"What' Are you freaking kidding me" This is the tenth time in the last two months." Dr. Ian Laramy read over the coroners report. Instead of being one body, this time there were two. Two females, one with her head severed and no way of possibly identifying her and the second woman cut opened from neck to belly. The remains brought to the morgue for an autopsy.

After hours of examining each body he finished up the report. Jane Doe, blonde hair, five four, 135 pounds had her head severed and several claw, bite and strange marks on her body. All her body was drained of blood and internal organs bit into. Jessy Doe, also a blond, five six, 127 pounds cut open had the same internal marks on her body. Cause of death a strange toxin; we will need further time to test specifics. There have been eight other instances similar to the Jane and Jessy. It is my opinion these women have been killed the same way. The only difference from Jessy and the others, Jessy's head was not severed. We have not been able to indentify the other victims.

Ian filed the report with the guard and went downtown to talk to the Inspector. Though finding anyone that could help with murders in this town was like trying to find a needle in a haystack.

After his shift was over, he read the headlines. Bloody Blonde Bath

Bloody blondes found in the alley shortly after midnight. Screams heard, but no witnesses to the attacks. Gruesome scene, one woman's head was severed; the other woman was cut opened from navel to neck. Sources close to the case reports Gemethyst Gem, Andrew Nichols and Bjorn Andrews found the bodies and later reported it to the guard.

The Rhydin Back Alley was covered in blood and first victims head undiscovered. The bodies were later taken to Rhydin General for examination. Our sources say Ms. Gem saw the head of Jane Doe, however when the bodies were brought in for examination the head was missing. Our sources also say that there was a break in at the morgue and the second victims head was severed and removed.

The Guard's lead investigator stated "Currently we no leads and consider this case like the others."

What is going on in Rhydin" Ladies keep your daggers, guns and brass knuckles close. I'd say there is a new serial killer in town.

There is one thing left to do. If, after that, there is no change, then I will know. God will have given me His sign and I will take it as such.

3 a.m. and the party's over! The hour of 3 has meaning all its own. Some say, the witching hour, others report it as the Hour of the Watch. Whatever anyone's faith called it, the Spaniard was walking at the time, having accomplished his "one thing left to do" - leaving a message for Gabriella, in her personal bedroom, on the pillow where, sooner or later, she would lay her head, although she was not laying it there at present, a relief he very much felt and appreciated. How he had found where she lived, how he had gained entry was not important. She was not there. And neither would he be, for long.

Yet long enough. Her journals found, his hands ran along the spines of their bindings, tempted. It might be the actions of a desperate man, a final caution thrown to the wind, and he had considered it. It might indeed come to pass, but as of now, no. He placed the perfect white winter rose upon her pillow and left, as deadly silent as the big cat he took his name from on the prowl.

Secretly pleased with his accomplishment, he walked briskly, not even feeling the cold, when up his spine crept that telltale feeling..... I am not alone. Halting, experience had him stepping quickly off the street, to merge with the shadows, as he stilled his breathing to listen. Footsteps. Wait. Patience. Listen. Footsteps but not the same. So, two sets. One, light, with a slight jingle, perhaps a bell worn on an ankle, like would be a common part of a Romany woman's attire. Or, well, tis the season for wearing bells. Educated guess would be female, but just who could not be determined. The second, halting, scraping, shuffling, heavy. Male. He's following her. Stopping and waiting for her to walk a little ahead. Then, continuing. The jingles suddenly increased, she was running. Harder to hear now, but both sets falling at the same time. He was chasing her. Antonio slipped out of the darkness to follow the sounds, his own footfalls fleet and silent, deadly like the panther on the trail.

A blind corner was before them, the road close to a building. Antonio slowed, stopped, edged his line of vision around the building, giving nothing else away. A small framed figure was backed up against a wall, a hunched larger one advancing. Recognizing neither, he only knew that in the dimness of the street lamp from the other corner, the woman's blonde hair could be seen, dishevelled upon her head, falling across her shoulders in a terrified tangled mess. The man's arm moved, the light glinting off something he held in that hand. Antonio launched his body at the man's back, arms around his chest and neck, turning his head toward the woman, spitting out the command. "Run!" even as his left hand balled into a fist to ram home on the left side of the man's face. Grunt of satisfaction as he heard the rogue's nose smash from his blow, the two rolled to the street, a tanglement of flying fists, scuffling legs, and hurled oaths. His blood boiling now, the fight would be on, and last until one of them ran, or was dropped. The Spaniard managed a look at where the woman had stood. She was gone. Safely vanished into the night. Another grunt of satisfaction as the man punched him, he grabbed that wrist and yanked it hard backwards, feeling it give with a small snap. "Bloody hell" was hurled at the Spaniard between gasps for breath. Antonio laughed. God it felt good to be in a fight again! He was enjoying this, even as he knew who he was likely damaging. He read the papers, same as the next guy around here. "Be no victim for your blade tonight, ripper." Another hard fist to the man's face and he went limp upon the cobblestones. Antonio had him by the collar, shaking him, but he was out cold. Right. The Spaniard struggled to his knees, wiping the sweat with a palm from his face. Surprised to see sweat mingled with blood on his hand as he pulled it off of his face and looked at it, preparing to wipe it down the length of his dress trousers that he still wore, that was Antonio's last conscious thought. Somebody turned his lights out.

"Mercy in the dark of night, Angels are among us. Say your prayers and keep the faith, For he has come to save us. As a cold wind blows, Nothing grows. But his mercy flows.

Up from the ground blooms the winter rose."*

(*from "Winter Rose", music and lyrics by Bill Leslie)

"I cannot remember why I went to the inn, all I remember is seeing the blood. It was the very thing that happened in my dream. I ran, I could not bear to witness what I saw. "

A few days later too many events happened, too many to count. Thankfully she had not seen the lunatic in a few days, had hoped he was seeking help for his problems.

Jon and Maddy were keeping an eye out on things, listening to the shadows and watching over to make sure that Ella wasn't coming home.

Hours later, nearly four in the morning Jon felt something was wrong, so he went searching the streets following the shadows. It was down near the docks he found the Spaniard.

When the Spaniard awoke, he would be resting at the Black Iron Inn.

"Wake up ye sot." She barked out several times and then looked at Jon. "I don't think he is going to wake up."

In the mean time, Ella spent more time in the cemetery praying for answers. It was the worst place for her to be at this hour. Fifteen minutes after the bewitching hour started, she slipped into a coma like state. The dark-dream started.

She saw the blond woman running. The jingle bells lined the edge of the pretty woman's cloak. In the background, all she heard was bells, they drowned out all of the sounds.

She saw two men fighting, one laying on the ground and then one soaked in blood.

"It doesn't make sense does it witch?"

Ella could not respond to the voice in her head, the voice of the tormentor. He used the dark dreams to tear away at her mind.

"See" She didn't get away. You fucking watch her die."

The blonde woman who got away, was found again. Her body hung off the side of a building, head severed and all of her fingers cut off.

Hours later Ella woke up with Jon standing over her.

"Ella, someone needs your help. You need to come and heal him."

Jon was pressing her. "You heal him. I have to stop it."

"We'll try Ella. What's wrong?" He asked.

"Leave me alone, Jon' tend to things yourself!? Ella managed to storm off leaving Jon and Maddy to handle whatever was going on.

Winterfest was over. Christmas still ahead, and New Year's beyond that. The thief had presents to figure out and procure, and parties to attend. For now, she was just finished with some arrangements for that job Mr. Grey wanted her to do. It had to be done, because one didn't mess with someone like that. Not ever. No matter how unpleasant he was.

Coming back from a bit of surveillance on the estate that was her assigned target, the elf wrapped her cloak about herself after she had descended from the "highway", that being Rhydin's rooftops. It had been a long several hours in the freezing cold of the night, but she had the information she needed regarding guards and security practices. Moving more stiffly than she normally would, the cold her enemy, Gem eased along a certain alley, one that would deposit her out near the entrance to the Red Dragon Inn. At this early hour it was likely no one would be there, but she could still make herself a hot buttered rum and shake the cold out of her bones.

It was at a conjoining of alleyways that she first heard the sounds. Running feet, at first too blurred and faint to have meaning, came to Elven ears, and the thief paused. Yes, that was running feet, and more than one pair. Heavy breathing, even a bit of "was that sobbing" Feminine, too. Spurred into action by something helpless in that sound, she darted towards it, jigging and jagging to find the right alley. Clearly she heard the sound of footsteps coming to a crashing halt and then the sound of bodies colliding with a stone wall. Pausing to home in, running again, pausing again, the thief grimaced as she heard unmistakable sounds. Ripping clothing, flesh meeting flesh, the woman trying to scream behind a covering hand. These alleys did not lend themselves to speedy rescues.

Finally turning a corner and coming upon the struggling pair at last, she found herself facing a woman with her back against a wall, blonde hair trailing down in falling ringlets, and a huge man looming in front of her. The thief launched herself toward them just as moonlight flashed on something bright and silvery in the man's hand, the arc of his motion drawn across the throat of the woman like a leering grin. Too late. She was too late. Arterial blood sprayed over the man and the alley floor in a fountain of black, the moonlight leeching the red out. The woman shuddered, gurgled, reached forward, and then died. The sound of the victim's body hitting the cobbles seemed to echo in Gem's thoughts forever. The sight seemed to telescope before her eyes, a long, black tunnel with a bloody end.

The garbage-covered thief listened to him cursing in some foreign tongue, knocking things around as he moved along the two alleyways. He searched her for only a few minutes, before whirling around and heading back to the body of the slain woman. The thief lay where she was, unmoving, trying to gauge what was happening by sound alone. The sounds that came next were unholy. Repugnant. Hearing a body's head being removed, the body cut open, and the insides dragged out was not her choice of how to spend an evening. Other sounds came, things she could not identify.

In and amongst those other sounds, words came, in a tongue that she had never heard. Focusing hard, she tried to hear what he said. He said it more than once, almost like a chant. Gem tried to memorize at least some of it.

"Ruhunuz daha fazla eziyet olacak. Yol yapmak i"in buradayim. Ne size bosuna degildir, biz ne kaybolur geri y"kleme ve tekrar tamam. Bu vakfin par"asi. Senin i"in buradayim, ben yol yapacak.Ben size teslim edecek." At length, all the sounds died away. The thief waited yet longer, just to be sure there was not a trap lying in wait for her. An hour passed, and then half of another. Only after she heard the first squeaks of rapture and joy from the rat community at having found an unexpected meal did she come out. Creeping, careful, stinking of garbage, the elf peered into the alley where the woman had been killed.

Flickering light came from there, steady but flickering. In that light she could see that there was something in the alley. Something...standing upright. It was utterly still. Her heart in her mouth, the thief inched forward, the unhappy scattering of rats accompanying her steps. Chattering in annoyance at her, they went back into hiding. It took awhile for the thief to move again, though, once she saw what was there to see. She stood in horrified awe for many minutes. It"it was a Christmas tree. It could only be that. Some insane, perverse holiday mockery.

The "tree" was a spine, several spines, linked together and mounted in a line atop a wooden platform. Rib bones were the branches, from bottom to top, with stretched, glistening entrails being the garlands. Here and there, posed at intervals were fingers, the ends dipped in wax, each of them lit up and burning. Worse than that"if such could even be?were the eyes. Eyeballs were the "ornaments". Dangling from hooks, all over the tree, green eyes, blue eyes, brown eyes, amber eyes, eyes of all shades. Amethyst eyes traveled over the tree in steady, unbelieving study of it. Shock held her even more still, once she figured out what the "tinsel" was. Hair"blonde, red, brown, black, and all shades in between, though most of it blonde, scattered individually over the entire "tree" with infinite patience to get it just right.

Gem made no sound, no outcry. It was too horrible for that. She did do what she was so good at, though. The thief turned and fled the scene, and the rats came back out to have dinner.

"I've haven't slept for two days. The dark dreams keep coming, but the last two visions have been while I am awake...and more vivid than the last. Fate fucking leaves me fragmented.

