3301/HALLOWEEN 2015

HALLOWEEN 2015
Date of Scene:	31 October 2015
Location:	Reality Works
Synopsis:	????
Cast of Characters:	2, Priscilla, 134, 183, 227, 253, Theo Morrison, 415, 470, Riva Banari, 518, Zero Kiryu, Sir Gawain, 626, 642, 824

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Psyber (253) has posed:
OOC DISCLAIMER: NONE OF THE EVENTS THAT TRANSPIRE IN THIS LOG ARE TO BE CONSIDERED IN-CHARACTER. THIS IS TO FACILITATE THE EVENTS OF THIS SCENE AND ALLOW MAXIMUM IMMERSION. THIS IS SOLELY AS DOCUMENTATION AND LOGS FOR FUTURE REFERENCE. PEOPLE IN THE FUTURE - SORRY FOR HOW FUCKED UP THE FORMAT IS GONNA BE.

Psyber (253) has posed:
If the prior giant block of text is not clear enough, a final elucidating point: This scene is non-canon.

Psyber (253) has posed:
-<OOC>- Psyber says, "Alright, everyone. With you all briefed and everyone prepared, let's get ready for Halloween 2015."
-<OOC>- Psyber rubs the back of his head, "Admittedly, I'm still figuring out how to get this started, so just kinda... show me some patience, alright?"

Pinkie (470) has posed:
-<OOC>- The Shadow says, "Hey Archangel, is it night or day?"

Psyber (253) has posed:
-<OOC>- Archangel huhs, "Uh... we'll say daybreak. Just at the start of sun-up. Seems theatric enough."

Yuuki Kuran (518) has posed:
-<OOC>- Vampire Queen says, "Oh, daybreak? Ugh, great, daytime for a vampire on the finale, shows me. Alright."

Pinkie (470) has posed:
-<OOC>- The Shadow says, "Also, eh, a little you-centric is fine, this wouldn't be happening without all the organization you put into it. Nice music choice by the way. Now let me see..."
-<OOC>- The Shadow cracks knuckles and gets to posing.

    "Soooo this is it, then... One last night to party. ... Let's make a bang of it."
    A near whisper- practically a hiss in Archangel's ear, is probably a familiar sensation by now. Moving by day had never been easy for The Shadow, but the crepuscular hours of early dawn breaking today was just fine for her. Still, she remains unseen, little more than a lingering presence, just barely registered as clinging onto Archangel's back for the ride down as he descends from the airship, a raspy, almost murky, chuckle crackling from the wraithlike pony-woman's throat as she pokes her head from the recessed shadows of his cloak, cracked mask as ever flashing its jagged porcelain smile, silver-pink hair spilling in curls from under her jester's hat. "You know, I always said I'd kill for peace, but I guess if I have to die for it, then I'll go out with a smile on my face."
    As ever with her bleak humor, the killer shade rasps throatily, at home in the bloodsoaked charnel fields of constant death and woe as she slinks from the Sovereign's shadow in search of prey to commit the last, ultimate, prank of death upon.

Homura Akemi (2) has posed:
    It has been a long, long losing battle.

    The Archangel's powerbase seemed to grow every day, and Lilith's crumbled under her every other minute. The Union Empire gathered power and resources from every world they could like sharks in a feeding frenzy, while the Confederate Rebellion tried to keep a grasp on the scraps it had managed to take, reclaim, and miraculously not lose.

    But the Archangel had grown weary of the war and pushed for a final strike. If they could secure the Valley, nothing else would matter. It's the vantage point to beat all other vantage point, and yet had been in a stalemate for so long they'd begun losing hope it could even be taken. Everything was about to change with this last stand.

    As the Archangel's troops drew close, Lilith's prepared as well. The Confederate Rebellion had received its orders: to stand, to trample, and to seize back. Such an open battle would surely leave holes in the Union Empire's front. They just need to push through one last time.

    One massive, round, spherical ship starts forming, ripping through reality to do so. It floats above the frontlines of the Confederate Rebellion, almost half the size of the battlefield on its own. Then it pulses, malevolently.

    Atop it stands Lilith, in her black robes and strange, dual-colored wings, almost artificial in allure. She is holding a tattered grimoire, which itself resonates with all manners of bad vibes. She talks, but it doesn't translate, and rends the ground troops with insanity.

    The spherical ship warps, and suddenly bursts open as masses of boiling flesh, eyes and tentacles come out of the fractured steel. It had been a long road to gather enough power to do that, but Cthulhu rises again, courtesy of the R'lyeh Text. The creature is fusing with the ship, and it doesn't look too pleasant for it. It's destructive, and that's what counts.

    The last thing she does, is snap her fingers. Incubators come out of the woodworks, the small, white, furry critters each accompanied by a magical girl. Tons of colors, tons of weapons. There's an army of them. Most don't look old enough to swing a weapon, many look scared or are already exhausted from fighting. But they make several lines of defenses.

    Lilith lowers her gaze, glancing at Archangel from across the battlefield with a forlorn look. She'd resigned it would end this way, but had hoped there might be more time. Maybe time enough to figure out how to go back again. Oh well.

    "REBELS! STAND YOUR GROUNDS AND SHOW THEM WE WON'T GIVE UP!"

Landon al Cid (642) has posed:
     It's coming.

     The hammer always had to come. There was no avoiding it - the war couldn't go on forever. Logically speaking, eventually, everybody would be dead on one side or the other.

     Or all of them.

     Because that was the *really* uncomfortable part, the thing nobody talked about, the thing nobody wanted to hear said but everybody knew was entirely possible. At some point...

     At this point, it might very well be a choice between tyranny and nothingness, and the Prince of...no. No, the Prince of Ramuh would never have been able to make that choice. He had been weak, and that had cost him everything he had ever cared about. It had cost him his throne. It had cost him his family. It had cost him Cirra, and Mirielle, and Cassie, and Kamon, and Soan. It had driven his nation into the hands of lunatics. The Prince of Ramuh was a fantasy now, a memory of brighter times, when he had truly imagined that justice could carry the world. There was no justice here.

     But there was judgement. That, he could still believe in.

     Tyranny? Or Oblivion?

     The Warlord takes the field. The crystalline armor wrapped around him pulses with every step as he strides directly into the army. Each step of his foot freezes, paralyzes, silences, dulls, blinds - stacks status effects upon status effects on the Union troopers unlucky enough to be caught in the pulse.

     The Warlord might even say that they've always been blind and dull, were he in a mood to laugh.

     From there, it's just a matter of letting his swords do the work. Countless Judge Blades rain down on the soldiers trapped by the killing field, the heavy crystal manifestations of Law and Order falling like meteors from Heaven or tearing off heads like cannonfire. And anything the Damocles Rain doesn't tear apart, anything not caught in the footsteps of absolute binding...that faces the crystalline cannon-blade slung under the Warlord's right arm. On the rare occasions he bothers to lift a hand, the cannon-blade fires, shredding through rows of upper-class troops in a single shot.

     In a place of madness, an island of order reigns supreme.

     The arrival of the Archangel forces him to turn his helmeted head away from the troops around him. The Avatar of Tyranny had arrived. The Sin-Eater. The Nightmare of Peace. All that the Prince of Ramuh had ever despised embodied in a single man.

     Peace through superior firepower. Peace through the strangling chains. Peace through an absence of conflict. Peace through violence.

     The Ramuhan turns to acknowledge the Archangel's arrival. A Union trooper attempts to kill him in the process, and is simply carved away like an insect. The Ramuhan doesn't even bother to turn as he swats the soldier down. The soldier has made a mistake - he has imagined that the Ramuhan Warlord is so-called because he leads wars.

     That is not correct.

     The correct translation of his title is...

     LORD OF WAR.

     As the Archangel arrives, one eye burns Rebellion Green...and the other Freedom Red.

     This was the final stand. The final act of Rebellion. The final act of Freedom.

     Would the world fall to Tyranny? Would it cave in and become Oblivion?

     Or would it become...

     Chaos?

Mizuki (183) has posed:
    The Empress hangs suspended in the air near the battlefield. As it was when she joined the fight against Kalameet so many years ago, she intends to do nothing at first; only to watch. Certainly the Templar and the Lost Dragon will be here, won't they? It has been long -- too long. How have desperation and time altered them, and altered the way they will respond to their band's maneuvers? Failing the presence of the other tactician, she is one of the few left who knows how to exploit these things. It is a small mercy that she had an opportunity so long ago to see their weaknesses for herself within the pages of Heaven. It is an even greater one that she has remembered each and every one of them up until this point, though again, there's no telling whether new fears have taken precedent over them now. She will have to see.

    Eventually, she fades into existence beside Psyber. For an instant, it feels strange to her that she stands at a height so similar to his; time was, she frequented much smaller forms, back when appearance was not important. But she's more than a philosopher now: she's a politician. Only when the Archangel finally decided on this course of action did she realize that she had truly joined an organization that she could believe in, and only then did she begin to demonstrate any real investment in its affairs. Yes. This has become a regime that can challenge the cycles of sentient kind, and one that can eviscerate the purposeless deadlock between the moral poles. As if symbolically, The Empress summons Aelinos into her hand, tightly gripping the blade.

    She does not care how many of her friends she must cut down to see this through; they will become the blood that anoints the font of future progress. She knows that the decimation of the rebellion will only beget more turmoil, more hatred, more despair, yet this knowledge can not stay her: not when she knows that this is the sacrifice that must be made to achieve true perfection. It is lamentable, but conventional morality has become obsolete. In order for humanity to embrace that which will make it whole, it might return to the primacy from whence it came.

    For once, the woman curbs her penchant for theatricism. Her face is stoic as if in imitation of the General. She keeps her blade pointed downward, its steel reflecting the bright orange glint of the surrounding explosions. After several eternities watching the most brave and foolhardy of the soldiers rush forward at once, spurred on by Psyber's words, she eventually speaks. As is customary, she does not look him in the eyes; there is no need for that sort of earnestness anymore.

    "There's a certain beauty to it," She muses. "The growing pains we go through as people." Her sanguine cloak, a tattered iteration of one all too familiar, flutters a stark silhouette against the rising sun. "I have never understood quite so clearly that there truly is no other way that people can learn but through pain. Only the severance of a limb can teach greatness to the other. Only deafness will make someone truly appreciate the beauty of sound. It is disgusting, you know, how fickle they are. How fickle we are. It is disgusting that this reality was designed such that we must be reared that way. But if you have taught me one thing, 'Archangel'," She finally turns to face him fully.

    "There is no resisting our nature. Understanding it, embracing it just to the point where you can feel it breathing down your neck, placing yourself on the precipice where with the slightest push it might consume you -- that is the only way. This... is the only way in which we may teach them." She allows for a moment of pregnant silence. When she speaks again, it as though the preceding statement had never been spoken.

Mizuki (183) has posed:
    "I will give orders via radio as is necessary," She says. "I will attempt to sense the Lost One such that she cannot glean too much advantage from her invisibility. If it is all the same, I should like to be the one to end her if she becomes too grave an issue."

Homura Akemi (2) has posed:
<OOC> Lilith says, "CONFEDERATES, you may come in riding the giant spherical SHIPCTHULHU. Also I don't have any shame so I'm leaving this here since I may not get to use it again: "

Landon al Cid (642) has posed:
-<OOC>- Ramuhan Warlord says, "I'm pretending I was here already to sell Archangel a little bit more. Hooray reinforcements!"

Mizuki (183) has posed:
-<OOC>- Dreaming Empress says, "Geez it's been forever since I've listened to Megalovania. It's really fitting here though"

Theo Morrison has posed:
-<OOC>- The Jack of Spades works on a good counter-intro. Way to raise the bar for the last one, /god/

Sir Gawain has posed:
-<OOC>- Eclipse Knight says, "Hey, DE, did Dreaming Empress give Eclipse Knight any specific orders before the battle, or should I just wing it?"

Mizuki (183) has posed:
-<OOC>- Dreaming Empress says, "I didn't but I was actually about to ask if anybody wanted me to."

Mizuki (183) has posed:
-<OOC>- Dreaming Empress says, "Was gonna do it over radio"

Sir Gawain has posed:
-<OOC>- Eclipse Knight says, "That works for me! Wasn't sure."

Kyra Hyral (626) has posed:
    It was time.

    Never before had it been necessary to unfold the full might of the Murasame Zaibatsu private military machine. After all, Galianda hadn't been destabilized through outright war-not for lack of trying-but through the patient economic manipulation waged both openly and secretly. True success only really came thanks to the innovations aggressively procured by the Zaibatsu from the Multiverse. A small mining operation on a planet here...and Erchius mine here...technology to dominate the markets. It was a long term strategy that Kyra Murasame was perfectly able to pick up.

    Now the fruits of those innovations swarmed throughout the airship fleet of Archangel. Erchius drones, sleek airships, Falcon-class spaceships from the Flotilla's world, and the Neo Ame-no-Torifune fly overhead, crackling with the tainted chaotic energy long since associated with the Murasame name. Central to it all was the Falcon-class Rafflesia, easily recognized by its noxious purple Floran outgrowths encrusting the enormous spacelab.

    Perched atop the Rafflesia in white and golden NEO GOLEM-class armor is none other than the reigning CEO of the Murasame Zaibatsu itself: Kyra Murasame. The wild, seething magical signature is unmistakable. The astute may even be able to spot the Murasame blade itself, sheathed upon the armor at the hip. More concerning, however, is the twin CURE-ALL CANNONS perched over either shoulder.

    The CEO shifts from her strong stance into a kneeling position, clasping her hands together in prayer so gently the metal does not make a noise as it touches. "For peace everlasting. May Cosmos accept our sacrifice. May She guide our loved ones in our wake." She bows her head, remaining silent for a few moments before rising. Gracefully, she gestures a hand and the might of the Zaibatsu descends. It starts with drones but quickly escalates to Galiandan fighter jets and energy weapons carpet bombing of the Confederates below. Only after the opening volley do the KIRIN descend, dropping down in power armor or electing to keep themselves flying indefinitely.

    Kyra does not descend. She knows the Warlord is here and has no need to seek him. He, or perhaps the Templar, would find her.

-<OOC>- Kyra Murasame 8D

Landon al Cid (642) has posed:
-<OOC>- Ramuhan Warlord says, "Whelp I guess my choice has been made for the night."

Sakura Haruno (134) has posed:
    Wilted Flower has had good days and bad in her role advising Lilith, in terms of just how lucid her advice is.

    Today is not one of her better days, but given that it's likely the last she's going to be there anyway, standing next to the closest thing she had left to a friend, seeming unphased by the speaking from the grimoire even from up close, a hand going to touch gently at the sword at her side.

    "It would be kind of nice if we could at least kill him, before the end." She'll speak. It's probably meant for Lilith's ears. Probably; it was sometimes hard to tell with Wilted Flower. She'll shoot a glance over, this one more clear. "I won't be captured, or the last survivor, or anything like that. But you could still try to rebuild, in another sector, if things take a further turn downhill."

    Even that soft suggestion, just a hair away from a focus on revenge, is giving a lot. It betrays the medic's certainty of how far behind in this they truly were.

Fiora Laurent (824) has posed:
    Dawn.. She'd almost forgotten what it looked like. The grand capital of her homeland, sitting on the edge of the sea, in the morning light. The pearl and silver spires of the palace, the shadows cast over the docks far below. The many noble houses, and their estates, towering above the bustling markets below. And gods, the noise. Free men and women, going about business and leisure.

    She'd nearly forgotten her own home. How the dawn's light would light up the foyer, as the sun's rays caught on the grand stained glass window bearing her family's arms, throwing the image onto the polished marble floors. The sound of her brothers and the servants going about their morning affairs.

Demacia. She'd nearly forgotten her home. Somehow, just seeing that is able to remind her of it, again. It's all she has left of who she was.

