Story

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Athen strode through a storm of fire and crystal. All around him was a fortress made of glass that was being shaken to pieces. As he continued his way down the long corridor, a man-sized piece fell from the ceiling, shattering against his shining armor. His barriers held fast and he paid no heed to the destruction, so intent was he on his goal. Eventually he arrived at a massive doorway that refused him entry. With the use of his wrist blades, he carved an opening large enough for himself in it and strode into the room beyond, where Trias waited.

The room was full of equipment of various shapes and sizes, all made out of light and shadow. Most of it was askew, and quite a bit of it was broken. Athen noticed none of this however, for as soon as he entered the room, his eyes locked on the armor-clad Trias.

The man stood there casually, commenting on the quakes, "It's seems that your strike force is doing an excellent job of destroying my facility. You were always good at that, weren't you? Destroying things."

Athen could only continue to stare, "You knew this was coming, and now it is the end for you, Trias. Our differences once made us kindred, but now pit us against each other."

Trias looked at him for a moment, a look of disappointment crossing his face. "Athen, you are a shortsighted fool. The thousands of years we have shared together have taught you nothing. The Extemos cannot be eradicated by such simple means as warfare, they require a special solution that you aren't willing to explore." His armor began to glow more brightly, additional pieces locking into place around the joints.

"No." Athen began to walk across the room towards him, his footsteps drowned out by explosions in the distance. " Going so far as to play with a being's soul is a perversion of nature. It is only certainty in this universe and you would go so far as to strip that away. Your experiments result in a horrible rending of essences and I cannot allow you to continue along this path." A piece of machinery went flying by, crashing against Trias' armor.

"One day, you will realize what you have to do, whether I die here or not. Either way, you have destroyed all of my progress," Trias spread his arms wide," and just when we were so close to completion."

It was then that Athen noticed the form sitting on the floor just behind Trias. It was a small girl, clad in a dark blue jumpsuit. Her petite form reminded Athen of a doll, and just like a doll that had been dropped, her head was cracked open, revealing a flurry of lights whirring about inside her skull. She didn't seem to notice this and only sat there, tears slowly rolling down her cheeks to be carried away in the maelstrom.

Athen paused to consider the child and her implications for a moment longer before lunging at Trias, his blades aiming to kill. They scraped against Trias' thick armor before he responded in kind, letting lose a punch that sent Athen flying back across the room. As he recovered, Trias' extended a hand as if grasping a sword, a dark glow clinging to the fingers of his gauntlet.

"You may have halted this experiment's progress, but I have a few others that have come to fruition." With that, a blade of darkness rested within his hand, announcing it's presence with a shockwave that crashed against Athen like an ocean. Even as he watched, bits and pieces of debris were being sucked into the sword as if it were a black hole, while Trias advanced, raising it above his head.

Athen awoke suddenly, realizing that he was laying on one of the pathways in the Library with Seren standing over him. The look of concern vanished from her face as he righted himself. Immediately, pain returned to his arms, the corruption had spread and he was barely able to contain it. As the waves of agony washed over him, he managed to regain his center and push the discomfort away, releasing himself and beginning to focus on the apparent dream he had just experienced. Seren seated herself nearby, examining the puzzled look on his face.

“Dreams are unusual for you, aren’t they?”

“They only started when I came here.” He bent over and examined his arms. “The stronger it gets, the more prevalent the dreams are. It’s almost like something is trying to communicate with me.”

"Perhaps this place means something to you," she murmured softly as she sat up and walked away to examine another section of the wall.

Athen sat there, focusing on the dream. There was something curious about it, as if he was familiar with it. It took a moment longer before he realized the peculiarity was. His dream-self had activated his blades in the exact same way that he had, in a way the felt too familiar. He was able to remember a couple other things that he had done in the dream and became curious. He reached out inside of his mind and touched one of the spots as he had felt himself in his dream. Immediately, a small spark came to life deep inside of him.

As he became filled with a sense of wonder, a voice rang out inside of his head," AMERIL online. Hello Athen, I notice that I am the only system that . . . by the great divines! What happened to you!?"

Illiad continued on his way to the meeting hall. The modifications to the shuttle were nearly complete and it would now serve as a personnel transport quite well. It didn't even really have to leave the atmosphere, so he was not worried about its integrity.

He proceded through the doorway to find Dagon discussing his plans in the briefing room. He seemed distracted as he walked in, until realizing that the expected occupancy of the room was significantly greater than expected. He looked around, checking to see the attendees while Dagon stopped to see what Illiad wanted.

"It appears that most of you are here already, I appreciate the foresight." He nodded to Dagon," The preparations for the shuttle are nearly complete, so the mission will commence within the next 24 hours." He walked over to Dagon and handed him a data pad. "This contains the details of the landing operation. The Elves have agreed to secure an area in eastern Europe for the shuttle to land in, but from there you're on your own."

Illiad stepped down from the podium and looked at the handful that had gathered. "You need to be in the meeting room by 2300 tomorrow, the forecast predicts the best weather for takeoff in the next week, so we have to push the timetable forward. Be sure to take care of everything you to before you get on the shuttle. His steely gaze roved around the room, "Taras, your armor is complete, so I'll be taking you to the forge, everyone else: return here at the indicated time tomorrow night." As he gestured to Taras and left the room, he didn't tell them that he was incredibly curious about what the wolf-man had designed.

Back at the forge, Artis looked over the plans. The humanoid had meant well enough, but he obviously didn't understand how to efficiently handle a fission reaction. Good thing Artis had decided to take care of it for him. Using microprocessors to handle control of the power pack as compared to the primitive means previously employed, he had significantly reduced weight and more the doubled running time. Why, the thing might last an entire year on its single charge now. An EMP would wreak havoc with it, but Artis wasn't worried, that technology didn't exist outside of this city. He had just saved a copy of the plans to his personal data storage when Illiad and Taras walked into the staging area for the forge.

Taras could help but let out shout of excitement as he ran over to the armor, quickly donning the undersuit and fidgeting as the techs prepared to mount it on to him for the first time. Illiad would have laughed if he could, Artis just gazed on unblinkingly. Eventually he moved off. Now that the timetable had been moved forward, he would have to put the finishing touches on Ralac, whether he was ready or not. He was worried about the cyborg's brain, but he would have to allay those fears, there was not much left he could do.

