Match of the Millennium

Description: Rachel musing while gazing into a cup of tea: "That pompous, self-important mummer. I knew he would not be able to resist the lure. So he presumes to invite himself, does he... If it is an audience he desires, then he will have to earn his way. What better piece to place in his way than a man who has walked through hell itself? Only one will be admitted. It will amuse me to direct their hatred for my kind at each other. Though I would just as well neither tread within these halls... dispatch the Obsidian Sentinel to make difficult the way. Only its tenacity can rival the animosity of these two..."

[BELA]
The catacombs were deep.

Deeper and deeper, further and further. The boundaries between life and death swirling, breathing, gasping. Shapes of long dead memories and loved ones pass in but a glimpse, the shapes of undeath only a glimpse through the necropolis. The City of the Damned. It was a cursed place, a curse place for the wandering souls who dared too long into the realm of Makai, who dared too long to the ire of the Observer, before their physical forms were consumed. This was far away from the lights and graces of the Castle Alcuard, though well within the confines of the grounds. This was past the worst depths, touching upon the forbidden sanctums of the Alucard family. It was suicide to come this far. And yet, at the end of it all, there were only the tower doors.

The Patriarch of the House of Podiebrad has come on the wings of vengeance.

He opens them, the man swinging them open the wide doors. Bela is dressed in the ceremonial armor of the Patriarch, gold and silver plate wrapped around his chest and limbs, a silver mask over his eyes much in the style of a Raven's beak. Clawed gauntlets reach out as he strides between the doors, as he has finally reached the end of the Necropolis The City of the Damned was behind him. Surrounded by marble archways stretching high up the walls, the obsidian facades leer below as double stairways lead down to the a pillar platform. The hot blast of the furnace blazes at him; the edge of the exit leading off into the infinite, smoldering fires of the depths of Makai. There was only three paths now. Back, through the city of the damned. Forward, down to the pillar, and then down into the hellfire, the pit of darkness and heat.

Or up, ascending to the sanctum above.

[DONOVAN]
The Springtide Rosalia.

A festival of chaos and darkness orchestrated by the most recent scion of one of the most vile and powerful bloodlines in all of Makai. A celebration unto which invitations had been sent to the world's most horrific monsters. Those that consider themselves to be the nobility of demonkind, and actually able to survive that boast long enough to hold onto the title for any meaningful period of time, are verifiable nightmares. The sorts of things about which legends have been written, forgotten, and embellished, twisted by the passage of time until truth and fiction are discernable only to the very few unfortunate enough to be familiar with such beings. The sorts of things that humanity does its best not to talk about as it huddles around the light of Science, embracing the warm comfort of ignorance.

And these creatures which should not exist are throwing themselves a party.

The sorts of things that entities as old and profane as those invited to Castle Alucard consider to be entertainment are enough to the turn the stomach of even the most grizzled of men. Foul rituals that haven't been witnessed by mortal eyes in centuries, no doubt, utilizing the weak fools that have been lured here with promises of glory. The fate of such hunters is all but assured; even here, in bowls of the grand citadel, the stench of blood is almost overwhelming.

Death has seeped into every crack and pore of the stones in the City of the Damned. An apt name for a charnel house such as this. Yet it is not merely bones and ash that this catacomb has claimed from those foolish enough to seek passage into the Castle but their very souls. It would be impossible to guess how many mortal lives this fel edifice holds in thrall for the very air hums with a dark need, the stone itself seeming to thirst like a grim shadow of its master's twisted nature.

But unlike a vampire, its hunger is not a ravenous hunger, merely a persistent one. The rolling mist slowly saps away at the vitality of those impertinent enough to intrude upon this profane ground, lapping at their essence like icy fingers dragged lovingly down the spine to send chills radiating out into the extremities. The effect is subtle and insidious, taking only what it can without being noticed, withdrawing without complaint when those too powerful to feed upon pass through its ancient dusty halls. It need not worry about feasting this time. Even should millennia pass before another unfortunate soul wanders into its malevolent grasp, it will wait, eager but patient. More will come.

More always come.

Usually, it takes a little longer though. For the second time on this cursed evening, the heavy doors lurch slowly open, grudgingly giving way to the touch of mortal flesh. Bela does not need to move far into the vast chamber that lies before him to catch sight of those who have passed before. Two figures sit quietly upon the elaborate circle of stone, one a man of middling age, the other a girl who hasn't seen her tenth summer.

At a glance both appear to be human, though their attire seems thoroughly out of place among modern aesthetics. The man wears a colorful robe of some sort, his heavily muscled figure clad in reds, yellows, and blues. Unnaturally long earlobes and a string of large prayer beads wound about his torso mark him clearly as a priest of some sort; an image which stands completely incongruent with the massive falchion that he carries upon his back.

