4651/Cemetary Gate

Cemetary Gate
Date of Scene:	09 October 2016
Location:	The Brutal Lands
Synopsis:	Drowned Ophelia is going to save Inga from her Gods - by drowning her in the Sea of Black Tears, and claiming her forever after for the Dead Gods of Metal. Some heroes raise objections in a sensible and violent manner.
Cast of Characters:	975, 206, Inga, 385, Eithne Sullivan, Staren, 778, Riva Banari, Wuyin Tsai

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Drowned Ophelia (975) has posed:
The Brutal Lands were dangerous; Incredibly so. What little civilization there was had long since crumbled into ruins when the Titans left to ascend as METAL GODS. DEMONS roamed the land freely, most organized into the TAINTED COIL - where Ophelia sought sorrow and hurt, they were simply disgusted by everything and wanted only blood. Heartless and cruel. Against them stood the IronHeade, a desperate band of human rebels run by .. well, formally by Lars. And to round off this three way struggle for METAL DOMINANCE was the Drowning Doom, seekers of Death, Morbid, and Sorrow. Making it from one place to another in the Western Continent was a gauntlet of clashing armies and patrols, ambushes and explosive murders.
But at least it made sense.

The EASTERN CONTINENT, however, had long fallen into a savagery unmatched anywhere else in the Brutal Lands. Life there was claw and the hunt, or sinking into the wet earth beneath the boney grip of a screaming skeleton. The land sloped slowly south, like a rotting body, towards the massive skull that capped the Sea of Black Tears. HERE, is the seat of Drowned Ophelia's power. The sky is forever overshadowed, storms crackling overhead - the sun had never touched this cursed place. Freezing fogs roll continually, and the presence of the undead is overwhelming; Whether it be small baby strollers creaking along abandoned graveyard lanes, huge Dirgibles humming overhead, or the rumbling roar of Zappers and church organs on wheels. Ghosts flick and move, moaning their grief to the air, while reapers ride across the land on glowing skeletal horses. And that's without getting into the undead ANIMALS, like walking guilotines or flying scythe-armed vulture-like things. Nothing lives here; At least, nothing -alive-.
The closer one gets to the Sea of Black Tears, the worse it gets. The Drowning Doom is in full force, a mosh that never ends, with NecroMoshers and undead bouncing and screaming off one another as boulder implaced speakers pound METAL to drive them continually into a frenzy. Massive TreeBack Trolls wander about, ravens in the air and poisons in the water. This is not a place to arrive loud and proud; For DOOM holds sway here!
And at the very front, is the STAGE. Massive and pillarly, with a huge DOOM BELL ringing. Lights swing and sway through the sky, lightning crackling and bouncing along metal spikes. And upon it? Inga - bound by her ankle, held upside down, arms tied behind her. The center piece on a rolling platform, the skull that caps the Sea of Black Tears waiting like an open mouth.

Drowned Ophelia (975) has posed:
Flesh Doll stands at the side of the stage, a massive axe held cross-wise in her hand. Head bobbing slowly to the hammer of DEATH METAL - USually she'd be -out- there. Losing herself to it. Losing herself to the endless loathing of a life stolen from her by that tincan BITCH. But today she had to be on point; For whatever reason, the Queen of Tears had thrown her interest into this .. uh..
The stitched faced Kotone look-a-like glanced up towards the hanging prophetess. Whatever she was, Ophelia wanted to unleash her broken heart. Who knew? Maybe if she could see the future, and the Sea of Black Tears got it's black fingers into her heart - then the Sea of Black Tears could.. get into the future? Change it somehow? Find a way to hasten the Darkening of the Stars? Who knew. Either way, being here made Flesh Doll -stronger-, the black waters that suffused her form calling to kin and kith alike, the endless depths of the Sea. It didn't run very far on the surface; More of a lake, really. But it ran -deep-, and it ran -wide-, and there was no where in the Brutal Lands that it's black fingers did not seek.

Harry Dresden (206) has posed:
    There is a roiling, ugly, awful noise somewhere up in front of that stage. It's like someone's taken an electric guitar, and shoved it neck first into a woodchipper, with the sound still on. Something is struggling at the very fabric of this Metal Reality.
    It's more obvious though, as lightning starts to crackle and pop, smacking into rotten, ancient trees and standing stones from a point that's stage center from Inga and ophelia, up in the cheap seats.

    The head of a hockey stick, with runes carved into it, suddenly shoves its way through... well, reality. It hooks itself into the fabric of space and time, and then rend downward, cutting at the air like it was a scrim on a stage. Behind it? The Never Never roils and shifts, and through that hole in alternate realites.. strides Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden. And he is not a happy man. In fact, one might say he's mad as hell. There's a terrible fire in his eyes, that's matched by the force by which he blows the gate wide for a few of his allies who are tagging along.

    He steps through, and draws his blasting rod and plants his feet. "OPHELIA."

    Oh shit.

Inga has posed:
There she hangs, like Odin from Yggdrasil, her clothes torn, her hair un-braided and tangled, staring into the fathomless depths of the Black Sea. It is difficult to tell from a distance if she is conscious or not. Her things have been taken, her walking stick, pouch, and various talismans are no where in sight. Even her mjolnir necklace has been taken.

It can be assumed she put up a fight.

Yuna Kagurazaka (385) has posed:
There are probably a number of very good reasons why Yuna shouldn't be here. She's still sore and worn out from helping XCOM pull a rescue operation, she's still worried as hell about Yunomi, she gets a headache just THINKING about the last time she tangled with Ophelia, and she has songs that she should be rehearsing if it weren't for still being the worse for wear from the rescue mission.

All of those pale in comparison to the fact that one of Yuna's friends is in trouble and needs help. Not that Inga is one of Yuna's *closest* friends; how close a friend she is doesn't matter. She's a friend, she needs help, Yuna is here for her.

And she's here in Powered Form from the get-go, her normal diminutive stature supplemented by a large exoskeletal battlesuit, bulky and tanky with two big powered arms to supplement Yuna's own armored limbs; Shugoseiheki, her kite shield, is already in place on the left exo-arm. But even with all that armor, just setting foot in the Brutal Lands this close to the Sea of Black Tears makes Yuna cringe - not just because of the death metal (which makes her cringe in any case - seriously, that's *music?*), but with the darkness and the DOOM BELL and the corruption that permeates the local reality itself.

It should be noted that Yuna is not inherently sensitive to the spiritual or the supernatural; she's only 'empathic' by virtue of naturally reaching out to the people she meets.

She still feels it here: seeing it, hearing it, practically tasting it despite her mouth being closed. But she doesn't keep it closed for long; she may be up against music that carries its own inherent force beyond the physical, but a mundane song, if heartfelt, has its own version of power. It's worked for her before.

o/~    Now a shooting star flies across the night sky
    If you see it, what will you wish for?
    The promise we exchanged when you started your journey
    Is always in my heart

It should work again ... if Ophelia doesn't twist her head off first. But distracting Drowned Ophelia should be equally useful - and more importantly, Yuna is singing to reach out to Inga, and to give her allies any support she can in the face of all-pervasive death metal.

Eithne Sullivan has posed:
    She's never seen Harry Dresden this angry.

    She doesn't think she's ever been this angry, either.

    The Never Never feels /weird/, and she hangs on to his coattails (metaphorically, and also literally) as Harry cuts a path straight through to his partner. Eithne has always favored the direct approach though, and it doesn't get much more direct than /stabbing your way through realities/.

    Ma would probably approve, she figures.

    The dark-haired Scion doesn't wear armor over her t-shirt and plaid skirt, but she's tugging that ridiculously-oversized sword behind her as she too steps through the rip.

    The fire in her stomach isn't nearly a match for the one in Harry Dresden's eyes, but the sight of Inga dangling insensate makes her draw a stuttering breath through clenched teeth. She takes up Rhiannon in both hands.

    Look at all the dead things. Look at the sea of monsters. It's between them and Inga.

    It's going to have to go away.

    The daughter of the Morrigan charges past Harry and their allies, boots pounding on the ground, and plows into the morass of undeath with a sound that could be a shriek and a laugh, leading with a horizontal swipe that could have felled a young tree.

Staren has posed:
    Staren follows Dresden through the hole made by his apparently dimensional hockey stick! For him, this is mostly about saving an ally, though he can appreciate what Dresden's going through after what happened last year.

    As the catboy sees the landscape and its inhabitants, he can only think: I did not bring nearly enough kaboom. This is a job for the Star Hawk with a full load of missiles and an army of golems. Just... destroy everything. Instead, they'll just have to be quick, get Inga and go -- or maybe someone will have a way to hold off the horde.

    He does what he can on foot to thin Ophelia's responding forces while allies act: With his left hand he fires the laser rifle and its built-in grenade launcher into the necromoshers, while his right hand throws additional plasma grenades and fires the armor's beam cannons. He seems to have missed the 'metal album cover' mark and landed in 'FPS game box art' territory, but that's close, right?

    "Inga! We're here for you!"

Kyle Katarn (778) has posed:
    Kyle's felt rage like this before. He's felt that uncontrollable urge to tear -everything- down in his way between him and those he loves, damn the consequences and damn anybody who tells him otherwise. He's done this roaring rampage of rescue and revenge before himself, and slew a great many mercenary, Stormtrooper, and Dark Jedi alike in his wake.

    He's never really had a chance to consider what that means for him, but Kyle's always been one to focus on more direct matters. It's why he's tagged along with Dresden and the others, if only to try and mitigate whatever chaos Dresden may cause.

    That said, all hell breaks loose pretty swiftly. Kyle's lightsaber flashes to life with that familiar hissing noise and the smell of ozone when the blue blade manifests. It hums with every motion no matter how slight, and Kyle pops his neck as he comes out of that portal running. The Force carries his every step, making him faster than any human should be, before he leaps into the fray.

