Siege on the City of Heroes - South, Part 2(EVENT)

[Plot Device]

The battle continues 8 days after Part 1. Make sure to read Siege on the City of Heroes Phase 3

[Burt]

It was the eight day and much had not changed from the first. Burt had joined in the fighting on the first day, but little progress was made. He was wounded earlier because he let his guard down, but now he was more focus. Even though he was here to record the history it was still his job to fight like all the others. Burt needed to bury his worries about slipping into the violence that pledge his family and simply focus on battle. Not paying attention in battle would end up getting him killed.

"Finished", spoke Burt as he finished his drawing. He had started it on the first day when he arrived and has been working on it little by little between fighting and sleeping. It was a complete sketch of their leader kenshin. For the background he had drawn some of the choas of battle. Carefully Burt folded the drawing and placed it inside of a book he had for safe keeping. He then put his bag up where he had hid it before and decided to take a visit to the walls. There was something about today that seemed different.

"I wonder if they are going to rush us", spoke Burt aloud. He knew their numbers were swelling and that bandits were probably starting to get desperate. They were lucky the bandits did not have the entire city completely surrounded. Burt had heard stories of people being literally starved to death by the enemy. After the first day he though the bandits might have turned to that stratagem. I seemed he was wrong. Which he was happy to be.

[Hargus]

“B-but m-m-my Lord, th-th-their numbers are t-too great! Another head on assault wo-would only r-r-r-r-r-result in a s-s-slaughter.”

The stammering squeal of an unfortunate messenger could be heard ringing throughout the walkways and darkened campfires of the bandit camp. The heads of those few fortunate enough to not currently be gracing the battlefield turned toward the tent of Hargus, the source of the noise, in absolute silence, as not a man was brave enough to speak nor was a man stupid enough to go see just what exactly was going on.

“SLAUGHTER!?”

A loud roar erupted as a stout, muscular man came soaring from mouth of the tent like thrown doll. He struck the dirt covered ground with a smack, sliding a couple feet before coming to a moaning stop. His groans of pain went unheeded as the door flap of the large tent came bursting open, revealing none other than Hargus himself. The large man, clad in red armor, bore a furious look upon his face, his eyes wild with anger and his body reared up like a bear ready to attack. Some of the men swore they could almost see the muscles in the arms and legs of the resurrected bandit bulge with every angered breath that he took.

“You cowards don’t know the meaning of the word!” he bellowed, his words peppered with a vicious laughter. His gaze was so piercing the men physically flinched when the Bandit King looked at them. “The only slaughter will be upon that damned Kenshin and his pathetic excuse for a city. Heroes? BWAHAHA, I laugh at the very idea!”

All men stepped back as Hargus approached the man unfortunate enough to question his judgement. The terrified bandit attempted to scramble away, but he could not escape the iron grip of The Bandit King, who bent down and locked his fingers firmly around the neck of the fallen, failing messenger. Hargus slowly lifted the man off of the ground, raising him high into the air until his feet were at least half a foot off the ground.

“If those ridiculous, silly nomads think they can triumph over me in numbers, they are sorely mistaken. I will raise up an army twice, no, three times as large, and I will use it to douse Sacae in their blood!” The Bandit King swung his arms out for effect, emphasizing the size of the army he would field. The shorter bandit could do nothing but gurgle as he was swung about by the whims of Hargus. “I will burn the Crimson Demon and his stupid little village to the ground! I will leave nothing here but a blight, a testament to my own power!” Hargus brought the messenger bandit back around front, staring him directly in the eyes. “You will be the first to witness it.”

As the Bandit King spoke those words, his eyes glossed over with a pearlescent obsidian, becoming gem-like black orbs. His sockets began to leak a dark, smoky mist that formed into serpentine tendrils which coiled around and up the arm that currently held his miserable prey.
The bandit flailed and thrashed at the sight of this foul magic, futilely attempting to escape the grasp of his king, but he could not avoid the manifestation of Hargus’s dark power, which like snakes leapt from the huge bandit’s arm and began assailing him.

The other bandits in the camp morbid enough to stay and watch the spectacle could only look on in horror as the trapped man screamed in pain, his agony announced to the whole of the bandit camp. Hargus’s magic began invading his eyes, ears, and mouth, perverse projections of a crazed man’s ambition, and as the magic overtook him, the man’s hopeless wailing and shrieking gave way to intense, seizure-like spasms. To onlookers, it seemed as if the torture would go on forever, the man’s broken form shaking and shuddering but after what seemed like an eternity, the Hargus’s victim fell limp. With a cruel grin, the Bandit King released his victim, allowing his body fall to the ground, but almost as soon as he did, the bandit’s form began morphing and changing.

Foul slug-like forms began erupting from the bandit’s skin, slowly covering his body with their mass. They rippled like boiling water as they combined together and merged into a sludgy carapace that hardened into arms, legs, and what eventually looked to be wings. It was then that all movement stopped. Not a scream, not a gasp, not a peep. Terrified anticipation laced the air, as no man wanted to make the first move. Hargus himself just stood silently, watching the corpse of the bandit with wrathful glee.

There was a long pause before the transformed bandit, now resembling something akin to the gargoyles that adorned the roofs of the churches of St. Elimine, drew itself to its feet. It let out a long hiss, then looked up at its creator with a twisted, toothy visage. Its cruelty and its malice could be plainly seen in its distorted face, completely having replaced the abject terror that had only moments before been the sole emotion of its host. At this, Hargus was pleased.

“Let us begin.”

[Hargus]

Hargus stormed onto the battlefield, a giant among men, seething with hatred, flanked by a number of his commanders and followed by a group of bandits that either wanted nothing more than to bask in the glow of their king, or wanted to stay out of sight so as not to be caught in the Bandit King’s current rage. To stand in front of Hargus right now meant certain death, no matter who you were or what you were doing. The headless, smeared corpse of an unfortunate raider who had been attending to a couple of horses a few yards back attested to that.

