The Apocalypse
Sep. 7th, 2009 07:12 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
annwfyn.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
zg_shadowsA small slim figure in black sat on the ground, cross legged. It turned out, somewhat to her surprise, that Pints was taking his time about this. Apparently, it took longer than anticipated to travel from the surface of Antehelios to the core, even whilst insubstantial.
"Come on, Pints," she muttered, and glanced at her watch with some concern. Two hours. Two hours, sat in the horrible glowing red light, waiting. The rusty glare from the star was all the natural light you had now, since the red star had moved in front of the sun, creating a forty day total eclipse.
She looked at her watch one more time.
Nothing.
Then she twitched. A small tattoo (which looked rather like a badly drawn wolf) briefly writhed beneath her skin, before bursting into ash and flame. Scrambling to her feet, the woman managed to turn round just in time to see an insoucient figure in combats appear behind her.
He grinned, slightly manically.
"Let's go," he said.
And then the red star in the sky exploded into a thousand pieces.
******************************
Whoever was meant to be in charge, it was rapidly becoming apparent that no one was going to gainsay Thaddeus today. It was strange to see actually. On the battlefield he was not a bumbling loon, or a megalamaniacal psychopath. Instead he seemed to gleam, almost literally. He was as bright as sunlight, striding at the head of the troops who some say would have been deserters, defectors, without his imposing presence, which pulled them onwards.
He barked orders and even the normally prickly Garou about him jumped to obey him.
This, of course, didn't really help them when the first of the Wyrm's forces crested the hill, and they realized how very badly outnumbered they were.
******************************
The Fae were the first to take significant casualties, a comet smashing from the sky in a blaze of green flame, crashing through their ranks. They had been beautiful, graceful, stood together in tightly ordered ranks.
Now nearly eighty lay smashed and bleeding on the battlefield.
Yet the survivors held strong, and when they moved, they still moved as one. No one stopped to cry.
******************************
Across the field, the creature that had once been the vampire Jack was marshalling his forces. He looked out across the field.
He saw the maeljin incarna, moving forward, hungrily. To one side he saw the vampire, Valerius Major (and who knew the Camarilla could be that right about someone? Valerius deserved his inclusion on the Red List, and more) marshalling his forces. To another side, the strangely irritating Ferektoi he had acquired from somewhere seemed to have paused to check out his hair in a mirror. He understood that narcissism was a sin, but was it really of the Wyrm? Surely it should be balanced with some kind of urge to destroy?
The Ferektoi caught Jack's glance and smiled beatifically back at him, tossing his hair in the wind before moving on.
******************************
Across the battlefield, Pints was getting impatient. He'd been kept at the back all day, his terrifying speed and strength used only to decapitate one mortal cultist who had managed to sneak through the defensive lines. He'd died in a single blow, offering Pints no release at all. He was tight with anticipation, snarling with suppressed rage.
But no one around him would let him out.
******************************
No one had expected the Technocracy to show up. It was a bit of a surprise when the first of the light aircraft broke through the cloud cover, tearing into the snarling Maeljin with rapid strafing runs. Fomori, Dancers, and Banes alike were sent flying beneath them, and in the first few terrifying moments of the battle, it looked as if the Gaians might actually win.
But their initial successes were quickly countered. The Lords of the Nephandi were there, and their black magics struck the Gaian forces with a thousand times the impact of napalm, and the Maeljin had taken physical form and walked the battlefield like gods.
The Heart of Fear, Hakaken, got in amongst the Children of Gaia, ripping and tearing with both his dripping jaws. Unity, the Sept Alpha of Brighton, was the first to die, thrown aside like a ragdoll. Grey Fur, Earthborn, the son of Turtle held him up briefly, before being knocked aside. The Elder Lupus was strong, but maybe that strength was his curse that day. He only lived that he might see his tribe obliterated before the terrible fury of the Maeljin.
Across the field a man with a staff in his hand saw his tribe fall, and for the first time that battle, Michael Stands Ready felt both the stink of fear, and a great and terrible rage. He didn't hesitate as he turned and began to run for the monster.
******************************
Fergal, the Axeman of Ulster, and Bryn Dragon's Bane glanced at each other grimly. The fighting was not going well. The fae had taken the brunt of the casualties so far, but both could sense their time was coming.
"You know," Bryn said conversationally, in a brief lull in the fighting, "at least I'm not going to be married off in one of Sulien's plans this way."
Fergal laughed, with black humour, and took a grip on the handle of his axe. "And it looks like I'm spared another damn argument with my wife."
They smiled briefly at each other for a fraction of a second before the black fire descended and all laughter was wiped out in pain.
******************************
There was one who was great amongst the Wyrm. He was known as Number One, for he was the first Lord of Malpheas. Once he had been Garou. Who knew what he was now? He was dark and he was terrible.
