by SlyOkami
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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8VaLV4E7v-w
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The scimitars sliced right through the barrier of magic, astonishing Winug as his body then faded away, reappearing elsewhere once more with arms raised towards Ivrick. “Hell Script; Demonfire!” Winug chanted sheepishly, sending forth a barrage of violet fireballs as Ivrick now continued to walk towards him.
His blades blurred, Ivrick’s movements flowed like a shadow as he sliced through each hellish sphere, dissipating the attacks entirely as many an Orc warrior around them now turned to face this Dark Knight.
Winug could only watch horrified as Ivrick now stomped down, his sheer physical strength trembling the ground all around them as it rose and shattered, stone and snow flying up.
With which each Orc warrior lost their balance right then.
Ivrick rushed forward, the swords in his hands deforming before retaking shape, now a long black pole-blade. He spun it, swirling it around himself as he leapt and evaded, dancing about the dozens of Orcs standing just barely taller than himself.
Blood splattered with every step he took, limbs flew and heads soared with every cycle his weapon spun. The sound of it whistling through the air, heightening as it rose and climaxing into a deep hum as it descended.
Winug felt his saliva build up inside his throat, momentarily forgetting to breathe at the grim sound and sight.
As Ivrick now stood mere feet away from him, piles of bodies left in his wake from nothing more than a couple moments of approach.
Winug watched as the pitch-black pole-blade changed once more, a malleable shadow that retreated back into Ivrick’s hands and formed long blade-like talons along his gauntlet’s fingers. Claws which tentatively rose to either side of Ivrick, as the Dark Knight’s fierce eyes met the Shaman’s now agitated gaze.
“Hellscript; Miasmic Entanglement!” Winug chanted as a wooden stave appeared into his hands, dozens of strings tied up to the top from which several strange items hung. Slamming his staff’s butt down into the ground then, as the already shattered ground rumbled further, causing Ivrick to pause in his steps and glance around.
Snow exploded upwards as suddenly large spiked tentacles of violet miasmic corruption grew out of the ground around them, fidgeting about before Winug aimed his staff’s top at him. “Restrain!” He chanted, and the tentacles took aim at Ivrick, each of the six large limbs twitching before lunging at him.
Wrapping around him before he could evade, entangling him entirely into a wriggling cocoon of monstrous flesh.
Switching to holding his staff onehanded, Winug continued to aim it at him whilst opening his other wide and also directed at Ivrick. As the Shaman again began to chant in a strange guttural language, dark black and violet energies forming around and up his arm, converging at his fingers tips into a slowly growing spiral.
“Ugh! Restrain!” Winug chanted in between once more, feeling a powerful tug at his staff as the cocoon of tentacles suddenly shuddered.
And again…
And a third…
Expanding suddenly before restraining once more, Ivrick was visibly struggling within.
When, his struggling abruptly paused.
As Winug finished his hellish chant, “Hellscript; Demonwinds!” He exclaimed, and the small serpentine spiral of purplish winds within his palm suddenly expanded forwards into a turbulent cyclone of miasma.
The winds dispersed the snow and tore away at the ground below, as the cyclone settled around the entanglement of tentacles, leaving the fleshy limbs unscathed as it seemed to flow right through the gaps and into the cocoon.
One last shudder expanded the tentacles widely, revealing two large black wings pushing against them, before faltering once again as the cyclone of dark energy now fully rushed into the half-open cocoon.
Silence filled Winug’s surroundings now, as both him and many other Orcs stared frozen at the unmoving cocoon. The sound of battle, of clashing blades, bursts of magic, flapping of wyvern wings and firing of cannons filling their ears.
Yet their focus was entirely set on the cocoon.
Winug’s eyes widening into horror once more, as he sensed the rise of energy within the cocoon tripling before the tentacles exploded outwards into a rain of miasmic flesh and blood. Revealing the opening of much larger pitch black leathery wings.
