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| − | * - Back to [[GoldenCat/SixthMovement|Sixth Movement]]
| + | #REDIRECT [[ADanceOfAngels]] |
| − | * - Back to [[GoldenCat/DanceOfAngels|A Dance of Angels]]
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| − | == The End of Fire ==
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| − | '''Vorpal: ''' The General's final transormation is almost too much to bear. His howl stings in her ears, the red light he eminates pains her eyes, her wounds ache with its heat. Shielding her face, she staggers a step backwards along Ice's broad back.
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| − | ''This -- this is hopeless! How are we supposed to --''
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| − | Her reserves spent, her faith crumbling, she can only marvel at how defiantly Ice stands despite the pressure aimed at them. Ice, strong, fearless, loyal Ice, her companion through these past five years, the pillar against which she could lean when her own willpower was not enough. But now, against this foe, even the beast's unyielding courage won't last long to hold them together --
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| − | It is then that the first chords of Ryshassa's song reaches her ears... And her fear ebbs away. Hope trickles in like sweet honey. Clarity, purpose, ''determination'', she rediscovers it all in the pace of a few cleansing breaths.
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| − | Moistening her lips with her tongue, she continues softly: "There is a part in an army that is all too often forgotten. There are songs about the courage of knights and archers and infantry, of how bravely they fell into the enemy blades. However, who has heard a song of the healers, of the cooks and craftsmen and the masters of the supplies, those invisible souls who keep the army fed and clothed and alive?"
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| − | '''Cael: ''' Though he hears the song, sees the general there ... Cael cannot bring himself to strike at his foe, not even to write a single word of critism... the fear, it paralysises him and so he watches, mute from his position above the battlefield.
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| − | '''Selina de Windia: ''' The monster stops. The fear from the General enters her, making her blanch in the face of his presence. And she hates it. Burning turquoise eyes stare at him balefully, and she stays where she was in the sky, not daring to come down. Yet.
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| − | "''Kill him! '''KILL HIM! '''''"
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| − | '''Alexsei Krauser: ''' Fate once again rips at lady Ausra's attack, and their terrible foe is once again set aback, but Alexsei cannot help but wince as he feels the strands of destiny rip and snap at her touch. ''Just... what... is she? '' his mind echoes, but the answer would not come yet.
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| − | Instead, the General draws strenght from the great behemoth at his feet, his body changing, his energy resplenished... And the fear of him renewing itself in the Sidereal's body.
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| − | And as he holds back, trying to master his paralyzing fear and apprehension of the enemy they would face, the sound comes to his ears.
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| − | The lyre, each string plucked masterfully, the resulting musical piece much greater than the sum of its parts, filling him with the courage and strength to fight those who would silence their voices forever... It fills him with the example of a child who he has seen become a woman, a terrified little girl who now stands true in the face of the cataclysm... And it calls to his own inner resolve, his own determination when faced with the End.
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| − | ''Ryshassa. ''
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| − | Epilogue twists again in his hands, as if possessed by a life of its own. Like a snake, it slithers and coils in Alexsei's hands, an hypnotic pattern froming around him as the staff seems to bask in the glory of the Essence of Endings. The Chosen shifts his weight once again, this time ready for a leap, a quick strike at the General, one to help his comrades better take the now monstrous leader down.
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| − | ''If I must only distact him or wear him down so you can strike at him, then so be it. ''
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| − | He leaps, and he wears the strand of selflessness around Epilogue, the staff biting at the General's side as he coils once again, ready for the next blow...
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| − | ''If I must draw his strike upon me, and must bring upon my own End for you to strike him down, then so be it. ''
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| − | The other side of the staff rises up in the air and bites again at the General's head, seeking to drain away his power and his own inner strength - tail becomes mouth, mouth becomes tail, and he weaves the strand of conviction into the strike, staff and strand becoming one.
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| − | ''If my life must come to an end for you and Ryshassa to live, for you all to be the architects of a rebirth in these war-torn lands... Then by all means, '''so be it. ''' ''
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| − | The Gate fills him with purpose, Ryshassa's song fills him with strength, and he masterfully weaves the strand of sacrifice in the last of his strokes, Epilogue biting at the general from both sides at once as the Chosen's feel finaly touch again upon the sufrface of the virgin snows.
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| − | ''Selflessness. ''<br>
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| − | ''Conviction. ''<br>
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| − | ''Sacrifice. ''
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| − | ''I am End, but I am also Beginning. ''
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| − | '''The General: ''' Epilgue comes. The gate is open.
