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| − | * - Back to [[GoldenCat/FourthMovement|Fourth Movement]]
| + | #REDIRECT [[ADanceOfAngels]] |
| − | * - Back to [[GoldenCat/DanceOfAngels|A Dance of Angels]]
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| − | | |
| − | == A Dance of Angels ==
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| − | '''Kodak: ''' The sound is like the shrieking of a great beast. A beast of metal, iron, copper and brass. A beast that contorsts itself as pieces of foundries, tower and deposits break to form... something. Something that eats parts of the Industrial District... but nothing worked by men. The raw iron, the raw copper, the raw brass... it takes pieces out of it all, forming a great... dragon.
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| − | | |
| − | Talons of brass hit the streets. A roar of the pure earth shook the ground. The copper dragon stood taller than all buildings in the industrial – half as tall as the Clock Tower in the distance. Its eyes were diamond, and it looked down... as claws scythed poor members of the relentless Gears. Wards broken, Hungry Ghosts poured in.
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| − | | |
| − | The earth continued to shake. But that was not the dragon anymore. It shook of its own volition.
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| − | | |
| − | Under the command of the being atop the Dragon’s head.
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| − | | |
| − | And through the tremors in the earth, a voice that was as two spoke. “People of the Boil. Rats of the Industrial District. Gears. Look up.”
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| − | | |
| − | ”I am your sheriff. I am your god.”
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| − | | |
| − | ”You thought you had tamed the earth. Your industries, your foundries, eating it up and shaping it to your desires. You venerated Iron Tears, lord of your industries, and forgot what makes them work. What makes them possible. I am here to remember you.” The echo of both voices booms through the earth, one so earthly, coarse, the other divine, and filled with hatred.
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| − | | |
| − | ”Look up! See this colossus? This is the revenge of the Earth, miners. You should have prayed before going in. Prayed while within. The mines are the true life of the Boil. They are the earth. The industry is nothing without it. Nothing before it. Now you will learn. Men, industry... you are nothing. You should have seen it... and you will, today. When I am finished, you will remember to fear. To pray. To serve. Instead, you turn to criminals. To lowlifes. I am your new sheriff, and am going to change this. To make this ordered. A new order. You '''will bow down before the earth and cry the name of Kodak! '''”
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| − | | |
| − | ”Because... it is ‘cleaning season’ now.”
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| − | | |
| − | '''Iron Tears: ''' The answer to Kodak comes from each and every one of the factories. From the shrines to the Iron God. From the mouths of the Relentless Gears. “You never understood, did you, brother? You never did. You poor fool. There with the Holysword vessel, drunk in your power in a mortal vessel... and it still escapes you.”
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| − | | |
| − | ”Why on Heaven every Bureau calls this the Second Age.”
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| − | | |
| − | ”The Second Age of Man, Brother.”
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| − | ” Man has tamed the Earth, brother. And the Water, Air, Wood and Fire. Man now takes on those Aspects, and calls them their own. We need them. We serve them, much as they serve us. Need we not their prayers? Their prayers sustain us, Brother. They, and they alone, allows us wonders.”
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| − | | |
| − | The wonder rises, then. Chains of Duty, the colossus looking at the Indusrial District. Protectively. Its champion had risen. Faceless, the warstrider was forge and metal, rustic and a masterwork at once, in the fashion only the heavy industry could make.
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| − | | |
| − | ”Ages ago, it was a man who helped me forge this. Remember him? The Twilight who joined his hammer with mine to create Chains of Duty? He discussed with me, designed with me.... hammered the metal together with me.” The Warstrider raises its heavy hammers then. They glint hard and lifeless under the moon. “When this was broken, it was White Crane, a Stone Fist, who journeyed deep within the earth with me to get the ores to repair my hammer, facing faceless horrors who had taken residence there in the proccess. And used his own to repair it, as he insisted.”
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| − | | |
| − | The giant walks towards the Dragon, traversing the space of the district in what seems like a lifetime, as the words go into each and every one, shelding those in his way... “I heard you were taking women for your pleasure. Trying to mimic me. You will never understand. And you hate Simma because of that. You see mere animals to rut with. Not the wonderful pets they are... and the great peers few can be. Simma is already greater than you. When she ever realises it... she will rival '''me''' “
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| − | | |
| − | ”You never understood. It is time you do, brother. Serve them well, make them need you... make they worship you... or be gone.”
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| − | | |
| − | ”Change...”
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| − | | |
| − | ”...Or die.”
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| − | | |
| − | '''Kodak: ''' There is a moment of silence following that.
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| − | | |
| − | The hooded figure atop the dragon leaned the Pickaxe ovcer his shoulder. He stared at Iron Tears... and then, the dragon’s claw fell down, cutting through a swath of soldiers. It rose up tinted with blood, like a man in a jungle who just killed mosquitoes. The hooded figured points the pickaxe, and smiles. A smile that can be ''felt'' by the tremors in the earth, light now, but still there. “It will be to die, brother. But you will be the one doing the dying. There are no mortals that can stand up to my new pet. You are alone, brother. Where are your ‘men’ now?”
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| − | | |
| − | The Dragon lurches foward then... only to stop. In mid-air. Prayer strips rise. Words of power fill the air. The chanting of a octagon of thaumathurges is heard. Warding. Trapping the God and his Elemental.
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| − | | |
| − | '''Iron Tears: ''' “Right there.”
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| − | | |
| − | The Iron God makes a sweeping gesture... ”You can thank Jungen for them. His best Thaumathurges.”
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| − | | |
| − | .. and then points to a point above Chains of Duty. A point surrounded by shimmering halos chaos. “And you can thank this Wyld-Child for allowing us to set this welcome for you, brother.”
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| − | | |
| − | '''Child of Wyld Days: ''' That point, that halo bows deeply before it---she, takes a deep breath, and howls with unabashed, bestial joy.
