by A Uscila
“Exactly. But you’re about to” – And with that, Wail shot back a few steps, the ball of flame quickly thrown at the foe as it enlarged significantly before being released. Yet the target simply scoffed at the attempt and lowered his shield to intercept. Color him surprised when the fireball fractured into multiple projectiles and went around it – each one exploding in a scorching blast, a few even burning off his eyebrows.
Boy did he seemed pissed.
“Sir ex, capital ex, ex, Archangel, ex…” – And what poor timing did Scruff choose to start a conversation – for the fury that practically radiated from hammer-wielding fellow was now unleashed upon him. With a shield bash, xXxArchangelxXx quickly felled the scrawny traitor and once Scruff was down on his backside, a transparent image of the bloody hammer was raised above-head.
“But I was told I’d be spared for opening the gates…” – The betrayer attempted, a hand raised as if to stop the upcoming strike.
“Consider yourself spared, worm” – A merciless verdict was spat out and with a sickening crunch, Scruff’s life was forfeit.
xXxAchangelxXx fumed with anger, his visor lowered with a quick motion, before a step was taken towards Wail. A sphere of blinding light extending around him with such force that both Sorro, who was about to leap onto the fellow, and Scruff’s dematerializing corpse were blown away as if by some irresistible force. Stonework crumbled and fragments of it flew in every direction, a few even piercing Wail’s robes.
You’ve received 578 physical damage.
You’ve received 366 physical damage.
He could only swear under his breath at the numbers.
“I am the High Sweeper of Pedro and you shall face my holy wrath!” – The bastard roared as he slowly advanced towards Wail – hammer rhythmically falling onto anyone that got in the way, a bloody path of the fallen left behind. Whatever fireballs Wail and Sorro threw at him did little to no harm to the freak.
Indeed, things were looking absolutely grim. His forces were already scattered and pushed to the corners of the hall, while only a few invaders seemed to have fallen – far from enough to actually matter. Yet the fools still stuck to their orderly advance – even though they did divide up into smaller clusters of tightly advancing troops.
“Bring it down!” – Which was good enough, as Wail shouted a command at the few remaining geomancers that were sneakily hidden in the very back-lines. With grunts and energetic body movements – the geomancers shifted and morphed the stone pillars that quickly crumbled at their command – taking down only portions of the ceiling as if intentionally constructed so. Pieces of rubble, big and small, fell upon the heads of those fighting, yet with relative accuracy – seemed to target only the invaders with surprising effect. Shouts of pain and floor-shaking rumbles echoed about, as a large portion of the invaders were rendered inept for a period of time, if not killed outright. An opportunity that was quickly taken up by those remaining on the defending side – which did swing the tide of battle somewhat in Wail’s favor. That is – it would have, if not for the damn High Sweeper and the crazy female – the two being a force of nature in their own right.
Desperate, Wail attempted to delay xXxArchangelxXx to the best of his abilities, yet all that was rendered useless as the bastard simply leaped with absurd strength and ended up within reach of the warlock – the swiftness of the charge making it hard for Wail to react to. All he could do, was step back and pray for the best – for rescue was on its’ way. With a gargle and a screech, both minion number one and even Sorro leaped through and upon the fanatic – claw and rusted sword making short work of the white paint on his shining armor.
“Get off me, putrid children of heresy!” – The High Sweeper roared and stepped back till his back slammed into a nearby pillar – rock crumbling under the force. Crushed against the hard surface, minion number one slid away limply – the poor minion’s bones and muscles rendered useless by the force of contact, no doubt. Sorro didn’t do that much better, as the devil was simply grabbed by its’ pristine mane and thrown to the other end of the hall like some unresponsive electronical device.
Motionless against the crumbling stone, minion number one lay with its’ lifeless gaze directed at Wail in an almost forlorn look – the disposition no doubt projected by the summoner himself, as his heart quivered at the sight. With a descending hammer and a disgusting crunch, the minion’s limbs shook for the last and final time while Wail could have sworn that a transparent, purple shadow seemed to drift out of the ruined body – his pale hand extending towards it hopefully.
