The Great Siege of Radasanth (FQ Main thread)

(Intended for Philomel, Ioder/Hayate, and Shin; other entries welcome but a PM would be appreciated to discuss plans)

The cold wind howled across the plains of Corone, the biting nip of dry air clearing the nostrils of the tired wizard. The cold stole all flavor from the air; stripping the sweet honey and sunflower fragrance and the foul stenches of a too-long camped group alike. Atop his mighty black horse Atilla, Storm Veritas sneered as he glared northwest towards Radasanth. The sun was dropping quickly on his left, and he squinted back at a large army behind him, as the now-bearded Seamus Brackett had approached.

“Sir, food’s starting to get thin. You told me to let you know when we were under a month’s grain, and our salted meat is slim. Winter’s coming, and we can’t keep squatting. It’s time to make hay or give our men leave for the winter. ‘Shit or get off the pot’, I believe is your preferred axiom.”

With a thick “p’tew” sound, Seamus produced a large, teardrop shaped projectile of tobacco and phlegm, firing a mouthful of chaw down to the rock below. The hardened general had lived through more than any of them, and would no doubt outlive them all just as easily. His experience earned him plenty of gravitas, and he was one of very few that would speak frankly to the dangerous magician. It produced a rare smirk from Storm Veritas, who had grown weary waiting for good news.

“Any words from scouts, north or south?” Storm’s nostrils flared a touch, leery of the inevitable bad news that had become as regular as the cock’s crow to mark the morning.

“It appears Radasanth is still secure, a bit of tumult there but no shortage of warriors. They’ve camped firmly since Gisela, and have gotten more rest and rations than ours.

“On the southern front, there’s word of Vaan Osiris every other week. He’s alive, he’s gone, you know the drill… The man’s a fucking ghost.”

Storm looked up to the navy blue sky above, darkness creeping slowly up from the east, its nightly promise to overtake the light. Perhaps the stars would offer some answers for him; the sun certainly hadn’t been so generous. The gravelly voice of his general continued.

“I told you that Shinsou seemed off the cause. That same guy you took Whitevale with… that old fraud is dead.”

Instinctively Veritas glowered, rearing Atilla and spinning about, his eyes flashing white with an electric fury. The air crackled with electric energy as if rich with heat lightning, the scent of ozone washing over them. This stirring caught the attention of the nearest battalion, where men quickly found themselves backing away from the volatile leader, wanting no part of the wrath that the electromancer could pass off. Even the steely eyed general stepped back a few steps, raising his hands in a defensive show of peace, as one may approach a cornered wolf or snarling cougar.

“Gonna kill me, too? I’m old, my severance is cheap; if you want me out just have the balls to call for my note and I’ll step down.” Brackett wasn’t backing down, but rather embracing the blowfish strategy of meeting strength with strength.

“Of course, if you’re going to keep me around, it’s to speak the truth, and I’d appreciate not being made some horrible example of.” Brackett’s jaw was squared and jutting, his hands by his sides in meaty fists. The slightly loosened skin was all that differentiated the sixty year old general from a champion soldier of half his age.

Exhaling, Storm smiled, the white in his eyes clearing way for the human blue that lay beneath it. His demeanor also softened gently, flipping from incensed to political quickly, but no less smoothly than the crawling night that captured the skies above.

“Don’t piss your pants, you old pussy.” A white, toothy smile flashed to Brackett. “You knew you were getting a rise out of me with that. I defend my friends – few they might be. “

Eyeing the troops, Storm watched as soldiers feigned indifference to his conversation with Seamus. Yes, they definitely weren’t staring as one of the most powerful wizards in Althanas apparently nearly lost his mind and incinerated a respected general. There was a time when Storm was like them; vulnerable and weak. He almost envied their frailty, as so little was expected of them.

“We’re all getting punchy, all this time in the fields. It’s been a long time since I’ve had cold glass of mead or a warm piece of tail. Words of the Osiris Legion reinforcing us, joining us, with Hayate, to attack Radasanth.”

Soldiers, archers, cannoneers, militia, cavalry and giants alike had been sitting out the summer into fall since the end of their last battle. Gisela had been but a precursor to the destiny they were promised; to rip the city free of it’s dynastic rule and bring a freedom to rule as they saw fit.

And with it, to the victor goes the spoils. Taking the centerpiece of Corone will come with a mountain of gold none upon Althanas has ever had. Even better, who would make a better, democratically elected leader than the wise warrior who led the revolution? I’ll be the answer to their goddamned prayers.

Popping down from his horse, Storm worked on Seamus, speaking at length of his love and trust, embracing and reconditioning the old general to accept his volatility as a cost of doing business. Besides, the wizard reminded the veteran, you’re the other friend I go to bat for. Satisfied, the two sat upon the stones as they stared north and discussed tactical options over a pipe.

As the night fell more full over the armies, the old mage noticed the red star – one he had seen the night before. He could swear the star had grown larger each of the last two nights. Noting the big, brilliant scarlet jewel, Storm asked the old warrior what to make of it.

“Holy shit, boss. That’s no fucking star.”

The sodden area that the Brotherhood’s other half had chosen for camp was tactically abysmal, but the pursuing Imperials had given Shinsou Vaan Osiris no choice.

Corone’s armies were resolved to stop him at any cost, and had finally clipped his heels on the way up from Scara Brae. It was a perfectly crafted ambush that had killed many of his men on the road north and the resulting retreat channeled them too far to the west to rendezvous with Storm Veritas. The Telgradian, fighting with everything he had, had ridden away with a hundred and ten Castigar vanguard but the hunters had become the hunted. The others had died. They had died for the cause which the survivors now carried on their sleeves and banners, through a churned Coronian countryside; a place still bearing the scars of their recent work. Mud thickened in the fields and even when the rain relented it only came in the form of a momentary pause. Before long, the droplets would hammer and pound until the terrain became frustratingly difficult to navigate. Hunger, too, threatened to decimate the vanguard. In the worst of the it, the survivors sheltered in foxholes.

In a nightmare trek across the worst parts of Corone, he had twisted and turned to avoid his pursuers without joy.

Now, ten miles west of Storm Veritas’s legion, a tired but resilient Shinsou crouched in the dirt. The man barely looked like a leader of the Brotherhood anymore, nor a revolutionary in waiting. He was swathed in a cloak made from common sacking. His face, boots and hands were wrapped in rags, stolen from a farm after a small skirmish with yet more of the endless stream of militiamen from Radasanth. He lay at the gully’s rim and stared into the valley through a long barrelled telescope.

He stared at the enemy.

Brown cloaks hid the pale green cloaks of the Imperial Dragoons. These bastards had followed him every inch of his bitter journey but, while he struggled in the highlands, they rode in the valleys where there were roads, food and shelter, all the while evading the attention of Storm Veritas’s counterparts. On some days the weather would stop the Coronians and Shinsou would dare to hope that he had lost them, but whenever the rain eased for a few hours, the dreaded shapes would always appear again. Now, lying in the shivering wind, the Telgradian could see the enemy horsemen unsaddling in a small village. They would have fires and food in there. Their horses would have shelter and hay. All the while, his own men starved and suffered at the hands of the weather and the lack of food, albeit silently.

Arius, Shinsou’s trusted advisor and right hand man, paced to his friend and knelt his wiry frame down low, borrowing the lens. Driven precipitation blurred the view, but he could see the splash of the scarlet pelisse hanging from the Colonel’s right shoulder.

“Why doesn’t he wear a cloak?” Arius grumbled.

“He’s showing how tough he is,” Shinsou said curtly, “Fucking show off.”

Arius shifted the glass to see yet more Dragoons coming to the village. Some of the Coronian company led limping horses, and all carried heavy duty sabres and flintlock rifles. “I thought we’d lost them.” he said sadly.

“The only way we’ll lose them is when we bury the last one with our own hands.” Shinsou slid down from the skyline. He had a face hardened by sun and wind, but saved from coarseness by the dark eyes that could spark with humour and understanding. Now, watching his men shiver in the narrow gully, those eyes were rimmed with red. “How much food is left?”

“Enough for two days, maybe.”

“That should be enough, as long as we can get a rider to Storm and Hayate today,” Shinsou’s voice was scarcely audible above the wind’s noise as he thought about his friend, “We’ve already sent two and heard nothing back, so I hope they’ve had better luck.”

Arius said nothing. A gust of wind snatched water from the air and whirled it into a glittering billow above their heads. The Coronians below, he thought bitterly, would be helping themselves to food, firewood and bedding in that town. Children would be pointing them to the hills. The men in the village would be interrogated to reveal whether or not they had seen a tattered band of men. They would truthfully deny any such sighting, but the man in the black coat and white boots knew the vanguard would still be in the area. What the men missed, the children playing in the street had seen with their own eyes.

Arius closed his eyes. He had not known what it was to hate until this uprising had began, and now he didn’t know if he could ever root the hate out of his soul for these Imperials. The same people whose ancestors had carved through his people with their bloodied swords, who had destroyed the original dream of a united and peaceful Althanas under one unifying banner.

“We’ll separate.” Shinsou said suddenly,"and you will wait here with the other men. When we’re gone, and when the Imperials are gone, you will cross as much ground as possible east to reach where Storm should be. You will not move until you are sure the valley is empty. That Colonel is clever, and he may have already guessed what I am thinking. So wait until you are certain. Do you understand?”

The wily commander nodded. “I understand.”

Shinsou, despite his agonizing tiredness and the hunger that leached into his stomach, found some enthusiasm to invest his words with hope.

“Go to Storm, Arius, and tell him we’re okay. Tell him I’ll approach the west of Radasanth with whatever I have, establish a foothold and that I will find him there. Our numbers may have been hurt, but I am still here. There is still no greater security than that.”

Arius nodded. There was an obvious question to ask, but he could not bring himself to speak. Shinsou understood anyway.

"If the bastards get me, " he said bleakly, "then you will know. They will trumpet it across Corone. Throw me a decent funeral.”

Arius shivered beneath his ragged cloaks. "If you go, you may find help from the Lily?"

Shinsou sighed to show his opinion of the Guilded Lily.

"They would help you?" Arius insisted.

"They follow Philomel, and that ship has sailed. So, no, sadly. We will have to deal with them too, most likely.”

With that, Shinsou eased himself to the crest once more and stared down at the village. The next morning, he and his men carried their weight to the west. Arius watched as the Imperial Dragoons saddled their horses and abandoned a village that had been plundered for resources and from which smoke funnelled into the sky from chimneys below. The Dragooons might not have known where Shinsou was, but the man in the black coat and white boots knew precisely where he was going.

And, so, the company forced their horses to the west.

Arius waited a full day; then, in a downpour of rain that turned the mud into slush, he went southeast. The hunters and the hunted were moving again, inching their intricate paths across a sodden land, and the hunted were seeking the miracle that might yet save their campaign.

"This is madness," Sebastian murmured, his lips barely moving as he let his thoughts be known to her. "We have so little-"

"We have all we have," his companion, the tall and elegant, violet haired, ram-horned beauty that was Philomel van der Aart replied, her well-toned arms lifting to cross over her chest. "We are all there is. So it has to be possible. There has to be a chance."

"Look," the man with the toussled hair, and fair eyes looked down at the people before them. The room of nine other individuals in the glorious round room, some of them perched on the edges of the ten thrones that made a circle in the middle of it. Pillars ringed them, like a crown in itself, a memory of the empire that once had been. Now, instead there was the Corone Assembly, ten nembers of which met here once a week to discuss the concerns of the nation and their city. The same ten that were in that room just then, Philomel the only one that did not belong.

And they also met in emergencies. And the incoming of a threatening army was most definitely an emergency.

Sebastian, a long term standing member of the Assembly, and well respected gentleman of Radasanth, gestured to the bickering and stern shakings of the heads. "Look," he repeated, "they can hardly agree amongst themselves what time of day it is, let alone how to organise a safe defence of the city. We are doomed, Philomel, utterly hopeless. Yes we have the Imperial forces, but they are being led by the General and he-"

"Is out of the city, braving the country, yes," she nodded in agreement. "His plan was to meet them head on. But my sources tell us they they are still headed here."

"And their numbers, from that of either division, from the ship that managed to survive the sacking of Tylermerande, are too great! Clearly they are coming now for Radasanth, if General Ivan's reports are anything to go by. His dragoons you know have slaughtered what they can of one of the two battilons yet still-"

"They keep coming," she sighed, and she adjusted her stance. Beneath her her two large hooves, that supported her goat legs and thus her humanoid torso, dressed in full battle gear, adjusted. Raising a hand she ran long slightly-tanned fingers through the tails of her own plait.

"Look, that is why I am here. I came from Underwood after my meeting with that traitor pig, van-fucking-Osiris." Her slate grey eyes moved and fixed on the Counsellor. "He is gone from us. There is no hope, he will not back down. The threat is serious but-" Sebastian began to open a mouth to reply, and she laid the same hand on his chest; a subtle remark of the relationship that had truly brought them together. "But, Sebastian. Your city is my city. You have the entirety of the Gilded Lily and what warriors I can summon here at the guard. We will be well."

He looked at her with a single brow raised. Charmingly, she smiled that beguiling smile she had. "Every single whore in Radasanth is in some way connected to the Gilded Lily, and by my rules they have spent the last five years all in combat training." She paused. "Yes, to protect themselves, but that training they will now call upon to defend their home. Their city ..." She rolled back her shoulders. "My city. Our city."

"But Philomel ..." Sebastian began to say.

A fabulous grin spread across the gorgeous queen of whores' face. Hand coming down to rest on the hilt of one of her two swords, mighty things that had slain heroes as well as villains. She pushed out her chest, the drakescale breastplate that covered just her massive breasts, and the shimmering mythril chainmail beneath it. Raising her chin she twisted fully away from Sebastian and began to head straight from where they hid, in the eaves and shadows of the Assembly Hall, confidence bubbling within her.

"Gentlemen!" she suddenly pronounced in a loud, clear voice as she stepped into the light. Into the presence of the men, who were all but shouting at each other due to the army waiting for them at the walls of their city.

"Philomel!" Sebastian hissed.

But it was too late. She began to stride. Right into the heart of the issue.

- * -

An hour later she was upon the outer walls. Along them, bathed in the mellow light of the summer dusk, were stationed what troops could be mustered. The City Guard, the private armies of the club owners, the Imperial troops, even some Rangers of Underwood who had been residing in the city. Amongst them were members of the Gilded Lily itself, each a woman of no plain beauty, with power in each stride and a weapon in hand.

All now under the command of the Lady of the Gilded Lily, the Matriarch, the High-Priestess of Drys, the great Philomel van der Aart.

She was where she belonged. Archers and other ranged fighters stood on the walls. Ballista and other large mechanical devices were in place in strategic places on the towers. The inner walls were similarly armed, with the thousand and more warriors prepared to fight to the death. And in the city itself, along the harbour, in the citadel, at the gaurdhouses, were further melee-specialists. Each warrior had been placed where Philomel and the Majors had theorised where they would be best. One such Major, an elf called Kerr Barren, stood with her, a cloak flapping in the wind. Also waiting.

Waiting.

For the army to come. For the assault to begin. For them to commit to defend their beloved city - with their lives.

“As unary as ever it seems…”

The years hadn’t been well to the wizard of Radasanth and now it seemed like they were trying to kill him. Ioder never wanted to see the day someone could dare to threaten the capital but it seems the bastards of Whitevale, the Brotherhood, sought to make this land their own. Their reasoning didn’t matter, and still doesn’t, for the moment the news of Tylermande met Ioder’s ears he immediately committed to the cause.

The wind hissed and whistled though the cobblestone as the soldiers and ladies of Radasanth stood resolute against insurmountable odds. Though armed tooth and nail Ioder saw fear in their eyes and in truth he was terrified this would be the day his luck ran out. In light of it all there was a silver lining to it all, either they would be live and win or lose and not have to live with what comes next.

“But it looks like you’re finally where you were always meant to be.” Ioder said as he walked next to Philomel standing opposite of Kerr. He his last meeting with Philomel was a brawl in the Citadel many years ago but even back then he saw a fire in her. The same fire now that fueled her passion and dedication to Radasanth. He hadn’t been present in the politics of the country for some time but in times like these and with an enemy that threatens the entirety of Corone he assumed that any bad blood between he and the faun general would be water under the bridge. “If you’ll have me I’d be honored to fight under your command My Lady, there’s a thing or two I’ve put in place to aid in the city’s defense. You know our enemy well, so you know better than anyone else he isn’t here to lose.”

Elsewhere in the capital among a large crowd of refugee citizens a cloaked figure stood leaning against a supporting column, watching as those around him huddled down for the impending chaos Hayate knew that it would be a long day. He hadn’t ever been familiar with the inner workings of Radasanth as his trips here were mainly kept quick and typically he stayed to the citadel. But he figured this would be the most strategic place to do his part, as both a general of the Brotherhood and a defended of the innocent without betraying his oaths or himself. Making friends with a high ranking Radasanth soldier or two had its perks after all.

They were in the Steel Hall, an auxiliary chamber within the main keep reinforced to withstand the greatest of assaults. By his accounts this wouldn’t be far from the place the cowardly Assembly should likely be riding out Storm’s attack. Since the sack of Tylermande Hayate had been operating in secret, gathering intelligence and befriending the enemy, all with the intention of striking when the iron is hot and securing the city without ever revealing himself. He had just hoped for more time because the minuet the Brotherhood appeared he was herded alongside the other citizens deep within the walls of the city.

Thanks for everything Ioder, but this is as far as my favor goes. If the Brotherhood makes it this far I will not stand against them, I'm no fool. It would be a death sentance. And if they make it this far you’ve been dead for a while anyway. Hayate thought to himself as he looked up towards the second level of the Steel Hall, an off-limits area he presumed would be one of the scattered safe houses the big wigs would use.

