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

[Vincent]

The beast was brought down to its knees, "YES!" Vincent exclaimed a rush of joy filling him. But that monster was not so easily stopped. The deman on board released a flurry of horrific power. Vincent and many others were forced to flee where they stood. The rest were killed outright. To make matters more dire the beast still fought on. It twisted and jerked and lashed out much like a spoiled child throwing a tantrum.

Vincent had not been cleared of the monsters wild swinging. Ducking flat to the ground the creatures arm knocked his blade far from him. Across the field Phoenix Heart vanished. A hammer like arm crashed down above him a swift roll aside narrowly sparring him. Scrambling away he was soon tackled by a gargoyle. It was as though all the forces of darkness had come for him. "Blast!" He cursed. With gauntlets he repelled the creatures shaft into the ground next to his head. A fierce kick got the beast off of him and back into the sky. He power borrowed from Elias lingered still but was waning quickly. Pulling his dagger it was all he had left. 'I need my sword back' he thought but the chaos would be too much.

With a sharp throw the dagger meet it's mark and the gargoyle fell from above. Reclaiming it he saw the wounded pirate, the one that fought with him. "Is he going to be fine!? He exclaimed. Vincent was now near and ready for a brawl. Grabbing a random blade off the ground he was ready to dual wield once more. "Get him out of here. I'll keep the beasts off of you."

[Jya]

There was without a doubt in Jya's mind that the world was a messed up place. Murders, thievery, torture, all of that seemed acceptable as long as she wasn't in the receiving end of it. However monsters and the dead rising was not. She had survived by doing what she did best, hiding and running around in the city. It was quickly becoming more and more apparent that there was less places to run and hide. The pressure for survival was on and she had to change what she had been doing up to this point. At this point, she had began to think as she did in the past. It always ended with the same answer, kill the threat before it killed her.

With her mind made up and her resolve solidifying, it became clear. Her green cloak no longer blended well with the blood trenched grounds, but there were plenty of shade to hide under. For once in the siege she began running towards the are where there appeared to be the most threat. It was frightening to say the least. She was no stranger to the sight of the dead and this wasn't even her first time encountering those creatures. She had been in a once great city lost to the dead and barely survived with her head intact. A part of her wished for more sympathy, a few times she had almost stopped to check on a dying soldier. However that was a luxury that could not be afford, there was nothing she could do to relieve their pain, but to end it.

"Damn it," she cursed under her breath. Would things have been slightly different if she chose to participate sooner? No, nothing would have changed, not once did she think she had much if any influence in the world. At the very least, she might have been able to take down a few bandits herself or saved someone that could. It seemed clear to her, what her mission was. There was still many of the living that needed and could be saved. The more people alive, the more likely they could finish this and the sooner she could leave for her own safety.

It was nerve wrecking to say the least and the hole in the wall that continued to grow wasn't very reassuring. Quickly though, she pushed herself further to see what lives she could salvage. Luckily for the blue haired priest, she was close by to help. Taking out her off balanced Lancereaver, she moved quickly and quietly. Unlike others who thought and shouted, she focused soley on ending the life. The gargoyle was more concerning as stabbing the priest in the heart than to notice her however. She had to time this perfectly, but that had always been a specialty. As soon as he dove for the group of three and was within striking distance of her blade, she sliced cutting deep and through its neck in a clean slice.

"Need any help?" she asked tersely, looking over at the three for moment and then at the battle at hand.

[Burt]

"By the Holy Heroes", spoke Burt as he stared at the massive hole in the wall. He had retreated to the roofs to help combat the gargoyles when the cyclopes broke through the wall. Its massive size and fearsome might drained all the strength from the fighters heart. In complete despair Burt looked on as he witnessed what he thought would be the city of heroes last day. However others around him had more courage and a frighting amount of bravery. When the best broke through the wall they rallied and charged forward. With sword, axes, and spears they fought the darkness and their bravery relit the flame that was inside the son of Bern.

"What am I doing", spoke Burt as he realized that he was simply standing there while others were fighting. The fighter then came up with a plan to attack the cyclopse and its unholy rider from above using the height of the buildings surrounding the wall. It was ambitious and stupid, but if it worked then they could gain an advantage. As Burt moved closer and closer to the beast his courage once again drained. How was he suppose to take down that monster or the demon ontop of it. With a swing of his hand Hargus had destroyed a catapult and turned the living into monsters. Who was Burt in comparison. His blunt iron axe would be as useful as a small iron needle against a knight. Hiding ontop of a roof Burt looked down in despair. His heart began to quicken and every fiber in his body told him to run. However his courage was bolstered once more. Not by a rousing speech or the actions of a stranger, but by a familiar face running into danger.

"Vincent", shouted Burt with surprise. Their was the young lad who aided him in stopping the bandits in sacae. What was he doing here, and why was he charging toward that massive beast. he was far too young to be fighting on the front lines, far to inexperience. If anything he should be fleeing from danger not charging in head first. "Hey kid it is dangerous", shouted Burt but he was too late. Vincent was already at the leg of the massive beast and to his surprise again their was another face he knew on this massive battlefield. Even thought it was cut short and covered with dirt from battle Burt could pick that tone of Orange hair out of a thousand look alike.

"Oya", shouted Burt. There he was, his psychopathic cousin fighting to save the city. Burt was sure he would be amongst the enemy trying to burn it down rather than defending it with his axe. Then again he probably was amongst the enemy at first, but nobody in their right mind would side with a monster above humans. You would have to be stupid to do so. "Hey you two idiots get away from there", shouted Burt. The fighters own courage was bolstered by the stupid actions of his kin and friends. Rather than aggression and glory Burt was being driven forward by compassion and friendship two powers that not even the daunting size of the cyclopes could break. However this new found sincerity would not last long.

Suddenly a loud roar filled the air as Burt's two fools delivered their blows to the beast. The force from the attacks sent the cyclopes into a rage. Soon after a bone chilling sound filled Burt's soul as he saw Oya, his younger cousin, lying on the ground screaming in agony. He had managed to avoid being hit by the monsters leg completely, but that was not enough to save him from being injured in the battle. Blood began to drain from Burt's face as he saw the undead moving in toward Oya. The lad was too far away for him to get to him in time. On the other hand the monsters flailing and the dust kicked up from it removed Vin from his view. Burt was not sure, but both of them could be dead. This monster, this demon, had just taken away both his cousin and one of the few people in this world he considered to be a true friend. Him and vin had spilled blood together.

