The Dead Forest (Increased Orc activity due to skirmish)

[Maximos]

Now, there in may be some warning signs.

Damion altered his taste buds to taste meat and flesh and blood, but not alcohol. And while all of a sudden the flavor in his mouth was gone, as if mouth washed away, the tingling and burning sensations stood, infact they seemed clearer.

Regardless, Ivan, with his big burly arms, dressed in his lumberjack flannel shirt, pushed open the bar door and lead Damion outside. Damion might remember outside, it was a busy marketplace lit with gas and fire lanterns and filled with individuals walking to and fro on their daily duties. That was then. Right now, the outside of the bar was black and dark. There were no lights save for whatever moonlight spilled through the trees and brought out slices and streaks of white in the sandy path that once was the only street in town.

Moreover, it was empty. Not a soul moved anywhere, at all. Though their footprints remained, their karts full of wares were all covered in tarps or turned away from the main road and otherwise shut down. Damion and Ivan were entirely alone. Although almost immediately Ivan turned to the demon possessed elemental, as if noting something Damion might not even have been aware of displaying and said reassuringly.

Iz late. Market close. You shop tomorrow yes? For now we go to Nikolai.

Without another word, he turned to lead Damion the small flight of steps in front of the bar, and then turned, walking past Damion's bike and to what appeared to be a small alley between the bar/tavern, and the nearest house. It wasnt much of an alley, it was exceedingly dark as it was shielded from the moon but it had no dead ends. Instead, it seemed to lead into the woods.

Ahead of them already Damion would be able to see a lone figure standing in beam of moonlight surrounded by pitch black. The tree cover, as well as the large looming Bar building in front of them did not give the moonlight...now covered by rolling clouds, a fighting chance at brightening the place.

Ivan lead Damion into what could be called the backyard of the bar. The lone figure held a long wooden staff, at its head was a large round red gem from which spilled what appeared to be stylized engravings, made to look like worms pouring from an apple and burrowing into the staffs wood. He word a stark white robe, with dark hunter green trim. The figure had his back turned, looking out into the woods and slowly now turned to the approaching duo. He wore a large hood that cast a shadow over his face, save for a wrinkled smile. He stood slightly hunched, as if putting a large portion of his weight on his staff, with one arm behind his back. Ivan, who had been calmly walking ahead of Damion, gestured to the elemental and said.

Nikolai, я приносил вам несущую.

To which Nikolai, let out a relieved "Ahh", and bowed as he replied.

Очень хорошо, Ivan.

And then turned to Damion and added.

And greetings to you.

He reached out the hand held behind his back. It was old and adorned with a few rings, but was otherwise entirely normal. And with a kind smile he said.

You have something for me, yes?  

[Eternal Dirge]

People don't clear out that fast.

For coherent thoughts, that was a good one, and one of the few Damion was actually able to muster. They hadn't had much of a market back home, but he knew in small places like this the marketplaces would be alive for a long, long time as people talked of news or traded still. He hadn't been in there that long....had he? Damion's tongue snaked out to run over his fangs slowly as he pondered the nature of this place.

All the while he followed Ivan, where else was he to go after all? His eyes picked out faint outlines in the dark, the tarp covered wagons and carts turning into slumbering beasts and every dark corner holding some hidden menace. Had he hair, it would likely have been standing on end. As it was, He was already tense, simply nodding along with whatever Nikolai said.

He paused when they walked down the alley though, taking a careful peek at his bike before hurrying to catch up, his posture slouched slightly, arms swaying as if boneless.

Damion wished he was a more intelligent man, or atleast one who could spot clues for what they were when presented to him. All he could guess was that the food was not necessarily what one would expect and that this place was likely a nest of some form of corruption, likely daemonic in nature. The appearance of a man in cloak with staff did nothing to assauge the poor man-beast though, and he made a mental note to dive if things went badly.

But then Ivan and the apparent Nikolai were talking in their odd language once more. The man seemed a priest or spellcaster of some sort, and instantly Damion felt a surge of hatred and anger that was just as quickly put down. Men who practiced solely in those arts seemed to be cheaters in his eyes, but what was he to do?

