Scene #7359: Red Moon Rising

Owner	Pose
Hesinca	NETHERWORLD - SERIAL KILLER INTERRUPTING AN UNMARRIED COUPLE KISSING IN THEIR CAR PEAK That is, the peak is named 'Serial Killer Interrupting An Unmarried Couple Kissing In Their Car'. The name aside, it is a nice peak. Very scenic, overlooking a nice light-up town that could serve as the backdrop for act one of a horror movie, with a nice flat area that an umarried couple could drive up to, park, and have a nice pg-13-appropriate makeout session that would be perfect for a serial killer to interrupt. Which is probably why it's named 'Serial Killer Interrupting An Unmarried Couple Kissing In Their Car Peak. It's a very on-the-nose name. Background jokes aside - this is where Hesinca's been told to go, by the Forces That Be. (She got a fax.) And it's not hard to see why - the red moon hangs up in the sky, large - very large, very close, in an astronomically impossible way. By normal force of gravity it should smash into the Netherworld, but instead it's just serenely slowly orbiting around it at quite close ranges, and Serial Killer Interrupting An Unmarried Couple Kissing In Their Car Peak both looks and feels like an ideal spot to do 'moon things'. It almost looks like if you got a running start and jumped really really well, you could go all the way up to the moon from here. The group's not starting at the tip of the peak; they're about half a mile away, in the parking lot. There's a winding, not-well-lit dirt road from here to the tip of the peak - one that affords plenty of space for a group of assorted elites to travel (or a single Chevy Monte Carlo carrying a pair of people that haven't tied the knot) but not nearly enough for the literal truckload of souls that Hesinca and the group have arrived with. The souls, by the way, are glowing orbs the size of basketballs. There's hundreds of them in racks inside of the truck. "Thanks again for helping with this," Hesinca says to whoever's shown up. "We just gotta get these to the peak, meet the Transact Purgatorio contact to confirm things, send them off to the moon, and then we'll hand out paychecks and go out for drinks." The prinny squad's at the back of the truck, handing out burlap sacks full of souls (or entire racks) to people based on how much they indicate they can carry. They don't seem all that talkative right now.
Linehart	This is a nice peak for standing menacingly off to the side at. Fortunately, there is in fact someone here perfect for that job! His name is Linehart, he's eight feet tall, he's shrouded in a cloak of literal smoke, his armor is a rippling black shadow, his visor is a cross-scar glowing an ominous red, and he's got actual boss music playing around him, which only adds to the ominousness of Serial Killer Interrupting An Unmarried Couple Kissing In Their Car Peak.. It is, to be fair, very quiet and peaceful boss music, because he's in a quiet and peaceful mood, but it's still ominous slow boss music that could erupt into It's Go Time at any moment. Linehart does not speak. This only adds to the menacing aura. He is simply shovelling souls into his Inventory like he doesn't care. This is probably because he doesn't care. He has no idea how to feel about this. Is this something a Hero would do? Maybe. It's helping out what appears to be a perfectly natural process. On the other hand, it's dicking around with souls, which is the kind of thing he would do in another life, maybe. But on the other other hand, it's apparently just a job to Hesinca? So... He's clearly decided that it's probably for the best if he treats it as a Quest. Heroes do Quests. It might even be a Side Quest! The Hero definitely did Side Quests. Good enough. Might even get a Key Item out of it.
Jonathan Joestar	Jonathan smiles at the helpful Prinny, himself clad in hiking pants tucked into brown boots and a pin-striped red and white tanktop, his belt adorned with a starshaped buckle. "I can carry quite a bit, so please, allow me." The giant englishman, bear of a man he is, carries two racks of souls. One atop his shoulder, and one under the opposing arm. Pulling away from the Prinnies as they continue handing out stock, Jonathan nods slightly to Hesinca. "Oh, think nothing of it. The party I attended before was wonderful, so this is the least I can do." Compared to Lineheart, he struck quite a stark contrast.
Captain Flint	"And it's called what?" Flint repeats the name, with a straight face. "Billy, many Michigans have a town called Hell, a month or so out from New Providence Island there's a Skeleton Island. It's only natural that someone, somewhere would take it to its logical extreme." There is still snickering from amongst the crew. Even Joji cracks a smile. Captain Flint and John Silver arrive, along with the silent swordsman Joji, the musclebound blond boatswain Billy Bones, and a handful of pirates from the Walrus crew. They carry with them satchels of equipment purchased or pillaged from their world and beyond. Shovels and picks, plastic explosives, pitch, swords, guns ranging from natively sourced muskets to looted modern firearms, and ammo (and powder) aplenty for both, are all distributed evenly between the men. Silver has to slap one of their hands away from the souls in the truck. "No problem at all," says Silver with a winning smile, nodding at Hesinca. "Even if we were not bound as family by the covenant of the Concord," says Flint, his hand resting on the ornate silver hilt of his saber, "We would be glad to assist you for all the help you've given us." Turning to his men: "Those of you from the gun crew, take as many sacks from the prinnies as you're able to carry. Pair up. One vanguard for each man with a sack. Mr. Huddleston, there is no need to compete with Mr. Joestar. You will lose." There is a bout of laughter as the hairy Mr. Huddleston's expression sours, having tried to outdo Jonathan for carrying sacks. Flint takes some, too, while Silver pairs up with him as per his earlier order. Working in pairs, one guard and one carrier, Flint and his men begin taking the dirt road up to the peak.
