Chronicles of The Omniverse Archived Lutetia City: Fountainbleu

as written by Ronin

The wolf's teeth clamped the open air once again, missing its prey by a fraction of an inch. It turned swiftly for another run, but Perrin's armored boot caught its side with surprising force. The Garoux was forced back, rolling twice across the ground near the exhaust port. The creature rose, tensing for another pounce...

Then a rush of hot steam blasted into its fur, smothering it. This time, it howled. When the exhaust receded, Perrin would see a patch of the wolf's skin boiled over, the fur charred and the flesh beneath severely burned. Even better, some of the runes scrawling its body had been deformed beyond legibility. The paladin might notice that it's healing factor was slowed.

"Insolent welp," it growled as Perrin reached his gun, "this construct is worth /ten/ of your Order." It vanished from sight.

"Why can't you just lay down and die? Like that partner of yours?" An amused gurgle. "Or the Warden. Admittedly, he put up more of a fight. At least he had powers. But you?" A whoosh. Claws on metal. It was closing in for another round. "You're just human. A weak sack of flesh and fear stuffed into a tin suit. Fodder..." A snarl, a sniff of the air as the creature locked into his location. His only warning. "Prey..."

It came from the side, trying to headbutt Perrin's waist with enough force to bruise his ribs, armor and all. If successful, the knight would be thrown against the far pipe, the metal hot on his armored back with the force of the steam running through it. The creature pounced, jaws opened wide...

---

Dozens of whisps disintegrated in the face of Noah's defenses, but more still came. Already the creature was enduring the laborious process of repairing itself from holy energy, shedding the inoperable wounds made by Deliverance, restructuring whole limbs. It warbled, stooping forward against the warden for another pass...

Something struck its side and exploded in a ball of light and fire. The boom was deafening. It screeched, an entire chunk of its main body blown away. Another. It reeled, half of its torso obliterated. From the other end of the room, Robert Arodring had a smoking Lawkeeper leveled over his forearm. He'd found his gun.

The tendrils receded at the assault, the Murk's attention now focused on repairing itself. The paladin's eyes flashed as he looked at Noah.

"Now, Warden!"
 
as written by Script

"Nice try," Perrin managed to force a grin despite the situation. "But you're not about to convince me that I'm faring better than either of them would have, if you'd even encountered them."

Perrin was well known for his bravado and apparent arrogance, but in reality, he was keenly aware of his inexperience relative to many other paladins. It'd been less than a year since he took the silver. Robert had more field experience in one arm than he did, and what he'd seen of the warden in action during the witch attack in Lumiena Square to know that the boy would have been more than a match for this creature. He had enough faith in both his companions that the necromancer's taunts fell on deaf ears.

He turned to face the creature, too slow again. He was slammed backwards into the pipe, hissing at the heat, but managed to recover from the blow in time to move aside from the wolf's second lunge. The pain shooting through his ribs went ignored, adrenaline practically blotting it out as he spun, aiming his lawkeeper.

Click.

The explosive round shot towards the wolf's head. Even if it missed, it was on a path to strike the pipes adjacent to it, causing another explosion of hot steam right in its face.

____

On Robert's cue, Noah flared his anima again, shooting forwards in a spray of water. With half the creature's body gone, he didn't need the same momentum as before. He reached its base, crouched, and sprung from the ground towards the halfway exposed soul gem. He snatched it free, tugging the animantic links that bound it to the murk along with him.

He landed, then turned and swept Deliverance in an arc, slashing straight through the bundle of cords to undo the binding. If all went as planned, the sludge would slump back down - more more just that, sludge - and the soul once more tied only to its gem.
 
as written by Ronin

The wolf's ears pricked as Perrin leveled his gun, the rounds set to explosive. The paladin hadn't put a significant distance between them. At this range...

