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| − | * - Back to [[GoldenCat/SixthMovement|Sixth Movement]]
| + | #REDIRECT [[ADanceOfAngels]] |
| − | * - Back to [[GoldenCat/DanceOfAngels|A Dance of Angels]]
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| − | | |
| − | == Clash of Chosen ==
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| − | Alexsei’s sphere of silent essence takes so many of them to their graves, nearly all of their demoralization weapons, the singers, so many of their warriors... and as they fall, Ice lands close to Ryshassa and the front line of the Windian army...
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| − | | |
| − | ....and Fiona finally lets her butterflies out, opening a court in the ranks on the undead, a clear path to the great red monster.
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| − | At the same time, the skies explode, in flames and thorns, burnt feathers and blood raining... as the enemies make their own moves.
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| − | | |
| − | Game’s up.
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| − | '''Selina de Windia: ''' The madness flees...unfortunately the unease generated by those horrible nightmares does not. And there's still one of the dead singing whales left...with its full cargo...
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| − | Red hot hate boils within her -- her impossibly beautiful features sharpen in rage. How dare those lowly, insignificant things make her show weakness in front of so many like that! When her ''younger sister'' was not conquered. The flat-black blade of the scythe flashes out, but Selina does not move to use it on the thing.
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| − | | |
| − | She peels away from the others, streaking right up to the whale's face, looking into those dead, sad eyes, her own aflame with darkness, dancing, devouring light emitting from them in shafts. A hand on the tip of the whale, a quicker buildup to the attack than before, and the war-engine and its cargo are bathed in another corascanting display of oblivion. Rawer than before, less controlled in its appearance, jagged edges of the blast alive with dark lightning, leeching even more essence, furiously disintegrating the entire whale, leaving no scraps to fall to earth. For the few moments of the attack's existance, Selina pumps ever more and more energy into it, flaring it more and more to match her runaway temper.
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| − | | |
| − | Then it's all over. And the Windian looks to the General with the same baleful stare. A growl, throaty and hateful, rumbles from her in that modulated voice.
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| − | "'''''False prophet... '''''"
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| − | | |
| − | * Vorpal looks at Blight Lily, together with the general... and notices something. Ghostly bodyguards, heavily armored. Two of them. She had seen that method before - Shade Walkers could do it. To keep Ghosts close to them, held to them by marks. Ghosts that would take the place of blows for them. She had two of them, skins like charred wax, heavily armored, and able to use their arcanoi to take her place when she is struck... they will not defend, but they will be resilient. VERY resilient.
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| − | '''Brael Ir: ''' A figure on the ground look up. A Dragon-Blooded soldier. Armored in white oak, his skin green, filled with thorns. On his hand, a great long trunk, wider and sturdier than the handle of any weapon, ending on a great lotus bloom, one who ends of the petals burn with an incense that clings to him. He looks up, at Iselsis and Alexsei.
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| − | And then, he crouches, the ground unfurling in life beneath him.
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| − | And then, he jumps, higher than should be possible, a tree following him up, blossoming with a dozen types of flowers. It carries him up, growing until he comes in front of Iselsis and Alexsei... and strikes the tree growing at his feet.
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| − | At his strike, it crumbles to nothingness, only a whirlwind of petals... forming images of himself, each and every one of them striking before he finishes the swing of his movement.
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| − | First, him made of Roses comes for Alexsei, striking at his hand.<br>
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| − | Then, the peony one strikes at his feet, making sure he will not fall well.<br>
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| − | Then, the lily strikes at his chest, to make sure he dies before the fall.<br>
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| − | Then, the Tulip one strikes at Iselsis, cutting her winds, leaving her open.<br>
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| − | Then, the Amarylist strikes at Iselsis' chest, taking the air off her lungs.<br>
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| − | And finally, Brael himself finishes the swing... and brings the Lotus down on her head from the side, sending her like a comet to the ground.
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| − | | |
| − | And then, he falls, like a petal in the winds of spring.
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| − | '''Iselsis: ''' "Oh shit...", is all the dragonblooded demon mutters as he comes for them. Obviously this wasn't going to end well with the two of them flying there.
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| − | "Cover for me, wouldya?", she requests of the man as her free hand goes for her gun, she ducks a little, letting Alexsei take one blow in her stead, then brandishes her own defense against the remaining two.