The gargoyle that the black mage had created hovered just over Hargus’s right shoulder, following him like an attendant servant or slave. Its behavior was mild, like a tamed pet, but the foul look of its twisted form and the dark, cruel emotions it radiated disquieted the nearby bandits, who gave the creature and even larger berth than they were currently giving the Bandit King. The group traveled in silence, an air of anticipation surrounding its march. Everyone was too enraptured to speak, watching and waiting to see what Hargus was going to do next, so when the Bandit King stopped atop a small dirt mound next to a dismantled catapult overlooking the southern battlefield, everyone paid attention.

The gargoyle that had been following Hargus settled atop the giant man, a foot on each shoulder, and copied its master in looking over the battlefield, a battlefield covered in the bodies of bandits and Sacaens alike, in silence. Whispers began to ripple through the small crowd of bandits, clearly audible over the muted screams and shouts of the battle occurring closer to the city’s walls. Why were they out here? What was Hargus about to do? What was going on with that demon creature? Was he going to order an all out attack? It would be suicide!

The low muttering ceased as Hargus raised a hand in front of him, commanding the attention of not only the men who stood behind him, but the men in the trenches that had begun to notice the arrival of their king. Slowly the Bandit King opened his finger, revealing an empty palm. It was as if he was holding a cup, or a ball, but there was none there.

Then Hargus’s eyes once again turned black.

Like it had been with the gargoyle that now perched itself on the necromancer’s shoulders, a thick, smoky magic began to pour from around the Bandit King’s eyes, but unlike then, it now came billowing out in huge amounts. The men near Hargus began to run for cover, knowing what that smoke had done to the last man it had encountered, but they were caught up in the spreading magic. Many of the bandit troops in the trenches ducked down in safety, but some were so grossly fascinated by the sight that they ignored the screams of the doomed men. They too found themselves caught up in the magic’s grasp.

The smoke continued to explode from Hargus, forming up into what could only be best described as a massive storm cloud, one that could be easily seen from the city walls. It was fraught with purple flashes of magic that resembled lightning, and roiled like a creature looking to escape from its invisible prison. It was alive, fueled by the souls it had consumed, and when it erupted, it did so skyward like smoke spat from a volcano before plummeting back to the earth. The foul smoke rapidly and hungrily rolled across the southern battlefield, consuming all in its path. No one, bandit, Ilian, Sacaen, or dead body escaped its hunger, and hundreds of screams could be heard as ill-fated men were sucked into the gaseous cloud.

“RISE!” came a deep, booming voice from the center of the swirling cloud. It sounded like Hargus, the Bandit King’s, but it was deeper, and louder than any normal man’s. It was evil, and cruel, and demonic. “RISE MY SUBJECTS! HEAR THE WORDS OF HARGUS! HEAR THE WORDS OF THE NECROMANCER, THE BANDIT KING!” Amidst the magic-ridden smoke that coated the southern battlefield, dark figures began to move. Some looked like the shapes of men, recently awoken from a long sleep, while others did not. They were twisted, and bent, and moved in ways no man ever should. “HEAR THE WORDS THE IMMORTAL! HEAR THE WORDS OF HE WHO IS MASTER OVER THE POWERS THOSE LONG FORGOTTEN! RISE AND SERVE ME!”

The fell smoke began to clear, pulling away as if it was being sucked into the ground, and as it did, it revealed the corpses of the hundreds of slain soldiers that it had consumed, but now they were moving, walking, moaning. The wounds that had ended their mortal lives remained carved into their mutilated bodies, but they moved in spite of them, and as they arose, their dead, black eyes all became fixed upon the object of Hargus’s hatred: the City of Heroes.

But for those that had been living, there was no new life. Those that had hid in the trenches, and those that had been caught on the battlefield, were risen not as zombies, but transformed into winged gargoyles, each holding spears as black as a starless, moonless night sky. Their human forms were cast aside, now bearing bodies forged from darkness, and unlike the vacant, dead looks that were spread across the ghouls’ faces, these demons bore gazes of malicious intent, and in unison, each turned to look at their creator and master.

It was then that the black cloud that had been brought forth from Hargus dissipated, once again revealing the Bandit King, only now he had become something far more terrifying. The gargoyle that had stood on his shoulders was gone, nowhere to be seen. Hargus himself was now covered in the same black mass that made up his gargoyle servants, and from his back sprouted two of their terrible wings, each the size of Hargus himself. The black orbs that had become his eyes now flickered with a purple magic, and his carapace shifted and pulse with dark energy. He was a demon befitting the horrors he commanded.

“GO FORTH!” he commanded with a powerful roar, raising his arms to the sky. “GO FORTH AND RAISE THIS BLEMISH TO THE GROUND! SHOW KENSHIN THE TRUE MEANING OF ‘DEMON’”

A dread mass of insects looking to harvest a wounded animal, the undead began to walk to the walls of Kenshin’s city, while the gargoyles took to the sky like a cloud of locusts, flying overhead to reach the other battlefronts. Hargus watched silently as his new army moved out. He stood still and unmoving, bearing cruel smile of wrathful glee upon his face. He would consume this city, make it his own, then from it launch an attack on all of Elibe.

[Burt]

"What the %&@#", spoke Burt as he looked out over the wall from the walk way! He would not have believed it if he did not just see it his own self. The bandit king had done something, made a deal with something, or the bandits had... what ever they did it was not good! The fighter nearly soiled his own undergarments as he saw the legion of dead marching toward the wall. A wave of fear rushed over Burt as he was face to face with a situation he was not completely sure was real.

"MONSTERS", she shouted! Burt's voice rang out over the entire southern wall as the fighter grabbed the attention of every man and woman who could hear. "MONSTERS", he shouted again as he began to run along the wall kicking sleeping soldiers and trying to gain the attention of anybody who would listen! "UNDEAD AND FLYING STONE MEN WILL SOON ASSAULT THE WALL! EVERYONE GET READY! GET READY!

