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

[Zerachiel]

This was not the deal. He was to attack Richter, steal his hair. He was to sabotage the city. He was to kill Kenshin. What he was not to do is avoid being killed by his 'allies'. Zerachiel was not a man of honor by an extents of the imagination, but what little he had stated the contract was void when his employers tried to dispose of him. Since they paid in advance? Well sucks to be them, maybe they should be a bit more wise in the future about hiring assassins. The gargoyles circled the sky, striking the weak and the distraught, picking them apart like vultures upon carrion. At more then one occasion they had mistaken him for a feast, and whilst he ended that delusion swiftly it mattered not. Mindless brutish beings, they cared not for their brethren slain before their eyes, they followed after like lemming into the sea. It was a surprise, but Zerachiel actually preferred the company of brigands to these creatures. Perhaps they were uncultured buffoons, but at the least they were human. A preferable alternative to this flock of fiends Hargus seemed to have replaced them with.

The field was awash with chaos, as the bandits were mutated into abominations of the flesh, the heroes pingponged between bravely charging forward and timidly retreating back like an indecisive child. Richter lead the charge, if it could be called as such, the perfect time to strike but there wasn't a chance in the world that he would. It was no longer his goal, no his goal was something else entirely. To get out of this forsaken hellhole alive, in one piece as well would definitely be a plus. He was an assassin, escapes were a trick of the trade, but he knew the intricacies of escaping human notice. To blend into the shadows, or to blend into the crowd, to escape out the front door with no one aware, or to slip out the back while everyone was lost in a haze of confusion. There were a million ways to flee a scene, unfortunately not a one for escaping monsters. They didn't think like humans, they didn't act like humans, and those that tried to flee were quickly swarmed upon and skewered by a hundred foul spears and twisted into monstrous lumps of flesh.

His mind thought, raced, turning the idea over and over once more. He viewed the issue from every side and angle. He could hide, but that ran the risk of being killed after it was all over. With these undead beings, corpses weren't exactly comforting either. If there were far reaching bursts of magic, he could do nothing to defend himself, and Hargus was definitely no stranger to such things. He created a brutish giant, a single eyed slap in the face of nature, one dozens of feet in height. Riding upon it's shoulder like a babe riding upon a dog far too large for it's own good was Hargus, laughing and cackling in megalomania no doubt. That was clearly not the way to go, yet countless thoughtless fighters swarmed it. Heroes and their valor, puffed up upon bravado and courage, bravery to spare. They could keep it, Zerachiel simply wished to live. A coward perhaps, but a coward lives longer then a fool.

They brandished blades of silver wrought, as they fearlessly charged forward. It gave the assassin an idea, as a small smirk spread across his face. He needed to wait for his moment, one in which Hargus was forced to show his hand. He would undoubtedly focus his fire upon these who struck at him, and when he did there would be a window of escape. A slim on, no doubt, but one he could use. One that he was intending to, all that remained was some... insurance. Someone who can assure him he'll escape. A fool he could toss to the vultures if they were to swoop upon him, as well as someone that the Heroes would hesitate striking at him thinking him a coward. Someone weak, who could not fight back would be best. Yes... That was a perfect choice Zerachiel.

Zerachiel was near to other fighters, tirelessly battling the beasts as chaos erupted near the cyclops. The mammoth tower of flesh was nowhere to be seen, now was his time. He pulled out his knife and with it cut a corpse near him, taking his blood and smearing it upon himself in such a way that it appeared to be his. Wetting his clothes and tearing at them with his knife giving the illusion of wounds. He cut a gash upon his own arm, cringing at the pain as a healer came up to his side. Young, and with hair like the sky on a clear day. His staff glowed a light blue, inconsistent and weak, the boy was scared no doubt. Zerachiel almost felt a pang of guilt, but it was short and died within moments. His wound was shallow, and healed but slowly. The boy was inexperienced, unfocused, it was almost a service we was doing to him to take him from this chaos. This man better hope Zera needn't the insurance, as Zerachiel was cold enough to toss him to the wolves without a second thought. He's killed better men for less.

As his wound healed, he wore a calm grin that hid his almost sociopathic sneer. "Thank you." The would undoubtedly notice the serrated blade in his hand, and how it was focused not upon any beast but him. It pointed at his gut, as he continued to speak in a soft and oddly calm voice. "If you run or scream, I will kill you. You can try, but I assure you, you won't get far." He smiled, looking at him. "I'm leaving, and you're coming with me. Living or dead. I am hoping you are smart enough to realize living is better then not. Understand? Nod if you do." He finished, pressing his blade dangerously close to the young priest's gut, threatening to disembowel him at a moment's notice.

[Oya]

"#$% it", shouted Oya as he was being dragged off the battlefield. He had no idea what was going on, but he could hear the screams of his comrades in the distance. He knew the demon king did something, but there was nothing he could do. His lower leg was busted up. Even with all the will power in his body he would not be able to stand up on the leg. The bones were far too shattered and the flesh was still leaking blood. There were very little options left before him. Amongst his pirates he did not have a healer and at the moment he did not know were Willow was. The screams of Oya's men roared in the heavens as some force made its way toward him.

"Hurry up and get the commander out of here", shouted the pirates. The men began to drag Oya off the battlefield. They knew there were healers inside of the city of heroes. There had to be. With the bombardment and warfare that went on for weeks the saceans had to have some way of patching there troops back up and sending them back out. Especially after the harsh battle that took place on the eastern front. Though to be truthful the pirates did not know if any of the heroes would heal there commanders. Sure they were fighting on the same side, but a day ago they were bitter enemies. Some of them might hold grudges especially the ones who fought on the eastern front. Oya may have been demoted after the battle, but his axe and his commands burned fear into the hearts of the Saceans. They knew his fury and the power of his mighty hammer.

