The First Sacrifice

[Cyrus the virus]

((Closed to badasses Megan and Dan))

The events of the morning were amusing, if nothing else. Luc awoke to his whore, had her one more time before killing her, and with his ally, Dan, traveled Concordia for a few hours. After some time, they discovered Witchblade, the murderous woman Dan was seeking. She struck at Luc’s mind with her telepathy, but when he recovered, he was interested in initiating her. Respect for power, it was.

So the three walked south for a time, before they reached the village of Greenacre. A small dwelling of a little over two-hundred folk, Greenacre’s military presence was dismal at best. Thirty or so rangers, as Luc’s last count, lived in the village, and at least half were approaching their sixties. With nothing of real substance to pilfer, Greenacre as an entity did not have much to fear, especially since it was holed up as deep as it was inside Concordia.

“Here it is,” Luc commentated, looking upon the high arches that offered a way into the city. High walls of sharpened tree trunks surrounded the village, probably to protect it from wildlife. It would serve just as well to trap the villagers inside.

The three entered the gates. Luc was glad at how simple things would be for him. Turning, he extended his hands toward the exit and lifted them, causing the earth to rise and create a thick, powerful barrier, effectively sealing off any exit. Life went on normally within the village, but soon, they would all lay dead, charred or torn.

“Have at it, then. Seeing as you’re new, darling, I’ll keep a watchful eye over you in case the villagers have some gusto. I figure you needn’t worry, however.” He cast a quick glance over Dan. “Our first step hits the dirt now. No turning back!”

With that, he took to the air, faint warmth covering his left ring finger. Wrath, the action his ring represented, seemed to be activating fully. What it would do, Luc didn’t know.

He drew the Sword of Slykrit, which ignited instantly. High enough so that the inhabitants of the village could see him, he bellowed. “Audeamus rises! You, Greenacre, are our first sacrifice!”

Slykrit grew hotter and more fierce. The villagers’ attention was just starting to turn. Luc, meanwhile, perceived a group of soldiers at the northern end of town. Since Corone had become an Empire, soldiers were popping up in these places – Luc only remembered now. No matter, at such a height, none of them would be able to harm him.

A violent wind began to stir.

[Witchblade]

She always found herself in strange company. No matter where she went in this world she found herself running into the oddest of people and allying herself with them. Right now she was walking into the quaint town of Greenacre with a mage who had some serious height issues and a lust for power he already possessed. Beside him was Dan Lagh’ratham, what more could she say about that? A former Slayer turned demon, now finding himself hunting down the humans instead of the rot. Though in her mind the humans were the rot, which was why she was not so fond of the one that travelled beside her. Powerful or not, that didn’t mean she had to like or respect him, and that didn’t mean The Malice wouldn’t whisper in her mind how easily she could kill him. It was probably wrong this time. The man appeared to be able to handle himself quite well; she suspected her mental attack might not work as good a second time. Not that she was planning on using it anytime soon.

As the condescending words left his mouth, the halfling began to really wonder if the man didn’t have a death wish, one she would have great pleasure in fulfilling for him.

“I need none of your protection, and help, human.”

This was certainly not the first time she had slaughtered a small village and she doubted it would be the last. As the wind began to pick up speed, Witch felt the stirring of The Malice from within her. It knew what was coming and Witch would have to watch her every step. It wouldn’t do her any good if she slipped and that thing took control over her.

Bringing her left hand up, Witch stared down at the ring of her middle finger, the dark purple stone glimmering in the light of the sun. There was some kind of sigil on top of it that she hadn’t noticed before, but now was not the best time to take a minute and examine it. That could come later, after all the fun, the blood and the screams of anguish and fury had faded to nothing more than the wind. This village was going to fade away to the pages of history and there was nothing any single person in here could do about it. Not evening the suddenly confused villagers, not the rangers within and certainly not that pathetic contingent of soldiers in the north quarter.

“I suppose this is where I prove my worth to you…” Witch said to Dan, her eyes briefly flicking over to him before they returned to the faces of the villagers, upturned and staring at Luc. Even the children had stopped playing to point in amazement, not realizing what was to befall them. Humans really were stupid creatures.

The fingernails on her hands extended into claws, sharp at the end and harder than steel. They were her first weapons of choice. The large sword that Dan seemed to love so much had yet to spill any blood at her hands, but it was awkward for her to use at the moment. Later, after practice she wound enjoy cleaving someone in two with it. For now though, she felt like ripping into some throats.

