4251/Unlit Boss (1)

Unlit Boss (1)
Date of Scene:	25 June 2016
Location:	Lumiere
Synopsis:	The time has come to confront a powerful Unlit that terrorizes the Urban Decay.
Cast of Characters:	974, Count Kord, Kushiko, 984, Lezard Valeth, Tomoe, 991, Priscilla

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Carna (974) has posed:
    The world of Lumiere (even if it is technically only a portion of a far vaster underworld, a structure at its apex to facilitate reincarnation to a now-lifeless Earth, is still quite large enough to be considered its own world), is as is typically is. For those experiencing it for the first time, that mainly means that it is very dark due to the absence of sun, moon, or stars, and a dearth of artificial or natural lighting anywhere else. The primary source of light are occasional torches, and the tip of a far-distant spire that radiates the closest thing to sunlight in a bleak and desolate locale such as this. And even that is a pale imitation closer to cloud-obscured moonlight than the sun.

    It is a cold place, with the scent of dust and ash far outstripping the oddly subdued odor of rot and decay: odd, due to the proliferance of walking corpses that should exude should a stench, and yet do not. Perhaps it is due to these dead things being made up of 'spirit matter' more than flesh. If that is the case, most of the foul smell may be coming from the Cavern of Death the entrance to Lumiere is found within, rather than the place itself.

    On that note, the arrival to Lumiere is as it usually is as well: a drop into a dark hole in the Cavern, mounded all around with piles of bones. A fall of supernatural slowness that nonetheless safely deposits those who brave it onto a blank marble expanse before a pair of granite gates. Those gates, in turn, allow passage to any part of Lostrata that has been discovered thus far. They are essentially the native warp gates of this world.

    Overall, to any sort of mystical senses, this is a world of death, populated by the dead. Also to any senses that can determine it, while most of the mystical elements are present natively (Fire, Wind, Water, and several others), the element of Earth is conspicuously absent. It is a place that has drawn the attention of many. Especially with a faint almost-voice calling out with increasing range and volume with each passing day, an immense force of pure Death, that is attempting to bring more and more to Lumiere, with the promise of power.

    The power can be used for bringing stability, for bringing destruction, or for whatever one's selfish desires may be. The implied message in these Deathly whispers is that it does not care what the power is used for... Only that it is.

    Some have already listened to the whispers. To them, they are less like whispers now, and more like a current of voices that carry messages... Hints and suggestions to aid these agreeable souls...

Carna (974) has posed:
    But both the willing and those who have thus far resisted this dark power have made progress in cleansing one part of Lumiere, called the Urban Decay, within the overall locale of Barrowville. Answers to questions have been found as to how the wandering monsters known as Unlit have been getting into this area, but even more questions have resulted.

    The time has come to confront the one controlling the gates in an enormous wall, which are both allowing and forbidding passage to Unlit and Lanterns alike, back and forth... And the confrontation shall commence in an area on the fringes of the Urban Decay, just past the City Limits, in a neighborhood of hundreds or thousands of ancient Greek-style buildings. It is a place that was, until recently, flooded with the Unlit and also with refugees. Both problems have been tended to for now. But there is no guarantee that it will not simply resume in time.

    Indeed, there are already Lantern pilgrims clustered before the gates even now.

    Carna is here in her typical attire, her large leather hood, her ragged cloak, and her light leather armor indicating little of her form or identity for those who do not already know her by sight. She watches from the road between two buildings, as dozens pray and beg for the gates to open. Who do they pray to? Who do they beg? She does not know. But she intends to find out.

Count Kord has posed:
    Kord's motivations toward Lumiere have wavered like the flickering shadows that fill the realm. The draw of power? The desire to protect balance? Perhaps simply to find a challenge in a familiar yet alien world. Whatever it is, the black-and-red garbed man stands atop a perch, looking down on the various Lanterns as they ask for passage to the neighboring region. He is fairly easy to notice when scanning the nearby buildings, making no attempt to hide his silhouette. Like a carrion bird waiting for his prey to die... or at least that's the feeling his looming presence may invoke, a supernatural and predatory air around him of deathly patience.

    His preferred weapon, an ornate scythe that shimmers faintly with red outlines, is held in one of his hands.

Kushiko has posed:
On the record: the cold /sucks/. Even if it's not a truly bitter, vacuum-of-space or ice dwarf planet degree of cold, it still /sucked/.

Regardless of the supernatural element of slowing, the figure that arrived silently, bereft of the usual, tangible presence (even to mystical senses!) was quite capable of long descents and even stranger infiltrations.

Though this one certainly took the cake presently.

This Tenno, this Warframe was known simply as Valkyr, which given the derivative of Valkyrie for 'chooser of the slain' it may prove to be an auspicious choice given the state of Lumiere. The sleek, felinoid-seeming synthetic (or whatever the hell it was) making her way down, but not without the occasional bit of documentation. She may not possess the same kind of mystical senses others might, but it was enough that she could feel the place was out of balance, even in Death.

She knew of the power here; of the Dead Lights that Mesa and Mag had experienced, and in turn she knew of this too through her own actions here. As she arrived, she spotted--and felt--about where Carna was, a few stories up in one of those Greek-styled buildings. Her tail flicked from side to side as she shifted her weight and slid down a pillar slightly, the building's askewed, tilted ruin allowing her to simply perch to the semi-sheer surface.

While she had an ardent desire to learn more about the whole, 'you died horribly and now you're back' thing, there was little time for that, as the eyeless features of Valkyr simply remained focus on the sight of those who prayed by the gates--and for those who would come through. The only weapon she seemed to have was an esoteric blade that resembled some alien bone beneath the arch of faintly pulsing energy behind her shoulders.

Karal Rei Lin (984) has posed:
There's been a change in Lin's armaments. She's dressed the same, but has slipped on open leather gloves that sprout metal CLAWS. It's quite a bit different from how she's typically been bringing out her sword but... whatever.

    "So what the hell's BEHIND this thing, anyways? All I know is... probably not gonna be friendly."

Lezard Valeth has posed:
It was, frankly, a matter of time.

Boots step lightly along the streets, a powerful presence walking along trailing a globe of cold, unfeeling light behind him. In his hand, a twisted rod forged of some strange, black wood... for lack of a better term for the odd material. Around him the stench of forbidden magics and twisted life hangs.

Lezard Valeth, the Necromancer of Midgard, has come to this place. Upon seeing Carna, he steps towards the strange being, nodding in greeting to them. "Well then. It's been a great deal of time since we last met. I trust you are well?" His voice is polite, completely unlike the menacing air he maintained from the Bone Gate to enter this area. "This place reminds me of Niflheim." He chuckles. "Though perhaps even worse off. I can see why some have come here to investigate."

Tomoe has posed:
There's a feleing of dread everytime Tomoe comes here and it's plain in her face, yet she's not turned tail. She was about as ready as she could be, she did feel the cold and shifered a bit and there was little she could do about that honestly. Tomoe pauses at the Tenno she'd not had direct encounters with them she'd heard of them on the Syndicate and Global bands before but never actually run into them directly before. The very tall elf like woman seems more than a bit curious and then notices Lezard's Arrival. Oh he would be here sooner or later wouldn't he? Life just got horrible more complicated and she move now to fall in with Karal.

"I doubt that it will be Karal."

Stygian Mirror (991) has posed:
    To many this world is likely uncomfortable.

    To a Deathknight, it's home.

    The twisted, death-infused land is ideal for someone like Mirror; here, her Essence will regenerate naturally. Here, she's not made uncomfortable by the abundance of life and positive energy. The smell of dust, ash, rot and decay are ones she's accustomed to, not necessarily ones she welcomes but ones that don't bother her anymore. The lack of true sunlight is in every way a bonus.

    The feeling is likely mutual; the denizens of Lumiere that work for the forces of death wouldn't have any difficulty pegging the young woman as one of their own, if they care to look for such things at all. The fox-eared, lizard-eyed, cat-tailed Abyssal could belong here and wouldn't feel out of place one bit.

    Whether she arrived on her own or with Lezard (as her current employer), Mirror wanders in from behind Carna, settling by her side. Jagged Soulsteel sword hanging from her waist, she wears the typical Soulsteel-lined bone tunic, gauntlets and boots, and with a smile and energy she answers Lin.

    "Oh, I don't know. I'm sure it's lovely, though. This place is brimming with energy, I could stay here forever. Wonder if the architect who built it is still around and if he's looking for more work."

    She glances back over her shoulder towards the Necromancer who hired her, curious. "What's a Niflheim?"

Priscilla has posed:
    Even outside of the context of having frequently been to Lumiere since it had first unified, ash, dusk, the dark and the walking dead are hardly new to Priscilla. Unpleasant, but something that has long become kind of an ugly background noise, like a creaky house. She doesn't need much in the way of light to see, or anything in the way of light to detect potential enemies around her, but in the vein of continuing to experiment with what she can bring along, the light, silver-chained pocket belt around her waist is now also suspending a common, illumination providing crystal frequently used by pilgrims as well; enough to cast a kind of untinted, soft daylight in a near circle. It makes all that white accented with sparse gold she's wearing stand out even more, but being easier to keep track of in the dark will probably be a welcome relief to her temporary allies in this place.

    She's also thoroughly learned her lesson in being prepared in terms of saving seconds, already armed with the Lifehunt Scythe, the strangely organic metal refusing to gleam in that light, remaining pale, dim and indistinct. Despite its size, she's carrying it in one hand pretty easily, so as to keep the other free for item use. Those dark whispers, previously something she'd filtered out, have begun to earn her misgivings now that Kord had admitted some small part of what he believes them to be, imagined or not, but she can only look to the somewhat sane dead banging at the gates with pity. Do they have no idea how bad it could possibly be on the other side? The last time she'd seen them open, Lanterns had been fleeing /out/ of them.

    "When hast anything in this section of Lumiere ever been friendly." Priscilla intones flatly to Karal, sounding only slightly less icy than it feels to be around her. Her mood can't be all that great, after all, feeling Lezard approach the group. Though she'd frequently worked with him, to more productive ends than Kord, on some level she probably trusts the sorcerer even less, if only for the amount of power he wields alongside that utterly naked ambition of his. "Though I wouldst ask, Sir Valeth, Lady Carna, whence thou didst becometh familiar. Though, that is less of a question than how we art intending to pass these very same gates no Lantern appears to be able to invoke."

Carna (974) has posed:
    Turning her attention on Lezard's approach, and the unrecognized face alongside him, Carna waits until she is addressed before offering any verbal acknowledgement. No point in making unnecessary noise when it could draw unwelcome attention, as it often does. "I am recovered," she answers. She does not elaborate as to what she has recovered from, though a certain report filed on Syndicate-accessible information centers may provide some context. She looks back to the crowd kneeling and scraping in the shadow of a black barrier that can not be identified as a wall even at this range, without some sort of additional light source.

    If one is provided, large faces are revealed, carved into the surface or perhaps simply shaped from it, acting as the frames for marble gates. The expressions range from terrified to agonized to furious to maliciously gleeful. Without such illumination, it is merely a rectangle of pitch stretching upwards and outwards in all directions. Too high to go over. Too long to go around. Possibly supernaturally so: extending itself to match any attempts to circumvent it.