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| − | ''This! THIS is what I exist for! What I live for! Why I am! This moment, this action, this very second... is what gives my Heart meaning. But it is only the beginning. ''
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| − | | |
| − | Relaxing, the Child wipes at her nose with her thumb, all smiles. "And now... the story draws close to the end, yes?"
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| − | | |
| − | '''Kodak: ''' "It does."
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| − | | |
| − | Earth and gems cover the god. His cloak flapping on the high wind, Days can finally see a figure with him... a woman, a beautiful woman. A blade in each hand, each of them wickedly razored. She is clad in shadows, her skin filled with the same necromantic blood-rune-scar as the Beautiful Thorns... but this time, they are more intricate, deeper.
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| − | | |
| − | "Break this ward, my pet. Break it into a thousand splinters. Mortals cannot hold you!", he says.
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| − | | |
| − | "Kill the Thaumathurges! Now!" She calls, to other shadows such as her!
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| − | | |
| − | | |
| − | '''Child of Wyld Days: ''' "Now, now! I cannot have you killing these people... they're fighting for what they believe in, and that is noble and just!" The Child, beholding the twin-bladed woman, can only sigh, shaking her head. "Therefore, I must make an example out of you. Your fight... and your life will bring glory to my Sword, and you will find rest."
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| − | | |
| − | The Child strikes a stance. "Maybe."
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| − | | |
| − | She is a dart. A lance of white and gold and prismatic light as she streams from off of the Warstrider. Her target is obvious; the woman with the blood-runes and the twin killing blades. But for her... she sees more as she opens her perceptions fully. The flow of Essence around her becomes painfully evident, and her eyes lock onto the woman herself, finding the one place where the flow of life and death comes to a point on her being.
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| − | | |
| − | ''... THERE! ''
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| − | | |
| − | Her arms act even before the thought is finished, and the Owl and Serpent is send lashing out at that point. Her Sword '''screams''' deep within, and the hunger to achieve greatness, the desire to become far greater than even raksha can be drives her even more.
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| − | | |
| − | The bonds loosen. Valor trembles, but holds firm. The madness within is held in check for now.
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| − | | |
| − | | |
| − | '''Shadow Rose: ''' She closes her eyes... inhaling.
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| − | | |
| − | "I can smell blood in you, monkey... I can smell her blood. His blood. You have the blood of my subordinates in you."
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| − | | |
| − | "I will savor it along with theirs' as a tribute."
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| − | | |
| − | And then, she is not there. She is just a ghost, a ghost of blood-red runes, immaterial, untouchable, letting the Raksha pass by harmlessly.
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| − | | |
| − | "You cannot touch a shadow, Monkey."
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| − | | |
| − | | |
| − | '''Child of Wyld Days: ''' Her grin quickly becomes a look of shock... which in turn becomes a visage of aggravation as she comes to a stop on the streets below, tumbling once before falling into a defensive stance. "Cute trick, girl. I keep forgetting your ilk can do such miracles... but can you do it again?"
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| − | | |
| − | '''Shadow Rose: ''' "I can do it enough times to ''kill'' you, Wyld-Spawn!" It sheathes her blades. Still insubstantial, she calls upon the night... and the night, in horrifying whispers, answers.
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| − | | |
| − | It sheathes her blades in shadow, in the purest shadow... almost solid. And then, she turns around, where the Child had just gone through herself, trying to go through the Child's neck... "My Lord Parishioner will enjoy your death..."
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| − | | |
| − | '''Child of Wyld Days: ''' "You will have to earn that, my dear!" Without so much as looking, her staff bends backwards, guided by hands that are in turn guided by the constantly-moving gates of the Child's unusual Virtues. She still finds time to smile, even considering how close death may well be. "I do not give my blood away cheaply."
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| − | | |
| − | '''Kodak: ''' The God turns around, as well. His voice still multi-hued, two in one. The voice of the Boil's Sheriff, and that of the Miner God. "My most steemer brother says I must thank you, Wyld-Child. So be it."
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| − | | |
| − | '''''"Jordiar!" ''''' He calls to the Dragon, "Break the Ward. Destroy my brother."
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| − | | |
| − | "And you... Wyld Child... have my thanks."
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| − | | |
| − | With that, a blast of gpale golden light surrounded the pickaxe as it went straight towards the Child.... "And die."
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| − |
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| − | '''Child of Wyld Days: ''' "My, I seem to be popular."
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| − | | |
| − | Not having had a moment to even save herself from the woman's blade, her arms are in action once again, twisting the staff at startling speeds as she brings it to bear on the incoming axe. The twin heads screaming, the staff tears into the street, sending debris and sparks everywhere before it reaches its destination.
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| − | | |
| − | '''Shadow Rose: ''' She says nothing else. She just unmakes like melted wax.<bR>
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| − | She is nowhere and everywhere.<br>
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| − | She is a nightmare given form.<br>
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| − | With great fangs and many arms, she strikes at the Child...<br>
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| − | A dozen blades at once, each for every arm, each with a different hue of shadow.<bR>
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| − | But only two are real<br>
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| − | | |
| − | And they slip in, pushed by all the force of her conviction...
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| − | | |
| − | She does her job, for the Parishioner. For the Parishioner...
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| − | | |
| − | On the corner of her eye, she ntices how few of her subordinates are jumping out of the shadows, to go in the direction of the Thaumathurges' bodyguards.
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| − | | |
| − | ''So many already dead... how...? ''
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| − | | |
| − | ''Others are hunting the night like us... ''
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| − | | |
| − | '''Child of Wyld Days: ''' ''My Heart rejects your violence. ''
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| − | | |
| − | Skin toughens.
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| − | | |
| − | ''My Heart denies your strength. ''
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| − | | |
| − | Dreams tighten.
