Gorth was walking down the thoroughfare. He didn't like crowds, but to get to his favorite bar, he would have to any ways. As the crowed passed him, he just gave them a "Death" stair. Every one got out of his way. He entered the bar, "Casa del Fuagos". He didn't mind the smoke or rude patrons, it was the waitresses he liked. He would sit in a corner, in his tatterd jacket, the chicks loved a vet. As a waitress came around with his drink, he would thank her, nod his head politly and giver her a wink. These women prefered a gentleman over a "Brute", but in a way Gorth was a brute as well, just in the ways that counted.

He sat there sipping his Cherry Soda, watching the waitresses, taking in the atmosphere.

Hoarfrost pushed his way through the crowd, he hated crowds. The Heat was beating down on him mercilessly, and he was sweating. His bag, which contained all of his books (He was about the graduate and earn his fifth masters degree) and his loaded shotgun feel heavy on his shoulders. The sun bounced off a sleek, black bike as he passed. He was about to scoff at it, it was a Harley after all, when he choked on the scoff before it had time to surface. The woman standing by it was no woman at all. The pure energy coming off of her was enough to make him stagger back, he could smell the wolf-blood in her. He turned around and began walking swiftly away, hoping, praying that she hadn’t seen him.
He had smelled conquest, and blood. He needed to warn his uncle, leader of the Storm Lords. But wait, that sound? No, ridiculous. Must have been something he ate… he must be going crazy. The woman was almost out of site…

"Come here, my little Ragamuffyn."

Extending a blue-grey hand slowly, a man on his throne turns his pale white orbs on the shuffling young woman holding a hand out timidly to take his. The young, violet-haired girl finally slides her cool fingers into the cool palm of the older man, sliding into his lap and curling up on him for the moment. His free hand comes to pet her hair, the girl oddly quiet, even as she tucks her face against his arm. She clings to the sleeve on his right arm, the lich looking down on her with a perked brow. He could see a rip on her left side, stuffing poking through, the man sighing softly and gently poking the stuffing back in.

"You hurt yourself, didn't you, sweetie? Daddy has to go out for a while...there are a few things I need to pick up that I can't get around here. Namely I need a few ingredients...simple things, really, but I can't grow them here. They don't grow well underground. So get yourself fixed up while I'm out, all right? I'll be back in a few hours...sew your side up and maybe get a little bath...you've got a bit of dirt smudged on your face. You're Daddy's little girl, right? Give me kisses."

The girl nods, biting the corner of her lip, then leaning up and giving him a quick peck on each cheek and one on his lips, poking the tips of her fingers together. Lelouch's little Ragamuffyn was no normal young lady, actually a living doll full of stuffing and animated with his vast power. She did have a heart, but it didn't push blood through her...it was just the magical focus that kept her alive. So long as her heart remained intact, Lelouch's "daughter" would always live, no matter what happened. She had once been decapitated and he'd had to sew her head back on, a small scar on her neck still visible. She hops up and bounces away, unable to speak, only nodding and shaking her head when asked questions.

As she leaves, the lich lord slowly undoes the straps holding on his shoulder guards, stripping them off and laying the guards on his throne, the cape and sleeves attached to them being folded neatly. With a quick flip of one hand, he pulls his helm from his head, shaking his head and letting his raven locks free once again. While freakish in appearance to most people, he could cast a glamour over himself, appearing normal to humans. Since he wasn't rotting, the stench of death didn't stick to him, though a supernatural nose would be able to pick out that he was abnormal. He didn't worry about that, though, his eyes closing for a moment as his arms spread, wearing only the skirt-like garment he had on his lower half now. With just a bit of concentration, he cast the simple spell that caused him to appear as a human to others.

When the spell had finished, the lich no longer looked as dead as before, his blue-grey flesh appearing as the tanned skin of someone who was oft in the sun. His white, milky eyes had gone to a deep, rich brown, hair still as black as ever, however. When he finished pulling it all out to each side, unfixing it once more, he didn't appear so regal, either. He still wore the skirt-like Tendrils of Agony, moving towards the door, though one couldn't call it striding. Beneath the Tendrils, his feet didn't touch the ground, three inches from the floor, the garment causing its wearer to constantly levitate. It was a handy thing most times.

Striding forth from his underground castle, he looks up to the tall spires, bridges connecting them at different levels to allow one to pass from the main tower to the other two on each side. As a wizard, he could do amazing things, such as erecting this castle beneath the surface of the earth, a village for the undead surrounding the large castle. Above ground, the small enclave for the living descendants of the undead bustled with activity, mirroring its subterranean sister. Heading to the lift that would take him up to the old mansion on the outskirts of the village, he climbs inside and pushes a button with a finger that was almost a bit too long, crossing his arms. It was a long ride from the subterranean village up into the mansion above, taking almost two minutes.

