Chronicles of The Omniverse Archived Lutetia City: Valentine Park

Jimmy let his gaze drift away from Arien and Adrian for a moment before he was glancing back down them again, noting the kissing was over simply because Arien was on the phone. Shaking his head, he returned his attention back towards Elisa and he grinned up at her, finding him agreeing to her suggestions. “I’d like that… either scenario as long as I get to have some fun.” He winked up at her hand raising to run his fingers against her cheek before dropping his hand back down again.

“Ooh, looks like they’re finally starting.” He half glanced down at the ring, not cheering for either, not really feeling it after everything that had happened. It still seemed so odd to him, to pretend like nothing was happening, though wasn’t that what he was doing? Grunting at his thought, he shifted his body, getting comfortable against Elisa, well as much as he could.

Mia just stared at the scenes happening in front of her, in complete shock, though she did wish she could hear what was being whispered. Crossing both arms against her chest, the young Proselyte shifted her gaze towards the ring, cheering loudly for Izaic, hoping that he won against Noah.
 
In short time, a small flood of people spilled into the park.

There was a young couple who looked very much alike, a paladin and his cousin, heir to their family fortune, the children of the Duval family. Coralie, the golden-haired young lady who was somewhat tall for a girl, didn't dare hold back on the last day of the festival. Even if she wasn't in a flouncy dress, the earrings that dangled from her lobes glinted with expensive gems, matching the necklace that looped atop her pale turtleneck. The shirt was made of Losenji silk, embossed with the Duval's house crest artfully running up from her hip, chest, and ending at her shoulder in an azure thread. Her boots almost swallowed her pants all the way up to her knees in a similar color, but it was her sweeping blue coat that took the most attention, lined with the fur of an albino manticore. It had been a present from a suitor; one that she generously turned down, though he insisted that she keep it. Coralie smiled at the thought. Poor boy. He only cared for the money, anyway. If our secret ever gets out, he'll be happy I turned him down.

Ghislain was much less glamorous than his cousin. A blue button-down, slacks, and a reasonably thick jacket with a tiny Duval crest on the pocket were all he needed. The proselyte's sword padded gently against his leg as he walked.

"I don't know how you walk around in those," said Ghislain, pointing to Coralie's heels. "Especially with ice here and there on the ground."

Coralie lifted her eyes, but not her chin, to leer at the young man. "It is an art, 'Lain. One that a man as practical as you wouldn't understand," she huffed playfully.

Laughing, Ghislain shook his head. "Women will always be a mystery to me. Those of you outside the Order, that is."

"You know, 'Lain, you could just admit that they make my legs look absolutely fantastic. Everyone's thinking it." Coralie joked again.

The Proselyte's cheeks colored slightly, and sensing it, he looked away. "No, they're just ridiculous," he mumbled.

Before the young heiress could question his lies, she spotted a very familiar head of frosty hair looming above the back of a bench. "Oh, Abel!" she called, sprinting for him. She walked up behind her new friend and draped her arms around his shoulders. "Hello!" she cooed.

Wick, she can run in them? thought an astounded Ghislain. He smiled gently but did not run after her. He waved to them both, "See you two later! I'm going to catch up with the other proselytes!" And took off for the stands, ignoring a small tinge inside his chest.

Before long, he found himself in the stands, waiting to see the sparring. His eyes scanned for any familiar faces, and low and behold- "Luca! Izaic!" he called, raising a hand to wave. As he approached them, the hand fell and closed to two outstretched fingers touching his lips in greeting. "Fight well!" he told Iziaic, motioning to clap the young man on the shoulder. "Not that you need me to say it, as you always do."

____________________________________________________________________________

Already among the stands was a woman that didn't stand out at all. Jeans, boots, a thick jacket. Her hair was up in a bun with a nice little trinket in it, but other than looking slightly above average in attractiveness, she wasn't anything special.

As she walked through the crowd, she did make an effort to stand out to one person in particular. She turned her head slightly to look at Savien, and as she did, he would hear a faint whisper.

You, too? it said, willing his attention to the raven-haired woman. She smiled at him gently. Fear not. The Order has friends.

Looking upon her, the realization would come: she was the witch of the glenn, Aderyn Whittle.

Above, a white bird circled the stands until it noticed a clump of ravens. It swooped down to terrorize them briefly before soaring back into the sky.
 
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"Nox..." Savien tasted the name. He'd heard it before - it translated to 'night' from the classical tongue. He tucked the word into the back of his mind for later reflection. Names had power, and the names Nox had chosen over the last few months might offer an invaluable clue.
A cold chill thrummed down his spine as a foreign presence entered his mind. He instantly raised his psychic defense, his good arm edging towards he hilt of his sword whilst he scanned the crowds for...

Aderyn. He saw her walking in the crowds, her hands tucked into her jacket. The adrenaline dissipated in his blood at this sight of her, his heartbeat steadying, hand returned to his side. Had the entire coven come down to Lutetia for the Genarium?

A small breath escaped his lips and he shook his head. You're going to kill me someday. You, or Arianne. Not sure which one. He gruffed and kept pace as Kurtrin spoke to Leandre. A moment layer, his mental tone softened half a notch. ...it is good to see you well, demoiselle. The Order needs its friends. Now more than ever.

Savien nodded to Aurelion as he approached, glad that the veteran paladin was able to listen to Kurtrin after all.

"I told you. I'm fine," he glared. "Yesterday I fought and bested a traitor paladin enhanced by onyx. I think I can handle strolling down a grassy field." He gave his attention back to Kurtrin. "Ser Hayes, is that all you know about Nox? The words of his sister?" He edged closer, a hungry growl underscoring his voice. He was desperate for something - anything - that might prove useful against Nox. A hidden weakness. A long-lost weapon which acted as an anathema to the Caer.

...in his heart, he knew it was a foolish hope. Only legends and fairy-tales harbored convenient trump cards like that. Real life rarely offered such simple solutions.

---

"Yo, Inarin, Luca, Ghislain, I'm grabbing a drink from the coffee vendor, you guys want something?" Aaro spoke as he passed them, already moving towards the line of shops and tents.

He waived to Izaic. "Good luck, Izaic! Break a leg out there." He grinned. "Or. Yknow. Someone's knee instead."
 
Izaic grinned and unslung his sparring blade from his shoulders. "Listen you two. We shouldn't keep this to ourselves. Fuck what the Masters told you Inarin, spread the word around. We can keep talking later but for now, I have a final bout to win." With a nod towards the newly arrived Ghislain and Aaro and an appreciative return shoulder-slap to the former, Proselyte Swigelf would toss the remains of his lamb kebab into the nearest trashcan and set off towards the ring, a confident swagger in his step.

The cheers, sweet Wick how they swelled his pride. Despite everything he'd just heard, and the deep seated dread that now nestled itself firmly in his stomach, he couldn't help but flash the roaring crowds a shit eating grin during his stroll. Today would be glorious. Today he'd finally show them all that it wasn't just talk, that he was the best this generation had to offer to the Order. The Caer wouldn't show their face here. This was a veritable heart of Light, both in numbers and strength at arms. Once he arrived at his specified entrance, Izaic would turn back once more to the crowd, offer the Monastic salute, bow, and enter the ring, zwei drawn.

--------------------

Kurtrin was about the explain the situation to the elder Nuvellon, when the world seemed to melt away over the announcements. Behind his tiger faced helm, old eyes shot wide with suspicion, disbelief, and a growing tension that seemed to mount upon itself infinitely in the short span of the time it took for the message to be completed over the loud speakers.

