Dudleytown - Assault on the Black Tower

Hello Mage Addicts!                                                                                                                                        4/1/10

Below you will find the full proxy write up for the Dudleytown assault, which I am titling “Wizard’s March”. I wanted to pause, before we begin, however and explain what I mean when I am referring to ‘shared story’ and what I expect from you, the players – as well as what, I feel, will be most beneficial to your gaming experience.

Shared story implies that we are each the storytellers of this event, and while David and I have handled some of the number crunching, everyone involved is a storyteller in this in their own right. I have specifically left some aspects vague in the damage results, in terms of exactly how much damage is resistant, how you took damage, etc – make no bones about this, the assault on the Rookery was an all-out Wizard’s War, and by canon, is the exact reason why things like the Right of Nemesis exist, as one of the PC’s noted below will mention in-character.  War, as an abstract, is bad enough without the ability to break the skies open into lightning bolts or summon seventeen knife-wielding copies of yourself and as such, a wizard’s war is all the more dangerous. That being said, there is no way to write a full proxy detailing every single scratch your PC may receive… I’ve gone to some additional measure to make certain that every PC is mentioned at least once, however please bear in mind that the focus of this proxy document is to detail the pivotal and key moments that take place during the battle. Those characters that made a dramatic impact, or saved another PC’s life, etc, are specifically mentioned here – these are your heroes of the battle. By that token, however, while everyone in some fashion participated, not everyone can be the ‘Hero of the Day’ (basically the idea that if everyone is special, then no one is).

That being said, however, this proxy is somewhat unique in that fashion – you’ve all shaped your characters experiences through the role-play you’ve done on the lists, among yourselves, on mirc, etc, and will continue to do so. While I will try to make sure to mention each PC at least once in the below document, it is left for you to fill in the blanks of your characters experience during the Wizard’s March, and more importantly, share them with others. Craft the story of your PC’s wounds, victories, that-10-you-rolled, and then share them with your fellow players. Share those stories with the people on your team, as to how your PC’s got wounded together, or how you worked together on a spell, or interacted while the medical staff was patching you up. The main reason that this proxy centers mainly on the combat sections is because I have the absolute belief as a Storyteller that no one can play your character’s personality, past, likes, dislikes, etc better than you.

In closing, special thanks to the following:

David Hofmann for running the event with me.
Lana Tessler for putting up with not seeing me for a week and for writing the Base and Hospital scenes
Derek Burroughs for writing the Epilogue
Lino Di Julio for setting this up as the PDF with music.

Our artist contributors!

Jen Seggev for doggedly chasing this plot down and herding cats on multiple occasions.

And you all for breaking the Google. I am incredibly honored to have had this much focus for a week of your life.

Jake Tessler
US2002022694
US ANST Awakening

(Cover art by Brittany Griffon)

29 March 2010, Monday, 5:43 AM

                The church was quiet now, where before it had been filled with words of worship, faith, and determination. It did not matter the faith, per se, that had been expressed but simply that the faith of the awakened had been; the words of Compatioo’s sermon had faded alongside Paladin’s ad hoc baptismal and even the prayers to other gods or to the Oracles themselves. All that was left now was the silence of the place, and the mages that knelt before the alter or sat quietly amid the room.
                Alethia fingered the rosary in her hands alongside Gypsy, the two sharing a quiet smile over the purple beads and cross that the free councilor held in her scarred hand.
                “Please be safe?” the Mysterium asked.
                Before she could reply, however, the thick Cajun accent rolled out of Gambit as he offered them both a hand to rise. “She bettah be,” he said with a grin, “I cut me a deal with the bossman and I gonna be might-fine-cross wit’ him if he breaks peace.”
                The three shared a quiet laugh before stepping out of the church itself to leave the rest to find their peace before the conflict began.

***

                “I don’t understand,” Alethia asked a few minutes later as she walked up next to Ascleius and noticed the deep set frown that had settled on her mentor’s features, “I mean… I get that it’s dangerous, but it’s like everyone is not expecting to come back from this. The Arrow have a solid battle plan… at least I think they do… but… why?”
                Smoothing the front of his scrubs, the doctor looked back over his particular assigned table and mentally re-tallied the supplies they had on hand.
                “Wizard’s March,” he said, quietly.
                The phrase seemed to have some meaning for him, though Alethia gave him a blank expression. When he did not offer any elaboration, she inquired further. “And?”
                “Think about the horrors of normal warfare and the toll that it takes on not only the body, but the mind… now imagine how much worse it can be when the combatants can do any number of magical effects and your enemy is in league with the void itself.”
                Frowning softly, the younger mage nodded.
                “This is why the Right of Nemesis is held so closely,” Ascleius continued, “to prevent things like this. To prevent, theoretically, entire factions of awakened going to war with each other and to keep conflicts down to individuals… or at most, cabals. This… this is…”
                “Insane?” came Candle’s reply as she moved into the hospital ward.
                The two mages nodded as the Guardian stepped into the room, looking over the collected tables with a small frown.
                “I’m going to each of the primary doctors,” she explained, “since I’m technically part of the medical team. I’m Candle… my focus here is psychological. I know everyone’s going to be busy once the fighting starts so I wanted to ask how comfortable you would be with me being around at your table. I don’t think there will be time to do complete surgeries at the beginning, and if I can help keep the wounded distracted or from focusing on the pain or their trauma… it might make the post-conflict trauma disorders down a bit.”
                “No, I don’t mind at all,” the doctor replied, “though I’d just as soon hope we don’t need either of our services….”

***

Monday, 6:18 AM

“Comms,” Payday said gruffly, looking over the line of computers and wires that ran the length of the room they were using in the abandoned church. He watched as each of the technology specialists nodding their head in agreement confirming that their systems were active. Turning, he glanced at H+ with a question on his face.
                The British man tilted his head to one side, eyes half lidding as he listened and cycled through the various communication channels that his mind was innately connected to, “All the locals are occupied with Sally’s… friends. I’ve overheard at least three reports of armed robbery, and a few arsons. It looks like the local police are calling for help from neighboring departments”
                Nodding, the giant turned back to the man at his side with a nod. Crazy Bear’s southern drawl, somehow, still came through the telepathic connections.
                Team leaders, ya’ll check in.
                Assault Team Alpha, confirmed, came Maxx’s mental voice.
                Assault Team Bravo, confirmed, responded Brigade
                Artillery Team, confirmed, came Rax’s ‘voice.
                Hospital staff, check, replied Vitrea.
                “Base team confirmed, big’n” the southern man drawled as he readjusted the civil war era hat on his head, “let’s get this show on the road.”
                Payday, came Rax’s mental voice through the link, we have a small complication. I’ve had some of my people discreetely scrutinizing the Tower’s wards. Looks like they have some Bans on it as well – if I were to be the one setting it up, I’d just Ban out the folks not supposed to be there.

Frowning, the adept nodded despite Rax’s inability to see him, All right. Cancel the robes routine and let’s breach the wall. Brigade – once the ward drops they’ll know we’re here if they don’t already. Hit them hard, hit it fast, and get to your target.

You mean I can get rid of this goddamn dress? Responded the surly Romanii.

Payday just let the silence hold for a moment, looking over the collected mages sitting in the base camp – most sat at their various communication stations, but some simply stood by and waited to see where they would be needed most, quietly hoping that they wouldn’t be needed at all.

***

The sanctum, hidden within the pocket realm, was the very picture of severity. The casting and artillery team alternated between periods of rest, ritual casting, and meditation.  The quiet chanting of High Speech whispered softly through the ritual rooms wide walls, bounding in magical harmony from mage to mage to the ritual circle inscribed into the floor and the various tables, tools, robes, and ritual implements stocked in the sanctum-house.
                Tipping the edge of his top hat to one of the group of mages, Rax nodded.
                “All right, guys, the time for quiet words has passed,” he said, his voice raising to gather the attention of the casting and artillery team, who slowly got to their feet and took their assigned places along the walls of the room, “and it’s time to raise your voices with Supernal Might, let the power of the Pentacle be felt as we manifest our will against this darkness. They are vile and twisted, having brought many low and many more still to their dark banner.”
                Pausing, Rax turned in the center of the circle to slowly look each of them in the eye as he spoke.
                “But it is a dark banner that will not stand by the end of this day. We will see it fall, no matter the cost and no matter the danger. Though they be many, and vile, we are resolute and strong! Give them nothing! Take from them… everything!”
                With a grin, the man in the top hat nodded to the collected adepts and masters of Prime.
                “Let’s knock this son of a bitch on his ass.”

***

The air hung oppressively over them all, regardless of the realm in which they stood, for even as they mages within the fallen world looked to the skies and across the seemingly empty there was the unmistakable feeling of being watched. Strain as each of them might, it was something unknowable about why the place was as off-putting as it was, and why it kept haunting each of them as they looked over the fallow field. Again and again, the task force of the Pentacle mentally reviewed their plans and their preparations, trying to rationalize the reasons for their discomfort; perhaps it was the way the ley-lines sat, drawing everything towards the tower itself, or perhaps it was the almost picturesque image of the farmhouse in the distance, its wood aged and yellowed with time and wear. Perhaps it was the oppressive silence that seemed to rest on this place in both realms like a heavy blanket, rushing in to fill the normally peaceful spaces in conversations with an uncomfortable void. Even the trees seemed to feel the weight of the places severity, bare of leaves and with their branches stretched towards the darkened heavens as if raised in some fell ritual themselves.

If the weather in the fallen world was unusual, the Twilight of the area was far worse – here, as opposed to the dark storm clouds threatening rain at all times, the clouds themselves poured out shadowy tendrils of ephemera in the form of rain while lightning bolts arced inside the clouds. Standing at the center of the conflagration, however, was the Black Tower itself. The very nature of the darkened landscape seemed to swirl around the building, as if it was a blade thrust through the clouds and tearing into the ground; the sides of the tower gleamed as light played across it. Dark and shadowy forms swirled about the tower in a seemingly endless array, tendrils and shadowed skulls visible inside the phantom forms.

