The Fall of Azazel (IC)

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"Men never do evil so completely and cheerfully as when they do it from religious conviction."-Blaise Pascal

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The night was starless and frigid as usual midwinter nights do in the city of Bellanuva. It was a night of the full moon on the 16th of the month of Trivarin, on the year 1125 by human reckoning. It was also the 1132th year since the fall of Azazel. Presently, the Bellanuva Clock Tower had just struck the 9th hour past noon with it's triple chime signifying the start of the final religious gathering of the day in the Cathedral of Light where it was located. Over six hundred souls were gathered for the ceremony in the main hall of the cathedral. Needless to say, of the six hundred perhaps ten were truly pious and pure of heart. The rest of the congregation were sinners, murderers, low-lives, nobles, and overall posers in search of appearing higher than their peers. As the chorus of young virginal girls handpicked by the Archbishop all in the interest of lascivious views began chanting the opening prayer, Azazel, Prince of Darkness, jumped silently from the clock-face of the tower where he had been sitting.

He landed without sound or injury despite the fall of over a hundred feet in height. Among the gravestones of the graveyard where he chose to land he would have looked like the very embodiment of the Devil to any observer. Which was just as well for him, for that is exactly what he was. Standing at six feet, six inches, with skin as white as marble he resembled a tall living statue not unlike the angels among the tombs of the wealthy who were buried there. He was clothed all in black, black trousers, black tunic top, black shoes, and a head of long jet black hair. Upon his neckline shined a necklace of what appeared to be silver or platinum to the casual observer, with a phial made out of a hollowed diamond which glowed with an otherworldly light. Upon his waist on his left side, by means of a string of human finger bones strung together by a fiery strand of the hair of one of his beloved Damned Ones hung a simple looking short sword, currently resting withing a sheath fashioned after the wing of a dragon with polished jet sinews. His blood-red eyes scanned with names on the tombstones as he slowly walked from where he had landed towards the Cathedral gates. "So little a count of names. It is high time I made the angels at the gate a bit more busy. Still, it is not my fashion to simply end without a great statement being made. Death, how beautiful I can make it." were Azazel's thoughts as he made his way to the side gate of the cathedral and exited the graveyard. He silently walked, seeming to glide his way towards the towering high wooden doors at the front of the church and stood before them just as the final verse of the first prayer was sung:



As the chorus died down, the Archbishop himself stood in front of the altar, and began his special sermon. Azazel could not help but to smile at how marvelous man was as he listened with perfect clarity from outside the beautiful carved doors. Here was a truly evil man, speaking to his equally evil peers about rejecting the evil temptations of the devil. According to the holy Archbishop, the foundation of all their troubles, of all the evil in their world was all the work of the devil. Azazel found this extremely entertaining. "They blame me for their own deeds! Oh, how shallowly they speak of me, who created half of all that they are. They dare denounce their very nature, their propensity for the sin they all love so much! And to think I thought them a good idea. But alas, amusing at least they are!" thought Azazel with mirth. It was a favorite past-time to hear the ridiculous thoughts of Man. That and hearing their beautiful screams. And the twisting of their fragile minds, and the corrupting of the souls. Not that it took a lot of work, as most of them were already corrupted. He was in the process of beginning to laugh in his melodic way when he heard the sermon turned to something which deeply angered him.

"And it is by the power of that atrocious beast! By that foul and terrible creature! That abomination! That Divine Joke, that evil which corrupts the hearts of men! So you must all repent! Repent from sin! Shun all evil thoughts! Let not the ugliness of the Devil perverse you!" shouted the Archbishop at the top of his lungs, as he brandished a golden cross high in the air. This infuriated Azazel, not because he was called evil, but because he was called ugly. He, the most beautiful and handsome of all beings considered male. The very essence of masculinity sought after by virgin and angel both. Azazel could feel his wrath aroused, and he welcomed it. With a reverberating boom, the huge wooden doors burst open before him. The entire congregation was stunned into silence as He slowly walked among the numerous and long pews towards the Altar. As he made it past the front pew, the Archbishop began denouncing him as a demon from hell, and waved the cross in the air before him.

"Demon from hell you call me? Pathetic human, you are in the presence of he who created all the evil within you! Who gave you your very blood! Look upon my visage and despair! Ugly you called me! A Divine Joke you named me! An atrocious beast you denounced me! It is by my very will that you do the things yo do. Every morning when you have your way with your chorus girls, it is I who gives you his blessing! And you dare call me an ABOMINATION!" said Azazel in his eerily bone-chilling melodic voice. His body showed no sign of strain from shouting, and yet his voice boomed forth in a powerful echo from the high ceiling of the cathedral. The Archbishop ridiculously step forward, shaking and thrust the cross into Azazel's chest. He held it there for a moment, as if expecting Azazel to burst into flames. With a vicious laughter Azazel took the cross from the Archbishop, and as he began to cower away licked it. The sign of his obscene act stirred some life into the mass of people within the church, and some got up and ran to the open doors. As they made their way to them, flames consumed them and reduced them to ashes within seconds. The entire church perimeter was aflame, and the fire slowly and seemingly deliberately spread it's way upwards but not outwards, containing everyone within their seats.

With another bout of laughter Azazel glided towards where the Archbishop lay cowering in fear with his back to the altar. The hand that was not holding the cross was raised slowly upwards, and the Archbishop was suddenly raised upright, with his feet inches off the floor. With a beckoning motion of Azazel's hand, the Archbishop was pulled close to where Azazel stood. "Look upon your leader, O pathetic souls. He who claimed was a link to your god. A loving gentle god. I wonder...where is this god now? Why does it not strike me now? You see, the only god in this hall is I! Azazel, Prince of Darkness! A shame however, none of you will live to spread the news." said Azazel to the general terror of the people gathered in the church. The young men and women were just beginning to realize the reality of their plight, while the children and old were still too stunned to scream in terror. "As for you, my Archbishop, you sought to burn my sin with your cross. I wonder, will you pass the same test?" said Azazel as he thrust the cross towards the chest of the Archbishop. Immediately he burst into flames, and slowly he burned to death in front of his followers. His skin slowly cooked, and the fluids drained from him and sizzled to the floor. His eyeballs exploded, and his flesh was cracked. Finally, when he was nothing but a charred skeleton, Azazel let him drop and turn his back to the people. "Now my children, let us all go to hell shall we?" declared a smiling devil. The final screams of terror included the children and elderly, and the great flames roared to life and engulf them all.

A mere hour later, Azazel stood once again upon the clock tower, admiring his handiwork. Row upon row of men still tried to smother the still roaring flames with buckets of water. Skeletal limbs could still be seen among the charred remains of the fallen walls.

"A essência de vidas de medo novamente... The essence of fear lives again..." A nefarious snicker tore through the boundary of actuality, shattering the web of reality that shrouded itself over all the wretched creatures lurking below the heavens. Not even the shackles of the divine were tenacious enough to chain down such an abomination of nature, and after a millennium of slumber, eyes that had long shut out the world snapped open, inviting the void that had always existed inside of him. Skin running hot, his muscles pulsated and fire ran through his veins as he instantly sat up, the dead rising from the grave to live again.

Cocking his head swiftly to the side, a calamitous grin tugged at the corner of his lips as his chest began to rise and fall, the first breath of life having wormed its way back inside of him, the dust that had settled in the back of his throat swept away. The room was bleak and without light, not a single ounce of illumination shining into the crypt in where his body had found refuge. His mind however had escaped elsewhere, bound to hell with the devil to pay. Luckily he found something… the power in which would lead to the eternal misery of all mankind. Archangel no more, but instead, something much more terrifying, something in which only nightmares were made of.

Rising to his feet with utmost grace and elegance, his long fine purplish-white hair streamed neatly behind him, blending in with the glimmering mist that had begun to seep from the very core of his being - which was as black as Azazel himself. It was a most majestic sight, appearing as a sublime cluster of stars whose beauty was enough to draw in even the most enduring souls – but within the mystifying shadow lurked an eminently sinister secret.

One booming step after another taken, he neared the center of the room before coming to a halt and looking down, head tilted the side, eyes widened. “Serafili...” He said with sorrow in his voice, dropping to his knees and pulling the frail body on the floor into his arms. As his screams broke the silence, the body dissolved away, and a single tear streamed down his cheek. “Goodbye my love... forever shall you linger in what remnants of my heart remain.” Fingers curling inward, he hauled himself to his feet, expression now consumed by rage.

For a thousand years he had been imprisoned in the minds of others, nothing more than a dream, a lost memory. In that time, he had become the embodiment of fear, a god among insects. Through the despair of others, he only grew stronger, fueled by animosity and craving retribution. It was Azazel that cursed him and Yertries who betrayed him. And now it was his wife’s blood that stained their hands. They had stolen everything from him. His throne, his heart, and his very existence - that would soon become the bane of theirs. It was time for man to outlive their need of the gods, to mature beyond them and serve their true master.

Reaching for the ceiling and closing his eyes, he took in a deep breath. “Yes… come to me…” He moaned pleasurably as if to his lover, his back arching as he shrieked in terror, nightmarish images flashing through his head. “Yes…” Tipping his head back and spinning around like a child dancing in the rain, his eyes cracked open and began to glow, the hollow orbs showing no other traces of color except for purple. He drew his power from Somnium, a world that stretched beyond the figments of one's wildest imagination, making anything and everything possible. ‘The Dream Child’ is what they called him, an enigma with the power to transcend between realities and dreams; living in a world where fear was the key to survival and no rules or law existed.

