The Night of Debauchery

[Requiem of Insanity]

Screams lifted into the air of the partly cloudy night, a chorus of voices calling as one towards the crimson stained moon overhead to celebrate a great occurrence. And justly so did these people celebrate, for they endured hardships and trials no others would dare to mar their hands with. Each voice that lifted released the pent up frustrations from the past months. There was joyous occasion to bellow in sweet release.

The harvest was after all complete.

Several townspeople of the little village called Andarial gathered to bring in the end of the harvesting season, basking in a great banquet of bread, fruits, and fresh vegetables as they danced and sang to relieve the tensions of the hard season. They made a hefty profit from Sei Orlouge’s Ixian Knights, not to mention the moderate protection allowed the citizens of the tiny town to focus on their task. They all owed the Mystic a great debt of gratitude for funding them with fresh supplies to ensure the harvest was completed with the additional requirements of the growing legion at the castle not more than a mile or so away.

The farming community was located within the large barn a stone’s throw away from the mill to dance and feast. They had been celebrating for a few hours now, and the midnight hour was fast approaching as the band played their final set, the mood happy and elevated. Several couples had left early, mischievous grins covering their face. A few families called it an early night, returning home with full bellies and light hearts. One couple had stepped out and away; a brunette haired woman’s who face was given a rosy hue from the nightlight. She was a beautiful woman, her age no older than twenty summers. Attached to her arm in a gentlemanly way was a roughish, but genuine man who smiled to her and whispered sweet nothings into her ear.

They danced to no tune, a love prevailing between them both that was clear in the way they shared their hearts. She would break free of him, teasing him forwards and he would chase, his fingertips gently grazing her supple form as they giggled like children. The woman looked to her lover, smiling softly before movement caught her right eye. She turned her gaze, smiling still to see a group of four men, smiling back to her and nodding politely. She winked to them and turned her attentions back to her heart and soul, kissing the man deeply on the lips. He returned her passion, a gentle wisp of a sigh escaping their lips as their noses nuzzled.

The man lifted his hand to her flowing hair, stroking the strands between his silky smooth skin, looking a group of travelers that passed by the town towards Ixian Castle. They gave a sideways glance to him, a grin on their face he wasn’t sure he could return himself. A cold chill ran down his spine, and with a gentle caress of his face against his lover’s he took her hand and whispered that he wished to take her home. She agreed with a smile, and the two walked hand in hand, their grip tight as if the world would end if they let go. Their boots taped against the gravel, crunching the path beneath their feet as they entered into the town square, complete with seven buildings of school, trade, churches and council hall as well as a few restaurants and general businesses. The living area was only a few minutes away, but the distance seemed to grow as he led her towards the alley of the Rolling Hills Tavern and supply store. The local well was surrounded by several men and a few women, all looking around the town with greedy eyes and hushed whispers.

“You walk with such urgency!” He heard his lover tease, a soft giggle rumbling to his ears. “My parents already promised me the house alone tonight. We have all night to enjoy.” The man gave her a soft smile, turning to give her a charming wink and a reassuring kiss, but as he did so he felt his fingers grip hers tighter, his free hand drawing her in. Five paces or so away was a grouping of men, lips parted in dark snarls and some with a look to his love’s like she were choice meat. She turned her head and saw them, and her heart began to race as she clutched to him fiercely.

“Well look-y here, boys,” the voice had a deep ring to it, belonging to a snaggled toothed man of no stature or size. He ran his thumb through his jacket lines, chuckling as one of the men began to salivate at the mouth. “A couple look’in ‘ta screw. Place yer bets, how much the man is thinking it’ll be love, the woman looking for a quick fuck?” The gaggle of men chuckled to the taunt and the couple moved slowly backwards and away. As they did so the men continued to step forwards, their feet kicking dirt as some pulled out small knives and one was beginning to breathe heavily as he stared at the black haired beauty.

“She looks like my mother,” one called.

“I want to be first to stick her,” another chimed in.

“Just let me get to her ass, that’s all I want. You guys can have her while I’m doing it too, don’t bother me none!”

As their calls of depravity got fowler and fowler the two turned to flee. At first they stumbled, a chorus of cackles following them as they prepared to flee when another group of dark clad men stepped forwards. They both let out a gasp of shock as the two parties roamed in on the prey.

“You know, I like tight things…maybe that guy can be worth a laugh,” one of the men in the new group shouted. Another stepped forwards, a women with two scars that marred her face so hideously she looked repulsive.

“You boys just want her for her body right? You won’t care if I cut her up?” There was a generous consensus of no’s as the two parties laughed, trapping the young lovers in a semi circle of bodies and a hard wall. As they all began to poke and prod the couple, the man doing all he could to stop them from touching her, a shout rang over the crowd. They all turned to see several cobalt blue warriors stepping forwards, swords at the ready.

“Disperse this grouping at once,” a robed warrior said to them, a badge of office over his right chest and the symbol of the Ixian Knight’s Chaplain corps on his left. “I am not going to ask this again. Leave them alone, leave this area at once. This town is under protection from the Ixian Knights.” The gathering all laughed as the scarred monster stepped forwards, her face twisted into what could pass for a snarl and a grin. She twirled her knife up to her face, running the edge of the blade gently along her scars to do a soft knick against her flesh. The trail of blood flowed and created a red mask similar in effect to a sneaking mask, her tongue darting out in a wet noise.

“Like hell we’ll listen to you guys. The Dark Mother already promised us that we could take what we want tonight.” The Chaplain stepped forwards calmly, lifting his hand to hold his men back. “You think you are so tough, that you and your army are so damn untouchable. Well news for you! Tonight we’re gonna touch the Ixian Knights in all the wrong places.” She shivered with delight as her knife cut down the sides of her neck shallowly adding to her red stained flesh.

“Praise the Dark Mother!” One of the group members shouted in a frenzy, rushing forwards towards the woman. The group all moved as one on her, grabbing her hair and dress and ripping her away. The man was tossed aside and trampled in the group’s madness to get to the woman who shrieked into the night air with terror, her eyes filled with tears as fingers and tongues lashed out to taste her fear.

With a cry of battle the Chaplain stepped forwards, his sword cutting a deep notch into the woman’s knives as she hissed with irritation. The Ixian Knight’s moved to stop the horde; their weapons raised high as the group broke off to attack in one shambling mess. Body parts went flying as the heavy weapons hacked into the enemy, the shorter weapons thrusting and slicing many to the ground never to rise again. Yet after the first wave faltered the second charged, the sheer mass of bodies pulling the knights to the ground. The men were slaughtered in an instant; knives of varying shapes and sizes were jabbed into their mouths and eyes, throats slit and armpits stabbed. The women were being torn into as they struggled as their hair was pulled violently ripping strands out in handfuls.

The Chaplain stepped into the knives, his long sword lifting up in a flourish tossing them aside as he slashed in a diagonal cleaving into the woman’s chest knocking her down with a cry of pain. As she thrashed her feet managed to kick out the balance of the knight, knocking the war priest over to his back as she struggled to stand. The two grappled with one another, both cursing the other. At last the Chaplain was knocked to the ground with two hands pinning his, her body straddling his.

“The Dark Mother is coming, on this eve, “ she spoke as if in a trance, her lips parting into a vile, wide toothed smile. “Our every temptation and whim is granted on this night. All in her holy name. The Dark Mother will smile as we descend into the night.”

The Chaplain grabbed a knife at his belt, and stabbed his assailant into the gut, knocking her over. She cried as she grabbed the hilt of his blade, crimson blood staining his robes as he looked up. His face narrowed into a growl of defiance, but even his eyes lowered into a helplessness.

All around the town of Andarial screams filled the air, the barn exploding into a conflagration of epic proportions. Laughter rang in his ears as the trot of several boots echoed all around him. His eyes could not believe the scale of the people rushing into Andarial from all sides, running into houses and dragging out bodies. Some men tore into the women while disgusting, fowl men chased little children. Yet the Chaplain had a more troubling concern as he watched the horde of people coming around him like wolves surrounding an angry bear.

“The Night of Debauchery,” the woman laughed. “has begun.”

[Abomination]

"What the hell was that?" asked a young man in a blue robe. The young guard was concerned over the sudden, but faint scream that came from outside.

"It's just the festivities, pay it no mind," replied an older blue-robed man.

They both sat at a long wooden table. Dim light was provided by candles in the middle of it. At the other end of the table, Draug sat with his hands tied together behind the back of the chair. He had an impatient and sickly expression on his face. They were in the lounge of the guard post, which was established in the town to provide lodging for Ixians on duty here. It was a simple, round room with bunk beds along the walls, but there was a trap door in the back that lead to a makeshift dungeon. It was usually left closed due to such a small town having very few offenders worthy of such a punishment, but today all six of the metal cages were filled with multiple occupants. They were only filled recently with suspicious people who were caught trespassing, stealing, or otherwise harassing the townsfolk. Usually these crimes would not warrant such a harsh response, but upon confrontation they become hostile and tried to assault the guards. Draug had been sitting here for a little while. He saw some of the men they had brought in, but most of them purposely avoided eye contact with Draug. Well, except for one. Why were they interrogating him, anyway?

"Stop wasting our time and tell us how you got this!" demanded the younger knight, slamming a bloody scrap of the guard's uniform on the table.

Draug came here in a horse-drawn wagon. It was late at night, and Draug refused to answer even the most rudimentary of questions, so they searched the wagon only to find it empty, except the bloodied piece of cloth. He continued to play mute, which only served to infuriate his captors.

The older knight walked up to him and slapped him on the side of the head, yelling, "I oughtta just throw you in with the rest of those creeps!" Draug's head tilted from the impact, but his expression didn't change. His eyes slowly moved to meet the older knight's, but continued to show that same look of sickly boredom. The Ixian then looked at the younger knight, "And what about that escort? We were supposed to get some extra men tonight from the castle! It's no that far away, how could they get lost?"

Another scream was heard from beyond the closed door of the guard post, then another, and another, until the young knight was alarmed enough to start walking toward the door to investigate whatever was going on in town. The older knight also seemed distraught by what he just heard, but his attention turned back to Draug, who was sporting a weak grin and pulling at the ropes, slightly exerting himself as the threads ripped and the rope became undone. Before the older knight could back away and put his hand on his sword's sheath, Draug stood up and grabbed his neck with his right hand, squeezing tightly and lifting him up into the air. The older knight choked, his garbled voice trying to curse. The younger knight quickly pulled out his own sword and charged at Draug, who responded by throwing the older knight at him like a projectile. The two tumbled down onto the floor. The Homunculus hovered overhead, a sword coming out of the side of his right arm as if his body was made of clay. He grabbed the hilt of his sword, and stabbed down into the older knight's back for the effect of a satisfying scream of pain from the victim. He then pulled the sword out and plunged it into the chest of the younger knight. The next few stabs were merely to finish the job.

The screams, now coupled with laughter, was like sweet music to his ears. Not because of any particular enjoyment he gained from the thought of what was going on, but due to the fact that now he could continue serving mother instead of waiting. He left the sword sticking out of their bodies. After cracking his knuckles and his neck in a dozen places, he walked up to the trap door and went down the ladder into the dungeon. The prisoners paced around on the cold dirt floor, some pulling at the metal bars, others curled up in the ball in the corners of the cells. All of them stopped what they were doing and looked at Draug.

"Let us out! Let us out!" they chanted. Draug picked up the key chain off the wall and walked to each cell, opening the locks. The men all ran out of their cells and hurried up the ladder, their anticipation causing them to drool and sweat profusely. After all, they were missing all the action. As Draug opened the last cell, he let out all of the occupants except for the last one, who he pushed back into the cell.

As the man fell flat on his ass, he complained, "Hey what's your problem?!" Draug stepped inside and closed the door behind him, his face still expressionless. "W-What are you doing?"

As Draug opened his mouth, some blood poured out and ran down to his chin before falling to the ground, "I need something from you."

The man's eyes widened, his pupils shrinking down to a grain. He kicked at the ground, dragging his ass across the dirt until his back hit the metal bars of the back of the cell, "Why me? Why not one of those other guys? They looked healthier than me? I was told that I could do whatever I wanted tonight!"

"You looked at me," Draug replied as a matter of fact. It seemed so obvious to him. This man stood out, just slightly. It saved The Homunculus the trouble of having to choose at random. Also, he stabbed the guards a few too many times in their vital organs. He took more steps forward, holding his hands out like a surgeon after sterilization, palms facing inward.

"N-No! Don't do it! Help! Someone help me!!"

Draug bent down and plunged his right hand into the man's chest, breaking through skin and bones with his Homunculus strength as if the victim's body was made of butter. He fished around in the man's body, while his victim helplessly clawed at Draug's hand with his eyes rolling back into his head. After finding the appropriate organ, Draug pulled out the man's liver, causing the poor sod to collapse face-first into the dirt, a pool of blood forming around his figure, his groans so guttural that they could barely be heard. Draug shoved the organ into his own chest, breaking through his body to do so. When his bloody hand came out, he was holding a wrinkled, blackened liver that had yellow splotches all over it. He dropped it onto his victim's back.

He felt better. The hole in his chest started closing, skin growing over it at an expedient rate. The crushed bone and torn flesh would need more time to recover, but he was in no immediate danger, and felt very little pain from the action. He climbed back up the ladder, leaving the man to die in his own blood.

"The night you have waited for has finally arrived. Are you happy, mother... ?" His voice trailed off. The Dark Mother would certainly be pleased with his performance, he hoped. As for that escort that patrolled the roads at night, well, Draug must've accidentally left a piece of their uniforms in the wagon.

[Tainted Bushido]

A single candle flickered, its solitary light illuminating a mall sphere of darkness to wider than a few feet to each side. The light that shone pierced the darkness so much, and beyond its meager shelter lay a blackness complete and dark. The floor was bare and wooden, with the exception of a small mat, and a lone figure resting upon it. Eyes were closed and face exposed to the cooling nights air. Two blades sat before the figure, resting within easy grasp. The light glinted softly off the metal that was the base form of the twin blades, another source of piercing light in the darkness. The candle sputtered and twirled, dancing to escape its final fate before with barely a sound it guttered and died.

Darkness reigned in the room as the door slid open, and another source of light pierced the gloom. The man sat illuminated within the stretching rectangle of light, even as he remained stationary, not even flinching at the sudden interruption. A shadow cast itself in the light before a voice said firmly, "General Taka, we have a problem."

The figure remained still, his voice serene as he spoke, a slight rasp from not using his voice in a while entering his firm tone, "How bad is it?"

"A fire was spotted in Andarial village. The same village we use for supplies. A few screams were heard by scouts moving along the road, but other than that, nothing," The voice returned.

"Tonight is their festival, I would not put it past them to create a bonfire and rejoice for a year of hard toil. The peasantry in Akashima do much the same," Taka replied, his tone holding a bit of irritation before he cleared his throat to allow his voice a more clear tone.

"The smoke is more than a bonfire, and the screams are not joyous sir. The scouts say that they were far more panicked or pained than those of joy," The man replied in a factual tone. The Ronin shifted, the only outward sign of irritation he gave the report as he carefully reached for his blades and tucked them into his obi. He turned to the man in the door and studied him for a moment, it was Axel Erikson, one of the few remaining members of the original Mercenary Company. The man was known for his skill with the crossbow, and had fallen on hard times when his partner in crime, a young blacksmith named Lucas Brigs, had died during a fight in Akashima between a band of Ronin and the newly reformed Mercenary company. Taka still felt a twinge of pain in his heart every time he saw Erikson, who had nearly lost all sense of control seeing his friend cut down.

Erikson also knew how much Taka hated to be disturbed during his nightly meditations, for him to come and personally report was a dire portent indeed. It meant he felt action was not only necessary, but direly so. The Ronin moved out of the small dojo and closed the door behind him without a second though. His rolled his shoulders to get blood circulating before he looked out, seeing a few more members of the mercenary company about the hallway. They had gathered for orders, orders that could not be delayed any longer.

"Erikson-san, you and Jones-san will go out to the village and search for bandits. I highly doubt it is more than a group of brigands, but should it not I would feel safer knowing you and Jones-san have the situation in hand. Locate and unite with the local Ixian Knight forces and support them as best as possible. You are to follow Jones-san's orders, and to be his eyes for the duration of the mission. Take whatever resources you deem necessary. I will report to Orlouge-dono and brief him on the situation. From there I will either join you on the field, or take my position guarding the castle itself. Kami guide you."

The final words spoken were his dismissal, but Erikson remained as he crossed hsi arms stubbornly, "Why is Jones in charge? He can't see."

Taka sighed, hearing the stubborn rebellion in his words. He eyed the man before locking gazes with the strong willed sniper and said lowly, for only his ears, "You are still hurting from Brigs-san's death. I see it everyday Erikson-san. You are not yet ready to lead again. You will play eyes for the blind gunman, and I will not tolerate further defiance on the matter. If you wish to take part in tonight's events, do not force me to deal with you. One day you will be ready, but your heart is still distracted by his loss."

Erikson blinked and flinched, as if struck before he nodded slowly and moved his eyes from Taka's, "Then why stay behind and not lead yourself?"

"We are in a war. I will not expose myself needlessly. Further, if this is a feint, we need everyone on hand to blunt the initial charge. This could be the opening they want to destroy Ixian Castle. Need I remind you Rikugunshokan Rorton is still at large in the Corone Area? Perhaps Dahlios-san's family as well? The primordial enemy watches our every move. Besides, if this is just bandits there is no need for me. I need to learn to not be in the middle of every situation that arises. Need I remind you about Akashima?" Taka replied firmly.

Erikson considered the situation for a moment before he nodded firmly. His mind was made up. He looked upon the other men and shouted, "You heard the General, move out. Ten men for every one of ours dead!"

Taka watched them go as they muttered their assent. The words Erikson had spoken were their watchwords for impending battle. With the near devastation of the original mercenary company, Taka had instituted a policy in that every man was to kill ten enemies for every fallen member of the original forty strong Mercenary Company. Erikson had taken it as his personal mission to pick up the slack for Brig's death, and had made it a personal goal to make sure both men would fulfill their tallies. Taka could see the steel rod insert itself into the spine of the man as he moved with purpose. He wasn't ready to lead yet, but perhaps after tonight he would be.

Taka carefully put on his sandals before he moved swiftly through the castle to inform Sei of what he could only guess was a situation the Mystic knew far more about. In a situation like this, the opening moves would set the tempo, and it would be urgent for both sides to keep that steady pace, lest one take advantage of the other. The ronin coudl only hope he had set the tempo brisk enough, and that the forces they were up against hadn't the means to match pace.

It seemed that the battle for everyone's soul had begun, and tonight would be the birth of a new age entirely.

[The Soulforged]

"Mmmmm, so he's dead. What's the next move?" Seed asked as he left what was once a peaceful home, and stepped outside. He made sure to shut the door behind him, because not only was such a thing the polite thing to do, but he didn't want the blood inside of the house to ruin the outside.

It had all started with Seed returning from a failure of a fishing trip (mostly because he was fishing for mermaids, which were a hard catch), and he had returned to find the headquarters of some group he had haphazardly pledged allegiance to deserted. Not only that, but there was a significantly larger amount of cobwebs and dust than he remembered there being.

He had been busy playing with his echo, when a masked man had entered the deserted room. He had offered Seed, and any other member of the group, a partnership of sorts. Seed had nodded, took the sealed papers, and told the messenger that he would be sure to deliver it to the proper authorities.

"Oh, one more thing," the messenger had added; he turned around to see Seed tossing a piece of burning paper to the ground, "anything you can take is yours to keep."

Seed then looked down at his mangy clothes, felt his empty coin purse, checked his empty bottle, and dove headfirst to try and put out the aflame papers.

"In retrospect, not my best idea," he muttered, wincing as his slightly burnt right hand pulled out a small bag of gummy-like candy. He chewed thoughtfully on a strawberry-flavored one as he glanced about, taking in the nightlife of...whatever place this was. That part had been to burnt to save, along with the part detailing instructions of such things like what to do, and where to go.

Everyone was talking about Dark Mother this, Ixian Knights that, Ixian Mothers there, Dark Knights everywhere, but to Seed Vicious, tonight was more or less a treasure run, complete with gigantic spiders.

No, seriously, there were gigantic spiders. Big, hairy things, stampeding around the town, causing all sorts of havoc and chaos. Hell, there were even people riding atop the blasted spiders, throwing explosives everywhere. People were screaming and dying, but Seed was more interested in finding the lime flavored gummy-candy, for it was said to be the rarest one of them all.

"So, you have finished your business?" came an eerie voice. Seed looked over his shoulder to find, what in the world of Althanas, could only be a evil wizard. After all, black robes had to be evil, otherwise they wouldn't be black. It's in the story books.

"Yeah, I killed the guy, but the girl ran off screaming. Eh, she's down a husband I guess. Or a boyfriend. Or a friend with benefits. I think..." Seed muttered as he spat out an apple-flavored gummy candy.

"Excellent," Memnar, Seed's partner (in a totally heterosexual way) for the evening nodded, "now that you have had your fun...wait, you think it was her...whatever, or you know?"

"Meh. There was a lot of screaming going on, guy was dragging her away. Coulda been trying to save her, coulda been trying to rape her. Fifty-fifty odds really. Like whether or not the green candies are apple or lime," Seed finished as he popped another candy into his mouth; damn it, apple again.

"Must I remind you that the criminals are on our side?" Memnar's voice contained a hint of agitation, though not much. Seed seriously doubted he cared for the dead guy, but maybe it was the principal of team-killing he hated.

"Well, yeah maybe. But hear me out, kay?" Seed asked, and received a slightly annoyed nod in response. "Sure, he might of been on our team, but he might not have been. And, if he wasn't, he might have...I dunno...gotten reinforcements or something? Yeah?"

To the left of the duo, a gigantic spider began devouring what was once a human, as the spider's rider laughed maniacally. Seed and Memnar glanced over, shrugged, and continued their conversation.

"I admit it is possible," the wizard responded calmly.

"Right. And, not that I've really talked to her, but how big of a bitch would you say Cassandra Remi is? Like, on a scale of one to ten?" Seed asked as he frowned, there were only five gummy candies left, and none were green.

"I would hazard a guess at," Memnar paused mid-sentence as a knife-wielding cultist ran past them, blabbering nonsense about how the Dark Mother was about to embrace him. Memnar gave the man a quizzical look, but Seed only shrugged.

"They kinda do that every now and then. If you tell them to 'knock it off before I spank you like I do the Dark Mother,' wackiness ensues!" chuckled Seed as he flashed a wild grin at the wizard. The magical man only frowned.

"Returning back to the topic at hand, I would say Cassandra Remi is the type of person to flay you alive just for making a remark like that," Memnar answered; the wizard was an orderly chap, or so Seed was inclined to think.

"Yeah. And she's a hella bad lay too. You'd think someone who's into torture would be a bit more kinky," Seed muttered under his breath; Memnar coughed in disbelief.

"Anyway, my point is, had I not killed the guy, he might have warned whoever we're attacking, which could have led to reinforcements, possibly making Cassandra mad at us, which by proxy means she'd probably cut off our fingers, or something equally bitchy. Hence, best to be sure and kill him, right?" Seed finished as he ate a white gummy bear that had a distinct lime taste. All right! Mystery flavor for the win!

Memnar twitched slightly.

"Oh? Sorry, did you want a candy?" Seed asked politely, as he held out the bag.

[Requiem of Insanity]

The shrieks of Andarial had carried onto the night wind like a leaf in a tornado, echoing over the land as the crimson moon watched over the land like a lord amused at its underlings. Hidden outside the gates and walls of the castle of Lord Orlouge several trees began to stir, followed by the rustling of the underbrush. When the gates opened to let out the mercenary party a hollowed, chill wind blew over them, raising neck hairs in warning. The castle guardians stepped forwards to the ramparts, eyes narrowing as a runner headed to the gatehouse to alert the captain that something indescribable was going on.

Inside the castle the haunting feeling flowed from one person to the next, casting an uneasy tension that rode the currents of dismay as children began to whimper about monsters and mother’s curiously started fidgeting for no reason. The medical ward patients began to stir uncomfortably in their seat, Lady Aislinn Orlouge lifting her hand to the air and touching it, before her eyes darkened in distrust, her ability to filter the winds of magic and discern each one for what it was giving her an advanced warning of the ill omen this wave of dread casted.

In the family district the immortal Jensen Ambrose was already awake, another sleepless night casting his thoughts into the depth of darkness as his eyes popped open, hands reaching for his boots. Quickly he dressed and he jumped out of his bedroom with jacket in hand, running towards the door to the castle with no reasoning behind his mad dash. Yet he had felt this presence before. He had felt it in the cavern where he found his beloved Stephanie’s remains after she was brutally murdered.

Inside the chapel of the division of Chaplains the wind blew every last candle out, causing several men to lift their heads from meditative prayer. Adolph Gretzle. Reclussiarch of the Ixian Knights and leader of the war priests lowered the quill from his hand and looked out to the moon with a grim eye, even his stoic foundations quaking from the terrible feeling in the air. In front of him Ella Orlouge lowered her papers of the surrounding area, her notes on the supply caches she circled out no longer her focus as she looked to the sky and felt that chilling wind, grabbing her hand out and reaching for her teddy bear for comfort as the Priest stood up in a rush.

Emma Orlouge had lifted herself from the bench where she watched Seth and Ta’Gaz fight, her eyes carefully looking outside as her skin crawled. The Lavinyan Demon and the martial artist had stopped in the mid strike of an attack as the two trained, lowering themselves and stepping towards the dojo door as the pendant upon Seth’s chest, the one that could detect magic began to lift and spin wildly. While they squabbled over the meanings of the dread aura the cries of the forest broke them of their spat, both heads snapping to the main gate as Seth let out a low grumble and the mighty warrior narrowed his eyes in concern, his fists lifting up to the ready in a defensive position.

Back upon the wall the captain of the guard groggily stepped out to the ramparts and his eyes narrowed in utter confusion. The trees moved back and forth as the leaves seemed to scuttle in each direction. An inhuman roar reverberated from the depths of the tall trees before the first of the men spotted it. He pointed with a quaking finger to what was coming, hysterical shouting from his finger tips as he darted backwards and tripped to his feet, mumbling about the horrors he saw. Several men ran to him to calm him down, but the captain merely stepped to the edge of the wall, eyes widening in a foregone conclusion.

Spiders, or to be more specific, Concordian Giant spiders were rumored to be as tall as a human was. He had never seen one, but steered clear of the deeper forest for such reasons as he was not the bravest of men around those eight legged bastards. However what he saw tossed a stone in his throat, his breathing ragged and voice unable to be found as spider’s the size of a house scuttled onwards in a frenzy, bellows of rage and spite coming from the lips of mortals who rode those spiders like cackling buffoons. The underbrush came alive with smaller versions of their kin, crazed men leading forwards grotesque creatures that painfully wailed for flesh as robed men in browinish robes, no, blood covered robes urged them forwards.

A pitiful cry of torment pierced the main walls as a tree was pushed down and a kneeling giant stood to his full height, his body littered in scores of bruises and cuts, his right eye impacted and puffy as if recently beaten within an inch of his life. A stone pillar draped his neck, the runic symbols of slavery etched into the beast’s sides as he limped forwards with a roar, lifting a mighty club made from a tree up slamming it into the wall sending dirt and debris onto the floor in a shower of granite. He stepped forwards again, lifting his arm up as the tree fell behind him in a mighty two handed blow that he slammed down with all the force of a mighty volcano. The two handed swing added enough momentum that the main gate was obliterated; shards of its remains littering the ground as the spiders scuttled onwards. The tortured giant roared with glee, before his long, skinny legs carried him over the broken door and into the compound where archers began to pelt his hide with arrows and the alarm was sounded.

Back on the walls the spiders crawled upwards, their deranged new found friends laughing and singing a song of death on their lips as they climbed over the ramparts and began to grab at archers and soldiers alike. The larger spiders easily made the hike over the walls as they entered the compound, several men jumping off their backs with small spherical items with wicks, lighting them and tossing them into the surrounding buildings. Within seconds they exploded, a conflagration of flame lifting into the air adding black smoke that rested just under the crimson moon.

The arsonists ran amuck on the inside as they bellowed the name of their Cult with nihilistic glee, loosing their bombs upon everything. A pocket of soldiers were scattered in an explosion, their bodies jumped by the Concordian spiders. The chapel of the Chaplains was assaulted with several bombs, the stained glass windows shattered in a loud cry before several cries of pain and agony lifted in a chrus after the explosion.

At the medical ward a giant spider the size of a small house crawled over the white stained stone, scuttling after a meal as a wounded warrior ran, screaming. Upon the family district the walls of the family towers were covered by the beasts that broke into windows and attacked in the middle of the night. The tombs of Sei’s fortress exploded with activity as several trained warriors came out, tossing cloaks aside to reveal their dedication to the Cult of Blessed Torture, or that they were paid enough coin or other invaluable treasure to partake in this debauchery. Their hunting senses kicked them into motion as one darted into the shadows, a group moving with strict precision towards the library while others merely let out a chuckle of amusement to see the anarchy and chaos ensuing.

From all sides the enemy came, screaming their devotion to the Dark Mother and that this night was theirs. They killed in droves so blood began to run like a river, pooling at the storm drains as metal clashed with metal, screams echoed screams, and terror harmoniously balanced panic. In the middle of all this the priests of the Cult exalted the name of the Dark Mother, praising her in the acts of violence as the monsters around them went on their own private killing spree as the ghouls began to gather in packs, their demonically mutated bodies hoarding together as they felt their skin riddled with arrows, looking to their wounds with a detached care as they dragged dying victims to their maw to feast.

A small girl smiled as she carried a basket of roses into the compound, escorted by several deranged ghouls that garbled for food. Her long flowing blond hair teased those around her, but where she treaded in death, nobody from the Cult dared to go near. She looked no more than twelve, dressed in a white dress that covered down past her knees with matching good shoes. She watched the events with a grin on her face, her eyes looking to the scene like a cat on a windowsill. When one Ixian soldier came close with spear a ghoul turned to him and charged, letting the spear impale its shoulder deeply with enough force it snapped the wooden shaft. The soldier screamed; the demon/ghoul's enlarged hand pawing and clawing his face, ribbons of flesh lifting into the air before it was greedily gobbled by the ghoul.

“And the Ixians will know upon this day their defeat at the hands of their precious General, Cassandra Remi,” she said loudly, laughing as she paved the way for her mother’s return.

[Arden]

Arden opened his eyes with a start. Sweat was pouring down his forehead, back, and from his thighs beneath his silk bed clothes. He rose, sharp breaths paining his chest. His pupils traced the pattern in the wall, counting the cracks between the heavy, worn, and ancient stone. Something gnawed at his soul, his heart, and his very essence. It made him anxious, sick, and hedonistic; a trio of emotions he seldom experience, least of all at the same time.

“What in the name of the Greater Kami…” he mumbled, the darkness of his chambers adding to his confusion.

The swordsman had no idea what the time was, and what the distant sounds were. He gripped the bed sheets, their damp cloth comforting in his fingers, and pushed himself to the edge of his mattress. His naked feet padded against the cold stone, and he whimpered as the chill atmosphere of the Ixian Castle made him regret sleeping so naked. He was not in Scara Brae’s temperate clime anymore.

“Blood,” he mused, smacking his lips together to waken his senses. The tang of iron on his tongue was striking, disgusting, and clearly evil afoot. He scanned the small chamber, and settled his gaze onto his red robes, mithril armour, and his beloved blade. His keen instinct, half blind vision, and his inner spirit told him to rise and don his vestments. He walked through the gloom and picked up the grieve on top of the pile. It was cold to the touch, and instantly soothing to the swordsman’s rising anxiety.

A loud bang came from above. Arden flinched.

“That did not sound good…” he said, with a dead pan expression and one ear cocked to the ornate ceiling. There was a distant, shrill, and unfamiliar chorus of screams shortly afterward. It did not sound like Ruby’s singing, Lillith’s laughing, or the strange argumentative voice of Anita Orlougne or one of the many female mystics that occupied the castle. He ran his tongue over his lips again, and tasted something else that was all too familiar to the assassin.

“Fear…”

It did not take long for Arden to don his grieves, arm bracers, and his scabbard belt. Next, he folded the red robes around his midriff, pulled on his tunic, and tucked his auburn hair behind his ears. It was itchy, impossible to tame, and in need of cleaning, but there would be no time to bath this morning. He pulled his crimson hood up over his ears and welcomed the swaddling embrace of the familiar cloth. He caressed the hilt of Kerria, the Rose, as he tried to piece together the strange circumstances.

Fear was a strange taste to describe, at least to somebody who had not experienced it before. It was a combination of lavender, nutmeg, and a strong, fiery Riesling. Arden did not know why fear tasted like a summer spent in a Raiaera wine bar, but it was the only way he could bring the greatest of man’s emotions to life. He wrinkled his nose with disgust, wrenched the blade from the table’s caress, and slipped it into the waiting scabbard with speed, agility, and perfect accuracy.

“Where there is fear,” he began, his husky voice piercing the darkness with cold, calculating experience, “there is death.” Death was a taste he always had on his lips, so there was no difference to the bouquet of life for the swordsman. He advanced to the door of the bed chamber, and took a firm grip of the handle. His mithril gauntlet scraped against the wood, the sharp, deadly, and well utilised claws on his fingers left another trio of imprints as he pressed down on the mechanism.

Out in the corridor, an east to west route that cut through the heart of the guest quarters of the castle, there was no movement, sound, or disturbance. Arden stepped out, bold as brass, his hand on the hilt of his sword. When he first came to the Ixian Knight’s headquarters, the sheer immensity of its inner sanctum had addled his mind and left him eternally lost. After many months here, however, it had become as familiar to him as the underground waterways of his native homeland. He could navigate the castle just as quickly as he could the labyrinthine streets of Capitol, Akashima’s mighty palace city.

“Fear to the left,” he took a deep breath, then turned right, “silence to the right.” His keen senses sent him east, along the corridor to the convex walkway that carried the waking servants and visitors back towards the medical ward and the inner compound. No sooner than he had taken three bare footed steps, the screaming grew louder, and with it, Arden’s footfalls grew closer together as he broke into a run.

---

By the time he reached the end of the long route, he turned left, then right, and left again. His still sleepy mind was fully awake, alert, and ready for whatever fate could throw at him. He passed several slumped guards, their vigils over, their hearts stopped. He did not waste any time stopping to check if they were still alive. The swordsman knew, because the flaming oni wrapped about his heart roared their passing for all attuned to the Firmament to see. There would be time for mourning, ritual, and grieving another day.

“Arden…” The swordsman skidded to a halt as he the corridor gave way into a large, domed, and empty cloister. The voice in his head would have scared him, a long time ago, but now he knew it was the Ixian Knight’s commander.

“Arden…barrier…” the voice repeated, a broken, hurried, and clearly distraught attempt to guide the assassin to the Tantalum Troupe’s one and only true contribution to the glory of the Ixian Knights.

Arden needed no further instruction, and as he crossed the two hundred foot marble floor of the domed chamber, he focussed his attention on the altar that was nestled in the heart of the castle’s inner fortress. The troupe had brought it with them when they had to flee Scara Brae. When the playhouse they lived in was destroyed, they shipped its defensive barrier, the Heidegger, in several caravans over several seas. He pieced the message from Sei Orlougne together with the distant screams, the strange taste in the air, and the fact that to enter the castle…

“Someone has tampered with it…” roared, fangs extended, eyes glowing read, and a potent swell of energy growing around him as he began his advance through the corpse riddled compound.

---

The Reliquary of Wainwright Jones rested atop a heavy, flat, and enchanted altar at the heart of the castle. It was a potent combination of blood magic, Thayne’s soul, and the combined spell singing abilities of Ruby Winchester, Lillith Kazumi, Duffy Bracken, and the warbling baritone of Arden Janelle. At its heart, there was a large bundle of artefacts, wrapped in a red cloth similar to the robes the Once Silent Swordsman wore. At its heart, there were several powerful, evil, and feared weapons and trinkets.

As Arden turned the corner and came at last to the shrine, he instantly saw that cloth had been cut open, and the contents haphazardly were strewn over the cold stone. He skidded to a halt, arms wide, face shocked, and heart racing. The four large church candles that usually remained eternally lit at the four corners of the altar were snuffed out, and the many countless vials of blood, the souls of dignitaries and Ixian members, were scattered, knocked eschew, and tampered with.

“Oh fuck,” the swordsman spat. He continued his advance cautiously; the smell of fear in his nostrils reached a fever pitch as he approached. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, and triple fuck,” he reached out for the largest of the vials, and checked to see if the stopper was still intact. He shook the bottle, and let his senses focus on the ichor thick contents. “MetalDrago,” he whispered. Satisfied that it was secure, he set it back onto the stone, upright, dignified, and once again empowered.

“Arden!” a familiar voice pleaded. His voice was buoyant, petrified, and angered all at once.

The swordsman turned on a bare foot, brought his right hand to Kerria’s hilt, and scowled. There was an awkward silence as Jensen crossed his clenched fists over his torso, and the swordsman sighed. For once in his life, Arden was pleased to see the foul mouthed brawler.

“Jensen…what in the blazes is going on? There are bodies all through the inner compound, and the guests in the east wing haven’t so much as roused from their sleep.” He shrugged, gestured at the altar, and then relaxed his guard.

The enigmatic immortal leant forwards to slap his thighs. His breathing was heavy, a clear sign that he had run, as fast as he could manage, and all the way from the other side of the castle, where the Orlougne’s and the Captains of the Ixian Knights resided.

“That fucking bitch…” he wheezed. Arden turned away from the reliquary, quite satisfied it was no longer empowering the Heidegger Barrier, and rested his hands on his violet hips.

“Has Ruby had too much gin again?” the swordsman chuckled nervously.

Jensen adjusted the waist of his black jeans, and tucked the hems of his legs back into his boots. His leather shone in the moonlight that streamed down through the Reliquary’s singular opening in the roof. His mentality, composure, and seemingly his patience were as worn as his attire.

“Not that bitch,” he chided, “Cassandra.”

Arden swallowed the lump that formed in his throat quickly. Cassandra Remi…the woman that had taken Jensen’s wife from him, and caused the Ixian Knights much woe. For the last three weeks, Sei Orlougne had sent Arden on several reconnaissance missions to trace the last remaining members of the Cult that worshipped the wicked temptress as a demi-god. He had, until now, been unable to locate her.

“Jensen…what’s happening?” he said, with a firm tone that could command gods to kneel. He keened his gaze, hoping to hear good news, and not what he very much expected.

The immortal crossed the cracked marble floor and held out a scrap of fabric. It was immediately recognisable to the swordsman. It was the missing scrap from the Reliquary.

“I found this in the inner castle, and several vials of blood where left shattered at the food of the ballroom’s staircase.” Jensen’s voice was calming, slowly, but Arden could see he was distressed. He took the fabric and rubbed it between his fingertips. He let it fall to the floor with a sigh.

“Then somebody has betrayed us. Several vials,” he pointed over his shoulder at the shrine, “are missing. If they have been broken, then whoever offered blood to the barrier has free reign to come and go as they please.” When Cassandra had been loyal to the Ixian Knights, she had offered, all too freely, a sample of her blood so that the Heidegger Barrier could let her come and go at Sei Orlougne’s whim. Arden regretted trusting her so readily.

“Nobody’s seen her, yet, but her cronies are every-fucking-where,” he wheezed. Spit dripped from his wagging tongue, giving his audible loathing for the murderer all the more potency. Arden could not help but feel sorry, scared, and anxious at the prospect of all-out war breaking loose in the one place on Althanas he thought himself safe.

“Take me to the front lines, Jensen. We will not be able to restore the barrier without Duffy, Ruby, and Lillith.” His lack of effort to try was because the task would take days, and from Jensen’s expression, they did not have half that time. “So let me lend my blade to the fight!” he piped up, punched the air triumphantly, and took an eager step towards the brawler. When Jensen did not move aside, he retreated. “What…aren’t you telling me?”

Jensen sighed, his eyes shone with regret.

“Jensen…what is wrong?”

“They’ve already swarmed most of the castle; they’ve brought spiders, ghouls…all manner of creatures. I don’t know what t-” Arden cut him short with a snap of his fingers.

“Nothing like that will stop the Ixian Knights. I’ve killed spiders as big as this castle, and older than Corone.” Jensen, for once in his life, looked surprised at the swordsman’s suddenly reformed composure. War, after all, was exactly what Arden Janelle lived for. “So less of that, it’s not about not knowing what to do…it’s about finding Cassandra Remi, avenging Stephanie’s death, and killing every. Single. One. Of. Them…” he snarled.

It was all the encouragement Jensen Ambrose needed, and together, they bounded out of the shrine room, side by side, sword readied and fist clenched. The distant screaming continued to grow louder and louder, and the bodies left in the wake of the subterfuge became more and more contorted, twisted, and cruelly maimed. As they approached the heart of the debauchery, another taste filled the air, clogged Arden’s nostrils, and mingled with the bouquet of decadence.

Satisfaction.

Arden Janelle would have more than enough blood to help Jensen Ambrose reclaim his pride. Even if the betrayer turned out to be another loyal son tempted to shame, Arden vowed to not rest idly until the person who had despoiled the most sacred of things to the Tantalum Troupe was found, and he had the chance to drive hot needles into eyelids, cut gavel with his sword, and resurrect their souls a hundred times to kill them over, and over, and over again.

"Now that's more fucking like it!" Jensen cackled madly as they trawled through the blood stained catacombs of the Ixian Knight's stronghold.

[Revenant]

Blood, the heady scent swam through the room, filling William’s mind with creeping tendrils. It teased him, wrapping crimson threads around his mind, caressing him like an old, familiar lover. He writhed languidly within the thick, cloying embrace of the sanguine fluid which folded around him like a warm, wet towel. Lost deep within the throes of his delight, William felt nothing as he slid his hand along the razor edge of his warscythe, parting the flesh so that he could refill his steaming trophy cup with his molten fluid.

As delightful, as dreadful, as the ritual was, it wasn’t something William did just for the intoxication. He spent more and more time in his room, sequestered from the rest of the Ixian Knights, cutting himself time and again until everything in his living quarters shone with condensed droplets of his blood. The room more resembled a butcher’s carving room than the living quarters of a respected general in one of Corone’s most respected private military force. But while it was a gruesome act, it was also a good way of keeping the destructive urges boiling under William’s skin at ease without killing anybody.

William clicked his teeth, listening to the echo the motion created rebounding around his room. The urges were more powerful, more insistent, than they had ever been before. His job as the Ixian Knights’ monster hunter was the perfect way to vent his power, but all the killing had made his destructive side strong. His will was stronger, able to hold himself in check with greater ease. But at the same time he knew that his terrible power could only be held at bay for so long without being softened. Spilling blood, even if it was only his, was a way to do that.

But there was something in the blood haze, a discordant note that clamored in the midst of the intoxicating aria that floated through William’s mind. He couldn’t put his finger on just what it was, but the moment he sat forward the world around him reeled. A barrage of images long forgotten filled his mind. He thought of Rebecca, his wife, dying in his arms. He recalled the sight of his unborn child’s burning cradle with a stark, vivid clarity. There was a flash of the woman he had killed, never knowing her name, tearing her apart like so much raw meat in the safety of her cabin.

Growling, William shunted the thoughts aside, frightful images of a guilt that lingered despite time, effort, and good deeds. He could feel it, the darkness, creeping across his threshold to grip him in its icy grasp. The darkness was not afraid of the demon within him, the darkness itself was fear. But sadly for the darkness, William wasn’t the type to allow fear to paralyze him. Within moments he had shaken the languishing blood intoxication off like a wet dog.

“What’s this?” Freed from his stupor William could suddenly hear the screams echoing through the castle’s interior and could smell the hot blood pouring through the chambers like a wave. “We’re under assault? How interesting.” William grabbed his warscythe and, after a momentary hesitation, his Zodiac Weapon. The Libra rod allowed him to control his thoughts by separating his feelings into a pocket in the back of his mind where they couldn’t control him. It was a crutch, a temporary solution to a permanent problem and as such was something he didn’t enjoy relying upon. But something in the darkness told him that it would be a beneficial thing to have with him tonight.

William tucked Libra in his belt and headed out, following the ever growing sounds of violence, trailing footsteps of blood behind him. Motion behind him caused his fighter’s instinct to scream at him and he spun with inhuman speed to face the threat.

“”C-Captain!” a weasely voiced man in a chef’s apron held up his hands as if it would act as a shield against William. The savage urge bubbled within William, teasing him with the desire to cut the innocent man down, but it was a momentary lapse and one that William easily shunted aside with Libra’s help. “By the Thayne captain, they’ve already made it this far?”

William cocked a confused eye at the chef before he realized that he was covered in blood. “No, not yet … uh.”

“Mitchell, Captain,”

“Right, come Mitchell, tell me everything you know about what’s going on.” William started marching towards the screams again.

“Me? With you?” William paused and glared at Mitchell. “Right. I guess I’m safer with you than anywhere else right now.”

William snorted derisively. “Now tell me what’s going on?”

“We’re under attack.”

“I gathered that,” William rubbed his nose with his free hand, feeling the pressure building up behind his eyes. This too, he shunted to the back of his mind.

“Hundreds of them…”

“Them?”

“Savages, distorted creatures, bloodthirsty killers riding giant spiders, all flooding over the walls. I was out having a smoke when it started and the guards told me to run back to get the Captains and Lord Orlouge.”

“Well you’ve found me,” William groused. “This might not have happened if Sei had let me go about culling the spider’s population instead of sending me on a fool’s errand in Salvar.” William chuckled darkly. “In a way, you might say this is his fault.”

“Captain?” Mitchell fell back an uneasy step.


William waved Mitchell off with a curt gesture, watching with detached interest as his annoyance built safely in the back of his mind where it couldn’t hurt anybody. Perhaps he should keep Libra with him a bit more often, he mused. Especially when Jensen was around.

A shadow bolted across the hallway down the corridor, a hulking and inhuman shadow. Whatever it was it was fast, and William could hear screams and steel coming from the room where it had run to.

“C-Captain,” Mitchell said, frozen in terror.

“Come on,” William broke into a trot, running down the hallway towards the fresh sounds of slaughter.

A red splash of blood shot from the room where the creature had gone. All sounds of violence from the room had stopped, replaced only with the sound of rending meat and snapping bone. But as William and Mitchell approached, even that stopped, filling the hallway with an awful silence.

William turned to the chef, a stern look plastered on his face. “Stay here, Mitch…”

“For the Dark Mother,” a hideous roar cut through the air behind William. Mitchell screamed and flooded his pants with urine. The creature moved fast for something so large, but even as its shadow darkened William’s frame the revenant lashed out behind him with a casual swipe of his warscythe, cutting the creature into four uneven lumps of flesh. Whatever it was, it wasn’t a match for William’s own inhuman strength and speed.

“Fast, aren’t they,” he said, turning to examine the creature. It was a misshapen, hulking mass, though it had definitely been human once. Thick slashes and deep holes pockmarked its grayish hide, evidence that the creature’s prey had fought back to no avail. William sniffed, sensing demonic taint around the beast and grinned, feeling a little touch at the crude homage. These beasts had been savagely transformed into monsters through torture and dark magic.

“For the Dark Mother?” Mitchell sounded panicked almost to the breaking point. The creeping darkness seemed to be more effective on those with feeble minds, William observed. “Did he mean Captain Remi?”

“Ex-Captain Remi!” William snarled at mention of the Gisela Reaper. Cassandra Remi had been tossed from the ranks of the Ixian Captains after Sei had come to the conclusion that she was a lost cause. And yet he refused to stop bombarding William with his happy rays of love and hope. It was a sour point that rankled the monster hunter.

Yet as dismissive as William was of Cassandra, he had to admit that this entire affair was increasingly smacking of her influence. The creeping darkness and tortured monsters were just the sort of thing that she would be a part of. Sei had been too trusting, William thought, too forgiving. It was only a matter of time before this happened, though there was no real chance for Cassandra’s makeshift army to take the castle.

“What should we do?” Mitchell interrupted, dancing a fool’s dance around the monster hunter.

William sighed. “The backup guard force should be mobilizing by now. I want you to take them to the main armory and have them all equip with heavy armor and weapons.”

“Captain? But that will take too long. The walls are already being overrun and I was told they need reinforcements now.”

“Do as I say!” William snapped. Mitchell backed into the corner, quivering in fear. “Look at this creature. There are perhaps hundreds of them storming the walls as we speak.”

Mitchell looked from the ghoul to William and back again, nodding. “We need the heavy weapons and armor, yes Captain.”

William nodded, already forgetting Mitchell as he headed out of the castle and into the chaos beyond.

[The Last Wolf]

Renault let out a grunt as he lay on his back, and kicked upwards at the stone slab barring his path. He felt the rock shudder, and give way ever so slightly. He grunted again, brought both his feet back, and slammed forward; bits of dirt attacked his face in response. He grunted one last time, and kicked at the slab again.

The tunnel he had entered was roughly the size of a coffin, an irony that was not lost on Renault on tonight of all nights. It had taken him roughly an hour of crawling on his belly to reach this point, but here he was at last.

At last the stone slab finally gave way. He shifted about, a task that took far longer than it should have due to the lack of space, and shoved upwards. The stone flooring finally gave up the fight, and obeyed his command; the mercenary had managed to sneak inside the Ixian Knights castle.

Renault hefted himself up, and into the area that the tunnel had led him to. It was nothing more than a small dining room, one of many such rooms in the Ixian castle. The room itself was remarkably calm, given that battles were raging all over the place. Screams of death and agony, of joy and debauchery, echoed throughout the castle walls; Renault was curious as to who was screaming what; surely not all screams of bloodlust were from Cassandra's troops. No doubt there were many an Ixian knight reveling in tonight's battle.

The mercenary brushed away some of the dirt on his clothes, not that he was able to do much. It wasn't as if he was worrying about appearances, but at least on the outset he did not have the appearance of a deranged psycho. On the inside, or during the heat of battle, perhaps he very much was, but he drew the line at babbling nonsense and cutting himself. Something he had noticed quite a bit of Cassandra's cultists were wont to do.

The darkness of the room matched the black sky of night; no candles lit this tiny area. With the care a loved one might handle a newborn babe, Renault reached back into the tunnel, and withdrew the black cloak he usually wore; it had been wrapped up tightly around something very precious to the mercenary.

Slowly, oh so very slowly, Renault folded open his cloak. It was covered with dirt and grim from the journey here, but it had kept its precious cargo perfectly clean. It wasn't much, just a simple steel katana in a black sheath. The hilt of the blade was a matching color of jet black; a simplistic hilt guard of a dull gold adorned the sword.

It was like shaking hands with an old friend, that's how Renault felt whenever he gripped this blade. And why should he not? This sword was his, and his alone. Muramasa, it was called, and it contained a terrible curse, but that was utter nonsense. After all, it seemed that nine out of ten blades had some tragic story behind them, why should this one be any different? Curses and tales of power, all utter nonsense. A sword was simply a tool, nothing more. It was the wielder who decided what the tool was used for.

And I made my choice. I have no regrets. Renault told himself. This blade was his, it was meant to be his. His family had tried to keep it from him, so he had simply done what a mercenary's life had taught him to do. Take what he wanted. He had killed his father for this sword, or so he assumed. At the very least, the man was in no shape to hide anything from Renault ever again.

"Liars and filth. That's what they all were. Liars and filth," Renault muttered as he gently placed the katana in his belt, and wrapped the black cloak around his shoulders. Enough of this foolish nonsense, no more trips down memory lane. He didn't dwell on his actions, in fact, he thought he was perfectly in the right. To hell with them all.