"Wait..." But it was too late. The gun went off. With superhuman reflexes, the wolf's jaws clamped around the nearby pipe and ripped a chunk of it off the wall. Hot steam flooded the room. The round struck the pipe as a makeshift shield, detonating in a blinding flash of light and fire. At Perrin's proximity, he would be affected by the blast. The nanofoam in his armor would protect from the lethal heat and concussive, the metal from any debris, but he would still be thrown back like a ragdoll against the far wall, bruised and beaten. His ears would ring; he was deaf for the time being. It was very likely that he would have lost his gun in the ensuing blast.

The wolf wasn't faring much better. It staggered, hole chunks of its face missing, bits of sewer pipe embedded in its skin. The sickly white gleam of its skull shone through the tattered flesh. The wounds bore deep into its body, and Perrin might have caught sight of something glimmering within its core... green and shining, almost like a jewel...

Already it was healing. With its superhuman hearing, the creature was affected twice as much as Perrin. It was completely deaf, now relying totally on its nose. It sniffed the air, trying to scout out the paladin once more...

"...k-kill.... you..."

---

The gem tore free, the creature letting out a final screech as the necrotic tethers were broken. It snapped free from its core, the muck freezing upright in place. The final slash from Deliverance destroyed the whole pile. The Murk was murk once more.

The gem in his hand, Noah would feel traces of the unbearable agony persisting within the gem. Unbelievably, not all of it was present. Corso had somehow separated the woman's essence into two vessels. An ether trail would lead the Warden to the second half, presumably towards Perrin.

"Good call on not taking the cloak," Robert grumbled as he approached, checking his Lawkeeper. The paladin was positively caked in filth. He inserted a new clip and racked the revolving tumbler back into its frame. He looked suspiciously the sword in Noah's hand. He'd suspected when he'd first seen it, but after watching how it'd performed against the monster...

"That blade..." He stepped forward, hesitating for a moment, before he thrust his hand into the beam of light. The ethereal sword whisped around his hand, encircling the fingers like smoke, but it did not burn him. The paladin grunted. "Holy Energy. As I thought." He looked up at Noah, brows knit. "How did you have such a weapon?"
 
as written by Script

White hot pain blotted out everything for an instant as Perrin flew backwards, slamming into the wall. His only thought as he hit the ground was that he hoped to god that had been a killshot. He'd been banking on not giving the creature enough time to ...

... fuck. His vision cleared enough for him to make out that the monster was still standing. Blood ran down his face, searing as it ran over scorched flesh. He was burned. Badly. His armour had done little to protect him above the neck, and only instinctively bringing his hands up to guard against the explosion had spared him from worse than a few burns. Wick only knew where his gun was now.

But the beast was standing. So he had to, as well. He pushed himself up the wall, groaning at the movement of his battered muscles and ribs. At least some of them had to be broken.

Steeling himself, he drew his sword from its sheathe. Finding his gun in the dark with no idea where to look, no roundlight... he could barely see far enough to keep an eye on the creature.

'Where are you, Robert?' he thought, as he readied himself to re-engage.

____

Noah narrowed his eyes down at the soul gem. Split. It had been split, like he'd suspected. Was that even possible? Evidently, it was. He could only imagine what the woman's soul was suffering, divided as it was. Grimacing, he tucked the gem into his uniform. He just hoped that the binders and exorcists back at Auclair would be able to do something for her.

He looked up at Robert's approach, noting the paladin's filthy state with a somewhat sheepish glance down at himself. His aura had kept him from being sullied by the muck even whilst submerged in it. His white uniform was pristine.

When Robert reached for Deliverance, he would find that his hand didn't pass through it as he might have expected. Although the sword was a spiritual manifestation, it felt as solid as its steel counterpart. The paladin was correct in his assumptions regarding the energy that radiated from it, however. Noah frowned uncomfortably at the question. He could hardly imagine one of the church's knights taking kindly to the idea that one of their own had manifested as a spiritual guide for him - even if she'd done so willingly.

This close, Robert would be able to make out the inscription on the sword, were he familiar with the old Queran language used in ancient Evêquec scripture. It read: 'For the innocent, protection. For the faith, sacrifice. For the enemy, DELIVERANCE.'

