Evil's Return Finale: Cum potentia sun Daemon fundet moretm in terram; Deinde moritur
 

The Citadel was chaos before the attack even took place.

Men and equipment were being run from place to place as fast they could be carted, carried, or prodded. The path to the Gates of Hell wasn’t too complex, but it was very defendable…almost two dozen choke-points existed on the path. Each chokepoint was being prepared with heavy weapons, heavily armed soldiers, and trained mages. Outside of the direct path, safe zones were being set up in case the Fallen decided to inflict more collateral damage to the Council’s headquarters while he was there, and also as make-shift field hospitals for those who would undoubtedly be wounded in the coming battle.

Outside the Gates of Hell itself, a small group of mages put the finishing touches on the Seal of Three Crests, one which so much was riding. They then double and triple checked it, to make sure that the sigil was perfect.

In his detention cell, Duncan McCragge went over the incantation for the seal again and again in his head. While the book with the spell was among the possessions that Martin would drop-off, Duncan had committed the incantation to memory.

Elsewhere, Martin checked his weapons once more, including the ’73 Winchester that he had chosen from the stash of hellfire weapons. The weapon in workable shape, even after being stored for more than a century.

He looked up as a siren began to wail. He was already finished packing his gear as Tessa Scott entered the room. “He’s here,” she said.

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The first small stand happened at the outer fence of the Citadel. It never meant for more than to keep curious humans out, but the guards stationed out there fought hard anyways. In the end, however, the retreated, more than half their number left behind.

From there, it seemed a straight shot to the doors of the Citadel, and the fast skeletal riders moved quickly. However, the seemly undefended courtyard did have a few surprises. Anti-vehicle and personnel mines tore the undead speedsters apart. By the time they had cleared a path, the vast majority of the riders in the Fallen’s retinue had been destroyed.

However, he had far more than the riders at his command.

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Duncan and Tessa steered the cart, loaded with the Protector’s gear, through the final, panicked preparations for the assault. Here, a group of a church’s holy warriors knelt in pray one last time. There, a S.E.C.A. Strike Team went through their “pre-game” ritual, listening to Van Halen’s Humans Being to hype themselves up as they moved into their positions. Defensive wards covered the hallways, promising that the undead would pay for each step they took towards the Gates of Hell.

It was odd, Martin thought to himself, that everything depending on these people losing this fight.

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The lesser undead beat futilely on the steel doors of the Citadel. The more power types of undead simply waited, their desire to kill kept in check by the fact they were granted greater will by their creator. The tide of the dead parted, and the Fallen himself. Gone was the striking, beautiful figure of the battle on the highway, clothed in white. Eyes that once only hinted at madness now overflowed with it. The once white tunic was stained with blood…both human and demonic. The once great, pure white feathered wings were now frayed, and were streaked with black. Despite the change, the Fallen still radiated malice and pure, unrelenting power.

He raised his sword, and the golden blade caught fire. “Open.” it commanded, bringing the sword down. The fire leapt off the blade and slammed into the doors.

For all his power, it took the Fallen two more strikes to blast the thick, metallic doors from their place. Even as they parted, the was filled with bullets, RPGs, and bolts of destructive magic. Unshakable, the tide of undead waded in.

The Battle of the Citadel was begun in earnest.

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The Protectors in the cells heard the locks on their doors disengage. As they exited, the wail of the siren was louder, and the armored form of Martin and Tessa waited for them. “Special delivery,” Martin said, directing the Protectors to the cart that held their weapons. Once distributed, Martin took the cart and started to make his way to the Watch Tower. Tessa remained behind to help with the lure.

“The undead have already broken through two chokepoints,” she said. “They should be here within minutes. Remember, we have to lure the Fallen to the Gate room, so we’ll have to make a stand until he’s close enough to take notice of us.”

The sound of footsteps down the hallway. Not the steady footsteps of people, but the uncoordinated footsteps of something that was not fully in control of its own body. A group of what was clearly walking corpses entered the detention center, and made their way towards the Protectors.