As the aperture to the pocket realm opened mid-air, the shadowed forms ceased their swirling patrol, but instead of aiming towards the intruders, they turned inwards and began hammering against the walls of the black tower; a faintly shimmering field arcing into life each time one of the spirits impacted it. The large tear in the sky turned towards the spire, the chanting of Atlantean words echoing out over the field between the twilight reflection of the Church and the sanctum. A wave of magical energy unleashed, pouring out of the portal and impacting on the tower with a visible force. The barrier that covered the tower vanished in a matter of moments and the hammering spirits slid through the outer walls of the tower, no longer banned from their objective.

With a soft word, Arthur cancelled the phantasm disguising the abyss team at the base of the tower. No longer concealed from view, the collected mages turned towards the ephemera sculpted bricks and began to lope towards them. With a grin, Brigade folded his arms into his body and went crashing into the wall, his large and magically enhanced body crashing through the wall as if it were barely there to resist him. As the rest of the team began to file into the breach, three of the dark robed figures turned around, surprised – Brigade’s plan to catch them off guard by coming through a wall, instead of the front door, was a success.

                As the cultist struggled to bring their guns to bear on the huge man bearing down on them, the rest of the team spread into the breach to widen their range of fire; the Arrow, Legion, pulled his rifle up to his shoulder and began taking precise shots in between the close combat fighters, while Remus, clad in his black suit, raised his walking stick and struggled for telepathic control of one of the enemy’s minds. The older Arrow, Zaroff, blurs into the breach point with his Katana and slashes into the chest of one of the dark robed men. He is rewarded by the shotgun going off at him at point blank range and goes flying backwards to land, unconscious, on the ground. Seeing the husband of her best friend going down, Gypsy lets out a battle cry and leaps forwards, bringing the blade of her own katana down in a vicious arc that cleaves the cultist almost in two and drops him to the ground as well. For a moment, the view of blazing angel’s wings appears around Gypsy, but it is swiftly overshadowed as the light dims around Poprocks, the very air around her seeming to suck the light from her surroundings as her awakened will becomes manifest.

“Die in a fire,” she quips, pulling one hand from her blue and black bondage pants to point to one of the other cultists. A black tendril of cold energy lances from her finger as she suppresses the gunman’s life force and he falls to the ground, seemingly instantly dead. Brigade swings his massive sword again, cleaving into the next cultist while the rest of the group struggles to move into the breach and has to wait until more of the space is cleared. Legion manages to pick off the last cultist under Brigade’s arm, commenting as he does so around the cigarette dangling out of his mouth, “Can’t they be decent and fight out in the open? You know… where I can shoot them from 1000 yards?”
                As Gypsy knelt by Zaroff to wake him up, the rest of the team filed in and started examining the room that they had broken into.

“They’re sleepers,” Remus proclaimed after a moment of examination.

Watching as Zaroff rose from the ground with a scowl, the purple clad woman asked “Can we stabilized them, then?”

“Fuck em,” growled Brigade as he tilted his head to listen, “they’re the enemy and I hear gunshots going off downstairs.”

Shooting her brother a dirty look, Gypsy replied. “And we need to find out where our target is… which we can do, from them.”

As Rx and Shinonome knelt down by the fallen cultists to keep them from bleeding out, Terrabytes and Stigmata stepped over to them as well and began pulling information from their minds as to the Tower’s layout and security.

Jabbing a finger towards Pendulous Fiasco, Brigade shrugged. “Where the fuck we going, son?”

The rattle of Fiasco’s spurs echoed loudly in the quiet room as he took a draw in on the cigarette in his mouth and let his concentration focus. One hand idly pushed back the cowboy hat that completed his western outfit as he let his senses open to fate; he’d been unable to attune himself to the area since it wasn’t a city, per se, but he still had a few tricks up his sleeve.
                “Down,” he drawled in his Cajun accent, frowning as he realized that the sounds of fighting where already coming from the tower’s basement.

***

The assault team clustered together as Maxx re-organized the formations. They’d be shifted into smaller groups to be able to simultaneously teleport into the Tower as opposed to trying to move the formation through one person at a time. Clustered in groups of three or four, each one taking the shape of small wedges, the assault team each readied their weapons and reviewed through the plan and their specific target. Clustered amid them, and looking somewhat out of place in his suit, Gabriel Watershed waited and went over the plan in his own mind. It should, ideally, be simple he mused – port into the contact that the Silver Ladder had given them, hope it’s an empty room, and then use his attainments under magical amplification to cause the entire tower of enemy forces to stand down in one, fell swoop.
                Looking wryly around at the warrior-mages surrounding him, Gabriel couldn’t help but mentally smirk at himself – after all, what could go wrong?
                “GO! GO! GO!” Maxx called out, jarring the Guardian from his thoughts as the portals opened in front of the teams and they charged headlong into the darkened space beyond.

***

“Assault team away,” Argent said as he looked over the maps they had drawn up of the shifting and darkened landscape.
                Payday nodded with another sidelong glance to Crazy Bear. “Here goes nothing, right?”
                From where he was standing in the back of the base command center, Compatioo suddenly frowned. His hands shot up, fingers curving into a counter-spell as he felt the onrushing wave of energy wash over the room. The collected mages each shivered or re-adjusted as they felt a powerful Dispellation come across them, wiping away the telepathic networks and the majority of their prepared spells.
                “SHIT!!!” cursed Dox as she felt the link drop, already starting to move towards the electronic communications as Payday spoke.

“Well that was fast,” he commented dryly. “That’s why they give us radios. Dox, get a comm. Protocol going and keep the team leads in conne-“

“On it!” she interrupted, not even looking up from the computer boards as she turned towards her team to co-ordinate their communications cycles.

“Zed, Top,” Payday said turning to the two mages, “start getting magical security put back in place. I want prime shields, force-fields, you name it – don’t worry about making it last, just get us shielded again.”

Nodding, the two men moved to collect anyone else not already involved in communications or waiting down in the hospital ward.

***

A rain of primal magic began pouring out of the tear in the sky, various mages taking turns at the aperture to cast their magic and then step back, alternating the style of attacks and giving each mage time to continually chant in the High Speech while other mages staggered their attacks against the outside of the tower. On its rooftop, black robed figures appeared, their own hands darting towards the sky as fire and lightning shot from their hands and landed inside the sanctum’s ritual room.
                As Rax began turning the pocket realm’s view to occlude them from being fired on, Butterfly, Frank Decker, and Crucible moved among the group layering their own magic on their fellows to boost their abilities and grant the blessings of fate.

Expression grim, Raphael shouldered his rifle and checked the sighting down the barrel. Chambering the first round, he took aim at the sanctum’s opening, waiting for Rax to bring the aperture around again.

***

There is a moment, in every battle plan, where two sides meet and both realize that something gone horribly, horribly wrong. In that moment, before shock is overcome by thought, training, or even simple muscle memory, there is a shared look between foes where both realize that they’ve come to some unwitting convergence and that their lives now stood in the balance.

Maxx and John shared this look for a moment- as different as two mages could possibly be; Maxx standing with his machetes in hand and his worn leather jacket as opposed to the tailored suit and almost too-perfect appearance. Despite the fact that John was set apart from the rest of the group gathered around the ritual circle, their hands and voices raised up in dark chanting, by his suit, he was almost someone that the eye could overlook; a  nobody, a nothing, no one of consequence.

It was Maxx, however, who recovered first, letting out a battle call as he swung his paired blades, cutting ripples through the air that tore into the suit and tie of his target. In a flash, and as if on cue, the battle was on as the gathered cultists lifted up shotguns and began opening fire on the collected mages, with those furthest in the back beginning to bring their own magic to bear.

Diving to the floor, Gabriel pulled himself back through the portal as the pentacle mages brought their own arms to bear, Sally and Evangeline standing next to each other in perfect shooter’s form as their magically enhanced pistols bucked in their hands as Ender charged forwards with the group swinging his halberd to try and clear them some moving room. Drawing fire away from the support mages, he turned the huge weapon in his hands and cut into one of the shotgun-wielding cultists. The man’s eyes under the hood panicked and he screamed for help, suddenly not certain what to do with the combatant suddenly on top of him.

The melee fighters began to move forwards, charging into the fray and a hail of gunfire as the riflemen, Dvallin and Adonis Phoebus, each took a knee to steady their shots into the enemy lines. Reeling backwards from the staggering blow from Maxx, the suited man pulled himself up and thrust his hand out towards the adamantine warrior, letting the full weight of his psychic prowess arc towards Maxx.

A number of the cultists turned towards Ender, moving to draw him away from their ally, the guns going off repeatedly against him as well as Atlas Phoebus who charged forwards to support Ender. One bullet ricocheted off the enchanted breastplate of the Tamer of Fire as he gave a wild grin and charged into the fray with his siderite spear thrusting back and forth in practiced movements. As the two men battled through the sleeper followers, the enemy mages raised their voices in dark chants, magic rolling out and dissipating part of the ground underneath the pentacles gunman; what was solid floor faded away to a sickening green gas as the group leaped forwards to catch the edge of the newly made ledge, couching from the acrid smoke that began to fill their lungs.

As another wave of magic flew between the two groups, both sides saw wounds inflicted on their fellows in the magical fray, from the World’s Collide spatial warping that threw Ildiko and Olivia together to the psychic sword that came in towards Maxx, only partially counter-spelled by Falcon. Another hail of gunfire sounded from the corner of the room as Maxx began to charge forwards and the rest of the Pentacle’s mages hefted themselves back up to standing. His halberd swirling about him like a deadly creature, all but alive in his hands, Ender moved through the crowd of gunman, drawing their fire from the mages who were still getting to their feet. As wave upon wave of bullet and buckshot hit him, he fell, leaving Atlas as the focus of the cultists. With a wave of his hand and a soft word spoken in the high tongues, Felix opened a portal underneath Ender, causing his body to vanish moments before another bullet that was meant to kill him would have done so.

“REFORM! Target their healers!” Maxx roared over the sound of the gunfire as he stepped forwards to rally his assault team behind him, the various mages casting their own magics or taking shots as they moved towards him. Seeing the suited man turn towards the group of mages, Atlas let out a startling battle-cry and dove into the enemy lines.

“Don’t turn your back on me!” the giant screamed as he slammed his shield into one of the cultists and forced them to redirect their fire back to him. Under a staggering hail of gunfire the armored giant falls as John Smith turns to him, a wicked smile on his face; the air ripples between them as the weight of the mastigos’ mind lands like a sword on Atlas, the light dimming in his eyes almost instantly.

