[NB] The Vault

[Wraith]

Wraith fell backwards out of her void portal back by her squads of snipers. Her Kraber had been thrown from Ridley’s back and had crashed to the ground. She could not get it back, it was already lost to the enemy lines and probably damaged. The woman picked herself up off the ground.

Incoming rounds.

Wraith looked up into the sky to see several flaming artillery rounds headed straight for her. Clenching her fist she phased, making herself invincible and dove behind cover just as the air burst rounds shredded the area with hell fire. Rolling out of the smoke she exited the phase space and pushed to pick herself off the ground.

“General!” A Sergeant said as he rushed over, providing covering fire with his rifle.

He gripped the void warriors’ arm and pulled her behind his cover.

“Our snipers are running low on ammo, ma’am!” He reported.

Wraith took stock of her active snipers, looking around her and assessing the situation. Grabbing the Sergeant by the collar of his chest rig she dragged him back to supply wagon.

“I have no fucking clue why we didn’t set these up.” She said pulling a tarp on a series of .50 caliber machine guns.

“Set these up along the rear line and wait for my command.” She ordered.

The Sergeant nodded and called over groups of snipers who took a pause from supporting the line to reoutfit their positions.

“Hurry. Our lines will falter without support.”

It took minutes for the squads to place down the machines guns in positions that would let them pepper the enemy lines.

“All forces prepare for covering fire.” Wraith spoke into her comms.

Pulling on another tarp the sniper unearthed a massive fuck off 20mm rifle used for taking out armored vehicles. This thing would probably injure or break her shoulder, but she needed to do something to turn the fight in her favor.

“All units open fire.” She ordered.

Immediately the thunderous sound of .50 caliber rounds flying at the enemy lines filled the air. Each squad fed their gun with belted rounds of bullets, each gun spitting out used brass and connecting material.

“Sergeant, get over here.” Wraith said, handing him a spotter scope.

“I can’t miss this shot. Spot for me.” She said lifting the giant rifle and taking the bag of ammunition from the wagon.

Snapping open the rifles’ stabilizer she placed it on top of the nearest cover and dropped the butt of the weapon to her shoulder, flipping open the sights.

“Range…300 yards. Elevation…200 feet. Moving target. Easterly wind…8 miles per hour.” The Sergeant spoke, holding the scope to his one eye.

The electronic scope system flickered into life as Wraith opened the bolt to her weapon and slid in one the massive shells. Closing the bolt and securing it she placed the sight to her eye and began tracking the movement of the dragon as it fought with Commander Mustang. She slowed her breathing, calming herself. The battle seemed to slow down as she put her entire focus on following the movement of the dragon, looki200520.ng for an opening to take a shot. It was when Ridley and Mustang both unleashed their fire at each other did she have it.

Take the shot.

Now. Fire.

Lining up the sights to Ridley’s mouth Wraith squeezed the trigger.

Eat this.

She pulled the trigger and the gun exploded forth a 20mm shell directly towards Ridley’s jaw. The force of the shot blew the Sergeant onto his ass and kicked up dust around the weapon. The sound was deafening.

Wraith was sure her shoulder was broken. Only time could tell, but she kept on holding the rifle with a death grip, waiting for a sign that round had hit its mark.

Using one application of Focus

 

[Ridley]

The explosion hurt Ridley's pride at least as much as it left a burning, aching fire in his Jaw, and the screeching reptile fell with a surprised look as his face became a sizzling, burning stretch of beak. Surprisingly, it seemed all the Lizard required to be defeated was a liberal application of flames to the jaw.

Roy walked forward with a set of caution in his step. the Lieutenant was already experienced in dealing with creatures that didn't die when they should, Ridley guessed, but he was too eager. too willing to accept this idea, even as Ridley's body sparked and bled.

As Mustang stepped closer, ridley waited patiently, not moving a muscle. Eventually, his hubris showed its ugly head, though.

"Take this, you ugly motherfu-" One of the men shouted, stepping forward with a large-caliber rifle and sticking it straight between ridley's eyes.

"No, don't approach like-"

Ridley's eyes opened as a grin formed on his face. the shocking visage of the unmade generals return to life caused a terror to grip the poor soul, and theu nmade general was quick to capitalize by ripping him in two, claws grinding through his chest as he was pulled apart like taffy.

The display covered the area in blood, and as he expected, the State Alchemist had tried stepping forward to save his comrade. Unluckily for mustang, Ridley had figured out his gloves mechanics. It took a fingersnap. that was what was important.

The Dragon Screamed in the State alchemists face, and Roy readied to cancel out the flames with his own, but none came. the bleeding, pulsing holes left in the Pirates jaw combined with his own spittle and sprayed viscous liquid across the alchemist's front... including his hands.

the general seemed to spot this with panic, and ridley saw what seemed to be an attempt at a snap go awry. Something in his glove must have been nullified - or perhaps he really did need to snap his fingers. Blood wasn't difficult to clean off, but he wasn't going to get the chance to bring it to a dry cleaner.

With a chilling, unnatural laugh, Ridley pounced forward like a cat, Cleaving through stone and smacking Roy to the side. Disappointedly, he felt only fabric and armor tear against his claws - but that was never the plan by now.

The Dragon was here to assassinate Mustang, but it appeared other forces had found their way into the duel, and the Space Pirate General no longer liked his chances here. Instead, it was time to run. as quick as a flash, the pirate general retreated from the main line of battle, leaving a chilling, plant-headed saibaman in its wake.

Ridley spared only one brief, quick moment to look Roy in the eyes as he left. One filled with an unmistakeable meaning.

you will see me again.

 

[Elise]

"The dragon is falling back! They're faltering! Pile in!" shouted Pater from the steps of the temple. The royal guardsman had run out of ammo a long time ago, and had since fallen back on his trusty great axe. The gilded heavy blade bit into the shoulder of another skittering circus monstrosity, and a spray of foaming syrup spilled onto the ancient stone stairway. Pater shook his head in amused disbelief. Whatever gods still lingered above this pagan edifice, they would doubtlessly be pleased by the amount of blood and pain that had been splattered upon it today.


"That...wretch...is no dragon." Gilgamesh scoffed, poking his head out from a few flights higher up. "A dragon is a spiraling wyrm, three leagues long whose every step makes the earth tremble. Ridley is an overgrown vulture." he spat. The King's normal poise had long worn off. Between minor exhaustion and a worryingly long list of flesh wounds, he had lost his royal sense of humor. Even the Gates of Babylon refused to open with the same torrential fervor they had a few hours prior.


Pater was right though. The crow had come home to roost, and the inexorable crushing heel of the coalition was slowly but surely pushing its way up to the main structure.


"Leave them no room for retreat! Those of you who still stand with me, now is the moment!" Gilgamesh called down to the base of his temple. Most of his main infantry line had been withered away by this point, but the heavy gunners and sharpshooters had managed to keep the main core of royal elites alive with valiant persistence. The eaves of the temple were shrouded in rolling blankets of noxious smoke, and the scent of roasted carrion was carried high on the sheer winds. The King surveyed the landscape from his vantage high above the earth. Truly, this was his rightful place, as all others scraped and fought in the dirt like the insects they were.


Sublime.


Gilgamesh was drawn out of his reverie as the doors into the central fortifications swung open. Behind them was a veritable hoard of hulking confetti brutes, bristling with a rattling nightmare of jester munitions. Everyone in the King's company took a collective step back; clearly the Unmade Carnaval had been holding out on them.


The Gates of Babylon opened wide as the King advanced, undaunted.


"Get off of my temple." he seethed.


---


"Shit! Shit! Shit!" Elise cursed, limping rapidly behind a mount of upturned earth and stone. A blast of crystalline shards ripped through the air past her, barely catching her right hip as she ducked behind cover.


"Quake!" shouted the tiny Unmade spellcaster. The ground beneath Elise convulsed in an explosion of debris, launching her into the air and onto her back a few yards away. Her ears were ringing. Dammit.

Maybe she had underestimated this tiny bitch after all. She had already used up most of her magical reserves trying to cause some kind of magical wound on the fang-toothed gremlin, but the tiny mage countered and blocked every attempt. Maybe it was time to run.

"The clown boy said I'd be fighting a wizard, but away you scuttle like a scared little lizard!" Untotto cackled, her voice drifting casually over the maze of fortified walls.