After Taras had left for a testing area, Illiad proceded to make his way out to the edge of the city. There was a meeting to be had, a talk for which an envoy would not suffice. He made his way into the camp of the Templar. As he walked past the strange runed warriors a few of them gave him a cursory glance but otherwise left him alone, while he made his way to the center of the camp. He entered the tent there and moved to stand before Hadad. The ancient warrior must have been informed of his coming, for he already stood at the center of the tent gazing upon Illiad. The cyborg met his gaze before lowering his head. Respectfully, he issued a challenge. "You have fought with me on the field of battle, but now I need to know where you stand."

Far away from all this hustle and bustle, Deté spoke to Holland.

"Do you remember when L'stroyd said we were going to travel by tree?" he glanced at her as they made their way through the chilly forest.

"Yes, although I still don't understand it."

"Well, that was a mis-translation. Now that I think about it, a better one would be 'we are going to travel within trees', but that doesn't seem as poetic."

They came to a halt before a rather large growth with person-sized hole in it. Holland looked upon it pensively, "I still don't think I understand."

"Then you will in a moment." Deté walked over to the ancient trunk and reached out to touch it. After a while it began to glow with a soft light. "I was going to prepare for our travel, but it seems another is already coming this way. We will just have to wait until they arrive, perhaps they will bring news." Deté moved to sit down with Holland, confused as ever, joining him.

It was only a few minutes more before Holland observed an Elven form emerging from the opening in the tree, its soft skin pulling away from the bark as if it was swimming through the trunk. After a few short moments, it was completely free and staring at the two of them. "What an unexpected suprise," said the Elven female, "what brings you to these woods?"

Deté responded curtly," we trek to Beleg Aimar to meet with Serveth, there seems to be a great disturbance among men and the Earth in this area, and we seek aid."

The Elf laughed like the tinkling of bells," well, your aid is coming, although perhaps not in the form you would wish. I am here to scout the location in which they intend to land. We are to set up a perimeter of magic around the site where they will descend from the sky."

"The sky?" Holland glanced up at the stars.

"They are a most peculiar group of individuals, I am told, and they come to reconcile this area for better or worse." She studied the two of them intently," I go by Vermail, and perhaps you could join me? It is not often a scout has company."

Deté looked at Holland, "It is your choice, you can stay and experience these curious events, or continue on towards Beleg Aimar. Either way I will guide you. Although, I must express my curiosity, the wood speaks of great things to happen in this area soon."


You have until midnight, April 29th, to make any posts that you see fit. After that, your going to Europe.

The two metal clad warriors stood facing each other in the tent. One’s armor humming with the most advanced technology on the planet. The other’s was faintly clicking with whatever esoteric means was used to move its ancient shell. It was such a simple question, but the weight of it hung in the air and charged it.

With a word, Haddad would decide the path of one of the shaping forces of humanity, one that was ancient and grand. But he was no fool. The Templars were dwindling. Worse than that, they were dying out. They could no longer strike out on paths of their own. They couldn’t afford to, especially in the face of the coming threat.

Haddad had decided. “You have given us no reason to stand against you, and have made worthy allies in the past. For the sake of the earth, we will stand with you. Division will damn us worse than anything else ever could.”

lliad stood there relieved, “Then will you commit your forces to our conquest of Europe? I fear that we may come up against other ancient magics, and your aid would be invaluable."

“You shall have it,” came the response as the two clasped mailed fists. Runes floated in the air about them. “Remember, Iliad, that our numbers are few. Make our deaths glorious.”

With that Iliad turned and left the camp.

Holland had to think a moment; this all was really a lot to take in. After processing this interesting turn of events, she decided that if she stayed until this 'peculiar group of individuals' arrived, Beleg Aimar would still be there waiting. Unless it moved again. She turned to Deté who had been silently awaiting a response. She nodded slowly.

"I agree; I am quite curious as well... so I think I shall stay, and see this people. Then, if still possible, continue on to Beleg Aimar. This is an interesting turn of events that I would not like to miss."

She smiled, her teeth bright in the darkness. Deté nodded and turned to Vermail.

"We shall be accompanying you, then, Vermail."She nodded, and the group headed off into the night.

Taras laughed as he stretched inside his new suit. It had turned out incredibly well. Granted, someone had altered the power plant specs, but he was willing to admit his ignorance in the face of technology such as the Forge. He had done well enough for the Army of the North, designing weapons and tanks, but they were naught but toys compared to the Forge. He needed to begin a new phase of learning if he was to catch up.

The suit itself was comprised of a kevlar bodysuit that contained microsensors that detected minute electrical impulses from the body, a second layer of cables, circuits, and servos that moved and maintained the suit, and the armor layer. The armor itself was a mix of ceramics, tungsten carbide alloy, and titanium plating, all held together by a dense carbon fiber weave. In hindsight, he knew adamantium would have been a better choice for protection, but would have slowed production and the suit's overall speed.

The suit added about 6 inches to his height, and added about 30% to his overall size. He could have made himself a giant, but immediately he had turned away the idea. He didn't want to grow complacent about the suit. 'Complacency means death.' he thought to himself. He didn't have the cybernetic implants or genetic cocktail the others in the group he followed did, so he didn't want to rely solely on the suit. His wit and luck had seen him thus far.

He made a mental note to begin working on more modular components for the suit as soon as possible. For now, a pair of fold-out blades on his forearms and whatever weapons he could find would have to do. The suit faintly resembled the armor of Archaic Greece, with lines suggestive of musculature defining the suit. The overall color of the armor was a matte black, and the light reflected in a dull fashion off of it. With a smile, Taras took the helmet off the table in the otherwise bare testing room and fitted it over his ears. There was momentary discomfort before the helmet's ears responded to his own, but it quickly subsided.

He spent the next several hours twisting, running, bending, and more or less breaking the suit in until he could almost forget the suit was there. It handled like a dream, but he had to get used to the added power first. He considered jumping, but looked at the low, unforgiving ceiling and decided against it. He sat on the table to think, but the aluminum furniture bent and buckled in two under the added weight. He sat on the floor, breathing slightly heavy from the hours of strain. Now that he had the suit, he needed combat experience. And training. He sighed. He was a fair shot when the situation called for it, but that didn't really count for much in his experience. He needed more, and didn't have the time. Such potential, and it's wasted even on the suit's creator. He frowned, determined to think of something.

