Rain slides the communicator away, grumbling as he puts the ruined welder onto his desk. It would have to be scrapped. Completely rehoused, if there were still any working components in it. He went to the engine room, pulling one of the batteries from the generator, and replacing it with an empty one, carrying the battery back. He hooked up a second welder to the battery and continued his work.

It'd been years since he needed to do that. He had managed to power smaller, hand held tools without a battery since he was 16. He wondered why he was having surges now. He knew his magic, his electricity was based on his emotions. If he got angry, he sparked and had a constant charge going through his body, but he wasn't angry, or stressed. Right now he just felt… nothing?

Maybe he should examine that more. Instead he continues welding the vent he had noticed damage in. The damn pigeon-rats had chewed through another section of wiring, and he had to burn out part of the vents to get to it. He shouldn't be doing this. His arms ached, and his back screamed for relief.

He wondered where Octavia was. She was visiting Chortos but that was hours ago, surely he would be asleep by now? He pushed the thought away. She’s fine. It's not his place to worry anymore, anyway. They had both made their decisions.

A few sparks crackled off his hair.

Rain looked at the patch job he did, examining the edges where the damage ended, and sighed with satisfaction at the inability to tell where the damage had occurred. No one would see this, except maybe 3-V, but that didn't mean he wanted to do shoddy work. He stepped down, letting his muscles relax.

He picks up his communicator and flips to Octavia’s contact. His fingers hover over the buttons to message her… before he puts it down with a sigh. It's not his place. He had made his decision. Now he lives with it. She was fine.

He hoped.

Part of him wished he didn't care, wished he could accept that Octavia was somewhere. Or wished he could lie to himself better. Convince himself she was out partying, or having fun with friends. Wished he hadn't noticed her exhaustion. He pushes those thoughts from his mind as well.

A few more sparks.

For the hundredth time that day, he told himself, again. It wasn't his place. He'd made his choice, and she'd made hers. They were friends, and barely at that point. Then he shoved the thoughts away, and began planning tomorrow.

More sparks.

Tomorrow was Leta’s funeral. Tomorrow he needed to be on his best behavior. Koda needed support, and Rain didn't know if he trusted anyone else who would be there to give it. He'd have to push more of his anger down.

This was his place, now. Because of the decisions he'd made.

A single spark fell, as the dull, empty feeling washed over him again.

Tomorrow was a new day.

He hoped it would bring new problems, not more of the same, but he doubted it.

It had been an odd day for Octavia. She had gone to visit her brother... She thinks. She remembered listening to him at the table. That was probably real, she remembered the feeling of the pencils in her hand and she doodles with him.

But she also remembered feeling like there were ants inside of her hands, so it was hard to tell.

She closed her eye for just a moment, and it was so dark when she woke up. How long had she managed to sleep? No one came rushing to help, so she must not have woken up screaming this time. She was so tired. The nightmares wouldn't let her sleep.

She dropped off Chortos' plushie in his room. He had been sleeping, fitfully, but he calmed down once she had carefully tucked the plush under his arm. She was jealous. And she knew it was irrational. She wanted to rest like that. To feel safe. She was so tired.

It took her a while to get down the stairs. Her balance was off, but the way the stairs swam and bent didn't help. She stopped into the kitchen for a snack on her way out. She saw Froggy in the cupboard when she opened it for snacks, but she'd been seeing a lot of things that weren't there lately, so she ignored her.

She needed to get back to the Silverwing.

Rain was...

There.

Not really waiting for her. No one was waiting for her. She had all the time in the world to...

Do something.

FRG-NUL-47, who may or may not have actually been there, was staring at her. She must have fallen asleep for a few seconds. Again. She smiled at the vision and closed the door. She had spent enough time intruding upon Lethaltooth and Silentsign's hospitality. She was mad no one had woken her up. She had work to go to. She needed to keep busy. She was so tired.

She had no more tears to cry about it, she had already cried the last time she woke up from a nightmare and it took a while for her to stop. Piloting training was on pause after she (allegedly) fell asleep at the wheel. Rain was still upset about that one. She could see his shadow hovering outside of her door sometimes when she was failing to sleep. Her bed felt so cold and empty and even after everything, unsafe. She may be co-owner, but what use was it if she couldn't get though a conversation without falling asleep for a few seconds at any slight lull in conversation? She was so tired. She was so tired. She was so—

On Innistrad. Not the ship.

This was not where she had meant to planeswalk.

