[b]Southern Coast of Naqah[/b]

The Succubus, no doubt a newly initiated Follower as she wore only helmet and scant steel-bronze plates over her limps, some bits of which had been damaged and lost in combat, shivered at the sight of the scimitar flashing before her eyes. She had sustained a long and ugly diagonal gash across her abdomen. Being a Succubus, she wore no armour at all around the torso, and is in fact totally naked from head to the thighs, relying on agility and beauty for protection.

Upon hearing the guard with the Scimitar spoke, she came alive a little, her tail twitching as she thought about the unfamiliar words. The language of the Naqah was almost alien to her, but having previously been an actress and a poet before she decided to serve her people as a soldier, she had learnt of the language, and even visited a tribe living near the Naqah. Most of it she had learnt from a Naqah Daemonrexiac who was once a marooned explorer a few centuries ago. What she had learnt, however, were but a small precious percentage of the entire language. Struggling to think past the burning sensation down her throat and the murderous pain that had spread throughout her body, she replied with the little Naqah she knew.

"5... 1." She said, in an almost hopeless attempt to describe how outnumbered they were. The warrior's language had never been her favorite in the beginning, much less describing it in a foreign language. "Bad men-" A hacking cough made her stop, and the pain in her abdomen flared. Looking up with tears falling, she begged the guard, "Pain! Please! Pain! Hurts! Don't hurt me!" And when she looked up, the blood that painted her pale, sickly face was obvious, and so was the dent in her helmet, a sign that a brutal mace was brought down upon her head during battle.

The Nephilim reacted differently. Upon seeing the pair of guards, he tried to scream a battlecry at them but failed miserably as his voice gave way in a series of desperate grunts and hacking coughs from the deep thirst in his throat. Their speech was stirring up his rage, however, as the foreign language which he knew nothing of seemed ominous. After numerous tries, he growled and finally managed to bellow a battlecry, although it was weaker and more desperate than the full effect. Flinging himself up into a messy sitting position, it grabbed a nearby handheld ballista in hand, extremely quick for something his size, and pointed it at the guards, the huge weapon shaking as the Nephilim's massive strength was running out.

The handheld ballista was huge, a beast even taller than a human being when stood on its stock, and the bolt not far behind, being able to skewer several soldiers when fired. However, it could only fire once before needing a reload, and the desperate Nephilim knew this well, and as he saw a number of guards around, refused to fire and instead used it to threaten the guards. Though his imposing presence was enough. The Nephilim was twice the size of a Naqah, and this particular one was armoured from head to hoof, implying a high rank to the aliens, as a common Nephilim soldier would have come only in a helmet and a heart protector held in place by leather. However, much of his armour was bent and torn. Cuts and stab wounds were all over its body. A harpoon had impaled his shoulder clean through. His eyes shone red with battle rage as he screamed in his native language for the guards to surrender or suffer the worst fate possible..

The imp, upon seeing the woman Naqah, shrunk away from her, squeezing itself further into its corner. Despite being a Zealot in rank, as his older scars had shown, and the regular, if battered legion armour he wore indicated, he was also a young imp, less than half a century old, Zealot only because he had dedicated his life to the legions of Devaldis-Spes the moment he was of age. Having long been broken by the merciless attack of the pirates, he could not bring himself to do what the Nephilim did, and was instead holding onto his short spear as if holding on to dear life rather than a weapon. He remembered his parents telling him that he should have spent some time in the academy instead, discovering the world through numbers, letters and banter. He had never seen a battle as vicious as this before, and was beginning to think that they were right - after all, if one was to die, he should do it well into his endless life rather than at the beginning of it.