I do not know why I saw a familiar face and an unknown woman. I could only see part of the first woman's face. Yellow hair, very pretty...a tall woman. The second woman looked horrified. I do not understand, the yellow haired woman wanted to buy flowers? I saw so many poinsettias. I will have to check out the flower vendors. Maybe I can find the woman and stop her from being taken.

I'm tired, so very tired. I need to remember to get mistletoe for Jon, he wanted some for Maddy. I'm sure the flower vendor would have it."

Ella wandered the streets of Rhydin for hours looking for the shop and the women she saw in her vision.

The Outlanders should be alarmed by the current situation. He could not bleed them enough; he could not sate the demons inside to quell the darkness.

He followed the blond pirate for many blocks. Though he would not act until it was time. Shadows bent to accept his darkness, covering and concealing his presence. Serving darkness gave way, but it required more blood, much more blood. The next victim would look lovely in the pretty red velvet dress.

Hours later he put the finishing touches on the headless woman. Proud of his handy work, her body hung upside down, a tear in the velvet to make her look like a poinsettia. Each petal point a bone with pieces of flesh hand sewn, to make it red velvet from her dress used. Blonde hair and blood used for hay. Fingers and toes wrapped up like little presents. Her spine growing up out of the bed of gold locks on the ground with holiday greenery.

Each scene left more gruesome then the last. The guard would find a scribbled note.

iT is daRk nO more liGhT i cOmE tO tAKe yOuR life

The dark gods sent an evil Santa for their holiday, someone who was not him. Mayhem was knocking on their doors, soon the end would come and the dead will rise up to rejoice. For now, he was creating a choir of bones.

"Let us sing children."

He admired the blade from the velvet owner as he used it to slowly peel away flesh from her back.

Kyurr had been reading stories and hearing rumors about the serial killer. So he decided to go on the hunt for this madman, madwoman or whatever in the Void it was.

Speculations and rumors were wild, facts few. He started his hunt in the West End. A most logical place, it was the most crime ridden section of the city.

Hunting at night and going from rooftop to rooftop. Searching, scouring alleys and dead ends. He would spend all night looking for the illusive killer.

Though not having success in finding the murdering beast. He did find another victim, another blonde woman. Dismembered and beheaded, the head missing. There were a number of blonde hairs all over the bloody body and around it. Her stomach cut open, entrails exposed. The entrails tied together in a way to look like some hideous smile.

This killer had a sick sense of humor. No footprints, save the girl's. Nothing else to go on, save drag marks from her feet. Not anything else. He was no detective, he didn't know about fingerprints or DNA.

And if he was discovered with the body, others might think he was the killer. So he did what he could only do. Learning on how to use a phone from some at Bristle Crios, Kyurr made an anonymous call to the police and left it at that. He would continue his hunt for the killer. No matter how long it took to find this creature.

The visions come in curious ways. Last night I was praying in the cemetery, it was a vivid as I could see it. The skin, the tongue bouquet and bones. It was long enough that I was able to draw the vision, but the words I had to scribble in the dirt.

"G"neş ağladığı kadar daha "lmesi gerekir." Which translated to "More must die until the sun cries." And "Ben sizin i"in g"m"ş sa" gelir." Which translated to, "I come for you silver hair."

The first omen I understood, the second I did not. Why would he come for silver hair" Who is silver hair" Will he start killing older women now? Perhaps he is seeking wisdom' I do not know, but whomever is the silver hair, she must be warned.

I also saw pieces of him...or what I thought was him. His chest was covered with runes, is arm with tribal symbols and at the base of his spine a scorpion.

http://www.pawnoffate.com/pics/tattoo.jpg

http://www.pawnoffate.com/pics/arm.jpg

http://www.pawnoffate.com/pics/scorp.jpg

I am lost. It's time to go hunting.

It was nearly midnight when tiny footfalls echoed in the alley that led out to the docks. It was a dangerous place to be, especially this time of night, but Lex had her instructions: go to the docks, check under the third piling, if there is a small envelope hidden, take it and put the small bag of coins in its place. She never used to question her mentor's odd requests, but with a serial killer on the loose, a few doubts popped into her head now and again.

A strangled cry interrupted her thoughts. She looked up toward the end of the alley to see a cloaked figure looming over a slender blond girl. Lex froze and watched in horror as the figure procured a blade and dragged it mercilessly across the woman's throat. A spray of blood sputtered out and the woman let out a dripping, dying gurgle as the figure stood there, bathed in red. He seemed to revel in it. Every instinct in her told Lex not to move. If she just stayed still long enough, she would just blend into the shadows of the alley and he would eventually go away and leave her alone. Even as she thought that, she felt shame and cowardice burn in her cheeks. But it was not enough to overpower her paralyzing fear.

After what seemed like an eternity, the hooded figure stopped carving long enough to step back and admire his work. It was in that moment he caught sight of Lex trembling in the dark. Her eyes widened further as he turned toward her, advancing slowly....deliberately....like the dawn of an execution. He reached out with a single, tattooed arm, his fingertips scant inches away from her delicate neck. Just when it seemed as though she would meet her end, a voice in the back of her mind screamed for her to run, run, RUN!

She spun on her heal, her knee-length, wavy brown hair fanning out behind her, and ran. Pain didn't even register when he caught hold of one of her silky locks and ripped it from her precious head, only to bring it to his obscured face and breathe its scent in deeply. Hearing his footsteps quicken behind her, she ran until she thought her pounding, adrenaline fueled heart would explode. When she finally slowed, she found herself in the back alley behind Rhy'Din's famed Red Dragon Inn. With hot tears burning trails down her cheeks, she slipped between a pair of discarded crates filled with rotting refuge and crouched down, willing herself to turn invisible.

Slow, torturous footsteps echoed in the back alley. She trembled and her heart sank as they came closer to her hiding spot. She thought of her parents and how she never found them or laid their memory to rest....Her friends in Rhy'Din she had come to love and trust....Her mentor who would have to identify the mangled remains of her tiny body....She wept into her arms resting atop her knees as a single hand reached toward her.

"No! Please!" she cried out as the hand clamped down on her shoulder. She let out a strangled cry and tears streamed down her lightly freckled face.

"Lexi?"

Her eyes tore open at the sound of her name. There was only one person in this world, or any other for that matter, who she would ever let call her that. She looked up into a familiar face, relief evident in her voice as she said a single, cherished word.

"Vector?"

This one he followed for many streets, through many alleys. She was good. She almost eluded him twice. But she wasn't good enough. She was almost right. Almost the right one. But it wasn't her. This one's hair was platinum. But it wasn't silver. Strains of mad music swirled in his head as he stalked the soon-to-be victim. He took his time. This was almost his favorite part. When he could imagine what it would feel like when he sank himself into her. When he could imagine that look of surprise and horror on her face as he sliced into her flesh. It was so good when that look became real instead of anticipated. When Destiny was being answered and Righteousness was being created.

O, how he missed him. The blood of his blood. But he was slain and he wasn't coming back. Not without help.

She was a nice little bundle pressed against the wall. His hips jolted her and bruised her, her still living body ground against the stones behind her. He envisioned the scorpion at the base of his spine as he sacrificed her virtue to The Cause. He felt like a scorpion when he did this, each thrust of his hips like a stinger stabbing at her over and over. Then came the moments when her blood sprayed, when her cries lifted up onto the air about him like a paean to suffering and woe.

She was almost good enough. But in the end, she wasn't her.

When he was done, there was a caricature of an ouroboros, there in the alley. The snake eating itself. Each of these women used to feed the beast that would Resurrect, he felt it was a good depiction of his intent. Her arms were sliced away and simply gone, as was one leg. The foot of the other had been painstakingly forced into her mouth and down her throat. Her eyes and her tongue were gone. Her hair was shaved off close to the scalp, but the platinum stubble he created was still visible, proclaiming her fairness. Every bone in her body was broken to make her form that circle. He had delighted in the snapping of each one, like a surge of power granted him with each crack. Most of her internal organs had disappeared, as well. Her clothing lay in a tattered ruin around the circle her body formed, like discarded snakeskin.

It was glorious.

Soon, he would have enough. Soon it would be her turn.

http://i1175.photobucket.com/albums/r629/Teslimbenzarar/snake-eats-own-tail.jpg

His desire to get the elf with the silver hair had not dimmed in the least. She had now twice evaded him. He and his men, as well. Teeth grinding in fury, he slowly brought the blade across the throat of one of those minions, the fellow's agonized shouts finally falling silent. One of the bitch's bullets had caught his man in the belly, where his cloak had parted. A belly wound being one that took rather more healing power than he wanted to waste, just now, the better solution was to murder the man and let his blood add to The Cause, as well. Blood spurted, caught in the waiting bowls of the three impassive-faced men standing around the Killer and his downed man.

Rising up to his towering height, he sneered down at the man who had fallen to a woman. Fallen to a mere female. The man's name would be struck from the rolls of paradise for this. While it was women whose blood was the more potent, holding the most power, it was the only thing in which they were superior to men, naturally. The culling of feminine life was therefore the proper avenue to take here. The sought after power would not be dimmed any by taking his henchman's blood, but it was such a waste. Impatience drove his steps as he walked away, leaving the others to handle the corpse and the blood drawn from it.

He had plans to make. Another cluster of death must be undertaken within the next week, and after that, finally, there would be enough to bring forth his brother from the soul world. Teslim would particularly like it if that tiny Elven bitch was the one on the end of his weapons— all of his weapons. Her ethereal beauty had a sweetness to it that he would very much enjoy tasting before he drained her of her blood. He must"he needed".to punish her for daring to evade him. For daring to shoot at him! For slaying one of his men. He would have her mewling and begging for mercy for a very, very long time, he promised himself that.

Cruel lips smiled in evil anticipation as he removed himself from the main room of their dwelling, advancing into the special room he had set up for his finer "work". It held tables large enough for his purposes, cages against one wall, manacles on the other, and iron maidens hanging from the ceiling. As he entered, a desperate whimpering began, rising from one of those iron maidens that swung above him. It wasn't the dark haired woman he had caught that lock of hair from the night before, but she was close enough to it to please him. For now, at least. The door slowly closed, the sound of a bolt being thrown following the thud of wood against stone. Then began the screaming.

He had discovered he was a monster. There was an unholy enjoyment in the things he was doing to the women he captured. It had started out as an outraged, mournful cry to those who had slain his brother; it had been a paean of agony at the loss of their leader, their ruler. To harm them before and as they gave their blood to the Cause purified it, seared it and produced yet more power in it. But he hadn't expected that he would come to enjoy the hurting. He liked the raping and the slaying, the screaming and the pleading. Most of all he liked to give them hope, to see it change their faces, to see it make them compliant and weak, until that last moment, when they saw he had lied. Then they turned into what they really were, begging, puling, cursing women who were better off feeding the blood vat that was necessary for the resurrection of his kin. Only a monster could enjoy such things, and even crave more. Yes, he had become a monster.

Even now, as warm red ran down his chest, down the long, ripped-muscle torso of his nude upper body, he smiled as he studied the form lying on the ground. Monsters could smile at such things. She was oddly beautiful this way, he thought. She hadn't been particularly so, before he started. He'd found her on the docks, plying her trade. A blonde of overripe proportions, overly voluptuous and scantily dressed, even in the winter's cold. He hadn't raped this one; he didn't want the whore's pox she undoubtedly carried. Perhaps the sailors around would thank him for relieving them of this albatross around their necks. She was the coup de grace, the last swipe of his blade, before he set out to take the two who had escaped him.

Pulling on the rope he had attached to her overly curvaceous body, he lifted her up, a few inches at time, using his shoulder as a fulcrum. He lifted her high enough so that her nude, broken and reshaped body left the ground, to swing in the slight draft of the Watch Tower room. He affixed her dead weight to the huge clapper of the bell that was rung at every shift change of the Watch, to keep the time known over the city of Rhydin.