Without a word to any in the group, the Golden drew his oath-blade and moved into the crowd, quicker than a walk, but not quite yet a jog. He had two destinations in mind:

Find Noah, and find the Masters. Whichever came first did not matter. But this was not right. The Warden should not be here...
 
Paying little mind to Adrian for the moment, Arien's frown deepened as the phone call went on. "Well, that's hardly specific..." A glance around at the crowd, lingering on the paladins. "I guess... No, nothing. Everything's been fine. Are you sure that's what he said? And you're saying he just went crazy?"

Arien looked down at Adrian, pulling a face and shrugging. Then something gave him pause. "Wait. Say that again. No, the thing you said about the fire." The vampire's face twisted in a grimace. "Fuck. Okay, look... I'm gonna sort it out, alright? We'll all be fine. But I gotta go now. Yeah, I'll call later."

With that, he hung up, slipping the phone away. "Okay, new plan. This festival's a bust. I'm hitting up the twins and we're all heading back to their place, alright?"

Not waiting for an answer, Arien started to move back towards where the others were sat, looking uncharacteristically nervous.


In the stands Al happily draped his arms over the shoulders of the two boys propped up against him, grinning. "I dunno, we do like to have a little room to get creative..." he murmured, before the announcer drew his attention to the ring. "Looks like things are getting started down there."

"Finally," Elisa remarked at the same time, starting to gently massage Jimmy's shoulders. "I have to say, my money's on the bigger guy. The ponce in white looks like a wet blanket."

"He's done pretty well so far," Val remarked idly from where he was sat, apparently still listening into their conversation.

"And besides," Al added with a scowl. "That ass needs knocking off of his pedestal. At the very least."


"I'm not sure that's wise..." Luca frowned at Izaic's words. "They have their reasons, I'm certain. We should at least speak with them first, and determine what those reasons are. We-" He cut off, as his name was called, and he turned to find the source. Spotting Ghislain, his frown relaxed a touch, and he nodded a greeting as the other proselyte approached.

"H-hey there, Ghislain," Inarin flashed a smile at the new arrival, before turning to see Izaic off. "Ah, good luck! I'm rooting for you!" he called after him.

Aaro's passing call went unheard by the younger proselyte, but Luca turned to face him, pausing for a moment in thought. "Sure, yeah. Grab me a coffee? The cheap stuff is fine," he replied. He looked back to Ghislain, then, opening his mouth to speak but being cut off by Inarin.

"I'm gonna try and get a better view," he said, nodding towards the crowd between them and the ring that hadn't quite yet filled back in after parting to allow Izaic past. "You guys coming?"

Luca exchanged a glance with Ghislain, then nodded, following Inarin forwards and - with a little effort - finding themselves places to stand just shy of the barriers holding back the crowd from the ring. As they walked, he addressed Ghislain. "You're here late," he remarked. "Busy morning?"


Aurelion was, to say the least, taken aback by Kurtrin's movements. But to his credit, he recovered his wits within a moment, following the elder paladin's lead and freeing his sword from its sheath without a word. Only after he'd started after him did he speak up. "Sir Hayes? Have you seen something?"

The crowd parted before the paladins with their blades drawn with shocked gasps, but not as quickly as they might have desired. There was enough yelling to make hearing requests to pass by difficult, and all eyes were on the ring, not on the paladins at their backs. Their walk had taken them far enough away from the ring that getting back would be an ordeal to achieve at all quickly.


(written by Script and CaerBear)

As the two combatants took their place in the ring, Noah flashed Izaic a cocky smirk. "This is the best you guys have to offer?" he questioned, looking Izaic up and down and raising an eyebrow. "Really?"

Drawing his own weapon and shrugging, the warden flicked at the edge of his cloak with it, as though bored. "Guess this'll be less fun than I thought. Oh well."

He didn't seem to be bothering to even take a combat stance. The referee hesitated, waiting on him.

Izaic's smile was no less arrogant, twirling the two-hander end over end by the hilt, raising it above his head. For one so young, to wield such a large blade one handed was no small feat of skill. "You Warden's talk big for magic users. Lets see if you can back it up."

Noah's smirk grew into a grin. "Let's," he replied simply, tilting his head towards the referee as though to prompt him. When it became apparent that the warden wasn't going to assume any sort of traditional stance, the man shrugged, and took a step back, lifting his hand.

"En garde!" he yelled, dropping his arm and stepping away from the combatants.

The warden didn't move, keeping his lazy posture and watching Izaic, waiting for him to make the first strike.

Noah wouldn't have to wait long. Izaic believed the best defense was a strong, unrelenting offense, and that aside, he didn't want to keep the crowd waiting. They came here to see a fight. At a full sprint, even weighed down by armor, leather, and chain, the proselyte closed the gap between himself and the animancer surprisingly quick for a human, great sword aimed center mass.
A thrust, simple, but effective enough to force some movement out of his opponent. What Izaic did next would depend on whether his foe blocked or dodged in response.

Noah didn't move as Izaic charged, watching the proselyte's approach with a raised eyebrow. It was only past the point when it seemed like the strike was certain to hit, that his arm came up. The smaller sword swung through the air in a blur, striking Izaic's weapon from underneath and redirecting the thrust both wide and high with an ear-splitting clang. In almost the same instant, the warden stepped forwards, footwork so swift that it was hard to track, and one leg swept out at the proselyte's own, even as his elbow came down hard on Izaic's back - wait, when had he stepped past him?

The maneuver was designed to trip the much larger swordsman and send him sprawling into the dirt.

And Izaic fell for it, though not completely. More than anything, his pride was wounded during his stumble, and his back ached from the blow, even through his plate and mithral. Light, it smarted as much as a bare strike to skin during open spars! But, to his credit, the swordsman managed to correct his foot's placement and plant it firmly just in time to be sent to one knee.

Once in that position, Izaic would lash out in a wide arc, attempting to roll away once the horizontal waist-level attack completed its course. He had to make distance! The animancer was better than he thought he might be, but the proselyte's reach was far longer! It was an advantage he must not lose!

A backstep that seemed to carry him far further than it should have done brought Noah clear of the slash, the proselyte's weapon skimming centimetres from his midriff. "Hm, not too bad," he remarked with a casual air, mid-dodge.

Izaic would come out of his roll only to be met with a roundhouse kick delivered with uncanny speed towards the side of his helm, as once more Noah seemed to cover the distance between them unnaturally fast.

"Not good enough, though."


"Wow, your classmate is ... really getting his ass handed to him." Elisa snorted from behind Jimmy. "Guess you guys aren't the best of the best after all."

Across from them, Val shook his head. "No, something's not right. He's moving... that is weirdly fast. He must be using his animancy. Dick move."

It was as those remarks were being exchanged that Arien reached those of them that were still in the stands. "Hey, guys," he called over the yells of the spectators. "We're leaving. Now. Heading back to your place," he nodded at the twins.

"What?" Val frowned, tilting his head and sitting up off of Al.

"Why?" Al asked, with a frown of his own. "I have a fencing match later, I can't-"

Arien grimaced, shaking his head and interrupting him. "Do you trust me?" he asked, fixing the twins with a hard, apparently meaningful stare.

Cam would feel Al noticeably tensing up next to him, as he nodded. "Yeah. Okay, got it." He rose to his feet, and at the same time, Val did the same. Across from them, Elisa was following suit without question, motioning for Jimmy to join her. "Hey, Cam," Al flashed the Lacroix a nervous smile. "Fancy a party at our place?"

"We need to get Inarin," Val said to Arien, stepping over to him while Al spoke to Cam. "And the others," he added as an afterthought. "What's going on?"

