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

[Dietrich Landrik]

A small hill in the distance, Dietrich noticed Oya and his men take pause on the defendable rise which was smattered with trenches and other defenses. Using this time, he changed the route of march towards the young man. Along the way he was halted by a boy just a bit younger than the commander he carried the message for.

"Oya commands that you move with him towards the Southern Wall! Any actions towards Hargus will be unsupported." he said curtly with a sharp salute. No doubt, the boy was modelling the runt of a pirate that led all of these men. He couldn't blame him.

"Very well. Tell Oya we will support his attack. If assaulted by the Sacaens, we will not hold back in slaughtering them too." Dietrich spoke, returning the man's salute. It was amazing how he was so dead set on staying out of the fighting up until today and here he was at the front of it. If he was going to be an instrument of St. Elimine, he would let her guide his sword on this fateful day. Thinking of it bolstered his confidence and he thought little of being injured - no more killed.

He noticed his junior leaders were doing well in organizing their rag tag bunch into something approaching a field unit. He had his subunits and he could even see Berg stacking up his archers to prepare arrow volleys. Of course the fighting had not reached a lull, and many of the units were thrown into the fighting as soon as they were organized. Their terrain afforded them a little slack, but one always knew where Hargus was based on how dense the fighting dead had gathered.

Arising as if from thin air, Fuchs and his grenadiers leaped out of the trenches and ravines towards the commander. Fuchs signaled a halt with a raised hand, in which case the grenadiers vanished as soon as they had rose. The thin man took off his helmet and wiped his brow, his dark brown hair cut just like Dietrich's hanging down in front of his face. "We're running low on those firepots, Landy. Use us wisely." he spoke, handing one to the blonde man.

Looking it over, Dietrich saw how it generally was cooked and ready to kill. He pocketed it and looked towards the wall. "Start piling your available firepots into the hands of one in five men. The others will be his support as he bombards the fiends. Your unit will be my reserve. My firepot will mark your deployment. Simple enough?" he spoke to his friend in a much softer tone than he had the rest of the men. The long time camaraderie between the two had broken through military courtesy.

Slicking his hair back and refitting his helmet, the handsome man grinned and nodded. "I may have someone translate the orders for me, Dietrich. You Islanders need to learn how to actually speak correctly." he joked, then jumping back to his men. The marine had no time to get in a retort. Even so, he had no time to. The time to move was now. Anyone not ready would have a rude awakening.

"Bannerman! To me! We push towards the wall!" he exclaimed, readying his sword once more. He was unsure of what would happen to them from this point on, but he could die knowing he fought alongside great men.

[Richter Abend]

As he carved through throngs of undead soldiers, Richter couldn’t help but repeatedly glance back at the continuing gargoyle assault upon the palisade. It was a flurry of wings, spears, shouts, and magical gouts of fire. Chaos. The commander really wanted to go back and secure it, given the very real and immediate threat that losing control of the palisade posed to the defense of the city, but forced himself to trust that Aaron would at least keep the walls held, if not completely drive the monsters back. He was needed here on the front lines, an icy backbone to keep the Sacaen forces from falling to pieces.

Richter was not an armchair commander. He did his best at the front. It was where he thrived, swinging steel like any man under his command. It didn’t give him the objective advantage that a removed view of the battlefield did, but top-down direction was Mavick’s strong point, not his. The Winter Lion was no tactical genius, and fighting like this, axe high and boots in the bloody dirt, put him in the shoes of his soldiers in a way that only battling alongside them in mortal combat could. If an army was a body, Richter was not its brain, but its heart. He forewent thought for sense, and he led his men not with cold dictates but fiery passion. He immersed himself in the sea of war, and commanded his men to move according to the slight variances in mood, feeling, and flow as if they were extensions of himself, for even the best tactics failed in the face of crushed morale.

“Form up around the right!” he shouted, thrusting a filthy, blood covered finger towards a group of swordsman that were quickly being overrun by hungry zombies. “Those men need your support! If they fall we all do! Move!” Richter thrust his hand again, for emphasis, before swinging his greataxe into the face of a lumbering ghoul. The creature’s head burst like a ruptured wineskin, ending its unnatural existence, but as its headless corpse staggered away another undead just took its place. Damn, not only did these things have supernatural endurance, but there was no end to them either! They were losing men faster than ever! There was no way to win a war of attrition like this!

But as Richter’s frustrated thoughts turned to defeatism, he looked eastward to see a force pushing towards them. Like the Sacaen’s, these men too fought through the undead, which for that reason alone made them a welcome sight, but if the Ilian commander wasn’t mistaken, they were being led by the club-wielding pirate leader from the eastern front. Richter hadn’t seen the boy since his embarrassing defeat early in the siege at Wyatt’s hands, but now here he was, and he was plowing through the zombie horde, repeatedly batting aside walking corpses with swings imbued with magic light. Richter could only ask himself: Why? Were they turning on Hargus? What could they possibly gain?

Well, best not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“Pirates coming from the east! Form a wall between us and them! If they approach, do not hesitate to attack, but if they feel like helping us out with the zombies, let them! Survival is our highest priority!”

