actually still wrap Tare’s Flight story up!)

You awake to find yourself freezing, soaked to the bone by the hammering rain. The wound in your side and head have faded to a dull ache, but flare up to remind you of their presence with every little movement you make. Your shoulder is still dislocated, and that too reminds you of its existence with a piercing pain whenever you try to move that arm at all. You half expect to see Silverton’s body gone when you look over, but no, he is still there, quite dead, his mouth half-open to accept the rain and his eyes starring unblinking into the dark sky.

Carefully, you reach down with your good hand and pull out a healing potion, the last one from the small stockpile Limier had supplied you with upon equipping yourself for the assault. You drink half of it, and pour the remainder on your head and side, feeling their pain fade to a dull ache. Your vision still blurs a little whenever you move too fast, but it would have to do for now.

That just left your dislocated shoulder to take care of, which was an unpleasant but simple thing to fix. More than one heist had involved the need to slip through spaces no one thought a human being could fit through, and it was true enough . . . for someone with all of their joints properly set. Naturally, knowing how to dislocate something for such a job requiring likewise knowing how to relocate it after the limb was needed again. Steadying yourself, you pull your wounded shoulder back and ram it into the ground at a specific angle, and the joint pops back into place with a sharp final burst of pain.

Then you push yourself back up and survey your surroundings . . . something seems to be missing. As soon as your eyes settle on the water-filled grave, you know – Melcara! She was still down there below the water somewhere!

All pain gone from your mind, you race over to the grave at once and throw yourself down beside it, feeling your injured side tear back open a bit but not really caring as you plunge your hands down through the muddy water and feel around for a body. Your finger brush up against something and then you seize it, dragging Melcara’s body up out of the water. The fallen angel just looks at you, obviously soaked but otherwise perfectly fine despite being underwater for who knows how long.

“I don’t have to breathe, you know. How do you think I survived down inside the coffin?”

Melcara explained, her eyes filling with worry as she noticed the mess you were.

“Are you alright Tare? What happened!? Silverton, is he . . .”

Melcara’s head turned to one side, she saw the body, and then spat in its general direction.

“Good riddance. So, as I was saying before the interruption – can you get me out of these?”

It takes you quite some time to pick the locks, which were just as excessive in number as everything else. But eventually you manage to remove every chain, every strap, every shackle, and Melcara is at last totally free. She stretches for a minute, working feeling back into her limbs, and then comes over to you with an odd look in her eye.

“So Tare. I’ve heard stories that human damsels are supposed to reward their rescuers with a kiss. I’m not human, but –“

Stepping forward, Melcara leans over and kisses you on the lips. It’s an awkward kiss, but one that is not lacking in passion. Eventually, she breaks away with a smile.

“This is the second time you’ve saved me Tare. I am eternally grateful to you. You are . . . I am . . . proud to have you as a friend.”

That’s it!? For now, it seems, as Melcara turns away and looks towards the wall, flexing her wings. She turns back to smile at you.

“So, how about we get out of here? I should be able to fly us out of here – where are we going?”

Melcara picks you up, easily now that she has regained her angelic strength. And then she flies up over the wall, giving you a good look at the city. You immediately wish you hadn’t seen the whole city – an immense battle was being waged all over the place, leaving most of the city a complete ruin. Seeing a number of winged shapes doing battle in the skies above, Melcara swoops down back to street level in a slight panic.

“Angels! I . . . I do not think my former sisters will be happy to see me. We should probably walk from here.”

Melcara said, touching down. As fate would have it, a moment later Limier and Karami’s parents came around the corner a moment later. Reunited, you hurried on through the streets, avoiding contact with anyone. You just had to hope that Limier’s safehouse was still standing when you got there, or that Brock at least managed to get Karami out to a safe place.

You are just rounding another corner when suddenly the front wall of a nearby building gives way, allowing an armored man to crash out into the street in front of you. Melcara instantly seems to recognize him, as she calls out a name.

“Ander!”