Before Noah could think of either an answer or a deflection, another, louder explosion sounded in the direction of the soul trail. "There's no time for that now," he snapped back. "Perrin's still fighting. Only half of the soul is here. The other half is back in the direction of the tunnel he went down. Whatever he's up against will be just as dangerous as the creature we just stopped, if not more so. We have to go and help him!"

A necromantic construct was magnitudes more of a threat than a pile of sludge, and imbued with the power of even half a soul, would be more than a match for a lone paladin. Without help, Perrin undoubtedly couldn't last much longer.

Noah turned his eyes back on the chute that they had slid down. "I can make it back up there, but can you? There might be another way around, but finding it could lose us time..." Time that Perrin might not have. He looked to Robert, the unspoken question hanging in the air. Should I get to him quicker, alone, or should we stay together?

'The young one needs help. You've no time to waste.' Aurore urged, but Noah waited still for Robert's answer. He could sense that the paladin's trust in him was wavering, thanks to his lack of explanation of Deliverance, but they really didn't have time for that. He hoped that deferring to him now would at least reinforce that he was on their side in this, whatever else was going on.
 
as written by Ronin

Its snout sniffed the air, now its sole remaining recourse for mobility. All in all, its sense of smell was nearly as good as eyesight; Corso's power had amplified its senses even beyond Garoux standards. In the darkness Perrin would only just make it out - huge, lumbering, dripping blood and fluid. Its paws made wet slaps on the stone, caked in its own gore. It growled, low and hungry, and then struck. It'd been aiming for Perrin's middle, but with its lowered senses, it came at his left side, attempting to dig its teeth into his plate and slam him into the ground.

"Kill..."

---

"Go," Robert motioned to the shoot, "help him." Questions could wait. His partner's life was in danger. "I'll find a way." His eyes locked on a rusty door in one of the walls. It looked locked, but the metal was in poor condition. He advanced towards it as Noah left.
 
as written by Script

Perrin half stepped, half threw himself aside, away from the creature's charge. If he'd not been so injured, he might have had a chance to bring his blade down on its neck and end it, there and then. As it was, he just about kept his footing, only finding an opening for a quick thrust of his blade at its side. The lighter weapon was at least a lot easier to use while hurt than a great thing like Robert's sword.

He backed away from it again, slowly, keeping it within his limited eyesight. Deaf as he was, if he gave the thing a chance to slip from his sight and come at him from behind, he was a goner.

____

Noah didn't give an answer, simply nodding his head and turning to the exit. Once more, he flared his anima in his legs, pushing his body to run.

And he ran. He shot from the room in a spray of muck, hardly slowing at the steep incline of the chute and ascending it in short order. From there, he turned back the way they had came, and dashed back along the soul trail. He had to get there fast. He had to get there in time.

Faster.

He drew on more power, ignoring his body's protests as he amplified his speed even further.

'Noah, be careful. You're already close to your limits.' Aurore's voice of concern sounded in his head.

I know my limits, Aurore. Don't worry about me. But Aurore was right. He'd been amplifying his body since they first sighted the muck creature, and he knew very well that it was going to come back to bite him. But this was no time to be worrying about that. Someone's life was relying on him pushing himself more. Faster. Faster.
 
as written by Ronin

The blade cut into the wolf's shoulder, but it hardly noticed. The monster kept coming, looming over the knight for another strike. This time it came up on its hind legs, towering above Perrin before attempting to bring its paws down on the knight's shoulders. If successful, it would pin him to the floor. It's putrid breath was hot on his face, enormous teeth sharp and rotted as its maw opened, ready to remove the knight's head...
 
as written by Script and Ronin

Perrin was too injured to get clear of the wolf in time. His back hit the floor, knocking the wind out of him for the third time in as many minutes. His sword hit the floor.

This is where I die, then.

