The Damned's Story

The busy walkways of main street in Wing City provided some opportunities to go unnoticed in the crowd. A pickpocket might be able to get away with a hefty amount of cash or even something a bit more. This however was not the problem that began to arise like a wildfire set loose through a dry forest but a ragged and sick looking man with dark hair that seemed to be falling out while sickly patches of skin seemed to slide loose from his body making him appear like a bag about to rip open with the ripe smell of rotten flesh.

"Someone, anyone, please for the love of God help me!"

The sickly man shouted as he stumbled into the crowd and latched onto a woman who began to scream. The ragged fellow began to clutch at part of his face only to let loose a cry of pain as his own touch seemed to tare away the flesh revealing a black mesh that was hidden bellow and a scent of sickly death befalling him.

"Help me!"

He shouted at the woman again while another man quickly began to call for an ambulance only to turn in terror as he was tackled to the ground by another sickly fellow that quickly bit into his arm. The rabid man tore free a bit of flesh while another beast of a man rushed out form the alley. The man who had originally been seeking for help collapsed on the ground while the woman who he clung too was suddenly assaulted by yet another rabid individual. Screams of fleeing citizens could be heard for several blocks and those that became the target of one of the sickly looking men would be left in agonizing pain over the loss of some flesh our outright killed while the attackers moved on to the next victim in line.

Rain. The very sensation for some brought feelings of love and want and even some sorrow and even for some satisfaction. A couple sat upon a bench in the city talking about their feelings within the roar of the storm while others passed by with umbrellas open acting as their modern day shields from the sudden torrential downpour that the heavens above unleashed. What many did not know however was that the sky above did not weep for the land that deserved the soaking bellow but for the suffering creatures that moved through the city with screams of terror and pain.

"Help me!" A woman in her mid thirties shrieked as the very contact from her hands to her faced burned with pain. Her skin seemed to slid from its foundation. She fell to her knees as others gathered around to watch in both utter horror and curiosity at the poor woman who suffered so. "Help me! For the love of God!" She screamed once more while a man pulled out his cellular device and began to call for an ambulance. It was during her third cry for help that the man who made the call saw something from the corner of his eye only to gasp as a horde of mangled and bloody corpses began to shove through the alleyway behind the shrieking woman and the crowd.

"Everyone! Look out!" Someone called from the back as one of the infected humans launched itself from the horde and onto an unsuspecting elderly woman who was trying to aid the poor girl who had been yelling for help. A sickening thud followed as the elderly's neck snapped causing the horde to suddenly go into a rampage. The group of infected began to chase down each and every person who was present while leaving the still living woman who bared the signs of infection alive in her pain.

Screams of terror filled the street as people fell under the bulk of the infected host only to be left in pain that racked their bodies while some died in rather gruesome deaths. The couple who spoke sweet nothings to one another upon that bench died together and as the onslaught continued those who where wounded began to look around rather confused and full of terror.

Galvin had just been walking around after having woken up from a bad dream. So when he saw the Horde of zombies killing everyone, he felt that spark of a soldier rise up in him, plus he was defending himself from zombies.

He took out a handle, and pressed a button. It nano-up compacted itself and became an automatic assault plasma discharger. It was built so while the plasma damage was amped up, they on purposefully designed the barrel for increased width instead of range and focus. This resulted in a shotgun that shoots plasma in a wide angle in front of him.

However, he didn't just charge in. He took out another handle that nano-formed into a VY6 Pandirian a tactical Assault Rifle, holding it in one hand as if it weighed nothing. He then fired with precision shots, as if he had special training, while using his shotgun on any hired of zombie that got close.

And for some additional damage, he was launching telekinetic attacks at them. Hopefully this would help, as he remembered to keep some distance between him and the horde.

The infected began to spread out in all directions taking chunks out of victims and even killing others while leaving their own filth upon the unsoiled sods that seemed to just be in the way. One of the a small group of five seemed to rush towards Galvin Moriarty in a blood fueled rage. Infected beasts as they had now become the poor souls who could once be called human foamed at the mouth and groaned out their rage only to meet a unbridled assault from the unstoppable gunman. The deformed infected fell back in their deaths only to hit the pavement hard only to twitch every now and then.

