Kingdom Hearts Eclipse - Chapter 2

[Endless Strategy]

-Then Vanessa decided to stay, then a monster came through the door, but the monster was actually a man, and he knew Merlin, and he had an injured boy and Galom just couldn’t keep up anymore. He was just a simple collector; after all, he just had passion and business smarts. He wasn’t accustomed to dealing with wizards or marshals or whatever, so couldn’t they just PLEASE leave him alone. It was like every rare phenomenon in existence wanted to shake his hand. Next he’d probably come face to face with some arcane mad-man who thought darkness was light and killing was kindness and some other such nonsense. By then Galom would have stopped caring. The only thought that clearly registered at this point was “If Merlin is this easy to find, then why haven’t the Marshals found him yet?”

Putting on his best smile, he hobbled over to the red-haired man, trying not to put his bad arm on display all the while. He gestured wordlessly to Merlin, then, still smiling, turned and wandered to one of the room’s corners, where he took a seat behind a table covered in books. There, now that he was out of sight these people could settle things themselves. Galom was more of a distraction than anything at this point, so he might as well just ignore them and let them do what they must. After getting a fair bit chomped out of him after hours of woods-searching, he was entitled to a break. As amazing as Merlin was, he figured he would forgive his rudeness later, after he had attended to Vanessa and the boy.

Galom took a lying down position, closing his eyes and just listening to everything around him.

 

[The Lionheart]

Calm, brown eyes surveyed the hall in front of them as a man stood, hands on his hips, trying to decide if this hall would lead him to dinner. Of course, the new marshal's intuition had been "leading" him towards the dining hall all night, and he had yet to stumble across such a room. Marcus ran his hand along the twisted, dark stone that lined the hallways, as if the castle could lend him his secrets through direct contact. Letting out a sigh (for the stone had certainly not lent him its secrets), Marcus removed his hand from the stone, and instead ran it through his hair. It was his first night on the job, and he was already late for work.

Hopefully, the King's in a good mood. Otherwise. . . Marcus decided not to think about the "otherwise" part. Of course, the King had given him no directions to said dining hall, but the rookie was sure that would be overlooked when push came to shove.

Deciding he had no clue whether or not he was going in the right direction, Marcus decided to walk down the hallway; he wasn't going to get more lost than he already was. Gripping various doorframes and pivoting towards various openings, Marcus discovered rooms upon rooms that seemed to have no use at all, as if their sole reason for existence was to add a sense of "doom and gloom" to the castle. Strolling along, Marcus turned yet another corner, expecting another long, foreboding hallway.

Instead, he almost ran straight into a man talking with one of the Eclipse King's reavers.

Marcus cleared his throat nervously as he looked around at the other Marshals sitting at the table. Most of them were expressionless, or at the very least, Marcus was unable to read their expressions. These beings (for some of them could certainly not be called "men") did not reach their positions by giving away their thoughts so easily. Peering around the two figures in front of them (for one of them certainly didn't look too happy he was there), the new marshal addressed the court of Marshals with the only thing he could think to say:

"Sorry I'm late, did I miss dinner?"

And in that moment, all he wanted to do was go right back into the hall and crawl into his room for the rest of the night, and possibly, the rest of his life.

 

[Orion]

A few hours later, Daedalus and his motley had made frends - or proved their aptitudes - to the point where their infiltration of the Ulysses crew would have more aptly been dubbed a form of absorption. They complemented the skills already existing, and acted in others ways as counterpoints, to both the personae and skill set amassed on the enormous submarine.

All the trucks, cars and various specialised vehicles boarded the sub in neat lines, trundling along and belching fumes even as they entered the Ulysses, where said effluence drifted up to the roof. Daedalus guessed the designers of the sub had included some means to vent out such gases, but he didn't know if they were skilled enough to allow them to vent out while also preventing the ocean coming in.
He pondered if they had mastered compact airlocks or not as they - along with all those who weren't hired guns - were coralled into the forward cockpit of the Ulysses, a massive sphere of reinforced amber glass, suspended in which was the free-to-pivot command deck, assuring the pilots and navigators always stood on even footing regardless of the sub's inclination or declination.

As some stood marveling at it, among them the young paleolinguist Milo, the big military man - Rourke - was advising them as to what the mission outline was at this stage. Even as the silver-haired giant of a man relayed this information, Daedalus quickly noticed gaping holes; contingencies that needed to be encountered for; and most of all, where to truly begin on the path to Atlantis. Eventually, Rourke's discourse ceased and he snapped Milo out of his admiration of the engineering seen in the cockpit alone by calling to him.

What followed was an amateurish-at-best presentation of readings from the Shepard's Journal combined with a slideshow of photographs and diagrams, which were in themselves not wholly terrible, but what made the experience painful to watch was the person co-ordinating it all: Milo Thatch, having rehearsed this moment for years in his museum boiler room in front of assembled mannequins, was practically kicked off his feet whenever someone asked a question outside of his scope.
Namely, that this presentation had always been planned for potential financiers. Now that he not only had them, but was embarking on the mission himself, the presentation was meaningless, and was probably only understood by those who had an interest in the whole picture, and not just their own role in it: Milo, Rourke, Daedalus, and his crew.

When Milo finally sat down after his rambling presentation, all were glad at its conclusion. Rourke thanked Milo for the show, though did little to hide his contempt for Milo's bookishness when not directly addressing him. Daedalus made sure to give Milo a gentle pat on the pack when he sat down with the crowd as Rourke essentially re-iterated Milo's own presentation, but in a more concise and well-delivered fashion. It did little to help Milo's mood, as Daedalus thought he could see the lanky youth almost starting to slouch in on himself, as though wishing to disappear entirely despite the opportunity presented to him.

At the conclusion of Milo's-cum-Rourke's speech, most of the crew departed to their own quarters or respective working areas, while Daedalus, his crew, and Milo remained with Rourke and his companion Helga, a strong and lithe woman of similar bearing to Rourke himself. As the cockpit returned to its more hum-drum and passive usual goings-on, Daedalus sat in a corner with his crew, idly chatting about what might be involved on their behalf. Ultimately, they came to the conclusion that nearly anything they'd encounter on the journey to the lost city would be taken care of by the Ulysses and the equipment and crew it carried.

Their role in events would unfold fully once they reached the city itself and the power source it contained. Some of the sub's crew might seek to profit from it's being sold off, or use it's energy to fuel a technological revolution, or rule the world. With the threat of The Eclipse King and his Reavers ever increasing, Daedalus anticipated that his own crew would be the most important of the elements amassed in the submersible - the concerns of all others were limited to this one world, while Daedalus, Danyal, Anton, Aiyana Leilani dealt with things in the scope of all the worlds.

After this, he stood about at various points around the cockpit, casually surveying the dark, amber-tinted under-seascape as it went by, all the while keeping his electromagnetic senses primed. With such a power source as myth suggested, the Atlanteans were bound to create machines to defend it, and so Daedalus kept track of any roving metals and power sources outside the Ulysses, only ever noticing just one. Large and intensely magnetised, it passed directly beneath the Ulysses, unmoving on the ocean floor. Daedalus rationalised it was a vein of iron ore that had been exposed by the constant erosion of ocean currents, and was reacting with the magnitude of electric fields emanating from the Ulysses, responding in kind to emit its own electric currents that flowed within the supposed mass through lines of greatest mineral purity.