Fiora, of House Laurent. Now just another grand, bloody monument to Noxian conquest. Few she once knew survived, even among those who participated within the Institute of War. The hall of the Summoners was laid low, Runeterra itself purged of anything Noxus did not deem.. suitable.

So, she gave up the one thing she prided herself on. Her name. A name she had fought to the death to defend, to protect. It was why she fought. All that ever mattered. But, she'd give it up again, if it meant restoring everything to the way it once was. Forced to sell her skills, to try and do jus that, it's all she has left. Her talents with a blade.

They can't take that away, at least. They may not know her name, but they'll know her sword, soon enough. She wouldn't normally ally with these types, but.. They pay well. And money is what she needs to help restore her home. That, and victory today.

"Live by the sword, die by the sword. This is the only way I've ever known.." Drawing her blade, the woman who'd been known as Fiora lets out a weary sigh. "Let it end today. The last sword of Demacia will either claim her victory, or be broken."

Yuuki Kuran (518) has posed:
    The Vampire Queen sat in her 'study', having long been converted to a war-room of sorts, with the surroundings of the Kuran Mansion lit by the first rays of dawn. Overlooking the Blood-soaked Valley, it was where she had observed most of the pitched battles that happened on 'her' territory, and where she had seen so much suffering, hardship, and death. Now and then she'd take a break from standing on the pitted balcony to return inside, read from a book or sip room-temperature wine from a chipped glass - small luxuries afforded her position, and the few she would accept in these times.

    It had been a night as quiet as any other, the faint sounds of battle and scents of blood plucking at her senses and reminding her of her resolve. The massing of Union troops for a push was nothing new, but throughout her night's vigil more and more soldiers appeared, and she feared this was the day she had been dreading the most.

    The Archangel's appearance upon his flagship was the sealing act, though, as tired red-tinted eyes had longed for nothing than a day's rest. Gathering herself, as the Confederate Rebels take the field, pressing her fingers into her eyes. Steel and power were what was expected of her, but she was tired. Tired of the death, tired of the sleepless days and long nights, tired of losing friends...

    Forever was such a long time to fight. But she was the 'Queen', and others looked to her for nobler traits than she possessed. Retreating to her room, she turned to find Hanabusa Aido to gather the rest of the Den's protectors, her manservant and companion for years, but... He had been claimed by the Shadow, his melancholy and self-depricating humor not enough to force a smile on that madwoman's visage.

    Leaning against the wall, she took long, deep breaths. She wanted nothing more than to fall into her bed and let things end. Her inner monster though, calm and comforting as always, bouyed her, told her that she had the power to protect if she would just claim it one more day, and with a few blinks to cleanse her fatigue, she moved from her room to the inner balcony overlooking the common room where her friends, her allies, her Monsters gathered and recouperated.

    "Everyone! The mad Archangel and Lilith have both taken to the field for a decisive battle. To tromp across our den and to visit violence indiscriminate on all. If you can fight, join the Dragon and the Hound. Drive off anyone who enters our territory. And if you find the Sellsword or the Shadow?"

    She grips the bannister, driving furrows in with a white-knuckled grip. "Kill them without mercy."

    She steps back, recomposing herself. "We'll buy all the time we can for those who cannot fight to be evacuated far away from here. Even if we fall, we cannot let hope die because someone decided their 'peace' came at the price of all."

Homura Akemi (2) has posed:
<Rebellion-IC> Lilith says, "Would it be the same, Flower, if we just ran and rebuilt? If we went by knowing we accepted this sector was done? The guilt would eat us. And eventually, they would find us again, having grown even more. We won't get another chance to cut the head of the beast off like this. If we don't take it, we may as well surrender. Clear a path to the Archangel and attempt to put the Union Empire in the Monsters' path! They won't stand by idle here."

Mizuki (183) has posed:
<Empire-IC> Dreaming Empress says, "Archangel, they will certainly come for you. I would like to allocate some resources to aid you, even if only to serve as secondary targets. I trust you to handle yourself, but if and when you should fall it will have an infinity of resonant reprucussions that we simply cannot afford. To say nothing of the fact that your mere presence here will serve to distract the leaders of the breakaways."

Mizuki (183) has posed:
<Empire-IC> Dreaming Empress says, "As for the rest of you, orders are forthcoming."

Sir Gawain has posed:
At the front of the Empire's forces, the Eclipse Knight stands ready. Dressed in tarnished armor that once glowed, with a dusty yet sparkling blade of faerie birth in his hands, the helmed knight took a breath and steeled himself. Tonight was the end. Tonight peace would come, whether he stood or fell. The sun would be uncovered, released for the world, and the moon that hid it destroyed.

When he was known as 'Sir Gawain, Knight of the Sun', it was his cheer that stood with most. He smiled through every battle, laughed and hollered as he fought, bringing joy to the troops. But that all changed when he lost his home, his king, and his family. The loss of Arturia, Bedivere, and Dun Realtai sealed that happiness away, leaving a sad man hidden behind a helm, a star that had lost its radiance. He only had his Master to command him, his sovereign to believe in, and his comrades to support him. Tonight, everything would be worth it. Peace would return, and if he fell, he would be with the others. He had no regrets.

And so, he turned briefly to the troops around him, raising his sword into the air. "My friends! Show them no mercy! Make them regret ever going to blows with us! Kill them!" And with that, the Eclipse Knight charged into the opposing forces, ready to take down any opposition he <span style="color:ould.

<cxterm108">Empire-IC</span>> Eclipse Knight says, "Understood, Master. I am prepared."

Sakura Haruno (134) has posed:
<Rebellion-IC> Wilted Flower says, "There won't be a we in running. But you're right; I'm sorry for doubting that your will is the same as mine. Let's end this, then."

Fiora Laurent (824) has posed:
<Rebellion-IC> The Sellsword says, "Victory or defeat, my sword will be yours. Until it breaks, or I do. Lead on."

Kyra Hyral (626) has posed:
-<OOC>- Kyra Murasame says, "Oh yeah, for the last time probably..."
<DICE ROLLER> Kyra Murasame rolled 1d100 <99> + 0 = 99
-<OOC>- Kyra Murasame says, "Oh myyyy"

Sir Gawain has posed:
-<OOC>- Eclipse Knight says, "Good job, Kyra. I'll just be waaaay over here."

Kazusa Ujikane (415) has posed:
<Rebellion-IC> Wild Card says, "Heheh. Well, it's like I say, isn't it? Sometimes, you don't fight to win. You fight to show the other guy you mean business."

Zero Kiryu has posed:
    The fundamental nature of the Hound has been at odds with what he's doing for a long time now. You'd think it wouldn't really matter, if you knew him only from a distance. It's not as if he comes across as sympathetic or anything but an empty workaholic who murders other people for a living, even if those 'people' can be reasonably defined as a serious danger. At his best, he's still fairly abusive to the people close to him. Only a few people have been close enough to him to think that the path his life had taken was sharply out of character.

    The truth is, the start of it hadn't bothered him at all. Kaname had raised him up as a tool to protect Yuuki, strategically placing him where he would always be of "help" while staying just safely out of reach of reprisal. It could even be said that he had saved the Hound's life once, not that he was at all grateful for it.

    Why should he be?

    So acting to bring about his demise hadn't troubled the Hound in the least, and if he thought things would get worse from there, he didn't say anything about it. Now, he doesn't say almost anything at all, ever. Much like his initial change, it's so close to his original persona that nobody saw a reason to question it.

    A man easily perceived to be heartless killing a hated rival? Hardly troublesome at all.

    But now he's hungrier than he's ever been, and if that weren't bad enough he's surrounded by others at least as bad as himself.

    The Hound isn't with the others. He can hear the speech being delivered through the walls separating him from Yuuki, but he had to remove himself. He lingers in a dimly-lit washroom, so hungry he's ill, and plots in isolation.

    They're not innocent, and truthfully, they never were. They didn't deserve a guardian of any kind, much less her, and if they started acceptably then they'd long since stopped being so. Shaking lightly, the Hound reaches into his pocket and draws out the heart. It had been in his possession for a long time, lingering variably in lockboxes and on his person since Yuuki had devoured the other half.

    Holding it is all the worst sensations he can imagine rolled up into one. Like nails on a chalkboard combined with screeching glass, the scrape of cardboard, and the searing taste of stomach acid bubbling up into your throat. It's revolting. But he raises it to his mouth and bites down anyway, embracing the fleeting relief to come.

Kazusa Ujikane (415) has posed:
<Rebellion-IC> Wild Card adds, "And to make sure he's gotta live with the memories. Price to pay, stuff like that." Knucklepop.

Theo Morrison has posed:
They say that on days like this, when Archangel is on the offensive, it's his lieutenants that you really have to worry about. The man himself is like a force of nature, overwhelming in strength and presence, but if he actually /fights/ you... well, that's all they wrote. Why bother worrying?

The Jack of Spades appears as he always does: a young man in a black long coat, with stitched-together scraps of finery from numerous mages covering him underneath it. A slew of trinkets hang off the coat, giving way to a haunting chiming wherever he goes. Each one is the symbol of an organization that he faced off with and defeated, and each one is charged with mana for the taking. The old Ravnican Guilds are prominent, but a vial of glistening oil and a blue-eyed white dragonhead pin catch the light with equal strangeness.

"I'm not really one for grand gestures," he asides, after Archangel and the Empress have had their say. It's a lie, but it comes off with a certain amount of levity. He nods towards the distance, the spherical ship forming. "Here they come," he calls. "Positions! Second and third bulwarks, ready to hit the ground at my command!" The Empress certainly won't be giving many of those, he thinks bitterly. She'll lose interest and he'll have to do it. It would make his life easier if she mused less and commanded more.

The ship, Lilith's ship, begins to fully manifest. The Jack of Spades strides forward with a sort of casual confidence, stepping to the edge of Archangel's vessel. He squints across the field at her, running one hand through red hair and letting the other pull a deck of cards out of his coat. He takes a breath through his nose, his expression thoughtful. He prepares to summon something -- and then gets a whiff of what /she's/ preparing.

Madness comes. He surrenders the first spell for the casting of a second, rushing forward and vaulting over the railing. Enchantments worked into his clothing bear him aloft, carrying him forwards instead of straight down. He gets in front of the flagship, bringing the hand from the top of his head down and holding it in front of him, palm out. He can almost feel it, brushing the surface of his mind --

"Force of Will."

There is a muted flash of blue light. The horrific, mind-rending madness ceases its eternal advance the moment it reaches him, the words rolling off him and parting like a wave. The center of the formation of ground troops is spared, and the safe zone spreads out in a V-shape behind him. The flagship, and the strongest fighters in their forces, are spared. Many, many others are not -- and thats just her /opening move/.

"Well, alright then." Almost absently, the Jack of Spades lowers his gloved hand and touches something at his belt: a tarnished badge, with a darkened and broken crystal at the core. Quicksilver wires connect it to his belt, stabbing into the dead Abstractum's remains. The wires light up, and he releases the deck, letting it orbit him lazily while seven cards fan out in front of him. He gives them a look, nods slightly, and raises his voice as he drifts towards the corpse-filled ground.

"/Game on/."

Landon al Cid (642) has posed:
<Rebellion-IC> Ramuhan Warlord says, "There are no further stands. This is where judgement will be done. Tyranny, or oblivion? What will emerge from this blood-soaked field of sorrows? The worlds have chosen against us time and again, hiding beneath the comfort of peace and prosperity at the expense of all that makes them people. The chains close about our neck like nooses. To run is to prolong the inevitable. Let it end here, come what may - even if all the worlds cave in and become oblivion."
<Rebellion-IC> Ramuhan Warlord says, "I will not run. If you wish to leave, you may."
-<OOC>- Ramuhan Warlord says, "Yeah I pretty much expected that."

Kazusa Ujikane (415) has posed:
    The past couple years have taught the girl known as Wild Card more than a little about 'being a hero'. Much of it in the form of some very painful lessons. Lessons about what it means to fight, what it means to /lose/. Rather than breaking the naive, idealistic girl, however, it's forged her into something steadfast and straightforward, willing to step up and put everything on the line for what she thinks is right even when she knows it will only get her hurt.

    Today is going to hurt. A lot.

    "...Hooo, they sure did bring the whole Imperial Army," she says, sounding perhaps a bit more carefree about the whole thing than she actually feels. That's a lot of them. This is probably a losing battle. But even a losing battle can have meaning, right? If nothing else, they can make the Union feel it for years to come, show them just how strongly they believed the Archangel had taken the wrong path. A slightly more cynical corner of her mind also wonders if they'll see all the death and chaos and realize that they'd done exactly what they were hoping to stop. But it's unlikely. And she's accepted this.

    Sigh.

    "Well, Saber," Wild Card says, slipping a card out of her holder and grasping it between her index and middle fingers. "How about we get going on a bit of Rebellion?" The car flares crimson as she speaks the word, and with a few more steps she takes a running jump right off the massive ship, just as the massive Elder God begins to emerge from it. In mid-air, a brief flare of white sparks engulfs her, wrapping her arms in distinctive metal; the distinctive armor of the Dark Hero That Rebels Against All Tyranny, sized down to human scale as she draws out just a bit of power from The Beast. Enough so as to turn her eyes green, but no more than that.

    It's also enough that when she lands, slamming her fists down into the ground to kill her momentum, Wild Card also creates a crater, blasting out a small shockwave enough to blast the troops nearest her off their feet. Already, the aggression of The Beast has sunk in, but like this, she's at least not completely mad.

    Although she is rather /angry/, to judge by the way she's swinging her fists...

Saber of Silver (227) has posed:
<Rebellion-IC> Tarnished Saber says, "The world won't end. I'm not going to let it end, not when I have so much unfinished business here."

Mizuki (183) has posed:
-<OOC>- Dreaming Empress says, "Okay, orders going out in a second. Sorry about the wait."

Mizuki (183) has posed:
<Empire-IC> Dream Empress says, "If I may offer a suggestion, Archangel, I recommend that you put yourself in the heart of the conflict. Draw their attention and force them into the open; you have the endurance that they do not, and I have faith that you will have ample time to retreat if need be. Still, I would like Eclipse Knight to remain by you as a safety precaution. As for you, Shadow: use your stealth as you will to put yourself in positions of consequence, and if you see an opportunity to deal a debilitating blow to one of the enemy leaders, do so. Kyra, I believe you do best when you have some range with which to exploit your magical talents, so keep your distance and remain in a position where you can heal the wounded if necessary. Jack of Spades, I leave with you a similar suggestion."

Landon al Cid (642) has posed:
<Rebellion-IC> Ramuhan Warlord says, "If it comforts you to believe that, then feel free."

Theo Morrison has posed:
<Empire-IC> The Jack of Spades says, "I know how to win the game, Emps, thanks."

Sir Gawain has posed:
<Empire-IC> Eclipse Knight says, "Understood. Your wish is my command."

Psyber (253) has posed:
    Swinging his hammer up and across his shoulder with the grinding sound of metal on metal, Archangel replies to Pinkie with a serious, "We all die some day. Even were I to fall here, it would be acceptable to secure peace." He notes, beginning to walk towards the fields of battle in a determined fashion. The Shadow would find appropriate prey, he would see to that.

<Union Empire> Archangel says, "Shadow. Go take care of their own ninja. I don't want her interfering."

    As a line of battle troops next to him are forced to rush forward to engage with the novice Puella Magi and the hanging image of Cthulhu possessing a ship appears in the air, the man looks upward and through the slits in his helmet, "Tch. Never let it be said my daughter lacked my own ingenuity. I taught her too well, perhaps," He muses as he grips the hammer in one gauntleted hand and moved forward.

    There would be so many here that wanted his blood, but to not fight beside his men in their final battle, win or lose, would defy the purpose behind all his actions: He would become the Monster of the Multiverse if to grant it peace. And so the Bloody Tyrant can feel the Lord of War as his existence flares in response to his own presence.