"We need a medic", shouted a group of pirates as they carried there commander above there heads. Xigshaw was maintained by strength of four men ,but the weapon was covered by tarp. They did not want to give anybody any idea who Oya truly was.

[Jya]

Jya let out a sigh of relief that she was able to make it in time to save the priest. It had been a while since she actively saved another person's life. For so long she had been traveling alone, fearful that someone would lop off her head in her sleep. It was actually a very refreshing feeling to be of aid to someone. Even so, with all the death hovering in the air, this feeling was driving the madness out of her mind. She was not the brave type, but she always found her bravery when she fought for her friends. Even if the priest had to surrogate as one of them, she needed something more than her own need to survive.

"Wait, I think you might need a guard," she warned, her eyes darting away to see a rather ugly and bulky monster fall to the ground. She didn't want to be close to that mess unless she needed to, so she turned to chase after the young man. There was plenty of shouting and she could have sworn to hear some moans. This must have been a terribly uncomfortable run for the both of them. It was nice that she was the type to react quickly, as she quickly darted over a grasping hand. It didn't seem as though the creature was going to be capable of getting up soon, so she focused on watching out for the priest.

When the priest finally made it to an injured and alive man, she began to slow her pace, looking for possible targets as she approached from behind. It didn't take long for her hearing to pick up the threat the other man was giving. This made her rather angry. Most likely it was the stress taking hold of her, they were dealing with the undead and monsters, she had just saved him from a gargoyle and now she had to contend with a perfectly healthy living man? Her grip on her sword tightened and she could feel her jaws tightening. She directed the anger at the man, but it wasn't exactly his fault per say.

"Back off," she stated, her voice holding more venom than a viper. It was sharp, distinct and her eyes was already shining with a murderous intent.

"If you honestly want to take him, I'll be coming along with your troubles," she warned, not even considering that he might be better than she was. For once she didn't care to compare her skills, if he was fast then she had to be faster.

[Remus]

Though he was shakily able to manage it, he had healed the injured man. His skin had grown pale in the mental struggle. It was difficult to focus upon healing sometimes on it's own. Let alone in the middle of a battlefield. The priest struggled with the harder aspects of it entirely. From the moment he had entered the city to assist he had known he was in for a rough ride. However he couldn't turn away from the prospect of so many in need. Remus blinked twice rapidly while he looked at the healed man with a shaken smile. He was merely happy he had manged to tend his wound. The fact that it*To any experienced healer* wasn't caused by the weapons of choice used from gargoyles nor had been one of a claw or bite was beyond his notice. He had merely seen an injured man and taken strides to help. With a slight shiver wracking his entire spine he nodded to the man in contentment ready to move on. Until it happened.

The slight tension in the air. The sudden stiff edge pressing against him. His blue and white priest robes were but fabric and offered naught but warmth and shielding from indecency. Nothing short of dread started to grip at him as the turning cogs of his mind processed that the man was threatening him. His heart beat once again started to race, his pulse hammering off heavy hammer blows upon his chest. Anxiety tore at him and his breath began to stifle. It didn't pick up to hyperventilation or even seem to increase at all; perhaps out of fear of inhaling causing the edge to cut him.

The man was insisting Remus..left with him? Left? How could he leave? These people needed him. There was absolutely no way Remus could abandon them. Panic became replaced with a sudden unease as a dizzying sensation took hold of him. Vertigo practically filling his vision as it all risked to overwhelm the young man. He shivered once and shook his head to clear himself. All he could properly acknowledge in the haze of the moment was a quiet nod while his gaze began to sharpen once more and fixate on the man before him. That was when a second voice came into context. Someone telling him to back off. Who. Remus? Surely she meant the other man. Confused and frightened the priest clutched his staff tightly; as if it would save him. Shivering he lifted his head to gaze back behind him. The other woman from before! It seemed, he literally had a guardian angel. Someone looking out for him? If only he could have enough thanks for Elimine. Twice now in the same hour he had almost perished and been saved by the same person. Remus however gazed between the two with a panic stricken look. He dared not move for fear of the blade inches before him; yet he could already hear the sounds of the intensifying combat. What could he possibly do?

[Zerachiel]

"Have it your way." He said, taking a step back blade still in hand. It was removed from the kill zone it had been before. While he could curse his luck, it was a foolish thing to expect things to have gone any different. If anything has been true today, it has been that he couldn't expect anything. He was half convinced the second he fled a dragon was going to fall from the sky and devour him. His cold eyes locked on to the one threatening him, yes... he knew that girl. Knew her well, she was a friend of Etruria's whether she liked it or not. He closed his eyes and put on an affable grin, as if he hadn't just threatened to kill that man. He could easily slay this man before she could do a thing, but there'd be no purpose in it other then spite. "It's not worth the trouble." He said, taking another step back holding his hands up so she could see them at all times to show he was being truthful about this. Well... mostly truthful. In his boot was a hidden blade that he could use to slash out that priest's throat in a moment. However that wouldn't be very nice, now would it? You see, when you got right down to it, Zerachiel was a very nice man.

"I'm not going to be fighting a wraith for the honor of abducting a priest from battle." His voice was even and calm, but there was just enough of an emphasis on that one word that would be impossible for the assassin to not pick up on it. "I will leave, and I will not return again that I promise." He took another step away, his unarmed closing as he pointed his finger. His face was still calm, his words even and measured, and his cold unfeeling eyes remained as icy as ever. He gave a toothy grin. "But, before I go, allow me to give you a little advice. I have no delusions that this is a battle I can win, and I plan to leave something I suggest you do as well. I have a feeling things... are only beginning." He pointed at the sky, the beasts flying about it like the masonry of castle Etruria come to life.