"Someone, please someone help my daughter, anyone I beg you?!" A shrill voice called out in the chaos as more infected poured out of the side alley to find new people to bring down with them. "My daughter! My daughter needs help, please anyone, help my baby!" The voice now found a body for those who where searching to help those who where able to stand and move out from this disaster. She was a heavy set woman who was holding a small girl that seemed to be bleeding profusely from a wound to her shoulder. "Someone help us.." She muttered while in tears due to their situation. The large woman began to fall to her knees only to pass out with her child still in her arms while the infected began to tare into her like a roast freshly pulled from the oven.

Another shrill cry for help filled the air and even an explosion not to far down the street began to add to the chaos as smoke and fire filled the streets while the infected began to run around. It was however at the center of it all, the original woman who had pleaded for help from the countless others, that the real chaos began to rupture forth. The first infected woman to ask for help remained upon her knees now only to wail like a banshee as she began to hear the chattering of an unknown force at the backdoor of her mind forcing its unclean will into her being.

"They are hear!" The woman began to tremble and rip at her own dislocated flesh removing it and revealing black blotches underneath. This virus that plagued the woman would destroy her before she could even die in peace and it showed as the sickness oozed out from her newly created wounds. "They want more bodies. More, of us are needed, more of us are required, they want more!" The woman began to groan as her mind began to fade away into nothing as the forces that plagued her began to concentrate on her from their shadowy hiding spots.

For those that thought that the city was a safe place from the chaos of the world around them then they found themselves to be suddenly wrong in all manner of thoughts and opinion. A sudden bout of thunder and rain befell the play that was before the gods and the cries of citizens from all sides could suddenly be heard over any uproar that was present. The Damned walked Terra now and the source was from an old abandoned base long forgotten by the war between Terra and Aschen forces, The Council would have its final bitter laugh as one of its biological agents worked its wonders on the infected citizens who forced their way towards the living in this area like a mass of starving souls in search of warmth and food.

The infected did not run or walk alone as those who lived but found themselves tainted with their attackers blood began to rip at their flesh and scream and wail as their pain wracked their souls to the core of their being. "Help me!" One man shouted as he fell to his knees while his infected brother stumbled pass him only to gaze hungrily at the officers before him. "Help me for the love of God, please, help me!" The man shouted again as his twin rushed the cops in an attempt to bite or scratch them and generally do harm while the other infected ones rushed in for their own kills. It was not long before more of them showed up to gaze upon two who seemed to have cover from the police.

"Dear Lord. It hurts!" A woman shouted somewhere in the back as she tore at her loose skin revealing a dark oozing wound underneath her dislocated flesh. The dead and the partially living could not claim to be alone for another force was at work here as they forced their ways into the minds of the infected who could still draw breath allowing their thoughts to shift and change to their own. One man began to twitch and convulse in pain as he began to loose his mind and free will to the beings who invaded his thoughts and once it was done he began to chatter and twitch just as they deemed it.

"The Masters. Do you hear them! They call for our flesh and for the untainted beings that need to be converted....I can hear them scratching at the backdoor." One man began to rave as he rushed a woman on the street who was fleeing from the infected just to rip into her side with his teeth and screamed right alongside her pained yowl as he severed the flesh from her body. "Spread it like fire."

A the sounds outside Miray's mind went to one person, well, sort of. Snow. A fact glance towards James and she had all the knowledge she needed, Snow was somewhere, asleep, and possibly in danger. At the sounds and screaming voices. The only thing the Pretahuman could do was simple. It was the only thing on her mind.

Protect Snow.

Without a word she disappeared as fire wafted up her body. As soon as the fire was gone, so was she, two floors down in a janitor closet. "Snow!" Miray said softly, her hand went to the dogs snout, feeling the steady breathing against her fingers, Miray breathed a sigh of relief.

But it lasted only a minute, or less. Two creatures, both of them howling something of pain and progression and spreading the hurt shambled into view. Well damn it all. Without a word, Miray activated one of her dimenesional pockets and whiped out her ringsword. Snapping out her wrist with the weapon she struck twice, both shambling damned creatures exploded upon contact with her blade in greenish goo.