He paused to admire his work, again studying the art he had made of the blowsy whore. She was beheaded, of course, her blood stolen away. Her arms and legs were gone, taken as well, and there, in the now peeled open cavity of her stomach, where the womb lay, he had stuffed her head within it, so that her face "looked" outwards. Her expression was a rictus of horror, her eyes wide open, and the long locks of her blonde hair spilled out from around her face to dangle downwards a good few feet below her body.

When the Watchman rang the bell, it would produce a muffled sound, and someone would come to look. She would be found, and then celebrated as the last in a long line of heinous canvases to the Cause.

Having cleaned up from his "handiwork", the Killer used the black, greasy smoke of his magic for passage back to the lair.

The room he did all his finer "work" in was ready. Those unfortunate lovelies that were to be nailed to his last creation several days hence were in the iron maidens. They hung there, bloody, drained of fight, abused in the most heinous of ways, and barely alive. Those who had not survived the process of purification he required for their final sacrifice had been removed and dumped in the alleys of Rhydin, their once occupied iron maidens hosed down, and the tables cleaned. He liked a clean workspace.

The last two expected "volunteers" needed for the big triumphal return of his High Lord, the two he intended for some personal playtime, were to be collected on the morrow, or at least that was the plan. They would, those two, be the final, living ornaments on his Tree of Life, from which his brother would be resurrected. The vat of blood would be poured over the roots, and the dead tree would be utilized by the blood magic to wrest Dante from the bowels of hell or wherever he had been sent to.

The faint moans of the prisoners in the swaying cages above his head drew his eyes, and he smiled in nothing less than fiendish enjoyment. The silver haired elf and the blonde baker would finish off this collection of doomed souls very nicely. He was going to so enjoy hearing, and especially causing, their screams. Suddenly slapping a hand down upon one of his long, metal tables, the loud bang of it bringing a fresh round of startled bleats from the bloodied sheep above him, he wheeled around and left the room, his harsh laughter trailing on the air behind him. Time to set up the snatching plans for the women he needed to teach a lesson to.

The Deliverer watched one of his men go down, and he cursed violently. That bitch was now responsible for taking two of his followers from him. She was going to suffer terribly for this outrage. His hand lifted and he sent a bolt of something black and sticky towards the elf, her form the target for a black web of some sort, sparkles of black lightning seeming to flicker across the strands. It arced up high, the intent to pass over the heads of the guardian shadows she had somehow called forth, to hopefully then drop over her head and body.

Watching everything going on, Anya knew this was bad. Putting three ribbons in her pocket and making sure the other things are still there. She tried to move, but was blocked.

The M'hajid moved to protect Teslim. Together they chanted in the old tongue, prayers of monks. The women should have seen the tongues and bells on chains. As they chanted, the tongues of the woman prayed along beside. The bells warned the spirits and the wards. Blood was painted all around the alley. They played, it was all protected. The priests of old agreed in hymns and song, they would celebrate the death. As the silver-haired bitch threw the caltrops (four bladed, wickedly sharp, and long-spined) on the ground, the minions cried out, but deaf prayers as the M'hajid started to pray for the safe return of their beloved Redeemer. A group of them upon Teslim's comment surrounded the baker. One punched her straight in the face, the other grabbed her by the hair and took her basket. The prayers and blood magic would cover all shadows, curse the cursed and shatter them useless.

Gem's caltrops had at least slowed the villains against them, the cries of pain and curses music to her ears. The shadowy forms around her began to fight the oncoming men with ninja-like expertise. Their skill caused several of the desert men to go down, some incapacitated, some dead. A wall of bodies both dead and wounded lay crumpled to the ground in a circle about the elf and her shadows, while poor Anya had no protection at all. The bodyguards had clear instructions from Eze, and those who knew the man did not fail him. They would protect Gem to their deaths. Still, her bodyguards were not enough to halt the horde that had gathered to take them. The next wave simply came at them over the bodies of their fallen comrades, aiming scimitars and daggers at the shadowy protectors of the elf. Gem threw more daggers and then several of her acid balls, the gelatin-like skins sticking to the men she threw them at. They began to scream as the acid ate away at their flesh. This was not a good position from which to fight an army! She was frantic, seeing the black, flickering net dropping above her only at the last moment. Throwing herself to one side, she did not go far, cannoning into one of her own guards. She bounced back toward the center of the circle they formed, and so the net dropped down onto her. It encompassed her, wrapping around her like a living thing, and then the spell released. She was zapped with great force by some kind of electricity, and it made her muscles go dead. She fell to the ground, shuddering and jerking, her body no longer hers to control.

The guards that the Elven female had called from nowhere were causing more problem than Teslim had counted on. He roared an order at his m'hajid, and they would know what to do to stop those protectors. A smile of utter satisfaction slanted across his face as he watched the silver-haired one fall. The battle was engaged, the desert men were winning, if they could just take out those eight shadows.

Punched in the face? That's the last thing Anya would remember for awhile. The baker went down, limp as a noodle.

Once the blonde baker bitch was out of the way, they hauled her body away. The general saw fit to the cargo, she will be bled slowly and saved for the First, Elex. The M'hajid clanked their tongues on prayers and on magic that should have been used to protect the light. All things backwards, they are no longer neutral, but caught in the darkness. Restoration was the only mission. The Holy Redeemer would be raised, all would be praised. Then they moved, each closer together, the closer they came, the louder the chants became. A dark, rancid, smokey haze littered the alley. Everything it touched, it was slick. It was meant to suffocate. The smoke inhaled by the shadows that guarded the silver-haired elf would snuff them in a matter of seconds. The General spoke. "Get her." The minions who were left started to move in. He bowed to the holy M'hajid. "Our Lord, He will live." The smoke touched the walls, and anyone who touched it after would die a slow death. Blood and glory to the fall. "Redeemer be praised."

The thief was assaulted by pain, mind-sapping pain, and it didn't stop. It kept going, as she watched her guards become overwhelmed by the smoky haze. It didn't come for her, but only them, the foul blood magic breathed in by them in an instant. The terrible sleep toxin took them down, they toppled like black dominoes, and then the desert men moved in. Blades flashed and eight throats of helpless, sleeping men were sliced, and more blood ran over the cobbles, making them slick and slippery. Red and red again, it blazed all around her. Black and red and pain so sharp it stole her breath. Finally it ended, and she was limp, the net dissolved, but her muscles were still not answering her call to rise up and slay those that would attack her, the bodyguards, and Anya. She saw two large feet pause near her head, and her eyes, the only thing she could move, looked up. She gazed into the beautiful face of the Deliverer, as he dubbed himself. His smile was an awful thing.

"Let me get this straight..." The city guard leaned back in his chair with his arms crossed.

"He came in and gave everybody finger foods?"

Ramona sighed with frustration. She had been talking to the guard for hours now and they weren't any closer in believing her now than when she had first run in, out of breath, to tell them of the grisly events that had happened at the inn that day.

"No," She said through gritted teeth. "He came in and left a basket that was decorated with ribbons. It was full of pastries and among them were a finger, a small one, with a silver ring on it, a cell phone, and a piece of scalp with silver hair still attached!"

She was doing her best to stay calm, but it was well after three in the morning. She was exhausted and desperate to get back to her sister.

"And....what did you say he looked like?" Said the guard.

Ramona's blood boiled. She closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. After regaining some composure, she reached for the drawing Becca had done for her as per her detailed description.

"If you'll just look at the picture..."

"About that....just how is it your sister was able to draw this" You said she was at home when it happened." Interrupted the guard.

Now it was Ramona's turn to cross her arms, her hazel eyes ablaze with anger.

"Because she's an artist!" She spat, finding it increasingly difficult to control the volume of her voice. She took a deep breath and continued.

"It's what she does for a living. I spoke, she drew."

The guard said nothing and continued to look at her skeptically. She rolled her eyes and sighed in resignation as she began to repeat the description of the strange man for what had to be the hundredth time.

"He was tall. Almost seven feet, maybe 220....230lbs at most. Dark hair, dark skin and he was wearing these odd leather pants and a matching vest. Please....I have to get home to my sister!"

Even with the last few words, her mind began to wander back to that afternoon.

She had just shown up for her part time shift as barback/tender at the inn when the tall stranger walked in with the basket. He hadn't said a word, only set the basket on a table in the middle of the inn, laying a silvery strand accross it before leaving just as silently as he had arrived.

She had been the only to realize it was a hair.

She thought of saying something but who would listen to her" Those who didn't know her didn't like her and those who did....hated her. She swallowed hard and opened her mouth, but no sound came. And just what would she say anyway"

She was sure she just witnessed something she didn't want to. Her face, though impassive, paled. She couldn't move, her feet were rooted to the floor. She pressed her lips into a thin line and just watched as torturously slow realization dawned on the others at the inn.

"Miss Lockehart?" The guard's voice snapped her focus back to the present.

"What?" She hadn't realized she'd been grasping the drawing. Thankfully, only the corner was slightly crinkled.

She released her grip and the guard brought it closer to his face. After studying for sometime, he looked at her again, exhaustion beginning to show on his face as well.

"Very well, Miss Lockehart, just one last thing." He said as filed the drawing along with Ramona's report with a note to make copies of the drawing for mass distribution.

"No!" She shouted, banging her fist on the desk. "I have to get home to my-"

"-to your sister, I know." Finished the guard.

"Yes, she has a broken leg and needs her pain medication!" She shouted in exasperation.

"Yes, yes..." The guard nodded dismissively as he turned to motion to a younger guard to join them.

"I just want you to have an escort. If this man saw you, you may be in dan-" The guard blinked at the empty chair. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he sighed wearily.

Morning had come, and with it, the renewed energies of the Banu He"lah. Starting his work with a smile, he began by taking the thief out of the cage he had put her in, and then bound her to one of his tables. Teslim had seen her in the company of the Witch frequently. He knew she would know some things, particularly the location of Dante's murderer. From information gathered earlier by his mages and henchmen, he knew only that the man was big, blonde, and reportedly had a hellishly sharp sword. This elf might be the key to learning how to pull the killer of the Redeemer into Teslim's grasp, hopefully in time for the final ritual. The ritual, the bathing of the Tree of Life in the blood they had collected, which would bring Dante back from the dead, and then allow him to claim the life of the blonde infidel who had slain him.

He started by fiddling with the chastity belt the female wore. So far he and his mages had not figured out a way to break the lock and open it, at least not without ripping her apart or wounding her too much for his "fun". Sure, they could do incredible, difficult spells and such, but opening a simple lock" That seemed frustratingly beyond them, at this point. There was not enough time to mess with such intriguing things. There had been no key on her, and thus, she was ruining his plans of defiling and humiliating her, at least in the way he had planned and anticipated. He would just have to hope they could break the lock on the belt, but he could wait until he had questioned her some. There were three days left, after today, for Sunday would be the day of Redemption.

Starting with the hands she held so dear, of course, he worked the nine remaining fingers over with slow enjoyment. Her screams were full-throated and rang against the stone walls of the workroom. He broke each knuckle on each finger and thumb, growling out his questions about the Bjorn man. The bitch was more stubborn than he would have credited, for she resisted the pain and told him nothing but words in a language he could not understand. He broke the bones of her hands, next, one at a time, each crack followed by her failure to answer. Moving on to her wrists, he broke each of those, and when that only got him inventive curses that both questioned his parentage and suggested anatomically impossible things be done to him. His amusement and mad enjoyment grew, though so did his frustration. When she passed out, he turned to the baker to have some fun, though he was constrained from raping her, as well, for totally different reasons. She was for Elex, the next to be raised. The eldest had already had her once, and so Anya would remain sacrosanct and undefiled in that manner.

