Fantasy Hunter's Moon: Ascendancy [IC] [CLOSED]

[joshuadim]

The Edge of Creation​

Amidst the rolling chaos that served as the event horizon for everything material, a clash between two sorcerers erupted - one fought for survival against what he saw as hopeless odds, and the other fought for the people he held dear. For what the Arsenal Magus proposed was not an alliance, but slavery to the whims of the Abyss. For all that knowledge to fall into the wrong hands would spell disaster of unimaginable proportions. Venextos carried himself atop one of the arcane currents, riding it as he would a platform, and sailed amidst the waves as he avoided lances of white flame chasing him. Even with this surge of power, he couldn't hope to defeat the Arsenal Magus in a straight duel. And so he would have to get creative with his methods.

Leaping away from his current, he flicked a hand towards where the elf stood and let loose a torrent of feathers from his cape. The quills all materialized from their natural forms into bolts of obsidian crystals of magic, shooting them at a multitude of angles and homing in onto their target. The Arsenal Magus responded with a barrier around himself that turned the bolts into grains of sand that fell gently around him. A response was returned in the form of a dragon's head wreathed in flame that sped out from the magus' fingertips and swam with great speed towards Venextos. He barely had time to evade as it singed his clothes, leaving him spinning before landing onto a chunk of rocks nearby. Looking around he could see planetary bodies forming around him, stitched together by the currents from which they materialized from.

Pushing himself from his current platform, and dodging another attack from the fiery head that obliterated the rocks, Venextos landed upon a larger chunk of earthly material and slammed his hands into it. Tendrils of orange energy erupted from the earth and sped out to entangle and crush the dragon's head, smothering its flames by constricting it like a multitude of snakes. Venextos then turned his attention to the Arsenal Magus, who was already in the midst of his next attack. An orb of swallowing chaos was rapidly advanicing towards Venextos, swallowing all manner of material in its path to add to its energy. Dark energies of this magnitude would have obliterated the Grand Magus had he not been quick on his mind and summoned a nullifying barrier to his front: hexagonal and starry patterns emerged to his front to intercept, and when the orb slammed into it the mass then turned into a flock of butterflies.

But by then, the elf sorcerer had already closed the distance and slammed a fist imbued with arcane energies into Venextos' chest. The force of the blow knocked the wind out and sent him flying backwards, tumbling amidst the barren landscape of their current battleground.

"You can't beat me. I have two THOUSAND years of experience above you." the Arsenal Magus said aloud with a grimace. "Cease your madness! This is the only way to save us all."

Wordlessly, Venextos rose to his feet and brought his fists up again - summoning the same prismatic flames that he had at the start of their bout.

"So be it." the elf then said, rushing forward and slamming a barrier of force into Venextos. This launched him upwards to collide with floating chunks of earth, spinning about into the chaos that surrounded them both. It was only just that Venextos managed to bring up a barrier to protect himself, as a spear of purple energy slammed into him and sent him careening into another large chunk of floating earth nearby. The force from his collision caused the mass to break apart violently as Venextos flew through it before landing on another large chunk of rock that provided a new arena. Tumbling across its surface he felt himself struggling for options, and saw the Arsenal Magus land on the opposite side of the new platform.

Struggling to get to his feet, Venextos grunted and stumbled for a moment before steadying himself. The sight was enough to draw pity from the elven sorcerer as he frowned. "You were always a pain to deal with, but I never wanted this." he said, shaking his head. "For what it's worth, you put up a good fight. But it's time to end this." He then brought up an open palm, summoning a orb of brilliant colors. Struggling as he was, Venextos doubted that he could either dodge or block the attack. The thought crossed his mind that this was, in fact, the end. He was out of options from his own book, nothing that he threw could have done anything to deal with the Arsenal Magus. His mind trailed for a moment as the elf's orb grew ever more intense in its power, causing dust to kick up in a cyclone around the Arsenal Magus.

​

Then an idea struck Venextos: it wasn't his playbook he needed, but another. His mind trailed back to the conversations he had with Takato, back during their voyage into the Abyss. He remembered the times the two of them exchanged ideas and lessons from both their schools of spellcraft as well as cultures. What knowledge Venextos retained inspired him in the moment as he planted his feet and focused. The noise and disturbances around him were drowned out by his own deep breathing, isolating himself to the very point he stood at. And when the Arsenal Magus launched what he thought would be the final, decisive blow, Venextos felt ripples through the air approach him. Cupping the edges of his palms together, he imagined himself like water flowing in a stream and twirled his hand about.

To both his, and the Arsenal Magus' surprise, the orb did not obliterate Venextos when it touched his hands. Instead, he twirled about and kept the momentum going like a dancer. It was only until he had mastered the energies that Venextos fired up upwards, allowing it to explode into a brilliant shower of colors like rain falling from the skies. Venextos twirled around again, kicking up dust in a circular pattern as he brought one hand up above his hand and the other below, both shining with brilliant power as a renewed challenge to the Arsenal Magus. The elf responded with an angry roar as he sent out a force of crimson waves as an ethereal tsunami. But Venextos brought his hands together and pointed them outwards, summoning a bubble of white light around him that parted the torrent with ease.

The Arsenal Magus was lost for words, baffled by this sudden shift in dynamics as Venextos then slammed into him like a needle thrown through a gale. The elf, rather than tumbling as Venextos had before, instead floated upwards from the impact and let out an a furious roar. Bringing his hands above him, he summoned bits of floating earth to coalesce into a fiery mass - creating a meteor imbued with the energies around them. The flames that erupted from its surface as it grew were a variety of colors, not limited by the confines of the mortal world as it spun around and grew in mass.

But Venextos was unfazed as he took up a stance, planting a foot in front and another behind. He clapped his hands together in front, before swirling them in opposing directions in a circle around him. From his back materialized ethereal arms, granting him eight in total as additional aid - inspired by the stories of southern Redonia's multi-armed gods. There, all his arms concentrated their energies to a singular point in his combined palms as the origin point of a new spell. One that would decide the fate of the realm of sorcery.

"HOW CAN YOU BE SO POWERFUL!?" the Arsenal Magus shouted in rage, before throwing his hands down to bring into motion his attack. The meteor then flung itself rapidly to where Venextos stood, the heat coming from it being intense enough to turn the rocks below into magma. And still Venextos stood, looking upwards to the elf: "Because, unlike you, I don't lack imagination." the Grand Magus said calmly. With his summoned hands following the spell's positionality, Venextos brought it just above his fingertips. It radiated as a small pearl of purple-white mass, and glowed with the gentle softness of a lantern. With his thumb placed for a snap atop his middle and pointer, he gave a soft smile. "That is what you have forgotten in your complacency. For without imagination, magic loses its meaning."

With a gentle snap, the pearl flew outwards as a terrifying beam of power and barreled through the meteor with ease. The summoned projectile shattered it into a thousand different shards that blew outwards into the void beyond. In an instant, the pearl made its wrath known to the Arsenal Magus as his eyes widened upon its approach. In that moment, he saw the terrible truth of what Venextos had now manifested: the fundamental forces of the universe, of creation and destruction, given but a fraction of a taste of its true form at the behest of its wielder. And within a split second, the Arsenal Magus' entire being was obliterated from existence.

---

The Schwyzian Sanctum​

Jonah, Hayley, and other members of the Raven Court had waited with a tense atmosphere engulfing their order since the Arsenal Magus had disappeared with Venextos. The former both had their doubts as to whether or not the outcome would come out in their friend's favor, and many of the others shared the same sentiments. Even those who originally supported the enforced neutrality of the Raven Court imposed by the Arsenal Magus had silently cheered for an end to this mandate. But it was then that a tear in reality appeared for a moment, like glass shattering, and out stepped Venextos breathing heavily from exhaustion. And just as quickly as it had manifested, the hole mended and disappeared to return reality as it should be.

"Gods, Venextos! You're alive!" Jonah shouted as he rushed over to help the man walk. Murmurs sounded from the rest of the Raven Court that had coalesced thus far, all observing the developments with varying degrees of shock and anticipation.

"If only barely... the Arsenal Magus is no more." Venextos said with notable regret. "He wanted to align us with the Abyss. I wish things could have gone otherwise."

Jonah and others, upon hearing the news, stared at Venextos with wide eyes. Their leader for well over two millennia was no more. And worse still was the news of the elf's intentions of siding with the likes of the demonic invaders. "It only felt like moments ago..." Venextos then muttered.

"You were gone for two weeks." Jonah then said, confused by the remark.

"Two weeks? Well... it seems time does not operate the same where we fought."

"What do we do now?" one of the senior Magi spoke aloud, looking around with concern. This sentiment was shared with the others in the room, save for Hayley as she remained silent at the moment. They had relied for so long on the strict leadership of the Arsenal Magus that, now, they were rudderless and disorganized. But Venextos only laughed aloud as he waved a hand upwards: "Isn't it obvious? Now, we prepare for war against the Abyss."

A silence permeated the room as everyone processed the information at hand. But before anyone could voice their objections, Hayley spoke up at last: "As you say, Arsenal Magus."

The title being suddenly bestowed by one of their own made others question their own intentions, and when Jonah spoke up the remaining doubts were quashed: "So says the new Arsenal Magus."

 

[Worthlessplebian]

Rajko veered off to the side after the short reunions and introductions were done. He shared few words with Detective Jakob, beyond introducing himself and the well-wishes to know more about the detective. He felt a rush of isolation as his eyes picked out the scene before him. He suppressed such feelings quickly, petting the mane of his trusted steed with his other hand. His decisions and emotions rested solely with himself, however. The amulets effects, still fresh in his mind, made him wordlessly recoil more than once or twice. He went to inspect his gift. Picking out the black satchel with his name on it, he untied the strings and found the four glass containers inside.

He lifted one before his eyes, turning the sphere with his fingers gingerly. Marveling at the construction; from the incendiary gel suspending the metal balls to the smoothly-blown glass surface. It brought an ebb to his thoughts, a small measure of peace, transience but there nonetheless. He shifted, returning his attention to the group. Slipping the inferno grenade carefully into its pouch, Rajko walked back to the group. "A feast?" He said, tone lilt with interest. "Hopefully, I'd receive the honor of an invitation. Haven't been to a celebration of any sort in a long, long time." In truth, he hadn't been much of a celebratory sort. Knowing himself, he would recline himself to the bar with a spirit or two.