" Aye, I beleive this is what you ordered." The islander replied, cutting the cord that ran around his body and letting the bag fall into his left hand, held behind his back like the old man. He could feel the enchantments tingling against his palm, an extra sense for his new form it seemed. He placed both bag and item into the man's outstretched hand, taking the opportunity to get a good look at this Nikolai and the staff he held. It was unsettling, and spoke to him of corruption in it's own way, and he wasn't entirely unsure that wasn't far from the mark.  

[Maximos]

Nikolai saw the bag and the smile on the aged old mans face stretched adding yet more wrinkles to his cheeks and barely visible bags beneath his eyes. With a flop, the bag was in his hands, and its prize contents.

The old man leaned the staff against his shoulder, hunching forward a bit and reached his gnarled and bony elderly hand into the bag drawing forth the package, and its sealed container. Runes and seals, lines and carvings sprung to life at his touch, several seals seemed ready to pop off, but Nikolai flattened them, and very softly whispered to the ball.

Not yet...

And then turned to Damion. And with an aire of pride, the sort a father might have for his son, he said to the elemental.

Very good Brother Damion. Very good.

The bag was handed to Ivan, and Nikolai resumed holding his staff in one hand, and the box in the other. His head rolled slightly to the side letting the moonlight reflect just right, so as to give a sort of shimmer to his emerald green eyes. And Nikolai concluded...

You will make a fine addition to our brotherhood. I am very pleased you decided to join us.  

[Eternal Dirge]

" What?" For anyone else, this would have been said jokingly, as if he didn't beleive them or was simply making a joke. As it was, Damion sounded far from brotherly, his tone quite serious. His face matched the question, eyebrows drawing down into a look of fierce concentration, his back straightening up to bring him to his full height. Were he still capable of frowning he would, as it was his lips weren't budging and remained frozen into a look that was now more snarl than smile.

And then it hit him, almost as soon as the words left his mouth, that the man looked very much like he did normally, atleast as far as the eyes went. Age would reduce any other similarities to scraps, but something told him that there was a secret here. Something that likely bound them more as brothers than anything he might have suspected earlier.

No word came from Dagon, and Damion suspected none would be. He was on his own in this...whatever this was.

" And just what precisely am I....Joining?"  

[Maximos]

Nikolai, played the part of a man almost surprised by Damion's ignorance. A hand moved to his chest, while the other fanned out in a large waving arm motion. A welcoming motion.

Why, our family of course. The children of Lord Ysmidon, the Worm King.

As if predicting Damions reaction Nikolai immediately jumped in, almost biting off the end of his sentence with the start of another.

You see, Ivan tells me that you have already consumed the flesh of our lord.

A pause, a second at most, just enough for the realization to sink in.

That gruel. Surely you noticed its...unique texture? Every morsel, every lump, is a seed containing thousands of tiny micro-organisms, that now move inside your body.

He lift both arms high into the air, the moonlight bathing his robes and making the surrounding woods seem even darker, blacker, hopeless and endless.

Within twenty four hours, you will be one of us. A slow process unless...

Now, at about this point Damion might be feeling uneasy. The old man clearly had no reason to lie to him but the prospect was highly unsettling. In that dis-ease, he may or may not notice that the tingle sensation caused by drinking that alcohol earlier...the sensation that refused to die but had become pins and needles across his body, had suddenly sharply increased in the area of the back of his throat. Immediately after that his entire body seemed ablaze, as if each tingly spot was now a red hot poker jabbed into his flesh. His skin itched everywhere but moving even an inch was agonizing. The burning sensation had moved to areas such as his arms and legs, even his face, where it was utterly impossible food had yet reached. Damion's body completely rejected the idea of moving in any effective manner. Soon, before Nikolai's sentence even finished Damion would be able to taste his own blood with each breath and feel it trickling down his esophagus from an unseen wound.

At this point Ivan, interjected.

He has already consumed full mug of Lord's blood.
Very good Ivan!

At which point he turned his gaze to Damion.

Then you are likely feeling the pain of rebirth, are you not? Can you taste your blood? The parasites have dug a path through the back of your throat and to your brain stem.