What followed was a day full of cruel torments, slaps and punches, some broken bones, and constant questioning about how to get to Bjorn. Neither female gave him anything he could use. This earned them extra pain and suffering, but they both kept passing out at inconvenient moments. Finally, he was forced to have them put in the lower cellar, swinging in their iron maidens from the rafters of the room. There was trouble from some of the forces looking for the women. Two males, one of silver hair like the elf's and one with hair like blood, were reported to have set off the blood magic laid at their departure point in the alleys. Neither made it to the lair, and so he didn't need to worry regarding them. They were likely poisoned and dead, by now. Further traps needed to be laid and preparations made, in case other searchers actually made it to the lair of the Banu He?lah. After a once over of the women's belongings, all left in a pile in the workroom, he headed off for other pursuits, for there were things to prepare regarding Sunday's ritual, as well. Namely finding that bastard blonde Bjorn.

Speaking of dirty, the witch emerged from room nine upstairs with the journal in her hand overly stuffed with extra pages. Another dark dream, visions were taking a toll on the flesh she wore. It hung heavy. Caught up in the moment, she almost passed by Kai, but made a point to stop and say hello. "Hello sweetling. I hope all is well with you. Thank you for yesterday, more than you know. The feeling will go away, sometime." Bowing her head respectfully and she continued on and slithered her way down stairs with the shadows.

It seemed that the shadows behind her curled like wings trying to fuel her flame. The unseen spirit trailed, but stopped smelling the familiar bag of flesh. Oh, he liked this one, he licked her skin, to her might feel like pin pricks or goose bumps. Too the tormentor could not feel her again, he rather liked it. Damn witch, he followed her. Blue eyes watched the women move, then watched the other typically behind the bar. She would worry over Kai, but for now, she had to figure out how all these pieces fit together. Normally it would be a bottle of Absinthe, but she needed her mind, so she opted for Whiskey and three shot glasses. Behind the bar to get everything, then it was over to a table in the corner where she had room for the sketches.

The Inn was quiet and Antonio was tending to his business. Two tables pushed together and all but one chair moved. The tables are near the window, nothing like watching her back. Journal tossed on the table and she glanced out of the large front window. The hairs on the back of her next standing straight, the drow looked like a #$%^&* M'hajid. Her hand touched the window and it started to shake. Jerking it back, she'd not be pulled into the dark. Finally turning around, the witch removed a dagger and dug a small trench around the tables in a rectangle. The shot glasses placed on three corners, one marking South, East and West. It didn't look right, but the mock map of Rhydin was going to have to due. Opening the bottle of Whiskey, she poured the alcohol in the small trench. Mote" Not likely. Madness" Maybe.

Removing the journal, she placed it on the single chair near the table. With the same dagger, she slit her palm and trickled blood over the top. "Mother #$%^&* is going to burn." Muttering to herself. He was so bold to come here in public, she'd make sure this was the last time the bastard showed his face here. No matter who witnessed. With the blood from her palm, she made a pentagram. Completely ignoring anyone at the moment. She's in the middle of a ritual. A small piece of leather from when she was held, a piece of earth and a piece of her own flesh. All placed upon the public altar. Gem's cell removed from her pocket, Anya's ribbons, an arrowhead and lipstick put on the outside of the circle. She stared.

Hearing Julien, she grabbed the dagger from the table and like a snake strikes at him, a piece of his haircut. Fire in blue eyes, the woman is nuts, madness settled deep. Tossing it on bloody circle. She told Julien his hair would be cut. Mouth moved, words gone. The dark prayers served another source. Opening her palm, her right hand reached across the bloody center and she marked herself like war paint. Then she turned upon Julien and marked him, a blood baptism.

He'd have a small cross on his forehead, then her dagger dragged across his palm and she placed hers on top. Give her a moment; he'd feel the pulse and burning. Enough with this shit, she was tired. The fires would burn. Jerking her hand back and blood exchanged. The fox spied, the jug would have to wait the now. Moving away from Julien and the dagger plunged in the center of the pentagram. If anyone is afraid of fire, now would be the time to move.

She moved to the fire and crouched down. The bloody palm placed in the center of the fire. Turning her head and grabbing the stone. It brought her to a knee, she bit her lip so hard it started to breath. She held her hand in the fire until it burned. Those that knew the witch, knew her well knew she NEVER practiced in public, ever. It was against the order of nature. Teslim crossed lines, so did she. One her hand was on fire, she managed to halfway crawl to the table and touch the alcohol.

POOF! The table caught on fire, she jerked her hand away and turned the page of the journal, his face, the one she saw in the dream put upon the altar. Someone was going to burn. Three corners set on fire, the North, the strongest. Pushing herself up and she move closer to the fire and watched it burn. The veil would burn. Though, she looked at Bjorn, he was the closest thing to the veil. Blue eyes half gazed over with black. "I need hair Lion, hair or blood you choose."

He refused and needed to know why.

It's Ella, but this had to be done. The fire was completely under her control in the corner, near the window. "Shut your trap Scath. Fight your own wars with the bird man." She wasn't advancing.

Someone said that what she was doing in public was wrong. She agreed, but ritual had to be done. Grabbing the bottle of Whiskey the top removed and she took a drink. True, it should not be done here, but enough was enough. Issy's words tickled her ear. "I'm sure I have already done something. Follow the blood to a palm, you'll know the truth sister, blind, blind sister."

Two more drinks. "Such a confused bird man." Pulled into that for a moment, but she would not lose track. "Shut your trap!" The witch would regret talking like Maddy. She leaned forward to put her face near the fire and breath the words. It was probably good Issy was distracting her because of the sister. "Blind-blind sister." Slapping her hand on the table. "Stop it." The madness. The man with no face distracting her. Slowly she turned toward the Scath. "Do you know how to be blind" Mistake" Deaf" One in your house should know." A threat' Could have been, but who knew. Pulled twice, then she turned around.

"Did you hear her savage" Did you hear her screaming?" Did you feel the baby?" Treading lightly. Did you hear her savage" DID You" Did you hear the child screaming?"

The lion gave a piece of himself, it was for his own protection. She closed her eyes only for a moment, then snapped open. "This will not be blamed on me." Grabbing the hair and her and went to the fire. Words whispered and the whole thing exploded into a burst of black flames. It was enough to sent her back to land on her ass. The tables were no more. Only smoke left. She sat there for a moment and stared at the dust upon the floor. She crawled to the debris and scooped it all in her palm and pushed in her pocket.

Now they would have the information needed. Tomorrow at dusk the sky would burn and the veil burned away. She prayed that it would work.

((Part 2))

The voice that sings to the elements in Kruger's forge sings now, air is everywhere. The sighing words speak to the unseen air elementals, and those fanatical blades begin to encounter invisible barriers. The time spent training in the duel rings was evident, the reason he was participating in all disciplines. Elbows and knees do damage as well the back of the native needed to be kept clear so that his bow work would have the greatest effect. The lion man was spotted momentarily between heads and shoulders of the enemy, but there was nothing he could do for him. The forms began to show,' Birds on the walk' swept swords away as 'dragon swings his tail' brought his leg around at knee level. A body on the ground is easier to deal with than one standing.

The second grenade rocked the second wave coming at the heroes, briefly staunching the flow of black, hooded zealots as the explosion reverberated and left a number of them dead, or writhing crying for death. Metal flashed and shimmered around Kruger as the zealots engaged the skilled swordsman and the Lion man as he moved from behind the shield of the purple ape. A true strike from Kruger feledl the man from the desert, but another was there to take his place, eager to bleed the infidel and blood his blade. The dart fired from Ssaliist caught the unfortunate zealot in the face and the man fell in an instant. The second dart clipped off the zealot's cloak, bouncing harmless off the black cloak and flying back in the direction it came, toward Ssaliist, along with the zealots that were still standing. The arrows, caught two of the zealots in the face, falling them, but the others bounced off cloaks and sent the arrows in errant directions.

Grape Andu slaps at the little men adorning his hide, they couldn't kill him, but blood slicked his fur and only years as the front line in an attack allowed him to ignore the pain and keep fighting, and then simply raise his foot a few yards and stomp those silly enough to charge his legs. Each foot big enough to flatten a VW bug whole and shake the ground like a small earth tremor.

Isa glared at the witch. "We will meet again." Spiting at the witch.

By the time Isa said anything to her, Ella was on her way around the building, keeping to the shadows. It was going to burn. C4 planted around the foundation, they'd never know what was coming. Don't ask how a witch got such dangerous things, but the trap would be set. Shrouded from that magic, she was one of them. Or rather looked like one of the desert followers if they tried to hurt her. Illusions and she would pay the price.

Only a few of the darts found their marks, so the serpent quickly holstered the guns and instead drew four thin daggers, one in each hand. His movements were still almost supernaturally quick, enhanced by the drugs in his system. The twenty-four foot long snake coiled and whipped himself right into the three men advancing on his position. Every twist of his body avoided a sword, as well as the dart headed back his way; even while his own arms danced in the air, seeking flesh to draw blood from. Even a scratch from the poisoned blades would cause dizziness and blurred vision within seconds, acute swelling of the throat within minutes, and death shortly thereafter. Two of the fanatics suffered glancing strikes that still drew blood, while the third met a worse fate. Coil upon coil slithered and quickly wrapped around the man's torso, quickly disarming him. One length of the great serpent suddenly clenched, and snapped the man's spine.

That left three for Julien to handle. The bow was dropped to the ground and forgotten in favor of the knife. It gleamed a second before the Savage was all but throwing himself at the men. The knife arched out, slicing through the throat of one with clean precision. A duck to avoid the second man before the third was bled - Julien's knife found its mark, shoved up beneath the adam's apple and jammed further in with a blow to the handle from Julien's free hand. A savage jerk and the head was severed from the body. Heedless of the third he ran forward, using his great speed to dodge those he could, grit through what pains came to him. He was getting inside.

Guns, magic, other flying projectiles - these must've been Bjorn's weaknesses, and unless the two men headed specifically towards him had that up their sleeves, they'd soon discover they probably should have sent more. Swordplay was where he could prove to be absolutely lethal, and an arena where he didn't need help, not from a trivial two. On the coast where he'd first met Ivanya, he took out two Stone-dwellers in under sixty seconds — so unless these men were more than human fanatics armed with blades, they probably didn't stand much of a chance. His strength was too formidable for him to pass as human in situations like these, and he seemed capable of rolling with the tremors via The Color Purple while aiming strikes whisper-quick for the face, eyes and mouth with the right sword, the left equipped to block blows, throw them off. If he was successful, he was running on for the entrance as well with the same mind as Julien. Gem was his priority, this time around.

The fanatical followers of The Deliverer were astonished at the force meeting them. The ape himself was sending shockwaves through them, simply for his size and ferocity. They had quickly learned it was a mistake to rush his legs. The squashed and broken bodies littering the cobbles made footing uncertain, as well as the splashes of blood all about. The rotting bodies that had been a sneaky trap, for they could trip the unwary, were also to be considered, maggoty stumble-blocks all around. The two facing Bjorn fell within seconds, astonished looks on their faces as they were sliced to ribbons while they stood, dead before they hit the ground. The three on Ssaliist screamed as they died, the man who was crushed and snapped like tinder in those smooth coils shrieked like a madman, a girlie high-pitched cry that sundered the ears. The serpent and the others were facing only men, very talented, yes, with scimitar and dagger, and also cloaks that protected their bodies from projectiles and weapons. However those crafty, shielded desertmen faced foes whose swordplay was superior, finding openings in those swinging cloaks and flying blades. Julien's three growled and cursed him as he ran for them, but they didn't break formation. The two he slew fell with wet splats onto the cobbles, and the second pursued him with wild cry, sword upraised to slice it down the tracker's back, if he was not parried or stopped somehow. Those facing down the ape were stepping back, though not fleeing. These followers of the Teslim would not break and run, for they were beyond dedicated, but they were not fools, either. They backed slowly from the huge ape, towards their lair, their hideout, so that they could be backed by yet more henchmen. They stood ready to dodge more of those pummeling footfalls, if they could, some of them getting in the way of Julien and Bjorn as they ran for the doors. The witch was unseen at this point, for the rest of the snares were set within the hideout, not without. Her charges would blow when she set them to. As the heroes ran for that door, a phalanx of desert men arrayed themselves in front of them, on the broad landing before the doors. 10 men stood there, swords and daggers raised, willing to fight to the death to keep the Deliverer from harm, so that the One might be Redeemed.