And it stank too.

With both demons down she put her sword away and picked up Snow, glancing both ways to the left and right, she once more Fire Advanced out of the hall, reappearing in the bedroom that James had given her. The bed was high enough, and provided enough cover, for the moment, to protect Snow.

That was her only thought at that exact moment when all hell broke loose: Protect Snow.

James seemed to chuckle at Hale's taunt, shifting his weight to one leg and crossing his arms. "You'll need a lot more than just a muzzle to contain me, boy." he growled. "You'll need an entire squad dedicated to containing a highly trained, and highly pissed off werewolf that is simply itching to kill you. Not an intimidated female who looks like she's about to start shaking in her boots." His head turned quickly as he heard the screams, and he blinked. He was about to turn and run to Snow, but he noticed Miray was already doing just that.

James then looked at Hale, and then at Saiga. "If you shoot me, you become a target. And trust me, you don't want to be one." he growled.

The thunder in the sky suddenly grew louder, and the entire building shook as if an angry child were playing with it. The shadows on the walls, ceilings, and floors all seemed to quiver before they started to bubble like an ooze, falling from their normal places on the building and forming pools of pure Shadow on the ground. From these pools, long, grotesque tendrils extended, grabbing at zombie-creatures and humans alike.

"Who dares call down a Storm?" a dark, hungry, and absolutely vicious voice growled through the shadows. The tendrils grew more violent in their hunt, grabbing anything alive at this point and pulling whatever they grabbed into a pool of shadows, where demons awaited to consume anything pulled in.

James blinked and he looked at the tendrils as they appeared, grabbing all the zombie-like creatures around him and pulling them towards the shadows. "What the fuck?" Needless to say, the werewolf was probably just as confused as the cops. Without another word, he bolted for his door, opening it and slamming it shut, locking all of its locks. He then went to his windows and slammed them shut as well, locking them.

He sniffed the air and smelt Snow and Miray in the room he'd provided for Miray. He opened that door after knocking on it twice. "Miray." he said, opening the door. "Are you okay?" was one of the first things out of his mouth, along with "How's Snow?" It would seem that the big bad wolf had a bit of a softer side for those he deemed worthy of friendship.

"Yeah yeah spare me the shit talk." Hale fired back, finger curled loosely around the trigger of his pistol. "That's what they all say before they're brought do--" The officer's retort was cut short by the sound of screams in the distance. When he glanced around the area to try and locate the source, he found nothing other than the pools of darkness that started to manifest throughout the hallway. When one of the tendrils reached out to grab him, he quickly smacked it away with the butt of his gun.

And then the wolf boy bolted.

Although Hale was speedy in his pursuit, the head start he had on him assured that he'd get away unscathed. "Get back here!" He shouted as he banged on the door with a closed fist. He tried to force the door open, but eventually gave up when his efforts yielded no fruit. Hale's frustration was only bolstered when he turned around to see that Miray had managed to escape as well.

"That's just great."

The Luxlands would prove to be the ultimate testing grounds for the two bio weapons to be let loose upon the populace bellow. The random cities and villages would find themselves being bombarded with tubes that shattered on impact sending a foul miasma out and about the poor sods who had no idea as to what was happening.

The Azario Virus, in its evolved weaponized form, would prove to be incredibly dangerous, the the longer it is out in the open, the harder it is to contain. With its new ingredient, the Azario Virus had gone from horrible to criminally insane to release.

For awhile, the infected would seem normal. Perfectly fine. The virus would pass by undetected, unnoticed, and infected everyone that the infected touched, shared fluids with, or breathed near. Then, the symptoms would emerge. It would be rare for any two people in the village to recieve the same set of symptoms. But they would spread it all the same. Even through the other virus and its victims.

The travelers passing by, headed towards the big cities. They would spread it there as well.

What the Azario virus did not accomplish The Damnation did so with swift justice as those who slowly began to show signs grew angry and psychotic in nature. Mutation began to move much quicker with the compliment of the Azario payload and for those unlucky enough to go through the transformations the pain would be almost unbearable in nature.