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| − | | |
| − | ''My Heart will not accept your dominance. ''
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| − | | |
| − | Her very being is empowered, a powerful heartbeat of essence that all nearby can feel.
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| − | ''This is the strength of my Heart. Pierce it if you can! ''
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| − | | |
| − | Even then, her staff moves to intercept; miracles are great things, but effort is true power...
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| − | | |
| − | | |
| − | "Now. I have a favor to return."
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| − | | |
| − | From her position, seemingly on the defensive, she suddenly lunges in towards her attacker. The first attack is a sweeping upward stroke, followed in the space of a heartbeat by a twisting thrust aimed square at the woman's throat. The third is a sudden swat, done not with the Child's hands... but with her tail, which grasps the staff as she lets go, only to strike out at her target. Just as quickly, Owl and Serpent returns to Snow Monkey's hands.
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| − | | |
| − | '''Shadow Rose: ''' The lady is sent backwards, almost thrown out of the dragon.
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| − | | |
| − | The blood now trickles down from her face, not the one annointing her and triggering her power, but her own... from her mouth, from her eyes. She still looks fine, as a supernatural creature so hurt and not a mortal. She spits blood, and gets up.
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| − | | |
| − | "You are strong, Wyld-Child..."
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| − | | |
| − | It is an immense effort to get to her feet. But she does, eyeing the child with hate
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| − | | |
| − | '''Child of Wyld Days: ''' "I am not strong, woman." She spins her staff once, and falls back into her stance.
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| − | | |
| − | "I am raksha."
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| − | | |
| − | '''Kodak: ''' The Dragon holds Chains of Duty. It seems to offer no resistance now.
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| − | | |
| − | Kodak laughs.
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| − | | |
| − | "Your battle is useless now, Raksha. The only thing that could stop my Dragon is gone. And you..."
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| − | | |
| − | He swings the pickaxe towards her.... and gleaming gems fill the air, as the pale light guides the pickaxe.... once twice, thrice cutting through her.... ".. will not last forever."
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| − | | |
| − | '''Child of Wyld Days: ''' Three times the godling cuts. Three times the Child does her best to defend herself, aided by her Art and by her enlarged, empowered Heart. "I will not last forever... but I will certainly last long enough to see you beaten!"
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| − | | |
| − | ''I will not let such a weak thing as you snuff out my light! You are an obstacle, a stepping-stone... and I will walk right over you! ''
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| − | | |
| − | '''Alexander: ''' ''All right. Time to go. ''
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| − | | |
| − | It is then that the lights appear in the sky.
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| − | | |
| − | Although muffled by the heavy layer of clouds, it is easy to see that there are two of them. One shines with warm, righteous gold, and a mere sight of it sends an abrupt surge of hope through the hearts of those who behold it. The other is cold and distant white, merciless and invetable as death in winter night. They move back and forth, swaying and arching, touching briefly at times, then moving apart, like two distant stars performing their eternal dance.
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| − | | |
| − | ''Whup. And… whup. ''
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| − | | |
| − | Suddenly, they break through the dark clouds, and the light becomes eyes-searing shine of twin suns. Their brightness bathes the war-torn city, painting soot-stained buildings with unearthly glow and sending shadows scurrying across the streets.
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| − | | |
| − | The golden light turns out to be a winged man of heart-stopping beauty, strong and magnificent in his engraved armor. The white light eminates from an ebon-winged woman clad in nothing but the deepest, darkest black, a lady as deadly and terrifying as the man is resplendent and righteous. They are holding hands just the moment they break into sight, but a second later the woman pushes the man away, arching her body to flip in the air as she does so. It is then that her wings turn out to be nothing but a broad black cloak billowing in the wind, and she immediately begins to fall. With a single flap of his powerful wings, however, the man is back at her side, and he takes hold of her hand once again… gently, gracefully, as is proper for a gentleman is dealing with his lady.
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| − | | |
| − | ''Got you! ''
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| − | | |
| − | ''Don’t get too proud, boy. ''
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| − | | |
| − | Again they part, the woman plummeting towards the ground like a white falling star, the golden man catching her a hundred feet below. They move back and forth in the sky, spinning, turning, dancing, spiraling ever downwards, ever closer to the city and the battle raging below.
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| − | | |
| − | ''…now. Do it now! ''
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| − | | |
| − | There is something different, something decisive in the way the man grabs the woman now, encircling her slim waist with his arms. The touch is intimate. She presses herself against him, bending her neck so that her face is inches away from his, their eyes half-closed, their lips almost brushing. For a heartbeat, they simply hover there, a vision of unearthly beauty suspended in mid-air.
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| − | | |
| − | ''Good luck. ''
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| − | | |
| − | Then, she arches her back, and he -
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| − | | |
| − | -- he lets her go.
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| − | | |
| − | '''Vorpal: ''' She falls head-first, her cloak flowing, her long white hair fluttering in the wind. One of her hands reaches over her shoulder and takes hold of a long handle jutting there. With a mighty heave she draws forth her blade, huge and heavy, almost as long as she herself is tall.
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| − | | |
| − | Again she arches her body, but forward this time, to pull her legs over her head. She turns a plummet into a somersault and another... and another and another. Soon she is spinning in the air, faster and faster, and the sword spins with her, like a single black pole of an enormous wheel, or a gigantic scythe hurled down from the sky.
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| − | | |
| − | The blade begins to trail light as it swings, an eerie sort of pale glow streaked with twisting shadows. Air seems to writhe and snarl around it, hateful of the necrotic energy reaching out beyond the borders of a Shadowland and into the realm of the Living.
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| − | | |
| − | Tumbling, the woman falls, closer and closer towards the head of the great dragon, her sword in a deadly blur
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| − | | |
| − | The last several feet. The woman goes around once more, the black blade rising up into the final arch, then swinging down towards the dragons head, all the momentum of her fall and spin and the weapons terrible magic behind a single swing
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| − | '''Jordiar: ''' The Dragon screams. A large gash in his head, through an eye, one of his whiskers cut cleanly off.