He smirked, knowing that the wizard wouldn’t have put him here by chance, there had to be a purpose. He wondered just how long it will take now for Shinsou and Storm march up through these halls, how long would this last, and how much longer it would take for Van Osiris to make good on his promise to him. He left his post making his way to the front of the great hall. There were a number of other sell swords not formally part of any army but willing to help standing about. While they all feared for what was outside the walls, their worst enemy was standing right behind them.

"What the hell is that!?!" One of the nameless swords cried out pointing to the shy above! Hayate rushed through the entrance and out into the street before he could see it. A massive object flying through the sky. The ground turned black as a mighty shadow grew over the capital. If not one thing its another.

(Let's do this boys. I have perms to be in this thread from Storm and company lets ROLL!!! I'm joining in as a neutral party attempting to save civi's, etc my bad folks posted with wrong account but I fixed the mistake hahah. Sorry about that.)

I remember another war...another time. Long ago. Or was it yesterday? I can't remember any more. How many lives has it been? I should be dead, by all rights I should be dead. But yet I live still..will always live. For that is my fucking curse. The black blood courses through my shell no matter how hard I try to live a redeemed life...no matter what happens I am cursed. Thaynes forgive me.

Lotenor opened his eyes.

"It's begun." A simple fellow before him said. They were scared, they were all scared. Lorenor was strangely calm.

"Who is present?" He asked in his thick, Radasanthian accent.

"Forward scouts have spotted forces from the Lilly, forces from Shinsou Van Osiris and Storm Veritas. Rumors have it the Akashiman, Hayate is also present." The fellow said.

Fear.

Lorenor could smell it. They were a small group of lowly survivors. Trapped in the city, walled off. Far as Lorenor could tell Storm and Shinsou meant business this time. [b]"They are not here to mess around they mean to tear Radasanth away from a perceived enemy."[/b Lorenor said, he'd seen this before a long time ago had he not? During the Demon War? Lorenor shook his head. He partially wanted to laugh.

He did laugh.

"My lord?" The lad asked of Lorenor. "This is not the time to..."

"What do you think we can do? Huh?!" Lorenor smacked the fellow hard, on the right side of his face. "Far as I can tell we have a couple of options here. In order to get you guys out of here we have to move quickly." Lorenor said, no he commanded. In a group of panicked and lowly adventurers, he was the only one keeping a cool head.

"Abandon her!? You're saying we leave Radasanth?" The fellow who'd been hit asked, shocked.

"Don't try to guilt trip me, boy." Lorenor hissed. "I have been here before. Exactly here. The last time ended in my current state. So now I say again, time is running out. What do you want to do? Stay and fight a lost cause, or get the fuck out of town." Lorenor was losing his patience.

The fellow looked at Lorenor and sighed. "The fight's already started. What do you THINK we have to do? The choice has already been made for us." The fellow said.

In the chamber that Lorenor found himself in, there was a group of scared but rag-tag survivors. They were ready to give their lives to defend their home. Lorenor sighed. I am not the leader they need... Lorenor blinked at that point and got his wits together.

"Listen to me, all of you." Lorenor explained. "A group of warriors are about to come crashing down on Radasanth and will destroy any who get in their way. People will get hurt...a lot of people." Lorenor said calmly.

"What about you...? Will you lead us?" Someone asked of Lorenor.

"I'm no leader. I'm just an old man. But I have a plan...I am going to get you all out with my last breath if I have to." Lorenor knew what was about to happen, he'd been there before. At the end of all things. Lorenor was ready to die once more for what he believed in...

'We choose you old man." A woman said calmly and the rest stood up and walked towards Lorenor.

Lorenor blinked in surprise. He looked at the gathered. "None of you know me..."

But the die had already been cast. Things were already in motion beyond any of their control. "We need to join up with the lilly's forces and secure an escape route." One of them said, agreeing with the crazy old Paladin's plans.

Lorenor cried at that point. He was not sure what he felt, but he felt a strange sort of purpose had been thrust upon his troubled form. "Gather your arms we will hold our ground from whatever forces come. Send some scouts to meet with the Lilly's...Philomel's forces. We'll make our stand together." Lorenor said carefully. if he was to die that day...he would die fighting. He wiped the tears from his eyes and became deadly serious it was nearly a time for battle once more.

It was deep nightfall before any answers began to trickle into the general, who sat up at a desk formed of slate and deadfall timber that his faithful troops had fashioned him. They generally traveled light – tucking furniture in their traveling gear meant one less cannon, or a few months of food for a fast-wavering soldier. Storm’s age reminded him of the hardship of sitting long on an uneven seat, as a howl from his lower back made its way between his ears. Undeterred, he continued to squint and scratch at the paper with his pen, doing his best to write by the dim light of a few fat, slowly melting candles.

Quote:

---

To the Foul Tyrants of Radasanth,

Congratulations on your lengthy and profitable careers. I tip my hat to the opportunists, and presume that your collective corruption is more likely due to the preservation of self-interest than the perversion of the public good. A simple part of me can understand and share some of that natural instinct, as we all seek our own best ends.

Today, you have an opportunity to continue this voyage. I invite the entire Parliament (all forty-four of you, of course) to march south from the gates of Radasanth. My envoys will meet you, and escort you directly to Tylermande, where you will be given your choice of relocating to the country of your choice, Corone notwithstanding. Your direct families can even travel with you, a one way, fully subsidized ticket to a new and peaceful life.

As I’m sure you understand, Corone and Radasanth deserve better than what system exists today. A ruling class of the wealthy, who write rules for the wealthy, and exclude the masses from participating in legislation and their own pursuits of happiness. You may have even convinced yourselves of your own basic decency.

The Brotherhood of the Castigars have come to wrest power from you. The people of Radasanth will once again have a say in their own affairs and the propagation of prosperity. Our troops lie just outside your gates, and are fed, rested, ready, and plentiful. Your scouts can confirm what your eyes hope are deceit; soldiers, archers, cavalry, cannoneers, siege weapons and giants. Horror has arrived at your door; do not presume your foil-armed tribesmen will keep you safe.

For the sake of your people, evacuate peacefully. Save yourselves, and save people unnecessary conflict. As co-executor of the Brotherhood of the Castigars, I am pleased to offer your Parliament 72 hours to complete this evacuation. Anything short of full compliance is an act of war, and will be treated as such.

I sincerely hope to usher you painlessly to a lovely life on Ettermire, Raiera, or the lovely island coast of your choosing. Your other choice will prove significantly more distasteful.

Storm Veritas

---

He finished signing without an edit, the scouring sounds of sharp folds followed by a satisfying-if-masochistic burn of his fingers as he pressed his thumb into the candlewax and made his personal, forensic mark on the paper in a thick oval. The faint odor of tobacco was reignited when he had finished wrapping the paper in waxcloth for safe delivery.

“M’Lord!?” A hand floated aimlessly through the aperture at the front of the tent. The messenger had clearly been informed of Storm’s proclivity to find himself in any combination of distressed states.

“Come in, come in.” The aging wizard slowly stood, feeling his vertebrae pop in place as he stretched and turned to the door. As always, a hint of suspicion, as any messenger held the possible dual role of assassin. He smiled regardless, his head disguised in a wreath of pipe smoke.

The near-boy that popped through was no assassin. It was Leaf, a faithful little runner and excellent spy. Thin and waifish, the lad was no more than fifteen, and looked as wide at the waist as a grown man was at the thigh. His head was covered in wildly tousled and vibrant black hair, a color Storm missed deeply and would never again enjoy.

“Two words, m’Lord.” The boy stared at his feet for answers and patiently awaited the nodding approval of the lethal general. Flattered by the fear, Veritas gestured for the lad to sit on the felled maple trunk that made his seat.

“Catch your breath my boy, and have at. You drink?” Almost instinctively, the wizard had found his way to a bottle of whiskey, feeling the burn run down his throat. It was more fiery and potent than the honey-meads he preferred, but it held a potent punch and packed tightly. He lifted the bottle in the general direction of the messenger after finishing his own pull from the glass.

“Th… thank you m’Lord.” The boy looked scared to drink or refuse, which was of course a difficult position to land. He opted to drink, taking an amateurish sip where he tried and failed to hide his disdain for the venomous bite of whiskey. Nodding and feigning a smile, he summarily returned the bottle to a laughing Storm Veritas.

“Two words, m’Lord. One, the wagon towards the front gate is packed and ready. General Brackett packed it just as you instructed, as he told me to tell you.” A confused look governed Leaf’s face.

”He told me to tell you!? Trip over that one, my little philosopher?

“Second, our men intercepted what we thought was a spy last evening. He claims he is from Shinsou Von Osiris’ camp, and we have verified his information. He has traveled with them since before Tylermande, it appears. Shinsou is located some ten miles west, but can march for siege within the day.”

Leaf was scared, and Storm saw this. The battle hardened wizard was no mentor; Storm’s talents were too immense to presume the same sort of mortality a frail boy would suffer. If not the mentor, he could serve as protector.