He would have to learn quickly, that much was clear. He stood and picked up the table, crumbling it up as a piece of paper. It didn't solve the problem, but made him feel a bit better. He walked out of the room and headed towards the room that the group was scheduled to meet at in a few hours. 'Maybe Illiad could think of something after the briefing.' He thought to himself.

The transport slowly rolled to a stop outside the entrance to the Confederate tower as Illiad began walking towards the new arrival. This was supposed to be the commander of the force currently sitting outside the city, and as he emerged under the guard of his troops, Illiad wondered why he was here. He came to a halt before the man and was supersized by his size. He came to Illiad’s chin, even though his augmentations added a considerable amount of bulk to his frame. Before the newcomer could begin to gauge his surroundings, Illiad began to question him.

“You have an army sitting outside the walls of our city. I would like to know why.” Efim was slightly intimidated by the cyborg, but held his ground.

“We came to seek vengeance upon the deserters. When they left to assault your city, our nation fell apart. I gathered as many civilians as I could and led them in pursuit, only to find that you have already scattered and destroyed them.”

It made sense, but Illiad was still suspicious of the man’s motives. “Then who are you, and why do you remain outside our city walls.”

“I am Efim, leader of the last regiment of the Northern Army. We remain in hopes that you will give us aid. We have very few supplies remaining and I refuse to prey upon those weaker then ourselves.”

With that statement, Illiad realized the character of the man in front of him. He was honorable, almost to the point of naivety, which was why he had refused to join the assault on the city. He would make a formidable ally, so Illiad decided to strike a deal with the man.

“We were able to begin the restoration of Earth, but something sinister waits out in the solar system. It moves towards us even now, preparing destroy us. We will give food and shelter to your people, but only if you devote your men to our assault on a region called ‘Europe’ to the west.”

Efim began to relax. He had feared retaliation at his exposure of weakness, but it seemed that this man was honorable. There was some good left on Earth, and he didn’t even know its name.

“I will accept you offer, but know this. We will not kill innocent civilians; my men and I are not butchers. Knowing this, will you have us? And what shall I call you by, ally?”

“I am Illiad Venturican, Field Commander for the Confederate Reclamation Core. We will have you, our conquest of the east will be a peaceful one, we do not intend to kill those who don’t resist. We require allies more than the belongings of dead men.” He extended a hand and smiled, “you may begin moving your people into the city, and I will have the secretary locate suitable housing.”

Efim was relieved, but held fast in front of Illiad. Taking the metal hand, he gripped it firmly, he now had a job to do. “Thank you for your aid, we will not let you down.”

To the north in the library, Athen sat dumbstruck as something whipped around inside of him.

“This is bad, this is really bad. Everything is broken, everything! And the Extemation, it’s everywhere, like an infection . . .”

Athen looked at the corruption on his arms, so it was Extemation . . . the thought rang a bell in his mind, the tone clear as crystal, consolidating into one word, ‘Extemos’.

“That’s right, the Extemos are what did this to you. “ Athen was surprised, before this voice continued. “I am part of you, consequently, I can hear your thoughts. Let’s do something about that lack of memory.”

Then the voice got quiet, leaving Athen to sit there in silence for a long, long time. Seren stirred nearby, breaking the trance. Athen send a thought inward.

‘Hello?’

“It’s gone, broken, all of it.”

‘You mean the memories?’

“No, I mean your soul.”

A chill went down his spine as he sat there, and he began to understand the horrible feeling that had plagued him for as long as he could remember.

“You need to leave this place.”

‘Why?’

“The Extemation is acting like an infection. If it spread to the library, it could cause a complete corruption of the information within.”

‘I can’t. There is too much information here, I need to remember.’

“I SAID GET OUT, BEFORE I MAKE YOU!” This time, the voice was not from within his head, it echoed all around him, emerging from his body as if it were a single speaker.

“You can’t make me do anything. You’re a part of me, and since I’m Athen, you must serve me!” He was shouting aloud as well. Seren began to back away towards the entrance, a look of alarm on her face.

“I was created to serve Athen, not you! You are only the worthless, shattered remains of my creator! If this place becomes infected, then all chance of reassembling Athen will be lost. Now move!” Suddenly, he could no longer feel his legs as he stood and began to walk towards the entrance. A rage began to build inside of him as he fought against the manifestation, before it fought back.

“Worthless garbage, get out of the way!” was the last thing he heard, before the shattered remains of Athen were cast into darkness.

In the forests of Eastern Europe, the sun was just coming over the edge of the world. The grove was silent in that twilight as the three of them made their way out into the clearing.


“This is it”, Vermail said softly, “a perfect location for those wishing to travel through the sky. Stay here while I scout a perimeter.” She turned and began walking towards the opposite edge of the clearing from which they had entered.

Dete and Holland sat down and the newly grown stubs of grass.

“The Earth is finally beginning to repair itself, “ Dete commented on their seating arrangements.

“It is miraculous, “Holland began to pick at the ground, “do you know why this is occurring?”

He looked up at the sky,” Those who will arrive soon are the ones who wrought the change.” He looked over at Holland and smiled. “It is said that they defeated a great evil to bring it about. I look forward to meeting them.”

Holland broke his gaze and glanced out across the field, Vermail was returning, followed by two other elves. “We have secured the perimeter, our entire party waits at the edges of the glade, watching. They will be here soon.”

“They are here now.” Dete pointed up at a speck in the sky. Even as they watched, it developed a trail of fire and began to descend towards them.

“What a strange way to travel,” Vermail commented,” a small metal box riding through the sky on a road of flame? That can’t be very . . .”

She was interrupted was a loud boom as a ball of white energy flew up from somewhere to the east. It impacted upon the side of the shuttle, sending it tumbling, smoke billowing from it. As it neared the ground the shuttle almost seemed to recover, before smashing down a distance to the west.