“Djiin; Third Form; Nera!” Nerick’s voice chanted out, as a massive two-headed black Wyvern formed out of a burst of darkness which escaped the entanglement. Looming over Winug as the Shaman’s own mouth lay unhinged and wide open alongside his shivering lips and trembling eyes.
Nera’s wings and tails spread out and slithered about, sending hundreds of Orcs slamming off into the ravine’s cliff-sides, as it stood almost as wide as the battlefield itself.
Its own feet, clawed and scale-armoured, quaking the ground as it took a single step.
Turning to face Winug with both heads, its wide black eyes and silver slits setting upon the petrified Orc Chieftain.
Winug was frozen in fear, unable to move, only to watch and listen.
Listen to the growling of the giant Wyvern as its tiny in comparison counterparts all rushed out of the ravine, knowing what was to come.
Watching, as both maws opened wide, violet energy he knew too well forming in between its fangs.
“Djiin; Release!” Nera hissed out, and out of its maw suddenly came a breath of dark miasmic winds.
The same energy Nerick had absorbed before, it filled the ravine ahead of Nera in a black-purplish fog.
The sound of blades clashing, wyverns snarling and cannons firing…ceasing then.
Replaced with the sounds of agonized screams and choked bellows, as every single Orc, Goblin and Troll fell to their knees.
Unable to breath, as blood splattered out of their mouths, ears and noses. Tears of red leaking out of their eyes too as dozen by dozen they fell to the ground.
An entire army now laying still amongst the snow and toxic fog.
Nera raised its wings open, beating them a single time to disperse the miasmic air out of the ravine.
Revealing Winug still standing with a barrier of black surrounding him, yet he was not unharmed, as half his body now lay burning away the same way the entirety of his people had been. Violet patches of flesh bubbling up through his skin as purplish tendrils grew out around it, burning away at the rest of his flesh, it grew and spread with every passing moment.
Winug felt the agony which filled his body, but the despair which plagued his mind as he glanced back was far beyond it.
The dream he had installed into each of them, gone as they now lay in snow splattered with their own dying blood.
Everybody he knew, men and women who entrusted him with their future, finding themselves not even having one anymore.
Winug stared, emptily he gazed out at the silent battlefield.
As rage filled him, a fury he had never felt before.
“What have I done…” Winug mused, clenching his rotting hand about his sizzling staff. “No…You…You’ll pay fo-” He was about to say, turning around to face Nera, trembling now with anger.
His eyes widening, Winug found that he could no longer speak.
As he watched one of the black Wyvern’s maws descend and enclose around him.
(“Then let hell come to this world, let the Devils walk amongst us with their armies of fire and corruption…It will matter not…”) Winug thought to himself as the moon’s light was entirely covered up by the looming beast, “For monsters already walk this earth…”
His final thought, spoken out loud right before Nera’s maw ate him up.
…
“Why am I getting used to that?” Nerick groaned out of the other head.
“Cause meat is tasty!” Ivara whined back.
“Ugh…” Nerick’s head gagged, “Oh lord why does it burn in there?”
“Cause demon is spicy!” Ivara exclaimed as she licked her lips, before glancing
around at the rest of the Orcin army. Her eyes widening as she noticed the hundreds of snacks laying before her.
Nerick hiccupped then, “Nope, nope we’re unmerging right fucking now.”
B2; Chaos - Ch 57; The Great War - Part 3; The Deal
The Next Day
Some place…
Some time…
The amalgamation of corrupt flesh pulsed, violet skin beating in rapid succession like a living heart.
“Good…”
As above it, her illusion hovered; Azkel gazed down upon the bulb of corruption.
Veins of violet light growing out of it and covering the entire dimly lit room’s floor, walls and ceiling. A dark energy flowed through these hundreds of veins, going into the strange organ as it slowly grew larger with every pulse.
“The monster annihilated the Orcin’s core horde in a single breath Madam…” Dread reported in its ghastly voice as it and their last associate, Vein, kneeled before her and the organ. “The rate of deaths was far less than we had anticipated, I deeply apologise for my Shaman’s failure!”
