Chronicles of The Omniverse Archived Lutetia City: Lumiena Square

as written by Krysis

Yep. Hokum of some sort was going on. The four cops all opened fire on the standing wom-- creature, though soon they'd be knocked off balance by the squad cars floating into the air.

One of the cops emptied his clip, then turned and ran. The youngest rookie was just staring at the flying hunks of metal and plastic, forgetting to shoot as he made sure the car was not directly over his head. The more senior pair kept cool, one taking what cover he could at the corner of a building, where the stone edge poked out further than the neighbor's wall did. The fourth and final cop took shelter in a alcove that lead to one of the shops' entrance, and was partly blocked by a pair of stone lions.

Three of the four were calling it in in various levels of urgency, but the dispatcher relayed this message, "Get the fucking paladins there pronto and kill it with fire. Alot."

More sirens were approaching, four more cars in route, though the gas had been let off a bit at the radio chatter and reluctance to show up to a crime scene where their vehicles might just decide to get some air time without warning.
 
as written by Sentry

Only the ones beneath buildings were sheltered, and even then, just barely so. One car rocketed down to the youngest officer, another into the side of the building of the senior cop. Most would have been crushed. Most would have been dead before they realized it. However, these two found themselves lucky.

An icy whisper crawled up their backs, and then through their guts. It grabbed their souls and turned it outward, blasting against the debris and vehicular projectiles with a growth of icy hands. The cops dropped to the ground, exhausted, but very much alive.

The officer who emptied his clip was less fortunate. The bodies were now rising, their feet an inch off the ground, and swarmed him as children did in a game of tag.
 
as written by Krysis

Roger, the running cop, was fumbling with a spare clip as he ran, panting and wide-eyed. This was something he never thought to actually face.

The empty clip went skittering across the ground as his shaking hand was having trouble getting the spare clip out of the case on his belt. His empty gun was pointing and clicking instinctively at the mass of dead that were chasing him.

Roger wasn't aware of screaming, a wordless yell of revulsion and fear as he finally managed to slam the fresh clip home. That way he could start actually shooting the dead faces that were getting so close.

George and Paul were out for the count, guns and radios falling from nerveless hands as they slumped on the shabby pavement.

John, the veteran hiding in the alcove, was calm as he continued to relay the situation over the radio. He was putting his gun away and actually getting out a pack of cigarettes to light one up. Of course he had a reason for this, wanting a handy source of fire, since the bullets didn't seem to be stopping the bitch
 
as written by Ronin

Savien always preferred the city at nighttime. Daylight, it seemed to him, brought an illusory peacefulness to Lutetia, a mask of sunshine and warmth within which criminals walked the roads smilingly and monsters retreated into dark places to await the dusk. Daylight was the time for parties and festivals, for honest work and honest people.

At night, it was different. Darkness enclosed on the city, blanketing the streets in shrouds of mist and smoggy black. With only the wane light of flickering gas lamps to ward the encroaching dark, the evils of Lutetia crawled out from their slumber - unmasked, unrepentant and hungry. It was a danger to even leave one's home after twilight in many parts of the city. A wrong glance, a wrong turn, a simple pass near a dimly-lit alleyway could spell the different between life and death.

Still, Savien preferred this city - a city of darkness - if only for its honesty. The night brought a certain clarity; there were no masks here. Monsters could be monsters, paladins could be paladins. Better to see the truth, however horrendous it was, than live ignorant in the bliss of a smiling lie.

The distress dispatch came to him while he was riding. He immediately cranked up the volume on his radio. Lumenia Square. His heart jumped, lips quirking into a grimace. Could it be him? Unlikely he would strike in the same place so soon after his last rampage... unless he was really just that stupid. Either way, officers were in distress. Lives were at stake. He had to move.

Police lights came on. He revved his engine, weaving his destrier through the sparse late night traffic with ease. It was a short time before his massive bike rumbled into the cobblestone marketplace, high-beams trained on the mass of corpses moving towards the lone cop. With one swift motion, the officer swung his leg over bike and drew his lawkeeper.

"Get back!" he roared, training his gun on the three nearest foes. THOOM. THOOM. THOOM. The massive firearm beat hollow thunder in the air, each .40 caliber round a headshot. His hand was steady, his aim was true. Human life depended on it.
 
as written by Sentry

Even when their heads exploded into little pieces, the bodies never fell. They swayed as they broke away from one another, the headless towards the paladin, those in tact toward the officer. Their hands were outstretched, but the wrists limp. Their heads bobbed, those who still had them.