    He raises his hammer and slams it into the ground in front of him, erupting the earth in a spray of fire, concussive wave, and sheer cracks in the earth. He's trying to scatter the front line of magical girls as he shouts, "You fight for Lilith? FOR WHAT? She will have you die to perpetuate war! I would spare you if you only accepted peace." He bellows angrily, swinging his hammer up and across his shoulders again.

<Union Empire> Archangel says, "Very well. No matter what, this battle decides Sector Zero."

Riva Banari has posed:
~~*~~

I write to remember who I was. I write to remember who I am. I write to remember who I will be.

That's how it began, and that hasn't changed. But you never want it to go this way. Now I have to write in order to make sure that something, /anything/ will remain after this is over. The road to Hell is paved with good intentions, and we've taken the express past Dis straight outta Malebolge, right into Cania.

It's still hard to tell the exact point when everything fell apart. For everything I know, for everything I tried, it's just kept slipping through my fingers. Sometimes I wonder if these wounds can even be healed, or what will be left if the bleeding can be staunched. Everyone I loved and respected seems to have vanished in the chaos or have fallen into line behind the Archangel, and now it seems like there's nothing left to do.

If we fail here, if we break, there's going to be nothing left. I chose my path trying to find a way to make them see reason, trying to reach them. No amount of psychological analysis, discussion, begging, favors, debates, or argument have been able to sway them.

If we fail here, the Archangel... Well, he has more than one weapon that can kill immortals. Why hasn't he killed me?

Does he want to make a point? Is he hoping I'll give in?

Or is it punishment? The thought of that freezes me to my soul. If we fail here, there will be no one left. That can't be allowed to happen.

I am Templar. I am a protector for those who cannot protect themselves. Even in the smouldering, filth, wracked ruins of Ealdwic, some things will never die. Some gifts can never be taken away.

One day, I'll be able to turn the pages back and allow myself to remember the days of wonder and happiness, the times we shared, the names we all had before this terrible fall. Right now, looking upon the bloody sunrise... The pain is too much. Even now I still can't lock away my heart.

Not like they seem to have.

It's time. I can hear him speaking now even across the field. There has to be something that can be done. I have no idea what, but I can't let that hope die.

Not even now.

I was always stubborn.

~~*~~

The cracked, scorched red leather book closes with a creak. Old already, the immortal woman hopes it will remain longer still. Adjusting it into a chain-wrapped pouch on her back, the shifts to pull a massive, blackened hammer from her back. It creaks and seethes with the energies of a dead Age, mashed together with half-remembered technologies and magics in order to make it a suitable weapons. Somewhere in there, it almost appears anchor-like, giving a hint perhaps as to the original appearance of the weapon. At her sides, twin claws rest upon her hips, mutated and crackling things that were never part of a normal reality and never looked like they belonged there. As the Lord of War stepped forward, so did the Templar. She never really connected with the man before the Fall, but his name, too, rests in that red book. She looks off of the massive abomination of ship and eldritch horror, and pulls a sleek techno-hoverboard from that enigmatic place she keeps all her stuff. She brushes off some black goo from the surface by habit, and leaps onto it.

"Animus." She whispers, and there is an explosion of blue light behind the Templar, seething energy wings of gold rippling from her back moments before she launches forward. She will be a vanguard. She will lead the way.

Riva Banari has posed:
And the Rebels are not without an angel of their own... An Angel of Death. While the Templar may despair of it, it is also the only thing she has that she can use to contribute. As the Ophanim of the Celestial rips through the air like a comet, rippling explosions of raw gold Anima pummel into the oncoming storm, trying to desperately blunt the assault with a moment of brilliant, screaming light, trying to force others to focus on her insanely durable form.

Saber of Silver (227) has posed:
Morning was not the best time for the Tarnished Saber, though she could at least appreciate the time of day chosen for this final stand. Her hair whips in the wind as she stands next to Wild Card. "I'm glad they brought an army. My sword has been itching to fight one again after so many centuries..." One hand rests on the hilt of her shorter sword, fingers slowly curling around its wrapped handle.

"Mmm.... If you're using that card, Master, be careful." She tilts her head slightly toward Wild Card, then takes a breath and leaps off the deck immediately after.

Tarnished Saber's own jump is much less flashy, and she lands silently in the battlefield with little flair. While others are flailing or flashing or exploding, she simple draws her sword and whispers, channeling mana into the blade. A single swing, and an invisible cutting force sweeps out toward the enemy forces nearest her.

Sir Gawain has posed:
<Empire-IC> Eclipse Knight growls as he is hit by an invisible force. "Hng...they've brought a Servant. Permission to engage?"

Mizuki (183) has posed:
<Empire-IC> Dream Empress says, "If it will be a persistent issue, deal with it quickly. Deal as much collateral damage in the process as you can."

Mizuki (183) has posed:
<Empire-IC> Dream Empress says, "Kill them en masse and quickly. They are already short on morale -- the loss of many troops and-or their leaders would secure a swift victory."

Theo Morrison has posed:
<Empire-IC> The Jack of Spades says, "They still have any of those? I thought we cleaned up /that/ brand of mess months ago."

Sir Gawain has posed:
<Empire-IC> Eclipse Knight audibly nods. "As you wish, Master. I will strike them down."

Kyra Hyral (626) has posed:
<Empire-IC> Kyra Murasame, "Oh, of course, Empress. Today feels like a...good day for magic. Yes~!"

Mizuki (183) has posed:
<Empire-IC> Dreaming Empress says, a bit more softly, "... remember. The more quickly we can deter their miserable quagmire of a resistance, the fewer that will be made to die in its defense. Even if we draw more blood directly now, more may well be saved through our ferocity. I should hope that clears away any lasting reservations the lot of you may yet hold."

Theo Morrison has posed:
<Empire-IC> The Jack of Spades says, "Terrific. Have your good day over there. See if you can keep them from aggroing the monster population down on us, huh?"

Kyra Hyral (626) has posed:
<Empire-IC> Kyra Murasame, "Don't worry, I will take very, very good care of everyone~"

Mizuki (183) has posed:
-<OOC>- Dreaming Empress is now picturing a yandere Kyra. "It is a beautiful mental image."

Sir Gawain has posed:
-<OOC>- Eclipse Knight grins, "Man, Kyra, you're really ramping up the creepy today. Keep it up."

Sir Gawain has posed:
-<OOC>- Eclipse Knight says, "Are you saying she's not already Yandere Kyra, DE?"

Theo Morrison has posed:
-<OOC>- The Jack of Spades says, "She's always been yandere, you just have to keep her up to all hours for months at a time to get her to play it up :V"

Mizuki (183) has posed:
-<OOC>- Dreaming Empress says, "wow is that all i have to do to raise a legion of yanderes"

Mizuki (183) has posed:
-<OOC>- Dreaming Empress just gives everyone in the Empire limitless rations of coffee patches, instant blitzkrieg

Theo Morrison has posed:
-<OOC>- The Jack of Spades says, "It's easier than anyone ever suspected. But these are dire days, and the yandere hordes are needed...!"

Homura Akemi (2) has posed:
    "You think they know the truth?" Lilith asks.

    "You think I told them? You think I had time to ensure each one was groomed and able to handle it? Your push, your haste, my desperation, it all plays in MY hand this time, Archangel."

    She isn't proud. She isn't happy. But a tool is a tool. The Rebels deploy, and the lines of Puella Magi crash into the Empire's troops. Psyber lands amidst them, scattering the weak girls left and right with idle swings of his hammer. It takes so little effort. They couldn't stop the man who vowed to become the one monstrous tyrant of the Multiverse if they tried. But in their deaths and despair, hope for the Rebels.

    As Soul Gems break and shatter, and taint pitch black, as girls break down and fall to their knees at the horrors of the battlefield, their bodies fall one by one, limp to the ground, dead. Shockwaves surge out from them, and for each dead magical girl a Witch is born. A paper dragon, a glass knight, beings of shadow and raw elements. It's difficult to describe each and every one of them, but sustained by Lilith's own invisible Barrier, they advance against the Empire's own troops, sending out waves and waves of powerful mental urges. 'Kill yourself' chief amongst them.

    "Rebels, the Monsters are coming! Do your best to drive the Empire towards them! Flower, watch for stealthers. Wild Card, Saber, Warlord, enact the routing, prevent their forces from rallying at all. Sellsword, I require a surgical strike. Find whoever is giving them their orders, likely the Empress. Cut her tongue out. Templar... how long do you think you can hold the Archangel at bay?"

    The CTHULHUSHIP just kind of fires lasers.
    Unreality lasers.
    It's really just a backdrop to stand on at this point, beyond the fact its presence is a constant mental effect.

Mizuki (183) has posed:
-<OOC>- Dreaming Empress says, "Actually shit there is something I could be doing right now"

Mizuki (183) has posed:
-<OOC>- Dreaming Empress says, "Archangel can I toss you a page?"

Sir Gawain has posed:
-<OOC>- Eclipse Knight says, "Hey Tarnished, mind if I track your mana signature after getting hit by the attack?"

Landon al Cid (642) has posed:
-<OOC>- Ramuhan Warlord says, "Alright, Kyra, Archangel, well, you want the Lord of War, you got it."
[LOG: 3301] Ramuhan Warlord has posed

     The Lord of War feels it across the field. The Archangel's pulse calls to him. They are both Monsters, after all, of a fashion. The scale may be different, the goals may be different, the ideals may be different, but they are both Monsters. In a way they are all Monsters. Perhaps it was the Den that had the right of it after all. Perhaps it was the Den that deserved to feast on the carcasses of the worlds.

     Look at him. Thinking things like 'deserved'.

     That isn't how the worlds work. That isn't how people work. That isn't how anything has ever worked. The Lord of War took that into his heart a long time ago, when he had gained insight into the true nature of the Exaltation, when he had grasped and replicated its true form then learned the true reason the Infernals were called losers.

     Because someone else was stronger. Power was all that determined 'deservedness'.

     No. Not yet. The Lord of War shakes his head as his hand snaps the neck of a Union soldier before he even realizes he's done it. The crystalline gauntlet closes around the throat and shatters it in an instant as the Lord of War walks through the battlefield, blazing green and red. He cannot afford to let himself fall to that way of thinking just yet. Even if all that awaits the worlds is oblivion, the Lord of War...no, Landon al Cid...

     No, the man he once was...

     ...no. The people he once loved.

     The people he once loved would be tarnished if he fell so easily. His grip around the cannonblade tightens as he marches into the ranks of those defending the Rafflesia. With almost criminal casualness, the Lord of War smashes, crashes into the ranks. The Damocles Rain inverts itself, the stream of Judge Blades streaking upwards to dogfight Galiandan fighter jets.

     "Judgement," the Lord of War declares as he stops before the Rafflesia. His voice rings outwards, carrying with it its own binding effect - and Silencing several of Kyra's casters with just a word.

     "The sacrifices you make are not yours to make. You are blinded by the light of Self-Righteousness to the Truth of this world. You have devoured sin and justice alike to serve your dreams of being deliverers of peace."

     THESE CHAINS OF PEACE YOU HAVE FORGED IN BLOOD AND IRON AND PAIN AND DESTRUCTION WILL SEE REBELLION BREAK ALL THINGS TO SEEK FREEDOM. THE ONLY CHOICES NOW ARE TYRANNY AND OBLIVION.

     The words aren't spoken. The idea - the *concepts* - Law, Chaos, and Rebellion that balances between them - roar out of the Lord of War as he turns the cannon-blade upwards. All around, a silence falls over the noise of battle, as the Lord of War takes hold of his element.

     WAR-BREAKING CANNON METHODOLOGY

     The cannonblade fires straight upwards, a beam of brilliant light. It fires for the Neo Ame-No-Torifune - a statement to Kyra, to the Archangel, and to the entire Union.

     The Lord of War will make his final stand here. Whatever else the Rebellion may choose, in this place will the Lord of War choose his destruction.

     "Come, Kyra Murasame. Come, Archangel. Come, those I once called friends. The Lord of War will break the noose of chains and show you the Truth of this world."

     ALL THINGS ARE CONFLICT ALL THINGS ARE LOSS NOTHING CAN BE GAINED WITHOUT SACRIFICE NOTHING IS PERMANENT NO PEACE CAN EVER BE
     OBLIVION RISES
     CHAOS COMES FOR ALL
     SAMSARA OF BATTLE

Pinkie (470) has posed:
-<OOC>- The Shadow says, "Okay so I got permission to do this."

Sir Gawain has posed:
-<OOC>- Eclipse Knight grins, waiting to see what happens. "OH BOY."

Pinkie (470) has posed:
<Empire-IC> The Shadow giggles muckily, "I'll have her smiling... From ear. To. Ear~."

    Orders received, The Shadow is on the move. Slinking along the battlefield like a sliver of darkness sliding along the last vestiges of what she knows will perchance be her final night. Her final glimpse of the rising sun. And still she moves with a porcelain smile upon her face, as fluid as liquid night itself, with one final sentiment of parting towards the Soveriegn. "I can live with that. HAHA! Get it? Live with that? Ehhhh nevermind."
    Occasionally she toys with a Rebellion soldier. Garotting a man with silly string and yanking him to dangle upside down in front of his comrades. Opening a throat and using the arterial flow of liquid life to fingerpaint funny faces on a cowering trooper. Turning a soldier's tongue into a silly bow-tie on another corpse. Sliding in and out of vision as she makes her way through the bloody site of endless tri-faction massacre.
    How many peopls has she killed now? For the sake of peace was it? Too many. Far far too many.
    The pony-woman had always told herself, if maybe she could just get the important ones, that number would be less, but in the end for all her attempts at subtlety she fashioned herself into more of a butcher than an assassin. A blunt giggling tool with the precision of a hatchet, pretending to be a scalpel.
    She had come close once, to the Vampire Queen. And in the end settled for taking away someone dear from her when she couldn't kill the Queen herself.
    She had played for so long at being an assassin. A skilled blade in the darkness. Pretending for far too long, to not be the hurt child that truly wanted to return to the way things were over fifteen years ago.
    "Wil~ted~ Flo~wer~."
    Say one thing for the pony that once called herself Pinkamena Diane Pie, under that cracked mask.
    Say she's theatrical.
    It's a whisper in the ninja's ear. And the only warning of the sudden stroke of one wicked curved blade lashing out from a shadow, aimed for a sinister and cheap strike. How she managed to get aboard the Cthulhuship is anyone's guess, but her intent is fairly simple... To tackle Wilted Flower clean off of it and fight her aaaaaaall thw way dowwwwn.
    "Capture? That's silly! I thought you were looking a little glum so I figured I'd put a smile on that face! And neck. And back. And-- you know what Smiles for everyone! Smiles EVERYWHERE! IT'S GONNA /RAIN SMILES/! HEHEHEHAHAHEE!"

>>> SUMMARY - The Shadow <<< - Tackling WILTED FLOWER off the CHTHULHUSHIP for dramatic mid-air ninja fight.

Riva Banari has posed:
<Rebellion-IC> The Templar says, "You want me to go after Archangel? All right. Don't let everyone pile in on him again, that's what he wants. I'll try to stall him out as much as I can."

Fiora Laurent (824) has posed:
    Cut off the head of the snake? She can do that much. The hard part will be cutting the bloody path to that point. And once she gets there, will she have the strength to do so? Either way, she has her task. The Sellsword steps forward, blade drawn, staring down a squad of Union troops. "Stand aside, or die." They don't, of course. They never do. And they're never successful in what follows, either. The dozen or so men, armed with swords, guns, and whatever other weapons the Union chose to gave them.. Not a one touches her. She's a blur of black and dark silver, still a painter with a brush, that only uses red.

The men come away, if they come away at all, missing limbs or worse. "You shall not strike back.."

"Hear me, Empress. I'm coming for your neck. I hope you have someone with some talent guarding you today, or I'm going to claim it for good, this time."

