GoldenCat/ObsidianAge7
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The End of Silence
For anyone miles away...
For heaven, underworld, and Malfeas alike...
It is known. That this is a clash of titans.
The bones fall from the sky, lifting dirt high up. A behemoth roars loud enough that trhe earth shakes. And pillars of light reach up to heaven. On the skies, silent winds move in the shape of a demonic dragon, shifting the low clouds of the rainy day all around Iselsis, making the dragon so much greater. On the ground, the General is surrounded by black and a vividly scarlet hue, somewhere of a shade that lays just between blood and smoldering embers. It looks billowing and cloud-like, a roiling churning mass of thick black with thunder-strike flashes of red in the depths. As one stares, one begins to see hardened shapes bellow the clouds, piston like motions and glimpses of what seem to be gapping demonic maws spilling out flame and smoke. Close to him, Alexsei explodes in vivid violet, the color of saturn in opposition to the mists of scarlet, backed by the golden light of his wife, as her butterfly wings surrounded him, protect him.
And to their side, Brael, leaves and dew swirling about him, the image of a great mother tree raising high from where he stands. High as Iselsis. Solid, white oak, as impossibly hardy as Brael himself. Much in opposition to Marr, flying towards them, above the Behemoth. Marr, who shines the brightest firey colors, a great amber hawk in flames cawing as it looks up, majestic, its plumage like a mantle of rulership... and to the General’s side, Blight Lily shines in sensuous colors of a dark forest, surrounded by thorns and bone...
And then, commanded by the clash of titans, Snakes approach, Snakes made of arms and sporting jaws of metal.... the remaining Windians move as they should - Eva, Dorian, Cloud and remaining Warstrider covering for Vorpal and the rest of the Celestials, taking the enemies off their back, leaving them freely to face the pillars...
Elemental fury, dead monstruosities, acid and fire breaking around the Exalts.
Iselsis: The devil girl breathes heavily within the swirling mists, the demonic visage of the air dragon coiling around her form high in the air, beads of sweat rolling down her skin after the onslaught the two other dragonblooded had thrown at her. Could've killed her too, but she got lucky enough.
She spots the sorceress, narrowing her eyes at her, but for now simply waits for an opening.
Selina de Windia: The Wood had gotten away. He's not supposed to get away! He's not allowed to get away! She puts the scythe away for now, not wanting it to get in the way of what she is about to do.
Wood
Wood
Wood
Wood
Wood glowing in cold aftermath, flames spent
The Dragon growls, and she does with it, remembering her lover. Selina abruptly dives in a furious display of wind and shadow and lightning, landing next to Brael with such force that the snowy, hard winter ground cracks in a circle about her, forced to compress down onto other layers underneath. Her free arm is pointed at him almost before the naked eye can even register the movement, same type of blast she earlier let loose upon the dead whales brewing about it. Its potency and size grows more rapidly than before as she stares into Brael's eyes with a reckless hatred, slit pupils casting their own shadows.
cinders
cinders
cinders
cinders
cinders!
"BURN WOOD BURN FOR ME!"
The crackling miasma about her free arm blasts out and forward, not as wide as before, only enough to catch Brael, Blight, and their commander, narrowly passing before the others and the behemoth the child of Venus has trapped. It devours the ground about them with a terrible violence, slicing through the battle from left to right, cutting into the flank of the General's forces beyond, a personification of the Dark Angel's wrath.
The General: The Shadow comes...
Blight looks up, concerned, but does not move. All of her shield goes in front of the blast... pieces of bone and skin and blood and dark roses and thorns, all in a contest of strength with the blast as she looks up at Selina, narrows her eyes... and then, the blast is diverted, and Blight Lily stands, untouched.
The General looks up, and sees the blast coming.... a great machine appearing out of the smoke around the Deathknight, something resembling a warstrider of towering black iron, it's body covered with smoke-spewing pipes and open furnaces belching flame where indistinct figures shovel wailing souls into the fire. It moves protectively and with the General, striking the blast, and breaking it away from him, his irreprensible presence not even fazed.
But Brael... Brael can only watch as the blast comes for him...
Brael Ir: He is thrown far away, in one pile of zombies, wreathed in hungry void. It consumes him, it eats, his essence, it makes him scream....
Until the Lotus comes down, piercing the ground, and he uses it as backing to pull himself up.
