2916/He Who Departed to Link the Flames - Part 2

He Who Departed to Link the Flames - Part 2
Date of Scene:	28 August 2015
Location:	Great Painting of Ariamis <PoA>
Synopsis:	The end that everyone expected is far from the truth, as they meet face to face with the Great Lord Gwyn, but the work is done regardless.
Cast of Characters:	Tomoe, Staren, Priscilla, 168, 183, 253, 395, 560, 570, Lezard Valeth, Reiji Arisu, 707

---

Priscilla has posed:
    The Kiln is the same as it was before. Perhaps the same as it always was, at least in living memory. The impossible, underground 'sky' is the same distant, sedately billowing mass of foggy soot, suggesting only the barest hint of some kind of sun behind it, shafts of weak, golden light sliding back and forth over the massive tangle of blasted, melted and fused metalworks standing hundreds of meters above the endless terrain of coarse mountains and choking dunes of grey ash. There is not a single sound to be heard, save the distant clattering of armoured footsteps retracing the same instinctive routes they have for a thousand years. Thankfully, the host of dragonslaying spectres is far enough away, this time from the opposite direction. The summoning takes place on one of the concentric rises of the monolithic, yet unfinished, inner tower, well inside of the defensive perimeter, the circle drawn over a floor of iridescent and heavily warped brass and gold.

    As is obvious, Priscilla is the first face they see. As is expected, Oscar's . . . helmet is the second. As is completely unexpected, /Solaire/ seems to have made the journey as well. How a non-chosen knight had managed to clank past that army is just about anyone's guess, though it may be discovered shortly enough. The latter two are busy poring over a wide ring of runes stenciled into the outer edge of the tower's floor, stretching and curving out of sight around its girth, made of so much titanite that they haven't deformed much more than change colour from the ancient cataclysmic heat. They take moments to gesture towards some of the far scaffolds and posts, pointing out not only the host of blackened knights walking amongst them, but less obvious fixtures, such as what appear to be odd siege machines, or out of place bells of some kind. The words 'Tranquil Walk of Peace' echo over in amidst something about ballistae.

    Priscilla herself looks far from her tired and worn usual. Instead she looks so tightly wound she could crack and fall to pieces. Wide awake, and hellishly anxious, to the point where she can't even stop herself from giving into pacing. "We hath only a short ways left to go." she states immediately before anyone can get a word in edgewise. "Please. Swiftly. I wish to see this finished."

Kimiko Shinobu (570) has posed:
    Kimiko arrives in her usual manner, sans armor though transformed, taking a moment to first look to the right, then the left, listening to the clanking footsteps, and taking in a still-incomplete picture of their surroundings. The two knights ahead of her, she expects, will be able to fill in the holes. Her attention to immediate needs of defense should surprise no one who's fought alongside her before.

    Priscilla's anxiousness transfers easily to the Puella Magi, though is tempered by her usual suppression of any outward emotion. Kimiko stands ramrod straight, feet apart, eyes wide and searching and mouth closed. She nods, shortly, then steps close enough to easily address Oscar and Solaire as well as Priscilla. "Show me the path."

Psyber (253) has posed:
    For the sake of brevity: Psyber's here. Psyber's a blue spirit. Psyber currently is loaded to go to war, with at least one long-range rifle across his back of a pretty high-caliber along with a few guns at his side and Einherjar, lacking Adjudicator for the moment. He seems to be taking the final push towards the Kiln fairly seriously, as almost as soon as he appears the rifle is off his back and he's sliding some fairly large rounds into the internal magazine before he slides the bolt forward.

    "Right. Let's get moving."

    He hoists up his rifle and levels it on one of the far off Black Knights. Better to engage them on favorable terms, "Watch out for the ones with bows in the distance. Someone with long range missiles should get ready to intercept their shots, because they're going to be a couple miles off."

    Then there's the crack-retort of Psyber trying to unleash one of the heavy rounds through the chest of a patrolling Black Knight.

Lezard Valeth has posed:
This was not a time fo half-measures. Lezard had spent his time preparing for this encounter, and what must be the invitable ones to follow.

The Chosen One seeks out adversity.

But adversity does not need to be met foolishly. All that gets you is dead.

And in a manifestation of blackness and crimson fading into existence, Lezard Valeth takes his position, saying nothing as his phantom cape billows behind him without wind. He nods to Priscilla, his expression onr of tight-lipped anticipation. Everything they have worked to accomplish is rushing towards its end.

That it ends is inevitable. But what form will the ending take? That is what fascinates the most. "Are we prepared?" Lezard finally asks.

Reiji Arisu has posed:
It's finally time.

    Reiji appears from the fog as a deep, blue spectre. Judging by the number of weapons he's carrying around, it looks like he's going with his his usual loadout. Karin, Chirai and Hollywood swing at his side, secured in his mobile arsenal. Kuroshio and Gold are strapped to his shoulder and his back respectively. Guns are loaded, swords are sharpened. All that's left is to reach the kiln and end this once and for all.

    To that end, the exorcist is carrying something... somewhat bulkier than usual. He's got what looks to be a hiker's rucksack slung over his back. It seems delightfully magical, to anyone who bothers to look.

"With any luck, we'll be in and out before long," the exorcist mutters, his hand hovering close to his weapon rack, "But I doubt it'll be so simple."

Staren has posed:
    Staren appears. Powered armor, check. Big guns, check. There are two of some kind of futuristic rifles on his back, and who knows what's in that magic bag of his. He doesn't know how long he'll last against those knights but he hopes he can put a dent in them. And they don't /all/ have to last, right? It's okay if some of them die as phantoms. Unpleasant, but acceptable.

    "Swiftly? If we really /do/ have to fight all those, I think this is gonna be anything but swift. It's gonna be a real knock-down-drag-out, you know?"

    Staren looks around. "I don't suppose there's any chance we'll /not/ have to fight?"

    Psyber says someone had better get missiles ready. "Missiles? Got it." Staren reaches into his bag and pulls out a twin-tubed launcher with what looks like a pair of detachable magazines plugged in. That thing must weigh like 80 pounds.

    Then Psyber starts the fight. "Hey! A little warning next time, alright? We should have coordinated our first shots!" He's not just standing there complaining, of course -- even as he speaks, he takes his right hand off the rifle to shoot a knight with the twin beam cannons mounted on his armor's forearm.

Mizuki (183) has posed:
    Mizuki is here, and oddly enough, she has come in person. She is phantom enough when she deigns to appear in her more 'physical' shape, earnestly, but to her this is more of a symbolic gesture: something of a farewell, and a sign of respect toward Gwyn. Though the reign of the flame - or at least, his flame - has come to an end, that does not discredit his efforts any more than apocalypse would erase the residual will of a people. She is not one to allow such earnest efforts in the face of impossibility to go to waste. The Witch of Izalith did not sacrifice her form and her sanity for naught; Nito did not suffer to trust their number for an empty cause; Solaire did not surmount his dismay only to see them fail, now. As once these Gods carved their names into the sands of history, again she will do so with her blade, ever in stark deviance of the onslaught of the oncoming wakes.

    As the last, she has returned with her hood drawn low, and a hand concealed beneath the too-long fabric of her sleeve. The visible hand, though, grasps a particular sort of flower: one of the lilies-of-the-valley for whom her own Palace is so named. She will commend its petals to the ages here as one might do before a grave in honor of the dead. She will do so knowing that this flower will wilt, as did Gwyn's flame, but that the sentiments therein will survive and echo here and everywhere so long as the duration of eternity.

    And she will keep this flower until they face Gwyn. She will loose it before him, and no sooner. His is the personage that defined a generation, and she is one of those who will, for better or for worse, see it to its end. But she will not do so without a certain degree of decorum. She will not do so without due appreciation of what was, is, and could be again.

    She maintains silence, ever at Priscilla's side. With her face obscured by the shade, she looks quite like the Reaper. As last time, as this time, as it will be again.

Amalthea (395) has posed:
    The Kiln. This is where this quest is supposed to come to an end, is it not? Supposedly at least. After all, no quest can simply just be abandoned, and to see Oscar come all this way- with and without assistance at various points lends a credence that the Chosen Undead will have his fated moment to come. And Amalthea has come to see it. Resplendant and golden in her phantom form, the unicorn arrives, tugging into place the last straps of her heaviest armor and shield. It's been some time since she's been to Lordran now, but the ashy, sooty, expanse surrounding the Kiln, and the majesty of the old dilapidated structure are not her focus however.
    "You're tense. Is everything well, Priscilla?" Noted to the Crossbreed as she already moves to follow Psyber's flank, letting him handle the distance fighting, she steps in to serve as a walking waist-high wall of cover for the half-angel.

Tomoe has posed:
Tomoe is done what she could to make herself ready for this attempt. She's suited up she's ready and carrying extra items, she also knows she's even more disposable than even the people who are using avatars of sorts here. After all she's just meat in the end nothing more and nothing less. She looks to be ready to go and she nods to Pris and Oscar.

"I'm ready as I'm ever going to be."

She makes ready to fall in and defend everyone else after all this is it this is the final push isn't it? The Salamander shifts in moving to the front of the forming group and seems to be ready to dive in.

Emiya Shirou (560) has posed:
    The landscape is one deeply familiar, in a sense, to the redheaded magus who's traveling along with the group. An endless wasteland of barren, dry nothing, and when he appears as a golden phantom he just stares out solemnly after opening his eyes. Still, he does clench his teeth after a while. "It's hard to believe a place like this could be a world's heart." A few whispered words, a gentle and refined flow of prana, and Shirou arms himself. Not with Kanshou and Bakuya, but with a black bow. "If they open fire we'll just have to return it... or run." Is his opinion on the matter Psyber brings up.

    Is he really planning on using that bow to try and return fire at such ranges?

    Why yes, yes he is. A counterfeit of Caladbolg is his choice of arrow. After a few moments of concentration the sword's shape alters like clay on a potter's wheel, lengthening and slimming and becoming more aerodynamic. It's a simpleminded job, but it will do.

    A few moments to draw and aim, then... WHOOOOSH! Off goes his projectile. There's no extra power in it, it won't explode, but that will hurt like the DICKENS for whatever it hits. Probably.

Xiaomu (707) has posed:
Xiaomu had things to do tonight. Unplayed games have been stacking up, she's got more than a few hours of anime to catch up on watching, and there were some new quests added in the online games she subscribes to which she hasn't cleared yet.

Then Reiji all but dragged her off by the scruff of her neck, talking about Lordran, before she could even hit the power switch for ANY of the above.

So the sage fox is rather grumpy as she trudges along behind her partner. If there's fighting to do, she'll contribute; it might help her vent some of her displeasure at being dragged away from a pleasant night of assorted otaku pursuits. If sneaking through works out, though, then she's smart enough to skip unnecessary combat. Judging from her last foray into Lordran, Xiaomu's certain that her supplies of ammunition and grenades will see plenty of use further along.

Priscilla has posed:
    Priscilla is all too glad to oblige Kimiko. Oscar and Solaire have to suddenly break from their, admittedly time-killing, strategizing to follow, clicking and clacking behind her to keep up with the kind of pace even her mortal stride can accomplish when agitated. "As much as I expect we ever shalt be." is her curt reply to Lezard. "'Well' at this point is of little consequences. It shall be done." is her additional attempt to spare words for Amalthea. She flinches at the first crack of the rifle, but carries on regardless.

    The route Priscilla has summoned the congregation at is extremely deliberate, and it quickly becomes clear why. Though the group has to occasionally pause to deal with a Knight or two at a time, the winding spiral is so close into the tower and interlaced with so many ramps, pillars and balconies that the real bulk of the army has no line of sight or no effective distance to spot or engage them. It's just as well. Hollow shells they may be, but each individual Knight of Gwyn is both tough and dangerous enough to cause a short bout of open combat each time they are engaged, rather than instantly melting under the firepower of so many Elites. It takes multiple entire magazines or batteries to cause the armour to collapse at range, giving ample time to snap-fire several of those 'arrows' taller and heavier than a human being, and the handful they encounter up close have a nasty habit of ploughing straight into the ranks, turning aside blades with equal parts skill and enormously strong defenses and laying about at multiple opponents at once with their patently unfair strength. Encountered in incremental steps, they aren't an insurmountable challenge to work through, but running into a battalion of them face first would be extremely undesirable to say the least. It works to the party's advantage that no true sentience remains behind in them, as the noise of battle never seems to draw reinforcements.

    Before too long, the party finds itself not at the apex of the intimidating spire, but down into its very roots, coming out through a tunnel of verdigrized brass into what should be the entire first floor, were any actual rooms yet built into it. Instead, it is nothing but a wide, perfect circle of impossibly fine ash coated over the ground in almost zen-garden-esque waves, broken up infrequently by massive spikes of some unidentifiable black stone. So buried in soot and blasted by vapourizing heat is it, that one would never in a million years recognize /this/ as the site of the First Flame. For all of its incredible mythical stature, after so long, all that remains of it is this . . . fire pit, and a single Bonfire, hardly any larger than any other, set apart only by the fact that it burns all on its own rather than on a pyre of human bones. The only way anyone can be sure?

Priscilla has posed:
    An old man sits beside it. In the same fashion as the First Flame, one would never mistake him for the Great Lord Gwyn unless told. The figure hunched over by the weakly guttering flames looks impossibly old, his wrinkled, ashen skin matching the colour of his collosal mane of unkempt hair and beard, pouring over his back and shoulders and down his chest. Though still a giant far too large to be human, he's not even half the size depicted by the scale statues of Anor Londo. Smaller than Gwynevere. Not even quite as big as Priscilla's true form anymore. The clothes he does wear, once royal blue and brilliant gold in ornate, strangely nordic fashion, hang oversized and baggy on his withered frame. His cloak and coat lie crumpled in a corner, too big to serve as anything more than a useless blanket. The iron-grey crown over his temples must have once been very impressive, as is the colossal sword resting in the ash clearly far too large for him to wield anymore, half-buried in the dust. When he looks up to see the party, it is with the kind of sooty-black eyesockets barely any different from a hollow's, though his are bereft of that ember of malignant fire. Instead he speaks, without any of the divine echo of the other gods, but with the volume and tone of a very tired, very old man.