Did she fall asleep while planeswalking...? The burned out wreckage of her mentor's home was right where she had left it and so were the grave markers and the grass had begun to regrow over the churned ritual circle from when she had trained with her friends and the leylines hummed deep in the earth in a way she always found comforting.

She needed to be closer. Laying in the churned earth as she had come to be was not enough. The basement. There was a basement. That's when she kept the last of her mentor's things. It had survived the fire, and the angel, and the things and the monsters.

Sanctuary.

She was so tired.

Maybe.. maybe it would be a place to rest. Quiet as the grave, like they always say! And she needed to get inside. The shadows outside of the clearing were beginning to roil and writhe in a way that could be very real on Innistrad and not just her fried brain or eye failing her and She was so tired.

The stone of the cellar floor hummed with power, enough she could feel in crawling across her skin. Or maybe that was the ants again. She floor was nice and cold, even if it was hard. She dragged whatever cloth or coverings she could find, creating a nest. But she left enough space that her hand could touch the ground. The leylines still pulsed soothingly and she wanted to feel them. The cellar door was firmly bolted, and she was finally alone. She had started crying. Probably when the tiles of the floor began to wave and swirl. She was thankful for the snack that FRG had given her. At least, she's pretty sure that's what happened. It was hard to tell when She was so tired. She was so tired. She was so tired she was so tired so tired so tired so

COLD! She woke up shivering. But not screaming. And the walls weren't melting this time. There was daylight streaming through the cracks of the cellar doors. The leylines still hummed soothingly below the stone below her freezing hand. She would need to get back to the Silverwing soon, if she hadn't returned last night. Rain... Might be worried. But probably not. He could wait for a few more minutes anyways.

Octavia took a few minutes to enjoy it, the quiet. The feeling of having rested.

Even if it was only likely for a couple hours.

And she was still kind of tired.

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She was in the closet again. 

She found herself there many nights, closing her eyes and waking up in the cold, dark closet, alone with her face pressed against the rotting wall paper skin of Duskmourn. Sometimes she was alone, sometimes she wasn't. Tonight, Telete was there. The phantom of her mother's smiling, serene face leered at her, knife still through her throat and blood still on her mouth.

Octavia hated how happy she looked. 

Like she didn't have a care in the world. 

Like she had truly gotten everything she wanted. 

Like it didn't matter that some part of Octavia was happy she was dead. 

Like Octavia wouldn't wake up from this dream and wash her hands raw for the hundredth time, hoping to stop feeling the hilt of the knife and the warmth of the blood.

"You were so eager to take a life! You broke the tip of my knife off in my altar. I'm so proud of you, Octavia." Telete's mouth moved out of sync, fuzzy as her brain tried to string together enough memories to even guess what Telete would look like saying those words. But she still looked as happy as she had when she had died. The smile she wore when she was playing nice and being subtle in her cruelty. 

"You wedged the tip into the stone. You know, when you stabbed me." The wallpaper against her face felt wet.

 "No one actually believes it was an accident. They all know how much you claimed to hate me." It was blood again. She could feel it running down the wall, mixing with the coating of oil on the floor.

"And now you've proved it to them! And you've proved to me how much you love me. You brought me home, to Nyx, to find our god." It was already beginning to slowly fill the doorless room. She didn't bother trying to stand. She remained seated as it began to rise past her hips.

"He's not gone. And neither am I."

Octavia knew that was truth. Telete would never be gone. Was it grief, that kept her here? Or anger? Was it a bitterness that her own cruelty hadn't been enough to hurt her mother in her last moments? 

Bitterness that Telete had died happy, after failing to kill two of her children and being sacrificed on her own altar?

Was it the look on Nona's face from the shadowed edge of the clearing as she was pulled away by Vasro? The horror and haunting grief and regret on her younger sister's face, which she had hoped mirrored her own? (It didn't. She knew it didn't. She hadn't felt much of anything for a while afterwards, and her face reflected it.)

As the blood reached her neck, she wondered idly who would be there to not pull her out this time. Rain, looking down in disgust as she drowned in a crimson tide? Biilzie, grinning, watching her flounder in the disaster she had created?

... It was Chortos again. The heart broken and haunted look on his face as he watched her drown again in their mother's blood. He turned away before she slipped under every time, lead away by someone she couldn't see. It always hurt the most when she woke up choking after that.