“No, oh no my dear Dread. This is still good, we are so close now…Just one more, one more genocide and we’ll be ready to begin the summoning ritual!” Azkel exclaimed with a joyful yet horrid giggle. “Vein,” she then turned to the other, her eyes shining with excitement. “How goes our preparations?”
“Three Ley Points have at this point been turned to Negative Spirit mistress, those being Sinbeni, and both sides of Druvia. We have Dumatra, Drak’Mor, S’sern and New Druv remaining to choose from, yet as you say we only need one more.” The pale man which was Vein explained, “While there is little to do on Dumatra and Drak’Mor, S’sern and New Druv are great choices indeed.”
“Well? And?~” Azkel urged on.
“Preparations have already undergone, conflict between S’sern and New Druv has already begun. The High Elves are too paranoid, and the Mer too prideful. Neither will be able to resist the bait we’re about to plant.” Vein said, chuckling coldly in amusement right after.
Azkel then glanced at the room around them, “And this new hide-out? Have you made sure you were not followed?”
“Impossible Madam,” Dread then stepped back in, “I removed every trace of our teleportation, that damn Dragon will not be able to find us again.”
Azkel’s expression suddenly turning into a grimace then, “Erikathyr…Oh how I wish I could tear that drake’s snotty grin off his snout!…Those Spirit Beasts were a present from father! Ugh, his time will come…” Azkel mused, as she returned to smiling coldly, her gaze returning to the miasmic heart beneath her. “Once my minion is summoned…Once I merge with it using Brazath pet’s research! I…I Azkel will surpass my brothers…” Her eyes maniacal as she then gazed down at her minions. “Queen of the 8th hell they shall call me! Father will have no choice but to raise my position once I’ve gained that power!” She laughed, a dreadful cackle sending needles of cold into her minions’ bones.
“Y-Yes mistress…You shall reign supreme upon this realm as well!” Vein announced sheepishly, while Dread simply remained silent.
“Yes…Yes I shall! Kekeke~” Azkel chuckled…
As the entire room suddenly rumbled, cutting her amusement off.
The Deviless hissed, “What? What was that!?” glancing in between her minions, she only saw confusion as they rose to their feet.
Again the entire room shuddered, as quake after quake was then followed by a chilling silence.
“Who…” Azkel mused, as she noticed a shadow standing behind her minions.
“Your finale.” Then spoke out a whisper.
-
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In The Meantime
Seeri
Underground, somewhere.
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-
Undead roamed the dark tunnels dozens of feet below the ground, from rotting corpses carrying crates of supplies larger than any normal human could carry, to skeletal warriors standing in the sides watching the process seemingly immobile.
Amongst them roamed many a mage too, some undead from their pale skins and rotting features, while others still alive albeit the mishaps of their magic also affecting their appearance in some other way.
These were remnants of the Assassin’s Pact, making the necessary preparations for their new base of operations after the last move. Necromancers and other Dark magicians casting protective magic along the tunnels, halls and rooms. Undead minions stocking up the storage rooms, and other sorts of demonic creatures aiding.
All the while dark smoky figures roamed the tunnels, unseen by the rest but fully aware of their existence, the Pact’s shadows kept watch over all.
The base was noisy, as everyone moved around with their own task. Yet it was calm, each mercenary or cultist seeming to have no rush in their steps…Something which quickly changed, as the ceiling came crashing down upon one of the main halls.
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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CsaWHrNm5zg
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Immediately chaos ensued, as shadows clashed with shadows, as Pyra landed amongst the rubble brightly aglow. Her gaze rising to a group of mages before her, she suddenly turned into a blur, appearing before them.
The ground beneath her quaked and shattered, as her gauntlets rushed forth, a blast of electricity surging ahead before any of them could speak a single word. The entire group of mages fell to the floor then, stunned by the martial spell.
Pyra loomed over them, watching as her Dreadblades massacred the rest within the hall, dozens of them taking form out of shadow beside her. “Spread out, kill everyone, destroy everything. Leave not a trace.” She ordered in elven, and with barely a nod the entire platoon of Xilfir turned into a rush of shadow, dispersing into the nearby tunnels.
