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

[K0mori]

"Scheiße...!" Sebastian cursed at the hoard of undead and their thralls continued to pour into the room, faster than they could be killed. The inspector had lost a pair of his assistants and things seemed to be spiraling out of control. "Du willst mein Blut!? Hä!?" he called out, his voice ragged and unhinged as he wielded his axe, turning back and forth in a circle to keep the enemy at bay.

Another ghoul lunged at him, and he immediately pivoted and cleaved the top of the creature's head off, sending a spray of blood and brain matter across the floor. He tried to turn back, but a thrall grabbed him from behind as he fought against his own momentum and tried to keep his arms locked, opening him up for others to kill. The mortal targets were easier, however, and Sebastian was able to drive into him, walking backwards until the thrall was pinned between the soldier and a pillar, before he threw his head backwards and broke the thrall's nose. Released from his grip, he was able to jam the handle of his axe straight into the gaping mouth of another ghoul before spinning around him, using his new momentum to wrench the wood loose from the creature's teeth and slice through its spinal cord with the corner of the axe head while he turned.

No sooner had he completed this maneuver before the next contender leaped at him- another vampire. Gripping his weapon like a shovel, he drilled the vampire in the teeth with the blunt side of the axe head, breaking them loose and causing the monster to choke on his own fangs. "Fuck you!" Sebastian spat as his foe reeled backwards gripping his mouth in pain. There were more ghouls and thrall closing in, however, not giving the young man even a moment to breathe. But they didn't know, Sebastian was only getting angrier and more violent as the fight continued, rather than getting overwhelmed.

A ghoul grabbed onto his arm, but instead of biting, it simply held on with one arm and swiped with its claws it his face, tearing the skin and leaving him bloodied. Another thrall arrived with a shotgun and placed the barrels right up to his chest, point blank, but Sebastian simply slapped his free arm downward, knocking it towards the ground as it fired. Shrapnel bounced off the stone floor and struck him in the leg, and while he buckled, the ghoul holding his arm didn't allow him to fall, and so he used this to his advantage, fanatically gripping the barrels and steering them upwards as he twisted, dragging the ghoul into the line of fire as he twisted the wrist of the gunman's trigger finger. The second round went off, blasting the ghoul across its abdomen, which gushed out blood and entrails onto Sebastian's lower body.

His arm now free, and the thrall having no more shots in his break action, Sebastian let out another war cry as he picked his axe off the ground and lofted it, bringing it down in a vertical strike that split the thrall's head open. He staggered through the corpse he just created, dislodging the blade with a sickening, sloppy sound, before swinging again and cutting down another thrall who hadn't seen him coming. Now, he collapsed in pain from his leg, but took up the loaded pistol carried by this unsuspecting foe and fired all five remaining rounds into another vampire, who simply turned and menaced him despite the pain he must have been feeling.

"COME ON!" Sebastian cried out desperately, at himself and at his comrades. He picked up his axe and prepared for a final stand against the approaching vampire, only to watch it drop dead as a perfectly-aimed shot pierced its cranium. Around the room, dozens of others began to fall similarly, either as a result of Constantine and Azathor's bizarre fusion, or because of the unexpected help they were receiving from the opposite side of the chamber. Whatever the case was, Sebastian had enough room to move that he stumbled forward and found his own shotgun, having been dropped earlier in the fight. The instant he hefted it off the ground, he recognized that there were still bullets in the tube, and with a quick pump, he was back to work cutting down one foe after another.

His work was inelegant, messy, and brutal, but it was beginning to work, and he wasn't going to give up until he was dead or the fight was won.

 

[Worthlessplebian]

His sabre wet with crimson. Tearing free from the pallid torso of a thrall, describing an arc of blood in its wake, staining the flagstone, creeping into the cracks. Rajko's arm fell beside him, lungs taking slow, shuddering breaths as the verminous thrall fell to its knees, then onto its sides like a slab of grey meat in a butcher's shop. The thunderous returns of battle rang out in the inquisitor's ears. He winched. The grating of bone against metal, the percussive bangs of gunfire, the wails of men, tragic horror, and beasts, bloodborne savagery, stabbing pain to temples of his skull. His breathing became hastened, drawing rapid mouthfuls of air. Only the quiet of his mind and the keenness of his focus silenced the incessant white noise.

He clutched his stained sabre in the pit of his arm, drawing his pistol. He depressed the release, letting the emptied magazine clang against the ground, metal bouncing off stone. Shakily, he clipped home a fresh magazine. Blood ran in thick rivulets down the length of his arm, almost gumming the inside spring. He cast a glance at his surroundings, seeing the moment of relief provided by their exhaustive efforts to decimate these vile things.

Just as Rajko was about to set to work again, he was charged. A vampire came storming out of the darkness. Judging by the speed and ferocity of its charge, it was addled by a bloody frenzy and a nightmarish hunger for the sweet, succor of life so potent it imparted insanity. Rajko could not fathom anything before the vampire hit him. It was like being struck head on by a charging horse. The moment scattered Rajko's weapons, sending his pistol skidding from his numbed fingers and sabre clattering against the hard stone.

He felt his bones creak as his back hits ground, forcing the precious air free from his lungs. He had no time to recover — the vampire pinned him, digging sharpened talons into the bite-wound of his shoulder. He snatched the vampire's angular jaw and thin wrist, short fingernails digging into the side of his pallid cheek, holding back the madman's attack inches from his face. The drooling jaw kept snapping at Rajko, all of his teeth were ridges of needle sharpness, only two protruding further than the rest. Their faces were twisted, animalistic, snarling. Rajko felt the stinging rage on his palate. Burning out his tongue. Again, his chains were tested, worn down by the savagery of this damnable creature's striking over and over. He could feel the heat of his heart rise in his throat, choking him with each breath.

Rajko's lips curl up. His features, gargoyled by the exposed teeth and wide-eyed, were suddenly frenzied. With bestial strength, Rajko forced the vampire's head to its side, pressing his fingernails deeper into the bones of his cheek. He exposed the vampire's neck. And struck. His teeth sunk deep around a deadened carotid. The vampire half-startled, tore itself free from Rajko's clutches. Trailing streams of blood as he went back.