Like an exploitation blood began to race back to the face of the fighter. The sickly blue color that washed over him before was transformed into a fiery red as a torrent of anger built up inside of the fighter. Enraged by the site of his cousins injury and the possible death of his friend Burt pressed forward with his original plan of attack. The fighter hopped from one roof to the other till he reached the broken section of the wall. With one last jump he hopped over to the nearest platform still standing near the beast and its dark master.

"This is for my cousin", spoke Burt as he took of running forward at full speed. He jumped off the broken wall and leaped over above the demon king. With his axe ready and vengeance in his heart Burt plunged himself and his axe down toward the unexpecting monster. "Die Monster! You don't belong in this world!"

[Richter Abend]

Richter had but seconds to get himself to safety as the crippled cyclops’s hand came falling down upon him. Even sprinting as fast as he could, the Winter Lion only just barely avoided the impact of the creature’s giant palm before it struck the ground with earth shattering force. A wave of blood-soaked dirt and dust swallowed the lucky men that had managed to avoid being crushed, blinding them and coating them with gory soil, Richter included. It took the Ilian a moment to wipe the gunk off of his eyes, and fortunately too, for only a moment after his sight was restored did a sweeping cyclopean hand come zooming right past his face, nearly knocking the pink haired warrior off of his feet.

Regroup. It was the only word in Richter’s mind at the moment, echoing like the boom of the cyclops’s fall. As destructive as the beast had been standing up, its fall had been just as terrifying, scattering both human and monster forces alike. And it wasn’t even dead yet. Still it thrashed about, wiping out whole squads with but swings of its arm. And meanwhile Hargus, in all his nightmarish glory, stood upon its shoulder, taking on a battalion of newly arrived wyvern riders with bolts of malevolent magic. One of the riders was disintegrated instantly.

“Archers! Focus on the beast’s head!” Richter shouted, holding his axe aloft. “Swords and spears, fall back and protect our ranged support! Kill the cyclops before attacking Hargus!”

But the commander’s words went unheeded. Yes, the men were falling back, but they retreated too far into the walls. Tactics were gone, and survival was all that mattered. Fear was thick in the air, and only the brave, trained few were fighting with any sort of coordination; the rest, scores of Sacaen militia, were merely fighting for their own lives.

The Winter Lion’s steeled gaze shot toward the howling visage of Hargus’s cyclops. The crazed beast continued to slam its fists against the ground in an attempt to stamp out whatever defenders it could. Even rendered immobile, it was wreaking havoc. That had to stop. The orange haired pirate and the young swordsman had done their part. Now it was time to do his. Lowering himself to the ground, Richter ducked under a swinging cedar of the warbeasts arm. An uninterrupted burst of speed would be all it would take to close in on the cyclops, but he would not go unnoticed. The massive creature spotted the crimson armored commander, and dedicated a hand to attacking him. Richter ducked once as a huge finger went over his head, then stumbled back as the fist came back around and struck the dirt in front of him. The force of the blow shook the ground so heavily that it sent the Ilian to the seat of his pants. The Ilian winced in pain as tailbone hit, but he had only seconds before he would be crushed by a rapidly descending shadow.

It was only by the grace of whatever gods watched over him that Richter rolled out of the way in time, and even though he had narrowly dodged the blow, his very bones rattled at the seismic event that the followed. Even avoiding one of the beast’s ground pounds stunned him long enough for the beast to attempt another attack. Deadly swings continued to threaten the fastness of Richter’s head, but it wouldn’t stop his advance. It couldn’t stop his advance! He would not be stopped!

The frost axe wielding warrior slid under the cyclops’s hand as it tried to scoop him up, then darted for the monster’s face. The colossus howled in frustration as its attacks continued to miss, but that only gave Richter all the opening he needed. With a vigorous shout, the Ilian spun on his back foot then, like a log hurler, threw Boreas towards creature’s open mouth. Ice magic swirled about the weapon in mesmerizing fashion as the axe sailed through the air. From a distance, the magic weapon may have looked like a shooting star, and against the darkness of the creature’s maw it was a lone, fading hope, but when it struck the back of the beast’s throat it erupted into a brilliant shower of razor sharp hail that tore into the softer, vulnerable meat with unyielding prejudice. The massive cyclops roared in in immense agony as its neck was rendered into frozen and shredded chunks of flesh by the angry axe, but its shouts did little more than spatter its thick, black blood all over the battlefield below it.

Sweat and dirt coating his face, Richter could only grin in satisfaction as the warbeast choaked on its own rancid lifeblood, then, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed an orange haired man leap at an unsuspecting Hargus.

[Edrick]

Edrick watched from his position on the ground as the thing on the cyclops all but ignored his attack. How could it even do that? Did it have some sort of barrier that repelled his magic? Was it just that strong that it could shrug off attacks like that? Ot maybe. . . Did his attacks empower it? It seemed to be controlling a dark magic most foul, maybe it could harness the dark magic of others? Their darkness? If it could then that was something quite curious indeed. If only he had time to study it. Why did all the really interesting things happen in times that battles were happening? Dragons at arenas and weird magic at a siege. No fair.

As he saw that in the moments he was down he smelled something weird. It was the smell of burning ozone, the smell that you would be able to get a waft of in intense thunderstorms. But why was that smell here? Before he had much time to think on it there waas a blade against his cheek, drawing blood. But it stopped after it drew blood. Soooooo he wasn't dead at this moment? He then heard a feminine voice saying that he surprised them, and the owner of that voice bent over to look at him. It was the girl he was going to help, but she did look familiar. Wasn't she. . . a contestant in the arena when the dragon was there? Yes she was.

He took the hand that was offered to him and stood up, Ah, he remembered who that girl was now. "Maiden of the blade? And yes it is Edrick." But before he could say much else she asked him to cover her from the gargoyle things. He didn't quite know how to say that he hadn't been using his magic too much since the arena. But that wasn't really a problem. With the troops that came with him the gargoyles had plenty of other easier targets to hit so he didn't have to do much beside follow her.

As he was following her something extraordinary happened. The giant cyclops monster fell over! Was it dead? Wait. . . it's still thrashing. No! It's still alive! The cyclops began thrashing around, arguably causing much more damage than it had when it was upright. But he could still see that the thing that was on it's shoulder was still there. That thing had to be controlling it. Maybe. But now was a time to take chances and hitting that was a chance he wanted to take.

He almost zoned out as more and more people got around him as they fought the monsters. He was concentrating on his magic as a glowing circle filled with strange arcane symbols appeared on the ground around him and his cloak began to flutter as if there was some strong winds kicking it up. A black ball of magic appeared in front of him and began to grow before plunging into the ground. Its target? That thing on the cyclops. He had little faith that he could do much to the cyclops itself.

[Elias]

“Bravery is not a weapon that can be wielded against me, human!”