    That would be just like this place.

    Carna thought it might be useful to have healing support from Enark for this, but is fairly certain he would be opposed to venturing out into Unlit-infested territories such as this. Though the Library of Murdered Knowledge is clearly not any safer at this point, he can at least shut himself up in that personal study of his, and rely upon Escher's defenses, until more combat-capable people are available to escort him.

    Carna glances around once everyone is assembled, focusing in on Priscilla's question. "When your mother arrived in Anor Londo, I was there to witness such, as was Lord Valeth. The hostility from the assembled lords and ladies, presumably due to my nature, was discomfitting." She gestures towards Lezard. "I was offered an easy egress and an opportunity to speak with him at his library. I accepted the generous offer."

    There was another reason she wanted to leave, of course. She had been... Tempted by the Light within Gwynevere. A hunger she had not felt since becoming a Lantern had seized her. Perhaps similar to what she once felt as an Unlit. Rather than continue to grapple with the temptation to do something inadvisable, she had taken the 'out' provided. She understood why it was not acceptable to want to eat Priscilla's mother. She understood why that would turn out badly for her and everyone involved. And she understood just as well that the Darkness inside of her demanded to be filled.

    She has stayed away from Lordran since then to avoid the problem entirely.

Carna (974) has posed:
    Then, as she watches... As everyone watches... In the blackness, an eye opens. A very... BIG eye. Baleful yellow, with a slit-pupil. It looks down upon those gathered before the gate, and then a few more eyes of various sizes appear as well. And a deep, baritone voice resonates throughout the area.

    "Oh? Who are these vermin amassed before my gates?" the voice asks.

    Through they are likely frightened, there is little hesitation before the withered Lanterns begin calling out to the owner of the voice.

    "Pilgrims, milord! We only seek escape from this place!"

    "My name is Mara! My daughter and I seek passage to the other side--"

    "Please, let us through! We will do anything--!"

    "I am Joaric! There is nothing here for me but suffering and death! Please, grant mercy and let us pass!"

    And on and on go the pleas, as the yellow eyes look here and there, almost as though they are searching for something... Or someone. Finally, the voice says, "It is no simple task to open these gates. You can see how large they are... How heavy... What can you offer me to make it worth my while? Offer sufficient payment and I shall open the gates for all of you."

    One of the eyes alights upon Joaric. "Joaric, was it? Are you willing to pay a toll for passage?"

    The others go silent as they look to Joaric to hear his answer. What can he offer? Can he pay enough for all of them? These dessicated Lanterns who have died and died and died until they look no better than the Unlit that have killed them time and again? These walking husks whose only separation from such monsters is an increasingly frayed sense of sanity? He looks around to the others before then turning his gaze to the eyes, trying to find which one to look into, and finding them all intimidating to do so with. "I... Yes! I do not have much, but I will give all that I have--"

    "Give me your eyes." the voice instructs.

    Joaric chokes over his words, and croaks out a barely-audible, "I am... Sorry? You want--"

    "Your eyes. Tear them out and offer them to me."

    Joaric shakes all over, looking around as though expecting others to protest on his behalf. Everyone is silent.

    He looks back up to the wall. And then, so beaten is his spirit, he actually raises his shaking hands to his face and digs his eyes out of the sockets, holding the dried spheres, connected by blackened optical nerves, up to the creature demanding such cruel payment.

    The eyes vanish in wisps of Dead Lights and flow to the monstrous toll gate.

Carna (974) has posed:
    Carna slowly slips her hands into the sheathes within her cloak and draws out her paired daggers, as the voice continues speaking and the eyes begin searching once again.

    "That is a start... But as you can see, it is not enough to open the gate... Something more is needed, I think. Mara."

    The Lantern mother flinches, and her small, nearly mummy-like daughter, who has not been spared countless deaths in this place, clings tighter to her.

    "What is your daughter's name?" the voice asks as kindly as such a menacing being can.

    "F-Fiora!" she calls out, already dreading what will be asked of her, but willing to give up anything she must to ensure safe passage.

    "What a lovely name," the wall-voice comments. The eye that has settled upon the pair continues to stare lazily at them. "Kill Fiora, and you can go through."

    The horror on Mara's stretched face, and upon Fiora's as she yells, "NO! NO! MOTHER, YOU CAN'T!" is apparently amusing to the shadow-thing, because the eye looking upon them crinkles in glee.

    "Come now... It's not as though she is even your real daughter. You would not know your old family from any other here, with your memories wiped from existence. What is one more death for the sake of your safety and that of everyone else?"

    If someone is going to step in... They might want to do so soon. Especially as it looks like Mara is... Actually... Struggling to decide whether it's worth it or not, instead of rejecting it outright.

    She hasn't chosen yet. But she might in a few moments, as the voice says, "Choose quickly... There are others who wish to go through. I can not say when I will return to this area to service such selfish pilgrims..." The eyes actually start to slide off further down the wall, towards a different gate, making Mara's hands start to raise as though to go for Fiora's throat.

Karal Rei Lin (984) has posed:
Lanterns nearby... in a hell of a quandary. At first Lin's paying little attention to what's being said, instead her full attention goes to that eye...

    ... all until 'offer your eyes' comes up. THEN a lump forms in her throat to go along with the sense of dread and her full attention snaps to what's going on.

    A gale howls without warning, sign of Lin kicking off the ground with a desperate yell.

    A wind of JUSTICE indeed!

    She skids to a stop near Mara and Fiora and gestures with a clawed hand. "So you're just going to become a heartless animal just so you can quiver like a rat in this gatekeeper's cage? If these are the prices he demands, there's no refuge over there. Nothing worth having!"

Lezard Valeth has posed:
Carna explains when they had met to Priscilla, and Lezard nods. "Indeed, Lady Priscilla. That much is true. It was an... interesting meeting." He says... But doesn't elucidate.

Instead, Lezard turns his attention to the gates. His expression is flat as he watches the process of the pilgrims 'negotiating' with the man, his cruelty in demanding his payments with them.

There is a low /crack/ as the Manus Catalyst smashes into the pavement with a dull thud, drawing attention to the Necromancer as he steps forward. "Pathetic. Is this place so barren of power that you must extort the last vestiges of the belongings of pathetic wastrels? Are you so weak that you are only capable of preying on the powerless?"

Lezard steps forward, power gathering around him. "I will open a much more salient negotiation. You will open the gate immediately, and I will deign to not /rend your tainted body and soul asunder and feed them to whatever vermin infest this thrice-damned land/."

As he speaks the last, the air coalesces, humming with vibrant energy as Sorcery is wrought. Seven points of light form around him, shining with a terrible white-blue that pulses, solidifiying into large, jagged, pulsating masses of barely-restrained, deadly force.

Count Kord has posed:
    Kord watches from his perch. The eyes opening and the voice rumbling down at all of the pilgrims... it's chilling. More than anything that he has seen so far. The raw bestial horror of the monstrous Unlit is nothing compared to the cold, crawling tingle that climbs his spine when he hears the thing demand that man's eyes, which only grows worse when he seems to accept.

    "More rotten than any corpse this world could contain," he thinks aloud, as he readies his scythe, hoping that the heroes that attend these adventures will antagonize the terrible being so that he has an excuse to drive his blade into its smug, sadistic pupil. Despite how tense he clearly is up there, he doesn't leap ahead. Wary of what such a mysterious being's abilities, he waits for...

    Karal Rei Lin shouts something righteous with predictable timing. Kord rumbles his deep-voiced amusement to himself (hmm hmm hmm~) and turns his gaze up to the eyes. Perhaps the being will grow unhappy with her for interfering in its attempts to sew despair. The Count slips off his perch and down between a couple of close buildings, where he can prepare to leap out of cover and attack while the being is distracted. The muted shadow of a man fades nicely into the dim surroundings, not easily visible by anything in the direction of the wall. The rest of the party might be able to see him crouched in that shadowy corner, ready to leap if things get violent.

    Lezard's 'counter-offer' encourages Kord in his plan to attack the being should it, say, emerge from the wall like a great shadowy mass. Still, he cannot help but look around their surroundings, scanning the tops of buildings and the dark alleys, looking for signs of the Stone Devils. This would be an opportune time for them to ambush the party, and he knows it... and he's prepared to fight them if it comes to that.

Tomoe has posed:
Tomoe is just keeping on her guard now they are in a dangerous place and there are dangerous people here like Lezard and she does not know Stygian Mirro and she just gives the Abyssal a long look with her violet's eye. She looks to Lezard for amoment.

"The only Niflheim I know of is an old myth."

She doesn't say much more save some comments over the radio she's otherwise silent as he moves ahead hoping to fall into the front rank as it her job generally however as they make the encounted for a moment her eyes narrowing.

"This? This is disgusting, turning on your own like that? For once I'm in full agreement iwth Mr. Valeth."

She seems redy for a fight as she puts her hand on the hilt of her blade and makes ready.

Priscilla has posed:
    That's something of immediate, and potentially distressing interest to Priscilla, coming from Carna and Lezard. However, now is not the time to press it.

    Desolate ruins of former civilization, wandering monsters and abominations, endless deaths, inescapable suffering, the complete anarchy creeping from the steadily approaching shadow of a world's end; those are things Priscilla is all too familiar with. They aren't things she welcomes, but things she has long ago exhausted all her capacity to be horrified by or distraught over. Something like this though, some self-proclaimed almighty, abusing power it doesn't own to exploit, oppress and spread misery for absolutely no reason other than its own sense of egotism; that kind of thing hits very close to a small, but heavily admonitory and very dangerous button. It's not even the fact that whatever this thing is, that eye that she had so briefly glimpsed before, is evil and sadistic, but the motions it is going through all on their own.

    So she has no interest in lecturing the pilgrims. No stake in standing up for them, and little investment in protecting them. They aren't the focus at all, in fact. Though anyone here would accuse Karal of recklessness, and probably ill-considered heroics, the normally reserved crossbreed is just as guilty of reactionary theatrics as the rest. It's rare to hear Priscilla raise her voice, and difficult to really call it yelling, but her glacially cold and steely tones seem to echo absurdly far from wherever she is in the crushing darkness, and lack any of that usual stilted softness.

    "And to what point is this? To what possible end couldst any of such cruelly asinine demands aim? I knoweth very well that no such 'offering' is in any way effectual, unless thou art so plainly unwise as to suggest that one most offer something to such revoltingly bloated self-importance and depraved sadism, as if either were worth any more respect than the rotting flesh infesting these streets." In an unusual move, she actually steps out right next to Lezard, briefly unified by the narrow intersection in the venn diagram of their motivations for hating so-called 'higher beings'. "As of right now, I claimeth control of this gate." she loudly asserts. "Thou art free to contest such a claim, and inevitably die as the useless, forgettable filth thou art, as clearly thou art not needed to open it at all. If thou wish to keep making use of it, thou shalt offer to /I/. Perhaps that hideous eye, as certainly this gate demands them, no?"

Kushiko has posed:
Revulsion should probably pass through Kushiko at some point, but the sight of those who would rip their own eyes out out of desperation does not warrant revulsion, only a wisp, a hint of pity for the situation. Allowing emotion to cloud her judgment would be ill suited to this situation...