    Raising a fist, he uses the FOrce to unleash a blast of psychic might with the velocity of a cannonball, aiming directly for the undead moshpit to scatter their ranks. He'll make his landing, and do so with a wide swipe of his lightsaber, cutting down any of the undead unfortunate enough to get too close.

Riva Banari has posed:
This isn't how Riva thought things were going to go down. Frankly, no one REALLY expects some avatar of death metal to go steal one of your best friends in order to seal the eyes of the wyrd or whatever reason someone might do things to Inga.

But she should have. She really, really should have. Mentally marking another line under 'Psyber Was Right', she joins the rescue team, picks up her heaviest artillery, and gets to work.

Riva follows along with Harry, dropping right into the middle of... What is probably the most twisted hellscape she's looked at in months. Her face screws up, the environment hitting her supernatural senses like a ton of METAL BRICKS, and she staggers for a moment just under the sheer weight of the corruptive, deadly environment. "Holy crap." She mutters. "This place..." She shakes her head, then straightens, steeling herself to the nightmarish tableau of destruction and mayhem before her. "No one deserves this place.

Riva steps forward, looking over the horde as people begin blasting holes in the moshpit and environment. From a rippling wave in space she pulls out a massive two-handed anchor-headed mace, a massive Ajoran cross that is inlaid with silvery metal that begins searing with bright red-gold power. She sets it across one shoulder as she gestures. "Hey. Look. I don't know who you are, but you've got my friend. I'm going to ask you nicely to give her back. She means a lot to me."

She doesn't say what she'll do if Inga isn't returned. She figures everything speaks pretty well as to that.

Wuyin Tsai has posed:
The gate practically explodes open with the force of Dresden's dramatic entrance. His allies are arrayed for battle, dressed and armed for combat.

Wuyin Tsai is wearing a hoodie and a pair of cheesy 3D glasses. This is about as serious mode as he gets.

The Dragon (conspiracy, not creature; easy mistake to make) walks out of the gateway to the Nevernever like it was the most natural thing in the world. To him, it might as well be; he spends plenty of time traversing the branches of the World Tree, where time and space are mere suggestions instead of hard and fast rules, and his body, mind and soul are inured to such hazards. Dresden's access to a similar method of transit is an important note, and would have almost been worth the trip alone if he wasn't also getting something out of it in the future.

Companionship doesn't mean much when you're in the pocket of something like the Dragon. Favors do.

Wuyin starts forward, one hand lightly resting on the pommel of Stinging Whisper, the elegant straight sword hanging at his hip in complete contradiction to the street clothes he's otherwise wearing. He looks up and spots Inga, idly adjusting his 3D glasses with one hand, bee-lining for her like he didn't have a care in the world. He does, though -- all that /noise/. It's the kind of discordance that the Buzzing loves to whisper into, the box fan they press their metaphorical mouths to and sing along with lyrics not quite right for the beat provided. Picking it out is the trick. Here, it might be the trap.

Wuyin claps a hand on Riva's shoulder as he passes her, as calm as he ever is. He raises his voice. "Inga!" Wu yells, bellowing over the din. "If you're conscious and aware, squirm!"

Inga has posed:
Flesh Doll Kotone-look-a-like looks away from Inga and narrows her eyes at the arriving heroes. She watches as Eithne plows in, giant sword in her hand and growls.

Maybe she wanted to be the only metal chick with a big weapon here today?

With all the rage of a petty high school girl who has discovered another girl has worn the same dress to prom, Flesh Doll gives her axe a spin and rushes toward Eithne, letting the METAL carry her dark heart toward beautiful violence.

Flesh doll leaps up high, unnatural strength propelling her ten feet or so in the air, battle-axe falling with a self-indulgent scream of rage.

3....2....1 FIGHT!

Drowned Ophelia (975) has posed:
Drowned Ophelia is there, of course - up on her stage. Soaking in it. Reveling in the grief laced loathing that rolls off this place, that imbues and soaks every square meter of the southern Eastern Continent; The Haunted Forest. A place where is no respite, but a new and more horrible existance. The crazed, mad sorrow that drives people to slice their own wrists, to wrap ropes around their necks, to do anything to escape; To partake the Black Tears, hunting power, hunting solace, hunting -a fucking way out-. And it welcomes all comers. It invites them in, the bitter-sweet liquid of Sorrow to stopper a bleeding heart. To wash away the agony of living with an infinite sorrow. Nothing ever hurts you like yourself; From that comes the strength that every pain beyond you is pitiful compared to what lay in your broken heart. The Black Tears nearly shattered the demonic hold on this world, after all - before those infected by it's sorrow turned on those without. Dangerous enough to frighten and murder the Titans.
Dangerous enough to bring a few back as the Dead Gods of Metal.

And here comes Harry; The discordant noise comes screaming in like hell's own mouth, leaving HEROES. MOTHER FUCKING HEROES. And the biggest MOTHER FUCKER of all, HARRY DRESDEN. For all the rage, for all the hate, for even as explosions ripple into the Drowning Doom caught unaware - bodies exploded, ichor splattering - there is only a smile on Ophelia's face. Cold. Brittle. But -pleased-. Her clawed hands briefly tickling down Inga's chin as her eyes flicker aside.
"Oo. I knew you were going to hurt some people, Inga.." She begins to the unconscious figure, before she lifts the Six Stringed Sorrow. Blue candlelights flicker to life, and she turns her eyes to the sky. "But I didn't think you'd bring me -so much fucking hate-." She cackles, and her arm swings up wide; The METAL pauses - as if in anticipation - before that arm swings down hard. THRASHING. The sky above roars, crackles, lightning flickering in a circle as if in a whirlwind. And something above grows brighter and brighter as the clouds part to reveal - a MOON. In the middle of the fucking day. A skeletal grin peering down at the poor mortals below, as Ophelia?
She SUMMONS THE MOTHER FUCKING ALL ENCOMPASSING GLOOM.

Unless it's -strong-, it'll flicker out. Cutting off all other sources of power in this place, in HER throne. Weakening even the strongest beneath the hammer of DEATH METAL, likely causing the escape portal to - flicker out. The blue wake candles flaring up like explosive fireworks as she laughs, tears pouring down her face. "Hey, good news; You're all going to die here."

Four Grave Diggers - zombies who dress alike to show how individual they are - take hold of the platform Inga dangles from, and begin rolling it towards the giant skull, in which lays the Sea of Black Tears, hidden from the sky. Why didn't Ophelia do this sooner?
Because she WANTS the fucking heroes here.

And then YUNA begins her fucking interferance! CHOICES. The Queen of Tears snarls, and upnods. A massive tree uprooting itself from the ground beneath the stage, climbing out of the hole; A huge troll, with the tree growing from its back. Ravens caw and scream from the dead branches above its sloped head as it stomps towards Yuna. Already launching themselves forward, like arrows. The troll's steps shuddering the ground as it ROARS

Staren's lasers rip through zombies and hateful undead alike, shattering bone and flesh. Bombs pop in the thrashing mass, throwing up bodies and leaving brief gaps in the crowd. But already, one can see more creatures stumbling from the furthest fog; A black tide of maddened, freakish undead. For him personally, however, is something worse - ghosts. Lasers rip through their spectral form, the rotting spook briefly brushing imaginary dust off his suit. Then snarls, face transforming into something beastial as it rips for the future-tech man; Other spooks joining him, beelining. Where the flesh was weak, the black souls were strong.

A zapper yanks and tugs at

Drowned Ophelia (975) has posed:
Drowned Ophelia is there, of course - up on her stage. Soaking in it. Reveling in the grief laced loathing that rolls off this place, that imbues and soaks every square meter of the southern Eastern Continent; The Haunted Forest. A place where is no respite, but a new and more horrible existance. The crazed, mad sorrow that drives people to slice their own wrists, to wrap ropes around their necks, to do anything to escape; To partake the Black Tears, hunting power, hunting solace, hunting -a fucking way out-. And it welcomes all comers. It invites them in, the bitter-sweet liquid of Sorrow to stopper a bleeding heart. To wash away the agony of living with an infinite sorrow. Nothing ever hurts you like yourself; From that comes the strength that every pain beyond you is pitiful compared to what lay in your broken heart. The Black Tears nearly shattered the demonic hold on this world, after all - before those infected by it's sorrow turned on those without. Dangerous enough to frighten and murder the Titans.
Dangerous enough to bring a few back as the Dead Gods of Metal.

And here comes Harry; The discordant noise comes screaming in like hell's own mouth, leaving HEROES. MOTHER FUCKING HEROES. And the biggest MOTHER FUCKER of all, HARRY DRESDEN. For all the rage, for all the hate, for even as explosions ripple into the Drowning Doom caught unaware - bodies exploded, ichor splattering - there is only a smile on Ophelia's face. Cold. Brittle. But -pleased-. Her clawed hands briefly tickling down Inga's chin as her eyes flicker aside.
"Oo. I knew you were going to hurt some people, Inga.." She begins to the unconscious figure, before she lifts the Six Stringed Sorrow. Blue candlelights flicker to life, and she turns her eyes to the sky. "But I didn't think you'd bring me -so much fucking hate-." She cackles, and her arm swings up wide; The METAL pauses - as if in anticipation - before that arm swings down hard. THRASHING. The sky above roars, crackles, lightning flickering in a circle as if in a whirlwind. And something above grows brighter and brighter as the clouds part to reveal - a MOON. In the middle of the fucking day. A skeletal grin peering down at the poor mortals below, as Ophelia?
She SUMMONS THE MOTHER FUCKING ALL ENCOMPASSING GLOOM.

Unless it's -strong-, it'll flicker out. Cutting off all other sources of power in this place, in HER throne. Weakening even the strongest beneath the hammer of DEATH METAL, likely causing the escape portal to - flicker out. The blue wake candles flaring up like explosive fireworks as she laughs, tears pouring down her face. "Hey, good news; You're all going to die here."

Four Grave Diggers - zombies who dress alike to show how individual they are - take hold of the platform Inga dangles from, and begin rolling it towards the giant skull, in which lays the Sea of Black Tears, hidden from the sky. Why didn't Ophelia do this sooner?
Because she WANTS the fucking heroes here.