Hesinca	The prinnies hand out sacks and racks. "Here you go," says one. "Thank you for helping," says another. One short trip later... "Okay, we're at the peak!" announced Hesinca, expositionally. Indeed, the group is at the peak. The red moon hangs low in the sky, invitingly. Anyone who's directly handling one of the souls can, at this point, feel a sort of urge to do... something, with it. Bring it closer to the peak's edge. "And... that's the contact arriving, I'm assuming - I hate how they look." There's a glowy person descending from the sky. There's... not really any other way to describe them besides 'glowy person'. Eyeballs just sort of focus elsewhere of their own accord - you get the impression of a person, and a glow, and a sort of androgynous shape if you focus and look really hard, but that's about it. "Hesinca Disastre, and those allied for or against her," calls the glowy person in an androgynous glowy-person-voice. "Let it be known, first and foremost, that we are forbidden from interfering in the affairs of angels, demons, and humans. My role is as purgatorial gatekeeper and divine accounter, nothing more and nothing less." "Yeah, yeah, I get the spiel," says Hesinca. "Unlock the pathway, and let's get on with this." "It is already done," says the Gatekeeper, who aside from talking hasn't moved an inch since landing. "Alright, whatever then. So all you need to do is just hold one, hold it out, and then just sort of... let it go." She demonstrates. The soul leaves her hands and starts floating up towards the red moon. Anyone who tries the same can get similar results. "Off to go reincarnate now that they've finished their repentence, miracle of life and the divine cycle, tabula rasa - also we get our deposit back, that's also an important part."
Linehart	Ah. This is a Good Deed Sidequest. Linehart's music, though still somewhat ominous by its mere nature, does at least rise a few octaves and switch to a piano cover, so it's soft and nice. He releases the souls one by one. There's still no words from the giant, but at least the music's in a higher key and thus nicer.
Jonathan Joestar	Jonathan tries to focus in on the gatekeeper to determine their features, but finds himself unable to do so. "Ah ..." The best impression he can get is that they are shaped like a human, vaguely. Almost like a glowing stretch armstrong before the stretch. "Then, we simply relase them - like this?" Settling the racks on the ground, Jonathan begins the process of releasing the souls in an orderly fashion, observing with fascination as they begin filtering out and joining their deceased brethern. Like lanterns, flying off into the night.
Captain Flint	There is an uncertain murmuring, a... not quite unease, but anticipation that Something must now happen, as the crew of the Walrus ascend. Even Flint feels it, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looks around for some sign of what to do with the soul slung over his shoulder in a sack. One comes. The contact. Following Hesinca's instructions, Flint, and the half of his squad who are carrying souls, lift them up. Even for grizzled, hardened men like these, there is a quiet wonderment with which the phenomenon is observed. It's the same way that, not so long ago, some of these same men peered at the majesty of a long dead beast, bones too stubborn to leave even in death. "Your deposit, Hesinca?" asks Flint, brow furrowed thoughtfully, head inclined her way.
Priscilla	Priscilla doesn't particularly need a reason to be here. That is what she insists should anyone ask, at least. It reads as 'I could make up so many and they'd all be perfectly impossible to challenge anyways, so why bother asking?' which is fine by her. Her principle of interest, though, seems to be the act of literally carting truckloads of souls up a peak to take to the moon. It is simultaneously 'distinctly within her wheelhouse', and 'something you'd definitely normally never see'. The way in which this sort of divinely mundane comedy labour could possibly be 'suited to' Priscilla manifests itself the moment she is in any position to handle souls. That is, simply by being in their proximity, they end up drawn into her orbit. The sort of local flavour used to describe it would be 'those shitty plastic domed coin slots that take charity money at fast food joints by entertaining children with how their parents spare change swirls around'. She is able to metaphorically juggle (theoretically, she could literally juggle them) an arbitrary number of souls just by sort of moving her hands around a little, and spends some amount of time playing inventory tetris and arranging sackfuls of them into different orbits and constellations. It kills time on the ride, and looks very glowy and pretty. "Indeed. I didst head of thine place of business within the greater structure of the infernal process, but this is the first I am to see thee change its hands with mine own eyes." she follows up from Flint, in a slightly lazy, back-of-the-truck manner that comes a tenth of the way to substituting for the lack of her second in command. "Am I to believeth such a being of light is no 'angel' in the terrestrial sense?"
Hesinca	The souls float off, serenely towards the moon. "No, angels are jerks," says Hesinca to Priscilla. "You'll know one when you see one. This is a purgatory... person." "Yeah - you go bid on the souls at the auction," says Hesinca to Flint. "The recently dead, still clinging to their past lives, etc etc. You go bid, you pay a bunch upfront and then a bunch more as a deposit. Then we get them to shed their past... stuff. Get them to repent, basically, and the stuff they give off is worth enough to make back more than the amount you paid to get them, and then once they're wrung dry..." She lifts up another of the souls and sets it loose. "Like this, when they're ready to go back and be reborn. Then you get the deposit back. That's why Glowy McGeneric is over there, to count and make sure we've done it, then we get a check in the mail." The Gatekeeper doesn't react to the mention. "I mean, sure, keeping the cycle of reincarnation going is important, but we also gotta keep the lights on," continues Hesinca. "And it's a rather sizable deposit, isn't it?" says someone from behind them. "I mean yeah it is- wait, who said that?" Hesinca's brow furrows. "... Oh damnit, did I forget to bring anyone with enhanced senses advantage in the party?" "A sizable deposit indeed," says the interloper, emerging from the dark pathway behind them. "The wages of sin, one would say - and not one that any of you fine upstanding mortals would want to get involved with." It's an angel - a quintet of them, actually. They're very much the classical sort of angels - wings and halos and robes, not weird geometric shapes. "Demons. The very definition of evil, chaos, uncleanliness, disorder, anarchy... any number of things antithetical to the goodness you mortals should be pursuing. And certainly not worthy of the burden of souls." Oh, also they apparently have rolled 1's on their 'realize that not everyone here isn't a mortal' checks. And while they're undeniably angels, they just seem to radiate smug smarminess. "So - for the sake of your immortal well beings, I strongly recommend you stand aside while we deal with the demon who, undoubtedly, has you under your thrall," says the lead angel. "Poor things, they probably don't even realize they're under her spell," says the angel to his immediate right. "Or maybe they just simply don't know better - it's alright, you're forgiven in the divine's grace," says the angel to the leader's immediate left. Hesinca, who's on the opposite side of the group from the new angelic arrivals, glowers at the angels.