With Rebecca's final words, Rajko nodded, saying nothing further and prepared to rest.

 

[Breadman]

The wraith camp in the Abyss

"He's waking up!" The voice of the woman cried out. "Go get Lozon!" The name forced him to wince. Not from pain, but from anger. The old bastard. He's here? He dares? Royland suddenly rose from the makeshift bed he was laying in. "Ser...SER!" The same woman cried out again. She was trying to grab his attention, but it was of no use, he wasn't interested. The chains around his wrists and hands began to burn as he rose up to his feet. Then just as his energy came, it went away. The knight felt dizzy as he stumbled forward. One step, then another and on the third he fell over face first onto the ground. "Merda! André, get Fritz in here and help with him."

"Ah sheisse!" A familiar voice "He woke up?"

"Get the restraints ready." Another familiar voice. Different accent than the first. Now he remembered. These two along with a third came to stop him. To stop his crusade before it started. They failed to end him.

"No, no need." The woman stopped them. Royland's eyes were still looking to the ground as he got up. "He's practically helpless." He finally saw them. "Just get him back to the bed."

"If you say so." One of the soldiers sighed. "Frizt, grab his legs." As they carried him, Royland looked at 'Fritz' again. He wanted to remember the man's face for later, but as he would be reminded, there was no face there to remember. Nothing but clumps of melted flesh clinging to scarred bone with two flaming orbs acting as eyes. Wraiths. They were wraiths.

"I was summoned." The old demon finally decided to show himself as he walked into the medical tent. He stood over Royland as he was carried back to the bed. The knight started barking threats and insults, but the old man remained unflinching. "Good to see you too, Royland." He finally spoke. "You're awake and with most of your faculties in order."

"He can't stay up for long." The woman spoke up. "The mixture you had me brew has been effective, but the way he's burning up, I don't think he'll be up anytime soon."

"I see." Lozon placed two fingers on his chin as he contemplated. "I assume you have something in mind?"

"Its an odd process. A combination of alchemy and magic. In theory it would work like a pure shot of adrenaline and get him up and moving, but..."

"You're afraid of what he will do." She nodded. "GIve it to him." The demon looked to Royland and sneered "When the shade is done healing you, I advise you thank her for doing everything in her power to bring your burned out husk back from the brink. Find me in the camp, later." He looked back to her "He's not going to be trouble for you. Right now you're the only thing close to a friend."

"I feel so fortunate." She responded sarcastically as she looked down to her patient. "I can patch you up, but you must do as I say. Lay down, don't move and let me work. I promise you'll not only be walking around, but sprinting." She turned around to look at the table. Royland's gaze shited to where Lozon previously stood and noticed the demon leaving the tent. The two wraiths however stayed there. "I don't need help for this part. You can leave."

"We wont." André gave a curt answer as he crossed his arms. "We went through the Abyss and back trying to get him down here in the first place. We don't trust he'll behave."

"Suit yourselves." She sighed. "I have no idea how you feel anything, but grit your teeth." He felt her stab something under one of the plates of his armor. Like a spike going through the chainmail and digging itself in. Royland let out a pained grunt as the shade did her work. It took her some digging around as she attached a tube to his body. The other end was attached to an empty container. With haste, the shade moved to the other side of his body and repeated the process, this time the container was full of something he couldn't make out. "Ser Royland was it?" He turned his head to face her. "Come on. No need to act stoic."

"Yes..." He finally said. "Ser Royland, the third."

"Colette Boivin." She gave a light smile. "The first and last."

"Boivin?...No, can't be."

"If you happen to know a short man called Theodore, ser...we will have a lot more to talk about and you may need the distraction as the venom in this makes its way through your body." She tapped the container. "In theory we just pioneered pure magic transfusion just for you. Unfortunately its useless to anyone who doesn't have your...condition. For now at least."

"Thats....incredible." He spoke as he felt some form of clarity "I...can feel my rage subsiding."

"Unfortunately, its not a permanent solution." She switched sides to monitor the empty container as it was being filled up with abyssal residue. "You've gone for so long aborbing so much that your body is burning on every end possible."

"So it would seem." He answered with a somber tone. The venom's negative features started to show themselves. "I am doomed then?"

"Not exactly. You're sick, monseur, but your sickness can be cured." She looked down to him again. "I believe that Lozon wants that to happen so he can prove something."

"That he can keep more of us on a leash for longer."

"I take it you don't trust him. Normally I would agree, but there have been some striking changes as of late. I think he might be tired of what he is."

"All tricks, my lady." Royland spat out. The act of which pained him. "The demons are not worth your trust. Only the gods are."

"I am afraid that I lost my faith a long time ago." Colette moved again, this time picking up some paper. "The Abyss isn't exactly kind to the faithful."

"Even in my darkest hour, Lady Velin gave me courage. She would do the same for you if you let her." He was so sure in his words that he didn't notice Colette tighten her grip on a quill she was using to take down notes. "Even as a shade she is able to hear you."

"Please do no speak of her in here." Colette spoke with a tembling voice "I am not a blasphemous woman, but I do not wish to hear it."

"Lady Boivin, I mean you no offense, but you have to understand that you are a shade for a good reason. You're the tool with which the wicked are punished. You're the instrument of justice in the Abyss. Velin chose you to be her will even in this dark corner."

"NO! You need to understand something very clearly. I am here because of her and her blind rage. I am stuck in the Abyss because I was a victim. I am here, stiching together zealots, murderers and monsters because your holy lady has a perverse sense of justice."

"I meant no offense with my words, but I must insist that her judgement is correct. You are tasked with a holy mission and once it is done, your spot in the heavens is right there for you. To argue otherwise is blasphemy. I undestand you are upset at the present conditions, but..."

"No ser, you do not! I am a shade in the Abyss despite living as good as I can. And why? Because in the fleeting moments of my life I recognized my mind was being violated by a vampire? Because I wanted him destroyed? Well fortune smiled on me didn't it? Thank you lady Velin, you contemptious bitch!" Her voice was trembling harder with anger. Royland's hand balled into a fist as she continued "I became an instrument of justice. A tool to be used when my murderer eventually would come down here and I am to come running and begging to some rotting abomination for help extract my pound of flesh." Andre and Fritz looked at each other and took a step forward each."But this is a blessing isn't it? Eventually after how many years in the darkness of the Abyss I may find my way to somewhere better. Saint Sammael and Francois be praised! I am her judge, her jury in the Abyss and you are to be her executioner." She stopped talking as she noticed the container meant for residue was filling up. The substance was turning into bile. She realized that if she continued she would lead to a catastrophic end. "I am asking you again, ser." She spoke after a heavy sigh, now as if on the verge of weeping. "For both our sake. Do not speak of her here."

"Very well." He gave a curt answer. The indignation in him would dwarf her's, but he couldn't do anything. Not yet. Not while she was helping him.

Hours passed until the transfusion was complete. Royland felt invigorated by the process even if it was painful. It became worse as those long hourse were spend in sillence as neither of them wanted to talk to each other after the exchange. Not even the two guards spoke among themselves. Colette removed the equipment that hung from his body and let him get off the bed without hassle. The knight rose again and this time his stride wouldn't break. The shade had done it. He moved to leave the medical tent without so much as looking back.

"Could have at least said a thank you." André scoffed.

"Or an apology." Fritz added.

"I don't care." Colette spoke as she prepared to treat others that were neglected due to Royland. "He can rot and so can his goddess." She said in a bitter hushed tone.

"I thought you said you weren't blasphemous." Colette glared at the two men after that comment.

"Come André, my friend." The faceless wraith pulled the other soldier "Lets go and see if that bent kettle will get into more trouble." The two wraiths hurried out the tent, leaving Colette alone for now. She removed her spectacles in order to squeeze the bridge of her nose and breahte deep. She didn't think she'd miss Constantine that much.

 

[Breadman]

Outside the medical tent, Royland was greeted by the view of his fellow wraiths all around the camp. He walked among them and observed his bretheren. Some were busy training, others were enjoying their bounties. Some were even doing menial work along with the shades. But they all stopped and gawked at him as they noticed him passing by. The lost brother had returned and the story of his capture had spread among them life wildfire.

"Didn't it take five of us to take him down?"

"I thought it was seven?" Two of them talked in a not so hushed tone before giggling.

"Stand back, he's going to smite us...hehehehee"

"Where have you been brother? What have you seen?"

"Tree hundred mortal years mastering putting a stick up his ass. No wait, he knew that already. Must have been popular with the church."

They mocked and sneered. Pathetic that they once considered themselves the punishment of the wicked. Lozon had let them become nothing more than rabble of briggands and wastrels. He expected to do what with them? Win the respect of the new rulers of the Abyss? He would be lucky if they keep him around. The old demon himself was easy to find. The largest tent in the middle of the camp. Inside he stood above a table with scrolls layed on top in a pile with a map in the middle with a knife spiked through it. The old man noticed the knight aproach and his face formed some parody of a smile.

"Ah, you finally showed up. Now did you do what I advised you?" His head tilted as he examined Royland "Of course not. Why would you?" By the tone o his voice, the knight could tell that he was found wanting.

"Why am I here?"

"You're broken. I couldn't abide our allies in the mortal realms to carry your shattered form around with no clue what's wrong with you or how to fix it." He finished his examination. "If you can be fixed at all."

"The shade mentioned that."

"Colette has a name, Royland. She probably told you that in an effort to ease your pain while she operated." He tilted his head again "You didn't even remember that, did you?"

"I heard her talking the lies you fed her. How you've changed or some other nonsense fabrication."

"I don't lie, Royland. You know that." Lozon shook his head, "I thought you understood that at least. I am a demon of wrath. We have no need for lies or deceit." He pointed to the map "Even with the strategies your brothers and sisters deploy, I must let them plan and offer limited council. They guerilla tactics and initiatives are beyond my thinking."

"Am I to believe you are that foolish that a simple ambush is beyond you?"

"A fool would not understand his limits." He paused "Something you clearly haven't learned." Royland tightedned his hand into a fist. "Oh do calm down. You used the stare on an Icon. The Icon of Wrath no less. The fact that you're standing is a miracle. But as I understand it you have more inside you than that. Dark magic. Necromancy. Maybe even blood magic that you absorbed. None of it being released."

"Is that my problem? I'm carrying too much weight?"

