amenities

Emilio found his attention aggressively drawn towards the young man with the stylish dog tags. He could not see auras with his naked eye but other, more subtle senses tuned to eddies of influential forces notified him that something buzzed through the air. Emilio was not the only one - it was not shock which rippled through the occasional patron but something like the surprised look one might give to someone who stood up, shouted once loudly, and then sat back down. Not alarming, not even out of place in an establishment which served alcohol and provided people a platform to sing, but intriguing.
"The local guard takes property damage very seriously." Emilio added to Trey's closing sentiment. "If you would like to fight, however, perhaps if you speak to the owner they would allow you some space on the roof or in the basement."
Venepot stood up and announced his intention to depart. Emilio stood up and clapped the man once on the shoulder with one hand, while offering the other in a closed fist, so that their knuckles could meet in a brief passage of friendship.
"Be well and merry. May your life be only as interesting as you can handle."
Sitting back down as the food arrived, Emilio replied to Igni. "I don't like to eat before I sing but I will join you after. It is very convenient that the spell I am going to use will take calories as cost and I have much good food today with more at hand."
To the untrained eye and ear what Emilio does is, essentially, cast a spell to make him sing good. To the close and learned student, the result of Emilio's spell is the spell itself; the rhythms, the melodies, his pitches and inflections themselves the components for the song which it is producing. An interesting parlor trick to some, a work of art to others.
"This is a song which a friend of mine, a bard, wrote about a woman he met in Ignatz. Today I sing it for my friends."
 

"Why would you let anyone do that to you?"
Sierra withering away from her flesh like ashes in the wind, Phoebe made a good point to her silent doppelganger. Why had any of the aberrations let themselves become this? The only response they would receive from the trio, for now, were their sick visages grinning in twisted resemblance back at them. And still, the laugh trickling like a distant stream in the background.
"They're all monkeys, puppets maybe- even yours. There's something else here, something bigger, but I don't know what.  You said you were here before, did you run into anything?"
Void Cain looked adoringly on his counterpart, the original back on him with disgust. It was Phoebe’s touch that snapped him out of it.
“I didn’t run into anything, but I felt it. They’re all one thing. Some trickster demon,” he said, the grins on their Void clones souring just slightly. “It uses traces of our magic and what it can make of our appearance to generate copies. Not even good ones, either.”
“Oh come on, you don’t need to ruin the fun,” laughed Void Phoebe.
With Shikai and the Dead Mistress’s answers, Void Cain held a finger in the air.
“Correct!” He said, leading them up the pier toward the blackened island. Fleets of white horses ran along the beach, scared away from where they grazed on white petals by the strangers. From the end of the pier, Void Shikai crouched. His coiled obsidian legs suddenly sprung him from the boards in a launch that sent waves crashing from either side of the pier as he rocketed through the air toward the horses. With the same motion as his landing, he used the replica of Mykur to slice one of the horses in half. Grabbing one half of the twitching animal under each arm, Void Shikai sprinted into the forest ahead of them. 
Soon they walked through the trees. Everything felt and smelled the way a normal forest would, but the colors were all inverted. There seemed to be no animals besides the horses with which the island was inundated.
Among one another, the Void creatures and the Dead walked together.
“Next riddle.” said Void Cain, plucking a low hanging fruit and biting his sharp teeth into it. “I have cities, but no houses. I have mountains, but no trees. Water, but no fish. What am I?”
The quiet laughter in the background seemed to be replaced by the quiet sounds of distress. Whinnying and beastial screeching scraped at the backs of their brains.

The Dead Mistress sighed as she saw her own doppelganger. At this point, she should just assume it's one of the other versions of hers. Not that it mattered but it was rather worrying to find out there's multitudes of her out there running around unsupervised. While she could stomach the existence of this questionable doppelgangers, she could not let this copycat's sloppy appearance pass. For one thing, no alternate version of hers would let have something glowing in their ear. This one was a definite fail.
Well, she did not look that bad on closer inspection. Her eyes narrowed at that thought. The darker aspects of this counterfeit was quite nostalgic for some reason. A stark resemblance to an older appearance of hers in the very distant past, features that have made an appalling resurgence everytime she would make more use of her ill-gotten powers and abilities. Yes, this creatures should definitely not exist beyond this realm. 
Monkeys? The word brought a smile to her lips. Just like the old saying Aslom brought from another world. Monkey see, monkey do. But a riddle at this was not the climactic confrontation she envisioned upon entering this realm. However, an encounter was an encounter, the least she could do was to humor it.
Ah! Another old saying from Aslom. Somehow, that bloody oracle felt so useful nowadays. If she remembers it right, then the next part should be-
"Hear no evil?" she hesitantly spoke pointing at the uglier version of her.

"What the fuck is that?!"
Shikai pointed at the hulking abomination that was meant to be him; expression torn between confusion and outrage. The only way he could tell it was meant to be him was the black sword that seemed to be welded to its hand. Well, that and maybe the hair... though even that was too long. Coloring was wrong too; it was supposed to be pale-white skin and obsidian black hair, damnit! But the most insulting of all was that the Void clone looked like a gorilla whose muscles had been artificially inflated with bicycle pumps. Lean muscle was his thing, and given the appreciative looks he got from men and women alike when he had cause to take off his shirt told him that he was not alone! 
Oh, and its mouth was sewn shut. He wondered how much of the clone's appearance was based off Cain's perceptions of his comrades; and if so, did that mean his leader thought he talked too much? But the Architect always seemed to enjoy talking with the shinobi. Did they all feel that way about him?
A violent shake of his head dispelled the troublesome thoughts. He needed to focus on what was in front of them; needed to make sure he and his comrades came out of this alive and victorious. 
“The first riddle!” he said, stepping aside and gesturing to Void Phoebe, Void Shikai, and Void Mistress. “Which monkeys are these?”
Monkeys? What did that mean... no, wait a minute. He did know this riddle!
"See No Evil," he pointed to Phoebe, and then to his doppelganger, "Speak No Evil!"
 

'I am God, I am the Devil,
A holy trickster protagonist,
Sola scriptura paganist,
Fortunam capit.'
The Son of Gaia sang with a whimsical, heartbreaking harmony. His voice’s tune would carry through the immense forest with sorrowful abandon. Birds stopped singing, squirrels stopped running, deers stopped grazing to the wanderer’s longsome will ‘o the wisp. 
He came to stand before the unnaturally thick wall of trees. Behind it, there warbled a discomforting warmth. Crimson red, that aura beyond the trunks— densely packed like warhorses— was like a furnace that was just barely, scarcely contained by the staunch trees. The final thrums of his voice took on new meaning, a chantlike reverence that rang with harshness instead of harmony against the thicket of trees; like an army beating its spears on its shields, like an army of warhorses himself, snorting and champing at the doors of the crimson furnace.
With its chorus' final words, he snatched a wafting wisp of web out of the air. Looking above, he saw in the canopy a constellation of hand-sized arachnids. His frame became a white gold light, his hand spooling the melting web around it.
“Gaia did not gift me with the ability to create,” he said with the same magnitude, apparently to nobody, as he wrenched down on the strand of spiderweb like a steam whistle at quitting time. “I am Her Son, and my Mother gave me the power destroy.”
Three significant things happened within two seconds of one another:
1) Huge spiders rained down all around and on top of Michael.
2) Without a singular gesture from the Diocese, the trees slid aside like slatted blinds. Behind them, as if listening at the door, there stood a hulking creature in war gear that seemed straight out of a Tokein-esque alternate dimension. Within the crimson furnace clearing, there grew a single steel tree. Instead of branches, the trunk sprouted two great metallic wings like those of dragons. The wings did not beat, but neither were they inanimate. Subtly but definitely, the tree and wings rose and fell with a surreal breath. The creature stood twice as tall as Michael, two horns protruding from the black metal of its warmask. One of its arms was transmogrified into a chainsaw cannon hybrid, and the other ended in a meaty fist studded with spikes like a mace. Its chestplate was as big as Michael, its loin cloth dangling eye level with Commager.
3) Michael’s golden frame erupted in boiling spirit fire. A spider as large as him landed on his head only to vaporize in a red mist of gargantuan predator panic. A white ball of fire became his human form, obscuring his form and obfuscating the spiders who had been meant a grim defense but now skittered for safety from the Bastion.
*POWCRUNCHSMASH*
Blasting, cascading, caroming, ricocheting, Michael’s cometesque form obliterated some trees whole, razed holes in others, and eventually died out to ping-pong from tree to tree until he skidded to rest in a simmering crater of steam.
“GWA GWA GWA GWA! God of nothing! Devil of the people! Michael Commager.” *thud!* *thud!* *thud!*
It approached. Razors frayed the edges of Michael’s shattered consciousness as he reached his arm up, watched his hand blur in the space above him. Somehow, he held the falcon’s feather.