"If you wish to flee, now is your time. If you wait too long you, and your friends as well of course, will be nothing more then another corpse crawling with maggots." He let a sick and twisted laugh snake out of his mouth. "Now if you don't plan to kill me, I will bid you farewell. If you survive this battle, I do believe we will meet again. I wish you luck, both of you of course." With a small flourish, he took another step back, throughout the conversation getting just far enough away that if the Emerald Wraith were to chase he'd have the clear head start that he could use to use a smoke bomb and escape in the confusion. He didn't expect her to follow, but he didn't plan to leave whether he lived or not to be up to the whim of a childlike assassin.

He bolted, moving quickly, as he passed people fighting beast he could feel that a few of the gargoyles noticed him breaking away. Having a nice priest to sacrifice about now would definitely be useful, instead he flicked his wrist and in his palm a knife appeared, turning around he ran backwards for a few moments, a skill he's trained extensives, and he tossed the knife with great precision. No, not at the gargoyles, that'd be just egging them on. Instead he struck on of the Sacaen swordsman, distracted in his battle with a monster he saw not the blade as it sliced through the air and right into his back. The impact was enough to break his concentration as he was set upon by all the beasts sensing his weakness, including the majority of those gargoyles that pursued him. Not all, but most, it was still far less then he'd have to contend with otherwise.

The remaining beasts dove at him, surrounding him, but just as they neared the ground his arm moved like a bolt of lightning. Not striking them, but rather tossing a small sphere upon the ground in which it exploded into a plume of smoke and fumes. Lifting his cloak to cover his mouth he used the smoke screen to confuse the remaining beasts as he fled from the smokes and leaving them in his dust. He left the City of heroes behind him, a city cursed with great misfortune.

He had set out to create a bogeyman for Bern, one that it could fear, one that only the Rebellion could fight against it. He thought he found it in these bandits and ohhhh how right he was.

[Zerachiel exits thread]

[Jya]

Jya took a good look at the man threatening the priest. She didn't recognize him at all and that made it worse when the he reciprocated to her demands. Did this whole threatening others with their lives really work? She might have to do this sort of thing more if it got her out of fights. Sadly it became apparent that the reason her threats work was because he knew her. Of course not many people would be threatened when they looked at her appearance, constantly covered in rags and dirt. It didn't matter as long as he left the two be.

She could feel her muscles tighten as he mentioned that damn title of hers. She had been careful to not link the name with herself, but the people thought they were justified. Just as it was too much trouble to have to fight her, she found it was too much trouble to chase after the man. It was best to avoid having to fight if that was an option. As he continued to back away, she took steps forward from behind the priest.

"It's simple, we just have to kill it before it kills us," Jya responded to the assassin's advice. It would be smarter to run, but she didn't believe the priest would be willing to do so. Plus, if she was to bring him along, they might not make it out in the time frame. That only left one answer, they had to kill that monster before it could kill them. With her freehand she gently grasped the young man's shoulder and gave it a slight nudge to get his attention.

"We need to keep moving," she warned, feeling the itch to move in her muscles. They were in one place for too long. As though to reaffirm her fears, she saw the assassin doom another's life for his own. The sad thing was, she might have done the same if alone. To make matters worse, he attracted quite a few of those flying creatures to him, only to escape with a smoke bomb.

"Move! Move move move!" she called, grabbing the priest's arm and practically pulling him back to the center of all the chaos. She could hear the batting of the wings as the gargoyles searched for new prey.

[Remus]

Remus seemed to lose more color with every moment. Confusion made the dizzying situation even more frightful. His grip slackened briefly on his staff as he felt it go limp in his hands. He shivered a bit before he leaned back when he felt the absence of the blade's hard surface to his lower abdomen. However the sounds of war quickly re-focused and he found himself once again staring at the face of a man who..he had not only been healing but was now turning his blade to him. Blood trickled down the fingers of the frightened priest. He started focusing on their words. The man suggesting he get out, and the woman standing close behind him seeming to defend him. Truly, was he so helpless that others had to consistently shield him?

He sighed a bit both internally and audibly exhaling as the man attempted to flee. Remus was now beyond terrified. However while he shakily tried to get up the faint sound of the approaching winged monstrosities came to his attention. It was not the first time they had targeted him; making it now three times this woman would have saved him as she suddenly grabbed ahold of him. It was all he could manage to keep a grip on his staff as she yanked him along. Flailing a bit he stumbled before catching his footing and finally getting into step running behind her. Indeed the foul winged monsters chased after them. As they ran past wounded however Remus felt an urge to assist them. The girl dragging them along and past though did not seem to give him the warranted opportunity.

Remus almost regretted being here. In this horrifying place where demons battled others. However he would not, nor could not hide from these dangers as others threw themselves at the tides of evil to defend him. He would support them as best he could. It was his only chance in earnest. His only chance to assure himself he was doing the right thing.

[???]

Damonzahn’s golden runes shone a deep purple as Burt’s rage fueled his attack upon the approaching Arum soul. The sword’s edge, black as the night sky, effortlessly slid through the malevolent shade, severing it in two. Whatever this demon was, it was no match for the bite of an ancient netherblade. But what resulted from the blow was not the thud of finality of a fallen opponent that one would expect. As the obsidian metal of the sword touched the creature’s malleable dark matter, it began to shiver and vibrate, and resonating with the dark weapon’s frequency, the spectre’s halves, each once a part of a vaguely human whole, morphed and twisted like molten iron. The being became two masses of otherworldly matter that immediately adhered themselves to Damonzahn’s blade. It writhed, rippled, and shuddered, before it was ultimately and unceremoniously absorbed into the weapon.