She scrubbed her hands raw with cold water in the bathroom. They stung, at first, before they went numb from the temperature. She didn't bother looking in the mirror as she pulled out her concealer, an ancient bottle she still used from Lake at Strixhaven. It would cover up the bags under her eyes. 

It was only noticeable when you got close. No one would notice.

The buzz through his body is what alerted him that something had changed. The feeling going up through his spine, a rush like he had felt only while using the Omen-Generator. He staggered over to his mirror, the cracked glass revealed him. A misshapen, hunched thing. The Generator sticking out of his back, tendrils of nectotized flesh going towards his eyes. His bright purple eyes. He staggered away, as if he has been struck.

Stop resisting, Rain. What do you fight for? It's all gone.

He shook his head. It wasn't, he knew it wasn't. Octavia had won, she had beaten this thing. He opened his door, maybe if he could find her this would be over.

He opened his door to see smoldering remains. It was obvious who it was, between the horns and the non-human legs. And the one eye.

You did this. You killed her, just like you've killed everyone who's loved you. Just give up.

No. No this couldn't be right. He hadnt hurt Octavia that bad, he knew he hadn't. He couldn't have.

"Another one, darling?" He could hear the cruel mockery of life in the voice before he turned. The metal imitation of life. As he turned, he felt her claws sink into his skin.

"You've really developed a knack for killing us. And you think the demon is bad, for killing people he doesn't know? What does that make you?" He tried to open his mouth, to say something, to make some retort, as he did she kissed him, and he could feel her tongue, or whatever this thing had instead of one, lodge down his throat. He struggled, he fought, but he couldn't pull away from the metal grip this thing had.

"You always struggle right till the end. Like a worm on a hook."

Rain snapped awake with a scream, immediately taking a gasping breath. He ran over to the mirror, still shattered. He turned to the polished metal of the walls, then, to see a reflection.

It was him. Despite it all. Despite the flecks of purple that didn't seem to fade from his eyes.

With a burst of smoke and sparks, I arrive on a familiar island. Small, scrubby, notable only for the state of its sands. The beach has been kicked up and melted to slag, walls of glass forming into shapes bizarrely reminiscent of some areas of the Prismari campus.

“Hi, Leta.”

My eyes are closed. My wings are folded close to my body.

“I did what you said.”

One of my hands moves to hold the dragon-claw necklace she left me, hanging heavy around my neck.

“Well. I did what you said not to do. Used you as an excuse to go on a bender. This time, I dragged Octavia down with me. You said you’d kill me. You haven’t even shown up, but I think Rain wants to, now. Octavia, too. I… fucked her up.”

I sit heavily, my hands shaking just a tiny bit.

“I’ve had friends die before. Plenty of times. Martha, Big Iron. Everyone in the Kamigawan pits died for me, even the ones I liked. Hells, I killed Mel myself! Your death shouldn’t… it shouldn’t hurt,” I lie, my head catching fire.

I sigh, squeezing myself, the flames dying down.

“Vasro won’t accept you’re dead. Neither will Roxie. But… I know a bit about souls. I know that if you made it, you would’ve fucking told one of us by now. And since you didn’t, and you almost certainly died here, or one of us would’ve found you by now, you’re still here. Or, you should be. I think. Everything’s… more complicated now.”

I let out a groan, flopping onto my back, wings spread.

“And mostly worse. But, you don’t need to worry about that anymore. Don’t need to worry about anything. Lucky bitch.”

I sigh, I clear my throat, and I stand again, dropping a handful of coins to the sand. About enough to buy a coffee.

“He says ‘ow,’ by the way. That’s… that’s the end of the joke. Feels pretty underwhelming now, doesn’t it?” I let out a strangled laugh, tears of glowing black mana hitting the sand. “Ow. Ow. FUCK!” I slam my fist into one of the raised sheets of blasted glass, then hit again until it shatters, streaked with black blood. I’m shaking.

By the time I leave, nothing of the island remains above the water.

A warning to all ravnicans, but especially those who spend time in the undercity or the sewers and storm drains

There is a group of people smuggling in weapons and other supplies from Omenpaths. We know at least some of them are guild members, and they stash their supplies in various dead drops. Be careful if you see any surface guild member (such as an Azorius or Boros) doing things alone in the undercity. These people will jump to lethal force immediately to try to keep their ring out of sight.

I would appreciate any information you all get, as my injuries are preventing me from doing a lot of ground work here.

Good news I have found a solution as a member of Golgori!

