Astaroth's March (A story of the Calling)

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Darren Darglore​

Disgusted, those tormented souls. Innocent victims or not, they deserved better. And by his life or death, he would give it to them.

Fingers tensing, pinkish knuckles baring, he stepped towards Scorn, the awaiting beast, The DarkTide. Ried Shas spoke, as if he were that monsters equal. But Shas to was a monster, and with anger swelled emotion he stepped forth, intent on proving to this world that fiends weren't so damn strong.

But he stopped.

With a suddenl shadows fall destryoing his thoughts he stopped, like an outcast drawn to the void. His eyes rolled back, those pits of smoldering pink became the utmost of white, the most inopportune time to go schizophrenic.

Like a dagger in his back, nails down his spine. That sickening twist in his gut, or a swift kick to the nuts.

It was a new sensation, helplessness, hopelessness, and doubt. It was Vaticus, alive and anything but well. Slicing daggers through apparent clones, mist like visages, ghostly apparitions and spectres.

He knew they were fake..they had to be fake..but why now..

It was all he could do to remain on his feet, Every ounce of his light weighted figure supported by the Luminex.

"My brother, this is...not the time...!"

And then reality set in. He killed his brother, what could Vaticus do..?

All this time he said he was fighting...to save his brother, but was he really fighting to keep his brother..dead?

He couldn't peel his gaze, Vaticus encompassed every thought and aspect of his imagination...Until he heard the gutteral roar of Scorn, the god like speach and boom of The DarkTide gloating of his sheer thrill.

Strong will prevail, that gaze broke his brother, or the illusion of his doom accompanying his lusted Novelly.

He was certain he'd see Vaticus again...hopefully he'd see him before rather than after the dagger found his spine.

Scorn only partially held his attention...Truly helpless...Vaticus..a weight on his consciousness in the worst of times...That sheer presence perhapse enough to end Darren's life...for when facing his strongest adversary yet...his mind was somewhere else.

He watched, like a deer in the headlights his end come hither, would he be an addition to those tormented souls? Or would a hero save the hero?
 
What had he intended upon doing? Why did he come to this gathering? Was Shas going to ally with the Tanar'ri? Or Baatezu? Would he continue to protect the city, maybe join the Bard and the fire-casting Darglore? To what end did Ried Shas, a being who has survived purely by chance and careful planning, just waltz in between a gathering of the greatest powers of darkness Ayenee had ever known? What advantage had he over these god-like creatures? Certainly, he was older then some. He had more time and essence invested in these realms then others.

Which amounted to nothing, concerning raw power.

And now, the Arcanaloth Saar T'cheras has joined the fray. When last they met, Shas had a veritable army at his disposal. What did Shas have, now? Shas nodded to Scorn as he turned away. Assuming vaporous form, again, he fluttered upon the wind and rose to the top of the tallest structure nearing the Kellindil Monument. It was, by standards, a skyscraper. And when he'd reached the roof, he reform and cast his gaze wide upon Capital City, under siege. With his preternatural senses, he had hawk-like vision. When he glanced here and there, he was pleased to learn that not all of the Capital City was in the dire circumstances he had encountered on his way to the gathering.


On one street, he saw several squadrons of powered-armors tearing into demons with vibrational weaponry and high-velocity ammunition. He surmised they would have used their energy weapons, were they not constrained by edicts, demanding they minimizing collateral damage. On another street, he spied an honest-to-goodness army of Greek Spartans. There had to be something more to them, however, because their weapons (outdated and poorly crafted) were claiming demons by the score. Downtown Capital City saw that order of axiomatic psionic librarians and philosophers (that carried those beam-fine energy swords) slaughtering demons. They were usually recruiting young psions for their church, frightening them with tales of "the Sith" or something like that.

He looked down at himself. The shadow that had taken him and a handful of others* away had brought him back in his less-stylish armor. Encased in his full armor (enchanted as to seem of the weight of cotton) with his shoulder-length raven-black hair flowing freely. And his shikomizue? Replaced by the long-sword he carried in traditional, ceremonial events. Though the weapon was beautiful, it was no less functional then any other weapon he had ever carried. The blade had been forged with a mixture of alchemical silver. It was as dangerous to him as it was to the myriad of other darklings that had felt it's fatal caress.