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| − | The monster that is the General rears its head to the Sidereal. He was less calm now. Angrier. More emotional. Monstrous. He recoiled as the Sidereal approached, remembering the light. The light of the one he bent the knee to. Of the one his peers called teacher. The very same light. He knew how powerful this was. Blood dripped from the hones in his armor drilled by the Dark Angel's blade. He was hurt enough... crouched, he howled, and picked a jagged piece of bone from the air, dipping it on his own blood...
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| − | ... and threw it, a spliter of bone attached to a rope of blood touching Alexsei's anima, the gate, and pushing it back, closing it. Two strikes are needed to destroy Alexsei's own determination turned against him.
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| − | And the last one comes on the General who holds it on his hand, and clamps his jaws on Alexsei's...
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| − | ... and yet, one goes in. The staff crushes the armor, between both holes from the rapier, sending splinters through the air, and into the General. Soulsteel screams inside him, as he recoils, bleeding. Not as deep as the assassin's strike, but wider. He growls, losing even more of his sanity in his rage.
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| − | '''Exceedingly Sublime Opal: ''' She held the fury in her palm. Her Essence stripped the fate from the air around her gauntlet as she held it aloft, like a petal born in the hand of a saint.
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| − | It rolled, boiling. Essence freed of static constraint of cause and effect. She held her hand toward the general, offering the bloom.
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| − | And with a pilgrams intent, cast the flower of the loosed Essence toward him.
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| − | Blue-White, its petal did steak the air like a sunbeam, and kissed his blood drenched form, and offered him a dreadful peace.
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| − | '''The General: ''' The General sees the blossoming of light... and suddenly, something in him awakens.
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| − | The man taking control, he stands tall... and catches the petal in the palm of his hand.
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| − | It falls on his palm like a star to earth.<br>
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| − | Crashing on his heand, breaking like a wave to the shore.
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| − | Its piece scatering, blasts of essence exploding everything behind him, around him, stray blasts falling between Ice's legs, at the Dark Angel's sides, at the Gate's doors... and covering the battlefield in smoke.
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| − | But as the Smoke recedes, the General is still there, with his canine-toothed grin, palm outstretched and smoking of pure essence...
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| − | He closes his hand, and looks up. At the one who hurt him the most, who nearly dispatched him. The Dark Angel. Whiro had fallen before showing its true power. The General himself nearly did. It was not the same as fighting alongside his partner, Whiro's fury would not be unleashed upon them... but he had a sliver of it inside him.
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| − | And he would let it loose.
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| − | "You have taken down Whiro... but his rage.. persists in '''me! '''"
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| − | The General turned up, his mouth filling, dripping with Primordial Essence... the rage of the crimson wolf. Essence overflowing from his eyes, in his wounds.
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| − | And he roared.
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| − | And a stream of fire and essence came from his mouth, straight upward, filling the sky, breaking circles of essence as it destroyed the tapestry and air alike in its path to the Dark Angel...
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| − |
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| − | .. and it misses. It misses, diverted by the Dark Angel’s winds...
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| − | .... and going through her, burning Windians and Dead alike, angel-and-raiton feathers coming down burnt.... as his breath alone opens up a wide swath of the sky in the battle that goes around them...
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| − | '''Vorpal: ''' ''Clarity. ''
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| − | Vorpal narrows her eyes as the General turns his attention away from them to blast the skies in a hopeless attempt to fell the already fallen angel. The Pale Angel's face is covered in blood, yet underneath her mien has calmed down, lips and brow set in intent, serious lines.
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| − | ''Strategy. ''
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| − | The General fights with her army. The General of Blood and Fire has forgotten this.
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| − | ''Timing. ''
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| − | She raises the Betrayer ready, the blade steady once again. Her eyes never leaving their opponent, she leans forward and whispers a single word into Ice's twitching ears:
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| − | "Do it."
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| − | '''Ice: ''' Ice bares her teeth in what can only be a wicked grin. Soundlessly, like a gigantic shadow of night, she charges forward, diving behind one of the great whale bones, then pounding over it in a soaring leap...
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| − | | |
| − | ...a leap that carries her directly towards the General...
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| − | ...and just barely over him, her belly brushing the top of his wolfish head...
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| − | | |
| − | ...with the hindquarters slamming against soulsteel plate and halting her flight, gravity taking over and pulling her down, her sheer momentum and weight yanking the General off his feet...
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| − | ...they hit the blasted earth in a thunderous cacophony, a hundred cymbals struck at the same time...
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| − | '''The General: ''' The General looks away in disgust, in annoyance as the Dark Angel's tear apart Wirro's howl, leaving merely echoes to buffet her. He turns in time to see the great leap of Ice and rather than duck aside, he presses forward, so that Ice passes over him, not pinning him, punching up and raking the red hot gauntlet along the horses stomach, as it does ports on his armour open once more, filling the air around him with a cloud of roiling, boiling steam.