Fried squid scent filled the air as Prose’s improvised crew fought off the creatures. Most captains are known to travel with at least one right-hand-man, maybe two; Prose had none. In demonstration of her reason why, the ornate rings decorating her hand that superheated the ship’s railing were warped and discolored with the shock of energy that fried them, embedded gems cracked within their blackened gold. 
Captain Letariat could either focus her energy on grilling anything that came over the ship’s edge or decimating that which had already done so.
With deftness that betold prior knowledge of the beasts, Prose left her hand on the prow’s railing to generate a devastating effect on all squid aberrations that fried the tentacles that lashed onto it for support to launch themselves on-deck. This eliminated virtually 70% of the bloodsucking target that approached, but the explanation for their aggression was unknown.
One hand on the bright-blue-illuminated railing, one hand on her sword as she slashed at a badly burnt squid creature that lashed at her with its charred alien appendage, Prose sliced off each tentacle bit by bit as it encroached on her. The creature’s water-like blood sprayed from its wounds as it attempted to close in on the skilled captain in its death throes.
Suddenly a moaning sound broiled up through the water and filled the salt breeze. It grew as loud as the ears could bear, not just impairing but utterly torturing the squid creatures into undulating retreat. With the final whips of their damaged tentacles the dozen-or-so creatures that survived fled into the ocean to the chorus of deep bass rising up from the depths.
Seas around the ship were calming from the froth even as it centralized around the vessel itself, but nearby from the fulmination of the deep bass, there appeared a boiling broth culminating in a bent pipe ending in a scope protruding from the water. Shortly after that, as it rose, was a screw-off valve and the upper hull of an ancient-looking submarine. The valve and attached scope hissed as its hydraulic seals released, swivelling as the cap opened and an old bald man with long wiry white hair on the sides of his head emerged from the porthole.
“Good Gaia, who the feck are you!? You didn’t see the Suckers!?” 
Looking all around, it was immediately clear the sonorous sound emanating from the emerged submarine had driven the monsters away.
“We saw them,” said Prose, her hand off the fried railing. Lightning centralized around the crevices where her eyes would normally be in a gesture of intimidation. “We’re looking for the Kaznah Piece.”
The elder poking out from the submarine soured at her expression for a moment before softening in a sense of forgiveness he appeared to have felt many times before.
“Kaznah Piece, eh?” he said, stroking his stubble as he sized up the crew peering down on him. Finally he gave way before retreating into the entryway. “Get in, ye fools.” 
Only a few of them would enter as the others necessary to the ship’s function tarried above sea. If the others hadn’t returned in two days, supplies dictated that they must leave the adventurers behind and return to port for supplies. After that, they might be lost at sea forever unless this codger could get them back.
Brutus, Prose, Ruiser, and Vassago were the only to enter the submarine. It was a cramped space of corridors and control centers, gauges in green zones lining all their walls.
“You guys were almost sea food there! Lucky my radars found your ship before you got swallowed up by those Suckers. Call me Benny,” said the crazy-looking old man as he led them through the sub’s tubes. “I’ve been down here for years documenting what’s going on! Buncha sucker squids defending a mother and her little base.”

The days which followed were uneventful, which is how Ruiser preferred to spend the large portion of his time at sea. He liked uneventful days, days without mystery and intrigue. His life was a tapestry of interesting events, one after another, chaos piled atop bedlam piled atop pandemonium. He had come to cherish peace and quiet for the twin treasures they were.
When serenity finally broke with a chorus of bells, Ruiser responded in his minimal way. He already had a knife in hand, its surface streaked with citrus juice and traces of scallion. He took it with him as he stormed out of the kitchen, through the mess, and across the cargo hold. He could make it onto the deck faster from the front of the ship but his final destination would be easier reached from the back.
Ruiser was a soldier at his core, had spent years as a rider for Rosinder's dragon corps, and the events preceding his being lost to the ravages of planet Valucre were no less exciting. His ability to improvise and his grace under fire were not innate talents but learned skills, honed over time with endless repetition at the cost of his life. Adrenaline had its uses but he preferred avoiding scenarios which ended with him as a rat in a corner, whose only remaining arrow was to lash out in desperation. His heart did not pound. His hands did not shake. His vision did not narrow into a focused tunnel. The looming threat of death and violence was not novel. It was as familiar as an old friend. Who got nervous meeting with an old friend?
From the helmsman's quarters on the lower deck, up the captain's quarters on the upper deck, up the aftercastle, up the ropes to the mizzenmast, up the mainmast and, all the while struggling against the ship's wild convulsions as it was coveted and groped by a leviathan, finally reaching the crow's nest. The nest occupied by a trembling spotter. Ruiser pushed the man to one side so he could claim the vantage for himself.
Now with the high 'ground' claimed Ruiser gained a general's perspective of the battle; he could see the choke points plain as the daylight they fought in, and addressed them.
The first and most urgent of them was Brutus.
The spotter near at hand was familiar with magic and would later admit that perhaps the fog of war confused matters but he heard Ruiser make no chant, saw him make no sign. The cook braced himself in the nest and simply had in his hands a longbow with a metallic body and mother-of-pearl finish. Ruiser twanged the string and from the empty air materialized a lance of light which punched through the air soundlessly until it caught . . . the deck. The second clanged off the railing. The third, fourth and fifth, however, caught two squids between them. Seconds later these arrows faded from sight, the damage done the only evidence of their existence.