On second thought, fuck this rat. Elise steeled herself and crept away, keeping low to the debris cluttering the killing field. For as strong as Untotto was, Elise had realized quickly that the element of stealth was very effective against the black mage. That's what happens when you can only cast twenty flavors of explosion. The Academy of Arkadia was full of over-specialized idiots who fell into the same snare. She had to take advantage of it somehow.

A flicker of soul nearby gave her an idea. Gamzee was a few rows away, and based on the mingled screams of both Miniskirt grenadiers and Unmade shock-clowns, he was apparently tearing both apart. The vampire arcanist devised a plan, and grinned darkly.

"Oph yuk ohs!" Elise whispered. She stared at a point down the trench from her current location, and twisted the illusory magic to take on her own voice.

"How 'bout a spell that to make you taller, gopher tits?" the illusory voice shouted. By the time Untotto came storming around the wrong corner in pursuit of the vampire, Elise had already used her unnatural agility to vault up onto a ridge of barricades several meters away.

"Over here, ground squirrel!" Elise waved. Untotto wheeled around and wasted no time in brandishing the Stardust Rod at her.

"Thundaga!" the black mage screeched. Elise dove off of the jagged trench wall just in time to dodge a jagged lightning bolt falling from the sky. The uncanny dodge did not, however, save her from her injured leg and she landed in a crumpled heap within the next trench row.

When she looked up, she grimaced.

The true clown had been busy. Corpses of every hue were scattered around the entrenched clearing. Greasy clouds of gunsmoke wafted overhead as Elise witnessed Gamzee ripping various Unmade, Miniskirts and Hell Divers limb from bloody limb. It was everything bloody, terrifying, and astounding that could be said about violence and rage. He did not miss Elise’s crippled entrance.

“WELCOME TO THE MAIN EVENT! HOO HA HAH HAAGGH!” he yawped darkly whilst forcibly rending Corporal Michelle’s head off. The normally pithy wizard girl had no response. She simply scrambled forwards as the armored wall of wire, stone and debris behind her exploded. A conjured blast of wind dispersed the dust, and the triumphant Untotto waltzed through with an exultant grin. There was no time to waste.

“Gamzee Trine Chipmunk!”

Elise pointed one hand at Untotto, and another at the Subjugglator. A silvery thread spun and stretched itself between them as Elise duplicated the highblood’s irascible fury into the normally composed and cautious black mage. The tarutaru flinched as her eyes widened, and her jagged teeth became bared into a feral snarl.

Untotto charged straight at Elise, all three feet of her, and latched onto the vampire in a flurry of hissing, spitting teeth and malice. The junior wizard yelped aloud and whirled around, trying to dislodge the animalistic Untotto, before gaining focus and claiming her prize. With a firm grasp, and a panicked wrench, Elise ripped the Stardust Rod out of the black mage’s bloody arm and pitched it at Gamzee, who smashed it far into the treeline with an expert whack from his staff. Elise took the opportunity to seize the diminutive mage and hammer throw her into the air

As the metamagic effect faded, Untotto suddenly regained her senses midflight and squeaked in crestfallen shock as her spellcasting focus soared into the distance. Elise never saw where the Unmade spellcaster landed, but she would at least be unable to conjure magical artillery for the time being.

She felt movement behind her, and looked over her shoulder just in time to see the gleaming eyes of the clown troll an inch from her face.

“Honk.” he whispered. Elise tried to back away, but her injured leg gave out and she stumbled into the bloodsoaked mud.

“Tao-” she began to incant, but was cut off as a sharp, blinding pain on the back of her head spiked her into the depths of unconsciousness...

 

[Nico Cinder]

The crack of a revolver is as unmistakable as the crack of bone. Nico popped heads like cans of monster, back to back to back to-

Oop. Gotta reload. Head down, ass in the air. Frenzied air, all around him.

-To back to back to back. These little quickshooter doohickeys were kind of a pain in the ass to use but boy howdy, were they fun. Scrambling to his feet up a pile of bodies, Nico prepared himself, muttering something along the lines of, "l always wanted to try this."

Fingers twitched, jacket thrown back. Somewhere, an eagle screeches. Through the gunsmoke in the air, the sun slipped a beam of light on Nico Cinder. A tumbleweed amalgamation of clown limbs and bone and trick pies rolled by his feet.

"It's hiiiiiiiiiigh noooooon."

Lips licked, the smell of artillery and hell.

"Draw!"

Leather is cleared, and Nico let loose a flurry of indiscriminate big boy bullets into his audience. Couldn't even see what he's hitting but he didn't really think it mattered, what with the wall of demon clown meat before him. His troops, God help them, were likely scattered. Once in a while, he would see a shell explode in the thick of the enemy forces, and he could only hope it was one of his. There were not as many salvos as the battle's beginning.

At the sound of the click-click, Nico is reminded of how much he hated reloading, so he elected to slip his empty guns back in their place at his chest and find cover, as all that noise he was making with his bullshittery was likely drawing attention. In his pursuit of the dog, he had trailed a little deep infield. Even now, after diving into a bloody, muddy trench, the music of war drowned him. He had broken his guitar twice now, once over a clown's misshapen face, once getting thrown to ground by the damned dog. In a poof of brimstone cinders the Red Chord came crashing back into existence, slamming into his midsection with a vengeance. After a bit of wheezing and hiding in the ditch, he pokes his head up over the broken ground.

It's a mess. Entrails, limbs, weapons, the whole lot. Fights were taking place every handful of yards, random soldiers from random forces all in disarray. The Chord growls. Nico could feel the ache in the strings, their bottomless starvation, and knew what was next.

-----

Gamzee was a walking fog of blood. It coated his open, drooling mouth like honey. The enemy clown heretics were beaten into subjugation time and time again, and they often did nothing about it. Weaklings. Pathetic blasphemers.
He plodded calmly behind enemy lines, swinging his whackin' stick around like it owed him money. Or ah, maybe the clowns owed him money. He wasn't feeling very metaphorical, at this very moment.

Somewhere, a gnarly guitar screeched bloody murder. It could only be that Nico kid, shredding up a storm. How fitting! Indiscriminate murder is the name of the game, and to that extent he moved himself as far away from his team as possible. The dog had thrown a wrench in things, and he got a little closer to Fang Lady than he would've preferred. Took a lot of restraint not to beat that pretty toothed rainbow-drinker face of hers in, but he managed, good mirthful Messiah, oh how he managed. It helped to have that gut ugly dog with a perfectly smashable face around. After a few whacks in the snout though, he felt his arms getting away from him, like they had minds of their own. He promptly bolted from the fight directly into the wall of clowns to expend his bloodthirst in a healthier way.

And now he's here, thinning the sacrificial herd. It wasn't fun that they didn't fight back, but Gamzee always found ways to entertain himself. Distantly, he felt the weight of his sheepskin flask. There was a swallow or three left in there. That was it.

That was it.

-----

The Red Chord looked wet in the light, and Lieutenant Cinder's bloody fingers dipped up and down into it's screams. The sound was guttural, choppy, and very very loud. All manner of grotesque clownfoolery approached him, but he held his ground. Distantly, he felt gunfire rush past him like wind. Fellow Miniskirts bolted past him firing their weapons on the move, entering the fray with renewed fervor. Their whoops and hollers and shouts brought a sickening smirk to Nico's lips. The only thing that separated a mosh pit from a battlefield was the appropriate music. That was it.

That was it.

 

[Mirage]

Although they had numbers in their favor, even Mirage could tell that this siege was taking its toll on the army. Bodies from both sides littered the steps of the temple, most of them charred from the droves of flames that the Armada had brought for their soldiers. Speaking of, Mirage managed to snag himself one from a nearby fallen ally.

“Whoops, sorry about that, you don’t mind if I, well of course you don’t mind, uh, sorry!”

Mirage carefully plucked the flaming beauty from the charred hands, dusting it off from the plethora of ashes from who knows what or who or something.

“Now this is what I am talking about!”

The trickster sent out a decoy, who proceeded to blast a small horde of unmaking who blitzed through the flames to try to attack the handsome, and very distracting, decoy of a man in the center. They slashed at air as the decoy fizzled, becoming agitated at the lack of flesh and confused by the fake flames that had licked their skin. That confusion and anger quickly became pain as Mirage came from beside them, covering the bunched group in real, burning hot fire that cooked and seared them like pork chops. If only they smelled like pork chops.