It was a strangely calming thought, knowing that there was nothing more he could do. It wasn't that he'd accepted death. Panic was still brewing in his chest as the creature's jaws drew closer. But his mind was able to stop searching a mile a minute for a way out, a solution. He had time to consider that dying so early in his paladin career was actually a little embarrassing, before...

Something slammed into the werewolf's side, knocking it off of him and slamming it into the far wall with all the force of a charging bull.

Perrin blinked, bringing one hand up to wipe enough blood out of his vision to see Noah standing over him, his body surrounded by light and a brilliant longsword clasped in one hand. Like the Wick itself had blessed him.

Or animancy. Probably animancy.

Noah paused only long enough to look down and confirm that he was alive, before going after the werewolf. He swept his blade in a downward arc in an attempt to sever the creature's head before it could even rise.

____

The blast took the wolf in the side, attack seering over its fur and wrangling with the necrotic energies festering in its flesh. It writhed on the floor beside Perrin.

"..W-...Warden..." it gurgled, "...how... it should have..."

Then Perrin's sword came down. Superpowered werewolf zombie or no, the paladin's blade was still tempered steel, and the strength of a man was not inconsiderable. The sword cut true, slicing through its fur and halfway through its spine. Blood spurted from the wound. It panted and lay still.

A faint green glow emanated from the new tear in its body. Noah would detect the soul gem coming from within the creature, next to its heart.

____

"You underestimated me," Noah stated coolly, as he drove his sword home into the creature's chest. The blade carved out a deep cut through which he reached in to tear free the soul gem inside. As he had before, he swept Deliverance in an arc, severing the ties that bound the gemstone to the construct, and only once he was certain that the werewolf wasn't rising again did he tuck the gem away with its other half and turn back to Perrin.

Deliverance faded away into nothingness as he hastened over to crouch beside Perrin, checking him over for injuries and breathing a sigh of relief when he found none that were life-threatening.

"Well met, Warden." Perrin grinned faintly, lifting one arm in an unsteady salute of greeting. "I knew you and Robert would pull through against whatever the bastard set on you." He frowned. "Where is..?"

"On his way. I went on ahead to reach you faster." Noah answered quickly. "We heard the explosions, but there was another construct..."

"Just in the nick of time, too. It's a good thing you did go ahead, eh?" Perrin chuckled. "Come on. Help me up. I'm not totally invalid yet."

Using Noah's arm as support, Perrin was able to haul himself to his feet, and after a few moments let go to support himself fully. He was bruised and sore all over, but all things considered, some burns to the face and a few cracked ribs was probably getting off pretty lightly.

"Your face..." Noah frowned, the light of his aura revealing the burns.

"How bad?" Perrin asked, grimacing.

"... quite. You need to get to a hospital, or your infirmary." Noah gave a frustrated sigh, scanning the room for any ethereal trace of the werewolf's creator. Was there still any hope of catching him? Maybe if he went on alone...

'Don't be foolhardy, Noah. You know him to be dangerous beyond his creations. Facing him alone would not be brave, it would be foolish. You're almost entirely spent.' Aurore cautioned, seeing what he was considering.

She was right, of course. But maybe he could get an idea of where Atano had gone at least.

____

There was no trace of any further energy trail that might lead to Corso. Wherever the necromancer truly lay, he was well hidden.

As Noah ripped the second soul gem free, the two jewels glowed and shook, the tortured energies within demanding to be one again.

The wolf was dead - again. A close inspection at its insides would reveal some grotesque mixture of necromantic abomination and scientific genius. Muscle and blood vessels knit together across immaculately-crafted organs. Some didn't even look familiar; Corso was inventing his own biology. The runes on the monster's fur were larger destroyed, though a few were still intelligible.

____

Noah kept the gems safely tucked away for the time being, to bring back to the Academae when they were done here. There, someone more versed in the necessary arts could help repair the soul and allow it to pass on. He certainly didn't have the expertise necessary for something so delicate.