And then YUNA begins her fucking interferance! CHOICES. The Queen of Tears snarls, and upnods. A massive tree uprooting itself from the ground beneath the stage, climbing out of the hole; A huge troll, with the tree growing from its back. Ravens caw and scream from the dead branches above its sloped head as it stomps towards Yuna. Already launching themselves forward, like arrows. The troll's steps shuddering the ground as it ROARS

Drowned Ophelia (975) has posed:
Staren's lasers rip through zombies and hateful undead alike, shattering bone and flesh. Bombs pop in the thrashing mass, throwing up bodies and leaving brief gaps in the crowd. But already, one can see more creatures stumbling from the furthest fog; A black tide of maddened, freakish undead. For him personally, however, is something worse - ghosts. Lasers rip through their spectral form, the rotting spook briefly brushing imaginary dust off his suit. Then snarls, face transforming into something beastial as it rips for the future-tech man; Other spooks joining him, beelining. Where the flesh was weak, the black souls were strong.

A zapper yanks and tugs at his restraints, tearing himself loose from his execution chair. And as Kyle cuts through the METAL FUCKING ZOMBIES WITH GLOWING BLADES OF DEATH, it moves to intercept; Electricity crackling and hissing along the metal pipe in its hand as it meets lightsaber with hot electric DEATH. Look familiar, Kyle? Same trick ye olde Grievous used~ "Y-y-y-you've got SPA-SP-SPARK!" It cackles, broken teeth in peeled back lips, all blackened from the electricty that flows through it's form.

Drowned Ophelia (975) has posed:
Riva's massive mace is impressive - so is the belly of the monster that climbs in front of her. A bald, seedy looking dead man, his belly bloated with -something- that wriggles and crawls. "That's your friend?" He giggles, saliva dribbling down the side of his mouth. "I -love- friends. Do you want to meet mine? They're so -adorable-." He rubs his bulging belly, and puts a hand to his lips. "Oop! See? They're kicking~" He gasps, gags, and then hunches over. And -BLACK ICHOR- pours from his mouth, rolling on itself as it forms - rats. Thousands of rats, red eyed and nasty, pouring across the ground in a wave. Nothing survives in front of them; Biting off legs of their own forces in a decadant wave of HUNGER, heading right for her!

As Wuyin progresses, he may find his steps suddenly slowing; A fog creeping up around his ankles.
"Squirming's a good idea."
States a voice from beside Wuyin.
"A real good idea." States another.
Grave Diggers step forward en-masse, wielding massive silver shovels. All of them invariably dressed the same, to show off just how individual they are. "I mean, a good idea because you should be squirming."
"Ah, man, you ruined the joke."
"It's okay; Everything's ruined anyways. Just chop him up."
Nodding in agreement, all of the Grave Diggers suddenly launch forward. Behind them stands a Bride, humming a particular march as she hoists a small umbrella above her head. Her own personal thunderstorm hovering and crackling, while the poison curses roll from her very form.

Staren has posed:
    "No fair! If I can /see/ the ghost, light should work on it!" Staren manifests his wings and flies away from the ghost, still firing a grenade or two down on the undead crowd but too distracted to use all weapons properly. "Guys? Can anyone kill ghosts?!"

Eithne Sullivan has posed:
    They're in her way, so. They die. They put up a good fight, most of them! It's just that Eithne's a good fight, herself. She knows her role here. It's even something she's good at! All she has to do is kill and kill and kill, so someone else can save Inga.

    She can do that, oh yes.

    She looks up from where she's repeatedly stomping on someone's face at the sound of a scream coming closer, greatsword moving automatically into position to defend. Bedivere's lessons are sticking, it seems... That axe meets her sword in a clash of metal that makes her head ring. Her boot slips off of the ruined skull it'd been trodding on; if her other foot weren't planted so, she'd have been slammed into the muddy ground herself.

    Gritting her teeth, Eithne /shoves/ back at the other girl, all of her monstrous strength applied via the shield of a battered, discarded sword older than some nations. "Fuck off, would yeh?" she asks sweetly, poison spilling from her lips, and aims a savage kick for the Doll's gut.

Kyle Katarn (778) has posed:
    The Force feels -very- off to Kyle. It's not dissimilar to Dromund Kaas, in the way it feels; There's self-hatred and sorrow etched into its very fiber, the air itself is heavy and rough on the Jedi both mentally and physically. Yet here he still goes, cutting through moshers with terrifying speed like his lightsaber is a buzz saw.

    He finds himself facing a particularly electric opponent, and he pops his neck. "Bring it." is all he has to say, before his lightsaber clashes against the Zapper's makeshift electrostaff. It SHOULD be slicing through the crude iron rod, but instead the two weapons clash against one another, and Kyle realizes this is gonna be a good bit more of a problem than he hoped.

    He spies Flesh Doll in the corner of his eye, and he can't help but feel surprised at how much like Kotone the construct looks. He tries to keep focused however, trading strikes and parries with the Zapper.

Inga has posed:
In response to hearing the voices yelling her name, and Wuyin's instructions, Inga does appear to stuggle slightly in her bonds. She's held tight, but can crane her neck to look toward the friends that have gathered to try to stop what Ophelia is trying to do to her. It is a real pity that her own wyrd is often fuzzy, for she obviously did not see this coming. Not until it was too late.

Immortal but helpless.

It isn't the Filth, but it is close enough to be extremely disturbing, and while Inga knows she has a resistance to the filth, she doesn't know if she has such resistances to the Black Tears.

She should have known, after all Ophelia has done and said. Inga has made her angry by trying to save her. And in her own demented way, Ophelia is trying to save /her/. Save her from the visions. Save her from what she percieves to be shackles laid on her by the gods. Ophelia wants freedom through misery.

Now that's a twisted knot, isn't it?

There might not be anything to save Ophelia now. While she is still convinced Ophelia cannot be defeated with brute violence, the people who have gathered?

They're good at getting /creative/.

She can feel Harry's rage from the cheap seats. She's never seen him truly angry until now.

Yuna's song helps to counter-act the dizzying effect of Ophelia's music, helping Inga to clear her head--though thinking is still considerably more difficult while upside-down. Her vision is blurred, but she thinks she spots Eithne, Riva, Staren...and a glowing sword? Kyle? And Wuyin? Bit of a surprise, that.

Inga narrows her eyes as Ophelia caresses her with her nails, managing to raise her middle-finger in response. "You have no idea what you've done," she says to Ophelia, laughing. "But I do."

Then the stage LURCHES and Inga gasps, swinging, her hair waving like a white flag in the breeze.

Inga continues to struggle, though she is obviously not strong enough to break free from the bonds. She keeps turning her bounds hands, irritating the skin...

Yuna Kagurazaka (385) has posed:
o/~    In a sleepless night, it's your voice I want to hear
    Talking all night until the morning sun rises

Truth be told, Yuna's singing as much for her own sake as for that of her allies and friends - if she lets the Black Tears' metal win, she'll be crushed as well ... emotionally, perhaps, but that'll be just as deadly as if the TreeBack Troll crushes her physically.

She keeps singing.

o/~    Side by side, talking enraptured,
    Your profile was shining ...

The armored idol looks up at the troll, bringing Shugoseiheki up to try and bat the ballistic ravens away - mostly protecting her face, but trying to minimize the combined impacts as well. Sure, Powered Form is heavily armored, but it still draws on the Light Suit's defensive aura to protect her, and THAT has its limits. Limits which are already kind of strained due to one recent fight too many. And she's too busy singing to strategize out loud - if she interrupts long enough to talk, whatever meager protection her song provides will be interrupted as well.

o/~    You who follow your dreams, I who watch over you,
    The same star sheds its light on us both
    I want to walk without looking back
    Enduring my tears until I see you leave

At least she can deal with her *own* attacker. The lenses set into her exo-frame's shoulders slide open, revealing the emitter arrays of her beam cannons; energy crackles around those mechanisms as Yuna diverts energy and focus from defensive efforts to offensive, and her voice grows more defiant as she continues singing. As the song says, she doesn't want to look back; she *will* endure her tears. But in this case, she wants to see somebody *return,* not send them off on a journey from which there may be no return.

And just as the TreeBack Troll looms directly over her, the beam cannons fire - not quite *straight* upwards, but their force is meant to tear through the troll and the tree, not the rest of the army.

o/~    Now a shooting star flies across the night sky
    If you see it, what will you wish for?
    The promise we exchanged when you started your journey
    Is always in my heart

The Matrix Divider materializes in Yuna's (own) hands as the beam cannons' blast tapers off, but rather than opening up on anything else, she's keeping her shield ready through the second chorus - and if the troll survived her beam cannons, that's still going to be her concern.

Harry Dresden (206) has posed:
    And then the battle is good and fucking started, and Harry's thunderous entrance is doused by the Gloom of the Black Tears, the Drowning Doom coming out en force to start shit.
    Well, technically he's starting shit in their house, but that's besides the point.

    But there's a problem, a big problem right now. The pathway to the Never Never seals shut with shudder, sparkles of mist left in its wake. There's lightsabers and lasers and fuckin' metal shit going on... But at the center of the Heroes, there's... A drumbeat, from Harry's position. Cause it's not the Blasting Rod he's got out. It's a rune-carved drumstick, that he's tapping against his thigh.

    Badadada dum.
        Badadada dum.
            Badadada dum.

    He's not stupid, he's studied this place, because that's what wizards do. He's bringing his own music with him, even as Yuna is harassing the locals with her K-Pop garbage.

    The wizard keeps walking forward, letting the growing CHAOS of the battle around him build, feeding on the Heroes and the Doom fighting as he lifts up the Hockey Stick... and calls down the Thunder. A CRACK of Lightning strikes one of the Grave Diggers pushing Inga's cart towards the skull, melting off his face in a horrific manner. The Stick lifts again, and this time the Lightning swats at the Stage, cracking against the Doom Bell. Dresden's out of the Cheap Seats Section and moving for Front Row Regions. His voice, resonant and hateful, lifts over the battle.