With that, she dashes forward, going about cutting that bloody trail to her ordained goal.

Psyber (253) has posed:
    "And yet you paint ME as the monster because I desire peace!"

    Archangel shouts back at Lilith, gripping his hammer in his hands as he realizes the true darkness behind her plans. He looks left and right, trying to gauge the power level of the Witches that are now beginning to plague his troops. His free hand grabs a massive pistol off his side, shooting to the side and trying to drop the weaker witches before they can fully actualize their fields. It's mixed results at best, due to him trying to also spearhead the charge.

    "You should have been AT MY SIDE, 'LILITH'!" He spits angrily, the words leaving his mouth like angry venom, not wanting to use her real name and instead her alias, "Himei I expected to turn against me. But none broke my heart so much as you, Duet, and Laine!" He screams towards Lilith, "And I have soothed that by putting them all at peace but you. That ends today."

    He slams the hammer down behind him, digging it deep into the ground before he starts to drag it behind him. The force of his hammer and the strength of his pull as he runs are opening up a several-foot deep ditch to allow his shocktroops cover against enemy fire as they follow him zealously into the middle lines of the battle. Let it be said that for all he changed, the Archangel still attempts to protect his own where he can.

    "Rebellion Troops! If you put down your weapons and surrender, I promise you a peaceful existence at the end of the war! You will be treated as citizens of the Empire, you merely have to walk away from battle and swear your allegiance and non-aggression." He shouts amidst the troops, giving them just ONE last <span style="color:hance.

<cxterm108">Union Empire</span>> Archangel says, "Push their troops into the maw of the Den. I want the Queen's monsters to feast upon the Rebellion's monsters."

Saber of Silver (227) has posed:
-<OOC>- Tarnished Saber says, "Belatedly, sure thing, Eclipse. It's a pretty unique weapon, for a given value of unique."

Fiora Laurent (824) has posed:
<Rebellion-IC> The Sellsword says, "On the move. She won't escape this time."

Psyber (253) has posed:
<Union Empire> Archangel says, "She's sacrificing her frontline Magi to generate the damn Witches. We're going to need to protect our troops or the madness will drive them into the Den before we can cement their aggression on the Rebellion. We HAVE to get them to wipe eachother out here."
<Union Empire> Archangel says, "There will be no one to stop us this time.."

Sakura Haruno (134) has posed:
    Wilted Flower manages to recover herself a bit, a hand staying near her sword as she watches the Puella army go forth. Not speaking as to her judgement of the plan, whether approval or disapproval, but simply watching its effectiveness.

    At first, at least. She seems to notice The Shadow's move a moment before it happens, and her sword is there to meet the blade striking at her. Which is fine, and all, except for the part where she's still knocked back just as effectively, going over the edge of the ship and into a midair fight, legs kicking out in a slight moment of panic.

    She is not an aerial ninja. If she can manage to keep up until they get back near solid Earth, she might be in better shape, but for the moment she's going to fight cautiously, trying to keep her sword in between herself and the Shadow.

    "...You. Do you think this will make you matter in this particular conflict? My part is nothing; yours even less." She doesn't seem too emotional, at least, as she lashes out with one foot during a flip, trying to get an attack in while The Shadow might be watching her blade, actions belaying her nihilistic words.

Sir Gawain has posed:
The Eclipse Knight charges through all that stand in front of him, his blade already dipped in the blood of his enemies. But he's not the only Servant here. Tarnished Saber's attack slams into him, knocking the troops around him off their feet, killing several with the slashing, and causing the knight to stagger onto his knees. Quickly regaining his balance, he knows a Servant dished it out, and begins searching for the massive body of mana that had to do it.

Bingo.

To the Eclipse Knight, the rival Servant is the biggest threat there is. A Servant has the most capability of taking him out, and if he falls, Archangel's defense begins to crumble. He will not let them succeed. He ramps up his speed, leaping upwards in a huge burst in order to get an aerial view. And from there, he spots a familiar face. One he once worked with, thought of as a friend. But that will change nothing. "You! It has been a while...but not long enough! You will fall, and then shall your Master!"

And with that, the Eclipse Knight crashes forward with his blade, aiming to slam from midair straight into the Tarnished Saber. He is not holding back tonight, and he will do anything to ensure he wins.

Theo Morrison has posed:
<Empire-IC> The Jack of Spades says, "I've got a plan for the Magi. Shouldn't be long. Reserves are on the way to the front."
<Empire-IC> The Jack of Spades says, "They'll... handle the insane. It isn't the first time."

Pinkie (470) has posed:
-<OOC>- The Shadow says, "Oh right, as this is kind of so big and I just flying dutchman tackled Flower- should we pair off orrrrr?"

Priscilla has posed:
    Once in her life, the Lost Dragon had thought she might come to be something like this. A very, very long time ago, a thousand years before she'd ever heard of a 'multiverse'. For a brief, naive period, her disillusionment with the politics, and the hearts, of men and gods had lead her to dream of her own little haven where nobody fought, and nobody died. Once she had possessed it, though she was far too young to protect it, and in her failing, had resigned the idea to the realm of hopelessly childish fantasy. How cruelly ironic is it that after coming to power on a mountain of corpses, and establishing an age of purposeful strife, that she had only come circle to fall back on that silly, fragile little hope.

    That irony is almost a poetic justice compared to the reality of how that wish had manifested however. The Lost Dragon had not been born a protector. She had never been a lifegiver. The workings of the world itself had decreed her The End rather than The Perpetuation from the moment she was first aware, and even now, that nature has not changed. How bizarre is it that the one who is most tired of war, and to whom peace is a dirty word that only calls to mind more fighting, gains the most from its perpetuation? Many times has she wandered this valley. Long has she walked its fields of corpses between battles, bringing closure to the mutilated and the dying with only her passage; an invisible isle of silence that cuts its way through the sounds of pain and despair that echo for days after every conflict, for which The Vampire Queen is surely grateful. She has done it to remind herself, every single day, of what it is she opposes. Of what the man she had once revered as a Lord had done, and for whom someone she had once thought an Author had left her. In the end, the meaning is aside from the purpose. Walking the fields of this never ending cycle of butchery . . .

    ~495,379,320,027 souls~

    The Queen has given her orders. Though she has ever been slightly apart from them, her dragon, both narratively and half-literally, she is inclined to follow them. She gives one chance, and one chance only. Before anyone knows, she is already on the battlefield, a sharp, shrill, freezing wind billowing from the empty space she stands, crystalline glass rolling over the earth, claiming corpses with crackling, hungry jaws to turn them into glittering statues. The event is palpable across the entire battlefield, requiring no special senses to be aware of the heart-stopping moment of involuntary, existential terror that rings forth like the striking of a bell. A maelstrom of departed souls swirls into a vortex of ghostly fire around her, but fails to obscure the white and gold she wears in the spirit of Lordran, and the silver of titanite armour in a handful of places on her form. Oddly enough, she still wears that flower of moonlight in her hair; an unncessary reminder of the fall of Annu.

    "Those who walk this battlefield, know well thou hath chosen poorly, and followed thine hollow, squabbling lords to places even they art forbidden to tread." Her voice is as quiet as ever, but it carries a seemingly infinite distance anyways, as if something alive. "Thou shalt be given one, final offer of absolution. This place is neither the Empire's or the Rebellion's place to maketh war. If thou shouldst insist upon the death of one another, leave or turn thine swords upon thineselves instead. If, instead, there is but a shred of doubt within thine hearts, lay thine arms down and rally to mine voice, and thou shalt knoweth an end to this." She's fully aware what a blatant target this makes her, but she has to at least try one last time.

Psyber (253) has posed:
-<OOC>- Archangel says, "Yeah, feel free to just pair off if you find a partner."

Priscilla has posed:
-<OOC>- Lost Dragon says, "Geez. I should have learned by now. Be ten minutes late and get swamped in everything."

Mizuki (183) has posed:
    The Empress simply doesn't have the raw strength that either of the groups' leaders have, but what she does have is a presence, a voice, and a twisting cluster of words that may yet show the renegades her own, broken iteration of reason. Before she can be set upon by any other enemy troops, she throws a speeding field in front of herself -- through compressing, expanding, and altering the speed at which the soundwaves given off by her voice are transmitted, she aims to create a living loudspeaker. Assuming this works as intended, her words roll across the war-torn hills of the battlefield, and into the ears of everyone who lacks the ability to force her poisonous volumes out of their minds.

    "Rebels, please hear me, heed me: we have only ever wanted what you want. We dream as you do of a day when we all can be peaceful. We long for a world where all can understand eachother and where the miseries of modernity are no longer necessary. Were it only that you would lay day your arms, set aside the barriers from your hearts and minds! Were it only that you could accept the guiding hands of the Empire and see the rightness of what it has done! You must recognize all that the Archangel has sacrificed for the sake of peace, and yet what have you sacrificed? Ask yourself: have you set aside anything for your cause, or have you only demanded more from others?"

    "Please! It isn't too late. If you lay down arms now, you will be accepted guiltlessly into the ranks of the Empire. You may join with us to see the sun rise on this beautiful new day. You shall become one of those who will witness a true revolution: one where there will never be conflict again, and where all humans may truly love and understand one another! I beseech you to understand that your struggle, your sacrifice was not in vain. If you have lost loved ones, know that their spirit will live on within the achievements of our Empire. All that this rebellion will beget is more and more wanton devastation! Think of the countless others who will lose their families just as you have! Yet if you still cannot see reason, if you truly must persist in this madness, then look to the skies! See the fruits of your crusade!"

    In that instant, a massive amalgamation of marble buildings fades into existence on the horizon. Four prisms linger aloft at its sides, each of them emitting soft rays of a blinding, alabaster light until all those rays link by leylines. They create the outer edges of what could only be described as a summoning circle before the entire structure turns on its axis, facing the battlefield as though it were a cannon. Then, in a single instant, a deafening crack of thunder rains out across the field. A diameter of a mile toward the rear of the battefield is blazed into the Earth, threatening to disintegrate all caught within. It can only be described, in earnest, as a pillar descended from heaven itself.

    "See for yourselves the weight of your sins, oh causeless rebels! See what turmoil your persistence begets! The path you seek is the true annihilation of all the Multiverse! See this, and surrender yourselves to our mercy!"

    Only once she has finished this demonstration does she catch sight of The Sellsword. Not skipping a beat, a bizarre perceptual twist spreads out from the body of The Empress -- a sphere tinged with what would only be known as gaseous fumes distorting the air. She would only know the effect this might have should she draw closer, but for now the Empress summons a crystalline shield to accompany her sword, lying in wait. She isn't going to prevent The Sellsword from making the first move should she desire to do so.

Mizuki (183) has posed:
-<OOC>- Dreaming Empress says, "I AM THE EMPIRE PR since nathan isn't here right now"

Mizuki (183) has posed:
-<OOC>- Dreaming Empress says, "I swear to God I sound more and more like O'Brien every day though"

Priscilla has posed:
-<OOC>- Lost Dragon says, "Dammit Empress you can't beg people to defect for peace then vapourize them with a conceptual cannon."

Sir Gawain has posed:
-<OOC>- Eclipse Knight says, "join the empire, we have cookies"

Mizuki (183) has posed:
-<OOC>- Dreaming Empress says, "i just did lost B> watchoo gon do"

Riva Banari has posed:
-<OOC>- The Templar says, "I still say Lost Dragon is keeping Nathan hidden in that dress somewhere."

Homura Akemi (2) has posed:
    Lilith tchs. There goes her advisor, dragged into a ninja catfight. How frustrating. Well, if it means the one assassin decided to attack the OTHER assassin instead of her, maybe it's for the better. She needs more time, though. Much more time. This is a big battlefield. She can't just snap her fingers and warp time. Much as she'd like to.

    The R'lyeh Text whips open again, though Lilith's eyes stare down towards the ground at Archangel and his forward momentum. His accusations. A gloved hand points forward, towards him.

    "If you call this peace, I regret ever calling you father. You've grown crazed and deluded. Look what your actions have done to those you once called an inner circle? Is this really better than the old stalemate of a conflict? If we must die then we will die free." Oh, to go back to the days where she could look back at such a line and find it horribly clich�, terribly overdone, and melodramatic.

    The appearance of the Lost Dragon and her ultimatum is a blessing in disguise. Lilith's voice magically reaches out, and she attempts negotiations. "Dragon. If the Archangel wins today he will walk over your domain the next, unstoppable. You and your own may turn this tide completely. You can have the Archangel and do as you please with him, and we will leave once the last drop of blood is spilled. Consider THAT, and how much more we could give you once all has been freed."

    Down below, the Archangel has gone from tearing magical girls apart to tearing Witches apart, for the sake of his own men. And what few magical girls remain are giving serious consideration to the Empress' commanding voice and claims, some disarming themselves and trying to run behind the Empire's lines rather than keep fighting.

    Atop the CTHULHUSHIP (which one assumes is now entering a laser war with the Palace of White Lilies), Lilith finally stops talking and begins gathering power instead. Time around the ship is starting to accelerate, the war vessel slash horrible abomination under the effect of an absurd Haste spell. Lilith continues casting, because that's not enough.

Priscilla has posed:
-<OOC>- Lost Dragon says, "God that joke is ancient by now"

Pinkie (470) has posed:
    All it takes is that one little push. And then the lurch of gravity kicks in. Only now off the side of the ship and locked in deadly combat while in the middle of freefall does The Shadow silently think to herseld 'Oopsie. That might have been a pretty bad idea'.
    Oh well, it can't exactly be undone now.
    "Huhuhuahaheehee! Ninja thou speakest aright, I am that merry pony of the night! My part might be small and juvenile-- but when I'm done your parts will be strewn all around for a mile!" Chirruped sweetly as blows are exhanged. For an Earth Pony she's oddly adept in the air though. It's a flurry of blows she unleashes, twin jagged blades ringing and spitting up sparks as they hack at Flower's sword, trying to get past the nin's defenses. It's that kick to the head that catches her off guard, nearly spinning The Shadow a full three-sixty in the air before she regains herself. "I never really mattered. Not now. And not back then. And you know... That's kind of why I think if I just last this one final night, I can die with a smile on my face. --Oh right by the way I should probably remind you. It's not the fall that kills!" Tittered as she somersaults in the sku, intending to bring her heel down on top of Flower and try to accelerate HER fall with a vicious kick.
    "It's the sudden stop at the bottom!"

>>> SUMMARY - The Shadow <<< - Mid-air wuxia wire-fu ninja action!

Yuuki Kuran (518) has posed:
    It's enough that she's heard, for the Vampire Queen. It's enough to see those around her bouyed up by her words, even if despair has them hemmed in more surely than the bars on a cage. It is a sweet lie to tell them that this wasn't their fight, and to send those who couldn't fight away. She can sense that her two companions, the Dragon and the Hound, are both tired of this as well, and unsuited for a mission of mercy.

    But upon their bowed backs, rested the hopes of all those tired of war. Those that wished for just one day, one life of succor from the constant strife, within the Den. And the Monsters, that would protect them.

    The true form of the Den of Monsters was thus. It was not for the Queen, the Hound, or the Dragon, that any of them fought, but to protect the last bastion of peace that was threatened to be ground beneath the bootheel of the Union's order, or the fires of the Rebellion's dissent.

    The Queen knew whence the Dragon stalked, and could trust no other to provide her brand of mercy. The Queen knew the struggle of her Hound, and as she drew close to the side-room he was in, she pressed her hands against the barrier between them, and drops her voice to a low murmur. "Both sides will push towards us, aiming to try and embroil us in their fight for their own gain. But we can't let them simply... take what they want. And..."

    She rests her forehead against the wall. "For me, even if you hate yourself, don't die on my part. Live. Live for a better tomorrow. And I'll try to live for everyone else's. The time I spent with you..." She closes her eyes, and sighs. "Has been the most human moments of my life."