... Meanwhile, Brutus had retired early from the watch, with the course set and the crew buckling down the last leg of their travels. It was a calm night, from what he could muster... From the bottom of a bottle of rum. He snored loudly on one of the bunks below, cradling his drink like a baby and wrapped in furs likewise. Around, a few sailors took the same opportunity to catch the warmth of the freshly-burned galley, breaking the whistling sea breezes beneath the cover of the deck's hulls.
Then, he stirred once with a twitch of his chapped nose. It was a deadly intuition which shook past the layers of comfort around him. He felt the tides shift beneath the ship. He felt the churning of his stomach and a snore escape him as he broke through the veil of sleep into consciousness.
"Cacambo--" He cried out for his partner, opening his eyes and the bottle of rum shattering on the floor. Water dripped onto him, and the ship rocked before the alarm bells commenced ringing. A cacophony of creaking as boards began to give way to rushing water. The lower deck flooded as the sea began to rush down the steps and through the top of the cabin. A chorus of footfalls, cries deafened by the sea... And the wet slapping of something climbing the hull. The drunken, dazed adventurer looked to his companions, his face betraying confusion and fear. He placed his boots onto the ground as his gaze was fixed on the stairs that stretched beneath the trap-door that led to the deck. The others were no doubt moved to action, but Brutus was frozen in fear.
The trap-door sprung open, and Cacambo's familiar red-topped sea boots hammered down the steps, before stopping suddenly as his waist came into view. One step followed another, same as suspicion began to mount. The familiar melted away towards the obscure, and into the alien. His knees were the first to give way as the young valet's face was frozen in a dumbfounded look, and a strange sound of suckling broke through the unintelligible cries of havoc from outside. His lifeless body slumped over as one of the beaked invaders which terrorized the watch on deck bored into the back of Cacambo's spine, helping itself to a buffet of bone marrow. Brutus did not know what to say. He drew his pistol, a foreign, ornate make with three carved barrels and an ivory handle, from the holster which hung from his coat nearby.
The stale calmness below was broken by the deafening shot which rang out-- Then another, then another. One bullet splintered the wood of the hull, and another tore into a tentacle through to the lifeless valet's shoulder. The last one dented the head of the squid before spilling its entrails over the body of his now-deceased companion. Brutus' frills shuffled in the wind as he broke the barrel of his weapon, hot cartridges of brass foil flying over his shoulder, smoldering from the volley. Carefully, his numbed fingers planted replacements into their chambers. His sword, a needle-like weapon as beautiful as it is deadly, surrounded him with a biting rasp as it flew from its scabbard. He stepped over the corpse of Cacambo to make it to the bedlam outside.
"... All watch, ahoy! To arms! Form up along your captain!" An invading squid flew at his hind, which he swatted away with the stallion-headed pommel at the handle-end of his blade. Another quick movement, and the blade flashed down to sever a tentacle from another attacker. From where he stood, he was quickly overrun by several of the squids which sought to make a meal of him. One grabbed on to his leg from some distance away, and another flew past him as its appendages wrapped around his left forearm; the one which held his blade. Another loud gunshot rang out, as the third which would have taken him crashed into him, lifelessly. His shirt had torn at the seams of his shoulder at the stress, as he yelled in terror as he was grappled on all sides. He looked towards the Captain at the far side of the ship, and across the deck for the others. He was in danger. He knew no ships passed through these waters often-- Now, it seems that they will learn why.

For a moment, that night they’d dealt death unto the Enrele Choisel hybrid coven, Phoebe might have caught glimpse of an urgency in Cain’s eyes nobody had seen for at least a decade. That special, honest quirk of concern in his right brow as he placed her carefully within the mangled vehicle suspended only by his mental strings. It was in moments like this that the false god’s senses were most incensed, caffeinated, primed to control numerous complex mechanisms simultaneously. Blazing through the Haunted Glen village’s barrier wall in a collision that nearly flattened the front of the truck even with a shell composed of Cain’s Troll, the hobbled truck had bumbled over a few hills before utterly falling apart on that night.
All had seemed lost, the Earthbreaker weakly falling from the collapsed vessel with the sounds of undead, aliens, vampires howling toward them through the wooded night.
Then, there approached from the other side a face that was most familiar for its reluctance. Cain’s least happy puppet, his clone Nica Sero, approached in the blurry reconciliation of Cain’s dimming vision. It was only the program in Nica’s head that demanded he follow Cain which dictated he come save them at this moment.
Later, when Phoebe found Cain in the woods, the seemingly indomitable Puppet Master wore his arm in a sling beneath the simple black robe he donned.
“This place is gorgeous…”
Cain and Phoebe had only shared this one journey together so far, but it felt like they had gone through so much more. Each of them possessed a piece of one another— had willingly given them in exchange for eternal trust.
She would see that, to Cain, it had meant something more.
There was an undeniably greater level of humanity, down-to-earthness in his gaze when his eyes met hers. The leftward curve of his grin met hers in a strange synchronicity they either hadn’t had or hadn’t noticed before.
"So.. what's the plan with our friend here?  He feels like he might die of fright soon."
Cain’s left palm splayed before him. Seven inches above it, suspended by a web of psychic strings, was the cylindrical pod of glowing calquartz imbued with and powered by Cain’s blood magic. On either end were novonium caps. Within, the impaled enrele. A pus-like fluid sprayed from it upon first impact, spattering its container, before its healing hormones dictated the vindictive creature’s recovery within the capsule.
Cain, Phoebe, and the Enrele would share a channel created by Cain in that moment.
“What do you want, in life?” muse Cain out loud to the creature.
“Freedom,” it said with callous immediacy. This response was not spoken like Cain’s, but sounded like it was hissed through a vent in the deeper recesses of their minds.
“Besides that,” Cain said.
“Blood,” it said curtly. “Samples,” even more sinisterly.
“Done,” said Cain with irksome casualness.
“And in return?”
“You make us hives,” the slinged Cain spoke aloud all along. “Hives I will use for my purposes.”
Stabbed on the grotesquely serrated blade, unable to escape its chamber, the disgusting beast appeared suspended in animation for a moment.
“I acquiesce. Please, relinquish me into a more bearable container,” almost with abruptness it submitted to begging beneath the exertion of its captors’ wills.

Ash didn't resent Shikai for pushing him so hard, nor question him for his odd methods of training him. He was obsessed with learning the skills that would push him toward his own goal, something all the Dead must have, Ash didn't resent or question Shikai but dove into the material. It was true though, he was worn down. Standing after Shikai's order without arguing, more than ready to get some dinner, Ash placed the guitar with reverence before him and stretched up on his toes and stretching his arms above his head.
Sitting with a yawn, the notes running through his head in a thick twine of mental noise that would continue his training even as he replenished his body. Even before the food came, Ash knew what it was. The smell of meat and the sweetness of batter wafted in, accompanied by the sizzle of the sausage and eggs. By the time the food came, Ash's mouth watered. 
He ate it with aplomb, chewing everything to a fine pulp so that his body could absorb everything. When he was done, he scratched his head and looked at Shikai.
"Anywhere to sleep here or should I head back to base?"

"To learn the guitar? As long as it takes," he chuckled, "But we can call it for tonight."
Getting to his feet, he gave his student a once over; noticing how worn down the boy was and mentally kicking himself for pushing him so hard. True, this was how he had learned almost all the skills that he had now; but this was not the same situation. Back when he was studying, he had been forced to push himself to the limit because there were people hunting him, and he needed the power to defend himself. Ash also faced danger through his position with The Dead, but not quite so imminently. From now on he would be sure to adjust how hard he pushed the boy. For now though, he would care for his student.
"Come on, I'll make you some dinner."
If Ash complained, Shikai would insist gently, but firmly until the boy realized that his master was gently giving him an order. Ushering the boy into his kitchen, he sat him down at the table and gave him a soda while he gathered ingredients for breakfast for dinner. Thirty minutes later, he had two plates loaded with pancakes, eggs, sausage, and bacon. Setting one plate and a pair of silverware in front of Ash, he sat down across from him and smiled.
"Dig in!"