Nikolai brought his staff forward, the apple of a red gem at its head was suddenly infused with a brilliant red glow. The crimson light made the immediately area seem brighter, and the surrounding woods even darker than before. The ridge of blackness seemed to quiver in the pulsating light, as if it was ready and waiting to consume the now infected elemental.

Do not fight it brother. You will be ours by sunrise. Welcome it...kneel.

Nikolai spoke the single word command and it would boom in Damion's ears like thunder, for a moment, that one word was all the earth elemental would be able to hear. And completely regardless of his own will, his legs would begin to bend, his form would arch forward. Damion was beginning to kneel. Nikolai was laughing. If the Islander had even seen a corpse, infest with maggots, writhing and crawling over each other in a slimy mess...that was how his innards felt. As if they were alive with disgusting motion, and his skin was nothing but a suit worn by something wholly unnatural that ate away at him from the inside out.

And then, without any sort of warning, a feeling washed over him. It was like moving from a stove into an ice cold bath. Damion would be able to smell salt water rushing through his nostrils. His lungs would choke as if suddenly filled with fluid. He felt cold and dark, the maggots still crawled but they were distant now. Right now there was another sensation, not physical, but emotional. It welled up inside his chest like pride. It had no words to describe it, as most things primal do not. Instead, it felt as one might expect a lion feels when it stands over a fallen gazelle, its prey, and roars loudly to terrify any other predator away.

All of a sudden, halfway through his bow...Damion stopped moving. The glow from the staff intensified, it raged with the color water coursing through his veins and in the middle his kneel, in a most awkward pose, Damion fell flat on his rump. His body locked in a sort of combat he had no part in, and was unable to control, leaving the delivery boy prone on the ground, his every command to his flesh countered and resisted.

Oh I see...

Nikolai said, frustration evident on the words he spoke through his gnashed teeth. The cloud which had rolled over the moon, began to roll away. The wall of deep black surrounding them began to expand.

You are home to another...no matter, even it would fall by tomorrow morning...but we havent the time for that...

The darkness peeled back like a curtain, it revealed feet first wearing shoes, and then outlines of humanoid figures. There had to be at least a dozen in the immediate vicinity. Nikolai made a bland arm motion and began to walk away, toward and through the crowd.

Sit there...brothers, sisters...feast.

As occurred in countless horror movies before, the crowd advanced, their eyes each a fierce glowing green, their faces pale and hungry. Nikolai's command resounded in the elemental's skull yet again, paralyzing his body, even as other forces within him fought to what appeared to be a stalemate. The grip upon him was fading as Nikolai and his staff moved farther, his arms were slowly becoming mobile but were numb and clumsy as if anesthetized...Damion would be swarmed before he was ever free.

And then...his phone rang.  

[Eternal Dirge]

" Worm....King?" He murmured, eyes widening slowly as his wide mouth dropped open. It was a pecular sight on one such as he, but atleast it was replaced by a look of cold fury mixed with pain as his body began to burn, or atleast the sensation of such. His claws flexed and bunched, his upper body slouching forward more as he made a strange noise, halfway between a choke and a growl. While it hadn't lasted very long, the pain was unbearable, made all the more so by the sheer knowledge that he could not stop it, claws dragging bloody trails across his chest as if he sought to pull the flesh from his bones.

He could hear them talking, plotting, planning. In that instant he hated them more than he hated anything else, letting his mind roil in that hatred and the pain, let them feed and grow on one another. Words failed him, but then again he had never needed them. His eyes focused on the one called Nikolai, memorizing him as best he could, green eyes blazing. Even as he was commanded to kneel, he hated, his hate growing all the more as his body rebelled and began to heed that 'mans' call. All until the hate was partnered with something of like kind, a feeling that Damion was not all to familiar with at times.

Pride shot up through him like a beacon, bringing with it the sensation of drowning, of dying in dark places far from the sun. But it was not unwelcome, with it came the knowledge that he was free of that command. Atleast...for the most part. Falling flat on ones a** does not exactly make you look all that tough, and for the most part it washed his anger away the way a wave will crush a childs sand castle, leaving only the lumps there to show that it had ever been.