It does occur to her, given what Valkyr senses and sees--as Kushiko sees it--is something that she might have to offer. The Dead Lights harvested from here and from the Library of Murdered Knowledge.

But it was not something she was as yet willing to tender; to give power to be used, potentially against her, for a chance, a bite at the apple to thwart that influence which controlled the gate.

No, there a better path than this.

Regardless, Valkyr shifted her weight and instead of necessarily leaping into action outright--as someone had elected to do--she moved amidst the buildings themselves, tracing her taloned fingertips to allow her to practically wall-run to close in towards the gate itself; if in a roundabout fashion. Hopefully with what Karal and the others were doing, she would not be noticed just yet.

And if she was, she was prepared to do something about it. Inwardly she did shake her head minutely at Karal's words--words like those meant nothing to those who were desperate enough to even consider--much less /do/ as the one who had gouged his own eyes out--had done.

And given the further counter-offer /hopefully/ drawing the attention not just of those Lanterns present, but of the baleful eye and the voice that spoke, she sought her own vantage point before she was noticed. That and when she began moving along the surfaces above, she drew a weapon--violet light coalescing into a slightly blocky shape of what was a grenade launcher. It was of Grineer design, but if the Tenno was using it there was little reason to presume it wasn't potent.

A stray thought occurred that Kushiko wished she had brought Nova Prime instead--or at least Nova /as well/ but given the possibility of what lie before them... the Tonkor would have to do as energy flowed from her in order to cling to the wall she had acquired adjacent and above, leveling the breach-loaded launcher down at the Eye and the gate.

Stygian Mirror (991) has posed:
    Asking them for organs? Even as a symbol of loyalty, it's such a worthless gesture. Organs and servants can be obtained MUCH more easily than this. These people have nothing to offer, and don't even look strong enough to carry weapons and fight. They're not worth picking on.

    Mirror frowns, but doesn't see fit to deliver a speech or a threat. She's more direct, and a point needs to be made.

    She grabs her blade from her waist, and it clicks, separating down the middle horizontally. Black Essence flows into it, as a black mark appears on Mirror's forehead, a circle with eight sunrays, bleeding ever lightly.

    "Consider carefully, that wall offers you no protection."

    To prove the point, and maybe to show to Lezard she's worth her payment, Mirror makes an idle swing of the blade.

    "Watch," she instructs Lin.

    The upper half shoots out, connected to the lower half by a tether of Essence. Like a grappling hook it screeches towards the gigantic yellow eye, aiming to pierce it. Were she not a Chosen this would probably be completely pointless and futile. But she's an Abyssal.

    The blade, if the eye decides it doesn't need to dodge, rends the spirit, not the body. It seeks the host behind the projection and attempts to inflict a cut upon its spirit, instead of its body. It's just a cut, though. No doubt whoever's behind this can take a hundred of those and still walk it off. It's the point made that matters, though.

Carna (974) has posed:
    Carna steps forth with the others, her initial reluctance out of instinctual self-preservation even as the expense of others, unless it serves her predatory leanings to put herself into danger in a given instance, becoming less compelling when she has other bodies to stand behind or alongside. She does not know these pilgrims. She does not feel any sense of indignation on their behalf. But she recognizes the threat this entity poses to their continued efforts to turn the Urban Decay into a relatively secure zone instead of an infested territory... And, yes, she is generally just repulsed by the creature itself. It is on a different level than the things she has faced so far. It's a different sort of horror, as well, though not necessarily greater, to those void horrors they encountered on the way to Escher.

    What ever happened to those things anyway? She doesn't know, and now isn't the time to worry about them, but the shifting darkness brought the image of them to mind briefly. It's such a petty horror, but its horror is in what it turns the desperate into by preying upon them when they are at their weakest. Lanterns are already tenuous in their grasp upon sanity in the first place. Her companions might be surprised to know just how little it would take to push Carna to be no better than these pilgrims, or perhaps no worse than Luc and his Stone Devils.

    But right now, bolstered by allies, by the Dead Lights inside of her, her will is strong. And she chooses to stand up to the monster. There are no words she has to offer. But they turn out not to be necessary as so many others have so much else to say.

    The shadow-thing for its part, looks upon the challengers with something between ire and delight. As Mara and Fiora startle from Karal leaping in next to them, Mara's hands go from 'near to strangling' to 'grasping by shoulders and turning away from the unknown danger'. The mother and daughter, connected by bloodline or not, flee from the scene. Other pilgrims do the same before the spectacular display of powers and weaponry, in fear of the new arrivals and of what retaliation might be offered by the gate keeper. But surprisingly, most of them stay right where they are, waiting, or pleading, insisting they will pay, hoping that they will not be punished for the actions of these interlopers.

    The wall listens to what is said, and then, only when all is done, does it speak.

Carna (974) has posed:
    "It has been a very long time since any have challenged me. How amusing. And how appalling. There is little that offends me more than ungrateful vermin who seek to force their way into places they do not belong. But I shall explain to you..." the voice trails off in responding to the challenges, threats, and demands, as Stygian Mirror attacks it. While it was directed at the 'soul', the eye targeted shifts aside from the strike. It does not consider the attack insignificant, apparently. Whether it perceived the inherent danger to its well-being or simply did not wish to get hit, it keeps several of its many eyes on the Abyssal from then on. "...Economics. Over a long period of time, the expenditure of Dead Lights required to operate my gates is vastly outweighed by even a small trickle of new energies. I wait until there are enough amassed to make opening a gate worth the time investment... Thousands of years, millions, hundreds of millions... It matters little how long they wait. Only that payment is extracted bit by bit, until they have nothing left to offer. Dead Lights are a limited commodity, you see. The last vestiges of the native Dead. When they are gone, there are no more."

    The shadow eyes all close for a moment, and the wall is just a wall again. But the voice continues to speak. "But for Light like yours..."

    Suddenly, countless eyes boil into existence across the darkness, all along the wall's indeterminate length. Eyes bulging intensely, as fangs form around the gate before them. "...I am willing to tap into the reserves of the past two billion years."

    Then the world warps, being drawn inwards, space distorting and inverting, as the gate opens before them, and the outside is pulled inside, and vice versa.

    All assembled find themselves in a blood-hued, desert plain. Dust and cracked stone stretch outwards in every direction, and endless crowds of lost souls amassed in groups all across the terrain plead for a chance to be let inside. And behind them, the tide of Unlit that swarm up the base of Lumiere in a steady trickle of millions, sweep forward relentlessly, closing on the refugees as their pleas go unanswered.

    And the wall is revealed. From the outside, it is a patchwork of eyes and teeth and purple-black flesh. There is no person here. There never was.

    This entire wall is a single Unlit.

Carna (974) has posed:
    Boss Encountered:



    WALL OF CRUEL CUSTOMS



    Unlit Concept of Borders


    Carna, after looking around, says, "This is not the fight I was expecting to have today." Then she draws her crossbow and adds on, "But have at thee."

Kushiko has posed:
On the one hand, it was /really/ good that people fled in short order. It alleviated the immediate problem of getting people to evacuate which was all well and good. What little can be gleaned by observation and more by listening to the Unlit's speech are telling enough.

However, the change in terrain lends pause to Valkyr. This is not going to be something simple--but was anyone /really/ thinking it would be?

The warping terrain is something that elicits tension by instinct, the Warframe bracing herself until she and the others have traveled through the swirling warp--or just the world itself warping--regardless, she is /off/ of that wall she sought, and landing in a decent spot close enough to the 'middle' of where Stygian, Priscilla, Tomoe, Lezard, Carna, Count Kord, Karal, all of them.

It takes but an instant but in response to the revelation of what the wall really /is/, she lowers herself slightly, gathering up energy and HOWLS--the voice that echoes from Valkyr is not so much loud as it is resonating. It is without a doubt a rallying cry that gives no cares to what the person is around them: supernatural, technological, magical, or soulbased. It's the kind of sound one feels as much as hears, because in that instance, there is a layer of semitranluscent energy that would blossom to envelop the Elites here.

And with that energy of the Void comes the instinctive knowledge that one will be attacking and acting much faster, as well as their bodies armored and more resistant otherwise.

Count Kord has posed:
    There is a great deal that Kord could say, but chooses not to. Considering everything else that has been said so far -- threats, words of righteousness or wrath, or just the disgust of people confronted with a terrible force -- the Kord finds it unnecessary to say anything. He just prepares for the fight... at least until the very space around everyone gets warped like it was being turned inside out. The Count only has one thing to say when this happens:

    "WHAT IS THIS DEVILRY--!!"

    And then they're in a desert. He turns to regard the great wall, without the cover of buildings, without anything to shield him. The great desert, filled with the wailing dead. A parched land split by an enormous Unlit, hungry for the Dead Lights of those that wish to pass through it. An eldritch predator, a thing that Kord visibly withers back from, because it is an enormous and horrifying sight and even his experience and strength of will means nothing when he stares up at it.

    He struggles for something to say, even as Kushiko's bellowing energy washes over him. He grasps the scythe with both hands and stares at the thing for a second and tries to gather his sanity and just can't.

    So he does what all experienced soldiers do when faced with something horrible.

    He roars at it as loud as he can. This would normally seem pathetic and a sign of a shattering mind, but when it comes from someone with magical abilities, it has a distinct weight. His fury condenses into a powerful black energy that emits like a shockwave at the wall, the energy-based coalescence of his threat that he will join Lezard, Priscilla, Karal, Carna, the Warframe and Stygian in tearing every single eye out of the wall. It has a burning quality behind it, and a withering, predatory energy behind it, and it echoes through this dead and dusty air not like a man but more like a beast. It is made stronger by his own nature adding density behind the blackness and similarly boosted by Valkyr, the shadow trying to permeate the wall's being and weigh down its own supernatural ability to act against the party. The ground cracks before Kord thanks to the enhancements, the air distorting.

    Count Kord used Snarl!

Priscilla has posed:
    "Economics?" Priscilla practically spits out in disbelief. "There is no such thing as trade here! What I see is slovenly and slothful coward, growing fat and bloated as it perches upon something others art ignorant enough to believeth they need. These Lanterns grovelling at thine feet are more worthy of the Dead Lights thou crave, for at least they had once the initiative to seek them on their own. Thou hath no right to them, and shouldst thou claim that thine 'ingenuity' is right enough, then I shalt claim that the violence I shalt inflict upon thee is right enough to taketh them."

    Oh she saw that dodge. As casual and effortless as it attempted to look, the fact it bothered at all betrays that it had something to be wary of there. What that is, is what Priscilla thinks on as the horrific gates open in such a nonsensical violation of space and perversion of reality as she hasn't seen since the gates of Annu. Valkyr's howl sinks deep into her bones, compelling her towards feats of legendary brutality, but first there is one thing to do.