Then the droning began.

 

[Ðari]

First Marshal Svether emerged from out of the ground and stood at the front of the table. Beneath his hood, he rolled his eyes tilting them with oblique suspicion. The deception would soon linger into obscurity, hmph...i'll postpone those investigations, the marshal thought.

His mood escalated to somewhat of a somber kind of vigor. Releasing a light breath, his teal irises then peered upon the newer of the marshals. Beheading his hood, the olden marshal of thirty-five's ghostly grayish white hair set him apart from the others along with his overly sharpened ears.

The bounty is welcome to the marshals and mercenaries alike, eat your fill. Svether tensed his tone with a firm yet hardy melody to his linguistics. He couldn't always be a stiff-collar, especially in the presence of newer marshals. Some might've viewed this kind of sincerity as a weakness, though, versatility was his strong suit after all. As the phantom raised his hand, a reaver on guard motioned and pulled a chair out for the new marshal.

Svether had this gesture as a form of class he'd exerted with everyone, even the peddlers captured by his liege. For even his liege had given him the chance to survive, prove and validate his worth as a vassal in the beginning. Sitting back down, he peered at the turkey and then the newer Marshal. To break the ice of the thick atmosphere, Svether spoke.

Darakai, Svether. First Marshal and shadow to his liege, The Eclipse King, but you can call me Seven as the familiar. To whom do I have the pleasure of consorting with? he spoke quite politely.

 

[OmniChaos]

"Marcus," Abel said, answering Seven's question. The boy had quickly made his way from the right of the Eclipse King's now empty seat to the two marshals down the table, a large turkey leg constricted by the boy's small hands. His hands were thick with grease, each of his fingers ending in jagged, chewed fingernails--which, if used right, could prove a painful weapon. The boy tore a generous chunk of meat from the turkey, revealing the white, greasy bone that shone and sparkled beneath the nearby flame. After a few rushed chews and a hurried swallow, Abel finished what he was saying. "His name is Marcus Gerrison."

Abel ripped another chunk of meat from the turkey leg, taking off half of the meat from the bone with it. Saliva drooled from the boy's mouth, mixing with the grease around his mouth, as he chewed the large portion of meat that filled his mouth. Abel dropped the remainder of the turkey leg, now half its previous weight, at the newer marshal's feet, as one would a dog. He wiped his grease-soaked hands on his black jacket, wiping them clean. With the back of his right hand, he wiped his mouth, pulling it across in one, clean sweep. As he swallowed, the boy looked up and gave a large, childish smile.

"He's some third-rate loser the king must have felt sorry for and decided to make him a marshal out of pity!" Abel let loose a gleeful cry. The boy climbed up onto the seat which had been pulled out for the new marshal and stood on top of it, so that he may be at eye-view of the two. He grabbed the top of the chair tightly, leaning closer to the marshal's face. "He won't even last a day in the field! Some junior keyblade wielder will come along and...BOOM!! Hehehehehahahaha!!!"

The boy leapt from the seat to Seven, locking his arms around his neck and hanging from his back like a scarf. He pulled himself upward, locking his legs around the man's waist and dropping his head next to the marshal's for him to better talk to the man, as well as distribute his weight in a more manageable method. "Don't you agree, Seven?" the boy tittered, grinning like a Cheshire Cat at Marcus. "Doesn't he just look so stupid?"

 

[Rhapsody]

Interesting. Very interesting. If only Cal were in milder spirits, she would have been inclined to chuckle at her present circumstance, to so boldly stare down her opposition and smirk with all the confidence of a skilled warrior who had already conquered her challenge. Oh, but Cal was anything but chipper at the moment. Anything but! Rightfully so, seeing as her wandering in this forsaken wood hour after hour left her without any new finding. Nothing of import and certainly nothing worthy of her praise or notice or gratitude, aside from the thick canopy that sheltered her from the weather elements. Well, it should be Cal who –

Hold on. The constant crunch of vegetation ‘neath the black converse sneakers slowed in tempo, soon naught more than a mere staccato until… silence. The melodic pitter-patter of rain melted from her awareness, till those brown eyes stared only onward. What was this? Ahead of her, pass the thicket of vegetation, laid a clearing and a small cottage. A burly man with a shock of red hair at the foothold, visibly distraught, his hands occupied by a blond male of not-so pristine condition. My, what have we here?

Nothin’ of your concern. That’s what.

Ah, good ol’ intuition. Viscous as a snarling mongrel, the gut feeling rumbled its warning to the keybearer woman, warned Calpurnia of her tread into dangerous territory. Try as it might, the persistent and private caution did naught to prevent the reawaken of unfortunate memories of old, Calpurnia’s last attempt to interfere into the affairs of another. That lost boy and the gruesome death of his beloved kin, the crumbling garden of radiance (May it rest in peace). And, of course, the Eclipse King, her beloved “Father”… But nothing more could have been done, yes? Yes. Regrets and somber recollections were but for the foolish, better left to rot and never again be resurrected. Just take care of your own, mind your own, and everything will be just dandy, right?

So why, then, did she abandon the shelter of the thick wood in favor of the open and cool downpour, why did those wretched feet shuffle into the clearing, ever closer to the entrance of that wretched cottage? Why, upon careful entrance into the quaint housing, did she stiffly duck her head in mild greeting to these unfamiliar countenances and occupants? “Anything I can do here?” And why on earth did such a welcome slip from her lips?

Take care your own, mind your own. Ha! What a completely different tune she sang now...

 

[Professor Ven]

Nothing was required to be said, as Quel'loyen merely nodded his head, planning, plotting, perceiving the tendrils of a plan in his mind. Traverse Town? That dark maze of twisting turns and slithering streets could give me enough leeway to take Ogen and vanish from DeCavis. And from there, take a breath of relief. Surely mine and DeCavis' paths will cross eventually, but not before I give Ogen the chance he requires.

"If possible, ferry us away from here tonight. I would rather our time here be brief, before the Marshals on this World catch an inkling of our presence; especially so if an agent of theirs has noted our arrival to this establishment of yours." The gauntlet clinked as Tal'shendar adjusted his arms, folding them behind his back.


____________________________________________________________________



They were garbed in black, yet that was of his own ruling. Dark as the Void that had swept the greatest civilization into the dust, replaced by huts of mud and swift-burning torches. The three beings he had chosen were humanoid, that was certain, as they stood, each one exactly like the other two - there was no discernible difference between them. At their sides were lithe blades, sheathed in leather. Each one carried around his belt provisions for long, silent journeys - rations, munny, and a logbook.

These three were handpicked by the Sarz'tien from a sea of other hopefuls, those who were powerful, yet not worthy enough to ascend to the rank of Marshal. The trio were adept at what was required for their service.

"You will do as instructed. If a Marshal other than myself should become an obstacle, dispose of them quietly. If you encounter members of this Rebellion, I want them captured alive, regardless of the circumstances." His voice never rose above a whisper, as Mirkhan leaned on his staff. "You will earn your names as you work towards the betterment of the Empire; until then, you are not among the living." To each he handed a small sphere of colored crystal, big enough to be held in one hand.