Ella's still laying traps, blending in as one of the desert followers. Though the illusion would be fading fast if she didn't hurry.

Seeing the two charge the entrance heedless of the enemy remaining, Andu turns to watch their back, stomping and slapping until all those above ground were either friend, or mush. Apparently when his dander was up, he reverted to a true son of his Labyrinth dwelling, virgin eating, son of a god Forebear.

Sweat stinging his eyes and drenching his hair, Kruger backs slowly against the men. The best he can hope is to bottleneck the incoming soldiers and limit the amount of opponents that could come at them. He called to Julien "Get that fxxking door open so we get inside!" "Dew on the rose" punches a hammer head into the newcomers face, but not before the blade makes another cut at a broad shoulder. Rumor must be true, those shoulders presented too big a target to avoid. He turned and made a dash towards the door with Julien catching Bjorn before turning to hold back those who followed.

Ssaliist came in towards that doorway from another angle than the others. As he lunged and coiled, his arms danced in the air: either flicking out poisoned darts towards faces, or slicing and plunging with those similarly poisoned daggers. With a final coil and lunge, the great serpent launched himself through the air at the ten guarding the doorway. Long body twisted and coiled in midair to try and avoid those waiting blades, his reflexes still preternaturally acute for a while yet. As he landed, four arms used daggers to pierce and slash, while the twin tips of his tail opened to reveal stingers which would deliver their own venom.

Seeing the last of his companions charge to the door, thus clearing the courtyard of friendlies, Andu drops and does a barrel roll across the courtyard, making a living oversized steam roller.

The third man that trailed Julien was displaced quickly- a pinhair turn and the arrowhead- the last of the ones Anya had left- was slammed into the man's temple with all the strength of the sinewy, dark arm. His eyes caught Kruger and the man's shout. He trusted his companions to aid him as he slashed out with the knife towards throats and faces, anywhere he felt he would have the best chance of penetrating. An incoming weapon had him dropping low but then, with a fierce shout, he launched himself to the door.

It should be noted that the Lion man having taken some flesh wounds from the arrows, and having been bled, a pervasively powerful scent that even a human could pick up on was perfuming a surprising amount of range — spiced and dizzyingly heady, sweet without being overly saccharine, any vampire or avid blood-drinker within range might have found themselves driven mad for the taste of it, might have even found it far more compelling than fey-blood. Fortunately for him, there wasn't a vampire around to ruin his battle buzz, and he worked well with Kruger for the duration that he had to, sweeping low to the ground to avoid swings of his ally's weapons before straightening like death come to call, using the force of his strength to try and carve a path between those that stood in his way with longswords flashing out the same as before.

The elf, only barely even aware at this point, tried to sit up more, tried to call to Anya, for the other woman's silence was scaring her. "An...ya...Anya!

Anya'd passed out, and laid there. The life force fading, but she was fighting. In the dark she heard Gem's voice. She couldn't die, no. A deep breath and she cried out one more time.

On the level below the ground floor, the guarding men stationed there with protecting the Deliver himself from harm, and with keeping charge of the fruit of their labors— the blood vat and the still living sacrifices"(all prepared and purified for their Sunday ritual) were now called to enact a different action, and yet still the same. Signals and messages had come to him, and so Teslim heard of the great ape, and the way he rolled down all the remaining men in the courtyard. Those that had stood against the simian could not escape in time, and so Andu left a squashed landscape of both newly dead and rotting dead in his wake. This was...unexpected. This great a force coming against him had not been foreseen. Teslim prepared for their fallback route, ordering his men to prepare the lovelies and to remove the great vat of blood. Rushed preparations were made by the M'hajid as they gathered up their ritual components and all those things they must have. It would take them a certain carefully calculated amount of time to escape with those things most precious and required for the ritual two days hence. It vexed him more than mere words could describe that he would have to leave behind the two women below, chained and caged in the third floor dungeon. He simply didn't have the time to go and get them, nor did his men. It took many of them to carry the vat, and the twenty living sacrifices, as well, for they could none of them walk. Growling, his beads clacking as he moved, he chose and then ordered, those who would stay behind and give up their lives to ensure the getaway of the Deliverer. Nothing must keep the Redeemer from being redeemed.

The ten hooded zealots made their last stand against the incoming assault as Andu made bloody, gory zealot porridge out in the courtyard of those that had fallen under the onslaught from the others (including the unfortunate ones that didn't have the good sense to die right away). A few of those making their last stand, as it were, threw themselves at Kruger, Bjorn and Julien before Ssaliist bowled them over and pinned them to the building and knocked them off their feet. Several died under the crushing weight and the unforgiving steel wielded against them. Fervent cries echoed over the dying rattling throes of the fallen. Those remaining in the building acted quickly and with great efficiency, without thought to their own well being, to protect the Deliverer and his grand work, intent on bringing Teslim's grand vision to fruition. The few remaining hooded zealots engaged the defenses as they heard their comrades falling and the door being breeched.

Standing up upon reaching the far side of the courtyard, Grape Andu turns and steps back to his companions.

Bjorn's low attack is the distraction Kruger needs, a stylized X forms in front of him as the hammers cross to stop an incoming scimitar, a twist takes the blade out of play. Kruger fired a head butt at the man's nose and hears that satisfying crunch. Adjusting his grip on the hammers the pointed ends take the man it the armor penetrating tips going through the cloak and into the chest beyond. Back and shoulder muscles bulge as Kruger pulls the hammers sideways pulling apart the ribcage to free the hammer heads. He laughed savagely as he worked, the peculiar smelling blood piquing his battle lust.

Ssaliist kept the bulk of his weight on those fanatics who still struggled, long enough to deliver deathblows with his daggers. When none at the doorway still moved, the great serpent pulled his body aside and gestured to the three men, "Go!"

Julien's companions were efficient and it left him at the doors. Double doors, both with handles that swung inward. "Locked." Naturally. His arm was burning now, closer and closer. He glanced at his knife, could probably force it open, but that would take time they didn't have. He turned to regard those with him, particularly Andu. "We must break it down, and now. We do not have long to get them."

Removing his mask, Bjorn called out to the others. "Everyone stay away from the door - back up. This'll save time" Because it seemed the foes outside were handled, and currently, Bjorn was closer than Andu. So long as Kruger's battle lust was heightened, and not aimed at him, the Lion wouldn't sweat it; you know, so long as nobody tried to eat him. Resheathing the swords, he too backed up to make his point while reaching for two of the four grenades left in his disposal. Unplugging one with his teeth, and another with a finger, he sent them skittering to that door the moment the others cleared it. Down four grenades, and two left. Thank God for Ezekiel and his grenades, given for just such a purpose! The elf heard footsteps. The bastard M'hajid that was there with them in the room had ignored them when they screamed, but he was moving for the door to the long tunnel that lead to their room, now. Something moved him. She did not know what. Hearing the door click, she wished she had the use of her fingers, for they would let her take the lockpick she kept secreted in a tiny braid at the nape of her neck. She could have broken out of this blighted iron maiden and freed Anya. As it was, she could not move her hands at all, lest waves of mind-swallowing pain assault her. Her voice was whisper, now. "Anya....Anya. Something...is happening." Seeing the grenades, Ssaliist practically dove away from the door.

Teslim was running out of time. He could hear things happening above. The great form of the ape had also caused some outer walls to fall as he rolled and thudded his feet down on the cobbles outside. The rubble that was weakest fell first, great crashes of sound the made it seem a veritable army was arrayed against them. Frowning, he was truly surprised at the strength of his enemies, here. Perhaps the one who had taken down Dante was as mighty as these. Perhaps he was even now above, and raining ruin down upon The Deliverer's plans for redeeming his Lord. Shaking his head, and praying as he worked, he urged the ones carrying the vat into the secret tunnel, and those carrying the still living women, to hurry. He would have to make the bitch elf and the baker pay later, once Dante was restored. Yes, then the time for full revenge would be at hand. For now, he slipped out that hidden door and made his way after his men into the long tunnel that lead out to a secret place near the docks. They would focus on conducting the ritual on Sunday, and then all hell would be broken loose on this place. Smiling, finally, he gestured for the General of his men to guard the backs of the remaining M'Hajid, those mages even now hurrying after the Deliverer. A rear guard was left, of course, those prepared to die for the sake of the Redeemer.

The remaining minions had barricaded the door, expecting Grape Andu to bash in the front door. They set the trap to trigger as soon as the door was breeched. What they didn't think to expect was that the Lion man would use grenades to blast down the door, further making it seem as if the building was going to come down on their heads. The explosion sprayed shrapnel back at them, luckily their cloaks protected them from the flying projectiles. The explosion prematurely triggered the trap and several darts, slick with the oily black substance on the bodies found in the alley fired near the door.

"Hold on Gem...they are coming for us." Anya held her hand out and she fainted again.

Andu sees the last of the Zealots fall to his allies, then the grenades fly. Grape Andu slaps his chest and yells in a voice that probably shook the rafters in the Inn on the other side of town. "REBOOT" And once again, Andu the merely 10 foot tall, 1 ton minotaur stands there. "Andu could open with out boom balls." Then he tucks his head down, and does his classic move....Full speed, minotaur charge, a great Axe in each hand, and lowered to gore any target he finds once entering the door.

Kruger backed away from the doors, following Bjorn's example. An arm involuntarily rises to his eyes at the flashing explosions. Dark sight ruined for anything that might be lurking out there. He swallows repeatedly trying to get his ears to pop going nearly deaf. "Holy Mari....".

The first room is oddly shaped due to the entry and the curvature of the front wall. To the right can be seen a set of stairs going both up, to the tower, and down, to what must be the floor below. Closed doors lead off to the right and one to the left. Inside the place, it doesn't stink, and there seems to be a very different air about the place. The walls have been shored up from within to provide support and all the cobwebs and dirt has been cleaned up and removed. The stone walls are chilly, and there is no fireplace in this room. There is a huge desk in this room, along with various couches, chairs, and small tables around the room. There were men ducked down behind the couches and chairs, and the two doors leading out of this room were shut solidly. The stairwell that ran up to the tower and down to the floors below lay to the right of the door, and nothing seemed to be barring it from use. As the grenade shattered the door, it caused some of the men close to it to liquefy inside their bodies, brains and lungs turned to mush, and so they fell, dead. Others deflected the shrapnel and managed to survive, only to be mowed down, quite literally, when the minotaur came charging through. He narrowly missed getting hit by the poisoned darts that were set off when the doors exploded, for they fired just before he entered. Julien and the others could see Andu take down three men with his charge alone, and then others were spilling from behind the couches to lunge toward the minotaur. Fifteen men came boiling out from the two doors that now opened up, finally releasing the rest of the men on this floor to stop the invaders. Andu had 5 attacking him, the other fifteen were heading for Julien, Bjorn, and Ssaliist, and Kruger.

The great serpent was on the minotaur's heels, almost literally. Twenty-four feet of alien snake boiled into the room. His reflex-booster was wearing thin, but there was enough of an edge to sight the closest fanatics to his position. His body began whipping out in loops towards the nearest three men, looking to smash their bodies against the walls or floor and crush them outright.

He was no fool. The minute the grenade came into view, Julien was removing himself from its path. It was loud when it went off, in fact it shook the very earth. He wasted no time, spilling through the giant hole that graced the once unassuming face of the building with the other men. "Anya!" He yelled her name when he entered, regardless of whether she was near enough to hear or not. A pain stung his heart; he felt it pierced through as if the serpent were in his chest. She was out of time, they had to get to them. He was wild. There was no time for these men. He became unto his totem and he was suddenly in the midst of them, hacking with the knife in some sort of barbarian grace, deadly precision and accuracy. He used his hands, too, to squeeze throats and gouge eyes. They had to die, because the women could not hold on and the time was now.