No time to think just move move move! A bolt of dark magic, foul disgusting vile filled his vision with blackness and decay making the bile rise in his throat. Without thinking Elias pitched his hand back, a cool sphere of blue energy filling his clenched grip like he was holding magic itself, he tossed it into the area in front of him where it collided violently with a blast of pure darkness, the inky chaos ripping the poor magic and spirits to shreds creating an explosion of deep violet in the sky. It wasn't smoke that erupted from it, it was much thicker. Gooey, physical, it had substance and looked like when someone spilled ink into water, spreading and flowing in shapes in the sky. His magic detonated it, but it wasn't even close to stopping it, the darkness slowly fading from the air but still leaving the sky darkened where it once lingered. Simply looking through it at the world beyond filled his being with dread, just viewing this magic is something humans were not meant to do. Though he managed to counter it, that was only because he had the good fortune of this dread man focusing his attentions elsewhere. If they had been honed in on Elias, there would have been no chance.

He swallowed hard, his heart racing and his eyes wide. His grip grew slack on his staff as it dawned on him just how close to death he had been just there. One second slower and he would have become... This whole fight was dangerous, but that was another level. It wasn't just his life on the line there but something... else. Something purer, something that should not be tainted. He would have lost it, lost everything. These thoughts in his mind made little sense, but there was a truth to them that he could not deny. Maybe he felt it in his soul, or whatever quasi-ethereal crap that resides within. It scared him. It terrified him to the bone.

What was he doing here? The 'Crimson Mage'? Bah, a load of crap. He was never anything more then an annoying mage who didn't know when to quit. He couldn't even feel his legs, they took a step back all on their own accord. He could die. No, worse then death. Unlife, eternity as some... slave. Eternity as some monster. He took another step back, unable to stop himself. He watched in terror as people died, warped twisted and morphed into a cruel mockery of human life. The very same magic that nearly stole his life away was reeking terror and havoc all about him. One of the wyvern riders who had come to fight the beast was instead turned into a flying abomination. To be turned so easily, in minutes, no seconds. He watched the grotesque beast fighting his brother in the sky, only just barely being stuck down. That... could have been him.

The cyclops yet lived, Headband had been successful in whatever it was he had tried, but it wasn't enough. The beast flailed and struck all about him, sweeping away those who came close like it was simply clearing away debris. Their bodies snapping and breaking at the monster's great fleshy fists. Their weapons snapping like twigs against it's steely hide. A cyclops, never did he imagine he'd see one. It was something he wanted, something he looked forward to, to see to study to learn but not like this. Monsters fascinated him, something about them called to him. He didn't know what it was, maybe it was foolish dreams of heroes slaying monsters, maybe it was the fact no one knew the first thing about them. Still as he watched this monster thrash, as that madman cackle and create these monstrosities. At the death around him, the scent of decay and destruction in the air, the ruined walls, the countless corpses both those still and moving. The bandits were understandable, but this? This was just destruction for the sake of destruction, the delusions of a mad man with no purpose and no goal but to cause as much misery as possible. He didn't know why he studied monsters and in truth that didn't even matter any longer. If he didn't have one to begin with, he had one now. To stop this. To stop this from ever happening again. This was one city in Sacae, what would happen if this was unleashed on the world? No one can do a thing, he couldn't do a thing. No.

He was scared, terrified, shivering to his very core. Everything he was, every good idea he ever had, they all begged him to flee. He couldn't help anyone if he was dead but... He bit his lip and took a step forward. If his body wouldn't listen, he'd force it to listen. He tightened his grip on his staff once more, though everything fought against it he continued to fight.

“Bravery is not a weapon that can be wielded against me, human!” The man had boasted, arrogance and insanity. Elias laughed. Those words had rung in his head, unable to speak at the time, but now he was sure.

"Bravery isn't a weapon you say?" He smirked. "Clearly, you have never fought the Crimson Mage." He laughed. "My reckless and foolish bravery is the most dangerous weapon I have!"

Elias thrust his arm out, light gathering around him. "Matrona..." He whispered to his self. His crisis of faith was short, but powerful, he was fortunate it had not drawn any undue attention to his self. He was still living, still breathing, and as long as he kept that going maybe things wont turn out so bad, yeah? He took in deep breath as he moved, focusing on himself, his power. That power within, burning and overflowing like a tea kettle brought to boil. He felt it so strongly within himself, just bursting to be let out and flow into the world. He brought the staff in hand, holding it sideways with eye shut for just a moment. A moment to think, to collect his thoughts, to decide. In an instant it was clear, he tossed his hand out to a man leaping in the air. "You!" He shouted as the magic flowed from him and to the man. A crimson light flying from his body to the man's, once again filling his target with great strength and agility beyond that should be physically possible. If this guy was gonna make a hit, Elias was damn sure he was gonna make it count.

[Kenshin]

The battle field had erupted into udder chaos once the monsters had began to appear, his goal was to hold down the fort in the east. The skies were full of gargoyles, Kenshin took a roof top in order to get a clear view of them and pulled out his bow. He nocked an arrow and looked for a target, upon finding a gargoyle that was in range he released the string launching the arrow towards it. The arrow struck the target, sticking in it's leg. It had angered it, the gargoyle started to descend upon Kenshin holding it's lance by it's head, pulling it's arm back. Kenshin wasted no time getting another arrow ready and launching it towards the winged creature, this time striking it in the eye. He had checked the ground level only to see that zombies were quickly approaching the gates, he had two options. To continue providing fire to the air born monsters or take the fight to the ones on the ground, he felt far more comfortable fighting with a sword over a bow so he took that option.

He drew his Wo Dao, the sword he had since the bandit wars, then descended down the walls by jumping into the battlefield. He landed with a roll then charged the first zombie he saw, swinging his sword and striking it in the chest, the blow had pushed it back but it was still in range for the spectral blade to strike it. That had almost cleaved the zombie in half, Kenshin barely had enough time to dodge another zombie. It didn't take long for him to shift to the defensive as he was quickly becoming swarmed. He would move back and strike when he saw an opening, which wasn't as often as he had hoped. Before he was completely surrounded others had joined him, with the aid of the others he no longer needed to be on the defensive, with their aid Kenshin had pushed forward through the sea of undead, he did also notice the supportive fire from the archers it kept the gargoyles from diving upon him for the time being. After some time fighting Kenshin had noticed his movements were beginning to become a tad bit sluggish for his taste, he didn't bother to look at the others while he gave the order to fall back. Much like their advancement to where they were, they had to fight to fall back. When they arrived back to the walls is when they began to talk.