Yet he was not terrible enough. Tolly, the son of Helios, moved that day with all the force of his chosen patron. He was as bright as Thaddeus, his fury as hot as the very heart of the sun.
There was no one on the battlefield who even saw the fight between Tolly and the Lord of Malpheas. There was no one watching who's eyes could track their movement. Both moved in a blur, and for the first time Tolly had no doubt, no hesitation. He had never been a fighter before, but this day something seemed to take hold of him - a horrible fury and a fierce sense of his own righteousness that he channeled into his claws.
And in his hands blazed all the righteous fury of his father, the Sun. And there was no darkness, even in hell itself, which could hold firm against that.
******************************
The armies of Gaia were losing. Michael Stands Ready could see that. He had seen Bryn Dragon's Bane fall, seen Fergal wounded and staggering. The Fianna, the Children of Gaia, the Fae, more than half the Silver Fangs, more than half the Black Furies, all gone. Griffin's Glory had been the first Elder to die, and not even her corpse now remained. It had been desecrated, devoured by the first of the fomori to cover the ground where she had made her last stand.
The Garou were losing.
Now all he could do was pick his last fight.
Up ahead, he could see the two headed and gigantic form of Hakaken, and he knew where he was going. He would die where the rest of his tribe had died. He let himself think, one last time, of the delicate girl with the paper butterflies in her hair who he had held for the last time that morning and then he pushed that thought from his mind.
There was no time for that here.
Hakaken snarled as the Legend of the Children of Gaia tore into him, and his four arms began to rip at Michael's flesh.
Yet although Hakaken had killed many many Garou that day, it seemed he had lost something of himself in the moment he had set foot on the mortal plane. As Michael tore into the Maeljin he felt the burning sensation of acidic blood washing over him, and when his jaws closed upon one mighty arm, he felt real fur beneath his teeth. This gave him hope, and he pushed on, fiercer than before.
Hakaken savaged Michael's neck and shoulder, but missed the jugular, and when his second head tried to bite it could only connect on the wood of Michael's staff. Incredibly, the Child of Gaia seemed to be moved faster too, blurring into motion. Maybe he could only keep this up for a few seconds before he fell, but he was out of time and wasn't pacing himself any longer.
The Maeljin was trying to hold back some of his strength for the next fight. This was his mistake. He wasn't moving fast enough, his strength mighty, but infinite. And even as Michael felt his left arm go numb, he felt the monster stumble beneath him.
There was another there too, a thin and ghostly grey figure, striking at Hakaken from behind Michael and this gave him hope. His strength was fading, but he dug his teeth in, determined to sell his life dearly. And, to his amazement, he felt Hakaken stagger. From across the field there was a weird groaning noise as the greatest of the Wyrm's Maeljin, the monster that had dominated the battle fell. And, in that instant, the Wyrm itself was suddenly slightly lesser.
******************************
Marcus Rolling Thunder was prepared to die. He really was. But he'd decided to pick his battle. Right now he was advancing on the Nameless Angel of Despair, only freshly reborn, weakest of the Wyrm's Maeljin. It howled at him, and it seemed as if his own soul was biting at his flesh in despair, but that wasn't enough. The Nameless Angel was, it seemed, only slightly greater than an Elder, and Marcus Rolling Thunder was determined.
Six seconds was all the time it took for him to kill it, and advance across the battlefield with the Angel's tangled grey hair cluthed in his hand as a trophy.
No, he wasn't going to die for the Angel. He had his prey in mind. He was going for Jack.
******************************
Only one had known for certain how it would be. Only one, daughter of Luna, had been told the truth. The Wyrm had placed too much of his power in Jack. As long as Jack lived, so would the Wyrm. With Jack dead, the Wyrm would become weakened, weakender by far more than it could afford.
So had sung mad Luna, to the first of her daughters. Yet she was not here. Still, enough had guessed that Thaddeus and Tolly, both still bright and bloody, were making their charge towards him.
It was, however, too late. The Wyrm was on top of the Gaian forces now, in amongst them, devouring as it went. The Weaver was dead, and now he was making his final move. Gaia, the faithless bitch mother of them all, she would be his. And then his reign would be eternal.
The Wyrm moved, smooth and inexorable.
At the rear of the Gaian forces Pints had been frustrated for too long. He saw the Wyrm coming towards him.
He swore, and then slow realisation spread across his face. This was his fight. And no one was going to tell him to sit back and wait anymore. He drew his sword with an expression of near glee, and pointed towards the Wyrm.
"Get it," he howled, and began to run...
"Come on, Pints," she muttered, and glanced at her watch with some concern. Two hours. Two hours, sat in the horrible glowing red light, waiting. The rusty glare from the star was all the natural light you had now, since the red star had moved in front of the sun, creating a forty day total eclipse.
