Chronicles of The Omniverse Archived The Isle of Saint Maria

Tiko

Tiko

Draconic Administrator/Mentor
Administrator
Mentor
Nexus GM
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The Isle of Saint Maria is perhaps the most secure Inquisition stronghold in Issunar. Otherwise known as Fort Solitude, it is where the order conducts much of its research and development, and where their darkest secrets are buried. Though the fortress’ construction dates back many centuries, as evidenced in its archaic architecture, its walls and defenses have been continually renovated over the years to preserve its nigh-on impenetrability. All the walls of the compound are reinforced with steel, and topped with sanctified barbed wire.

Manned turrets and bunkers line the outer walls, including artillery capable of defending against an assault by military naval vessels, and anti-air defenses. A company of two-hundred and fifty Inquisitorial Blades protects the island at all times, led by High Inquisitor Telford Marchal, and at any given time there can be expected to be several dozen inquisitors on site.

The Isle is divided into several lines of defense. The outer ward holds the Blade Barracks, outer armory, vehicle depots, and dock. A heavy-duty gate can be raised or lowered to allow ships access to the docks through the walls, and there is an outer dock beyond the walls with foot-access to the base through a smaller and more heavily fortified gate.

Within the inner ward is located a number of training yards and shooting ranges, laboratory facilities and living quarters for research staff, along with a relatively expansive library.

The innermost portion of the Isle is also deceptively its most expansive. The Monastery of Saint Maria is a tall and imposing building that in some ways more closely resembles a keep than a monastery. Whilst its upper halls are as one might expect from a religious headquarters, with abundant archives, an armory, places of worship and offices for the Lutetian Inquisition’s high command, it is below the Monastery that its secrets lie. An expansive underground facility stretches down through the island and below sea level, layers upon layers of metallic hallways with a deliberately confusing layout, with dozens of redundant layers of lockdown security.

It is in this underground facility that the Inquisition vaults lie, containing the most dangerous artefacts and knowledge that the Inquisition has collected for protection and research over the years. Layers of the vaults exist that can only be accessed through hidden stairwells or unlabelled codes on the elevators, and there are sections of the facility that can be ‘purged’ - flooding them with fire - should they be breached.
 
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A small void would split the sky dozens upon dozens of feet above the island's tallest structure, with no more noise than the whisper soft ripping of wet paper and a small, almost comical 'pop'. The shadows within it seemed to churn and spasm, quivering from unseen stimulation, the tear growing wider and wider with each passing second, though no other noise was made. But much like the floating blot of darkness, the silence was short lived.

The sound.

At first, it seemed nothing more than a rush of wind, the ear whipping screech of tempest winds. But as the portal continued to expand, now nearly eight feet tall, the noise grew deeper in pitch, rumbling like a thousand and one voices calling out for blood and justice. It would only become louder from there, turning from war chant into a deafening rumble of thunder and broken stone and snow. The absence of light would pulsating, seeming to cling to something that simply wasn't there, as if it were desperately trying to birth a storm in the coastal skies around the island. Just when it seemed like the cacophony couldn't grow any worse, something would come falling out of the aerial pit of nothing, darkness clinging to it like a lover's tendrils as it fell headfirst towards the tallest spire the fortress had to offer.

The object, massive and humanoid, fell like a meteor hurled by a malevolent god across the cosmos, long ebony hair flying behind it's balled up form like a celestial tail. The object would stay compacted, round, gaining more and more velocity until the second before it made impact with the roof, where it would throw its form wide, revealing to the confused and horrified residents of the island that it was a man. An impossibly large monstrosity of a man with ashen skin and terrible oh-so-very blue eyes. In an explosion of stone and timber and steel, this towering demon would crash through the roof of the tower with enough force to shake the entire structure, opening a massive hole in his wake.

This man brought fear. He brought destruction. And most importantly, he brought allies, as more forms began to emerge from the slit that had brought him to this place.

Nox had come to the Isle.
 
Corso arrived at Saint Maria prepared for battle. Attacking one of the most secure fortresses on the continent was no small feat, and the necromancer was more than ready to give hell to the pitiful forces of the church. How long had it been since he'd murdered an inquisitor? Fifty years? Eighty? The number hardly seemed important; it had been too long.

Of course, what the necromancer had not been expecting was to be teleported three dozen feet above the isle itself.

"Oh, you motherfuckers-" He had just enough time to curse both Nox and Zanzi before he was plummeting to the earth, hastily muttering a spell beneath his breath to mitigate the impact. He fell through the same crater Nox had.
 