The usual places did not yield the usual suspects, er, friends and the Spaniard's skin was literally crawling with anxiety about not seeing anyone he knew all day - that and the damn serpents - acting up, acting out, not twinning together like usual, but moving chaotically - driving Antonio crazier than usual and for not the first time, he thanked Ella for her gift, tongue firmly in cheek. So last place to check, the docks, and soon as he pointed the Harley into the area, he knew something was wrong...clouds of dirt and dust were rising from places where walls had crumbled...he rounded a corner just in time to hear a series of blasts...ah screw this, he stepped off the bike, allowing it to skid away from him, broke into a run, hand lifting the Dunbar from its sheath behind his back, and darted into the building, what was left of it, with the most damage, in time to see Andu go bowling and be charged in the process...he growled as he raised the Dunbar over his head in a wide arc, yelling as he brought it down with a sweep from left to right in front of him and took out five with that one swipe, another two who barreled into those five, He was grinning like a schoolboy on a playground fight when he jumped the carnage and turned to face the remainder.

A dart came within inches of Bjorn, inches, because he'd been looking away from the blast — wouldn't do to get blinded now. "Holy sxxt, the fxxk was that, man"!" His filtering mask was discarded because as much as it might stand a chance from protecting him from the oily smoke, he also wouldn't have a prayer of scenting Gem's blood out otherwise. Thank God for small favors. If he'd known what that was, he might have decided to join some church and thank the divine because he'd already had a nasty experience with that shit, whatever it was. Didn't notice Antonio was on the way, because suddenly there were more enemies to combat - and out came the first blade, sliced in a sidewise arc up high toward one shrouded face while the other came up a moment behind to carve through. "Kruger, help me out here! Time's wasting and I need through that goddamn door now!" That was what he needed — time, more than help, because he didn't appear to have an issue with the scimitar-wielders, the simpler humans, but he snarled, pupil-pinpricked, frustrated for the obstacles in his way. It might have made him a little bit more....cruel in his strikes, mercy falling by the wayside. Wait - wait. Was that Antonio' "Little late to the party, you son of a bxxch, where you been"!"

((Part 4))

The Spaniard could be fooled by many things but he did not like the look in the witch's eyes. She had asked him for a promise, though, and everything in him screamed that he needed to be with the others, facing the aggressors. Short of dragging Ella along behind him, keeping that thought for a moment, he could after all bind her with the bullwhip, and force her. She was preparing to shimmer....he knew how she looked when she did that...and right before she faded he quickly stepped up close to her and embraced her. Where she went he would go too, he closed his eyes and did not breathe...if this did not kill him he was sure the witch would.

Kruger slid to the left hand side of the corridor behind Bjorn. He struck the wall with Heaven and dragged it along the surface. The echoing sounds of metal on stone slid through the maze. An ominous grating that both announced their presence, and obscured it with the resounding echoes. This was not his intention by any means, everyone knew the way out of the maze was to put your left hand on the wall and walk, never letting that hand come away from the wall. Eventually the exit would be found, but did they have the time to do it his way. He hoped the men in front of him had a better idea of where to turn than he did.

Julien knew where to go. Anya, conscious or not, called him. Led him on. The pathway curled and slanted- he ran west, then north. West again, north again. Finally to the east. It would bring Julien and his followers to a massive door banded in iron, looming forebodingly before them. The room behind, it called. The door needed to be dealt with.

Bjorn could not see through the darkness crystal-clear, but he saw well enough to discern silhouettes and shapes, where the wall started and where it ended, details murky by too much shadow. Didn't need touch, and his footfalls behind Julien were increasingly confident of where they headed, that the Native remembered the way. "Shxt. How sturdy does that door feel, Tenfeather" Got two grenades left, but not sure it's a good idea using those in here. The girls are closer, vishya?" .

Gem couldn't scream, her throat was too damaged, but she tried to whistle, tried to call out. It was a paltry collection of sounds. She didn't know who would be there to hear it, other than Anya.

Between Andu and Ssaliist, the hooded minions of Teslim were laid to waste. The walls and floors of the maze were painted in the blood of the dead and dying zealots, leaving the stone surfaces slick and the coppery tang palpable in the air. The cries of the dead and dying replaced the fervent chanting, reverberating off the stone around them. It was not a good day for the followers of Teslim, but each surrendered his last breath believing his sacrifice was for the greater Cause.

The greater cause, indeed. The maze would lead the heroes to that particular door, if they were clever enough to follow where Bjorn and the Tracker lead them. The door stood like a guardian itself, the strongest door they had yet seen in this place. The smell of Gem and Anya is very heavy here, very strong, coming from the other side of that door The hall was five feet wide and stretched many feet both direction. A blast could be ducked away from if they hid at one end of the hallway. There was no noise coming the room beyond.

The dead weight of the Spaniard mucked her up and put her near Julien, Bjorn and anyone else there. She landed on her ass. Her intent was to get to the M'hajid, but she only could get so far as they cleared the path. Pushing Antonio from her, she was right behind them. "FXXKING GET THAT DOOR DOWN."

Andu makes his way to the others as fast as he can. Drawing upon the horror of a childhood being stalked in the Mazes and Labyrinths his tribe so loved to build.

There was certainly no mistaking the witch's voice. Ssaliist followed the echoes of their conversation till he reached where they waited before that imposing door. Since they didn't want to risk an explosion, the serpent dug into his satchels, pulling out two glass vials, one filled with a sparkling blue liquid, the other a bright yellow liquid. "Use these. Smash one, then the other onto the lock. They form an acid." The vials are passed forward.

When he reaches them and sees the door, he growls and motions everyone back as he resheaths his axes and pulls his warmaul from his back. When they have cleared the door, he rears back, sets himself, and winds up. It took him 3 minutes before finally landing a blow to the door, the likes of which could rupture a bank vault.

Stunned with what appeared to be some kind of molecular space travel...hey he just learned about cell phones and Harleys, he's not advanced enough yet to consider that!...he was shoved into the wall when they "landed" and Ella pushed at him, the breath knocked out of him. But her screams had him blinking, stumbling forward, regaining his faculties, staring now at the mother of all doors....and in his disorientation, he uttered some ancient language, phrase of the Bane He'lah leader, words he did not know he knew, words familiar to the Destroyer and the desert men laying slain all around them, words of some supreme importance to their god...while in frustration he lifted his hands and clanged them against the door...the snake bracelets that he wore coming into contact with the wooden barrier. And he steps aside when Andu makes his attempt...when Ssaliist tries his magic.

Julien was about to reply to Bjorn but didn't have a chance as a flurry of activity started. He didn't give a damn who, or what, did it, but he wanted the door down now.

Doors in this place seem to be standard issue bad. Kruger is looking at it considering the possible ramifications of having a door here with the hinges on the inside of it. Really why would they do that except that they expected someone to come running in and just bust it open. He doesn't voice this though...he has been wrong before...often and badly::

And baaaack went Bjorn. Andu, Julien, and Antonio provided cannon fodder. A wise chin-jerk to Kruger implied the he might want to stand back there with him, Ssaliist, Antonio, and Ella.

Oh, Julien'd fallen back to wait with the others. He had no intentions of being blow to small tribal pieces.

The door burst inwards with the force of the blow that Andu's warmaul gave to it, the wood shattering and groaning as if it were a living thing, the iron bands bending and warping and still holding together, but the door's frame busted loose and the entire thing crashed inwards, huge splinters flying. The touch of Antonio's bracelets and his Holy words caused the magic spell on the door to dispell, and so he saved them all from a nasty fireball that might have otherwise melted their faces off. And now it is to be hoped that someone can deal with the last effect upon that door, being the mechanical trap that was set off by the door's destruction. A toxic cloud formed into a ball, man height, and slowly expanded, drifting towards them with some growing haste as it amassed size, approaching the door's opening from a few into room, where the door had been blown by Andu. Inside the room, the five assassins waiting to slay the men were taken down by the door itself, and they never knew what hit them, their heads crushed and smushed into red and white gelatin. This room was an evil room, heavy with the smell of blood, for this was where the blood vat had been stored. The blood of 100 women had been collected, purified, and preserved. Iron maidens, a rack, and heinous, nameless torture devices littered the room in gory display. This was the infamous "Workroom". Long wooden tables, blood speckled and stained lay about the room. At the extreme northwest corner of the room, there was a small flight of stairs downwards to another door. It is here that the heat of Julien's link pulls him, it is here that the scent of Gem's blood and body leads those sensitive to it.

Anya is gone, out. Will be until someone can heal her. Please heal her.

As soon as the door splintered, the fire ball dispelled, the witch ran toward the third floor and that fucking door, this bastard is gonna burn. She had to deal with the Spaniard, but while he was distracted, the witch left Ssaliist to deal with the chemical ball. The stair case was so close she thought, but in her haste she hit the door. Another damn door. SLAMMED back on her ass. She laid there for a few minutes. She so wanted to be like Bjorn and rush into everything. Serves her right not to take her own advice.

Julien felt he needed to get down those stairs, but he eyed the cloud. Not hesitation out of fear, but because he knew they were so, so close to the women that to misstep here would end everything. Eyes slid to Bjorn and then the others. He knew the man would be able to pick out Gem's scent much as Julien could feel Anya.

Ssaliist could detect the poison on the air almost as soon as it was released. His vocoder hissed out an urgent, "Don't breathe! Poison!"

Seeing the cloud douses the last of Andu's anger....As the Minotaur drops to his knees he hears the warning and he weakly slaps his chest and utters his magic word. "Reboot". No Gorilla appears, instead a 12 foot tall skeletal minotaur clad in gothic armor.

Internally Ssaliist activated several implants in his body, shunting his lungs to an internal oxygen supply, and releasing neutralizing agents into his saliva so that he could safely sample the toxin, to be analyzed by the implants in his mouth. His tongue flickered rapidly at the edge of the expanding cloud, feeding the samples into his implants. The answer is quick coming, and he hurriedly fishes in his packs for the right vials. Sliding right into the heart of the poison vapor, he smashes two vials onto the floor, the liquids inside giving off their own visible vapors. A few seconds is all it takes for the compounds to neutralize each other. One more sampling of the air and he turns to the others, "It is safe. Did anyone inhale it?"

The stench of rotting flesh and spilled blood was the thing that had Antonio gagging, closing his eyes briefly to the fumes of the odors, turning away as the air and toxic cloud careened out of the inner chamber, and he retched up his stomach contents as he hung onto the wall. It is one thing for the panther to smell fresh blood, quite another to be assaulted with the odor and flavor of the old congealed cold dark obscene substance. He could scent nothing, or no one, else, but they must have pierced the core, they must be near Anya and Gem. Hearing the words of Ssaliist, glancing to the new form of Andu, he pushed off the wall and moved into the room of horrors, holding his breath, silently offering prayers to God for the lives of the two women they had come to find, that the grace of God might still touch them. Eyes watered with the overwhelmingness of it all, but he would stand and push through, sensitive ears listening for sounds, moaning, breathing, anything. Did they still survive"

Kuger heeds the advice of the snake man, he tried not to wonder too much about the new creatures he saw in RhyDin. Holding his breath was a process of concentration, the efforts of the battle up until now had him craving oxygen. He held though, his eyes burned and his nose leaked massive amounts of mucus to the floor. He was overcome by the stench as Ssaliist nuetralized it, he was down as Antonio started gagging...why does that noise always become contagious?

It took a bit for the stench to get to Julien, so focused he was on his task, ready to charge after where Ella had fallen on her backside. But when the smell hit, he threw up his arm to protect his nose and mouth and turned away. Not until the snakeman said the word 'safe' did he uncover his face. A quick look around and then he was off, vaulting over things in the room, sidestepping and making for that final door. Gagging or not, he would make it down there if he had to crawl. "Anya!" Bjorn surely hadn't rushed into one damn thing tonight! Okay, other than playing with the weird part of the wall like he couldn't stand not to, but otherwise he'd been relatively cautious - overly cautious even, neglecting the use of particular abilities he didn't feel altogether too comfortable with sharing so openly in front of people he'd just met. Holding his breath immediately at the order, he watched to see if it affected the others physically before he'd do jack, but the snakelike creature had it under control and he swept forward, taking Antonio and Kruger's gagging as a sign not to breathe inward still. He'd head out behind Julien, still keeping that blissful middle ground of the group, swords held low at either side - but even after hitting the stairs behind the Native, finally breathing, his features would flinch inward subtly at the stench. Holy crap, that was rank.