…I put Massacre Worms in the tunnels

The Condemnation of Theodors Ayere

The condemnation of a cardinal was one of the rarest events in the history of the Church of Dusk. It was something that had only occurred six times prior.

One being accused of one of the crimes considered a high heresy was even rarer. It had only occurred once when the then-clergy Tarrian had been exposed for his heretical writings venerating a dark god. That trial had been hidden behind many locked doors, kept away from the rest of the burgeoning Church of Dusk to try and prevent a potential schism.

This trial, however, would be made a little more public.

The lowest clergy allowed to attend were the bishops, all of whom had been called back to Alta Torrezon with all haste. A few hundred made their appearance; many were still afield, and had to write apologies for their absence as the needs of their flocks were too great. By all estimates, however, the majority were here, and that was all that would be required.

Every single cardinal was summoned and present. No excuses. Not in a matter such as this. They had been arranged in more special seating to the left and to the right of the hall this was taking place within.

The Legion had also been largely barred from being allowed to bear witness to the trial. While many stood guard outside the cathedral this was taking place inside, none were present. Not even the High Marshals. This was a clerical matter, and within the clergy it would remain.

Light Of Mourning

Koda Hayashi sat on the wall of Alta Torrezon.

It was a relatively clean part. He had spent several days working on it alongside the Torrezones themselves. And tending to the injured. And doing what he could for the dead, even though he wasn’t trained in their last rites; moving bodies didn’t require priest status.

But right now, he was taking a moment to himself and feeling the early-dawn sun on his skin. In his left hand was a letter addressed to Boss Koda Hayashi. In his right hand was a Sultai pendant.

He kept reading the letter. It had been several days since he received it, since Biilziebub delivered it to him. Since he first came to accept that Leta was dead. All they had found was her sword and her right arm. She had to be dead.

He sighed and stood up. There was another ache. One in his kidneys of all places. He had overworked his magic and his body’s ability to channel kami. And for his own sake, he didn’t try pushing it. He wasn’t trying to get a fourth heart attack on his record.

Koda slipped the pendant back around his neck and held it tightly in his fist for a moment. The last line kept echoing in his mind as though Leta had said it herself. I hope you can forge a world where your ruthlessness is no longer necessary.

“I’m sorry that we were too late,” he whispered. He hoped that wherever Leta’s soul was, she could get the message. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t save you. I’m sorry that I couldn’t save so many. I hope you can rest. After everything you’ve been through, you deserve it.”

He blinked away tears and made a promise. “I’m going to keep trying. I’m not going to work myself to dust anymore. But I’m going to make Kamigawa a better place. The kind of place you should have been able to lay your head after everything.”

Tears fell regardless. “I love you, Leta. I miss you.”

Only The Good Die Young

Adayn was calm. The Darkest Night was over, technically speaking. All the readings they were doing were pointing to the conflict not being over yet, but they were keeping that close.

Their bone throwing kit lay out in the open, although tidily wrapped. Now that the Inquisitiors weren't so bloodthirsty, they felt as if they could keep it out.

Valentina had gone to the local barracks. A priest was discussing with the Legionairres which of their allies had died and which survived and what the newly reminted Pontifex was decreeing.

Adayn had decided not to come with, and asked Val only to tell them if someone they knew closely had died. Mostly out of concern that if they heard a full death count they'd burst into flame, scaring the Legionairres.

A grandfather clock ticked away the minutes.

There was a soft knock at the door, a rhythm used to identify the couple to eachother. Adayn answered the door.

Val's cheeks were tearstreaked, and her eyes were deadened.

"Who?" Was all Adayn asked.

The flames would've blinded a human. As it stood, they still hurt Valentina's eyes. Adayn was the brightest point in the room, although nothing else was catching ablaze.

"Leta." They whispered. "It can't be."

"Adayn, my love-"

"No. It cannot be!"

Every plant in the room, of which there were many, began moving of their own volition.

It took a while to calm Adayn again, but calmed they were. But they had to check something.

They crossed the room and opened their bone throwing kit, setting it up in the proper way and passing the five bones between their hands, before throwing them.

"What do you see, my love?" Val asked.

"Very confusing. The Humerus is in the direct middle and links the Vertebra in the New Moon to the Wishbone and Knuckle in the Hunter's Moon."

"Which means?"

"Her fate is a time for us to forge ahead but confusing matters something terrible happened of course in the past and will happen in the future. All of this is linked somehow. And yet the Tooth lies in the Hunter's Moon. Fear of what comes next and the flame of warding?"