And he gets up. Burning. Scarred. But he gets up.
he void dissipating around him, he looks at the Dark Angel...
With anger. And fear.
"Has been ages since someone hurt me like dat, pretty. You're going to pay."
Iselsis: Something shines in the sky.
Something flashes, coming down, moving fast.
The roar of the demonic dragon comes for Brael and as the devil girl hurtles past him she twists in the air, in the moment that her gun, now holding the bullet she had blessed earlier, lines up with his temple she fires.
Before crashing backwards into the ground, rolling several times, flipping up to her feet and skidding another good few yards, coming to a stop closer to the others.
"No. She won't."
Brael Ir: Brael hears it... and then it is coming to him. Blessed. Burning. Power.
Instinctively, he summons all of his power to stop it, to redirect it to her damned companion... but nothing happens.
The Dark Angel... she drained him. He was bled dry... dry of power. Nothing left...
Nothing left but to try and place the World-Shattering Lotus before the bullet, to try and parry it...!
... and the Lotus does not come to it in time. The bullet strikes him, going through his chest, burning-hot metal, that close to his heart... and making him take a step bacl And then another. And another.
The Lotus strikes the ground, held onto like a cane, and it is the only reason he does not fall. His knees bend. His face falls. But he does not fall.
Not yet.
Haze Edge: Blight Lily begun to move her hands again, then... and once again call into the words of the Malfeans.
More Necromancy was about to come.
And Haze Edge, on the other hand.. looked up, at the Windwraith. Haze Edge, looking so... normal. A ghost with long hair, clad in articulated plate armor of colorful glass, wielding a blade made of a beautiful, shining hilt and a blade that is, actually, pure heathaze.... He unfurls wings of heat, and jumps towards the Windwraith, smiling....
"You can see me, right? Haze Edge. A pleasure to meet you."
"Now... die."
A blade that cannot be seen or measured, like simply waves of heat, strikes at Cael, to his left and right...!
Cael: "Cael Pattona," He says with a small gesture that might have become a bow, but he had not really mastered the art yet of bowing on the wind, and besides he was fairly sure it was not the best thing to do in the circumstances. "The pleasure is mine, I'm sure. Though I don't think I will be dying just yet."
With that, he started to fall apart, dissolving into words and letters, in scripts old and forgotten, in styles fresh and new.
Paper might burn.
Flesh might burn.
His words burnt only when he wished and he did not wish it now.
Gennadi: There is victory in defeat, there is dominance in submission, and there is a bit of hate in every love story. Accordingly, when the behemoth fights the chains... Gennadi lets it. He whips through the air as a blur, shaken by the terrifying strength of an original hunter. He skids across the earth, spraks flying from chain and shoes, the ring on his finger tearing one single small trench as he narrowly avoids being driven into the earth.
The chains move and shift, on the verge of breaking, he begins to lose his grip, and as the thing finally frees its fangs... Gennadi moves. He grabs onto one of those blood-reed teeth with a chain-wrapped hand as the beast dives for him, the other hand soon snarling in the destiny of another and hurling him sideways. In one sickening moment, the world shifts, and the wolf finds itself lifting off its feet, head over heels as it spirals and again slams into the ground. With a flare of blue the Sidereal lands on his opponent's nose, leans back, and spits directly into it's eye, wagging a finger.
Alexsei Krauser: He blinks once, twice... The woman that phased out of nowhere pressed her lips against his, and he felt the surge of power transfered to him, resplenishng his depleting reserves.
He feels Ryshassa's emotions through the ring, and they are met with his - incomprehension and confusion, at the gesture and the identity of the one that perpetrated it, mostly. Who... and what... was that? His thoughts filter to his wife, as his mind snaps back to the battle ahead, and the all too present dangers surrounding them.
Thank you both for the recharge, dearest beloved, and you strange, whoever you might be.
He bows his head slightly, Epilogue coiled around him, an oasis of calm in the midst of battle as the words of the prayer escape from his lips - barely a whisper to be carried in the cold Northern air, raven hair whiping like tendrils in the wind around him.
A Whisper lost in the space before dawn
Night's dying breath soft on your cheek
The Lady's Gaze rests upon you
Who Should not be meeting the Sun's Embrace
And in Violet her verdict has come
You will be gone before the Sparrows awaken to sing
Once again, he is filled with the familiar energy of the Gate, whispers and moans of the fallen filling him with sorrow and forging into his weapon. He allows himself to be Her instrument, her might against those who would defy their Fate.
