The Embers of Conflict

Michael Brooklyn Morgan "Red Alert"

The Embers of Conflict

Lift off. The helicopter’s blades whirred loudly as they slowly ascended to the air and, upon reaching a certain altitude, he would be greeted with the sight of the sea, illuminated by the dawning sun. The fleet isn’t that far off from the pact’s base, sitting a few kilometers away from the shores while they made it rain shrapnel and mortar against the convent. Wind brushed against his armor as the aircraft sped for the navy. Eventually they’d reach the fleet, the vehicle hovering over as the navy continued on their assault. The orchestra of cannon fire is deafening, sure, but he paid no mind to it. He was used to the sound of cannons roaring at a near distance, owing only to his experience as a former soldier and his resilient nature. He exited the vehicle, taking a few steps out, though he wasn’t falling. No, he was floating, using his own telekinesis to make him fly.

He brought out his rifle. Two red hexagons formed beside his hands before the long weapon parts protruded from the shapes, after which they connected to form a single weapon - a sniper rifle, his weapon of choice for long range assassinations. It didn’t take him longer than a second or two before he spotted two figures moving towards their position at high speeds through the rifle’s scope. No doubt they are Bellian reinforcements intent on stopping the navy’s onslaught, on their way here to inflict some heavy casualties against the navy and to outright stop them. “We have two hostiles inbound to our position. If things turn for the worse in our position, I’ll send the fleet back to the docks by your command.” He said as he lightly pressed the communications device fitted to his ear, suggesting that she make use of his portal creating ability on the fleet to their advantage when push comes to shove while minimizing casualties.

His rifle disintegrates into binary code as it is sent back into the cyberscape, after which another set of red hexagonal shapes appeared beside him once more. From his right dominant hand, a sleek looking black pistol pulls itself from cyberspace. On his left, the hexagon pushes itself against his left arm, forming a band around it as the sigil goes through. “...no more underdogs.” he mumbled to himself. One of them was quick to act as they pulled out a staff and a sword. No doubt making use of their magic to the detriment of the fleet’s personnel. Not under his watch, he'd thought. Red psionic aura would form around him to bolster his psychokinetic defense, range, and speed as well as the programs written on his pistol. The safety of the Pergrandians are his priority, bringing him on the defensive. Luckily, he’s flexible.

The esper pointed his pistol at the vortex, trying to disperse it before it could inflict some heavy casualty, if it was even capable of doing so against the fleet’s metal. And then he pulled the trigger, light flashing briefly from the pistol’s barrel as a compressed bullet of psychokinetic energy was fired against the tornado. If the timing is right, the bullet should be able to clash against the tornado, dissipating it into mist. It is just one of his methods of defending the mcguffin, and rather unorthodox one at that. He can only hope that the power he exerted is enough to stop the attack from hitting.

(Theoretical) Stat Breakdown:

Defensive Technique Used:

Mura was first to act, empowered by Aliannah’s spell, descending upon one of the battleships with a speed that was hard to fathom to the average Pergrandean soldier. He would land on the aft section of the battleships, the wooden covering of the deck splintering from the force of his landing. So far, so good. He wouldn’t lose any time, immediately enacting his first spell.

At least, that would be what he thought.

Gravity shifted slightly, bending space to a minor degree as the ship shifted a couple degrees to one side, then would immediately jolt back, the spell no more effective than a higher-than-average wave hitting the ship’s armored side.

And it would be this armor, indeed, consisting of nothing less than refined plates of pure oblivium, that would prove detrimental to Mura’s arcane-based attack, dispersing all ethernano utilized by the spell he employed in an instant just as it descended upon the ship, neutralizing the effect immediately, though Mura, of course, wouldn’t know that, only observing the complete ineffectiveness of his spell. It was to Mura’s luck that, based on the nature of a Pergranti battleship, there would be no personnel on deck on any of these battleships to retaliate immediately, understandably so. Not a single soul would be caught near one of those massive artillery pieces when they fired, especially considering the rate at which they fired, for the shockwave they produced, the ballistic blast that rang out with every ignition of powder, every shell being fired, was enough to rip a normal person atwain.

Lucky for the Shaman, however, as he would continue his assault by alternative means, the technique he used, as opposed to his spell, took effect successfully despite the fact that it seemed to be intercepted by something unseen descending from high above. A whirlwind would rise around Mura, bursting forward from his position, and though the range it possessed barely covered the aft section of the ship, the speed at which it manifested was tremendous. However, that would speak nothing of its actual effect on the ship itself. The railings were blown off, the wood of the deck was torn asunder and strewn about, but cosmetic damage and a few scratches on the metal were the full extent of the damage the battleship received from the attack.

Both Mura and Aliannah would be able to see this and draw their own conclusions from this, the battleship that Mura found himself on now suddenly roaring to life. A shrill alarm bell went off somewhere on the vessel, a roaring voice echoing from speakers in a language that Mura wasn’t able to understand. The ship appeared to fall quiet, its guns, for the time being, silenced, the other ships also ceasing their shell fire. The silence, in contrast to the constant, bone-shaking rumble of thunderous artillery fire from before, was eerie, abrupt, and carried with it a foreboding feeling.

Indeed, it would seem that this feeling would prove right. A hatch flew open at the superstructure of the ship, a figure stepping out, taking several fast strides towards the God of Ishgar on deck. The woman looked at the man that had intruded onto the Pergrandean warship, her gaze wandering up and down the mage before her expression settled into an amused grin. When she spoke, her voice came out in a surprisingly fluent Fiorean, which, while admittedly accented, possessed a certain quality of calm arrogance.

“Ah, so you’re the durak who is causing such a ruckus on my ship, eh? And I thought we’d be in trouble”. The woman, upon closer inspection, was dragging behind her a massive ax, the weapon now swirling forward in her grasp as if it didn’t possess any weight at all, paying true testament to her sheer strength, before the lifted it, pointing it towards the God of Ishgar. “Come then, Intruder. Let’s see what you’re made of”.

Aliannah, however, would not be spared. With a hum of electricity, several guns moved automatically, guided via advanced radar systems and latching onto the blonde mage still suspended in the sky. These anti-aircraft guns could fire several thousand high-caliber rounds a minute and would have no trouble following Aliannah’s movements, as she would soon find out. They had been developed to take out even Pergranti jet-powered fighter aircraft, after all, should it become a necessity. It took a few seconds for these types of weapons located on the smaller ships, destroyers and corvettes that surrounded the larger battleships, to lock on to the mage, but once her signature was spotted, the AA guns flared up. From one second to the next, the air was filled with explosive rounds aimed at the Rune Knight, autocannons firing a continuous hail of fire with deadly accuracy, and while these rounds were not made of oblivium, the sheer volume of fire that she would be hit with all at once would be overwhelming.