With a quick thought, a blue flame exploded above each of her palms. Small at first and wavering in the growing wind, the halfling quickly commanded it to spread along her hands, the fire having no affect on her. The sword on her back slowed her down, making her speed less than what she wished, but it was still enough to cover the ten feet between her and her first victim and about two or three seconds. She was standing beside Dan and then gone, her claws having sunk into the flesh of the man’s throat possibly before Dan even realized she had moved. His dark brown eyes looked at her in surprise and confusion, not really understanding what was going on, only realizing that the front of his neck was missing. He could talk, she’d shredded that area, but he wouldn’t die yet either. Purposefully she’d avoided the main arteries and the flames around her hands had burned much of his flesh and slowed the bleeding. He would die a slow and painful death.

The others around him quickly seemed to understand what was going on. All it took was a single human scream, piercing to her sensitive eardrums to elicit many more on top of that and pandemonium. As the frightened humans began to flee, Witchblade took the opportunity to kill them off one by one, whoever happened to get a little too close to her. A young girl was her next victim. She was a beautiful little thing, her pale skin looking soft to the touch, her large green eyes full of innocence. Witch tore into the front of her dressed, ripping through layers of material with her claws and finally through flesh and muscles. She was only stopped for a moment at the ribcage, her strength more than again to crack the ribs to get to the heart it protected. She screams of pain finally stopped then as she beat her last within the halfling’s hand.

Smirking, the halfling watched as the organ began to cook within the magically created flames. Turning back to Dan, she tossed it his way.

“A little snack to give you some energy so you can keep up.”

[Slayer of the Rot]

A ghost of a breeze washed over his back from the east as he stepped through Greenacre's gate. It was odd, the tranquility he found himself afloat in. The short journey here, he had remained steeped in silence, ignoring Luc's half sided conversation with the stitch-lipped Witchblade. Before all the really big kills, before the heat of the consuming fire turned the ruins to ashes, he always found himself in this state. Something aligned within his mind, his soul, or perhaps his missing heart, and everything seemed right. His greed, his blood lust, it all seemed just in those moments before the blade cut flesh. Calm eyes lazily surveyed the gated village; it was decent, certainly livable, with pleasant looking little houses lining either side of the central path they had entered upon. The demon's boots ground into the hard packed dirt beneath his feet; if it could talk, it would tell him thousands of tales of passing merchants and wandering heroes, set on peregrination.

"Welcome to Greenacre!" The greeting drew him out of his peace of mind, and the weight of the axe in his hand reminded him of his purpose. He had strength, thus he would use it to kill. His eyes hardened as they focused on the small group approaching, brow knitting. Two women, one carrying a basket in the crook of her folded left arm, a child following close to the leg of the other, and one man in plain clothes, carrying a long sword at his hip. As they stopped before the unsettling trio, the little girl fled behind the woman's skirt, peeking out with the utmost caution.

"How old are you?" The axe vanished without a trace and Dan hiked his pants slightly up his thighs as he crouched down, settling his forearms on his knees. The child held up a bunching of fingers, indicating she was six. Scooping up a small handful of dirt, he held his palm outward, his armored, clawed glove absent for the moment, then shut it tight, only to open it a second later to reveal his ring. The girl, amazed at the trick, came out of hiding, though her eyes still held the qualities of a transfixed, terrified rabbit.

"And what is it you want to be when you grow up?" She was visibly hesitant, and pursed her lips in consideration before looking up at the woman who had proved as refuge to her. A sharp rap atop the girl's head delivered enough force through her body that she crumpled up into a nerveless heap, neck broken and skull fatally fractured. Witchblade moved rapidly, faster than any human could react, and the man who had accompanied the group never touched his sword again. In a billow of black cloth and displaced dust, Dan rose with a quick thrust of his thighs, producing a revolver from the holster at his hip, and fired it twice, point blank into either woman's faces.

The tranquility was gone. The demon closed his eyes and sighed as a storm of human terror and otherwordly destruction burst around him, thje stink of gunpowder and blood redolent in his powerful nostrils. Instead, that calm, that peace of mind, was replaced with a low, droning roar, drilling in the back of his mind. Rage bloomed like a towering inferno, and his eyes snapped open as he tore away the cloak from his body and the bundled turban from his head. Long black hair spilled down his shoulders, and from his pocket, he drew a pair of short leather gloves. "There is no worth to prove," he growled, tugging one glove tight over his left hand. "There is but three things for you to do this day that will allow you admission to the Audeamus. Stay alive, one. Make sure no one leaves, and no house remains uncharred, two. And finally..." Once more, he summoned the Nirdamz, it's wide mythril blade shining brilliantly in the sunlight. "Stay out of my way until I am finished. That should coincidentally link hand in hand with the first condition, anyways."