And then, a moment later, Melcara curses loudly as another figure steps out of the collapsing building. It could very well be her twin – the same flame-red hair, the same face, and the same maniacal glint in her eyes that Melcara had in her darkest moments. But this one’s wings were bone white, and she carried an ornate spear in her hands. As if sensing you, the head of Melcara’s twin turns around to face you, and a grin splits her face as she sees Melcara.

“Oh **** oh****oh****! Tare, RUN!!!”

Melcara screams, shoving you back behind her as her twin leaps up into the air and swoops towards you. Melcara’s twin slams into your friend, and quickly proves to be far stronger as she effortlessly lifts Melcara up with one hand and throws her back into a wall, partially smashing her through it.

“Hello, sister! Are you ready to die again!?”

Melcara’s twin crows as she twirls her spear and advances, her focus entirely on Melcara. That’s not the end of your troubles, however, as Limier suddenly cries out in pain. Turning, you find that she has an arrow in each hand, but a third one is embedded in her side. From a nearby dark alley another trio of arrows comes flying out, and despite her best efforts to throw herself to one side another two arrows find Limier, striking her in the shoulder and left leg. Limier collapses, struggling to get back up to her feet before another three arrows come flying out of the alley, one going through her right hand and pinning it to the cobblestones, another pinning her cloak, and the third tauntingly scratching her left cheek before nearly taking her ear off.

Only then does her assailant reveal himself, Teareal clad in ornate leather armor as he strides out of the alleyway, his eyes narrowed in single-minded fury much like Melcara’s evil (good?) twin as he advances and pulls back the string on his bow another time, the arrow notched there starting to waver, sometimes appearing as a single arrow, sometimes as three.

The Last Lost Archangel

The_Snark

At your dismissal, the priest nods and walks away, moving to help the villagers still busy trying to extinguish the fires. Given how intensely some of them were starting to burn, you aren’t sure how successful they were going to be. At the moment, you couldn’t concern yourself with them anymore – if you didn’t go deal with Seer Maya, whether they get the fires out or not would swiftly become irrelevant. As could be expected, the children were less willing to let you go than Jacob was – both of them clung to your legs sobbing. Caroline just keep saying over and over “don’t go!”, while William’s refrain was more along the lines of “I’m so sorry!”. Eventually Jacob grabbed both of them and pulled them away from you, wrapping each up in a fierce, one-armed hug. There were even a few tears in his own eyes.

“You’ve been a real blessing to this family, don’t let anyone else tell you different.”

He says fiercely, his eyes tracking over to the nearby mountain and its dark summit.

“I’ve decided that tomorrow, whatever happens, we’re leaving this town and never looking back. It’s been long since passed time that I let go of the past. You’re welcome anytime, wherever we end up.”

Jacob chokes back a couple words, and then nods.

“I hope someday we’ll meet again. Now, you better get going. Don’t worry about us. You need to save that boy – his head’s all messed up, but his heart is definitely in the right place.”

And so with that, you turn and leave the village of Stonefall behind to ascend the peak. Something tells you that you won’t ever be coming back to this place. As you start to walk away, however, Caroline suddenly calls out, “Wait!”

Breaking out of Jacob’s grip, she runs after you. For a moment you think she’s about to collide with your knees again, but this time she slows to a stop in front of you. Digging into a pocket of her dress, she pulls out a handful of shiney stones, connected together with a piece of string. This she ties around your right wrist.

“It’ll keep you safe.”

Caroline says, more hopeful than confident, but the gift was appreciated anyway. And then, you turn and depart from this place. You had an ancient grudge to put to rest.

Theme Song

(And now we’ve come full circle from the thread’s very first DM! And things still make quite a bit of sense! )

******

The heat of the flames wafting up from the inferno consuming the village does little to ease the chill you now felt as you ascended the slope. Unbidden, memories of a similar situation flood to the front of your mind: soaring over an immense city as the intense heat of fires raging unchecked wafts up to you, along with the panicked screams of the dying and the mad howls of demons. And in the distance, a lone figure standing at the center of it all.