"Keep these, so that you can be found when needed. Until that day comes, you will lurk in the shadows. Do not make your presence known to anyone save yourselves. Now, go, and serve." He turned and strode from the blank, dim room, the staff's tolls guiding him without failure, as the Servants dispersed into pools of darkness, scattering themselves about the Worlds.

The game had changed.

 

[Ordeith]

Animus once again found himself being led by the white-haired monkey, who bounded through the streets in much the same manner. Even in the dark, however, he could sense a difference in their little guide: The monkey's limbs were swift and sure as before, but his gaze wandered down the other alleyways. Something like apprehension would flit across his face--before the group caught up with him, at which point he continued along his route.

In the early hours of the morning, Reaver patrols had died down. The streets were totally lightless, and totally silent. Even less to worry about . . . but Louie's little friend has developed a bit of a spring in his step. Animus sorted through his memory, through their conversation with Louie and their first journey to the Swingin' Vine. No discrepancies came to mind, except for the monkey's change in attitude.

At this moment, no queries could be made. Animus could only trust Louie's appointed guide; this part of Corona Major had been renovated in the past few years, and was unfamiliar to him.

Again through dirty puddles, again ducking under pipes and fire escapes.
Even to a detail-oriented scholar, and an assassin whose work required that he memorize faces, their surroundings began to blend. Neon signage looked just about the same everywhere, and one homeless sleeping-bag looked like the next. He moves quickly for a different reason, this time . . .

The monkey finally slackened his pace as they neared another sidestreet, descending to the asphalt with a soft pad of his feet. Inside, they saw no motel, only Louie. Another figure stood behind him, out of the light's reach.

Animus understood quickly enough. Well! Now now he turns his orange back to the Resistance? He dared not turn around, but eyed Louie from afar, Ogen and Quel'loyen at his side. Silly ape!

Should you live, it will be by design. So let's enjoy ourselves with this, and see where it leads . . .

 

[OmniChaos]

Ogen walked silently beside Animus, trying to hide his excitement of finally getting off this world, for which he felt he had been trapped on for seven years, rather than days. As they turned the corner into one of the sidestreets, following their white-haired guide the best they could, Ogen's eyes sat on Louie's frame standing among the shadows and the trash and he couldn't hide the smile now bursting forth from his face. Finally, ever since this hellish nightmare began one week ago, he had something to look forward to.

As they began into the dark sidestreet, Ogen turned his gaze from the orangutan and up to Animus, looking for a look of relief or happiness. He saw neither. Instead, what the boy saw was a man with a wary eye; a man who saw the rattlesnake curled up in the bed of flowers, poised and ready to strike the children reaching for the flowers. He saw this face and a flood of unease washed over him, his excitement replaced with anxiety; he saw it and he became afraid. He turned back to Louie and caught what had acquired Animus's attention: behind Louie stood a man dressed in shadows.

The white-haired monkey continued on pass Louie, his pace quickening into a near dash as he hastened out of sight. Their group, on the other hand, stopped before Louie, Ogen hanging back slightly with his anxiety clearly visible. He didn't care about escaping anymore. He just wanted to get out of there--quickly!

"Hey, cuz!" Louie cried out, waving his hand to Ogen and the others (but Ogen felt he was addressing him and none of the others). "Bout time you guys swung our way. Thought you all got yourselves lost in this concrete jungle here!

"Alright, cuz, listen up. There's a ship settin' out in an hour bound for the Eclipse King's crib. Cept it ain't! Nothin' but a cover and ruse to trick them marshals into quickenin' their search. They don't want to be makin' any of his deliveries late, that's for sure. Don't want to be makin' him angry. Naw, that ship actually be headin' toward Traverse Town and you guys gonna be in it!" With that, the orangutan let out a holler and clapped his hands against the ground. "Now come on, cuz, let's get you guys to safety!"

"Who is that with you?" Ogen asked apprehensively, finally addressing the elephant in the room. "The man behind you. Who is he?"

The smile ran from Louie's lips and the orangutan looked away, slight saddened. It was obvious to the boy that he had touched a subject that settled as well as five month old spoiled milk. As if on cue (though rather because Ogen had addressed him), the man stepped forward from the shadows and Ogen's uneasiness tripled faster than he could blink.

The man from the Swingin' Vine--his disturbingly warm smile lighting up the sidestreet like an unholy ethereal flame in a dark bog--stood before them, the steel tray held against his stomach with one hand. He walked pass Louie, who seemed to shy away in shame, and stopped before the group, his warm smile twisting into a grotesque grin. "It's alright, Louie, I'll handle them."

"I-I'm sorry, man-cub," Louie said, as he began to turn away. His face was pained, his eyes drawn to the cold ground bellow him. "I never wanted this. Truly. But an ape's gotta look out for himself and when them marshals came a-knocken with their Reavers, I had no choice. I'm really sorry."

Ogen felt his stomach tie into a knot and his fear and anxiety reached their boiling point, causing the boy to bend over and let loose the gates of his stomach. Nothing came out. Of course nothing came out. He hadn't eaten in days and certainly did not have the appetite to do so if he could.

Something closed around Ogen's leg and pulled it out from under him, causing the boy to fall to the ground. The thing that had his leg pulled it upward, and as the boy's view shifted toward the ground, he twisted back to see a Cage Reaver with a firm grasp of his leg, followed by a small force of Scuttler Reavers. Ogen's face twisted into horror as realization washed over him. The boy turned and clawed at the ground, trying to rip himself from the Reaver's grasp. He let loose a shout that broke into a shrill cry. "Animus! Quel'loyen! Help me!!!"

---​

"Yeah!" Vanessa snapped bitterly. "Why don't you start by helping our friend here carry in this sack of meat?"

With some difficulty, Sir Kay, who, upon closer inspection, was in fairly bad shape as well, and the group finally got Arthur onto Merlin's table, which the old wizard had made way for. He was in a bad way, a large wound across his torso--a sword wound, from the look of it--that was bleeding profusely. If they didn't act quickly, the man would surely bleed to death.

Vanessa grabbed one of the old wizard's pieces of cloth--one which the wizard's old owl had decided to rest on--and applied it Arthur's wound, making sure to knock loose any dust first. The cloth absorbed the blood, turning it to an ugly brown color.

"Wolfscraps!" she called to Galom, motioning the man toward her. "Get your useless ass over here and apply pressure to his wound! I think even you can handle that!"

As everyone worked together to stop the bleeding, Vanessa fumbled through her pack and pulled out a roll of soft cloth and, with some assistance from Merlin, she was able to fully wrap Arthur's torso. Merlin finished it off by placing his hands against the bandage, green magical energies bleeding off his fingertips and settling onto the man's wounds.

"There," the wizard sighed, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead. "I-It is done. The wound should clot now--hopefully. Now all we can really do is wait."

"Might not be the best of ideas," Kay interjected, tending to his own wounds the best he could. "We were being chased by these armored beasts with whirling blades. A whole pack of 'em. In all my years, I've seen nothing like 'em."