Some battles are fought between singular men; some, singular armies within a bowled arena; but the majority of the very most realistic battles are fought in the hearts and minds of the soldiers and the very citizens behind them. These majority battles are widespread, panicked, and shrouded in both visual and moral haze (And not the Odin kind!). Without ever averting his gaze, the schematics of deaths deep within Aspyn informed Michael that this was its own special type of hell.
“Don’t talk about—"
‘Sir! Foreign vessel in friendly skies. Energy signatures mounting in its hull.’
Tori’s data lanced through Michael’s emotions like a scalpel through a boil. As he brought his hands forward, Tori visualized the building hum in the Banzai’s belly leading to a conceivable point where it would discharge, and the release of Michael’s energy came in correspondent prematurity. It wasn’t some vainglorious attempt at taking all the credit for stopping the rounds— he neither knew what dimension they would come in or that he could even do such a thing— but at the sheer fraction of a possibility that the two attacks could combine for double devastation on the arch-demon.
What this did was two things: 1) Kahd’Xel, with all his smoke and mirrors, would be pinned between the searing grill of Michael’s explaudere and one of the Banzai’s seven rounds. 2) The six rounds that had nearly whizzed past the dueling good and evil at ultrasonic speeds would instead be met with the 100-yard-diameter fan of indomitable white light that expanded from the Major. (It was his coup de grâce, the largest of his energy saved for the singular blow he planned to deliver all along; and this time, it pinned the arch-demon between its original assailant and the far-off Banzai.) Two rounds would raze the forest in each cardinal direction, destroying no shortage of wildlife and charring the outsides of the wall but leaving it intact. One of the two remaining arced upward, blazing up into the stars, leaving the last to plummet with due devastation into the wall behind Michael.
Two blasts, first the initial impact of Michael vs. Kahd and second the whoosh of air following the Banzai’s artillery, sent ripples across the hazed terrain. The sound of a thousand jet engines, the exploding heart of a tsunami blew soldiers and alien bugs back several steps just by being in the same vicinity. Amazingly, in their frantic bids for survival, each side raged on unsure where the bombardment had come from. It was likely that only later data would provide such insights to most of the forces.
The Xelken were visibly slowed by the impediment of their master’s signal as Kahd fell down to two of his four knees. An insectoid roar screed from his putrid maw as he half lunged, half fell forward toward the fatigued Michael. Michael needed only step back, back, and to the right to avoid the falling alien mass that had blasphemed his mother’s name. Some day, perhaps, Michael would learn that he was but a simple beggar child from the streets of Weland. But today was not the day, from this demon’s lips was not the way.
While Kahd’Xel flailed on the ground like a massive moth that had been stomped not quite hard enough, Michael stepped away to watch the psychic alien horror writhe. Meanwhile, water elementals encroached on Kahd with freeze spells and vials of de-animation potions that would slow his movements on a metaphysical level.
‘It seems like the Xelken were a Trojan horse for something else,’ Tori said, projecting images of the city’s inner damage to Michael as he backed away from the giant flailing moth with blood spewing from the gape in its neck, with charred flesh abounding on its chest and face that cracked disgustingly with its every convulsion to ooze green goo that sizzled when it sprayed and dripped on the ground.
“Are units responding?” He said, falling to one knee as he clutched one forearm with his other hand. The exhaustion from generating ventilation crystals for Kahd’s energy and generating such an attack as he had so quickly bore down on him with ultimate punishment.
‘Of course.’ Tori’s voice was a knowing flow of forgiveness against his pain.
Intricacies that would clear up much slower than the fog of this particular battle unfolded between the ultra hawks and HGA. It appeared that unnaturals felt they could trounce the very land that was created out of, created just for the purposes of fending off their first evil ventures.
Immediately upon the release of Unnatural and undead horrors from HGA, Terran soldiers in conjunction with Gaian clergymen closed in on the locale. There was no ‘even if they’re helping us’ or ‘well this unnatural might kill everyone in its vicinity but it also prevents Kahd-rona’ clause. There was only a ‘destroy all unnatural invaders’ clause. People of Gaia’s faith already having surrounded the HGA enclosure, the approaching cadre headed by the thrown ultra hawk would find the HGA monstrosities throttled down the singular roadway down which the ultra hawk was headed, with clergymen and women standing on the rooftops. From these vantage points scattered around the blocks, they shot down on the approaching Xelken and Unnaturals, picking off with intermediate effectiveness the alien horde with its infected legions and unexpected weapons. 
From the Rec Center outward there fountained a holy mist, ethereal lattices containing holy aura that scarred the beings affected by necromantic energy and helped immunize those on the field against the plagues of the Xelken. Within an hour, the entire city would be raining with the rapidly expanding and willed-forth energy all the way to from jungle to coast, and it would be clear that Aspyn was no easy target for Unnatural invaders.
Meanwhile, any alien creatures that could supposedly be running under non-necromantic magics were continually barraged with elemental (particularly ice and fire) attacks until they hit the ground. When they did hit the ground, virtually 65% of the citizen population knew enough geomancy to encase them in a tomb of stone or at least restrain them through geomancy until they could be addressed by ranking officials.

Thread Summary:
Michael baptizes Marigold into the Gaian clergy as one of his Disciples. Embarking on their first journey together, Michael and Marigold seek to eradicate the demon Kru'Gorah who has taken over a server in Hell's Gate and uses it to project curses onto a nearby village called Hyde. Traveling to Hell's Gate and infiltrating the server, Michael and Marigold are able with surprising ease to neutralize the threat that is Kru'Gorah and his minions. From the rubble of Server Z's basement where Kru'Gorah had made his hovel, Michael and Marigold emerge with the creature's hundred-foot tail. Their liberation of Server Z allows it to finish its first project, the Sieve.
Consequences:
- Server Z needs to be rebuilt. Inside there may be secrets to Kru'Gorah's plan and pieces of the demon himself to loot.
- Citizens of Hyde are in disarray, they need a new leader.

--Two days of relatively smooth sailing later
“Intan is the greatest of all the pirates out here,” said Prose, the whole crew gathered around for a late midday meal courtesy of the stolid cook. There was a slightly higher quantity of fresh-caught ingredients in the galley, but supplies were by no means low. All of them had grown a little closer over the last couple days, a very low constituent who couldn’t jive with the rest of the crew dealt with judiciously.
Now, like many nights, Prose and her mates exchanged stories of the sea. 
Only tonight, there was a special edge in the air. Thanks to the Yatari-adapted runes on the ship’s hull and relative simplicity of the route on Prose’s charts, they were able to do most of the journey much faster than they’d originally thought. The spot marked ‘X’ was stretched somewhere in the blue expanse ahead of them, this their last and most hearty meal.
“CAPTAIN!!!” came the cry from the bird’s nest, slicing through the reverie. “ROUGH SEAS AHEAD!— APPROACHING!”
“What!?” Prose shot into the standing position, four incredible lunging steps taking her over two crewmates, from the top deck to the prow. The ocean had been calm like glass an hour ago and the skies were clear, but the whole stretch of sea before them now frothed with some kind of living anger— there were no waves, but the surface not only frothed but raged toward them!!
“MAN YOUR STATIONS,” now Prose’s voice ripped across the decks like a thunderstorm. The sound of the  “MEN! BRACE FOR CONTACT!”
Rushing water roared right up to them, fizz and angry foam grueling up on them, and then all was silent, perfectly still.
Looking out at the waters that had suddenly grown calm, most of the crew looked at the scene and one another in disbelief. Had they been watching from a bird’s eye view, they might have known what was about to happen….
“Waaa—!!” 
Looking back, they would see a disgusting, rotting octopus creature sucking onto one of the men’s arms in the back. Blood sprayed from his forearm where he was being bitten, the monster’s tentacles long enough to lash around the man and constrict in on him. With a gross maw of jaws where a normal octopus’s beak might be, and tentacles long enough to resemble a squid, it would lash at the lush’s soft spots until he fell to the ground in a pool of blood where they had just been enjoying food moments earlier.
The super-aggressive creature was not alone, either. In the silent moments they’d spent standing there, a pod of twenty-or-so of the creatures were already climbing up the ship’s sides. Now they began jumping over the side rails and attacking the crew. One singular metal rail ran around the ship, and Prose set her bejeweled hand upon it.
“Step away from the rails!” she shouted.
Electricity superheated the railing around the ship and made grilled sushi of the first Suckerpus’ that followed. There were still about a dozen of the monsters unharmed and seven more who were operative in some way. 
The ship was suddenly at war, and not in the way one might expect.