The purple haze scaling along the wall, it began to spin, turning into a hellish cyclone with ‘The Dream Child’ acting as the eye of the storm. Slowly it began to close around him, venturing back inside of his body and making him literally invisible and unseen through the cocoon now wrapped firmly around him. Uncontrollably the film shifted and changed before exploding upward, crashing and splintering through the bedrock as it spread through the earth, making its way to the surface, to freedom. It was unfortunate for all those above because the City of Castimur waited just above the chamber.

Oozing out, the purple cloud stained the clear blue water that had settled within the fountain at the heart of the city, and in a matter of minutes it boiled over, sending an eerie fog sweeping through the streets, slowly enveloping Castimur in darkness. The howls of the condemned could be heard as they embraced their worst horrors, and invited their liberator. Water cascading from the fountain like a waterfall, riding it was 'The Dream Child', and as the water hit the ground it froze. Sliding across it, a sword solidified into his hands and with grace killed everything in its path, slicing through bone and flesh with ease. Blood pouring onto the ground, their limp bodies fell hard to the cement, robbed from their meaningless lives. Smirking to himself as he gazed up, the church towered over the city, a pinnacle that was suspended from the very gates of Eden.

"Holy Mother, I know you hear me. Do the cries of those around me go unheard? I know, not. Your humble servant comes to you once again, humble; prostrate, begging for the deliverance from that evil which consumeths our land. Save the poor workman, the starving wife, everyone who has life. Let no evil draw nigh to take them before they are drawn unto thy bosom, Sacred One. Protect your faithful ones from that which seeks to destroy us... Keep us safe."

Bursting through the doors of the cathedral, a stifling wind extinguished the torches aligned along the walls, eclipsing the divine light that burned from the very core of Yertries herself. "O father... where art thou?" He could feel the presence of Azazel lingering just beneath his fingertips, but still it lurked neither near nor far from him; but simultaneously, another familiar presence abruptly caught his attention as he focused on the altar where a priestess sat on her knees, praying. Sufficing a cackle that echoed throughout the great hall, he reappeared behind the woman, knelt down with his icy breath washing over the back of her neck. "Well it would seem I have you at a disadvantage." He spoke seductively, a sly smile painted across his lips.

Chasing lowlifes, Aedan Rinnan noted as he trekked across the forest floor, was not a job he particularly enjoyed. At least, not this time. The forest his prey led him through, he had to admit, was fairly beautiful Snow and ice had frozen the wilderness in a type of hibernation, the thin fingers of the branches that protruded from the great trees that towered high above the Wilder were encased in ice as though frozen even as they swayed through the wind. Although many animals chose to hibernate in this season, Aedan could still make out tracks of varying sizes in the freshly fallen snow, indicating different animals that traveled along well-trodden paths they used to search for food, either spare vegetation or prey. Prominent among the tracks, however, was a slightly erratic pair that was distinctly boot-shaped. Aedan smiled grimly in satisfaction. His prey was tiring.

Aedan had been hired beforehand by town officials in Bellanuva. Apparently, the man he was tracking was a typical low-life thug that had managed to rob and rape an important man's daughter. The girl must have been at the wrong place at the wrong time or the man was the incredibly stupid variety of ruffian. It didn't matter much to Aedan. Bounty-hunting was just one of the jobs he took now. All his life, he had been a hunter and when he had lost his home, his parents, and his clan, Aedan was left with little option but to fight and hunt to survive. The only aspect that set his current prey apart from others was that it walked on two legs and had warranted a bounty on his head.

He followed the tracks, thankful for the snow. Where it slowed down his prey, it hastened his progress by revealing his tracks. He could tell they were fresh. The rapist was not far from him now. How long he followed the man's trail, Aedan knew not for the sun was eclipsed by the clouds in the sky. It could have been hours later that he cornered the rapist. All he knew, as he approached a cave carved into a bed of bedrock, was that the hunt was nearing its end. He nocked an arrow to his bow and pulled back its string, taking aim at the cave's entrance.

"Come out now!" Aedan announced loudly but calmly, "You may find the Magistrate lenient enough to grant you a quick death."

There was shuffling sound as a figure appeared warily near the entrance of the cave. He called out gruffly, "So you're the bastard sent after my hide. Azazel spit on you."

"The words of scum like you do not concern me. Do you surrender or do you wish to die where you stand?" the Wilder asked him bluntly.

"Okay, I will go quietly," the figure told him, stepping out of the cave into daylight. His face was worn and haggard and his clothes torn. The forest would have finished him off after another day, Aedan noted. He relaxed his bow and made to reach for some rope in his pack for just such an occasion, "But not without a fight!"

Suddenly, the man roared and charged with a knife that he had hidden up his sleeve, but Aedan was quicker. He pulled back on his bowstring, took aim, and fired an arrow into his heart all within the space of two seconds. The man's eyes widened and he fell backwards with the force of the arrow, dead.

Aedan sighed and approached the body. All things considered, it was a clean kill. Still, the man was foolish. He searched his body, grinning in satisfaction when he found what he was looking for, a simple silver necklace with an angel pendant hanging from it, the same necklace stolen from the upper-class girl. This would be proof enough for the authorities.

He bent down and closed the man's eyes with a sweep of his hand, "Yertreis have mercy on your soul."

With that said, he carefully placed the necklace in a compartment of his pack and left the body, bow in hand. The man's body would provide a meal for a predator that desperately needed meat to survive the winter. In death, the man would provide a greater service than he had in life.

"...He's home..." A snippet of a whisper died softly with the billowing of the wind, an essence reawakening from the spirit search it had set out on decades before. The soul of yet another fallen archangel, having dwindled as the sands of time ticked against her, had come to pass into simple, silent quietude. There wasn't a place for the lack of existence to be named, but with the return of the one whose name she had uttered ceaselessly in mourning, a new life was breathed into her spirit; though, a weak one. With the fluttering of life in the formless essence, memories and mind grew clear. Her raison d'etre, her love, her angel had returned, she knew not where, but somewhere out there in the distant world; the world which had rejected them and allowed their disappearance not from ignorance but false beliefs. Was Yertreis still the reigning, loving God in their eyes? Would that she had lips, laughter would ring loud and seditious from them.

'For the living know that they will die, but the dead don’t know anything, neither do they have any more a reward; for the memory of them is forgotten. Also their love, their hatred, and their envy has perished long ago; neither have they any more a portion forever in anything that is done under the sun.' (-Ecclesiastes)

But they didn't know how wrong they were. For every moment that her soul struggled to life, the spirit grew strong with ill-contained fury. Was there no rage like that of a woman betrayed? The strength summed up by an unquenchable fury was enough to send the spirit hurtling forth, driven by desperation as well as anxiousness, to see the return of the one she loved. Though, it would be soon realized that her strength had not returned enough to make the journey below Castimur without fear of falling further beneath the cracks and crevices into the den of the damned. The angel, though fallen from grace in the eyes of Yertreis, if not her own, had no urge to be devoured or cursed with bondage in the damned's captivity; even loathing the thought of their presence unless it was only long enough to cut them down. They too only struck the chords of rage within her, bringing forth the vilest thoughts of ill-will even as she struggled to maintain existence.

With every few feet, her spirit weakened, inches coming to feel as though they were miles. With her light slowly fading out to the dimmest bulb, the burden of strain fell harder. Thus, her mind was made up once she found herself in the courtyard of the church, and a safer route was chosen, brought on by the soft whisperings of prayer echoing through the thick, oak doors. Through the doors of the church-temple the spirit was led with unheard groans of displeasure, lingering only momentarily to take in those who had gathered. Though many a choice and range awaited, from the muscular men to the curviest of forms, one damsel in particular was sought out. Head bowed most in reverence, a halo of golden locks cascaded over the femme's shoulders, not done in the elaborate fashion but in a simple manner of beauty. Ruby lips moved, though silence was all that poured forth from them besides the rhythm of every breath, form clad in that of a monk's robes; a simple, grey-black dress that went to the floor and was long-sleeved.

With the final notice that the femme's form was gaunt but merry, her mind was made up. Without the safe harbor of a calm and nurturing soul, Gabriel herself was bound to ruin the husk which she inhabited or break free from the shackles of cohabitation in order to challenge the damned in an already crazed manner. "Alea iacta est," was all that was whispered to herself before the last inklings of strength from the waning presence sent her forth, thus to join in the habitation of the damsel's form. The only evidence of her invasion was the gasp that tore from Nuri Abuste's lips as the spirit threw herself in, her frame sent forward as if there bad been a push to the back. The only one to note the slight movement was a burly man to her right, who caught her arm and set her to rights. With a nod of thanks in lieu of word to another, the exchange was finished and forgotten, hymns returning all to their rightful place of thoughts and the spirit left to slumber on in hopes of regaining what powers had been lost.

"God, the Holy Mother, bless me and keep me in your arms. Let your grace fall upon me and all who are yours and yearn for your Holy presence. Keep me and let me be one of your servants, made to act as messenger of the divine, brought to follow your callings to me. Bless the poor, heal the weak, and let us all be meek in your presence. Thank you, Holy Mother. I love you above all."

As the voicing of the final prayers dissolved into silence, quiet murmurings arose as those of faith greeted one another. In particular, a burly man with a belly that was the source of all his weight, the Bishop of the area, moved around to congratulate all on staying in the faith amidst the terrors of the world. Though, particular joy alit his face once he came upon the quiet "lark", who stood in place, fingers still turning the pages of the hymnal. No hello was spared before meaty hands clapped onto her upper arms, a jolly grin and laugh used in playing ignorance to the jump he had caused from her. "My child, look, you blossom more every day. Yertreis sings her praises upon you," he bellowed, though the good cheer was only returned in slight by that of a half-faced smile, the deep sea blue of her orbs lifting hesitantly to meet the squinting, brown dots of his. "Father Jonlin, good to see you again. I hope your travels went well. It's good to see you again." Though niceties and air kisses exchanged, his head shook chidingly with a frown. "Something is upon you. Continue your prayers. We will speak on the morrow." With a final kiss to her forehead, he too was off to follow the others' trail in departure, humming a tune of praise for Yertreis.