((February 18th, 2012)) Teslim's stronghold was in ruins. The two females had been taken from his clutches. His plans, though, they remained in play. Another stronghold could be carved out of some other remnant of the city, once Dante was reborn. Their power would be vastly enhanced once that was done, and more of their followers had already been sent for. They had lost many in the raid by the infidels. Another group was on their way, and more would be requested. The Banu He?lah was not discouraged, though he might have been, had this occurred earlier. But they were so close now to the resurrection of his Lord. Only one more day. Teslim had gotten those most important to that ritual out of the stronghold before it had fallen. Sunday would be the Day of Reckoning, and then let them flail and fight though they might, he knew who would be the winners. And then the real suffering would begin.

((Part 2))

"He's screaming—fight!" Now, now it was time. Ella screamed. "Benim kan için kan." Toward the missles. Blood for my blood. In hopes to stop it.

Bjorn leaped over the netting where it fell to snare nothing more significant than a rock, but his landing was a little off due to the trembling of the asphalt. No matter, knees absorbed the impact and he was up, off, attempting to discern where those missile-like projectiles would end so he could place himself accordingly in what might appear to be a safe spot. All the while, he was resheathing the longswords to unlatch one of the six warehouse grenades, teeth unpinning it, to launch it at the outskirts of the enemy group, as far from the tree as he could. Even if it didn't hit, it might provide distraction! Holy shit, missiles — of course. No matter what he did from that point on, he seemed apt to want to stay near the Alfar, incoming or not.

Qwen had some slight advantage here, the wings were not just for show. A powerful downward beat and her feet lifted from the ground. It would not negate all traps but certianly a portion. Taking up a flanking position to the charge, she would stand (fly) fast against attacks from that vector. The launched attack was noted and would be monitored.

Dante saw two targets, the man who killed him. He grabbed one of the cloaks and pulled it over this body. The caltrop thrown back toward the witch's mouth. That should shut her up.

"Grape Ape!" Thank God. Don't ask; don't ask.

Bjorn had warned him about magic users, and Ivanya remembered thank the Mother, to shoot the wolf a hasty, unvocalized warning too. A man his size should not have been capable of tumbling into the roll, battleaxe still in hand, which he managed, the the missiles flew over him and he rolled up to his feet right in front of a pair of minions - the Hell did Bjorn just say' The trellwolf sank to his belly.

Today she would see the Grape Ape in action. When Andu yelled Grape Ape, she looked away, big mistake on her part.

" Ella. Get down! " Over his shoulder as he shifted his stance, before he snapped the swords up. Hoping to either deflect or cut the caltrop in two as he brought the swords in a downward X when the thrown item was close enough. At least that was his goal.

If it's one of Qwen's caltrops the man would find himself in more trouble than he expected. The caltrops were a method of dispersing her nanites. If another picked one up she would send a signal for it to explode.

Some of the missles were diverted by Ella's magic, shooting towards her body, with the intent to harm. Three though, were still aimed at the wolf, and a handful at Ivanya, but the wolf ducked and Ivanya rolled, so they went shooting off to hit something else. The four aimed at Bjorn were still coming, did he dodge them or did they hit' The priests, those m'hajid no longer needed for the ritual, now turned their attentions on the oncoming foes. Spells lashed out. Lightning bolts came towards Qwen and Calix, deadly arcs seeking their flesh. Another sent more missiles of dark magic towards Andu, the giant ape, aiming for his softer belly. Ssaliist had a firebolt coming for him. Finally, Teslim raised his arms and a wall of fire interposed itself between Ivanya, Bjorn, and his men for a distance of some 8 feet.

With simian quickness the Gorilla drops to duck under the cloud, but only manages to "mostly" avoid it, leaving him mostly blind but still moviing. "Argh!! Grape Ape! Blind!"

Technology covered in blood, the nanites would reach the witch if it hit her #$%^&* mouth. Dante ran toward Bjorn, this time he was armed. His face so pretty, the pretty face he had. Until he felt the burning. Whatever nanites mixed with magic, it started to eat away at his face. He screamed as his face was on fire. Pieces in large chunks started to fall away. One have proud, one have noble and the other half burned away.

Bjorn had been zigzagging here and there, but as the four closed in - holy hell! - he leaped, rolling, rolling out of reach from the first, second, third, but the fourth likely touched down right beside him, missing him only by a hairline's distance. If there was some sort of explosion, he probably went flying for a bit with few complaints if it didn't blow him up.

Yes, for Bjorn there was a small explosion, mostly burning. It would only move him slightly. But he had a Dante heading for him, and so Teslim smiled. Qwen got lucky, spells were easier for her than missiles. There was a beat of wings and she rose high enough that the bolts only grazed her, the personal shield redirecting the energy so that it was dispersed across her body, giving a shock but nothing that would stop her. Seeing Bjorn flying she dove that way, she could provide an assist to soften his fall. And to provide a second blade for the one closing in on his position.

The caltrop hit Calix's sword deflecting, but small pieces hit her shoulder. Bleed witch.

Bjorn gone flying, and there was suddenly an Alfar and a sturdy trellwolf standing between him and any further offensive spells that might come chasing while he was vulnerable. The pair made a pretty wide meat shield.

Two desert men screamed as the caltrops that Qwen threw hit their arms and exploded. Two arms hit the cobbles, and they screamed, blood spurting. They held the line, though they listed to one side, and let the flames of their fervor sustain them.

As for the lightening that was coming for Calix" He hadn't seen it coming till it hit. Gritting his teeth from the force of it, as it sent him to the ground. Forcing himself to keep from screaming out to the pain coursing through his body, as well as burn marks starting to mare his flesh.

This motley crew was certainly out numbered, but the flanked and an orderly army they were not. Dante saw two of his men down, but that did not stop him from running toward Bjorn, but averted and started to his Ivanya. Kill the wolf, kill the lion.

Ssaliist could not fully avoid the spell headed his way. The serpent twisted and rolled to avoid a direct strike, but still the flames raked across his side. A pained hiss escaped him, the quills on his neck began rattling dangerously. Poisoned darts were pulled from sheathes and hurled towards the nearest cultist, aiming for their faces.

Ella ran to Calix and removed a small vial of ointment. "Are you okay?" Bleeding herself, but it didn't matter.

When Ivanya joined the cluster Qwen slid to the right, taking up a defensive stance there. Landing, she would wait for those advancing to get closer before a boot would stomp the ground, it would send a tremor through the earth just enough to, hopefully, disrupt balance at a critical point.

" Yeah. " Coughing once the lightening spell had passed, while slowly moving atleast to one knee. " I'll heal in time, try to save what we got for healing in case the others need it. "

Two men ran beside Dante, his face half burned, he spoked to them in the old tongue. "Kurt alın." Screaming and two men parted going to their side. One struck out to Qwen and the other for Ivanya.

Two of the serpent's darts hit desertmen, and they shrieked, coming for him. They didn't know they were poisoned yet. Two lifted scimitars and daggers came slashing at Ssaliist.

Nodding, Ella heard Dante scream. "HE'S GOING FOR IVANYA."

Roars as memory and his magic crown let him "see" where the enemy is....Till friend and foe mix. A hit dead center on his belly further enrages the Purple Ape, but his Championship belt takes the blow, spreading it and so he is able to continue for a time, so he charges the fire to leap behind it for the many enemy hiding there.

And then the sword was pulled from its sheath. Qwen's silvery eyes glowing softly, she waited for the man to close to melee. Ivanya waited half a heartbeat - long enough for the trellwolf to lunge for the man that came screaming towards him. Its teeth fastened onto a forearm, dragged him to staggering so that the great axe could swing and cleanly cleave head from shoulders. It left him open, briefly, but Alfar were quick, and he righted himself to meet Dante's charge, if it was incoming.

Shaking his head clear of the pain that racked his body, Calix finally cleared his vision enough to rise back to his feet. Swords again snapped up in defense.

The arcane missile didn't send him far, but his arm-piece started to burn where he fell as did the side of his bonded leathers, the left cheek searing quick, hot, blistering the flesh, ponytailed mane singed but the burn was there and out, and he was snarling like one angry, angry mother*** as he came back up to his feet, swords coming back out. Meat shield for now, three-wide, but he was darting around them to rejoin the fray with aims on sandwiching Dante in the middle. Granted, he'd needed a moment or two there beforehand!

The priests were sending more bolts of lighting and bolts of fire at those arrayed against them. These priests were behind the 12 remaining desertmen and Teslim, Dante was over attacking Ivanya. A shield of bodies protected the priests so they could cast their spells. Teslim was moving, too, towards Ivanya and his wolf. Scimitar slashed out for the feet of the wolf, even as his other hand cast a firebolt towards Ivanya. Multiple attacks coming for the man.

Instead of avoiding the swords aimed at him, the great serpent simply reached out to catch the blade in gauntleted hands, as his other two hands drove forwards, talons extended and reaching for faces to rip and tear, crush and maim.

Dante rolled and grabbed another weapon, he was running like a train toward Bjorn. While the other two men ran for the wolf. He said what he did cause some confusion. Two other men headed toward Calix and the witch.

Calix's gaze moved to the two men heading their way, with another shift to brace for their attacks. Letting them make the first move.

When the great ape jumped over to land behind the wall of fire, the very ground shook and everyone would feel that. Desertmen stumbled, those fighting Ssaliist rocked back on their heels, and he took them down easily because of it. The priests shrieked and turned their foul spells onto the ape amongst them, now. Fire bolts, lightning bolts, arcane missiles sent at Andu. Two desert men were on Calix, and two are on Qwen, swords raised and coming down in slashing motions. Two more desertmen fell, smooshed to juice under the ape's feet.

The wolf might be one eyed, but that single remaining sliver of green was sharp, and the scimitar cut air as the huge animal circled. Ivanya, torn between guarding Bjorn and fending off Teslim was not so lucky, and the firebolt caught him, deflected marginally by Hjordis' edge so that its sparks lit the fur of his cloak and scorched across the jerkin, one arm and his knuckles. No scream though, just a tug at the fastening for the cloak that let it fall smoldering while the wolf jumped, all sixteen stone of him, onto Teslim's back, to keep him from attacking again. The Alfar beat the clinging flames on one bracer out with a snarl.

This was what Qwen was born to do, the fluid motion of the sword was an extension of her will and if any was going to get past her it would not be these men. Enhanced reflexes gave her a distinct advantage over any that did not possess the same level of technology.

Calix snapped his sword up in an X again. To block both attacks at once, his goal now to keep their attention on him. Which would hopefully allow Ella to come in with her own attack. Swinging his sword, Dante murmured for the magic. The M'hajid would be his guide, his eyes. One eye burned away, but the savages would win. Two surrounded Calix and sliced at his head.

Heedless of his own fate, the Purple Gorilla twists to throw himself to the ground and roll over the gathering of enemy, screaming in pain as fire sears his fur and skin and lighting sets muscles to twitching as he rolls.

Bjorn hadn't even finished his 'cigarette' earlier, had he" Talk about insult to injury, fxxk those bastards. Had told Ivanya about mirrors, hadn't he, and magic, and those silver blades were a lot like mirrors, skinny little mirrors, so he tried to combat the bolts of fire and lightning with sword-swipes when he couldn't entirely evade - and he'd have to blind not to see the half-face of Dante running toward him once the spells were redirected, cussing, "Rique! You're a dead mother***!"

