The Fall of Elfen High (IC, Closed)

[Astrolinium]

Softly, Peter said, "Sorry to interrupt, but, could I get some clothes, maybe? I'm a bit naked."

[Nightkill the Emperor]

Softly, Peter said, "Sorry to interrupt, but, could I get some clothes, maybe? I'm a bit naked."

With a snap of his fingers, Crowley provided new clothes.

[Nude East Ireland]

"Alright," Damien replied, as he looked towards the boy who was named after him - not that he was aware of this.

"Who's this? You're letting more Americans into the place? Lewis is getting to you, Al."

D paused.

"This is the part, I believe," he said, "where I fall over myself to meet the man so noble as for my father to name me after him. Well, fuck that; you're a lecherous slob, drunken hedonist, puppy-kicking dunghead, and an all-around bad person, a fact that both of us are aware of. You just happened to be decent at killing things - not really a talent we are desperate for - and also at being rich. I, too, am good at being rich - probably better than you. Which is to say that my name is Franklin Damien Jameson, you will call me 'D', and you will not get smug."

"I'm a dragon. Fuck off."

Damien proceeded out of the room, grabbing the nearest human being and smacking him across the face. "You. You sweat-covered, coffee-shitting, pimple-faced indentured servant. Get me a coffee, black like an NBA player, a fag, and a young boy. Or girl, I'm not picky. Do that and I'll buy you a fucking castle."

He turned around and nodded to D. "Lewis' son? All your toys? I paid for them. So don't tell me what to do, because all the nurses whose tits you sucked and all the boob jobs your mum got were paid for by Damien Percival Seward, monster hunter, CEO, and currently a dragon."

[Astrolinium]

Softly, Peter said, "Sorry to interrupt, but, could I get some clothes, maybe? I'm a bit naked."

With a snap of his fingers, Crowley provided new clothes.

Caspian -- who was already wearing that exact same thing -- looked at Peter and said, "Nice threads. I dig it. How are you out of my head?"

Peter shrugged. "I don't know. I never know. Nobody ever tells me, they just wait for the universe to hit me with a big squeaky gavel and then awkwardly mutter, 'sorry'."

[Nightkill the Emperor]

D paused.

"This is the part, I believe," he said, "where I fall over myself to meet the man so noble as for my father to name me after him. Well, fuck that; you're a lecherous slob, drunken hedonist, puppy-kicking dunghead, and an all-around bad person, a fact that both of us are aware of. You just happened to be decent at killing things - not really a talent we are desperate for - and also at being rich. I, too, am good at being rich - probably better than you. Which is to say that my name is Franklin Damien Jameson, you will call me 'D', and you will not get smug."

"I'm a dragon. Fuck off."

Damien proceeded out of the room, grabbing the nearest human being and smacking him across the face. "You. You sweat-covered, coffee-shitting, pimple-faced indentured servant. Get me a coffee, black like an NBA player, a fag, and a young boy. Or girl, I'm not picky. Do that and I'll buy you a fucking castle."

He turned around and nodded to D. "Lewis' son? All your toys? I paid for them. So don't tell me what to do, because all the nurses whose tits you sucked and all the boob jobs your mum got were paid for by Damien Percival Seward, monster hunter, CEO, and currently a dragon."

Damien had smacked a passing Bryan Cranston, who occasionally slept inside the walls of Elfen High.

Damien soundly got his ass kicked before Cranston departed.

"You absolutely had that coming." noted Crowley.

[Nationstatelandsville]

D paused.

"This is the part, I believe," he said, "where I fall over myself to meet the man so noble as for my father to name me after him. Well, fuck that; you're a lecherous slob, drunken hedonist, puppy-kicking dunghead, and an all-around bad person, a fact that both of us are aware of. You just happened to be decent at killing things - not really a talent we are desperate for - and also at being rich. I, too, am good at being rich - probably better than you. Which is to say that my name is Franklin Damien Jameson, you will call me 'D', and you will not get smug."

"I'm a dragon. Fuck off."

Damien proceeded out of the room, grabbing the nearest human being and smacking him across the face. "You. You sweat-covered, coffee-shitting, pimple-faced indentured servant. Get me a coffee, black like an NBA player, a fag, and a young boy. Or girl, I'm not picky. Do that and I'll buy you a fucking castle."

He turned around and nodded to D. "Lewis' son? All your toys? I paid for them. So don't tell me what to do, because all the nurses whose tits you sucked and all the boob jobs your mum got were paid for by Damien Percival Seward, monster hunter, CEO, and currently a dragon."

"I'm glad you managed to turn this into a power struggle within three seconds of your sexual inadequacy-based ego reigniting," D said, "The grave must've been so dull for you."

[Nightkill the Emperor]

"I'm a dragon. Fuck off."

Damien proceeded out of the room, grabbing the nearest human being and smacking him across the face. "You. You sweat-covered, coffee-shitting, pimple-faced indentured servant. Get me a coffee, black like an NBA player, a fag, and a young boy. Or girl, I'm not picky. Do that and I'll buy you a fucking castle."

He turned around and nodded to D. "Lewis' son? All your toys? I paid for them. So don't tell me what to do, because all the nurses whose tits you sucked and all the boob jobs your mum got were paid for by Damien Percival Seward, monster hunter, CEO, and currently a dragon."

"I'm glad you managed to turn this into a power struggle within three seconds of your sexual inadequacy-based ego reigniting," D said, "The grave must've been so dull for you."

Crowley sighed. "Alright. D. Status report? What do you know is going on out there? Or what did you know last?"

[Nationstatelandsville]

"I'm glad you managed to turn this into a power struggle within three seconds of your sexual inadequacy-based ego reigniting," D said, "The grave must've been so dull for you."

Crowley sighed. "Alright. D. Status report? What do you know is going on out there? Or what did you know last?"

