RP:In A Mirror, Darkly

Part of the To Haunt A Hero Arc

Summary: Continuing on from a previous grim encounter, Kasyr and Larewen hatch a scheme to undermine the evil being that is Corruption, a great fiend in possession of the man Jarith. As their gamble begins, Lionel and the Shi family happen upon the scene. Corruption summons several wicked manifestations as a savage battle erupts on the streets of Vailkrin. Unlikely allies come together to stave off the assault. In the ensuing bloodbath, the heroes Lionel and Kasyr -- they of an open narrative thread nine years in the hanging -- must set aside their substantial emotional rift for long enough to duel this demon as best they can.

Hanging Corpse Tavern

Larewen sat within the confines of the establishment, in a corner nearer to the hearth. Undoubtedly, the elf had probably been there for sometime, as evidenced by the parchments spread out upon the table before her. A magicked ink sat in its pot, composed of pigments the elf could see even with her augmented blindness, and she appeared to be writing.

Sebias comes slowly down the stairs rubbing at his face as if he had just awoken from a nap. As he meanders his way to the bottom of the steps he callously snatches a drink off a passing servers tray and takes a heavy swig from it. The server huffs with frustration at the dragon and runs back to the bar to replace the drink. It was a miracle Sebias hadn't been thrown out of the place yet. He spots Larewen sitting at a table and just as manner-less as ever, sits down across from her without being invited. He doesn't say anything at first. He just sips his drink and stares down at her spread of parchment with quiet curiosity.

Larewen had not seen the exchange, and perhaps it was best that way. The Hanging Corpse held a special place in the necromancer's heart, and Sebias's theft of other patron's drink might give her cause for ire. What Sebias would see before the elf's head lifted to acknowledge him would be various necromantic runes, some portraying a magic far too dark to be wielded by lesser practitioners of their craft. Her nostrils flared as she finally became aware of his presence and her head lifted, those augmented eyes seeking the threaded outline of his features. "Evening, Sebias," she greeted.

Sebias nods slowly to the Vampiress leaning back in his chair and folding one foot on top of his knee. "Good evening Larewen," His deep baritone voice is smooth and calm in contrast to his maniacal cackling from when they had first met. In fact he seemed rather sober compared to that night. He leans forward and looks over the runes with an expression of recognition at most of them. "My memory of our first meeting is slightly hazy.. but I do remember agreeing to be your pupil within the guild." He says with a slight begrudging tone. "Should I be preparing for some sort of initiation? Truth be told, I've always been a solo practitioner... I'm not versed in.... people."

Jarith had more than acknowledged the change in mood for this, town, hovel. The corruption knew that something was amiss and much as he liked his little ‘games’, the dark being had shifted his grounds today. The larger shipping town, Cenril, offered him more privacy and a steady influx, as learned by the morsel he’d partaken in this morning, for rarities. The Mage-stones had offered an amusing burst, minuscule as it may have been, but the enchanted blades had been the real prize. Their powers, once a mix of deadly ambivalence had been corrupted and like other things in his grasp, the blades had twisted and become one. It was belted on his hip, and his ring still glowed as his prisoner, the host who once owned his body fought weakly for a hold, for anything. Corruption simply was, however and he smiled as those black-stained features soon in the light before his concealed his form with another recent acquired item, a dark red cloak. Entry to the Hanging corpse was easy, as they didn’t oppose him in the least, and whilst his order was made with two fingers, the waitresses gave Jarith’s body a wide berth as he sauntered through it and took a seat near the far wall. Sometimes, the rumors and news here was quite worth sitting for, a fact he mused over as his fingers spun the glowing ring upon his right thumb idly.

Kasyr , incidentally, has been somewhere in the vicinity for quite some time, given the revenant has been rather diligent in his shadowing of the necromancer. As it currently stands, the nearest thing he's come to shirking his duty, was when he briefly slipped away from his post to drop down near a roving guard, and gave him a handful of gold, and some rather specific instructions. A dalliance which didn't particularily allow Larewen much time to gain any sort of distance from him. Thus, even now, the revenant was in the process of loitering nearby, albeit in an alley across from the street, doing his utmost to look inconspicuous- and endeavouring to keep an eye out. Really, the only thing that does manage to wrestle his attention away, is when a pair of guardsmen drop a rather heavy barrel a few feet from where he's sitting, and then they're gone again. Well, that, and when that familiar sensation ripples through the air- that unpleasent mixture of darkness, and something far more chaotic drawing the Kensai's attention. With a grimace, he'd slip from his current position, a few moments taken to nudge the barrel in the position he'd formerly occupied, before he moves to gradually follow suit- crossing towards the tavern in an even paced manner. Best not to tip his hand too early.

Larewen's jaw tensed when that familiar presence pervaded the atmosphere of the establishment. She had not been oblivious to Kasyr's constant nearness, courtesy of Daath's gift upon her sight, but had done her best to ignore it. Presently, there was some minor relief as the former king was outside the establishment while she was within, intending to speak with a prospective student. A student that, at present, didn't seem too thrilled with his idea to learn from her. Dark eyes turned in the direction of Jarith, drawn by that familiar corruption to his magic. While fixed upon him, she spoke to Sebias, "If you wish to change your decision, that is your choice to make. You will regret it, though." Her brow furrowed and her lips thinned. She had not had the chance to prepare that stone yet, the safety net should Kasyr fail her in their endeavor, and yet now was the prime time to act. Things sometimes fell together too quickly. Her eyes drifted shut for a moment, and perhaps she was silently cursing her luck, before those augmented eyes turned toward Sebias. "I have a few things I must gather from House Dragana, do you care to accompany me?" she inquired. As she spoke, magic was expelled. The papers spread out before her were drawn together into a neat pile, and then vanished from sight as she tucked them away into another dimension. The use of magic was not uncommon for the elf, and thus would not seem so out of the ordinary. In all reality, it was meant to draw Jarith's attention to her: he would have his chance at the necromancer yet again. Regardless of Sebias's answer, she rose to her feet and made her way toward the exit.

Sebias flares his nostrils much in the way she had when he sat down. There was a palpable tension in the room and it had come suddenly and without warning. The ashen smoke within the eyes of the dragon boil while outside a sickly and diseased looking crow, skinny to the point of starvation and shedding feathers in droves, looks down upon the street outside with eyes that mirror his exactly. He stares forward at Larewen with a stoic face and shakes his head from side to side. "Perhaps it's time to put arrogance aside and broaden my horizons." He was following every minute facial expression and turn of her head with astute vigilance, something was amiss, he just had no idea what, and his ignorance was unbearably frustrating. "Of course." He answers to her request of accompanying her to the house Dragana and rises as she does. He knocks pack the remainder of his pilfered drink in one satisfying gulp and sets the glass down, preparing himself for whatever this odd tension in the air was about to bring.

Jarith felt the magic, a familiar sort of kiss. It was more akin to the brush of fingertips along his arm, or in Corruption’s case, a brush of the tentacles from his back along skin. The grin flashed teeth, a skewed, manic smile that did not compliment or fit the possessed knight who wore it. Slowly those mad-golden eyes lifted from his drink and drifted towards the particular ‘dessert’ that he’d been plotting to devour for nearly a week or so now. He truly wanted to bask in all that fine magic, or better, simply to suck the marrow from her bones. Either way, he got the power and a snack. Corruption’s head tilted at her ‘student’, no… The meal could wait, he was fairly patient, and there was a part of him, that was hoping for a battle. Kasyr was an unknown, forgotten after his escape the night before, the knight had not spared much thought about the ‘king’ since. Sebias, was interesting and yet all the same, a non-edible… Something about the other seemed to make the dark one curl his lip, a strange thing, normally he wasn’t so picky.

Kasyr‘s fingers were resting on the door, poised to push his way inside, when his ears caught the exchange about departing. Something which has him quickly sifting through his recollections for the relative location. And then it hits him, and he can't help but grin, his hand drifting away from the door as he begins to drift towards the right- specifically, towards the side of the Corpse that the bridge favoured. With a stretch that seems all too casual, the revenant begins to slip into a pose that seems more appropriate to a professional runner, both hands hands touching on the ground, and one foot slowly sliding back. A pose that would seem ridiculous to any passerby that might take notice of the fight at the mouth of the alleyway, though the large black sword strapped to his back, that seemed near enough to his height, likely served to dissuade most comments. “...This ought to be good, enfin.”

Larewen glanced back toward Sebias, a thin-lipped smile offered in the wake of his decision. "I was hoping so. Arrogance costs us much, as time passes," the elf said. A step was momentarily skipped as she crossed the threshold, bringing her closer in line to Sebias. Simultaneously, an emerald held within a pocket of her skirt was grasped with gloved fingers. Her magic was tugged upon by the stone as she stepped out onto the Vailkrinian street, and within moments it was imbued. There was no guarantee that Jarith would follow suit, and part of the elf hoped he wouldn't. As the door swung shut behind him, the stone was passed to Sebias. There was no reason to trust the dragon, and in fact he was undoubtedly among the last of those she would even hand such a stone to. It was a chance she felt was necessary to take, even if things played out perfectly. "There is much to be found within my library. It is not as grand as House Mahara's, but there are things that I'm certain would benefit you," she said, continuing casual conversation as she gestured to the right, leading out of the city.