The woman in their midst stayed back, arms raised to the sky, which darkened with her presence. Her eyes dragged over to the paladin, eyes that sat above a split smile strained over yellow gums. A nail pointed at him, snapping into place. Her form fell apart, dropped to the ground and joined the road, only to piece herself together from the cracks in the road, right in front of the paladin.

And in that moment, everything around them disappeared. There were no sirens, no screams, no darkness.

There was Lutetia, there was warmth. The sun flooded its light down upon Savien and a young, charming woman, pink in the cheeks, red-lipped and nubile.

____

For the officers, life was not so pretty.

The faces on the corpses stretched and stretched until the skin on their faces tore down the middle and opened up like gaping, blood-splurting mouths reaching for them and scratching at them.

"Do you want to die, Roger?"

The voice came out of nowhere. Disembodied, but low, confident. Disgusted. "Because you'll need to turn around if you don't."
 
as written by Krysis

Roger spun around in a circle at that directionless voice, not sure which way it meant by 'around' and so checking all points for another hostile before picking the safest direction visible to him, and high-tailing it. The bullets really didn't seem to be doing any good at all, so it was time for the less resourceful office to flee, unaware that his hair had gone from a moderate brown to stark white.

Officer John had his cigarette lit at that point, and the rest of the cancer sticks got put away as he pulled out his... pepper spray? He shook it slowly to prep it, making sure the oils and powders would not block the nozzle when he gets a chance to use it. After all, the alcohol suspension it was in was labeled 'highly flammable', and he thought that just might do the trick.
 
as written by Ronin

A growl loosed from Savien's throat as the corpses continued their advance. They didn't need their heads. He hated it when zombies didn't need their heads. Switching his gun over to his left hand, Savien drew his sword, Ivarian steel singing from its scabbard. He would need to do this the old fashion way.

Body parts crawled towards him, little mounds of flesh skittering over the cobblestone and arranging themselves before him in the figure of a woman. Their eyes locked for one moment - angry, smiling slits boring into the black temperglass of his visor - before he stepped forward and swung his blade for her neck.

It passed through empty air. The carnage was gone, the night dissipated. Sunshine flooded Lumenia, the warm scents of baked bread and tea wafting from the nearby stalls.

Savien looked about himself, pulse skipping a beat. This was bad. A thousand times worse than the horde of zombies. Undead abominations he could handle, but psychic warfare...

He drew a breath. Focus, Savien. Steel your mind. Fix the Wick firmly in your soul. Fight.

"Saint Selene, daughter of God, watch over the sons and daughters of man all through this night..." he murmured the prayer of warding beneath his breath, bringing the full force of his will to bear against the illusion threatening his sense, trying to see through it. "...Holy Selene, light of the Wick, deliver your brothers and sisters from the thirst of the Wyrm, from the solace of the Dark..."

He looked up at the woman. His sword remained in his hand, metal gleaming off the sun.

"Show me the Light..."
 
as written by Script

The roaring of a second engine announced the arrival of more reinforcements, as a second motorbike - a slightly lighter, more mobile model than the standard destrier - appeared at the end of the road just as the corpse woman turned her attention on Savien, skidding around the corner.

It was coincidence that Peregrine had been still awake; he wasn't on night duty tonight, as Savien was. The reason for his wakefulness was sat behind him on the bike, white cloak billowing in the passing wind. It had been a long night for he and Noah both, and not the good kind of long night. The animancer had been systematically going through the murder victims still resident in the morgue, looking for signs of Atano's involvement in their deaths. So far, the search had proved fruitless.

Fatigue had been banished by strength of will when the call had come out, but as he braked and came to a halt a short distance away, Peregrine found himself wishing they'd had time to stop by the armoury.

He dismounted, drawing his lawkeeper and taking in the scene. The undead, in great numbers, shambling in pursuit of a fleeing police officer. A woman disintegrating into pieces, only to reform right beside Sir Durandet - who stood strangely unmoving. Peregrine scowled.

"That woman," he gestured towards her. "We need to get her away from Savien."

Beside him, Noah nodded, and extended his arm out to the side, holding his hand open until with a flash, a longsword appeared with a flash of light in his grip. The blade was luminous, but relatively simple in design. It reminded Peregrine of the style of weapons carried by some of the older paladins.