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| − | Sparks fly as the two weapons meet, Izabella gritting her teeth against the oncoming force.
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| − | Thunder claps behind her, the storm still raging within this sunlit pocket of air, the drizzle casting a rainbow behind the two flying figures as they fight to not get knocked out of the backdrop they had set up mere moments before.
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| − | | |
| − | '''Alexsei Krauser: ''' The fall is short, as the demon-woman gets hold of him and keeps him up... But falling is not the only threat they would face, it seems.
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| − | The tree comes up from the very depths of the earth, mighty and treacherous... And only his honed awareness allows him to foresee enough of the sudden attack, to be able to match it.
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| − | ''No... Not yet... ''<br>
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| − | ''We cannot... Go down... Just yet... ''<br>
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| − | ''Let me... Help you... At least a little... ''
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| − | Essence flows around his hand and staff as he struggles to execute the necessary motions while being held aloft... Four times the charged up staff meets up with the deadly strikes, sending violet sparks that morph into vivid violet petals before blackening and withering, slowly showering the battlegrounds below...
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| − | '''Brael Ir: ''' The Lotus finishes the dance.
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| − | Petals of every kind of flower fell over the battlefield.<br>
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| − | Together with the bones of the whales.
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| − | Brael fell to the ground with such an impact that it ruptured, layers of the ground exploding outward like the petals of a lotus of earth. He had just missed Fiona's flight of butterflies, and close to his fall, stood the Crimson Dragon wreathed in flames.
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| − | | |
| − | He looks up, at the exorcists who just took out so much of their power...
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| − | | |
| − | "Gotta hand it to 'um. They ''are'' good, Marr ol' boy."
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| − | | |
| − | '''Cathak Marr: ''' Crimson Cape billowing behind him, the fully-armored Fire Aspect took a disdainful look at the winds around the demon-blooded and the Sidereal as they got away from all of Brael’s strikes. His boot stepped on one of the butterflies, looking at the clearing field in front of them. Whiro advancing towards the rest, his strides powerful, shaking the earth, pieces of the windian strider falling from his teeth.
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| − | "The Windians are professionals, my humble friend. But so are we."
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| − | '''Cael: ''' Cael spun in the air with another powerful beat of his golden wings, setting off in persuit of the strangely arachnid assassin who was simply a cut out on the world, surrounded by her purple haze.
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| − | | |
| − | He hovered there above her, his wings beating, his caste mark shining on his forehead, a central disk surrounded by a ring of unknownable text, his body occasionally flickering to golden words in a dreamlike shimmer.
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| − | The next words he casts are thrown in a slow tumble, twisting and shaping before breaking apart to score both her cheeks. They are not meant to wound though, but to bear a message, a simple one, but direct.
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| − | "Drop the lyre and run far from here," they say. "You might live then, refuse and I will write your final verses."
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| − | | |
| − | '''Iron Whisper: ''' Whisper looks up, on her zone of silence. The violet light beats, slowly... and even on the sillhouette, Cael can see the sweat, the cold sweat of fear and exaustion coming down from her... and then she begins to cease being a sillhouette, and he can see her milky white skin, the markings of Mela on her complexion, the eyes, as violet as the heart that pulsed on the sillhouette. Her hands curl up around the Lyre for a moment... as she bites her lips...
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| − | And lets it go, dropping it from the ground, and stepping back.
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| − | The General might kill her for that...
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| − | But if anything, blasphemous as it might be, Whisper valued her life.
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| − | '''Cael: ''' "Good."
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| − | He says as his only response to the strange woman and then dives, scooping up the lyre as he reaches the base of the dive and then turning and winging back over to Ryshassa, alightling briefly infront of her, lyre held out with a small, theatrical bow, coat wheeling behind him as he does.
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| − | "Your instrument, Lady Krausser" he says, in the most formal mode of Gethemane address, his intonation clear despite the noise and chaos of the battle.
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| − | | |
| − | Then grins widely and leaps, spinning up and away, to look out over the battlefield once more, to check Whisper is still running, to find out where Vorpal has gotten too and to generally take stock of the situation.
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| − | | |
| − | * The loss on the General’s side is great, some of their best falling down...<br><br>But the bursts of fire and thorn took out some good ones on the Winlandian side as well.<br><br>And as their strongest Exalted meet, Winlandian Sorcerers rain fire and ice against wielders of pandemonium on the sky... their wings firmly on the offensive now!
