Vainta's Last Stand ((Open))

[Zieg dil' Tulfried]

The air was filled with the overwhelming stench of ash and blood. Images of Zieg's failure were all around him, a dead child half devoured by flames, the burning Demon Army Headquarters, the massive holes in the walls of the city. He had let his people down, and the dwarves were making him regret he had ever taken over as the High General.

Zieg held his two blades out, one in his healthy right arm, the other in his flaming left arm. His men were huddled behind him, swords at the ready. He had a duty to his last remaining men, to get them out alive. Without a look, he spoke aloud to them, strength and honor filling his words.

"Go. Run back to the castle. Survive to fight another day." The men looked startled at his orders. "But, sir," the first began but Zieg shook his head.

"That is an order, soldier. Go." The three men nodded solemnly before turning and running toward the castle. The dwarves did not wait another moment before running full speed at the High General. Zieg exclaimed aloud, and jumped into the battle with all of his strength.

Parry, slice, duck, stab. The demon knight fought with all of his might to stay alive. The longer he fought, the deeper the dwarves penetrated his defense. One axe slid through his left arm, though not severing the engulfed limb, it did send shockwaves of pain through his body. He dropped to his knees, holding his left arm tight to his chest. His left he used pettily to protect himself from the barrage of blows.

It was over, Zieg had nothing left. One particularly large dwarf charged at Zieg, knocking his backwards and flat on his back. Both of his blades were knocked away and he was defenseless. In a last ditch effort to protect himself from an enemy that had him surrounded, he tucked his knees under his chin and held them tight with his arms. Closing the blood red eyes that intimidated most people, he saw only one thing. Kaza.

I cannot die yet. Kaza needs me. He needs his father. Excruciating pain overtook the demon as his very soul burst forth from his body. Fire, a pure and true flame burst from his body, in a sphere that grew massive in strength, intensity, and size. Screams of pain erupted from Zieg's mouth as this shield took shape. It overtook everything within a fifty yard radius in all directions, until there was nothing left within. It then withdrew back into Zieg's body, emitting a smoke so black that it was darker than night within. It was then and there that Zieg lost consciousness.

((Finally was able to post. Feel free to bunny Zieg back to the castle, or wherever. There is nothing left within a fifty yard radius of the demon. Scorched Earth is all that is left.))

[Molotov]

Molotov looked on as Zieg began to fight through the crowd. The mutant had done his best to provide some cover with fire balls and other kinds of dancing flames, but it was to no avail. The high general was fighting like a man possessed, not just for patriotism but for the family that he loved. The mutant shuddered. It was an awesome sight, to see someone that dedicated that they not only would put themselves in that kind of danger, but that they could somehow fight to survive.

The dwarves were getting closer and closer, and then suddenly, Zieg erupted within a giant radius of flame. Molotov looked on, wide eyed and searching for some way of survival when Cocktail swept up onto the scene and let the mutant grab reflexively onto his leg. Molotov sighed, desperately relieved as sweat fell profusely from his brow. Only seconds later, the ground where he’d stood had been reduced to nothing but ash.

After letting the initial feeling of relief subside, Molotov picked himself up onto Cocktail. The entire battlefield below seemed frozen, the dwarves’ entire front line incinerated by Zieg’s awesome power. Molotov himself was forced to merely look on impressed for a few moments before he could regain his wits.

“Bloody hell…” he muttered. “And I didn’t even think this sodded country could be any more of a wasteland…”

Sarcasm aside, Molotov thought back to his own flames that he’d created only a few seconds ago. They seemed so pithy in comparison, yet they represented an even greater danger. The same thing that caused him to kill, to grow obsessed with murder, it was still inside him whether or not he wanted to believe that it was there. Water magic or not, fire was a part of the mutant that would be there for life.

Had it been up to Molotov to rescue Zieg, it would have been unlikely it would have happened. The entire event had dumbfounded the mutant to such a large extent that Molotov merely sat blankly as Cocktail swooped downwards to pick up the demon. It was only after a deliberate whinny that Molotov came to his senses and picked up the demon general.

The mutant shook his head, slightly amused. “Bloody hell!” he exclaimed. “You smell like a sodded roast gone wrong!”

Cocktail wasted no more time and flew back towards the castle as the hoarde of dwarves began to come to their senses and regroup.

[Zieg dil' Tulfried]

When Zieg awoke moments after the massive explosion, he found himself feeling nothing. The pain had subsided, leaving only a very hollow feeling within the demon. He felt very lightheaded and almost weightless, in fact the only feeling he did have was a slight pinching of his shoulders. I must be dead.