“Here we go,” Tessa said, as she racked her shotgun slide. She then took aim and fired into the coming horde.

((OOC: This first wave is made out of zombies and ghouls. Zombies are your typical zombie…slow moving, only killable if you destroy the head. Ghouls are faster than zombies, they can move almost as quickly as a normal human, but are far less resistant to damage than zombies.

This is pretty much a freebie round, as these should prove no real problem to take down.))

Harm pressed his lips to his amulet, a symbol of his faith and cause,"Anche se cammino attraverso la valle dell'ombra della morte, non temerò la malvagità, dato che siete con me; il vostro asta ed il vostro personale, lo confortano. Preparate una tabella prima di me in presenza dei miei nemici. Anoint la mia testa con olio; i miei trabocchi della tazza. Certamente la qualità e l'amore lo seguiranno tutti i giorni della mia vita ed abiterò per sempre nella casa del SIGNORE."

"Here we go"

Rising from his knees Harm summoned the Guard, snugged on the Gauntlets, drew the Sword of Solomon and said a silent prayer, "Il dio mi assegna la resistenza."

Task was upon them like a thief in the night, hacking and slashing at everything that wasn't human or living. He'd woken up after some time, thanks to Makowho-re's timely intervention, and had just been awake in time to be handed his weapons.

From his point of view, he'd just woken up, been handed weapons, and pointed at things for him to kill. He would probably wonder what the hell was going on in a bit, but for now there were things to kill and a battle to be one. Part of him had this strange feeling he should be wearing nothing but a pair of persian pants, but at least it wasn't Makowho-Re's doing.

Mako, the demoness who watched the unfolding battle through Task's eyes watched in suspense. He could die here, and she'd be trapped in hell for ever. Worse yet, the Angel could sense her and the behemoths presence, and be on to the plan. And from what she had overheard, she'd have to time the Angel's defeat and the severing of the Behemoth to Task before the gate was closed.

Why couldn't Viscern be here to help her, just like old times?

Farsight knew what was going on outside…she didn’t have to be able to see to know that. The sounds of explosions and unmistakable, even through the thick walls of the Citadel.

Of course, she knew what was coming for quite some time, but she didn’t know it would end. Even now, with the end so close, two paths for the future to take remained opened. One in victory, one in defeat. Both were equally present in her visions.

The sound of the fighting drew closer. Farsight sat up in her bed…after all, it was the middle of the night, and no one had asked the over-the-hill former hunter to help in the defense of the Citadel. Not that there was much she could of done.

For better or worst she thought to herself, I’ve already done everything I can for this battle.

The sounds of battle faded, leaving only the sound of a good number of “people” passing her door. As it was, she wasn’t surprised when one of those sets of footsteps stopped right in front of her door, and opened it.

She knew it was the Fallen. Who with the power to see the future could resist seeing the time and way of their death? But she would have been able to tell it was the creature from the way the air changed. The familiar scents of her room were replaced with the scents of blood and dirt. ”Farsight,” the Fallen rasped, ”You’ve proven most troub-“

Farsight didn’t wait for the Fallen to finish. She pulled the pistol from under her bed, aimed the best she could at the source of the voice, and fired.

She knew from her early visions that she would get in a few good hits before she died.

And she did.


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The tide of ghouls and zombies was furious, but somewhat brief. Their numbers depleted after serving as fodder for at least two of the heavily defended chokepoints, they were relatively few in number when the hit the detention cells.

After a few minutes of fighting, the tide became a trickle. Duncan took the chance to catch his breath…he needed to maintain his strength if he was to be able to keep the Seal from breaking.

“Alright…it has to know we’re here. We should start moving towards the Watch Tower.” Tessa said.