The sounds of battle whispered into his ears; combat was not far from here. Renault quickly replaced the stone slab over the tunnel, making sure to leave it just a bit open, should he need to make his escape. He glanced about, found an empty candle holder, and used it to leave a scratch on the slab for ease of location. With that out of the way, it was time for him to go to work.

It was a simple mission tonight. Despite the actual enormity of Cassandra's undertaking, all Renault had to do was kill a select group of people. Chaplains, or so he had been told, were key to the morale of the Ixian knights. They rallied troops, shouted words of encouragement, and pressed the men onward. A perfect target for an assassin.

Not that Renault actually considered himself an assassin. He was simply a sellsword; he cared little for what his target was. As long as he had the chance to spill a bit of blood, he was usually satisfied. The only reason he was on the side of Cassandra's cult was that he had been approached by them; he would have happily defended the Ixian knights had they made the offer. Although, rumor was that the leader of the Ixian knights was apparently known to go on a few sunshine and lollipop speeches, which probably would have clashed with Renault's nature.

He turned the corner quickly; it wasn't hard to find the first of his targets. As he had been told, Chaplains were known for screaming at the top of their lungs, all Renault had to do was head towards noise. Battles were everywhere, so naturally Chaplains would be spread out everywhere. He twisted and turned down the halls, doing his best to keep to the comfort of the shadows. It wasn't as if he had a particular avoidance to the light, but the dark made his work so much more easier, as well as enjoyable.

Luck, every mercenary knows, is a fickle thing. However, it seemed that tonight, she had chosen to smile upon Renault. He turned into a hall where a pitched battle was being fought between cultists and knights. The cultists by far had the numbers, but the knights were clearly more skilled. Though there were no more than five, the knights kept a tight formation, watching each other carefully. The hall wasn't too wide to begin with, and with careful maneuvering, the knights had made it so that the cultists could do very little. Not that those screaming idiots had any grasp of tactics, the epitome of strategy to them seemed to be drag the enemy down with overwhelming numbers.

A cultist gurgled a death cry as his throat was sliced open by an Ixian sword. Another howled in pain as an axe severed his leg. The Ixian knights were professional, they didn’t bother to indulge themselves with killing. These cultists were far too prone to getting lost within the kill, only to be killed themselves. Not that Renault could entirely blame them, but mutilating a corpse while the deceased’s friends still held their swords was the quite stupid.

And there he was, clad in all he resplendent glory. Wielding a mace, the Chaplain screamed words of fury and glory, smashing heads and spilling all sorts of gore upon his so-called holy robes. Renault licked his lips as he reached for his sword; high and mighty fools were the best type of fools to remove from this world. The look on their face as all their firmly held beliefs and aspirations were instantly shattered was a distinct beauty that Renault found all too rare.

It’s been too long. I’m rusty. Renault told himself from his spot within the shadows. He had some trouble tracking the enemy’s movements, and had to readjust his sword position twice; two times too many. Luck had dealt him a good hand, the Chaplain had his back to Renault. The knights surged forward, overwhelming the cultists, it was now or never.

I was told they wear armor under those robes, so my target must be...there! The mercenary’s eyes zoomed in on where he wanted his strike to land. The spot on the back of the opponent’s neck, right before the Chaplain’s skin disappeared beneath those bloodstained robes. Gripping his katana with his right hand, Renault lunged forth from the shadows; a viper pouncing upon its unsuspecting prey.

Exhilaration. Wondrous exhilaration. That’s what it felt like. The way Renault’s free hand gripped the unsuspecting target to hold the man steady, and the excitement as the sword went exactly where he told it to go; the slight resistance the flesh gave at first, and the satisfaction as that resistance dissipated. Gods be good, Renault Nox did so love this feeling.

A perfect strike. The tip of the katana entered from the back, instantly severing the man’s spinal cord. All brain processes shut off instantly, the Chaplain could have been declared dead even before Renault’s blade burst forth from his neck, spewing blood and tissue into the air. The fiery oratory that the Chaplain had been in the middle of screaming became nothing more than a pathetic soft gurgle. Renault slowly slid his blade out of the man, savoring each and every drop of blood the danced across the steel of his beloved sword.

And that was all it took. It wasn’t the actual defeat of the Chaplain that broke the Ixian knights, rather it was that the Chaplain had simply ceased to speak. All it took was for one Ixian knight to turn his head back, and one clever cultist to drive her knife into the man’s leg, for the tight formation of the Ixian’s to crumble.

With glee and shouts the cultists descended, singing a song only a depraved killer could appreciate as they tore apart their victims. Their knives skinned the flesh, their swords pierced hearts. A few of the extremely sick even began to gnaw upon pieces of their victims; all the while singing their song of debauchery.

“I have to admit, it is a sweet song,” Renault whispered to himself. He had no need to join these cultists, he was happy enough with his one kill. One perfect kill was worth ten of these butcherings and mutilations these madmen brought.

The cultists departed, praising their Dark Mother and singing her praises. The cunning one who had broken the knights formation, smiled sweetly at Renault. She whispered that soon enough the Dark Mother would be with them.

“She’ll bless us all with her smile,” the woman whispered as she gently caressed Renault’s cheek with a bloody finger, leaving a small bit of blood next to an old cut there that had never really healed. He watched her walk away, her eyes mad with a delight that, though he didn’t know it, Renault had shared when he had killed that Chaplain.

“Don’t even begin to compare me with you,” Renault muttered as he flicked his katana, painting a streak of blood on a nearby wall, “We are worlds apart, you and I.”

His gold eyes danced about, taking in each and every scene, each and every death. Oh he would kill tonight, of that there was no doubt. He might even die tonight, there was always a chance of that anytime anyone picked up a sword. But to Renault Nox, there was one thing that made him despise each end everyone of these feeble-minded fools that flocked to Cassandra Remi’s banner.

“You’re weak. You need to be told when to kill, when to cut. You follow along, barking like a happy little lapdog, content with the treats the one who holds your leash gives leaves you. Ixian fools and weak-minded cultists, letting others decide who their blades cuts.”

He held up sword to a dim light. The blood on the blade had already dripped away, somehow leaving the blade unmarred. That wouldn’t do, Muramasa was hungry. Renault knew it, he could feel it.

“My sword cuts who I say it cuts. If a man offers me a job, I can take it if I want to, tell him to go to hell, or even slash off the man’s face if I don’t like the way he looks a me. The one, and only one, who controls my blade...”

He sheathed his blade, and moved onto the next fight, licking his lips in anticipation. All he left behind was the last bits of his words, which soon faded into black nothingness.

“...is me.”

[El Diablo Perro]

Andarial was doomed before the word was sent. The village was razed, its citizens offered to the Dark Mother as the rapists and cut throats terrorized the locals. By the time help would arrive, the goal of the village would be realized as the obvious trap. Now with home in siege, and duty to town a breath away it would make it doubly harder for the knights not involved in either action to make a choice of where to go.

Regardless of their answer, Alexander “Memnar” cared little, his only goal to move ever onwards towards the castle of the Ixian Knights. The corrupt wizard had no score to settle with the do-gooders, nor had he hostile relations with the town of Andarial. This form of bloodletting was beneath him. He had followed the Dark Mother Cassandra Remi for two reasons; To witness the power of a god, and to have that god grant him more power. In exchange for his magical abilities and handy work in creating the horrified and feverish Ghouls, Cassandra granted him access to partake in her so called Night of Debauchery and take whatever spoils the Ixian’s had carelessly “left” in the chaos.

Those prizes suited the wizard just fine. He had studied the effects of the Rubric of Alaskar extensively to know how to fuse demonic essence within the fragil, mentally depraved human’s that made of the core of Cassandra’ s shock troops; the Ghouls. First stage was the disintegration of the human psyche. This involved the poor innocent soul to witness horror after horror within the disturbing halls of the Cult of Blessed Torture. When they were fed, meat was mixed with flesh, and the stage two would begin. After time, the people began to grow feverish and haunted, screaming or gibbering endlessly. When total mental collapse happened they would feast on the flesh more than the meat. The next stage was taking the relic of the cult to bond a demonic essence with the soul of the ghoul, literally mutating the flesh into a hulking, powerhouse of strength, stamina, and slobbering saliva. The demon would fuel their power, give them the ability to fight with superhuman speed and strength, and…well it was self explanatory from there.

Had it ever once crossed the man’s mind that what he was doing was completely out of line and morally abhorring? To that Memnar would merely laugh. Of course he knew, but in the pursuit of true, ultimate power one’s hands needed to get dirty. He would find this power, eventually, but for now he was content to learn and process every sensation of magic, alchemy, demonology, godhood and raw power. Tonight was proving to be a vast collection for him to process later, and with a sick satisfied smile he sauntered onwards towards the castle. He felt confident in making good his insertion and escape before the two armies would find their winner. He wanted to be long gone before the dawn arose.

“One helluva party!” the loudmouth Seed chuckled with an inane cackle. Memnar had decreed the child was hit far too hard in the head with the reality of life to hear his haunted laughter and near bi-polar state of mind. Still, in a den of murderer’s who were letting loose of their inhibitions for the Dark Mother, it paid to have someone slightly less insane by his side. He could use the boy for bait to make good an escape if need be.

They both finished entering the castle grounds via one of the several grabbling hooks left behind in the assault. It seemed most of the wall was cleared, bodies littering the ground in parts or half bodies. Blood was the only common color in all of the massacre and with a detached care the wizard moved forwards, his robes billowing in the breeze behind him. Seed looked amoungst the bodies while mumbling, until he lifted a satchel and cackled endlessly.

“Bonus! I found trail mix!” With ease he popped a few seeds and dried prunes into his mouth. “Delicious!” he said to the wizard with open mouth, showing the disgusting yellowed teeth and half chewed food. Memnar wrinkled his nose and walked on. “You don’t talk much, do you?”

“Why waist breath on simpletons,” Memnar replied casually with a note of arrogance. They hit a redoubt and the wizard looked to the door. It was still on the hinges. With a snarl he lifted his hand to the doorknob, and felt the magic in his blood polarize at his fingertips, heating them to a boiling point before it escaped out as a small fireball. The wooden frame stood no chance at as the locking mechanism was obliterated. The door softly popped open, and with a flick of his hands he brushed the portal open and entered. As he expected, nobody was inside.

Seed entered in casually looking at the room, before he smiled and picked up an Ixian Knight’s helmet and put it on. It went clear over his eyes. He chuckled, leaving it that way as he looked for more spoils of war. Memnar instead utilized his time more carefully, studying the ground level before heading to the ladder located in the center of the room. He placed his hands inside his robes and slid down the steps with ease in one motion, his boots hitting the ground sending a sharp spike of pain to his knees that subsided quickly. There was another door, but this one was open, a dead body of a cultist keeping it aloft.

“Ouch, ouch, ouch, that stings like hell!” Seed’s voice echoed in the tunnel like redoubt, his landing ungraceful as he fell on his rear and collapsed, his helmet spilling away with a loud clatter of noise. He rubbed his posterior and grinned, moving behind Memnar who merely shook his head.

When he turned he found a group of Cultists fending off an attack, before being struck down by three carefully positioned Ixian Knights. Their spears all lanced out as one, tearing into the flesh and stopping the wave of bodies that came at them. When their weapons were dragged down they all stepped forwards with swords in hand, cutting a bloody swath through the horde. In seconds the last of the Cultists were crushed and their eyes looked to Memnar.

“Defend the castle proper!” the leader shouted, the other two rallying to him as they moved at him. The wizard felt his eyes grow wider and lift his hand up, the same flames erupting upwards. A small flame zipped out catching one in the face where he collapsed; hand on face, but not dead. He turned in a shuffle step and brought his other hand up, feeling a cooling, numbing feeling extend to his fingers before a sharp sickle of ice formed like tiny talons. They were not impressively long like the Ghoul’s, nor were they sharp, but it was the best weapon he had. The first brought their sword down in a vertical strike, and Memnar had to jump to avoid it, the second warrior covering for him as a sword swung in a defensive manner.

The wizard snarled as he lifted his ice covered hand up, his other hand already preparing another fireball when he felt something brush past him and knock him aside. He nearly lost balance but was able to maintain himself as he watched Seed cackling insanely, sword diving right through the leader’s shoulder. The second warrior managed to twirl behind Seed, preparing a deathblow, but his arm tensed as the claw like ice impaled the muscles near his neck. Memnar’s burning hand covered the warrior’s face and he spoke darkly, the flames erupting point blank and causing severe damage as they fell, screaming. With the moment open the wizard ran towards a grouping of bushes to attempt to hide. Seed had easily dispatched the wounded soldier, his body moving to the two burn victims and ending their life with cold, crude words. Turning back to Memnar, he waved and shouted to him in his hiding spot. Feeling his cover blown he stepped forwards.

“You need not follow me, worm,” Memnar seethed, deciding it would be better to go along considering his eccentric and erratic behavior would no doubt draw more attention than divert it, deciding to ignore the fact the boy had just saved his life.

“Who said I was following you?” He lifted an accusing finger to the wizard and spoke in childish manner. “You’re the one following me!”

“I highly doubt that,” Memnar muttered. “I’m looking for the place where the Ixian Knight’s keep their vast collection of magical items and scrolls and books of knowledge.”

“Yeah, well I’m looking for the gold!” Seed replied. Memnar let out an exasperated sigh as he carried himself along the walls in the shadows, his dark cloak absorbing them as he walked.

“I don’t care what you are looking for, and I grow tired of your boorish nature. Be gone from my sight.”

“No way, you’re after the treasure too! I want to make sure I get all the good stuff.” Seed quickened his pace to make sure he led the way. Memnar slowed his pace, stopping as he watched the boy walk on. Seed never stopped as he entered in the main castle via a servant’s entrance, and with him gone Memnar shook his head again. He turned towards a tall tower, recalling the words of Cassandra on where he could locate his treasures swiftly and quickly. She was after all an ex member of this little group.

Lifting his hands to the side he moved into the castle foyer, a grin on his face as he headed towards the melee.

[Revenant]

Things were utter chaos in the open spaces around Ixian Castle proper. Hideous wailing echoed seemingly from all corners of the courtyard, broken only by the sounds of ringing steel and dying screams. It was a delicious moment for the revenant, a true second in time where the destructive force within him could feel at home without guilt.

A hideous wail from a trio of charging ghouls broke the crystal strand on which William's urges danced, much to William's annoyance. Frowning, William slid out of the grasp of the beasts' charge with the practised ease of a master combatant. A light kick to the ankle send the closest ghoul sprawling in the dust as it passed. While such a light blow certainly wouldn't cause such a creature any damage, it definately took it out of the fight long enough for William's warscythe to do so.

"For the Dark Mother," the remaining two creatures hissed as they rounded upon the prey thing that had managed to kill one of them. Unfortunately, though the ritual that had crafted humans into these ghoul creatures had bestowed them with size and strength, it hadn't made them suited to close quarters pack hunting. The creatures nearly tripped each other as each fought to be the one to tear into the offending prey thing. Even if he hadn't had demonically hightened reflexes of his own, William would have had no trouble baiting the two creatures into battling each other by dancing lightly around them. Still, he had other things to do, and as delightful as if would be to torment these poor stupid beasts, it was untimately nothing but a waste of his time.

A second swipe of his warscythe's obsidian blade severed the second ghoul's head just as easily as it had parted the first's. The final ghould roared an incoherent battle challenge, lost in its blood rage. William knew the feeling, though his own rising blood lust was safetly tucked away thanks to Libra's influence.

"Another thing I noticed," he said to the crature, dancing out of the way of its clumsy charge. He flicked the thick, foul smelling blood from his weapon's blade with an easy gesture as he spoke. "You're obviously still alive." The ghould turned again and leapt at William with its filth encrusted talons extended. Instead of dodging away again, William leapt into the creature, under its grasp, and drove the butt of his weapon's haft into the ghoul's gut. A rush of rotted air escaped the creature's lungs as the wind was knocked out of it. "If you were a real ghoul this wouldn't be nearly as effective." William reached up as he spoke, and with a twitch of his hand crushed the ghoul's windpipe.

The creature staggered back, unable to draw in the breath that William had driven from it. To its credit it resumed attacking after only a fraction of a second, determined to kill the creature that had killed it and its friends. William ducked under the last slash and kicked out with the full force of his human form's enhanced strength, driving the creature away from his like a ballista shot.

"Well that was fun," he muttered, not really pleased with what he had been forced into.

"Thank the Thayne it's you Captain." A large group of Ixian soldiers rushed over to him, covered in their own layer of fresh blood. "We were worried when we saw a group of those things jump a lone one of ours," the lead soldier nodded to indicate the dead ghouls, "bad luck for them that they chose to jump the monster hunter, I guess."

"Who is in charge of the defense?" William asked, ignoring the soldiers' awe.

"Defense Captain?" another soldier chimed in, huffing. "I don't think anyone's in charge of this shitstorm. We sent for backup but haven't seen anyone yet but a few stragglers and you."

"Then as the ranking Knight I'm in charge," William swung his warscythe back onto his shoulder, heedless of the rancid ghoul blood it splashed all over him. "Tell me what's going on."

"The north wall here appears to have been hit the hardest," the guard began, only to be cut off.

"Then why aren't there more of these things around?" He kicked one of the ghould corpses, the motion flipping the body.

"You can thank me for that," a voice slithered in William's ear. Thanks to Libra, his surprise was merely catalogued for examination rather than causing him to jump, as the owner's voice surely would have enjoyed. Still, he had to admit that he had been taken completely by surprise, despite the lack of visible signs.

"Dahlios," William hissed, knowing who the speaker was without having to look. There were few people in the Ixian Knights who had the prowess to get the drop on WIlliam, but the aged Lavinian thief had enough prowess and more to get the job done.

"Aren't you going to thank me?" Seth said, pouting. William finally turned to shoot a look of annoyance at the Lavinian, nothing how the man's daggers spun dazzlingly in his hands in such a casual manner. It was as if the thief weren't even aware that he was doing something that only one in a hundred seasoned professionals could do without even having to concentrate. The man oozed a sense of smugness that William found grating. He had long wanted to test his skills against Seth's legendary prowess, but fate had always seemed to conspire to keep them apart.

William opened his mouth to reply when a chorus of screams roared to life from the darkness beyond the castle.

"Another wave," one of the soldiers yelled, readying the men. He then turned to William and Seth, "I'm sure glad that we''ve got both of you on our side."

Seth danced lightly from foot to foot, seemingly enjoying the cat and mouse game that he was sure to have with Cassandra Remi's next cannon fodder. He looked ready to say something when William interrupted.

"True enough," he said, casually ignoring Seth. "I'm especially glad that the Lavinian Demon is here instead of protecting his family. I heard a messenger say that a group of these things had made their way to his room." William turned to shoot a hard stare at Seth, who had stopped twirling his daggers. "I pity the first demon ghoul to come through her door."

It wasn't as if Seth had departed so much as it was as if he had never been with the group in the first place.

The soldiers stared at William in dawning horror. "C-Captain we were only able to hold this wall because of him."

William shrugged. "Don't worry, I'm more than capable to handling this rabble." He grinned as he watched the first red gleams of spider eyes emerge from the darkness. His intense attention was broken however by a crashing boom that echoed from another area of the castle's defensive wall.

"Was that the third watchtower?" William rounded on the nearest soldier. The individual whoops of the bloodthirsty mob closing in on them could be heard now.

"T-Twice baked tower?" the guard stammered, eliciting an angry look from William. "I think so."

"Damnation," William roared. "I need to get over there."

Half the guards broke discipline to turn and stare at William aghast instead of bracing against the oncoming flood. "But Captain?"

"Dont worry," William waved a had at them dismissively. "You're highly trained Ixian Knights. You'll manage." William didn't look back as he ran towards third tower, despite the horrific sounds and wails that he heard behind him.

Third Tower, called "Twice Baked Tower" because of the incident which had left the newly constructed defensive position in ruins, was newly reconstructed. It wasn't exactly a key defensive position, but it hadn't been completed yet and the wooden bracing around the building was the only thing keeping it erect at this point, making it an obvious weak point in the Ixian Castle's defenses. But despite Third Tower's importance, William could only see one figure standing in its defense. Fortunately for the Ixian Knights, that figure was the fighting master Ta'gaz.

"I'm surprised to see you here William," Ta'gaz spoke to his former pupil without turning to look at him, somehow knowing who and where he was. Opposite Ta'Gaz, another one of Remi's ghouls maintained a close watch, its simple mind somehow understanding that it couldn't just charge in against this foe and expect to live. Of course, the shattered pile of ghouls, gianst spiders, and crazed humans surrounding the bare chested warrior probably told the creature that as well.

"I heard a commotion from the tower and thought it would be a good idea to lend a hand."

Ta'gaz laughed, finally turning to look at William. "Lend me a hand?" As soon as the fighting master's back was turned the ghoul snapped its jaws shut and leapt forward at the man, hoping to take him by surprise. "It's night time. Do you want to see why they call me the Oracle of the Moon?" he asked. Then, without waiting for a reply, a brilliant cresent moon shape blazed to life on his chest, bathing the two of them in silvery light. Ta'gaz was a blur of motion, snapping a high kick behind him which snapped the charging ghoul's neck before it could reach him.

William watched the ghoul's body slump to life at his former master's feet, unimpressed.

"What?" Ta'gaz seemed genuinely hurt at William's lack of a response. "I'd like to see you kill one of these with just one blow."

William's slow blink was almost audible.

"Ok," Ta'gaz shrugged, chagrined. "Maybe you're a bad choice. But it was still an impressive move."

William leapt forward, bringing his warscythe around in a whistling arc. Though he seemed taken by surprise at the action, Ta'gaz still managed to easily dodge under the swing, ending up several feet away.

"What is this treachery?" the fighting master spat.

William pointed the warscythe's obsidian blade at Ta'gaz, highlighting the fresh blood dripping frim its length. Next to them both, another ghoul's head rolled free from the creature's body.

"It was apparently using the bodies to hide itself until it could strike."

Ta'gaz deflated a little as he let out his breath. "For a moment there I thought you were trying to take this opportunity to finally beat me," he laughed. The laughter was cut short as the main thick wooden brace for Third Tower cracked. Ta'Gaz lunged at the beam, managing to catch it before it snapped . Above him, the entire weight of Third Tower seemed to shift.

"Now I could use your help," Ta'gaz grunted, his face red from the strain of holding up the entire structure. Apparently even the legendary fighting master's strength wasn't enough to hold up a castle tower on his own. In the distance, another call signalled a fresh wave of Remi's minions closing in for the kill.

"No time," William called out as he rushed away from the tower. "We'll have ot hold the wall from inside." Veins popped out from Ta'gaz's head and neck as he struggled against the tower. He appeared to be ready to say something when the support brace exploded, knocking Ta'gaz to the ground. William had no doubt that the legendary warrior would have been able to run clear of the collapsing tower had he been on his feet. But now William could only watch impassively, Libra shunting his emotions to the aft, as Third Tower came down over Ta'gaz with a thunderous roar.

"Come on, it'll take more than a tower to kill you," William said towards the rubble strewn hole in the wall, but the seconds ticked by without any sign of movement. What was moving, however, was the rish of bodies making for the new hole in the castle defenses.

"Ta'gaz," William muttered, "if you're alive down there at least they can't get to your body."

William stood alone in the courtyard, taking in everything around him. All sounds of battle had ceased from the north side of Ixian Castle's wall, though the victorious yells coming in his direction left him with no doubt as to the fate of the soldiers he had left there to guard the position. Across from him there were at least two dozen ghouls and giant spiders making their way unfettered into the open courtyard. As far as he knew it the reinforcements were still mashed together inside getting armed and armored at his command.

Ixian Castle was in trouble.

[Arden]

Arden Janelle’s experiences of Jensen Ambrose were, until now, thin on the ground. He had heard tales, by all means, but they had seemed like tall tattles told by drunken idiots at the time. With their passing through corridor, cloister, and storage chamber, he saw the man referred to as ‘enigmatic’ become increasingly less so. The swordsman assumed that the title was ironic, as Jensen was far from charismatic. He had, despite his long years, never heard quite so much cussing.

“Jensen!” he roared, as the brawler bounced into a large crate riddled rectangle. It was a low roof space, dark, dusty, and full of madness. Ghouls were perched on every surface, blood dripping from ravenous lips, hearts squashed beneath haggard claws. Arden reeled in the wave of nausea, the scent of blood turning his stomach.

The sound of a well-placed fist shattering a morbid jaw was Arden’s only reply. It took several awkward bouts of laughter and Arden’s quick hand on the hilt of his sword into the fray to temper the man’s zeal. Surrounded by the nearest three ghouls, Jensen committed his weight to a roundhouse kick, and three more cracks filled the dank atmosphere of the shadows. Their decrepit bodies hit the floor with unceremonious thuds.

The Immortal only guffawed. He was covered in blood, but seemingly happy as larky. Arden could only balk at the man’s indifference. Though the ghouls were twisted marionettes of a dark puppeteer, they were still living beings; Jensen had no objection to cleaving his way through the entirety of the castle’s occupants.

“Jensen, we have to get to the far side of the conclave now,” Arden whispered, almost fearful of the man’s reaction. He was flexing his muscles, clenching his fists, and bouncing from foot to foot. Six more ghouls approached from the western convex.

“Oh, shut up you fairy. You’re fucking spoiling my fun!”

“Fun?” Arden spat, “you think this is fun?” he swung Kerria in a dual arc, and set it to his side. Its silver tip caught the torch light and burst to life.

“Sure fucking do!” was Jensen’s reply, as he burst forwards, extended his leg, and cleave the nearest ghoul’s skull from its shoulders. Its companions, blood stained, gibbering, and eager to avenge their comrade’s death began to circle the brawler with cankerous motions. They whispered, screamed, and chattered through ichor strewn maws. “It will be fun right up until that bitch is screaming for mercy, and you can watch, you want to watch? Please watch,” his question was drowned out by several well placed, tight, and cataclysmic fists to the nearest ghoul’s chest. His torso imploded, and his heart exploded. His eyes glimmered with zeal and madness.

Arden could only shake his head, run at the right ghoul, and spiral in a delicate arc. His blade sliced through dying flesh with ease, whistling a melody of pain as it moved through the stagnant air. The smell of congealing blood, rotten flesh, and death overwhelmed him. He stumbled back from the corpse, coughing and spluttering, and exposed to the advance of the ghouls behind the fallen creature.

“Fucking hell,” Arden choked. His eyes blurred as the hunger within threatened to overtake him. It rose from his soul, caressed his mind, and blurred his senses. He grew phantasmal fangs of red energy, and choked some more on the vapours of the Oni that coiled around his heart. It screamed for him to feed, to fight, and to vanquish.

He caught wind of movement, and then a familiar trio of noises cleared the attackers from their advance towards their wounded prey. Jensen cackled again, dancing on the spot, cajoling the remaining ghouls to dare to stand in his way.

“Duffy said you were a pussy,” the Immortal spat.

Arden rose slowly, righting himself so that he took on a new and sudden height. He glared at the Immortal’s spine, boring through his form with contempt. He had heard cussing the likes of which he had never heard before, and he had seen the Immortal throw away his life like it were candy…but lying he would not tolerate.

“Is this how you repay Stephanie, Jensen? Is this how you wanted to take your revenge?” he levelled his sword across his midriff, and with his empty left hand, he began to draw a symbol in the ether with his finger tip. It glowed a deep crimson, and depicted the I Ching symbol for fire. One of the ghouls bent over, seemingly in agony, and began to wail. Jensen took it as a sign, and pirouetted forwards, seething with rage.

Arden felt the I Ching fade as the life of the ghoul did, and began to draw a second so that the last of their adversaries was unable to defend himself from the onslaught of the Immortal. In the shower of blood, Jensen’s skin was beginning to appear like a red dragon’s hide; glistening, visceral, and impervious to pain.

“Fuck you, you don’t know what you’re talking about,” he span about, cleaved the ghoul’s jaw clean from its face, then followed up the strike with an uppercut that seemed to form a dance routine all on its own. The very second the ghoul’s body landed, clipping against the stone with a thud, the brawler span. His eyes, nostrils, and fists were flaring and flexing in anger. “How could you remotely begin to understand, huh?” he prodded an accusing finger at the swordsman. His voice echoed in the gloom.

“Jensen, losing control like this will only lead to your demise.” Arden thought for a moment, and realised that Jensen’s reckless perhaps wasn’t so reckless after all. “If you cannot die, that does not mean you can do as you please. Your actions,” Arden highlighted the litter of corpses at their feet, “have consequences on the lives of those less fortunate than us.”

“I ain’t gonna die, never!” was the Immortal’s only reply. He span, padded away at great speed, and left Arden wondering why he bothered. “You’re either with me, or you’re against me!” he screamed, as he trailed off along the chamber, and hurried out along the north bound corridor that joined the under croft of the castle with the open, and no doubt chaotic inner courtyard above. Arden ran after him, his crimson cloth, silver blade, and his heart beating.

“We have to stay together Jensen!” Arden replied with a roar. He turned into the corridor, and saw the Immortal waddling and bouncing away. He was already halfway along the half a mile stone vein. “Otherwise we’ll…”

There was a roar, like thunder, but with more conviction. The corridor trembled, rumbled, and quaked in the wake of something portended in days long gone. Jensen, in his limited wisdom given his state of mind, bounced on the spot, and cocked his head skyward. Arden stopped with a skid, sheathed his blade, and lowered his stance. He had lived long enough to know the feeling and tremor of an impending earthquake to prepare him.

The midsection of the corridor exploded in a cloud of dust, debris, and destruction. Something fell from high above, and crushed the courtyard and the tunnels below into nothingness. A wave of hot air, sandblasted and set free of its age old vigil of cover crashed against the Silent Swordsman, who could not help but scream as a wave of pain washed over him also.

There was a guffaw, which was drowned out by the sudden appearance of a wall between them both, and then no sound was heard except rocks tumbling onto rock.

Arden could only splutter, cough, and shield his eyes until the cloud of dust begin to thin, clear, and fall away.

“-get separated…” he continued, his lips dry, his breath coarse. He wasted no time in turning on a white boot and trotting, with heavy intakes of clogged air, back into the store room to find another way to come to the aid of the beleaguered Ixian Knights. “The fucking idiot…” he mumbled, somewhat hypocritically, as he splashed through the already inch thick bool of carnal waste that had smothered the once polished stone of the chamber.

[Requiem of Insanity]

The march of gibbering cultists echoed throughout the outside courtyard of Ixian Castle, the walls and towers overrun with all manners of vile creature, debased mortal, and demonic flesh eaters. Screaming was the only unanimous noise that filtered to the black clouds. It was not unlike a chorus singing to the heavens; a damning and yet somewhat pleasurable cacophony of noise.

The masses of the Cult of Blessed Torture had broken the lines of the Ixians, forcing them into a full retreat towards the inner castle. Pockets of resistance stood defiantly as their Chaplains kept the faith, but arrows silenced oratory, dagger’s slitting throats in the shadows, and several other unusual methods silenced the backbone of the Ixian’s fighting faith. It was as if the Dark Mother had known these loudmouth war priests would be a nuisance, and the coin as well the other sick perversions she let the mercenaries take from her Cult was put to good use to debunk the courage of the Ixian Warriors.

The Giant in the main courtyard bellowed another cry as his mangled and splintered makeshift club scored the earth as the beast raked the weapon in a sweep, killing Cultists and Ixians alike as he stomped forwards. Several warriors had attempted to kill this three ton war engine, but most met their ends upon the blades of the Cultists or the maws of a ghoul. The medical ward was overrun by patients, bodies lining the walls of the once pristine corridor, the white stone stained red by the blood of the fallen. The family district was filled with casualties from both sides, the infestation getting worse as the Concordian Giant spiders scuttled through windows on the outside, knocking doors and killing in a frenzy. Some began to make webs within the rooftops, while others fought over prey, their mandibles spitting their skitterish language as children shrieked and mother’s cried. The larger spiders crawled towards the larger areas of the castle, most notably the inner courtyards and the barracks. Another tower of the Ixian stronghold had capsized and fallen, felling one of the titans as its legs curled around the cylindrical building that crushed it.

Inside the hallways the arsonist continued to light up everything they could, tossing their makeshift bombs into walkways and up stair cases. Several tapestries and rugs consumed the fire as the two factions fought. The zealotry of the Cultists paid little heed to the danger of the flames, preferring to spill blood and get lost in the debauchery of their sins. Several key areas were still firmly in the hands of the Ixian Knights, however. The armory had yet to fallen, and the inner library was untouched save a few dead spiders due to the courage of the night watch. Calls to arms had sounded all over and the giant teleportation beast known as “Misery” was calling reinforcements to the castle from all over the world of Althanas.

The Dark Mother had yet to show herself, and her daughter Katherine patiently waited as she held her bouquet of red and white roses whilst surrounded by fiends that did more than kill those who dared come near her. She knew her time would be coming soon, and with a childish giggle she wiped a bit of blood off her shoe on the shirt of a dead cultist, fixing her hair before bounding forwards with a grin the size of the moon. Her genuine adoration of her mother’s return filled her with a child’s glee as she turned to the ghouls and begged them to hurry.

The Cultists screamed lustful cries to the Dark Mother, lifting offerings to the red moon as if it would show them the true reward for their faith. Several of the zealots had no qualms attacking and killing even their own wounded men; torturing them in their throes of death as another litany to their carnal mistress. To show weakness in front of these perverted savages was to give your life away and each one knew that well.

Yet all of the revelry in this chaos meant little to the maestro of this symphony of destruction. The Dark Mother had planned the details carefully of her attack, making sure each and every piece on the board was set well in advance for when she made her final move. Infiltrator’s were set, prison inmates freed and prepared for the night of nights. They moved forward as one cohesive army, taking that which they pleased, that which she promised them not to be ashamed of. One could not, and should not hide the true nature of humanity. The universal truth to these frenzied zealots was the Ixians defended the lie of humanity. This knowledge had proved a potent catalyst to these lost souls who fought and died in her name.

A pervading darkness moved within the depth of Sei’s underground tomb. Not a light was lit, a torch to guide them in the winding labyrinth. An entourage of bodies hovered in the rear as a solitary group of individuals moved forwards with nihilistic glee and determination. Those in the back all shared a common trait of sewing lines, guttural speak, and freakish mutations brought upon by rituals and dark alchemy. They could only the personal guard to the Dark Mother; the Homonculi.

A red head lovingly kept a pace behind the leader, her blue eyes fixed firmly to the one before her with adoration. An older man grinned with anticipation in the rear of the trio, a golden pendulum with a silver triangle plate and four pendulums hanging from his neck. The last was a younger male, who kept a nervous pace in line with the red head as he held a finely crafted axe and sword that resembled very much a butcher's blade. Who they were was clear by their proximity to the leader; the Dark Family, Cassandra’s kin.

Leading this host of elite warriors was none other than the Demi Goddess herself, Cassandra Remi. She walked flawlessly, her naked feet moving with confidant steps on the ground. Her toes hovered above the air with a soft crimson glow marking each step she took. The thread bare silken dress she wore contorted to her every curve, an almost sheer like dress that would tease the imagination if one would let it soar! In all her beauty she walked with an infallible smile, a charm to it that beguiled the human soul into falling into her web; warm and serene. At the same instance, her smile was cold and frigid, like she was a cat looking at the mouse dying under their paw. Her hair fanned as she walked, flowing in the breeze of the aura of dread accompanying her keeping the temperature around her uncomfortably cold.

With a motion that would make a dancer envious, her hand merely lifted with a finger pointing to a barrier that many had not seen. She touched the bubble upon it, stroking it with one finger, bringing her others forward like a hawk’s set of talons and raking the barrier. The magic in the air sizzled at her touch, the heady scent of boiling blood causing the homunculi that Memnar had grafted for her stir. Her footsteps never moved quicker than a brisk walk, as if her destination could wait for her. She turned a corner towards the entrance she had chosen to enter from and continued to walk.

A soft thought played in her mind of the man she would soon meet, and his nature was just the type she needed to pull off this entire assault. A few carefully chosen words here, a soft nudge there, and he had willingly agreed to her plan with no qualms so long as he got what he wanted. Still, a betrayer had no loyalties, and as such she came to the conclusion extra reassurances would be needed. She had just the minion in mind for the task. Cassandra was intelligent enough to foresee that in a den full of killers, she would need an apex predator to handle the garbage she was far too busy to handle herself.

So it was that the leader of the Ghoul project, Memnar the wizard, was asked to make a group of highly trained and obedient soldiers. The homonculi were the fruits of his labor, but there was one who stood out more. Draug Su'Luc was a ghoul who had inadvertently saved the life of Katherine from a child rapist in her lair, and she commanded that he be made her loyal servant. A special ritual was used in that particular homonculi's birth, for Cassandra had bound part of her divine essence in his body. It was a link that would make sure he was always with her, and on call should the need arrive.

With a mere thought the Dark Mother could easily have Draug stop his playtime and come to her. She was confidant if he was summoned he would arrive in a hurried manner and considered the matter closed. With that complete she began to think of her plan when she arrived inside, but her thoughts were cut short by a unanimous cry into the night from one of the titanic Concordian spider’s dying, along with several people. Now that she was the demi goddess of pain and suffering, she could hear each tormented scream like a note in a great chorus.

A darker smile enveloped her lips as she felt the cries into the night, and let out a malicious chuckle that boiled within her black heart, letting it out into a giggling fit before cackling loudly as she heard the entire world for one moment sing her song; The Requiem of Insanity.

[Abomination]

Revenant and I wrote this post together. Until our fight ends, the rest of the posts will be also be written together.

The Ixian monster hunter stood amid the settling dust of Third Tower's collapse with silent solemnity. His face was a stony mask, and it was impossible to tell whether he was perturbed by the massive defensive breach or whether he was just biding his time until his enemies were upon him. But though Libra's auspice shrouded him in an emotionless veil, the aura of savage menace which surrounded him, even at rest, was unmistakable. Only the most crazed or foolhardy of creatures could fail to mistake him as anything but the living weapon that he was. But as menacing as William's stern vigil was, those familiar with the revenant would be surprised at how he chose to bide his time rather than leaping headlong into the fray.

But though William was motionless, he was far from defenseless. Only the slightest sound of claws on stone had reached him before he was fully in motion. Another of Cassandra's ghouls had gotten the idea in its tortured mind that it could claim William's life. The thing reeked of old rotted meat and fresh spilled blood, and it howled with the fury of the mindless damned. Thick yellow fingernails, scabbed over with clotted crimson and ribbons of flesh, clacked together eagerly. But bloodthirsty eagerness could only accomplish so much, and the ghoul found itself receiving the deadly kiss of a sharp blade rather than a reward of tender flesh.

William watched the ghoul's head fly free with the same detached interest with which he had observed the collapsing tower. But though the surprise that he felt was suppressed by the Zodiac Weapon on his hip, William was nevertheless caught off guard as Draug darted out from behind the ghoul's falling corpse and lashed out at him. A sneak attack wasn't exactly a surprise considering Cassandra's minions were all murder crazed psychopaths or mindless, frenzied beasts, but while the possibility of such a tactic had lurked in the back of William's mind, the smoothness and elegance used in the execution of this attack meant that this new opponent was far more dangerous than the ghouls Cassandra had been using as shock troops.

Inhuman reflexes kicked in, propelling William back onto the field of Third Tower's rubble to avoid being disemboweled by the hidden blade. And while an icy pain and the trickle of hot blood down his chest told William that the sneak attack hadn't been a total failure, it was not the physical assault which had an impact on him. His healing abilities would seal such a minor wound within a minute in any case. What concerned William more was the sudden surge of emotion which crashed into his mind like a runaway wagon laden with iron ore. His hand convulsively clutched at his belt seeking Libra's calming influence, only to grasp at the empty air where the rob had rested.

An inhuman howl of rage tore free from William's lips as he thrashed about in the embrace of all the emotions which he had tucked away. "Damn you," he howled at the thief, his flesh rippling as he fought to contain the demonic rage which left blackened veins of corruption as it rippled across his body. "I'll tear you apart." Snarling like a beast William took a wobbly step towards Draug, only to double over as a fresh wave of bloodlust and fury swept over him.

The Homunculus held his prize in his left hand, The Libra Rod, but felt none of the effects associated with it. It was an item that transported his fears, his anger, his carnal desires to a far-away place, but for Draug Su'Luc there was little to take. What little emotion he had was consumed by his will to serve The Dark Mother. He placed the rod inside his coat, feeling something bubbling inside of him. His attack had caused William's blood to splash onto his coat, which was absorbed to create the effect of assimilation. The blood was separated, its very essence containing the whole of William, and the Homunculus changed. He felt his skin harden, turning into a charred black tapestry. As he moved, the skin around his joints cracked, revealing bright yellow wounds that seemed to glow like fire. Within his mind, a different change took place: He saw bits and pieces of a man known as The Revenant. He saw confusion, anguish, and finally rage. Draug was no stranger to infusions of demonic essences, but this was different. He felt as though his body was occupied, as if an entity invaded his mind and corrupted his thoughts, his emotions. The effect of this paled in comparison to William himself, so Draug was able to ignore it. The demon inside William could find no place to inhabit within Draug, and disappeared into the void, leaving its body.

His right hand still held his sword, which was covered in blood from when it burst out of his wrist. While his intent was certainly to harm the monster hunter, the way he originally produced the weapon left a mess of torn flesh starting from the base of his wrist and running down his underarm. The bloody weapon had a secondary purpose, and that was to get his infected blood to make contact with The Revenant. He looked at William with the usual blank expression, his mouth slightly agape. He brows were slightly furled, and while others wouldn't be able to even notice, it was a sign of his intense seriousness, the emotion diluted down to almost nothing. He knew that the effects of this form were only temporary, that it was limited in scope and power compared to the original. He also knew he could make better use of William's body than the monster hunter himself. To him, it was self-evident.

“Oh this should be fun,” William panted, his entire body heaving under the strain of repressing the murderous desire swimming just under the surface. Cassandra’s shock troops were pouring through the gap left by Third Tower’s collapse but William only had Draug and the Zodiac Weapon the mimic had stolen in mind. William’s grip tightened on the haft of his warscythe and he grinned a feral, toothy grin. His dark urge was upon him and he was eager to shed this pitiful little mockery’s blood, even if he had to wade through a sea of bodies to get there.

Tilting his head backwards, Draug opened his mouth wide, stretching his jaw beyond the reasonable limitations of a human. With his free hand, he reached into his throat and grabbed hold of a hilt, pulling out the blade connected to it until a full longsword emerged from his throat. The markings on the hilt and the make indicated it was an Ixian blade, stolen from the various dead guards he found in Andarial and stored in his body. He had left the town to its fate to continue to his next objective: The Ixian Castle.

His purpose here, in his mother's own words, was, "To have fun." Fun was a strange concept to The Homunculus. He had no strong desires for anything, but his eyes saw opportunity. The bodies of the strong were in this castle, waiting for Draug to come reclaim them for their rightful owner. He needed fresh parts to survive, and believed that they existed only to one day become one with him. To him, it was like picking out fruit from a grocer. Today, he was shopping at William Arcus.

[Silence Sei]

The Mystic stood, starring at his window. He had known for weeks now that an attack was more than likely, but he had never expected the local villages to be the first victims of the war. The sweet scent of cherries filled his room, aesthetics to calm him as he sat in his chair and watch the carnage unfold. Sei’s room overlooked all of Ixian Castle, being the highest point of the fortress besides the roof itself. He watched as brave men and women fought all manner of beast, physical and ethereal, small and large, yet he stayed in his chair, simply observing.

How he wished he could go out there, place his hands around those responsible for the taking of innocent lives and end their miserable existence. He wanted to be on the front lines, beside Ta’gaz as the construction of the castle fell around him. He wanted so bad to be a warrior right now, and to seek vengeance for all of the vigor that got snuffed out by the dark desires of these criminals.

But tonight, he was not a warrior. Tonight, he was a leader, and a strategist.

He closed his eyes, listening to the mental reports of his comrades. His brother, Steppenwolf Orlouge, who had made it out to courtyard with Adolph to engage in the giant creature wreaking havoc. His daughter, Emma, who was bravely cutting down whatever passed her way with the oracles. His niece, Aislinn, who was not only attempting to fend off monstrous spiders, but keep her medical ward intact. Half of his army was attempting to defend their home, while the other half was busy keeping the enemy at bay in the village. All of this would change by a few simple words from their leader.

“Thank you for buying us the proper time. Begin the counter-attack”

With these words, the Ixian Knights finally began to truly fight back. The village would start raining down with arrows, carefully hitting their intended targets, as Sei had sent the best marksmen to the town; lead by the leader of the archery division, Tracer the Sniper. A wave of ghouls pouring in after the giant would find themselves vaporized by a large blast of white energy, courtesy of the hand cannon of Laconic, a cyborg that had given his loyalty to the Knights. Survivors in Andarial were quickly picked up by the winged Eagleman tribe, lead by the original owner of Ixian Castle, Stark Maximillian, and flown to safer locations away from the fighting.


Sei clasped his hands together and closed his eyes, praying for forgiveness for the lives he was taking tonight, the lives that had been lost because he couldn’t act fast enough, and for the lives of those yet to be taken by Death’s cold embrace. However, the Mystic stayed planted in his chair, every weapon he could place on his person within reason had been done so. After all, this was an attack on the Ixian Knights themselves, it was only a matter of time before they came looking for him.

Sei watched the courtyard as the giant began to swing his arm towards Adolph and Steppenwolf. Sei waved his hand, stopping the fist of the gargantuan creature from hitting his soldiers. Glass would shatter, fly out towards the beast, blind him in his eyes and give the advantage to the warriors facing him. He glanced towards the top of the castle walls, where several of his soldiers were engaging spiders, and closed his eyes. The spiders began to retreat, attacking each other and making horrid sounds as if their brains were on fire, as if they were hearing the Sound of Madness. He could hear the fear in Ella’s mind as she cried for this whole event to be just a dream, probably buried under the arms of Tobias Greenleaf.

His daughter’s cry to end this finally prompted the mute to stand. Finally, he had realized just who was responsible for this attack. The question had been plaguing the mute during the hours that had passed in his candle lit room. He could remember whimpering like this before; hear the anguish in ones mind as they were tortured to death. The Cult of Blessed Torture could only be a front for possibly the greatest serial killer in Althanas history.

Cassandra Remi Sei thought to himself, a scowl seeming to cover his entire face. He turned and left his quarters, heading towards where he could hear the most fighting. The Gisela Reaper was finally making her move of revenge against the Ixian Knights. However, she would find that Sei’s soldiers were not the type to just lie down and die because of a few apparitions and monsters. He had trained them for this day, a day he had thought would never come.

This was the battle for the soul of Corone, this was a night of filthy debauchery, and it would be the night that Cassandra Remi would bleed to death at the feet of Sei Orlouge.

[Sagequeen]

Mercy.

Her dagger received its name that night, but not because Erissa Caedron thought to give it one. She sprinted along the halls of the breached Ixian Castle with a single objective in mind: Azza Ambrose.

The stone echoed like a sepulcher, and for most, it was; Ixian and enemy alike died within its embrace. The high elf's gait carried her swiftly, but her progress was slow. For every living,wretched, suffering being she encountered, she slowed. All of her own she found, if they could be healed to survival, she gave of herself and brought them to a point they would survive. She gave them a fighting chance, though their numbers were pitifully few; the death-gluttony of Cassandra's cult saw to that.

For those that would not survive despite her efforts, she spoke hurried words over them, mourned and embraced, remembering their names, and gently yet quickly slipped the mythril blade between the ribs on their left sides. Every death she felt as her own, even as she knew, had she not ended that life, Cassandra Remi's forces would have caused these men and women to suffer slow, painful deaths or living defilement, the so-called 'blessed' death of torture.

For her enemies, her mercy was not spared; the first, dying few had uttered praises for the Dark Mother in blood-sputtering zeal, and soon Erissa realized that the madness in their eyes was not reparable, despite her orisons. It was, in her best estimation from there-forth, most kind to end the demented fervor with an expertly-placed blade.

In the beginning, as she patrolled the halls inward, she was despairingly inept at ending lives. However, as the trail of bodies lengthened in her search for Azza, she became regrettably so. As she fretted, constantly in the wake instead of in the midst of battle, she could not fathom why there was not a more organized front; the Ixian Knights were no slipshod operation. The response to the attack on and within the castle should have been an exercise of precision, like the cogs of finely crafted clock.

As she neared the family quarter, the high elf heard sounds that chilled her heart: hissing and the pitter patter of many spindly-haired legs.

Erissa rounded the corner to the threshold of the common room which connected the Knights' private rooms. A great, hairy body crashed down, blocking the doorway; Erissa was cast aside with the quick flick of a powerful leg. Her ears ringing and vision blurry, she lay for a moment, trying to find meaning in the shadows that writhed above her. On her back, the Ixian Knight finally saw the gossamer death-traps that loomed above; the spiders had easily traipsed above, on the ceiling, into the heart of the Ixian abode.

The largest of them began crashing down upon the most holy site of the Ixian Castle, knocking the tables and chairs askew. Firelight caught like a distant city-scape in the myriad emotionless, beady eyes, and the spiders' sable mandibles gnashed as they fought with each other, bristling legs raised high in challenge, spurred to madness by an encroaching presence that weighed on the hearts of sentient and beast alike.

And in the gloom of it all, she saw Azza, the silver-haired, maroon-eyed child adopted by Jensen Ambrose and his late fiancee. Azza was holding her own, her blade wielded with surprising skill; several dog-sized spiders lay dead at her feet. Tobias Greenleaf stood protectively at her side. Erissa charged into the fray, her tiny dagger forgotten, and let loose several bright bolts of energy that tore through the soft abdomens of the beasts.

“The lamp oil!” Tobias screamed, and Erissa batted a falling spider against the wall above her fellow elf, her telekenesis already weakened by the energy she spent healing her comrades. The arcanist turned; against the wall was a neat row of barrels, all filled to the brim with flammable oil; the first Erissa sent flying into the thick of the spiders, but it remained intact, merely crushing a few smaller beasts. The second she cast straight up into the air, smashing it against the ceiling, and the golden liquid rained down upon the arachnids.

“Get Azza in the room!” Erissa cried, then cast several more barrels in the same manner, dousing the entire central area. Tobias and Azza backpedaled in a careful retreat, finally slipping into the door at their backs; the spiders assaulted it like crashing waves. It would break in seconds.

A lamp hovered in the air, its fire protected by the glass surrounding it; with the finality of an executioner's ax, Erissa dropped it, the downward arc an eternity in the elf's mind. The tinkling of glass shattering was the sound of salvation; an explosive fire raged immediately, searing and scorching, crackling in response to the airy screams of the denizens. In moments, the webs above caught fire, a hot flash that destroyed the structure and sent the remaining spiders to their deaths in the inferno below. As she dispatched the remaining spiders who had avoided the blaze, Erissa jogged to the door and peeked inside.

“I need help putting out the fire,” she said, and Tobias nodded quickly. Azza and the elves worked tirelessly containing the blaze; they heaped the corpses and burning tables in the center the common room. With what reserves of strength she had left, Erissa channeled fresh air into the room, clearing it of the smoke that arose from the smoldering remains, and the scent of it wafting through the halls brought other Ixians who took over the effort and formed a front against the next wave of spiders.

“Where's my father?” Azza asked, hugging closely to Tobias, the flickering firelight painting her silver hair with shades of orange.

“Yes,” Tobias said, “Wherever Jensen is probably the safest place for us to be right now.” Erissa nodded solemnly, and with a sigh, walked several steps away from the two. Her song began with a gentle hum, recalling from memory the steady beating of Jensen's heart. The magic of her voice manifested as the finding spell of her Heartsong, and the high elf swayed like a reed to the pulsing beat. The memory was soon replaced by the real thing, his heartbeat reverberating through her, and Erissa could follow it to its source.