The girl, in some regards, stands out as even more bizarre of a sight in this cursed place. She wears a dress of soft blue fabric that looks like something out of the turn of the twentieth century, more appropriate for an old boarding school than an adventure into the depths of a vampire's castle. A doll wearing similarly old-fashioned attire is held in her arms, its headless body clutched tightly against her chest as if it might ward away the evil that permeates this place. Though one might expect a child of such tender age to be terrified in the presence of the castle, the girl merely stares with an empty expression at the space in front of her as if her mind is too distant to register the danger.

But that proves untrue, for it is the girl who turns her gaze upwards to regard the Raven Guard patriarch first as he stalks up to the marble railing above. A blank stare is all she offers in greeting, though her grip on the doll tightens ever so slightly in response to his presence.

The monk's eyes open not long after, his head lifting from some deep meditative trance. His regard for the figure in glittering mail is a more distinct one. His eyes narrow slightly and his mouth presses into a thin grim line. Anyone capable of surviving the hungry ghosts that filled the catacombs must be quite dangerous. It was his vampiric blood and spiritual power that had warded himself and Anita from the castle's invisible maw, an unlikely union of the forces of light and dark which the old stones found quite unpalatable. What manner of strength allowed this man - if that is even what he is - to pass unscathed?

[BELA]
The answer may lay in the corruption of his aura.

There is no theatrics, no smug presence, no ham. No, there is that unnatural presence around the Patriarch of the House of Podiebrad. He moves with jerky steps, his claws arched in the hellish light, casting long shadows against the backdrop of marble around them. "The Half-Blood Buddhist." The Hungarian speaks coldly, forced as he eases down the steps. There is a ghostly presence hanging over him.

Some invisible force drawing the strings.

The shape of a mirrored figured, wreathed in the indigo soul flames, lay just out of sight. "The vile... poison in your veins..." Words of hatred, and yet, no passion behind it. "You are fortunate I have business with our host. Fellow. Hunter." Stilted. Forced. It's unmistakable that a force of domination was over him. Those cold eyes drift from Donovan, to the young girl. The distance suddenly shifts, disturbingly.

A flicker of predatory sadism.

It recoils a moment, as he reaches the edge of the platform. He yields, looking down at the circle. He casts a gaze up at the obsidian eyes gazing upon them, the facades twisted into horrible grimaces, leering upon them. He does not apologize for his interruption. "What is your business. With our host, the vampire princess? Or are you after other stock?" The legendary pomp and circumstance of the Podiebrad, the smug arrogance, was barely warmed over. His personality, saturated. Something unnatural was running through him. A possession? Or something worse? Even his gaze seemed to be coming in and out, that invisible presence guiding and directing him. No. Presences.

Two seperate hands were guiding him, not one.

[DONOVAN]
The monk's brows furrow yet deeper as Bela begins his slow measured descent down the winding stairs leading to the platform. It doesn't take someone of his supernatural talents to notice the aura of malice that hangs in the air around the mage. He does little to hide the contempt that flows out of his every word. What most others might miss, however, is the subtle influence of another hand upon the man's soul.

Donovan has never met this man before. While he considers himself to be a Dark Hunter he has never thrown his lot in with the Guild. The fleeting nature of mortal life often skewed the priorities of those who joined its ranks. They desired wealth, fame, and accolades; not unreasonable payment for those with the courage to stand up against the true evils that lurk in the darkness. But that need for reward often turned to greed, polluted their souls with impurity that made them unreliable allies. How many times had someone from the Guild turned their gaze upon him, unable to resist the allure of prestige from claiming his head as a trophy?

The soul of this mortal is quite strange, however. Possession by powerful supernatural forces is hardly anything new. Many of the great powers that once roamed the Earthrealm have become little more than distant memories, vague echoes of myths and legends that linger like specters in forgotten places. The desire to be remembered, to reach out and exert influence upon the world once more drives them to take control of those unfortunate enough to stumble upon their resting places.

But there are other means of twisting a mortal soul to do the bidding of another. Magic, the power to manipulate the very fabric of existence itself, is capable of such things, though Donovan can think of no one who might possess such power since the demise of the Ten Sages. The obvious blame then falls upon the most common source of such mischief - dark stalkers.

This is, after all, one of the greatest bastions of evil in all of the Makai. Perhaps his initial assumption about the man's ability to pass through the City of the Damned unscathed was incorrect. Rather than feasting upon his soul, it's entirely possible that some malignant spirit overwhelmed the mage's will and took control of him. He would have expected someone able to wield the power of the cosmos to have a stronger resolve than that but the man is clearly possessed all the same.

