A Demonstration of Power

[Shinsou Vaan Osiris]

Enough was enough.

As this mad version of the legendary ranger sent Storm's own magic careening back at him, a series of thunks accompanied a counterattack from the fringes of the streets. It came in the form of a volley of dark matter lances that protruded from the ground like loosed arrows and absorbed the might of the electrical blast before being obliterated themselves.

At the end of the street, dark tendrils withdrew from their summoning at the hands of the Telgradian. He had been watching with concern as events reached a critical mass and ensured observation was no longer an option. Whatever the situation between Storm Veritas and Letho, whatever the problems his ally had with Seth or anyone else present, Shinsou was the electromancer's partner and a lot rested on that partnership continuing.

More than anyone really knew.

No sooner had Shinsou entered the melee and nullified Letho's counterattack, events twisted once again in unpredictable fashion. Letho had turned his mighty chassis and now directed his uncharacteristic ire towards Madison Freebird for the moment, whilst Seth Dahlios was preparing to destroy Storm where he stood.

Before the demon could consolidate all of his little thoughts and plots into a single master plan, Shinsou finally showed his hand. He first unleashed a bolt of dark matter across Seths’s bow, which struck a brick wall merely inches from him. The edge of a stale-smelling passageway spewed flames that hindered the Telgradian’s view, else it might have struck dead center.

No matter.

"Storm!" Osiris yelled to be heard above the roaring flames and the cacophony of battle, "Get clear!"

Behind Shinsou, a few feet above the crest of his oaken hair, mysterious arcane energies began to meld together next to a pair of burning houses whilst Veritas heeded his warning and got well out of the way of what he knew was to come.

Forking tendrils of black and purple convulsed and converged around each other to form a fifteen foot wide circular portal of black and purple energy. The sheer corrosive force of the dark magic chewed into the grimy brickwork either side of the Telgradian, opening up a massive semi-circle into each of the town-houses flanking him that left a whistling expanse of space where solid stone used to be. Out of the black chasm that gaped behind him, protruding from the abyss of marbled purple and jet, were fifteen thin, dangerous spears of dark matter. They were all aimed in the general direction of where Seth was thought to be moving to, where he was likely to run and also where Letho was attempting to fight Freebird. By now, the Radasanthian citizenry was starting to thin, but there were still bystanders and rubberneckers ambling about. It was tough luck, as there was no more time to wait.

The spears momentarily hung there with an ethereal hum as they waited for an order.

Without even having to motion, Shinsou commanded eight of the projectiles to attack at once. They shot out of the portal and wildly tore towards their intended recipient Seth Dahlios, forks of blue and purple electricity ripping at the cobblestone around them and scorching the surface of the road as they travelled. Through the electric trail of his powerful volley, Shinsou gave the implacable Letho an incredulous stare.

Soon as i'm done with him, you're next...

The books that Shinsou had read in the extensive Brotherhood archives in Whitevale painted Letho Ravenheart as a hero of Corone. He was the legendary marshall, a man who men had written songs about and whose stories were told in taverns across Althanas in awed tones. The faces of those who knew him best, apparantly in this case Seth Dahlios and Storm Veritas, told the Telgradian more about the man than any number of history books or texts could have done. Shinsou had never met the Letho of old, but now he knew he would probably never would. At least not if events continued on their current course.

It served to remind him of one simple truth.

Even the best men can fall.

[redford]

"Jamie!"

John ran toward her, clutching the girl in a tight embrace before looking at the side of her head and her ribs, both sporting gashes with congealing blood. She led a motley group of survivors, their finery forgotten in their fight for survival. She breathed deep and pointed back down the street where she came from, strewn with burning corpses. The stench was building. Her black hair shone slick with blood. She spoke quickly, reassuring him.

"I'm fine, I'll be okay John. Back that way, guy with silver armor and dragon shield is killing people right and left, I grabbed some people and we're trying to get out, but we can't."

John's gaze drifted across the street, looking for some solution. He pointed at an unburned building on the edge of the shadow wall.

"Get in there, maybe it's got a basement that you can get through. If you can't, hole up in there and wait for the shadow to clear."