"Reavers..." Merlin groaned, stroking his beard in heavy thought. "This is not good. I-In fact, I would venture it wise for us to, uh, a-acquire a new base of operations. Lad, would it be wise in assuming castle Pendragon is still as 'well-built' as ever?"

Kay had to think for a moment before answering. "Yeah, it's still standing."

"Excellent! Then to Pendragon we go!"

___________________________​

Merlin had gathered his things in his Bag of Holding and they had set out for castle Pendragon. Their trip had been a quiet one, walking across the large grassland with fair haste. They stopped only once, but for a moment, when Vanessa spotted something reflect in the distance during a momentary relief in the rain. When it passed, they pushed onward. When they finally reach the castle, the sun had set and the bits of sky that peeked through was a dull purple.

As they approached, guards burst forth, drawing swords and spears, while archers drew their bows atop the walls. Vanessa reached for her belt and pulled out a group of throwing knives. If she were to die, she would take as many of them as she could with her.

"Stop!" Kay cried, shouting over the heavying rain. "Stop! It's Kay! Let me through! It's Kay! I have Arthur, king of the Britians! Let me through! He needs medical attention!"

Upon hearing his pleas, the guards threw down their weapons and rushed to Kay's side, relieving him of Arthur and carefully taking him inside. One guard stayed behind and helped Kay, whose sudden relief of Arthur caused his legs to give out, slowly limp into the castle. The others weren't too far behind him, when, suddenly--

SKREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECCCCHHHHH!!!!!!!

Through the pouring rain, Vanessa managed to see a black form dropping from the sky toward them. She pushed Merlin into the castle, who stumbled forward before tripping over the stone and landing in a tangled mess, and quickly jumped back, just as large, metallic claws tore through the wooden drawbridge floor where the wizard had just stood. The wood began to give way and the group was forced to retreat to outside the moat as half of the drawbridge fell into the moat.

The large metallic creature regrouped and settled before the group, flapping two great wings as it did. Vanessa was able to make out the creature--no, the machine--perfectly now. It was a Reaver, the largest Vanessa, in all her travels, had ever laid eyes on. It had two incredible wings, which looked much like knives, which were able to keep the construct afloat. Below them hung the two claws that Vanessa had seen clutching for the old wizard but just a moment ago. Between the claws hung a long tail, equipped with a large ax blade, stained red with blood. The Reaver threw its long neck back, letting loose another screech through a massive, tooth-filled mouth. It dropped its head down and eyed them through a single, red eye, which seemed to rotate as Vanessa stared at it.

"Give us the old wizard!" a voice cried out from behind the Dragon Reaver's neck. Vanessa scanned the construct and found the outline of a person--a marshal, no doubt--hunched behind the Reaver's form. "Hand over the wizard and you will be spared!"

"Ha!" Vanessa spat, readying her throwing knives. "Not a chance!"

 

[Professor Ven]

It merely took Ogen's shrill cry to awaken the torrential typhoon of force within the Tal'shendar, as the aged man's sorrowful face twisted into fiery rage. It is mine duty to teach him, and you shall not take a Child of mine, Lord of the Void! I will turn this turncoat World into glass! I am Quel'los'telkare'loyen, and all of the Eclipse shall be brought down by mine Light!

The Dedicated Servant swiftly moved his hands, weaving an intricate inversion of Gravity with Magnera, binding it about with Fire, channeling out towards the foul Reavers. Tools of a man too old and too weak to perform such tasks himself!

Then, as the weave came to fruition, a great cry arose. The mournful cry of a thousand, great tolls wracked the area in its wake as the spell finished, and a jet of liquid white-hot flame erupted from his palms, searing through the legs of the Reavers, grounding them. The white hot flame took the shape of a dragon in its full fury, as it danced about the Reavers, turning several of the Scuttler Reavers into heaps of molten slag; the Cage Reaver was left to grasp Ogen, and little else.

In the terrifying light, Quel'loyen's shadow seemed to grow, lurking, looming, grasping against each and every surface; his eyes were blue coals, shining not unlike stars, the Tal'shendar's brow heavy with righteous anger.

He did not summon his Keyblade, willing instead the ghastly blade of white, the dia'seri scattered about his coat shining brightly, as Quel'loyen grasped Ogen's hand with his free one, beginning to pull the boy free; the eerie, oft-smiling man from The Swingin' Vine would be seared to ash once Ogen was secure.

That is, unless Animus dares to become a thorn in my foot.

 

[Ordeith]

From the moment Quel'loyen loosed his spell, Animus had mapped out his next kill.

Disarm the opponent; send him into disarray. A flick of his wrist, and a gust of Aero sent the disguised Marshal stumbling backwards—and Louie to the ground. It fanned the flames of Quel'loyen's magic, lightly scorching the man in the shadows. Attain the best position for attack. Animus's inverse Gravity was silent, and allowed him to leap high above his opponent.

From that vantage point, he could view the sidestreet in its entirety:

Quel'loyen was vigorously working away at the Cage Reaver, attempting to pry Ogen out.
The elemental dragon-spell continued to wash the alleyway in flame, though it was quickly losing its shape.
Louie scrambled across the black asphalt, his white-haired friend urging him to his feet.
The Marshal, now with less of a smile, scanned through the darkness in vain.

Animus smiled, watching that split frame in time. This is why my work can be considered art.
The beauty of perfect planning, perfect synchronization . . . Order out of chaos.

His coat rippled quietly in his descent, which sent him behind the Marshal.

His opponent heard the footfalls—but Animus had worked those trills into his symphony.
Strike without mercy, where the opponent is most vulnerable. A boost of Aero sent the assassin flipping over his prey, to where the Marshal was previously facing. The stolen Caduceus swiped outwards, and the Marshal had barely enough time to rally his defenses.

His steel tray reverted to its original form—a silvery shield, an orb of darkness at its center. Animus's blow was able to break the Marhsal's guard with ease, as he had been unable to set his feet and stance. Caduceus hooked behind the shield, slapping it downwards while the assassin's free hand—radiating Blizzard magic—moved towards the man's neck.

To the Marshal's credit, he was able to avoid a frozen airway: An outpouring of darkness from the center of the shield allowed him to break free of Animus's Keyblade; he leaped backwards, raising the silvery disc in front of his face. As he did so, black orbs separated from the center of his weapon, surrounding his person. Animus understood the Marshal's strategy, but had little time to counteract it.

He used a broad sweep of Aero to push the uppermost orbs further up, then made a hasty Magnega connection between Caduceus and the Marshal. His opponent raised his shield, knowing that its dark properties would deflect even a Keyblade. Animus chided the Marshal in his thoughts. Shatter the opponent's confidence; shatter any hope and determination. Let his fear produce his own demise.

A sharp tug of Gravity sent the orbs back down on the Marshal—who panicked, raising his shield to catch and realign the darkness. The Keyblade, held steady and aloft by the Magnega bond, struck home.

Animus stood over the crumpled form of the Marshal, examining his work.
Louie's cries of terror were the perfect crescendo. Fin.

. . . . . .​

The maestro raised his head to match the orangutan's gaze. Smile of satisfaction on his lips, his greeting was cordial and pleasant, as if they were still in Louie's office: "I hope you find a restorer for that painting, Louie. I just hate to see good art without a home . . . " He left their encounter at that, knowing that Louie would be just a senseless kill—and that would not do. Everything for a purpose.