Rajko rose, mouth decorated by a splatter of blood. His dark gaze locked with the vampire's widened expression. "You... bit..." It gurgled through blood-choked vocal chords. "And I'll feast on your fucking corpse!" He promised, voice darkly tinged by the butcher's madness. He leapt towards the vampire, his coat a streak of black and red in the hard shadows of the fortress, a sideways strike jarred the vampire, calloused knuckles meeting the bony jaw of the vampire. His hands went out, grabbing the vampire by his hair and driving the stout, batlike nose against Rajko's bent knee. Sending sharpened teeth flying like wooden flinders from the blow of a stone hammer. He punched again and again and again and again and again. Until gloved knuckles were red with gore, studded by fragments of bone, and hung with bits of brain.

He got up. Finding the bestial fury partially leave him. Self-loathing and disgust creep over him. The inquisitor could brook no time to dwell. He went over to his discarded sabre, kicking the blade's flat side into his hand, Rajko began carving a bloodied path through the thinning horde. Vaguely aware of assistance rendered from the far-side of the chamber.

There was no notion of pity, mercy, or hesitation. Only a glacial coldness, harder than the bedrock of this earth, and deep in its hatred.

 

[Infab]

The group's strength and numbers was dwindling fast, as there seemed to be no end to the volume of vampires, ghouls, and thralls entering the room. This was going south quite quickly. Rebecca, however, soon began to develop a plan. It would involve the use of a high level divine spell, but one that could cost the lives of her own vampiric or abyssal allies if she weren't careful. As she cut through a few more thralls and ghouls, she eventually shouted out to those that could hear her.

"IF YOU CAN HEAR ME, SEEK COVER IMMEDIATELY! I HAVE A PLAN!" she barked as loudly as she could. The Konstantinovs, at least those that remained, heard and obliged. The pillars provided excellent protection from whatever the Saint was about to do. Riberta, however, couldn't seek cover. She was too busy still trying to fight off the ghouls and vampires still swarming her, trying to eliminate the massive hybrid tearing through the room. Cassandra, on the other hand, was moving towards the far end of the room. She was curious as to who their new ally was, taking shots at whomever they could with what appeared to be a rapid firing weapon of some sort.

​

As she neared, she focused on the aura as it moved. It seemed rather familiar. Too familiar. Suddenly, a voice in the back of her head spoke. Snaking its way through the mental block that the Saint had put back in place.

Aleister.

Aleister? Aleister Germain? Here? Why the hell was that vampiric former priest here, of all places? Her eyes widened, as she shifted her attention back to where Rebecca was in the center of the room. The Saint had climbed up onto the center table, kicking plates and cups off and preparing some sort of wide stance. She clasped her hands together, and soon Cassandra began to spot visible heat and light forming from between the Saint's hands. Some sort of ball was being formed, pulsing and spinning between her fingers. She seemed to barely be able to contain it.

Genuine fear washed over Cassandra. What the hell was the Saint planning? Was she going to kill the entire room?!

She redirected her attention back to Aleister's aura. He didn't know what she was doing. What the Saint was planning. He'd be killed when she deployed whatever it was she was making. Cassandra barked a blunt and loud "FOR FUCK'S SAKE." before speeding up her movement. Of course, several vampires attempted to stop her, using their own speed as she moved through the room towards Aleister's position.

She eviscerated all that got in the way, cleaving hearts and heads from bodies. One even had the misfortune of having their spine pulled from their body. Eventually, she reached Aleister as he went to reload his rifle. She was covered head to toe in blood at this point, her piercing eyes gazing through a thin coating of vampiric blood spattered across her face and hair. She loomed over him for only a moment, before grabbing him by the collar and pulling him in close. She embraced him tightly, turning her back to the Saint's position as she moved towards one of the nearby pillars.

A moment before Cassandra reached the closest pillar, it happened. The Saint raised her hands to the ceiling above, and a bright white ball floated upwards three feet from her palms. It rapidly grew in size in what seemed like a split second, and followed with a bright white flash. The light was blinding, and the heat was almost unbearable. In that flash, every hostile vampire in the room was reduced to blackened ash. The ghouls combusted, bursting into flames and screaming incoherently as they burned alive. The thralls were all blinded by the light, their eyes permanently damaged. Most of them screamed out, dropping their weapons and clutching their faces in agony.

Riberta caught fire, letting out a roar of pain as the flames enveloped her werewolf form. Cassandra, meanwhile, stifled a moan full of excruciating pain as her back was scorched and coated in fire. Aleister, however, remained safe as she threw him behind the pillar before the fire and light could reach him. She then collapsed to the floor, writhing in pain as she tried to crawl behind the pillar as well. Fire coated her back, burning away parts of her clothes and skin.

 

[Breadman]

"Fine shooting." Constantine tipped his hat to the demon prince once they were separated. The wraith next turned his attention to the surrounding ghouls, tralls and vampires. As happy as he was to dispense more burning punishment it was becoming harder to control the horde. Maybe this was a bad idea after all. Then again the time to question every stupid decision was decades ago. He started to cut a path through the servants of the depraved, reaching the detective still fighting for her life. He reached for his cards. "HEAD, DOWN!" The wraith had four kings in his hand and threw each in an horizontal arc. The cards detonated as they lodged themselves in their targets. The explosions tore the ghouls into pieces that splattered all over the hall and its floors. "If you stay separated, you die. Come on!" They moved closer to their allies, the wraith trying to shield Shiela from the the horror galery surrounding them. They got closer to the saint, when she gave her warning.

IF YOU CAN HEAR ME, SEEK COVER IMMEDIATELY! I HAVE A PLAN!