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| − | '''Vorpal: ''' The Pale Angel ducks forward. One hand grabbing one of the saddle's leather straps, she dives head-first along Ice's side and under the beast's belly. Betrayer flashes in a perfect circle right below the horse's sousteel hooves, an arch of black light so powerful that the sheer shockwave erupting from it sends the steam scattering helplessly along the battlefield.
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| − | ''That's the best I can do, everyone'' she thinks, gritting her teeth.
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| − | ''I'm sorry, Ice.... ''
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| − | '''Alexsei Krauser: ''' And the Gate refuses to be closed.
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| − | And so comes the steam, and he knows suddenly that his weapon will be useless to him in this moment... And so the Chosen of Endings grabs at the strands he weaved at thew general once more, and wraps them about his tired from...
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| − | And he tugs firmly on them, the pull of the strong feelings helping him to step aside to avoid being burned by the boiling steam...
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| − | '''Ice: ''' The smug grin becomes a grimace of grimace of pain. The General's gauntlet cuts her deep, penetrating the shining black coat... spilling her proud blood.
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| − | The mighty black beast stumbles to the ground ungracefully, the Pale Angel hurtling like a missle from her back. Rocks and splinters of bone fly everywhere, dirt gushing in immense amounts, pushed up into the air by Ice's great body mass.
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| − | There is one last, defiant whinny from the noble horse, one least remark at how amazingly beautiful grave she had dug for herself as her final deed...
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| − | And then, the crimson eyes close, the fire and spirit behind them spent.
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| − | '''Ryshassa: ''' Ryshassa's song continues unabated, her attention fully concentrated upon it. But she too finds herself caught in the midst of the steam, and her skin -- Essence hardened as it may be -- gives no protection against the searing wave of pain.
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| − | "Aa...augghh!" she screams, and a plume of bright blood follows her words, spilling from her lips as the steam penetrates even through her nose and mouth. She has never cried out before, no matter what the punishment. But this -- this is almost too much. Too close to the very threshold of her limits. In all her experience as a healer, as a bearer of suffering, this one attack is almost enough to bring her to her knees.
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| − | ''I... I will not die... I cannot... there... there are still people... who need me... ''
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| − | But Ryshassa still stands, her legs shaking with the effort to keep her upright. Her fingers shudder and spasm, their motion stilled now, slick with blood against the shimmering strings of her lyre. Her eyes, wide now with worry and an undercurrent of fear, scan frantically over the battlefield for what other damage had been done...
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| − | She searches for Alexsei, her beloved husband; he is bowed and battered, but still breathing, still standing, still alive. Her gaze swings over to the Pale Angel, their proud and determined General, true to the art of tactics and war to the end -- but she is no more harmed than before. And there, next to her, the broken body of a horse... the Pale Angel's mount, who had shown such distinctive and animated personality in her efforts to harry the opposition with her hooves.
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| − | ''..is...is the horse... dying...? No... no one... no one must die... while I am still here... ''
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| − | Letting the lyre fall now -- for her hands can hardly hold it -- she drags herself, step by painful step, to the horse's side. The damage is devastating. But she can feel the life there, dwindling and fragile, pouring out with the animal’s blood....
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| − | "I..it's all right," she soothes, stroking the horse's shuddering flank. "It will... be fine.. now."
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| − | ''I must think no more of my pain. It is irrelevant. ''
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| − | The healer cannot spare health any more. But her medical knowledge is still intact, and this she draws from, her own personal experience as well as the ancient methods of bandaging and blood-staunching the Caduceus bears. She tugs at the sleeves of her kimono, tearing away the lavender cloth, and begins to bind the worst and most lethal of Ice's wounds with surprising swiftness and efficiency for the agony she herself bears.
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| − | ''My pain is a part of me. My pain IS me. I accept it. I embrace it. ''
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| − | Her hands rip the cloth to strips. She holds Ice’s injuries, and wraps the cloth around with preternatural precision, tightening at the cutoff points where bloodflow will be halted and congealed.
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| − | ''I must endure... so I can save you. So I can... save them all. ''
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| − | '''Alexsei Krauser: ''' The Steam eats at him, tears through his body, burning him and pushing him into such pains he almost zones out and abandons consciouness. He falls to one knee, one hand holding at his badly burned sides as a trickle of blood escapes his lips, telltale sign of internal damage. But those were the very strand he had weaved, and thus the punishment was unavoidable. Sacrifice... But his heart still beats, his breathing still burns his lungs as it escapes in ragged gasps.