And violet wreathes him in response, his words written in purple in the book of the dead spiralling around him as his One Truth as the calmness of End and Judgement fill his soul...
Ryshassa: Ryshassa tears her eyes away from Fiona. More important things are afoot now. Her husband is suffused with violet Essence, bringing to bear the power of the Violet Bier. Now she steps before him, arms spread wide as the Caduceus widens its orbit to sweep around them both.
"Let no one pass to harm the Black Wing of Conclusion!" she proclaims, her voice surprisingly firm and confident. Sunset shades stream from her anima wings in shifting pools of light upon pale flesh. "For I am the manifold path that stretch towards the End! For I am the Sunset Butterfly from whom radiates the last light before darkness!"
"For I love this man more than life itself," she intones, purposefully drawing attention to herself as Alexsei completes his Form. "So it shall be. None shall harm him while I stand!"
The General: The General looks at the battle. For a moment, he ponders.
On that moment, the flames stay still, and time seems to stop.
And then, he moves. The machine behind him sounds like a great steam creature howling. He seems like a statue, a great and terrifying statue. And then he disappears, a streak of fire around the battlefield... and coming to Vorpal, in the middle of a jump.
Once he strikes her, and as his fist touches her blade and armor, the noise is enough to deafen all in the battlefield. Twice he strikes her, and the sparks from their clash light all the bodies around them aflame.
And then, the General lands. He turns his arm towards Ryshassa, Alexsei, and Iselsis, fist clenched. It burns, glowing white-hot. And then, opening his hand, the plaques open... and steam comes out, drowning the trio in burning pain.
And finally, he comes upon Iselsis, out of the mist, striking the Demon-Blooded... and as he does, he cuts through the silent winds, drowning the silence in the roar of steel.
Ryshassa: The steam comes hissing towards Ryshassa and Alexsei and the demon-girl whose name she does not yet know. Though the air is scaldingly hot, the feeling in the pit of her stomach is cold as ice. Anything else, she might have been able to shield him from, but the steam surrounds, it seeps through the littlest of cracks -- she cannot contain it to keep him safe --
Beloved, please... be strong! I cannot protect you from this!
The Caduceus hovers uselessly before her, its golden crown of wings spread wide as she steels herself to absorb the attack The stained-glass butterfly wings of her anima shimmer, seeming for a moment to harden with her resolve, to congeal into something more solid, its surface as slick and smooth as polished glass. She would endure... now if he could survive just long enough for her to heal him...!
Vorpal: Vorpal's eyes, barely visible over her raised hands, widen. The gaze in them is wild, red pupils bright against the white background.
The general of the Gateway board is moving. Now comes the gambit for the true battle, the strike that will decide the flow of the entire game that will follow.
All this flashes through her mind in an instant, only to be overridden by one, powerful thought, an instinct so powerful that it silences even the yowling of her strained joints and her incessant need to spill blood.
A general takes care of her men.
Bards might sing about her deadly ruthlessness and distant indifference, but not even in her darkest days did the Pale Angel ever stray away from this rule. Skill, power, cunning - all these are important features for a leader, but they alone do not give the general right to lead her men. One must prove oneself to be worthy of being followed - only then can one earn the undying loyalty of one's warriors and the right to lead them into a battle that might well be their last.
These divine soldiers are my men and women. I will take care of them.
It is my responsibility.
And so, on that moment of smooth, silent and painless clarity, the Pale Angel acts. Her movements still jerky and unnatural under the effects of the necromantic spell, she brings her sword down in path of the General's first strike. Her weapon is quick and silent like a flicker of black light, yet it collides with the attack with a deafening ring, the sheer power of the parry sending the offending blade reeling away.
A somersault down along Ice's back, Betrayer whirling around and up, clashing against the General's second attack with a power equal to the previous one. Again the black light flickers, again the attacker is sent hurtling back before the immovable obstacle.
The third --
Balancing on one foot on the very tip of Ice's hindquarters, she throws her sword up over her head and bends her back. She screams with the effort then, her body stretching to its limits as the Betrayer flies around in the last, sweeping arc close to the ground. Black light flickers for the third time, this time in a crescent so quick that one begins to wonder if it ever was there.
Air, however, proves that it indeed was, as the sheer pressure built up by the swing sends the steam scattering to the heavens like froth in a roaring stream, only a hundred times as fast and a thousand times as loud.