Their former wielders now dead, Ssaliist grabbed the hilts of the scimitars and took aim, hurling them with inhuman force towards the nearest of the priests, even while the serpent tried to close the distance between him and the guardsmen.

Ella dropped her satchel with healing ointments and circled around the fray toward the M'jhaid weaving their spells. She had to leave Calix, but would not. Sword out and aimed for the second attacker, aiming for his eye. Hopefully she caught him. She kept running toward the fire wall and the M'hajid. She'd snuff out Dante's eyes.

Andu took out two of the five priests with his body hitting the ground, but he didn't take out more than that, for this was a small courtyard. His body simply would not fit inside it laying down. So he was tilted up like a drunken sailor against one groaning stone building, with smooshed priest on his sides. Two of the remaining sent firebolts at Bjorn and Ivanya, the third still living priest aimed the same at Andu, who can't roll in there, as it is too small a space.

"Come." Seeing that the wolf had taken some damage, Dante caught the witch out of the corner of his eye. Was she retreating" Pity. He'd save her for another day after he dealt with Bjorn. Sword drawn in the chaos.

Now shifting to parry and duck the attacks, one catching Calix across his right shoulder. One sword lost as he managed to duck out of the way to swing his remaining sword to at least cut down one of his attackers.

Teslim snarled as his sword missed the wolf, but a satisfied look slid over his face as his bolt hit the pale man. That smile faltered, though, when the wolf jumped on his back. He staggered but did not go down, his attention fully on the wolf now. He raised his scimitar over his head and stabbed backwards, trying to hit the wolf. The two facing Qwen stepped back a bit when she appeared to be quite capable. A woman, good with swords?? Unheard of! They snarled and cursed at her, renewing their attacks, parrying and slicing at her.

((And finally, Part Four, The End of this Story))

Andu slumps, his aqua-sight useless now, unable to tell if friend or foe still stands, only the non-humanoid forms of a few of his allies gives him hope that victory may be theirs.

The witch jerked away from Calix and ran back to her satchel. Ointment pulled out and she went to the grape ape with bandages and ointment to stop the bleeding, they would not heal instantly, but the blood would stop. Once the blood stopped, she ran to Calix hoping to help him too.

Once Ella settled, he slowly moved his arms from behind around her. Sheathing the sword he still had, as he looked towards Andu, to try and gauge just where the grape ape was.

Ivanya and his wolf did not go barging in, could not risk getting in the way of the Lion's strikes, and so they closed on Dante from behind, to keep him from fleeing, to keep him wary and distracted.

A glazed eyed glance to Ella as she helped Andu first, before she moved towards Calix. Various cuts from the pervious explosion had taken their toll. Now slowly starting to collaspe.

Dante missed the groin, but took the blade to his knee. He did not cry out like the weaker ones, no. The weaker arm cut off at the wrist and he moved closer to the kneeling man. A lung from the top and he was coming down with a blade from the top, in the same place where his life was ended before.

It took a few moments for the serpent to fully swallow his meal, the cultist still visibly struggling as he slid further into the snake's belly, muffled screaming spending what little air the man had left. Finally Ssaliist slumped slightly as he acknowledged his injuries. Fishing into a satchel, he pulled out an injector and administered the dose of painkillers and adrenalin. There was work to be done yet, and one foe still lived.

Burnt and ravaged by lighting and poison he sits on the ground, he taps his chest and whispers. "Reboot." And changes to his Skeletal form. Maybe it will keep him alive long enough.

Bjorn's higher-up sword swung to catch it - and it'd be a miracle if both his and Dante's swords didn't shatter upon impact in the process, but he still had the left, and jerking it back from the knee bloody, he was whirling it up point-first to take the place of his destroyed blade. Moving back to Andu, Ella waves the serpent over to the Minotaur. He needed help that probably would be best for a chemist. A glance to Qwen, they needed to burn the tree down. Though the woman didn't know it. Tend to the wounds first. Then she started pulling the bodies toward the burning tree. Even tough the women were screaming.

Ssaliist could not attack Dante either without risking harm to Bjorn. Instead he takes the role of healer, of sorts, gesturing the winged woman over and offering her several filled injectors, "Will stop blood loss, hurry."

On the way down, Dante hoped to pierce the Lion, he took a blade to the shoulder and stumbled back. Blood poured from this body, he hadn't expected it to be so weak. A warrior's cry and he lunged forward to his throat, to end this.

Calix dropped to his knees, but kept his glazed eyes on the others as he was out of the fight now..

Ella knew the women weren't alive, only the illusion of life. She didn't touch the tree, only started to bring the dead bodies around, so it could burn.

Qwen moves toward the Serpent and accepts the injectors. Then she would use her advantage of flight to get first to Andu. When she approaches she speaks in a soft and calm tone. "I am not an enemy."

The hilt of the ruined blade was cast off, one hand joined the other on the remaining longsword, and Bjorn swung with all the implacable strength of a momentum-licked juggernaut for the throat of the revived man just as he came for his.

Ivanya wasn't about to let Dante try and kill Bjorn without intervention. He stepped in behind him, thrust out with the short-sword to the back of one knee to try and stagger him.

Andu sighs. "Help others. Andu will live....Till change back to Mino."

The place reeks of death. The bodies of the now dead women still hung on the old, white tree, now running red with the blood of 120 women. The vast pouring of that stored blood had formed a huge puddle of that same blood that spread outward with eager fingers, running between the cobbles.

"I will help the others, you first." And Qwen closed the distance to administer the injection.

Shakes his head. "Andu not bleed. Andu burned. Poisoned. Blinded. Andu not have flesh, now. Will need heal when change to self."

As both men drew upon Dante, the body weakened. He gurgled. The words on his tongue failed. The screaming women stopped crying out his praise. Hand reached out to squeeze Bjorn's throat.

Once the drugs in his system took effect the serpent rose from the ground himself, moving towards Andu and Qwen, "Go attend to the others." To the woman, while Andu got an annoyed his, "Change." It was not a request.

Qwen was about to try a different tact but nodded. Moving toward Calix and Ella then, still keeping her guard up in case there were others about that had been missed.

Sighs and taps his chest. "Reboot." And a minotaur slumps there, burnt by fire and lighting, muscles torn by galvanic convulsions. Sight taken by that black cloud.

Bjorn's blade lunged half through his throat, stopping any words he could say or whisper. Though Dante struggled to squeeze for Bjorn's throat. He spewed blood, coughed and bit his own tongue.

Calix managed to make his body move again. Up to one knee just as Qwen reached him. " We meet again. " Weak smile to Qwen as he had to pop off a wise ass comment despite being in a sorry ass shape.

The serpent was quick in his work, pressing the first injector to the bull's throat. Inside was a cocktail of adrenalin, pain blockers, blood clotting agent, and enzymes which would stimulate cell regeneration and blood production.

Ivanya twisted his blade into the back of the knee as if to try and skewer him to the floor. Bjorn might have delivered a killing blow, but the creatures of this city had an unpleasant tendency not to be as dead as they looked.

Dante lost a knee and went down as Ivanya stabbed the back of his knee. Whatever strength was in his arms left.

There was a hint of a smile. "Brave face, good indicator you will live." Qwen was closing the rest of the distance so she could administer the injection. Her other hand would move to press a palm to his chest.

The next injector was for the poison, synthetic enzymes which jump-started the liver to metabolize the poison as fast as possible. It would hurt, but the adrenalin would keep the minotaur alive while the poison ran it's course.

Bjorn's blade broke in that throat before it could make a clean delivery, and useless, he'd let it go the moment it'd splintered - and on his knees in front of the toppling man, he was just at the right level to keep going on Ivanya's progress, grappling for a hand-hold on the wrist that momentarily tried to veer for him, and for that bloodsoaked hair to wind, wind, wind it around his wrist. The decapitation wasn't complete, but chances were, at this point, the tension in the sinew didn't need a weapon other than his hands. "Die," like a lover, fever's-heat whisper and promise, and if he was able to get that hand nicely lodged in the hair, he aimed to jerk at it to complete the disconnection. Gruesome, maybe, but there was a man that appreciated good, old-fashioned work with his bare hands!

Bjorn severed Dante's head with the last blow of his sword. When the man's head decapitated, the face continued burning and so did the bother wither up in what looked like burning embers.

" I got a strong reason to keep my sorry ass alive. " Back at her before Calix nodded to her, as he made no move to fight her help. As he had seen her fighting along side everyone and due to her offering her sword in protection of Ella and himself.

Andu winces a tiny bit in as the pain inside hits, but groans and forces himself to recall his training by the Sensei Minotaur back on Jambu, to relax ravaged muscles, to still their twitches.

Slowly Ella struggled to pull any dead desert brother to the base of the tree. The witch set fire to the base of the tree. Soon the tree was on fire.

"Withstand the pain, and you will live." Just about every one of them would need further, proper medical attention, but the beauty of the serpent's drugs were that even a critical patient could be stabilized long enough to get to the medics.

Qwen nodded, her silvery eyes focusing on him for a long moment before something told her that the man would recover if he did nothing too stupid. She was looking at Ella then. "I will return." She could help with fire...

Ella missed the Wolf popping off Teslim's head, but that is even better.

With the minotaur seen to, and the others sure to receive his drugs, the serpent injected himself with a last dose of something. His movements quickly became sluggish, and soon enough he fell into a half-sleep that slowed his vitals to preserve his life. He'd heard that one of their number was a medic, and so now the serpent entrusted his life to that man's skills. Calix would recover slowly, as he was tapping into hidden resources to focus on the wounds. Getting them to heal a touch faster, but the bloodloss would require sleep to recover. Once Qwen moved to tend to Ella, he slowly moved to stand then moved to recover his remaining sword. Amazing thing" He didn't lose that damn hat he always wore, though it did have blood on it.

The last of this weaker body shook, he writhed and gurgled out in pain. The soul was leaving him. He would die, this body started to burn. The rest of his face burned away, exposing the broken sword and it withered like a dying fire. A black cloud started to ooze out. On the edge of blood, the old man walked slowly. Incense of sandal wood and myhrr in the air. The smoke, the white smoke shook. The black smoke drawn toward the monk. The spirit of the desert.

Ella didn't need tended to, only to burn the bodied. There would be no more, the body would be burned, the spirit sent to hell. He watched witch burning. Dante is dead.

Sees the shape of the serpent fall. He speaks in an almost normal voice. "Medic need Medic."

" Someone...tend to the snake guy! " Yelled out as he yanked his sword from the body it was impaled in then sheathed it.

Jerking the blade back from where it'd skewered bone, the Alfar stepped out of the way, pale hair blood matted and one arm burned at the forearm and..yes there was a knife up there, high in the thick bicep muscle. The adrenaline had distracted him from the pain of it until then. Eyes cold as tundra lakes before the spring melt considered the metal invading his flesh, and then, dispassionately, he tore it out. His wolf gave a whistled, sympathetic whine.

Qwen was good at picking up on what was required and she would make sure any remaining bodies were pulled toward the burning tree. She pulled something from another pouch and threw it into the fire, it was a compound that would keep the fire burning hot.

With Qwen's addition of chemicals, the blood that ran began to burn.

The body which held Dante's spirit was dead. Like the face, the body shriveled. The monk did not go near those that ended this battle, but he bowed his head. Dante's borrowed body, complete ash and Bjorn's revenge delivered.

Taking in the moment as Calix looked around, ignoring that his eyes were now a bright red, fangs hand lengthened to be seen fully now. He slowly moved towards the others, slowly to keep on his feet.

"Andu got train near. Need help drive. But can take all to get more healing.....If not hurry.?

Bjorn's hand retracted at the first sign of flaming for he'd been burnt well enough, in retrospect, and he sighed out heavily on the roll up to his feet - backing, backing, with a wary sidewise glance at Ivanya.

Calix glanced to Andu and nodded. " I'll help as much as I can to get everyone there." Now moving towards the minotaur.

Qwen would keep an eye on the fire, burning down the docks was not on her list of things to do that day, not this day anyway.

The battle is done. The evil is purged. The killing is finished.