"I just got a call from Will. Something's going to go down today, and if that's the case, this festival has 'target' painted all over it." Arien grimaced. "Fine, we'll pick up Inarin on the way, but you're in charge of convincing him to come along." He turned to hurry the others, then, a hint of urgency leaking into his tone. "C'mon, let's go!"

As the group were starting to move off down the steps, Elisa turned to Mia and flashed her a winning smile, beckoning for her to follow. "C'mon, hon, you too. Don't have to party with us, but let's go find your other friends again?"


Theirs wasn't the only group reacting to the spar. Where the judges were gathered, Estelle had turned a furious glare onto Colette. "What is he doing?" she demanded angrily. "You should have made the call in that first exchange, even I can see he's enhancing himself."

Colette shook her head, her expression one of confusion. "He's not using animancy, Dame, I swear on the Light. I would be able to tell, aura-enhancement is so clearly telegraphed that even none-animancers can see it sometimes."

"What?" Master Dufort blinked, turning back towards the fight and scowling. "Wick and Wyrm, I don't care what you think you're seeing, I'm stopping this spar. Something's not right."

With that, she began to stride purposefully through the crowd towards the ring.
 
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Jimmy’s eyes were soon closing, no longer paying attention to much of anything, though the voices around him still filtered in occasionally. He was feeling relaxed, more than usual thanks to Elisa’s hands working out the stress and kinks in his shoulder muscles. It felt good and he would see about getting a full body massage from her later, perhaps during their fun times. Ignoring the slight huff and other noises that Mia seemed to be making, he pretended they were directed towards Izaic’s spar, but didn’t really care either way. She could be all huffy with him if she wanted, Aaro too. He was tired of pretending that nothing was going on with the Monastery… with the city.

“Hmm?” Sliding his eyes open at Val’s words, Jimmy shifted his gaze down to the ring, watching for a few minutes, a frown slipping onto his face. Yeah, there was something not right about what was happening, but before he could give it much thought, Arien was telling them it was time to leave. Frowning a bit more, he glanced to where Inarin was at before looking around for Aaro, grunting when he wasn’t able to spot his roommate. When Elisa stood up, Jim had little choice but to follow suit and as he stood, stretched out his body. “But—“ Jimmy shook his head and moved after the others. His gaze shifted towards Mia who was hesitantly staring at the group, her eyes locked on Elisa before she just shrugged and stood up.

“Sure, better than sitting here alone, I guess.” Mia smiled a little, it obvious she was on her own today.
 
Abel jumped slightly at Duval's sudden approach to him.

"Oh, uh, hi Coralie," he tried to crane his neck to look at her. He snapped shut the book he was reading and slipped it into his satchel, a well practiced movement for Lachapelle. Especially since the other day, he was even more on-edge about his studies. He was making great progress! Yet, those around him seemed incapable of understanding. In a time where people needed to be together, it seemed others were more than willing to make enemies among potential friends.


The dark-inclined witch quickly made her way through the crowds to approach Aderyn. Her expression was a frown that seemed unfitting for one such as herself who often resorted to a haughty scowl or a wicked grin. She stood beside the witch of the glenn, not making direct eye contact and not directly addressing her.

"There are too many ravens in the sky, and tension hangs like a deep fog over the park. He's not recovering, either," her sterling eyes followed Savien, he could likely feel them boring into the back of his head. "Many are feeling it. How many are just here to pick at the carrion?"


"Ser Hayes?" Leandre beckoned for Durandet to follow him as he tracked the Golden. Such an expression was never a good sign for that man, and neither he nor Savien was in good shape to be alone in case anything happened, as much as they insisted otherwise. It did make him curious as to why a fully-fledged warden would be competing against proselytes, but stranger things had happened. Kurtrin's tenacity in his movements and the blade in his hand only intensified his concerns, so the Fortress stayed at the ready, whether to protect the Golden from someone, or vice versa.


"It's that bad?" Adrian's giggling and bubbly demeanor melted in seconds. Not receiving some sort of comfort already had him concerned. Even then, he doubted if he had ever seen Arien this nervous about anything, at least not in a major way. He followed the vampire as if nailed to his shadow, never more than a few feet from his idol as he slipped through the crowds behind him.


"If I wasn't against the damn warden, I could have done so myself," Camille grumbled, but promptly dropped the subject. It was already ridiculous to him that they even allowed Noah into the competition, but rules were rules. However, he started to notice a drastic change in tone in both the match and the spectators. That only tightened his scowl. He needed no more confirmation of his own grievances, but he was quickly interrupted by several strangers approaching the twins. The following conversation, and the sudden tenseness of Al, quickly distracted him. Something was seriously wrong.

"Yeah sure, lemme just text my dad," he whipped out his phone and scrolled through his contacts.

Hey, I'm gonna go to the Castellanes' for a while. They're getting nervous about being here, idk why.​

Not coming home with us? The paladins are on edge too.​

Camille shrugged to himself and glanced at the twins, before looking back to his phone.​

You can follow us there or something, they shouldn't mind?​

I'll have the cars packed. If its bad, we'll come get you.​


OK. I'll see you later then​
He got up and dusted off his pants, and proceeded to follow the twins.
 
"Oh, don't think I missed that," she whispered. "Good try, but I caught you off guard!"

The woman sauntered around the bench and sat down beside Abel, folding her hands atop her lap. "How are you doing today? You know... after everything? Have you tried practicing again?"

__________________________________________

Ghislain followed them after exchanging pleasantries and smiles. He gave a sideways glance to Luca as he inquired to his tardiness.

"Oh, you know how it goes. Coralie has the car, and women like her love to take their time. Father asked her to show off. It certainly didn't go to waste," he commented. "She was getting a bit of attention in the park, but only Abel got hers." He finished the sentence with a chuckle. "How have things gone in my absence?"

When the fight started, he watched carefully, about to shout down to the arena before he noted that he lost track of Noah's movements. He frowned.

"What in Selene's name is going on here?"
___________________________________________

I wish I could say the same for you. Look to me for strength, Sir Durandet, Aderyn messaged him, departing from the stands.

She did the same as Arianne when the other witch joined her and replied, "Ominous, but they are not where we should cast our eyes. I feel so afraid. We're out in the open. Even as prepared as I want to convince myself I am, the fragility of my position is startlingly apparent."

A hand reached down to touch the satchel that laid gently against her leg. There was a wide box in there with a stack of hollow eggshells intricately carved to invoke spells using the mana stored within them. Flight, Cry, Illusion, Snare, and Strike were prepared, a basic set that usually helped her get out of situations. She touched her necklace, which was a small summoning circle for the Beast of Glutton, and further in her bag sat a knife. Down her wrist, several transmogrification spells that were ready to be invoked were painted in ink.

There were blessings written on paper in a small section of her satchel: an easy to access compartment. Naaz, flying above, had a trinket around his talon in the shape of a tiny knife.

He was her trump card. Whether or not she would have to use him was the question.
 
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"What the..." Savien back stepped as Kurtrin's oath-blade sprang from its scabbard. The warm glow of holy radiation prickled his skin as the naked sword left its protective casing. The paladin's eyes widened. Kurtrin hadn't moved for his firearm - he had drawn Vindicator. That could only mean one thing.

Shiiiiinngg. Savien's sword glittered in the open air - a plain, straight edge of Ivaran steel devoid of any flair or decor aside from a medley of names written in lines along the blade's center. He followed close behind Leandre, keeping pace despite his injuries. Was it happening? Now?

He grimaced as they bustled through the crowds - the puncture wounds in his shoulders and chest flaring with a familiar icy burn...

---

Aaro approached the coffee vendor and smiled at a pimply-faced barista.

"Hey, Happy Gen."