Luckily before the entire place filled with smoke and killed them all anyways. Jamie was capable and fierce, but smoke would kill her all the same.

"Alright, let's get there!" Jamie commanded, clearly the one in charge. The people began to shuffle toward the building, and perhaps to their salvation, and Jamie grabbed John's shirt, speaking just loudly enough for him to hear.

"Shinsou is helping, but it looks rough back there, John."

"Osiris is here too?" His recent tussle with the famed Telgradian gave him pause. If Shinsou was having difficulty handling this, it could bode ill for everyone. But he could not leave his friend and opponent to fight alone, especially not here.

And someone owed him blood for Jamie.

His mouth set itself in a grim line almost of its own accord, the mystical armor he possessed rising up in rivulets to coat his entire body in nigh-impregnable titanium. Someone would pay. He turned, hearing a thunderous crash from beyond the next intersection. Jamie called after him.

"And kick some ass John!"

There was little difficulty in finding the source of the commotion. He turned at a cross street, keeping away from the burning buildings. There was quite a lot to see, all things considered. He recognized Shinsou and the briarheart immediately, vaguely recognizing the lightning mage and the man with the dragonscale from a statue a little ways south of town.

Either way, if this 'hero' was killing people, he needed to be stopped. The half-giant unslung his bow, leaning his seven foot dehlar tower shield on a lamppost, hoping that he was standing far enough outside the anti-hero's peripheral vision. He snatched a double-sized arrow from his quiver, lining up the shot with a custom-made talymer bow. The thicker wood creaked slightly as he drew it back with tenfold strength, grunting a little as it taxed his might. The braided steel cable he'd strung it with sung a familiar note faintly as he drew the arrow close to his ear, lining up the shot. From 50 meters, his Titanium-tipped quarrel would likely go through whatever it hit, and whatever building happened to be on the other side.

He breathed in, smelling the burning stench, feeling the warmth of the flames. He exhaled, and naught was left in his mind but arrow, target, and a practiced lead. His fingers slipped back, loosing the arrow, which split the air with its supersonic flight towards one Letho Ravenheart.

He would help the Telgradian and talk with the plant girl later. Right now he needed words with the man who hurt Jamie.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

I could only stand in dumbfounded shock as Letho braced himself and absorbed the full brunt of Batibat's haymaker. With the amount of force the demon put behind his blows, it would've taken nothing short of a miracle to not get half of your body immediately pulverized. And yet, there he stood; not only taking the demon on, but stopping him in his tracks.

It was in that moment a small, nagging thought popped into my mind.

This may have been a mistake.

A thundering pop behind me to my left ripped through the air, followed by a burst of lightning cutting a path across the plaza to the ranger. With a single deft motion, he pushed back Batibat's onslaught, swung his scaled shield around to deflect the elemental blast back at its caster, hefted his spear and embedded the point right into the demon's palm.

I muttered a panicking string of expletives and focused all my hate into my hands. A pair of black infernos swirled into existence that absorbed the light of the fires that raged around me. They formed into a pair of globes no bigger than apples, the pressure inside them growing and growing as I poured more and more of my anger and malice into them.

The bombs couldn't form soon enough.

I heard a loud ka-chink! from a distance away, and looked up to see a dagger-like claw burst from Letho's gauntlets. With a hellish smile on his splitting his face, his eyes possessed orbs of white, he took one step towards me, and another.

Ravenheart burst forth with a hellish zeal and lashed out, closing the distance before my eyes could process what was going on.

I opened my mouth to invoke one of the protective spells at my disposal, but it was too late. As the dark tentacles spread from my chest to form their protective shell, the crazed bastard stabbed at my torso. I was nearly thrown off my feet by the force of the blow--and would have been, had it not been for the eldritch armor absorbing most of the impact.

Because that's just the kind of day I'm having, it wasn't enough. About an inch or two of the gauntlet blade managed to penetrate it, sliding neatly into the space between my lower ribs. I bit my lower lip and clenched my eyes, my face twisting into a horrible knot as I tried to absorb the waves of hot pain that were tearing through me.

I had to get away. Fast.