Donovan remains silent as the mage speaks, allowing him to hurl his hate freely. Whether that sentiment was already present or comes from the presence puppeting the hunter he cannot tell. Either is likely enough. While few Hunters alive today have ever met him personally, his reputation among the Guild is well known. No doubt his likeness is easy enough to come by for those who wish to find it.

"My business is the same no matter where I travel," he offers in reply, his deep voice soft and measured.

Rising easily to his feet, Donovan pulls himself up to his full impressive height, towering a full foot over the gilded mage. He peers down at the other man with a stoic expression for a moment then lifts one hand in front of him. His fingers point up towards the sky, palm facing to the side in the mudra of Abhaya - a gesture of prayer and warding.

"Wherever darkness makes it home, there shall I seek it out and strike it down. Only when all evil has been purged from this world can I consider my work complete."

He turns his gaze up towards castle's walls, frowning slightly at the obsidian figures etched into the towering edifice. No doubt the mistress of this foul abode has her watchful eye upon him even now. The way forward has been blocked to him. What that means, he cannot say. It is unlike the creatures of the dark to show such fear and cunning. Arrogance is as much a part of their nature as the desire to feast upon mortal suffering.

"It would seem my presence is unwanted this evening, however. The castle bars my entry."

[BELA]
The Patriarch stops at the edge of the pillar.

There isn't enough of his hate. The Patriarch reputation came before him. His decadence, his caustic tongue. His exuberance. ANd all of this cold, brewing contempt was... restrained. Muted. What his goal was while possessed wasn't clear. But it seemed he wasn't entertaining any games now. As the towering figure raises up, the Podiebrad looks up, standing his ground. At the Buddhist's words, however, the something strikes at the spell. Something writhing in the spirits. Bela von Podiebrad bows his head, and mutters his words.

"Let justice be done, though the word perish."

He lifts his head up, his movement jerking and stilted still. He begins to enter the circle, taking deliberate, careful steps. He halts, swaying a moment. He shudders, resisting. The spirit jerks away, writhing. And then, surges over, the invisible wires tightening. He looks from the hunter, to the child. "I am seeking the woman. Rachel Alucard. She has insulted me further than any insult." He did not sound insulted. Like a script. "Our path is the same, in spite of your tainted blood. For now." The Podiebrad draws out a hewn, wooden stake from his hip, holding it up as he looks down at it. "What about the child's blood." He begins, twisting the point of the stake into the base of his palm as he comes closer.

"Is it tainted too?"

[DONOVAN]
Donovan's gaze never leaves the beleaguered mage for an instant. Bela's struggle to cross the barrier of the circle is noted; yet another obvious sign that something is wrong with the man. Exorcisms aren't exactly the monk's forte. His monastic training was all but entirely focused on quelling the turbulence within his own spirit as his mortality struggled to maintain supremacy against the dark poison polluting his veins. His control is all but absolute now but that mastery extends only to his own mind, not that of others. Though, it would be more accurate to say that he chooses not to exert that power over others lest he provoke the sleeping nightmare within himself.

The only solace that he is likely going to be able to offer this man will come at the edge of a sword. To become a vessel for evil is a fate that he has spent decades trying to avoid. He would not wish it upon any man, no matter how petty or checkered their past. The choices that mortals make should be their own, for good or ill.

"Your quarrel with the vampire is of no concern to me," Donovan states, his expression remaining stern but neutral. "She is a creature of darkness and should be destroyed. That is all there is to it. If you would lend me your aid in this matter, I shall not turn it aside."

The monk's solemn expression creases slightly as Bela turns his beaked face towards Anita. The girl takes a shuffling step to the side, putting his muscular leg between her and the mage. There isn't any obvious fear on her face - there isn't anything there, really - but she seems to have an instinctive ability to recognize the potential for danger. Her dead blue eyes regard Bela momentarily, her stare seeming to pierce right through him as if she can see every little dirty secret festering underneath the surface of his soul. Then she looks away, once more gazing at nothing.

"No."

Donovan's voice draws the attention back to himself, his free hand moving down to bar the way towards the girl.

"Whatever power she possesses, it is not born of the darkness. I can sense no taint upon her soul."

[BELA]
Bela ceases, holding his footwork.

his eyes are hollow behind his mask, that cursed presence breathing. "Damnation and spite. It needs the right kind of blood." Bela shrugs his shoulders. "Alas. I will lend my... lend my... assist..." He jerks, stumbling forward. Attacking? No, he was raising the stake out. To impale Donovan? The child? No, it was being turned on Bela. He brings it upon his own palm. And turns. And Turns. And turns.

And he pierces his palm.