"Nothing," D said, "Absolutely nothing has happened. Well, some of Sanchez's planes got shot down, but that was some time ago.

I think Uriel is fucking with us."

"THE ROAD WAS DEACTIVATED," HAL said, "WITH SANCHEZ ON IT."

[Nightkill the Emperor]

Crowley sighed. "Alright. D. Status report? What do you know is going on out there? Or what did you know last?"

"Nothing," D said, "Absolutely nothing has happened. Well, some of Sanchez's planes got shot down, but that was some time ago.

I think Uriel is fucking with us."

"THE ROAD WAS DEACTIVATED," HAL said, "WITH SANCHEZ ON IT."

Crowley shrugged. "Alright then. I suppose that we should head there." he said. "Teleportation won't work. The Road is disabled? What do you recommend?"

[Astrolinium]

Caspian said suddenly, "I don't know how practical this is, but if Damien's a dragon, it would be really cool if we all rode there on his back."

[Nightkill the Emperor]

Caspian said suddenly, "I don't know how practical this is, but if Damien's a dragon, it would be really cool if we all road there on his back."

"This is fucking exactly what is going to happen now." Crowley declared.

[Nude East Ireland]

Damien ran to a nearby window and dove through it.

The shards of glass remaining in the frame were blown away - the other windows below were blasted apart. The ground rumbled and fire and sparks shot upward into the air. There was a mighty roar, black smoke rising upward and blocking out the sun at times. The massive wings rose first, moving up and down like a dolphin leaping through the oceans. The body - spiked and scaly - came second. Then the neck, and the head, the mighty head of Damien Seward. He looked at the window and let out a roar.

Let's fly.

[Nationstatelandsville]

Damien ran to a nearby window and dove through it.

The shards of glass remaining in the frame were blown away - the other windows below were blasted apart. The ground rumbled and fire and sparks shot upward into the air. There was a mighty roar, black smoke rising upward and blocking out the sun at times. The massive wings rose first, moving up and down like a dolphin leaping through the oceans. The body - spiked and scaly - came second. Then the neck, and the head, the mighty head of Damien Seward. He looked at the window and let out a roar.

Let's fly.

"WAIT," HAL said.

A small light in the corner of D's right eye flickered to life, so as to indicate his suit's external speakers had been activated; would one place their hands on what they believed to be D's navel, they would, in fact, find an extremely powerful stereo through which any audio of the user's choice could blast.

Carry on my wayward son!
There will be peace when you are done!

"ALRIGHT, WE'RE GOOD."

[Nightkill the Emperor]

Damien ran to a nearby window and dove through it.

The shards of glass remaining in the frame were blown away - the other windows below were blasted apart. The ground rumbled and fire and sparks shot upward into the air. There was a mighty roar, black smoke rising upward and blocking out the sun at times. The massive wings rose first, moving up and down like a dolphin leaping through the oceans. The body - spiked and scaly - came second. Then the neck, and the head, the mighty head of Damien Seward. He looked at the window and let out a roar.

Let's fly.

"WAIT," HAL said.

A small light in the corner of D's right eye flickered to life, so as to indicate his suit's external speakers had been activated; would one place their hands on what they believed to be D's navel, they would, in fact, find an extremely powerful stereo through which any audio of the user's choice could blast.

Carry on my wayward son!
There will be peace when you are done!
"ALRIGHT, WE'RE GOOD."

They all jumped on Damien's back, flying out.

"Lay your weary head to rest
Don't you cry no more."

As they flew out, Crowley looked forward, his mouth dropping open and then glaring at D. "You stupid fuck."

The Capitol was crawling with angels, walking around and about, standing on pillars and churches and homes. They also saw Sanchez's army facing a massive army of angels, a vicious battle ongoing.

More forward, they saw the other army also fighting the robotic angel crowd. Crowley's attention was drawn to EH1 Lewis smashing shit. He nodded in appreciation.

"Alright." he said quietly. "It may be helpful for some of you to get off here."

The angels very much noticed this dragon coming toward them. In fact, blue magical missiles fired directly at Damien, requiring some creative aerial action to avoid.

[Nationstatelandsville]

"WAIT," HAL said.

A small light in the corner of D's right eye flickered to life, so as to indicate his suit's external speakers had been activated; would one place their hands on what they believed to be D's navel, they would, in fact, find an extremely powerful stereo through which any audio of the user's choice could blast.

Carry on my wayward son!
There will be peace when you are done!
"ALRIGHT, WE'RE GOOD."

They all jumped on Damien's back, flying out.

"Lay your weary head to rest
Don't you cry no more."

As they flew out, Crowley looked forward, his mouth dropping open and then glaring at D. "You stupid fuck."

The Capitol was crawling with angels, walking around and about, standing on pillars and churches and homes. They also saw Sanchez's army facing a massive army of angels, a vicious battle ongoing.

More forward, they saw the other army also fighting the robotic angel crowd. Crowley's attention was drawn to EH1 Lewis smashing shit. He nodded in appreciation.

"Alright." he said quietly. "It may be helpful for some of you to get off here."

The angels very much noticed this dragon coming toward them. In fact, blue magical missiles fired directly at Damien, requiring some creative aerial action to avoid.

"We're all about to die," D said, "Personally, I don't plan on doing that nicely. Let's go make a fucking legend."

D dropped from the dragon's neck, waving to Crowley as he fell.

Ah!

Like a rag-doll he tumbled, limbs akimbo. He missed the mountain completely, it would seem - not that it much mattered where he died. He plummeted down towards the earth of Heaven - from which life, many said, was crafted.

Once I rose above the noise and confusion
Just to get a glimpse beyond this illusion

D's body suddenly went rigid. He held his arms tight against his sides and stretched his palms out. Still he fell.

I was soaring ever higher

His palms glowed a burning white.

But I flew too high

And he exploded upwards through the air, arcing so as to climb up the mountain.