On Dela’s end of the battle, her cover, for the time being, remained uncompromised. She would have no issue blending in with the general crowd that would ready itself for battle. The fact that, however, she was heading away from the large Pergranti base was something the Rune Knight quickly realized and effectively countered. The maneuver she pulled off, while not as covert as other means to pick out a mode of transport, was shrouded by both the soundscape and busy nature of the frontline, the line of loud military vehicles, coupled with the ever-present shuffle of an arguably massive crowd, obscuring her movements.

She would find her way onto a heavy-duty military-style truck that, coinciding with her assumptions, would barely even move when she hopped onto it based on its sheer weight. As much as she may not want it, though, she, despite the noise that flared up all around her, would be able to pick up screams of agony from inside the closed-off vehicle, this one, much like most others in this column, being designed for medical purposes only. The blur of voices from inside, dull and echoing within the metal hull in the back of the vehicle, seemed to go on for quite some time, a back and forth in agitated Pergrandean that Dela, based on her knowledge of languages, would have no trouble translating. “Eto bespolezno (It’s no use)”, one voice shouted, “My dolzhny amputirovat. Teper'! (We have to amputate. Now!)”. Another voice screamed out in vehemence before erupting into a long, pained scream “Net, NET! (No, NO!)”. It was clear that the ad-hoc operation that was performed in the back of this moving truck was of utmost emergency.

Apart from this, however, the distance and ride were relatively short to the outside walls of this base. A fence constituted the outermost layer, and, following a short gap, there would first be crates filled with sand and gravel, followed by tall concrete slabs. Tents, towers, and portable containers practically littered the area the closer one got to the massive base proper, Dela being able to take in this sight. There would also be another odd observation: The woman would be able to, the closer she got to the base, feel her magic weaken and lose intensity with every meter and every centimeter that she moved closer to the center of the base. Someone or something actively disturbed the flow of magic in the air, making it extremely difficult for mages to absorb and retain ethernano. It would feel fine for now, but would likely come with its own issues the deeper Dela would head into the base. Finally, she would pass a check-point at one of the gates that led into the base, but traffic was so active that the guards stationed at this particular check-point didn’t check the trucks too closely, waving one after the other through until it was Dela’s turn. Without much trouble, she would enter the base on the back of the truck, and, a short drive later, the vehicle would stop near what looked like a section of the base separated from the rest of the structures here, though not far off from the point of entry she had used to get in. She could hear personnel stir from within the truck once it had come to a halt, and voices would open the large, door-like hinges in the back soon, undoubtedly to transport the heavily-wounded patient to the Pergrandean field hospital she was now at.

On the battlefield, things would begin moving quickly once the assault of Pergranti forces was on. Where tension had been palpable in the atmosphere around the forces of the Luminous Covenant before, it now erupted, shifted into panic, adrenaline, and aggression to varying degrees. Curses were liberally employed in reaction to the impact of explosive shells. Trees of the forests behind the trench line splintered in the distance. Dirt, ash, and mud were thrown about in a storm of destructive bursts that, again and again, would find casualties among the forces of the Covenant. Not only this, but it would also appear as if enemy forces had begun infiltrating the Bellian trench lines as well, the fight escalating from one second to another. The situation had started out orderly, the respective commanders doing their best to keep their Rune Knight and Crusader forces in line disciplined and organized, but the situation deteriorated rapidly. The trench lines gave the forces of the Cardinal and the two Rune Knight leaders some cover, though it was quickly worn away with every resounding shot fired, the barrage of bullets and projectiles being simply too overwhelming to organize any meaningful way of resistance, let alone counterattack.

The Field Marshal and the Director, in Vivian Salvinas’ eyes, certainly made the right call when they immediately leaped into action. Serilda would be the first to act, ascending into the air above the battlefield with ease. Her raised vantage point gave her a more than adequate overview over not only the frontlines established by Bellum, the vast trenches and military stations snaking along the edges of the woodlands, but also the front that Pergrande had created. She would see the long line of military vehicles that stretched out in both directions, firing into the Bellian lines relentlessly. Behind the armored monstrosities, squads of infantry appeared to take cover and advance slowly upon the lines of the Crusader and Rune Knight forces apace with the vehicles, laying down heavy and rapid fire upon the Covenant lines to suppress any opposition. Her position, however, also drew much attention, the Field Marshal immediately being assaulted with large volumes of small arms fire. These projectiles would whiz by and, ultimately, through her body without much effect, however, based on the method of defense the woman employed or without even so much as scratching the surface, the Field Marshal being under very little threat in that regard.

Still, the method of attack she employed, a spell that manifested ice heavily laden with darkness with undoubtedly massive destructive capabilities, would not unfold its desired effects. The spell would find its targets, ice raining upon several of the vehicles without much difficulty. As it got close to the vehicles, and indeed, was just about to strike them, though, the ice cracked, splintered, before finally dispersing into mist without doing damage, leaving behind no trace of the spell, the vehicles completely untouched, leaving Serilda to draw her own conclusions about the nature of these implements of war.

Mythal acted in almost the same instance as Serilda, readying himself for combat before leaping into action, bursting through the bellian front line and towards Pergrande across what had de facto become no man’s land. Even with his speed, it would be rather hard to evade all the projectiles flying by based on the sheer volume of fire, a few making definitive contact and aiming to wound, or worse, kill, though the defenses that protected the God of Ishgar deflected these stray bullets and lucky hits as noticeable ricochets. It wouldn’t be an issue for the time being, but it would be clear to Mythal that, should the volume of fire intensify or his evasive capabilities be hampered, the situation might change quickly.

Still, his attack was made. Swiftly and with deadly precision, the blade at his disposal, based on the overwhelmingly powerful magical abilities it possessed especially in regards to its armor-piercing qualities, managed to actually penetrate through not only the veil of anti-magic around the vehicle, but also the rather extremely durable oblivium armor on the vehicle itself. First, the cannon of this weapon system was cut in two, several tonnes of alloyed steel crashing to the ground before the tank. Of course, the vehicle would already be incapacitated, but the next attack sliced through the turret with little effort, the oblivium-steel compound melting like butter. The reaction was nigh instantaneous. The heat immediately set off the ammunition stored inside the turret of this war machine, the hatch on the turret top bursting open, a jet of flame surging out of the vehicle as all powder and ammunition stored within cooked off. Needless to say, the crew would be incinerated in a mere moment, and while the jet of flame died after only a few seconds of intense fire and heat, the tank was now a burnt-out husk, unable to operate any further.

