Sundered Echo

Star Wars - Rise of Crusade

So I hear you guys need a giant spaceship for the Republic.

Since I basically live for giant spaceships, I shall oblige.

The Relics

The young woman ran through the streets, the inquisitors not far behind Angie. For eight days now, she’d never paused long to rest, for ever the pursuit was not far behind her. She’d have fled Amaryth long ago but for the fact that she knew nothing of the land surrounding the city, let alone how to survive on her own out there. Rarely did a hiding place work for more than an hour or two. It was almost as if the inquisitors could sense her location somehow, no matter how well she hid.

It was only through the aid of the city’s canines that she had managed to avoid capture so long, for whenever she hid, she asked canines around her to stand watch and warn her when the inquisitors approached. It wasn’t much of a watch, but it had served well enough so far. Each day, she went to a different part of the city, hoping to find a safe place, but always failing. Slowly she was starting to lose all hope.

Angie’s hope spiked to new heights when she heard the rumors spoken of about this “embassy” owned by the mysterious Kalesians. Nobody knew much about that foreign people from beyond the impassable Karak claw mountains. Half she’d heard was probably false, the other half embellished beyond sense. The one thing that had interested her was how it was said they protected evokers, how they did not bow to the whims of the Order of Idris. It was for that reason alone that she sought to find that embassy (whatever that word meant).

~|~

“My Lady.”

Alessia heard the voice of her personal servant through the haze of sleep. It was expectant, but she did not wish to rise yet. Her body ached all over from travel - she had arrived only last night and the journey from Kalesia’s capital to Amaryth was neither short nor forgiving, especially for the first major journey she had made. Etiquette demanded she not childishly pull the thin sheets - present only for the sake of modesty, for more thick covers would’ve been stiflingly hot in this overly warm land - further over herself in protest, but she still feigned sleep a while longer.

“My Lady.”

More insistent this time. Her servant would not be so bold as to mother her, but it was as much the servants duty to ensure their charges were where they needed to be when they were needed as it was the Nobles to command the servants. The moment she stirred, the servant turned back to the door to leave the room while Alessia dressed. She had heard that in some places of the world, royalty and nobility were so pampered that they did not even have to put their own clothes on. How servants could be so disrespected was beyond Alessia’s comprehension. Nobles may be respected more, but only because they worked harder to achieve their position. Servants were every bit as important as the Nobles that commanded them.

As she dressed, favouring cool clothing that left little to the imagination (though hid enough that she might not appear a harlot) above the waist, her servant began to list her itinerary through the door. It was strange, she had found that her days were being planned more and more by others ever since she had acquired the relic. She did not know if she was pleased at the simplification of life or annoyed to lose control she was so used to having - time would tell. The first few events of the day seemed to be meetings with the current diplomatic staff to update her on the vagaries of the current Othean politics - a dull but necessary chore that would likely be rushed to allow for more time at the next event - the festival opening. Though not the most skilled diplomat in residence, Alessia was nobility, and that afforded her additional privilege that the diplomats could not gain so easily on their own. Othean officials were obligated to follow Alessia’s requests to a certain extent, for, in the eyes of the Othean rulership, Alessia’s opinion would count far more in Kalesia than the diplomats.

She exited the room stiffly, satisfied with her appearance, just as her servant was finishing listing the days events. She had only listened to some of them, quite sure that she would be led where she was needed anyway. “Thank you Lydia.” Alessia said genuinely to her servant, a women slightly shorter than herself but much more heavily set. Lydia was both a servant and a bodyguard, not that the Otheans were notified of the second role. Though she had armor and a sword, Lydia would not be wearing those until Imperial plans moved much further along, and she hardly needed them anyway, not against common rabble and thugs. “If you would be so kind as to accompany me to the courtyard? I would see this city in the light before I am locked in a room with nothing but diplomats for company.” Though phrased as a question, it was of course a command. Alessia did have the right to command this entire operation however she wished, not she would, for a multitude of reasons. Her servant smirked at the tone she used to refer to the diplomats, picking up on all that went unsaid for the sake of politeness and etiquette, though she wasted no time leading the way to the courtyard.

~|~

It was not long after dawn when Angie had to flee her latest hiding place, the reeking alley behind a tanner’s shop. One of the local residents’ hounds had come running down the alley, barking the warning that a cadre of inquisitors was approaching. Considering how little time had passed since she found that spot to hide in, that meant she’d gotten a grand total of two hours sleep.

Crawling out from under the pile of rubbish, Angie started running the opposite direction from the Inquisitors. Thankfully the alley wasn’t a dead end. She didn’t really know what way to go, so she kept running the direction she thought might be eastwards. Her clothes were filthy from a week of sleeping wherever she could find cover, but were still mostly whole. She had no doubt that she herself reeked.

It was only by chance that she ran straight at the Kalesian Embassy. She didn’t read too well, but her mother had taught her the basics so that she could help her father in his bakery. When she got to the gate, she started banging on it with her fist, hoping that someone would open, despite the early hour.

~|~

A commotion began at the gate as Alessia stepped outside. The guards, resplendent in polished breastplates and mail, were already moving, though they looked as though they did not know entirely whether they should open the gate or push the desperate woman on the other side of it away with spears. It took hardly a moment for Alessia to assess the situation. The woman looked common in all respects but one. Her eyes were an unnaturally bright shade of yellow. That could only mean one thing. She was an Evoker. Likely now come to the Embassy to seek refuge, given the state she was in. As if to illustrate the point beyond all doubt, a group of men bearing the seal of the Order of Idris rounded a corner down the street and began sprinting towards them at first sight of the woman at the gate.

Alessia wasted no time in acting. “Guards.” She said with the authority of one used to commanding, projecting her voice over the commotion. “Bring that woman inside the gate.” To their credit, the Guards were quick to obey, one of them swinging half of the gate open while the other ushered the woman through the opening. As this happened, Alessia made her way towards the gate, preparing to confront the Idris Inquisitors that were pursuing her. She hardly noticed it, but Lydia shadowed her every step, ready to leap to her ladies’ defense should this be a ruse.

~|~

When the door opened after what felt like an eternity of banging, Angie breathed a sigh of relief, for in the background she could see the inquisitors approaching, even as the hounds told her of others approaching from other directions. “Thank you! Thank you! The inquisitors have been hunting me for days now!”

~|~

Just as he thought they’d caught the elusive evoker they’d been pursuing for days, Stevan Vlahovic, inquisitor of the Order of Idris, saw her being pulled inside the so-called embassy of the Kalesian Empire. “heathen scum.” he muttered, fuming over how they frequently interfered where they had no right to do so. His troops, a cadre of junior inquisitors, followed closely at his heels, even as he knew other inquisitors were converging from other directions.

He did not hesitate a second when he saw the Kalesians taking up position outside the gates of the embassy. He marched straight up, stopping right before the gates. “In the name of the Order of Idris, you will hand over the criminal fugitive that just entered this compound. Immediately.”