Without a further word, he passed by Witchblade, paying no mind to Luc, floating high above his head. The geomancer knew the drill well enough, it did not need to be told otherwise. His walk turned into a fast jog, and then, as though fired by cannon, Dan's hulking form darted forward at incredible speed, smashing through the door of the nearest house with no effort whatsoever, through the splintered wreck to the floor. A family cowered at the far end of the room and the monster did not break stride, the axe raising high above his head.

Oh, Hromagh would be proud of this child.

[Cyrus the virus]

Luc had all the time he needed to prepare the proper, most enjoyable offense. His eyes ignored the two ‘friendly’ figures below, mapping out the currents of the wind. Just ahead of his shadow was a house the size of a single room in Radasanth, perhaps thirty by thirty feet. Luc pointed Slykrit toward it and swirled the sword’s point.

Quickly a wind current spawned, circling about the structure, stirring up dirt and grass as it gained more and more power. Luc strained, squinted his eyes as the wind took on a green color and rose toward the sky in a funnel, just like a tornado. He growled as the house began to tear apart, flying upward in pieces as the structure grew weaker.

Screams from below rose up to fuel his wrath, thereby bringing Luc’s red ring to glow hot – his face took on a crazed look as the structure below finally broke apart, flying upward in a dervish of debris and flesh from the humans within. The mage let his tornado fizzle, exhausted, and watched in glee as the pieces fell upon the ground.

“A fitting start to Audeamus’ initial strike. With nowhere for them to run, I’ve my pick of who, and how, to kill.” He mused.

He winced as he looked downward past the blazing embers of Slykrit, watching as Witchblade coldly slew a little girl. Not particularly Luc’s area of expertise, murdering children was, but he knew it was a necessary step in the plan. He’d simply leave it to the others for the time being.

Chaos took over the village of Greenacre, rampant screams of horror accompanying Luc’s descent back to the earth. Folk were pounding futilely at the earthen wall which kept them inside the gates, bringing a hint of a smile to Luc’s youthful face.

As soon as his feet touched ground, Luc heard someone charging from behind him. The mage spun and saw him, a late teen holding a plank of wood. Luc’s laugh barked out of him like a cough, and he waved a hand passively. In response, a spire of rock drove out of the dirt and took the would-be hero in the chest, hauling the impaled body several feet into the air where it dangled, a testament to Audeamus’ power.

To his left was a guard, shaking visibly even under his silverish armor. Luc pointed in his direction, and a black smog surrounded the man’s head. Recklessness took him over, but a light breeze sent him stumbling awkwardly backward. The guard’s face turned toward Witchblade, and with the spell influencing him, the fool rushed toward her. He was loud and cumbersome in his armor, easy pickings for even an amateur.

***

The north end of the village was the safest part, for now, and was where any mindful person had headed at the first sign of trouble. The northernmost home was shelter to the village leader, Edgar Rhae, who had seen enough battle in fifty years to fill three lifetimes.

Edgar, hair grey, eyes tired but wise, and body still fit, understood what was happening as best as he could. His village was being demolished for no good reason, and his people, his friends, were scared. Even the imperial soldiers had congregated with the townspeople, making a hundred and twenty-or-so at the north end of town. It was fortuitous that the flying wizard had not decided to look their way.

“Stand together is all we can do right now,” Edgar said aloud. His voice was calm and confident, despite the situation. “We can rebuild the houses if need be, but if they want to kill us all, they’ll find it impossible if we stand unified. Draw whatever weapon you can, and do your best not to freeze up.”

[Witchblade]

“This is what you live for.”

I don’t remember inviting you to the party…

The Malice was already slithering through the confines of her mind, poking and prodding as it tried to find a crack in her armour and break free. It grew stronger in the bloodlust. The more the halfling felt it and the more she gave in and killed, the more powerful The Malice would become. Eventually it would attack her and she would fight back, whether or not she won depended upon a number of varying factors. Things like how tired she was mentally and physically, whether or not she knew the attack was coming and then there were outside influences like touch. Were someone to touch her now, she wouldn’t have a fighting chance.

It enraged her, how weak she could be within the confines of her own mind.

Humans could cower and tremble at her feet as she slaughtered the lot of them, yet within her was a being she could barely defend herself against. If they knew of her weakness would they flee so easily from her? Or would they fight back?