The two bioweapons would ravage the lands and create wonderful new mutations if left undisturbed.

While Azario was not swift at first, it traveled farther and with less detection, so it gained more coverage and more victims overtime. The madness that it induced would help spread The Damnation as well, as the people would be unable to reason that spreading the virus is wrong, or reporting it to the authorities and getting help was good.

SO needless to say, the population was getting more and more screwed by the second.

The undead horde stood their ground as more of them began to spew out from the buildings upon the walls of the long abandoned citadel. The necromancer who brought these creatures to life worked hard on his art as the creatures began to howl and shout in unison as something hidden in the shadows of the old fortification made itself known with its own deafening call. The old dragon's fort began to shimmer with its own natural magic as the winds around the sandy mesa began to pick up slightly tossing a bit of sand up in the process.

It was however deep within the old citadel that a large dark crystal remained with a large hatted wizard who seemed to write a thousand different spells while remaining in a trance while a rather shadowy figure watched from the background only to turn her gaze towards a mirror.

Mafsha burst into a sprint and unleashed a deafening leonid roar to match the feral cacophony of the undead. He flipped his blades into a reverse grip, dove into a four-point crouch, and leaped several meters into the air. The Aryite sailed over the undead masses like a ball of righteous fire that burned with divine fury. Finally, Mafsha landed in the center of the raving throngs. Half-rotten corpses crunched beneath his boots as the ground around the Zealot ignited with tongues of golden flames.

When the flames calmed, a dozen piles of ash lay at Mafsha's feet. The Aryite pivoted on his heel, tossing the skewered remains of two undead from his runeblades, before vivisecting several that still stood in the consecrating fire with two firm slashes. A terrifying roar bellowed from his open maw that would cause even the fearless damned to quake in despair. His eyes, shining like two stars from behind his visor, burned with the same holy energy that sanctified the abominations before him.

-----

Very few souls knew the true nature of the arcane.

First were the naysayers. They were the ignorant and prideful that looked at Creation through a lens of rigidness. When confronted with the metaphysical, they rationalized it with scientific half-truths and dismissed it as superstition.

There were those who believed power came from oneself. This was only partially true. While magic flowed through everything at some level or another, it did not originate in any plane known to the majority of sapient beings.

The Aryites were not part of the majority.

Archmage Sheodin Thundermane sat cross-legged in the center of a dark room. Five braziers illuminated the chamber with an eerie orange glow. They were spaced evenly around Sheodin with deep sigils etched between them forming a pentagram. Countless other runes covered the stone floor. Sheodin sat in middle with his paw-hands resting loosely on his knees. His face was shrouded beneath a dark azure hood.

Sharp scented incense burned in strategic locations throughout the chamber. The Archmage's chest rose and fell in a slow rhythm. A revered silence held the room in an adamantium grip. One could almost hear the echo of Sheodin's heartbeat. However, the silence went unnoticed by him. Indeed, the room, and even Khroniktus, was far from both mind and soul.

"What do we have here..."

Sheodin's ethereal form drifted through the Gaian desert sky. His keen senses kept a stalwart observation of the meetings between the natives and the Khroniktans, but a stirring of the ley lines drew his attention far off into the desert. Colonel Sandrunner's spark burned like a bonfire to Sheodin's magic sight, but a deeper - darker - well of power marred the landscape like an infected boil.

The Archmage passed between the planes with a flex of will. Physical senses would have been burned away by the rampant energies, information, and raw Truth that assaulted Sheodin, but he did not look and listen with simple eyes and ears. To Sheodin's magical sight, the astral plane was like a constantly evolving painting - an ever-shifting maelstrom. Arcane energies flowed like gales in a sandstorm breaking off of massive tributaries that in turn split from titanic rivers. A novice wizard would see only chaos, but Sheodin saw the pure cosmic energy that lurked beneath the physical and mundane. Wind, earth, fire, life, and death... Everything was simply the same energy expressed in a different form.