~|~

Alessia shot the girl a reassuring smile as thanks flowed like a river. She would deal with her after she turned the Inquisitors away. Putting her best official smile on, she stood a short distance from the gate and addressed the Inquisitors, hiding her amusement at the looks they had on their faces from defeat being snatched from the jaws of triumph. “Criminal?” She said, exaggerating surprise. “And what, may I ask, are her crimes?”

The inquisitor looked at the Kalesian Ambassador. Though the guards stood interposed between him and her, he could still easily see her. “She is an abomination against nature. An evoker. The worst scum of all! Idris himself decreed that no evoker should be let live!” The religious fervor in his voice was crystal-clear as he spoke. “Turn her over this instant!”

Part of Alessia felt a great deal of revulsion for this man and his beliefs, especially as he was unknowingly calling her those things as well, though she was far too composed to show it. When she replied, it was with a hint of mock seriousness, just to make sure her point was felt “I am afraid that simply being an evoker is not considered a crime in Kalesia… If you can provide the embassy with a list of this womans other crimes we may be able to arrange extradition to the Othean state. With all the correct documentation of course.” Alessia maintained her best diplomatic smile the whole time, despite her desire to laugh at the increasingly crimson face on the other side of the gate.

“Extradite? She’s on Othean Soil! And that means she belongs to me. Turn her over now!” He shouted at the woman, fuming at her infuriating use of diplomatic language. He could not believe she would dare to oppose him. He was an inquisitor of Idris!

“I am afraid you are incorrect.” Alessia began. “Your order holds no authority in the Kalesian Empire, and per the terms of our treaty with Othea, this Embassy is Sovereign Kalesian land. While on Kalesian soil -” she made a point of using the same word as the man had. “- She will be protected as any visitor to the Empire is, so long as she follows our laws. I am afraid formal extradition is the only option.” Alessia looked as though she was finishing, but just before the man could speak again she continued “Unless you intend to cross the border and take her, despite her being granted asylum. An act of war.”

“Gah!” he growled between his firmly closed teeth. He knew he’d been outmaneuvered this time. “You’ve not heard the last of this! Mark my words! She will be mine!” He turned about, marching off, his lackeys following at his heels. He knew just what to do. The Order had long had virtually free reign under the King Hrodlaf. It should be small matter to get a royal decree demanding that the heathens turn over the prisoner.

~|~

Alessia’s smile grew triumphant as the man turned away, spouting typical revenge blather. He did not seem a subtle man, though that did not mean he was not dangerous. The power held by the Order of Idris in this land was great, that she had learned before departing her homeland, and she doubted it had changed much in the time it took her to make the trip. She liked to believe that the oppression of Idris in the west was one of the reasons that the Empire was finally moving as it was, but that was speculation for another time. Right now, she had a young evoker to save. turning to the young woman, resisting the urge to wrinkle her nose at the smell, she asked kindly “What is your name? I am Alessia.”

Angie had been terrified the whole time the Kalesian and that inquisitor argued, even if she had been indescribably thankful that someone actually took her side. It took her a while to figure out what the Kalesian said, for though the language was the same, the accent was quite strong. It was through listening to the Inquisitor she got the gist of the discussion, which made her smile a little. “Ev’ryone calls me Angie.” she whispered shyly.

“Angie.” Alessia spoke the name, it sounded very… common. When she continued, she tried to speak slowly and clearly to overcome what the girl evidently thought to be a strong accent. “Well Angie, let us not linger in the courtyard. You are safe here.” She motioned to the Guards to keep the gates shut and go back to their duty before turning to head back inside the building, looking expectantly at the girl to follow. On the way she called Lydia close and quickly spoke to her “Please prepare a bath and some fresh clothes post haste for our guest.” Once inside she turned to the girl again and spoke, once again slowly and clearly. “My servants are preparing a bath, while they do, can I ask you some questions?”

Angie’s eyes lit up at the mention of a bath. With her sense of smell, she knew just how much she reeked. That offer made her opinion of this Alessia rise even higher up. Smiling widely, she nodded at the woman.

“You are an Evoker.” Alessia began, as tenderly as she could. There was no denying it with the way her eyes looked. “May I ask how long you have been this way?” At this point the girl really had only one choice if she wished to survive the Idris fanatics, but it still helped Alessia to know how much the girl knew. The less, the better, for she would be more accepting of Kalesian ways.

The statement shocked Angie a bit, but she couldn’t deny it. It was not as if there was any way to hide it. Nor, if she’d understood the earlier words correctly, was there any need to do so. She was more than a little thankful to the Kalesian for her speaking slowly and carefully. It made understanding her so much easier. “A few months, I think. ‘twas back in spring.” As they spoke, she followed the Kalesian deeper into the compound.

Not long… That was good. “What are you good at?” Perhaps an unusual question so early in conversation for some, but in the Empire a person was defined by their role in society. Knowing someones skills was important to a Kalesian.

“Well…” she murmured. “I trained under my da as a baker. I can read a little. And of course i can smell, see and hear better’n most.” She thought for a bit more. “Oh, and that hound over there really likes the gate guards. They keep giving him sausages.” The hound in question raised its head and smiled at her, his tail wagging at the attention he got.

Alessia laughed at the last comment, enjoying the humour of the situation even as she calculated. Though she had not really intended for it to be a description of the relics abilities, it did save her asking the question later. “Alright Angie, thank you for answering my questions. This is Lydia-” She pointed at her servant. “When you are finished, and feel free to take as long as you wish, she will bring you back to me and we will speak of the future.” With that she turned and walked down the corridor towards one of the meeting rooms. Her discussion with the diplomats was likely to be far more interesting than she had predicted.

Angie smiled and nodded, then followed the servant into the bathing chamber. She quickly got out of her clothes, leaving them in a pile on the floor. The only thing she took with her from there was her relic. This she also took into the bathwater, laying it on the bottom of the tub as she took her time washing. By the time she finished, the water had taken on a dark gray color, but she felt worlds cleaner. Getting out of the water, she found that the servant, Lydia, had left a small pile of clothes on a bench along one wall, along with a large, thick towel. She dried herself thoroughly and put in the clothes, though it took her a good while to figure out some of the fittings. Though her family had not been poor, the weave of these clothes was much, much richer than any she had ever before worn. The color was a dark green, not unlike forest foliage, and it fitted her reasonably well, which came as a bit of a surprise, considering she’d been there less than an hour. Her relic she concealed beneath the clothes.

Only once that was all done did she go out of the chamber to figure out what else Alessia might want of her. Staying here would be perfect, she thought. Safe from the Inquisitors, safe from harm.

The Relics

Yes, soon.

Suffering from massive writers block at the moment...

The Relics

I'm already working on a concept for Kalesian intelligence in Amaryth.
Did you really think the Kalesian Embassy was there solely to represent the Empires interests politically? *Grins evilly*

Also, LiverisGood, I may have an idea concerning your character, if you are interested - though it may take her out of her terrible patrols...
Basically, Alessia would request her as a local guide and guard. It would be a foreign dignitary turning down all the offered (male) soldiers for the task in favor of the female evoker.

The Relics

Excellent. I eagerly await the approval of the other GMs, that I might begin posting.