Through the sparkle of her gold that night, Prose watched the men who either tempered themselves against the availability of libations and weather its effects, or lost themselves in the shimmer and got wasted. Those of the latter group who made it out the next day were obviously worse for the wear, and their habits showed even deeper in the sweaty wrinkles on their brows the next day. Those who could weather its effects either carried the hearty slur of a natural drunken sailor or the seasoned brawn to match, and those who saved their free investments were likely the ones who’d been up early and were moving most spryly.
“I am doing well captain, oh my name, Vassago.”
“Welcome,” Prose clapped the threatening man on the shoulder, fighting the slight urge to stay away from him just to exchange pleasantries. “What group are you in?” she asked, referring to which position Vassago had been assigned to on the ship. (They had all been assigned duties based on the things they said they were best at).
Most of the early afternoon was spent drafting pirate’s rights on the ship with Ruiser playing a surprisingly instrumental role in introducing the process. If the crew was going to succeed on this mission it had to be tight-knit, its constitution even tighter. Ruiser would find that, one-on-one, Prose carried none of the dirty mouth or as much of the raucous nature she had in the tavern one night earlier. Her act had been just that, her diplomacy a more accurate representation. It might even seem she had more of a penchant for legal vessels than this.
"...I can see you've wasted no time trying to meet your companions, now that they're hung over and trying the seas on for size. She's a fine brig, though I lament the lack of engines."
“Yes,” responded the captain, her black form retaining a slick appearance despite the heat as she looked ahead of them, bearing the maps to which Brutus was about to refer. “I’ve learned quite a lot!”
One couldn’t see it, but Brutus would know she was grinning as she spoke, the lightning inside her body a consistent symbol of her speech.
“Once you're through, we can finally talk about these charts. I don't know where you got them from, but if they're to be believed, we have an arduous journey ahead."
“No engines,” said Prose as she turned her head to assure they were far enough out from the Isle’s harbor. “Yatari runes.”
“Sheetmen, raise the sails!” she barked, six men splitting between three stations, utilizing a magically enhanced pulley system to raise the ship’s sails.
Now that their ship had been undocked conventionally, a necessity that would come to bear later in their journey, the runes could accelerate their speed. Without ever visibly slowing and without jostling forward, the ship’s speed picked up at a swift clip via runes on the ship’s hull pushing water by underneath them until it danced atop the waves and wind ran through their hair. 
“Your stomach alright?” she laughed over the wind, looking back at Brutus from the prow as the sun began to redden in the afternoon.

"I cook."
*"Good enough."*
Well that was easy.
Content, Ruiser relaxed in his seat and watched the others play round-robin with their own declarations of skill, or interest, or name.
*"Listen, ye fucking dogs."*
Ruiser blinked. The dragon-riding soldier of the lost land of Rosinder looked behind him, first over one shoulder, then the other. In the expanse of the saloon interior he found no dogs, no dog-headed men, nothing of that sort. He turned back to Prose mid-sentence to find she was addressing those gathered. He thought about the exchange for a second before remembering, with a start and the lightest, airiest chuckle, that such insults were sometimes used as fodder for dialogue.
Engrossed, Ruiser watched as Prose paced the room with the stage presence of a preacher. She knew what to say and how, when to whisper and when to bellow, and when to show them that she had the goods, that turning your eyes and ears away from her at the wrong moment would cost you dearly, as she scattered gold coins among the patrons. Ruiser's hand snaked out, caught a twinkle, and returned gripping a single gold coin. He inspected it for a few seconds, deposited it in his purse, and turned his attention back to Prose.
This was a curious captain.
# # #
Ruiser had a drink the night before, but not very many. He knew he would have to rise earlier than most of the crew to make sure their breakfast was ready, and he did so before the ship shoved off so that they could keep their on-ship provisions untouched until the very last moment.
Today's breakfast was a hash of eggs, bacon and cheese. Once the crew was fed Ruiser sat down for his own meal. He ate outside, looking to the skies as the ship moved towards a wider expanse of sea. Once he himself was fed, Ruiser joined the others for the discussion of what lay ahead.
"Captain, before land is too far to swim, I want to ask."
Then, in his accented Unii, Ruiser proceeded to chart out the nuances of the rights they could expect while flying under Prose's flag. In particular he wanted to know that every man got a vote and that their ship was run by fair process, with equal title to fresh provisions and liquors and a fair share of the loot (officers and captains were expected to get more, but how much more was a sticking point).
Once those fundamental concerns were addressed Ruiser went on to ask if they could gamble while on ship or only while ashore, if they were under a curfew, and how disagreements would be resolved between crew members.

Upon hearing Prose’s thunderous voice a fire was lit underneath him, having such a captain would change the dynamic of this from simple work to an adventure all on its own, and when gold coins were flung into the air he could only wonder what kind of riches this woman had bestowed upon herself. In less than a second she became an object of curiosity in Vassago’s eyes. She reminded him of another demon who went by the name of Clauneck, he was a rather unpredictable fellow with a knack for finding gold. Should Prose stumble into the plains of the damned she would certainly be in good company. Vassago slept well that night, dreams of treasure and grog dancing about in his mind.
Coming on board the first thing that struck Vassago was the sheer value of such a vessel. Not that he was surprised though, this was a woman whom the night before had thrown gold throughout a saloon. Upon her approach he smiled just enough to be noticeable, though this appeared much more in the matter of a smirk. However, the mention of name briefly worried him, generally speaking if he didn’t have to go by an alias he wouldn’t, no one around looked like a paladin or holy man to him so that relieved him a little of the stress “I am doing well captain, oh my name, Vassago.” Upon saying his name the air around them would chill ever so slightly, his tongue twisting in an unnatural way to say his name.
Above all Vassago had a certain excitement about him, the seven seas, open air, riches, and the constant threat of imminent destruction. It was certainly nothing that Vassago hadn’t gone through before. As for work he had been chosen to glass ahead, making sure that the ship didn’t come into harms way without alerting the rest of the crew, and after he set to eating his breakfast that is what he did, climbing along the mast and into the crows nest manning the spyglass mounted their. Now all that was left was to wait.