Animus returned to Ogen and Quel'loyen, the fire spell having since died down.

"Are you both unharmed?" He gave Ogen a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "Not shaken up too terribly, I hope? We ought to leave soon—and use 'soon' as a substitute for 'now'." Animus grinned at his little quip, hoping to set Ogen at ease, if only a bit. It was partly because he didn't care to see him needlessly harmed, but also for a distinct purpose:

Veiling his heart as much as possible, Animus quickly searched Ogen's own heart for the entity, Umbra.

Hmm . . .

The creature was too powerful to hide altogether, but it seemed to have retreated deep into Ogen's heart—a place where Animus's presence would be too hard to conceal. Only show your face for certain threats, hm? Animus retracted his mental probes, checking the group's well-being all the while. Recovering from the shock of the attack, they immediately started planning their next move.

 

[OmniChaos]

Ogen sat on the cold street, his right leg bent upward with his pant leg rolled up. The boy examined his leg, softly touching his reddened leg, tindered by the Reaver's previous grip on it. He winced as his finger touch his skin and pulled it away with great haste. He turned his gaze behind his shoulder and reached for his greatcoat, which had somehow managed to make itself free from the boy's body during the scuffle. He pulled the coat toward him and straightened back up.

"I'm okay," Ogen mumbled, brushing the dirt loose from his greatcoat. "Just a little tender where it grabbed me. That was far too close to a Reaver for my comfort." Ogen turned and looked back at the remains of the Reaver, little more than a harden clump of sludge now. "That thing had me. For a moment, I thought I was a... goner..."

Ogen's voice trailed away into little more than a whisper, his eyes widening with terror. His mouth hung open, and while he tried to form words--warnings--for the two men standing before him, nothing but dry gasps rose from his lips.

Behind the backs of the two men who had been focusing on the boy, the Marshal sprang upward, his torso slunched forward. Like a marionette in the hands of a poor puppeteer, the Marshal clumsily rose to his feet, his knees barely supporting his weight and his arms hanging limply. His hand, still limply wrapped around the shield, managed to drag it upward and pulled it, with some apparent difficulty, to his chest, where it hung for a moment. The Marshal lifted his head upward--no longer the far too warm smile back from The Swingin' Vine, but a twisted, painful look of pure, gleeful insanity.

The Marshal with the crazed face let loose a black orb from his shield at the backs of Ogen's companions with a gleeful chuckle. Ogen, loss for words in his state of terror, moved without thinking, his mind, which was screaming--pleaing--at him to stop, was cut off from his body, which was moving with some sort of primeval bravery that sat deep within Ogen's being. Before he realized what he had done, the boy found himself between his companions--his friends--and the Marshal's attack, his arms stretched out as far as they could reach. The boy closed his eyes as the attack connected with him.

The attack struck Ogen in the chest, dissolving into a black flame as it did. The fire burnt a hole through Ogen's shirt, continuing on to his skin. The darkness burnt a hole through the boy's skin, which gave way to a flood of blood to pour down his body and soak into his shirt. Ogen dropped to his knees, a trickle of blood running from his lips and the Marshal's crazed laughter echoing in his head.

"You bastard!" a voice cried out. Darkness erupted from Ogen's bleeding wound and arced toward the Marshal. The darkness gave shape to Umbra, now more defined since his appearance in Radiant Garden. A giant hand clasped around the Marshal's face, and the Marshal, still in an exalted state of crazed ecstasy, let loose another gleeful cry. A dark flame erupted from Umbra's tightened fist and the Marshal let out a painful scream before falling limp. Umbra tossed the Marshal aside, his face still burning with the dark fire. The darkness, as well as Umbra, retreated back into Ogen's body, releasing a sickening slurping sound as it did. Upon his re-enterence, Umbra unleashed another dark flame, this time to Ogen's bleeding hole, and cauterized the wound.

Ogen let out a painful cry as smoke rose to meet and block his vision. His cry grew to a screech before he slumped backwards and collapsed into a crumpled mess, wrapped in his greatcoat. Ogen's vision gave way to black as he slipped into unconsciousness.

 

[Professor Ven]

Animus began to probe Ogen, searching for something. You shall not have him, worm. His Heart is not yours to take, nor ever will. Remember, Scholar: In the greatest Light, there is always a deep Darkness. Within every Darkness, there is a quaint Light.

Dear, sweet, luminescent Light, take me under your gracious wing, as you did before. Then Tal'shendar felt the twinkling of feathers, as if all his sorrows and fears had faded into the dirt and grime of this forsaken World. Surely now, if ever, was the time. The Voidling's eruption from within Ogen will be enough to perform what I have intended.

Willing the moon-light weapon away, Quel'loyen took a swift look at Animus, and hastily picked up the unconscious Ogen, cradling the boy in his arms, shifting back before DeCavis would realize what was to happen. Sweet, merciful Light, I beseech thee! Take your dedicated servant, your lost child! Bring us from this tragic land of despair, whisk us away from this prison!

Soft motes of iridescent light began to snow down about him, Ogen silent in Quel'loyen's grasp. Yes, dear Light. A single tear trickled down Tal'shendar's cheek, as a warm smile enveloped his lips - he would have thought to laugh in joy, had this not been the situation it was. Quel'loyen felt a soft, delightful burning within him, charring his soul in its angelic touch. He could faintly hear what might have been a snarl from Animus, a vengeful cry of disbelief, and anger.

The World about Quel'los'telkare'loyen and Ogen shifted, mirrored, warped as the Light plucked them from the dismal rathole alley. Stars veiled overhead, passing by in mere ticks of a waterclock, and every moment felt an Age upon the mortal earth.

Then, the great cascade of celestial beings ceased, and he fell upon hard cobblestone, clutching to Ogen, amid piles of boxes, Tal'shendar's back against a solid wall. Tired, so tired. It drained me, as before, that sweet Light. Robbed me of the shadows I cast, once again. The Voidling needed to surface for the Light to be more attracted to our presence. Regardless, we are free of DeCavis, for now.

Quel'loyen's last, lingering view was of a star-lit sky, red shingled roofs overhead, white smoke rising from a nearby chimney. Tal'shendar drifted to sleep, his haggard face solemn as he slumbered, Ogen cradled by him still.

 

[Endless Strategy]

[FONT=&quot]Well, you know what they say, no rest for the weary. Galom had just lied down when Vanessa called him back to help bandage the injured boy. It was at that time that Calpurnia, a member of his search group, had arrived (Seriously, why haven’t the Marshals found this place yet, it’s practically a magnet). Then the red haired man had volunteered that he was being chased by Reavers. As fast as you could say “Hockety Pockety Wockety Wack,” which was apparently all Merlin need do to compact his entire room into a handbag, the group was off to find shelter at the castle Pendragon. A bit indignantly, Galom had asked Merlin to heal his arm first, and Merlin had obliged, making it good as new.
[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]
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[FONT=&quot]They walked in silence, all the while a moderate rain pattered against the ground. The lack of chatter was a relief to Galom, who was absorbed in his own thoughts. They’d seek shelter, but then what? Would Merlin know what to do next? No point in worrying about it before we’re safe though… All the while his eyes shifted around, weary of an attack by the Reavers. [/FONT]When they finally reach the castle, the sun had set and the bits of sky that peeked through were a dull purple.