"Simply put, yes. Now we need to think how to balance it before releasing whatever you have without burning your soul into nothing."

"The shade's procedure has given me a balance already."

"I told you her name and you still didn't remember." Lozon sighed "Yes it has. Its also temporary and we don't know when you're going to feel deminishing returns."

"You have a solution to this problem then?" Royland crossed his arms.

"A possible one." The demon smiled again "Combat."

"Oh nooo. None of that now." Royland heard a voice behind him and he turned around to see the source. A massive man, with scars all over his body and face. The stomach had the signs of being stiched together. His head was bald, save for a ponytail, one of the ears chewed off. A massive ginger moustache covered half the face, but the hateful glare from the pale blue eyes was there. "If anyone is going to fight ya old bastard, its gonna be me." The man pointed to Lozon then himself with his thumb. Royland noticed the giant axe hanging from his belt.

"I wasn't considering myself Connor, but I think you might be the right person for the job." Lozon arched his fingers together. "Both of you are hard to get a handle on and you need to temper yourselves."

"Nope, not doing it. I see what you're doing." Connor crossed his arms. "You're not getting me to fight him."

"I agree. I have no reason to fight him based on a whim. From you no less."

"Aye, see. He knows I'll whoop his arse."

"I don't, but wasting my energy on you is counter productive."

"OH HOHOH! Wasting energy on me eh? Didn't you both just have a talk about how much of that you have in ye that you'd explode?" Connor turned to face Royland, the knight did so in turn and looked up to him.

"If I am to exhause myself, I'd pick an opponent that can actually fight and not look like he'd be easily sidestepped and tripped."

"Oh, that the way you want it? What's the matter Ser Shite? Need permission from your goddess?"

"You keep her name out of that latrine you call a mouth!" The knight pointed with his finger in objection.

"Oh touched a nerve there. Like him I can't lie. I see why you like her, boyo. If all them statues I've seen are right, she has an impressive rack on her under that armor, hooooh!" He let out a disgusting laugh.

"I'll shove my hand down your throat and tear your tonge out for that you pig headed-"

"Both of you! Cease!" Lozon demanded their attention "The combat ring is outside this tent and to the left." The two looked at him as he directed where to take their spat and then back to each other. He's next, now they had a score to settle.

The wraiths and shades started to gather around the circle of combat as they found out what who was fighting. The two men stood against each other on the opposite ends. They wanted to tear into each other, but even in this forsaken corner of creation, there were rules to abide by. The wraiths wouldn't get far as a fighting force if they were going to recklessly fight each other, so they must obey certain rules. Twelve rounds, someone would count the hits and look for a knockout. No weapons. Winner is decided based on how many hits were landed and how many times someone managed to knock the other fighter out. Simple enough. Both men put their weapons aside and prepared to approach each other.

"Oi! You forgetting something?" Connor belloed "Yer armor. Now I can beat you with that too, but rules the rules."

"Fine then." Royland reached for the straps that held his armor together and undid them one by one. Each piece would fall revealing how he looked underneath all the plate and mail. A skeletal frame held together by vague remnants of muscle and sinew. The burning flames enveloping his body filling the form where his armor stood. The flames themselves burned a sickly green.

"Ahahahah! You're not even skin and bone!" Connor grinned as they approached each other. "Do you think burning vomit green is gonna scare me? I've seen horrors in this place that make a man weep in terror at the sight of them. You're not that!" The wraith that stood between them raised a hand and quickly ran as far away from them as he could. Someone from the crowd rang a bell to signal the start of the fight. "I'm gonna turn your bones to-" Connor was cut short from Royland's fist smashing its way into his chin. The brute didn't even take a step back as his view of life snapped upwards and then he fell flat on his back.

​

"Time." Royland demanded.

"Fuck... He just knocked him out with a punch." One of the onlookers commented in disbelief.

"Thats got to be a record."

"Not even a second."

"Told you, I don't want to waste my energy." Royland scoffed as he turned around to walk away. He got maybe two or three steps in before he felt two tree trunk arms wrap around his waist. "What?" He let out as Connor lifted him up and slammed the knight with a suplex. A loud crak was heard as the bones collided with the hard ground. Some of the smaller ones even scattering.

"Wont get one on me again you fuck." Connor watched with amusement as the skeleton before him pulled itself together. "You ready to give up? No shame in it. You thought one punch was all it took. Its a good hook, I'll give ya that."

"I..."

"What?" Connor mocked with his chewed off ear "Speak up, this one's missing."

"I..." Royland got up to his feet and put two fists forward "...didn't hear a bell." Connor's grin turned into a sneer. The two wraiths locked eyes and charged each other. The crowd erupted into cheers as the two now intended to break each other. Their hands locked into a test of strenght. Neither was intent on underestimating the other man again. They stared into each other's eyes and Royland did the one move that he knew would break the hold. His neck went back and his skull collided with Connor's nose. The crowd cheered again at the spectacle.

From the back Tiloc moved in with curiosity. The blood priestess had heard of Royland's return, but had assumed he'd be still the same wound up tight holier than thou fool she remembered. The same man that aided Lozon in locking her away. She climbed up on a stack of crates to get a better vantage point of the fight and smilled, revealing the jagged teeth underneath. He had fallen. The pious paladin of old had given in. The realization made her eyes shine bright with joy. A childlike laught escaped her lips as she watched both men tear at each other in the ring of combat.

From the edges of the arena, Boris observed the fight firsthand. The Tsavarian werebear grimaced as Connor took advantage of every oppening Royland had given him. He hated the man, but he hated the blasted barbarian so much more. The boisterous attitude, the hollow bragging. All of it. Clinging to past glory that history had forgotten. 'Come on Royland. Crush his spirit.' Boris hoped. He almost prayed for it to happen.

In the arena itself Connor kneed Royland's head and send him backwards onto the ground again. They were barely into the second round and it was begining to dawn on him. This was going to be a long fight.

 

[K0mori]

Dis, The Heartlands
​

Times were good in Sazak's Abyss.

From a tower high in the great palace at the center of Dis, Kellea looked out over the Abyssal landscape in the direction of Pride. It had once been the land she coveted, where she would rule as Icon. Now, she sneered at the pettiness of her old ambition. Sazak had been the one to see it all clearly when no one else could, or at least, the one who could both see it and take action- how illusionary the essence of power can be. Looking back on what had transpired, centuries of rule accomplished nothing to enhance Taranoch's power; they were just the consequence of no one stepping forward to destroy him. And while Kellea had once believed that all Kings and Queens would fall eventually, until one remains whose power lacks any fault or weakness to be exploited, she now understood that it could never be achieved so simply.

This was the truth that Lisykna must have discovered first. There was a woman who did not believe in perfection, at least not in this era, and her willingness to face Kellea in a fight with only a passive witness was truly something as astonishing as it was infuriating. Whether a sculpture was made of ice, or glass, or iron or marble, one could melt it back into the primordial pool of creation if given enough heat, regardless of how fine the craftsmanship of the idol. This truth had come as a painful shock, but in the months since, Kellea had learned to live with it. Whereas before, she had viewed herself as a distillation of form, and that the universe would bend to place her on the highest pedestal, she now understood that power was raw, formless, and uncivilized, and it could be used by lesser creatures to unmake their masters. The entire universe could fall to ruin if the mongrels were allowed to drag the bar down to their level.

But that isn't going to happen, Kellea told herself. Not while I'm in charge; I'll drag the Abyss higher until Heaven itself weeps at our glory. It was the rallying cry of her demonic soul- a higher calling which would drive her to bury Tariun and her lot like a pile of dung.

Kellea had been entrusted with the Abyssal Crown, and so she had departed from Vainglory and took up her regency in what had been Taranoch's palace. While her stay in Kur had been enjoyable, it was quaint by comparison, and so she was more excited than ever to begin beautifying the Abyss with her impeccable tastes. This was a task that would require equal parts creative and destructive input. She would build and decorate to her hearts content, and grind anything or anyone which dirtied her realm into a fine paste and then paint a delicate crimson fresco.

But not all at once. Such a transformation would take time, and each obstacle would need to be solved in isolation. How else could she apply her many talents without sacrificing the care and attention for which each endeavor would call?

And so it was, in a miniscule way, that she could proffer a thanks to lowly Lisykna for awakening her to the virtue of patience by humbling her. It truly didn't come naturally to demons, which is ironic considering their immortality. The temptations to kill, to steal, and to seek pleasure were strong, but there was nothing deadlier nor more dangerous than a patient demon. After all, for how many centuries did Sazak plot before executing his plan to usurp the crown? And what more did he have in store that called his attention elsewhere so urgently? Kellea could not even fathom the depths of his planning, but if she hoped to ever exceed him, she would need to imitate him and master the skill for herself. She would have her revenge on Lisykna, even if it took months to prepare. After all, they would pale in comparison to the centuries she would reign once all the rebellious curs had been culled.

But, it was also this same patience which had prevented her from heeding Mazgith's instructions and consuming Trig's bones. Or was it merely trepidation? Kellea had become so familiar with her reflection, so accustomed to perfection, that she feared what would happen should she take on too much Abyssal magic at once. She knew of demons which had undergone an unsightly metamorphosis after consuming the dead titan's remains. Would her perfect form be spoiled as well?

Instead, she had collected a specimen shortly after receiving the crown, and kept both objects close to her person ever since. This would bring upon much slower alterations, allowing her to carefully measure her progress and halt it if it threatened her appearance too severely. She turned from the window and checked her reflection in a nearby mirror; there were some changes that she couldn't ignore, but they didn't displease her. She would continue to bide her time.

On the other hand, she was also concerned with her own strength. It was definitely rising, but by how much? She wasn't sure. She needed to find an opponent strong enough that she would be challenged, but not so strong that she could lose her life by underestimating them. She was quite certain that she knew the measure of Lisykna's power, but she wouldn't face that creature again until she was certain it wouldn't land a single blow. The thought of her blood on that maidservant's tongue for a third time made Kellea's skin crawl.

No, she thought, it's time to take a jaunt over to the land of Gluttony. That was where the bulk of Tariun's forces were making trouble lately. There was a lieutenant there - Mazkas - who would serve as a good substitute. After all, she, like Lisykna, had been a mortal witch. She had discovered a path to corrupting her soul in the Abyss. And now, conveniently, she was putting her "talents" to use for Tariun's rebellion. Kellea decided that she would kill her first, and anyone else who happened to get in the way.

