A Demonstration of Power

[Letho]

Letho Ravenheart wanted to do this for so long.

Sure, there was a part of him that fought against it, that nagged at him from somewhere deep in his cranium, but it was never more than a distant drone that was growing easier and easier to ignore. He could still catch parts of it, benevolent babble and warnings and all those prideful and sanctimonious sermons that he had kept as his creed for all those years. But within the tumult of his wrath and unbridled lust for retribution, those voices were like whispers in a hurricane. And there was nothing they could do to change the fact that he hated these people.

These geese that flocked and quacked and complained, these weaklings with their hand out, always asking for more, more, MORE! Letho had given them so many years of his life, so many years of leal service, solving their problems, sorting their own messes, facing the dangers they were too yellow to face themselves. And to what end? These people never changed, never evolved, never bettered themselves. Their only noteworthy abilities were the inkling to abandon and deceive and put themselves before all others. Sure, there were outliers like he had been years ago, but they too were a part of the problem, part of the system that enabled the content to remain stagnant and the strong to wallow in their dotage. These people didn't deserve freedom. They needed a steel fist to crush them and mold them into something useful.

But that wasn't what these fireworks were all about. There was a bigger picture, a plan that the Sovereigns of Tar'shak had which Letho was not privy to, and this little piece of hell was just the first strand in the weave of that tapestry. They were testing him. Nobody said it in that many words, but he was still bright enough to connect enough dots. They were testing his will to do what it takes, his will to go against the morals and convictions he had held to for as long as he could remember. But the joke was ultimately on them. Didn't they realize that this was exactly what he wanted? Didn't they know by now that for so many years he had suppressed the desire to enact just punishment on all these people he used to cater to?

“You!” someone called out for him moments after he emerged from the blackness that closed behind him. The panic-stricken man scurried towards him like a rat before the flood, keeping one eye on the fallen form of the demon farther down the road. His flashy attire, all fluttery sleeves and lacy cuffs, was dusty and ruined. “How did you get through?”

Once he was close enough to see Letho's face, puzzlement washed over his face momentarily, followed by the dawn of recognition. It appeared his face and his name still haven't faded from the memory of the people here. “I know you! Ravenheart, right? Letho Ravenheart? My word!”

A few more staggered forward, encouraged by the appearance of this armor-clad hero that braved the barrier. In his Cillu glass full plate and armed with his dragonscale shield and spear, Letho looked every bit the Red Marshal known in these lands, his armor reflecting the flames in every possible hue of orange and scarlet.

“You're here for us, right? To get us out?” one of those gathered asked, a pampered looking kid with streaks of dried dusty tears on his cheeks. His bloodshot eyes looked up at the aging hero not with hope, but something akin to irritation, as if the squirt was ashamed he was caught crying and it was all Letho's fault.

“Indeed. I am here for all of you,” Letho said, and offered a smile. A few of those gathered had time to deduce that there seemed just a tad too many teeth visible in that smile before they were dead.

Switching the spear to his right hand, Letho pulled his left arm back and swung it in a wide horizontal arc that sent the sharpened edge of the dragonscale shield on a deadly, neck-high path. A pair of heads came tumbling behind his stroke, with another pair of throats gurgling through desperate fingers. Another man, last in line and faster than most, lost the top of his skull and staggered away like a puppet forgotten by the puppeteer. The kid, now covered in copious amounts of blood as well as dirt, screamed again. Letho shoved him to the ground and made sure he stayed there with a swift jab of his spear that turned to volume of the scream down to a dying whimper after a few moments. Yanking the spear out of the youth's chest with a swift pull, Letho proceeded to where Erhat was breathing his last breaths. This time around anyways.

“Kept you waiting, huh?” he said to the demon, sparing scarcely a glance on Erhat and the pile of rocks that kept him pinned to the cobblestones. Instead, his focus had shifted to the man who was most likely the cause of Erhat's demise. One of those whispers from the back of his brain crept through all the fire and smoke and gruesome death.

I know you.