Heading through the old mansion to the garage, he climbs into the front seat of a '69 Corvette, the car one that was easily recognizable. With a bumblebee yellow paintjob and orange flames on the hood, the convertible was almost an eyesore. It had once been a race car, but once Lelouch had taken it for his own, he kept it for his personal use. He didn't like racing...he knew he could and would always win, even if he had to hedge his bets a bit. He never referred to it as cheating, merely altering the course of fate, just as he had done with his life. Pushing the button to open the garage, he starts the car with a quick flick of his wrist, not truly touching the key to do so, as he had minor telekinetic powers...so minor that they weren't worth mentioning when compared to his other abilities.

With a village on the outskirts of Miami, Lelouch had to be careful to keep himself from being found out...a full-scale war with any army would be bad. The surface worlders knew to keep their mouth shut about the fact that their loved ones lived on in undeath beneath the surface. The ruler drops his foot to the floor, leaving the garage in a cloud of smoke, flinging gravel once he hits the drive. He shifts up through the gears as he gets up to speed, one hand on the wheel and the other digging in the glovebox. He just had to ensure that he had the right currency, for he had on occasion went abroad for a few days to relax.

A little over an hour later, as the sky was beginning to darken, Lelouch had driven into the city proper, inhaling the city air...it was so much different than underground or in the little town on the surface. He bypasses a strange-scented woman leaning on her motorcycle, the lich lord pulling into a parking lot near a small convenience store. Grabbing his keys, he slides them down into his skirt-like garment, the thing having no pockets, but absorbing them into its own material. He turns away from the Corvette, moving towards the sidewalk, seeming like anyone else save for one fact...if one cared to listen, even though he moved, no one could hear any footsteps. For now, he was just poking around, not yet going for what he had truly come for just yet.

"Don't Move..."

He’d tried to book it, tried and failed. With inhuman speed she had caught up to him, and now stood behind him, her hot, searing breath scalding the back of his exposed neck. The shotgun is his bag almost screamed for freedom, but he didn’t dare disobey the other werewolf.

He could now smell her… a familiar smell at that… The night his father had been slain, and then brutally devoured… the same smell, and the same dominant radiance pulsing from her very core. This was her father’s killer.

He had just been a pup at the time, a mere child. His uncle was barely able to drive her away, in such a blood frenzy she was. Blood, pain, death. The images of that fateful night flashed in his mind.

“What the hell do you want?” He asked under his breath. He immediately winced at his own words. He should not have been so upfront. “Take my bag, take everything…!”

Just then he became aware of two more creatures on the prowl… an undead… no… a necromancer. Another werewolf too, a giant of his kind. Surely all four of them were aware of each other now. He reached out to the bear-like werewolf with his mind, or at least he attempted to.

“Help…”

"Help...."

Gorth had appeared right behind Sedden, six-peice behind her skull. "Step back, no need for death, not now... you will only bring attention from places you don't want attention from," he said. He had pulled his gun back as not to draw attention to him self from pedestrians. "Now, why don't you explain why you would want to hurt this halfer?" he asked.

Though Lelouch Rinalto Baeli was never one to put himself in harm's way intentionally, the situation here just screamed for him to inject himself upon the others. If they wanted him to or not, it was there problem either way, for if Lelouch didn't deem one worthy of attention, he ignored them for the most part. Emitting a soft sigh, quick eyes catching the brandishing of a piece, the lich lord began muttering soft words to himself as he trotted down the sidewalk. He made as if to pass by the small group, the strange lack of footsteps only seeming to heighten the sense of paranoia enshrouding the three, the lich lord with his glamour appearing as if a somewhat odd yet attractive native, tanned flesh handsome, eyes as dark as his hair.

The handsome lich lord did not pass them by, however, for as he brushed past the female and then the rather imposing monster behind her, he turns around quickly, though one could not call it on his heels...his heels didn't touch the ground. His right hand balled a bit at his side, though not truly balled, looking as if he were cupping something, yet to the mortal eye, nothing would appear there. To those supernatural beings, though, a dark, whirling energy manifested itself in his palm, forming a lance-like object. To him and anyone he wished to throw it at or even jab with it, the darkbolt was very real, though humans could not see it. With a cool, calculating tone, he spoke, intending for only the three he surveyed with narrowed eyes to hear.