“You’re next, apostle” – The High Sweepers proclamation rousing Wail from the depressing daze.
“Not if I can help it, freak” – Colder than a winters’ breath, Willow’s voice echoed just as she slid into the fray from the side, dagger shining in a golden luster. With an almost savage ferocity, she sunk the whole of the blade into the target’s leg – right between the armor’s joints. Finally, a pained grunt of disbelief left xXxArchangelxXx, as he stumbled from the attack. Yet willow was just beginning. As the target turned to face her, Willow’s slid between his legs and quickly got to her feet – dagger out and ready for another attack, though this time – right under the helm. A lethal blow that was a long time coming.
It was almost devastating to see her fly off after being blown away by the transparent sphere of light that suddenly expanded in a burst of energy. Hope quickly died and Wail could only desperately throw in a few more fireballs in retreat.
In his peripheral vision, he could see a situation no better. Bob was on his knees mere steps away from the female, his dark armor now completely battered and ripped open in places, while gusts of black smoke billowed out from open wounds. Macrosh was locked in mortal combat, a final roar of defiance loosed, just as the slab of metal for a sword swung to cut the dancing female in half, only to have her jump over the cut like an inhuman dancer. Her own sword thrust in a piercing motion – the tip coming out of the orc’s left shoulder a few moments later. Weapon clattering to the ground as the limb now swung uselessly. Having seen what transpired, Bob let out a shout of his own – a desperate cry against the injustice of it all, as he charged at the foe in a futile bout for revenge.
Wail wanted to help them. To join hands in one final push for victory. Too bad he wasn’t given a chance, since the High Sweeper now turned his full attention at Wail.
“Now, where were we?” – The vindictive lunatic inquired rhetorically and rushed at the stumped magician in a sudden burst.
You’ve received 1623 physical damage.
The bent front of the shield met Wail’s own in a bone-shattering blow, which sent the poor magician flying to the other end of the hall, only to crash painfully into its’ stone wall.
You’ve received 3599 physical damage.
A familiar moment. Wail should really start avoiding face-to-face confrontation with individuals of superior physical capabilities. With a groan, head swimming, Wail slowly got up from the ground – without even remembering when exactly he landed on it.
“Maybe next time…” – he mumbled under his nose.
“There won’t be a next time, heretic” – Yet Pedro’s chosen reaper was already towering above with the hammer raised – a dramatic pause given before it fell down with great speed.
Yet, Wail’s survival instincts won over in this confrontation, honed to the max over the long years of hiding and avoiding trouble, the cowardly warlock rolled to the side before he could even think about doing it. Good thing he did, though, since the blow he dodged descended with such force, that a large portion of the wall simply exploded outwardly, leaving behind a hole that provided a great panorama view of his castle-town. What was left of it, that is. Fire’s seemed to rage everywhere the eyes could see. Who knows when or who – but someone thought it was a good idea to burn everything to the ground, apparently.
“Cease your pointless struggle, rat” – Merciless, unbidden, the High Sweeper stepped towards the
warlock once more, the hammer readying for another strike – “See as all that you hold dear burns in holy fire and your blasphemous covenant is crushed under my heel” – He continued proclaiming in a righteous tone.
“Not if I do it first…” – Wail snarled back.
“What?” – The threat seemed to leave the executioner in a stump.
Eyes on the floating Soulfiend, Wail initiated the worst thing he could think of, while a transparent purple line connected the two.
Would you like to open the portal to hell at the cost of 100 souls?
Yes
No
Without even flinching, Wail accepted. Not once. Not twice. But six times. If he was going out, why not go out with a bang?
With a sudden lurch, the Soulfiend ceased moving and began to shake and distort in a peculiar manner. The air seemed to grow still, while the temperature rose by a few degrees, even the hammer-wielding lunatic seemed to notice, his visor moving about as if to see what was the cause of it. A few moments of futile looking without noticing anything out of the ordinary and the visor finally turned back at Wail.
