Fight by A Moonlit Furnace (Van, Notorious, Consumption of Chaos)

[Z0Rr0Rex]

A slice of moonlight shone down like a cheshire smile hung amid the star strewn skies. Far below, the earth was an orange blaze of fire light. This valley had been peaceful for decades...but at that moment the only peace that could be found was in the embrace of all-consuming death. The breeze brought the stench of smoke and burning flesh up the mountain, where the cool shadows of night still held sway.

The forest was quieter than usual. Fire had always brought a nervous stillness to any wood. The normal activities of hiding, hunting, eating, and sleeping were suspended as the forests creatures listened to the distant screams and the roar of flames. Flee and risk the jaws hidden in the night, or stay and risk being trapped by a swift, suffocating predator of flame? Nerves streched to the breaking point snapped and an explosion of feathered and furred animals took flight as they sensed the presence of the ones who had come. It was there that the Titan should meet his demise, in a world teatering on a knife's edge between peace and destruction...where the wails of the dying were all too present, even amidst the calmly lit wood. What could transpire in the darkness, beneath the cruely smiling night sky?

[Paramnesia]

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Out of character:
Posted with permission by istar_magus on Paramnesia’s account. Written by Param.

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The embers rained from the clouds above. Smoke and ash. A fitting combination. The six foot tall titan stood up his face stained by the rain – smeared by his hand. “Imprisoned for how long, only to awake here?” The hand of the god that had seized him and cast him down into this hell’s residual knowledge flooded into him through his blood magic. “Ah. There are people about who wish to defeat me?” A kaleidoscope of memories broke into his soul through windows and bonds. Creatures, dragons, gods, and a myriad of other failing triumphs marred his body with only scars on one place: his left arm. The flesh was pale scar tissue from elbow to wrist – and much leaner than his right.

The curvature of the Arcessitoris’ blade, like that of time, kisses and caresses flesh and forgets the future. Arcessitoris was now. He lived now. His temporary prison was just that, temporary. The residual power of the god who flung him here had long since fled, but he spoke to it none the less, “So where are these weaklings who wish to join my servants in eternity?” While the battle did not bother him, he did struggle to remember who had captured him and how he could free himself.

[Consumption of Chaos]

Ablaze, the once vivid emerald crests adorning the marvelous azure orb were infected with a sickly amber hue as the flame’s repugnance slowly decayed the planet. Brilliant forests with refulgent light once peaking through their breathtaking canopies became barren, smoldering scars of black upon the rotting earth. A colorless, lifeless lid opened above to view the chaos below as though God was peaking into the mortal realms, a backdrop of thousands of luminous seraphim twinkling behind him. Gaia looked up through her misery and gazed into that eye of one who was no stranger to seeing his children murdered before him.

Roaring flames drowned out the footsteps of approaching Death as he snaked his way through the burning bush. As tears of fire and ash fell from the weeping angels above to the indolent ground below, the one wearing the tainted crucifix dangling from his neck stepped with both purpose and with an eldritch rage swirling through his scarlet pools. The Heavens from which he had been birthed stared idly on as The Hell he had escaped now pursued him until it finally enveloped him. This refugee had no home now, now salvation. He was alone.

Contra mundum (Against the World)

Even in the chaos surrounding him, The Fallen One was unchanging. His priestly robes were untarnished as the obsidian cloak fluttered slightly in the wind, unblemished from the hellfire around him. Faded brown hair crowned his head and taut muscles rested beneath the pieces of armor hidden under his mantle. Skeleton fingers had suffocated a tinge of color from the vampire, yet his complexion still rebelled with pigmentation defying the waning signature of the undead.

Several weapons graced the gunslinger’s arsenal, his collection inspired by his strengths and familiar to his touch. A lone hellfire pistol rested in his right sleeve, its twin forsaking it on this particular occasion. Resting upon the back of the man’s robes was a much larger pistol, its tremendous potency resonating while anticipating release. At his side rested a weapon of myth-like proportions, its origin rooted in the fall of man itself. This metallic serpent had led to demise itself, and after it’s infamous deception, it would ensure its spawn was not conceived in vain.

So on The Refugee of Hell walked, his methodical pace revealing more and more meaning the closer he drew to his destination. He had been summoned to take down a terror freshly awaken from its stupor, to prove his mettle against a worthy adversary. Yet it was so much more… It was a way to satiate his bloodlust. Battle was a warrior’s delicacy, and struggle was his indulgence. As Chaos Consumed the world, this could be the last theatre of war, and this Hell would freeze over before the combatant would abandon the stage before the curtain falls…

In aeternum (…For eternity)

That which was once a miniscule spark of life in the distance soon grew until the sight of the titan became decipherable. His title was misleading, the height of the approaching challenger reigning inches above the blood-red spectacle of the awoken warrior. Though this being’s presence was far from intimidating, underestimation would not be the downfall of the fallen angel who was far from a stranger to combat. A firm voice broke the nervous quiet that presided over the grounds.

”Odd… I was expecting someone… taller.”

Reaching to his side, a gloved hand rested itself upon the hilt of Eden’s Serpent. It drew the whip-sword, the venomous eyes of the serpent head upon the last link of the sword glaring lasciviously at the morsel before it in delicious anticipation. Such delectation would not be denied for the weapon that had tasted so much flesh in ages past. This serpent and its master both glared at their opponent with a like mind as they waited patiently for the arrival of the others to set the final stage upon which this battle was to ensue.

”I suppose now we wait…”

Spectaculorum procedere debet (The show must go on)

[Ebivoulya]

The battle is incomplete, and will be archived.