What followed was any man’s worst nightmare.

Burt felt no exhilarating burst of life energy upon killing the devil, for what Burt had killed, or at least tried to kill, possessed no life. Instead, upon absorbing the matter of the Arum soul, the Damonzahn’s runes went dark, to the point where they were impossible to see even in direct light. It then began to shake, violently, but try as he would, Burt could not let go of the weapon. Some dark force was binding his hands to sword’s handle, which was not a welcome thought when dark tendrils erupted from the sword’s hilt like a swarm of ravenous snakes looking for a meal. They spun and spiraled about like seaworms before burrowing into Burt’s hands.

The magic slithered under the hapless would-be hero’s flesh, his skin visibly pulsating as it moved up his arms and into his body. It was a crawling, hungry feeling, but Burt felt no pain, only terror, as he lost control of his body. He was being controlled, consumed, from the inside. The darkness continued to burrow its way into him, and he could do nothing to stop it, and as it progressed it began changing him, but in subtler ways than the magic that Hargus had been wielding changed its victims. His skin, once a mellow tan, began to shift to a charcoal black, and his hair, a full head of orange locks, was drained of its pigment and vitality, leaving it white, wispy, and dead. His clothing was dissolved but replaced with darker, altered replicas forged from the same dark matter that had made up the Arum soul’s physical manifestation.

And his eyes. His pupils and irises gave way to a deep, glowing red that swirled pumping blood. They looked on with a dead gaze, but the thought behind them, however sinister, was unmistakable.



And by the time the darkness reached Burt’s brain, the transformation was complete.

Damonzahn.

The word sounded distant, as if it was being called to him through a tunnel. The dirge for a life slowly slipping away. The mental voice sounded like Burt’s own, but he knew it was not him thinking it. Not freely, anyway.

Never would I have believed that I would be the one to reclaim the King’s blade. Not in a thousand years.

The being that spoke to Burt had taken hold somewhere in the back of his mind, but its voice was at the forefront of his thoughts, and every time it spoke, the orange, now white haired man, could feel his cognizance and rational thought slip away. There was little room in his head for anything but the darkness that now resided in it.

This sword’s power has restored my sanity. I am no longer a thrall to that necromancer. Now you, human, will be mine. You will obey my words. You will feed this blade.

Burt could feel his arm, his sword arm, lifted in front of him. He had no control over the motion, but it did not feel like he was being forced to do it. It was an impulse, an urge. When the thing inside him commanded him to do something, he wanted to do it. And the hunger. THE HUNGER. He could feel it emanating from the sword in unquenchable waves. The blade now glowed a dark purple in its entirety, the magical effect no longer limited to the runes. It looked as if it was on fire, but there was no heat. If anything it felt as if the flames were stealing heat from the air.

Reclaim my kin. They will be happy to have refuge within your body.

[Burt]

"So this is what true power feels like", spoke Arum Burt as he looked down at his hand. In his entire life Burt had never felt like this. He never felt so strong, so empowered. It was like being enveloped in fire, but not feeling the heat of the flames. Everything around him was so clear. The Arum Knight took a deep breath as his new orders came in. With all his might Burt let out a howl that would chill the blood of the strongest of men. Without another word or howl the new beast dashed forward. He had his orders, he had his target.

With the speed of tempest the Arum Knight pushed its way through defender and monster alike. Anyone or anything that got in his way was cut into two as the beast rushed its way toward its target. The first of the shades to go was the two heading for the outside of the wall. Its intentions were obviously focused on the wounded pirate and the young swordsmen Vincent. Burt despite how much he cared for the two of them before felt nothing for them now. The only thing in his heart now was malice and rage. He wanted to cut down the shades, no he needed to cut down the shades. It was not a order he chose to follow or even thought about not following. It was a order he did and dis so with glee.

As the first shade made it's way toward the white hair boy Arum Burt took notice of it. As it moved to destroy the young swordsmen and do the will of its master the Arum Knight moved to do the will of its own. Jumping over a crowd of people in a single bound the shade landed next to the boy. For a moment it looked into his eyes and then turned toward the shade. With a fearsome and quick stab the dark night took back the shade from the pretender. Once the figure was absorbed by the blade it rushed off. To find the next target. It was not far. Some of the pirates seemed to be holding it up form its target. They fought bravely and fearsome like, but thy were no match beast. The arum Knight's appearance was not a blessing to them, but rather a curse. As the monster appeared from the crowd of people it did not give warning or choose sides. With a sngle swing it cut through the men and the monster like. Absorbing the shade Burt was almost half way to finishing his tack. .

[Vincent]

Vincent was engaged with his enemies and keeping them off of Oya and the man pulling him to safety. Whatever that hammer was it must have been precious. Ensuring its safety over his own. Vincent casted aside Phoenix Heart in order to save others, but the blade called to him. He could retrieve it any time.

Looking out in the chaos he saw something wonderful. Hargus was struck down!? And by who else but Burt! A feeling of joy swirled inside him washing away his fatigue and pain. It has been such a long time but he knew his face. "YEAHHHHH!!!!" Vincent cried out. He was ready to take on the rest of the enemies and clean up the battlefield. He wanted this reunion to be a friendly one if a great deal heavy handed.