"He is... below ground!" Erissa said, confused. "And he seems to be moving away. I do not understand this."

[TwinCast]

The Infirmary was a charnel pit.

Cries of pain swept through the area even as the medics rushed through rows of stretchers and cots. It was a testament to Aislinn's training and her surrogate father Pierce's skill that so many hadn't died, lining the hallways on their way into the nearly overflowing room of wounded. So many were from the initial assault on the castle, and more were coming in with each successive wave. Aislinn moved through them quickly discerning wounds while sorting them for her students to treat. Some would be stabilized others would clutch at her, pleading for her to keep them alive.

She tried to keep her calm as the wounded continued to flood in. She tried to remain passive and detached so she didn't break down in the overwhelming tide of injured. She had nearly reached the breaking point when someone came bearing another wounded man, and rather than return to the fighting, stayed. She wasn't much to speak of, only a sword on her hip and a shield on her arm. She did however, know what she was doing. Her demeanor spoke of understanding when she moved to ask Aislinn where to help.

It wasn't until the woman had repeated her question a second time that she realized Liliana Ambria, de facto wife of Seth Dahlios had come to give her relief.

She had never formally met the woman, or even informally for that matter. Aislinn had seen her mostly near her Husband, if such a term applied to the couples relationship. While many called her Seth's wife, the fact no formal ceremony had been done always irked Aislinn. The crimson witch blamed her sense of propriety on that fact, even as the woman seemed to be waiting for her orders. A look of concern crossed the Priestess' face as she awaited the answer from the shell shocked witch.

"What do you know how to do?" Aislinn finally managed. A tone of formality sliding into her voice, even as she moved from the hunched nearly broken creature to the woman that Liliana had known. The conversation was bringing her back from the edge of the abyss, and the Priestess seemed to notice it too.

A soft smirk crossed Liliana's face before she spoke candidly, "I have basic battlefield medical training. In a pinch I can get one soldier back on their feet. They can't be too far gone though. Nothing worse than a broken bone..."

Aislinn nodded once before she shouted out, "Felicity!" Immediately a meow was heard darting through the medical facility. A streak of black fur forced its way through the throng of people, tail kept high to avoid an unfortunate boot from falling upon it as the cat made it to the witch and looked up. Aislinn knelt by her sister giving her an idle pet before she continued, "Liliana wishes to help, put her with Carlos and have her bandage up the wounds he's cleaning. It will give us a few minutes that could save some lives."

"Is he the Otarian over by the wall?" Liliana asked firmly.

"That would indeed be him," Aislinn confirmed. The Priestess nodded and moved through the hall, shield slinging to back in a practiced motion. Aislinn felt a sense of relief flood her before she moved back to her work. No longer was she the puppet on frayed strings but herself again. The human interaction brining with it a clarity of purpose, she wasn't fighting against an unruly tide, this was her fighting for life itself. She had fought this fight since she had taken up the Winds of Magic, her patron in the arts. This was her purpose and if she failed here, she had no right in the pursuit of her goal.

It was then, that life decided to pursue the newfound sense of conviction that grew in the Witch.

The entire western wall tore away as a large insectoid limb finally pried the wall free of its housing. Glittering eyes saw the plethora of food in the infirmary as another leg joined the first, and the figure slowly crawled into the room. The screams of pain and agony silenced for a brief moment as blood splashed from the wounded it was stepping upon the enter the fray. Some of it sailed through the air and splashed the witch in her face, before something inside her snapped.

It was like a switch as she moved towards the spider. Soon every soldier that could stand was gripping a weapon in an attempt to rank up as Aislinn Orlouge took command of her infirmary. Her eyes lost the caring look in them as she reached up with her only hand and carefully brushed the hair from her face. A look of defiance crossed her lips , even as the men moved into position beside them. Liliana had shouldered her way beside the witch, unseen in how she had gotten then. Both stood towards the front silently as the men carefully moved wounded back from the beast.

"They turned my infirmary into a charnel house..." Aislinn said idly.

"What will you do about it?" Liliana replied.

Flame erupted from the witch's stump on her other hand before she pointed the flaming appendage at the spider, "We're going to kill that thing, and use it to fill in the new hole in my wall!"

It wasn't much of a battle cry, but the soldiers knew a straight line when they heard one. As one they charged the beast, fighting to protect the innocents who could not protect themselves.

[Arden]

Three Days Ago

“Jensen, I want you to do something for me…if it comes to the wire.” Arden spoke softly, dearly, and clearly. His hood was drawn over his face, and his hands were jittering, dingers tapping together, digits crunched with apprehension.

The Immortal cocked his head, tilted his glass, and raised it to the swordsman. “For you, my blood brother, anything!” from the brawler’s tone, Arden assumed he was not quite in possession of his faculties. Unlike Duffy, however, Jensen was considerably harder to read. For all Arden could tell, he was still quite sober, and he was being taken quite for the ride.

“Duffy has gone, by all means, but that does not mean that danger will not linger in his wake.”

“Danger is everywhere,” Jensen leered, apparently suddenly quite sober. He slammed the shot glass onto the worn plank of the wooden bench, and stared into Arden’s eyes. The sun shone down on them from a clear blue sky, which illuminated the breezy courtyard atop the battlements of the inner fortress of the Ixian Castle. They were solitary occupants of the many benches that were placed on the wide terrace, seated on the mantle of the Ixian Knights providence in the summer shine.

“True,” Arden tilted his shot glass, which was no empty, and Jensen filled it more than happily. “However, the sort of danger that follows the Tantalum troupe is a little more,” he minced his words, “perilous.”

“He left, I get it, you don’t need to look after me Blank, got that?” Jensen set the bottle back onto the bench, and sipped his glass. The fiery liquor was Fireball Whiskey, a brand Arden was all too familiar with, but by now quite bored of. He could only turn to look out across the vibrant horizon, trees wavered, birds dived, and mountains shone with golden auras.

“I know…” he whispered.

“What was that?” Jensen chirped.

Arden turned back to face the brawler, and smiled brightly. “It’s not you I’m worried about, actually.” He pulled back his hood, no longer meek, afraid, or reserved about what he was going to ask the infamous Jensen Ambrose. He took a deep breath and relished the hazelnut air, the scent of aniseed, and the all too familiar dusty, granite laden ambience of the castle. “I want you to look after me.”

Jensen chuckled, “Shit, how?” he shrugged.

“Something is going to happen that leads me to martyrdom.” From Arden’s lips, the word martyrdom seemed horribly ironic. Jensen cocked his head more elaborately than ever, clearly struggling to come to terms with what was being asked of him. “I can’t tell you what, or how I know, or when…I just need you to do something.” Arden reached beneath his robes, and produced a small glass tube, clearly filled with blood, from beneath his mithril hauberk.

“Oh man…” Jensen sighed. “I’m blood brothers with Duffy mate, I can’t cheat on him li-” Arden raised a hand to interject, “or…not?”

“This is my blood, by all means, but I want you to do what Duffy did to you atop the Obsidian Tower over a year ago.” He set the vial onto the table with careful fingers, slow movements, and a flexed and muscular arm. He took great care with it, as if it were literally his last drop of life-force.

A year ago, the bard had driven a blood soaked sword through Jensen’s chest. Through the act of sacrifice, the Immortal had been reborn, and Lucian Lahore had been vanquished. The blood magic that had given power to that ritual was Arden’s, and it would serve him well in the bedlam to come. The swordsman only wished he knew why he felt his own death looming on the horizon. He grits his teeth, set his gloved hand onto the bench, and stared at the brawler; they were sat on the same side of the garden furniture, face to face, but at extreme ends.

“You want me to gut you like a fucking fish?” Jensen cocked his eyebrow, chuckled, and then finished his drink. He was done, apparently, with pretending to ‘saviour’ liquid lava. “I ain’t down with cannibalism, you hear me?”

“When I die, Jensen, I want you to take Kerria,” he patted the hilt of his beloved blade with his right glove before he continued, “and drive it through my heart.” In the swordsman’s eyes, this was a simple, perfectly easy to follow, and warranted request. Arden’s cold eyes, green, blue, and bloodshot pierced Jensen’s ragged and worn leather. He could hear the brawler’s heartbeat, see his soul shine, and feel his life pulsating through the atmosphere. It was the only thing he could say, and Jensen was the only person he could ask.

Darkness was coming, and the oni that possessed his soul was singing a chorus of debauchery, oblivion, and a painful end at the hands of an incubus.

“Fuck me,” Jensen blinked. He, quite naturally, reached for the bottle, which was by now half empty. As the sun began to set on the distant horizon, he filled his glass, offered the lip to Arden, and then nodded. “Alright, I promise.”

Arden held out his glass with a soft smile. “Thank you,” he replied.

[Enigmatic Immortal]

“They shall only know the sting of defeat, and that their hearts will beat in terror at our resolve! Rise brothers, do not give them a chance to shame you with your backs turned. Show them true courage, the courage of the Ixian Knights!”

Adolph had been preaching forever it had seemed; the war priest’s throat dry and heavy from his oratory. The Chaplain let his maul speak at times when the thickest attacks came, and he repulsed hidden blades and spiteful attempts on his life with faith in himself and a warrior’s intuition to know when danger struck.

His staff of office as the Reclussiarch of the Chaplains, the deadly war maul Crozius, had moved upwards in a flourish, the enchanted strength amplifier crushing all the bones in the Cultist’s jaw, up into his cranium and eyes even. Blood gushed out like a smashed tomato as the dead man’s feet lifted from the ground and back in a spray of blood and viscera that stunk the air around the priest. His weapon came crashing down upon the shoulder of another crazed lunatic, his body contorting to the ground in a heap of flesh and splattered bones. One of the so-called Ghouls of the Cult had trampled forwards, screeching loudly, only to be knocked sideways by a massive pink haired blur.

Turning to see Steppenwolf’s enormous frame gave a cheer to the beleaguered warrior’s of the Ixian Knight’s. With ease the man wrapped his arms around the Ghoul’s neck, twisting it violently upwards and letting it fall limp on the ground. The two men exchanged nods as they turned towards the carnage in the courtyard that the giant held with a large detachment of still pouring warriors. It seemed the Cultists numbered the Ixian Knight’s three to one, but their zealotry only mattered for little. Their knives and weapons were hard pressed to pierce armor, even basic leather gave measures of protection, and the training and disciplined warrior’s were taking them down in droves. Even the Knight’s of Dawn, the xenophobic warriors who had started the Mystic war had found themselves hard pressed to gain more than a solid foothold inside the inner courts.

If this was all the Cultists could bring, then the shock and awe of the sudden attack had worn off and the Ixian’s were fighting back. But Adolph knew the reality wasn’t so black and white.

The monsters the Cultists brought had made all the difference. Not only did they demoralize the troops, but made several uneasy. The Ghouls had a strange tolerance for pain, and their fanatical devotion to the Dark Mother made them more furious in their frenzy to feast. The Spiders were playing two deadly games against the knights as well: they were each ferocious fighters and they scuttled in clusters where innocents dwelt. Many a soldier lost his nerve to charge recklessly towards the family district, screaming the names of their loved ones only to be chopped down. Adolph had to admit his mind was elsewhere as he thought back to his beloved Aislinn Orlouge, unable to focus as much as he would have liked.

Then his heart sank as his face dropped, lips pursing open in a wide ‘o’ shape. A spider easily the size of a castle wall had at long last cracked open the walls to the medical ward where his lover was, and scuttled forwards. Adolph made a move instantly to go and run in; save the woman and those who were injured. Yet the ground shook and the air turned foul as the giant bellowed and smashed his club again. The tree it used was no longer in one piece. Several splints broke into a shattered tool, but the girth of the weapon was still more than capable of demolishing the Ixians that strayed to close.

“We need to get to the medical ward!” Steppenwolf shouted over the obnoxious noise the giant made. Adolph nodded, turning to look back at his men and women who stood with them. They held their weapons tightly, but their courage was clearly lacking. Several attempts were meant with disaster and a new fresh wave of Cultists would be upon them in minutes. Annoyed and snarling with spite and rage he pointed to the beast.

“Is that what you fear?” Adolph scorned them. There was no reply as Steppenwolf stood next to the war priest, arms crossed. The two made quite the imposing sight to the weary soldiers, and they stirred at his harsh criticisms. “Is that beast what makes you pause in your steps, hesitant in your heart, and accepting of death?” He jabbed his hand at the beasts direction, making each point with his words as he looked to the beast and lifted the hood of his robes. “Then I shall tear down your fears and give you courage.”

With his promise made the priest began to step forwards, wrapping the chain around his right hand and clipping his maul to his body. He thumbed the rune of activation, the heraldric cross at the top glowing a feint blue. He lifted the weapon up to the giant as if to challenge it. Steppenwolf looked to the priest and stepped next to him.

“Do you have any ideas, Adolph?” the mystic said in a low tone. “or last words I should be aware of?” Both men chuckled to the morbid humor. Adolph only shook his head, and looked to the man with the pink afro.

“Shave that ridiculous hair cut,” Adolph joked. “and give me a boost up stairs.” Steppenwolf looked to Adolph, and then with a shrug he nodded and jogged forwards. Adolph rolled his shoulders, and lifted his arm with weapon held high again so all could see the blue glow in the darkness. “Beast!” Adolph cried. The giant spun his head around to Adolph, and the Cultists running to attack paused, laughing and pointing at Adolph. “If you have concepts of fear, know I am terror incarnate. If you have notions of death, know I am about to give it. If you have dreams of an afterlife, know there will be only darkness! In the name of the four horsemen of the Apocalypse, and in the honor of the Ixian Knight’s, I salute your life,” he said lifting the war maul to his adversary in a respectful manner. When he lowered the maul he began charging in a sprint at the beast, who roared and stepped forwards to meet him head on. “And commend your soul to death!”

Steppenwolf lowered down to one knee quickly and braced his hands together, cupping them together and waiting. The vibrations of the earth from each step the giant took made Adolph’s steps all the harder to time, but he bellowed with the beast a primal, animalistic call of challenge. The two armies seemed to stop fighting to see how this would turn out as Adolph’s foot met Steppenwolf’s hands. With a grunt of exertion the hulking Mystic lifted his hands upwards and pushed with all his might. At the same instant the club of the giant lashed out in a back swing blow. Adolph’s body flew, his robes whipping him on the sides as he lifted higher and higher. When the club came he managed to lift an arm out, and his whole world exploded in pain as he clamped around the branch of a tree.

Calls of encouragement and despair reached his ears as the giant looked to his club stupidly, before growing irritated and shaking it. With a deep breath the priest caught his breath and held on waiting for the right moment. At last, when the giant was done shaking he went to smash Adolph back on the ground. He rolled from the branch and jumped to another, climbing the frayed tree. His body bounced in the air and he flailed around to get a hold of himself as he landed on the bark of the tree with a thud. The giant looked to him as if he was a fly, and he lowered his hand to grab at the exhausted and winded Adolph.

When the hand was mere inches away a bubble formed around the Reclussiarch, forming in the shape of crystal that fragmented and shot at the hand of the giant lacerating the flesh and making large blood stains where the fragments stuck in. Adolph cursed as he rolled to his feet, reminding himself to thank Steppenwolf for casting the Mystic Protection on his body when he launched him airborne.

His boots rattled against the tree, making hollow and loud sounds. The giant was busy staring at his hand in wonder, shaking it before he saw the fly he so despised running at him. He roared, his breath like the stench of a bog mixed in with rotted fruits. Adolph nearly gagged on the smell alone, but his voice rose in a counter shout as he ran to the beast. When his hand lowered the priest was ready, jumping to the side between his digits where he slapped the club. With desperation he jumped onto the giant’s hand, the width of a small tree for each finger and felt his body rise with the giant’s appendage. The beast looked for the squashed Adolph, and he made his move to stand atop his hand.

“Over here you inbred moron!” Adolph shouted. The giant looked to his hand with the one good eye he had, the other brutally beaten eye puffy and oozing puss. When he lifted his hand to his face to get a better look the war priest jumped on the giant’s shoulder. With no hesitation he ran along his muscles to his face, and with weapon in hand he shouted loudly for all to hear. “Watch your terror and despair die by my hands!”

With both hands clasped around the war maul, the strength amplifier made the glow on the weapon shine brightly. With all his might he slammed Crozius into the beasts temple, the weapon connecting and clearly doing damage as the beast’s one good eye rolled into the back of its head. With a whimper of agony the beast fell to one knee. Adolph took his weapon and slammed it into the temple of the beast again, causing it to lift up and backwards. With a bright white light from Steppenwolf’s hands a beam of energy, bright as the sun, shot forth from the Light Mystic, blasting the giant between the eyes. He stumbled backwards and was falling down onto his back. Adolph jumped in time with the beasts fall, lifting weapon high for all to see as he slammed the weapon down with all the titanic might of a god of war.

“Let it be known!” he bellowed. When the giant fell Adolph landed on his face, impacting the weapon between the giant’s eyes. The beast let out a shuddering breath and closed his eye, hands releasing the grip on the makeshift weapon. With a wet splortch noise Crozius lifted from the beasts skull, and he waltzed forwards like a tyrant, hefting his maul to his shoulder. “The Ixians will not be cowed by your tricks and monsters! For we have true courage, and plenty of it to fight you!” He lowered his weapon to the Cultists, and with a roar of defiance he shouted as he ran forwards, screeching for the death of the warriors.

In mere moments Adolph was joined by Steppenwolf and a few of the faster knights, all with a war cry on their lips. The Cultists, seeing the death of the giant had at first taken a step back, but like a cornered rat they turned their fangs upon the Ixians and jumped to meet them in the charge in the courtyard. Their lips easily matched the pitch of the screaming warriors and with a voice that ran out over them all Adolph bellowed, his mind still wandering to the castle medical ward as he silently prayed to Aislinn to remain safe, and a whisper of a promise that he would be there soon.

[Revenant]

As Homonculous pointed out, we wrote this together. Go team!Time slowed around William as he raised his warscythe and leapt into the oncoming horde. The loose rubble from the tower’s collapse tripped up and slowed Cassandra’s minions as they crossed the breach, but William had no such problems. Strong, sure footed, and agile, William pounded across the stones, the razor edge of his warscythe whistling as it arced back and forth. He loved the rush of the cool air on his skin, the feel of the jagged stone digging into his feet, the smooth grip of his weapon’s haft in his hand. All these things were gone when the demon was out, all the real reasons for loving the rush that came with all the fighting and killing. These frail little bits of humanity perished in fire and smoke when the rage got too great, too powerful, to control. William didn’t want to lose everything he was to the demon, not yet.

He needed to get Libra back.

“Come on then you bastard,” William screamed, his blade emitting a wet, tearing sound as it passed through the arm off the first ghoul to come within range. And while the creature kept coming even without its arm, driven by Cassandra’s torturous madness, it mattered little. No amount of fury could keep the creature from becoming a lifeless, blood spurting wreck on the rubble strewn ground.

The ghoul's intervention bought Draug the precious time he needed to prepare himself for the fight. He knew of William from the Cult's intel, but due to the assimilation he also knew William from his own shoes. He knew the extent of the monster hunter's capability. The extra time allowed him to grow an arm out of the top of his spine, extending far back and stretching to reach a length of three meters, with a strange elbow that looked like it could bend in any direction. The arm grasped at an axe left by a fallen spider-rider, gripping the handle and bending back, the elbow pivoting upwards to give the appearance that the entire arm was some sort of spring-loaded mechanism, like a man reaching over his head to scratch his back, except since the arm was growing out of the back, it was hidden from William's field of vision.

Raising his left arm, The Homunculus produced yet another arm from just under his left armpit, the pale hand extending outwards and reaching for the air, almost as if it had a life of its own. The skin on the arm quickly became hard and blackened, the demonic essence from the assimilation turning it into a cursed appendage. Opening his mouth in the same fashion as before, he pulled anothed Ixian longsword out of his throat. He now had four arms- one in the back, three in the front.

“Come on,” William howled over and over again. “Come on, come on, come on.” Each fevered swipe brought the destructive heat a little closer to the surface, each cut of the blade and crack of the haft boiling in his veins with a savage, molten fury. He was unused to fighting like this, in human form, but there was something deliciously freeing about the experience, no matter how hard it was to control.

Frustratingly, William found that these invaders weren’t nearly as mindless as the ones that had previously assaulted the walls. He slashed through one maniac and two took his place. He threw those back into the crowd with the haft of his weapon only to find another group circling around to block off his escape. It was almost as if something was guiding Cassandra’s minions somehow, maneuvering them around to keep William from reaching his prey.

Draug’s attack came so suddenly that William couldn’t adjust. A wave of heat like a boiling furnace rolled off the creature, smothering William like an ashen blanket, and the monster hunter faltered. While the shift from fighting fang, claw, and knife to fighting an overwhelming cascade of blades halted William’s offensive, it was the wave of heat that drove William back.

”How?” the only thing that William could think as Draug’s stolen sword nipped at the flesh of his shoulder. He turned it aside at the last moment with a twist and a quick backpedal but that didn’t matter much. He thought the creature’s mimicry of his form had been an attempt at distraction, a challenge from one freak warrior to another. And judging from William’s reaction, it was a distraction that had worked.

William avoided another swipe from Draug’s axe by slapping the blade aside with the butt end of his warscythe, only to receive a scratch on the side from one of Draug’s other swords. A deep vibrato roar rumbled through William’s mind, a burning red tide of rage that bubbled up from the very depth of his core. He could feel the last remnants of his humanity being subsumed and he knew that there was no sense in fighting it any further. Roaring like an enraged beast, William loosed the demon.

Draug saw his opportunity, and in an awkward full-body motion leaned forward to engage the spring-loaded mechanism of his long, back arm, sending the hand with the machete flying over his head and coming down on William hard. However, it was too late, as William's transformation quickly gave him the heightened reflexes needed to dodge the attack, rolling to one side while the axe slammed into the ground, the blade becoming embedded in the dirt as a large crack erupted from the point of impact.

William used the moment to regain the offensive, scythe blade and bone claws crisscrossing in an arc of bloody vengeance. He wanted to render everything around him down, to feel flesh split and blood splash. And yet, even in his rage state, William managed to hold onto the thought that he needed to get Libra back.

“Die!” he shrieked, whipping his warscythe around so fast that the blade passed clean through Draug’s axe, the hand that held it, and the thick arm the creature had grown from its back. But before he could bring the blade back around to finish the job, Cassandra’s horde recovered and once again started to throw themselves at the revenant.

[TwinCast]

The spider proved harder to kill than Aislinn's bravado had first expected. It wasn't for a lack of effort, but the thing refused to go down. Perhaps it was the fact that Aislinn's force was nothing more than recycled troops. Perhaps it was the fact that as wounded fell again, it was her staff pulling them back while others picked up their weapons, and so the fighting continued. The spider would attack, its fangs killing a few men, while the Ixian Knights formed a stone wall against it's advances further into the infirmary.

Inevitably, they would run out of casualties still capable of fighting.

Liliana herself took its attention more than once, buying precious time with a muttered prayer and a stealthy strike against hairy limb. The spider would let out a hiss of displeasure and turn to face her. Aislinn would invariably hit it with her staff, or one of the Ixian Knights would harass from the other side, and it would be forced to spin and face the new threat. While they were not killing it, they were occupying it. Finally they had hedged it back out of the hole it had created, and allowed the two forces to unite and set up a shield wall.

"What can your flaming hand do?" Liliana asked curtly. They had been fighting for a few minutes now and all sense of etiquette went with the notions of fair play.

Aislinn directed her students to continue the work of recycling the casualties as she answered distractedly, "One shot and that is all, I am more using it to give me a better grip on my staff."

Liliana snorted before she said coldly, "What is it with people and my husband bargaining for a one shot use of power?"

"In my case it is because I am actually giving something up, if I wished for more I would have needed to give up the arm..." Aislinn replied a touch of irritation entering her voice.

Liliana nodded thoughtfully before she looked upon the spider who was watching and waiting. Her hand idly flicked sweat laden hair from her face before she spoke again, "Is it a daily thing?"

Aislinn frowned at the question before she said simply, "I do not follow-"

"This burning hand trick, is it something that renews with the dawn? When does it refresh?" Liliana snapped. Aislinn raised an eyebrow at the question before she shook her head.

"I honestly don't know, I know by the time I awake it has been re-gifted to me. Anything else I know of the ability is hazy, as I was too insane with the betrayal of my family to remember..."

Liliana sighed before she moved amongst the men and said firmly, "Lets hope the Winds of Magic are literal then, we have about ten minutes to midnight. We're going on the hope that one blast will paralyze the thing in fear, so when your hand goes up again, it won't want to repeat the last mistake."

Aislinn nodded knowing that the plan was shoddy at best. Still any hope they could gather would be better than none. Moving amongst the soldiers, they split for the two women who immediately began issuing orders. Aislinn watched, waiting for her opportunity to strike. The second the thing's head was turned, she was going to give it a face full of flame.

[Requiem of Insanity]

Katherine Remi walked with a grace all her own, like the dead bodies piling up in her path were mere roses in a garden. Her white dress had a few splatter marks, her Ghouls gibbering as they ripped up limbs to their mouths and took harrowing bites with their demonically altered teeth and swallowing whole. She moved without pause, stopping for nothing as she carried her little bouquet of roses with her, a smile of content as she made way to the family dorms.

There she found two elves, one green haired and the other silver, rushing with the daughter of the thrice cursed and four times damned Jensen Ambrose. They looked to her entourage of hungry bodyguards, eyes lifting in worry as Azza Ambrose lifted her longsword to the ready, but Katherine merely lifted a hand up to bring calm to the situation.

“I have no time to play today!” her voice carried happily over the sound of violent screaming. “I have to go get ready for my mother’s return!” The green haired elf grabbed both ladies hands and turned, shouting about not bothering to deal with an obviously insane little girl. She watched them flee, a desire to send at least one ghoul to harass them entertaining her thoughts, but she shook them away with an impish giggle recalling her mother’s exact words.

Find Samantha Dahlios

Her tiny feet carried her towards the staircase where she found a dying spider crawling towards her, burn marks all over its segmented body. It was about half her size, and when it looked to her the mandibles upon its ugly face chipped and clacked together, before it scuttled towards her. Katherine looked to the creature with a half cocked expression, before she frowned in anger.

Without a word three ghouls jumped before her, hawk like claws slashing in wild swings as they tore at the spider that dared assault one of the Dark Family. She watched, listening to it squeal as her companions ripped off its own legs and beat at it, howling with vigor and rage and agony in sweet concert that Katherine took divine pleasure in. When the beast stopped crying Katherine stepped forwards once again, her minions falling back into place as she carried herself with a quicker gait. She stopped at the spider, looking at her reflection in one of its many eyes, and with a snarl she kicked the offending oculus, popping it and getting viscera over her shoe. She wiped the tip of her shoe on the beast and moved along the walkway.

There was a fork where the steps went up and down in long, elaborate spiral wide enough for her and one ghoul to walk side by side. She followed the path leading deeper into the castle’s lower levels and found herself on the first floor of the lower level. She walked out onto the red carpet, her feet making a soft pitter patter on the fabric as she turned to look at a barricade of soldiers who held spears to her and the Ghoul she had at her side. She moved forwards, letting the rest shuffle in as she narrowed her eyes upon the congregation of warrior’s. They seemed uncomfortable as the ghoul’s drooled just looking at them, their constant rambling unnerving the stalwart warriors.

“They think that’s enough?” Katherine was laughing in a childish manner, full of joy and happiness as she lifted up a rose from her bouquet and began to twirl it in her hand, sniffing the sweet floral scent that it exhaled to her. She giggled into her rose as the Ghoul’s trampled forwards in a horde, hands outstretched like undead zombies after a fresh meal. The Knight’s weapons lifted up with a chorus of battle cries and they assaulted the mass of mutation head on with all the valor the knight’s were so commonly known for.

Within a minute they were all dead; the next meal of her kindred.

Tip toeing through the carnage like a little girl playing hopscotch she made her way to the end of the hall where one door stood. She could feel the whimpering cries of the mother’s inside the rooms, children’s tears staining the carpets, but she hadn’t the time to indulge in that pleasure. Instead she walked up to the one door away from the others, and with a sweet rap of her knuckles she knocked on the door.

“Samantha Dahlios? Are you home?” Katherine asked lightly. There was no reply, but she could hear some movement on the stone floor. With a grin she stood back and clicked her fingers. Like a pack of hunting dogs the Ghoul’s heads perked up to her, and with a swift motion of her wrist she whistled to the door and signaled for them to rampage into the room. With a maddening cry they all ran, the first one slamming into the door and bouncing back. The next two or three slammed into the first before the train of demonically enhanced monsters crashed the door down. Some trampled the first in their wake as they ran inside and a girl no older than her late teens let out a shrill cry of terror as the sound of fighting broke out. Katherine stepped in casually behind the last Ghoul, and when they at last grabbed her Katherine lifted a hand to restrain her pets.

The daughter of the Lavinian Demon looked like an outcast white haired orphan. Her clothes were baggy and she carried a knife belt across her hip loosely, a white complexion that showed she didn’t get out much. Her face was a mask of rage and fear as she looked to Katherine, building up the courage to say something, but the Ghoul’s grip tightened as the intent to eat her drove them nuts. But they held their desires in check in front of the little girl as she waltzed forwards.

“Oh yes…” Katherine whispered with glee lifting the rose up and gently running it across Samantha Dahlio’s face. “Mother will be most pleased to know we have you.”

Katherine turned her back to Samantha, laughing as she headed outwards. As she walked she gestured to the doors to the families all around her, and like a murder of ravens the Ghouls garbled words of joy out, rushing into the hallway before they split up and began attacking the several rooms, rushing into the sanctums of the families of the Ixian Knights and adding their screams and terror to the verses being sung tonight all in praise of her Mother’s blessed name.

~*~*~

Cassandra’s eyes fluttered as she wrapped her arms around herself, feeling each note in her Requiem strike her like a bolt of lightning. So much suffering, so much agony, all of it made her want to fall to her knees and weep in joy of the bliss of her Cult’s offerings to her. Yet she could not take the time, not yet, to indulge in her own vices on this night. She carried herself steadily forwards, feeling the desires of her personal retinue call to her.

“Soon,” Cassandra whispered loudly, her fingers dancing in the air. “Soon Sei your pitiful Knight’s will be broken and cast asunder at my feet, and you will worship me as the God I am!” She wrapped her fingers into a tight fist, her eyes glowing softly with eldritch energy making them glow in the darkness like a beacon of horror. She cast a strange look to her side at the Homunculi before she nodded and closed her eyes.

In her mind she could see Draug moving swiftly, a device of unknown power in his hands. She could feel the intolerable heat of some essence within his skin she had blessed and her connection to him alerted her that all was going well. She could feel the grip of the Ixians courage starting to wax strong in the courtyard, and it was at that moment she decided to send in her next wave. Content the Knight’s of Dawn and their war beasts could tip the scale long enough to keep the Ixians busy. The counter attack would also catch the forces in the courtyard in a cross fire as they assaulted, making short work of their joy at felling her giant.

It was time for her to make her grand entrance. Her eyes opened again, the red glow intensified as she spoke, her words echoing a deep vibration, her tone otherworldly as she thought to her favored servant. “Draug, return to me!”

She did not wait for a reply, for Draug usually obeyed first and spoke later. She was confident that no matter the situation, or the predicament of his health, he would make all haste to her. Now all it was time for was to meet the betrayer to the Ixian Knights and enter herself onto the game board as the queen.

[Abomination]

Draug’s feet left the ground, his body flying backward and landing several feet away from the crazed monster hunter. His long arm was just a stump flailing around in the air above him, blood leaking out like a broken faucet. The pain was dull, like a constant stinging sensation that pricked his arm. The long arm fell to the ground, and from where it grew out of his back it peeled off like the skin off a banana. As it fell to the ground, it decomposed rapidly, shriveling up and melting into the ground. He grit his teeth and made an expression as close he could to hysterical outrage, but it only looked like mild frustration. It occurred to him that without Libra, William was actually stronger now. Being guided purely by instinct, the revenant was simply acting out the role he was created for. He was in his most natural state at his most unhinged.

The Homunculus quickly pulled off his coat, ripping through his shirt in the process as both articles of clothing were discarded behind him. His upper body was covered in stitches, looking like a chart with the different types of cuts on a cow. His hardened black skin was really prevalent now, and the stitches glowed red with heat, his body like a furnace. The ghouls that assaulted William threw themselves at him with no plan, not even a thought of harming him. Their entire purpose was to separate him from Draug, even if it meant jumping in front of William's warscythe. The Homunculus was not ordering this to happen, but it was almost like his feelings were being conveyed. He was buying time, but the truth of the matter was what made him so frustrated: The poison isn't working. William's transformation burned up all the infected blood that was on him. The dagger in his chest uncompressed, making its presence known by poking at the last layer of charred skin before open air between his ribs. His last plan of action relied on the fact that he could afford to put his body at risk, while William could not. Blood collected behind the dagger, condensing into a strong clot that pressed against his organs.

A collective wave of understanding passed through the ghouls as Draug waded back into the fray, their tactics unconsciously shifting to allow them to provide a better avenue for attack. The second wave of attackers had already been exhausted, their shattered forms and fetid blood turning the northern courtyard into an abattoir. And yet though an unknown number of the creatures had thrown themselves in front of William’s gore slicked blade, a swarm of them continued to pour into the gap, summoned from all directions by Draug’s unconscious command.

It was at this point that another warrior would have begun to make a tactical retreat. It was apparent that even William’s savage ferocity and inhuman strength wouldn’t be able to help him hold the wall for much longer. His fate, should he stay, was to be buried under a ton of mutant flesh and torn asunder by a hundred filth encrusted claws. Even in the face of such overwhelming odds however, the red tide of William’s rage had washed over him, sweeping all conscious thought away on a sea of molten fury.

“Die!” he shrieked, slashing apart another trio of ghouls with a single swipe of his blade. “Kill you! Coward! Die! Die! Die! Die!” The human madmen who had survived the initial assault had already fled the area, William’s blazing aura of heat making it too hard to maintain the exertion of fighting in the space around the revenant. Even the giant spiders gave pause, their drug addled, rage fuelled minds instinctively rebelling from the incarnation of death that stood against them. But even without these backups, Cassandra’s ghouls continued to pour into William’s killing zone, driven on mindlessly to throw away their lives in order to gain nothing more than a few seconds of time.

A massive ghoul, twice the size of its twisted brethren, howled as it picked up severed parts of its comrades and hurled them at William. In its former life, the ghoul must have been a giant of a man, but great size and fortitude meant little against the sickening depravations of Cassandra and her minions. Two severed arms and the torso which it used to belong to slammed into William, knocking the revenant back a step. William’s foot threatened to slip in the thick, rapidly clotting blood on the shattered stones beneath him but he clamped his talons down tight, cracking the rock and leaving furrowed grooves in his wake.

Howling his fury as a challenge, William leapt at the giant ghoul, his demon heightened strength easily enough to carry him over the heads of the surrounding creatures. He collided squarely with the ghouls scarred, muscular chest, driving the creature back in turn. Without iron hard bone talons of his own, the giant crashed to the ground beneath the revenant’s weight. Roaring his triumph, William reversed his grip on his weapon’s haft and drove it through the giant’s face and deep into the ground beneath it.

Draug's attack was ready, his mind focused on the way to make the monster hunter fall. He charged out, ready to capitalize on William's exertion to fell the larger ghoul, to take advantage of the position of the warscythe in the ground, but then something passed through his mind. He was a creature that felt little pain, but his body shuddered with a strong, visceral feeling that he couldn't shake.

- - - - - - - - - -

"Draug, return to me!"

- - - - - - - - - -

William slapped Draug’s first lunging attack aside, his hardened bone carapace ringing off the battered steel. He snarled as he clinched in to the mimic, allowing the full brunt of his rage to roll off him in a wave of superheated energy. “You want my body?” he roared, grabbing Draug’s second blade and locking it tight in his bony grasp. “Take it!” William propelled his knee into the Homunculus’ gut with the force of a battering ram, feeling something give way. “Take it!” he screamed again, the feeble blade in his hand snapping under the intense pressure of William’s grasp. “Take it!” A mindless fury seized the revenant and he slammed his clenched fist, still holding the shattered sword, into Draug’s throat, crushing the creature’s windpipe in a single vicious hammer blow. He then swing his fist to the side, the blade attached chopping through both of Draug's left arms like butter.

Draug withstood the attacks, his eyes not even looking at William as he took the blows. He was not thinking about his plan at all, the dagger in his chest which was ready to burst out to strike William remaining where it was. He was compelled to a certain goal, a desire far greater than preventing the revenant's onslaught. He stared at the ground, blood trickling out of his mouth. He was blood-linked to Cassandra Remi, his eyes following her body like a moving beacon beneath the ground. He could not see her directly, but he almost knew where she was. She needed him, and he had no choice but to oblige. As William broke his neck, he played the victim, succumbing to the implications.

The overwhelming sense of rage flowed out of William as Draug crumpled to the ground beneath him, seemingly lifeless. The remaining ghouls circled warily around the pair, unwilling to charge to prevent trampling their fallen leader. William snorted derisively as he bent to retrieve the coat where Draug had stashed Libra. Cassandra’s servants were apparently willing to throw away a thousand lives for a minimal gain, but weren’t willing to take any risks where their own lives were concerned.

As William left, Draug's body came back to life. He possessed the ability to survive a long time without breathing. The Homunculus punched the rock ground with his remaining right arm, driving his fist deep underground. As William lifted the coat, he saw a hand grasping Libra only for a moment before it disappeared below his reach into a hole. The monster hunter recognized the blackened hand as he turned around, seeing Draug standing there with his one good arm, holding Libra precariously over his bleeding mouth, threatening to sink it into his makeshift body. He wanted the revenant to improve, so that next time he could take his body without interruption. Since he shared in William's memories, he saw that the monster hunter referred to himself as a living weapon. Draug saw the similarities in his own situation, but the difference was that he had a wielder. Draug had no use for such a piece of equipment, but he felt that William would become stronger if he was allowed to completely lose himself.

There was also the fact that if William didn't get his hands on Libra soon, he wouldn't be able to tell friend from foe.

William panicked, his heart skipping a beat as his last vestiges of sanity made him run towards The Homunculus. The monster hunter was too late however, as the last of The Libra Rod disappeared down his throat. However, the action caused a... change in his body. Merely holding the rod had limited effects for him, but consuming it, making it a part of his being... made him feel terrified.

He no longer knew where his mother was. Her soft voice that sang lullabies in his mind disappeared. Her will, which guided his actions and sustained him, was being suppressed. He started losing control of his body, falling to his knees and choking. The limited amount of feelings he experienced were being quenched, his mind turning blank as the bond between him and his mother started fading. Without Cassandra Remi, he could not keep his self, and his psyche would start to unravel. As a defense mechanism, his body shook, his throat expanding until he threw up the rod onto the dirt. Saliva dropped out of his mouth as his eyes came back into focus, his veins visible along his forehead. He got up and backed up, allowing a fresh wave of ghouls to intercept William as he got close.

He experienced a brief notion of confusion, as if he died and came back to life, but it was nothing compared to the aching in his chest, in his love for his mother. Each moment he spent apart from her was like a knife being driven through his heart. This was true pain for him.

"Strength," he said loud enough for William to hear. He looked at the rod. "Lies not in your crutch."

The ghouls assaulted William once more, who tried to keep his eyes on Draug as he dispatched them, but then a huge tremor shook the courtyard and he almost lost his footing, looking down to balance himself in the wake of what was apparently the falling of the giant from the main courtyard. He looked back at where Draug stood as soon as he could, but The Homunculus was gone. All that was left was a bloodstain on the ground from where his two left arms were bleeding. Upon this realization, he noticed something bizarre: The ghouls stopped attacking him. All at once, they started running from him, heading towards the castle as if he wasn't there. He ran after one, driving his claws into a ghoul's back, but it continued to crawl after falling to the ground. Even while they were being attacked, they compelled themselves to ignore him, proceeding inside any way they could. They were following Draug's last unintentional thought: To serve The Dark Mother, and make those suffer who can't otherwise stop them.

[Dissinger]

Boots smacked hard upon the flagstone hallway as the Lavinian Demon pushed onwards. His eyes never stopped searching, looking for some sign of her even as he heard the howls. He continued to push his body to the limits, hounded at every turn by the fiendish ghouls of the enemy. He didn’t stop to contemplate the attack or what it meant, nor did he even worry about who was attacking. That was for the leadership to worry over. Seth was concerned with only three people in his life, and with the words of William Arcus, two were in great danger. His boots beat faster as the ghouls chased down the hall, stumbling and tripping over themselves to get their perceived meal.

It wasn’t until he reached the second intersection that he realized the howls were calling more ghouls into the area. They dogged after him in a determined fashion, even as they ripped each other apart to slow him down. He couldn’t stop running, not even for a second; otherwise he would never make the Dorms. His lungs burned from an exertion he had not put them through in some time. It had been at least several years since he had ever had reason to run the streets of Lavinya, and with the exception of the occasional exertion he had never done so for this long.

He was beginning to suspect the ghouls were specifically targeting him when he ran by a group of Ixian Knights fending them off. The ghouls upon seeing the fleet form of the thief immediately turned, risking being swept up in the Knight’s advance to come after him, to slow him down and drag him under. Using the situation to its fullest he used a tactic he knew would make Sei Orlouge frown…

…he slid right by the poor knight and let him catch the rampant host of ghouls after him. The man realizing what was going on only made it a few steps before the supernatural hunger caused more than a few ghouls to slow down and begin feasting upon the man. In truth Seth would feel bad about the death; it would haunt his dreams for more than a few nights until he finally confessed the act to Liliana. At that moment, at that time, he didn’t care. If he didn’t get to the dorms, there would be no confession to Liliana unless it was to her corpse.

The Demon continued the chase hearing the braying howls of more ghouls, a veritable tide of them forcing the Lavinian to continue to rush through the castle. He was nearing the final stretch of hallway, before he would be at the common area of his dorms. He heard screams of death and destruction, only fueling his panicked sprint further into the dorms. He broke into the common area and froze, witnessing the full debauchery of the ghouls he had been running from only moments before. His stride slowed to a few pattering steps before he leaned against the doorframe of his dorm.

It looked like someone had ransacked the thief’s rooms. Furniture was strewn everywhere, blood splashed in places and though he mentally blocked out the realization of what it was, he saw bits of flesh everywhere. His eyes took in the grisly scene before his hoarse voice rang out, “Sam?! Samantha!”

There was no reply.

He moved over the bits of flesh to see some were by far too old and too young to be his daughter. His eyes narrowed before he turned back to the door and saw the ghoul pack tripping over it self as they prepared to rush the Lavinian. He had no time to search the debris for his daughter, to confirm if she died, but gods help anyone who tried to stop him, he would tear anyone apart who harmed his daughter. His eyes grew dangerously closed as daggers appeared in his hands, where they were needed. A throaty growl left his lips that made even the ghouls pause, here was no terrified meal. This was a predator like them. Moving slowly into the room the Lavinian Demon carefully moved back a step, merely widening his stance before he growled out, “I can’t afford you to slow me down, so I guess my dance cards empty boys. Who wants to die first?”

The ghouls pushed forward with a howl and the dance began. Knife slashes cut through artery and flesh with equal ease. The demon began cutting through tendons and leaving wounded ghouls in his wake. Had he been trying to actually kill his foe he would have been slowed down, but instead he was hurting and maiming, using the quickest possible method of disabling his opponent before moving onto the next. The fact they were coming through the doorway helped as they could only trickle through so fast. Further the maddening hunger that was gripping them caused those who were not immediately in danger of dying to turn upon the weaker brethren in his wake, beginning an orgy of wrath and destruction as the temperature in the room rose to a fevered pitch.

Sweat stained Seth’s shirt causing it to hang off his body as a second skin even as he continued to dance through the ghouls. Some would land raking claws only to be ignored as the pain was nowhere near enough to overcome his threshold. Others would meet the leather of his vest, jacket, and pants unable to cause any lasting damage. His dance continued unabated before he finally cleaned his blades with a flick. By the time they had finished coming through the doorway the ones able to continue picked themselves up to realize that a new problem had arisen in the wake of the foolhardy charge.

Seth was on the other side of the narrow doorway to the common area, and he was relaxed in posture waiting for them to come back through.

By this time any sane predator would realize the tactic was to push through and limit exposure to a few men. Each time they would be worn down more and more as they hurtled through the door tearing at each other to get at him. A sane predator would have merely let the Lavinian go and remained behind to consolidate their kills. The ghouls however, were no sane predator. They were driven by a rage and bloodlust that matched the Lavinian’s own. A howl erupted from the ghouls as the Demon let out a snarl and fought them again, making use of the doorway to shield himself. Ghouls were hacked to pieces trying to get through the narrow doorway before Seth calmly walked back in and began searching the fragments of rational people, his neighbors and the children they had.

It was sickening work, piecing people back together to figure out what belonged to whom. He could begin to see that someone had intentionally left all these pieces for him to find. A gruesome puzzle not meant to deter or enrage Seth, no. It was a puzzle left to detain him, to make him waste time. He was more than halfway through the puzzle before it hit him. Samantha wasn’t here, at least not anymore. Liliana’s gear was nowhere to be found, and with an attack on the castle her sword and shield would not have been anywhere but in her hands. Samantha could have gone with Liliana, in which case the next logical thing was to figure out where they would have gone.

That left him with one answer, the medical ward.

[The Last Wolf]

Well, they can't all be easy kills. Renault thought as he rolled about the floor with a Chaplain, both men swinging their fists wildly in an attempt to knock the other man out. The mercenary was fairly certain he was near the dormitory area of the castle; numerous sleeping areas led him to believe such a thing. He had spied this particular Chaplain trying to escort a young woman in her twenties out of danger, complete with the usual nonsensical rhetoric of how good with triumph over evil, and so forth. Renault was fairly certain that the woman didn't believe in such things, particularly as Renault's katana was still embedded deep within her stomach.

Not that he had been trying to aim for the girl. She was defenseless and weak, while the Chaplain was fully armed and skilled. Only those foolish cultists would dare to prioritize the weak kill that screamed over the veteran who fought back. Renault had simply struck at the first target to round the corner into him, which had been the girl. She was still moaning about on the floor, feebly trying to remove the katana as blood poured from her wound.

The Chaplain had attacked Renault no less than half a second later, smashing away with some sort of wicked blade that both sliced and bashed; the mercenary had managed to dodge the first blow, and tackle the Chaplain to the ground. Having no real weapon to work with, Renault bit down upon the man's wrist as viciously as if he were one of Cassandra's blood-thirsty ghouls. Red hot liquid coursed down Renault's cheeks as the Chaplain dropped his weapon, shrieking a hymn of curses.

A number of cultists and Ixian knights corpses were strewn about the floor, along with their discarded weapons. It was those weapons that mattered the most to Renault at the moment, and as he took a hard punch to his face, those discarded weapons looked even more appetizing. Never one to rely solely on one approach, or the honorable approach for that matter, Renault scooped up a dagger covered with rust and blood. As the Chaplain charged him, screaming a litany of righteous hate, the mercenary flung the former cultist's weapon into the side of the man's throat.

That shut him up. Renault thought with a grin as he raised his fists. Two quick shots to the Chaplain's face had the man on the ground, but Renault wasn't finished yet. The mercenary pounced atop the wounded man, and yanked out the bloodied dagger that was still lodged in the Chaplain's throat.

"Foul being who drinks in wanton death!" screamed the Chaplain in a gurgling, pain filled voice, "the justice of the Ixian's Knights is upon you! Know that your time is-"

"Enough! With! The! Goddamn! Preaching!" Renault screamed back, accentuating each word with a stab to the dying Chaplain's side. The first two blows bounced off the leather armor concealed beneath the man's heavy robes, but the third found sweet purchase in the man's flesh. The fourth and fifth strikes spewed blood and intestines across those halls claimed hallow by the bleeding man.

"Amen, eh?" Renault finished as the Chaplain let out a final moan of pain, and then remained silent. The mercenary let out a cruel chuckle as he tossed aside the dagger, and gave the dead man one last kick for good measure.

Drenched with blood, his own and his enemies (mostly the latter), Renault walked over towards the wounded girl. The night was well underway, and there were quite a few stars out to be seen. There was a duo of swordsmen, one of which was quite the foul mouth. Another star twinkled as he grew arms from his back, snatching fallen weapons and putting them to use once more. That star battled with another star, a muscular man with a war-scythe. Two more stars, mages, defended the infirmary.

"So many stars are out tonight," Renault hissed as he reached the girl, "I enjoy star-gazing myself. It's particularly fun to watch them burn out."

"Even when gone, a bright star will still shine, if only in our hearts," a deep voice echoed throughout the halls. Renault turned to see a tall man with a short mess of black hair staring directly at him. The newcomer was dressed in the standard robes of a Chaplain, though this man wore his armor over his robes instead of under them.

The Chaplain stood atop a small flight of stairs, gripping tightly a long sword in his right hand. There was still a good ten feet or so between the two swordsmen; both eyed one another coolly. Slowly, with the gold buttons that adorned his leather armor clinking, the Chaplain began a slow descent down the steps; his footing sure, his eyes fixed only ahead.

“For that is the greatest glory. Men and women, princes and thieves, murderers and holy men; the same fate awaits us all. Our skin and bones will be reduced to ash,” the man whispered as he took hold of his long sword in both hands, “but are names will be remembered eternally. That is a man’s greatest glory.”

“You mistake me for a star,” Renault chuckled at the thought of eternal glory, “I’m just a gust of wind. I go where I want, where I please.”

Renault pointed at the dead Chaplain on the floor, who’s blood began to pool.

“And no star is the wiser,” Renault finished with a grin. The Chaplain eyed his fallen companion steadily.

“Arnold Grieven, husband to Leanor, father to two. May the Thaynes lay thee to a peaceful rest, my brother-in-arms,” the man whispered, his eyes locked in solemn prayer.

“Oh, yes, because they were paying so much attention when I gutted him like a fish,” the mercenary snorted, “better late than never I suppose.”

Instantly the Chaplain's eyes were alight with a fiery passion. His voice, which was only moments ago a quite prayer, boomed with authority and dignity. His words echoed throughout the hall majestically, ringing clear in every ear; the dead, the dying, and those who would still dance away a bit longer from mankind’s inevitable end.

“BE SILENT DOG!” the enraged man bellowed; despite himself Renault inwardly cringed, “Show respect to the valiant warrior lain low this day! Treat well the fallen, for ye too are destined to meet the same fate! BOW THY HEAD!”

Renault spat on the ground, and then yanked his katana forcefully out of the girl. She moaned in pain; her feeble hands desperately tried to stem the blood that oozed from her stomach, painting her fair skin red. Renault ignored her pleas and moans for help, and pointed his blade at the Chaplain.

“And who are you, that I should bow so low?” Renault asked as his body swelled with anticipation. He had had enough of the assassinations and striking from the shadows; this would be a fight!

“Harold Andres! Second in command of the Chaplains, right hand to Adolph Gretzel, wielder of Crozius! Give me thy name, less you die in obscurity!” Harold barked as he quickly began to cross the distance between the two.

“I told you!” Renault hissed as he made for his foe; Muramasa ached to cut the man down. The katana met the long sword in battle; sparks danced about, little stars on their own, destined to fade away just like everything else.

“I’m just a gust of wind!”

[Revenant]

An idle slash to the back of the legs brought one of the retreating ghouls to its knees, but despite its injuries the creature continued to ignore the monster hunter. Unable to walk, the misshapen monstrosity fought to drag itself towards the castle in order to fulfill the same drive that only a moment before had thrown it suicidally upon the revenant’s blade. It seemed that with the departure of Cassandra’s more formidable minion, the rest of the underlings had no time left to play with the blood stained monster hunter.