"Now now, that's no way to treat a lady...even a rough-looking young gem like this one. I could understand harsh language, but nothing such as a piece like that. So I would advise you, if you don't want me to ventilate you from asshole to elbows, welp, to put that away and not draw it again in my company. Now...what seems to be the trouble here, lady, gents?"

For a lord, his speech patterns were a bit crude, his smooth voice never once breaking with anger, however, speaking in a subdued tone that spoke volumes for just how much he'd seen and dealt with. His hand never wavered, the lance of energy from the darkbolt spell he'd used, planning to use the lances one at a time if need be. If they went unused, he could dismiss them back into nothingness, no harm no foul. His eyes rove over the three for what had to be the fifth time, able to sense that they were not mere mortals as all the rest were. To the four of them, mortals were just a flyspeck when compared to their power. To the three before him, Lelouch would prove to be a tenacious adversary if they decided to attack him. If all three attacked at once, victory was assured, though with lessening numbers, the chances of victory became slimmer. It was unlikely that only one would defeat him, yet miracles had happened in his lifetime.

"Bitch, get off my six-peice," Gorth said as he launched an open palmed strike at the females chest. Being attached to his gun, she could not dodge, and he struck with such force that she was jarred off the pistol. As she was grasping for breath, he holstered his gun, and backed up putting distance between her and him.

He had sensed the Necromancer from far off. He reaked of the dead. "Now, why would you want to go and fight, Mr. Fancy-feet, we just havin a spats all," he said in a smothe tone.

Hoarfrost let out a low growl. “You idiots are going to draw attention to us…”

Already a crowd had begun to gather around them.

"The police will be here any minute. You’d better stay out of this, lich.” Hoarfrost glanced at Gorth. I can’t thank you enough for your help... however if we end up getting busted, it won’t be worth your time. Let’s take this someplace else… but don’t let that woman get away.”

Just then sirens began to blare and four police cars pulled into the square. Six armed men leveled their guns at the group.

“Surprise, surprise,” growled Hoarfrost, slowly drawing his 12 gauge out of his bag. Let’s get outta here…. Like I said, we can settle this someplace else.

Arching a single, perfectly groomed brow at the female’s words, the lich’s eyes narrow, his glamour still making the scowl look rather handsome. If he were not covered with the beautiful façade, however, it would look rather grotesque. While handsome in his original form, that did not extend to when he scowled or frowned, the beauty breaking and becoming rather hideous until he resumed a more content expression. He inhales a slow breath, his hand closing tighter around the energy lance, knuckles cracking. He was about to speak once more when the brute struck the female and then spoke himself, shaking his head softly. He clears his throat just once, hand never wavering, being to speak softly.

“Ooo, the dog has a bark, but can it bite? Apt name for such…homely brutes. Rough little gem, you are. And you, great brute mutt, no one pulled your tampon string, so there’s no need for your speech.”

He shakes his head, free hand rising to waggle a finger, a grin on his lips for the moment, though they had momentarily caused him a bit of agitation. If there was one thing he disliked, it was fun poked at himself…in all the years he’d been on the mortal plane, he had still not yet found humor in his humiliation. The Tendrils he wore as a skirt twitch and move on their own for a moment, feeling their master’s agitation, yet they do nothing other than seem as if a small breeze had ruffled them. He again listens as the smallest of them speaks, scoffing just a bit as the police arrive, shaking his head again and glaring at the young male.

“Oh, so the baby realizes what he is dealing with. So if you know what I am, pup, you’ll know that your little toy there would only piss me off. And relax, don’t piss your pants, wee one. Those goons couldn’t hold me if they wanted. They couldn’t kill me, either, though I could kill them all right now. I have to say, you speak as if my little toy in my own hand is visible…unlike yours, mortals can’t see my precious. It merely looks as if I’m ready to clean your clock. I would, too, if this lance wouldn’t ventilate your skull. But even if I went to their jail, there is no jail this side of Tartarus to hold me. I have to say, though she has a somewhat harsh bark, I have to side with the lady on this one…two on one is hardly fair odds, especially when Brutus over here fits the rapist bill.”

He nods to the larger of the two, stepping just a bit closer to the female who had spoken first, inclining a brow for just a moment. He says nothing more, still holding the lance of dark energy in his right hand, looking to the cops as if he were just balling his fist somewhat. Only supernatural eyes could spot the lance in his hand, his own eyes looking to the guns in the officers’ hands, sighing softly. Though they couldn’t kill him, they really fucking hurt sometimes, especially if they shot him in the face. It had happened twice, disfiguring him for all of a few days.

