[IC] The Blood Compact

[thewizardguy]

Ignorant heretics shouted their curses, as they rained fire down upon the faithful. Screams echoed through the air, as man killed man, in this desperate slaughter. And yet, Kami no Kage focused all of it out, honing in on the voice of his prey. It was this that betrayed him, for even as the vampire spoke, Kami no Kage felt the voice, and it's echoes, forming an image in his mind. The capability of echolocation was normally only learnt by those born blind - the human mind was capable of great feats when pushed to the limit. However, Kami no Kage had mastered this ability, as it was necessary to fight creatures that hid in the dark. From the sounds he had made, and the sounds his prey had made, he could form an image of the situation, a compensation for sight his adversary lacked. Mithias was wary, and rightfully so, but little did he realize that the act of speaking, in and of itself, had been a trap, one that he had blindly wandered into. As Mithias moved around in the fog, he could hear the quiet, concealed footsteps of the elite vampire hunter. Barely audible, even to a vampire, they served as a key to locating Kami no Kage. Moving towards this sound, he was constantly on his guard, ready to use his vampiric reflexes to dodge the blade that would undoubtedly separate the fog in front of him. With the quiet sound of a blade entering flesh, Kami no Kage's knife entered Mithias' back. A deft manoeuvre, performed through the feat of echolocation, coupled with ultraviolet vision. The silver blade separated the flesh, the image of the crucifix burning upon contact. The wooden core had pierced Mithias heart through the centre, with nearly impossible accuracy. 'My people came here with the will to band together, to fight for the greater good of mankind. And yet, good men must now die by the hands of heretics, because you and yours refuse to accept my offer of peace. Now, I offer you peace once more. The kind that lasts.' With a surprisingly loud thump, the vampire hit the floor, blood pumping from it's veins, the lethal wound already inflicted. Kami no Kage turned as the smoke cleared, revealing the scene for those who stood nearby. he walked away from the corpse, before reaching down to a seemingly empty patch of dirt. There, he retrieved a small device, barely the size of a marble. A sound apparatus, creating false footsteps, and a false voice. --------------------------- As Mithias fell to the ground, he knew he should be dead. He had felt the blade enter his chest, the burns that even now were healing, the wooden core that would pierce his heart, the staggering pain of the final throws of death. And yet, as he lay there, his mind would not fade, his thoughts moving in panicked circles. For despite the blade having entered his flesh, his heart was unharmed. Rather, the wooden core had struck mere millimetres away, straying from it's mark in ways Kami no Kage would never have allowed. Far away, Gabriel grinned, his hands slowly twisting through the air, humming a soft melody. For it was his hand that wrought the destiny of mortals, and his hands alone that would decide them. Or at least, when he cared enough to bother.

[thewizardguy]

After the car passed, Johnathan turned back. His men seemed worried, and he wasn't entirely sure why he had let the car pass himself, but it wouldn't pose a problem. Kami no Kage, the greatest warrior of the Purge, had personally arrived to ensure the success of this Purge. There was no way a single car would make a difference, even if that woman had been a vampire. Of course, little did he know that he was being spied upon, that there was a figure in the forest waiting for him. 'All units to Kilo Point, we need reinforcements! The heretics are attacking, we must strike them down!' The raspy voice sounded through the communications device attached to Johnathan's ear, clearly yelling over the background noise of a battle, and no small one. Johnathan offered a quick prayer, before turning to the Babylon - the Flame Tank that he commandeered - and hopping towards the entrance hatch. The other men were grabbing onto the side, placing their feet on small footholds, ready to jump off and into the action the moment it became required. Not efficient for long distances, but for a short distance it would do. In mere moments, the tank would leave to join the Battle for Kilo Point.

[Grimoire Gaming]

Lady Mohowauuck stood up from the table gracefully and laid her hand on Hunter's shoulder. "It's time to see what you are really made of, my child." Her tone was laced with both kindness and hope. She lead the way out the door and through the underground corridors with Hunter at her heels. Mo's progeny was feeling obviously nervous, it was practically coming off of her in waves, and Lady Mo couldn't help but wonder why. Lady Mohowauuck honestly couldn't recall the last time she felt such a feeling. At the surface, the stench of battle rose all the way to the sky. Mechanical weapons and machinery tainted the air with a sour rankness. It didn't take long for Mo to realize that this war wasn't as black and white as she would have liked. Not only were their humans versus humans, but their were vampires seeking to kill other vampires. The first thing she could more than approve of, but the second, that was an absolute abomination. A vampire taking the humans' side made them just as dead to her as any human. Thick fog hung in the air, blocking out a big portion of the ongoing fight. Fools, when would they realize that nature would always rule over human mechanics. Lady Mo looked over her shoulder and took in a deep breath. At Lady Mohowauuck's exhale, a huge windstorm blew through the area. The force of the wind was not only enough to completely clear the fog away, but also to knock over a few warrior's caught unawares. The gusts showed no promise of surrender at any time soon. "A true warrior will look their opponent in the eye as they slay them, not cower in the shadows." she said bravely and took on a battle stance.

[Wraithblade6]

From outside the smoke screen, two humanoid shadows could be seen. Just before the electric lights high on the wall of the Kilo Point base dimmed and went out, one shadow could be seen quickly closing in on the other. Then, Lord Bedivere's darkness engulfed the area like a moonless night. A quick gasp escaped him and his eyes went wide with the realization that he had been slain. No warning, no banter, only beautiful efficiency marked the hunters attack as the silver stake sank easily between Mithias' ribs. It was a merciful death, as ideal as any Mithias could have hoped for and as clean as many he had delivered himself. His blades clattered to the ground. As much as his mind frantically reached for a logical way to deny it, the feeling of blood escaping the confines of the large vessels of his chest and spilling into his lungs was real. It was over. Kami no Kage's words barely registered in his ear as weakness surged through him, the pain of failure rising to surpass the physical pain. Mithias couldn't die now, he couldn't abandon the eternal battle that needed him so... but he already knew he was powerless to save himself. So quickly he had been dispatched, like a common fledgling. In a confession of mortality before the angel of death, Mithias Varomere closed his eyes and dropped like a stone. Winds empowered by supernatural force cleared away the obscuring cloud. Only one 'shadow' walked away. What appeared to be some random SOLDIER vampire lay motionless in a pool of blood.

[The Grey Dust]