Sebias follows closely behind Larewen with measured steps once she closes the gap between them as to not trample her with his broad stride. His wide calloused hand accepts the stone which he looks upon with a lofted brow, his mind was in the same place as hers. Why hand such a stone to someone to a greedy and selfish creature like him? It was slightly off putting and suspicious to the dragon, yet he pockets it safely within his flowing black robes anyway. "I look forward to seeing it. I love libraries. is it far?" He nods to her gesture and takes a place at her side nearest the wall of the tavern as they walk. "Should we be expecting others to join us along the way?" He asks as if it were just a legitimate and casual question. The disheveled little crow on the roof top above hops inconspicuously along the shingles to peer over the edge into the alleyway at the strange man in his strange stance.

Jarith pondered stalking the duo, then his drink, then the pair once more. Food, drink, food…. Drink… It was like asking a fat kid if he wanted beignets for dinner or veggie soup…. The answer would always be both. Stubbornly, foolishly perhaps, the sentient monster finished his glass with a swift jerk of one hand and a swallow that spread delicious, sweet-fire down his throat before he slid hands into pockets and keeping a good distance, the Corruption was inclined to let this, two-sum, lead him to a place where he could eat them, and subsequently, if this room held archaic treasures, so much more. One hand casually, slid to the hilt of his recent acquisition, the metal, much like the wielded has been stained black in spots, as if a person had left pen on paper too long and the ink has stained in spots with varied strength. It has a twist just above the hilt and then tapers to that point slowly, on one side a waving edge, slick like a razor and the other jagged and rough, as if nature it’s self had serrated the other side’s edge. Pausing just beside the bar, the knight waited, Corruption would happily give the pair a generous distance, not wanting to corner the prey too early and miss out on some prizes he might have overlooked otherwise. The stone,otherwise not mentioned, is felt just as assuredly as Larewen herself, and while the significance of it’s creation is lost on him, it too is a goalie the greedy, archane leech..

Kasyr gets this weird sensation that he's being observed, but his attention, for the moment rests more in this particular moment, honed in upon two specific presences. On one hand, there is Larewen, who now strides out into the streets, her voice clearly heard, her form still more present within his empathic senses, as her form is only now becoming distinguishable in his peripheral vision. Jarith is his other focus, the revenant doing his utmost to hone unto the shades empathic emanations- to try and place the entitys movements, and more importantly, to place him. There's a familiarity, to be sure- but one the revenant cannot quite place his finger on. The mark of Coreliant is more relevant to the kensai, than anything else. Something which has him now beginning to draw into that power he so intuitively calls upon, a static tension beginning to rise up in his vicinity like an oncoming storm. And somewhere, in an alleyway across the street, a barrel sits pretty- a placid mixture of lantern oil and nails resting in the belly of that wooden beast.

Vailkrin City Road

Larewen glanced back over her shoulder, augmented sight taking note of Jarith's shift some time after they'd continued down the road. He was following, but at a farther distance than she'd ex-pected. To Sebias, she said quietly, "I don't know you well enough to trust you with that, so I'll make this clear once, and once only: that stone is not to be sold, traded, or given to anyone outside of my House." She didn't specify what would happen if he failed to adhere to her request, nor did she feel much like going into detail. Just as she was aware of Jarith's movement, she was aware also of Kasyr's position, though not precisely what he was up to. Her steps would slow, if only because Larewen wasn't the sort of woman to run from a confrontation and should things escalate quickly... Well, Larewen wanted to be close enough to return quickly.

Sebias nods slowly, he could hear the implication in her tone. He matches her gait which was awkward for him being so tall, but he was obviously following her lead. Just as she was aware of the two other presences so was he, the difference being he had no idea who they were or what their intentions were. He reasoned that it had to do with her, he had been laying low since waking up from his long slumber and despite his rude and generally distasteful behavior towards others, had no real enemies that were still alive. All the dragon could do was walk beside she who he had chosen to follow and be ready for anything. The air around him grows thick with his aura and a magical pressure builds within his hands to be called upon if needed. He didn't like how the wind smelled tonight.

Jarith was not so imprudent as to not bring something with him. The corrupted continued his path, slowly pursuing this pair as he went. Unlike the mortal's, his special awareness is still much akin to that of a parasite, being the entity in control of this new , larger body was something that the sen-tient curse turned being was growing more and more accustomed too. It is that simple fact that makes him more the prime target, spatial awareness, his surroundings, everything processes more slowly for him. His host’s body showed the signs of awareness and yet, Corruption was focusing on the agenda, not the alert of this foreign body, he was in ‘control’. Fingers twisted the ring on his thumb again, and magic from the dragon became something which consumed the power-hungry being. The hilt of the abominated blade, that sweet leather creaked under a strong grip as Jarith all but salivated over the prospect. The arcane powers he’s taken allowing for the glow, ever so faint, three individual stones from spots of his seemingly ink-stained skin. Red, green, and violet, the re-mainder of the sins that he could call to him.

Lionel arrives from the west, ill-fittingly. Gone is the hero’s armor. Gone is all but the sword. Hellfire strapped to his back, but a button-up dress shirt of some second-rate make beneath it; piercing blue eyes lighting up the dark around him, but slumped shoulders and a light whistle to accompany them. The man looks one-quarter forgotten legend, three-quarters unassuming wanderer. This jux-taposition is only heightened as he turns a corner, notices a crowd, squints in growing tension, drops his jaw and slaps a hand to his mouth almost comically, and stares in utter bewilderment at the sight of the one called Kasyr. Utter bewilderment, yes, but punctuated by the increasingly agitated incarnadine pulses coursing through steel and sheath alike on that damned blade. Hellfire – and the violent spirit Halycanos within it – knows even before Lionel that blood will shed here tonight. The spirit, the taint of Khasad, everything rises like crescendo within the Catalian’s body and soul. The pulses, they grow faster. The color of them grows dimmer. Dimmer. Dimmer until near-black. Yet for Lionel himself there is only that self-same dumbfounded gaze, like a man who sees a ghost. Here he stands, in the ever-misty street, drawing Hellfire without even realizing it. Here he stands, ready.

Shishi is just far enough behind Lionel moving west to east on Vailkrin's main road so that the pair won't be mistaken as having been traveling together. Good thing to, as they appear to be dressed slightly similarly. How embarrassing. The Blue Demon isn't without traveling companions however, his twin twelve year old children flank him at either side, the family making a routine, short trip from The Thorne Estate to the Famous Corpse. The growing crowd has the cursed trio slowing their steps and eventually coming to a halt a few feet to Lionel's right. The vampiric father seems quite a bit happier to catch Kasyr in attendance than the other new arrival. Larewen's presence is noted by the assassin and his daughter and that Jarith character trailing her seems familiar too somehow... It is Shishi's son that finally breaks the family's silence with the simple question of "What the heck?" asked loud enough for anyone to confuse it as being directed at them...

Kasyr continues to subtly build up a charge, thin cobwebs of electrical energy starting to crackle across his skin, even as that energy is turned inwards, all save for the most threadbare amount, save for the small portion which seems to find itself condensing into the revenants palm. At this point, what curious stragglers (minus Shi & Co, something which in itself causes the kensai's ears to twitch) might have been peering at the revenant are beginning to shuffle away, a combination of recognition of their former king, and a dawning realization that things are about to go awry compel-ling them to remove themselves from the scene. At this point, even Larewen might become aware of a change in the air, a sense of pressure, a curious tingling sensation that might make her hairs stand on end- and the pungent scent of ozone, which now mingles freely with the sickly sweat stench of death which was as much a part of the city, as the chill mists which coiled through the streets, smothering distant sights in a pale shroud. A sense of pressure that only grew more op-pressive still, as the proximity of yet another bearing Khasad's taint causes those ionic energies coursing through the revenant to begin mingling with his own dark essence. The recognition wasn't conscious, but there was something gnawing at the revenent now. Something familiar was here, and it was dangerous.