The burns you had suffered earlier were already starting to fade – as always, you healed quickly. Too quickly for a normal human girl, but you knew that already. You didn’t know what you really were anymore, and for a fleeting instant you caught yourself desiring the simplicity of suffering under Daddy’s rule. But no, staying in that man’s intender care would have also denied you the joys you had experienced outside Ironheart’s walls.

As a reminder of this, your new bracelet jingles as its bits of slag and smoothed stones clatter together. A gift from your new family, intended as a replacement for the hard bronze bracelet that had encircled your wrist previously for as long as you can remember.

At last you arrive at the crest of the high cliff overlooking the burning village. And ahead of you in the distance is once again the lone figure, although this time he is not alone. Flanking him are two Hell Knights, their black armor looking especially menacing as they reflect the light of the fires below. Also present is a battered Julian, crumpled at the feet of one of the Hell Knights. Weakly he raises his head to look at you, his bloodied face a mask of fear and horror.

”No . . . Mar. RUN!”

Idly, one of the Hell Knights delivers a kick to Julian’s side, silencing him as he flops over onto his back with a pained grunt.

With the deliberate pace of one savoring the moment, the cowled figure turns away from the sight of the burning village towards you. Although concealed by the heavy robes he wore, the figure’s body was . . . strange. Twisted and deformed, it was clearly not in the shape of a human even covered by the thick layers of cloth. And a menacing aura of corruption surrounded the figure, making you feel uneasy and sick in his presence.

But despite every remaining sensible nerve in your body screaming at you to heed Julian’s advice, this time you can’t turn and run away. You feel as if you are affixed to the spot, and can only stand there as the figure gives a gurgling chuckle.

“It has been too long, Marisiel the Protector. Far too long since we last met. You have certainly changed. Well, I have too.”

Wrapped and gloved hand-sized appendages come up out of the robe’s folds, reaching up to pull the cowl back. And there, underneath the stars and above the flames, you see a familiar face, and one which you instinctively knew you had never wished to see again.

*****

It was Daddy’s face, twisted and distorted from rot and from being modified into something that better suited its new owner’s purposes, but still recognizable. In your memories, you had seen him die, slain by the vengeful spirit you had come here to confront, so this wasn’t entirely a surprise. But it still wasn’t pleasant seeing the face of your own personal tormentor speaking to you again, even if a different mind was choosing the words now.

“I thought continuing to use poor Maya’s body would be such a waste. Especially after all the work I put into . . . adjusting this one. I thought your precious “Daddy” should be here for the end as well. I know he would have loved to watch you burn.”

“Mar, it’s not him! It’s not your father! He’s some kind of –“

Julian shouts, only to be again silenced with a kick from one of the Hell Knights.

“Yes, you idiot child, I’m sure Marisiel is quite aware of that. But just in case that memory is still locked away in some recessed part of her diseased mind.”

Daddy throws his arms wide.

“It is me, Marisiel! Your long-lost love, Istomilo!!”

Daddy chuckles.

“Hah, not even I buy that one. Not anymore. But for a time, like the most pathetic kind of sap, I thought maybe one day . . . well, those days have long since passed and gone! But you, you must really hate me Marisiel, to strive so hard to deny me satisfaction at every turn!”

“Why . . . do you keep . . . calling her that? Her name is Mar.”

Julian wheezed, wincing and immediately falling silent as the Hell Knight raises his boot menacingly. Istomilo simply laughed and waved the Hell Knight back.

“Oh, you don’t know!? Of course not, after all, you’ve only heard her side of the story! And I wouldn’t expect her to tell you the whole truth anyway. You’re just a human, not worth her time.”

Istomilo gestured at you in a grandiose manner.

“So, allow me to introduce Marisiel the Protector – Mar to everyone else – an archangel sent by Miriam to “protect” humanity. Of course, that’s not what she’s really here for, no! She’s here to belittle and judge humanity, because she is *so* much better than us fallible humans! But now that I think on it, I do believe she’s a far worse monster than you or me.”