"What are you..." Constantine looked to her and felt something sting him. The air itself was becoming hostile to his presence. The bright aura tipped him off to what was about to happen. "SHIT!" Forgoing his advise from moments ago, the cowboy bolted to the nearest cover he could find. He punched, kicked and headbutted his way through a trio of thralls and barely made it behind a pillar. The ball of light radiated through the room, destroying anything unpure in its path, singing any parts of the wraith that were exposed. Constantnine emerged from behind his cover and observed the damage. He had a raltively smaller duster now, but was fine. Cassandra on the other hand didn't seem to be doing good. The saint's attack had caught her in the crossfire. He hesitated for a second, thinking how strong a spell cast from a Rebecca could be before reaching for his deck again. "This better work." He took out a pair of queens and charged them in his hand. He tossed the pair towards Cassandra, hoping the Abyssall energy would be enough to stem the pain.

 

[Dmaster]

Camille advanced from gasping to outright hyperventilating, yet her quick movements remained as calculated as ever. It was like some kind of macabre runner's high where her honed killing intent and refusal to lay down and die were dragging her body to push itself like never before. Quick flashes of light bounced from her blades as she slashed many a fiend at a time, cutting deep into their centers if not cleaving head or limb outright. Despite the huntress' uncanny ability to press through her limitations, she found her vision blurring about her peripheral, causing her to tunnel vision on her foes and surviving their onslaught. The ghouls and thralls would continue to get strikes or slashes onto her, yet now the pain was so numb that she could grit her teeth no harder. All she could do was fight until the next hastened breath would be her last.

The only thing that knocked her out of her stupor was Rebecca's shout, yet even then she was too in the thick of things to properly move. She kicked a thrall squarely in the chest, causing them to fall backward as she laterally sliced through two ghouls standing nearby. A quick glance to the saint charging what appeared to be a miniature sun in her palms confirmed the meaning behind her order, and the crowd that was scrambling to kill Camille started to disperse as they too heard Rebecca's voice.

As her surrounding foes futilely scattered to save themselves, Camille attempted to seek cover of her own but fell to one knee as she rampantly sucked in air. Swords clattering to the ground, her limbs went slack and numb then refused to obey her commands. As the spell reached the apex of its strength, the huntress used the very last of her willpower to unfurl her cape of feathers and toss it over herself to shield her eyes.

 

[K0mori]

Rebecca's call came out, but Sebastian was too busy fighting for his life by instinct to really care what was about to happen. By now, he had been cut with knives and claws, grazed by a thrall's bullet which passed through his overcoat from back to front, and had taken a number of blows to the head and body which were leaving him increasingly bruised and weakened. But still, he kept swinging, kept fighting, using every ounce of strength he had acquired for the savage conflicts he had been destined to fight. It was only when a vampire landed a punch to his upper body that broke a rib and sent Sebastian flying back into a pillar that his head snapped upwards, above the fighting, to witness the glow of the light levitating from the Saint's hands.

His axe had already fallen free, and as a ghoul descended upon him, he pushed his empty hand up into its chin, driving its head toward the ceiling as he wrapped his left arm behind and gripped with his failing strength, tucking his head down into its chest and clenching his eyes shut. He would use the monster as a living shield against the blast.

And at that moment, he felt its teeth sink into the flesh of his palm, the bones and the sinew, and his scream was drowned out by the howl of the room as a chorus of undead erupted into fire. The flash had come and gone. He ripped himself away from the ghoul and fell to the ground clutching his bloody hand, his eyes tracing a vertical line from the stump of his middle finger up to the rigid, stricken silhouette, nothing but a humanoid matchstick against the glow of burning bodies all around. Within a moment, its shrill cry died out as it, too, fell to the floor.

 

[joshuadim]

Azathor had already exerted himself greatly in this fight as his heavy breathing indicated, panting in between strikes as he felled another ghoul that dared approach him. But it was then that the Saint cried out to take cover, and turning to face her he saw exactly what she was doing. The demon prince's eyes widened with a brief moment of shock, before quickly recomposing himself. He rushed towards one of the pillars nearby, though its angle would fully prevent himself from escaping the coming blast unscathed. Instead of bearing the brunt of that pain, Azathor grabbed one of the enemy vampires nearby by the neck and, after making his way behind the pillar, kept the vampire at the front to the rest of his body.

The flash that came cleared the room, and also burnt Azathor's hostage to a crisp on one side entirely. Observing, he could see a distinct line between where his flesh was and where the rest had been seared to a charcoal black. The vampire was still alive, if only barely, as his one remaining eye was wide open and his breathed ragged while bits of flesh continued to fall off him. Azathor grimaced and tried to waft away the smell, but he found himself too exhausted to do anything but keep his meat shield in front of him to bear the brunt of the continued divine assault upon the area.

 

[Emperor Sagan]

Aleister had heard Rebecca's shouting, though the meaning flowed past him like water, for his battle was growing increasingly personal as he danced away from a seemingly endless throng of bloodthirsty wretches. As new as his rifle was, capable of firing with each pull of the trigger like a grand double-action revolver, there were not enough bullets in each slim magazine to slay all before him. It seemed only his spirited experience with actual dancing was keeping him alive - hands upon his partner, a mere gun, fingers grasping all the right places in tune to the orchestral hell around them.

An aura was moving fast towards him - and then he saw her. An afterimage of death itself, Cassandra, drenched in bloody ribbons that were most certainly not her own. His lips curled back in a snarl, the old feelings still there. Only the sudden building of an awful, burning light seemed to stay his hand from trying to raise his weapon at her, but even that seemed impossible as she was upon him in the blink of an eye, hefting him up into an embrace. His hands twitched into hawkish talons as he grasped at her back in a mixture of confusion and anger, but yet again, that horrid light was building. He finally caught a full glance of a woman upon a table in the middle of the room, a sphere of pure light racing upwards.

He only caught a periphery sight of it as Cassandra threw him behind the nearest pillar, his delicate though toughened body being battered by the hard stone floor. At that same instant, light seemed to envelop all, and a drowning-like gasp came from his throat as he clutched at his face. Even in the shadow of the pillar he felt as if he had been submerged in the sun. He had felt such terrible pain before, those years ago, laying in a burnt garden with naught but a leather jacket over his defeated body in the ruins of his family home. Whatever magic that woman had conjured, he could see those who had not shielded themselves essentially disappear into what could only be described as a divine smiting.