Though my eyes could see I still was a blind man

He hurtled above the battlefield on the mountain, seeing it in its full glory; it was a pity, he thought, that this mountain didn't seem to have a name. What would they call the battle in the history books? "The Day Shit Got Fucked"?

Sanchez's army - though without Sanchez, that was an inaccurate name - fought valiantly. But they were surrounded, trapped at the peak while angels crawled up the sides and dropped down from the air mysteriously. They didn't stand a chance - especially not with reinforcements crawling out of the city.

Though my mind could think I still was a mad man

There was no hope. But that's the amazing thing about people - they can imagine hope whenever they like, conjure it, like magic.
And when people have hope, they get pissed.

D was very pissed.

This was Uriel's work. This was his plan - to slaughter them, to hang them in the streets, to rape their women, to burn their homes, to stomp on the embers of everything they were until they glowed no more. And he had D's sister.

He had Rosalind.

This could not, would not, be allowed. At the very least, she would be freed or he would be dead. Such was the oath sworn three times over.

I hear the voices when I'm dreaming,

D flew down through the battle, aimed at a particularly mean-looking cherub, who loomed over a frightened student, wielding a massive axe.

"Please..." the boy whimpered, his magic flames failing to even touch the angel's skin, "...just die!"

The cherub swung at the boy's neck, a perfect arc - beheading.

The axehead exploded. The cherub felt the handled wrenched away from it.

It looked up to see D staring it down, holding the handle. The boy cast it aside, bent down, and tore a boulder from the earth.

I can hear them say...

He flew high into the sky, as high as he could as fast as he could - then he pointed the stone downward and flew back towards the cherub fast enough to break the sound barrier.

Carry on my wayward son!
There'll be peace when you are done!

The rock, and the angel, turned to liquid. D flew away from the student without comment, towards the Capitol. He smashed fist-first into the cement foundation and flew upwards.

The force-field was a dome, not an orb.

Lay your weary head to rest,
Don't you cry no more!

D exploded out of the other end of the Capitol, uppercutting one of the metal angels.

"For what it's worth," D said, "this is not the song I meant to do this to."

[Zarkenis Ultima]

Frederick heard the metallic voice speaking inside his head. It was not such an unfamiliar sensation to him, however. During his life, many voices had crawled their way into his head one way or another, always bothering him with their speeches and fancy special effects, always trying to scare him away, or to get him to abandon all expectations of both survival and victory, two things that were often not quite the same and sometimes even mutually exclusive.

The scale he carried with him at all times was a proof of exactly how many times this had ever worked. It was not a very big number, or indeed, one that even indicated existence.

"You're scared." The Dragonslayer said as he paced around the battlefield, even as the battle had begun. The blasts, he dodged. The cherubs, he avoided. But he did not fight back, not yet.

"You want us to surrender, but it is evident that we are not willing to do such a thing. We don't agree with your ideals, something we have made evident, yet you extend this invitation to us nonetheless. You are quite an intelligent man, however, and thus, it makes no sense. It is redundant. The answer is the same as always. So, then, why?" Frederick continued, walking near a molten puddle that was once a fearsome angel.

"You are not a merciful man. Or, perhaps you are, in your mind. Yes, that's more likely. In your twisted mind, what you do to your people and ours is mercy, salvation. And yet, why would you extend your mercy towards us, when we come to your home and slaughter your kinsmen? It makes no sense, either. You are a smart man, you should know better than that. And so, why would it be? The only reason I can think of..." He said, easily plucking the cherubim's massive sword from the ground with one hand.

"...Is that you're scared." He stated, and paused for several moments, before shrugging.

"Or maybe not. But I can't exactly drop my weapons and I felt like giving a mostly pointless speech." The dragonslayer concluded.

"You've recovered quite quickly haven't you?" Ciel remarked before turning her attention back to the battle at hand.

"I suppose." Came Frederick's reply. And then, holding the blade in front of him, he began breathing fire. Usually, he did not bring out very large flames. They were, at most, the size of his head. But this time, this one time, they were massive, indicative of the man's resolve to battle these things that wanted to destroy the world, a world he'd been through a lot of shit to protect. And so the flames quickly heated the blade, massively so. Before long, the metal was red-hot, all of it.

Frederick then placed his other hand on the hild and charged with his giant burning blade, ready to cleave his way through the armies of heaven.

[Nightkill the Emperor]

"Damien!" Crowley barked at the dragon. "Let's drop off these others here. You and I have an appointment to make."

He glanced at his sides, seeing that any blasts being fired were targeted at Caspian, DH Lewis or Peter. None at Damien or Crowley. He glanced at the trio. "I'm afraid that your place isn't here, it appears." He snapped his fingers, and the three appeared next to a now confused EH1 Lewis.

Now, Crowley gripped Damien's scales. "I'll guide you to the Falls." he said. A sort of yellow line appeared in front of Damien, gesturing where he should go forward and how so. The angels around them allowed them to pass safely, raising Crowley's suspicions.

He spoke again to Damien. "So. How was Egypt? And I imagine you need an update on the world as it is now?"

[Nude East Ireland]

"Damien!" Crowley barked at the dragon. "Let's drop off these others here. You and I have an appointment to make."

He glanced at his sides, seeing that any blasts being fired were targeted at Caspian, DH Lewis or Peter. None at Damien or Crowley. He glanced at the trio. "I'm afraid that your place isn't here, it appears." He snapped his fingers, and the three appeared next to a now confused EH1 Lewis.

Now, Crowley gripped Damien's scales. "I'll guide you to the Falls." he said. A sort of yellow line appeared in front of Damien, gesturing where he should go forward and how so. The angels around them allowed them to pass safely, raising Crowley's suspicions.

He spoke again to Damien. "So. How was Egypt? And I imagine you need an update on the world as it is now?"