“Just let me out for a little while.” She said nothing in response to it. Witch had learned that ignoring The Malice was sometimes the best way to communicate with it. So it tried again with a different approach. “Imagine the powers I could give you. There is so much that I know of that is locked away inside your mind and body. If you only give in I could help you unlock them.” A slightly more tempting offer, but she was not stupid. Giving in to it would only mean she’d be willingly locking herself in a cage and allowing it control of her body. It would never give it back to her. “Of course I would give you control again. It is your body after.” Exactly, which was why she wasn’t going to hand over control to it no matter what it promised her. “Stop ignoring me and answer me!”

She didn’t. Even as the being within her pounded with renewed anger at the barrier that kept it from taking control of Witch, she ignored her. It was slightly harder when her mind was being attacked, but it was something she was used to now. Predictable, as always. It would pound and scream and try as hard as it could to forcefully take her over. But in this state right now, it didn’t have a single chance of doing so. Were worry to cross her face, it would not be for The Malice.

The chaos surrounding Witch and the others was nothing new to the halfling. Humans were predictable and though it seemed random, they were all playing their respective roles. The brave and the stupid were grabbing whatever they could use as weapons to fight back. As the woman and children either cowered in their homes or ran with the cowards towards the northern area of the village. That was where they would make their last stand. But right now, Witch was more concerned with the ones who had yet to make it there.

Hearing loud, unintelligible words amidst the screaming rather close to her, the halfling turned to see a large guard stumbling towards her. She had no idea what was going through his head, but it was rather clear he was not thinking straight. Like his mind was muddled or fogged. Either way, she did not care. He was a walking target, a tin can shining in the light of the sun. Before he could even swing his sword at her, the halfling had felled him. She jumped on him, knocking him to the ground and knocking off the helmet that was supposed to protect his face. It rolled a few inches before coming to a stop just as she reached behind her and freed her mythril dagger from its sheath. Before he could properly recover from the impact of her body and the ground, the dagger was in his eye and then pushed further into his brain. It killed him instantly, leaving his face in a twisted horrid state where he was locked in a perpetual scream that never left his throat.

Pulling the dagger out, she listened to that wonderful squish and suck of the fluids that surrounded it. Slowly standing up, the halfling began to look around for her next target. Lucky for her she didn’t have to look very far. It appeared that a small group of young men got it into their repubescent minds that they could stop her. If she were a mere human, she might be a little worried about the four of them, but as it was she wasn’t. Still, she wasn’t foolish, recklessness and the need to protect could be extremely dangerous and made any opponent hard to predict, let alone five of them.

They weren’t ragged looking or badly dressed. Their clothes were stained with a hard days work of dirt and sweat and though their actions portrayed bravery, their faces showed feared. They tried to look mean, they tried to look tough, but their eyes gave each and every one of them away. They were scared. It was in the slight tremble of their hands as they held onto planks of wood; a scythe, knives and even one had a hatchet. All farm tools. And she was sure they could use them in their appropriate way, but against her it was different.

The four of them began to circle her and Witch couldn’t help the smirk that formed on her lips. It pulled at the strings that held them shut and allowed the briefest glimpse at her fangs. Sometimes it was a shame she couldn’t use them to rip into the throat of her prey. They didn’t speak to her, not a one. They didn’t tell her to leave peacefully, they didn’t threaten her to make themselves seem stronger, seem better. They all just spread out in a circle around her thinking somehow that their combined efforts would bring her down.

If only.

Her hand, still covered in the blue flames she had called forth slipped into the darkness of her cloak. There it wrapped around her Titanium dagger, the twin to the one she already held in her right hand. Pulling it from its sheath, one of the boys to the left lunged at her. It wasn’t that bad of an attack either, but much too slow for someone with her speed. In his hands, the plank of wood came sailing towards her head, but the halfling simply dropped down to one knee and spun around. Her dagger sunk into his lower abdomen. A strangled cry left his wide-open mouth as the look of shock and panic began to set in. He could still live with such a wound, but she had no intention of letting him. Two of the other boys took this as their moment to attack, thinking she was preoccupied with the one bleeding and stunned before her. Amateurs.

[Slayer of the Rot]

"A beast! The Thayne have forsaken us, and let this beast loose to consume the land!"

Heavy clotted smoke poured from the window and door less portal through which Dan had crashed through, an evil red glow flickering beyond it. Squinting only slightly, Dan emerged from the thick black obscurity, his chest heaving as he sucked in a deep, greedy breath. In his left hand, suspended in a tight grip around long locks of hair, were four severed heads, and in his right, the axe that had finally proven worthy of it's price. The brilliant glow of the mythril was obscured and muddied with human blood. With a sharp snap of his wrist, he cast most of it to the ground, speckling his already drenched boots. His shirt clung to him, sticky with his handiwork.His other arm moved as well, tossing the heads into the road, grinning slightly as the fleeing men and women occasionally stumbled and slipped on them.

