IK vs PA Multi-Battle - Streets

[Enigmatic Immortal]

This Battle will open at Midnight tonight!

I will be announcing who is participating in this before hand if I get both sides match ups in time. If by that time none is given I will assign the fighter. Remember that whoever posts first sets the parameters for the fight as well as the setting!

[Enigmatic Immortal]

This Battle is going to be:

Lionheart vs Max Dirks

[Lionheart]

Devoid as the village was of the bustling activity that made up its normal routine one would almost be able to stroll down the village’s streets and call it a peaceful afternoon. But even the idyllic weather and mellow attitude hanging over the town couldn’t quite hide the fact an oppressive despair lurked just beyond the edges of perception. There was a buzzing energy running through the village that prickled the skin and set nerves on edge, as if the village itself was holding its breath in anticipation of the coming conflict.

How had it come to this?

This unlucky village was the place where the first real resistance against the army of the Ixian Knights had been mounted. Over the past two nights the army of the Corone Empire had undergone a forced march to maneuver themselves into a more advantageous position from which they could engage the rebels, but in doing so had left the village open and defenseless against Sei’s horde. Seizing the opportunity to make a move which could harm the Ixian Knights’ progress, Phoenix Ascendant had rallied its allies to send a force offering assistance to the villagers. Thus is was that James Alexander, former High General of Amra, scion of House Alexander, and tactician for Phoenix Ascendant, found himself brandishing his sword and shield in the otherwise empty center of the village’s streets.

Tactically, James knew that standing in the open on a cloudless day in a suit of polished field plate wasn’t the soundest option available, but he had his reasons. First, since he was the only actual member of Phoenix Ascendant sent to defend the village he felt that it was necessary to show the town’s inhabitants who it was that fought on their side. Second, the others who had come with him, mercenaries and members of other organizations pledged against the Ixian Knights, had already been dispersed throughout the village. Positioning himself in the open might have been more risky for the knight, but it also allowed him to respond faster to aid any of them should they need his assistance.

James’ left hand clenched eagerly on the grip of his kite shield as he waited, shifting the leather restraints back and forth over the smooth steel of his field plate’s armguards. In his other hand, the hilt of his broadsword swayed slightly back and forth in time with his deep, measured breaths. And even his feet shuffled in the dust, unconsciously outlining the abstract figure of a lion as the minutes wore on. All of these were nothing more than nervous ticks, he knew, and would vanish as soon as he caught sight of the first of Sei’s minions. Then the battle would be joined in earnest and everything else would fall away from him like a great cat shedding its winter mane.

He recalled the words of Connall, his father’s man-at-arms, about the nervousness that came before a fight. Only a fool or a madman faced conflict without anxiety. The old mercenary’s life had been full of such conflicts and yet even he had confided in the young James that he still felt the clammy urge to vomit twisting his guts on the eve of every battle.

The words echoed to James from a lifetime past, and yet here he was in his new life going to war against another power-hungry mage with another personal army who sought to overthrow a country’s rightful rulers for his own personal glory. While Sei seemed to have as little regard for the lives and livelihoods of those he ground under his heel as the infernal sorcerer Kal’Necroth had had back in Amra, James wasn’t the same man he had been back then and wasn’t being held back by all the politics of favoritism which had crippled James’ defense of his homeland.

James raised his blade in a knight’s salute towards the frightened people of the village and swore that he would do everything he could to protect them from Sei and his army.

[Max Dirks]

When Max Dirks awoke, he was greeted by a stinging pain in his right temple. “Ugh” he mumbled, trying to put the pieces together from the previous night. Most of it was a blur, but he did manage to remember a tavern, a local blonde, and about a gallon of Lavinian ale. Dirks started to open his eyes, but was attacked by the sun. “How much did I drink?” he asked out loud.

Much to his surprise, the criminal received a response. “Not enough.” This caused Dirks to jump, only he couldn’t move. Dirks frantically tried to rub his eyes to help them adjust to the sunlight, but his hands were bound behind him. In fact, his whole body was tied to something. “You’re not going anywhere,” the man laughed. Dirks struggled for another moment, then gave up.

Dirks took a deep breath and waited for his eyes to focus. When the stars subsided, Dirks discovered that he was strapped to a chair in the center of a decrepit old mill. There were pounds of rotten lumber everywhere, with rusted milling equipment spread throughout. Much of the ceiling was blasted open, causing the sunlight to shine directly into Dirks’ face. Dirks couldn’t make out his captor, as he was hidden in a nearby shadow. “You’re not her husband, are you?” Dirks cracked.

“No,” the man laughed again. “I’m far worse.” The man stepped forward into the light and cracked his knuckles. Dirks didn’t recognize him. He was burly, with greying brown hair. In a way, he somewhat resembled Letho Ravenheart.

“I bet”, Dirks said. In response, the man lunged forward and punched Dirks in the head. The assault caused Dirks to accidentally bite his lip. After the man backed away, Dirks shook his head and spit out the blood that had settled in his mouth. “What do you want?” he asked.

“Information.” There was an awkward pause as the man shook his hand, clearly still in pain from the contact with Dirks’ skull.

“Ok,” Dirks mocked, “About what?”

“You’re a known cohort of the Ixian Knights. They recently laid siege to this town in their war against the empire. We seek the location of their leader.” At this, Dirks started laughing. “Is something funny?” the captor asked?