Darkness ever flowing darkness. What light was snuffed, what mortal eyes dared try to search for the light. No flames burned, no light broke as the darkness consumed the very essence of it all. There in the perfect dark the blood of dozens called out to the vampires. Like wolves in the night to lambs to the slaughter. While the children played however, as Lady Mo had done away with the fog and mist obscuring, the darkness lingered on unnaturally sapping the light away as if to extinguish all hope of surviving. Yet through it all, the mist and fog, and battle scenes it was evident to the old knight where the warriors were. While the rest were merely unworthy blood, three came into the interest of Lord Bedivere. One was a young human, who had seemed to direct the modern archers. The wave of covering fire against the Purge knights was interesting as metal plates met bullet rounds. This one seemed to be the leader in terms of ranged warfare, able to call in the shots as the SOLIDER began to assault the battle tanks, though such explosions would be shortly suppressed in the unnatural darkness. But as any archer knows, arrows are not without end and soon perhaps his forces would be unable to deal with the surge of both Purge and Vampires. Another was the figure in the metal jacket, who emerged from the mist victorious as it seems. Strange that in the such a fog which lingered so, the warrior managed to find his prey. Though given the actions and the stake it appeared it was a Purge member who had staked a vampire operative of the SOLIDER. This one had bested a vampire in the fog, something rather of interest to Lord Bedivere for such details were important in a battle. Without sight, the metal being had managed to not only find a vampire but defeat it. To know one's enemy is to know one's weaknesses, and as such, it would be ill-advised to engage in such a worthy adversary until all the cards were accounted for. However, to know one's allies is to know their weaknesses and as such, this fallen vampire was also of interest to the former knight. Swooping in like a hawk did the Raven land upon the silvered stake claws wrapt around the handle. The work of Gabriel no doubt, the only presence which could be so fickle as to let such a rogue vampire live in shame of being defeated by a tin man. Unless of course the hand had miraculously slipped and the cyborg was not the adversary he had expected. Nevertheless, a pocketsquare-shrouded hand griped around the stake and removed it from the body of the fallen vampire which appeared far younger than he himself, but far older than the new blood. Speaking of blood, as the elaborate stake was removed, a bit of the vampire's blood was collected on Lord Bedivere's pocketsquare as he took his humanoid form once again. They said the raven was an omen of death. But this vampire was different than the rest of the SOLIDER scum. Yes, while he was a traitor to his own kin, the knight could not help to empathize with the vampire as he laid there dying in the shame of being swiftly bested before even drawing blood. Such retribution was necessary, and as Gabriel in his twisted humor decided to let this one off with but a nearly fatal wound, perhaps the Ancient had foreseen a critical role for this vampire and thus allowed him to live. Or maybe it was merely a jest to mock the power of the Purge? Either way, it was best to use this puppet as a means to an end. Perhaps he could be swayed to join them and abandon humanity all together. "Balm of Gilead, Azoth of Paracelsus, and Essence of the Stone..." Whispered the knight as his other hand administered a single drop of colourless liquid from a small vial retrieved from his briefcase. It was never wise to travel without such a small quantity in such cases, even as a vampire could regenerate most wounds, the critical ones were difficult and the silver blade would be far more dangerous to recover from at such a wound. A single drop would be all which was needed to restore the moderate wound and blood lost, as regeneration accelerated, blood flowed and flesh sealed, the what pain of silver and holiness would be washed away with a cool warmth like that of a sun-basked sand against the cool ocean tide. Soon, unlife returned to Mithias reaching into his being and pulling him back slowly into the form of flesh. "You fight for the wrong side, child of night. For this reason you have been knell by a lesser foe." With those words to reflect on did Bedivere leave the awakening Mithias, in the form of the raven once again as he recovered the stake and blood away in his briefcase of things (amongst which was an old hatchet to be brought before Lady Mo later.) and back into the darkest night did the Raven fly back to observe perching itself upon a high tree with the eyes of a demon dreaming.

[Wraithblade6]

Feeling the burn of holiness inside his chest, Mithias knew he should be dead, but consciousness wasn't leaving him. In fact, despite the stake, he began to heal, slowly at fist, but with the blessed weapon removed, all the faster. Kami must have missed... no, he would not have missed. Mithias' suspicions were confirmed as he looked to find a white-haired vampire assisting him. The elder fiend spoke like highly civilized Englishman. Clearly he was not involved with SOLDIER, revealing his stance on the organization, but it didn't matter. Mithias placed a hand over his chest where the wrathful burning was subsiding. Rising to a knee, he looked toward the raven. "Lord vampire..." A general but polite title. "I would know the name of the one who saved my life." Unnatural darkness still reigned, making the black raven difficult to see even for a vampire.

[thewizardguy]

As the vampires close in on Kilo Point, hordes of shadowy, bloodcrazed forms rush through the streets at supernatural speed, eyes filled with cold hunger. Those SOLDIER agents in between the centre of the town and the incoming horde fell rapidly, slaughtered through claws, blades and teeth. Men were ripped in two, as screams of death echoed across the city. Families were torn from the windows of their homes, the slaughter indiscriminate, not caring whether their prey held a gun or a child. All were food, all were prey to be hunted, all were mere lambs in this slaughter. Turning, the agents of the Purge saw their true opponent. As one, the group seemed to gather, shouts and prayers growing to match the screams and howls. Those who had been firing upon SOLDIER gave up the fight almost instantly, turning, ignoring those SOLDIER agents that still resumed fire. SOLDIER, for it's part, showed little regard for causing more death, as their own ranks reformed. And yet, they were ill-equipped to deal with such an attack, having lost many in the previous bloodshed. 'Unite behind me, brothers and sisters. The devil's hand has revealed itself, and stands at our doorstep!' From the masses emerged a giant figure, standing more than 2 meters tall. A massive replica of Crusader armor encased him, a robotic suit in plated armor, routed into his nervous system. One eye had been removed, but Vincent hadn't bothered wearing an eyepatch. In his hand, he held a massive sword, the blade forged from Armoured Glass, the edge lined with silver, and the core filled with branches. 'We are the instrument of His will, we are the hand of His wrath, we are the light in the darkness!' Raising one hand, Vincent shouted out, his voice echoing through every comm system in the Purge. 'Let us show them His light!' And as the vampires fell upon the purge, they met not with the screaming of terror, nor the desperate flurries of bullets fired by those who already knew they were dead. Even as the smoke from the Baptizers was sent flowing back, nullifying their most powerful weapon, those blazing crusaders did not back down. For in their eyes gleamed no fear, no regret, no mercy. Every single man and woman was filled only with zeal. And as the wave of vampires crashed into their lines, a slaughter commenced. Vampires jumped their opponents, only to find themselves burning from the merest touch, the crucifixes marking their flesh, even as consecrated blades sliced at their throats. Streams of stakes flew into their ranks, impaling and killing those vampires unfortunate enough to be struck in the heart. Blades and teeth simply glanced off the armour, special straps preventing the snapping of necks. Even as vampires clambered over their opponent, covered in burns, another wave of knights sliced through them, hardened silver scoring the flesh. Even outnumbered and weakened, the Purge pressed on, a dozen vampires fighting to kill a single knight. The corpses of the fallen were crushed under the feet of heavy armoured suits, as empty crossbow launchers were discarded. Lines were formed, the front men wielding swords, those in the back wielding long glaives. 'Unite under me!' Vincent stood at the front, his tall figure visible from across the lines, a symbol of their wrath, his great blade striking down enemies left and right, robotically enhanced muscles crushing vampiric skulls like walnuts. One of the Paladins, equipped with high quality Servomotor Suits, his greatest power was the inspiration and order he brought to his men. First and foremost, the Purge were vampire hunters. And, faced with their great foe, they were once more unstoppable. Every weakness was exploited, from the vampires disorganized attack to their reliance on blades and claws. As vampire fled before the ranks, they advanced undaunted, heading towards Lady Mohawauuk.

[Grimoire Gaming]

Lady Mohowauuck looked to the sky, reveling in the storm she had created. Her face was the perfect picture of serenity, she couldn't be any more in her element. Mo held her hands out to her sides and spoke in a language unrecognizable to anyone around her - well, anyone with a humanoid form, that is. The flora responded to her calls to stand and fight with her, causing gnarled tree roots to shift in their places deep underground. With a clench of her fists, the very earth they stood upon trembled, cracking in some places and tripping up the fleet rapidly seeking to clash with her. "Rise!" she called out in a harsh battle cry and the grass around her enemies began to grow taller and thicker. The plants took on almost sentient-like characteristics as they curled around the ankles of her foes. A few of the armor-clad fools hit the ground with clamorous thuds, but many merely tore through the plants like they were nothing. Every blade of grass cried out to Mo as they were torn up, they were not cries of sorrow, however. Nature was glad to die in this battle, as the ends would justify the means in the war on humanity. It was time for Mother Earth to reclaim herself. The plants' cries brought out the maternal instinct in Lady Mo, she must protect them, at all costs. A loud baritone growl emanated from Mohowauuck's chest. "You have never fought a foe like me." she barked at her approaching enemies as she let the beast consume her. Her fingers quickly shifted to jagged claws, coated in alabaster fur. Mo used the claws to make rake marks across her chest, tearing not only the leather fabric of her clothing, but also her sienna colored skin. Tufts of blood-soaked white fur began to poke through her self-inflicted wounds as the pops of bones cracking and dislocating filled the air of the battlefield. Mo's irises shifted to a scarlet red and her body contorted in disfiguring ways of transmutation. As the arctic white fur of her inner form forced it's way out, Mo's skin began to tear and slough off to the ground in chunks. In mere milliseconds, Mo erupted into her final wolf form, the force of which caused a spray of blood and gore in the area surrounding her. Lady Mohowauuck in her white wolf form was a sight to behold. She stood, both majestic and beautiful while also demonically terrifying. The she-wolf stood taller than any natural Canid creature, and even towered over the height of some men. With a fierce growl, she launched herself, fangs first, into the fray.