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| − | The Gate stubbornly refuses to close.
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| − | Raven hair brushes the ground as he focuses to get the strength necessary to even stand up after such a crippling strike.
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| − | ''The Gate... It... stands. Go... Go and fight... I will... I will keep vigil of it... That it does... not... close. ''
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| − | He coils Epilogue about him in a defensive manner, and closes his eyes... Snowfalkes surround him as he stands next to the Purple Gate, black hair almost pulling free of his loosened knot and battering around his lithe form... His robes are torn and tattered from the burns, and yet he remains still as a statue, the Jackal howling one more time as he does so, a mournful dirge contrasting with the calm surrounding the Funeral Priest.
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| − | ''Go forth and fight, comrades - as long as the Gatekeeper stands, the Gate will hold. ''
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| − | '''Gennadi: ''' Without a look back, Gennadi feels the cold sensation of knowing a different decision, only a few seconds ago, would have made him dead. Without a look back, he feels the warm glow of knowing he cannot die here, that his fate is different, as certain as the earth he walks upon.
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| − | From somewhere he has collected a black coat, perhaps off one of the fallen soldiers. Frome somewhere else, a talisman of protection, glowing with sparks of power as it tries to reach out and brush away the surrounding danger. And from yet another place, he holds a pack of cigarettes in his hand. With a thwump, he sits down heavily beside Ise and tucks the item into the pocket of the coat. He glares menacingly at the little spirits of the dust, motioning to the coat as he holds it above the fallen fighter.
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| − | The dust spirits whirr to hold it up, shielding her body and shading her. He taps the pack against his hand and lights a cigarette that falls off an ember of flame that blows by in the wind, carefully placing it between her lips afterwards. "Babe? You look like hell. More than usual, even."
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| − | '''Ryshassa: ''' With Ice now more or less stable, Ryshassa rises... half stumbling, half crawling... toward her husband. She reaches out for him, clutching his arm, tears now mixing with the crimson marring her pale complexion as she looks up at him.
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| − | "I'm...sorry. I ...can't heal you..." She chokes, a sound half sob, half cough, as blood continues to ooze from between her lips. "I don't... ha... have enough strength... but I.. I will do what I can .. to defend you..." Her mouth presses against his, the taste both salty and metallic, as she pulls close, between him and the starmetal sections of Epilogue he holds out before him.
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| − | "...or die with you."
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| − | '''Alexsei Krauser: ''' For a moment he considers asking her to step aside... He considers pushing her out of the way of possible harm, that he could carry on what are his own duties...
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| − | But he finally realizes that condemning Ryshassa to go on while he would fall and die would be as harsh a fate as him carrying on without her. And so he gazes for a moment at her... And welcomes her embraces as he pulls her closer to him, standing watch by the great portal.
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| − | "You... can choose your... own path now. And if... if it is your choice..."
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| − | He coils the Epilogue around them, binding them together as they stand near the gaping Gate, wind and Essence swirling around them.
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| − | "We... will make our stand here then... Belladonna. <br>
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| − | We stand... or fall... together."
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| − | '''Exceedingly Sublime Opal: ''' Opal watches as her beam of loosed Essence is diverted so casually by the bloodied horror. Her mind honed by her conviction, she narrows her eyes and begins charging him. The earth trembles with the massive striders advance. She reaches behind her back and brings forth the long chain of the huge Serpent-Striking Staff mounted there. Then, surmounting the distance as one would cross a room, she hauls back on the weapon, and sent the length of it at him.
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| − | The air curled.
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| − | '''Cael: ''' And finally, as the steam clears around the General, as Cael sees the results of his brutal attack on the great white steed of Vorpal, the way Alexsei and Ryshassa now hold themselves up by shear force of will, and in that moment he breaks free from the shackles of fear that were still his hands, rendering him speachless, wordless, impotent.
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| − | He seizes on the oppertunity with a vengence, holding his hands out, his fingertips waving softly as texts stream from them, falling down from the sky in two great essays. The words he writes with his left hand are on the General, words on his tactics, his methods, his troops. The words he writes with the other are those praising the windians, the Kraussers, the Pale Angel ... all those who would bring him down.
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| − | Then, the essays written, he jerks his hands upwards, pulling them together, merging them seemlessly, sending them at the General in an unavoidable torrent of words, sharp and golden and true.
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| − | '''The General: ''' The words come. Praising all those he stands against.