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| − | '''Selina de Windia: ''' Dreamshard sweeps out, Selina looks to see one of the General's men attacking her sister and a man she was holding. Something in the back of her head tells her she's seen this man before, though the fury clouding her mind makes it hard to recall. And not too long ago. But that passes through her head quickly, and her attention is focused on the Wood aspected Terrestrial just descending from his attack on them.
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| − | ''Wood! ''
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| − | | |
| − | She didn't really like them now. They reminded her of her lover, that lover. Not so long ago.
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| − | The one she'd killed.
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| − | ''The one who betrayed me. ''
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| − | | |
| − | That angers the Dragon, as it did then. Not that it is hard in this state. The lightning in her anima heightens even through its oppressive darkness, her sword arm alive with elemental energies of her half-terrestrial heritage, the winds about her howling in agitation as she calls upon them. She points her thin-daiklave at the man, and then the charge of air-aspect energies builds to a sudden cresendo.
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| − | | |
| − | A massive electrical field crackles to life about Brael, cutting winds etching the limits of Selina's reach into the ground about him in a perfect circle. Three times the field about her sword arm flares, and three times the space about the Terrestrial for five yards is filled with a furious discharge of lightning, winds buffeting those who stand outside its reach.
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| − | | |
| − | '''Cathak Marr: ''' Marr dances. With lighting exploding in front of him, thunder crackling, he dances away from the danges, as it burns his cape, eyes shining bright, angry orange under the mask. About him, ten zombies and six ghosts are burnt away, the zombies falling covered in flames and darkness, the ghosts fading away. But Marr, he escapes in the last moment, only the edges of his cape burnt...
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| − | '''Brael Ir: ''' The Wood Aspect Outcaste stands, unmoving. The leaves of World-Shattering Blossom, his Grand Goremaul, move on their own, their smoke swathing the lighting aside... or most of it. Some comes to him, stopping on his armor, stopping on his spikes... and burning away near him. Some of his invulnerability seemed gone, but there was no wound. None at all.
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| − | | |
| − | "Dey still hit like gals, Marr."
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| − | '''Blight Lily: ''' The Wood Aspect Necromancer looks up, the oblivion energy stopping at her corpse-field and dissipating harmlessly. Unable to touch her, without need for her so much as take a step away. She looks up at the Dark Angel, and grits her teeth, as she sees her ghostly bodyguards were not so lucky – they got rent asunder in her energy, their corpus falling around the necromancer like snowflakes, their screams echoeing silent in the air, in a way only a necromancer could listen.
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| − | | |
| − | ''Now, this was on bad form... ''
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| − | '''Iselsis: ''' "As much as I've appreciated our little get together, you're going to have to leave now, for both our sakes.", she says matter of factly to Alexsei, before she grabs him by the wrists and the violent tearing winds of her anima start spinning.
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| − | And so do they.
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| − | And when Ise's speed is high enough she stops at just the right moment, using the momentum and the winds of her anima to make the sidereal sail straight into Vorpal's path, accompanied by a cry of "''Oi! Catch! ''"
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| − | Another revolution around and her second repeater has found it's way into her hand with a shimmer of essence, firing four bullets at the dragonblooded below.
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| − | '''Ryshassa: ''' Ryshassa looks deeply relieved when Whisper is coerced to drop the Lyre. It makes her feel somewhat selfish, really, to care so much about what might happen to it, what with the pandemonium of war all around them.
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| − | ''But it is irreplacable. It is ... part of my past. And my future. ''
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| − | The healer cradles the instrument close to her, her eyes following the glimmering golden trail of Cael's newborn wings in mute, amazed, wide-eyed admiration. ''I must thank him later. '' And beyond that -- her husband was out there. Her husband had been the center of that deep and soulful silence that washed away so many of the dead and their pained choruses into the stillness of Lethe. She could feel him like she felt the thrum of his heart through his skin when they lay close together.
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| − | And now she sees him... sailing through the air towards Vorpal, who has landed on her great warhorse nearby her.
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| − | "...Alexsei?!" she gawks aloud.