[The Grey Dust]

"You are far from saved. Merely sustained to be a plaything." The Raven replied curtly back, surveying the scene once more atop a tree. It seems the battle had finally begun as three forces collided into one playing field. Humans, Heretics, Vampires, Hunters, and Vampire Hunters and Hunter Vampires, to what end was the carnage? Faith was a very powerful tool, a weapon even, as over the years Lord Bedivere had learned the four tools of domination and dominion. For puppets one merely needs to use strings, weak but materially tethers to animate that which had no will of its own. For animals one needed to use chains, a stronger binding with which to subjugate them to understand their subservience. For men one uses faith, a false promise which corrupts them into doing deeds beyond their own knowing. For Gods one uses reason, the logic which conquers their own twisted conceptions. "Your side will need to retreat until their cavalry comes. But when it comes, what will there be left of Kilo Point between the vampires and the mad men? I believe Old Gabriel is to be thanked for your life. I merely quickened the recovery. But names are unimportant, lest you have a request for your headstone when you lie as dead as the humans you serve." Pitiful young blood. Mindless, poor examples of vampires proper, who like rats in a plague attempted to breach across the line of Purge men. Useless were they in fighting the hunters, their tactics should be more concerned of destroying the SOLIDER base rather than distracting the Purge from doing the same task. A commander amongst them was clearly evident as the from the metallic masses rose a goliath cyborg to rouse his heretics to stand against the vampires. This was most impressive, a false promise to turn the tide of battle and even Lady Mo had gotten into the fray with her command over wind and grass. With a flap of darkened wings, Lord Bedivere the Raven disappeared, by the call of the raven's caw, it was finally time to kill. "No, Pretender Knight, This is the Devil's hand in sight. And in the darkness of the night, it is I who is the Light." A cold pale hand grasped itself around the giant commander Vincent's neck as he scarcely heard the whispering retort catching up. Crucifixes were silly things to Lord Bedivere, rather useless in facing him which may have surprised the Purge giant as no visible sign of strain or duress was given by the true knight. In all their faux armor and even their absurd neck straps to prevent the snapping of necks by regular vampires, they had forgotten a simple rule of martial armed combat. Perhaps if they had been real knights, they would realize a simple flaw in their Servomotor Suits and all that armor they wore to protect their soft flesh. But thick and heavy plates were of no match to a good mace, a force not made to cut or tear but rather embedded. With a sudden tightening of his grip, a sickening crunch of metal and cartilagous rings collapsed unto itself as the man's throat was crushed in the vice of an ancient vampire's power. Airways became closed, blood vessels ruptured and the experience of death was but moments away as the elder finished the job by ripping out the man's throat entirely with a swift yank toward the ground. Vincent would fall hard, being the giant he was but rest assured he would have entered systemic shock long before any physical trauma was added upon the impact of being pulled to the ground as one's body attempted to follow one's throat like a cretinous beggar clinging on to a golden ring. "Martyrdom makes a man of no skill, no talent, and no ability, and will make him more useful in death to his fanatic cause than he ever was in life. Had you any skill, talent or ability, they would worship you as god." With this blasphemy did Lord Bedivere leave the giant to die as he suddenly returned to his roost as a Raven again. Did anyone else scant see or hear him? In unparalleled darkness which cloaked the battlefield to become a moonless, starless, lightless night, Lord Bedivere was beyond the measure of power they had known. His speed made the kill happen in mere ten thousandths of a millisecond as he rushed from his perch and back, there was not enough time to anyone to react just by the basis of human reaction time alone. Even advanced sensors and technology which would certainly perhaps register his presence for but a moment could not produce output to react to the data of his presence before he was no longer there. Only his voice was heard, ominous and foreboding as the giant laid dying of blood loss and suffocation. A strike to the mortal. To crush a throat of one man was to kill. A strike to the morale. To crush the hopes of all men was to rule. Now then, let lady Mo continue the battle as Lord Bedivere returns to being the sentry upon high. Strategically manipulating the physical realm while surely Gabriel the old fart was playing at the metaphysical odds.

[Rusalka]

One had to wonder what all of this was about. Why were there so many roadblocks comprised of titanic armored vehicles and sentries clad in plate and mail, brandishing weapons that were nothing more but the absolute bane of the undead? Why was it that when the woman peered towards the sky, it was glowing red with helicopters and other implements of aerial combat screaming and thundering through the charred scented air? Why was it that Kilo Point had soon become...a mirror image of the apocalypse? Twas simple, a rather concise conclusion...but indeed a harrowing one. It...had..begun. She was well aware she was speeding into danger, possibly into her own ill-fatal demise, but Rebecca's vehicle continued to storm across the highway and soon she was met with the visage of chaos, houses and buildings lit the night sky ablaze with a fury as they collapsed and smoldered into glowing cinders and cast flames high into the air to defy even the gods. The telltale clatter of distant gunfire and rumble of the bombs falling emanated commingling with the frail cries and shrieks of horror of several mortals and lesser beings caught in the swirling, torrential maelstrom of death and destruction, all desperate to escape, but some...Rebecca was sure their lives...were already forfeit. Slamming on her brakes, her car skid safely into a desolate alleyway between a few derelict and heavily damaged structures, surprisingly the sudden jarring motion not once stirring the slumbering thrall at her side. She got out, hastily tying her long, voluminous locks of crimson into a sloppily fashioned ponytail, enough to at least keep them out of her face...while she was on the prowl. "Camille, darling, it's time to awake." Her voice, though loving words it spoke of the young girl, it was stern, hardened and sharp, just as the blade she quickly summoned to her hand in a mist of darkness. "Wha...what is it, Mistress?" Camille stirred bleary, gently rubbing her eyes and stretching with a cute yawn. Rebecca, she would have relished the sight with languid eyes, but now was not the time to admire her lovely companion. "It has begun, I'm afraid. Our dallying has become a grave error. We were too late to stop it." Gravely the woman returned, her eyes already darknening over, leaving only the cold ice of her blue irises gleaming...bitterly. "Summon your weapon, Camille. War is afoot, and the slaughter is ripe for the evening. Tonight, it shall be you and me who purge this abominable curse from the world, put an end to the legacy of Nosferatu and see its damnable history burned to ashes...along with their corpses." What fire, what anger in the elder-vamp's words she spat like venom from the tongue of Eden's serpent. Camille, she had to admit as much as she loved her lady, she was rather intimidated by her at times...this was one of them. But....there was also the matter of what the words spoke. That very word again....curse. Cammie's brow furrowed a little as she stepped out of the car and dusted herself off, but nevertheless, she closed her eyes, a faint, lavender glow emitting from her hands, slowly but surely taking the form of some weapon, and soon...there it was grasped in her small clutches, a gallant-looking scythe, glinting and sparkling amidst the vermillion hues of the towering flames. "I...." She spoke, pausing a moment as her tiny fangs gnawed reluctant at her lip, reluctant at the prospect of...slaying her own kind. "I am ready, Mistress. Let's go." A short bow to show her respect and admiration and off they were, the two running at speeds that could surpass the typical mortal gait. Almost instantly, they singled out the horrid creatures running rampant, killing, raping, slaughtering without a single discretion. Rebecca...it was as though she glimpsed unto past horrors unfolding, a prospect...that only infuriated the woman all the more. Black, ethereal shadows engulfed her body, swirling and writhing around her, the dark tendrils creeping up the blade of her sword and encircling around her pale flesh, only her eyes remaining with a cerulean glare of hate. "Death to the sons of Vlad! Death to the Daughters of Lilith! And Death to the children of Cain! For tonight, sorrow shall end, and there shall be no more pain!" Her vicious war cry caught upon the pointed, jagged ears of the infernal horrors and at once their bloody stares fell upon the two women. "THE KINSLAYER!!!" They all screamed out in several resounding hellish snarls, scrambling to their feet and charging headlong. Quickly their blades went to work. Camille was the first swinging her heavy scythe into the fray with a powerful grunt, a torrent of blood and severed limbs to follow. Then, it was her mistress' turn. Rebecca wielded her sword with the utmost grace upon the battlefield, but never without her fury. She slashed, cleaved and hacked away at the ferocious undead legions clawing and gnashing their salivating fangs at her. The sights, the scents, the sounds...they only served to urge on her bloodlust.