I'd worry about the wound later. I just hoped it was shallow enough that my body would knit itself together quickly enough for me to figure out how I was going to kick this fucker's dick in. ...Against my better judgment.

With a single word, I allowed myself to be torn back out of this reality. I melted off the edge of the blade and was unceremoniously dumped on my hands and knees into the space between worlds. The dark tentacles continued to squirm around my form, completing the protective shell just a second too late for it to be of any use. A small river of hot, sticky blood poured from the wound and collected on the street in a puddle. It hurt to breath, even as the magic that coursed through my veins hurriedly worked to patch up my flesh.

As I sat there, I caught a glimpse of the two wrathfire bombs falling to the cobblestones, coming to a stop at Letho's feet. They had about two seconds left before they exploded; I just hoped that he wouldn't notice them in time.

[Storm Veritas]

Fate had taken a familiar turn for Storm Veritas. He had grown used to getting bad breaks in the matters of combat, however today was proving exceptionally sour.

F*cking Letho. So sick of this mountain-chucker mother*cker.

The glass-garbed soldier seemed infinite in his power, never short of new abilities which seemed to dramatically outstrip what the mighty wizard was capable of. In the long stretch of time that had separated the two, the magician’s power had grown in leaps and bounds. He didn’t grasp how much more impenetrable the Marshall’s defenses had grown; perhaps it shouldn’t have been such a surprise given their storied history.

Like an athlete effortlessly batting back a ball served in a game of Alerian Jah-lid, the merciless soldier leaned into the blast, returning the serve like a mirror. Flabbergasted with the move and complete absence of time, Veritas was left to absorb the entirety of the lightning blast. Fortunately, the intervention of a series of all-too-familiar black spears blasted before the beam, nullifying the terrible counter.

The proud, ebony clad adventurer only heard the twinkling sound of chains ever so faintly before the brutality took hold.

“Gyaah, shit!”

He was struck somewhere about the hip with a mighty spiked ball, attached to a chain that extended back towards the monstrous Seth Dahlios. The chained mace hit frozen frame at hip height, the inch-long spikes cut through his flesh like a hot knife through butter, as the force of the bludgeoning filled him with a positively blinding pain.

Knocked to the ground, Storm fell awkwardly, twisting away faintly just before the ball struck to salvage bone from breaking. The assault was absolutely awful, and hit him from the blind side, the sounds of the great orb muted by a mix of blasts, sizzles, cracks and pops all about them. The omnipresent crackle of flames upon the street persevered in the echo of the felled demon, a reminder of how all this madness brought Storm to the ground.

There was no time to plan his payback towards the villainous Dahlios as Storm Veritas felt his hapless frame crash into the cobblestones beneath him. His head, hands, and shoulder knocked hard, blurring his vision and sending a warm, numbing sensation through an injury to his hand he dared not look upon.

With tunneled vision, a high pitched hum filled his ears and the wizard attempted to scramble. He pushed up with defiant hands, his body somewhat responsive but feeling disoriented and weak. Sweat dripped from his forehead down to his fingertips, drawing his attention to a right index finger which took a hard left turn at the first knuckle. A minor injury, the preacher felt a newfound numbing, as well as a touch faint.

That is not right. Oh shit. Disgusting. Ugh.

Rising to his knees, he felt for the dislocated finger, which didn’t take long to identify. He closed his eyes for a moment as his left hand wrapped around the digit, a wave of white pain and filling his ears as he ripped the finger back into alignment. If it was of any consolation, the searing pain in his hip, head, and hands felt miles away as the fresh blast of agony danced its way through him.

Staggering to his feet with the balance and agility of a newborn foal, the wizard grabbed at his hair with both hands, fighting to steady himself. In moments, he could be lethal again, but for now he was a wounded mouse before the cat.

[Letho]

Another fool flocked to the fray, this one on an elevated position from which he easily dispatched of the lightning orb that was bounced back towards Storm. And though his magical prowess seemed to be adequate, Letho found the man’s glare almost comical. He had been on the receiving end of a plethora of these sulky stares, and they were all like blunt arrows – pointless. All they really did was scream I’m coming for you, thus giving their target a forewarning and keeping them on their toes, which was the one place prey should never be.