A nod of obedience was all the female had left to offer before she went for a new set of candles, relighting some on the altar that been extinguished moments before and filling the room with a soft, golden glow. It was only then, with a sigh of relish for her duties, that the young woman lowered to her knees before the altar, palms pressed together and thin wrists resting on the edge of the tabletop while her head bowed once again in prayer. It was silent at first, a mere prayer of thanks for all that had been done for the city; lips moving to recite simple phrases in Latin so that anyone deaf could read it easily from the movements of her mouth and tongue. "... Beati pauperes spiritu, beati possidentes, beatus homo qui invenit sapientiam, beatae memoriae..." Though, the screams from outside broke her silence, teeth grinding in effort to maintain her concentration before she carried on. A high priestess was of no use to those she adored if she could not pray for them in their time of need, and thus, she bore on, forcing the words out as if to muffle the sounds of bloodshed in the darkground; form shaking only slightly with determination.

"Holy Mother, I know you hear me. Do the cries of those around me go unheard? I know, not. Your humble servant comes to you once again, humble; prostrate, begging for the deliverance from that evil which consumeths our land. Save the poor workman, the starving wife, everyone who has life. Let no evil draw nigh to take them before they are drawn unto thy bosom, Sacred One. Protect your faithful ones from that which seeks to destroy us... Keep us safe."

Not even the throwing open of the doors was enough to stun her from her fervent praying, only wreaking a short gasp and raising of the shoulders. It was the darkness, though, that lulled her mind from pleadings to Yertreis, a lid peeking open to try and gain some inkling of a man from her peripherals. Who spoke in such a way? From all the tuggings at her memory, no thought could gain the image of a man who would speak in any tone quite like his or who ever had in her presence. The question for a father fell on deaf ears, though, lid falling back to a close for a moment of repose and recollecting herself. The moment she was sure of the calm, tugging light once more, he had her. As soon as the first word had left his lips from such a near place; the chilled air sweeping her neck forced a shudder up her spine, though her head shook fiercely in the negative sense. "Would carpe noctem be your view to go with this disadvantage you seem to claim or seek?" Lips pursed with all intent of maintaining calm, fingers slicing between each other to land a deathgrip on herself if only for a moment before she turned to face what came calling; only shifting her upper half to peer over her right shoulder with a startled gaze. "I don't believe in fantasies, nor do I care for any. I am a vessel for the goodness of Yertreis, meant to do my life's work in all that She wills. Not for a mere man's thrills."

Ichor opened his eyes. He was in a forest, the trees were like mountains around him, shooting into the skies, and then they were engulfed by the thick fog and skies. The dark bark of the trees themselves were a depressing sight; the forest must be taking its last sigh before letting go of these trees and allowing younger and new trees to have a chance to grow up to their elder trees' standards.
Ichor, who was small even by dwarven standards despite being a human in life, was sitting and looking up at these trees, like a child looking up to its father who was taller than itself. "Why am I cursed like this? Why must I suffer this curse, what have I done to deserve this?" Ichor finally said. Ichor's voice was high pitched and hysterical by nature, like a screaming girl who wanted candy. "Why do I have to be cursed...With being short?"

Ichor sat still, still looking up at the trees, trying to find the top of these massive organic things, and although right behind Ichor, thirty humans were gathering behind him, drawing swords, pointing spears and preparing to fire arrows at him. "Lich Ichor! Your time have come, now you shall pay for all the misery and pain you have caused Averland! I shall see to it that your head is returned to the Baron on a silver plate."
Ichor stood up and turned around and looked at the humans, showing a smile which had a strong mixture between madness and happiness, "I am so glad you made it! You are a few fallen leaves late, but you are here!"
"Your mad, but we are prepared for that," one of the soldiers said and then the men stepped aside and allowed, what looked like, a mixture between a priest and a bounty hunter to step forth, "Ichor, the Midget of Death. I am Karsten Jensen, and i will be the one that will end your miserable-"

Before Kasrsten managed to continue, Ichor had already created a bolt of shadows and thrown it at him. Kasrsten managed to throw himself to the side, and the bolt struck another soldier, making the man falling down on the ground, crying out in pain and his arms and legs twisted with spastic movements. The rest of the soldiers sprang into action, the archers fired arrows after Ichor, and the melee soldiers charged at him. Ichor was small and logically he wasn't suppose to be able to move very fast, however Ichor had managed to break that law and used his powers to increase the power of each step he took, and thus he jumped around, from tree to the ground and then rolled over and got back up on his feet.
Ichor looked at himself, three arrows had managed to hit him, one in the left shoulder, one through his right forearm and the last one had made its way through his weak flesh on the right side of his hip. "I'm impressed, you managed to take an aim, and you even managed to evade shooting the squirrel that I threw at you. Who wants a nut?" Ichor asked out, however no one really responded, except for a blade being swung down after his head.

Ichor stretched out his hand, flesh and bone melted away and a skeletal steel claw was there instead of his hand, catching the sword in mid air, "One of the first lessons in 'Idiocy' is that you never attack someone from the sides, or the front. Or the back." With that said the other hand turned into a similar claw and Ichor jumped up into the face of the soldier, quickly shredding his face unrecognizable and then jumped at the next soldier.
Ichor was brutal, his steel claws cut through armor, flesh and bone. Men screamed as Ichor jumped around, ripped limps from bodies, conjured spells that played tricks on the soldiers' minds and their morale dropped as they began to realize that they stood no chance against Ichor; Karsten was the only man who made a stand against Ichor.

Karsten was wrapped in wards and totems that protected him from the nightmarish visions that Ichor tried to place in his mind, and some of the more unholy spells that were thrown at him were consumed in light from a small golden cross that the man had hanging around his neck.
"No fair" Ichor screamed as he lashed out after Karsten with his hands, only to have it blocked by the man's sword, and then Ichor received a hard kick in his stomach that made him fly two meters back, though it had little, if almost no, affect on Ichor as he didn't feel pain at all. Ichor then stood up from the ground and dusted the worst of the dirt off his black, worn down, cultist robes and then looked around himself, "I'm out of shape, usually I kill more than this, and I have more fun, but look at it...That man's head is impaled by the branch, while I used that guy's organs to hang that soldier, no wait, he's still alive!-" Ichor screetched and then threw a fire ball at the man, the explosion killing him at the spot-"Oh no! I've done it again. Have you noticed that I'm rushing my art here?"

Karsten looked at Ichor, his stoic face showed no emotions or the least hint of being interested in Ichor's babble, "I do not care, you have destroyed three villages, killed hundreds of innocents, and you also turned the Baron's son to become a zombie. I knew the Baron's son, he was a good man, loved by the people, righteous in both his faith and judgment, and you killed him off, just like that.
I will see to it that you die, here and now. Do you understand? I have prepared to fight you, and there is nothing that you will be able to do that will prevent me from cutting off your head and giving it to the Baron."

Ichor took out the last arrow and then looked up, "No need to shout, I'm right in front of you."
"I'm not shouting."
"Yes you were."
"No I wasn't."
"Yes you were."
"No I...This is ridiculous. I came to face one of the world's most deadliest Rouge Wizards, who sold his soul for eternal life, who mastered all the arts of arcane. And I start to act like a child with him. Your pathetic, if that is how you want to win a battle."

Ichor looked down on the ground, as if he was ashamed, and then he looked up, giving Karsten the look of a sad child with his decayed face, and mad filled eyes, "I'm not here anymore."
Karsten's eyes widen as he felt something inside him. something was twisting and turning inside of him, in his stomach, "No!" Karsten roared before Ichor jumped through his chest and stomach. Karsten stood still for a minute, his brain still trying to understand what had just happened to its body. It didn't understand that the rip cage, the heart, lungs, stomach, livers, and everything else in the body was gone and the skin had been forced open, so everyone could see the spine and the fleshy structure of the back.
"I love to eat liver, do you want some?" Ichor asked Karsten as his corpse laid on the forest floor, stone dead.

Ichor took a deep breath and then exhaled. A mad smirk crept on his lips, "I love liver." He said as he began to cook Karsten's liver over a fire that he had formed in his hand.

While following the border of a forest the muscles tensed as a slow pace was maintained in the walk, ears trembling with the light breeze , the hair following the flow of the wind and the blood running quickly as the hoofs hit the ground. How impressive and majestic were the horses walking with order following a line each one behind the other with their heads up looking to the front, indeed more impressive that the lowly humans that mounted them looking around with fear, even rats were more brave that them but well one couldn´t expect for more... maybe traveling in group placing the riders as barriers and the women in the middle would help in most of the situations, but not against a group of harpies and less if the group was hungry.

The blood colored eyes moved slowly following the route that the group were taking, the blacks wings remain calm letting the wind carry them, and the whole body they supported, in a gentle glide; the group of four harpies was flying low... low enough to be able to see their preys without problems, but at the same high enough to avoid showing their shadows, it was almost a funny thing how the humans had forgotten that the ground wasn´t the only place full of enemies being now oblivious that the sky and the deep waters were as dangerous and it was understandable. How not to fear something that one cannot hear?

Following the track was starting to become tiresome... and dangerous. Even without looking at them Zailekk could feel the desire for bloodshed coming from her sisters and even more dangerous was her own desire for meat and blood, senses were starting to become numb as her mind started to lust for what it deserved, but it remained in that and only that: lust. She needed to kept her mind in calm to avoid being the prey instead of the hunter, a task that needed good coordination and as she looked for that sign of it the huge claws started to close and open repeatedly trying to keep the cool of her mind and soon the patience paid off.

