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| − | * - Back to [[GoldenCat/FirstMovement|First Movement]]
| + | #REDIRECT [[ADanceOfAngels]] |
| − | * - Back to [[GoldenCat/DanceOfAngels|A Dance of Angels]]
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| − | == Rescue The Light ==
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| − | His forehead burning on the Sun’s magnificence, the young prince ran! His little brother on his shoulder, a fair maid on his hand, trying to run fast as he could without straining the lady too much... knowing every moment they stop, <i>they</i> get closer. The Prince hardly ever got tired, then and now, even if now it felt like he could run to Windia and back alone... fatigue hardly touched him, least not the physical one. But, every time he closed his eyes, the image of his mother lying on a pool of her own blood, the image of his father surrounded by pale blossoms and impaled on a garden of bone, the image of his teacher taking bony claws to his throat, and the image of his sister crying when a winged skeleton took her away invade his mind, making him feel so heavy, so... small. Even as the light of the sun at its Zenith shone on his forehead, he could feel the cringe of darkness all around him...
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| − | Becoming a general means little when the war is over, and you lost.
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| − | His brother wouldn’t wake up. Whatever happened to him, he just wouldn’t... Alex would look at her with worried purple eyes, no fever, no wounds, but he just... wouldn’t open his eyes. Millia cried, half in shock, her clothes stained red with the blood of a week before, the blood of the guards that protected her, those slain before her eyes. And, Ainerach at close on hand, the prince pushed foward, always feeling the push of a dark fate around him...
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| − | For the twin Angels of Oblivion, the feeling was the exactly opposite. They are dark fates, Vorpal and Selina... pushign the Tapestry of Fate, shoving their way through a world that rejects them on principle. The sunlight feels like a burn in the skin, the air feels... wrong. Like being somewhere too hot, too cold, too damp... just feels like somewhere to get away of. Breathing burns the lungs, like breathing the heavy air in a long-forgotten basement... the world feels wrong, rejecting their selves in the most fundamental level. Dressed in Death, the funerary trappings of queens, the Angels try to be apart from it, their senses immersed in the scent of the Underworld, they try to feel more comfortable in a world that will never be home to them.
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| − | Vorpal knows where home is, in a palace of Red Ice, of lust, desire, sweet pain and sweeter death, where she locks herself, closes her eyes and drowns in sweet romancism while trying to forget screams and moans... and yet, it is and will always be home. Selina, on the other hand, knows not her home. She surrounds herself by the Dark Wood, bathing in elemental essence and belonging, while never being truly at home... never quite knowing that, not since so long ago.
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| − | A Lion of Bone guiding their way, the Assassin and the General pushed foward into the world of the living, speaking little and fighting less as they approached what was once a bullwark of Celestial power and greatness, they could feel it... the inebriating aura of Death. Purple lighting crackled on the horizon, and suddenly, the days became dark as night. Their peers close by, their eternal mistress watching every step. Far away, they saw the light. A pillar of sunlight, hurting their eyes, making every fiber of their body urge them to kill. They had found their charge.
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| − | Millia looked up at him, her childhood love, the prince of Whiteshield. He had always seemed heavenly, with his hair of silver and eyes of amethyst, but now he shone with the light of the sun, and was strong enough to carry her and his little brother while flying... the boy looked like a warrior out of a legend, a Prince of the Earth. She felt the wound on her arm, remembering everything on that night... and bit her lip.
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| − | Her feet burned, her legs ached, her head weighted like a block of Jade.. and yet, she dare not stop today, not yet... she could complain, when she complained, he would take both on his hand and fly away as if she weighed nothing at all... but she would not complain. Not yet, she could still go on, she could still go on. To Windia, Alex had said... go East until the ghosts lost their trail, then circle south... and to Windia. Under the protection of the Mountain, the Cannon, Lady Valencia and the Northwind Guard.
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| − | When they flew too high, she saw them, the Raitons, spying for their dark masters... Alex would point at them shine with power, and they would burn in golden flames. Sometimes, they would get too close, and flying would get a volley of arrows in them. Her prince would swath them all away, and run. And she would too, praying... that he would be enough.