Still clutching at himself, his skin pallid and too hot, his hollowed eyes fell upon the form of Cassandra next to him outside of the protection of the pillar. She had taken much of the magical strike to her back, which ignited her nearly like a torch. He stared back at her, teeth still barred in disdain, but in his heart he felt alone and lost in despair, for such a sight as her injured form conjured memories from the worst periods of Velin's Purge. Unsure - and unwilling - to leave the safety of the pillar, Aleister reached out with his rifle for her to grab a hold of to be pulled in towards the cover. With his other hand, old instincts began to work action into the world; a spell of healing vapors was being written with fingers locked into their holy positions. He knew not if it would heal, but it would soothe the worst of the pain. He was loath to reach out to her directly or to grab her partially engulfed form, but if she allowed herself to be pulled closer, he would attempt to smother the flames with the bulk of his black greatcoat.

 

[Damian0358]

As he worked to ensure they weren't surrounded from all sides, Xiaòzhou heard Rebecca's barking. If the saint was yelling for all of them to get to cover, something serious was about to occur, the hermit felt deep within. To the best of his abilities, he tried to make openings so that everyone near him could feasibly retreat to cover, especially as he began sensing what the Saint was doing. He could even sense the figment of Zazriel pinging him in the back of his mind in response to this growing aura.

What had been coordinated strikes turned into swift swipes just to force folks out of the way, as the oni rushed to cover and prayed that everyone else had reached cover too. Just moments after getting into cover himself, the attack went through. He managed to avoid harm, but in the blinding light he could sense the absolute devastation inflicted to those that hadn't gotten to cover, including to Cassandra and Riberta. Ever briefly, he wondered what would've happened had he not gotten to cover, a thought he shoved to the back of his mind as he tried to concentrate on the state of everyone else in the group that was still alive.

The situation seemed incredibly grim for most, enough so that just as Constantine began trying to heal Cassandra, Xiaòzhou tried to use his area-of-effect mysticism to stabilize everyone's conditions until they get to somewhere more secure where they can be healed thoroughly.

 

[Infab]

Soon enough, the light in the room began to fade. The grim aftermath of Rebecca's attack was visible to all, with piles of ash scattered across the room along with charred corpses and blinded, writhing thralls. The supernatural members of the group slowly emerged from their cover, looking about. That was truly a devastating ability that the Saint possessed. Rebecca, standing atop the table, soon dropped to a knee trying to catch her breath. She was exhausted. She put too much into the spell she cast. Eventually, she climbed from the table, staggering over to where Sebastian lay nearby. He was clutching his hand, with a charred ghoul laying at his feet. He must have been bit.

"Here. I'll fix you. Hold still." she said, moving over and kneeling next to the young man. She gingerly took his hand in hers, and began to cast a healing spell. It would counter the infection, cancelling it out and repairing his damaged hand so that he would have all his digits.

Meanwhile, Riberta had dropped to the floor and was now rolling about. Attempting to put the fire out that covered most of her form. A pair of Konstantinovs rushed to her aid, grabbing a table cloth to sling over to pat the fire out. Soon enough, it was out, but the lingering scent of burnt hair filled the area near her. Most of her form was scorched now, as she slowly shifted back to her more human form. Third degree burns... She'd need a lot of blood to heal up.

Cassandra, meanwhile, grabbed onto Aleister's rifle and pulled herself behind the pillar just as Constantine's cards struck her leg. Aleister's magic seemed to help as well, and soon her back began to rapidly heal as Aleister slung his greatcoat over her and patted the fire out.

She chuckled painfully, glancing up at the former priest. "...F-Fancy seeing you here, Al." she said, smiling. "...I hope its on friendly terms."

Xiaòzhou's area-affecting mysticism slowly began to mend everyone's spirits, allowing them to regain a bit of energy and breath as the fighting ceased. The remaining living Konstantinovs made their rounds around the room, killing the blinded thralls that remained. Slowly, the room grew silent as each life was snuffed out.

 

[Dmaster]

Camille's breathing was starting to become normal thanks to those mystic energies, her inhaling less shallow and more deep before she started to sputter and cough. The huntress was used to pushing herself beyond her limits, yet her whole body burned as if it was plunged in acid. This had been too close, and worst of all this was but one room in this damnable castle - there may be even more fiends than this within the halls.

Covering her eyes with her cloak had proved to be the right move, given how many thralls were writhing about clutching their eyes. She could feel some satisfaction in the fact that she had avoided death and blindness, and soon forced herself up from the floor while clutching her blades. Camille limply dragged herself over to one of the seats that had been knocked to the floor, pulling it upright before she threw herself onto it for a small reprieve.

Her eyes drifted toward Rebecca as she slowly sheathed her weapons for the moment, allowing the pain of overexertion to leave her body slowly but surely. At the moment, she did not have much to say while she collected herself, her mind still racing as adrenaline ebbed and survival instincts dulled ever so slightly.

 

[K0mori]

As Rebecca approached, she would see Sebastian curled into a fetal position on the ground, clutching his hand at the wrist and moaning quietly in agony, his eyes shut tight. With a broken rib pressed by the rising and falling of his diaphragm, he was wracked with pain every time he tried to breathe, and his clothing, still cold and damp from the icy weather outside the fortress, became mottled with bloody patches from where he had been been cut, slashed, and shot during the battle.

You grow sicker and sicker over the course of a few days, feeling dizzier and weaker as the hours pass. You grow colder... then you eventually 'die' in a way. Your heart stops, and you stop breathing. You're still wide awake and alert, though. It's a surreal experience.

He wasn't even aware of Rebecca's approach, he was so preoccupied with his disfigurement and the horrifying thought of a vampiric infection coursing through his veins. Zehra's recollections tolled in his mind like an old church bell- somber and full of warning. And in that pit of self-loathing he found himself sinking into, he was alone with the consideration of what comes next. He was certain only three things could happen.

The first was the outcome he prayed for. Not an elegant prayer, but a plea borne of terror. As Rebecca took up his hand, she noticed his lips moving without a sound, but the words were nonetheless unmistakable. Götter, he begged. Götter... Götter... He called on the Gods without the dignity of language, imparting them and the Heavens: let the Saint heal him and prevent the curse from taking hold.