The group was starting to ride apart of the forest, ignorant of their situation they were leaving the only place where they could hide from the mighty eyes or ears of the flying group, the mighty steeds would have the advantage in the open. But would the riders left the ones without a horse or stay to fight to the end? Either choice was tempting, nothing like a race to open the appetite and on the other hand a meal served without problem really it wasn´t easy to choose.

The time came. With a furious glare Zailekk pointed the group and started diving holding all the weight of the armor to avoid a direct impact to the floor and as the flying group got closer to their preys screams started to resonate, screams that had mix between the human sound and the sound of a furious and deadly screech, a screech that once more was able to catch the prey unguarded.

And it happened... the mounted prey ran away not caring for the others, the blood color eye harpie knew their kind well, it was that type of being that would run to their chieftain mourning for the ones that passed in a fake cry saying that it was inevitable to help them. In other words preys that didn´t deserve their time, well easy food was it. It was better to slay the prey before the lust took over, Zailekk grinned widely showing her small fangs to the terrified men and she glared fiercely, and somehow proudly, when she noticed in one of the man´s eyes the recognition that her fangs would be the last thing that he would see in his life.

Screams. Screams of terror and despair. Aedan could hear them clearly from his position in the forest. He was traveling off the beaten path at the moment. It was a lot safer that way. Roads were spots to set up ambushes. All one had to do was wait in silence before prey inevitably stumbled by. Aedan, however, was not prety. In fact, Wilders were a lot closer to wolves than the sheep most men had become.

Frowning and sighing at his own troubling conscience, he quickened his pace, careful to keep to the shadows. He did not hurry for if one hurried then one became easy prey for the very prey one was hunting. No. He masked the sounds of his footsteps, trekking through the forest as he was born to do. The blood of hundreds of generations of the Clan Rinnan flowed through his veins. All forests were familiar territory to him.

He slowed to a stop as the trees thinned and he came upon the border of the forest. He frowned a little at what he saw. Harpies were attacking a group of humans, peasants if he guessed right. It was unusual for such a large amount. It was unusual for such men and women to travel so far from civilization without an escort, unless... He could make out a figure riding at the farthest edge of his vision before disappearing entirely. A cowardly escort. That explained a lot.

He considered the harpies before him. They were dangerous opponents, his father had taught him. They wore heavy armor and the only weapons they ever needed were their claws, easily capable of parrying most metals and cutting through a few others. It had been long since they had last visited his clan's land for his people were quick and their arrows capable of bringing even these birds of prey down.

He popped open a vial of liquid, just big enough for an arrow to fit in. Silently, he dipped each arrow from his quiver, one by one, until they were prepared. The liquid was a paralyzing agent, extracted from what most considered a weed. Aedan marveled at the ignorance of his fellow humans. All they ever needed to defend themselves was right here around them.

He nocked a couple of arrows and pulled back on his bowstring, carefully aiming at the left wing of one of them. He smiled a little and let them fly, not waiting for his cry as he was hit before knocking two more and firing at his other wing. He watched as it fell to the ground, its wings injured and the agent already taking effect. He quickly nocked two more and fired at another harpie, its wing flapping uselessly as it struggled to stay afloat. For good measure, he fired the next two at the third harpie's wing, again scoring a direct hit.

He moved quickly in the shadows for he knew that there was a chance that he may have been spotted by the fourth one and that the third could steady itself. He did not wish to risk himself being discovered. He smiled a little. Wings. They were both the harpie's greatest strength and their greatest weakness. Now matter how much heavy armor a harpie wore, none of it could be worn on their wings. He stopped and took position behind a bush and fired two more at the already-injured harpie. If that hit, there would be only one more to contend with.

"Mr. Garali they call you?"

Welcome. You should feel proud. You have weathered the admittedly scant attempts of my subordinates to break you. Every whip made you stronger, every tongue of fire left you with a smile. It remains rare that I personally attend to humans, and rarer that they should act as valiantly as you. Remain proud, Mr. Garali, you have but one more test to pass before you reach full realization. Before you can finally say not even hell can face you."

The man was a sight, his left arm gone entirely, his body so fresh and young, but looking as though deflated, sapped of energy, his once tremendous muscular form was somehow dissolving away, leaving him a sort of hideous primordial mass. His eyes, forever squinting and irritated, still burned with conviction.

"How cute. Let us begin."

Syungorunu, a frail little figure with a totally blank face, gave a sweeping motion, and one wall of the triangular room vanished, revealing a beautiful expanse of Earth, mountains and jungles and deserts and fields all moving effortlessly between each other, really breathing with Earth's beauty.

"There your village rests, sir. You know you have a daughter? Yes, the birth went well, isn't it wonderful?"
"Yes" Garali said, straining his voice, but it was a testament that he could even speak.
"You remain talkative. I remain impressed. I will now begin your final test, and it is a simple one. I will induce unimaginable pain, and it will not stop until you have told me your purpose. If ever the pain becomes too much, all you must do is say something trivial..." The Spirit brushed his empty, featureless face in some sick caricature of a man thinking.
"How about a tree, simply say the name of a tree and I'll halve the pain? I think that's fair. Now, begin."

Garali was ready to triumphantly stand, spit at the Spirit and proclaim proudly that the good Goddess had blessed him, and that he would somehow defy death and return to New Eden a hero, with knowledge of life and death in all the realms of existence, and other such nonsense.

"Mmm, I see you remain not so quick to talk? Come now, it must be just vomit, perhaps your own organs, the pain is surely not worse than what you have suffered. Your nails have merely turned to scarabs. The skin of your eyes shan't be missed."

The man, curling over, desperately trying to speak, finally screamed out.

"Aspen!"
"Really? Aspen? I will admit, you are original. I might have said Apple, perhaps Pine, Mangrove? Certainly not Aspen, but, I live to serve, master."

Suddenly, the world before Garali shifted and changed, his eyes widened, and seemingly everything shifted and morphed.

"You know, your wife went out one night for a walk under the Aspens, the rain started to fall, and she marveled at how the almost sparkling leaves protected her, scattering the rain about. Almost poetic you know? But since you've damned Aspens to join you here, she doesn't have that luxury. The rain will just fall and fall and fall. Heaven's grace will fall upon your wife. How charming. What is your purpose here?"

Garali remained hunched, the relief was tremendous, he couldn't even imagine suffering anymore. "T-to... I am here to..."

"Before you go on" Said Syungorunu, gesturing to the world stretched out before them. "Let me remind you. When first you entered this place, triumphantly hailing yourself as some martyr for your people, somehow able to face hell, you said a single drop of water could cleave stone. You took on the droplet's job. Look out over this valley now? All you did was take away the Aspens, and a single drop of water was all it took to bring your wife to me."

The woman walked through the door, her eyes full of tears.
Garali had newfound strength, he stood, "Darling, darling they-"
"They've done nothing, you weren't strong enough, you never were."
"Darling..."
"I think that's enough Mr. Garali, it has become obvious that you now realize your ultimate purpose?

Here you are in Hell. You walked in triumphantly and you shall stay here triumphantly. You have made your first kill, Mr. Garali, You should feel proud, you have done your master Azazel well.

"But..."
You should feel proud

Syungorunu stepped out of the room like it was being swiped down a river behind him, appearing just outside.
"Oh he has been thoroughly spent. Do what you want with him, I tried to keep him sane as I could in case we actually needed another human, he certainly was a remarkable sort" The spirit, taking on again his older frame, faceless, but this time with a sort of owl or eel wrapped around it, simply glided out taking in the smell of Hell, of people clambering to such niceties as pain and suffering. If any of them simply ceased to believe that it could still hurt, that it could still matter, they might be saved.

But it was precisely that they couldn't give up that damned them eternally, but it kept Syungorunu in a job, and he certainly fit in better here than amidst the brainwashed addicts of New Eden.

The night was frigid and cloudy as a storm rolled over the Forest of Yore, some two hundred miles to the northwest of Bellanuva, holding out for now with a light snowfall. The thick gray clouds blotted out the stars and full moon and made the area much darker. But somewhere in the forest, in a clearing with a hill and cave, sat three small fleshy green creatures, more commonly known as goblins, two larger creatures covered in a coarse fur, more commonly known as hobgoblins, and in the cave slept two human males. The dancing flames of their bonfire in the chilly night breeze hypnotized the five. By now they had all had several pints of ale, having the thought that it would be more fun to get drunk when they were suppose to be keeping watch over the camp. Why did they have to get stuck with the most boring job while their comrades got to go out and take part in a raid of a supply caravan. Drinking more ale the five tried their best just not to think about it.

"Wenn der Tod kann uns nicht überraschen,
lassen Sie es zu begrüßen,
wenn unser Schlachtruf sogar ein offenes Ohr und eine andere
Hand erreicht hat erreicht heraus zu nehmen unsere Arme . "

As the chanting of their battle cry ceased, the leader of the gang, Egarr, burst out from the tree line, and began to furiously charge towards the supply caravan. Standing at nine feet even, with skin as sickly as decaying flesh he appeared like a gigantic walking corpse. He was armored in all blackened armor with thick fur lining, a blackened cuirass, blackened spaulders, blackened vambraces, a blackened chainmail skirt, with black tatty wool pants underneath, blackened poleyns, blackened greaves, and a pair of worn fur boots. In his hand he clinched a blackened longsword, by Norn standards, which was considered more a claymore to humans, and on his belt he carried a large hunting knife. His dim yellow gray eyes, filled with blood lust, scanned the caravan below, his blood boiling with excitement as he reached the cobblestone road. Following behind him were the rest of his gang, nine goblins, three hobgoblins, five humans, four dark elves, and two ogres all with weapons rose.