Larewen came to a sudden halt and pivoted upon booted heel back in the direction of the city. As she did so, a quite unladylike curse fell from the necromancer's lips. Something was wrong. Very, very wrong, and while the part of her that desired safety and survival urged her to continue onward to House Dragana, her duty and ambition bid her the opposite. A sidelong glance was cast toward the threads of magic that made up Sebias's outline. "I suggest you keep your distance," was the only bit of advice that the elf could offer the black dragon. Her jaw tensed and lips pursed in frustra-tion at the inability to see what was going on further down the road, and... and then she heard Ari-us's voice. It was that voice, more so than the sudden, familiar change in pressure, that finally hooked the elf back toward the tavern. As she drew nearer the gathering, her own magic was drawn upon. An eldritch glow seemed to rise from the ground to hover over the road, providing augmented sight the ability to see almost clearly, even if it were only in verdant shades. While stragglers retreated, Larewen identified first Kasyr and Jarith, then Lionel, and finally those dark eyes rested upon the assassin and his children. "Send them home," the elf mouthed, almost angrily, to her ex-husband.

Sebias arches a brow and watches as she suddenly turns a one eighty and starts heading back in the other direction. A smirk graces his lips as she tells him to keep his distance. "Wheres the fun it that?" He asks capriciously. Stark black wings rattle rapidly as if shaking off a bit of water. "To hell with it." He mutters as he sees more figures arrive through the eyes of his undead familiar perched on the roof of the corpse still feeding him the scene below. "I have more important things to tend to anyway, dont get yourself killed." That was about as much concern for her well being as she was going to get out of the dragon. He starts making his way in the opposite direction, continuing along the path they had been going along with a seeming indifference to the brewing scene behind him. After all, it wasn't his fight, that was obviously about to come to a head, why stick his neck out for her or any one of them. He didn't even know who's side he was on if any. However, that ill-looking crow never leaves the roof, continuing to watch on his behalf. It would fly and remove itself from any presented danger, but Sebias was clearly not as disinterested as he was claiming to be.

Jarith reacted possibly too late, his ruse was lost and worse, there were others involved. Handily, Corruption had lead his body into a trap, betwixt a rock and a hard place, he grasped that now. All the same, Corruption slowly turned golden eyes ‘round his new gathering. Mage's, magic, power, all of the energy thrumming in this place had the sentient giddy. His hands slid to The buckle of that cloak, releasing it to the ground and the behest of the winds should they find way through the heavy aura. Those four long tentacles, more like the body of a snake coiled, writhed upon one another before a hissed voice flowed, more shout than whisper across the stones of Vailkrin. “ Devour.” From those very tentacles, birthed from the body of the corrupted knight formed two beings, both were near perfected replicas, doppelgänger of the original Knights of Lust and Wrath. Nicholas, formerly of Wrath stood a head taller than his master, in ruby armor, a scowl in place, sword drawn. Serena’s body was more readily noticeable, her armor was more revealing than concealing in it’s violet hue, and the invigorating form of her body only made the situation worse. The pair of them swept across the road, hornets in flight as they made for their targets, Serena for Larewen, blades drawn. Nicholas, for the freshly arrived Catalian and Shishi’s rather gifted family group, with his accursed red broadsword and shield. Kasyr, is not forgotten, and yet, Jarith’s body remains in something of a half-step; hand upon the hilt of the enchanted blades he had bastardized into a steel and black stained abomination. In the light of the moon, even the blind who knew him, could know that Jarith of old has become this husk, the victim of a curse finally come to fruition.

Lionel keeps with the slackjaw and hand at mouth through nearly all that follows. As air takes on sinister scent and the hairs on his arms rise, still he holds that cursed claymore, one-handed and absurd, its flames no longer pulsing but beginning to wrap around the surface as the sheath – more phantom than real – merely melts to reveal steel. Then, everything changes. Lionel hoists his spare hand to the hilt, lifting Hellfire ahead of him as it turns into inferno. Nothing of the metal is visible, nor is there a hint of the man’s next action on a face suddenly as hard and grim as any proud warrior’s. Jarith’s creatures bring the fallen hero into a rush, the one called Nicholas charging for probable innocents – children. There is nothing in Lionel’s sprint to suggest he is even unconsciously aware that the dark manifestation has eyes for him as well. He swings his blade in an arc after a mad rolling leap protectively, in front of Shishi’s family. His right leg bends at the knee, his left is firm and prepared. “Kasyr,” he shouts, as the Knight of Wrath descends, tall and dangerous. Nothing else follows. There’s simply no time for it. A billowing red engulfs the Catalian, a force of raw violence spurred on by the taint of Khasad. It is Hellfire’s spirit and a dead Immortal – their powers, united, over this long-ago hero. The red defends against incoming blows as the sword’s flames twirl about Nicholas, seeking to incinerate. All-the-while, Lionel jumps high and comes down hard, burning tip falling to cleave through the thing’s brain.

Kasyr can feel the energy building up, can feel the cobblestones gradually growing hot from mere proximity to his touch, and yet he remains poised, even as the replicas are spawned from Jariths body. One, familiar as an acquaintance, and the other familiar as a mangled meal on an arena floor, its skull caved in beneath an unrelenting foot. Blue white webs of electrical energy dance across his skin, ...and then his name is called, that gnawing familiarity tugging at him unconsciously and otherwise. All at once, those sparks turn black, and every bit of tension the revenant had been building up is released, as he surges from his position with a supernatural swiftness, a wreathe of twilight electricity left in his wake as he slides directly into the position occupied by Serena. Or rather, considering that the Kensai slams into the knight of lusts position shoulder first in an unnaturally swift tackle, it should be emphasized as formerly- considering the combined weight of him, and his armoured trenchcoat, and his sword colliding with her at that speed, would make getting caught in the middle of a four carriage pile up look forgiving. Crushing as the blow is, and the intended collision with the wall is apt to be, the coup de gras comes in the singular scalpel that's hurled in her wake- slamming neatly into the barrel adjacent to the wall she's destined for. Whereupon it discharges the residual electrical energy it had been absorbing all this time- effectively igniting the lantern oil inside the sealed barrel, flash boiling it- and detonating it. ..Which is why the barrel was also full of nails. Eat shrapnel in a relatively enclosed space, “Cheap knockoff bimbo.” Kasyr, for his part, doesn't exactly stop moving following all this. Not due to any conscious choice, but more along the lines of, his momentum doesn't allow him to stop skidding until he's somewhere between Lare, Jarith, Lionel, and Shi. The latter are two are given a particular look, before Kasyr points from Shishi, over to Jarith, and drags a finger across his throat, “Magic eater, or something. Be careful. By the by.”

Kasyr said to Lionel, "...You."

Shishi ’s daughter is almost protesting before Larewen can even get the command out to The Blue Demon to send his children packing, “Again!?” is the call from the blonde girl towards her newly recruited teacher. Shishi and his son exchange oceanic blue stares, shrugs, and twisted expressions that are all but identical and silently suggest that maybe Green is overreacting. This notion is put to bed far too late when the thing controlling Jarith takes action. The blue stare the vampire has directed Yellow’s way turns a glowing crimson. Immediately the family’s curse is felt throughout Vailkrin’s main road and inside the nearby Corpse Steadman probably catches a few shadows moving unnaturally out of the corner of his only eye and knows someone from that accursed family is nearby. Every unlit portion of the area, of which there are many in the undead city (except where Lionel is setting his blaze in front of the family), has a visible pulse move through it. The Corruption itself should feel a similar pull towards Shishi as it did the night of their near encounter at The Blood Fountain. Arius is slower to react than his father, but it is only a moment or two before his eyes go through an identical change and another wave is sent through every shadow in view. The bright light shows put on by the revenant vampire and the fallen hero don’t leave the duo with much to work with in the form of darkness in their immediate vicinity, but with Kasyr’s direction towards Jarith the pair of Blue and Yellow are off, gathering bits and pieces of shadow along the way. The boy falls behind his father and starts flinging dart shaped flecks of darkness towards the golden eyed ‘man’ which when they land will shift in form to that of black scorpion like things that mean to bite, and claw, and sting whatever they can get at. Shishi is showing off a fanged smile after the other vampire has set him loose, Kasyr’s warning all but ignored as the assassin closes the gap, “I hear you.” this is said ever so quietly, but The Corruption should be able to feel the words from the Assassin and communicate back just as freely. Closing his left fist Shishi calls on the shade that makes up the parasite and those tentacles should feel a strong yank towards the oncoming Blue Demon just as he leaps forward and extends a flying knee that seeks to connect with the hopefully falling chin of Jarith. Poor Leralynn is left taking a few steps backwards, away from the clashing Catalian and Sin Knight and starring in what appears to be awe. She chooses not to indulge in utilizing her family’s curse, left behind by the two shadow wielding males for now.