[Dissinger]

Screams echoed through the streets, people scattering upon the wind. A man sat in an alleyway, listening to the ensuing chaos as people tried desperately to outrace the flames that engulfed Radasanth. A tuneless hum was on his lips as he shook his head back and forth, trying to figure out where Aislinn Orlouge was hiding. He had an appointment with the Witch to do some much needed upkeep on his body, and make sure the mana wasn’t burning him out like it threatened to. He was mildly annoyed at the fact that of all days for chaos to ensue, it was today that they chose.

More screams.

A resigned sigh left his lips as he stepped out onto the streets. His boots slapping the cobblestones as he moved through the throng of people fleeing the fight. He gripped the top of his hat as he moved casually through the crowd, heading towards the source. If he didn’t put a stop to this, he would never get the time with the Scarlet Witch he needed. She would be too busy healing the fallen from this scourge.

He made his way out the back of the crowd with a nonchalant shrug, the people were so busy trying to get by him he didn’t even need to move. The stampede headed for the exit, in an effort to escape what the man willingly threw himself into. He sighed as he came out the back and clucked his tongue at the sight of demons. It seemed he had some work before him, if he was going to make that appointment.

He continued to walk, his hand on the top of his hat as he reached the edge of the barrier. He let his hat go as he frowned at the magical circle, trapping more humans in. A sigh left his lips as he gently reached out to touch it, and raised an eyebrow seeing it cross the threshold easily. Withdrawing his hand was arduous, but doable, and it was at that point he realized the intent. The demon’s didn’t care if something came in, only if it tried to leave. A soft snort left the man’s lips before he stretched and walked across the barrier, entering the fray.

People were crying, pleading the god’s with voices that had never been chaste in their lives. It was tiresome to hear the stages of grief, some were in denial, loudly exclaiming how things couldn’t be real, others were begging, making deals with any thayne that would listen. It was trite, and the man was on a tight schedule. Moving forward he finally reached the center of the area, and saw an interesting sight. His eyebrow arched at the massive form of Letho Ravenheart, cutting down men.

“Huh, interesting,” The man muttered stepping forward. He noticed another man, more priestly in decor that was vaguely familiar to him as he walked up beside him, gauntlet clad hand on that hat as he carefully took the hat off. His eyes looked at the big man before him, “I’m not seeing things right? He’s real?”

A shrug saw the jacket taken off in a practiced maneuver as he carefully tucked both in his satchel. Tossing it aside the jacket revealed a myriad of knives as he whistled wildly out of tune. His eyes never leaving the visage of the red marshall before he spoke once more, to no one in particular, “Well, let’s get this over with.”

His voice was raised up as he spoke, “Hey you, yeah big red, thinks he’s Letho Ravenheart, knock it the fuck off man. I have an appointment to keep and you’re kinda ruining things for me. If you tuck your tail between your legs, I won’t rip it off and tuck it down your throat…”

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

I felt really stupid for being caught off-guard by the priest's attack. I've seen him battle once before, and knew full damn well that he employed a bit of lightning in his arsenal. And yet, the giant flash he summoned with his fingertips blinded me.

By the time the brilliant light that overtook my senses faded, I had run out of curses to utter. Furiously, I rubbed my eyes with my hands, but that proved to be a big mistake--a layer of sweat and soot caked my hands. Luckily, I had a few choice back-up phrases that I screamed to express my current level of misery and aggravation.

Behind me, the crashing sound of a small mountain being dropped in the plaza shook me to the core. I turned around and saw the blurry silhouettes of the tall man in the dark robes standing over a pile of rubble, half a demon at his feet, claws scrabbling for something, anything that he could free himself with.

"Yeah, good job, team. Way to go," I muttered to nobody in particular. I made a mental note to buy a round of beer for the guy.

Radasanth continued to burn all around me. Every fiber of my favorite suit was soaked with sweat, my black hair clumped and matted with the ashes of a dying city. The thought crossed my mind that, hey, maybe I should do my good deed for the day and grab the electromancer and start checking for any survivors--or, at the very least, cut my losses and figure out how to get the hell away from here without getting fried.

A shrill cry of a young child ripped through the air, prodding me to consider the former. I frantically turned towards the source, my vision clearing up enough to confirm that I was already too late.