As if queued, Zanzi appeared soon after Corso cursed. A retort had come to mind, but she decided against it for the moment. All she could think of was the irritation like a sting against her entire being. She knew this would be a possibility, but this 'trip' would not be a fully pleasurable one. She of course burst into shadow form, following swiftly after her master. The irritation increased as she drew closer to the holy grounds, but Nox would soon find himself in good company.

Alek's face cracked into a broad grin as he fell, a gleam in his maddened gaze. Close to the ground, he too erupted into shadows and reformed a bit of a distances away from the others. His golden hues burned bright as it fell upon a young man who was rooted to the spot with a mixture of shock and terror. The tall vampire walked over to the petrified man, the smile still upon his pale features. “Death welcomes you.” He said before grabbing the man’s head and sharply twisted with a sickening snap.
 
The Isle of Saint Maria was not a fortress to be taken lightly, by any means. One of the – if not the most secure place in all of Lutetia, it was equipped to fend off would-be intruders from almost all angles. An ordinary air approach would have been met by heavy AA fire, turrets and vigilant watchmen. A foe teleporting in from the sky overhead, however, was not a scenario that had been envisioned during the fortress’ design.

The appearance of a tiny black dot in the sky went unnoticed until the cacophonous sounds from within began to rumble across the island. At that moment, Inquisitor Alexandre Séverin was making his way across the courtyard of the inner ward, accompanying the fort’s commander, High Inquisitor Telford Marchal.

“God’s breath, what is that?” the High Inquisitor hissed a curse, staring up at the swirling black void just about visible beneath the cloud bank.

Alexandre followed his gaze, lips thinning somewhat at the sight. “If I had to hazard a guess, High Inquisitor, I’d wager we’re about to receive some unwelcome guests.”

As if on cue, it was at that moment that Nox burst forth from the void, followed quickly by Corso, Zanzi and Alek. The High Inquisitor cursed again, as at the same time a siren started to blare across the yard, the alarm being raised. A voice broadcast from both men’s radios, projected from a communications tower over the inner ward. “All forces, the Island is under attack-“ a loud crash echoed from overhead, as the monster burst through the roof of the great tower and disappeared from view “-the attackers have breached the inner keep, all patrols report to your commanding officer. The enemy has entered into the tower sanctuary…”

Orders continued to come through the radio, but Alexandre tuned them out. Marchal was barking his own commands at those nearby, and had started to break into a run towards the keep when Alexandre called out to him. “High Inquisitor!”

“What is it, Séverin? Make it quick!”

“This seems to me an ideal opportunity to field-test what we were discussing, does it not? Do I have your permission to put my men into action?”

There was a moment of hesitation from the High Inquisitor, doubt plain on his face. That moment was the moment that a new voice broke onto their communications, one of those within the keep itself. “It’s him! The Caer is here!”

Telford paled slightly, then gritting his teeth, he nodded. “I hope you know what you’re doing, boy. God have mercy on us if you and Katherine were wrong.”

“We don’t make a habit of it, High Inquisitor,” Alexandre answered with a smile. “You won’t be disappointed.”


In the meantime, Nox, Corso, Zanzi and Alek would quickly realise that what they had landed in – the highest room in the tallest tower – was a shrine. Stained glass windows, cushions on which to kneel and Evequec symbolism were prominent throughout the chamber, along with a tall marble statue of Saint Selene, at the base of which lay a number of candles, flowers and the like. The tranquil atmosphere had been shattered by the rain of splintered wood and tiles from their entry.

The man that Alek quickly grabbed and killed was one of the shrine attendants. The youth barely had time to scream before he was dead, dropping the cloth and the silver goblet that he had been polishing with it to the ground with a clatter. Another young man - dressed like a soldier - had been kneeling at the shrine when the roof broke inwards, and upon seeing Nox, before his allies had even landed, he turned tail and ran for the door, yelling into his radio as he went. The only other person present in the room was a priest, an elderly man in simple robes. Shock and pain was clear on his face as his young companion dropped to the ground, and he took an involuntary step back. Plucking a cross from the shrine, he held it up, muttering a prayer to Eleau in the face of his death, his voice wavering.

“Blessed are they who stand before the darkness of Ténèbre and do not falter…”
 
Nox approached the old man, and with a flick of his wrist the unfortunately soul was soon a splattered mess, throwing his remains across the shrine and its walls. "Too bad I'm not Ténèbre. Maybe that would've worked." It had only been a scant few hours since the massacre at the park, and yet to Nox, it had felt like years since blood had last touched his skin. "So, Alek. Judging by the sirens, I'd say we have company on its way. Which way did your informant say my father's blade rested?"

