The Dance of : Part One

The air of the scarred skirmishing grounds stood still. Anticipation hung above you all. For a few suspended seconds the only sounds were the crackling of your home in flames, the clink of shell casings and fresh ammunition, the snarling breaths of the dozen wolves who dotted the battleground.

The Wolves made the first move.

Fanning into groups of six, the lupine monstrosities dropped into a squat and, like the terrible crack of a whip, the air split as they sprang from the earth with terrifying speed. Half of the mangy beasts, shambling yet sleek like frenzied greyhounds, bolted toward the Crusaders, who had already begun unloading their automatic weapons on the coming enemy. The other six werewolves, including the gargantuan crimson leader you were soon to become very well acquainted with, galloped at you like rabid hounds.

The hairs on their matted hides stood on end, saliva, grass and mud spraying behind them. Eyes wide and bloodshot, they barged into one another in a tumbling wave of precision rage and rippling animal muscle, hungry to feast upon your Noxium’s flesh.

The cool air kissed your skin and flecks of dirt hovered in space like brown flakes of snow. As your kind locked arm in arm like a wall of pale flesh, your eyes trailed to Moonie a few bodies to your left and she shot you a knowing, if not spooked, glance.

“One werewolf. That’s all it takes to fell a dozen of us. To usher us unto our final rest. They are more powerful than any blooded could hope to withstand.” Muninn's nervous words echoed softly within your mind.

You gave Muninn a reassuring smile as the tightly joined Noxium separated into focused clusters.

“I’m counting on it.”

As the vampires bunched together, the bloodshot yellow eyes of the snarling werewolves fixed upon you and they fanned out mid-charge, two or three targeting each cluster. Closer they came. Closer still, until you could almost taste the sour twang of their necrotic breath.

“Don’t be afraid… that’s it… hold.”

You implored the Noxium in the slow crawl of those suspended moments. The Wolf Leader rose into a leap like a predator claiming its kill. They all did.

And you smiled.

For as the great bounding beasts’ claws came within inches of your pale faces, the clusters of your kind exploded into a dense cloud of intangible silver mist.

The wolves smashed into the debris-littered ground, skidding through dirt, concrete and splintered wood, tumbling to regain their footing. They stared at their empty paws and roared in deafening fury, for none of you were there to be preyed upon, nor were Diana or Vicky.

The great rolling wave of mist swept past the desolated porch with such **** that the cracked fountain toppled fully, spilling into the stone driveway. This pale mire stormed through the wolves charging toward the Crusaders’ firing line and bullets whizzed harmlessly through the dark cloud. The ceaseless gunfire faltered as the monster-slayers coughed, sputtered and shielded their eyes while the blanket of white rushed past them.

The wolves paused. So did the Crusaders. Confusion reigned.

Then you emerged.

You tapped lightly on the silver pauldron of a particularly distracted Quincy. He spun around and met your eye, a cigarette pinched between your lips.

“Hey bud. Got a light?”

His hands flew to his waist to draw his sword as his comrades whipped around in shock. With a single, deliberate finger, you pressed against the visor of his helm.

You had been keeping it caged for so long. It clawed at you daily, begging release. That roaring, searing heat. The Deathly Flame that burned within your marrow.

For a fraction of a second it resisted, buried deep beneath restraint. Then the Crusader’s armor began to glow, first a dull ember beneath the silver, then red, then white, until the metal screamed.

A vast, roaring black flame erupted from within the man, engulfing his form as his muffled cries echoed inside the helm. He staggered, threads blackening, silver melting and fusing into his flesh beneath the white-hot blaze. He dropped to his knees, flailing only for a moment before the fire consumed the rest of him.

The regiment of Crusaders froze in horror.

"Let's see him regenerate from that!"

Over forty undead stood at your back, eyes flashing, teeth bared.

You bent slightly and lit your cigarette from the stray lick of black flame still crawling over the scorched Quincy at your feet. You took a long drag, exhaled slowly, then flicked it aside.

With a small snip of flesh from your thumb and a dark whisper of Vampiric blood magic, the Legendary Omen Blade Lugh manifested in your grasp. You stood poised, ready for the slaughter to come.