There stood a hulking figure in glass armor, the oranges and reds of the conflagration dancing off the surface of the suit, giving him a hellish look all of his own. His face was shadowed by his shaggy brown hair. In one hand, he held a scaled shield. With the other, he violently yanked a very expensive-looking spear out of the chest cavity of a small child.

I steeled myself, biting down on my lip hard enough to draw blood. It looked like my night was nowhere near over.

Not that I minded; I didn't get enough of a piece of that demon bastard to make up for watching the pages of that necromantic tome become cinders. I had a lot of hopes for that book; it would have given me some insight on how to further improve the longevity of my briarbane parasites using some of the old magicks that were employed in Dheathain by a long-dead cult of some even longer-dead old god.

So, with that knowledge forever gone, you could say that I had a serious need to carve someone up like a harvest festival turkey.

I raised my right hand and snapped a cloud of three inch long obsidian daggers into existence. They fluttered through the air around me in complex patterns, waiting for my command to be sent forth and rain death upon the child murderer.

As I took a step closer, so did he. "Kept you waiting, huh?"

There was something in his tone that gave me pause. Just enough bemusement and venom in it that sent a chill down my spine.

The light of the fire illuminated his face as he took a step closer, and that's when I felt the world drop out from underneath my feet.

I didn't know him personally; but you're a fucking idiot if you've spent any amount of time in Corone during the Civil War and not heard of Letho Ravenheart.

To sum it up in a word, the people considered him a hero. We all know my feeling on people who call themselves that word, but Letho was one of the few people in modern times who could actually, unironically be considered one. Well, if you weren't sided with the Imperial government, anyway.

I could recount for you all of the deeds he performed that I picked up from tavern hearsay and newspapers, but I don't think a single one of them would matter right now. I just witnessed the guy murder a small child in cold blood. One who had probably heard the legends, and was hoping that the Ranger would've delivered him to safety rather than hell.

And there was just something in his voice that didn't sit with me right. Just the way he addressed the demon who started this whole mess. "Kept you waiting, huh?" There was a familiarity in his words, with a hint of playful teasing.

I had a thought. A dark, nagging thought that wouldn't let go. Growing louder and louder with each passing moment.

Was... Was Letho in league with the dying monster? Is he involved with this somehow?

In the heat of the moment, I jumped to every possible conclusion. And it didn't matter who you were; if you cost me even the smallest scrap of paper from the most priceless book, I will end you.

I've always been a "shoot first, ask questions later" kind of girl, anyway. Worst case scenario, I check to see if the Assembly will give me a few pieces of gold for his mangled head.

My knuckles were white with anger as I threw my fist at him. The sharpened spikes immediately followed, rocketing through the air with the hope of turning the Ranger into a pincushion.

[redford]

Dust and embers streaked upward, mingling with the smoke of John's cigar. The air was thick with the scent of white-hot metal and tobacco as the half-giant lifted a hot sword from his coals with a silvery hand, eyeing the color of the metal with a practiced look before turning to a trough of water, dousing it with steam. The smells changed for a moment, the dense smell of steam overtaking the tobacco for a moment. His ears still felt the clang of his hammer on the anvil, but picked up a new sound, overtaking the echoes of his forge.

Thunder?

The low rumble maintained its tone, though, and grew in volume, louder by the second until John covered his ears with metal, dulling the sound. Louder still it grew, until he felt the sound in his chest. His forge forgotten for the moment, he opened the door of a converted barn to look out across his plot of land, toward Radasanth. The low note stopped suddenly, and a distant pillar of smoke streaked skyward, spreading out to cover a portion of the city. Too far south to be in the industrial district, it had to be the heart of the city, business district.

John's eyes widened and he dropped the rounded hammer from his hand, his forge, sword, and materials forgotten behind as he sprinted toward his house, leaping to the porch in one step and snatching his talymer bow and quiver, slinging them over his shoulder and reaching to his dehlar tower shield, fusing the metal to his armor and leaping back off the porch as he willed the shield to split into two pieces, which shaped themselves into warhammers.