What an utter waste of time, he grumbled, reaching down to retrieve the rod that Draug had dropped at his feet. All of the irritation, annoyance, and rage fled the revenant’s turbulent mind the instant he touched the Libra. Sighing with relief for a brief second, before that too was locked away in the back of his mind, William tucked the rod back into his belt and looped it around to ensure it could not be taken again so easily. Finishing that, he pushed his way through the throng of retreating ghouls to retrieve the warscythe from its resting place in the ghoul giant’s skull. The demon faded back inside as he tugged the obsidian blade free from its prison, becoming once more northing but an itch in William’s bones. All that was left behind to show that he had even succumbed to his rage were the angry red welts Draug’s blades had left as they kissed him. Even those would vanish into nothingness as his healing abilities stitched them back together with a precision no surgeon could have mastered.

Finally afforded some breathing room, William took a moment to survey the carnage which covered the northern courtyard. His little altercation with Draug had left hundreds of pieces of misshapen flesh strewn across a wide area, and there was so much blood soaking into the courtyard’s earthen floor that William had to wonder if Ta’Gaz wouldn’t drown in it. That was, of course, assuming that Ta’Gaz had survived the fall of Third Tower.

But he had more pressing matters than the Oracle of the Moon at the moment. The sounds he heard coming from inside the castle meant that all hell had broken loose while Cassandra’s minions were playing keep away with him. “Damned waste of time,” he growled, making his way around the ghouls swarming the entrance to find a less occupied way back in the castle.

Ringing steel and pained screams called out to William from all sides, but as delightful as it would have been to join the swirling melee, William ignored it all and pushed through the abattoir that the castle’s winding corridors had become. He needed to get to the lower corridors but knew that they would be too choked with violence by this point to allow him easy passage. It was fortunate for William that he had been the one Sei brought to the castle on his first trip here, which meant that he knew something that few others in the castle did.

William broke off of the central corridor and, Instead of heading for the main stairwells, headed for the castle’s primary tower. Each level of the tower had a dead-end corridor that the army used as meditating spots or art galleries. But despite how they were used, each corridor had one similarity, a carved iron mural which covered most of the dead-end wall. What the others didn’t know was that the corridors weren’t really dead-ends, and that the murals weren’t really murals.

“Halt dog and face me!”

The booming voice behind William could only belong to one of the Ixian Knights’ chaplains, the self-proclaimed spiritual leaders of Sei’s makeshift army. “Just what I need right now,” William grumbled, rounding upon the chaplain with his warscythe at the ready just in case the crazed fanatic attacked him.

“I will show you the justice of our truth …,” the chaplain’s pontification cut off mid-sentence when the man realized who the blood soaked figure in front of him was. Instantly, the chaplain dropped his weapon to his side and assumed a less combative stance. “Captain Arcus? I beg your pardon, my lord.”

William waved the chaplain off. “I take no offense. Carry on then,” he said and turned back to the mural.

“I need you to follow me Captain. The medical and housing wards are being overrun and we need all the help we can get.” The chaplain turned to leave but stopped when he saw that William wasn’t budging. “Captain? We don’t have much time.”

William dismissed the chaplain with a curt gesture. “Nonsense, the house guard should have finished arming by now and should be making their way into the fray.”

“They were arming? Why in the pyre would they be doing that instead of coming to reinforce the walls when we requested?”

“Because I ordered them to,” William said, shrugging.

The chaplain actually stepped back under the weight of the statement. “You … ordered them …” In an instant he had regained his composure, his face a mask of the righteous wrath for which his order had become famous. “Hundreds have died fighting in the halls of the castle because of you! Do you have any idea how many of them could have been spared if we could have stopped these blasphemers at the walls?”

“The better question is do I care?”

The chaplain’s mouth literally frothed with anger as he screamed his fury at William. “Adolph shall hear of your transgressions, demon, and there will be a reckoning.”

William crossed the distance between himself and the chaplain in the blink of an eye, hoisting the fervent warrior a full head’s length off the ground by his throat. “You do that,” he hissed, “And tell him that I’ll gladly kill him again any times he wants.” He released the wheezing chaplain, who tumbled to the floor in a heap, and turned once again towards the mural. Behind him, the chaplain scurried off to gather reinforcements or to lend aid to the innocents being slaughtered throughout the castle by the dozens. Both options didn’t matter to William since he would be finished and away by the time either of those things came to pass.

Cursed eyes roamed over the mural, tracing the black spider veins that appeared on the iron’s surface. The destructive sight that the Thayne Jomil had cursed William with had become more effective as he attuned himself with his destructive nature. Where it once would have taken him minutes to find what he was looking for, it now took him less than ten seconds to find the hairline crack in the mural’s perfectly sculpted surface. One swift move and a loud clang rang across the corridor as the razor edge of William’s warscythe found purchase in the mural.

Iron groaned in strained protest as William heaved his prodigious might against the warscythe’s haft. On his initial foray into the castle with Sei, when the ancient structure had been abandoned by all but the dust and cobwebs of the years gone by, an access shaft had run behind the mural, leading from the lowest level of the dungeons below to the top of the main tower. He and Sei had triggered the trap which had sealed the shaft with the iron mural that stood before William, and its mirrors on the other floors. At the time he hadn’t been strong enough to budge the heavy iron plate and had been forced to seek an alternate path through the castle. But time and practice had made him strong, and the mural would no longer hamper the monster hunter.

Squealing in protest, the mural finally gave way to William’s strength, swinging open on ancient hinges to reveal a yawning abyssal chasm behind it. William grinned as he dropped down into the darkness, leaving the portal open behind him. He didn’t care if the chaplain and his goons found out now. It was already too late to stop him.

The silence that pervaded the dungeon was a complete mirror to the unrelenting chaos above. Not that it mattered much, he mused as he swiftly made his way through the cell blocks and torture rooms that had lain dormant underneath the castle since Cassandra’s dismissal. Another interesting thing that the monster hunter knew about the castle was how it had a secret portal in the lowest level of the dungeon. It had been his and Sei’s entry point into the castle and was now left as a means for escape in the event that something horrible broke out above. Too bad Cassandra’s assault had happened too quickly for anyone to take advantage of it.

Sei had had the portal warded by a powerful guard spell which forbid anyone but one of the Nine from opening it. And then Cassandra had been cast out of the Ixian Knight it had been further enhanced to only open if that member of the Nine had no ill intent towards Sei’s army. It was ironic, he thought as he laid his open palm on the portal, that he had found Libra in the upper chambers of this very castle. How delicious it was that it was his Zodiac Weapon which disassociated all hostile emotions from his mind and allowed him access to the portal. Even better, it was Sei who had made it all possible.

The portal swung open silently, the magic wards covering it erased by William’s contact. The revenant retreated a step, allowing the shadowy figures beyond the portal access to the castle’s unguarded interior.

“Welcome back Cassandra.”

[Requiem of Insanity]

Cassandra’s feet entered back into the place she was banished from long ago, memories filling her mind as she smiled brightly to the Revenant who opened the way for her triumphant return. Those who stood near her all took uncomfortable steps away from the heat exuding demonkin, faces wrinkling in discomfort as she giggled to herself looking upon the castle proper’s torture room. How beautifully fitting.

“It is good to be back,” Cassandra cooed as she looked to the inhuman eyes of the monster created by Sei Orlouge. William’s face gave her an emotionless look, and she returned his heat with a cold, beguiling stare as the two biggest monsters within Sei’s old army met face to face. It was always a difference between the two. Cassandra was poised and elegant in her slaughter, William feral and bestial, but both had killed hundreds with no remorse and a respect of two hunters was always prevalent between the two.

She looked up to the castle ceiling, her eyes closed as she grinned, feeling the screams fill the air as at last she announced her arrival upon the castle grounds. A powerful aura flew from her body, a cold and chilling feeling that even William felt in his blistering bones crawl to the heavens themselves and unleash a wave of dread all across the corridors of the castle. Creatures of the night bellowed with the Cultists, spiders screeching as the attacks were met with a renewed vigor and fresh insane driven adrenaline.

Cassandra tilted her head to the Revenant and gave him a charming look, extending her hand to him in gratitude, favoring him with a damning smile. “I have you to thank, William.” She recalled the memory of the day they met in the woods when he returned home from the Citadel. He was rather annoyed that he was stuck babysitting new recruits for the Mystic King of Ixia and on his way back from another session in venting his frustrations, the demi god decided to approach him.. She showed herself to him, and he paused as she offered the one thing William wanted more than anything.

She could feel every fiber of his body’s desire to not just defeat Sei Orlouge; a defeat meant nothing to the Revenant. He wanted to show Sei just how wrong he was for shaping William the way he did, the way the Soul Lord shaped him. He wanted to obliterate all Sei knew in the fires of destruction, then kill the man himself. Luckily for all parties involved Cassandra had the means to do just as William wanted. She explained her grand design as her Ghoul’s began to surround the Ixian Captain, a mere show of force to demonstrate the power she had at her disposal. William thought it over, and agreed to her plan on one condition.

She knew he worked hard to defeat the Tantalus troupes little blood ward, as well as ensure the correct idiots ran the guard and watch. She had in turn freed prisoners all across Radansath, Gisela, Akashima, and rounded up every bandit and sell sword in Concordia forest. Her words infected them like a poison and soon they all bent to her will. The only puzzle piece she couldn’t counter was getting herself inside without notice. True, being a demi-god meant she was near unstoppable, as William had pointed out, but why expose your most powerful piece so early in the game? With his aid she was able to infiltrate right into the heart of the castle to achieve her goals.

“Ah such wonderful memories,” Cassandra said moving forwards, her naked feet striding flawlessly ahead of her, still floating in the air just an inch off the ground. William turned to look at her entourage and he snarled as her father Jebb stepped forwards to the demonkin and showed a matching hostile attitude. Both sneered to the other before Jebb turned away and walked ahead of Cassandra, his body moving into the shadows and out of sight. Kane, her lover and only compatible soul for her twisted, tainted love, looked to William with terror, the grip on his axe so tight his knuckles turned white. Even her daughter Aerith steered clear, hiding next to Kane as the Homunculi shuffled forwards, but kept a respectful distance.

“I am glad you are enjoying the homecoming,” William grunted in his gravelly voice. She did miss his little mannerisms so, as she could tell he was using his toy weapon, Libra. “Yet you have a promise to fulfill.”

Cassandra looked to him with a casual glance, before she shrugged and turned, lifting one hand up to him. The Revenant stopped before her, eyes hungrily set upon her like he would slice in her half if but given the chance. She placed her palm close to his face, feeling his heat blistering her hand, but a cooling sensation filled her fingertips and the heat vanished. She felt the tingle of her power move within her and she smiled, looking to see her nail’s run with blood. When she was touched his charred skin she felt the rage of the fire within him, the inferno welling inside.

She touched the bloodied digits to his forehead in several places, making runes that seared and boiled the blood being dropped. William’s body shook and trembled, but he said nothing as she worked until at last, with a pat on his head like he were a child, Cassandra removed her hand. It had burned in several places from the contact, but as she removed her appendage her skin regenerated quickly back to a creamy, silk soft skin. “There,” she said proudly. “I have warded your mind from would be invaders, William. Let them come and try to get inside your head; they will only be able to read the mind of the demon within you. Just as you scorch those with your fire outside, in their minds they will burn if they tread inside you for too long.”

William took a step back, regaining his composure as she simply walked on away from the demonkin. What he did now mattered not to her or her plans. If she never saw him again, it would still be too soon. She had too much left to accomplish to be wasting anymore of her precious time on the hot headed Revenant, and once she gave her blessing to him he seemed to be on the same page as she was. She gave a glance back to him, a warning look that he returned, before both nodded in understanding; contracts fulfilled, a pleasure to do business.

Now all that was left was for her to find the…

…A knife whizzed by her ear so fast she had not even the chance to read it in time, locks of her divine hair floating into the air behind her. Aerith’s eyes went wide with fear, but one of her bodyguards leapt forwards, taking the blade to the face in the right eye in her stead, collapsing. In a frenzy the other Homonculli ranked up between Aerith and Kane as Cassandra snarled at whoever dared defy her. “Show yourself,” Cassandra bellowed as she lifted a hand out to send her dark ambitions forwards. The infallible wave of dread flowed from her, like an extension of her will but even more than that. It was her Dark Companion, her twisted lover, her dark, dutiful darling. The wave road forwards, but returned in a hurry, hissing in her ear as she opened her eyes in alarm.

Dark, maddened chuckling filled her ears as a trench coat wearing soldier stepped forwards, a scythe in hand that he flicked a switch to revert it into a sword, and back again like a nervous twitch. His red tipped hair offended her, as well as that leering smile of the accursed enigmatic immortal; Jensen Ambrose.

“Well, looks like I found you at long last, bitch,” Jensen’s voice was teetering on the edge of wrath and mirth, his tortured soul evident in the words he spoke. “All the people you killed, all the ones who suffered; I’m going to enjoy making you pay for it all.” Jensen giggled insanely as his body began to sway back and forth into his favored caieporiea fighting style.

“Make me suffer, like Stephanie Odara, you mangy mutt?” Cassandra laughed as she narrowed her eyes in challenge. “I don’t think you could make me suffer nearly as long as I made her suffer. Did you not say you would live for her?” Cassandra tisked her tongue in a mocking way. “Pity she cannot do the same for you.”

It was just as she expected him to react. Jensen’s face contorted and twitched before he bellowed a half chuckle, half scream of loss as he charged her, weapon swirling all around his body at the ready to kill her. She stood her ground, inviting him to come to her, flashing her teeth to him as he called for her blood lost in the frenzy to avenge the death of his love at Cassandra's hands. When he was within striking distance the immortal’s face let spit fly out, his weapon coming in for an executioner’s strike as he put his all into the attack.

Without even moving Cassandra could feel the wave of heat over her shoulder, a whistling sound passing her ear a second time as the warscythe in William's hand flew outwards like a javelin, impaling Jensen square in the chest knocking him back in the air where he landed in a half roll, collapsing upon himself and wheezing as he gasped for air. William’s body stomped towards the immortal as Cassandra began to move on.

“This one’s free,” William’s rough tone barked. Cassandra smiled to him as she walked on, her feet never moving faster than they had to take her in a steady walk. Her group of followers joined her as she let, leaving the immortal and the Revenant to play together while she moved along.

It’s so good to be home, Cassandra mused with a dark smile as she headed deeper into the castle.

[El Diablo Perro]

Every blasted hallway of the Ixian Castle was full of fighting! Not a corridor was untouched, not a room unmolested. Everywhere that feet could even remotely plant themselves was fought upon with vigor and zealotry spurred by duty and madness. The Cultists had ran themselves into every nook and cranny of the estate of Sei Orlouge and they cackled, howled, swore, and screamed as their weapons found flesh, their insatiable desires being fulfilled in whatever form of depravity they partook in.

Which meant that Memnar was constantly postponed to find his prize; a detail that caused him to be eternally annoyed the further along the depths he traveled. How many had been slain was a mystery to him, the bodies heaping upon both sides. Several spiders were curled into a position of eternal rest, while Chaplains were silenced with throats slashed, hearts cleaved out, or dismembered with only their robes to indicate who they may had once been. Indeed the only thing to give him pause was to see the legendary Seth Dahlios sprinting towards the dormitory’s, a horde of Ghouls chasing him. A flash of panic made his heart beat inwardly, but his face remained cold as ever as he observed from the shadows how the Lavinian Demon slid past one of his own warrior’s and fed him to the hungry mass of demonic flesh.

It seemed Sei’s men had much on their mind, Memnar mused to himself realizing the danger was over for the moment. He carried himself towards a walkway that had a narrow service tunnel that would lead him to a long corridor, if his memory served him well. What lay on the other side was his prize he sought for his services (though even he began to ponder if anything was worth this hell he was walking through.) and he wet his lips in anticipation. Twenty yards or so, not much longer he surmised to be at his goal for acquiring more power.

There was a loud screech that bellowed in the air, probably another giant spider getting destroyed in the chaos of the war, for that was what this was, a war. The fortress of the Ixians trembled as several passages and walls were shattered, destroyed by the weight of the monsters Cassandra brought to bare. It was a testament to her madness and drive, he supposed, to even get mindless beasts to join her crusade. If only everyone was aware what exactly was going on in this war, what the real motives were…

…He laughed as he thought of that. A sick, defeated chuckle. With the frenzy she whipped up into her warriors, he supposed it didn’t matter what her motives her. She gave them what they wanted, in return she would get what was hers. Hell even Memnar fell for her beguiling charisma when she offered him power. It was all he wanted, and her motives meant nothing in the end to him.

“More power,” he whispered. “True power, not the temporary solutions people crave these days. Ultimate, world changing power…” His hand clenched into a tight fist as he continued down the narrow service tunnel and turned towards the corridor observing a Ixian Knight with his back turned to him, Cobalt blue uniform faded as if soaked in some dark liquid. It didn’t take his advanced intellect to know what that was, and he looked to the man with narrow eyes, lifting his robe and dusting it as he watched in the shadows.

The corridor seemed to have mangled bodies everywhere, just like the rest of the castle. The bodies did however have an unusual quirk to them. They were bitten into and ripped apart. Some were unrecognizable, and when he scanned to the other end of the hall he found a Ghoul with several gashes across his torso, and his head completely missing in a very unclean cut. The Ixian looked to the floor, head bowed as if looking into the abyss of a hole, his shoulders sagging as he coughed in a forced manner.

Memnar realized he was crying.

Not one to ever waste a good opportunity, the corrupt mage lowered his hand to the ground, spotting a dagger and lifting it with all the quietness of a mouse in a house with a cat. He lifted his footsteps as silently as he could, tapping heel to earth first, then finishing the step in a half motion before he lifted his other leg. The warrior was still sniffling, and he had his arms full with something. He was muttering incoherently, which was good for Memnar, because he wasn’t positive he could take the man in a fair fight. He had been blasting his magic all night and even his spirit was starting to wane from the exertion.

When he was four steps away his foot landed, eyes upon the back of the warrior who sniveled like a petulant child who did not want to admit they cried. Words of prayer were on his lips, and Memnar curled his lips biting back a desire to say something profound and highly inappropriate at the moment. His foot lifted, he was steps away, when a sword clattered on the ground next to his risen leg. Memnar instantly looked down to realize he missed the weapon in his path, and looked back up to see a wrathful, teary face with bloodshot eyes look to him, a dead child in his hands.

“You,” he was lost for words as Memnar’s face pursed into contemplation. He held the dagger in a reverse grip, but managed to switch it to a more natural hold as the man looked to Memnar, then to the dead child. “She was eight you monster! Eight years old! She had nothing to do with your war! She was just a child!” Memnar’s body flinched at the tone of his scream. “I will make you pay for this, you bastard… The soldier looked to the girl, a whispered I love you on his lips as he bent to lower her. The wizard knew it was now or never.

He lunged forwards with dagger in hand, trying to get a quick kill. With cat like reflexes the man cradled the dead girl in one arm, his hand pulling out a sword from a scabbard half way. The attack parried to the side, blade thrusting only air as the man half spun and lifted a leg, kicking Memnar in the side into the wall. He tripped on a few bodies in his descent, arms flailing as his robe whipped the air. He felt his world flash white as his head collided with the wall at an awkward angle and he groaned lifting his hand to his head. Two hands gripped him by his collar, lifting him up where he was slammed into the wall, his head bouncing off again making him yelp in frustration. The soldier’s right hand pulled back and crossed his jaw, turning Memnar’s head in the process as he saw stars in the edge of his vision.

The warrior gripped his collar again and turned, tossing Memnar’s body like a rag doll to the ground where he rolled to the other wall, stopped by a dead Cultists body. He looked to see the man lift out his sword, the distinct sound of the metal ringing off oiled leather clearer than ever in the corridor. He pulled the sword into his hands, preparing an executioner’s strike.

“Close your eyes, Alexander!” a voice shouted from the end of the hall. Memnar did not have anything to lose and did as instructed. There was a pop in the air, and a flash that illuminated the inside of his eye socket. His ears rang as if an alarm clock was eternally going off next to him, and he felt disoriented from blast. He gently opened his eyes, looking to the warrior flail around uselessly with his weapon in hand at the air in violent arcs, clearly blinded. A rapier parried and thrust into his ribs, piercing a lung and wiping another soul off the planet as it swiftly redrew. The warrior gasped, muttered an apology with bloodied lips, and collapsed on the ground, wheezing for air that would never come.

Boots was the next thing he saw, not worn or ratty boots, but pristine and clean black heeled boots. A long dress, a bit out of place in the chaos, fanned an inch from his covered face. The wizard stood and shook his head clear, and in moments the sounds of the world slowly fell back into place.

“Alexander, I asked if you were alright?” Memnar shook his head one more time, before he lifted his back up straight, groaned, and spat coppery tasting fluid from his lips.

He ignored the voice for a moment, regaining his bearings and turned his eyes glancing upon his savior. Brown hair with two long bangs curled boxed a fair beautiful face, a dazzling set of jade green eyes looking to him with no more appreciation than he looked to her. Her ruby lips formed a frown of disapproval, making her look somewhat charming when combined with her smooth alabaster skin. Her body was draped in a strange nobles dress; form fitting around the waist, but a tad frilly at the top. It was a sporting dress, for playing a horse back game. Instantly his mind categorized the woman’s origins and her face came to him like a dream.

“I suppose you think I owe you, Ms Boheme,” the wizard at last said to her. Her frown slowly morphed into a smile, like one who waited to hear the words from a dead comrade. She turned, gesturing to the dead body.

“I entertained letting him kill you, Alexander,” she spoke in a snobbish way, but with a hint of teasing to it. The two walked side by side, a little slower in their gait as they caught up on old times. “I was a little offended that after the Homunculus project you never returned my letters. I had been trying to reach you about this little operation of Cassandra’s for some time.”

“I was busy,” the wizard mumbled to the alchemist. “One does not keep a budding god on hold. Your work was highly useful, and the credit I made sure went to you, Amelie.”

“Naturally, in the event it should fail the Cult would come after me.” Amelie Boheme grinned looking to him, and he even let out a chortle of amusement as the two laughed lightly, like they had not a care in the world. The wizard stopped short, running his hand along his jaw where he was injured in the fight. The noblewoman gave him a quizzical eye, before pulling out a soft blue hued liquid from her coat. Memnar snatched it from her, ripping to the cork out and tossing it to the ground drinking the potion. In a matter of moments the pain numbed and his creeping headache disappeared.

“What do you want, Amelie?” Memnar shattered the small vial against the wall. The girl shrugged as they neared the fork in the road. “You know I have no desire to help you, but you ask anyway. You know my fees, woman, so let’s not waste the others time. I hate to lose what little time we have left on useless words.”

“Too true,” the woman smiled again. “You were my favorite, Alexander, always direct and to the point. No need for nonsense and triviality. I want you to help me in the medical ward locate something that rightfully belongs to me. Long, long ago before I came to the Cult upon Cassandra’s demands to aid you in your Ghoul research, I had once worked for Sei Orlouges lot. He sent me with funds on an expedition to secure myself the holy Elixir of Life.”

“A rumor,” Memnar muttered as he opened a door for the lady. She nodded her head in thanks.

“Not so fast, Alexander,” Amelie clucked her tongue, patting his cheek in a teasing fashion. “You know more than anyone how I hate wasting my time. Do you think I would embark on a fool’s errand?” The wizard did not reply, but she already knew his answer. Indeed, neither one wasted time when the hunt for their goals was still left to accomplish. “I did find it, Alex,” she whispered stopping him in the tunnel, holding him by his shoulders. Her jade green eyes pleaded for him to believe her, and he nodded that he did.

“So then, I assume there was a complication,” Memnar replied looking up the stairs. He could hear the fighting louder than before, and wondered if that was because his hearing was returning and the moment of silence reset his listening skills.

“The insufferable moron, Jensen Ambrose stole it from me!” Her teeth clenched when she spoke the man’s name and Memnar had seen a similar effect on the Dark Mother’s face. Whoever he was, he certainly did not have a popular standing with the Cult of Blessed Torture. “However, I know what he did with it. He was probably hired by Sei Orlouge to steal it and return. He mentioned on the boat that he was going to give it to Aislinn Orlouge, their medical witch doctor. I won’t waste anymore of your time, Alex,” she pleaded in her tone, which was rare considering she was usually just as emotionless as he was unless they were doing research. “Help me get it back. In return, my vast collection of Alchemy books and magic are yours.”

Memnar weighed the thoughts in his heads about the Elixir of Life, and what it could be. The story, whether true or not was inconsequential; Amelie Boheme did not ask for help unless it was necessary, and she never begged unless it was something she had to have. It all checked up as enough for him to make a conclusion.

“Very well, up the stairs and to the left is the Medial Ward. Let us make our way there.” She gave out a sigh of relief, turning with him and letting him lead the way as the two headed towards the medical ward. "You'll also be helping me move towards the treasure chamber. I have Cassandra's debt to collect as well."

"Of course," Amelie whispered.

[Tainted Bushido]

All through the castle, the very sins of man were being lain bare before all who would gaze upon the castle. A spider as large as a house savaged at the people valiantly holding the line in the infirmary. Smaller spiders pushed through corridors seeking what few innocents had not already been destroyed by the night. It was a night that would go down in history, a night of debauchery that would broker no dissent. However, there were dwindling bastions of order in teh chaos, and with Sei orlouge's leaving of his personal quarters, one of the last remaining bastions had remained untouched.

Twenty-one seasons old, many would have considered Taka a young boy playing at soldier. None would have thought twice about the would-be general, who was already considered a failure twice over. However, had they seen him tonight, perhaps they would have thought once more about their initial impression of the Ronin. For he stood in a room no more than fifteen feet across, and the door behind him remained untouched by anyone.

Before him stood more than a few corpses, and corpses had been piled outside in the hallway. A veritable wall of flesh had been erected in a barricade of bone and blood. Even as he cleared one wave out of the room he would hear the fanatical charge of the next wave, trying to wear him down. A sigh would leave his lips before he would slice his katana in wide arcs, feeling cultists meet his blade left and right. The only hard part came when they flooded the room. Already he had wasted his mental focus slipping into and out of the storm's eye when they threatened to touch the doorway that lead to the Lord Orlouge's quarters.

Taka had made a promise to Anita, that no matter how many cultists came for her, she would remain unharmed. He had further promised that not so much as one cultist would cross the threshold of the door. So far, he had repelled the invaders with an ease unknown to the mercenaries he lead. Had they seen their leader fighting, they would surely have realized how far Taka had come since the return to Akashima. The entire mission had been an exercise in who Taka was. In the end he had chosen poorly, and his ability to fight had suffered from the doubt about who he was.

Here however, he was at one with his blade. Even Rengoku seemed to lighten it's burden in response to the assault on the castle. There could be no argument that he was doing the right thing. Duty and Honor walked hand in hand here, even as he fought to preserve lives. The fact this barrage had yet to enter the Orlouge home was a testament to his resolve, even as the wave of would be attackers broke upon the shore of this one samurai. Upon the completion of the wave he staggered, falling to one knee, the countless cuts and scrapes pouring his blackened blood from numerous wounds.

His mask remained upon his brow, hiding the fatigue he was feeling keenly even as he pushed himself back t his feet, refusing to falter in his duty. His eyes waited warily as he listened for the next wave. Rengoku was a comforting weight, something he could feel and use to remind himself he was still alive, and not fighting in Toshigoku. The realm of slaughter might draw many a soul tonight, but he was content in knowing his would not join that growing realm of endless battle.

Something dark swept through the castle, even as Taka slumped to his knees in fatigue. The door behind him opened and he felt Anita peer through to see the tired Ronin. Immediately she moved forward and hugged him tightly, trying desperately to warm up as the cold feeling sank into his bones. It was a feeling of dread unlike any he had ever encountered. It was then she whispered softly, for him, "He's here..."

Taka's head shot up, his eyes wide as he looked about quickly for some source to the mysterious "he", even as Anita pointed at the opening in front of him, the top of the stairs. Taka narrowed his eyes firmly as he carefully pushed himself up, and gripped Rengoku once more. His eyes never wavering as he moved forward slowly, until he felt a small hand on his wrist. He turned back to his charge before she whispered, "No, you can't hurt him, he's not that kind of spirit."

"What is it?" Taka asked softly, eyes whipping back to the opening where Anita was pointing.

"Cassandra's Dark Companion. He's here and he's looking at us, I don't think we're safe here anymore Taka..."

"The Tsukai was right?" Taka asked confused.

Anita shook her head softly, "He isn't a full spirit, that's all we know. The usual things that bind spirits don't work on him, much to Aislinn's annoyance. Perhaps if I talk to Cassandra she will stop this. If he's here, that means she will be by shortly. She never leaves his side for long..."

It was then he felt it. There was no way to describe it, but if he was to put an explanation forth, it would be as if every dark and hateful feeling in the world focused narrowly upon Taka. The weight of it upon his shoulders was nearly unbearable, forcing the Ronin to his knees in an act of utter subjugation. He ground his teeth even as he fought to keep footing under the psychic assault. Taka focused as he heard it, the sounds of boots upon the stairs, moving with a casual grace. His grip on the sword tightened, even as he fought against the rising tide of dark power.

[Arden]

As Arden advanced through the cold, lonely chambers of Ixian Castle, he began to feel quite nervous. He felt unwittingly afraid. For once in his life, he held his blade as if it were for defence, and not for power. Though he felt like his death was for a higher purpose, it did not make walking right into the oncoming terror easier to stomach. He told himself over and over, that this was the right path.

Duffy had commanded it.

Ruby had foreseen it.

Lillith had forbidden it.

Long before Wainwright had returned and cast the troupe out of Scara Brae, Arden’s siblings had all dreamt of a time when their providence, the Heidegger Barrier, would come to act as a vital tool in the salvation of the Ixian Knights. At first, they had not been able to work out how such a strange artefact of power could become a weapon; given it was a barrier for defence – a shield. When Duffy had arrived ahead of the troupe, and discovered a war was afoot, he had worked it all out at last. Arden had to die to trigger an implosion that would drain all the war from the castle, all the hatred, the anger, and the apathy. In taking it into himself, he would be able to achieve the two things he longed for above all else. He would be able to finally gain respect from Sei Orlougne, and he would be able to deal a vital blow to the Oni that possessed him.

His boots clicked against the stone of a long corridor, marking out his advance through the under croft. As the more direct route out into the battlefield had cruelly been cut off by a cave in, the swordsman had to rely on his limited knowledge of the terrain of the castle to navigate an alternate route. His anxiety grew as he realised that the tower had not fallen by chance; it had fallen by design. He was being pushed, cajoled, and directed towards an inevitable confrontation.

Heavy granite boulders the size of houses held the curved roof aloft. Torches, bracketed in iron and bronze fixings illuminated his path, and long abandoned barrels, crates, and troughs of rotten foodstuffs lined the walls. Though the castle had been enervated much in the last year, there were much of its secrets still left to time’s advance. Though Arden turned several corners, rose up several slimy staircases, and passed through many aqueducts on his journey, he saw no sign of life so far from the maddening crowd above. He found it increasingly hard to believe that he was supposed to die a martyr so far away from life.

All of a sudden, in a swathe of crimson cloth in the shadows, he broke out into soft daylight. The stairwell emerged in the centre of a hundred foot dome of sandstone, wrought and etched with half faded murals. There were four arches, set to the directions of the cardinal directions and letting moonlight and sound drift in freely. Arden advanced cautiously, his mithril greaves creaking with indecision, his heart racing with fire and brimstone. He turned slowly on tense limbs, his muscles twitching with excitement. The south entrance he recognised as the one that lead to the proving grounds. The east, he surmised, lead to the barracks. The north arch ran straight to the hub of battle. When he calculated the western door’s destination, he turned, very slowly, and stared into the shadows. A cackle broke his intellectual musings.

The glowing eyes of madness emerged from the tunnel first, followed by a tall, lithe woman Arden could only assume was Cassandra Remi. Though the swordsman was well vested in the operations of the Ixian Knights, he had not truly joined their ranks until after the former captain’s disgraceful exodus from the citadel. He was quick to remark silently on her beauty, but just as quick to draw Kerria from her hilt, bring it to his front in a dual grip, and steady his stance with steel like resolve.

“Oh, please darling,” Cassandra chuckled. Her voice was like a poisonous barb slowly driven beneath a nail. The Oni about Arden’s hurt coiled tighter, seething in hatred of the woman’s power, malefic, and rage. She waved. “I guess if you want something done, you have to do it yourself” she chuckled again, quite unable to contain herself, “I did have business to attend to.” Arden followed her movements closely, until he was sure he was alone with the maddening woman, and that nobody was behind her.

“I assume you must be the Gisela Reaper?” Arden enquired, breaking his stance to pull back his hood, ruffle his auburn hair and roll his neck free of its tension. When his gloves returned to his weapon, they hummed with the awakening thirst that was dormant in the Blade that Was. The swordsman was not sure if it was his hunger he was feeling, or the swords.

“Indeed,” she began to advance with ethereal heels over the rubble strewn floor. Rotten creepers lichen, and moss clumps seemingly rolled out of her advance. Life itself had come to scorn the murderous witch Jensen spoke so…fondly of as time went by. Little sigils of red light glowed on the stone, keeping her aloft where mere mortals would have to suffer the ground beneath their feet. Arden had come to hate her just as much as he had, though he was yet to realise why. “Let us skip the formalities, shall we? I was engaged to be elsewhere, but I do believe a brief…” she ran her nail over her lip in a bid to seduce her prey, “hiatus is appropriate.”

Arden shook his head. “Don’t bother; I’ve seen better looking women in a whore house.”

“Good,” she clucked, drawing a fiendish looking kitchen carving knife from beneath her lack lustre attire. “I wasn’t going to ask for money as payment.” In a flash, she leapt into a run, and before Arden could so much as take a breath, she was upon him, eyes ablaze, madness reigning, and destiny screaming a chorus before the Silent Swordsman’s demise.

The knife cut under Arden’s guard with such speed, the swordsman had to clench his stomach and scoop backwards in a desperate bid to avoid being gutted their and then. It sang a chime as it was stopped by his mithril breastplate, and pulled back with a flourish. He could only grunt, bring Kerria back in a wide arc, and cut back at Cassandra with a cleave from right to left. She seemingly melted back out of harm’s way, her cackle serving as a declaration of her seemingly infinite talent for deception.

“Have you worked it out yet?” she screamed as she spiralled back on liquid hips and thrust her knife once, twice, and three times into Arden’s guard. Though he deflected each with stoic, stubborn, and steel ripostes with Kerria’s single bladed edge, he could not stop her seeding doubt into his mind about what she meant.

“Worked what out?” he roared, attempting a second cleave from left to right, with equal intent, and twice the force and strength than his previous effort. She stepped back, clapped, and chuckled.

“How you die, you wretch! How you suffer for so, so long.” Her voice wavered between happiness and disaster, a juxtaposition that put Arden’s teeth on edge. He was now quite aware why he had come to hate her just as much as Jensen did. “Have you?” she stepped into his guard again, her knife arm flourishing with the speed and grace, and indeed, the determination of a master chef tearing through vegetables.

“I know I’m going to ‘die’.” He replied. He retreated slowly, legs half cocked, eyes set on her lithe form, and his blood boiling. He drew on the knowledge of his ancestral home to prepare a counter attack whilst he tried to find the words to put her on edge. He had to draw her out, make her slip, and make her regret toying with him. “It will not be you, though, I wager.” He let go of Kerria with his right hand, and trace the symbol for fire, earth, and lightning in the air with an extended arm. They danced together with red light and formed the I Ching for fire.

Cassandra cocked her head, mouth agog, arms loose and slack by her sides. She wavered back and forth impatiently, struggling to see what the light show was for.

“What in the name of Tantalus?” Arden sputtered.

“I think that’s enough, don’t you?” Cassandra sheathed her knife. “I’m almost disappointed in you, Arden. William spoke so highly of you all these months, I was very much hoping to get to dance the dance of death with you, but alas.” She turned on a heel and came to a stop when she levelled with the exit William had taken. “Don’t worry, though. We’ll meet again, if what Duffy once told me is anything to go by.” She winked over her shoulder and danced forwards. As she dissipated, Arden was almost certain he felt the Heidegger barrier scream, and heard her fingers click together, as if she were summoning a dog to her side.

Arden slumped.

“How in the name could she be immune to the I Ching…” he did not even bother making his frustration a question. Somehow, at the back of his mind, the nagging doubt that he was in over his head came to the fore. He fell to his knees, exasperated, drained, and refusing to cry.

Several minutes passed as he silently contemplated his next move. The dream had depicted his death, rebirth, and salvation away from the conflict. He was supposed to raise from the shadows during the night of debauchery and burn away the infidels…or so Duffy had said. If Cassandra Remi was not to be his end who was? He flicked the hair from his eyes, rose slowly with a strain, and sheathed Kerria.

"I fucking hate her so much..." he mumbled.

With sweat rolling down his back, forehead, and in his armpits, the swordsman crossed the sandy floor of the broken dome and made for the north arch. The very second his polished, ornate, and tiger depicting boot crossed the threshold, he heard a noise that suddenly made the world seem crystal clear. The heavy breathing, scraping malice, and scent of blood reminded Arden of so many misspent nights. He looked ahead, cocked his head, and sighed.

"More ghouls..." he grumbled.

[The Soulforged]

"I wonder why all the evil psycho bitches have to be pretty?" Seed asked to no one in particular as he turned over another corpse, "you never hear any stories about ugly women on Althanas."

He continued to talk to himself as he rifled through the pockets of what was once an Ixian knight. The man was missing a few of his extremities, namely his head and left arm, but at least his wallet was still intact. That was probably the best part about working with psychotic madmen and ghouls, they rarely concerned themselves with plunder that wasn't attached to the body.

"Seriously though," Seed continued as he tucked away a few coins, and a very shiny hair clip, "you would think there was some dude up there in the sky, making sure every single woman had a full butt, nice tits, and flawless skin. Hmph, guess some people just don't do ugly."

With this area thoroughly searched, Seed decided to turn his attention to the next place, which was quite frankly wherever he wanted to go, as he wasn't really in charge of anything. Well, he might have been in charge of something, but whatever it was, he had long forgotten it. He banked on a aspiring goddess having her hands too full to notice, and proceeded down a hallway.

"Dead guy, dead guy, still partly living guy...sucks to be you by the way. Lots of dead ghouls, dead spider, still living spider in battle with Ixian Knights. Uh oh, time to hide!" With a deftness of someone who knew they were outmatched by just about everyone here, Seed dove under a nearby table, rested his head on his hands, and enjoyed the festivities.

It was a fierce four on one; the Ixian Knights had the spider surrounded, and were attacking it with spears. The monster lurched about, nimbly enough for a creature its size. One of the knights over extended himself, and the spider instantly seized the opportunity. A gruesome scream echoed through the hall as the spider bit off the man's arm; a sickening crunch ensued as it began to chew through the body part, bone and all.

The wounded man when down screaming in pain as his comrades began a vicious attack on the exposed backside of the spider. Seed wondered if it was part of their plan to sacrifice their comrade, or if they were just taking advantage of a good opportunity. He was mid-decision when he heard a rather creepy, and very unwelcome, hissing noise.

Seed looked up to see a ghoul looking right back at him, complete with saliva dripping from its very long, and very bloody, teeth. Seed realized where things were about to lead, rolled his eyes, and then quickly rolled out from under the table as the ghoul slashed at him with its talon-like hand.

"Lamebrain!" Seed grunted as the ghoul came at him again, "I'm on your side! Go attack those stupid knights over there!"

Whether the ghoul didn't hear him, didn't listen, or was just pissed off about Seed's previous remarks about Cassandra Remi, he didn't know. All he knew was that the ghoul was still swiping at him with that damn claw of a hand, and it didn't seem like it was going to back off anytime soon.

With his back against the wall (both in a literal and figurative sense), Seed drew his sword. He then wondered why he hadn't picked up a better sword, because there were numerous ones everywhere, and Seed's was actually a pretty crappy blade. But, it was all he had to work with, so he decided to stop complaining, and deal with the thing that wanted to rip his head off.

He let out a grunt as a swipe of the ghoul shred off some of his sleeve, as well as some of his skin. Still, it allowed him a moment to roll away from the creature, and towards the table he had so recently hidden under. The ghoul let out a hideous shriek, and came barreling at him.

"I'm not the sharpest tool in the shed, or the shiniest knife in the drawer," Seed joked as he grabbed the table, and kicked it at the ghoul, "but I sure am smarter than you! Better looking too!"

The creature smashed into the table, falling to the ground with a squeal, and with the table atop of it. Not one to waste his chance, Seed pounced upon the table, putting all his weight onto it. The ghoul clawed at him viciously, but the table provided enough of a defense.

"When you die and see your blessed goddess," Seed began as he impaled his sword into the creature's neck, "tell her to blow me!"

The ghoul made one last effort to bite at him, but Seed only let out a cackle as he reached into his pockets and pulled out two knives. He then proceeded to stab the ghoul in both of its once-human eyes multiple times.

"Eh, forgot she was into the whole torture stuff. Tell her no teeth, aight?" he finished with a grin, as he gave the remnants of the ghouls head a playful slap.

"Good one," a voice offered, patting Seed on the shoulder. Right behind him was an Ixian Knight, who looked rather well off, considering one of his comrades was dead, and the other two were bleeding pretty badly.

"Oh, I could have done better. Not my best material you know. Blowjob jokes are so easy to make on Althanas," Seed let out a laugh as the Ixian Knight glanced at the dead ghoul, "oh, you were talking 'bout my kill. Thanks."

"Thanks for watching our back," the Ixian continued, motioning towards his wounded comrades, "help me get them to the medical ward, will you?"

It then dawned on Seed that, most likely due to his actions (and his telling Cassandra to blow him), the Ixian Knight probably thought he was on their side; it was a pretty big castle, it was unlikely the man knew every single person here.

"Why on Althanas would I," Seed began. It then dawned on the him that, although two of the three Ixian Knights were wounded, they were still very capable of wielding their weapons. Add that to the still okay one, factor in Seed's lack of badassery, and it could be a problem.

“...have any problem with that? I call the chick!” Seed finished as he bounded over to the only female in the group (who looked rather pale from blood loss).

“So, this may be a bad time,” he muttered as he picked up the woman, who let out a slight moan of pain; her stomach was cut up rather badly.

“But, just so you know, I don’t save people for free. I expect a hero’s reward for this,” the woman made to say something, but she just rolled her eyes instead.

“No teeth,” Seed added in, as he began his trek to the medical ward.

[El Diablo Perro]

Amelie and Memnar moved with a regal grace side by side. His robe flowed behind him just as her skirt did behind her, their steps purposeful as they climbed the stairs leading to the once pristine white corridor where the medical ward was located. Blood dripped in a trail that belied the number of wounded who actually sloshed through here, as well as the several debased cretins who spat bloodied curses in their haze of zealotry. As they approached the last step they found a body flying; arms lifted forwards, feet parallel to his outstretched limbs, and head cocked into chest at least a foot in the air sailing down the walkway. When his body landed there was a wet thud, his back rolling so his feet rolled upwards and a sickening crunch when his face slammed back and hit the stone adding his own cranial fluid to the mess upon the ground.

Even though he died in that instant, his body rolled a few more steps before stopping.

“What in the name…” Amelie whispered loudly. Memnar’s eyes furrowed in concern as he looked up at the corridor, pondering if this Elixir of Life was even worth what Amelie claimed it would be. There was shriek the echoed in the chasm like walkway, trembling and shaking the rocks. Ancient dust fell from the rafters and Memnar shied away from the horrid pitch. A few war cries lifted up in protest to that ear quaking bellow, and there was a miniature like quaking on the floor as something slammed deep into the castle. Amelie grabbed Memnar and pushed him to the wall, holding him in her arms as she rested her head against his chest.

The wall on the opposite side exploded inwards and a hairy limb protruded from the hole, snaking around as if caught. The rocks in its way were shuffled around and tossed like a child kicking stones making Memnar cover the Alchemist’s face with his arms as he held her, turning his head away. Another shriek filled the air and with an upwards lift the wall and part of the ceiling collapsed all around the walkway revealing a colossal sized Concordian spider.

“Horrible creatures!” Amelie stammered angrily. “How in the hell Cassandra Remi managed to conscript them to her side is a testament to her insanity!”

“Arachnophobic?” Memnar joked in a dry fashion, pushing her away when the coast was clear. Amelie shuddered as she looked to the beast’s many eyes, but its thoughts were on the Ixians flanking it as it scuttled in place to face them, lifting two front feelers up and bellowing again as it flexed forwards to feast. A higher pitch than the spider’s pierced the night, and Memnar figured an unlucky soul was just turned into a meal.

The Alchemist grabbed Memnar’s hand and guided him forwards as he kept up, turning down the much more narrow hall thanks to the spiders rampage. As they hit a more open point Memnar ran ahead of her releasing his grip as they walked into what could only be considered the so called “front line” of the war. Battle was raging all across a courtyard as two splinter forces of the Ixians fought with the titanic creature, flanking it and confusing it as it scuttled and crawled to attack whoever bothered it the most at the time. One force was in the Medical Ward, defending a gaping wall no doubt caused by the spider. The other was led by a determined look man with a blue glowing maul or mace, his lips spitting out curses as well as uplifting motivation for the Ixians around him. A pink haired giant of a man was near him, looking for a place to strike from as the spider crawled up the walls between a tower and the main corridor in the corner, mandibles clipping as it looked for a new choice meat.

Amelie pointed to a small antechamber and the duo all but sprinted to the adjacent room, kicking the door down as they moved into the room. Memnar looked up to see several dozen people all on litters or in beds, covered in blood soaked bandages as trained medical professionals danced between them in a complicated ballet of life and death. Off to the far wall was a curtained off area a grizzled looking older man performing on the spot surgery, his arms and torso covered in the viscera and crimson vitality. There were others with him, but he was the one who bellowed orders as they everyone hustled around.

“Please state the nature of your injuries,” a feminine like feline voice called to them. Memnar looked for the owner of the voice, but found none as he looked around at eye level. When he was about to look at Amelie he felt a small object paw at his shin. When he looked down to confirm it was a paw he gasped, taking a step back as he looked at tiny black cat. “There are many wounded, you need to please focus and tell me what’s wrong,” she was forceful, but patient in her tone as the cat sat on her hunches. Memnar was confused as to what to say or do, but Amelie was first to speak.

“I have been poisoned. A fever took me not long ago, and has been spreading like wildfire,” she spoke her lie thoroughly, including acting feint and woozy. “It was from one of the priest’s…” she collapsed into Memnar, who caught her and snarled to the cat.

“Nothing I have at my disposal has worked! She’s going to die unless we find an antidote,” Memnar spat quickly, faking concern for the alchemist. Amelie coughed, bringing her hand to her mouth as she arched upwards quickly and then weighed heavily on Memnar’s shoulder for support.

“Please take her to the back area quickly. We may have one thing that could work, but it’s extremely painful!”

“Can’t be as bad as dying,” Amelie joked weakly, breathing heavily. Memnar caught the flash of an empty vial in her hand, her lips dripping saliva as he realized she was clever enough to drug herself. The cat pawed once more, and turned dashing away towards a litter where she jumped up and onto the patient’s chest, looking at wounds and meowing loudly as a surgeon ordered his litter removed and called for Felicity to bring the next one over. Whoever Felicity was, however, was of no concern to Memnar, or Amelie who walked together as the noblewoman clutched him tightly for support as they played their ruse. The wizard’s eyes darted around in concern, his nerves unable to calm as he was in the heart of an enemy encampment. Sure, they were all supposedly wounded, but when the wounded outnumbered you five to one, he felt justified to be a little uneasy.

Amelie slipped a green vial from her vest, popping the cork with her teeth and spitting it to the side before taking a swig. Memnar could see the taste was foul on her features, but the coloring on her face began to tint to a more natural crème white. She fixed her curls away from her eyes as she stood up, nearing the back quickly. A few doctors looked to them, but said nothing as they looked for the nearest facility that could pass for a place the Azoth should be. In seconds they found a corner office and Amelie pointed to there. It was all too easy, and Memnar was grateful for that.

“Holy shit, it’s you!” An all too familiar and wholly unwelcoming voice called out to the wizard as he cringed, and Amelie could feel his heart spike as the Alchemist watched his emotionless face twitch once before he turned slowly. He looked to the red headed boy he had travelled with earlier and found the man dump (literally, he actually just dropped her.) an Ixian woman onto the ground. In big bounds he walked to them, much to the chagrin of both parties as some of the warriors looked to them oddly. Memnar waved them off in a friendly manner, and they waved back as they lifted the girl, helped her to a seat, and then moved back out to the war.

“Keep your damn mouth shut, Seed,” Memnar threatened. With a cocky smile and a childish, inappropriate laugh the boy shrugged and lifted an accusatory finger.

“You found the treasure? I want in.”

“No,” Amelie said faster than Memnar could think. “I am done sharing this rare and valuable find with the world. I am taking it for me, and nobody else can have it!” She placed her hand on her rapier, but Memnar gave her a cold look and placed his hand on hers to calm her. Before he could reply however Seed spoke up first.

“Yeah huh!” Oh how Memnar hated how childish Seed could be. “You two are Cultists, like me, sneaking in. All I have to do is say one word and I blow this ice cream stand sky high to the Thyane’s themselves! While they kick the stuffing out of you I’ll make my escape with loot in hand. So you play nice to me, and maybe I won’t rat you out.”

“You look nothing like an Ixian, act nothing like an Ixian, and when they ask you a simple question you’ll blow your own cover,” Amelie said haughtily. Seed gave her a coy look as he flashed his eyes from Memnar to Amelie, and back again several times.

“Oh ho ho!” Seed said ribbing Memnar, elbowing his stomach once. The wizard shoved him towards the room. “You looking for the miracle drug to get little Memnar going, eh?” His perversion knew no bounds as he continued to describe, to disgusting detail, exactly what it was they were looking for would do. “Well who am I to stand in the way. For you Memnar, I’ll be your wingman!”

Amelie was about to interrupt when the wizard turned and shoved the Alchemist into the office, looking around as they began to look for things that could lead them to the holy Azoth. Seed rifled through the drawers to the desk, using his sword to slam into the handles and break the whole drawer, looking inside and pocketing a few items he found to be interesting. Amelie perused her cabinets, opening them and sniffing her potions and herbs collections, tossing them to the ground and breaking them as she struggled to find what she was looking for. Memnar looked at her library, his hands gently touching each spine with a fondness most lovers share on a woman they care intimately for.

Seed lifted up a key attached to a gold chain, and was about to pocket it when Memnar snatched his wrist and wrenched it so he took the key. The boy mumbled obscenities as he rubbed his sore wrist while Memnar looked to Amelie smile to herself in satisfaction. She pulled a very plain stone grey metal lock box out of a lower drawer, and gently placed it on the countertop. She ripped her vest’s zippers and they fell exposing more of her chest catching Seed’s attention as he did not hide what he stared at. Memnar was more impressed as he found row after row of filled vials all in a unique organized manner. Combat and battle ready concoctions at her fingertips, antidotes and poisons on the bottom straps, and a few ready for mixing as well as some empty vials. She was prepped for this engagement to retrieve what was rightfully hers.

With dexterity that would make an elf jealous she twirled two vials together, her teeth biting hard on the cork stoppers and spitting them out as she poured them at the same time upon the lock box. It sizzled as the two liquids met, but the box didn’t melt like he thought it would. She snorted in mirth, amused by the box as she pulled out another vial and shook it, slamming it so the vial broke on the top and dripped the purple jelly like substance on the metal surface. It was absorbed by the metal quickly, giving it a purple glow as Amelie nodded to herself in thought.