“One last run, my boy. Give my note to the head guardsman at Radasanth’s gate. Go unarmed, and let General Brackett know to prep the welcome wagon to arrive in the morning. You don’t need word back here; they won’t be afforded to answer before giving the note to council, and you wouldn’t be allowed there. Run from Radasanth to Shin’s camp; bring his man if you need. Tell my friend Shinsou that we assault in two days.”

~~~~~~

Moments later, the boy was off, moving in the dead of night towards Radasanth, which lingered only a mile or before them. Storm ambled down to the white-stubbled Seamus Brackett, who was up, sitting outside his tent and looking up at the red star, now larger than before.

“I think she’s coming for us, General. The grand judge to weigh our deeds.” Seamus spit to the starlit grass at his side, a lipful of tobacco producing the thick brown juice.

The electromancer squatted beside his old friend, listening to the cheer-chirp of crickets break an otherwise quiet night. “Well, if the gods are coming for us, then I’m glad we’ve got a show for them. Besides, I’m pretty sure your old ass is hallucinating, because that star doesn’t look bigger than it did at dusk.” There was discomfort as Storm shuffled his feet, neither veteran entirely convinced of his optimistic view.

“Leaf told me the welcome wagon is ready?”

Seamus rolled his eyes out of sight of the magician. These were ugly deeds. He glared over at the large coach, a massive wagon drawn by six oxen, loaded shoulder to shoulder. The empty carriage shined in the starlight as a freshly waxed woodpane adorned the entire interior. Flowers of every sort were stuffed in the windowboxes around the coach. Only the most keenly trained nose would discern the scent of black powder jammed a full hand deep through the entire false floor and second ceiling of the wagon.

((gone for seige weapons. Hayate, I thought you might like to do the 'welcome wagon'))

The first barrage came with the cries of a thousand innocents.

All that she had done in her life seemed to have led up to this moment. Radasanth, after all, was her home. It housed the ashes of the Crouching Tiger, that she herself had burnt to the ground and claimed her independence from her mother's overbearing pimp. It was where she had begun to establish the first brothel that she controlled, which had grown its influence over others slowly, becoming over time the feminist society that was now called the Gilded Lily and stood as a true testament to her reputation. She had been born here. She had fought battles here. She had been raped here. She had saved lives here. She had survived, and thrived here. It was her home, she had a life and was proud of the way that people held themselves. Corone - it was not a diseased place. It had grown out of an empire, gone beyond its old ways and established an Assembly here. Yes those men and women were particularly useless at times, but they still held the morals of a good heart and a good home. In any country one could blackmail themselves into power, Corone was not alone. Radasanth stood at the heart at all that, and was, for Philomel, the source of all her friends and family.

She was the city itself. Her people ran through the streets like blood through veins. They had power, they had influence, they did what good they could. Shinsou - damn him. He was so wrong. So very wrong. All the poverty he claimed was running through Radasanth's streets, all the corruption ... It was not worse than any other city. In fact, it faired better. Why - because it had her.

Anyone attacking it was attacking her.

"HOLD YOUR LINES," she screamed as the distant thunks of great huge crossbows thunked. "HOLD!"

She looked over to the beautiful being that was Ioder, honestly surprised to see that old rival of hers here, on her side. He was a blessing, and he was a comfort. A reminder of what had been when she had been more innocent.

She yelled out louder, and her command was picked up by the underling commanders on the wall. People raised torches, braziers were lit to signal to the inner walls that the attack was now here. The threat had been coming for the whole day and it was approaching evening. Now the people of Radasanth, and their fair defenders, had to face the onslaught.

Shouts rose of agreement to hold. There was a distant ping and a small but deadly boulder darted high into the air, a broken edge of an ancient building. It savagely flew in an arc towards the city, whistling on wings of disturbed air current. Many, many eyes watched as it slammed into the outer wall of the city with a heavy thump. Brick flew, people shouted, arrows were loosened. A great cry began.

"Radasanth!" People screamed. "RADASANTH!"

In solidarity Philomel raised their blade with them. Radasanth indeed.

More rocks began to fly. She curled her lip, her resolve still standing. Angrily she called out for them to still hold the wall, the line, and the guardians obeyed. They held. She had a good line of command, good allies like Ioder helping her. They would stand, and they would fight. They would not bend ...

Damn that Storm, with his ridiculous demand. A letter had apparently been taken to the Assembly. One calling them cruel names and asking for their surrender, of all the councillors and members. Saying that they could leave in peace if they wanted, alongside their families, to go live elsewhere.

What a coward's letter. A coward's request. Once Philomel had heard of the letter she had sent word to Sebastian that she would fight to the last breath, and he had agreed. Her calming words, her firm resolve ... It had had an effect on him.

He had spoken. In a method learnt from her, he had managed to persuade the Assembly that surrender was a sign of weakness. One councillor had apparently run, just one. But the rest were now in the halls, firmly barricaded, and protected by some fine warriors.

"We will not surrender," Philomel said to Ioder. "We cannot. We have to protect the innocent. Those they have come to destroy. Because that is all that this war brings. Death," she looked directly at him. "They are the villains, my friend. Not us."

"We are the heroes."

Quote:

---

One day before the siege

---

Shinsou found himself not journeying west, as he had planned to, but instead south. A message to his friend Veritas had finally got through, and the response was clear and concise.

We assault in two days.

Trudging over slick moorland that had been further churned by the recent rain, the Brotherhood’s remaining forces marched with the tempo of a troupe keeping their eyes in the backs of their heads. They had originally chosen the hard earth to the west to lose the dragoons that had chased them halfway up the country, but now they were headed south. Although it was reassuring to know they would soon be uniting their strength with Storm’s own legion, they had to first get there, and the route ahead was despairingly exposed to the advantage of those Coronian riders. Each second in an open field felt like a jolt of electricity in each man’s soul, and with every new open piece of land the rhythm and pace of the march quickened nervously.

It probably wasn’t helping the progress of the march that Shinsou wasn’t paying attention to where he was going, more than once losing his footing. Instead, his attention was fixated firmly upon the skies above, and upon the flicker of crimson that danced there amongst the black of background cloud.

The hell? Don’t remember seeing that before…

Admittedly, he had been somewhat neglecting his Althanian astronomy recently, but even so Shinsou couldn’t ever recall seeing a red star hanging so curtly in the sky. Of course he been so involved in the events surrounding Tylmerande and the siege that he hadn’t time for keeping a steady eye in the skies above. Glancing to his left to spy one of his captains, Shinsou could tell that the nameless man felt the same as he too peered up the heavens with the same puzzled expression. As if sensing the thoughts from above, the captain pointed and turned to his superior.

“Sir, what’s that? It doesn’t look like a star.”

“Not sure. Could be a planet, or just an anomaly. Let’s just focus on the path, we’re nearly there and we can’t afford any distractions.” Although gingerly put, the statement had served only to pique the entourage’s curiosity, who now chatted amongst themselves. He, too. realised the question echoed in the back of his mind.

Soonafter, The Telgradian turned his attention back to the matter at hand. It was so easy to fall into the trap of believing that he was the only one to labour under adversity, and he wondered how Storm and Hayate had both fared in their respective roles. Despite their collective power, Shinsou was sure he wasn’t alone in that respect. The Coronians were far more ruthless in the defence of their nation than he had given them credit for, and everything since Tylmerande had seemed a bit of a gamble. But wasn’t that the whole point of this? To venture out and challenge the unknown? To take gambles, to face danger… to run the risk, every now and again, for a better world?

It will always be worth it, Shinsou told himself. As the final field fell away into a slight dip, the Brotherhood could be heard sighing their collective relief. The Veritas camp was close by now; he could make out the sentries posted out on first picket on the western perimeter. Their tell tale green cloaks made them look like bandits or common citizenry to those outside of the know, and the white of the canvas tents beyond were well enough hidden to not give the camp away to anyone this far out. That was the hallmark of solid, organised security.

On approach, when challenged, Shinsou gave the man a signed affidavit to signify his friendly status and lack of hostile intent. It took a moment to get any sign of acknowledgement from the statue-like silhouette.

“Executor Osiris,” the man said coarsely, eventually snapping to attention, “We are honoured by your presence. Executor Veritas has asked you to his position as soon as you are able. Our men will attend to the horses and your men can join the general population to find food and beds.”

He better have something good to drink, he said in his mind.

“I’ll head there now.”

The joyful chatter from his men behind was almost lost to his ears as Shinsou concentrated on pounding the ground beneath his feet. The flickering lights of the corridor of tents and campfires bobbed and weaved as he rapidly closed the distance towards himself and Storm’s part of the encampment. It was an extremely odd feeling for the Telgradian; he was a de-facto revolutionary attending the camp of an intended siege of the country’s capital city, and so there was urgency in his professional capacity, and yet he felt warmth in the knowledge he would finally be in his friend’s presence again. As he approached the tent that had clearly been earmarked for his electromancer counterpart’s official use, Shinsou slowed, dusted himself off and peeled back the corner of the tent.

Sure enough, behind a desk that looked like it had been thrown together in a hurry, that finery clad man stood and perused a number of documents. As usual he was over-presented, as if attending some sort of well to-do bachelor party instead of leading an attack on a major population centre.

As Shinsou walked over, he spent a moment looking Storm up and down, before warmly smiling and offering his hand.

“Fucking hell, are you going to a ball or toppling a government?” was the only thing Shinsou could think to ask.

******

A few hours later, a re-united Brotherhood stood firm outside of the city gates in darkness. Smoothly dismounting their great black mounts, Shinsou and Storm strolled together to within a kilometre of the town gate.

Ever thinking behind his stoic visage, Shinsou began formulating a plan if shit went south, which it almost always did. Given the plethora of risks they faced from those he knew were defending the city, including Philomel Van der Aart, the Telgradian knew that one of those plans might have to be the one he least wanted to attempt. Shinsou could count on one hand the amount of times he had ever had to push himself to fight an opponent, but he knew that the monstrous goat form of an already enraged faun would be more than a handful and would require much more than his standard issue barrage of dark lances to put down if it came to it.

Turning back to Storm, the Telgradian brushed the loose bangs of hair from his face and looked ahead, towards the gates of the city of Radasanth.

"I like this plan. It’s very…you" Shinsou observed to Storm as they observed the wagon being prepared for rollout. "I think we'll have ten, maybe fifteen minutes of confusion before the message gets up the chain of command. We need to make sure we don’t rest on our laurels. Get in there, make as much of a foothold as we can, and then push to the assembly."

Indistinct screams echoed through the streets as the city faced the first of many quaking attacks. Dust fell from the ceilings of the Steel Hall as Hayate and the others felt the beginning of the end, he wondered just how long it would take for either side to make headway. The shinobi watched as mothers cradled their babes trying to protect them as best they could, despite knowing they themselves could do nothing if the event would arise. Hayate was in pain, but nothing like he had felt before, he was hurting knowing he played a part in this war and was responsible for what was coming. Was everything really worth it? Would he be able to live with himself if anything would happen to these people? There had to be a better way?

He waited patiently, trying his best to imagine what his superiors would do in the event they were successful. He wondered how they would deal with the women and children who supported the assembly, he wondered if their men would even know the difference in the heat of battle. These questions and more raced through his mind as he struggled to come to terms with what was happening. As the world he crafted for himself turned sour in his mouth and he became what he originally sought out to destroy. Grinding his teeth was all he could do as every passing second brought him closer to a breakdown.

“Sir,” a voice from outside broke his concentration. Hayate peered from around the corner he was leaning on to see a handful of Radasanthian soldiers carrying a parcel making their way past the guards posted to protect the counsel men just beyond. By the looks on their faces, he presumed that whatever they were transporting came from either Shinsou himself or Storm. And by the sounds of fighting outside it wasn’t relevant news anymore, yet still, Hayate was curious and needed to know for himself. “Don’t allow anyone beyond this point. I don’t care who they are, consider anyone attempting to proceed to be committing an act of treason. Deal with them as you see fit, but leave nothing to chance. We are aware of a certain individual who may already be in the city; if Amatsukami Hayate is seen you have orders to kill on site.”

Hayate was taken back, how had he been identified? And even more startling was now win or lose he would be forever known to the Radasanthian Government to be a collaborator with The Brotherhood. It didn’t matter what happened anymore, his only chance of making it out of the capital alive was if Shinsou and the others came for him. He panicked for a moment, tucking himself back against the stone he waited; certain he would be found out and captured. Or worse, that he would not be able to stop himself like last time.

Again the city shook as the walls were bombarded by flying debris. The Steel Hall quivered slightly but held strong against the assault offering some small degree of comfort to those within. With what seemed like the end of the world pressing down upon him Hayate took one final deep breath. As the hot air left his mouth it dawned on him. The shinobi had always known what destiny held for him, just never the steps it would take to get there. This, like the slaughter of his kinsmen, was merely one more walk forward.

Have you come to your decision? Yamato asked, sensing a new determination filling his partner’s spirit.

“I’m going to end it, the entire thing. It doesn’t matter who is right or wrong anymore. All that matters is by the end of it I get what I want. ” Hayate’s eyes grew dark as he made up his mind. It didn’t matter who he had to step on, or who he hurt in the process. It didn’t matter what Ioder though he was capable of, or what would come his way after the fact by the result of his actions. Hayate only cared about one thing in this world, and if Radasanth stood in his way then it would fall.

“We’re going to pay the Assembly a little visit.”

Time passed...

One of the Radasanth scouts noticed an odd horse-like contraption slowly making it's way towards the wall.

"What is that...!?" The scout yelled at his companions.

The troops were already preparing to defend their city to their last breath...

***

He prepared to speak to his companions, the people of Radasanth. They were commoners by his side none barely trained to fight a single battle. Lorenor just wanted to get them all out to safety if he could, every last one of them. But when the siege started it was too late for that. The first of the orbs that the siege cannons launched were already upon them.

Screams. Lorenor heard screams of the dead and dying at that point. The building he was just in was crumbled and on fire, Lorenor gathered his weapon. His mighty prevaldia great sword. He looked at his reflection on the blade for a moment. He was scared. There were bodies all around him, burning, charred cooked. Lorenor had survived because the light deemed him worthy of a vessel. No other reason. Explosions were happening all over Radasanth. Lorenor looked up and noticed a red streak across the sky. His face was covered with hot ash from the explosion of the building he was just in.

This is not a war this is a slaughter...Thaynes help us... In the area he was just in there had been no survivors. Lorenor sighed as he prepared himself to go meet up with Philomel's forces. That seemed like the only adequate option. He remembered what the brave scout had said, Storm Veritas and Shinsou were laying siege to Radasanth. Others were present too. Lorenor had to steady himself as he sheathed his weapon. He heard a cry nearby.

"My lord...I need help." Came the familiar voice.

Lorenor knelt down to hurt the woman. His own understanding of The Light and it's mysteries were still growing. He held her hand. "Why is this happening my Lord?" She asked.

"Try not to talk, let me heal you." Lorenor said calmly.

His body began to glow with the effects of the brilliant light. He was going to attempt to do everything in his power to save the woman.

"It does not hurt no more." She said. And closed her eyes as she died.

Lorenor cried for the girl and for the people of Radasanth. But as he knelt there, he heard movement nearby.

It was just a rat escaping it's doom.

Lorenor sighed. What do I do..? This is not my war. Lorenor thought in confusion. His head hurt and he had a million thoughts cascading through his mind. He felt confused as what to do. The Lily's forces were his best shot at that point for any sort of salvaging of the situation at hand. From what he'd learned from the forward scouts, a group of warriors was marching on two sides of Radasanth proper. "This is going to be a fucking mess."

Lorenor gathered his gear and prepared to go ahead and meet up with the Lily's forces. He would provide whatever assistance he could to them, it's what Sei would have done. It was only appropriate that one last Ixian Knight would help in the defense of Radasanth proper. Lorenor was hot as he moved, the crumbled building was crushed by some siege canons that initially struck the city. Lorenor had been lucky, the light saved him once more.

What...do I do...? Lorenor thought to himself. He was a bit away from the Lily's forces but he would provide as much help as he could to whoever he could to stop the madness. Again, Lorenor noticed the red star streaking across the sky. His eyes narrowed at that point. That can't be good... He thought to himself as he made his way to the Lily's and ultimately...Philomel's position.

Improvisation is a key to all elements of life, a belief Storm Veritas clung firmly to and relied upon. This was fortunate, because the best laid plans for attacking Radasanth had gone completely sideways, leaving him angered but undeterred. So proud had he been to show Shinsou the ”Welcome Wagon”, loaded with gunpowder, high grade alcohol and other cheap explosives, that he hadn’t accounted for its failure to reach the front gates.

Could have ended the whole damned thing before the fighting started.

Yes, the ordinance vehicle he had lovingly crafted could have opened the tempered steel gates of Radasanth like a can of tin, however the wagon had never reached the gates. Instead, it was stopped by some damned fool scout that the Brotherhood soldiers identified from a distance unhitching the oxen from the front of the carriage, leaving it stranded some hundred yards from the front door, like a lovely gift box left by the curb.

None would remember the magnificent arrow shot that took down this scout where he stood, because for its accuracy and lethality, the arrow came a minute late. The oxen stupidly (brilliantly?) wandered away from the wall, mooing out their hunger before settling on brush. The Brotherhood forces had advanced regardless, the siege weapons settling now four hundred yards from the impossibly square cut stone wall that cast deep shadows from its eighteen feet of growth. Behind it, the large city, rich with thatch roofs, pitch-topped flat structures and water-beaten wood structures beckoned for hellfire.

“Of fucking course someone had to unhook the wagon. Because why can anything ever be easy?” Storm spoke to Shinsou on his left and Seamus on his right, the three trading petulant barbs and jokes. Anything to cut the tension before what would certainly be a grisly scene.

“Range is ready, Cap’. The cannons are well within range, as are the archers behind them. I can move up the giants at any point, but they can’t reach from the back yet. Footmen are ready to race.” Seamus stared straight at the wall ahead, envisioning the inevitable fall.

Looking left, Storm had seen the mix of feeling upon Shinsou’s face. Shin had engaged in terrible things before, however tended towards pragmatism. This was a shared feeling, although the wizard oft felt that the more heroic Telgradian underestimated the value of raw force.

“Hayate? The people? Any way to backdoor the innocent, and give us people to rule when this is over?” Shinsou reasoned in his questions, but did not plead.

Storm listened, but his resolve was set. He pulled a small steel ball from his satchel as Vaan Osiris conversed with him, the older magician wrapping the orb in cloth and using a thumb-length of wire to fasten the cloth securely.
“To every fire, there are hordes of people running in two directions. Those that run to it, and those that run from it. We’ll have to kill the brave ones, but the chickenshits will be mostly spared. Sort of makes life a little easier if we don’t have the bold, Radasanth-loyalists pushing back after we save the city. Hell, even the brave might knock their knees enough once they see the giants.”

Without another word, Storm snapped his fingers, arcing a small flame between his fingers that caught immediately to the dried cloth about the metal ball, which now floated gently over his hand. He stared at Shinsou, the stoic warrior reluctantly nodding. In a flash, the ball was fired from the hand of Veritas at the distant wagon. Sound seemed to vanish off the face of Althanas for a moment as the ball gently bounced around the wagon, small flames gently flickering out for just a moment. The moment lingered, thousands watching with baited breath until an enormous explosion rocked the landscape, a thunderous boom that left carbonized wood debris and ash billowing out of all sides from the once-was wagon. When the smoke cleared, the ground was a near perfect circle of black char, stained only by a residual splay of red where the scout once lay.