Also, i know i missed the appearance section.... I'll get to that soon (for real this time).

The Relics

My much belated sheet is finally here....

Name: Alessia Rezalla-Rhidian

Age: 27

Gender: Female

Faction/Allegiance: The Kalesian Empire

Relic Description: Physically, the Relic is an unassuming book. It is neither large nor thick, and is roughly but solidly bound in an unknown leather of brown colouration. Its pages are of an unknown velum, and also appear to be cut and bound only roughly. No means of marking the pages has yet been successful for a more than a few moments, and most of the time they appear totally blank. When Alessia opens it, however, the pages are beautifully decorated in an unknown script, with unusual diagrams and sigils every few pages. No page is ever the same when the book is opened to it. Even flicking to the next page and immediately returning will cause the page to change, though only Alessia knows this.

The abilities granted by the relic are far less direct than most, having no affect on her at all. Rather, the relic allows Alessia to call specific ‘spells’ for lack of a better term, into being over a large area. The spells she can currently wield are few, each having been first deciphered from a page of the book over a significant length of time studying it.
-Dread Omen: Alessia can dishearten and demoralise entire populaces or armies wielding this effect. Those affected will have the color drain from the world and the sky turn red, as well as feeling an ever nagging sense of dread. The effect is not crippling, and generally fairly uniform whether the affected are strong or weak of will.
-Fortune’s Favor: Essentially the opposite of Dread Omen, this spell will bolster morale and lift the spirits of those affected. Colors will be more vivid for those affected and they will feel more capable and empowered than usual, though still able to fear or doubt should events prove particularly unpleasant.
-Arcane Dome: A perfect hemisphere of shimmering light forms centered on Alessia with a radius varying between one hundred to five hundred meters. No object can pass through the dome in either direction. The walls of the dome appear to made of the same energy that also appears in the sky above her spells and casts similar light. This is a particularly intensive spell for Alessia and every object, dependant on its kinetic energy, that tries to penetrate the dome from either side will tax her further.

Every spell also causes ghostly aurora-like ripples of light in the sky above the area she has targeted. All of these effects are indiscriminate, with no-one in the area escaping them, with the exception of Alessia, who will never be affected by anything she has summoned. She can never summon more than one spell at any given time, though if she is not entirely exhausted when one effect is dispelled she is able to immediately conjure a new one. The duration that she can maintain any one ability varies depending on the severity of the effect.
In order to summon a spell she need only focus on the desired effect for a moment or two. Maintaining a spell requires a constant low level focus from Alessia, though she has trained herself to be able to maintain the two lesser spells she is currently capable of even while sleeping, though the sleep will not be nearly as restful as normal if she does this. If she maintains a spell for too long she will be mentally drained and blackout, at which point the spell will immediately fade.

Appearance: (if using a picture, please pick something that you’d get away with wearing in public and that would make sense for the era. Same goes for text-based description.)

Flaws: Alessia has no combat experience or training at all. She has witnessed drills during her brief work with the Kalesian army, but has never witnessed any real combat up close.

Skills: Alessia is an excellent architect and swift learner. During the course of her career she has worked with the Imperial Siege Engineering Corps and so understands how to demolish a building as effectively as raising one. Many are the skills taught to a prospective noble, and court etiquette is one that stuck with Alessia - she moves easily through the higher echelons of society, wielding a somewhat manipulative charisma like a weapon when needed. Aside from this, her many hours exploring the exhaustive Academy libraries has left her with an impressive knowledgebase about a great many things of much varying relevance.

Biography: Alessia Rezalla-Rhidian was born into the nobility of the Kalesian Empire, to the young newly titled Lord Tion Rhidian and the latest scion of the long standing Rezalla house - Lady Valerie Rezalla-Dahmsion. As Valerie’s first and only daughter she is the heir to the Rezalla name, and as such her mother took an immediate and significant interest in preparing her for the titling trials that all noble children undergo. Her childhood was filled with all manner of lessons, from the academic studies to the appropriate way for a noblewoman to comport herself in public. Her free time was almost non-existent, but with the funds available to the Rezalla house the best tutors were acquired to ensure she both learned and enjoyed learning. The direction her interests took was, however, somewhat unexpected by the women of house Rezalla - she became interested very early on in construction and the means by which buildings could be made so impressive as they were in the capital of the Empire. At age eight she was already demonstrating instinctual knowledge of basic principles such as the load bearing arch. While her mother was not entirely pleased with this direction, she nevertheless encouraged it, as she could grudgingly see the potential for an easy titling trial in the practical application and the discipline it gave her daughter.

While Alessia fulfilled a number of the title requirements from the very beginning of the trial, at age twelve, she still did not achieve sufficient accomplishments of note to gain her title by the earliest possible age of fourteen. She gained her title at the age of sixteen, still a very respectable achievement, becoming Lady Alessia and gaining a residence of her own - one she had designed as part of her trial. She was afforded several years of peace from outside pressure to study both her chosen subject and a number of others before any more heavy expectations were placed upon her. During this time she became a frequent visitor to the Imperial Library, studying all manner of scrolls and books to expand her knowledge, never having lost the desire to learn that was imparted to her at a young age. Shortly after her eighteenth birthday, her mother and grandmother both began to put pressure on her to think about an heir to the Rezalla name, for she was showing little interest in the perpetuation of her line. Not bound by any law or even custom to do so however, she ignored them, always providing the excuse of ‘not being ready’ for whichever reason the month dictated.

By her twenty-fifth year, she had become one of the Empires foremost experts on non relic based studies of the ancient objects that dotted the world. She was a respected noble in her own right, easily having earned her name as a Rezalla in the eyes of, ironically, all but her mother - the now only other surviving member of the family. She was just beginning to consider the courtship of several of the noblemen she preferred the company of when disaster - or perhaps fortune, struck. She was in the Imperial Library when one of the towering shelves nearby her destabilised and fell - pinning a nearby patron under a significant pile of books, only avoiding crushing him entirely because the shelf leant against a nearby wall. Alessia rushed to assist the hapless fellow, along with several others nearby, in the task of un-burying him from books before the shelf collapsed on him (and the books). Amongst this chaotic piling, one small and unassuming book caught Alessia’s attention, and rather than simply stacking it nearby she secured it in the folds of her dress to read later - ever the curious one even in the midst of saving a mans life.

To this day no-one knows why either the book was there or the shelf it was on collapsed.

Had she realised the nature of this one small book she might’ve left it where it was. Several hours later when she opened it, she found it to be empty, yet bearing signs that it had held writing once. It held her curiosity far more than anything of the sort should have, and she only realised how long she had been trying to make out the writing in it when the sun began to go down and her servants became insistent on reminding her of a formal event she was late for. When she returned later that night, she went straight back to the book. Only this time it contained unknown writing and unusual patterns and sigils within. At that moment a brief but stunning light show reminiscent of those seen in the far north and south of the world flickered in and out of existence in the sky far above the city. Also at this moment, Alessia blacked out, fortunately already lying on her bed.