[thewizardguy]

Vincent didn't hear what his attacker had to say. In fact, he was barely aware that he'd just been attacked. He had been killed, in fact - although he hadn't quite realised it yet, as his brain sought to comprehend the sudden snapping of his neck, the lack of sensation in his body, the slow darkness that was creeping across his vision. Of course, it did click, what seemed like an eternity later. His neck had been snapped, and without blood, it would take a mere 21 seconds for the brain to die out. After about 11 seconds it would become incapable of cognitive thought, entering a comatose state. His time in this world was limited. Of course, this entire eternity, in truth, compromised only 2 seconds. It is in our most desperate moments that our perception of time shifts so drastically. As if the entire life one could have lived was desperately attempting to realize itself in those frail few moments before the inevitable hand of death struck. However, what for most was an eternity of torment, a slow scroll through their life, to Vincent, was a chance. His last chance in fact. For his attacker had failed to realize something. A mechanical suit such as that wielded by a Paladin - the title Vincent wielded - required a plug placed directly in the base of the spine. A mechanical translator, to bring the fury of the mind to the fist of iron. And even as his mind started to shut down, his sword dropped to the floor, servomotors spinning into action. Loudly, he crashed through the lines of Crusaders, as they desperately moved aside of the lumbering behemoth. Beofre him, the great wolf ripped through the knights who desperately attempted to fend off her claws, blades flashing, only to be repelled by her thick hide. Great sweeps from her claws smashed into those who came too close, throwing even the metal-clad warriors through the air to crash into their comrades. In the darkness, they fought only by their infrared - usually used only to identify vampires from their lack of heat signature. And yet, the roaring of machinery tore through this desperate battlefield. The mechanized suit smashed into Lady Mo, arms clamping around the beast's muscled neck as it was driven backwards. Even as claws rended at the thick armour, there were no shouts, not even whispers. As servomotors locked, mechanical arms unyielding, fingers interlocked with one another, Vincent had already died. And yet, even in death, he served. Rumbling around the corner came the third tank, which had previously been stationed at a roadblock. The massive Inferno Canon swiveled around, and deep within the flames already billowed to a ready. A special composite of oxygenated magnesium and napalm, fired at high speeds, liquid blue flame. Lady Mo found herself staring at a rain of blue fire, held in place by a walking tank.

[thewizardguy]

Far above, a team of helicopters was busily recording the battle. Having long since abandoned the visual spectrum, they instead referred to infrared and ultraviolet scans, overlayed with radar arrangements. it was they that kept track of the hordes of vampires blow, directing the groups of Crusaders and Inferno Tanks to outflank their targets. It was also they that discovered the new front that had formed, two beings with no infrared signature - presumed to be vampires - incoming from the Western roads. Already, they had wiped out a dozen or more signatures, mapped in ultraviolet. It was unknown how they fought so effectively in the absolute darkness that had cloaked the grounds, but it gave them a definite edge over the other vampires present. Kami no kage received this information, as it was transmitted to his headgear. He had known, of course, that Bedhivere was nearby, and he had suspected that Bedhivere would be involved with this battle. However, based on the reports he was receiving, he would have no chance of slaying Bedhivere at such speeds. It appeared his opponent had the capability of teleportation, something which would be mapped and marked. It was unknown whether it was Bedhivere or Mo who had caused the absolute darkness, but either way it was a severe hindrance. It appeared that there was only one solution left. Running to the nearest Inferno Tank, Kami no Kage hopped on the back. The tank turned rapidly, crushing a lamp post as it did so. To those few surviving SOLDIER agents who might be watching, it would be perplexing that the tank had turned away from the battle. At full speed, it shot towards the Western Road, a number of vampires getting crushed under the treads. This entire area was unclean, everything here was unworthy of saving. Those who had died, and would die, would be heroes, and revered by their brethren. 'Initiate Purge' A second set of helicopters hovered, above those that had recorded. They contained no recording equipment. Instead, they had been spread out over the battlefield for a completely different reason. As the hangar bays below opened, large black shapes dropped downwards. One per helicopter, four in total, placed for maximum efficiency. This entire area was unclean. Everything was to be purged. Everything would burn.

[Wraithblade6]