    "YOU HAVE SOMEONE THAT I BELONG TO. LET. HER. GO. Or I will BURN THIS WHOLE HELLSDAMNED PLACE TO THE GROUND. FUEGO!" The Hockey Stack ROARS into a blaze of fire, and Dresden charges the stage.

Inga has posed:
Flesh Doll grits her teeth. Oh yes, she looks so much like Kotone...but she is /flesh/, bitter and dark and ANGRY!

The Kotone look-a-like flies back when she is pushed, landing on her feet and bringing her axe around to guard low against Eithne's kick. Eithne is strong, but the Tears have made the flesh doll strong, too. She shoves the sword away and rushes at Eithne again, spinning her axe for another attempted chop, followed by a low sweep, trying to knock Eithne from her feet, eyes burning with rage and sorrow.

Riva Banari has posed:
The dramatic rebuttal of Drowned Ophelia is a mark of a professional. No, she doesn't back down once she's thrown down. Riva can kind of respect that, really. Of course, the fact that this was all her plan the entire time, well... Why get one hero when you can get a half dozen?

And then she taps one black and 2, bringing out the Gloom. Riva staggers under the suppressing, overwhelming force, the Templar gritting her teeth as she feels interference against her Anima power. The light running along her mace flickers... But Yuna's own singing helps keep her stabilized, Riva unlimbering the mace...

What she doesn't expect is the man that assails her, his belly wriggling. Her eyes widen at the unholy, vomitous sight, and for a moment she looks like she's going to do so herself... But she reels in disgust. "Seriously...? Seriously? Is this really /necessary/?" Riva grates as the man taunts her... And as the wave of horrific rats starts up, the Templar's knuckles go white on the hilt of her weapon. She doesn't have a witty comment to follow up with. The mace does the talking for her as she brings the weapon up, and hammers it down into the ground, the blackened, dead ground crackling with runnels of energy as she floods it forward, causing it to explode upwards in a rolling wave of earth and searing, cleansing energy.

Wuyin Tsai has posed:
'This place,' Wuyin thinks, 'reminds me a great deal of Kingsmouth.'

The gloom rolls in; fog follows it. Wuyin slows, feeling an unpleasant tingling crawl up his spine. Invisible fingers drag their skeletal tips across his back, creeping and crawling into a place of prominence and clutching at his throat with all it's strength. It doesn't find physical flesh; instead, it finds a vein, a honey-sweet pipeline of purest Anima from the font of the world. From the Mother. From Gaia.

It /squeezes/.

Wuyin's Anima-antenna quivers, the busily buzzing Buzzing bee suddenly enwrapped by a haze of malice. The stifling stuff curls around it, a vile obscenity that tries to hook its syllabic talons into the tick-tick-tocking thing that connects Wuyin to the Source. It starts to take hold, to rip and rend, to cut him off and fill his ears with whispers on the death of hope.

Except there were /already/ whispers. The words were always there, sweetlings. You just have to listen.

Wuyin listens. He hears many things, and almost none of them are the poorly-dressed thugs that creep through the fog behind him. His lip twitches, trying to follow along with words that can hardly be expressed with sound. He takes a breath, slow and deep, and exhales with a great sigh of relief and distress.

He half-turns, spying the Grave Diggers. His head is canted, neck bent in an uncomfortable, unnatural way. He speaks to them, but his voice is strange, possessed of a cadence that makes the skin crawl with its warm, lilting, wholly inhuman intonations. It's like someone was trying to figure out how to speak with a human mouth and only got halfway there. They are heard, but the words make ears ring and onlookers shift uncomfortably.

"Viscera stains the cobbled streets of Chelm --" Wuyin intones in the manner of a lost and quite mad storyteller. He draws his sword, Stinging Whisper's artful lines and gold-inlaid designs of bees ascending a thorny branch glittering despite the gloom. "-- a message inked in the blood of innocents. The message reads:"

They attack. The ground at Wuyin's feet lights up, lines of golden Anima tracing hexagons that pulse up from the sickened ground. "'You are all fools'."

The fog receeds from his feet, but not of its mistress's volition. Wuyin moves like gravity was merely a polite suggestion, sliding forward and punching past the group of Grave Diggers in a blur. He touches the toe of his shoe to the edge of the hexagonal space, an arena of his own creation, a house that the Master built, and easily about-faces to strike them from behind. His momentum ceases because he asked it to. It obeys.

Each touch of his blade is accompanied by a peal of thunder, strikes with superhuman strength and speed fueled by the breath of Gaia funneled into this poor, unfortunate vessel. Stinging Whisper acts as an extension of his body and his soul, a perfect conduit for channeling the pure life that is Anima into a form that brings little more than death. He strikes one after another with deep thrusts and dances back, slashing in a whirlwind with the tip of the jian -- and turning the prior wounds into outpourings of gore, intensifying at the second touch and that golden spark.

Wuyin smiles, very slightly, the whole time. He isn't aware he's even doing it.

Drowned Ophelia (975) has posed:
The cackling spooks follow Staren up as he flies upwards, explosions rippling through intagible forms. They whisper promises; Promises of -hate-, of -pain- eternal, of -ceaseless weeping and loss-. The spiral about one another, and to an outsider it might be the most beautiful thing; A triple helix following the trail of Staren's ascent with the pale blue of spectral ecotplasm. One of the spectres suddenly swings in to cut off Staren a bit early, claws forming where once where fingers-
BOOM
It shrieks, caught in an explosion of Staren's device in the moment of solidity. Chunks of its form evaporating as it falls aside. So there IS a way. The other two howl their disontent, and come from both ends. Waiting until the last possible moment to assume solidity so they can rip and tear in a cross path. Crossing over and over again, in fly-by passes.
Remember the Twins from the Matrix? Same idea. Hope you brought a LOT of ammo~

Drowned Ophelia (975) has posed:
Kyle's lightsaber draws sparks and hisses from the electrified iron pole; And while Sparky may be able to deflect the plasma lance, he's not nearly as -skilled- as Kyle. There is a flash and a hiss, the monster's arm lopped off at the shoulder, along with half of it's head. It staggers back, and for a moment is about to fall down, releasing a gurgling death scream;
Then it pauses. It's one eye rolls as it refocuses on the jedi. "D-d-d-did I f-fool you?" It asks, black ichor pouring from wounds that would kill any lesser thing. Then it presses the attack, swinging that pole one handed with more strength and speed than should be available to the frail, blackened thing. Cackling madly; No pain without will ever match the pain within.

Drowned Ophelia (975) has posed:
The Troll reels back, angrily howling as it pounds at the ground with it's massive fists, thumping closer and closer to Yuna. As if in pain. PAIN - at her SINGING. "YOU NO GOOD SINGING!" It screams in a decibel that'd rattle guts. "YOU GO DIE OF BUTT CANCER! YOU MAKE ME WANT KILL SELF BUT IN BAD WAY!" The Troll raises massive fists upwards, briefly eclipsing the skull moon above as it prepares to flatten the upcoming K-Pop Star.
"YOU MUSIC WAS NEVER GOOOOOOOO-"
BLAST! The top of its head disappears in a mist of GIANT FUCKING MATRIX LASER BEAMS. And it thumps down to its knees, swaying backwards. And then pauses. Black ichor bubbling from the stump of its neck - along with a gurgling voice. "... YOOOUUR VOOIIICE IIIS LIIIIIKE GLASSSS IN EYEBAAAAALLS..."
DEATH METAL FANS don't need no fucking brains. The Troll sweeping out with a massive fist, quite suddenly; Looking to bowl the singer over.

Drowned Ophelia (975) has posed:
The Ichor Rats squeal and die in fire, the swarm scattering and breaking beneath Riva's purging magic. Because FIRE MOTHER FUCKER. MOTHER FUCKER FIRE. But as the flames boil upwards, sickened and black by what they contain, something larger wobbles through. Flames licking up his suit pants, the RATGUT stumbles towards Riva, fat and dead - looking to GRAB HOLD OF HER.
"MY BABIES! YOU KILLED MY BABIES! NOW I MAKE MORE BABIES IN YOU!" He shrieks, gibbering, skin rotting and pulled tight around the corner of his wide mouth and around his long nose. In point of fact, he looks a bit like a rat himself. If he gets a hold of her? Black ichor'll begin trickling from his lips as he -hurks-. Guess what's coming next? Oh yeah. She got the dirty stick.

Drowned Ophelia (975) has posed:
The Queen of Tears only -smiles- at Inga's words, as the seer is rolled away. "Oh, I know exactly what I've brought, sweetie.." She begins, chin lowering, the ichor of Black Tears curling about her in ectoplasmic fury. "-I brought the ones who love you-." Her insane, broken giggle is almost girlish; Innocent in its in madness. The scorpion riding the tortoise, so far beyond salvation because it's simply -in her fucking nature-.
And then she's facing Harry, teeth bright white behind black lips. Happiness has nothing to do with that smile as she opens her arms; As if welcoming an old friend. "Oh, I'm not stopping you. Go on - go and join her. Join her in the depths, and be together -forever-.." She lifts her chin, waiting for the agony, the pain, WANTING it for some reason-
And then the fucker goes and hits her MOTHERFUCKING STAGE. The Doom Bell chimes out loudly, the very air rippling with the hit. And the Queen SCREAMS in pain, clutching claws over her ears before she snarls. Playtime's over. THEY KNOW.
"PROTECT THE FUCKING STAGE!" She commands, before the Six Stringed Sorrow comes back up again. Her knees bent, back swaying as she HAMMERS a new tune. Fog rolling from the stage itself, freezing and cold. Lightning crackling across the bars poking towards the sky, then crashing into the bell proper; A soulful, mournful tolling before it LAUNCHES towards Harry. Leaving exploding pillars of flame in its wake. METAL, MOTHERFUCKER.
A whumping above reveals the presence of DIRGIBLES, as spotlights swing into the mosh crowd slash battle below. And .. urns begin dropping? They shatter, black ash rising. Where the ash drifts - the UNDEAD THINGS CRAWL BACK TO THEIR FEET. Wounds in dead flesh beginning to knit closed, laughter rising from the hoardes. The Black Tears are poison for the living - but salve to the DEAD.
One of the four pushes drops dead - FACE MELTER, MOTHERFUCKER. The other two groan at the poser and continue to push, but MUCH slower now. That thing's heavy.

