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

[Hargus]

Hargus could only snarl in a desperate mix of anger and terror as the orange haired son of that pirate bitch stood in his path. It was like watching a wounded animal snarl at its predator in scant hopes that somehow there was some way they would be scared off. But it was not to be.

“OUT OF MY WAY!” he shouted, taking one of his arms off of his thrashed guts to frantically wave it at the pirate that now blocked his escape. Dark magic swirled and sputtered about the Demon King’s arm, but no spell of any substance would form. At this point Hargus was nothing more than a severed artery of the nether, incontinently emitting its power through no will of his own. Any mastery he had over its energies was gone. His wings tattered, his fangs bared, and his guts exposed, Hargus was about as threatening as a scared child. Indeed, he could scare any child with his current, grotesque appearance.

“I WILL NOT GO BACK!” he shouted, blood and spit flying from his mouth. His skin began to roil and shiver as he roared. His wings, extended fully, as if in protest of his current situation. “I WILL NOT RETURN TO THE VOID! I AM HARGUS THE IMMORTAL! I AM HARGUS THE-!”

The Nether-touched tyrant’s crazed, maniacal, egotistical ranting was cut off with an unceremonious crunch as Ilheod’s spear came plunging through the top of his head. The silver weapon effortlessly carved its way through the Demon King’s skull, jaw, chest, and innards, driving itself down towards the ground and halting his retreat as its head stuck itself into the dirt. Hargus would have found himself wracked with pain if not for the fact that the skillful blow had effectively cut his brain matter in two. Death had arrived on a winged mount, and only thoughts of disbelief and despair would dance about the felled devil’s mind as his vision began to fade into darkness. How had this happened? He had come baring ancient and terrible power, and yet he had still been defeated. Now he would return to the void. Surely another ambitious dark mage would look to resurrect him again. Surely…

The last of Hargus’s thoughts faded away just before Oya’s mace collided with his side, blowing through what was left of his ribcage and splattering his innards bones all over the ground. The blow was devastating, but the Demon King’s fate had already been decided. Indeed, by the time he was struck by an oncoming burst of dark magic, Hargus was already a beaten, tortured, lifeless corpse.

And as the Demon King breathed his last breath, the dark will that guided the monsters to besiege the City of Heroes dissipated as well. They snarled, gnashed, and flailed, but they no longer moved in unyielding forward motion. Anything resembling an assault was gone, which returned the advantage to the superior fighting skill and tactics of the defenders.

The siege was over. The battle was won.

[???]

As Mana charged Burt, the wispy, fog-like darkness of the Arum Soul inside of him sensed the death of the immense source of dark power that was Hargus. The conciousness that touched the mind of each creature in his unholy horde disappeared like night in the face of the rising sun. Now it was just a mindless mass of nether-touched flesh. There was too much light around them now. Too much light.

So the necromancer had failed. Disappointing, but not unexpected. To be human was to fail. Mere human existence was a virus, a failiure on the earth's part to return to homeostasis. It was if nothing could rid Elibe of their foul, tainted presence. A divine joke, if you will.

Do not let that sword touch you

The presence at the back of Burt's mind hissed. Its voice still wispy and immaterial, but now, if it were something visible, it would be boiling like water over a fire. Arching like a distressed feline.

Leave this place. There is nothing left here.

With Hargus gone, continued combat was no longer the optimal decision. Once the humans finished drinking deep of the cup of phyrric victory, they would turn their death hungry eyes onto the Arum that now took residence in this shell of a man. But despite rejoining within Burt and regaining the King's sword, the Hunger was not at full strength. It posessed but a fraction of the power that Hargus had brought to this slaughterground, and if the humans had felled him, this host would not be a difficult target.

Go. Now.

[Burt]

"Die reached one", spoke Nega Burt as he prepared to attack the maiden. If she wanted to try his power head on he was going to hit her with the full force of his power. However orders came down from above that caused him to pause. The blackness Ordered a retreat and thought Nega Burt wanted to finish his prey he was bound to obey. As Nega Burt moved to retreat a knife flew through the darkness. It was a blow that he would normally have dodged, but the pause when taking orders caused him to hesitate and miss the attack altogether. The blade pierced through the side of his leg and stabbed the Arum Knight's pants leg into the ground. It was but a flesh wound, but the blow had taken away Nega Burt's moment to retreat. The maiden's attack was incoming and on instinct Nega Burt blocked it. However he did not know, see, or even imagine the second hidden blade from behind. The invisible blade cut deep into the Arum Knights chest causing him to scream in rage. With his pain Nega Burt released his magic once again sapping the soul of those around.