“The Ixian Knights? I’m surprised you haven’t won yet, Ranger.” Dirks smirked.

Dirks was met with another punch, this time to the jaw. Dirks felt a molar snap. “I’m no Ranger,” the man responded. Dirks, however, wasn’t interested. His smirk quickly dropped into a frown. It was then that he noticed them. His effects: two Beretta 950’s, two prevalida katanas, their holsters, and his trademark trench coat were on top of a barrel about 25 feet to Dirks’ right.

“If you hit me again, you’ll be dead…” Dirks was cut off when he was punched in the nose. He stopped as he felt the blood start pouring down his nose. “You’ll be dead in 12 seconds.”

“I bet,” the man mocked. Then, in an instant, Dirks had freed his arms from their bindings. He had been working at them in secret ever since he’d been punched the first time. Dirks stood, keeping hold of the chair. He swung it around and cracked his assailant in the side of the face. The chair broke into pieces and sent the man sprawling. In the chaos, Dirks ran to the barrel and retrieved one of his guns. In his hand, Dirks recognized it as the ‘twin’ Beretta 950. Adjusting his hand for the kick, Dirks spun around and fired. The bullet caught the man, who was already on his feet and rushing towards Dirks, between the eyes. He fell to the ground with a thud.

A moment later, Dirks armed himself, put on his trench coat, and scanned the mill for the exit. When he arrived at the door, Dirks stopped. He peeked around the corner, looking for any signs of trouble. There were none. In fact, the portion of the street that Dirks could see was completely deserted. “Strange,” Dirks said.

Even so, it was better to be cautious. Dirks kicked open the door and rushed outside, ready to shoot anything that moved. Dirks quickly dashed along the side of the building until he reached a cross street. Once again, he peeked around the corner, looking for possible enemies. He only saw one person. There, maybe 50 feet to his left, stood a knight complete with sword and shield. Dirks stepped out into the street, raised his gun, and aimed it at the man.

For a moment, Dirks contemplated pulling the trigger. There was hardly a soul left on Althanas that didn’t want him dead. If he really was in a warzone maybe it would be better to shoot first and ask questions later. Dirks debated for another moment then lowered his gun. This guy wasn’t worth it. Dirks turned and started running the opposite way down the street. There was only one thing on his mind right now, and if Ixian was really involved with a Corone revolution, then he would be somewhere around here.

“I'm going to kill you, Sei Orlouge..."

((Dirks moves from Streets to Church))

[Poison]

((arriving from Church))

Poison moved silently through the shadows. She would usually take on just about any job, but she knew when to cut her losses if she wanted to live. Getting between Sei Orlouge and someone who wanted to challenge him with guns was not a good way to ensure that one continued to live. She had not expected for her involvement in the war to be so confrontational. She was far more used to the subtleties of poison.

The City Hall was now directly across from her. Why does it have to be across the street?

Taking a deep breath, she made sure the road was clear then ran across the road. Lately, even a walk across a street had started making her skin feel uncomfortably warm. She did not relish having to be out in the daylight at all. The shade the City Hall building provided would be most welcome.

((moving to City Hall))

[Lionheart]

A retort caught James’ attention, like that of a taming whip but harsher and much, much crueler. The sound had echoed through the maze-like streets, making it hard to pinpoint the exact location of its origin, but when James spied the coated figure eyeing him from two streets down, he knew that he had found him mark. Though the man wasn’t one of the mercenaries that had come with him to hold the village he didn’t seem inherently hostile towards the young knight.

”Well, he thought, ”no more hostile than anyone has a right to be at this point.”

The man slipped back into the shadows, heading away from James’ position and, after a moment’s consideration, the Amran decided not to pursue. While the streets were all but deserted in the face of the impending conflict, he supposed that not everyone would be cowed by the threat of violence. He silently prayed for the man’s safety and wished him the best of luck. Of a far more immediate concern to the young knight was what the man had done to create the sound that had first drawn his attention.

James made his way quickly down the same street that he had seen the mysterious figure leaving, hoping that he wouldn’t have to waste too much time searching for the source of the sound he had heard. Luck, it appeared, was with him as he spotted an open door, swinging lazily and forgotten in the empty streets. Keeping his sword and shield at the ready, James entered the building.

The first thing that he noticed, almost before crossing the threshold, was the thick coppery scent of blood. Anyone familiar with the practical arts of war and death couldn’t mistake that sickly sweet smell which seemed to catch at the back of the throat until one could almost taste its corruption. A sallow corpse greeted James as he entered, the obvious source of the sanguine tint in the air, for while the man seemed all but normal from the front, barring perhaps the slight oozing hole in the center of his forehead, the back of his head had been splayed out in a cone shape several feet behind him.

Sheathing his sword with a practiced grace, James knelt at the man’s side. His lips moved quietly in a prayer entreating whatever gods this man believed in to look upon him with pity while his eyes searched the man’s recumbent form over from head to toe. Bruised, bloody knuckles told James that this man had been no saint, but he had already paid his dues for whatever misdeeds he had partaken in during his lifetime. Besides, James thought, war had a habit of forcing out the worst in people.