And now there were more of them, more of these creatures, these servants to some god of decay and rot. Worm God my a** it was a thought all his own and just as startling as the ringing in his pocket. " Oh I so do not have time for this!" His words were slurred, but they came out well enough. With rough, clumsy motions he reached into the pocket holding his phone, flipped it open with a nail and spoke into it even as his doom undoubtedly fell upon him. " Hello?"  

[Maximos]

Damion!

It was Maximos' exasperated and desperate voice. For the entire time the earth elemental had known Maximos, the man had never had at one like this. A tone shaken, or deeply unsettled.

I found out what your dealing with! Dont eat anything they give you! And do not under and circumstanc--

Doom was upon him. Doom in this case did not however mean death, it meant a swift boot to the chest area. Now normally a man would be allowed defenses, but it was highly unlikely Damion was going to be doing anything avoid the boot, even if he managed his arms being on the way, he had no lower body motion to truly dodge.

Needless to say, the phone would slip from clumsy fingers to dry dirt, and Max's voice could be heard shouting.

---I repeat, do not give Nikolai the package! Get out! This is over your head!

About this time, Maximos realized there was a crunching sound on the other end of the line. A reciever hitting dirt. Though Maximos knew not its source, he knew it was not Damion's voice and immediately shouted back.

Damion! Did you hear me?! Damion!
Iz rude to make call at dinner...
Dami--Crunch!

A large boot squashed the phone like a bug. Damion, was likely right now experiencing a feeling similar to that of a turtle on its back. He had use of his arms, but not his legs or hips, how was he supposed to get up, or sit up and be any level of effective? There was one villager in front of him, not one he had seen before and two behind that one, the rest fanned out behind that. Ivan and Nikolai were out of sight. The one in the lead carried a rather large rusty machete and looked down at Damion with inhuman glowing green eyes and said.

If you have last verds, say zhem to me. No one vill save you.  

[Eternal Dirge]

" Wait, Maxim-oaf!" A heavy boot stomping into ones chest normally cut off communication fairly well, and helped to releive Damion of the breath he had. But his sternum, that was strong, and now he was very, very irritated. He looked up at the night sky through the trees, saw the faces of the people around them, their hunger and desire for his flesh. Words were spoken above him, someone offering him last words or something.

He didn't care.

" What are you going to do, kill me?" He asked, his tone fairly neutral, none of the fear most would associate with such a time. In truth, he felt next to nothing, just a cold numbness that surrounded his anger. " If you're going to do it, then do it." Damions hands ran through the dirt slowly, pulling thick trails through the forest floor.

His head lolled to the side to peer at the creature next to him, not the one speaking. " Cause if not....I'm just going to kill you all."

With that his hands would slam flat on the earth, fingers splaying out wide, claw tips kicking up alittle dirt as the ground around him bucked as if from heavy impact, thick spikes of stone shooting outwards in a ring around the group to form a peremeter, and the ground beneath their feet dropping a good ten feet. For Damion, this meant a fairly rough landing, and for everyone else it might be something of a suprise.  

[Cthulhu Wish]

Nothing really moved within the Dead Woods anymore. The only thing that ever seemed to pass through the forest anymore except for the large groups of Ogres whose only business was to destroy anything that was in its path. However, the only things that seemed to meet that unfortunate path were trees.

Dead. Rotten. Trees.

But this faithful afternoon there seemed to be a different sound that echoed within the forest. Rather than hearing, the grunts of large green beasts and the breaking of dried out trees there was a small voice to be heard. It was soft and gentle as though to belong to a small child of sorts.

Here we go…
The world is spinning.

Within the gray collection of fog that filled the vacant land. A small child could be spotted, a girl of sorts. She was wearing a black cloak over her shoulders as though to keep her warm from the wind and the chill that may be experienced within the forest. However, unlike most small girls, there was something different about her. Rather than have a bright appearance. She appeared to be rather dull and dry, which was very similar to her surroundings. She wore a grey dress that had a lovely set of black accents such as buttons and other attire as well as having a black bow in her hair. As for her hair, rather than being a bright blonde or brunette like every other average girl, it was a light gray color as though it matched dancing smoke coming from extinguished flames.