Istomilo turns his attention back to you, and Daddy’s lips pull back into a death-grimace smile.

“Do you have any inkling whatsoever of how many people have died because of you, Marisiel? Of how many people have been irrevocably damned because of you? I bet if we counted them all up, it would be a number that would surpass all others!”

Unbidden, a dream – no, a memory – flashes before your eyes. Marisiel the archangel, not Mar the girl, hanging, beaten and bloodied after Daddy’s – Brother Corwin’s – lackeys had taken their blood for the week, along with more than a few pounds of flesh. And another familiar presence there with Brother Corwin, whispering in your ear, telling you the latest weekly casualty estimate from the Church’s crusade. A crusade they were waging not on the behalf of humanity, but for you. Trying to locate and rescue Miriam’s lost archangel, who had never been trapped in the Hells in the first place. It had been the hardest thing you had ever done not to give that presence the satisfaction it was so desperately seeking. So hard to remain grim-faced and emotionless, until finally they gave up and you were returned to your cell to heal and await the next session of brutal torture for the extraction of blood or simply for their own cruel sport. Only then, when you were alone, did you allow yourself to succumb to the tears.

“So what say you, Marisiel? Too superior for love, too proud for understanding, too strong to be broken, and too noble to sacrifice others for survival. What else are you too good for?”

The New God on the Block

Gorgondantess Theater

--Gorgondantess’s Reply--

She acquiesces immediately to all of Augustus' requests. She owed him that much, at least.
And as for Quadramus... well, she didn't care for him anyways, and she was glad to see him gone, though equally mystifying and frustrating that he simply discorporated. She had the feeling that this was not even close to being over. Still, no time for that. She regarded the sister.
"...And what will happen to you, in this explosion? I'm sure I can survive it... but you'll be at the center of the blast radius."
She pondered a moment, then shakes her head.
"No. Your brother needs you. And I owe him that much, at least."
Indeed, she might have, under other circumstances, been easily willing to sacrifice her... but she felt she would need all the peace of mind possible in times to come. Despite all the tumult in her mind- Or perhaps because of it- the path before her was strangely clear.
Snatching the girl from her post, she opens the hatch and, through the magic of being a godlike shapeshifter, lowers her down to the ground gently but quickly. And now to deal with this monstrosity.
She grabs the leads that allow one to control the beast, and assimilates them... while recreating them at the same time. In essence, she is extending tendrils of her being into the beast itself. She continues to extend, linking her mind with the dead flesh, veins of her being replacing its own.
The beast outside twitches, grunts, and then screams out in a voice very much her own.
"FLEE!"
The beast spins around, and begins flying off into the distance about as clumsily as something possibly could- tripping over itself, rolling, tumbling. On top of being new at this (though naturally talented as anyone might possibly be), she was also doing other things.
In order to power it, she was forcing the beast to consume itself.
The flailing and undulations took lots of energy, energy that, beyond moving it away, caused the inevitable blast radius to shrink as it cannibalized itself.
She just hoped it would be enough.

----DM----

You attached yourself to this dead thing, converting it into your own sort of life and forcing it to cannibalize itself early as it stumbled over the ground. You had no idea just how far you would have to go, nor did you really know just how long you had before the whole thing exploded around you. So you just kept yourself connected, pushing the beast further and further away from the village, and hoping it would be just far enough. And then suddenly, the moment was upon you. Everything began to glow with a brilliant inner light, which quickly flared up to blinding intensity. There was a loud noise like a thunderclap from all around you, and a mercifully brief but unpleasant sensation of your own body being torn apart into tiny pieces.

Your consciousness survived, as you know it would. But when you opened your “eyes” again, you found yourself somewhere else. You were standing on the shore of an island, and as you look inward you see some sort of large stone temple structure jutting up from the cover of trees. From that direction, you can dimly hear the sound of shouting.

Everything seems real here, and yet . . . not. It felt one step removed from reality – you could remember from your human experiences something that they called dreams. A series of sensations that were not real, but nonetheless seemed that way at the time. But there was an odd sense of familiarity here as well, as if you were accessing a memory instead. So . . . somewhere between a memory and a dream, then?