"A curse upon you wench", he shouted as he swung his massive sword knocking her back a few feet. Even though he was wounded and angry, the order was still the same. With a great push Nega Burt ripped the knife out of the ground and removed it from his leg. Tossing it aside he fled the battlefield with inhuman speed. There was still more work to be done and Nega Burt's mission was not over. As the beast fled it dropped a book. Burt's history of the clans. Despite Burt's great efforts the work of literature was left unfinished. Inside of its pages was Burt's drawings of Kenshin, his accounts of the great war, and the tales of those he had meet on his journey.

[Burt leaves Thread]

[Ilheod]

It was a satisfaction he could not describe. Words were unable to properly convey the euphoric high that filled Ilheod in combination with the savage thrill of feeling his silver spear sunder flesh and tear both brain tissue and fluidic tar like onyx shaded flesh. The Wyvern Lord's spear shredding into Hargus's body was sustained by the savage predatory like shout of bloodlust from the Bernese captain. As he backed away from the corpse he felt the fire of hatred boiling his blood. His veins seemed to stir and burn hot as if a brand were pressed to him and magma replacing his blood. A bitter hatred unlike any he had ever felt still filled him. His vengeance was not sated by the death of the man who had sought to fix his shackles to his home. The man who had killed one of his own family, and wished to rob his nation of it's freedom. His shout filled the air loudly as he removed his spear from the now tenderized corpse. The air around him shook and the ground tremored briefly in the direct vicinity as Astraeus let his wings fully extend and supplemented his voice with a loud shrieking roar. It split the air and matched every ounce of anger and hatred that the Wyvern Lord felt. However their work was not done. His gaze lifted to the winged monstrosities now flailing about and frantically trying to simply survive as Ilheod's Wyvern unit worked in unison to sweep through them. What had been two even fronts fighting before split into a one sided battle.

Ilheod quickly readjusted himself and slashed at the air to his upper right with his spear harmlessly. Black thick globlets of blood scattered while he tucked in and signaled for Astraeus to take to the sky. The Wyvern flew into the sky swiftly with two heavy colossal wingbeats. A shadow cast as it flew upwards and quickly rejoined his unit. Ilheod shouted loudly even while his spear skewered another of the flailing mad creatures while it vainly tried to fend him off with inferior reach. "Form up! Clear the skies. Drive these bastards to their damned graves!" The series of individual riders fighting broke up as they began to come together into a formation again doing charge like drives into the group of Gargoyles who put up individual resistances but no form of organized counter attack. Until each monster had been purged, Ilheod wouldn't feel any form of achieved vengeance for his comrade. The sound of shrieking roars from the wyverns as they flew charge after charge into the Gargoyles to eradicate them echoed through the sky. After all, the skies belonged to them by right. They would let none take this from them.

[Oya]

Finally it was over. The blood had been paid and the traitor lie dead. As the Wyvern Knight took to the sky to rejoin the fight, the pirate took a moment to rest. He had been running around all day, fighting this monster, chasing this, it was all so tiring. Not to mention Xigshaw's power had taken a toll on Oya's entire body. The mighty holy hammer amplified Oya's strength, but that also meant he got a greater backlash with every blow. Oya's entire body felt as if he had been sailing through a hurricane. Every muscle in his body screamed for rest, that included his leg muscles, which at the moment were not feeling too good. Less than a hour ago Oya thought he might have to loss the darn thing. Lucky for him some healer happen to be nearby.

Taking a moment for himself Oya stabbed Xigshaw into the ground and took a seat on the head of his mighty hammer. The Warrior looked around to see the battlefield turning. Without the demon king the monsters were as stupid as Sacean children. There tactics were gone and there drive sapped. The Heroic forces and the pirates still fighting could finish them off with ease. Oya took a moment to take everything in. He had been fighting this war with such passion and fire. He was sure he was going to be the one to take the city and submit his name in legend and history. Now he was here sitting in a empty plot of land fighting for the very city he tried to destroy.