“Don’t look so glum. He’s sure to go to heaven, right? Yeah… you all will. We’ll make sure of it.”

The rear guard shattered under the weight of you.

You drove Lugh through a raised shield and felt the sanctified steel resist, but not for long, before it surrendered. The blade split it down the middle and kept going, carving through the man behind it from collarbone to hip. Bone parted. Organs steamed.

Black flame flooded the cavern of him and burst outward through the seams of his armor, forcing molten silver to drip down his greaves as he collapsed in two twitching halves.

The Nox surgically weaved into the discouraged formation like a wall of sharp scalpels.

Barnebus was the odd one out of course, heaving with wrath he rammed into them like a siege engine. His club-like fingers closed in on one Crusader by the helm and another by the gorget and smashed their skulls together until the visors caved inward and teeth sprayed out in a red mist. He did not falter or slow down. He wrenched the first man’s head free from his spine with a thick tearing sound and used the corpse as a club, battering a third zealot to the ground in a ruin of bent plate and splintered bone.

Moonie flowed through the press with a predator’s grace. She slipped beneath a halberd, seized its wielder by the jaw and ripped the helm off hard enough to take the ears with it. Her claws sank into the meat of his neck and she tore back, ripping out a wet length of throat that dangled between her knuckles. Blood pulsed across her face as she kicked the **** body aside and spun into the next man, clawing his eyes out before he could even muster a scream.

Huginn was even more impressive, as he slithered in with a surgical cruelty.

If His sister was a lethal ghost, then Huginn was more the poltergeist, it seemed as if no hammer blow, bullet or blade could touch him as he dipped and weaved with such a grace, it seemed as if he had choreographed the fight himself in a theater.

He cut straps, exposed joints, hamstrung legs so cleanly that men dropped before they knew they were crippled. He carved smiles into exposed throats and left others for the Bone Heads to finish, all the while... humming something obscene, Twinkle-Twinkle little star?

The Noxium moved as one organism with many appetites, claws plunging through eye slits, hands ripping arms from sockets, fangs breaking through gorgets and crushing windpipes. None took blood, as per your instruction. You couldn't risk their blood being spiked, just like Lacrimosa's was on Jane's last night.

But it was not all so clean and tidy. The Crusaders struck back.

Silver sidearms cracked through the smoke. One of yours jerked violently as a round punched through his sternum, bursting out his spine in a spray of blackened blood. Another screamed when a bullet shattered her eye, the silver hissing inside her skull as smoke curled from the wound. Barnebus staggered when a blade slipped beneath his ribs and sank deep. He crushed the man responsible, squeezing until ribs collapsed inward like rotten wood, yet the silver remained buried in him, burning and smoking through his flesh.

As they fell, each one, it felt as if the teeth had been torn out of your gums, or nails had been hammered into your kneecaps. The Connection with your Clan had it's consequences.

You leapt over a body split open from groin to throat and brought Lugh around in a blazing arc that took two Crusaders at the knees. Their legs parted cleanly and they fell screaming, clawing at the ground as the fire ran up their torsos and into their lungs.

What were you doing? This was wrong, these people.... that's what they are, they are just people...

"Do not think, Chip.
Do not feel for them, they wouldn't for you.
This has the be the biggest fight I've ever been in right? ugh the smell... it makes me sick."

YESSSS, KEEP KILLING, KEEP SLAUGHTERING. FEED YOUR LUST FOR BLOOD. GIVE ME THE WHEEL.

You didn't know if these thoughts were even conscious, you felt as if your mind had taken a backseat; Your body knew what to do.

"It doesn't matter.
Just focus on the swordplay.
Let it all out.
Those two will be safe at least...
...once Belle and the Yellow-Jackets escape with them..."

After unloading your pistol into the open visor of one of the Crusaders, you peered behind you for a second. You were relived to see, Naomi and Octavia, each carrying off the corpses of Vicky and Diana down the driveway, towards the edge of the Estate where Belle and her people could whisk them away.

"CHARLIE!!" Muninn cried, snapping you away from the distraction. Your hairs stood on end as the sharp whistle of a blade cutting through the wind, you expected a sudden rush of pain, a fade to black, a scream to spill from your lips. But it was not your flesh that the Blade had cut.