Consumed with overwhelming fear, the guards of the caravan were paralyzed as they spotted the giant of a man and his followers burst through the trees. “To arms!” The guard captain managed to shout, overcoming his own fear, and raised his sword and tower shield in defense.

“Die accursed scum!” Roared Egarr as he swung his sword down on one of the human guards, still paralyzed by fear. Unable to defend himself, Egarr’s sword tore through the man’s abdomen so fast that he couldn’t even scream in agony. With a sinister laugh that roared over the sound of his men engaging the guards he turned and faced the guard captain. “Die!” He roared to the man, making his way towards him with sword raised.

Watching as one of his men, and best friends was cleaved in two the captain looked at Egarr with discussed. “Dream on beast!” His shouted filled with anger. Charging towards Egarr, unsure what he really was, he kept his shield in front of him, with his sword extended out.

A baneful grin curled across his lips at the sight of the man’s courage, futile as it was. Swinging his sword towards the man, he intended to cleave him in half as well, but the man wasn’t as stupid as he appeared. Realizing he was about to be killed it was second nature for him to duck under the blade to avoid the blow. Getting up to his feet he dropped his shield, its weight throwing him off, and again charged forward with sword extended forward.

The rest of the caravan wasn’t fairing as well as their captain, most of the guards unable to overcome their fear and raise their swords in defense. As the goblins shot at will with their arrows the others, melee fighters, made quick work of the caravan. They chopped, slashed, stabbed, and more to the guards. Making quick work of them, than they turned their attention towards the merchants and civilians. Man, woman, young, or old it didn’t matter to them. Their motto: To Kill, Steal, and Destroy.

As the captain charge him again, Egarr lunged forward, letting the man’s sword slide off the side of his cuirass. Wrapping his fingers around the man’s neck he squeezed, making him drop his sword. “Now you die… Mwahaha.” His laugh was sinister, pure evil, and hard to take with his foul breath. Squeezing tighter his eyes seemed to glow as the life faded from the captain and his body went limp.

Quickly he and his men gathered up all the supplies and took all the horses by the reins. “Well done.” Egarr exclaimed with overwhelming excitement. “Now back to camp, quickly!” He ordered them. All in all it was a good raid, they had suffered no fatalities and had killed more than three times their numbers in humans. Everyone was blood soaked but had a smile on their face as they headed into the forest, bound for their secret camp.

Zailekk didn´t bother to turn her head as she hear the first screams of pain coming from one of her sisters, but when it happen twice she look over her shoulder to watch a terrible scene. Arrowheads were showing form the worst of the places, the deadly darts had pierced the mighty wings from two of her sisters and the third one was suffering the same fate, for some reason the finisher shot wasn´t done but the shooter should really be grateful...

When the blood colored eyes turned to the front Zailekk was able to see how the men in front of her paralyzed in fear, at the moment she was honoring her name as a hunter, her sight becoming very threatening and almost glowing in red and quickly, very quickly losing all her senses and reasoning just being able to see all red around her as an angered voice began to shout in her mind... ordering her to turn around and crush the ones that dared to attack them. Muscles forced and stretched as she prepared to move when a screech full of pain coming from one of her sisters got her attention.

It wasn´t the pain for suffering damage, it was a pain full of humiliation an humiliation for being taken down from the sky, even if they were flying low, and not being death at the moment. That hit Zailekk very deep. What kind of death would be if she attacked leaving them alone? And how would she answer alone to a group? Instincts started to kick first slowly trying to calm the mind of the angered harpie and the quickly as her fine ear caught a distinctive sound... the sound of someone moving.

Zailekk then felt what was coming, something that she wouldn´t let happen as it was her task to protect her brood even if her death was the price to pay. Forcing her body to obey the harpie grabbed two men with her lower claws holding one with each claw and turned showing how abnormal the strength of a harpie was throwing both men with a relative ease using the impulse of the turn and it was in the right moment, the prey that was supposed to be part of her food ended being a shield taking the arrows that were quickly heading to end her sister.

And once more they were without food, the last action broke the enchant from the group of survivors making them escape quickly. As their escort they didn´t care for the ones fighting to save them or even their partners that laid death over the ground, no they had preferred to escape quickly. Breathing quickly as if she had problems taking the air Zailekk slowly flew to her sisters watching how even with the pain and the problems to move they were starting to pull out the arrows, wet arrows... only assassins or hunters would wet them, soldiers preferred to burn the heads as if the fire was the solution to all.

With quick flaps the harpie placed herself in front of the group moving the blood colored eyes quickly trying to locate where the enemies were and after a moment she landed folding her wings and placing them the nearest she could to her body. Then she raised with pride and let out another scream that sounded like a screech: a scream that wasn´t a threat it was a scream making clear that she was challenging, that she would stood all the time against the enemy. And the was only plan that her half enraged mind could do at the moment: winning time to let her sisters recover so they would be three, or the four in the best case, against the unknown enemy.

Aedan smiled grimly as he saw that his arrows had manage to distract the harpies long enough for the men to regain their senses. If only they had the will to escape the uninjured harpie's enchantment, then more would have survived. But, as it was, when two men were used as shields against his own arrows, the rest fled. He nodded. Good. They would live to die another day. And maybe their escort would be punished. They deserved to. Of that, the Wilder was certain. Nevertheless, "civilized" society had a way of punishing the innocent and rewarding the wicked.

He heard the uninjured harpie's screech and his brow furrowed in contemplation. This was clearly the alpha of the group. The others were unable to fight at the moment and, if he was lucky, his paralyzing agent would prevent them from joining in a fight. He frowned at the alpha harpie. It was just his luck that he'd take down every enemy but the strongest, but, in his heart, he wouldn't have it any other way. He was a predator and part of him enjoyed the the prospect of challenging an equal to combat for honor. However, Aedan beat down that part of himself back into the depths of his heart. Just as a Wilder's nature wasn't fully human, it also wasn't fully bestial. Unlike more "civilized" members of his species, Aedan did not desire needless slaughter.

With that thought, he allowed his primal side some release as he howled in answer to the harpie's screech, stepping out of the safety of the forest and into the harpie's view, standing straight to show that he was unafraid. He looked at her up and down. Indeed, she had a wildness about her that was both familiar and strange to him. His memories of his lost clan was of men that had the wildness of wolves, but this female harpie had the wildness of a bird of prey. They were part of the same system, but they were worlds apart. He was of the forest and she was of the sky.

"There are many rules to hunting," he stated, gripping his bow in his right hand and staring angrily into her eye, "And the most important one is to never hunt sentient prey without just cause. Has your people fallen into savagery when I wasn't looking?"

He paused for a moment, allowing his words to sink in and himself to pause in thought. At last, he asked, "Or do you have a reason for why you attacked a people much weaker than yourselves?"

He strapped his longbow to his back, for now intending only to talk. Nevertheless, his hands gripped his daggers and he lowered his knees should the harpie choose to attack instead of explaining herself and her hunter's party. Out here in the open, the harpie had the advantage of being able to take flight and attack him from above. If she chose to attack him, he would retreat into the forest and fight her in his terrain.

The blood colored eyes narrowed as she heard a howl answering her scream and they narrowed even more to the point that they look almost close when she saw who answered her challenge. A human... once more a human was getting in her way, anger started to kick again trying to control the few piece of mind that was rage less as memories of harpies being slaughtered or carried as trophies by humans crossed quickly her mind, once more the muscles tensed preparing to do a reckless act when she noticed that he was looking directly to her eyes and that he actually spoke with words that to her sounded as if he was standing at her side.

The human was saying something about the rules of hunting, of course the harpies had rules. For what other reason would they announce an attack? Honor less deaths were not something that they liked, the harpie tilted her head getting ready to review the rules she followed when she stop abruptly after hearing the comment about savagery.

That comment made the rage to get strength, even more than the one that was already hitting her, lust for blood and meat were getting more and more into her mind and the soft screeches full of anger coming from her sisters weren´t helping. Yes the human was very near the forest to hide again , but she care nothing about that she was desiring to rip him in pieces. What she needed to achieve that? Only a quick leap followed of a quick flap of wings would help her.

The blood colored eyes opened slowly showing her intentions to the human, but she freeze after a peculiar question, a question about differences, a question that made all of her anger fade instantly... a question that made her laugh. But it wasn´t a maniacal laugh or even full of screeches, it sounded more like a the voice of a human and she continued laughing as the human knelt in anticipation of an attack.

“Weaker?” The voice came without any screech, there was no trick surprisingly her voice sounded more like the one a young sweet girl would own, just having a little tone of sadness mixed in it, the eyes finally free of the anger directed again to the human´s eyes. “Yes human I talk as most of my breed do, but let´s not distract ourselves from your question. You say weaker, but according to who?”

The harpie leaped forward with small jumps not showing any sign of offense her eyes looking always at the human´s eyes. “Have you seen your kind? You kill for fun if that is your wish. You have killed not only mine, but also different kind of races with the pass of ages, including kills between you... and you call yourselves weak?”

At this point the harpie stop moving at a safe distance of the bow´s direct reach ignoring the screeches from the other harpies. “What are we for you? Demons or monsters? That are labels applied to what is feared or misunderstood... Tell me human what´s the difference between your kind and mine? That you talk and think? We do too. That we eat whatever comes in our way and is edible even if they are humans? It´s shame for the die of your brothers of race, but your kind do the same... lie, feint, feel anger if you want, but you know is true you kill beasts weaker than your kind to eat and if they are strong and noble you kill them with bows giving them honor less deaths... my brother and sisters of the sky have fall to your bows just as this humans fell to us. You call us savages, but to us your kind is even more savage since you act as if only you deserve to be in this world.”