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| − | With Dusk of another day... stop. A little valley between many parts of nowhere, mountaintops to both sides, a little river only deep enough for the hips, filled with rocks of all sizes and shapes. The refreshing sound of it did little to take the weight away from the monsters... the droplets becoming blood splashed on her face, the currents the wails of the battle... the tears came again, and all her prince could do was hold her fast against his chest... and pretend he didn’t have so much more to cry for, even as she reminded herself those who took her as one of their own, a family the like she had never had, were now... all... dead. The trees were normal pines, tall and old and as gnarled as a straight pine can be, echoing the silence of woods that have never been touched by man. Few squirrels Nothing fit to eat in them, and they had already ran out of food taken from the village as they ran from... Alex had, once again, been able to protect the three of them. And only the three of them.
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| − | No fire, as every day had been... always on the wilderness, since they hid on a village... a village that is no more. Millia counted seven days since they begun to run. Seemed like an eternity. Alex kept a faint light around him, enough to chase the cold away, hugging both her and his brother... so many times he thought of kissing her prince, but when the time came to stop, all she wanted was that, to be on his arms, to try to forget everything, too weary for romance... and too weary to hear the hissing too, at first... until they begun to fall. Her eyes snapped open when she felt it around her legs.. scaled, black, hissing, eyes red as blood!
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| − | Her scream filled the forest, as she ran, but where? They were everywhere, everywhere, coming down the trees, writhing towards her on the ground, coming out of the water.. so many of them, so many of them, countless snakes, collectively hissing, so loud it’s deafening... she knew that moment would come. So, she closed her eyes, and prayed silently to the Sun and Luna. A warmth took her over... and she knew she was dead. She was dead and all that nightmare was finally over!
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| − | “Millia!” Still not a man, his voice so reedy , her prince called to her, pushing her arm, pushing her to his side as his warm light took the forest, making the pines seem like they were made of sunlight. “Stay behind me... they won’t come closer... I swear!” the aura raged from him, and all around him, the knight appeared again. Armored in Moonlight forged in twilight-touched waters, eyes shining like the maiden of serenity, he stood... and the serpents vanished, hissing just out of the light.
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| − | Millia had a single breath of relief then. A single breath.
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| − | And then they came. Eerie ghostly figures, gray-white against the night as they floated on their directions, eyes and mouths in hungry pain, claws shining under Alex’s corona of sunlight... as Millia screamed, an unseen figured rattled chains and gave them the command, and they jumped hungrily over the young knight. His corona flared again, and most ran. A few remained, and his blade took care of it. As her scream faded, tears running down from her eyes... she saw the burning ghosts put the trees aflame, and saw herself amidst a conflagration. The heat threatened to put her clothes aflame, and so, she hugged Cedric, closed her eyes, and prayed... to all Incarna, to all dragons, to anyone that could hear...
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| − | And she was heard, for a ghostly wind took away the flames. But if anyone heard, it was the Malfeans, as the wind felt like Oblivion walking over her grave. It was... <i>them</i>.
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| − | And so.... they appeared before her, appear before them, walking around the ashes of pines and the roasted bodies of serpents, their gear shining on the sunlight of the Prince’s corona, eyeing them with purposeful dead eyes. Not the hunger of the ghosts or the malice of the serpents. No, a worst kind of evil. The type that can simply do anything to you, since they just <i>don’t care!</i>. Ten to every side... no way to escape. Thirty figures clad in dark-brown cloaks, their ends finely trimmed in silver, depicting His Holy Scriptures in flawless high realm, fastened by broochs that bear his true, heinous face – for all those who become of the Dead Hand can see him once, and go on their knees under the force of such a glorious, monstrous visage.
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| − | Of these, ten bear crimson plates, wrought from the blood of their victims and reinforced with chalcedony the color of burning fire. These armors have hungry, sharp-toothed mouths, hideous like none above the Labyrinth over their shoulders, on their knees and their elbows. Similarly, Their chests have an even greater mouth sculpted in the armor, whose teeth is jagged like a shark's. Their hands are covered in wicked metal tiger claws, and their faces are covered in a quicksilver mask that has no eyes nor nose – only a hungry mouth,which moves like it is alive, its teeth jagged and runed to the last in foul runes of curse and malady. All the teeth is of bone, darker than the clear ivory of creation. Those are the ones who bear the trappings of the Souleaters.
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| − | Of these, ten bear copper plate armor reinforced with curse glyphs of shining dark chalcedony. These armors are wholly runed and covered in arcane symbols, depitcting curse, ownership, slavery and death. Hungry death. Their hands are covered in heavy fighting gauntlets, their armor is filled with a slaver's dominative spinel chains to hold their thralls, and their visages are uncovered, but branded with marks that still burn like red-hot metal in their faces. Those are the ones who bear the trappings of the Soulbranders.