    "What is this? What hast thou done Frampt? I see but one Undead hast cometh before the flames with a host of phantoms and mine own son and granddaughter." He suddenly pauses, as if second guessing himself. "Or . . . art thou indeed alone, Chosen? Pray, tell me I am already mad and simply the last to know."

Staren has posed:
    Staren does his best to counter the lances with missiles while blasting knights with energy weapons before they can get close. When they /do/ get close... he flies up and fights them at range anyway, so nyah.

    "What were they... /building/ here?" Staren wonders as they enter the 'first floor'. "Are all those struts and spires out there part of some geomancy for properly shaping the first flame?"

    But then... old guy. Who is basically the Creator of this world or something. Granddaughter... Priscilla? Son... Wait, that other not-Oscar guy? Really? Man, there must be some story behind that...

    Staren's not sure what to say. Diplomacy's not really his thing.

    The catboy lowers his weapon, and looks to Nathan expectantly.

Psyber (253) has posed:
    "Probably, yeah, but I figured if we pulled and then coordinated fire, we could set choke points instead of frontloading everything," Psyber comments as he slips another round into the rifle. He doesn't have much of a response to Shirou in regards to returning fire. Psyber brought a big rifle, but returning fire at a range of kilometers is beyond him without a Barrett.

    Psyber remains behind Amalthea. While he's reasonable sure he could take a hit or two from those arrows, he'd rather not. She has a sturdy shield and armor, so with her playing defense and him playing offense, Psyber generally is able to keep himself behind the line of scrimmage until the hypothetical big battle he's anticipating.

    Pushing forward behind her, he uses most of the ammunition for his bolt-action rifle and, having been informed that lost items return with their owner, he eventually just tosses the rifle off into the infinite abyss, continuing his tradition of littering in the nexus points of universes.

    They arrive at the Bonfire down in the pit after some time and Psyber is given pause by the presence of an old man. He tilts his head a bit, "Mm. I think we need to talk about some things."

Reiji Arisu has posed:
Well of course Reiji had to bring Xiaomu. It's not like he can exactly properly save a world without the aid of his MOST PRECIOUS PARTNER.

    With as withered and broken as this world is, it's no real surprise that the decay has worked its way straight down into its heart. The kiln is worn and scorched, all the fuel that had once burnt here has turned to ash. They knew that it would be this way- that this was, ultimately, at the heart of this dying land.

    But still, seeing the Kiln of the First Flame in all its tremendous melancholy conjures a deep sense of loss. What was this place like in its full glory? How great was the heat that burned here long ago- and where does the First Flame go as it burns? That is, ultimately, what they're here to address.

And to finally put an end to the long reign of King Gwyn.

Encountering a Lord of Sunlight still in possession of many of his faculties wasn't quite part of the plan.

    Reiji's brow furrows. He's quick to put two and two together. The man before them is... Gwyn, the great King of Sunlight. But he does not look so godly anymore. Has he been burning the power of his lord soul- his very divinity- for all this time? Is that why he's so diminished? Reiji is silent as he unslings his rucksack, letting it rest amidst the ashes. It's only once he's relieved himself of that burden, and set aside his weapons as a sign of peace, does he speak.

    "King Gwyn," Reiji drops into a respectful bow. "We are travellers here to aid your Chosen as well as Lady Priscilla and Knight Solaire- to forge a new path for this world." His head lifts, though it cants slightly to one side, "I believe that we have much to discuss."

Kimiko Shinobu (570) has posed:
    Kimiko doesn't stay unarmored long. The shield she summons is a massively heavy, two-handed affair to deal with the absurd power of the defenders, and she works alongside Amalthea in ensuring that their ferocious strength never reaches the less-armored members of the group--not that she'd even trust this much of her own armor against them. Rarely does she switch to offense, but her signature ability to summon weapons directly to hand makes the switch quick and tactically effective, when allowable.

    All of that is swiftly set aside, as they reach their destination. Here, she is silent. Something is... unexpected. Of Gwyn, she held no expectations. Madness. Death. Rationality... was low on the list of likely events. He does see the phantoms, but does this mean he is sane? She can't state that with any certainty.

    Her eyes move over the group. Granddaughter--yes, there. Son? There? How old are these people? How would he even recognize him?

    Psyber is the one who had the plan. Kimiko knew enough of it, but she sees no need to be one way to explain. She sets her massive shield against the ground, leaning it on her armored figure, and stands at attention. Her role was to guard, and so she does.

    If she knew the salute of this kingdom, she'd likely give it.

Amalthea (395) has posed:
    "It is not of little consequence." Amalthea replies gently to Priscikka, a flashing look of concern behind the old unicorn's lone eye. Regardless of how well the path chosen may have been that still doesn't mean there's an easy time of it, and by the time everyone hits the apex, Amalthea's armor is dented in places, scored with marks from remaining squarely between some knights and Psyber and the others with Kimiko, stained with liquid silver from some injuries she deems to be worthy of completely ignoring. Her shield's in far worse condition but it's still serviceable. She trudges along through the ash, pausing to gaze upon the resting site of the First Flame, and how dimly it has been reduced to, and... The firekeeper?
    Even through the ash, soot, and wear of time there is something familiar about him though... Until he gives voice. The archaich manner of speech. The inhuman stature, and old worn clothes cause her to harken back to the temples and statues of Anor Londo, and in an instant she's looking between Lord Gwyn, and Priscilla, Oscar, and... Solaire.
    Slowly, the unicorn sheathes her weapons, lips pursing into a thin and thoughtful line as she dips into a formal bow. But for the moment keeps her trap wholly shut as Psyber and Reiji begin to speak.

Emiya Shirou (560) has posed:
    Into the true Kiln the group goes. It's a long and grueling trek, but it brings them to a sight Shirou wasn't expecting.

    Gwyn lives. Barely. Gwyn is sane.

    And rather immediately the magu lowers his weapon, filled with an intense wave of sorrow and sympathy.

    "You're... the Lord of Sunlight?" He trudges forward and moves. He finds it hard to believe. The boy's tone is warm and friendly, but he's only barely formal eough to bow after Reiji does.

    "Your eyes are working fine. We came to help the Chosen solve this problem once and for all."

    He nods hopefully at Nathan. An explanation would really help!

Staren has posed:
    Staren smiles and nods after Emiya Shirou's words. That sounds like a good way to put it!

Lezard Valeth has posed:
The battle is joined. Lezard hurls his magics forward, calling up three great Dragon Zombies, powerful in life, unstoppable in death.

Or rather, quite stoppable, as the great beasts draw an incredibly impressive amount of Dragonslayer Arrow fire. No matter how augmented they might be, the mighty bolts punch into them, releasing melting, mouldering internals over the Knights they crash down into, committing to suicide assaults in order to draw fire. They do not care, for they are not truly alive.

Lezard sighs as he watches them get hacked apart by the Knights. A painful loss. Even he cannot spend such resources lightly. But perhaps he can cull the rookery for some useful samples to replace them later.

But such thoughts are not the main issue, as cascades of magical power blast into the Knightly formations, supporting the frontline combattants from a distance. The very air splits as white crystalline waves spear up along thee higher ridges, Lezard calling up the accursed crystalling breath of Seath himself to strike down the enemies. More than one Knight suffers not merely death, but fossilization in crystal this day.

Finally, they have broken through, and the Kiln of the First Flame lies open for their approach. Lezard does not apologize for who and what he is, nor does he hide it. The altered staff of Manus is held in his hand like a brand of office as he steps forward, looking through the area... and looking upon the man who is Gwyn.

This man... This man who has no aura of godhood, this man who struggles even now with shades and crackling reality around him.

This man who is no god, but has carried that legend for so long... Or is it something else? Lezard looks upon the man with a searching gaze. It is not what he expected, clearly, but perhaps it might be even... better.

The Necromancer stands aside, allowing others to speak for the moment. Knowing when to say something is as important as what you say and how you say it.

Xiaomu (707) has posed:
Oh, so that's what's going on. Xiaomu stands up a bit straighter, then bows deeply and properly to King Gwyn before setting her carrypack down with Reiji's backpack; her staff, however, remains at hand as she sits next to Reiji.

A few seconds later, she lays her staff down carefully and rummages around in the pockets of her vest before pulling out a small package of fried tofu, opening it and leaning over so as to offer the package (or at least its contents) to Gwyn. "You must be hungry," she says, "after your lengthy vigil as you waited for us ..."

(And no, Xiaomu pointedly stayed out of the fight with the local monsters. Bullets are scarce down here, she only wastes ammo in FPSes which are written so the mobs drop reloads.)

Mizuki (183) has posed:
    Gwyn.

    A legend, a God, a creator; the name given to the father of the realm; he who ended that which was said to be eternal.

    The lord of the flame.

    Yet it is only too clear when they arrive that this man, as his world before him, has smoldered to the last traces of ash. This kiln is a fire that has burned for centuries, even eons, but even the most enduring of hearths cannot last forever, unfed. This man of legend has, as it is with all glorious things, been tarnished, tainted; battered and beaten. His silvering beard is tinged with soot, and the grimy twist of his features bespeaks of a certain tiredness that he must almost certainly feel. How long has he stood vigil here? Pray, it must have been so, so many years. All that time to watch one's world crumble around them, just so he could be here, right now, for this moment. It brings to mind a like mental image of the consortium of Apostles who must certainly have waited on the precipice of epochs for her own world to emerge from its trance.

    And to make matters worse, he is still sane. Sane enough to question his sanity which, oddly enough, is one of the most telling factors of a conscious individual. Of course, she must wonder: is their conflict a forgone conclusion? Must he persist in this to 'test' them, as it were, or must he die with his flame as a captain with their ship? True, true, any world that comes into being after today will no longer be -his-. It will be the world of his progeny, even his legacy perhaps, but never can it belong to him in the sense that this one has. It will be a world tempered, mutated, perhaps evolved if we are to be so kind -- but it will no longer be Lordran. Can the Lord outlive his Kingdom? More than all else, Mizuki is intent to find out. As such, she will come in presentation of a significantly different facade this day.

    The palm of the unoccupied hand raises flat. Her head remains bowed, but her hand stretches rigidly, perfectly into a rightness that would make her seem taller than she is in earnest. "If this is your delusion," She begins, "it is one you share with others. Regardless of matters of truth, however, we come to you from worlds beyond -- worlds that were not born of the darkness, and that do not needs contend with it to persist. It is this strange, foreign perspective of ours which has enabled us to make the journey here, and which has compelled us to make audience with you against all odds."

    "We," She continues, "arrive in suggestion of a solution. Several of our number believe themselves to have devised a way to stay the darkness whilst perpetuating your age of fire. Whether the fact of this new age will well mirror this one, I cannot say, but I can promise you that this land will have a future. More pertinently, I can promise you that this world will indeed have a future comparable to its present in the key ways which we all must agree are preferable. Though we have not done so alone. We arrive also in the company of Oscar, the Chosen Undead, and Solaire, stalwart knight of Astora. They have seen our resolve with their own eyes, and they, as the selected inheritors of your torch, have lent themselves to our purpose."

Mizuki (183) has posed:
    "Now," She finally lowers her arm, going so far as to fall on bended knee, "we beseech you: hear our solution, that we may have an opportunity to parlay with you if such a thing is possible. If indeed it is not," She stands, allowing her hood to fall in revelation of her countenance, "then allow us to convince you in the martial art of which man has ever been so fond. Either way, Lord Gwyn, mark me: you will depart this plane with renewed hope in this land you have worked so tirelessly to build, then to preserve. I will see the same fire in your eyes this day as must have glinted off them as you loosed bolts upon the endless ones. I will see you proud before you depart, if you depart, and I will not accept any alternative. Far be it for me to tell you what you should feel, but it is not within me to so meekly accept the lasting resignation of one who was once so willful as to carve definition from nothingness."

    With that, Ortus-Aelinos glints into Mizuki's left hand, the lily-of-valley bursting aside her as the crystal ring shield takes its place in her right. "Now, Gwyn, I would hear what you make of us, and what I have said. Time is short, and the forces that the serpents represent would doubtlessly take from us what few moments we still have to attain their own goals. I am certain you know this better than any other."

Nathan Hall (168) has posed:
    Nathan has kept to the back lanes, or maybe it was just smarter to summon him later this time. After all, those knights are /tough as shit/ and aren't just random survivor-hollows, those are dudes trained with the best tactical mind there is, they'd go for a commander without hesitation.

    What matters, of course, is that he's here by now, to speak to Gwyn. The man being alive and coherent is incredible itself. His appearance unsettles the General horribly; he is the picture of decaying authority, and for someone like Nathan, that's a pretty horrible image, one that strikes deep. His tone of voice, even more viscerally; Nathan avoids stepping forward for several seconds just from that alone.

    He intends to keep it that way and to speak simply. When Nathan approaches, it's with a much firmer monotone and step that hearkens back to his golden years. "Great Lord Gwyn." He says. He had the pleasure of meeting Artorias himself once; Nathan will replicate both his salute, from memory, and his stance, from magic, both at once. "The Chosen is here, alongside the phantoms of those seeking to assist him." What do you say to a man who's clinging to coherence after eternities of isolation? Well, you stick to the parts of his mind that are probably going to still very reliably function. "You sought, and have achieved, access to spiritual resources which will allow the First Flame to persist and restore the life of this world. The objective of your plan and your test is now accomplished." Focus on what Gwyn wants and what Gwyn's now accomplished. Now focus on what Gwyn needs. This is a man wh defined himself for years on 'how much dragon blood can I get on my hands', so this should push past things. For some reason, he can't imagine this scaring Gwyn, even in his current state. The idea of the Great Lord Gwyn feeling fear is just completely impossible.