The second was the inverse. Perhaps the pain would be taken away soon, just like in prior battles, but he would open his eyes to find his allies grim in their expressions, not just for the ones that were lost in this attack, but for the ones who would die without dying. Perhaps the Saint would tell him the curse was beyond her power to lift, and he would be forced to contemplate whether it would be better to carry on as a husk of himself, or to put a gun to his temple and go out on his own terms.

The third was a possibility so dreadful that he wouldn't dare to consider it:

Uncertainty.

What if, at the conclusion of the Saint's work, he would be given a reassuring smile and a pat on the shoulder, and told 'that was a close call,' when in fact the curse still lingered? How could she even know for sure? And so he would carry on, daring to hope for his future and for the future of the world, only to grow dizzier and weaker in the coming days, the warmth of life slipping through his fingers like so many plans, leaving him the same hopeless place as the second scenario, but without the strength and conviction to end it so decisively? Götter... Götter...

The pain ebbed and dissipated as both the Saint and Takato performed their works, and tiredly, Sebastian opened his eyes to find his hand fully mended, resting in the Saint's palm. He looked up at her fearfully, but saw neither reassurance nor grief in her expression. He only saw exhaustion.

 

[Infab]

As she finished the process, she eventually breathed a sigh and looked up to Sebastian's face. "There... you should have feeling in that finger just like before. Don't worry, you're not going to turn. We got to it almost immediately, so there's no chance that the infection had set in proper." she muttered. Her tone wavered a bit at the end. Her vision was starting to blur, and spots were making themselves known in her field of view. She felt lightheaded. Uh oh. "I-I think I might have... have e-exerted myself a bit too much." she breathed, before her upper body slowly drifted forwards.

A moment later, Rebecca fell over onto Sebastian's legs. She had passed out.

 

[Damian0358]

With things seeming to have finally calmed down, Xiaòzhou began to quickly take proper checks of everyone's vitals, starting first with those nearest to him. He could see the Saint approaching Rebecca to aid Sebastian, and those more well-off helping their neighbors, but just as he had noted during Rebecca's blinding attack things were incredibly grim.

Just as he made his way to someone else to heal them more directly, however, the hermit sensed that the Saint's condition had worsened, and he turned his head to look over towards her, falling over onto Sebastian's legs. Grimacing, with a brief look to the others as if apologizing for not getting to them sooner, he rushed over to the two. Even if it is exhaustion that's the prime cause for her passing out, the last thing Sebastian needs is another person resting on him.

The oni gently grabbed hold of Rebecca, moving her over to a nearby half-broken table, resting her against it as he briefly stabilized her further. A moment after, he looked over at Sebastian and approached him.

"...do you need help onto a chair?" Xiaòzhou suggested with a meek but earnest smile, ready to help Sebastian with what he needs right now before moving back onto the others.

 

[K0mori]

The Saint's sudden collapse didn't quite surprise Sebastian, although he wished he would have thanked her for helping him before she did. It was just that he had been distracted, frozen in thought after hearing her reassurances that he hadn't been infected, returning to that third case that he dreaded so much. I have to trust her... But how can she be so sure?

Even after Takato lifted Rebecca off of his legs, Sebastian sat on the cold floor for a moment, staring into space. It was the oni's concerned question that snapped him out of it, and nervously, Sebastian shook his head. "N-nein, danke," he stammered out, quickly springing to his feet. "I'll be fine," he muttered a moment later, searching amidst the carnage around him for his lost weaponry. Regardless of the aches and fatigue across his body, he found his axe and the guns, and slung each gun back over his shoulders and onto his back. Then he stood - as if at attention - in the middle of the room, reloading each weapon instead of taking a seat.

 

[Dmaster]

The huntress had watched the healing of Sebastian and the Saint's collapse with increasingly sharper vision. Her shoulders were slumped low as she was leaned forward, and now that she could breathe again she observed the soldier go about meticulously reloading his weapons as if he were at attention. Camille could tell how rattled the man had been after the experience, recalled his spirited screams during the slaughter now that she was no longer in the thick of it. Part of her thought him dead with the shrieks of rage and pain he had been letting out, but she was very glad that had not been the case.

"You really should sit," Camille called out to him, tiredness in her voice but her thick Escarian accent carrying some sternness to it. "I cannot feel my legs and the Saint passed out, so we have time before we move on. Standing at attention after what you've been through is a guaranteed way to collapse before we even see our next foes." With those words she slowly gestured toward one of the dining table chairs that was near her, inviting him to relax if only for a moment.

 

[K0mori]

Having prepared all of his weapons, he paused a moment with his Luger in hand, carefully looking over the blinded thralls that were now without masters, and he briefly considered putting them out of their misery. But also, he could see that Riberta, Cassandra, and the other surviving vampires on their side would probably need to feed on them in order to recover from their injuries, and he decided against it for the moment.

"You really should sit. I cannot feel my legs and the Saint passed out, so we have time before we move on. Standing at attention after what you've been through is a guaranteed way to collapse before we even see our next foes."

He didn't want to sit down, or slow down, or acknowledge that he needed rest. Right now, he needed to know that his body was as strong and as healthy as ever, and would stay that way. Of course, he couldn't communicate this; he didn't even think about it on a conscious level. At first, all he did was grunt in reply, but then he considered that the rest of the group wasn't in fighting shape, and that waiting was the only option. As much as he didn't want to sit in any of the dining chairs where the monsters at his feet were eating human flesh, he finally shuffled over and sat himself down, his stiff and straight posture giving way immediately as he hunched forward.

"Is everyone else okay?" he asked a moment later, his voice uncharacteristically soft, yet as tense as a wound clock spring. He rubbed the back of his right hand with his left thumb as he let his hands rest between his knees. "I know the Atrakanner lost a few, same as the Konstantinovs. But our group...? Everyone made it, I think."