A cry came out from behind the legend as another enemy pounced, landing on top of his newly found weapon before taking a few swipes at him. One might say that Mirage screamed like a little girl, others might argue that he valiantly roared as he dropped his flamethrower and smacked the unmaking fiend with his trophy and stood victorious on the battlefield. At least it smelled like pork chops again.

In any case, the next wave of soldiers with much more advanced skills seemed to be a bit more than a single flamethrower can handle. Mirage ducked into cover behind some debris as bullets ricocheted off the stone. He took a moment to catch his breath, turning around to see two others taking a breather as well.

“Bangalore, what are you doing here? I didn’t even see you on any squads last time.”

“Well I was hoping for a vacation, but I guess once a soldier, always a soldier.” She shrugged and turned to her partner. “PJ, Mirage; Mirage, PJ.” Mirage tried to appear casual as her partner nodded.

“The games are one thing, but what are you here for? I know about you and your brothers.”

Mirage sighed. “Look, I saw that Renee was in here, and I kinda just jumped into it. I think I’m doing pretty good, I am a lieutenant, after all.”

Bangalore didn’t seem impressed by his rank, but his words did cause some gears to turn, perhaps for something later. It made sense at least why Wraith was keen on trading for him with the other team. “Well, how about you put those decoys to work and help us get out of this hellhole? Been trying to provide cover fire and we can’t get these guys off our asses.”

“Yeah, alright, I can do that. Are you gonna-”

“Throwing smoke!”

“Wait, we're going now?”

“Make that two, get in position!”

Mirage leaped over their cover at Bangalore's call and slid into the smoke, sending out decoys as he weaved in and out to take shots at the enemy. Bamboozles rang out left and right as the two girls moved up onto better ground and began firing into the line of soldiers. Mirage wasn't one to count how many were left, but he sure felt like they should be done with them soon, then maybe have some dinner after, did he still smell pork chops?

 

[Karl Jak]

Despite the fact that it felt like only hours had passed, the violence around the Vault had raged for much longer, with all sides involved feeling as if they had been passed through a proverbial meatgrinder.

Although they were stronger, smarter, and faster than their non-unmade adversaries, the monstrosities were simply outnumbered. Ferocious as he appeared to the meat sacks who assaulted his treasure, Ridley was no single-minded beast of burden. Even unmade, there was a fierce and unmatched intelligence that burned within the space pirate.

It was enough to let him know that he had accomplished the task assigned to him so long ago by the one calling the shots.

General Ridley turned his back to Commander Mustang, who, as a veritable tornado of flames and fury, batted off the small mob of unmade soldiers. He moved to give chase up to the summit of the Vault, but instead of a dragon, he found a gray-skinned alien lunging at him. The pair crashed to the stone floor as a claw-shaped hand narrowly missed Roy’s face and went tearing through the masonry instead.

***​

Mirage and Wraith may have worn different ‘accent colors’ on their armor, but that didn’t mean the two were more than fifteen feet apart at any given time, even if neither noticed it all too much.

When the latter was knocked back by the recoil of the high-caliber weapon, the former had noted it in the corner of his eyes. When the unmade swarmed to retaliate against the seemingly downed Hell Diver general, they found themselves greeted suddenly by a wall of ‘tut-tuting’ Mirages just before a squad of Miniskirt Armada soldiers pounced.

***​

Gilgamesh had wanted to ‘play’ this battle a little differently, but now that he was in the heat of the moment, his focus was purely on the thrill of battle. While the last year hadn’t been devoid of its chaos, he had spent many of the ‘winter’ (if such a thing truly existed on a world shaped like a disk) season knee-deep in bureaucracy and reports.

The General-King found himself up on the steps of the pyramid, a two-handed sword in hand as he cleaved his way through all who would dare oppose him.

“Fall at my might!” The king boomed as he plucked and unmade ghoul off from the ground and sent the pitiful creature hurtling down the side of the pyramid.

“You still swing that like a girl!” Almost subconsciously, Gilgamesh’s right eye twitched as he twisted himself to look down and across the pyramid to where a redhead in her mid-forties stood waving up to him. All around PJ, an assortment of still-smoldering corpse lay in various states of death and dismemberment. “Want to count? I probably have more than you, am I right?”

“That green armor means I can kill you!” Gilgamesh barked in response.

PJ rolled her eyes. “You’d try, Goldilocks,” she said before blowing the king a sneering kiss and diving to avoid an ogre with a pair of extra arms.

“Damn infernal wo—”

Gilgamesh’s words were lost as a pair of craven monsters threw themselves onto him.

***​

Elise and Nico found themselves locked into what felt like an unwinnable situation as a wave of seemingly fresh unmade crashed down onto their positions. The twosome and the soldiers who fought near to them scattered for cover and the momentary reprieve that may bring to focus themselves on the situation. Nearby, Gamzee Makara remained a perpetual horror on the battlefield, as he kept delivering horrifying violence to everything in his path, whether it was red, blue, or green.

While Untotto had seemingly stayed gone after her last spat with Elise, ‘Clifford’ had yet to vacate the playing field, and the monstrous beast came crashing in after the Miniskirt soldiers as they attempted to pullback and fortify their positions.

Crashing through a group of soldiers, Red Dog killed two of them before Gamzee slammed into the canine. Caught by surprise, the unmade lieutenant managed to twist itself and bite down on the top of the troll’s skull before it crashed into the ground. Before the fallen dog could crush through the bone, a crimson lance pierced into its flank before suddenly dissipating. A beat later, a golden harpoon from a very distinct royal treasury tore down through into the mighty monster’s lungs as its might strength started at last to abate.

With a burst of adrenaline, Nico Cinder crawled up onto the dog’s side and leveled what seemed to be an assault rifle down at its head.

“Let go of the fucking clown.”

Nico let out a yell as he squeezed back on the trigger.

Gamzee, freeing himself from the now dying beast’s maw, grabbed the nearest heavy implement he could find and bludgeoned the unmade monster until it settled into a widening pool of blood. Once that was done, he turned his bloodstained visage toward Nico, who jumped down from the dead monster’s flank and stared at him. The clown merely sneered before backing away and then lunging at something new.

Smokey weapon stilled leveled at where the troll had stood, Nico let out a long whoosh of air before turning back to the dead monster. “Stay.”

***​

On top of the pyramid, Roy ducked a claw-shaped hand and sent a flash of fire into the chest of Screamsicle II, who stumbled backwards and nearly lost his balance.

“You are finished,” the Commander shouted as he put a few extra steps between him and the long-armed warrior. “I know you have enough intelligence left to known that you are lost.”

While it had no mouth, the lieutenant’s next phrase sounded as if it was being spoken through a smile. “You don’t think that’s the point?”

Roy scowled as he looked around to see that the summit of the pyramid was nearly devoid of soldiers. The unmade artillery was gone, and with it, the monstrous general who had won this structure just a few days prior.

“I hope their deaths were worth it,” Screamsicle muttered. “Because It is still out there, and It will find you. It will help you embrace the beauty of the Fallen Arbiter.”

“Enough,” Roy snapped as he turned his attention back to the monster. In the few moments he had spent glancing around, the soldier had failed to notice his foe had suddenly started to twitch and glow from the inside. The Commander’s eyes grew wide as he realized the trap he’d been caught within.

“Get out of the way!” A voice screamed just moments before Roy was tackled down to the ground and Screamsicle II exploded like a fistful of C4. Hands clasped tightly around the Commander as the force sent Roy and his rescuer nearly to the edge of the pyramid summit.

When the dust settled, a still mildly confounded Roy found himself being pulled up to his feet by a wincing Izaneus. “That was a close one, Commander Mustang.”

“Yes, yes it was,” Roy muttered as he slowly turned around and looked down at the fighting that had already started to draw to a close. How many of the unmade had escaped? How many of his own were dead? His eyes turned back to the doors of the Vault, which now lay open. Would it be worth it?

Battle Update

The Miniskirt Armada has won the Vault. The Vault doors (now open) will permit entry to a general of the ‘Skirt’s choosing. Standing at the threshold and looking inside the dark structure will fill you with the sense that some calamity awaits you.

Sort out any business and let me know through PMs who goes in quickly as you would like.

“The Dragon’s Gaze” with General Ridley and Lieutenant Untotto has fled down the back sides of the structure and into the jungles. Obviously, they left behind Lt Screamsicle and a group to die down to the last man, Red Dog was killed on the temple steps.

Roy Mustang used an application of Focus.