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| − | Of these, ten bear plates of brass and bone. These armors are clean, depicting their simple purpose and their incorruptible devotion to He Who Rules Over Death. On their backs rests bows of bone with cords of soul for their strings, and two straight swords lie in sccabards on their waists. Their masks are made of gold, with only the most subtle hint of features, and have slitted black eyes. These are the ones who bear the trappings of the Soulhunters.
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| − | Ten hands rattled their chains, and sent more Hungry Ghosts at the boy. Ten clawed hands leaped towards him like a spider to its prey, and five nemessaries held their swords with both hands in front of their faces, ready for battle. The prince closed his eyes, and did the same. Five arrows rode dark destinies towards his light, and with one movement, he broke them all. Urging Millia to run, he jumped towards them... whispering a prayed to the Sun, he jumped towards them. Scared, tired, weary, the little boy jumped to his death, sheathed in the light of the sun, hoping that at least he would make enough a break on one side so he could save Millia and his brother...
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| − | As the Angels looked down on it, a host of fleeing ghosts swam the currents of fate around them, so terrified of the Pillar’s anima they barely noticed Vorpal’s alluring fragrance. The light hurt their eyes as the Angels got to the top of the valley, the Lion ready to jump down on the boy as a Prayer Strip on its forehead shone, it’s caligraphy shining like Ghost-Flame, making it stand still. Vorpal’s Shadowland Horse tried to run, scared. The light hurt it, terrified it. Like they probably would either way. Vorpal knew the Dead Hand. They had those like herself... and darker. They had brought their gospel to the north by blood and steel, and their crusades had even gone so far as Whitewall. Disciplined, Zealous, Deadly and Utterly Fearless, they had been challenged, driven back, but never, ever, stopped.
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| − | But to the Dark Angel, there was something more... more than the zealous nemesssaries, than the painful light, than the handsome prince inside it, his blows slower, clumsier, every time. There was the sword... and <i>him.</i> Not quite the boy... just...
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| − | <i>‘Ainerach...’</i> She could hear her lips uttering, faintly. <i>‘That is mine!. You had no right to steal it. <b>No right! No right to use it against me!</b> It is <b>Mine</b>!’</i> Her shard whispered as she looked down at the painful light....
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| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> Vorpal pulls at the reins of her dancing horse, her riding skills firmly bringing the creature into control once more. Her eyes dart back and forth, relying on her natural insticts and knack for tactics to read the distribution of power and look for weak points where to start unravelling the maliciously woven knot of evil around the boy.
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| − | "Do you have anything that can strike immaterial beings?" she asks from Selina, her voice absolutely calm.
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| − | <b>Selina De Windia:</b> "Oh, yes." Selina says as she lands, wings folding behind her as she undoes her greatcoat and lays it on the ground, then draws her rapier. "My sword will do for that."
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| − | Looking back to the boy, she plunges herself into what she's learned to call the Trance, a moment's concentration as she closes her eyes attuning them to the flow of essence. "<i>A ghost cannot hide from me."</i>
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| − | Turquoise eyes open again, to the tracing of essence throughout everyone, and everything. The currents are alive now, and no being of any power has the capability to hide from her.
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| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> Calling upon the powers embedded into her original heritage as one of the Half-Dead, Vorpal closes her eyes for the briefest of moments as well. There is no visible change when she re-opens them - perhaps her pupils have dilated slightly, but that is all. However, it is Vorpal's own field of vision that has now changed. Not only can she now view the ordinary world the way she always does, but her senses extend beyond the flesh and into the realm of the dead as well.
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| − | <b>Alexander:</b> The prince fights among some twenty-five of the templars, fighting with the five of the Soulhunters, their blades clashing, Ainerach breaking one of the blades, but not strong enough, in his unskilled hands, to snap all of the exquisitely-crafted blades, while five others ready their bows... twenty others, Souleaters and Soulbranders, try to ge tthe boy from his behind, and he weakly tries to keep them from getting to Millia and Cedric... with his life, if need be. His brother, the last of his subjects... Only his anima, making them fear, making them stand back, seems to be keeping them all alive. One swarm of arrows falls over him, but he blocks every one, in masterful movements of his blade, guided by golden essence.
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| − | A wave of his hand burns one of the Soulbranders who got too close to Millia and Cedric, but he is powerless to stop the rest.... as the archers ready their bows again.
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| − | <b>Dead Hand:</b> Selina’s senses show ten others on the woods, hidden by those pines not turned into ashen stakes... beings of powerful essence and ghostly power. Amidst the melee, only five of the Hungry Ghosts are left... and while the ranks of the Dead Hand are flawlessly coordinated, there is no noticeable leader.