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| − | | |
| − | The dragon screams, as it is hurt more gravely than it has ever been hurt in its life. It coils back, its claws leaving the warstrider and fixing themselves on the ground, breaking buildings like sand castles in the proccess.
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| − | | |
| − | It is ''hurt''
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| − | '''Child of Wyld Days: ''' "Now, my dear. I am going to finish you, and get to more important things in life." The sudden shifting of the dragon doesn't unsettle her at all... in fact, she uses the sudden shift in momentum to launch herself at the Rose, fangs bared and her weapon tearing a thin furrow along the dragon's hide as she seems to telegraph her swing. Of course, her sudden landing and full twist changes that, sending the rear end of the staff at Rose's chest... only for the Child to flick the staff out once more at the same spot. "Delay your end if you can, for it is coming... soon and very soon!"
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| − |
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| − | '''Shadow Rose: ''' The staff... once again goes through her. The woman goes through Days again, kissing the Child's cheek... without merryment or amusement. She is too hurt, and too drained to. But that is the kiss of death.
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| − | | |
| − | Rose stops behind Days. And turns her body material once again.
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| − | | |
| − | "I will kill you, Raksha... even if it is the last thing I do!"
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| − | | |
| − | And she does her best to live up to that. She holds the handles of her blades until they hurt. She presses a buttom, and spikes come out. They cut her hand. They drink her necromancy-powered blood. The swords burn with scarlet flames.
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| − | | |
| − | "Just... die... already!"
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| − | | |
| − | '''Child of Wyld Days: ''' "I'm sorry."
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| − | | |
| − | Her essence-fueled turn to meet the attack is grace personified... there is no malice in her movement, only a cold sort of certainty. "But my story will not, can not, '''must not''' end here!" There only for the blade to strike, the staff to intercept, and for fate to decide who will win.
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| − | | |
| − | '''Kodak: ''' The trembling throws him off just a bit. But Kodak retains his footing, the hood pulling back to reveal an old, hard face, with glittering silver beard and hair, and stone-cold dark violet eyes. He looks up at the angels... and curses.
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| − | | |
| − | ''They have come... just as he had said. The Prince. The Pale Angel. Damn it''... He looks down at Chains of Duty as it falls... the ground shaking, not for the first time, and not for the last, as so many of those in the District feel the absolute end has arrived in this clash of titans... still covered by a wave of dust lifted by its fall... and sneers.
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| − | | |
| − | "You may have come to foil me... but I destroyed the spirit of the Boil! My brother has fallen! And you... you will ''not steal my glory! ''"
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| − | | |
| − | He explodes in pale white-gold then. The pickaxe comes for Days, three strikes of light meant to cut through the monkey-lady... "You. Will. '''not'''!"
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| − | | |
| − | Child of Wyld Days: "Oh.
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| − | | |
| − | Block.
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| − | | |
| − | "Yes."
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| − | | |
| − | Parry.
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| − | | |
| − | "I."
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| − | | |
| − | Deflect.
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| − | | |
| − | "Will.”
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| − | | |
| − | Repel.
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| − | | |
| − | '''Jordiar: ''' Jordiar looks to the pest that almost cut one of its eyes off angrily.
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| − | | |
| − | Its mind destroyed by the Wyld long ago, it understood little. But it understood pain. And it hated it. HATED IT!
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| − | | |
| − | Little thing had hurt him. And so, he would hurt little thing.
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| − | | |
| − | The dragon roars then, and charges foward... breaking the streets as he goes... and up to great iron factory. He drives his face in it, crushing Vorpal between them, breaking the factory in the process.... molten metal spilling around, fires spreading...
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| − | | |
| − | '''Vorpal: ''' She looks like a little glowing insect, hanging there from the handle of her half-embedded Daiklave. Every jolt and shudder of the dragon's rampage makes her bounce like a rag doll, but she manages to hold on and ride along.
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| − | | |
| − | Vorpal looks over her shoulder, her eyes narrowing as she watches the factory approach... To be crushed between a creation of man and a creation of heaven...
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| − | | |
| − | Her lips curl up into a little smile. Such an ironic fate.
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| − | | |
| − | Quickly jamming one boot against the dragon's muzzle, she uses it as a leverage to twist the sword a little, to turn it into a slightly better angle. And then, she merely waits.
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| − | | |
| − | And just when dragon is about to smash its head into the factory's iron side, the Ghost-Blooded lets go of the sword. On the very same moment, her physical form seems to evaporate into mist, allowing the dragon to go through her, to slam its head and the sword jutting there against the building, to drive the blade inside the stony skull like a wedge...
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| − | | |
| − | Tch...
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| − | | |
| − | An ethereal vision, she floats above the destruction for a moment, her hair and cloak slowly fluttering in a wind that is not there. Then, with an affort of will, she forces herself to materialize once more. Gravity takes over, and she drops lithely atop the dragon's muzzle.
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| − | | |
| − | "Tough one, aren't you?" she growls and stomps viciously, to force a crack in the dragon's stony hide wider. One hand held out for balance, she reaches down with the other, searching for the handle of the blade sunk deep into the earth spirit's skull...
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| − | | |
| − | '''Shadow Rose: ''' Shadow Rose joins the blades at her chest. She closes her eyes.
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| − | | |
| − | And then she is a nightmare, a shadow. A oily black creature filled with blood, the red markings the only thing to be seen in trhe sillhouette. She surrounds the Child with shadow, and in that shadow, there are eyes. From each of those eyes she strikes...
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| − | | |
| − | Once to cut through the shape of the Wyld in the body.
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| − | | |
| − | Once to break the Wyld spirit within.
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| − | | |
| − | And once to cut the last pattern into nothingness....