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| − | And then his hands reach the floor, touching the blood in it. His blood. Ice's blood. Throwing it in the air, against the metal of his anima. Forming words. A military choir. For the army of blood and fire. For Blight Lily, whom he loves, for Cathak Marr, headstrong, brash, but valorous, for Haze Edge and his skill and mastery of illusions, Brael Ir and his role as their unshakeable pillar. And, repeated, so many times, the refrain of the Army of Blood and Fire of the Bishop. As the Binds come, they touch, they go through the shield of steel and blood... becoming one of crimson gold.
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| − | The General takes off his cape, red covering him.
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| − | The words do not get to him.
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| − | Instead, they become patterns on his cape, not about one army, not about another.
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| − | A mystery.
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| − | '''Gennadi: ''' Still, the fight doesn't seem to be over, and Gennadi is already somewhat tired of watching people refuse to finish this last enemy. His hand idly traces designs in the dirt, fingers flicking out arcane sigils and astrologic math until they come across the solid metal of one of Ise's weapons. He slowly breaks into a grin and picks it up, looking over the weapon and feeling the weight in his hand.
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| − | Now, this could work. No more getting attacked by people with giant swords, no more getting thrown around by monstrosities of muscle... He holds it lazily out, turned sideways and parallel to the ground as he slowly squeezes the trigger. A grin explodes onto his face as the bullet fires forth with loud crack to turn a fallen sword into so many metal shards.
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| − | '''Selina de Windia: ''' They aren't killing him. In fact, he is killing them. She sees the Pale Angel's horse go down in a spray of blood, red drops turning to fine mist about Vorpal as she moves away from the warhorse as it goes crashing down to ruin. She didn't think he had that much power left in him. She should have stayed down there with the rest of them, and he would match her with the waiting game she was trying to play.
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| − | The anger solidifies into a hard core as she sees the Windwraith's words absorb and pattern themselves on their foe's cape ineffectively. But it doesn't touch her for some reason, doesn't fuel her like it did. The black rage submerges, and the faces within her anima banner subside into nothing.
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| − | ''Golden. ''
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| − | She sees that woman -- ''I remember her'' -- rushing to save the Pale Angel's friend. Sees her flare of light.
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| − | ''I was golden once. ''
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| − | Sees the anima about the Windwraith. Remembers the boy's anima, that boy who annoyed her so. Or was it jealousy at what she had given up?
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| − | ''That could have saved us. ''
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| − | Hovering up there, within the storm of her anima, Selina remembers when she used to feel that golden light about her. When she would strike out at a destroyer much like the one she faced, with the force of clean sunlight in her blade. Not the malevolence she wielded now.
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| − | Strategies have failed her. Cunning has deserted her. All of her howling darkness is dust, will avail her nothing against this man. He will know it for what it is, and it will not touch him.
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| − | ''Once more, I will. ''
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| − | ''It is not as it once was. ''
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| − | Dreamshard is as it always was. Light or Dark, her father's blade has always been with her. She dives at the General, uttering no cry of hate or roar of vengeance. Simply, silent, the wind whistling about her. Adding the hope of them all to her blade, remembering when the black was white, golden. '''He''' recoils in fury, in her mind -- she does not heed him.
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| − | ''But let it be enough. ''
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| − | In a few heartbeats, three blurred strikes, leaving no trail of essence, so invested are they in striking the Abyssal down. The last comes just after she touches the ground.
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| − | '''The General: ''' He was watching the Pale Angel.<br>
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| − | He was watching the Dark Angel.<br>
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| − | He was watching the Pale Angel.<br>
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| − | He was watching the Dark Angel.<br>
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| − | He was watching the Pale Angel when the corner of his eye caught the bluring from above him, though there was no sound from it.<br>
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| − | He saw the determination in her eyes.<br>
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| − | He saw the lethal intent written on her face.<br>
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| − | He saw the fury, and the hope wrapped around her blade and he called on his most potent defences, the bulkwark against all ...
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| − | | |
| − | ...and it failed him. He could not summon the focus to defend in that way.<br>
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| − | He raised his gauntlet anyway.<br>
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| − | He wasn't going to end here.<br>
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| − | He wasn't going to end now.
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| − | Sparks fly as their weapons meet.
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| − | '''Ryshassa: ''' Ryshassa turns, still holding Alexsei as tightly as he holds her, hair whipping about in the unnatural winds cast from all sides... from the maw of the great Gate, from the stormy anima exuded from a leotard-clad blonde woman with dragon-like wings, who silently but determinedly strikes at the General with a slender blade crackling with darkness that wants to be gold.