With a roar that slides between rage and grief, Dvallin stood up from the formation, the barrel of his rifle moving from the targets Maxx called out to the mastigos. Round after round he fired at the abyssal mage, his vision hazing as he tried to determine where the man was standing, though from chance, skill, or determination, the bullets from the enchanted rifle tore into the shoulder of Atlas’ killer.

The fight continued on, bullets and spells flying through the air as Maxx shouted battle orders on targets and moved the formation to protect the less shielded mages. Breaking from the called target, Lycka took deadly aim at the mage who had harmed his fiancé moments ago. The remainder of the team rallies back, however, and the robed wizard falls under a hail of bullets – the last of which comes from Adonis – his face a mask of anger despite his disciplined movements within the formation.  With a scowl, the scelestus called out for his forces to focus on Maxx, having identified him as the leader from both his battle commands as well as his place at the point of the formation that moved rigidly through the room.

The hum of power in the air suddenly signaled to the pentacle mages that they were cut off – even those who lacked any knowledge of space magic could realize that any exit was now no longer an option – their only way was forward. As the battle continued on, Felix began unleashing punishing bolts of celestial fire, and the feeling of a paradox momentarily washes over the room as he grits his teeth, the Vox pulling the paradox into himself rather than releasing the powerful manifestation that was almost present. He abruptly vanishes, the body of his clone dropping to its knees before it discorporated.

As Olivia comes under attack again, Maxx moves the formation to cover her – Lycka and her sharing a moment’s look into the battle as they both look up to see Maxx spiraling his swords outwards, the kinetic force of the blows arcing out towards the enemy mages as he heals himself simultaneously.  He charges forwards, buying the riflemen time to fire and allowing Back Alley Sally and Evangeline, now firing in almost perfect tandem together,  to draw a bead on the last healer within the ritual room. Bullet after bullet impacts the heavily built man and yet he continues to step towards the gunmen, his face painted in a red skull like an unstoppable figure of awakened wrath. More and more cultists fall as they try to bring down the adamant warrior who continues to strike with the kinetic force of his blades as he heals himself before he, too, eventually flags and falls to the ground.

Seeing him fall, Ildiko stepped forwards as the daisho whirled in her hands at the nearest cultist and Troubadour, next in line within the formation quickly grabbed Maxx and pulled him back into the formation before the death blow could fall. Closing ranks around their fallen leader, Adonis and Bones both took aim and dropped another black robed figure with deadly accuracy.

***

“What do you mean the ward’s back?” Payday said, gritting his teeth.

“Artillery team reports a ward reappeared, likely as a backup fate trigger,” Jester replied, looking over the bridge of his glasses at the giant Arrow, “says there are no bans so we can get in or out if we need to, but that there’s no time to get another dispellation off.”

He hesitated only a moment before turning to address the assembled mages, “Listen up, folks – we’ve got no way to get our wounded out of that tower through magic, so it looks like we get to do it the old fashioned way.  We’ll establish a forward base camp underneath the tower’s nose and teleport them from there. Dox, get half your crew re-armored and ready to move, we’re boots-down-on-the-ground in 45 seconds.”

As his long legs carried him swiftly down the steps to the basement, he frowned as he saw Ender already on the operating table, despite the operation only having just begun.  Payday ape-armed himself to lean in the hallway as the spatial aperture appeared briefly to hand out Athen Argent, his body a mixture of broken bones from kinetic force. The two closest medical staff, Kryos and Pipestone, took the body gently and began operating with rapidity.

“Vit,” the giant called out, “Need to set up forward field medics, get me half your staff to stabilze. Will send the worst cases back here.”

She nodded, the front of her gown already stained as she removed one of the bullets from Ender’s shoulder, the man slowly coming back to painful awareness. As she rattled off names, each of the medical staff then followed Payday upstairs to join the rest of their forward base team.

***

As Brigade and the rest of his team descended the stairs, the sight of the battle itself greeted them as they joined in, flanking the few remaining cultists. As the two groups redirected their fire onto the suited man, he began casting magic as frantically as he could trying to stave off the suddenly reinforced group of mages until, abruptly, he clutched as his heart and his eyes went wide. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, the tip of a spear tore its way through the expensive suit and the conflict paused, the mages looking on as the abyssal wizard slowly looked back to see the shaft of Atlas Phoebus’ speak thrust into his back.

“Told… you…,” the tamer of fires said as blood spilled from his mouth and nose, “not to… turn your… back on me.”

The adamant warrior fell backwards, his dead hand still vice gripping the shaft of the enchanted spear, as the body of the scelestus fell to the ground dead. Smoke began to pour out of the mouth and nostrils of the dead mage, as if the void itself had now forsaken its faithful servant now that its use was done. As the mages gathered themselves together, the shadowed figure took an amorphously humanoid shape.

Why do you fight me? It seemed to ask, as if speaking to each of their minds, when there are so much more important things to fight?

Each of the collected warriors and healers paused, trying to wrestle with the control of their own mind as they felt images of warfare and hatred assault them. Each, in turn struggling through their thoughts as they looked among the rest – here, the voice said, is your real enemy. They are different then you, they hate you… they are planning to kill you when your back is turned…

And for a moment, it was almost believable – here was a collection of different orders, different genders, different faiths. Here was different ideologies, and for a moment, a bare seconds passing, each mage found themselves almost willing to believe that their fellows, their comrades in arms, were so wholly different from themselves as to be alien. As it passed, and the creature realized that its influence was unable to overcome their natural resistances, ironclad will, and supernally shielded minds, it blurred into action becoming a mass of tendrils and tentacles that launched itself at the waiting mages.

With a roar, however, two of the party turned on the rest causing a few moments confusion as Ildiko and Brigade stepped toe to toe with the creature and their blades rang out through it. Terrabytes and Draken Lokton both began trying to attack those nearest them as Stigmata called out “Dammit! Hold them down until this passes… they’ve fallen under its influence!”

As half the team split off to carry the two men to the ground, the rest joined in the fray as the tendrils and tentacles wound through the room knocking the warriors against the walls and to the ground. Each in their turn moved against the abyssal shadow tendril closest to them, fighting to get through them to the center of the creature. One tendril, in specific, seemed to slam into Stigmata, throwing the slender teen against the wall – despite the apparent fragility of his body and the scars that dance their way over his skin, the creature was forced to slam him against the wall multiple times with the sound of the boy’s metal braces echoing over the combat. There seemed, there, to be less a battle of strength and more of wills as Stigmata continued to assault the creature with magic, paying no heed to the punishment being done to his body before finally, he fell unconscious from the assault. The fighters moved ever closer to the central mass of the shadowed figure, as a swath of black shadow energy washed over the back of the room where the riflemen and gunmen took their aim and carefully placed shots. Under the waves of crashing black energy, Adonis and Poprocks fell, their bodies being covered by the others at the back who took more harm unto themselves to prevent the death of their fellows. Anvil pulled Adonis behind him, taking a brutal assault onto himself as well, his supernally augmented body taking the punishment solidly.

With their blades flashing in almost tandem, the groups close fighters struggled to get past the mass of shadow tendrils that poured over the area making little headway. When Troubadour fell and is pulled back from a shadow blast from Bones with his knives still gripped in his hands, Remus’ cold voice rolled out over the battle; it is an odd thing, this voice – for those used to Remus’ quiet and often compassionate words. In this, he lives up to his heritage as the Vox Draconis, the voice of the Dragon, for they are words issued in a tone of command, of leadership, and words that make even the most hardened of soldiers consider their orders.

“Turn and face me, creature,” his cold, compassionless, words said as the blind man drew himself up to his full height, an impressive figure between the black suit and the cane that he gripped in his hand, “for today you face the might of the sons and daughters of Atantis! Today you face a will supernal and we will not be stopped by the likes of you!”

Against all reason, the creature turned towards toward the Magister, the full swarm of the cloudy tentacles dropping the assembled combatants and rushing with alacrity towards Remus; in that moment, however, the assembled fighters realized exactly what the Magister had done.

He had bought them time.

As they rushed towards the creature’s maw, Remus is lifted into the air by the first of the tendrils to reach him; Some simply hold him skyward, while others lance through him, staining his suit a darker shade as his blood spills out onto his suit and the white shirt underneath. Screaming from the pain, Remus turned his blind eyes on the creature as the air vibrates between them. The smell of burning brimstone filled the air around them as his nimbus flared to the sound of children distantly crying and the visible strands of fate curling back from him towards the nothingness that he had consigned his fate to; with his body being ripped apart and torn into, his eyes never left the struggle of psychic warfare between him and the creature of the void.

(Artist Rendering by Tony Loneflight)

“No!” screamed Gypsy in the middle of a strike with her Katana as she watched Remus’ head loll to one side, still held aloft by the creature. Light poured from her eyes and mouth as she turns her face skyward, the call of her words seeming to echo around her for a moment. Her own nimbus, so in contrast to Remus’ flared, the angelic wings seeming to move through her as supernal energy coalesced in front of her. The figure that seemed to pour out of the Dominion’s body was made of pure, primal energy, wrapped in robes and armor of flowing white-hot fire. It seemed to push back some of the shadows in the room by its very presence, and despite the look of almost sorrow, or perhaps compassion that came across its face, a burning blade of fire appeared in its hands as he moved forwards to confront the creature. Between its own blazing sword, the staggering hail of gunfire from the collected gunmen such as Dvallin, Evangeline, and Back Alley Sally, and the blades of the closer combatants such as Brigade, Zaroff, and Carnvial, the shadowed figure seemed to discorporate. No longer held aloft, Remus’ body came crashing to the ground and landed in a heap as both Gypsy, and the angelic figure beside her, rushed to his fallen body; as both knelt to the ground, the angelic figure faded from view – leaving them in the darkness of the ritual room again.

You cannot destroy hate, a voice whispered to them in the moments after the shadows had vanished, and the collected mages looked up to see another humanoid figure appearing out of smoke , appearing exactly as it had the first time.

“Watch me,” Brigade called as he charged the creature. Following his lead, the assault poured onto the figure before it can transform – Dvallin’s bullet catching it in the shoulder and spinning it around to come crashing down on Paladin’s hammer. Abruptly, the creature faded again as its spiritual body vanished.