"Where in the void is my gun..." Perrin groaned, searching for sign of the roundlight in the darkness. When he spotted it, he limped over to scoop it up and slot it into its holster. "Any sign of our black animancer, then?"

"None," Noah answered with a shake of his head. "Neither of us are in any state to pursue him now, anyway. I've used a lot of power, and you're hurt. Let's just find Sir Arodring and get out of here, for now."

Perrin nodded, sighing. "I suppose you're right. Come on, then."

Using a brief flare of anima to create a shield that blocked the steam preventing passage back out of the room, Noah led Perrin back down the tunnel and towards the intersection. Once there, Perrin tried his radio. "Robert? It's Perrin. Noah and I are at the intersection where we first split up, are you close? Over."
 
The already eerily quiet streets of Fontainebleu found one new noise to stave away an otherwise endless silence. A single figure, covered in multiple coats, the outermost somewhat tattered, shuffled along at a pace that suggested extreme age. The rhythmic tak, tak, tak of a walking stick was the only sound from the figure's movement that was neither sloppy nor stumbling.

Cyril's right arm was mostly wrapped in white bandages, though the few sections of infected skin that showed through were hardly recognizable. Necrotic flesh was dotted with cysts and purpura, and while no vermin lived within it, one would expect them to. The malady was once again driving Durand to madness, and he needed to cure it the one way he knew how.

As such, he scoured the neighborhoods with intent to find such a 'merchant'.
 
Zack stood hanging around a poorly-lit street corner, face buried deep within a dark hoodie. His bike was carefully posed behind him as to look intimidating and be easily accessible should things turn sour. Fontainbleu was hardly the man's haunt of choice. The air was fetid, rank with what he could only assume was the leavings of the local werewolves and whatever other miserable beasties called these streets home. It was these beasties that brought Zack there in the first place. The sort of wretched beings that would require the brand of 'medicine' he was peddling, the sort that wouldn't mind paying an arm and a leg for innocent looking bottle of pills. Perhaps if he was lucky what came to him wouldn't be looking to take apart the man's own arms and legs, this was not his territory after all.

It was a shit gig, but he was strapped for cash.

Zack's attention was suddenly stolen by a tapping that stood loud against dead silent night, an incredibly ragged figure was coming from down the road. An old man? A Leper? He couldn't tell. All he figured was that something that wretched wouldn't be taking to these streets at this time unless it had a reason.

"Hey," Zack called out as casually as he could manage, "You looking for some 'medicine', maybe something to help with that limp?"
 
The shaman froze in his steps upon hearing someone beckon him. He shrugged off his outermost coat onto the filthy streets and tossed a small wooden disc onto the garment'S hood.

As if a marionette on strings, the jacket whipped shut. Then it rose, shredded 'coat-tails' twisted into doll-like legs and sleeves into arms, and the wooden disc served as a makeshift head. Upon its stained pine visage a face was carved, and two circular eyes looked up at Zack.

"I am in need," an uncharacteristically young voice spilled from behind Cyril's hood. For a shambling hermit, he sounded younger than thirty. The wiry puppet toddled towards the merchant and held an outstretched hand, while the hunched man reached into a pocket to fish for cash.
 
Zack regarded the marionette with a wary eye, not exactly sure what to make of it or its strange master. He held the gaze for a long, silent moment before reaching back into his bike's saddlebag. 'No questions asked' was a stringent policy of his, no matter how much his psyche screamed to know more. The 'man' was just a customer, like any other. As long as he paid Zack was good.

"So, what is it you need man?" The dealer's tone was hushed compared to his earlier beckoning as if he had suddenly become a bit disquieted, "I got a little bit of everything, even some more, uh, specialty product."
 
Cyril sighed as the dealer seemed to lose his boldness before him. He placed a wad of bills into the totem's tendril hand, which was promptly carried over to Zack. "Whatever will make the pain stop," the shaman began to unravel the bandages around his arm, showing the festering rot whose vile roots had spread across his entire appendage. After a few moments, he re-wrapped his arm.