Sheodin passed through several dozen meters of the energy. The gales flowed around him like he was an immovable stone erected in the river's rapids. He noted the rigid structure that the energy had been woven. Stone and earth. The anomaly was underground. When he approached the nucleus of the disturbance, his face grimaced in disgust.

Darkness seeped into the fabric of Existence. Sheodin scanned the vicinity and saw the silhouettes of two figures. One was clearer and sharper than the other and stood closer to the epicenter of the darkness. The arcane energies condensed into magical threads that span into intricate spell matrices. Sheodin scratched his chin in thought as he examined the threads.

"What are you up to..." he thought to himself as he attempted to delicately pull apart and dissect the threads.

As Mafsha leaped into the fray, Pakhavu released his own feral roar, his echoing across the landscape similarly to how Mafsha's did, only less terrifying to the Unholy. It was unknown if the young Aryite held a Spark of Leolik such as Mafsha, but he did have power.

Great power.

Raising his staff he broke into a sprint, his Golem already slamming into the wall of unholy beasts before him. Lightning made of Arcane energy pulsed from his Staff, vaporizing all undead in its path. With a large flash of energy from the crystal atop his Staff, more Golems appeared, at least five more, all smaller than the first, but no less skilled in battle and ferocity against the hordes of creatures against which they fought.

With a grunt the young Aryite mage hopped onto the nearest shoulder of the nearest Golem, smiling as he watched all six decimate the hoard of undead around them. Occasionally he helped, sending pulses of lightning to keep them from getting too swarmed. Luckily for Pakhavu, he didn't have to concentrate too hard for these Golems; they were all self-sustaining. All he had to do was tell them to destroy the unholy, and they obeyed. Of course there was the issue of keeping the Largest Golem under control while also telling it what to do. Now that took concentration; concentration that would be lost in physical combat.

With another roar of might Pakhavu lifted his staff, lightning raining down upon the hoards below, keeping his Golems mostly safe from them. He then grunted with effort, raising his staff to the heavens again, another Golem dropping down by Qenna to assist her. Gurgling erupted from it as it began to attack the Unholy around it, flinging them left and right and crushing them without mercy nor struggle.

With a glance he saw Mafsa, and while he did not summon another Golem, he did send two over towards him to help him. Seven Golems littered the field, one by Qenna, two heading towards Mafsha to assist, leaving four to work together with Pakhavu, moving towards their target steadily.

The Suzerain gazed out to the north of his Sapphire Citadel. There was a heavy pull on the fabric of the arcane coming from there. Heavy magic was in the air, and being that it seemed to be within a concerning distance from his own holdings, and also since a majority of his army was away in Skyfall, it would be prudent to find out what roiled in the north.

The dragon king had his attendant fiends prepare a pool of water within his quarters, and large piles of herbs were brought to be burned. Tyretlethen focused the power within his dragon blood, and projected himself.

The Astral plane was stormy and dark. Forcing his spirit through the miasmatic squalls that blew down from the north was no easy task, but the Suzerain of the East was no mere spellcaster. Eventually, he came upon the site of a walled city under siege, strange lion men and other assorted vagrants laid into a horde of undead thralls with great vigor and speed. But there was more to it than that...something deep. There was a darkness beneath that city that even his great mind could not pierce.

Taking a deep breath, he pulled his draconic spirit back into himself and severed the scrying. Perhaps he would have to postpone his crusade on Skyfall...they were crippled and plague-ridden anyway. This was a legitimate threat. There was thinking to be done.






...there was one mind, however, that did linger in that city to the north. One that indeed could pierce that dark veil beneath the sands. The Crawling Chaos gazed upon those dread beings within, and cooed with excitement. Yes...perhaps here, on this planet wracked by strife, he would be able to perpetuate the current verse.

Nyarlathotep made himself known to this sorceress and this entity, Shabot-Urn, in the form of not but a tensing of the air within their dark lair. A thought, implicit in its presence, would ring out.

Harbingers. You will have my succor.