As Burt screamed an ran a spear suddenly shot out before him. Just barely missing him it buried itself into the wooden wall as a beast made of stone descended and fell upon him. With a great force it knocked the fighter to the ground and began to assault him with it's claws. The fighter blocked the blow with his risk guard and swung at it with his axe. The blade however bounced off its neck. Its stone skin was too strong for Burt to piece with such a weak swing.

The best stabbed forward with its claws dinging into the flesh of the fighter. Desperate Burt reached into his bag and pulled out his ink well and tossed the black liquid in the beast eyes. The stinting effect caused it to stop its assault for a moment giving Burt the opportunity to kick it off him. Now on his feet Burt swung his axe down with the full force of his body. The blade broke through the monsters skin and lodged itself in the gargoyles skull. If people did not believe him before they sure did now. "ARM YOURSELVES", shouted Burt as he attempted to pull his axe out the beast head.

[Aaron Winsett]

Alarms rang up and down the walls as Aaron stood watching the grisly sight before him. It held his gaze more transfixed than when he had cast his first successful spell. Here he was witnessing the creation of an entire army of monsters. He could describe what the raising of the walking dead looked like. He could attest to the grotesque and evil nature of a gargoyle's existence.... And he was powerless to stop it. He had come searching for these darkest of secrets so he could contain them, only to find them in full use by the man that had brought ruination on Elibe years before. Now he knew just how dark and unnatural the magic being wielded was, but there were no words in any language he knew of that could express the horrifying nature of its power.

Around him he could see the defenders rising up, and grasping their weapons once more. Eight days they'd been at this trading of blows, and now an assault by the most terrible of foes. Reaching into his tome bag, sorted through the books he'd acquired, feeling their essences until he reached two familiar ones. One of blazing heat, and another of blistering cold. With a few quiet words under his breath, he woke them to his will. In some ways, it was almost as though he were drawing strings out of them, like something that you would weave with, but there was nothing tangible there. Only your will and your words could manipulate this power.

As he clenched his fists, one glowed an icy blue color and seemed to cause frost and snowflakes to form in the air around it. The other was wrapped in raging flames with burning embers shooting off of it from time to time. There was little time for a tactical appraisal, but there wasn't much to be said from one anyways: Every battler caught in the open on the field had just become burly stony skinned monster serving their enemy. Every dead body looked to be shambling up and towards the city he and the others were defending.

Raising a hand over his head, he shot a small peal of flame skyward again, signifying to those elsewhere in the city that a major push had started again, and then he saw the creatures from the ground launch themselves skyward. He felt himself gulp a little at that, before resteeling himself. Ok. Maybe these things were a little more intimidating than he cared to admit to himself.

"Dead on the ground. Gargoyles in the air...." Aaron panted to himself quietly. Some of the fearsome beasts were already heading for the gate in the wall. That was his destination. Reaching for the power of the foretold Ending Winter, he touched the top of the gates and focused on their outside. As time passed, heavy ice spikes began to grow out from the ramparts of the door, and along the outside of the gate. As the green-haired sage worked, the gates became frozen over with downward angled spikes like the fangs of some formidable monstrosity reaching out to strike back and shred whatever decided to attack the gate. That would slow down any assault on the gate proper. There were already a few of the flying beasts atop the wall by the time he was done though. One diving right for him, in fact!

As the beast roared, Aaron leaned back and called forth two more spikes in a cross pattern to form and shoot upwards out of the top of the walls as the thing dropped towards him. The shock on the creature's face lasted only a moment before it was in the furious rage of its death throws, and Aaron was diving out of the way of its spear.

The sage growled under his breath as he pushed himself back to his feet, and reaffirmed his grip on his magics.

"Lesson number one: Never interupt a sage when he's at work!" Aaron could feel the balance between calculating strikes and instinctive casting tipping more into the rage scale as he heard the screams and agony caused by these things around him. With a wave of his hand, he summoned enough water to freeze the things feet together. Its movements slowed a little as it struggled, and he was able to follow up and freeze the things spear to its hand in case it got desperate enough to try throwing its weapon.

"Lesson number two:" Aaron raised the frosty hand and held it palm outwards towards the frozen monstrosity still roaring angrily.

"See lesson number one." Without warning, a frozen gale swirling snowflakes kicked up behind Aaron and swept forward. There was a sound akin t a billowing kite as the creature's wings puffed out behind it and dragged it up into the air. It's flight was short lived though, as in mere moments the sage had crusted ice to the wings of the monstrosity and it plummeted down with two giant holes piercing it to where it smashed into the ground by the gate.

"Wake up, Defenders! Wake up City of Heroes! Enemies are at the gates!" The defenders were up and moving. Hopefully, most were ready for the horrors they'd be facing.... No. No one could ever be ready for this. Hopefully they would be able to stand long enough to stave off the flood of attackers. If it ever ceased. A chilling thought crossed the sage's mind: If this magic could raise the dead to fight and transform the living into monsters, what was keeping that from happening again? It was just enough to break the sage's concentration during the fight.

[Richter Abend]

By the time Richter arrived at the south wall, the gargoyles had already begun to descend upon the defenders, wreaking havoc in a way no army of bandits ever could. They fell from the sky like hawks, diving past volleys of arrows and picking off archers that had once believed themselves relatively safe upon the walls. What was worse was that for every man struck down by one of the gargoyles’ foul spears, another undead slave of Hargus was borne, one who immediately set upon his former brothers and sisters with a lifeless hunger. Meanwhile the ground soldiers were preparing to take on the advancing horde, only now without their ranged backup to thin out the enemy forces. This siege was spiraling out of control at an unprecedented rate, and if Richter could find some way to stem the oncoming tide, this battle would be over quickly, and not in favor of the city.

“Get the archers down off the wall! Retreat to the ground!” barked Richter, waving his hand in an authoritative manner. If they were going to have any hope of keeping those on the wall alive, they need to be somewhere where they could maneuver more easily, which was not the wall. “Pull back and regroup! Move, move, move!” he shouted again, rushing to the aid of the assaulted. Lieutenants, afraid and overwhelmed as they were, tried relaying, shouting orders and shoving men about, but too many of the archers were either too terrified to respond or bogged down by onslaughts of demonic attackers. However those who did escape from the deathtrap that was the palisade reached ground level then turned their bows upon the gargoyles.