Not that there were many ways to go. They were at the highest point already, so its not like they could go up. "We also need to find the source of the island's barriers. Until we do, Zanzibar won't be giving us an exit out of here. So the basic plan is find the sword, destroy whatever fields are inhibiting my dearest of demons, and then get the hell out. Of course, feel free to take whatever you want, and kill whoever you want as we go."

The Caer would clench one hand into a fist by his side. The tension would travel further and further up his arm, across his chest, his entire body straining. Each muscle would bulge and pop, veins standing out against the skin, every inch of tissue spasming from the power building inside the Patriarch. "Time for the second part of the ride! Going down!"

All at once, Nox would become a blur, slinging his fist downward with every ounce of energy he could store inside himself. To ensure that the entire tower shook once more, and that the floor beneath them would collapse, the Caer would dump as many souls into his crazed fist as possible. Ten. Twenty. Half of the souls from Valentine's massacre. It was like he was trying to bring the upper half of the tower down around them.

And he did.
 
Corso scoffed, unimpressed with the attendant as Nox turned him into a stain on the wall. It was always the same with these fanatical Evequist types - clutching their raven symbols, their holy books, denouncing the dark with all that "the Light shall overcome" nonsense. He wished he could have been in the man's head during his last moments; he wished he could have felt the anguish in the man's soul upon realizing that there was no Light to greet him at the end of his journey, that all which awaited him was the cold, endless dark of oblivion, that the bigotry and ignorance to which he had dedicated his life was all for nothing, all for nothing...

The necromancer snapped back to attention as Nox began talking with Alek. He had to move quickly. Taking the two dead attendants in hand, Corso drew a knife from his belt and swiftly consolidated the best parts of each into one body. The younger man had the better muscle tissue, ligaments and joints... the old man seemed to have a healthier heart (how curious, that)... back and forth he went, his hands a blur, swapping organs to and fro as if he were stuffing a scarecrow. Guts roiled, blood spattered the floor, his clothes. Sickly green light blumed wherever he touched, skin knitting together, still-warm organs molding into place, bones re-forming, hardening...

He finished just as Nox powered his next attack: a makeshift revenant, made with the best parts of two men and then juiced up on necrotic energy. As the next level came down around them, Corso grinned. He was already twice as strong as when they'd first arrived.
 
The elder vampire had a similar mindset as Corso. He merely smirked as the old man's light was snuffed. Had he not been in their same shoes once? Hoping that The Light would embrace him despite the fact he was a monster in all accounts of the church's definition? It seemed eons ago now. And now he was free from the heavy chains of suffering a fate he had not wished for.

Alek pointed down at Nox's question, as if that wasn't already known. "Unfortunately, my informant only knew that it was stored here. Further research suggests that there are places below that it would be kept hidden." He raised a brow as Nox began to power up. Alek braced to fall again.

As the floor gave way and they began to fall, Nox would feel the shadow hugging him shutter. He'd feel a burning in the palm of his hand as well.
 
The tower caved. The upper layers of the Isle's keep, although built of strong and well-maintained stonework, and in places reinforced with steel, buckled beneath the onslaught of so much soul energy. The vibrations of the strike shook the entire structure, and the floor beneath them was reduced to rubble. Down, they plummeted, stone and steel forming a deadly rain to accompany their descent, through the floor of the shrine, through the floor of the library below, through the floors of offices, bedrooms and storage rooms all. Bodies joined them in the descent - only a few of them soldiers. Most of them were scholars from the library. They reached the ground floor in a rain of debris that threatened to crush the less resilient of the group under its weight, forming a great mound at the tower's base. Above them, the tower itself seemed unsteady - holes punched through each and every one of its floors.

There was a creak, as on the top floor, the statue of Saint Selene teetered on the edge of the hole.

And then it fell, plummeting towards them and - presuming all avoided its descent - shattering into fragments atop the rubble pile, marble-carved sword spinning into one of the room's walls.

The clouds of dust took a while to clear, filling the air and making breathing all but impossible for a short time. A pair of double doors stood as the exit from the tower, leading from the keep's main floors into the tower's base. They stood closed still.

On the far side, a corridor awaited - stretching off to the right and left both. To the right, a group of Inquisitorial Blades had formed hasty ranks upon hearing the collapse of the tower - just over a dozen of them - levelling automatic weapons and awaiting the emergence of their foe.