His feet thundered through the forest between his farm and the blackened dome, crashing through bushes and vines, not even slowing as his giant form pushed forward. There was no time for trails, no time to heed the warning that this was dangerous. No time to think. There was but one thought in his mind, and one thought only.

Jamie.

[Letho]

Small world, Letho thought as another one of his acquaintances came crawling out of the burning woodwork. The electromancer Storm Veritas had an earmarked page in the thick catalog of names and faces stored in the Marhsal's memory, a conniving crook with illusions of grandeur and far too much power behind far too light a trigger. They had tussled in the past once or twice with no clear victor in the engagements. But that was the way it went with Storm's ilk; the roaches were one of the toughest species to exterminate.

Seth Dahlios, on the other hand, had been a friend, or as much of a friend a murderous Lavinian hex mage could be. When Letho appeared to lose his mind in his quest to resurrect his beloved Myrhia, it had been Seth who came to rescue what was left of his pal. Good old Seth Dahlios and Karel Revan and brave little Lorelei. Bless their kind hearts. Somebody should've told them that their rescue had been unnecessary. The truth was Letho Ravenheart had been happy there at Tempus Island. It had been a place of power, where one could bend the strings of time itself. He would've been fine. All that talk about the place sucking his soul dry was a bunch of hogwash. In fact, had the trio not meddled, Letho would've probably achieved his goal and Myrhia would be alive and there would be none of this demon business, AND IT WAS ALL THEIR FAULT!

He wanted to charge at Seth, wanted to bear down on the man and pulverize him, make him swallow his own teeth and boisterous words. It was his military training that prevented him from rushing the Lavinian like an animal, his strategic mind pulling on the reins and reassessing the situation. There were other elements to consider, like that vermin Storm at his ten o' clock and the woman at two. If he went straight for his old friend, he would end up with enemies on both sides, one of which had daggers hovering around her. A ridiculous, pointless display of bravado, Letho thought. If you had the ability to manipulate pointy objects, showing them to the enemy was the last thing you ought to do beforehand. A dagger from the blind side was always worth more than three up front.

“Seth Dahlios, dearest of all my friends,” Letho said, sounding about as sincere as a man with murderous intent could. His eyes were pointed at the hex mage, but his mind tracked the other two through peripheral vision. Though his words were spoken with a certain degree of nonchalance and he took neither a particularly offensive or defensive stance, his body was ready, a knocked arrow ready to be unleashed.

It was the girl who made the first move, as Letho suspected, launching the salvo of her floating daggers. The Marshal neither ducked nor tried to sidestep, but rather rushed at the incoming missiles while covering up his front with his tower shield. But instead of simply letting the dragonscale take the full force of the oncoming daggers, he swept the shield sideways at the last possible moment even as he charged forward. Instead of embedding themselves in the surface of the shield, the three daggers were slapped away, ricocheted in the general direction of both Storm and Seth. Letho doubted that the parried daggers would cause either any serious harm, but they might serve as enough of a distraction, allowing him enough time to deal with the woman.

He covered the distance at a thunderous sprint, coming at her with a side-swipe akin to that which ended five lives in a single stroke moments ago. However, this one sent the sharpened edge of the wing-shaped shield about half a pace short of the target, and intentionally so. For even as the shield made its harmless swish at neck-height, his spear followed from below it, its thrusting blood-stained tip seeking purchase in her abdomen.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

It had only been a test shot. Or, at least that's what I told myself when Letho effortlessly knocked my obsidian shards aside. Just a little something to see if he had his wits about him. A little something to let him know that I meant business, but not enough to give him a guess at the true extent of the powers I possessed.

As I readied another salvo, this time coming in from another angle, the fucker closed the distance between us and lashed out with the pointed edge of his shield. I caught that unmistakable glint of murderous glee in his eyes--he was going right for the kill.

I opened my mouth to cry out, but the obscenity was caught in my throat. I tripped all over myself like a drunkard, left foot catching on right ankle. The Ranger thrust a spear towards me as I fell down backwards.