The two of them advanced. Peregrine strafing around in an attempt to get a clear shot at the woman without risk of hitting his fellow paladin, whilst Noah was readying himself to move into melee.
 
as written by Ronin and Sentry

The woman neared Savien, panicked. Her eyes watered, wet lines streaming down her rosy cheeks, lines at the sides of her mouth in a silent cry. "You're all going to kill me," she wailed. "Aren't you?"

Savien poised his blade, lining the tip towards the advancing woman.

"No closer," he warned. She could be an illusion, the culprit, an innocent person. He didn't know. "Who are you? Why are you crying?"

It was a defensive tactic. Psychically-induced illusions were often hastily constructed - bare skeletons of reality, devoid of any real depth or detail. Deconstructing them by focusing on specifics was often an effective way of escaping them altogether.

The girl's hands flew up to her head, bunching her hair in her hands. "All those people are dead because of me! Why else would I be crying!" she furiously roared, gesturing behind her, though there was nothing at all there. "I was an apprentice! I didn't do anything! I didn't... I didn't do[/i[ anything. I didn't mean to hurt anyone."

A girl. That's all she was. Just some teenager in distress, like a drunk driver who'd gotten into an accident.

Savien lips quirked into a frown. That was... oddly detailed.

"Who's dead?" he asked, but immediately regretted the question. Stupid. Even if they couldn't see them, it was obvious who she was reffering to.

"Alright, take it easy," his sword lowered slightly. He did his best to appear non-aggressive while not letting his guard down. "You're an apprentice of whom? Are you a necromancer?"

More details, but it was more than just psychic defense at this point. Perhaps whatever this was could give him some genuine insight into the massacre.

She opened her mouth to speak, but seemed to think better of it. "You're going to kill her, too, aren't you? It's not her fault. It's not!" The girl withdrew like a mouse, but no matter how much she backed away, she never got any farther.

"I'm not going to kill anyone if I can help it," Savien growled, his voice steeling. She was just repeating herself. "I'm a paladin." Something close to a wolf's snarl loosed from the back of his throat, his body tensing under the weight of his anger. He didn't have time for this hysterical bullshit. People were dying - cops were dying - and he couldn't do a thing about it. He needed to get out of this goddamn-

He heard her crying. The soft, hopeless whimpers of a girl beyond the point of despair. He focused on it, watching the tears line her cheeks, drinking in her pain, her need, until his jaw had uknotted itself and his teeth were no longer grinding in his mouth. She was suffering. From the jagged edges of his wrath, Savien's duty called him back to his senses.

A slow exhale. When he spoke next, his voice had softened considerably. "I'm a paladin." He reached beneath his breastplate and retrieved a silver necklace, a glittering pendant of a wingspread raven.

He held it out for her to look at. "You see this? I serve the Light." He nodded. "Now I can help you, but you've got to help me. Whatever happened to you, to your master... you've got to tell me." He gestured with his swords towards the cobblestone streets behind her, the streets that he knew were littered with the dead. "We've got to keep this from happening again, you understand?"

Though still hesitant, she seemed to believe some part of what the paladin told her.

She reached for the pendant. "I won't tell you her name, but I'll get you to her."

He held it out for her touch, flattening the sword against his torso. He was letting her closer than he would have liked, but she clearly needed some sort of confirmation.

Assuming the same physical laws applied to this world, the girl would immediately feel a flush of lightning warmth spark from the necklace the moment she touched it. It was sacred silver, metal consecrated with the energy of the Pleur de'Eleue. Only those attuned to its energy field could stand it.

"Can you tell me where I am?" he asked, hoping to at least get a bearing on his location - whether he was psychically trapped or had been teleported to same strange instance of the past or future.

The girl didn't touch the pendant, but kept her fingers a hair's width from it. Her eyes closed, she spoke a language that was familiar to Lutetia, but famously to its magic folk. When she opened her eyes, she looked up into the paladin's eyes. "I made it up. I have a knack for fabricating realities or something like that. I don't really get it, either."

It all began to fade when she admitted it. The sky darkened. The summer breeze chilled. Every part of her that had been a normal teenager slipped away like a shedding skin. "Dad was super, super proud, you know? This all really sucks."

_________________________________

"No, no, no," the voice demanded again. This time, Roger would feel an invisible presence forcefully spin him around. The swarm of possessed bodies were quickly approaching. "I don't think you understand, officer. I need you."