She looked at her watch one more time.
Nothing.
Then she twitched. A small tattoo (which looked rather like a badly drawn wolf) briefly writhed beneath her skin, before bursting into ash and flame. Scrambling to her feet, the woman managed to turn round just in time to see an insoucient figure in combats appear behind her.
He grinned, slightly manically.
"Let's go," he said.
And then the red star in the sky exploded into a thousand pieces.
Whoever was meant to be in charge, it was rapidly becoming apparent that no one was going to gainsay Thaddeus today. It was strange to see actually. On the battlefield he was not a bumbling loon, or a megalamaniacal psychopath. Instead he seemed to gleam, almost literally. He was as bright as sunlight, striding at the head of the troops who some say would have been deserters, defectors, without his imposing presence, which pulled them onwards.
He barked orders and even the normally prickly Garou about him jumped to obey him.
This, of course, didn't really help them when the first of the Wyrm's forces crested the hill, and they realized how very badly outnumbered they were.
The Fae were the first to take significant casualties, a comet smashing from the sky in a blaze of green flame, crashing through their ranks. They had been beautiful, graceful, stood together in tightly ordered ranks.
Now nearly eighty lay smashed and bleeding on the battlefield.
Yet the survivors held strong, and when they moved, they still moved as one. No one stopped to cry.
Across the field, the creature that had once been the vampire Jack was marshalling his forces. He looked out across the field.
He saw the maeljin incarna, moving forward, hungrily. To one side he saw the vampire, Valerius Major (and who knew the Camarilla could be that right about someone? Valerius deserved his inclusion on the Red List, and more) marshalling his forces. To another side, the strangely irritating Ferektoi he had acquired from somewhere seemed to have paused to check out his hair in a mirror. He understood that narcissism was a sin, but was it really of the Wyrm? Surely it should be balanced with some kind of urge to destroy?
The Ferektoi caught Jack's glance and smiled beatifically back at him, tossing his hair in the wind before moving on.
Across the battlefield, Pints was getting impatient. He'd been kept at the back all day, his terrifying speed and strength used only to decapitate one mortal cultist who had managed to sneak through the defensive lines. He'd died in a single blow, offering Pints no release at all. He was tight with anticipation, snarling with suppressed rage.
But no one around him would let him out.
No one had expected the Technocracy to show up. It was a bit of a surprise when the first of the light aircraft broke through the cloud cover, tearing into the snarling Maeljin with rapid strafing runs. Fomori, Dancers, and Banes alike were sent flying beneath them, and in the first few terrifying moments of the battle, it looked as if the Gaians might actually win.
But their initial successes were quickly countered. The Lords of the Nephandi were there, and their black magics struck the Gaian forces with a thousand times the impact of napalm, and the Maeljin had taken physical form and walked the battlefield like gods.
The Heart of Fear, Hakaken, got in amongst the Children of Gaia, ripping and tearing with both his dripping jaws. Unity, the Sept Alpha of Brighton, was the first to die, thrown aside like a ragdoll. Grey Fur, Earthborn, the son of Turtle held him up briefly, before being knocked aside. The Elder Lupus was strong, but maybe that strength was his curse that day. He only lived that he might see his tribe obliterated before the terrible fury of the Maeljin.
Across the field a man with a staff in his hand saw his tribe fall, and for the first time that battle, Michael Stands Ready felt both the stink of fear, and a great and terrible rage. He didn't hesitate as he turned and began to run for the monster.
Fergal, the Axeman of Ulster, and Bryn Dragon's Bane glanced at each other grimly. The fighting was not going well. The fae had taken the brunt of the casualties so far, but both could sense their time was coming.
"You know," Bryn said conversationally, in a brief lull in the fighting, "at least I'm not going to be married off in one of Sulien's plans this way."
Fergal laughed, with black humour, and took a grip on the handle of his axe. "And it looks like I'm spared another damn argument with my wife."
They smiled briefly at each other for a fraction of a second before the black fire descended and all laughter was wiped out in pain.
There was one who was great amongst the Wyrm. He was known as Number One, for he was the first Lord of Malpheas. Once he had been Garou. Who knew what he was now? He was dark and he was terrible.
Yet he was not terrible enough. Tolly, the son of Helios, moved that day with all the force of his chosen patron. He was as bright as Thaddeus, his fury as hot as the very heart of the sun.
There was no one on the battlefield who even saw the fight between Tolly and the Lord of Malpheas. There was no one watching who's eyes could track their movement. Both moved in a blur, and for the first time Tolly had no doubt, no hesitation. He had never been a fighter before, but this day something seemed to take hold of him - a horrible fury and a fierce sense of his own righteousness that he channeled into his claws.