“What,” Seed asked at last, both people looking to the boy. “Is your bra size? I don’t think you’re wearing the right size…” he began to scratch his unshaven chin in thought. Memnar rolled his eyes and shoved Seed into the desk chair as he approached with the key. “Just saying,” he mumbled.

“I’m assuming it’s enchanted,” Memnar said dryly. Amelie nodded as the wizard popped the key into the lock and twisted until it made a satisfying click noise. The top became ajar and Amelie squealed as she opened to find a very ornate and masterfully crafted velvet pillow to encase a solitary vial of an almost clear blue substance. Amelie lifted it up to the light and smiled in triumph as she began to giggle with stress, her madness growing as she snatched the Elixir in her hands and began to mutter that she had found the Azoth at last.

Memnar turned to leave when he found a sword to Seed’s throat, his hands up as he looked to the brunette that held him at point, a shield in hand and eyes filled with holy rage. There was a man standing before a one armed red head, her blue eyes catching Memanr’s as the two felt a primal connection to the winds of magic and the call of the eternal tap.

“Who are you?” the one armed woman asked, her eyes narrowing as she watched Amelie lower the Azoth to her side, softly drawing her blade. “I will have Liliana kill that man if you make another move!” Despite the fact Memnar had his back turned to the Alchemist, they both shrugged their shoulders in time.

“Screw you!” Seed shouted as he kicked the desk with both feet into the woman, pushing her away enough for him to cackle as he lifted his ratty blade in hand and ran a hand through his matted, oily hair. Memnar lifted his hand behind him, and felt the hilt of Amelie’s rapier touch back, and he grinned lifting it up in a formal duelist’s manner. The six of them stood off in an awkward hesitation, Memnar calling forth his claws of ice as they coated his fingers like hawk talons in his free hand, numbing his feeling. The stump of the red head’s arm became alight with fire as her eyes burned with the same primal fury, lifting up like a torch as she held it at the ready.

“For the Dark Mother,” Memnar taunted as he dashed forwards in a thrust with his rapier. Seed cackled insanely as his sword went for a wild swing at the shield arm of Liliana. Amelie’s own smug snort of laughter rang behind him as she released two vials at the challengers like rocks. Things in the Medical Ward heated up quickly as they all engaged in battle.

[Revenant]

William walked swiftly to Jensen’s fallen body. He’d spent more than enough time with the so-called enigmatic immortal to know that leaving a dead Jensen alone for too long was asking for trouble. Behind him Cassandra and her minions slid silently into the darkness of the open dungeon. There was no need for parting word or insincere gratitude between them. He and Cassandra had exchanged services as equals and once their business had been concluded William owed the Dark Mother no further loyalty. Part of him lusted after her, he supposed, just as part of him feared her. It was all part of her dark, murderous charm. But despite this, even without Libra locking away his emotions, William wouldn’t lift a hand to save her should some lucky fool’s blade find purchase in her porcelain flesh. William had finished with that portion of his life and neatly closed the door behind him.

Besides, he thought as he gazed down at Jensen’s prone form, now that his mind was once again fully safely under his own control he had all sorts of wonderful acts of destruction to play out. Acts of violence and vengeance that he had had to keep locked away in the darkest corners of his desire lest Sei’s meddling telepathy dredge them to the surface. “A good throw eh,” he said to Jensen as he watched the former Knight of the Apocalypse writhe on the floor in silent laughter. He had to give the man credit, no matter what happened to him he always kept the chuckles rolling. It was a trait that William found absolutely infuriating, or would if he hadn’t had Libra tucked in his belt.

“You’re not looking so good,” he said, pulling down a hauling chain from the ceiling and wrapping it around Jensen’s neck. The immortal’s eyes lolled towards the sound of William’s voice, glassy and distant, and his hand trembled as it feebly reached for him. William’s thrown warscythe had not only punctured Jensen’s liver, it had shredded half of the guts in his belly. He would be dead within half a minute, which was why William had to prepare so quickly, but the wound was honestly nothing worse than being gutted. William had gutted Jensen enough times to know that unless he was extremely thorough with the act it wouldn’t count as what Jensen called “overkill.” Which only meant that Jensen’s immortality would be able to resurrect him immediately after his death.

William tugged on the hauling chain, noting which rack it was attached to. Normally the chains worked in reverse, but this was a special occasion. “Up,” he said and kicked the rack, sliding the heavy torture device several feet further away, an act which tightened the hauling chain and lifted Jensen neatly to dangle in front of William. “Now then,” William said, having finished his preparations, “let’s get this started.” Saying that, he grabbed the haft of the warscythe, still protruding from Jensen’s guts, and tore it free. Without the obstacle impeding the flow of blood, Jensen bled out in seconds, a silent laughter wracking his body as it went limp.

A steady beat echoed through the dungeon as William tapped his foot impatiently. The bloodstained warscythe bobbed on his shoulder in time, counting the crawling seconds between death and resurrection. “Knock it off, I’ve got other things to do tonight,” William growled and slapped Jensen’s pale cheek. Gasping as life surged back into his body, Jensen jerked back to consciousness only to immediately begin flailing towards William. “Don’t think so,” William said, delivering a heavy jab to Jensen’s sternum which left the immortal limp and gasping for breath. Even so, his lips still moved in the echo of laughter.

“Now then, can we get back to this or are you going to keep acting out?”

“Fuck you, you goat cunt,” Jensen gasped out as his lungs remembered how to hold air. “So how does it feel to lick Cassandra’s toes? Or do you lick her shriveled …”

A loud smack cut Jensen off as William idly landed a backhand to his jaw. Jensen laughed shrilly, spitting out a glob of blood and an errant tooth at William.

“Hit the nail on the head, eh burn boy?” he laughed, eyes rolling wildly around in search of some way to escape. Seeing nothing, he just turned his attention to doing what he did best, be extremely annoying.

“You might as well knock it off now,” William said, tapping the black orb end of Libra and then tapping his forehead.

“You’ve got your dildo rod?”

William shrugged and Jensen, for once in his life, shut up.

“She killed Stephanie,” he said simply, glaring daggers at the revenant.

“Pity that,” he replied nonchalantly, continuing to bob his warscythe on his shoulder. “I’d have loved to have done so, if for no other reason than to piss you off.”

“She was your friend,” Jensen screamed, the dark flush of his face taking time to gather as the chain around his neck dug a bit deeper.

William snorted. He felt no amusement but knew that it would add the right emphasis to the situation. “What did you think this was? Did you think that we’d bonded over this best friends, eternal enemies bullshit? That I’d kill you a couple of times and you’d keep a potato from me and we’d laugh about it over a beer later?”

Jensen fell silent, focused more on struggling to breathe than on William’s rant.

“It ends today,” William muttered. “It all ends today.” He gave Jensen another solid shot to the sternum to keep him occupied while he walked away. Wracking coughs caused the immortal’s body to dance on the chain like a twisted marionette but the sound was drowned out by a hideous squealing screech. He limply spun around to see William dragging an iron maiden across the dungeon floor.

“I was just going to break every bone in your body and leave you here alive,” the revenant grunted as he hauled the iron maiden into place. “But now I have a better idea.” The doors on the iron maiden groaned in protest as William opened them, revealing the rusty, blood spattered interior of the grisly device.

“You know how you always convulse as you surge back to life?” William said, delivering another punch to Jensen to keep him pliant. “Well think about this, I’m going to shove you onto those spikes in just the right way to ensure that you come right back to life after you die a horribly painful death. As you die you’ll slump off the spikes,” William unwound the chain from Jensen’s neck and gave him a heavy handed smack when he started to feebly fight back. The blow caused the room to spin in Jensen’s eyes but everything came back into sharp focus as he felt a dozen sharp points of steel slowly stab into him.

“And when you come back to life, you’ll convulse and involuntarily impale yourself and start the whole process over again,” William finished, savoring the fearful agony he saw in Jensen’s eyes, despite the fact that Jensen had begun laughing again. “Oh, and this should keep you from freeing yourself,” William added, sticking Jensen’s hands through the small opening that appeared in the doors when they opened. He slammed the doors shut, closing the openings on Jensen’s wrists with a sickening wet snap. All that could be seen of Jensen from outside the iron maiden was his two limp, swollen hands and a steady stream of blood leaking out from under the door.

William stepped up to the iron maiden’s vision slot, examining the savor that his mind generated at the sight of Jensen’s pained, glassy eyed look. “I can’t kill you permanently immortal,” he spat the last word, “But I can give you unending death. I only wish that I could seal the dungeon off in the chaos.” He looked around at the dust filled room. It had been immaculately cleaned by the castle’s keepers before he and Sei had found it, but had since fallen into disrepair. “It’s not like anyone’s using it. And with all of the fun that’s going on upstairs, who knows how long you’ll be down here? How many times you’ll wake up just to die again.”

William turned and left the dungeon, fading into the same darkness that had so recently claimed Cassandra. He had no final words for Jensen, no pithy last saying or mocking words that would haunt Jensen for the rest of his life. He simply left.

And in the iron maiden Jensen died, and was reborn, and died again, and was reborn, and died …

[Sagequeen]

There was no shielding the girl's eyes from the bloodbath and gore that spurted and stained every hall and room of the Ixian Castle. Tobias, Azza, and Erissa's flight from the family area of the castle had been blessedly guided by a Chaplain, who, with his resounding voice, caused the cultists and terror-fiends to quake. They fell before his mighty mace, and were cut down by the swords of his small cadre, that is, until one of Cassandra's hired assassins pounced from above, down onto his shoulders.

The mighty Chaplain bucked, but the masked assassin pulled taut the razor wire looped around the Ixian's neck; a gush of blood and the Chaplain's head lolling wildly evidenced the wire had pulled through the flesh and sinew, down to the bone of his spine. With a sickening, wet snap, his head popped cleanly off his shoulders, and even as the dean man's nerves twitched, the assassin leapt agilely from his shoulders over the befuddled Knights, and disappeared into the carnage and gloom.

Erissa's mouth hung open in shock and confusion, wondering why the rest of them were left alive, and Azza sobbed, her terror refreshed. Before the three could discern the situation, another of the Knights stepped forward, assuming command of the men.

“Onward, Knights! Remember your duty!” he shouted to them. Erissa grabbed Azza and pressed the girl's face to her side as the Ixian squad reformed around them. “Remember the evacuation plan; protect the innocent!” His voice was a hallow echo of the mighty Chaplain who lay headless in the hall behind. “There! We must stay behind to ensure no enemy lives to tell of this passage!” He pointed immediately ahead of the group where an iron mural lay in scraps. Erissa nodded and led Tobias and Azza among the broken corpses and into the cool, dank air of the passage. An orb of white energy manifested above her upraised palm, intensifying the horror stamped on her face.

“Come,” she said wearily, without looking at either Tobias or Azza. “He is this way.” The trio were silent in the halls below the Ixian Castle, the sounds of ongoing battle raging above them. Though the horrid screams and braying of deranged beasts only echoed around them, the distance offered them little comfort; a creeping sense of dead, black dread plagued them. Barely illuminated faces glanced nervously at each other as they chased after a small orb of white energy Erissa directed at her whim.

“Are we close?” whispered Azza, clinging to Tobias' hands.

“Very,” Erissa nodded to her, attempting a weak smile. Tobias caught the worry that flickered across her fellow elf's face and turned her head back, wary of a closer threat, perhaps a stray cultist who had found the way down into the bowels of the castle. The soft patter of their feet went unnoticed, their swift flight below unchecked, until all three faltered. They huddled closely to one another, having come face to face with an invisible barrier, knit together of nightmare and malice. The very aura of it made Erissa nauseous, and for a fleeting moment, she thought she heard a laugh of joy espoused to madness. Not a breath passed from their constricted throats as the weight of dread reached its apex. Erissa's light fizzled and natural darkness encroached upon them.

The frightening omen of whispering footsteps caught the trio's ears as all other sound was siphoned away, like a skim of oil poured from water. In moments, pale faces emerged from the dark, among them a figure most despairingly beautiful and the embodiment of malevolence, a being that should not be. As the dark promenade advanced, Erissa and her companions shuffled back against the cold wall.

The strength of the immortal's heartbeat she tracked spiked, then dropped off completely. It was impossible for the elf to process the meaning of it; her mind was cast into deep consternation, her every fear leering at her from the mental miasma of being in the presence of Cassandra Remi. Without a word, the procession stopped as one, and the woman turned her gaze toward them, red eyes alight, and a smile as joyous as a siren in song.

“What have we here?" The entourage of the demi god regarding them with hatred and malice. Cassandra stepped forward, a finger tapping her chin as her feet glided just above the threshold of the ground. She seemed to entertain a thought or two, her head tilting to the side, as if she were listening to the words of a lover; the woman giggled in a very uninviting manner. "How generous of Sei to send a welcoming committee, with none other than little Azza Ambrose!” Cassandra moved closer to the little girl, and Erissa and Tobias both stepped between the demi-goddess and Azza. Cassandra laughed chillingly. “How cute! Little defenders for the tiny girl! And look at her! A tiny sword for a tiny girl." Cassandra displayed her teeth in a dazzling smile that would devour them all in one bite if she could. Azza shook on the spot, her weapon trembling in her hands, but she kept her face confidant against the Gisela Reaper. "I'll kill you like I killed your mother," Cassandra was about to approach them, lifting one hand up, but her face tilted to the side again as if in contemplation; instead she lowered her hand and turned to leave with a flourish of her wrist, summoning her retinue to follow.

"But another time. I would rather take my time with you, little Azza. I wonder if you will scream like mommy did?" Erissa gripped her hand on Azza's, as did Tobias as they held the girl back from attacking."For now, I haven't the time for you cretins. Consider it the mercy of a god. So much to do, so little time to enjoy the night while doing it.” She turned her head again to Azza. “How your father screamed; those I savored. It's a shame you're always too late to help him, and how he'll also be too late to help you.” Cassandra walked away, her feet never touching the ground as the Dark Family and their bodyguards moved along.

Erissa and Tobias both spun, embracing the shaking girl. The chilling and haunting dread slowly left them, and it took a moment to get over being face to face with the mastermind of this debauchery.

“Your father will never let that happen,” Tobias said. “And neither will I.”

“Nor I,” Erissa said. “Come; we will go find him.” Erissa took the girl's hand, the entire time hiding her own fears as Jensen's heart sputtered and restarted, over and over again.

The spell singer's eyes narrowed as she lost his heartbeat once again. The two followed Erissa as she ran toward the last place she had sensed the heartbeat; once again, with a mighty thump that resonated through her, the elf sensed it again, only to have it fade away yet again after a few beats. The long hallway they raced down opened into a wide corridor, and the three rushed through it.

The grisly scene before them told the tale in earnest. A wicked, iron device stood a silent vigil, and from within the small window green light flickered.

Thu-thump, thu-thump, thu-thump...

A harsh gasp sucked the air in and it was released in a horrible groan; the beating heart went silent, and it was clear to Erissa who was inside. She raced across the room, wincing at the sight of his blood, but steeling herself as she lifted the heavy lock and swung the door open on its hinges. Jensen Ambrose slid off the wicked spikes and fell, still dead, to the floor.

Azza cried out as she tore across the room to the crumpled form of her father, Jensen Ambrose. Her own mind reeling, Erissa dropped to her knees with a painful thud. Azza buried her face in her father's chest, sobbing. Tobias' face twisted with momentary grief, but she quickly steeled herself.

Within seconds, green light began to flicker across the man's body, glowing in lightening-quick, serpentine trails across his body. Erissa worked quickly, using her own healing in synergy with his Breath of the Undying, and the worst of his wounds were mended. Flesh was reknit, bones unbroken, vital organs restored. As he sucked in a gasping breath, Jensen's back arched; his hands curled into fists as blood began to flow again in mighty pulses through his body. Azza cried with joy as her father rolled over to his side, coughing and sputtering.

“Daddy!” she squealed, tackling him again to the ground. He ringed his arms around her, obviously glad to see her unharmed. Erissa sank to the ground and closed her eyes, satisfied that all was as well as it could be. Jensen Ambrose was a formidable force; he lifted himself from the ground, wobbling at first, but soon stood tall and strong. Erissa's eyes grew heavy and her vision faded.

A rough hand lightly tapping her cheek awakened Erissa, and she reopened her eyes to the same nightmare she had just left.

“I said, can you walk?” Jensen asked, brow furrowed into a frown; he knew the implications, the risk Erissa took every time she healed such extensive wounds. The act drained her greatly, but he was on his feet and once again ready to fight.

“Yes,” she mumbled, and he picked her up and set her on her feet.

“Help her,” he growled at Tobias, who draped Erissa's arm across her shoulders.

“Just leave me here. Go. Stop Cassandra,” Erissa said weakly. His eyes softened, but then he looked away angrily.

“Not a chance. Get them both to a safe place,” Jensen commanded Tobias. He kissed Azza's forehead and ran his hand along Erissa's cheek.

“Please tell me it wasn't...” Tobias asked, pointing at the scorched flesh on his arm. Jensen gave the wound a curious look. He replied, with a straight face, to the green-haired elf.

“William douche-fag Arcus,” the immortal seethed. “He let that bitch in. I'm going after her. Get them out of here.”

“The castle's overrun,” Tobias said, shaking her head, “with every dark thing she could throw at us. There is no safe place, inside or out... and we didn't meet William on the way out. He went another way.” Jensen sighed heavily and nodded.

“Then come on,” he said, taking Erissa into his arms. She held tightly to him as Jensen led them in a dead sprint back up the path from which they had just come. Tobias followed Azza as she chased after her father, up the stairs. Erissa's head lolled a bit, and as Jensen stopped at the twisted iron at the top of the stairs, searching for tale of Cassandra's passage, she saw the face of one of the Knights who had guided them safely there, his eyes staring unseeingly at her.

It was, she thought fleetingly before drifting off again, an accusing stare...

[Requiem of Insanity]

Cassandra’s pace had kept her at a steady walk, her entourage shifting behind her like a shambling horde of misfits as she headed into the heart of the chaos. She moved up each step with a grace that belied her murderous intent, like a noblewoman entering the ballroom announced as she stepped through the mural that William had destroyed not long ago. Aside from the few interruptions, things were moving quite nicely for the demi-god.

She was lost in thought, looking up with a lustful sigh at the crimson moon that illuminated her body with a red glow, her eyes glowing in resonance with that she longed to be near. How long ago had she fallen in love with the moon’s siren calls? She thought whimfully back to her childhood when the desires crawled within her, begging to be released as her Dark Companion was formed from her own desires to kill. She giggled as she lifted a finger to the sky, stroking the edge of the red sentinel of the night sky like a lover would. Her elation intensified as she could hear each and every scream, every agonized note, every pitch of fear and terror. She let her eyes flutter as she stopped, her back arched in pleasure as she listened to the boots that walked behind her.

A set of arms wrapped around her frame, as an unshaven face rested behind her ear, a tortured sigh escaping lips as the madness within Kane’s mind warred with his dwindling sanity. The toll of his love for Cassandra Remi had manifested in grey spots in his black hair, and as the harbinger of her desires made manifest, the mortal vessel of her Dark Companion. She looked back to Kane with eyes filled with adoration. Her hand reaching up to cup his face as she let him nuzzle into her.

Long ago in the land of Emprea, Kane had found Cassandra’s broken spirit after she had killed her father, Jebb. She awoke herself within that nightmare she was in, captured Kane, and asked him to be her companion and slave. Her beguiling wits and charm were meant only to get a tool she could use, but somewhere in his service to her she had fallen for the mortal. Her heart ached when near him, and doubly so when away from him. She knew the love was pure and intense, and for that she had killed Kane.

When the time moved along Cassandra had realized her future was to be the Goddess of Blessed Torture, and she began to quest to do so. Upon gaining back artifacts of ancient power, striking dark pacts, and ensuring her pieces upon the board were set she set to achieve divinity by finding someone blessed with a god’s essence. Several people upon Althanas were champions one and all of their gods. Sei even had the backing of most the Thayne Pantheon. However there was one soul who fit the bill to not only grant her divine power, but also get back at the insufferable immortal Jensen Ambrose.

With Stephanie Odara’s screams she was able to enjoy the regret she had in leaving Jensen all alone, for the girl had visited Draconous with Zerith Dracosius to extend her life to live with Jensen forever. Cruel irony was the theme of that night. In so extending her life, she had caused Cassandra’s gaze to turn to her. By harvesting the divine essence out of the woman Cassandra netted it to her own soul, until eventually, with the right rituals, was able to turn that into godly power and she was reborn the demi-god.

To become a demi-god though, Cassandra had lost her attunement to her Dark Companion. Though now she could see him, hear him clearly as anyone could hear the person next to them, she could not touch him, could not resonate with him. His spirit was separated with hers, and she had to find a body to attune her Dark Companion. It just so happened to be that the Citadel had a means to bring back the spirits of old warriors, and using the same trick her Father Jebb had used to come back to life, used the potent necromantic powers of the Anima Revixi to bring Kane’s soul back and into a body as if he had never died. Her Dark Companion attuned to him, and if Kane were to represent anything within the Dark Family, it was the physical manifestation of Cassandra’s ambitions and desires; Kane was her Dark Companion now. Fitting, for Kane was the only person she ever loved.

Yet it was not enough, for she was still very mortal in this state. The next key was to attune her soul to the power of a god, and this could not be diluted through a mortal medium. She needed to find a relic of the god’s power, and use that to begin the final phase of her ascension. Yet everything had to be done in due time, and Cassandra let out a sigh of impatience, before nodding her head as Kane whispered sweet nothings into her ear.

“Soon, my love,” Cassandra whispered as she returned to her walk. Kane let her walk ahead of her as she returned to her thoughts, moving along the walls of her old home like it were her summer estate. She found joy in the blood she walked over, the sigils that formed under her bare feet glowing brightly as they crossed her over the blood. She found a stairwell leading to a room she knew fondly of in her time of tricking Sei that she was to be a savable soul. Several Cultist bodies were hurled down it, dead in a matter of moments from quick, elegant cuts. She even found the body of one of her Ghouls, lines of cuts all over its torso but a neat jagged line under his throat. She shook her head in a displeased matter as she climbed the stair well.

“Good help is so hard to find,” she mused loudly as an announcement of her arrival. She could hear someone shuffling as she felt the dread wave exude from Kane as her Dark Companion flowed forwards, his icy talons reaching at whoever dared stand before. A door slammed shut as Cassandra looked to the top of the stairwell that led to the door of Anita Orlouge. “Isn’t, Benjiro Taka?”

“You,” he whispered in his thick accent. Cassandra opened her arms wildly, laughing as she tilted her head back at the simplicity of his words. His intent behind them, his desires to kill her made strongly clear as he lifted his blade before him. His blood sang with the mark of his taint, Oni inside wishing to cause as much harm to her as Taka did.

“I see you gave up leading men,” Cassandra mentioned with a wink. “I suppose you realized you have no talent to lead?” Taka’s mask hid any of his anger he felt towards her, but she could feel his heart beating. She lifted a hand to detain her retinue as she stepped forwards, the ronin moving backwards a few steps to guard the door. “Protecting Anita from me? Is this what you think, Taka?” Cassandra said softly, her tone like honey as she looked to him with sincerity, her toes gliding seductively one in front of the other as she fanned her out making a wide arc behind her.

“Taka,” Cassandra said gently, leaning forwards to show a modicum of care for his eternal soul. “You cannot dare think this will make up for the death of the one you let down.” Taka’s eyes narrowed behind the slit of his mask. Cassandra gave him an honest smile as she lifted upwards. “You will fail Anita, just like Princess –“

Steel rang outwards in the night as the weapons came to kill Cassandra. She watched him lose his control, and laughed as he came at her, the taint within him beating to have her head as she began to waltz with him in his dance, her speed easily outmatching his as his blades pierced air, missed their mark as she moved with him an elaborate dance. Their bodies twisted and turned, her feet never letting up a moment as she twirled around his outstretched hand, grabbing it, and pulling him forwards. He rolled to his feet, sliding on the blood slicked carpet with weapon ready. Cassandra snapped her fingers and her adopted daughter Aerith stepped forwards, tossing a vile looking blade into Cassandra’s hand. She caught the familiar steel sword, looking to the weapon with fondness. She had named it Butcher’s Bill for it looked like an oversized butcher’s knife.

A few test swings and she looked to Taka, lifting a finger to her lips as she watched him carefully. “Are you going to cut me down? Make me scream for mercy? Violate my flesh with steel and make me suffer?” she said in a lustful manner, biting her nail as she giggled. “I’d very much like that, Benjiro Taka. Show me, show me how even a ronin has honor!”

The two moved in again, and Cassandra’s blade lifted up in a fierce swing, Taka’s blade caught it and parried the attack, his shoulder’s rolling as he swung his torso in momentum, rolling over Cassandra’s body and striking her in the back with a clean cut. Cassandra’s eyes widened in alarm as she snarled, turning around swinging horizontally. Taka’s blade was up in time, but a huge rent notched the weapon as he was forced backwards by her divine strength. She breathed like a jackal, all her composure gone from that one cut as she felt the wounds stitching themselves back up.

“Do not ask,” Taka said coyly. “What one does not wish for.”

Cassandra gave him a confused look, processing the words slowly before she let her feet glide her forwards, weapon slamming forwards again. Taka attempted to roll away, but her speed matched him and her foot came up in his gut knocking the wind out of him as he launched upwards into the wall, weapons clattering as he collapsed. She took her blade and tossed it behind her, heading over and grabbing Taka by his hair lifting him up. She clenched her fist and pulled it back, slamming it into the porcelain mask shattering it as she impacted his nose, leaving chunks within his skin as he turned into a bloody mess, passed out unconscious.

She held him there for a moment, as if debating something, but she dropped him and turned to the door, hearing the lock click and the frame open. She smiled to the woman in the door frame she had gotten to know intimately in the castle. Her eyes were filled with fear as she looked to Taka, than her, and back before she stepped forwards. “Cassandra,” Anita Orlouge said softly. “Pease, stop this.”

“Oh,” Cassandra said in a mocking manner, her tone vile and full of dark intent. “The time is long gone for changing minds. People are dying; being tortured, raped, humiliated, and slaughtered. No no, Anita, the time for ignorant innocence is gone forever I think.” Cassandra lifted her hand out to her, like a mother to her child, and grabbed Anita’s wrist and tossed her into her door frame. She collapsed against it and cried out in pain as the demi god walked towards her, scooping low to pick Anita up by her hair and drag her back into the room as she screamed and flailed around.

Anita cried as Cassandra lifted her up like a sack of clothing, her other hand reaching to her throat and clasping around it as Cassandra motioned for her entourage to come in. With speed they did, and all of them dispersed as they began searching for what their godly mistress wanted. Aerith ripped into her desk, scattering papers and breaking ink pots as Kane rifled through her dresser. The homunculi ravaged her armoires and closet as Cassandra held her in place,listening to her beat in terror, her mouth releasing spittle as she tried to breath, kicking usefully.

“Where are they?” Cassandra said over the noise of snapping wood. “Where are your precious papa’s toys! This can all be over very quickly Anita if you tell me where they are.” Anita could not respond as she coughed for air, and with as much effort as it would be to throw a small rock Anita’s body flew in the air where it crashed against the doors to her closet. She coughed, wheezed and gagged for air as blood poured out her mouth. Cassandra stepped forwards again, her face a mask of determination as she grabbed Anita by her wrist and lifted her again. “Tell me!” she ordered.

“I…don’t…” she coughed more blood up. “I know what…you mean…”

“The blessings of the Thaynes! The trinkets they left behind for their blessings! Is he not the champion of the Thayne Pantheon?” Cassandra screamed at her with irritation, her impatience getting the best of her as she slammed Anita into the wall, causing fractures to spider web where her back was. Anita coughed up more blood as her answer.

“She cannot answer you if you kill her,” Kane’s voice said ominously from the dark corners. Cassandra glanced to him, seeing her dark, dutiful, darling looking back with genuine concern in his eyes. Cassandra took a deep breath, remembering that she was a demi god. To lose her control now was not acceptable. She released the breath, and tossed Anita to the floor, planting her foot upon her neck, her toe digging under her collar bone making her breath sharply in a panicking manner.

“Papa…” she hoarsely spoke. Cassandra lifted her foot. She gasped for air, taking in several large breaths as she spat more blood out and rolled to her side. Anita gave her a frightened look as she peered into the soulless eyes of Cassandra, those hazel orbs mocking her that she once trusted so much. “What you seek is where it always would be, Cassandra,” she coughed a bit. “On Papa…”

Cassandra thought about it for a moment, her head tilting to process the information, and with a satisfactory nod she lifted the girl up to her feet. She dusted the girl off, cupping her face fondly and wiping the blood from her cheek. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Cassandra cooed. Anita avoided her gaze. “Get this through your head Anita,” Cassandra said in a more serious tone. “The world is not sunshine and roses. It’s full of horrible, terrible people. There are those who would want nothing more than to rape you, cut you, kill you! That’s what the real world is! And for your father to ignorantly think that he is the light in such turbulent times is a laugh.”

A homunculi began to grunt for attention, and Cassandra turned to see him pull a curtain open revealing a large stone tablet. The prophecy tablet, to be exact, of the Nine generals. She walked over to it, with Anita in hand, and the two looked to it. She looked to the seventh verse, and found the line that proclaimed how Cassandra would bring the Nine to ultimate victory to save Radansath.

“I will not lift a single finger to save this world,” Cassandra said evenly. “I would rather watch it scream my name in agony.” With the woman’s use fulfilled Cassandra grabbed Anita by the back of her head and shoved her forwards so she collapsed into the stone tablet, and with a vicious kick to her stomach she slumped over and collapsed at the base of it, bile spitting out her lips as her eyes rolled shut, her breath shallow. Cassandra looked to the tablet, and held her hand out. Instantly her sword returned to her hand as Aerith placed it there, retreating a few steps.

“I will not be shackled by fate,” Cassandra whispered. “I will make my own destiny!”

Her hand swung the blade out and in one elegant cut she toppled the stone tablet, it cracking and breaking in several places as it crumbled over Anita like a blanket. With the prophecy destroyed she turned her back on her past and headed to find Sei’s office to pay her Lord her respects.

[Enigmatic Immortal]

Jensen's mind was filled with a million racing thoughts, each one slamming into the other as he tried to determine just exactly how he should feel. The woman who killed his fiancé, his home was under attack, his comrade was a traitor, his daughter was covered in blood, and the only two elves he could tolerate in the entire world were beaten and exhausted. The warrior in him told him to fight, fight with every ounce of strength he had to rally the Ixian Knights. The father in him wanted him to take Azza to safety, find a tunnel and break through away from this war. The Jensen Ambrose in him wanted to sit in a corner and laugh; laugh riotously and obnoxiously the fool that mortals be. The weight in his arm shifted as he looked to Erissa's tired face, and he shifted her in his arms to hold her closer.

"We need to find a safe haven that even the Cultists have yet to overrun," Tobias spoke. Though with all the madness and screams in the air Jensen at first didn't catch her words until she tugged his arm and repeated them. He looked wildly to the green haired woman and then back to his daughter. He nodded once, and looked back to Erissa's face.

"I hate to do this to you, leaf licker," Jensen whispered into her ear. "But the rides over. I need to be able to fight if we're going to walk right past the lion's mouth of battle." Erissa's eyes woozily opened a few times, her head nodding slowly as she gracefully lowered one boot to the floor. Instantly Azza and Tobias were on either side of her, the silver haired woman's arms draped over each of their shoulders. Jensen flexed his fingers inside his leather gloves, hearing them creak as he looked to the staircase below him. Bodies were everywhere, a few with faces punched in, cuts that went through bone with a butcher's grace, or faces wracked with pain that indicated a potent venom in their blood. The immortal pulled out his knife gifted to him by Seth Dahlios, the blade's edge a crimson colored hue from when he lobbed it inside a tree while in the Red Forest. He twirled it around expertly as a nervous twitch before he moved forwards leading them deeper into the main castle.

It wasn’t long before troubled reared its head to great the immortal, a hellish ghoul of the Cult looking up to him with bloodstains all over its maw and hands, a dead Ixian at his feet with chest ripped open by the foul talons of the beast. Tobias flinched as Azza went for her sword, but in the blink Jensen was before them, laughing hysterically with madness as he slid into combat kicking the Ghoul in the stomach.

The beast’s body absorbed the blow with no indication of pain at all, its hand reaching for his foot. He brought his other leg up in a flip kick, landing boot to jaw with enough force to make the beast stagger backwards as Jensen rolled to his feet and began shuffling in place. The immortal let the Ghoul come at him and they danced in the glow of the harvest moon. Jensen let the creature claw at him with wild strikes, letting it spin awkwardly to face him as he moved like the breeze of the wind. Jensen laughed, taunted, and cursed the beast’s mother as they continued, all the while his feet back pedaling until he felt something shift against him, a cry of pain, and the immortal fell to the ground with wide yes.

A dying Cultist had grabbed his leg, knife lifting up to stab the immortal in his right eye. Jensen managed to grab the knife hand, twist the weapon free, and throw a punch in his face, but even with his prodigious agility and speed he wasn’t so quick to stop the Ghoul from coming at him. Gore lashed out as Jensen’s eyes exploded, the beast wailing as it thrashed at him, but falling to the side of the immortal as it failed to grab a hold of him. The immortal rolled to the side coming up next to Azza who was hunched over her longsword that was impaled to the hilt in the beast’s spine. She planted her foot on the gnarled hide of the demon born creature and pulled her weapon free, Jensen silencing the cries with a knife lodged under its throat.

Silence filled the walkway once more as the two looked to the dead beast. Jensen gave his daughter a small glance, seeing a tiny ember of a fire inside her, and with a tug on her shirt he opened his arms to her, which she nodded holding him tightly. “Thank’s kiddo,” Jensen whispered to her ear, kissing her cheek.

“Yeah,” she whispered in a trance. “No problem.” Jensen pointed back to Erissa and she understood moving back as Tobias and Erissa both welcomed her, the tiny girl holding the frail elf as she sighed deeply. The green haired klepto approached Jensen and looked to Jensen with concern as the knight flicked the ichor off his blade and holstering it.

“Do you have any thoughts where we should be going,” Tobias asked softly, her hand resting on his shoulder as the two gave each other a knowing look. Neither wanted to say it, neither wanted to be the one that said ‘of course there is a place, we just have to walk through hell to get there with a little girl, a rouge, and an exhausted elf spell singer.’ Jensen at last nodded patting Tobias’ arm as he turned towards the view point of the walkways.

"Aislinn," Jensen said in a gruff manner. "Her medical ward looks to be the biggest pocket of Ixian soldiers not being overrun. Though to get there," Jensen let the words linger on his breath as he gestured to the courtyard filled with warrior's locked in a swirling melee as cold steel rang just an octave louder than the cries of war. The horde of Cultists roared with a fury unmatched as they screamed praises to the Dark Mother, their depravity knowing no bounds as they acted out their every whim on the field of battle. The Ixians defended their home with the wrath of a mother bear, each swing of their swords, maces, shields, fists filled with lethal intent to kill the enemy that intruded upon their home.

"It's a madhouse," Tobias said with disgusted venom. "Everywhere is fighting...how did this all happen...how could Sei not know they would be coming!" Jensen shot Tobias a dirty look with a cruel grin.

"Cassandra Remi is usually one step ahead of everyone; that includes Sei. And we can't be too hard on the guy," Jensen muttered as he lifted out a throwing glaive and let it lose on the sneaking Cultist who came for the head of his precious daughter. The weapon protruded from his neck, red blood spraying upwards as he collapsed with a gurgle to the ground. "He does have a lot of things to keep track of." Jensen headed over to the body as Erissa held Azza to her. Erissa's eyes looked to Jensen seeing the inner wrath of the immortal as he fought to keep himself from diving into the mass of bodies and killing. "That's what the bitch does. Waits and bides her time until your attention is elsewhere. Then she strikes!" Jensen spat as he ripped the weapon out of the dead man's throat. There was a last spurt of blood that splashed the immortal’s face, giving him a long red line over his right eye and lips. He shook it away, leaving a thin trail as he turned to the group.

The green haired elf stepped forwards towards the wall, keeping to the shadows as she lifted a hand out to the rear facing pathways that led to the rear of the battles. She motioned for the immortal to join her as Azza let Erissa clean her body of the dirt and blood she had accrued over the night, doing her best to keep herself awake.

“Is that Duffy’s friend?” Tobias whispered. Jensen peered where her finger was pointing, and sure enough he managed to find the red robes that was a tell tale sign of Arden Janelle. The knight nodded his head. “I think if we can meet up with him, which will give us two fighters and a better chance to make it inside the medical ward. That giant spider on the other hand…” Tobias shivered away from the creature as her hair rose noticeably in the back of her head. Jensen chuckled cruelly looking at his comrade in the Tantalum troupe.

"Come on," Jensen spat darkly. "Let's go find my little brother."

[Arden]

With a longing in his heart, a fire in his belly, and a weight on his shoulders Arden stepped out into the pallid moonlight. His instant reaction was to fall to despair at the ruin lain out before him. There was no doubt in the swordsman’s mind as he slipped to the left to skirt around the inner wall of the grand courtyard that things were not looking fortunate for the Ixian Knights. Even with his one good eye, he could see that no matter what the outcome, the castle would be desolated all the same. Their numbers would be severely dwindled, their defence shattered, and their resolve, their moral, their spiritual well-being sundered.

It did not matter if Cassandra Remi was caught, killed, and cast into the shadows now. Whatever strange games the murderess was playing, she had already won her hand. As his boots scuffed against the dust riddled flagstones, the only thing that kept Arden travelling forwards was the prospect of being able to do something in all the madness. The only thing that kept him edging slowly towards the outskirts of the melee was a vain hope that whatever strange death Duffy had foreseen on the swordsman’s horizon would somehow be worth it.

“Why did you have to leave?” he grumbled, picturing the Bard smiling joyfully in his mind, only to punch him with metaphorical fists of fury over and over.

Arden looked up at the battlements and balked for a moment. His eye narrowed, picturing the last moments of the shattered stub that was once the northern watchtower. Smoke still rose from the crash site, and instilled a sense of connectivity in the swordsman’s mind. Whosoever had smashed the tower to the ground had inadvertently separated Arden and Jensen in the tunnel work below. He could only stare in horror at the thought of who might also be trapped in the shadows. How many guards had been left to fend for themselves in hallowed mausoleums? How many lost souls were battling the dead, dying, and the deranged in the bowels of Ixian Castle? Arden shuddered, despite his cold heart; he could not help but shed an illusory tear for the calamity that had befallen them.

“It is time to put a stop to this…” he whispered softly. With firm hands, and a sudden swell of resolve born from the Oni in his soul, he took a hold of Kerria’s hilt. With a soft ring of steel, he drew the Rose scented sword from its scabbard. He did not look down to check its placement, and levelled it before his torso without as much as a thought. His eyes remained fixated on the far side of the grand courtyard, where the virulent hordes of Cassandra’s cult were clashing against a valiant last shield wall that was formed around a stairway that rose up to the foot of a dome. Arden did not recognise it, but it was the start of the tunnel descent down and out of the castle.

If he had paid attention during his tenure here after Duffy’s departure, he would have known that the innocent, the young, and the weak would have fled down that path. To defend it would be a valiant act to perform, in the absence of the strange, undying assassin that was supposed to claim Arden’s neck. Without thinking, he tensed his calf muscles, buttocks, and his spinal column and darted headfirst across the courtyard. In the north eastern corner, there were easily fifty ghouls, wraiths, and darker things still flailing, screeching, and crashing into the battered shields of the last of the guard. From this distance, Arden could not see if any familiar faces were amongst the beleaguered, but he hoped, prayed, and screamed to The Aria that he was not the last of his fellows still in the upper reaches of the castle.

“We shall lay down only our enemies, <our assailants, and all their bastard kin!>” his voice screeched with ferocity and hatred into the atmosphere. It danced like a fireball into the crowd, and many turned their heads in mock surprise at the sight of a flank attack from a foolish, blood filled, and tasty mortal.

Little did they know…

Kerria swung in an arc, and the hearts of the shield wall gladdened at the spiralling crimson cloud of death that wove their freedom into the tendons of their worst nightmares.

[TwinCast]

The fight was fast getting out of hand. Liliana held off the red headed brigand to the best of her abilities, but he was quite the handful. He was using every dirty trick he knew to keep the priestess from overcoming his defenses, going so far as to grope her at one point. Aislinn knew that Liliana surely was nearing the limits of her patience, and without reprieve would begin acting hasty. Carlos was having a rough time trying to get at the woman who kept tossing vile concoctions every time they threatened to close the gap. It was a stalemate that was exhausting to maintain. They could only hope to hold out long enough for the other Ixian Knights to find out about it.

Aislinn meanwhile was locked in a duel of witchcraft. The man was at least as adept at it as she was, and the winds of magic moved about the two of them swiftly. Cooing and whispering words of encouragement to their chosen champions. It was unsettling to say the least to know that while they spoke ill of the man, sure they were speaking ill of her too in his ears. She could not blame the winds for it anymore than she could blame a bird for flying. It was what they did.

It did however tell her a bit of what they knew. Alexander Rayz was a man who sought the horizon always. He was no petty cultist but a dreamer of epic scales. His part in this was helping to contort and ruin the lives of others to create the hideous ghouls that even now ran rampant through Ixian Castle. Much of the fault of tonight could be laid bare at this man's feet. She could only assume it had told him much of the same.

"Shyish says you have no stomach for this fight," The man taunted as he came forward for a killing blow with the talons of ice upon his hand. The burning hand swiped down in a definitive blow that caused him to jerk back for fear of losing the magic holding it together.

Aislinn let out a derisive snort as she clutched her staff and brought it down towards the man further separating the two as they glared warily at each other, "Funny, Shyish says you cheated it your death. Aqshy also wishes you to know that your attempts at evocation are pathetic at best."

Both let out a dry chuckle. It was nothing more than a release of the pent up stress between them. Still they moved warily even as the man before him tilted his ear to the winds, he then let a vile grin cross his face before he said something softly to the woman who was with the three of them. The woman deftly plucked a few vials of some concoction from her bustier before she flung them at the witch who slammed her staff down, anticipating some treachery at the hands of the man.

The vials would have collided with the mystic protection she had put up, if she hadn't heard the cry of alarm, "Teach!"

Eyes whipped furiously at the man who she had taught the ways of herbalism. He interposed for the witch and as the vials shattered a green fire immolated the man. Aislinn felt as if she had the wind sucked from her lungs as she felt the man die. She staggered under the blow, knowing there would be no fancy witchcraft to keep the man afloat, there would be no medicine that could bring him back. Carlos Espanoza was dead, and there was nothing the witch could do about it. She was far too weak to protect even her medical ward.

The blazing hand at her stump suddenly intensified the flames audibly crackling as the witch glowered at the two. Their smug smiles belying the sense of satisfaction at finally bringing the fight more to their liking. The witch brought her hand up and unleashed the fury of Aqshy upon them as she snarled, "I will burn the flesh from your bones! I will char your bones unto dust. I will sear your soul unto nothing and still, and still you will not have suffered enough!"

They dodged, out of animalistic fear they parted ways so that the flames would miss, and in their wake the room suddenly got brighter as the flames licked at burn more intensely. The witch's mask of rage was clearly seen by all at the sudden destructive act of Aislinn Orlouge, the Ixian Knights Chief Medical Officer. Even more the sound had caused something else to sound. It was the roar of someone charging through the hallways as suddenly a man rushed into the room and with the sweep of a maul shattered the terrain, making the footing more even as he looked upon the three cultists before him. His eyes held an immense hatred as he looked upon each of them in turn.

A small black cat moved down the hallway behind the immense man before it rubbed up against Aislinn shocking her out of the ensuing silence that marked the coming of her love. The presence of her closest confidants stopped her from falling into the murderous rage that threatened to overtake her even now. Her eyes narrowed as she carefully shifted the grip on her staff and spoke firmly, "Alexander Rayz, you have dreamt your last..."

[The Last Wolf]

Steel versus steel, katana versus longsword. Renault fainted to the left, but Harold saw through it. The Chaplain struck at the mercenary's head, but Renault dodged to the side just in time. His katana raced at his foe's heart, but the longsword defended the target well. Just as quickly, the longsword was racing for his own throat, but Renault's trusty katana parried that blow, as it had many others.

Tch. He's actually pretty good! The mercenary thought with more satisfaction than dislike. After all, he would have been remiss to not get at least one good fight out of the Ixian Knights. Still, there were problems with this duel.

The two warriors were about equal when it came to skill, so that wasn't an issue. Also, Renault wasn't too concerned about his opponent's armor; it was only leather, and it only covered the man's chest. Though Renault didn't have any armor, he was adapt at using his speed to make up for that, so he figured they were just about equal on that score as well.

No, the real problem was that the chance of intervention was high. Renault wasn't sure what side would interfere first, but either way he looked at it, neither side would be beneficial to him. If the Ixian Knights showed up first, then he would be outnumbered and outmatched. If the cult's forces showed up, they might help him, or they might try to tear him limb from limb. No matter how he cut it, this duel had to end soon.

Sparks flashed in the hall as the two locked swords, each man putting their full body weight behind their blades, each man forgoing finesse and simply aimed to shove the other man to the ground.

"Ye fight well sellsword," Harold grunted as he felt his feet give way, "I salute thy strength, if not thy morals!"

"And you're significantly less preachy than the last Chaplain I killed!" Renault grunted back as he pressed his advantage, "still ridiculously preachy, but at least you haven't reached the level of ludicrous yet!"

"Allow me to rectify that!" Harold shouted; an aura of power practically seethed from him as he began to chant.

"Listen well ye of little faith! Thy time is nigh, for the eyes of the Ixian Knights are upon ye!" as he chanted, Harold broke off the clash of swords, causing Renault to stumble forward slightly. The mercenary recovered quick enough, but his opportunity was wasted, and had no choice but to revert to being on the defensive.

Harold brought the full force of his longsword down on the katana; Renault felt his sword arm tremble in shock and pain. Blow after blow rained down upon him, and each and every one took a bit more of his strength away, whereas Harold's strength seemed to grow and grow with each attack.

"I might have to take up being preachy," Renault cursed as he abandoned the thought of defending himself via sword; Harold was just too strong when he was chanting. Instead, the mercenary shook his limbs a bit, and began side-stepping the attacks. The Chaplain was attacking in wide arcs; massive sweeps with his sword seemed to rend the very air around the blade. Each and every gust of wind that passed by Renault as he dodged was a reminder of just how good his opponent was, and just how fatal this battle had become.

Eventually, with his back pressed against a wall, Renault found himself forsaking all offense, and focused only on dodging the ever-increasing strikes from the longsword. He ducked and weaved about, each time narrowly escaping death. The longsword carved into the scenery, tapestry and stone alike were marred by the furious blade of Harold Andres.

“Enough of this!” Renault spat; he made a desperate lunge at Harold’s unguarded neck. The Chaplain moved at the last instant; the katana struck into its target only barely. Still, that blow was enough to send a bit of blood about. Harold paid no mind to his life force bleeding out, instead he whirled his blade about, striking at Renault’s exposed side. The mercenary felt a sharp pain in his side, and felt a good portion of his strength leave him. Renault stumbled about, drawing ragged breaths as his free hand attempted to stem the blood flow, much like the woman crying in the corner was still attempting to do.

Gripping tightly his sword, Harold advanced upon the wounded mercenary.

“Now, we end this,” Harold offered softly as he raised his sword high. Renault clucked his tongue.

“Oh, I very much agree. Let’s close the curtain on this night,” the mercenary muttered, prepared as much as anyone could be for the finale of his own personal Night of Debauchery.

[Tainted Bushido]

"Taka, wake up!" Anita Orlouge was frightened, truly terrified. She had no where to go and with Taka out, she had no protection. Suddenly the world was much more terrifying without the pacifying presence of her father, or the determined presence of Taka.

At one time she had thought she loved the man, but over time they both realized the foolishness of such feelings. Yes, there was love but it was love born of battle. There was nothing that marked it as true love. it was a more platonic love, and with Taka hurt and crushed by Cassandra, she feared for the ronin. Further, Taka made it clear he couldn't love someone, not with the threat of the taint looming over him.

Even if she had the thought of running she couldn't, not knowing that the madmen running around would probably defile Taka while he was down, or worse. Her hands, at one time unblemished and now caked with the blood of her own body and his shook the ronin roughly even as his face, a mask of black blood remained resolutely passive. She shuddered seeing the blood and shook him again whimpering in fear as she whispered, "Please Taka, don't die on me again. I need you!"


~*~

It was too easy to stay down.

Back in the world he had left was nothing but pain. The pain of his humiliating defeat. The pain that accompanied having his porcelain mask shattered and the fragments shoved into his face with the force of the punch Cassandra Remi had delivered him. The pain of knowing yet again he had lost the important battle. He didn't care how many of the cultists he defeated, it needed to be one higher for it to matter in his book. He had fallen.

The darkness enveloped him whole.. It was calm and patient, watching him as surely as he rested in it. It asked nothing in return, just the knowledge that he was it's servant. He had not heard the Oni's thoughts forced into his mind in some time. Even the demon in his blood knew that it had him. He couldn't win the battle for his soul, how in the world did he expect to win the battle against Cassandra Remi? If he could not know himself, how did he expect to know his enemy and in doing so gain victory?

Still he knew the answer, pain was a crucible. It forged something stronger than what it began with. Each bit of pain was a cruel lesson in what Taka lacked, another reminder in what he needed to do. Pain was transitory. Pain was illusory, pain, could be overcome. He knew that to stay down in the night was to abandon others to the same fate he was poised to accept. Death was not an end. Failure, was not an end. Pain, was not an end. Accepting a pattern of defeat, accepting he could do nothing to change, that was the end.

Do you truly wish to go back little ronin? Think of the pain they will try to visit upon you. The losses you will watch yourself endure. Think hard little falcon*, is that truly your wish?

Taka knew the answer.

Very well. If you believe you can still fight, by all means, prove me wrong...


~*~

Anita shook the ronin once more before she turned back to look over her shoulder, a squeal of surprise issuing from her lips as she saw men rushing up the stairs. Some held swords from the fallen Ixian Knights, and more than one wore a perversion of a smile. In this night of no limits, the men had glutted on their fiendish desires. Here, was a chance to indulge fully. Here was a young woman of quiet beauty, something that they wished to defile, to control, to dominate and make theirs.

She moved back slowly, even as she carefully gripped Taka's katana. Holding it before her she tried to keep the fear from her voice, "Back off!"

The laughter of jackals greeted her in response. They moved forward slowly, confident she didn't know what she was doing. Still there was caution in those steps. The downed man nearby was still alive. They could see his chest moving if only slightly, perhaps he was dying, but they dare not risk it. Even more there was the slight risk she would actually hurt one of them with that blade. Still as they crowded towards her, the laughter grew bolder, more loud.

"Look at her, she wore a skirt for us. How considerate...makes getting to the fun a lot easier..."

"Hey whore, don't you know better than to pick up a blade if you don't know how to hold it?"

The catcalls continued. They jeered and crowed at her before they stopped, looking at the downed man. One of the men poked forward with his sword, testing to see if the man still drew breath.

It was the last mistake he made.

The sound of metal upon metal could be heard as the gauntlet clad hand of the ronin moved gripping the sword by its blade. Task accomplished the tanto at the ronin's back was unsheathed and the knife was buried to the hand of the former samurai in the man's neck. Another man moved to attack the ronin only to find the ronin clap his hands together, blocking the slice between both palms. With a twist the man was unarmed before Taka's hand moved back and with a jerk, Rengoku was torn from Anita's grip.