“What have you done, unholy creature?” – His voice boomed demandingly, though his hammer was all the persuasive power he really needed.
“That!” – Wail shouted with an almost crazed, teeth-exposing smile, a finger pointed towards the center of the battered hall where an ever enlarging circle of fire appeared, its’ outline in a constant flux, while plumes of smoke and fire spewed out from the center. Slowly, with careful movements, large claws, attached to lean, spider-like appendages emerged from within – grabbing hold onto the outline of the portal, a grotesque fanged jaw following after soon enough. A blood-cooling screech shook the hall as the jaws opened up and all the fighting seemed to stop. Except in one of the corners of the hall, where a large abomination of black, disfigured flesh and dark, billowing smoke fought against a snarling female wielding a claymore. Her golden curls dancing in the air, while the recently worn helm lay on the ground, battered and bent. A red line trailing down from the corner of her lips. The two were locked in an all-or-nothing melee without heeding anything around them. Stonework crumbled and blood pooled on the ground in their wake. Heck, it even seemed somewhat evenly matched, as the golden-haired female’s armor looked battered and bent, a few freshly cut wounds spilling blood – the work no doubt done by the large black blade wielded by the abomination - lines of pulsing red stretching along the blade’s body.
“What have you done, demon’s spawn!” – It was at this point, that a barely audible tone of panic entered the High Sweeper’s voice, his shield-hand sweeping the air in an obvious expression of denial. A denial of reality that was finally crashing down upon him.
“Taking you down with me, of course!” – Wail shouted defiantly, from where he lay on the ground underneath the executioners hammer.
“Waaail!” – Before the hammer could descend with lethal intent, yet another savior dashed in to help out the defenseless magician. With a desperate yell, Vivian’s childish figure darted in-between the relentless attacker and the fallen warlock – her hands outstretched as if to protect a treasure. The perfect defense. Everybody knew that those religious fanatics were absolutely terrified of gaining negative reputation. Wail could only grin sinisterly. His ace in the hole.
“Out of the way, pest!” – The grin was quickly frozen when beyond his expectations, the High sweeper simply swept the child aside with his weapon wielding arm – away and towards the newly-made hole. Stunned, powerless, the child fell over – a small hand extended towards Wail, as if in search of salvation. As if he’d be there to save her, once again.
“Vivian!” – Before he could even think, Wail shouted in a pained tone, body lurching in an attempt to dive after the child, as if instinctively – a blow from the High Sweepers shield quickly sent him reeling back from the ledge before the selfish warlock could perform his very first selfless act. Thus saving his soul. For the devil, that is.
You’ve received 877 physical damage.
With a pained groan, Wail slid across the ground upon landing, his vision blurred once again.
“Noooo!” – A pained screech ripped through the hall, one unlike anything Wail ever heard. With shaky vision, he could only gawk at Willow, who with a reckless, heedless charge – dashed at the High sweeper, her dagger swathed in red raking a deep track over his back, while the female herself rolled and jumped out through the gaping hole in the wall. A desperate leap to save an innocent child. Wail could only mumble a silent prayer to the dark forces for her success.
The High Sweeper swore once again, his troubles far from over, since he was assaulted by both Sorro and the Soulfiend without a moment of respite. Sounds of yelping and screeching, echoing about.
Slowly, Wail got up with a fireball conjured in both hands, teeth clenched tightly and mind set for oblivion – eyes locking upon the two demons and their desperate bid for more time, while the High Sweeper swung his mace around in an attempt to obliterate the slippery devils.
“In Pedro’s name, be-gone spawn’s of evil!” – He shouted as if to reinvigorate his own resolve.