It felt like a needle went right through Roger's heart and dropped ice cubes right into his fragile little soul. Bursting from his chest was a coil of frost, springing to the ground and reaching upward like vines to grasp the feet of the undead.

Cold set into the officer's fingers, too. A knife formed there, the steel like a block of ice. "If it can't be shot, what's the next best thing?"

________________________

Those that had left Savien when the ghastly woman had seized him in a trance had moved on to seek out officer John. The skin had split all the way down their centers and left the bodies agape, hungry to consume.

As for the newly arriving paladins, well. They weren't going to get a clear line to Savien. Even if body parts were splattered apart by bullets, they still grasped and scratched and tore for them, levitating just off the ground, disembodied or not.
 
as written by Script

THOOM. THOOM.

Peregrine's pistol sounded each shot with an almighty clamour, echoing through the night. At first, he sought to restrict the undead's movement by shooting out their legs - but when they did not fall, instead levitating upon magic, he swore an oath and switched tactics.

One hand went to his sword - lighter than most, better suited for use in one hand than as a two-handed bludgeon - drawing it free in time to slash it through the neck of a walking corpse. His boot slammed into the creature's chest and shoved it away. He needed make it only a few more feet, before he had an angle on the woman without Savien being in the line of fire.

Before he took the shot, however, his eyes were drawn across to Noah - and they widened considerably. The Warden was wreathed in an aura of white light, and as he wove through the undead towards Savien and the woman, those few of their clumsy swings that were set to strike him rebounded harmlessly off of it. His movements carried him past the wall of corpses in leaps and bounds, using their bodies as platforms to kick off of where necessary.

Within moments, he had reached the pair at the center of the street. In a split second decision, he chose to go to Savien's aid before striking at the woman. His free hand reached out and grabbed the paladin's shoulder, jerking him backwards and away from her with surprising strength. Along with the tug away from the woman's gaze, he delivered a pulse of anima to Savien - which amounted to, essentially, slapping his soul in the face.
 
as written by Krysis

Officer John was pretty calm about things still, even confronted with these undead horrors. The officer edged out of the alcove and walked backwards at almost the same speed the hungry things were advancing, heading in the same direction Peregrine and Noah had come from. As long as those things that were coming after him did not hasten, he would let them get within five feet. He had to, for that was the effective range of his pepper spray in the rain. Also, they were about to pass under a canopy, which would make the fire more effective.

When the creatures were under the drier area of the canopy, John lit them up. He had to narrow his eyes, and after the stream from the canister was set aflame, he put his arm across his face to protect it from the back-splash of the spiced spray. His eyes would still be burning, though more from the fumes of burning capsaicin than the back-spray. When the front runner was engulfed in the alcohol fueled flames, John just threw the pressurized container at the gaping mouth. Either the heat or the pressure in that maw would be sure to cause a minor explosion and hopefully take out the smaller of the two enemy groups.
__

Roger was just ready to say 'fuck no' and continue fleeing, though his instinctive answer was, "If shooting doesn't work, you burn the dead!", which was standard training for the officers. They didn't get to carry flamethrowers though, that was something more specialized folks got to mess with. He wasn't about to get close enough to hack at those things with a knife, no matter if they were held still or not, so it did no good to arm him so.

It turned out that he kinda did know what he was doing, since three of the approaching cop cars were coming from the direction that he had been running in. It was too late for Roger to even make the attempt though, since he no longer looked like himself with his hair gone white and seeming to shoot ice out of his chest.

His fellow cops shouted for him to drop the weapon, get down on the ground, and the ever present "Don't move!". Once Roger realized they were yelling at him, the knife would go flying as he flung himself on the pavement and hoped that they had a better plan than he did. "I am Officer Roger Zellman and I have been compromised! Repeat, I have been compromised! There is a disembodied spirit possessing people here as well, be advised!"
___

Louis Coupe unfolded his tall, lanky frame from one of the three squad cars. His cheap suit was only slightly wrinkled from the cramped ride and lacking a tie. His hair had gotten just long enough that he was ready for a trim, with it just barely starting to curl chaotically about the tips of his exposed ears. Ears that pretty much stayed red these days, ever since he got partnered with the wild Detective Jazz.

