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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 Generals ==
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| − | The General dashes towards his peer in a landscape of dreams and nightmares.
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| − | The generals stand on a field of corpse-flowers, their black petals filling the air, the sweet scent of decay all around them. Surrounded by the bones of whales, giant ribs jutting from the ground like the teeth of the earth. To their left, the body of their peer, larger than both together, the red wolf groans in his inconscience, his breath coating the bodies in front of the Dark Angel with red ice. The Dark Angel, at the Pale Angel’s back, walks away from a field of flame unscathed, as the fires of Cathak Marr joins the flame, turning the bodies beneath their feet to ashes. And the corpses on the dozen yards between her and Vorpal grin and wail, echoing Labyrinthine words of Malfean will.
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| − | Away from those shining gods, orbitign their anima banners, the remaining Windian Warstrider cuts through snakes of hands while they spit their foul poison. A seven-armed nemessary throws fake light at Eva, only to be run through with a five-elemental spear. A spear of concentrated shadow-prayer is unleashed upon lighting.
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| − | It is chaos, it is death. It is the Obsidian Age.
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| − | The General dashes towards Vorpal, the great machine exploding in flame... the tiny ghosts picking not corpses, but the petals on the air, throwing their corpse-grown matter into the machine... and steam fills the air. As he comes closer to ice, his foot crushes a body, a body of a Windian-recently-dead. Blood gushes foward... and not in the way it should. As a geiser, it comes upward... and becomes strands, like the paths of ants, all around the General.
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| − | Surrounding him with boiling blood...
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| − | Those strands come like ribbons towards the Pale Angel..
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| − | ... covering her within a circle of crimson.
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| − | His fist comes, through the strands... hard to see. Only the strands, the boiling blood, the steam... hard to see the glinting brass. And it comes, relentlessly, striking the strands, sending slivers of blood as forerunners, appearing to cut her face as they strike...
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| − | | |
| − | ... a mere moment before the metal fist.
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| − | '''Vorpal: ''' ''It is Dusk. ''
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| − | The end of the day, the end of the battle, the end of a hundred thousand lives that were sacrified so that the powerful could live on.
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| − | The Pale Angel does not make a move to stop the General as he spends a precious few seconds to spirit his lieutenant away to safety. In truth, she probably does not have the energy left to prevent him. The Daiklave feels suddenly all too heavy in her hand, her body is aching all over from the inside, muscles and sinews half-torn away from her skeleton. Her mind and will weary, her reserves of Essence nearly spent despite what little she managed to drain from Blight Lily, the great rush of adrenaline coming to its end...
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| − | Thus, is it a wonder that she does not even attempt to meet the General's attack? Weary, yet raising her chin defiantly, Vorpal lifts the heavy blade of her sword to rest against her shoulder and stares, impassively, at the approaching gauntlet. The corners of her eyes twitch as the slivers of blood slash tiny cuts across her face, drops her own blood springing forth from the wounds to merge with the crimson whips.
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| − | "I... apologize", she states to her enemy and invokes her ghostly powers once again, to turn into an ethereal spectre, beyond any bodily harm. She closes her eyes, briefly, waiting for the the incoming blows to flash through her misty form.
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| − | '''The General: ''' The fist comes... and goes through her. Striking nothing. Nothing at all.
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| − | He looks at the ghost, breaking like mist, and smiles.
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| − | The feral smile of a beast unleashed in war.
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| − | Lily is safe, and he has no worries but to crush them, anymore.
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| − | | |
| − | "Nice trick."
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| − |
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| − | '''Vorpal: ''' "Don't think I'd be fleeing you", the Pale Angel admits dryly and reopens her crimson eyes. Loose strands of her braided hair float lazily framing her face, the heavy skirts swirling lazily around her disembodiend legs. "I forgot my place for a moment, but I promised to do battle with you. I will keep that promise... but I'll fight as a General."
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| − | Still a ghost, pale, beautiful yet filled with the mournful aura of the passed, she extends one hand, palm up, a gesture to present the Dark Angel to the General. "The first part of the army to enter the battle are the skirmishers. Lightly-armored, yet quick, they scout for the enemy's weaknesses, striking fast where it hurts the enemy most and then retreating before the foe has a chance to retaliate."
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| − | "Ah", the Pale Angel adds as if by afterthought and gestures at the Sidereal across the battlefield, "Be a skirmisher, too."
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| − | Vorpal smiles wanly, letting out a trembling laugh as she feels the terror fill her heart. The power is terrible, unstoppable, all-consuming... A nigh-handfelt barrier around the man, freezing those who would harm him in place through the sheer force of ''fear''.
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| − | ''And back then, I thought I'd be without equal when it came to that... ''
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| − | "Fast strikes, skirmisher... many rapid blows."