You got the sense that you were supposed to go up to the temple. But like a cool breeze washing over your face, you also ever so faintly detect a disturbance, somewhere out to sea. A thread of existence breeching this dream world – perhaps you could follow it back to where you had just been, instead of this bizarre place.

It seemed like you had a choice – investigate this strange place you found yourself in, or simply look for a way out.

(So, uh . . . basically I wasn't expecting you to be back before the end of Flight, as you know. Basically, rather than write up a big narration for you, I wanted to give you a choice of things to do. You can investigate this dream sequence and get some more information about the Spirit's origins, or leave and instead return to reality for a more . . . traditional ending. )

The Seeker of Truth

Kasanip

Believing that the most important problem was rescuing Cherise, and trusting that Duncan would reveal himself after you sprung whatever sort of trap this was, you head directly over to the altar. As you go, you pick a torch up from the ring and take it with you – the light helped a bit, and maybe it would disrupt whatever foul sort of ritual was about to take place here. Reaching Cherise, you reach out with your fake hand to break her bonds – and the image of your friend ripples and falls away at your touch, revealing Duncan lying there instead!

“Thanks.”

He says, and then brings some sort of heavy blunt object up and around into the side of your head. The room spins, and dimly you are aware of collapsing to the floor, the torch rolling out of your suddenly limp hand, but your eyes . . . they just . . . don’t . . . . want to stay . . . open.

********

You awake with a start and a painful throb in your head. To your surprise your hand is free to reach up and touch your temple, an act which proves to be a mistake as a jolt of pain spikes through your head at the touch. As your vision clears and you become more aware of your surroundings you find that you are lying on the stone altar now. You are not bound, although you are missing your fake hand, the constructed appendage lying off to one side of the ritual circle beneath a torch. Additionally, you can feel some sort of metal collar locked around your neck, and as you drop the fingers of your remaining hand down to examine the thing by touch Duncan appears from the shadows.

“Morning.”

He says with a smirk, and then raises his hand.

“Before you try anything, I want you to know that is a mage collar I put on you. And not one of those “humane” ones the Adjudicators use, but one from Ironheart, designed to cause mind-shattering amounts of pain at the vaguest hint of the slightest incantation. I also removed your artificial hand – I apologize for that but I didn’t know what sort of surprises you had in there. I don’t like surprises.”

Duncan scowls.

“No, I don’t like them at all, and that’s certainly what you have turned out to be. I had hoped to lead you around far enough to accusing your father, but you managed to put more pieces together than I thought you would. And since you’ve had such an interest in my plans, I’ve decided that you should get to take part in its ending. My niece really should be proud to call you a friend – I thought you might be more difficult to lure down here with just illusions, and yet you just came charging down here to the rescue. You didn’t even tell anyone where you were going, did you?”

Duncan smiles, a simple act which carries considerably more menace now.

“With everyone distracted by the trial, that means it’ll be awhile before anyone bothers to try and figure out where you are. That means we have plenty of time to talk, and for me to convince you to become my assistant in this endeavor. But first, let’s get any questions of your own out of the way. I’m sure you have plenty of them for why I’ve turned my back on the Canticles, how could I possibly choose to damn myself for eternity, and all of those silly ideas that have been drilled into your head since you were a little girl. Well go on then, let me have it.”

[Inspectre]

The Perpetual Princess (of Peril)

Lonna

The Duke looked thoughtful for a moment, and then nodded.

“Why yes, yes I do. My message is thus – you really aren’t very creative, are you!? I know that it’s you, whore, so why don’t we just drop all pretense here?”

The Duke reached up and took off his cloak, and as it fell from his shoulders so too did his appearance peel back. The illusion dispelled, it was now Volesin’s butler who stood before you. Quivering with rage, he jabs a finger at you.

“I should kill you right here and now for what you have done. But my lord suspected this would be a possible outcome, and he left very explicit instructions for me to follow.”