But the Red Marshal didn’t waste too much time dwelling on the man above; couldn’t really because his attacks had finally drew blood. Even though the masked sorceress dematerialized again, she left a bit of herself on the talon of Letho’s gauntlet, a little splotch of crimson that widened his smile. Though he found a certain amount of satisfaction in dispatching inconvenient people, murder was never a high that Letho rode on. Sure, there was a morbid beauty to its gory artistry, but it was generally a messy business that was best done swiftly and with as little fanfare as possible. Yet, when it came to the magic people, there was a kind of elation when he brought their kind down, the kind that a person feels when blowing down a house of cards. All that hard work for it to collapse as soon as someone comes near.

Letho reveled at the landed hit for almost an entire second before everything went to hell.

The gunshot – surely it had to be a bullet, for what else was heralded by that thunderous boom and followed by immediate pain – came from the flank, and it was only the positioning that saved the Marshal. His shoulder pauldron practically disintegrated as it took the brunt of the attack, yet it managed to slightly alter the trajectory of the shot. Instead of running Letho straight through, the bullet tore across the front of his chest, ripping through flesh and armor alike. The sheer force of it sent the bulky man spinning twice around his vertical axis before he came crashing face-first to the ground. The pain and blood came in perfect unison. The gash across his bulging pectoral muscles was gushing, but it was far from the only wound Letho had received. The shattered glass of the chestplate had peppered his face with a thousand tiny cuts and a single major one that opened up his cheek almost up to the ear.

That will leave a scar, his mind was quipping, but his body was already in motion. Though his muscles protested, Letho knew that staying on the ground in a fight with multiple enemies meant a quick death, so he tried to bring himself up. But an attempt was as far as he got. No sooner than he got to one knee and caught a glimpse of his latest attacker – a titan with a bow the size of a tree trunk – another blast blacked his vision and sent him flying across the street in an ungraceful parabola. His uncontrolled flight sent him through a window of an exchange and ended in a heap of broken wood and jingling currency, though Letho was unaware of his location at first. There was only pain, sharp and dull and in places which he didn’t even know could hurt, and everything above him was a carousel that wouldn’t stop spinning no matter how much he struggled to focus.

Get up or you are dead, the imperative came, and even the mere thought of doing it seemed to bring the hurt to another level. Letho knew it to be true, but he also knew that staggering out like a drunkard would achieve the same result. The giant would pick him off like a wounded deer at this point. He needed a distraction.

A pair of portals opened up at his sides amidst the rubble, letting through two massive silver-furred wolves. Their minds were instantly connected to Letho’s, so no audible explanation or command was given. The wolves knew the situation, knew the positions of the enemy and the capabilities they’ve shown so far, and with a mere thought the Marshal gave them instructions.

Harass the archer, Letho commanded the smaller of the two. She was more agile and thus more likely to be able to dodge and weave through the rubble as she stalked upon the giant. Get to higher ground and be on the lookout for the disappearing woman, he sent to the other, completely unaware of how ridiculous it sounded to watch out for an invisible person. But with the number of fighters rising, he needed more than a single set of eyes on the battlefield. The beasts leaped out of the broken window even as he completed the mental command, leaving him alone with the dreadful task of getting up with all those drums beating the death march in his head.

The battered Marshal got to a sitting position first, and was rewarded with a ripple of ache that seemed to originate in his temples and then spread over his face, his chest, his arms. With his hands on his knees, Letho hung his head low and spat a mass of dirt and blood that accumulated in his mouth. He tongued his cheek from the inside and found out – other than tremendous amounts of stinging pain – that he didn’t have a cheek in places and that one could probably see his teeth right through the side of his face.

Losing a lot of blood. Got to move, Letho told himself, and then pushed himself to do just that. When he got up, the first step sent him careening to one of the walls. But his vision had stabilized and he didn’t see anyone storming in the little money shop at the moment. The explosion nearly knocked his lights out, but it also apparently knocked him out of sight for the moment, granting him a short reprieve. His mind raced while the body was static, though, always thinking of the next step. Going out through the front would probably get him shot. Going out the back was predictable. Climbing to the upper story would give him no tactical advantage without ranged weapons. Going sideways, though, and keeping out of sight...