The next day, upon learning of what happened in the sky, Alessia quickly put the pieces together and realised that the book was a Relic. And that she had become an Evoker. Taking it in hand, she found the nearest guard patrol and turned herself in as an evoker. After being escorted to the proper authorities, she told her story and was quick to renew her oath to serve the Empire, this time as an evoker. She was allowed to retain her position in large part because of her cooperation and honesty, becoming one of a very rare and select group of people in the world - an evoker that also held real political influence and respect.

The past two years have seen Alessia exploring her relics abilities and adapting to the idea of being an evoker - something which, to her mother's great chagrin, has once again turned her attention entirely away from the continuation of the line. The people of the city have begun to get used to the occasional occurrence of the sky being torn asunder in light, though few of them know the effects of the display. With the Empires recent preparation for war, Alessia has suddenly found herself being considered a ‘military asset’ by some. She has been given extremely limited officers training, but rather than being sent along with the army as a traditional support Evoker, the Empire has a far more devious plan in mind for her.

In the past few months, Alessia has been given a whirlwind course in diplomacy and dispatched via the northern passes to Amaryth to join the diplomatic corps in the recently established Kalesian embassy. Reasons for her placement there are manyfold - on a strategic level it will allow the Empire to fully make use of her new talents in future plans. On a smaller scale, the presence of a well respected evoker, however secret, may help with the Empires plans to rescue evokers from the clutches of the ignorant who would see them killed in Amaryth. While initially viewing this task with some trepidation, Alessia has since come to embrace it with enthusiasm as Amaryth has a great deal of history and, more importantly to Alessia, historical structures dating back to the relic makers.

Personality/motivation: Alessia serves the ideal of the Empire in all things, believing wholeheartedly in the righteousness of her nation. Aside from this, her curiosity is legendary, and Amaryth presents a great many chances to learn of other cultures, as well as the ancient foundations of the city itself, which are said to date back to the relic makers.

Relations: Roan is a childhood friend of Alessia, and she is familiar with his family.

Final Point - Secrets: Certainly no public Secrets.

The Elder Scrolls: Vengeance of the Deep

New Zealand Halloween is pathetic next to America. Kinda jealous actually.

Star Wars - Shadow of Rebellion

Kytra had just pulled out of her run when her scopes picked up a TIE fighter in close proximity. She craned her neck to get a visual, praying it wasn't on her tail.

What she saw was, perhaps, worse. The fighter was about to strafe the very same street she had just attacked! Evidently there was a call for air support on both sides, though it did strike her as odd that the TIE had broken formation in order to make the strike. The thought was quickly pushed aside however, as she began to set up her approach. "Gizka, stabilise the repulsors" She said to her astromech as she swung the hefty Y-Wing around in a wide turn that would leave it pointing roughly at where she expected the TIE to end its run. A repulsor assisted turn might've given her a shot on the enemy before it had a chance to really damage the alliance position, but such a quick shot would also be without target lock, relying entirely on Kytra's aim. She was not confident enough with that to risk such a stressful manoeuvre on it, especially so soon after pushing her craft in the same way.

Instead, when Kytra came out of the turn, the TIE had just finished its run and while it pulled up her targeting computer began to work its way past the electronic jamming all fighters employed as a countermeasure against a solid lock. She used the moment to check the readout on her Ion cannons. Both indicated enough alignment to fire, and the turret was already locked forward, mimicing the same firing trajectory as the nose mounted lasers. The weapons focusing crystals were prone to being shaken out of alignment during flight, and Kytra had long ago ensured that a constant diagnostic was being run so she would know the instant the weapon became inoperable. The moment she heard the tone indicating a target lock she pressed her thumb down on the button that would fire the twin Ion cannons at the TIE, being rewarded by the sight of the mirage-like pale energy pulse streaking towards the black form of the enemy from above her cockpit.

The relentless warnings of the TIE's instruments told Anya that she wasn't as lucky as she thought, pulling up and away from the surface. Someone had a lock! Without bothering to check what exactly she was dealing with, she pushed the TIE Fighter further and dived out of her flight path, back toward the surface again. The fragile machine shook as gravity took its toll on the mass-produced frame, but the risk of challenging gravity was better than getting turned into a human meteor by the stream of ion energy that had so narrowly missed the left wing. Again taking another tight manoeuvre at speed, the TIE swung down close to the battling forces below, trying to get an angle on the one who nearly killed her...

Continuing with her 'overconfident rookie' style of flying, as the TIE met the Y-Wing visually, Anya began to fire the laser cannons as if they were some kind of machine-shotgun, not quite aiming but definitely hoping to score a lucky hit, or shake the other pilot's morale. But these actions were a dead giveaway - she had nowhere near the skill of some of the Rebel pilots. This was nothing like wasting pirate ships en masse... Finally, Anya had realised this was what war really felt like. The adrenaline rush overwhelmed the discipline she'd learned to fly with, the idea that she might kill or be killed in the next few moments blurred out the sound of the flight leader's coordinations to his squadron. Right now, it seemed as if the whole battle was centred around herself, and the pilot of that Y-Wing...

Kytra couldn’t decide whether the TIE pilot was extremely skilled or extremely lucky when the black craft managed to dip back towards the ground barely an instant before the crippling Ion blast struck. The TIE pilot pulled around quickly, faster than Kytra’s lumbering Y-Wing could keep up with, and proceeded to answer both Kytra’s fire and question of her foes skill with a sloppy spray of laser blasts that could best be described as ‘aimed in her general direction.’

Unfortunately, such erratic fire was hard to predict, and in such a large and unwieldy craft as she was, Kytra found it impossible to avoid every blast, despite her best attempts to swerve. One of the green laser blasts found its mark on the top of the right engine pod, and there was a flash as it struck the deflector shields. An alarm began beeping insistently to inform Kytra of the partially depleted state of her shields, and a quick glance showed that the hit had drained her rear deflector, already weakened from being in atmosphere, to a measly thirty percent. There would no doubt be some superficial scoring on the ships plating too, but for now there was no permanent harm done. Nonetheless, she would have to keep the TIE on the defensive until Gizka could allocate enough energy to fully regenerate the shield or another hit to the rear of the ship would cause significant damage.

She threw the repulsors on full once again and adjusted her ships heading sharpy to by the tens of degrees she needed to get a bead, gritting her teeth as the crafts inertial dampeners struggled to contend with the G-forces exerted by the manoeuvre. Several secondary alarms blared at her indicating overheating components, but she ignored them and focused on the TIE ahead. Her computer only had a partial lock, but at close range her aim could make up for the rest. She waited until she was sure of the shot before pulling the trigger, sending a pair of red laser bolts towards the TIE, hoping it would either destroy or at least drive her foe away.

A surge of elation flowed through Kytra as she saw the impact of her weapons on the TIE’s wing, though it was slightly dampened when the craft did not explode or break apart. Her shot had been slightly off center, and by some miracle the ship had not come apart, holding together despite the smoke billowing from the impact site. To the pilots credit, the craft only wobbled rather than spinning out of control as it looked like it wanted to. All this Kytra saw in hardly a moment as the craft streaked past her, forcing her to swerve to avoid an impact with one of the TIE’s large wings, but it was enough for her to tell the fight was over. Much as she would have loved to finish her stricken foe, her scopes already indicated the injured craft was making best speed away from her, and she could not turn nearly fast enough to pursue.