Drowned Ophelia (975) has posed:
The White Naughts die once more; Cut to ribbons beneath a mad man's dance, a MOTHERFUCKING BUZZZZZZ CUT! But the Bride seems unperturbed, placing a gloved hand to her lips as she breathes out softly. "Oh my! You're so familiar - are you my love?" She asks, almost pleading. A soft patter of tears falling from her cheeks. "I miss him so dearly. All I wanted was children. Do you like children?"

"Weeeeee dooooooo.."
Comes the voice from one of the quivering piles of flesh about Wuyin's feet. The flesh beginning to knit itself together once more; The White Naughts rising to defend M'LADY BRIDE. The scrape of bone reattaching, the pop of ligaments and the clunk of razor sharp shovels being picked back up.
"Not cool."
"You shouldn't be hurting girls."
"Yeah. She's had enough of your shit."
"I'll crawl in your skin."
They all eh-heh-heh together at that joke. "Heh. Crawling in my skin, get it?"
And then they spread out, swinging not all at once - but taking turns. Covering and moving with one another. They can't -outfight- Wuyin -but can they OUTLAST him?

Kyle Katarn (778) has posed:
    VOOMP. Lightsaber slicing through undead flesh, Kyle feels he's won. At least at first, anyway. He keeps his weapon trained on the Zapper as it keels over, only for Kyle to leap backwards in surprise. "SPAST!"

$    Easy to say, this is going to be a messy fight given how frenzied this guy is. He raises his lightsaber, delivering swift and shallow lightsaber swipes to parry the Zapper's strikes, keeping his distance accordingly. "You don't give up, do you?" He asks, almost impressed by how determined a guy who is literally falling apart just keeps going.

    Of course, he does have a trick up his sleeve. Making a fist, Kyle tightens his fingers before he dishes out a blast of Force energy, intending to blow the Zapper apart.

Eithne Sullivan has posed:
    Her foot slams into the flat of Doll's axeblade, and it feels like kicking the side of a truck. Except that in Eithne's experience, trucks dent. The axe doesn't.

    But she gets enough space to recognize and dodge the Doll's next chop, though the same can't be said about the low sweep that comes after. She's knocked off of her feet, landing hard on her side in a puddle of blood and black ichor.

    But she is her mother's daughter, and it will take far more than that to injure her. Eithne reaches for the Doll's ankle, palm splitting open to sprout a gruesome thorn as thick as a stake, and tries to drag her down into the muck with her. That thorn drips poison, and it'll stick if it hits true--

    There's so much going on around her. Fighting and shrieking and the stage and the rats and the ghosts and the wheel, the wheels, Inga being wheeled so slowly toward the black forever. Eithne grits her teeth, /YANKS/ at the Doll's leg, and screams something in an inhuman language.

    From the sky comes a murder of crows, some of them stolen from Ophelia, most of them not. Some of them dead and dripping maggots, some of them living and breathing, feathers shiny and slick. They KRAAAA and circle, wheeling through the riot of sound and stench and sprays of blood. They buffet the pallbearers themselves with their wings, peck and gouge at eyes and tongues.

    And one sassy crows alights on Inga's feet to pick at her bonds.

Harry Dresden (206) has posed:
    OH IT IS ON. Harry growls, knowing another piece of information. ...Honestly he was just trying to aim for Ophelia but maybe that's the answer here. He... grins. Oh man does he grin. Have you even seen a enraged man grinning? Because... let me tell you.

    He lifts up his arm, the Shield Bracelet lashing up into place, sparks and fire drizzling from his wrist as a dull green energy field soak... well, mostly soaks the FIRE AND DEATH from the Stage Pyro. Heat and fire still seep through the shield, scorching Harry's hands, and singing at his eyebrows and beard.

    He's still grinning. He lifts up the Hockey Stick, slams the handle against the aching and diseased dirt, and howls into the Sky That Knows No Sun. "PROTECT YOURSELF, /OPHELIA/."

    A heavy, roiling wave of symbolic fire rises up at the Wizard's feet, and then rushes forward as he screams. "PYROFUEGO"

    The Building Was On Fire, And It Was /ENTIRELY MY FAULT/.

Riva Banari has posed:
Fire and light purges the initial swarm, and Riva leaps back, looking through the smoke and oily, diseased smoke to see what might be left.

Unfortunately, it missed a spot. The approach of the Ratgut causes Riva to cry out, the creature rushing at her and trying to grapple at her. "NO!" Riva screams, slamming a foot out towards one of his legs uselessly, even as the nasty hand grabs at her. She can't get a good swing with him this close, but she's not going to take this lying down...

With a grunt, she slams the butt of the mace up with one hand, trying to get a good shot in on the side of his head. "Just... GET OFF!" She cries, reaching down to grab into her coat. A moment later, an MP7 is brought out, striking from the opposite side as she pistol-whips, flicks the safety off and tries to jam the barrel right into the beast's mouth when he opens it to try to vomit out horror and death again, pulling the trigger and sending a wave of blue-green Anima energy bullets blasting into the thing's gullet.

Yuna Kagurazaka (385) has posed:
Fortunately for Yuna, she's able to re-angle Shugoseiheki to take the impact of the TreeBack Troll's fist - and for good measure, she's already powering up her hover-thrusters to try and counter the impact. Then it actually hits.

            **WHAM!!!!!**

Unfortunately for Yuna, even with the Wall of the Guardian Star taking the brunt of the impact, it still jars her hard enough to provide a literal reference for 'bone-rattling' - and the beginning of the next verse is choked off as Yuna gets sent flying. She was expecting that part, and even with Yuna's head spinning, Jiina 'steps in' enough to make sure Yuna lands upright; maybe not exactly vertical, but close enough to recover without having to clamber up off her back. And she got knocked far enough that even if she *were* singing, it's questionable whether her allies would hear enough to shelter them at all from Ophelia's noise.

On the plus side, Harry has figured out that the stage is the critical weak point. Good; she was going to try and relay that when she had a chance to, but he's figured it out on his own and Ophelia is freaking hard enough to give everyone else a valuable clue on the subject.

If they can win with that much, great. Yuna is now *just a little* more concerned with surviving the battle herself. That was her singing the TreeBack Troll was insulting, and if she stays quiet now, then it's technically kind of a loss. But Yuna's head is still spinning from the hit she took, and the 'music' from Ophelia's stage is ... well, it's not helping her regain her bearings, that's for sure.

"Are you sure we're talking about the same music?" Yuna shouts back at the Troll - at least she can SEE that thing, thanks to the tree (or what's left of it). "Your boss's taste in singing is like red-hot iron needles in my eardrums; I'm surprised you could hear *my* song enough to complain about it!"

Then again, Yuna was taught that words are a maiden's weapons - it's not a lesson she uses often, and the Multiverse doesn't generally grant enough weight to a well-chosen insult to do actual damage, but she *does* know how to return verbal fire like that. Now, if she could just muster her equilibrium and her strength to start shooting back *physically* too ...

Inga has posed:
Flesh Doll grins when Eithen hits the ground, her expression rapidly shifting to surprise and back to rage as her ankle is grabbed and stuck with a poisonous thorn--ripping muscle and tendon, bringing the Flesh Doll down into the bloodied mud with Eithne.

There's no room to wield the axe, so she instead slams out with a backfist toward Eithne's head as she falls, aiming to break her pretty face!

"You bitch! How dare you!" she screams.

Inga has posed:
Try as she might, she just can't get herself to bleed and it is her own damn healing ability that is to blame. Her skin is healing faster than she can harm herself. Bloody irony. This place has been trying to swallow her since Ophelia took her, and she has been fighting it, that buzzing inside of her pumping life into her with every heart beat. Inga's always been a strong conduit. It is sort of...her thing.

But in this place, it has been a struggle. Here, where Ophelia is most powerful, Inga felt....alone.

But the Buzzing inside of her resonates with the others now, and her heart beats in time with the music her friends and loved ones have brought to combat Ophelia's sorrow.

Now if only she could BLEED!

Inga looks to Ophelia, about to speak...then her eyes roll back in her head and her body goes rigid, a gasp...and then she speaks in a voice not her own, filled with unnerving life constantly buzzing, thousands and thousands of wings forming words. "A Rabbi in Prague writes the name of God on a strip of paper. The paper falls into an old well and lands on dried mud. The ink forms a bridge and a neural circuit is engaged. Something awakens."

A murder of crows arrives, further blackening the sky with wings and inky feathers. One plucky bird lands on her foot and Inga smiles even in the throws of her broadcast. The gods are with her. "Blood..." she says, hoping the bird will understand. All she needs is blood.

Wuyin Tsai has posed:
Wuyin looks at the Bride with a quizzical expression. He takes a step towards her, a staggered one like he was suddenly unbalanced. He tilts his head, this way and that, trying to get her into focus where no focus is required. He seems to recognize her... but the resonance of the hive rolls outward, the metaphysical buzzing that finds Inga and comes back to him as they speak as one.

"A man of clay follows a man of flesh down the cobbled streets," Wuyin says, voice curious. He takes another step towards her. "His circuits are damaged, silica connections bridged by an inferior contact."