"Kenshin, are you alright?" Kenshin's breathing was slightly increased. "Yeah, figured that it would be wise to retreat before it was too late." "Heh, I feel ya." the other man replied. The others had felt the same, but didn't want to leave Kenshin or the others behind to get to safety. It was at this point Kenshin noticed the amount of arrows being release had greatly decreased. as well as the incoming gargoyles. He had saw one threw it's spear at him, his miscalculated his timing and the tip of his sword had swung past it before it had came in range but luckily for him, the spectral blade following his hit it and deflected it. This angered the gargoyle, it dove and tackled him knocking the Wo Dao from his hands.

The monster was on top of him, trying to break it's hands free from Kenshin's to claw at him. Kenshin had his knee in it's chest as it tried to lean in to bite him, Kenshin glanced around to see the others engaging zombies and gargoyles. He knew if he was going to get out of this situation, he was going to have to do it alone. He pull both the gargoyle's arms downwards and he raised his knee higher, he had started to shift his body so he had better leverage then he had heard a popping sound before the screech of pain from the gargoyle. He was guessing he had dislocated one of it's shoulders, and at this point it was attempting to flee instead of kill him. He released it with his right hand, keeping his grip with his left, and reached for an arrow as the gargoyle tried to fly away as it clawed at his arm. By time he had the arrow in hand and began to stab towards it, the gargoyle had bit him in the arm. Before it could escape Kenshin had drove the arrow into it's eye, killing it.

Now there was a thunderous boom coming from the south, Kenshin turned to see a creature that towered over the walls, with a hideous rider on it's shoulder. It didn't look like any of the other gargoyles, could it have been Hargus? He picked up his Wo Dao and returned it to it's sheath as he drew his bow once again. He started to fire at the low flying gargoyles. "Let's move to the south and give them aid there." The other men had saw what Kenshin had, one responded "Is that a good idea?" "This is the perfect day to die, wipe the blood from our eyes. In this life there is no surrender, there's nothing for us to do, find the strength to see this through. We are the ones who will never be broken, with our final breath, we fight to the death. We are Sacaens. I stand here right beside you, tonight we fight for our lives, let me hear your battle cries."

With that the seven other men let out a shout as the began to push towards the south of the city. Kenshin had picked off a couple of zombies, and shot at a few of the gargoyles as they fought their way south. By the time they had came around the corner, the cyclops had been brought down to one leg. The creature on it's shoulder was Hargus, Kenshin was unsure what had caused this transformation nor did he care, he had only one thing on his mind, to kill Hargus. "Go provide the ones fighting that giant beast with aid, make sure nothing gets close enough to distract them." Kenshin was answered with actions, not words. The men charged forward to fight off the undead, something he didn't realize was their numbers had increased as they moved along. It had seemed others had heard his little speech and joined them as they fought their way south.

Reaching into his quiver he only felt one arrow, he had only one shot to hit Hargus. He pulled the arrow out and nocked it on the bow, he lifted it up drawing back on the string. His left arm had began to shake a bit, it had been in a lot of pain, more so now than before, since he was bite by the gargoyle. He a zombie groan as it shuffled towards him from his right, quickly turning the bow and pointing at it. Before he released the string he had saw a sight for sore eyes, it was one of the cheiftens from another tribe assaulting the zombie. He wasn't alone either, he was joined by the others that refused to do much earlier in the battle. "Take the shot, don't worry about something sneaking up on you, we'll cover you." Kenshin gave him a nod as he trained his bow hack on Hargus. He took in a couple of deep breaths as he tried to steady his arm once again.

He took in one last deep breath and held it as he aimed, he was able to hold the bow still long enough to feel comfortable with the shot, then Kenshin had let go of the string sending the arrow straight for Hargus. He had received a sword as a gift from one of the brave people that fought aside them during the break in the fighting. Now was the time he would put it to good use, he drew the Regal Blade from it's sheath as he dropped his bow onto the ground.

[Hargus]

Hargus was a maelstrom of powerful negative emotions as chaos whirled about him. Sick elation rose in his breast as he watched a wyvern and its rider dissolve before his very eyes, their comrades wailing and scrambling like distraught widows. But this cyclops! While at least performing its most basic task, the beast was far more useless than he had expected a behemoth of its size to be. First its legs, now its face... Those children! The pink haired commander! It was INFURIATING! Damn these “heroes” and their spirit weapons! DAMN THEM! Those hunks of iron were their only claims to power, and without them they would be nothing! NOTHING! Not like him, though, no! He had battled with the nether, but he had not let it consume him. He had brought its infinite power into himself and consumed it! He had become darkness! He had become the Demon King!

“YOU WILL ALL KNEEL AT MY FEET BEFORE THIS DAY IS DONE!” roared Hargus as he hurled bolt after bolt of writhing nether magic into the crowd below him, laughing like a madman. “IF THERE’S ANYTHING LEFT OF YOU THAT IS!” The earth below him twisted and warped like warm wax as it was barraged by a hailstorm of dark magic. None of the spells were thrown with the intent of creating more slaves. Hargus would see this place reduced to rubble!

But in the midst of his fury, the great demon king was struck upside the head by a stray bolt of magic, or at least he assumed it was a stray shot for the attack, a single orb of the nether’s darkness, did little more than break his attention away from the ground he was decimating.
“Dark magic?” Hargus muttered under his breath, touching his warped, clawed hand to the cheek it had struck him on. He spotted a man below in a gold-lined cloak holding a black tome, his hand outstretched towards his better. This fool? “Who would use dark magic against the Demon King? I am the nether itself! IT HAS NO HOLD OVER ME!” The giant winged man lifted a clawed hand in front of him within the palm of which dark energies began to coalesce. The result was an orb of power far larger and denser than the attack that had been aimed at him. “This is how you use DARK MAGIC!”

Hargus made to hurl the spell at the hooded figure, but no sooner did his arm stretched skyward did he feel the burning sting of silver bury itself into his shoulder. He hurled the magic he had prepared, but it flew off aimlessly as he was knocked off balance. The Demon King could feel his collarbone shatter with crushing force as thick, black blood burst from the wound. A surprise attack? AGAIN!? How did these imbeciles keep sneaking up on him? Hargus looked to see the weapon that had offended his form this time. It was a silver axe, and on the end was a strong-armed man with a ponytail the same color as that infuriating urchin son of Nya. Was this some kind of divine joke?

And not a second after Hargus’s shoulder was split did he feel another weapon pierce his side, right between his ribs. It was the leader of those wyvern riders whose hand gripped the end of the lance that punctured him, his face twisted with rage. It burned. More silver. MORE SILVER! Damn these fools and their WEAPONS! As he cursed, he could feel the ground coming up towards him. He felt his knee strike the craggy skin of the beast he rode. His knee? These pathetic humans had brought him, the Demon King, to his KNEES!? No!