"The Red Beast! He brings nothing but fire and blood and suffering!"

Dan's long ears picked the scream out from the jumbled cacophony ripping through the air, and his gaze swiftly picked out it's source. A second later, the cries were cut off as the red headed man was lifted into the air with a single bloodied, gloved hands. Freckles peppered the bridge of his nose and cheeks, and his eyes were such a startling pale blue that the ice of Salvarian lakes could never hope to compare to the luster. "I...I...please..."

"Tell the world what you've witnessed today! Of the Beast and the Mage and the Murderess! Forget you're family, they are already doomed!" Drawing his arm back, Dan hurled the red head over the thick stone wall Luc had summoned to trap the villagers of Greenacre in. Just from the brief seconds when they're eyes met, he knew that abject terror had seized him and all he could think of was the blood smeared monster that held him aloft. He'd rush to the city, but by the time he would return with a contingent of soldiers, the entire village would be nothing but ashes, charred bones and cold, shattered stone.

Heaving forward, the Nirdamz slashed from his hand and cut through the air, decapitating one frantic woman who made up the rear of the retreating, frightened villagers. The glassy black obelisk of the Bhidyate appeared in his hand, and he paused as he passed a heavy fruit cart. Widening his stance, he lifted it into the air and threw it into the backs of those trying to escape. A new chorus of panic sounded in the roaring air, charged with power from the hovering geomancer's presence.

"Enough playing around!" Dan's bellow was like the roar of some great and terrible monster, and rose above the sound of the slaughter. "Luc, make sure more of these homes are burning! And you..." He jabbed a claw directly at the halfling. "Follow me. We'll be thinning the herd together so I can observe you," he said, indicating the villagers with Bhidyate's point.

A blade, glistening pale blue, punched through Dan's stomach in a sanguine spray.

[Cyrus the virus]

A boy in his playground, Luc enjoyed his many toys. Flicking them about like an omnipotent God, he manipulated the deaths of anyone within twenty feet, bringing up currents of wind to drive them up into the air. The screams of the plummeting humans amused him, made him feel so very powerful.

Dan’s bellow, louder than the Geomancer’s tornado had been, caught the mage off guard and startled him. When he turned and heard his orders, it was both a relief and a source of anger for him. Rather than argue with Dan’s tendency to be so demanding, the mage set to work doing as he was told. There was no point in causing strife between himself and the dynamo, after all.

Slykrit in his grip, Luc used a hand to direct a handful of flames to the ground in front of him. With some focus, the fire grew and grew, forming an eight-foot-tall humanoid shape. Concentrating on keeping the shape whole, Luc spoke a series of words and cast a spell. The elemental took on its own sentience, looking about in confusion.

“Burn this village and kill anyone you see, with the exception of myself, the large one and the Halfling woman.”

The fire creature turned, golden, abysmal eyes gazing emptily at the mage. Without any sort of acknowledgement, the elemental turned away and stalked toward the north end of town, sending streams of flame from its appendages.

With an amused smirk and a sigh of relief, the mage headed in the opposite direction of the creature, sheathing the Slykrit Blade but keeping a ball of fire floating hungrily over his open palm. Approaching a home, Luc extended his free hand toward a window and sent a stream of scorching flames through it. It filled the small structure quickly, setting it entirely ablaze.

Then, suddenly, the fire in his open hand was squelched like a candle’s flame in a breeze. Luc looked over in amusement, seeing a wall of thirty or more humans standing to the north, forming a line. Behind them was a particular one, channeling some spell that had surely affected Luc’s fire.

“Amusing,” he said, attempting to send a flurry of wind blades toward them. To his shock, nothing happened – not even a breeze.

Frustrated and worried, Luc called out to his elemental. It, however, was far enough that it didn’t hear him.

With a roar of unified dedication, the wall of humans lifted their makeshift weapons to the air and charged. Behind them, their mage continued to keep Luc’s magic in check. Steaming, Luc turned and ran.