At the same time, Vivian watched these two enter combat with awe. Not only did the Field Marshal of the Rune Knights seem to shrug off the collective firepower of a Pergrandean division,  but the Director would dash through the hail of fire with a speed that surpassed even her own, taking on one of the enigmatic Pergranti war machines with only a couple swings of his weapon and actually destroying it despite the fact that it seemed to utilize the equally enigmatic oblivium in some capacity. She wondered briefly if she, despite her status as a Cardinal, could even approach these two in their respective fields of expertise at all, but that was not what was important right now. In the end, she knew that their status as Gods of Ishgar was warranted, and, of course, that she was exceptionally glad to have them on her side.

This elation, however, disappeared quickly when, some distance away, the trenches manned by Crusader troops appeared to explode in a furious array of attacks. A Pergranti infiltration team? No, that wasn’t it. Her eyes flickered, the incandescent glow of magic within the oculi flaring up briefly before shifting to a transitory swirl of rainbow hues. Her eyes could see the direction and flow of magical power, and what she stared at, well, it was akin to a roaring storm of magic, something that was, without a doubt in her mind, not something any Pergrandean would possess. But who then was this attacker? She would have to do something about it, swallowing the feeling that came with once more having to abandon her advantageous plans. “I will intercept the attackers on that front!”, her shout went out to the Field Marshal suspended in the air above the battlefield. “Please continue to commence the attack, Miss Sinclair!”.

With that, the Cardinal was gone, kicking off the ground at a speed not dissimilar to that of the other mages present in this battle as she rushed towards the source of her unease, the angel by the name of Medeia. It would take her only a few moments to arrive at the scene, coming to an abrupt halt a short, but sizable distance away from the enemy mage, her eyes taking in first the opponent, then the massacre that had transpired here. The bodies of her fellow Crusaders, gruesomely torn asunder, were strewn about in a display of mercilessness she had not expected, not even on this battlefield. Who was this? No, that was a question that did not matter.

Within her stirred an emotion that quickly manifested, her features shifting into an expression of overt rage. This thing, whatever it was, was a monster in human shape, a demon sent by Pergrande to destroy her troops. She would put a stop to it. It was her solemn duty. Her actions left little room for reactions, her voice echoing forth in a terrifying cry. “I don’t care who or what you are, but you will pay for this!”.

In a single, elegant motion, Vivian drew her blade from its sheath at her hip, pointing the tip of the sword at her opponent before unleashing her own magic. Within the blink of an eye her system was filled with adrenaline as her Mystic Eyes did their work. Her vital functions went into overdrive. Her muscles tensed, her focus sharpened to an almost unnerving degree. Time seemed to slow down for the Cardinal as white flame erupted around her weapon, glowing so brightly that it briefly seemed to drown out the light of dawn to those nearby. Without losing a second, Vivian burst forward towards the enemy mage, attempting to, with one swift and decisive strike from overhead, bring down the monstrosity that was evidently responsible for the death of her comrades.


@Mura Kensho @Serilda Sinclair @Mythal Ragnos @Dela @Aliannah

For Michael, the situation shifted somewhat as he exited the helicopter, the machine now turning after hovering to deliver the esper to the fleet, returning to base. The man, now suspended in the air above the fleet, would witness the display that followed in the skies not far from him. One of the two shapes, a man, as he would have seen through the scope of his weapon, would descend upon one of the battleships and attempt to attack it, where he would, of course, attempt to intervene. To his surprise, Michaels technique would do very little to stop the mage’s own technique from manifesting and did not disperse it as he had hoped it would, though despite the fact that the attack had been successful, Michael being able to see the vortex of spinning, blade-like slashes near the ocean surface below, it seemed like the attack did surprisingly little damage to the battleship, raising some obvious questions. Michael, with his knowledge of Pergranti technology, would of course realize that these ships were armored with heavy plates of pure oblivium, affording them some impressive protection.

Before the esper could make another move, though, the ships below seemed to react sooner rather than later. The man who had attacked the battleship would soon find himself under attack by a Pergranti Soldier that Michael would not recognize, a female officer who, much like him, utilized psionic power in combat. The woman, meanwhile, this one of course being the other figure that Michael would have spotted, remained passive and, apart from activating some incantations, did not intervene in the battle below for the time being, remaining suspended in the air. This afforded the ships a prime target, the skies around her soon filled with thousands of projectiles from the anti-air cannons on the ships below, undoubtedly giving Michael free reign to intervene in the fight as he desired. Both of his opponents would be more than just a little distracted, that much would be evident to him, but it was up to him what conclusion to draw from this and how to act on the opportunity that now presented itself, the Marshal's voice soon responding to his earlier report.

Medeia would be the first one to reach combat, bursting through the Bellian defensive parameter and into their trench lines like a merciless storm. Within the blink of an eye for the average person, and indeed, a span of time that was still too swift for the Crusaders to react to, soldier after soldier was killed immediately. This had little to do with a battle, she would realize, making the initial onslaught more akin to an unopposed massacre. A good two dozen Crusader Knights and Army soldiers, men and women of Bellum all, would be torn asunder in an instant, crushed like weak prey animals without any and all means to even think about fighting back against the predator that had invaded their ranks. They would provide nothing but disposable, cheap means of entertainment for the Warlady, that much would quickly become clear to Medeia, and none of them really had any means to oppose her and the power of her initial assault.

Her quite hefty attack, however, would swiftly draw the attention of a powerful foe, a woman in red dress, which, albeit covered in specks of dirt and dust in places, seemed elegant and quite noble, appearing in a dash of incredible momentum. Her hair was long and of fair color, her features soft, and the radiant eyes she possessed scanned both the Warlady and the Crusaders she had just cut down. That, of course, would be the moment when Medeia would feel it.

The air around the two crackled, the aura around the newly appeared foe intensifying briefly before finally, the atmosphere began buzzing with might unimaginable to regular mages. It was as if this woman’s magical aura had been set aflame with a deep rage and now burned brighter than even the morning sun, alight with sheer, uncompromising power and an intent to kill so sharp that even a mage of Medeia’s caliber would have trouble dismissing. Her voice reflected this rage, the woman screaming only “I don’t care who or what you are, but you will pay for this!” before disappearing from view, moving at a speed that surpassed even the Warlady’s own, reappearing an instant later before her. The woman’s blade, shrouded in brilliant, white flame, was raised high and would descend at a mind-boggling speed, a blow undoubtedly meant to cleave Medeia in two. She would have to react fast in order to avoid what could certainly become a death blow if she wanted to avoid an instant kill.