Hargus brushed away the stiffness brought on by the agonizing pain in his body caused by the infernal silver weapons and forced himself upright, for he would not kneel to these foolish mortals. But as he erected himself, he spotted a familiar red-haired rat yards away. It couldn't be. After a week? Was it... KENSHIN! THAT WORM! Yes! This was the one he had come all this way to see. Hargus could not wait to see anguish burned into that disgusting face. The time had come! Hargus would have his vengance! He would inflict such pain upon that man! He would learn the true power of the-

The Sacaen leader, who had been aiming his bow right at Hargus, launched an arrow that struck the great Demon King right in the neck. Gasping and wheezing, the pitch black sclera of the winged demon widened with shock and surprise. An arrow? Just a single arrow? And it wasn’t even silver! No respect! NO RESPECT! No respect for his power at all! What would it take to subdue these loathsome creatures? Would they continue to fight until he reduced them to grease? What drove these idiots to fight so hard? Didn’t they know it was futile?

Critically wounded with blood streaming from his multiple wounds, Hargus’s twitching form plummeted from its perch upon the cyclops’s shoulder. He fell through the air like a stone, and hit the ground with a silent thud, his body crumpling under the force. There was a moment, a long moment, where his black winged form remained still. Monsters continued to squeal and shriek around him, sinking their spears or claws into whatever flesh they could find, but their ruler and master lay dormant.

But it was only for a moment.

First the Demon King’s wings stretched out, like the black sails of a dread ship, then his arms straightened out against the ground, forcing him up and supporting him like the pillars of an ancient temple. His face was clad in fury, twisted and snarling like a rabid dog, and the flesh in his neck pulsed as if some worm was lurking just beneath its surface. He held himself in such a position for a time, his chest heaving and his breathing grating like gravel, before lashing out at the haunch of the mortally wounded, mutilated cyclops that thrashed about next to him. At his touched it seized, as if being turned to stone, and black wisps of the same smoke that had created this demon army began leaking out of every crack in its earthen hide. The smoke traveled along the surface of the beast’s skin, fell mist caressing a mountain, as it made its way to Hargus’s shivering body.

The magic seeped into Hargus’s wounds: his neck, his shoulder, his side. Instantly his wounds, despite their incredible severity, began to mend, binding together like weaver’s cloth. Dark flesh was once again made whole, and Hargus’s raspy breathing slowly shifted into an evil, echoing laughter that rattled the air around it with power. Its energy drained and returned to its master, the cyclops collapsed upon itself as it was reduced to a disgusting paste of soil and black sludge. The Demon King stood, now once again pulsing with a purple hue. He refused to disgrace himself any longer by lying in the dirt.

“Did you or your little friends really believe you could kill me with such vulgar methods, Kenshin?” questioned Hargus in a deep, booming voice as his arm finished re-attaching itself to his shoulder. Any signs of tiredness or weakness had left him, and he was once again the intimidating figure that had stood at the far edge of the battlefield amidst the tornado of nether that had created this hellish battlescape. He flexed his right hand as he relished his returned vigor. “I no longer the frail mortal that you and those companions of yours felled on the battlefield in Bern. I have become so much more. I discovered a power the likes of which you cannot hope to contend. Hopefully upon witnessing my impressive new form you can understand that.”

The Demon King gazed skyward at the wyverns that circled above. Still they clashed with his gargoyles. Good. He raised a finger towards them, and immediately another group of gargoyles peeled off from the men they were harassing and flew to attack.
“They are but extensions of my power, my will,” he announced, turning his gaze back to the red swordsman. “Do you like them? They are so much more useful than idiot bandits.” As he spoke, Hargus waved a his over five corpses that lay around him. Like everything else Hargus had touched, they began to spasm as dark magic overtook them, but instead of creating zombies or solidifying into gargoyles, the magic that covered them remained nebulous and immaterial. Their forms looked just like humans, save for the horn-like protrusions that poked from what would be their foreheads, but that was all they were: forms. They were but dark shades against the light of the evening sun, and looking at them was like looking into a vast chasm, one from which no light could escape.

“These are the last of the Arum souls that I possess,” rumbled Hargus, his voice still cold and overpowering. “Ancient warriors, these five, and nothing like the wisps that make up my glorious horde. They hate humans. They hunger for their blood. A sneer of wicked malevolence split Hargus's jet-black face. His teeth were white as freshly fallen snow, which struck a ghastly visage. "They should be enough to keep your intrepid followers occupied while I take my time ripping every last bit of skin from your frail little body.”

A powerful beat of demonic wings sent the Demon King sailing through the air, his arm outstretched and aimed directly at Kenshin. Meanwhile, the shadowy warriors began to look towards those that had dared to harm the Demon King.

[Oya]

"Their is no way I am leaving Xigshaw behind", shouted Oya as he stretched out his arm and fell toward the might hammer. The moment his hand touched the weapon he could feel strength return to his limbs, said one however. His leg was still in bad shape and there were plenty of enemies around. However there was no way Oya was going to leave the legendary weapon behind. If he did that Willow would kill him. He would rather die to the undead than face a ticked off Willow. Xigshaw had been in her family and the church of fresha for generations. For Oya to loss it on a battlefield he purposely joined up for gold and plunder would be the greatest insult to the family possible. No Oya would rather die than let that happen. Still he wanted to live and dying in this place was not a real option for him.

Suddenly the white hair kid showed up from before. His timing was almost perfect. He offered to defend the pirate while the other man got him out. This however was not satisfactory for Oya. He did not want to be removed from the battlefield. He still had a bone to pick with the cyclopes and the fool of a man who rode it. "Hey get me to a healer", shouted Oya. "I need to get to a healer! This battle is not over and I am not done fighting! I am sure there is somebody around here who can mend my leg."

"Are you insane", spoke Oya's helper as he looked at the warriors leg. Even with a busted up leg he still wanted to fight. The very thought was crazy, but Oya himself was crazy. Battle was in Oya's blood. They could not resist a good fight even on their death beds. However the pirates attention was turned from himself for a moment as he heard a sound that was almost music to his ears. Oya did not even have to look up to know what that was. The screams of the demon king filled the air as somebody struck him with an axe, then it was followed by a lance, and finally a single arrow. It was the oddest of combinations, but Oya had to admit it was classy. Like a lump of clay her fell bringing joy into the heart of the young pirate. "Looks like I won't be the one to take his head after all. Still I wonder who", spoke Oya as he recognized one of the three men.