"Man the fallout is going to be crazy", spoke Oya as he stood up. He was sure there was going to be some people from the East who still remembered him siegeing the walls. Before the day was over Oya was sure somebody was going to come up to him and challenge him to some duel for the honor of there dead brother, cousin, or whatever. It was going to be annoying and dangerous. Oya was sure that it would not take much for these saceans to simply forget that the pirates made the first true push into the horde of zombies to stop the Demon King, and instead focus on the fact that they were originally there to kill them. How ungrateful of them. Sure they were originally there to kill them, but they turned around and bleed with them. You don't stab the guy fighting with you in the back, though he doubted the people with dead kin cared.

"Alright lets clear up the stragglers and loot some corpses", spoke Oya to himself as he moved to join up with his men for there final push. They still needed to loot some corpses for profit and get something useful to take back home. The slaying of monsters would provide great cover for there treasure grabbing. If they just did it outright then a sacean outrage was inevitable.

[Vincent]

There was only one thought that drove Vincent forward in the battle anymore. He was at the end of his strength and his blades were spent. Win or lose, live or die, Burt had to be his final opponent in this battle. He had to free him of the nether. He was so fixated upon the swords-woman that his knife throw had actually succeeded in making its mark and keeping him where he wanted him.

"Blast it all Burt!!!" Vincent shouted rushing forward with his blade drawn back and ready to strike. Burt tried to resist to no avail. He prevented the woman's blade from taking his life but Vincent had his chance. He struck in an attempt to relieve him of his arm but alas the monster would simply have the blade pierce its body instead. The impact was intense; his blade felt resistance of magic before piercing the veil and piercing deeper until the blade broke through the other side of his body. Such a blow would kill any man or monstrous fiend upon this battlefield, save Burt it would seem.

The pain of the silver blade was evident but it was not enough. Burt took the blow and retaliated in force with the same draining force he had previously. "WAAAAHHHHH!!!!" It felt like a thousand volts instantly struck him and hooks piercing and pulling at his body. What a wicked power. It took him everything he had just to reel back and keep Phoenix Heart from being lost in the void of Burt.

Blade coming free Vincent fell back, his body in shock. Unaware of how it happened he fell upon his side finding it hard to move. Burt fled the scene as a book fell from his person. An unassuming little pad of parchment but one of great significance. It was Burt's dream and crowning achievement. It was to be his mark and gift unto the world.

The cold stone beneath his face was rough and rugged; altogether uncomfortable but weakness kept him there. Mustering what strength he could, Vincent reached out and placed a weak hand over the book slowly sliding it back towards him. He would keep it safe for now. Even unfinished the knowledge within deserved to be shared as a final will.

A sudden flood of emotion took him. Unable to move he simply whimpered like a struck dog. The irony of it all. Two friends lost to the nether, each leaving behind no body and leaving their books. Neil had given him his tome and now Burt dropped his journal. The best part came at he could not even read.

Now what, he wondered. Time would see himself moving again but now he feared being mistaken for another of the dead. He needed to be stronger still. He needed to be capable of contending with others on his own. The support he received in the battle was immense but obvious in scope. He was weak and lived by mere luck and the whims of others. Perhaps he would go back north to Illia once more. But the farther north, tackle the harshest of it.

As he lay there thinking he felt his consciousness fading. He was tired after all. How long had it been since he last slept? Two, three days? Regardless, he let sleep begin to overcome him. The battle was over and the others would find him well. He would wake in a tent of perhaps right here with someone shaking him awake. No matter. For a time he could forget about everything and rest. He had no lingering problems in this world anymore and his journey could begin anew.

[Ilheod]

Ilheod felt a satisfaction through him as the last of the winged monsters was struck low from the sky. It was a task the riders had taken to performing as if a chore; with the creatures offering virtually no resistance compared to the dangerous coordinated strikes they had to fend off prior. Their weapons were contentiously cleansed of the foul demonic blood with the bursts of movement within the air. However the Nightwings lead out the aerial battle to it's conclusion. However they still had to tend to their own. With the Demonic monstrosity Hargus put to an end, his hordes were being handled faster than if they had been normal recruits; or atleast so it seemed. Ilheod's first instinct, seen through as he led his unit down to a building that was now slightly rubble; was to examine Seths' condition. The man was wounded but not dead. A grim reminder however soon washed over him. Seth was resting near the ruins of another of their wing. William. Ilheod would not dismount however. It was a grim battle; and bloody work but their work was done. He'd seen this about as through as he was willing too.