Once he saw that Oya seemed safe he was ready to make his approach but then he rose. Like a hydra you can't kill it so easily. That BLASTED HARGUS rose from death again. Vincent gritted his teeth, a mixture of rage and frustration. It took so much effort already! He then created shadow men. More new horrors to tear and rend them apart! Vincent was too busy with the lesser fiends. A random blade and his dagger were not nearly as efficient as his normal blades. One broken by the cyclops and the other lost in the chaos.

Enraged Vincent fought recklessly. He suffered minor scratches as he tore through the zombie like beings until one grabbed him from behind. "GAH! Let GO!" As he shouted he could feel it bite down on his shoulder. It sent an alarming pain through him. Why did he have only one shoulder armored!? Not a wise choice in hindsight!

For a corpse it had an immense amount of strength. He got too carried away with the extra power. Rearing his head back he slammed it into the monster which did little. Shifting his leg back and his weight he managed to topple the monster and himself. The monster wailed horribly and inhumanely just before Vincent jabbed the dagger into whatever flesh he could. A short opening he ripped free from its grasp and stomped on its head.

Panting he collected himself. The bite stung but it was not a terrible wound. As he looked around he felt the Sigil burn. "GAH! What is up with this?" He suddenly felt an incredible swirling power of the nether from somewhere. What could Hargus be doing now!? But alas it was not that monster. It was the birth of another.

"Listen boy! Find me and get out of here! This power is the same as that boy! But you can't stop this one! He WILL be that beast!" The blade was calling to him from across the battlefield. The energy ceased as the air seemed to grow still. What was happening!?

Vincent was ready to take action when suddenly an arum soul rushed him. Oh no! He was off guard! The beast almost struck him when suddenly it was ripped in two and absorbed. The relief was gone, replaced by dread and sorrowful torment. "Burt?" The name was a nearly wordless whisper. The new Burt was gone as quickly as he came.

Vincent shook in fear. Not him, not him! WHY?! WHY!? WHY HIM!!!? Was the nether going to take away EVERYTHING he cared about!? He was shaking with emotion. "Blast!" He cursed under his breath. "BLAST IT ALL!!!" His cries could send a chill down your spine had there not been more terrifying sights. His emotions were haywire. Rage, sadness, frustration, fear, so much. Too much. He had been a reckless wonder of the battlefield. Headband seemed to be his common name here. He dared to fight with the big dogs and it brought nothing but pain.

He had felt such pride as he helped topple the beast. He had helped, he was useful. But he still couldn't save everyone. So many bodies he pulled to safety. He fought for so many others so they could live. He was the little guy taking on the big world. A weak cowardly farm boy who became something. The world did not need heroes. It needed average people to step up. That's what he had believed. That is what he told himself and the men in the North. When the commanders abandoned them for the sake of fighting the monsters he rallied them. They listened because they had no direction.

What an idiot. He thought he was making a difference. He thought he was changing things. It was comically tragic. The cyclops came of nothing. The north was a battle of nothing. He was a wanted man in his home. He could not save the people that mattered to him. Neil, he struck him down and now Burt was becoming the monster Neil could have been. It all amounted to nothing.

He began to weep. But for who was he weeping for? Burt, Neil, himself? Or all that are suffering? "I promised Neil I would live. I swore to live out both our lives. I WILL NOT DIE HERE!" He hardened his resolve.

"You are a fool boy!" The blade scolded him. "But... a good hearted fool." Vincent charged across the field feeling the call of the blade. He did not continue to fight, he instead opted to doge and maneuver the field. It took mere moments but it felt like an eternity. The battle was evolving in strange and deadly ways. Spotting the blade he could see the pure white shine of silver.

"Gotcha!" Diving, he swept it off the ground and threw away the extra blade. It was a rare moment but he would need both hands on his sword this time. Fighting offensively would be a must. Fight and dodge. Taking the brunt of hits would only hinder him.

His blood boiled. He felt the weight of the blade and it was pleasant to him. Hargus, monsters, and now Burt. There were so many threats here it was overwhelming. He was going to need a lot of help but no way in Hell would he leave his friend like this. He would free him of this life or die trying. But he swore to live. Though oaths mean little with a blade in your chest he had his resolve and he would not waver. He was done running long ago.

He could see Burt in the distance. It hurt. Taking a stance he readied to fight the monsters. He could not charge yet. He needed aid and a plan. But, "BURT!!! I WILL FREE YOU!!!" He shouted above the noise. It was unlikely he was heard but he felt invigorated by it. Like a battle cry.

[Elias]

"Richter!" Elias shouted, the man was convulsing and trembling on his knees wracked by some intense unseen pain that threatened to shake his very core. He could not see the force that besiege him, but he could see as they jolted through his body causing electric spasms in the man, yanking and pulling at his form as he shivered of a cold not of this world. Whatever this darkness was it affected Richter far fiercer then anyone else here, it cut down to the man's soul. All Elias could do was watch, feeling weak and powerless. How do you heal something like this?

He took his staff in hand but stopped. He watched as that man he helped earlier run up to them, he looked tense and worried. He asked what happened to Richter and Elias said the only thing he could think. "I-I I don't know." There was too much about all of this he didn't know, he felt dumb. For all his studying, for notes and his books, his diving into magic and the nature of beasts... he knew nothing. Nothing. No, less then nothing, for it was the knowledge he did have that made him realize just how little he knew. That feeling of helplessness made him hesitate, if only for a moment, and in that moment he made a mistake. A big mistake. A huge mistake. One he could have stopped. How could he have known at the time it would turn out that way? He couldn't have, but he should have. He was Elias, the Crimson Mage, if he didn't know who did?