Linehart	Linehart finally speaks. His voice is gravelly, deep, and... ...literally just beeping noises that somehow 'translate' into normal language. "Those who have not sinned should not speak of sin's wages. Those who do not know to whom they speak should not speak as if they hold knowledge." The giant turns. He's already dropped off all his souls, anyway. He's got nothing better to do. He just kind of walks forward, planting himself between Everybody and The Angels, his glowing cross-scar blazing through the shadow armor. His music is getting faster, now, and the light, gentle piano breaks away into a deeper tone. He's got a more complex sound palette now, too. The Mirror Knight does not yet draw a weapon. "Leave." He says nothing more. He does not need to say anything more. Between his size, his ominousness, his cloak, and his music, he radiates Demon Overlord. His fingers flex slightly. He is pure presence - pure presence that says more than any speech or defiant call could ever do.
Jonathan Joestar	Jonathan stands to his full height as the new voice rings out, frowning. Though they looked like one of the Lord's angels as one could expect, their demeanor left much to be desired, with such an untowards veneer. "I'm afraid that I'm under no such thrall; and truly, while I initially had reservations about associating with a demon from hell ... " "Miss Hesinca and her associates are actually incredibly well mannered people. If you'd like to pitch in you may certainly be welcome, but it is unbecoming of a servant of God to concern themselves with how lucrative someone else's business might be." Rolling his large, boulder-like shoulder, Jonathan points at the leader of the bunch, accusingly. "Or did I misunderstand your intention?"
Priscilla	"Art thou so certain I shall?" Priscilla replies only semi-committally to Hesinca, partly engrossed in sitting on the side of a cliff and looking all Disney Princess with her glowy constellation of fairy lights being sent off to float into the colourful horizon. "An individual's bent of opinion is hardly so steady and certain as to be used for a common identity. How shalt I knoweth them by such a judgement, if mine own is not the same?" "Certainly, of all perspectives upon the angelic, thine wouldst be far different from most, being as it is thine elected purpose to stand as foil to them. Assumeth not that thine feelings art common simply for the fact that they art well-reasoned." Then, less than five minutes after just concluding this line of thinking, Priscilla turns an icily unamused stare on the newly-joined angelic host so slowly and witheringly that it's a wonder her neck doesn't make a rusty cemetary gate noise. The last of the gathered souls disperse from her like a flock of startled pigeons, or a balloon raft with its strings slashed, leaving behind only the posture of someone temporarily too annoyed to get up. "Ah." Priscilla says, after a long, wastingly dry moment. "I understandeth now." Priscilla adds. "Is it that, for some reason, there is a problem between us now?" she then asks, not quite rhetorically, to the new crowd. "It wouldst seem to me that the only dealing to be done at this moment is that of the contract underway at this moment. Elsewise, I hath heard precious little explained." Despite sitting down only on the edge of a picturesque horror movie peak, her stiff, joyless, wide-eyed stare projects the feeling of her sitting behind a desk and slowly tapping a name plate.
Captain Flint	Flint strokes his goatee, nodding at Hesinca. "There where the soul is cleansed, made worthy to ascend to heaven." He is, at least, familiar with the notion of Purgatory, and why the souls must be brought to this peak. "I'm pleased our ascent up the peak was made without temptation by the seven deadly--" His ruminations are interrupted by a few of the pirates cheerfully greeting Priscilla before going back to their ogling of the Purgatory figure. "That's new," he asides to Silver. The quartermaster grins with sly pride. "Remind men of who it is they truly hate, and you can make yourself--or someone else--quite invaluable," Silver murmurs back. "And who is that?" "Each other, mostly," Silver says matter-of-factly. Billy Bones squints at Hesinca, never seeming to understand her allusions--but he doesn't have the chance to, because the voice of the angelic interloper draws his attention away from her. He points, in awe. "Captain, look..." Are the pirates here evil? It depends on who you ask. Are they chaotic? Some would call them agents of chaos. The more descriptors thrown Hesinca's way, the more the crew begins to smile. By the time the angel mentions 'anarchy,' they're all smiling defiantly. "To accept forgiveness when no wrong has been done is the act of a coward," says Flint, stepping forward, amidst a sussurus of assent from the grinning crew. He looks over his shoulder, and nods. Around him, swords, axes, muskets, assault rifles, shotguns, are drawn, readied, primed, safeties flicked off. "The demon of which you speak has earned my trust and respect--she has never pretended to be anything other than what she is," says the Captain, eyes briefly shifting towards Jonathan, flickering agreement in his seafoam eyes. "You claim to be servants of the divine, yet ask myself, my men, my family," he says, speaking of the Concord here, "And a complete stranger to you, who has no reason to trust you, to stand idly by and let you 'deal with' her. I shall speak plainly. You will not 'deal' with her in any capacity other than the terms your two dimensions have honored to this point--and we will frustrate, severly, any attempt on your part to violate those terms, or to harm Hesinca in any fashion."