A moment of silence fell over the group as they continued to be forced to restrain Terrabytes and Draken, as Stigmata managed to speak quietly before falling back from awareness again.

“It’s… still here…”

With a cry, Fiasco dropped to the ground, the cigarette falling from his lips as much as his cowboy hat did from his head. He wrapped his arms around himself, rocking back and forth in obvious agony before he seemed to collect himself and force the words out of his mouth.

“Git… out… of my head!” He screamed, blackness pouring out from his mouth as he did so. In the moments it took for the creature to reform, the guns went off almost in unison as the firing teams, from rifles to handguns, had come to move in unison. Under the hail of gunfire, the figure vanishes again.

It was Gideon Puck, next, who suddenly staggered forwards, leaning heavily on the rune covered thaumium staff. The shadows bubbled from his mouth and eyes as he did so, despite Gypsy’s sudden intent focus on trying to counteract the abyssal creature working over, and through, him.

“Existence is War,” the adamant warrior choked out, marshalling his mental control.

“Enlightenment is Honor”, he said as he forced his eyes open to see his brothers and sisters in arms.

“Adaptability is Strength,” he quoted, wrapping both hands with a white-knuckle vice grip on his staff.

“The Supernal is the Self,” Gideon recited, the shadows beginning to pour out of his as he waged his mental war with the creature.

With both hands, he thrust the staff downward – the metal sparking on the stones of the ritual room as he yelled out the last, the final intonation causing the shadows to pour out from his body and coalesce in front of him.

“Service. Is. MASTERY!” he intoned, hefting the thaumiuam fighting staff and swinging it with his full strength at the creature. Its neck cants at a broken angle to one side as it slowly began to laugh; the fighters of the Pentacle, however, took that as their cue and quickly move in to finish it off.

As it fadesd from view again, suddenly Draken and Terrabytes ceased their struggling, looking confusedly at the rest of the group who was holding them down. Slowly, the group collected itself together and moved towards their fallen brethren to carry them upstairs.

***

The church was quiet again, Miriam noted as she knelt before the cross. It was the waiting which bothered her. Payday was leading a team forwards to establish the forward base at the Tower’s bottom, the hospital team was already hard at work on the first wounded to arrive, and the communications team were keeping the various groups in contact with each other. The base was well shielded, and even then had a staff of folks remaining behind for security. She was underfoot, and she knew it.

Here, if nothing else, she could accomplish something; even if but to let her prayers ascend skywards and hope beyond hope for the protections that her faith would grant them. So focused on this was she that she did not notice how the room inside the church suddenly lightened, until the voice spoke.

A great battle is being done here today, the voice said, though it was more as if one hundred voices all speaking in a whisper, but it is not the War entire.

Turning on reflex to cast any evil spirits out from her presence, the words of her abjuration fell short on her lips as one hand went to her pregnant belly in a defensive movement and she had to shield her eyes from the figure that suddenly stood before her with her other hand; what little she could see filled the room with celestial light. Around her hand she was able to see the tips of the figures bright wings cresting the room, and the ever-moving flow of fire along its robes.

“Who… who are you?”

A great battle, the figure repeated, but it does not end here. This War has raged across the stars for centuries, with the world as its battleground. We cannot directly intervene… but know that you are fighting against the vassals of a great foe, and if you win the day, you will have removed a significant piece from his arsenal.

“I… understand,” she said quietly, “But I need to know more… who are we facing, what… what War are you talking about?”

Look to your histories, Miriam. You will find what you need there.

“Thank you,” she said earnestly, before a question came to her, “but… why are you here if you cannot intervene?”

The figure laughed softly, its multitude of whispered voices overlapping. You, alone, have championed this cause from its inception. Sometimes… just sometimes… your faith should be rewarded.

Slowly blinking her eyes to readjust as the light suddenly vanished, Miriam realized she was alone in the church again.

***

Having crossed into Twilight, Payday took one look at the assembled team drawn up in front of him; a collection of Silder Ladder and Free Council with an errant apostate or Guardian. Looking between Bear and Dox, he nodded and addressed the group.

“Listen up folks you only get this once. We’ve got wounded in the tower and no way to transport them to safety without us getting into the fray. These people are counting on us to make this solid, and make this solid real damn quick. When we bust out of the chapel, we’re going to beat feet as fast as fucking possible to the base of the tower and establish a forward base there. Field medics are to wait there while everyone else not actively involved in the engagement is to enter the tower and begin moving the wounded out. Field medics will treat the absolute worst cases once they’re outside the ward until they can be teleported back to the hospital by Corbeau. All clear?”

The assembled group nodded as the giant shouldered his rifle. Turning towards the twilight reflection of the chapel doors, he pushed them open and barreled out with a battle cry that echoed over the space between their base camp and the black tower.

As he ran at a dead heat, he could hear the mages behind him running as well, some lagging behind but the overall group managing to keep grouped up, despite his long gait. The adamant Magister’s eyes tracked across the sky as he saw the spatial tear in the sky winking into, and out of, existence as yet more fire and offensive magic came pouring out of the hole in space. It was as they neared the tower itself, however, that Payday realized that it would not go as smoothly as he had hoped – the telltale sign of space magic rippling around them a black robed cultists poured from the portals to fall on them. One, massive, hand clutching his rifle he opened fire into their lines as they ran, using the other to begin directing runners into the tower itself. Crazy Bear drew both old revolvers, the large guns thundering in his hands with practiced ease as he ran; each bullet finding its mark unerringly despite the rapid pace of fighting, only in time for some of the black robed figures to abruptly slam together as Paradox Override forced them to occupy the same space.

“Dox!” the giant called over the gunfire and sudden slew of magical assaults, “Get us back in contact with basecamp and start scheduling portals!”

Diving to the ground to lean her back against the onyx stone, Dox scowled as she lifted the broken remains of her radio and the bullet that had gone through it to graze her. Pushing her goggles back up on her head firmly, she started stripping wire out of her pockets and bent down to rewire the device amid the stream of gunfire.

As the spatial aperture appeared over them and bullets and supernal attacks began pouring out, the first of the base team entered the tower and began searching for the wounded. Clutching her bone and rune carved wand tightly, Asha let her senses move out to the spirits that were surrounding her – calling her court to battle, the phantom courtiers streamed towards the seemingly endless array of black robed cultists that moved into the area surrounding the tower. A delicate scowl crossed her perfect features as she looked over the battlefield to see various other spirits present. Unable to identify them individually, she turned, directing our own courtiers to combat theirs and proceeded to move through the fight letting the other fighters cover her, while she counter-spelled numina after numina. Standing out amid the fight with her shock of blazingly white hair, however, the various mages of their foe quickly targeted her, a large ball of fiery kinetic force landing next to her a moment before it exploded, tossing her body to one side roughly.

As lightning bolts started dropping onto the battlefield, seeming to only strike the Pentacle mages, Payday noticed the wounds his people were beginning to take, despite their efforts to defend themselves individually. Mustering up as much air as he could, he roared over the sounds of the fight and the battle cries of his foes.

“RALLY SQUAD!” He screamed, the rifle going off so rapidly that the edge of the barrel began to glow with heat. As he saw Bear collapse under the weight of four cultists, he flipped the rifle in his hands and began swinging – the rifle’s reach and his own giant’s length causing him to knock the figures from his second in command as if he were striking baseballs for home-runs. Pausing only momentarily over his friend, he noticed the mass of blood that was Bear’s face and the severe wounds that the southern man had taken. Ignoring Bear’s missing eye, and the burns on his own hand from the barrel of his rifle, he pulled the man back into the rest of the group as he resumes his firing patterns.

“Dox!” he roared over the retort of his gun, “Get me comms! Tell Rax that Belemit and iblis are up! Get on it!”

She did not even respond, already reforming the device in her hands and radioing in for the requested artillery.

A glowing ball of fire landed amid the cluster of runners and field medics, and with a scream, Doc went down; the white lab coat catching fire and swiftly spreading to the rest of her clothing. Seeing her fall, Anton ran over to her as he ripped his own outer jacket off to reveal the flak vest underneath. Using it to quickly extinguish the flames, he pulled open his trauma kit to begin treating the worst of the burns on the unconscious woman. Next to him, Hrafyn pulled another handful of tass from the utility pouches on the combat harness she wore, passing Anton some before moving on to the next healer.

 “Stand your ground!” he called, bringing the assembled mages together, gesturing with his rifle as he spoke, “start overlapping shields over this area – create a dome of energy and hold fast here while the medics do their work and Rax brings his team around!”

Second after agonizing second passed before the Dox shouted in triumph and almost instantly afterwards the tear in the sky turned from where it flung, and was attacked by, magical force towards the battlefield. As havoc began to rain down out of it, distracting the attacking force from the forward base, Payday turned his eyes upwards to see the two mages, Belemit and Iblis, standing at the opening. The Chinese man’s white suit absolutely gleamed as the words of his alteantean magic poured over the battlefield.  A small cluster of the enemy mages thrust their hands skyward as the courtiers of the various spiritual courts flew upwards to assault the pocket.  With a laugh, the Bene Ashmedai tossed backward wave after wave of the spiritual courtiers, his own flowing out over the battlefield to join Asha’s. His hands moved rapidly, darting from one numinous counter-spell to the next, all but ignoring the spirits that battered themselves uselessly against his magical defenses. Next to him stood Saeko, the Asian woman’s temporal magic flowing between the various mages inside the sanctum; the katanas strapped to her back a subtle contrast to the black sweat shirt and pants she wore. Next to her stood Stella, the Irish woman’s eyes scanning the battlefield for the enemy mages and beginning the process of counter-spelling their effects.

Behind Iblis, Belemit stepped forwards with a faint smile as the air around her yellowed. The pressure within the ritual circles of the Canadian cabal’s sanctum inceased as small tufts of wind rippled up around her. Pointing her petrified wood wand out of the aperture, she began to redirect the lightning bolts that lanced across the battlefield. After a storm thrown shard of earth cut into part of her side, she turned her attention back towards the tower where, upon its uppermost parapet stood one of the cultists. The wind had blown back his hood, revealing a mass of wild hair and eyes that stared down at the Mysterium. For a moment, the two weather mages locked eyes, his own nimbus flaring behind him with the crashing sound of a tsunami, before the battle for control over the storm front was begun in earnest.