Egypt was... strange. James killed me. Then I was a warrior, fighting the Fae. Merlin revived me. I fought in Jerusalem. I saw Oberon.

Damien flew through the skies like a jet - fast and graceful, the wind at his mercy. The skies were the bitch of Damien Seward. He felt like a god. A familiar feeling, much like being on multiple drugs or holding an ancient sword.

I suppose I should know what the world has become. How long has it been? A few years if Lewis' son is involved in how the school runs.

[Astrolinium]

Lewis F. Jameson's nose twitched. In every corner of the world, north or south, land or ocean, light or dark, this was a sign of impending doom.

"Ye' just pissed me off," he growled, "That was a mistake."

Ophanim are creatures of iron and fire; for these two states, differing and natural foes, are to co-exist, there must exist some compromise between them. The fire burned just as hot, if not hotter, than that of Earth - and so the metal must have been incredibly resilient. But it grew hot, very hot, all the same.

Lewis could produce heat.

"LET'S RIP THEIR COCKS OFF!" was Lewis's battle cry as he grabbed the separated rings of a dead ophan, heating them quickly to a temperature best described as "utter bullshit", and pounced at the twisted angels; he swung the rings as bludgeons, hot enough to melt any earthen substance, save the hands of a very persistent yokel.

He glanced at his sides, seeing that any blasts being fired were targeted at Caspian, DH Lewis or Peter. None at Damien or Crowley. He glanced at the trio. "I'm afraid that your place isn't here, it appears." He snapped his fingers, and the three appeared next to a now confused EH1 Lewis.

Peter immediately assumed a defensive stance -- he put his hands up like he'd seen in some bad kung-fu movies. He grunted, screwed his eyes shut, and concentrated.

After a minute of doing that, he gasped and exclaimed, "Shit Shit Shit Shit!"

The process of mind-melding with Caspian in the first place had stripped him of his Sphinx powers -- that's what he had wanted, after all -- and now he was just an ordinary fleshbag with very little experience in fighting. He had, by his count -- assuming the memories were real -- died approximately three times already in his life.

He did not wish to die a fourth, but perhaps that would be inevitable.

At his back was Caspian Lawrence, whose immediate response was to pull out the mock-Excalibur, brandishing it with practiced hands. It had a good weight and balance to it, this sword. He would have to name it... perhaps this would be the battle in which it would earn that, he mused. Looking back over his shoulder, he called, "What're you shitting about?" to Peter.

Eyes wide -- Peter's eyes tended to do that when he was in trouble, you might recall -- Peter shouted, "I can't do the Sphinx thing! Oh, god, I'm going to die."

Suddenly, Peter found a talwar -- Caspian's talwar -- being waved in his face.

"What the hell am I going to do with that? I don't know the first thing about swordfighting, especially not with some Arabian scimitar," shouted Peter.

"It's a talwar, Indian, and fine!" shouted back Caspian. Suddenly, Peter found himself being handed a sci-fi gun: a Smith & Wesson 12836 triple-plasma-action revolver, tagline 'It eats angels for breakfast'. Well, not really, but that's the one Caspian gave it.

Peter grasped it and said, "Okay, maybe this I can use!"

He promptly pointed it at the nearest angel and fired.

[Nightkill the Emperor]

"Damien!" Crowley barked at the dragon. "Let's drop off these others here. You and I have an appointment to make."

He glanced at his sides, seeing that any blasts being fired were targeted at Caspian, DH Lewis or Peter. None at Damien or Crowley. He glanced at the trio. "I'm afraid that your place isn't here, it appears." He snapped his fingers, and the three appeared next to a now confused EH1 Lewis.

Now, Crowley gripped Damien's scales. "I'll guide you to the Falls." he said. A sort of yellow line appeared in front of Damien, gesturing where he should go forward and how so. The angels around them allowed them to pass safely, raising Crowley's suspicions.

He spoke again to Damien. "So. How was Egypt? And I imagine you need an update on the world as it is now?"

Egypt was... strange. James killed me. Then I was a warrior, fighting the Fae. Merlin revived me. I fought in Jerusalem. I saw Oberon.

Damien flew through the skies like a jet - fast and graceful, the wind at his mercy. The skies were the bitch of Damien Seward. He felt like a god. A familiar feeling, much like being on multiple drugs or holding an ancient sword.

I suppose I should know what the world has become. How long has it been? A few years if Lewis' son is involved in how the school runs.

"You saw Oberon?" asked a surprised Crowley. "And you lived? Fuck, well-"

He paused. "You know something? Let's cut to the point." he placed a hand on Damien's back, and they exchanged memories of their respective experiences. Crowley paused, leaning back. "Huh. Well, now I can see that Oberon's a brutal fucker." he said, now with full memories of Caspian's brutal murder. "And I'm glad Richard - or Dad, I suppose-" That was an odd statement. "was always quite a good fighter."

They began to descend slowly. In front of them, they saw two massive, awe inspiring waterfalls facing each other. There were two statues, each standing underneath one waterfall, separated by a hundred metres of watery ground. One, Crowley recognised, was of Lucifer. Another was of his brother, Michael. The two statues were giant, standing twenty metres tall, staring at each other.

Uriel's voice was heard. His normal, calm, accented voice. He spoke in English for now. "You appreciate it?" he asked, sitting on top of statue Michael's head. "It was put up shortly after you disappeared. Not by Michael or myself, but by a carpenter who wanted to celebrate the battle and what it symbolised. Nobody took it down, as it seemed to fit." Uriel said casually.

He descended to the ground, his bare feet submerging into the water.

"No request for me to surrender?" mocked Crowley, facing his brother, his accent now not even remotely English, but far more to the north, contrasting with Uriel's accented English, which sounded vaguely Latin American, which was the best representation of someone speaking English when their native language is Ancient Hebrew.