"As much as the little one's money can afford," he jabbed an errant figure at his own creation.
 
Zack couldn't help but stare at the festering limb for as long as it was uncovered, what was once unease quickly replaced with concern, "What in all that is- Just, fuck!" Whatever inkling of 'professionalism' the dealer still possessed quickly evaporated, "My fucking- That's some serious shit man. Like, you need to go to a hospital or see -I don't know- a fucking exorcist or something. That's not fucking natural. Or even fucking unnatural. I don't know what that is, but-" He stopped himself, quickly plucking the greasy cash from the little automaton's tendril before searching through his bag, producing a small bottle of pills.

"Take this shit whenever it's hurting bad, it'll put you on your ass- Hells, it could kill you if you take too much, but it'll stop the pain." He handed the bottle to the marionette, slightly by the way the tendril latched onto it.
 
"Why do you think I'm buying so much?" Cyril coughed and hacked, managing to cough up a purple-black mass -a similar shade to his infected limb- onto the concrete. The totem popped open the bottle of pills and handed it to him, and the shaman unceremoniously dumped four or five into his mouth. A dose that was likely enough to kill a man. "I'll be back before too long, maybe you can hook me up again," he turned around and began to shuffle away. His totem toddled along behind him again, still clutching the cap to the bottle of pills in its twine-like hands.
 
Another day, another handful of dollars. L&L had managed to do a whole lot of not much today, several calls, most were either duds or simple work. Instead of a zombie scaring old Linda's cats, it was just some schoolboys the pair simply drove off. If anything these were some of the best days, thanks to their "no refunds" policy it was easy money.

Leo now sat lazily on the pair's futon. He hadn't seen Lance for an hour or two, so the garou was just hanging out, on the verge of a nap.

The front door opened with a crash and Lance burst through, his breathing heavy and laboured. “Leo!” he called as he stumbled into the livingroom, “Fucking turn on the news!”

“What dude, what?” The garou winced at the sudden noise. He grumbled and picked up the remote for the television and turned it to the news. Images of explosions and death immediately filled the screen, tinny sounds of destruction and misery echoing through their ratty apartment.

“Holy shit,” his jaw dropped to the floor. “You think the canheads and shit got that under control?”

“I don’t know man.” The hunter plopped down hard beside Leo, the futon groaning in protest. “The canheads have enough trouble handling ‘normal’ duties these days, they haven’t dealt with shit like… Like this in long time.” He watched the TV in silence, a dour expression growing on his face as it displayed one horrific scene after the next. With a brief chirp the screen died, Leo tossing the remote onto the coffee table, but it clattered off the edge and onto the floor.

“I mean we’d probably die if we went there, and it’s all happening all in the nice parts of town so like,” the werewolf shrugged, ”Idunno man.”

Lance stared for a moment, struggling to find something to say, “Well… I guess it’s a good thing we haven’t struck it rich yet.” He breathed a false laugh, his attempt at levity completely failing to cheer even himself. “It’s fucked man.” Lance sighed and looked to Leo, meeting his eyes before leaning his head on the garou’s shoulder.

“I uh, I did get those ads out,” Leo in response leaned his head on Lance’s. “Should be getting calls pretty soon. Who knows, might get more with all the panic or something.”
 
Fontainbleau was far removed from the fighting, but was well in view of the fires pluming from Valentine Park. The neighborhood itself was quiet - most of the residents having locked their doors and closed shop in light of the recent trouble. The Caer were a concern to them, but the closer threat was, as always, the packs. War still waged between Bloodstone and Scion. The day's events was the perfect opportunity for one or the other to make a move.

Corso stood atop one of the flats, the Lutetian skyline splayed before him in an ocean of stone and steel and marble. From here he could see most of the city: the pillars of flame rising from Valentine park clearest of all, and a second, fainter whirl of black rising somewhere from Saint Lemeux. The Veres Manies shot up from the ground miles away, a lonely mountain of monolithic beauty amid an otherwise planar urban landscape. It was to the church that Corso's eyes wandered. Even from this distance he could make out the gargantuan pillars on the left and right flank of the temple, the gothic spires spiking from its center, the enormous stained glass windows encircling the marbled flank, the saints dyed in colors of gold and blood...