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| − | | |
| − | '''Child of Wyld Days: ''' Even as shadows enclose her, as darkness surrounds her, as those sinister eyes fix onto her and attack, the Child remains calm, relaxed... prepared. Sure, death may come, but it will not be a cheap one... and even as the miraculous power of her Gates sends her body and arms into a frantic twirl of motion, her eyes remain closed.
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| − | | |
| − | She does not want to see the darkness and those eyes, no. She only wants to feel the flow of essence around her... so that she may track it to its source... and so that she may send that source's soul, if it even has one, screaming into the night.
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| − | | |
| − | "Kh..." A line of searing red runs along her neck, and for a moment, blood spurts violently, leaving an unexpectedly... artistic pattern on the skin of the Rose's face. The jet of red ceases a moment later. Those eyes of hers... remain closed, even as obvious pain courses along her features and her hands tighten on Owl and Serpent.
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| − | | |
| − | "... goodbye."
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| − | | |
| − | In her mind's eye, the essence around her explodes, leading once again to that single vulnerable spot on her body. There is no thought as her staff lashes out, once, striking to kill, striking to overcome, striking to shatter.
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| − | | |
| − | Striking to add one more flourish to the Snow Monkey's tale of heroism.
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| − | | |
| − | '''Shadow Rose: ''' She tumbles to the ground, far, far away. Too hurt. Beyond help. Her body falls like a broken doll's over the dragon, and twists its way over its scaly body... until the last moment.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Then, a clawed hand moves with supernatural deftness, and holds to the scales.<br>
| |
| − | Claws sharp enough to dig into it.<bR>
| |
| − | And she begins to get... up.<br>
| |
| − | But it is not her.<br>
| |
| − | No beauty. No grace. She gets up like a puppet. Like a predator. Like a monster.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Eyes blank, nothing in them. Mouth fanged. Hands clawed. Every rune in her body spilling blood.<br>
| |
| − | She roars. Her roar fill the air.<br>
| |
| − | She is little more than an animal now... but that animal focuses on the Child.
| |
| − | | |
| − | With only a single thought.
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Kill'''
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Child of Wyld Days: ''' The Child, chest heaving and visage still twisted in muted agony, opens her eyes.
| |
| − | | |
| − | She suddenly wished that she hadn't."... oh, shit."
| |
| − | | |
| − | | |
| − | '''Alexander: ''' Hope and warmth flutter down, feathers of light touching the faces of the people, coming down as holy rain. Warm. Immaculate. The shining knight descends, his wings seeming to encircle the Industrial District with light.
| |
| − | | |
| − | The shining blade on his hand, he points to the dark god.
| |
| − | | |
| − | "I heard it, Bastard! Every word! Every word you shouted. Kodak... they turned your back to you." The Boil might be a dirty little place, but it was part of Whiteshield, an important one at that. Alexander knew tales of gods throughout the North - he was familiar with Kodak's - quite an allegory, in Whiteshieldian plays, for jealously and envy between kinsmen. "It is useless. he Iron God is right. Your time is past! It is..."
| |
| − | | |
| − | He stops then, closer now. As he looks at the face. At the god's face.
| |
| − | | |
| − | "... uncle?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | "Uncle... is that you? Uncle... Amaranth?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | "You... no... you... did... you..."
| |
| − | | |
| − | He comes down then, as a shooting star.
| |
| − | | |
| − | The blade strikes the pickaxe, and light explodes everywhere. "'''You betrayed us! You are a holysword! You are named after the Shield Goddess! You SHOULD PROTECT THIS! '''" He keeps attacking. The blows are guided by anger, sheer anger.
| |
| − | | |
| − | "Father gave the Boil for you to protect, you bastard! They killed him... you know it... how could you? '''How could you?!? '''"
| |
| − | | |
| − | His light is still pure.<br>
| |
| − | For his rage had never been more so.
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Kodak: ''' The Dark God moves the soulsteel-reinforced diamond pickaxe, and smiles at Alex. The way a member of the family would.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Two voices speak as one again, but this time, for the first time, the human one is louder. "Because of what ''dear brother'' said, my dear nephew. Because times have changed. Family's dead, nephew, your fight is lost. Change...."
| |
| − | | |
| − | The pickaxe bats the blows away, then points at the boy. "... or die."
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Jordiar: ''' The Dragon roars. To his roar join the prince's shouts, and the monstrous Rose's roar.
| |
| − | | |
| − | A gigantic claw rises then.... and comes down on the Pale Angel, as a man trying to swat a fly on his face....
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Vorpal: ''' Vorpal does not move a step. She twirls her Daiklave around above her head, the enormous sword responding to the guidance of her hand lightly, as it were a mere wooden stick. The length of the sword puffs into that same shadowy light that had been witnessed before, the ghostly Essence summoned from the land of the Dead.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Just when the enormous claw is about to hit, she snaps the blade downwards, placing the weapon crosswise against the incoming attack.
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Kodak: ''' The dark god laughs. It is a merry laugh.
| |
| − | Alex’s strike, all but averted, barely touching his skin.
| |
| − | | |
| − | "That is... it? The great power of a Golden Bull, of a Zenith Lord... and that is '''it'''?!? My, my... if this is the best you can do, I should not worry overmuch. Jordiar will smash the Pale Angel. And you... die now."
| |
| − | | |
| − | "Like so."
| |
| − | | |
| − | Golden energy surrounds the blade once again, and Kodak brings it up... in an essence-laden arc towards the angel's wings.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | '''Alexander: ''' "No, uncle."
| |
| − | | |
| − | "There is much, '''much''' more!!" His blade twists with light, but aside from his wrist, the rest of his body does not move. The blade simply parries, as he looks at the man unamused.
| |
| − | | |
| − | "I am going to kill you, uncle."
| |
| − | | |
| − | "We are going to kill you."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | '''Kodak: ''' "Not much chance."
| |
| − | | |
| − | He waves to the fallen warstrider now in front of them again after the Dragon turns, dust settling on it...
| |
| − | | |
| − | "See? My brother is..."
| |
| − | | |
| − | Settling, and the broken front of the great machine reveals there is nothing inside.
| |
| − | | |
| − | "Brother? Brother? '''Where are you, Iron Tears? Running? Running away? '''"
| |
| − | | |
| − | Another laugh. Even more full of merryment.
| |
| − | | |
| − | "Look, people of the Boil! The great Iron Tears... has run away."