    If the Gate wants to show off eyes, she'll show off her own as well. The mismatched one in the left side of her face, that almost pulsing molten orange, suddenly blazes with a cruciform halo of fiery light, driving a soul-scraping psychic screech into the minds of everyone present for the few moments it takes, like all sensory interpretation of sound spitefully rebelling against the information. Only Stygian Mirror really /sees/ the effect though, as Priscilla can sense it as she does; an ominous, blazing brand upon that Unlit's soul. If she continues to target it, she will find those attacks abruptly becoming absurdly effective, the damage inflicted becoming disproportionate to the force put in, in direct violation of common sense.

Stygian Mirror (991) has posed:
    "It moved," Mirror says, turning towards Lin as her sword snaps back into one piece. "Therefore, it felt vulnerable. And if it felt vulnerable, it can be killed. You may dislike the Chosen of Oblivion, but sometimes rendering death unto others is the simplest solution."

    Though, she didn't expect the wall to be a single entity.

    "There was some merit to your thinking about how we might be able to kill a wall, though. I'm going to guess we just have to stab all of its eyes. Personally, I'm going to capitalize on what it probably thinks its greatest strength is."

    Enhanced by Kushiko's howl, which she doesn't question-- never question blessings-- the Abyssal makes a beeline for the wall itself. Where should someone even start striking? There's too much of it to strike it all at once. For conventional weapons, anyway.

    The black mark on Mirror's forehead glows brighter, now bleeding down her face like an open wound. She is surrounded by a faint, but present, gray and black aura, inverted sunlight and death. She leaps, her sword-arm wound up all the way over her opposite shoulder to maximize the arc of her swing.

    The blade clicks again, splitting in half.

    She swings in a wide-arc, but the weapon can't be traced-- it's not that it's too fast, it's that there isn't a trajectory at all. Time-Scything Technique allows the weapon to exist simultaneously within each of her intended targets, provided it can hit. Most of every eye within her field of vision is her target. Coupled with Corpus-Rending Blow-- she's attacking the soul-- and the mark Priscilla just placed on the Unlit, it could get pretty nasty. And since the attack is being done with a melee Soulsteel weapon, it's going to drain Essence (read: magic, MP, life force, whatever translates) from it too, at least, for every blow that does hit.

Karal Rei Lin (984) has posed:
"Would you shu--" Lin begins declaring - but she's silenced when...

    The wall grows yet more eyes.
    And teeth.

    Her mouth clamps shut in a brief grimace, and a sinking spirit. That's so wrong. SO VERY WRONG. A part of her wants to mess up her pants a bit.

    But instead she gulps and shifts her stance. Takes a few steps backwards.

    And ponders on just what she saw the Abyssal doing. Hrm. The strange damage left where the strike occured.

    Lin presses her lips together thinly, trying to puzzle out just what happened there. But her gut stirs, fluttering with the odd sensation that she's done that before and might be able to figure out how again.

    Well. Whatever. As reality changes and she finds herself in a desert, surrounded by all new horrors and people who need protecting... she snarls.

    "Weird things've happened before... but did we just... go through the gate? Did the gate come OUT?!" What the HELL happened?

    Either way...

    "... Heh. Not that it matters. You want my light?"

    Light indeed. A golden sunburst crackles to life on her forehead, sizzling with building divine power. "Then just come on..."

    Lin SLAMS her gauntleted fists together, raising a shower of sparks from the clashing tiger claws. Power ripples through her body, muscles tingling, warming up, and tingling. Golden-white light tinged with streaks of faint red and violet burns in abundance from her body and soul, thick bands of translucent power flowing and rising as if a great bonfire.

    "AND TAKE IT!"

    With that triumphant roar she takes a single leap for the horde of Unlit and goes skidding across the desert sands in what's clearly a formal combat stance. Crouched low, knees bent, arms ready to strike...

    Ducking low, she rakes the claws UPWARDS and pulps the first Unlit, then swings her about sideways to brutally maul another. she's staying low and weaving through the reactive horde. A flailing arm's caught in the grip of her claws and she seizes that opportunity to dive in and PIERCE THROUGH THE UNLIT'S HEART and entire torso, then swing the dispersing body at its fellows for good measure.

    "Would love to slash that damned gate in HALF, but someone's gotta protect these people!"

Tomoe has posed:
There are quite a few people here She knows how it's going to end she looks at the thing she's not evne sure what to call it. She'll let the pair flee and move in to deal with the Wall of Cruel Customs and she does not seem happy at all.

"You want my soul?! COME GET IT!"

Is all Tomoe has to say now and she's already chanting before she goes in, golden lights dance about her body and she chants in badly accented norse, but the results are clear.

Bolts of light fly at the Walla nd Tomoe will follow it up drawling her blade and shield as shemvoes in to melee the wall, yes she'll take it brick by brick if she has to.

Lezard Valeth has posed:
"Niflheim is part of my own universe." Lezard explains to Mirror. "The ignoble dead are confemned there under the gaze of Hel, to be loosed at the time of Ragnarok." He chuckles at that thought. "But that is for another time..."

The explanation comes... And Lezard feels reality literally turn itself inside out as the creature reveals the truth of its nature.

He was expecting the eyes.

He was not expecting this /scale/. He grimaces for a moment, mentally adjusting the needed effort in this case. "Coward. Bottom-feeder." Lezard spits. "Is this the extent of your abmition? The true shape of what you can comprehend?" He steps backwards, putting himself on guard for a moment as he takes stock of the intense distance around them. "To scrape, to grind forever on thes vague grist of a zero-sum environment... All you are doing is committing suicide. You have chosen to perish at the hands of your betters. Something I have always lived, something my time in Lordran had also taught me..."

With a sudden surge of force, Lezard sweeps the Catalyst to one side, a purple flame erupting in his hands. "The path of the chosen requires one to embrace /suffering/. To seek /challenge/. Without risk, there is only stagnation and destruction. Your light shall be forefeit!"

He slams the Manus Catalyst into the ground, the tip cracking the plains around him in a growing crater as he draws the energy into a spell. "OPEN THE GATES OF NIFLHEIM! MORE SOULS AWAIT!" He thrusts the Catalyst forward, then. "PRISMATIC MISSILE!"

All about him, dozens of gleaming multicolored lights shine forth, each firing in a wide spray across the wall, spreading its assault into a laserlike bombardment over the entity. The crystals continue to hang about him, ominously waiting to be released.

Carna (974) has posed:
    Health Remaining:

    [++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++]

    [++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++]

    [++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++]

    [++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++]

    The initial stages of combat mostly involve people attacking the wall, and it talking at them. "Bits and pieces, assembled over time, grant the majority of a being's self. It is the principle upon which Lanterns operate, and the Living as well. They assemble a 'self' from the 'selves' of others, by assimilation or mimicry. You Living create Unlit when you die, and the Unlit create Lanterns when they feed upon their fellow Dead... But what do the Lanterns create? They create a demand, and nothing more. They are a dead-end. You are right in that sense, little creature."

    Carna answers that by creating a hole in one of its eyes, small though it may be, with her crossbow. She immediately reloads and fires again, repeating until there is cause to evade an attack. Her attacks are augmented by Valkyr's cry, otherwise she highly doubts she would have the raw attack power with her current armament to be going up against an opponent like this.

    The Wall of Cruel Customs takes devasting blows to its structure and its many eyes, warped tissues scoured or melting thanks to the damage amplification effect on it. Masonry woven into the flesh craters or crumbles in tons upon tons that fall to the ground below when the eyes holding it all together are gouged out or otherwise destroyed. Eyes squint against the force of supernatural roars as blood-like fluid seeps from them, and their surfaces become riddled with bursting veins. Rainbow-hued magic blasts, also amplified, blast bleeding holes and crates in its face and oblitering more of its many eyes. Eyes that are also cleaved apart by twisted attacks with vicious scythes, emptying their foul contents in waterfalls of gore. The awful Unlit continues to speak, somehow managing to maintain its calm yet menacing tone, but the sense of indignation under the surface at the level of damage being done to it can practically be felt.

    It is especially terse about the loss of its harvested Dead Lights.

Carna (974) has posed:
    After so long vulturing off of those who had so little to give already, it does not appear to have really accounted for actually challenging opponents. But it also does not appear to have lost its cool yet... Somehow. Despite all the grievous harm being inflicted. As holy light and martial arts hold at bay portions of the advancing hordes thanks to Karal, and less-holy lasers, blades and bolts, spells and sonic assaults, marks of soul-scouring, all amplified greatly, pound the monstrous creature, it is clear they are messing it up very badly. But judging how much damage is being done over all to something that can't even be properly measured in scale is hard to discern beyond the Unlit's level of irritation. And that level of irritation remains, at the moment, at 'offended and annoyed'.

    "Unlit create a supply for those Lanterns, and nothing more. But I am more than a simple Unlit. Reanimating as such a being is only a means to an end. I am the spirit of a slain Concept who has taken physical form. A reanimation of what once was, and in a world where all is mere vestiges of the past, I am akin to a god. Physical vermin such as you can not judge what is so far beyond you. As evidence, I present this:"

    One of the gates opens before them, and ranks of figures in armor, ranging from the medieval to the futuristic, begin to file through, carrying polearms and swords, assault rifles and rocket launchers, electrified spears and accelerated particle beam cannons. They are... 'Missing' in places. And they seem somehow shadowy and indistinct. Like they are more form than matter. Pieces of strong warriors who paid tolls to go through in the past, before this Unlit monster could demand whatever it wished. But they are all, undeniably to those with the senses to ascertain it, each and every one a strong Lantern.

    "I will create Lanterns." the Wall concludes smugly.

Carna (974) has posed:
    The psuedo-Lanterns attack with whatever they are equipped with. Charging, firing at the Elites, launching missiles, boosting forward on jetpacks to try to drive electrified spears into them... Their attacks are straightforward, but persistent, varied, and numerous. Carna immediately has to start dodge-rolling to throw herself out of the path of these attacks, and is STILL caught on the edge of a missile or two. But each one slain, if the Elites choose to do so, reduces the Dead Lights the Unlit possesses. Fighting the 'fodder' the Wall uses to battle in its stead 'damages' it indirectly.

    Health Remaining:

    [------------------++++++++++++++++++++++]

    [++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++]

    [++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++]

    [++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++]

Kushiko has posed:
The uncoiling and unfurling of her body to turn loose that howling Warcry was only the first part, it seems. This one might be all the more terrifying to behold: while her supernatural howl infused others and herself with the energy of the Void, the second cry was something that was directed solely at the Unlit itself.

This howling voice was an echoing splinter, a voice that raged against an ancestral wound in primacy, one that resonated and awoke the predatory beast within.

                HYSTERIA

Even with no name given there is no confusion over her channeling a kind of rage that nothing save her own will would have a chance at dissuading it.

Void light wreathed her, a convocation of lilac-pink energy that coruscated sparks and trails radiating from her form. Her forearms bore four sets of three energy spines each, floating just above the limbs from in angled placements parallel to one another. The beginnings of those attacks the pseudo-Lanterns leveled upon her seemed to do /nothing/, even as she transitioned into this 'mode' of hers.

Solid energy claws extended from each of, and through her fingertips as her arms stretched out to either side, hunching over slightly from the release of energy into herself.

            <"You talk too much.">

Now, that voice was not Valkyr's--Valkyr does not talk. But it is a presence on the wind, on the river of souls that swirl about within the warped arena. She does not care about the Wall itself; those like Lezard and Stygian and the others, whomsoever has 'scale' can deal with that.