James made a quick search through the man’s effects, hoping to find some insight into the man’s identity, and perhaps the reason for which he had died. Sadly, but not surprising, the man’s pockets held nothing that could lead James to the knowledge of who this man was or what his purpose had been. All the knight knew was that it had had something to do with the man who he had seen slinking away from him. He reached out to close the man’s eyes, offering one final prayer to the swallows to ferry the man’s soul safely to its final destination, and then he was back out on the streets, sword in hand.

((James moves from the Streets to the Church))

[Abomination]

((Draug arrives from the Farm))

As he walked through the middle of the street, Draug lifted his sword, pointing it at whatever his eyes stared at. The streets were empty, the people hiding, fearful for their lives, hoping that all these people would just go away. The Homunculus could almost smell their fear. He remembered that the Phoenix knight, what was his name, James? That man was supposed to be here.

He looked in the direction of the church, but knew that no one could possibly be there. After all, who would worship anyone other than The Dark Mother? He couldn't understand. It must've been a relic from the past, before people knew of the glory of Cassandra Remi. He moved toward the tavern, which as far as he knew was the likely location for finding travelers.

((Draug moves from the Streets to the Tavern))

[Abomination]

((Draug arrives from the Tavern))

Draug runs through the streets at full speed, his mind filling with the possibilities of fighting one of the Ixian Generals.

((Draug moves from the Streets to the Church))

[Lionheart]

James fell heavily, the little breathe within him driven from him as he tumbled out of the Church of the Thayne. He lay in the dust, mouth opened in silent protest as he writhed. All of the aches and sprains that he had earned came back to him, even fuller than before. He wasn’t sure exactly what had happened to him just now, but as the bindings that had held him fell away without their support structure, he knew it wasn’t a bad thing.

Coughing as his lungs finally remembered that they could draw breath, James rolled over and wearily opened his eyes.

“Move!” he yelled suddenly, rolling painfully over broken shards of crumbled brick as a rock the size of a large pumpkin shot between he and his savior like an arrow’s shot. James watched in amazement as more rocks burst from the hole in the chapel’s wall after bouncing off the very spot where the knight had stood only a moment before. A veritable waterfall of stone ricocheted out into the street or back into the church until the hole in the wall had been plugged with them.

“It seems,” James panted heavily as he pushed himself painfully to his feet, “That I owe you my li….”

The words fell short from James’ mouth as he finally caught sight of the creature that had saved him.

“You,” he snarled, the point of his sword wavering as he brought it up towards Draug. Then, a second later, the sword point dropped. “It seems I owe you my life monster, and will thus spare yours. And we have too many other concerns at this time to bring the quarrel of our gods into this.”

“Come monster,” James said, beginning to make his way towards the village’s city hall. “We need reinforcements if we are to end this war quickly by striking off the serpent’s head. I assume that there are none left in the farms since I had placed you there,” James stopped his words for emphasis, “as far from the people of the village as possible. Either come with me to get reinforcements against Sei,” he paused again, this time stopping to look at Draug, “or slow him down by throwing yourself on his blade.”

With Draug in tow, James turned and made his way through the empty streets, pained but alive.

((James and Draug move to the City Hall))

Movement approved by Homunculus

[The Cinderella Man]

((Victor arrives from the Tavern))

They landed in a tangle of limbs and wood and glass, Victor exhaling a painful grunt as they hit the porch with enough force to knock the breath out of his lungs, the huge man growling deep in his throat. Victor’s mind fleetly registered the cuts on his face, his chest, his arms as a result of the broken glass, then moved on to the significantly larger issue at hand. Like the three hundred pound gorilla sitting on Victor’s back. Now, Victor was a fairly strong man. Sure, he was no Letho Ravenheart who could move mountains on his shoulders, be he had won his fair share of hand-wrestling matches down on the docks and was quite useful for moving large furniture. But this man that had him pinned to the ground was a goddamn titan. The two muscular arms wrapped around Victor’s torso once again and squeezed with such force that the gunman thought his head would eventually pop up like a cork.

“Now, listen here, you bastard,” the man growled in Victor’s ear, a waft of latrine on his breath. “We don’t want your war here. So you git, you understand? You git...”

A gunshot stopped his threats. Somehow Victor managed to wrest enough freedom for his right arm to squeeze the pistol past his own flank and point it backwards towards the man. The gunshot took the man in the hip, but still his arms wouldn’t relax. In fact, the gunfighter could almost feel them tightening around him, forcing his every breath to be swift and shallow. Pushing back with his legs as hard as he could, he slammed the man against the wall, once, twice, three times. It didn’t do much to free him from the iron grip, but it did allow him to yank the pistol farther up, his arm now in the same position it would be if he tried to scratch his back. He fired two more times, feeling the burn of gunpowder on his own back and Aicha drilled a couple of holes in the man. And the grip finally loosened. For a moment the large man’s hands gripped for Victor’s shoulders, last attempt to bring the man down again, before he slumped to the floor. The two bullet holes in on his bare tanned chest gushed with thick red, his breathing coming in uneven, ragged breaths, wet with blood.

Not that Victor saw it immediately. He was too busy coughing and gasping, bent forward with his hands on his knees, like a man ready to throw up. It took him several moments to regain some composure and by then there was no time for retorts. The man was dead, staring at his own feet with that empty look they all get once the juice is gone and the engine stops running.