@Iza – As someone who is new to this website and thus new to the whirlwind of calamity that is DA, I just want to say you have been doing great. ​

Casualty Reports

Unmade Carnaval:

“The Dragon’s Gaze” has lost 850 soldiers, including Lieutenants Red Dog and Screamsicle II.

Ridley’s former Minor Injuries will now just be one cumulative Major Injury.

Untotto has a left leg fracture that can be wrapped to prevent any sort of serious mobility issues (Minor Injury after triage).

“The Dragon’s Gaze” has lost all bonus Morale and is at 75%.

The Unmade Carnaval has lost the Vault and is subject to normal Morale degradation.

Miniskirt Armada:

“The Firewall” lost 700 soldiers.

Roy Mustang, ironically enough, has some nasty burns from his duel with Ridley (Minor Injury)
Izaneus has some burns of his own from saving Roy from the explosion (Minor Injury)

“The King’s Army” lost 200 soldiers.

Gilgamesh got some scrapes and bruises (a Minor Injury)
Gamzee Makara has multiple breaks in the bone plates of his skull (Major Injury) and a deep laceration across one of his legs (Minor Injury). He’ll also be thrown in chains by Gilgamesh, because it seemed like he (the clown) was totally murdering his own people (and, as Gilgamesh will put it with a straight face, their ‘precious allies’)

“Teen Spirit” lost 200 soldiers.

Nico Cinder got some nasty burns (Minor Injury but get some ointment, my dude).
Elise received some bruises that might irritate her a little after the chaos of battle has died down (Minor Injury)

Hell Divers:

“Pale Rider” lost 400 soldiers.

Wraith’s shoulder is broken (Minor Injury – triage that wound and the rest of the arm should still be good to go, soldier).

 

[Karl Jak]

Roy Mustang had conferred with his general and entered the Vault.

As the doors slammed shut behind him, the man, his burn wounds barely triaged winced as the lightning inside the pyramid flickered to life.

Chh chh chh … ahh ahh ahh …

The man craned his neck to try and locate the source of the sound. There was nothing to his left.

Standing almost casually to Roy’s left was a hulking behemoth armed with a clever. Flesh and steel fused together in perfect harmony; the red-eyed monster breathed heavily as it stared into the alchemist’s soul.

“I understand,” Roy whispered as he started to backpedal.

@Roy Mustang, you have exactly 22 hours to reply to this writing prompt (I told Roy about two hours ago about this challenge, which is when his 1-day timer started.

You are fighting Über Jason.

Commander Mustang has entered the challenge area, which has sealed behind him. His forces will hold the position in the meantime, under the leadership of General Gilgamesh, as per Roy’s request/instructions.

 

[Karl Jak]

Siege Battle!​

No sooner had the doors slammed shut behind the State Alchemist and the situation started to spiral.

“Tend to our glorious wounded,” Gilgamesh barked as he prowled the ‘ramparts’ at the pyramid’s plateau. “We shall speak of this victory for days to come!” He shouted as he heard the thump of heavy boots.

“Some victory.”

Gilgamesh turned and scowled immediately at the sight of Wraith, the Hell Diver general. “Did I request your counsel?”

“You could start off with ‘thank you’ for helping you with this whole operation,” Wraith snapped back as she gestured all around her. With the fighting having just concluded within the last few hours, the whole place was still littered with the corpses of the dead and dying.

“My glorious soldiers did the majority of the fighting and the dying,” Gilgamesh retorted. “I’m sure you were too injuring yourself to make a difference.”

“I will tear you apart!”

“You would address a king like that?”

A pair of voice suddenly spoke almost in unison from both sides of the snarling twosome: ”Hey, hey, hey!

From the left and right of the two generals, PJ and Mirage slipped in to put themselves between their general on one side and their close friend in the opposing army on the other.

“Enjoy the moment,” PJ remarked as she tried to get Gilgamesh to back up.

“It’s over, we all won,” Mirage whispered to Wraith as he put his arms on her shoulders and tried to get her to focus on him, rather than the sneering, golden-haired general.

“Yes,” Gilgamesh rasped. “Listen to your man’s advice, Woman.”

“Had enough of this shit,” Wraith hissed as she teleported away from Mirage and reappeared behind the General-King. She crashed the butt of her weapon into the base of his spine, spun the gun around, and almost had her finger on the trigger when PJ punched her square in face. The career soldier had her Desert Eagle drawn in the blink of an eye, but Mirage managed to get in front of her, blocking any shot that PJ may have taken had she pulled her own trigger.

Regaining his balance, Gilgamesh thrust a hand and barked. “This is how they repay us? Kill them all!”

At that, fresh gunfire rang out as the two once-allied armies attacked one another.

Troops swarmed to the defense of Gilgamesh, who for this small snapshot in time, was the de facto Commander-King of the Miniskirt Armada.

***

Battle Statistics​

Hell Divers: 496 Combat Soldiers
Miniskirt Armada: 1850 Combat Soldiers, Vault Advantage-ish

Note: The Miniskirt Armada retains the ‘high ground’ with the exception of a few units who were with/near General Wraith at the time that the hostilities broke out. Wraith can remain to square off with Gilgamesh outside the doors of the Vault (she will likely be overwhelmed by Miniskirts) or break through to reunite with what remains of the “Pale Rider.”

The expectation is at least one post by every PC character involved in this fight AND/OR two OOC days. If the fighting is still going on when Roy finishes his trial (it *should be*), he can rejoin his forces.​

The Vault
Defenders = “The King’s Firewall” + “Teen Spirit”

“The King’s Firewall”
General -> Gilgamesh
Lieutenant -> Violet (NPC),
Soldier -> Izaneus, Mirage, Deadpool (NPC?), PJ
1700 Combat Soldiers

“Teen Spirit”
Lieutenants -> Nico, Elise
150 Combat Soldiers

Vs

“Pale Rider”
General -> Wraith
496 Combat Soldiers

Gamzee Makara will be released from his bindings, but ‘the King’s Firewall’ has orders to gun the clown down if he gets as uncontrollable as he was earlier.

PJ (and Bangalore, by extension), will not fight Gilgamesh. Pending any chicanery (bamboozling) by Mirage, she’ll likely remain as neutral as she can, unless attacked by troops of either color.

Mirage is a PC who can make his own decisions in life.

 

[Roy Mustang]

This conflict was going to be a game of distance. That much was clear at a glance. His cybernetic assailant advanced methodically and silently, cleaver in hand. Mustang dropped back a few steps, adrenaline still overpowering the protests of his injuries. The room was small, but wide enough that he should be able to keep out of reach of the thing.

“You move a lot slower than the last monster I fought!” He smirked.

The cyborg killer advanced silently, his eye fixed and unblinking. Mustang held one arm up to incinerate the attacker, but his fingers slipped on his still-bloody glove, failing to provide the necessary spark. Mustang blinked in surprise, glancing down at his hand. This could be a problem. Mustang looked back up to find himself face to face with a heavy-breathed metal mask.

With the faintest sound of shrill strings echoing though the enclosed space, the cleaver swept up and down, narrowly missing as Roy twisted out of its way. He stumbled slightly, and a backhanded punch from the cyborg sent the state alchemist skidding across the floor of the vault. His head smacked against the stone wall, and Mustang tasted blood in his mouth. He’d bit his tongue; the thought processed a moment later. That was concerning, more so for how long he had taken to realize it.

He forced his vision back into focus and spit a globule of blood onto the temple floor. The Cyborg was standing there, wordlessly, breathing audible even from a distance. It seemed to be soaking in the moment, relishing every step of their exchange. Mustang snapped a few times quickly, testing the blood-soaked gloves now was hardly ideal, but he needed to know what he was working with. On the third snap a small flicker arced forward, without alchemy to power it, the spark fizzled uselessly, but it confirmed for Mustang that his gloves were still functional. With a few tries he could still get a spark going, just not reliably. Mustang pushed himself up to his feet, sighting down his enemy.

Only to find that the killer had disappeared from sight.

Brow furrowed, Mustang scoured the shadows of the room, ears taunt for any sound of his opponent.

Chh chh chhh…

Silence. Mustang’s own ragged breathing and heartbeat were the only sounds that greeted his strained senses. Fine, this was an enclosed space, that thing didn't understand what he was up against. With a growl, the Flame alchemist leaned into his namesake.

“If you’re too much of a coward to show your face, that’s fine by me!”