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| − | '''Alexsei Krauser: ''' As soon as the girl is safe within Ryshassa's embrace, Alexsei turns his attention to the reamining threat to this combat - The General, leader of the armies of the Dead and opposing officer to the Pale Angel.
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| − | His eyes focus on his opponent, and for a moment he readies himself to strike... But he refrains at the last minute. ''This one is... ''
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| − | ''Too strong. ''<br>
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| − | ''His stance is near perfect. ''<br>
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| − | ''There is no opening to strike him... ''<br>
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| − | ''Not yet. ''
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| − | | |
| − | And so he shifts his own stance to a defensive one, looking left and right at the people fighting alongside him. ''We must hold our ground then... ''
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| − | | |
| − | And so he shifts his footing and waits, weaving strands around him like a belled net so that he might catch the attacks the dreaded General might throw his way.
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| − | ''On the Edge of the unevitable Conclusion, may we live with unrestrained Will... ''
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| − |
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| − | '''Selina de Windia: ''' Selina continues to walk toward him, the aura of fear which comes from the General steeling her for a moment, but then passing, as she presses on, as if she is monster of the deeps, rising quickly to the surface and brushing aside bothersome netting. Her loves from years past flash in front of her, the Dragon-Blooded she has killed flash in front of her, Spring Gust, and all the other Solars she has butchered under the touch of Oblivion and devoured flash in front of her. Void's Puppeteer does as well...they all do. Phantoms of memory, faces flowing around her, cursing all for their fate, even former beauties twisted and scarred to hideousness by the fate inflicted upon them, and by her present mood.
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| − | "You...should not see this. No one should." Selina says, rage simmering now, hiding underneath that beautiful and beastial voice, an echo of what it was, but still there. Her attention is a terrible thing, focused as her anima is unfocused, spewing shadowy, elemental fury across the area about her. "They are embarassing to see, revealing. 'My unmentionables'. The gauzy cloth covering what I am, hinting at it all too well. They are the monster's train."
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| − | Dreamshard comes up, flicking into position, reverberating its dream-eating screams, faint now, devouring artistry of the weapon hungry for more. Fate rips around her, and the echos of fae fill the void. And lapse into nothing. "Join them. My intimate slaves. ''Join with me''."
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| − | And then she lunges at him, not a single speck of magic, simple or no, apparent on her blade, a fury of blows spearing at the General, the edge of her sword whistling in the wind, screams waiting to surface.
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| − | '''The General: ''' He sees her coming, and does not flinch. Calmly, he strikes at the great rib sticking from the earth at his side, breaking it apart, making it fall over him... bare moments before she comes.Another strike, and it splinters in three major parts - each splinter striking one of her blows, breaking their momentum, breaking their impact, making them strike the great aegis of his armor to the side... and through the splinters of bone, he watches her.
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| − | "I am sorry, monster. But that is not on my plans."
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| − | He says.... but nothing he can say or do can stop the Dark Angel.
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| − | The blade goes in.
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| − | And it hurts.
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| − | The blade strikes , and his blood falls on the battlefield, burning the roses beneath their feet.
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| − | He grits his teeth, a trickle of blood on the side of his lip.
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| − | He would have to kill her. Now. Soon.
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| − | And then, he explodes in fire and power. Corpses from the ground are thrown away as far as the warstrider. Stam fills the air as he charges in vengeance.
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| − | The sound of crushing bones filling the battlefield as his fist comes for her, through one of the bodies.<br>
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| − | The sound of hissing steam as his boot comes crashing against her monstrous face.<br>
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| − | The loud clang of metal as his metal opens to strike her stomach...<br>
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| − | The sound of screaming souls as the wailing skeletons are silenced by his fire, and wreathed in it, his head strikes the Angel's.<br>
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| − | And finally, the sound of an exploding furnace as his anima explodes like a metallic meteor and crashes over her...
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| − | | |
| − | Thus he strikes, ready if she tries to get away...
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| − |
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| − | '''Vorpal: ''' A trickle of sweat and blood running down her cheek, her lips twisting into a grimace as the gust of wind and negative light of Selina's anima slams against her face, Vorpal narrows her eyes and squints at the darkness and terror unfurling before them.
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| − | ''One... two... three... ''
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| − | "...And unnoticed in the night come the saboteurs. Tricks, stealth and deception, their task is not to directly slay the enemy, but to cut wires from the siege engines, steal the maps from the commanders' tents, render the great machine of war weak and feeble."
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| − | '''Ryshassa: ''' ''She is alive. The girl is alive. ''
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| − | Ryshassa heaves a relieved, weary sigh of breath. Indeed, the demon-winged one is breathing, though she is definitely not completely out of danger. Nor is the healer herself at her peak in power and health. Bruises and lacerations cover her skin underneath her kimono top and hakama.