The White Naughts start to get back up. Wuyin looks down for a second, watching, eyes hidden behind his two-tone lenses. They speak and spread out, and Wuyin doesn't watch any one of them. He lifts his chin, head tilted back slightly. "The Rabbi asks him to dance. In need of a better master --"

The first comes in. Wuyin reduces him to ribbons of meat on the ground again. The second follows, the shovel parried, turned aside, the swordsman scoring a cut on the Naught's belly before it withdraws. The next gets him in the opposite side, stabbing the razor-edged impliment into him, scraping a rib and coming away bloody. Wuyin staggers, steps into it, the blade biting deeper, and lops off his head.

He pulls away. The shovel comes free. Blood soaks his side. He tilts one way, and then straightens, sword coming up to a guard position. The flow slows, stops, still leaving him awash in red. "-- he dances."

Wuyin spins, striking the ground with his heel. A wave of freezing cold blasts out from him in a ring, covering the miniature arena he's inscribed in the ground with ice that grips, clings and holds fast. His free hand brushes a human effigy at his belt, a little one made of twisted-up copper wires. It shines, sparking like he struck a lighter.

A huge, roiling ball of fire leaps off his open hand, flung at the Bride, exploding on contact with her or the ground or anything else and setting the whole place around them aflame. Wuyin seems unconcerned with the possibility he might be standing in it.

Staren has posed:
    Those are terrible promises! Staren doesn't want any of those things! "Fuck you!"

    And then one gets caught by a grenade. The explosion is close, sending Staren tumbling through the air, but he saw that... He slings the rifle over his shoulder, grabs something off his belt, and then is dual-wielding beam blades. They glow white with vaguely holy-aligned elementalness for good measure!

    If the ghosts attack from much more than an arm's-length or two away, the forcefield blocks their physical form and then he stabs or slashes -- if they're closer, they get his armor. Ammo's not a problem now, but the question of how long his defenses will hold out /is/. "Why are there so many of you?!"

    He tries electrifying the armor, so they're shocked as soon as they make contact. Maybe that will help?

Drowned Ophelia (975) has posed:
The Sparky pops like an over-ripe melon from the sudden BLAST of force from Kyle. Wet pieces sprinkling the cursed ground in a splatter zone behind him, the half-gone head rolling to a stop as the blood stoked eye rolls. "O-o-oop! I've gone to pieces!" He giggles wetly, somehow able to talk even when blown apart. And then he gasps, half-lips still able to form words somehow. "W-wait.. n-n-no, don't l-l-leave.. I.. I d-d-din't mean too.. I d-d-d-din't mean t-t-to kill h-him..! W-wait! W-wait I-I-I'm innoc-c-c-cent! I-I d-d-d-don't want to d-d-die!.."
Tears are coarse down it's empty cheek as it watches the jedi move past. At least, until the black ash drifts across him; There is a wet pop, and the pieces begin to pull themselves once more together. But the creature is still weeping.
"N-n-not dead. H-e-e-e-e wa-wasn't supp-pp-pposed to die!" Finger reform. Arm rejoins. Eye squeezes shut, electricity hissing and crackling at the salty tears from the burnt, broken, maddened dead thing. The weeping slowly - ever so slowly - turns to laughter. Buzzing as electricity begins to build once again.
Up and down the battle field, the same thing is happening. Those that are crushed, cut down, destroyed - they're rising once again. The DEATH METAL allows no rest, not -here-, not at the crest of INFINITE SORROW. Not with the ash petals of ichor floating in the air, choking every breath, removing point and purpose from the fight, dropped from the DIRGIBLES above.
But for the moment, Kyle has a free shot forward, his path divided only by the lesser Walking Metal Dead Things.

Drowned Ophelia (975) has posed:
FIRE. FUCKING FIRE EVERYWHERE. Ophelia shrieks as the wave of enflambe rolls over her and the stage itself; Lighting props on fire, only to die down once more as the freezing fog continues to roll off. But damage it is, the DOOM BELL tolling mournfully, crashing and clashing with the pounding METAL that pervades this place. The Queen of Tears shrieks like a banshe, her claws curling up towards her face, a dark sillouette in a blazing pyre of Harry's devise. An Angel Witch at the Stake. She curls downwards, pieces falling away and evaporating, until she collapses into a mass. Growing smaller, even as the fires die. Where's the body?! The fires blackened, tainted by that which they consume..
Which is when the very ground beneath the Wizard explodes upwards. A pale blue arm, ending in blackened claws, looking to do nothing so much as to crawl -right the fuck up his leg-. Carrying a bleeding, -badly- burnted Ophelia with it. But those white teeth - those beautiful, straight white teeth - are opened in the biggest fucking smile you ever did see. Something hungry.
"Oh, don't worry - that doesn't hurt nearly as much as what I do to myself.~"
No more magic. No more fucking around. This man hurt her -fucking stage-. Her source, her show, her THEME. The broken moon skull above slowly fading as the storm clouds swirl to hide it once more, the ENCOMPASSING GLOOM fading as the stage cannot hold it. No, Ophelia gets right down to business, trying to do nothing less than bury those claws somewhere soft and warm - and TWIST. But at least that means she's no longer directing the METAL? And the platform has come to a full hault, the Grave Diggers harried by the maggoty crows. The the rope holding Inga - parts with a -snap-. Look out below!

Drowned Ophelia (975) has posed:
The Troll rises once more to its feet, and gets ready to follow up on Yuna - until she shouts back. It pauses, fist curling and uncurling uncertainty, before it finally gurgles. "Uh.. uh.. NO IT DOESN'T YOUR FACE DOES." It states. Then pauses again, gurgling in frustration as it pounds its fist on the ground beneath it. "WAIT. I MEAN, YOU SUUUUUCK." Another pause. "BECAUSE YOU CAN'T SING."
Another.
"JUST SHUT UP ALREADY YOU'RE SO STUPID. LIKE YOUR MOM!"
It sways, the black ichor halting the parade down the top of its skull. But even as bone and brackish, twisted muscle begin to rebuild it back into shape, all that's left is an expression of worried confusion. People are supposed to cry and die! Not argue back - and do it better!

Drowned Ophelia (975) has posed:
"MY BABIII-BLARGH"
That'd be the sound of the top of RatGut disappearing into a black mist. The creature falling backwards and away from Riva, giving her some much needed breathing space. I mean, it still smells like BURNING SHIT, and the fires are turning blue from the corruption they're trying to devour. But at least there's not a freak trying to mate rodents in her guts or something freaky as fuck like that?
.. At least, until the oversized, bloated body starts to wiggle and thrash. No. Nooo, surely not? SURE AS HELL NOT?
Oh god yes. One can hear the rising SQUEAK OF DOOM.
And with the mometary respite, she can see it's not ending. The mosh is getting back UP again, despite the alpha strike that made the corridor they needed. And other forms are crawling in from the cold mists, up from the ground or down from the sides of this valley. Heeding the call - the call of DOOM. Albeit, a lot are simply watching from the sidelines, those Tear Drinkers who never signed on with Ophelia. What, you think all DEATH METAL HEADS agree with one another? Not to mention the METAL is staggered, without Ophelia to direct it and with the stage damaged.

Drowned Ophelia (975) has posed:
The White Naughts are frozen solid; Limbs creaking, mist pouring from their still forms as they are locked in place, even at the moment of their victory. They drew blood for M'LADY BRIDE. Maybe now she'll date one of them?! Which is when Wuyin uses the ultimate attack;
Driving off the female in the room.
The Bride has time for one sorrowful moan before she's FUCKING EXPLODED TAKE THAT MATRIMONY. Her veil drifting down from the remnants of her ashy pile, even as the White Naughts - shatter. Oh, they'd been shattered before, of course - Wuyin cut them to fucking ribbons again and again. But this time? This time they're -melting- as their frozen chunks burn. Ichor sinking into the poisoned earth, buying Wuyin - for the moment - some breathing room. But what happens if Inga gets dragged to the Sea of Black Tears? What if those dark waters get into the BUZZING - and change the song of the future? He and She would know more than anyone else just how fucking dangerous that can be.

Drowned Ophelia (975) has posed:
FUCKING HOLY BLADES! The Ghost shriek at last as weapons made to fight the undead are brought to bear; Ripped and torn, fluttering away from Staren's glorious sky-borne battle like tatters of ethereal confetti. But not all things go his way, for the sky above peels and crackles with power. Lightning crackling down to strike - an Organist. One part church organist, one part hot-rod, the Phantom looks up and smirks. Then begins pounding out a -new- tune. From his vantage point, Staren can see it even through the fog - the witch lights of spooks and spectres rising once more from the sucking earth, empty and hungry and -hungry-.

Eithne Sullivan has posed:
    Eithne can't help it - even though the Doll's backhand snaps her head back, rattles her brain, she grins. Grins and grins and she's missing a tooth on the left side, and it shouldn't make her look so cute when she's covered in mud and black and blood.

    She grabs for the Doll's hair, her shoulders, anything she can reach, and slams her new friend into the dirt with all her strength. And again. And again, until she's stopped. Bleeding and laughing, hurting and being hurt.

    Sheela tilts his head at Inga's single word, eyeing her with eyes the same pale blue as his mistress's. He flaps his wings and flutters clumsily down to her wrists, gripping the ropes tight in his talons, and uses his sharp beak to dig and tear at the soft inner flesh of the seer's wrists until red starts to trickle down her fingers.

    That's about when the rope snaps.

Inga has posed:
The Flesh doll keeps fighting back, right up until, well, she doesn't. Around the third time her head hits the ground she stops moving, skull dented and flesh torn and bruised. It is not a pretty image, and all the more disturbing because she still looks so very much like a woman who was a friend to many present.

She's not getting back up. Not today.

Harry Dresden (206) has posed:
    Well this is shitty. Harry Dresden's fire and brimstone act... well okay that part's pretty bitching as the Stage crumbles and cracks and shows the damage and shoddy construction in places. Damn you, shitty Goth Roadies! He also torched Ophelia, a pang of regret that it was... too easy? Was that all it took to handle a Filth-born these days?