As the ginger haired fighter reached for the blade, Elias' mind raced to a million different thoughts. All of them variants of 'this isn't good'. "Wait! No!" He called as the man grabbed the weapon and tore off in a instant. Elias couldn't stop him from taking that accursed weapon, he didn't stop what happened next from occurring. If he just had maybe... If he only did SOMETHING. As the man brandished the blade things Richter told him before filled his mind.

"I'm not sure I'm comfortable with the idea of a weapon with a mind of it's own. What's to keep it from turning on me? Can it mess with my head? Manipulate my thoughts? Do these things have spirits too? Because when I use it, I don't know, it seems like something a little more than that."

His dark blade was unlike anything he had encountered. It had a feeling about it that has always made him uneasy since he met the man. The feelings were so odd and unusual at the time, he wanted to take a closer look at the blade but he simply never had the time. Never had the opportunity. This battle had taken up all their focus and attention, and in that lied another mistake of his. Now he recognized that feeling of dread, the one that crept up his spine like a spider spindling legs, sending shivers into his soul. That blade was not a simple weapon of darkness, they lacked thoughts and spirits, they were vessels for the nether, how Richter described it was always a little odd. Now he was filled with dread, in consumed him. He knew this was bad, a bad idea, he couldn't explain why but... but... Just... "STOP!" He shouted, his voice hoarse and pained. He shrieked against the madness but his voice was devoured by its song.

"Dark weapons have a built in connection to the nether, and by using it you're basically inviting it in. Of course to use nether you have to make a bargain, a little of you for a little of it."

He had said that once. Words that have never been truer as the blade sliced through the form of the formless, devouring it whole. He felt the pressure hit like a wave, far unlike anything before. What Hargus had done, these creatures he created, it felt almost... childish in comparison. A shameless imitation of true ancient magics. Elder was always a phrase, something shamans called their magic to avoid the dark, never truly aware of the word's meaning. Elder meant old. Ancient. They commanded a magic as old as time itself, but what they did was nothing in comparison to this. This was true elder magic.

The blade erupted in a burst of elder magic, writhing tendrils of pure shadows and darkness snaked up the man's arms and threatened to engulf him whole. They plunged into his body wriggling and twitching, sliding underneath the veil of flesh like worms crawling about just under the skin. Sickening wasn't even a word that could be used to describe it. The darkness devoured him, slowly but surely, from within. It took from his his light, his color, his breath, his life, and in it's place was something else. Something twisted, something Elias could not put into words. It was like those beings, those monsters. The Arum Souls. He retained form as his being was consumed, being different from those other souls. Twisted beings that lacked bodies that only mimicked humans, lacking all the details and creating a pit of dread in the hearts of those who viewed them.

Elias snapped his head away, he couldn't look. No, it was disgusting. His hand tightened around his staff, cursing himself time and time again, if only he had known. What use was he if he could not stop these things? How was he supposed to help protect the world if he let it fall apart right in front of his eyes? No Elias, there was no time for this. No time for self-pity, and no time for doubt. There was time for action, and a time to fight. He was so scared before, and even now he was terrified, but he couldn't be afraid. He didn't have the luxury to be afraid.

First this was first, he needed to help Richter. If anyone could help it was him. A being rushed at him, formless and moving like liquid shadow, like a river of darkness its form shimmered and slid about as if it was barely being held together. Its arm twisted and took upon a new form, a reaper's scythe as it's faceless visage barred down upon the prone swordsman. An unholy sound filled the air, but Elias knew not where it came, from the beast that struck at them or the beast being born before their eyes. Perhaps it was simply in his mind, but no matter what it was, Elias moved in an instant. He smashed his foot against the earth and reared his hand back, in one hand Matron and in the other was an open palm. As the foot smashed against the earth, a wall of clay dirt and stone erupted from the earth just a mere few feet in front of him. He thrust his open palm forward and the earth moved at his command, the wall blasting forward as he willed, smashing broadside first into the Arum Soul's side and sending it reeling, caught behind the moving wall of earth it wasn't able to regroup quickly enough to make a second strike. The blow did little to injury the beast, but it displaced it just for a moment. A moment was all he needed.

In his hand Matrona glowed a fierce and violent sheen, the staff held power beyond his knowing. It held secret he would never discover, and above all it held a fury of the chaos around them. It gathered power in the glittering jewel atop it, the golden staff taking a azure hue as the light grew and expanded around him. He took the staff in both hand thrusting it high into the air, letting out a loud shout of... whatever it could be called. Frustration, determination, anger, fear, it mattered little. "AHHHH!" The light erupted all around him like a shower of sapphire rain, filling the entire blighted land around him with life. The wounds of those close enough would be healed in an instant, short fatal wounds threatening to steal their owner's lives away, they would find their wounds vanishing as if they never existed to begin with. He only hoped, oh did he hope, that it would be enough to help Richter. To save Richter, lest they all fall. He was the only one to know that blade, the one that transformed that man into such a being. He was their best chance, and frankly their only hope.

[Ilheod]

Fatigue was starting to renew it's sensations into the man's body. Ilheod felt the ache of combat's toll start to web it's way into him. He was not freshly rested like most. He had taken over watch for his men the night prior. The shades had appeared, and before they could rush towards their intended targets it was as if time had slowed. Each breath starting to become harder for the captain. He felt that sheer crushing sensation of dull numbness starting to threaten to overwhelm him. After all he was still just one man. The silver spear which moments ago had been guided to a powerful and devastating blow by seething fury and rage was now leaning further and further from his slackening fingers. Sweat fell profusely from the armored man's brow as he leaned forwards. His heart racing, a small voice in the back of his head tried to fuel him on. Get it together. Straighten up. Your guards down soldier! He tried to motivate himself. However he just couldn't bring the fire back. His eyes lingered towards the skies. Large groups of winged gargoyles threatened to over-take his men.