[Deleted]

From the south, beyond Hargus' forces, there was something... odd approaching. Amidst the bandit camps which lay empty due to the fight, a funny looking bush was sliding around. There was nobody around to notice how the disguise was clearly horrible. Jericho was still creeping along on his belly, humming a tune to himself as he snuck closer and closer to the bandit back line all by himself. He thought himself witty with his disguise of a bush and convinced himself that it must be working amazingly as he hadn't been caught yet.

The 'totally not Jericho' bush made its way through the camp, stopping whenever he thought he heard something. It would always just be a bandit rushing to catch up with the others who wouldn't even look his way. 'Though next time, I should make it lighter' He silently complains to himself, lifting the fake bush-ness up and continuing forward. The silver haired youth still thought he was being oh so clever right now. However, he was at the point where he was being spotted by bandits.

However, most of them just brushed him off as insane from the sight of what Hargus had done. They really couldn't fault him, as quite a few people had lost some mental stability upon seeing the plague of darkness that had spread across the battlefield and killed everything is touched. And so, bandits just let the 'crazy bush' that was Jericho go past them while he kept up the 'do do do' humming.

[Oya]

"Looks like the Saceans have got off their bottoms", spoke Oya as he looked toward the wall. His eyes ran along the line of swordsmen fighting off the horde of undead. Oya paused only for a moment before he turned his attention back to the battlefield. His men were making a good push though the horde, but Oya needed to make sure they were not simply attacked by the saceans once they made it to their lines. Oya was going to need to have a talk to their commander.

"Tom, Gilmore, and Fred you three with me", spoke Oya as he called his three strongest warriors. The boy commander then took a small group of ten men and began to make a push on their flank facing the wall. Like a stick pushing through the mud Oya and his men cut a path through the zombie horde till they made their way to the line of saceans. Their approach sent a wave of fear down the spines of many of the saceans as they saw Oya and his mighty Xigshaw cleave a path thorough the horde to their position. Xigsahw pulsated with glee as all eyes turned upon its massive frame.

"Where is your commander", shouted Oya ending conversations before they even began. "We are here not to spill the blood of humans, but rather to end the assault of monsters attacking the City of Heroes. I understand if you are are skeptic about out sudden change of heart, but I ask you all to put some faith in out words. If you can not believe our words then use our logic. Those undead and beast that fly up in the sky were once our brothers in arms. They were betrayed by the so called Bandit king and shifted into such beast. We may be cutthroats, brigands, and pirates, but even we have standards. Killing one of our own is not acceptable. Thus we turn our blades toward Hargus. However we can not fight with a wolf at our back. So we come to you all now to make a truce and push to kill Hargus. So who is in command of this force! Take me to your leader!"

As Oya finished his speech he could see a mixture of emotions. Some people trusted him, some people did not believe him, and some people were just happy to see another normal person. In the end however everyone pointed him toward a man in red armor. Oya had seen him before in the east. He was the one making a push for their catapults. Oya should have figured it would be him. Without another word to the common rank and file soldier Oya move toward the man in red with Xigshaw tossed over his shoulder.

[Dietrich Landrik]

The battalion's banner surged forward, followed by the steel and fire of the cutthroats of the seas led by Landrik. The blonde marine himself was at the front to hold the line near the gates. He made method of the chaos, his blade as his instrument.

Towards the South, there was an unending stream of monsters that crashed upon his men like waves on a cliff. However, they held albeit losses were unavoidable. The sight of the pirates tearing into the undead lines were an inspiration for all who could see. Landrik scurried between his formations, applying what little reserves he had to capitalize on successes and prevent devastating breakthroughs. It was to his luck that none of the Sacaen archers decided to take aim on his men. A short look to the rear would explain why, with the walls barren. Had the Sacaens really lost their reinforced wall? Looking at the horrors they experienced in the East, they must've been hit much harder here. He took that as a sign of what his men would have to brace against.

Cleaving into an animated bandit's shoulder, the commander warned his troops. "Do not underestimate our enemy based on our successes! They can topple cities! They can crush walls! You must have the strength and endurance tougher than stone! Prepare for anything! You are now guarding the gates from Hell!" He looked back and knew the boy would have to accomplish his task quickly.

The swordsman parried an attack from a loose monster and slipped his blade into its throat. The proper blade destroyed its spine and he tossed the lifeless corpse to the ground. With this, he grinned. His swordplay had greatly improved since his battles out in the ocean. They had become much more precise and took less energy and focus. He figured he could eventually do the same with a pair of knives, but he disregarded it. Pushing in a bulge in the line, he cut down two more with strikes to their heads. That did well in its own right, but they had little dexterity unlike their living counterparts to dodge such blows. This time he laughed. "Hahahaha! Good! Die knowing you fought against a man who really knows how to wield a blade!"

[Aaron Winsett]

Gargoyles flapping about overhead and arrows whistling up to meet them, Unearthly moans and stalwart warcries, fire and blood; These seemed to be the occurrences of the hour as the mage plied his craft to the battle. At the moment though, he was at a loss for how to save himself. Several of the leather winged monsters were coming for him, and while magic was meant to be wielded in battle like a chisel, shaping the outcome carefully and in controlled strikes, sometimes it was best taken up as the hammer.