“By the Aimar!” Dete was the first to respond, “Haste! They may be gravely injured!” and took off, running towards the site of the crash. The others followed behind closely, keeping an eye out for the attacker. They arrived at the site to find that the shuttle had broken into a cavern below the surface. It rested nearly a hundred feet down, pieces of it scattered everywhere. A few of the elves began to descend, before a rustling came from behind them. Three of the dozen there fired their bows, only to have the arrows deflected. From out of the brush emerged a young man, his eyes burning with white fire. The elves turned and prepared for the worst.

Memory analogues clicked through Ralac’s semiorganic mind. All of them were overlaid with the blue haze of his HUD. He noted a distinct difference in the natures of his organic memories and the ones he had now. His new memories consisted almost entirely of visual data, and audio recordings, lacking the emotional attachments or ideological concepts of his earlier ones.

One in particular was playing at the moment.

He was looking at the ceiling, numbers scrolling across the right side of his vision. He craned his head downward. Apparently he was lying on a metal slab, his limbs strapped down. His chest was pried open, and Artis was up to his elbows in blood and oil. Artis noticed that Ralac was looking at him.

“You’re awake. You are no longer capable of pain, so I felt there was no need for anesthetic.”

+I UNDERSTAND+ was the monotone response.

Artis pulled his hands out of Ralac’s chest and walked out of his field of vision. A moment later, he returned with a small glowing object in his hand. “N,” he said. “This will give you your mobility back.” He reached into Ralac’s chest with the object, leaving it behind. With a few deft movements of his mechanical appendages, Artis sealed up Ralac’s chest and the memory ended.

He was on a shuttle to Europe, surrounded by the Confederacy’s finest. He turned to the man sitting next to him, deciding to strike up a conversation. It was then that the shuttle was hit, sending the world tumbling into static.

At first, Holland was quite shocked by what had occurred. So shocked, in fact, that she was frozen in place for quite a few moments.
One of the elves, running toward the crash site, bumped into her, knocking her roughly from her slight reverie. She blinked, then realized that something bad happened, and that helping would probably have been a good idea.
Holland tended to carry a bow and a quiver full of arrows, for occasions that required her to fight, instead of using magic.
This was one of those times.
Holland pulled the bow off of her back. It was good that she had thought to string it before making the trip to meet with her elven escort. If she hadn't, she would be at a serious disadvantage.
The quiver was strapped to her thigh, tight enough not to hurt her whilst running. She ran forward, closer to the crash site, where the others were.
A young man emerged from the wooded area behind them.
Holland turned, nocking the arrow and quickly taking aim. As she let fire, she quickly muttered a short spell to hasten the arrow's flight.
Before even waiting to see if the first had hit its mark, Holland drew another, and nocked it.

The arrow flew straight and true, but the man made a symbol with his hands above his chest. Only the spell was cast aside, the arrow continuing on into its target, into his right shoulder. No blood came from the wound, however, and the man continued to gesture furiously. More arrows bounced off of him before he finally bent to the ground, releasing a shockwave of searing light that sent several tumbling while nearly blinding everyone. Now the man floated above the ground on wings of golden fleece, in his hands a bow of shining light. He began to shout words of an unknown language, downing an Elf with each shot, pushing them back towards the pit behind them.

Darryl woke dazed, lights flashing across his eyes.His head seemed to throb in sync with the flashing lights, each causing a searing pain to go through his skull. He just sat there for a moment, trying to gather his surroundings when he realized the source of the light was behind him. He turned about carefully and winced as a jagged peace of metal cut into his upper arm. He was now on his back and facing a rend in the side of the shuttle and crawled out slowly, obtaining a few scratches before exiting completly. As he exited the shuttle he righted himself, bracing himself on the side of the shuttle as his world wobbled about, the blood rushing from his head, the light yet unnatural to his eyes. As the blood settled and his eyes adjusted he looked onward and that is when he saw the source of the flashing lights. There was an angelic figure shooting arrows of light at the shadows on the ground. He set of quickly to help this divine figure when he realized those shadows were elves, and he was killing them mercilessly. This was no angle, this was a demon. A demon that he must strike down to save these elves. He hoped the others were not far behind, he was not sure he was strong enough to banish this demon alone.

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"Fauk!" Dagon muttered a moment before the ball of energy impacted the side of the shuttle. After that, everything went black.

Dagon and his team woke to with the sting of thick black smoke in their eyes and throats and noses. Dagon found himself pinned next to Sam under a large section of the exterior of their shuttle. Yuri and Ling had been tossed fifty meters from the wreckage into the shadows of the cave, their advanced body armor saving them from the worst of the impact. Sergio calmly unlocked himself from his seat, which was one of the only ones that survived the impact and remained attached to the floor. Yuri and Ling slowly lifted them selves off the floor then, seeing Dagon's condition, they rushed to his aid.

"Are you alright commander?" Ling asked as the two of them lifted the section of shuttle off of him.

"Just peachy." Dagon grunted as his mind started to recover, the attack, the crash. When he figured it all out, he was not happy. The attack meant two things, either someone knew of their plans and had the means to stop them, or someone had the means to attack them and were trigger happy when they saw the shuttle. He looked to Sam who was unconscious at his side. Her nanite systems were not as developed as his and could not handle the strain of the crash or reawaken as quickly as he had. When the piece of shuttle pinning him down was removed, Dagon told Sergio watch over her until she woke. Then he looked to the hole in ceiling of the cave and the sky beyond. His whole body buzzed with energy as he heard the shouts and sounds of battle above. He motioned to Ling and Yuri to follow him and hooked his cracked and chipped metal nails onto the side of the cave.

"I'm going to make whoever just took a pot shot at us wish they had never been born." He growled as he began to climb the walls of the cave.

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Epimor was uneasy during the flight. So many people he did not know. Dagon was here, but he kept to himself and others. He was in a fight with strangers.

He had to endure, though. He was a representative of Torvald. The gentle roar of the Nasca shook the ship. He looked over at Karen. She nodded back.

Epimor felt something strange, foreign. Magic? There was magic here? It was coming closer.

There was an explosion and Epimor found himself in a whirlwind of confusion. Light and sound blurred and yelled until, with a final crash, everything dimmed.

He stood in confusion. Their ship had fallen and cracked. He heard cursing, but ignored it.