When it stops.
Its just beginning…

As she walked, she continued to sing her song as well as pick up sticks and chunks of wood between her small arms. She seemed a little off center as she carried the gathered pieces in her arms. But she did however seem to be managing. With every piece she collected she held it up to the sky in order to examine it more closely. Instead of looking directly at the wood, she was looking more so towards a black raven that seemed to be following her step. When the bird cawed, the young girl seemed to add it to her collection where as if it didn’t she only seemed to toss it aside and find a new one.

Sun goes up.
We laugh and we cry.

Before she even knew it the bird began to caw rather rapidly above her. She froze only for a moment and began to look around to see what was coming her way. All she seemed to her was the loud collection of foot steps and grunts racing towards her. They could only be one thing.

Ogres.

Each footstep only seemed to draw closer towards her. Each one drooling and growling as all of them continuously suffered from what appeared to be the lack of bloodshed. Without any warning, the girl closed her eyes slowly and stood in place as she could hear the repeated sound from the bird above her and the step foots.

With a final crack of the closet tree towards her the ogres had arrived to claim their pray. However, there was nobody there except for a dropped pile of wood and some fog that seemed to collect around. The raven that was there early stared at the creatures below with it’s beady eyes. The ogres were out of luck and moved on to find something else of the sort.

However, once they were gone...

The song only seemed to continue on.

Sun goes down…
And than we all die.  

[Maximos]

" What are you going to do, kill me?"

The villager flipped the machete in his hand, his finger tapping the hard wood hilt, and a look on his face akin to the look you might expect from an individual looking over a freshly cooked steak after days of starvation. It was unlikely Damion's words were even getting through.

Far in the distance behind Damion, something rattled and shook, fabric was tearing, something else was falling to the ground in a sound which if put in text could only be described as a "glop".

" If you're going to do it, then do it." Damions hands ran through the dirt slowly, pulling thick trails through the forest floor.

And then it did it. The Villager, without another word needing to be shared lunged forward, he brought his machete overhead, his teeth gritting against each other in a primal snarl. The blade sliced through the air with a sharp whistling sound and then...

BOOM!

The explosion shook the ground like a small earthquake, as if the elemental had set off his powers early. The sky tore with a thunderous clap, and the air seemed alive with tingly energy. The wake of the explosion, blasting outwards, around and above the tavern which was behind Damion came brilliant hues of fierce red, fiery orange and oddly enough twilight purples. The villager froze in place, then immediately backed up frantically looking left and right for a follow up attack. The loud boom settled into the sound of metal falling to the ground in chunks and pieces. Damion, deep in his gut, probably already knew he had just lost another bike. Death had come to claim it.

The others wouldnt notice, as the explosion died the villagers set their sight back on Damion. But if the earth elemental was aware, if his senses would come, he would see it. He would see the silhouette soaring high over the buildings in a tight arc. He would see its jet black wings, slicing through the night, he would see the hooded attire casting black over its form.

Death had come. An angel was swooping down through the forest at blinding speeds, its form was a blur of absolutely silent black rushing with deadly intent straight toward Damion's location. The villagers entirely oblivious to what came from their flank.

You die now.

The villager said, raising his machete high in the air. The Black Angel's wings snapped back, his form was an arrow, it was unstoppable and swift and then. Fwoom! With a flourish its black wings ignited in the same way one might expect to see tinder ignite, violet flame burned angel wings to dust, tearing through the ten foot wing span casting feathers in all directions. Death, soaring from the edge of the scene seemed to be swallowed up by the night.

The machete was falling. Death had come.

The blade was inches, mere inches from Damion's flesh when the Demon Possessed Delivery Boy would see it. A silver line, absent moments ago, was suddenly visible across the villagers midsection. It was slightly curved and to someone like Damion it was likely highly recognizable. It was a blade. A curved blade, one so sharp that even the moonlight that ran along its edge was immediately sliced into prismatic light. It was the sort of blade that only belonged on one sort of weapon.