The gate stood, resolute and defiant some hundred yards from the massive explosion, met with only some small cedar scented ash floating about it. It was not for fifteen seconds before cannon-fire began crashing into the walls and rooftops by the hundreds, a sky of fire and arrows raining hell on the front door of Radasanth.

Behind the front line, a very uneasy group of horsemen waited, the steeds giving nervous brays and pecking at the earth below with their shod hooves. They had advanced slightly behind the torrent of explosions which slowly moved upon Radasanth, watching stone crumble and fires start before them, smoke beginning to accumulate in thin whiskers above the city, slightly obscuring the red star which continued to grow in the north sky.

“I’d say we wait for counterfire; we’re at a good range to keep them pinned down for now, flood the city with fire to flush soldiers and cut them down on their open charge.”

Turning his long face to Vaan Osiris once more, the wizard spoke directly in low tones.

“She’s in there, right? Do you think she fights us here, or can Hayate get her out safely? Two horn blasts from Seamus and he’ll know to extract her. Three, and…

“Three and Hayate hears that she’s beyond saving.”

Quote:

---

Permission to jump ahead of Phi granted, also some minor bunnying permitted by Storm

---

"Yeah, she’s in there alright," Shinsou muttered his response to the electromancer amongst the cacophony of the Brotherhood's assault, "and let me tell you this; Philomel will not be leaving that city in any sort of friendly capacity. Hayate can try, but I ran into her on the way up from Tylmerande, and she made it clear where her loyalties lie. We have to prepare for that. I hope he is ready too...Hayate is strong, but Philomel could be a handful."

As he mulled over the implications of his own words, the Telgradian frowned as the cinders of the welcome wagon scattered to the wind. His irritation at his failure to placate the faun a few days prior was now somewhat dampened by the need to think about the task at hand; the siege of the fair city of Radasanth, and how best to proceed. He waved Storm closer to him as the no longer functioning wagon smoldered a good distance away from the main gate.

"I’d bet that most of the minor gates in the inner wall have been closed since your forces began encamping nearby, for security," he mused. Shaking his coat, the Telgradian trotted forward slightly, pointing at three separate points of the city wall; one east, another straight ahead, and one west. Swinging his sheath in perhaps a too-nonchalant way, he leaned toward the intrigued electromancer and continued his line of thinking.

“Those points, there, are where I think the gates are. If we concentrate on raining fire down on those parts, we’ll flush their flanks from the sides of the city into the middle because they’ll have nowhere else to go. I’ll finish off your plan and obliterate the gate to create a vent, because it won’t be long before those soldiers decide they prefer to take their chances out here with us. When they do, as you said, we’ll decimate their open charge.”

The brief break this initiated gave Storm a chance to fill his pipe with that familiar cherry tobacco, his blue eyes meeting Shinsou’s. There was a silent nod in agreement. The Telgradian held back for a few seconds, apparently steadying himself.

“You know, it could just be bullshit but I heard that the soldiers in there switched to rubber and leather armor once they heard it was you out here. Cute of them to think of you, really, especially as you are the quiet one of us,” Shinsou said with a grin and a hint of irony, “Seems a bit pointless, though. Rubber not only smolders, but it’s really easy to pierce with dark matter or ice. Or small, homemade iron bullets.”

Storm snorted lightly, the best he could do under the stress that chugging his pipe was putting his lungs through, and sallied forth. "Nice of them to pay me the compliment, but I don’t much care if it’s rubber, iron, wood or human shit. If they come out here for me and you, and they will, it won't matter what they're wearing. They’re only coming to die.”

"Right," Shinsou responded, "Well, if we’re in agreement, tell your cannons and ballistas to focus on those easterly and westerly points. I’m going to open that gate."

It’s been a while since I’ve done this...hopefully it puts the fear of god into whoever is standing around to watch. Shinsou thought to himself, a smile crossing his lips. Even though he could only maintain it for very short periods of time, his Starflare Pulsar was one of the strongest spells in his arsenal, able to generate such powerful gravitational force that even diamond struggled to maintain its physical form for long under its weight. The gates of Radasanth would be a sinch, and the sheer spectacle of the attack would surely give the armed resistance of Radasanth second thoughts about what they were coming up against.

The main gate could take the cynicism out of any man, at least for a few minutes. Shinsou could only compare its grandeur to the Citadel. It stood at least three times the height of the wall on either side of it that encircled the outer city of Radasanth. As he approached it, the Telgradian estimated its height as between seventy and eighty feet. Shinsou rested his eyes as an ethereal wind suddenly picked up from around his feet, howling and tearing at everything within five feet of him, with himself in the ‘eye’. Even as this localised but violent gale ensued, the inner wall never expanded inwards, ensuring that his storm never flayed his own skin, much less clip at his soul.

Fill the arrogant vessel with madness, deny the seething urge to crawl. Unite, repent, fill the ground and know your own powerlessness.

The incantation was never heard, but its effects were immediate. Manifesting in the center of Radasanth’s wrought iron front door was a rapidly expanding and viciously hissing black mass, born of a marble of dozens of distinct colors. Seven orbs of dark matter materialized above this black core, swirling and orbiting before suddenly striking the black hole with such force that everything within two hundred feet shook violently and the resulting shockwave knocked Shinsou off his feet. As the Telgradian stumbled back to an upright position, the chaotic aftermath quickly became apparent. A swirling, oily mist drifted around a super-heated heap of crumpled, twisted iron that once comprised the gate. Amongst the devastated brickwork were once finely carved statues, representing important events in the history of the city, that now lay in ruinous piles around the edges of a breach almost fifty feet across. The gloomy cloud of residual dark magic made it difficult for Shinsou to make anything out beyond the destroyed gate, but he had used this spell before, and knew the destruction would have eaten another fifty feet into the city boundaries.

Turning slowly back to Storm and his men, his lungs heaving and his muscles aching with the sheer effort of the conjuring and its aftermath, Shinsou cast his eyes over a watching Brotherhood. Some of the horses had spooked and brayed harshly. The men were slightly rattled, having only seen this once before, but before long were stoic and ready again.

“…I screwed up; used up too much damn energy,” Shinsou admitted as he limped past Storm and clasped a hand on his shoulder, “That one is tough to control and is a hell of a drain, but the gate is open. I’m going to need a few minutes to get my breath back.”

There upon the wall, where darkness had bitten.

She was indeed within the city, and she was near the gate when the mighty explosion erupted.

There was a single, defying sound. It shattered what minor peace was left within the besieged city, shattering whatever hope had been held out, despite the engines of war that lay at their door. For the world now trembled, the country now shook, knowing that the enemy was truly at their door. Now, unavoidable, inevitable, resplendent.

Definitely, no longer hiding.

The gates blasted apart without mercy. Despite the wagon having never made it, the huge structures of iron and stone twisted, burnt, rent and were ruined, devastated, and blasted as the poison of nothingness, the void of destruction that appeared in a single globe (at least it would be reported later) exploded hatefully. And, just as towers and walls had been crushed by the ballistae and catapults, ancient stones that had held against Radasanth and Corone's enemies for many decades and centuries burst apart. The aged gate, strong, was suddenly gone. Stone flew, people screamed, the city cried out in a hollow, fearful voice. And the guards, so patiently and desperately guarding their home, were killed without any chance of survival.

"Oh ... my ... Drys above!"

She felt them, ripped from existence as if she had a personal connection to them. Indeed, she did, in spirit and in brotherhood, for defence of their city, but it could have been in mind and soul. Eight warriors, each under her command, were instantly killed; taken from the world and their wives and children. Taken from their city, their home and their lives. Eight - not the first to be taken, indeed, for others had been taken in the stonework that had so far been shattered by the siege engines - yet, the first so obviously, so dreadfully, so terribly.

So ...

She began to run. Directly, to the gaping wound in the walls of the city. In her wake Kerr Barren ran, the Major of the city guard who had since dedicated himself to her. In those few hours that they had been together now, he was hers. Until their possible death. As she ran she called commands as she passed warriors of the various tribes she had control of - the city guard, the Rangers of Underwood, the old imperial warriors of Corone, and those battle-trained whores of Radasanth who had volunteered. To some she told to stay and hold, to some she called to follow. Others, to the captains and generals, she gave little orders, and allowed them to use their instinct, especially the archers who would fire upon whatever army approached.

And some had approached. To destroy and rend the gates. Immediately, fiery arrows began to fill the sky, a wave as the faun of fauns ran past them. And as they came from one side of the non-existent gates, so did too they begin to rain from the other side. A volley of them, and then volley of normal arrows. Great crossbows on rotating bodies, small catapults that could not shoot as far as the siege weapons, yet fitted neatly upon the wall.

Philomel kept running. Over to the gap in the wall, where she aimed to defend what might come through with earth and sword. And as she did she called out with her mind.

My darling! she finally called out.

And deep beneath the earth, something stirred.

* * *

There upon where the earth rises, where the siege engines lie.

A wide, savage crack shockingly ripped through the ground. Ten feet long it caught the base and foot of a catapult, which jerked to the side beneath the irregularity. The stone ball it had been preparing to fire rolled out of the sling, crashing to the ground upon the toe of a siege engine worker. He let out a shriek, as painful as they came as the crack began to widen.

And from the rend there burst a horror. All mottled grey, brown, and khaki green. All scales and savagery and anger. All teeth and claw and fireless breath, who came like a doom and threw his jaws right around the first catapult. Straight into the wood and iron did he bite - a creature from another world. For the underground was his home, and tremors from the assault on the city had disturbed him. Simply, and without hesitation, he ran through the wood, splintering it and then swallowing what he had bitten whole. Then he dove, right back down into the earth. His long lithe body, purely built for burying and for war, dug once down into the soil, but only shallowly.

A line in the earth followed his movement, but he was fast, surprisingly so for his thirty foot of length. He snapped at the next catapult. And ate it. And moved to the next, chomping as he went. His skin was as tough as steel, his teeth able to eat mythril. Half a second did the people have before he dove and ate what he willed, and then he paused -

And roared. And a wave of sonic energy blasted out from him. They shattered wood fifteen feet away, and the very grass to tremble at its roots.

People fled.

For Delath had been released.

* * *

There within the Hall of Steel, where the Assembly waits.

Sebastian held onto his own. And he prayed that his dear wife, Harriet, would be well.

She at least had left the city. Like the Brotherhood had demanded of the Assembly, she had even left the country and gone to stay Akashima alongside other wives and lovers. Secretly had they gone, looking as much like refugees as anything.

But he - he could not abandon his home. He held onto a long curved knife, naked in the firelight as he and the other members hunkered in the back, windowless room that they had claimed as their place of defence. One single Assembly member, Gerard Carruthers, had been selected to wait in a secret location in the basement in a public house in the city, just in case the worst situation that they would all die in the siege. Or if the Brotherhood should win, and then he would rise as a voice for the people.

But for the rest of them, they held their own, surrounded by the greatest warriors that the city had to offer. For too long had they toiled to make their country the wavering democracy that it was, culling the empire, striving through a civil war. Ten Rangers of Underwood, ten knights, who had once been in the company of the Ixian warriors, and ten holy paladins who worshipped the local gods, stood around the corners of the three chambers. They were fully armed and eyed the single doorway. Through it was another room, this one with windows, and armed to the brim with crossbowmen.

Sebastian breathed slowly, and wished he could be part of the fight. But he and the others had to survive. They had to remain in secret, up inside this fortress with towers and the best defence. Surviving on stuffy bedspreads, salted pork and dried fruit. Water was brought up from a well below, and at every point in the way checked by a guard dedicated to the city.

It was as secure as they could be. In the circumstances.

“Hush now my love, dry your eyes…” Hayate could hear the voice of a mother waver as she tried to console her babe, they and many others were seaking refuge within the main hall of the Steel Keep. The sounds of rolling chaos filled the air as the battle for their city had begun in earnest. With each and every crumbling rampart, dust fell from the rafters, showering the hundred or so civilians and scattered mercenaries on either side of the hall. There were a number of central facing pews filled to the brim with those who weren’t able to flee the city before the fighting, and surrounding them at all entrances were hastily build barricades of sandbags and crates as well as anything else they could push up against the doors. From here there were a few ways in or out but none that were unguarded by either the Radasanthian guard, the Imperial remnants, or some freelance mercs hired by the Assembly.

As the Shinobi sat in contemplation near the rear of the hall he watched as a few men came in and out of the way leading further into the keep, in the direction of where he presumed the Assembly to be riding out the storm. His mind raced as he tried to come up with some plan to make it past the guards, there were four men armed with the insignia of the Imperials. Knowing their past and how skillfully the Imperial army had trained and implemented before Hayate bided his time, not wanting to waste this opportunity.

As he formulated some kind of plan Hayate took notice of a handful of small dirty children gathering just off to his right. Among them were a few that looked to be no older than ten, these were by far the oldest of them. Hayate could tell they were among the street urchins of the Capital, being dressed in tattered rags and caked in grim were obvious tells, but there was no adult in sight that looked to claim them. He bit his lip, fighting the urge to give up on his mission altogether. Why the hell were these children still here, why hadn’t the assembly done something more for them then just corralling them in to wait for slaughter? He stood up and turned to face the ten or so kids before walking over and placing a hand upon the oldest of them. The small boy had short curly blonde hair and was startled as he turned to face Hataye with a face withered by fear.

“What’s the big deal!” the boy yelled as he shoved himself off of Hayate taking a step back. The boy stood tall and bravely in between Hayate and the others.

“Calm yourself son,” the shinobi said pulling off his hood and showing a concerned smile. “Tell me where your parents are?” The boy was quiet but didn’t for a moment waver. Or at least not to the untrained eye, but Hayate could see pain willowing up inside the boy child.

“Gone… just like everyone's...”

“I see,” Hayate said as he squatted down meeting the child at eye level. “Well then tell me what your name is, so I can talk to you like an adult.” Again the boy was quiet for a moment.

“Grell… and these are my friends.” He said as the others cautiously peaked from over his shoulders and behind the pews.

“You are all very brave aren’t you, staying calm down here and keeping everyone safe. The generals should throw you a feast when this is all down.” He said smiling again trying with all his heart to comfort them. Again the keep shook, startling all the little ones as the recoiled back down under the pews.

“I don’t care about that, just my friends,” Grell said fighting the urge to hide.

“That is the bravest thing I’ve heard anyone say in all my entire life. Grell, I’m going to let you into a little thing, but you have to keep it a secret. Nothing bad is going to happen to you or them, because just like you I’m strong and all I care about are my friends. And from this moment on you, all of you are my friends.”

The boy’s face lite up, but only to fall back down into sadness as the Steel Keep continued to rattle. He appeared to want to join the others but before he could Hayate reached into his cloak pulling out a fairly decently sized case stopping him. The Shinobi opened it revealing an array of sharp knives and signed for Grell to take the case. After a brief moment of consideration, the boy took the case, holding it tightly to his chest.

“When this is all over I’d like to ask you to do something for me,” Hayate said before letting the boy go back to the others. “Find me, no matter what you may hear, but for now I want you to do anything you can to keep them all safe."

A Hero.

Once he was called that.

Lorenor held the hilt of weapon tightly, attempting to draw some sort of comfort and a stability. He panicked. In his mind he only saw the first time it happened, during the Demon War of antiquity. He was seeing the ravages of war play out in his head. People were screaming and dying looking for a way out..but in he was only an old man. Who had seen this very event before during The Demon War.

He was gasping in panic and fear. His eyes darted from battle to battle as the front gates of Radasanth were shattered by an all too familiar power. What do I do...? By all rights the last Ixian Knight should not have been there. His people's time had come long since, indeed he was a relic of a lost time. I can't do this on my own... Just beyond his vision he saw a familiar face.

The Vampire Urei.

Urei walked up to Lorenor and extended his hand as chaos erupted all around them. "Why are you afraid my love?" Urei suddenly asked as Lorenor reached out to his old Lover and Master.

"What do I do...?" Lorenor asked, the panic had taken it's grip on his heart. He was just an old man.

"Trust in the light." Urei said.

Lorenor nodded to Urei. The light..had never once lad him astray since Reformation with the Ixian Knights so long ago. It was at that point a dragon came forth from the bowels of hell itself...The dragon had a different agenda. Lorenor observed as it flew towards the field of battle. It was not a threat to the people directly. He was in a state of panic, but right then, he saw something else. A group of people attempting to flee the battle was suddenly crushed by flame arrows and cannon balls.

Lorenor gritted his teeth when he saw that. Rage filled his heart. ..What do I do...? Lorenor slowly walked towards the burning corpses, one a dying woman looked up at the glowing Paladin.

"Why is this happening?" She barely uttered.

Lorenor, following the ritualistic rites of his Order knelt down next to the fallen. He placed a hand on the forehead of the dying woman and began to cry for her. He gave her her final rites. No. The Last Ixian Knights was giving Radasanth herself her final rites. He began to utter the incantations that would compel the spirits of the fallen to The After of the legendary Thayne Codex.

But something happened that he did not expect.

"...Ixian..." The voice of the woman called out to him in spirit form.

Lorenor finished the rites and turned to look at the ethereal form of the woman. "You are afraid."

"I don't know what to do." Lorenor said honestly to the ghost.

"Take my strength, Paladin." She said plainly. "You know the compelling arts of your people yes?"

Lorenor hesitated. But nodded in compliance. It was his duty to tend to the dead. Lorenor finished the rites of passage and observed the lost spirits on their journey to The After. Lorenor looked at the woman, and extended his hand to her. "Come with me." He commanded in the spiritual rites of his order.

"It shall be so." She responded and took Lorenor's hand.

The spirit guided him to the location of Hayate and Grell's position. Lorenor was tired. But he no longer was afraid...he merely felt numb at that point. Lorenor and the compelled spirit stumbled upon the chamber where Hayate and Grell lurked. "Akashiman!" Lorenor was glad to see familiar markings on Hayate's person. He looked at several survivors present. Lorenor held a serious expression on his face. "Akashiman we have to get them out of here, any who wish to live. You wish to live...come with me." Lorenor walked towards Hayate. He'd been relatively near to Hayate's position and the walk wasn't that long. He saw the survivors gathered around Hayate. "We have to get them out of here." Lorenor said.

A Hero.

That's what he once was...

The arrival of Delath to the battlefield was no less upsetting to the armies of the Brotherhood of the Castigars than a fire in a theater, or perhaps a tapeworm on one’s digestive system. Like a great, armored mole the mighty earth dragon burrowed a channel at great speed, the ground above it rupturing earth and crust like a shark’s ten feet before striking the first catapult. Delath erupted from the ground in a great muddy eruption, a maelstrom of fangs and claws and horror splintering and obliterating the support ballast and lever arm of the great siege weapon, rendering it utterly useless. While men jumped back in exasperated horror, the spectacular dragon disappeared back into the earth no less rapidly.

“The FUCK is that thing!?” Storm was momentarily stunned before his memory recalled the great familiar of Philomel. Pulling on the sleeve of his chained armor nervously, the electromancer was frozen. He stared at the broken mound of earth for answers as his army continued to fire upon Radasanth, the steady rhythm of catapults, archers, cannoneers and trebuchets pumping wave after wave of terror down upon the walls and city alike. It was only moments before history repeated itself, and Delath completely erased a large trebuchet as a sharp knife can cut taut canvas.