[Witchblade]

She pulled her blade from his stomach, allowing the boy to slip from her arms and fall to the dirt ground at her feet. His impact sent a small cloud of dust to rise in the air, just as the pounding steps of the two boys did the same. The fear was still there in their eyes, yet overshadowed replaced by anger and desperation. Their friend was not dead, no, not yet. But in the heat of battle they might not be able to tell that and so they rushed her, wishing to take revenge for their fallen comrade or some other heroic bullshit. They’d heard too many stories growing up of how the good guys always won in the end, good triumphed over evil and all that crap wrapped in a pretty box and tied with ribbon. It was a fallacy. Good only won when evil was stupid and cocky, and unlike her comrades, the halfling was neither of those. She knew her strengths and her limits and she knew that humans could be unpredictable targets

The one boy came at her with a scythe in hand. He was quick with the heavy weapon, despite its awkwardness. He slashed towards her stomach, but she jumped back from the attack. He followed through using the same momentum to turn the blade around and try for her legs. Witch jumped over it and as she came down she landed upon the blade and the wooden shaft it rested upon. The boy did not expect this but before she could do anything his friend decided to join into the battle. With hatchet in hand, he attempted to cleave her head from her neck. Ducking down from the blow, she punched him in the stomach, watching the shock and pain spread across his face. Flames from her hands spread across the cloth, licking the material and quickly taking hold of it. As his friend tried to free his weapon from beneath her feet, she followed through with an uppercut to his face. The sound of bone breaking and crunching rent the air and the boy fell back dead. She’d probably shoved cartilege from his nose into his brain.

Grinning, the halfling turned back to the human in front of her. His face was panicked; his eyes wide in fear and if she wasn’t mistaken, tears were forming in the corner of them. Lifting her one leg, she brought her foot down upon his weapon, breaking the wooden shaft right at the base of the blade. Looking at the stump he still clutched tightly in shaking hands, the boy turned and fled. Stepping off the blade of the scythe, Witch used her telekinesis to lift it from the ground and send it hurling through the air like a boomerang towards him. It embedded itself in his back, most likely severing his spinal cord.

The last of the boys surprisingly didn’t run from her. Instead, he attacked her from behind. Rage at seeing so many of his friends die at her hands boiling within his system. He clumsily attacked her. The knives he held in his hand ready, but hit grip was too tight and the swings were messy. His footsteps were too loud, which gave his attack away from the beginning. Not to mentioned he was breathing as if he’d just climbed a mountain. Witch turned around just as he attacked her. She was able to block the one knife by using her Titanium bracer; the other slipped by and cut into her stomach. A shallow cut, not more than a centimetre deep. But it still hurt and made a snarl erupt from her slightly parted lips. Using her strength, she pushed against the boy, shoving him off balance. As he tried to recover himself she slashed across his neck with her mythril dagger. Blood spurted and erupted from the wound, drenching his neck and beginning to soak into his clothes. His lucid eyes stared at her with hate and fear as he fell back, desperately trying to stay alive. He would bleed to death in about twenty seconds. He was much luckier than his other friend.

As she walked passed the first boy who had attacked her, the one with the stomach wound, the halfling dripped fire onto his body. The flames would spread across his clothing quickly and then begin to eat away at his flesh. It was an extremely painful death.

Amateurs.

Witch was about to turn and find the next thing she could kill when Dan suddenly shouted at her. Apparently he wanted to see just how good she was by fighting along her side. She would allow it. He seemed good enough to keep up with her. Before she could even respond though, a pale blue blade erupted from the demon’s stomach in a spray of blood that nearly hit her.

“Move on and prove your worth!” She had to smile at his lack of caring for the weapon protruding from him. In fact, he pulled the blade out in an irritated manner. Now that she liked. He truly was a demon. “I’ve business to take care of with this one…”

Before she followed through with his orders, something the halfling hated doing, she looked passed him. A man clearly not part of the village was standing a few feet away from Dan, unmoving even as the stragglers ran screaming by him yet none actually touching him. His face was a mess, three long scars were running down the right hand side of it where clearly someone or something dug claws in. On top of that one of his eyes were missing and the one that was still there spoke of years of experience. He was wearing a white coat under a black steel breastplate that had the sigil of a running horse along it. Witch didn’t need Dan to tell her who he was, she could smell a hunter a mile away and this one practically screamed it. She would gladly let him deal with the slayer.

“You two boys have fun now.”

Turning from the two of them, the halfling began to head towards the northern area of the village. She’d kill any stragglers on her way there.

[Slayer of the Rot]

"They're going to make me a hero for this. I'll be considered the strongest man in House Zail!"