Larewen heard Leralynn's protest and a low growl reverberated in the depths of her throat. Shishi's failure to send the children packing for their own well-being undoubtedly earned him another notch of ire with his ex-wife, but that was a battle for another day. Jarith was a magic eater, and as far as Larewen was aware, the good ol' family curse hadn't quite manifested in Orange the way it had Yellow. Her abilities were more along the magical line, hence Larewen's decision to take her on as a student: and that made Orange a target, just as it had before. As that thought crossed her mind, she became aware of the magicked figure that approached her - just in time for Kasyr to collide with the shade of Serena and send her careening into the alley. The explosion that soon followed was confined mostly to that narrow in-between and the stores that surrounded it. Mostly. A few pieces of debris and a handful of nails escaped the area, spilling out onto the road as Larewen made a move in Leralynn's direction. Despite the verdant glow in the air, the necromancer was not able to see the few pieces of shrapnel that tore into her skin as she passed through the blast zone, and to be quite frank, that flesh wound was the last thing on her mind. There wasn't time enough to chastise and explain to the girl precisely why she should leave the road, and thus Larewen's method of handling her presence was probably not the best. Again, the air thrummed with the necromancer's magic as it thickened between Orange and the unfolding fight with every intention of keeping the girl away from the fray and perhaps even edging her away. As for Arius... Well, he was at his father's side. From there, the elf turned her back to the girl and set her focus upon the others. She was useless against Jarith, that she was aware of... and Kasyr and Lionel? The most she could hope to do would be to mitigate the damage done to the city.

Jarith || Wrath reacted with much the same inclination of an errant locomotive, slow to brake and no ability to turn. Armor crunches, twisting and clanking before the hellfire engulf’s his body. The Creature is wrath, burning, raw hatred and yet he is also not of the mortal realm. An amalgamation of imbued jewel and Corruptions kiss/magic that twisted it into an entity. The burn of the flame is something that blinds, and serves nor more than to bring heated laughter, however brief. “ I burn… Always.” The cry of metal upon metal is heard, the shield in one massive arm bends, giving way beneath the power of a blade more storied, more powerful than than it’s humble origin. The broadsword was Nicholas’ weapon of choice, no matter how unwieldy, in one hand, the weapon serves a response to the attack of Lionel in way of a stab, little more than the effort to pierce the red veil and skewer the long-lost hero upon the jewel-like ruby blade, a blade Larewen would recognize from previous encounters, and know all too well it’s traits; to absorb that which it stabs.|| Serena, he'll, the former embodiment of lust is at one moment an attacking demon and in the next finds herself body-checked into a wall, not moments before the eruption of a barrel brings the spray of nails and with the culmination of both explosion and impact the wall of the nearby armory is demolished. Serena’s body cleansed not just by the fire, but by the brutality of those nails is rendered clean and amidst the rubble, stone, and armor alike,, a glowing, familiar emerald possessing the former ‘lust’ remaining powers, is left. || Jarith has not been completely idle, the Corruption’s eyes shifting from attacker to attackee whilst he moved himself. The unique connections between Larewen, and Shishi’s power’s to his own are something that can most assuredly be blamed on Coreliant's, as the fallen’s main gifts landed to illusion and darkness, chaos. It is that which Jarith feels pull against him, those golden eyes fixating only after evading what little he can of the blast from Kasyr’s surprise. The corrupted knight however has his own, and helpless doesn’t fit him, not yet. The third of his servants reaches Shishi, Rumiko, the former Knight of Envy, or rather her doppelgänger erupting from the dark being to meet that knee with bitter smile, her round shield, and the sudden attack of her rapier. “ No… But thank you for the lesson.” Her voice is sudden, twisted, wrong, and more from the Corruption than herself as the blackened knight’s body twists shadows around him eluding the duo of yellow and blue with ‘Rumiko’ in their way. The pressure cannot be missed, something all of Shi’s family would feel as the Corruption uses those shadows, the darkness and the remaining taint of his previous attacks to shift not away from the fight, but to his target. The knight of corruption’s body coalescing from the black a few yards away, having mimicked the shadow-run if only to settle behind Larewen, his blade drawn ragged edge given flight as Jariths’ body twists wit the slice, hold held in a reversed fashion to draw that edge into and through the Lady Dragana’s side, and with any luck, devour her against these clearly lopsided odds.

Lionel tugs his lips into a smirk even as he comes down from his jump, sword held in that cleaving motion for Nicholas‘ cranium. A mere second’s darting eyes are all this man needs to register Kasyr’s energy overload; calling out his name had the desired effect – mayhem unleashed, oh so abruptly. Lionel didn’t play with matches growing up, but he did inherit Hellfire at fifteen. The same principle, more or less. In the expanse around him, darkness itself is flung from the shadows and toward the creature who has wrought all this chaos upon Vailkrin’s streets. Bits of the Shishi family’s spell bend around Halycanos‘ red field, that supernatural defensive tempest, on their way toward Jarith. Somewhere closeby, the tiefling king of vampires speaks accusatorily. “Not now, right? After all this, I say.” Lionel’s words seem at odds with every feature of this battle; even as Hellfire breaks his foe’s shield and loses momentum, the Catalian’s light tone suggests something more akin to a night at the pub. In fact, he blatantly talks over Wrath’s open mock of being burned, going so far as to cant his head wayward to properly address Kasyr. As the amalgamation’s broadsword seeks to pierce the red veil, however, Lionel grants his full attention – only to laugh, shamelessly, at all that absorbed magical energy. To be sure, he’s sidestepped, right foot hopping a meter off to the side and left foot firm, so that in this peculiar evasive maneuver the man seems more the ballet dancer than the stalwart warrior. But all the same, he’s laughing. Halycanos’ field converges on that ruby broadsword, gifting it all the energy it can possibly absorb. But the taint of Immortals – the taint of Khasad – graces Lionel’s every drawn-upon power, and that taint is ancient, primordial, never yielding to any manifestation. It needs a host not only of great strength but of life and soul and truth. To that end, the field bursts, no longer red and large but now a strange black orb screaming old-tongued curses at its epicenter as it expands from the point of Nicholas’ brand and then explodes upon his body, ripping armor to ribbons and sucking what’s left into the ether. Lionel is not one to watch. Hellfire shimmers reflectively off of that chaos, and as he holds his fabled blade to deflect the carnage, it mingles with a second burgeoning inferno and in an instant and at a seventy-degree arc the hero springs forth from his previous location, leaving behind a blazing trail as he traces the road’s distance to Jarith, to Corruption. Briefly he seems a man on fire, and he’s already striking as he rematerializes – inwardly, a quick thrust to the throat, but… with a simple layman’s dagger, Hellfire itself having returned to its phantom sheath upon his back mid-warp, cool as glass now as its master bids. Behind Lionel, a precise pillar of the flames of his own making spreads from his point of origin almost to right where he stands, dangerously close. His legs burn, his arms protest, and his face is visibly pained. Sweat drops and teeth clench. But still the dagger’s quick, seeking that vile being as blue eyes glow at the sight of it. “The name’s Lionel.” He winks. “Eat steel, dick.”

Kasyr can finally place that cold thing coiled up inside him, the thing he had been realizing unconciously, but which had stood in front of him just moments ago, and carelessly confirmed his thoughts. Lionel, was what he had recognized after all this time, and yet- this time, he wasn't with Quinton. And there was more amiss there, than could be said in a few spoken words. Even as Lionel warps away in a shimmer of flame, emerging to strike Jarith, and Kasyr is left to watch Nicholas left to his ruin, courtesy of the remnants of a Dark Immortals power, the Kensai can't help but respond, “You stole my kill.” The revenants voice is a soft hiss, filled with a cold rage, one which is now mostly directed at Lionel, with Jarith now falling under the category of 'Complication'. Without a second thought, the cat-like Kensai finds his boots in motion, his supernatural speed drawing himself across the battlefield in the hero's wake- if only so he can endeavour to interpose himself between Jarith and Larewen. Specifically, the revenants right hand barrels towards themidst of Larewens chest, every intention being to push her clear of her imminent shanking. Whether before or after the fact, the simple goal is to mitigate damage. Especifically since the Kensai promptly stomps down with his left foot, and proceeds to twist his body towards Jarith, his fist then moving to pile every ounce of force into Jariths mid section. Really, the revenant intends to send him bodily hurtling into Lionel. And if he does move out of the way, Kasyr has -no- intention of pulling the punch, and just carrying it through until it hits home. “But not just that. Non”

Larewen :: For a moment, Larewen's world came to a grinding halt. Augmented eyes still processed the battle before her, even as she felt the blade pierce her side and nestle between her ribs. It wasn't painful, no not at all, and yet it felt... odd. In that moment, it was not Jarith that she wished to end, nor was she worried for the damage done to Vailkrin. No, what Larewen felt was a seething hatred for Shishi's son, Arius. That sightless stare fell upon the boy's from, guided by the magical, verdant glow that hung over the place, and fixed him with a stare so cold that it easily topped her and her ex-husband's exchanges as of late. Lethargy set in as the necromancer's magic, bound by the curse Arius placed upon her to her own lifeblood, was suddenly being drawn from all corners of her being toward where the blade pierced her flesh. Was this what it felt like, to her victims? That was the precise thought that crossed her mind when suddenly she felt the flat of Kasyr's palm against her sternum. It served a dual purpose: the first to snap the elf out of her daze, the second an unrequested aid in the necromancer's sudden twisting away from Jarith. The blade was ripped free, doing more damage on the way out than it had on the way in. Immediately, the draining ceased. Stolen vitae blossomed upon the verdant cloth that covered her side as she stumbled a step or two and attempted as quickly as she could to regather her surroundings. The threads of magic she saw swam within her mind's eye as her mouth began to move, drawing upon the arcane and unholy. It was a foolish move, further tapping into a now very limited supply of the necromancer's magic, but it was what she thought necessary. Beneath the combatants, tremors arced up and down the length of the road. Stones shifted, some weaker with age shattered, and from them the dead buried beneath the city reached upward, bony fingers seeking to grasp ankles with that unnatural strength that only the dead harbored. Simultaneously, the air began to thicken and grow heavy, nearly tangible, between those present. She did not act with any certain target in mind: no, Jarith needed to be stopped, but the animosity between Kasyr and Lionel had not escaped her, and as far as Larewen was concerned, all three of them at this moment posed a threat to Vailkrin and its citizens.