"Burt", he said with both shock and surprise. He had no idea that his cousin was even on this battlefield. Burt had been the one who left to get educated. He was the one who did not have the taste for battle. He was the one who was not a true warrior, and yet he was here. He was fighting agaisnt the monsters of the ages and he was one of the few who struck a blow against the demon king. While Oya lay on the ground with a busted leg Burt had done what he wanted to do. "Well call me a old granny", spoke Oya.

With the demon king dead, or at least he thought he was for the moment Oya relented. He slightly shifted Xigshaw so it would touch the man trying to hold him up. The power from the hammer energized his muscles and gave him more than enough strength to do the deed. "Hey man just get me to a healer. I want to keep my leg", spoke the pirate.

However his facial expression changed when he saw the demon king rise back up again. Once again he had returned from the grave, but at the cost of his cyclopes. The site made Oya angry. "Do we have to kill every last one of his demon abominations before we can finish him off", he shouted. His carrier however was not even paying attention to Oya at the moment. He was getting the pirate back to the side lines were he can get some medical attention.

[Ilheod]

Rage guided his spear, and the sickly satisfying sensation of piercing flesh as the demonic creature was struck by his lance in the wake of the heavy ax blow driven into it's back sent a chilling satisfaction to Ilheod. There was the brief pause with his spear embedded within the monsters black winged nightmareish frame before Astraeus flapped heavily twice to pull them backwards while Ilheod withdrew the weapon. His flourished his weapon and slashed the air to send ebony droplets of nightmare fluid cascading away. As he circled around and flew upwards he could see to his satisfaction that his unit was holding their own with flying colors. Keeping his gaze fixed on the monster, Ilheod saw the arrow sail into him and shatter the otherwise lifeless husk that remained. As it fell to the ground he internally gave a satisfactory nod; before circling above in the sky.

All was not to end well however. The very fates seemed to conspire. The monstrous wings of the dark one suddenly extended. A curse muttered under his breath, he signaled for his Wyvern to climb higher into the air. Astraeus did just that, while Ilheod looked to see the newly conjured winged monsters moving to siege his unit. Over the noise of combat Ilheod knew he couldn't signal conventionally. So instead he turned to guide Astraeus closer. The last thing he wanted was for any more of his men to die. He had yet to avenge William, let alone more. Wings beating furiously, He tapped the side of the Wyvern's neck in signal for it to roar loudly. Training exercises by the unit had trained their wyverns to respond to certain roars by Astraeus.

There would be times where they couldn't hear one another. Be it intense wind, powerful storms or otherwise. Training his wyvern to make different types of roars in response to different motions would lead them to different formations. While they battled with the gargoyles the unit began to change their formation. The spear head that would have easily been butchered by the newly arrived Gargoyles was reconfigured into an ascending wheel. The riders looking around now had a moment to react to the newly buffered unit.

Ilheod was planning to assist them when however he saw the dark magic take further ends. He turned Astraeus to slow himself. Heavy wingbeats kept him in a juggled stationary height as the demonic "king" explained the nature of his newly acquired constructs. Foul creatures, all of them. Ilheod scowled with anger and frustration at the situation. He loathed magic. However he could not necessarily leave a man who had just helped him in combat to face such odds alone. Tucking his body inwards he nodded towards the wyvern and qucikly urged him onwards. "Go Astraeus! We have a new ally to assist!"

The Ax wielding man who had thrown himself into the monster. Ilheod knew not his name, nor his allegiance. He however had risked becoming an abomination along side the rest of the defenders. That made him a comrade. The heavily armored large midnight blue wyvern crashed down wards after a brief moment next to the Ax wielding man who was effectively on the wrong side of the situation. Worse case scenario Ilheod could grab him and fly him to the defenders but, any man who could blindly charge in a situation like the ax wielding muscled man had came off as a man that wouldn't accept such offers. Though heavily armored, speed and precision were his allies here.


ifting his spear in a jousting position he leaned forwards with a more tense poise; both Wyvern and Rider ready to adjust or evade at the slightest of wrong turns. A slow steady snarl emanated from the parted jaws of the draconic mount with it's long tail lashing out into the air. Ilheod wouldn't rush in to fight such shades though; he would wait and strike at the most opportune point.

[Mavick]

It was happening again. It was all happening again. Mavick thought he would be ready this time. He thought he could steel himself against it. But he was wrong. Yet again, the damned walked the Earth, and yet again, he was powerless. "The Darkness..." he whispered in horror, oblivious to the chaos around him. "The Darkness comes for me." And this time, he knew it would consume him.

The world spun around him. It spun so fast, he could scarcely keep up. He didn't know where he was going. He couldn't see the combat around him, he couldn't notice as men and monsters alike fell to the wayside on his path. The Darkness was calling. It wanted back what it had claimed. He couldn't fight it. He knew he had to answer. Darkness. There was so much Darkness. But where? Where was it all coming from? Was he dead? A spirit on the battlefield?

Then he felt it. A shaking feeling. A quake? No... Not a quake. A pulse... Almost like a heartbeat. A slow, but sure, pulse. Something dark. Something wicked. Something wrong. Without sight, Mavick searched for it. Without hearing, he listened to the call. Without words, he answered it. There was Darkness here. But it felt... different. Profane. Pure evil.

That was when Mavick saw it. A man- no, a demon, that was what created the Darkness he felt. Mavick stared in horror and awe of the beast as it boasted. It's Darkness was crushing him, smothering him. He wasn't sure if he could stand it. And as he stood there, staring, listening, beholding everything this monster was, suddenly it all became so clear. And Mavick knew that what he would do now, there was no turning back from.

"Consumetur in tenebris!" Mavick shouted, darkness surging from his open palm towards the Demon King. He stared at the vast monster. He was outmatched. Outskilled. He was not a warrior. He was not a great sorcerer. He was not a brave man. Mavick was a tactician, nothing more. And he was furious. "It was you." he spoke, his eyes filled with something. Hate? No, it was not hate. Hate was weak. This feeling of rage, of malice, of despair... This was something he could not describe. "It was you, wasn't it? You're the reason Ostia burned to the ground. You're the reason I lost everything. My home. My family. ....My soul." He rose his hand again.

"Nihil in defluxerunt!" He cried, another wave of darkness surging towards the monster. "You call yourself the Nether itself, Hargus!?" he demanded. "Then know me, monster! I am Mavick, of Ostia! I have seen the Darkness! I have touched Nothing, and it has marked my soul! If you are what you claim, then come! By all the powers of the heavens, and all the wrath of the hells, and all the emptyness of the Void itself, I command you, false King, know me!"