 

[Dmaster]

As he deliberated on shooting the few writhing thralls still waiting to be put down by the Konstantinovs or the vampiric members of the group, Camille merely stared at him softly. From what she saw and heard of the ordeal he went through, she could actually pick up on the subtle cues from the soldier's anxieties. During this journey she had been observing how someone she would call ordinary was thrust into a world and situation beyond his understanding, much like she had been when they were crossing through an actual battlefield. By now she saw him look shellshocked from the madness the group had been exposed to, gain confidence, and then have something else horrible happen to him that shattered his gains. Being a mere man in this storm of insanity would be enough to break anyone.

"Is everyone else okay? I know the Atrakanner lost a few, same as the Konstantinovs. But our group...? Everyone made it, I think."

Camille's eyes glanced at how his hands were not still and her ears caught the intensity of his voice, and she took a quick look around the room and pointed out the movement of the others. Most were slow and painted with their injuries, but she could tell that they were alive. "... Oui, aside from those unfortunate casualties we have made it," she replied, looking back to him.

"What I wish to know is; how are you feeling?" she asked in a quieted tone, tiredness still in her voice as she attempted to make conversation. The woman knew well enough that he was not about to pour his heart out to her here of all places. "I heard what Rebecca said. About an infection that was staved off. You may... find it hard to believe her, but you should. On Grimtham I suffered a terrible bite from a werewolf, and divine magic saved me there. As it will save you here."

The huntress had absolutely no idea that the person who weaved that divine spell for her was in this very room. "That is to say that... I know how scared you must be, because I was once that scared. It's okay to be frightened, even terrified. I often am," she states with a bitter chuckle that leaves her. "I still owe you a great debt for saving my family, so if you ever wish to speak about the impossible weight on your shoulders, I am happy to listen."

 

[Worthlessplebian]

The sounds of slaughter continued feverishly, resounding through the ancient construction. The hive have risen like a tide, and threatened to drown them, drag them deep and bury them under a mountain of half-dead bodies. That was the thought screaming through Rajko's mind. He was lodging his sabre free when they came at him, splitting off from the pale darkness. They barreled into him, knocking his shoulder to the ground just as his sabre went loose. He elbowed one. Soft, emaciated jaw cracking with a soft crunch. The claws still came, plunging thin, brittle nails into both sides of his black coat. He grunted as they drew blood, warm flesh meets cold. The ghouls hissed like rats at him, their milky eyes wide with fervor.

Then in the tumbling, scraping chaos, Rajko heard the Saint's voice impeccably through it all like a klaxon beside his ear. He fought hard, her words throwing him off the edge of reason. The inquisitor tore himself free, nails and teeth shredding through the black folds of his attire. One grabbed his ankle, only to meet the blood-stained sole of his boot. Rajko was scrambling, driving himself with mad fury to the stone pillar for cover. His fingers clasped the edge, pivoting his body. Then the light hit.

His flesh ignited. The corners of his right eye, cheek, and jaw burst into flames as the inquisitor fell into the darkness. It was an inhuman scream. More fit in the throat of a banshee or animal than a man, echoing off the rough-hewn walls. the inquisitor bunched up, swatting at the flames to disperse them vainly. That rank stench of burnt flesh hit him, sickly sweet and foul. There was a rip as Rajko pulled apart the coattails and made bandages of them, smothering the fire in a crimson-stained shroud. He winced, lungs whizzing dry, cold breaths. He couldn't tell how long he stayed there, but the sounds of voices ringing brought him up.

He stumbled from behind the column, red-coated shoulder streaked a crimson line against the dust-ridden, gray stone. One hand clutched his side, stemming the flow of blood while the other's palm pressed deep the improvised cloth into his face. Breath going out in sibilant hissing. Only Takato's eastern mysticism kept Rajko from collapsing under the weight of his own body — already feeling the less-grievous wounds knitting themselves, muscle threads crossing and weaving together again, skin sealing close. But it was not enough and not quickly.

He went down slowly, sitting on the cold flagstone. His knees close together. His heart pounded up and down, its crazed tattoo in his chest. Finally, it settled, brought to heel by his and Takato's efforts. Rajko promised to thank the Oni later.

Tilting his head up, he allowed his lungs to carry the stale, smoke-filled air into his body. Close by, he heard the soft exchanges of Camille and Sebastian. Rajko wasn't facing them, but grit his teeth as he slid slightly into view. "You were bitten, yea?" Rajko said, his voice raspy with pain. "Have faith in the Saint." He bit back a grunt that was building in his throat. He swore by the Gods at how tired he was, exhaustion frayed his mind, but he tried to call up what ounce of reason and energy he could find. The man, perhaps now more than ever, empathized with the soldier. The memories of that night were stark and hung over him like a spectre now, the panic in his soul, the denial that coursed through his veins. The pleading, oh, that pleading. He was hugged tight by Solomon then, and the only thing Rajko thought was if he would bite and brutalize the man who just saved him. "I have hope that you'll be fine." Rajko reassured through the stinging ache in his voice, though he would not know if the shell-shocked soldier would consider it, given their past experiences. Hope that he, himself, never had in his future.

 

[Breadman]

Cassandra seemed to be back to normal. As normal as she can be at least. The oni and their new vampire friend were busy healing the pureblood from her grevious wounds inflicted by holy and unholy alike. Looking at the others, he counted himself lucky that all he got out of that fight was a few new scars, bruises and burned clothes. Temporary as they would heal and barely lieave a mark. Despite the dour mood and bad shape almost others, this was still a victory, so he'd celebrate with a cigarette.

Exhaling the smoke, Constantine turned to see how the injured were fairing. He stopped for a brief moment near Ribertta and pulled out more cards from his deck. After the bonding experiment with Azathor, he felt himself more inviogorated, but there was something else. The cards had replenished themselves, which caused the gambler to raise an eyebrow. The queens and kings he had tossed just moments ago were back and ready to be shuffled. The cards hard a certain sheen to them as well. Something was effecting him and so far it was having positive effects. For now.

"Jack and friends might help a bit." He gave the hybrid the set of Jacks. If his experiences with Boris was anything to go by, then the cards should offer some respite even for burns. Then again that man would pretend a giant gash was a flesh wound.