Air, however, proves that it indeed was, as the sheer pressure built up by the swing sends the steam exploding to the heavens like froth in a roaring stream, only a hundred times as fast and a thousand times as loud. The billow of whiteness rises atop the battlefield, an unfurling banner mountain-high.
Iselsis: She watches the Pale Angel. Not a monster, not a monster at all, a competent general, one who cared for her men, one who knew the burden of responsibility - as she herself did to Windia, one who would go through a trial of fire to protect those who follow her. Why was she here? What purpose could her mission serve if these deathknights were that unselfish?
Her thoughts are scattered as the gigantic sword comes for her. And suddenly she isn't so sure about her prowess against the abyssals anymore. Her repeaters cross, trying to catch the mighty overhead blow, the force of it alone crushing the ground beneath her feet, cracking it, pushing it down into a tiny crater, chunks of rocks springing out and getting caught in the whirlwind of her anima.
She grits her teeth as the split second moment seems to last forever, looking into the eyes of the General, cursing him silently, her teeth gritted against the onslaught and her her eyes burning in resolute defiance of his attack, as the split second drags on for an eternity. Locked in a struggle of will with this beast of a deathknight, sparks flying between them as she tries to stave off the blow. Overhead the demonically tainted dragon of air roars in defiance at the unfeeling black automaton.
And then the moment is over, with a great gust of sudden air from her anima Iselsis propels herself back, hopefully outside of range of the hopefully deflected attack, sailing through the air in a backflip, landing in a low crouch halfway between a crouch and a kneel, steadying herself with one hand on the ground, ready to leap again at the slightest hint of danger.
And all the time, one all encompassing word rings over and over in her mind.
Fuck!
With her departure before the General, the chunks of rocks held afloat by her anima clatter back down the ground.
The ring of steel dissipates. The winds are silent once more.
The General: The General falls back after his blow, in the middle of the Exalts.
The figures in his anima stop throwing corpses in the flame. The machine lets out steam after its charge.
The General, his eyes hard as steel, sees Iselsis rush away, and acknowledges. But more than anything, he looks at the Pale Angel... and the machine and the crucified angel are locked in a struggle of power. And then, the unthinkable happens. Something to chill all to the bone...
... The General speaks.
His words are calm and mild-mannered, and yet, ring above all the noise. "Vorpal DeFay, the Pale Angel."
Is all he says.
Nothing more is needed.
As the enemy, his equal, in power and followers, is acknowledged.
Ice: Another opening! What is the matter with these Exalts today, leaving stragglers behind as they do? Well, no matter, Ice is here to correct the mistakes made by her allies!
The black beast surges onwards - then pauses and stomps with one foot, breaking one last piece of Murria that had been somehow spared from the earlier trample. Then she rushes onwards again, teeth bared, eyes burning with a wild delight, heading directly for Brael Ir!
But the Wood Aspect is not worth of Ice's time, at least not by much. There are the needs of her mistress to account for as well, and so the beast does not tarry with her work. The warhorse pounces up right in front of the Dragon-Blooded, one of her hind legs catching the man atop the head, using him as nothing but a point of leverage to change the direction of the leap with, to send the horse and its rider flying diagonally across the battlefield towards another foe. It is a pounce from which she lands in a thunderous boom that makes the ground heave, right in front of Blight Lily.
Brael Ir: Lights. Steam all around. Noise. Corpses on fire all around... and silence.
Armies of Necromancy. Armies of the dead. A clash of Chosen, making the earth tremble.
Brael sighed, trying to steady himself as he watched that, coughng blood.
"... I need a cigarette."
Ice: He gets a hoof instead.
Brael Ir: Brael falls down then on his back, his face marked with Ice's illustrious foot, looking at the darkened clouds above... lightened up by the lightshow, making a real caleidoscope. So shiny, so bright. He even felt like not getting up anymore. "... ow."
Ryshassa: A gasp of heartfelt relief comes from Ryshassa's mouth as the Pale Angel's blade beats the steam safely away. For a moment she had let herself fear... it had chilled her to the bone. But no more. Their leader on the field would protect them when she could not.
Thank you, Pale Angel.
...or Vorpal? her real name is Vorpal?