[FONT=&quot]As they approached, guards burst forth, drawing swords and spears, while archers drew their bows atop the walls. Vanessa reached for her belt and pulled out a group of throwing knives. Wasn’t this an allied castle?![/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]
"Stop!" Kay cried, shouting over the heavying rain. "Stop! It's Kay! Let me through! It's Kay! I have Arthur, king of the Britians! Let me through! He needs medical attention!"

Upon hearing his pleas, the guards threw down their weapons and rushed to Kay's side, relieving him of Arthur and carefully taking him inside. One guard stayed behind and helped Kay, whose sudden relief of Arthur caused his legs to give out, slowly limp into the castle. The others weren't too far behind him, when, suddenly--

SKREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEECCCCHHHHH!!!!!!!

Through the pouring rain, Vanessa managed to see a black form dropping from the sky toward them. She pushed Merlin into the castle, who stumbled forward before tripping over the stone and landing in a tangled mess, and quickly jumped back, just as large, metallic claws tore through the wooden drawbridge floor where the wizard had just stood. The wood began to give way and the group was forced to retreat to outside the moat as half of the drawbridge fell into the moat.

The large metallic creature regrouped and settled before the group, flapping two great wings as it did. Vanessa was able to make out the creature--no, the machine--perfectly now. It was a Reaver, the largest Vanessa, in all her travels, had ever laid eyes on. It had two incredible wings, which looked much like knives, which were able to keep the construct afloat. Below them hung the two claws that had been clutching for the old wizard but just a moment ago. Between the claws hung a long tail, equipped with a large ax blade, stained red with blood. The Reaver threw its long neck back, letting loose another screech through a massive, tooth-filled mouth. It dropped its head down and eyed them through a single, red eye, which seemed to rotate as Vanessa stared at it.

"Give us the old wizard!" a voice cried out from behind the Dragon Reaver's neck. Vanessa scanned the construct and found the outline of a person--a marshal, no doubt--hunched behind the Reaver's form. "Hand over the wizard and you will be spared!"

"Ha!" Vanessa spat, readying her throwing knives. "Not a chance!"[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]
[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Before the Marshal had quite finished his declaration, Galom was already running. What else was he to do when faced with such a behemoth? He had learned from his encounter with the Eclipse King, he wouldn’t bite off more than he could chew a second time. As Vanessa spat a retort Galom was twenty feet away, closing distance back to the forest clearing. He’d just keep on running, all the way back to the ship…[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Before Galom could get further the air distorted around him. It happened in an instant, the air folded and twisted like made of some transparent fabric, then it quivered and the marshal once standing on the Reaver blocked Galom’s path. The black haired man unsheathed his sword and swung in one quick motion. Galom lurched back to avoid the curved blade, staggering a few steps before regaining balance on the muddy ground. Galom summoned light to his hand to form his Keyblade, but the man was faster and slashed Galom across the chest.[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]
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[FONT=&quot]Galom screamed in agony and lashed out with his now formed Keyblade. The Marshal expertly parried and swung again. Galom stepped back as fast he could, reaching for the black sphere on his belt. “Smoke Bombs” Galom thought, and quickly pulled them from the black sphere while clashing his blade against the Marshal’s. He was being pushed back, losing his footing. He threw his handful of small black bombs at the ground. Smoke burst all around him, and Galom ran through it towards the drawbridge while the Marshal was disoriented. There was no escaping this mess![/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]“Think you escape on the sly? Not a chance!” The marshal said in a proud voice “Aerora!”[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]
[/FONT]
[FONT=&quot]Galom’s back was turned so he couldn’t see exactly, but he soon felt wind against his back like razors. The brunt of the blast shot past and carried Galom with it, rocketing him into the air. He was going too high, too fast. Galom could already see his point of impact: right into the dragon Reaver’s right wing.[/FONT]

 

[Orion]

Daedalus extended the invisible tendrils that were his electromagnetic senses to the water around them as noticed a plethora of readouts bump so slightly in a consistent way: something gliding past them, ever so slightly redirect their course, and causing very slight fluctuations in the overall level of power that was being delivered consistently through the Ulysses. Daedalus was willing enough then and there to call his time on the gigantic submersible concluded, and so he moved over to Milo, gesturing for his companions to follow him.

Approaching the nervous paleolinguist, Daedalus brought him aside with his arm over the younger man's shoulder. "Something big might be about to go down, and I want to know I have a friend on this expedition. You're in it for the knowledge and because you're passionate. I'm here because I want to prevent whatever wondrous gift Atlantis holds from falling into dangerous hands. Aside from my apprentices I doubt I can currently say the same about any other member of the crew. Some for the fame, others for money. Ultimately, they want the treasures of Atlantis taken out of there and brought to the surface."

Daedalus now extended his gloved mechanical hand to Milo, silently dropping an earpiece into his hands. "This'll let us at least be able to hear each other. Just shove it into you ear and a couple of excretions thereafter will mean you won't even know it's there. I'll remain in touch whenever it's not inconspicuous, but for now my troupe and I will be elsewhere." Daedalus finished, turning as he did so. When Milo looked on in dumbfounded silence, Daedalus turned and gestured with a gouging point to his own ear. He let out a little smile when Milo took a few seconds to get over the initial bizarre sensation of having something fill his ear canal, before the earpieces gadgetry took effect, numbing and making malleable the flesh within, giving the little orb a perfect place to nestle.

When they weren't passing crew, Daedalus relayed to them his own thoughts of coming events. The Leviathan that Milo had spoken of - or maybe a cousin or spawn of it - was probably stirring somewhere outside, and would likely strike soon, hence they would make their way to the escape vehicles in anticipation of some form of attack. Daedalus was posed a question: If his craft, Icarus, was designed to follow the Ulysses where it might go, what would happen if it was destroyed? Daedalus quickly replied - "I hadn't mentioned that the earpiece I gave Milo was also a transponder. Unless it receives commands otherwise, Icarus will now follow Milo's signal, though maintain a safe distance and always follow his movements a couple of hours behind him. I doubt we will be in much trouble given our abilities, but a safety measure, the transponder will detect the phisio- and and neurological signs of when Milo's most in need and Icarus will come to him. All just-in-case stuff, really," he finished, as they arrived at the escape pod bays by the rear of the sub.

===================

Outside the Ulysses, a giant mechanic something-like-a-lobster was swimming about in a manner equal parts lazy and menacing. Its sheer size guaranteed that even the slightest movement would displace a few Olympic swimming pools. As it stood, its steady gliding through the water pushed aside a few lakes per second, and the Leviathan hardly felt it. The little toy that was buzzing about its domain would have warranted hardly a glimpse had the Leviathan not been programmed - or was it taught? - since its creation to destroy any intruders. It had twisted up from its resting place, a few sub-surface vortexes popped up and disappeared with the force to level buildings as it moved.