*Snap*

The entire room blazed into light as alchemical fire zigzagged outwards from his arm. He swathed the room from corner to corner with flames. The shadows danced as his sweeping inferno spread among the pillars and braziers. There was no escape from his attack, he had lit the whole of the room ablaze.

And hadn’t seen his attacker once throughout.

Ahh ahh ahh…

Mustang took a hesitant step forward. He knew the smell of burning corpses. It was a distinct odor that he had become intimately familiar with over his years as a state alchemist. It was a stench that would clearly reach him in such a close range. He had torched the whole room with that attack. There was no way he could have missed something that large and immobile. Where could it have gone?

The faintest of movements from the corner of his eye. With the reactions of a veteran soldier, Mustang’s arm swept up to intercept a cleaver blow that would have separated his head from his shoulders. The metal blade bit into the meat of his forearm readily, despite its armor. The alchemist cried out in pain, punching Jason in the face on instinct. The cyborg didn’t even flinch, wrenching the cleaver out with a crimson streak and planting his foot into Mustang’s chest.

Once again, the state alchemist was sent flying across the room. He hit the wall with a thud, pain arching through his arm. He couldn’t afford to wait. In seconds this thing would be gone again. He snapped his fingers, the spark failing once more on his blood-slicked gloves. With a too smooth motion, the cyborg hurled his cleaver across the room, it swung end over end, sinking into Mustang’s shoulder with a dull thud and a fresh dose of pain. The state alchemist bit off another cry, locking his gaze on his attacker with a clenched brow.

“Gahhh….” Mustang panted, shakily recovering his footing, “You murderers are all the same.”

He wrenched the blade loose, sending it clattering to the ground. Uber Jason had acquired another blade already somehow and was advancing with the same inexorable pace.

“It’s not the death you’re after, not really.” Mustang spat, “It’s the pain. The fear. You want to drag the experience out for as long as you can make it. You want to feel powerful, like you’re in control of the whole damn world, even if it’s just for a few seconds.”

Mustang continued to circle around the room. He could feel a wet trail down his arm, soaking into his uniform and staining his left glove a further red.

“But let me tell you something. I’ve got power to spare, I’ve caused pain and fear to many, many people. Hell, you could say I’m one of the people pulling all the strings on this island right now.”

Jason continued to advance silently. So long as Mustang kept him in focus he seemed to stay in view, Mustang continued to back up, moving towards the center of the room, where the ominous braziers kept a low and unnatural flame.

“I’ve accomplished everything you’re after in your sick, twisted mind. You want to know how?” Jason followed him into the center of the room, breath ponderous, red eye staring still. Mustang grit his teeth, twisting into an angry grin.

“Because when I want something, I take it! No hesitations, no indulgences! My goals are too crucial to get lost in self-gratifications like yours!”

*Snap*

The spark from his gloves failed once more, but Mustang didn’t need it. Flame alchemy condensed oxygen in the room into a central column around the cybernetic killer, tighter and tighter, a concentration of oxygen this intense would ignite readily. All it needed was a path.

Near instantaneously, the fires in each brazier around the cyborg roared into brilliant and eager life. Trails of flame arced up and towards Jason, engulfing him fully in the inferno within the space of a single breath. The flames twisted in a column of raw intensity, sustained by the oxygen he had concentrated around his foe. Fires that would cremate any normal man to ashes within seconds.

 

[Karl Jak]

A literal golem of flames, Jason lurched through the inferno. The monster then pitched forward, but even as the titan collapsed, he managed to swing the cleaver at Roy, who managed to twist just enough to only be struck by the flat of the weapon.

Even that was enough to shatter the bones in Roy’s lower leg as he toppled into a heap and momentarily blacked out.

When he regained consciousness, Roy quickly noted that the flames had died down, leaving a patch of still smoldering stone, but there was no presence of the cybernetic monster.

Nevertheless, the state alchemist was alerted to the sound of grinding machinery from the center of the room.

Dragging his shattered leg behind him, Commander Mustang went to collect the prize, unaware of the bloodbath outside the thick stone walls.

Roy has suffered a broken leg (Major Injury, get some triage so you can walk-ish)

Über Jason has seemingly been defeated … again (?)

Miniskirt Armada claim the Vault, and “The King’s Firewall” Army will gain an unknown (to people who aren’t Roy, who will decide) ‘Boon’.

The Vault will close behind Roy and remain closed until the square has a new owner.

The Miniskirt Armada’s will suffer no Morale degradation so long as they hold the Vault.

Roy, you're immediately thrust into the fighting outside the Vault. Enjoy!

 

[Izaneus Phortea]

Izaneus was putting some ointment on the burns that covered his upper body. He winced as he did so. But nonetheless, he'd managed to help commander mustang out of a tough situation, which was worthwhile for a few measly burns.

He hadn't finished when he heard the shouting, it seemed like tensions were rising, but he couldn't see between who from where he was resting. So he got up, and tiredly moved forward.

"What's happeni-"

He hadn't gotten the question out before the next order was issued.

"This is how they repay us?? Kill them all!"

Wait. What?

Before he knew it, swords, and guns were flying. The screams that had covered the battlefield before had risen with a new fervor. "No! Stop!" He shouted. To no avail.

"This isn't worth it! Stop please!" His tired shouting attracted a few of the soldiers his way. And he noticed this.

Bending his knees to dodge out of the way he gathered the magic missiles that were the bane of the unmade just moments before. And sent them forward.

First, knocking the weapons from their hands, and then. Hitting them in non-vital locations to incapacitate them. He wouldn't be killing his own kind.

"Please! I'm not going to kill you, so just lay down!" He advised them.

He then ran around continuing the same line of thought, and trying to convince the other enemy soldiers that this was NOT worth it.

If they didn't comply, he used magic to incapacitate, but not kill. This was not the time for this.

"Everyone!! Please!!" He shouted in desperation. "STOP!!!"

 

[Karl Jak]

"Teen Spirit" has left the battlefield.

 

[Karl Jak]

"The King's Men" + "The Firewall" gain 'Boon of the Fearsome'

 

[Wraith]

Rip and Tear.

The peace had been shattered. As Gilgamesh retreated behind the ranks of his troops Wraith clenched her teeth furiously.

Coward.

“Hey, hey. Renee. Let it go. He’s not worth the trouble. Let’s just regroup and get a drink.” Mirage tried his best to calm her down putting himself between her and her quarry.

It wasn’t enough. Gilgamesh had pissed her off and something inside her burned to teach him a lesson. She pushed passed Elliot and began moving towards the Golden King.

The fifty elite personal guard that had accompanied Wraith up the pyramid rushed to her aid.

“Formation Lambda.” The void specialist ordered.

The unit of personal guard split into two twenty-five-man groups and formed a triangle in front of Wraith. Removing devices from their kit they each ignited an energy shield that covered their entire person. Just as the infantry from Gilgamesh reached the line, they crashed into the Spartan like phalanx that was also shooting their weapons whilst trying to hold the line.

It was working.

“Sergeant Meyers!” Wraith called on her radio. “Broken Arrow.”

It did not take a second order. The entire battalion was on its feet within seconds, troops roaring and rushing towards their General. Wraith had not just called for help. She had ordered the battalion to fight to the last man. Each infantryman now carried their rifle in one hand and a high explosive grenade in the other. It was a last resort order only used a handful of times in the past. Every Hell Diver soldier was going to take as many Armada troops as possible with them. No mercy. No quarter.

Rip and Tear.

Sniper rounds whizzed by Wraith’s head, piercing into the troops in front of her.

“It would be nice if a King fought his own battles, coward!” Wraith clenched her good fist and exploded forward into her phase walk.

Gilgamesh scowled at her comment and readied his sword. The woman’s broken shoulder had been set and her arm had been secured tightly to her torso with a sling and a strap across her chest. This left her one handed, but this meant little to Wraith. She could still fight, and she still had her Wingman. As she passed through the phalanx her men shoved open a hole in the enemy ranks allowing the woman to pass through. She jumped onto the heads of the enemy soldiers and bounced her way to the glorious golden ass.

5 seconds left.

Gilgamesh swung his sword from a high guard. Wraith caught the blade with her good hand, the phase shift protecting her hand. She dropped to the ground, pushed his sword to the left and round house kicked the King just as her ability ended. Dropping low, she swept her legs toward the golden man. He stumbled backward, using his sword to stabilize himself. It was not long before armada troops had closed in.

“ADVANCE!” She shouted.