[Elias]

"Arum soul?" Elias muttered to himself quietly. The words were familiar, they had shape and form like that he has seen. Somewhere about something, at the very edge of his memory. It was something. He didn't know, couldn't know, maybe a passing reference somewhere. Someone's annotated notes, scribbled in the margins of a book or a passing phrase he heard between mages speaking with one another. The word meant something, but what? Ugh, this was gonna drive him crazy. In honesty what the definition was didn't quite matter at time like this with all the, y'know, dying. There was one big shiny thing that sort of made all his academic questions a bit less important. Three guesses as to what. Here's a hint, he was big, winged, and royally ticked off.

For a moment, brief as it was, it was like they won. Elias' spell gave that man the needed strength to really sink his blow in deep, and everyone sort of dogpiled on him. He felt a little left out actually, didn't do a whole lot. 'Maybe if he had shot a fireball or something' that little diehard gloryhound in his heart complained. After the orange haired man's strike hit home, an arrow pierced from somewhere (likely the heavens) and smote him right in the neck. Ouch. It knocked him off his highcyclops and tumbling down to the ground. In those seconds, at that time, it truly looked like it was over. It was foolish to think such a thing, Elias knew it, everyone knew it. Still they wanted to believe it, they wanted to hope, that it could truly be done.

He proved them wrong though, oooooh did he prove them wrong. Every cut, every scrape, every little bit of progress they made was gone. The blink of an eye, before they could even register it, Hargus was back on his feet stronger then ever. He devoured the very lifeforce of his pet, perhaps a sort of Nosferatu spell or something using a similar formula, Elias couldn't tell. He knew far too little about this twisted and corrupt magic Hargus slung around like a toy. It was powerful magic though, of that there was no doubt. An order far beyond anything he was capable of. The magic was slimy, thick, viscous. It flowed like black sludge, it clogged the air with its stench and stagnated the earth with its darkness. The spirits of nature were choked by it, his magic was no more then a paper tiger. He could feel the sweat return, beating upon his brow, trickling down his neck. Icy cold, making him shiver. He had always been sensitive to magic, it's why he made such a great mage, but this was far more then he ever imagined.

He used forbidden magic, forbidden compared to even that he had used before. Twisting the living into abomination and monsters was one thing, but this... he didn't even know what these things were. Arum souls, the word flitted into his mind once more. That's what he called them. Arum... They stood there like gaps in the world, voids of darkness and nether twisted into humanoid form. Featureless, terrifying. His eyes darted around, looking at those creatures, and those then again at the ones fighting this monster. He needed to help. These things weren't like the monsters from before, as terrible as they had been, at least they were known. Never had he seen these things, completely blind in this fight. They paid him no mind, he could feel it, as if their disdain and hatred was an actual physical presence that simply passed by him, leaving him in shivers.

He held his staff, taking a deep breath, coughing as the darkness lingering in the air filled his lungs with blackness. He closed his eyes and focused for a moment, the glorious glittering jewel adorning the top shining in response. He didn't know the people on this battlefield, headband, orange guy, flying dude, none of them. There was only one person he knew, even if just barely. Red2. So that's where he would go, to where Richter was. He teleported across the field in the blink of the eye, reappearing in a flash. After a moment he was near his target, and now he said the only thing anyone could possibly say in this situation. "Got any plans?"

[Richter Abend]

The slight feeling of regret that had been plaguing Richter as he considered how he would be reclaiming Boreas from the cyclops’s ruined mouth disappeared instantly as the creature was reduced to a pasty sludge. Now it was just a feeling of disgust. Disgust and trepidation. No, he was not looking forward to sifting through that sludge to find his weapon, but the dark energy and ominous power that spilled from Hargus’s now restored form was what really captured the Ilian’s attention.

The Bandit King, or whatever he considered himself to be now, had been torn from the top of his massive warbeast in what had looked like a decisive two-pronged attack. Richter’s heart had jumped joyfully in his chest as the winged terror struck dirt, but only a moment after reaching the ground did Hargus absorb what looked like all the fell energy that had been powering the dying cyclops, and what was worse, he had used to it to heal himself. Absolutely terrifying. The commander was sure he had watched this man died 8 years ago, or at least he thought he had but now he found himself wondering if Kenshin, Rayl, and the others had ever truly killed him. Was it impossible to kill the Bandit King? Hell, was he even a man anymore?

The restored Hargus pulled himself to his feet and began grandstanding for the sake of the recently arrived Kenshin. Ultimate power. Ultimate army. Ultimate evil. It was nothing but the ridiculous words of a power-drunk madman, but as ridiculous as they were, his threats were very real. He had given them very real demonstrations of just what he was capable of, and from the looks of it, he wasn’t done yet.

Black tendrils. They looked too much like the magic of Damonzahn for his liking, and they way they squirmed and slithered made Richter’s skin crawl. The sword that remained sheathed and affixed to his back used that same magic, and he had used that magic to kill men. He had taken their lives and deconstructed them into pure energy. Truly he would be dead right now if not for the life force of his enemies that currently powered his flesh and bone, and it was not lost on the Ilian that that fact, in essence, made him eerily similar to Hargus.

This particular spell, however, did something different. It seeked out five different corpses and began binding itself around them. But instead of creating gargoyles or zombies, this spell forged five, humanoid shades. They stood still, swaying in the wind, their black “flesh” rippling like water, and at the sight of them Richter’s skin began to crawl. These things. He didn’t know how he knew, but just a glance told him they were not of this world. They did not belong here. Not in this time, not in this space. They were monsters. They were demons. But so had been every other monstrosity that Hargus had summoned up this day. No, these things were different. Why did these things terrify him so?

"Got any plans?"

The question was a welcome interruption from the terror that was currently gripping Richter, so much so that Elias’s rapidly sudden barely surprised the Ilian. He shook his head.
“I honestly don’t know,” he gasped, now short of breath. His higher functioning thought was being clouded by fear. “We have to kill them, that much is certain, but how we go about doing it, I don’t know. Light magic and silver? Elimine's breath...” Only partially acknowledging the red mage’s presence as it was, Richter glanced down at his hand. It was trembling. Why? What was going on?

The Ilian’s fearful question was answered the second one of the nether things, the Arum souls, turned to look at him. It had no eyes, but Richter knew it was looking at him, and immediately the pink haired commander’s body seized. Waves of pain erupted from his right arm, echoing throughout his entire body. The commander would have cried out in pain, but his jaw was locked firmly in position so there was little more than a low squeal of agony as he fell to the ground, convulsing and shivering. This pain! This feeling of dread! It was the same as when he had been possessed at Salvation Point, but a thousand times worse! Aerious had banished that thing from his body, hadn’t he? Damn, Richter could barely think through this pain!