Karen. Where was Karen? What was the magic just now? Smoke made it hard to breath, and there was some pain in his torso. He fell to his knees and crawled in the wreckage.

There she was. She looked ok. Unconscious, but there was little blood.

He staggered to the side and leaned against a piece of metal as he began to get his bearings. Was that Torvald? An angelic figure, approaching them... no, he could feel it. Not Torvald.

Was that what shot them down? It was fighting. His senses cleared.

Karen was up next to him. "Which one are we fighting?"

"The winged one." There was a lot of ambient energy here. Either the area was inherently magical or there a lot of things had died just now. Epimor gathered some of the energy while Karen picked a piece of metal off of the ground.

Karen tossed the metal in the palm of her hand a few times, testing it. She was a master of electricity and magnetism. With trained speed, she subjected the metal to a strong electric field and broke it in two with a concentrated magnetic field, breaking into strongly charged positive and negative halves.

Epimor charged a fireball in his hand. He clenched his fist and it formed into a rod in his hand. He pulled it back and threw it like a javelin at the other wizard. He made a motion and the javelin vanished, to Epimor's shock.

Meanwhile, Karen took the two electrically charged pieces of metal and, with an electric field, shot them one after another at almost supersonic speed. Even if he could dispel magic, their own momentum would carry them.

Back in the city, Ha’el slid out of bed, yawning. He grabbed his robe off of the nearby chair, and donned it as he walked over to the mirror opposite the bed. He thought he cut a dashing figure in his crimson, silk robes, though he still missed his usual black. But, he thought, one cannot be choosy about one’s luxuries in a post-apocalyptic world.

And he was certainly enjoying his luxuries here. He looked around, taking in the gilded edges of the furniture, the rich carpet, and the golden fixtures. The old Lady-Warlord had certainly had some taste. He reflected somewhat resentfully that the only reason he was given the mansion was because he was the only person who could survive the myriad traps left behind by the psychotic woman.

There was some motion in the bed behind him, causing him to turn around. A woman was there, just beginning to show the signs of waking up. Ha’el had a short moment of confusion as he wondered why she was here, when he remembered: her husband is home.

That’s a bother, he thought as he turned and did his best not to scream. “It’s rude to sneak up on someone like that,” he said somewhat peevishly, regaining his composure. The Wraith didn’t react, he just stood there, half crouched and staring. Just as Ha’el was about to continue speaking, the Wraith spoke.

“That’s irrelevant.” Ha’el hated that eerily clear voice. It should be muffled by his mask, Ha’el thought. It’s so unnatural.

“And that’s cold,” smirked Ha’el. “Even I usually at least pretend to care about the opinions of others.”

The Wraith shrugged, an uncharacteristically human gesture, though it looked forced. A thought occurred to Ha’el and he reached into his pocket, pulling out the engraved, silver coin the Wraith had given him when they had first met. “This thing… What is it? I can’t seem to get rid of it.” As if to emphasize the point, he threw the coin across the room. After a moment, he reached into his pocket and pulled the coin out again. “See?”

The Wraith nodded. “It will be important in time.” He said it as though that explained everything.

Ha’el was about to respond when the woman woke, and of course, upon seeing the Knifeman, began screaming. With an efficiency greater than many professional soldiers, she scooped her clothes off the floor and sprinted out of the room, all while wrapped in Ha’el’s bedsheets.

“Well…” Ha’el began. “That saves me the trouble of kicking her out. So, why are you paying me a visit?”

“The strike team has already left for Europe,” was the response. Ha’el didn’t bother responding. He knew the Wraith would be gone now that he’d delivered his message. It was odd. He felt left out, and curiously alone. He shrugged and went to get a drink.

"Zzzzzzzzzzzz....Zzzzzzzzzzz....Zzzzzzzzzzzz *BAM PEW PEW PEW KABOOM*"
The dwarf began regaining consciousness.
"What the? Where am I? What's going on? Where is all my booze?" the commotion still continued. He wasn't close to whatever it was, but he could hear it raging on a few miles away from him. He tried to stand up but then fell back down.
"How much did I drink last night?" Ozgard dug into one of his pockets and pulled out something that looked like black clay. He began sculpting it into a man-like figure. Right when he finished the ground shook and a hand shot out of the ground. The hand started clawing its way out reveling the rest of itself. It was an undead monster. It bowed to Ozgard.
"Hey there, mind helpin' your old buddy up?" The monster gave Ozgard a hand and Ozgard pulled himself up.
"Alright, now lets go see what is going on!" Ozgard took a few steps and fell over again. He was drunk.

After a 20 minutes (and 10 falls), Ozgard found where the ruckus was coming from. He watched from a distance.

'Is that what I think it is? No, it can't be. Elves fighting? Elves don't know how to fight. They're all just a bunch of pansies that run around hugging trees.' He continued watching from a distance. Arrows were flying toward a winged figure in the middle of everything, but the figure either blocked them or absorbed them. 'Oh, he's good.' Ozgard took a stein from his belt and took a sip from it. It was empty. 'I suppose I better go help...or I'll wait to see who the victor is...that sounds good...' He pulled out his clay and started shifting it into 20 man-like figures. Suddenly 20 undead minions burst out of the ground.
"Alright boys, we wait, but we shall strike soon...I think...Actually we might get some grog real quick AND THEN WE WAIT!" That sounded like a much better idea to Ozgard.

Ripper spread his arms peeling back all the twisted metal that had folded around him. He stood with the shrill cry of steel scrapping across his metallic scales.

'A little help.'

Stilts was pinned down, his sleeve nailed to the ground by a twisted chunk of metal.

'Are you alright, what happened?'

"I don't really know, but something hit us hard. Epimore knew something was coming, so it was probably magical. Most everyone that was in the ship is alright, the real problem is whatever's outside."

Ripper tore stilts free and tore a hole in the side of the ship just in time to see a firey flash dissolve in front of the glowing figure.

'What is that thing?'

'Angry, but that doesn't really matter. It's killing the elves, so it's no friend of ours.'

Stilts dropped his chain from his sleeve and tore across the battlefield. Ripper slammed his hand into the ground raising a spire of earth from beneath the angelic figure.