The Void Cain’s golden eyes observed the Valucre Cain’s companions, head cocked in curiosity as they made their inquiries, made ready to fight? Their queries about battle were met only with the confused quirk of a brow. After a moment its pale lips split open like dry skin, a not sharp but predatory grin heralding his amusement unto them in the form of a laugh drier than bones. Its hollows echoed with the same, feminine laugh that skittered softly across the brain pan like acrylic nails. 
Phoebe would feel it best: The sensation that they were all standing in a haunted snowglobe being watched and, occasionally, shaken up.
"Although I 've always preferred the non-violent option, I won't hesitate to fight if it plans to obstruct our path. I did bury a couple of these so called 'gods,' recently. Dealing with this one shouldn't take that long."
As the Dead Mistress spoke, the ship that presumably held the Void versions of the Dead docked on the black beach and traversed the white petals littering the dock en route to them. It was almost as if the three fated figures hovered to them, ghoulish in their appearances.
Void Phoebe was perhaps most like its original. Her flesh was a pale tint that fit the black-and-white thematics of the realm they had entered into. Around her face, covering her eyes was a tattered black cloth. Beneath the cloth, where Void Phoebe’s left eye would be, was the first sign of color in this realm— an orb of violet light penetrating the thick gossamer that blindfolded Void Phoebe.
Void Shikai was like a hulking orc. He actually dwarfed the original Shikai at about twice his size. Utterly obsidian flesh stretched tight over thick muscles, a great mane of flowing white hair twisting surreally in impalpable winds. Within its hand it held a black rendition of Mykur, except this creature didn’t seem to hold the actual Mykur, or in fact any blade ready for battle, but merely as an attachment of his hand— as if it could never leave. Void Shikai’s mouth was a mess of stitches. A similar emanation of violet light peeked through the seams in its sewn-shut mouth.
“What’s that!? You’re going to have to speak up.”
Lastly approached the Void Mistress. Her hair was black, her eyes black, her skin powder white. She was remarkably similar to the Mistress. Void Mistress kept banging her ear on her hand as if she were trying to get some water out of it. From within her left ear there glowed a’something violet.
“You might as well put your sword away, Shikai,” said Cain, eye level with the Void Shikai’s chest, the most threatening-looking one of the bunch. “I don’t like it any more than you guys, but this ‘god’ isn’t like any of the other ones you’ve encountered. Can’t chop this one up with brute force.”
Cain brought the black rose up between him and his Void counterpart. Within the black rose held by Valucre Cain, for the first time, there illuminated a violet node.
“You want this?” he said to Void Cain.
Something carnal overcame the humor in Void Cain’s expression and he suddenly snatched for the black rose, but Valucre Cain yanked it back. Hissing as Cain withdrew the petaled flower, taking on a serpentine expression even for an image of Cain, the Void Cain regrouped. Phoebe would feel that the expressions and feelings of their Void versions were broadcasting through the whole realm. As Void Cain regrouped, the Void creature regrouped.
“I still have three other pieces,” he said smugly.
“Hey, what’s he saying?” said Void Mistress to Void Phoebe, who stood with her arms folded listening sternly to the altercation.
“He’s saying we’re about to play a little game,” said the blind-folded Void Phoebe.
Void Shikai’s blade quirked at the words, a war-grunt rumbling in his chest, but the beast was visibly restrained from speaking by the seams shutting its lips.
Ocean water lapped with mysterious gentleness against the dock. They stood way, way out on the wooden platform that led out to the middle of the Isle. It seemed, because there was a whole island beside them, that they might venture in since, according to Void Cain, there was no great battle about to ensue.
Void Cain stepped forward. The three Void Dead members stood behind him, pointing to the hulking ship far off in the foggy distance.
“There’s your stupid ship,” Void Cain said with impunity. Now, as Void Cain spoke and Phoebe became better acquainted with the Void creature’s aura that wrapped around them like a blanket of 1960’s filament, she would hear the feminine voice in the background speaking in unison with Void Cain, perhaps even powering it.
“But I’m not gonna give it to you.” Void Cain turned to face them, and the wrinkles in his face were innumerable, his brow a piercing crucible of anger and judgment. His body swelled like a monster in a dream, looming over them with an illusion-like frame and anger. “This is the last thing I hold dear!”
“That is..” Void Cain continued, “unless you complete my three riddles.”
“The first riddle!” he said, stepping aside and gesturing to Void Phoebe, Void Shikai, and Void Mistress. “Which monkeys are these?”

The Void Cain’s golden eyes observed the Valucre Cain’s companions, head cocked in curiosity as they made their inquiries, made ready to fight? Their queries about battle were met only with the confused quirk of a brow. After a moment its pale lips split open like dry skin, a not sharp but predatory grin heralding his amusement unto them in the form of a laugh drier than bones. Its hollows echoed with the same, feminine laugh that skittered softly across the brain pan like acrylic nails. 
Phoebe would feel it best: The sensation that they were all standing in a haunted snowglobe being watched and, occasionally, shaken up.
"Although I 've always preferred the non-violent option, I won't hesitate to fight if it plans to obstruct our path. I did bury a couple of these so called 'gods,' recently. Dealing with this one shouldn't take that long."
As the Dead Mistress spoke, the ship that presumably held the Void versions of the Dead docked on the black beach and traversed the white petals littering the dock en route to them. It was almost as if the three fated figures hovered to them, ghoulish in their appearances.
Void Phoebe was perhaps most like its original. Her flesh was a pale tint that fit the black-and-white thematics of the realm they had entered into. Around her face, covering her eyes was a tattered black cloth. Beneath the cloth, where Void Phoebe’s left eye would be, was the first sign of color in this realm— an orb of violet light penetrating the thick gossamer that blindfolded Void Phoebe.
Void Shikai was like a hulking orc. He actually dwarfed the original Shikai at about twice his size. Utterly obsidian flesh stretched tight over thick muscles, a great mane of flowing white hair twisting surreally in impalpable winds. Within its hand it held a black rendition of Mykur, except this creature didn’t seem to hold the actual Mykur, or in fact any blade ready for battle, but merely as an attachment of his hand— as if it could never leave. Void Shikai’s mouth was a mess of stitches. A similar emanation of violet light peeked through the seams in its sewn-shut mouth.
“What’s that!? You’re going to have to speak up.”
Lastly approached the Void Mistress. Her hair was black, her eyes black, her skin powder white. She was remarkably similar to the Mistress. Void Mistress kept banging her ear on her hand as if she were trying to get some water out of it. From within her left ear there glowed a’something violet.
“You might as well put your sword away, Shikai,” said Cain, eye level with the Void Shikai’s chest, the most threatening-looking one of the bunch. “I don’t like it any more than you guys, but this ‘god’ isn’t like any of the other ones you’ve encountered. Can’t chop this one up with brute force.”
Cain brought the black rose up between him and his Void counterpart. Within the black rose held by Valucre Cain, for the first time, there illuminated a violet node.
“You want this?” he said to Void Cain.
Something carnal overcame the humor in Void Cain’s expression and he suddenly snatched for the black rose, but Valucre Cain yanked it back. Hissing as Cain withdrew the petaled flower, taking on a serpentine expression even for an image of Cain, the Void Cain regrouped. Phoebe would feel that the expressions and feelings of their Void versions were broadcasting through the whole realm. As Void Cain regrouped, the Void creature regrouped.
“I still have three other pieces,” he said smugly.
“Hey, what’s he saying?” said Void Mistress to Void Phoebe, who stood with her arms folded listening sternly to the altercation.
“He’s saying we’re about to play a little game,” said the blind-folded Void Phoebe.
Void Shikai’s blade quirked at the words, a war-grunt rumbling in his chest, but the beast was visibly restrained from speaking by the seams shutting its lips.
Ocean water lapped with mysterious gentleness against the dock. They stood way, way out on the wooden platform that led out to the middle of the Isle. It seemed, because there was a whole island beside them, that they might venture in since, according to Void Cain, there was no great battle about to ensue.
Void Cain stepped forward. The three Void Dead members stood behind him, pointing to the hulking ship far off in the foggy distance.
“There’s your stupid ship,” Void Cain said with impunity. Now, as Void Cain spoke and Phoebe became better acquainted with the Void creature’s aura that wrapped around them like a blanket of 1960’s filament, she would hear the feminine voice in the background speaking in unison with Void Cain, perhaps even powering it.
“But I’m not gonna give it to you.” Void Cain turned to face them, and the wrinkles in his face were innumerable, his brow a piercing crucible of anger and judgment. His body swelled like a monster in a dream, looming over them with an illusion-like frame and anger. “This is the last thing I hold dear!”
“That is..” Void Cain continued, “unless you complete my three riddles.”
“The first riddle!” he said, stepping aside and gesturing to Void Phoebe, Void Shikai, and Void Mistress. “Which monkeys are these?”