The pink haired Ilian cursed aloud. It was just too much! The commander in him wanted to order a full retreat, allowing the men to regroup and stage a counter offensive, but this was a siege, which meant there was no where to retreat to while still maintaining the integrity of the wall. And make no mistake, they could not allow the wall to fall. It would have been a crippling blow under bandit assault, but now it would most definitely doom the city.

“Blast it!” shouted Richter as he charged up the nearest ladder. He had to get as many men off the wall alive as possible! His axe brandished in both hands, the warrior swung his mighty weapon at the back of a swarm of gargoyles setting upon a squad of terrified Sacaen archers. The beard of one of the axe blades caught a winged demon by the shoulder, tearing it away from a hapless victim, who Richter then proceeded to execute with a guillotine-like blow to it’s neck. The man who the Winter Lion had saved merely stared at the red-clad warrior in a moment of shock before throwing himself from the wall in flight. This caught the attention of another gargoyle who quickly set upon the falling man like a hawk chasing its prey.

Not missing a beat, Richter deftly spun Boreas about his head before loosing from it a spike of ice that cut through the air and buried itself in the gargoyle’s spine. Black mist began spurting from the man-beast’s back, causing it to howl and flail in dying anguish as its pursuit was cut short. It struck the ground with an unceremonious thud which Richter failed to see as he found himself set upon three more demons that had taken noticed of the death of two of their spawned kin.

“Fight on! Give your comrades space to pull back!” he shouted, fending off the fell spears of his new attackers. “Do not let Hargus see fear in your eyes!”

[Aaron Winsett]

There was a flurry of movement above the green haired sage, and Aaron only just managed to raise a hand skyward in enough time to throw a hastily constructed blast of water into the face of a diving gargoyle. He quickly changed tactics, using the blast to spread the creature's wings out and push it back with when it gave him more surface area to work with. The sage gritted his teeth at the nearly fatal encounter, but those were going on all around him. The worst thing was the way the defenders stood up again after they were speared by the gargoyles. He could hear calls to abandon the wall all around him. As much as he hated to admit it, and with as little as he knew about real tactics, he agreed that it was necessary. They were getting pummelled by way too many gargoyles up here.

Speaking of which, it appeared that the winged adversaries thought that caster ala dark spear was on the menu tonight. He was starting to become a favorite target with how much ice he was throwing around. He resisted the sudden urge to make some punnish remark about how he was going to heat things up, and instead reached straight for his elfire tome's magic again. As soon as he touched it, four raging fireballs shot up out of the wall, conjured at his feet, and began circling. Four more balls of concentrated cold also shot up and circled him in tandem. Any time something started heading towards him, off one of the balls would shoot and a frozen or scorched gargoyle would be blown back. If needed, he could repeat the strikes, but he worked quickly to replace the resources he used. He was playing on the defensive right now, but he was attracting alot of targets towards him. His antics were letting alot of other wall defenders move about unhindered.

"Keep going. Get to the ground! After all, I'll need some bow support in a minute or two."

Just as there were getting to be too many of the beasts, the sage smirked and brought all of his elements down in a final blaze around him. A loud bang and a flash of highly pressurized steam exploding outwards from him. When the fires went out, the green haired sage was nowhere to be found. He'd vanished as though he'd never been there. only lingering water vapor and the scent of burnt ashes was left.

Further down the wall, more conflict was going on. Commanders and Lieutenants were trying to get their men out safely before they lost them to the numbers and deadly spear tips of their enemy. A pink haired commander looked almost like an blistering icy storm of frozen death. He'd lop off a wing here, spike a gargoyle there, but always there was another to take its place. Sometimes considerably more. Like three of them all getting ready to take a stab at the stout defender.

Just as the spears were raised back and ready to strike, there was a brilliant flash of light, and it suddenly looked as thought there were four pink-haired commanders. Three of them driving in in a foolhardy assault, and one behind the others. The roar of the gargoyles echoed across the top of the wall as the spears came down on the Richters charging them, only to pass through as though nothing had been there. The snarling visage of the wartorn commander didn't stop though. All three of them plowed straight into their opponents, exploding and dissolving in a shower of burning sparks and raising a horrid burnt scent as the light magic hit them.

Behind, Aaron was standing by, a calm smirk on his face as palms glowed with a light born of a cocky sage. One hand glowed like a golden candle, while the other seemed to blur in its place.

[Burt]

With one final pull Burt removed his axe from the flying beast head. As he looked around he saw the chaos of battle. The flying beast were picking off many of the sacean swordsmen thanks to the advantage of their lances. Once they died they came back as the undead and as a result the defenders had more enemies to deal with. Burt had no idea what the Bandit King had done, but whatever it was it was effective.

“Pull back and regroup! Move, move, move!”

Burt looked on as a man in crimson armor began to spout out orders. He had remembered him from the other day. He had created a sense of Order earlier. If Burt was not mistaken his name was Richter. Burt wondered if he was the same Richter that fought with the saceans in the plains earlier, but now was not the time to think about that.

A bone chilling scream roared over Burt's head as a flying gargoyle attempted to run him through with his spear. Burt was to busy looking around to notice the monster moving close. As it came down with its spear Burt fell backwards. His bode hit the walkway and the spear landed next to his neck. The fighter barely dodged that one.

"Die Monster", shouted Burt as he kicked the beast in the chest with his boots. The beast flew back a few feet mainly on its own volition. It was to close to use its spear and trying to bit into Burt would prove ineffective as the last Gargoyle proved. Burt too was quick to get back up. He knew staying on the ground would only lead to his own death.