Drekka would face less trouble, the absence of any noteworthy foe in her section of the front allowing her to not only gain an advantageous position, but also wreak havoc among the trench lines of Bellum. Her impact and the subsequent explosion of force from her weapon cleared a whole line of Bellian soldiers, dirt, grass, and bodies flung into the air by the sheer concussive force that essentially obliterated a sizable section of the trench that had been so painstakingly dug by the troops that occupied it. Where the trench had been, a small crater now sat in the earth, the Dragon Slayer in its midst. This initial shock had killed a number of them immediately, but not all of those hit by this attack had been killed immediately, though it was enough to paralyze the Bellian soldiers around her for just a few swiftly passing seconds. Enough for her to take out several more with violent and forceful swings of her bladed weapon, first one, then another, and then another soldier thereafter falling at her hands. Soon, Drekka would be covered in a spray of blood, the nature of her fighting style and the attacks delivered with her weapon leaving a small trail of destruction until finally, she, too, would be confronted by an enemy of note, a man pushing through the lines of soldiers to stand before her, raising his voice to drown out the ever-present noises of the battlefield.

“I am Milleas Drazos, Commander of the Crusader Order! By my name, fiend, I will not let you pass and wreak havoc upon my troops. If you have any shred of honor as a warrior-”, he would raise his weapon, a spear, the point aimed at Drekka in a clear challenge, a clear prompt for a duel, “-then stand and fight me”. He would await her response, but the brunette man eyed her sharply, readying his weapon for any eventuality to come. Drazos was by no means a weakling, and even though this demonic creature seemed to possess some kind of unholy strength, Drazos had a duty to uphold in confronting her, this being the distinct impression that Reina would get if she thought about the issue before her at all.

Towards the original front, the Marshal of Pergrande watched the events of this battle unfold exactly as planned, Bellum via the use of their armored brigades receiving the initial “shock” portion of her shock and awe tactics. The mages she had hired, it seemed, were nothing to scoff at, either, both women that had remained with her immediately leaping into displays of gruesome action at her command. It was satisfying to see that her decision to employ mages had borne fruit, after all, even if she had been skeptical about it at times. These mages could hold their own in battle, and she expected great things from them, expected them to do even more damage to Bellum, to soundly defeat and crush them for the glory of Pergrande.

A voice in her ear brought her back from her momentarily diverging line of thoughts, the communication undoubtedly stemming from the esper among the volunteer force. The Marshal, too, would respond by putting a finger on the ear piece, her voice not at all surprised or bothered, showing the same lack of emotion as ever. “It appears, then, that I was correct in my assumption. I doubt, however, that even you could transport an entire fleet of Pergranti warships, Michael. I don’t need some kind of psionic disaster, so do not get ahead of yourself, esper. Deal with the attackers however you see fit, but do not let them sink the ships”. This would be her final order in that regard. She knew, of course, of the properties of her warships, highly doubting that ordinary mages could even pose a slight threat to her naval force, not least due to the fact that competent Paladins had been stationed among the fleet. She would reassess the situation of the fleet should there be any updates, of course, she was not so arrogant to assume that she or the technology Pergrande utilized was invincible, but until she would be given explicit reason to worry, she would not.

There was, however, a strange development. Three mages especially stood out to Aleksandra’s razor-sharp senses, one of them, she knew, being the Cardinal of Peace associated with Bellum, Vivian Salvina. The de facto leader of Bellum’s armed forces. She was probably among the higher echelons when it came to power among mages, a force never to be underestimated in their eyes, but to the Marshal, she was simply one among many. She rarely differentiated between opponents when they were magic users. After all, they were, in the end, powerless all the same before her.

Two of them, though, were a different story. She did not know either of these two, a man with black hair and a woman with white hair, and both of them were evidently very powerful combatants. She pondered the implications that came with their presence, reaching the conclusion that, as they were not persons of interest from among the Bellian forces, they would have to originate from Bellum’s ally, the Rune Knights of Fiore. Their generals, if they possessed such a thing, perhaps? She gave the matter a quick thought. Their involvement could become problematic. It would be best to avoid risks. This would be the moment she would personally involve herself in the fighting. For the first time in a while, it appeared that Aleksandra would show a slither of emotion, the faintest smirk curling her lips upward. She was aching to test her abilities against these foes, hoping that they were indeed as strong as she hoped. Without a word, and indeed, without a sound, Aleksandra Polyakov would vanish, moving with a speed so immense that it bordered on instantaneous teleportation in a feat one would not have assumed the girl possible of.

Mythal would be her first target, the Marshal bridging the distance between herself and the God of Ishgar in only the fraction of a second. Her hand drew back, balled into a deceptively weak-looking fist, though this fist alone, now swung at the director at an insane velocity, carried an unstoppable force that, should it hit, would, reinforced by a godlike control of psionic power, deal damage heavier than the firepower of the entire Pergranti fleet currently stationed off-shore combined.

@Knight Owl @Medeia @Thatcywalker

Michael Brooklyn Morgan "Red Alert"

The Embers of Conflict

He expected his enemy’s attack to be resistant against his bullet, no doubt due to a difference in power and size. Though even without his help, the attack doesn’t seem to affect the ship as much as he thought. It was an unsurprising fact that he realized, given the nature of the ship’s construction involving oblivium, but still, he was surprised because after all, oblivium isn’t just some common metal. For them to use the metal on such a massive vehicle must have exhausted a little of their oblivium supply, but what does he know? He isn’t privy to their logistics so he can’t be sure if it did cost them a lot of resources to build such a massive fleet.

The hatch opened as he’d seen a figure dragging with her what looks to be a large axe. Despite the difference in stature, the woman was able to carry it as if it was weightless. He is unfamiliar with this woman, but judging from her reaction, she’s part of the fleet. He didn’t sense some anger from her tone and, betraying her appearances, she’d speak in fluent Fiorian. Now he’s curious, whether this woman was truly Pergrandian or not, or if she’s trained to have a very natural Fiorian accent. By the looks of it though, she looks like she got one of them locked in a duel.

Meanwhile, his attention turned towards his companion.