The Void Cain’s golden eyes observed the Valucre Cain’s companions, head cocked in curiosity as they made their inquiries, made ready to fight? Their queries about battle were met only with the confused quirk of a brow. After a moment its pale lips split open like dry skin, a not sharp but predatory grin heralding his amusement unto them in the form of a laugh drier than bones. Its hollows echoed with the same, feminine laugh that skittered softly across the brain pan like acrylic nails. 
Phoebe would feel it best: The sensation that they were all standing in a haunted snowglobe being watched and, occasionally, shaken up.
"Although I 've always preferred the non-violent option, I won't hesitate to fight if it plans to obstruct our path. I did bury a couple of these so called 'gods,' recently. Dealing with this one shouldn't take that long."
As the Dead Mistress spoke, the ship that presumably held the Void versions of the Dead docked on the black beach and traversed the white petals littering the dock en route to them. It was almost as if the three fated figures hovered to them, ghoulish in their appearances.
Void Phoebe was perhaps most like its original. Her flesh was a pale tint that fit the black-and-white thematics of the realm they had entered into. Around her face, covering her eyes was a tattered black cloth. Beneath the cloth, where Void Phoebe’s left eye would be, was the first sign of color in this realm— an orb of violet light penetrating the thick gossamer that blindfolded Void Phoebe.
Void Shikai was like a hulking orc. He actually dwarfed the original Shikai at about twice his size. Utterly obsidian flesh stretched tight over thick muscles, a great mane of flowing white hair twisting surreally in impalpable winds. Within its hand it held a black rendition of Mykur, except this creature didn’t seem to hold the actual Mykur, or in fact any blade ready for battle, but merely as an attachment of his hand— as if it could never leave. Void Shikai’s mouth was a mess of stitches. A similar emanation of violet light peeked through the seams in its sewn-shut mouth.
“What’s that!? You’re going to have to speak up.”
Lastly approached the Void Mistress. Her hair was black, her eyes black, her skin powder white. She was remarkably similar to the Mistress. Void Mistress kept banging her ear on her hand as if she were trying to get some water out of it. From within her left ear there glowed a’something violet.
“You might as well put your sword away, Shikai,” said Cain, eye level with the Void Shikai’s chest, the most threatening-looking one of the bunch. “I don’t like it any more than you guys, but this ‘god’ isn’t like any of the other ones you’ve encountered. Can’t chop this one up with brute force.”
Cain brought the black rose up between him and his Void counterpart. Within the black rose held by Valucre Cain, for the first time, there illuminated a violet node.
“You want this?” he said to Void Cain.
Something carnal overcame the humor in Void Cain’s expression and he suddenly snatched for the black rose, but Valucre Cain yanked it back. Hissing as Cain withdrew the petaled flower, taking on a serpentine expression even for an image of Cain, the Void Cain regrouped. Phoebe would feel that the expressions and feelings of their Void versions were broadcasting through the whole realm. As Void Cain regrouped, the Void creature regrouped.
“I still have three other pieces,” he said smugly.
“Hey, what’s he saying?” said Void Mistress to Void Phoebe, who stood with her arms folded listening sternly to the altercation.
“He’s saying we’re about to play a little game,” said the blind-folded Void Phoebe.
Void Shikai’s blade quirked at the words, a war-grunt rumbling in his chest, but the beast was visibly restrained from speaking by the seams shutting its lips.
Ocean water lapped with mysterious gentleness against the dock. They stood way, way out on the wooden platform that led out to the middle of the Isle. It seemed, because there was a whole island beside them, that they might venture in since, according to Void Cain, there was no great battle about to ensue.
Void Cain stepped forward. The three Void Dead members stood behind him, pointing to the hulking ship far off in the foggy distance.
“There’s your stupid ship,” Void Cain said with impunity. Now, as Void Cain spoke and Phoebe became better acquainted with the Void creature’s aura that wrapped around them like a blanket of 1960’s filament, she would hear the feminine voice in the background speaking in unison with Void Cain, perhaps even powering it.
“But I’m not gonna give it to you.” Void Cain turned to face them, and the wrinkles in his face were innumerable, his brow a piercing crucible of anger and judgment. His body swelled like a monster in a dream, looming over them with an illusion-like frame and anger. “This is the last thing I hold dear!”
“That is..” Void Cain continued, “unless you complete my three riddles.”
“The first riddle!” he said, stepping aside and gesturing to Void Phoebe, Void Shikai, and Void Mistress. “Which monkeys are these?”

"Marshall!"
Oh good, she remembered.
A wide, cavernous smile split Phoebe's face like an ax-head-- it thinned her lips, slashing red against her teeth's wicked white, and lining it all with the promise of oblivion.  It was as unbound and unchecked as the winds, unburdened by the expectation of apologies and flying free with a mettle sail and not a single fuck to weigh her down.  
There was gonna be murder tonight.
Invisible shields were birthed and directed at advantageous angles as the First unleashed her Will- cutting lines and fracturing the lasers, leading them back or to the side until the air looked like a wild cat's cradle, and the distant riflemen couldn't take a shot without worrying if they were going to hit themselves or their allies.  The effect was pure chaos- ricochets and rebounds struck through the air seemingly at random, but their arcs always seeming to bend toward Amirah's forces, or worse, Amirah herself.  It was treacherous in the shifting half-light, and as Phoebe choreographed the battle like a master puppeteer, the screams of her surprised opposition took to the air.  
She couldn't intercept all the projectiles, but she sure put a dent in the assault.  Shikai and Ash had their promised cover- what they made of it was up to them.
At least until Amirah charged.
She hit Phoebe's barrier with an incomprehensible force- it rocked the First, sending her skidding backward and tearing ravines into the floor as her psionic hooks grabbed the wood, anchoring, only to be snapped off with the force Amirah delivered.  The inside of Phoebe's head rung- for a terrifying breath, she was alone in her thoughts before the Mindgorger came roaring back and banished the darkness hovering at the edge of her vision.
"I'll kill you, you bitch!" Amirah snarled as she pummeled Phoebe's barrier, "I'll rip off your arms and legs before I burn that pretty face off!"
"Treville said something similar before I made boots out of him," countered the First, her own pained tears unconsciously welling to the points of her eyes as Amirah's assault cracked her skull from the inside.  Every blow from the Phoenix's flame wrapped fists was a gift-wrapped implosion within the Psion's head- a jack-hammer, tipped with dynamite, fueled with fission, which forced Phoebe to pull back her efforts from support and focus them on defending Amirah's onslaught.  Worse, she was losing ground.
"I really.." she began, spitting the words through her teeth.
Need..
You to stop that..  
Her want never manifested verbally.  Instead, the metaphorical cracks in Phoebe's skull began to manifest as actual fractures in her barrier- fissures that she could see, that she could watch splinter and streak off to create new rifts until the entirety of the wall threatened to collapse in time with her consciousness.
"You killed them! I'LL FUCKING BURN YOU ALIVE!"
"Maybe.." acknowledged Phoebe, grimacing as she forced her legs to move and body to uncurl from the crouch Amirah had driven her to.  The nuclear force reverberating in her thoughts was becoming numbing; like a head-banger at a club, she grew indifferent to it- not immune, but the shocking level of force was more expected with every blast that hit her.  Eventually, she stood and flashed Amirah a ghastly grin as the cracks in her barrier finally joined, and it crumbled, falling down in a tumble like the ruins of some great civilization.
"Hey, bitch!"  Ash's voice rang out with manufactured defiance as a hint of white darted amongst the shadow like a rabbit's tail- Phoebe looked for the red hearts, the ones on his boxers, not on his metaphorical sleeve, and capped the swell of sick that threatened to rise as she saw him emerge.
There was brave..  and there was stupid.  The line between the two was often very thin, and it was questionable which side of it Ash was on at the moment he decided to charge an established warlord, who was already on the attack, with explosive flame jets for hands, all while wearing nothing more than his skivvies and a determined expression.  The cherry on top was the yell, Phoebe thought, which both announced his attack and allowed Amirah time to target him.
"BURN THIS!"
"Ash..." A swell of panic flew across Phoebe's face as she watched the boy charge; as she anticipated, and guestimated, and ended up at a thousand different ways she was going to watch Amirah have a hibachi party with Ash's pale body, then decided that was unacceptable.  She shifted her hips; a pivot carried her backward at an angle as Amirah's flame-wrapped fist shot toward her face.  Her thoughts were manic-calculations- a race of this and that as she summoned the nothingness between the boy and his target, as time slowed and she wove, and she built, and she carved him safety from nothing more than her Want.  The result was a thin, flexible skin that stretched between the pair like a net.  He would run through it; it would grab and cling, deflecting the fire's destruction and giving him a chance, which was why she was smiling as Amirah's fist slammed into her face and knocked her off her feet and into the far wall. 
As she flew, she tossed one last psionic hail-mary, shoving Amirah a half-step toward Ash; a minor hit, just enough to disrupt her balance and timing, before Phoebe slammed into the wall and landed in an avalanche of group-photos, signed dollar bills, and celebrity glamour shots, shaking her head as she tried to reassemble reality from its fuzzy, blackened, puzzle piece, edges.