"Happy Genarium, sir," the barrista's voice cracked on every syllable.

Aaro cracked his knuckles. "Could I getta' grande triple-shot caramel macchiato with soy milk, no whip and two pumps of cinnamon?" He grinned - he'd practiced that on the way over. Wait, shit, Luca wanted something too, right? "Oh. And uh. A grande hot latte." Aaro made a face. Just coffee? Man, Luca was boring. "Actually, put two pumps of pumpkin spice in that sucker. Mix it up a bit."

The barrista shook his head. "Uh, we're all out of pumpkin spice sir. It's a seasonal thing."

"What? It's the Aurellae! Harvest festival! Why would you not have pumpkin spice?"

"Yeah, but it's the Genarium, so it's the last day of the harvest festival and the first day of winter."

Aaro blinked. "But it's still the last day of the harvest festival." He made a digging motion with his hands. "Y'know. Harvest. Pumpkins and vegetables and shit."

"Nah, the Genarium falls under the 'winter' aesthetic. We had pumpkin spice up until yesterday at 11:59 pm."

Aaro frowned. Damn. Lutetian culture switched from autumn to winter reeallly quickly. "Hm. So no pumpkin spice?"

"No sir," the teenager shook his head, "I can offer you peppermint mocha, instead?"
 
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Between Arien’s haste and the twins’ apparent total cooperation (it seemed that the pair of them actually could take something seriously, which should have in and of itself posed sufficient warning to the potential severity of the situation), the group of teens made their way off of the stands and out onto the grass a short distance from their base in short order.

“Hold on a sec,” Al gestured for them to stop, to a frown from Arien. “Literally, just a sec.” He turned to face a well-dressed man in the front row of the stands. “Adam,”

The man looked up at him without surprise, seemingly having been feigning his disinterest in their movements, and inclined his head. “Acknowledging my existence today, are we, young master Castellane? Why, I’m honoured.”

“Yeah, yeah - look, something’s up, and we’re leaving. Now.”

“Who’s this guy..?” Elisa murmured as they were talking, exchanging a glance with Val and Jimmy. Val didn’t answer, his focus on scanning the crowds for Inarin.

“Alrighty then,” Adam rose to his feet with a curious quirk of his eyebrow, but didn’t question it. He lifted a hand to a small earpiece. “Alright, team, we’re extracting. Jirou, have the car brought round to the gates…” he trailed off, surveying the group. “Actually, make that the limo. Yeah, I know we don’t have a limo, but we’re working for the fucking Castellanes. Call their driver, it’s not hard.”

The dark-haired woman that had been sitting behind the group descended the steps to join them, staying silent.

“We’re grabbing some of our other friends, then we’re out,” Al added, already turning away. “Just giving you the heads up.”

“I see them,” Val cut in, pointing through the crowd. “Inarin’s at the front, by the ring.”

“Great!” Arien sighed. “Maximising the amount of crowd we have to wade through. Look, the rest of you wait here. Me and the twins will play fetch, it’ll be easier for us to get through if there aren’t as many of us.”

Without waiting for a reply, he gestured for the twins to follow him and started through the crowd. People shuffled politely to get out of their way as they went, as Arien nudged them.

Elisa folded her arms, shaking her head. Her relaxed demeanour was starting to slip away to be replaced by unease. “Man. Never seen Arien this worked up.” She paused, glancing over at Adrian and raising an eyebrow. “Hey Adrian, by the way. You have any idea what’s happening?”

Off to the side, Adam nodded after the departing trio. “Follow them,” he told Tara, who simply nodded and slipped into the crowd at their backs. “You too, Jirou. They’re headed in your direction.”

The group were joined shortly by large, muscular and tattooed bald man with what seemed to be a permanently dour expression. He said nothing, simply taking up a spot beside Adam and folding his arms to wait.


“He’s cheating!” Inarin’s exclamation was as surprised as it was indignant. “You can see that, right? Nobody can move that fast!” He scowled, shaking his head. “I thought … I liked Noah, I w-wouldn’t have thought he …”

There was a pause.

“Wait… what if …” His eyes widened. “I don’t think that’s him. Wh-where are the masters?”

Luca blinked. “You think that’s some sort of doppleganger?”

“Some Caer can use illusion magic!” Inarin was frantic, trying to pick out a paladin or a master in the crowd, but then his attention was drawn back to the spar…


(Written by Script and CaerBear)

Nearly thousand of hours in the practice yard warned Izaic of the oncoming attack before it landed, but his body was not as fast as his eyes. He couldn't bring the flat of his blade up in time to guard against it! He felt Noah's shin connect, but it felt more like a concrete slab, and Izaic found himself sprawling across the sand-and-dirt ring.

But not for long. Mid roll, he once again regained control, helmet dented, two trails of blood streaking down his face, eyes wild. With a roar, he'd charge once again. He was done treating this as a simple spar! He would be unrelenting in his press! Several vertical slashes, mixing in thrusts and kicks when he could, each attack coming towards the animancer faster and faster. He'd been trained for a decade by an Oathsworn! Izaic, despite being young and without real battle experience, would not go down so easily!

Laughter.

In the face of his furious onslaught, Izaic was not met with a retreat, or a broken guard, or even the slightest flash of fear. He was met with laughter. It wasn't mocking laughter - though the distinction would likely be lost on the furious proselyte - but rather it was gleeful. Noah met every slash and thrust of the proselyte's sword with his own weapon, turning them aside or deflecting them with varying degrees of ease. There were close shaves, but even still, there seemed to be no sign of the warden breaking a sweat.

And still he made no real attempts at striking back. His every retaliation was with a punch, a kick or a trip. His blade stayed exclusively on the defensive. He was toying with him. Even the crowd could tell at this point. Cheers had turned to confusion, and boos, as people cried out accusations of foul play and sorcery.

Sensing the atmosphere turn, Noah's smile faded. Time was running out.

And so with a decisive swing of his blade and a strength that at this point, clearly was beyond human, he knocked Izaic's weapon from his grip, sending the much larger sword flying through the air. In the next moment, his foot slammed into the proselyte's chest plate and knocked him to the ground, pinning him there.

People were moving through the crowd towards them, now. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted one of the masters making her way towards the ring. It was almost time.

Izaic let out a howl, two in fact, the first at his blade being tossed from his hands effortlessly, and the second upon taking a boot to the chest! They were not cries of pain, but of rage! His hazel eyes were twitching in his skull rapidly, even as he tried to push himself off the ground, and the animancer off of his medsection, with all his might.

Something dawned on him then, eyes going wider than they were before. "You---! What are you, creature?!"

'Noah' smiled down at Izaic, laughing again. He didn't answer him, instead turning his attention to the surrounding crowd. With a flick of his wrist, something subtly changed about the sword he was holding. Where before its edges had displayed the telltale dullness of a blunted practice weapon, now the blade gleamed with an obviously vicious point. He lowered the sword to just millimeters from the proselyte's throat.

"Not a step closer!" he yelled, gaze swivelling around those that were poised to intervene. Estelle came to a halt at the edge of the ring itself, her hand on her lawkeeper, and the referee took a step back. The crowd's yells grew quieter again, as though the collective were holding their breath.

"So this is the finest of the church's next generation?" he questioned, voice loud enough to carry across the gathered civilians. "I'm... gonna be honest, I'm not impressed."

A smirk, and 'Noah' looked back down at him. "But as a favour to you, kid, since you entertained me, I'll answer your question. What am I?"

He snorted, drawing his blade back. "I'm just the distraction."

And down his sword plunged, punching with supernatural strength straight through Izaic's plate armour as though it were little more than a tin can, and into the proselyte's chest.