 

[K0mori]

"What I wish to know is; how are you feeling?" she asked in a quieted tone, tiredness still in her voice as she attempted to make conversation. The woman knew well enough that he was not about to pour his heart out to her here of all places. "I heard what Rebecca said. About an infection that was staved off. You may... find it hard to believe her, but you should. On Grimtham I suffered a terrible bite from a werewolf, and divine magic saved me there. As it will save you here."

The huntress had absolutely no idea that the person who weaved that divine spell for her was in this very room. "That is to say that... I know how scared you must be, because I was once that scared. It's okay to be frightened, even terrified. I often am," she states with a bitter chuckle that leaves her. "I still owe you a great debt for saving my family, so if you ever wish to speak about the impossible weight on your shoulders, I am happy to listen."

Sebastian's eyes flicked up from his hands; for once, he looked as young as he was. He hesitated to answer her first question- there were words on his lips, but given the circumstances of the moment, they would be laced with alarm when he didn't intend it. For instance, his first thought was to reply, I'm cold. But it would only be natural for him to be cold, just as they had all been since their travels brought them to the snowy mountains, and moreover, his damp clothes were now full of holes. He also wanted to tell her, I feel sick, but this would also be natural- no different than when he had vomited at the sawmill on Grimtham. And lastly, he wanted to say, I'm tired. It wasn't just the fight, it was the fighting. The war, the constant movement, the battles, the insecurity of everything.

Since coming home to Daristein, Sebastian had been deluding himself, if only slightly, into believing again in his own safety. He had ignored the fact that he was traveling through the woods in secret, and not openly on the good, paved roads. He had accepted the company of yet more creatures of the night into his company, forgiving the fact that some had actually come to kill him in his sleep. He had contemplated the idea that demons were stalking his every move, and disregarded it in favor of pushing onward, pushing upward, climbing a literal mountain that, ironically, would take him further from Heaven and deeper into the depths of sheer horror than he could possibly anticipate.

It was always so much easier to find something snappy to say when he was facing down the barrel of a gun than it was to do it after the hammer had already struck and sent the bullet on whatever path it was destined to take.

"If it's the Escarians, we'll crush them," he said to a gallery of campfire-lit, smiling teenage faces, on the eve of war. One of them would later die in Sebastian's arms in an Escarian parlor, as he struggled in futility to communicate his helplessness to Camille at their first meeting.

Later, he would face demons and their handiwork in Atraca. Knowing their strength and appetite for destruction, he would nonetheless tell Rebecca, "I want to kill them all." And so, Hell obliged and sent two Icons, and he was privileged to experience Istres' claws ripping the flesh from his ribs until he couldn't articulate anything but a scream.

Even at the threshold of this fresh, new nightmare, he dared to joke to Camille that he might enjoy the task ahead (as it would allow him to take out his frustration with Cassandra upon some other vampires), and now, of course, he was at a loss for words again. The imaginary bullet from that imaginary gun had ripped its way through him. On some level, he suspected that it, and all the other phantom bullets which had struck him before, were simply made up of his own words - and that he only needed to stop speaking so recklessly to avoid being shot again. Perhaps fate would stop putting him into the worst situations imaginable if he would stop goading it to do so.

Regardless, to say "I feel cold, sick, and tired" just after being bitten by a ghoul might raise alarm. Or worse, it might not; each statement was reasonable in its own right, absent of any curse, but if he started to suspect that any symptom was unnatural, would anyone even believe him?

Camille certainly believed that he was already safe, as she shared a story of her own close call on Grimtham, years ago. It was mildly reassuring that she had firsthand experience with divine magic, but on the other hand, it was difficult to accept the proven experience of another in exchange for one's own unproven future. He wouldn't panic, of course, but he was far from relaxing. He knew that it would take a few days, at least, before he would come to realize that his health wasn't deteriorating and all would truly be okay. Camille seemed to sense this and reassured him that his fear was completely reasonable, and he nodded, before she thanked him and invited him to confide in her.

"I can keep going," he said quietly, both to her, and to himself.

"You were bitten, yea?" Rajko said, his voice raspy with pain. "Have faith in the Saint." He bit back a grunt that was building in his throat. "I have hope that you'll be fine."

Rajko echoed Camille's sentiment about the power of divine magic, but it carried a distinctly different undertone. Rajko had once been in the same position, but unlike Camille, things had not ended well for him. Of course, if Sebastian were unlucky here, he wouldn't be cursed with lycanthropy. He would be doomed to become a ghoul, which was much, much worse, at least in his judgement. Rajko knew the weight of this moment and wouldn't lie about Sebastian's chances. Sebastian said nothing in reply, but took a long, calming breath and nodded again. Shaking the thoughts from his head and recommitting to the task at hand.

It was then that he looked over at Cassandra and noticed that there was someone with her that he didn't recognize. Was it just a thrall? Or...

 

[Damian0358]

Xiaòzhou nodded in response to Sebastian's answer, but he could tell that the man was aching still. Thankfully, thanks to Camille, he would ultimately take a seat, though by this point the hermit had to shift his attention to the others, making sure to check up on them and how they're doing. He'd overhear some of what was being discussed between Sebastian, Camille and Rajko, but the words of the latter two would likely be enough to help the man, he felt.

Rotating around the surviving Konstantinovs, soon enough, he found himself approaching Cassandra, to check up on her, and from there confront the newcomer who seemed to have appeared during the fighting. Whoever he was, he seemed to be a vampire, but unrelated to those from the Konstantinovs. He wasn't fighting them, so evidently there was something going on. May as well check how both of them are doing.

"Are you two doing well?" he said to both Cassandra and the newcomer.

 

[Dmaster]

"I can keep going," he said quietly, both to her, and to himself.

The fragile smile of reassurance that Camille had been wearing crumpled into the slightest frown at his answer. She hadn't been expecting him to pour his heart out to her, yet she could not help but feel somewhat disappointed by Sebastian's reply. The mental stress of these kinds of trials were not really something that were better swallowed and kept under lock and key. When her hunting career first began, the elements that kept Camille 'stable' had been her pompous superiority and sheer bigotry. Coupled with the fact that her first kill on a vampire was against a mentor that tried to turn her, it was easy for her to make some kind of shield and justification to keep her from breaking down. Yet a young soldier thrown from one hellish battlefield of man's making to one that defies all reason, so soon after the other? The huntress was deeply worried for him.