    That said, the Wizard really wasn't expecking the next bit, with Ophelia crawling up his body like a cat with 6 inch claws. He's skewered in place, with a hot chick writhing her way up his body. He feels one claw slide through the meat of his thigh, and the other slink right between his ribs as he gets face to face with the Queen of the Drowning Doom.

    He spits up blood, trapped as he is by the muck and the mire and the fact that she's got him by the guts. "Hnnnrrrffd. I can.... damn try." But it's awful hard to cast magic when you're all being sliced up and shit.
    Which is why Harry cheats. He angles a hand into his duster, wraps it around the stock of his Sawed-Off, points it at Ophelia's gut... and pulls the trigger. Only it's not buckshot he's got in there. The first round is a Dragon's Fire Round, blasting the Queen with a gout of white hot flame. The second one is full of Rock Salt, specially blessed by Father Forthill. That old rogue.

    The Dragon's Breath lashes out at Harry too, the heat far too close to his body. He screams in further agony, but he wants to hurt this woman. He wants to hurt her bad enough he's going to hurt himself.

Yuna Kagurazaka (385) has posed:
"Wow ..." Yuna shakes her head in wonderment. "Is that really the best you can do? I mean, you *heard* me singing earlier, and - y'know, I don't hear *her* singing any more. But my face is just fine, you don't know a thing about my mother, and you don't --"

There are a couple of quick shots from the Matrix Divider, aimed not at the TreeBack Troll's upper body, but at whatever passes for its knees.

"-- have a leg to stand on," Yuna finishes. Honestly, she doesn't like being mean to her opponents, but sometimes there's no real choice. And the Troll looks and acts like a monster. Gods help Yuna if she finds out there was (or is) more to it than that.)

But she's more concerned about her allies. "INGA!!" Yuna yells at the top of her lungs. "WE'RE HERE TO RESCUE YOU!!" Maybe she doesn't need to call out like that at this point - it might be after the fact, it might be Inga's too distracted to hear her, whatever. But after the shout, Yuna starts singing again ...

o/~    I hear a voice calling to me,
    telling me not to forget that I'm not alone
    All the people who can't be replaced are here,
    In a place where their hearts can shine
    The number of words that I know
    Isn't enough to say very well
    But with my own face, I want to tell you
    Thank you for always being by me ... stay in my heart

Inga is not alone.
Yuna's friends are not alone.
And Yuna herself is not alone.
They're all here for each other's sakes.

She didn't sing the whole song, just the final (double-length) chorus - the most important part, in her opinion - and as Yuna finishes singing, her beam cannons power up again. Her target is no longer the TreeBack Troll - even if she DIDN'T kneecap it, it's the lesser threat for now. Instead, when the beam cannons go off, the twin blasts of raw radiant force are directed at ...

The Doom Bell. Or rather, the framework which suspends that Bell above Ophelia's stage.

Take out the Bell, take out the conduit of Ophelia's death-metal powers, neutralize her stage. Right?

Staren has posed:
    Staren's GHOST MISADVENTURES are accompanied by the dueling soundtrack of emotion-destroying metal and Yuna's singing. They don't go well together, but canceling eachother out into background noise is a win, right?

    Staren grins as the ghosts fall away, tattered, and aren't replenished by an unending horde. That worked out better than expected!

    Oh.

    A new monster that SPAWNS GHOSTS.

    Well that's just wrong. THAT has got to stop RIGHT NOW. He keeps the blades ready to deal with the ghosts as they come to him, but his armor's missile racks pop up and Staren starts bombarding the organist with burning plasma minimissiles, one at a time to see how many it takes.

    Also he glances down to see how the rest of the fight is going. Ophelia engulfed in fire, that's good. Yuna's fighting a giant tree-troll. Okay. Another freaky ratbaby-man-thing. Also there are metal blimps dropping something that messes with the air -- he switches over to internal supply, and will work on a way to help allies deal with that as soon as these ghosts are freaking done with gosh!

    He'd engage in witty banter but what's the point? Having seen how they're created now... Staren's not sure the ghosts are even people. Some sort of automaton projections? Man, this world is crazy, who even knows?

Kyle Katarn (778) has posed:
    "I don't know what you did, but that's not why I'm here." Kyle says grimly, moving past while the Zapper's still knitting himself together. He knows these guys won't stop just yet, and he has no time to keep dealing with these guys.

    Not when Inga and Harry need help getting out of here. "Harry, hold on!" he calls to the wizard, seeing him kind of sort of self immolate a bit. This is bad news, yes. He uses the Force to clear a path through the lesser zombies, sending them sprawling as he rushes towards Inga and Harry, cutting down moshpit zombies in his path. Using agility and speed from both years of experience, and also the Force carrying his steps, Kyle's extremely nimble in these situations, and he notices Inga falling.

    "I GOT YOU!" He calls, before he actually raises out a hand. Through the Force, he focuses upon Inga, trying to slow her fall until she is straight up suspended in mid-air.

    Then, he gently lowers her down to the ground, provided nobody tries to shank him in the back. That would be bad.

Inga has posed:
Inga's lips move in time with Wuyin. It is much creepier when they are together. The Bees have Something to Say and Inga seems helpless to their words.

The Rabbi forgets the bridge, leaves the paper in the machine. It goes in search of a master and finds children that need hugging. It hugs them until their smiles split and their teeth strike the cobbles like tiny raindrops.

An angry mob attacks the clay man. He does not fight back. The Rabbi comes and screams at him. Removes the circuit breaker - the life giving bridge. The clay man falls on the Rabbi and shatters."

Inga has been aware, vaguely, of what is happening around her. She knows Harry is close, she feels the heat from his flames. She knows if he is close, he will be hurt. That's just his luck, she doesn't need to see the future to know it.

The Buzzing...buzzes off. There's a myriad of Things going on in Inga's head, and the Bees figure, well, Wuyin can finish this particular story. Inga recieves a different signal, a wave of wyrd pulling her forward.

Yuna's song reaches her, bolstering her strength as it drowns out Ophelia's METAL. No, she is not alone. Not now.

The rope from which she hung breaks and Inga is free. She falls, and is caught by the force Kyle wields.

Her eyes focus on Harry, and Ophelia, and /what she is doing to him/. Inga screams, blood rising around her as she digs her nails into her skin to draw more. A spear of hardened blood launches to Ophelia, positioning as not to hit Harry in the process. He has enough problems.

There might not be much of Ophelia left. For now. Inga knows with cold certainty that this isn't the end of Ophelia. "Ophelia, Ophelia...I know you. You are doing this because...in your way, you /care/. But I know what becomes of you. I have SEEN it. Oh, I think Eddie would be happy to know what will become of you. I told you, that girl was still inside of you. You will forget. You will...heal. You will come close to YOURSELF again. The girl you drowned will return. I promise you this," Inga says, her eyes focused on the battered Ophelia, so sure. So knowing.

Inga limps to Harry, kneeling beside him, using whatever blood she has left on him, channeling her anima through it to help heal the worst of his wounds. It will take far more than what she can manage at the moment, but she can at least stop him from bleeding to death! "Damn it, Harry..." she says, tears in her eyes.

Inga looks toward the others. "My things, there's below the stage!" she calls. She needs her walking stick, her talismans...her agartha portal. How are they getting out of here?

Wuyin Tsai has posed:
Music pulses. Wuyin flows. Bodies fall.

The gloom begins to recede. The voices do not. The music brings it, carried on the words meant to bring harmony to the thrumming, thumping, screaming discord. The Buzzing's signal is a sort of harmony all its own, a painful one to the uninitiated and a comforting if disconcerting one to all the rest. Wuyin is swept along in it, speaking words of a story meant for... who, exactly?

He starts towards Inga, and the waters. His eyes are wide, his mouth working as he figures out the words that Inga no longer speaks with him. "The people bury the Rabbi and put the remains of the clay man in an attic. They are a persecuted people," Wuyin says, "and they do not want attention. The clay man dreams the slow dreams of the terminally shattered." His eyes find Ophelia, looking through her. Dresden, some part of him thinks. Someone should get him back, too.

"Time passes and another man comes." He flicks his sword. Blood and worse glides off the blade, a hiss and a sizzle-pop leaving it perfectly clean. "His bearing is regal and he wears the swastika on his sleeve. He examines the remains and then calls in a troop of men in uniforms." The dead. The stage. Inga's things. He stops, points his hand downward. "They collect the clay man and carry his pieces to a truck."

There's a blast of fire and ice and fire again. Wuyin hammers at the mob of undead and at the stage itself with a steady 'WHUMP, WHUMP, WHUMP'. It's a rhythm that compliments the music with destructive harmony. "In a place of death and shit and broken souls, the clay man is reassembled. All the Fuhrers horses and all of his men, put the clay man back together again~."

He strikes, opening a gap, eyes trailing towards Inga. "A starving old prisoner watches through the warehouse window, unnoticed behind the grime and the dust." Something strays close. It dies. Wuyin never saw it. He feels pieces of it scatter across his back and side. "He remembers a winter evening in Prague, and the broken smiles of dead playmates."

Wuyin moves in. He'll take Inga's things, tuck them away with all the rest of his. Agartha is terribly convenient for storage sometimes. He keeps speaking on his way back, retreating from the spot, starting to reconvene. His voice becomes conversational and thoughtful. "In the end, a tank is needed to bring down the clay man. Among the shattered remains, the remaining troops find a slip of paper with the name of god scribbled in hasty hebrew. A starving old free man watches from the edges of the camp."

He smiles, looking across his allies with weird joy on his face. It's as alien as the intonation. His voice becomes sweet. "Dear sweetling, this tale /has/ no moral. Like the Guardians of Gaia."

Wuyin's legs shake and suddenly give out. He drops to his knees, free hand clutching at his side and coming away bloodied, expression stricken with pain. He produces a weird brass and iron sphere the size of a baseball, Anima-light playing over the surface. Time to go.

Riva Banari has posed:
The horrible beast is murdered once again, and Riva falls back, looking over the corrupted, undying thing. "I'm going to be sick..." She mutters.