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Iron Tears: ''' The warstriders gets up, then, the red light shining faintly on its head. It holds the mouth of the dragon, refusing to let go.
| |
| − | | |
| − | The answer, comes from all of the Industrial District, but not from the suit of armor.
| |
| − | | |
| − | "I am right here, brother."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | '''Vorpal: ''' The dragon's claw bashes against soulsteel with a resounding clang. The force behind the blow is immense - it runs as a terrible surge of numbing pain through her hands and up her arms, but still she holds the blade straight against the claw. Her feet suddenly rise into air as the dragon's paw lifts her up, ever higher above the beast's cracked head. It is no helpless hurtling - she rides the claw in a perfectly controlled ascent, using it as an elevator to gain the advantage of the higher ground.
| |
| − | | |
| − | "Be a lad and hold it still for me!" she exclaims to the iron giant... and allows her sword slip.
| |
| − | | |
| − | She performs a single tumble in the air before hurtling down once more, her anima banner flaring, her sword trailing its ghostly light. A snarl, a clench of teeth and a blinding crescent of pale white flames as the Daiklave flashes down, seeking to decapitate the beast for once and for all.
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Jordiar: ''' The Dragon dies. With a final roar, Jordiar lets out a blood of magma, over the buildings, over the machine holding his mouth.... a last roar, the great, maddened warrior of old dies.... its body twitching, but holding in place...
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Iron Angel Iria: ''' Then, it raises. The seraph, glowing with its pale anima. Six eyes now covered in Iron. Pure, sheer Iron. Shining with armor of shining metal under the now open sky. Six wings of white jade, as the woman-goddess flies up to the dragon.... and speaks, the voice of a woman and a god.
| |
| − | | |
| − | "I am right here, Kodak."
| |
| − | | |
| − | ''The woman who made you feel you had no control of the Boil, Sheriff. ''
| |
| − | | |
| − | ''The god who made you feel you had no place here, Kodak. ''
| |
| − | | |
| − | Kodak was not the only one able to ride a Holysword.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Nor the only one who remembers how to use their Sun-tinted charms with it....
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Shadow Rose: ''' The monster shambles towards he Child.... its arms hung low, hair over her head... claws dripping with blood and venom.
| |
| − | | |
| − | She lunges foward, the venom in the claws seeming to cut the air, widening the cuts until they hit the Child....
| |
| − |
| |
| − | Child of Wyld Days: "Will I not be '''rid''' of you?! Know when you are beaten!" She actually withdraws one step, two steps, staff whirling with enough speed to make the air howl around it. "Pray that I finish you off quickly..."
| |
| − | | |
| − | ''Die die die please die persistant mortal die '''die Die DIE! ''' ''
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Child of Wyld Days: ''' The facade of cocksure success is gone. She is in pain, she is emotionally (if not physically) tired, and she wants nothing more than to bring this protracted farce of a fight to its rightful conclusion. This, she simply aims two stone-breakign swings at the girl, feet set and teeth on edge, to the point where her boottips begin to dig into and crack the flesh of the dead dragon-thing. As for the staff itself, Jet Serpent hisses loudly, on its way to the attacking beastwoman's head...
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Shadow Rose: ''' Owl and Serpent goes through her forehead. Her eyes go even more wide.... but lose the rage. Lose the life.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Lose everything as she collapses towards the Child....
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Child of Wyld Days: ''' She catches the body as it falls, as it bleeds, as the soul departs.
| |
| − | | |
| − | For a moment, she looks... torn? Could this have been some dangerous lovelife? Some deadly flower to wear proudly? An eternal foe? A love unquenchable? Perhaps. Perhaps she could have been many, if not all of those things. But today...
| |
| − | | |
| − | ... today, she was a corpse.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Snow Monkey gently kisses herself her on the lips... then casts the body aside.
| |
| − | | |
| − | ''Your tale, I am afraid... is over. ''
| |
| − |
| |
| − | * Both angels circle around the god.<br><br>"It is over, brother."<br><br>"It is over, uncle."<br><br>The Dragon lays still.<br><br>The Miner god turns around, "Rose! Call your Thorns! Call them, they killed the Thaumathurges, broke the wards, the... Rose?" Rose lays dead, in the Child of Wyld Days' hands. He looks around, and the Thorns above the buildings lay dead... by what is left of the Relentless Gears, by what is left of Hemmlock's assassins, who suffered so much in the hands of the Thorns in the space of a day.<br><br>"No... no... this is... not supposed to be like this... not supposed to go like this! Minos! Minos! Come, bring the bone ones, Mino..." His newest call is silenced as the Iron Angel throws the skulll-faced helmet at Kodak's feet.<br><br>"Iria killed him before I even showed up, Kodak."<br><bR>"No...."<br><br>Kodak turns around, scared... scared, now. Both him, and the sheriff, as the four beings of great power close on him.... "It is not supposed to be like this!!"<bR><br>Alexander steps foward, his blade covered in golden light, and strikes at the Pickaxe. "It never is, Uncle."
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Kodak: ''' The Pickaxe flies out of his hand, falling far below. Far, far below, with a pure crystalline sound.
| |
| − | | |
| − | The god looks in disbelief... and screams.
| |
| − | | |
| − | And with his scream, he severs his connection with the Sheriff, who falls on his hands and knees, grasping for air, feeling the cold air devoid of the touch of divinity....