The scythe was being wielded by a figure figure in a long hooded jacket directly behind the lead villager. It was almost kneeling, Its right leg lead, bent, its left trailed behind and was extended, the figure was holding the scythe with both hands, one high, and one low, and seemed to have arrived so fast and so silently that the other two villagers behind the lead had yet to recognize its presence. When they did. It was too late.

The Angel moved, in one fluid lighting fast motion, he pulled the scythe back toward him, slicing the lead villager right across the middle without even a hint of resistance. He pushed off his right leg moving into a stand and swung the still moving scythe upwards, swiping the second villagers head clean off its shoulders before ending the motion with a stab, thrusting the blade through the skull of the third villager. The scythe was now held in a 7, with its tip through the shocked villagers mouth and out the back of its neck. Without stopping, in a clean effortless swipe the blade was pulled down and out, unzipping its shocked victims body from neck to groin. With the same motion the scythe wielder spun on his ankle so that his back was toward Damion, his coat flared dramatically. After the last cut, the first villager's upperhalf fell lifelessly forward on top of the downed delivery boy. His midsection bubbled out red globs of something that should have been blood but was instead thick and filled with countless small fat squirming maggots.

The hooded figures face was hidden in a veil of black, its identity a mystery. It made an odd movement of its scythe, a sort of short swing, and all of a sudden warmth rushed to the fallen elementals legs, as if the ropes cutting off feeling had been cut. And then the mysterious figure, with violet ash still trailing in its wake, spoke, in a voice all too immediately familiar.

I believe together we can take them. You go left. I'll go right.

There were a dozen more villagers, and they were advancing. The rear end of the double curved scythe, which was a spike, was offered all in the same motion, backwards to Damion.

I'm going to need you on your feet for this Mr. Damion.  

[Eternal Dirge]

An Explosion.

Damion had heared only 2 kinds of explosions in his lifetime, one from power and the other from his beloved iron steeds, the bikes that ferried him back and fourth across this land. Most wouldn't catch it, but to his ears the screech of metal bending and ripping was louder than the explosion itself. His palms would slam to the earth, but only in an effort to prop him up better as he looked at the destructive flames reaching upwards into the night sky. He didn't miss the figure bursting forth from it, but the flames were one great attention grabber.

" GODS THRICE DAMNIT!!"

Despite immenent death standing above him, his focus was entirely on what his bike had been, now quite gone to the winds. The words of the villager snapped him back to reality, unspent power fizzling away as if it had never been as his eyes widened in suprise. His right arm swung lazily, or started to, until the bright crescent appeared, mimicing a phase of the moon against the mans chest.

"...but....it's a full moon...." He murmured, obviously confused, eyes trailing up where he could see the mounted blades shaft and hopefully on to the body beyond. And then it was moving, the scythe sweeping, producing a slicing noise that only a good weapon in the hands of a competent weilder could produce. Bones crunched on initial impact, flesh ripped and blood spurted skywards from torn bodies.

" Maximos you b*****d!" Was he angry? Yes, yes he was, it was hard not to be. His mind so skewed and thrown into such disarray anyone and anything could become it's target. His employer was only that target for amoment as the shuffling of zombified people became apparent and his left latched around the spike. A Harsh yank and shove and he was on his feet, standing next to the becloaked man and rolling his wrists.  

[Maximos]

Damion grasped the rear of the scythe and was, as he pulled, also pulled by the Reaper in question until he was in a stand. The hooded figure did not look at him, not yet, keeping his eyes attuned to his prey. He simply said.

Its Uriel when I'm on duty.

Then gestured forward with his large curved blade toward the advancing crowd. There was something different about Maximos. Something more than clothes and weapon choice. There was a certain definite nature about him. Not confidence or determination but assurance. He spoke and acted, as if the deed which motivated him was as unstoppable as the sunrise. There was a cold in his tone, and as his head turned to Damion, putting in view his face from the nose down the elemental would notice that perhaps for the first time since he had met Maximos, the man was not smiling. Not even a tiny bit.

If the body can still function, the creature will still function, its complete destruction or nothing. No mercy. No quarter.