As the magical attacks began to pour through the tear back at the casting team, Hyperion and Jedi both sagged backwards; the former clutching his red fedora to keep it from flying back out the spatial pocket. It was quickly becoming dangerous to even cast the most covert of effects, the magical energy in the air an almost palpable sensation to them both.

Elsewhere, on the ground, Asha pulled herself over to the overlapping shields that had established their forward base; her clothing was in tatters and the bone wand that she had been clutching prior nothing but shattered and fragmented shards that stuck out from her hand. Frowning, Pipestone turned from the first of the wounded to be removed from the tower to begin treating Asha, extinguishing parts of her clothing that yet still smoldered.

The laughter that rolled over the battlefield from Iblis reached a fever pitch as he worked to keep both the enemies spirit courts, as well as the errant court of fear spirit that had been commanded back towards them. His eyes took on a wild pall, as spirit after spirit met his power and were rebuked until, abruptly, a single shot rang out from the tower’s rooftops as one black cloaked figure looked up from his own sniper rifle. Staggering on his feet from the force of the magically accelerated bullet, Iblis almost toppled forwards out to the waiting ground, and certain death, below.

“How… dare you shoot me?!?” He screamed as he slumped forwards, the reflexes of Dante darting out into the opening in the pocket realm to grab him and yank him bodily back into the opening. Another series of bullets rained into the tear in the sky as Dante felt the impact into his back of one of the sniper’s rounds, gritting his teeth against the pain as he pulled both himself and  the white suited man away from the fight and towards safety.

As Chevale stepped up next to Belemit, the weather witch nodding her greeting but kept her eyes focused on the other mage as they launched lightning bolt after lightning bolt towards the other. From the ground, it seemed as if two great dragons of thunder and storm-cloud battled overhead, their fanged mouths erupting sparks and deafening peals of thunder. The Romanii mage doubled his image a number of times as space pocket continued to come under fire. His somber voice called out the words of his magic, space warping in between enemy cultists as the battle raged onwards.

Behind them, Helios and Daegul worked their own magic over the shoulders of the front line casters, the air around them rippling from the force of Daegul’s psychic assaults. The rock-star mage kept the magical lines running behind them, mana flowing from Daegul and Helios into the other mages; letting their efforts continue unabated despite needing continual refueling of mana and energy.

Asha’s eyes flickered open as Pipestone pulled the last of her former wand from his hand and she got to her feet. Looking skyward and seeing the few remaining enemy spirits beginning to move back over to the forward base, she steeled herself. Bloodied hands shot skywards as suddenly spirit after spirit rebuked from the forward base; Asha’s magic countering their numinous abilities before they ever touched the allied mages.

Another shot rang out, and Crucible screamed as the enchanted bullet tore into her and she dropped towards the floor. With a hard look on his tanned face, Chevale turned towards the sniper at the rooftop of the tower and scowled. One hand shot outwards at the black robed figure, the air around him and his copies rippling with the force of his magic. Ignoring the pain that suddenly ripped through him as the ritual team felt the paradox manifest, he continued drawing on power. As the sniper’s body merged with the stone of the top of the tower he screamed, as Chevale’s calf exploded outwards in blood, bone, and sinew as the force of the paradox manifestion racked his body. Falling away from consciousness, Butterfly grabbed the Romanii and held him from falling out of the space realm, her other hand deflecting spells and countering effects that sought to end the Silver Ladder’s life. 

***

29 March 2010, Monday, 6:52 AM

                The inside of the tower showed the clear passage of the combined assault team as the runners came in. Bodies littered the ground as they searched for the wounded.  As Je5ter hit a tripwire and a series of darts flew out at him, he dropped to the ground, his broken voice scratching out a yell to warn the rest of the group from the still active traps.

                As they began to funnel the wounded from the tower, carrying them in groups and pairs, Melinoe looked over the antechamber to the tower carefully, trying to make certain that they’d be able to safely transit the wounded through the area. The runner team had spread out and were beginning their extractions when one of the dead cultists seem to raise up, the eyes under the hood blazing angrily as one outstretched hand darted out, electricity arcing out and enveloping Melinoe with a scream. The lightning danced over her skin holding her in place as the black robed figure continued his chant – intent on killing her, if no one else.

                With a yell, and his red tie flowing in the wind behind him, Sebastian Verekai barreled into the silver ladder, knocking her from the field of electric energy. The lightning now dancing across his own skin, the arrow turned towards the awakened cultist and began moving towards him, inch by staggering inch, until he was within range to bring the blade of the sword in his hands down into the cultist. Both men screaming, Melinoe opened her eyes just long enough to see them both fall – the smell of scorched flesh clouding the room as the last of the lightning flowed through the adamant warrior. As Meline dragged herself to a sitting position, she frowned as she watched Sebastian’s eyes close for the last time, his hands still gripped around the hilt of the blade buried into the now dead body of his own killer.

***

                The first of the portals opened, the hospital ward visible behind Corbeau as he gestured for them to bring the wounded through. Sparing a glance upwards, he ducked back into the portal to avoid a fallen stroke of rock that had been dislodged as the two lightning storms struggled and arced over the stones of the parapets. As he watched the chunk of rock roll away, he stepped back out to shepherd the runner team back through the portals and towards the hospital. Keying the throat mic at his neck, he spoke quietly – his tone bland, despite the utter chaos surrounding him.

                “Portals open and operating, beginning extractions now.”

                “And none too soon,” Dox said as he carried the massive form of Maxx out of the Tower, doing her best to hide the immense worry in her voice as her eyes never left the fallen warrior’s broken and bloodied body.

***

                Wind turned against wind as debris flew through the sky amid arcs of lightning and peal of thunder and kinetic force. Her face straining from the pain as even her covert spells reacting with vulgar power, Belemit redirected her efforts back towards the enemy weather mage. Every tactic that she had taken had been countered, and the two had stalemated each other for control of the battle. Every tactic, that is, she noted with a smile – but one. An errant attack she had managed to launch against one of the other cultists had gone entirely un-countered and despite the debilitating assault that she had scored against one of his black robed fellows, the enemy weather mage seemed to pay it no mind.

                With a grim smile, Belemit poured her mana through her pattern and into the delicate matrix of the spell’s imago as it formed before her eyes. She may not have been able to strike directly at him, she mused quietly as her power amassed, but he did not care about his fellows and that was his failing. Pointing her petrified wood wand out towards the other gunmen on the roof of the tower, a ball of swirling lightening rolled out of her as she flagged back into the spatial pocket to let another mage take her place on the casting line. The ball of force and electricity enveloped one of the gunmen and danced along not only his skin, but the metal of his gun before arcing from gunman to gunman as the force of the bolt called to the metal present in their weapons. Caught in between the different bolts of force and energy, the wild haired mage screamed as the circuit completed, frying him to ash from the sheer force of the effect.

                The weather witch smiled as her eyes closed from the exertion, knowing that among anything else, one thing was true:

                The skies over the Black Tower now belonged to the Pentacle.

***

29 March 2010, Monday, 8:23AM

                The march to the top of the tower was agonizing. Each room was another series of gun-toting sleepers, awakened mages in various levels of their attunement to the Void, and trap upon trap – as if the Tower itself had been fated to only allow those it deemed acceptable into it; and the Tower did not welcome the warrior-mages as they struggled to ascend its steps. Each room, corridor, and stairwell was one step closer to their target, however, and the completion of their campaign.

                There is that point, however, in any conflict where the battle rage has settled onto a person, and they become something more than their normal selves. Perhaps it was this battle-rage, the few remaining rational parts of Ildiko’s mind noted, or perhaps it was the subtle influence of Draken’s attainments on her; regardless of the reason, the daisho in her hands seemed to become extensions of her arms, and she, herself, an unstoppable object. Floors upon floors of death awaited them with only the promise of one, final, fight at the top, but she refused to flag or stop.

                Having connected with the team of runners from Payday’s forward base, the two teams combined with Ildiko at their lead, proclaiming their final march to the top of the black tower. At each point they met resistance, clearing room to room and hallway to hallway – the adamant woman charging upwards incessantly with her team behind her.

                The armory, however, was their most difficult task, the room a collection of weapons and their users; heavily fortified against their intrusion. Even, at that moment, the most hardened of warriors flagged under withering hails of bullets and magical assault as they fought, inch by bloody inch, their way into the room to secure it before moving on. As Arthur came under one such attack, it is Carnival who incapacitated the gunman attacking him; her bladed fan moving in practiced motions. It is Weaver’s bullets who took out an assassin’s strike that would have ended Gideon after he fell to a hail of gunfire, and it is Draken Lokton whose shadows darted out from his body to cover Olivia in armor as she crumpled to the floor after repeated magical assaults.

                With a scream, Lycka poured bullet after bullet into the mage standing over his fiancé’s body, even after the enemy mage falls, the projectiles tearing into the man and making certain that he is dead for having brutally harmed the Romanii woman. As that was occurring, Back Alley Sally caught sight of one of the riflemen in black robes bringing their weapon to bear on Evangeline and Zero; reacting on instinct she lunged in front of them as the bullet tore into her shoulder with enough force to spin the slender, teenage, mage to the ground with a sickening crunch of bones breaking from the fall. As her eyes close, the last thing she saw is Zero and Gypsy stepping over her and engaging the swordsmen that were rushing towards them.

                “I got you,” Gypsy said before Sally saw no more.

***

“Argent, get me some damned portals out here! Payday’s voice growled through the comm units and the remaining base team shifted uneasily, scrabbling for the computers to update the assault and healer teams that another round of extractions were on the way. Next to the lanky man stood Clover, the pack of playing cards shuffling in her hands as she tried to let her senses again reach out to fate to determine how to better affect the outcome in their favor.

“I thought you said this was the easy job,” Skyla  said to Jester, tension making her voice tight as she  called down the hallway to Corbeau “Another portal drop at coordinates 50, 23 on Payday’s signal.”  Skyla was doing her best to keep up with message running between the base unit members, passing along what would have otherwise clogged up communications lines but she still felt useless even though she knew the task was important. It would help if so many people weren’t out there getting hurt.