He thought back to the beginning...when his hair had been fire-red and his weapon of choice, an enchanted scythe. Death had physically changed Shas, both times he encountered it. "Third times a charm..." he laughed to himself. That was it. He had come here seeking absolution...before he bid "fare well" to this existence. In truth, he found no burden in (for lack of a better term) living. On the contrary, he enjoyed everything existence had to offer him. But, it was time...he could just feel it. He stood at the edge of the skyscraper, and took a swan-dive toward the ground level.

There was something very liberating about the fall. Perhaps this was how the angels of old felt, as they were cast out of the Celestial Gardens by whatever deities they served. The wind pressed against him like a lover, finding the minute openings within his armor and reaching down-under and beneath, caressing the unliving flesh within. He wished he could have experienced this as a mortal. Of course, if he had, the ending would be death. For Shas, he simply assumed his vaporous form, once again, as he was literally seconds away from impact. Terminal velocity did very little to the unliving physiology...but the splattered at the end of the ride may be enough to finish him.

A cloud of vapors, however, was undamaged. He reformed on the ground and called upon a gout of acid to splatter amids Despise and Deceit. He knew they would dodge it, easily. It was simply a means of gathering their attention. "Back away from the twisted lovers..." He gave Novelly a curt nod. Shas had no love lost for either of them...neither Vaticus nor Novelly, but he had finally decided he had enough.

Shas summoned nearly all of his power, to speak out, his voice in concert with the music of the bard. He realized trying to over-power it would fail, so he opted for finesse. "Enough of this foolishness. Why have you all appeared? Do you come to answer the call of some insignificant, power-hungry Lich? Lim Dul sought to call to the Hidden Lord, in hopes of collecting on a debt he was promised. The fool never learned you do not bargain with a good of murder, deceit, and betrayal. And no lesser being commands the Hidden Lord, least of all some pathetic bag of bones and desiccated flesh." He spat, a glob of viscous blood. It was purely a symbolic gesture, as he no longer salivated.

"The time has come. Act...or stand around, appearing menacing...a bunch of sound and fury, signifying nothing." With his piece said, he left the area of the Monument, content to return and fight the good fight for his home. And there was plenty of fight to go around. He had egressed with such haste as to cover four city blocks and found a legion of lesser Tanar'ri, terrorizing humans. He glided into combat like a resplendent crane. His blade weaved in and out, biting into the flesh of the unholy. He raised corpses and set them to tarry the other demons in pursuit of Capital City denizens to use for various purposes (feeding, raping, enslaving).

Falling into the familiar, but long-dormant dance, Shas lost himself in the heat of battle.


[Note: To be continued in "Gettin' down in downtown!" As "Astaroth's March" draws to a halt.]
 
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Astaroth's voice cracks and strains, the sphere of his once golden aura, crafted and brought into this world through the primal song and the words of creation. Tapping into that ancient melody that was first sung when time and space was first forged. Astaroth forged crackling lightning, burning fire, churning acid, freezing cold, and deafening sound, all with the sphere of gold. His song the only thing keeping that elemental fury contained for the time being. Within open eyes, his vision blurry and the 15 ft of hell reborn stomping towards him shifts in and out of focus.

*Darren, focus.*

With those hastily spoken words, Astaroth touches the song again, a soft hum coming from his lips, his red and raw fingers striking the chords to keep the golden sphere from erupting in elemental fury. With his hum though, Astaroth begins to feel the touch of the song again, riding its currents, its infinite bounds as it touches all the planes of the multiverse. He seeks out one he has known many years. One he calls friend and ally, Gilden Tongue, that golden wyrm of ages past.

GILDEN TONGUE​

Easily carrying the load of people in the bus, a flight of dragons like armed following in his wake, with vehicles full of terrified citizens...enchanted by the song before but frightened near death as they careen out of their control in the grasp of gigantic powerful beasts.

Out of the City the dragons flew, born towards a land some new, most had forgotten. The city being torn asunder beneath them, a few pockets of resitance in an otherwise war torn and forsaken land. On they flew, out of the clouds of ash, out of the touch of the hordes of the Abyss, away from the sight of those who could have seen.

It was over the forests of Ayenee that Gilden Tongue flew when he felt Astaroth's tune in his ears. He opened himself up, let himself be located so that tenuous connection could be strengthened.
 