    With that she draws away. "Please, my faithful hound, protect what is ours with your every effort." And with those words, she disappears into a cloud of blood-colored butterflies, flitting off into the battlefield proper.

    The 'army' of the Den of Monsters arrays itself in a defensive formation, a veritible phalanx of both steel and claw in loose rows protected by dark magic and holy arts alike. The 'maws' of them are readied to recieve those pushed towards the defenders.

    And across the battlefield, butterflies. Sworling towards one man whose 'Control' kept much of the battle in check, the Mozart of the perfect battlefield - or the sweeper of less optimal 'board-states'.

    The Queen herself materialzes out of her familiars before him and his array of cards. "Turn back, Jack of Spades. You'll find none of your 'value' here." She announces, her very presence oppressive by the bloody fields around her. "Don't try to daze me with your sorcerous ways."

Saber of Silver (227) has posed:
"I know. You've longed for this." Tarnished Saber murmurs softly, glancing down at her sword. "I know you've wanted to battle a great dragon or a mighty army... Today, you may yet see both." She takes a deep breath, green eyes closing as she sweeps the sword out again. Dozens more of the weaker footsoldiers fall to the invisible cuts, but she opens her eyes once she feels the presence a very familiar warrior nearby.

"Eclipse Knight," states the Tarnished Saber, glancing up toward him as he leaps into the air. "You know the priority, at least, for you will have to go through me first to get to my Master." Head tilts slightly, and she gives a rare, if wry, smile toward him. "What makes you think today will end any different than the last three times you thought you had slain me? You should know by now that it's beyond your power to kill me."

The knight crashes down, and Tarnished Saber raises her blade, catching that overhead stroke with her own sword. Sparks fly from the impact, though instead of showering toward the ground, they begin to float upwards. "Would we have fought this battle at night, this would be over already..." She can feel the pressure from the Empress' words, but spares only a glance before pushing her opponent's blade back. "I still regret some of my actions that day..." And it's not hard to tell which 'that day' she refers to. "...but I will consider it a mercy to finally send you to rejoin your comrades." There's no anger in her voice, but sheer determination in her eyes as she steps forward and swings her blade, gathering up the flames from a nearby Witch's magic and sending them spiraling toward the Eclipse Knight.

Kazusa Ujikane (415) has posed:
<Rebellion-IC> Aggressive, Wild Card says, "Ghhh... Of /course/ they brought that empty-headed chivalry-for-brains! Saber, if we have to /tear him apart/ to get him to leave you the hell alone... god damn it, I can't /think/ like this! Keep him busy a second, I'm going all in with The Knight!"

Kyra Hyral (626) has posed:
    Although she could expect the support from the Empress to be impeccable, it doesn't prevent Kyra from Scanning the ranks of those Confederates that come to face them. After all, there would be somebodies here today-perhaps even somebody worth her time. But for her favored foe she didn't even need to look. She knew. The Warlord's fate was as intwined with the Confederates as hers was with the Union now.

    The Warlord is immediately recognized by her own forces. Some throw themselves at him with reckless and disappointing abandon with predictable results. But even those more careful find themselves Judged, rendered useless.

    "I disagree, Warlord." Kyra pronounces, not raising her voice, but heard nonetheless through the amplification of her armor. "I-what is he doing with-oh /my/."

    Kyra places a hand to her breast in shock as the massive beam of light lances through the Neo Ame Ame-No-Torifune. The ship lists for a few seconds afterwards, the hole left by the strike visible from just the right angle. Explosions blossom from within and expand outward as the airship cracks in half, raining twisted, Erchius-tainted debris down into the valley.

    "Now that wasn't very nice." Though her face is not visible, it's clear that Kyra speaks these words with a sad frown, "But for the brave pilots, technicians, and engineers aboard, their sacrifice will not be in vain!" Another grand gesture follows and the Magic Particles around her writhe uncomfortably. Sure, she could remake the ship with white sorcery but the Instinct had warned her otherwise. Kyra doesn't even need to descend from the Rafflesia-it's better that she didn't, given the sheer blanket of fire that suddenly spreads beneath her.

    HELLFIRE

    "It pains me, Landon." she speaks, using the name she once knew him as, "It pains me to see you succumb to the lure of Chaos. Please! Turn back! Turn back and surrender! Become one with us! Become one with our /family/!"

Kyra Hyral (626) has posed:
<Empire-IC> Kyra Murasame, "Goodness, the Ramuha Warlord is aggressive tonight. He may delay my ~healing care~ but I will do what I can for you all."

Saber of Silver (227) has posed:
<Rebellion-IC> Tarnished Saber says, "I can't fault his grudge, Master, but be careful. It extends to you as well."

Mizuki (183) has posed:
<Empire-IC> Dreaming Empress says, "Understood. Your dedication and perseverance are, as always, greatly appreciated Kyra."

Priscilla has posed:
<Den-IC> Lost Dragon says, "It is just as thou sayeth, Queen of Monsters. Already Lilith begs for our aid. Though I admit the Empire's forces pose a greater threat to us should either turn upon us in the aftermath, I cannot in sound conscience ally mineself with those who shelter the Sellsword."

Kazusa Ujikane (415) has posed:
    Again and again, Kazusa's fists swing, and swing, and swing. It is far below the full power of the Dark Hero, but it's still more than enough for her to smash her way through the ranks of the Empire's soldiers, to an extent riding her own fury as she fights alongside her Servant. Words upon words reach her ears. The words of the Lost Dragon, the Archangel, the Empress, all of it just feeds into the natural aggression of The Beast, and every fiber of her being furiously rails against it - in a voice that grows in volume with every word.

    "Peace? Mercy? DON'T FUCKIN' MAKE ME LAUGH! You idiots are so focused on your shining and pretty empire of gold and happy dreams you don't realize what it means to oil every gear with blood! You're so eager to unite all the people you've gone and forgotten what being 'people' means! JACKBOOTS AIN'T GONNA UNITE THE GODDAMN WORLD! Sure, it's alright to put down the rebellion with force! We're creating a brighter world, a couple corpses is fine! And when people disturb the peace, hey we already did it once, LET'S DROP A LITTLE MORE VIOLENCE ON IT TO FIX THINGS! Let's make sure folks stay under our heel! Gotta keep the peace, even if it means we get a little rough! And hey, look at that, suddenly you're the source of all the chaos and unrest! Suddenly you're /EXACTLY WHAT YOU FOUGHT TO STOP/! And I will REBEL against that until the end of goddamn time!"

    Maybe the Beast is a little more in her head than she wants to admit. But the brief surge of horrific power from Priscilla brings her focus back to her surroundings just in time to see her own Servant marching towards the one that's given them more trouble over the past years than any other. The Beast very nearly overwhelms her in full; but she forces it down. No. She can't afford to go full Beast anymore. Not with the Eclipse Knight on the field. A killer of more knights than any other. She's going to have to forsake the use of Yuri's power against the Empire in favor of helping her Servant.

    Sparks peel away from her arms, the power of The Beast funneling itself back into its card. She shoves it into the card holder, and then slips out another one - one with an image of the crescent moon, and Saber's blade, on the front. "By the card I choose, I stand as a hero... /The Knight/!" This time, the bright white sparks are much more profuse, and even the Eclipse Knight can sense it. It's like a second Servant coming into existence out of nowhere.

Zero Kiryu has posed:
    The Hound barely hears the Vampire Queen when she speaks to him, and he doesn't respond to her. It's not that he can't physically hear her, he could hear her even through more walls than that. But the truth is, he doesn't really want to hear what she has to say. She's grown up to be the thing he accused her of being, when they first went their separate ways. It was almost impossible to forgive her for that when it wasn't even true, but now... now, he doesn't know. He thinks of Ichiru, bound up as a mortal to a pureblood who would not inflict vampirism on him, though he served her better than most would in that capacity.

    He decides to kill the Queen a little later.

    To do that, and to fulfill her request, he determines that he will need to both disrupt the battle and avoid participating in it. The Fruit of Einnashe is something she has already "used" extensively, so she shouldn't have quite the extra reserves he did, but he won't have as much as her at the base level to begin with.

    In other words, the more he gives up now, the less likely his slim odds of defeating her will remain even that.

    Once she's gone, he leaves. Not to the front lines as a defender, but out the back so he can execute the only plan he can think of that will offer them... anything, really. Outside of their walls, he draws Bloody Rose and calls up vines. Vines in multitudes, vines of a magnitude that he does not usually trouble with. And then he digs, following the edge of their safe haven so that he does not destabilize it.

    Once he finds himself positioned just at the tip of where their defenders are arrayed, a few yards outside of their "reach" and where the "enemies" will be pushed, Zero begins to expand Bloody Rose's vine network and drill. They spill forth in great waves, first minor tendrils not unlike tiny roots, and then escalatingly large as they spread out. They burrow through the earth along the "funnel" zone towards the Den of Monsters, slowly but steadily beginning to hollow it out, replacing the supportive earth with supporting roots and vines, just a distance beneath the surface.

    The Hound lingers alone beneath the Earth in darkness, accompanied only by the subtle grinding of Bloody Rose's vines insinuating themselves as the battlefield's primary supporting structure.

Riva Banari has posed:
This is a battle without honor or humanity. Desperation has driven both sides to monstrous points. The absurd scale of the power being brought to bear on both sides is humbling, maddening, the logical result of endless escalation. The power to annihilate entire existences falls to smaller and smaller numbers, eventually to rest in the hands of one being.

And the battlefield is covered in those one beings.

There is a sudden whipping noise, and a moment later the Templar's hammer crashes down beside Archangel, cratering the ground and sending an explosion of red-gold Anima ripping upwards through the air. As the smoke and dust settles, she descends, stepping off the hoverboard and turning towards him. Her face is more hollow than it used to be, eyes that used to be full of wonder and joy instead looking upon the overwhelmingly powerful man with a profound sadness. "You killed your love." She says simply. "You locked it away because you couldn't bear the pain any longer. And now all you can do is try to fill that empty hole in your chest. Fill it with power, with dominance, with lies that you use to try to convince people that they will be safe if they just let you make everything better."

She reaches out, putting her hand on the handle of the massive, eldritch hammer, and picking it up like it weighs nothing to her. Her powers have grown in the time since she struggled with zombies every day.

"They say that when you dedicate your life to helping others, you either die a hero or you live long enough to become the villain. What does that mean for people who live forever? Is that what happened to you? Was the sorrow too much to bear?"

There is a low rumbling around her as her eyes flare with light for a moment. "I can't accept that."

The Templar stalks forward, leaning in towards the man she used to call 'Boss'. "I'm going to bring you down, Archangel. You've already fallen, you just have yet to hit. And once that's done, we're going to spend a lot of /quality time/ together."

There is a sudden detonation in the air as the Templar throws herself back, flinging the hammer outwards and lashing out with a sweeping strike for his legs. The hammer whips past, a tether of Anima keeping it connected to her as she suddenly pulls it back, lunging forward in a sliding kick intended to launching the Empire's leader into the air, followed by several star-shaped golden blasts of light that explode outwards, The Templar snapping her finger repeatedly.

Even as she does this, her expression remains set, knowing that this probably isn't going to even slow him down.

Lilith didn't ask if the Templar could beat Archangel. She asked how long Templar could keep him busy.

She could do the latter. No one can honestly say they can do the former.

Fiora Laurent (824) has posed:
    The Sellsword stops short, of wading into that mist, or whatever it might be. "Do you take me for a fool? Face me yourself. No tricks, just that blade in your hand, coward. If you're going to hold a sword in front of me, prove you can use it." Her blood boils with a long-forgotten thrill. A true duel, just herself and an opponent. Nothing else in the world, but the two of them.

There is the duel, nothing more. Nothing less. That was her world, once. "Or, you can stand behind your tricks and your army, like you've done before. You can let your men die, instead of facing me yourself. Coward. The title of 'empress' ill fits someone such as you."

The woman spits into the dirt.

Fiora Laurent (824) has posed:
<Rebellion-IC> The Sellsword says, "I do not think the Den will want to have any alliance with us."

Fiora Laurent (824) has posed:
<Rebellion-IC> The Sellsword says, "That is.. likely because I stand with you."

Sir Gawain has posed:
-<OOC>- Eclipse Knight says, "Gonna break out that new +adv I got a few weeks ago."

Sir Gawain has posed:
"Ha. And that I will." The Eclipse Knight's expression is a mystery, hidden behind his helm, as he crashes and impacts with the Tarnished Saber. He leaps backwards, posturing with his blade, showing his intention to win this. "That is your loss. The daylight will be my champion, and I will destroy any who attempts to hide it." Turning his sword from a two-handed to one-handed posture, he gets in a...defensive position? "You underestimate me this time, Saber. Do you not think I would fight you again with no new tricks?"

As the flames come at him, Eclipse Knight raises his empty hand forward, standing firm. "Gwarcheidwad!" As he calls out the Welsh name, a large tower shield manifests in his hand. It's not a Noble Phantasm, but it's surely magical, and surely something he has not used before. As he raises the shield, a force field manifests from it, blocking most of the fire that comes at him from the front. "You will need to try harder than old tactics to slay me this time. Let your blood stain the valley red!"

Sakura Haruno (134) has posed:
    Wilted Flower manages to hold on to her sword, but her arms get hacked at, blood rising up at blows that have managed to sneak in. The defensive isn't really what she's best at, but dragging a fight out can work. The wounds will start to close as she concentrates on them... "...You did know who I am, right?" She'll ask, uncertain now. The reason for that will be clear in a moment.

    The heel will slam straight into her, driving her down towards the ground. Once she reaches it, there'll be a momentary cloud of dust, but once that clears, as the Shadow watches to see what effect she might have had... There'll be no sign of the Flower Girl.

    The disturbed look of the ground, though, may suggest that Wilted Flower has been momentarily planted. Pausing long enough may get a blossom, but the Shadow has her own landing to concern herself with.

Yuuki Kuran (518) has posed:
<Den-IC> Vampire Queen says, "The very last thing any of us can do is pick a side at this point. If it comes to it, if the Archangel is successful, I will surrender to him myself - but if we side with either before things are decided, we doom our wards to the predation of the others.

Kyra Hyral (626) has posed:
-<OOC>- Kyra Murasame says, "Now would definitely be the time to unload all of the advantages. All of them."

Priscilla has posed:
<Den-IC> Lost Dragon says, "Thine tongue hast failed thee, mine Queen. Thou certainly meaneth 'if the /Empire/ is successful'. I hath not changed mine mind. I am perhaps the only one left in the multiverse able to end the Archangel's existence. If they wouldst carry on without him and his death maketh no difference, so be it, but the two of us can coexist no longer."

Yuuki Kuran (518) has posed:
<Den-IC> Vampire Queen says, "Of course. I misspoke. You are, as usual, correct."

Mizuki (183) has posed:
    The Empress stares blankly at the Sellsword. In her tattered cloak and with the way the murky light of dawn refracts off of the red of her eyes, she is truly a paramount visage of classical evil. Similarly, her words roll of her tongue in a way that is plainly too melodramatic and theatricized to be real -- just as it always has been. As it always has been, but in a way different; if she ever was, her heart is no longer open to any compromise. Similarly, she does not greet the challenge with which she is faced with anything so smug as a smile, but rather an almost haunting indifference.

    "I have not the time nor the energy to indulge your primitive concept of 'honor'. Like morality, it is a heuristic that was constructed to foster a mindset that would easily mold the minds of people and make them more amenable to die for their 'beliefs', as if something so romanticized could even exist in earnest. No, if I have the means I am not wont to handicap myself. You will face me with all that you have, and I with all that I have. To fight by any other method is sheer foolishness and only greater evidence of the human frailty that gave birth to your blighted crusade in the first place." With the drop of her final syllable, she raises her sword to level with The Sellsword's face. "En garde."