Mithias bowed his head at Bedivere's sternness. One did not survive a brush with death and escape with any shred of pride. The gravity of nearly dying forced Mithias to some realization. What would his life have been worth if he had perished just then? A mere 700 years, and for what? The sense of failure and regret that had struck him had been a wake up call. All this time, he had been living to protect others, yet always selfishly serving his own interests. Why was he hanging on to a long-distant family that had been successful and whos identitity had been swallowed by time? He had been deluding himself. Feelings he had been keeping suppressed for ages rose up to hang him in his final moments. Now, he had a second chance. He would change his course and see to the peace of his soul. "I believe Old Gabriel is to be thanked for your life. I merely quickened the recovery. But names are unimportant, lest you have a request for your headstone when you lie as dead as the humans you serve." Mithias looked sharply at the black bird with an expression of perplexity and some surprise. At first speechless, he blinked. It wasn't that he didn't recognize the name... Oh, he did. Mithias knew that name better than Bedivere could have imagined, but the rising vampire's thoughts were unreadable. "I do not serve humans." He stated plainly a he turned his back and collected his swords. Ah, perhaps there was some hope for the misguided youth yet. Truly, Mithias was a bit of a control freak. He guarded his agency viciously, a likely explanation for his defensive mental power. Being a slave or a plaything was infuriating to him, but he was currently still too humbled by death's thwarted hand to display any vehemence. This wasn't where he belonged, and he had a debt to pay. As all vampires know, after death, life begins anew. Leaving the vampire lord to poetically prostrate the Purge's precious paladin, Mithias grabbed his bow off the downed motorcycle and considered the proper preservation of his person in light of the precarious picture before him... ok I'll stop. He looked across the field and down the hill into the burning city proper. Bullets were flying, blood was flowing, and a keen eye discerned that the Purge were suddenly changing direction. The question of why he had been resqued bothered him like an itch, and Mithias knew that it would be an improper waste for him to simply continue what he had been doing without regard to the fact that a really powerful and ancient vampire wanted him alive... seconded by an elder vampire lord from the UK. And what of the all-human SOLDIER legislating council? It was true. They did not have any vampires among them. Up until now, Mithias' personal goals and alignment had coincided with SOLDIER's primary directive, and he made use of their organization and resources as allowed. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement, but Mithias was still a contracted free agent. Perhaps the time was approaching to end his association. Now on foot, Mithias ran toward the city, distancing himself form the SOLDIER base. As he approached a clearing a magnificent white beast caught his eye, and he momentarily took cover to verify what he was in witness of. In a burst of bloody shrapnel, the vampiric wolf launched into its enemies, overpowering them and tearing their bodies to shreds. This was indeed a oldblood, and likely one that had ties to the werewolves far to the north. Like a goddess of nature, reflecting the bloodthirst of the predator, the she-wolf was wild and unstoppable. In the often twisted and enhanced vision of a vampire, she was beautiful, and this time, Mithias didn't deny himself the right to think so. He watched her, and realized she was truly free. Mithias shook his head as envy and morality faced off within him. he had to keep moving if he was going to escape this insane warzone and find Gabriel. he could contemplate the parallels between vampires and demigods later. Having escaped her notice, or so he believed, Mithias entered the city. Although he could run fast enough to be a blurr to human vision, there was no way for mortal eyes to detect him in the darkness or faint firelights. Random fires also obscured heat signals and other means of detection, as he passed down through an ally. One of the Purge tanks was rolling by just across the opening of the ally to the street belching flames in front. Mithias narrowed his eyes and made a quick count of the number of grenades he had on him. Although he was busy trying to leave, he couldn't help himself... The Purge were assholes. In the blink of an eye, the vampire dashed out of the ally to the side of the tank and immediately stuffed all the grenades into one side of its wheels or tracks. So fast as to pull all of their pins practically simultaneously, Mithias planted them and escaped within milliseconds. Walking away down another ally, he listened for the satisfying explosion and sound of a tank flipping onto its side. Human crusaders couldn't have seen or followed him, or at least not without getting shot, but zealous reprobate crusaders weren't the only enemies on the streets of Kilo Point that night. An army of equally insane vampire supremacists had also joined the battle. Mithias considered as he walked cautiously down the ally that the white wolf vampire and the raven lord that had helped him were probably part of that vampire army. The whole city was a giant clusterfuck, a pinnacle of tens of thousands of years, or however long it had been, of inter-species war. SOLDIER had barely managed peace for a century or so. "THE KINSLAYER!" Yellow eyes sharpened and Mithias instinctively quickened to round the corner. Two women vampires with unique weapons were tearing apart a greater number of attackers who were strangely, also vampires. The girls would finish their fight then turn around to find Mithias some distance behind them, standing and holding his bow drawn at them threateningly. He was wearing a SOLDIER uniform. The tag "Varomere" read on his left breast. His golden eyes showed serious intent marred by confusion as he tried to decide what the hell was going on here. Although immune to charm, Mithias was nonetheless stunned by the red-head's natural beauty. He wouldn't let on, however. He seemed to be struggling to decide if the two were rebel vampires or bystanders who were either helping or trying to escape. Ah, the dilemmas of the SOLDIER code. Not long had he kept them threatened when Mithias suddenly had other problems. Turning suddenly, he stepped back and fired a shot at a vampire that had jumped at him from the rooftop alongside the ally. Having no way to dodge mid-fall, the vampire was shot and suffered more than a mere penetrating injury. The arrow was poisoned, or so it seemed based on the brief writhing the creature did on the ground before becoming paralyzed. "Soldier scum!" More vampires appeared behind Mithias, who was now flanked on either end by the two women and the new pack of rebels that showed up. He bared his teeth, slung his bow over his frame, and drew his two swords. The new group of vampires also had weapons, and as they looked over Mithias' shoulder made comments about the two female vampires that I will now censor due to mature content.

[Shikaru]

Matt managed to trap a few Purge that decided to chase him down the alleyway, shortly after darkness and nothing but. He could barely see himself in the darkness, he grabbed a lighter off one of the corpses on the ground. It didn't really help much at all. He heard helicopters hovering above, he couldn't tell how many. He heard both SOLDIER and Purge alike dying, slaughtering both vampires and humans alike. He heard shouting, un-able to decipher the words. As the bombs dropped, Matt heard three of them get destroyed, and heard a rather loud explosion in the direction of the armory. All that gear that they needed gone. "Damnit..." Matt said, now they needed backup more than ever. --- One of the main SOLDIER HQ's were alerted of the Purge, the sensors at a nearby base picking up their helicopters as they flew to Kilo Point. Just as the bombs dropped a un-manned jet flew by, rockets detonating three of the bombs in the air before they could hit. The fourth, however, hit the north east section of Kilo Point where the armory was located, destryoing most of their equipment and killing several SOLDIER, Purge, and Vamlire alike in the 100 foot blast radius. Several were injured further from the shrapnel from the bomb and weapons exploding. --- Magnus waited untill the confusion and madness of battle settled in to strike. He promptly rushed out of the cave, slaughtering a soldier that had decided they could kill any remaining vampiers coming out of the cave. Then, he saw Mo, the armor, and the tank coming towards them. He'd have to think fast, or she'd get roasted to cinders. In Mo's effort to claw free of the armored machine she'd weakened the structure of the left arm drastically, if he could destroy it and shove her out of the way she'd make it. Of course, there was a slight chance the tank woulf simply roast him instead. But, Mo was a great asset to his little game of war, so it was worth risking. Quickly he dashed forward, clawed the remaining thick cables and wires, tore the arm off, tossed it at the tank and went to shove Mo out of the way. But by the time he got there she'd already transformed once more and now he was the target. The arm hit the tanks right tread, causing it to turn abruptly and straight for Magnus. The suit of armor also decided it wanted to kill him. Fire kissed Magnus' arm, searing flesh. He quickly went to the back of the robot and kicked it to the ground. Fire burning it's circuitry and causing it to catch fire further. He used the robot as cover, climbed on top of it and leaped onto the top of the tank. He opened the hatch and snatched the driver out "Quite the day for a drive, isn't it?" He told him, tossing him under the left tank tread, a blood curdling scream and sickening crack following after. He hopped in the cockpit, he assumed the big red button labeled engine would either turn it off, or fire something. He pressed it, and the beast of a machine grinded to a halt. He slashed the monitors and circuitry to make sure it couldn't be used by anyone in the near future. He climbed out and walked onto the tip of the turret, balancing nearly perfectly, observing the fray. "Lady Mo, are you un-injured?" He called out, not really expecting a answer. He shrugged and jumped off, running into the fray. ---- Rhyss reach the entrance to Kilo Point, near a small hill overlooking the chaos below. "Well damn, they started the party without me." He said with a sarcastic ftown. "Time to crash it." He said as he walked back over to his motorcycle. He gunned the accelerator, launching off the hill and coming down on thr back wheel twenty feet below, he turned and stopped with a skid, taking the Bunker Buster off his back, and delivering a point blank shot to the chest to a Purge member that oh so rudely blocked his entrance, their insides turning to mush. "Sorry I'm late." He said stepping off the motorcycle and flicking his cigar to the wind. He grabbed the dying man by the neck, smoke sizzling around his hand from the crucifixes as he did. "So, you're the almighty Purge? Pathetic." He said and tossed him to the side. He walked through the streets picking off dying or stray Purge as he proceeded to the base. Shortly after an explosion wiped out the armory. Good thing he packed plenty of ammo. He watched as the faint outline of a tank retreated from the battlefield. Damn, he'd only just gotten here and they were already running, he thought to himself.

[Grimoire Gaming]

Lady Mohowauuck could see just fine in the abyssal darkness surrounding her, thanks to her lupine vision. Battles often occurred like blackouts for Lady Mo, it was as if her body was a mere vessel, acting on instinct as her soul infused into the environment around her. She found her strength in the ancient soil and trees of the Earth, and her emotions swelled in the storm. Mo's fighting wolf form might be visible, but her presence was in everything unseen around them. Tooth and nail clashed violently with metal armor, not sharp enough to puncture it, but with enough force to bludgeon her victims. The strength of her jaws was enough to cause one crusader's breastplate to cave in and conveniently collapse his lungs. Her thick coat, designed to stave off winter's cold, protected her from sword slashes. For awhile, Lady Mo was at peace in her battle stance, effectively taking down her enemies with ease. In a flash, heavy steel was upon her, keeping her body pinned in an icy grip. Struggle as she might, Mo couldn't free herself from the dead weight that kept hold of her. When her mind reconnected with body, she quickly tried to take in her surroundings. Whatever was struggling with her didn't seem to have much fight left, was it... dead? Panic overcame her when she saw the blue fire plummeting towards her. Mo's panic radiated out into the atmosphere, causing the windstorm to go off kilter. The wind speeds were now high enough to keep birds from flying straight, take down tree limbs, and rip the siding off of buildings. Lightening began to flash as huge raindrops fell from the sky. The rain and wind managed to quell the fires a bit, but Mo had to find a way out of the dead man's grasp or she was quite literally going to be toast. Lady Mohowauuck's white fur began to fall out in chunks as she transformed yet again. She chose a smaller form, as to be able to escape from Vincent's hold. In milliseconds, a small gray fox emerged from the pile of flesh and fur underneath Vincent's dead body before taking off running into the sidelines.