    "You sought, and will achieve, a victory against the dragons. Our efforts to procure and establish the apparatus needed to enact your plan at its full potential will draw the attention of remaining dragon forces. It will draw the attention of Kalameet. This force must be addressed."

    "We are here to fulfill your plan to restore the First Flame, and we intend to do so as quickly as possible. In order to do this, we require your assistance, Great Lord Gwyn. We need to understand the Kiln, and we need to understand how to turn what defenses it still has remaining skyward, to--"

    A long pause. Nathan seems to freeze up, like he just bluescreened in the middle of the conversation. It takes several seconds for this to fix itself. "Your son." He says, without inflection or intention. He glances to Oscar, and then to... Solaire??? He seems to need several seconds to process what he just heard. "Your son." He repeats, looking back to Gwyn. "Yes, it seems, there is some madness going on." Nathan seems to have just gotten kinda knocked off his flow. He looks urgently to Solaire for explanation. Oscar, he knows for sure, is a simple human. Undead, of course he is. Priscilla is the granddaughter, so that only leaves... He stands by, awaiting some kind of explanation.

Tomoe has posed:
Tomoe is well tense to put it midly as she nears the old man and she eyes him but the huge man doesn't seem to be hostile, well just yet. She does not draw her blade she looks at them for a moment and tilts thier head a little bit. He seems to be friendly and she poiltely bows to the massive bring for a moment. She's going to keep watch now for something which might cvause the rest of them trouble.

"Thank you sir for the kind greeting, such is not expected in a place such as this."

Priscilla has posed:
    For probably the first time in history, all Lordran natives are simultaneously as floored and confused by what they see as everyone else. There's no cryptic sense of unspoken familiarity here. This really is as far as /anyone/ has ever gone. Nobody has ever so much as heard of anything after the doors to the Kiln were first shut behind the last then-silver Knight, and seen nothing further than its short-term success. The reality of it is beyond the ability of anyone still living to know.

    A thin cloud of ash sifts off of Gwyn's shoulders as he begins to move, even if only slightly, the stuff seeming to have covered everything in this world within the world. His facial features are far too haggard and obscured to don any sort of recognizable countenance; only his voice betrays his unguarded reluctance. "Talk? Talk of what? Why shouldst I speaketh with thee? Who art thou? Why art thou here?" he replies to Psyber. It might sound a little out of it, but these are all very legitimate questions for someone who's been locked here for centuries before unification. He does seem to respond vaguely to the various signs of formal respect and attention; not out of ego, but out of pure reflex of a lifetime of being regarded with such in proper company. "Help? What need is there of help? The path is clear. He is already here." His features struggle, as does his voice, faintly, before resolving into something more clear, and more lucid.

    "Oscar. So that is his name. Unassuming for a knight." He pauses. "Astora? I hath heard of it not once. How . . . how long hast it been?" He then starts to laugh. "And 'Solaire'? That is the name thou hast taken for thineself? And only a knight thineself no less. Truly something hath changed if only now thou looketh towards the sun rather than the battlefield as thou were meant to. Oh I am afraid it is far too late for that however. Lordran lies in the care of thine sister and will continue to do so. Thou hast picked a very poor time to come to demonstrate thou hast amended thine ways, but then I supposeth it was now or never." The laugh that follows is just as dry and coarse, but significantly less sincere.

    It is also completely unmistakable that he is, in fact, talking to bucket helm over there. Solaire makes absolutely no motion of surprise nor displays any notion of denial. There is something very different from that moment of reunion, false as it was, between Priscilla and her mother however. These two indeed do feel like they parted once very long ago, and what's more, did so on bad terms. It /seems/ like the moment for a dramatic confession and reaffirmment, but though it seems right, Solaire holds back, hesitating before finally shaking his helmeted head. "Things have indeed changed much. /I/ have changed much. But though in all that time I have come to finally understand what it is that you have done, as a Lord and as a father, I believe it is no longer my place to seek your approval. This is not my story. I am not here to carry the torch." he finally states simply and plainly, making no mention of Frampt, Gwynevere nor Gwyndolin. "In fact, I am the least important in this room. Your Chosen is owed much more of your attention than me."

    This seems to genuinely perplex the one Great Lord, having expected either great vengeance or great forgiveness to follow him going so far to meet again. Instead he is made to listen to what the others have to say, glancing between them and Oscar as the knight dips his head and slowly begins to walk across the room, departing from the group towards the last embers of the Flame. "All this speech of solutions and plans, for what purpose?" he finally asks. "The very last of our plans hast cometh to. My successor is here, and the memory of the Lordsouls is seared into his. He shalt taketh my place and Lordran will continue as it hath always. What part of this confuses thee? Surely, had he not known all of this, he wouldst not be here. What need hath we of yet another scheme destined for failure?"

Priscilla has posed:
    It is at this point that Oscar finally kneels on the opposite side of the fire. "I'm afraid to say, Great Lord, that not even this plan lasted so long. There have been many . . . many, complications of age. Few remember it, and fewer still live. None of the remainder will share all of it. I have done, and will continue to do everything that has to be done. Though I was not told, I was resolved to exchange my life for everything else should it come to it, but there is far more to this now."

    Normally, it would not be in Gwyn's nature to take a mid-ranking human's council so seriously, but knowing full well what he has sentenced this one individual to, and knowing that he has perservered, the once Lord of Sunlight shows due respect for the one who he intended to aspire to be his equal. ". . . what of it then? What of the dragon? And why does it still draw breath? And what of her?" he only barely seems to notice Priscilla. "A Lady? Whence? How? I was told that all knew it for the best. I knoweth mine daughter more responsible than this, no matter her desires. What /is/ it that thou cometh promising? To cometh so far I will hear any and all from thee, save for lies."

Priscilla has posed:
    Unfortunately he seems terminally uninterested in tofu, probably not even recognizing what it is. "Now is no time. A few words without is a blink of an eye compared to what I hath been without already."

Staren has posed:
    "We don't fail." The retort slips out of Staren's lips before he can think through it. He just sort of quietly steps behind the crowd afterwards.

Reiji Arisu has posed:
    The Lord's questions are all undeniably valid. It is only right for him to be confused as to what their intentions here are. As far as he knows, everything is going according to plan. Solaire being Gwyn's son is something apparently taken without too much issue-- Reiji has not known the knight for as long as some of the others; their relationship has been, thus far, strictly professional. Whether he is the child of a god or not is his own business.

After all, for the men and women of Shinra, meeting the child-of-a-god is not such an earthshattering thing.

And so Reiji sticks to business, his tone and diction slipping into a more respectful tone than usual.

    "My apologies," the exorcist begins, bowing his head, "I am Reiji Arisu, an exorcist and... specialist in the movement of natural energies. Lord Gwyn, your solution has done much to buoy your world against the Dark. The Age of Fire has burnt long and bright, but even now dwindles to mere fragments. Though Oscar may again light the fires, the pendulum of this world will shift inevitably, inexorably, towards darkness once more." Reiji straightens somewhat, continuing after calculating through his words, "Moreover, by burning the flame to ash each time the cycle repeats, the world risks falling back into the grey fog."

He turns his eyes to the dwindling flame in the distance, and frowns. "This method is unsustainable, Great Lord. Your solution has saved your world, preserved it for years, but it will eventually result in the loss of both flame and dark. The flame will burn out, and then... Nothing."

"Kalameet, specifically, has returned for something else," he suggests, hands clenching subtly, "He comes because of what we must do to establish this new way."

    "We intend to build a soul-engine using the properties of both Flame and Dark. We aim to create a mechanism that will feed the flame by taking small tithe from every exchange of souls throughout the world," Reiji explains. "The world will be sustained by the interchange of souls, the cycle driven by the ambitions of its people. In order to build this engine, we have collected items of power from across this world."

    "One of these," Reiji inclines his head, "Is an ancient Draconic artifact- a vessel to contain both Flame and Dark. Kalameet, we think, pursues us because of our ambition- and because we're using this.. Ashen Mist Heart."

    Reiji pauses then, his eyes turning again to look into the hollow pits of Gwyn's own. "That, Great Lord, is why we have come. We would be honored if you would assist us in this endeavor- to see your world to a new, more stable future."

Xiaomu (707) has posed:
If Lord Gwyn doesn't want fried tofu, that means more for Xiaomu to snack on.

.... Later. It's rude to be the only one eating when you're talking to somebody, ESPECIALLY someone who is reputedly about as old as the world you're currently on or in. Xiaomu wraps the tofu back up and puts it away with her other emergency rations, sits quietly (!) and listens relatively intently. She hasn't been in Lordran as often as even Reiji, so her contributions are mostly going to consist of genre-savviness, snark, and throwing down when the mobs CAN'T be bypassed.

And Reiji seems pretty well-informed. Maybe she should be paying more attention to helping out in Lordran.

Lezard Valeth has posed:
"You have been without contact for an age, Great King. I am Lezard Valeth, Necromancer of Midgard." Lezard finally speaks, stirring as he steps forward. "Anor Londo lies in ruins, the kingdom of old all but buried in the flow of that which devours all things: Time. Your work had ushered in an Age of Fire, but all fires eventually die. You know this in your very soul, Gwyn. The Age of Flame is nearly spent.Yes, it is true that providing Oscar kindle the Flame would give you a new Age anew... but that is a fickle, tender solution, ever dependant upon holding out to pray for another to carry the torch."

Lezard draws himself up. "However, nor do we wish to condemn the future to an age of Darkness. That also does not serve anyone's purposes but the inscrutable wishes of ancient serpents. We have traveled through life and death, through time and space, and even scoured the very Abyss itself to craft a new path." It is at this point that the Manus Catalyst strikes into the ashen ground as if to punctuate his point.

Lezard raises a hand. "The Age of Fire must end, like all flames. The Age of Dark must never come. But you can choose to stand as the bridge to a new future, not a future of gods and flame, but a future where man chooses their own path, where the struggles and ambition of those you had protected will define the shape of the future. What does not grow falls into decay, and that has never been more apparent than what faces us now. The choice is yours, Lord of Fire. Will you hold fast to your conviction and attempt to force your cycle anew, or will you relinquish your hold on fate and herald the dawning of a new era?"

Emiya Shirou (560) has posed:
    Shirou, as usual, has little role to play with everyone else getting to the juicy bits first. But that's fine with him. He doesn't feel terribly able to contribute in the dramatics department. Instead he answers in his friendly tone, same as earlier, "Emiya Shirou of Fuyuki. Err... sword mage. We've come a long way helipng Oscar and Priscilla bring some hope back to this world... before the Abyss snuffs out what little's left."

    His gaze moves towards Solaire momentarily. Under that helm, how could he possibly have guessed that they're related?! ... Really isn't any way. But this explains some things!

    "I want to save everyone I can. That includes you."

Psyber (253) has posed:
    "Who I am is fairly unimportant, please don't concern yourself with it. What I am is someone who solves problems for a living, and your world has a doozy of a problem. As for why you should speak to me, I dunno. You don't have to, but it's a less painful route for you overall," Psyber comments to Gwyn in a casual, if slightly dismissive tone. He's not beholden to the sun, nor does he particularly see any great reason to treat it with reverence. His hands fall to the pockets of his coat as Reiji begins speaking.

    "He has more or less the right of the plan," Psyber says with a pretty bland tone, "To be honest, I didn't account for the fact you'd still be even remotely lucid, so that's what we're gonna call a humdinger of an oversight," Psyber shrugs a bit and then looks back to Gwyn and then sighs slightly, "But hey? You want the truth without any lies or surrounding phrasing? Fine."

    Psyber shrugs a bit, "The plan is to mix the First Flame with the Dark Soul to create a vector by which hollowing is kept removed from the functionality of the world by tithing souls from the basic strife that exists on such a planet. It's not light, it's not dark, it's optimal really." He tilts his head to the side a bit.

    "He's right about the other thing, too. That your help would be appreciated. That said," Psyber waves around a bit when Lezard speaks and then his hand comes up to rub the back of his head, "Well... it's not really necessary. Appreciated, greatly so, but not something we're going to need or the plan falls apart. And ultimately, your overall fate is secondary to me behind that of Priscilla and Oscar, to whom I am much more inherently inclined towards aiding."

    The half-angel gives him a flat-eyed stare, "I'm not going to threaten you. I'm going to give this to you in the most candid terms possible," He takes a long pause.

    "You are either an ally or an obstacle, and this is the time to determine which you shall be."

Tomoe has posed:
Tomoe is here to protect and well listen. She's recording all she sees so in a way? She's going to keep a record of whatever is going to happent his day. She looks to the giant of a man and wonders for a moment about what he's talking about for half a second now she understands. She gets their alternate plan isn't going to prehaps go over so well. Yet what can they do at this point? they have to press head however.

She does startmoving towards Nathan as sghe makes ready. Others better suited to explain like Reiji are speaking or even Lezard and so she remains the muscle waiting save for one comment she feels she must make.

"I'm am known as Tomoe, I amd simply a sword arm come to do what I can to save whom we are able to in this world from what has befallen it."

Nathan Hall (168) has posed:
    The weird inhuman mentality of both lord and lordling is obvious, and Nathan regards the exchange warily, as if uncertain how it will resolve. Nathan recognizes some validity of his thoughts before. This is a man focused on achieving his objectives. "You want to know who I am. I am Nathan Hall, human librarian. You have a way to restore the First Flame that is guaranteed to function, albeit temporarily, yes. We have a measure as well. We have consulted with every possible source, including the Gravelord and the echoes of the Witch, to ensure it is, at least, not harmful or in any capacity a risk, beyond attracting the attention of a dragon that you would eventually have to deal with anyway. You believe the plan will fail, and I will accept that, and will not attempt to convince you otherwise. Once it fails, Oscar will do what he needs to." Nathan nods sternly to the man, before turning back to Gwyn.