However, after he opened his eyes, the knight did not find himself in a blissful utopia as one would imagine. He looked down over the desolate city of Vainta, down at the massive burnt circle as the after effect of the massive blaze which had escaped his body. The large demon was quite confused, one moment he is about to be destroyed by the dwarven army, the next he is flying high above the city.

Twisting his head around, he looked up at his transportation. Molotov rode upon his massive bird, which had the demon in its grasp. Seeing the mutant and his familiar forced Zieg to think of Xeppa, and about how much he missed the Magim Beast pup right then. He only hoped he and Kaza had made it safely from the city to Vla'toros.

The monstrous bird carried Zieg and Molotov toward the castle and the rest of the demons. The demon was dropped down inside the iron gates of the castle, which had been torn down in the chaos. One of the guards lay there impaled on his own staff. Zieg had no time to mourn the dead though and rushed into the castle, hoping Molotov was following close behind.

The castle itself was in shambles, many of the dwarves flaming rocks had been aimed at the castle. This led to many of the walls to be knocked down and everything to be tossed aside. Zieg rushed through the broken corridors toward the throne room and the rest of the demons. He barrelled his way under falling stone and over broken chairs and tables. Finally he made his way into the throne room.

Only to find his method of escape to be blocked. One of the many barrages had knocked down the back wall of the throne room down onto the pristine floor. It covered the floor with a stone and rubble, completely blocking the hidden passageway beneath the throne itself. The demon knight had no idea whether his men had escaped or not, or whether the tunnel had collapsed. All he could do was try to think of an alternate plan, and quick.

"Molotov. It is just the two of us now. The path is blocked and the dwarves are heading this way. Any suggestions?"

[Molotov]

Molotov cringed. He knew time was of the essence and nothing was coming to mind quickly. There didn’t seem to be many ways out of the city. The gates were so swollen with refugees it had been difficult enough for Molotov to get in on a flying horse. There would have been no way that he would be able to escape along with Zieg.

Hoping that Cocktail might offer some solution, the mutant looked back at the steed. Though the asperi had fought valiantly along Molotov’s side, it was readily apparent that the creature was in no condition to fight any more. Cocktail’s entire body glistened with sweat, and the horse’s eyes seemed as if they were pleading for an opportunity to rest.

“Bloody hell…” Molotov realized as he looked at his loyal ally. “You bloody went and tired yourself all out…” The mutant realized that whatever plan of escape he could come up with, he couldn’t afford to use the steed.

Time was of the essence. Molotov began to breathe more rapidly as he scoured his brain for a solution. Though Zieg had only asked the question a few seconds ago, it seemed to Molotov like he had spent the last half hour fuming silently for a solution. Suddenly, something came upon the mutant. Molotov wasn’t sure if it was a good idea, all he cared about was the fact it was an idea.

“Cocktail, GO!” Molotov shouted. He smacked the asperi on the rear. “Move and bloody move quickly… I don’t want to see you around here.”

Cocktail at first whinnied in surprise, but the beast soon got the hint and rose up into the sky. Molotov knew that it would be risky, but he felt that both he and the steed had better chances of survival if they were separated. Knowing he’d need to explain his actions, the mutant turned towards Zieg.

“That will buy us some time, but we’re going to have to bloody run…” Molotov said. “We have to head for the labyrinth… either run there ourselves or let the bloody dwarves capture us and take us there…”

Molotov hoped Zieg wouldn’t ask about how it was that he’d known about the labyrinth. While the mutant was well aware that his exploits in the Gisela were common knowledge throughout Althanas, he hoped that some of the more unsavory aspects of his criminal record were lost upon the demon high general. Since they were going to need to trust each other, the mutant thought that it would be best that they try to stay as amicable as they were now.

“Problem with knights is they always think with their morals, even in times like this…” Molotov knew. He couldn’t help but muse that if they were to escape, it would rely on him to provide the wits. Zieg could provide fantastic brawn, so he would be necessary. Still, Molotov knew they were going to have to move.

[Zieg dil' Tulfried]

The fact that he hadn't thought of the Labyrinth was proof to Zieg of how tired he was. Had he been at his best, he would have made that decision instantaneously. He rubbed his face with his hand and directed Molotov toward the next room. He pulled open the large wooden door and went through the opening. Loud voices emanated from the room they left, increasing the demon's pace.

He knelt down before a massive wooden board which covered about a third of the floor. Zieg pulled on the large iron ring which was attached to the board, lifting it up to reveal a dark hole. The voices were joined by various crashing noises as the dwarves searched the throne room. The demon ushered Molotov into the hole, and turned one last time to look back at the castle. Shaking his head in disgrace, he leapt into the hole.