The blood colored eye harpie clinched her huge claws in fists and released another scream that sounded like a screech clearly challenging as she knelt down preparing to leap directly to the hunter as the huge wings opened a little even if there was a bow near. “But if you still think that I´m a monster come to me and I will show you why harpies are still in this world.”

Aedan clenched gripped his knives, frowning a little as he took in the harpie's words. She was angry, which he expected. What he did not expect was her speech about human savagery. His grip relaxed as he contemplated what the harpie had said. It sounded like the harpies had been provoked, but by who and why? He listened to her ask him what they were to him and began to lecture him. What was the difference between them? He looked at her up and down, studying her muscular frame and the way she lifted her wings up as she talked. Clearly they were heavy, but she bore that burdern with ease.

"There are many different kinds of humans, harpie," Aedan told her with a frown, "I would ask that you do not group us all together. I am a Wilder of Clan Rinnan from the Forest of the Moon. Both were burned down by a human nobleman named Lord Hodachi that thought he owned our home and us. Do not you ever group me with the murderer of my family and the destroyer of my home."

He paused, eying her with a frown, "Harpie Clans would sometimes stop by our Forest on migrations towards the south during winter, before the Great Frost fell upon us. My Clan permitted them to roost for a short time before moving on. We traded and had not been in conflict with your people for hundreds of years. So, to answer your question, I do not see you as monsters and demons. You are Predator as am I. Nothing more and nothing less."

"I understand about revenge, harpie. I understand it too well. The man that took everything away from me still lives on and I do not know where. My blood boils at the thought of the man dying in the peace of old age. My arrows will pierce his heart before that. Nevertheless, I do not hunt his men-at-arms or their families. I will hunt only those that did wrong, never innocent prey," he told her, his eyes instead turning to the body of a young woman. She was barely fourteen years old. He looked back at the harpie, "Men deserve to be repayed for their own deeds. This was murder."

"I came here and heard the cries of innocents as they were attacked from above and their protectors fled. I want to know why," he growled. He gripped his blades and stared once again into the lead harpie's eyes, "It better be good."

Alexander loved to walk. To be quite honest, it was one of the few times that he could be at ease and not worry about where he was going, when he would have to eat, when he would have to fight again, or about his past. Oh how he loathed his past, but that was something that sleep made him forget, and walking.
Alexander came out from his trance like state. He was physically in the world, but mentally, he was elsewhere...The world and life that he always believed that he should have lived, though, cold, hard reality would always smack him in the face with the present, but that was when he reminded himself of who and what he was. He was Alexander Luthor Russ. Former Crusader sergeant, and present Inquisitor. And it was then that he would remind himself of the quest that he had taken upon himself.

This world needed to be rooted out of the evil that infested it. Monsters, killers, sinners and heretics were everywhere, but Alexander would raise a name that they would fear and through fear and respect he would suppress them; every heretic would tremble when they heard that he was coming and stop their false beliefs, permanently.
Alexander, though he hated to brag, was a skilled man with a sword and an axe; they were like his hands, he wouldn't know how to function without them. Alexander had to admit that it was quite impressive how attached a man could become to simple objects such as a sword, he could take the life of any man and woman, but to give up these objects would be like giving up his own profession. He could feel the cross on his chest, buried beneath the thick layers of armor and clothes; another symbol of who he was and what his purpose was. Alexander had failed to save the life of a man who could have given hope to the common people, a Chanter wasn't someone that you met every day; he had seen through the lies and deceive that the very bodyguards that was suppose to protect him, and had slain them for their betrayal, they had deserved no more.

Memories. They haunted Alexander. Why did he still remember such things? Why did he still remember being pitted in the hot Jungles of the Holy Lands fighting both infidels and pagans while trying to escort priests and monks from settlement to settlement. They were like living nightmares that followed him when he was awake and left him be when he slept. God made sure that he was reminded about everything. Be it good or bad, He would make sure that Alexander wouldn't forget, just like He doesn't forget.

Alexander stopped walking, lifted his head and listened intently. Yes he could hear it, there was screaming and yelling ahead, followed by an ear shattering cry. This isn't ordinary robbers. Monsters, they must be slain, Alexander concluded, drawing out his sword and his axe he began to run forward.
As he made a turn he could see a caravan, the people were running for cover in the forest and helping those that were wounded into cover, calling out for each other and some pointed at a certain direction. Alexander followed these pointing and saw a single man standing in front of what looked to be a Harpy, what they were doing Alexander didn't know nor care, he was sure that this brave man would end the life of the Harpy soon enough and turned his attention to the few Harpies that was still on the ground, wounded, unable to fly but still monsters in Alexander's eyes.

Alexander made his way over to these Harpies, ending their life quickly, slicing their throats with his sword, breaking their necks, or striking his axe into the head. With the remaining Harpies dead, Alexander ran over to the surviving humans and then asked the nearest woman, "What happened?"
"We were attacked by those monsters, of God, they killed my husband! They killed him!" the woman then broke into tears, but continued to look at the man who stood against the last Harpy, and then nodded. Shedding his weapons, he pulled out his crossbow, loaded it and then crouched, waiting patiently for the Harpy to make a move, for if it moved against the human(s) then he would shoot it down.

---

Why do ants build their mighty colonies? Why do birds build their nests so high in the air? Why does dogs pee on trees and then spread the scent of their urine? Why am I still asking these questions? Ichor thought. He had been walking for a while; time was irrelevant to Ichor. He could have walked for an hour or a week it wouldn't have felt any different.
Thii hii, hii, hii, hii, hii, hii, hii, hii, hii, hii, hii, hii, hii, Ichor thought again, and then continued his walk through the forest. He loved the forest, there were so many things to play with, and the humans, elves and sometimes dwarfs that you could meet on the way were just so much fun that it was hard to even catch. But I'm starting to...Rush my enjoyment...I don't listen to them scream and writhe anymore, I don't make art out of death anymore. Why?...Woaw, I just remembered that it has been a hole month since I last raised a single undead. How will I show my face to the Lich Council when they discover that I haven't been pissing on people's graves anymore? No wait, they're all dead already. Hah! Suckers.
Woaw...I'm thinking!

Ichor looked up at the trees again and smiled, not the usual mad smile but a smile of happiness. The leaves of the large trees above him were casting thick shadows down on the ground below; Ichor, like all other dead things never truly liked the sun and, in fact, whenever Ichor stood in the rays of the sun he would feel lazy, sleepy and weak. That wasn't good if you stood face to face with an bold adventure, or a daring bounty hunter. I wonder what it is like to...Fly. This idea brought new ideas and life to Ichor's rotten brain.

Ichor had teleported himself somewher in the world, trying his luck, found a road and was now following it, staying out of the sun, and within sight of the road, if it would happen that he came across some unlucky man that he could play around with. You never know, one might run into a caravan of soldiers, people, maybe even merchants. Merchants! Ichor thought and then giggled. He loved merchants, always carrying all sorts of items that he could kill hours with, Ichor was sure that he still had that spork that he took from the last merchant, a few months ago. Ichor was so sure that he could dig down through the Earth and prove, once and for all, that the Earth was flat.

Ichor stopped and looked at the road. Dead corpses, looted wagons, and the uniform of soldiers. Interesting.
"Great! Ichor, look at what you've done now...You have no idea of where you are, and now you are considering finding the responsible, aren't you?"
"Well, hello myself-" Ichor said to a figure of exact same structure. Ichor had multiple personalities and they would always come out and talk to him when he needed to talk to himself-"How long has it been? Two days?"
"One day, to be precise, but who is counting. Now answer me!"
"No need to listen to him, Ichor, go and do what you want...I'm sure they have pie!"
"Pie? Thinking?...Oh, how I've missed you two! Yes, i shall find them and then I shall see who it is. Talk with them-"
"Woah, woah, don't get ahead of yourself now. Ichor, this could be another lich...what if he was stronger?"
"That's mean triple the fun."
"Point taken. What if they were Crusaders with divine people?"
"what if they had pie?"
"Divine pie?...Ew. Then I have to destroy it. I must show the world that no holy pie can stand against me."
"Now that's my boy."
"Explains a lot about you two."
"Shut up, at least I didn't have to go through the pain of birth."
"Wouldn't have happened if you had used a sock."
"I'm happy that I make you all miserable."
"I hate you too."
"I hate you too."

Ichor then walked down to the edge of the forest and studied the battlefield. He looked at the corpses and studied the wounds that they had received. It looked like an average battlefield, however one person had been cut in halves and the attacked seemed to have been well organized as many of the soldiers were still on their original posts, and a few seemed to have managed to get all of their equipment on.
Back in the forest, there were foot prints of smaller and lighter creatures, larger and more human sized creatures and then there was a massive creature, surely the leader, an orc perhaps? One never knew, but Ichor would surely find them and then began to run after the foot prints. He managed to get ten meters before he collapsed and gasped for air, "I'm way to old for this."
He then got up and used his teleportation spell to travel the longer lengths, keeping his eyes and ears open for any sounds of these brutes.

((I got consent for the actions in this post.I will be honest here mixing the bird movements in a human body was pretty hard...))

---

The harpie shook her head slowly moving the long hair with it as she continue hearing the human´s wrods. She shouldn´t have expected more of him, like almost all he watched the things under his race way of thinking, talking about revenge and murder. So the only reason to best someone was only for grudges... An interesting way of seeing things, but he was wrong they actually had a reason to act as they were.

The blood colored eyes narrowed as the human asked the reason for the act. The thing that the harpie noticed was that he was ready to attack her, so talking with him was a lost of time, when she started to think how to make him understand a sound of wind being cut resonated in her ear and it got her attention as low sounds , barely hearable, of fading pain accompany it, then she practically ignored the human in front of her to turn her head to see another human wearing a full armor quickly killing the sisters that were unable to fight.