Quin stretched in lazy repose, wrapped up in warmth and kissed by moonlight.  Her eyes stay closed, savoring the moments she lay cradled within another's arms. How long had it been? Too long for her to believe she still could - yet she had. The victory coated her sense of smell, a heady mix within the air that when inhaled fully intoxicated. It wasn't just him, it wasn't just her, it was them. 
"So... good first date?"
The answering 'mmmmmm' reverberated in Quin's throat, her lips curling up into a smile to reveal those gleaming fangs in all their glory. She shifted in response to the slight movement it took him to look down at her and finally opened her eyes. Her smile didn't fade as she continued to look up, black, once bound up hair, now a complete mess.
"Wonderful first date" she corrected him.
Wonderful indeed, the twists and turns of the night resulted in a ecstasy neither expected to find again. Tangled limbs and clashing lips set to the backdrop of a rooftop garden in the moonlight, scattered and torn clothing was witnesses to their mischief.  An idle finger came up to play with a tendril of Shikai's hair as she idly recalled just moments ago. The silky strand wrapped around her finger and unwrapped as she continued to smile and replay the moment again in her minds eye. Stars above she hoped this was just the beginning of something that stretched into eternity. Already she craved more and cared none for the hours and minutes that ticked by - how could she drag herself home after such a night? She didn't want to. 
For the time being she said nothing about the ripped shirt, in fact the very thought of it stirred her blood and drew a sigh from her once more. Her eyes fluttered closed for the fraction of a second before opening again. Studying the face so close to hers as if she'd never see it again, memorizing every dip, curve and line. 
"I hope you know you've created a monster." She murmured low, "I don't think I can let you go now." 

Now that the boy with brilliant hair that threshed like petals of dandelions was closer, Irri would hear a near-endless series of quiet moans and tiny, quiet, foreign verbalizations emanating from the boy’s throat between each response. She would see, just slightly beneath the tubed gasmask, the tendons in his neck stressing to create the barely audible frequencies she was hearing. Once she caught on to the subtle vibration of his throat muscles, she would next realize that the hive-on-a-stick was responding to it. In a psychedelic nature, like when one visualizes the sacred geometry of the world around them, she would suddenly see that the bees flowed to and from the boy in a dance-like reaction to the sounds he made.
“Gaia…. Gaia….”
With sclera that blurred but pupils that focused, the boy observed Irri as she pondered. He knew, perhaps before she did, that she was not as familiar with Gaia as he thought. He happily dismissed the notion, as he did not fancy himself one of ‘Her’ children.
There was a callousness about the goddess in his expression that was beset by sudden care upon Irri’s shiver. He didn’t step closer, but lifted his hand in subtle empathy at her gesticulation.
"Mother was..... different. She wore skin and bones, and she danced on Father's spirit. She left me here..."
Empathetic fingers clenched into an empathetic fist. He knew somebody exactly like Irri’s ‘Mother,’ only this man wore the skin and bones of thousands. His Father, it seemed, was much more like her Mother.
“My name is Queen K-cht-ladt!,” he said in a louder iteration of some of the gutteral noises he’d produced to sway the bees, “but you can call me Greg. I am looking for my homeland, the Empire of Terrenus on the continent of Lagrimosa.” the self-proclaimed Greg spoke like a lost adventurer documenting his travels on a tape-recorder as he looked off into the not-orange sky.  “I have been lost here for about a year.”
“Forget about Gaia though, Gaia is not important,” said Greg, raising a hand as if to place it on her shoulder but hovering inches away, his other hand batting the stick hive aside dismissively. The bees held immeasurably patience for his wild swinging, buzzing lazily around them without so much as one landing on Irri. Greg seemed beset with new purpose, the combination of the similitude and Irri’s displeasure swaying him further to her aid. 
“Your Mother left you here, though, huh? Well that's good, because you are the only thing that matters here.”
With that, they began walking forward. After a moment, the false god continued.
“Forget your Mother,” his words were more rooted in that empathy. Gregory acted like he knew everything, but it was with the same self-assuredness that a teenager does. “She seems like a bad person anyway. Maybe it’s good that she left you here, because now I’ve found you! We can do anything we want now. We can go conquer new lands, sell great new inventions! We could even just go around trying all the great foods. Now that you're here, what do you want to do?”
“Do you..” an odd, discomforting thought hit the golden-eyed Queen. “Do you want to go back to your Mother?”

Already white-clothed medics closed in caringly on the children. Looking from them to Li’El as he spoke, then to Emile as Li’El concluded, Michael perceived the entirety from Li’s discomfort with physical contact to the need for Emile to manage the remnants of the childrens’ export to Aspyn.
“Emile,” said Michael. Urgency mounted in his voice as the crystalline mapper traced their enemies closer and closer to the Fauxton station. “Can you handle this area?”
With Emile’s acquiescence Michael turned back to Li and nodded with import.
“Let’s go.”
There were four four-wheeled rovers around them, but instead of venturing to these conventional means of travel Michael procured from his pocket a crystal emanating golden light. This one appeared no different than all the others visually, but to one with true sight or means of magical deciphering they all carried attributes unique to themselves; this one was Fauxton capable.
Hyper-aware of Li’El’s aversion to contact, Michael held his hand just close enough to brush the fabric on his Disciple’s sleeve so that both of them were projected to the Fauxton station the enemies were targeting in their last-ditch effort to do, just, anything.
Now Michael and Li’El stood atop a sunny hill fringed with forest that was punctured by two roads— one in the east and one in the west.
"They're coming from the East," said Michael to Li'El. A moment later there appeared over a far-off hill the clouds of dust symbolic of the mafioso buyers' approach. "Looks like they wanted to damage this station on their way out of town. Any ideas?"

Uh, Hi! How exactly does this work? I saw your reply on my little introduction thingie, and I read about Amalia. This rp idea sounds interesting.