“Should’ve kept out of it,” Victor muttered though there was nobody to hear it. Holstering his shotgun, he watched the batwing doors of the tavern for a couple of moments, and when nothing passed between them, he turned to the streets. Once upon a time, when the sun was brighter and warmer and the world was his oyster, the death of this stranger might’ve weighed heavily on his soul or conscience or whichever part made you feel rotten when you did something bad. Once upon a time, those dead eyes would’ve kept him awake at night. But like any habit, killing became easier with time, made you grow a hide against accusatory thoughts. And alcohol certainly helped. Alcohol was the catalyst of killing, the comforting pat on the back telling you everything was fine, it was you or them, you didn’t have a choice, here have another and keep up the butcher’s work.

Armed with such callousness, two shots of whiskey and Aicha held at his side, Victor ventured into the streets, looking for the next victim.

[Silence Sei]

((Moving from the church to the streets))

Dirks had finally allowed the Mystic to leave the destroyed sanctuary of that was once the Church of Corone. The mute made a mental note to make rebuilding the structure one of his first priorities upon winning this war, if he managed to do so. He began his run towards city hall, sensing more mental signatures there than anywhere else. Surely, that’s where Kyla was if she was asking for help.

As he ran, the mute collapsed to the ground. He began to have a small coughing fit, one of the first symptoms of Draug’s disease. The telepath cursed himself for grabbing that dagger in the first place, unaware that it had belonged to a walking plague when he had done so. At least now, however, Aislinn would be able to make a cure so such an epidemic would not affect the whole of Corone. His mind wandered to the other symptoms that people had reported suffering during Cassandra Remi’s raid on Ixian Castle, growing a bit worried once he realized that one of the common side effects was a headache.

A telepath with a headache was no good for anybody.

Instantly, Sei severed his connection with each one of his nearby allies, placing a sort of ‘mental block’ on each of them so he could no longer communicate to them. Kyla and Dirks knew enough sign language to get by due to years with the mute, and Logan was probably going to suffer the effects no matter what. Sei stood up, wiping the dirt from each of his hands, when he heard a familiar thunderous boom.

Shifting his eyes down the road, Sei’s body tensed up at the sight of Victor Callahan. The mute had adventured with the former boxer once before, albeit in disguise. The Mystic was forced to watch Victor beat an innocent man to the brink of death, and then allow him to suffer through the night. Sei had been more merciful to the gunslingers victim, holding him so close that he suffocated into the warrior’s chest. Sei had vowed revenge against Victor for the horrible act of not finishing a fight he started, and now he had the opportunity to do so.

“Victor Callahan” Sei spoke to the gunslinger, his ‘words’ attempting a mental connection into his foe’s mind, “if I could, I would end your miserable existence right now,” Sei’s body shook with uncontrollable rage, yet he knew that his family was far more important than petty personal vendettas. Furthermore, attacking the man for seemingly no reason on the streets would have looked bad to anybody watching the war unfold from outside their windows.

Then again, he –did- just murder –another- person in cold blood.

Sei shook the thought from his head. He could not afford to validate reasons to fight Victor at the moment, no matter how tempting it was. However, Sei also knew that Victor might follow him if he ran into City Hall, and Sei knew a struggling Kyla did not need another foe thrown into the fray. Sei smirked as he began to run into the nearby building labeled the Radasanth City Hall, a question posed to his opponent as he did so.

“If I would, could you follow me?” The taunt would more than likely still lure Victor into chasing his new prey; Bullies did try to find smaller and weaker targets to pick on after all. Now however, there was a good chance that there could be some good to come of the would-be stalker and his potential threat to Sei and his kin.

((Sei leaves the streets, moves into the City Hall.))

[Max Dirks]

Dirks’ second journey through the streets took much longer than his first. Now an official participant in the Corone revolution, Dirks was forced to do a better job of distinguishing friend from foe and he couldn’t tell one Ixian Knight from the next. That and the criminal didn’t want to become infected by accidentally spilling the oil he carried.

Fortunately, the streets remained mostly devoid of life. People were still scared in their homes, and Dirks began to ponder the extent of the anti-Ixian propaganda the knight was spitting earlier. If left unchecked, that propaganda could become a major hindrance later in the war. Dirks plan to burn down City Hall and poison the opposition probably wouldn’t help either.

Suddenly, quiet town was engulfed by the sound of another large explosion. Dirks immediately looked to the sky and noticed smoke coming from City Hall. “Oh shit,” Dirks mumbled, “I hope I’m not too late.” Rather than continue down the streets, Dirks broke off into the next alley. He did this several times until he arrived at the outside of City Hall. In doing so, Dirks completely bypassed the tavern and Victor, who would likely prove to be his biggest challenge in the war so far.

((Dirks remains in the streets, but because what he’s doing will have a profound impact on City Hall, I’ll be posting in the City Hall thread.))

[The Cinderella Man]

If you could, you wouldn’t be running with tail between your legs, hero, Victor thought as the oh-so-legendary Silence Sei made his getaway almost as soon as he made his presence known to his acquaintance. In all truth, the gunman was actually taken aback by Sei’s sudden appearance. Sure, he expected to run into the mute tonight, he even mentally prepared himself beforehand for all the good that did in an actual battle. But when Sei made a dash after his self-righteous chest pounding, Victor didn’t send his lead friends to chase the man down. Perhaps gunning Sei down right then and there would’ve ended the rebellion, nipping it in the bud and sparing Corone any future bloodshed. And then again, perhaps it wouldn’t. These things had a way or enduring even when the lead figures perished, the sheep blindly clinging to the false ideals of their vanquished shepherd. But it wasn’t the thought of rebellion and repercussions that stayed Victor’s hand at that moment. No, it was something much simpler. Sure, he was a murderer. Sure, he was a bitter bastard. But that didn’t mean he would shoot a man in the back. There was such a thing as decency, even amongst killers.