[Rusalka]

More and more by the score the undead hellions descended upon the two, yet just as their wrathful and wretched companions before them they fell to the women's blades, their flesh seething and sizzling with every cut, every slash and cleave of the blessed silver carving through their brittle bones and burning them to cinders as they wailed in such horrific pain. The cute, timid young girl to her side, despite before protesting subtly her displeasure in slaying the vampires of which she shared common blood with, she was now entranced in the righteous slaughter of the damned creatures, her eyes, her voice, her entire demeanor a far cry from the cheery, adorable persona that charmed her beautiful, beloved mistress, but even this bloodthirsty shift in attitude, it wooed the woman even more as together, mistress and her thrall, they fought vicious and valiant against the hordes of false Nosferatu charging at them headlong to their imminent demise. As Rebecca whirled around and decapitated one beast in one fell swoop of her blade, she noticed a peculiar glint of steel in her midst, that of a freshly sharpened arrowhead...pointed directly at her face. Without warning she rose her sabre towards the neck of the opposing archer(Mithias) clad in his all black ardor like he was enveloped in form fitting shadows, the very same that seemed to engulf Rebecca's curvaceous figure and swarmed ravenously through her ice blue eyes glaring into his shimmering gold. Varmomere was his name, as the elder vampire woman could assume from the gilded tag emblazoning his left pectoral, how ironic given what he was. "Relinquish your dart from me, SOLDIER, or I shall remove it along with your head." The stand-down, it was tense, but brief as before either made a move upon the other combatant locked in their painful stare.... "Mistress!! Look out!!" The bastard nearly caught her off guard had it not been for the frantic warning of her thrall Camille. Quickly she sidestepped the ferocious newblood, only missing him by a hair fraction. No wounds, but a shrill sound of tearing fabric, unfortunately that of her blouse torn to shreds by the creature's passing claw. In seconds it was Varomere who skewered the vamp with his arrow, the deadly shard making quick but agonizing work of it. Rebecca merely cut her dark eyes over to the man, giving a slight nod as gratitude. Thankfully the creature only tore apart her top and not her bra, exposing her...assets to this male vampire, speaking of such, more males joined armed to the teeth, most of which had a few choice words to spout at Rebecca and her thrall from their licentious vocabulary, only making the woman turn her nose at them and scowl bitterly. In fact, just to slight them, she had an idea...a rather devilish one. "Mistress! Mistress are you okay?! Oh I'm so sorry, I should've stopped him and-?!" Without warning she grabbed flustered little Camille and pulled her close, dangerously close. Her lips fell upon the girl's quick and ever passionately did she kiss her beloved before the men, breaking her lips away and stroking her servant's blushing cheek warmly with a deeply satisfied smile, "I am alright, my dear. Thankfully the strapping men of SOLDIER have come to our...much needed aid." Camille....she...she didn't know what to think of this! The poor girl's legs were buckling as her lips were locked with her lady's and her whole body nearly went limped as she gasped for breath and slouched next to the woman who had her arms around her. Not to mention her face felt hot, blazing hot, and she was sure it wasn't the flames nearby. "You there, Varomere I presume." She called the male vampire's attention towards her. "I ask that you keep your men in line if you wish to continue aiding us. I will accept no more libidinous commentary about me or my dear Camille." And with that, she and her dear Camille turned from the men and faced forward brandishing their weapons towards the second onslaught thundering towards them. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ "The only easy day...was yesterday..." Once the two had gone, that is when the shadow, a rather well built male figure, emerged from the dark, yet his form, neither eye nor hair of him could be seen to the naked human eye, unless he wished to reveal himself to his targets. As for his eyes, all it took was one simple blink and the mysteries of which the night of no moon obscured in sheets of thick obsidian shadows became clear as day in his vision, albeit most of it casted in a verdant shade of green. He crouched low, working his way out of the forest thicket, creeping silently across the road towards his next designated cover position, as the creature he had become stalking his armored prey. His eyes flashed momentarily towards the tank, making certain he hadn't been compromised already by his fading camouflage. Enshrouded he was once more by sweet, sweet darkness of the forest shade, but this time...he was so close to his targets, he could reach out and touch them. Tangos in sight... He whispered to himself, slowly and ever carefully drawing one of the twin blades he sheathed behind his back. Soon, just soon that perfect moment would come along. He anticipated it, the very instant the guard passed him, he would drag them in...and they would be never be seen or heard from again...just as he terrorized the Viet Cong in the jungles. The ghost, the shade, the hunter... But as Clint observed them further, he realized a grievous error in his meticulous planning. Plate armor. It won't stop a bullet, but it'll stop a blade dead in its tracks. Knowing this, he decided to sheathe his blade for now and just ever silently make his way past the checkpoint. So far so good he was stalking his way through the woods, just as his COs trained him years back....many..years back... At the telltale scream of a bird over his head along with the beating of chopper blades...it all came back in that one instant. ~ Ronnie!! Ronnie get the fuck out of there!! They're gonna nape the whole goddamn jungle!! Run!!!! ~ He shook it from his head, his breath becoming deep and ragged, hard as kerosene. "Dammit..." Quietly he cursed to himself in a mutter. Just from the flames and the smell of smoke alone, he could tell all hell was breaking loose in Kilo Point, looking a whole lot like Hue City did when they rolled in thunder and guns blazing, all those women and kids too...not a single one survived the onslaught, and the same could be said for these fundamental Jesus-Nazis systematically slaying every fucking thing in their path. There's two things I learned in 'Nam. One, good people are hard to find these days, and two...what God? Sure wasn't there when Ronnie got smoked...or when Julia died either.

[The Grey Dust]