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| − | ''This battle has been wearying. Still... '' She reaches up with one hand, and the Caduceus swoops close, the golden wings stretching outward to their full span. Grasping the serpent-twined shaft for leverage, she rises slowly to her feet, and presses her fingertips against the glittering green gem between the crown of wings.
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| − | Warmth... life... the reserves stored in the Hearthstone flood her and knit the bruises into clean, fresh unbroken skin. But she is still scored with cuts and burns, and the gem is now dimmed of all light, the pulsing at its core completely stilled.
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| − | ''It will have to be enough. '' Ryshassa gazes out at the battlefield, disliking the idea of leaving her patient in critical condition. Soon--soon this will be over, and she can get the treatment she desperately needs. Reassuring herself of this, the healer forces her steps away from where Iselsis lies.
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| − | '''Vorpal: ''' Vorpal frowns.
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| − | ''...or was it artillery that came in next? ''
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| − | For some reason, she couldn't remember!
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| − | '''Gennadi: ''' It is hardly every day that one sees an Exalted used as a human missle, and even less often is it one of the sidereal. Opal no doubt gets a secret joy out of this, though her face remains hidden behind the shielding steel of the great war machine. Without expression, it closes a fist around him and rears back, the whine of internal mechanisms and essence-strengthened connections straining acting as a high pitched shriek of warning.
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| − | IN a blur of metal and motion the arm snaps forward and a blue streak cuts through the air. A sapphire meteor arcs down to earth and strikes the General in a plume of sickly-sweet smoke. The figures of Gennadi and the General struggling within can barely be made out as they whirl in a struggle for position, arms and legs scything through the air in a complex dance.
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| − | The first rule of dancing is not to step on your partner's feet, and Gennadi breaks it now, driving his heel against the top of the General's foot and ducking under a haymaker punch to bow, chains wrapped tight around the killer fist that is now cuffed securely to the Sidereals.
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| − |
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| − | '''The General: ''' He feels his own blood rising to his throat as Gennadi comes.
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| − | Amidst the smoke, they dance. The chain wraps around his arm. Gennadi's punch comes. The General seems to not move, then. Not at all. Like a statue, he stands still, his eyes wide open, a tear of blood trickling from them. The fist strikes...
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| − | ... and the Sidereal scrapes his hand in sheer metal.
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| − | The General's anima bursts to life, pushing the Sidereal away, unraveling the chain, this close from breaking it, as the General disappears.
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| − | Only the great Engine of War remains.
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| − | Souls thrown in its furnace, screaming.
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| − | The Neverborn's weapon. Not in flesh.<br>
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| − | Metal.
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| − | * Gennadi skids to stand next to the Dark Angel, looking her up, down, and up again before shrugging. "At least I tried." He rewraps his hands in chains of fate, a mask of grim determination falling over his face after the moment of fun.
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| − | '''Vorpal: ''' She almost gives in to despair then. The General's power is overwhelming - how could they stop someone such as this?
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| − | ''Four... no - five. ''
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| − | "When the battle begins, the first unit to strike is the one with the greatest range. Archers' tasks are many. They harry the enemy with flurries of arrows. They break the momentum of approaching foe. They lay down cover to allow their allies to move into position."
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| − | "The best of the archers" - she pauses, turns her head to give a strange look at the motionless form of Iselsis - "Are called sharpshooters. They don't rely in numbers - they pick their targets and kill the officers, the leaders, the strategists. They place the needle into the eye of the great beast called army."
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| − | Sighing, she turns back to the battle. "They need to be protected well."
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| − | '''The General: ''' The metal beast is real.
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| − | Inside it, there is a man.
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| − | The man closes his eyes.
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| − | Early on his life, on a village now burnt and forgotten by the Malfeans and Incarna alike in a war that no one remembers, he learned this. To close his eyes and feel. Feel the ebb and flow of war around him. The artillery. The skirmishes. The General. He felt it, and understood. In the heart of the war machine, he opened his eyes.
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| − | And then, he became an explosion of fire and power. Corpses from the ground are thrown away as far as the warstrider. Steam fills the air as he charges in vengeance.
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| − | The sound of crushing bones filling the battlefield as his fist comes for her, through one of the bodies.<br>
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| − | The sound of hissing steam as his boot comes crashing against her monstrous face.<br>
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| − | The loud clang of metal as his metal opens to strike her stomach...<br>
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| − | The sound of screaming souls as the wailing skeletons are silenced by his fire, and wreathed in it, his head strikes the Angel's.<br>
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| − | And finally, the sound of an exploding furnace as his anima explodes like a metallic meteor and crashes over her...