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| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> "Do not worry about the archers", Vorpal states as she nudges her horse onwards. "They will be taken care of. Strike at the center of those who try to circle around with one of your bursts or something while you still have the momentum of surprise - we'll need to get as many of them down as possible... fast, before they realize what is going on."
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| − | <b>Selina De Windia:</b> "I'm afraid the amount of energy I can output with one of those is...insufficient, considering their armor." The anima wafts into existance around her as she activates her shield of winds, malevolent whispers urging her onward as she examines their armor at a distance, then shakes her head and puts her sword away. "I will need something a bit more potent, to deal with them."
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| − | The Windian unfastens her sickle from her side, the thing growing in her hands until it is a full-sized scythe. Faintly, two red points of light appear within the shining blade as the imprisoned soul of Chimes of Nothing waits hungrily for a few more beings to throw into Oblivion's gaping maw.
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| − | "Hmph, we'll see how this works then." Selina mutters, holding Angeldust in one hand as she charges another with crackling elemental energy, then makes a sharp upward gesture aimed at the bunched group of the Souleaters and Soulbranders. A towering blast of lightning and air erupts in their midst.
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| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> "Oh, have some confidence in yourself", Vorpal smiles sweetly over her shoulder as she rides on, drawing the black sword from its sheath.
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| − | "Fu." Vorpal smiles slightly as she views the destruction that Selina causes with her burst, already dead corpses staggering as the sudden elemental explosion tears at their armor and limbs.
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| − | <i>She does have something in her, I'll grant her that.</i>
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| − | Well, it was time for the Pale Angel to enter the fray as well. Lifting her sword high with one hand, the Ghost-Blooded suddenly bursts alight with cold-white flames. "<i>Restless dead!</i>" she booms, her voice rolling down the hillside like a dark avalanche alongside with her will. She focuses the brunt of her power on the Hungry Ghosts, her Essence-laden words burrowing into their primal minds. <i>"Hear and obey!"</i>
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| − | <b>Dead Hand:</b> The lighting explodes around the Ghosts, burning the ashes on the ground, setting a circle of trees aflame once again, burning like the fiery judgement of oblivion. their armor burnt and cracked by the force of the eletrical current, the Nemessaries stagger backward, in the worst of shapes... and just as they do, Vorpal's voice fills the valley, making the remaining Hungry Ghosts look up, and bow to their new mistress, ready to hear whatever command she has for them.
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| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> Vorpal does not celebrate as she sees the reaction the Hungry Ghost give to her words. Instead, she immediately brings her sword down to point at the five archers.
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| − | <i>"Slay those five beings!"</i>
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| − | <i>Divide and conquer.</i> Vorpal thinks as she kicks her bootheels to the sides of her horse, urging the beast to ram directly amongst the same undead which Selina had surprised with her burst earlier. Carefully choosing targets that had been left unscathed by the attack, she swings her sword down twice, once to each side before galloping past.
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| − | <b>Dead Hand:</b> The two Soulbranders look at the incoming Daiklave without fear, noticing it as they would notice any of the many difficulties of life, their expressions simply... blank, as they step aside from the Soulsteel Daiklave's path....
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| − | Both the undead are cut in half by Vorpal's blade, easily cutting their burnt and broken bodies in half with her Daiklave, the dried, foul dark blood of their bodies spilling on her horse and over their companion's brass armor as they all ready themselves to rend the flesh from Vorpal's bones....
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| − | <b>Alexander:</b> Alex barely takes notice of it, burning as he is, the noises of the battlefield simply adding more possible foes as he strikes to the nearest Soulbrander with his shining sword, attempting to behead the foul creature where it stands....
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| − | And with a swing of his sword, it's head it torn from its body, its dark blood burning before the light of the prince's anima, but he takes no relief in this victory, for so many others are already jumping on him....
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| − | <b>Selina De Windia:</b> Seeing an opening, Selina's shape flickers and disappears as she lunges toward one of the fresh Souleaters, Angeldust's hungry curved blade flashing redly for a moment before it bites down into the nemissary.
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| − | <b>Dead Hand:</b> As the Dark Angel comes down as a bird of prey, she hits the Souleater, cuttingthe creatures in half, Angeldust's blade cutting through flesh and bone like melted knight through butter....
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| − | <b>Selina De Windia:</b> The scythe hums a bit, almost beyond the range of human hearing, as the imprisoned nephrack gleefully sends the ghost into the Void.