Taras forced one eye open with significant effort. His left eye wouldn't open, and he had to fight the urge to panic. He tried to reach up and clear his eyes, but his arms seemed oddly positioned. As his composure began to return, he realized he was upside down inside the shuttle. He craned his neck to look up at his legs, which were pinned to the hull by the mangled remains of a chair. Then he dropped his gaze down below him to find his empty helmet staring back at him.

He mentally scolded himself for being stupid enough to have his helmet off in this new territory. He reached up and dug into the bars of the chair that had him pinned. He felt the suit come to life when his own strength proved insufficient. The twisted metal easily flexed and Taras dropped free, falling with a resounding crash. He quickly removed one of his gauntlets and inspected his unopened eye. His relief was audible when he found that it was only some hardening blood that was hampering his eye. He removed the blood and put his gauntlet back on. He picked up his helmet and made for a gaping hole in the side of the "shuttle" they had ridden in. Come to think of it, the piece of crap "vehicle" was really just a metal box with rockets. Apparently not a durable box either.

A blast of energy flaring nearby put him back in the present. He locked his helm back into place and took stock of the situation. Two recognizable figures, apparently Epimor and Karen, were engaging a floating humanoid. Several other, more lithe figures were also engaging, but one seemed to stand out a bit. They seemed to be using archaic bows to combat the floating one, and Taras almost laughed. His grin instantly vanished when the floating one looked directly at him. He threw himself off to one side as a coruscating bolt of energy gauged out a scar on his breastplate and slammed into the metallic hulk behind him. He rolled back into the wreck to find his small crate of supplies. Two more holes appeared in the hull and boiling white flames licked over the rent plates of the former floor. Taras ripped the lid off of his box and pulled forward a pair of blocky looking pistols. He hadn't had much time or material to work with, but it was better than nothing. Besides, they were basically just modified versions of common large caliber pistols found around the base.

Taras left one pistol holstered, the other drawn. He carefully crept out of the hulk, noting that Epimor and Karen were momentarily distracting the floating man. He turned behind him and picked up a loose section of hull metal. He reached past it and picked up another, bigger chunk. A plan was forming. He looked up as Karen attempted to break through the defenses with her near supersonic attack. That was his inspiration. Her attack was diverted, but only just. The floating man could easily absorb energy, but the solid material seemed to have more of an effect. He hefted his own pieces of metal and calculated the force with which he could throw it, but it wouldn't be enough. He needed Epimor and Karen to help.

He bolted from his position and narrowly missed another energy bolt, but managed to get away with only part of his shoulder pauldron missing. He rolled to his feet in front of Epimor, who seemed a bit perturbed about something or other. Irrelevant, he reminded himself. "We need to amplify each other's attacks. He seems to be able to absorb energy too well for us to-" He quickly ducked under another attack, satisfied that he cleared it this time. "For us to wear him down." Epimor still had the same expression on his face, so Taras continued, but directed his words at Karen. "Hey! Be ready to accelerate something, ok?" He growled out.

If his idea was correct, she could accelerate the metal chunks beyond the initial speed with which he threw them into supersonic speeds. The bullets in the first projectile would detonate due to shock, and throw the first one off course, providing further distraction for the main charge in the second projectile.

She acknowledged with a concise nod and returned her concentration elsewhere. The lithe figures he had seen in the woods had been depleted by around half, or so it seemed to his eyes. The floating one was mostly distracted by their presence, and that gave enough time for Taras to crumple the first piece of metal he was clutching around two clips of his pistol ammunition. It wasn't going to do much, but it wasn't supposed to. The first 20 pound projectile was merely a distraction piece, meant to be a bit erratic. The second piece of metal, weighing 35 pounds, he folded around a small standard frag grenade he had equipped himself with. The pressure would be sufficient enough to burst the metal. Essentially a bigger shrapnel grenade. He pulled the grenade pin and quickly finished wrapping the deadly gift. Hefting the makeshift missiles again, he spun around once to build momentum and flung one, then the other, directly at Karen. They both screamed towards her at a fast but subsonic pace.

Pulling both pistols, he began firing and flanking left around the floating man.

Kairk stared as the mechanized wolf began firing his pistols at the angel, circling away from Epimor and the woman mage. She had yet to learn her name and would probably need to do that soon, but that as an insignificant fact. She did however know that Taras alone would not be enough to distract this figure, so she decided it was her turn to do something useful. Kairk steadied herself for a moment and began to focus. It had been getting much easier to use her psychic abilities lately, but the pain coming from her leg was quite distracting, so she steadied her thoughts. Blocking out the pain she began to focus on the space directly behind the angelic figure and then began imagining herself traveling there slowly.

Kairk shuddered as she left her body, the sensation of floating through the air was still far from familiar. As she mentally reached the space to the angel's rear she began to imagine not only the space, but herself as well. She then combined the two images delicately, careful to include the full details of both, as she didn't wish to feel the physic backlash that occurred from a failed astral projection. Once the images were firmly implanted in her head she fed them an inner power and then opened her eyes.

She was no longer leaning against the wreckage of the shuttle, a jagged shard of metal sticking through her leg. She was now behind Gabriel, the angle of death. She stared at him with what can only be described as eyes. She then drew back her hand and drew the blade at her waist. She was always surprised at how fluid her inner self could be, how she could form her appearance with an almost subtle grace. She slowly fluttered the wings she had placed upon her own back, modeled after the angle she had declared as Gabriel, and dashed towards the figure, sword extended.

Kairk shrieked first with frustration as her Gabriel darted to the side, casually dodging her attack, and shrieked yet again, this time in pain, as a blast of energy ripped through her transient form, her form wavering as the blast almost ripped the projection from her mind. She steadied her thoughts while attempting to dodge his blast. She might not have been able to damage him, but she believed she had Gabriel thoroughly distracted.

Spoiler:

Spoiler:

Dagon felt out of his league with the angelic creature, being a technological entity himself and magic being his kryptonite, though with the help of his team and those who volunteered he felt confident. During his climb out of the crash site, he had given his head a chance to cool down and form a strategy based on the sights and sounds of the battle ahead. His only real weapon against this foe was his sphere of N in his chest.