He recalled his pistol and bands as they disintegrated into code and sent them back to his cyberspace. They’re not the ideal weapons for the situation, and given that he’s on the offensive, he’s going to need some heavy firepower. Once more, a pair of red hexagon shaped sigils would appear beside him as a pair of rifle parts protruded, connecting to form a single sniper rifle like last time. As a sniper, the soldier kept his distance as he flew out of range from the others, even as far as teleporting a few meters above to give him some sort of vantage point. He could clearly see everything happening below, his focus turned to the woman trying hard to dodge the flurry of bullets coming her way. She’d manage to evade several projectiles, and despite getting hit, it wouldn’t take long for her to recover. Healing magic, no doubt, and with her attention away from him, he took this opportunity to aim the barrel of his rifle towards her.

“One shot is all it takes.” Hauntings voice would echo in his mind, “Hurt them.”

He doesn’t realize that he was under the voice’s thrall as Michael aimed for the woman’s head, intent on killing her. This wasn’t his first time killing someone from long range, and while it has been awhile since he last held and fired his sniper rifle, his body would remember quite clearly the mannerisms of a sniper. His ruthless pursuit of justice has led him with a trail of bold bodies, what difference would it make to snuff out this girl’s light? His aim was steady in between bated breaths, waiting for the chance for him to guarantee a hit. A little pause from the girl’s movements and she would have been hit in the head, yet she doesn’t seem to have a moment to pause and collect herself given that she’s under heavy fire. Whatever. Carefully, he aimed, his fingers eager to pull the trigger. He slowly pulled the trigger just as he’d got a clear shot of her, but once he did, the voices echoed out to him again in unison. “Kill them.” Almost immediately, he broke out of his trance, aiming for the girl’s shoulders instead just as he pulled the trigger.

No Stats, Just Plot Stuff:

The day had slowly begun, the darkness of night almost entirely giving way to the light of dawn.

The man did not appear to respond to her taunt, a fact that made Yelena, the woman who stood in opposition to the God of Ishgar on the deck of one of the Pergranti warships, a little uneasy. As Mura had surmised correctly, she was indeed a Soldier of the Empire, a Paladin through and through, but the mage wouldn’t know that, of course. Still, it implied a few things. Based on the fact that she had been stationed on this ship, one could naturally conclude that she was part of the guard assigned to this floating bastion of pure firepower, but also that she was, in fact, an Esper. She was trained in anti-mage tactics, and provocation was a strategy none too seldomly employed when fighting a mage, especially one who was confident in their magical abilities especially. There was no such reaction, however. The other remained eerily calm, Yelena’s stance shifting immediately as she recognized the threat.

What followed was not magical, that much was certain.

Her learned reflexes were what narrowly saved her as she twisted the ax when the man suddenly and without delay appeared before her, attempting to skewer her only the blink of an eye later. Metal scratched metal as her weapon spun through the air, sparks flying once, twice, three times, the broad head of the ax used to block the sword’s attacks every time. Despite this, it took Yelena every bit of concentration she could muster to move her weapon in time and follow the man’s attacks. He was faster and stronger up close than she had anticipated, a frustrated thought rushing through her mind. “Aren’t mages supposed to be ranged fighters, dammit?!”.

The Pergrandean Esper was not without means of either attack or defense, though. Close-range was, after all, her territory, too, and her oracle reflected this specialization. With a twist of her body, she swung the ax in her hand upward, one hand firmly grasping the hilt of the massive weapon while the other now clasped it just below the blade, allowing her to guard with the impromptu shield. Her eyes flickered, veins on her forehead strained as she willed psionic power into existence, a surge of flickering force disturbing the air around her just as Mura’s rapid slash was severing the air between the two combatants, man’s blade producing the distinct hiss of rushing wind as it travelled. It was a forceful and straightforward attack, undoubtedly, but the force of the swing alone did not seem to have the desired effect.

The Pergranti woman was pushed back a few paces, her feet sliding slightly on the deck moist with ocean brine, but she otherwise appeared unharmed. When Mura’s blade connected with the psionic aura she had built around herself, he would feel a sensation as though he had struck a solid block of steel.

For Aliannah, the swift change of position that her magic granted her would only be a temporary relief that bridged a few seconds at most. The targeting systems utilized by the Pergranti ships were far too accurate to lose track of her, even if she was moving quickly as she was. Her teleport would cover only a relatively short distance, not enough to make it even close to the ocean’s surface, and before she had reached the gentle mass of waves below, the anti-air guns had already reacquired her and resumed their relentless onslaught of projectiles. Friendly fire, in this case, was of little concern. There was enough space between the Pergranti ships to all but eliminate the chance of such an event occurring, and in those instances where the possibility came up, guns stopped for short periods of time while others from different angles would cover their firing arcs. The projectiles that hit initially were intercepted, but the magical protection that covered the woman would soon be worn away, and thereafter, things would not be pretty.

Based on Aliannah’s complete lack of defense against the bursts of armor-piercing 20-millimeter rounds, the projectiles that connected would do far more than simply scratch her skin. Mages were more durable people than the average person, that much was entirely true, but even considering this fact, the vast majority of them would not be able to withstand a barrage of force like this one. Aliannah’s form was pierced multiple times, gashing wounds ripped open where the projectiles sundered apart flesh and smashed bone like naught more than twigs, and while her body’s natural regenerative abilities mitigated the absolute worst of the damage, she would soon find herself in a condition that was immediately life-threatening, heavily wounded and continuously bleeding from several severe wounds across her body.

The guns, however, did cease firing once she had come sufficiently close to her target as she swung up beside the Pergranti ship, transforming her body. The transformation, however, gave Yelena enough time. The woman was initially surprised at the appearance of another mage, splitting her attention between the newly appeared soldier and the man who had engaged her in close-quarters combat, but she adjusted her stance quickly. The shards of darkness fired at her came at a rapid pace, but most flew past the Pergranti Esper and impacted the ship’s superstructure behind her, dispersing into a mist of ethernano upon hitting the Oblivium-coated surface of the vessel. A number of projectiles did connect, but were similarly intercepted by the psionic barrier projected around Yelena.

A smirk crossed the woman’s face. “Nice try, suka”. The Esper thrust out her arm, a broad wave of psionic force following her movement, rushing towards Aliannah at hypersonic speeds. The amount of stopping power bundled in this attack would likely be enough to crush the Rune Knight’s bones and restrict her in place via psychokinetic grip, meaning that, based on her already present injuries, the danger to her life would be grave. Then, there was also the attack of the other Esper present in this portion of the conflict zone to consider, Michael’s carefully targeted shot already fired at Aliannah.

Without losing a second, Yelena shifted her attention to the other adversary, twisting her ax once more, the blade drawn back as her eyes met those of the God of Ishgar. “My turn, durak”.