In the crowd, someone screamed.

And then the world caught fire.

As one, the explosive charges that had been laid around the festival in the dead of night detonated. The stands around the edges of the tournament staging grounds went up in an explosion of fire, splinters and death, dozens upon dozens of crammed-together spectators consumed in the conflagration. At the same time, more explosions sounded, both near and distant. Within eyesight of the gathered onlookers, the ferris wheel lit up with flame, its cars swinging violently with the force as the wheel itself was blasted free of its frame to come crashing down on the tents, stands and crowds around it.

The food courts, including a hot dog stand a few stalls down from Aaro. The prayer tent. The gates. Explosions rocked each of them, and in an instant, the merriment and joy of the Aurellae became carnage, chaos and terror. Laughter turned to screams, and blood stained the grass red.

For Winter had come to Valentine Park. And with it, came death.
 
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"A little bit," Abel shrugged noncommittally, "I can sort of control it now, and dismiss it at will. So, at least it's going better. I'm sure at least some around the church are convinced I've taken up cigarettes at this point," he clasped shut his satchel and laid it on the seat beside him. He raised an eyebrow at what sounded like booing, and quickly screams. "Hey, uh, something doesn't sound ri-"

Explosions all around the pair interrupted his thought. He bolted to his feet and yanked Coralie up by the hand. "We need to get out of here. Where's Ghislain?"

Not far from the pair, a figure in black watched over them. Their snowy-hued mask glowed a faint orange from the nearby flames, and its eyes remained fixed on Lachapelle.


"The animancer in the ring, he looks, er, off," Arianne furrowed her brow and tried to look at him. She was much too far to make out any particular details, but even from that distance, it seemed wrong. He wasn't using animancy, but still much too fast for what was reasonable. Her next clue, of course, was the poor sportsmanship. Then, it was the bombs.

The witch immediately sprinted into the crowd. She needed to find Savien, and find that animancer.


Both other knights were drawing their swords and charging, Leandre drew his own blade, Vanguard, and dropped pace behind Savien, occasionally clanging the flat of his sword against his shield to scatter civilians. It wasn't just a suspicion, after all. Boos echoed in his ears, but they were quickly drowned out by explosions and screams. Several pieces of wooden shrapnel peppered the Fortress's armor and shield, but deflected away harmlessly enough, unlike those less protected nearby.

"Everyone out!" Montagne bellowed even over the chaos, hoping against hope that at least some bystanders would follow his command.


"No, I really haven't," nothing was happening, yet Adrian was already beginning to panic. Without somebody to cling to, his hands were fidgeting uncomfortably. One moment they were clasped together, the next they were thumbing his belt loops, the next they were in his pockets, his feet were starting to shuffle in place as well.

As merriment was replaced with terror and digital displays with flames, Lefevre grabbed fistfuls of his own hair and stared in horror. Everything was falling apart so quickly, and he had nobody to turn to for help. He wanted to run, but he was too consumed by fear to even take a step.


"Wick and Wyrm, no!" Camille scrambled for his phone, already receiving a call from Lucas. "Are you okay?!" He reassured his father that he was alive and well, but news from the other side was not as bright. He fought back tears as he heard the news, but now was not a time for such things. The world around them was spinning so fast, and he needed to do something. "Bring me something, then we can get out of here. I don't know, anything! Give it to James, he knows where I am!"

Across the park, a man dressed in a uniform similar yet distinct from the Castellane guards began to run towards the stands, sheathed sword in one hand, pistol in the other.


Death and hellfire bred fear. Fear, such a primal and raw emotion, as much a part of life as one's own blood. This stench of blood, this palpable fear, would all too soon draw out the predators, the hunters that feast on the weak. Many of these hunters were agents of Winter, demons of the snow.

The first to show themselves was not born of ice, but of fire.

One stand that was unoccupied during the festival proper, but now scorched and collapsed, began to creak and groan with life. From it a figure rose, bearing a paladin's armor. It was charred, corroded, corrupted. Where shining Ivaran steel once stood, blackened plate took place, some of its fringes glowing with embers. As it rose, three paladins came into view, one injured, one healthy, and one bearing unmistakable shimmering bronze. Perhaps they would recognize this knight as one of their own, dismissed by the Order and disappeared from the public eye, but something was different.

Simply seeing the 'paladin', one could easily feel the aura it projected: fury, and hate.
 
Crista, seeing the elder paladin and Savien take off else where, decided to follow. She was a little ways behind them when suddenly the park around her began to burst into flames. She was thrown to the ground by the force of a nearby explosive. She groaned as she got to her feet and saw her gaze traveled over the grounds around her they widened in shock. She stood motionless for a second as she saw the stands around the area engulfed in flame. People around her panicked and ran for safety, if there was any. Crista turned to the people running past her trying to direct them towards somewhere safe to hide. She wasn't sure if there was anywhere safe, but the civilians needed to be taken care of first before things got worse. She guided a few groups to what she hoped would act as temporary safe havens before unsheathing her sword and taking off in the direction she had seen her fellow paladins go.
 
The scream had hardly escaped his mouth before Inarin was moving forwards, darting past the cord that formed the makeshift barrier between the crowd and the area around the ring. The young proselyte heard explosions sounding around him, but his eyes were on the fallen man in the ring, even as 'Noah' was pulling his sword free of his body with a casual flick. Inarin found his own blade in his hands as instinct carried him not away from danger, but towards it.

For a moment, 'Noah' looked down at his sword with a frown of confusion, entirely ignoring the screams and explosions around him as his eyes slid from it to Izaic. His attention was swiftly drawn away, however, by a yell of rage. He blinked, seeing a boy that was a good head smaller than the proselyte he'd just fought, and armourless at that, running at him with a sword. More bemused than anything else, he caught the younger proselyte's swing with a half-hearted parry, deflecting the weapon away from him and leaving Inarin to stumble aside.

"Uhm," he said, tilting his head. "Are you sure you're running the right way?"

Inarin didn't answer, recovering quickly from the parry and swinging his weapon again, only to meet much the same result. The creature wearing Noah's face was just too fast, and strong. He was deflecting his swings one-handed, without even trying.

"Well, if you insist..." the not-Noah shrugged, and stepped in to swing at the boy... only to be forced to duck and backstep, as another blade sliced through the air inches from where his neck had been.

Luca's own sword was free of its sheathe and he stood with a furious scowl at Inarin's side, giving the other proselyte a chance to recover again.

'Noah' looked over them both with a smirk, raising his eyebrows. "Another kid? Where are the paladins?"

"Right here, you face-stealing trash."

THOOM.

The not-Noah staggered to the side as a bullet struck him in the torso, knocking him off balance. He looked up with a scowl to see Peregrine stood at the edge of the ring, smoking lawkeeper in one hand and sword in the other.

"Proselytes!" Another angry voice cut over the din from the side. "Fall back immediately!" Master Dufort cast the boys a scowl as she ran forwards, blade at the ready. "Get as many civilians as possible to safety, do not-"

She was cut off, forced to bring her weapon up in a parry as 'Noah' closed the distance between them in barely a second and swung at her, the force of the blow sending a shock through both her arms. She dug her foot into the ground to stop herself staggering.

"If they turn their backs on a fight they started, I'll just kill them," he stated with a smile that was far too sweet for the words it accompanied. "If they survive the fight, they deserved to live. If they lose, or if they run, then they didn't."

Scowling, Estelle swept her sword out in a retaliatory slash, but 'Noah' ducked under it and swung back, scoring a slash across her armour that left a scratch on its steel. It seemed that the blade had pierced Izaic's armour not through some enchantment, but simply by the sheer force of the thrust. The impact of the blow rattled her, but she didn't falter an inch.