Shishi looks wild when Rumiko’s imposter emerges to meet his blow. That fanged smile of his devolving into a threatening sneer as they clash. The Envy Knight’s swung rapier is caught in a left hand enveloped by thick, swirling shadow that gives off the sound of metal scraping against metal when it meets the blade and immediately it is shoved backwards by Blue. In the meantime Yellow’s control of the darkness is being trumped by his father and The Corruption. Every bit of shade the boy manages to coax to his fingertips is torn away from him before he can do anything with it. Jarith’s escape from the vampiric father’s grasp by wresting control of the darkness from him has apparently set The Blue Demon off. There’s no style to his movements anymore, his arms swing wildly in wide arcs that see hands covered in hardened shadowy claws raking at the copy of Rumiko. With each swipe shadows are torn away from his fingertips only to be rapidly replaced by more in a steady stream of black that crashes over the summoned woman over and over in a feral attempt to tear her limb from limb. Perhaps we’ll see what bleeds from these Sin Knights now as the assassin’s onslaught includes a fanged lunge for the throat of the walking embodiment of Envy. At Jarith’s and the rest of this destructive group’s destination Orange folds her arms at her chest while standing behind the barrier Larewen projects. The young girl tilts her head towards the necromancer, frowning half at the collateral damage Green has taken while making her way over to her student and half at the continued effort to keep her out of ‘the action’ while her brother literally leaves her in the dust. “Green!” Leralynn calls out when the puppeted man takes his shadowy ride right up to the vampire woman and sees his blade brutally hit its mark. Again one of Shishi’s offspring is a step slow in allowing their eyes to go through that accursed change. This one is clearly different than the one undertaken by her father and brother and sees the girl’s face to be engulfed in an odd illusion, her blue eyes melt away into the aether leaving black, rotten, empty sockets that would look more natural on one of Larewen’s risen corpses than the blonde preteen. With the change comes the cold, the absolute removal of heat from the area surrounding the girl. Water condenses from the thickened air, Lionel should feel his sweat flash freeze and frost spreads outward from Leralynn’s feet on the ground like frozen veins on the Dead City floor. Arius and the wounded woman make eye contact briefly when she directs hatred his way. The unconcerned crimson stare he sends back shows that there continues to be no love lost between the two. Now Shishi reacts… unfavorably to The Corrupted being harming the elf. Immediately he follows the same path Jarith had taken and through the same method, traveling amongst the shadow, but The Blue Demon is much quicker, so quick in fact that the dark barrage on talons and claws on the False Rumiko continues without the presence of his arms swinging to guide the shadowy constructs. The assassin reaches everyone’s target at about the same moment as the rest of them… A firestorm, an unbelievable chill, an army of undead, a vicious strike of a revenant, and a torrent of darkness all converge at a single point at the center of Vailkrin, each one having seemingly no concern with the collateral damage they will cause to friend, foe, or the city.

Jarith ‘s smile gave way the moment the magic poured into the deviant blade, until yet again the Corrupt being was interrupted in the midst of his meal. Lionel, the rutting fiend, a name that he would commit to memory at the very least. Wrath, like Lust clinked to the stones in the form of a large ruby; Similarly cleansed. These ants, these wretched mortal's were ruining all of his hard work. Lionel’s blade, is met with the angry retort of those tentacles from his back, coiling at the stabbing blow before bulging and twisting to push back against that blade and hand. Never has the corruption had to fight so many sides, losing ground, losing power. He needed to get out of this in one piece, and collect the stones once more, before Envy joined the other two. His reaction to Lionel, and the brutal theft of Larewen from his bastardized blade by Kasyr does not aid his mood or desperation. The knight’s crude weapon turned blade-flat, forward to block that high-powered kick as best it can. Semi-successful as his armor plate-covered gut is met by the Kensai’s boot which nearly bends the corrupted knight. Shifting against the attacking duo is something he’s not capable of so close, a notion grasped and that which urges him into further action. Magic permeates his mind and the square before those corpses erupted from the earth. Sentinels of forgotten wars, victims, a myriad of the fallen. His use of Kasyr and Lionel’s onslaught is brief, just enough to push him back and separate the corrupted Fae from the whole of the trio, Shishi’s arrival included. The flurry of black is stolen in part only, Golden eyes fixated on the group before Corruption gives in to the need and desire for vengeance of his own. The ring upon his thumb is pulled free, the glowing ceasing along with the madness in those eyes. Jarith shows for a heartbeat, ensnared by the black magic, tanned skin cleansed of Corruption’s stain in part, vivid blue eyes. Lionel is known only in passing, much like Shishi, Kasyr is not. The Kensai's position is met, focused, and the eyes closed, Jarith’s consciousness present for the first time in nearly a years time. Failed… The fae knight is aware of his loss to the powers gifted to him, powers that rise back up to stain his flesh and consume it once more. He is concealed by a black fog, swirling tentacles erupting from it, some churning towards the trio of Heroes, but many as per the goal of Corruption’s sentience, flooding the undead summoned by Larewen, using the mix of their powers and her weakness tow rest hold of the dead bodies from her in the cases of seven nearest to the black smog and send them after the Blue Demon, Kensai, and Catalian. In the chaos loose tendrils snake outwards, first to reclaim a battered, emerald oozing Envy, before sneaking separately towards the sacrificed Wrath, and Lust.

Lionel is a haunted man. There is no questioning he knows what compels Kasyr to hiss, what compels Kasyr to zap his way into the action. A gambler’s choice to seize battle’s momentum and make the tiefling aware of his return comes with it the need to pay the piper. Now the game is truly afoot. Behind him, an arc of flame turns to ice. Beneath him, the dead rise. Beside him, a revenant wants vengeance and a vampire wants an end and an assassin wants the kill. In this, Lionel comes alive. Thoughts snap like firecrackers in his mind’s eye as he realizes the extent of the damage they’re bringing about. Time stills for the Catalian, for that briefest of flickers. Tentacles shove his knife back toward him, so he twists in his grasp and sends it sideways, coiling downward to slice through a tendril as he willfully drops the weapon. “Hate me, slay me,” he mutters, just loud enough for Kasyr, as he pirouettes wayward of incoming undead conquered by Corruption. “Don’t do it here.” A dodge. A crouch. A calculated rounded kick into the abs of one of Vailkrin’s risen. More tentacles come rushing. Lionel brings Hellfire back into the fold, billowing up a fresh inferno to blanket three of these zombies whilst his true goal is achieved – a mad dash straight for a tendril stretching far beyond the immediate area. “Kasyr, not here. These people will not suffer,” another crouch, to lower his head beneath a homing tentacle, “for your need to break me,” a swing of the sword and a fire that shoots into the night sky like a beacon, “no matter how heavy your heart!” The beacon breaks into pieces -- tiny shards of flame hard to the touch and seeking the undead which threaten to overwhelm them all. They strike true at multiple angles, even as the fallen hero shoves Hellfire’s tip directly into the dirt, lets go with one hand, and bounces over the blade to come down hard upon the tendril seeking Wrath’s gem. Just as it is upon the stone, Lionel’s feet are upon it, and the hand that holds Hellfire’s hilt yanks it out of the earth to cleave it in twine.