Not that the thought of pursuit had long to occupy her mind. Above the city the clouds had darkened, and to Kytra’s horror they suddenly began billowing and parting to make way for the sharp edge of an Imperial Star Destroyer’s keel. It broke the clouds with the majesty of the greatest of Alderaanian Thranta, and even as fear once again crept into Kytra’s breast, she could not help but admire the sight.

No sooner had the mighty craft come to a rest above the city than the cavernous launch bays disgorged a black swarm of TIE fighters, buzzing around the craft in a manner akin to the drones of the blighted Kiliks, overwhelming the remaining Alliance fighters with sheer numbers and filling the sky with the distinctive shriek that so often spelled doom for many a valiant rebel soldier. During the battle Kytra had managed to end up quite a distance away from the main engagement zone, and it was by virtue of that alone that she avoided a swift and ignoble death, but even now her scopes were picking up multiple contacts at long range. She had to act quickly, or she would surely be destroyed.

Essence of the World: The New Age [CLOSED]

Supermassive (for me at least :P) collab is up, and Cerria is finally dead!

Essence of the World: The New Age [CLOSED]

Ten years before the present day...

Location unknown.

Lucien was sitting in what had once been a small city square, the buildings long abandoned and gone to ruin with the merging of Heaven, Hell, and the Surface. She was coming, this much he knew. After all, you just don’t ignore the Essence of an ‘old friend’, and he was reasonably sure that she was in one of the buildings in front of him. Tracking her had taken him years, but he had found her. There was no way she could escape without him noticing, not that he expected her to try and run. He sat on the rubble of what had once been a statue, sharpening his sword, and waiting. Only she would see the tension in his body, the barely controlled fury. Not that there was anyone else to see it, but if there had been; only she would have noticed. The rhythmic and familiar sound of a weapon being prepared for battle did little to calm his fury. Rather, it enhanced it. He was still sharpening his sword when she came out.

“You know,” Lucien began eyes on his sword, “it’s interesting what beings will say if they think it will keep them alive for a little while longer. Very interesting. Sometimes it’s even true. I found Maximilian. You remember him, don’t you? Tall, red hair, typically wielded an axe? Well, after I killed his guards and beat him, I was getting ready to drive my sword through his heart and check another off my list of Cowards-to-be-killed when he babbled something about there being another member I didn’t know about. He babbled about how there was someone that I’d never expect who helped them on the project. My first inclination was to kill him, but I decided to listen. Who knew, maybe I actually had missed someone. He told me it was you. I killed him immediately afterwards.” Lucien stopped sharpening his blade and held it up to examine, still not looking at Cerria. “But, the more I thought about it, the more it made sense. After all, you were always gone during the time the parasite was being created. And when my daughter started dying, you avoided me like the plague. Granted, I spent all my time with my daughter. But, what really made me believe Maximilian was the fact that days before the dragged her before a crowd and executed her in front of my eyes, you left. You ran..”

Lucien looked at Cerria now, and all of that friendship, camaraderie, and trust he once had in her had been turned to a burning hatred. If he could have killed with a look, the small city would have been reduced to nothing more than a radioactive crater. “Before I kill you,” Lucien continued with forced calm, “I just want to know one thing: why? I would have butchered an entire nation had you ordered it. I would have died for you in a heartbeat. I trusted you. She trusted you. And you let her die. You didn’t even have the courage to watch the results of you treachery, so you ran. You ran to your precious Surface, while they mocked her. Spat on her. Called her a traitor and a consort to Demons! Why?!” All semblance of calm had deteriorated by this point. The only reason why he wasn’t stabbing her right now was the fact that he needed to know. Needed a reason. Needed something to make sense of the betrayal.

Cerria stood facing her once erstwhile companion, her spear at rest, her body tense and her wings trembling ever so slightly. Unlike him, she had long since lost her armour. They had been best of friends, bonded in a way that only two warriors who had fought and bled together. She shared his sentiment - there was a time when she would gladly have laid down her life for him.

She wasn’t so sure now.

She remained silent as Lucien spoke. He wore a facade of calm initially, but as he went on Cerria could see the layers of self-discipline falling away, until all that remained were his raw emotions - the pain of her betrayal written across his features, the hatred he now felt for her almost tangible enough to cut the air. That hurt her perhaps more than any blade could, or would in the coming battle. She knew that nothing she could say would dissuade him now.

“Why?” She said, resignation strong in her tone. She was in the wrong and she knew it. However she may have changed in recent years, this still felt like a recount of her sins to a jury that had already decided her fate. She planted her spear into the ground and leant on it as she recounted her actions in that terrible time so long ago, her eyes distant as she recalled the past. “Because we were losing… And they manipulated me with the one thing they knew would work. They gave me hope.” She had fallen so completely for the story that the ones now calling themselves ‘the council’ had woven, even though she would never have approved had she known the truth. “They told me…” And her voice took on a tone of loathing and hatred as she recounted their words “They needed my knowledge of destruction and change to create something new. Something to save us all.” A bitter laugh escaped her then, how naive she had been back then. “I rushed to help them at the prospect of victory.”

With that, an edge of steel came to her voice and she stood straight once more, looking directly at Lucien. “I know you probably won’t believe me now, but I truly did not know that they were using a demon for their task, much less using your daughter to conduct the experiments. Had I known that at the beginning, I would have struck them all down where they stood. I didn’t find out about your daughter until it was too late. I wanted to at least put her out of her misery when I found out… But they would not let me close enough.” Even as she spoke she thought she sounded like a newly fledged girl trying to make her mistakes sound less terrible. She wouldn’t blame Lucien if he thought she was lying.

“As for why I ran? I was ashamed. I had just been party to the murder of an innocent, the daughter of one of the few still alive who cared about me as anything other than a weapon. I blamed - No, I still do blame myself for not seeing it earlier. Not intervening. And so I ran from my mistakes.” Anger was creeping into her voice, but directed against herself. She hated what she had done. “But here you are. All my sins have finally caught up with me, and the lost souls cry out for vengeance. We both know that there is only one way this can end.” Storm clouds were already gathering overhead, and in the distance wildfires spontaneously sprang into being, encircling the pair. Cerria did not yet sink into a combat stance, hoping against hope that Lucien might still have some forgiveness to offer before they fought, but she was ready to spring into action at a moments notice.

Lucien listened quietly while she delivered her excuses, ignoring the storm clouds gathering above, and the fires in the distance. Regardless of how this fight ended, they wouldn’t be a problem for him soon. Losing? He thought, We were getting annihilated and everyone knew it. Every day the Demons drew closer to Heaven’s Gate, and every day we lost more warriors. She volunteered for the same reasons you did. Victory appeared to be within reach. But she’s the one who paid for it. He didn’t care about her reasons for joining the Cowards in their projects. He didn’t care that she fell for their lies. He just wanted to hear why she ran when he needed her most. When his daughter needed her most. If her explanation was supposed to move him to forgiveness, or mercy, it didn’t. Shame was no excuse for what she did. Nothing would be a good enough reason for what she did to her.