Various flash bangs went off from her personal guard as they used their combined strength to push their way to their General. Wraith drew her Wingman and began shooting soldiers stupid enough to interrupt the fight. She side stepped a slash from Gilgamesh, kicking off his blade using it as a stepping board to send a swift kick into his right side. The man growled as he stumbled to the left.

“You’re just a stepping stone to my glorious victory, woman. You’re nothing!” The Golden King shouted.

“You’re nothing but a coward who hides behind his own troops. Fight me you pompous ass.” Wraith jabbed back.

Her personal guard had taken a few casualties, but the battalion had arrived and had thrown themselves into the Armada lines. Explosions wracked the enemy soldiers as grenades had been flung. Chain rifles and screams of horror filled the air as body parts were sawed off.

“You may have the bigger force, King.” Wraith spat. “But I’ll show you what Hell Divers can do.”

“General!” Sergeant Meyers yelled from the back. He had arrived.

The personal guard had moved up and surrounded Wraith and the so-called King. The rest of the battalion was pushing forward killing anything that moved as fast as they could. They were outnumbered, but the Armada forces did not expect such a suicidal charge. The Hell Divers had become literal shock infantry. Men were fighting with anything they could use. Knives, skewering each other, bashing each other with rifles, sawing through bone and flesh, biting chunks of flesh from their enemies. It was a brutal and savage display.

“You have no idea how far I’m willing to go, Goldie.” Wraith said as she caught a kunai that Meyers had tossed her.

The short blade crackled with void energy as she twirled it in her left hand, bringing it up in front of her. Another Armada soldier broke through the phalanx only to have Wraith skewer his throat with the blade and violently rip it out. Blood splashed onto her armor as she pushed forward. Gilgamesh moved forward and sliced with his sword. The void specialist ducked under the attack before bringing her kunai up to block a counter slash. The weight of the blow slid Wraith on her feet, but she was determined. Cartwheeling over the sword, her kunai still on the blade, she twirled in the air and carved into the King’s breast plate. A superficial wound, but she had proven that a King who fancied himself a god could be damaged.


“How dare you put your pitiful little blade on me!” He roared, bringing his sword across her chest.

The blade cut into her armor, and she could feel a light laceration form just above her bosom. Wraith tucked into a roll and dropped to her feet, blocking another slash from the God King.

“General! Please retreat! The lines are starting to falter!” Meyers said while unloading his magazine into Armada infantry.

She ignored him. Wraith was perfectly fine with dying here. What she had bet on is that Gilgamesh did not want to die which provided her with an advantage. With a snap kick to his chest the woman pushed the King back, his sword arm being tossed aside. She closed the gap, twirling her kunai blade down, and jabbed it into the gap in his breastplate at his shoulder. The King growled as the blade pierced into his flesh. He grabbed Wraith by the neck and picked her up.

“Heh. How’s it feels to be outclassed by a woman with one arm.” She said with a laugh through her crushed windpipe.

“That’s right. You do have one arm.” Gilgamesh smiled and removed the blade from his shoulder, tossing it into the mass of troops at his side.

He lifted her up above his head and dropped her, sending a gauntlet covered fist to her injured arm re-breaking her shoulder. The woman fell to the ground crying out in pain as she held her injured arm.

“I truly don’t know what he sees in you.” He chided.

It was at that moment she thought of Mirage. For a moment she wished she could see his face. She let out a cry of pain as she rolled to her knees and brought her good arm up, clenching her fist. Teleporting from the ground she planted a void powered fist to the bridge of his nose. The Golden King reeled, holding his face as blood spilled through his hand. She wasn’t done though. With gymnast like grace, she spun on her axis and planted a firm kick to his left cheek and threw the man from his feet. However, Wraith was in too much pain, she could not stick the landing and fell to her butt alongside the King. An Armada soldier broke through the line of personal guard, who had suffered casualties at this point, and tackled the woman to subdue and kill her for his King. He drove a knife into the woman’s waist. Before he could push the knife all the way in Sergeant Meyers had arrived to remove the man’s head from his shoulders with his chain rifle.

“Get up, General. We’re with you.” He said helping her up while watching Gilgamesh get to his feet. “We’re with you until the end, General. Every man has vowed to give their life for you.”

Wraith coughed through a smile and placed her hand on the Sergeants shoulder.

“You’re a good man, Meyers. Remind me to buy you a drink in the next life.” She said with a laugh, holding her side.

“Ma’am! The phalanx is getting tired!” The commanding officer of her personal guard shouted.

Meyers took an energy pistol from his bag and pushed it into his general’s hands.

“Take that bastard out, ma’am.” He said with a smile.

Wraith adjusted her armor with her left hand. Her shoulder was on fire with pain only second in comparison to the knife wound that was now bleeding at her waist. Clenching her teeth, she raised the pistol and unleashed energy rounds into the various troops charging in front of their King. Wraith phased just as Gilgamesh got onto his feet. Her abilities were taking a toll on her. She was hurt and now her stamina was running out.

The Golden King was ready. He slashed upward forcing the woman to dodge left.

“You’ve certainly earned my full attention. You’re going to die here, peasant.” He spat.

Pulling up on his breastplate he gripped his sword with both hands. He slashed, but it missed its mark. Wraith tackled him just as her phase ended. Driving the barrel of the energy pistol into his underarm she pulled the trigger as many times as she could before she felt a sword pierce her left leg. Lifting his armored knee, the Golden King drove it into Wraith’s chin and with a gauntleted fist he punched her in the face sending the woman to her ass. Renee pulled herself into a sitting position and growled through her teeth as blood ran down her chin. Gilgamesh waived off his troops before moving into position with his sword. He rested the blade against Wraith’s shoulder at her neck.

“Are you ready to die, mongrel?”

 

[Roy Mustang]

They had been attacked already. That was what the sounds outside told Mustang as he staggered towards the slowly opening vault. Had Ridley already reorganized with allies? There had been no sign of other forces of that size on the way down. Dammit, how long had they been fighting down here? Had the Unmaking rushed additional troops down to support their exposed general? The alchemist hobbled forwards; one hand pressed against the wall beside him to keep the weight off his broken leg. He had claimed the power of the vault for the Armada, would that be enough to keep them alive?

As the massive stone door opened wide, Mustang beheld the truth. In that moment, his good leg refused to hold him as well, and he sank to his knees.

This wasn’t strategy, fighting here benefited neither army. This wasn’t disinterest, they weren’t playing Karl’s game for the show of it. This wasn’t even ignorance. They had seen the horrors the Unmaking created and knew how many thousands remained on the island. Yet here amidst the dead and the dying of a costly victory. Armada and Helldiver alike had chosen petty arguments and egotistical tempers of the moment above an enemy just a few steps removed from their sight.

It was happening in Cevanti too. He saw the cracks. They had banded together a defense, held off the end, then squandered their momentum on trivial matters. All these months later, and they had not even tracked down the thing that was responsible. They had damaged the thing, severely at that. Ashe-0 had given everything she possessed to land a hit on an enemy they had presumed unbeatable. With everyone’s efforts, they had forced it to retreat. Then had ignored it for months, content to fight back the unmaking inside the borders of their city while the planet withered under their feet. They were but tiny humans. They couldn’t even keep from killing each other pointlessly, for nothing. How did they hope to stand up to a thing that could bring an end to an entire planet? Mustang’s blood-soaked hands slid into trembling fists.

He would make them.

Labored breathing picked up pace as wrath and indignation overpowered his exhausted body. The sheer force of will brought Mustang to one knee, then back onto his feet. He stared down in fury at the squabbling soldiers. Helldiver, armada, traitor, egoist. For the time being, he saw only the lines that divided the warring groups. Mustang reached the top of the pyramid, gloved and bloody hand held high above his head.

“That’s enough!” He screamed the command out from the very pinnacle of the ancient temple.

*Snap*

The spark managed to catch on his gloves, and tongues of fire snaked out from his upraised hand into myriad trails. Streaking arcs of alchemical lightning sped their way across the layers of the pyramid and into the killing fields that surrounded it. Within seconds, walls of flame had dissected the battlefield along the fronts of conflict. Wherever the gap between Armada and Helldiver was to be found, alchemical fire drove in a wedge, herding them away from one another. The inferno leapt up between the two generals, forcing space between them. Roaring flames encircled both Wraith and Gilgamesh, their blaze an oppressive heat in the humid jungle sun. Mustang stared down at them both, his gaze lit anew by fiery condemnation.

