Snippet #2667134

Two words echoed within the mind of Morthos minutes after summoning his titan of darkness: "You Dare....?" For a moment the entire titan quivered and rippled like the surface of a lake in which a stone had been tossed. However after only a few seconds, a man appeared beside the Demon Lord, a man of unyielding darkness. Darkness blackened only by the presence of Erebuz himself.

He wore a large military overcoat, his black hair was combed back, and his eyes gleamed red like pits of the deepest part of Hell. He lacked a shadow; it wasn't that he was standing in someone elses, and simply didn't have one, or that there was no light on him. It was that he was Shadow.

"You dare summon such a creature without.......inviting me?" He growled, not moving from his position. Any attempt at retaliation to his presence would merely pass through his body and be covered in a black, goo-like substance that would proceed to fall off whatever it had clung to, and squirm its way back to his body. This man.... He reeked of Erebuz; almost as if the Unweaver himself had smothered him whilst in the midst of a wrestling match. However the only expression he had towards said Unweaver was contempt.

Finally walking forward, boots crunched the ground as he looked to the skies and took in a deep breath. His own body seemed...mist like, though again, when touched, would revert to the goo-like substance. He let out a long, growling sigh as he turned to Morthos, beginning to mutate hideously as wings began to spread from his shoulder blades. "I will clear a portion of the Shoreline for your armada."

And with that he was off, darting straight for the clouds.Once in the air he then darted straight for the Darkside, gritting his teeth as his eyes began to glow. There were so many Shadows here; so many that he could steal. As he flew low and fast over the surface of the river, Draco pulled the shadows from the Centaurs without their slightest knowledge, growing in size and shape whilst his Draconian body began to take form, wings spread wide and tail snaking back and forth slowly as if to rudder his course. As his body grew to its full sized, his maw widened and he let out a massive, thundering roar that rippled the water of the very river for miles upon miles up and down the water, and echoed and rumbled the very air itself.

With a great flap of his wings the entire River halted for a mere second while his body rocketed sky-ward once more in a sort of backflip. Then it adjusted course, and whilst folding his great wings against his body, Draco corkscrewed down until the slammed into one of the fortifications upon the beach, his body splattering like that of a wad of snot against the windshield of a moving car.

And for a while it remained that way.

Then it began to stir, bubbling and oozing and shifting around as if a heat had been lighted beneath it. Bolts of purple lightning roared from the surface of what was left of his body and from it rose many figures, all formless at first before taking the appearance of some of the most hideous demons ever seen, wielding axes and swords and maces of all shapes and styles. For awhile they marched like zombies to and fro across their spawning place, but as soon as they found their enemy; the enemy of the Unweaver; they began to moan, scream, groan, hiss, roar, and bellow with the pain of a thousand souls being snatched up at once and silenced forever, charging their enemies weapons flailing and bodies hardening for devastating blows that were strong enough to tear damn near anything half with a single swipe.

And in the center of it all stood the same man that had appeared behind Morthos not five minutes before, a smirk upon his face.

The Centaurs kept on firing, hell bent to halt the line of advancing aerial combatants with fervor and gusto. The leader of the Centaurs continued to rally her troops by shouting words of encouragement. They had been training for this for two years. Honing their skills, testing their mettle and their resolve. They did not waver nor did they cease their actions for even a moment. Pride beamed through the army as their holy arrows halted the advance of the beasts from above and with the army so far away, having to need hours to reach them: They felt like that had the upper hand.

Even as the huge ball of chaotic magic and fire rained down upon them, taking out at least a few hundred of their number, their resolve did not waver nor fault in its stead. But then, the glop of Dragon landed upon them and the demonic shadows began to form and charge. This was ahead of schedule and they didn't have much time to react. Several fell to their onslaught but they had anticipated for the enemy landing on the shores. "Retreat!! Phase two!!" The leader yelled and at the same time, the Centaurs halted their firing and as one fled into the trees of the Woods of Suicides. Their first task was done and now it was the turn of the Woods's denizens to carry on the task. Once inside the tree cover, a runner was dispatched and given a small stone by the Leader of the Centaurs. Something was going amiss in this conflict and they needed to alter their strategy. The Lord of the Circle had to be consulted. But at once, the arrows stopped flying.