She does not speak a word, though, remaining alert to scan the battle for any sign of faltering amongst her allies, so that she may come to their aid if need be. Together they were strong, but the opposition has still been draining them of their strength, forcing them to defend... she wondered how long they would hold fast, now with the General in the fray.
Vorpal: Courtesies between enemies are nice, but there are times when the battle goes too far, times when the ears grow deaf to anything else but the clash of steel, cries of the dying and the roar of blood thundering through veins. Thus, if Vorpal hears the General's words, she does not respond to them, at least not here, not now. Perhaps she will remember it later, but now, there are other, more important things to attend to.
Duty fulfilled, it is time for vengeance. Vorpal's eyes suddenly snap to focus, primal instinct for obligation replaced with just as ruthless need for survival. An enemy threatens. An enemy must be slain.
Skirts rustling around her legs, she tears herself up from the defensive posture and sends her unwilling body tumbling forward once again. Switching the Grand Daiklave into one hand, she slams the other against Ice's back and throws a cartwheel forward to bring her closer to the necromanceress who had presumed to take control of her bones. Betrayer whooshes in an enormous arch along with the maneuver, up, forth and down, its very tip reaching the center of Blight Lily's head conveniently right in the end of its flight.
Blight Lily: Blight sees her coming... and takes a deep breath, even as she is about to finish her spell.... taking a step backwards. Bone and Thorns fill the air... making it harder and harder to see where she is.... dark blooms filling Vorpal's vision. That is when Ice realises she does not stand on land... she stands on sap!
Tree sap filling the ground... and making the horse slide with the blade towards the Dark Angel!
Blight moves her head away as the opposing general slides past, the soulsteel blade cutting strands of her hair, slipping mere inches from her neck. For a moment there, Blight feels real terror...
And then smiles as the Pale Angel slips past her, letting out her relief... "Go play with your girlfriend there, and leave me to my works, will you, pretty puppet?"
Vorpal: "Tch --"
It is the only thing Vorpal has time to gasp from between pain-clenched teeth as she sees where the Dragon-Blooded's magic is leading her sword. Fortunately, the Dark Angel cannot be hit so easily -- it is not in the Pale Angel's nature to rely on others so much, but of this she can be certain.
Cathak Marr: The Dynast flies. Beating wings of pure flame, his image counfounds with his burning iconic anima - the shape of the amber hawk in flames around him. He flies above Whiro, above Blight and the Angels... watching the Behemoth. "Whiro, just break that chain and finish him already." He says, as he stops his movement to float in front of the behemoth's face... and reaches his hand. "You won't mind to help me out a little bit, will you?"
The Dynast reaches out... and a crimson light comes from both of the Behemoth's eyes, coalescing in the Dynast's hands. A pulsing red light, burning Primordial essence... Marr looks to it, and smiles, before beating his wings again...
And landing between Iselsis, Alexsei, and Ryshassa.
He stands tall. Proud. Grand.
A true Cathak warrior, a king among men.
The Hawk closes his winds, watching them in wait.
"Hello, mongrels. My name is Cathak Marr."
He lifts his hand, filled with Primordial essence, and it floats in his anima, towards the hawk.
The hawk consumes it, glowing with power.
"I bring you a gift."
Glowing like the heat of a blood furnace...
"I bring you... FIRE!"
The Hawk spreads his wings.
And the world becomes flame.
Ryshassa: Smoke and fire washed over Ryshassa and Alexsei and the devil-girl with red skin whom she was glad was on their side. But still they stand firm, though her husband has taken the brunt of the fire bath in comparison.
Ryshassa turns to him now, her delicate features lined with worry as she strokes pale flesh singed and blackened by flame. Behind her, the stained-glass butterfly wings of Ryshassa's anima shimmer, seeming for a moment to harden, to congeal into something more solid, its surface as slick and smooth as polished glass.
You taught my chrysalis to sing, her voice pierces clear through to Alexsei's mind through their rings. Now it will sing for you.
She opens her mouth, and gives voice to a single, pure, perfect note. Her wings shiver in resonance, shiver with the cadence of chimes in the wind --
-- and suddenly shatter apart, fragmenting into wisps that coalesce into butterflies with blossom wings. A hundred, a thousand of them, all purple and lined with gold, fibrous like a petal's soft flesh. The blossom-flies settle upon her skin, covering every inch of her flesh as the veins webbing their wings throb with golden Essence. They settle upon Alexsei as well, their touch as soft as a maiden's kiss, and where they touch him they take away his pain, and bring it back to her.