Invisible hands tightened their grip on my arms and pulled me through the veil that separated this world and the next. In a flash, everything turned shades of blue. I watched on as the blackened tip of his spear harmlessly passed through my face, emerging out the other side without any hint of injury. No blood, no bits of skull, no brain matter. The only thing I caught was the ash-strewn cobblestone street with my ass.

By Pode's hairy tits, that was a close call.

The edges of Letho Ravenheart's shield and armor swirled together with the pale smoke from the burning wreckage of the plaza, giving him a ghostly allure. Sapphire flames danced around him as he regained his stance, ready for another strike once I popped back into that plane of existence.

"Gonna' need your help here," I hissed into the aether.

Batibat grumbled in annoyance. He wasn't really fond of working twice in a day, especially on such short notice.

My face twisted into a scowl. "Buy you ice cream after this."

Another grumble, this time with a more curious bent to it.

"Sure," I relented. "All the sprinkles and crushed nuts you can handle. Two cherries on top if you don't miss."

The demon purred, and that was the moment I felt myself violently pushed back into reality. Shades of blue changed to dazzling reds and oranges. The intense heat of the fires washed over me once more. I found myself sitting on the ground, at the feet and mercy of Letho and his spear.

Right, I thought to myself as I cast him a defiant glare. Let's fucking go.

I immediately snapped my fingers, and the stone-hewn wall of a building on my right seemed to fold in on itself as Batibat's fist erupted from the surface. His rough fist balled up in a clump of earth and moss-covered wood, the fiend threw a thrusting blow at Letho that would probably knock a lesser man's rib cage clean out the back of his torso.

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

The usual quiet of the Radasanthian streets had been replaced with an alien landscape of chaos and cacophony. As overwhelming, searing flames lept from their razed buildings, their intense heat welcomed another arrival.

The Telgradian's body was illuminated with hues of orange and yellow; an inferno raging all around him as his glowing white coat flapped like a flag in the wind. Someone or something had been party to the incineration of this district of the city, but Shinsou Vaan Osiris hadn't been quick enough to the fray. He had sensed Storm's frantic energy from across the sprawling urbanscape and had determined something serious was happening. When Osiris stepped into the city limits, he arrived at a pandemonium beyond his imagination; one that left him with more questions than answers.

Shinsou thoughtfully pulled at his stubble as columns of molten orange burned. The frantic tempo of the scuffle he had sensed had changed, and the main energy source at the heart of all this madness seemed to have vanished. He now only recognised Storm and Madison's pulsing vitals. He saw the giant Cromwell on scene, and wondered what involvement the three had in the unfolding events. Even the demon Seth was here, too. They had never met in person, but one didn't become involved in the Brotherhood without their ears pricking at the mention of certain names.

What the hell is going on?

It was then that the Telgradian's eyes wandered over to the ruby tinted armored man. Upon sight, there was nothing his outward appearance told Osiris that would distinguish the man from any other soldier or ranger on the island, but as the flames lept higher and enveloped the area something inside Shinsou was starting to chew at his senses.

There was something about this one that seemed familiar. Then, Seth Dahlios confirmed it.

The legendary marshall of Corone, Letho Ravenheart? Interesting. I've only ever read about him in the archives. Most thought him dead...looks pretty mobile for a ghost.

For now, Shinsou decided to stand like a warden over the chaos, unmoving and observant, unconcerned for the wellbeing of the city and desiring nothing but the sateing of his curiosity. Questions lay bare at his feet. Answers would take a little more time to clarify.

Hopefully, Veritas would fill in the blanks soon enough.

[Storm Veritas]

No. F*cking. Way.

Can’t be. It –can’t- be. He’s dead.

The fall of the demon seemed simple enough, but the arrival of Letho Ravenheart was a shock the wizard had not been prepared for. Where were the trumpets, drummers, and rays of golden light breaking the clouds in thin streams? Where was the pomp and circumstance befitting a man who held him such high esteem that nothing short of a stairway descending from heaven in a string of pillowy risers would suffice?