After she was done speaking, he lifted his blade into a ready position. “Oh yes,” he sneered, “they stopped you. They stopped the most powerful Angel in Heaven from getting to one girl and her father. Truly, they must have fallen far from power when I finally got to them. Excuse me if I don’t believe that the Cowards were able to stop you.” He flared his wings, getting ready to attack. Already, signs of the Demonic parasite were in him. Black feathers where scattered throughout his wings, and his powers were limited. Not that he was good at anything besides combat. He wouldn’t beat her through anything more than Battle Angel skills. “The great Cerria! The Bane of Demons!” He mocked, practically spitting the words at her. “Driven to cowardice by the mere fact that she couldn’t face the consequences of her actions! She couldn’t watch as my daughter took the fall for her crimes!” He suddenly stopped, relaxing. His voice became soft. “Let me tell you what the consequences were.

“They drew me away first. To make things go smoothly. Before I could react they had chains on my wrists, and blades at my throat. Then they went for her. She was in constant pain as the parasite ate away at her, and they were not gentle. Her screams announced her coming minutes before we saw her. She called for her mother. She called for me. She even called for you. But her mother was dead, I was incapacitated, and you had run away. They threw her down the stairs, where she fell in a heap, sobbing in pain and fear and confusion. Then they began reading off her ‘crimes’. Guiding the Demon horde to Heaven’s gate. Leading fellow Angel warriors to their deaths. Consorting with Demons, to create vile half-breeds. Her wings, they claimed, had gone black because of her union with the enemy. And the punishment, they announced, was to be death. But they didn’t just simply execute her. Oh no. They cut her wings off first. And then, after she had screamed until she could scream no more, after she had looked to me to save her, and pleaded with me to make them stop, then they killed her.” He stared at Cerria, grief and guilt surfacing beyond the hate and rage for a moment. “You’re the lucky one.” And then it was gone. Hate and rage returned, and he gripped his blade tightly.

“You had your chance at redemption. And you chose to let her die. You chose to let her be blamed for Heaven’s fall. You chose to let her become the epitome of evil in Angel minds. Your shame does nothing to bring her back. Your shame changes nothing of what happened. Your death won’t either. But it’ll be a step in the right direction.”

With that, he drove forward with his wings, crossing the distance quickly, and stabbed with his sword at her chest. She would pay for her crimes, like the others had. And she would pay in blood.

It was as Cerria suspected. Lucien had no forgiveness for her. Nor should he have. When he raised his blade, she raised her spear and spread her wings. His taunts stung, insults to her martial pride, but they were nothing next to what he said next. The calm of one who has shed so many tears that they can no longer cry anymore came over him, making for an odd sight as he remained poised for battle. He described the death they gave to his daughter. The humiliation. It was a scene she had hoped to prevent, yet never witnessed. Even now, three millennia later, it cut to her very core. As the description continued, she felt a tear slide down her cheek. And then another. As if feeling sympathy for her pain, a gentle rain began to fall from the stormclouds far above. When his rage returned, she faltered from the edge in his voice alone, stepping back once. He was announcing the truth to her - that she was as much a coward as the ones they both despised. The words cut far deeper than the sword in his hands ever could. The blade would end her life, but the words made her desire the blade.

Yet however much her heart bled for who she was in the past, something fundamental in her had changed since then. Then, she may have cast down her arms and submitted to the killing blow. But now, she would not- could not simply lay down to die. Just as Lucien was changed, she could see the legacy of her work in his feathers, so had she. If its any consolation- a tiny voice said in the back of her mind you both died a long time ago. Then Lucien acted.

With that, a gust of wind filled her wings, pulling her back and upwards. She hung there in mid air with the continual gust filling her wings. A bolt of lightning struck the ground next to Luciens feet, thunder following immediately from far above. “She died because we failed!” She screamed, her words punctuated by another bolt of lightning striking nearby. “She died because you failed! I failed!” Another bolt of lightning, wind growing steadily more fierce in a whirlwind centered on her. “Because our race was flawed! Even in our desperation we failed!” A wild rage was beginning to overtake her, spurred on by the wrath of nature that was in turn worsened as her rage grew. She hated. Hated the Demons. Hated the Angels. Hated the humans. Hated fate for causing it all. But most of all, she hated herself.

The rain came down heavily, beating at Luciens armour. The wind encircling Cerria picked up speed drastically whipping up the dust and even picking up a few smaller stones, making controlled flight for anyone outside the eye a nightmare, even impossible with the water flying almost horizontally. The clouds above were extending down into a cone shape and the distant fires grew ever closer. Her foe had seen it all before, but never had she reveled in the potential destruction of it in his presence. No matter the ending of this battle, this land would be ravaged by its end.

He was unmoved by her tears. They were too late to offer anything. Too late to quench the fires of rage, to silence the howls for vengeance. The lightning bolt through Lucien off his course, sending him in a brief tumble through the air before he landed on his feet, body tingling as it repaired what was damaged in the blast. As soon as he felt the wind pick up, his wings pressed tightly against his back. They would send him flying throughout the air, completely at Cerria’s mercy if he didn’t. Despite the gravity of the situation, and the fact that he was trying to kill someone he had once considered his greatest friend in his long life, Lucien was grinning. It was bloodthirsty, fierce, and filled with joy. This was simple. This was free of emotions and philosophy and right and wrong. It was just two warriors, fighting until one fell. This was all he understood. And he would do what he understood to the best of his diminished abilities, until either he fell or she fell. Simple.

He began walking towards Cerria, using his sword to keep from being swept away by the wind. He had been in this situation many times and knew how to best approach it. Though, he had never thought he would be on the receiving end, trying to kill her. As he stumbled and was nearly swept away by the wind, Lucien briefly envied those Demons who had claws that they could dig into the ground. That would have made this situation easier. As it was, he kept pushing onwards, towards her screaming. The rage and hate in her voice sounded familiar to him. It was the same hate and anger he uses to sustain himself, to keep himself going until the last killer of his daughter had died by his hand.

As she spoke of how they were flawed, Lucien began to laugh. It was a bitter sound to hear. “And why do you think the Surface Angels were created?” He roared into the storm, trying not to be swept away. “Because our race was working? No! We were a failed project, so they were created! There are only four of us still alive! The remaining Cowards, you, and me! We’re dying out! And they’re taking our place! They’re the future of the Angels, not us! We’re just war ravaged relics, clinging to life for various reasons! I cling to it because vengeance demands it! The remaining Cowards cling to it because they’re afraid to lose their lives and their powers!” He kept walking forward, towards the blurred image of her, his blade digging deeply into the earth every time he moved. He allowed himself a smirk as he walked. So much for no philosophy.

“Why do you cling to life? Why do you go from town to town, destroying the humans?” Closer. He just needed to get a little bit closer.