This enraged the harpie to the limit and this time there was no attempt to stop the growing feeling within her, the lust for blood changing quickly to desire to kill the man before the change happened completely Zailekk turned to the human that was holding the blades with strength as if his life depended on it, although she knew that he wasn´t afraid of losing his life. “So you spoke of repaying? I should kill you here, but I still can remember that you let them live... A last warning stand aside... since either way I will not recognize you.”

A excited scream filled the harpie´s head as rage and anger finally started to control the mind so hardly that even the eyes lost the glow they had instead just showing a murderous glare, now things like moral or talking were null as the intelligence was being governed by instinct making her “think” only in two things: kill and how to do it. A full armored man wouldn´t be able to move as fast as her not matter what. The blood colored sight stop for a moment in a human in front of him. Why was he still alive?

Probably her sight revealed her thoughts as the human prepare himself to act , something that the blood colored eye harpie couldn´t allow. Gathering all the strength in her legs she started to leap quickly impulsing herself with strong flaps of her wings, those leaps looked more a beast running in it´s four paws it couldn´t be helped thought, the human structure wasn´t made to let the harpies run as the claws in the place of the feet were as big as the ones that were in the hands also only the dexterity of a live doing acrobatics allowed something like bending the body to actually run like that. The man wearing green clothes looked ready for anything so Zailekk threw a quick headbutt to his chest making him fall, the opening was little, as he was probably expecting a claw attack, and now he was laying there but today was his lucky day as the rage wasn´t reclaiming his blood, instead the harpie pushed his chest with one claw as she stole the bow he carried with her mouth.

Probably not killing him was the best thing to do when the harpie turned, despite the distance she could see the head of an arrow being pointed at her, so the armored man was more than ready to take her out... The harpie scowled quickly and started to leaped avoiding the straight line of the crossbow as she headed to the armored man, unlike the other human his clothes were easy to see apart in the forest also having an axe an a sword making sounds against the armor would sell him, yes the harpie wasn´t thinking in getting away she was thinking in reclaim the honor that her sisters weren´t able to had in the way it was at her reach: Avenging them in any way possible, the more easy one killing the one that took them out.

How to do it? The harpie didn´t need to think in a way, she would fight until the end. Besting him or dieing in the try, the other human could try to fight with her, but she wasn´t that worried about him. Instead the human that was closer and closer had most of her attention, before they actually got into a close combat distance the harpie stop moving her head quickly aiming with the long bow to the man´s eyes while she opened her right claw in an attempt to crush the crossbow and raised the left one to her chest level just in case he tried to catch her unguarded.

A tremor ran through the earth, much like the ripple on a still pond. The Prince of Darkness was stirring and all his creations woke to his call. Yet, it was not the Prince that caused the tremor, deep beneath the loam of the wide plains , unbeknownst to the simple farmers tending their field or the cattle in their pastures, a ancient creature spelt, awaiting the day when his master returned to give him purpose once again. No tomb housed him, for neither worm nor time could touch his hide. He had no sumptuous palace or grand hall, the earth was his domain.

The nomadic people of the plains had long told stories of great beasts that rivaled the mountains in their majesty and could reduce even stone to ash with their fiery breath. The camp of one hundred warriors has just settled down for the night, their tents pitched and their horses tethered. The sun had just begun to set over the mountains, bathing the plains in twilight. The men had heard tales from across the plains, a church burn mysteriously burnt to the ground, not a single survivor to explain why, women children all dead. There were many whispered rumours, the soothsayers of the tribe suffered from terrible dreams, omens of doom..but they rarely believed the old fools these days.

A old hunter wrapped his cloak about his bones, sitting in front of roaring fire. The winds could be cold at sunset, especially for his old bones. Around him were five younger hunters, all exchanging stories about their exploits, their feats of strength and cunning. The old man said nothing, he had no need to boast anymore, he had nothing to prove. He had been charged with taking this group of young hunters to the mountains to hunt, if they managed to survive the month of harsh weather then they would be called men of the tribe.

" My father killed a bear like that many years ago, but they are not as mighty as they once were.{/i] said one of the hunter, sharpening his hunting knife. Another hunter shook his head [i]" The wolves have left the mountains and the great cats hide in their caves. I fear that there are no creatures left in these plains that can give us sport." said he. The old man sighed and opened his mouth to speak.

Whatever he was about to say was drowned out by a deep rumbling, like thunder, the difference was that it came from beneath their feet. The hunters looked down, their eyes wide with fear. The scream of horses filled the air, they reared and tugged at their lines

" The horses !'

Two of the hunters jumped up to tend to the horses, but just as they stood the ground heaved up , throwing them forward into the loam. A deep roar filled the air as the hill rose up higher and higher, throwing the hunters down the ever growing slope. The rest of the hunting party leapt from their tents to see what the noise was about. The loam shifted again, a tremour running aloung the ground, knocking every man to his feet. The hill split, throwing huge chunks of loam amoungst the remaining tents and amoung the men, crushing them into the dirt.

Spikes and boney ridges split the loam asunder as the back of a terrible beast emerged from the earth. The men fell back as the beast emerged as reborn from the some giant earth borne egg. A growl resonated from inside the hill a second before a great head smashed through the earthen shell, followed by his huge, armoured body. The men fell back, brandishing their spears and lite torches. The creature loomed over the group of men, it's dead eyes flicking from one to another. It slowly opened it's toothy maw, each fang as large as a grown man. Vapor curled around each took as it made it's way out of the maw and into the sky. The creature's sunken chest shifted as the creature inhaled, a deep rolling growl echoing over the plains. The great sides of the beast shifted and expanded as it's lungs filled with air. It's dark, dead eyes flared with life as if a flame had lite behind them. They glowed, casting a evil red glow over the darkened plains. A red glow issued from inside the dragon's throat and nostrils as well as under the creatures ribs.

The dragon filled his lungs and then suddenly exhaled. The red glow turned from red to white in a instant as the dragon roared, louder then thunder. The flame that burned inside of him had been rekindled and the heast escaped his body with the fury of the earths core. The men did not have time to scream before their skin was seared and then turned to ashes, swept away by the hellish gail. The horses broke their tethers in panic, racing down the plains as the dragon straightened. Great drops of white hot salivia, hotter then molten steel fell to the ground, setting aflame then dry short grass. The red eyes of the beast swept over the plains, the few remaining hunters ran screaming over the plains. The dragon snorted in amusement, but he had better things to do then chasing bawling mice across the field. His master was abroad, he had to find him, he had waited so long and he had come at last.

He was known as Malus in the old speech, the greatest of the dragons and devout servant of the Prince of Darkness, who had formed his flesh. He was not like his other servants, he was not a spirit nor did he have command of vast dark powers, only the flame that burned inside his body, only the Prince could grant him such powers, powers that could shift the world. Before the prince, he might as well be a lowly ant, but he would offer his strength regardless, if he was shown favor, he would only be grateful.

Alexander pulled the trigger and the first arrow flew towards the Harpy, but the blasted abomination avoided it. Quickly pulling back the string, and loading up the next arrow, Alexander skipped taking aim and fired blindly the next arrow at the Harpy. He missed, again.
The Harpy was now far too close for him to even load up the arrow, so Alexander raised his crossbow up, using it as a shield against the first claw and then he reached out for the second claw that came. The wood of the crossbow was torn and the string was cut; Alexander's other arm, however had a slightly worse fate, the claws scratched his gauntlet and then dug through his chain mail and into his bicep.

"Urgh" was all that Alexander managed to say was he felt the claws burry into his flesh, but he was willing to sacrifice that, for he grabbed the Harpy's one leg and pulled it down with all his strength and weight, and with his free hand he gave the Harpy a gauntlet fist right into the left side of the monster's rips. Once, twice, tric-
He received a kick that send them tumbling backwards before he managed to deliver the third punch. Trees, dirt, leaves, and small branches all melted into one as Alexander rolled around and then regained his footing, dazed from the kick but still able to fight.

Alexander drew out his sword and took several steps back, creating room between himself and the Harpy, and then he got up his axe. He could feel his heartbeat shaking his bones, it was like a massive drum inside of him that was now pounding blood through his veins. He was sure he could see fog from his breath. The tinkling feeling of lines of blood flowing down his right arm, and the sweat that was already forming at his forehead. Alexander had a brief chuckle, it had been a while since he had faced monsters that were this strong. The humans around were yelling, running around like scared cattle, leaving their defender to fight the monster.

His mind raced as he thought about how he could take this monster on, but time wasn't on his side this time and soon enough, Alexander was throwing himself to the sides, avoiding further direct fights with the Harpy. He had the advantage that there were trees and branches around him in the forest, however it wasn't the biggest advantage against a Harpy. With his crossbow broken he would have a poor chance to get a real hit against the Harpy, unless...

Alexander quickly turned his attention to the man who had stood before the Harpy at first; the look wasn't much more than a brief second, making sure that he was there, before his attention was back at the harpy. It dived for another attack, Alexander side jumped the attack, crashing into a bush and the sound of dozens of branches was heard to be broken, a few lucky ticks managed to penetrate his skin and eagerly began to suck his strong blood. The Harpy came back and this time Alexander didn't jump away; he feinted the movement, but didn't jump and then he lashed out with his sword, the tip of his steel weapon managed to carve a long, but not very deep, wound down the right side of the Harpy.
Brothers stand together. Men shall fight the unfaithful, and we shall unite when the Great Evil rises once more, Alexander thought and then he jogged backwards, keeping his eyes fixed on the Harpy, lashing his sword and axe out after it when it attempted to do more attacks; if the actions didn't fend it off then it just twisted in mid air and gave Alexander more of those powerful kicks that it had.