The blade sang a song of vengeance as the ronin slid his hand down the length. Blackened blood smeared along its length, as he took a blow to the shoulder from another sword. Hand unclenched only slightly as the saya cleared the gauntlet, before it clamped down upon the hilt of the sword. All of this happened in the span of a few seconds, and there was now one armed man, who's sword was buried in the meat of Taka's shoulder. Without any strength to jerk the sword out, the ronin reached forward with his injured shoulder and gave a cry, focusing his pain and rage in one syllable, "Utz!"

The hand shoved the man back a step before in a heavy blow, Rengoku struck the man sternum to crotch. With the distance between them, the blow was enough to cut cleanly into the sternum splitting his chest open. As the cut cleaved through the man's stomach, Taka sank to a knee the blade forming a crutch as he reversed grip and held onto the weapon. Baleful eyes looked out amongst the vultures, coming for what they thought was an easy kill. Slowly they watched the very organs that had kept their friend alive spill upon the ground.

One of the men ran for it, he lived.

The other one reached for his sword.

Pulling Rengoku from the floor, Taka grunted as he stood up, and carefully choked up on the grip of his sword. Eyes watched the man who saw the steel of the Ixian blade still in Taka's shoulder. The arm that had shoved his friend back now hung limply at his side. It was obvious the man was on his last legs, and yet he stood between him and the prize of the night. He had killed two men, taken a sword to the shoulder and still stood between them. They stood there watching each other, before a delightful smile crossed his face.

Lifting his blade he carefully took up a stance, while Taka watched motionlessly. The eyes never left each other as they stood there, waiting for the other to move. Even with the handicap of the injury, the man was wary of stepping within the katana's reach. Anita watched in awe as the Ronin stood there, blade in shoulder.

Taka moved first.

The man slashed outwards, hoping the catch the ronin as he crossed the flagstones. It was then they felt it, a pulse of life that did not allow for such petty things as death. The blade faltered, only a second, but that second was all that was needed, as the ronin ran Rengoku through the gut of the would be duelist. Eyes locked for a second, as Taka watched the life slowly drain from the man's eyes.

It was in those moments, Taka spoke, his voice heavy with pain, "Never. Again."

The man nodded before he fell back, sliding off Rengoku. A wet cough escaped him before he said firmly, "I see that..." His last words spoken, his eyes rolled back into his head, before his life left him. It wasn't until then Taka fell to the floor. His good hand moved to the blade, and he let out a cry of pain as he stubbornly pushed the blade out. The snapping of bone could be heard as the blade had lodged into the arm, making it useless.

Anita rushed over the Taka and cried, "Don't die on me Taka. We need to get out of here!"

Taka nodded dully before he spoke softly, "The medical ward. We need to get there..."

Anita nodded as she carefully picked up Rengoku forcing it back into his hand. The ronin gripped it before he grunted more in pain, trying to get up and falling back to the ground. A pool of blackened blood formed under the ronin, as he tried to pry himself from the stones. Anita helped him and they managed to move down the stairs, before rejoining the Ixian Knights in the Night of Debauchery. There was no safe haven, but there was a bastion of hope. They moved forward, believing in that hope.

*Taka is the word for Falcon.

[Revenant]

The events of the night were swiftly progressing towards their culmination point. While the momentum of the initial sneak attack had faltered, Cassandra’s cultists had gained too much of a foothold in their opening moves to be easily rooted out and destroyed. While the arrival of the Ixian reinforcements had briefly halted Cassandra’s forces, the demi-god’s arrival had spurred them into even greater acts of self-negligent violence. There was no semblance of order in the fighting as individual cells fortified themselves to resist assault and continued their bloody work. Cultists and soldiers alike went corridor to corridor, room to room, until every corner of castle seethed like a dying beast infested with maggots. Blood ran seemingly from the stones of the castle itself as the living creatures within it writhed, fought, and died.

Though he wasn’t partaking in all that mindless slaughter going on around him, William appreciated the violence as being exactly what was necessary to allow him to move freely throughout the ravaged halls with impunity. Groups of Ixian soldiers allowed him free passage on the assumption that he was pursuing his own agenda for the cause, and most cultists wisely chose to avoid him, whether by command from their Dark Mother or their own common sense. Those few mindless savages who thought to prey on the lone figure stalking through the hallways found that William was not as easy a prey as first imagined.

Owing no allegiance to either side, William was completely unconcerned when a group forced their deaths upon themselves by confronting him. He was doing his best to remain out of the limelight more for convenience purposes than for practical reasons. While slaughtering everyone he came across sounded like a delightful idea, William had plans that he had to enact and was loathe to announce his presence in such a loud manner.

An Ixian soldier bearing the insignia of a sergeant rounded the corner in front of William so suddenly that he nearly collided with him.

“You’re Captain Arcus aren’t you?” he said, visibly shaken but more so relieved.

“I am,” William answered somewhat hesitantly.

“Oh thank the Thaynes. We’ve just arrived from the Knife’s Edge branch in Salvar and need orders.” The sergeant slumped, obviously thankful to have a burden lifted from his shoulders. “We weren’t even properly briefed on what exactly was going on. More than half of our members were still preparing when the Misery creature teleported the few of us here. I think it’s preparing to retrieve the rest but we still don’t know what to do here.”

William shrugged, “I think there was some word about another wave massing outside the breach in the northern walls. Your presence might be appreciated there.”

“The walls have been breached?’ the sergeant asked incredulously. William merely shrugged again. “Damn it all,” the man cursed, and waved back to summon his few men forward. “You’re headed for the teleportation room Captain?”

“I am.”

“If you get the chance, can you direct the rest of our men to the northern wall as well? We’ll show these bastards what it means to be an Ixian Knight.” With that, the Ixian sergeant roared a battle cry and sprinted off towards the castle’s exterior. William wasn’t sure if they would make it to the walls, but he knew that they would be away from most of the fighting if they did manage to get there unimpeded. In the end their fates mattered little to the revenant, and he put the sergeant from him mind as soon as he resumed his march towards the teleportation room.

Inside, as the sergeant had said, the plant beast known as Misery was pacing frantically, obviously exhausted from the exertion of pulling Ixian Knights to the castle from all corners of Althanas. The plant monster cast a fearful glance towards the door as William entered, but relaxed and made a soft cooing sound when he realized who William was. William, Kyla, and Sei had first encountered the creature when on a scouting mission in the demon infested swamps of Haida. The mystics had adopted the creature as a pet of sorts when they learned that it was completely docile. That the creature could teleport not only itself but anything around it at a whim had also helped with the decision to keep it safe and guarded in the castle. It had even made friends with the disgruntled monster hunter, much to William’s annoyance and the mystics’ amusement.

That was exactly what William was here to rectify.

Thinking him a friend, Misery had no qualms about letting William get close, despite the rampant chaos thriving throughout the fortress. The revenant waited for the creature to close its eyes in concentration as it reached out for the remaining Salvaran Ixian Knights and then he casually swung his warscythe. The blade passed through Misery without much resistance and the plant beast managed one confused gurgle before it fell into a slump on the floor. A thick, viscous fluid pooled quickly about the teleportation chamber's runic circle, evidence of the wound that William had caused. While the creature didn't move, William was unsure if it was actually dead or not. He remembered that it had regenerating capabilities of some sort, akin to his own, but that didn't matter much to the revenant. His work finished, William turned and walked out of the teleportation room, satisfied that even if the creature lived it would know that it had made a terrible mistake in trusting him.

And, cast into the void as the teleportation failed midway through, a thousand Ixian soldiers from Salvar died, their souls torn apart by the things living in the space between spaces.

[Paragon]

The breach in the northern wall allowed the worst of the Cult's minions and monsters to molest the sanctity of the Ixian stronghold. Many knights rushed out to valiantly try to stem the tide, but ultimately most of them were washed away. One such knight bravely stood his ground as long as he could, but now he lay on the ground, still holding up his sword and unable to see from one eye due to all the blood covering it from his cut forehead. A giant spider crawled towards him, snarls escaping between its fangs as its hairy legs took one step after another. The spider had a cultist rider, who joyously waved around a machete. The knight thought of his family in his last moments, and resolved to not go out without a fight.

That's when the spider stopped, twitching uncontrollably as a lance pierced through its head entirely, sticking itself into the ground. The spider's spasms did not last long, when its legs finally gave out and it collapsed, knocking the rider off into the dirt. The lance transformed into a small dragon figurine, flying up into the night sky. It flew up the walls of the castle, all the way up to the roof until finally someone caught it in his hand and then clipped it into his belt. The man who caught it then revealed the spear in his other hand, twirling it in the air above him before jumping off of the roof, falling down all the way down into the northern courtyard, but landing as if the huge jump was a little hop. He lifted his head, revealing his aqua eyes. It was Dorian of the Sesthali, General of the Labor Team. Noticing that one of the spiders had fallen, ghouls, cultists, and more spiders swarmed the young dragon knight.

The dead spider's rider was furious, but soon thought of the ways he would dismember the interloper when he taunted, "You came here alone? What do you hope to accomplish? You're dead!"

Dorian tightened the grip on his spear, his expression serious and focused, "Who said I was alone?"

At that moment, all around them the cultists screamed and the ghouls roared, and the spider rider looked around to see knights with various weapons cutting through them. He wondered where the hell they came from, then he looked up and could spot figures in the night sky jumping down from the roof. There were dozens of them, all landing and vanquishing the enemies around Dorian. Before he knew it, the dragon knight charged him and stick his spear into his gut, impaling the spider rider. As Dorian pulled the spear out, the man fell to the ground in agony. Then, he looked up. It was hard to see in this darkness, but flying high above was his black dragonling partner, Fallow.

"They've all landed!" beamed the dragonling's high-pitched voice into Dorian's head. "Fallien's contingent just landed in the southern courtyard, most of the Salvaran forces are in the eastern one, and the ones from Alerar and Raiaera are in the western one. Most of Corone's reinforcements are with you." Fallow was referring to the knights who came through the teleportation chamber since this conflict began, all of them instructed to immediately head to the roof and outfit themselves with special mass fate-crafted leg braces that for one night only, gave them all the Fate of the Dragonet, making them all members of Dorian's Dragoon Corps. In addition to soft landings from great heights, they all had quick movements and high jump capacity.

Dorian had been farthest away from the teleporter, but Sei knew that he would come. Once Dorian arrived, he went up to the roof and found all the foreign-deployed knights waiting for his order. Sei had told him to wait for the last few stragglers before making his move, but after he received word that Misery was no longer operational, he made his move.

Fallow's voice was heard again, but this time it was telepathically broadcast to all of the Dragoon Corps, "Starting right now, you're all part of the Labor Team! Your duties are to not let a single one of these freaks is get into the castle, got it?! The invasion stops here!"

Dorian smiled. Fallow was certainly in the mood, although the dragonling was floating high above the castle, using his nocturnal vision to clearly see everything that was happening outside. The short time Dorian was on the roof however, he saw the fires that were burning in Andarial. Sei had assured him that measures were being taken to ensure the safety of the townspeople, but watching those billowing flames the dragon knight couldn't help but think he was too late. The scene before him unfolded, with dragoons leaping from foe to foe. The giant spiders were no match for them, as they could attack from above. He couldn't do anything about the monsters that were already infesting the castle, as dragoons were weak in confined spaces, but now that nothing further was getting into the castle it was only a matter of time before they were all defeated.

That included Cassandra Remi.

[Amber Eyes]

Kyla prayed quietly as her young son lay sleeping peacefully in his bed with his grandmother standing guard. Her orders were clear; she was to remain with Akiv until word was sent for them to move. Sei would take no chances with the boy, his only male heir and the only chance for the mystic race to survive. The mystic paced back and forth. She heard each shot ring out below. From her window she could see very little of the battle looming outside, but the occasional burst of light told her the fight was far from over. She watched her son’s chest move gently up and down. She thanked the Thaynes that he was blissfully ignorant of his home’s attack. Gran Gran’s head nodded softly as she struggled to remain awake. War was neither for the young nor the old.

Footsteps echoed through the door and Kyla quickly cast mystic protection on the defenseless child before summoning a shadow sword and bracing herself for an attack. She positioned herself near the doorway in hopes to stop whoever dared enter before they could reach Akiv. The door burst open and a young chaplain breathlessly tried to speak. His eyes were red from exhaustion and his clothing seemed worse for wear. Kyla quickly grabbed the man and looked deep into his eyes. “Do you bring word from Sei?”

The man shook his head, doubling over with his hands on his knees as he forced out the words. “No, it’s the Revenant.”

Kyla sighed, annoyed at the clergyman for coming to her. Already Akiv was starting to toss and turn and she would never get him settled down again with all the sound from below. “William Arcus can handle himself sir. There is little I could do to assist him even if my orders weren’t to guard this room. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m pretty sure there are a lot of places down there you could be of assistance. If my family dies because you felt the need to barge up here…”

“Miss Orlouge. General Arcus, I think he’s with the cult.” He spat the words, finally falling to his butt on the plush carpeted floor.

One look at the man’s face confirmed his belief, “Stay with them, if my son dies you better pray you do too.” Kyla raced from the room, her shadow sword held tightly in her grip as she made her way down the stairwell, slipping off her shoes as she ran. She was not dressed for combat, Sei preferring her to look helpless should someone make the trip to her living space. It would take them by surprise, he said, when she was able to defend herself.

Her bare feet slammed against the hard stone floors as she ran, trying to get to Misery where surely new troops would be receiving orders. She entered the creature’s room only to find it writhing in pain on the ground. A long gash was evident on the being’s midsection. It had been much worse she could tell, already noticing its wounds beginning to seal themselves. She gently touched its nose, her hand quickly becoming saturated in the goo that served as its blood. Her initial terror at the creature had grown into a deep love the first time Misery had saved her life. The first of many, her pet name for the disturbing creature filled her mind. “I’m going to find whoever did this, Fluffy, I swear it.”

The mystic pulled herself away from the plant, its eyes following her as she stepped backwards from the room. A loud commotion down the hall seemed as good a place to start as any. She ran, Sophia’s mane glowing as it felt the presence of souls nearby. Kyla rounded a corner and recognized William walking slowly away from her. She shouted, her breathing ragged from all the running, “Uncle William! What’s going on out there?”

William Arcus was a monster, that was a fact pretty much every one knew. Many knights had feared the man much more fiercely than any other general. That was what made him so effective. His will to accomplish a goal, to eliminate an enemy was not mixed in with his emotions. In Kyla’s mind though, William was so much more than that. They had spoken of family, of loss. They connected because at one time they each had everything they loved taken from them. They grew closer as both found a new family in the Knights. The girl would gladly lay down her life for the Revenant, and she truly believed deep in her being that he felt the same.

Kyla thought of the first time she spoke to the man, his cold exterior that she had been determined to break through. She pictured him in front of the lion's den at the local Zoo and remembered his words. “You don’t know about living like a beast, moving only with instinct to hunt and kill and survive. Nature isn’t plain and simple, girl, it’s brutal and unforgiving."


The Revenant stopped and turned around slowly, a blank stare on his face as he looked at the girl. Kyla quickly noticed Misery’s blood covering the front of his armor. “It’s not true is it William? Please tell me it's not true.” The girl’s eyes filled with tears as she looked up at him. She dropped to her knees, “If you truly are a monster than kill me now! Here I am, an Ixian Captain, show me who you really are right now William. Do it!”

As she waited for his reply her own response filled her mind. "Yes, a lioness will hunt and kill with no thought of the other animal, but that is far better than pretending to care for someone only to turn at the first sight of trouble. The brutality of animals is at least honest Mr. Arcus."

[Revenant]

It had only been a matter of time until his treacherous involvement in the evening’s affairs came to light. It would have been a nicety for William to be able to do what he wanted to without having to worry about the remaining Ixian forces, but niceties had no place in reality. Especially not William’s reality.

The sad truth of his recognition was simply that it put more innocents in harm’s way, something which William had known and accepted since he had made up his mind and accepted Cassandra’s offer. There was no particular love or affection between the revenant and the vast majority of the Ixian forces, but similarly there was no animosity. Live or die, the fates of both the castle’s inhabitants and its enemies mattered little to him. He supposed that the portion of him that empathized with his fellow soldiers had died to the same fostered attitude that had killed his feeling of caring what his peers thought about him. Sei had been very particular in excising his humanity from him in a way that made William the ultimate tool in the mystic’s arsenal. Unfortunately for him, the master of Ixian Castle overestimated the influence he possessed over his monster hunter as he seemed to overestimate nearly everything about himself.

He wasn’t sure exactly when or how his betrayal had become known to the Ixian Knights, but in keeping with the makeshift army’s mode of operation, he knew that they would send one of their stronger minions to try and deal with him. He was a major threat after all and they couldn’t simply leave him free to run around. He’d expected all of this, but what he hadn’t expected was for the Ixian Knights to send Kyla to be the one to confront him. But being unexpected didn’t mean being unwelcome, and the genocidal mystic’s presence told him far more than it had intended.

Kyla had to have come to him of her own volition. Sei was too insecure to actually send his adopted daughter into danger’s way without his direct supervision and Kyla was nothing more than an obedient puppet, dancing at the whim of her father’s strings. She could have possessed a core of iron, something William had tried without success to show her. But in the end she had proven to be too much of a slave to Sei’s desires to do anything more than pull against her leash with petty revenges. More than once William had heard her referred to as “the porcelain general” because of Sei’s treatment of her, but he’d also heard the soldiers refer to her by another moniker referring to her proclivity for multiple bedroom partners. But while Sei surely knew about these nicknames, William doubted that he understood how they were more directed in mockery towards him than they were towards Kyla.

And now here she was, dramatically playing up the tortured victim in a gesture that had doubtless won her many of her bedroom partners. William could only cock an eyebrow as he looked down upon her. He wasn’t sure exactly what portion of his emotions she was trying to appeal to, but he knew that it wasn’t working. Even without Libra’s aid William knew that there were no more recesses of emotion lurking in the back of his mind for Kyla. She had had her chance and had squandered it rather than using it to become something she could actually be proud of.

“So this is the best you can manage?” he said, Libra keeping the snappishness from his tone, though the intent remained. “All of your training and skill boils down to ‘kneel in front of your enemy and ask him nicely to stop’?”

A single forceful kick struck Kyla’s jaw with enough force to shatter it. It was a brutally direct way to shut her up and would knock enough sense out of her that she wouldn’t be able to mount much of a defense now that she knew her ‘sacrificial lamb’ ploy hadn’t worked. Somewhere in the back of his mind William could feel himself snort derisively, unable to comprehend how anyone could allow themselves to be swayed by such tactics. His was not the way of mercy and forgiveness, and the mystics’ insistences on trying to appeal to that side of him was folly. William stepped forward and grabbed a handful of Kyla’s hair, forcing her head back so that he could look into her cloudy, lolling eyes. “If you’ve really bought into all of Sei’s lies then I’m actually doing you a favor here,” he noted, watching a trail of blue blood run from the corner of the girl’s mouth. “But frankly, you don’t matter anymore.”

Kyla pitched forward onto the cold stone floor as William released her hair. She pushed herself up defiantly, only to scream as the heel of William’s boot came down and crushed the bones of her hand like crumpling an egg shell. He nodded satisfactorily as her scream echoed down the hall. “Sei,” he said, though the words were directed at Kyla, “if you hadn’t been listening to me before I’m sure you’re listening now. I’m done being your puppet. I’m done being everyone’s puppet. I’m going to kill Kyla now and there’s nothing you can do about it. Oh I’m sure you’ll find some way to fix her up, you’re good at swooping in after the fact and taking credit for the things you couldn’t be bothered to do yourself. But that’s not really the point, is it?”

The haft of William’s warscythe slammed into the side of Kyla’s head, knocking her once more to the ground, although she wasn’t quite so quick to get up the second time. “I’m leaving now,” he continued, squatting down on his haunches over his fallen peer. “I’m leaving this band of misfits you built as a temple to your ego and I’m leaving Corone. When I come back, if I come back, we can continue this discussion in a more … intimate way.”

Having nothing else to say, William reached down and tore the limiting bracelet off Kyla’s leg, unleashing the opposing forces of the mystic’s power against each other. Satisfied with what he’d done, William casually walked away, leaving Kyla to die as her own power consumed her.

[Arden]

The cleaving swing of Arden’s sword cut through the cartilage of a straggling ghoul with ease. As he over extended his blade, he grunted with relish, and let his anger draw back Kerria into a reverse grip. It dripped with blood, an acidic coating of death, defeat, and sinew. The roar of the beleaguered guard had grown in his emergence and become a triumphant battle cry that gladdened his enraged heart, and broke the shield wall into a forward rush. They clashed against the remnants of the horde like an arrow piercing the skin of madness.

Several of the elder veterans of the Ixian Knight’s cadre of house guard began to surround Arden, taking to their saviour like ducks to water. Blood stained shields clashed against feeble swords, not worth their weight in silver in terrified hands. Their footfalls were wet against the smothered stone, and pattered out a chorus of footprints in puddles. Seeing he was sealed away, Arden began to concentrate on his beating heart. His fangs, reddened and sharp slowly retreated into his gums with painful recessions.

“Everyone, get to the inner castle!” one of the elder guards roared. His command did not reach everyone’s mind until the last of the dwindling, gibbering, and zeal lead host had been despatched. The sound of blades cutting through bone continued to ring in the dark sky until the sound faded into nothingness.

“Go…” Arden whispered. He felt sick.

“Lord Tiger, come with us, won’t you? We could use that sword of yours to clear out the catacombs.” The guard smiled, his moustache, thick and bushy, bobbed up and down atop a broad grin of happiness and relief. He had, from what Arden could make out when he turned to examine the man’s face, been close to tears as he had ordered his men to make their last stand. The swordsman could only hope the next time he cried, it would be with tears of joy.

He shook his head.

“Not today my good man, I have a destiny elsewhere.” He pointed with his free hand up the grand staircase to the shattered door that lead inside to the medical ward. Slowly, the group of guards followed the crimson man’s gesture. Their triumphant cries of victory fell silent swiftly, and when the captain joined them, his jaw dropped.

“You are a persistent thing, Arden Janelle.” The man said, his voice penetrating the dense atmosphere without the need to shout or heckle. His tight clothing shone in the moonlight, and his blades, as equally cruel as his mistress’ shone with quicksilver. The guards began to fan out, encircling the bottom of the stair’s hundred ascents.

With every cautious advance, low stance, and racing heartbeat, the last of the courtyard battalion came to a halt. They all glared up at the enigmatic creature that had emerged from the catacombs of the inner castle, radiant in dark majesty, and smouldering with contempt for the man that had saved them from certain death.

“She said you would be more worthy of my attention now you were…awake.” He smirked. As he began to descend the stairs, the guards tensed, and readied themselves. “You may go, however,” he gestured with a wide wave of his blade laden hand over the guards. The captain turned to Arden. Arden nodded.

When the man reached the floor, he advanced to allow the guards their right to slowly and cautiously edge around him. The clattered of armour over tired bones ascending into the medical ward filled the air for several minutes whilst Arden and his destiny glared at one another. The silent swordsman took to his namesake and said nothing as he gripped Kerria tightly, and watched his opponent like a hawk. His eyes pierced the cowl of his mattered hair, and his armour, no longer silver, gleamed like a testing banner. He seemed to channel a challenge.

“What say you?” Jebb smiled. His teeth, porcelain white, gleamed in the twilight.

Once, Arden would have jumped at the chance. Now, however, he had travelled through the long corridors of the under croft of the castle for what seemed like hours. He had drawn on all his strength to resist Cassandra’s toying, and drained much of his strength grinding his energy against the masses of undead that the Cult had stolen into their confidence. He took a deep intake of air through his snot laden nostrils, and wiped his nose clean with the hem of his sleeve. It stank of sweat, blood, and mist. Tendrils of vapour drifted up from his hair as his body temperature began to rise in the wake of his Oni’s heart’s wrath.

He nodded slowly.

He had been mistaken about the reasons for his strange omen. He knew he had to die, but he had not realised why until now. He smiled, stopped his nod, and set Kerria forwards in both hands. Its tip pointed to Cassandra’s slave’s heart which only served to resign it’s wielder to his fate.

If this is what it would take…

“Behind every strong woman,” Arden spat, “there’s always a weak, feeble, and wastrel of a man.” Jebb roared in response with such ferocity and madness Arden shook. He closed the hundred feet battlefield of snapped bone and bestial graves with such speed not even Arden could have blinked out of harm’s way. He did not stand the slightest of chances. He did not hold any hope for ever dealing a concise blow to the Cult’s true heart.

The moment Arden Janelle died, the Heidegger Barrier imploded inwards.

Things changed.

[Enigmatic Immortal]

Jensen was always a few paces ahead of the other three, though Azza realized quickly she had no choice but to lift her sword and help in the fighting. The Cultists had no concepts of strategy or cohesion. They charged like gibbering lunatics, saliva dripping from each rotted tooth as they cried out for the delicacy of their depravity. Some would lose themselves in the euphoria of seeing the young girls body, their claws digging into her skirt and shirt to get at her innoncence. In the first engangment, her blade was stained. By the second it was covered in the viscera of the enemy. In the third wave the two Ambrose's fought off it was dripping off the tip.

The immortal felt his chest raise up and down in heavy, ragged breaths. His lungs burned as he twirled his blades around his body, the blood splattering on the walls of his home as he looked the front of the room where Arden would be. Azza caught up to him, her maroon eyes filled with a fighter's spirit as she kept herself together in this sea of madness. Jensen went to give her a comforting hug when both their heads snapped to the opening leading to the next hallway, soldiers rushing out of it the the colors of the Ixian Knights.

"Oh thank the Thaynes," the beleaguered guard captain muttered. "We were thought to be goners, until the Red Robed warrior of General Bracken arrived. We were going to meet up and join the battle on the wall when someone showed up, he sent us on our way, but we were worried for him. Perhaps with you, Mr Ambrose, he'll have a better chance!" Jensen thumbed the path behind him and the man nodded, ordering his men to move on. Jensen looked towards the portal again and narrowed his eyes.

"Arden," Jensen whispered in a hurry, recalling the memory of his promise to take care of his little brother in arms. Azza pushed him forwards as the knight ran to the opening, his body moving through the one man portal as the others kept a respectful distance as he charged into the hallway. There in the middle of the room was Arden Janelle, his robes tattered by several knife cuts, his body bleeding badly and his face looking like he wasn't just in a fight, but a brawl. The immortal slid on the stone floor, the task made easier by the blood slicked floor. He turned the silent swordsman in his arms so they looked to each other, and the immortal began to lose control of his emotions again.

"There you are," Arden wheezed and coughed. "you bastard. Always late, Duffy said..." Jensen gave him a wild grin.

"Well, you know how I like my flashy entrances," Jensen said gently as he chuckled with his brother. "You look like a mess, little brother." Jensen lowered the body and looked over to Erissa, seeing her leaning heavily on Tobias. Though she could probably help him, the strain may be too much. He turned his attention back to the red robed warrior. "Can you make it to the medi-"

"Jensen..." Arden whispered.

"To the medical ward!" Jensen insisted a bit louder. The silent swordsman coughed and spoke a bit louder.

"Jensen..."

"Aislinn will be there, she can-"

"Jensen!" Arden at last gasped, his gauntlet covered hand gripping him by his shirt as he looked his older brother in arms dead in the eye. They held their look for a moment in silence before Jensen grabbed his wrist. "You need to accept what's going on..." he said more calmly as he lowered himself. "Remember the promise you gave me?"

"No way," Jensen snarled. "I'm losing enough friends and people to that fucking bitch, I'm not going to lose you!" Arden chuckled now, a warrior's acceptance of the reality fate had in store. He said nothing, but Jensen could see his wounds and understood what he was saying. The immortal nodded as he stood up. "Tobias, take Azza please." The elf nodded as her hand reached out and grabbed a hold of Azza's shoulder and brought her in, covering her eyes.

"See ya in the next life," Jensen said to the silent swordsman lifting up the man's favored sword, and poising it over his heart. "Little bro..." With a swift motion he did the deed, slamming the weapon into Arden's heart and blasting it apart, impaling the flesh and striking the stone supporting Arden. His hands instincvly reached around the blade, holding it in place painfully as he let out a spasm of agony before he lay still. Jensen reached down and grabbed the hood to Arden's robes and placed them over his face.

The immortal looked to his group and Tobias and Erissa both gave him a sorrowful glance as Azza pulled herself away, tears in her eyes as she walked up to her father and looked to him. She could almost feel the tide of emotions in her father but with a simple nod she gave him a soft smile. Jensen nodded back to her, rubbing her head as he pulled himself back together.

"Thanks kiddo," he whispered. He looked to the other two. "Come on, we still got a lot of ground to cover. Up the stairs and around the bend."

Silence was prevalent around them again, save the cries of battle and the ringing of steel in the distance. The cold stone walls held no warmth on this night as he walked under the shadowy overhang to the upper level, eyes cast heavily to his feet as he tried his best to dam up his emotions and keep himself focused. As his boots tapped the top level he pulled himself to the window, looking to the outer gates where several spiders writhed in pain the size of the walls themselves, no doubt Sei's doing as the Mystic's telepathy knew no bounds.

"By the Horsemen," Jensen swore in homage to the four horsemen he worshiped. "This is a war alright..." Jensen turned around and his eyes widened as his lips let out a scream of concern, but it was a split second too late. From the shadows behind Tobias and Erissa a golden amulet twinkled off the crimson moon, the silver pendulums also reflecting a glow as a heavy, dirt laden boots from years of use kicked the green haired Elf on the floor. Two burly hands pushed flat against Erissa's back causing her to stumble the last step and fall, rolling near Jensen as Azza's lips let out a grunt of pain, her head contorted sharply where the aggressor's hands held her horns to keep her bent low near his body.

Jebb Remi, father of Cassandra, stepped forwards with blood all over his hands dropping a vial that Arden held on him to the ground so it clinked loudly on the stone surface, rolling to Jensen's feet.

"Hush little baby..."

[The Soulforged]

"Damn babe. Nice placeholders," Seed chuckled as he dodged a swipe of his opponent's sword, and groped the woman's left tit. He was basing his current strategy on the solid idea of going for his foe's most exposed area; in this particular case a pair of massive breasts.

Hey, it wasn't his fault that whoever passed out the genes handed this woman a giant rack. He was just playing against the cards that god, some thayne, or some lonely pervert dealt up.

Not that it was working. Oh sure, he managed to cop a good feel every now and then, but his sword skills were lacking, and his opponent's were anything but. Each attack he made was parried with precise dexterity, each advance forward was countered with solid determination, and no amount of perversion had made a crack in his foe's calm demeanor.

Not that the last thing was actually part of the plan; it just tended to happen pretty often around Seed.

But in the end, nine out of ten times, the skilled defeat the amateur. As much as Seed wished that this story was the one of the ten times, it very much was not. He soon found himself beaten, with his sword on the floor. He himself was scooting backwards on his butt, with his opponent (who's name she had not given him) approaching far too quickly for his teeth.

"Cripes. What I wouldn't give for a diversion right about now," Seed muttered as the deathblow approached. At that moment in time, some large guy wielding a maul stormed into the room as someone else was lit on fire. Green fire.

"Yup. That'll do," Seed said as he stuck out his left hand. The flame was obviously unnatural, but it didn't seem to be magical. If that was the case, and he concentrated hard enough...

No. There wasn't enough time to concentrate; he was about to get stabbed in the face. He'd have to quicken the process, cut out everything that could be cut out. It would be rough, and probably a bit more than painful, but time was a factor here.

Go straight for it.. Seed told himself; he only had a few seconds tops. Control, that's all I need. Cut out the finesse, the range, the order. Just grab the flame. NOW!

It exploded. The man who screamed as he was immolated by green fire gave one last bellow of finality as that fire consumed him at a dramatically increased rate. The woman about to stab Seed, as well as everyone else in the room, paused out of habit. After all, an explosion, small though it was, had that effect on people.

"Got it!' Seed shouted in excitement as a bit of the green fire leapt from the man, and onto his outstretched left hand. It stung, that was to be expected. He cut out everything but the essentials, so it was only natural that the flame danced too closed to him. Still, it was a pretty dance, especially with its green color. He smirked at his foe, and than cracked the flame like a whip at her.

She jumped back instantly, dodging the attack with all the skill she had shown throughout their duel; not that Seed expected otherwise. Still, it was enough to get her to back off a moment. He had been hoping to grab a bit more of treasure, but loot was a moot point if you were dead. Seed glanced about, and saw a plan of action to deal with that large guy with a maul, and everyone else in the room.

"Hey. Babe with the booby traps. Come 'ere," Seed ordered; not that whoever the girl with the vials was actually listened to him. She did however, give him a curious stare, and that was enough for the moment.

Without any politeness, niceties, or dinner being bought before hand, Seed reached into Amelie's shirt, and gave it a hard yank. Cloth, vials, breast, and nipple spilled into his hand, but it was the second of that list that he was most interested in. Ignoring everyone's screams, in particular Amelie's, Seed grabbed as many vials as his right hand would hold, and tossed them at his foes. Smiling the smile that only madman who managed to pool their facilities together for the perfect plan can, Seed shot the green fire at the vials.

Two of the vials were incinerated. Another one fizzled slightly. The remaining vials Seed had tossed exploded beautifully, lighting the entire room in a wonderful blaze that flickered in a constant dance of blue, green, and yellow.

The man with the maul at the entrance fell screaming, tearing at his flesh as he fell in a vain attempt to extinguish the flames. Apparently the stop, drop, and roll method did not work on whatever ingredients had created these flames. Not that any of that really mattered to Seed; the exit was clear, and the entire medical wing was in a panic. A sudden explosion had that affect on most people.

"Anddddddd.......I'm out!" Seed exclaimed as he jumped over the burning body; he was nimble if nothing else. Those Ixian Knights who could still fight were reaching for their weapons, albeit slowly due to their wounds. Seed was fairly certain that he would be able to make it out of here before they managed to arm themselves in time.

"See ya! Oh hey, Memnar and bitch-who-wouldn't-give-me-the-time-of-day, this is my escape route. If you use it, ya owe me. Cause, that means that a psycho, immature thief pulled off what both of you couldn't. Man, that's gotta hurt!"

Laughing, Seed took off as fast as his feet could carry him. It was time for him to get the hell out of here, treasure or no treasure.

[Requiem of Insanity]

Cassandra felt the kiss of the cool night air on her skin as she made it to the main courtyard of the inner cloister. There before her eyes at the bottom of the steps were the two armies engaged in their bloody battles. She strolled forwards into the melee, without fear of any form of danger to befall her as her footsteps carried her towards the tower of Sei Orlouge, her final goal. It happened in seconds and when it did it spread like wildfire, invigorating the attackers and demoralizing the defenders.

"The Dark Mother walks!" a Cultist shouted with praise, followed by several more similar chants. The so called chaplains of the Ixians began to shout their oratory, but with more fervor than ever her Cultists rose to their words of spite and malice, silencing them as Cassandra's warriors flowed forwards in a tide to repel the Ixians that could do their goddess harm. Only one managed to break through, his robes black as a raven's feather and hair as curly as a mop head screamed at her. His words were filled with zeal as he shouted that he would strike down the face of terror and destruction and this madness.

Cassandra cooed as her hand lifted upwards, catching his sword in her grasp and letting it dig into her skin causing her to bleed. The Chaplain's face remained spiteful as he tried to pull it away, but she lifted the weapon up as her other hand bunched into a fist and slammed into his gut. Bile escaped his lips followed by a trickling trail of blood as she opened her fist and grabbed at his robes, tossing him overhead onto the ground still holding his blade. She wrenched the weapon out of his grasp and snapped her fingers. In a moment one of her alchemically created body guards stepped forwards and began to rip at his body, grabbing his arm and pulling so hard it dislocated before it made a wet noise that ran out in the field of battle. The Ixians watching grew horrified as the Chaplain was beaten to death with his own appendage while Cassandra gave them all a baleful stare.

"Where is your courage now!" she laughed, her elegant finger lifting to the hordes at her command and sending them forwards with fresh energy. The howling grew louder as the Cultists were in a trance to take part in their Debauchery before the Goddess of Blessed Torture. A few of the Ixian captains called for orders but it was lost to the masses as the Cultists renewed their assault. Cassandra turned and continued her pace towards the tower of Sei Orlouge, her feet never gliding more than a steady saunter as she smiled, letting the crimson illumination of the moonlight wash over her skin.

She climbed the steps she walked up several times to the personal office of her old Lord, the memories of the anger she felt at him surfacing. In this single moment the demi god was going to get her revenge on Sei and what she needed to ascend to godhood. She held her hand out and her daughter Aerith lovingly placed the blade in her hand. With the familiar weight in her grip she smiled to the one who loved her like a mother and turned to Kane. She could feel his dark intentions melt with her, and he gave her a nod of approval and a smile so cold others would freeze to even gaze upon it. She smiled a loving smile back and turned back to the door. There upon it was engraved in meticulous detail the seal of Sei Orlouge, the Ixian Knights, and the different branches of the tree that made it up. The symbolism wasn't lost to her as her finger traced the edges where she once dwelt, at the base of the image. How utterly fitting, she mused with giggle.

"Nobody is to interfere unless I ask for it," the dark mother said to her entourage. She looked to them each, watching them nod in acknowledgment. She smiled before returning her attentions to the door again. "If I am to prove I have broken Sei Orlouge, I must finish him myself."

This was it, the confrontation with the Lord of Ixia and the demi-goddess. She let her lips curl into an uninviting grin. The woman lifted her blade up to her side at the ready, and feeling her divine might flow within her lifted her foot and shoved it into the doors of her former Lord. They let out a cacophony of noise, splinters raining down from the sides where the wood was ripped apart from the violent release of the portal. They bounced along the sides like a tumble weed lost in the wind, crashing against the walls and destroying glass casings and wall murals. Cassandra stepped forwards, sauntering as if this was her own mansion.

"Lord Orlouge!" Cassandra said opening her arms wide with supplication, bowing low in an exaggerated fashion. She felt the all too familiar tingle in her mind as her eyes slowly lifted to look up at her enemy, the mute Mystic glaring at her from his desk where he sat patiently. The woman felt her head begin to throb, the back of her eyes pounding as her muscles began to twitch involuntarily. Yet as quickly as the pain came from Sei's mind attack it faded back into her mind as nothing more than an irritating thought. The pain was replaced by a cold, friendly feeling, a feeling she had felt many a times when her Dark Companion touched her. He protected her mind as Kane's body stepped forwards, a devilish grin on the man's face. Sei merely stood, but made no hostile gestures.

"If it were that easy, Sei," Cassandra spat. "You would have done it long ago. Let's dispense the pleasantries and get down to the bare bones of it all." The mute said nothing, made no movements as Cassandra moved closer to him, her steps slow and graceful. When she stood before the desk she looked to her former lord, and flashed her teeth in a wide smile. "If you want this madness to end," she whispered. "Give me what I want..."

"Anything you want would be far worse than what is befalling my people," Sei thought to her, his words muffled and distant in her mind. He was a powerful telepath indeed, if he could force his so called words into her mind.

"Are you so sure..." Cassandra mused, placing her sword on the desk before him. "I can hear them, all of them, screaming!" Her eyes fluttered as she opened her mind to her Cult's mischief, letting the screams filter in so that Sei could enjoy them as well. She focused them all, brought each one into a harmony of depravity and selfishness as Sei's army cried out for their hero. There were some, louder than others too, who screamed for Sei, voices that Cassandra knew the bastard would know all too well. "I think your family has something to say about that statement. Would you let them be harmed, Sei?" Cassandra began to walk around the desk towards Sei. "Would you let them be maimed?" she continued on, her eyes filled with murderous intent as they reflected the red glow of the moon outside the window.

"Perhaps, maybe when they are...dare I say it?" she thought aloud, tapping her finger to her chin. "Raped," she whispered next to him, her breath tingling his neck hairs. "You would still, Sei, let your children suffer for your stubbornness?" Sei remained quiet, as if contemplating something, before he lowered his hand to his side.

"What father would I be to them, Ms Remi, if I do not stand up to the monsters I swore to protect them from?" Cassandra's hand darted out and grabbed the man's hand as he held up the chakram close to her gut. She smiled, thinking him so clever to try and surprise her, but her face contorted to pain as his closed fist connected with her jaw. "I don't hit women, but thankfully, Cassandra, you proved you no longer are even human," Sei thought as he let out a gasp of air, bringing his foot up to her stomach.

He kicked her hard, and her body lifted from the impact, her knees bending as she shook the cobwebs free, roaring with defiance. She placed her other hand on Sei's wrist and spun, tossing him like a satchel against his back wall. The warrior spun in the air like a top, bouncing off the wall and collapsing. She grabbed her blade and walked over to him; her eyes were filled with murder. Sei stood quickly, his hands coming up with the Gemini blade as she swung with all her might downwards. The curved blade caught the weapon, and instead of resisting it he guided it downwards and away from him. The parry was enough for him to side step the dark mother and punch her across her cheek again.

The demi-god reeled back, bringing her blade up in a block as the Gemeni blade notched deeply into the Butcher's Bill. As prodigious as her might was, she still had no clue how to fight; she had thought her strength and speed would be more than enough, but Sei decided it was prudent to do so otherwise. Still, he had yet to see her true potential. Sei loved to observe his foes, watch their moves and form a counter. yet he hadn't seen her fight save the one time against Jensen Ambrose. She was so much more powerful now, and she would show Sei his death.

The man before her lifted the Gemeni blade up, trying to wrench her grip away and toss her sword in the air. Her strength kept the weapons locked, despite being at such an odd angle to maintain her grip. It was then she noticed something as she blocked his fist with the side of her arm. She carefully observed the warrior before her...

…and noticed one of the Gemini blades were missing.

"You cunning bastard!" Cassandra shrieked with rage as her foot came up and pushed Sei away, his body slamming into a wall where he collapsed with a gasp of pain. Her blade free the dark mother turned to block another Sei flying down upon her, fairy wings glittering off the moonlight as her feet held her planted, another deep notch into her blade as the two looked to one another. The two glared at one another, but this time the hate was more than evident; it was even palpable to her.

"You will know pain, you know will suffering, and then you will die, Cassandra."

[Silence Sei]

He could see it in her eyes; the hatred, the potential to kill, but mostly there was fear. Cassandra’s eyes told him of a fear that even she was unwilling to admit, a fear that she had to tie up the loose end of Sei Orlouge if she were to obtain her ideals. The mute could feel himself being pushed off of Cassandra’s sword, causing him to back flip in mid-air and land on his feet. He heard as her blade echoed through his office once more. He looked up to see that she had once again had to focus on the telepath’s doppelganger, whose blade had come mere inches from finding a home in Cassandra’s stomach.

He looked to his double, locked in combat with his nemesis, and ran back into the fight. With his free hand, he reached for one of his chakrams, throwing the bladed ring towards the two engaged in combat. Cassandra turned her head just in time to see the impending danger, and bent backwards, sending the weapon straight for his clone. Sei could see the wicked smile on the woman’s face, confident that she had at least done in one Sei Orlouge.

“You missed,” she hissed with satisfactory venom to her tone.

“I wasn’t aiming for you,” Sei retorted, jumping into the hair and planting the tip of his boot directly into the demi-goddess’ face. Cassandra reeled back, the true Sei almost gliding behind her. Sei grinned and shifted his gaze down, which Cassandra followed, her eyes growing wide when she realized she was no longer holding the Butcher’s Bill. Her fear grew with the sound of breaking glass, and the girl almost lunged at Sei prime, her grip planted firmly into his wrists, nails digging into his skin.

He sucked in air as Cassandra rolled backwards, kicking the body of the original Sei straight towards his double. As the glass shot outwards in every direction, Sei managed to flip his body around, to look at the ducking Cassandra. She had effectively used him as body shield against his ‘brothers’ mystic protection. He could feel the glass whipping past his body, blowing with such a force that the band in his hair nearly came out. He landed on his feet just in time to hear the sound of shattering crystal once more, a spider web like fracture forming all around the true Sei’s form.

He couldn’t see her face, just her body as it dashed behind his desk, which already had many fragments of glass embedded into the fine oak finish. He looked to his double, who was already running to meet his enemy at the furniture, diving behind the desk as the second mystic protection broke apart and fired outwards, drowned out only by the sounds of Cassandra and the other Sei punching one another from behind their makeshift cover.

He ran to the desk, grabbing it by its trimming and flipping it forward. His doppelganger rolled towards him and Cassandra in the opposite direction. They both stood at roughly the same time, each with their share of bruises to the face.

“You’ve lost this one, Orlouge,” Cassandra spoke, he venomous words now veiled behind a curtain of fear, “All will remember this night of debauchery!”

“As the night that Cassandra Remi was slain, perhaps,” Sei began to walk to the side, Cassandra cautiously following him while keeping an uneasy eye on his imposter. “I know what you’re after Cassandra. It’s why I’m wearing my boots rather than my shoes. It’s why I’m using my chakrams instead of my staff. It’s why my chest is unprotected. I don’t have any of them on me. Furthermore, I’ve learned a few new tricks while you were exiled.”

Sei stopped his pace, looking towards his large window. He could hear the tides of battle turning in Ixian favor now, his hand instantly unraveling the kusari-gama from around his waist and using the scythe portion of the weapon to deflect an incoming knife. “For example, my doppelganger,” Sei spoke, finally turning his head back to Cassandra, a wide grin upon his features, “Did you know I can now make more than one?”

Before Cassandra could respond, a third Sei ran at her back, a large lance seeking to find a home in her spine and run her through.

[Dissinger]

Rage.

One emotion fueled him as he fought his way through the night. Men around him died without him even noticing, such was his focused rage. He had fought through Ghouls, fought through cultists. He had fought through hell and still he could not find his family. Every tunnel, every access way had been filled with the enemy. Everyone had sought to throw themselves in his way. It was infuriating as he had to literally fight for every inch. Rage was all that fueled him now. Rage was his companion on this journey through hell itself.

Rage fueled him to new heights of brutality. He would find disgustingly brutal methods of destroying all in his path to cause some of the insane fanatics to back off, only to find for everyone fled or cut down three more took their place. He continued to fight, even as he heard cries of the dark mother walking the castle. He could care less if the gods themselves threw their divine bodies between his wife and child, he would gut them just as efficiently as the cultist that was before him. Knives never stopped moving as more blades joined the juggling act, each blade plucked and placed in spots to maximize the brutality.

He was an engine of wrath and his rage knew no bounds.

Raw hatred kept him going long after his energy had left him. He pushed through the throng and it wasn't until he reached the white corridors did he stumble a step. His fatigue was evident, the blood splattering and caking him looking no better than the others. An Ixian Knight moved to intercept him, and it was every ounce of control not to slaughter him with his blades as he glared balefully, "Get out of my way before I use your head for a chamber pot..."

The man immediately moved aside before he shouted, "It's Seth! He's made it!"

Immediately cheers erupted through the ward as men quickly moved the fallen and injured out of his way. His white shirt was soaked to the elbows in blood, his face a mask of crimson, none of it his. He was an avatar of death and destruction, even as his blood soaked boots squished down the corridor. The torches caused the blood upon his form to flicker disturbingly in the light. Seth Dahlios was barely holding onto his humanity, and the looks of admiration the people gave him didn't help at all.

He moved down the hallway and looked into the medical ward, only to see a spider the size of a barn crash through another wall of the medical ward, the stone bricks toppling with ease. It appeared a hole lead out to the courtyard and the guard was fighting to contain the beast, even as it crushed maimed killed and despoiled the ward of Aislinn Orlouge. A shout of rage filtered through the hole and Seth could not remember what happened after that, only that he thought he saw his wife, cornered by the beast...

[TwinCast]

Aislinn fought to control her temper, even as she saw her lover harmed by the man who reached crassly into the alchemist's bosom, producing more of the infuriating explosive vials. As the vials threw them all to the ground, before they all heard it. A cheer erupted from the medical ward, before the giant spider crashed through the wall. As the bricks toppled everywhere Liliana unsteadily made her way to her feet, even as Adolph fought to put out the flames upon him. Aislinn immediately grabbed a nearby cloth and began to beat out the flames on her lover, as the two left in the wake of the third's distraction began to move.

Aislinn was loathe to let Alexander free, but she had no choice. Between the spider and caring for Adolph, there was nothing she could do to stop them. That was, until the bestial cry exploded in the room. Anyone who heard the noise could have sworn that it was not human, yet all the same an enraged Seth Dahlios had emerged in the hole, and had jumped upon the spider's hairy back in a move that caused the body for the first time to slam into the ground. A shriek of arachnid rage left the spider as the demon began pounding with his blades heedless of the ichors splashing over him.

It was a terrifying sight to behold, Seth Dahlios caught in the grips of pure unrelenting hatred.

More screams left the creature as Liliana looked upon Adolph, the flames finally out. Gripping Aislinn by the arm she shook the witch who turned to the Priestess. Finally Liliana spoke, "Get Adolph on his feet."

"If I do I cannot heal anyone else-"

"If you don't, that thing will kill more people and even my husband is not immune to that thing. Get Adolph up!" Liliana barked. The words no longer held the tone of a request but an order. The witch was unaccustomed to such treatment, but given the circumstances, even her pride took a back seat as she drained her healing to heal some of the burns from the fires. Liliana nodded before she added her own efforts to cure the warrior who looked remarkably unharmed in the wake of the attacks. As the man slowly drew himself to his feet He gripped the war maul and looked upon the sight of a raging Seth Dahlios continuing to stab into any spider flesh he could.

The beast was squealing in pain as it tried to use its legs to brush the thief off. Unable to reach the man who fought with a savage intensity, the spider was distracted as Adolph hefted Crozius. The spider looked upon the chaplain with a look of fear as the blue light washed over the head of the maul, amplifying the strength of the warrior to far beyond the spider's ability to resist. Seth was knocked form his perch by the unexpected movement, hitting the ground before rolling to his feet. His rage spent the thief had collapsed to a knee, looking upon the creature with a depth of Hatred even the chaplain could appreciate.

Both were men protecting the women they loved. Both were men united in their hatred, and for one moment, anyone who looked upon those two heading towards the spider felt a shudder of fear at the raw waves of furious rage. So palpable was their hate that the room grew even hotter in it's wake. leaving sweat to pour over those unable to move away. They stalked towards the predator, who could see its death in their eyes. It began to hurry as it scuttled back before venom laced words spat, "Life is passing you by!"

Grey energy arced and lanced over the thief before he threw it at the spider causing it to slow in it's tracks and it was then, in that moment of pure unadulterated weakness, Adolph pounced. The maul smashed into a leg, shattering the exoskeleton that kept it together. Causing another shriek of pain as Seth muttered another spell, tossing it at the creature with murder in his heart. Kunai peppered the thing, causing it to squeal in agony as the blades, glowing a soft white, sank into the carapace and to the nervous system of the creature. Pain flared into the thing that should not be harmed, the beast shrieking as it collapsed upon its legs as Adolph shattered another leg, and another, cruelly dragging out its death even as the Ixian Knights watched the beast in its dying moments. Seth merely collapsed to a seated position as he watched the chaplain finish the dismantling of the spider, bringing the full might of Crozious upon the creatures head.

Aislinn watched Liliana go to her husband, hugging him close the blood upon his body smearing her face as she gently soothed and kissed the thief. Seth was drained, tired, and unable to move as he leaned heavily upon his wife. His rage finally spent. What had been a solid twenty minutes of fighting had concluded as Adolph moved around the infirmary barking orders to the guards to hunt down the intruders and to secure the entry from the courtyard. Finally, in the sea of madness and loss there was a beacon of hope. The Medical Ward had finally been secured.