The tide turns. The ever changing of the push and the pull. The odds ever rolling on the wheel of battle. A storm brewed, the heavens cried for the fallen. Water to wash the blood, fire to burn the bodies, Wind to scatter the ashes and stones to mark the dead. Five hours, four parties, three forces, two species, one conflict. Still upon his vantage point, Lord Bedivere watched it all unfold. The cards being played, as each side took a turn with its moves. The Purge had seemed to order air support, which the SOLIDER had countered with their own to minimize the losses. How long did it drag out? Time was running thin, and as no deceive strike was made quite yet by any side, perhaps it would be best to retreat into the shadows and play the game as chess masters than knights. Yes, to acquire more pieces on the board was merely half the game, for in having so many pieces without proper positioning is worthless. The enemy of one's enemy is one's ally as the law of the fish would dictate. So come, let us follow this rogue vyrespawn who was marked so by Gabriel, this battle was growing tiresome by the unexpected interfere of the Purge. What brings their operation here however, lays heavy on the mind. Perhaps Lord Shane was not as careful as he thought he was, or was it merely coincidence? No, they would not have their forces so concentrated like this, not without some premeditated foresight. More information seemed to be required on the organization, perhaps his cohorts in MI6 or whatever the new term for them was now would be able to assist. Although Gabriel's interest in preserving this one's life was also something to dig into. With wicked wings did the wizened warrior withdraw from the wrath of war, wandering while wearing the wistful weave of Woden's wise wards: a waxing wraith of the waning witching hour. Tenaciously tracking the traitor through the troubled town, timely taken by toothed tourists and techno terrorists, to try and tempt to turn the tramp to temporary treaty. A light illuminating alliteration to write a literary rumination of ill iterations. Through the shadows did the raven Bedivere fly, the hours past and minutes gone by as the vampire lord could count. More figures they had passed. Each faceless SOLIDER boy being killed, were merely numbers equal too unworthy fledgings were slain and pretender knights fallen. Attrition such as this would end with catastrophe. Yet each vampire here was not of his brood and as such not within his scope of control. He was far more powerful in Britannia than here in this backwoods of a nation. In the forest of the night however, he was at home, his unhallowed darkness granting him such power. He followed Mithias, covered by the black of feathers and distraction of death, to a quaint and curious place between two dark ladies and these youngerkin. Perched upon the body of a fallen vampire, felled from an arrow shot by the death-marked one, the Raven's claws dug into its paralyzed head, watching how the ladies would react to the younger. The Kinslayer. What shred of indecency, it seems there were many who killed kin for sport or gain. Perhaps they were not far form humans after all. "I would advise you to hold yourselves. Youngblood such as yourselves are no match for the ones you dare insult. Give the superior adversary proper respect, they are amongst us after all in blood, that much is due to them less you wish to taste your own throats." Not too much of an empty threat given by the ever-prim-and-proper Lord Bedivere. Given his actions which these vampires may have not observed, he was more than willing to demonstrate to these upstarts. "Do not think your superior numbers mean anything, or perhaps your education here in the accursed colonies has naught to teach you that zero increased thousand-fold is still but zero." Now then, turning back to Mithias and the two ladies, "This battle drags on to no end. Tiresome and irksome to watch. Perhaps a more diplomatic solution can be reached as a Détente would be preferred to endless carnage. For the sake of the town, perhaps it would be best to evacuate and let the Purge burn themselves in their own hatred. What say you, Favoured of Old Gabriel?" With a beaked nod, proposed did the English vampire. "Come now, M'Lady, as a third party outside of such trivial conflict, I implore you to arbitrate."

[Wraithblade6]

A nod from the shadow-enveloped, icy-eyed vampire was a silent agreement, at least for the moment, they were not enemies. Mithias focused his attention then on the approaching vampire rebels, directing his blades away from the two girls as the three were surrounded and jeered at. Up to this point, his eyes and his uniform had done his talking for him. Mithias did a quick double-take as Rebecca kissed Camille. It was not unusual for sire and fledgling to be tightly bonded, nor for such intimacy to possibly be sexual, so it was logical to presume that was their relationship. Their sincere passion did not escape him, and for a brief moment, his eyes were drawn to those soft pink lips and exposed supple cleavage. Yet this was hardly the time to... Suddenly Mithias realized that this act was not only a taunt to the enemy but a distraction tactic. He didn't know that Rebecca posessed a charm ability, but such a power was not unfamiliar to him. He noticed the jeers and insults quieted to silence as the vampire attackers couldn't help but watch. "My men are not here." Mithias answered quietly while Camille recovered from her swoon. "Nor can I account for their behvior if you were to run into them. These vampires..." He jerked his head at them. "...are rebels and contract breakers who are attacking Kilo Point. I do not know who is leading them, bu I intend to find out." "You!" Mithias barked loudly and pointed his right blade at them, jarring them out of their fascination. The bright metal of his titanium sword swept its aim slowly across the line of misguided younglings surrounding them. He spoke to them sternly with an air of disappointment. "You are all foolish pawns, children. Leave while you still can and live long enough to recover from your ignorance. Don't throw your lives away to my blades." Mithias was angry, but his voice was strangely devoid of hate. It was clear that he did not want to kill these vampires, but he would. Something besides vengeance must have served as his motivation. Did he not regret his turning? Did he truly not hate his own kind? It certainly was interesting. Of course at this point the fight began. Minds are so difficult to change, especially in large groups. The three vampires proved to be thrice as deadly while working as a team. The SOLDIER vampire was capable of astonishing speed, far more than these slack opponents, yet he seemed to hardly ever call upon it. He was clearly experienced with dual weilding, and fought as though he had eyes in the back of his head. Mithias didn't even need to look behind him to strike in that direction, which he did, much to his enemy's surprise. At some point, when it was clear they had the upper hand and the rest of the vampires fled, Mithias spoke to his new female allies. "Clearly, you are not part of this bloodthirsty rebellion. Who are you, and why do you fight rather than flee? The Purge is here as well. It's SOLDIER's job to defend the city. You need not risk your necks..." Just then, a familiar raven spoke up from atop the arrow-shot vampire from earlier, addressing the three with reasonable suggestions. Mithias stopped, recognizing Bedivere, although not yet knowing his name. He did not take any defensive action against him. With a solem expression, Mithias replied admittedly, "... SOLDIER is going to fall, if it hasn't already. Two armies at once are more than enough to overwhelm them, which leaves nothing but the Purge and the rebel vampires to vye for claim to the base and its weapons. I certainly give no credit to the cause of the Purge, but I cannot condone a revolution that would result in the enslavement of humanity and the creation of a vampire-nation." He looked the bird in its beady black eyes. "But my will is only second to the will of the one who saved my life, for I died only hours ago, staked through my heart. I will search until I learn Gabriel's will and satisfy it." If Mithias had any inkling of why he had been so favored, he didn't reveal it. Those golden eyes then shifted to the body of the vampire the raven had been perched upon. "This young vampire is going to awaken soon. My arrows are laced with cyanide. It kills humans, but quickly wears off on vampires, depending on their healing ability." As if on que, the youngling began to move.

[Rusalka]