    "The dragon Kalameet continues to draw breath because there has yet to be enough force to stop him. We intend to stop him." Normally Nathan is extremely respectful, but in this one specific situation, he knows that needless ceremony and shows of respect will be utterly pointless. Nobody involved wants it, they just want specific goals achieved. "You and your forces did not destroy the dragon of calamity. If you are correct and our plan will fail, then Oscar may simply enact your plan at the moment of our failure. If our plan does not fail, you will need to finish what you started. You are the Great Lord of Sunlight and you have a duty to your people to remove a threat to them that still persists." He looks to Oscar. "I believe that Oscar does intend to follow your path if it is necessary, and in fact if it is the safest route. He owes it to us to allow one chance to solve this our way, as we have tried before." Yeah, hey Oscar, remember how you completely owe us for that Sen's Fortress incident? "And you owe it to your successor. I do not mind if you think of humans as lesser. That is a debt you must acknowledge." Nathan turns back to Gwyn. "To indulge one single riskless venture to address the failings of your dragonslaying efforts."

    "That is why I will again ask. What defenses does the Kiln have against a dragon, and how do we use them? Kalameet will return, now, or after many ages, no matter what plan we put into action. So you can choose to slay him or you can choose to not slay him." Stick to his guns. Frame this in the core paradigms. Whatever Gwyn's mind is now, it still has to have those core pillars of preserving his world and killing dragons. Nathan is doing his god damndest to make sure this situation is framed as directly as it can be, and make him more likely to take their choice. 'Take this choice to help Lordran and kill dragons.'

Mizuki (183) has posed:
    With Gwyn's final few words, 'another plan doomed to failure', Mizuki bows her head somewhat in what one could only describe as disappointment. Could a so-called God truly be so blind? Is this man really so ignorant of the poetic undertone of his own universe that he does not comprehend that there /is/ no way to avoid failure, no way to make /anything/ truly utopian, or permanent? Were it only that he knew more of her, where she had been, what she had done, and all that she had sacrificed herself in the pursuit of the lofty goal of 'perfection', he would not choose his words so carelessly. As an author who understands the makings of a good climax, fain would she know that this man's conclusion is not enough to pass her muster. This in mind, she responds thusly once she rises her gaze to meet his:

    "Lord Gwyn, surely after you have been here so long, stared into the abyss, contemplated your failures then, I would hope, thought of some things you might've done differently, you must have realized by now that there was nothing - nothing at all - you could have done to break this cycle of yours. Even what we aspire to do is nothing so incredible as the breaking of a cycle, but only the establishment as one more benign. And as a ruler, surely you must recognize this as just another extrapolation of the gradual betterment of society. The flame and the darkness are but metaphors for the human condition. So long as humans remain who and what they are, there will be failure, the night will come, solutions will be 'fruitless'."

    "So I do not ask you to believe in this one," She continues, "so much as I ask you to recognize it as a plan -- a chrysalis. Something that will provide an impetus for further change, and further, and further, so that one day this world, as all others, might have a chance at solving those conundrums that so elude you. It is the task and the privilege of posterity to use their fresher perspectives. All we need from you is belief, one final time, in the possibility of the future. Some might well have thought this world was an impossibility before it was conceived. And though it is but a shade of itself now, it is most certainly reality." After a short pause, she concludes, "Please, Gwyn. As a God; as a ruler; as a fellow flawed, human being. Give your world a chance to advance."

Priscilla has posed:
    That's a lot to take in, even for a god amongst gods. Not only from the ages and ages that have passed him by, and from that which nobody knew or could have predicted when he had originally sealed himself away, but from the possibilities and perspectives afforded by other worlds he's never heard of, and likely never really will. He doesn't need to be told in specific detail to understand this though. It has been far longer than he had ever anticipated. The further one departs from the present, the more difficult it becomes to be sure of anything, and here, at what might be the last few years his world even has, he can be certain of nothing he left behind. That causes a long period of deep, deep silence; one far more intense than the quiet that has settled in this place for hundreds of years, communicating the incredible weight of years that had passed without notice until now. When the once Great Lord replies however, it is not with affirmation, sorrow, or even anger, but with the kind of resignation only found in someone who knows in their heart that something is wrong, but has no choice otherwise.

    Gwyn shakes his head. "It is now far from mine ability to tell thee what can and cannot be done. I am here not because I am wise, but simply because this was all that I couldst do." Trickles of fine dust sift out of the folds of his tarnished clothes as he shifts in place. "However, whether this bringeth salvation to humanity or not, whether the dragon can be defeated or not, and whether the Dark can be stayed or not, I must face an inescapable truth." Slowly, with bone-aching weariness, the Lord stands, shakily regaining his withered legs beneath him, the ash crunching quietly under his feet. "Whatever thou wouldst do with mine . . . with this world, it will be no longer what I gave mine life to shelter. What I didst build with mine own hands over centuries. Think what thou wilst, but humanity is the progeny of another. As a king, and as a Lord, mine responsibility is first to mine own children. This way that thou presenteth, even should it keep the sun I created in the sky, it cannot promise mine descendents their future, and that is . . . something I simply cannot resign to."

    Gwyn reaches for his gargantuan sword, clearly too large for his gaunt and shrivelled figure, and yet, somehow, still manages to lift it, hanging at his side as he steps before the Flame. ". . . that is it then. I shalt maketh no efforts to spite thee. Shouldst thou prevail, I pass everything to mine only child who hast claimed responsibility enough to see the truth. He shalt inherit command of this sorry Kiln, and do whatever thou seest fit. I am not long for this world one way or another."

    The embers of the First Flame gutter briefly as if in an unseen wind. Amongst the ashes coating the ground, dull, burning cinders smoulder to life. The dark is cast wide open by the angry glare of a wave of fire rushing over the colossal blade, igniting with the very last dregs of the once-supreme god's power.

Xiaomu (707) has posed:
"See, Reiji," Xiaomu remarks as King Gwyn starts transforming into BOSS BATTLE MODE (and as Xiaomu gets back to her feet), "this is why we let Priscilla summon us astrally, we'll actually survive if the god-monster kills us harder than we can survive."

Snarkery aside, the sage fox is considering the tactical situation. The sword is very obviously fire-elemental, which suggests that the rest of the god-turned-monster is ALSO fire-elemental (which would go with the whole 'First Flame' thing, right?). On the other hand, given the sheer freaking size of that blade, she's in NO hurry to close in for melee combat. Fortunately, a friend of hers provided her recently with a viable alternative - and while Xiaomu's keeping a firm grip on her monk staff again with her left hand, her right hand reaches into her vest to draw a handgun.

It's not Platinum or Silver, but a black handgun, the white spot on its handle covered by Xiaomu's hand; she levels it at Gwyn and starts shooting, icy blasts enshrouding the bullets.

She's also running. You don't live to be 765 years old by being a sitting duck!

Kimiko Shinobu (570) has posed:
    Throughout the speeches, Kimiko makes no motion, neither to affirm, nor to beseech, nor even to show respect. She stands guard, ready and vigilant, neither knowing nor caring whether her specific abilities will become necessary. If they are, she will act. If not, it is good.

    Gwyn speaks, and she raises her shield with both hands--the same she used to withstand the blows of Gwyn's knights on the path to this heart of the kiln. Now, she does speak, as a courtesy, and to assauge the guilt of what she will no longer hesitate to do.

    Her voice is calmly somber. "Though we bear no malice for each other, you now oppose those in whom I have placed my trust. For this, fall."

    Kimiko's hand reaches to the sabre at her side, a thin and piercing weapon, but the motion is purely misdirection for that barest of moment before she charges. With the weight of her armor, the acceleration is only possible for the magic fueling it, flashing bright circles into briefest existence at her feet, to spin their Germanic script and disappear as she flies forward. At the moment she expects to impact, both her hands are on her great shield, to strike her full weight against the lord of sunlight.

    
Whether she succeeds or fails, she backsteps immediately, as much to let others have their opening as to avoid retaliation.

Psyber (253) has posed:
    "You know, it vexes me that we've reached this point, but I understand your perspective here. Your viewpoint about life's work and the whole deal," Psyber admits as he stretches slightly and takes out his fetch modus. He flips through a couple pages and then draws one out, ripping it from the book and holding it in front of him.

    It immediately turns into a massive hammer. However, instead of charging into the fray like he'd normally want to, Psyber instead hangs back and moves between Nathan and Gwyn, gripping the huge weapon in both hands as he keeps an eye on Gwyn and the huge sword that he's wielding. The weapon collector in Psyber lets his eyes slowly squint a bit and formulate something.

    He doesn't act on the internal plan quite yet, instead falling back towards covering Nathan while the Librarian will undoubtedly try to find a safe place.

Tomoe has posed:
Tomoe is being polite and she's waiting. She waits guessing he's got a lot to think about and it seems it was correct. She listens to his words and ponders them. She's got an idea of where it is going to be going. She starts to make ready he wants to defect the world as he's made it. She can see it he was a creator was he not? She does hear his promise not to spite them if they do overcome him. She nods once to the god once he makes his intent clear.

She draws drawn breaker off her back and summons the mourning wall. She takes a moment to chant a brief spell to cause her sword to burst into blazing white flames, it seems she's making use of some light magic of her own as she heads right at the god, to what? Tank him? Wait she's going to tank a god? Even one in his final hours? This is no mean thing and somewhere her real form is cringing a bit much as her avatar is. She'll fly in close trying to strike rapidly with her blade and keep his attention upon her.

Mizuki (183) has posed:
    So this is his answer. Just as she had thought, the captain will go down with his ship. The God will be sealed with his world.

    It is pride. It is a measure of arrogance. It is all these things combined with unfathomable humility, something she knows all too well. Were she in his position, she knows she would do the same.

    Her blade levels at her eyes, now. "Such is the burden of Gods, Gwyn. You fought for an ideal, you lived for an ideal, and you shall now die for that ideal. This end was predestined the moment the first dragon fell to the grounds of the mists. You knew this even then, but know that I - we - take no joy in the necessity of this act." Her eyes reopen. "We will prevail. You will fall. So brightly did your flame burn, and so, nobly, it will fade to darkness." With a final deep breath and pause, she finalizes: "In these final moments of your life, contemplate what you have done. What went well, what went wrong; what you would have done differently. Remember the cruelty that Priscilla faced when you could have aided her. Remember the pain and loss felt by a mourning world who would never have known to despair if they had never seen the light of day. But then also remember your family. Remember love, remember the families that were, the grandeur so encapsulated in Anor Londo's expanse. Remember all of this, Gwyn, and breathe deeply these last few gasps of air, for they shall be the last traces of this world - your world - to which you will ever be privy."

    "Allow this narrative to be your epitaph, Gwyn, and see how brightly burns the torch - then the brazier - which your daughter inherits." Her legs separate, coming to a proper fighting stance. She points the blade toward Gwyn. She takes a final breath, tongue curled to the roof of her palette as if in meditation.

    "En garde."

    In that moment, she vanishes. As a ghost and if so native to this world, there is no trace of her; no trace until she inevitably appears at his side, trying a quick swipe at his side, then his leg. Given that she isn't knocked to the ground by a sweep of the lord's sword, she would reappear to do the same at his opposite side, then behind him, ceasing only at the very end to aim her shield in his direction. Then, if he does indeed strike her shield, she will send a blast of energy toward him in the hope that it will knock him off balance long enough to give another of their number an opening.

    At some instant forsaken to all memory but Mizuki's own, she would sneak a glance at her own image in Aelinos' steel. How fitting a name for such a blade -- this dance is surely the closest thing to a dirge which this man will ever receive. Once so revered, now so alone: and so it is that even Gods know to all the world may one day die,

    nameless.

Emiya Shirou (560) has posed:
    No way. This ancient God wants to go out in a blaze of glory?

    Shirou feels a pang of the futility of it all. What does Gwyn hope to accomplish?! if he wins there's no victory in it for him. If he loses...

    SHirou just balks at the thoughts.

    Gwyn... cannot be saved. To have given his very soul to the fire in hopes of keeping the Age of Fire going and for it to end like this...

    Shirou grits his teeth.

    What's the POINT of it?

    He'll never understand actions of this nature.

    "If anything at all could be done for the world you've given everything to protect as it was, hasn't it already been? You wouldn't be here if there was any other options. Your descendants would probably rather you were around with them than gone forever. What good is dying for nothing?! You've already given everything you could!" Shirou's ANGRY at Gwyn now.

    "Trace, on!" Shirou pumps as much magical energy through his muscles, skin, and bones as she safely can. Reinforcement has gotten much, much easier with a year of practice with the availability of proper medical care when he screws up! Thus, he easily leaps away from Gwyn and the front line of fire. Kanshou and Bakuya are copied and projected from his inner world in no time at all.

Reiji Arisu has posed:
Somehow, he know that it needed to be this way.

    In a land far away and across the sea, lost now in the mists of time, there lived a great civilization who believed that each world was marked by the rising of a different sun. In their belief, they lived in the days of the Fifth Sun. In their belief, their sun was perpetuated by the blood of the people- should their sacrifices ever cease, their sun would go dark and the world would be cast into chaos. At least, until a new sun arose.

    Reiji Arisu is not overly familiar with these stories. He has heard them in passing from visiting mystics from that ancient land. His own people believe another legend: that, once, the sun's brother so distressed her that she hid herself in a cave and cast the world into darkness. It was only when she was lured from it that light was again restored to the people.

And to think, today, he will need to kill a sun with his own hands.