She opened a portal and stepped through, emerging into the throne room, where her guards stood at attention. Satisfied with their form, she beckoned one to come and receive her orders. She would assemble a sizable force this time. Not an army, mind, but a force large enough to hold back the enemy's numbers until the critical deed could be done.

---

Kur, The Land of Vainglory
​

It had been weeks since Lisykna's force had left the Hollowlands, and months since it had passed the Pillars of K'rian. The old stone monument was a reminder of her earliest victories, and she paused in her flight a moment to recall her maneuvers, the orders she had given, and their outcome. She remembered the struggle she endured against a common demon mage- the sort of target which would pose no threat to her now. She wondered how many of her current followers would see a day in which their own strength had risen to such a point, but it seemed depressingly moot; it was doubtful that any of the scouts whom had been charged to her in those early battles were still alive.

The march had been easy at first, as few improvements had been made to the scouting parties at the edge of Sazak's former domain since that time, but such progress wasn't sustainable. Eventually, the scouts would give way to better-equipped defenders. The enemy would realize the threat posed by Lisykna's forces and devote greater attention to thwarting it. But after so much time, so much devotion, and so much effort to instill upon her followers a discipline which might serve them better than their predecessors, it was hard to accept that anything should hold them back from victory.

Kur now loomed in the distance, and its army of vainglorious demons and their allies stood watch or hovered in a vast and terrifying defensive formation. By her best estimate, Lisykna assumed the presence of five thousand. But that would matter little, as would soon become clear. From its inception, Lisykna's force was an elite unit, built to pierce through Vainglory's blubbery bulk like a harpoon in a whale's flank. But at the head of the enemy's army was the new Icon of Vainglory, who would doubtlessly pose a complication.

Since Sazak was apparently busy trying to destroy the Church and steal its godly artifacts in the Mortal Realm, a thought which filled Lisykna with bile and made her curse herself once more for her errant past, he had appointed his favored son, Astraal, to lead his former domain.

"Astraal is my only family left. I fear to fail yet again... to be truly alone in this existence. I can't lose him too..."

She had promised Azathor that she would try to spare him, but to do so would require a truly remarkable effort. It was easier to imagine fulfilling said promise before Astraal was given such a high station that his abandonment was quite unthinkable, but there it was. She would need to at least try to convince the Icon of Vainglory, a man she had never met and to whom she meant nothing, to lay down his arms and defect. It seemed impossible, but she would try nonetheless.

She turned back to her camp. Their presence had been long-noticed by the enemy, who avoided the temptation to attack first, instead remaining at their posts and strong positions in preparation for Lisykna's next maneuver. It was certainly a sign of patience, which didn't bode well. Stygenacht, the head of her warriors, approached with his massive claymore resting on his shoulder, the edge of the blade against, but unable to cut, the skin of his leathery neck. "Madame Lisykna," he rasped, using the Escarian personal title that she had requested of him upon their first meeting. It was the only word of the language he had ever bothered to learn. "No blood to spill, today?"

"It appears our foes aren't eager to supply it," she answered, "but the day is young. We will take it by force."

Styge's eyes widened just slightly in excitement. "...When?"

"Two hours. Alert your officers and pass the word along to Phytraag and Razial. I want the heaviest fighters in front for a slow approach, lighter brigades on either side. Mages will be in the rear, ready for the thrust. I will be with them. Irregulars with me."

"My favorite," Styge replied flatly. Despite his lack of excitement, Lisykna knew the comment was genuine. They had discussed formations at length multiple times before, and the brute had made clear, every time, how much he preferred this traditional layout. There were no tricks or frills here; it would simply be the best way to engage as many demons with as many other demons at the same time as possible, resulting in maximum casualties. Styge loved it, in fact. He was just a difficult man to surprise. "Any plans for the Prince?"

"Leave him to me," she replied, grimly.

 

[Breadman]

Skin and miscles tore, bones cracked and broke. The fight had been going on for nearly an hour now. Connor had gained a few new marks of valor on his body. Royland's bones were bearing the signs of wear and tear. The flames enveloping his body no longer burned with the sickly green from the start. They now burned with a bright golden yellow. For a time at least. As he continued his attacks, they turned blood red. From her vantage point, Tiloc could spot a figure moving towards the crowd. With a slow methodical pace and his hands bahind his back, Lozon circled the crowd and observed the glimses of the fight he could catch. She waved her hands to get his attention and beckon him to join her for the second best seats to the show.

"Come old man! Come and join me."

"In a moment, Tiloc." He glanced again to the circle and shooke his head as a grin formed on his face. "Enjoying yourself?"

"The monkey and the hypocrite are bashing each other into the next century. HAH! I couldn't pick a better pair." She extended a hand to help him up. "Did you arrainge this fight?"

"I would lie if I said I did. Fortunate for us that Connor is dumb enough to put himself into such a position and that Royland is thin skinned enough about his faith and devotions." He observed the fight for a minute without saying anything. Connor had picked up Royland and was ready to slam him down on his knee to break his back, only for the knight to regain enough control to start slamming flaming fists into his head. "Did he glow like that for the entire fight?"

"No, he started green." She answered without looking away. "He was gold for a brief moment and now he's red."

"I was right." The demon snarled as he watched the tides turn to Royland's favor. "He's been trapping energy in himself. When they brough him in, he was burning green like you saw earlier. I believe he burned out of that particular fuel source."

"So he should keep fighting with Monkey until he stops burning?"

"No, if the falmes of a wraith cease, they're dead." He paused as he realized why she asked. "You don't want him to die just yet."

"You don't." She grinned as she looked at Lozon, teeth poking out "Are you planning to trap me again?"

"If you're going to be a problem." Lozon's eyes met her's "You're not going to be one, are you?" Tiloc looked away towards the fight.

"No." An obvious lie that even Lozon could see through. "Well, maybe a small one." She giggled. "Oh come now, why do you need him anyway?"

"An experiment. His zealotry and devotion to his goddess is at odds with his Abyssall nature, but there was a ballance between the two. He broke that ballance in the Mortal realm and now the Abyss part is taking over." Connor now had pushed Royland on the backfoot again as he swung a fist that knocked a tooth out. "I think that ballance can be restored, but first he has to burn through what broke it in the first place."

"If he's going to fight some more, maybe the Bear should be next?"

"We need to see if it works like that. What he burned through seemed to be necromantic in nature."

"And this magic reeks of blood." She added, to which Lozon nodded. "What of the gold?"

"Honestly." The demon chuckled "It might be holy magic." The blood priestess burst out into laughter.

"Oh, that is interesting." Tiloc shited her eyes towards the demon again "Are we all like him? Capable of absorbing energy?"

"Its how you absorb the energy from a shade taking its reveng on a wicked soul. Being away from the Avyss for so long, he didn't have that and instead he began to absorb alternatives."

"Do you think your new masters will want to keep things like that, then?" Tiloc tapped him on his shoulder playfully "If the shades are to go away as you think they should, then what of us who rely on them? If things change too much then we're all...what phrase did Vulture say once? Ah yes... tiking bombs." She grinned again. "You and your plans old man. You are so far from your redemption."

"Or maybe I'm closer than you think." Lozon crossed his arms as he now fully payed attention to the fight. It was entering its final round. The fierce battle between the two wraiths had left many with high expectations. The betting pool on who would win had grown with whatever items and valuables any of them could scrape together or what they were holding onto for years.

Connor and Royland were once again locked into a test of strength, although this time the knight faltered. That's what the brute needed as he started to assault his ribs with a knee. The other wraith fell down to one kneed and that gave the barbarian another oppening, this time slamming the knee into the jaw. The force was enough to put him on his back. Not wanting to take any chances, Connor was ready to slam his foot down on the flaming skull, but it was caught as it was coming down. This angered him more as he began to shout every obscenety he could think off, but Royland would not relent. With whatever strength he has, he rose from the ground, still holding the foot. The green glow had returned.

"I told you...I could just trip you." He warned as he let go and rushed for a clothesline, wrapping falming arm around his opponent's neck and used the momentum to bring him down again. The followup was a series of punches to Connor's forehead that managed to break the skin and cause a geizer of blood to burst forth. What he failed to notice was Connor's hand moving to grab the knight's head. In a desparate move, he shoved a thumb into the eyehole. Which did nothing. "My turn." Royland grabbed the hand and pushed it away. He moved on top of Connor and straddled the large man. With two burning thumbs he started pushing into the other wraith's eyesockets. Screams of pain were heard, nearly drowning out the desparate bell ringing.

A group of wraiths moved to pull Royland off his adversary. They managed to pull him long enough to stop the eye gouging, but he broke their hold to smash his head into the fallen man's nose with a headbutt.

"I told you, Connor!" He yelled from across the circle and behind the group holding him "I told you I don't waste my energy." He sounded maniacal.

"You sure don't." One of the wraith that was tasked to keep track of the fight spoke up. "Now lets see. Well that last round was a clear victory for you. Results of the other rounds, count the hits total..." He was silent with hesitation "...its a draw."

"WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN A DRAW?" A bystander was outraged "HE WON!"

"Did you count the hits?"

"I'LL COUNT THE HITS I GIVE YOU, ASSHOLE!"

"That's enough!" Lozon's voice bellowed from where he was standing "This contest was not an exibition for you to waste your valuable trinkets on. It has served its purpose. Disperse and go back to your duties." The crowd wasn't happy, but that didn't matter to the demon. What mattered was what Royland and Connor had provided in the fight. Insight on how this problem seems to operate. The energies that were initiall thought to have been depleted were still there within him. Somehow they looked worse.

Royland didn't seem to care that the contest was a draw. He merely walked away from the group that was holding him with little interest to speak with them. Whatever Lozon wanted to see had better be worth it. The knight stopped to where he had placed the pieces of his armor and started to put them back on. He almost didn't notice the wraith coming from behind him.

"Boris didn't think you were so strong, Royland."

"Boris hasn't learned to speak my language still."

"Boris knows, Royland. Your barbaric language is offensive to his ears so he wont respect it enough to properly use it."

"Are you trying to irritate me into a fight with you, werebear?" Royland snapped in his direction "Get in the ring then."

"Oh no. Unlike Connor, Boris knows when to fight and when to not." The tsavarian laughed at the man's misfortune "The way you broke him. Very good. Prove one thing above all."