Wail could only smirk at the clown, eyes briefly darting at the portals that were opening up within and outside the hall – their insides spewing out monstrosities of all shape and form, the tides of battle now in the favor of the third force that seemed bent on consuming all in its’ path. Yet Wail did not feel saddened by the sight. By the sight of crumbling columns and lacerated floors, the dying underlings who were no doubt doomed by the looks of it, nor by the thought of losing all that he so painstakingly built here. Why, some would ask? Well, that’s because he managed to liquefy all his possessions and store the money in a virtual bank, of course.
“You’ll never get my money!” – Thus, with a last, defiant roar, the warlock recklessly charged at the obviously frustrated High Sweeper with hands wielding fire and destruction – though he knew it wouldn’t do much against that lunatic. And it mattered little.
Moments before the charge, a hammer accurately descended to meet Sorro’s charge – the strike strong enough to flatten the demon’s ribcage with a loud, bloody crunch. At almost the same moment, the High Sweeper aimed his shield wielding hand at the Soulfiend that was ripping at the shoulder with ferocious snarls – only to sweep the black apparition away with a concentrated beam of light. The floating wolf’s head shot back with a pained yelp, as it’s body seemed to slowly disintegrate before the onslaught.
That was when the warlock finally chose to jump in, the pointless assault now easily met with a hammer raised, descending swiftly and with the intent to meet the magician’s left shoulder as the fool approached.
Yet, the unexpected happened once again, and a sudden sucking force appeared from behind – which did unbalance the High Sweeper somewhat, but didn’t seem enough to stop his blow from landing. It did so much more to the magician, though. A bright purple line materialized out of thin air, as it connected the stumped magician to whatever lay over the Sweeper’s shoulder and with a powerful tug – Wail was dragged out of the expected point of contact. With a grunt of surprise, the righteous idiot almost fell over as the hammer hit thin air, while the warlock simply glided over his shoulder – leaving behind a handful of fire that slammed into the side of the High Sweeper’s helm, which sent him into another fit of fury. Outraged, he turned to finish off the annoying pest, only to witness a small fiery portal that was on the brink of shrinking – the sight of Wail’s robe’s disappearing within its’ confines being the last thing he managed to witness.
“Waaaail!” – In outrage, the High Sweeper shouted atop his lungs, stretching out the accursed name as much as his breath would allow, while swarms of demons descended on all sides – an impossible fight awaiting the religious lunatic in the burning ruins of Wail’s castle town.
******
Derek sat about his favored spot atop one of the city’s towers, a glass-full of orange juice lifted to the lips every n
ow and again, tongue licking at the lips after each drink, as if to savor every drop, while his eyes darted about a book he held with a free hand. Extravagant furniture and magnificently embroidered rugs decorated the tower’s interior, while a cool breeze drifted inside through the round windows that littered the surrounding walls in regular intervals. With lips twisting into a smile, probably due to whatever he was reading – Derek slowly lifted the glass to his lips once again. But the tower suddenly shook and the drink spilled upon his expensive attire, to which the young lord could only frown in dissatisfaction. Patiently, he placed the glass on the nearest table and slowly got up – putting away the book in the process. As if summoned, a knock came from the only door present.
“Enter” – Derek shouted and moments later, Princess stepped inside.
Surprisingly, the favored underling did not stick to proper decorum this time, as he spoke before closing the door.
“We’re under attack” – He laconically stated.
“Under attack? By whom?” – Derek raised an eyebrow at that, inquiring and without waiting for an answer - turned to look through one of the round windows. An answer was not soon forthcoming from the grim underling, but one wasn’t required – since Derek could see perfectly well who or what was attacking.
From the confines of his tower, a shifting sea of goblins, ogres and who knows what other monstrosities came to view – the sky riddled with screechers that darted down upon those defending the walls, while large stone boulders rained upon them – loosed by crudely constructed catapults. Catapults that seemed simple, yet of a size so large, that only ogres could successfully manage them. Once another boulder loosed by those contraptions landed inside the city, the ground seemed to rumble slightly.
“It seems we have miscalculated a bit” – Princess commented from behind.