Uriel shook his head. "That, as you and I both know, will never happen." A smile appeared on his face. "Rather, it appears that this may just be our final confrontation, brother." He glanced at Damien. "And I thank you for bringing your dragon along as well." he said, twisting the ring on his finger. "That will keep things interesting for us all."

Suddenly, Uriel moved, grabbing Damien's tail. His hand started to glow blue, and he began to rip a black smoke out of Damien's body, which began to solidify...into another dragon. But this one glowed red, and growled.

Crowley's face paled. "Fuck!" he said. "Damien, get out of here! Or don't let him make contact with you!"

Uriel was somehow ripping souls out of Damien's body, repurposing them for his own end- his own creations, his own dragons.

Crowley's fists began to glow white, and he charged at Uriel, roaring. He made to punch Uriel in the face, but the archangel let go of Damien (stopping the soul drain), and countered his brother by suddenly delivering an uppercut to his face with a hand burning with white fire.

The red dragon, meanwhile, was now flying above Damien, and now breathed fire directly at his originator.

[Nude East Ireland]

Damien shot forward, flying along the ground before moving upward. The fire was right behind him - he could feel the heat. Fuck fuck fuck fuck, he thought to himself.

As he flew upward, he rolled so that he was now upright and facing Uriel's dragon. He let out a mighty roar, which became the genesis of a stream of searing flames that flew directly towards his foe. As he breathed the fire outward, he flew at the dragon, his great wings propelling him at an incredible speed. Through the fire and the flames he carried on, ramming head-first into his counterpart and sinking his huge teeth into its chest.

Only a lizard of different scales. he hissed.

He raised his dragon legs, pressing his feet against the enemy, and with a great push he sent both him and his opponent in different directions - he pulled his neck back as well, tearing through his enemy's chest and ripping off chunks. He flew upside-down for a minute, before flipping back over and opening his mouth to let the bits and pieces fall to the ground.

He turned slowly, almost gracefully, to face his opponent once more.

That's all the truth I know. He was mocking his opponent.

[Nightkill the Emperor]

Frederick heard the metallic voice speaking inside his head. It was not such an unfamiliar sensation to him, however. During his life, many voices had crawled their way into his head one way or another, always bothering him with their speeches and fancy special effects, always trying to scare him away, or to get him to abandon all expectations of both survival and victory, two things that were often not quite the same and sometimes even mutually exclusive.

The scale he carried with him at all times was a proof of exactly how many times this had ever worked. It was not a very big number, or indeed, one that even indicated existence.

"You're scared." The Dragonslayer said as he paced around the battlefield, even as the battle had begun. The blasts, he dodged. The cherubs, he avoided. But he did not fight back, not yet.

"You want us to surrender, but it is evident that we are not willing to do such a thing. We don't agree with your ideals, something we have made evident, yet you extend this invitation to us nonetheless. You are quite an intelligent man, however, and thus, it makes no sense. It is redundant. The answer is the same as always. So, then, why?" Frederick continued, walking near a molten puddle that was once a fearsome angel.

"You are not a merciful man. Or, perhaps you are, in your mind. Yes, that's more likely. In your twisted mind, what you do to your people and ours is mercy, salvation. And yet, why would you extend your mercy towards us, when we come to your home and slaughter your kinsmen? It makes no sense, either. You are a smart man, you should know better than that. And so, why would it be? The only reason I can think of..." He said, easily plucking the cherubim's massive sword from the ground with one hand.

"...Is that you're scared." He stated, and paused for several moments, before shrugging.

"Or maybe not. But I can't exactly drop my weapons and I felt like giving a mostly pointless speech." The dragonslayer concluded.

"You've recovered quite quickly haven't you?" Ciel remarked before turning her attention back to the battle at hand.

"I suppose." Came Frederick's reply. And then, holding the blade in front of him, he began breathing fire. Usually, he did not bring out very large flames. They were, at most, the size of his head. But this time, this one time, they were massive, indicative of the man's resolve to battle these things that wanted to destroy the world, a world he'd been through a lot of shit to protect. And so the flames quickly heated the blade, massively so. Before long, the metal was red-hot, all of it.

Frederick then placed his other hand on the hild and charged with his giant burning blade, ready to cleave his way through the armies of heaven.

Cleave he did do.

One angel morphed its arms into machine guns as well, since Fred was much admired by some of Heaven's top brass and they liked to copy his style. These machine guns blasted away at him.

Lewis F. Jameson's nose twitched. In every corner of the world, north or south, land or ocean, light or dark, this was a sign of impending doom.

"Ye' just pissed me off," he growled, "That was a mistake."

Ophanim are creatures of iron and fire; for these two states, differing and natural foes, are to co-exist, there must exist some compromise between them. The fire burned just as hot, if not hotter, than that of Earth - and so the metal must have been incredibly resilient. But it grew hot, very hot, all the same.

Lewis could produce heat.

"LET'S RIP THEIR COCKS OFF!" was Lewis's battle cry as he grabbed the separated rings of a dead ophan, heating them quickly to a temperature best described as "utter bullshit", and pounced at the twisted angels; he swung the rings as bludgeons, hot enough to melt any earthen substance, save the hands of a very persistent yokel.

He glanced at his sides, seeing that any blasts being fired were targeted at Caspian, DH Lewis or Peter. None at Damien or Crowley. He glanced at the trio. "I'm afraid that your place isn't here, it appears." He snapped his fingers, and the three appeared next to a now confused EH1 Lewis.

Peter immediately assumed a defensive stance -- he put his hands up like he'd seen in some bad kung-fu movies. He grunted, screwed his eyes shut, and concentrated.

After a minute of doing that, he gasped and exclaimed, "Shit Shit Shit Shit!"

The process of mind-melding with Caspian in the first place had stripped him of his Sphinx powers -- that's what he had wanted, after all -- and now he was just an ordinary fleshbag with very little experience in fighting. He had, by his count -- assuming the memories were real -- died approximately three times already in his life.