Victor didn’t rush after the Ixian leader, though, and not just because he was still a bit groggy from the loving embrace the local hulk gave him. Mostly it was because, while he did get hit in the head a lot in his line of work, the gunslinger still had some sense left in him. He didn’t know much about Sei, but the talk on the streets was that the man was a goddamn genius when it came to tactics. If he beckoned Victor, he had a reason for it, that reason probably having something to do with a bunch of his goons waiting to ambush anybody who came after him. The gunman had half a mind to do it anyways, run after him and gun down anybody who stood in the way, but then he also had more than a half mind set on surviving the night.

So instead of following the Knight-usurper blindly like a fish on a hook, Victor took his time, moving from corner to corner, creeping under the roofs of the porches and overhangs, eyes wary of any half-open windows and strange shadows cast from the balustrades. He was too far from the City Hall to actually see Sei charge in, but he reckoned that was where the mute went all the same, because as soon as he disappeared from the streets, the whole place was shook to the foundations by a blast. Heavy ordnance, Victor thought, and at once he was glad he didn’t just do his bull impersonation and charge right in. The explosion made the gunman even more cautious of his approach. He ran across the street as swiftly as a man of his bulk could, slipped into the first side alley, followed it a bit, then cut through a yard surrounded by a rotting picket fence, slipped under some half-dried clothes hung out to dry and finally wound up in the bushes of a house across the City Hall.

((Continued in the City Hall, even though it happens in front of the City Hall))

[Silence Sei]

((Continued from Sei’s post on the farm, and The Cinderella Man’s post in City Hall. All bunnyings, and any previous bunnyings done by myself have been approved in advance by the characters owners))

The smoke cloud created from city hall was now providing quite the obstacle for Sei to navigate. Every few seconds, the mute would have to shift his weight to the right, angle his body so he would not be engulfed in the black cloud that would see the Butterfly of Benoist drop out of the air like a mosquito. It seemed as though the building had caught ablaze rather quickly, and the mute could only hope that Bellator had made it out in enough time to survive.

His eyes scanned the roads of the town as he began to lower his altitude. He had left Max Dirks in a very compromising position in order to save his ‘daughter’ from almost certain death. Now, the Hero of Radasanth had to rescue his gun-for-hire before he found himself with a few extra holes in his body.

His feet landed gently upon the building, the tavern he had seen Victor Callahan exit from. Sei took the moment to breathe deeply. As useful as they were, the tactician’s wings were still another part of his body, and like any limb that was pushed to the limit, the body would tire with overuse. This was no exception. As soon as the Mystic took a few seconds to recover, he stood up straight, his blue orbs piercing the streets for any activity.

The telepath did not have to look for very long, however, as Max Dirks ran out into the middle of the streets, a proverbial sore thumb sticking out amongst the dirt road below him. Sei questioned his friend’s sanity in his strategy; set fire to a building, and then run out into the open? It was…. unique to say the least. Before Sei could speak to his friend, the criminal was quickly confronted from behind by Victor Callahan. Looking at the boxer’s face once more filled the hero with a rage, his arms starting to shake with the rush of endorphins.

Victor tried to fire his weapon towards Dirks, a futile effort that resulted in the bullets pausing a few inches away from the gunslingers body. Cracks formed around Max Dirks, until his entire being was immersed within a cracking glass cocoon. The sound of a rock penetrating a glass house echoed throughout the streets, and Sei quickly dropped to the ground as the glass shards of his Mystic Protection spell were sent flying in all directions. Luckily, the distance between Sei and Dirks provided the orange haired warrior with enough spacing between the rain of crystalline chaos that he remained unaffected by even the slightest of tearing, skin, cloth, or otherwise.

Sei stood back up, a hand raised as once again began to use one of his almost depleted spells. From the ground came two elongated pieces of green seaweed, one of the ‘arms’ grabbing towards Victor’s gun, an assurance that the warrior could not use the weapon again. The second arm was far stealthier, remaining low to the ground and attempting to wrap itself around the man’s ankles. With any luck, Dirks would be able to just tap his opponent to send him sprawling towards the ground, easy prey for the boulders that would soon rain for eight seconds straight.

“Max,” Sei finally spoke to his friend, “Give me one reason to stay here, and I’ll turn right back around.” Sei swallowed hard at his own words. He hoped that his friend would take the hint and provide a decent reason for the Mystic to remain as an aide. If he could, Sei would be able to heal not only himself, but Dirks as well, granting them the equivalent of half of their physical strength at max capacity. Sei had considered using this spell earlier when he saw how bad a shape his friend had been in, and then again when he saw Kyla Orlouge’s body smoldering on the grounds of the city hall.

He had not used the spell then, and his carelessness had cost him greatly. Now, he had ran out of Mystic Protections, had finished casting his last Octopus’ Garden, and Gimme One Reason To Stay Here was a spell that the mute only had the power to cast once. Dirks’ answer would determine the quality of help the criminal would have in the very near future. Sei shuddered at this prospect.