As it would seem Rebecca had made the grievous assumption that the fledglings who accompanied the vampire Varomere were in fact not of the alleged SOLDIER faction, but in fact the enemy itself. Luckily her sapphic and oh so sensual display of love for her darling Camille was not merely a chiding jest in their direction but indeed the powerful woman working her charms upon the ravenous and lascivious crowds crooning about, calming them into an oh so perfect submission...for the time being. Yet such charm was broken once the vampire Varomere turned to the three hungry newbloods and cast upon them the fear of death in his fierce, gilded eyes blazing with such a fire to scorch their very souls into the depths of Hell itself. Rebecca remained vigilant, her blade in her hand at the ready and her shadows swirling and snaking about her flesh as some defensive armor against their claws and their venomous fangs, not that neither would carry any repercussions, as the woman herself was far from mortal, same as the thrall lovestruck and slouched against her slowly recovering from an apparent overtaking of passion in her body. The battle was quick, erupting in a flurry of shouts and curses and the flashing and flitting of several bloody blades, and so it ended just as swift with not one standing but the three combatants valiantly wielding their honed weapons and evenly honed skills which the trio displayed with the utmost finesse and brutality. It was in this apparent ceasefire that Rebecca sheathed her blade and instructed Camille to do the same, returning her scythe to some unforeseen void between the threads of time and space until she needed of her weapon once again. The youngling soon returned to her lady's side, the surge of adrenaline that once pumped through her veins now fading as she yawned sweetly and stretched her frail limbs, quite astounding she wielded such a heavy blade with those small arms of hers. The feline-like ferocity of her eyes had also shifted back to those soft demure shades of emerald, evident of the girl's tiredness. However, she still had a bit of youthful energy left, evident by her sudden surprised squeak, "Ah! What a cute bird!" Rebecca knew not of the foreboding raven in the presence of her and Varomere, at least not until her thrall's childish curiosity and excitement pulled her attention towards it. Suddenly the woman gave a swift command, "Darling, do not touch that raven!" And pulled Camille away from it by her arm, a protective arm wrapped around her and her blade once more summoned to her hardened hand. A bird that spoke with the voice of man, uncommon, certainly out of place even for a town swarming with the undead scourge, and yet not out of place as the woman caught that faint, familiar scent upon her nose, a scent...of bloodlust. It was clear what, or rather whom, this dark feathered avian of the boneyards was. Nevertheless the elder woman kept her composure, yet seethed on the inside to immediately quarter the foul creature without a moment's hesitation. She listened to the two speak, Varomere and the raven, taking a keen interest in the words exchanged and the meaning behind them. It appeared obvious the two had met beforehand and a lordship of sorts was struck between Varomere and this apparent sire masquerading as a mere eater of the dead. A bit out of tune with the world was she listening to these two speak back and forth, that she did not recognize the fledgling Varomere had skewered with his arrow had stirred as Lazarus from his sepulcher. And with the revolting and sudden twitch of its nerves wrenching back to life, so too did Rebecca's own nerves twitch and ever so sudden the bastard had found a small yet robust blade of silver protruding from his severed jugular vein as he choked out his final utterances to the vampire and drowned upon his own ill-scented blood. Rebecca removed her sword from the creature and nonchalantly she wiped her blade against what shreds of fabric remained to clothe her, a bitter scowl and the darkening of her eyes to boot, "Your vernacular is indeed charming and quite regal, Nosferatu." She spoke directly to the raven, her eyes of polar blue glaring into the glossy ebony beads flickering at her. "But the words you speak, they're appalling to me. I will not arbitrate, nor will I abdicate my reasons for the slaughter of these wretched vermin that now lie festering in ashes. For I have an age old score to settle with my damned adversary, a vendetta you would say, that stretches as far back to the days of yore, when artists, poets, and bards were at the peak of enlightenment." A bit flamboyant she twirled her sabre before continuing, this time turning towards the male at her side, "Who am I you ask, Varomere? You have heard my name spoken, or rather howled with a blood curdling disdain from these bastard sons of Cain. I am the kinslayer, a Nosferatu who murders her own kind, and why you may inquire? Why is it that I, a creature of the dark herself slays those who but carry the same bloodline as her? For as the Purge, the religious zealots they are, I too wish to see this curse abolished, cleansed from the loving hands of the Earth Mother and never to blemish and irritate her flesh once more with pestilence. That is the score I desire to settle. It began with him, that loathsome cur who forced himself upon me and violated my sanctity, ah but before that...he had the guile, the tenacity to slaughter my own kin before my waking eyes. Now, I but return the favor, but it shall not end with his final gasp for life, but for that of the last beast who falls to my blade." And without warning yet again her blade was to Varomere's neck by a mere inch, "And what say you, Sir Varomere? Should my blade taste your putrid blood as well? For it seems you are in debt to the raven who speaks man's word, your Lord no less I presume." "M-mistress! Wait!" Shakily her thrall spoke up, the fear apparent in her quavering voice and of course in her dazzling verdant eyes glimmering amidst the dim firelight. "Mister Varomere helped us! Don't kill him!" "Silence my dear!" Sharply Rebecca reprimanded her servant, though keeping her blade sharp upon the male and not hindering once to him. "He aided us in battle, of course, but only to satisfy his own needs in the end, or that of his Lord." Camille, she...she didn't know what else to say, trembling and timidly gnawing at her bottom lip, she clasped her arms around herself and merely stood by hesitantly....knowing well in her heart one of these two powerful vampires would soon attack...and the rest...would divulge into bloodshed.

[thewizardguy]

A whirlpool of ill intent, fiery emotions blazing across the skies and in the earth. The very air trembled, as the flames of hatred flew ever higher. The blazing columns of fire formed by the great tanks of the Purge were dwarfed by comparisons, mere candles before an inferno. It was seen in the corpses of those that had fallen, charred and torn, cut and bleeding, some still barely living, soon to die. It was to be heard in the screams and cries of tribulation that echoed across the battlefield, in the great roar of war machines. It was to be smelt on the air, gone foul with the scent of fear and death. But most of all? It was felt, in the hearts of men, who stood in this great inferno, in this cyclone of blazing minds. That trembling, adrenaline-charged killing intent, echoed from being to being. Hopes and dreams falling apart before the onslaught of primal, all-consuming hatred, the flame harbored in the soul that would spill into the world, bending the wills of hundreds to it's merest command. Gabriel looked down at this spectacle, seeing not with eyes but with his thoughts. Conceptual fingers stroking every surface, a disembodied gaze streaking from face to face, souls flaring up, briefly before dying out. And yet, invisible hands gathered them, those tiny flames. A hatred focused and gathered, a force greater than humans. A beautiful orchestra, played out just for him, on the strings of the human heart. And yet, all things must come to an end. For all things there must be a beginning and an end, and the time allotted to this inferno was running short. As souls burned to ashes, and bodies hit the floor, the flames died down. Hatred became determination, ideals were once more themselves, and the mind was once more possessed of it's own will. The inevitable hand of time had made it's ruling, or rather, there were simply no Newbloods left. Between the slaughter performed by SOLDIER, the Purge, and the kinslayers, there simply weren't enough Newbloods left to facilitate any real form of war. Of the five hundred that had stormed, bloodcrazed, into the city, only a few dozen fled it with their tails in between their legs. So many souls, so many deaths, so many regrets filling the air with their sweet songs of sorrow. Those brief blazes of fire still left would soon die out, and the memories of those that had fallen would be interred within the tomb of time. 'Sons of Cain? I would certainly hope not. Such sons would be a painful disappointment to any parent.' The voice was not his own, nor were the words those he had thought to speak. Of course, at this point in time, consciousness was a fading dream for the vampire. His head lay severed , released from his body, and without the blood to sustain it, his own mind would not have been capable of forming words to speak altogether. As such, it could hardly raise an objection against these new words, spoken with it's tongue. 'Would one not prefer them drowned at birth, than to live as cattle? It would certainly be the responsible thing to do.' A fleeting grin crossed the face of the decapitated head, as silence followed it's voice. 'Certainly, such an auspicious gathering would have place for an extra head? Two are better than one, so someone better take me with them.....' However, the voice was already growing weaker. Whilst brain death occured far more slowly for vampires than it did for humans, the mind still could not live without the body. It would not be long before even this freshly killed Newblood would die, making him useless. Truly, a failure to the bone. 'Isn't it a nice sight, seeing the youthful so.... energetic? I didn't start monologuing until I had at least a couple of centuries behind me, but they keep starting earlier.' Slowly, the voice grew more faint, eyes beginning to glaze over, as a steady stream of blood still flowed from the remains of the neck. Tattered remains of memories hung around like ghosts, soon to be erased, leaving only the empty shell of a mind. Gabriel sighed, as he continued. 'Those who dedicate themselves, constantly jumping at the carrot. Bedi, I think you could find a better arbitrator, don't you think so? And girl.... wouldn't it be a shame if something terrible were to happen to Miss Camille? Shiny shiny men are heading your way, and they're not so happy to see you....' After a moment of silence, it became clear that the head was, in fact, dead. After another moment of silence it was confirmed that it would not speak again. Gabriel turned from the battle, as he decided to leave the children to their own devices. There would be other cities, other wars, other battles. Wouldn't it be a shame if all the players died in the middle of the game? It would ruin the surprise at the end! A brief gesture showed his permission, and the small boy turned, smilingly trotting to his side. A tiny, frail little thing, eyes of pale blue, wearing tiny little pants and a tiny little shirt. A tiny hand grabbed a hold of the expensive, custom-made velvet coat, as if for the sake of balance, as the pair walked off. Oh, he had plans yet. No spoilers... Through a maze of glistening paths, a maze of mirrors extending far beyond the reaches of space and time, this little fragment of reality travelled. Fragile lives, motivated by hopes and dreams, hundreds of little threads holding together this vast net of possibilities. There was no such thing as chance, there was no such thing as destiny. There was only what was, what would be, and the choices in between. For in the end, didn't it all come down to choice?