Kasyr 's cold rage briefly turns itself on Larewen, a single warning look shot in her direction, arcs of tenebrous energy beginning to tendril about his arm once more, and then his attention is drawn to the interfering interred-no-longer. Even before Jarith turns the table upon the necromancer, the Revenants course had been set, drawing further upon the vast wells of energy inside him, and recklessly tapping further into Khasads taint, a brief pulse of black electricity rippling out in errant arcs, scorching, charring, obliterating, and ultimately disintegrating the undead in his immediate vicinity. The tentacles, too, earn the revenants attention, though in a far different manner- as the first one to reach him finds itself split unevenly, the revenant having unsheathed the black broadsword from his back, and sent it crashing through that twisting mass in one smooth motion, the massive spirit-hungry sword crunching into the cobblestone with a satisfying crack- before it's hefted back up in a spray of debris into another oncoming tendril, this one managing to coax the revenant into stepping backwards, as more and more of it's peers surge forward like some abysmal tide. Lionels words hit home somewhere, the revenants attention briefly flickering away from the man, towards his current duty. Tracking the tendrils path, the revenant looks for an opening, or opportunity- and then he sees it. Some destined for Rumiko's 'shade', even though she was one of Corruptions allies. Somewhere, the gears turn in the revenants mind. A magic-eater, a source of power, wounded and all but useless – and a perfect opportunity. When the revenants other hand is pointed towards the doppleganger, the sight is blinding, a surge of electrical energy that is all but tantamount to a lightning strike, before erupting from the inside out into a stream of unrelenting darkness. Whatever could be said for the revenant holding back no longer applied, and Rumiko's shade was quite apt to have its flesh melt, catch fire, and ultimate crumple inwards into a pile of ash as she's subjected to an unrelenting display of the Kensai's power unleashed, in tandem with Khasad's power. It's only then that Kas deigns to reply, “Shi. Ring hand. Cut it off.”

Larewen felt the tether to some of those corpses sever beneath the onslaught of Kasyr's magic; fall to Lionel as well, and she felt the tug of strings drawn from her hand as Jarith took control of a handful of those risen corpses nearest him. The human's words were heard, and though to the weakening necromancer's ears it was distorted as if his voice were passing through water, they were welcome. Lionel saw what Larewen saw, what Larewen wished to end within the streets of the City of the Dead; there were plenty of other places for their quarrel. A glance was cast in Kasyr's direction in time for that warning look and in response, all that the elf offered him was a sharp shake of her head. "Not here, Kasyr," she hissed coolly, and then there was another expulsion of magic from the necromancer. A sudden chill that deepened the frost of Leralynn's own flooded the road, bringing with it an emptiness, a darkness that only the dead could wrought as it spread through the rising corpses and solidified Larewen's control over their strings. The seven that Jarith had snared from her would be the last of the undead to feel that dark embrace, for around them it would coil several times, knitting itself into the portions of her magic that he had twisted to snare those puppeteer's strings. When her magical grasp squarely upon her minions, there came a sudden tug do that nearly tangible darkness and the dead came to a sudden stop. It was for but a moment, and somewhere deep inside the elf's mind she prayed Kasyr would see some form of reason as the dead turned toward Jarith, their eyeless sockets seeming to glower at the creature of corruption. Even as the revenant directed Shishi's attack, the dead lunged at Jarith, their bony fingers hooked into claws as they sought to tear into his flesh and rip it from his bones. Further beyond that line, the necromancer's eyelids fluttered and she wavered for a moment, on the verge of collapsing. Blood continued to flow from the gouge in her side. She needed to retreat; to end the steady outflow of magic as she maintained control over the dead, and yet she would not.

Shishi and, to a lesser extent, Yellow might just be doing more harm than good what with the cursed family members trading control of darkness back and forth with The Corruption. With the shadows once again being pulled away from him The Blue Demon lets out a light sigh while looking Green’s way after The Corruption briefly gains control of seven of the corpses she dug up. He’s obviously concerned for the wound she’s suffered, but his words won’t show even a hint of that, “Quit giving ‘em stuff.” The vampire protests while dismissively waving a hand through a pair of dark tentacles that reach out towards him, his touch immediately dissolving them into a fine black mist that wafts harmlessly through the air. From that dark cloud Shishi pulls a black, wooden wand. The darkness itself knows the chaotic instrument and appears to shy away from it, black tentacles swerving off to seek different targets and meet terrible fates. This is The Wand of Mordant Flame, his countermeasure to his family’s curse, what a perfect time to make use of it when the shadows are being turned back against him. The Fallen Hero’s speech to Kasyr is listened to and a crimson glance is sent The Revenant’s way to see if he’ll grant Lionel the temporary truce. Shishi is thankful that the others are taking care of the corpses as the vampiric father is altogether ignoring them, his single target clear even before the Kensai points him in that direction again. Blue’s fanged smile returns just as a dark flame ignites from the tip of the wand, engulfing the entire magical weapon and extending outward. The chaotic fire takes shape, coaxed by Kasyr’s command, forming something like a wide cleaver. “Aye. We can do that… Yellow!” Shishi calls out to his son and some unheard communication between the two must take place because the boy takes action, directing his accursed eyes on the center of the corruption and exerting a strong pull on the darkness that composed it, an attempt at restraining it to allow his father to complete the task. The assassin is upon Jarith quickly again, seeing an opening created by the undead onslaught and his son’s command of the shadows. Shishi swings ‘The Cleaver of Mordant Flame’ in a downward motion that means to separate hand from body at the forearm. The fire is cool to the touch, but will eat away at the shadows like they are nothing, leaving only flesh and bone to contend with the hardened, sharpened magic that surrounds the wand turned butcher’s tool.

Jarith || For every undead the darkness takes, lightning or worse, that baleful hellfire-blast destroys three, the Corruption feels the power draining as more and more is expelled. Those disembodied Gold eyes focus on the form of the Catalian and a demonic shriek erupts from the darkness, pain as the destruction of a power-source that was lost for good. The only solace gained is the eruption of that power, the unholy wrath of the Ascendi who had begat it causing the shorn halves to erupt into burning, shrapnel/fragments. Envy, has become Ash, the attack by Kasyr having caused an explosion of the kept power in the form of a concussive blast, the destruction wrought by it centralized nearest the fountain, which would here-after sport a rather nifty, leak, once Larewen and her Padawan stopped freezing things. Now, whilst protection of the host is imperative, Corruption refuses to lose Lust, he needs her to maintain control, much like the ring, losing either would mean fighting his host, a battle that would eventually prove fatal if more of the stones and artifacts he’d devoured were lost. Jarith to his credit, struggled as any prisoner might in the mental prison he’d been returned too. The missing Lust forgotten by the attackers is seized, willfully devoured and absorbed by the whole of those shadows before they retreat. The weakness of this shade-like form taken by Corruption is almost easy to note upon the ring’s return to that ‘desired’ limb. The darkness graces Shishi and the younger just as the body becomes visible, golden eyes, black skin, and a cleaver. The metal on his corrupted armor is dented, impaled by stone, bent nails, and now that magical blade comes down upon the bracer protecting his arm. The metal cleaves, yet the bone and limb if thanks only to the corruption’s own strange ability hinders the removal of said limb, if barely. The ring, is not so lucky or grand as in reflex and misery of pain, something the corruption had not felt before the precious imbued metal clinks free. Only the capture of Lust, of Serena keeps Jarith from taking over, the corrupted knight slashes wildly with the claw-like greave of his hand before diving after his bauble. The undead closing in, a trinket needed, lost. Corruption folds, giving up one of the corrupted artifacts he’d claimed. The spell is not spoken, and it is like all other things touched by him, a tainted, improper rendition that alters an oft forgotten attack spell into something more sinister. Rather than vines, the fractured earth becomes his weapon, rubble, turned to shale-like shards around him,pummeling, cleaving, much like Shishi’s weapon of choice into those around him. It’s a maelstrom, a sudden and rage-filled deluge that shreds undead creations as if he were the eye of that storm, and any others who might be in the vicinity as well. There is only one purpose to the vortex, to shield and protect the escape of a battered and weakened Corruption, who is once again entrenched in a battle against the true owner of the body he commands. The trail wouldn’t be hard to follow, and the spell something which would die not a hundred yards east of their position as the corrupted fae stumbled, cursed, and twisted back trying in vain to reach the supposed safety of the abyssal forests beyond Vailkrin leaving a bloody trail that even the blind might follow, to be tracked, possibly at leisure, or not.