Bravo. Oh Bravo! Such a speech! From the heavens above something manifests into the prime, twinkling in a cloud of mist before fading into existance. Thunder rumbles in the blackened sky, a trademark herald for this child of the Abyss' arrival. Kin to the Darktide, Dezlynxiari's deep amethyst eyes dart from where Shas had once stood in challenge of Despise and Deceit, to a place several blocks away. Vibrant swirls of silver flash in the inner lining of wings akin to a bat's, as this abyssal lady glides through the air to put the vampiric being back into line of sight. Silly buildings always made it so hard to keep visuals!... Not that one such as herself relied on so silly a sense. Silver tresses swirl about a countenance alight with amusement, her expression readily betraying her thoughts of mischief.

He didn't look like a creature of the light. Most certainly, he did not give off the same air of righteousness as Darren had. Yet here he was, diving into the midst of demons and turning them against one another while the denizens of the once proud capital city fled for their very lives.

There were other creatures gathered here that she was familiar with. Yet, upon her arrival, this was the man that had been quick to draw her attention. It'd been a while since she'd involved herself in one of Scorn's schemes, not that she could say she'd ever aided him, but there was something to say about all this chaos. It did make for an interesting playground.

If any had caught sight of the demoness hovering above, they'd find her suddenly gone. Yet, an elderly man in the very same victinity as Shas, would find clawed digits suddenly clamped around his neck. In her current state, she was not grotesque like the Darktide, but a winged woman not even six feet in stature. A hot winged woman at that. She was beauty personified, yet she was not a delicate flower. The human male was lifted in that solid grasp before blackened nails carve deeply into his jugular; her fingers rolling closed to snap and grind his vertebrae to dust. The old man choked and sputtered as scarlet runs freely down an alabaster arm, staining the smooth flesh pink. With the death rattle sounding ragged from the human's lips, he'd be discarded, tossed aside like so much filth.

A young lady, screeching her terror, attempts to run past yet finds herself flat on her back as the velvety steel of an onyx wing smashes into her lithe frame. A stilleto'd heel boot comes bearing down on the woman's right shoulder, pinning her to the ground as the thin, sharp point rends through muscle and bone alike. There was screaming, praying, pleading... yet Desiree did not speak. Rather, ebon lips curve into a wicked smile. This was going to be fun...
 
Chaos; there wasn't a better word to describe the madness that polluted the streets. Demons ran rampant; horrific creations devoured ones that couldn't protect themselves. Plumes of smoke blackened the skies and rivers of blood dyed the mortar red. It was sickening, and it put a cramp in the pit of her stomach.

Silver and gold light wove together and washed over a small portion of the city streets- in all actuality, it was same street Darren, Astaroth, and Scorn stood upon. The halo of brilliance silenced the screams of pain, and deafened the howls of hunger and rage. Scorn would hear it- an all to familiar cry of torment from one of his own. The light devoured its flesh and left the demon as charred remains. Finally, momentary peace washed in that small section of the city, but the blinding light carried onward. The mobile bubble drove any of Scorn's spawn back to the recesses from whence they came.

Garbed in white attire trimmed in silver, the robed figure continued the journey behind Astaroth and Darren. They'd no doubt feel the radiating warmth; the overwhelming sence of calm and peace. Upon closer inspection, the woman might've been recognized by Scorn: it was his daughter, afterall. But he should also note the symbol she proudly wore- the symbol of the broken horn shadowed by a woman's silver silhouette. The Lady of Light
She wore Sune's fabled bow over her right shoulder; Faith is what she had been known to call it. Any other weapons were concealed beneath the folds of her robe.

Her chin rose and finally allowed her eyes to wash over the aftermath of her Father's dementia. Vibrant, golden pools matched in intensity to those of her deity, but it was obvious there was a sadness that struck deep, for it showed. Flaxen tendrils lightly battered against her countenance; the wind brought with it a terrible stench this day. Though its origins could've been pinpointed to any one of those vile creatures running about.

A hand extended, generously and gently toward the shoulder of Darren. Should he not flee from her touch, he'd know instantly that she was there to stand behind him. Someone was watching out for him. "You're a stubborn old man.." Reddened lips pulled upward in a genuine grin; it could almost be said that her appearanced matched another woman present.. and one that wasn't too far away.
 