He’s going to take ALL the siege weapons. Can we peel back?

Storm stood atop the great Attila aside Shinsou as he looked at the smoke-pouring city before him, and looked back at the desolation behind him. If they retreated, Radasanth would be summarily reinforced, and there was no replacing the siegecraft lost or men that would flee a failed siege. This was the only time to strike.

“We’ve got to hit those gates hard and heavy. If you’re still worn, peel back for now and get the second batallian to attack that fucking dragon. He has laid his plan; we need cover for the siege-craft. Let’s whack that mole hard the next time he pops up. “

Still fatigued, Shinsou nodded and sat upright his own steed. “Is that all, then? Just slay the magical disappearing dragon in the four seconds he pops up to eat our beautiful catapults? Anything else, m’Lord?”

The wizard smiled at his friend, understanding the absurdity of their situation. “Put my mead on ice; looks like I’m going to need a tall glass when this is said and done.” Riding off with a nod, Storm gestured to his lieutenants, who immediately rallied the throngs of soldiers into formation.

My Gods, they move well. You’d think they actually liked us if you didn’t know better.

The footmen, some cavalry, archers and cannoneers formed long ranks, standing shoulder to shoulder some thirty wide in a long row. Although focused and ready, they were far from fearless; many eyes popped back with each successive explosion of the dragon behind them eviscerating the battlefield, wiping another weapon from the world. To their left, nearly splitting them, the thin magician and General boomed his noble voice from atop his enormous horse.

“It’s alright men, I’m scared too. Soak in the fear. It quickens the pulse, and focuses the eyes. Let it sharpen you, make you lethal.”

“Death is coming for us all, and for some we meet him today. For some of our brothers, we bring the chance to free the greatest city in the world of tyranny. Breathe for just a moment, and relish in your legacies.”

Smiles and nods, men beginning to puff their chest and flare their nostrils.

“Today, you have a choice. You can fight hard and live forever, or lay it down, dying as sweat-stains in a history book. Pretty fucking easy choice, you think?”

At this, the front squadron of soldiers began hollering, clanging shield to sword in thumps and bangs. Fear had no place among the terrified.

“Shields up and cannons at the ready. Radasanth only thinks they’re ready for the Castigars; it’s time to bring hell to their fucking doorstep!”

At this, Storm and Attila charged ahead, the mighty black steed pumping hooves into the earth. The men broke from a walk into a charge as he pumped his sword forward, joined by Commander Brackett’s identical signal opposite him on the right flank of the great line of men.

As they entered a range of four hundred yards, the distant command of Radasanthian Army leadership echoed faintly, and a barrage of arrows littered the dark sky like little stars, flickering as they moved through the light paths of assaulting fireballs, moonlight, and the ominous red star growing before them all.

There’s so many. So goddamned many.

“Shields up!”

In a single motion, a ceiling of iron and wood emerged above the batallions, as shields were raised to stop the oncoming arrow fire. Metal-tipped barbs, Storm was able to easily wave off the two dozen arrowheads that had been positioned for him. The majority of arrows aimed at Seamus bounced off his horses armor, although one barb struck between his thigh and knee plates, forcing a furious roar from the old man.

Between them, the shield-covered men were not so lucky. The arrows largely found purchase upon shields, however the vast numbers were far too heavy. Errant shots snaked between gaps in the shield ceiling or upon the sides, dropping men as though they fell through thin ice. The roars of horror were drowned by the larger cry of charging men, and the falling soldiers left large gaps for more arrows, which quickly fell as the charging wave trampled the just dead.

Gods…

Knowing he could not protect his beloved mount, Storm reared Attila and hopped off, shooing the beast back to the tent-grounds as he effortlessly flipped away the second wave of arrows. Some men hesitated as Lord Veritas had stopped, and he pivoted his icy gaze towards them venomous. “Move! What I’ve got behind you is much worse than the men before you!!”

The wave of men hit the gates fast, thumping headlong into a steady wave of pike and sword wielding Radasanth guards. The defense buckled but did not yield, the screams of unidentified men lost in the madness of cannon fire, dragon assault, and battle cries.

“Cannons! The Wall! Hit the battlements!” The great Commander Brackett boomed from his horse, blood forming below the arrow he had snapped above the knee. For no less than two hundred yards from the gate in each direction, archers continued to pepper the wave of men, now bottlenecked at the gate and dying by the dozen with each progressive round. The old commander was shielded by the massive tower shield he held above himself, but was felled as a stray bolt struck above the hoof of his beast. Sad and furious, Seamus limped up on his weak leg, holding the tower shield high and listening to the ting-ting of countless thwarted attacks.

“Storm, we’re pinned! We need you!” Brackett backed into the wall of men, who moved to surround him as a human shield. Desperate eyes sought out to the wizard, irate with the terrible turn of events. A singular thought dominated him, one which his stoic visage refused to share with his men.

We’re completely fucked.

Eyes on the wall, he grew weary of waving away the ceaseless barrage of arrows heading his way. Without a word, he broke hard left, his hand raised to the wall as he moved in a full sprint, breaking across the perimeter of the battered defensive wall as archers shot wildly at him. In the center, blood was pooling a the feet of the soldiers as their own men died around them, and they struggled to move the dead to their own perimeter to serve as makeshift meat-shields for the helpless.

“He’s running away!” A Castigar troop uttered, despondent in his fate, stranded without hope at the gate as more and more men fell, and the front line surged forward into Radasanth so impossibly slowly.

“No, he’s going to hit them. Haven’t you heard about him before?” A grinning fool pointed towards the seemingly suicidal adventurer as Storm Veritas was sprinting towards the wall now, wider than the men had been positioned. There were still a few men where the lunatic was heading, however they couldn’t hear the shouts from their commanding officers. With a single pulse of electromagnetic energy upon his metallic gear, Storm Veritas was propelled high and gracefully at the wall some two hundred and fifty yards from the gate.

These men don’t need a gambler or a trickster; they need a god. I can’t be merely GOOD, I must be godlike.

Storm’s maniacal idea was what he configured as his only hope, a desperate and reckless idea to save his men from the trap he had charged them into. As he vaulted to the top of the wall, he was met with two men pulling their arrows towards the surprise invader. They almost made it, before a twin pair of electric blasts ripped through them with a loud CRACK-BANG that left his signature odor of ozone in its wake. They fell peacefully to the ground, innocent children laid to rest one final time. To his left, there were no men in sight, but to his right, a tremendous row of archers that had never expected his arrival.

There were hundreds of them, perhaps thousands. They were men no better or worse than his own. They were men with parents and brothers and sisters and wives and children. Storm was able to suppress his humanity as the first line of four or five had pivoted to fix their arrows upon him.

An arrow carved through his right shoulder as his eyes flashed white, the projectile cutting through his thin chain from this distance without much effort. The fury magnified the rage of the legendary wizard, who proceeded to unleash hell like never before. With a scream, he erupted an enormous, pulsing beam of white and blue lightning down the length of the passage upon the wall’s top, fragments of energy splintering off effortlessly in it’s hate-fueled wake.

Get down. Get down. Get down.

Completely exhausted, Storm saw only smoke before him, the thick fumed obfuscating him from the horror his incredible attack had unleashed. Had he killed ten men? A thousand? There was no time to examine the wreckage. If even one lived, they could claim him if he collapsed atop the wall. His eyes on smoking Radasanth, Storm witnessed a thatch-roofed building that had yet to catch fire. Before the smoke cleared, he tripped as he tried to jump to the roof, crashing through the thatch into the darkness of the building below.

What he had done would be remembered, but certainly not completely by his own accord.

He hadn’t even been aware of it, but Shinsou had actually fallen asleep for a few seconds. The momentary rest in the wake of Delath’s assault was less than soothing; abruptly ended by the snapping of Storm’s deadly electricity some hundred foot away from the splintered remains of a supply cart the Telgradian had propped himself up against. Shackles of fatigue bound his arms and legs as he dragged himself groggily along the bog-like field outside of the city gates that was now littered with the smoldering debris of their siege engines. The massive loss of these essential weapons compounded the other problems now facing the co-leader of the Brotherhood. The first one was the massive wall of Radasanthian men he could see through hazy eyes. They congregated and clustered at the maw of Radasanth’s lost gate, fighting for their lives against the Brotherhood soldiers Storm had sent in after his attack.

The second was morale. In the face of all the brutality and the killing, the soldiers were trying to weather the shitstorm of having both lost their weapons and the leadership of the electromancer, who had disappeared over the wall. Shinsou, wrapped in his signature white greatcoat, could see the guarded look in their eyes whenever the back line glanced his way over their shoulders. They needed something, anything, to give them a push. They needed to know that the Brotherhood hadn’t broken. The Telgradian could see past the marauding ranks, through to the defending Radasanthians. He could feel all of those eyes stabbing at him with their doubts, hate, and ill will.

Look at them. These soldiers here are sheep, feeling compelled to defend because it validates them. Is it because they live in a society where their contributions are routinely ignored, and their wellbeing neglected? Is it escapism? Either way, it plays into the Assembly’s hands. This show they are putting on is one meant solely to garner their hatred of us, to deflect from the idea that there is another way for this country to be run.

It felt as if, in that moment, all of Corone was screaming at Shinsou. A harsh wind now assaulted his face and white garbed body, and newly formed tears of rain settled translucent on his clothes. Watching as his struggling men looked for positive reinforcement, something snapped to life within the Telgradian. There was no point wasting any more time or men for the sake of hiding his true power, when not a man or woman alive would gain anything from just seeing it. Embracing this second wind, Shinsou flicked a mass of saturated brown hair from his face.

“Come, Enpera!”

In response, spirit particles manifested and smothered the palm of his hand. An intricate arcane glyph smoldered in the flesh as the Telgradian’s sword violently snapped into existence. He curled his dirty fingers one by one around the green cord of the katana and, as he did, Telgradia’s most powerful warrior rose to his full height. Cramped muscles spasmed into life as whorls of malicious light enveloped his entirety. The Brotherhood soldiers in the rear of the assault noticed the enormous, disquieting release of energy and those not fighting started to break to the flanks. Some of those stragglers stared in awe, whilst others looked at each other reassuringly. Their leader was famous for his reserved approach to fighting; never wanting to expend more energy than required. Even when fighting someone he considered an equal, the Telgradian was not known for pushing himself beyond his first few gears. Now, though, they watched the prelude to something that only a handful in existence had ever seen.

Shinsou’s Hakai.

Storm would have been proud, had he not been napping inside a house within the city limits. There was no silly spoken incantation accompanying Enpera’s release. There were no gestures, dances, or ceremonial motions. No filler, and no bullshit. What there was, was a sword big enough to cleave a horse in half extended before him, overlaid with a pulsating kaleidoscope of black and purple arcane electricity. Power surged like adrenaline at his every whim. Hakai had activated with such force that Shinsou found himself stood in the center of a small foxhole; the earth beneath him forced into cragged clay.

Then, golden eyes steeled on the Radasanthian wall of men, he stepped forth.

Two silent footfalls disguised the rest of his movements. As Shinsou careered towards the center of the wall, his hands flashed to his sides, palms downwards, and Enpera’s hundred and eighty centimeter blade carved a perfect diagonal arc across the wall of men. There was no discrimination in the chaos – most of the Brotherhood had seen fit to move out of the way, knowing what was likely coming, but a number of the front runners couldn’t keep up with the breakneck speed of the Telgradians movements and succumbed to the devastating slash. At least, for them, it was instant. A chaotic clatter of slashed armor, dropped weapons and pouches cascaded with their owner’s blood-soaked corpses to the cold stone archway of the crumpled gateway. A wall of purple backwash pierced the light, dazzling and disorienting, disappearing almost as soon as the sword stroke finished.

It was only a fraction of his power in this form, but the strike had wrought havoc on the living blockage, casting a dark flash into the high vaults and recessed alcoves of the entryway and most importantly had carved a path through the blockade into the city. The rows of soldiers that once stood in their way now parted slightly, their eyes alight with the remnants of their hatred for Shinsou but unsure of the wisdom of confronting him. The Telgradian knew they would converge and attack again at any minute, likely more feral than before, but all he cared about now was that he had unlocked the defense for his brethren. He could hear their cheers around him, a cacophony of rousing shouts and screams; the sign of a depleted force not willing to just lie down and die.

They could take it from here, and he shouted as much back to them before cutting his way through another small group of soldiers. There was a much more important matter to attend to; a meeting that had been destined for such a long time. As wind wafted through the limp strands of his sweat soaked hair, Shinsou reached out.

He reached out, and with his senses, he found her location. Judging from the sheer strength of her energy, as well as Delath's unexpected participation in events, Shinsou reckoned that she was nearby, in the heart of the action. After all, she was Radasanth's greatest defensive asset.

There was no question that title belonged to her. Philomel van der Aart was comparible to him on every level, and held a terrifying command over a number of forms and a working knowledge of geomancery. That was before taking into consideration her powerful familiars Veridian and Delath, who were equally as bent for revenge against him. The only way that the Telgradian was ever going to truly get near her was Hakai, but he had sincerely hoped it would never come to that.

...Because if i'm using Hakai in a fight, it means that things have gotten so bad that one of us is going to die...

Already their city was burning. Already innocents were being murdered and it was falling to ash. What little could be done, was being done, but the enemy was at the door - no, through the door - and there was only so much that could be done to keep the two mighty and magical warriors with their thousands-strong army from doing the least amount of damage.

High on the high Delath roared as retaliation abounded upon him. His steel hide fended off as many attacks as it could before he started to bleed. Despite his speed, with the second or so of time of warning that the catapultists had before he rose from the earth, he was one beast against many swords. He broke down many of the siege weapons, ripping them out of existence and devouring some whole, his jaws working like that of a snake. They did not unhinge, but they came close, extending and snapping around with the ferocity born in him of a true dragon warrior that he once had been, before he had lost his wings and become akin to a wyrm. Yet, dragon still lived on in his heart, and so he fought.

He fought, even when the pikes speared him, and his red rich blood soaked in their clothing. He fought, even as one misfire caught him on the flank and sent him sprawling. He fought, even as hammers and cannon fire - damn those loud booming things - resounded around him. It was only when he felt the energy begin to drain out of him, when he had swung his tail into the line of a ballista, that he knew he need to retreat. Down he buried back into the earth, calling out to the one he called mother.

Many destroyed, he hissed. But need to rest now.

•~•

Other explosions. Other crumblings of the wall. Other breakings of hearts as bodies were thrown into the air, across the chaos of the city that was dying, screaming, yelling.

People didn't see the other tunnel being created in the wall. Or those that did were dead and dying. Instead they concentrated on the gate, where the hero of their time, Philomel van der Aart, ran along the walls to hold up the defence there. They cheered - or they cried out. And died. Fed to the fires of fate as the Telgradian strode through the horrors that were.

Of course the warriors eventually found the wall. As longbowmen took up their stance, and mages with them, the breach was found. They hailed down one of the riding messengers and troops were momentarily set up to hold that small breach.

Others would be found, in time, and the soldiers would do their best as their general ran. Orders filtered through what was becoming known as the Assembly army. They came back to the ears of majors, and were sent through them, but the General had her own task.

•~•

As Philomel vaulted off the walls she nodded and communicated back to him. Over her shoulder she heard the explosion as the section of the wall that had held the archers with their fiery arrows was splintered. The whole section of archtechiture was torn asunder - not into a void like the gate, but it was so savagely destroyed by some dark and storm-laden magics that she could taste the very deaths in the air of the soldiers.

She had to pray that the others on the opposite side of the ruined gate could hold it all. For now.

Or not.

"General!" screamed someone, somewhere. A soldier, on a dashing horse. "They are coming - coming into the gate!"

Though she was only an honourary general, she knew he meant her. Turning, Philomel barely looked at the man as she landed before him, her hooves catching on the ground. She stood straight and drew both her blades at the same time. Both white, both haunting, both having brought so much death.

"I and this battalion," she gestured with a blade behind her as those she had called upon - soldiers of the city guard, Underwood rangers, and Lily whores now warriors - during her run came down into the city and off the walls via a rudimentary staircase. Broken and stone. It had suffered damage, much like everything so far in this battle, but it still held solid. "We will hold them off. Tell the others to gear up the calvary. Expect to assault. And -" she searched around. "Kerr?"

Kerr Barren saluted her as he rushed to her side.

Apologetically she smiled at him. "You will need to go back up the stairs. Hold them off - we lost half the archers there. Get the longbows - and the battle mages. Keep as many as you can at bay for as long as you can whilst we amount a defence. Can you do that?"

The human she had been put in charge of, he of the city guard, paused, before he nodded. Then he turned, running as fast as his long lithe legs could carry him. Soon, from behind the broken walls a further rain of arrows would be shot. This time they would be barbed. And they would be fierce. They would come down on whomever they met to hold back the Brotherhood for as long as possible, to defend their city. And above them, in the skies, hovering, would be the few battle mages that had given themselves to the Siege effort. Short range warriors with simple striking force abilities. A further line of artillery fire. But they would hold for as long as they could, and up in the air - well they were fluid and able. They would provide cover whilst the innocent bystanders of the city gained into the inner walls, and the cavalry prepared.

And Philomel ...

She looked around her, seeing her small gathering force. There were just two hundred of them, but they would do. They would need to do. They included as well a small group of undyingly loyal Lily members. Some of them eyed her, and a redhead amongst them spoke low to the others. Philomel heard the words, "protect her until death."

Raising her blade she growled, feeling in the earth for Delath, where he rested, and trying not to think of Ioder who was still beyond the wall somewhere, having given himself with his battalion. Dead or alive, or lost, she did not know his fate.

But current war was not a time for mourning. Gathering her wits she turned to run again, her hooves easily out-pacing any of her companions. She managed to get to the void in the walls before they, where the glorious gate had once stood, where Radasanth had once claimed herself impenetrable. Now, it was ruined, and she had a good feeling who was behind it. Who - or what. For he was nothing but a thing to her now.

Sweeping up her right blade, which shone with the light of a star, she summoned her magic. Around her were the ruined stones - she savagely called them to her and thrust her arm forwards. The power of Drys filled her, and shot out at her will. Rock rose, that had just recently been the wall just destroyed and began to construct a new barricade before her. Small, and rudimentary, it was only a few metres long and one high, but it barred the way between the enemy and her for now, and would force them - when they came - around the sides, after they came through the gap. Like a funnel. Where her small mixed and multi-talented army could pinch and kill.

She swept her arm again. The wall got bigger. Her platoon of newly formed front line defenders gulped in awe, before they were given short and sharp orders to construct themselves into defensive shield walls.

"We must hold until the cavalry is ready," she growled, trying not to think of him. Damn him, he had to have gone and ruined everything, did he not? Behind her the distant hooves of the messenger who had spoken of those coming through the gate could be heard, alerting the Radasanth mixed horsemen to prepare. She began to climb the barricade she had just made, deciding not to jump, but rather clamber, shoving her swords straight into the rocks and thinking that she was plunging them into his flesh.