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| − | <b>Dead Hand:</b> Dead muscles going tense inside their copper armor, the bulky Soulbranders mark their targets with their eyes, their fingers flexing, ready to mark their prey's skin, and making her as hunt of Oblivion...
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| − | two of them, armors tarnished by lighting, their movements clumsier with their burnt skin, jump on Vorpal, trying to take her off her horse.... two of them trying to bring the Dark Angel to the ground so she can join the servants of oblivion... and one trying to brand the pirince's perfect face.
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| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> Vorpal does not even attempt to parry, but rather relies on her armor to protect her from her foes' blows. Clumsy attacks such as these were simply not worth the effort.
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| − | <b>Selina De Windia:</b> "You don't want to do that." Selina purrs as the nemissaries latch onto her, voice modulating slightly as her anima burns higher suddenly. "You don't ever want to touch me."
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| − | With the last word, her anima banner not only blazes to its full level, but past that. Overfilled, the shadowy essence runs off of her in crackling waves, onto the two things holding onto her, like iron to lodestones.
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| − | <b>Dead Hand:</b> As the Pale Angel expected, the copper fistsslide effortlessly over the black queen's vestiments, not being able to even touch the Pale Angel....
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| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> Something suddenly swifts and slithers under Vorpal's cloak, and the nemissaries' blows clang off from her being in places where there should not even have been armor...
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| − | <b>Dead Hand:</b> The dead push the Dark Angel to the earth below, their arms rotting away, their flesh falling to the ground, their armor becoming black and tarnished, and yet, they don't stop... they simply keep holding her, keep trying to pres her down....
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| − | ...But unfortunately for them, they are too rotten and too fragile for it, and the Dark Angel evades their grasp, their flesh coming out as her arm and leg move away from their decrepit limbs.
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| − | The Soulhunters, on the other hand... 5 ready their bows, and let their arrows fly off towards Vorpal, knowing full well what the whirlwind around Selina means. Of the other five, four ready their swords and go down against the Solar boy....
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| − | Moving without expending essence, the prince steps backwards, trying to be between them and his brother, the daiklave in his hands shifting against each and every blow as he desperately tries to hold his ground....
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| − | As the arrows bounce off Vorpal's armor, the swords go into the young knight, one swatted away, and three inside making his very much red and live blood spill on the ground as he staggers backwards.....
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| − | The Hungry Ghosts, in turn, jump to the archers, blindly following Vorpal’s commands above those of their Soulbrander handlers, recognizing the hirarchy of death and following the Abyssal as they try to rend the Soulhunters with their claws....
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| − | The obscene mouths on their marks contorting hungrily, the Souleaters advance towards Selina and Vorpal, three for each, three trying to slay Vorpal's horse, and the two against Selina, to just... touch her, and bring her down to them.
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| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> Noting where the next opponents are aiming their attacks, Vorpal quickly alters her plans. Her blade flashes into a series of parries, blurring in a sudden whirl of motion...
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| − | <b>Dead Hand:</b> As they jump on Selina, her aura flares, outright turning them into... nothingness. Simple ashes falling inside the armor.
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| − | <b>Selina De Windia:</b> With a growl that seems too deep for her, Selina increases the amount of essence swirling in her aura once more, the burst of energy filling out her display as an iconic image of a dragon hovers over her head, roaring at the nemissaries. The excess energy pours into them more violently than before as both her and the dragon-image furiously snarl.
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| − | <b>Dead Hand:</b> As the forest burns around them and the Five Maidens shine in the sky, obscured by the sun around the little prince, the battle becomes chaotic as a microcosm of a war. Around Vorpal, five of those Selina had nearly destroyed with her blasts still lumber towards her, now seeming like simply zombies inside their fine armor, trying to dismount and dilacerate her.... around Selina, many of them still persist, two dead, but eight more that are quite alive... and Alex can barely hold his ground, as the four jump on him with their straight swords, unrelenting in their attack, their thin eyes in golden masks unchanging as their steel clashes... and the five archers discard their bows in place of their swords to eliminate the pests of the Hungry Ghosts.
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| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> Vorpal's eyes widen as she sees the blades sink into the Solar boy's flesh, her teeth clenching together at the possibility of a failure in their mission. She had been counting that the lad could handle himself for a moment or two, but it seems she had been wrong about his provess. Send a boy to do a warrior's work...
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| − | "<i>Help the boy!</i>" Vorpal snaps to Selina over her shoulder. "I'll handle the rest here!"