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| − | '''Brael Ir: ''' Brael hits his feet against the ground... and from it, from the corpses around him, a green flow comes... the same glow from the anima that explodes around him, the white-green, the thorns appearing visibly in its living light. From the corpses, come flowers, exploding as they are touched by the animas, hurled in the path of the bullets.
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| − | The bullets go through Peonies.<br>
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| − | The bullets go through Tulips.<br>
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| − | The bullets go through Lilies.<br>
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| − | The bullets go through Amarylis.
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| − | And finally, covered in the petals, they meet World-Shattering Blossom, and are broken!
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| − | Except for two bullets, who make it through the Goremaul....
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| − | And hit him!<br>
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| − | Hit him!
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| − | And yet... it is like he does not feel it. Still wrapped in his shining invulnerability...
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| − | It is like it did not even faze him, in the least.
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| − | "Told ya. Like ladies."
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| − | '''Alexsei Krauser: ''' He nods to his carrier, a grateful smile for her words of widom.
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| − | "And that, I can only agree with. Be safe, Iselsis. We shall meet again."
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| − | And he readies himself for her throw, his body being projected towards the the Pale Angel with great velocity, the winds surrounding her flailing at him as he departs for the ground below. No... Not the ground itself.
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| − | The Pale Angel's horse, as it appears. ''Catch! '', he had heard Iselsis say. But should the actual catch fail, he would not allow himself to come to hurt, nor to bar the path of the Lady atop the great mount.
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| − | ''Here goes nothing. ''
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| − | Still in midair, he closes his eyes and breathes deeply, angling his body for the fall, to ease Vorpal's catch - or roll and break his fall, if it comes to that.
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| − | '''Vorpal: ''' It is not safe to throw living things at Abyssals.
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| − | Alexsei almost learns this the hard way when Vorpal's first instinct is to meet the quickly approaching projectile with her blade. Reflexively she raises her sword and only then lifts her gaze to see what is coming her way. Her eyes widen, her mouth twists into a soundless 'tch', the shout of the demon-blooded registers in her mind, a realization hits that those words were meant for ''her'' --
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| − | She twists her wrist, to turn the edge away from the falling Sidereal and meet him with the flat of the sword. A quick dip of the sword's point allows her to catch Alexsei just atop the blade, a sharp flip of hand sends him sliding down along the weapon's length and onto her strong arm.
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| − | "Exalts", she hisses. "They never listen to a word you say!"
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| − | '''Cathak Marr: ''' "Let us see about that, shall we?"
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| − | He looks up. The General says something. He begins to burn, surrounded by corpses as he is. The Dark Angel is good... she took out all of his cover. Damn her. He would need to cut loose. He realised that, as he begins to burn, burn in his brightest flames.
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| − | They surrounded the field of corpses and broken souls around him... and pulled at them. Burnt at them. As he moved, like a powerful noble, he caught the spirits around him, burning and screaming. "Let me put the fear of Marr in them, as they used to call in the old Bell-House." And then, he jumped high in the air, wings of flame trailing him and moving him towards the general.... as he held the burning souls on his hands, like chains.
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| − | One movement, and a screaming skeleton was sent towards one of the Windian Warstriders, streaking like flame through the battlefield, for longer than any Bolt should. And then, he looked up... and let the rest out, pointing up... and flaming skulls shrieked towards Iselsis, their eyes burning like pyres.
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| − | "''Burn'', birdies."
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| − | '''Chibi Selina (Hyrokkin): ''' Aww, not at me?! Not so tough, you worthless little fucker, are ya?
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| − | '''Iselsis: ''' The flaming skulls come for her but she does not budge, crossing her plasma repeaters in front of her she waits for them, taking them head on, forcing them away and to not harm her through sheer force of will.
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| − | ''Have to keep them from hurting me, have to keep my promise to Faina, have to come back alive... ''
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| − | She struggles with the first skull, the grinning blazing thing inches away from her face until finally she wins the powerstruggly, deflecting it away from her, only to face the other two. Against these she doesn't fare so well, the plasma repeaters sparking against the onslaught as she fights them.
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| − | ''I'm not strong enough! ''
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| − | In a move of desperation as the skulls, held ripping through her only inches away, their burning maws clacking at her, she lets herself topple over in mid air, using the winds to keep her aloft, spinning around one full cycle and hoping between the deflection and moving away, this will be enough.