The rallying cries of the guard reinvigorated by the death of the spider echoed through the halls as people were told to rally in the Ward. Hope blossomed in this night of debauchery, chasing away the cruel tendrils of despair and grief. Warriors renewed their assault, hallways were cleared as people moved to reach the bastion of safety, emboldened by the acts of the Lavinian Demon and the Reclusiarch. Amidst it all Seth Dahlios was held, cradled by Liliana Dahlios, and Aislinn felt similar feelings for the Chaplain who had helped organize the disparate forces of the Ixian Knights.

"Aislinn!"

Her head snapped around as Liliana gestured the witch over. She knelt beside Seth and saw his eyes, so deliriously tired that he should not have been awake. Blood shot and barely passing for sentient, the Lavinian Demon was asleep on his feet as it was. A bloody hand clutched the front of her wrap and the handprint left was secondary in discomfort to the scent of death upon him. She had to fight the urge to vomit as she managed, "What do you want Seth?"

"My daughter, where is she?" The demon managed. She could see it now, the fear. He wasn't afraid of what he had done, he had done it to protect his wife. This much she knew. He was afraid for his daughter.

"She is not here your wife could have told you as much," Aislinn replied as she carefully pulled Seth's hand from the cloth that wrapped her chest. Seth held on with a deathly grip before he spoke once more;

"I'm too tired, I need all the energy I can get, wake me up..."

"You've pushed yourself farther than anyone should be able to go Seth. If you push yourself any farther I can't tell you what the ramif-"

"Fuck your ramifications my daughter isn't safe. Either help me or get out of the way!" The words were bellowed as the witch leaned back instinctively from the hatred she could feel radiating off him, the worst was in his eyes. She had seen such a look in predators in Concordia, and she knew why the spider had tried to flee in terror, it was all she could do to not run herself.

"Felicity tell Anastasia to grab the energy potion from my office. She should know where it is," Aislinn finally said. Seth was going to kill himself by pushing too far, but the Lavinian Demon needed all the help he could get, and it was for his daughter. She understood the sentiment, as Pierce would have done the same for her. As the cat dashed off she began to check over the demon before she began a list of issues, "Other than the possibility of collapse from sheer fatigue your bones will become more brittle as you fight. You cannot take solid hits anymore Seth. If you insist on pushing yourself, try to avoid contact at all costs. Your body would give out before you could even think to repair it with your magic. Blocking blows will result in as much damage as letting the blows land."

Seth nodded sully as he said softly, "Thank you Aislinn. I owe you..."

"After standing up to Cassandra Remi for me, we're even. If anything I owe you for giving me a chance to heal Adolph..."

Seth shook his head and said firmly, "If I get my daughter back we're even. I don't like having you in my debt. You're not someone who should be in anyone's debt..."

Aislinn frowned at the words and opened her mouth to speak before Anastasia rushed up clutching the vile green looking potion. Taking the glass vial she uncorked it for the thief before she spoke, "From this moment on you're on your own Seth. Anyone I know would have passed out and I'm sure its that stubbornness I've been told is legendary that's keeping you awake. Good hunting Demon..."

Liliana thanked Aislinn as Seth shifted back to his feet and moved. His eyes looked about before Aislinn spoke up, "Seth! Cassandra Remi is loose somewhere around here. I'm sure if anyone would know where your daughter is-"

She needn't have bothered, as soon as she had mentioned the Midnight Mistress, Seth knew the train of logic. He was gone, and the hunt for the Demi-Goddess began.

Demon or God, tonight would soon decide.

[Revenant]

Events were quickly reaching a head within the embattled castle, with Cassandra’s wave of cultists, creatures, and monsters finally breaking against the mounting tide of Ixian soldiers. The change in the air was almost palpable, especially for someone as in tune with it as William. Each moment brought the end of the Night of Debauchery one step closer, just as it spread the knowledge of William’s traitorous deeds. He had brought down the northern defenses and broken a hole in the castle’s outer wall, burying one of the castle’s greatest defenders in the process, and he had allowed the demi-god of torture entry into the hallowed halls. And not only that, he reminded himself, he had made an example of those who would bind him to Sei’s grand vision, severing all ties with the organization in a grisly mix of blood, steel, and magical power. He’d have loved to have given his farewell address to Sei personally, but something told him that the mute mystic would have his hands full at the moment.

Besides, there was still one things left for the revenant to do before he made his final exit from the blood stained stone of Ixian Castle.

The Hall of Prophecy, like everywhere else in the castle, had seen its share of destruction that night. Half congealed gore and pallid, limp flesh filled the room until there was almost nowhere left for an honest man to walk. And if that weren’t enough to send the room spiraling into maddened disarray, the crumbled form of the Ixian Prophecy was.

“So it’s come to this,” William hissed at the pile of stone. “Cassandra got to you first but I suppose that’s for the best.” The former Ixian general approached the rubble, shifting the pieces with not-so-gentle kicks of his worn leather boots. “Since my life was taken from me I’ve been nothing but a puppet for an endless string of masters.”

Two battered, weary guardsmen stumbled into the room, seeking a momentary place of refuge from the internecine warfare pouring through the passageways. Seeing William they righted and fled, instantly forgetting their weary pain in a wash of panic. William paid them no mind, lost as he was in his own world.

“The infernal sorcerer created me, used me as a tool for his gain. When I freed myself from under his grip I found that I was slave to the passions which ran freely through my veins without the sorcerer’s magicks.” William snarled and lashed out at a rather large portion of the prophecy with a kick that was hard enough to crack the bones in his foot. He barely registered the pain, knowing that his healing abilities would repair the damage within moments. “Then, in my foolishness and naiveté, I allowed Sei to place the collar around my neck, using me as nothing more than a tool, just as the sorcerer had.” William pulled Libra from his belt and tapped it on the rubble, taking no joy in the hollow ringing that the rod produced.

“I raged against Sei, promised myself that I’d kill him for what he did,” William stopped tapping the rod and knelt down until his face was only inches from the ruined stone. “But he’s just as much of a pawn as I. Besides,” William finally allowed a sinister smile to curl at the edge of his lips, “his daughter has paid his price. That leaves only one more ‘master’ hovering over my head, jerking the strings of my life like a twisted marionette.”

William stood and held Libra high over his head, the dull metal of the rod seeming to absorb the dim light that remained in the room. With nothing more than a mental twitch he opened the rod, extending its length via magic until it had become a staff. “Behold Libra, Zodiac Weapon of the prophecy. It is an instrument of war for the legendary nine that the prophecy foretold.”

Fires of rage blazed to life in the blackest pits of William’s eyes, heedless of Libra’s controlling magic. “I renounce you,” William hissed to the rod and then swung it down onto the pile with a wrath that snapped the magic weapon like an oversized child’s toy. A torrent of energies billowed from Libra’s severed ends, cloudy wisps of black and white that shrieked and flared into nothingness as they swirled around the revenant. “Libra is no more prophecy,” William cried out, reveling in the emotional freedom once more allowed to him with Libra’s destruction. “You sought to bind a force greater than yourself and in doing so ensured your failure.”

A shadowy weight fell from William’s mind, leaving him clearer and freer than he had felt in the many years since the sorcerer had transformed him. The sundered half of Libra in his hand slipped silently from between his fingers and clattered lifelessly on the bloody stones beneath. There was nothing left here for him now; nothing in the castle and nothing in the Ixian Knights. It was time for William to go home.

“I am my own master now,” he whispered happily as he left.

[Enigmatic Immortal]

Jensen’s heart was rapidly beating much like the thundering beat of stampeding stallions. His blood ran in full force, his stomach gurgling with boiled laughter at the mockery of life, and his eyes were wide with the zealotry only madness could spawn. The immortal’s fingertips, covered in blood and torn leather from the gloves he wore ached to strangle, punch, and maim something, and the warrior’s spirit within him roared like an active volcano heralding it’s imminent explosion.

Yet with one painful screech from Azza his world came to an abrupt halt, and the pent up fury and frustrations came out in a garbled yell at Jebb Remi as he looked to Jensen with a sick satisfied smile, his boot firmly on Tobias’ back and knife to his daughter’s throat. In moments the hallway was echoing different people’s concerns and frustrations.

“Let her go you fucking son of a bit-“

“Azza!”

“Father!”

“EVERYONE SHUT UP!” Jebb’s voice came out over the confusing calls of the gathered people. One vocal yelp from Azza and only the distant screams of the battles taking place filled the void. “Much better,” Jebb replied with a dark, and wholly chilling chuckle.

“Let her go,” Jensen seethed with rage through clenched teeth. “I swear to god you so much as-“ Jebb took the pommel of the dagger and hit Azza square in the nose, making blood start to pour out as her eyes went woozy for a second.


“I so much as what? Idle threats are over now, Jensen Ambrose,” Jebb hawked back with disdain. “This whole night hasn’t been about idle threats. We’re doing what nobody had the guts to do. Striking the Ixians Knights and showing the blemishes on their shiney pretty armor. So save the fucking useless threats. Not tonight,” Jebb looked to the moon for a fleeting moment, and lifted his boot and slammed it hard on Tobias’ back, making her cough loudly, before bile lifted up from her stomach and onto the floor before her. Her body was still draped over the steps awkwardly and she looked to Jensen with complete terror.

“Here is how it all works,” Jebb said in a dark manner. “You tell that fucking disgusting Elf to stop looking at me,” Jebb peered at Erissa darkly. “Or I’ll kill this runt bitch here and now. Do it.” Jensen turned to Erissa, but he jumped when Jebb barked at him. “DO IT! I said I don’t want that whore looking at me!” Erissa quickly looked away. “Good. Now Daddy you get the biggest question of fucking all.”

“Please stop…” Tobias whispered painfully. Jebb’s boot met the back of her skull and she hit the tiled floor hard. Jensen made a move to attack but one fierce tug on Azza, the teenager letting out a grunt and moan while she was jerked side to side. Jensen’s movements froze as he took a step back, gripping his hair in frustration as Jebb began to laugh again.

“No idle threats here, Jensen. See the difference!” Jebb was beside himself with glee as he laughed to the immortal, haunting him with his defiling mirth. “One way or another, Jensen, I am going to kill all three of these girls. But you get to choose which one lives the longest.” He pointed the dagger to all three of the women in the room, stopping first at Erissa, then Tobias, then Azza.

“You going to pick your fucking whore girlfriend? Your fucking whore mistress? Or your fucking whore daughter? What will you choose, immortal? Huh? Huh?” Jebb’s voice teetered on the edge of reserved intensity and total rage. Something within that man was snapping, and Jensen couldn’t do anything to stop what he was doing. “I think whichever one is the left of the one you pick will get raped, and the other’s throat slit. The one you pick will get both! Wouldn’t you like that, Jensen?”

Jensen felt everything within his body crumble, including his will as he looked to all three of them. His mind was swirling with memories of fond times with each one, but haunted by the echoing, rage filled screams of Jebb’s insistence he pick.

“Why are you doing this to him?” Erissa at last spoke, her gaze still away. Jebb’s eyes turned to her, full of hatred unmatched by any zealot in this castle. Jebb leaned forward on the leg he placed against Tobias.

“Did you just speak to me, whore mouth?” Jebb was quite in his tone, full of intensity that Jensen never heard in his entire life. “Why? Why are we doing this to him? Because that cuss stain of a fuck,” Jebb screeched. “Had the gall to challenge me! This whole fucking night is thanks to him! Thank Jensen fucking Ambrose! DO IT! Say, ‘Thank You Jensen for getting Jebb’s way of killing his daughter!’ Do it or so help me I’ll rip the voice box out of this little bitch and make a music box with it!”

Jensen didn’t hear the words escape Erissa’s mouth, as painful as they were. He couldn’t hear very well because his mind was all the way back in the past, a year or two ago, when Jensen did the thing he hated most and saved Cassandra Remi from the death she so rightly deserved. He carried her back that night, the night she was broken and fragile, and bandaged her wounds. It took considerable amount of effort to convince Aislinn to help her, and he stood watch over her all night to ensure she rested back to strength. He did that not because he liked her. He adamantly hated her and it was never a blurry line of that hatred. But he did it to prove to Cassandra the difference between them. That he had a heart.

Clearly, on this night, she proved she still had none.

Because Jensen had a heart, so many people were being raped, tortured, and murdered. It was all so twisted and wrong.


Azza looked to her father’s eyes, seeing the emptiness within them. He was growing hollow inside and she fought to keep her composure. He was going to lose himself in his grief and stress and she wanted to stop the pain her father felt. Yet her head was jerked aside as Jebb leaned into her ear and whispered, his hot stinking breath tickling her cheek.

“Watch how a grown man disintegrates into a pile of trash.” Azza looked to Jebb, seeing his gaze boring intently at Jensen, and she shifted her foot ever so slightly as she adjusted her hip. She clenched both fists, and waited for the right moment.

“Please,” Jensen whispered in defeat. “Just let her go.” Azza looked to her father when he spoke, seeing that look on his face. He seemed dead inside, broken almost…yet in his eyes…she looked to him carefully, more closely. She saw something burning so deeply she almost missed his twitching fingers. They were making a rolling motion, and in seconds she caught his meaning.

“No. And just because you asked so nicely I’ll kill her right now!” Jebb roared. Azza lifted her foot up and slammed it hard into Jebb’s boot, his other foot sliding off Tobais. Azza lifted her hands and grabbed his knife arm, tossing him over her hip onto the ground. The crazed serial killer rolled and was about to come up to grab her, but Tobias was far to swift and agile for him as her feet came up and kicked him broad in the face. He stumbled for a moment, feeling two hands grab at his shoulders. He elbowed Jensen in the gut and tossed the immortal much like Azza tossed him as Erissa ran to the others.

Jensen looked to Jebb now with intensity to match his, the last vestiges of his will power at last eroded away to the swirling insanity dwelling within him. It was as if there was a hole that was covered, boarded, and shut away form the world, a place within Jensen that was uncovered but once, but now freely tossed open. Jensen felt everything within his soul wither down to base emotions, and his eyes were pounding as his stomach churned and rolled. Jensen Ambrose was dangerously close to tossing aside his sanity.

“About time,” Jebb breathed darkly. “About time you at last reach a point where you understand my hatred of you. You fucking prick. Come on! Come on! Come at me! Let’s fucking end this! Come on!” Jebb taunted him like a dog, patting his knees.

“I’ll fucking gut you and feed you your own entrails!” Jensen shouted as he ran forwards in a sprint, arms coming up with blades twirling in hand, ready for a death strike. Jebb had two blades in hand, lifting them up for a perfect executioner strike, both men sacrificing their bodies to kill the other. When Jensen came at him he lunged forward, feet in air as he impacted both weapons into Jebbs lungs. The man let out a muffled pitch of hatred and malice, bringing both his weapon into Jensen’s lower rips, impaling his lungs as his mouth bled out onto Jebb’s face. They landed in a pile, Jensen’s momentum tossing him off as they were sprawled out on the floor.

There was silence once again as Tobias held onto Erissa and Azza, the three looking to see what had transpired. Yet within moments green energy began to flicker around Jensen’s wounds as he let out a wheezing cough. They took a collective sigh of relief as they began to march over to him.

When Jebb’s body twitched, a golden eldritch energy snaking his wounds much like Jensen’s, Erissa’s eyes widened as she pointed to the downed man. “He’s still alive!”

“Get out of here!” Jensen hollered as he groggily stood up, a pitiful attempt at a wheezing chuckle. “Get going, to the medical ward! Now!” Jensen was laughing as Jebb’s eyes shot open and he let out a scream of rage, lifting himself to his side as he woozily grabbed a knife that was in his chest and pulled it out, standing to meet Jensen with his back to the others.

“Let me purge your fucking weakness!” Jebb bellowed as his challenge, Jensen replying with hysterical laughing, his hands and feet moving to attack at Jebb who came at him with solid punches and muscle deadening kicks. The two fought like jackals over the last scrap of meat as the immortal watched Erissa grab Tobias and Azza’s hands and force them to take a side path.

And in the halls of the Ixian Castle, the two immortals began their fight to the death.

[Sagequeen]

The winding halls were littered with the detritus of war and carnage, and Erissa picked her way carefully, partly supporting the green-haired elf on her left. On her right, Azza clung to her hand as Erissa guided them through mangled body parts and rubble. The Ixian was beyond tired, exhausted, and even beyond numb, right back into the fresh, searing pain of a body abused. The elf pushed through until she thought there was nothing left in her, that she might simply fade away where she finally fell, disappearing like a wisp of cloud. Yet as Erissa gave the last of her strength to escort Azza and Tobias safely to the medical ward, something in the elf crumbled, the relief like pent water bursting from its dam. A new reserve spilled forth, warming her cold limbs and bolstering her mind.

Azza and Tobias exchanged glances of exhausted wonder; there were no lack of surprises - of many kinds - that night. The elf leading them glowed subtly, her skin radiating faint, golden light. Indeed, Erissa's silver hair had taken on the hue of the sun, though she seemed not to notice as she pressed forward with renewed vigor. The elf almost stumbled at the top of a stairwell; at its base she saw a small group of ghouls feasting on the bodies of the guards who were stationed there. Her toe caught a large chunk of rubble, and she watched in horror as it bounced down the stairs, each hit a cannon blast, and the ghouls' heads snapped to the three atop the stairs.

With gurgling lust, the monsters wasted no time in tearing up toward the Ixians, launching themselves several steps at a time.

”Ha'ana mikal diore!” The words flew from the elf's lips, otherworldly in substance and in a language she did not understand; however, the bolt of energy she sent down the stairs ripped a hole through the head of first of the advancing ghouls, consuming it in a burst of ash and ember. The following two cleaved through the smoking remains with brutal quickness, and Erissa shoved her charges out of the ghouls' line of attack. “Go!” the elf hissed, bracing for impact, with no other option but to conjure a shield and pray.

No, she thought fleetingly as the weight of the ghouls met her with full force, crushing her against the ground. If Cassandra Remi is counted among gods, then I will not pray, lest I get an answer. The weight of the ghouls shifted quickly in their bounce off of her, and Erissa kicked upward on the bottom of the shield; they skidded on the floor behind her in a tangle of twisted limbs and gruesome torsos. As soon as the elf could regain her footing, the beasts had untangled themselves and were pressing hard and fast back toward her, bounding on all fours.

Erissa caught sight of Tobias and Azza hunched among the piles of dead, hoping to escape notice; neither of them was fit to fight, or even to run. The two clung to each other, faces frozen in terror as the ghouls advanced on Erissa. The elf was filled with a righteous fury to protect her friends, the intensity of the light emanating from her flaring, more words flying from her lips she did not recognize that took the form of a song, ancient and simple in melody. The waves of its natural cadence became a barrage of resistance against the ghouls, who struggled as if in water. They were slowed long enough for her wrap a fallen standard around them telekenetically, tight enough to make their eyes bulge. Erissa released the energy of her shield and picked up a sword that had belonged to an Ixian soldier.

With a wild swing, the disheveled elf hacked the head from the first, and plunged the blade into the chest of the second. She stumbled back a few steps, the golden wreathing fading from her, and she tiredly motioned for Azza and Tobias to join her. The three lumbered down the stairs, and Erissa paused at the bottom to survey the damage outside the castle through a broken window. They cringed as the sound of glass breaking above them pierced the air; seconds later they saw Jensen and Jebb in a deadly embrace, falling and stabbing. The men, hell-bent on the impossible task of killing one another, crashed through the roof of the stable below, and Erissa could see no more.

“Daddy!” Azza cried.

“Come,” Erissa pleaded. “He told us to go to the medical ward. He will find us there.” Azza nodded, tears spilling from her eyes. She clasped the girl's hand, and the three pressed through the castle, only to find the medical ward mostly destroyed, and in its midst, a giant, felled spider. To her great relief, Erissa saw Aislinn and Liliana, and against all her dreading, Adolph, on his feet and well. She ushered Tobias and Azza to the others. “Adolph!” she called, dragging herself to meet him.

“Erissa, what is it?” he asked intensely.

“Jensen,” she said between gasps for air. “Jebb Remi, the stables outside. Fighting... dying... fighting again. Please, help him. Please!” Adolph did not waste a moment to reply, instead tightening his grip on the warmaul in his hands and charging away with a fright-inducing roar.

[El Diablo Perro]

Memnar felt his heart beat rapidly as he walked behind Amelie, the woman clutching the vestiges of her torn clothing to herself as he escorted her away from the last of the Ixians. Where they tread was fast turning into a foothold of Cultists and they all knew not to trifle with the play things of their Dark Mother. They knew Cassandra had marked each one as necessary to the Cults practices. It was after all these two who paved the research into the Ghoul Project. Memnar stopped to grab at a long cloak off a dead Ixian warrior. Amelie stopped to see him lift it up and toss it to her.

“Our reputations will soon be forgotten if those miscreants get a glimpse of your flesh. On this night the Dark Mother has more to worry about than ex-employees.”

“One would think you care, Alexander,” Amelie quipped, her hands rotating the cloak over her chest and hiding her modesty. She took a step closer to Memnar, her eyes looking to his with admiration and a primal lust. “It could be seen as you liking me.”

“I simply wish to gain my reward for finding you Azoth,” Memnar said harshly. “Nothing more, Amelie.”

“So be it, Memnar,” she whispered with a hint of amusement as the two began to run down the halls again. “I do need to make good this escape. I happen to have a boat that will take me to little land known as Benzer. From there we can part ways after payment.” Memnar nodded to her going plan as the two looked out over the hallway. They could hear the trampling of feet as a group of Cultists rushed behind them towards the battle.

As they took a few steps down the less traveled path, heading in the direction of where they met, the duo heard the sound of something rushing up the steps towards them. Amelie looked to Memnar, who held his hand to stop her movement as he listened to the sound of the newcomer.

“Armor,” Memnar hissed. “I hear armor!”

“Why is that a bad thing?” Amelie asked as she felt Memnar tug her hand and forcing them to retreat.

“Because you simpleton,” Memnar shouted. “Cassandra doesn’t have anyone with armor in her army!” As he finished his statement the doorway leading to the hallway beyond was filled with a man wearing chain mail, the mark of the Order of Chaplains upon his left breast. He bore a banner on his back, tied there in a holster so he had to bend down to enter into the walkway. The moon bathed red light upon the banner, making it looked like it was drenched in the blood of a dozen Cultists. The warrior’s black eyes looked to Memnar, a large claymore in his hand was teetering left and right, and he stood to his full height, a small giant of a man.

“Cultists of the Dark Mother, know that your dreams of Debauchery shall end in nightmares as we snuff the darkness out with the light,” he was praying as he saluted to Memnar, before preparing a charge as he began a bear like walk towards the wizard.

“I don’t even like this Cult,” Memnar hissed as he snapped his hand down, the familiar numbing feeling of claws covering his hand as he held the rapier at the ready. When the man was in range he swung with titanic force into the weapon Memnar held, the thin metal being snapped into two easily as the claymore collided with it. The corrupt wizard looked to the broken hilt in a stupor, eyes filled with wonder as the Chaplain let out another bellow of war backhanding the wizard. Memnar twirled into Amelie, who shrieked and pushed him back to be flattened in the face with a stiff punch.

He took one step back, eyes rolling around as his body left the floor and entered the air, collapsing upon his back with a grunt of pain and a woozy disposition. “What pathetic fools you were to challenge the might of Order. Chaos stands little chance of snuffing out the light,” he preached. Each action he did was so unlike the Cult’s priests. He spoke with purpose, grace, and regardless if anyone listened. His words were duel meaning. They crushed the spirit of the enemy, and boosted the moral of the allied forces. He never fought with emotion, despite the hatred his words carried. He was methodical, shore of his movements, and completely in control. It was clear why he wasn’t killed yet, and why Cassandra had summoned mercenaries to kill the Chaplains.

“Hey, could you keep it down?” A voice rang out the end of the hall. Memnar focused on the voice, and then groaned as Amelie ran to him and picked him up. The Chaplain turned to see Seed Vicious twirl a set of butterfly knives in his hand, and the ease they flipped around belied Seed’s usually incapable manner. “Some of us our trying to plunder in peace.”

“Those who ransack these knights will find their life stolen from them, cretin,” the Chaplain seethed as he turned to approach the boy. Memnar saw an opening instantly, dismissing his frosty appendage in a gush of water he shook off. He focused the last of his magic into his free hand, with a snap the flame came into life, forming a long whip as he continued to test it and beat it into life. He snapped the air several times before walking after the Chaplain, who gave him a glance of annoyance as he eyed both warriors. When he moved his eyes back to Seed Memnar’s whip lashed out, catching his wrist and starting to burn him. He howled with irritation, turning to free his weapon.

It would be his one mistake.

Seed jumped upon his back, digging both knives into the Chaplain’s throat and pushing out making a spray of blood that crackled and snapped the whip. He stumbled forwards, collapsed to a knee, then died with a gurgle of spite. Amelie stepped next to Memnar and the two looked to Seed.

“Hey, I found the treasury! These bad boys are pretty cool, huh?” He twirled the weapons in his hands like he had before, but this time he was stumbling and nearly cut himself dropping one and attempting to grab at it mid fall. “I’ll get the hang of it one day,” he chuckled.

“You found the treasury?” Memnar asked, new wind tossed into his sails.

“Yeah, but it was full of papers and stuff, so I torched it to the ground,” Seed replied casually.

Amelie was the first to pat Memnar on the back as he let out a defeated and irritated sigh of annoyance to his erstwhile comrade. He felt the value of all his work slip to nothing as Seed chuckled, and with a flourish he cut himself playing with the knives. He stuck the injured finger in his mouth and sucked hard, muttering the word “owie” over and over as Memnar shook his head and led the trio forwards down the steps the dead Chaplain arrived from.

“We need to escape this hell,” Memnar whispered to them. “But the Ixians counter offensive is closing the net around the Cult of Blessed Torture. This is turning more and more into a battle of attrition, and the poor organization and discipline of the Cult will be the deciding factor. I estimate no more than an hour before the tide turns fully in favor of the Ixian Knights,”

“How did you dig up that number?” Seed mumbled.

“Simple,” Memnar said matter-of-factly as he processed the data in his head at an alarming rate compared to the average human mind. “The size of the Cult is the only advantage, and the surprise element is long gone. The monsters are terrorizing the enemy, but manageable once fear is properly managed. The enemy’s discipline is military in nature, and eventually they’ll come to their senses. The distance of the ground covered by the Cult is nullified by the narrow tunnels and superior training. As it stands, the enemy is now on the offensive. It’s all systematic destruction. Pockets of resistance will be all the Cult has left in an hours time, thus the change in power.”

“Logical deduction,” Amelie said thoughtfully. “The enemies counter attacks are only stalled where the Dark Mother or her kin are. Logically,”

“Right,” Seed muttered angrily, clearly lost in the babble of statistics and information. “Magic.” Memnar smiled to the boy, a cruel smile, but one none-the-less. The three moved down the steps into an open pathway, where two men were fighting with skill and determination and a desire to shed the other’s blood in honorable combat. One looked like a mercenary that was hired by the cult, and the other was a black haired boy whose sword parried the katana expertly, and countered attacked with zeal and words spoken so softly, yet so profoundly. Each bellow of his voice caused Amelie to grip Memnar’s hand in fear as even the corrupt wizard’s spine shivered in silent terror. Seed even looked to the fight with mild interest, the hairs on the back of his neck raised, but by what Memnar wasn’t sure.

“We wait,” Memnar said. “If the mercenary wins, we use him to give us another blade to escape with.”

“And if that Knight cleaves him in twain?” Amelie blurted angrily.

Memnar looked to the fight, assessing both warriors strengths and weaknesses carefully before he spoke.

“We run like hell and pray Cassandra Remi is around the corner to save us.”

[Arden]

Arden opened his eyes. The light, though dim, burnt his retina. The pain, though oblique compared to the suffering witnessed in the past, served as a stoic reminder of failure. The noise, tumultuous as ever, broke his brief moment of calm. War was still raging all around the swordsman.

“I guess he can keep a promise,” he spluttered, with a bloodied tongue wagging through dry, cracked, and arid lips. As he tried to rise, the pain intensified a sharp twang of remembrance that engulfed his chest in fire and brimstone. He slapped the back of his head against the carnal stone beneath him.

It took him several minutes to compose himself, but finally, he realised that the cold, foreboding, and distant sense of death was real. Somebody or perhaps something had overwhelmed him as he had tried to make for the medical ward. He remembered, in visceral flashbacks, all the carnage and suffering he and his rose scented blade had inflicted upon the hellion hordes of the Cult. His sword was protruding upright from his chest, directly between his ribs, and bladed edge facing his chin.

“You didn’t have to push it that far in,” he grumbled. Blood gurgled up from his lungs, and he rolled his head sideways to spit it to the ground. He had another flashback of his finale, and then saw Jensen’s stupid grin leering down over him. The sword had dropped, the world had blacked out, and that laugh. “That goddam laugh,” he spat blood again.

At the very least, Arden was thankful the blood magic of his forbearers had prevented his completed resurrection. He had grown accustomed to his particular body, this personality, and this physical play set of talents. With that gratitude taken to heart, he slowly rose, careful not to cause any further damage to his body, and reached an upright position with uneasy steps.

“Okay, okay…you can do this,” he pleaded to his own self-doubt.

The blood magic prevented the passing over of his soul into The Aria, but it would not be completed until his sword was removed, and the lingering energy, warm and almond scented, could reknit his flesh and rekindled his energy. He clenched his teeth, which only caused a rise in the discomfort, and placed his hands firmly, but gently, around the leather bound handle of his sword.

The scream that ripped through the corpse riddled courtyard was deafening, and the wave of energy that followed life sacrificed and reborn, felled several of the lesser undead, and drew the dwindling host’s attention to the one who had, until an hour ago, been so instrumental in their destruction. A score of heads, arms, and gaping maws turned to stare down their resurrected death bringer.

All the memories of Arden’s past lives, including each and every death and rebirth that accompanied them erupted into a melange in his mind. Every inch of his body, flesh, sinew, muscle and soul burnt. Lava replaced his blood, and he contorted into strange and unusual shapes as the legacy of his ancestors stitched his shattered components into a tapestry of vengeance. A wave of energy scattered in his first contortion returned, and with a bolt of thunder, a cloud of bloodied mist, and a final scream.

With his revival, the connection that was severed by the Cult’s interference with the Heidegger barrier was reborn. A sudden swell of darkness engulfed the courtyard, shattering limbs, tearing rotten flesh, and plucking souls with marionette strings from borrowed corpses. All the energy returned woefully into Arden’s heart, which beat a single time, before he came to a standstill, kind, kindled, and alive fully and well once more.

A crack of thunder shook Radasanth.

“Right,” the swordsman said sternly. He held Kerria firmly in his right hand. “What did I miss?” he leant his will into the folds of the barrier, and took tally of all the dead souls swarming in the ranks of the undying that the barrier caught. With it, he could sense every member of the Ixian Knights, every captain, courtesan, and cleaner that had fallen foul of Cassandra’s treachery. He saw a hundred faces before one made him pause for thought.

“Kyla…” for the first time in his life, Arden weakened at the knees.

In the time that he had been dead, the ranks of the undying had overwhelmed even the inner sanctum of the castle. He could see the reticent imagery of what had happened, in a long, picturesque tapestry of deaths most cruel and foul. When Kyla’s finally played out in his mind’s eye, he roared with rage.

“You fucking bastard!”

Blood boiled in everyone's body.

There were no words that Arden could mutter that could put across his rage. He sprinted, head first, sword trailing, and the world on his shoulders towards the place he recognised in his vision. Nothing stood in his way for long as he rushed to Kyla Ambrose’s side.

After that…

William Arcus would pay.

[Requiem of Insanity]

Cassandra felt her control slip as she pirouetted and parried the daggers of the Gemini Blades, her divine beauty marred by punch after punch as her defenses slipped. Had she known how to fight, an inkling of battle, her god-like might and speed would match Sei and crush him. Yet here she was, back pedaling from her former boss, and filled with rage and fear that the control she prided herself on was slipping. Time was short for her to get what she wanted, and Sei had made it impossible now by showing up with nothing for her to take.

The whole night, everything about this evening of Debauchery was for one small item. In order for Cassandra to ascend to godhood, she needed something with the power of a god to harmonize her essence to true divinity. The trappings of the Thaynes Sei had proved ample targets for her to take and he had many of them. Yet he proved why he was the Hero of Radansath, and the tactical genius he had proved to put him, even on the defensive, one step ahead of the Dark Mother.

Rage fueled her now as she shrieked with irritation. Her plan was falling apart and she felt the skeins of fate begin to noose around her. Her blade came up in a fierce block, tossing a doppleganger off of her left flank, only to be hit in the side with a laceration and a follow up kick from Sei prime. She bounced into the desk Sei used, her eyes lashing white as she breathed heavily. Her fingers gripped into the wood of the Coronian oak, digging her nails deep crunching the material.

An illusion Sei stepped forwards, hands moving with agility that made it hard for the demi goddess to see. When he stepped forwards to attack she let out a bellow of pure hatred as she lurched the desk forwards from behind her, the wood scraping off the stone floor as it lifted in her hands upwards. She used her other hand to brace and launch it, slamming it into the Sei with such force it shattered into two pieces down the middle, felling one of Sei’s dopplegangers. She stepped forwards, weapon stabbing downwards to end his life, only to have the original Sei’s chakram bounce off her weapon, leaving acidic droplets upon sword. She recoiled in fear of being hit by the projectile, listening for the sound of the weapon as it bounced off the walls.

The two Sei’s moved in concert, twisting a turning as their daggers began a synergized assault that put Cassandra back onto the retreat. Her blade swung outwards in brutal, life taking shots, but she had no skill to make use of these swings as Sei, master of a hundred battles, easily dodged her clumsy blows. She felt her heart beat in her chest as they got closer and closer, and when she reached the edge of the room, her back literally against a wall, she decided to throw everything she had into the fight to kill off Sei Orlouge. Her eyes narrowed as she clenched her fist into a claw, slicing the air.

A red strip of energy cascaded before her, the force of it equal to a strike from her enhanced strength. Sei Prime had to block the blow on his blade, placing his other hand upon the hilt to keep from losing his grip. Dopple-Sei moved in with intent to finish the job as he raised a hand upwards to feint the Dark Mother. In return, Cassandra’s foot lifted up, kicking the man in the stomach doubling him over, but not without the echoing sound of glass shattering before her. Lacerations cut into her skin, blood dripping all along her arms, chest, and face. Her mouth bled freely, nose leaking like a faucet and her left earlobe was a crimson mess. Her hair was matted with blood and her nails were clogged with dried blood as she let out a gasp of pain.

Sei prime had rejoined his brother, moving to end Cassandra, but Cassandra’s speed was still the faster and her blade caught under the lip of his as her fist went out, grabbing him by the throat. She squeezed, her eyes lit with madness as she stalked forwards, stepping onto Sei’s downed double ganger, her foot smashing into his face one last time. Both Sei and Cassandra felt the pain of being ripped into by the last gasp of Mystic Protection. Still she held her foe in her hands and glared to him, bringing him to his window where she shoved half his body out into the cold night air, the glass trickling to the ground below like rain.

“Look what I’ve accomplished Sei!” Cassandra’s murderous voice sang, a twinge of rushed madness within her tone. “I have done what no nation will ever do. I laid low the Ixian Knights! I reduced your army to rubble, raped your innocents, and destroyed your prophecy! Fate is not my master, Sei Orlouge, and you were a fool to think you were mine as well!”

Sei gurgled in her grip, eyes cast out to the fires and the battles raging around his home, he fought with Cassandra’s grip, but her strength was too much for him to master at the moment. He tried to kick her out from beneath him, but she stepped into his legs, making the effort a useless gesture. The smallest lacerations upon her face began to heal as she choked him out, but with a vile, sinister grin full of all the damnable malice she was known for, she leaned in close so her voice could be heard.

“You have the power to end this, Sei,” she whispered her words in a softness that showed no hostility, nor evil intent. Her sincerity in her duplicity racked within his mind as her fingers clenched a bit tighter around his throat. “Just give me what I want…”

[The Last Wolf]

The mercenary had made a miscalculation. Perhaps it had been comparing the katana to the longsword? Harold's weapon was both thicker, longer, and larger. The katana had the edge in both maneuverability and accuracy, but in terms of sheer stopping power, the longsword was the better weapon. On top of that, Harold was both larger and more muscular than Renault. The mercenary's diet consisted mostly of what he could scrounge together; his life was not a glamorous one filled with a proper diet. Harold, on the other hand, had the backing of the entire Ixian Knight kitchen, making him, in terms of pure strength, the stronger of the two.

Interestingly enough, losing to a kitchen did not offend Renault in the least. He had fought through enough wars to know that hunger felled more men than any weapon.

"Surrender," Harold offered as Renault's katana flew from his hand, and skidded across the stone floor, "and I will give you a clean death."

Renault glanced over towards where the katana finished its journey. Next to that stupid girl, still moaning in pain. The mercenary clucked his tongue, and gazed at his opponent.

"Surrender is out of the question," Renault muttered as he raised his fists; his time as a mercenary had taught him a bit of hand-to-hand combat," besides, I technically haven't lost yet."

"As I said, I admire thy spirit mercenary," Harold said as he positioned himself for the killing blow.

"Thanks, but it's not my time yet," Renault countered, "besides, you have a glaring weakness. If you haven't killed me in five moves, I have you beat."

"Interesting. Let us test the validity of that statement!" Harold challenged as he leapt forward.

That one was easy to read. And overhead strike. Renault thought to himself as the longsword cleaved through the air. The mercenary side-stepped the attack, retreating a few steps as he did so.

He can only attack from the side from an angle. I'll dodge low! Renault predicted accurately. Harold began a horizontal assault, which Renault ducked under, taking a few more steps backwards.

Two out of five. Now we have some fun! The next attacks would be the deciding factor. Harold hesitated a moment, wondering if Renault's prediction was an accurate one. Seizing the opportunity, Renault feinted a left punch, and then quickly pulled back. Harold did not fall for the trap, but neither did he follow up with an attack. The mercenary had succeeded in wasting one of the five movements on the gambit.

"Two moves left. I've almost won Harold," Renault taunted; the Chaplain simply glared at him, and fixed his gaze.

"I still have two moves left, whatever your name is," was the cold response. Renault nodded, he had to admit that.

This one will be the deciding factory. Will his attack begin from the left, or the right? The mercenary began to think. The Chaplain wasn't giving anything away this time, no unnecessary movements were made.

If there was anything Renault had learned about Harold, it was that he considered himself an honorable fighter. That meant a few things, one of which was that this attack was unlikely to be anything but head-on. Either way, it was time to throw his cards in.

Renault went left, Harold attack towards the right. A narrow miss.

"I win," Renault said with a chuckle.

"I have one move left, according to you," Harold countered, "and you have run out of room to maneuver."

This much was true, Renault's back was quite literally to the wall. Still, that made little difference.

"A duel is like a game of chess. Sometimes, even when there is a move left to play, the match has been decided. There is one move left, but this duel is as good as over," Renault snickered cruelly.

The longsword raced at his neck, but the mercenary was as cool as he had ever been. His katana was next to him, easy to pick up had he not been under attack. Still, the match was over.

How had she survived this long? Sheer will and determination. That poor girl, wounded before this fight even started, had clung to life with more determination than most warriors in this damnable castle. Still, it was the very determination that led Renault to victory.

The longsword froze instantly. Renault had picked up the girl, and used her as a hostage; Harold could not possibly cut through that innocent girl to kill him.

"You have no honor," Harold swore. The mercenary only chuckled, and kicked his katana upwards.

"No, I don't," Renault whispered as he snatched his blade out of the air, and plunged it through the girl's neck, into Harold.

"But hey, at least you did," the mercenary finished as he withdrew his blade, spilling blood and guts from the two pierced bodies. Without another word, Renault beheaded Harold, cleaned his katana, and walked away.

[Tainted Bushido]

"Almost there Taka," Anita's voice trailed through the hallways echoing back and forth. As the ronin stumbled another step against the wall he groaned softly and collapsed to a knee. The eldest child of Sei immediately dropped beside the ronin who shook his head to clear it of the fog that threatened to overcome him, "Come on Taka, you're only a few steps from reaching the medical ward, you can do it!"

Chaos raged in the General's mind as he clutched his head, the headache threatening his pain tolerance once again. It felt as if the oni in his blood had forced it all to his head in order to cause it to burst open like an overripe fruit. He groaned as blood slipped between his fingers in an attempt to bleed out the pressure. He let out a shuddering breath as he grunted and carefully pushed back to his feet. Anita let out a soft whimper of sympathy but said nothing, she knew Taka was at the end of his rope both physically and mentally. To question him about his condition would only push the ronin over the edge.

It didn't help that he had fought several times on the way to the medical ward.

The fights had been just as swift, just as brutal as the one in front of Anita's chambers, but the fact was Taka only had so much fight left in him, and with each pounding thump of his head, it bled out a little more. Whatever Cassandra had cone to him, it had disrupted Taka's balance and ability to wage war. The Ronin truly was but a life tossed ont eh waves of fate as he continued to push himself forward, arm draped over the now blood stained blue dress of Anita.

The two of them stumbled into the room to see Aislinn barking out orders, her students diligently at work. It was a war within a war. A battle to save lives in a night that devoured them greedily. The Dark blade continued to stand even as the guards looked upon the Ronin with a look of shock. The fact anyone could stand looking like the ronin was amazing in and off itself. The fact he did so and was aware of his surroundings? That would be a tale anyone would tell when they questioned the ronin's ability to lead. Immediately men moved to the ronin and moved him to a stool where he slumped, Rengoku clattering to the floor as he realized his part in this war was now done.

Aislinn moved forward and with a glove encased hand she went about the ronin quickly looking him over before she shook her head clucking her tongue. Felcicity moved to the feet of the With before she spoke, "I assume it was your stubbornness that kept you together this long. You have a concussion, your hand is almost completely crippled, you have extreme bloodloss, and if I'm right your shoulder is shattered. I will be amazed if you can even fight after this night-"

"I must..." Taka replied firmly.

"Taka stop, I'm safe it's over!" Anita pleaded the ronin.

Taka looked around the room before he spoke, his voice wavering as he slipped into Akashiman., "<When I took up the blade, I stood...>" A grimace of pain cut him off before he shook his head and spoke, "<...six steps from death. I looked Enma-o in the eye and told her she could take me at any time. I can't stand by while others->"

Aislinn looked to Anita who shook her head a tear slipping down her cheek before she spoke, "Not tonight Taka. Death took enough of us, I don't want it to claim you too!"

"I have already sent one hard headed man out into that maelstrom. I refuse to send another. We currently have no one directing the defense of the ward, if you must do something, assist in that," Aislinn replied firmly. Her hand moved gently over Taka's face before she shook her ehad, "We need to get the porcelain out of your skin before those cuts get infected. Felcicity we need a bowl of water and some tweezers. I may need Anastasia to sew his wounds closed once I've finished cleaning them. Tell her to wear gloves..."

Taka began to speak up before Aislinn spoke, her voice cold, "No General. I will not send you out to die. Seth is out there hunting Remi, if there was any doubt in the abilities of that man, I am sure tonight will silence them..."

Taka looked between the two Orlouge women, before he sagged tiredly in his chair, barely sitting up as he spoke, "<Anita-sama, I will need you to translate, I'm too tired to think in Tradespeak...>"

Anita nodded solemnly as she pulled up a stool beside Taka, and together the two of them began to organize the wounded soldiers still capable of fighting. Slowly the haven solidified from shelter, to a bastion. Stories that one of the generals was in control of the Medical Ward served as a renewed source of vigor in an already tiring night. With no worry that the Medical Ward could be retaken, the men coordinated and began the purge of the halls, starting from the ward, and spiraling out.

[Enigmatic Immortal]

Jensen felt his body aching as he came back to life again, body woozy and teetering on the verge of collapse again. The eldritch energies of the Breath of the Undying pumped his blood to circulate once more as the lungs took in fresh air. He noticed he was in a stack of hay and splinters of wood were scattered around his body. He pulled a few tiny scraps out and dragged himself to his feet.

While hunched over he felt two hands grip his shoulders and twirl him harshly into the stall of the horses. His body shook the fence as he bounced off it, blood leaving his mouth as felt the same hands wrap around his neck and lift him up, twisting again and tossing Jensen to the ground in a brutal fashion. The immortal bounced on the ground and sprawled painfully as his hip stung with sharp pains, a piece of wood cutting him from the violent impact.

“Can’t you die?” Jensen muttered and wheezed as Jebb screeched with rage once more. He grabbed Jensen by the hair, pulling him back so he could see the madness in his eyes, bringing his left fist back and punching the immortal full in the mouth. A tooth fly out, blood and spit making a wet stain on his overalls, and a laugh echoed in the stalls as the horses stirred uncomfortably. Jebb pulled his fist back again, this time back handing the immortal so his vision blurred. He fell out of Jebb’s fingers, hair being left that was pulled out from the impact. He groaned and laughed, feeling Jebb’s fingers grip his hair once more and lift him up again.

When he turned Jensen’s feet coiled up and knelt, waiting for the punch. When the appendage came at him Jensen launched himself up, his head butting into Jebb’s chin as he let out a squawk of pain. The two twirled to the ground, breathing heavily as they rose again, Jensen’s bloodied fingers clenching into two ghost white knuckled fists. He went towards Jebb, but the older man turned and threw dirt into Jensen’s face, irritating his wounds, blinding him, and following it up with a tackle that collapsed both men into the opposite stall wall, breaking the fence with their mass, and groaning again.

“I fucking hate you,” Jebb whispered loudly with disdain. He picked himself up and Jensen rolled into the fetal position for a moment, trying to catch his wind as he moved to all fours and lifted up onto his knees. His back sparked in pain, eyes flashing white as he collapsed back onto the floor, seeing Jebb’s body spin onto his butt, exhaustion clear on his features as he dropped a huge hunk of wood he no doubt just slammed into the immortal’s back.

“You’re such a bastard,” Jensen wheezed with a giggle of pain. Jebb nodded to that, lifting himself up again with a moan of pain. Jensen crawled forwards and slowly lifted himself up to his feet, turning to find Jebb running at him with a branding iron. He bunched into a ball, lifting a knee up to protect his ribs as Jebb screamed hatefully, letting the metal collide with Jensen’s thigh. The muscles instantly roared with agony as he let out a silent scream, dropping his leg and reaching for the weapon. Jebb kicked him in the stomach, brought the weapon around, and hit Jensen right in the neck and shoulder sprawling him back onto the floor in pain.

The branding iron clattered onto the ground, making a loud ringing noise as Jensen rolled his eyes, unable to focus as he began to laugh uncontrollably, causing Jebb to let out a yell of frustration. The sound of his boots grew faint as Jensen tried to regain his composure, wheezing as he turned to his side and rolled back to his feet. He shuffled forwards, eyes burning, filled with tears to flush out the dirt from Jebb’s earlier attack.

Jensen’s ears listened for the sound of boots, and he turned quickly shooting out a fist into the air, but nothing was all he struck. Annoyed, he narrowed his eyes, turned to look behind him, and saw nothing but a few horses stirring to be free from this chaos. Jensen turned back around and his world flashed white again as something connected with his nose. He stumbled backwards, tripped on a bucket, and onto his back.

Jebb came after him, swinging his fist to try and grab Jensen before he collapsed, over extending himself awkwardly. Jensen’s foot hooked the bucket he stumbled on and kicked his foe with a stiff roundhouse, slamming the metal container so it dented into the side of his face. Jebb fell like a stack of bricks, eyes rolled into the back of his head, blood pooling out the side of his head. Jensen kicked the bucket off with a bit of effort, and turned to see the golden energies of Jebb's Anima Revixi heal the wound that probably had just killed him.

“You suck,” Jensen whispered to him. “God is that what I do to people? No wonder nobody likes me,” Jensen began to giggle again as Jebb’s eyes shot open, his face twisting into another hateful snarl, gripping the dirt and standing up again, slowly. Jensen leapt onto his back, wrapping his fingers under his chin, looking to snap the man’s neck. “Let’s see how much I have to do to kill you, shall we?”

“Get off me!” Jebb shrieked, his hands quickly lifting up to grab at Jensen’s wrists to attempt to stop them from twisting. The older man had a power house of strength to him Jensen never expected, lifting up to one knee and standing up, shakily, while Jensen wrapped his feet around his stomach, constricting him and squeezing the air out of his lungs. “I…said…you…stupid…bastard,” Jebb muttered as spit flowed over Jensen’s fingers. "Get...off!"

He released Jensen’s arms, grabbed mouth with both hands, and snapped forwards. Jensen’s neck nearly broke then and there and he released his legs quickly, his back springing up with new pain as his spine popped in several points. Jensen’s eyes went wide in agony as Jebb turned away for a moment, then back to drop onto his knee, punching Jensen square between the eyes. The immortal’s world spun for several seconds, unable to even lift a hand from the exhaustion he felt.

“You fucking will die, Jensen,” Jebb muttered as he turned away to go grab something, his voice raising as he talked to the dazed immortal. “I’ll kill your fucking daughter, rip her eyes out and force you to eat them. Hell maybe I’ll drug her up nice and have fun hacking her into little pieces while you watch; whatever the fuck I want. Just to fucking break you.”

Jebb returned with something in his hand, but Jensen couldn’t see it clearly as the body of Jebb was a blur to him. He felt him place his boot on his chest as he began to fidget with something, his breaths labored as he spoke. “I will show you even an immortal like you can die. I’ll kill everyone you love, everyone you care for, and then everyone you like. I’ll kill them all for fun, for the thrill of it, as a sacrifice for my daughter.”

Jebb lifted Jensen’s neck up, and he could feel something rope like in nature tighten around his flesh, making it hard to breath. He instantly felt his world reshape into focus as his hands went to move and stop the noose from being tied off, but Jebb stomped his ribs hard enough to shatter one of his ribs, breaking it off into his lung. He felt his world going black, and he struggled to keep alive, seeing a feint green glow near his chest as his Breath of the Undying came to save his life again. A horse was brought forwards, bucking and braying as Jensen watched Jebb attach the rope to the horses saddle.

“I’d love to kill you again, but I have things I have to do. Til then,” Jebb slapped the horse hard on the rear and the beast whinnied, stomping forwards in an earth eating gallop. In seconds Jensen’s hands grabbed at his rope, and he was snapped and twisted violently before dragging behind the horse into the night. “Have a nice Ride!” Jebb laughed, waving goodbye as he turned to the other end of the stables.

Jensen’s jacket tore at him, bouncing and stumbling over corpses as the horse fled in terror. Jensen looked up just in time to see a group of Ghouls chasing after him, their feet slapping the cobblestone as they gave chase to their newest meal.

[Dissinger]

A knife flew through the night striking the rope at its most taut point. As the blade cut into the strands they snapped cutting partially before a particularly violent tug snapped the rope altogether. The immortal gasped as he clutched at the noose now able to actually loosen it before Jebb turned around his eyes narrowing. The blade was in the ground at an angle, a slender little number that reflected no light. If it were not for the shadow it cast, no one could have known it was there. What set it apart from any other knife was the ring, large enough for a finger to slide through at the end. It stood in silent mockery of the attempt to remove Jensen Ambrose from the fight.

Shortly afterwards a man lowered himself to the ground before the ghouls. Six spears hung loosely in his two hands even as the wind in the stables began to pick up. Two spears stabbed out with efficiency as he felled two ghouls. And began the process of dismantling the rest in a brutally efficient manner. All the while Jebb looked about the area quickly his eyes scanning the almost impenetrable darkness.

"Seth!" The man raged at the ruining of his fun as looked around, even as a shadow moved within the pitch black of the stables. His eyes scanning the darkness with ease as he growled out a low string of curses. "Come out and face me you bastard!"