The slow energy draw that powered his nanites on a daily basis instead of his fat was only the first stage of his N integration, the next stage was to figure out how to utilize it in battle. Dagon had experimented during his training with N based attacks and found that he could send an N charge along his network on nanites and create anything from a Tazer effect in his hands, to a red hot (what kind of charge is N, magical or electrical? insert type of charge here) charge that could sear the flesh to the bone.

Dagon took careful aim before launching himself into the frey, avoiding Taras' projectiles, though not careful enough to avoid a few rounds to the arm from what only could be described as Apollo's arrows. They seared his skin, but thanks to the N energy surging through his body, the damage was limited to second degree surface burns. Dagon cursed quietly under his breath as he rolled and sent a surge of energy to his metal nails and ignited the outer layer. He overdrove at the godlike creature holding out his burning hands, the closer he got, the more resistance he felt, his nails started to curl back from the apposing force of his overdrive and the foe's repelling field. Dagon decided that this method of attack was ineffective and backed off, running back to his team to regroup.

Spoiler:

The static suddenly ended and consciousness reasserted itself. The world in front of his faceplate was a dark blue. Ralac realized that he must be face down in the dirt. The pressure sensors indicated that something roughly twice his weight was on top of him. It was hard to get used to, this lack of feeling, he thought.

Ralac forced his arms underneath him, and slowly, combining the strength of his biological and mechanical systems pushed himself up from under the heavy item. There the sound of scraping metal as the chunk of the shuttle fell off of him. Suddenly the world was alive with motion.

He was still for a moment as his world lit up with targeting reticules and combat data: Several dozen elves, Mages – Identified – Karen and Torvald, Mission Officer Dagon, and unofficial add-on – Taras. Something was wrong. They were fighting something that didn’t register on his HUD. There was a floating ball of static in the midst of everything sending out bursts of energy into nearby elves, which immediately took them off of his HUD. Dead, the scrolling data to his right said.

He concentrated on the ball of static and after a moment, the necessary corrections were made. The ball of static suddenly snapped into focus as an angelic being, the spurts of energy he was sending out were burning arrows. Something registered in the back of his organic mind.

+Curious+ he said aloud, his voice a mechanical blurt of synthesized sound. His HUD noted the being as threat-level: High. He reached down to his side, removing the weapon maglocked to his thigh. A memory analogue began to play. It was Artis.

“With an acceptable margin of error, I am certain this weapon will suit your needs. It’s energy-based, having no need for ammunition, and that piece of N powering your suit should be sufficient to power it as well. Remember, the amount of energy produced by the N is infinite, but it is only produced at a set rate, due to the size of the piece of you have. Manage your power output.”

The weapon unfolded in his hands, lengthening into a slightly over-sized rifle. It was boxy and inelegant. But in its own way, it was beautiful. Ralac’s vocabulator let out a burst of static, his equivalent of a laugh. Such a human thought, though another part of his mind felt a tinge of sadness.

A small plate slid back on Ralac’s forearm, and a thick cable snaked out of it, connecting to the weapon. It was a modular laser-weapon. In its lower setting, it can fire relatively rapidly, sending out bursts of energy roughly the equivalent of a rifle shot. In its higher setting, it can vaporize most targets, but has a significant power drain.

He ran a diagnostic of the battle up to this point. Earlier attempts at harming the creature were ineffective. As this thought went through his cogitator, Karen accelerated Taras’s projectile at the angelic-entity, only to have it deflected. The projectile exploded with a muffled thump somewhere in the distance. Ralac opted for the high-power setting.

He raised the gun to his shoulder, sighting it at the angel, and began to divert power to the gun and targeting systems. All other targeting reticules disappeared from the HUD, save the one on the angel, which tightened in focus. The weapon began to hum, while at the same time Ralac felt some of his internal systems begin to slow. His HUD dimmed in intensity.

Now that the Elves were no longer being fired upon, they began to pick themselves up and head for cover while the angle turned and struggled with the astral projection. Just when Kiark felt she would be consumed by the thing, its wings enfolding around her, the apparition took the full force of the projectiles that had been sent at it. Karen has accelerated the projectiles Taras had thrown, the explosives detonating on impact. The being was sent flying into a tree, slamming hard against it and falling to the ground. Seizing the moment, Ralac pulled the trigger.

The angle had been watching Ralac, waiting for him to pull the trigger. When he did, it prepared for the impact of the projectile. Being from its fanatic background, it was not aware of what a laser was. The damage hit it before it knew what was happening. The angelic visage faded from the assailant, leaving the man underneath breathing hard against the tree, burns covering his body.

Taras gave a satisfied nod. His plan had worked, just in a way he hadn't expected. He may not have delivered the final blow, but he was certainly no longer a spectator. He would have to remember the effectiveness of energy weapons in the future.

He holstered his pistols and began walking cautiously towards the burned figure slumped against the tree. They weren't really doing anything anyway. He stopped roughly ten meters away from the panting man and braced himself for another surprise attack. "Who are you? Why did you attack us?"

Taras looked around into the woods, his gaze resting on the few elves he could see easily. They still seemed on edge, with bows drawn and grim expressions. Some were looking at him uneasily, as though indecisive on his faction. He closed the distance between him and the burned man on the ground. He grabbed the man's blackened shoulders and lifted him up so he was sitting against the tree. Taras looked into the man's startling eyes and repeated, "Who are you?"

The man simply closed his eyes and ignored Taras. The wolf-man blew a frustrated sigh and walked back towards the others. He went back into the ruins of the shuttle and began ripping out salvageable parts and supplies. At least it would be useful now.

Stilts slid between the elves behind the fallen angel, gesturing as many of them as he could to lower their bows, coming around to face the ashen man, his body covered in char.
“You’re not in a very good position no matter what you do right now. If you at least help us we may be able to show you some sort of mercy.”

"Mercy?" The man was frothing at the mouth," the only mercy I desire is that of the Lord. You pagans will burn, just as my flesh was singed this day!"

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Stilts rolled back his trailing sleeve and held out his hand. “But you’re still going to help us before you are shepherded away.” He reached out and gently placed his hand on the man’s chest.

"Don't touch me!" The man reached out with his hand, which had begun to glow white hot, and grabbed Stilts' extended arm, his eyes glowing with white fury once more.
Stilts’ arm hissed as the man seared his flesh, but he continued forward, down into the man’s mind, pouring out pacifying thoughts. The cooling began to wash over the molten core that was the mans mind, his constitution resisting with a will known only to fanatics, until Stilts felt something mysterious leave his target. Then the walls of white flame were gone, and the mans spirit collapsed, leaving only the mortal behind.