His light tome was of inferior strength, and the illusion magic of Aura was still unmastered. Right then, about the best thing he could come up with was to use overwhelming force. Raising his hands and clapping them together over his head, he let go of his fine manipulation of the spells and created the workings of something between them. It was something that would draw off of the tattered remnants of each of his preciously cast spells he'd been using. Suddenly, he wasn't so sure if what he'd done was such a great idea.

There was an explosive blast of light just over his head. A brilliant flash with enough force behind it that his head was ringing and he was on the ground before he knew it. He pushed himself to his feet and looked around, then immediately regretted it. His head began swimming in confusion as he looked over the top of the wall. It was still the wall, but there was definitely magic at play with perceptions. Everything around him seemed to be swirling, as though reality's true nature had been hidden behind sliding veils. In a sense, that's what Aaron suspected had happened. All around him, the battlers and monsters looked bewildered. They all seemed to be flowing around the sage. Even those standing stationary still seemed to be moving. It was like a fog of moving illusions.

As bad and disorienting as his desperation move had turned out for him, it had been even worse for the flyers who had been unable or unwilling to turn aside their dive. Most of them were on the ground, and were just as confused and hindered as the rest of the defenders by the illusions and bent perceptions. Even as he took stock of the situation though, the green haired sage could already feel the magic around him tearing. It wasn't a stable spell, and was already collapsing on itself. He turned his head and shielded his eyes just in time to avoid being blinded as a tear of the spell exploded out into searing light. He opened his eyes once the burning had dissipated, and immediately spotted a top down view of himself from above being charged head on by a roaring monster.

With a curse, Aaron stumbled to the side, and felt himself knocked off balance by an arm that he could barely see through the haze of the magic. He grabbed hold of it to keep from falling, and reached out a hand to where he thought the winged horror's head was as he conjured up another bolt of light. He yelped to himself as he felt his hand pierce itself on a spiky protrusion, but also felt the spell discharge into something.

Switching out his tomes again, the rest of the mishap collapsed on itself and tore apart from the edges, and everything seemed to breathe a sigh of relief as their perceptions returned unclouded. Aaron breathed a sigh of relief because Aura was put away, and some of his more familiar handiwork was ready to be turned loose on the field. A few gouts of flame and swirling blizzards later, and he'd pushed most of the Gargoyles off the wall again. At least long enough to get a look out on the field.

It looked like their commander had picked up the defenders momentum, and was plowing right into the walking dead on the ground. The dead didn't stop though. It was a violent showcase of the bloody carnage of battle. Aaron looked out a moment more and was even more confused. Bandits on the field as well, but they were hacking into the monstrous forces. Not the Sacaens. He crossed his arms as he looked out over the field. He was to hold this position, but he was ready to charge the field. If Hargus fielded himself, what then? That was one of the main reasons he had come to this poor city in the first place....

[Deleted]

The moment of truth finally seemed to come for Jericho. It didn't look like he would be getting help, unfortunately. Jericho didn't know why, but he felt compelled to at least TRY to stop this madness. It wasn't hard to pick out Hargus among that battle, the demon significantly taller than everything else around. Or maybe he just had good posture and wasn't slouching. Either way, the 'not a bush' Jericho crept closer to the demon lord.

Those who might see him would think him either courageous or insane. Perhaps it was just a mixture of both. He really didn't seem to care as to a reason why he was about to attempt an attack on something that most people would surely say would spell his doom. Glory? No, thank you. That was for the heroes of the world. If there was somebody else to do it, he would gladly let them. But there wasn't, so he felt is was up to him. Maybe that mentality just makes him 'that guy'.

And so, he crept, getting dangerously close to the demon lord before drawing his sword. A bead of sweat dripped down his temple, tracing down the left side of his face to run along the scar on his cheek. He was doubting himself now, feeling the imminent chill of death as though a specter was just waiting for his failure. He could run... or just hide. There was nothing saying he was forced to do this. He could just try waiting for more to arrive and assist in the fight against the monster that was Hargus. Jericho's mind was racing with all of the things he 'could' do before it settled on a 'should'.

The silver haired main swallowed his fear and gripped the hilt of his sword tightly. 'Let's see what fate has for me.' He says to himself before hopping out of his bush disguise. His sword seemed to move on its own, directing his attack towards where he perceived Hargus's kidneys to be. 'To Heaven or Hell.' He muses as the tip makes its way towards the demon...

[Hargus]

Standing amidst a large formation of statuesque gargoyles that surrounded their master as if to form some malevolent shrine of destruction, Hargus peered out across the battlefield with a face twisted by hate and malefice. There was great pride in his eyes as they soaked in the death that spread before him. Such absolute power. In droves of undead and swarms of monsters, the force of his will was coming to bear upon the gates of this pathetic little city. It would not be long now before “City of Heroes” was spoken with the same ominous dread as its forerunner, Ostia, and the terror of Hargus once again fully realized by the pathetic denizens that inhabited this land.