Was it all so hopeless? That they would die here. He would fall on the field, battered and broken to foes not even man; yet shadow incarnate...

His men. He could see them fighting desperately. Each rider valiantly slaying scores of the flying fiends while the fire of their fallen comrade still ached in their mind. Ilheod felt a shiver run down his back as he tried not to let exhaustion take him. So..in the end, this was all he was worth? He panted now, leaning forwards a bit as he coughed violently three times. His ribs were certainly bruised, if fighting earlier hadn't cracked one or two. The Wyvern Lord started to ease forwards a bit out of his saddle. Astraeus lifted his wings to buffer him up a bit but it only delayed it briefly. Ilheod muttered to himself as he started to feel his twin-shaded eyes easing closed. "I just can't manage it...even for me, this is too much.."

A voice echoed through his mind. Not of his tone, but of his fallen rider. William.

"Sir, did I give you permission to bitch?"

His eyes snapped open. Adrenaline started to pump through his veins. His heart racing, sharp inhaled breaths through his nose got him gazing quickly around. It took him a moment to register that the voice had been internal. He remembered the phrase again. It wasn't that the lad was speaking to him beyond the grave; but he remembered at perhaps such an important point the most fond memory associated with the boy. When, to teach him how to lead he had been given temporary charge of the unit. Ilheod's protests at how flawed his formations were he tried to conjure up had prompted the response.

No, he couldn't let himself fall here. He couldn't. He wouldn't . Ilheod snapped up rigid in his seat as he flicked his wrist. The lance jostled from the sudden tension before spinning around as he caught it and nestled it into the "cradle" box that jousters got their lance set into. Fire stirred in him and he felt as though his blood had been set to boil in his veins. Every notion of combat fatigue left him once again. Even though it had been but a memory, as the ax wielding man had charged past to fight his foe Ilheod answered it aloud as he kicked his heels to get Astraeus into the air.

"No lad. No you did not."

Ilheod knew that this fight was important. However his place was with his men. The skies were rightly theirs. Purging it of any abomination that had the audacity to taint it with their presence was unacceptable. He signaled the large wyvern onwards and with powerful legs pressed it launched skywards fiercely in an instant. Wind immediately whipped at his helm and drown out all sound. the refreshing chill of flying further eased the burden his body fought off with pure will and adrenaline. It made him feel both weightless, and solid. Flight was a miraculous thing. As you soared through the air it was the hypocritical duality; one moment you were as light as a feather with not a care in the world. Then you saw you foe, and as you soared through the air you carried with you the force of a lifetimes worth of combat into that single blow to hammer through their chest and sunder their very damn soul. The Wyvern Lord circled about as he took to the air and quickly made his way back to the boys in the sky fighting off the monsters. Unfortunately for the winged beasts before him, his silver lance was flawlessly shaped to eradicate those with the misfortune of being near him. It was not just fury that fueled him. A fire far greater than any other burned in the man's soul as he shouted a fierce war cry. It was a rallying call to his men. Their formation immediately shifted as they made for their captain and circled up higher into the sky for a moment. Wheeling about the riders took for a single line with lances tipped and aimed.

The less the men below worried of the skies the more they could focus on the land. Ilheod lead the charge, crashing down upon the winged fiends; even as they flew upwards to combat them they were struck down. They fought with the fury one would expect of Bern's wyvern units. On this day, they would stare into the creatures of the dark and break them. Being in the air his focus had shifted to leading his men. To clearing the skies. With each charge nearing the peak of the dive they would swoop down low to skewer fiends along their curve before ascending to repeat the maneuver. The gargoyles were fast, but wyverns trained for intense bursts of speed over their lifetimes were unlike any other in the air. Ilheod felt sweat become a ghost's presence in the face of the blasting winds from their flight. His body and spirit renewed once more, they fought fiercely.

[Edrick]

Edrick watched as his attack came up from the ground and struck the thing right in the face. The attack must have done something because it made the thing turn to him and it began to say something? He couldn't really tell considering that he was at the wall and there was fighting going around and everything. But what he could tell was that he pissed it off because it began to collect a ball of dark energy of it's own, this one much larger than the one that he had cast. Edrick just stared, not in fear, but in awe, of the power that that thing was able to conjure up. It was. . . incredible, for lack of a better word. But other people had something else to say about him casting magic.

Perfect. And It was all that he had hoped for. His attack had proven to be a perfect distraction for other people to take advantage of. The monster was cleaved into by one man in a devastating attack that was sure to kill anyone. Then another Man, this one on a Wyvern impaled the monster on a lance. But that was not it, it was hard to see from the wall but it looked like the monster suffered another wound in the form of an arrow. There wasn't anyone who could withstand all that! And it showed as the monster fell off its perch to the ground below.

"Yes!" Edrick cheered as it fell to the ground apparently dead. All they had to do was kill the rest of the monsters and it would all be over! However the monster seemingly had other plans. Against all seeming odds it began to stand up once more. But that was impossible, his wounds were too great. Weren't they? Even if they were for most people it wasn't enough for this. . . thing; a Dark smoke like substance looked to be covering the fallen corpse of the Cyclops, was this even more magic? It made him sad that there was so much that he didn't know about. Even about his own chosen path of magic, was he truly that bad with his magic? Was his knowledge truly that inadequate?