Throughout the rest of the base, the island's defenders were moving to respond. Doors to the lower levels were being sealed, support staff and scientists fleeing to safe rooms, and inquisitors and blades alike arming themselves. These few men in the hallway were unlikely to slow Nox by much, but they were but the first show of the island's teeth. It would not fall without a fight.
 
Nox would be the first to move in on the defenders, unslowed by numerous broken bones and ruptured organs. Much like at the park, his body would continue to swell as he drew upon the emotions around him, and those stored inside. The Caer hadn't feasted this well on terror since the Skirmishes!

"Kill them all! Spare no one!" Would be his own commands as he barreled towards the group of Blades on the left, most of the automatic fire passing harmlessly through his temporarily incorporeal flesh, or bouncing off of his ever hardening, chitinous skin. The few rounds that would find home would do nothing to slow the Patriarch. In fact, it did nothing but make him laugh.

The poor bastards never knew what him them. Especially the gunner at the head of its formation. In the last few feet, Nox would launch himself into a leaping, throwing the Inquisitor's allies to the side as his unhinged jaws snapped around the soldier's neck, demolishing the head between his teeth in a spray of gore akin to smashing a rotten watermelon with a sledgehammer.
 
Corso grunted, rising from the floor as the world steadied and the smoke began to clear. The potions he'd taken and the necrotic energy he was storing in his body protected his bones and innards from the brutal falls, but the pain was not so easily shut out.

He stepped to the side, narrowly escaping the statue. It shattered beside him, flecks of stone and marble peppering his face. He looked into the determined eyes of Selene Evequéc and offered the saint an apologetic nod. "From ash we are born..." He kicked the head, sending it tumbling over the debris pile. "...to ash we shall return..." He smiled. Evequist orisons were full of such irony...

He looked ahead into the hallway. Nox was already taking care of the resistance, though he was sure more would come. Soldier corpses - good. More thralls. The necromancer hurried forward, eager to capitalize on the spoils of the dead before Nox led them onward.
 
Alek had a more graceful fall, but still did not walk away unscathed. Bone and sinew creaked and popped as they healed back into place, the dark man grinned and pulled out two very large hand guns from within his coat. Each silver pistol was inscribed with some ancient scripture on the side. "With pleasure." He said, half growling his response. He immediately took aim to the nearest man and pulled the trigger.

The poor stood gaping for the briefest of moments, feeling the the hole where part of his chest had been just seconds prior. Alek followed the Necromancer, popping shots as he could, biting and ripping with his teeth. Occasionally an unfortunate soul would find themselves ablaze. And all the while, Alek's laugh echoed coldly down the halls.

---

The shadows would grow from the ground before Nox towards the defenders. Two tendrils spread and started to inch up the legs of a couple of unwary men..
 
The defenders in the hallway fell within moments of the group of fiends storming out from the tower, leaving the hallway empty but for them and the corpses. The sound of sirens, shouting, and booted feet on stone filled the air, but for the time being Nox and his allies were alone in the heart of the keep. Orders had come to fall back from their position - there was no purpose to sending more bodies at the Caer lord. Numbers would be of little use to them without proper coordination and equipment.

There was reprieve, but also lack of purpose. The keep was a maze of hallways without any clear direction to those who did not know it. The group could easily wander for hours and never find the cleverly concealed entrances to the underground of the island.

Or, they might have done, were it not for the intervention of another.

Nox's powerful aura was like a beacon in the void to those that could sense such things, and one such entity was close enough that his presence was enough to rouse a mind that had long-since abandoned consciousness.

The presence that reached out to Nox's own was quiet, faint - like a stymied candle to a bonfire. But it was there. And he would know it.

As the presence cried out: 'Brother...'
 
Nox's patience was teetering on absolutely fucking edge of oblivion, and he felt himself itch with agitation at every fruitless corner turn, every empty dead end room, every thrice-be-damned RESTROOMS he found! Why would any place have so many toilets?! Nox had never felt a hatred more scalding hot than the one he had surged through his dead heart at the sight of a urinal, or a porcelain throne!

As his mental state gradually deteriorated, he'd begin lashing out. Ripping half-foot gouges into the walls. Picking things up and throwing them as hard as he could, sometimes having them come very close to hitting his companions. On several occasions. Along with the acts of aggression, his physical form would shed layer after layer of the illusion that concealed his true nature. Each aspect of his body gradually became so monstrous, so demonic, it was hard to say how it could have once appeared human.