Hargus clenched a black fist before him. Yes! Such an unholy host had not been seen on Elibe in millennia, and even this was only a small taste of the dark energies that he drew his power from! The strength of his sorcery had increased tenfold since his resurrection, and thus this conquest would only be the beginning, unimpeded by filth and vermin and a true testament to absolute wrath of the Bandit King.

No... “Bandit King” was too a quaint title to fully represent the power he now possessed. It hardly did justice to the chaos occurring before him. Bandits were lowly, cowardly creatures, that wanted for nothing but to line their pockets and indulge in their vices. From them Hargus had created an army that possessed none of their weaknesses, but in their place possessed strengths they couldn’t never conceived of having without his gift. They were stronger, faster, and more durable. They needed neither food nor sleep, and lacked the doubts and fears that plagued mortal men! Gone were fallible soldiers, and in their place had arisen a single-minded force of destruction bound entirely to his will! No ruler on Elibe could claim such a feat!

Demon King! Hargus, the Demon King, for he was no longer a king of bandits, but one of demons, demons whose power eclipsed the power of man! And he had come to join them! A cruel and toothy smile parted the Bandit King’s lips, and he raised his arms in the air, in admiration of his unholy form. His wings fully outstretched, he could feel power brimming just underneath the surface of his blackened, craggy skin, power that bared itself through the deep purple cracks in his ashy flesh that glowed with otherworldly nether. And to think this was only a fraction of the strength of the Arum… unfathomable.

“They cannot hope to win against this might, and yet they still struggle and flail,” muttered Hargus, noticing the force of Sacaens that had begun to rally on the front lines. He also noticed the force of pirates that had fought their way over from the eastern front, splitting into two groups to fight at both the front lines as well as the wall. So, that b***h Nya had lost her nerve, had she? Turning on him? Ha! Her son was even leading the charge. What did she hope to gain by opposing him?

“No matter,” the Demon King spoke dismissively, his voice a low rumble. “I will see that the idiot son of hers joins the rest of these vermin in hell.” Hargus held out a commanding hand, as if to cast another spell, but just as he finished speaking, the Demon King seized, feeling a sharp pain tear through his side. It was sharp, intense, and cold. He knew this agony! He had felt it before! There was a blade! A sneak attack!

“GRAAAH!” he cried out, lurching forward with a stiff, stunted step. He could feel his thick, black blood seep out of the wound in his back. Who dares attack him! How had he been snuck up on! Where was he! Where! The enraged questions tore through his mind like bolts of lightning, but the shock of the pain merely reduced his thoughts to enraged snarling. “URGAAAAH!” The great necromancer swung his arms about and flapped his wings as he tried to find his attacker, until one of his hands felt the warm touch of human flesh. There! With a roar he grasped the impertinent arm with bone-crushing force, then swung its owner around before him, leaving the sword still in his back.

It was just a man! Just a man! A normal human man! He wore no armor nor finery, only fur and leather, and looked just older than a boy! Hargus was to believe this man had drawn his blood?! This lowly creature had drawn the Demon King’s blood! How had he not noticed this rat?! How had he not seen or heard?!

“You! You dare defile the Demon King?!” spat Hargus as his grip tightened around the poor fool’s arm. He could feel bone crunching and flesh splitting against his hand. His hand burst into dark flame, igniting the sleeve of the man's arm. “YOU DARE?!” The Demon King seethed with fury, staring at his would-be assassin, then flung his arm back and hurled the small frame of his attacker thirty feet into a nearby tent, which crumpled to a heap as it was struck. His mouth now spitting wroth and a ruin, Hargus raised a fell hand above his head. The canyons in his skin began to glow pulsating, and his voice began to emanate from his maw like the guttural utterings of a volcano.

“NITH EYIK POZ HARGUS! VO'HOLLOM!”

The very air around the Demon King reverberated as he slammed his hand against the ground, and from that point of contact burst swarms of dark, black tendrils. Foul magic. The snake-like coils serpentined from their origin in all directions, seeking out the gargoyles that surrounded Hargus, and enveloped them in their darkness. Still the gargoyles stood as they were consumed by dark magic, until they were little more than dark matter traveling amidst the ephemeral appendages of the network of magic that had deconstructed them. All was brought to the center, creating a large formless mass beneath Hargus’s hand that was slowly pushed into the earth.

“SAFRAS!”

Hargus forced the last of the nether energy beneath the surface of the dirt below him, then stood back as the ground rumbled beneath his feet. The surface of the field began to ripple and quake, before a massive hand burst from its surface, followed by a second. They swung about, their fingers tearing into the dirt, as they pulled themselves up, in turn revealing a large, grey head. It would have looked like the head of a giant man, if not for the two large tusks that protruded from its mouth, and single, giant eye that made up the middle of its face. The head bellowed as the two hands continued to rip up the grass and dirt around them, then the head, along with the massive bulk it was attached to, erupted from the earth, sending rock and soil in all directions. Its outline black against the sun it towered above all else on the battlefield, a massive bulk of mottled, elephantine flesh with arms the size of cedar branches and a chest like a boulder. Its feet were so large either could crush a man beneath it with ease, and its hands swung by its sides like large, oversized clubs. It slapped its chest and roared as the last bits of dirt and soil slid off its rough skin, then Hargus, with a flap of his wings, jumped up and alit upon its shoulder. Blood still dripped from his lower back, but regardless, he thrust a gnarled finger forward, and his warbeast began to lumber into the fray.