Hesinca	"Ugh - they've sinned plenty, despite what they say, and they just want my deposit for themselves," says Hesinca. "More demonic lies. I'd tell you to shield your ears, mortals, but... it would appear that you've placed yourselves beyond redemption, if you are calling demons such as her 'good people'," says the lead angel. "Such a shame," says the one on the left. "That these ones are beyond saving. All that can be done now is to focus on saving others." "Indeed. By culling these so that the rot may not fester and spread," says the one on the right. "The armored one looks to be practically a demon himself, the muscled one is clearly under the demon's spell - and likely guilty of murder, the pirates are of course pirates, and... ah, the woman is being talkative," says the lead angel. "Such are women, indeed," says the angel on the far right, to some unangelic snickers from the rest. Being massively sexist is not a sin, as it turns out. "You're wasting your breath," says Hesinca to Captain Flint. "That they're here already is a massive break in the agreement. And aside from trying to rob us, they're also probably going to try to kill us to keep us quiet." She looks over at the Gatekeeper. "And aren't you gonna do anything about it?" "I spoke plainly, Hesinca Disastre," says the Gatekeeper. "I cannot interfere in the affairs of angels, demons, nor humans." "Well then, thee unrepentant..." says the lead angel, an un-angelic smirk appearing and causing him to break character somewhat. "Prepare thyselves for the mercy of the divine. By our sacred instruments, we shall deliver you from thy sins." Wings are spread. Battle stances are taken. Guns are pulled out from robes. "In the name of the eternal, and the divine, and of justice incarnate," says the lead angel, sighting down his uzi at the group. "Amen." The peak erupts into a hail of gunfire.
Jonathan Joestar	"Koooh..." Jonathan's brow twitches at the accusation of murder, as he shifts into a martial arts stance, breathing in deeply -- so much so, that his chest seems to expand to the point of bursting. Bright sunshine radiates from his body, rolling off of him so deeply that it engulfs his whole form before it began to crackle, taking on the form of lightning. "Firearms! I'm tough, but even I'd find myself in a spot of trouble if I'm peppered by bullets like that!" "There's nowhere to run, so I'll just have to power through!" he says, crossing his arms infront of himself defensively as he charged forward, guarding his vitals with opposing waves of positive-negative Hamon, seeming to cross the distance in an instant. The bullets shred into his arms and legs, but it hardly slows the massive man down, who seems intent on finishing the fight before the blood loss can become an issue for him. " "OVERDRIVE!" Pulling one arm back, he launches a ripple-laced five knuckle shuffle straight at the leader angel's face, a flash of golden lightning signifying the surge of Hamon he sends rushing into his head. "This'll clean your clock!"
Captain Flint	The captain heeds Hesinca's advice with his lips curled into a sneer, eyes still trained on the angels. He nods. "So noted, Hesinca. If the Gatekeeper won't dirty their hands, it falls to us." "Muskets at the ready," growls Flint, as the angelic chorus (in the Greek sense) speak of culling them. The pirates form a disciplined firing line, going from unwashed, jeering rabble to trained killers with just one command, weapons shouldered, muskets knelt at the front, more modern weapons, as Billy's Kalashkinov rifle, standing behind them, there to provide cover for when those musketmen must reload. Flint and Silver each procure pistols, Flint's a battle-worn M1911 and Silver's a more traditional black powder flintlock. "Aim." The moment he sees hands dart for robes... "FIRE!" The first portion of his attack is a wall of lead, focused on the center angel. But several of his men take fire and have to be dragged out of the way, for triage. "GET DEFENSES IN PLACE! PICK THEM OFF ONE AT A TIME!" Says Flint, roaring over the din of gunfire, stuffing his spent pistol into the studded sash around his waist, to grab a downed crew member by the collar and drag him down the hill. "Focus fire on the lead angel!" Cries Silver, diving behind Linehart to take cover. As several pirates hastily form up a thick line of sandbags to allow the crew and anyone not possessed of unearthly fortitude a respite from the gunfight, others hurry to the fortifications and follow Silver's suggestion, focusing fire on the frontmost angel, attempting to take them out first with a hail of concentrated fire.
Linehart	'The road to redemption is closed to you.' That's all it takes. Those words are all it takes. The Mirror Knight draws a weapon. A spear. Long, menacing, twice the size of a spear meant for a human. Night-black. Lined with crimson like circuits, dripping what looks like blood. He advances menacingly as the music bursts into Final Boss Mode. It picks up pace. It becomes deeper, darker, more dangerous. He is Angry. He may not have any visible facial features but he is Angry and it is impossible not to notice, and impossible not to notice that 'the road to redemption is closed to you' is where his rage began. Around him the darkness roils and thrashes. The smoke trails in his wake. "Pitiable creature," he says, his deep beeps filled with menace, "I am Linehart, the Mirror Knight. My Sphere is Evil Knight." "My dark spear will be your doom." He advances. The angels have made a tremendous mistake. Mirror Knight is not a title he wears for show. It is not a title he carries as an ominous portent. It is an underlining of his combat gimmick. It is there to tell the player THIS IS WHAT YOU SHOULD EXPECT. You should expect REFLECTION GIMMICKS. You should expect MIRROR IMAGE BULLSHIT. You should expect SOME KIND OF DEFENSIVE ABILITY. The uzis rake across him. Numbers pop up above his head, flashing brilliantly. A critical hit. 330! Very satisfying. He visibly has to pause, bringing up his arms to protect himself as he continues walking forward. The uzi fire drives him further back. And then the mistake of the angels is made clear. A black arm reaches out of the uzi. It grabs at the lead angel's throat. It is not mercifully grabbing for a nonlethal takedown. No, no. No such luck here. Linehart's grip is meant to kill. Linehart has been Provoked in a deep, profound, personal way, and this angel is not going to survive it. "This one," Linehart says, his voice rumbling beeps that cut through the uzi fire, "Is mine." Another hand crawls out of the uzi to grab the angel by the face. "Leave it to me." I insist. The last one is highlighted. And a textbox.