"And that is?"

"Royland is just as savage as all of us." A sinister grin formed on Boris' face. "Get rest. Soon we fight together, da?" He patted Royland on the back and left him alone. The knight didn't like what he heard, but was he in the wrong? He looked athis hands and then towards Connor's beaten body being helped up by André and Fritz. He remembered how good it felt and how he had missed it. What was happening to him?

 

[K0mori]

Kur
​

The war camp was nestled between a sharp outcrop and a ruined wall, numerous crumbling towers and charred, barren trees. Lisykna floated over it all, watching the buzz of activity as her lieutenants relayed her orders. The ragged tents, stitched together from demon leather, seemed to hatch like snake's eggs and spawn hundreds of hideous, beguiling, and sometimes beautiful demons in their terrible splendor, rising from their restful recovery in pursuit of their next meal.

​

She came upon the wraiths' section of camp, a secluded circle of tents tucked into a bowl-shaped depression in the earth, and stopped in the air before descending and hitting the ground with a thump and a clatter of armor in front of Lozon and Tiloc. "You have two hours to ready yourselves," she declared as she rose to her full height, addressing all within earshot. "I've already informed the unit leaders that we're to advance on Kur. As per usual, I will expect irregulars in the rear of our formation. As much as you've come to expect from Vainglory, you can expect it tenfold within the city."

The wraiths instantly understood the warning. Even before Tariun's uprising, the Land of Vainglory was a nightmare to behold- a warzone, and a hellish pile of the most unpleasant ambitions built up upon each other. The demons who called this land their home were obsessed with recognition, and spent their days building up castles and palaces that were taller and more fantastically and illogically elaborate than their counterparts in Pride, as well as terrorizing their inferiors and tearing down anything which would threaten to distract from their own property and achievements. One could discern the skyline of Vainglory's cities by their jaggedness, clawing at the sky in equal parts hatred and desperation for escape.

Below, the blackened stone and charred wood gave way to a nigh-impassable labyrinth of ruin. Even the pathways which weren't blocked by the remains of past follies would crunch underfoot with fragments of glass and bone, hidden amidst the dead grass. Every mile the army advanced had contended with said labyrinth, and the innumerable wretches who occupied the dark shadows cast by the crumbling towers.

Kur, then, was the largest and most horrible of the cities in this territory, and aside from the nearly pristine grounds of Sazak's palace and the surrounding land, which the Icon had made his personal clearing as a statement - that none were even capable of constructing a palace worthy of standing next to his, and so the land would be better left empty - the city was the most chaotic and difficult land that those without flight would ever need to cross. Only in the Land of Wrath would one find more corpses and skeletal remains littering the ground than in Kur.

"Your sole objective is to take Sazak's Palace; there is nothing else in this city which offers any use. The archdemons and I will attempt to locate and bring Astraal to heel. Once these things are done, the demons of Vainglory will have no choice but to fall in line, because Kellea certainly isn't going to take it back." Lisykna paused a moment, scanning the faces of her followers to ensure that they believed these statements as earnestly as she had believed them while speaking them. Once satisfied, she nodded. "...Alons-y!" she demanded.

---

The Land of Gluttony
​

A portal ripped itself open in the air above a muddy and unkempt field of food crops somewhere near the last-reported position of the Grand Army which had moved beyond the Land of Greed months earlier. Out of the golden glow stepped Kellea, whose dainty feet met the surface of the mud and halted, as if stepping upon an invisible pane of glass above the murk. Behind her, archdemons of exceptional caliber followed, until a formation of terrifying strength had fully appeared in this anonymous plot of land. "How do you suppose we'll find them, my Lady?" one of them asked.

Kellea tilted her head back, feeling the auras on the wind. Her senses had been expanded, lately, and it was becoming easier to sense distant targets. "This way," she answered confidently, and she lifted one arm and pointed in a direction.

"Is it the enemy commanders, or their entire camp?"

"It won't matter," Kellea answered cheerfully. She then bolted forward without causing a single drop of muck to splash. The archdemons, even those who could fly, had to strain to keep up with the lightning-quick Overlord as she closed on her quarry. Soon, they began to feel it too- the enemy camp was gargantuan and full of tens of thousands of demons, but at their speed, they would simply bypass the common rank-and-file at the outskirts and crash into their counterparts at the head of the camp. Kellea's aura felt like a comet streaking across the flat landscape, and as they struggled to keep pace in its tail, they fully believed her words- there could be no one among Tariun's rebels who could halt such a being.

Even better, as they neared, they realized that the commanders were not all present; They began to cut at an angle, and as the ground dried beneath them and gave way to a drought-stricken and empty dustbowl, the tents became visible in the distance. Near the center of this great assembly sat a moldering wreck of a farmhouse, whose walls were sagging under the weight of the structure and threatening to collapse at any moment. From within, a pair of archdemons began to sense the approaching threat, and they emerged in a mad scramble to meet it.

Kellea delighted in the fact that she had found exactly who she wanted to find. Mazkas had come to die, and had brought her best lieutenant with her.

Across the dry clearing, Martazul looked to Mazkas for guidance. "Who is that!?" she gawked. "Is that... the Overlord?"

By now, the other occupants of the camp had just begun to sense that something was deeply amiss, and Mazkas barely had time to answer- "It's fucking Kellea! On your guards!" before the Overlord slammed into the camp like a meteor into the sound barrier. Her sonic boom threw her foes backwards - some with gaping wounds to the neck - and Martazul was quickly impaled by her blade before she could even unsheathe a throwing knife, much less ready her chain whip. Mazkas, meanwhile, was forced to roll back to her feet and regain her balance while her subordinate took the Overlord's punishment. Kellea and Martazul crashed into the farmhouse before exploding through the opposite wall, sliding to a stop in a pile of dried dirt clods.

Mazkas flew through the collapsing building to witness Kellea removing her sword from Martazul's chest, her foot planted on the cretin's throat, before turning and leaping back at the demonic witch. By now, Mazkas had prepared her enchanted masks, which floated in the air about her person, and without a thought, she had placed one upon herself which rendered her immaterial. Kellea's blade and body passed through her harmlessly, and instead, the Overlord wound up colliding with the creaking, falling walls of the farmhouse. "That's quite a trick," Kellea said, "but maybe you should try fighting."

The farm house's bulk finally crashed into the ground, creating a cloud of dust. Everything which had happened had occurred in the span of its collapse. The other archdemons emerged from the crop field to find the still-unprepared camp scrambling for weapons, and set about a casual slaughter, while Martazul peeled herself off the ground and unraveled her chain whip, struggling against the hideous pain of having just been skewered. "Well," she tartly grumbled. "Well, well."

"Have something to say, insect? Or are you just going to stutter?" Kellea taunted.

"You must be especially adept at sucking cocks if Ralvas and Sazak put so much stock in you, Kellea," Martazul spat.

The comment prompted a smug eye-roll from the Overlord. "I'll put a few more holes in your gut while you think up something more clever."

"Marz, go get Annen!" Mazkas shouted to her lieutenant, having removed the mask just long enough to speak the words, but it was time enough for Kellea to turn about, close on her, and land a punch to her throat. The witch spun out of the air, sputtering and gasping as she briefly lost her telekinetic grip on her masks. They pelted the dirt around her before she regained control, but there was no time to think about which power she would take next. Kellea was already upon her again, just as she had risen to her feet again. She sliced several times with her sword at Mazkas as the latter wheeled back, and drew blood each time. "GO!" Mazkas implored, only to wind up screaming as she was kicked in the leg hard enough to shatter the knee completely.

A wicked grin appeared on Kellea's face. She had her foe kneeling before her, ready to receive death like it was a knighthood. She raised her sword and put all of her strength into a single swing, but at the last possible moment, the same mask Mazkas had used before was now slid onto Kellea's face through the air, and she became ghostlike and immaterial. Mazkas then floated off the ground, letting her shattered leg dangle loosely as she passed through the Overlord, who was busy scrambling to remove a mask she wasn't able to touch. With a twist of her arms, the witch reeled in a brick from the ground nearby, propelling it to deadly speeds.

She removed the mask from Kellea's face at the exact moment the brick reached her, allowing it to meet solid flesh.

With an ugly, meaty sound, the stone broke across Kellea's head and exploded into dust, but to Mazkas' horror, the Overlord didn't die. She didn't even fall unconscious. She was merely thrown to the ground, and in an instant, she had already turned and swung again, this time slamming her blade into the mask and destroying it- leaving only a twisted piece of scrap to skid across the ground. "Is that the best you can do!?" Kellea demanded, snatching Mazkas by her hair and slamming her into the ground. Snickering at the ease of her newfound power, she began to wonder if she had already surpassed Ralvas. She began to pummel Mazkas with her fists and the pommel of her sword- not even bothering with the blade as she brutalized her inferior foe. "You mortal witches... You devote your lives to your craft, trying to climb out of the mud you were born in. You think you make a better demon than one of us? You think you even deserve to cross swords with perfection!?"

Just then, a tangle of metal links closed around her neck and yanked her head backwards. Merely annoyed, Kellea grabbed the whip and crushed it in her hand, breaking it away from her neck as she turned and met Martazul's terrified gaze, eye-to-eye. Kellea clicked her tongue, tsk, tsk, tsk. "You can't even hurt me," she said. "You pathetic little vermin, answering to this fake demon."

"What are you doing, Marz!?" Mazkas cried out, unsure of why her lieutenant hadn't gone to alert Annen.

"I don't know where she is-" she began to say when Kellea grabbed her by her chest armor and yanked, headbutting her in the process so hard that it crushed Martazul's nose completely and flattened the bones into her sinuses. She collapsed unconscious afterwards, falling into a heap. Kellea, believing that she had killed her, turned her full attention to Mazkas, who had donned another mask despite the overwhelming pain she had been dealt in the preceding moments.

Kellea sneered. "How long are you going to keep this going, Mazkas? You're putting up even less of a fight than Lisykna did."

"Until something works," she answered, blood dribbling from her mouth. "Lisykna can't do this, after all."

Kellea straightened up, almost too amused to take the fight seriously any longer. "Do what?"

"Your sword. Drop it!"

Involuntarily, Kellea's hand relinquished its grip on her sword. "Wh-what the!?" she stammered, before balling a fist.