They bring it back to her, on wings with veins now warm and pulsing crimson with blood.
Iselsis: The devil averts her eyes as the flames come and wash over her, and when they subside she turns back to regard the dragonblooded Cathak, a nasty burn on the side of her face she wasn't able to shield.
"Amateur."
Step.
"Fraud."
Step.
"Deceiver!"
Step.
"Conjurer of cheap tricks!"
One more step, and she holds her arms at her sides, upper arms spread outwards slightly, palms to the sky.
"You know nothing of fire."
And it comes, the fire of a thousand hells, pouring from her eyes, engulfing her hands, slowly coalescing to cover her entire figure in hellfire. Overhead the demonic dragon of air roars as the storm intensified.
"But don't worry... I will show you."
Another step now, but suddenly she moves with incredible speed, too fast for the dragonblooded's eyes to follow until she's an inch away from him. She's burning. Green and yellow and white and purple. Her entire form wreathed in it.
"I will show you flame, and hell, and then death, heretic! I will show you... the purest flame of all."
And as the flame explode around the two, scorching the earth several yards around them, incinerating everything sound itself leaves Creation for the two. Becoming a mere concept in the eternity of flame, a concept the Cathak once knew. No longer real in the world of flame, pain, and purging of the wicked.
And when it goes he still burns. When the sound returns to the world of the living, he still burns, even as the ashes get caught in the devil's winds and float around them like an unnatural winter...
He burns.
Selina de Windia: The triple energies of her anima simmer and crackle down to a somewhat more relaxed state as the Dark Angel surveys the devastation she has wrought. The aftermath of her blow reveals that...she has not even touched the General. And that little bitch has managed to make it through her blast without damage.
I will rend you...
But then a shadow falls on her, and she sees the Pale Angel hurtling at her instead...just missing the little necromancer.
She has seen this magic before. And she knows how to deal with the Terrestrials who employ it.
The fullness of the Windian's body vanishes into vaporous darkness as the blade descends on her, silhouette then breaking up into fragments of shadow that surge toward Blight Lily, stealing bits off of the General's own anima banner as it goes.
And then it reforms behind Blight Lily. Silhouette first, then the real Dark Angel, baring her fangs in a smile that heralds the necromancer's certain doom. And one whispered word.
"Morsel. "
Vorpal: "That one's mine, you moron..." Vorpal hisses, frustration clear in her voice as the Dark Angel evaporates from the path of her blade.
Selina de Windia: She would do it again, the necromancer would divert her blow to another even if Selina tries to grab her at close range. But it's another drain on her resources of the Terrestrial, which will end up with the girl exactly as what she should be.
Food
Selina thinks as she brings her taloned, free hand up at the girl, ready to grasp her by the throat, cut the sharpened nails into her flesh. Her eyes burn with an eager light as she does so, nightmarish smile on her lips, whisper of "Tasty girl." Barely audible even that close, above the din of battle.
Blight Lily: Blight sees Selina coming for her... close, so close... through the shield of bones, through her defense...
Blight closes her eyes, and begins to shed her own skin... so many, so many petals... lily petals filling the air, are all the Dark Angel touches, as she smiles. "Just wait, just wait, Dark Angel, your time will come, soon, so soon. Be patient!"
The General: The General turns around. The ghosts throw more ghosts in the furnace. Steam fills the air, even as Marr's heat burns the edges of his beard. He makes a mental note to scold the Dynast for exploding so close. He could have really burned the Abyssal.
The General turns around, watching the Abyssals. Marr had the situation under control with the Dragon-Blooded abomination and the others. It was time to settle the score now. The Angels. His adversaries.
This time, he did not vanish.
This time, he walked.
Step by step.
Step by step.
He was that close to them, before he exploded in motion.
Not a word was said, before the noise of some loud steam engine went off... and a metal fist came to the Pale Angel's face. And another. Two times his fist pounded over her, and three times the air blurred with steam.
Then he spuns around,a blur of red in his cape, and his fist came upon the Dark Angel. Once, twice, thrice. Each fist strong enough to shatter bones, to crush her Void.