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| − | '''Whiro: ''' While the bullets and fire fill the sky, even as Marr flies towards it, Whiro runs. Its footsteps make the ground shake. Its passage breaks anything on its way. Its fangs of crystallized blood shine, as it jumps towards the Pale Angel...
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| − | Suddenly, above the Pale Angel, Cael and the Krausers, the sun is snuffed.
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| − | Suddenly, they see the monster jumping...
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| − | ''roaring.... ''
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| − | '''Gennadi: ''' Wind howls, the sky darkens, and green fire devours the dust in a single moment. The whirring links of chain obscure all but Gennadi's eyes, glowing dangerously through a haze of metal. Slowly, he raises a hand, plucking one link from the air... and the rest shatter. In an explosion of movement, the wind tears forth into the plain and carries the starmetal into the sky as Gennadi blurs through the air. He lights a cigarette off the ragged blade of an attacker, running up and over to pound the fool into the dirt. In his wake, rocks crack and trees fall, zombies sizzle with the heat of the movement and sparks struck from steel-shod shoes, snakelike hissing slithers through the air as steam rises from dead bodies. There are only seconds to appreciate the sights and sounds before the wind catches up, hammering into the lumbering dead and sending them flying through the air as the sidereal dances his mad way towards his single target.
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| − | Fire rolls in the sky in response to his twisted rain dance in blue, green, and infernally hot red. Glowing spikes of hot sky-steel hammer their way down through the clouds with cracks of thunder, roaring forth and tearing holes in the sky. Spiraling strings of essence trail behind, raining down burning flower petals to coat this small, personal battlefield. Finally, the shards of glowing metal slam into the wolf, gouts of blood spraying forth and obscuring the great beast in clouds of crimson steam. The earth shakes as it is brought down, the ground cracking open and spraying jagged shards of stone.
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| − | And Gennadi is waiting for it, almost lazily as he finishes the last puff of a cigarette, flicking it down to the earth. He presses the single remaining link into the roaring hot breath of the titanic beast, baring his own teeth against the massive spikes that line its maw. Two words ring out in an almost childishly pleased voice. "Heel, bitch." With a flick of his wrist, the chain returns to form, spikes linking together and reforming, crisscrossed in intricate patterns that would rival the loom of fate itself. Blue joy pours forth against black malice, the future faces the past, and for one of the first times in the being's existance, it knows fear.
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| − | '''The General: ''' As Gennadi stops the Wolf in mid-flight, those above him are thrown foward... and the General, as a perfect gentleman - and a man who knows the value of his assets - does the first thing that comes to mind. To take hold of his Dragon-Blooded beauty, enveloped as she is in a storm of sharp bone and blighted thorns, and jumps down, landing next to Gennadi... and facing the Krausers, Vorpal, Cael and Fiona.
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| − | Slowly, he places the sorceress down, the sharp bones not ever seeming to faze him.
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| − | "Murria. Haze. Whiro. Kill them."
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| − | '''Murria: ''' And then she appears, above Vorpal and Alexsei... a cloaked figure falling over them, face of porcelain, face of a doll. Not the dolls of children, but beautiful, artistic china dolls.... a piece of art, that hints to the humanity within the cloak...
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| − | Except, there is none. From the cloak come a multitude of appendages, as many as an Octopus', a whirlwind of blows coming over the Pale Angel and her Passenger... blows of a doll's ceramic hands, and the blades shining within....
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| − | '''Vorpal: ''' Vorpal's mien does not change, nor does she bat an eye. Her hands are the only parts of her body that move to meet the attack.They seem to dart from one point in space to another without crossing the distance between them, shifting from offensive stance into a defensive one. Her sword is a flicker of black light, impossibly deft and silent for its great size, the defense it forms around the ghost-blooded and her charges inpenetrable.
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| − | '''Ryshassa: ''' "No!" Ryshassa cries out, as the rain of doll limbs tears towards the Pale Angel -- and her husband. She sweeps an arm and the Caduceus rushes to bolster Alexsei's defense, leaving herself briefly vulnerable but for her unnaturally strengthened flesh.
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| − | '''Alexsei Krauser: ''' Before he can get his bearings properly again, another threat comes by, above them.