He landed in a slimy pool of water, which slid off of his armor as he stood. He knew the layout of the Labyrinth by memory, and he led the way through the dank maze, lit only by the flame of the Gamygym. The gruff dwarven voices even echoed down to them. The demon knight knew that they had to move if they wanted to escape. As they ran, Zieg explained exactly where they were.

"Even though the main entrance to the Labyrinth is under the Demon Army Headquarters, this entrance exists as a halfway point out if you will. If we take a few correct turns, we should find ourselves out of here in no time. I just hope that all of the creatures we keep out here have long since escaped in the chaos." He ushered Molotov this way and that toward the exit and, eventually, freedom.

How can this be happening? The Demon Army was once the most feared and respected military on Althanas, but now we've been reduced to running like scared children. If Rakthean were still here... well... if Rakthean were still here, the dwarves would have been destroyed by now. He did so well for Haidia, and I've let him down. Vainta has fallen, the demon race has fallen, and it's all my fault. Zieg began to feel the weight of the burden Rakthean had placed upon him nearly a year earlier. Rakthean had had so much faith in him, but apparantly the older demon had expected too much. The great Zieg Tulfried. A fool. Zieg grabbed hold of the diamond headband that signified his position as high general and tugged it off of his forehead. He threw it to the ground, covering it with the muck from the depths of the Labyrinth. It meant nothing anymore, he had destroyed all worth it had by wearing it. Haidia needed to move on, and so did he.

[Molotov]

Molotov wasn’t sure what to think as he entered into the labyrinth. It was a dangerous part of their journey now. They were a bit safer than they were before, but not safe enough yet. This was the kind of time where complacency could take over for better judgment, something that the mutant felt he could ill afford. “Best keep my thoughts to myself,” he figured. “Can’t afford to think about anything here, like the fire, the soldiers dead… I have to do what I need to survive.”

However, now that he had escaped the dwarves for the time being, Molotov felt as if he could keep a niggling uncertainty buried for no longer. What did it mean that he’d used his fire ability? Was he losing control of himself, and was he bound to end up a murderer again? Why did he care so much about what had happened in Haidia? He wasn’t from the continent, he had few friends there, and the mutant was essentially ambivalent to whether or not the area was controlled by demons or dwarves.

“It’s all because of redemption,” Molotov thought. He realized what a double edged sword his life had become. He had been so overwrought with desires that he had justified the murders of countless people. Now that he had been looking for some way to redeem himself, he had found that the desires for redemption could be just as corrupting. It was greed either way, and greed was a particularly dangerous emotion. It brought blinders with it. If Molotov had learned anything until this point, it was that mindlessness was his biggest flaw. It wasn’t that he was a bad person, it was the carelessness that caused him to do bad things.

For a few moments, Molotov had been blinded by the sacrifice of his fellow soldiers. Watching them die had left the mutant thinking about how to honor their memories, not about the bigger picture. It was only at this point that the mutant remembered that he was just as ignorant to the ways of the dwarves as was the soldiers he had fought alongside.

Now that they were in the labyrinth, Molotov figured that he had to know. He only hoped that Zeig would have these answers for him. As the mutant looked around this new landscape, looking at the mess of tunnels and turns without being particularly sure where they should be going, he asked Zeig not about the future, but in order to make sense of the past.

“Well looks like we’re out of there,” Molotov began. “Let’s find our way out of this bloody place, eh? Anyhow… what was going on with those short little buggers up there? Whaddya do to them, stick them in the rot areas near the vampires? Never thought I’d see dwarves that bloody suicidal. Not surprising though, dwarves are bloody annoying little creatures…”

Figuring that might be a bit harsh of a way to start off conversation with a relative unknown, Molotov lightened it with a bit of small talk. “We should be fine in the long run eh? I’m sure we both want out of here…” However, after he said that, Molotov realized how stupid it was to come up with a statement like that. He had no intention of opening up an ugly wound, and there was a jarring question that begged asking. What would happen to a high general who had lost the territory his army controlled?

[Zieg dil' Tulfried]

The question Molotov asked caught Zieg off-guard, for noone had asked about that in the longest time. It had become common knowledge throughout the demon underworld. Zieg figured that the dwarves would have no way of finding there way through the Labyrinth to catch them without losing their way several times, so he slowed his pace down to speak with the mutant. He glanced down at the stone floor and began his tale.

"Well, about eighteen hundred years ago, roughly five generations, the demons were banished to the caves below Althanas after their defeat in the Demon War. Noone believed there to be any way out of this place, beyond the portals, and so the demons began to settle down. However, sometime before we arrived, the dwarves had made their way down here. A nasty war broke out, and the demons decimated the dwarves, killing many and taking others as slaves. Time went by and everyone believed the dwarven threat to be extinct. The slave trade fell by the wayside and eventually all of the dwarves were freed."