He had never felt such incredible pain before. It was as if a spiritual scar was being torn open inside of him. It was as if his soul was freezing and shattering. He was completely helpless, and the Arum knew it, for it lunged towards him, its shadowy appendages outstretched, gliding across the ground with the grace and swiftness of a low flying bat.

[Burt]

"I officially hat monsters", spoke Burt as he pulled himself out of a pile of evil gobby gop. when the cyclopse died and became food for the Demon King, Burt, the fighter who finally found courage, was still atop the massive beast. The axe wielding warrior managed not to be sucked up with the power of the monster as it flowed back into the demon king, but he did not manage to avoid the goop that was left after the monster vanished. Pulling himself out of the gunk Burt's heart was filled with both rage and anger. Even after all they did to slay the beast, the demon king still stood.

"What does it take to kill this thing", shouted Burt as he pushed some of the vile substance off him! The fighter preyed that the stuff was not poisonous. As he stepped forward his foot touched something in the goop. The fighter leaned down and picked up a mighty axe. He had never seen such a thing in his life. Still this was not the time to think, but the time for action. Hargus had done something and Burt knew it was no good. The fighter picked up the axe and charged forward. With his silver axe in one hand and the newly found axe in the other Burt charged toward the unholy creatures that seemed to come from the demon kings body.

As Burt charged he noticed the pink haired commander. "What happened to him", thought Burt, but the moment he took his eyes off his target one of the many undead attack. Burt turned just in time to see the claw coming. Quicly he crossed the two axes blocking the blow, but the force of the monsters attack lunched him backwards. The fighter feet slid across the black earth as the black gunk left on the bottom of his shoes was brushed off the sand. Now to his surprise he was standing next to the commander.

"D!@% undead", he shouted, but suddenly the weight of his axe dramatically decreased. The blow from the monster had shattered the shaft of the sliver axe. The weapon was now useless to Burt. As quick as Burt had picked up the new axe it was giving him the chills. The weapon reminded him of the other axe he had found in the plains. The fighter could practically feel the magic flowing from it.

"I hate magic", spoke Burt as he dropped the weapon on the ground. "Sorry, but I am going to have to borrow this", spoke Burt as he grabbed the commanders sword. Taking firm hold of the blade Burt knew it was time to let it go. The reason he broke his silver axe as thanks to his mental blocks. Butorega, Alexander, Oya, and even his cousin Borgus. When they all went into a fight they threw themselves into it fully. Burt was holding back. He feared the violent nature of his family. He feared becoming a monster and because of that he lost his silver axe. Because he did not throw himself into the fight Oya was struck by the massive cyclopse. If he had charged earlier like he was suppose to the demon king would have sacrificed his monster earlier and Oya would not have to rush toward the beast feat. It was his fault. If he gave his all into the fight then things might have been different. People might have not died.

For a moment Burt closed his eyes. His brow shifted as the fighter simply let go. He did not hold back his emotions, his rage, and his malice. For the first time in years Burt was truly fighting as one of his people. "Come", he spoke. As the word left his mouth the zombie charged forward and with it so did Burt. The fighter's arms tighten. As the zombie came forward to attack with his claws Burt ducked and punched through its skull with his fist. The force of the blow broke the fighter's hand, but the rage filled Burt did not even feel it. In a berserk rage Burt gripped his weapon with both hands as the shadow figure rushed toward him. With all of his might Burt pulled back onto the sword and with a single blow cleaved the beast into two.

[Remus]

He was saved. The sudden appearance of the black haired woman that had reacted so fast, to the unprepared Remus she was but a blur? It was all he could do to mumble incoherently a thanks to her. He fumbled shakily as the sputtering dying creature flailed. He lifted his staff and clutched it close for protection. Managing to fumble about he left the girl to the other two before frantically kneeling next to the injured man holding the wound in his shoulder. It had been impaled. Holding his staff to it he looked over to them as he spoke quickly, the blue haired man pale skinned from nearly dying. "My thanks for saving me! I must continue my work however! Time I spend talking I must needs be assisting the wounded."

He turned to gaze at the man, and once again he closed his eyes. Small beads of sweat trailed down his temple and along his chin, his heart racing wildly as it pounded against his chest as if set to burst. The heat from his robes felt stifling combined with all the frantic running he had to do. He could not quit however. He could not rest, knowing that wounded needed aid. Blue light began to glow from his staff as he focused it and refined the arcane energy. He felt the slight strain as he focused further to shape and mold it as he guided the energy. Once again, as with every healing process he prayed that Elimine would guide his hand into helping ease the mans pain. As he healed him, the blue light transferred from his staff to the man's wounded shoulder. Flesh began to stitch it's self closed as if he had rapidly accelerated the healing process. He couldn't heal the entirety of the wound. However he could stop the profuse bleeding and seal the wound with most of it healing. The pain would persist, but atleast he could manage it.

Remus gazed upwards. So many horrors took place before him that he couldn't tell where he would start first. He turned to notice the dark bolts sailing forth from the hooded man he had been near earlier. The monster that they were destined for was struck by them even though the nether magics seemed not to phase him. However the sudden passing of events in which the ax wielding man brought it down on his shoulder while the spear wielding wyvern rider impaled him. An arrow it looked like pierced his neck as well. Was he dead? Was it over? Maybe for others. Not for Remus however.

Turning on his step he moved to the next injured man. The sudden and renewed sound of fighting from the direction the monster had, including the shouts told him this siege wasn't ending any time soon. He tried to tune it out. All of it. The screams, the violence, clashing weapons...the priest had to focus. He knelt down and moved to the next man. Hand shivering now as anxiety fought to take hold, the priest held his staff infront of him and closed his eyes. Blood trailed in small series of trickles from his fingers and the palms. He had to at times hold pressure to wounds as he tried to heal them. He shivered despite the sweat now accumulating further on his visage while he tried to heal the man, praying aloud. "Elimine...take us from this darkness. Guide us to the light, I beg you. At-least..at-least save the injured." He tried to heal the injured man, but his mind was too stricken with panic. He closed his eyes, hands shaking as he pressed the gem of the staffs top to his forehead. He tried to focus better. Deep breaths Remus. Deep breaths. Slowly his heart beat began to ease to normal and his shaking slowed, though it didn't stop entirely. A faint shimmer of light started protruding from the staff and embuening into the man's wounded forearm. Remus could feel how slow the healing process was. It wasn't from a lack of strength in the spell though, it was a fault on his own. He simply couldn't muster up enough focus.

Things were simply looking worse and worse.