After yet another barren room that led no where except where they had come from, and yet another large piece of furniture thrown bare inches from Corso's face, Nox could take no more of it. He was about to launch into such a tirade about the Inquistion's architect and interior designers, and their bizarre inability to design a place that made any sort of sense to the eye! All of it was boring and confusing and so utter labyrinthine it was no wonder it had taken the Order seven years to end the Skirmishes! It all made sense now!

But he'd never get into the first word. Not a single syllable would pass his lips. He'd grow very quiet. Very...withdrawn. But something was bubbling under the surface. Zanzi would feel it first. Alek and Corso shortly after. The aura that surrounded him was quickly turning into a maelstrom of insidious, soul twisting wind and contemptuous, life draining cold. But to those that could see it physically manifest, it would be moving, trying to hone in on something. Searching desperately. And then it all happened in a flash.

The energies around the Caer Lord would transform, from a ravenous hurricane to a well aimed spear. It guided the demon of winter towards the closest ventilation grate, and once there, Nox would begin tearing at the floor. Like he was trying to dig downward. down into the dirt below the complex, down into the island itself. Each strike at the building beneath his feat was stronger than the last, more erratic, and far more dangerous to his own body. He'd feel his bones break, from pinky finger to shoulder. But they'd repair themselves between blows. And then shatter all over again. The Caer was pouring every bit of himself into every gouge of flooring, every inch he moved forward to whatever he was seeking.

And he was getting faster. And angrier. And with each blow yielding nothing and nothing, over and over, he'd begin to scream. A resonating, thunderous roar that shook the air around him. There was only one emotion that could've made him this angry. This utterly blind with rage. An ire that the toilets from earlier could never compete with.

And it was love.

'I'm on my way, Avacyn...Where are you? Please...please tell me I wasn't just hearing your voice again...and that its really you...'
 
Corso had already raised two of the dead soldiers. They followed close behind with vacant stares and rifles cradled, flesh-red scars covering their bodies in patchwork from where Corso had flash-sutured their wounds. Far from the mindless, drooling zombies of cinema, these drones were as spry and agile as any mortal. From a distance, they almost looked human. Only at close range was the grotesque truth laid bare.

The necromancer perked at the sudden honing of Nox's energy. He raised a brow as the Car Lord began digging into the earth, but said nothing. There had to be something they were looking for in this fortress; he doubted Nox would have attacked this island without some sort of endgame in place. The expression on his face, though... that wasn't the look of a gloating killer. A change had come over him. Corso imagined he'd found out why soon enough.
 
Zanzibar's arms wrapped around his shoulders protectively, half a phantom as she tried to comfort her Master. She could feel what he desired. She felt it as soon as Avacyn reached out for Nox. Gently, she whispered into his ear. "Master, there has to be a better way.." She said quietly. "We must find her, but I doubt we'd be able to dig down to her without triggering something that will take her away from you again.." She added.

Alek narrowed his eyes at the Caer lord, but turned away to face one of the entrances to where they now stood. "They'll be coming soon, and most likely more prepared now." He stated, changing the magazines to his weapons to a fresh set.
 
The room in which the Caer Lord and his entourage found themselves resembled something akin to a mess hall. It was a wide, open space with plentiful long tables and tall, arched windows filling the majority of one wall. The room was on the ground floor of the keep, but the windows overlooked a courtyard below, at the bottom of a rise and apparently now deserted. Nox had pummelled a crater into the centre of the room, boring through stone and into solid rock, but that was all he found. More rock. More stone. Whatever he sought here lay deep enough that his efforts bore no fruit.

There were numerous entrances to the room - one leading to the kitchens, a set of double doors leading out into a hallway that hung off their hinges where Nox had left them, and two additional smaller side-doors leading into other corridors, one to either side of the hall.

Keen vampiric hearing would detect the arrival of further resistance before it came into view. Ranks of armoured men - their protective gear not unlike that of the paladins, albeit of a sleeker design that emphasised mobility over stopping power - came into view at the end of the hallway, moving swiftly and raising rifles. They remained at that distance - two hundred feet or so - as they took aim at the hulking shape that still loomed over the lip of the crater he had dug. An order was barked, and they fired.

High calibre burst fire tore through the air towards Nox, seemingly no more of a threat to him than the previous hail, but in the moments after the first barrage was unleashed the reason for the defenders' delay became clear. As each bullet tore into Nox's body, they broke up, unleashing their chemical payload. Bloodbane ammunition: an experimental refactoring of the compound designed to release its deadly poison directly into the bloodstream of a target via bullet wounds. Theoretically less potent than a dosage imbibed by the vampire's own doing, but a markedly more effective method of delivery.