“THERE WILL BE NO HOPE FOR YOU! ANY OF YOU! THERE WILL BE NO SALVATION FROM MY WRATH THIS DAY!”

[Richter Abend]

The Ilian commander wiped a gauntleted hand across his brow after pulling a brain-spattered boot from the crushed shards of an undead skull. Despite the adrenaline coursing through his veins, Richter could still feel the heavy weight of fatigue setting into his limbs. His axe seemed heavier in his hands with each passing swing, and his armor began to weigh on him like a suit of solid stone. But he had no choice to ignore it. The Ilian wasn’t about to risk possession through Damonzahn’s magic. It had already proven itself poorly suited for fighting monsters, so he needed to take great care in avoiding injury for there was no easy way to heal it on this battlefield. Any lapse in speed or strength could very easily spell death for him.

“Hrah!” Richter shouted as he impaled an oncoming zombie with a thrown icicle. The strike hardly seemed to phase the living corpse, as it could feel no pain, but that didn’t stop it from falling over backwards from the force. Durable, but incapable. The undead was easily finished with a downward slicing coup de grace, cut in two like a piece of lumber. As long as men fought beside him, the commander would never stop fighting. Hell, he would fight even if every last man under his command was taken by Hargus. Only fools “went quietly”.

As Richter looked up from the muck covered ground, he saw a man approaching him. An orange-haired youth with a huge club. It was the pirate leader from the initial charge that he, Aaron, Wyatt, and Valcrist had forced into retreat. The sight initially filled Richter with apprehension, to see one of his former enemies approaching him, but the man was neither brandishing his weapon, nor was he charging him with any sort of aggressive speed. He had made his way here through all the undead, just to seek him out. Had he lost his nerve? Or was this some sort of vanglorious duel?

“Hold!” shouted Richter, extending an open palm at the pirate. If the man intended peace, then he would listen. “If you are here to help, then take that club off your shoulder and help us fight these abominations! I will not stop you!” The Ilian interrupted himself to sidestep a lunging foe, before beheading it with a brutal flick of his axe. “Otherwise I’ll-”

But before the leader of the city’s defense could finish speaking, there was a deafening roar from the far southern side of the battlefield. Richter shot a glance in the direction of the cry, which soon turn into a wide-eyed stare.

Good god.

Here it came running, a 15 meter tall cyclops charging towards the defenders like a harbinger of absolute destruction. How could something even be so big!? How the hell where they supposed to fight that!? Its gait was awkward and lumbering, but with its size it was still clearing yards in seconds. And Hargus was riding on its shoulder.

“PULL BACK!” the Ilian shouted, his voice a strained cry above the din of battle. “PULL BACK NOW! RETREAT TO THE WALL!” His head swiveled toward the palisade, which was doing its best clearing the gargoyles, then back towards the oncoming giant. It was gigantic! Arrows. They needed lots of arrows. And magic. And artillery. But they were going to need it faster than Richter would be able to pass the order on. Damn. They’d just have to try and mitigate casualties until they could take up their firepower. But then there was the matter of Hargus. Who knew what foul magic that bastard still had in store...

“SPREAD OUT! DON’T CLUSTER TOGETHER! KEEP YOUR EYES ON THE BEAST!”

[Oya]

Their he was, the pink haired warrior. Oya should have known he was the one commanding the front lines. If it had not been for him and his meddling band of heroes Oya might have already crushed the city of heroes and been declared a hero of the battle. At the same time however he might have doomed all of Sacae, by giving the city to that demon, that was once called a man. So in a sense Oya needed to thank them for stopping him, but he was not going to tell him that. Oya was still licking his wounds from his encounter with the fire warrior. The next time Oya and him meet on the battle field as foes Oya needed to return the favor. However that would be the future. This is the present and at this moment Oya needed to make piece with the Saceans. He did not need a blade at their back.

"So you are the leader", spoke Oya as he walked forward. As he moved a zombie broke ranks from the rest of the horde and moved to assault him. His escort of pirates managed to miss it as it rushed forward in an attempt to open up a new hole in Oya's flesh. The Warrior, being harden by battle and tempered by his own will, simply ducked avoiding the claws of the beast and smashing its torso open with a quick pull of his hammer from his shoulder. Pulling the massive club up and tossing it on his shoulder Oya moved to speak to the man. He stopped just in front of the position the man spoke.

"Look I am just here to make sure you all don't stab us in the back", spoke Oya while the man dodged a zombie. "Me and the boy's don't like the idea of being turned into z...", spoke the pirate when he was interrupted by the appearance of a gigantic beast. Hargus had placed his dark magic to work once more. Now he had summoned up a beast far beyond Oya's imagination.