Sounds of gunfire and chanting told that a group of defenders had temporarily reestablished a defensive line in the lull between waves. Tessa, however, lead the group deeper into the bowels of the fortress. The passing of the first wave of undead was clear to see, but the bodies of the rotting corpses far outnumbered the fresh ones of the recently living defenders. The wounded were being treated or carried out to safe zones in the brief respite.

They passed one of the chokepoints. Tessa kept moving, but Duncan called out from the back. “Tessa! We can’t get too far ahead of the Fallen!” he said, “we should make a stand here until we’re sure that its behind us.”

Tessa paused, looked back door the corridor, and slowly nodded. “Alright,” she said. “Find yourselves some cover. We don’t know what is coming next.”

As she spoke, a group of defenders came running down the hall. They were fewer in number than they had been just a few minutes ago, and a number had to be supported as they ran. One of the survivors slid in behind one of the three machinegun nests that defended this chokepoint. “Death Books!” he panted, “they got the freakin’ Death Book with ‘em!”

“What?!” Duncan said, looking down the corridor. Nine figures moved swiftly down the hall, and as they got closer, it was clear that they were wearing the unmistakable armor of the Death Books. But unlike the shining dealers of Death the Protectors had fought months ago, the armor was now covered in dried blood and dirt, and the once flawless armor had obvious holes and rends…undoubtedly from when they died at the sword of the Fallen.

“Aim for the holes in the armor!” the commander of this particular chokepoint yelled.

“Watch out for the books!” Tessa added. “They can throw them a lot farther than you would think!”

As if to prove her point, three books came streaking out from down the hall. One S.E.C.A., too slow to duck, was thrown backwards as one of them smashed his head to pulp. Another, a little to keen to return fire, was caught by the looping chain, and was lifted off his feet as the chain squeezed the life out of him.

“Open fire!”

((OOC: Death Book revenants…despite being undead, they aren’t as strong as they were in life, and the rends in their armor make them a little easier to deal with. They’re mostly like ghouls, a healthy dose of damage to their body will be enough to put them down for good…if you can take advantage of the holes in the armor.))

Seeing the twisted captured souls of those who had sworn to the same cause as him hit Harm like a blow. "Brothers I will free you! Come and be released!"

Growling curses at the Fallen, Harm launched himself after into the midst of the Dead Books. As he charged his armor grew heavier, and when he finally made contact with the Books his momentum sent several flying into walls, blood oozing out of the rents in thier armor.


Knocking aside books with powerful blows Harm continued his mad attack on the Books.

Task didn't care how much armor they had, nor did he even give a damn who the heck they were (being in away during that little stint) and charged. A book came at him. "RAAAAAAAAAAGH!" Task roared, cutting the book in two.

Makowho-Re knew something was wrong. "Oh shit! Task, you've got to calm do-"

Task leapt at the nearest deathbook and proceeded to open up a can of demon-fueled whoopass.

Duane hadn't had much to do during the first wave; he had only emptied out a few clips into the oncoming horde. Now, he finally had something to do.

Duane was loaded with almost every type of explosive known to man, if it hadn't been for extensive shock padding, he would have exploded at a step. He chose two large metal spheres. Each of them had short fuse, and was filled with his own, home-made mercury-fulminate, they were quite heavy.

Lighting the fuses, he threw both of them at the Death Books, keeping away from the ones his friends engaged. He grinned widely as they exploded, releasing four pounds of flaming shrapnel into the air. Duane loved filling bombs with metal beads.

Tides of War OR Tread the Floods
 

A form made it's way forward toward the undead tide. It's outline was hazy, one could barely make out a hooded figure clutching a large knife, a backpack slung over it's shoulder. It traced a strange shape into its hand, deep enough to allow blood to flow. It inserted the knife into it's jacket, clasped it's hands together, then separated them.

Rick's blade was the only clear thing about him, it reflected the gunfire and light. He held it in both hands, and took a breath. The whirlwind of the last day effected him little, his mind dwelt more on what had occurred before this day, and what would occur very soon.