"No. You will die here. Your blood will mix with the rest of these men and women, and you will be no greater than they, dying as they flee in terror." His breath rumbled in the back of his throat as blood spilled down the length of his closed palm, the prevalida blade digging into his flesh as he held it fast. He could feel the slayer tugging on it, struggling to loose it, perhaps not understanding how strong the monster he'd just pierced was. Dan drew in a deep breath and sighed, glancing skyward and allowing himself a moment to watch the clouds pass. Another moment of tranquility, as had come over him as they'd made their way to Greenacre; he seemed oblivious to the fact that a saber was resting in a bloody wound in his stomach.

"It's been a while, Seris. Five, maybe six years? Did you ever get over Jerome's death?" His hand snapped open, and the blade vanished from his stomach. He felt it bite across his back in a deep slash. The pain was all easily bearable, he'd suffered worse, and it was nothing he couldn't get over. Wordlessly, he spun around and brought the Bhidyate down in a heavy stroke, ripping a long rift in the ground. Seris had dodged to the side, and brought his saber down several times across the demon's arms, blood gushing down to his fists, making his grip slippery. releasing the hilt of his buster sword, Dan lunged forward, slamming his shoulder into Seris' stomach and throwing him into a nearby building.

To his right hand, the demon summoned a red tinted broadsword, and his left, a mythril axe. Swinging the sword in a wide arc, he knocked aside Seris' saber and brought the Nirdamz in quickly, though the well trained slayer managed to duck beneath it. He grinned at the man's horrified expression as the weapon tore through brick and mortar as though it was paper. "When the news came that you had severed your ties from the family and became rogue, do you know how many of your own family leaped at the opportunity to hunt you down! I had to fight off dozens of men and women. I wanted you to at least die with dignity! But now, you're behaving like you're nothing more than a beast!"

"I have no family!" Dan's leg lashed out, destroying the wall of a nearby home. A cloud of debris flowed forward and stung painfully at his eyes and he recoiled, swinging his weapons wildly. The sabre darted forward, and Seris, a master swordsman even before Dan had left the Wilmhearst, found his aim to be true. The sword lanced through Dan's chest, and the demon slumped, his weapons vanishing...

...And stood, grabbing the sword again and holding tightly, his dark eyes sparkling with anger. "Th-that should have killed you!" Seris cried breathlessly.

"I am a monster now. The blades of men can not slay me," Dan gasped, feeling the energy in his body ebbing even as he talked. The wounds dealt earlier were already closed, the scabs falling off. Despite such a painful wound though, a smile spread across his face as he saw the glow rising from the white stud of his ring.

"The power of my new family gives me the strength to slay a man like you, though."

[Cyrus the virus]

Luc rounded a building, one yet untouched by himself or the other Audeamons. The townsfolk were far enough away that he had time to reach into the pocket of his cape, feeling along the tips of four wands he had tucked away. Finding the one he desired, Luc quickly pulled it out and turned it against himself. A ray of light struck him and changed his appearance, transforming him into the likeness of one of the townspeople.

Just in time, too, as the mob rushed on by, eyes blazing as they looked for the mage. Luc did his best impersonation of a scared sheep, though he, in his own interests, ran north. Avoiding Dan and Witchblade, who would have been unable to know his true identity, the mage rushed up past a large group of townspeople, none of them aware that he was cloaking himself. It was lucky that their own wizard’s casting did not dispel his disguise.

Luc made no attempt to distract his intentions, for he now had a clear run at the man. Cocking a fist, the mage drove a punch straight into the human’s chin, causing his concentration to end. The aggression broke Luc’s concentration and thus his disguise, but the damage had been done. A knife of dirt flowed up into his open hand, and Luc drove it deep into the man’s throat, taking no chances.

All around him, people turned in shock. The evil mage was among them, now, weaving his arms to summon tentacles of mud and dirt to grasp at as many citizens as possible. As he did it, he floated up into the air and out of their reach – he let his connection to the fire elemental die, knowing he would need concentration for his next feat.

“A valiant attempt to save your lives,” he sneered, “but not good enough!”

Drawing the Slykrit Blade once more, Luc slashed violently in an arc, sending a roaring wave of flames at the helpless people below. Screams of pain, of horror, rose up to the sky as he slashed again and again, sending flames at the Greenacre defenses, setting ablaze the nearby trees and homes.

His ring roared to life, reacting to Luc’s vengefulness. Suddenly the flames took on new life, becoming golden and taking on a sentience of their own. Crawling like a hungry animal, the fire itself ran along the land, climbing over nearby buildings and life, acting independent of Luc. The event shocked Luc himself, who looked at the Ring of Wrath on his finger. It was glowing bright, and the symbol etched into it was swirling with golden, flame-like magic.