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Vorpal: ''' She rises up from amidst the rubble slowly, sand and crumbled stone rolling off her shoulders and clattering to her feet.
| |
| − | | |
| − | "Hmm?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | Her form still blazing with the cold light of her anima, the Pale Angel frowns. She pulls her Daiklave onto her shoulder and rubs at the back of her head with her free hand, her eyes scanning at their surroundings, taking in the destruction, searching, looking for something.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Finally, she looks up at the iron giant and smiles, wanly.
| |
| − | | |
| − | "Sorry. Wrong battle."
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Iron Angel Iria: ''' "You are not going anywhere, Kodak."
| |
| − | | |
| − | "It ends here."
| |
| − | | |
| − | "It ends now."
| |
| − | | |
| − | Golden flame explodes on the Iron Angel's Blade, as she goes towards the earth-scented shimmer in the air. She strikes. The seraph of iron falls with the god, both tumbling to the ground, and falling upon a ruined factory with an explosion, flashes of light exploding from it, as the Iron Angel brings the justice of heaven to the traitor.
| |
| − | | |
| − | It begins to collapse then. The whole part of the city near them.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Along with a horrible, horrible noise.
| |
| − | | |
| − | As a great crater forms beneath those upon the Dragon, they hear the noise of the Boil's earth mourning its caretaker.
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Alexander: ''' Alexander takes a step foward... towards the Sheriff.
| |
| − | | |
| − | "I said I was going to kill you, uncle."
| |
| − | | |
| − | He raises the blade, trembling with anger.
| |
| − | | |
| − | "You remember holding my father? He appreciated you, you bastard. He... you allied with the people who '''murdered''' him! You allied with that pathetic dark god! You... you.."
| |
| − | | |
| − | The blade comes down.
| |
| − | | |
| − | It cuts a great scar on his face.
| |
| − | | |
| − | ''Not again, not right now... ''
| |
| − | | |
| − | "We will see about you." He says, as he turns and watches Vorpal... and Days, the one who had been bravely holding off her own, alone, against the Rose and the God. "Hmmm... hello?"
| |
| − |
| |
| − | '''Child of Wyld Days: ''' A bit covered in blood is she, most of it belonging to the slain Rose. But even then, she is a picture of the strength, tenacity and allure of the Wyld, a bit of a breeze catching her attire just so. She... smiles, as a great pressure lifts from her. ''The fear of death, girl? Perhaps... we are a coward, in a way... and the bindings within are so loose. The well has almost run dry... ''
| |
| − | | |
| − | "Hail and well met, beautiful warrior... I am the Child of Wyld Days, champion of the North and slayer of they who war with blood and darkness. It is... a pleasure to meet you, angelic one."
| |
| − | | |
| − | She bows, deeply, sweating a little even though she is practically impossible to wear down. Sweat borne of aggravation and pain and tension and warlust, an inner heat that makes her breath most visible.
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Vorpal: ''' Careful not to stumble with the dragon shaking beneath her feet, Vorpal raises her hand to shade her eyes.
| |
| − | | |
| − | ''Where in blazes is that woman? ''
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Alexander: ''' The unearthly beautiful boy looks at the crater forming up beneath them.... but thankfully, the warstrider and the dragon provided a catwalk for those above... as he nods to the Child. "You are one who heroically fought against a God and a Creature of Darkness above a Dragon... and, if I heard it right as we came in, the one who told Iron Tears to be ready?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | "I am Alexander Holysword. It is a pleasure to meet you, Child of Wyld Days. And this one," He gestures, "Is my companion the Pale Angel!"
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Child of Wyld Days: ''' ''Now '''THAT''' is what I call proper recognition of usefulness! ''
| |
| − | | |
| − | She nods once, twice. "Indeed and indeed! It was the least I could do for such a noble town with such a noble cause... admittedly discovered almost by accident, but great things are rarely planned perfectly!" She leans back and helps herself to a laugh... before she remembers the seared wound on her neck and claps a hand to it. "Accursed girl... she should be thankful I didn't drag out her end."
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Alexander: ''' Alexander walks closer to her, touching her neck...
| |
| − | | |
| − | "Here, let me help you with this..."
| |
| − | | |
| − | Closing his eyes, he feels her pain... and draws it on himself, healing the poison's damage...
| |
| − | | |
| − | ... but not the cut.
| |
| − | | |
| − | "It.. sorry... the cut is beyond me..."
| |
| − | | |
| − | And beneath them, the crater became greater and greater, a vortex of spiritual energy in the middle of it...
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Child of Wyld Days: ''' "Geh... h-hey..." She can only pause at his touch, feeling that transfer of injury, agony, feeling the pain lift and subside. "You didn't... I'm strong enough. I could have borne it on my own... but thank you, nonetheless."
| |
| − | | |
| − | She touches her neck again, gingerly, through clenched teeth even as she reflexively backs away from the crater as it widens.