"Back off!" Mazkas demanded, and Kellea was forced to obey, stepping back several steps as fear began to take hold. "Look at me! Look at me!"

As she kept her eyes locked on the mask's eyes, the Overlord felt a growing sense of helplessness creep up on her. Her breath seemed to catch in her throat, as if Lisykna's gauntleted hand were wrapped around it once more, as if the burning blade were suspended just over her. It was the feeling of death close at hand, but how? She had no time to question it, as Mazkas had paralyzed her with her enchantment and now sought to end her life in the cruelest of fashions.

"KILL YOURSELF. BREAK YOUR NECK."

Kellea squirmed backwards on the dirt, the mask's eyes burning a hole in the back of her brain as she felt compelled to bring her hands to her jaw and the back of her skull. The urge to obey this final and terrible order was overwhelming, until, at last, a clear thought pierced through the fog Mazkas had instilled in her mind. Kellea closed her eyes, and within only a moment, the feelings passed- the mask's power could only compel her if she foolishly looked into its eyes. Now genuinely infuriated, Kellea used the sensation of Mazkas' aura to leap at her, but again met nothing but air. The witch had quickly retreated into the air. "Enough tricks, witch. I'm going to bury you now," she warned, feeling for her sword. As she gripped the hilt, she felt Mazkas trying to hurt her with her one good leg, stomping on the small of her back, but it only felt like she had been struck by a child.

With a simple turn and a swing, just like she had tried with Lisykna in her last fight, she planted the blade's edge deep into the witch's ribcage. Mazkas immediately came to a stop, unable to resist any further as the magic holding her masks aloft and against her face dissipated. Kellea stopped to enjoy the moment as well, watching the will to live fade from her foe's eyes.

But quickly, it became apparent that Kellea wasn't stopping of her own free will. This time, it was her blood- held in place by the blood mage Annen.

"Kellea," she said calmly, stepping over to Mazkas and Martazuls' crumpled bodies to investigate, "I would have thought you'd learn a ward or two before troubling my camp. How about we find out how much blood can fit inside your skull before your brains come spraying out of your eye sockets?"

"Now!" a voice called out, and a barrage of magical bolts fired from the rubble of the farm house in Annen's direction. Instantly, the blood mage's grip on Kellea loosened as she was forced to defend herself, pulling from the pools of her fellow officers' blood to create an aerial shield which blocked the incoming blasts. As soon as she had done so, however, Kellea crashed through, shoulder-tackling her before nearly beheading her with her sword. Annen rolled backwards, reforming the blood shield into a blade and stabbing the Overlord in the back.

Kellea merely flinched before throwing her sword forward and piercing Annen in the chest. With a leap, she grabbed the hilt and kicked her foe in the face, pulling the blade back out in the process. The bloody sword in her back dissolved into a splash of blood and now Kellea and her archdemons had Annen on the defensive. "None of you are strong enough," Kellea declared. "Not alone. Not together. I'll drive you back into the Northern Wastes and kill that Kaizen-serving whore! D-ugh!"

For a moment, the two froze, with Kellea's blade raised above her head. Annen had magicked another blade, this time out of her own blood as it trickled out of her chest wound, and it had shot forward into the Overlord's neck. Kellea backed up, having lost her equilibrium, and once again, her guards sprung into action. But now, as one attempted to conjure hellfire on Annen, the latter used her sorcery to grip the archdemon's blood, and, just as she had teased Kellea before, caused a fatal headrush. The archdemon collapsed to his knees, unable to move or bend his joints before the blood began to break vessels in his tongue, eyes, and finally his skin, his entire face and head rupturing into a gushing hemorrhage that dislodged his eyes and spilled his brain matter onto the barren soil.

As the others nearby recoiled in horror, the bloody mess exploded into shards of hardened crimson, slicing open bodies and limbs as the Overlord and her company retreated toward a freshly-formed portal, leaving a handful behind. Likewise, Annen staggered forward, wounded, toward Mazkas and Martazul, unsure if the latter was even alive. She glared at Kellea, wanting to continue to attack but afraid that she might lose the upper hand if it dragged on too long. Unsatisfied, all she could do was hiss. "You have nothing else to say... Did I nick your vocal chords, Kellea? Or did you overplay your hand, yet again?" Annen asked through gritted teeth.

But to her displeasure, Kellea answered more intelligently than Annen was led to believe she was capable. "...My hand?" she asked with a sly smile. "When our armies meet, then you'll have seen it. Until then, I'm only getting stronger." She took out the shard of Trig's bones and held it where Annen could see it. "This was merely practice. Did you enjoy it as much as I did?"

 

[Infab]

Back in northern Daristein's mountains, Rebecca's group made slow progress through the wilderness. Mainly, the slow speed was due to the weather. Snow was a bit more difficult to trek through, as opposed to forest foliage. They would stop over the course of a few nights, keeping warm with a mixture of thicker clothes and hot food at the campfire. However, they would not arrive at their destination without being held up.

The evening before their arrival at the castle...

​

"...A nice place to stop at, all things considered." remarked Rebecca, as she looked up at the crumbling remains of an old Daristeinian watch tower. Centuries had passed, and the years and weather had eroded most of the stone that made up the wall to the left. A lone structure stood at the end of the wall, but it wasn't really usable as shelter; the roof had caved in on itself at some point in the past. Likely due to the weight of snow being piled onto it.

A small freshwater river flowed past the watchtower's base, which some of the group were already using to fill their canteens or clean off gear. A campfire was already being made, just on the right side of the tower in its shadow, by Constantine and Azathor. Sebastian was inspecting the ruins alongside Riberta, the latter talking about the days when the tower was actually still in use.

"It's quaint." responded Cassandra. She wasn't near old enough to have seen this tower in its prime. In fact, she dreaded the northern mountains of Daristein. It brought back far too many memories of her own bloody past. The months of trying to escaping her vampiric captors, whom hunted her for sport through the forests.

She eventually sighed, before speaking again. "So, who's taking the first watch tonight?" she asked, calling out to the others nearby.

Riberta glanced over. "Its Azathor's turn." said the hybrid, pointing towards the demon as he laid more logs onto the fire. "We've been through the list, so he's up again."

"Right." responded Cassandra, before looking back to the Saint. "I'm going to attempt to get some sleep... Even though I don't really need it, its nice to slip off into dreamland every now and then."

"Alright. Really we all need the sleep. We've got a long day ahead of us." stated Rebecca. "So everyone, get some proper shuteye."

A few hours passed, and soon enough most everyone had filled their bellies and were off to sleep. Those that could sleep, anyway. Others, either because of supernatural means or thanks to being in a near black forest in potentially enemy territory, just couldn't shut their eyes for very long.

Being awake didn't seem to help them notice the figures moving in the darkness. It wasn't till one of them, one of Jakob's detectives, let out a loud snort of a snore that some were roused from their sleep. Just at the right time.

Over a dozen vampires had made their way into their camp, and were scattered about. Clad in all black outfits, with cloaks hanging from their shoulders and wide-brimed hats resting atop their heads. Their blood red eyes were locked onto their targets, blades at the ready to strike. Assassins.

They froze in place, looking at their targets with narrowed eyes. Rebecca's hand wrapped around her longsword's handle, pulling it close as she prepared to defend herself. One of the vampires, however, soon spoke. It was a voice some of the group recognized, from a chance meeting at an inn back on Grimtham.

"To me." she said simply, and the vampires did as ordered. They pulled back from their targets slowly, stepping carefully and silently backwards through the camp until they gathered up behind their leader.

​

Zehra Yazar now stood motionless, her eyes slowly moving between the members of the group who were now standing. Preparing to fight. Once they were up and moving, she finally spoke again. "...We would have preferred to spare you a battle, and both of us some pain." she said softly. Her Eshaxian accent bled through regardless. "...Lay down your weapons, and we will still try to make this as quick and as painless as possible. Its the least we can do."

 

[EdwardDewey98]

Who would have thought that Billy's snoring would be the thing that save them; it surely was the last thing that crossed Jakob's mind as he awoke to the sight of assassins. These were vampires, as indicated by their red eyes, who were out to spill their blood when the group was at their most vulnerable. Jakob was among the first to get up, followed by others from his detective agency, as they pointed their guns towards their would-be killers. Jakob himself upholstered his revolver with swiftness, his iron making itself known to the enemies from the glint of the moonlight. "Who the fuck are you people!?" he asked, unaware that the others had met them back on Grimtham. "These ghastly chumps are vamps, Jakob!" said Marcus as he aimed his pistol to the assassin closest to him. "That fiery bearcat's got an exotic Eshaxan accent though... northern Eshaxan, Turegian perhaps?" he said after the leader of the assassin's spoke.

"...We would have preferred to spare you a battle, and both of us some pain... Lay down your weapons, and we will still try to make this as quick and as painless as possible. Its the least we can do."

Zehra's comment rubbed Sheila and Billy the wrong way, with the swampfolk detective spitting on the ground while aiming his gun at her. Shiela reacted more viscerally: "Least we can do? LEAST we can do!?" she shouted, her messy hair covering her face while pointing a double barrel shotgun towards the the assassin's leader. "Fuck off ya daft cow with your false mercy horse shit. Yer not doin' us a favor by killing us quicker. Yer still killin' us like dogs you rancid hag! The fuck is wrong with ye!?"

Despite the tense situation, all three detectives were grinning as they were amused by Sheila's thick lower Highlander accent. Still, not wanting to upset them any further, Jakob looked to Sheila. "Calm down girl, don't stir up the hornet nest." he muttered. Sheila scoffed out of annoyance to the remark: "I'd rather die to Tsavanian barn burning with me fookin' cousins than to listen to this drivel!"

Jakob nodded, before looking to the assassin. "Who are you? Why are you here, trying to kill me and my friends?"

 

[K0mori]

The commotion woke Sebastian up quickly, although he was slow to realize what sort of threat had closed on them while they slept. The Constantinovs? Again? How were they crossing paths again so far from Grimtham? Finally, it clicked; they were being followed and, by Zehra's own admission, they were here to murder everyone in their sleep. Angrily, Sebastian took up his shotgun which, due to his ongoing precaution against Cassandra's fragile mental health, was always loaded with silver slugs unless otherwise specifically prepared.

Jakob nodded, before looking to the assassin. "Who are you? Why are you here, trying to kill me and my friends?"