The butler clenches his fist, and then slumps his shoulders and looks down at the floor.

“I am not to harm you. On the contrary, if you are willing to remain silent about the Duke’s death, I am to give you your heart’s desire. Your sister Ariella is unharmed – much as I longed to peel the little whore like an apple – and shall be returned to you. Or, she can stay here, and continue to be well cared for.”

The butler pulls his lips back in a sneer.

“You see, the Duke was unable to have children of his own. So out of the goodness of his heart he chose to find street urchins, the lowest of the common filth, and elevate them to be a noble’s bastard children. Since he has had no wife, the bastards would still succeed him eventually. With both of his sons dead, that means the mantle of this Duchy falls to Rose, unless that inquiry as to her health was another lie, in which case it will eventually fall to Ariella. Yes, your little whore sister might one day, after “Duke Volesin” passes away from old age, become the Duchess Volesin. Does that mean you’re going to kill her as well?”

The butler slips the cloak back up over his shoulders, and suddenly Duke Volesin is starting there in front of you again.

“Now then, let’s see what your little sister wants.”

Duke Volesin turns to one of his guards, who apparently could be trusted with all of this sensitive information.

“Go get Ariella and inform her that we have a special guest that I think she would very much like to see.”

(Unless Pyrene runs out of the manor at this point, I’m going to assume Ariella comes out and sees her – you can decide whether Pyrene is still in the disguise of a messenger or if she’s reverted to her usual, female, appearance.)

A few minutes later, and the guard comes back. Trotting along behind him is a sight that causes your breath to lodge itself in your throat. There she is, dressed in a frilly white dress . . . Ariella, your sister, and the cause of a thousand sleepless nights on her behalf. She looks at Duke Volesin, looks at you, and shies back a little.

“Yes Father, what is it? I was told someone’s here to see me?”

The Approaching Challenger

Vegna

(Okay, much as I would like to continue throwing you into Mortal Combat, I think we need to get the crazy train leaving the station so we can give you a proper Ironheart finale! )

Val’Tosh listens to your words, and then slams his fist into the nearby wall, pulverizing a chunk of the stone. Seeing the destruction he accidentally wrought, Val’Tosh grunts some sort of panicked curse under his breath and waves a beefy hand over the hole, merging the stone back together. When he’s finished, he looks back at you and nods.

“Don’t know how much use I’ll be against someone who can best both of our masters, but you’ll have my aid. Whoever did this must pay!”

Making whoever this assassin was pay had to come later, however. For now, both of you went down to the healers to have your bruised bodies looked at. The healers started working on Val’Tosh right away, guiding him over to stool that creaked under his weight until he discretely shored up the legs with dirt from the floor. They seemed undaunted by the size of his shoulder, and just steadily massaged it one part at a time, rubbing some sort of foul-smelling balm into the skin. Val’Tosh grunted contentment, so you could only assume they were doing their job well.

At your request, the healers went to check on Skor Pon. While they were gone, you allowed yourself to relax a little. Upon seeing movement by the front door, your eyes drift over in that direction to focus – and immediately your body tenses back up. You caught only a glimpse of someone moving past the door and glancing furtively inside before their movement carried them beyond the doorway. As such, you had less than a second to look upon the person’s face, and that was enough. You would never forget that face, and how could you? It was the face of your master, back from the dead!

Looking over at Val’Tosh, you see that he has similarly become fully alert, his eyes focused on the doorway. Evidentially he had noticed the apparition as well, suggesting it was something more than just fatigue.

“Did you see that!? Someone just passed in front of the door . . . it . . . it looked just like my master!”

*His* master!? Just what was going on around here!? Desperate for answers, and seeing no better way to get them, you go charging out into the hallway, Val’Tosh only a few lumbering steps behind. No sooner have you exited the room but you feel something hard strike your back, shoving you towards the wall. As your master had taught you, you deflect the force of the blow and use it to spin you around right back into the face of your assailant. A hard palm to the chest in return later and now it is you who are shoving your opponent into the wall. And now face to face, there is no refuting the fact that it truly is your master.