From the sheathe on his belt, Letho pulled out a mundane-looking dagger. The thought he directed at the weapon brought forth another pulse of dull ache to his cranium, but it also made the weapon quiver and turn almost liquid. The malleable mass shifted and grew before his eyes and in mere seconds the Vorpal blade had turned into a massive maul. Slinging his shield on his back – a motion that used to be effortless now brought out a grunt out of the Marshal – Letho gripped the weapon with both hands and struck at the nearby wall.

[Dissinger]

“You’re getting old,” Seth taunted as he twisted his wrist and yanked the chain back. It splashed into quicksilver which ran back towards his body, objective complete. He heard a scoff in the corner of his mind he marked for the soul of the changeling amulet. His eyes narrowed as he prepared to take on a wounded Storm Veritas when a bolt of dark energy exploded between them. He had raised an eyebrow before he snorted, “Looks like I gotta take care of your nurse grandpa, I’ll be back to finish what I started later…”

He turned to see the visage of the Telgardian in the distance. His eyes were squinting to make out features. Whoever had ruined a perfectly good fight was some no named cuss from what he could see. Probably shined his boots and cleaned them as well, just someone who didn’t have experience, starting a fight he couldn’t win. The impressive light show showed more of the spears coming at him, and Seth very plainly asked, “Karel, a bit of your expertise?”

You don’t deserve it you know, the words formed in his head. It held the gruff tone of a soldier, and Seth knew they came from the soul of the Traitor General.

“Yeah, but if I die we won’t be able to shatter the dream, will we? Wanna make peace with one of these fuckers? I could toss you to Letho, see how you get on with him…” Was the Demon's candid response.

I hate it when you play this game, fine… The changeling amulet lost the form it normally took, that of a silver band about a gauntlet-clad wrist. It seemed to go into the form of a true amulet, a stylized lizard on the surface etched in the copper. The jewelry while out of place was relatively unremarkable, and so Seth straightened his gauntlets in a practice maneuver and hunched down, right as the spears began to fire at him.

To anyone who was watching a bluish light seemed to guide the Lavinian’s hands as he moved catching the spear of dark matter tossed at him. A flourish robbed the momentum of the strike, giving the Lavinian control over it as he felt the balance. The other spears, sent to corral him into the javelin in his hands exploded harmlessly. The Demon spun and chucked the energy spear right for the face of the man who attacked him previously. He knew that the throw wouldn’t be a surprise, the man was watching him. So, he had to throw a bit of that Dahlios lip in as he shouted, “You like sitting on the sidelines, come on down nurse. Let's get to know each other!”

That accomplished he narrowed his eyes before he shook his head, the man was too far out for hex magic to play a sufficient role. So, he left the crippled Storm Veritas to bleed out on the street and rushed after the Javelin to close the gap on his erstwhile attacker. Letho was already destroying the battlefield, and so Seth knew he wouldn’t have much longer before things got dire in the fire pit.

A part of him relished the chaos about him, knowing this was why he lived. It was a return to form, and the Demon was loath to admit it.He was enjoying this, and part of him was excited at the prospect of fighting Letho again...

[redford]

As John's quarrel found its mark, and Ravenheart searched for some escape, John paced forward, readying another arrow to put through the man who hurt Jamie. The fallen hero had other plans, though, and as the chaos around them raged, flashes of white revealed dire wolves, one of which charged the half-giant. It darted quickly in and out of the cover of flame and rubble, and John loosed another arrow, which struck what was once a stone wall, exploding against it to produce a shower of pebbles. The wolf was unperturbed, however, and leapt for John's throat.

The half-giant tilted to the side, bringing up an armored hand to catch the beast's jaws. As the wolf sailed through the air, John brought his other hand up to the wolf's side, pushing to add to its momentum, flipping it behind him as it snarled. Its jaws dug as it flew, though, and cut rakes along his titanium armor, leaving deep scratches in his forearm as the canine's teeth penetrated his magical armor, cutting through flesh easier than metal. As blood began to seep from the wounds, John let out a deep, throaty groan and focused on the armor, which sealed itself over the breaches in his flesh, keeping them from bleeding too much. He was about to turn and face the wolf again, but the Telgradian caught his gaze. A streak of his own blackened magical energy bolted back towards him, returned by the target. Osiris may have been smart, but he wasn't exactly durable.