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| − | ''No time to rest... And I can't... I can't die yet! '''
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| − | Almost purely on reflex he jumps away from the Pale Angel and away from the whirling blades coming towards his path, his legs immediately shifting to steps to insure his survival...
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| − | A dance to step away from the raining blows.<br>
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| − | A dance to celebrate the continued gift of life.<br>
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| − | So that as long as the gift beats within his battered body, he will not be taken down.
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| − |
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| − | '''Brael Ir: ''' Brael takes the Lotus on his hand... the world-shattering Lotus, planting it in front of himself.
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| − | Instantly, five copies of Lotus grow from the ground around him.
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| − | One, made of ashes.<br>
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| − | One, made of ice.<br>
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| − | One, made of dirt.<br>
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| − | One, made of blood.<br>
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| − | And finally, one made of iron.
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| − | A single movement, and he strikes them all, sending all of them - even the World-Shattering Lotus - flying up high, the Lotus the most accurate of them, even as it misses Iselsis.... and then, tendrils from its smoke grab all the other five, forming it... a circle around Iselsis.
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| − | And then, he took to the air once again...
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| − | He picks the Ash, and becomes nothingness as it strikes Iselsis.<br>
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| − | He picks the ice, and it shatters on the Demon-Blooded's skin.<br>
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| − | He takes the blood, and it covers her with it.<br>
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| − | He takes the iron, and it splinters, filling her with cuts.
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| − | And finally, he is above her, with the World-Shattering Lotus, and it comes down her head with the strength of the Heart Tree's fall.
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| − | '''Iselsis: ''' As the onslaught comes again she is now free of her burden, her lithe body moves away from his strikes, parrying them at the same time with her repeaters. And when the dragon blooded falls to the earth she is still there.
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| − | Miraculously unharmed.
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| − | '''Brael Ir: ''' Brael strikes her with all... and although she is covered in blood and ice, she is untouched.
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| − | The last strike misses its target... and he sommersaults in mid-air, falling with just as much destruction next to the General.
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| − | "Right. Those girls are... slippery."
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| − | | |
| − | '''Alexsei Krauser: ''' With his wife's help, he barely escapes the onslaught of blades coming their way. Inwardly, through their rings, his voice carries what he cannot spare to do with his own voice, as his steps take him sweeping across the dusty grounds.
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| − | | |
| − | ''Thank you once again, Belladonna. ''
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| − | | |
| − | He does not pause, however. No shorter has the steps come to their finale that Epilogue breaks and collapses into seven linked sections, the hungry essence of endings dancing like wisps along its smooth surface.
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| − | | |
| − | ''You must not be allowed to remain, defiler. ''
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| − | | |
| − | And it is the same force that carry his leap forward, and between two blinks of an eye the staff beats on the masked monstosity bearing multiple appendages.<br>
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| − | Once.<br>
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| − | Twice.<br>
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| − | Thrice.
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| − | | |
| − | Each time the rings at the end of the weapon echo in different tones, completing a melody with the speed of the blow. A dirge for those that have died, and for those whose end will come. A song of fate and sadness, from the weapon to its enemy.
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| − | | |
| − | A song to soothe its troubled soul.
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| − | | |
| − | '''Murria: ''' Murria moves away, sidestepping... and even as the music makes her cloak moves away.... Alexsei sees what is really there.
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| − | | |
| − | Nothing.
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| − | | |
| − | Nothing at ''all''
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| − | | |
| − | Simply a bunch of arms coming from the neck of the porcelain head, seving as her limbs, like some obscene spider without a torso... and the staff hits its limbs of wood and ceramic, being batted away, slipping within, unable to destroy what it cannot touch....
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| − | | |
| − | ... but it does. It does hit, and it does hurt.
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| − | | |
| − | Murria is impressed... and the dance of her arms is in disarray. She is left open.
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| − | | |
| − | '''Blight Lily: ''' Blight Lily comes down from the General's hands like a good lady.
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| − | | |
| − | She blows him a kiss, even as she finishes her Necromancy. Even through the bones and black thorns, the Emerald Dragoness - now more of an Ashen Dragoness - could see her target, the Pale Angel, locked on her slitted, draconic eyes. And all she had to do was to say a word, and draw a rune in the air.
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| − | | |
| − | The rune burns in Vorpal's chest. Inside her chest. On her ribcage.
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| − | Above her heart.