Barnebus was like an iron wall standing between you and Lacrimosa, her scythes blade dripping with dark blood. He looked at his elbow with confusion for a moment, at the severed oozing stump and then... his own arm draining into the stones at his feet. He staggered and you caught him by the waist with furious eyes. "Master..." He grumbled, as if he did not feel the loss of his arm, as if he could charge back into the fray but you pulled him away.

"Get back, Barnebus. Run back with the others." You commanded.

"I can still-" He started.

"NOW!" You pressed as he scurried to scoop up his arm and shamble away.

The Nox were drawn to a standstill as the Crusaders held them back with blade and shield. Requiem had rallied his men, ordering the LMG wielding front line to turn about, to face your ranks. Lacrimosa rested her blade on her shoulder and gave you a mocking curtsey... before dropping into prone.

Ten score machine guns looked you and your unit square in the face, promising your demise, swearing to usher you all into your final ****. But you did not falter, nor did your comrades at your side. Instead you put up your hands as if in surrender, your left hand curling to point behind the firing line.

They seemed to have clocked their mistake the minutes you pointed it out, they had turned to face down their enemy - true, but in doing so, they forgot about the rest.

The Wolves descended upon the face of the Crusaders ranks. Ripping into the dense line of warriors like a bull in a china shop. They splattered under the weight of coiled animal muscle, claws as long and thick as spears sundered their flesh and like the little gingerbread men you get on Christmas they were picked up, pulled to pieces and devoured without mercy.

And so the plan had come to fruition, the rest was up to fate. If such a thing ever existed.

"He's mine!" Requiem screamed, ignoring his dying brothers thrust forth his silver broadsword and leaping at you, like a beast almost as wild as the ones who tore apart his comrades. He threw himself into your space, blade first which speared harmlessly in-between your right arm as you pivoted. He was a big man, but he grunted no less like any other as you bend his arm backwards, brandishing your gun against his temple, ready to blow out his holy-brains. But what he lacked in stratagem, he made up for in fearlessness. The Hard hem of his shield rocketed up, smashing your gun from your hand as it soared before tumbling to the ground. With a wicked speed the shield's silver face punched into your chest, the **** was so great that you felt a painful click and the air escape your lungs.

You staggered back unto one knee unable to catch your breath, unable to breathe at all.

Once again, you felt the sharp tickle on your throat, the broad curved blade of the scythe resting beneath your chin like a great deadly crescent mood. That distorted voice whispered in your ear - "C'mon now mister vampire-man, I'd hate for us to man-handle you further, You can't beat us now. Just give in. Come along quietly, we throw a wild slumber party."

You grunted, fangs bored in a savage grimace. But you were not alone.

A foot dashed between you, kicking the scythe blade away and shoving you back. Medium-Blonde hair whirled and struck at the air like a whip as Hughie danced around Lacrimosa's precision slashes.

In a moment of sudden lucidity you felt her final swing, faster, trickier than the others, a misdirection which would carve Hughie's head from his shoulders. You remembered the pact you'd made with Moonie and drowning in the horrible memory of your other comrades deaths, you tensed in acute fear.

She cut at him with this angled slash, it did not make a lick of difference, it was like a ballet to him as he twirled. In one fluid motion, he grasped the curved handle of Lacrimosa's blade, his pale hands sizzling like sausages on a skillet, slid it gracefully out of her hand, spun like a pinwheel and as Lacrimosa was disoriented, he threw the Blade down into her chest.

Her body was stapled to the ground, a gush of blood spurting from her chest and the holes in her silver mask. "that's-that's gonna leave a mark-Eughughp!" She groaned grimly.

The shield hoisted up in both hands, it's sharp edge plummeted suddenly towards your head. You saw it fall and the giant silver shadow who wielded it. It cut deep into the flesh of your palms as Lugh fell at your feet., straining in agony against his brutal strength. It pushed you down to your knees. His power... it wasn't human, it was too much. The sharp point of the Kite-shaped shield grew closer and closer.