"What does it all mean then?"

"I may never know. I just hope she... I hope she took those bastards out with her."

Forge and Shatter

They took her from me.

CLANK

She's gone. Leta's gone.

CLANK

Aclazotz. Will. Pay.

"Shadowstep? I need you here for a moment." Gesserith's voice shook.

The young werewolf stepped out from her room. She could hear the tone of his voice that something wasn't quite right. "What happened? Did someone..." She didn't finish. She didn't need to.

"You... you remember Leta, right? I'm sure you saw her around the orphanage. A bit. Here and there." He kept holding himself together. "Haruko. Found her arm. And sword. I. She. How. Leta... LETAAAAA!" He broke, collapsing into his daughter, holding her tight, refusing to let anything else go tonight. "WHYYYYYY???"

Shadowstep simply held him back. Unable to do anything more, she just comforted her dad and joined in the mourning of such a close friend. "I'm where," she whispered.

Gesserith simply cried.

Ultima Nocte: Demon Slayer

The first thing I had learned about mortality was about anger. Wrath. Fury. The need for revenge.

I was ancient already. My interactions with mortals – true mortals, not planeswalkers – had been limited. But Sakai’s Saiba Futurists had found me, forced me into their technology, and experimented on me. They wanted to see if they could make kami mortal. To force us closer to the mortal realm and sever us from the spirit realm, from our home.

They did not succeed.

Koda and I found each other. He had enough strength left to use his technomancy. I had enough strength left to take over. He was so young, so hurt. So angry. We bonded, our fury towards our shared captors fueling our escape in our first fusion.

It was the first time I tasted blood. We tore a security guard’s throat out with our teeth and kept going. Back then, we didn’t know that Koda was half-oni. But we would have done it regardless.

I learned other things about mortality after we escaped and remained bonded. I met other mortals. I made friends. So did Koda.

And then I learned about how much it hurt to lose a friend.

The sword in my hand glowed obscenely in the darkness of the Longest Night. Under most circumstances, I would have retreated to the shadows that made up my being. But this was not most circumstances. Leta was dead, and it was my duty to avenge her.

I used limbs made of shadows to drag another demon from the sky and cut it open with the glowing sword. Light flashed each time, burning demons faster and leaving smoldering wounds in the split sides. Elsewhere in the city, Koda was fighting the incorporeal, the Pontifex had returned to give others a second wind, and the earth rumbled as Swift – and maybe others – turned the very land against these fiends.

I didn’t care about that.

I yanked another demon down and cut her open with a horizontal slash. For all of their boasting about eternal night and blood, they died just like everything else. The Fomori invaders had put up a bigger fight in the spirit realm than these cowards did. Even still, they had made the mistake of taking my friend from me.

They wanted everlasting blood to flood the land?

I would make sure it would be theirs.

Inter Arma

"I want every last member of the clergy to be out here! There will be no cowering this night! We face this bastard head-on!" Theodors roared. His voice was being amplified through some carefully woven magics, and his orders were being dispersed accordingly. His words were being echoed by practically all of the conclave -- including Macario, whom he would be working alongside.

"To every condemner, a glorifier! To every inquisitor, a cleric! Pair each with as many paladins as we can!" he continued. The Legion were handling their own scurrying of forces as night fell.

All of the humans were being sheltered within the cathedrals closest to the center of the city. Gold-armored paladins formed protective rings around them, a handful of clergy among them. Some human guard were with them too, but the vast majority of the humans who were more martially trained were elsewhere.

The walls were alive with activity. Ballistae were being loaded for the larger demons sure to appear, almost every single defender was holding at least a crossbow or a polearm, everyone was getting as prepared as they could. In anticipation for the coming of the Betrayer, the inquisitors and condemners had received more specialized training on how to quickly subdue and neutralize anyone who may be succumbing to madness. It was techniques being pioneered by Lazaro that would help them see the light of day, if all went well.

If. What an ugly word.

For perhaps the 100th time, Leta reminded herself that the best, most effective strike, wasn’t necessarily the fastest strike. She attempted to tune out the shrieks, the screams of the defenders, and wait.

For the elementals to be effective, she had to strike when they had committed too far to regroup. When the betrayer felt he could punch through the wall at any moment. Any sooner and she would be caught in the middle of an army of blood drinkers, surrounded by elementals of stone.