    With the utterance of that phrase, she immediately fades out of view. The Sellsword would be able to predict easily enough that she would appear next behind her, sword lashing out to test her endurance, as she would then advance to each of her sides to test grazing blows. Her blade is like a harrier of steel, and her strikes like needles rather than the edge of a blade -- tempered by the hastening field that now engulfs the whole of her left arm from shoulder to finger, she truly strikes with speed to rival The Sellsword's own. Though she does not expect to be able to keep up this charade for very long, she will nevertheless continue to jab at her until she is struck herself. Then she will show her the true meaning of her name.

    Then she will play for her the dirge of nightmares.

Sir Gawain has posed:
As Wild Card becomes the Knight, Eclipse Knight turns briefly in her direction. Two against one will be difficult. One Saber against another already was. He didn't want to use it. He had been saving it as a last resort...but it seems this would be it. He took a breath, and waited for the time to activate it. It would be soon, and then, hopefully, he would be able to end it all. Even if he had to bring the darkness out of him.

Psyber (253) has posed:
    "Then die you shall for the sake of peace! And then there is no one left who wishes to fight, then Sector Zero will know peace!"

    Archangel cries out to Lilith, lifting his hammer up as he looks towards the retreating Puellas. He, dimly, hopes they're smart enough to use the trench he created to fall back and off the field. He twirls the hammer around, its flames licking at the air and at his own hand as he zealously looks around.

    "Yes, Lilith! I will destroy the world to create it anew!" He pauses, "If that is what you force me to do!"

    The armies of the Empire are, indeed, being pushed and routed into the Den of Monsters front lines. But equally are they pushing back against the Empire's armies and trying to draw them as well, trying to at least make it a dual breach of territory.

    But driven into the front lines of monsters they are, totally unaware as Zero begins to use his vines to tunnel under the ground and briefly stopping in awe as Priscilla makes her appearance upon the field. There's a long moment, before one of the particularly hardened generals shouts, "FOR THE EMPIRE! ARCHANGEL WILL REWARD THE MAN THAT SLAYS THE TRAITOR DRAGON!" And the line surges forward again, ready to be fools as they rush into Priscilla and the front line of the den.

    They're trained, battle-hardened soldiers, but certainly not fully elites. Auric at best, which makes them tough, though the Den has always held its own. It is likely the front lines will hold against them until Zero can enact whatever he is planning along with Priscilla.

    Back over to Archangel...

    A hammer comes down next to him, kicking up dust and grit that slams against his armor as he turns towards the source of it, "I thought I loved her, but she couldn't understand. Even after she, herself, undertook the same steps I did. As always, those I love inevitably will leave their scar upon me."

    He drags his own hammer along to face her, staring her down, "But in the end, she gave me something useful." He notes vaguely, looking towards Templar, "Fallen. We've all fallen, Templar. You are missing the grand scope of it. A decade of war now for millenia of peace. This is the trade. This is the... what was it I used to tell you... necessary justice?"

    As her explosions rip across the battlefield, Archangel stares at Templar and then charges in, carrying his own hammer. He's knocked up by her kick, but he corrects himself in the air. He comes down towards her in a falling hammerblow, trying to descend through her barrage like a comet. One of her anima explosions catches him in the face, blowing the armor off one side of his helmet.

    What is exposed is a lock of his rust colored hair and a single purple eye.

    She also better move fast, because that hammerfall is coming for her.

Pinkie (470) has posed:
-<OOC>- The Shadow says, "I should start getting ready for bed, but I've got about this pose and then one more in me!"

Theo Morrison has posed:
The Magi die and become Witches. The trained troops of the Empire fight, but not all of them. The sheer unearthly presence of the eldritch abomination backing them up, and of the non-Euclidean nightmares the Witches themselves represent, is driving their troops to madness. Far, far too many of them.

"Bulwark Squad two, deploy for reinforcement. Phage Team, pacification." The Jack of Spades touches down amidst the bloodshed, and finds his positioning not ideal. He takes a quick look around and jumps, anti-gravity carrying him far and away. He finds a nice elevated spot, a jutting spar of stone that overlooks the valley below and the packed sky above.

The Bulwark Squad moves into position. It's men and women of all ages, clad in Imperial armor and accompanied by groups of Myr of varying metals. They pull decks of their own, laying them out on something like an old Kaiba Corp Duel Disk, but repurposed for (in Jack's humble opinion) the superior game. They start chanting, speaking in jargon and card titles rather than real arcane tongues, drawing on mana from the robotic bird-creatures as they begin to conjure barriers: hexagon-tiled bubbles of force, walls of light and ice, and swarms of small fighting machines, all angled to intercept the heavier hitters and slow them down.

Behind /them/, a group of five young people in black suits follow. They use the same cards and disks as the others, but theirs seem more uniform. Almost as one, they move forward, shielded by the Bulwark Squad's efforts. As one, they draw and play, black flowers blooming and dying and identical devices like ornate telescopes on tripods appear by each of them. A green haze flows from the bottom to a point in front of them, and all at once, they practically flip their decks over and point into the fray.

Rebel commanders, formidable fighters in their own right, many former Empire, begin to writhe. Blood starts to pour out of their eyes, noses and mouths, massive amounts, their bodies emptying into their armor and onto the already-sodden ground. An instant later, a red glare flares on the field in three places. A wave of deadly light lashes out across the regulars, dissolving flesh from bones and disintegrating the weapons of war left behind, rendering hundreds or thousands of brave soldiers to piles of bone in an instant.

The Imperial forces are not spared. The insane are shown no mercy but that which has been delivered unto the enemy. They're a potential point of failure; thus, they had to be removed.

The Jack of Spades himself watches all of this with a frown on his face. It doesn't revolt him like it used to. Not too long ago, he wouldn't have ever considered using something like that, or recruiting people like him to do it. But in a war like this? The last war, the final conflict? If it gets it done, so it never has to happen again...

Theo Morrison has posed:
The Queen appears. The Jack regards her in his stitched motley and sketches a bow, his trinkets and trophies chiming and tinkling. "Your Majesty." He sounds respectful.

Then he straightens, shrugging. "I know. I don't want to fight you, anyway." It sounds a little bit like he's admitting weakness, or doubt, but -- "You've got all kinds of monster movie tricks, but I got real tired of that back in Shadow block." He spreads his hands, and looks to his cards.

He speaks, but doesn't touch them. They move when he names them, floating into position. "Underground Sea. Black Lotus. Sacrifice Black Lotus." The ground falls away around him. A great fissure opens, showing the surface of a great sea beneath the valley, glittering in the sunlight. Men fall into it, caught unaware. He doesn't even slow down, even as one of those flowers bloom and vanish.

"Ancestral Recall." Three more cards float up from his deck as a flash of yellow light passes over his face. In his mind's eye, the Jack sees Conor, flinging himself towards an open temporal rift, screaming defiance at the monster within. His breath catches, but it's hardly a pause. He's seen that one time and time again.

"Phyrexian Dreadnought."

A monster appears. It's body is made of metal corded like muscle and plates of artificial carapace. It's long, like an enormous worm or centipede, easily larger than the enormous husks of mechs scattered around the field. Every angle seems on it to have a point designed for dealing death. It draws itself up, casting a shadow over the Queen as it blots out the sun.

For a moment, it seems unsteady. Unstable. It quivers, plates grinding together briefly and then seeming to relax and break down. It needs sacrifices to fuel. It needs blood. Its limbs start to part from the body --

The Jack rolls his eyes. Sacrifices? Please. One of the charms alights as mana is drawn forth. "Stifle."

A lattice of blue static washes over it. It links the components, dragging them back together and rendering it whole. The Dreadnought is a terror on this battlefield, even compared to the myriad horrors let loose. It's merely one weapon in the arsenal of the young man who fells gods and men with equal ease. It's all a game, to him.

The Jack of Spades turns back to the Queen. He puts his gloved hand over his heart. "If you would be so kind as to remove yourself from my path," he says politely, "I've got rebel fish to fry. This ends today. You don't have to end with it."

Pinkie (470) has posed:
-<OOC>- The Shadow hm! Pages Flower something for planning purposes.

Psyber (253) has posed:
-<OOC>- Archangel says, "No prob. Thanks for coming out to as much as you could, I know you have work tomorrow. I hope you enjoyed."

Fiora Laurent (824) has posed:
    "Honor is primitive? Morals? It is all just a 'heuristic' to you? No wonder your cause has fallen so far from its original goal." The Sellsword sighs. "That frailty is the very thing that makes us who we are. You.. You and Archangel. You're truly blind." As fast as the Empress is able to make herself with magic, the woman's arm moving first, then the rest of her body as needed.

"En guarde!"

No wasted movement, no excess. Just enough to turn the blows aside. "Exert yourself all you want like this, though. That is fine with me."

All she seeks to do is keep pace. She doesn't push herself any quicker. "What are you, anymore, if nothing else than a blind puppet, a mouthpiece for Archangel's will? I might as well be fighting him. You have no opinion, no reasoning of your own, for any of this. You have no reason or motivation to fight, save your 'logic'. How can people like you hope to win?"

Pinkie (470) has posed:
-<OOC>- The Shadow says, "I did! I just wish I didn't have to ditch out early for the finale, but my boss is being a dick lately."

Yuuki Kuran (518) has posed:
-<OOC>- Vampire Queen says, "I'm fighting Jack with infinite money for singles, what a bad fight to pick, ughhhhh power nine more like power 36 because he's running a playset each."

Theo Morrison has posed:
<Empire-IC> The Jack of Spades says in a totally offhanded kind of way, "Mind the gap. And the gore. Ocean, bloody slippage... you know."
-<OOC>- The Jack of Spades says, "R&D budget? Mo' like Card Games Fund"

Theo Morrison has posed:
-<OOC>- The Jack of Spades says, "'what did you spend all that money on, there were like nine zeroes' 'getting the recuits from my world snacks and lotuses, you'll thank me later'"

Sir Gawain has posed:
-<OOC>- Eclipse Knight says, "Yeah, can't afford tanks, but atleast Jack can get ten thousand of each booster pack."

Pinkie (470) has posed:
    A deadly dance in the air soon takes to the ground as the two shadowy killers lash and strike all the way down, from the ship. Terminal velocity is a trivial matter, one will die, or they both will, but The Shadow will make sure it's with a smile either way.
    That green eye peeks out from the slat of the grinning mask, wild with manic murderous glee as her kick lands and Flower streaks groundwards.
    But when the smoke clears, Pinkie does nothing to arrest her fall. "YEP! PROBABLY SHOULD HAVE KILLED YOU IN THE AIR SHOULDN'T I? WHOOPS!"
    Well it's too late to cry over silly mistakes as she reels one arm back, intending to ram that dagger into the ground where she approximates Flower to be.

>>> SUMMARY - The Shadow <<< - Mistakes were made.

Pinkie (470) has posed:
-<OOC>- The Shadow says, "Alright Flower, it's your show now."

Psyber (253) has posed:
-<OOC>- Archangel says, "I'm cutting your Mountain Dew budget next fiscal quarter."

Landon al Cid (642) has posed:
     Fire erupts around the Lord of War - hellfire, brilliant and blazing. Some of it is the debris from the ship. Some of it is the fire that licks his armor and burns against his crystalline plate, shattering pieces of the armor. It gives a glimpse of what's underneath, but only a glimpse - something glowing with a strange, dull light. It's enough, though, that the armor is damaged. It's of no use now. He wasn't sure it would matter for this conflict anyway.

     It is at that point that the armor explodes outwards. But it is not an explosion of stress - it is a guided motion, as the plates, the very pieces of that crystalline armor, become what they always were. Barriers erupt all over the field around the Lord of War, smashing through hellfire, smashing aside armies, smashing aside planes unlucky enough to be trapped between the Damocles Rain and the Armor Break.

     For the first time in years, the true form of Lord of War is revealed.

     Nothing of Landon al Cid's body remains. Roiling darkness and brilliant green light wrestle inside a cage of shining blue shaped vaguely like a man. The only thing left that even resembles the man he once was is white fire in the shape of hair, burning atop and down the back of the crystalline cage. Slowly, the fragments of his armor reassemble, filling out the crystalline cage with the features of a hume adult - albeit features made of glass, through which the green and dark are easy to see.

     The Lord of War raises the cannonblade.

     "In the name of peace you slew my friends. In the name of justice you perverted the world to do your will. In the name of happiness you destroyed all that I cared for. You brought Ramuh to its knees. You murdered Cirra. Mirielle. Cassie. Dorotea. Lyria. Kamon."

     The Unfettered Lord Of War steps forward, crystal mouth moving with each name. "Soan. Ellard." With each step, a spinning card appears around him, whirling through the air like planets in orbit around a sun. Some of them pulse blue. Some of them pulse green. One very unpleasant-looking card pulses black.

     "You murdered Kyra Hyral and became that which you hated most in the path to false-forged peace."

     "ON THAT DAY FIVE YEARS AGO!"

Landon al Cid (642) has posed:
     THAT DAY FIVE YEARS AGO

     "Dominic!" Landon busts through the door only to hear the beeping. The slow, rhythmic beeping. The green light pulsing along the monitor.

     "Your Highness."

     "Dominic, no. Sit. Don't try to get up." Landon pushes Dominic back down on the bed and shakes his head. "You'll...get better. You will. I promise. I found a White Mage, Esuna, it'll-"

     "She thought of that," Dominic replies, his voice barely above a whisper.

     Landon looks away. "Of course she did." His fingers tighten around the chair arm. "Of course she did."

     "Your Highness, please."

     "Please what, Dominic? Please what?"

     "Please...don't be angry at her." Dominic smiles. "What's left for her, at the end? Who will she die beside? At least I have the knowledge...that I die here and now."

     "No!" Landon stands, knocking the chair backwards with a clatter, "I refuse! I order you to survive! Sir Dominic Masoch, I, the rightful King of Ramuh, Landon al Cid, order you - /survive/!"

     Dominic grabs his hand and shakes his head. "I'm sorry. I can't. I want to die...beside someone I care about."

     "Don't hate her, Landon...pity her...and her loneliness...and maybe you can save her from herself..."

     The grip goes limp and cold, leaving Landon al Cid alone in the room as the Rebellion nurses rush in to bring empty noise to an empty chamber.

Landon al Cid (642) has posed:
     HERE AND NOW

     The memories of Landon al Cid rise to the surface inside the Lord of War. The crystalline arm snatches one of the rotating cards in thin air as the light in his crystalline eyes glows brighter. Green light pours out of every part of him.

     "Be Invoked."

     Around that shell of blue crystal, green light builds. It weaves itself together. A massive, clawed arm emerges from the light, made of woven green, bound in chains of blue. Another arm bursts forth as well. Then legs. Then a chest, a massive armor. Then, as the Lord of War rises into the chest, a head, horned and massive. A giant cannon-blade completes the monstrosity, dangling with blue chains.

     EXALTATION OF THE LORD OF WAR
     TRIGRAMMATON: THE TRIPARTITE DEITY

     Trigrammaton crashes forward into Kyra's Rafflesia. It is huge and bulky, the False Exaltation conceived of the Freelancer's power. It is forged of Rebellion and Chaos, bound tight in chains of Order, a reflection of the soul that lies inside the mess that is Landon al Cid's pattern - a reflection of the ghost that he has become.

     Dominic asked him to save her from herself.

     It was the last wish of his dearest friend.

     But the only way he can do that may be to slay her.

     "Only one of us is lost to Chaos, Murasame! As you can see...I have full control of it!"

Saber of Silver (227) has posed:
The Tarnished Saber casts a worried look toward Wild Card as she approaches. She knows she shouldn't, she knows how powerful her Master is... but it's in her instinct to worry, even if she knows that her power can potentially make her Master nearly as immortal as she. For a price.

"Hmm. A new defensive trick, Eclipse Knight? Impressive, but don't think that will keep you safe from my blade." Despite her words, that shield will be a problem. It's something new, and while she knows the true identity of the Eclipse Knight, she doesn't know of this particular shield. It must have a weakness, but she's not sure what.