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| − | ''That woman...? '' She was dressed much differently then, her wings dyed and feathered, neither black nor scaled as they are now. But Ryshassa also remembered the crone that had appeared, garbed in winds that would slash and harm, as the two of them rushed to meet Alexsei in the chamber where Laken awaited. ''Ausra? ''
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| − | | |
| − | The healer's eyes widen, as if seeing her for the first time. And perhaps she has, her view of the other woman lost in the chaos of battle. So many enemies, so many casualties on both sides, behemoths and choir singers, walking dead and winged soldiers...
| |
| − | | |
| − | ''But she is on our side. We can win this. We must! ''
| |
| − | | |
| − | Her hands clutch at Alexsei's robes, her face pressing against his chest where the heart still beats, a precious reminder of the lives she may still save. ''It can't end like this! ''
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| − | | |
| − | '''The General: ''' The blade comes in.
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| − | | |
| − | Through the heart.
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| − | | |
| − | Shredding flesh, power, Abyssal and Primordial Essence. Suddenly, Selina does not have her blade embedded in a man... but in a great furnace of power. Power overflows from him, released. Fiery bats become dry and cold and fall from the sky, shattering all around them. The essence washes away, knocking corpses away, the fire burning... burning it all. Whiro's essence within burning, his husk turning into just a skeleton. The field of corpse-flowers nearly vanishes.
| |
| − | | |
| − | The cape far away, upon one of the great bones, as a banner marking this battle.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Everything is silent, as a whole battle stops.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Even on the defensive, broken by elemental force, the dead still fought, impelled by the General’s fear, still dealing lossess to the Windians... until now. The fear was broken, and a last sweep is made... and then they stop. They simply... stop. They knew where it had been won.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Gold has triumphed, inside Selina, and outside.
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| − | | |
| − | And when it all clears, they stand before the General. Choking on his blood. <br>
| |
| − | Lifting something. A key. Shimmering with old energies...<br>
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| − | "You... win. Pale Angel, Dark Angel, Gatekeeper... you win."
| |
| − | | |
| − | "Fair... and square."
| |
| − | | |
| − | "This is... yours', then. Your future."
| |
| − | | |
| − | The key is on his hands.<br>
| |
| − | And he crushes it.
| |
| − | | |
| − | "They... want out. He knew what was there... and they wanted out."
| |
| − | | |
| − | "And they are your problem now."
| |
| − | | |
| − | "Blight... it's been fun."
| |
| − | | |
| − | And then, he chokes on his blood.<br>
| |
| − | And his corpse falls at the Dark Angel's feet...
| |
| − | | |
| − | Somehow louder than all other fanfares in the whole battle.
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Narrator: ''' And then, something sounds. Far away. Like a clarion.
| |
| − | | |
| − | The Spire begins to unfurl.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Branches come from it, forming extra towers out of smoke and ice.
| |
| − | | |
| − | The city begins to tremble, at the same rate as the remains of the key glow.
| |
| − | | |
| − | ... Something wants out.
| |
| − | | |
| − | * Gennadi smirks even more. It's good when everything goes according to plan, even if a little slower than you'd like. He nudges Ise in the ribs. "Hey, quit faking being injured and wake up. The party's starting."
| |
| − | | |
| − | * Iselsis doesn't actually move
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Cael: ''' Cael swoops down, landing lightly on the floor a little away from the corpse, and those who stand around it, immaculate in white and gold and black, words of golden essence folded to wings on his back.
| |
| − | | |
| − | "That is most definately that, then."
| |
| − | | |
| − | He says, after a respectful nod to the Dark Angel.
| |
| − | | |
| − | "Though I am really not sure the spire should behave like that ..."
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Selina de Windia: ''' She hadn't expected it to work. Had hoped it would work. But didn't think it would.
| |
| − | | |
| − | But it did.
| |
| − | | |
| − | The rush of air and heat has pushed her back, but she straightens up, eyes wide in surprise, shining with their turquoise light as they have always.
| |
| − | | |
| − | ''Even when I was golden. ''
| |
| − | | |
| − | Dreamshard crackles with a few tendrils of the Wyld, disturbed by the energies she had run through it. Odd. It had only last done that when she first embraced her darkness. Her wings perk up a bit, the anger gone from her now.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Spire rumbles, and she looks at the city...doing something she can only guess at. But then the thought occurs to her.
| |
| − | | |
| − | ''Izabella! ''
| |
| − | | |
| − | Putting away her sword, Selina looks about for her. Wasn't she lying somewhere around here?
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Gennadi: ''' "Hrmph. Lazy girl." He fires off a few more shots and laughs one last time before tossing the weapon beside her. It thumps into the dirt, and he lights a cigarette for himself from the end of her own, tossing the butt aside and crushing it into the ground. "A Sidereal's work is never done, it seems."