The old fortification did indeed have a bit of magic hidden too it that neither of the cats or their toys seemed to take notice of. The undead fighting the holy warrior along with those being crushed by the golems began to pull back to the wall as a sandstorm began to form around the long forgotten treasure trove. It would most likely be that the massive sand storm would hit the adventures in a matter of seconds and the high winds and particles of sand would cut like glass against any open flesh if not blinding them.

Deep within the walls the large hatted wizard who was writing within the book under the massive dark crystal began to groan as every ounce of his very being was being drained through the grimoire he was writing in. The shadowing figure in the back smiled seductively as she glanced up at the crystal that floated above only to feel the prying eyes that befell this place.

The astral plane began to shift and turn as the old fortification appeared to be distorted by a bright illumination of infinite colors. The Shadow Lord returned his dark gaze onto those who peered at his resting place only smile as he began to feel more alive than he once once. This lord of both Dusk and Dawn once again was brought back to the world and it was all thanks to a Wizard seeking more power and an immortal guardian who once claimed her loyalty to the first tree.

A cold tingle drifted down Sheodin's spectral back as he examined the strange wizard's spellweaving. It was the sort of chill that he had not felt since the Twilight Armageddon War. He could feel the presence of the cosmic power sending ripples across the aether.

"Ladacio atu'ash kovac." he spoke in the language of the Arcane as he returned his attention to the spellwork. His voice radiated with authority across the astral plane. "Lyateor atzsum."

"I know you are here. Reveal yourself."

The Archmage poked and prodded the wizard's spell. It was obvious to him that the magic was constructed with nefarious purpose. After another moment of studying, he picked a single thread and attempted to pull it in such a way that the entire spell would unravel and drain its energy into another plane.

---

Mafsha decapitated another undead. Blood and gore sizzled against his armor even as the righteous zeal burned in his eyes. Suddenly, the holy fire burning in his soul flickered erratically.

"Pakhavu!" he cried as he dropped to a three-point stance. "Shield!"

A second later, Mafsha's battle suit was bombarded by a fierce gale of sand. The particles of rock and dust battered against his armor like hail, but it remained steadfast like a mountain in a breeze. When he was sure of his footing, Mafsha slowly rose to his feet and resumed his purposeful stride towards the retreating throngs of undead.

Pakhavu could feel something happening within the Arcane itself, his ears twitching as if trying to discern what was happening. But alas, he found himself unable to do so whilst focusing his energy on maintaining control over seven Golems at one time while in the heat of a battle.

"Pakhavu! Shield!"

He didn't have to be told twice as he saw the sandstorm kicking up. With a mighty roar the young Aryite slammed the end of his staff into the sand, giving it a twist as a shield of Arcane expanded from the crystal atop of the staff just in time to push the sand away from Pakhavu's body.

The sand battered away at his shield, and his Golems stood-fast against the maelstrom, still advancing with the purpose of destroying the undead hoards and aiding their allies. Opening his closed eyes, Pakhavu let out a low growl as he began to walk forward, removing his staff from the ground and lifting it high above him as he walked behind his Golems, who in turn smashed any undead unfortunate enough to get close to them.

The two he had sent towards Mafsha grumbled as they reached him, following steadily beside him with no look of struggle against the maelstrom of sand.

"Of all the times to look back at my studies and wish for Elemental and Weather Magics, now is the time....." Pakhavu grumbled to himself. He had made his choice as a child, and at this point, it would be more difficult for him to harness the powers of both sides of magic that the Aryites are capable of wielding.

Deep below the sand, the young Dragonborne dug through the sand, still sniffing for the magical energies left over underneath the sand 'We are getting close' She said to herself as her detection spell found the source of the problem. She stopped as she moved around and expanded a large force shield around herself and the object. Before her was a rather large stone with a glyph which pulsated with life "So there was a defense system here...curious. This must have been buried here so many years ago...fascinating" She said and removed a small sketch pad and a piece of charcoal and began to draw the inscription on the rock.

Once done, she set the items away and raised up her clawed hand and began to channel a powerful counter spell to the rune, taking down the power of the system and broke the circuit. Runes such as these worked in tandem with one another and if one went down, the entire system would stop 'We should be heading back. They still need us' Heimdall said and she nodded, removing the force shield and began her dig back up to the surface.