There were no fancy techniques or tricks to her attack. Her body bent as she lowered to the deck of the ship, kicking off the planks akin to a predator pouncing on its prey as she burst forward, bridging the distance between herself and Mura in the fraction of a second. Her ax was swung in a wide arch, a strike empowered with raw, irresistibly brute strength born from overwhelming psionic might, and while not extraordinarily fast, it packed a massive punch.

As the attack was performed, a bright light flared up in the direction of the battlefield, persisting for only a few brief moments before vanishing. Both Mura and Aliannah would be able to perceive this flash of light.

Meanwhile, Dela had found her way into the Pergranti main base without much resistance or difficulty based on her disguise. Where she was now, she would blend in seamlessly with all the other faces present here, and much as before, the general hectic state of a warzone prevented anyone from questioning things as they were too closely. She was hardly a sight out of the ordinary, especially based on the size of this field hospital, which, even for Pergrande’s standards, was rather sizable, and, based on the way the battle was going, not exactly near full capacity. Still, treating the wounded in an emergency was a rather demanding affair, and so Dela, with her disguise, would have no trouble fulfilling her temporary objective of making herself look useful, more than a few grateful nurses and unfortunate souls accepting her kind gift of, well, towels.

These things were seemingly needed everywhere and all the time, keeping her busy.

And indeed, Dela was not the only soldier acting in this way, several others rushing through the ranks to perform whatever task it was that medics or nurses currently needed them to do. Within the general state of orderly chaos, it would not be hard for the disguised Rune Knight to get a general overview of the Field Hospital and its adjacent functions. Uniforms, of course, weren’t exactly in huge supply, considering that most she came across in the open were bloodied, shredded, or both. Uniform pieces were simply discarded where necessary by the medical personnel. Fabric could easily be replaced. Soldiers who were loyal to the motherland, however, could not.

Yet, there were several different opportunities for Dela to indirectly obtain a uniform that she could immediately spot. There was a separate changing area at one end of this large field hospital for doctors and nurses, which, while rather busy, in all likelihood would at least hold some uniforms. If Dela wasn’t against such a thing, well, she had also seen the medical personnel transport one or two of those who hadn’t made it and succumbed to their injuries to a separate tent. She could likely assemble a sufficient full uniform from pieces she could pick off the bodies in there, and while not the most moral option, it would likely be the easiest one. The course of action she would take would, of course, be hers to decide.

Back on the battlefield, the situation that had begun to escalate seemed to get more and more chaotic by the second. While Mythal was sent flying by an overwhelming force, Serilda continued to be assaulted by varying degrees of fire before the group of three that had formed from the Rune Knight Gods of Ishgar and Bellum’s Cardinal of Peace was split.

Serilda was first to act, and in an impressive manner, at that: Magic, in one moment that followed an almost eery second where time appeared to stand still, vibrated through the air, ethernano rippling across the battlefield as hundreds, no, thousands of soldiers appeared from thin air, their warcries briefly drowning out even the most deafening sounds of the battlefield.

Then came the Field Marshal’s command, the order to charge, and at once, things were set in motion. It was an incredibly inspiring act that gave the Crusaders and the Rune Knights a boost in morale which, after the onset of the battle and the terrible chaos that had befallen the lines of the Luminous Covenant. A not insignificant number of troops had been wounded and were in need of urgent medical attention. Some had already succumbed to their wounds, fallen to gunfire or shrapnel from an explosive shell. The pressure the Pergranti war machines put on the Bellian lines had been extreme, and morale had begun to fade away. Spells and attacks had been flung back at the attackers, of course, but little could even so much as scratch the tanks that covered the forces of Pergrande, hope dwindling by the second. The arrival of much-needed reinforcements, however, seemed to begin to turn the tide at this section of the front as the nephilim charged.

Serilda would not fall into inaction, of course, descending onto the battlefield with her own squad of soldiers to attack one of the Pergranti war vehicles that continued to fire. The attack was swift and overwhelming. Metal was bent, crushed, and snapped by sheer force of strength. The armor of the tank was pushed into the vehicle in several places as Serilda’s summoned soldiers attacked the vehicle with their weapons, turning the insides of the tank into a spray of deadly metal fragments, much to the detriment of the crew. Serilda herself as well would have no trouble slicing through the metal of the vehicle with her raw power alone, sparks drawing wide arcs through the air as her swords slashed once, then a second time. Soon, the engine at the back of the vehicle was torn apart, swiftly catching fire and beginning to burn, the combined force of the soldiers and the God of Ishgar rendering the vehicle completely destroyed, not much more than a small heap of scrap metal after they were done.

Mythal, on the other hand, was, of course, launched back by the sheer force of an attack that possessed a nigh unparalleled force, the vestment that protected him being the only reason why he wasn’t immediately torn limb from limb. Still, the attack would leave its mark that consisted of more than just a bruise. Still, the God of Ishgar masterfully dispersed the force that had been directed at him via the use of his blade, prompting a discussion with his very own Nephilim before he would take the offense. The spell he cast would form initially, though the battle between himself and the Marshal of the Imperial Army of Pergrande had only just begun, Aleksandra’s true power yet to be revealed.

Vivian’s blade, alight with bright alabaster fire, aimed to cut through her opponent, driven by emotion and rage at a speed that would have overwhelmed even the most powerful of mages. Not this foe, however. Her blade met only the remnants of sands permeating through the atmosphere where Medeia had just been, incredible heat scorching the packed dirt and gravel of the broad trench around her. The Cardinal’s visage twisted into a grimace of agitation as she clicked her tongue, shifting her stance as her Mystic Eyes followed the magical signature of her opponent to her new position where she had reappeared. Indeed, it was as Vivian Salvina had deduced: This was by no means an ordinary adversary. She had to be on her guard, more and more magic power surging through her eyes, and from those specialized organs, through the rest of her body like a burst of adrenaline.

Her assumption would definitively prove correct when the foe transformed before her eyes in a fountain of light, assuming a new, and, if her eyes and mana-sight could be believed, even more powerful form, one that surged with a might of holy nature not entirely dissimilar to her own kind of power. The intense pressure of arcane might this person gave off was incredible, the soldiers around the two fleeing away from the two fighters in pure terror. This was entirely unexpected. Why would Pergrande employ a mage, one of such a caliber, no less, and where had they employed such a person? The question would remain unanswered.

What followed, however, shocked Cardinal Salvina into a state of paralysis.