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Mark cursed beneath his breath and watched the manic Darktide streak towards his enemies. "What exactly do you think the boss wants us to do here? Talk to them? They're not listening!"

"Not to us, I can understand, but if you're paying attention, they're not even listening to each other either!" Alexander commented, "Check it out, it's like they're all making monologues independent of what the others say! Guess when you're a god, things like carrying on a coherent conversation aren't too important anymore."

"Right, well, we've got a more important job than standing around he-- Flying rock" Mark stopped in mid-sentence and leaped off to the side, out of the way of a particularly large piece of rock that Scorn probably didn't even know he'd sent launching. The immediate danger past, he continued, "Now, as I was saying, standing around here playing the peanut gallery is a waste of time."

Mark tossed the normal-sized rifle off to the side, and turned over to where Scorn was approaching Darren and Astaroth, held out his hand and said, "Betsy." The command word for his rifle, his real one. An impossibly large gun that looked more like it belonged mounted to a tank instead of in the hands of a human, less than half its size. The entire weapon just screams 'Compensating!' - But it's undeniably effective, with mercurial rounds made from metal mined in Mt. Celestia itself (how someone working for a Fiend was able to get ahold of THAT, we'll leave to the imagination) capable of firing off at supersonic speeds, even the godly fiends assembled here were going to notice.

Which is why Alexanders eyes started to bug out when Mark pointed 'Betsy' straight at Scorn Darktide's back, said "Get ready to run, I think this's gonna make him mad," and pulled the trigger.
 
"Darren focus, focus. Darren focus...."

His head swam, words, incantations, tongues and visions. He thought he had it all figured out. Where he was meant to go, what he was meant to do. How he was meant to die. None of it amounted to this.

"Darren focus, focus"

Astaroth's words, reflected in his psyche over and over, awakening him from the void from whence his mind doth slip.

"I AM!"

And with the majesty of those words the area seemed to explode into brilliance. White light scouring the city streets, driving the denizens of the lower planes back. Back into the abyss, back into the streets, walls and sewers. Their screams like the horrid stench of an insects wails.

He did it! or so he thought.

Finally the fruits of his labor, Ried Shas,the city dwellers, the police, militia and every other fighting citizens labor payed off...the battle seemed to be turning it's tide. With this spectacle finely attuned to his vocal recognition something sparked. And if for an instant The DarkTide seemed stunned.

Dripping flesh smoking, that radiant light barely scorched the surface of the DarkTide. But, the stench almost unbearable. However the beast did stop, not for Darren, not for mercy, but for his daughter...Eclipse DarkTide. He stared at her with several of those eyes whilst the other awkwardly traversed the side and back of his thick, flesh dripping skull. Staring down Darren, Astaroth, his daugher Eclipse, Blaise Feriah and his daughter Dezlynxiari... Why the last time he saw Blaise Feriah, he impaled her on a stalagmite.

"Nice to see...the family still gets together..."

And with that bad joke he chuckled.

With the turning of this battles tide, Scorn emitted no fear or resent. As if he were supreme. Rather than back down or turn away he stepped forward, like some beacon of doom. All Eclipse did was buy Darren and Astaroth some more time, she may have sent a good amount of his hordlings back to the abyss, but Scorn was not harmed in the least despite her radiant display of power. Fearless, to even Astaroth's mechanics, all of the elements compacted into one destructive golden sphere.


It was then that Darren felt that hand touch his shoulder, only now did he truly know where that light came from, his guardian angel. He felt that surge of holy energy fuel his own inner fire, give him the confidence support and energy he so dearly needed. Focus reformed, thoughts cleared, eyes widened, he knew this would not be the end, not of this fight, nor of his life.

"Yes I am." Blunt, those words were in total agreement with Eclipse.

"Release it bard!"

Darren saw the elements wild yet contained, he knew what he'd have to do...retreat, save those he could.

And with Luminex eclipsing the air, ass end bursting the already rubbled concrete ground into pebbles at their feet he'd feel the tear in reality take hold, the shifting of dimensions burden their flesh. The suckle of an infinite atmosphere stroke the very cortex of their being, Darren Darglore, Astaroth and his guardian angel...They would be privied to the salvation he had to offer, in the whims of a teleportation, a chance to live...All that remained was for Astaroth to finish his destructive song...why did he waite?