“Focus,”  Jester said gently to her, his fingers flying over the keyboard as he and Packetrat worked to remove the interference from another incoming message.

“I am focused!” Packet snapped back. “I’m perfectly able-“

“Not you, *her*” Jester replied patiently.  “Here, you’ve got this one.” He let Packetrat take over that particular job, reaching over to squeeze Skyla’s hand reassuringly.  The young teenage Free Council slid into Jester’s seat and seamlessly finished balancing the signal’s interference and noise ratios like he’d been born with a computer in hand.

“Corbeau?”  Argent shouted. “Respond man!”

“I see him,” Corbeau responded evenly, his eyes narrowing as he built the imago of the portal opening between where Payday’s signal was originating and the medic teams that would keep their grievously wounded assault members alive.  Daedalus steadily held open the scry window on the giant Adamantine Arrow and another portal swirled into being, letting the wounded be carried from the forward base camp to the basement below. Both mages winced in sympathy as someone’s pained cry came from below.

“We’ve got another one coming in, sir,” Codec said from her station “I’m having a hard time getting a fix.”

“Well then work harder,” Argent said, but he moved over and let H+ help Codec pinpoint the signal ,  the two computer geniuses working in tandem before Codec put her hand to the ear piece in her ear to make out the words more clearly. Codec motioned for H+ to route the message to Rax and the caster team, working to keep up with the signals that Paradox Override was flinging back to home with ever increasing urgency.

“I don’t understand why the signals are dropping so much,” Codec  frowned. “With this much encryption and set up, they should be coming in loud and clear.”

“Magical signal interference,” Stark Contrast suggested, never taking his eyes off the board he was monitoring. “With all of the incoming and outgoing signals, plus the Twilight cross-referencing and all the spells being cast – including forces – it’s probably making the atmosphere thick as mud.”

“I wonder if-“ H+ began but Argent tossed him a scathing look.

“Great theories. Figure them out *later* when our folks aren’t in danger out there,” he reminded them. The snap in his voice didn’t seem to bother any of the remaining base team because he had touched on what they were all already worried about.

“Man down!” Idilko’s voice came over one of the signals and everyone dashed for their stations. The message was routed quickly back to Payday and Vitrea.

“Who is it?” Tangent asked from near the doorway.  Her arms were full with a crate of mana-imbued water that she was carrying down to the basement.  Tangent’s face was still drawn from all the energy she’d used before the battle layering the Lady’s blessings on the assault teams, but it hadn’t stopped her from trying to help those who remained at base.

“Gloria,” Jester replied after a moment. “She’s one of ours, isn’t she?” he asked Skyla, knowing Gypsy would want to know later.

“Just down, not out. They’ve got her,” Packet confirmed. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair; despite any disagreements he had with his order-mates, he didn’t really want any of them hurt.

“Stay on topic people,” Argent reminded, more gently this time. He didn’t yell at any of the discomfited awakened; most of them had barely seen a battle before and it took time and experience to put aside personal worries. Everyone was doing the best they could and working hard and that was all he or any of them could ever ask. “We’ll get them all out but keep those lines of communication open. We’re the only life line they have at the moment.” 

                Grimly, the entire team turned back to their work, routing messages and relaying coordinates as fast as they could.

***

29 March 2010, Monday, 9:46AM

                It had become clear to the Pentacle mages as they fought room to room through the tower that their enemy was not only entrenched, but prepared. They had trained together, moved together, and shot together. If nothing else, they were united in their hatred regardless of anything else and regardless of the fear spirits that continued to harass them, allowing the task force of mages little quarter in their grueling climb. Even in those rare spaces where they found their foes huddled in fear, the smell of sweat and piss wafting from black robes, the tower itself seemed arrayed against them, as if their steps triggered long held magics and trapped spirits, eager for the essence of anything they could acquire. It is during these spiritual assaults that Seishin fell, the counter-spells and spirit magics unable to come fast enough as the amassed mages battled onwards, making certain to protect their fallen until the forward bases’ runners could make it up the stairs to them for extraction.

                It was after one such conflict, while the group paused to catch their breath and Ildiko moved through the group offering quiet words of support, of assurance, and of leadership, that Falcon hefted the body of the unconscious Seishin from the floor and into his arms.

                “I have to bring him back,” Falcon said as Seishin’s blood seeped into the well worn and often patched trench coat, “I… I made a promise to his sister, and the higher we get… the longer the runners are taking to get here.”

                Flicking the blood from her katana with a deft swish of her wrist, Ildiko looked over him, her normally green and expressive eyes gone almost as black as the BDU’s and clothing she was wearing.

                “Fine,” she said dispassionately, “get gone and get back as soon as you can.”

                Falcon didn’t wait to be told twice, moving back down the stairwells with his fallen comrade.

***

29 March 2010, Monday, 10:03AM

                The room was a trap, and they realized it only after the force-field went into affect after they had started moving into the wide room. Illusions around them fell and various cabals of the black robes wizards appeared, their hands already holding their weapons or ritual tools. Not to be caught unawares, the Pentacle mages rallied together and fell back to the wall, clustering as much as possible to allow their healers and counter spell teams to do their work. As spell after spell hammered down onto Shinonome and Rx, Brigade tore from the ranks of his fellows and charged the other mages. His body grew to the size of an ape as he swung his huge blade about in giant strokes, disrupting the enemy’s casters from felling Shin after Rx had gone down. Their attention refocuses on the suddenly giant Romanii man, round after round was directed at him. Moving with a grace belied by the supernally enhanced largeness of his body, One Man Brigade moved through the katas of the adamant hand, trying to heal himself as he continued to draw their fire; but even he was not able to withstand the onslaught of magic, bullet, and sword, dropping to one knee as he used the blade of his sword to support him.

                With a shouted curse, Ildiko moved the formation of warriors to allow them to cover Brigade as well, Zaroff and Free-Flow running forwards with their weapons readied; the large and magically enhanced handgun in the Libertine’s hand repeated its retort like a staccato drum as the aged Arrow sped into the fight with a speed only truly reachable by those mages who had mastered the temporal magics to their fullest extent. His body became a blur of black clothing and the oddly jaunty striped golfer’s cap that stood out from his apparel. Between the supernal speed of his movement and his magic doubling his attacks, he was able to pull the slowly shrinking form of their team leader from the fray. As Free-Flow covered his exit, he came to realize that he wouldn’t be able to take out all the attackers now focusing on Zaroff instead. Deftly holstering his guns, he ran out to grab both men, hauling the two hardened warriors from the field of fire in time for Anvil to charge into the breach made by the both of them. His black combat boots sound on the stones of the room as he barrels into the enemy lines, his heavily muscled form leaping into close quarters as each part of him seemed to become a weapon. His thick, corded, arms wrapped around one of the robed figures as he spun across the man to kick another. Taking advantage of a moment’s lull in the firefight, he reached out to the dog-tags at his neck. An image of a phoenix superimposed itself over him for a moment, the fiery form dying before bursting to life again with the sound of “Adagio” in G Minor rolling over the fight. As the phoenix burst to life, so too did Anvil’s form, his every inch of skin igniting to fire as he continued the military martial arts that broke through the lines of the ambushing mages. Turning their attention to the six foot tall billowing mass of flame that set their own robes to smoldering, the rest of the group was able to move up and secure their own cover from the barricades that their fallen foes had used minutes before to pin them down.

                Flanking the group, TB pulled back on the rifle as the rosary wrapped around it jangled. His mind reached out, struggling for control over the remaining cultists; trying to find a way of dropping the force-field that kept them trapped in the kill-box. Again and again his telepathic powers shot out as wisps of smoke began pouring off of him. With a loud grunt, he sucked in the paradox manifestation and crumpled to his knees as the muscles on his leg frayed away. One, thick, arm hauled him back behind the barricades as Zero looked down at him.

                “You get it?”

                “Ya,” replied Terrabytes around a grimace of pain, “but I’m wtfpwned for going up any more of these damn stairs.”

                As Terrabytes spoke aloud the pass-phase, the hum of kinetic force at the doorway vanished, and the cultists redoubled their efforts to bring low the flaming figure in their midst. Under an exceptionally large assault of magic, the Canadian solider fell to the floor; the fires surrounding him sputtering out to leave his massive and muscled form nude on the cold stones; as their foes tried to gather around him, they were suddenly impacted by the first of the latex-covered forms that had followed Darcy L'Estoile tirelessly throughout the entire assault. The groaning, latex covered, thing got back to its feet, its head lolling to one side brokenly as it began to flail about, its strong arms sending the weaker of their swordsmen flying.

                With a grin, and his rapier in one hand, Darcy collected the amassed shadows around his hand again, using them as a massive arm to catapult the second of his zombies into the enemies lines long enough for the group to move forwards and pull Anvil’s unconscious body from their knives.

                Just as abruptly as it began, however, it was over. The final guard-post between them, and Magister Rook’s sanctum, was cleared; they stood before their final goal.

                “All right,” Ildiko said as she turned back to face the group, “Let’s get everyone healed up as much as possible – we’ve conserved all our mana and healing, except for the worst cases, for this because we’ll need all of it for what we’re going into. Let’s get those too wounded to continue on back down to the forward base, and get ready to kick in the door.”

                “Not without the Vox, you don’t.” came Felix’s words from the doorway. The full Magisterial robes flowed over him, and in his hands rested the Silver Scepter, a gleaming silver length of metal that was covered in complicated Atlantean runes and culminated in the form of a dragon’s claw which clutched a large crystal orb that shone with soft, silver, light.

                Ildiko’s black eyes softened faintly, the hints of green beginning to come to them as she replied. “You’re late.”

                “Sue me,” the Magister responded, “… after. There is work to be done, and a fallen brother to bring to justice.”

***

“Aw shit,” Zed muttered. “Top, do you see that?”

                “The six security guards?” Top replied dryly, peering through the scope of his rifle, not drawing a sight on the guards but trying to get a better look. “They’re headed this way.”

                “Great. Just what we need. Sleeper security on an abyssal battle field. Because *that’s* a fair fight,” Zed sighed. “They’re going to get deleted if they stay out here,” he growled. It was only due to the fact that he and Top were paying attention that they’d even caught the guards approaching at all. He dug the toes of his combat boots into the ground for purchase and shifted to peer from their guard point at the guards approaching up the road.  “Intercept or…?”