“For the purported justice of your lost men, you would throw away the lives of those hundreds still under your command?” He stared down at Wraith, eyes hard, voice somewhere between a scream and a snarl, “I had presumed your discipline better, general! You disappoint me.”

“And you don’t even have the shadow of an excuse.” The furious stare turned his ire towards Gilgamesh, “Your wanton ego has jeopardized your own victory and mine. Command may be in your blood but I will no longer indulge your arrogance in my vendetta against the Unmaking! You will listen to my orders.”

His voice was starting to grow hoarse from shouting, but he pressed forward. This was too crucial a moment to waste. He would make them see the truth of this situation.

“We stand amidst the carnage of an unmade army! An army that we bested, but did not destroy! Until our war against the Unmaking is over, I will be taking command over all present forces, Armada and Helldiver alike! This battle is over, and all involved will stand down! Any of you who refuse to join me will lay down your arms and surrender yourselves to my mercy.” His gaze swept over the battlefield, then focused back to the warring generals.

“Anyone who still intends to take up arms against me or any my men, I will see to it, personally, that this temple becomes your grave!” Alchemical lighting danced and crackled around his glove as he stared both of them down.

"Go ahead. Try it."

Mustang is expending a use of Focus (1/3 remaining) To improve his leadership-related Master skills, and create sustained fires to separate people into less combative groups so that they’ll stop killing each other and listen.

 

[Izaneus Phortea]

"Hahh... Hah..." Izaneus could feel his heart pound against his chest. He could hear it. He could only barely hear the flame roar behind him, as he did his best to defend himself. "Fina-f-Finally..." He gasped, as he looked at an equally pissed Mustang, he faintly heard the speech he gave as he fell to the ground, exhausted.

He groaned in pain as the cuts, burns, and bruises throbbed in rhythm with his heartbeat. All of them growing to excruciating levels of pain. He could hardly breathe, and could definitively taste iron.

He layed there, gasping for breath, hoping for this battle to finally be over. He would fight more if needed but...

Gods above he hoped he didn't need to. His body ached, his wounds throbbed, and he was just tired.

Crawling up to it. He sat himself up against the first leg of the pyramid, laying his head against it as he coughed and attempted to get his breathing back in check.

 

[Karl Jak]

Clap.

Commander Mustang turned to see Gilgamesh seated calmly on a shattered piece of stone.

Clap.

The General-King smiled ‘warmly’ as he tilted his head and started to nod up and down.

Clap!

At that, Gilgamesh stood up and spun to regale his retinue around him. “Wasn’t that just a riveting speech, Men and Women?” Those around the king cheered.

Roy bristled with rage.

Yards away, PJ stepped forward and went to speak when a red latex hand clapped around her neck.

“Can’t you read? This is a tense, edgy scene, so they have no time for comic relief or puns.”

PJ scowled but otherwise remained transfixed on what was unfolding by the entrance to the Vault’s … vault.

Gilgamesh snapped his fingers as one of his vault portals opened up behind him. “Where did I… yes, there we go.”

The blonde-haired man held a small crown in his hand. By the standards of someone who had entire troves of treasure, the simple but delicately styled golden crown was inlaid with a number of dark gems that didn’t catch the sun in any particular manner, leaving them with an almost dull appearance.

“This is a crown,” Gilgamesh remarked as he held the object up for everyone to see before settling it onto his head and twisting to address those who stood around them and anyone within earshot of his bombastic voice. “It’s a symbol, you see. A social pact, almost.” The gilded warlord turned back to face his Commander. “I’m not arrogant, Lieutenant Colonel Mustang,” Gilgamesh chuckled. “I’m a king. You wouldn’t understand, because you come from a world that reeks of shit, steel, and stale gunpowder.”

“Gilgamesh, I said to stand. Down. ” Roy’s bloodied hands twitched.

“And I say KNEEL!”

At that, the dull stones on the monarch’s circlet hummed to life, and before he knew what had happened, a wave of exhaustion seemed to crash down all-around Roy Mustang, who felt as if his recent battles and tribulations were not thrice as burdensome as they had truly been. The Commander lifted a hand, but his legs caved as sagged down to his knees.

Others rushed to Mustang, but they too fell under Gilgamesh’s wilting glare and were suddenly overcome by fatigue and crippling exhaustion that rapidly compromised them.

Stepping over to the ailing Mustang, Gilgamesh drew a knife and pressed it against the man’s throat. He held it there for a few moments before smiling and sheathing the weapon. “Remember this moment when you make me out to be a villain.” He whispered before shoving the man to the ground.

With that, Gilgamesh strode over to Wraith and grabbed her by the neck. The woman, his eyelids heavy, still tried to lash out at him with her arms. A few yards away, Mirage lay writhing on the ground as well, but his eyes never left the gilded monarch.

“You call me a coward, but you don’t seem to understand a thing,” Gilgamesh twisted and threw the teleporting warrior back toward his crowd of followers, who seemed no worse for wear. The woman, whose strength had waned considerably, crashed down onto the stone shoulder-first as the gilded king stalked her. He crouched down beside her, grabbed a fistful of her hair, and yanked her face up before pointing to the soldiers who had automatically formed a semicircle around the two of them. “I don’t need to get my hands dirty with trash,” he drove her face into the stone before standing back up. “I have people that I can rely on to take the garbage out for me. I provide for them, and they provide for me. A social contract. You might say we’re one big family,” Gilgamesh turned to those gathered behind him before addressing them with an echoing shout. “Am I right, Honorary Sons and Daughters of Uruk?”

In response, several hundred soldiers let out screams of approval as knelt back down to Wraith and waited for her to lift her bloodied face up from the stone. “I wouldn’t understand garbage like you to understand what family means.”

With her teeth clenched hard enough to draw blood, Wraith managed to lash out with good arm and tear a line down the side of Gilgamesh’s cheek. Although initially feeling pleased with herself, she soon felt that sensation wane when the wound spontaneously sealed itself.

He contemplated crushing her skull, but Gilgamesh merely kicked her in the side of the skull. “Next time know when your counsel is unwanted.”

He turned turned, his focus on a seething Roy Mustang, who struggled to will himself off the ground.

“And you,” Gilgamesh knelt down in front of the dark-haired man. With a hand under Roy’s chin, Gilgamesh tilted the man’s head up and fought against some of his older urges. “You aren’t fit to command anything. Now, don’t get me wrong,” the king smiled warmly as he patted Roy on the head. “I’m sure you’re a fantastic field officer, but you career military types are always the same… you don’t see the big picture. Your teenage lieutenants fled this place rather than stand at your side, and your teenage general runs rampant. My eyes are all over this rock, while you’re down here playing with an enemy general whose own army has abandoned her for dead at the precipice of what could have been a stunning victory.”

Shoving Roy down to the ground, Gilgamesh stood up, adjusted his crown, and then glanced back down.

“I don’t dislike you, Roy, but we’re through with this charade. I will tolerate you in my land no longer. I will fight the monsters my way, because I’d rather die gloriously in battle against the unmade than pretend to be something I am not.”

“Y-y-y-” Roy’s speech slurred as he tried to find a response.

In response, Gilgamesh plucked the man up by his collar and hoisted him up off the ground until the two could be eye-to-eye.

“I can’t hear you there, Lieutenant Colonel,” Gilgamesh tilted his head close to Roy’s lips for a few moments before pulling back. “I think you meant to say that I am the fucking King of Pals, Friend, and no one is my master.” Pulling Mustang back close to him, the king brough the lieutenant colonel’s ear to his lips. “I look forward to graciously accepting your surrender.”

Gilgamesh discarded Mustang and turned to address the soldiers crowded at the summit of the step-pyramid. “Much has been learned today. Much will be learned in the coming days, but I offer only the simple truth—this victory was earned by you. I go to honor our dead and celebrate this victory before taking the fight to the Unmade. You can follow me, or you be led in circles while your nation burns around you.”

“Honorary sons and daughters of Uruk, you know where to find me!"

He paused. "Anyone else... you have twelve hours to leave before you become enemies of the state."

As the crowd started to march down the Vault, PJ scowled as she grabbed Anita by the wrist and rushed to join the departing Gilgamesh. The career soldier found herself the victim of some blatant side-eye from a few Hell Diver soldiers and could only shrug in response. “Family is a hell of a lot more important than a war game.”