And then she sees it's beginning to recoagulate, the horrible squeaking starting up again. "Nope. /NOW/ I'm going to be sick." She groans, clutching her stomach as it churns from the disgusting sight.

But the Gloom is disrupted by Harry's work. Yuna keeps singing. The forces of DEATH METAL are put on the back foot. And the Bees provide their enigmatic direction as always. Yes, they resonate through her just like they do with Wuyin and Inga, but clashing with a horrible rat-thing kind of keeps you from listening properly.

The Templar straightens, raising the hammer to smash the corpse uselessly once more until she comes to a realization. She's Death Metal. How can you /really/ put the bullet into this?

A mad idea crosses Riva's mind, and she smiles, dashing forward through the leveled horde, vaulting over horrors as she makes directly for the Stage. With a plant of her mace, she vaults onto it, looking over the tableau. She could turn and strike at Ophelia... But she isn't looking to her.

No, she's looking at a fallen electric guitar. She turns, grabbing the guitar and plugging it into the system. The speakers screech as Riva jams on a couple things. She doesn't know the details, but maybe, just maybe... She closes her eyes, and tries to remember the first song that comes to mind. Something she can use here. Something to combat this evil.

Maybe it's some strange gift that allows someone who's never jammed in their life. Maybe it's beginner's luck. Maybe it's the Bees. Maybe it's something about this world of Metal. But something answers. The speakers blare, and with a great fanfare, Riva's voice crashes out over the battlefield, echoing in a great chorus.

Riva Banari has posed:
FROM A WORLD OF REIGN, THEY COME!                      

Lights explode across the sky, warring with the Darkness and Gloom as brilliant flames strike back against the hellish balefire of the Death Metal. Thunder and lightning crashes as the two forces meet in battle in the heart of Ophelia's domain, a sudden strike in the middle of a pitched battle.

In a world of Mammon, we have found it all! Fighting for pride and for gold!
   But the key to the reign, to the ultimate control: Wisdom of the old!    
    We have been elect to drain the wine of Gnosis to hide it and pray,    
                  Got to save our children from the beast!                  
                             We are on the way!                            

Music crashes down over the battlefield, fighting against Metal with Metal as Riva jams with the deadly, crackling guitar. With a cry, she turns and points towards Inga, pointing dramatically as burning, scorching swords of flame shear through the air, shrieking towards the Zepplins, striking down across the masses of undead with fire and light.

                           Remaining in darkness                            
                     The land of salvation will drown.                      
                        And when we'll have vanished                        
                    Slavery will take your freedom down!                    

                  Seven eyes to be blind forever in time:                  
                             SIGN OF THE CROSS!                            
                  Hell arise! Castigation under the sign,                  
                             SIGN OF THE CROSS!                            
                        Make us drown in altar wine!                        

There is a detonation as the guitar sparks and catches aflame with white fire, Riva still playing it until with a scream she brings the guitar down, hammering it into the Stage with a mighty blow. Upon impact, a pillar of flame blasts upwards in a cross-shaped blast, shearing through the Stage, then again, and again as Riva lays about with the guitar like it was a deadly weapon, working to blast the Stage apart.

As she turns to the distance, raising the guitar to the distance, there is a rumbling in the distance, pearly gates erupting from the ground and swinging open. "EVERYONE OUT!" She cries, her burning holy-symbol mace in one hand and the flaming guitar in the other.

BGM: Sign of the Cross - Avantasia
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dYiLCDwdR8k

Drowned Ophelia (975) has posed:
Black lips spread wide; A crocodile smile. "You'll try, and try, and try. You'll dip your hands in blood, little man. And the-"
SNKT-BOOM. TOTAL ASSHOLE MOVE, RUINING A PERFECTLY GOOD MONOLOGUE. Ophelia is thrown foward into Harry's shoulder as a spear of blood suddenly skewers her from shoulder to hip - just in time for Harry to blow her back with a immolating shotgun shell! The broken creature falls to the ground, a massive hole missing in her midsection. She gurgles, black ichor rolling down her chin, and looks up at Harry. Even as her claws are gripping around the empty, leaking hole that was once her insides. ".. g'ck." She states, hand shaking as she wipes the back of her hands on it. "Sorry... sweetie.. my heart's alread-.. already broken." She lays her head back, letting it drift to watch Inga rise. Giggling madly, despite the lack of sound. "I'll break y.. your wyrd, Inga.." She singsongs. "I'll blind your gods.. and you'll f-..float with me.. free in the misery.." She looks down at the hole in her gut again, groaning, a sound of pain that slowly breaks into laughter. "Ah! It hurts so much! You've got- .. you've got such a -wonderful- touch, Harry~" She singsongs. Weaker but stronger. Stronger but weaker. It was the nature of the Black Tears; The more she suffered, the stronger she got. The stronger she got, the more vulnerable she became. The more vulnerable she became, the more she suffered.

Drowned Ophelia (975) has posed:
The Troll's knuckles bounce on the ground a few times as it tries to think of -something-. Some sort of come back. At last his face brightens, and then he gets a nasty smile on his face. "OH YEAH? WELL-"
Kneecapped!
The Troll falls over, hollering as it collapses onto its face. Rolling about, the tree preventing it from getting immediatly up. And then Yuna does the unthinkable - she ruins the FUCKING STAGE. The DOOM BELL tolls again and suddenly falls, crashing into the stage. The whole thing sparks and implodes, pieces collapsing downwards. The mosh pit staggering to a halt, the undead confused and briefly stunned by the fall of their stage - the crux of the show, Ophelia's nexus. Yuna's aim was perfect, and if there ever was a time to GET THE FUCK OUT OF DODGE, it was now. It was a BRUTAL VICTORY, but this was the Sea of Black Tears. And the dead things would not be out for long.

Drowned Ophelia (975) has posed:
Staren's barrage of the Organist has the desired effect; IT explodes. A lot more than it should, really, fire blossoming upwards like a mushroom of heat and smoke. Screaming, wailing ghosts go curling in all directions, the spectres broken not only by the siren call of the Phantom but also by the sudden stagger of DEATH METAL. Only the background left, the ever-present knit of Hateful Grief; So long as the Sea is open, the DEATH METAL will be there. Just undirected, wild as skeleton trees growing unchecked in a grove. He's up high, and he can imemediatly see the problem. The stage is down; The Drowning Doom disorganized. But there are a LOT more dead than there are living Elites, and it's only a matter of time before they reorganize.

Drowned Ophelia (975) has posed:
Kyle catches Inga. Kyle helps Harry. Kyle's a good guy!
Which makes it all the same with Ophelia watching. Her eyes loosely tracking through the sweet, sweet agony in her gut, before she spies the man doing all the pushing. THAT one. Oh, she remembers that one. Her black lips - with the ichor leaking from them - spread to a nasty, vicious smile again. And she kisses the tips of her fingers before blowing on them;
Smoke drifts through the air, black and living and sentient; And suddenly solidifies, trying to do nothing so much as STAB KYLE IN HIS FUCKING BACK. And LODGE there, like a shard of ebon glass.
A parting kiss from the Queen of Tears. Hearts all around~

Drowned Ophelia (975) has posed:
And then RIVA. RIVA LEARNS IT. RIVA OWNS IT. For METAL - BEAUTIFUL FUCKING METAL - is a power unmatched in this world. The sky shatters beneath it, the ground trembles before it. The very nature of reality burns beneath the fire of METAL. It is powerful, and it is awe inspiring, and it is FUCKING BRUTAL - and it will have no MASTER. And Riva? For this moment, for this instant, SHE MADE AN ALLY OF THE METAL.
The Death Metal staggers out, with no one to direct it. And GLORIOUS OPERATIC METAL takes its place. Zeppelins explode and fall like flaming comets. Firey crosses rip through the storm touched sky. The undead burn and twist like worms beneath the -all burning light PRAISE THE SUN MOTHERFUCKERS- because the clouds -PARTED-. Just this once. Just for this moment, as the Gates awaken. A way out
An escape. It won't last - the DEATH METAL is already hammering back up. This is it's HOME. FUCK YOU. But for now, for a moment?
RIVA IS A FUCKING METAL HERO.

Yuna Kagurazaka (385) has posed:
Troll is down but not entirely out; stage is kaplooey but not enough - apparently - to keep Riva from taking what's left of the stage and stealing the entire show. If Yuna had the faintest idea about 'throwing the horns,' she might actually do it. Getting out while there's an out to be gotten seems like a higher priority.

Yuna's even got the strength to handle a passenger or two, or she can cover the escape for others. Either way, time to head home, mission accomplished.

Staren has posed:
    Inga and Wuyin retell the story of the golem. Staren knows that myth! ...Wait, not the part about nazis. That's new. And the story has no point! Probably for the best, one less thing to think about while fighting.

    Harry's hurt. What can he do about that? Thinking about it distracts him from the odd familiarity of the wailing as the organist and his spectres burn. Staren's heard a sound like that before somewhere...

    Riva provides a new soundtrack, and a way out: The pearly gates to the afterlife. "Your choice of symbolism is concerning!" he shouts as he flies down, firing his beam cannons at Ophelia to try and get her off of Kyle. "Go go go! Everybody out!"

    As soon as Kyle is free, Staren follows his own advice, flying towards the gates. If he ends up in the afterlife he's so haunting you, Riva!

Kyle Katarn (778) has posed:
    Kyle is at least successful at catching Inga, and he secures her promptly. "C'mon, we gotta go!" he says, helping her up and getting her towards the gates Riva set up. That's stanging impressively what she did, by the way. He's just about ready to head through the gate himself when he catches a parting gift.

    He yelps in pain before he shoves the guy off. Staren helps of course, and Kyle tries to ignore the pain long enough to pass through yo thr other side.

    "Thanks Staren. Son of a bitch this hurts. Inga, I'm gonna need this treated if you're able." He seems awfully calm for getting shivved, even if it hurts about as much as one would think.