    "He's not a monster," the exorcist replies to his partner. His hands drop toward his sheathed blades, hovering stark still over his weaponry. "An old spirit who sacrificed himself for his world and his children. There's nothing monstrous about him now."

    "Lord Gwyn," Reiji murmurs, slowly making his way towards the ashen god. His eyes watch keenly, as if he were waiting for the elder spirit to move. "We know of humanity's origins. We saw that beast with our own eyes, and found an aspect of it reflected in our own souls. We slew it, ending its suffering."

    "We don't do that here. Here, we still fight a man, not a beast!" His voice rises, suddenly, "Come on, Lord of Light! Show us everything you've got! Every ounce of strength you still have!" A tremendous plume of flame erupts from Karin's sheath. Reiji has chosen his first blade, darting ahead with a burst of speed to cleave the burning sword into the Great Lord's torso. Does he intend on fighting head-on!? "Burn brightest now, so that none here can forget the great soul that forged this land!"

"I, Reiji Arisu, and all those arrayed here today, will be your opponents!"

Lezard Valeth has posed:
Lezard remains still and silent as Gwyn makes his choice. When he takes up his blade, Lezard reaches up, pushing up his glasses as they gleam in the dim light of the guttering Flame. "So be it. I could expect nothing less."

It is at this point that Lezard raises the Manus Catalyst, and there is a great surge of Dark about him, a roaring wave that coalesces into five spheres that surround him, tiny beady eyes looking out upon the near-Hollow form of Gwyn with hungry, unblinking lights.

A moment later, Lezard leaps backwards, a barrage of black spheres raining down upon Gwyn's location without mercy or respite, the terrible, heavy power blasting out in shotgun-like waves of annihilating Abyssal force.

"Even in death, you shall serve our Great Purpose. We never needed your permission... Only your soul!"

Nathan Hall (168) has posed:
    Sometimes combat that follows diplomacy is a breakdown and a failure of the former. In this case, though, Nathan doesn't feel like it was. He didn't exactly get what he wanted, but he did get something. Solaire, it seems, will now get command of the Kiln. If he, and if the rest of them, can survive... Gwyn at a hundredth of his power is still a dangerous enemy. As he ignites his power, Nathan crosses his arms, his body beginning to coat with the icy plate armor of his bracer's magic.

    "I understand." He says, nodding firmly through the heat of the blade's ignition. "It is your right to choose this way. The world will continue to turn, even if it is not the one you built, and as long as you respect that it must stay lit somehow, you have a right to test its heat." He takes several steps back before the others begin their combat efforts; he'd like to get Psyber between him and Gwyn here. He is, in fact, incredibly worried about being cut in half by that giant sword, because he's pretty sure that even if Gwyn's at a hundredth of his power, the old god can still take him out if he gets one solid hit.

    He moves in behind Psyber, heading for the outer edges of the central chamber, nearer the entrance tunnel, first with calm steps and then with a swift jog. For now, he sticks to a support role. He decides to LOOK INTO THE SUN, so to speak; he activates his [SCAN] ability, glasses glowing with a brilliant white and yellow glare from the flames that obfuscates his eyes. He'll immediately shout out whatever data he can get through what he presumes will be brilliant metaphysical light.

Staren has posed:
    People do the talky thing. It... sort of works? Lord Gwyn /claims/ he'll help them if he wins, but who knows if he's lying? "If you're telling the truth, I guess I can respect that... but we still have to take you down. There's nothing more to say, then..." Staren takes a fighting stance, looking as if he's planning to use the rifle in his hands... But instead, the minimissile racks on his shoulders pop up and fire a half-dozen homing missiles that explode in great superheated fireballs.

    Staren doesn't think any of his weapons can do more damage than the fires of creation. But he's got to try /something/, right??

Priscilla has posed:
    If one really wants to see it, they could perceive, by the movement of that voluminous beard in the currents of the firedraft, something almost close to a smile; humourless, perhaps, but there all the same, even if only for a moment.

    The salvo of bullets quickdrawn from Xiaomu's enchanted autoloader are the swiftest to find him, and the first to mark the fact that the former Lord of Sunlight, is so incredibly far on his last legs. Where the shots impact, there is no trace of blood, but a scattering of burning cinders shed from his greyed flesh like the edge of a burning parchment. Though it seems elemental alignment means nothing in this particular world, the slugs alone are enough to break that brittle form. When Kimiko slams into him, it further elucidates the fact that charred body can no longer feel pain, as the giant of a man backslides a full two meters with an unnerving crunch without wavering, driving twin divots through the white dust beneath his feet. Mizuki phases into existence at his flank, her sword biting into his gaunt limbs one after the other, flicking away burning sparks in place of vital fluids, and Tomoe and Shirou follow after, but it seems those first few blows are all that Gwyn will concede before the metaphorical warrior's blood awakens.

    he next few seconds happen in a chaotic blurr of motion. Halfway through the combined flurry of sword blows throw at him from opposite angles, the Great Lord's sword arm twitches, and then flies up with ridiculous speed, first intercepting Mizuki's in humanly deft fencing with a blade taller and heavier than she is, and then using its sheer mass to hurl her like a stone from a sling at the far wall as he swings from that position, scything around a full half circle to interrupt Tomoe in the blink of an eye and smash her shield with an explosion of moving steel and flame, three times in the blink of an eye. He leaps over her completely, twisting once in midair before catching Kimiko as she hops away, bringing the point down at her feet where the ground detonates in a cataclysm of primordial fire, kicking up a choking haze of ash and vapourized metal that momentarily obscures his position, before he cuts across the ground between him and Shirou near-instantly with a lunging thrust that seems to slide through the air, delivering the force of a speeding train.

    Lezard using the native form of magic that is the god's antithesis in life, and the polar opposite of what empowers him now, has a predictably severe effect, catching him straight in the middle of the melee and blowing out great gouts of smouldering tatters from his form, shredding cloth and flesh alike in ephemeral, disintegrating pyre streams. This of course, also means he immediately draws more attention than he should, because the next instant, Gwyn is upon him, lunging through the air like a diving falcon and crashing into him like a meteor, heedless to the missiles that detonate straight in his path, and in fact, attempting to kick the sorceror under them.

    Oscar charges headlong through the smoke, completely fearless and without hesitation even in the unbelievable circumstances arrayed before him, swinging down on the arm Gwyn uses to rapidly intercept him, and then physically smack him away, sending the knight bodily flying through the air, only to be caught by Solaire, drawing his own sword with a rasping finality, and pushing his fellow warrior forward to join him. Nathan, left alone for the moment by virtue of momentary inoffensiveness alongside Reiji, is privy to some good and some bad. The good news is that the force Gwyn is utilizing is actually too much for his physical form to handle, and will slowly tear himself to burning tatters no matter what. The bad news is that, aside from weakness to native Dark, he appears to have no significant openings or shortcomings whatsoever, posessing relatively even defenses against most forms of attack, anxiety-inducingly high raw stats, and flat out near-immunity to anything aligned with fire, light, divinity or lightning.

Xiaomu (707) has posed:
"Technical terminology," Xiaomu retorts to Reiji - but mostly because she's the expert on games, and this has all the earmarks of an event boss encounter. Granted, 'monster' IS kind of overstating the scenario ... so she's not going to argue too much about the correction.

Still going to be a heck of a boss battle, particularly with the list of resistances that Nathan tallies up on their radio channel. As if to underscore that point, the Roc's Icebrand clicks on an empty chamber, and with a grumble, the sage fox re-holsters it. She can swap her other handguns to anti-spirit rounds and they *should* be effective; for the moment, though, she gauges Gwyn's patterns and -

Charges. Straight at him.

She swings her staff to parry a swing of the blade; she's probably going to lose the contest of strength, so she doesn't waste any time. Suiren's blade is drawn forth, mist trailing behind the sword as Xiaomu calls on the sword's ice-elemental enchantment, and she attempts to quick slashes - one to Gwyn's sword arm, the other to his torso - before dashing away once again.

Hopefully that helps make some openings for her allies to capitalize on, even if Reiji claims he doesn't NEED openings to work with.

Psyber (253) has posed:
    "Stay here," Psyber says to Nathan firmly, swinging the hammer up and across his shoulders.

    And then he charges in towards Gwyn, moving at a blurring speed as his supernatural attributes kick in to allow him to jet forward in a blinding flash. Attuned to the massive hammer, it weighs nearly nothing to him, but is immensely heavy to all others, and he intends to use that to his advantage. The half-angel uses the unslaught of people attacking Gwyn himself as a feint for Psyber's actual targetted attack.

    Coming in towards Gwyn, Psyber plants his feet firmly on the ground and pivots his entire body. There's a 'WHOOSH' of power as the jet on the back of Erinyes kicks on, causing the wind to whip around the weapon and Psyber's body as the attack comes in like a freight train.

    The thing is, Psyber isn't aiming for Gwyn himself. Instead, all the crushing force of the jet-powered hammer is coming in on that sword he's wielding. Taking Nathan's advice seriously, Psyber is trying to outright break Gwyn's sword.

Emiya Shirou (560) has posed:
    WHOAH! It's only due to the fact that Shirou's been training so hard that he survives the onslaught Gwyn unleashes on him. He moves just slightly to leave an obvious opening...then at the last moment cross-thrusts with Kanshou and Bakuya at the very tip of Gwyn's great sword! Sparks fly and projected steel sizzles and glows red-hot. Flesh is seared and pierced instantly! But... there's a strange CLANG when Gwyn's greatsword slams into Shirou's side. It's a flesh wound, but the sheer FORCE...

    The FORCE of it knocks the breath out of Shirou. His weapons simultaneously break, and his body's picked up and hurled like a ragdoll across the ash-covered ground. BAM!

    When he strikes a cloud of ash's thrown everywhere.. but the bleeding young man somehow manages to stumble to his feet instead of getting knocked down instantly.

    Every ounce of human will he has is in use to keep him on his feet, because that ONE BLOW has put him on the brink.

    He can't get up close. Simply can't.

    "My body is made of swords." The boy chants firmly. Magic Circuits that hadn't been at full power before thrum to life, and bolts of prana flare from his outstretched hand to strike the air. Where they pass... blades hover that weren't there before.

    HRUNTING, CLARENT, GAE BOLG, THANATOS, ZANTETSUKEN, Priscilla's weapons, the blades of the Four Kings, and Souji's Murasame all fly like missiles at Gwyn moments later!

Reiji Arisu has posed:
    Gwyn still has life in him yet. His arms still swing that great blade of his with alacrity beyond his tattered form. How was he when he still fought with full strength? This is, after all, the one who forged the Dragonslayers. How many could Gwyn fight with his full might? But that ancient god is lost now. All that's left are his cinders, burning through their last ounce of fuel before finally giving way to decay.

But isn't it said that, sometimes, just as a thing falls to pieces, it unleashes its last flash of great power...?

    Fortunately, Reiji is nowhere near Gwyn when he launches his initial counterattack. It's only afterwards that he bolts in to strike at the ashen god. Karin's flames whirl around the exorcist as he strikes, but just as quickly slides it back into its sheath as he lunges back away.

    The old one is still mighty indeed. Flame no longer seems to harm him save that which consumes him from within. His body, broken and decayed though it may be, still has the strength to endure the powers arrayed against him. His one blade turns away three more in a single swing.

But still, he is dying. Reiji can see it, the old god wasting away on his feet.

He may leave few openings, but death needs none.

    Reiji's hand shifts, his stance lowers, mind's eye focusing on the flow of his impending blow. He takes in a breath of burning, ash-choked air and allows his vision to blur, save for his target and the way he must move.

In that moment, there is only he and his opponent. His path, his blade.

    Reiji moves. In that instant, making no sound, Kuroshio- Darkdrift- is drawn from its sheath. No light flashes against its invisible face, no air whistles around its intangible edge. Reiji's kiai is less a roar and more a hissed intake of breath. He swings, tracing his blade's path through arm and shoulder and torso and spine and hip, following through in his rushing strike to emerge on the other side.

Death needs no opening.

Staren has posed:
    Yeah, as Staren sees this guy's fire affinity, he decides the plasma missiles were probably not a good idea. Especially with some folks /engaging the god in melee/.

    Staren himself is, for the moment, left alone. He looks from Gwyn to his hands. "You're no friend or protector of humans, huh?" He mutters. "In fact, right now you're actively fighting for their extermination..." Staren looks back at Gwyn. The missile racks close. He shoulders his rifle, then reaches into his bag, drawing out a massive, chrome-plated revolver with a triple-M monogram. Made by a man with knowledge taken from dark spirits, to slay the terrifying monsters that prey on the people of his homeworld. A man who's since become a god. How will all that interact here? Staren has /no/ clue. But he can hope that it might do /something/!

    Staren levels the Annihilator at Lord Gwyn, tracking him, looking for any moment the god stops moving, or leaps through the air, and fires. Two high-caliber bullets fire from the chamber with each shot, one behind the other, empowered by mad science.

Tomoe has posed:
Tomoe sees the battle has been starts ans she's able to get in a few blows but it's not that effective she's not too shocked, but she does manage to interrupt him. She's then force to bring up the mourning wall to take the force of the hit which is so hard it causes damage to the shield. Oddly it doesn't pixilate at all or deform like when Tomoe takes actual major injuries. Could it be a non construct? It might just well be so, given the time she had at Arthur's place. IT could be a real version of her weapon from SAO. For now she's struck and flames exploding about form the impact. She holes but it's clearly hold but it' clearly done quite a bit to her. She knows her job is to make the god focus on her over the others, which is what she's trying to do and she launches into an inhumanly fast rapid combo of sword strikes and shield slams on the god, even as Shirou's whose who of legendary swords fly by her nearly connecting with her.

Lezard Valeth has posed:
The battle is joined and Lezard finds that of the assembled forces... almost no one present actually prepared. Is it truly so surprising that such a man would need to be brought down not by the powers of Light, but Darkness?