Hers is the fury, and a fury she unleashes as she hurtles into the massive throng of the Lanterns: first by simply launching a grappling hook into one of the ones who flies in with a jetpack, sending herself like a spiralling ball of energy and slamming a clawed hand down into the midst of them.

And those who didn't immediately /die/ from that find themselves under assault by a brutally elegant brand of beast in Valkyr: the feminine figure moving swiftly and wasting no time in landing feet first on a toppled Lantern before shoving her claws through its' face.

The energy trailing her claws is the best way to tell /where/ she is at least as she becomes a ball of absolutely vicious rage, and the concept of 'overkill' is rather simple as she launches into spinning dashes between Lanterns.

There is no kill /like/ overkill.

Count Kord has posed:
    Kord's vision returns from the blur that his skull-rattling scream had caused. He stares at the damage he had caused among the evidence of all of the others, wheezing because it is not normal for a human being to use such a power. His hands grip tighter on the haft of the scythe and his teeth grit behind his mask as the Wall taunts them with words about how this world works, about the economics of Dead Lights and their flow into Lanterns. That there would be no more demand. The creature believes Lanterns to be the height of stagnation...

    "You are a festering sink hole! Naught but a thing that sucks in all Light and hoards it, a boil on the flesh of this world that will be burned away!!" he bellows at the wall, having clearly lost all capacity for subtlety around the time he chose to start screaming energy blasts a moment ago. "You represent only the damnation of this afterlife, and you will reduced to dust!"

    Of course, the psuedo-Lanterns make Kord's ranting come to an abrupt halt. He has to dodge several that swing spears at him, either powered by batteries or not, and it's not an easy task to do ... if he were not boosted by Valkyr's war cry from before. He narrowly avoids a mortal blow from one of the electrified weapons, and then he becomes a living blender. The scythe begins viciously cleaving at anything that gets within reach of him, with the experience and skill to hit directly in lethal parts of these beings. His weapon won't be stopped by things like 'intangible bodies,' designed to fight even ghosts if it needs to. He slices and kicks and headbutts and smashes soldiers like a one man army, roaring his effort through the sudden chaos that full-fledged war really becomes. Through it all, the wounds he gathers accrue, but are not enough to stop him in his tracks. Adrenaline and wrath propel him forward, honed by the telltale training of a warrior.

Stygian Mirror (991) has posed:
    "You misunderstand. It's neither your goals nor current state that make you appear weak to us. It's that you preyed on the weak. If you wish to attain true power, fight the worthy! As you are now, you're no god. You're an overzealous wall spirit that thought it could kill a million ants and get the same result as if they'd killed a hundred heroes."

    Mirror lands from her jumping strike; she watches as the gate open and the soldiers pour through. Varied-- very, very varied. More importantly for her, armed. The Abyssal smiles, placing her sword back on her hip like dead weight. She takes a stance; the corona of black Essence around her intensifies, eating light around her-- even the light Karal Rei Lin is letting off. A red glow joins as she adopts the Bloody Mirror Form, a stance that seems to invite foes to strike her. And they do!

    One Lantern strikes her in the chest with a spear. Her Soulsteel and bone tunic shifts, allowing the tip of the blade to draw blood through an opening, while the rest slams into the cloth like it's hardened steel.

    Another Lantern's energy cannon catches the side of her shoulder, drawing blood through the armor.

    Another cuts a bit of her exposed skin with a sword, past her gauntlet.

    Essence and blood twist together around the young woman. Lin can tell, this is not a darkened mirror of anything she can do. It's too tied to blood and the twisted Essence of death the Abyssal is using to be.

    "You should not send an army to do the work of a champion."

    Mirror makes a few motions-- it almost looks like a martial art, guiding gestures of some nature. Blood suddenly gushes out of her wounds, and it fires in every direction. In the air, the blood expands, forming replicas of the spear and sword used to wound her. The rain of weapons threatens to cut and impale a great many of the Lanterns, pretty mercilessly.

Priscilla has posed:
    "Postulating such infantile philosophy even now? To evolve a self, to grow and becometh more, is the sole and rightful domain of the living. I shalt not be lectured by the corpse of something that nothing hath any reason to mourn, or made to feel any form of similarity with a being that so gathers itself with utterly pointless misery. Thou art no planner or sage or 'economist', and certainly not a god. Thou art nothing more than a petulant and childishly cruel obsolecense; a worthless vestige of that which is not missed, desperate to becometh something worthwhile long after thine own deserving death, and yet unable to deny the nature for which it was so reviled to begin with. The only worth in thine existence is the convenience thou hast done in hoardishly accumulating so many souls, which, be assured, we shalt hath greater use for than thee."

    Even in this cracked, dusty and hellish desert, a biting, freezing wind manages to blow, whirling out from Priscilla and discernible by flakes of improbable snow carried along it, causing the sand to crackle with a creeping veneer of frost. Obscured briefly in the swirling cold, her shape resolves at three times its previous size, all of a sudden a titan amongst the hordes of the dead and the sparse ranks of the living. No longer confining herself to a more mortal guise, her bizarre interpretation of 'divinity' is a palpable aura, though not so much glorious and holy, or malevolent and evil, as otherworldly and terrible, with the now-massive scythe amounting to the physical manifestation of a chilling, existential threat.

    And so it becomes apparent why the first weapon she had ever built was a scythe. The giant crossbreed disappears from sight immediately, but only moments later, great, sweeping ranks of the oncoming horde are tossed to and fro in great, gory arcs, swept aside in circular sprays of whatever amounts to their blood. With that height, the !Lanterns are almost exactly the size of stalks of grain compared to Priscilla, making them perfect targets for what a scythe is /supposed/ to be used for: namely, reaping fields. Wherever they perish, whatever Dead Lights have been put into their creation are left separated in their wake, not drained directly from them as the Abyssal is able to do, so much as cleaved from their host bodies upon death, and then gathered up in a well of spiritual gravity to be absorbed.

Karal Rei Lin (984) has posed:
With the number of Unlit no longer such a concern, Lin turns about and... sees something far more menacing. Gates. LANTERNS streaming forth, some with weapons she doesn't REMOTELY recognize. "WHAT the--" The next thing she does is wise indeed.

    She goes full defensive, the Tiger Claws she picked brought up just in time to deflect - or rather ABSORB - particle beams and bullets. A rocket-guy with a spear swoops in and she leaps up, slips around the spear and SLAMS an elbow into his gut. The incoming fire now meets a SHIELD... while it lasts, anyways. As soon as it's gone... her Tiger Claws are again exposed and she's caught parrying bullets and arrows and other things far faster than any could believe possible. How is it that she's not being OVERWHELMED?!

    Well, a few shots ARE getting through, striking her legs and sides and getting her staggering back... until her tiger claws are rendered completely useless.

    The claws are shredded and melted. She didn't bring her sword to this occasion, but...

    Dozens of warriors surround her as the ranged attackers get distracted by other heroes here.... and she grits her teeth, then makes a motion as if drawing a sword from nowhere.

    Which both is... and isn't what she's doing.

    Though clearly struggling to do it quickly enough, POWER gathers in her palms as the group dogpiles her. The next moment...

    A mighty arc of pure, congealed sunlight flashes across the sky like a searchlight, and the Lanterns are blown backwards and away from the Solar!

    Lin's now holding a rather odd-looking weapon, a 'blade' of searing light the same color as her billowing anima, slightly curved.

    Just in time to see the crazy manuevers that Mirror pulls out. ... BLOOD WEAPONS?! WHAT?!

    "Is that a...?!" Well. No time to ask now.

    Instead she grunts gruffly and puts a foot back, dropping into a stance of her own.

    A sword-drawing stance, though she has no sheath for the burning weapon.

    It ultimately matters little.

    BLINK AND YOU'LL MISS HER.

    The warriors who she'd knocked back have re-grouped, but this proves to be their undoing.

    Lin's seen leaning forward in the first flickers of a sprint's beginning... but then a streak of gold flashes faster than the eye can comprehend across a wide swath of the battlefield.

    Almost callously, Lin twirls the weapon and strikes at the air as if casting blood from it... and every Lantern that happened to be in that stretch of desert's certainly going to be toppling over in the next second, dispersing into a flurry of Dead Lights. Or whatever else they might do here.

    "You think I care what you are?! Concept, god, Unlit.... don't give a damn what you are or what you think you are. You're just a monster, and soon you'll be a broken wreck!"

Tomoe has posed:
Tomoe is angry, very angry but it's not the anger that clouds the mind she's focused her selfd on the Wall of Cruel Customs and she doesn't seem to care much foe what it has had to say. She'll contiuyne to attakc the foul thing but she's also being a bit wreckless in how she's doing it. She's got her job to keep the thing's attention on her and she's damn well going to try to do so.

"A concept taken form?! This wouldn't be the first time I seen sometrhing like that.

She's conrtiuni to stirke but she's also getting smacked up pretty good even as she does so. The strange attack she's not sure what to deal with and she's watching her HP bar get some noticable bits knocked out of it and she's not feeling so well herself either. There's something about this place that terrifies her deep down.

She does her damnest to keep up with Karal as the young exalted strikes. She unleahs a sword art of some sort and Tomoe rapidly moives in striking with her blade so fast it blurrs.

Carna (974) has posed:
    The hordes of enemies don't seem to be properly alive to begin with, not even by the standards of what constitutes an extremely nebulously-defined 'alive' in the realm of the Dead. They are incomplete. Phantoms in fragments, given a semblance of form for the purpose of combat. But despite these psuedo-Lanterns' armament and variety of attacks, they fall to the attacks levelled against them. Energy claws slashing and cutting in a hysterical frenzy of savage attacks, taking down many, many foes. A wicked scythe whirling and slicing, as its wielder rejects all that the one summoning these enemies stands for, and freeing the fragments of selves from the control of a greater monster. Blood is turned to weapons of reprisal that bombard the attackers, returning to them the harm they inflict, and more, as the parasitic behavior that led to them being here now is chastised... The numbers of enemies are decreasing rapidly, as the assembled champions unleash their fury, while rejecting the words of this parasitic monster that thinks so much of itself because it gained some form of awareness after unfathomable stretches of time leeching first from the strong and then from the desperate.

    Priscilla grows to her true height, and begins to carve through the not-Lanterns, giving whatever amounts to rest to these bits and pieces in a place where the Dead return and return and return. At the very least, they will no longer serve this monster. Karal surges into the uncoming enemy forces with a sword of light, making her a beacon and a target for the Unlit that continue to pour across the vast red plains. Almost Mars-like in their stark, alien appearance, though Mars likely doesn't have hordes of the soulless Dead charging across it to consume other Dead.

    Tomoe continues to attack the gigantic Wall of Cruel Customs itself, slashing it with her sword. As Dead Lights are lost to the monster, its harvested power expended or being purged from it, large chunks of graying masonry fall away, more and more, threatening to crush Tomoe if she doesn't evade. Woven through the marble, splotches muddy red, and revolting black lengths like rotten veins or twisted roots twitch and spasm before they dissolve into the Deathly energies that comprise their make-up.