***

Battle Update

The Hell Divers and their General, most likely due to the words of Roy Mustang, have been spared complete and utter destruction.

The Miniskirt Armada forces have splintered apart.

Gilgamesh has used 1 application of Focus to activate the relic ‘King’s Crown’ (it was Wyatt’s idea, don’t come at me!)​

Casualty Reports

Hell Divers: “Pale Rider” has lost 246 soldiers.

Wraith, for all intents and purposes, has one Insane Injury. Triage will allow her to function, but her previously wounded shoulder/arm will be borderline useless, and her left leg will drag/limp when she walks.

PJ (+Bangalore) defects to “the King’s Men”.

Miniskirt Armada:

“The King’s Firewall” lost 100 soldiers and has split, evenly, into “the King’s Man” and “the Firewall”.

“The King’s Men” have left the square and defected.

Roy Mustang has an additional Minor Injury (concussion).

Mirage and any other NPC not mentioned here was not directly injured, but Mirage, Roy, and Wraith will all suffer the ill-effects of the ‘King’s Crown’ (exhaustion, excessive fatigue, numbness) for the next 24 hours (Story Injury)

Gilgamesh’s wounds have been healed.

 

[Izaneus Phortea]

Iza was promptly awoken by shouting. His body whipped itself awake. To see Gilgamesh holding a blade to Mustang's throat. In an instant he attempted to move his body to cast a spell....

He couldn't. He couldn't move. Why couldn't he move?

He was shaking, and is now confused

He couldn't even hear what they were talking about, his vision was blurry, and his body hurt like hell.

Finally he was able to muster the strength to crawl forward, but by this time, Gilgamesh had already left. Iza took deep breaths.

And with a heave, and a groan of pain, hefted himself to his feet, slowly limping toward his leader.

"C-commander... You've got to stop getting yourself in these situations" he joked painfully, attempting to help the man up.

"If they were avoidable, I would gladly..." His commander replied grimly, understandably frustrated by this event.

"C'mon... Let's get you to a medic... You look like you've been through hell..."

 

[Mirage]

“Guys, hold on! We don’t need to fight! The fighting is over, c’mon! I-”

Mirage nearly collapsed at the sudden wave of crushing fatigue he felt wash over his body. His breathing became heavy as he looked around in a haze, focusing on the blonde guy in golden armor. Yeah, maybe Wraith could hold a grudge, but it was clear from the start that this guy didn’t want to give anyone the time of day. What was his deal?

“Renee, are you alright? Where-” The legend could only reach out as the Gilgamesh simply strode over and toss Wraith around like a ragdoll.

“Hey, w-watch it.” His words came out slurred as he tried to catch his breath. Man, he didn’t remember pushing himself this hard during the fight. Whatever this guy did, it was heavy and dirty.

“You lay another hand on her,” he wheezed, unsure if he was even being heard. “I’ll show you how a real legend gets the job done.” Mirage finally slumped over a bit, catching himself on his knees. Colors swirled together as he attempted to focus on the golden armor, watching as a hand grabbed Wraith by the head and slammed it against the stone.

‘Renee!” Mirage sputtered. He could barely make out Gilgamesh’s words as he tried to crawl over to them. Another exchange led to Wraith getting decked by the King’s heels.

“Renee!”

The King simply looked at him with a smile before stepping away, as if he had simply washed his hands.

“I thought,” Mirage quipped before taking another breath. “I thought you were on our side. Not the kind of bamboozle I’m looking for, especially from some guy who calls himself a king.”

Though he felt his words with every breath, they couldn’t even reach their intended target. At the very least, with each step the King took away with his newly found regiment, Mirage could feel a fraction of his strength return.

“Elliot…”

Mirage managed to get himself on his feet and stumble over to Wraith.

“Well, I thought you had him until he did, well, whatever he did.”

“Just take me to the medical tent, you idiot.”

“Glad to know you’re alright, you can’t die on me yet. We haven’t even seen the halftime show! Plus, I still don't know what hospital you're gonna end up at.”

A chuckle came from Wraith, along with a cough full of blood. Mirage carefully picked her up, piggyback style, and began carrying her. It wasn’t long before he found Izaneus and Roy along the way.

“Hey, Roy, sorry about the, uhm, well, crazy gold guy.” Mirage sheepishly spoke, keeping up with Iza as much as he could.

“We are going to bury him as deep as the bastard’s ego.” Wraith whispered hoarsely, barely able to speak in her condition.

“It’s because of you that we are in this mess, General Wraith, though I suppose it was only a matter of time before such a thing happened. That man wasn’t meant to serve under anyone other than himself. Clearly.” The Commander frowned, less than amused at their situation as Iza helped them along, propping some of their weight on his shoulder. They walked at a snail’s pace, both parties exhausted from what they just experienced.

“Let’s just get everyone back in good shape and then we can figure out what we are doing, okay? I don’t want to fight with each other, when there’s those unmade things out there.” Izaneus spoke worriedly.

“I hope that the brunt of it is now behind us, though not without great losses. An artifact that powerful will easily turn the tides of a battle, and we are powerless against it.” Roy spoke his words grimly, almost as if admitting defeat that he could not have salvaged the situation further.

“Well, I wouldn’t say powerless, Commander.” Mirage worked up a smile and a wink.

Roy couldn’t help but narrow his eyes at the lieutenant and sigh. It was hard to imagine how the man could come out of this battle mostly unscathed while also indirectly causing so much turmoil. He hoped that whatever idea the trickster had up his sleeve provided much less chaos and bloodshed on their part. His body ached from the effect of the artifact, and the wounds he had suffered in his encounter were only worse from it.

“So, uh, have you ever heard of a titan?”

 

[Wraith]

Wraith was spent. She had given everything she could muster, and it had not been enough. After the glorious golden ass had left the area with his troops everyone began to recover.

“Fall back to the rear line. All troops pull back and stand down.” Staff Sergeant Meyers spoke into his radio.

He beckoned to Mirage who had been carrying Renee and with her personal guard in tow guided him to the rear where they had setup the supply wagons. The remaining Hell Diver infantry began to form a perimeter circle around their commander as a group of medics from Easy company descended upon their injured General. They had arrived with a field medical gurney; Mirage carefully let down his injured passenger, the medics using great care to lay her down on the gurney.

“Don’t they have phoenix kits around here?” He said, looking around at the medical supplies.

Renee stifled a laugh, blood spilling from her mouth, her hand pressing against her stab wound. She tried to sit up, but the battalion surgeon pushed her onto her back.

“Lie still, General.” He ordered, pressing a morphine syrette into her thigh.

The medicine did nothing to ease her pain. She reached out and gripped Mirage’s hand and pulled him into the circle of medics around her.

“Elliot…” She could barely speak. She was exhausted. Her vision had blurred, and she could barely even see Mirage’s face.

“Laceration across the chest. Puncture would on the right side, severe trauma to the left leg and right arm and shoulder.” One of the medics sounded off.

They cut into her shirt and uniform with a pair of surgical scissors exposing the stab wound at her waist. Pressing a field bandage to the wound, Wraith cried out and squeezed Elliot’s hand in pain. One of the medics fed the wraps around her body and tied it tight, applying pressure to the area. Carefully one of the surgeons began to suture the slice across Wraith’s chest, applying a bandage once he was satisfied with his work. Next on the list was her leg, which was bleeding at an alarming rate. Ripping open her pant leg and cutting away the fabric the medics exposed the sword wound and began applying a tourniquet just above to her thigh, washing the area with a saline solution. Wraith groaned through her teeth and writhed on the gurney, her hand still clinging to Mirage’s. They applied several bandages to the wound, tying them very tightly to stem the blood flow.

Cutting open the right side of her shirt one of the surgeons exposed the purple and red skin that hid the shattered bones of her shoulder and right arm. They set her shoulder as best they could, pulling on her arm to straighten the bone which made her groan through teeth. Wrapping her shoulders and arm in hardened bandage they positioned her broken one into a sling once more. The battalion surgeon took her good arm and tapped her inner elbow. Pressing a needle into her arm he lifted a bag of plasma above her head and taped the tube to her skin.

“Jeez, Renee. I think you over did it.” Mirage said, kneeling next to his fellow legend, her hand still in his.

Elliot was right. She had over done it and now she was paying the price.

“You think?” She whispered, with a slight smile.

She was happy to see him. Resting her head against the ground she let out a deep sigh and drifted out of consciousness.