"What's the matter Jebb? I thought you were the monster. Can't you handle a simple thief?" The voice was close, intimately close, as he spun around facing nothing. A patch of darkness moved from behind the man darting through the rafters as the thief repositioned. The movement wasn't unnoticed by the serial killer who narrowed his eyes as he looked around trying to find the thief. Nathaniel roughly pulled a spear from a ghoul as the slaughter of the force sent after Jensen was continuing, and Jebb Remi was caught in his own little world.

"Damn you Dahlios! Where the hell are you? I won't let you make a mockery of me!" The man shouted, spittle flying out of his mouth as he seethed at the actions of the Lavinain Demon. Winds picked up as Jebb spun around to find Nathaniel gone, the ghouls laying in a heap near the coughing form of Jensen Ambrose, trying to pull at the taut noose about his neck. He began to feel his heart race in a heady mixture of emotions, emotions he was far more skilled at inciting than handling as he narrowed his eyes.

"Behind you..." came Seth's voice from before the murderer.

"If you think I am going to fall for your parlor tricks you are sadly-"

Jebb's eyes went wide as a spear thrust itself through his chest. He looked down at the weapon a look of confusion on his face as Seth moved into the wan light of the stable and carefully knelt beside Jensen. With a flash of steel the noose was cut from the immortal's neck before Seth gave a casual salute to Nathaniel behind Jebb and spoke, "I don't have to try to make a mockery of you Jebb, you do that yourself. The difference between you and me, is that when I pull that stunt, I make the kill. I don't drag it out. You're too pathetic to force me to bloody my blades. You got him Nathaniel?"

"Yeah, I got this sad sack of shit. You going to get my waste of space out of here?" Came the gruff reply as another spear joined the first, cutting through the other lung as Jebb fought against the liquid invading his lungs. A wet cough caused blood to seep from his lips even as the yellow light fought to push the spears out of Jebb's body.

"Like I promised. Keep him busy for a little bit, I need to find his bitch of a daughter and I don't want daddy getting parental on me..." Seth replied. Nathaniel tilted his head in a solemn after you as Seth grabbed Jensen by the collar. Hauling the immortal to his feet he pulled the man he rescued out of the stables as he explained, "I don't have time to give you the entire run down but the point is this. My daughter is missing and I need you to help me find Cassandra."

"Why Remi?" Jensen finally managed as they moved down the hallways at a brisk pace.

"Simple, they're related. If she is here that means my daughter's disappearance is related, as much as I wish it was just the chaos of this place..." Seth replied firmly.

"Boogeyman?" Jensen asked. That was by far the most straightforward answer Seth had given the immortal who looked the thief in surprise.

"We need to split up, if you find Cassandra make a racket, I'll come running..." Seth replied firmly as he shoved Jensen from behind causing the immortal to go through a doorway into an adjacent hallway and separating the two as Seth shook his head and muttered, "Thanks for the assist Nathaniel, I knew you had it where it counted..."

Even as Nathaniel began his fight with Jebb Remi, the Oracle of Wind seemed to know what was said about him and smiled wistfully muttering back, "...give her hell Dahlios." Then he was lost to the rhythm of the fight as he fought the maddened father of the Midnight Mistress in a deadly dance of blade and spear.

[Arden]

It was only when Arden dropped to Kyla’s side and caressed her blood spattered cheek that the realisation dawned on him just what was at stake. There was warmth there still, but not much. Whatever life was left in Sei’s beloved was slipping away, and soon, it would be beyond even the reach of Blood Magic. He did not have much time.

“I am sorry…” he mumbled. The great doors to the ward were slammed shut, as if omen and portent were agreeing with him. The few remaining soldiers who had witnessed Arden’s ferocity had rallied to him, climbed up the stairs behind him, and barricaded the entrance to one of the last few sanctuaries left in the castle. “I am so, so sorry…”

Lingering on the borderline between collapse and tears, Arden dropped his head, let his sword fall loosely to his side, and let his weight drop onto his knees. They pressed forcefully onto the tiles and reddened. Whatever plan he had put into motion to resurrect the barrier in the wake of the Cult’s interference seemed so insignificant now. Next to this, his efforts were in vain. He was trying to save lives, and even though Kyla would live, the cost, he knew Sei would agree would be too high.

“Soldier,” he said, “soldier!” he repeated, and realising his first effort was a mere whisper. The heavily armoured, blood spattered, and shaking captain of the remnant guard skittered over from the door. The sound of his boots scuffing bloodied stone and his armour rattling over his heavy frame echoed through the medical ward.

“Yes, Captain Janelle?” the title sounded ominous, but the swordsman appreciated the token of respect.

“I need you to somehow, anyhow, whatever way how gets a message to the Orlouge family.” The gravity of his request, which appeared to now be a command from his lips, shook the foundations of the castle. Arden did not even know if such a task were possible. “Tell them, at best, tell him,” a him that could mean only Sei, “that Kyla Orlouge is injured. She will live,” he looked up at the soldier, “but…just,” he shook his head. His auburn hair slapped against his forehead, lacquered with sweat and detritus. “Just tell them.”

“Anything else, sir?” the soldier enquired, resting his sweaty palm on the butt of his holstered pistol. The clunky fire-arm still smouldered from its last shot.

“Find the witch, Aislinn, is it?” the soldier shrugged, but he seemed to know who he meant, “If she’s still alive, we’ll need her in the hours to come.” Because, as Arden knew only too well, his magic could revive, but not heal the wounds it caused on a more precious part of a creature – their soul. “Do it quickly, too – please,” the breaking of military protocol threw the soldier, who went away with a speed in his step that reflected his sudden worry.

“Come on, Kyla, hold in there,” Arden pleaded. He rose slowly, tired and battered, and slightly dazed, and took his sword into his confidence. He held it blade down, hilt in both his robust fists, and clenched so tight his knuckles went white. What he had to do next would not be easy, but it had to be done. “This won’t hurt much…”

A darkness swarmed through the doors as they opened briefly, leaving a tingling cold in their wake as the soldier vanished. A crackle of thunder overhead, unheard by any except Arden over the roar of battle struck the smouldering, half-ablaze roof of the inner-sanctum of the castle. It roiled through the stone, raced along the floorboards, and defying nature, it struck the cooling body of a broken girl.

“A thorn on a rose is but a facet of a deeper beauty,” Arden said, reciting the simple line that triggered the barrier’s hidden magic. From deep within the bowels of the castle, where an Iron maiden, bloodied and evil stood, a power swelled and rose up through the earth. A small blood vessel flickered into view and floated to the end of the sword. It slotted into the hilt and vanished, draining its contents on a pressure switch that slowly released the red liquid into the inner fold of the blade itself.

He drove the sword down into Kyla’s flesh, and felt pain like he had never felt before.

[The Last Wolf]

There comes a time where every man an woman engaged in a prolonged battle is forced to make a choice. Do they stick it out, and keep chasing after that elusive victory, firm in belief that the comrades-in-arms will do the same? Or do they cut their loses, and get the hell out of the fire while they still can?

That was what was so important about the training. Day after day, hour after hour. Drill it in to the soldiers head that they had to stay and finish the fight. The reason in and of itself didn't matter too much. Stay for the glory, stay for your friends, for honor and reward, or just to kill. As long as they stayed, most commanders were content.

Mercenaries though, did not have that training. Men who fought through countless battles always had one principle that they held over everything else. Survival. That was why mercenaries were one of the worst, if often most necessary, investments. They were happy to take your money when there was no battle to be fought, but when swords were drawn, they were the first to run.

As Renault glanced about the field of battle, he knew his time had come. He had been paid to eliminate the Chaplains, and he figured he had taken out more than his fair share. After all, it wasn't as if he had been paid a fortune for this mission. Even if he had, he still probably wouldn't have stuck around.

Couldn't spend a fortune if you were dead. Not that Renault knew what he would spend a fortune on, if he happened across one.

Renault made his way back to his entrance, silently commending himself on his foresight. It was more than likely that the Ixian Knights were more organized now, and that would sound the death knell of the cultists. Made to slip away, but a sudden voice caught him.

"Mercenary," came a voice from behind a black cloak, "we wish to enlist your aid."

"Eh?' Renault muttered as he turned around. Three figures were there, two men, one woman. He gave them a quick once over; they didn't look like competent fighters. More importantly, they didn't look like the raving psychotics that seemed to comprise the majority of Cassandra Remi's forces. Points for that, if nothing else.

"To escape. We need an escape route," the woman chimed in. Renault simply shrugged, as if to say "what in the world does that have to do with me?"

"Idiots," the smaller of the two men muttered, "he's a merc. You gotta speak their language."

A small bag jingled, and was then tossed through the air. Renault instinctively caught it, and peered inside. A few coins clinked together, not much, but it wasn't as if they were asking him to fight off an army. What was it that he had said earlier? The best part about being a mercenary was that he could take the jobs he wanted, and tell the rest to piss off.

"Fair enough," Renault answered, "I'll tell you a way out. Down that hall, you go first."

"Why's that?" barked the woman as Renault made way for them.

"Because I don't want to be stabbed in the back before I can spend my new found wealth, however small it may be," he quipped as he followed the group. The short man with red hair, the one who had tossed him the gold, chuckled.

"Eh, won't be by me. Wasn't like I paid you with my coin," the red haired man laughed as the man with the back cloak checked his pockets, and cursed.

*~*~*~*~

The mercenary rested himself against a tree, gazing calmly at the rising sun. It had just begun to rise, painting this part of Althanas n a blood-red color. Renault had parted ways from the group as soon as he was able to; they went their way, and he went his.

He wondered if the slaughter was still ongoing at Ixian castle? If he tried hard enough, he could just make out the town off in the distance. Were people still dying? Had they begun to mourn? Was there anyone left to mourn? Renault shook his head, and picked up his belongings.

Where was he off to now? No need to stick around Corone, regardless of what side one. The Ixian Knights certainly wouldn't want him around, and Renault was fairly certain Cassandra's cult, if they were even still alive, would probably have a thing or two to say about his early retreat.

Salvar perhaps? Or maybe Alerar? It didn't matter. After all, Renault was just a gust of wind. And the wind, above all, didn't care where it went. It was happy just to go there.

[Arden]

Kyla was alive. She was breathing. She was living. She was in agony. Arden cursed under his breath between every attempt to calm her, sedition and betrayal laced between his words. She finally caught his gaze, mid writhe and throe, and did what only came naturally.

“Gyahh!” he roared, fangs elongated and bloodied.

Though he had endured worse, her backhand laid him bare before the ruination of Ixian Castle. Lectures could have taught him centuries of history, but that simple action taught him so much more.

“Kyla…listen to me.” He tried to press a calming hand on her shoulder, but she scuttled away on her backside, cloth bloodied, stomach ablaze as fire burnt unseen in muscle and bone. “Listen!” he repeated, louder, feral, and forceful. “You have to fight it.”

“Fight what?” she screamed.

As though it were listening, the corruption coursing through her body began to attack her. The shadows in her soul lashed out, arcing her back and limbs into a marionette’s cruel joke. When the blade brought her from the underworld, back into her body, an ancient curse brought darker things still along with her. She was possessed, in a way, but by anger and hatred, not a ghost or ghoul.

“Whatever you do,” he pleaded, for once, genuinely fearful and afraid, “you must not give in.” The repercussions for that would be horrifying, for all involved with the daughter of Sei Orlouge.

Therefore, she did. Instilled by some primal, unbeknownst strength, she fought. She slammed her fists into the bloodied stone, and fought. She pictured her child, perhaps. Her face seemed to concentrate on someone, unseen and unknown and Arden could only watch in terror, fear, and worry as she grimaced and gunned and screamed. Her skin darkened. Her skin whitened. Her eyes spiralled with looming madness and bloodshot regalia.

“What in Thayne’s name did you…do? To. Me?” she winced over the last half of her sentence, curled into a ball, and began to shake as though in ice and forgotten to the drift.

Running a finger over his forehead, Arden removed his fringe from his eyes. His pupils, red through birthright, not bloodshed, pierced the veil of menacing stoicism that always surrounded the mystics. He saw vulnerability, somewhere beneath the behemoth, and found a strange peace. Kyla Orlouge would be all right. She would live on. There would be no mourning for her…at least not today.

“Blood magic,” he said sullenly. Guilt filled his stomach. Tiredness drained his strength. Another catapult shot, fragmenting mid-air and raining down like a meteor shower continued to bombard what dignity remained in the headquarters of the Ixian Knights. Arden felt it shake the very foundations. Unnerved, he shook too.

“You…,” she whimpered. Her eyes widened.

“Nobody died to let you live,” he lied. Somebody had. Somebody would. A life for a life was the price to be paid. In his years as a seneschal, it was fortunate for Kyla Orlouge that price would be from Arden’s friends…not hers. “Can you stand?” he asked chirpily, hoping to change the subject.

She narrowed her gaze, but nodded after silence broken by roars and chants permeated their hovel. Arden helped her upright, but as he did, she screamed. Resurgence, a powerful, tainted voice amidst her cry pierced the unspoken world. It struck Sei Orlouge a second tame, calling a master to a daughter’s side in her time of need. Arden could only hold her, close and fondly, like a brother amiss.

“Fight it…Kyla…fight it!”

[Silence Sei]

The cold air whipped around his form. The more that he struggled against the demi-goddess, the tighter Cassandra's grip became. His eyes looked down below, watched as Steppenwolf and his team toppled the giants that Cassandra had brought with her. His vision caught William Arcus miles away, blood on his claws as he tried to disappear into the darkness. He looked back to Cassandra, his eyes starting to turn blue as the blood vessels in his eye popped.

"I see your people retreating, Cassandra," Sei commented, his face stalwart and straight as his body fought back against the Cult leader, "I see giants conquered, demons pushed back, and I see you cornered." His head began to throb from the pressure, the blood in his brain without a home to go to. His wings sprang forth from his back, beating back and forth in some failed attempt to make the woman release her grip. Despite his need for air, he would not give her the satisfaction of seeing fear in his eyes.

"Struggle? I've won!" Cassandra exclaimed, "The mighty Sei Orlouge is at my mercy! You are out of clones, you are out of tricks! Your strategy has failed and so have you! This is the end of you Sei, unless you give me what I came here for!" Her voice echoed in the night air like a wolf's howl of victory. Screams and similar declarations were cried out into the darkness, though which ones belonged to Cultist or Knight was unknown even to the telepath.

"What you want..." Sei 'spoke' slowly, a sign that he was slowly starting to lose consciousness. "You want a weapon that is on par with the Thayne....themselves. You want an item you can use... to ascend. Fine then, Cassandra Remi. If you wish to have a weapon of power..." Before Sei could finish, the tip of a Gemini blade pierced through the chest of Cassandra. The blue glow of the weapon hummed as it vibrated through the Gisela Reaper's form. The grip on the mute was released just enough for Cassandra to be paused backwards and for Sei to dive forward in order to keep from falling.

Sei rolled as Cassandra reached for the sword, her eyes wide with shock. The sword was pushed further in, to the point where the hilt of the weapon nearly ran through the blonde bombshell as well. Sei looked up, his jaw left open as he looked towards his savior. Neither doppelganger nor Ixian General. The one who had run Cassandra Remi through was none other than Emma Orlouge, her glasses covered in Cassandra's crimson life. Her hair was all over her face as she pulled the Gemini Blade out from Remi, who fell to the ground with a gasp. She clutched at her bleeding wound as Sei stood up and walked over to her.

Her healing would kick in soon, so Sei relished in raising his foot and bringing it down into the Reapers face over and over again. He did not stop until Emma pulled him away, the hole in Cassandra nearly healed as her arcane magics began to work on his smashed in, now less-than-beautiful head. "Father, leave her!"

Sei growled, his lust for Cassandra Remi's death on his mind, her blood all over his simple form. He wanted so bad to continue his abuse, to do to her as she had just done to him, but he knew why Emma wanted him away from this. He was not only a better person, but his people were hurt and dying. The Cult was now in the process of being pushed back, but the Ixians had suffered a great blow due to their surprise attack. It was all Sei could do from backhanding his daughter and continuing the onslaught, but he chose instead to heed her warning.

"There was your opportunity, Cassandra" Sei spoke as he spat some of his blue blood onto the carpet, "I guess you missed your chance. If I return and you're still here, you'll find that I can be less than benevolent."

"Father, Kyla's hurt really bad!"

That brought Sei's attention to the his daughter once more. He did not even give the evil woman another look as he ran out the doors, leaving behind all the treasures that laid in his office. "Goodbye Cassandra Remi. May you never taint these halls again."

[Requiem of Insanity]

The frigid wind upon the air felt like fire against the demigods bruised and bloodied face. Lacerations wept crimson tears that mixed with her eyes, staining her vision red as breaths were shallow and full of little life. The wind raged in the air around her, as if a great malevolent presence was enraged that such a beautiful creature was laid low in so ungraceful a manner. Each painful movement in her body was a lesson in agony as the salty tang of her whimpering eyes intensified each cut upon her porcelain skin.

Cassandra could do little but watch with tainted vision to see her daughter Aerth step forward from the host of her honor guard. She was enraged, full of righteous fury to see the woman she called mother dropped to the floor like a sack of rotten, vile fruit. She produced the smallest of knives from her hip charging the daughter of Sei Orlouge with murderous intent. An eye for an eye was her plan. Sei would feel her pain.

When she was within striking range a vicious back hand from Sei Orlouge split her cheek and caused her to lose a tooth. She toppled like a stack of cards, her knee slamming the ground awkwardly as she fought to stand, but Sei was not done. In his frustrations the lord of Ixian castle produced his Gemini blade and lifted it up to assault Aerith. Had it not been for a timely intervention from her lover, Kane, Aerith would have died in that very strike.

Yet in a spray of blood that hit ceiling to floor in a vertical strike, viscera leaking from the deep gouge in his chest, Kane took one long look to Cassandra. His eyes spoke of an intense love for her, and she felt shame in her heart to be unable to reciprocate that feeling. Her hand lifted to his, opening and fighting to grab at him, but Sei had not finished there. With fury of a man pushed to the limits the Savior of Radansath grabbed Kane’s neck, holding his bleeding out carcass to glare at him in the eyes.

There was no image Cassandra could see that would forever haunt her than this. There was a look Sei gave that gave even her pause as he stripped the very essence of Kane’s mind asunder. With the precision of a surgeon the warrior Mystic had melted all that made Kane who he was, frying nerves and snapping neurological passages until he became a vegetable. Aerith screeched in alarm, covering her mouth in shock as she stumbled backwards, unable to comprehend the atrocity just committed. Emma shouted in a haze, the entire scene in slow motion as the grunting Homonculi charged Sei Orlouge.

Cassandra never before witnessed this level of Mystic Protection, the glass field encasing Sei and Emma. Each hairline fracture only cascaded until the shield broke not once, not twice, not even three times, but nine times. Sei stacked his protection spell one atop the other, and the amount of breakage severed the arteries in the host that assailed him, their useless limbs cut to ribbons by his anger and wrath. Like a warrior god he simply strode onwards and passed his own handiwork.

Cassandra felt the whimpering of her child, the coldness of death creeping towards her. With pain she looked upwards to see that several shards of glass had stabbed her in the back, and the trembling hands that touched her deadened legs spoke volumes: Aerith became paralyzed from the waist down. She could feel the howls of agony cast out to the world, her cult torn asunder and fracturing as they began to split. The enemy forces had finally rallied and managed to retake back their castle.

Her eyes fell upon Kane, cold emptiness filling her void. The one man in all of Althanas. The only one she truly loved. Kane was no mere pawn to her, not someone she would throw away to better herself. She had done that once, and it broke her soul to do so. Now she had him back, but it was so painfully short. She looked to his corpse, whimpering as she felt an emotional loss within her own heart. Was this what it was like for Jensen Ambrose? Was this what he felt when he had learned Stephanie was dead? This emptiness and pain was new to her, and she did not like it. She whispered to the body words filled with sorrow, gaining a bit of strength as she whispered her apologies over and over. But it was never going to bring him back. Sei had seen to that.

That thought nagged in her brain for a moment.

Cassandra rolled to her back, looking above at the ceiling before her. The wooden panes were blistered and cracked, but held firm from the titanic battle of the two demigods of chaos and order. Was this it? Had she at long last lost? Everything Cassandra had planned to a science to only fail at the end? Her chest built up with wheezing, coughs; spittles of blood flecked across her chest as she began to laugh out loud. Her body slowly regenerated as the wounds closed around her face and chest, and before long her porcelain skin was smoothed back to a perfect luster. She slammed one fist onto the ground next to her, standing up again with regal grace as her teeth realigned within her maw, her tongue snaking across her bottom lip tasting her own blood.

She continued to laugh, looking to the heavens that she had vowed to join one day, and howled her mirth. “I did it,” she cackled. “I finally did it!” Cassandra felt a painful twitch in her heart, pushed away by her own insanity as she turned to the mural of the Ixian Knights. Blood stained the mural, a crimson spray that would not fade with any speed. Cassandra approached the window, looking over the battle taking place, her lips unable to stop the torrent of ironic chuckles she felt. “Behold, warriors of Ixia!” Cassandra shouted to the masses. “Behold what I have done!” she shouted gesturing to the destruction.

She turned back to the room, her heart racing as she felt Draug’s presence nearing. Her father, Jebb was arriving as well. The Dark Family was gathering and Cassandra had precious little time left. “Behold what I have done…” she mumbled again with a whine of glee. She began to giggle again as she looked to her daughter. With a gentle caress against her face she stemmed the pain to her daughter, letting her divinity spread to Aerith as she fought to keep her composure. Cassandra looked to Kane, his body cold and lifeless. It was as if the man had given her a final gift in his death.

“Sei Orlouge has finally killed a man,” Cassandra whispered victoriously.

~*~*~
Little Katherine Remi had learned that it was time to go long before the tide turned. But she was not sure exactly how. She had managed to capture the targets of her choice, the Ghouls holding onto the unconscious Samantha Dahlios and the baby Akiv Orlouge. She had crossed several paths of Ixian resistance and her retinue of ghastly guardians were thinning by the battle. She had almost come into close quarters with Steppenwolf Orlouge, but thankfully a colossal spider had distracted him as she made good her escape from that losing fight.

She was deep within the castle walls when she noticed a particular corridor. This corridor was guarded by several men of high skills, for their armor held designations of elite soldiers upon them. In the middle of them was a Chaplain, who kept them calm with encouraging words that they were doing the right thing at this moment.

Now it wasn’t so much that she noticed the men, but it was the hallway. There were very little things special about it. In fact if it were not for them just standing there where the fighting was the thinnest, she would never have given it a second notice. But it was because those men were there, in a non-descript hallway, sitting around like they were guarding it. So she observed their forces, stacked it up with hers, and with a lick to her lips she ordered her soldiers in.

She had lost four of her ten remaining ghouls, but the Ixians had died.

The bloody melee was nothing new to her, and she looked around the hallway for something out of place. But for the life of her she couldn't see anything out of the ordinary. It was a simple storage closet. With cautious curiosity she opened the door.

Suddenly, the universe realigned, and it all made sense as she grinned entering the little room lifting her hand to grab at something.

[Dissinger]

The dark family had what they wanted. Sei had murdered a member, but even then they had the moral victory. Cassandra had left a trail of broken and destroyed generals behind her with Taka left unable to act in the medical ward. Tagaz had been buried under twice baked tower. Steppenwolf and Adolph were pinned to protecting the medical ward. Jensen was tied up with fighting Jebb Remi. All was going well for Cassandra, she had every obstacle removed. There was no one left to stop her as they headed for the exit the gates left broken and ruined before her. She managed to move on her own volition, walking at the steady pace that had been her path to victory. She was the unstoppable force that would run over anything through against her.

That was, until knives littered the ground before her. Ringed kunai sunk into the dirt kicking up a cloud of dust ever as Aerith tensed before the assault. Cassandra narrowed her eyes as a figure slid down from the parapets to land before them, leather jacket cracking in the wind. A hand gripped on the wide brimmed hat and held it firmly in place as a small cloud of dust kicked about the solitary man that stood before the dark family in all its glory. Gauntlets encased his hands as hate filled eyes glared out from under the brim. A few of the younger members almost shied away such was the palpable aura of wrath that surrounded the man. A gruff voice called out, firm and full of hate, “Skipping out without paying the bill? I never figured you one to shirk a debt Remi.”

Aerith looked with a wild panic to the wounded demigoddess who was in the throes of healing from the assault of Sei Orlouge. The look on her face told the tale. If Seth wanted Remi, he had picked his spot well, Aerith couldn’t move her legs and Cassandra was still healing from her last attacker. A cruel giggle left the Blessed Goddess of Torture as she spoke, “I was wondering when I would have to see you. I suppose in this night of debauchery you’ve been glutting and feasting on the playthings I sent for you. Tell me Seth, is the Demon sated this night?”

Teeth were revealed in a predatory smile as the banter between the two played out, “Not yet, I still need someone’s blood for old debts. I think yours will do nicely…” A knife was pulled from the small of his back as it began to dance and play within his hand. His fingers reflexively sending it through pirouettes and flips as they took on lives of their own. He drew another one adding its dance to the first as the blades danced with ease, finally after what seemed and eternity they slid to a halt, his feet widening as he got in stance. That predatory grin never leaving his lips as he quipped, “Who’s first on the dance card?”

“It would be a shame for you to lose two daughters to me dearest Seth. Are you really going to let a silly little vendetta kill another daughter of yours? Is petty vengeance all you can think about? I would hate to see dear Samantha suffer the same fate as Serenity,” The words came out with a measured calmness even as Cassandra carefully brushed a strand of hair from her face. The clashing of metal upon metal resounded through the area reminded both that there was a limited time table. If Seth pinned Cassandra for too long, it would be a victory for the Demon, even if he was hurt in the process.

Bodies lay about the ground between them, some small others arachnid and one giant. The courtyard had seen the fiercest fighting and with the two facing off it was obvious that any further combat would put it to shame, but with the powerplay in motion Seth’s eyes narrowed under his hat as he waited patiently. His head cocked to the side as he contemplated the answer. Looking about the area he looked at Cassandra and spat out, “Where is she? How can I even believe you have her?”

Cassandra merely gestured, and immediately ghouls erupted from a nearby hallway coming to take Aerith from the woman’s arms. A gentle pat was placed on the girl’s head as she looked to her mother in awe. A sinister smirk lit up the moonlit mistress as she stepped forward, red runes appearing under her feet. She leaned forward and spoke with a surety that sent chills down the Demon’s spine, “You honestly believe I’m bluffing? When have I ever lied to you Seth Dahlios? You know as well as I do the answer to that, I never have. The truth is so potent a weapon I dare not substitute it with mere lies. Lies are fragile weapons at best, the truth is inviolable, and cannot be brushed aside. As your parents surely realized when they saw what you had become.”

Gauntlets squealed as a string of curses escaped under the breath of the Lavinian Demon. Seth glared down the Gisela Reaper as he carefully relaxed his stance. It was at that time a new group emerged into the courtyard. The limp form of Samantha Ambria held by ghouls was dragged even as Catherine skipped along; humming a little tune as she swung the basket she carried back and forth gaily. Her dress had splashes of ichor perverting the innocence she portrayed before she came to a halt next to Cassandra. Reaching into the basket she gave her mother a flower before she said brightly, “I got what you wanted mother!”

“Yes you did my lovely child,” Cassandra purred as she gently stroked the young girl’s hair. She grinned mischievously at the Lavinian Demon before her tone took on the commanding tenor she knew Seth despised, “You will stand down Dahlios. If you don’t drop your silly little knives, your daughter dies. If you attempt to follow me, your daughter dies. If you let anyone else come after me, your daughter dies. If you attempt to use a loophole in these orders, your daughter dies. The only way your daughter lives, is if I leave this place and no one other than my cult follows me. Are we clear Seth?”

Knives fell to the earth in dull thumps, kicking up small clouds of dust. The demon remained still as she walked up. She knew he had to hate himself for allowing her to waltz out of here with his daughter and felt she had to rub his nose in it. Gently patting his cheek she whispered seductively, “Don’t worry my dear, your daughter will be well attended to. No one will lay a hand on her, unless you break our deal.”

“When is she let go?” Seth growled.

Laughter chimed in the air as the sounds of agony wailed through the castle. She rested a hand on Seth to steady herself before she looked up at him, “Do you believe me so stupid I would willingly part with my most powerful bargaining chip? No, she stays with me Dahlios, until such time that you renege on our deal, or you win her freedom through service. Do not worry my dearest, I will be in touch. Also the protection upon me is extended to my beloved family. That means Aerith, both Catherine’s and my dear Father. I would hate for dear Samantha to die because any of them came to harm.”

He sneered as he spoke his voice full of malice, “One of these days, my hands won’t be tied. You will regret this day with every ounce of your being. You will realize that letting me kill you would have been the simplest solution to your problems. I will not end until I erase you from this fucking plane Remi. I will not rest until every single accomplishment is ash in your mouth. I will not stop until your joy is nothing more than a bitter memory that taunts you with how you once remembered it.”

Cassandra giggle as she moved past the demon. He looked at her only to receive a vicious backhand to the jaw. Turning to lessen the blow only worked so well before he found himself on the ground, clutching his jaw. The family snickered in practiced unison, almost as if they were naught but the same soul in various bodies. To see the Demon so easily cowed brought out a sadistic glee even as Seth tasted the tang of blood. He was sure his jaw was broken now, with the frailty the energy potion had induced in him.

When they had long gone, Seth slowly began the effort of collecting his blades even as the sounds of pops and groans left the thief’s body. Magic suffused his frame fixing the cuts scrapes and broken appendages in his body as he prepared to guard the gate against all comers. A look of solemn determination on his face, even as a wistful sadness suffused the one-time rogue. His eyes scanned the dark as he saw the first of the Ixian Knights race after the Dark Family, and could almost hear the mocking snicker as he slowly warmed up his limbs to fight the knights. Not a single one could survive if he hoped to be welcomed in Sei’s hallowed halls, though after tonight he wasn’t sure if he deserved such a reception.

He had failed his little girl, once more.

The Demon rose, once more.

[Paragon]

Lanterns hung along the walls, bestowing dim light to the cavernous catacombs. Cracks ran along the floor, and older parts of the wall had caved in into a pile of debris. Dorian walked carefully in his Dragonet armor, his spear at the ready for any fiend that lurked in the shadows. The forces of The Cult were routed on the surface, the Dragoon Corps bouncing around the battlefield and slaying Cassandra's beasts and ghouls. After being briefed on the situation, it was clear to Dorian that the castle was infiltrated through these tunnels, which were thought to be sealed off until now.

Most of my comrades were missing from the fray... they must all be down here, engaging the true enemy. I have to help them.

Fallow stayed on the surface, guiding the Dragoon Corps as a mysterious voice in their heads. Unfortunately, they were ill-equipped to deal with the menace that lurked below, as their enhanced agility meant nothing in these cramped quarters. While Dorian encountered a few ghouls down here, they seemed more stragglers than any coherent force.

That is, until he saw the long shadow cast by the figure up ahead. It came into the light, and Dorian readied his spear.

"Who goes there?" Dorian asked. "Be you friend or foe?" Long yellow hair coupled with shining yellow eyes, the tall figure moved forward with a grin plastered on its face. It didn't respond to Dorian's hail. "If you don't answer, then I will assume the worst." It kept walking towards him, and Dorian could see that its fists were balled.

Although he was limited in what kind of movement to make here, Dorian took the initiative and jumped toward the wall, skipping off of it like a stone in a lake and flying towards another wall, repeating the process until he was in attacking range of the intruder. He brought the spear down on his foe but the creature grabbed the spear in mid-air, stopping Dorian's momentum entirely like it was nothing. Dorian's eyes widened as the man then broke his spear into two with one hand, and then jumped back with the bottom half of his weapon.

Before he could realize what he was up against, the stronger man told him, "I am Draug," and rushed him so fast that he kicked up dust in the process. Dorian dropped the spear and grabbed the dragon head figurine, willing it into the Hydra Lance and chucking it at the charging monster. To his credit, the attack pierced through Draug's upper body, lodging itself in the Abomination's flesh so deeply that half of it stuck out of his back. Draug fell to one knee, blood dripping from the wound. Dorian's breath was hoarse, but it looked like he stopped his attacker. Nobody who took a hit like that could get up again easi-

SLAM! Before he knew it, Dorian found himself crashing into the wall, after being thrown by the Abomination. He felt his flesh bruise and his bones crack, his entire body shaking so hard from the impact that he almost threw up from the nausea. He fell to the ground, his breath short with spasms of pain running up and down his spine.

"Damn it..." Dorian lamented, coughing and spitting up blood between words. "What... What are you...?"

Draug ripped the lance out of his body like it was a splinter, throwing it aside and picking Dorian up by one arm. The dragon knight felt a strange sensation, like the monster was peering into his psyche, images of the monster flashing in his mind. Draug completed the assimilation and threw Dorian again into another wall, watching the Ixian crumble to the ground once more. Saliva dripped from the Abomination's mouth as a renewed sadistic smile sprawled across his lips.

[Abomination]

Nathaniel Ambrose moved with great speed, pushing his entire energy and focus into his spears. Each hollow titanium weapon spun around him in a gale mixing with dirt and debris. The man was a fighter since the day he was born, growing up in sport arenas to make cash to live. He relished in the conflict and now was no different than ever before. His chest swelled with pride to be fighting for a cause. The Ixians had been good to the Ambrose family.

So as he stared at the sack of shit rise for the fifth time, teeth clenched and full of spite, the father of the enigmatic immortal swore loudly, "You have quite the fucking death wish. You can't possibly think your old bones can even think to touch me?" Jebb merely looked to Nathaniel, blood flecked teeth widening in a psychotic's grin. He bellowed in rage again, eye narrowing as he charged. He held nothing in his hands. Too damn easy.

Nathaniel did a half spin, one spear lunging in the tempest and striking under Jebb's chin impaling his head. He stopped his screams, rolled his eyes into the back of his head, and stood there in a dead state. He pulled the hollow weapon out, letting it mix with the weapons around him. He could feel his coat whipping against him, the wind chimes on his arm length gauntlet singing behind him. He turned, slowly, eyes narrowing as his bandanna kept the tufts of hair at bay above his furrowed brow.

There it was. The family of the Dark Mother herself, complete with ghoulish entourage. He took a defensive stance, the spears around him angling to a defensive wall. Cassandra, the vile bitch who had taken so much from his son, merely looked to him like a cat looked upon a mouse.

"Give me one good reason to keep you breathing, and perhaps I'll let you go." She demanded her terms with authority, and Nathaniel felt a unhealthy tingle down his spine. He shook the anguish away and spoke, one golden tipped finger pointing to her chest.

"Remind me where your heart is," he sassed. Cassandra lifted her grin to a charming smile.

"I am afraid even I don't know," she muttered, lifting her hand to the Oracle of the Wind. One spear flew at her like a javelin, aimed at her face with the rage of a father.

At that moment, the nearby wall burst outwards, and Draug jumped through and intercepted the projectile with his body, allowing it to pierce through his gut. He reeled back from the attack, grunting while his right hand was dragging along the unconscious body of Dorian. The remaining ghouls charged Nathaniel.

"Ah, you've arrived, my son," Cassandra said, moving to place her hands on the Abomination's face. "And what's this you've brought for me?"

"A present," Draug replied. There was no expression on his face, which told the Dark Mother that he had found something of particular importance. She looked down and recognized the young Ixian, and for Draug to bring him here alive instead of simply killing him...

The elder Ambrose moved into the ghouls, his body twirling and moving in perfect sync with the wind around him. He let the gentle breeze guide his actions, each spear spinning to cut, lacerate, and disembowel the ghoulish body guard. He rose with the rising force, letting his own body submit to the will of the wind. The spears rose with him, rising above his head and turning to fall and impale the lot of remaining ghouls, Nathanial landing in perfect form. He stood back up, looking to Cassandra with hate filled eyes.

"You took so much from my son," he spat.

"The one you never loved."

"Perhaps not," He admitted moving closer to the moonlit monster. "Jensen and I were always at odds, but he's still my blood. Still my son. I did a lot of wrong to him, but what you did... You took Stephanie away. The boy had one thing in his life he was willing to live for..."

"For an immortal to dwell on worldly desires..." Cassandra looked bored as the Oracle gave her a dark glare. "The Gift is wasted on him. Perhaps you would like to meet my son."

Draug left Dorian in Jebb's hands and stepped forward, pulling the spear out of his body and snapping it into pieces. Blood covered his body, leaving an imprint in the floor for each step he took.

Nathaniel sneered, "I'm not interested in more of your abominations! I'm here for you!" He moved in the blink of an eye. In one moment he was like the wind, howling at Cassandra all the hate and rage and vengeance of the entire Ixian castle. He moved like quicksilver, and Cassandra just stood there, prepared for all of it. She grinned to him, a damning smile full of nothing but vile intent. "Gah!"

An arm that grew from a hole in Draug's shoes tunneled under the ground and came up to grab the elder Ambrose's ankles. He stepped right into the monster's trap, and Draug moved in, catching the Oracle by the forehead as he fell forwards. Two more arms grew from Draug's back and grabbed Nathaniel's, holding him in place. Leaning forward, Draug's razor sharp teeth bit into the Oracle's neck, digging deep as Nathaniel's eyes rolled back.

"I look forward to meeting your son," Draug said with a muffled tone, blood sloshing around in his mouth. "I will redefine torment for him!"

Nathaniel felt a tear roll down his face, mixing with the coppery taste in his mouth. He felt his muscles constrict tightly as he knew his time had come. Backing up, Draug spit out the mouthful of flesh and threw Nathaniel unceremoniously into the ground, letting the oracle look up to the ceiling alone.

Jensen... thought the Oracle. I'm sorry kiddo...

[Enigmatic Immortal]

The immortal's boots thundered along the railing of the Ixian Castle. He jumped from windowsill to flaming ruined cart. He climbed over corpses of spiders, soldiers, and ghouls. Madmen attempted to get in his way, but he cut them down with a flick of the Zodiac weapon Cancers Pincer. Blood covered his body from head to toe, his mind on the tantalyzing end of its rope. He could smell her now. He could feel her heartbeat beating against his ear drums.

His prey, his most hated enemy was near him. He followed the trail of the dead. The screams in the night were a forgotten afternote of the immortal. He felt righteous rage pump his adrenaline. He cut up the stairs skipping four at a time. He pushed the wind around his body upwards, helping him in his flight. He ran right for the edge, feet walking on the air as he landed in a roll with dust kicking up all around him. His leather coat dragged a line around him creating the point of no return. She would not cross.

He stood, back turned, feeling the wave of dread exude from the mistress of blessed torture. The Demi Goddess was not surprised to see him. Yet Jensen cared not how she felt. Nobody in her little Cult could touch him. He turned to glare at her, eyes a light with fire that burned hotter than the flames engulfing the stronghold of Sei Orlouge. The universe stopped as the two looked to one another. One step to turn his body shook the earth. He swung his other leg around to stare her down, hand twitching near the switch of his weapon.

"You came to die," she said earnestly. "Heed a lesson, Jensen Ambrose. I broke your soul already once. After tonight you'll know I broke it again, and again, and again. Do yourself a favor, heed my divine wisdom. Step aside, Ambrose," her words were gritted through her teeth. Her father, Jebb, breathed heavily, his own rage building up. The little one in the blood stained white dress hid behind a strange creature of flesh, a white rose twirling in her hand upon her nose. Ghouls smacked and gibbered, wounded heavily but still capable of deadly intent.

"The only way you cross this line tonight," Jensen breathed. "Is if you manage to keep me down long enough to do so. Tonight it ends, Cassandra." Jensen's weapon moved into a ready position, twirling around his body as he switched between modes getting the full feel for his weapon in his current condition. "Your army broke. It's soul is shattered. The Ixians rally as we speak. They flee the battle like fucking cowards. So let me mount your head on a pike to show them they should fear the Ixian Knights."

Dirt rustled behind Jensen, and the immortal glanced to see the familiar duster jacket, the dirty boots covered in the gravel of a dozens lands striding forwards. He fingered the pommel of two daggers. His face held a look of remorse, of hatred and a desire to see through to the end this final stand.

"My forces are too strong for you now. To contend against me, a goddess, means I have my immortal father, the one who will be my Champion, Draug, and my ghouls to call upon. You just have your loud mouth."

"I also have the demon at my back," Jensen replied licking his lips. Seth placed his gauntlet clad hand on Jensen's shoulder, rubbing it in a brotherly way. They nodded, and the immortal let out a dark giggle. "I like my odds, Cass," he sniggered. "So show me what a bunch of serial killers can do against trained monsters."

Cassandra only smiled, holding back her entourage and stepping forwards. She smiled, a look so cold and vile, and Jensen welcomed it with a damning grin of his own. He stepped to meet her, weapon switching hands quickly. She lifted her hand to her side, holding it upon her hip in a very mocking way, as if she knew something Jensen did not.

"Monsters can never be trained, Jensen," Cassandra said so only he could hear. "They can only be controlled."

Jensen's eyes widened as a sharp pain exploded from his back. He looked to see the tip of Ebony poking through his chest, Seth's hand gripping his deltoid in a strong grip. He didn't pull the weapon out, he merely pulled down tearing his lung open wider. Cassandra smiled widely, laughing as she continued to walk. Her group of warriors and family moved on, all snickering to the knight. He lifted his hand out to grab at her, but another violent tear at his back and his chest exploded with blood. His eyes flashed white, mouth dripping vitae as Ivory pierced his heart. He scrambled, his breaths struggling to be a complete motion. He could feel his life fading, and fast. But the knives still dug into his body. Then it really got bad when he heard Seth say,

"Salt heals all wounds." Jensen's mouth opened in a scream so loud it drowned out the knight sky. Fire hit every nerve in his body as Seth at last pulled his weapons out, twirling them in his hand to thrust into Jensen over and over again. Each pierce his a vital organ, maximizing each strike with perfect killing motions. Jensen felt his Breath of the Undying trying to activate, but the hex magic within Seth's blades continued to erase the healing magic. Jensen was caught in a reality of un-life. He wanted to die, but he couldn't make it.

He struggled, collapsing to his knees as he watched Cassandra cross the line he made. He struggled to reach out to her, watching Seth look down upon him with the saddest expression to ever come from his lips. The two warriors just looked to one another as the Dark Mother made good her escape, her choir of supporters singing into the night praise to her sadistic name. The Lavinian Demon turned away, leaving Jensen to die as his body had a total shut down, drowning in a pool of his own blood before dragging his last breath out.

Jensen cursed himself for not being able to defeat her, and as life faded from his body the last sound he could hear was Cassandra's laughter ringing in his ears.

[Silence Sei]

The rays of the sun snuck through the destroyed trees and ruffled foliage. The people who had left the castle in refuge had come out of hiding once they heard the melodies of the birds. The Knights had somehow staved off the surprise attack thrown at them by Cassandra Remi and her ilk. Sei stepped out of the fortress to allow the sunshine to hit his form and highlight all of his battle scars.

“Anita,” Sei spoke, his daughter behind him as if she were his shadow, “I need an assessment of all the damage. How badly did the Cult mess us up?”

Anita nodded and unzipped her backpack. As she rifled through all the materials in her bag of infinite holding, Sei’s eyes shifted towards all of the destruction. Twice Baked Tower had been destroyed, a patched up Misery was teleporting soldiers back into the courtyard, and the Ixians looked like they had all just come out of the worse night of their lives.

Because for most of them, it was.

He could hear his progeny scribbling down notes now, her bookbag presumably back around her shoulders. “Tagaz, Nathaniel, and Seth are all missing. Uncle Steppenwolf had some compound breaks in his right arm, Laconic is in desperate need of repairs, Jones got stabbed a couple of times, but is breathing.”

She paused for a moment, “Papa, they got us pretty bad, didn’t they?”

“Yes Anita, but it’s ok. We will recover faster than them. To them, men are expendable, whereas we view each of our soldiers as valuable members of the Ixian Knights. It will take them longer to build their numbers back up then it will take for us to recover. When we do, we will make sure that the Remy family pays.”

“And when the Angel descended, his victory was swift, his spear unyielding, and when he was finished, his enemies knew the true meaning of death.” Emma Orlouge walked over to her kin, “From the book of Hromagh. Seemed fitting.” She looked up into the air and watched as the birds flew by.

Sei nodded. “That it does Emma, that it does…”

[Enigmatic Immortal]

Jensen coughed as he looked up to the sun, eyes filled with tears. He had been reanimated only a few hours ago as the rescue teams and cleanup crew worked to take of the night’s activities. The Chaplains were hard at work speaking to several troubled souls. Many women, men, and children cried as families were reunited despite the best efforts of the Cult, but too few did their joyous tears get drowned out by the despair filled wails of those who were lost forever.

The immortal looked at the wreckage of Twice Baked Tower, heart heavier than ever as he was part of the team that pulled the warrior Ta’gaz out. He had been killed under the weight of the tower. Even for all his prodigious might, the man was not able to hold a tower all by himself forever. Some survivors mentioned William Arcus not lifting a finger to help. Jensen knew why. The bastard had betrayed them all. His mentor passed in the night in agonizing pain, trapped under the ruins of the castle he served to protect. What an ignoble end to a noble, honorable warrior.

Adolph, for all his strength, had been unable to stomach the loss of his second in command. Harold Andres’ body had been taken away, found beheaded in the castle foyer. A woman had stuck by him, who witnessed his fight with the bitter mercenary, and spoke of his valor. Jensen seethed as he watched the toughest man he knew crumble in Aislinn’s arms, crying. One more to add to the list of people to avenge.

It took considerable effort for Jensen to find Andrew Octance, his bloody and broken body still breathing and still fighting. Laconic, nearly destroyed in the night, stood vigil over his hiding place. The child genius had gripped the Thayne gifts of Yedda and Jomil in his hands, protecting them with his very life. It had almost cost it his own, but the teenager proved to be made of sterner stuff, giving them back to Sei and then passing out. Jensen carried him to the Medical Ward, and he nearly balked at the sight.

It was filled to the brim with bodies. There was a hole in the wall, a collapsed dead spider in the wake, and the back of the room looked like it had seen battle as well. Aislinn and pierce were running back and forth, both covered head to toe in blood as fresh linens were draped around them, the best of the mages sterilizing their hands to the best of their ability. Jensen placed the child on a chair, waking him up. For once, the loudmouth had not much to say, just a nod of understanding and a weak thank you. Jensen turned to see Laconic trailing down the hallway. He waved the robot to see Andrew, who nodded to the immortal. With that closed he ran off to the next disaster.

All morning Jensen was moving from one fire to the next. He helped clear out rubble, rescue families, give mercy to the dying and took cruel, twisted pleasure in killing Cultists who were unable to escape into the night. When he made his way back to the courtyard, the knight found a body he was fundamentally unprepared to see.

Lying against a wall, his eyes shut, and a pool of blood at his seated position rested his father. Jensen ran as fast as he could, hitting the wall and bouncing off it as he landed next to the man who he had just started to come to terms with. He never loved his father before, the two having so much animosity between the other, but they had begun to patch things up, fixing the damage done. Jensen carefully lifted his hand to his face, slapping him hard as he urged him to wake.

“Wh-wha? I’m awake, jeeze, leave me alone,” he muttered weakly. Jensen breathed a sigh of relief. Nathanial opened his eyes, looking to his awakener and sighed, eyes blinking in pain. “So there he is, in the flesh…crybaby,” he teased. Jensen let out a soft sigh.

“Well, ya know, I’m not as tough as you are,” Jensen said dryly. “You told me so every day.”

“I suppose,” he wheezed. “There’s some truth to that...” he coughed, blood coming up and out onto his chest. “I don’t have long,” he admitted.

“Please, dad, don’t,” Jensen begged. “I lost enough people to the Cult, I don’t want to lose even an asshole of a father like you!” His father gripped Jensen’s hand. It was cold to the touch, but there was warmth in the meaning behind it.

“I did nothing…to prepare you…for the world…” his cheeks reddening from his shame. “And yet…despite me…you turned out okay,” he laughed, a half coughing, half wheezing noise. “I…I never really said this at all, and it’d be a fucking shame to waste it now.”

“Dad…please don’t go…” Jensen sniffled.

“Look at me son,” He said sternly. Jensen did, his tears matched only by his fathers. They looked to one another for a long time, saying nothing. “I am proud of you, my boy. And I love you.” Jensen wept as he grabbed his father’s head, burying it into his chest as his father did what he could to wrap his arms around his son. They held one another for a long while, before Nathanial broke it off. “My arm…the talons of the wind hawk…they are yours. Don’t be a fucking embarrassment. Use them when you’re ready to be a true Oracle of the Wind.” He fought to rip the arm length plating off his left shoulder, the segmented titanium plates softly chiming in the wind. The feather’s and leather creaked as Jensen helped him remove it, putting it aside as he looked to his father.

“Hey dad,” Jensen choked. Nathanial closed his eyes, wheezing softer and softer as the life left his eyes.

“What?” he grunted angrily.

“Tell mom I said hi.” Nathanial looked to him, nodding to him as his grip on Jensen’s fingers went slack. The immortal whispered his dad’s name. There was no response save the wind in the air. Jensen fought hard to stem the tide of emotions, but one tiny hand, gentle and warm, touched his shoulder. He fought as he turned, looking into the maroon eyes of his daughter.

“Grandpa is…” she whispered. Jensen nodded. The little one looked to her grandfather one last time, her eyes closed as she sniffled, before nodding and looking to her father. “I wanna say a few things before we go.” Azza asked reverently. Jensen nodded, moving off to the side.

He went down a corridor to a secluded ally, still covered in blood and bodies. No matter what, it seemed every nook and cranny of Ixian Castle was covered in dead or saw battle. He leaned against the wall, his body fighting so hard as he shivered, slumping down the sides to his buttocks, kicking his legs out and holding himself in check. He looked up to see Azza come and sit next to him. She leaned her head on his shoulder and sniffled some more. Jensen leaned his head on hers, both looking off into the sky. They were the last two surviving Ambrose family members, their family killed by the Cult of Blessed Torture.

“It’s just us now, Kiddo,” Jensen whispered. Azza nodded.

The two sat in silence for a while, sniffling and holding one another as the night ended for them, a terrible memory that would haunt them forever. So much betrayal, so much anger vented out on the Ixians. The innocents were the largest casualties, and Jensen felt each loss of his slowly dwindling pool of friends and family keenly.

He looked to his hands, and felt the weight of a thousand worlds collide on him at once. He sniveled, feeling the deaths of all his loved ones impact him at the same time. He cried, unable to cope any longer. It was just too much for him.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, sobbing into his hands.

[Silence Sei]

Requiem of Insanity receives 3550 Exp, and 1250 GP

Abomination receives 1850 Exp, 1100 GP

Tainted Bushido receives 1850 exp, 1100 GP

The Soulforged receives 1500 Exp, 1000 GP

Arden receives 3550 Exp, 1250 GP

Silence Sei receives 2200 GP

TwinCast receives 1850 Exp, 1100 GP

El Diablo Perro receives 1850 Exp, 1100 GP

Dissinger receives 1850 Exp, 1100 GP

The Last Wolf receives 2200 Exp, 1200 GP

Revnant receives 3200 Exp, 1300 GP

Enigmatic Immortal receives 2900 Exp, 1200 GP

Paragon receives 1200 Exp, 1100 GP

Amber Eyes receives 900 Exp, 1100 GP.

Sagequeen receives 1500 Exp, 1000 GP


Bonus Exp and GP granted due to the lateness of the judgment ad as a thank you for your patience on this. I have commentaries written up for each of you that I will be happy to send you via PM, but they are mostly bullet points.

Congratulations!

[Lye]

EXP & GP Added.