A cliche came, unbidden into her head. She looked from the mouth of the cave, if you could call it such, it was closer to a divot carved by one of the elementals under her command, and squinted against the dark and the distance. It was a black night, even the moon and stars felt like they were devoured by Aclazotz. She saw the demons and winged vampires start to press harder into the wall, their flanks exposed. As she took a breath, and rose to begin a charge, she took one last look at her communicator, and sent a simple message to her friends.

“Gods, Kami, and the guildpact protect us. I’ll see you all on the other side.”

Elementals was far from what was in the minds of the defenders this eve. Such things were the magics of peoples from a continent across the waves, one they had left behind, surely.

And yet, there were elementals at their backs as they sought to break through the defenses along the walls. Skymarchers were meeting them as their landed compatriots were picking them off from the skies, and now they had elementals forcing them in.

Or, well.

Would.

Something moved from the shadowed night, woven from its thick cloth. Something with six wings and ears torn from an ancient battle, one left unremembered by any of the peoples that now inhabited the surface of the plane. Scars criss-crossed its thin, shallow ribcage, beyond which glowed an infernal red. One of its wings was broken and mended poorly, and it was missing a finger on one of them.

As it approached, everything close to it died. Even beneath the snowfall, everywhere its dessicated limbs touched would ensure there would be no life there for at least a decade.

The demon was old. And it was hungry.

Look what wonderful morsel I have been given. Its eyes were blackened pits. I give thanks to my father for this wonderful meal. You'll help us win this night.

At that, it lunged forward, fangs and claws outstretched.

Leta leapt backwards, throwing a hand up, stone raised and was shattered by the force of the demon, but it killed the momentum of the blow. In that moment, Fidelius sliced through what should have been it's wrist, leaving a golden arc through the air for but a moment. Some elementals sensed Leta's exertion, and started to come to assist, but were rebuked. She would handle this, they were to buy the defenders all the assistance they could. Stoke by stroke, the dance of gold and darkness lit the area around them, beat by beat, Leta felt herself lagging a moment slower than her dance partner, claws met steel, sheering through the armor as though it were silk, but the blessing of the armor left it's mark, burning the demon where it had been touched.

The demon hissed and screeched at her as it dove again and again and again, each mark it landed on her tearing more than just flesh. Her very essence spun out and away, the demon using it to empower itself and heal the wounds cut by the holy weapon or left by the blessed armor she wore.

That holy whore cannot save you forever, it hissed. It leapt up, over one of her strikes, two wings beating to get it aloft, its strange malformed and elongated feet gripping her shoulders in order to bring her up into the skies.

Leta slashed at it's legs, as she took air, hoping an elemental could catch her if need be "Different holy whore, I think. 'Less it was a giant angel on fire, then it might have been the same one." As they rose, she cast a spell with her free hand, blasting fire into the demon's face. "Would've felt something like that, I think. Ravnican angels tend to be pretty violent." Despite the healing the wounds, the burns simply refused to be healed. The more energy the demon threw towards healing the wounds, the more the burns and boils festered, as though the flesh rejected the dark energies being shunted towards it. With a concerted effort, Leta pulled herself up towards the creature, and shoved the blade into it's stomach. Despite her bravado, she knew she needed to end this quickly. She felt the exhaustion in her limbs from this. She could see the edges of her vision turning black, and feel her fingers slowly growing colder.

The demon growled and snarled at her as it climbed, others of its kindred occasionally tore at her, then began its descent. As it dove, bolts and arrows scored marks on its sides, and right as it was about to drop Leta --

-- the sword went right up and through, twisting through its body. In most situations, this would be far from fatal. However, the demon had come within range of the walls, which acted as a fantastic makeshift surface to turn the sword into a shearing razorblade, slicing the demon's body and opening him like a skewered pig.

From stomach, through ribs, the demon let out a strangled and struggled gurgle as it clutched at its body that was slowly splitting apart like a tree in a storm, blackened ichor running from it like a flooded river. Its struggles soon ended, and it departed to join its brethren in the realm beyond.

Leta slammed into the ground. Despite the sword catching in the wall, slowing the demon's dive, and even with the weird she released trying to break her fall, she hit the ground hard. As she fell, the pain in her arm had been immense, but worryingly, she could no longer feel it. She looked, expecting to see the bone sticking out, something bad enough to know why she felt heavy. She looked at where her arm should be, and laughed. It was laying on the ground, under the monster she had just slew. She turned, taking a step away from the wall, before slipping, either from the ichor or her own blood. Likely some combination of the two. She took a heavy breath, and saw the elementals in the distance. One by one the fires winked out, as she felt the mental bond with them break, not with a snap, but a slow whimper. She wondered why they would flee. She had won. Then the dark overtook her vision, and she closed her heavy eyelids. Maybe, she thought groggily, she would get a chance to rest.