Vorpal: Vorpal's eyes lose the feral mien for a split-second as she sees the onslaught approach. Sweat trickles down her face and her arms tremble at the effort of holding her body under control. The Pale Angel is weakening. All her life had she worked to create an illusion that she would be invincible, but she is not. Twice it had been proven already. Once in the streets of the great city of Windia. Once in the borderlands of Iranor where there is a field surrounded from both sides by cliffs that block all attempts to escape, a field that is today known by the name of Angel's End.
It was on that field that Vorpal had known she was going to die soon, when the white jade axe of the Dragon Blooded Vaynard had shattered Banshee, her claymore, and when the sword he had wielded in his other hand had thrust home through her armored torso.
She relives that moment when she sees the General's fist approach, the knowledge of how powerless she is to stop it, the surety of how it will mean her end.
No.
She clenches her teeth.
No!
She grunts, lifts the heavy blade to meet the attack.
I will not fall here! I am the Pale Angel, I will not fall here and now!
She screams when the sword meets the gauntleted fist in a thunderous boom and a flicker of black light, shrieks as they clash for the second time.
No-no-no!
Alexsei Krauser: The flames have come for him, tearing through his flech and sending sharp tinges of pain as he withstands the brunt of it. But it is not long before he feels Ryshassa's voice, the pure, crystal clear note and the shimmering butterflies that take away his pain - and take it to her, he knows full well.
Belladonna... thank... you... I... once again, I owe you my life...
And, as the pain is soothed from his muscles and the burning sensation washed away from his flesh, the Funeral Priest is left to contemplate his place in the current battle - and the people that hace come to assist him.
The Pale Angel, drawing the enemy to him to help bring about their closure.
The Exorcist Iselsis, helping him banish the Abberations to the plane of non-existence.
The Mysterious woman appearing before him, renewing his power when he faltered.
And his wife, Ryshassa, ever-watching gaze over him to catch him when he falls, the anchor to keep him rooted into this world...
Friends and strangers, close or barely acuaintances... All of them have come to his side to help him, without a second thought, without a single hesitation.
It is now my turn to help you.
He pushes his spectacle on the bridge of his nose, then taps his staff on the ground, Epilogue's rings chiming softly as it comes into contact with the snow-covered Earth.
In Her name Strands are Severed
In a swift, decisive gesture, he raises the Starmetal staff in a circular arc, sending chimes to the Heavens before sharply coming back down, towards the snowy fields ahead. Towards their enemies. Gracefully it twirls in his hands, spinning gently in what seems to become a stylized eight-shaped kata... Or the mark of infinity.
I am Her tool, I am Her conduit
For a moment, nothing happens, except for the snowflakes around him freezing in motion, as if the strands of time have suspended their weave, if only for a breath. His hair is not batterd by the wind anymore, and his robes stand still, not unhindered by the Will of the elements.
Through me Her Voice will be Heard
The ground shakes. Behind him, Purple Essence gathers like a pool of tears blood. The winds picks up around him, the snowflakes continue their course towards the ground. And from the pool of Essence, Magnificent and Fearsome, the Gate arises.
And through Her Voice you will find Strength
The Jackal, Guardian og the Gate, stands atop the Blessed portal, his eyes affixed on all assembled on the battlefield. One signal given from the Chosen of Endings, and the Guardian lifts its head and howls, the chilling sound reaching the ears of all those around him, and as its mournful dirge reaches their heart, so does the cold grip that is the power of Endings.
And now, friends and Allies... Fight!
And so he pushes forward, the Howl still in his ear, the staff collapsing again in his hands, and his swift steps take him to the witch standing near them, her spell still gripping the heart of the Pale Angel, their leader.
Displacing the virgin snow he jumps, and his staf moves in an alien pattern, twisting and turning upon her. Three times it reaches for her with a life apparently all its own, a precise pattern forming on the woman's defenses...
The strikes tracing the mark of Endings upon her very skin.
"Hear Her voice and despair, defiler, for your time in this world runs short."
Blight Lily: She sees him coming... and sighs. Things weren’t looking so good...
She had little more in her than enough for that spell. And the violet man moved like... it was hard to describe. Like her end. Tied up in the incantation, in the shaping of Malfean will with her bare hands, she tried to move... but he struck her. The staff went in... and then she was not there anymore, black rose petals filling the air... blighted. She moved, and was behind Alexsei, guiding him. Guiding his blows, as both slid through the sap on the ground much like a pair of dancers, towards the Pale Angel, while she held his free hand and used it to continue her own spells.