As the fighter got to his feet and prepared to do battle with his flying foe he heard a sound behind him. It was a low moan and sent a chill down his spine. Burt did not ever have to turn around to know what it was. It was already clear to him what beast lay behind him. The dead were rising all around and Burt was on the front. With the undead at his back and a gargoyle at his front Burt's chances seemed a bit bleak. In a act of desperation Burt suddenly bolted to the edge of the walkway. The fighter jumped off the side and landed on a nearby roof top rolling as he hit the ceiling. The zombies were unable to follow, but the Gargoyle had not given up its pursuit.

Looking to take advantage of the grounded fighter the monster prepared to run its spear through him in a diving motion. Suddenly a arrow flew through the beast wings destroying its flight. From the ground a archer had seen the beat rearing up. He had not seen Burt, but took the opportunity to to take out its wings.

"Thank Hartmut", spoke Burt to himself as he pulled himself off the roof and rolled to the ground. He needed to regroup with the others if he wanted to stand a chance. Fighting by himself on a roof would only lead to his quick death.

[Richter Abend]

There were so many of these damned fiends! He could cut one down, lop off its wings or split open its head, but every time he did two more just took its place! Richter was hoping to get down to battlefield and aid the men against the oncoming undead, but at this rate he never have a clear path if he didn't change his tactics. A thought crossed his mind to try clearing off portions of the wall using some of Boreas's magic, but his control with the weapon was still far from perfect and he didn't want to risk harming any of his own men with it.

Then suddenly, as if the Ilian's thoughts were being read, there was a flash of light. Richter himself was caught off-guard by the sudden brilliance and had no time to cover his eyes before being temporarily blinded by the sensory overload, but when his vision returned, he was surprised by the sight of...himself? No, three of himself, and they were forming a sort of wall between him and the twisted spears of the winged demons. Richter was beset by a look of pure bewilderment as the look-alikes charged headfirst into the weapons of the winged demons, but instead of finding themselves skewered, the copies passed through the enemy spears like ghosts, then each of them exploded in an incredible explosion that sent the gargoyles shrieking, singed, and flailing through the air. The clear path was welcome, but the Ilian commander couldn't stop himself from wondering just what exactly had happened. His head swiveling, Richter's gaze settled upon Aaron, who stood behind the red armored man, a grin on his face, as he performed some sort of bizarre magic trick with his hands. That was all the answer Richter really needed.

"Thanks," said the pink haired commander, before immediately charging away towards another group of archers beset by the flying gargoyle horde. No hesitation, he leaped back into the fray and plucked one demon out of the sky with a downward chop before slamming it onto the back of another. The two gargoyles thrashed about as they attempted to regain their footing, but Richter was quick to ended their struggles. He summoned up an icy stalactite around Boreas's head which he then used along with another mighty downward swing to nail the demons to the wall. Again the black mist that fueled the beasts billowed from their corpses. "Move, now!" the Ilian commanded, motioning for the squad of archers to run towards him before the next wave of gargoyles set upon them. Scared, but not to the point of uselessness, the archers abided the order and ran past the axe-wielding commander before sliding down the ladder off of the wall. But one soldier, slower than the others, found himself grabbed by an enterprising royal purple gargoyle who lifted the unfortunate Sacaen off of his feet.

"Help me! Help! God, help!" the man shouted, a look of doomed terror plastered upon his face as he was dragged into the air. Richter was quick to react, however, and a deft swing of Boreas slung an icicle through the air at the gargoyle. The winged demon managed to shatter the commander's missile with its spear, but doing so forced it to drop its quarry who unceremoniously tumbled back to earth. The gargoyle, enraged by Richter's interference, decided the pink haired commander was a better target, and swooped down upon the warrior. The commander tried to sidestep out of the demon's line of attack, but this creature was surprisingly faster than its comrades, and it succeeded in raking its monstrous feet across Richter's chest. As the monster flew past, the unearthly bone of its talons carved across the steel of the Ilian's breastplate with a loud whine, and Richter felt his head smack against the wooden walkway as he was pushed down, huge grooves left in his armor. The attack surprised Richter, but he recovered quickly, leaping back onto his feet and steading himself, for he could see the purple gargoyle preparing for its follow up attack.

The winged beast circled around, like a hawk preparing to claim its prey, but this time it opted for a more deadly approach as it aimed its spear at the pink haired man's pink haired head. Again the beast dove down to claim Richter's life, but this time Richter attacked back. He swung at the gargoyle's head as the creature flew towards him, but at the last second the demon reversed its direction using powerful flap of its wings. Richter's strike, with no target to bite into, sliced harmlessly through the air and buried itself in the wood of the palisade, leaving the warrior wide open to any manner of counterattacks. Or did it? As soon as the gargoyle motioned to lay a killing bow on Richter, a sharp blade of ice formed upon Boreas's head. The frigid stalagmite rapidly spiked out to an impressive length and as it met corrupted flesh, plowed through the purple demon's chest. The monster roared in protest as it was impaled in brutal fashion, but the devastating blow practically split it in two, severing any control that it had over its stolen body.

But before Richter could relish his momentary victory, another of the purple gargoyles came screeching down upon him. Like an enraged predator, it viciously attacked the Ilian warrior with sharp talons. The commander swung his axe up crosswise in defense, but a powerful swipe from the devil tore the icy weapon from Richter's grip, sending it sliding across the wooden walkway and well out of arm's reach. The warrior cursed loudly as he felt his best defense fly from his fingers, but words did little to stop the onslaught from the furious demon that continued to bear down upon him in a hungered, crazed manner. Practically mauling the Ilian, the beast clawed again and again. While many of the attacks were either impeded by the red-clad warrior's armor or deflected by his gauntlets, he could not stop the beast from raking its talons across his arms and leaving deep, bloody lacerations. Richter knew he would not last forever defending against such an attack, so he grabbed the gargoyle by one of its legs and wrenched hard, attempting to ground the crazed beast. While not entirely successful, he managed to interrupt the cadence of the monster's deadly attacks, allowing him just large enough a window to duck under the monster and make a break for his axe.