As the ranks of riflemen continued to fire, ahead of them comrades armed with shotguns or bearing riot shields prepared to defend them from retaliation. And the sound of more movement behind the room's other doors heralded more incoming soldiers.
 
The rabid Caeruleum didn't seem to register the complaints of his associates until it was too late. Even if the others heard the Inquisitors coming, Nox did not. He had not felt Zanzibar's touch, nor come to realize how close hostile creatures had drawn. It was only when the sound of rifle's cocking in succession did his desperate mind realize what was about to happen, and only then, he could never have fathomed the payload the projectiles were carrying.

For Nox, Veteran of the Skirmishes as he was, had mostly fought against the Houses of his fellow Undead. He'd been a shock troop commander in raids on mansions or hidden brawls in the Catacombs, a brutal cannibal ambusher of his own fellow nosferatu. Very rarely had he been at direct odds with the Agents of the Wick, so when it came to their weaponry, he was woefully unfamiliar with what it was he was about to encounter. Round after round of Bloodbane ammunition tore into his body, or rather, the upper third of it. His arms, his shoulders, his chest and his back, his neck, his cheeks and jaws. Lucky enough for the Caer Lord, his control was momentarily snatched away from him, his forearms swinging upward to protect the top of his skull just in to be shot in the elbow.

Then the fire took him. This was a pain unlike any he had felt before. It seared across his mind like an inferno, driving the cold from his body and the ichor from his wounds at an alarming rate. He'd fall to one knee, obscuring the rest of his hulking form in the half-pit he had dug in his fury.

It had only one effect beside the excruciating agony and the delayed response of his regeneration however, and that was that it had cleared his mind of the foggy cloud of hateful despair that had washed over him. For the nonce, he was himself once again.
 
Corso anticipated Nox to shrug off the rounds much as he had the previous volley. The Caer Lord was a bonified bullet sponge, soaking up more damage than a flash-healing garoux. Any one of those rounds, if a headshots, would have destroyed the body Corso was inhabiting, rendering him useless for the rest of the campaign.

But something was wrong. Nox wasn't getting up. He wasn't healing as fast as he should have. Pain... why was he in so much pain? The bullets shouldn't have... wait... Nox's wounds were steaming, as if his blood was boiling from the inside...

"Bloodbane!" Corso roared, "they've poisoned their ammunition, the bastards! Defend the Caer Lord while he recovers!" Perhaps the saving grace was that the toxin had been injected through a bullet, diluted both in quantity and ministration - far less potent then drinking it straight from a human body. He felt that Nox should be able to purge it from his system if given enough time... that was, so long as he didn't take many more hits.

Focusing his powers, Corso brought to bear several of the corpses in preceding rooms which he hadn't animated. They slid across the floor, gore dripping behind them, before forming up into a makeshift barrier protecting Nox from the fireline of the inquisitors. Green energy flowed through them as their flesh knit together, their bones expanding, hardening. A literal wall of bodies would prevent the Blades from continuing to pour their bloodbane rounds into their target.

Meanwhile, Corso's revenant's returned fire with their own weapons, taking defensive positions around the mess hall.
 
Zanzi had heard the coming hoard as well and tried more desperately to garner her master's attention to the now. Still, her pleases and coaxes had not gotten his attention. She was sure that he would just take the hits like normal, when she realized something wasn't right. She heard Corso's revelation and moved to act. The shadow expanded out from Nox and began to grow up in size. From the shadows formed a beast that looked a fowl imitation of a lion or similar. Its skin was fur-less, large mass of muscles lumped where they shouldn't, and huge stakes was stabbed into the thing, causing electricity to flow between them. Its face looked as if the skin has been peeled back from its muscles, and the wide sharp toothed grin was exposed. The same runes that lined Zanzi's body was depressed into the deformed lion's skin, and they glowed brightly as she stood between Nox and the onslaught of gun fire. There was a buzzing in the air, a soft hum, as it would seem the electricity pulsing between the spikes was charging.

Alek had been grazed himself, hissing in pain as his own regeneration slowed. Fortunately for him, he had been close to the edge of the archway that lead to where they were now. "Ash to ash then.." He muttered, holstering one of his weapons into his jacket. He then bent to touch the ground, focusing hard. A trail of tiles seemed to become goo and it turned the corner from where Alek stood to down where the paladins now stood, spitting steam and molten rock as it raced towards them.
 
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