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Exceedingly Sublime Opal: ''' He expires. An explosion of blood and darkness and wrath, and even Opal in the large warstrider must take a step back to brace herself from the strength of it.
| |
| − | | |
| − | They had won. She looks and sees the torn forms of the demon girl, the Pale General's horse, and the healer...
| |
| − | | |
| − | But at what cost?
| |
| − | | |
| − | The charm she had donned prevents her from focusing her mind well... it was hard to... think clearly. Abstractly. She still felt every breath in her lungs, felt the warm blood as the mystical connection with her armor caused her to feel it splattering her own body. She registers Gennadi's jibe, but forgets to laugh.
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Ryshassa: ''' And the General falls. But first he erupts, in a great gout of flaming energy that turns Ryshassa's attention once more to the conclusion of a great and tiring battle. The hulking metallic beast he had become is gone... and in its place the man as before, and a key. A key he crushes in his hands with his last strength.
| |
| − | | |
| − | ''She did it... he's gone... ''
| |
| − | | |
| − | But any sort of jubilation she might feel for that victory is dampened by the sight of the wounded and dead stretching all around her, by the ache of her own searing burns that she knows her beloved feels as well, through their rings. So many she must still muster the strength to help, yet her body is desperately in need of time to mend itself. She thinks of the demon-winged girl, still lying prone near the body of the fire-winged Marr. She thinks of the valiant steed that Vorpal had ridden so proudly into battle. She thinks of all those who may still lay dying, soldiers whose names she had never known.
| |
| − | | |
| − | So much suffering. So much pain and her broken body alone is not yet enough.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Tearing her eyes from the crumpled husk left of the General, Ryshassa lifts her eyes to the Spire -- or what the Spire is now becoming, shuddering as if something caged deep within clamors to be released. "What is this? Alexsei... Beloved, we've won, but..."
| |
| − | | |
| − | ''It's not over yet? ''
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Valencia Silverstar: ''' The Silver Angel bursts out from the overcast above them, anima trailing behind her as she swoops down to the ground. Despite not having been involved in the battle below, her own has been quite taxing in and of itself. Her body is covered with bleeding gashes, marks of the talons of the demoness she had fought clear on her. Her sword, already in its scabbard, wings rent in places, but still whole enough to give her steady flight.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Of her iron armor, not even a scrap remains.
| |
| − | | |
| − | The silver general lands at the battlefield, surveying the ruin, and devastation with a practiced eye.
| |
| − | | |
| − | So, they won, without her. She had hoped they would. Windia cannot have only one guardian. The North cannot.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Valencia doesn't smile at the sight of it all, but she does feel a quiet pride in knowing them.
| |
| − | | |
| − | ''The hopes of the North. ''
| |
| − | | |
| − | ''Light, and Dark. ''
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Narrator: ''' And then, the Windian troops notice. Even through the rumble.
| |
| − | | |
| − | They look at their saviors. And one in particular.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Standing above the corpse of their nemesis, blonde hair, black wings.
| |
| − | The roaring dragon of de Windia.
| |
| − | | |
| − | They knew, then. Who their savior was. Who their nemesis' killer was.
| |
| − | | |
| − | The heir to house de Windia, the bane of Windia. She was back.<br>
| |
| − | And she had just saved them.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | '''Vorpal: ''' They had cheered.
| |
| − | | |
| − | The great soulsteel Daiklave falls down with a hollow ''thunk'', cleaving the unmoving corpse neatly in half. Whatever blood remains inside immediately begins to well out into the ground.
| |
| − | | |
| − | The General was dead. His end had marked the turning point of the battle, for without him and his Exalted bodyguard the backbone of the Abyssal army had been broken. The battle had still raged on for some time afterwards, but it really had been just a matter of rounding up the remaining dead and hacking them down before they could escape. Between the strategic genius of both Valencia and the Pale Angel and the brute force brought to bear by the Chosen of the entire spectrum of divinities, their opposition hadn't really stood much of a chance. The Winlandians had sensed this the moment the General fell impaled by the Dark Angel's sword, and they had cheered.
| |
| − | | |
| − | ''For the Dark Angel. ''
| |
| − | | |
| − | Wincing, Vorpal bends down and dips her fingertips into the crimson fluid, then brings her trembling hand up to her lips. The blood is growing cold already, yet its taste is sweet on her tongue. There is very little power in it anymore, but even a drop or two is an addition to her dwindled stores of essence.