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| − | | |
| − | And then, she feels herself moving.
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| − | | |
| − | Her body... is not her own anymore. Her skeleton moves by itself... raising Betrayer high... and bringing the Soulsteel blade down to behead Alexsei Krauser...
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| − | | |
| − | Blight Lily smiles, conducting it as a maestro would her symphony.
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| − | | |
| − | "Dance, my puppet. ''Dance! ''"
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| − | | |
| − | '''Ryshassa: ''' And so the instrumentalist is reunited with her instrument...
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| − | | |
| − | Ryshassa closes her eyes, glossing her fingers over the strings. They shimmer golden, the notes clear and true, forming visibly into wisps of golden petals swept into the wind. The rhythm of a timeless song beats in her veins, the truths of the cycle that birthed them all, the resilience of the mortal spirit, the call to live -- and live proudly.
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| − | | |
| − | From behind her filters the coruscating shades of sunset through stained-glass butterfly wings. She too surrounds herself with flowers, but they are flowers of pure essence, lilies and belladonna, purity and poison, life and death. The budding blossoms drift all around her, raining down as if shed from the shiting patterns of wings.
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| − | | |
| − | "''In the face of the restless dead and their commanders, I summon thee -- life! ''"
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| − | | |
| − | The flowers unfold themselves fully, purple and white with stamens like tongues of pure gold, unfolding like mouths to the sun to sing their praises. A resounding chorus of voices rings out, her own voice multiplied manifold in perfect, polyphonic harmony, echoing and reinforcing the living, breathing melody she wrests from her Lyre.
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| − | | |
| − | "''Though your hearts pound with the fear of impending death, I bid thee -- fight! ''"
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| − | | |
| − | And her Lyre sings with the force of a thousand voices, as blossoms rain upon her surrounding allies, one for each of them, settling upon their chests just above the heart. With that touch, the sweet flow of Essence warms their bodies...
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| − | | |
| − | '''Vorpal: ''' Vorpal's battle-lusty mien changes into that of a shock and unexpected pain as she feels the brand to touch her breast. For the first time over the course of the entire battle, she lurches atop the horse's back. Her body trembles, twists, jerks up - her back arches, her arms rise and turn, her joints screaming as they are tested to their limits.
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| − | | |
| − | "Fion''nn''-na!" the Pale Angel snaps without looking down, the name barely identifiable as it is forced through jaws that attempt to clamp themselves shut at every syllable. The black sword rises high above her head against her will, the blade shivering in her grasp, her arms seeming suddenly all too weak to bear the enormous weight aloft. Grunting, she yanks one hand up along the weapon's long hilt, to grab a hold of the handguard, to keep the weapon from slashing down on her ally.
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| − | | |
| − | "Get -- awwwway -- ''frr''om herrre - ''now''!"
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| − | | |
| − | And abruptly she moves, exactly in the direction where her skeleton wants her to go, Betrayer cutting down at Alexsei, air distorting visibly in soulsteel's wake.
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| − | | |
| − | A wordless scream of agony rising from her lips, Vorpal lifts one foot in the air like a dancer, pivots atop the tip of one boot, forcing her body to alter its course ever so slightly, the Grand Daiklave twisting out from its path and missing the Sidereal by a hair's width. The skirts rustle around her legs as she forces herself to use the momentum to take another whirling step forward, then another, then another, dancing along Ice's back like a poorly-built marionette, every move jerky and unnatural, every twist and spin of her body bending her joints slightly beyond how far they are designed to go. And Betrayer flies along with her, cutting and slashing through the air above her head, the sheer inertia of the weapon keeping it moving forward even though her arms attempt to turn it back towards the Sidereal.
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| − | | |
| − | One final step of the puppet-play - her boot stomps atop Ice's head and she pulls herself up to the vantage point there, the great black blade making one last mad dip down and then swinging back up again, in an angry, hungry and furious cut -- a stroke cut by an unwilling puppet against a willing one, for Betrayer slashes directly at Murria.
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| − | | |
| − | '''Murria: ''' Murria takes a step back, so many of its arms cut, falling to the ground.
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| − | | |
| − | But the doll face remains untouched.
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| − | | |
| − | It does not show pain, it does not show fear...
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| − | | |
| − | ... but is thrown back with the impact, as it goes through her defenses, severs her open limbs...