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| − | <b>Selina De Windia:</b> Selina's booted feet tense, then she leaps with enough force to scar the ground beneath her, flickering momentarily out of vision as she speeds herself using death essence.
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| − | The assassin lands hard behind the four nemissaries attacking the boy, iconic dragon hissing in anticipation as she sweeps her scythe through one of the Soulhunters. Carrying the sweep through, Selina turns the weapon around in her hands and slices through another, as the weapon gleams with death energy.
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| − | <b>Dead Hand:</b> The Nemessaries are cut in half by Selina's scythe, their dark blood... and as the bodies fall, Selina makes eye contect with the boy that is so familiar to her, and yet totally unknown, and the sword... the sword. But her eyes have to be averted, since just looking at him, sheathed in the light of the sun as he is, hurts...
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| − | <b>Selina De Windia:</b> Eyes flashing incandesant blue for a moment even while she's wreathed in her dark splendor, Selina beholds the golden aura about the boy. And growls a "Stay back." at him, not liking the stirring deep inside herself. Her iconic display rears up and roars, enraged at the energy of the sun flaring about the boy.
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| − | <b>Alexander:</b> The boy looks at Selina in surprise and awe.... and yet, a great part of him, visible within his eyes, stirs in revulsion and hate at the abomination whose dark caste mark sheds tears of blood in front of him.... nodding gravely, he changes his stance, becoming true pillar of light, a bullwark of righteousness - ready t ostop any and all strikes that might come at him, even as he hols his wounds with his left hand, his pain showing only deep within his eyes....
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| − | <b>Vorpal:</b> There was time to hold back no longer. Her sword flying in a whirling arch above her head, Vorpal urges her mount to break free of the wounded undead and gallop directly into the larger group of undamaged creatures amongst whom the Dark Angel had been just a moment ago. Her anima banner bursts into all of its glory and shines like a frozen sun, the pale form of a crucified angel unfurling her spectral wings behind her as she charges into the fray. Her sword flies left and right, swifter than eye can follow, slashing, cutting, impaling, forming a whirlwind of soulsteel amongst the nemissaries.
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| − | <b>Dead Hand:</b> As Vorpal rides past the Nemessaries Selina's lighting had left near death, she cuts through them, like melted knife through butter, riding past the corpses of the creatures, her horse's skin stained with their dark blood and pus as she rides towards one of the Souleaters ready to jump on Selina....
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| − | The Nemessarie tries to dodge Vorpal's charge, but manages only to avoid being cut in half by her blows, her daiklave slashing through his chest deep, but not a fatal blow....
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| − | Fifteen of them still stand on the battlefield, five hunters taking their swords, attacked by Hungry ghosts.... two others ready to attack Alex, and the other eight jumping on Selina's back and at Vorpal, four for each, intending to take out the intruding Deathknights....
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| − | The hungry Ghosts, mindlessly following Vorpal's orders, keep their onslaught: over the hunters, simple creatures with sharp claws and sharper teeth wailing for blood, even those of the dead....while they utterly miss their targets, hitting only the air.
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| − | The two hunters, while aware of Selina, jump on Alexander, their swords making brilliant arcs under his powerful, raging sunlight....
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| − | | |
| − | <b>Alexander:</b>....But, efortlessly, not breaking his stance, Alex stops both blows at once, sparks coming from their blades as they kiss, and then, Alex pushes them backward, with a strength that seems impossible in a boy, much less a hurt and staggering one....
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| − | | |
| − | Of the eight still standing, 6 turn their attention to Vorpal.... two Souleaters going low, attacking her horse's legs, two soulbranders trying to grapple her and push her off the horse, and two of them trying to cut her tendons....
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| − | | |
| − | Vorpal feels like she was branded by hot iron as they touch her, dirtying her soul, marking it with their ghostly arcanoi.... and at the same time, she feels as the others, who touched her with their claws, don't manage to slash at her skin... but slash at something else, much more important, much more vital....
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| − | | |
| − | Her back to them, Selina can only feel as they touch her, the two remaining ones, trying to push her down, even feeling the hurt of her anima and knowing their demise....
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| − | | |
| − | And the Forest Burns.<br>
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| − | And the Battle Rages.<br>
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| − | And Death Approaches...<br>
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| − | | |
| − | ----
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| − | | |
| − | * - Back to [[GoldenCat/FirstMovement|First Movement]]
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| − | * - Back to [[GoldenCat/DanceOfAngels|A Dance of Angels]]
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