She heard similar sounds and looked over her shoulder to see five woman following her. All Lily whores turned temporary warriors. The redhead was not amongst them. In fact she seemed to have disappeared. But Philomel did not have time to worry about that. So the five women were following her. Likely to show their loyalty and commitment to her. That might be a good thing.

She got to the top of the wall and stood there. The five, who would later be called the Gilded Quint, stood there bold and made their stand. An archer, a minor earth mage, a swordswoman, a crossbowwoman and a healer.

"Damn, Drys-cursed," she swore. And tried to not think about him.

But it was impossible - for in no time at all it was he who came striding through the streets. Around the back of the wall.

Through the city itself.

The brazen star hovered overhead washing the capital in its crimson light, the sky itself turned the color red as the war for Radasanth continued. Hundreds or more unrecognizable corpses riddled the land, friend and foe alike the casualties were undoubtedly massive. It was unlike anything Ioder had ever seen, far surpassing mother dragon, the bastards of the Brotherhood put Moonwing's rampage to shame. How on earth would the capital ever recover? How could the people forgive those responsible for such a bloody night? The aging wizard continued to fight as if his life depended on it, he and a handful survived the assaults of both Storm Veritas and Shinsou though it was now a fight for survival.

Ioder and the others had taken refuge behind a large pile of rubble, formerly the eastern barricade, as Shinsou advanced taking down the archers on the postern wall. Gingerly the spellsword peered from cover as the rest of the Brotherhood soldiers began to spill into the city following their general. Ioder looked back at the twenty-five or so soldiers still standing behind him. He thought to himself that maybe three or four of them looked to be well enough to still make a stand, but the others wouldn't be much help. They had to do something or the city would fall, their moment was nigh.

“Ser,” one of the more wounded soldiers at Ioder’s command spoke up as he limped his way forward. “We’re not dumb, those sons of bitches are gonna kill us all at this rate.” He and the others looked up to Ioder as the captain gazed back at them knowing what was going to happen.

“What are you saying soldier?” Ioder said hearing the truth. He may have a chance but the others, he wouldn't be able to save them. “Have you all given up?”

“No Ser, if we all die tonight, then we will all die on our own terms.” the man said as he rose his sword high in the air as Philomel did on the wall. The others behind him did the same as they all accepted the reality of their grave situation. “I had my chance to flee, we all did, but what kind of men would that make us!”

“Brave words coming from the bruised bunch of ya, who am I to stomp on your spirits!” Ioder sais as he turned to face the horde of soldier stampeding beyond the rubble and into the city. He brought both his swords up to share the moment before wiping them violently to either side. He studied the enemy ranks, watching the bulk move past the eastern barricade and a number of thinner streams of men following behind. Though he had mastery over many arcane arts Ioder was never one for tactics, relying on others in most cases and executing their orders. But now it was his moment to lead, and he formulated a rudimentary strategy.

“As they begin to stagger we make our move, halt the forward movement of the supply lines, finish the work on the siege and see if that dirt dragon is still kicking about. If we even manage half of that then you will have all died with honor.” Ioder finished as he turned back to his men, determination in his eyes.

What happened next could only be described as a masterful display of complex spellcasting intertwined with ages of experience. Ioder from amidst a crimson glare vaulted over the rubble landing in the middle of brotherhood grunts slicing those closest to him asunder. His twin blades quickly made work of the surprisingly well equipt infantry, but who could really prepare for everything. As he slashed them down one by one dark ether leaked from his very soul hardening like plate mail over his skin. Finally, in an explosion of energy, he reared back his ancient dragon bone sword and with a mighty forward swipe let loose a volley of blades. Like ghosts, invisible swords flew from the tip of his masterwork weapon ending the lives of the enemies around him like a violent unblockable typhoon.

“Nows our chance, don't hold anything back!” he yelled as the others joined the fight. “Straight for the siege!”

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This post is subject to change as i struggled immensly writting it, will probably edit some things but the idea and spirit of it will not change so procede writting.

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For ages, Hayate had been a well-respected authority in Akashima, the head of a powerful merchant clan and league of assassins, yet today he had been reduced to this. A man standing by a cause he doesn’t believe in, guilty of atrocities he never foresaw himself doing, and nearly beyond redemption. In the eyes of the government, he was a traitor and rebel, a sworn sword of the Brotherhood an enemy of the state. He didn’t think much better of himself at this point but for some unearthly reason, none of that mattered. In this very moment with the world seemingly ending around him the young son of Akashima had only one desire. The past few years have been building up to this moment and despite how much he wanted to finish his mission it was drifting farther and farther from his first priority. Hayate saw himself in the eyes of the young orphans; it hadn’t been that long since he was in their shoes.

“Run along now, keep all your friends here and the mean guys outside won’t touch ya. You have my word. “The shinobi said as he caught a glimpse of a stranger approaching him from behind. “It looks like I have a friend to talk to.”

He introduced himself as a paladin working with the capital in a very similar fashion as he did. After a moment Hayate considered himself grateful that he hadn’t been found out as Brotherhood general. He had assumed that would have been relatively common knowledge and he was already working with borrowed time but it seemed that while the Imperials and Radasanthian guard were up to date the others weren’t. At least, for now, it meant he had a chance to breathe before he would have to finally decide how he wanted this whole thing to end.

“You’re here to protect the people, as am I, but do you really know what that means? Any moment now the Brotherhood is going to march their happy asses up the street and gut every last one of us. You know what it means to stand here; you know the risks as I do.” Hayate said as he walked past the paladin. His heavy metal army brushing the stranger as he did, an unintentional accident. “It not much but when the time comes we will have to lay down our lives to defend them because they cannot do it themselves. The star overhead was merely a single flare for them; they have no intention of halting until the entire assembly kneels to them. You understand we are just a stepping block before them.” The more he talked the more he felt sick over all the crap he had already done to help propagate this massacre.

He ushered for the paladin to follow him as he once again dawned his hood to hide while he pasted the guards. They didn’t pay him any mind anyway but it was more of a habit at this point. The steel keep was massive and well-fortified, but with the main forces were still a good ways out so the front gate wasn’t yet completely closed off. Maybe they didn’t expect them to get this far, or they had it open to help out the last citizen as they came seeking help. Either way, Hayate knew what he had to do, and what it would mean for him when the time came. Standing with his face turned up to gaze upon the crimson sky the Shinobi was ready. He didn’t know who or what would come his way first but the Brotherhood had to be stopped and held accountable.

The blood will stain their hands forever, his included, he thought as the Steel Keep closed behind him.

Stupid. So goddamned stupid.

Storm swore at himself as he turned his body to land sprawled and flat on the thatch roof of the building, tucking his chin and widening his hands and feet to soften the impact. The straw like material would have been quite comfortable, had it been made of sturdier goods. Instead, he felt it yield immediately, as only his left arm and left calf caught the weight-supporting ballast beam beneath him. The impact stung dully but did not stop him, instead twisting the wizard as he begin a spinning fall some seventeen feet from the roof of the two story building.

In the madness, he couldn’t process the noise or the sulfuric odor, the intense heat in the room not registering amidst so much fire. His vision dominated his senses, scouring desperately for what lay below and where he might aim his fall.

Spread of dirt there, tuck and tumble.

It was a smith’s shop, and he nimbly hit the ground in a fast forward roll. In truth, his shoulder struck earth first, his body rotating rapidly to diminish the impact event and save his old bones. The roll took him forward, before crashing hard into a dense mass of granite upon which an anvil had been situated. His hips and legs crashed hard into the unyielding materials, an immediate burn yelping at him from all over his body.

No time to wait. Get out. Get out now. They’re coming.

The weary, experienced electromancer could sense something was sprained and would slow him, and that his knees and hips and ankles would creak at him for months to come. For now, his priority was simply ensuring there were months to come, and a handful of Radasanth’s royal army had arrived at the doorway to end his reign of terror. The inhabitants of the smith shop pointed him out immediately, two women and two children pointing short, thin fingers at the intruder. Veritas was still very disoriented, unsure of his bearings, and physically drained from his colossal magic attack only moments before.

Window.

The soldiers saw the window before the intruder did, their eyes betraying their advantage as they correctly predicted the next move for the wounded man. There was one alternative way out, and they spotted it even faster than he could. It was a race, then, which his life depended on. Without a word, the magician was up and sprinting, or running as fast as the newfound limp in his leg would bear. There was no time to debate whether the soldiers had crossbows, and no energy to ward them off with magic. He was four strides in front of them when he came within leaping distance of the large, wide window, which was reinforced with only a simple wooden cross.

Sadly, glass does not crumble mercifully or gently. The cracking, shrieking sound of yielding glass was accompanied by deep, sharp burns as the edges of the glass tore at his head, hands, and scruff of the neck. His mesh armor protected the remainder of his body from all but pain as he fell through the window, crashing harder still upon the cobblestone outside. He would have a few scarce seconds to gather himself as fires burned about him, people running through the streets to either loot, try to reinforce the front gates, or escape the northern gates away from the oncoming forces. Even with the madness about him, there was no hiding his recent, murderous celebrity.

Gods damn it.

Storm’s eyes had caught a thick steel manhole cover four feet from his battered, beaten frame. His next move had been delivered to him, and it was a terrible one.

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Bunnies approved

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It felt so wrong. Fallen soldiers, Brotherhood and Assembly that all slumped against shattered buildings and lay amongst the blood-soaked debris, sung to Shinsou a harrowing accompaniment as he slowly, almost reluctantly, walked towards the one he had loved. Wails of the dying on both sides followed the Telgradian’s every step, but despite the chill in every one of his tensed muscles, his arcanely-attuned senses that could have stretched for an eternity around him could still only focus one on person.

Philomel. She was the Faun that had been the center of his life, the woman he trusted most. The woman that he loved most. She, and her familiars and all of her cherished Gilded Lily had been looking for him on the field, he was sure. Or, was that sheer arrogance? Did he believe that he would still be the focus of everything she did here, just so he could retain some relevance, some importance in her eyes, whether friend or enemy? She probably knew they would meet, but the faun probably never wanted to see him again.

Shinsou found himself questioning his own thoughts, now, but it no longer mattered. They, the Faun and her Lily personal guard, had found him. Or, more accurately, destiny had brought them together, and now there was no more time to contemplate what was or what might be.

The first of Philomel’s number loomed from within the clinging smoke, a silhouette in front of a crimson backdrop of fire. Her emerald eyes burned from behind a mask of ashen black soot, framed by wild red hair. Tall and powerful, she loomed malevolently over her diminutive opponent, an iron blade beckoning the Telgradian towards his doom. He needed no second invitation. The force of his Hakai’s powers dragged him forward, granting him great speed. Carving the air before him, Enpera Shinkotei’s edge shimmered with marbled jet and purple power until suddenly it was arrested by the shearing impact of metal through metal. As her sword bifurcated through its shaft, the woman’s eyes flickered in panic.

You…

Shinsou suddenly recognized her as one of the higher ranking Lily girls; one who he himself had once helped in days gone by, but one whose name he could now not recall. Somewhere deep within him, a pang of emotion sparked to life; a remnant of familiarity. The cold urge to extinguish her life warmed, and instead of delivering the obvious killing blow the Telgradian extended his left palm to reveal a powerful green light. The severing void, as he called it, was meant for protection but was also a powerful stunning tool in close contact. With a thunderous crack, the light both exploded and disintegrated in an instant, and the Lily warrior’s legs folded underneath her. She was unconscious, but still very much alive, and as Shinsou gazed upon her he questioned himself again. He could have killed her. He should have done, but he didn’t. Why? Because of some false hope that it would make things better in Philomel’s eyes? Or was it because he himself had felt that his resolve to wage war against her, to see through the annihilation of everyone in the Brotherhood’s way, was perhaps not as resolute as first thought?

The spellsword turned, wary of the glares that converged on him from Philomel and her contingent up on the wall’s interior. They would not see what he had done as any sort of act of goodwill or kindness, but instead exactly the kind of thing he was getting a reputation for. They would hate him. Shinsou was used to being the object of ire for many people, but why did her hate hurt so much?

“She will live,” The Telgradian shouted over the cacophony in the background, “…and so will the other girls. No-one else has to be involved, here, Philomel, and I know I have no right to ask this, but please afford me one last selfish request. Come down from the wall and finish this with me, here and now. No-one else needs to die for us.”

Even his once firm tone had wavered into something slightly more submissive. The progressive grimness of the scenery had been matched only by the growing sense of hopelessness, and Shinsou’s senses were assaulted by a barrage of emotions as the Faun considered, with an expression somewhere between misery and rage, the request. As she did, a two hundred strong Lily contingent that now fortified beyond the gate considered their options with the Telgradian, before their princess stood and barked a command that lost itself in the wind. Almost immediately, they stood to attention obediently, forming a corridor through which she could descend to the street.

Finally, Philomel’s remaining quintet parted to allow their princess through, alone, and with a mighty leap she landed perfectly on her hooves with her trademark nameless at her side. As the remaining quint gathered around them in a circle, the oppressive veils of darkness enveloped Radasanth.

“This could have been so different, Shinsou. You’ve ruined everything; this country, your vision, and worst of all you ruined us.”

Philomel’s voice grated on every nerve ending in his body, abrasively silky, gratingly smooth. It seeped into his mind from every pore, every opening, every weakness; it lingered like a malignant tumour, feeding on the fear that festered there. Overwhelmingly sickened by the cloying, heady stench of death that hung in the atmosphere, Shinsou’s narrowly slit eyes peered at her sadly. He had no retort this time, other than to let go of it all. It felt like death to hear it. He knew their differences were now irreconcilable, because while he believed in his vision of a better world, and Storm Veritas, and even himself, Philomel had just confirmed his worst fear; that there could be no more belief in them.

Danzetsu.

Supernatural blacks smouldered with barely suppressed power as everything around Shinsou whipped into a furious twister of arcane energies. Once the fog of smoke and electricity rolled away, the Telgradian’s physical form stood for all to see. It defied mortal comprehension; impossibly beautiful musculature, eternally intimidating visage complete with black eyes and waist length hair. The four remaining Lily were arrayed in formation about him, their weapons held in silent salute, and Philomel’s armour whistling forlornly in the wind. But for all that, it was the Telgradian’s sheer force of will that dominated the scene.

“I love you. I’m sorry.”

Without waiting for his words to die, Shinsou struck. He danced over Radasanth’s broken cobbles like a puppet on strings, synchronizing his movements perfectly with Philomel’s despite the tight quarters created by the surrounding Lily Quint. Only when he was close enough to see the very pupils of his beloved was the Telgradian able to force his body into a swing with Enpera Shinkotei. Pure adrenaline overpowered the Faun’s overwhelming presence. She instinctively ducked the first cross-sweep from the left, evaded the downwards swing from the right by leaping backwards half a step, and pre-empted the third stroke by lashing out with nameless, the slender, beautiful blade clanging Enpera harmlessly away.

A scarred red glint now hung unnaturally large and heavy in the pitch-black sky, grey clouds scurrying away from it like frightened mice. Aghast all of the chaos and carnage below, little heed was paid to it.

Walls shattered and people howled. Bodies fell and mages wrought magical destruction. Longbowmen protected their walls as much as they were able, as the assault continued, despite all that the Assembly combined forces tried.

Somewhere a wingless dragon moaned, and his head reared up out of the ground. He met the eyes of the angelic warrior called Ioder, blinking and recognising him as friend. Wounds still bled, and the steel skin of Delath still could not hold back all the weapons of the Brotherhood army. But he growled, and he took what help he could, and turned back towards the seige engines. They clattered, though already severely diminished, and continued to fling rocks into the air, continued to thunk large bolts against the walls of the city. He huffed, and his tail rose out of the earth as a whip of energy as he then glanced over to the city, and heard the screams of the people. Tilting his head at Ioder Delath roared softly, waiting for the beautiful being to form a plan.

For the dragon was willing for anything.

Elsewhere a beastly being who had not been seen all battle long burst into existence. He had not been here, but rather had been holding the forces at Tylermerande. Another battle, another world, another devious tactic. All by these people whom once the Gilded Lily had deigned to call friends. And now ... Now.

Now they threatened everything they held dear. They threatened the livelihoods, the happiness and the families of those who had fought hard to earn them, and who trusted in their faun matriarch to protect that for them. Indeed, the brotherhood thought that they were doing good - extracting what they called a corrupt Assembly from their place. But what was better than democracy, even if it were just the early stages of that political ideal? Order and freedom were paramount, and the country had already been through a civil war.

Radasanth did not need a second war. And the people knew that. They remembered. They sang about it in their songs and spoke about it in the poems and stories which the creature who now arrived a thousand times before. Because he had spent a many long years with them. Because he had mourned with them. Because he was soul-bonded to the matriarch who had changed the rights of the whore throughout this, her birth city.

Philomel. She whose heart, already broken, had shattered like the great clashing of her swords now.

Clashing against the steel of the man she was in love with - but who had ripped her heart asunder.

"Why?" she cried, not for the second time as she fought her lover. "Why, why, why?"

But what answer was there to give but that which had been given before? They fought, equals, her speed more and far faster than any other creature alive, and his strength exceeding. But beyond that they were even in sword play, her two white blades even to his single, weaving around their skills and knowledge, keeping a rhythm in the same way they knew one another's bodies. And around them a quint of Lily Warriors, who ranged in weaponry and skill, all watching with beady eyes.

The creature stepped slowly from the ether, the portal closing beneath him as he rose from the depths. A small, red fox was he, with a long brush tail, and golden eyes. He watched his beloved Philomel scream in rage, dodge a blow and fight back with her own, feeling her heart ache and her deep sorrow through their connection.

Veridian the earth spirit watched the two familiar people fight, both on either side, both full of anger and frustration. He knew though, that this was her fight and hers alone, and thus he kept back like the Gilded Quint around them.

Somewhere hooves could be heard. Champion hooves as a great sudden surge of horses, the joint Assembly Cavalry, rode down the main street. They were led by a red suited captain, who blew on a great horn, riding a black stallion. Cantering, some galloping, they charged into the war, not stopping to ask as the two fighters and ex-lovers pressed their mettle against one another.

Philomel screamed in fury, tears running down her face as fast as the horses. She threw a heavy hoof down on the ground and an earthquake ran through the earth right at the one she had loved ... Shinsou fucking vaan Osiris. She hissed, Veridian hissed with her, ready to lunge and defend when she needed.

The Cavalry surged on, spilling into the main field through the broken gate to take what lives they could. At other breaches in the wall the Brotherhood came forth and the longbowmen retreated, signalling to the inner wall to prepare their own defences. Smaller but neater seige engines of their own. Bells rang out, calling for the city to empty, telling the people to find shelter, as above in the Steel Hall the Assembly itself still hid.

As Sebastian held onto his dagger. As Philomel cried her sorrows. As Veridian watched his beloved suffer. As Delath waited for the destiny of the city.

As the meteor grew closer to the world, and the real thing to fear in the world beyond war began to become clearer.