                “I think we’d better radio this one down,” Top admitted, speaking quietly into the comm. Unit on his ear.

                “I’ll take care of it,” a feminine voice, authoritative and calm and accented with a Mediterranean lilt, came back to both of them.  The Arrow and Free Councillor glanced at one another.  To be fair, neither of them, dressed in their combat gear and armed to the teeth were precisely the best welcoming committee for inquisitive private guards. “Thank you for the notification.”

                “Don’t thank me, thank the oracles,” Top replied back.

                “I hope that’s the good kind of ‘take care of’,” Zed muttered and Top smirked.  Lux came into view in the church doorway. She dusted off her dark gray linen jacket and turtle neck and calmly walked toward the six guards, smiling.

                Zed and Top both leaned forward, trying to catch the conversation.

                “Hello gentlemen, can I help you?... yes well there are several of us here from the society of religious preservation… historical site… to see if restoration of the building is possible… of course we have permits…”  Papers were exchanged, and the sleepers looked through the paperwork that Lux handed them. Top saw one of the guards blush and look a bit embarrassed as he handed the papers back to the slim, auburn-haired Guardian.

                “We should be done in the next day or so,” Lux replied evenly. The guards all nodded, smiled, and headed right back to the cars, apologizing for intruding and for the communication error.

                “Well that was definitely way better than having to shoot anyone,” Zed muttered.

                “Do you think they asked for her phone number?”

                “Gentlemen, don’t you have work to be doing?” Lux’s voice filtered back through the comm. Unit.

                “How the hell do they *do* that?” Zed said, but both of the security watch turned back to their duties.

***

                Vitrea knew it would be bad when they’d only been gone fifteen minutes and the first casualty had been brought in, thankfully still alive.  Since then, none of the medics had stopped running. With a portion of the team out at the front base triaging, the basement medical team was stretched even thinner.

        “At least there aren’t many dead,” she murmured to herself, stealing a glance at Remus’ covered remains with a wince. Sometimes, no matter how powerful life magic was, it couldn’t fix things.  This was a lesson that all healers’s learned and that the company of the Hearth learned better than most.  It never, however, stopped any of them from trying.  With an efficiency born of long experience, Vitrea continued to triage the awakened that came in, assigning them doctors or settling them on cots until their less grievous wounds could be tended to.

                “Would you go deal with more wounded people?” Brigade and Maxx growled almost simultaneously. Pyrgos just stood his ground, using his life sight to determine what else needed tending in the two warriors.  They may have been some of the fiercest, scariest warriors the arrow had to offer, but that didn’t make his job defunct.

                “I’m afraid Vitrea assigned me to make sure you were both all right, sirs.” He replied politely.  Brigade and Maxx exchanged a look that might have translated into certain death for someone in almost any other situation.

                “Doctor’s orders” Vitrea said firmly to both of them. “Unless you’re going over my rank and orders on the mission?” That managed to shut both of them up and, smiling, Pyrgos stitched another wound closed on Maxx’s arm.

                As each new patient was brought in, Taphos and Dantalionne scanned them briefly, looking for signs of abyssal alterations or residual mind magic. The most traumatized cases, those whose baselines were so far off that they made Dantalionne wince, they flagged for Candle.  The unusually gentle and warm Guardian flitted from waiting patient to waiting patient, holding hands, soothing fears, bringing them back to the reality of life and out of the worst of the trauma; for several of the combatants this was their first major engagement and Candle knew from long experience that whatever the abyss neared, it left its mark on in some way. Dantalionne glanced at Taphos and quirked an eyebrow, nodding her head over to Terrabytes and bothered by the alterations in his mental pattern, though she couldn’t sense any control over his mind. Candle altered her path among the cots almost immediately.

“I don’t need fucking therapy,” Terrabytes growled as Candle stopped and looked down at him.  His mangled leg was splinted and bandaged but it was clear to anyone with even the vaguest sense of medicine that he likely would never walk correctly again.

“Well… maybe not,” Candle replied amiably, her expression gentle. “But you likely could use someone to talk to for a moment.” The Guardian sat down by the wounded Free Councillor, both of them intimately aware of the irony.

“I told you I don’t need fucking therapy from a fu-“  He stopped short, suddenly aware that no matter what he said right now, it was likely his wife and his sister would kick his ass if he finished it.  “I’m fine,” he finished gruffly, though his voice was strained.  He was a minuteman, damn it. How was he going to be a minuteman like this?

“You can learn to compensate, “ Candle pressed onward, sensing the moment of weakness in Terrabyte’s resolve. “Or find other suitable skills?” She offered.

“I thought that maybe God was listening,” he finally said softly, looking drained and tired, remembering the blood and the shouts of wounded and dying mages and the searing pain of paradox that had taken away the mobility in his leg.

“You’re alive?” she offered gently “And so far, so are those you care about?” Terrabytes nodded to Candle’s gentle query, unable to shake off the feeling of darkness that seemed to be weighing him down.  He knew the woman next to him was a Guardian. He knew he shouldn’t trust her. But there was something about her gentle, open expression that was familiar and comforting and with an entire room set to racing to take care of wounded, having someone stop just to ask if he was okay was a comfort in and of itself.  Today had been full of risks for him already and he wasn’t sure how much he could take another one.

“I think he’s listening,” she reassured him, and was not terribly surprised when she felt the grip on her hand tighten. “Vitrea, I think you might want to look in on your patient again,” She continued, making another note to talk to Terrabytes again later now that the door was at least opened.

“I told you I still don’t need therapy,” he huffed. Or maybe not. Well…it was a start.

“Incoming!” Weed  said firmly, but not too loudly. They didn’t want to disturb the patients they’d already gotten settled.   The whole room flew into action again as Gloria got carried through a portal and into the main medical area. Yaun Chao was carried in right after her. Rosethorn grimaced as she put both of them into the triage line, waiting to stabilize them before she headed back.  Weed got both of the wounded mages onto cots as quickly as he could, experienced  hands and eyes immediately assessing whether or not they needed magic or standard medicine.

“Life magic,” he said finally. “But then I can start salving his wounds for now,” he gestured to Yaun Chao and the lightning burns that covered the right side of his body “At least until we’ve got the energy to spare.” Weed immediately turned, starting to prepare the salves and ointments that would keep the field medic knocked and in less pain. Yaun Chao moaned and Weed sighed. Burns were always a danger.

“Did I get her?” the wounded mage rasped.

“Yes, friend. Rest,” Compatioo stepped forward from his observational spot along the wall, picking up slack for Candle who was hard-pressed to get to everyone who was coming in. “It looks like you had a rough encounter with some weather,” the quiet priest said gently, “but I’m certain Vitrea and her team will have you taken care of in no time.”  Yaun Chao tossed a bit, casting about to make sure that the woman he’d carried out of the tower had made it in as well before he would let Compatioo calm him.

“I need a tourniquet here *now*” Kryos called out. “He’s bleeding again!” Chevale, laid out in front of him, was still dealing with the physical trauma of the paradox manifestation that had destroyed his leg.   Kryos was worried; the mage had lost a lot of blood and they’d barely caught him in time, but even life magic and all of their skill meant he was still hanging in the balance. “Damn it stop thrashing man!” Kryos cursed , trying to calm Chevale down enough to get the blood to stop flowing again. He was soaked in it himself.

“It’s okay,” Kinbaku said quietly, taking Chevale’s hand.  The sleepwalker looked fretfully at Kryo, trying to help anyway she could. She bent low and murmured in Chevale’s ear, one hand smoothing his hair back as his thrashing ceased. The wounded mage seemed to focus on the sound of her voice and she launched into whatever she could think to say to calm him down as Kryos worked feverishly to stabilize his wounds again.

“I think I got it,” he said finally, letting the last tendrils of his magic slide backward, the wound on Chevale’s leg finally healing over.

Porthos slipped into the room from one of Corbeau’s portals, the weight of Anvil’s body in his arms shared between himself and Suillis. As he laid the nude warrior onto one of the cots, the Libertine pulled a canteen of water off of the heavy leather belt around his waist. Pouring some of the water down Anvil’s throat, he stepped back as Suillis began triaging her caucus mate.

“I’ve got this one,” Rosethorn said smoothly, stepping up to take over Gloria’s care as Vitrea moved to check Kryos’ work.  The young Free Councillor was covered in bullet wounds and blood trickled from her nose. The herbalist in Rosethorn immediately compiled a list of useful medicines, but the life mage in her knew that there wasn’t long enough to wait for that.  Yaun Chao’s rush out of the tower had probably saved Gloria’s life.  Stepping to the head of the cot, Rosethorn took the mage’s hand in her own and smoothed her fingers over Gloria’s skin, gently, her voice rising in a lilting soothing lullaby that channeled her high speech.  Be as you were, the imago sang forth, before bullets and pain. Slowly, one by one, the bullets expelled themselves with small *plinks* of sound onto the table and the worst of the bleeding ceased, wounds healing over.  Behind Rosethorn, Dr. Vic Andrus, silent and observing quirked an eyebrow at the Apostate’s unusual method of chanting.  “I need to get back to the front base,” Rosethorn said firmly. “They’re short staffed.”

Vitrea nodded. “How many more?”

“Hopefully not many,” Rosethorn replied before she stepped back through the portal.

***

29 March 2010, Monday, 10:15AM

                “I have been waiting for you to come,” the seasoned face of Magister Rook said, his deep basso voice underscoring the gravitas of his appearance, “for I am proven right, in the last.”

                Wild eyes sat above a salt and pepper beard, and the silvered Atlantean runes that lined the edges of his black robe shone in the soft light from the sanctum’s central brazier; though Rook was the only one of the assembled figures with his hood down, maddened eyes shone out from underneath the cowls of his followers. The alter around which they gathered was stained with dark, reddened, streaks that told an unspoken tale of countless lives sacrificed on its stony plane to darker gods and nameless things.

                “The Oracles have spoken to me,” he intoned as the warriors filed into the room warily; content at least to let the fallen Magister continue to monologue while they cautiously viewed the arrayed cultists in front of them. The ones bearing knives and shotguns, they noted, were far more likely to be sleepers than the others who clutched wands and staves of bone and wood; their tools carved with dark red runes that could only have been stained by innocent blood.