As satisfying as it is, Gwyn's deadly charge is a major problem. He tries to block the first strike with the Manus Catalyst, and there is a flare of Flame and Dark as it billows out past the pair. However, Gwyn is far better at melee combat than Lezard, and the followup kick sends Lezard sprawling to the ashen ground. He throws up clouds of ash as the blade comes down, cleaving into him and dealing terrible damage to his phantom form. There is a hollow scream of pain, distorted across time and space as Lezard forces himself back to his fees. With a few quick bolts, Lezard staggers over the ashen mounds, trying to gain Gwyn's attention again... but instead of standing against him, he turns and hurls himself past the mass of heroes, tumbling to try to gain some distance and let them take his assault. Once he has gained blockers, he can resume his assauly without immediately being cloven in half.

Kimiko Shinobu (570) has posed:
    Kimiko's eyes are wide beneath her helm, taking in the sight in instant detail, even after Gwyn blurs. She catches only snapshots thereafter, analyzing by instinct, as much of her knowledge of swordplay is still too deeply planted in her for her to examine it consciously. That the king no longer feels pain, she understands first, and it tells her how this fight must end. There will be--can be--no surrender, for one who is willing to fight in such a manner. She is intimately familiar with the tactic.

    Her caution just avoids her getting taken by the downward swing, but the ground beneath her is struck. She hisses, the pain still bearable for the moment, muted as it is by the everpresent distance between her self and body. She's blown back, but keeps her feet on landing, though she drops her shield. Her gauntlets disattach on their own, taking the heat with them before they can continue to burn through to her hands. Her defenses were never the greatest against fire.

    Quick judgment: Too fast for heavy swings, too resistant for light swings. All that remains is to swing such that he cannot, or will not, avoid it.

    Kimiko's hands ache. Gwyn feels no pain. She can use this.

    The blade that appears in the Puella Magi's hands would be absurd in its proportions on a grown man, and is more so with her. This is well within her capability, but it's the prediction that will be difficult, on which she must momentarily rely on the one figure in this group wielding the antithesis of the Lord of Sunlight, and the most able to attract that god's attention. She moves her arms before Gwyn turns, preparing herself for where she can only assume he will be.

    The blade is more than twice too long for her to swing it upward from a standing position, and when she does swing it, it seems to lengthen, still, mass actually increasing. It carves not only a huge arc surrounding her, but across her path, as she again launches forwards and makes a single, horizontal slash her feet only planting themselves when she knows she'll feel the impact, there to cut apart the kiln's lord. No thought is spared for uncertainty or failure, only to carry through with her full strength.

    Once, twice, three times--that is the limit for how many times she can swing this weapon in a breath's space. If only she can find her target.

Mizuki (183) has posed:
    Brute strength has ever been at odds with Mizuki's frail brand of 'deft' swordsmanship, as it were, but it's quite a different affair when her opponent is not only strong, but also quite observant themselves. Gwyn is, for all his obvious strength, still quite an old man: he's lost a good bit of what swiftness he likely had in years past and traded it for a sort of wizened precision, and strength. This combination is more than enough to catch Mizuki off-guard when she comes in for her first pass of strikes, and before she knows it, she's flying toward one of the decaying columns of the kiln.

    Never one to fail in games of reaction time herself, however, her wings unfurl the moment Gwyn acts. Her outstretched feathers act against her inertia in much the same way as a parachute, meaning that her legs do not break when her feet collide with the wall -- though the wall itself may well be less fortunate. For a moment, she rides the force of gravity to quite literally stand on said wall before pausing it in time, keeping it from crumbling any further to the ground. In the split-second, she propels herself again off from it, launching herself like a human rocket in Gwyn's direction.

    Along the way, she goes through one of her speeding fields -- just enough to give her the inertia to do real damage. It may seem strange, then, when she swerves off course entirely, throwing her shield out at her side. On its way toward Gwyn's face, it looses two bursts of a brilliant, cyan light, each slice heading for one of his arms. She stakes her sword into the ground to break her speed somewhat once she lands, at which point she promptly begins concentrating on... something. Her eyes close and she remains perfectly still a moment, as though she were meditating in earnest. A field of distortion not unlike that one would see wafting off an air tinged with gasoline begins to appear and expand around her, and within it, small motes of light begin to fly around her. In the final instants of this scene, one may resolve into the form of a tiny emperor butterfly.

    Oh, and she sees that smile. She reciprocates it in this moment of quiet as well. Were it only that she had more words! ... but alas, all hers for this night are spent.

    A pity. So much she wanted to ask, so much she wanted to know, to see... to hear...

Nathan Hall (168) has posed:
    Nathan tracks Gwyn's movements. The old man is outrageously fast, far faster than he should be. He's fast enough that it'll be tough to track him for the fighters, but hopefully not too tough for Nathan to track as an external observer. "Right." He says, nodding firmly to Psyber, before adjusting his glasses and focusing. He has to provide help to the others, but unlike before, with the diplomatic efforts, he can't provide much meaningful assistance here. He briefly considers bringing out his Eidolons, but... Damn it! This guy has a ton of resistance against fire, and all Nathan's Eidolons are fire or earth aligned.

    The most he can do is provide some forewarning. He calls out information, trying to give his allies some assistance in predicting each leap, charge, and swipe. Assuming his BATTLEFIELD AWARENESS works out properly, he'll hopefully be able to give people some early warning about the attacks Gwyn uses next, but it won't be much. Despite his issues with Lezard, he focuses orders on seeing if he can get the melee attackers between Gwyn and Lezard, and keep Lezard's flanks covered. The fact that Lezard has the closest thing to a native weakness that they can get here is noted, albeit resentfully, and Nathan intends to exploit that for all its worth.

Priscilla has posed:
    Still on the lead offensive, Xiaomu's own sword slips swiftly into the sizeable inner reach of Gwyn's inarguably oversized weapon, ripping across his chest and dominant arm in a one-two pair of sweeps that encounter nothing even close to armour, sending off rapidly cooling embers from the bloodless gouges. Thinking she can hit and run with impunity is a mistake however, as Gwyn responds with total immediacy, bursting forward as she dashes back and catching her well before she can retreat to safety, the point of his sword sweeping up an arc of ashes as it tails over the floor and then uppercuts her with a similar experience to being hit with a heavy artillery shell at point blank. This has the immediate benefit of freeing Lezard from his attention for the moment, but little else good can come from it.

    No sooner has he surged forward than he abruptly stops and pivots in an explosion of dust, turning to face the onslaught of summoned phantasms head on, and much like something that has happened long ago in Shirou's world, parry each one in rapid succession with his own legendary weapon. The tower echoes with the clang, screech and shatter of hypersonic steel being turned into sprays of fragments that blossom over him and rip through his dessicated form, but fail to score a killing blow for all their force and accuracy, not quite matching up to the real thing.

    Though the plasma missiles have left their mark, visible in the scoring along his chest, the Annihilator fares better, blasting a double pothole large enough to instantly kill a human through the old god's stomach, but more out of mechanical force than conceptual weight. Staren pitting his faith in Morg against Gwyn is somewhat misplaced, having been the being to conceptually define 'divinity' in this world, and who now resides at the heart of all creation. A foreign god's influence, unconventional as it may be, holds no significant sway here when wielded by someone so far from a saint or fanatic.

    He replies to the two in an instant, too seasoned to allow himself to be whittled down at long range while tied up with more durable foes. Even with his limbs being steadily torn up, his mobility is still so immense that it is inevitable that he should catch them, appearing in arm's reach like an inexorable, relentless phantom. First to Shirou, whom he physically kicks in the chest and follows up with an insurance blow that should bisect twenty normal men, and then to Staren, whom he assaults with a relentless fusillade of blows, one after the other delivered with unflagging strength and dizzying speed. The sheer forcethat falls on Staren's shields and armour over and over again is alone enough to be overwhelmingly disorienting, and the Lord seems fully intent to simply keep overpowering him until his defenses collapse.

    The dual party tanks, as is their duty, merficully pull him off before the heat starts cooking the inside of that suit, Tomoe's shield bash connecting with the back of his head and, incredibly, pushing him off balance, where the first of Kimiko's gargantuan swings catches the flat of his own sword and throws him back, and the last of which sinks in all the way to the bone, bleeding a flickering river of dying flames. Despite how deeply it cuts all the way down to the only thing of real substance left in him, Gwyn refuses to go down just yet. He plants his blade deep into the stone to halt the remaining momentum of Kimiko's swing, reaches out to backfist Tomoe like a tank firing with his free hand, and then plants his palm against the flat of the giant sword the puella magi wields, instantly causing it to critically overheat as a wave of consuming flame flashes along its length like a match thrown into a gas trail, ready to explode in much the same fashion when they reach the end.

Priscilla has posed:
    Mizuki almost manages to blindside him a second time. The possibly nameless sword comes up in time to cleave straight through one of the fragile but deadly rings of moonlight, but their shape allows the second to slip past and explode against his left arm, rending halfway through it in a single flash of pallid light. It seems she too is about to earn a much more vicious reprisal than her comparable swat on the wrist from earlier, but Reiji, having escaped notice before, finally achieves a true element of surprise, edging out the number of simultaneous opponents the seasoned warrior can keep track of. Darkdrift passes over and through the body of its creator's former ally, having an extremely curious effect. The Gravelord was ever closest to the conceptual Dark that so opposes everything Gwyn stands for, but at the same time, the Lord of Cinder has been burned far beyond recognition of what might even be considered 'alive'. The blade phases through as it should, but intersects in strange and uneven ways with its target, producing an erratic, if impressive, razor edged spray of sparks and bits of grey charchoal, rendering a joint practically useless while touching nothing in front of it.

    The two knights are emboldened by their opening, here for completely different reasons and from opposite ends of the world, but momentarily united in a single, forward purpose. The two sprint forward, circling from opposite ends, where Solaire somehow manages to stand down his father in a brief exchange of brightly flashing blows using that, now far less conspicuous, prowess, and Oscar dives in just as he would be overwhelmed, shunting a downward chop away with a furious intersection of his shield and laying about at the inside of his opponent's arm with enchanted Astoran steel.

    What finally delivers the tide changer is when Psyber dives in just past them, coming in too fast, too hard, and amidst too many people to effectively counter. For an instant, both Erinyes and his arms are engulfed in the ensuing flames of impact, before something gives way and the swing follows through. The sword itself, forged by a god who chose to create metal rather than life, survived by aeons of war with those outside of time, lands point down thirty meters away. It is Gwyn's wrist that has broken, taken with one of his fingers. That leaves his only response then, after a brief moment of surprise, to try and snatch hold of the half-angel's dominant arm and return the favour by transferring the flames no longer feeding his weapon into his opponent's flesh.

Psyber (253) has posed:
    Psyber lets out a scream of pain as his dominant arm is grabbed. The hammer falls from his hands, clattering to the ground at his feet before vanishing in a flash of silver and blue, shifting back into his Sylladex as the flames run up and down his arms. He grits his teeth, right arm dvery definitively held in Gwyn's grasp.

    The arm begins to blacken and char, the flames spreading up and beginning to consume the limb, eating away and damaging at him in a slow and creeping fashion. It looks immensely painful and the smell of smouldering, scorching, blackening flesh is tangible even through his spiritual nature.

    "Do you know what the difference... between you and me is... Gwyn?" Psyber asks through gritted teeth as the blackened flesh spreads up the blue spirit, passing his elbow gradually while the flames consume his flesh, "Can't really... think of an end to that speech... really. Lost the train of thought..." His mind blanks out from the searing pain.

    It's lucky it's a phantom version of Psyber, because he's probably have done his next action even if it was his real body. Digging his feet into the ground, Psyber grunts, "By the way... ambi... dextrous..."

    There's a flash of steel and thunder as Psyber's sword is in his left hand, slicing upwards to sever the arm away from the spirit just below the shoulder and let him jump-slide away, pulling back from Gwyn so other people can deliver their finishers.

    His eyes dart to the sword stuck in the ground, and when he can push himself to his feet, he starts to dash his way towards it in case Gwyn still doesn't fall down.

Xiaomu (707) has posed:
This is why Xiaomu is not usually on the 'party tank' position; she gets hit hard and goes flying, crashing to the ground a few dozen meters further away than where she was at the moment of impact.

And she's still holding tightly onto Suiren. Both parts.

That's useful. The sage fox re-sheathes Suiren's blade, 'reassembling' her staff, then jabs the butt of her staff into the ground and uses the staff's support to climb back to her feet ... *literally* climbing, in fact, hand-over-hand while trying to keep the staff and herself from toppling over. At least Gwyn is a target she literally doesn't need to see in order to target.

"Xiaomu Waaaaaave!!!"

And as soon as her feet and legs are basically underneath her, Xiaomu's right hand releases its grip on the staf, instead pointing her palm at Lord Gwyn and initiating her 'sealing' spell, trying to hold Lord Gwyn in place for her allies to max out the DPS. ESPECIALLY her partner, whom she heard reciting a familiar invocation just now on the radio.

Mizuki (183) has posed:
    For the longest time, Mizuki does not move; either she was incredibly lucky to have chosen this time as one where she could meditate undisturbed, or she had planned this very well in advance. Whatever the case, the area of distortion already forming a sphere around her progresses ever further as the group lands each successive blow, and by the time Psyber has come in, that sphere has grown to encompass a third of the Kiln's whole diameter. All those present would likely start to see the world shimmer, warble -- the very ground upon which they walk would become unsteady, as if wrought of some sort of ever-shifting clay, yet each of them would nevertheless fight and move with the same dexterity as ever, as if controlled by instinct. In a word, whatever this is seems to have no tangible effect nor martial benefit: it simply is.