As Ioder and the few who could still fight charged towards the siege line he met eyes with the general’s mighty earth dragon and instantly could feel its struggle. Delath had done more for the capital than any soldier could on their own managing to destroy the majority of the Brotherhood’s siege. It was an absolute brutal sight, shattered trebuchets and ballista covered the earth, their crews fleeing or dead, all thanks to the work of one beast. Ioder knew the rest would be up to him and in an moment of quick thinking leaped over the earth dragon, releasing the nebula of energy from deep within him.

“Delath!” he yelled as he landed between the mighty beast and the remaining crews still firing unto the city. Shimmering vapor seeped from the wizard’s pores quickly enveloping him in a protective aura, a regenerating barrier as strong as damascus. “Retreat to your Matriarch, protect her with your very last breath. I’ll deal with the rest here.” The wizard turned and with a flick of his wrist a pool of his nebula formed underneath the beast slowly consuming it. By now he had witnessed Shinsou ascend to the walls and knew Philomel would be waiting for him. If nothing he would at least be able to do this.

Ioder turned his attention to the remaining stragglers still launching debris onto the city, his vision turned red and his breathing became short. He was afraid, everyone was afraid, this was war. And all war is hell and he would make sure that the Brotherhood wouldn’t forget what they did here. In a flash, the angelic soldier defied the very laws of gravity, levitating off the ground and launching himself straight towards the closest ballista. His swords Alessia and Helfa made quick work of the wooden siege cleanly bisecting it with ease. He tried not to listen to the crew’s cries as he freed them from the burden of life before moving with great speed to the next set.

The others who had been fighting with him thus far had all disappeared, likely with the dragon, leaving Ioder alone. He preferred it this way as the responsibility of leading was a distraction and now he could focus solely on stopping the siegecraft. One by one the angel destroyed the weapons and slowly but surely the constant bombardment on the city ceased. Not once did Ioder find himself in a situation that his speed or protective magic couldn’t conquer as he swiftly made his way across the backlines wiping out all of the Brotherhood’s support.

Elsewhere on the battlefield, the former lovers continued to dance the most deadly of dances. The earth crumbled and dark magic shook as everything else around the two vanished, the outside world was but a mere afterthought as they fought. Each represented a different ideology, a different vision for Corone. Philomel the paragon of Radasanth and Shinsou Vann Osiris were both right in their own way but neither could ever come to see that. This was reflected in their precise and evenly matched swordplay, neither holding back and refusing to give up even an inch.

Surrounding them was a torrent of armed cavalry pouring down the cobblestone threatening to trample any Brotherhood in sight. The longbowmen on the walls continued to release wave after wave of flying death, raining what hell they could on the shits below. Between the imperial army, the city guard, and the lily they finally appeared to have gotten an upper hand against the massive Brotherhood force. Though not at all without sustaining monumental defeats and loss of life, a pain that the capital will likely never fully recover from.

Then suddenly as if another layer madness needed to be intertwined into this whole mess above the quarreling ex-lovers, a rift opened about forty feet in the air. And from the magical gate erupted Delath, dropping down behind Philomel ready to join the fight and finally bring an end to this horrid night. Would the bloodbath truely end if Shinsou were to be defeated, was it even possible to stop him? With the star in the sky as it is, was there even a point in trying?

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“When the dust settles and we look back,
will we be okay with what we see?"

”End Times Alaska” by Craig Martelle

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Isolated and chased by soldiers looking to end his life and put the ultimate trophy upon their walls, Storm Veritas was desperate. He knew the feeling of broken ribs, and the salty, coppery taste in his mouth that indicated internal bleeding. His body was dying, and the carnage in the streets didn’t care to show the villain mercy or quarter. The sewer before him looked familiar; it was the same subterranean labyrinth he had used to escape after killing one of Radasanth’s Great Lords, a lifetime ago. He could hide, recover his electrical abilities, and perhaps charge the entire underbelly of the city with one horrible, fantastic blast of magnetic energy.

Sons of bitches won’t scatter, I wonder what happens when hell reaches up from the floor beneath them?

It was a terribly brilliant plan that was interrupted as the wizard moved quickly yet erratically, a truly desperate and broken thing. The red star that had grown before them was no astrological abnormality, but rather a meteor, and its approach had seemed slow, steady, and patient. From its great distance thousands of miles away, the warriors paid little attention. What they all failed to realize was the exponential growth that came with a massive, moon-sized weapon rocketing above Althanas at over ten miles per second would appear. The dot became a moon, which became a planet within a minute, and only the bizarre reflective white glow from the giant rock stopped the battle.

Gods…

The meteor rocketed above Althanas, missing it by several miles, or cosmically a fraction of an eyelash. For a few fleeting seconds, night turned to day as men and women warriors shielded their eyes from the sun’s strong reflections. None of them were prepared for the meteorite shower to follow the of the great meteor, as thousands of fist-sized molten stones raced toward the earth like the most horrific siege fire the world has ever seen. Straight over Radasanth this long stretch of scattered carnage, as concussive blasts raced in a rough line, a wave breaking thinner on either side of fire and brimstone.

Storm’s eyes widened from their light-scorched squint, catching the tail of fire ripping a path across the hills north of Radasanth, where many had already run. Thinking quickly, he scrambled for the sewer grate, struggling to find the top of the smelly, metal cap. He gasped for air and strength as he ignored the pain, his fingers finding nothing to grip. With what little magic he had available he pulsed the sewer cap upwards, allowing his fingers to get a firm hold on the bottom of the cap. Mouth agape, he looked at the oncoming soldiers, hearing the mix of screams, shrieks, and panic that accompanied the oncoming wave. The Brotherhood’s multi-year coup now seemed so inconsequential.

“What are you waiting for? Get the fuck in here!”

Storm’s long, sinewy muscles wrenched the circular cap aside, a satisfying thud as it cracked cobblestones aside it. The soldiers still held their swords, but they were lowered, and the men jogged forward in a convergence of fear, disbelief and panic. Their prize pelt would wait. As they moved forward, the tall, thin man disappeared into the darkness below. The devil before them was certainly less frightening than the one from the north. They quickly hopped down as the roar of explosions continued to pound the earth, closing fast on Radasanth.

Storm extended his hand to the man, pulling the first soldier into the subway in a large lead pipe, illuminated by his glowing hand. “Come in, duck in the pipe. Make peace with your Gods, if you choose to pray.” They hesitated only momentarily and then did, and the three men were bunkered in as untold chaos screamed above them. The whistling of rocks coming down, the crashing sounds of blasting, and one rock even crashed into the earth north of them, causing a stalactite of rock and earth near the manhole opening just fifty feet from them. Hell’s arrival also brought a terrible heat. No sooner had the reflective light of the passing apocalypse moved away than the heat began to follow, a growing wave of foul, stagnant air that at first warmed a cool air, and escalated into overwhelming heat. The sewer was already warm, but became oppressive within seconds.

His light still lit, Veritas examined the faces of the men beside him. A blend of horror, anger, and gratitude paralyzed them, as the instinct to run him through for his misdeeds was held back only by the uncertainty of what the world had just become. Did these men have families that were possibly killed in their escape? Brothers he had murdered atop the wall? Wordless, they simply shared a short gaze, waiting on the pounding above them to end. The elder magician heard the shower begin to pass, the heat relieving slightly. He spoke nervously, his hand moving from a simple glow of white to a rippling ball of energy, which caught their attention.

“I know you probably want to kill me, and I don’t blame you. Let me be. Let me run and help you rebuild. If we survive this, Althanas will need Radasanth again.”

He began to back away towards the opening they had descended, planning to show them a way out and dash to his right, east into the darkness. It was at this time that a second, impossibly loud explosion changed the world. Unbeknownst to them all, a massive volcano by Lornius had just erupted, filling the night sky with heat, ash, and liquid fire.

When Storm dashed away, the men didn’t give chase.

All things came to an end when the heel of god scraped the outer edge of Althanas’ atmosphere bringing with it a blinding light and scorching air. The massive celestial body’s mass was great enough to assert such a force it rendered the Shinobi to one knee as it blazed past. All Hayate could do was use his tattered shroud to cover his face and prey to the Thaynes as he readied himself for certain death. Those of the battalion guarding the keep who were quick enough too used something to protect their airways from the thick burning air were lucky. Those who didn't fell quickly as their insiders roasted with every breath.

The earth began to quake and rumble as the very foundation of the city threatened to give under the meteors’ immense pressure. The city began to fail as the structural integrity of the Keep and many other buildings appeared to be near their breaking points. The first to fall was the northern lighthouse overlooking the merchant’s port, followed closely behind by a number of connected shops and buildings towards the center of the city near the last known location of Storm Veritas. And as the light and roaring of the meteor faded with each passing second Hayate dared to look. He slowly pulled back his cloak and opened his eyes. The light stung but he persevered through the pain though what he saw next would forever be etched in his psyche.

While the meteor hadn’t struck Althanas, grazing by just barely in the grand scheme of things, it did bring destruction and chaos. Hayate stood in disbelief as he tried to fathom what he was seeing. A molten sky trailed behind the meteor, raining down cannonball sized hell on the country indiscriminately. He could feel the collective terror of the city as one by one the survivors noticed and yet could do nothing to stop what was about to come. There was nothing in the world that could prepare one for something like this.

Nows the time Hayate, I don't care what was said before, you have to or you're going to die. Give me control and ill do what I can to save you, those children, and this whole forsaken city.

The shinobi, while afraid and confused, snapped back into action assessing the situation as his hand quickly darted to the hilt of his Nodachi. His lips parted as he uttered his blades release command and in one swift motion, Hayate drew his massive blade from its hilt on his back. He wiped it in a violent crescent as the magic within swelled, shattering the blade into innumerable pieces. The fragments of his sword culminated in a crimson mire at his feet about a meter in diameter. From the ooze sinewus membraines retched, attaching themselves like leeches to Hayate skin. The red pustules congregated until they manifested into the torso of a twenty-foot tall Shogun clad in ethereal armor.

The Corpse King dropped its skeletal jaw as it unleashed a blood curdling scream finally revealing himself to be on the battlefield. This wasn't the way he had wanted to do it but now wasn't the time for that. This sent those around him crying and running, including the Paladin, as they couldn't help but be frightened after witnessing all the chaos unfolding. Hayate, suspended within The Corpse King’s translucent chest cavity, watched as Yamato piloted their combined form up the outside of the keep. The arms of the beast making great reaches from one level to the next, its eyes dead set on a larger than average meteorite heading directly for the tallest tower of the structure.

Violently the monster made its way to the top unimpeded by any of the troops stationed on the ascending levels. They were either overwhelmed by the literal hell raining down on them or he himself but either way, they dared not incur the titan’s wrath. As they arrived at the top of the highest tower The Corpse King raised one hand to the sky, clawing a tear between realms and drawing from it a mighty crimson blade. The titan’s gaze never left the molten debris as it readied itself for the perfect moment, for they would only have one shot at this. With precision timing they lept into the air bringing their mighty weapon downward in a crescent slash, slicing the meteorite it two sending them colliding harmlessly to the ground on either side of the keep. Successfully The Corpse King had defended the Steel Keep from the largest of its threats.

”Hell is empty and all the devils are here.” – William Shakespeare

Shinsou, dark eyes flickering between his once-beloved Philomel and the ground beneath her hooves, flinched as a ear-splitting roar erupted from the ground beneath her ferocious stomp. Despite his familiarity with the Faun’s geomancery, the anticipation of the magic did nothing to suppress the Telgradian’s awe of it. He grimaced as the resulting airburst from the spell violently thrusted a powerful tsunami of earth in the Telgradian’s direction, creasing the concrete of the road like fabric and popping the smooth Radasanthian cobbles a hundred at a time. Even with the power of his Danzetsu at his disposal, the Telgradian still had to react and Shinsou now had only a second to think about how to avoid having his body shredded by the earthly onslaught.

The only way was forwards, he quickly determined, into and up the wave.

His legs pumped as Shinsou tackled the crest of earth one quick stride at a time. He ran like a madman, the ground literally cracking beneath his feet, his lungs heaving for air as he dashed across the exploding stone. The coat about his rune-covered body billowed in the wind, and one hand held down Enpera to keep it from slipping from his grip. His thin black robes clung to his taut frame, travel-worn but clean; like a swift-running ghost. One final leap allowed him to reach a point only a second before the breaking crest of the wave of earth.

It was then he outstretched his palm and snapped open a glowing portal. He could only use his Rift Phase once, so he knew he had to make it count.

It was now or never.

As the wave of debris broke and cascaded across a torn-asunder Radasanth, the portal consumed the remnants of the transformed Telgradian and phased him out of the physical plane just before the earth took him. There, within the marble ether of the parallel plane, he stopped, gasping for breath as he took in the scene. Peering into the physical plane through the rift was like being underwater, but he could make out intricate details of the destruction. A nearby building close to the wall lay in ruins at the behest of Philomel’s earthquake. The overgrown alleyways that encompassed it were now so full of rubble that Shinsou could only barely pick out what had been there before, and only because he knew where to look.

He turned back to look at Philomel through the ether, finding the time to calm his lungs. It wouldn’t be long before she realized what had happened; her beautiful eyes were scanning the aftermath of the quake dutifully, almost tenaciously, trying to determine whether Shinsou had been devoured by the earth’s wake. He knew he didn’t have much time left in the “other world” before the portal back to Althanas closed for good, which would trap him indefinitely in non-space. Urgently, Shinsou studied the surroundings for a suitable re-entry point, somewhere where he could step back through the portal and land a surprise blow with Enpera to finish the fight. He didn’t want to kill her; it had to be a decisive but non-fatal blow. He belligerently urged the marble membrane to bend to his whim and, with careful regard for his surroundings, started to create a portal back to the physical plane.

It was then that the collective ignorance of the unusual star in the distance came to reap.

To this day, no-one was really sure whether the fire or the bellowing sound of the furies of hell came first, but what was universally accepted by those that survived was that the gods had decided to rain down Armageddon upon Radasanth; Brotherhood or not. As suddenly as the coming of flash floods, the sky was subjugated by an unholy deluge of numerous trails of smoke and fire; accompanied by the ungodly screams of superheated rock in re-entry. Several of the deadly projectiles pounded the exterior lands of Radasanth into a drab muddle, razing earthy fields that had been waiting for rice planting, pummeled the low-lying hills such as the ones that contained Whitevale, and flattened the ever-present Brotherhood and Assembly forces skirmishing outside of the Radasanthian walls. Those not caught up in the apocalyptic scene panicked; their confused voices querying the source of this terrible catastrophe from somewhere above their heads.

Such was the shock of the reality in front of him that Shinsou simply froze from within the ether, open mouthed and wide eyed as seemingly endless numbers of flaming debris rendered the sky asunder above him.

This isn’t strategic magic…No-one on the planet is this powerful! What in the seven hells is going on?!

Reverting from his Danzetsu state back to his regular form, Shinsou anxiously studied the skyline above the Radasanthian wall through his interdimensional viewscreen before locking his eyes on death itself. The largest of the smoldering projectiles barreled towards them with terrifying velocity, bellowing a furious sonic roar. For the first time in a long time, true fear gripped the Telgradian; although he was impervious to damage while in the parallel dimension, he was running out of time before his window of opportunity to leave closed. More worryingly, Philomel was right in the firing line. Shinsou’s emotions ravaged his mind; his hand already instinctively, and pointlessly, gripped the hilt of his sword as he screamed equally as pointlessly into the membrane’s ‘window’.

“PHI! GET THE FUCK OUT OF THERE, NOW!”

It was useless. Sound could not travel between the two worlds, and the Telgradian watched helplessly as two of the Gilded Quint walked meekly to be within Philomel’s wake, concentrating on keeping her safe; one stumbled tall and thin, pale with her exertions, whilst the other limped slightly on her right foot. As they stood ready by their princess’s side, the cart sized meteorite shard soared low overhead, its flaming trail indiscriminately setting the rooftops of nearby houses ablaze, before smashing into the center of the city with such force that the surrounding buildings failed and collapsed in on themselves. As powerful as the Faun and her Gilded Quint guard were, there was no way to stop the avalanche of deadly debris and, with a final collective cry, the ruins of a broken city entombed the object of Shinsou’s ire and his heart.

***

As the dust settled and the portal back to the world snapped shut behind him, the Telgradian’s consciousness returned with a start, and he almost leapt upright in his haste to re-establish his mind in the devastated world around him. Two minutes of carnage had changed everything; there was no longer a Brotherhood, an Assembly, a siege or a goal. There was no longer any heed paid by anyone to revolution or revenge. As he stumbled through the twisted wreckage of masonry, Shinsou’s mind wandered only to the human debris amongst the ruins of Radasanth. Staggering around the town, scattergun, were rubber legged men and women from both sides of the battle. Many of them were traumatized by the sudden deific strike, so much so that they simply stared at each other and into the sky in anticipation of a second biblical volley. A few of them had started to return to their senses, had taken off their colors and armor and had begun attending to the wounded indiscriminately, recognizing that their differences were absolutely immaterial in the face of such a catastrophe.

Philomel…

As if someone had thrown a cool glass of water into his face, the Telgradian suddenly remembered the Faun trapped below the rubble, and Storm Veritas lost somewhere within the city limits. Shinsou could still feel Storm’s energy, and thankfully it was moving away from the city at a rate of knots, but nothing for the dragon. Being linked as they were, the Telgradian expected Delath to turn up at any second to aid his mother, but Shinsou knew what not being able to sense the dragon meant; likely that the strike had taken the poor creature out, and therefore meaning that their best hope of shifting the debris now lay with him. Quickly, Shinsou loosened his coat and piled his belongings alongside him, before mustering every remaining ounce of strength left in his body.

“Hakai: Enpera Shinkotei…”

The incantation allowed him further strength, but so drained was the Telgradian’s stamina that it didn’t even give him access to his full power. He could feel the barely functioning magic ebb away at a much faster rate than he was used to, but he had no choice.

It would have to do.

“Philomel? I’m coming, if you can hear me, I’m coming.” His voice begged, still nursing wounded pride. The only thing he could think about now was her well-being. With his muscles augmented with the power of his Hakai, Shinsou channelled every drop of will into clearing the large debris pile. His charred and blistered hands fell to each jagged piece of stone and heaved the wreckage up chunk by chunk. Worrying moments passed as each granite slab moved without revealing anything living, before finally a large section of wall moved to reveal a weakly grasping hand. Shinsou’s golden eyes came back into focus, and he clutched tightly at it.

“…I’ve got you, Phi. I’ve got you. I’ll get you out, you’re going to be fine.” He finally managed to gasp, not at all convinced by his own optimism. The Brotherhood’s co-leader swung some more slabs over the side of the pile, digging further into the filthy heap of rubble. It was then that thoughts of their conflict crept in to the back of his mind. He could have lost her. He may have already lost her, and that thought made him feel only like retching. It took another long while before the rubble receded enough for a dirty, bloodied but conscious face to appear.

Philomel’s face.

Shinsou leaned close, his handsome features showing a mixture of regret and relief. He looked into her eyes, one hand held behind her neck to support her head, and leant his forehead onto hers.

“I’m here, Philomel. I’m here.”

As the survivors of the deadly disaster began to search for survivors around him, the Telgradian began to dig the Faun and her Gilded Quint out of the debris field that had once represented the homes of the very people he had come to rule. Surrounded by a new world that no-one had asked for, Shinsou Vaan Osiris pondered the irony of it all.