The fate of Sei Orlouge, of the Ixian Knights, and of this entire war, rested squarely on the shoulders of Max Dirks.

[Abomination]

((Draug arrives from City Hall))

Watching the two gunmen go at it was slightly jarring. As their fight spilled into the streets, Draug looked back to the burning city hall. The number of fighters had dwindled to almost nothing, but at the very least his headache was gone. Oddly enough, with it his strange notions of emotion. His collapsed lung had re-inflated itself, and while he still sported an open wound down his left leg, the muscles inside had repaired to a point where he no longer had to walk with a limp. While there was likely much to gain by attacking the gunmen, he was simply in no condition to do so. He walked down the street, his movements still irregular but with a brisker pace. He still left a trail of blood wherever he went. Like a fungus, skin grew around the edges of the kite shield attached to his left shoulder, holding it in place and making it a part of his body.

It was then that he looked back towards the street outside the city hall and noticed something in the air... something with butterfly wings. With a start, he ran to the side and ducked to the side of a building, the sudden jump coupled with a crack in his left leg and a jolt of pain. He was a few hours away from those kinds of movements. Not to mention he was still fighting back the fatigue from the Mystic Bomb. Interestingly, Kyla was not with him. Did she lack wings? His memories were unclear about this. They were in general not a very reliable source of information, although if he had more body parts, that would be another matter. Staying on that train of thought, he determined that Sei was flying in from the farm.

That was something.

Kyla did not look like she was in any condition to be by herself, so why did he leave her? To help Max, likely, but where did that leave the girl? Back at the farm, perhaps? The glass shards flew everywhere once more, but Draug was too far away to be affected by it, not to mention he had cover anyway. The gunman that was attacking Dirks may be the last one standing for his side... well their side. Draug was definitely not about to lay down his life for Phoenix Ascendant. From what he saw, rage fueled the last Phoenix mercenary. Draug did not have such a weak emotion to cloud his judgement. He was going to make one last play, to hit Sei where it hurt the most.

He started sneaking towards the farm, using various buildings and tall grass as cover. Even if Kyla was not there, the farm was likely the best place to recover. He figured that Sei wouldn't think to look for the Homunculus from the place he just came from. This fight would end where it began for Cassandra's champion.

((Draug moves to the Farm))

[Poison]

Leaving James in the alleyway, Poison drug herself to her feet and leaned against the wall for support. She had no desire to fight anyone anymore. She wanted only to get away and heal herself. She heard the gunshots ringing out as she kept to the shadows, but she paid them no mind. She coughed weakly, her lungs starting to recover from all the smoke she'd inhaled. Though it seemed to take forever, she finally managed to get to the end of the street. She turned in to a new alley and found a shaded corner. It was here that she finally collapsed and allowed herself to rest. She would feed later when she wasn't so exhausted and her lungs didn't feel like they too were on fire.


(final post from Poison as she is no longer fit to fight and wishes only to remain in hiding until she is healed)

[Logan]

A bloodied Logan stepped from the shadows of the Tavern, his hands tightly gripping the hilts of his weapons. The streets led this way and that, and as he peered down one way as best he could he spotted the smoke rising from the City Hall. It hit him then, the realization of what was taking place. He was no longer just part of some attempt to block power or unite heroes. He had become a member of a revolution, one which raged on without any input or interference from him.

The sound of gunfire drew his attention back to the urgency at hand. The psion was aware he was not the only member of the Ixian Knights involved in the war, and he was quickly becoming acutely aware he was moving into enemy territory. All around him smaller battles raged on, members of both sides sustaining their own damages. As he moved through the streets, he felt something burn inside him.

The burning was intense, but subsided quickly enough. Then he looked up.

"Sei," the name muttered telepathically, but surely loud enough within the mind of the telepath above. The anguish etched in the features of his friend spoke volumes. The war had raged on long enough without the psion's own effect upon it. It was time to change all of that. It was time to make a difference.

[The Cinderella Man]

((Jumping ahead of Dirks because Sei threw three things at me and I need to react before I'm overwhelmed. I hope you guys don't mind))

Two things occurred to Victor Callahan, even as he instinctively lifted his hand to shield his face from the spray of razor-sharp shards. The first was that Sei made his presence known, the gunslinger catching a glimpse of the self-proclaimed Messiah of Corone standing atop one of the buildings. The second was that he once again forgot to don his scale mail before he went to the battle. The ex-prizefighter hated the armor. It always chafed him raw at the neck and the rattling scales made his every move more clunky somehow, as if he had to fight wearing two burlap sacks under his clothes. And for a muscular man such as Victor, who lacked finesse and smoothness of motion by default, it wasn’t a tradeoff he was willing to settle more often than not.

But today he regretted it, regretted it more with each cut the shards gouged in his flesh. Left in only a white short-sleeved undershirt – well, a used-to-be-white undershirt anyways, which between smoke and ash and sweat and blood and rolling in the dirt changed to the hue of stormy skies – and a pair of denim pants, he was completely unprotected from the onslaught of the shards. They cut with the sharpness of broken glass, stabbing themselves in his forearms, slashing at his biceps, cutting at his flank, his thigh, his calves. There was no way to count all the lacerations and gashes; his entire body started to feel like a gushing wound, throbbing all over with every heartbeat once the shards did their damage. His face at least had been protected, for all the good it did to his half-burned visage, and the great bitch called Luck at least allowed him the small mercy of not letting the shards cut off his privates.