Carna (974) has posed:
    The Wall of Cruel Customs seems less than pleased with this development, and with its failure to sway those before it. It is no longer just casually annoyed, its countless eyes increasingly bloodshot with barely-contained anger as gaps appear in its surface and writhing figures seem to become visible deep underneath its architecture. A hint of what went into making it originally?

    Either way, it hisses out, "Who are you to deny me proper compensation for my services? They wish to pass through. I make it possible. It is up to me what the toll for that is. It is not my fault that they do not know what lies beyond or think to ask. They are refugees who do not know what they are refugees from! If it amuses me to make these ignorant fools bleed, so be it! Try spending as long as I have conveying these worms back and forth without becoming bored. Then tell me you would not seek entertainment!"

    The gate the psuedo-Lanterns were spilling from cracks, crumbles, and crashes closed. Civilian Lanterns continue to amass before the Wall, but they now seek to flee to other gates where violence is less likely to claim them. But the bellowing, deep voice of the Wall of Cruel Customs continues no matter where they go.

    "If you wish to speak of CHAMPIONS, I can speak of Champions. Before it was fodder like this that used my gates, true champions passed through my arches to distant realms. They may not have thought much of a paltry sacrifice when they had so much to give, but now their offerings shall put to rest your ridiculous tales... And your Light shall be mine in turn! Behold! A Lord of Silence and his entourage!"

    Even as a fragment, the figure that comes forth as another gate opens seems distinctly different from the psuedo-Lanterns. An indistinct figure, like smoke forced into the form of a man by draping it with the finery of a king. The being wisps and distorts within the royal cloak, the heavy battle plate, as he strides forth with scepter in hand. There are others around him. What appear to be two small children, equally indistinct, many knights and warriors with clear silhouettes but unclear features, including a lady knight with a red jewel on her forehead. The kingly figure bears a blackened crown.

Carna (974) has posed:
    Despite the expectations of the Wall of Cruel Customs, with its diminished Dead Light reserves, they seem neither willing to fight nor does it seems able to compel them. They simply stand there, radiating a presence of powerful but noble beings, who would never stoop to the act the Wall demands of them. "Fight, fools! I have not wasted Dead Lights upon your manifestation for you to take no action!"

    Against their will, haltingly, some of the Champions who served a Lord of Silence begin to move towards the assembled Elites. But they are taking their time in doing so.

    Actively resisting, even without any consciousness left to them.

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Count Kord has posed:
    Once the last Psuedo-Lantern falls, Kord finds himself staring up at the great living wall, the terrible being that continues to control these fragments as if they were its own. "What an insult," he mutters, "The pitiful struggles of a monster that never truly become something marvelous of its own." The red and black armored nobleman prepares his weapon, and marches toward the new spectres. He does not attack the King, instead dashing around the group of Champions that the Wall has put against them to target one of the knightly beings from the flank. He's trying to do this so they get distracted with the other heroes.

    And viciously he strikes at a single strong-looking target with a Crunch attack, a magically enhanced ability that emulates the slam of terrible jaws on his target, focused by jabbing the haft end of his scythe toward them. The energy-based jaws are enormous, and they slam down fast thanks to the enhancement of that Warframe's abilities earlier.

Kushiko has posed:
Despite being in the bloodstained wrath of Hysteria, what happens and what is leveled at Valkyr and at Kushiko does not go without notice. She is not so sunken into her berserker fury that she cannot think tactically however; yet in response to their reprisals she throws herself into greater attacking. Bombardments strike her, momentarily staggering her and knocking her backwards.

Yet she kips up just as quickly. There are wounds but as she leaps after an offending party she becomes a blur of momentum--surely the others were able to attack with enhanced speed, but whatever power fed Valkyr with every other strike she grew all the more faster until she topped out at a velocity that put to question what on earth the frame was really capable of, the wounds only a passing memory.

"Feeble offering," Kushiko snarls; her voice not akin to those that could be heard from a speaker on her Warframe. No, this voice is a projection through the malleable Void energy that permeates the air around her, a maelstrom of brutality awoken. "Keep talking all you want, it will avail you little save to be your epitaph."

And upon saying this, she orients upon one of these Champions summoned as such. Though the suit bore no eyes, there was the unmistakable stare from the Operator that lie just beyond it. "We will not prolong your suffering," she states brusquely.

It was then that despite the name of 'Void' that was given to what fueled her that she radiated a stronger light still--lilac sparks and flittings of energy coruscating and trailing from those clawtips as she launched herself. Curled up so tightly in a ball she /hurtled/ through the air towards one of those most noble of Champions, unraveling herself and becoming the living approximation of a buzzsaw with as fast as she spun. Yet the buzzsawing motion was only a prelude to erupt with the momentum of her spin to scythe her claws from bottom to top in a scything uppercut.

For those who are being enhanced by that Warcry, there might yet be a sense to those who are keen-sensed that every kill she makes, the benefit remains present.

Stygian Mirror (991) has posed:
    "Boredom? That's your excuse? You could have risen to such heights had you looked past seeking entertainment from people who couldn't even entertain themselves if they tried. THAT was your answer? Beggars, peasants and desperate nobodies, like a child toying with an ant farm? Had you no ambition? No vision?!"

    Mirror's Caste Mark flares, and the deathly glow around her intensifies, black and grey light draining the surrounding of its own light and colors. The circle and eight sun rays on her forehead bleeds profusedly now, down on her face.

    If ever there was doubt there wouldn't be any now. Stygian Mirror is not of the living, in a way no different from the gathered soldiers of the Wall. She might only be different in that she has a whole soul.

    She takes a page from Lin's book. The blood weapons melt, splashing to the ground; the injuries that spawned them heal, very slowly but faster than normal. A Resplendent Shadow Blade appears in both of Mirror's hands, the swords shaped less like blades and more like... cattle brands? They're long, jagged, tortuous, perhaps just a bit reminiscent of the brands the Guild uses to mark slaves. They're formed entirely of black and grey, glowing Essence.

    Mirror turns to the Lord of Silence and his retinue. "Your master lacks the long-term vision to deserve you. You hesitate to charge at us! Break free of his hold if you know what's good for you!"

    The Essence blades are pulled back; without charging into melee, Mirror unleashes a duo of black shockwaves with them aimed for the back row of soldiers and the Lord of Silence himself. Aside from inflicting standard slashing damage, the blades in her hand inflict despair and horror to targets damaged by them (though it can be shaken off with willpower). It might be enough to help push them into betrayal, assuming they survive the wave of attacks from everyone else.

Tomoe has posed:
Tomoe is prushing the wall of Cruel customs fairly hard but the wall is pushign quite back and she might end up gettin crushed here by the falling stones. She's force to breka off and back off, she ends up back flipping out of the wya coming to a halt rising up and starting to chant again, the runes dance about her a good deal longer as she's chanting a much larger spell than her last. She tracks the Tenno as they move savaging ripping into things, she also makes note of Count Kord and keeps chanting it seems she's holding of cast something rather big.

Priscilla has posed:
    "Who am I?" Comes the almost incredulously rhetorical question from nowhere, curling along the arcing swings of a blood-spattered scythe. "Who art thou to stop us? Do not seek to fall back upon justice and fairness now. If truly this land is desperate and dying and all that matters is one's ability to exercise their power for gain, then it is our right to do so as well. Thine own inadequacies and ignorance art no fault of ours as well." It seems Priscilla is not well disposed towards this kind of circular rhetoric. Maybe she just hates the Wall that much, but it seems as it snarls and raves more and more, she slips into 'because I'm more powerful and so I can' as justification. After all, why should she need to justify anything to /this/? Especially when she has no care as to how justified it thinks it is in turn.

    "How lamentable. For a so called god to be unable to command his own 'creations', if they can even be called such, as they look as nothing more than stolen forms and poorly mimicked glory to I. Even such ghosts wouldst seemeth unwilling to shame themselves as thoroughly as to tolerate thee." As long as the retinue falters to attack, Priscilla will take advantage of the Wall of Cruel Customs tying its hands, backing somewhere away from the fight where an intensely sustained, cross-shaped glow blazes away fifteen feet in mid-air, laying on that psychic feedback screech as a lengthy whine that steadily builds like the churning of a generator. She focuses it directly on the wall, over the heads of the other fighters, searing into its metaphysical substance with the baleful brand of Calamity so that with each passing second, the damage amplification effect strengthens, and the harm done by the seething, scouring energy itself multiplies exponentially at a climbing rate.

Karal Rei Lin (984) has posed:
DOWN fall the hordes of the collected bits and pieces of warriors long gone... and Lin turns about, rather visibly FLINCHING at the presence of the beings that've been summoned up now. She's wary and uncertain about these ones. Where the horde she could predict and strike with impunity - apart from the threat of missile bombardment that's left her bloodied and pelted with shrapnel as is...

    These few, they're a complete unknown.

    But as a born and raised warrior, she can sense... "... Hesitation..."

    Is this really a Lord of Silence and his entourage? Why would they have any dealings with this gate?

    "Is it so hard to understand, even when you're bloated on the Essence of men and maybe even gods? So much soulstuff and spirit in you, but whatever you once were... NOW you're a disease that makes this foul, hopeless world even sicker. Scrabbling to Dead Lights at any costs... disgusting. All this you've taken... and for WHAT? There's no END to hoarding power. Stockpile a million years. Stockpile for a billion years. And just WHY, anyways? What will you do with it? You're a WALL, you're not going anywhere. Collecting this much power just makes you a target for bigger fish... and I bet if you go in deeper into this hellish place, there's some out there."

    The redhead's all but GROWLING now.

    "Not only does NOTHING you're doing make sense, it's POINTLESS SUFFERING inflicted JUST FOR LAUGHS... you don't know anymore what it's like being caught in the cold, alone and afraid... how much these people must HATE you, how much they HURT...! SO HOW ABOUT A FEW REMINDERS?!"

Carna (974) has posed:
    Carna fought the psuedo-Lanterns alongside the others, though she had to focus on rolling and dodging out of the path of attacks almost exclusively, and then popping up to lash out once or twice before having to go on the evasive again. She is not built for direct combat, but rather ambush and ranged combat against melee-restricted foes. And the hits she takes as a result of being forced into such uncomplimentary circumstances has her drinking down a vial of spiritual essence more than once before the others dispose of the enemy.

    When the Lord of Silence appears, however, and simply... Refuses to fight, and those alongside him as well... Carna finds herself hesitating. From what she understood of the Unlit Concept's power, it has fragments of people. Not even really people, just pieces of their essence. And it controls those because they were traded to it in exchange for passage. Dead Lights ARE fragments of people. But even in fragments, these champions... This 'entourage' and the Lord of Silence at the center... They appear to be refusing to cooperate.

    Carna prefers it when she can just cut down the enemy without having to think about it too much. When it's her survival pitted against another. Philosophy in the middle of combat is a recipe for dying, in her opinion. But right now, watching this, seeing even pieces of Lanterns seemingly have a will of their own, or at least an uncompromising essence that can not be tampered with...

    Some of her long-standing worries about being a person or not, about whether she is just the amalgam of the memories and traits of her victims, or someone who once lived... She feels inspired by this example. That even a piece of a copy of dead person could have some inherent self that does not succumb to predatory instincts and inner Darkness.