“Good, you’ve remembered what I’ve taught you. Now listen, you don’t have a lot of time – you’re in terrible danger here!”

The old dwarf inclines his head towards Val’Tosh.

“You as well, “little one”.”

[WhiteKnight777]

Umber

Oh, how I loathe melodrama was Umber's first thought as he watched the exaggerated passion-play between Shakati and Zariel - yet he found himself drawn Fianna close, a sudden need for the simple comfort of his presence as Zariel joined his love in a messy-blood soaked death like a couple of maudlin teenagers in a bad play. Disgusting. He reflected as he entwined his fingers with Fianna's, wiping some of the irritating drizzle out of his eyes with the back of his other hand.

"Well." He said, feeling that, for the moment, words were entirely inadequate. The shape of the world had changed - two titans had died. They had walked the earth for millenia, each of them shaping vast forces and minor events alike, each of them embroiled in an intercine web of love, betrayal, hatred, and overriding passion. But beyond it all... they had been his friends, and the fact of their existence had been one of the pillars of his world.

And at the end... they had been together. But did that matter? What was "the end," after all - did it obviate everything that had come before? Did it rectify all those thousands of years of suffering, did it breach the barriers of understanding that had stood between them like titan walls? No. Death answered nothing. It was simply... cessation, as far as Umber could tell. Perhaps they would be together in Hell, perhaps not. But deathbed confessions had always struck him as trite things - what good was a confession of love if you did not live to enjoy it? what good was mending to a corpse? At the root, judging a life by how it ended was a perverse, morbid thing. And worthless, in Umber's humble opinion. Not that he did much that was humble.

He shook his head at the morbid turn of his own thoughts. Fortunately, it seems Kartul was going to be courteous enough to give him a distraction. That was good. Killing enemies was a balm for the soul - and damn if it didn't put things in perspective.

He turned to Fianna, pulled her against his armored chest and gave her a kiss fierce enough to make his lips feel bruised. Then he looked at Gilgeam, smirking, rolling his neck to hear it pop.

"You know me better than that, Gilgeam. Do you think I slaughtered thousands of slaves and harvested the life-essence of my own army simply for fun? Do you think I didn't plan on Kartul trying something apocalyptic?"

He snorted, bending to retrieve his sword - which pulsed, making an almost organic gurgling sound. "Best of all, an unexpected gift from our fallen friends. Woe has rarely held such a glut of power. Kartul's always been an overbearing ass. I'm going to exile his ashes to the darkness beyond existence - or maybe I'll just bring him back to life so I can end him once and for all." He nodded towards the pyramid, a shimmering portal opening between two arching ice-trees. "One more friend to kill today, it seems."

[Vegna]

Mal Harath

( Ready to rock the crazy train! )

At sight of Val'Tosh's anger, Mal, for the second time, thanks his luck for not being placed to fight the ogre. But his conviction is comforting while its on Mal's side, at least.

"I had a feeling that one clean hit, from you, should do the job. Hah hah. Come on."

He chuckles at the earth magic's use, which turns to hacking coughs from the smell of his friend's treatment. Val'Tosh returns a slight "Not so funny now" smile, as Mal karmically tries to catch his breath again. Mal provides himself a small mud foot-bath, letting him deaden his tremorsense as he relaxes his toes and, in turn, the rest of his body.

The mud hardens instantly and cracks off Mal's skin, as he sprints after the familar figure.

His arm holds unsteady in shock, as Mal sees the ghost of his past standing before him. Years walking the earth, on what now looked back as some fanatical crusade, to find this dwarf's killer. So much time, wasted on his own quest.

But ... but it didn't matter. Mal embraced his master, as he hadn't for the longest time, before letting go, bowing and uttering in Dwarven,

"I have missed you, Master Vork. I am glad to see you alive and well."

Master Vork's words finally begin to ring in his ear, as the student rises again. His shock turned joy, Mal is calm as he asks,

"What danger?"