His men landing around him a moment later, Ilheod spoke up as Seth started to mount his Wyvern. Slow, with an injured arm and leg the man took his time. "Let's do our best to gather up Will, lads. " He heard Alexander's voice in the background, though he'd already anticipated the question he asked. "Where will we go sir? To err..bury him." Ilheod was quiet for a second longer, as if confirming the reality. Yes, William was actually dead. The tightening in his lungs as he breathed to answer confirmed that; if he had any notion to doubt. "Home. Let's go home lads. I think it's about time for that atleast. Alexander, Immen, Brom. Make sure he and his partner are carefully carried. I'll hear nothing of them falling on the flight home. " Turning around he motioned for Astraeus. The Large Wyvern leapt upwards and atop one of the still standing buildings within the city before spreading his wings. As Astraeus stretched them out briefly in preparation to take off Ilheod spoke out to his men, a bit of an embittered sorrow in the tone that was otherwise victorious.

"Let's go home lads. All of us...lets go home."

He took off to a single heavy wingbeat, and the others followed him soon in suit. Headed for Bern, the Wyvern Unit took to the sky and flew south west.

[Exit Thread]

[Dietrich Landrik]

The tired and broken defenders of the City of Heroes were in much disarray, with many thoughts going to those who broke and ran from the defense. Landrik, observing with tired eyes, could only imagine the bloodshed not to end and he would not be anywhere around to see it. Berg, with his stocky arms raised his comrade to his feet and aided him as they slowly returned to their lines with Fuchs just ahead to guide them through the war torn wastes with the dead and dying all around them.

There was no point in staying other than to collect the wounded. Not only was there the question of taking the city nullified by Nya, but there was still a hotbed of conflicting views on the side of the defenders. Some had fought shoulder to shoulder with a bandit in that climatic battle and honored their sacrifice and there were others who lost too many friends to see the bandits who raided their city as anything to be seen other than slain.

The retreat was speedy as many of the ship-bound pirates and mercenaries were accustomed to the thought of never returning home by burial by sea. It was part of their culture. They only hoped the Sacaens would honor their dead as they departed setting sail for the port of Badon and then afterwards the Western Isles.

--

On ship, there was much to think over. The things he had seen and experienced and how close to death he was... there was no getting over that so quickly or easily. He commanded men who were obliterated or torn apart by an unholy foe. While Dietrich was still piecing everything together he knew one thing: the undead scourge must be stopped.

[Exit Thread]

[Remus]

There was a series of shouts, shrieks of wyverns, and cheers from men. He saw the creatures begin to fight frantically, as if they were no longer trying to attack but simply exist. The shadow en-coated monstrosity the two sword wielding women had been fighting released a final assault only to flee swiftly. Wounded lie around him even to smallest degree's and there was the fact that people near the priest still harbored some weakness. Though he could have prayed to Elimine, to figure out what he should have done..he already knew it. Remus stood up slowly and tried to calm his breathing. Inhaling, exhaling...inhaling...exhaling..Inhale...


He lifted his staff upwards into the air. His mind was a single thought. One prayer that he believed with all his heart as he held it up towards the heavens and prayed for Elimine to not only guide his hand but bless it for the wounded. The gemstone flashed red once more as he poured every ounce of effort, might and willpower into the healing spell. A large brilliant blue light pulsed from his staff as Remus did his best to heal every wound around him in the direct area. Every scratch, every injury and even those greatly fatigued. It was as if he could hear it simply by imagining it. The sounds of those agonized by wounds and the broken who had seen their friends die around them. All he could feel was sorrow. Would it be that he could, he would take unto his own body all the pain, all the suffering and anguish both physically and mentally simply to see that the souls who kept this place safe were in the state of mind they should be and the wellbeing they deserved.

This was the best he could manage, this meager attempt to second place that goal. The strain on his body was immense. He felt it drain him, as if he had nothing left. Spent so quickly after so few spells cast; still tried from prior healings in earnest. The priest fell to his knees from the spell cast. Remus felt his body shudder and conciousness ebb away as he fell onto the ground upon his side. His staff cradled between outstretched limp arms as he watched defenders victoriously take the day; the last thing he could pick out sensory wise being the feeling of the ground moving beneath him. Though he knew it not, someone was dragging him.