"Shoot it!" Alexander roared over his shoulder to the man whom had stood before the Harpy. His voice was like thunder, at that very moment, deep, rumbling and full of demand.
Alexander shook his head, blood was now coming down in front of his left eye, it must have been from a cut from the branches when he had jumped aside to avoid an attack, but it didn't matter, Alexander could look to his wounds if he survived this.

God in heaven. holy be thy name, and thou will be done on Earth as it is in Heaven.

---

Ichor crept through the woods. Tracking down the group of goblins, hobgoblins and then their massive leader, whatever race it may be.
”You are getting closer!”
”No he isn’t. Look at his size, he can’t keep up with those creatures.”
”He’s making more progress than you, at least.”
”Thirteen minds, one body. Who is complaining?”
”Not me.”
”Not me.”
”Not me.”
”Not me.”
”Not me.”
”Not me.”
”Not me.”
”Not me.”
”Not me.”
”Not me.”
”Not me.”
”Not me.”
”Not me.”
”Not me.”

”Who was that?.”
”Who was who?”
”Who just spoke?”
”Are you starting to hear voices Ichor?”
”But I swear, for a moment, there was – It… Never mind.”

Ichor continued his journey through the forest. His bare feet walked over the floor of the forest, wherever his foot stepped everything that came into contact with his unholy flesh began to rot. The sole pure unholy energy that was within Ichor was impossible to hold back, even for himself.
Everything he touched the negative energies that he contained within himself; much like hot would go to cold, the negative energies within Ichor would try to get in contact with anything that was the least bit organic and alive.

Ichor used all of this energy that he had within himself to gain more energy; he would channel the negative energy into physical energy, allowing him to become faster and stronger than what his height and physical strength would originally allow him, and while he was undead this energy was almost constant for him.
Ichor sprinted through the woods, his small legs moved with inhumane speed and at times, he would leap over rocks or slide under tree logs; it wasn’t like he would care if his cultic robes would get more dirty than what they already were. Then, as he made it over another rock he could see a band of goblins, hobgoblins, and a massive creature that, to Ichor, resembled an ogre, but it didn’t fit the drawings and the descriptions of an ogre, so it had to be something else. Maybe it was a clever being.

Ichor could tell that they were in a hurry. Even an idiot, like Ichor, could tell that. Why else would they be in such a hurry?
Ichor smiled impishly, as he looked at the creatures, Yes…they will make a fine start with my plans…Finally, after having been thinking for almost a hole day now, I shall be able to start a plan that will bring this world to its knees. Now, I’ll need to get their attention first.

Ichor then stood up and screamed as loud as his hysterical voice allowed, getting the attention of all the hobgoblins and goblins, and then he waved, ”Hi!”.
Ichor believed that the first impression was always the most important, thus he wished to appear as non-sane as possible.
”Do you all qualify for being subjects to a mad leader who wants to take over the world, but is too lazy to do it all by himself, or herself? If so, then I am the perfect master that you can start to work for, plus…Working for Ichor & Co. will guarantee insurance for any physical, social and mental accidents that may happen while you are employed.”

Ichor smiled, literally, from ear to ear, and waited for a response from the group of monsters. He had to admit that the leader of the group was a really big bastard. Heavily armed and armored, he looked to have a helmet on, though it wasn’t exactly like a helmet but more like a metal plate that had been melted onto the beasts head. Fascinating.
”So…I’ll take this as a yes!” Ichor said happily, even though some of the hobgoblins were now drawing their weapons.

"You fool!" Aedan shouted, eyes widening as he heard the sound of a crossbow shooting a bolt through a creature's heart, being reloaded, and repeating the process again and again. In that split moment of distraction, he heard the the harpie's scream of rage and lost of control and he turned back, expecting a claw attack only for her to headbutt him and steal his bow. He grunted and looked up to see the harpie charge at the armored man that had killed her sisters. In truth, he almost felt sorry for the knight.

He pushed himself up and leaned against a tree, watching the battle between the armored man and the harpie commence. The harpie had already opened with a smart move despite her bloodrage as she crushed the man's crossbow. This was good for the harpie as projectiles were about the only efficient way at combating that race except for magic, which reacted in interesting ways with them.

He followed them silently as the battle commenced. He had to give the man credit. He wasn't giving up without a fight. That, he could respect, even if he disapproved of his killing the harpie's comrades in cold-blood, without a true battle. He also wielded his sword and axe proficiently, though the harpie hadn't yet sustained any major wounds. He raised an eyebrow at the man's words.

Did he not notice in the frenzy of battle that she was the one wielding his bow now. He could not shoot her even if he wished to at the moment. It was typical of a non-Wilder, he supposed. They paid more attention to themselves and their immediate opponent than their environment. Instead of making a move to help him, he leaned against the tree and spoke to him matter-of-factly, his face set in a serious expression.

"The harpie spilled innocent blood and you killed predators while they were disabled. The Balance will judge you now," he told him with a shrug, not caring if the men around him labeled his words as heretical or pagan. Events must unfold within the Balance. Even Yertreis, the God of Day, and Azazel, the God of Night, had to face the consequences of remaining in or straying from the Balance.

"Tell me something my precious Bella... Do you really believe that She is looking down at you? That She really concerns herself with a pathetic corporeal waste of existence like you? You are nothing more than an insect... a cancerous disease whose destiny is to rot on this hellhole you call a planet... and then die. She does not care. Even as you slither about to heed this feign call of the divine, you will be rewarded graciously as you smolder in the pits of Hell for eternity. There is no paradise... life is cruel. Why should the afterlife be any different?" Rising to his feet, he spat on the floor in disgust which was followed by another slanderous remark. “That is what I think of your god.” A thunderous ear-piercing crackle could be heard as his knuckles snapped into place, old bones aching; lips pursing, he gingerly hummed while he spun around, a pleased expression dawning over him. "I could really get used to a place like this... but it’s a little bit too pristine don’t you think? Could really use a decorator up in this bitch; bitch... speaking of Yertries..."

Trailing off, he placed his thumb across his chin and let his index finger settle over his jaw, tapping senselessly as he stared up at the ceiling. Finally, he broke the silence as he jumped up, arms waving around frantically. "I can’t believe I almost forgot! I have a surprise for you; and we don’t want it spoiling. Will you excuse me for just one moment? And make sure to close your eyes. No peaking!" Pausing, he shuffled around aimlessly for several seconds before promptly reappearing in front of her with a small box in his hands that seemed to materialize out of nowhere. "Everyone knows that the key to a woman’s heart is... well why not open it up and find out for yourself?" A crooked grin had begun to creep up onto his features, a sign that he was up to absolutely no good whatsoever.

As her shaky hands and worried eyes focused on opening the box, he took advantage of the distraction and arranged yet another surprise at her expense. When she opened the box, she would find only a still-beating heart and its harmonious beat that sent shivers up the spine. If you looked closely, you could tell that it was slowly swelling... just seconds from exploding. Instantly, blood gushed out before erupting, a stream of cool crimson painting the priestesses face. Her screams wouldn’t stop there as she would look up to find the face of... someone quite familiar. "I seemed to have misplaced the rest of my body. By any chance, have you seen it?" He spoke sarcastically, head tilted to the side tentatively. What her gaze would be fixed upon was the face of the bishop, mockingly worn like a mask. As ‘The Dream Child’ slid it off, he took one look at it and grimaced. "An ugly fuck wasn’t he?" He muttered, completely deprived of any humanlike emotion as he glanced back, eyes void of life – truly, he was heartless.

"You have a little something on your face..." Licking his thumb, he wiped at her cheek. "Actually, scratch that, it’s not that little. It’s really a big something that’s everywhere. You should really get that cleaned up. Mortals: Such an uncivilized, primitive race.” Starting to pace, he stopped just to drop to his knees, nails digging into the stone beneath his fingers. "Oh I’m such a loathsome creature... reduced to nothingness. How I miss my Serafili... I will make them pay my dear. They will regret my very being." It didn’t take a genius to deduct that he was going mad; as mad as a fucking hatter. He was living a fantasy, in a dream with little hope of ever waking.

Grinding his teeth together, he took his blade and slammed the tip of it into the ground which sent an ominous energy rippling in every direction. "And upon this rock I will build my church, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it." The walls grew distorted and turned to liquid, warping and tearing itself apart. The floor shattered, and flames burst through the cracks, turning the church into a nightmarish playground of his own design – his own personal Eden. He would soon cleanse the world of the filth that festered, bringing an end to the human condition. What more did he have to lose? His life was without meaning or purpose, so he was willing to risk it all by waging war on the gods. ‘The Dream Child’ would inflict his pain to the masses. Why should he be the only one to suffer? Azazel and Yertries would be destroyed, along with the rest of Gaia and its profound impudence.

There was no desire for power, only a resolution. It’s what every soul pleaded for; peace, a “means to an end.” He would deliver, and in essence find reconciliation. "Soon Serafili... I will find your arms once again around me. I'm coming home... but not before the odds are made even. I will right the wrong!" As the ceiling crumbled and stone began to rain from the sky, he lost himself in ghoulish laugher as he gave into his insanity. Stained glass shattering inward, time came to an abrupt halt, and the shards encircled the ‘The Dream Child’ and spiraled around him. Madness had reigned in over the church, and seemed almost endless, but all of a sudden it just stopped, and he was gone. Nothing short of a miracle...

"The more things change, the more they stay the same." He whispered as he stood behind her, a blade pressing up against her back – preparing for a killing stroke. Yet, something unexplainable happened, and the priestesses head cocked back to peer inside of him with eyes that mirrored the far reaches of the universe. It was as if the sun and the moon had collided along with every perpetual star in-between. In these eyes held untold mysteries and color that transcended beyond life and death.