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Vorpal: ''' Vorpal glances down at the widening crater. Her eyes unreadable, she stares at it only for a moment, before quickly turning around, her cloak sweeping in the air. She strides with quick steps along the dragon's neck and down to its back, towards Alex and the beautiful - too ''beautiful'' - woman beside him.
| |
| − | | |
| − | "Alex", she calls out as she approaches, "We'd better get going. I don't think it's going to be very safe here soon."
| |
| − | | |
| − | Her gaze flickers over to the woman again, taking in her unearthly appearance, the strength and power in her stance. "And you are?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Child of Wyld Days: '''Again she bows, again she smiles, taking a moment to behold this most curious woman, the one that fell from the sky in such a graceful, sensual manner. ''A dazzling one you are... oh, so many strong ones! So many desirable ones! This is the perfect place to start! '' "The Child of Wyld Days, m'lady. A pleasure to battle alongside you, if only from a distance." Her smile widens, and her tail swishes about a few times.
| |
| − | | |
| − | ''The perfect place. ''
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Vorpal: ''' Vorpal pauses, perhaps a little unprepared for such an eloquent reply. She recovers quickly, however, and responds with a mild smile of her own. "Pleasure's mine, I suppose. From what I saw, you did not handle yourself too badly, either."
| |
| − | | |
| − | "Perhaps you can help us." After hurling a short glance at Alex, Vorpal returns her attention back to Child. She tilts her head slightly and raises an eyebrow, giving the Fair One an appraising look. "We are looking for a woman. Black wings, blonde hair, empty head, an endless stream of self-praise gushing out from the mouth. Have you seen her?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Fiona: ''' Gentle steps touching the tail of the dragon.<br>
| |
| − | The sound of a chain of gold rattling.<br>
| |
| − | Violet-red light fading around her.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Fiona runs around the serpentine tail, up to its back... and stops staring at the heroes.
| |
| − | | |
| − | "Alex....?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Child of Wyld Days: ''' "I have seen her, although I am unsure as to where she might be right now. A trap had been laid for her, but what has occured from when I heard that until now... only time and tide knows." The Child cannot help but grin a little. ''I see that this 'Dark Angel' might be one to look into. One who speaks highly is either immensely talented, full of weak spots, or both. ''
| |
| − | "You may look for her, but the closest I could direct you to is---hm?" Fiona catches her off-guard, and what she was about to say dies in her throat. "Ah, greetings, Fiona! As you can see, matters here are in control." She tries to hide the pride in her voice, she really does.
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Alexander: ''' His heart skips a beat.
| |
| − | | |
| − | There she is.
| |
| − | | |
| − | He had came in time.<br>
| |
| − | He had came in time, and the Dark Angel had protected her... Moon had...<br>
| |
| − | He had come in time.<br>
| |
| − | She was alive.<br>
| |
| − | She was alive.
| |
| − | | |
| − | "''Fioonnnaaa!!!! ''" Alex shouts, flying to her, glomping her and taking flight as he holds her tightly against his chest, shouting in joy as he flies up with her...
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Child of Wyld Days: ''' "... a happy one, he is."
| |
| − | She shakes her head, laughing. "Ah, I suppose it takes all sorts to win wars, hm?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Fiona: ''' ... Fiona tried to reply to the Child. She had the answer at the tip of her mouth, before being so surprised.
| |
| − | | |
| − | The rest was blush and happyness in that warm light, hugging Alex back....
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Vorpal: ''' Vorpal does not reply. She stands silently aside - a dark, looming shape in the background. There is something strange in her mien as she watches the Holysword embrace his friend, a brief softness that does not sit well with the rest of her warrior sterness and bravado.
| |
| − | | |
| − | ''It's like directly from a book. Loving friends, so long apart, finally meet each other, the sun sets, the end. ''
| |
| − | | |
| − | Her mouth tightens.
| |
| − | | |
| − | ''Only, in real life, there is always the day after. ''
| |
| − | | |
| − | But ah well. She shouldn't be the grim slayer of joy, not when Alex is smiling and laughing like that, so hard that there are tears coming to his eyes...
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Child of Wyld Days: ''' "So! Tell me, lovely lady of mystery and curiousity. Judging by your expression and reaction, you are well and all has turned out for the best. Am I right, or wrong?" Snow Monkey lowers into a crouch, rocking from heel to heel.
| |
| − | | |
| − | "I pray I am right, because if not you have certainly gone mad, and that will not do." She wags a finger, fangs showing.
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Iron Angel Iria: ''' The Angel comes out of the crater, victorious.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Kodak was no more.
| |
| − | | |
| − | She comes closer to the Child and Vorpal.
| |
| − | | |
| − | "Actually..."
| |
| − | | |
| − | The figure looks over the Industrial District. The Hungry Ghosts still. The Demons. The dead.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Highlane explodes then, in a festival of light.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Sapphire Sorcery lifting a cloud of energy, and a ghostly behemoth, the size of Jordiar or greater, flies up above it.
| |
| − | | |
| − | "... we still have to deal with the Abyssals at the head of this, and pehaps see the bodies of the Dark Angel and the others if they failed... and to get there, to deal with demons and undead as an army. And the Boil's own army is weakened. If the Angel has fallen into the trap, then we will have a fight worse than we already had... and we may not survive, any of us."
| |
| − | | |
| − | "But we march now. Now or never." The twin voice is filled with resolve, with a soothing presence.
| |
| − | | |
| − | "Shall we?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Vorpal: ''' The softness immediately vanishes, as if by a flip of a switch. Her expression flashes to cold neutrality, her very aura suddenly frigid and distant. "I'm not going to bother answering that question", she tells to Child, then takes a steps forward, past the Fair One. The great black sword resting on her shoulder, the wind teasing her snow-white hair, she looks up at the ghost behemoth in the sky.
| |
| − | | |
| − | "Lead on", she responds to Iria, her voice loud and clear and unhesitant.
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Child of Wyld Days: ''' "Ah, yes. Bravely towards death we march, not because we want, but because we must." For all her smiling, she sounds deathly serious, standing back up and rolling her staff around her waist. "I made my promise, godling. It is a promise that I must keep. Therefore I will stand beside you until victory or defeat. Such is the oath of raksha, of faerie."
| |
| − | | |
| − | ''There is no turning back now. And it must not be any other way. Come what may! ''
| |
| − | | |
| − | "Lead me. I will follow."
| |
| − | | |
| − | | |
| − | | |
| − | | |
| − | ----
| |
| − | | |
| − | * - Back to [[GoldenCat/FourthMovement|Fourth Movement]]
| |
| − | * - Back to [[GoldenCat/DanceOfAngels|A Dance of Angels]]
| |