"While, you fucking necro," he said, twitching his hand a little, "even with your longlife, you haven't learned abit of politness have you. You make me sick, you're no better then some of these humans." Gorth huffed at the necro mancer, he didn't want to fight, but he was sure as hell not going to take shit from this scum bag anyday.

Dark rage welled up in Hoarfrost, and he crushed his shotgun and dropped it to the ground.

“You’re not the only necromancer here… For the past sixty years I have been studying the dark art, and, though I’m not as powerful as you, I have a few tricks up my sleeve. That glow ball of yours? Simple trick, even I can do better. It will be useless against anyone who is shielded properly. Don’t act all high and mighty because you can animate some corpses.”

Hoarfrost closed his eyes for a moment. He drained the power of the non-magic individuals around him. He swelled with power. He began pumping strength into Gorth as well and created a pure energy barrier around them both.

“Alright, Wanda Witch, lets go.”

Emitting a soft huff, the archlich shakes his head for a moment, letting the words of the two young werewolves enter his ears, the points twitching, though they wouldn’t see that. His glamour would ensure that they couldn’t see his pointed ears. If there was one thing he hated, it was the fact that some people found it hilarious that he was a real live elf and he had pointed ears. More than a few of his humans had found out that he did not take jokes about them lightly and they were dead now…not undead, but dead and buried under tons and tons of rubble.

When both had finished speaking, he clears his throat slowly and softly, an almost regal sound that was at odds with the fact that he spoke so harshly sometimes. His lips part slowly, about to speak as he started to twirl the darkbolt around and around in his fingers, elongating and thinning the lance as he did. He paused, however, as he took note of the swirling of energy around them. It was barely perceptible, but he hadn’t become as powerful as he had by ignoring slight manifestations of energy.

He turns his attention slowly to the other werewolf, for that was the area around which it seemed the manifestations emanated, and he was right. As she began to change, he could only stand back a few steps and admire both the horror, at least to the humans, and the beauty of such a transformation. After a few moments of silence and watching her change, he lets his gaze rove over her fur-covered form once she had. A single words leaves him after a moment, almost a whisper, but surely their finely tuned ears would hear it.

“Beautiful…”

He then turns his eyes back to the two werewolves who had not yet changed, his eyes closing to halfmast as a grin forms on his lips, showing almost all of his teeth with the wicked smile. He had noticed the female turning her attention on the larger of the two, so he would take the annoying runt, who was severely underestimating him. He raises his fist before himself, dissipating all of the lances of energy for the darkblasts into the sidewalk and surrounding buildings. The two form holes so neat that even a bullet could not do so well, for there was not even a crack in the stone around the holes. He then steps forward, raising his fist slowly, fingers uncurling as energy begins to crackle from tip to tip.

“You, boy, will soon learn not to count your venereal diseases before you fuck your whore. Rough language, I know, but you have seriously overestimated your chances. And you almost…almost wound me with your underestimation of me. Yes, you call me necromancer…but I am NOT just a necromancer.”

His voice rises for a moment, hand extending out to the fore, fingers spreading, the arcs of electricity becoming greater in size and ferocity between his fingers, channelling the arcane energies through the focuses in his belt and into his spell. He snarls, beginning to speak once more, his words becoming darker, more foreboding as his glamour melts, running like wax to reveal his true form.

“I am no mere necromancer and that is no mere necromantic blast I was conjuring. Darkblasts, while simple, vary greatly in power depending on the caster. Any user of dark magic could conjure one…but only a wizard…a mage…could conjure them powerful enough to cut through your pitiful barrier. You are no wizard, child. You will never be a match for me. Ever. You will die. If not here, someday soon. And I will live to see you fall. But for now, have a taste of my wrath.”

His hand turns on his wrist, the bones cracking for just a moment as his palm extends out towards him, though not with his fingers fully extended towards the sky. With his hand at a forty-five degree angle, he let loose with the modified chain lightning spell at the widest target, his foe’s chest. Though chain lightning was normally a single small bolt with lots of voltage and little physical impact, leaping between nearby targets, this spell had been channelled further. The blast was triple its normal size, a lance of energy jumping between himself and the runt werewolf with a speed that was deceptive. With what he had done to change it, the lightning would hit with a voltage that would completely fry a normal human, likely to debilitate even a werewolf for a short time, and it would also create a physical impact equal to a concentrated source of TNT…if it hit, that is. Even a glancing blow could deaden a limb, a blocked blow likely to slow his foe enough to allow for a second spell to have a better chance of striking.