She moved him, to strike at the Pale Angel twice... and then, could not hold him anymore, and as he broke free, struck her in the middle of her chest. She coughed, trying to mantain the incantation. She had even less left in her now...
She had just finished dancing with Alexsei, using his hand to finish her own spell, planting a kiss on the back of his cheek as it is over... but it was not over. He turns around, and she is struck, straight in the middle of her chest, through her blight petal dress... and gets the air knocked out of her.
The Necromancy begins to unravel around her, dark light rising the dead to laugh and wail.
No... no.... No! General, my lord, let me... let me serve.. let me be useful...
And then, she grits her teeth, even as her vision dims and her lungs burn, bringing the shadows back, pointing them...! Her hands burn with the power she gathers, and pushes foward, uncaring for herself in that moment...!
Vorpal: No! No! No!
In the middle of her defensive fury, there is little time to think of anything else. The attacks she suddenly senses coming in from behind her are just a few more incoming blows to avoid, a few more strikes to counter. Gritting her teeth, she forces her dwindling Essence to change course in her veins and summons the spectral powers within her, evaporating like mist from the way of the blows.
Blight Lily: Blight had it in her hands... and then, threw it up!
If I am right, she will be left just ripe for the picking...
If I am wrong... I will meet you in Oblivion...
She held it up... the energy burning her hands... until it became a mirror. A mirror held up to the Dark Angel. And then it was all around the Dark Angel, she was inside. A mirror lined with black jewels and black rock of the underworld.
She looked up, and softly spoke a word... a word of Malfeans as her hands burnt.and she let it all out...
The mirror shattered, with the Dark Angel within.
The mirror shattered upon her soul.
Black wings filled with shards of glass, bleeding, falling to earth....
Selina de Windia: I know that spell...
And she is a fool for having used it, just now. The Abyssal's wings flash in that dark-light glow for a moment, feathers carving innumerable cuts in the air, and then the energy of Oblivion further infuses her. Various magical symbols, almost as old as the practiceof necromancy itself appear about her and fall into a predetermined design as she activates her countermagic. It meets the shadow of essence building up inside her, scatters it in broken, frozen sparks of corscanting cold energies about her. The cold iron touch of her countermagic slows her...but that is far better than being rent by the shards of the void mirror.
"SOMEONE KILL THAT BITCH NOW! " Selina roars.
Blight Lily: ... she used countermagic. She used countermagic. She unraveled it...
"... bitch."
Is all that Blight can say, choking as air enters her burning lungs, eyes narrowed at the Dark Angel...
Cathak Marr: Marrr burns.
Marr screams.
The shot struck hard, piercing his body, making him burn... sheathing him in fire...
And making him scream. Making him see nothing but embers, draw nothing but smoke, filled with pain from the Righteous Devil. Closing his eyes, he reached upon his inner fire... the heart of the Fiery Falcon... and embraced it.
The fire stopped burning.
The agony vanished.
But the pain... the searing feeling... remained.
And touching the heart left him drained. The little power he had left, burning in the center of the burning bird...
The Righteous Devil. The mongrel. The monster. She hurt him. She was winning....
Damn it, damn it! She cannot be this strong!
Not stronger than me, she CANNOT BE!
"Will you just die already, mongrel?!?
He cursed as he jumped, spreading his fiery wings... and holding each one.
With a push, he tore his wings, turning them into blades of flaming feathers.
And then, with the effort of a volcano exploding, threw them towards Iselsis.
Both wings joined together into a whirl of flame and feathers as they crashed towards her...
.... she tries to sidestep...
... not fast enough.
... not nearly fast enough.
And it strikes her. With the weight of the hawk’s wings, with all his might, all his flame.
She tries to resist, but it is too much, blowing her hat away, burning her eyes shut...
.. the Silent Dragon Iselsis wails in defiance to the Fiery Hawk, a golden butterfly lost between them.
The Dragon tries to move away as torn wings of the hawk crash against its body...
Setting her aflame.
Fire cracking on her skin, under her skin as she cries in pain...
...and goes silent.
And then, the pillar of wind and green light shatters.
And then... its pieces are no more, spreading on the battlefield.
Everything falls silent, for a moment.
Burnt, consciousness lost amidst smoke and flame, Iselsis falls to the ground...
Just a girl, body aflame, past agony.
The banner, the silent goddess, shattered on the wind...
- - Back to Fifth Movement
- - Back to A Dance of Angels