Zieg lifted the Gamygym at an intersection to get his bearing. He began to feel the cooler air from outside, and knew they were getting close to the exit. He continued forward, still teaching Molotov a bit of history.

"Recently, reports began to come in of attacks on the outlying villages around Haidia. We had no way to know who was attacking, for they left noone alive. By this time, High General Rakthean dil' Taros had felt secure enough to send out a bulk of the Demon Army out to scout this large area. Well, that began our downfall," Zieg continued.

"After Rakthean died last year, and I took command, we encountered a small dwarven army just north of Vla'toros. The dwarves were defeated there, and I believed they were finished forever, but as you can see, I was wrong. I just cannot figure out where they have been hiding all this time. You would think I would know about such a massive force anywhere nearby."

Zieg led them from the Labyrinth, out into the open air to the west of the city. He glanced back and could see Vainta still burning. A stake had been raised high above the city and his helmet had been set upon it, like a beacon to the underworld that he had failed. He shook his head and began to head on to the villages to the east. "That ignorance was my, and the demon's, downfall.

[Molotov]

Even though they had escaped from the labyrinth Molotov shuddered. He didn’t much care for the image of dwarves lying in wait. It seemed a bit too much like bedbugs. “That’s a bloody shame,” he replied. “It's not just ignorance. Feuds are bound to turn sometime. Everytime it happens, people decide to hate and they just continue. It’s like something that no one could ever stop, because the people doing it, they don’t get it. Ask a thousand fanatics, and everyone of them is right and just in their own damn mind…”

Now, they had emerged out from the labyrinth. Molotov took a deep breath, wondering what would happen next. He had never really known the real Vainta, the people who lived there day after day, mothers, children and fathers, all of whom were probably just as confused and troubled as he was. Yet, they all persevered, without mutations, without stories of heroism, without having been intercontinental murderers. Those were the people Molotov felt himself miss. He wasn’t sure why, but now when he thought back on what had happened in Vainta, it was these people he thought of. People who Molotov could never meet.

Not wanting to think about it, Molotov lit himself a cigarette and brooded. The villages in the east looked considerably more inviting than anything else, but the mutant doubted they could ever truly be home to the people of Vainta. As smoke exhaled out his nose, Molotov realized that above all else he felt guilty. Not because he would no longer be able to gain the redemption of the people of Vainta for the murders he’d committed there, but because the people who had started this war were eerily similar to him. They were all caught up in their tunnel vision. Molotov thought of the dwarves who died. Surely their leaders would call them the honored dead, their families would be honored and told that their loved ones died in the name of a new found republic. Still, it would be no consolation. There was never any solace for the families of the dead, not for the demon army or the dwarves.

There was also no solace for the families of the mutants that Molotov had lead into battle at Gisela.

However, this was something Molotov had no intention of talking about with Zeig. The general wasn’t even his friend, let alone some kind of psychologist. The mistakes Molotov had made then would be impossible to redeem. There could be no justice among such cruel individuals. Instead, Molotov silently wiped a tear from his eye, shoved his sunglasses back into position and was about to bid farewell. However, moments before he could get to the last step, Molotov heard the sounds of footsteps. Immediately, he froze. Warily, Molotov held his hand up so as to silence any reply that would have come from Zeig, and hissed a whisper.

It was not a dwarf some kind of labyrinth creature. The footsteps were far too delicate to be that of a dwarf. Dwarves had the tendency to move like they were scraping the earth with every step they took, while these steps were considerably neater. Almost like quick raindrops or hailstorms. Molotov knew exactly what kind of a creature it was that made that kind of a noise.

“Tromboli,” he said. Molotov grabbed his adze and struck it on the ground. There was one last creature to kill before the mutant could leave Vainta behind.

[Zieg dil' Tulfried]

Zieg heard the high-pitched tapping long before he saw the massive creature. It was a sound unlike any other, like glass on rock. Zieg spun around quickly, blade already in hand to face the spider-like Tromboli. He had faced and defeated a Tromboli before, and he knew its weakness. Still, the demon was in no mood to face such a beast. In fact, the situation threw him over the edge.

The calculating, intellegent man was gone, in its wake was a mindless beast. A bloodcurtling cry left his throat as he ran at the Tromboli. With razor-sharp legs longer than Zieg was tall, they stood as deadly pillars between Zieg and his goal, its vulnerable body. The Tromboli swung one of its mighty legs at Zieg, which he blocked with his blade, leaving a hollow echo of the impact.