"A Cyclops", spoke Oya as he stared on. In the past Oya had traveled to lycia with a group of researchers. During their studies he came across pictures, drawings, and written descriptions of the beast. The stories he heard about their power was unnerving and the fact that one had appeared was more than enough to send a cold chill down Oya's spine.

"Scatter", shouted Oya as he turned toward his men behind him. Oya needed his boys to move out and make themselves harder to hit. If they wanted to take this thing out they were going to need superior range weaponry. A up close battle was never going to work. The beast power was far to great for something like that to work. However Oya could make use of his archers and try to use some of the melee fighters as a distraction. Though he was not sure how much his men would follow in this situation. Quickly Oya grabbed one of his guards and told him to tell Dietrick to get the catapults he had remaining ready to fire upon the beast. After that Oya made sure to scatter himself with the rest of the men.

Oya knew full and well that he and his pirates were going to get the worst of this cyclopes assault. They were already outside and the people in the city were not going to simply let them through the gates as the beast charged. The only option left would be to stand and fight the monster. Retreat was still a viable salution, but Oya was sure if he gave the order to flee back east the Cyclopse would simply follow and they all would just end up dead with their back to the enemy. However if they struck out against the beast they might have a chance of taking it down.

"Anybody with a bow aim or its eye or weapon hand", shouted Oya as he picked up a bow from a dead zombie. The man use to be a archer and at the moment his body was still left with a few arrows and a iron bow. Pulling back on the bow Oya shot the first arrow. The arrow however was soon followed by a wave of them. The goal of the mission was to take down Hargus, and now he was standing before them. The only problem was they had to bring down the cyclopes in order to defeat it.

[Dietrich Landrik]

The battle was certainly not going against them, but it certainly didn't get better as they held the front for their previous enemies to so kindly fix their own problems.

Sliding his blade through an undead's neck, he absolutely had to contribute everything to hold the line. "Damn, I pray Oya hurries up." Landrik groaned, then immediately recognizing how whiney he sounded. To be truthful, the God of St. Elimine would decide the day with their muscle acting on her behalf. There was a reason why Dietrich was chosen to lead, he found work with the strange green-haired man, and ultimately found his way into Badon to find work. It was to lead him here, if not somewhere else into the future. Even if the part he had to play was small, he knew he was part of the design.

Resting his own fears in faith, he knew that Oya needed time and blood bought time. The more of the black sort did even better. "Pay in sweat and be rewarded eternally with the blood of your enemies! Kill, so you can face St. Elimine with a body count in front of your spears!" the marine shouted, cutting into the unholy ranks. The fury of combat was all encompassing, but a rumble and shriek from hell was enough to jar the complete concentration as the rumbling came closer. Over the heads of the foul creatures was a monster on a warpath unlike any mortal man has seen for thousands of years.

Any fighting will from these staunch defenders were either steeled or shattered. Cries of breaking the ranks and retreating to the wall were echoed as the men scattered to any place they could. There wasn't enough room in the gap of the gates to save them all. Dietrich became determined to do what he could as his job never changed.

He had to buy time.

Picking up the abandoned banner, he sheathed his sword and waved the banner for men to rally around him. Those who were resolute to die there today stood with him, or lay on the ground defeated in battle. "Do you wish to die with your tail between your legs? This evil must be stopped! If not today, when? Will you allow your families to bear the burdens of your weakness? No! It is Hargus who will be granted no rest! We will march and fight akin to his hordes who never tire! Those standing with me, I salute you as one warrior to another! Make your fire pots ready!" the blond haired swordsman ordered, holding his own in his hand.

He was no excellent tactician, nor warrior, nor any sort of a special man to stand up to Hargus, but he was all this City had as the first to stand in his way even when certain death was barreling towards them.

He was scared. His heart was pounding wildly in his chest and he didn't expect to come out of this fight alive, but he would do his best and that was enough for him. He never felt more alive.

"Loose!" he commanded, a volley of fire pots assailing towards the lumbering beast and the devilish man perched on his shoulder. Landrik locked eyes with this man as he threw his fire pot, being stricken with absolute terror like a snake about to pounce. The behemoth had no regard for what it trampled underfoot, but it seemed guided by the Bandit King, no, rather this Demon King.

"Break like water and drown him!" Landrik commanded, dropping the banner and pulling his sword from its sheath. "Hurrah!" he cried, slaying a creature that ventured too close and dodging out of the way of the giant.

[Richter Abend]

Men screamed and fled like scared children as the earth shook with each thundering footstep of the charging cyclops. They were but rodents next to the giant, and the massive warbeast trampled upon them and undead alike. The faint flickers of free will and sanity that made up the thrall’s twisted thoughts entertained little but wanton destruction, but the iron will of the Demon King guided the chaotic mind straight towards the gates of the City of Heroes. Hargus wasn’t looking for a battle. He was readying for a slaughter. He was coming to end this battle in one fell swoop. Richter wouldn’t allow that to happen. He couldn’t allow that to happen!