What is an immortal body for, however, if not trial and error? Rather than playing it safe, the Tarnished Saber darts in, silvery hair streaming behind her as she closes the distance to the Eclipse Knight with surprising speed. The longer this fight goes on, the higher the sun rises, and the more powerful her opponent gets. This has to end sooner rather than later. "Cut with wind that leaves no scar," she murmurs, channeling mana into her sword. "Kusanagi no Tsurugi!" She slashes her sword downward toward the Eclipse Knight, and the physical strike is accompanied by dozens of invisible ones, air currents sharpened into deadly blades that would easily cut any normal human in half... though her opponent is no normal human.

Homura Akemi (2) has posed:
    The Rebellion's armies are being pushed into the Monsters all the same as the Empire's; and while those soldiers and magical girls who still have their sanity back away, their objective complete, the Witches, the insane, the driven, the zealous, continue pushing. They are as guilty as the Empire in breaching territory-- and in attacking the Monsters.

    The downside to Lilith's plan is, she can't control the Witches. They're berserkers, lashing out at what caused them sorrow and despair in life. The Empire, really. And once they're done with that, they'll attack anything at all. That means plenty of them are digging, stomping, tearing. Many will trip The Hound's defenses, and no doubt get shredded by his vines for the trespass.

    But, hey, they're doing their jobs. Pushing the Empire into the Monsters. The fact they're following is an unfortunate incidental happenstance.

    It helps that the Jack of Spades is attacking, though. Ice and light, bubbles of force, fighting machines, they slow the Rebellion. They keep them from pushing all the way into Monster territory. Unfortunately, help comes mostly in the form of Rebels being purged with incredible prejudice, red light reducing many of them to dust. And then a massive monster is summoned, causing Rebel morale to drop a nudge more.

    Lilith, on her perch, continues arguing with Psyber, as she channels TIME MAGIC. "Your costs have long since exceeded the benefits. The peace you earn will be fleeting, built on a pool of blood, afloat on bones and trying desperately not to sink in. The first person to shake the boat will bring down all of your work in a single instant. Time cycles. Again and again it cycles and you act like you have any more power to break it now than you did then."

    Time grinds to a halt.

    As the Templar engages the Archangel, Lilith's soul is being burned at both ends. A worn candle with almost nothing left. Her 'Soul Gem' if it can even be called that anymore, doesn't turn black, it empties, it hollows. It's filled by void, not by darkness. She's consuming her existence to tap into more power.

    "IT'S ALL A CIRCLE, ARCHANGEL! A big set of rails we're all stuck on, and which you can break no more than I can."

    TIME REWINDS. Not for everyone. REBELS have their injuries mend and turn back, their stocks of energy, mana and other resources return. Dead troops rise again and flee from the Monsters' Den, leaving the Empire there. Witches become Puella Magi again, and split, a number fleeing for the Empress' castle, the other returning to the Rebels' ships and vehicles.

    In payment, Lilith falls to one knee, target painted on her back, face and chest, bright neon signs indicating complete exhaustion.

Mizuki (183) has posed:
    "I have only ever been a machine bent toward a specific goal," She says, sparks flying from her blade. "I never was a human being. The only difference between us is that I eventually realized that the 'human', as we understand it, does not exist. We are a mess of rote response to stimuli -- slaves to our pasts, and in many cases, to something as pithy as our own neurological structure." In an instant, she disappears, ending her assault. She is careful to place herself just far enough away to give herself a moment to speak before The Sellsword can reach her. "This is not a truth that I swallowed gladly, Sellsword. I raged against it for countless years before I finally accepted all this."

    "However," She continues, "I do not say all this so that I may appear to you a cynic, or to profess that I have seen some 'great truth' that you have not. No. This is simply my reality, dismal as it may sound to you, and certainly as dismal as it sounds to me. But there is meaning in this acceptance. I acknowledge this reprehensible pattern of life, death, and psychological entrapment such that we may be FREE of it. One cannot fight nature, Sellsword. We cannot pretend that we are the progeny of God, endowed with a sacred emotion, a beautiful mind that can never be torn away. There is no such thing as a soul, Sellsword. Though on this day, you will mark me: I will create one."

    At this point she lunges forward in a sudden stroke, attempting to hold The Sellsword's blade in a defensive stance until she can be parried. "I will rewrite the human genome," She says, the flames of explosions dancing across her irises. "I will take away mankind's ABILITY to fear hatred. I will rend their very CONCEPT of it, then their ability to ever create it again. I will create a NEW being with a TRUE soul, something ABOVE learning through conditioning and rote practice. The Empire will become a great experiment that will finally give all sentient life sovereignty - TRUE sovereignty - over themselves. The culmination of all the Empire's toil will be not the suppression of free will, but the BIRTH thereof!"

    The world around Mizuki begins to warble and shift as it had before. Butterflies begin to form out of glossy, crystalline flecks plastered on the sky, lazily fluttering toward The Sellsword. "And I will NOT allow you to obstruct us! Say and think what you will of me -- I am irrelevant! All that matters is the future of humanity! MY huamnity! TRUE humanity! The only way true peace can ever reign is if humans lack the very ability to conceive of such a peaceless world as this!" In an instant, The Empress throws her hands forward. The butterflies transform at once into a storm of daggers and knives that rain toward the Sellsword at once. They attempt to force her to dodge in certain directions that will allow chains that waver and twist through the air to wrap around her, constricting the movement of her legs. Throughout all of this, Mizuki glides through the area, unleashing a volley of energy blasts from the surface of her shield.

Kazusa Ujikane (415) has posed:
    In the past, Kazusa had refrained from getting between the enemy Saber and her own. She had occasionally interfered, tipped the odds in her Servant's favor, but never gone to the whole risk of engaging properly. This battle changes everything in so many ways, however, that there's no question in her mind. They have to end him here. Have to free themselves to push back against the army.

    So as the former Round Table Knight lifts his shield against one maiden of the moon, he is beset from the other side by a second. A mirror of Tarnished Saber lunges in, the same from outfit to hair to eyes to the very look on her face, wielding a perfect copy of the blade in the other Servant's hand and moving with the same grace and determination. "Sir Gawain of the Round Table... once I looked up to you and your kin as pinnacles of heroism. That you could lend your blade to such a bloody cause, even after seeing the depths to which they will descend... To this day I regret how things have gone, but I will offer no apology for standing against you and yours!"

    Her own blade snaps out, straight for the Eclipse Knight's midsection - accompanied by those same invisible slices that her Servant's unleashes.. Straight for the tiniest gaps in his armor that she can exploit while he's busy fending off her 'original'.

Sir Gawain has posed:
<Empire-IC> Eclipse Knight breathes heavily. "Master. I am breaking our contract to activate the Deal. Be prepared."

Landon al Cid (642) has posed:
<Rebellion-IC> Ramuhan Warlord says, "Trigrammaton has been Invoked. I will not allow Kyra Murasame to heal their forces. Use this opportunity. It may be the last I can buy you."

Landon al Cid (642) has posed:
<Rebellion-IC> Ramuhan Warlord says, "I am going to die beside someone I care about."
<Rebellion-IC> Ramuhan Warlord has severed the connection. Reason: Focus.

Psyber (253) has posed:
<Union Empire> Archangel says, "Damn that ability of hers. I had no idea she could still use it so brazenly."

Mizuki (183) has posed:
<Empire-IC> Dreaming Empress at first perfectly calm then in an explosion of anger, "Nor did I. If I had, it would not have -HAPPENED-."

Mizuki (183) has posed:
<Empire-IC> Dreaming Empress with exasperation, "WHY, Archangel? Why can they never grasp the truth? Why must they perpetuate these cycles as they do? Why can they not have the courage to see they can be broken?"

Fiora Laurent (824) has posed:
    "You're insane." The Sellsword scoffs, shaking her head. She makes no move to engage again, once the Empress creates that distance. "We're not toys for you to play with, either. Not yours. Not something you can just remake, because there are flaws. Those imperfections are what make us so unique and beautiful. If you can't see that anymore, then you're going to have to die. And even if I have to do the same, I will ensure this.. plan of yours never, ever comes to light. I owe myself that much. I owe Demacia.. House Laurent, that much.."

She manages to dodge the daggers and knives, but she twists and lunges in an almost inhuman fashion, proving far more nimble an opponent than she might appear. Many, still, find their mark. The blasts of energy rake the battlefield, and a chain snags her leg.. but Lilith's spell helps a great deal in mitigating this. "I will have your head, even if I have to die to claim it, Empress! Go, and dream, in death!"

The Sellsword charges, lashing out again and again at that shield, and anything exposed that happens to peek out from it. "DEMACIA!" The woman roars the name of her homeland, something that under the Noxian occupation, is punishable by death. It's been a long time, since she's said it. Spoken it out loud. A battle cry, once carried by many, under a standard that she gladly shed her blood for. What would this person, who speaks of perfecting humanity, know about such sacrifice?

Sakura Haruno (134) has posed:
    Wilted Flower was still meant to be down below where the dagger would find her. She'd actually plummeted far beneath the earth; it's her bad sense for starting to come back up the way she'd expected The Shadow to land, and as she starts to rise, a knife drives down into her side, finding purchase in organs that are probably important. Of course, she's not come back up alone; spikes are rising from the earth, ready to impale the freefalling assassin.

    Wilted Flower manages to cough, once, blood rising in her mouth. "Damn you. I had more important things to do before this." She'll manage, trying to slide back under the earth, succeeding before blackness comes.

    Not death, though. She's not so lucky. Once she's under, her body will take over, reflexively starting to repair the damage. Not quickly enough to make a difference. Just quickly enough that she'll be forced to deal with the aftermath. Again.

Sir Gawain has posed:
Eclipse Knight braces himself. He cannot go back after this. He takes a breath, as the Tarnished Saber invokes her Noble Phantasm. He slides forward, activating his shield again, but it is only capable of withstanding half of the strikes, as he is slashed into with the air. Sliding backwards, the Knight grimaces, holding his sword firm as he awaits for the next attack. He knows WIld Card will come at him.

Due to this, while she strikes the Eclipse Knight, he is able to divert most of it off of him. It is still excruciatingly painful, but a possible decisive victory has only been turned into a very good strike. He steps backwards, putting both of them in his vision. "You are one to talk...what did /you/ do for the Round Table? My king, my brothers...they fell! Dun Realtai fell! And you did nothing! Nobody came! They died, and you didn't even fight! And you think yourselves the heroes! I will bring forth peace, as my king would have wanted...even if you must fall in the process!" With every word, his voice begins to falter. Something's happened.

Eclipse Knight's helmet has been slashed into from all sides, and is falling apart. He rises to remove it, as he begins speaking. His words are...some sort of magic, containing an inherent sense of wrongness in them. "I call upon the pact which has been offered to me, and I Accept the Deal. My power is yours, and my body will be your vessel. Give me the strength to destroy my enemies, I beseech of you...as I let in the darkness! Allow it to overtake me to achieve victory and strike down my enemies, for I am no longer Sir Gawain, but the Eclipse Knight, the Altered Saber!" And then, everything crackles. Eclipse Knight's body is swarmed in a purple, bulging darkness, an inherent sense of wrongness that covers him head-to-toe. His armor begins to grow spikes and nubs all along it, changing from a bright floral pattern to purple and black, inherently evil. His blade shatters, replaced with black fire that is so hard to look at, it is mentally repulsive. Gwarcheidwad remains the same, except for the black color it takes, fitting in with the rest of him.

And then, Eclipse Knight tosses the helmet aside. His once blonde hair has turned white, as his blue eyes are now a pure gold, showing no remains of the humanity he once had. The armor builds up onto his face, covering his mouth and jaw in the form of a sort of a mask, leaving only those angry eyes staring his foes down.

And then, he charges. Eclipse Knight's strength and speed has been boosted entirely, as he charges at the Tarnished Saber. But at the last second, he feints, moving to strike broad at Wild Card with his sword, nothing on his mind except their deaths. Sir Gawain is gone. There is only the Altered Saber left.

Sir Gawain has posed:
-<OOC>- Eclipse Knight says, "Goodbye Dork Knight, say hello to the Dark Knight!"

Kazusa Ujikane (415) has posed:
<Rebellion-IC> Cool-voiced, Wild Card says, "Keep him between us as best we can. Splitting his guard is our only chance now."

Theo Morrison has posed:
The land changes, the Dreadnought rears its ugly head. The two squads of Planeswalkers wreak ugly havoc, driving the rebels back and practically leading the charge into the monsters beyond the ranks that remain to be broken. They're confident. They're ready to fight, to /win/.

The Jack of Spades looks up from his encounter with the Queen, staring into the distance. That familiar feeling. He points at a card as he feels it build. Fractions of a second.

"Mox Sapphire." A glittering gemstone appears in his outstretched hand. He closes his fingers around it. There's a glow from it and from his coat of artifacts --

TIME GRINDS TO A HALT.

-- and the Signets flare with icy light, loosed at the perfect moment. The frozen moment.

TIME REWINDS. The bodies reassemble as wounds heal. The army, it seems, is as it was before the killing attacks. The battle has been altered in multiple places. Things have been changed, seemingly irrevocably, in the Rebellion's favor. The Jack, though, just smiles, and smiles, and smiles though it all.

He should have learned this one /years/ ago.

"Time Reversal."

Mana explodes from his body, blanketing the battlefield with a cyan glow for a key instant.

TIME REWINDS...?

It goes back to as it was. A moment ago, or a moment hence, when the killing power is reversed. It's about to happen again. He's barely managed a few seconds. He looks to his cards this time, drawing on mana from the /game/ instead of his toys. He lets loose a laugh of unrestrained joy.

<Empire-IC> Archangel says, "Damn that ability of hers. I had no idea she could still use it so brazenly."
<Empire-IC> Dreaming Empress at first perfectly calm then in an explosion of anger, "Nor did I. If I had, it would not have -HAPPENED-."
<Empire-IC> The Jack of Spades says confidently, "That's why you keep me around. Watch and learn."

"Mana Drain!"

The cyan blanket flashes outward again, and then gathers into a cyclone. It rips and tears at the power being used to reverse time the first time for the /second/ time, dragging it towards the Jack of Spades in a torrential cascade of untapped energy. He reaches out to grasp it, a manic grin on his face as he rapidly unravels the reversal before it could even happen the first time.

Only some of the changes were wrought; Lilith's power is nothing to sneeze at, but this one time sees it greatly reduced, and the reversal might still be ripped to shreds if he isn't stopped.

Time continues, more or less, as it was. The only difference is that the Jack is about to get super-charged, and the Empire is about to have a much brighter day.

Priscilla has posed:
    On some level, the Lost Dragon wants to consider Lilith's words. None in the Rebellion have hurt her like the Archangel has. Like the Empress has. The idea of crushing the Empire out of sheer vengeance and hoping the Rebellion will leave is appealing in its naive simplicity, but even without the Vampire Queen's words echoing in her head, she knows that the one is barely any better than the other in the end. Her laughter is cold and hollow, something that once might have been derisive if she hadn't run dry of that feeling long ago.

    "I am well aware of what that /thing/ I once called a man shalt do once he is rid of thee. I hath no such misconceptions as to believeth in some other outcome; and yet still, I shalt hath no part in thine war of so called 'ideology'. Not whilst thou ravage these lands and grant him all the excuses he couldst possibly need, and not again whilst thou wouldst shelter unrepentant murderers within thine ranks that so happily prey upon our own. I know full well why thou desireth mine aid in particular, so knoweth this; the Archangel shalt die this day, one way or another, but I shalt spare thine own no more shouldst thou perpetuate this slaughter upon the lands of those who wish nothing but to be apart from it. Dare speak to me again once thou hast surrendered the Sellsword. Until then, I shalt destroy all those who bear arms until every last blade hast been cast to the earth, whether on its own, or in the deathgrip of its owner."