Cerria's self-hate was only intensified as Lucien confirmed what she said. Part of her wanted ever so much to simply fall on his blade. The rest of her screamed in defiance as he questioned her purpose. "They have perfection within them! And yet they squander it! I simply remove the chaff from the wheat! The slag from the ore!" She didn't add that she had no idea what constituted success and the end of her self appointed task. It didn't matter anyway, she wasn't sure she even believed it anymore. She just reveled in the destruction now.

With a scream of pure hatred, she caused the rain to fall so heavily that it came down in sheets. Beating her wings hard to gain altitude, a hole appeared in the base of the hurricane and she flew up into it, closing the base after her and forcing it down to the ground even faster. The water was getting caught up in the walls of the hurricane now, most of it never even reaching the ground, and it took on the appearance of a dirty waterspout. From the cylinder of calm inside the hurricane, she began to exert her will on the ground, causing it to rumble and shake. In a short time it would begin to open up in great crevasses that would easily swallow a man whole. Demons had fought her with similar tactics to Luciens, and he would not prevail as long as they continued to fight the battles of old. If she had to dash him against every ruined building before piercing his skull with her spear, she would. Until then, she halted the lightning bolts and readied sheet lightning that would envelop the water filled hurricane the moment Lucien was caught in it, or set foot within.

As Lucien walked , step by brutal step, towards Cerria, listening to her scream at him about how the humans were perfect, he realized that she had finally lost it. She had always been on the edge of madness. Now she had fallen headfirst into to it, and there was no going back. Abruptly, what had started out as a vengeance slaying turned into a mercy killing. All of his hate, his rage, dissipated into pity. “What have they done to you?” He whispered into the howling wind, stopping his forward progress. Cerria wasn’t what she had been, all those years ago when Heaven had fallen and he had lost everything. She would have despised the creature she saw now. But the old Cerria was gone. In her place was this…thing. This creature of hate and anger. Briefly, Lucien chuckled. “Or rather, what have they done to us?” They were similar. Broken by the world around them, all they had left was hate. He had accepted this about himself long ago. But to see this done to a former comrade…someone who was once so proud…it hurt. It hurt enough that he even acknowledged that he cared, the second thing since his daughter died. But there was a difference between the two of them. He had a target. Cerria had no target. No goal. All she knew was destruction and hate. She would keep going, keep destroying, until something or someone killed her. As the rain fell harder Lucien stopped finally, realizing futility. He knew where this was going. So he backtracked. Forced his way as far out of the hurricane and away from the trap.

The earth was breaking. Cursing, Lucien spread his wings and took what limited flight he could. It was far from his usual control, but he had more than someone who hadn’t dealt with her winds and her powers would have. It wasn’t pretty, nor particularly stable, but it worked. Taking this moment, Lucien considered the problem. She wasn’t going to come out of the hurricane. Not when she held the power. So he’d have to go in. It only took a moment for an idea to appear, and then he thrust with his powerful wings. Up he went, slowly, erratically, but up nonetheless. Everything had a limit. A stopping point. She couldn’t have one all the way to the stars. And there would be a hole to slip through up there.

Keeping Luciens shining armoured figure in sight through the storm was difficult, Cerria may have been in an area of calm and free from the beating rain and howling winds, but those things did a great deal to obscure vision, even for an Archangel. But keep sight of him she did, tracking him by the shimmer of the armour that once gave her such pride, such hope. When she saw that he would not fall for her trap, she screamed in rage once more, weeping once more but now with hate. He was rising, slowly but surely, even as he was tossed about like a toy boat in a stormy ocean. She abandoned her control of the rains and the lightning, allowing them to strike as they would, and beating her own wings against the still air of the storms eye. Unimpeded by the storm force winds, she would rise much faster than him.

It still took several long minutes of hard flying, ascending through thinning air, before she rose above her perfect storm. From so high, it seemed serene, beautiful even, but all that did was stoke her rage yet more. She soared higher, making use of the precious moments before Lucien caught up with her to gain the height advantage. The moment his shining armour pierced the clouds, she would swoop down at him with wings folded, aiming to skewer his skull on her spear at as great a speed as she could.

As Lucien’s head broke the cloud cover, his body soon following, the only thing that saved him from being skewered through the skull by Cerria’s spear was his survival instinct and his reflexes, both honed by a lifetime (An original Angel’s lifetime) of war. He looked up and assessed the problem in half a second. His head jerked to the right, and his body began to follow, but he was too slow, the spear crashed into his shoulder driving them both back down through the cloud cover through the sheer velocity of Cerria’s descent and her mass. Instinctively, Lucien’s hand immediately shot up to grasp the shaft of the spear, keeping it in him. “You were always bad at precision strikes.” He said through gritted teeth. The damn spear hurt like hell. But he kept a firm grip on it. It was his only advantage right now. “But perhaps you don’t need precision with hurricanes and wildfires as weapons.” Without warning, his blade flashed upwards, trying to slice through the shaft of Cerria’s hands and force them to let go of the spear.

Meanwhile, the blood that had been gathering around the spear where it entered his body stopped dripping down his armor. It began to go up the shaft instead, creeping towards Cerria’s hands, and clinging to the shaft despite the wind and tumbling with a dogged determination. Now that he had her close, Lucien was planning on letting her get away as easily as she pleased. Any amount of pain would be worth it to end this fight quickly before things got any worse than they already were.

The moment Cerria felt the blade pierce Luciens flesh a wave of regret filled her. Had she just killed the only other being in all the realms that understood her?

No. The regret transformed into frustration quickly whens he realised she had missed her mark, worsened when Lucien taunted her through it all. As soon as she realised that her foe was alive and her weapon largely immobile, she spread her wings and willed an updraft to catch her as they plummeted through the roiling clouds. With no ground to provide leverage, it was the only way to wrench the weapon free.

The sudden, massive shock as the wind caught in her wings and decelerated her hurt a great deal, and it was all she could do to keep her wings unfurled and catching the wind. A lesser angel may have had them ripped clean off at such abuse, but Cerria's wings were among the strongest of any Angels, for they were tempered by regular flying in the hellish storms she summoned. Her hands did not fare so well however, and despite trying to grip the shaft of the weapon as hard as she could, she nonetheless felt it slipping away, the smooth metal haft made slick with the rain. She managed to hold on barely at the end of the weapon, though it remained stuck fast in Luciens flesh. This desperate manoeuvre had saved her hands however, as were her foe's blade was set to cut clean through both her arms, instead the tip merely gauged into one wrist. She let out a yelp of pain from the strike, and though it was already healing, it would not be nearly so fast as what Lucien could manage. It was a long time since her body had had to react to any severe injury. In all of this struggle, the pair had slowed in their descent, but the hurricane would not give up its hold on them, even while they were still so far up.