    And she sprints towards the gate the newcomers emerged from, racing across the dusty plains, until she is close enough to crank her crossbow and then fire upon them. She will not let their resistance go to waste.

Carna (974) has posed:
    Count Kord has an easy time getting around his targets. They seem slow to maneuver. Slow to even respond. The few movements they do make are halting, too restrained to do serious harm even if they landed. A headless figure in white armor adorned with black spikes draws back and lashes out half-heartedly with a pair of whips seemingly made from human spines as Kord passes around it, but there is no real desire behind it. No awareness. As he chomps down on it, its armor crunches inwards and it does not bother to counter-attack as its Dead Lights stream from the wound as enormous energy jaws bite down on it, up until it disperses into a Deathly vapor. The same holds true for the others. Just mechanical movements, if that.

More mechanical than even a machine, for Valkyr proves to be an agile combatant who speeds across the battlefield, and collides with the lady knight bearing the red jewel upon her forehead, driving her back nearly to the gate she came out of. For a moment, based on the resistance to the attack, it almost seems like the buzzsaw of shining power that draws more Unlit to attack the Elites from behind might not pierce through... But then she does, without the knight ever raising a finger, and continues through to carve through two more lesser champions behind her in a dazzling display like fireworks spinning through the air.

    Stygian Mirror's attacks draw shudders from those she assaults. But it is not a shudder of emotion. It is their form. Already unstable thanks to their conjured existence, the emotional resonance of the attacks disrupt the phantoms. Even those few who lash out with blades or spheres of swirling flames that drift lazily and then settle to burning upon the ground without coming near their target only really seem effective and focused when directed towards the emaciated husks that come close to the Elites, rather than against Stygian herself. And that kingly Lord of Silence? As shockwaves wash over him and those behind him, he actually seems to just... Discorporate. Abandon the battlefield without a fight, and destroy his false existence. Those nearest him do likewise. The two children with identical silhouettes, a figure in a black and green robe with a tiara of flowers upon her smoke-like brow, and a towering form close to ten feet tall... Still small compared to Priscilla, but taller than these primarily human-seeming individuals who now break up into motes of energy and abandon the one who called upon them. All of them, and all remaining champions, just leave behind the one that summoned them and return to nothingness.

Carna (974) has posed:
    Priscilla's mark of Calamity continues to have its deleterious effect upon the Unlit concept. Though the Wall has been radiating a great deal of power for awhile now, it is becoming apparent, if gradually, that it can not actually properly control it. If only humanoid Unlit can become Lanterns, then something like this... Whatever it was originally... It might have an even more tenuous grasp on sanity than a Lantern. And if that's the case, despite the vast energy it has stored up, which even now bleeds out of it at a rate that could be equated to hemorrhaging, it might be the reason that it has held sway for so long has simply been the APPEARANCE of power, and the sordid methods it uses to enforce its will via its own victims, rather than because it can actually use what it has harvested in an effective manner.

    Such an eldritch being... If it could truly wield what it has here, it could have focused it upon attacking directly, perhaps even killed or at least severely wounded some of those opposing it. Instead it does all that it knows how to do, and relies upon the strength of others.

    One good thing came of summoning those champions, at least. A number of them actually 'accidentally' directed their attacks towards the Unlit hordes, keeping them off of the Elites' backs, and buying time for Tomoe to cast her spell she is preparing. For beings without will, without consciousness, they did a surprisingly effective job of choosing not to cooperate.

Carna (974) has posed:
    The Wall of Cruel Customs is livid now. It invested a huge volume of Dead Lights to summon and control those beings, and any who aren't slain by the Elites seem to have been sufficiently effected by the display of fellow champions to terminate their own mimicry of existence and not oppose them further. The Wall is visibly crumbling all along its length, for as far as the eye can see. Cracks riddle it, and pieces fall out continuously. Something whispers in the blackness beneath. Something dark that catches the rust-hued 'light' of this hellish plane. Like a night sea, if seas were made of blood that whispers and crawls incessantly.

    The words of all assemble infuriate it even more. Questioning its motives, questioning its flawed logic, its flawed methods, its flawed everything. Calling it out for what it is and what it's doing, showing defiance it has not faced since the days when it was just a wall conveying people from place to place, before it had the power to affect the lives/deaths of others. Karal's words earn her no friendship points with the cursed thing. But she'd probably not want any if such was offered. This thing is just generally a terrible entity.

    "BEFORE HUMANS, OTHER RACES WALKED ETERNITY! FACE NOW ONE OF THOSE RACES THAT HAVE COME TO ME DEMANDING PASSAGE! FACE THEM, AND BE DESTROYED!" the Wall roars, vibrating the ground, vibrating the air, as the gate that summoned a Lord of Silence collapses, and another off to the left opens. And what comes forth, may spark a memory for Priscilla, as she was present when a certain Lunar read from a certain book in a certain tower.

Carna (974) has posed:
    5. `Till Covet broke his locks and bars,
    And slept with open doors;
    Envy sung at the rich man's feast;
    Wrath was follow'd up and down
    By a little ewe lamb;
    And Wantonness on his own true love
    Begot a giant race.

    The enormous forms that begun to spill forth from this third gate, the very energy required to do so making its structure crumble faster and faster, certainly fit the descriptor of 'a giant race'. But giant WHAT is another question. Large and gray and lumpy like boulders fused together. Eyes all over misshapen heads look this way and that, as mouths like undersea caves, lined with the teeth of deepsea monsters work open and closed. There are only two of them. But they are very, very, very large.

    And they crawl out of the gate and become even taller when they stand on their own cloven feet. Their roars as the phantom giants see all the enemies and begin to stomp forth to fae them, are so loud and yet so deep in pitch, that actually HEARING the roars is impossible for human ears. All that is felt is the vibration of air on skin, of the shaking of one's innards in a way that is probably dangerous, the feel like one's skeleton might be shaken apart. But then the roars cease, and the giants raise their malformed limbs in preparation to attack.



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Count Kord has posed:
    Kord watches the shadow of a being evaporate, turning into Dead Lights that wash over him and make the brands marking his skin glow brightly enough that it shines through his armor. In fact, the amount of Dead Lights that have shone on him so far have made all of the markings pulse with deathly power, a strange glow that is not true light but the effect of light being smote on contact.

    The Count manifests his wings and flaps them a couple of times to retreat in a graceful manner as terrible and enormous beings emerge from the Wall's depths. The Wall's shouts had rung in his head until the rumbling battlecry of these things rolled over him and nearly brought him out of the sky. He gasped for breath and his spiritual wings lost several feathers, thrown off by the impact of the sound. His pale blue eyes focused on the eldritch things and found little to fear. It didn't occur to him to be afraid of them, just that they smelled like the sort of thing he had dedicated his life to killing.

    He rose up into the air. High, high up into the air. And then he aimed down at one of the giants with his scythe, and collected a swirl of red light around the end. And he fired a beam of vampiric energy down that dwarfed him in width. The red energy emitted no light, instead having an outline of black where it warped the air and sucked away all light. It didn't emit sound except for the sound left behind as if the air made a death rattle on contact.

    Despite all of that... it was not a 'Dark' attack. It was the power of a god of predators and doom, and not the power of an unholy destroyer. (A 'Flying' type ability.)

    "I tire of your empty ego. Begone, with all of your stolen shadows."

Karal Rei Lin (984) has posed:
So as it turns out, the entourage and the fraction of a Lord of Silence is not so terrible. Lin doesn't even need to go on the offensive because others wipe it out before she can think to.

    These gints though... now she turns her attention back towards what matters here: the fight.

    Only... what the hell are those? Blue eyes scan rapidly across the irregular surface and everything in her soul VIOLENTLY squirms in distaste. those things...

    They. Are. UGLY.

    Lin breaks into a run, stampeding across the expanse while leaning far forward, weapon out and ready to strike!

    "You've tried that TWICE now and it didn't work. It's taken us FIVE MINUTES to wipe out your MILLIONS OF YEARS OF WORK! Lose much more... and you'll stop being even able to talk.... you'll lose EVERYTHING you are! SURRENDER and maybe you'll come out of this... but you know what happens if you lose much more..."

    Her words start strong there, but eventually dwindle into uninterested hopelessness. A part of her strongly wants this thing to suffer and fall and crumble to nothing, but she still goes out of her way to give it that option at least.

    But she seems to be fearless towards the giants. In fact, upon nearing one she simply LEAPS up towards it and attempts to CLEAVE ITS HEAD OFF with a slash of her brilliant sparking sunlight blade!

Kushiko has posed:
Truth be known, the light of the Void that the Warframe gave off was intentional and purposeful--attack her and she will counter--moreso now in the throes of Hysteria that Valkyr wrapped herself in. Such a thing was owed to her nature: as close to invulnerable as it could get, and what hits could penetrate didn't disable nor hesitate--just required her to attack /even more/ to heal herself from those attacks.

Yet in spite of her spirited brutality, she does not relish in it the way any would expect to, owing to the Wall's furor and arrogance run rampant. Keep talking, she thinks at first, bright pink shredding through the crumpling form of another, her attention shifting to ensure others such as Stygian and Karal and Priscilla among them are doing well--though the sight of Carna needing perhaps some more coverage does draw her attention.

Just because Carna /can/ come back from horrible deaths doesn't mean she likes the idea of it being necessary.

Priscilla wasn't the only one for whom the sights of the giants bespoke such a memory--it wouldn't be as immediate, but the Lotus whom observed through the Tenno's optics of the scene that unfolded frowned in thought. 'Giants' was something mentioned, catalogued by the efforts of those exploring that tower recently.

However, it is not something that can be readily made use of in this situation and more to the point something to be dwelt on later. Especially with that horrific kind of roar-slash-bellowing voice that was felt more than heard--though mercifully, the Warframe, the Tenno... they are not human after all.

Nonetheless, it didn't change the fact Valkyr was buffetted backwards from the roar, resonating and deafening as she lifts her clawed hands up for a few fleeting moments until the shockwave of the roar passes amidst she and those of the fallen. The sheer size presented by the presently melee focused Valkyr is a problem to be certain, but all problems have a solution.

More specific, the solution /she/ brought on was to hopefully take advantage of what others would do with their forward facing attacks. Lashing out with a cord of brilliant energy she launched at one of their cloven feet; specifically towards their knees. But as she did this, she fired another cable towards the ground, bringing herself to a halt about halfway forward.

So attached for when others such as Karal or Stygian, Kord or Priscilla might be able to, she dug in with her digitgrade feet, and demonstrating a density of strength to her body that /shouldn't/ be plausible within a seeming humanoid shape the felinoid Warframe /PULLED/ because you know, /why not/ try and knock the giant backwards into the wall with what others are doing to it?

Not like she has tow cables and a way to fly around it's legs and all.