"Shit's hit the fan," Gorth said in a saddened tone. He calmly took his jacket off, and sat it down as Sedden was still transforming. He was now down to his loose kakkies, and shoes. He began to transform. It was first his head, as his jaw elongated and he began to become more beastial. His torso was next as he expand three fold in all directions. Finaly, his lower half. There he stood, 10 feet tall and nearly 4 feet wide. He growled in a very low bass, so much that you could feel it in the ground. He took a stance and waited for Sedden to attack.

Anna's heart thudded in her chest, and she glanced around for humans. She could just walk... Just walk away now before anyone saw her, let the others take care of themselves. But of course, that just wouldn't be like her. The slight breeze ruffled her honey-colored hair and she clung to the three books she was clutching as if her life depended on it. "Are you idiots?" she hissed at them, finally marching up to the group. "Fighting in public like this, brawling like a bunch of over-grown pups! It's shameful! If you insist on this madness than you should seek it in the forest instead of in public. Do you even have a reason for this?"

Anna, who's eyes were normally a warm, toasted brown, were now flashing gold with contained range. Her muscles twitched and a part of her itched to jump into the brawl instead of protesting and lecturing. But she wouldn't. She would be the bigger person... like always. She would be the one who kept her sanity... like always. And most likely she'd be the one who took the wrap-or the beating- in the end... like always.

The energy beam slammed through the thin barrier, completely shattering it. It made a swift headway for Hoarfrost’s heart. It slammed into, sending him flying backwards. He slammed in to something hard…

He could feel the blood pouring from his mouth. Inwardly, he was a bit pleased. That energy bolt should have killed him, not that he was much better off. He felt the life draining from his arms and legs. He choked on his own blood, he could hardly breath. His heart struggled on in a haggard fashion with extreme irregularity, palpating. His lungs were stained red with blood that he couldn’t help but breathe in.

He dragged himself across the street and slumped against a car, leaving a bloody streak for a trail. He was as good as dead, yet he did not let the energy shield over Gorth fail. It was his singular purpose now, there was nothing left.


But wait… what the hell was Anna doing here? She was getting in over her head… typical. He tried to tell her to leave, he tried but had no life or fight left. All he could manage was a weak mental messge, which he doubted would reach her.
“Run.”

Lelouch could only grin as he basked in the glory of this tiny victory, for his opponent had seriously underestimated him, or so he had thought. No one mistook Lord Lelouch Rinalto Baeli for a mere necromancer, for those vile and filthy dogs were beneath him. He was a wizard, a powerful one at that, yet not on the level of some god-like wizards he'd heard of in legends. He had not only hit the boy, but it had been a bullseye shot, sending him careening away from him, even if it hadn't killed him. He was about to move forward and gloat just a bit until he heard the female speak, his face twitching.

"Do not call me an overgrown pup, you ignorant bitch. I am far from being one of these base mongrels such as the little runt who found himself matching wits and clashing with someone above his level."

He sneered at the runt from across the street as he dragged himself away, turning around to face the new female with those eyes of his blazing an inhuman purple for a moment. Once more, his feet made no sound upon the ground even as he moved closer to her, the Tendrils of Agony twitching and convulsing all on their own. They wanted to hurt someone, to cause the agony that had given them their name, yet he was regulating them with sheer force of will not to harm the female as he moved within range. His arms cross over his chest for a moment, his skin brilliant blue-grey in the light of the streetlamp he stood under. He had melted his glamour away earlier, after all, which now left his pointed ears visible, yet he was fine with it for now...no one had mentioned them.

"Now, slut, do you want to revise your words, or should I do to you what I have done to the pup over there? I have no plans of killing him seeing as he's well on his way to death already from the looks of it, but I will rip your head off and use it for a sexual toy. Oh, not for me, of course, for I have my minions for that, but my minions have nothing to play with. They would surely enjoy a sweet little corpse like yours would make."

He once more sneers, this time at the girl, his vile-colored yet perfectly healthy teeth showing throughout his entire mouth, tapping his fingers on his biceps. The only wolf here he respected was the female who had changed first, for he admired the beauty and power in such a small frame. This one had not proved to be quick-witted, powerful, or anything the other had proved to be yet...she had just proved to be an annoying little wench in his eyes. Those eyes flick back to the wounded wolf once more, slumped against that car as he was. His mind, at least the vicious portion of it, was begging him to finish him off. Even a lowly darkbolt would do it now, but his mind was craving the use of his most powerful spell, the sphere of ultimate destruction. He denied himself, though, planning to let the wolf die on his own or else be healed when he had left...but for now, he would keep any help away from him whilst he was still present.