Priscilla	There are layers of things here that Priscilla had no reasonable cause to expect. Angels showing up to a soul transfer in Hell is one. The angels being here to ostensibly shake down Hesinca for money is another. That they'd do so by actually lining up like gangsters and shooting up the group precisely like a mob hit is definitely the third one removed. Distantly, she'd been envisioning them dramatically casting aside their capes and drawing flaming swords or something. More questions to ask. It's all well and good that her enemy for the night would rely on gunfire, though. It means her first round is free. Priscilla swings her legs up from the edge of the peak, turns over, lightly hops over the parking railing, and then completely vanishes into thin air. There isn't so much as a rustle of grass or a print in the dirt on the other side. Hails of gunfire may rake the area, tearing up and down, shredding through weeds and fence posts and road signage, and generally leave the vicinity with more holes in it than pebbles, but the saturation attack strikes nothing in the area Priscilla was just occupying. Beyond the invisibility itself, there secretly isn't anything special to it. Priscilla simply knows exactly how people use vision-based weapons, and has certainly run up against more guns than any individual with guns has run up against her. A motion towards the parking fence, followed immediately by a jump back right after breaking sight, then using the extreme noise and chaos of so many automatic weapons going off to simply sprint down the side. It means Priscilla lands in the middle of the angels' formation before the last few rounds are squeezed off. Whorling ribbons of unearthly bright blue-white frost condense out of the air and swirl into a single point, cutting and shredding through flesh like invisible knives, while leaving clothing untouched. The gathered cold then bursts out in every direction, briefly forming myriad lancing spikes of painted ice, before those shatter and burn away. Contact with the cold causes clearly unnatural bleeding, even from places that merely came close to being grazed, all of it cast with the dark flicker of an 'anti-divine' attribute.
Hesinca	As the fight goes on, Hesinca steps up to do her part, but she's blocked by the prinny squad. "Stay back, handle the rest of the souls, we've got this," says one of the prinnies. Hesinca blinks. "But-" "We've got this." "Yeah, they're nothing" "Sending the souls on is more important right now." "Let us do this for you." "Ah - alright?" says Hesinca, slightly confused, feeling like she's missing something. While everyone else fights, she starts sending the remaining souls on, as fast as she can... The lead angel dodges just in time as Jonathan's punch flies out. The smirk on his face, as said face is inches away from Jonathan's fist, is maddening. The smirk says 'I pity you, poor deluded mortal, who can't even throw a punch right' all without verbally saying anything. The smirk is dealt with rather handily when Captain Flint's crew throws their own hail of return fire and starts shredding the lead angel, and the coordinated defensive line being made forcing the others to adjust their tactics, and scattering when Priscilla shows up with her anti-divine cold. Even so - the angels keep up their attack, taking wing, reloading and continuing their assaults. The lead angel is opening his mouth, getting ready to talk some shit... ... the talked shit never comes. He has a Linehart hand covering his face. He fires wildlly, unable to see, and starting to panic as the crushing grip starts closing... The others don't notice his plight, continuing to rain down gunfire from above on the group, intent on (supposedly) saving them from a life of sin by ending it with a burst of gunpowder.
Captain Flint	Even with the sandbags, Flint's crew are taking heavy fire, such to the point that if this continues, there won't be enough of them standing to get the injured men the treatment they need. "GATHER UP THE WOUNDED! FALL BACK TO THE TREELINE!" To the unaware, it might seem like the captain is at his limit here--but situations like this are where he's at his strongest. Joji, Billy, and Flint take to gathering those men whose injuries prevent them from walking, while the rest of the crew lays down covering fire. Silver gathers up a duffel bag left behind by one of the wounded men, bulging with the hard shapes of some manner of weaponry. The tactic here is to draw one or two angels away from the peak, making it easier both on his men and on their allies to handle the overwhelming firepower. To encourage this pursuit, sporadic bursts are levied towards the angels, keeping up the pressure even as they begin to disappear into the treeline. Once they're in, they waste no time. The injured men are propped up against trees, and every able-bodied man hurries to follow Flint's orders. "Ropes on the branches. Take up positions once the rest is set up. Mr. Norman, prepare the rifle. Billy, Joji, set them up in a circular pattern around our position." In the scant time they have, one pirate has climbed up a tree, setting up on one of the branches with a high powered sniper rifle. Billy and Joji have set up a ring of landmines--which ordinarily wouldn't mean much to flying enemies. That's why Flint also had the remaining abled crew members set up a ring of crude traps around the perimeter, ropes tied to branches and driven into the ground with stakes, which, when cut by a pirate's sword, will forcefully attempt to swat the angels out of the air. There is a resounnding crack as Flint's sharpshooter takes aim at the angel adjacent to the leader, moving the scope towards them upon seeing Linehart's chokehold.