"We met them before, on Grimtham," Sebastian spoke up. "There wasn't any trouble, then."

He glared at Zehra. "What changed?"

 

[Dmaster]

The huntress struggled to sleep from the pervasive cold of the mountain air, yet exhaustion from travels numbed her senses to the point that she managed to get a few hours' sleep. When the assassins came upon them, she was among the first to wake and look to her would-be killer with an icy gaze. In the eerie silence of that encounter, Camille subtly moved beneath her blankets for weapons she kept close for just such an occasion; one of her daggers and the white oak stake she had been given by Claire held in either hand. Truthfully, she slept with these armaments nightly for a slightly different contingency than this.

Yet as soon as her vampiric assassin retreated Camille reached for her blades and unsheathed them, the additional layers she had been wearing over her battle garb meant that she was practically combat ready as ever, save for the belts and pouches of kit she tended to wear with it. Despite the demands to lower their weapons, she took up a combat stance and gauged the enemy's numbers. They were outnumbered and taken by surprise, yet the huntress would not bet on them being outmatched.

"You speak as if killing us would be a mercy," she spat at them. "You are not the first to believe that, and you shall not be the last. If I am to die this night, I will do so standing, not kneeling."

 

[Infab]

"Fuck off ya daft cow with your false mercy horse shit. Yer not doin' us a favor by killing us quicker. Yer still killin' us like dogs you rancid hag! The fuck is wrong with ye!?" "I'd rather die to Tsavanian barn burning with me fookin' cousins than to listen to this drivel!"

Zehra simply leveled her gaze upon Sheila for a few moments, her expression never shifting as her eyes eventually drifted to the shotgun in the woman's hands. She didn't speak. Not until Jakob asked his questions and Sebastian added onto them with his.

"Who are you? Why are you here, trying to kill me and my friends?"

"We met them before, on Grimtham. There wasn't any trouble, then. What changed?"

She breathed a soft sigh. "...A lot has changed for us." she spoke, "...for me."

She looked at between Jakob's detectives, then spoke again as her eyes drifted back to their leader. "My name is Zehra Yazar. I am of the vampire House of Konstantinov, as are my associates here." she stated, "Though, our blood lineage bears no importance here. What we are doing is of our own volition. House Konstantinov bears no ill will against you."

"...My associates and I are here under orders to end your lives swiftly. Said orders came from Mazgith, right hand of the Abyssal King. In exchange for your deaths, our mortal families... scattered across this war-torn continent... would be saved from death either from this insane war, or from the King's demonic horde at a later date."

She looked to the ground for a few moments, as she continued. "The intent was to kill you in your sleep, so that you wouldn't suffer. The intent was pure. We wanted to grant you the most merciful passing we could. We don't hate you.... we're not psychotic."

She then looked back to Sebastian and Camille. "...I'm sure you have people that you care about back home. If you were in our position, would you want them to suffer such a fate if you could do anything to prevent it?"

 

[Dmaster]

Camille looked through Zehra coldly as she was asked that question, not even flinching at the quandary though her hand tightened on the grips for her blades. "For those I love, there is no challenge I would not face. Yet I would never resort to a path that is cruel and unjust under the false pretenses that it would protect them from a torturous end," the huntress starts, pointing one of her swords accusingly at Zhera.

"You are a coward," she goes on. "Do you not understand what you agreed to do? You have taken a deal with a demon to end the lives of those who are seeking to put a stop to this madness. Are you confident that they will honor their bargain with you? No, demons are also cruel and cowards. You debase yourself by being like them."

"Killing us in our sleep is the easy path to their salvation from this chaos and oppression from demonic masters, yet choosing to fight back against those with power to save them yourself? That is just. And that is hard." Slowly she lowers her swords back to her combat stance, her eyes shining with raw intensity even in the blackness of the camp. "I would never bend the knee to a demon, kill mothers and fathers just for the mere chance that they would have the honor to keep their word after I did their bidding for them. To protect my family from their evil, I would not hesitate to kill them no matter how small of a chance there may be of success. Like I will not hesitate to kill you if you do not back down."

"Their lives are at stake, the fate of the world is at stake - regardless of your intentions, I know I stand on the right side of history. I refuse to let your selfish acts stand in the way of our cause!"

 

[EdwardDewey98]

She could not believe what she was hearing, Sheila gritted her teeth as she prepared to fire her shotgun, but Jakob stopped her by grabbing the guns barrel and shaking his head at the lower Highlander, he then turned his attention back to Zehra. "I understand where you are coming from; you want to save those you love, that's a noble thing... except, you are doing it all wrong." Jakob lowered his revolver, taking a few steps towards the leader of the assassins. "Right now, I'm not seeing vampire assassins, all I see are a bunch of cowards who in desperation decided to take the "easy" way out, instead of doing the RIGHT THING which is to grab your swords and guns and stick it to the demon SCUM that are threatening you and your families!"

Jakob shook his head. "Look at you, members of a vampire noble house, I know of the Konstantinovs, the house without a land of home, free to roam the two continents, but instead of fighting to maintain your freedom, you is here trying to kill people trying to save the world? Is you sick in the head, girl?" Jakob couldn't help it, the longer he looked at these assassins, the more upset he got. "And don't fucking dare to say I don't know the struggle cuz I know it; I was a cop, a civilian who for some reason was involved into all of this, I went through hardships that affected my family, I could have easily taken some demons deal to protect them, but I never did, I marched on! I went to the god damn Abyss to save my friend, and I almost ended up saving two!"

"When I was in the Abyss, back home a sorry excuse of a goddess almost burned my city to the ground, but my people; normal humans, mind you! stood up to her, ready to protect their homes against tyranny, and you! Vampires! are afraid of fighting to save your families?! I am sorry, I feel sympathy for you... but also, you... you almost disgust me."

 

[Breadman]

...I'm sure you have people that you care about back home. If you were in our position, would you want them to suffer such a fate if you could do anything to prevent it?

"Oh, I know a thing or two about that." Constantine finally said something. The wraith had kept quiet so far trying to figure out what the trouble was about, but now it was clear. "Your families are as good as dead, you idiots. The demon will have us killed and then what? Did you sign a contract? Do you know the terms? The fine print? I bet you dont. As soon as you do this job, you're going to go hug your loved ones thinking you've saved them and when you go home you'll find them released from pain the only way a demon knows how. Death. A pile of corpses torn to pieces or ashes put in one place. Thats their way." He pointed to the direction behind her. "Turn around. Go to your families. Fight off what comes for them."

 

[Damian0358]

Xiaòzhou had 'slept' in the typical hermit fashion, but the moment he was awakened by the general revelation that they had been ambushed by vampires, he kept to his own position. He could easily enter a combat stance, utilize his qi to attack, whatever. But the thing that bore into his mind more, as the others tried to question the motives of the Konstantinovs and dissuade them from fighting them, was a more practical issue - why hadn't he sensed them approaching? He might not be the only one in the group that can sense auras, but he was among the particularly sensitive, and even he was blind-sighted. Was it the clothes that they wore that stopped their aura from spreading? As much as it was possible, for it to be so strong to cause his own senses to falter...

"Even if they had read the fine print, it would not have helped them. Terms are always liable to change at a later date," the hermit stated, as he got up from the ground and added to Constantine's words.

"Especially when it comes to whatever is cloaking your auras at the moment. Were those provided to you by Mazgith too? If so, under what conditions and costs? And how do you know that the thing provided to aid you in killing us won't be used against you?" the oni touched directly on what he had picked up, and how the vampires might've made themselves more liable to subversion afterward with what they have on them right now, though he wasn't still sure what exactly it was that they had (and if it had anything to do with the demons to begin with).

 

[joshuadim]

Azathor cursed at himself when he realized that enemies had gotten through his watch, the one job he was given, and had thus far remained silent as others dealt with the situation at hand. He had his hand to one of his pistol holsters, ready to fire should things go sour. Their auras being masked wasn't a surprise, given that he was wide awake throughout his entire watch; he would have spotted them coming a mile away otherwise. He watched for any indications of things turning sour, though he hoped that the others would be capable enough in convincing them to leave.

 

[Worthlessplebian]

Sleep came to Rajko effortlessly, lulling the werebat into a deep, if unusual, slumber. A taste of peace, however, brief it would be. Only to be awakened by the vampiric ambush. He started, rolling off his makeshift bed into a kneeling position, hand slowly coming to rest on the handle of his pistol. His dark eyes dragged from one Konstantinov to another. Mind flush with questions of his own, was it daemonic magic that hid their very-being or their own furtive ways? Rajko was certain he would've sniffed them out otherwise. Their pleas were heard, although the inquisitor found it difficult to empathise, or even sympathise, with their predicament. For all they knew, their relatives were already slain butchered like cattle in a rank abattoir.

He did disagree on a single matter, though patronising them is not a tenable method to rectify their convictions. He rose moments before Xiaòzhou spoke, arm still beside him and hand firmly clenching his pistol. Although Rajko questioned whether they could be convinced now, perhaps the harsh words with colorful jibes might have cut deep enough to quell, instead of inflame. In their eyes, they have come too far, in terms of distance and morality, to shirk now would be a disservice to themselves and their loved ones.

The small river's currents rushed, crashing against the banks, howling in the cool, night air. Rajko threw a steely look as the whispering wind snatched weakly at the cloaks of the assassins. "Indulge my curiousity, but why not gather the rest of House Konstantinov for aid? In protecting your families, I mean." He began, letting the snapping fire cut through the unsteady silence. "Unless they don't know you're here at all. Hence why you would distance yourself from them. I am not privy to the deeper psychosocial aspects of a vampire House, but guarding your own is a necessity for any group. I doubt they spurned you, otherwise why bother protecting their name from your actions?" Rajko continued, voice grave, but even-leveled in the face of their would-be killers.

 

[K0mori]

"...My associates and I are here under orders to end your lives swiftly. Said orders came from Mazgith, right hand of the Abyssal King. In exchange for your deaths, our mortal families... scattered across this war-torn continent... would be saved from death either from this insane war, or from the King's demonic horde at a later date."

As the others spoke, Sebastian's mind stewed on these words. Suddenly, the inherent contradiction revealed itself.