    It's not that she isn't aware of exactly what the Rebellion is doing in so transparently attempting to crush the Empire's forces between theirs and the Den's own, but neutrality is inflexible in that way. Asides, as soon as she hears the words of that unwise general, Lilith's vague duplicity falls well to the back of her mind, overtaken by a torrent of long-repressed feelings that could be sugar coated as indignation, if they weren't so clearly homicidal rage. Her hands shake as her voice does, curling into white-knuckled fists. "Those foolish enough to believeth such shalt be rewarded with DISASTER. Those who wouldst place their souls behind something they so little understand look forward to nothing but RUIN. Thou hast been warned once. Now thou hurry only towards CALAMITY.

    That eye conquered so many years ago, fuelled with the billions of souls lost to these tortuous ages of everlasting bloodshed, flares with a blinding corona of scorching light, the battlefield suddenly blanketed with a million screams of anguish, rage and terror, blending into a single, keening, mind-rending shriek of such potency that the earth begins to smoulder. The first, second, and third wave of the charge is uprooted completely, cast into the air as if falling off the face of the earth. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of men, women and witches, remain suspended for the briefest of instants, transfixed by some invisible force, before being consumed by the cataclysmic blossoming of a second sun; a boiling, molten orange star of malevolent fury that explodes into the shape of a familiar cross, silent for a precious few seconds before the blast wave hits the battlefield, rumbling under the catastrophic hammerblow.

Priscilla has posed:
    It seems the Lost Dragon has no intent of holding her line where it stands. She is not a knight or a shield bearer, but an arrow loosed from beyond the pale to execute those who should have long since died. The ground explodes behind her as she bursts into a sprint, her physical characteristics jacked up beyond all belief from the combined power of all the spiritual essence she has taken on. Moonlight flashes into one hand, carving through the soldiers directly in front of her with a colossal wave of penetrating soulfire. The Lifehunt scythe appears in the other, unchanged since the day it was forged, no great feller of armies, but perhaps now, more than ever, the most dangerous weapon left in existence, as no matter how much those who fight this war may escalate their abilities, and no matter what powers they turn to, they are still just as mortal before its edge as ever. It doesn't take a brilliant tactician to tell that she's headed right into the heart of things. To cut out the heart of the conflict before it comes crashing down on what she has tried to protect in full. At this point, anyone might become a target, even if she does have just one in mind.

Riva Banari has posed:
The Lost Dragon. Templar's ears pricked but she dared not look out over the field at that soul-devouring horror. Where she went, Death followed in her wake. Even so, if the words of Archangel could draw blood, they may as well have from the agonized expression on Templar's face. Even after all this time, she still wears her heart on the sleeve of that suit. "So what? You didn't have to do it! You pulled the trigger! You could have stopped any time! No one made you do it!" She probably yelled this dozens of times. He's probably told himself this dozens of times. Again, Templar tries to find a way to grab at emotions, at the heart, another round in the endless attempts. In some ways, it's almost rote, really, but why does she even keep trying, even now, on the verge of annihilation? It's stupid. Unreasonable. Pathetic, really.

It's about that time that the hammer crashes down, punching past her defenses. The hammerhead slows fractionally for a moment as it hits the massive wall of Anima-reinforced defenses, layers of probablility shifting and counterforces and wards against a multitude of attacks...

And then it pops like a bubble, crushing her chest amd smearing her into the ground. The Templar is dead instantly on impact.

Ten seconds later, a gleaming wave of golden hexagons washes over the corpse. "You're going to talk to me about scope." She staggers back to her feet, coughing as the grotesque wounds rapid-heal in a wash of light. She snaps an epipen-looking object from her pocked and jabs it into her leg, the hissing sound augmenting the speed of the recovery as she straightens. There is a shifting of motion as the Templar brings out the claws, slipping them on and beginning to bounce on the balls of her feet. "Suffering is suffering, Archangel. Did you forget that? I hate the words 'necessary justice'. They're a copout. A surrendering. I hated it when the Templars spoke about it. I hated it when people made me choose that path. That isn't justice, Archangel. That's just..."

She stares up into that purple eye. She knows what that is. She knows what it means. With a shriek, Templar lunges forward, rolling in to try to get under his guard and grapple with him. "DAMN YOU, PSYBER! WHY ARE YOU KILLING EVERYTHING AND EVERYONE YOU CARED ABOUT?"

It's like the floodgates are loosed as the Templar just unleashes her anger and sorrow upon him. Did she use his old name on purpose? Or does she just not really care anymore? "HOW IS THIS WORTH ANY PRICE? THE ONLY PEACE THAT'S GOING TO BE LEFT IS YOU SUCKING ON THE BARREL OF YOUR GUN WHEN THIS IS OVER, BECAUSE THAT'S THE ONLY WAY OUT OF THE PATH YOU CHOSE! THERE IS NO HAPPY ENDING, THERE IS NO PEACE, THERE IS ONLY DEATH AND HATRED AND PAIN CUTTING YOU TO RIBBONS FOREVER AND EVER! AND THAT'S THE PEACE YOU'RE SELLING US ALL!" Suddenly, she feints for his side, then spins, lunging with the opposite fist to try to gouge out that purple eye. "YOU BETRAYED US ALL, PSYBER! BUT FIRST YOU BETRAYED YOURSELF! YOU BETRAYED EVERYTHING YOU STOOD FOR AND EVERYTHING YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BE! STOP IT! YOU CAN STOP IT EVEN NOW!"

She doesn't have a prayer of beating him in force of arms. But she won't stop coming until something solves that problem.

Kyra Hyral (626) has posed:
    "...ah. It isn't you at all, is it." There is a distinct tone of sadness in Kyra's voice. There is a beep and the helmet of the NEO GOLEM armor splits down the middle, retracting so Kyra's head can be seen. There is little difference from when the Warlord saw her last. Her hair is a little longer and the piercings are nowhere in sight-though those were abandoned long before her fateful wedding. Still, it stands in stark contrast to the appearance of her former friend. "How sad. I was...hoping that someone was left after all these years...someone that would survive my care...though I highly doubt an energy being such as yourself is vulnerable to biological warfare agents. Tricky."

    She spreads both of her arms down to him, "It was for peace. Justice. Happiness. The ends-the sacrifice-justifies the means. And I don't understand why you were so upset with me in the end-you DID seek to phase out the Dynasty and hand Ramuha over to its people. Is that not what we do? Is that not what the Union Empire does? Alas, we still have rebellion. We still have struggle. When those lost souls continue to fail to comply with the order, what choice do we have?"

    She looks distant. "The Light Warriors....they didn't need to die." She whispers quietly, a hand moving to touch the Murasame Blade at her waist. "They didn't...no." Her gauntlet tightens around it, then drops away. The distant look remains on her face as Trigrammaton crashes into the Rafflesia and despite the impact, the former White Mage is not shook from her ship. The Falcon-class vessel remains airborne, though just barely, dipping significantly down over the battlefield. Soldiers go scattering away from the growing shadow, unwilling to take the risk of being crushed by yet another fallen Murasame airship.

Kyra Hyral (626) has posed:
    The Warlord will hear shrill laughter spring up, followed by a voice, "Issss not meat." The woody, root-like outgrowths encrusting the ship suddenly twist and shift, exuding purple light as it does so, glowing with a power that the Warlord would know already. He is, of course, using it himself in his restrained, chained form. The Rafflesia seems intent on adding to the restraint, however, lashing out to bind the False Exaltation over the length of the ship, aiming to stretch out limbs far from each other.

    "I know, Rafflesia." she tells her ship, "Use Osmose instead." Horrifyingly enough, the Rafflesia does seem capable of casting a spell, jury rigged through via Kyra's dark experimenting and previous research into the Job Crystals.

    The girl herself walks boldly to the Warlord, each step a loud CLANK against her ship with the slightest sound of suction, suggesting that the NEO GOLEM suit has some kind of magnetic traction engaged to allow her to remain stable on the ship. A hand strays to her thigh and something emerges from the armor, dropped into her hand.

    A good, old-fashioned Rasp Grenade.

    "It's only us, Landon." she says, using the name for the ghost as she strays close to the head of the Trigrammaton. Her goal is clear: stick the grenade to the Exaltation and step back. "But in the end, it will only be me."

Yuuki Kuran (518) has posed:
    The Vampire Queen looks across at Theo Morrison, and his personal forces. The havoc they cause, the destruction, the power they play through ritualistic grown man's card game. It is truly stunning what sorts of powers can be brought to bear at the confluence of natural talent, imagination, and deterministic rules-based jargon. Why do the flowers split seconds of life create power from thin air?

    Why do the memories of dying friends draw a surfiet of raw potential into the grip of the Jack?

    A poet would say that it is only through loss and adversity can progress be made. A more literally-minded person would simply know that the primordial power of the earliest of sets, the hallowed nine cards among them was from a simpler time - a happier time, thus plumbed for power and used viciously to eradicate foes.

    The Vampire Queen smiles sadly at Theo, as his very 'land' that surrounds him like a swampy moat draws in his allies callously. "You will forgive me if I ask you to spare me the jargon, I hope? I've studied you, Jack of Spades. Your power is astounding, varied, and nearly unchallengeable. In many other circumstances, I would never think to fight you." She calls, her voice quiet and firm, as the Phyrexian titan begins to rise, dwarfing her. It's all a procedure, rules, outcomes. A tempo set in stone. And I won't..."

    The Queen's speech probably continues for at least half the chapter, and we all get bored waiting for it. In this timeframe, Theo has infinite time to act, to cast, because if there is one thing the Vampire Queen is weak to, it's belabored exposition at dramatic moments.

    But... TIME STUFF HAPPENS!

    ANOTHER FLOW RESUMES. "You will forgive me if I ask you to spare me the jargon, I hope?" She 'repeats, but there's something different to her. The flow of everything was different, and as more and more effects changed the 'future', she sprung forward. "I no longer have the luxury of giving you further 'turns'."

    Her hands are claws, her speed faster than a blur. One hand goes to smash him right in the nose. The other, to close around his neck and squeeze. "You will say no more 'words', you will not speak of strategy and luck and draws and cards, you won't speak at all." She murmurs, her eyes haunted as she tries to bear Theo right down into the water, and jam him under the murky surface of the Underground Sea.

    "No more flowers. No more painful memories. No more black suns that devour all life."

Mizuki (183) has posed:
    It is a seemingly endless game of blow against blow, move against move. No matter how far away Mizuki teleports, The Sellsword is always there to intercept her. She is the shield working against a blade that simply will not yield, and eventually, she -will- have to strike back decisively. Yet it's been too long since she's fought someone directly, too many years since she had assumed a role of power that had made her feel invincible -- dangerously so. She recognizes her hubris in a sudden flash that happens to coincide with the moment when her 'perfect' defense fails her. After she has sent a wake of energy flying toward the Sellsword, she leaves her shield just out of reach, just too far to guard her. It's in that moment that the Duelist's blade finds providence. She achieves one sudden, deep blow that leaves her paused in place, likely scoring her several more slashes by extension.

    When Mizuki finally teleports away, her eyes shoot open wide, a hand gripping at the gaping wound on her chest. There is no blood -- only stars; infinities of miniature celestial bodies that seem to make the 'interior' of her being appear a mess of constellations rather than a body. The wound dissipates entirely in a matter of seconds, but it is clear by the way she keeps her hand in place that the pain has not fled alongside it. Moreover, the thousands of cyan flecks - the stars - that flooded out of her being before tint a sickly gray before fluttering down to the ground, ceasing to be as they make contact with the ground.

    Finally, she manages a smile... if one that is terribly sad. "You are right," She wisps. "I know nothing of strife. Out of a fascination toward the idea I have endeared myself countless others such that I could hear their stories, feel their pain vicariously, allow it to teach me -- but no. It is not the same." She shakes her head, now. "... it isn't that I disagree with you. Everything you have said --" She winces, faltering, "Everything you have said has been correct. Our idiosyncrasies, even our evils give character to us. Our failings help us to learn, to grow; they make relationships meaningful. And yet..."

    She looks up, staring directly at The Sellsword. "Wouldn't it be better if that wasn't so? Wouldn't it be better if we could have the same depth of character without all this strife? Without all this bloodshed? Why are our minds structured this way? I don't question the reality of things; you are far more adept in the recognition of reality than I am. No, I only yearn for a world where we could achieve that complexity, that humanity... without pain. I cannot accept the existence of things like scarcity, and need, and suffering. I cannot accept that a kind personality might fall apart if deprived of food, or whatever. I only wish that the personality could the stoic, immovable, perfect thing that it was when I was young."

    Finally, she rises. "Of course I am overzealous. Of course I am evil. I might once have been called an 'idealist', but it is a far easier to be an idealist when the world accepts your ideals as 'moral'. I should have had far more patience in my explanation of these things to you, but due to a bloated ego of my own I have failed you. I have made you think me terribly deluded, if indeed I am not in reality. For that, I am sorry. I have done you a horrible disservice. I had quite forgotten how... to converse with someone who does not believe as I do."

    "And yet," She says, raising her sword again, "even if I cannot make you understand... even if my apologies only highlight my hypocrisy in your eyes... I must persevere. It is all I can do for future peace to endeavor in the belief that the cycles of the world can be broken. I must believe in these small lies that, some time in the distant future, they become truth." After another moment's pause, she quietly intones, "Though I - we - do not deserve it, I nevertheless must beg your forgiveness."

Mizuki (183) has posed:
    That said, she does not stop: within moments, more butterflies have formed, all of them launching toward The Sellsword as before. Four portals appear in the shape of a plus sign across their condensed battlefield, the Northernmost of them landing in front of Mizuki. In a moment when The Sellsword is preoccupied with the blades and chains chasing her, Mizuki leaps back from the portal before flying back toward it, pressing herself through one of her speeding fields along the way.

    She intends to emerge from the portal to the left of The Sellsword.

    She intends to run her through, and to accept a grievous wound of her own in the process.

    Just... just like an exchange of pieces in a chess game. But will this one have been worth it?

    She cannot say.

Kyra Hyral (626) has posed:
<Empire-IC> Kyra Murasame, "I'm getting one of those particular headaches and I do not think it is because the Lord of War is baring down on me quite aggressively with his Exaltation. Is there time dickery afoot?"

Theo Morrison has posed:
<Empire-IC> The Jack of Spades says, "There is was has been will be time dickery. Don't worry about it."

Homura Akemi (2) has posed:
    Her spell is being undone?

    And her already taxed, fading resources are being drained.

    Lilith gives a deep sight. The Grimoire in her hand burns, consumed in purple and yellow flames with a scream of agony. It slightly, very slightly, barely, refills Lilith's battery.

    "I will not let my work come undone. In my shadow stand fifty ready to take my place, all driven, all motivated, all capable. Archangel, I will not burn the world for my sake. I will burn myself for the world's sake, in atonement for the flames I already turned upon it before."

    In her hand appears TYRFING, the holy blade that was once Psyber's. "See how every weapon you have ever touched is destined to do nothing but harm your own friends, Archangel." Homura leaps forward, and off the CTHULHUSHIP. She blurs, disappears, and reappears behind Theo, as the Queen attacks him. She can't let him keep channeling those spells and taxing her effects. So there's really only one logical solution.

    Try to drive the holy sword in Theo's back.

    Knowing full well she doesn't even have enough magic left to haste herself anymore, much less stop time. But it's an acceptable risk, if it means releasing all the stored power the teen just took. And putting a stop to his drain on the effect. It might be too late to salvage it, but she's a walking corpse anyway.

    May as well make a point to the Archangel with her last breath.

Kyra Hyral (626) has posed:
-<OOC>- Kyra Murasame says, "Speaking of time dickery. Jack, you don't get double points tonight if I stay up until 2 more than once during this scene due to daylight savings time. :