Soft hands, nails sharp glided along the edge of his visor, wrapping around him in a tender embrace, as full red lips whispered in his eye. Moonie was more monstrous than you had ever seen her, skin white as bone, eye wide and crimson red as the sun at dusk, teeth grinding together as she spoke
"Fear.
Fear is the worm - Skin digging, depths crawling.
Terror is the spider, shadow darting, lethal-biting.
Horror is the Wasp, wings buzzing, stinger piercing!"

With a nefarious grin, Muninn cast him to the ground, the shield slipping through his fingers... as he began to scream. Rolling around in the stone and mud, he yelped like a dog. Scratching at his plate armour, twitching as if in seizure "GET THEM OFF , GET THEM OFF, FU-FUUUUCK GET THEM THE FUCK OFF ME, AHHHH!" He cried.

YOU ARE WEAK, CAUGHT BY SUPRISE. EVEN WITH THAT PRETTY LITTLE COLLEGE GIRLS BLOOD RUNNING THROUGH YOUR VEINS - THAT IS NOT NEARLY ENOUGH FOR THE DEBT THAT YOU OWE ME!

You tried to resist the growing instability in your mind, the crick in your neck, the strange deep buzzing which lingered behind your ears. The dripping, wet, bloody voice in your mind just kept screaming.

*DO YOU THINK THAT YOU ARE JUSTIFIED? YOU ARE PATHETIC. DO YOU NEED JUSTIFICATION TO KILL YOUR FOES!? JUST FUCKING END THEM, RIP OUT THEIR THROATS, CUT THEM DOWN, VIOLATE THEIR CORPSES. IT MATTERS NOT IF YOU MUST SACRAFICE A FEW PAWNS, THEY ARE NOTHING BUT A WALL OF FLESH - OF FLESH -OF FLESH - FLESHFLESHFLESH**FLESHFLESHFLESHFLESHFLESHFLESH!!!!!!!!*

The Reid Twins picked you up your shoulders, Moonie grabbing your face, her expression contorted with worry as the fighting raged behind you. "You alright? Bugger, Chip? MASTER, SNAP OUT OF IT!" She growled.

A hard slap across the back of the head dragged you back into the battle. Hughie dusted you off "Did that get the light turned back on?"

You blinked, nodding "Am I okay?" You took his hands and found a scorched, blackened ruin wrought with ash and exposed flesh. He snatched them back as Moonie gasped.

"Don't worry about that, Boss. You sure you've got your head on straight there?"

The buzzing was still there, but you had one foot in the door, that was enough. "I was almost worm food. What the hell is wrong with me?"

"Oh lord in heaven, where to start!" spoke the distorted feminine voice.

The three of your slowly turned your heads, your faces collectively tightening. Lacrimosa hopped up on her feet, Requiem **** himself unto his knees.

"...You kidnap innocent girls off academy campuses and turn them into monsters. You meddle with people minds until their implode on themselves. You sap the life out of this city all while promising virtue, promising providence, giving nothing but sickness and ****. I can keep going if you like?" As Lacrimosa Spoke, she grunted. Likely because she was meticulously pulling the silver scythe blade out of her chest. It made a sickening squelch as it came free and the splintered mail pinged out of her sundered flesh, the gaping bleeding wound spindling and knotting together, until the rags of her armour covered clean, unharmed skin.

Requiem had shambled back up to his feet... all the while slamming his own silver-wrought fists into the side of his own head, striking again and again, he swung back and forth with each blow, becoming a little more stable as his helmet twanged. He threw down his arms and shook back into stability. "I made a vow, Drake. I'll kill you as many times as it takes, until your corruption is silenced forever. "

Moonie noticed it first. And when you and Hughie saw it, you both also relaxed. You huffed bending down to pick up your black blade and pointing with it "I'm not sure how many times I'm going to keep giving you a fair warning but you might want to-"

Before they could react, a claw roughly the size of a car roof swept through the image of the Two Crusaders. The huge clawed palm wrought with ragged red fur cleaved through both of them. It looked as if the two were hit by a bus with machetes attached, some limbs and flesh spilling and flying as they were scraped across the drive and hurled off a good thirty feet.

The humungous snarling face of the Wolf-Leader replaced them, jaws wide and drooling, the intent in it's wide yellow eyes; murderous.

He had clawed a path ahead, as the rest of his kind were occupied with the Crusaders.