Jonathan Joestar	Jonathan, miraculously, isn't struck by the gunfire from Flint and his allies despite his close proximity to their main target. Really, it's more of a testament to the sharpshooting of the pirates than anything. Jonathan himself keeps his cool despite the absolutely infuriating smirk, and recoils to recover his balance from the missed blow with the intention of delivering another, at least until Lineheart stepped in. His insistence is granted as Jonathan kips off, the lead angel firmly within the Mirror Knight's black iron grasp. "Gh ... truly, I didn't come prepared for a firefight ... !" Jonathan exclaims, grasping at tufts of grass on the ground of the oddly named peak and tearing them asunder, charging them with his Ripple. "Filling up these blades of grass with opposing currents, I can generate a layered barrier to reflect the lead..!" Jonathan pushes his hands out, fingers spread as the grass seems to move on its own, releasing crackles of lightning that forms a tight weave of golden sunlight, holding back the next hail of gunfire for all of a single second before the bullets push through, leaving Jonathan with several new holes in his chest. "Gueh..!" Thankfully, none of them struck him in the lungs or heart. Crossing his arms defensively, he breathes deep, despite the grievous wounds. "Koooh!" The energy supercharging his body pushes the bullets out and begins soothing the wounds, stalling the bleeding through an intense and sudden regeneration that leave them raw and weak potmarks. "That was close..I can't underestimate the power of automatic weaponry, huh ... " "Kooooh.." Suffusing himself with his own Ripple, Jonathan bounds towards one of the angelic gunmen with a flying knee that releases an electric whirlwind. "SENDO WAVE KICK!"
Priscilla	"I wouldst believeth 'likely guilty' to be far beneath a supposedly angelic host." Says Priscilla, amidst the flutter of wings from when the angels break formation. Her voice carries clearly from what could be any distance, as if skating on the perfectly still surface of a misty lake. "Such is too little even the courts of men, most laughable as they often art. Is such thine own standard?" The continued gunfire is as little help against her as it was one set of magazines ago. From the moment the shooters had flown up and away, Priscilla had already anticipated a follow up attack from a 'safe' distance; the first reflex of anyone with wings and a ranged weapon. She moves fast and perpendicular to their new line of fire, using the barrel stretches of hillside to gain speed and staying between the focused cone of fire and the ring of peripheral vision around it. The point at which she leaps is uncertain, little more than a quiet thump of displaced earth and air in amidst all the chaos of battle. Timed just slightly after Jonathan's wave kick, expecting it to have their attention, and between the shot of Flint's marksman, Priscilla traces an arcing path through the scattered line of angels. The ice cold path of a swift, invisible edge twists in tangled orbits where it intersects them, splaying terrible lacerations of disproportionately intense bleeding, pain, and impaired function across each available target, slipping past just before they're felt. The truck rocks faintly on its suspension as something lands heavily atop it, and then bounces back upright as the weight leaves.
Linehart	This is not the way to fight Linehart. The way to fight Linehart is not to engage him in brute force. Linehart is brute force. Linehart is raw, untamed brute force, a last challenge before the Real Final Boss. Linehart is meant to be the difficulty check at every step of the journey - can You Survive This Onslaught? Can You Fight To The Arbitrary HP Level? If Not, Go Grind! That is his role. That is his purpose. That is is meaning. The bullets rain down on his head. On his body. They hurt. They ache. They dig deep into his armor. His form flickers. He is assuredly bleeding through the armor. But his wrath - oh, his wrath is deeper than any blood. His hate is deeper than any wound. This is a long-lost, deep, horrid fury that has overcome him, something he had buried in the depths of his soul as hard as he was possibly able. This is something that he has been confronted with that confirms the nature of his existence - and thus has set it free, if only for this, brief, moment. For if there is no redemption for him, then what does it matter how vile an act he does here to those who have made that claim? He will show them what that truly means. The Linehart image strangling the angel disappears. This is not a happy moment. The mirror image of Linehart crawls out of Linehart's armor. It lands in front of him. There is a moment of silence between the bullets as both of their cross-scar gazes linger on the lead angel. And then there is a nightmare. The music kicks up. The sound begins to blaze. This is a Form Shift. This is a Form Change. This is a True Final Form theme insert. The two Lineharts shimmer. They flicker. And then they merge. What emerges is nearly sixteen feet tall. It has four arms, four legs. Its single visor is an X. Twin cloaks ripple out from it. Twin spears are clutched in its four hands. This is a Final Boss Image. The nightmarish Final Boss Linehart bears down on the angel without mercy. There is no magic here. There is no spell to end the suffering quickly. There is only unbound violence, unchained, nightmarish violence from an unchained, nightmarish creature born and made to be a monster. There is only pain being brought forth here, as the massive arms smash, as the massive legs stomp, as the spears hammer and pin and tear. At the last the twin spears aim to pin the angel's wings like a butterfly, and the Mirror Knight Triumphant leans down to meet its gaze, the Mirror Knight's eye gleaming a hideous red. The words appear in front of the angel. Where is your absolute virtue now? Where is your god to save your soul? He is not here. But I am. Pray. Quickly. That redemption is possible. Else pray for the mercy of a quick end.
