Fight for the Morning Sun (Sabata and Silieth)

[Sabata_McCloud]

(Only here in Modern Roleplay because that's where the first part of it will be taking place, which will be explained in later posts.)

The final blow came down.  In an arc of glinting steel, the sword cut through rotten, demonic flesh with the sound of a cleaver hacking through raw meat.  Not even a sound passed the beast's lips, only a black viscous fluid that spurted out of its mouth like blood.  It fell in thick ropes, where it splattered on the ground before steaming with a vile odor of decay.  The unholy ax that the beast was raising above its head fell from its hands, disappearing in a cloud of black mist upon making contact with the blood-stained grass.  With the thick substance staining his white armor, the last knight standing wrenched his sword free of the demon's chest.  It toppled backwards and landed heavily on the ground before slowly dissolving into the same thick fluid that had leaked from its mouth.  Instantly, any plant or blade of grass that came into contact with the fluid withered and died, turning the entire battlefield into a scorched, bloody, and death-ridden land of approximately a quarter of a square mile.

Sirius took several moments, slowly walking around the battlefield, silently praying to the Gods above that at least one of his men would be alive.  His eyes glowed with a strong emerald light as he drew what little magickal reserves he could through the dying sunlight.  He searched every body with magickally-augmented vision designed to detect life, his sword still in his right paw.  Nothing.  Not a goddamn thing.  Not so much as a single spark of life anywhere.  He searched for what felt like hours, not wanting to believe that his entire militia of 120 Exorcists had been eliminated in one single battle.  It was a large one, true, but surely at least one other had to have survived!  The sun finally began to set over the trees to the north, the cursed forest where the hellspawn was said to be originating from.

Being drained of all magickal reserves left the panther nearly comatose from exhaustion.  His limbs felt as though they were made of lead, which made the normally-simple task of sheathing his sword arduous.  Vision swimming, his eyes losing their green luminescence, he staggered towards the edge of the battlefield, desperate to find a patch of grass to collapse on.  Almost drunkenly, he fumbled with the catches on his cloak, white chest guard, and finally his short-sleeved mail tunic.  These, he dropped on the ground beside him as he sank to his knees.  Last to come off was a white cotton tunic, which revealed bright green markings that covered most of his body.  They originated on the back of his right paw, circled around his wrist, then traveled up his arm, a quarter-inch wide strip that followed the path of his brachial artery.  It traveled across his chest, running underneath his pectoral muscles.  Once it reached his sternum, it followed the path upwards, before branching off and encircling his neck following his collarbone, branches from there following both carotid arteries and jugular veins.  They then followed the curve of his jaw, traveling into his black mane before disappearing.  They resurfaced behind both of his ears, terminating finally at the tips.  When charged with his reserve of magick drawn from the sun, they glowed a vibrant green-- the typical markings of those specially trained for fighting the forces of darkness.  Since the magickal reserve was tapped out completely, the most that he could do for the moment was collapse onto the ground, and pray that he woke up to see the next morning sun.

===

It was three days' ride back to Tormarnir, the central city of the entire kingdom of B'norjir.  Since Sirius was making the trek back on foot, the journey took almost two weeks.  The city watch had discovered him staggering towards the gates, dying of hunger and thirst.  When he was intercepted by a group of them on horseback, he demanded they take him to the castle.  The guards saw that he was the only one to return, and thought it a better idea to have him stay in the tower until he regained his strength.  He gratefully accepted the pitcher of water that was given to him, despite the fact that it tasted as if it was fetched from a runoff ditch.  He pushed his hunger out of his mind, able to think a bit more clearly with water in his system.  He simply drew from his magickal reserves to pull enough energy out to keep him going until he arrived at the castle.  He had to inform the Duchess of the result of the battle, and he knew she would play it off as if it was nothing of any major consequence.

His white cloak and armor were filthy with mud and dust, and sticky with the black demon's blood that was caked onto their surface.  He could practically feel the caustic dark magick pulling his strength away.  Roughly shouldering past the two dopey guards that stood outside the throne room, Sirius locked his eyes on the only other being in the room.  Or at least, he would have, if she had been there.  He found himself staring at a completely bare chamber, with naught but the stained glass windows decorating the place.  "Stuff the magic act!  We have a serious problem."

All at once, the large chamber was decorated in lush white and gold tapestries, wall-hangings, and a pristine white rug ran from the door through the center of the room, and up the stairs towards the short raised platform that held a single golden throne, where the Duchess herself, a four-tailed kitsune, sat.  "You'd best mind your tone, Exorcist, or I might put you to the rack."  He watched as her electric blue eyes wandered quickly over his haggard form.  "I must say, you have seen cleaner times.  Now have those demons robbed you of your formalities or are your knees locked stiff by some curse?  It had best be a good reason why you refuse to kneel.  This is a very bad time to forget how to pay respects, Exorcist."

Canines.  How he loathed them.  Their smugness and determination to be superior never failed to rub him the wrong way.  "Putting me to the rack would not be a very wise decision, Duchess.  I am the last one alive after that suicide mission that you sent us on."  They never had been trained for full combat as knights were-- they were trained for eliminating forces of darkness by themselves.  This was a point that Sirius had tried to argue with the Duchess before, but due to her foolish canine superiority, she refused to listen to him, and sent the entire Exorcist unit out to destroy the demon force that threatened to march on Tormarnir.  He didn't bother to hide the venom in his voice as he spoke.  Formalities were out the window-- she hadn't listened to more sound advice, and as a result, had gotten all of his men killed.

That damn fox, he spat in his head.  She doesn't seem the slightest bit remorseful about leading 119 men to their deaths.  She simply reclined in her throne, crossing her right leg over her left underneath a simple royal blue dress with sapphires woven into the material.  She closed her eyes as seemingly went deep into thought, staying that way for several minutes.  "Exorcist, leave and get yourself washed and fed.  I must reflect on our situation before making a decision."  Sirius was only too happy to oblige, and left without another word.  The Duchess Helena slowly rose from her throne, then turned to walk behind it.  She lifted a paw, placing it on a section of the stone wall at the back of the room.  Whispering a short incantation, the stone bricks slid inward, and then sideways to reveal a small study illuminated entirely by conjured flames that hovered near the ceiling.

The study was lined on three walls by an expansive series of tomes, spellbooks, scrolls, and encyclopedic texts.  In the center was a massive reflecting crystal roughly a meter wide, its interior swirling with a shapeless gray mist.  The mist swirled as she approached it, turning to a burning scarlet color which matched her own mental torment.  She laid both paws on the crystal's surface, staring fixedly into its depths.  She didn't see anything more than she had ever seen.  The only thing that she could see were endless hordes of hell-beings rising from rifts in the ground and storming over the continent.  With the primary defense force eliminated due to her own admitted stupidity and lack of foresight, it seemed as though she had failed the entire continent as a whole.  There was one last option, but it was risky and would require a council meeting due to the high risks that such a move would make.

Unfortunately, she simply did not have the time.  Something had to be done quickly.  Focusing her mental and magickal abilities to melt them together, she sent out a desperate plea for help.  It coursed across every dimension, and the vixen could only pray that someone capable of helping them received it.