Dancing backward, the predator stabbed at the berserk demon with two of its front legs, one which Zieg narrowly avoided, the other which pierced his foot. Pain flurried up his leg as he fell flat on his stomach. All air in his lungs quickly escaped, leaving him out of breath and with flashes of light before his eyes.

He rolled to the left, yanking his foot from the spider's grasp. Getting to his feet, he searched for air, trying hard to breath. Finally, his lungs opened and he took a deep breath. The Tromboli was far from willing to let him recover. The two front legs came across the other, to form a crude scissor maneuver which attempted to slice Zieg in half at the waist. The demon pulled the Rohtan from his belt and held both blades flush against his arms. The legs closed in on Zieg, but were unable to slice into his armor.

His muscles ached as he pushed the blades slowly away from his arms. With a quick move, he used the blade in his right hand to knock away the leg on his left and vice-versa. With the legs out of the way, he had an open shot at the joints, which he took full advantage of. He slammed his blades deep into the sinewy tissue of the joints, cutting deeper into them until he felt no resistance and the limbs fell to the ground.

The creature cried out in pain and took several steps back on its remaining legs. With his senses returned to him, Zieg could only hope that Molotov had taken advantage of the distraction the demon knight had given him.

[Molotov]

Molotov was a bit surprised by the way the Tromboli had gone after Zeig, but it was a pleasant surprise. It gave Moltoov some options, some time to think and come up with the correct offensive maneuver. When Molotov had been in the labyrinth before, he had been forced to fight one of these creatures, but that had been a different time. This one was bigger, less brittle. The other had been distracted and injured from a previous altercation. Molotov had none of the same luck this time.

Instead, Molotov had Zeig on his side now. The demon general was certainly brave, brave enough that his courage could potentially border on stupidity. “Or just suicide,” Molotov wondered. Subconsciously, as if by reflex, Molotov was conjuring a small ice spike in his hands. It was sharp, but perhaps not sharp enough to slice through the chitin of the tromboli. Before when Molotov had fought the creature, he had used the power of fire to roast the tromboli alive. Now, that option wasn’t available for him.

The spike shot out from Molotov’s hands, straight at the backside of the tromboli. The ice shard shattered, like it had been made of nothing more than glass. The attack was so feeble that the creature didn’t even seem to take its attention away from Zeig.

“Stupid bugger,” the mutant cursed. There would be little opportunity for him to use his water powers on this creature. Nothing he had was of that kind of magnitude, perhaps there was nothing within his entire arsenal that would help in this kind of a situation. Reflexively, Molotov shuddered. He wondered how much farther along in his fire abilities had he never forsaken them. He would have been able to stop this tromboli now, been able to fight against it.

Molotov had seen that the flames were still within him, no matter how much he had tried to hide them from himself. They had come out in the battle against the dwarves, as a supplementary force to that of Zeig. Molotov could bring them out again, and now it looked as if he would need to. There would be no other way to defeat this powerful creature.

With that, Molotov bit his lip. He didn’t like what he was going to have to do, but he was going to have to do it anyways. Zeig had provided him with a precious few seconds worth of opportunity, and the mutant knew he was going to have to take advantage from them. With the same hands that had murdered countless millions, Molotov’s eyes shone a passionate orange and whipped up a fiery tornado within his hands.

The mutant shuddered. He wasn’t sure what had become of himself. Molotov certainly didn’t feel any different, save for the snaking feeling of regret at the Pandora’s box that he’d opened. If anything, the mutant felt a renewed sense of vigor entering into his body, a willingness to fight that hadn’t been there since his troops had fallen.

It wasn’t that Molotov was angry, it was that he was no longer cold.

With that, the mutant sent his tornado straight into the eyes of the tromboli. “Take that you stupid bastard!” he shouted gleefully, laughing as the fiery inferno headed straight for the face of the large arachnid.

The tromboli brayed in shock. It had already taken the brunt of Zeig’s attack, and now this was a perfect finish. All the flesh inside the chitin was beginning to burn, the exoskeleton popped as juices oozed out from it like a well done piece of meat. Molotov said absolutely nothing, but watched with cool satisfaction as the creature crumbled down on to the ground.

“That’s the end,” he said solemnly. Molotov didn’t know what had happened to him, nor did he think he would ever be able to explain it. However, it seemed now that fire no longer had the power over him that it once did. It would be something to analyze the next time he was in the lab, but even the rage that had erupted after the battle with the dwarves seemed to have no substantial ill effects. “Looks like we’re done here,” he summarized. “Done with Vainta…”