Lionel does not miss a beat, pounding Hellfire’s tip into the ground ahead of him in a total repeat of his most recent action. Once more he leans heavily onto one side and balances his nimble body straight over the claymore, and in so doing, happens to avoid several fragments of leftover Ascendi power lunging right at him. Yet the tremendous power his severance has brought about is not so easily dispelled; further fragments trace Lionel in his leap and one supercharged piece rips through his upper left ringfinger, splattering a solid third of it to the ground unceremoniously. The Catalian does not scream; he does not even seem to notice. Rather, he is rapidly swinging a retrieved Hellfire around him in a three hundred and sixty degree circle to summon forth another red field of Halycanos‘ and Khasad’s strange union. Now it comes together as a cyclone, not so unlike Corruption’s own, yet rather than rubble the make of this model is smoke and ember. It is vividly weaker than the great sphere he’d previously devised, but the shred of Dark Immortal within the fallen hero spreads like an obsidian shield to deflect incoming strikes from that eruption, and at once the terrifying and unearthly screams of two wholly different kinds of gods can be heard resounding throughout the region. None sleep even at this hour to the tune of all this bloodshed, but frightened denizens can’t help their own shrill shrieks in response to the eardrum-thrumming sensation that permeates the atmosphere. In that wake, Khasad can almost be heard in the common tongue, but it is gone so soon, and the shield disappears, and the explosion has ended, and Lionel is left to stare at his hand. “Oh, shit?” He gasps a question as he recognizes the injury, and he rolls his eyes and kicks the dirt and cracks open the skull of a collapsed undead with his boot and flails about, irritated, looking for the rest of his finger. Out of the corner of his eye, however, the vision of a cutting and slicing maelstrom enveloping Corruption takes shape. “Dick! Still a dick! Always a dick! You are such a dick!” Hellfire all but implodes into a blue-hot tempest, Lionel looks to the roof, arcs the sword toward a rafter, whips up a carrying warp-flame, lands atop a building, cocks his brow at a bird that’s been watching the whole damned charade, and leaps like a fine arts performer upside-down into the eye of Corruption’s intensity, from above to below, twisting and swiveling his frame to skewer Jarith’s head clean off the rest of him if he should score true.

Kasyr 's reaction is not exactly a far cry from Lionels, given that the very moment envys gem explodes in a volatile shockwave of force and stone debris, the Revenants slamming Vesper down into the ground. There's a satisfying thunk and grind of stone, as the unnaturally heavy Broadsword is rooted into place, the Kensai than proceeding to sidle around his sword, plant his back to it, and slide down- essentially taking refuge behind it, his most important bits essentially shielded. Sure, the spray of debris ends up clattering against his trenchcoat and leaving a few welts beneath- and a few fragments of a 'finer' quality punch straight through, but the revenant weathers that particular storm relatively well. Right about until Jarith promptly freaks out and sends an impromptu tsunami of terrain-turned-tiny-torpedos at everyone down the street. Whilst it doesn't quite register -panic- on the revenants face, it does manage to coax something akin to frustration. Without a second thought, the Kensai's hands plant down into the ground, a shuddering ripple tearing through the darkness as the air around the Kensai seems to solidify, fog and night seemed to gain solidity and burrow into the air in front of him. Even as the first of those projectiles begin to hurtle towards his bent down form- slamming into the curious barrier of darkness and still present electricity coursing about his vicinity, the earth before him begin to seize up, bulging as some great wyrm was in the process of snaking it's way underground. Larewen, Shi, and anyone else between the Kensai and Jarith were quite likely to find their footing swell up dangerously, threatening to rob them of their footing even while simultaneously providing some degree of shelter from the oncoming storm. And then the earth beneath Jarith would explode upwards, with enough force to send the whole mass of corruption, turf, and cobble stones flinging up in a relatively solid chunk- as though Vailkrin had finally had enough of his shenanigans, and table flipped a portion of itself in an effort to be rid of him. Only the quickly fading vestiges of a shadowy serpent-like contrust left in the yawning hole in the street might say otherwise. Fading, no doubt, because the revenant was now in the process of being full on pelted by the attack he'd chosen not to dodge- the oncoming rain of stone ruthlessly bludgeoning against his form, as even the dampened kinetic force is still enough to pin him against the sword he'd just moments ago used as a shield. Though they cannot seem to gather enough force to punch throught he revenant, they do a more than ample job of battering him until he begins to bleed. Which is likely why the moment he's not being bludgeoning, he proceeds to sweep his coat open with enough force that a veritable cascade of metal is knocked loose. A veritable plethora of mithril is sent clinking to Vailkrins streets- right before the Kensai draws one hand out over them. With that singular motion, the blackened electrical energy that was coiled about the revenant leaps into each one, drawing them about his hand, before he simply snaps his finger and sends them all hurtling towards the air bound. Well, whoever was unfortunate enough to get caught up with Jarith.

Xersom , literally, however, ambled through the wreckage and explosions; his form repeatedly became obscured and visible relative to each upheaval of stone and dirt. Metal shards, as if of their own accord, just narrowly missed him like some sort of divine luck -or quite the opposite, considering who, exactly, the hermit-robed-wearing man was.

Larewen felt the terrain shift first as Jarith tore stone free from ground and swept it up into that cyclone, then she saw it, quite clearly thanks to that augmented sight. Her first observation following that was the direction that he was fleeing: the forest. A half-step was taken forward, and for a moment darkness washed over the elf again. Her eyes closed for a moment and she inhaled sharply, slowly as she spread her arms out. Darkness gathered in the palms of her hands, siphoned from her immediate vicinity. Whatever darkness was left, anyway. When enough of it had gathered, that intake of breath would draw it into the necromancer's body and then, in the wake of the scream of gods and terrified citizens, Larewen's own vocal chords would be heard, only it was not her voice. It was the call of the damned, summoned from what was left of the necromancer's magic. The scattered bones of those she'd had risen to fall once more took on an etheral glow as they crumbled into dust and then rose into the air to gather into a mass that was not unlike an eerie, verdant moon that hung low over the city, and then it began to move. At first, it appeared as if it would join the fray within that cyclone, of fallen hero and earthen wurm, but instead the globe moved past it and toward the woods that Jarith had intended to flee to, and there it shattered. Souldust rained down upon the abyssal forest, seeking the constructs that protected House Dragana; the soulless minions that patrolled the forest; the dead that had been cast out of the mouths of the flesh-eating trees to rot. Larewen was oblivious to the debris that pelted her body, to the earth that groaned and bucked beneath her, while she cast this spell; she was borrowing upon the magics that remained in the air to sustain it, and those denizens of that dark, dark forest answered her call. Why shouldn't they? She'd created most of them out of boredom! Shadows lumbered out of the woods, making their way toward the city. They came, not to join in the fray exactly, but to form a barrier around it. The golems surrounded the cyclone, taking the brunt of any remaining flying debris and protecting those that stood without while lesser minions built themselves up on one another to form a wall of writhing bone and flesh. Slowly and steadily, it grew tighter and tighter, with little care as to the damage wrought upon those rotting bodies and only Larewen's magic to keep them grounded.

Jarith was so damned close, so very close and yet it had to go pear-shaped. The corruption was so very near his freedom that when the surge of ear buckles his knee’s he cannot help but float with the sudden launch offered by the creature beneath him. Airborne and quite literally hurtling ass over teakettle, the dark being finds Lionel in mid-descent. Twisted blade, that corrupted steel screeches against the burning fire and magic of Hellfire as it is drawn and deflect the larger blade just milk ethers above his shoulder. For the first time Lionel finds himself face to face with those mad-eyes, molten gold that glimmers along with the creepy grin upon the corrupted knight’s form. “ I learned something about you, warrior. Want to see?” Rhetorical, strictly and completely, because the Catalian could no doubt feel it, the pull of Hell-fire’s power, of the tainted magic inside Lionel. Keep the power, no, Corruption could not do that, but corrupt a portion, and transpose his will into it immediately, well, who wants to live forever. The spell’s focus is simply to escape the onslaught of the two, but like all good experiments it works only so well. The pull of the ether is felt, and the pulse of an impending blast nips upon the heels, the taint of the immortals reacting to the impurity, the chaos of Corruption with a detonation. Larewen has cut off any attempt at otherwise escape, all of the Corrupted’s eggs have settled into this same, insane basket. Kasyr’s attack, isn’t seen, the plethora of metal is hardly grasped but the magic and intent is felt. Falling towards the ground a hairs breadth from painful agony, he cackles, blood showing on smiling teeth before muttering to his falling opponent. “Eat a bellyful.” The ether draws him in, powered by Lionel’s ‘gifts’ but not without a crackling explosion that burns against his armor, cloth and flesh before he vanishes from sight. The effect of that blast on Lionel, Kasyr’s daggers, Kasyr, or anyone else, the city-proper included would be left to those present to witness; or rather survive it.