Unfortunately the deadly purple gargoyle, or "deathgoyle" as Richter suddenly found himself referring to it, was fast, and quickly stuck itself between the Ilian and his weapon. It snarled at him as it erratically flapped its wings, splashing its black disgusting drool all over Richter's face. Just what drove this beast to fight so desperately? Had the other deathgoyle been its friend? Could these things even have friends?

The beast lunged at Richter, but not willing to be caught off-guard again, the Ilian ducked under and around the winged demon's swipe before aiming a lightning fast jab right into the monster's armpit. There was a satisfying crunch as the sharp metal of Richter's gauntlet connected with the beast's rib cage, but the punch did little more than anger the beast who quickly responded with another swipe of its clawed hand. Richter knocked the swipe away by blocking outward, absorbing the force of the blow with his legs, then fired another punch into the deathgoyle's gut. Again the punch connected, this time eliciting more of a pain response from the beast, so the Ilian dragged the short, sharp edges of his gauntlet across the fiend's belly. This caused the beast to howl and furiously flap its wings to create some distance between itself and its unyielding Ilian assailant. Richter, seeing this, pursued. Just before the beast took flight, the red-clad commander took a lunging step into the crazed monster's reach. He took a deep breath, focusing all of his energy into his right arm, then launched a vicious straight right into the deathgoyle's sternum.

Blood surged to the right side of Richter's body as the Ilian's muscles contracted to a great density at an incredible speed, firing the warrior's metal-plated fist through the air like a stone fired from a catapult. There was a loud, sickening crack as the commander's fist struck the bone of deathgoyle's chest. The beast shrieked as the force of the blow sent it careening backwards, and the wings which had only a second ago been preparing for flight spastically flapped about in surprise as the monster processed how it had just been dealt such a devastating blow.

His opening made, Richter dashed opportunistically for his axe, a motion that caused the deathgoyle, still reeling from the blow that shattered its ribs, to make a run for the weapon as well. Richter was just barely the quicker, scooping Boreas up in his hands, and as the monster came down upon him, the Ilian jabbed the haft of his frigid weapon into the broken, smoking chest of the injured deathgoyle. An icy spike burst from the butt end of the magic axe before erupting from the back of the monster's sickly purple hide. The creature let out one last dying cry as its spine was severed, then fell limp upon Richter. Grunting and heaving, the Ilian tossed the corpse aside, then pushed himself to his feet.

"Spines are as weak as any man's," Richter muttered to himself as he wiped a drop of blood from his lip. "Still, watch out for the purple ones." He glanced at his arms, torn and bleeding, only to wince at the sight. His body hadn't fully registered the pain, but Richter knew a bad wound when he saw one. He'd bleed out if he didn't get these taken care of. The Ilian growled, more in frustration than pain, and pulled a small brown pouch from his belt. Wasting no time, he dipped his hand into the bag and quickly slathered the gooey mix over his cut up arms. The stuff stung like hell, but it served its purpose, instantly clotting and scabbing the wounds. Richter peeked inside of the soft leather pouch, then tossed the empty bag aside.

"Aaron, take control of this wall!" he shouted over the din of battle. "I'm heading down." And with that, Richter climbed up and leaped over the side of the palisade into the battle below.

[Aaron Winsett]

Aaron watched the effects of his aura of illusions going off in combination with the casting of light. It had taken him awhile to get a hang of a magic of this nature. It thrived off of faith and confidence, so it had taken him a little extra time to work up his strength to fully utilize it. He'd always been insructed to study and learn from what could be observed and known, but he didn't need to understand all the details about how light spells harnessed their power, as long as he simply knew that it would work. And work it had. Especially once he had set his talent to using it instead of studying it.

"Glad to be of assistance." Aaron said calmly, barely over the din of the battle. The light spells had been a bit more potent than he'd believed them to be. They didn't hold a candle to his Elfire tome for destructive force, but he could work with it. It would be far from useless in his task to defend the wall.

As the raging warrior commander thrashed off into the fight again, the green-haired sage turned and looked up passively as one of the winged horrors decended on him with a vicious roar, aiming to skewer him. Yet another flash of searing light occurred as soon as the spear tip touched the caster, and a moment later there was only a singed and confused gargoyle standing with its spear stuck down in the surface of the wall. No trace of the sage that had been there before could be found except for a small burnt ring left right around the base of where his feet had been. The gargoyle growled out its pain at the light, and then spun wildly looking for where its quarry had gone. It didn't have far to look. Only a short distance away was a scowling sage cupping a glowing sphere of brilliance in his hands.

"Catch." With a forward thrusting of his hands, a bolt of light flew out from the sage, streaking across the short intervening distance. The bolt of light hit the monster before it could react, and sent up a sizzling burst of light. What was left of the gargoyle was badly charred and unmoving when the spell was finished, but Aaron could still here other creatures of the sort swooping through the air. Overhead, infuriated roars echoed down around him as more of the creatures began circling in the sky to single him out.

"Aaron, take control of this wall!" Aaron heard the call coming back to him from a distance and recognized the voice of Richter yelling to him. "I'm heading down."

"Right! Because I know exactly what to do with the defense!" Here's a hint: He didn't really know. The sage lifted his hands to the sky and started spewing out bolts of light at the circling gargoyles, but only grazed one as they surged forward and threw themselves through the air on erratic wings. As the number of them dove towards him, he realized that simply trying to shoot them out of the sky wasn't going to be enough for this. They were coming for him.

[Burt]

There was a call to regroup, but their was very little Organization once they got there. Burt joined in with the ground forces, but they seemed to be more defending themselves from the undead and flying enemies than actually slaying them. If they were going to push this horde back then they were going to need to take the offensive rote in this battle. Sitting around doing nothing but defending would result in nothing, but them being overwhelmed. If they were going to wind this war they would need to stop the enemy assault here and push them back back toward Hargus himself.

Letting out a loud roar Burt brought down his axe and ended the second life of one of his dead comrades. Blood stained his shirt and told tell the ferocity of the battle. "Hey Push forward", shouted Burt. The fighter began to attempt to take control of the battlefield. If he could get the saceans moving forward they could gain some momentum and move to push the undead forces back. In battles like this victory was always decided by the force that controlled the flow of battle. Harus had snatched it away from then when he sent his monster army in, but Burt was aiming to take it back. He was going to do it the old fashion way.