[Witchblade]

Killing hapless humans had its moments, but the halfling was beginning to look for bigger prey. After all, the screaming masses could only entertain her for so long. Dan and the human mage seemed content to slowly eradicate everyone from the town, but Witch was more interested in the battle than the carnage. She was always up for a challenge. Something to test her skills at, sharpen the blades and get a little bloody over. None of the townsfolk running, crawling and screaming to get away from her were going to give her that. They were just weaklings. They lived in their happy little worlds where everything was perfect and where men were paid to protect them. They believed that they were safe, they believed that their race was the strongest, they believed in fallacies and she was going to enjoy proving that to them.

What did it matter in the end, when the world she lived in wasn’t even real?

A sad piece of information she could not tell a soul. Not because she enjoyed keeping that bit of knowledge to herself, but because no one would believe her. She wouldn’t believe her. She hadn’t believed it when it was first told to her. No, she had to see the changes that could occur herself before her mind started to accept the truth. Althanas was a lie. Everything created within it was done so through the minds of humans, a reality she despised. Her own actions had been dictated and controlled by a human for so long. But now she was free to do as she wished with her piece of knowledge. And what was it that she did? Join up with two freaks to tear apart a town. An interesting choice amongst a vast many and not the first time she had done such a thing.

Still, now was not the time to get caught up in the confusing array of thoughts in her mind. There was carnage going on all around her and she had stopped taking part in it. Dan wanted her to show her worth, did he? That was fine with her.

It was still chaos all around her. The screams of the many were drowning out all other noise to her sensitive ears. And the air itself was filled with the smell of blood, smoke and fear. An interesting combination that was all too familiar to her. A group of humans had seen it fit to break off from the main gathering in the North and mob around the city. But they were rather quickly taken care of by the human mage, whose fire had begun to turn a golden colour. It was quite a beautiful sight. The smell of burning flesh she could do without. No human would ever completely understand that nauseating stench with their pathetic ability to smell.

Keeping to the main road and the hard packed dirt, the halfling jogged towards the North end of town. Any house that had yet to burn was quickly set aflame by the blue fire still dancing around her hands and daggers. Any stragglers she came upon she dealt with quickly. The streets were littered with garbage. From the abandoned carts to the bodies of the dead and dying. Two boys hiding in their house had their throats slit, a pregnant woman unable to run received a knife in her spine and a few disgusting and slowly rotting elderly men were incinerated. The rest she didn’t care about, not right now anyway. Not when she had turned the final corner passed another pathetic stone house and saw them.

It was a group of Corone Rangers. They stood out like a beacon against all the plain peasants. Their armour shining in the light of day, their weapons strapped to their hips and their faces covered in metallic helmets. It was surprising to see them considering the war that was going on. Then again, if the civil war hadn’t been happening there would probably be more than just the seven of them to protect this village. Still, seven was better than none and she would get to dance blades between all of them before the hour was up. Perhaps, they would give her a bit of a challenge. Or, like so many others, perhaps they would fade from her mind as just another slaughtered human. Whatever the outcome, they were all going to regret ever coming to protect this village. Here, where their skills grew rusty from years of disuse, they would regret the peaceful tranquility and the years of doing nothing. They would wish for a different place. They would wish for a different time and the demons now plaguing them to go away.

The halfling quickly changed her direction. With the flames of what magic she knew still running along her hands and weapons, she quickened her steps towards them, kicking up dust and dirt as she went. The heat from Luc’s magically created flames was behind her, but her ears could still pick up the screaming as clear as anything. Dan was too far for her to hear anything, but she could still sense he and the slayer were both alive. Strange, she’d thought he would be able to take care of that quicker. Shame.

As an idiotic woman crossed her path, Witch pivoted on her left foot and brought her right up in a round kick from the side. The top of her boot and the Titanium plating put upon it crashed against the woman’s face, breaking her nose and jaw. Blood sputtered from her mouth and down her face from her mangled nose. A mumbled scream of pain erupted from her throat but couldn’t properly get passed her mouth. This grabbed the attention of the Rangers and once they saw her, Witch quickly disposed of the woman. Her daggers, and the blue flames crawling along it, plunged in the neck of the kneeling woman. Her pain ceased, as well as her life and she slumped forward onto the dirt beneath her like so many others of this village and her kind. Right where they belong.

Smirking, the halfling watched as the Rangers began to mobilize and head towards her. Their hands resting on the hilts of their swords, their bodies making clanking sounds with each jogging step they took. And through the slits on their helmets she could see determination, fear, courage and even some experience rolled all into one. This was definitely going to be interesting.