The huge padded gloves he had pulled on up to his elbows certainly did not match the suit, but they did match a coiled-up length of wire-saw with ten pound weights on each end instead of handles that he carried. "Chill out, guys. I think I've got this. No shooting. The bullets weren't working, and we've got friendlies on the street."
 
as written by Ronin

Savien picked up little snippets of what was said, his training familiarizing him with the skeleton of the arcane language. Vrail. An ancient tongue spoken by the Issune sorcerers of old in the age before the Querans had come to shore with their muskets and gold. He knew most of the words associated with combat spells - 'fire', 'death', 'choke' and the like - but wasn't picking up any from her incantation. It seemed harmless enough.

He made brief passes over their surroundings, checking to see if her spell was having any effect on the dream world she'd constructed. Most of the time his eyes remained glued to the girl, carefully watching for any sign of ill-intent. He was helping her, yes, but his guard was far from lowered. The muscles in his shoulder tensed, ready to swing his blade forward at a moment's notice.

"What's your name?" he asked. He felt the necklace warm in his hand as unfamiliar flesh neared it - a gentle hum of power that flushed through his arm into his heart. To the girl, the electric heat would only increase in intensity the longer she held herself near it. Even at a distance, the holy energy resonating from the metal was steadily becoming painful.

Something hit him in the chest. Light flashed before his eyes, the world spinning. Something like fire shot up his limbs into his brain and the world went white.

The next moment, he was on his back. The sounds of battle cacophonized the smoggy midnight air, the scent of rotting flesh stinging in his nostrils. A gut-wrenching nausea seized Savien, and he turned on his side and vommitted into the street.

Then he was on his feet, sword brandished, puke dripping from his nose. He looked once to the Warden by his side, offering a nod. No time for trivialities - a battle still raged.
 
as written by glmstr

Out of one of the remaining squad cars, at a notably less hurried pace than the other passengers, a strange looking and quite casually-dressed figure stepped out of the passenger seat. Jazz didn't come nearly as specifically equipped as the other detective at the scene, only bringing his own firearms and the trusty baton.
He stepped out just in time to hear his partner mention something about not shooting because of friendlies, so he slipped his revolver back into the holster inside his coat. Instead, he produced a small cylinder of metal, and with a flick of the wrist it extended into a blunt weapon with a soft click. Growing up in the poorer areas of Lutetia City gave him a great deal of experience with bat-like weapons, and this occasion was as good of an opportunity as any to put that experience to use.
 
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as written by Emperor Jester

He'd gotten the call, or rather, had listened in on it as soon as the Church heard word of what was going on in Lumenia. Like the rest of his peers, Kurtrin, the Golden Knight, had first assumed it was the Caer again. So as a result, the old man had searched for his whiskey before his armor. However, as it quickly became more and more apparent to the hero of the Skirmishes that it could be one of those frozen demons. Despite the alarm, they weren't rousing anyone actively, not trying to form up any sort of real armed force. Simply letting responders leave as they pleased. A small spark of hope died then, as did a massive wave of anxiety and despair. Tonight was not the night to...to...

"No. The city still needs assistance. Something vile is still out there, killing. I can't sit idly by like the rest of the old men." He whispered under his breath, reminding himself of his role, his purpose. His hands were still strong and his mind was still sharp. Lutetia needed him right now, destiny and nightmares be damned.

These were the old mans thought's as he suited up. The age-old armor still in fine condition, minus the scars of the war. The bronze-and-gold helmet still fit sat nicely on his head like it had in youth. His blade, a broad-bladed long sword, a bastard sword by any other name, still hung like it should on his belt, its edge still gleaming and sharp and blessed. It hadn't been taken out of its sheath since that day. Since that creature. No other threat seemed powerful or worthy enough to draw the metal. Next to it, another sword was hung, a simple but masterfully made longsword, standard issue. From his opposite hip hung a large custom double-barreled .357 caliber revolver, eight chambered, with plenty of ammunition to spare. He felt young again. He felt brave again.

Perhaps, however, the booze was to blame for this surge in confidence. Perhaps it was the realization that there were no Caeruleum at the scene. Maybe a mixture of both. However, it wasn't long before The Golden arrived at the scene, pulling up beside the detectives and dismounting his Destrier, a literal knight in shining armor. The longsword would be drawn as the seventy year old Paladin approached the two officers, taking in the carnage around him. He knew his comrades needed him, but he'd survived as long as he did because he didn't enter a fight blind.

With all the seasoned gruffness the war veteran could muster, Kurtrin would introduce himself before asking both detectives what they knew, not caring if Jazz or Louis answered first.
 
as written by Sentry

"Oh, well do it your way," said the voice to officer Roger, sighing as though throwing its hands up. The chilly presence that had been around during the fight vanished.