The change in the man’s mind was sudden and sharp. Stilts looked for the cause but there was no obvious source. Stilts turned back to the man’s memories, searching for a large memory, some sort of branching system of thought. And then Stilts ran into the wall that was the man’s memories. It was a giant focuses mass, all centered around one individual, a figure dressed in white, with a halo of golden fire.

Stilts brought his mind back to himself, and took a step away from the man. He grasped his arm only just fully feeling the pain of his seared flesh. He took note of the man’s breathing, and of the pain that he felt in his mind.

“I’m sorry this had to be such a violent engagement. I’ll leave how this ends up to you. The elves will without a doubt end you; they’ll send you to your shepherd. Or I could try and convince my group to save you, try and make them think I can break down the barrier in your mind. I can’t guarantee you’ll live but we could at least try to save you.”

The man began to shiver from the pain of his charred flesh," You know nothing of divine retribution, the heretics like you are the ones that should burn!" And against all belief, the man stood up, reaching into the folds of his robe. Stilts stumbled back another step, staggered by the man’s adamant strength. He dropped his chain from his sleeve and turned himself, taking a more defensive stance.

The fanatic lunged forward, a halo of fire dancing around the cross-shaped dagger in his hand, and instantly collapsed to the ground, four arrows protruding from the back of his head. Stilts was stunned. He looked from the man lying on the ground up to the elves that had fired upon him before he could even think.

‘I hadn’t expected the elves or this man to be so fast.’
Ripper and the rest of the group had just taken notice of the commotion.
‘I couldn’t react. If it weren’t for the elves I’d be dead.’
“Don’t lose your touch now Stilts. We need you sharp for this mission. This is only the beginning. It will get worse.”
Ripper laid a heavy hand on Stilts’ shoulder, and then bent down to pick up the man’s blade. Stilts turned toward the rest of the group. 'I'm going to go find Dagon to tell him what I found. Will you make sure he's properly taken care of? A warrior with a will as strong as his deserves respect even if he is our enemy.' Ripper nodded as Stilts walked away.

History
It was a struggling fight. She was enveloped in a flaming mass, struggling not to loose her focus through the intense pain. The diving figure was wrapping around her all the tighter and it seemed that she couldn't breath. Yet, even with all the pain she managed to hold her form in her mind. She new every second was likely to be the last but she held for the sake of the others, hoping they would capitalize on the angel's momentary distractedness. She then felt something rip through her, and she instantly collapsed.

Present
She was back at the ship now, a jagged piece of metal stabbing through her leg pinning her to the ground a few feet from the wreckage of the ship. She lay there, both her mind and her body in agony, and she was more tired than she had ever been. She tried shouting out but her throat was to dry, her lungs to tired. She closed her eyes against the pain and looked down at the metal shard covered in her blood. Kairk then lost her conscious, her last thought being the hope of salvation, that the bloody shard would in the end save her.

Taras blew a whistle of admiration at the elves' quick draw skills. They looked his way with a mixture of curiosity and disdain. Taras bristled under his armor, but took his helmet off to at least appear calm. He noted a subtle scent on the air that he had neglected before. It must be the elves themselves. He noted the change of expression that lasted only a brief moment. The disdain changed to shock at his canine features and fanged smile. Taras found satisfaction in that at the least.

Suddenly a breeze swept over the wreck and carried a strong scent of blood to him. He turned and began rummaging through the ship again, and eventually found Kairk on the other side of the immolated hull. He carefully extracted the metal shard from her leg and looked around for something to stem the blood. He ripped a ruined seat cover from the remains of the seat and secured it around the bleeding leg. Taras picked up Kairk and placed her next to the supply crates he had begun to pile outside the wreck. One of them must have some water and medicine in it, but he didn't know which yet, and he said as much to her. "Right now I have to focus on salvaging as much as I can before any flames destroy critical components."

He plunged back into the interior of the shuttle and re secured his helmet. The flames of the crash were beginning to build and consume the entire ship. Hts shoved a piece of the hull aside and began literally hurling crates and boxes out of the hole he had entered from. When the majority of the cargo that could be saved was outside, he moved to the cockpit.

"What a primitive thing." He thought aloud. Yes, it had flown, and was probably the first air worthy craft built in years, but it was just so clunky, so inelegant. His suit chiming an alert broke his reverie. It was beginning to get quite warm in the wreck. He ripped another hole in the hull, and tossed out as much of the controls and wiring as he could before it began to melt. His suit told him the temperature was rising to above 600 F, and he decided to exit the vehicle. He clambered on top of the weakened hull and began stripping the external parts of the engines and directional control apparatuses. The internal fuel tanks began to rupture and torrents of flame poured from the craft. Taras mentally scolded himself for not thinking of the fuel tanks first, but quickly moved on to more important matters. The internal temperature was now 1300 F and the entire wreck began to sag and melt. There wasn't much to save now anyway, so he jumped down and shook his head. "What a waste."

He looked over the parts he had saved and began thinking aloud again. "I can rebuild it into something, but it won't go anywhere without fuel. And even more than that, it will be quite a task to fit all of us in a new craft. Not to mention that it will take a long time to even refurbish these parts into something serviceable at all." He turned to the nearest elf. "I don't suppose you would have the tools I need to do that anyway."

The elf shook her head and gave the slightest, nearly imperceptible hint at a smile. "You are quite a strange one, traveler."

Taras chuckled and took off his helmet, allowing it to dangle behind him. "I suppose I am."

"Why do you save such scraps?" The she-elf poked at a slightly steaming control panel with her bow. "Would it not be easier to travel in other ways?"

Taras blew a sigh. "I wonder sometimes..." He stared off for a moment. "But, it's not supposed to crash like that. We weren't exactly expecting to be blown from the sky."

"I see. Well-" Another one of the elves said something in another dialect and began assembling the remnants of the elven company. The she-elf began to depart.

"My name is Taras." He called to her as she left.

"I am called Brima." She called back.

Taras turned to the wreck and watched it burn and collapse on itself.