Apparently so, because he had no idea what was happening. The monster's wounds began to heal as the Cyclops seemed to, deteriorate? Into a pile of sludge and the monster looked even stronger. Did it just drain it's life force? Or was it something else? Something more? Maybe he harvested the darkness that monsters had inside of them? That was possible? Maybe that could be the solution for stopping the monsters if it could be harnessed somehow. . .

He didn't have much time to ponder the possibilities of the Elder magic however as even more was used to create some weird beings, the like of which he had never seen before. The darkness covering the new, almost featureless, monster thing looked like it was Molten iron with how it seemed to solidly flow around it. These new monsters began to disperse in different directions, all going after different targets. And one was coming right at him!Although it still had to reach him at the wall.

"Um, guys? There is a new monster coming this way. And it looks strong and really strange!" He said to those around him as the monster made it's way closer.

But then something else entirely different happened. He felt another surge of dark energy, again one he couldn't really place The source of it until he saw someone getting coated in what appeared to be the same nether substance that was covering the other newly formed monsters. But he couldn't really tell from how far away he was. What was happening here? He was becoming confused with the sheer amount or magical energies taking place that he had no grasp on. He NEEDED to know how these things worked.

However there were other things of importance than that new appearance. He needed to focus on the monster thing charging across the field to meet him.

[Mana]

The sudden appearance of the infamous Emerald Wraith made Mana speechless. This was the first time she met her in person but with the notoriety she possessed the green assassin's face and attire were too recognizable. Mana had heard the rumor about Kenshin had a good relation with the Elibe number one assassin and now she could confirm it with her own eyes. The fact that Emerald Wraith was here became the proof although the possibility that Jya was here by coincidence couldn't be denied. This put Mana in a difficult position. The black-haired swordswoman had internal struggle about this situation. Clair had been hurt by this person but she couldn't just strike one of Kenshin's friend. "This isn't time for this..." The assassin had proven herself as an ally, better keep it like that for now.

The battle situation changed in incredible pace. When the bandit king had fallen after being struck by multiple blows, everyone probably believed the battle had been won by the Sacaens. Mana, too, had become relaxed and lowered her sword as she watched the scene unfold. But as if he was trolling with everyone's expectation the demon king rose again, stronger but less human than before, and filled the battlefield with despair except for some brave individuals. Could he be killed? From the way it looked Hargus had given impression that he was immortal being, or maybe a real "Demon". His roar beginning his counter attack, which began with the summoning of five black nether monsters.

Mana almost pursued Hargus when he flew toward Kenshin, his nemesis. While Crimson Demon himself wasn't inferior to Demon King, Mana feared that Hargus in this demonic form might be to dangerous even for the best swordsman in the world. Moreover, Kenshin's strongest weapon was in her possession now. "I must go," she told herself.

"...Wait..."

But then a voice spoke inside her mind. Mana stopped and looked at Falcatta in her hand, looking surprised. The spirits inside the sword had communicated with her a few times but it was only recently the voice had become clearer.

"...You aren't strong enough to challenge him yet and there is more pressing matter that requires your strength...Look behind you..."

There was a slight hesitation in Mana's expression when she had to decide between helping Kenshin or helping Edrick. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes to calm herself. Following her protector spirit guidance the Sacaen girl then turned around, promising to rush to aid Kenshin after she finished her job here. She believed Kenshin wouldn't fall easily even to the strongest of the demons. Just like Edrick said, a demonic creature was advancing toward him. Something told Mana that the wall wouldn't be able to delay this monster for long and when that happened she needed to be in his side to help.

"Let fight it together!" she said to the shaman.

Mana moved several step ahead and put herself between Edrick and the Arum monster. It was much different compared with fighting undead and gargoyle. This new monster emitted great nether power as if it came from the deepest of hell itself. Brandishing Falcatta at the Arum monster, Mana took her battle stance and prepared herself for the clash.

[Oya]

A miracle , that was the only explanation Oya could give for his leg suddenly healing. Maybe it was somebody's magic or the work of the dead saint. However Oya could care less at the moment. His leg was healed that meant that he no longer needed to be carried around like fat out of shape lord. "Alright get your hands off me", shouted Oya as he broke himself away from his pirates. As harsh as he talked when braking from there grasp his face told of his true feelings. Oya's face was almost as red as a tomato. Having such loyalty among his crew to carry him to a healer was great indeed. As Oya placed weight back on his leg he felt a tingling sensation. He figured this would stay around for a while as his bones were just miraculously placed back into the right order and his flesh closed back up. Beggars can not be choosers. It was going to be annoying in the fight, but having two legs would prove to be more advantageous than a peg leg.

Taking his mighty hammer Oya felt the strength of Xigshaw roar through his body. "Ahhhh yeah! Now I am ready to break open some skulls. The last time Hargus got lucky the beast had taken out my leg. If I was the one who had struck him he would not have risen back up!" The warrior declared this to not only his men, but to himself. As having one leg taken from him was both embarrassing and outrageous. He had already lost a lot of the crew's respect by losing to the man with the fire hammer. now he had to be carried across the battlefield like a puppy. No, Oya would not let this stand. Taking Xigshaw in hand Oya rushed over to where he heard his men getting slaughtered earlier. Instead of finding a spawn on the demon King waiting to be splattered Oya was instead meet with a image he could not imagine.

"Burt", he spoke with shock and awe. This man was his cousin, but of cousin of his he looked no more. His skin was a pitch black and his eyes a blazing red. His hair was a snow white and in his right hand was a blade fit for a devil. Oya was not sure how to react at first, but before he could move the dark figure rushed off in response. It seemed as if it was searching for something. For there was no fear in its eyes, or trepidation in its body language. There was only the search.