"If your deal protects your loved ones from death either from the war or from Sazak's horde, then doesn't that mean one, but not the other?" he asked, growing exasperated. "Sounds like killing us gives them explicit permission to kill your loved ones, too. I mean, scheiße, they'd probably kill them all immediately and then say 'well, now they can't die to the war, so the bargain's upheld.' I genuinely hope you all didn't agree to those terms the way you just worded it."

 

[Infab]

Cassandra eventually spoke up, folding her arms. "Alright, well. We have two people calling them cowards, one calling them idiots... and one woman in need of a leash. Gods, its like you're actually wanting them to attack." she said, as she looked between Camille, Jakob, Constantine, and Sheila. "You're terrible at talking people down, you know that?"

She glanced to Zehra as she continued. "We're also dealing with desperate people. Yelling at them to go home likely to fight and watch their loved ones die, then die themselves? That isn't the best idea, because otherwise they wouldn't have come here to kill us in the first place. Desperate people don't think. They do what they must immediately, without regard for the concequences."

Riberta also spoke. "She tells the truth. I made the deal with Sazak long ago because I was desperate for vengeance." she said, looking to Zehra as well. "...Its likely they're in a situation where their family's survival depends on outside help. Help they can't get in other ways."

Zehra nodded. "House Konstantinov doesn't know about any of this beyond us venturing to assist our families. They will also never know that we are doing this. If Master Lucas or his brothers found out, we would be ostracized or executed for dealing with the infernal. We do not wish to damn the House with our misdeeds." she explained, "We will not ask any of the other Houses for assistance either. We're outcasts for a reason, and it has been this way since the Great War of the Houses."

She then looked to Xiaòzhou. "Nothing was provided by Mazgith to aid us. How we were able to sneak up on you is a House sec--" she began to explain, before being cut off by Cassandra.

"Its their clothes." said the pureblood. "House Konstantinov has a special method of enchanting clothing to suppress auras and allow the wearer to avoid detection by supernatural entities. I know because I used to own a set of Konstantinov-made clothing. It helped quite a lot during some of my old assassination jobs."

Zehra cut Cassandra a look, to which the pureblood responded with a toothy grin. "No secrets now. They don't help your case." remarked Cass.

Zehra shook her head, before finally glancing between Constantine and Sebastian. "...We know they're alive because Mazgith showed us. All of us." she said, before eventually looking directly at Sebastian. "The deal was they would be safe from both. Not one or the other. I apologize for my wording."

As Zehra finished, Rebecca suddenly spoke up. "...You could have asked the Church for assistance." she stated, motioning a hand to her chest. "We're not the same as we were under Velin's tyranical rule. We would have helped you."

One of the assassins behind Zehra spoke up, spitting "I really fucking doubt that!" before Zehra's hand came up to silence them.

"There's also Jakob's detective agency." added Cassandra, motioning to Jakob. "He's got people all over. They could have helped."

 

[Dmaster]

Camille scoffed at Cassandra's criticism, still completely on her guard as she glared at the vampires in front of her. "I am not going to play counselor to a group of people that have tried to murder us in our sleep!" she shot back. "And I am certainly not going to mince words with someone who is on the orders of a demon to kill us all!" It seemed appropriate to make a jab at Cassandra's incredible people skills, what with her experience with flaying innocent people in bloodlust, yet she held her tongue so as not to undermine the pureblood's efforts.

The huntress held at her blades and continued to look ready to pounce, though she clearly had no intention of acting until the vampires made a move themselves. In a way it was suicide given the darkness and their unnatural speed, but she did not want to be the one to make the first strike in this situation.

"I understand your desperation, but even when things are hopeless you always have a choice. Even when you feel trapped and cannot find hope, there is always another way. You only need the strength and courage to do the right thing - and killing the world's last hope for salvation here and now is very much not the right thing!"

 

[Breadman]

"Cassandra, with all due respect to your significant other. Shut it with the critcism!" Something hit a nerve. "If thats what you undestood from what I said, then the boss lady neads to clean your ears when you meet with her again." Constantine glanced at Cassandra. "Do I look like I don't know what desprate is?" He removed his hat to show his face. "They're not thinking? They're fucking thinking at speeds you're capable of covering by running." He turned his attention to Riberta "I feel nothing but sympathy for your pain, ma'am, but that's about it. I'm on two separate deals with two separate demons, werewolf. Neither of you get to speak to me like I can't understand what they're going though. I damned the people I loved to a gruesome end because of my greed and I have damned myself to eternal Abyssal servitute with my anger."

"Now with respect to you." He ignored any response from the Cassandra and Riberta "What do you mean they showed you?"

 

[EdwardDewey98]

"There's also Jakob's detective agency. He's got people all over. They could have helped."

"Damn straight." said Jakob, still looking at the leader of the assassins. "At the moment I only got three branches, but I got contacts across half the continent, even among the Janissaries of Eshax, we could find your family and ensure their safety." he then took another step, and was only a few meters away from Zehra. "Listen ma'am, none of this is necessary! My people could help you, I have excellent agents, and I am not saying this just to make me look good."

"You should turn around now and go look for my people, our headquarters are in Red Gorge, southern Atraca, but if you feel more comfortable in Eshax, look for the Agha of the Royal Janissaries in the city of Hanefi, his name is Ozbek al-Zasir; he'll get you in contact with my detectives there, even with the civil war raging on, I know I have at least seven good agents working between the cities of Hanefi, Kahya and Bayraktar."

"Just please, walk away and let us do out job."

 

[Infab]

"Cassandra, with all due respect to your significant other. Shut it with the criticism!" Something hit a nerve. "If that's what you understood from what I said, then the boss lady needs to clean your ears when you meet with her again." Constantine glanced at Cassandra. "Do I look like I don't know what desperate is?" He removed his hat to show his face. "They're not thinking? They're fucking thinking at speeds you're capable of covering by running." He turned his attention to Riberta "I feel nothing but sympathy for your pain, ma'am, but that's about it. I'm on two separate deals with two separate demons, werewolf. Neither of you get to speak to me like I can't understand what they're going though. I damned the people I loved to a gruesome end because of my greed and I have damned myself to eternal Abyssal servitude with my anger."

Riberta simply shrugged in response. Cassandra, meanwhile, muttered something under her breath before motioning to Zehra as Jakob spoke to her.

"Now with respect to you. What do you mean they showed you?"

"She granted us brief clairvoyance about an hour ago when I told her we were near. She allowed us to see through the eyes of some of her lieutenants charged with watching our families, as proof that she was holding up her end of the deal." responded Zehra before another of the assassins spoke. "Each of us saw what they saw. At the moment, the demons are simply observing them using human vessels. All of them are currently still alive, held in the border cities of northern Eshax. If we completed our job, they would escort them across the border out of Eshax. Away from the civil war."

Riberta raised an eyebrow. "...They probably won't stay alive for very long, once the job is done. This is Mazgith, after all. Sazak's sister."

"Damn straight." said Jakob, still looking at the leader of the assassins. "At the moment I only got three branches, but I got contacts across half the continent, even among the Janissaries of Eshax, we could find your family and ensure their safety." he then took another step, and was only a few meters away from Zehra. "Listen ma'am, none of this is necessary! My people could help you, I have excellent agents, and I am not saying this just to make me look good."

"You should turn around now and go look for my people. Our headquarters are in Red Gorge, southern Atraca. But if you feel more comfortable in Eshax, look for the Agha of the Royal Janissaries in the city of Hanefi. His name is Ozbek al-Zasir; he'll get you in contact with my detectives there, even with the civil war raging on. I know I have at least seven good agents working between the cities of Hanefi, Kahya and Bayraktar."

"Just please, walk away and let us do out job."

"To add to that..." said Rebecca. "...I'll inform Cassiel, and have him get word back to Eternis. We can send some Inquisitors to assist your detectives in rescuing their families. We're all in this together, after all."

Zehar looked to Rebecca for a few moments, her eyes studying the Saint's face. Then, she shifted her gaze to Jakob. After a moment, she heavily sighed and glanced back to her group. They were talking among themselves, wondering if they should accept such a proposal. None of them wanted to do this, that was clear.

Eventually, they looked back to Zehar, and each nodded along. Zehar herself eventually gave a singular nod back to them, then looked back to the others. "...Alright. I'm... We're trusting you. Please, save them. We can give you their names, and where they are in each city. Your people will reach them before we could even get out of this country."

Rebecca nodded, looking to Jakob and smiling before heading over to her satchel to find some paper and a pencil. She found some after a brief moment of digging, and brought it over to the group behind Zehra. They quickly took it, and began to talk among themselves as they wrote down names and locations.

Zehra watched them, her eyes darting between them, before eventually speaking again. "...We're in your debt, truly. Allow us to make this up to you, if you would." she said, turning her attention back to Jakob and the others. "Allow us to stay nearby for the night. I know it would be hard to trust us after what we just put you through, but we do not know if Mazgith hired other assassins to try and kill you. We'll keep watch on your surroundings and make sure no one else is able to sneak up on you like we did. In addition, we believe we know where you're headed tomorrow, and we could be of assistance in getting you into the castle. Once you're inside, we'll leave you to your work, and head for Eshax."

 

[Worthlessplebian]

Rajko turned his head to one side, guard readied against the subtlest of movements, dark eyes narrowed. He shot Cassandra a puzzling look as the pureblood doled out measured sympathies for the vampiric assassins. Rajko found himself forced to suppress a smirk, even with the difficulties of reconciling her sudden proclivity of compassion. He did allow her the pleasure of being right about their approaches, none of which would've yielded significant results. The light of the fire flickered, casting a pale illumination against the weathered wall of the watch tower, shadows stretching into the deeper darkness about.

Rajko's gaze followed Camille's speech. Poetic, even inspiring, but not the solution they so desperately need. The outcome of this sordid affair was grim, bleak. He breathed softly, knowing a single errancy of nerves could spell doom. However, at the mention of Jakob's agency, the chained tide seemed to turn in their favour. Indeed, the bud of hope fit to flower rested in the hushed communication between the vampires. The tension in his muscles melted away. The assassins hesitantly allowed their aid. "It's just as well, if you had gone through with your assignment, they would've likely strung you along. I wouldn't deny a vampiric assassination detail at my beck and call." Rajko assured, hand peeling away from the pistol's wooden grip.

He glanced at the rest, arms cross. "I am not opposed to the idea, albeit rightfully weary..." He trailed off, the exhaustion of deception intense in his voice. Better to keep them within sight as well, his mentor would've cautioned.