    The more the world shifts, though, the more the changes Mizuki intends to usher forth become apparent. In that instant, if her influence is strong enough, Gwyn - and any others of their number who might give themselves over to the illusion - would no longer be inside of the Kiln at all. At once, they are outside: they are at the balcony across from the palace of Anor Londo, where each of them might glimpse out of the corners of their eyes the radiant sun. Priscilla might even recall this visual as the selfsame vista which she had seen in her personal 'heaven', in a world where Anor Londo was still at the height of its beauty, and she, the beloved princess of a kingdom. This image glows clearer and more crisp as the moments tick by, the sun gleaming ever brighter as if insisting, even imploring Gwyn to look toward it, to see it one last time.

    Mizuki did not want this dreary, ash-ridden landscape to be the last thing that Gwyn saw. As always, she can see that her compatriots have this fight well in hand, so she has done what little else she is capable of: she has conjured an image that she hopes will soothe Gwyn in these final moments. She contributes all of the energy she might have had left for combat to maintain this illusion, such that it will look, /feel/ as though the lot of them are in the capital of the sun. And if she is truly so successful, Gwyn and the others might even feel the warmth of that sun on their cheeks, and the Lord himself could feel, in that instant, alive.

    As the image wears on, Mizuki eventually slumps down on to one knee. The motes of light - the butterflies - that had been gathering there before now begin to swarm around Gwyn, each one that is allowed to do so sinking into his body seamlessly, lulling him into a sort of stupor that would render him just dull enough, just slow enough, that Psyber and the others might have a better chance of hitting their mark. And when Mizuki no longer has the strength to so much as hold her own eyelids aloft, she lets them fall however they may be wont, the last thing she sees being her friends dueling the God of Lordran over the amber skyline of one of the most beautiful edifices that she is ever seen.

    And with a smile, she is content.

Emiya Shirou (560) has posed:
    A flurry of strikes and all of Shirou's weaponry becomes so many pieces, very little reaching their target! He's stunned. "What a-" Monster. An absolute BEAST. You could hardly tell that Gwyn was close to being burned to a cinder, all used up. If these were the last dregs of his power... just imagine the God at his peak.

    They'd ALL DIE.

    But what can he possibly do against this god's last stand besides stand gaping?

    Very little, it turns out. When Gwyn turns towards him, Shirou has only a few instants to react. Panic drives him to do the only sane thing he CAN do with that much firepower coming at him.

    In the elongated instant his consciousness provides, Shirou's brain churns out a design for the best protection he's aware of. power flows out out to his palm, gathers as a pinkish flicker -- "RHO AIAS!!"

    The flicker of prana BLOSSOMS out into a huge, layered barrier... JUST in time.

    Two of the five layers shatter from the kick... and the remaining three absorb the mighty slash. All of it's enough to send Shirou flying again... with Gwyn's blade catching him at a weird, sideways twisted angle.

    With a gurgly scream the boy goes tumbling off towards the edge of the kiln, definitely hurting from THAT ONE.

    It looked pretty fatal, or at the least paralyzing.

    Whatever the case, he's face-down in the ash after it all, struggling to get up despite a lot of blood pooling beneath him and staining the ash...

Tomoe has posed:
Tomoe is not along in her tanking, the god she's tanking a god and that keeps just being something that lows her mind a little biut. However this time she's back fisted and it's hit very hard the attack does connect with her, her form warps and wireframs from the inpact and she's trying to get up now, she's chanting again now. Golden runes fly about her as she butchers the norse lanauge.

A moment afterward there's a massive explsion of blasts of light at the former or still current god of this world.

Lezard Valeth has posed:
Lezard escapes the imminent wrath of Gwyn, the voluminous amount of tough and dedicated heroes working to keep the Lord of the Sun blocked from him.

There is something to be said for having a small army of heroes, maybe Odin has a nice idea here.

However, there is no time to reflect. "It is time to put an end to this. The Age of Fire ends /here/!" With that declaration, there is a colossal thud as Lezard slams the end of the Catalyst into the ashen ground, Power exploding up around him in a coruscating wave. Surging blackness sweeps around him, carrying ash towards the heavens as a magical circle forms, gathering in power...

And then there is a flare of energy, the Light dimmin as he surges the power through the Manus Catalyst, the weapon humming and resonating as it shapes and twists the power to ever greater heights.

"Ever onward, the tides of hunger rise. Rest now within the eternal grasp of the Dark!"

Black pools spread like ink through the Kiln of the First Flame, before great seething geysers of what looks like liquid Humanity itself surges upwards, beginning to flood through the area. The mass seems to stare outwards, composed of infinitely recursing and fracturing fragments of Humanity borne upon tides of Darkness, progressing into an infinite, all-devouring, light-consuming Abyss. While the tide flows around allies with noeffect, the seething flow roars towards Gwyn and batters towards him, crushing and swirling around him in an ever-increasing, yawning vortex. Finally, it gathers up, looming over Gwen like a great, twisted and misshapen limb....

"ABYSSAL TIDE!"

With that, the massive fist descends with apocalyptic, crushing force as Lezard unleashes, for a moment, the full fury of the Dark upon the Lord of the First Flame.

In the aftermath, the light returns, and Lezard is left on one knee, gasping for breath as he struggles to recover from the expenditure of such power.

Nathan Hall (168) has posed:
    In this case, Nathan's way out of his league.

    He could maybe manage to keep Midgardsormr in this fight a few minutes, but he'd be impeding the others if he did so. So he sticks to the tunnel entrance. This guy is burning himself out HARD on his power, so Nathan needs to stick to the back lanes until he's finished with that. The most he can do is reactivate his [SCAN] and provide, for the others, a convenient countdown. He attempts to estimate how much more of his own magic Gwyn can survive, and provide that data to the others, for whatever tactical value that may be worth.

Reiji Arisu has posed:
    Well, that certainly was unexpected. Perhaps not completely unforeseeable, given how Gwyn is so close to something utterly devoid of life. Was there simply not enough /there/ to actually sever? Regardless, the damage was done. Reiji slides Darkdrift back into its sheath, hand resuming its holding pattern over the hilt in preparation for another strike.

What he sees when he reappraises the situation is... Not what he was wanting to see, precisely.

His partner, knocked through the air by Gwyn's ridiculous sword.

Psyber, set alight and, now, also missing an arm.

    Gwyn still has the strength to fight, the god's blade blade is still in one piece. The others are in various states of disarray. But, for now, the god is unarmed, one wrist broken and at least one other limb maimed. It's do or die, now- but if the inexorable reach of death itself couldn't properly extinguish Gwyn's flame, then... Wait.

An idea strikes the exorcist.

    Here, in the midst of the Kiln of the First Flame, he stands in the presence of the very origin of this world. It's from here that all things within it came about, and it's here that serves as the cornerstone for all the forces that drive it: Life and Death, Light and Dark.

Everything in between.

All Things In Nature.

Reiji Arisu has posed:
    "Tenchi Banbutsu," Reiji intones, body relaxing into the throbbing pulse of power reverberating through the kiln. His will reaches out to it, guiding it into and through his body and soul. He continues, slowly purging his lungs of another breath of charred air. "Give me the strength to envelop worlds--!"

    A low thrum builds in his ear. Suddenly, the exorcist's spiritual presence seems to... expand. His eyes sharpen- out of the corner of his vision, he sees Psyber open the path. An image washes away the blighted kiln, and the brilliance of Anor Londo fills the world, but he can tell he is still amidst the primal engine of creation that is the Kiln.

His partner, indomidable as she is, rises in defiance of her injuries to hold Gwyn down.

It's time.

    Reiji surges forward. His shotgun comes away from his weapons rack with a soft click. Hollywood roars, disgorging clouds of sanctified shrapnel carved from the wood of a divine tree. "Wood--" Reiji chants, feeling the life-giving energies reinvigorate, however briefly, the dwindling flame. In this world, that Life had once become twisted and corrupted, birthing the womb of Chaos itself, but this power is pristine. "--feeds Fire."

    "Fire--" All things here began with fire. Karin explodes from its sheath, striking in great sweeping blows through Xiaomu's seal. Long shadows flicker away from the flame, casting great streaks of darkness across the ashen waste. It's here that fire differentiated the world. But now, all that's left is ash. As all things rose from it, so fire also "--Returns all to the Earth."

    Karin is allowed to fall. The next weapon, Chirai, shrieks and pops as it's drawn. Arcs of lightning course through the blade as Reiji drives the weapon in again and again. Here, lightning was the hallmark of the sun, but even so, Chirai is not a blade of this world. Its power is derived from another source, the great reservoir where all things, eventually, reside. "Earth nurtures Metal."

    Now, Reiji leaps. The elemental power swirling within the Kimon Fuuji would be incomplete if he didn't move NOW. "Metal--" Gold is drawn from his holster in mid-jump, acrid gunsmoke mixing with the swirling ash as the exorcist fires again and again. Lingering arcs of electricity leaping to the solid, metal slugs as they tear into the seal, each shot aimed to blow a hole through Gwyn's torso. Ash fills the world as Reiji lands... next to an unfamiliar, fallen weapon.

    Now in his hands is a black gun, born on another world entirely. It's cold to his touch, but Reiji lifts it all the same, focusing the flowing powers of creation into one last shot. "--Carries WATER!" Reiji pulls the trigger. The bullet explodes from its barrel with a sound like a thunderclap. The slug chills the air between it and its target, aimed to bury itself at the very core of Gwyn's being. Reiji draws back the release lever on the slide, an empty clip falling away as his eyes fix one last time on the ashen god.

That last shot becomes a focus. All the power within the spell converge on that point-- all to sweep the life called Gwyn away in the current of creation itself.

"Shinra," Reiji finishes, turning away as the Demon-Gate Seal dissolves at last, "Bansho."

Kimiko Shinobu (570) has posed:
    Kimiko delivers her strikes, pouring all the energy she can into this one moment, to move just fast enough that Gwyn can't get away again without her taking him in a vulnerable moment. It's not enough--not quite enough--but she was ready, even for the need to lose her sword.

    Ready, but not fast enough. She needs at least a second to regain her stance, and won't be granted half that. The sword melts apart, but not before the heat has reached her hands. The summoned weapon disappearing again negates its own energy, but the superheated metal doesn't disappear all at once, and what's left explodes in Kimiko's grip, already shorn of her heavy gauntlets.

    The girl lets out a shout that's strangled as soon as it starts. There is pain, and she is familiar with pain, but these sensations are not entirely within her knowledge. Most of her hands do remain, though armor comes off in drips, and there is little that could be skin still left. Golden, glowing, phantom bone and blood, real enough from her perspective, instead shows through. What is left, smolders. Mercifully, the nerves are gone. The discomfort is scattered to the less-damaged portions of her arms, but her fingers are all useless.

    She could stop the pain. There is a way, but she cannot take it. The price, for a Puella Magi, is a certain slowness, and that is one disadvantage she cannot accept in this fight. She hisses and bears it, jaw clenched to aching. Strips of metal wind down as her armor repairs itself, and then continues, winding around bone and shredded sinew, not so much protecting as replacing. Glowing steel replaces fingers, and gives her grip again.

    Psyber got the sword. Xiamu is trying to hold him in place. Is Lezard's magic ready? It doesn't matter if she's hit in the process, but only if it's enough to end the fight. Mizuki is--what is she doing? The change of scenery gets an ambiguous "Hn," from Kimiko.

    Kimiko begins moving, yet slowly. She sees the power of the Abyss take form, and would marvel at the fact that a traveler so made use of it, but that can be done another time. It flows around her, and she awaits her chance, not daring touch it when she so tenuously holds her form here--her life. "...hurts."

    Reiji begins his attack and, again, Kimiko bides, lacking the agility in her current state to do much more. Her spirit is willing, and her magic is a part of it, but her body... she'll do her work without strength of arm. So long as the seal holds, so long as Gwyn remains surrounded by swirling Dark, so long as each successive attack and element remains centered on the god they seek to kill, this powerful being that knows no pain, and no fear they can bring--so long as he cannot escape, Kimiko walks to Gwyn.

    "You will... burn out, as I will. But I... not, today." In truth, everything hurts. She may not even be speaking loudly enough, amidst all this, for anyone to hear her. "You gave me fire... now see, what there is within /my/..."

    Almost close enough to reach out and touch, and her eyes light. The built-up tension holds as her hands raise, and she almost seems to touch--and then it releases, all at once. From her charred fingers, knives. From her palms, swords. From her arms, spears. Halberd and pike bristle into existence, bursting impossibly, bloodlessly, from her limbs and armor, from spaces more conceptual than real, flying from her and through or past her opponent, immediately replaced with ten and twenty more. Weapons seen and weapons imagined, the barrage is finished as quickly as it began, and her arms lower. She slumps, and falls.

Staren has posed:
    On the bright side, the Annihilator works pretty darn well apparently! It was, after all, crafted as a monster-slaying weapon long before its creator ascended to godhood, although Staren is of course happy to exploit that link against things vulnerable to divine relics. On the down side, now he has Gwyn's /attention/.

    The god is /fast/. So fast that the forcefield thinks he's a projectile and activates -- but faced with a god smashing it, there are a couple of problems. One, the forcefield is best at absorbing energy, not physical force. Two, when it /does/ absorb physical force, it is much like armor in that it does not magically make force go away, just spreads it out. An armored Staren has enough weight to stand in place against the force of a spray of bullets, sure. Divine smashing? Not so much. Staren's definately thrown off-guard as the spherical field is sent skidding and rolling, and he's stumbling and tumbling inside. Also, each hit shatters a large chunk out of the forcefield, Lord Gwyn rapidly smashing through the layers and pummeling Staren, who can only blindly fire his beam cannons and unused micromissiles at point-blank range. By the time the tanks pull the god off, the field is down, the armor has dents, cracks, and missing bits of plating in a lot of places, and some parts, particularly the forcefield emitters, are smoking or sparking.