Hope...hope that perhapse this song would seal the deal, hope that it would send Scorn DarkTide back to hell. Hope that he could do one great thing in his life...save the multiverse...or atleast take part in it...

"Novelly..." He whispered...

"Novelly! Come with me!" He screamed.

"Before it's to late.." Under his breath.

"I love you..." Only Astaroth and this mysterious angel on his shoulder could hear that.

Fifteen feet never moved so fast..It was now or never for both himself and Astaroth. Fight the DarkTide here and now or.

What the fuck was that?

Instead of leaping at Darren, grabbing Astaroth and flaying his daughter he sailed directly over them and not into but through a skyscraper.

It's structure already weakened from hours of fire and artillery it now began to quake, wobble even. About to fall.

Not to far from where Scorn once leapt were two people... One with a penis compensating gun.

(I wanted to write more but it is extremely $%$#@$@ busy at work right now)
 
Follow the song Darren. Astaroth spoke softly, barely a crack as his voice was beginning to go out. His humming continued though, keeping a tie to Gilden Tongue, miles away fleeing the City.

The Golden Sphere shimmers and crackles, its exterior seeming to wink in an out as the controlling song weakens along with Astaroth's knees. Placing one hand on Darren's shoulder, standing opposite of Eclipse he stops his strumming. Seeking that primal song again, Astaroth reaches out with the song, sending a canon of warning to those gathered to flee the area as quickly as they can.

Light the fire, feast
Chase the ghost, give in.
Take the road less traveled by,
Leave the city of fools,
Turn every poet loose.

A single voice sings out first, followed by a second, and a third, as each line is finished, the following repeats, the music is compelling in its own right without the scene of consuming elements beginning to brighten the darkening city.

As the final chord fades into the air, the sphere begins its eruption. Streaks of lightning course from the core of sphere, striking buildings, demons, militia, and any other within any close distance of the Kellindel Monument. Some of the bolts seem to follow directly in Scorn's path, seeming to seek their original target as he is thrown wildly from the blast brought about by Bishop's enormous rifle. The flames follow down the bolts of lightning, seeming to as a consuming fist of heat and light, charring and roasting anything in it's path. The acid follows next, erupting in several lines of steaming vapor and sizzling all-consuming liquid, again the acid follows the course of the lightning, seeking out that fiend that caused the pain. The cold follows, freezing the soul and stealing your breath, the metal of the skyscrapers turns brittle and begin to splinter and shatter from the life stealing cold. And finally that terrible sound, like a sonic boom released right into the center of town. Lose vehicles, bodies, weapons and the debris that litters the hell-torn terrain, all seemly tossed by some unseen force in the path of the contusive force. Windows shattering, the weakened supports of the skyscrapers and trees, snapping like twigs in strong wind.

Seeming as the whole world was about to come crashing down around his head, Astaroth simply closed his eyes, focusing on his humming and keeping that connection to Gilden Tongue open, hoping Darren will take the cue and get him out of here before the elemental tide overwhelms them both.

(occ: Sorry, don't have time for something more or better, as Brad stated, work is rough at the moment, oh yeah and Brad, got you someone in Bullitt County I think. Just need to get more details. Later.)
 
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Xanatos

It was indeed time to act...time to finally turn the tides of this horrendous cess pool of demons and grotesque beings. The guttural sound they forced out of him made him only hate them all more. It was typical of beings such as those that swarmed Capital City to convene together, attracted like moths to the flame...a flame he intended to use to burn all who opposed him and his rightful Saviour. He would set this world ablaze before he allowed any more of this treacherous dischord. They would all be snuffed and mashed beneath his heel as his support lied within the most High....the humble but vicious King that he so zealously served. Beckoned forth to finally offer a shimmer of hope to the patrons of Capital City came an entity whose name was irrelevant, whose title was meaningless. It was who he came in the name of that truly mattered...a Father of all that was righteous and true. The deceit that coated these lands would be no more. He had come to take back this city and give it in glorious offering to Him.