As a thrust came in from behind him, the not-Noah spun around and parried Luca's sword away, then he turned and caught Inarin's sword swing with his forearm. The blade sunk in only the barest amount, a tiny trickle of blood seeping out, before he threw the blade wide and turned to face Perrin, who had re-holstered his lawkeeper due to the high number of friendly targets and advanced with his sword.

Perrin stepped into a slash, met by a parry, then a thrust that was sidestepped. As the others rejoined the fray 'Noah' danced like a dervish with his weapon, seemingly easily fending off the Master, the paladin and two proselytes with a grin plastered across his face. Now this was starting to get fun!


Pushing through the crowd was starting to get easier for Arien and the twins as people scattered, fleeing in the wake of the explosions. Al was muttering curse words under his breath in a constant stream with panicked breathlessness, while Val's face was set in a grimly determined mask, only the slight paleness to his cheeks betraying his fear. Arien just kept sweeping his eyes around, watching, waiting for the one face he didn't want to see. Please, don't let him have come in person...

The vampire was consequently caught by surprised when he walked straight into a figure in the crowd that wasn't moving at all. Childlike in both build and stature, the boy wore a hooded top with the hood pulled firmly over his head and his hands stuffed in his pockets, staring at the ground. Arien stepped back, frowning. Something wasn't...

"Hey, kid," Al said urgently, shaking the boy's arm. "You gotta go, now's not the time to freeze up."

"Wait, Al get back!" Arien tugged the other teen backwards sharply just as the boy reached out for him, a thin mist of frost rising from his palm. Val let out a shocked gasp as the boy lifted his head and his face came into view.

Sighing heavily, Nathan Hart reached up and pulled back his hood, revealing a head of pure white hair, porcelain skin, and most importantly... piercing, icy blue eyes. "Al... Val..." he said, looking between them with a blank expression. Other than that, he didn't move an inch, almost as though frozen on the spot.

"Oh my god," Al stared in horror. "Nathan. Holy shit. What did he do to you? Fuck!"

"You should go, before he gets here," Nathan ignored the question, though his brow furrowed in the slightest hint of a frown. "And before Winter compels me to..." He pursed his lips, clenching his fists and staring down at the ground. "Please go. You were kind to me, when I was ..."

"Ey, kiddos!" Another voice cut over him, as the Losenyu man from before shoved through the panicking crowd to reach them. "Don't stand around and have a chat with the bastards, you're making our job real hard!"

"Jirou, he's-" Al started, but Arien cut him off.

"No, he's right. Whatever he was, he isn't anymore, and I think it's only a matter of time before that becomes very obvious." The vampire grabbed each of the twins by the arm and started to tug them away. A few paces in however, as he made to lift his foot, something caught it and he stumbled. Turning, his eyes widened to find a trail of ice stretching across the grass from Nathan's position to him, slowly creeping over his foot. "Fuck!" Arien swore.

"It's rude to interrupt, you know," Nathan stated, his voice having grown colder. He looked up, and if his eyes had been cold before, now looking into them was akin to staring into the icy depths of a frozen lake.

"I don't think so, snowman." Jirou had started to follow the teens, but the losenyu bodyguard turned back to face Nathan, cracking his knuckles. A faintly visible thrum of energy began to surround his fists. "Never hit a kid before, but you ain't a kid no more, so I'll get over the guilt." He darted forwards, thrusting his palm forwards with his fingers curled into a tiger's claw.

Nathan jumped to the side with a nimbleness that belied his frigid immobility of a moment before, turning his gaze on the man. His expression didn't change from its emotionless mask as he placed his palm on Jirou's side in passing. Where he touched, ice spread outwards like a sheet, freezing half of the man's torso in seconds before it crawled to a halt.

Jirou's eyes widened in shock, and he staggered awkwardly, giving a ragged gasp. The very blood in his veins had solidified, his cells dying en masse. Before the last of the gasp had even escaped his throat, his legs gave out and he collapsed, dead before he hit the floor. The ice continued to slowly creep over the fallen corpse like it had a life of its own, intent on claiming the rest of him.

"Holyshit, holyfuck," Al stammered, one hand covering his mouth. At his side, Arien had tugged his foot free of the ice before it caused any lasting harm, forced to leave his shoe behind in the grass.

"Come the fuck on!" He yelled, grabbing the twins again and making to flee, leaving Nathan staring down at his own palm behind them, Jirou's corpse left forgotten in its own little bed of frost.


"Shit!"

Elisa's hands came up instinctively to shield herself as the stands behind them went up in flames. A few stray splinters and cinders rained down around them but thankfully, they'd moved far enough away from the stands to be spared the blast. Screams of both fear and pain surrounded them, and her gut did somersaults thinking about the fact that they'd been sitting up there just minutes before.

Camille's yells into his phone snapped her back to the present, and she looked up, her expression a mask of horror as she took in the rapidly accumulating carnage. Her eyes slid between the Lacroix boy, Adrian, Jimmy and Mia, seeking a lead on what to do. Did they run for the twins' car? Did they stay and wait for Arien?

"Report, damn it!" She glanced across to see the man that Al had called Adam with his hand pressed to his ear. "What do you mean he's... Fuck! Get the twins out, Tara, I don't care about their proselyte friend, we're not being paid to protect him, and I'm not losing anyone else!"

As he was yelling, the bulky tattooed man stepped over to where Jimmy, Mia, Elisa and Camille were stood. "You, children," he called over the shouting, his voice booming but calm. "Stay close. We leave when twins back, keep you safe if you stay. You run, you are alone." Cracking his knuckles, Yuri turned his eyes in the direction that the Castellanes had vanished, placing himself between the gathered teenagers and the direction of the threats. The aanarian's green eyes flickered amber in anticipation.


As fire had erupted around them, Aurelion had cursed, shoving through the panicking crowd with renewed haste. But when the armoured figure had stepped free of some of the smoking rubble, he had stopped and turned to face it. He held his blade at the ready in one hand and pulled his lawkeeper free with the other, his eyes narrowing as he recognised the figure behind the armour for who it was. "Wick and Wyrm, Duval?" he hissed. "You're with them? What have you become?"


Across the grounds, by another set of burning stands, Colette pushed herself unsteadily to her feet, her ears ringing from the proximity of the explosion. The stands behind the judges' table had exploded just as the others had, blasting her from her feet and showering her with splinters. A small trickle of blood was running down the side of her head, but as far as she could tell, she was otherwise unharmed.

She quickly cast her eyes around for any injured, spotting Master Rousseau quickly rising herself nearby. The older woman looked relatively unhurt as well. They were lucky that Estelle had picked up on something wrong in the ring, and they'd started to move over. Glancing back, she could see that the judges table was aflame and had been cast away by the blast. They likely would be in much worse states if they'd been sat there.

Gritting her teeth, she grabbed her radio and quickly called for backup, before rushing towards the explosion to help survivors. There were enough paladins here that they didn't need an off-duty cop getting in their way if there was fighting, but she could still help in other ways.
 
Savien bustled through the crowds with his comrades, eyes trained on 'Noah' as he slammed his foot into Izaic's breastplate. He transferred his sword into his sling arm and reached for the Lawkeeper at his hip. Pain shot through him - shards of ice in his back, fire in his shoulder. He could barely think through it. Somewhere beneath the agony he recognized the imminent danger everyone was in; the enemy would never reveal itself without a plan. This wasn't the revelation of their foe, it was the springing of a trap. He needed to be alert - to see through the facades and distractions to the heart of the peril...

...even so, Savien never could have anticipated what happened next.