Those caught in officer John's flames howled even as they struggled to pursue the man. However, once the explosion hit, there weren't enough pieces of them left to go forward.
____________________________________________

Very little of the undead raged, but the girl was still left. Higher, her body rose from the pavement, and the splatters of skin and blood and bone all gathered up beneath her and enveloped her. Something grotesque, limbs or tentacles of the sort- sprouted from her body and reached for Savien and Noah, the closest to her at the time.
 
as written by Script

"I hope one of you brought a bigger gun," Noah remarked dryly as the girl's form was steadily obscured by a growing mass of flesh. His sword swept out in an arc to intercept a tendril of viscera that had been directed his way, severing it cleanly before it could reach him. The tentacles that followed would meet the same fate, as he swept his blade through the air with greater speed and precision than ought to have been possible for a weapon of its size and weight. Where it met the tendrils, it burned at them much like Savien's amulet had.

To the side, Peregrine had reloaded his pistol. Leveling it at the woman, he held his aim steady for several moments as he sought a gap in her armour of corpses, before firing several times. The weapon thundered as it had before. Peregrine lamented that, having not been strictly on duty, he didn't have his alternate ammunition. Explosive or incendiary rounds would no doubt have been a lot more effective.
 
as written by Ronin

Wordless, Savien parried an outstretched tendril, stepping to the side of the lunging flesh and cleaving it with a swift hack. He was wielding one-handed, his free arm gripping his lawkeeper. Nimble fingers found the switch on the side of the massive pistol. Tumblers cycled, ammunition cylinders circling the chamber. The color code on the frame went from yellow to red. High ex.

Another hack at a fleshwhip reaching for his side and Savien brought his firearm upwards, training the weapon on the grotesque mass of flesh and decay. He thought of the girl whose mind he had been inside - wondered, briefly, if she was trapped in there, screaming, crying, begging to be let out, to be saved...

He fired. A massive slug escaped the barrel of his pistol, whirling directly for the monster's center-chest. If connected, it would explode in a flash of light and fire, the force of the blast strong enough to open a crater in a tank.

"Bigger gun my ass..." Savien growled, mostly to himself.
 
as written by Krysis

Louis gave Kurtin a pained smile and shrugged. It was clear that the paladin was better armed for the task at hand than he was, with his make-shift weapon. Which was tons better than Jazz with the blunt weapon that was designed to incapacitate and not injure.

The lanky young man just pointed at the zombie things with one padded arm, "Seems like we cut down anything that is standing up and not running away, until we find the other officers and whatever reinforcements showed up. Just be careful, it sounds like people are shooting on the other end of the street."

The officers that had come with the squad cars would be directed to rescue the officers that were already down. Louis has already learned not to try to give Jazz any directions, though he suspected that the feminine seeming detective would be more useful in such a capacity. Hopefully Kurtin would take the lead, and Louis could mop up whatever got past the shining knight.
 
as written by Emperor Jester

The guard would come down across his helmet, cutting off all vision of his face behind a mask of bronze and iron. "I learned how to dodge a gunshot long before you were born, boy. But this old man greatly appreciates the concern of the young." Although Louis wouldn't be able to tell, Kurtrin was giving a very grandfatherly smile behind the metal. It wasn't every day he came out this far from the Monastery, on a call like this.

A quick jerk of the elderly paladin's still-strong arm and out came the longsword, gleaming, polished, and honed. Unlike the blade which still hung from the hip, this piece of metalwork was new, some fancy alloy that modern technology had gifted the militant faith. A twirl of his wrist to test his grip before hoisting the sword two handed about his head, bladed tip pointed towards the fray, setting his pace at a brisk march.

He had a destination in mind, one that would lead him towards his fellow guardians and knights, and for once, with the aid of half a flask of whiskey, Kurtrin felt like he had a purpose in his aging life for the first time in decades...
 
as written by Sentry

Several gunshots weren't enough to down the abomination, but an explosion was just enough. The creature flailed as it burned, its head and the center of its body gone, animated still by only its will and bonds of magic. Eventually, the abomination heaped into the ground with a cloud of ash and embers.

Whatever had been left of the young woman was gone. Whatever had been left of everyone she killed, now floated in the air as smoke. A few flames seemed to float up into the air, fizzling what could only be described as thin threads disappearing out of view.
 
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