Both hands snapped to the scythe, the wind hummed as it passed the blade.

Lets go.

He said and he rushed forward. Twelve villagers, six and six. Though the Reaper trailed back a bit, he imagined Damion wanted to vent some of that rage.  

[Eternal Dirge]

".....Isn't Uriel an angel of Fire or something? Are you an angel of fire?" Damion asked in a momentary flash of confusion, his anger put on the back burner for amoment before Maximos began his gesturing and such, and then his mind turned back to the matter at hand. His employer didn't even have to finish talking before Damion was off, meeting the first villager in a sudden shower of blood as both clawed hands shot out, crossing at the throat and tearing huge chunks of flesh free, maggots pouring out as the mans spine snapped, unable to hold the weight of his head.

The expression on the Beasts face was hard to read, stuck in it's rigor mortis grin, but one could attribute it towards gleeful as the next foe came in, followed closely by the last 4. His eyes focused on the last 4, Damion stepped in and under the grasping arms, left hand punching forth to sink his hand into the soft flesh of the diseased villagers stomach, talon-like claws rupturing flesh and bursting from the back, somewhat stuck thanks to the spine.

" Make a wish." Damion's right hand reached out, slashing across the next villagers chest as he tugged, muscles bulging as the spine gave way with a crack and the first victim fell to the ground bonelessly, maggots and organs moving to fill the holes and spurting forth. In his left hand he gripped a section of spine, although not for long as he stabbed the bone fragments into his latest targets eye and beyond, knocking the number of enemies down to 3.

As close as they were, the next 3 villagers piled in, hoping to drive the beast to the ground, grabbing his arms and torso. It was thus abit of a suprise then as he let them come in, pulling his legs up and throwing all three up and over, coming down with his toe claws punching through a villagers stomach, ripping and tearing as he tried moving forward. The two on his arms were dragged along as he surged up and back to where he had been standing, a small pile of bodies now marking his path.

Gibbering in their foreign tongue, the two began to gnaw on his arms, although they couldn't peirce the flesh of his changed body. Quick jerks of his wrists put his hands on the outside of his assailants heads, and even stronger pulls of his arms threw them headfirst into one another, resounding cracks issuing forth as their heads met again and again, until the bone was nothing more than fragments.  

[Maximos]

Azrael was taken.

He said, shortly and immediately. There was no frustration on his voice. No anger, not even embarrassment, just nothing, only words. Maximos was as cold as being who held the title he had just mentioned. If it were possible, the breath emitted as he spoke would have formed puffs in the air as he spoke.

Now Damion was rushing off, and it was time to move.

Immediately the difference between both combatants was clear. It was not that one was a tier above or below the other, instead it was that they were opposite, in almost every regard. One carried a weapon, one was a weapon. One had armor, one had black cloth. One was charging and the other was marching.

Maximos held his scythe with its blade arched upwards, despite being angled right and toward the ground. His right hand was low, a foot or two from the blade proper, while his left hand was higher, closer to the spear tip. Confusing his calm demeanor for weakness, the villagers rushed him. One leading the pack of six and wielding a bloodied shovel like hammer.

He rushed Maximos, lifting his shovel over head and snarling, spewing saliva and curses from his mouth. Maximos marched forward. He swung. There was a sound, wind whistling sharply. Then a metal clang and a wet squelch, as the villagers top half from shoulder to hip and the blade of his shovel fell one way, and his lower half and what remained of a shovel handle fell the other. The scythe did not as much as hesitate in its motion, Maximos did not lose a step in his march. Squirming blood marked a streak of ground in front of him, but his blade proper simply sheened untouched.

The death of their leader was an ice breaker, a sign for the other villagers to rush. Two led the charge, one a gaunt individual wielding two butchers knives, the other a large man with nothing but his massive bare hands and a set of brass knuckles. Maximos sprinted, kicking up a tuft of dry soil. He turned the scythe so that its curved staff was even with his hips, flat horizontal across his form and rushed the smaller target. Metallic clangs resounded. Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang! Left, right, left, right, a series of quick blows using the blunt staff ends of the scythe, the villager keenly and quickly parried each smack with a razor sharp knife.