It probed the Ulysses as best as it was able to while still remaining hidden - catching glimpses as it flitted between undersea mesas and canyon walls, probing invisibly with electrical senses. The little submersible was pulsing with electrified veins, a discovery only slight in itself, but past experience had taught the Atlantean sentinel that electricity hinted at weaponry. Had it free will coupled with an unerring devotion to Atlantis, it would have still acted to take out the intruder. As it stood, the Leviathan made no choice, no though was processed in its synthetic answer to a brain. It moved swiftly, and with calculated coldness that bellied its sheer size and the destructive force it could wield.

It extended one of its superior claws forward, the destructive force of a dozen tornadoes ripping through the dense water as it swatted at the Ulysses. The vehicle - absolutely dwarfed by the Leviathan - listed significantly, almost tipping past ninety degrees from upright before a flurry of mechanised automations kicked in to right the vessel, by which time the Leviathan now had it gripped by the smaller and more dextrous claws in front of what might have been the Leviathan's mouth, had it been an organic creature. Within, a panicked paleolinguist made some exclamation about Jiminy Christmas and the fact that the creature assaulting them was mechanical. Elsewhere, Rourke ordered the launching of all the Ulysses' offensive pods, each bullet-shaped and roughly the size of a truck. They swarmed about the sub before turning on their attacker, and unleashed a volley of torpedoes at Rourke's order to fire.

Underwater explosions rippled over the Leviathan's metallic shell, each concussive blast tickling over the impervious exoskeleton in a fashion irritating enough to see the behemoth let loose the Ulysses, but not before unleashing a concentrated beam of blue-white energy that pierced the sub's hull effortlessly from one side to the other. Fortunately, it missed important internal systems, and the Leviathan's attention - now shifted to the cloud of assault pods that swarmed it - gave the damaged sub the chance to limp away with a last great effort. A swipe of one of its claws cleared away the majority of the subs in a trinity of fashions: those struck by the claw itself were quickly pulverised; those pulled into the wake of the claw rushing through the water were crushed by the whirlpooling forces that followed it; and those that were the most immediately fortunate quickly found themselves tumbling away from the sheer force of rushing water or had any steering implements wrenched off, leaving them dead in the water.

The remainder of the pods were ignored by the Leviathan as it let loose a second bolt of underwater lightning, this one nearly slicing through the width of the sub. It was at this time that the two largest evacuation vehicles - those that carried precious cargo and vehicles - were shot out the rear of the sub and rapidly depart the scene of the opened hulk, now beginning to collapse and bend from the external pressure of the water. All of which was, of course, meaningless when the Leviathan decided to simply charge straight at the wreckage, causing it to detonate in an explosion, the debris of which obscured the entirety of the Leviathan's form for but a second before continuing the relentless chase, ruthlessly acknowledging the not-yet-total destruction of the intruder and its spawn.

 

[OmniChaos]

Vanessa moved in a blur, launching herself into the air with little to no effort. With the calmness of a women performing a routine acrobatic stunt, Venessa flew toward Wolf Scraps and grabbed him from the air, using her momentum to advert his path from the Reaver's wing and safely off to the side. As they approached the ground, Vanessa rotated their combined form so that he would take the brunt of the impact. They hit the ground with a great deal of force and, just as they began to skid across the mud, Vanessa pushed against Wolf Scrap's back, launching herself back into the air.

"Hon, you are just too slow," she chuckled, readying her throwing knife in her fingers. She brought in her form as tightly as she could and spun as she flew through the air, her hair a chaotic mess in the darkness of night. She touched the earth gracefully, her momentum continuing her spin in the mud. As she rotated toward the Marshal's direction, her cold eyes and callus, thin smile told all that was needed to know.

With wicked speed, Vanessa threw her arm forward and let the knife fly, a whistling missile in the dark. It flew with unwavering speed and pinpoint aim, striking the Marshal clean between the eyes. The speed of the knife drug the Marshal's head back, pulling with it his body. He fell backwards, dead before he hit the muddy, rain-soaked ground.

"Don't let off yet," she called toward the other two just before a bellow of thunder blotted out all sound. "The Marshal may be down, but my knives won't take down this monster with equal ease. Stay on those toes of yours!"

 

[Endless Strategy]

As the rain pattered down, Galom scrambled to his feet from the hard landing he had taken. He could feel his ribs cracked in a couple places, searing pain coursing through him. Vanessa had let him sustain the brunt of the fall, but at least he wasn’t dead.

Galom shot a glance back just in time to see the Marshal fall to the ground, a knife through his skull. How strong was this woman?

"Don't let off yet, the marshal is down but-" Vanessa’s words were drowned out by thunder, but Galom understood. Galom turned back at the Dragon in time to see its axe bladed tale sweeping towards his torso. Galom leapt up to dodge but came up short, settling for blocking with his Keyblade in midair. The force of the swing sent him flying back to the side, landing him besides Calpurnia.

“Go in, I’ll cover you” Galom said as the creature let out another screech. Its claws hit against the ground, propelling it forward. Galom reached for his Void Keeper, willing the bazooka to appear. The creature swung both wings down like guillotines on Galom’s position. Galom blocked, but the wings crushed him down, pushing his Keyblade into his chest and creating large, parallel slices from his chest down. It pulled back, slicing through flesh and bone marrow as the wings receded.

Galom couldn’t feel pain anymore. Time seemed to slow down around him as blackness clouded his vision. The blood was coming out so fast, flowing against his hands. He could feel the Bazooka sitting on his chest, newly formed. Unable to lift his body, he lifted it with his arms, aimed it in the Reaver’s general direction. Then he fired four shots, absorbing the recoil before letting the bazooka fall to the ground. Four bombs in the shape of pumpkins rocketed towards the Reaver, each having enough power to blow down a steel wall. Galom saw the explosions go off in bursts of orange and red, but he couldn’t see where they hit. Everything was out of focus, his eyes were open but he couldn’t see, everything was fading…

Galom submitted to sleep, his Keyblade disappearing in a sparkle of light.

 

[Rhapsody]

The trek to this “Pendragon” quarter was begrudgingly pursued with the drag of a heavy gait. In truth, she had no business with these characters. Possessing naught more importance to her than this trifling ongoing war between the key wielders of light and the black Eclipse King (to which she loathingly believed this whole sudden venture to be tied with). The dreadful rain only dampened her dreadful mood, but at the very least the young woman took solace in the quiet atmosphere permeating this rag-tag group in which she had inadvertently become familiar with.

The announcement of their arrival to the castle stirred quite the charming welcome. The ceremonious greeting of armed arrows, withdrawn swords and the like made Cal feel on par with that of royalty. Well, she supposed her being constantly on the run inured her to some of the most hostile of standoffs and receptions, this being none too different.

Ah. Well, no. Scratch that. This was a bit different.

It wasn’t everyday she came toe to toe with a some-story tall metallic Reaver. Marshals, yes, they were common threats, and the one hitched atop the creature’s back did not concern her at that moment. (He seemed like a novice anyway, what with his boorishly straightforward demand for the wizard in their group. Really, no one cherished the art of refinement these days...) But this dragon-esque minion was far more equipped than the humdrum metal warriors, those small fry and their devastating riots and marches through towns, villages, and cities. With them, the only fear Calpurnia had to face was not serious injury to her psyche or body, but yet another headache from the restless metal warriors.