For years, Letho had been the superego to Storm’s id; the heroic chosen one who foiled his every step and soured every morning with a bite of unforgiving reality. For years, Letho had been gone, freeing the electromancer to grow unchecked, amassing wealth, influence, and power. Like a bad dream, the ranger had returned without mercy, warning, or the characteristic piety that had usually accompanied him.

No; Letho made his presence felt differently, with the unceremonious dispatch of several Radasanthian citizens who dared to remain on the periphery of the makeshift battlefield. Clad in his gleaming, reflective armor, the warrior held the big stupid shield and spear as though he had walked up from the broken earth below. His actions seemed unlike the stoic protagonist that Storm had known all too well; this was a merchant of different goods.

Maybe more fitting for that sour son of a bitch. I told him to go to hell; apparently he listened.

The arrival of Seth Dahlios and Shinsou Vaan Osiris were almost peripheral to Letho’s appearance. Looking to them, Storm’s glare was decided, trying to imply the urgency of taking out the monster that had just come to rain destruction. He hoped that Shinsou at least would follow suit; Seth was certainly a wild card. Regardless, it was the girl that proved herself the fool. The quick back and forth between the brazen girl and the soldier-type told the aging wizard all he needed to know.

She has no earthly idea what she’s signing up for. Sweet-tits is as good as f*cking dead.

There were a handful of mighty warriors here now, but a few seemed non-commital. In his current, homicidal torrent, Ravenheart was the only priority that Storm Veritas felt obligated to deal with. The time for any ruse was decidedly over, although the magician decided first to remain focused solely on the lightning. As best he remembered, Letho had disappeared long before Storm unearthed the magnetic field manipulation that made him infinitely more lethal. Such a surprise should be saved for a special occasion.

“Should have stayed in hell, jackass. Corone isn’t yours anymore.”

Stepping toward the armored goliath, a calm quiet overcame the wizard. His fingertips hummed gently as he ran them through his hair, pulling back the grey-flecked black that obscured his politician’s face. The cool blue of his eyes faded gently to an impossibly soft hue, a near white as the scent of ozone filled his nostrils. Still painted with the red and orange lights of the ambient hellfire, his mind was solely focused on bringing a special blend of hate at the intruder.

Bracing his feet, the wiry adventurer extended his sinewy right arm, his long and snarled fingers twisted around an orb of white and blue which spun independently before his outstretched palm. All sound appeared to mute for the moment, when a tiny pop was followed by a thunderous boom, and an unprecedented blast of lightning flashed ahead at the man who had haunted his nightmares.

[Dissinger]

He’s gone off the deep end, What had begun as a hope that this was merely some demon died when the Marshall had given him a look that spoke volumes. It was the look of a tortured man, pushed to the edge, of a man that was through being civil and doing the right thing. It was the man at the end of their rope, looking to get their well deserved prize. Seth even had a guess what that prize was, and narrowed his eyes as he observed the man attack the black haired woman.

He got faster, The words were not his own, but the Traitor General who resided in the changeling amulet. Seth seemed to nod solemnly as he witnessed the difference. Looking over at the priestly man, Seth caught a whiff of ozone, and knew what was to come. That crisp clean scent meant lightning in droves, and that's when he recognized the man as Storm Veritas, Karuka’s lover of sorts. His past was here and it was doing battle, he vaguely remembered the man had beef with Ravenheart.

It seemed today was a who's who of people with dirty laundry to air. The man seemed intent on attacking everyone else and leaving Seth for last. The thief had an idea why, but he was game to that idea. He saw Storm wind up to unleash on Letho. That man however was attacking Letho, and he couldn’t have that. Quicksilver seemed to drip from his wrists as the clinking sounds of chains upon the winds could be heard, gripping the forming dehlar chains Seth lashed out at Storm before he said, “Sorry buddy, take a number he’s on my dance card!”

He was going to get to the bottom of this, one way or another. He could feel some frustration begin the wrath engine in his chest, the soft clinking of it starting up, but not fully awake. He would need a bit more anger before he needed to worry about that.

Sorry Storm...