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| − | Thus he strikes, ready if she tries to get away...
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| − | His war cries fill the battlefield.
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| − | They are metal, fire and steam.<br>
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| − | And Dusk.
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| − | The Dark Angel, however, jumps up to escape!
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| − | As she moves up, he turns his arm upward... and a stream of steam comes upward, like a geyser.
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| − | She is not running!
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| − | ... or she is.
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| − | Rhe bird vanishes, far, far up, farther than his steam can touch.
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| − | The General sighs, and turns around.
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| − | First, he fills the air around Gennadi with steam.
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| − | Then, through the steam, comes his fist.
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| − | '''Vorpal: '''''Tch... ''
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| − | Her hand feels heavy as lead, yet she raises it nonetheless, to protect her face from the gusts of scalding air.
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| − | '''Gennadi: ''' Steam washes over him, playing across his skin gently like a lover's caress. It wipes away blood, sweat, and dirt in the torrent, leaving him refreshed and renewed. The fist encounters Genandi's palm, the fingers closing around it and locking tight as the strike pushes him back by a yard, his feet skittering over shattered bones and discarded stones. When the onslaught is too much, he simply lets go, stepping placidly to the side and waving as the general moves past. A pair of steps, and he is where he started, planting his feet in the same footprints.
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| − | '''Ryshassa: ''' Ryshassa had often felt fear, as a child. In those days, she was never the type to stand up for herself. She was a tool to be used -- she feared, even more than punishment, even more than the humiliation she endured, the thought of being completely without use. Without purpose. But her Exaltation had changed that. Alexsei had changed that, too. Now her existence meant that others may live free of pain and suffering, and this purpose she embraces with joy beyond words.
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| − | Before the General, Ryshassa's allies are cowed. She, who does not and has chosen never to fight, is unaffected by his aura of terror. As her steps carry her forward, back into the fray, back to where the General's very presence holds all but the Dark Angel and Gennadi at bay, she radiates her own quiet nature: purity. Purity of heart, purity of intention, purity from the violence of war.
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| − | Butterflies like flowers on the wing mount into the air once more, surrounding her in a pillar of purple shot with gold. In the center she stands untouched, a white lily blooming in a battlefield, a fortress of calm amidst chaos, rooted in her sincere desire to keep her allies safe from harm. She bears neither sword or spear, scythe nor chain. Her weapon is the Lyre, and her shield the valiant Caduceus, hovering before her with wings unfurled in what could very well be a display of courageous protectiveness -- if it were alive. Or is it?
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| − | Her fingers caress the golden strings of her instrument in a stirring glissando. The music flows up from her fingertips in visible flows of Essence, gilding her pale hands, rising into wisps that blossom into butterflies that join the cloud of them surrounding her. Guided by sheer will, she plays. The tune is simple, yet each note is as if her fingers pluck the taut ribbons of fear caging the hearts of her listeners, loosening them with every successive chord. There are no words to accompany it, for the emotions are clear with every nuance of the strings:
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| − | They are filled with the same jubilation that suffuses her in the act of healing. They are filled with the clarity of purpose that keeps her living, breathing and striving. They are filled with an undeniable will to survive, so that purpose may be fulfilled.
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| − | The child has become a woman, and she bestows upon others the certainty with which to combat fear.
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| − | '''The General: ''' The General looks up, at the fleeing bird. She flickered away from him, disappearing into the void between Fate. She was good. He turns to the Sidereal, unscathed by his steam. They all were. They were draining. He was drained. This battle was hellish. And then, with a sigh, he turned to Whiro. Taken out by the Sidereal. Who would think that foppish figure could actually...
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| − | But no matter. Whiro was out of action, but he was not.<br>
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| − | His familiar.<br>
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| − | A primordial behemoth, part of a larger creature.<br>
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| − | Meant to be one with another.
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| − | And then, the General reaches his hand... and calls for him.
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| − | "Sorry, old friend... I need you."
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| − | "Come to me, wolf of Primordial Blood. Come to me, crimson monster of the blood steppes."
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| − | "''Come to me''!"
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| − | And then, the Behemoth flares in crimson light. A sphere comes from his heart... crimson light, like a blood moon, floating to the General's palm. The palm closes. The energy explodes, filling him. Wreathed in crimson light. His anima, the great metal strider, shifts, becoming a canine beast of metal. His teeth become canines, jutting out even with his mouth closed. His eyes, pure red, power coming from it in bubbles, steam of essence.
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| − | Rejuvenated.<br>
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| − | Recharged.<br>
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| − | Changed.
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| − | Wreathed in the Behemoth's power, the General howls.
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| − | '''Gennadi: ''' "Damn. You try to make things easy, you try to keep things clean, and then some bastard has to go and refuse to go down properly."
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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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