The wolf and his forearm would have to wait.

The half-giant reached out with his left hand, extending a tendril of armor into his massive Dehlar shield, squeezing the magical titanium into microscopic cracks of the heavier metal, binding them together as he felt something tug within him. A flash of white lit his vision as he was teleported, somehow, just in front of Shinsou. A thunderclap sounded as the air collapsed where he just was, his sight clearing just in time to see the void energy fill his vision with black. No time to react, no time to bring the shield up, there was just enough time to brace against the impact as the spear struck his chest dead center, driving him back a step as he felt the armor do its work, dissipating the dark energy to all parts of the silvery metal, veins of midnight spread across his body, storing the volatile magic within him. He spared a though to his old opponent, and spoke, tilting his head so Osiris could hear.

"You okay?"

The energy was powerful, and the quickening of his heart made him feel the same. He willed the massive shield to split, forming two large warhammers, and the half-giant readied them, watching for the anti-hero, this new adversary of Shinsou's, or the wolf to make a move.

[Storm Veritas]

Dahlios… you mother f*cker…

The sound of bedlam is impossible to describe; the clangs and crashed and explosions of war all about him coalesced into a white fog, a soft buzz which permeated his ears and kept his balance far from center. It felt as though his body was torn in half with the wrecking ball that had careened into his hip; the reality was a hairline fracture to the pelvis, deep bone contusion, and three inch-diameter tears to the flesh from the barbs of the terrible orb. Sadly, the magician was no medic; his understanding was far simpler.

Hurts like a bitch, but death hurts worse. Get up, pussy, and return the favor.

The heat of the fires about him suddenly oppressive, Storm hopped to stand on his right foot, his eyes turning to the Lavinian that had offered such a terrible shot to him. It was unlikely that the brutish monster knew that the electromancer commanded all things metal, perhaps more powerfully than lightning itself. A brief, delicious fantasy of strangling Seth with his own chain danced through the psyche of the adventurer, however time was of the essence.

Letho was predisposed with the brave girl, Storm’s brother at arms Shinsou, and the big knight John Redford that had just thundered into town. Veritas sneered for just a moment as his focus singularly pivoted to a new enemy, and considered how best to return the favor. The demon rocketed towards Shinsou, obliterating the wave of dark energy and firing a response back towards him. He moved over broken rock and fragmented street with an ease that left the magician endlessly jealous of his health.

“Not so fast, dickhead! I’d think Karuka would have told you I’m never just one-and-done!”

Storm’s physical strength was terribly compromised, but his magic still flowed with a white fire and ungodly power. He would have preferred to stab the demon with his own blade, or crush him within metal armor, but neither option was available. Sometimes simplicity afforded an elegance in and of itself.

Balancing his weight over his healthy right leg, the wizard conjured a tumbling orb of white and blue, crackling, sizzling, and dancing over his fingers. The great magic grew as Storm focused, the blue of his eyes fading to a ghostly white before he fired a terrible blast towards the second enemy to show himself.

Seriously, screw this guy.

[Dissinger]

Every time he turned to deal with a problem, another one reared its ugly head. He sighed as yet another warrior came out of the woodwork to defend his target and took the brunt of the blow without so much as a scratch. A growl of irritation left his lips as he spoke, “Is there a single fucking warrior on Althanas? Or is it all nursemaids and back patting circlejerks of people who can’t stand on their own? Has Althanas honestly gotten so pathetic?”

The heat in the area began to rise as the air about Seth took on a sweltering quality he ignored. The Wrath Engine slowly rumbled to life as blossoming rage and frustration poured into it. His anger at the situation was turning into pure mana, and once it began to hit a certain level, the engine would channel it back through him. It was the perfect mana construct for harnessing the potential of emotion, stuck in the worst possible shell for such a thing.