He did not wish to die a fourth, but perhaps that would be inevitable.

At his back was Caspian Lawrence, whose immediate response was to pull out the mock-Excalibur, brandishing it with practiced hands. It had a good weight and balance to it, this sword. He would have to name it... perhaps this would be the battle in which it would earn that, he mused. Looking back over his shoulder, he called, "What're you shitting about?" to Peter.

Eyes wide -- Peter's eyes tended to do that when he was in trouble, you might recall -- Peter shouted, "I can't do the Sphinx thing! Oh, god, I'm going to die."

Suddenly, Peter found a talwar -- Caspian's talwar -- being waved in his face.

"What the hell am I going to do with that? I don't know the first thing about swordfighting, especially not with some Arabian scimitar," shouted Peter.

"It's a talwar, Indian, and fine!" shouted back Caspian. Suddenly, Peter found himself being handed a sci-fi gun: a Smith & Wesson 12836 triple-plasma-action revolver, tagline 'It eats angels for breakfast'. Well, not really, but that's the one Caspian gave it.

Peter grasped it and said, "Okay, maybe this I can use!"

He promptly pointed it at the nearest angel and fired.

This angel happened to be Calliel, who ducked. The blast kept going, hitting the evil angel that Calliel happened to be fighting.

Calliel gave Caspian a reproachful look. "You have good angels on your side too. Robot wings bad, normal wings good." he instructed, his hand then grabbing a nearby angel, freezing it solid, and then throwing it away as it shattered into pieces.

They all jumped on Damien's back, flying out.

"Lay your weary head to rest
Don't you cry no more."

As they flew out, Crowley looked forward, his mouth dropping open and then glaring at D. "You stupid fuck."

The Capitol was crawling with angels, walking around and about, standing on pillars and churches and homes. They also saw Sanchez's army facing a massive army of angels, a vicious battle ongoing.

More forward, they saw the other army also fighting the robotic angel crowd. Crowley's attention was drawn to EH1 Lewis smashing shit. He nodded in appreciation.

"Alright." he said quietly. "It may be helpful for some of you to get off here."

The angels very much noticed this dragon coming toward them. In fact, blue magical missiles fired directly at Damien, requiring some creative aerial action to avoid.

"We're all about to die," D said, "Personally, I don't plan on doing that nicely. Let's go make a fucking legend."

D dropped from the dragon's neck, waving to Crowley as he fell.

Ah!

Like a rag-doll he tumbled, limbs akimbo. He missed the mountain completely, it would seem - not that it much mattered where he died. He plummeted down towards the earth of Heaven - from which life, many said, was crafted.

Once I rose above the noise and confusion
Just to get a glimpse beyond this illusion

D's body suddenly went rigid. He held his arms tight against his sides and stretched his palms out. Still he fell.

I was soaring ever higher

His palms glowed a burning white.

But I flew too high

And he exploded upwards through the air, arcing so as to climb up the mountain.

Though my eyes could see I still was a blind man

He hurtled above the battlefield on the mountain, seeing it in its full glory; it was a pity, he thought, that this mountain didn't seem to have a name. What would they call the battle in the history books? "The Day Shit Got Fucked"?

Sanchez's army - though without Sanchez, that was an inaccurate name - fought valiantly. But they were surrounded, trapped at the peak while angels crawled up the sides and dropped down from the air mysteriously. They didn't stand a chance - especially not with reinforcements crawling out of the city.

Though my mind could think I still was a mad man

There was no hope. But that's the amazing thing about people - they can imagine hope whenever they like, conjure it, like magic.
And when people have hope, they get pissed.

D was very pissed.

This was Uriel's work. This was his plan - to slaughter them, to hang them in the streets, to rape their women, to burn their homes, to stomp on the embers of everything they were until they glowed no more. And he had D's sister.

He had Rosalind.

This could not, would not, be allowed. At the very least, she would be freed or he would be dead. Such was the oath sworn three times over.

I hear the voices when I'm dreaming,

D flew down through the battle, aimed at a particularly mean-looking cherub, who loomed over a frightened student, wielding a massive axe.

"Please..." the boy whimpered, his magic flames failing to even touch the angel's skin, "...just die!"

The cherub swung at the boy's neck, a perfect arc - beheading.

The axehead exploded. The cherub felt the handled wrenched away from it.

It looked up to see D staring it down, holding the handle. The boy cast it aside, bent down, and tore a boulder from the earth.

I can hear them say...

He flew high into the sky, as high as he could as fast as he could - then he pointed the stone downward and flew back towards the cherub fast enough to break the sound barrier.

Carry on my wayward son!
There'll be peace when you are done!

The rock, and the angel, turned to liquid. D flew away from the student without comment, towards the Capitol. He smashed fist-first into the cement foundation and flew upwards.

The force-field was a dome, not an orb.

Lay your weary head to rest,
Don't you cry no more!

D exploded out of the other end of the Capitol, uppercutting one of the metal angels.

"For what it's worth," D said, "this is not the song I meant to do this to."

D found himself now near Calliel, Caspian and Peter. Calliel, at the least, gave him an approving nod

"Who here will surrender?" asked that voice again.

"Does he think he's talking to Frenchmen?" William asked, managing to stand up at least in order to properly wave his two fingers at Uriel. "Anton's right. Bugger you to Hell, and then a bit further down, because those poor people have suffered enough without having you show up." He bent down and grabbed some bits of rubble on the ground, squeezing them in his fist for a few moments as he glanced up at the descending angels. He didn't want to start flying up there, since his magic was too dangerous to do that sort of thing, but there was no reason he couldn't send something else flying up for him. The knight began charging his light magic in his fingertips as he squinted and took aim at the oncoming foes, before flinging the rocks up in the air and launching them at luminous speed railgun-style at the angels, assisted by his supersoldier brain stuff.