Hesinca	"Hah, they're retreating - we'll have to hunt them down later," says one of the angels confidently, seeing Flint's men fall back. There's a general sense of superiority and smugness - they think they're winning. That feeling diminishes when Jonathan delivers a flying kick to one that sends it, well, flying. That diminishes further when Flint's men hit one with a precisely timed sharpshot, and knock another into Priscilla's aura of slashing cold. The squad forms back up - beaten, cut, shot, hurting, bleeding. The feeling among them, the morale among them, is similar to that of a small child who has seen a bug they wanted to squish, feeling like it'd be an effortless bit of fun, and the singular tiny bug turned out to actually be a nest of angry murder hornets that have stung them repeatedly. "Unrepentant mortals," says one. "Hopeless," says another. "Hey, weren't there five of us-" says a third, and only then do they finally notice that Linehart's been pinning their leader for at least the last several moments. They watch in horror, the fight briefly stopping, as the Final Boss emerges. This is not the 'mere mortals off the street' stuff they were expecting. This wasn't anything like they were expecting. This isn't like anything they were hoping to see. Linehart doesn't even get to finish his attack before the leader's compatriots turn tail and flee, scattering across the sky, not looking back. And the angel Linehart has pinned is only alive, really, because Linehart wills it so - that he's not taken the final step to end it. He hangs, listlessly, by the grip Linehart's spears have on his wings. On the other end - Hesinca finishes, finally, floating the rest of the souls off. "There," she says. "It's done. They're dealt with..." She looks up at the angel suspended in Linehart's grasp. "... Mostly. All the souls have been sent on to their new lives..." She trails off. One of the prinnies is tugging on her foreleg. "Yes?" she asks it. "... Not quite," says the prinny. "Lady Hesinca..." says another. "It's time." Hesinca blinks at them, not understanding. "Wait," she says, her mind finally realizing what's been bothering her. "You're... all supposed to be saying 'dood' all the time... right?"
Linehart	The massive, horrifying creature leans forward towards the angel. Pray. Now. Clap your hands together. And pray. I care not which you pray for. But I will hear you pray, you who would damn all who are not in your accord. I will hear you pray before this night is done. The music swells. Now pray.
Jonathan Joestar	Jonathan breathes out, more than willing to allow the so-called angels to flee for their lives. Yet ... as he faces Lineheart himself, with a wince, it's with a pitying glance. The remaining foe had ceased struggling all-together, and his smarmy facade had long since been laid to rest. The textbox rattles angrily, the text menacingly marching forward. Jonathan grimly ignores the angel and focuses his attention entirely on Lineheart. "I know not your circumstances, but ... what this person said stung you deeply. That much is obvious. ... And so now, you have a choice. The consequences of such a choice is assuredly personal in nature, but it should be considered." He would leave the angel to his fate. Or more specifically, he would leave Lineheart to determine the best course of action. Redemption is something only the willing can attain, after all. Instead, he observes the Prinnies, hobbling over to treat his wounds. "I did not notice it before now, but you all are looking rather serious, now."
Hesinca	The angel brings his broken, lacerated, bloody hands together, shaking. "... Oh.... oh divine, deliver your- your faithful servant, yours is above all, oh divine, p-please..." It sounds more like hurried improvization rather than a preformed prayer - likely not able to recall the proper ones at this point.
Linehart	Pray faster. Jonathan speaks. Linehart hesitates. How intriguing. All of a sudden I have a far better idea. Linehart lowers his face so that it's right in front of the angel's. "Serve me." "I will give you your redemption. Now renounce the god that would see me cast into the fire, pledge your soul to my purpose, and you will be spared and redeemed in the eyes of the one who truly holds your fate in this instant."
Hesinca	"M- my lord! I renounce the divine, I pledge my soul, I am yours to command!" says the angel. There is no hesitation.
Linehart	The nightmarish form flickers away. Linehart drags the angel up by the wings. He turns, his menacing music goes quiet. He tilts his head over his shoulders at Jonathan. "Are you capable of healing my servant?"
Hesinca	"We are - our own redemption is at an end," says the prinny closest to Jonathan. "We aren't prinnies anymore - technically... it's time for us to go." "... Wait, you... I knew this was going to happen but there should have been - been months, years left..." says Hesinca, looking shaky. "You did sort of drag us all over the multiverse and into pretty much every danger you could find," says the prinny. "That sort of accelerates the harsh treatment for redemption." "Yeah, that time with the living ship," says one. "Oh, that clock where time was frozen..." "That dream realm with the carnival and the suspicious person running it..." "Oh, that time we set London on fire..." "That whole thing with the summer war..." "... It's time," repeats the lead prinny. "You need to let us go." Hesinca... ... hesitates.
Jonathan Joestar	Jonathan gives the angel a shaming look before breathing out and facing Lineheart, the worst of his own injuries no longer needing immediate attention. "I am not so proficient in the healing arts, but, I should be able to treat something at this level." Approaching the battered angel-servant, he places his hands upon him and breathes deep. "Kooh!" His entire form is suddenly lit up and bathed in the soothing warmth of the sun. Aches and pain disappears, being replaced only with the gentle, hot tingle you'd get after a particularly long session of sunbathing. Jonathan pulls his hand away. "Are you feeling better? Do you hurt anywhere else?" -- Jonathan pauses, facing the Prinnies. "Ah. So then, you all...wish to move on. I see. .. For what it's worth, I appreciate your brave contributions in the battle with Strength."
Linehart	The angel is healed. Linehart nods. He turns away from the angel to watch the Prinnies. They're earning something meaningful. Something powerful. They've reached the end of a road that Linehart still isn't convinced exists for him - a road that may indeed not be possible for one who is indeed Evil, who cannot be Good. A road that may not be possible simply by faking your way, by...lying, and hoping that the lie becomes true. But they should be congratulated. And so the Mirror Knight raises his hands and claps. His music returns to that soft piano. There is no noise from his armor. The clapping is utterly silent. But it is there. It is an acknowledgment. It is a congratulations, mixed with the quiet, slow piano theme. A peace. An ease. A send-off.