Inter Arma

"I want every last member of the clergy to be out here! There will be no cowering this night! We face this bastard head-on!" Theodors roared. His voice was being amplified through some carefully woven magics, and his orders were being dispersed accordingly. His words were being echoed by practically all of the conclave -- including Macario, whom he would be working alongside.

"To every condemner, a glorifier! To every inquisitor, a cleric! Pair each with as many paladins as we can!" he continued. The Legion were handling their own scurrying of forces as night fell.

All of the humans were being sheltered within the cathedrals closest to the center of the city. Gold-armored paladins formed protective rings around them, a handful of clergy among them. Some human guard were with them too, but the vast majority of the humans who were more martially trained were elsewhere.

The walls were alive with activity. Ballistae were being loaded for the larger demons sure to appear, almost every single defender was holding at least a crossbow or a polearm, everyone was getting as prepared as they could. In anticipation for the coming of the Betrayer, the inquisitors and condemners had received more specialized training on how to quickly subdue and neutralize anyone who may be succumbing to madness. It was techniques being pioneered by Lazaro that would help them see the light of day, if all went well.

If. What an ugly word.

For perhaps the 100th time, Leta reminded herself that the best, most effective strike, wasn’t necessarily the fastest strike. She attempted to tune out the shrieks, the screams of the defenders, and wait.

For the elementals to be effective, she had to strike when they had committed too far to regroup. When the betrayer felt he could punch through the wall at any moment. Any sooner and she would be caught in the middle of an army of blood drinkers, surrounded by elementals of stone.

A cliche came, unbidden into her head. She looked from the mouth of the cave, if you could call it such, it was closer to a divot carved by one of the elementals under her command, and squinted against the dark and the distance. It was a black night, even the moon and stars felt like they were devoured by Aclazotz. She saw the demons and winged vampires start to press harder into the wall, their flanks exposed. As she took a breath, and rose to begin a charge, she took one last look at her communicator, and sent a simple message to her friends.

“Gods, Kami, and the guildpact protect us. I’ll see you all on the other side.”

Elementals was far from what was in the minds of the defenders this eve. Such things were the magics of peoples from a continent across the waves, one they had left behind, surely.

And yet, there were elementals at their backs as they sought to break through the defenses along the walls. Skymarchers were meeting them as their landed compatriots were picking them off from the skies, and now they had elementals forcing them in.

Or, well.

Would.

Something moved from the shadowed night, woven from its thick cloth. Something with six wings and ears torn from an ancient battle, one left unremembered by any of the peoples that now inhabited the surface of the plane. Scars criss-crossed its thin, shallow ribcage, beyond which glowed an infernal red. One of its wings was broken and mended poorly, and it was missing a finger on one of them.

As it approached, everything close to it died. Even beneath the snowfall, everywhere its dessicated limbs touched would ensure there would be no life there for at least a decade.

The demon was old. And it was hungry.

Look what wonderful morsel I have been given. Its eyes were blackened pits. I give thanks to my father for this wonderful meal. You'll help us win this night.

At that, it lunged forward, fangs and claws outstretched.

Leta leapt backwards, throwing a hand up, stone raised and was shattered by the force of the demon, but it killed the momentum of the blow. In that moment, Fidelius sliced through what should have been it's wrist, leaving a golden arc through the air for but a moment. Some elementals sensed Leta's exertion, and started to come to assist, but were rebuked. She would handle this, they were to buy the defenders all the assistance they could. Stoke by stroke, the dance of gold and darkness lit the area around them, beat by beat, Leta felt herself lagging a moment slower than her dance partner, claws met steel, sheering through the armor as though it were silk, but the blessing of the armor left it's mark, burning the demon where it had been touched.

The demon hissed and screeched at her as it dove again and again and again, each mark it landed on her tearing more than just flesh. Her very essence spun out and away, the demon using it to empower itself and heal the wounds cut by the holy weapon or left by the blessed armor she wore.

That holy whore cannot save you forever, it hissed. It leapt up, over one of her strikes, two wings beating to get it aloft, its strange malformed and elongated feet gripping her shoulders in order to bring her up into the skies.