I'm ready. I prepared for this day. He clenched his fist. We will succeed!

He leaped into the fray, his sword making wide flashing arcs through the flesh of the ghouls. The blade rose and fell, separating flesh and bone easily, dispatching them quickly. The ghouls clawed at him, or at least, where he appeared to be. They found only air, or flesh of their comrades. Rick's body was safe, a step or two to the side of the image. He dodged a Zombie meandering into the area he actually occupied, removing it's head quickly and allowing it's newly de-animated corpse to fall next to him.

His allies made this task much easier then he had originally imagined. The creatures fell quickly.

Then the 'Books' arrived. Rick cut his way through the flood, trying to close with the Fallen Death Books. He threw a duct-tape-wrapped throwing knife at an opening of one of the being's armor. He spoke the single syllable releasing incantation, and a bright light engulfed it. The smell of burnt flesh invaded Rick's nostrils, an offensive odor in any other situation.

After dispatching one of the fallen, Rick returned his concentration to the mob of undead, their snarls and moans annoyed him, he wanted to cut them all.

"I like those explosions. Perhaps I can help, I should break out some of these new sigils..."

Alicia was slower than the others, being forced to hang back and aim and re-aim as she sought weak points in the oncoming hordes.

Though she managed to squeeze a few shots in, too many people in close combat meant she couldn't put a well-placed explosive bolt in their midst without wrecking her own side's forces as well.

But finally, she'd sighted weak points, and now nothing was going to stop her from squeezing a shot in.

"DUCK AND COVER PEOPLE!" she screamed over the battle, her voice piercing the din as she fired. Two bolts of fire spiralled out of her alpha crossbow, trailing burning flame in their wake as they buried themselves in one of the Death Book's body. Without pause, Alicia raised her other hand and squeezed the sigils on her second crossbow. Five shadowy bolts released and flew true, burying themselves into the holes of the Death Book's armour, hampering his movement.

Even as that happened, Alicia was reloading her other crossbow, and it came up again. The shattering sigil glowed briefly as Alicia triggered it.

The twin compact bolts struck solidly, releasing their pent-up energy in dual shockwaves. Said shockwaves rattled through the Death Book's damaged armour, shattering the relatively loosened weak-points and...

Alicia ducked out of the way as more chains whizzed past, swearing as she reloaded.

Trish grabbed a handful of darts and went to town on the Death Book zombies. The Books could only be stopped by hitting small weak spots in between armor plates, which could be done through quick, agile footwork and good aim. And by golly, that's what Trish was good at.

She rolled to one side as a metal book whizzed past her head, hurling a dart into the offending weilder's underarm as she continued to roll behind him. The Death Book swiveled on his heel to follow her, not wanting to be caught with his back turned, but suddenly the ninja was nowhere to be seen.

The Death Book lurched forwards as a weight manifested itself on his back. Trish grabbed his shoulder to steady herself after her jump and swiftly jammed another dart between the edge of his helmet and the collar of his chestplate.

Well, thought Trish triumphantly. There's one down. I swear, sometimes I am so frikkin' awes--"Nghfff!!" The girl was thrown backwards and onto the ground as the Death Book's armored elbow jammed into her midsection. Okay, so it wasn't dead yet. Or... un-undead. Or whatever.

The Death Book spun again and raised his hand, weilding the metal book to strike, when he recieved a face full of plushie armadillo.

"Hey Trish!" yelled Troy. The armadillo exploded, knocking the Death Book aside. Trish turned.

"Guess what plushie kills zombies?" He grinned as an army of plushie cows popped into existance. "Yeah, the ones that exploit their weakness: Lactose intolerance!!"

"You know that doesn't really work, right?" Trish asked doubtfully.

Troy thought about this for a minute. Meanwhile the cow plushies went off to beat the living daylights out of some nearby zombies and harrass a Death Book.

"Y'know what? Nevermind." Trish said with a shrug. "Whatever seems effective will work for all intents and purposes."