"That didn't really answer my question. I didn't ask if you could keep going, I asked how you were feeling," Camille clarifies before giving a sigh of resignation. There wasn't really much point in pressing the matter further, especially when Sebastian was clearly under duress from all of this. "Just... think on my offer. Burying your anxieties may seem like the strong and responsible thing to do, but discussing them, facing them. That is strength."

"I'm glad you are intent on continuing, I'll be right alongside you."

With those concluding words, she caught Sebastian's staring and also looked in his direction. Xiaòzhou seemed to be on approach to Cassandra's prone body, though her gaze began to squint at whoever was with her.

 

[Emperor Sagan]

She chuckled painfully, glancing up at the former priest. "...F-Fancy seeing you here, Al." she said, smiling. "...I hope its on friendly terms."

With the fire now extinguished - and his great coat ruined in nary a few weeks of ownership, which he tossed aside in a crumpled heap - he stiffened as Cassandra's words drifted up to meet him alongside her pained gaze. He glared down at the woman, his expression cold, his eyes long absent of the mischievous mirth which had once ruled from there. His scowl and subsequent silence was enough that it made her parting statement feel more dubious by the second... but at last, with the ghost of a half-snarl threatening his lips, he spoke. "I will thank you for the help," he said, voice harder than the steel of the frozen shipwrecks beneath the northern sea, "but never speak my name like that again."

He had no pity for the woman outside of what his heart demanded, which like so much else about himself over the past few years, had been wretchedly abused and battered by the conditions of the decaying world they found themselves struggling in. At one point in his life he could recall listening to old men whisper their last words on lonely farmsteads, or the frightened cries of those fallen to fatal injury. A child thrown from a horse, or a hunter gouged through the gut by his own prey. He had heard the condemned ask for forgiveness - and gloat of their sins - from behind iron bars. On his many travels, often alone through the wilderness and absent country lanes, he had come across an animal ill or injured by the machinations of humanity, and he had knelt, in the mud, stroking the fur of such unfortunate creatures at their end. But now... he couldn't say if he would do any of it again. What goodwill was within him had been burnt away like a flame on fresh whale oil. All that spoke now were whispers, whispers of someone he didn't recognize anymore in the fear that he would realize the depths of how much he had truly changed.

An approaching figure took his attention - Xiaòzhou - and Aleister turned his stoic gaze towards the Oni. "She'll live, if that is what you are asking," he said, looking back down at Cassandra. He contemplated helping her up, but he decided against it as he looked back up and around at the others just a little ways past the man who had approached them. "Though that seems a pint bit more than what could be said for your friends." At the very least, by the looks of them all, he was in good company in terms of ruined apparel. To have a new greatcoat ruined already....

Shaking his head in irritation, he stepped aside towards the tables nearby where many were now sat and gathered, the heels of his fine shoes clacking loudly upon the floor now slick with ash and viscera. Without his coat, he cut an even more dashing figure than before, his well-tailored charcoal trousers matching the color of his vest and cravat; both were gilded with subtle embroidery of the same color, causing the patterns to only be revealed as a shimmer when he moved in the glow of the chandeliers, as if they were revealed like a village by the flash of lightening during a midnight tempest. His white shirt beneath was, unlike everyone else, immaculate and not stained with the flow of blood.

With one hand, he raised his rifle so that the stock was facing forwards, and as if he was merely stoking a fireplace, he pushed several plates and goblets from the table aside, sending them and their awful meals clattering away onto the floor. Once done, he sat the rifle down and removed his bowler cap, which let loose a torrent of blonde locks that had been held up before, now free to spill out around his shoulders. This slight gesture earned a tired sigh as he affixed his eyes upon the faces that were gathered, many unknown to him, but some he was dreadfully familiar with. For a brief second he hesitated on Camille, utterly expressionless, before looking away and spotting Jakob - another face he could not look upon for longer than a singular second.

"Well, upon Undite's most gracious request... here I am," Aleister Germain said with a short conductor's bow. There was bitterness to the movement, stiff and without the playfulness he would have once imparted upon it. "I was expecting knights in blazing armor and perhaps an army, though I can see now that things remain the same as they ever were. I don't know if that is reassuring or not considering where it has brought us." His gaze drifted out over the injured and the dead alike, though he said nothing, his black-gloved hands unwilling to unfold from the fists they remained as; still, a hint of the divine healing which had been wrought by his hands seemed to glimmer with a faint aura of hope, at odds to his grim demeanor.

 

[Dmaster]

As the figure stood and cast aside his ruined coat, the huntress slowly balled her fists and glared with increasing intensity. Her tired expression was transforming into a hateful sneer as the coal-like embers of a burning rage were being stoked again. Aleister. Here?! Camille could just barely abide Cassandra's antics for the sake of their mission, and while her despisal for the pureblood was perhaps boundless the contempt she felt for the 'priest' was somehow even deeper.

That brief second of hesitation on his part gave a glimpse of her white-hot look of anger, teeth grit behind tight lips. Wrathful as she may be feeling at the moment however, her forearms and wound fists rested on the arm rests of her seat, making no attempt to draw her weapons like she may have done in normal circumstances. If Rebecca was willing to pardon Cassandra for her atrocities Camille had no doubt that Aleister would be spared judgment. This was just another monster among their number that she had to contend with, and that moniker was specifically extended to the likes of the vampire priest and mad pureblood.

As the rage within her boiled to the point of overflowing, she shot up from her seat and stood tall as her furious gaze pierced him. "I vowed to kill you," Camille spat. "And now at the request of your bleeding-heart goddess you come here? Why? Redemption... atonement? We were fine as we were without you!"

"Perhaps you were ill-informed, but we are to be fighting Sazak and his armies. The amount of innocents to bomb and families to slaughter is few, so your talents shall not be needed here."