====================

It had taken some time to recover. After all, he had pushed himself to a limit not previously pushed. However a Sacaen shaman had helped him mend, tending to his fatigued spirit and body as he healed. The marvels of medicine and herbs. When he finally aimed to depart, it was the shaman that helped him pack his supplies. Even gave him the stick that seemed so much like a walking stave Remus had almost wanted to use it as such; though the sentimentality of the gift was not lost to him. With reknewed spirit, he left the City of Heroes to return to his own endeavors. First to retrieve Amelia and Owain, and briefly resupply in Etruria before leaving to gather souls to assist him in his travel. After all, he still had someone to save.

[Exit Thread]

[Kenshin]

How does that saying go? No matter how good you are, there's always somebody better? Kenshin had fought using his speed and precision, there had been a very few that he has fought that could match his level of skill of both areas. He had once fought against Richter who could match him in precision but lacked the speed to keep up with Kenshin, Richter had far more greater power to counter his speed. It would take one good blow from Richter to take Kenshin down where it would take many quick strikes to take Richter down. Hargus on the other hand, he was able to dodge Kenshin's attacks like they were nothing while being able to deliver a blow that could rival one from Richter. Kenshin was more than aware of this fact, but there was one thing that blinded the Crimson Demon to that fact.

Fifteen years ago Kenshin's village was wiped out, aside from him and his cousin. The attackers were from the Ruinz Bandits, lead by Hargus. In a flash the life Kenshin had known had been ended when bandits had attacked his village. Huts were burned, family and friends were slaughtered for no reason, the two cousins had escaped and Kenshin had vowed revenge at all cost even if it lead him to his death. He had lead many unsuccessful attempts upon the bandit lord, many times Kenshin had barely got out alive. With each failed attempt eating away at him, Kenshin had tried more daring attempts which had cost him the respect of those who followed him and Matis. He had never once considered himself as a leader but abused those who followed him. During the final battle he gave it everything he had but still couldn't do a single thing to prove himself as a warrior. After that battle he had a legend to live up to, while he wasn't nearly as skilled as people had claimed him to be he kept up that image. He didn't do it to feel better for himself, but in hopes of aspiring heroes, ones that would surpass him, to rise. He knew the mistakes that he made in those years, and what they had almost cost him. He sought to guide those heroes in their early years so they didn't fall victim of them.

Back in Bern, he knew nothing about Richter but he did recognize his skill as a warrior, perhaps a greater one than himself. Kenshin would be lying if he said the only reason he had stopped him from murdering the assassin was only to teach him the destructive path of revenge. He had only sought to protect Jya as a personal reason, for she was one of the people who guided the swordsman to humanity when he had lost his way. Once things had calmed on the battlefield, he tried to pass along what he had learned in those dark years. It had fell upon deft ears, Kenshin had once again let his temper get the best of him as he tried to punch the unarmed Richter. After the two had their exchange of words, he had thought that would be the last time he would hear from him, but it wasn't. Richter had showed up to help defend Kenshin's home, a gesture that Kenshin couldn't repay despite the request Richter had made upon Kenshin's request for his aid.

It was ironic that Kenshin spewed how dangerous hatred could be to Richter. His village was under attack by Hargus once again, this time it was because it was where Kenshin had called home and not because it was in a 'war path'. Kenshin had kept up with the defense of his home until he saw Hargus, demon form or not. He rushed in alone in an attempt to kill the bandit king in front of him. He had once again allowed his anger take control of him, it had turned what many had saw as a fine warrior into a novice. Wild strikes fulled by emotion, not skill, missing it's target each time. It had gave Hargus his opening to inflect a major wound upon Kenshin. As Kenshin had started his charge forward everything had faded to black, he had a serious injury that he was ignoring and it had seemed to be catching up to him very quickly.

His body had fell to the ground around the time he took his second step. His conciseness had been slipping in and out once he hit the ground, he could see Hargus still walking towards him. Then there was a short period of blackness in his mind, then he had saw Hargus taking a couple of hits from axes thrown at him. Kenshin wasn't sure what was going on, but from what he could tell others were attacking Hargus as well, he had tried using every ounce of strength left in his body to get up, which resulted in him getting to his hands an knees before falling upon the ground once again.

[exit thread]