Truly it’s the little things that make a man happy, he thought bitterly, but a thought seemed to be the only thing he had time for. Because even as he dropped his arms down and tried to assess the damage, a vine sprouted from hard-packed dirt and coiled itself around his shotgun. Another went for his feet, but by then his reflexes kicked in, and while footwork wasn’t his strongpoint during his career as a pugilist, it served him well enough now as he stepped away from the lively undergrowth. His hand went for the damascus combat knife at his belt, but he never got a chance to pull it free of the scabbard. A rock the size of a human head landed mere two feet in front of him, landing with a dull thud and striking up a cloud of dirt. Victor let go of the shotgun, tried to turn around to see where the projectiles were coming, but then another boulder came whistling down, close enough to gunman’s head for him to feel the wind of its passing.

Need to get the hell out of here. His feet we faster than his mind and he was already on the move even before he finished the thought, but he wasn’t nearly fast enough. The next stone bomb landed somewhere behind him even as he tried to shamble away, but the next one struck the back of his shoulder. Such was the force of the impact that it sent Victor spiraling around his own axis several times before he landed, his face hitting the dirt, his breath knocked out of him once again.

He wouldn’t be getting up from this, he knew. Even though he couldn’t see it, he could feel blood dripping out the multitude of cuts on his body, introducing weakness to his limbs alongside the pain. On top of that, his right shoulder – his good shoulder, what with the other getting singed in the fire – bulged forward unnaturally, clearly dislocated. He didn’t even have to try to move it, but he tested it anyways, and got rewarded with a jolt of pain that felt as if someone was tearing the arm out of the socket all over again.

That’s it. They’ll be on top of me in... but even as what he believed to be his final thought flashed through the forefront of his mind, Victor turned his head and what he saw made him grin with something that might’ve been joy. Might’ve been wickedness. Might’ve been a bit of both. There, mere inches from his face, were the two spare clips he dropped earlier. He wasted no time. With his right nearly useless, he used his mouth to pick a clip up, his teeth grinding against the cold metal, his tongue tasting the oil he had used to protect it from rust. Rolling on his back, the gunslinger reached for Aicha – a difficult maneuver due to the fact that the holster was on his left and his arm was burning – yanked her out and brought it to his face. He missed the slot on the first try, but got the clip in on the second, shoving it all the way in with the side of his face. The slide was still stuck in the backwards position, and with a flick of a finger he let it click back in position, loading the first chamber. The entire process took mere seconds, his fingers following the well known procedure deftly.

Down, but not out, you bastards. Not yet, Victor thought, and let Aicha sing with her thunderous voice again from where he lay on the ground. His aim was far from perfect in his current condition, one of his eyes watery from the burn, the other blurry from the shock of the impact. The anger mixed with pain and fatigue made his hand unsteady, but the gunman compensated it with quantity, unloading shots at anything and everything in proximity that looked like a human figure. He was at the crossroads where people either gave up or gave everything they've got, and he wasn't about to go down with a whimper. By the time he was done shooting, the clip was empty again and he somehow managed to push himself to his knees. His right arm hung limply at his side, looking as if somebody had sown it on and forgot to connect all the muscles and tendons, but the hand at the end of it held the other clip loosely. Victor let the empty one slip out. He would soon be dead, or unconscious which amounted to pretty much the same with three enemies around him. The best he could do was try and make some of them join him.

"Not out yet!" he cried out.

((Whoever posts next has my approval to knock Victor out, as long as it takes two shots to knock him out cold, so I have room to post a conclusion.))

[Max Dirks]

((From City Hall, for consistency))

One by one, Dirks’ enemies escaped the burning building, and rather than hunt them down the criminal merely afforded each one a parting glance. It wasn’t complacency. No one would dare risk a bullet to the skull, and only his fellow gunslinger knew that Dirks was out of ammo. Involuntarily swaying on weak legs, Dirks began to question his involvement in the war. If he couldn’t take out a petty little bloke with a shotgun, how could he possibly take out Seth Dahlios, arguably the most powerful man on Althanas? Dirks grit his teeth; anger boiled in his stomach.

Finally the gunslinger tumbled out of City Hall. Dirks watched coldly as the man got to his feet and started towards him. Feigning defeat, Dirks fell to one knee before his assailant. His left hand was secretly detaching his rarely used dirk from its ankle holster. After a moment, Dirks looked up and yelled, “Come and get me, you bastard.”

The gunslinger responded in turn, and then fired another round at the criminal. Simultaneously, Dirks launched his hidden dirk straight at the man’s throat. But neither attack struck home. For a brief second, both the buckshot and the dagger were caught dangling in time. Dirks looked from the dagger to the bullets and immediately understood what had happened. Soon there was a loud “crack” and Dirks’ assailant was blasted with a metric ton of glass. The dagger and the buckshot fell harmlessly to the ground.

Dirks smirked as the gunslinger was torn apart by the broken glass. Even though the attack was not his, Dirks had been on the receiving end of Sei’s infamous shield spell enough to appreciate the copious amount pain being dealt. Then, when the glass onslaught was over, Dirks could only laugh when Sei immediately followed it with his strange seaweed attack. That is, until he realized that the brutal rock assault might actually steal his kill. “No!” Dirks mumbled.