With first awe, then terror she watched as the other raised her hands to the sky, and light formed in the heavens above. This light, a concentration of magical power unlike anything that Vivian Salvina had ever seen before, would not only persist, but expand rapidly. Vivian’s mind was racing, trying to comprehend the fact that this incarnation of raw power, this ill omen of destruction had been summoned forth from one moment to the next. If this power descended, then the consequences for her forces would be devastating. Was there something she could do? The realization struck her down, devastated her.

There was something she could try. This spell was simply too powerful not to. Her instincts, driven by primal fear, kicked in, and Vivian felt it with every fiber of her being. She had to act now if she wanted to have a chance at surviving this. Every muscle in her body contracted with tension, arcane power swirling up from deep within her. A demanding spell, certainly, but her, and by extension, Bellum’s only hope, the woman raising an arm towards the light.


It was all she could do to save them, calling out before the pillar of devastation descended onto the battlefield. While a psionic boundary of a make that would appear entirely otherworldly and unnatural to any mage present protected the soldiers of Pergrande from the effects of this spell, well, Bellum and the Rune Knights did not receive the same kind of mercy, of course.

A glistening glow briefly filled the air underneath the stream of power, shimmering with an almost ethereal elegance before finally, in a display of immediate and uncompromising mercilessness and slaughter, a ray of divinity threatened to shatter the world in its area of influence. The spell that was cast by Medeia would prove that it carried its name for good reason, though it would not remain unopposed.

Light clashed against light as a golden circle spread in the air above the battlefield, the sound of a bell echoing across the wartorn expanse. A three-layered dome of glistening, sparkling ethereal gold emerged from nothingness and wrapped around the forces of the Covenant in a protective embrace, emboldened by the wish of its caster. This dome, a spell that constituted one of the three great treasures of Bellum, was a relic of the civil war between the nation of mages and the Empire, referred to as Campana Dei Arcanum, the Bell of the Arcane God. It had seen many battles, saved many lives, and today, it would reemerge for the first time in 500 years. The fighting stopped briefly, thousands of eyes all looking upward, all struck with awe as an unstoppable force clashed with an immovable object. Light danced across the still dawn-lit horizon, light deflected into all directions before finally, something changed.

A sound as of shattering glass.

The first and outermost layer of the protective dome was shattered, sparks of golden light that faded into nothingness strewn about across the battlefield. Then another one, a wave of anxious cries echoing out from Crusaders and Rune Knights alike as the second layer of their defense was peeled away. Vivian Salvina, though, was intent on not surrendering this fight. For her comrades. For her country. For the people of Bellum. The massive beam of light that clashed against the barrier lost intensity, shrank with each passing moment. She simply had to keep this barrier up for just a few more seconds and all would be fine. And then, it happened, another shattering sound like glass, a ray of concentrated divine light, a remnant of the original pillar of destruction, slicing through the last protective bubble. For a brief moment, Vivian’s vision went white as she could feel herself being assaulted by what felt like a fierce firestorm, then came a harsh impact on the ground. The original spell and much of its effects had been deflected and absorbed by the Cardinal’s barrier, but a small part of it had managed to pierce through to a devastating effect for a section of the front line.

Armor, clothing, and finally, flesh were burned away by a radiance of an intensity the world had not seen in a long time. Hundreds of lives were extinguished in less than a second as this section of the front was torn asunder. The soldiers that belonged to Bellum and the Rune Knights were incinerated. This included the reinforcements that Serilda had called upon in the area, the vast majority of which would be vaporized by the same pillar of light. The light persisted not for long after the barrier had blocked the majority of its effects, a couple of milliseconds at most, but when it vanished, when the onslaught of divine power retreated back to the heavens from whence it had come, it would reveal the destruction it had wrought where it had touched the ground.

The earth was singed, scarred, and bleached ashen-white by the intense light. Where Bellum’s line had been was still an array of trenches, though the sounds that had given these fortifications life were gone. The shouted orders, the warcries, the noises of agony and defiance, all burned away by divine light, charred corpses, frozen in time like statues, remaining as the only indicator that humans had been there only seconds before. The majority of this one section of the front had been entirely depopulated, the forest behind the trenches now only a field of dried husks.

Vivian had survived the ordeal, very likely only based on the fact that she had been entrusted with the treasures of Bellum and had utilized one of them, but when she opened her iridescent oculi, she would lay eyes on the contained, yet absolute devastation, her gut twisting at the imagination what this spell would have done had she not been here. The Cardinal, however, did not emerge unscathed. Even with her considerable defenses, she was covered in smaller burns, her right arm, the arm which she had used to cast Campana Dei Arcanum, bearing the brunt of the attack for her. The skin had been singed, blackened in places, and burned raw in others. It was a decidedly morbid sight. Her sword had been blown from her grasp. The pain that assaulted her was nigh unbearable, her whole body trembling in paralyzing agony, but Vivian gritted her teeth as she got back up. This was not the worst she had endured, but the Cardinal had lost her initiative and even more soldiers had died because of her weakness. Anger rose from within her. She would not give up. She would continue fighting, even if injured, though this foe and the power she evidently wielded raised doubts in her mind. Would she be strong enough to face this soldier of Pergrande in combat alone? Would she be able to hold her own against her one more time, now injured? Only the course of this battle could tell as fighting resumed around her.



@Mura Kensho @Serilda Sinclair @Mythal Ragnos @Dela @Aliannah

Michael would still find himself suspended in the air above the fleet, witnessing both the duel on the deck of one of the warships as well as the barrage of anti-aircraft fire below him. With his newly summoned weapon, he would aim and fire a shot at the already heavily injured mage, which would, if it hit, would almost certainly spell the end of this fight for her, if not her death. He, too would be able to witness the blindingly bright light in the flash in the distance.

Medeia would successfully transform herself and cast not only her Take-Over, but also her spell she called “Divine Judgement”, the mass of light soon descending upon the battlefield below. What the Warlady could not have anticipated, of course, was the opposition that the Cardinal of Peace would offer to her powers, a dome of ethereal and transparent golden glow appearing to block her attack, though not fully, as she would soon realize. The attack had shown some effect, and while it was only a fraction of the original destructive power the spell held, it had still cut a noticeable breach into the Bellian lines. Hundreds of soldiers had simply been incinerated, and while the terrain remained relatively unscathed, the resistance that had formerly kept this section of the front stable had been eradicated, giving the Pergrandean army a chance to break through the Bellian lines if nothing was done.

The woman that the Warlady had aimed to strike down, however, had survived the attack, making it more than obvious to Medeia that she was far more durable than initially anticipated, even if she had clearly taken significant damage from the mercenary’s attack and appeared at least momentarily immobilized.