Leta slashed at it's legs, as she took air, hoping an elemental could catch her if need be "Different holy whore, I think. 'Less it was a giant angel on fire, then it might have been the same one." As they rose, she cast a spell with her free hand, blasting fire into the demon's face. "Would've felt something like that, I think. Ravnican angels tend to be pretty violent." Despite the healing the wounds, the burns simply refused to be healed. The more energy the demon threw towards healing the wounds, the more the burns and boils festered, as though the flesh rejected the dark energies being shunted towards it. With a concerted effort, Leta pulled herself up towards the creature, and shoved the blade into it's stomach. Despite her bravado, she knew she needed to end this quickly. She felt the exhaustion in her limbs from this. She could see the edges of her vision turning black, and feel her fingers slowly growing colder.

Inter Arma

"I want every last member of the clergy to be out here! There will be no cowering this night! We face this bastard head-on!" Theodors roared. His voice was being amplified through some carefully woven magics, and his orders were being dispersed accordingly. His words were being echoed by practically all of the conclave -- including Macario, whom he would be working alongside.

"To every condemner, a glorifier! To every inquisitor, a cleric! Pair each with as many paladins as we can!" he continued. The Legion were handling their own scurrying of forces as night fell.

All of the humans were being sheltered within the cathedrals closest to the center of the city. Gold-armored paladins formed protective rings around them, a handful of clergy among them. Some human guard were with them too, but the vast majority of the humans who were more martially trained were elsewhere.

The walls were alive with activity. Ballistae were being loaded for the larger demons sure to appear, almost every single defender was holding at least a crossbow or a polearm, everyone was getting as prepared as they could. In anticipation for the coming of the Betrayer, the inquisitors and condemners had received more specialized training on how to quickly subdue and neutralize anyone who may be succumbing to madness. It was techniques being pioneered by Lazaro that would help them see the light of day, if all went well.

If. What an ugly word.

For perhaps the 100th time, Leta reminded herself that the best, most effective strike, wasn’t necessarily the fastest strike. She attempted to tune out the shrieks, the screams of the defenders, and wait.

For the elementals to be effective, she had to strike when they had committed too far to regroup. When the betrayer felt he could punch through the wall at any moment. Any sooner and she would be caught in the middle of an army of blood drinkers, surrounded by elementals of stone.

A cliche came, unbidden into her head. She looked from the mouth of the cave, if you could call it such, it was closer to a divot carved by one of the elementals under her command, and squinted against the dark and the distance. It was a black night, even the moon and stars felt like they were devoured by Aclazotz. She saw the demons and winged vampires start to press harder into the wall, their flanks exposed. As she took a breath, and rose to begin a charge, she took one last look at her communicator, and sent a simple message to her friends.

“Gods, Kami, and the guildpact protect us. I’ll see you all on the other side.”

Elementals was far from what was in the minds of the defenders this eve. Such things were the magics of peoples from a continent across the waves, one they had left behind, surely.

And yet, there were elementals at their backs as they sought to break through the defenses along the walls. Skymarchers were meeting them as their landed compatriots were picking them off from the skies, and now they had elementals forcing them in.

Or, well.

Would.

Something moved from the shadowed night, woven from its thick cloth. Something with six wings and ears torn from an ancient battle, one left unremembered by any of the peoples that now inhabited the surface of the plane. Scars criss-crossed its thin, shallow ribcage, beyond which glowed an infernal red. One of its wings was broken and mended poorly, and it was missing a finger on one of them.

As it approached, everything close to it died. Even beneath the snowfall, everywhere its dessicated limbs touched would ensure there would be no life there for at least a decade.

The demon was old. And it was hungry.

Look what wonderful morsel I have been given. Its eyes were blackened pits. I give thanks to my father for this wonderful meal. You'll help us win this night.

At that, it lunged forward, fangs and claws outstretched.

Leta leapt backwards, throwing a hand up, stone raised and was shattered by the force of the demon, but it killed the momentum of the blow. In that moment, Fidelius sliced through what should have been it's wrist, leaving a golden arc through the air for but a moment. Some elementals sensed Leta's exertion, and started to come to assist, but were rebuked. She would handle this, they were to buy the defenders all the assistance they could. Stoke by stroke, the dance of gold and darkness lit the area around them, beat by beat, Leta felt herself lagging a moment slower than her dance partner, claws met steel, sheering through the armor as though it were silk, but the blessing of the armor left it's mark, burning the demon where it had been touched.