William's attacks hit several approaching angels, knocking some over. But one managed to come close to him, and said angel changed his hands into machine guns, firing away at William's body.

"Goddamn you!" Aziraphale spat, leaning over Anton and waving his hand over the wound; a thin layer of ice appeared, stymieing any treasonous blood that might try to escape.

"Say 'yes' if you can breath."

Anton glanced at Aziraphale and nodded. "Let's... fight."

His voice was harsh and raspy; he could probably heal it later. Now he had to fight. He summoned up his strength and blasted himself into the air like Iron Man. High into the sky, he spun like a top, whips of fire extending from his outstretched arms and smacking Angels. He ceased spinning and began to fall. As he did, he whipped at Angels left and right, smacking and thrashing the mechanical abominations.

Before he could touch the ground, he allowed the whips to disappear into the air, which freed him to blast forward and flip. He landed on his feet, yet fell to his knees. His hand rose to his neck, where he felt the wound. Pain spread from his neck to his body and into his head.

I don't need my voice, he thought.

He looked above. Gathering his energy, he used both hands to send a blast of fire into the air at a grouping of Angels.

These angels were now aflame.

But that seem overly effective upon them, as they merely turned around, glared and flew directly at Anton, firing away with their gun hands.

A sudden bullet (yes, a bullet) ripped through Anton's throat, ripping apart his vocal cords and ability to make rousing speeches.

The battle had begun.

"Goddamn you!" Aziraphale spat, leaning over Anton and waving his hand over the wound; a thin layer of ice appeared, stymieing any treasonous blood that might try to escape.

"Say 'yes' if you can breath."

---

Lewis F. Jameson's nose twitched. In every corner of the world, north or south, land or ocean, light or dark, this was a sign of impending doom.

"Ye' just pissed me off," he growled, "That was a mistake."

Ophanim are creatures of iron and fire; for these two states, differing and natural foes, are to co-exist, there must exist some compromise between them. The fire burned just as hot, if not hotter, than that of Earth - and so the metal must have been incredibly resilient. But it grew hot, very hot, all the same.

Lewis could produce heat.

"LET'S RIP THEIR COCKS OFF!" was Lewis's battle cry as he grabbed the separated rings of a dead ophan, heating them quickly to a temperature best described as "utter bullshit", and pounced at the twisted angels; he swung the rings as bludgeons, hot enough to melt any earthen substance, save the hands of a very persistent yokel.

This was a bit scary.

But let's go back some.

Remember Verga?

Well, now imagine that several angels in the crowd were gathering together, their bodies morphing and shifting to become massive, powerful robot, pointing its guns at Lewis and firing away.

[Astrolinium]

Frederick heard the metallic voice speaking inside his head. It was not such an unfamiliar sensation to him, however. During his life, many voices had crawled their way into his head one way or another, always bothering him with their speeches and fancy special effects, always trying to scare him away, or to get him to abandon all expectations of both survival and victory, two things that were often not quite the same and sometimes even mutually exclusive.

The scale he carried with him at all times was a proof of exactly how many times this had ever worked. It was not a very big number, or indeed, one that even indicated existence.

"You're scared." The Dragonslayer said as he paced around the battlefield, even as the battle had begun. The blasts, he dodged. The cherubs, he avoided. But he did not fight back, not yet.

"You want us to surrender, but it is evident that we are not willing to do such a thing. We don't agree with your ideals, something we have made evident, yet you extend this invitation to us nonetheless. You are quite an intelligent man, however, and thus, it makes no sense. It is redundant. The answer is the same as always. So, then, why?" Frederick continued, walking near a molten puddle that was once a fearsome angel.

"You are not a merciful man. Or, perhaps you are, in your mind. Yes, that's more likely. In your twisted mind, what you do to your people and ours is mercy, salvation. And yet, why would you extend your mercy towards us, when we come to your home and slaughter your kinsmen? It makes no sense, either. You are a smart man, you should know better than that. And so, why would it be? The only reason I can think of..." He said, easily plucking the cherubim's massive sword from the ground with one hand.

"...Is that you're scared." He stated, and paused for several moments, before shrugging.

"Or maybe not. But I can't exactly drop my weapons and I felt like giving a mostly pointless speech." The dragonslayer concluded.

"You've recovered quite quickly haven't you?" Ciel remarked before turning her attention back to the battle at hand.

"I suppose." Came Frederick's reply. And then, holding the blade in front of him, he began breathing fire. Usually, he did not bring out very large flames. They were, at most, the size of his head. But this time, this one time, they were massive, indicative of the man's resolve to battle these things that wanted to destroy the world, a world he'd been through a lot of shit to protect. And so the flames quickly heated the blade, massively so. Before long, the metal was red-hot, all of it.

Frederick then placed his other hand on the hild and charged with his giant burning blade, ready to cleave his way through the armies of heaven.

Cleave he did do.

One angel morphed its arms into machine guns as well, since Fred was much admired by some of Heaven's top brass and they liked to copy his style. These machine guns blasted away at him.

Peter immediately assumed a defensive stance -- he put his hands up like he'd seen in some bad kung-fu movies. He grunted, screwed his eyes shut, and concentrated.

After a minute of doing that, he gasped and exclaimed, "Shit Shit Shit Shit!"

The process of mind-melding with Caspian in the first place had stripped him of his Sphinx powers -- that's what he had wanted, after all -- and now he was just an ordinary fleshbag with very little experience in fighting. He had, by his count -- assuming the memories were real -- died approximately three times already in his life.

He did not wish to die a fourth, but perhaps that would be inevitable.

At his back was Caspian Lawrence, whose immediate response was to pull out the mock-Excalibur, brandishing it with practiced hands. It had a good weight and balance to it, this sword. He would have to name it... perhaps this would be the battle in which it would earn that, he mused. Looking back over his shoulder, he called, "What're you shitting about?" to Peter.