Priscilla has posed:
    Unfortunately, it doesn't seem as though these horrible giants, as real and present as they are, will offer any real clues to that book other than suggesting some of its authenticity. The way Priscilla can feel her bones vibrating is nauseating to say the least, but it also proves that there is nothing to be gained from trying to talk to them, if she had any idea that there may have been in the first place. "And I am certain they came to regret it as well. Were they perhaps here, these events may hath unfolded differently, but these ghosts art even older than the others. How far back in thine passed and forgotten 'glory' art thou willing to search for something of import? How long ago were thou relevant enough to scratch and scrabble for something to oppose us?" She doubts there even is an answer.

    At her height at least, she can physically challenge the giants to a degree, and so Priscilla unveils herself for the time being, as there will be no hiding what she does with the luminous sword in her hand, now larger than any of the humans present, and pulsing with such cold, scorching magic that the barren ground catches alight with blue flames where lands the swirling, glittering motes of light cast from it like a torch. Still powered up by the Hysteria, she swings for one of the giants, horizontally through its midsection where she expects the blade's strange nature to be more effective than brute force, and through it, cast a wave of soulfire through its back, penetrating past it to blast a sprawling scar across the wall, taking advantage of the extensive debuffing work she'd done earlier, aiming for an existing rent to blast the arcane light deep into its core, liquid substance.

Stygian Mirror (991) has posed:
    The sight of the giants-- whatever they are, as Mirror cannot tell, having never encountered such a species-- causes the Abyssal to dismiss the Resplendent Shadow Blades, reaching for her sword on her waist instead. The jagged Soulsteel edge clicks and separates down the middle, top half clanking on the floor, connecting to the bottom half and hilt of the weapon by a strand of purple, black and grey Essence.

    "You're deluded. You're powerful, threatening, mighty, but you don't know what to do with that. Why do you cling to what you are when it's obviously not working out for you?"

    A final surge of black, inverted Essence, the light coming off Mirror turning into a corona of inverted sunlight. It's not quite at its iconic level, though. Despite her words she does fully acknowledge these things could kill them if they didn't fight back.

    Still... the Wall isn't the only one with a story.

    "Before even the first Gods there was another species. Us Chosen laid them low and claimed the world from them. It takes more than age to threaten!"

    Mirror swings her blade, and it launches like a hookshot at one of the giants. Assuming she hits, she would pass through, delivering a flurry of attacks in an instant-- and immediatly bounce to another, and another. She would land after the strikes, behind the three or four giants. For a single second nothing would seem to happen, until Mirror dramatically (maybe a bit too much so) swooshes her blade to the side. Tides of blood like blades suddenly crash down towards the giant, trying to inflict the countless wounds in a single moment.

Tomoe has posed:
Tomoe continunes her chant as the runes fly about her, she doesn't do too much casting all truth be told? Yet she made sure she had every spell her fire and light magic skills let her have acess to that much she did have the sense to do even if she was a swordman to use the local slang for SAO players and those who liked to fight like them. There are Tenno, Exalted, A Pokemon master and basically a Dragon God with her? She's an illusion and she's still grappling with it but she has some power none the less and she's fully intent to use it.

The chanting goes on even as the battle contiunes around her. The fragments of old victems of this terrible thing, echos of races long since dead, the ranting of the gate keeper is noticed but she keeps upon her task and fginally the chanting ends ans she unleahses a torrent of fire blasts at the Gate Keeper, the blasts are powerfuland hot enough they could burn through stone or at least impace like chain of bombs. She's however for lack of a term animation locked and very open to being attacked.

Carna (974) has posed:
    The giants may be fearsome enemies at their full strength, especially against an individual opponent. But together, the amassed Elites are too much for even two of them. Cross bow bolts thunk into nests of eyes, beams of vampiric energy scour the monstrous figures as they send boulders flying with stray contact of cloven foot with landscape, slashing blades leave burning trails across uncertain throats to dull any further roars, and then cables are used to topple them to the ground as their own strength and mass works against them to cause tremors that shatter the land beneath them. Blue fire roils across their fallen forms, roasting their layered earthen flesh, and then going beyond to damage the wall itself. There is a rain of small fireballs in the wake of the attack. Lots and lots and lots of tiny flaming specks, and larger balls of rather solid matter, that drip to the blasted terrain with occult energy immolating them.

    As they try to push themselves up onto hands and knees, Stygiant Mirror leaps from one to the other, back and forth, and all around, cutting them without visible sign of effect... Until she stops moving, and blood like gravel and dust in crude oil erupts from their wounds.

    Then Tomoe unleashes her spell and douses the abominable thing in rivers of fire that boil its eyes and send more of its creeping insides spilling forth. The remaining eyes roll wildly, no longer focused on anyone or anything, its mouths work, uttering simple phrases and epithets, roaring with rage and curses. The giant vanish into the energies they were summoned from, and their gate cracks and closes.

Carna (974) has posed:
    Finally, the insane Unlit Concept pushes itself too far. It tries to open three gates at once, not to summon forth minions, but simply to allow hostile denizens to come out. It doesn't have the sense to plan beyond that anymore. "DRAGONS FROM THE DEPTHS OF OBLIVION! PURIFIERS FROM THE HEAVENS! CORRUPTORS FROM THE HELLS! AL... ALBION... OF THE... ABYSS! HORRORS... OF... URIZEN! FOOLS! MAGGOTS! FODDER!" Its dialogue breaks down further and further as the gates that it tries to open don't even do so all the way, offering hints of what lies beyond and nothing more.

    And then the wall just falls apart completely, everything covering it collapsing in an avalanche of thunderous booms as all along its endless length, it is destroyed by its own desperation and refusal to admit its wrong doing. Its inability to even think outside the context of its Concept.

    Health Remaining:

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Carna (974) has posed:
Carna is looking somewhat tattered and torn, compared to everyone else here, but she has some final words for the wall as it collapses and reveals what was really inside of it all along. "You called Lanterns a dead end. And yet that is all that you wanted to become... And could not."

    As the masonry finished falling, the creeping carpet of black within spills out. A waterfall of cockroaches, that had infested what was once simply a way to cross borders to other realms, and leeched Dead Lights until they obtained a collective 'intelligence' limited by their base nature.

    All this time, all this suffering, and the thing they were fighting... Just a bunch of roaches.

    VESSEL OF DARKNESS SLAIN.

    The Dead Lights unleashed by its death warp reality, returning space and time to their original forms. They are still outside the wall. But now it's just a wall. A very long wall, but one with definite end points, on either side of this section of the Urban Decay. The archways are all open, empty spaces once can pass through freely, with gates controllable by Lanterns instead of a cruel monster.

    And behind them is no longer a blasted red plain, but a platform from which roads wind through thin air, or dip down into the darkness below, or are flanked by canals flowing with water.

    New Area Discovered:

    PRISTINE PLAGUEWAY

Stygian Mirror (991) has posed:
    The giants die. The Wall crumbles. Mirror sighs, but isn't going to contest results. A better outcome would have been... well, better, but the Wall's death is hardly anything to complain about. At least now it won't be mutilating and torturing random people without purpose.

    If only it had a purpose, she might not have turned hostile so quickly.

    Still glowing black and grey with inverted sunlight, the Abyssal's sword returns to her waist as she turns back to the group (and/or walks back over, since people are probably a bit spread). "Albion of the Abyss? Why did that sound like an important name?" It sounded like a name and title, anyway. Maybe it's a species called Albion that comes from the Abyss, though.

Kushiko has posed:
Well, that'll certainly do: the cumulative and combined efforts of the Elites involved to varying degrees. With the fall of the giants--and with it, the Wall of Cruel Customs--the energy Valkyr summoned is bled off, as though hitting an off switch despite all indications otherwise.

Had one not seen it in action, one would never suspect the brutality capable of the Warframe.

"Because it all the more likely... /is/," comes Kushiko's voice projection, though the faceless frame is seemingly more focused on what came as a result of the fall. The waterfall of roaches was disturbing to put it mildly and for it being /that/ they were fighting...

...it made a twisted sense. A sense she didn't like, but a sense she understood.

"I'm sure it's been mentioned Carna, but I think there's some really screwed up parts of your world." Only the thinnest layers of sarcasms, but Valkyr cants her head to mirror Kushiko's gaze, now given view through projection through the suit's emitter.

"The Lotus says the giants were part of one of those books that was found at that Tower. Makes it authentic at least, given what we just saw."

Karal Rei Lin (984) has posed:
What was never born dies into a... a swarm of... BUGS.

    "E-ewwwwwwwwwwww!!!!" Karal Rei Lin is not, by any means, afraid of bugs. Or spiders. Well. Maybe a little ant-sy about the poisonous ones...

    SWARMS OF COCKROACHES though, that's enough to make anyone feel a little green. She balks at the thing's true nature. She reappear facing the strange winding roads that wind through seeming nothingness.... and frowns while her anima dims down to a less-intense personal aura of power...

    "... That thing was scary... we should take some time to recover before pressing on. Something tells me whatever's at the end of -THAT- will be worse..."

Count Kord has posed:
    Kord watches the last fragments of the wall's sanity melt away. It was a conceptual being's degradation as it tries to bring more out to fight them is a pitiful thing and... when it finally begins to die, when it collapses from overexerting itself, he lets out a sigh up there in the air ... in a different spot than he remembered. He comes in for a landing, and folds the mechanical combat scythe up to place it back in its holster.

    "A wall of insects. Fitting," he murmurs, while examining the now completely ordinary wall.

    "Well."

    "Who else is hungry?" he jokes at everyone, a jovial tone from the odd nobleman.

Kushiko has posed:
"Hmm? Oh, no, not hungry at all." the voice of Valkyr's Operator courteously remarks. "Not that they look usable enough to prepare to eat. Probably low energy."

... whether or not she's completely serious is a question better left unanswered and treated with mirth.

Tomoe has posed:
Tomoe mana for lack of a better term is gone, she over charged the spell and it's done a number on that. She won't be casting anymore of her 'spells' for some time she slumpe she's breathing raggedly the physical stress on her actual hear has been heavy and she now looks at the ruin of the wall and just puts her wepaon away as she moves to take her weapon away she jus watchs the thing die? Redie? She doesn't know but she watches the gte finally meet iut's end.

"Is everyone all right?"

She sounds haggered though at the end result.

"...I might be...so Count Kord..."

Priscilla has posed:
    Even Priscilla, long hardened to all those kinds of body horror, can't help but be just a little repulsed at seeing the already repulsize creature melt into that skittering, mindless swarm. She takes the opportunity to catch her breath, the spiritual essence of the Dead Lights rising off the dissolving colossus like a heat haze steadily swirling to and around her in a vortex of warm, colourless mist, until there's nothing left of it. She feels as if she would like to sit down, but doesn't, instead bearing with the un-inverting of reality and catching her first sight of something as innocent as water in this place. Maybe even clean water, who knows.

    "I assure thee it most certainly was. It is inevitable that a being all art required to go through, of such an age, shalt eventually meet a great many important figures. It is equally certain that such a being full of arrogance and spite wouldst spit their names as intimidation and self-gratification as its epitaph. I wouldst second the suggestion to return at a later date. There shalt be no new hordes of Unlit swarming to this area, at the minimum, whilst we art gone." She dismisses the sword from her hand, or maybe just turns it invisible, before sighing and gesturing the other way. "The Shrine is thusway. I believeth I hath had enough of this place for this night."