The commander of the Crusader forces by the name of Drazos did not falter in the face of Drekka’s boast, standing firm with spear outstretched. Even when the woman released a pulse of powerful magic, the image of a dragon manifesting in the minds of those that beheld this display of power, he continued to stand his ground. Was she a dragon slayer? Draconic magic certainly carried that implication, and, while rare, these types of mages were not unheard of, even in Bellum, and while they sometimes wielded awesome power, they were mages all the same. Commander Drazos summoned up his own magic from within the depths of his being, power rushing through his veins as his arcane aura expanded off his body. His concentration reached its maximum, and his eyes were firmly centered on the woman before him, even if his soldiers backed off, intimidated by the display of power.

Just as she kicked off the ground and attacked him, his own magic would manifest, red streaks of electricity surging across his arm and into his weapon, covering the steel with arcs of crimson lightning as he swung his weapon upward. Blades wreathed in magic clashed, arcane sparks flying off in all directions, but in the end, Drazos would force the blade away, deflecting the woman’s blow with a crackling of thunder. He would have prepared for a counterattack, had it not been for the blinding light that suddenly seemed to fill all corners of the battlefield, blinding both Drekka and Drazos equally, the latter dashing a few steps back to shield his eyes from the radiant glow in the distance, momentarily stopping the Commander in his tracks. This, of course, came with his own set of worries. He had seen the spell that had attempted to deflect the massive spell that had been flung at the Crusader Forces, knowing of its qualities and its user. He reckoned that there was little he could do for Cardinal Salvina, but that was not his main priority right now. For the time being, he focussed on the adversary before him, the dispersion of the blinding light also giving him the opportunity to unleash one of his own attacks. The hand was not grasping a spear reached into the air, the crackle of electricity once more echoing forth before coalescing into a scarlet bolt within his grasp that, with a speed that exceeded that of Drekka by several times, would be launched at the woman like a javelin. If it did strike true, it would burn straight through any defense not durable enough to withstand its piercing qualities and heavily singe her flesh, teaching her the lesson that this warrior of the Crusader Order was not to be taken lightly.

Aleksandra found himself confronted with the man she had so freely knocked through the air. Regrettably, it seemed he had survived the strike, and indeed, even felt bold enough to attempt a counterattack after conversing with an apparition at his side that could best be described as a degenerate, further convincing her that Pergrande’s stance of anti-magic was the way to go if it meant that the good citizens of the Empire would be spared the brain-rot of, well, whatever that was. Still, it was amusing to her, in a sense.

“You mages are full of surprises, you know”, the Marshal addressed the God of Ishgar in perfect, albeit slightly accented Fiorean as he charged at her, the small smile shifting her expression still. This, however, was not solely directed at Mythal, the girl turning her head away from her adversary and towards the glow that formed above the battlefield. Casually, almost in a disinterested manner, the blonde raised one hand, an invisible wall of psionic might materializing instantly to direct the light away from her own troops where it bore the potential of ever hitting them.

“Magnificent, is it not? It appears that I have chosen at least one competent fighter for my army”. Aleksandra made the remark almost idly, as if having an inconsequential chit chat with the man who was actively seeking to kill her. “Ironically enough, she finds residence in Fiore, just like you, Rune Knight. I hear you call their ilk 'Warlords'. Impressive title, certainly”. Her other hand, the one that had sought to snuff out Mythal’s life just moments before, would be raised, too. With a deafening screech, like nails on a chalkboard, the wall created of darkness that had been manifested into existence behind Mythal burst, exploding into tiny particles from within before getting even a single shot off.

If the man perhaps assumed that, with her hands occupied in doing something unknown to the magic of this battlefield, she would be open to attack, he would be mistaken. His scythe was swung with the same force that had dismantled one of the Pergranti war vehicles before, undoubtedly in an attempt to test its sharpness against her flesh. It would be in vain. With the same ear-splitting sound, the magic that coated the scythe would be blown off its blade like a scattering of dust in the wind, the weapon itself, although sharp and without a single doubt incredibly deadly, being stopped by an unseen force just inches from her neck, leaving the weapon suspended there. No matter how hard the God of Ishgar tried, no matter how much he pushed, he wouldn’t be able to get any closer.

Her head, once again, turned, the eyes of the Esper Aleksandra Polyakov, aglow with psionic power, staring into the man’s very own pair, possessing a depth to them that she seldomly showed others. There was wisdom in those eyes, an indescribable knowledge and experience that seemed to look down upon him, but also a whirl of emotion that anyone would be able to glean from her gaze in this very moment despite the fact that her appearance and her facial features betrayed none of it. She had an objective here on the front line, of course, but it were rare opportunities like this one, moments where she could play with her powers, that made the boring, monotonous days of before so much more exciting.

The girl lowered her arms, one of them reaching across her form and into the hilt of the katana-style weapon slung over her back and shoulder. “Why don’t we introduce ourselves, Rune Knight? I would like to know a man’s name before I kill him”.

She drew the weapon from it scabbard, gently, almost with no apparent effort at all, pushing the scythe away from herself with the blade of her own weapon.

“I am Aleksandra Romanova of the Imperial House Polyakov, Marshal of the Imperial Army of Pergrande”.

As soon as she had spoken these words, the inhuman speed the girl seemed to possess kicked in once again. Within the fraction of a second, Aleksandra had lowered her stance almost flat to the ground, and then, like a loaded spring, burst forward, a single word on her lips as she swung her sword.


Bundled within this swing was endlessly refracted kinetic energy that would multiply the potency of any such strike by hundreds, if not thousands of times before finally being released in a wave of pure, unrestrained force, directed not only at the God of Ishgar, but also the summoned army that had appeared near the trenches behind him. Regardless of whether Mythal would be hit with this onslaught of kinetic power, it would, in the span of milliseconds, surge across the battlefield, its effects only kicking in in a delayed fashion after the shockwave had already passed. The ground was torn up, stone and dirt splintering, being launched to the sides as a cone of unleashed pressure, as everything in its path was simply crushed and torn asunder. Based on the expansion of this force as it interacted with the atmosphere and the conical shape it took, it wouldn’t destroy a large portion of the Bellian lines as the attack approached from their front, but it was enough to, within a single blow, destroy about three-quarters of the Nephilim that had been summoned to assist Bellum, as well as level an entire section of trenches. The brunt of the attack would be dispersed in the forests behind the Bellian lines, where all that would bear witness could see a massive expanse of torn earth left in the wake of Aleksandra’s attack, uprooted trees, splintered stone, and devastating ground turning miles and miles of this habitat into a mess of a wasteland.



@Knight Owl @Medeia @Thatcywalker