“Keep moving, men!” the Ilian shouted over the fearful cacophony. The words meant little, for the men would run whether he ordered it or not, but Richter at least felt some comfort in exercising just a modicum of control over the crowd. It made him feel like they could win this, that there was some way of regrouping and turning the tide against this monster. Inside he doubted, as any rational man would do after the appearance of such a beast, but he needed to convince himself there was still hope. He would need some to rally his men, and the undead had whittled away too much of it already.

Fleeing Sacaen’s streamed past Richter like flowing water, each man eager to live through this day, to return to his home, to see his family. The bravery that had steeled these men against the hordes was quickly breaking, and not all of them would make it. Some, perhaps even many, would die here, face down in the mud, unceremoniously killed as just another casualty of war. But it didn’t matter. They all knew the risks when they took up their swords and bows to defend this city. If they didn't resist, who would? They would fight so that at least some of the defenders here today could live to see tomorrow’s sunrise. Even in the face of this, Richter would do his best to make sure they succeeded.

“Aaron!” shouted the commander as he ran within shouting distance of the wall. The crimson armored Ilian waved his hands over his head to get the green haired mage’s attention. Battered and broken they may be from the initial gargoyle assault, they needed to join the artillery. “The pirates are aiding us! Have all men focus fire on the cyclops! Try and take out its legs!”

[Vincent]

Battered and bruised Vincent made it into the South to find it in utter chaos. Monsters and man clashed. Enemies had turned ally in order to take down this beast. A quick survey revealed much. It seemed that the Orange haired man from long ago during the "Great Bounty Debacle" was here now leading the pirates in the assault and the ever powerful presence of the legendary Richter keeping the forces rallied.

He held both of his blades at the ready. The show he displayed in the North was at an end and now his legs merely trembled at the sight of the beast and its master. So this was Hargus. It was strange, the mere presence of this demon bore such a heavy weight onto him. He could barely move and instinct told him to run as far and as fast as he could. Screaming warriors fled past him in fear twice nearly toppling him over. But where would they run to? The other walls were still under a siege regardless of however much less.

That lone thought, not encouraging, gave Vincent a new found will to fight even against Hargus. He did not fight for himself, he never did. It was always for another's sake. In order to protect. Now he was faced with an army and a continent of people to protect. He may only be one man but... there must be something he could do. First came one weak step forward and then another, hardly passing his other foot.

Vincent slowly gained momentum in his advance. "Today you gain your name," he said to his lance reaver. "Phoenix Heart, and now Phoenix Claw." The two swords that had seen him through many struggles. As he charged he could feel a strange sensation. A pulsing from the sigil down into his blade. The divine blade had regained a portion of its power. The seals breaking further.

Vincent approached Richter, no longer afraid. A monster that got in his way was quickly felled by the silver properties of his weaponry. "Commander!" He called. He little hoped his name was known to him but it did not matter. Now, he was just one of the ones that stayed. "If you can get that ...thing, to stop moving I can cut its leg clean off. I know I can. Hargus though..." he was unsure what to say about him. "That's another issue entirely."

He could feel it. His sword met no resistance against the wicked monstrosities. But would confidence be enough to convince the commander to such a whim based plan?

[Hargus]

An oncoming firepot thrown from one of the pirate catapults struck the rampaging cyclops upside the head, shattering upon contact and spattering thick, oily flame all over its craggy skin. The warbeast howled and roared in both pain and defiance. The fire itself couldn’t do much lasting damage to its massive bulk, but the explosion of burning solution surprised the creature, and the incredible sticky heat it brought with it was more than enough to divert the cyclops from its warpath. Stumbling like a disoriented child, it tripped over its own weight and fell knee first into Hargus’s minions, crushing them with careless ease.

A terrifying scowl split Hargus's charcoal face in two. So, it was not just the pirate boy that had turned on him, but his men too. These ignorant insects! Was death the only thing they hoped to gain from this war? He had promised them power and wishes, and they were throwing it away for what? Did his power scare them? Was his might too awesome for their simple minds to comprehend, causing them to resort to fear and aggression like apes?

The Demon King flung his arm at the offending siege weapon, sending a concentrated orb of nether magic careening towards it. The blackness of the attack streaked through the air, a dark gash against an otherwise blue sky, before striking the earth at the foot of catapult. Its impact created a gravity well that rapidly expanded outwards before crushing all within it. It was so powerful that the wooden onager was reduced to tinder in seconds, while its accompanying engineers were smeared to human paste.

Hah! Yes! There it was! The strength of the Demon King! Not a single one of these mortals could claim power like this! With but a gesture he could create life, and with another he could end it! These fools, these miserable fools!

The cyclops, recovering from its fall during the reprieve given to it by its master, turned its single eye back on the southern palisade, guided by Hargus’s indomitable will. It was such a tiny wall compared to this great beast. A simple step or kick would have the defenses turned to splinters.

But Hargus’s thoughts were met with a volleys of arrows loosed from the bows of rallied archers. Most could not pierce the cyclops’s tough hide, but the sheer volume of the attack allowed more than one arrow to get lodged within the cracks and crevices in the monster’s skin. Added to the resumed fire from the catapults, the flurry made for an imposing and painful barrier for the beast, but the mentally forced his slave forth. It only barely overrode the beast’s natural instinct to protect itself, yet it was enough to send the beast lumbering forth, its eye closed to protect its most vulnerable point, swinging tree-like arms about in an attempt to bat the needles and flames away.