| |
| − | | |
| − | They had cheered for the Dark Angel. Not to the commander who had rallied them, not the leader who had given them the power to battle against the dead, not the general who had saved their damn lives.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Vorpal's eyes narrow. Her lips tightening into a thin, joyless line, she reaches down again for another handful of the crimson fluid. This is what she has been doing ever since the end of the battle and after worriedly checking that Ice indeed would live to see another day. She has been moving methodically from one corpse to another, draining each of blood, using the death of the others to replenish her own life.
| |
| − | | |
| − | ''Ungrateful little motherfuckers. ''
| |
| − | | |
| − | Suckling the blood from her fingers, her mind weary, her heart cold, she turns her gaze once again to stare at the strange new form the Spire has taken. It seemed as if the mountain itself hed bent its peak at the Dark Angel and her victory!
| |
| − | | |
| − | ''Well, she always did want attention. Fine by me. I don't need them. ''
| |
| − | | |
| − | ''I don't need '''any''' of them. ''
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Alexsei Krauser: ''' ''It... it is... ''
| |
| − | | |
| − | And, under Ausra's determined assault, the General finally bows down, life leaving his body as he imparts them with his final words. And as he falls, the Spire unfolds, blossoming like a cold, dark flower in the winter landscape. He looks at the strange phenomenon, curiosity obviously piqued as the imposing structures shifts and morphs under their very eyes.
| |
| − | | |
| − | ''The spire - what... Hmm. Is there something we missed? Something more to comprehend? I will have to check into this... I will have to research this occurance, when I am... in a state that permits it... ''
| |
| − | | |
| − | "She... she did it... She... and... we made it, beloved... we... lived..."
| |
| − | | |
| − | He holds his wife close to him, pressing her head against his chest as he savours the moment - the complete realization of life's gift, on the razor edge that could very well spell it's end. he kisses her forehead, his eyes turning to the Gate... And his expression changes somewhat, for but a moment.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Still holding on to Ryshassa, he finally drops the weapon coiled around them, his eyes on the defeated general, and the bodies of his fallen retinue, spread all around him, even in death a display of loyalty to their cause, and to their leader. He witnesses the Windians struck down, their lives taken from them while they strived to protect what they held dear... So many losses, so many departures, in this battle where beliefs and opinions clashed as strongly as steel upon steel.
| |
| − | | |
| − | "I... we will have to see... what it portends... But for now, I must... There is something I have to do... Give me... a moment..."
| |
| − | | |
| − | He peers at her one more time, and his face breaks into a smile as he walks towards the epicenter of the battle, where the General has given his life. He limps heavily, holding his side to shield burned skin from the unforgiving lashes of the wind. He stands next to the corpse of the enemy leader and peers around at the desolation around him, battered figure of black and violet shaken by the strenght of the Northern Winds, and yet in the face of opposition he still stands.
| |
| − | | |
| − | And from his lips escape a mournful dirge, one last hymn for the fallen as he uses remnants of his power to show them the path to the next world. As the song increases in volume, he lifts his lifts his head to let the wind carry his voice to those who lost their lives in the conflict, letting the soothing verses be their lantern in the final voyage they would undertake in this plane. He feels them then, communes with them, feels their joys and pains, their stories whispered to him as he shows them the way, as he takes their hands to bring them safely to the other side. The Windians, the Dragonblooded serving the opposing army, and the General himself... He lets his voice reach each and everyone of them, the low, soothing melody calling them as if by name...
| |
| − | | |
| − | He is hurt but his hands do not shake.<br>
| |
| − | He is in pain, but his voice does not crack.<br>
| |
| − | He will be their strength in their final hour.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Soon the wounded will be healed. Soon pains will be soothed, peace will be rebuilt, and the survivors will be allowed to rest, and go on. Those that lived today would be ensuring that there will be continuation, and that there will be a place worth living into that will remain... And so, he will do his part, and make certain those departed will receive the same grace, and be allowed their deserved rest also.
| |
| − | | |
| − | As the final soul passes by him, his voice falls into silence.<br>
| |
| − | The Jackal howls one last time.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Behind him, the Gate finally closes.
| |
| − | | |
| − | === Notes ===
| |
| − | | |
| − | Selina's stunt got me teary-eyed.
| |
| − | | |
| − | And I couldn't believe when the BIG fight scene was over o.o
| |
| − | | |
| − | Vorpal got all cynic due to reaching 0 wp - Survivor compulsion kicked in. Everyone poured their ALL on this...
| |
| − | | |
| − | Bravo ^^
| |
| − | | |
| − | ----
| |
| − | | |
| − | * - Back to [[GoldenCat/FifthMovement|Fifth Movement]]
| |
| − | * - Back to [[GoldenCat/DanceOfAngels|A Dance of Angels]]
| |