Pyra herself popped her shoulders and neck, before kneeling down and grasping one cultist by the neck. She raised the aged man up, holding him two feet from the ground. “Where is it?” She asked, her eyes shining fiercely as several more figures appeared beside her.
A surge of energy rushed from her arm and into the mage, Makaela then snatching him from Pyra’s hand and slamming him into the ground. “Lower? Higher? South or North?…” Makaela hissed, “Where is the core.”
A flood of shadows then rushing down from the hole they came from as she said that; hundreds more of Dreadblades filled the Pact base.
“T-Three floors…below…E-East wing…” The mage managed to say through the numbness which filled his body, “M-Mercy-” He then tried to say, going ignored as Makaela released him then.
His head exploding into a puddle of flesh and blood as Pyra’s gauntlet smashed down into it.
“Mercy?” Makaela chuckled, “What is that?” She mused, gesturing for her officers to move, they each then stood aside and around Pyra.
“Three floors lower?” Pyra asked but needed no answer as she then raised her fists high and together, “Down we go!” then slamming both down and into the ground below, collapsing the floor around them.
Again, she punched right through the floor as they fell, collapsing it too before slamming down into the next. Three floors down Pyra punched through, a mountain of rubble laying below her now as the rest faded out of the shadows nearby.
Ascal whistled, as he and Zentha gazed up at the massive hole. “That can’t be good for the infrastructure.” He mused, watching then as Makaela continued onwards.
And they followed, two rushes of shadow following after a third, as a bright blur of light that was Pyra kept in pace with them.
Each of them coming to stand before a closed doorway, they watched as their sister and general’s body faded into the ethereal then.
“Soul School; Spirit Form; Ghost Body.” Makaela whispered in chant, as she then stepped right through the wooden doors. Ceasing her spell then, immediately she faded into invisibility.
Approaching the two confused mages ahead, unseen by the both of them, but fully being stared at by the ethereal Devil whi
ch hovered above.
“Who?…” Azkel asked with wide furious eyes.
“Your finale,” Makaela mused, as her hands rushed, lunging into Dread and Vein’s throats the two mages temporary found themselves unable to speak or chant.
Her invisibility dissipated, Makaela now fully stood before them and blades unsheathing from her sides. Her hands blurred with speed, as her long talon-like daggers slashed ahead of her, Vein tried to retreat and raise his staff up defensively…
Yet the meagre wood was no match for the blades, as a thin layer of ethereal energy covered them.
They cleaved right through the staff, digging then into the mages’ throats and slicing them open.
“Kill her!” Azkel ordered, her tone enraged as her voice made the very room shudder once more.
“Oh put a sock in it.” Ascal said, appearing beside the beating organ and waving his right hand at her projection, “Dark Arts; Static!” He chanted, watching with great amusement as Azkel’s anger rose, watching as her form disappeared entirely.
Makaela loomed over the two fallen mages, but backed away, as Dread then suddenly rose back up.
Making out the mage’s throat from their now ruined cloak, Makaela only saw bone beneath the dark cloth.
“Undeath School; Skeletal form…” Dread finished his silent chant, as the clothing he wore quickly seemed to lose much of what it hid below.
Beside him, Vein lay gurgling on his own blood, yet the mage smiled as he waved his hand over the deep wound…The blood, then suddenly gushing back inside, the flesh and skin closing too and leaving a pulsating scar. “Hemomancy; Vampiric Body.” He too finished his silent spell, and the scar settled.
“Hmph, two higher casters.” Makaela mused as the two then turned to stand back to back, Dread facing her and Vein facing Ascal.
“You cannot slay us! This is our domain!” Vein exclaimed with a cackle, throwing his now broken staff aside, he raised his hand forth. “Hemomancy; Blood make!” He chanted and blood gushed out of his palm, quickly forming a long crimson staff into his hand.