    Staren forces himself to stand despite his disorientation, crouching in a defensive stance as he gets his bearings again. There is an intense explodey sword fight going on! Staren stuffs the spent Annihilator back in his bag, and switches tactics. He manifests his wings and takes to the air, readying the laser rifle again. Sighting Lord Gwynn through the scope... while he's busy fighting so many others... perhaps if Staren can shoot him in the face, even if it isn't as mystically powerful of a weapon as some have, the ash and fire in his eyes will block his vision for a critical split-second and give someone else a better chance to strike? It seems worth a shot!

Priscilla has posed:
    It says something about the scale of brutality this old king must have become used to through those years of war that Psyber dismembering his own arm, turned to a crisp or not, elicits the tactical reaction of discarding the charred remains before an instinctive one. As he wheels on the fleeing half-angel however, intent on continuing his inevitably suicidal last stand with nothing but his bare hands rather than surrendering without dignity, Oscar tackles him from behind, doing little more damage than shunting him on his feet, but providing a brace to use his shield as a springboard for the followup from Solaire, leaping upwards to reach the giant's shoulders and drive the edge of his carefully handcrafted and yet utterly unremarkable blade down into the brittle remains of a trapezial.

    The two fight as if they had never known each other, or perhaps as if they had always expected to. Within moments, Gwyn has seized the 'knight of Astora' lifted him high, and detonated his broken hand in an earth-shaking explosion of untamed fire, hurling the warrior of sunlight all the way to where Nathan stands, crashing into the dust with his surcoat burned off entirely and the front his armour melted down to the charred padding beneath, struggling to regain his breath. Oscar finds time to retaliate with a single horizontal strike before being forced to take refuge behind his shield as he is punted half the distance by brute force, wavering on his feet.

    The blast of Tomoe's light consumes him, vapourizing outer layers of the walking corpse his body is, animated only by the fading will of Fire, and yet he still does not fall, pursuing his own destruction to the end, reaching for her with the same fate in mind, detonating the air once again.

    It is increasingly clear however, that as powerful as he still is, what he has withered away to cannot handle it for much longer. Even the power of the First Flame itself, or what remains of it, cannot hope to save him from the inevitable. In this state, he cannot hope to break free of Xiaomu's seal in time, forced to stand and be sewered in a hundred different places as Kimiko bares the prime element of her own soul in return, weapon after weapon ripping through the swiftly dwindling presence that yet anchors him to this world. Even with his efforts to rebuff her with another blast of the world's furnace, there is simply too much summoned steel and he is still in place by the time Lezard and Reiji converge to hit him with every other element on the spectrum.

    A mirror of the Abyss swirls around him, steadfast in the ruined echoes of what once held it at bay, crushing him under its sheer weight as if seeking revenge. In direct parallel, the energies of life and creation explode on top of him, colliding with their otherworldly antithesis in something the Kiln has never seen before, shaking the towering monolith above to its foundations. For several moments after the detritus clears in the haze of ash, it seems as if the Lord of Sunlight may have finally been silenced, dead on his feet as a statue, but as the light of Anor Londo's sun touches him, illuminating his haggard and charred silhouette, he stirs one more time, looking towards the first glimpse of his city he has seen in a thousand years, and the last he ever will. Full well knowing he will crumble as soon as he does, the Great Lord raises his hand skyward, and with a skull-splitting thundercrack, conjures one last bolt of Sunlight; not a flickering javelin of light as used by the covenant in his name, but a jagged lance of solid, blazing sunfire, causing ash to sizzle and pop and turn to glass where its writhing arcs scrabble over the floor.

Priscilla has posed:
    Mirroring his first act after stepping out into the mists of the unformed world, he raises that bolt high and hurls it, high up into the air, where it splits apart and returns as a thundering rain of divine wrath momentarily turning the kiln into a shrieking barrage more intense than any warzone. When the dust finally settles though, it is obvious to all that Gwyn has thrown his last. The old god drops to his knees with nothing more than a weary sigh, what remains of his body burning away like paper over a flame. He casts his gaze to the illusory sun one more time, and finally, disappears.

Mizuki (183) has posed:
    Mizuki cannot comprehend the gravity of what has just transpired.

    She simply cannot wrap her mind around how many years of experience have just been lost in the passing of Gwyn, and perhaps it's better that she cannot. Were it that she could, and that she knew she had had a part in it, it might very well drive her further down the road to madness.

    She knows without even opening her eyes that he has gone -- people like Gwyn impart such a weight upon the atmosphere by the mere fact of their existence that no visual cues or stigmas should well or ever be necessary. As such, she simply draws her hood over her head, reabsorbing what fragments remain of her once-so-grand illusion to give her the strength to walk. And with that strength, she humbly shuffles to an extreme of the Kiln, cleaving a gateway to her home with her sword, and stepping through.

    The mournful dance of the fading butterflies that trail behind her is the only thing left to suggest that she had ever been crying. Once that portal closes, that moment, as the Lord of the Cinder, is lost to history.

Nathan Hall (168) has posed:
    Nathan is not here to do much. But he can do some.

    Any one of those heavy bolts could skewer him and instantly kill him. But, he can run, and so can most of the others. Oscar can stand, the others are still mostly on their feet... Oh, shit! Nathan notices Solaire's presence with wide eyes as the bolts begin to rain down. While the librarian can't really help the others with this, he CAN jump out of the tunnel next to Solaire and jab both arms out abruptly.

    He activates his IMPERVIOUS SPHERE OF WATER chant, creating an immobile water-shielded breathable area for himself, Solaire, and anyone else needing to get some protection from those bolts. It is not impervious: It will last only a strike or two from those heavy lances of sunlight, but that's all it needs to survive. Ideally, he'll make sure Solaire gets through this, so that command of the Kiln can pass to him. He NEEDS Solaire to pull this off, and despite the sudden nature of the revelations about his identity, Nathan means to exploit that. And, well, you know, Solaire is cool and shouldn't die just 'cause he got immobilized by a heavy hit from Flame Dad.

    When the dust clears, the water will disperse. He's going to look out for Oscar and Priscilla, and then to Solaire, and gesture to the fading king. he figures the lattermost will need to take whatever's left of soul after the fragmentation and burning. Those two can help with that. Or perhaps report on its status.

Reiji Arisu has posed:
    Creation and Destruction and everything in-between mix in a great confluence of powers. But it must fade, even as it shakes the Kiln to its anchorage deep in the very core of this world. But even still, the venerable deity still stands. Impossibly, teetering over the very brink, Reiji watches as the Lord of Light rises to, one last time, meet the rays of his dearest sun.

And then, Gwyn unleashes his fury.

    For a moment, as the Great Lord flings a bolt of pure, raw sunfire into the illusory sky, Reiji realizes that THIS was the entity of legend. This being, with the full might of the sun itself at his fingertips, is the First King of the Gods. He may, in fact, be their last.

A 'last flash of great power' indeed.

    The world becomes a cataclysm of electric fury. Reiji cusses as the sky opens up and disgorges its wrath. He dodges, weaves and bobs, but dodging lightning is not an easy task. A hammerblow of the stuff slams into the exorcist's shoulder as he leaps to one side, sending Reiji into an abortive roll underneath the aegis of Nathan's shield.

He rises, smelling vaguely of cooked flesh, in time to turn his eyes towards Gwyn... Only to watch the old lord fade, at last, into the very dust of his beloved Kiln.

    "...Rest in peace now," Reiji murmurs to whatever may remain of the once-great king. "The world turns on. Perhaps you will walk it again, someday, and judge for yourself what we have done."

    Souls in Lordran may not necessarily reincarnate, but... Well, Reiji can still hope. It's not as though today is a day to rest on what Is. Who knows what the future might hold?

...Well, a giant, angry, calamity dragon for one. They'll need to prepare for its inevitable arrival.

Psyber (253) has posed:
    Psyber was willing to sacrifice the limb because it was a ghost form. Psyber was also willing to sacrifice the limb because, while losing an arm is always a colossal pain in his ass, it can prove tactical to lose a limb to save a body. It's no, functionally, different than a lizard and a tail for him.

    However, it's still godawfully painful and it shows in his slowed movements and staggering motions. His spirit form is on its last limbs and being pushed on by Psyber's grit and determination. His conceptual immortality doesn't quite extend to spirit projections like it does his main body, so the arm and the pain are still eating at him pretty substantially. He dash-limps towards the discarded weapon of Lord Gwyn and then hoists it up with his free arm.

    No sooner does he do so, though, than he slams it into the ground and ducks behind it as a shield to weather the final spear. The cascading attack rips around him and, only through the fortune of the newly found massive piece of metal, is he able to weather even that barrage.

    It's as it clears up and the dust clears that a battered phantom of Psyber, dragging the sword behind him not unlike the walking near-corpse that carried it moments before, as he tries to look around. Specifically, he's looking for Priscilla, "Pris." Psyber says half-quietly, figuring she'll hear it anyway.

Lezard Valeth has posed:
Lezard takes some measure of pleasure in the fall of Lord Gwyn. It is visible in the electric thrill crossing his crimson features, the whorl of chaotic glee. Perhaps he might have some final taunting words for the Lord of Sunlight, but in this situation, Gwyn has the final say.

And that say is a rain of divine wrath, the sunfire sizzling down and crashing upon Lezard much as anyone else. In his wounded state, after expending so much power, he realizes he made a critical error in leaving himself open.

An error that proves to have a very painful lesson as the lightning shears through him, shredding and purifying his sinful phantom existance and ripping it from the Kiln in a final burning strike. His scream carries on the ashen wind, a defiant roar against this indignity inflicted upon the Necromancer of Midgard.

Emiya Shirou (560) has posed:
    "grrrrgh--" Shirou's lucky to be here as a PHANTOM. He did, in fact, forget that this was the case. He's bleeding profusely on the ground, unable to really move. If anyone's watching, they'll see that his body is SOMEHOW stitching itself back together... uing SWORDS. Shiny steel blades overlap and link up within the wound to seal it shut and slooowly pull him back together. So his bleeding does stop, but...

    There's still fire roaring down. What the HELL is he supposed to DO about it?!

    "Montauban...!"

    One more act of tracing, Shirou slaps a hand against the ground... and a massive castle wall segment of white marble rises fromt he ash! One just large enough for him to hunker behind. The Marble Castle's pulverized in short order, suffering cataclysmic impact after another. It's reduced to the foundation... but Shirou's spared being utterly vaporized.

    The boy gasps as everything quiets, and his final bit of protection erodes away into prana like flower petals blown away by the wind.

    "Rest in peace, Gwyn." He mumbles out, while fighting to stay conscious.

Staren has posed:
    DESTRUCTION RAINS FROM THE HEAVENS

    "Oof!" Staren grunts as something hits him and he's /slammed/ into the ground. He lifts his head to see sun javelins skewering his body. "Oh. Guys, I..." and then his gaze falls on the fallen god, literally disintigrating. "You promised..." he says, not as loudly as he'd like, and then coughs up blood on the inside of his helmet. /Man/, this stings. And then the phantom disintigrates.

YOU DIED

Tomoe has posed:
Tomoe is able to do more damage than she thought she would she'd pretty hevily hurt from her fight with him. She should be fine but mentally she's taxed and feeling weak. Is it knowing what she's doing is it something else? She doesn't know. She takes a moment to watches the gods final act and then hangs her head.

Priscilla has posed:
    Oscar emerges out from the crater he's found himself in beneath his shield, looking barely any better off than half the people present. Solaire manages to stagger upright as Nathan drops the spell, clapping him gratefully on the shoulder as part of the gesture of regaining his feet. Priscilla however, has remained curiously absent from the fight. Not even having simply turned invisible and hid for her own wellbeing, she has deliberately stayed well apart from the exchange of blows, watching everything but not participating. There is but a single reason for this, and, to her at least, it is an exceedingly important one, that she will defend if necessary.

    As the vestiges of Anor Londo fade from the Kiln, the three of them approach the remainders of the First Flame almost in unison, converging on a single spot as Priscilla holds her hand up to Psyber, urging him a moment's patience. With each of the three born of this world, resides one of the pieces of the solution devised by those outside it. Oscar, in his humanity, reproduces the Dark Soul taken from Manus, the seething void of inverse, monochromatic flame turning the light of its originator black and white where their radiance intersects. Solaire, in his all but lost divinity, retrieves the memory of the Flame of Izalith, the brilliant, writhing spark dancing as if alive over his hand. Priscilla, in her Everlasting lineage, reveals the seed of the Ashen Mist, the strangely organic crystal surrounded by an ephemeral, seemingly lifeless haze.

    The process is swift, quiet, and almost somber. The conditions are not yet right for the three to come together completely with the First Flame, but still they must be planted to begin to process. For now, the first two are simply released to orbit the bonfire in opposition, remaining in fixed place where they mutually repel one another, whilst the last is quite literally planted, like the child of an Archtree, at the 'roots' of the Flame, the mist steadily bleeding through the ash of creation that serves as its soil, until the floor of the Kiln crawls with a layer of pallid, ghostly fog.

    "This shalt taketh time." Priscilla states plainly, knowing full well the two warriors who have risked everything will rely on her at the turning of the key. She and Solaire depart instead for the final flame in the room; the burning soul left behind by Gwyn in his place. Though clearly only the burnt out stub of what it once was, it still rivals the sheer heat of a Lordsoul, even after giving away most of its power. The two must have agreed on this long before, because the inheritance is split between them. One piece of divinity given back to the son it was taken from, and one given to the granddaughter who was denied that birthright. The two keep them for now however, not wishing to go through taking them on just yet. Not in so much company.

    Finally, she turns back to Psyber, from where she will hear him out, but only after, perhaps too quietly to be heard, murmuring her thanks. To whom exactly, is anyone's guess.