A cylindrical beam of light shot down from the heavens, producing tremors that were sudden and vehement. Demons disintegrated from its strength and the pulsating waves that shot out of its base took care of the rest in the vicinity. Within the humming energy that caused that light stood a man garbed in pure white, katana gripped in his hand before he looked up and seemed mesmerized by something. Dulcet tones escaped his mouth as his praise was lifted toward the One who sent him, knees burying into the ground in fervor and arms stretching out to emphasize the love he had for his Master. He sang to Him and Him alone, synchronizing his unworthy heart with the one of his mighty God who has given him this calling. The power this being held was not his own and it only seemed to augment itself as he finally looked around him.

What a face of sorrow crept along his face as he witnessed the state of this world but he felt himself more than capable of restoring it to the beauty his God could create. Tanned flesh reddened with heat and eyes burned with purpose as Shas' message slowly entered his mind. Redemption was needed and he would be the median for its wonderful embrace. He quickly responded to the man who seemed to cry out for action. "I claim this land in the name of the most High. Fear not for a true Savior has shown you favor" His speed was unnerving as he shot through the streets, aiding those who were still willing to fight and protect their lands...protect the weak and save the lost. His resolve was clear and his purpose shone like a beacon of light to those he came across. No weapon forged against him would prosper as long as his spirit remained true and he did everything for the glory of the one who sent him. Capital City and all of Ayenee would soon find out that grace and mercy did actually exist for them.
 
Her nose crinkled at the sound of his voice; it was like foul note on a beautiful masterpiece. What family did he speak of? The twisted, out of place individuals sharing the same name? That was the only thing they shared, a name. It was easily replaced, easily forgotten. She may have been his flesh and blood, but there was one subtle difference between her and her father; she chose to deny her birthright, chose to betray all that she was. She abhorred her family to its very foundation: her mother, her father, and all the siblings that shared her disease. She -hated- them all, and would rather see them rot in the fiery pits of hell than acknowledge them.

Her attention finally left her father's form, snapping instead to Darren and the words he uttered. Lips pulled into a frown, but there was clearly disgust woven in her expression. That monster he confessed his heart to wasn't deserving of this human emotion called love. They were human, and Novelly could only begin to remember what she once was, and turned away from. The grip on his shoulder momentarily tightened, as though offering her sentiments to his.. loss.

"Don't hand over your heart to a monster that only cares about herself. There's no place for you there; it's already too late." Her voice, like the softest petal on a flower, or the sweetness of warm honey.. it flowed with a hint of sadness from her lips. "We--" Her eyes followed Scorn's leap, and with unnatural speed, pulled forth Faith and an arrow from a quiver, and aimed it toward the monster leaping to whatever destination. The arrow was aimed, and fired a few feet infront of him...leading the target so that it wouldn't miss. It was aimed to clip his shoulder, or tear asunder whatever wing managed to stray in the arrow's path.

Blessed be the arrow that pierced his flesh.
 
Perhaps that arrow would have pierced Scorn's flesh...if only he stayed on course. But with that hand held cannon forming a direct hit into the back of Scorn he was thrown, leaving that arrow to fly endlessly into the sky.

But that wasn't the end of this spectacle. A phenomena to anyone watching. Elements, clouds, magic. Assaulting the out of control DarkTide. Lightning
​
strikes, acid baths, chilling winds, and fiery lashes followed up by the impact.

It sounded almost atomic, leaving a mushroom cloud to plume the sky. Hiding from the human senses the toppling sky scraper, it's needle like monument to man seeking a downward spiral to the panic below.

The quaking ground and avalanche like sounds were all the signal he needed, the shadow that befell them re-iterating to the trio that their exit was apon them...And Darren's focus became their way out, with out Novelly..

The words of Eclipse, stung... but he knew they were true. Novelly was beyond redemption, she had no room left for him. Why? why would anyone as beautiful and strong as she want someone as old as him...? Vaticus took his wife, his children and now he took...his Novelly.
For the first time in his life...Darren felt jealous anger.

He felt the cue, he knew it was time to go, and with one last glare placed 'pon Novelly and Vaticus that told more than words could speak his thought process completed itself. Their exit nearly as loud as Scorn's sub atomic landing. The air they once occupied collapsing in on itself in a literal tornadic process, devouring that poisonous smoke from the nearby collapsed sky scraper and sending it aimlessly into the sky. The ground? Charred ashes and heat sunk cracks quickly buried 'neath tons of that collapsing sky scraper.