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| − | | |
| − | Alexsei left Murria open, and through a expressionless doll face, Vorpal can see no pain as all is close, and her face...
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| − | | |
| − | The doll face is nearly shattered, a large gash appearing upon it, even as the impact is enough to send her away, limbs falling to the ground like dead pieces, pieces of the undead and obsidian butterflies falling up the air!
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| − | | |
| − | And then, she is gone.
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| − | | |
| − | ... for a moment.
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| − | | |
| − | Until a limb rises. And another. And another.
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| − | | |
| − | And uncaring for pain, without any expression, the doll rises...
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| − | | |
| − | '''Brael Ir: ''' Brael watches the display... World-Shattering Lotus falling to the ground, as the large Wood Aspect smiles...
| |
| − | | |
| − | Satisfied.
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| − | | |
| − | "Now, see. ''That'' lady..."
| |
| − | | |
| − | "... does '''not''' hit like a lady. This'll be ''fun''."
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| − |
| |
| − | '''Fiona: ''' The young Twilight had barely finished throwing her butterflies, and things were already going to hell!
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| − | | |
| − | With a swift movement, she ducks out of the way of Betrayer... just to see, on the corner of her vision, a blade coming to her. No one else would see it, being pure heathaze, nothing real, a mere glitch on your senses... but she realises it is not. She ''knows''! And as it comes for her, she vanishes in butterflies and dreams, leaving some butterfly dust to fall over Vorpal’s face, renewing her, before gliding backwards to Alexsei's face... the butterflies and pieces of dreams becoming the girl once again, as she holds the Sidereal's face and kisses his lips... before continuing her gliding down to a safe place behind the Black Wing of Conclusion!
| |
| − | | |
| − | And from her kiss, Alexsei can feel her dreams...<br>
| |
| − | ... her innocence...<br>
| |
| − | ... and her hope.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Renewing him with essence and purity...
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Vorpal: ''' "Don'ttt -- worry about -- ''me! ''" Vorpal gasps hoarsely as she feels the life-giving Solar Essence flow in from somewhere behind her. It flows in -- and out again, dripping uselessly along her skin like golden drops of misty water. Her Essence has been tapped for other purposes, the conduits of her Abyssal power too overloaded, too busy to take advantage of the influx. "Heal -- the -- ''others! '' I'll keep -- you -- safe!"
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Ryshassa: ''' Ryshassa's head swivels round as her essence-giving song fades, a slightly startled look on her face. "Yes, Pale Angel, but --" She stops, suddenly, seeing this new girl come out from a haze of butterflies and kiss her husband full on the lips.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Not recognizing the girl at all, she simply... facefaults. ''Who IS that? ''
| |
| − | | |
| − | She can at least see that the girl is an ally and means well, not harm, but Alexsei feels a distinct spike of indignance through their rings nonetheless.
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| − | | |
| − | '''Ice: '''Ice does not know what ails her mistress, but for that second or two, it does not even matter. When an enemy shows weakness in battle, it must be seized right away.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Ice's great dark mass explodes forward, her hooves thundering across the ground, her broad lips curling back in what can be described only as a delighted grin. The half-shattered form of Murria barely has had time to gather herself together when the black beast is upon her already. The whinny that bursts out from Ice's lungs is awfully reminiscent of human laughter. It is loud and fierce and filled with savage joy as the horse rears up on her hind legs, towering above the mutilated doll, muscles rippling under the shining black coat, flailing hooves each capped with a shoe forged of soulsteel -
| |
| − | | |
| − | - and then Ice brings her weight ''down'' on Murria with all of her considerable ferocity, legs ready to kick and stomp, ears perked for the delightful little series of cracks that is bound to follow...
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| − |
| |
| − | The crack is... ''satisfying''. Ice whickers, pleased, and dances about a bit. Her heavy rump sways back and forth, shattered ceramic pieces crunch and crumble into itty-bitty bits under her hooves. Ice whickers again, a low, flippant sound that has an awful resemblance to a smug chuckle.
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| − | | |
| − | | |
| − | | |
| − | ----
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| − | | |
| − | * - Back to [[GoldenCat/FifthMovement|Fifth Movement]]
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| − | * - Back to [[GoldenCat/DanceOfAngels|A Dance of Angels]]
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