Eyes wide -- Peter's eyes tended to do that when he was in trouble, you might recall -- Peter shouted, "I can't do the Sphinx thing! Oh, god, I'm going to die."

Suddenly, Peter found a talwar -- Caspian's talwar -- being waved in his face.

"What the hell am I going to do with that? I don't know the first thing about swordfighting, especially not with some Arabian scimitar," shouted Peter.

"It's a talwar, Indian, and fine!" shouted back Caspian. Suddenly, Peter found himself being handed a sci-fi gun: a Smith & Wesson 12836 triple-plasma-action revolver, tagline 'It eats angels for breakfast'. Well, not really, but that's the one Caspian gave it.

Peter grasped it and said, "Okay, maybe this I can use!"

He promptly pointed it at the nearest angel and fired.

This angel happened to be Calliel, who ducked. The blast kept going, hitting the evil angel that Calliel happened to be fighting.

Calliel gave Caspian a reproachful look. "You have good angels on your side too. Robot wings bad, normal wings good." he instructed, his hand then grabbing a nearby angel, freezing it solid, and then throwing it away as it shattered into pieces.

Caspian smiled apologetically and shouted, "Sorry, he's new!"

He then pulled out the other Smith & Wesson 12836 triple-plasma-action revolver he owned, realizing that it would be stupid to bring a sword to a robot angel fight.

He began firing -- but only at the bad angels.

Peter, meanwhile, winced as he realized he'd almost hit a good guy. Silently, he began to pray. Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus tecum. Benedicta tu in mulieribus, et benedictus fructus ventris tui, Iesus. Sancta Maria, Mater Dei, ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc et in hora mortis nostrae. Amen.

He figured, out of all the religious figures who had turned out recently to be complete fuckheads, surely Mary must've been a nice lady.

[Nationstatelandsville]

D found himself now near Calliel, Caspian and Peter. Calliel, at the least, gave him an approving nod.

D bowed.

"Thanks, Cal," he said, firing an errant shot at an angel near Peter, "Tell me - how are things with you? Richard holding up well?"

This was a bit scary.

But let's go back some.

Remember Verga?

Well, now imagine that several angels in the crowd were gathering together, their bodies morphing and shifting to become massive, powerful robot, pointing its guns at Lewis and firing away.

"Fuckin' Japs," Lewis grumbled, "They're always stabbin' us in the back for fascist cunts."

Aziraphale blinked, "What are you-"

"ROBITS, GAYBOY!" the old man howled, "FILTHY, COMMIE, YELLOW ROBITS!"

"...Quite," the angel agreed, "We should probably destroy it."

"Yeah, I'm gettin' to it," Lewis sniffed, "Think ye' can me behind it?"

"I suppose," Aziraphale said.

Lewis grinned stupidly and threw one of the rings at a random angel; he heated part of the other until, finally, it became malleable enough to break. Lewis did just that, producing a very hot and very sharp blade.

"Do it now!"

Aziraphale grabbed Lewis by the waist and held tight; after a second, they appeared behind the robit. Lewis smirked a bit and promptly drove the sharp edge of the once-ring up a hole he could only assume was the robit's ass.

"Bet that wasn't the first time ye' felt something like that, huh, stardust?" he cackled.

[Nightkill the Emperor]

Damien shot forward, flying along the ground before moving upward. The fire was right behind him - he could feel the heat. Fuck fuck fuck fuck, he thought to himself.

As he flew upward, he rolled so that he was now upright and facing Uriel's dragon. He let out a mighty roar, which became the genesis of a stream of searing flames that flew directly towards his foe. As he breathed the fire outward, he flew at the dragon, his great wings propelling him at an incredible speed. Through the fire and the flames he carried on, ramming head-first into his counterpart and sinking his huge teeth into its chest.

Only a lizard of different scales. he hissed.

He raised his dragon legs, pressing his feet against the enemy, and with a great push he sent both him and his opponent in different directions - he pulled his neck back as well, tearing through his enemy's chest and ripping off chunks. He flew upside-down for a minute, before flipping back over and opening his mouth to let the bits and pieces fall to the ground.

He turned slowly, almost gracefully, to face his opponent once more.

That's all the truth I know. He was mocking his opponent.

The other dragon then proceeded to blast a beam of white light out of its mouth, shooting directly through Damien's tail, slicing it off and causing it to fall to the ground. While it could regenerate, it would take away some energy and it certainly caused considerable pain.

The dragon's own body had fizzling red sparks where the magic played over its wounds, healing it. It opened its mouth, firing out another white blast.

In the meanwhile, Uriel and Crowley were rather brutally punching each other. Uriel's fist smashed through his brother's chest, but Crowley kneed his brother in the nether regions, which did not cause any visible reaction other than Uriel being pushed back due to force. A clanging sound was heard, and a bit of pain in Crowley's knee.

Crowley blasted out wind from his palms, causing Uriel's hand to fly out of his body as Crowley went flying backwards. The blood flowing out of his body was then captured by Crowley, who began to manipulate the liquid telepathically and morph it into small shurikens, copying and expanding on the technique used by some Amara Havana.

Uriel mostly dodged the shurikens, but one sliced his face, just underneath his eye. The archangel growled and winced. His face was bleeding, a bright blue blood. Like before, a metallic sound was heard as the shuriken hit Uriel.

"Oh, brother." Crowley muttered. "What have you done?"

"Only what was necessary." retorted Uriel. "You have no idea what I've had to do to be here."

Crowley ran at Uriel, his body glowing, hardening, a metal surface covering it. Picture the metal skin item you can pick up in Super Smash Bros. "What the hell are you now?"

"Ille qui nos omnes servabit." replied the archangel calmly, a sword appearing in his hand, slicing at the approaching Crowley.