Ah, but this was no ordinary Reaver, of course. And her first reaction to this disturbing event? Why, to run, of course. Run; run as fast as those scrawny little legs could carry. And so she did. Was this cruel? Cowardly? Traitorous? No, not an ounce of humility or cowardice or infidelity seeped through her veins as she sprinted toward the wooded area. What duty had she to courageously soldier through the snarling metallic beast, to come to the aide of the struggling? No duty whatsoever. Indeed, Calpurnia was capable of those rare and few bouts of sympathy. Random acts of kindness. Yes, she saved the boy from the crumbling Garden. But in the end Calpurnia only acted as the impartial overseer, not shackled to one force over another. Her mien that of perpetual nonchalance of a passive observer. She lacked any allegiance to a higher authority; she harnessed no personal malice toward a certain adversary. In the end everyone could still die.

Oh! Such malevolent wanderings she had drifted off to…

Seeking refuge against the trunk of a tree, Calpurnia tucked herself within the wooded area’s embrace, out of sight from the duel that raged on near the front of the Pendragon’s keep. She found herself at a front row seat of the marvelous spectacle between man and machine, marshal and rebel. The desperate long swipes of a key blade. The graceful swing of a hand, utmost precision in the nimble digits that released the blade, striking right between the sockets of the marshal’s eyeballs in a spew of blood. Brilliant displays of red and orange bursts from a bazooka. And then, screeches. Like metal grinding against metal, erupted from the beast, the province rolling and quivering in apparent fright. It collapsed into a dust cloud of debris and smoke, shimmering with what little life force was left in it. A fallen angel, wings molten and crippled, gleaming radiance now reduced to a diminishing flicker. In its last moments the metal beast shuddered and groaned, its metallic creaks similar to the slowing of gears once in full clockwork. A lasting blow would end the creature indefinitely. May it rest in peace.

The battle was over. Finished. Calpurnia approached from the cover of the thicket. Calmly, with the gait of a casual passerby undeterred by the cold sting of the frosty rain, she eased toward the crippled, bloodied, beaten figure of the boy, the one with the bazooka. Splashes of crimson marred his pale and ghastly flesh; flesh like the apparition of a wailing ghost, though Calpurnia hadn’t nary a doubt there surged the fierce fire of the living underneath this sickly looking exterior.

Tilting her head to the side, she nudged his unmoving body with her foot lightly. The boy had taken quite the beating. Was he dead? No, no. Just unconscious, it seemed… She set to work. Rummaging for any sort of cloth in sight, her brief search ended exactly as it began: empty-handed. Next best thing then. On to her knees she went, applying pressure to the most severe of the wounds.

My. What a troublesome guy.

 

[OmniChaos]

He had done it. By god, he had done it. The mechanical monstrosity, which now lay twitching, clinging to life, had been brought down by Wolfscraps' rocket. However, it came with a hefty price, as he now lay in the field, slowly, but surely, bleeding to death, the blood rising out of his large wounds. If someone didn't help him, that is.

However, before she tended to Wolfscraps' wounds, Vanessa planned on finishing off the Reaver. His rocket dealt a great deal of damage to the construct, but he had not killed it, leaving it still quite the risk should it decide to activate some hidden self-destruct operation in a last-ditch attempt to kill its targets. The woman moved in a blur, zig-zagging around the burning debris and unearthed mounds of mud. She moved with the sharpened eye of a hawk, closing on the twisted form of the Reaver. Vanessa launched herself over the Reaver, its venerable innards exposed to the woman's wrath.

"Worthless scrap..."

Vanessa launched a true-aimed knife downward into the heart of the construct. The sound of breaking glass sounded, followed by a high-pitch screech sounding from the Reaver's mouth. A hissing erupted from the creature's exposed innards, followed by a large explosion. After a small arc of hissing electricity, the creature fell silent perminately.

The woman continued on without missing a beat, hitting the ground and starting off at a full run, circling back around and running straight toward the bleeding Wolfscraps. She placed her left foot out to slow her advance, quickly building a mound of mud in front of it. She came to a stop in front of the man (or boy, as Vanessa saw him), took off her shirt, and pressed it against his wounds, taking over for the recent "addition" to their marry little group. The blood soaked into her shirt, then washed to the ground by the rain.

"You're not dying on me, you dammed fool!" she shouted, placing more pressure onto the boy's body. "You aren't allowed your eternal rest yet! You've still got some use in you!"

The rain beat against her head, pounding like a thousand drums. It stung against her skin, it poured into her eyes, it assaulted her very soul. Every drop felt like a thousand pounds dropping against her back, threatening to break it with each blow. Vanessa muffled a cry of agony, pressing and pressing against the bleeding boy. Light-headedness began to take her as the world grew fuzzy. The beating rain began to let up, the ever-present overcast of the Eclipse King's rule still hanging above the world. The last thing she remembered was the blue shape of the wizard as unconsciousness overtook her.

 

[The Lionheart]

((gonna quote a bit here, because my last post was on the last page... oh man))

"Class," it seemed, resided in at least one of the other Marshals. Though it was hard for Marcus to tell whether or not this one was putting on an act, the man's demeanor was too relaxed, his actions too effortlessly executed, for it to be anything but habit. The man definitely treated others like this, whether or not it was genuine, well, only time would tell.

Darakai, Svether. First Marshal and shadow to his liege, The Eclipse King, but you can call me Seven as the familiar. To whom do I have the pleasure of consorting with?

Taking a step towards the chair offered him, Marcus began to lift up his hand for a shake, "The name's-"

"Marcus." A voice rang out from the head of the table, "His name is Marcus Gerrison."

Marcus continued the upward motion of his hand, placing it behind his head and chuckling in an attempt to mask his surprise. He could hardly believe somebody knew his name, and what's more, that somebody was only about four feet tall. "Yep, that's-"

"He's some third-rate loser the king must have felt sorry for and decided to make him a marshal out of pity! He won't even last a day in the field! Some junior keyblade wielder will come along and...BOOM!! Hehehehehahahaha!!!"

Though his laughter had faded, Marcus tried to maintain a calm demeanor. He had to control his emotion - Marcus didn't need to act "hard" in front of these guys during their first meeting - but it wasn't easy. Things at the Eclipse King's court weren't quite what he had expected, it certainly was nowhere near the legion of mute, hooded men he had expected. And now, this kid was going straight for his throat. Well, if he didn't stand up for himself now, when would he?

"Don't you agree, Seven?" the boy tittered, grinning like a Cheshire Cat at Marcus. "Doesn't he just look so stupid?"

Cracking a slight smile, Marcus decided to take the seat offered him, grabbing a glass and raising it to the kid. "You're right, if the keyblader's are anywhere near your size," pausing, Marcus took a drink from his cup, "I'll probably never see them coming."

Bold, yes. But Marcus could only hope the kid would bounce away from the joke, as he had with everything else. Of course, he could be dead wrong, but the die had been cast; there was no turning back now.

((not my best, sorry, but I wanted to at least try to get things moving. I figured if I was procrastinating studying for finals, I may as well throw something up))