Captain Flint	Mr. Norman lowers the rifle with a grim, satisfied expression. "Mr. Silver. Are they ready?" Flint turns to look at Silver, having collapsed an ornate looking glass. The duffel bag is empty. Set up, within the ring of booby traps they've set up to guard against pursuit, is a metal tube. It stands upright with the help of a bipod along its length, one end angled towards the peak, the other end terminating in a flat metal disc. "Ready." Flint nods. "Gun crew, at the ready." Some of the gun crew are injured--but not so much that they don't jump at the chance. Three men. One to load the finned explosive shell, one to calculate range, windage and distance (using a looking glass of his own) and a third to hold it steady. He gives a brief warning, over the radio. "Brothers and sisters of the Concord, Mirror Knight... keep your heads down." Turning to look at the gun crew, two of the three still bleeding into hastily applied gauze, he nods, uttering one more word. "Fire." The shell is dropped down the tube, striking the firing pin. As the four remaining angels retreat, faint whistling sounds are heard overhead, by Jonathan, Linehart, his angel attendant, Priscilla and Hesinca. They can see, from their position atop the peak, high-explosive shells crashing into the earth, sending up brief but specacular sprays of shrapnel and flames. He continues the bombardment until they're all dead, or until his men run out of high-explosive rounds.
Hesinca	"I - I don't... I wanted..." The prinnies stay silent, looking at Hesinca expectantly. "Months more, years more, not... not here, not now..." "I'm sorry," says the Gatekeeper, speaking up suddenly from next to her, causing Hesinca to startle. "The pathway can't be maintained indefinitely. In a few minutes, the moon will be moving out of range, and I'll need to leave to go with it." "... Yeah, yeah, I get... I get it." All around, shrapnel explosing go off, and fleeing angels start going down. Dead or wounded, it's hard to tell, though.
Jonathan Joestar	Jonathan smiles sadly, raising one hand. "I admit, I have trouble telling a lot of you apart. But, I was blessed to have met all of you that I have." Prinnies, he recalls, served their time as agents of purgatory until they could be reincarnated. To go back and try again. He couldn't help but recall the one he'd spoken to at the Christmas Party, who'd endeavored to become big and strong in his next life. Jonathan waves them goodbye in a gentlemanly motion. "Farewell, and may your next lives be everything you wish them to be."
Captain Flint	<J-IC-Scene> Captain Flint says, "Brothers and sisters of the Concord, Mirror Knight... keep your heads down." <J-IC-Scene> Linehart says, "Is that necessary? Let them flee. Let them tell tales of what befell them here, that their brothers may know." <J-IC-Scene> Linehart says, "That those who would be like them think twice in their emulation." <J-IC-Scene> Captain Flint says, "Had you asked me that question before this Christmas, I might have disagreed with you. Vehemently. There is merit in what you say, and I am willing to entertain the notion. For although what they did demanded an answer, one has surely been given. Cease fire." "Captain?" There is uncertainty and confusion in the eyes of Mr. Henricks, the man tasked with loading the shells into the mortar. John Silver, too, is looking--though his expression is more... intrigue. The Captain doesn't respond, and the silence only has more eyes upon him. Billy is baffled. Joji looks as though he's trying to piece out an opponent's move in chess. More so than usual, anyway. "Why have we stopped?" one crew member finally manages the courage to ask. "Take a look through my spyglass, if you would," says Flint, offering it up. "What do you see?" Doing as ordered, the pirate looks back at Flint. "Looks like we got a few--but hard to say if they're dead or wounded." "Do you remember what they called our sister in arms?" He pauses. "The very definition of evil, chaos, uncleanliness, disorder, anarchy... antithetical to goodness." He has the men's ears--Silver's especially. "This, they called her, as they rode down from on high to steal the food from her mouth. As they expected us--all of us--to stand aside and let someone who has bled with us be killed before our very eyes?" He fumes with anger, his voice rising. "How many of you joined my crew, because you were spat on and expected to take it? To accept it as just and good?" "The Mirror Knight is entirely correct--is even one of those bastards survived, I want them to run, terrified, to their ivory halls, and tell their masters what happened when they tried to put to the sword a woman who keeps what is hers and fears no one." By the time he makes the apex of his point, he is fuming, snarling, the crew is at rapt attention, even those injured men willing themselves to hear it. "I want them to know that woman has friends--and that even the 'mere' mortals among them will fucking destroy them. No matter how vile the ambush, no matter how flagrant their hypocrisy." There is a pause wherein anyone in that forest might hear a pin drop. Heart racing with excitement, there is a wild gleam in Flint's eyes. "How many of you, who sailed with others before me, could say that you sent the servants of God himself running before you?"
Priscilla	Though the issues with the angels remain, their number isn't what garner's Priscilla's attention at this time; she hadn't expected them to be here at all, and thus her personal motivations for seeing this must lie in Hesinca and Hesinca alone. Flicking blood from her fingertips, she arrives just to the edge of the peak, aside the line drawn by the glowing figure, the truck, and the red moon. "A covenant is a covenant, lady Hesinca. Even shouldst it be business to thee, thou shouldst know plenty well enough." Her voice is far softer than the stern sort of tone it should have right now. "It is both the privilege and the misfortune of those such as us to see those we lift up goeth before us. No number of their years will ever feel as one of thine own. It is thine only to taketh pride in such proof of a concord well-kept."
Hesinca	Hesinca turns to look at Priscilla. Her face is tight. She listens. "I know, I just - I just..." Hesinca finally breaks down. "I'm going to miss them," she admits. "But..." "... But, I know," she finishes. "It's time." She takes a deep breath, and exhales. "Okay. I..." She looks up at the moon, then looks over at the assembled prinnies, which have been looking at her expectantly all this time. "I need to hold you, and then let you go... right?" The prinny shakes its head. "You already have." And the prinnies go stock still, all at once, and then they start splitting apart. Their cloth shells tear apart, and puddle onto the floor where they stand, revealing more pure, shining souls where they stood... that start floating up, all in a group, towards the moon. Hesinca turns and watches them, silently. Tears stream down her face.