                “They have spoken to me of this day,” Rook continued, “and they have told me of your coming Legion-who-was-Felix. They did not name you, no… Their words are never so clear to even those of us among the faithful… but they told me of the coming of a Magister to be the harbinger of my ending. They have told me, over so many nights, how you have fallen. How the Magisterium of the Vox Draconis has become corrupted, and it is only through my leadership can we be cleansed in fire.”

                “You do not hear Their words,” Felix replied, his own robes matching Rook’s in all but color. Whereas the Moros’ robes were black as the tower itself, Felix’s were solid grey, “and you have not for some time. You have waged war on your brothers and sisters and spilled their blood upon these very stones. You have fallen far, brother, and justice has finally come to find you.”

                With a scowl, the fallen mage lifted the cane at his side and unsheathed the length of metal from it. The blade of the sword-cane shone with its own enchanted light as he pointed it at the collected mages.

                “Come and take me then,” he said as hanging spells unleashed and the gun wielding cultists opened fire.

                In that moment, time seemed to slow down for the Pentacle mages as they braced for the painful series of assaults, knowing full well that Rook had blindsided them; had it been just the cultists themselves, they would have easily withstood the assault, but letting Rook speak had given him the time to active the triggers of his sanctum’s defenses.

                As time continued to crawl forwards, and each mage in turn braced for the impact of bullet, spell, or steel, suddenly their eyes were momentarily blinded back from the sight of the celestial light pouring from Gypsy’s eyes and the figure of the angelic creation shimmered into life; instead of its hands bearing the blazing sword it turned, perfect face showering each in an almost endless compassion as its wings spread to cover them. The force of the combined assaults brought the shimmering creature to its knees before it finally faded, leaving the collected mages unharmed.

                “Thanks, Boss,” the Romaniii libertine whispered, before the battle was joined in earnest.

                As the gunmen fanned out to begin providing cover fire, the warriors of the Pentacle charged forwards, swords and staves in hand. Gambit’s staff swung about him in a deadly fashion, catching one of the knife wielding cultists across the face and spinning the cloaked figure to the floor as Shinonome moved to begin healing the burns of celestial fire that caused Felix’s robes to smolder.  Arthur and Falcon felt the mana flow freely through them as they tore the power away from the enemy spells and countered the worst of the damaging magic coming towards them.

                With a growl, Rook pointed his enchanted sword again towards them, blue arcing fire lancing out and dancing along their feet. The stones underneath Shinonome disintegrated as the Asian mage fell to the level below and Michael Colt only barely avoided such as well, falling to the ground. As they continued to struggle forwards, Carnival’s tessen moving in smooth time with Paladin’s hammer, the air around Colt and Draken shimmered. For the briefest of moments the two seemed to occupy the same space, before they tore apart from each other and Draken plummeted down the hole to the floor below.

                Turning some of their magic on themselves, the two cultists in the back began cycling through their own healing as between Draken and Michael, Shinonome began to climb back through the gap in the floor. Seeing the space being bought by the front line warriors, Rook raised his hands up as the stones at his feet began to move, starting to ascend into a wall to protect himself and his men from the hail of gunfire coming from Legion, Pendulous, and Dvallin. The fallen Magister’s words cut off as he felt the magic drain away from his hands under the combined force of Arthur and Falcon’s counter-spells.

                The air continued to ripple around them as Gypsy and Ildiko were brought crashing into each other as Shinonome finally pulled himself back to standing with Michael’s help. Managing to climb as well as maintain his focus, his own healing magics darted out to Gambit who, despite the swirling staff that seemed in constant movement, was coming under heavy fire and starting to sag. The Cajun man, rejuvenated by Shinonome’s healing, launched himself into the fray again as Rook’s blue fire again destroyed sections of the floor, causing Arthur and Shinonome to fall down a level once again; only to be followed moments after as Zero and Weaver were brought together from a spatial tear and then plummeted downwards as well.

                As the last of the sleeper cultists fell, the various close combat warriors refocused their attention on the enemy mages and their swirling robes and flowing chanting. Starting to pull backwards, the black robed figures clustered together to try and ward off the attacks of the encroached mages. With a roar, Rook’s blade swipes across the floor in front of them and, despite the countering effects of Falcon, a clear diamond wall shot up to defend them from the punishing gun fire coming from the back of the room.

                Reaching a hand down, Michael pulled the next mage from the floor below, his shoulder screaming in pain as he stretched and pulled with as much strength as he could amass. As Gypsy and Ildiko were again driven together and to the ground, Paladin charged around the diamond wall; his magical hammer spinning in his hands to crash into Rook to the sound of cracking bones under the attack. The older mage staggered backwards, having already been wounded by gunfire prior, but marshalling his efforts; blue fire lanced out from his hand as Paladin’s hammer disintegrated from his hand.

                “What now, boy?” the Magister choked around the blood seeping from his mouth.

                “The Light is my weapon and my shield,” the adamant warrior replied as he pressed the attack, slamming his shield into the tainted Magister.

                The riflemen and gunmen of the Pentacle mages fanned out, moving to gain a line of sight around the diamond wall as Ildiko and Gypsy got to their feet, weapons readied against the few remaining mages. The rifles fired again, catching the enemy healers from both sides as they began to fall, but it was Lycka who dove behind the magical wall to take aim on Rook. His own yell echoing in his ears, the guns in his hand went off as the blessings of fate manifested themselves in green Atlantean rune-script before him. As the black robed Magister fell, his sword blazed one last time, the blue fire dancing through the air and shifting, billowing out in noxious green gas that quickly filled half the room.

                Coughing, Ildiko and Gypsy rolled out of the cloud as Gambit shouldered both Carnival and Paladin. Their eyes burned from the acrid smoke as they pulled themselves away and turned back towards the cloud. Getting to his feet, Draken Lokton reached out, his own magic shifting the poisonous cloud back into regular air. As the green fumes faded from sight, the collected warrior-mages saw the body of Rook lying still on the floor; still, but breathing.

                A moment of silence hung over them as Felix slowly approached the body and knelt down to examine the fallen mage. Felix’s eyes seemed to trace over the man’s face as if searching for something, before the lines of his expression deepened and he rose.

                “The Magisterium of the Vox Draconis,” he proclaimed aloud, “finds its fallen brother to be guilty of consorting with the Abyss. The void has touched his soul and he has given himself over to it. In this, there can be only one punishment fitting. Execution.”

                “That wasn’t the plan!” Gypsy yelled, swaying on her feet from both wounds and blood loss. “He was to be taken back and placed on trial!”

                “He’s too dangerous to live,” Ildiko said, looking between the robed Magister and the purple-clad Libertine.

                “It has taken nigh a hundred mages to assault this Sanctum, Gypsy,” Felix commented, “most of whom are bloodied and even now may not live. He has killed not only those mages lost here today, but the entire last generation of the Magisters of my Order. We… appreciate your help, but this is now a matter for the Vox. He has fallen to the Void… and there is no redemption for him.”

                An uneasy silence settled over the collected mages as the Libertines looked to Gypsy and the blade still in her hand, while the Silver Ladder and Adamantine Arrow shifted to stand beside their respective leaders. For a long few moments, Felix and Gypsy held each other’s gaze silently before the Romanii woman turned away with a frown.

                “We commit the spirit of our fallen brother to the Oracles,” intoned the grey-cloaked Magister, “that they may judge him and find the worth that he once held in their eyes. Let his soul be taken to Those Most High, and let him find the solace in Their eyes that he so lacked in his life.”

                The Atlantean rolled off of Felix’s tongue as he began the spell, his grey robes becoming doused in a brief grey halo that seemed to personify the very sense of regret. His hands rose, mana and energy flowing out of his fingers as Rook’s fallen body suddenly ignited in white-hot celestial fire. The assembled mages watched on as Felix continued chanting, the blaze growing larger and hotter until there remained nothing but ash of the fallen mage.

                “We’re done here,” Ildiko said quietly as she sheathed her paired swords, “let’s get out and clean up any stragglers.”

Epilogue

29 March 2010, Monday, 4:32PM

With the fighting done and the last of the resistance mopped up, Akshayakumara sat down heavily in a chair and breathed.  "Alright, guys," he said, looking at the other casters, "Power the ritual circles down.  We have one last job to do."

Looking around the room, he continued, ”Butterfly, Frank, start the spell.  Full dispersal.  Build it high and tight. Helios, Alexander, stand by to ignite on my mark."

He stood and looked through the window at the tower and the bodies and damage surrounding it.  Blood was caked around his eyes, his nose, his ears; veins bulged at his temples and dried blood mingled with sweat around them.  His cloak was singed and blowing slightly in the wind.  His hat lay tumbled by a chair.  With a flick of his wrist, it appeared in his hand and he set it back on his head, pulling it at a jaunty angle.  It seemed to take all the energy he had to pull himself up, tall and proud, for one last show of bravado. 

Everyone clear out of Twilight, he said over the Network and regular comms, Close all portals.  You may want to put your sunglasses on.

He waited for the go-ahead from Butterfly and Frank, and the signal that everyone is clear before speaking, his gaze never leaving the black tower.

"Now I become Death," he said, his nimbus burning out from under his skin, suffusing him in that indigo glow, the third eye blazing open in his forehead.  Holding up a hand for Helios and Alexander, he continued.  "The destroyer of worlds."

Akshayakmara dropped the hand, giving the signal to fire when ready.

"Boom, bitches."

The Tamers of Fire threw forth their flames, and the air seemed to come alive around the tower.  There is a moment of silence, and then the world ignited, the Black Tower exploding in a mushroom cloud and a terrible inrush of air as the flames within annihilated stone and bodies, tearing the building and the area around it apart at its foundations.  Fortifications of stone and steel were reduced to ash and slag in the seconds surrounding the blast.

And just like that... it was over.  Scattered fires around the area burned, but at the epicenter of the blast was nothing but ash and ruin, without even enough oxygen to sustain a flame. 

Akshayakumara sagged back against the chair, one hand holding his weight. “Pack it all up," he said to his team, turning to face them, looking somehow reduced inside his Warden's cloak.  "Pack it all up and get planet-side.  We're done here." 

"This place is clean."