Determined, the criminal reached for his dirk and then got on his feet. Ignoring all pain, he followed the gunslinger so closely that he almost managed to get hit by an errant boulder. Then Sei mumbled something into his unconsciousness. Dirks tried to ignore him, but the loud booming voice in his head was too much. Why did Sei always have speak so cryptically? Dirks stopped, looked to the sky and shouted, “Hold on. I don't want this one to squeeze me. He might take away my life.” Referring, of course, to the gunslinger.

By this time, the gunslinger had escaped Sei’s rock salvo, and had reloaded his gun. Dirks arrived just in time to knock the pistol aside as he fired. The action knocked the gun from his assailant’s hand and sent a shooting pain through Dirks’ injured right shoulder. Using this to his advantage, the gunslinger dug his now free thumb deep within Dirks’ wound. Dirks cried out in pain and instinctively flailed his body until the gunslinger let go. Once he was free, Dirks took a step back and said: “You arrogant bastard.” It was time to end this. Dirks swiped at the gunslinger with his dirk. Surprisingly, the talented pugilist caught Dirks’ attack with his palms and knocked the weapon from his hands. The gunslinger followed his defense by sending a left hook directly into the startled criminal’s cheek.

In response, Dirks growled and tackled the pugilist to the ground. There the two struggled for a moment, exchanging blows. Soon Dirks caught a break and landed a strong left hook on his opponent’s right temple, which prompted no retaliation. Dirks smirked, and grabbed Victor’s collar with his ailing right hand. He cocked his left hand back and sent another left hook into the gunslinger’s temple. He did this three more times before the life left his opponent’s eyes. Three more times and his rival would be dead.

Dirks. A sharp voice entered his head. This caused the criminal to stop. Dirks. It said more frantically. Then Dirks blinked and everything came back into focus. He was on top of the gunslinger. Sei was still perched overhead. Behind him, City Hall was burning. His enemies had either fled or had been defeated. This battle had been won by the Ixian Knights. But what really caused Dirks to stop is that he had defeated the gunslinger, and now he knew he could defeat Seth Dahlios when the time came.

“Sei,” he called out. “Sei, I got one for interrogation.” Dirks never realized it, but his response to the mystic’s “reason” spell had been the gunslinger’s salvation. Maybe, sometime in the future, Victor Callahan might come to realize he owed Sei Orlouge his life.

((Bunnies of Cinderella Man approved by Letho. Both he and I will have conclusion posts. Mine will likely take place in the Farm, as that's where Sei plans to go.))

[Silence Sei]

Victor’s clothes, as well as his body, had been torn apart by the bombardment of glass that was Mystic Protection. A smile grew across Sei’s face as he watched the man’s gun being taken from him, even though the gunslinger evaded his bully tactic of ‘have a nice trip, see you next fall’. The boulders that followed up Sei’s two-pronged spell, however, hit its mark, and Victor was down. Max Dirks wasted no time in capitalizing on the moment, announcing to Sei that he had captured one of the enemies for interrogation.

“Thank you Max,” Sei spoke, already several cuts and bruises around the mute magically being repaired thanks to Max’s ‘reason’. The mute cracked his knuckles, his eyes shifting from place to place. Victor was down, the knight never left the city hall, he had seen the girl of Phoenix Ascendant run and collapse into an alley, and the teenage boy was the first true victim of the battle. Sei knew that this only left the beast from the Cult of Blessed Torture. “Eyes peeled, there is one more left.”

Of course, if the monstrosity was going to attack, he probably would have done so. According to reports, the thing seemed very sickly until taking organs from his victims. Surely he would have gone after either the three Ixians in the streets, or even one of his team mates. Who else would there be for the beast to prey upon?

Sei’s eyes widened. “KYLA!” Sei jumped into the air, without another word. This creature was never a true predator, he was a scavenger. It would have much rather taken apart a fresh corpse than to create one itself. Defiling the bodies was always something Cassandra Remi indoctrinated into her ‘children’. As Sei’s body flew through the air, his butterfly wings reacted instinctively and carried the Mystic back towards the farm.

If that thing laid a hand on any part of Kyla, Sei would see to it that the monster would spend the rest of its life regretting it.

((Moving to the farm, which is where my final post shall be))

[The Cinderella Man]

There was only so much punishment that a body could take, even Victor’s. Despite being hardened by years of fighting in the pits of Corone, despite his consciousness holding on by a thread made of anger and sheer will, there was a point at which the body simply gave up. There was a line in the sand of each and every person, and once that threshold was passed, the system simply took over, shutting down on its own accord. For some it took a punch in a gut. For some it took a bullet to the gut. For old street dogs such as Victor Callahan, the threshold was usually preceded by pain and blood, and copious amounts of it. He was no hero, never had been. He always knew his end wouldn’t be of the glorious kind, nothing a scholar would find in a history book or a child would hear as a bedtime story. His was a life of misery and mayhem, and it was only fitting to end in the same manner.

There were no thoughts of things long lost passing through Victor’s mind as Max Dirks pummeled him from above, rattling the brain within his skull with each punch, no images flashing by, reminding him of a better time, a happier place. There were only the pain and the cold embrace of nothingness creeping around him like a death shroud, and a distant feeling of regret for fulfilling the miserable destiny that seemed to be in his stars from the day he was born.

Never stood a chance...

[Enigmatic Immortal]

closed