"Push forward", shouted Burt as he rushed into the wave of monsters. The Fighter began to lead the saceans with his courage. As they saw him run toward the beast with no fear in his heart, the others did so as well. The group as a whole pushed forward no longer waiting for the enemy to attack them, but now actively assaulting the enemy in an attempt to force the monsters back toward the wall.

Leading this charge was Burt and his position in the front did not go unnoticed. As Burt dispatched a stumbling zombie he was beset upon by two gargoyle at once. The first spear he blocked with the head of his axe, he saw that one coming. The second one however caught him by surprise as it came from his rear flank. The gargoyle attacked just as he was fighting the first. The beast would have run him completely through if it was not for a brave sacean warrior who stepped up and defended the back of their Bernesse friend.

"Hey watch your back big man", spoke the sacean as he swung his sword at the monster. The beast however pulled back and easily dodged the attack. It hovered in the air for a moment before it flew back in to make another attempt on the warriors life.

"Thanks", spoke Burt as he jumped into the air cutting the first Gargoyle out the sky. It was a close call, not Burt's first, but probably something that was going to continue to happen. That was the burden of leadership. Burt always wondered why people did not just simply cut down the leader once he lead his men into battle. The risk they put themselves in leading was great as they brought attention onto themselves. Burt thanked whatever gods that were out there for assist. If that warrior had not stepped up he would have been joining the other side.

[Zerachiel]

Zerachiel followed Richter as he moved, or, rather, he tried to follow Richter. This magical buffoonery was making it difficult, he had absolutely no idea what it was. It caught him just as off guard as it had everyone else, perhaps even more so because if anyone should know it was him. Of course, he was ever adaptable and he quickly concocted some theories, but whatever the reason wasn't important what was is the perfect opportunity this presented for him. This... chaos. Destruction. Whatever you'd call it, it was the perfect distraction. He considered sabotaging the supplies at this time, no one would possibly be able to stop him, but the fact was it wasn't supplies they was a problem anymore. A show of force this intense meant they were going all out, Hargus wasn't planning on starving these folk. If they managed to bat back this force, the bandits would lose. There was no coming back after this, that much was certain. Of course despite the chaos, it was a perfect thing for his purposes. Chaos? World shattering magic? A story that will live through ages? A monster of a man turning the living into winged beasts? Pure evil, an enemy everyone will hate. If they destroyed the city, well all the better.

He moved quickly through the town, his body moved swiftly, weaving in and out of people and sticking to the shadows to avoid being seen. The problem here was, he was undercover. Too undercover one might say, there was absolutely no way to differentiate him from the other 'heroes' of this battle, these flying beasts would no doubt swoop down upon him just as assuredly as any man. That's why he made sure to move stealthily, silent and out of sight from above, his figure darting between houses and alleyways. Richter moved fast, but the way he looked and acted drew much attention, countless beasts descended upon him. It might have been a good time, but with everyone on alert, he'd be turned into a pincushion in moments. No, wait for the perfect opportunity, patience is the key to being an assassin. It was a skill, like any other, one that must be trained and exercised.

Figures of light filled his sight, duplicates of the man in red, sorcery. An... Aura spell, if his memory served. He watched from a distance as the duplicates of Richter exploded like mines of light. He fought many mages, and trained in Etruria, capital of magic, he knew most spells by sight alone. Knew how to deal, and how to counter them, to the best of his ability naturally, it's hard to create a foolproof counter to something that tore the very fabric of reality asunder and manipulated souls and nature like they were a child's playthings. Of course that ego was often a mage's downfall. Still to cast a spell like that, this man was talented and powerful, it would be best to avoid him if possible. He didn't want to blow his cover and distract from his mission. His mission was clear, sabotage the defenses, ensure Kenshin's defeat, and capture Richter's hair. He's already helped sabotage the defenses from the inside by impeding the repair progress to the north, the gap never truly closed just as he intended.

In his distraction however, it seems he had gotten sloppy. In the alleyway between two homes, a creature swooped in from above! A man of stone carrying a deathly spear covered in black ichor, he dove from the sky at great speed and jabbed his lance into the ground where Zera once stood as he took a quick hop back. For a moment he though perhaps he would be fine with the spear stuck in the earth, but with almost no effort and super human strength it pulled its black lance from the earth in a single thrust with bits of dirt and grass spraying about. It levied the weapon, staring at the assassin with hideous yellow eyes. It opened it's beaklike maw and screeched as it thrust its spear again, leaving the assassin with almost no where to run in such a narrow corridor. He barely managed to contort his body to avoid the strike when it took to the air, hovering just a bit above the ground out of reach as it stabbed down again and again! Each strike getting distressing close to impalement, but despite the sour situation, Zera remained calm as ever. It was almost methodical in a way, each strike looked like a near miss, but he knew the truth of it.

They attacks brought his near the center of the alleys, impossible to go forward or back quickly enough to completely get away, the homes close enough that if he stretched out his arms he'd graze two walls with the tips of his fingers. All the while the creature hovered just barely out of reach of his strike, though he had yet to even draw his blade. It seemed hopeless as the creature thrust one last time and- He slid. He slided under the blow, the spear lunging for where his chest once was, him sliding underneath the creature's flying body, and wasting not a single movement he lept against the wall and used it as a jumping off point and leapt to the other wall nearby even higher up, then once again leaping across where the creature hovered, his blade flashing as he sped by, and grabbing the edge of the roof at the top of jump, meanwhile the creature crashed to the ground, its neck cut right out with a thick gash nearly decapitating it, black smoking ashy blood pouring from the wound as it gurgled in it's own blood. It was a monster, but in the end it was still alive, and all living things die.