[Letho]

There were many differences between Letho Ravenheart of yore and the one that currently raged in the inflamed heart of Radasanth. His past self had ever been the benevolent dolt, bound by moral values that society and upbringing ingrained into him. Protect the weak, help the needy, uphold justice, crush evil, be the white knight in the shiny armor that people needed, serve the public. The Letho of the now had none of those characteristics, and all the weaklings and lazy bums could go take a long walk off a short pier for all he cared. He was more than tired of ever serving such folk; at this point he was downright disgusted by the fact that he used to scurry around like a page to the pampered pricks of Corone. Suffice to say that the Red Marshal stood about as far away from his past self on the moral spectrum as he could get.

But both versions of Letho Ravenheart had one thing in common: they hated mages.

When the masked girl did her vanishing act and his spear stabbed naught but air, Letho was more annoyed than disappointed. Everyone had a trick up their sleeve nowadays, some magical razzle-dazzle that enabled them to avoid an honest brawl. Fiddling about with bolts of this or that element, teleporting from one place to another, moving objects with their mind instead of actually moving them with their own hands, it all amounted to cowardice, to stuffing your hands into your proverbial pockets and letting something else do the dirty work. Magic had ever been such an impersonal means to fight and ultimately vanquish someone; you never got the full impact of that last desperate gaze just before they drew in their last mortal breath.

As if intent to further irritate Letho, the bungling bitch brought forth her next magical creation. With a snap of her pale fingers – a motion about as far from physical exertion as humanly possible; gods how he hated these lazy people – she summoned what looked like a monstrous fist from a stone wall. Haven't seen that before, was the only thing that managed to flash through his head before the giant's fist was on him.

Battle instincts kicked in without fail as they were wont to do, drawing upon years of experience and confidence in his own physical prowess. The attack was coming from his shield side, so it was a simple matter of bringing the huge scaly thing up and brace for impact. It felt like being struck by a galloping horse, the force sending Letho sliding backwards, heavy boots first scraping over the paved ground, then actually burrowing into it as he slid to one knee to keep his balance. And still the fist kept on pushing with tremendous might, slamming him against the wall on the opposite side of the street. He could feel his arm going numb from the blunt trauma even as the scales of his shield moaned under pressure and the glass crystals of his armor crunched.

As if being turned into a living wall fresco wasn't enough, his eyes caught movement from the spot where Erhat laid in his dying throes. His engagement with the little sorceress had made him momentarily take his eyes off the other two, and that was all invitation a knave such as Storm needed to do his electric trickery. Letho caught a mere glimpse of the sparkling ball that had electric death written all over it, and it wasn't hard for him to suss out who would be on the receiving end.

Enough of this.

Was it the thought that brought forth the transformation of the other way around? Letho didn't know. The surge of power rippled through his body, enlarging his muscles to the point where they pressed tightly against the inner padding of his armor and flooding Letho's retinas with pure whiteness. With his already inhuman physique even further enhanced, pushing against the giant arm was a simple task, but he didn't counter immediately. Instead, he waited for the exact moment that Storm unleashed his little orb of death and then gave the huge limb a powerful shove with his shield. In one smooth, continuous motion he send the fist flying back and brought his shield perpendicular to the incoming bolt, catching it cleanly on the scaly surface.

He could feel the heat immediately, the spell absorbed in the shield an angry, impatient thing made of pure power that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up. The sheer immensity of that energy made Letho grin; it would be that much more satisfying to pay the man in his own coin. Without much pause he slammed the shield against the ground, discharging the electrical bolt back at its original owner. His grin stretched into a full-blown murderous smile when he noticed Seth had engaged his nemesis as well. Good old Seth Dahlios. For this little act of loyalty Letho reckoned he would kill the Lavinian last.

That should keep the bastard occupied. Now, as for you... Letho turned his attention back to the little girl behind the mask, his blank, blazing-white eyes conveying what might've been madness, might've been anger, might've been the void of death itself. His right hand tossed the spear lightly just above his own shoulder, caught it again in an underhand grip and sent it flying at the recoiling arm still jutting out of the wall, all in one blurry motion, all with barely taking his eyes off of his quarry. And even as he brought the hand back to his side, a jagged claw sprung from its gauntlet.

Let's see how many times can you disappear before I spill your guts.