The sudden stop nearly jerked the spear out of his shoulder, but Lucien managed to pull it back in, clenching his teeth harder against the pain. At least they weren’t in a freefall anymore. In the tumbling wind, the point was inevitably moved about in his shoulder, and he could occasionally feel it grating against bone. This experience was made worse by the fact that every time the spear left an area, it immediately began to heal itself of the damage done, having new flesh ready to be rent when the spear came back. Upon hearing her yelp, Lucien bared his teeth into a blood thirsty grin. “What? Been a while since you’ve fought something that didn’t run from you screaming in terror? How long has it been since you’ve felt pain? Decades? Centuries?” He taunted, a condescending tone in his voice. He hadn’t done all the damage he desired, but at least he had marked her. His blood was climbing over his gauntleted hand, steadily growing closer to the barely holding on hands of his enemy. It would all be over soon. In the meantime, Lucien’s sword flashed forward again, seeking the hands of his enemy once more. His friend. His comrade. His commander.

Not for the first time, nor for the last, Lucien cursed the Cowards and their ‘plans’. He cursed the Demons and their war. If neither of them had done any of that, he wouldn’t be in this situation. He would be in Heaven, with his family. Just as quickly as he opened that door, that vision, he slammed it shut. There would be time for mourning what could have been later. Until the Cowards were dead, he couldn’t weaken himself. He couldn’t leave any room for regret or grief.

Cerria’s cry of pain turned back into a cry of rage as her friend taunted her. She furled her wings right as he struck out with the blade again and the controlled motion became wild as the pair started spinning through the air again. Once more, an otherwise limb severing strike simply cut across the bare flesh of her arms. This time she made no sound, gritting her teeth and pulling herself down the length of the spear with all her might before Lucien could recover. The last section was difficult as the spear was slick with his blood.

Using the spear as leverage, she deftly kicked off to spin around behind him, snaking her wings around his body in what might almost be considered a loving embrace if they weren’t pressing in with such force. While certainly not strong enough to crush him outright, she could at least hold his wings in place and restrict his movement while her arms wrapped around his unguarded throat and began to crush. “Just give in Lucien!” She half whispered, half shrieked in his ear. “Let me end your pain!”

As she moved down towards him she twisted and wrenched the spear, sending searing pain throughout his shoulder, briefly stopping paralyzing his movement. That was all the time she needed. Quick as the winds she had summoned she was behind him, her wings restricting his movement, her arms crushing his windpipe. Lucien forced his arm upwards, not to claw at the arms cinched around his throat but to grab the spear that was still in his shoulder. He turned it towards her voice in his ear, ignoring the panic that was pushing on the edge of his mind and the blackness that was pushing on the edge of his vision. One thought pulsed in his head. I can’t give in. Not yet. They’re still alive. She must be avenged. Then he pushed down with all of the strength he could bring to bear. The act brought as much of a scream as could be pushed through his crushed throat as possible and the spear tore through his shoulder and wing, heading towards the chest of his old friend on his back. The blackness was narrowing his vision, but he was still conscious. He could still control his blood. The blood freshly oozing from the entry wound raced towards Cerria’s arm. The blood on the spear, and oozing out of the exit wound, reached for the nearest clothing or skin of hers, seeking to burrow.

The blood on her hands didn’t need to wait for any of this. It simply burrowed into her palms, tearing muscles and nerves. There wasn’t enough of it to force her arms away from his throat, but there was enough to start tearing its way towards her brain, doing as much damage to everything and anything it could on the way.

Lucien himself now reached up with his free hand and grabbed at the arm around his throat, pulling on it with all the strength he could. He didn’t have long before unconsciousness claimed him and shortly after that, death. Still, that one thought pulsed through him though shortened as the lack of oxygen got to his brain. She must be avenged. It was all that kept him going, now and before. He feared that in this instance, it wouldn’t prove to be enough, and he would die at the hands of the shell of his former comrade. And wouldn’t that be poetic justice? The broken shell of a warrior slain by the broken shell of his commander.

Pain. Cerria’s breath left her as her own spear pierced her flesh, locking her in and Lucien thoroughly into their deadly embrace. If either of them was to escape, it would be at the cost of the others life. With the pain, Cerria’s rage did not increase. Rather, it began to subside. Her grip lessened ever so slightly around Luciens neck...

And then the real pain started. Luciens blood, now covering her hands and the front of her clothing, seemed to come to life, tearing and biting into her flesh like acid. She screamed from the pain, it was unbearable and blocked out everything else, creeping inexorably up her arms and through her chest. Her Angelic flesh tried to fight it, tried to heal as it went, but that simply ensured that there was fresh muscle and organ to rend and tear anew, for Lucien was bleeding ever more from the wounds inflicted by the length of metal that was Cerria’s weapon.

As the will that was maintaining the fierceness of the storm around them began to fail, so too did the unnatural storm. The winds slowed and the rain lessened to a lazy drizzle, though having been brought into existence they would not simply go away without express command. Cerria’s grip on Luciens throat was now more of an instinctual thing than intentional, and not as strong as the muscles in her arms were shredded and remade over and over.

All she could feel was pain, and the world tinted in red.

At first, Lucien’s pulling was ineffectual. The darkness began to close in more and more, and despite all of his centuries of training and warfare, he began to panic. The end was rearing its ugly head and he didn’t want to meet it. Not yet. Then her grip loosened slightly. Lucien began to pull harder. Then, around the same time she began screaming, her grip loosened enough for him to pry it away from his throat. He felt a twinge of guilt at all the pain he was causing her, just for a moment, before he began sucking in great gulps of air. For a moment, that’s all he cared about. Not the fact that they were rapidly falling down through a violent storm towards ground that was likely still shaking and moving, or the fact that she was still alive and screaming in his ear. All he cared about was getting oxygen into his lungs, painful breath by painful breath. So it took a few seconds before he was able to do more than just gasp for breath and wonder if they were about to hit the ground at any moment. When he finally did get enough air to push back the darkness encroaching on his vision, he gripped his sword tightly and decided to finish the fight, before the ground reached them. The least he could do for the shell of his captain was to give her a quick death.

So it was pity, not rage, which moved his hand. He reached up behind him, towards the screaming, with his free hand and grabbed her head and jerked it forward. Then he shoved his sword towards her skull.

Several long moments later, they hit the ground. They hit it hard. Most of the bones in Lucien’s body shattered, and he spent long, long minutes laying there while his blood returned to his body and his bones repaired themselves.

Cerria was helpless to stop Lucien when he gathered a handful of her hair in his armoured gauntlet and yanked her head forward hard. Her nose broke on his armour, but the pain from that was inconsequential next to the burning fire in her veins and flesh. Her eyes widened as she saw the sword point towards her, and the world seemed to slow.

Here at the end, there was no rage, no hate and no pain. It didn't matter what was right or wrong. She felt a sense of peace that she had forgotten she could feel and what remained of who she was rejoiced. With a final effort of will, she calmed the air around them and sent one last command to the skies.

Then the tip of the sword struck, and everything went dark.

Far above the broken forms of the two angels lying on the ground, the clouds carried out their last order. moving sedately under the light winds of the storms aftermath, they gathered together into a gargantuan facsimile of Cerria's face, looking down at Lucien's prone form. The lips stretched into a smile, the entire structure illuminated from behind by the sun. Their task complete, the clouds began to drift apart and fall back into their natural flow, bound no longer by any will, nor would they be touched by such a will ever again.