How could anyone, or anything survive that? The thought going through probably every survivors mind that circled and watched the chaos created by their saviors?

Hit dead on by the round from a gun that may as well have been a tank's outfit, victimized by the elements in an awesome display of power and buried beneath hundreds of tons of collapsing building.

What few tanar'ri remained would be easily dispatched with out their leader by the likes of Ried Shas, the militia and police...and any other brave citizen or hero's who took up arms..there would of course be casualties.

And what if...what if somehow Scorn DarkTide did dig himself out of that rubble? The multiverse knew he could survive such a catastrophe...and they knew what he was capable of...What if he was just...enjoying himself with this assault and gave Ayenee false hope?

Somewhere else in the multiverse.

Elves, naked women on counter tops, pole dancers and savages hidden with in the rafters alike were astonished.

Where at one time there was steady air chaos erupted. Crushed tables, exploding windows and flying pastries assaulted everyone in attendance as a sphere of rippling vapor expanded, revealing the trio of Astaroth, Darren and Eclipse.

However...Darren didn't appear in the best of health falling imediately to his knees whilst pinkish eyes dimmed into their natural hazel. Worn from the immensity of traversing not only a continent but an entire plane.

Looking at the bar he saw the misfits of tenaria as they always were, ordering bloodwyne and murdering their neighbors in The Vampire Tavern. He also knew this realm was home to a new kind of villain. The one who held and was controled by Ebonsbane, Fross Wrathblade. Perhaps out of the frying pan, and into the fire.

Only now, that he knew they were safe from the fiends did he look up at Eclipse, wondering if perhaps she was the reason they were still alive. The bard's song gave him courage, but Eclipse, with that simple touch of her hand and the softness of her voice guided him from the anger and retribution he sought to give to the retreat that secured their life.
 
Ringlets of jewelry, or skulls. Black robes or white, featherd wings or leathery appendages. He was the man of a thousand faces, the deity who changed with the wind appeased the eye. A projection of everything that was right and wrong. A chaotic law that defies the chaos in us all.

His sheer presence, for he was not really there both a beacon and shadow. Watching from the skies but listening from the sands. Standing on the roofs, so far above the fray but fighting in the heart.

He was Gargauth, and his legion of many grew. From straggling survivors and their journey to Dark Avalon to his clergy behind those deviled walls.

He was gone...

Leaving those who remained to fend for there self, leaving the creature beneath the rubble to his mechanicians of destruction.

Where in the past Scorn DarkTide was his thorn, that devil was now his foot hold in this land. That monster served this city to him on a blood stained platter and soon the world would follow.
 
Top rock shifted, humps in the rubble lifting, falling, rolling, a bloodied hand exploded through the concrete, glass, wood, dust and rock. Approaching citizens were cut down unto their knees, and then...their stomachs, backs, two or three pieces. Heads flying, limbs floating. In the midst of it all not a monster...but a man. Like a god rebirthed.

Two hooked swords stained in blood, a splattered robe dousing his face in the stint of grey glowing eyes.

Stepping on curling fingers, crushing living heads of those who couldn't rise, intimidation? No, as Mark said...He was mad...

Those two...his immediate criticism. His walk subtle. Taking the time to gut the occasional survivor's who lacked the ability to retreat of their own accord due to one injury or another. His finishing line? Alexander and Mark.

Amazing...the persistence of this city. Small arms fire began to douse the beast, but like pellets they ricocheted from his devious frame, cutting cutters left and right with their own mechanicians.

A mech...stood in his way... the ground exploded. Smoke emitted from the shoulder harnessed layer. Scorn was gone.

But the intense sound of metal on metal gave way to more than citizenry could hold. His swords, like a pair of scissors enclosed the legs of that mech suit, bringing it down to his level as a crescent like kick, from a bare footed talon sent the head of that once white beacon of justice curtailing directly at Alexander's physique as his own body, impossibley twisting impaled the left hooked blade into the mech's side whilst the right found it's center.

With a simple flexing twist of his body the mech's figure exploded into a hail of metal ridden debris and exploding mechanics. A literal cloud of destruction rigging itself to tear into Mark and Alexander alike... in it's wake Scorn... Dragging blades across the ground at his side, cracking the city's surface in his aftermath. He continued onward, his persuit of those two humans. Pissed off...god help them.
 
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