Dozens of men were caught up in the beast’s flailing, and many were violently tossed to the sky like shorn grass before fatally plummeting to earth, but the cyclops’s impeded speed was not enough to satisfy Hargus. With another swing of his arm, the Demon King sent a second bolt of nether magic, like the one he had used to dispose of the catapult, careening towards the wall. The defenders could only watch in horror as another gravity well ballooned outwards as it swallowed up both defenders and monsters alike. They, like the others, were reduced to dust, and the entire section of the wall was reduced to scrap. Men ran in sheer terror, leaving the defenses wide open and eliciting a fell smile from Hargus.

His arm began to tingle with fatigue born from extended use of his magic, but the damage was done. He had done in seconds what these idiot bandits couldn’t even do in a week. None could stop him now.

[Oya]

"Dagger", shouted Oya as the fire pot found itself a perfect hit on the cyclopes. The force from the blow brought the beast to its knees. Now this was a victory for the pirates. While the cowards fled to their wall they brought the beast to its knees. Still it was not completely down. "Fire", shouted Oya as the pirates let loss another wave of arrows. However The Demon King had other plans. In a horror of dark magic he shot a blast of evil energy forward and took out one of the catapults. The force of the attack was so great that it not only it decimate the catapult but it also killed the men working it.

"By Hartmut", spoke Oya as he saw the devastation. Fear began to boil up inside the young pirate, but the growl of pain from the cyclopes brought courage back to his heart. It seemed that their arrows, though miniscule in comparison to the catapult shot, was actually having an affect on the beast. If they can keep it up they could possibly stop it. However that ideas was completely thrown out the window when the beast suddenly started to charge forward. Closing its eye it pushed forward in a blind charge. Many of the pirates attempted to move out of the beast way, but it proved far to fast for them to get to safety. Those who were spared being stumped on where knocked aside by the monsters flailing giant arms. The lucky were killed out right and the unlucky died from the impact back to the ground. Oya was one of people fortunate enough not to be in the path of the rampaging beast however he still felt the effects of its charge.

When Hargus and his mighty beast brought down the wall all hope seemed to drain from many of his men. Some of the pirates began to scatter in fear and desert the battlefield. This was not good. Oya and his men stayed back to take down Hargus. If they fled the field and Hargus was victorious it would be the rest of the fleet that would feel the Demon King's wrath.

"Hold the line", shouted Oya trying to take control of the panicking fools. Their small minds were so frozen with fear that they were blind to that what was in front of them. Hargus may have taken down the wall, but he did not win the battle. In fact he simply intensified it. Before hand only the pirates held the field, but now the saceans would be forced to fight on the ground and not just them alone. If Oya could rally his men and push them to attack then he could try and turn this situation around.

"Hold the line", shouted Oya! However his voice could hardly be heard over the panic. "Hold the line!" He shouted again, but the results were the same. Oya was going to need something more than simply his voice. Latching the bow he had picked up onto his back Oya drew forth Xigshaw. The massive hammer felt heavy as its stupid spirit was throwing a hissy fit. "Not now", spoke Oya ignoring the spirits jealous nature. Oya took a deep breath and pulled back on Xigshaw as hard as he could. With every fiber of strength in his body he slammed the massive weapon onto the ground. A gigantic boom radiated across the battlefield grabbing the attention of his fleeing men. All of their eyes turned to Oya as the dust cloud created from the hammer blow began to disburse. Now the warrior had their attention.

"Get back into position and hold the god $#@! line", shouted Oya! "If we retreat now we are all dead! Dead, you hear me! Hargus is not going to forgive us fighting back against him! If we leave now the city will fall and Hargus will have a army of undead that not even the sea can swallow! So if you want to live another day then grab your bow or axe and follow me", shouted Oya as he took Xigshaw and rushed toward the massive beast. Oya's words had put courage back into the hearts of his men as they prepared to counter attack against the giant monster.

It was true their was a hole in the wall, but Oya and his squad of catapults did that back in the east. It was true Hargus had a army of the dead, but they were all put down the first time. It was true Hargus had more magical power than they did, but they had their axes. Hargus would probably be the most fearsome thing they ever fought in their lives. However if they did not fight him then they would not have any life left to begin with.

The pirates pushed on despite the odds against them. Leading the pirates from the front was the once young pirate now Warrior Oya. With Xigshaw in hand and a couple of Axes at his back Oya planned to make an assault on the beast itself. It was true that their arrows did little to no damage against the beast, but Oya wondered what could his hammer do. It was true Xigshaw was holy and the amount of power he commanded with such a weapon was far greater than a normal man. Maybe, just maybe, a blow from the mighty hammer could turn the tide of the battle and ground the massive beast for good. However Oya still needed to reach the monster and then take a shot. In the mean time Tomas had taken charge of the archers and fired another wave of arrows at the beast. Their goal was to grab its attention till Oya could get a good shot on the beast leg.