He looked over his shoulder. A new presence.
"I must admit," he said aloud, "even I wasn't expecting something quite so... grandiose..."

He watched the flames again, a small smile touching his pale jaw.

"I wonder if you were very meticulous in planning this or very lucky. Probably both."
 
Nox had pulled himself from the shadowy void, expecting to find Alek waiting for him. Then again, he was earlier to the rendezvous than he had planned, by a good margin. It wasn't surprising that he'd arrived first, no, not at all. The Patriarch of the Caer would unleash a long, rumbling purr as he felt his body stitching itself back together, his form shrinking, once again hiding itself behind the glamour of an exceptionally tall, alabaster pale Adonis. All for a purpose of course, for this day was not yet done, and even after consuming so much satiating flesh and empowering fear, the demonic undead knew he would have to conserve a large portion of acquired power for the task to come.

Even though it felt so good to be his true self. It had been far too long since he'd last gotten to unleash himself in such a manor, and as a bonus, it had been a test of the Monastic Order's might. The smile, the ravenous, blood stained grin the walking embodiment of perfection wore, suggested he was none too impressed.

The others, of course, had been sent back to the Manor. For what came next, Nox was only willing to endanger himself, and the one other undead being the Caer thought of as any kind of potential threat. With massive, obsidian tipped fingers, the self proclaimed Lord of Death would untangle himself from the decrepit alleyway and the darkness within, shadows pulling and clinging to his bare flesh like spiderwebs as he did so.

It caught him by surprise to learn he wasn't truly alone like he first thought. It angered the ageless noble to learn it was not the individual he required who so happened to be here. As if they had known where to find him once the fun had ended. Such a concept, the idea that his movements might be being watched, or worse, were predictable enough to find him so effortlessly, did a considerable amount to sour his mood.

"Corso," Nox would spit, the name like ashen blood on his sharp, tapered tongue. "I thought I told you to leave my presence ungraced by your stink unless I came to you first. Do you so desire True Death, necromancer?"
 
"In point of fact, I do." Corso turned to face the Caer Lord, running a hand through his hair and taking a moment to study the vampire in the wake of his most recent slaughter. His strength grew daily. The monster before him was already twice as powerful as when they'd last met.

"But," Corso continued, "not until my work is completed. I apologize if I've intruded at an inopportune time, but I wasn't sure how else to reach you." He straightened. "The point of fact is, Nox, that I need your help. I have plans for this city, and none of them work half as well as they do when you are a part of them."
He spared another glance over his shoulder, giving a brief, disdainful look at the Veres Manies.

"I'd like to know what you would ask of me to allow me to the privilege of working with you."
 
The grimacing snarl melted away at mercurial speed, replaced by a resplendent, crimson smile. "See, this is the attitude you should have used the first time. Admitting you need me is one of the easiest ways to my heart, I'll have you know." From the streets below, Nox would begin his climb, scaling the building on which Corso stood with a lackadaisical attitude. During his ascent, the Caer would roll his head towards the chaos he had wrought, another feline rumble cascading from deep within his chest. "I don't ask for much, especially not from my elders. You help me, I help you, when I feel like it. You ever betray me, no amount of running can ever save you. If the scenes playing out before your old, decrepit eyes tell you anything, I can hold one hell of a grudge."

With claws sank deep into brick and mortar, the flawlessly nude giant hung momentarily, taking in the scents on the air. Even from this distance, he could practically taste the terror, like a distant meadow on the breeze. His chest cage would expand, faking a hungry, needy breath. "Aaaaaah...Just smell it, old man. They're getting what they deserve, and I couldn't be happier. No matter how this day may turn out yet, I consider this at least a complete victory."
 
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