Shishi has lost hope of controlling shadows as he normally would what with fickle things leaving his side every time the Corruption called. Even if the dark entities weren’t in a persistent cycle of betraying him the fact remains that they were never particularly helpful in terms of defending the curse’s hosts. So the Blue Demon is left to deal with the shards of Vailkrin’s road on his own or he would have been if not for Kasyr upending more of the road. Explosions and wicked flames illuminate the permanent night of the Undead City while Shishi is stumbling in and out of the way of the swirling shale while surfing the moving ground. The black fire surrounding his chaotic wand dissipate now that they’ve somewhat accomplished what they emerged to do. Just before Jarith’s attempted escape takes The Blue Demon out of the range of the protective stone tempest, the broad side of a person sized slab slams into the vampire and knocks him to back towards The Hanging Corpse, which he slides on his back to a halt in front of while Lionel gives chase and The Revenant sends out his surgical tools. The vampire is in an odd position. The shadows in the area, helter skelter from being pulled between three or so accursed forces are less of a burden on the assassin than they normally would be when exposing himself to the curse for this extended period of time. So the wand remains in his left hand and he is less inclined to force his irises back to their usual Blue hue. “Aye.” he says to no one in particular while still lying on the ground before reluctantly shoving himself to his feet. His clothing is in tatters from the rocky deluge, the once-white shirt now off-white with dirt and dust and dyed red in places from newly opened wounds, some of which still have pieces of stone stuck in them. Yellow is on the broken ground now in a seated position, holding the elbow of his limp left arm with his right hand. Blood stains his cheeks and the light blue scarf he is always wearing around his neck. His crimson eyes fade back to their oceanic blue shade and any shadows surrounding the boy are now free to flow Larewen’s way as it is now her turn to pull at the shade. Orange is still in close proximity to the necromancer as she performs this latest magical feat. The currently eyeless girl is for the most part unharmed, a barrier of ice intercepting debris flung her way. Though she does not seem particularly responsive to anything going on around her as the cold continues to pour out from her body. The cursed family clearly doesn’t think they need to add to the ruthless chase of the corruption (surely he can’t escape all that, they think) and instead of doing so The Blue Demon moves to Larewen’s side. He’s winking at her, but not because he’s a scoundrel or anything like that, his forehead is cut and there’s a stream of blood flowing down into his left eye, forcing it shut, that’s all. Also she’s blind anyway. “Ey Lar.” he says just as another explosion comes down the road from the direction of the forest. He takes a single step backwards from the shockwave and adds, “You’re bleeding. You know?”

Lionel is so supremely confident in one constant of this new universe he’s come upon – that Jarith is a dick. Snapping and clicking and screeching fills his ears, although he isn’t sure just why; meanwhile, there’s a powerful sword clashing with Hellfire, and a bad guy wielding it talking what’s-what about having learned something, and Lionel is falling at the speed one ought to expect of a man who has leapt upside-down from a city roof, and there’s a great swooshing shear through the air nearby for some unknown reason. “Damn, man, you’re uglier than Elazul,” the Catalian finds himself whispering helplessly at the sight of the vanishing Jarith even as he nearly collides with an explosive taint-fueled spell which has opened up like a portal below him. He spins his head around to register the source of that cursed nearby noise; his jaw drops and he blinks in raw astonishment at the forty-five mithril scalpels buzzing his way like so many piranhas. It’s all he can do to hurl Hellfire like some mythic lance dead-center into the storm of darkness beneath him, bracing and pulling on the hilt and then shoving off it into the distance. His body is thus launched horizontally wayward of the scene, and he brings his legs and arms – left hand flinching uncontrollably at the loss of half a digit – into as tight and narrow a space as he can present, sliding then across Vailkrin’s tattered, ruined road as if it were ice. But it is not ice, so the slide, while achieved, rips through clothing and shreds skin on his back and his hips and his shoulders. Meanwhile, Kasyr’s veritable legion of weaponry marches dutifully overhead, like lightning-fast birds, passing him as he collapses into debris with a heavy sigh. “Too close. Too damned close.” Some meters off, Hellfire has done the long harrowing evening’s final deed, having sucked up Corruption’s void like juice off a steak. “Two can play at Khasad…” Lionel says with a grimace, slamming his hand into the ground with all the fervor of a beached seal. “…dick.” He laughs at his own trite choice of vocabulary, but something doesn't sit quite right. Out there, on that broken street, not only is there Kasyr, but he can feel the power of some other being who might take this opportunity to end him. Lionel groans in protest as he lifts himself up, stammers as he rubs the bleeding scrapes, and spots 'X' moving through like some otherworldly vagrant. He coughs out vitae and chuckles despite himself.

Kasyr , having sent his myriad medical implements heavensward, had begun to sweep himself clear of the debris that had accumulated about his person, as well as those shards of rock which had partially burrowed into his skin. Which essentially means he gets about halfway started before that initial burst of kinetic force hits his seated form, pushing him sharply back against his own sword, and irritating every single wound he'd manage to accrue. The only high point, really, comes in the simple fact it managed to blow some of the rubble clear of his vicinity. “Merde.” Overhead, a haphazard rain of mithril is doing its thing, and Kasyr simply does his best to redirect that metal away from his person, what residual energy is left used to just nudge them to either side. With a grunt, he gradually rises back up to his feet, Xersom at this point noticed and acknowledged, before he starts to cross the street towards Lionel, “So. We need to talk.” Fists are chatty things Almost as an afterthought, Kasyr glances over to Shishi, “..You good? Et her?”

Larewen ::The barrier of corpses tumbled in the wake of the shockwave, some strewn about, others splattering the ruins of buildings, of the fountain. A moment later, they became listless. Some stared outward, waiting for direction, while the more advanced ones would make their attempts to return to the forest: some dragging themselves along by their arms. Larewen's augmented gaze caught sight of the threads of Xersom's magic, and her lips parted, but there were no words to be spoken. She felt Shishi at her side, and the elf's stare turned in his direction, and became unfocused. "Shi," she began, but that single syllable was slurred, and a moment later the barrier that had been constructed before Leralynn fell. The elf's dark eyes rolled upward and the ground rose up to meet her. There would be no protest to Kasyr and Lionel's exchange, it seemed.

Xersom briefly stopped; by now the attacks ceased subsequent to the devastation that was caused by Corruption's farewell blast and thick smoke, like the fabric of the gray and weathered robe the ancient wore, danced on the remnants of the force. It was quiet -the sort of quiet that came after such devastation where the ambient sound was the wind mourning the changes to the landscape- and only intermittently broken by a few sounds in stark contrast to the background breeze. These sounds were a blood-stained chuckle, a name or two passed from two different lips, the sudden sound of Kasyr's exotic (or more accurately, eccentric) voice that addressed the fallen hero. "Hrm." The simple sound came in a fashion neither bemused nor belittling, but most similar to a single note of acknowledgement; who or what the former demon general acknowledged was up for interpretation, if not guesswork.

Shishi totally ignores Xersom. It is easy to do. The Blue Demon sends a blood-forced wink Kasyr’s way in response, “We’ll be alri- Aup!” He’s cut off by his own exclamation when Larewen begins her descent, his arms reaching out to catch her, just managing to keep the elf upright initially. “You look terrible.” He calls out to the revenant once Larewen is resituated so that he’s carrying her the way you would assume a guy would carry an elf that just passed out, “You got like a rock in your face.” With Green he has one of the three Colors he’s taking responsibility for corralled. Next is Yellow, the two exchange awkward looks before a tilt of the father’s head has the boy lifting himself up off the ground, “Give that thing to your sister, eh?” The trio makes the short trip back to the freezing Leralynn. Arius unravels the scarf from his neck and tosses it over his siblings face while Shishi pleads with the girl, “Come back ‘ere, Orange.” Beneath the enchanted scarf the girl twitches and the cold begins to alleviate. She rubs the light blue cloth against her face with both hands like she’s washing away her unique variant of the family’s curse and by the time her eye sockets are visible again they look to be filled with the family’s ‘normal’ blue eyes, “What the heck…?” The blonde girl reiterates her brother’s question from the beginning of this mess.

Lionel watches Larewen fall even as Kasyr approaches him. He watches Shishi and family move about. He watches shocked locals at last emerge from their buildings, he watches the final flickers of flame atop the roof he’d jumped from give way to a slow, steady rain. He watches those heavy clouds cover the city, he hears thunder, he sees smoke and wreckage. Tonight, he could have been anywhere else. Tonight, Lionel could have been dueling any of a hundred fallen foes, anywhere else in Lithrydel. Tonight could have been eight years ago or ten or thirteen. His blue eyes scan them again – Larewen and Shishi and the children and the locals – and he permits himself a small smile. Damage has been dealt to Vailkrin. Damage that won’t easily be rectified. But miraculously, no one innocent or familial has been killed. It is a job well enough done, he decides. Only now do Kasyr’s words snap him back into reality. He nods, his left hand still trembling from its wound. “We do,” he agrees. His face is solemn but not severe. He looks past the tiefling, the man he can clearly see has not been idle in the least in all these years since last they’d met. He looks past him and observes ‘X’, he who Lionel is so sure might well be a more dangerous threat than even Corruption. His face does not betray that thought; he remains every bit the solemn fallen hero. “We do,” he repeats, offering Kasyr a direct glance at last. “But not here. Not tonight. You have ample reason to want to beat me senseless and when the time comes I may not even stop you. Find me at Castle Vailkrin…” He starts to move away, tilts, and shakes his head. “…there, one more reason to want to knock me cold: some tomes I’ve been sifting through seem to posit I’ve been sleeping in your house. Sorry ‘bout that.” He offers Kasyr one last look. “Sorry about everything, actually.” He fetches Hellfire almost absentmindedly and departs down the ruined road.