Quote:

---

Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs,
Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes,
Being vexed, a sea nourished with lovers' tears.
What is it else? A madness most discreet,
A choking gall and a preserving sweet.
-- William Shakespeare, "Romeo and Juliet | Act 1, Scene 1"

---

.

Pain was a firm reality.

Agony, suffering, terror; these were the primary emotions and physical feelings that thundered through her body. Around her the world fell apart, a hundred humanoid sized bullets made of rock, concrete and tiles rippled down upon the fighting arena they had made from the crossroads. The world was torn asunder, the buildings around them exploding, far more powerful than the earthquake she had created.

That had not caused this much violence. That could.not have - she knew her powers too well and had directed the flow to only aim for him, ripping up just the few feet of cobbles and wall ... Instead the buildings had exploded and fallen about her like rain. Like hailstones.

And a cry: "My lady! My lady - no!"

Beloved! she heard in her mind, a jagged, wretched scream of a voice. And it was a scream. One that rose, clawed into the air, apexed - then died.

Died. Something hard hit her leg, and she vehemently tried to fight the falling debris as the echo of Veridian flickered around her mind. His essence fell apart, and she felt an excruciating tug at her heart as his small and easily manipulatable body was crushed beneath a rock. She let out a scream as she felt his soul leave hers, wrenched mercilessly away. No sooner had she begun to yell, however, than dust rose and filtered into her throat. She began to choke.

Strong. She was strong. But not enough for the falling world. She could barely register that on her leg as more building fell and fire rose. Whum, like a torrent.

Arm, torso, hip - and finally -

Mother! Another screech, another mind connected to hers. Going dead, going black. Ended, not dead, but unconcious as the thing assaulted her dragon, killed her soul-partner Veridian and trapped her - pinned her -

Arm. Body. Head. The world went black as she heard the yells and cries of those who had devoted themselves to defend her resound in her ears. Heart heavy, the Matriarch and General was defeated by a splinter of a meteor that should have destroyed the world.

* ~ *

Or not defeated.

Because despite the agony, despite the death, despite Delath's early burial, she still had a hero. A hero who was the villain in this tale, a man she swore she hated beyond anything, but who was the one to drag her out of that hell pit and save her from the end of life.

Holding her close, as a lover would do. One who loved, not hated. One who was enamoured, not disgusted. One who would kiss her ...

"I'm here ..." She felt him leave, move away as he scrambled across the wreckage over what had been their battleground. Weakly, as she struggled to sit up - Drys, everything hurt - and was sure something was broken. Her eyes looked over what had been streets, the houses and a tavern, and saw only horror.

Radsanth, in ruins. Or partly so. Areas, where the meteor's splinters had struck, likes hers, lying in rubble, and others standing tall, covered in a mild layer of dust. A section of the wall had collapsed, an area of the downtown. A brothel, she knew well and ran, was all but ruins, and amongst them ...

The old palace still stood. And the Hall, where the Assembly were holed up, thank the gods. Still bold, still strong. And it seemed ... Well.

The catapults were not shooting. The horses of the Radasanth Cavalry were not pounding. The mages were not firing. Either dead, surrendered or given up, it seemed that the fighting had ended. At least for now.

Veridian was dead, but she knew he would be back, born under that tree where they met. Delath was down, and she could see his tail lying still. Her soldiers, the Quint, she had heard people whisper, only just being uncovered by him - Shinsou. They gasped into breathable air again and - and -

Fuck, her arm hurt. She looked hazily down, blinking consciousness back. Her shoulder was crooked, thrust back into some unnatural form. Dislocated, she surmised, and she ground her teeth as she grabbed the dead arm with her one at worked. Taking in a breath she paused before yanking on it, and more pain - agony!

She screamed into the sky. "Fuck!"

And it was lucky that her body was caked in dust. For it worked, magically, as she slumped back and breathed, feeling the broken ribs and the ripped muscle in her calf. She swallowed hard, letting the power take over her form, her eyes following him who she had sworn to kill. Sworn to end for all this.

Who had saved her life.

"Hey asshole," she huffed loudly at him, as the first of her Quint began to make her way over to her. "We need to talk."

* ~ *

In the Hall Sebastian gasped as he saw the monster slice the splinter in half. He leant out the window, knife in hand, watching the battle end and the world fall into an era of mourning and loss. Oh yes, they knew of the ashcloud, but now Radsanth knew of the meteor that had barely scraped by the globe, and had instead burnt up in the atmosphere, sending shrapnel of terror down onto an unexpecting, warring city.

He chewed his lip as he saw the giant of a metallic samurai land, and change. Folding in on itself, shimmering and shifting into something resembling just a human. A being who had sent the rock aiming for the Hall in two other directions, where it had landed and caused lesser damage, but saved the Assembly and those beings that they had been protecting. The children and the refugees.

He watched as murmurs came, then people began to point. A crowd quickly began to gather and guards who were shaken from the awful circumstances swarmed into view. They looked at the man of honour, looked at what he had done. Saw his face, his features and his clothes -

And a name came. Was spoken, then shouted. "Hayate. Hayate Amatsukame!"

A name he recognised. That Philomel had uttered when the battle lines were being drawn. An enemy, in connection and alliance with the Brotherhood, who was wanted.

"Damn, a hero and a villain."

Sebastian pushed away from the window and began to run. As he did he gestured to three guards with his knife. "You, you and you, with me," he ordered as the member of the Assembly, a leader of Corone, took to the stairs. His heart pounded. He could not let the crowd kill this man. He was a hero ... But also wanted.

By the time he had gotten to the world outside, a world thick with dusty air and destruction, he was running, the three knights following after him. The crowd around Hayate by this time was strong and Sebastian could not tell if the man was still there - or gone.

"Draw back!" he ordered, knowing that he had exposed himself, but also knowing that if he died it would not be a loss. There were always others, and now his wife was with child ...

"Draw back, and let me see him!"

The ringing in his ears had grown omnipresent as the aged, fatigued wizard pushed through the tunnels. He had used his original bearings to get a feel for where “east” would be, and did his level best to chase a path that way back to his men. The banging of meteorite strikes above had faded, but the banging and crashing of chaos just above him had certainly not fully abated. What horrors echoed their way down into the gridlocked sewer system were things he cared not think of, including the burning smell of flesh and clear mix of blood and oil spilling through the grates above him, as machine and people alike had been broken in the great, terrible battle.

Keep pushing. Get out. If they find you down here, your limbs will be posted on the corners of town.

When Storm Veritas reached the southern gate, the wreckage above him was nothing short of an abomination. The sewer system was opened to the skies above indiscriminately, torn open and wide into the all-consuming entropy. He ducked back, scouring the site for an escape path, horrified by the ease of the thing. The ground here was no longer green; the grassy gates were some amalgamation of a red-brown and black, the stained blood and fire displacing signs of life. Scattered brick, rock, and bodies were splayed across the earth like flotsam upon the sea; Brotherhood men and Radsanth guards alike showing no immunity from the horrors. Piles of humanity were often burning, scattered and flamed from meteorite strikes, and a thick haze of smoke lay a blanket of cover some five feet above the ground.

Gods.

The wizard rushed to wrap a cloth from his satchel across his face, firmly pulling taut the cloth to filter his breath and disguise him, for what his long physique and grey-speckled hair didn’t disclose. There was life here, but it was composed of men running away, still leaving the battlefield in trickles, as the heaviest wave of men had long since abandoned the site. He began to move from the opened sewer pipe, climbing gently off the small rockslide that had torn it apart. Smoke pushed up through the earth from the meteorites below that had caused this particular orifice, and the thick layer of dirt and rock that fell upon those hellstones remained hot and foul.

His ribs ached, the sounds about him still muddled in the buzz, a tinny ring from his head that would not subside. His body hurt, and he would take inventory of these injuries later. The electromancer was certainly not alone. Pushing forward, he tried to spy the ground about him, terrified to find a familiar face, knowing the odds were impossible that he had not lost someone dear. Of all the men he’d sent to death, there were two souls that dominated his mind.

Seamus. Shinsou. Tell me you two fools made it out.

There were broken things everywhere about him. Siegecraft, horses, men, even giants were sprawled all about him, with no rhyme or reason to tell their story. Some groaned, most did not. Most of them stared off towards their personal infinity with complete indifference to a missing arm, or lower half, or the presence of arrows through their head, neck, and chest. Their blood pooled together in one show of unity, a pond-sized puddle of blood which had saturated the earth, leaving a thick, greasy film of brown behind. Pushing out towards what used to be camp, Veritas tried to lift a fallen soldier, lending the badly burned young man from the arm.

“No. No, please. No. I can’t. Please.” Short, desperate gasps came from the soldier in a breath forced at full strength, registering just above a whisper. A longer glance upon the man exposed his tragic reality; his legs and hips were crushed by his horse, who had made the final journey in the madness. The once-round torso had been grotesquely mutated into something concave, and he covered his injuries in fear and shame. It was fatal.

“With the Gods, my son. I’m so sorry.” Without a word, Storm drove his dagger aside the neck of the boy, the blade firing behind the collarbone and piercing the heart. The boy’s face was a mix of confusion, sadness, and finally peace. Mentally, the wizard knew this trick too well now; he had performed the act of final kindness far too many times. He also had to keep moving.

They aren’t looking for you, but they’ll take you all the same.

It was four hundred yards of horror he navigated to break into what had become a fallout camp, a place of horror no less terrible than the battlefield itself. What was a massive army of rallied warriors was a small encampment of shattered pieces, of empty gazes and shaking bodies and the stench of death. No less than five men rose to meet him as he approached, hailing him and assailing his survival. The eldest, a tall man with a grey beard, tried to parse the scenario.

“General! Blessed is your very existence. We thought you lost; when the Gods rained fire, we had to run. I’m sorry; we can regroup and strike once again while Radasanth is vulnerable.” His own words wavered with fear; he had no idea how to handle a hostile entity and wanted to show a blend of compassion and ultimate allegiance.

The aging magician simply put a hand on his shoulder, looking him in the eye as he clutched at his own broken ribs. “No. Not today. Our fighting is done and we need to heal. Heal ourselves, each other, and the city.” Storm’s white-blue eyes were not wavering, his face painted with soot, grime, blood and sadness.

“Very well sir, I simply…”

“No apologies. Any word from Brackett? Vaan Osiris?”

There was a delay, and the experienced veteran struggled to find his words, knowing not to withhold information.

“General Vaan Osiris went further into the madness when the God’s Wrath arrived. We lost him. Commander Brackett was wounded; he is in the medical tent.” The old man gestured backwards to a simple tent, a long and wide and deep one with no specific amenities.

Without hesitation, the adventurer stumbled on, moving towards the tent. Men leaned against each other, a few bandaged, several being treated, and many more still holding cloth to wounds, burns, and their existence. They lay about the place packed taut, but there was one gurney in the middle of the room where their leader lay.

Storm strode forward, moving quickly but careful not to disturb the wounded. Nurses and doctors spread from the table like a flower opening as he approached, looking at him grimly and not without fear. A single gas-lamp was suspended over the top of the table, where Seamus Brackett lay in a heap.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Seamus! Hang in, you magical son of a bitch.” Storm felt his eyes well as he looked down at the eldest warrior, who wore dire grin across his face as he held a cloth about his stomach.

“Finally get out of there, did you? I’m glad you made it, my friend.” He extended a large, filthy hand open, and the infamous villain quickly took it and sat by the side of his old advisor. There was only one thought that rang from Seamus’s warm greeting.

Fuck.

Seamus had never been a man of sincerity and gravity. The tandem traveled Gisela, staying light by teasing each other as men do; questioning their own courage and manhood at each turn, creating laughs to suppress the emotion of imminent death. If Commander Brackett was speaking from the heart, they were final thoughts.

“Kicked by a fucking horse, of all things. You believe that?” Brackett tried to laugh, but pressed firmly on his wound with his remaining hand. Whatever had caused the massive wound to his abdomen was no horse; it was likely a sword, spear, arrow, or some litany of similar weapons. The old man’s color was poor, a white and yellow backdrop to red-brown and black upon his face. By the tableside, his sword was propped against the table, the sheath overflowing with residual innards. Seamus had gone down swinging.

“Well, you knew it wouldn’t be a simple human that pulled you away from the field of war. Judging from that sword, you caught a few of your own. Hell, they even gave you priority seating to get stitched up, so hurry up already!”

Seamus only coughed and groaned a bit at the optimism, clutching at his stomach and whispering. He turned his gaze to Veritas, speaking with careful deliberation.

“We tried to do right, didn’t we?”

Storm’s eyes began to well at this, and looked down for a moment to gather himself. Seamus wouldn’t see the wizard cry. Seamus was slipping, and fading quickly.

“My friend, we tried to save the fucking world. The Gods had other plans.”

“Thank you, Storm. One more thing - do me a solid, young man. Make it right for me.”

Storm Veritas cried now, only smiling and kissing the hand of his friend. He sat by the bed as nurses and doctors tended to the countless wounded about him. At some point an hour or so later, Seamus let go, his grip releasing the hold of his friend as the warrior finally went home.

His head dropped between his knees, as the wizard sobbed at the great loss. A great man, gone. A mighty army, broken. A noble vision, shattered.

Leaving the tent with a pipe between his lips some ten minutes later, the tall man featured a dry face and red, puffy eyes. The smoke filled his lungs with considerable pain, seeming to sooth his tightly-wrapped ribs from within. He was broken, but reborn.

Outside the world grew thick with dust, filling the air and hiding the burning sky, coming from the far west as if signaling a new threat yet to realised. As the Corpse King destroyed the meteorite the impact of the firey space rock colliding with its’s mighty blade sent a massive shockwave through the goliath shattering its tether to reality. In the seconds that followed Hayate’s guiding voice ceased to speak as the spectral shogun flaked out of existence leaving the boy in a free fall careening to the streets below. His vision was faint and with what little time he had to react the shinobi twisted his frame, aiming his metal arm in the direction he thought the keep to be, before clenching his fist causing the grappling hook within it to fire. He held his breath as he waited in anticipation for his impending doom until at the last moment he was jerked violently by his wrist.

With great force, the shinobi wiped through the debris before slamming hard against the side of the keep about fifteen feet or so from the ground. The hit forced the breath from his lungs and he felt one or two of his ribs crack but otherwise, Hayate was unscathed. With such an abrupt end to the conflict, he hadn't the faintest idea of what to do now, and by the appearance of a number of survivors converging on his location his options were limited. He only hoped that his last act of defending the Assembly from the space rock would be enough to atone for following Shinsou Vann Osiris in the eyes of the city. Though in all honesty it didn't seem like a possibility in his mind and as he disengaged the mechanism holding him to the wall Hayate pondered what was to happen now.

It was always a risky decision between fight or flight, but this time a strang feeling filled his being. He didn’t wish to run, not did he wish to fight any longer.

He hit the ground with a small thud before looking around. He heard his name being uttered by the crowd now forming around him. Softly at first but as the denizens around him grew in numbers so did their anger. They cursed him, they spat and threw small rocks, he deserved everything they had to give. He couldn’t deny his part in their suffering any longer, becoming the very thing he vowed so many years ago to destroy. As a rock struck him clean in the jaw all he could do was stand an take it, for he would not be the reason for more bloodshed.

“Give…” he started as one after another he was struck by the crowd throwing whatever in arms reach. “Give it all to me,... all of your pain… all of your sorrow…” he continued as blood began to drip from his face. “I Amatsukami Hayate son of Akashima will wear it, and bath in the bitterness of which I have sought” One particularly large rock planted itself in the shinobi’s gut forcing the boy to the one knee as the crowd held no opportunity to punish him.

“Get on with it!” one voice yelled over the crowd. “Someone gut em’ already!”

The crowd cheered agreeing before quickly growing quiet as the doors of the Steel Keep swung open and from within emerged a small troop converging on the bruised and battered boy. He closed his eyes accepting the reality of his situation, he was a war criminal stuck in enemy territory. His life was now in the hands of the makers and for the first time in a long time, he didn't mind it at all. Then another voice overcame the crowd, one demanding to see him and commanding the citizens to comply. The rocks stopped falling and the crowd made a path for the man tho Hayate still dared not open his eyes for if this was his last breath he wished it to be a somber one.

A frog formed in his throat as he thought about everything that brought him to this moment. At first he saw himself sitting at the seat of his father’s merchant empire, then it was his first meeting with Osiris and losing all that he had in a single night. To becoming a member of the Brotherhood and quickly climbing its ranks than finally the battle of Tylermande. Hayate hated every moment of it. He hated the person he saw in the mirror, the avenger who had strayed far from his path.

“If you're here to kill me then do it,” the words almost felt cathartic leaving his lips as if a great burden was lifted from his shoulders. “Forgiveness isn't for the like of people like me.” As an act of atonement, Hayate undid the latches that connected his metallic arm just above the elbow and removed his artificial appendage, placing on the ground in front of him both metaphorically and figuratively disarming himself.

They spoke.

They spoke, about the world, about the two of them, about how she had almost died.

They spoke of their past, of their present and their future, and they spoke about her, and him. About their lives together. And in that time she admitted that despite all the anger she felt towards him, that she still loved him. Whether this admittance was spoken outwardly or kept in her mind, she did not know, but that was not what was important. What was was her recognition that she did still have feelings for him.

Him. Shinsou vaan Osiris. Her enemy and her lover.

Indeed, they spoke, but their speaking was limited. Never alone fully they were amongst survivors, people who wanted to congratulate and frown at both of them. All the things they wanted to say - those private, intimate things that only lovers say - were left unsaid, because saying them might upset the balance of the world.

Speak, say, unsaid.

The sky continued to rain ash, small bullets of meteor continued to flame down through the night, but the city began to struggle back to its feet as she and he spoke. Her agents were sent out for news, and a guard was placed on him - Raine, the swordswoman whom he had saved first of the Quint. Life that evening seemed to pause, as time was frozen and all war was forgotten about.

The Brotherhood retreated as they spoke, but nothing was as it had been.

*~*

They pulled him into the Hall of Steel, a man who was myth as well as mystery, yet one who had saved the lives of all of them within the Hall. Sebastian had his guards draw the crowds away, promising answers when they would come, and asking them, for now, to begin the aid of those who were stuck or struggling. Up the stairs they took the one known as Hayate, surrounded by many, in the city of as many races as there are types of farmers' crop. They bustled him into a private room, taking him away from those who might kill him, to answer the questions that appeared in many a mind.

"My name is Sebastian Der'heart," Sebastian said, turning to Hayate, his knife still in hand. He signalled and his guards encircled the more or less empty room. Empty, aside from two chairs that were in the centre. One, he took, and he gestured for Hayate to take the other.

"I am a member of the Assembly, although I prefer the title counsellor. And you," he pointed the point of the knife at the Akashiman. "Are Hayate Amatsukami, a known associate of the Brotherhood of the Castigars. Those who attacked our country and our city. For years now we have tried to protect those who we need to, under the guidance of what we are beginning to call a democracy, but for some reason your party believe that the work we do is still infected by our imperialist past."

He took a long breath in, regarding Hayate. "I have kept you from the crowd. I saw your bravery and what you did to save this Hall, and our people who we sheltered here. For that reason I have brought you here. Unfortunately, however, the crowd will still want blood, and still blame you and the army you serve or served, for their suffering." His lowered his knife.

And he smiled sadly. "I am sorry, friend, but I will need to keep you now. And charge you with the most serious of crimes."