The mana continued to leak out for the Hex Magi, increasing the heat about him as he glowered down the warrior with two hammers before him. He heard a cry behind him and swore, just as he moved to avoid the blast. He knew he wasn’t going to avoid it entirely, but as it brushed his shoulder, he let out a cry of agony. His vision blackened from the pain as thousands of volts of electricity coursed through his body. He convulsed and fell to his knees, his hands hit the ground hard kicking up dust as his vision began to clear and the agony of the situation began to fall off. He growled lowly as blood from biting his tongue spilt from his lips to the ground.

“I’m fucking tired of this bullshit! You want a demon? You got one!” He managed, his voice gravelly from the energy that had coursed through him. Seth had pointed at the people before he hissed, “You will feel my pain, and you will like it!”

Bright white light erupted from the Demon as he sent out the wave of magic about him. Anyone who didn’t have some way of protecting themselves from magic would soon know what it was like to be the Lavinian Demon for a few moments, long enough for the actual demon to capitalize on the stumble, and perhaps eliminate another fool from this fracas. His eyes took on a furious glare as he moved to rush the man with the twin war hammers, Ebony and Ivory flourished in his hands as dancers across a stage.

[Letho]

With two extra set of eyes on the battlefield – and bestially sharp eyes at that – Letho had an almost perfect overview of the battlefield even if he was currently out of sight. The animalistic thoughts of his wolves came in as simple and clear snippets injected directly into Letho’s own consciousness. It felt almost like a chess game resolving in his head, with the movements of the pieces being fed to him by an invisible voice. Dahlios downs Veritas, elevated magician attacks Dahlios, Dahlios retaliates, the giant archer intercedes, no sign of the invisible girl..., and on and on came the small spurts of information as the two wolves prowled through the rubble. And out of that storm of information, one stood out in particular: the house upon which the spear-spewing mage stood was mere four houses down from Letho’s current location. He got to work.

Breaking down a wall was usually an arduous task, but with the amount of power Letho was able to put behind his strikes, each hit of the hammer was like a small detonation. It took about two booming strikes to down the first stone barrier and make a hole big enough to enter the adjacent building. Plowing through the assortment of comfy chairs and tables covered in fine silken cloth and silverware shining in all hues of gold as they reflected the surrounding fires, Letho made his way through the floor of what looked like a restaurant and aimed his hammer at the next wall. In the dim light of the room he didn’t even realize his vision narrowing and its edges blurring as he took another swing. The mortared brick being even more brittle than stone, it came down in a single strike and a couple of kicks at the remaining rubble.

It was in the third building that it hit him. At first Letho thought that the light in the fancy clothes shop was merely low and that such lack of proper illumination was the reason why his vision was getting blurry and he could hardly discern whether the mannequins spread across the floor were just human sized dolls or actual humans. But then wooziness came, sweeping over him like a rapidly-oncoming malaise that made his limbs heavier with each step. He stumbled amidst the lifeless dolls and their flashy finery, knocking a few of them over as he tried to continue his movement towards the building his enemies were on. There was someone crying out from behind the glass counter, a whimpering voice begging him something or other, but both the person and the words seemed to be coming through six feet of water.

Losing too much blood, was the obvious warning that Letho had been neglecting for the past minute or so. His relentless focus on chasing down his foes – especially the bow-totting coward that blindsided him – made him blind to the fact that his chest wound was bleeding profusely, and that the gush pouring down his front was only exacerbated every time he brought the hammer up and swung it with full strength. Only now he realized that the padding of his armor was soaked with blood, as were his clothes beneath it. In fact, now that he turned some of his thoughts to his own senses, he realized that even his pants were getting wet and soon his boots would be sloshing with crimson as well. If he couldn’t stop the bleeding, death was bound to take him in a matter of minutes.

Just a little farther, Letho commanded himself, forcing his body into motion despite it crying out for a longer pause. It took him three strikes to break through the final barrier, and by then he was breathing heavily and had to drag himself through the makeshift entrance he made. By now his eyesight was failing to the point that he couldn’t even recognize what establishment he broke into. Not that it mattered. It was bound to go down in a couple of seconds. With a bloody smirk that was now unnaturally wide due to the gash in his cheek, Letho lay down his hammer and fell to his knees.

The fun is just beginning, boys and girls.