He pulled his self up onto the roof and ran at top speed, taking a leap at the edge and catching on to the edge of the wall that was once where the archers perched. Using his shiny brand new arm, he managed to heft himself on to the wall as he watch Richter fighting a monstrous purple creature before taking a heavy wound in his arm which he used a salve to heal. He shouted for a man to take care of the wall before he leapt below. Perfect. Zerachiel leapt down below himself to follow.

[Richter Abend]

Richter hit the ground running, blowing past the back line of troops and charging straight into the oncoming horde of undead that had just begun to clash with the front lines. The slow, lumbering beasts moved forward like a glacier: slow, yes, but as a mass they were near unstoppable. Their resilience was inhuman: they felt no pain, and they persisted in the face of wounds that would slay most men. Combined with the unearthly sound of their moans and their dead, soulless eyes, they were every bit as monstrous as the gargoyles that current plagued the walls.

But as unnerving as they may be, Richter knew they were far from invincible. Fueled by demonic magic, but still very much made of flesh; Richter had faced these beasts more than once and, each time he had he’d come out alive. So, without an ounce of hesitation and with steeled resolve, the pink haired warrior stepped in the path of a walker that was about to come down upon a fear-struck Sacaen. He pushed the man out of harm’s way with a thrust of his arm, then swung his greataxe directly into the neck of the oncoming undead. Frosted steel bit into the corrupted human’s neck, chopping through flesh and severing bone from bone. The undead’s arms swung blindly for Richter as it’s head was torn from its shoulders, one last fit of defiance, but the Ilian merely sidestepped the swipe and watched as the zombie fell uselessly to the ground.

“Magic or no, they can’t function without their heads!” shouted Richter, turning to face another revenant that had set upon him. “Use that knowledge to help you, or retreat to the wall! There is no room for cowards on the front lines!” The Ilian warrior spun his axe above his head then drove its blade into the side of a second undead foe, which gargled as its ribbed were shattered and forced into its lungs. But despite the crippling wound, the zombie continued thrashing in an attempt to grab its attacker, and its unholy persistence elicited a scream of fear from the grounded Sacaen behind Richter, who scrambled to his feet and retreated towards the wall, not even taking the time to grab his weapon. Coward.

Richter wrenched his weapon from the undead’s side, causing its profane body to break in two, before spinning around and planting Boreas in the head of another hapless undead that had approached him from behind. The latter creature’s skull split open with impressive force, splattering Richter with foul smelling gore, but the Ilian took no pause, and whirled back only to leap over the second bisected corpse and tear a fourth and fifth undead to shreds with a flurry of razor sharp ice shards before his feet returned to the earth.

The spirits of the men around Richter who had stood their ground were bolstered by the general’s sudden arrival, his impressive display of martial prowess, and pushed forward, taking their weapons to the throats of the undead horde. Now with the momentum at least partially reversed, the pink haired hero took a moment to catch his breath and shot a glance towards the very demonic looking being, whom Richter could only assume to be Hargus, whose imposing mutated, winged figure stood still, like a statue, watching, at the front of the enemy camp. If the Bandit King had the ability to bend not only his own dead, but the city’s dead to his side, then it was he who had to be struck down before this battle was over. But it would take more than a hardened and brash commander with a magical weapon to strike such a foe down. And he would need a plan to break through this monstrous army before he could even begin consider fighting its fell leader.

“Hold the lines! Show them no fear! They will show you none!” shouted Richter, raising Boreas high in the air. “We will save this city, and we will stand against Hargus! We will not go quietly into the night!” The commander’s words were met with a hearty, emboldened cry as tired but motivated Sacaens continued to strike at the edge of the risen army, but Richter couldn’t help but feel a sinking dread grip his heart.

As bad as this was, the worst, he felt, was still yet to come.

[Oya]

The southern front, it was just as Oya expected it to be. The field was covered with the undead and the winged beast assaulted the walls. Chaos reigned here and the power of Hargus and his demon army could easily be seen. From a small hill Oya looked out over the horizon. The original plan was to cut a way through the horde and aim for the boss monster himself, but after looking at the field and seeing the assault on the walls Oya changed his mind. If he and his men cut a path through and the southern wall fell they would be locked in between two massive forces and cut down. If they wanted any chance at success they were going to have to aid the city and repell the assault on the walls. It was the only way this would work.

"Great looks like we are going to have to chat with the plainsmen", spoke Oya out loud. His words caught his second off guard, but before the man could seek clarity Oya already began to speak. "Send word to Dietrick and his boys that we are going to change our target. Our goal is to reach the southern wall. If we try to cut a path to Hargus himself then we will be surrounded and annihilated."

"Understood", spoke one of the pirates as he ran off to deliver the message. Dietrick and his men were not far from them so it would not take the messenger long, but still Oya needed them all on the same page. They don't need to be pushing in two different ways at once they were alright outnumbered.

"So what is the plan", spoke the second. Oya looked at him and turned his eyes and Xigshaw to the battlefield. Using his massive hammer as a pointer Oya moved it around highlighting the enemy forces at the wall.

"We need to break the siege on the wall and then gain the help of the saceans. Hopefully they don't have hard feelings about us trying to kill them all", spoke Oya in a joking manner.

The second chuckled at Oya's words. "I doubt they will hold a grudge if we help save them from monsters, but afterward I am not so sure."

"Well we can worry about that after the fact. We need to stop Hargus here and now. If he takes the city of heroes he will bolster his number of beast and possibly take all of sacea. If that happens well we can kiss Bern goodbye and with Bern goes out supply lines."

"True enough, still how do you propose we get into the city to help fight the forces inside."

"We don't", spoke Oya as his messenger returned. "We are going to clear the outside and prey the fools can regain their own city. If they can not do that much then they have doomed themselves. The only good point that will come from that is the undead will be locked behind their wall instead of being directly behind us."

With those parting words Oya and his men marched forward slamming into the flank of the undead horde. Their goal was to clear a path to the wall and release some of the pressure. If they were luck the city would have rallied by now and were pushing back against the undead tide and their actions could give them the momentum to counter attack. If they were unlucky then everyone in the city were the fat weaklings they thought they were and fell as soon as their gate was breached.