The explosion from the stands rocked the very grass he stood on. He staggered, falling to a knee to steady himself and bracing his back against the blast. His ears rang from the noise, his heartbeat a drum in his ears. Wood chips and shrapnel pinged against his plate.

Valentine Park was a war zone. Bodies lay mangled in the grass, some dead, some clutching at wounds bleeding from their limbs and torsos. Others waited patiently in the dirt to die. In the distance he saw plumes of smoke and fire stretching into the sky from other parts of Lutetia. Not just Valentine, he realized. They hit the whole city. My city.

Fear gripped him - the same fear from the Phantom Quarter - cold and sharp in his brain. He felt Nox's talons dig into his muscles and saw the pale, lidless eyes of Winter, beckoning him to just give up. So much had happened already - so much death - and it was only the beginning. Lie down, human. Curl into a ball and die...

Savien snarled and banished the thoughts. He dug his sword into the grass and used it to help him rise. He was a paladin. If he died today, it would be on his feet, not his knees.

"Sorrel!" He barked at Crista. "Help Dufort and Perrin!" He pointed to the master and the paladin engaged with 'Noah' alongside Inarin and Luca. "Get the proselytes to safety!" He stood with Kurtrin, Leandre and Aureleon and faced the oncoming Dread Knight. "We'll handle this one-"

He met her eyes - twisted in hate and malice, her face swathed in decay - yet they had been human eyes once. Eyes that Savien had looked upon.

"...Elisabeth..." he gaped, his sword lowering. "What... how..."

His eyes wandered what should have been Monastic plate - what used to be a paladin's sword. Savien's brows furrowed, his jaw clenched. He brought his blade back into form.

"What have you done?"

---

"Hoooolllyyyy shit," Aaro ducked behind the counter of the coffee shop as the bombs went off. Shrapnel and debris flew past him - the hotdog stand which he'd passed not a minute ago now blown to smithereens.

"What the..." the hapless barista paled. They both looked out into the larger park. Smoke rose all around them, the screaming crowds running in every direction. "Oh my god... are we... we're gonna die..."

Fear gripped Aaro, but he handled it better. He was a proselyte: he had some degree of training in situations like this. At the very least, he didn't panic.

Weapon, his instincts told him. protection. A large, sharp knife lay on a cutting board in the barrista's stand, likely used to halve sandwiches.

"Get yourself to safety, pal," Aaro vaulted the counter and swiped the knife. "Stay off the streets, don't talk to anyone who's not a cop, a paladin or a paramedic." Aaro's plan was simple - find his friends and get them to safety. Let the Order handle whatever was going down.

He turned to leave. Wait, say something cool. Say something cool.

The proselyte turned and flashed a grin. "Oh. And uh... I'm gonna have to get those coffees 'to go'."

Nailed it.

The proselyte rushed into the thick of danger, determined to find his friends.
 
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Crista nodded curtly at Savien's order and sprinted in the direction of Dufort and Perrin. Along the way her sharp eyes were looking for any civilians who needed her help in escaping. Sadly, the closer she got to the arena where the paladins were faced against the impostor of Noah, all she found were innocent bodies. They didn't know what hit them.

Crista's teeth grit in rage. All of her anger all of her frustration that she had been holding back was bursting forward. She charged through the flames and the smoke around her, wielding her long sword two handed by the hilt decorated with a wolf's snarling maw at the base. She swore she would strike down this beast for destroying her home and threatening her family.
 
Though he was right behind Inarin and Luca, Ghislain had gotten swarmed by the crowd before he was able to join them. The panic of the crowd had attempted to bowl him over, but he kept his footing steady and waded through a mass of bodies, getting to the arena as the battle raged between the imposter and the Order.

He drew his own sword, raising it to fight. The more they overpowered him, the better their chances. They'd had these kinds of exercises in practice before. It was time to put them to use.

__________________________________________________________

When the bombs went off, Aderyn was frozen in place. Debris and shrapnel swept by her, but was in so much shock, she didn't register all that grazed by her face and made little cuts in her skin. For a moment the witch believed her heart stopped. All she saw was the bodies that were consumed by or were sent flying by the explosion.

Shortly after, the crowd consumed her, leaving her in an ocean of panic. Though she attempted to resist them, she was weak from the attack in the forest from days past. She fell to one knee and was almost shoved onto the ground, but managed to make it toward the source of the explosion. As soon as she had some breathing room, she looked up to the sky.

"Naaz!" she cried. "Lend me your eyes!"

The bird that had been circling above swooped down and searched the crowd, then willed Aderyn through it.

She sprinted where she could, following Arianne as she wormed her way through the crowd.

___________________________________________________________

When the bombs went off, Coralie’s eyes glassed over in the direction of the arena. The shock took a moment, but once it hit her she let out a horrified scream, one hand reaching upward to clasp over her mouth. She almost didn’t notice when Abel took her hand until he spoke.

“He… he went to see his friend go and spar! Abel he’s over there! We have to sa… Abel what if he’s dead? Oh, Selene, I-” Tears spilled out of her eyes and the proselyte would feel her hand shaking in his grip.

As Coralie began to break down, Abel pulled her close and embraced her. “You don’t know that,” he couldn’t help but tear up himself, but he held back anything more than that. “Try calling him, then we can go look for him.”

Coralie nodded as she fought sobs, the phone rattling in her hand as she tried to dial in Ghislain’s number.

It rang. Once, twice, thrice. It didn’t stop until the smooth tone of the voicemail alert woman chimed in.

She closed the phone quietly, looking up at Abel with hopeless eyes.

“We… we need to find him.”

Abel nodded and let go of her, and started to wade through the crowds towards the sparring grounds.

The traumatized young woman followed behind Abel, feeling her heart race in her chest. She almost didn’t want to see what came of Ghislain, but if there was a chance of getting him out of there, she had to.
 
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Kurtrin's stride sent civilians sprawling in his wake. His concern was not for their well being, not ultimately. Their lives, yes, but if they suffered scrapes and bruises on the way to his destination, he cared little. Just as the Golden came within eye shot of the arena, several things seemed to happen all at once...

The world vanished around him as he saw the animancer who shouldn't be put his blade through Izaic's midsection. The closest thing he'd ever had to a son, slain in an instant.

The world was engulfed by fire and blood and a cacophony of screams. Debris and sinew rained all around him, coating the park in a layer of carnage the likes of which he had not seen in more than half a century, not since he was young, barely a man grown. His radiant blade shook in his gauntleted hand as he struggled to keep control of himself. Kurtrin didn't realize it, but his own voice had joined the cries of horror, though his was one of rage, indignant and righteous! It was a war cry, a primal relic of his years of service returned to him. This was it. This was their first attack. His first attack.

He saw 'Noah' swarmed by foes, with more coming towards whatever it was that wore the Warden's face. The hurt, the emotional pain that rocked the old veteran's very soul demanded he join them, but they already out numbered the imposter five to one, and that number seemed to be steadily growing. No. There was only one who would taste his blade this day. The description of Savien's attacked barraged his mind, until that was all that was there. No anger. No hate. No sadness, though the tears still fell. He knew who to look for. It hadn't even occurred to him that no one might join him on his single-minded quest for vengeance, that brothers Durandet, Nuvellon, and Montagne might not follow him. The Golden had only one target.

And nothing would stop him from finding Nox.

----------------------

A ghost seemed to move through the crowds, alabaster of skin and raven of hair. Its grace, otherworldly, panicked onlookers later recalling that it seemed to float rather than walk. Eyes, full of cruelty and mirth would haunt the dreams of those that escaped his reach, shimmering and pale and so terribly blue. At first, it was content to oppose the wave of mortals who impeded, ever so slightly, its progress towards the center of the festival grounds. That was briefly lived, however, for soon it grew bored of pacifism.