And in his hands blazed all the righteous fury of his father, the Sun. And there was no darkness, even in hell itself, which could hold firm against that.
The armies of Gaia were losing. Michael Stands Ready could see that. He had seen Bryn Dragon's Bane fall, seen Fergal wounded and staggering. The Fianna, the Children of Gaia, the Fae, more than half the Silver Fangs, more than half the Black Furies, all gone. Griffin's Glory had been the first Elder to die, and not even her corpse now remained. It had been desecrated, devoured by the first of the fomori to cover the ground where she had made her last stand.
The Garou were losing.
Now all he could do was pick his last fight.
Up ahead, he could see the two headed and gigantic form of Hakaken, and he knew where he was going. He would die where the rest of his tribe had died. He let himself think, one last time, of the delicate girl with the paper butterflies in her hair who he had held for the last time that morning and then he pushed that thought from his mind.
There was no time for that here.
Hakaken snarled as the Legend of the Children of Gaia tore into him, and his four arms began to rip at Michael's flesh.
Yet although Hakaken had killed many many Garou that day, it seemed he had lost something of himself in the moment he had set foot on the mortal plane. As Michael tore into the Maeljin he felt the burning sensation of acidic blood washing over him, and when his jaws closed upon one mighty arm, he felt real fur beneath his teeth. This gave him hope, and he pushed on, fiercer than before.
Hakaken savaged Michael's neck and shoulder, but missed the jugular, and when his second head tried to bite it could only connect on the wood of Michael's staff. Incredibly, the Child of Gaia seemed to be moved faster too, blurring into motion. Maybe he could only keep this up for a few seconds before he fell, but he was out of time and wasn't pacing himself any longer.
The Maeljin was trying to hold back some of his strength for the next fight. This was his mistake. He wasn't moving fast enough, his strength mighty, but infinite. And even as Michael felt his left arm go numb, he felt the monster stumble beneath him.
There was another there too, a thin and ghostly grey figure, striking at Hakaken from behind Michael and this gave him hope. His strength was fading, but he dug his teeth in, determined to sell his life dearly. And, to his amazement, he felt Hakaken stagger. From across the field there was a weird groaning noise as the greatest of the Wyrm's Maeljin, the monster that had dominated the battle fell. And, in that instant, the Wyrm itself was suddenly slightly lesser.
Marcus Rolling Thunder was prepared to die. He really was. But he'd decided to pick his battle. Right now he was advancing on the Nameless Angel of Despair, only freshly reborn, weakest of the Wyrm's Maeljin. It howled at him, and it seemed as if his own soul was biting at his flesh in despair, but that wasn't enough. The Nameless Angel was, it seemed, only slightly greater than an Elder, and Marcus Rolling Thunder was determined.
Six seconds was all the time it took for him to kill it, and advance across the battlefield with the Angel's tangled grey hair cluthed in his hand as a trophy.
No, he wasn't going to die for the Angel. He had his prey in mind. He was going for Jack.
Only one had known for certain how it would be. Only one, daughter of Luna, had been told the truth. The Wyrm had placed too much of his power in Jack. As long as Jack lived, so would the Wyrm. With Jack dead, the Wyrm would become weakened, weakender by far more than it could afford.
So had sung mad Luna, to the first of her daughters. Yet she was not here. Still, enough had guessed that Thaddeus and Tolly, both still bright and bloody, were making their charge towards him.
It was, however, too late. The Wyrm was on top of the Gaian forces now, in amongst them, devouring as it went. The Weaver was dead, and now he was making his final move. Gaia, the faithless bitch mother of them all, she would be his. And then his reign would be eternal.
The Wyrm moved, smooth and inexorable.
At the rear of the Gaian forces Pints had been frustrated for too long. He saw the Wyrm coming towards him.
He swore, and then slow realisation spread across his face. This was his fight. And no one was going to tell him to sit back and wait anymore. He drew his sword with an expression of near glee, and pointed towards the Wyrm.
"Get it," he howled, and began to run...
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2009-09-07 06:30 pm (UTC)Do I also detect a less than reverent attitude towards Lucas?
And I think you'll find the insane Fae marriage plans were your idea.
no subject
Date: 2009-09-07 06:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-09-08 07:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-09-08 09:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-09-07 09:50 pm (UTC)I'm hoping to write up the Hakaken fight at some point tomorrow, but I do like the way this is written.
no subject
Date: 2009-09-07 10:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-09-08 07:29 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-09-08 06:18 am (UTC)Enquiring minds want to know!
no subject
Date: 2009-09-08 07:31 am (UTC)It is currently being charged by seven people who wish to dispute its victory.
Wish us luck.
no subject
Date: 2009-09-08 08:12 am (UTC)