His arms tore forward in a scissor motion, Maximos quickly turned his scythe and flipped it vertically end over end until the pointed spear end smacked into the villagers gut. The gaunt man buckled forward under the weight of impact, and Maximos immediately flipped the scythe the opposite direction smashing the blunt back of the curved blade into the mans skull. The villager fell forward landing on his knees, Max brought the scythe up, over his head, its curved blade pointing backwards over his shoulder, his mismatched eyes glancing the large bounding mass of muscle behind his current target. The villager roared, whipping its arms forward at Maximos' exposed legs...Only to find his arms limp, as the Reaper drove the spear end of the scythe through the back of its neck, out its chest, and through its groin again, pinning it lifeless to the ground. His scythe embedded in the ground like a flag.

There was already a fist nearly the size of his entire chest crashing toward him. With both hands on the scythe handle, Maximos kicked off the ground missing the fist by inches, and then spun on his weapon like an exotic dancer might spin on a pole. His boot lashing out to kick the villager square in the jaw knocking it back a step as his feet landed at exactly the point they had kicked off. The spin had turned the scythe blade forward, Maximos landed in a crouch, his weapon arched backwards. When the massive man rushed again, Maximos simply let the scythe go. The only sound that was heard was a rapid, Thud-d-d-d-d-d-d. The sound of the blade snapping forward as if elastic and stabbing back and forth like a flag pole in the wind, as it righted itself. Each stab cutting, digging, and shredding. By the time it was still the large villager was a fleshy outline with its center and torso gouged out and scrambled, lying in a moving mess on the floor.

The last three were hot on the heels of the previous two. With a kick and a wrech Max freed his weapon and as all three converged, he swung it wide. The scythe staff slipped through his hand with its motion until he gripped it firmly just above its pointed end, letting it slice an extremely wide arc through the air.

These villagers were smarter, quicker, as if they learned from the ones previous. Two ducked, one did not. Max expected a clean cut, but the awkward villager had instead managed to take the scythe blade through the face, running a zipper from between its eyes down, until it dug about an inch into his bottom jaw. At which point the scythe had exited its skull, the conjoining point between blade and staff smacked bluntly into its face. Max's head snapped in its direction as he noted the sudden snag. The villager, though impaled was still clawing him. He grabbed the weapons staff with both hands, the infected creature immediately grabbed the staff just above Maximos' hands.

The Reaper tugged! Tugged again, but to no avail. The unmistakable sound of hungry breath came from behind him. With a grunt, shoving off with both feet Maximos jerked backwards, the villager refused to let go, yet still there was a wet pop as flesh gave, and the spear end of the scythe embedded itself in the gut of the zombie behind him. Maximos' scythe was now in a tug of war between two creatures, with Max stuck in the middle. A plume of white rushed from his eye in a torrent, sparks raced down his arms pooling in both palms. The third villager has a grin on its face as it pulled back a pitchfork and readied to gore him.

The Reaper's met the pitchfork and its wielder with a blank gaze and flipped his hands so that one pointed up, and the other down and then smacked the scythe staff. As might happen with a properly charged punch a small explosion followed both smacks sending the scythe into a rapid vertical spin. The blade unzipped one villager, before flipping end over end, its spear gutting a long gash in the second, and immediately followed by its blade, slicing through the chin and bisecting the skull.

The pitchfork caught the scythe at its middle, in between two prongs. Maximos' hands were already back on his weapon, forcing it to continue its spin, twisting the weapon from is wielder as he advanced, the scythe whirling end over end, blade over spear, the air cried out in sharp whines as it was sliced. But those sharp wines soon became wet smacks as as blade met flesh, and the final foe was reduced to long meaty strips spread out on the ground.

Max snapped the blade to its ready stance and turned to face Damion. The glow in his right eye seemed to cut through the shadow covering his face like a knife through a curtain. It was visible, and yet cast no light on other features. The white glow was condensed and yet sharp, like a cigarette butt. It looked at Damion. And through Damion. Its icy gaze equivalent only to Maximos' tone as he said.

We need to talk.