Large, delicate hands, well manicured, would transform into terrible talons, claws of black ice and as long as harvest sickles would find screaming flesh in their path, ripping through common folk like they were no more than wet paper. Entrails and scraps of flesh would rain upon the crowds, turning the area around the monster hazy with a sanguine mist.

The face, eerily beautiful but seconds before, seemed to shatter and pock in upon itself. Porcelain skin, previously unmarred, turned sickly grey and cracked, as if the features had been made of glass and dead flesh before being struck with a hammer. The mouth, the teeth, turned slack and hung upon loose jaw hinges, as if distended and broken, far too wide. Cavernous. An abyssal maw of ebony ice and broken fangs, that somehow, incomprehensibly to those who looked upon it, kept its shape of mirth, a ravenous simper.

And those eyes. The eyes of Caeruleum! The sclera faded away, lost under that terrible cyan that equally overtook the pupils, leaving orbs that shone cold light upon those they gazed upon.

Each life he took, his form grew more exaggerated, monstrous. Each swipe of terrible claw and rend of viscera seemed to swell the creatures size. Each howl of pain and fear unleashed by the humans he slaughtered and those who watched, could do nothing but, seemed to empower him. Those connected to the arcane, nay, to any form of magic, would feel his aura, a palpable, almost physically tangible typhoon of frigid dread that numbed the flesh, pricked at the mind, and sank dead fingers into their very souls as he passed among them. Soon, none stood in his path.

And it had carried him to Nathan. His low-born son. Moving past him with an appreciate tap on the young vampire's shoulder.

No longer did he move with supernatural grace. His movements had devolved, a bounding stride that shook the earth beneath him. Those he was after would know it. How could they not?

Nox Gildea Caeruleum, Chosen of Winter, pursued the Castellanes, leaving a trail of butchery in his wake...
 
Crista's two-handed swing would be rebuffed with ease by 'Noah's' weapon, a parry that threatened to tear the sword from her grip by its strength. He paused not for a moment, for he had not the opportunity, blades thrust and swung towards him from every angle. The facade of humanity was abandoned, as a spear of some strange black carapace-like substance burst from the wrist of his free hand to form a second blade with which to combat his attackers. The weight of numbers was beginning to show, and with six of the Church's warriors now upon him, his focus was forced to remain solely upon defence. Far from looking worried, however, the not=Noah's grin grew only broader. Now this was more like it. This was a challenge. This was fun.


"He's coming this way, oh god, he's coming this way," Al had dared a panicked glance over his shoulder as he, Val and Arien fled from Nathan through the dwindling dregs of the crowd. The sight of the towering monster striding towards them was enough to turn his stomach with fear.

"Keep running," Arien hissed. "Just keep running!"

But his own glance back was enough to tell him that wasn't going to work. Nox was gaining on them rapidly, each of his strides covering the same distance as three of theirs. Swearing, his options flashed through his head at dizzying speeds. Run, his instincts screamed. Leave them, and run. If he wasn't limiting himself to human pace, he might have a chance of escaping. Like as not, the twins were his target, not Arien. He could escape.

But in doing so, he would be losing his longest project... and his best friends, in the city.

"Oh, fuck me," he swore, coming to an abrupt halt and turning around. A few paces ahead, the twins stopped too, shock painted on their faces.

"Arien, what-" Val started, only to be interrupted.

"Well we clearly can't outrun him," Arien hissed between gritted teeth. A knife had slipped from his sleeve into his hand as his emerald orbs locked on the incoming monstrosity. "So that leaves trying to talk him down." There was a pause, followed by a slightly hysterical laugh. "Oh, I am so gonna die." As Nox drew closer, the young vampire stood in his path with a terrified-yet-defiant stare. "Hey!" he yelled once the Caer was close enough to hear him over the screaming. "Back off, these ones are mine!"

Behind him, the twins watched, wide-eyed and trembling. Val reached out and took his brother's hand in his own. It was clammy with sweat, but felt like a lifeline in the dark all the same. Huddling together behind Arien, they watched, and prayed for a miracle.


At Nox's back, Nathan watched his advance upon the Castellane twins without moving. When their other friend turned to face the Caer, the boy shook his head, and turned away. There was no need to watch. He knew how it would end.

Trailing ice in a localised blizzard behind him, Nathan walked. Where he passed, fleeing civilians were frozen mid-step, forming statues that cracked and shattered upon falling to the earth. His eyes stayed downturned, as though ignoring it all. The death, the screaming.

None of it really seemed to matter.
 
All hell seemed to break out at once and for the life of him, Jimmy couldn’t comprehend the chaos happening. When the explosions sounded, he ducked and covered his ears, snapping his gaze towards those few he stood near. It bothered him that Arien had gone off with Val and Al to get In and that he had lost track of the three. Growling a little, he stood back up and glanced around at the carnage, rage filling him almost instantly. It had to be him and the bastards that were part of his family, right? Before he could say anything, one of the bodyguards were ordering them to stick close or they would be left.

“We can’t leave without Inarin or even Arien and Aaro! What if they need help?” Jimmy was torn between rushing off to find his friends or sticking close to someone that was clearly wanting to protect them. He growled again, squeezing his fists before glancing around for Aaro. “Shouldn’t we do something?! We can’t just stand here and let our friends get killed!”


Mia screamed when the bombs when off and screamed again when others started to scream. Her eyes darted around and she felt bile starting to rise up at the smell of burning flesh. Shaking her head, she took off like a shot despite being told to stick by or chance being left. She was running towards the screaming crowds, desperate to do her Proselyte duty and help those that needed it, her life be damned.
 
Leandre fanned out from behind Savien and widened his stance, facing Duval. He elected to stay behind alongside himself, slowly shuffling around as an attempt to encircle the knight.

"Paladin Duval, stand down!" The Fortress barked, once again clanging his sword against his shield, as if to challenge her.


As Winter's avatar showed itself, Arianne could feel its presence from across the park. She changed direction, almost on a dime, and made her way towards Nox. The ceremonial knife came from her sleeve and slipped into her hand as she ran. Crackling arcane energy extended from its blade into a full-fledged sword, a makeshift stand-in for a real weapon.



The knight of flame drew her blade. A greatsword by monastic standards, one that even the mightiest of paladins would heft with two hands, now held aloft effortlessly in one hand, the end pointing at Durandet. Its metal was stained black but retained a dull shine wherever it was not pitted nor scored. Runes in a tongue foreign to Lutetia were etched along the fuller, and each flickered and glowed.

"I have done nothing!"
The embers at the edges of her plate glowed with renewed rage, as well as something dangling about her neck. A tarnished silver, damaged and corroded, yet recognizable as two-thirds of the Order's raven. She turned and pointed the blade at Nuvellon and Montagne next. Even from their distance, the intense heat radiating would be felt, as if standing before a bonfire.

"You allowed this to happen, all of you!"
Her stance widened, her off-hand opened from a clenched fist to a more open hand, revealing what were once gauntlets now replaced with a carapace of seared slag, sharpened into wicked talons at her fingertips. Each claw alone could have been a dagger.

Within her own mind, she could hear it singing to her again, whispering sweet nothings of an end to her agony, for fulfilling a simple request. It was the very same voice that spoke when Harik first saved her. It told her to burn them, burn them all.

Elisabeth Duval Caeruleum, born of ashes and hellfire, swiped her weapon to the side as if flicking away blood, a torrent of flames roaring from its blade. The runes shimmered to life along the fuller, now white-hot.

"Come, die for your Wick!"
 
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