Blood oozes from it, as Bela extends his hand. The gauntlet is still there. Clenching it into a fist, the blood trickles from the palm. A few drops spill on the pillar. It quickly moves, spilling and spreading faster and faster. A deep groaning sound comes, as umber lights flare in patterns around the floor. The pillar begins to shake, begins to groan. It begins to rise, as the sound of stone begins to crack and snap. The facades eyes were glowing, as the pillar begins to shoot higher and higher. Impossibly high, as it rises more and more, faster and faster. The pillar shudders, as the hot wind blows around. Bela is swaying slightly, staring at Donavon coldly. "Tell me, Buddhist." Comes a voice.

It's not from Bela.

But as the pillar rises, faster and faster, the howling growing loud. The beating of stone wings. Guardians, moving to act. And yet, the voice continues, as Bela stares. "Do you understand what this all means? Are you bearing witness, to what this means? Shut your eyes, oh hunter. Pretend there is nothing, be one with it. Your time is short anyways. Turn your eyes, defend your ward." Bela sweeps his claws, as something moves behind him, flying.

"Or else I will have kill you and the child."

[DONOVAN]
The monk remains where he stands as Bela moves forward in halting jerky motions. That stake poses no threat to either him or Anita. Even if he were to somehow fail to interfere in any attempt to attack her the girl's own powers are quite impressive, even if she rarely calls upon them. Bullets fired from only a few dozen feet away had failed to strike her down in the past and the mage wouldn't be the first person to think the small child at his heels was a weakness to exploit.

The blood sacrifice doesn't seem to draw any reaction from Donovan either. He'd suspected something of the sort was necessary to enter the domain of the vampire but doubted that his own tainted vitae would suffice to slake the castle's hunger. He wasn't about to make Anita bleed to pursue his holy crusade either. The very thought of bringing harm to the child he's sworn to protect is anathema, even if she would likely understand its necessity. He'd taken her under his protection to show her a brighter future, not tangle her up in the grim business of making it come true.

Of course, there are limits to what he can do to shield her from reality. Her decision to cling to him closely at all times meant she would be present every time he cut down some foul monstrosity. It meant she would be there see all of the vile twisted things that lurked in the hearts of men and monsters alike. It meant she would be there to see the moment he faltered and gave in to the darkness in his heart.

That thought gives him a measure of extra resolve. Fighting the temptations that his foul sire had imparted upon him is the trial of his life. Even after decades of contemplative meditation and harsh discipline, he can still feel the call of the taint within him, urging him to do unspeakable things. It grows more intense in the presence of evil, resonating with the darkness. And each time he cut one of them down it seemed to get a little bit stronger.

The scent of fresh blood hits the dhampir's nostrils like the aroma of a fine wine. The beast inside of him stirs a little, rousing from its slumber like a predator that has just caught wind of fresh game. The sense of wrongness from the mage piques its interest and it starts to stalk back and forth with malicious restlessness, pacing the bars of the cage that Donovan has placed it inside of.

The masked man's words ring out in a voice not his own. He does not understand what is being said, the questions offered without context or meaning like the ravings of a madman. The flapping of foul wings all around them is easy enough to notice, however. Guardians of some sort, no doubt, come to defend the castle's secret entrance. He does not fear them.

"I will not turn a blind eye to evil, sorcerer. Whatever the dangers, I shall face them."

Sensing the silent call of its master's will, Dhylec shudders to life with a faint tremor of excitement. The vampiric blade detaches from his back, whirling around in a flash of silvery steel to plant itself point-first into the stone at Donovan's feet, plunging through the ancient marble as casually as if it were loose soil. Shimmering golden light flows around the blade, raw spiritual power bleeding into the air like wisps of smoky incense. That same gleam is echoed subtly in the monk's eyes as he prepares himself for battle, his expression turning into a grim mask of determination.

"And should you prove yourself one of them, I shall not turn a blind eye to you either."

[BELA]
The stake returns to Bela's belt.

"Good. Evil." The second voice fades away, as Bela speaks again. Marble arcs run past them, the rise continuing higher, and higher. "Justice dominates all. And you both are... innocent." Judgement has been passed. The hostile air remains, if only just restrained. Indigo energy crackles around his shoulders and fingertips; neither good nor evil, but willing souls offering to the power of the Patriarch. But there is something moving around pillar as it rises. "I will stay my hand. There is no justice to attack like a beast. Like a monster. Like a-"

"Darkstalker."

Bela suddenly dives, breaking into a tumble across the pillar. A blur of black flashes past him. Wings beat, as the shape of a hideous gargoyle makes a pass by. Sweeping on the other side of the pillar, it turns around, flapping its wings. "This is only the beginning! You're next!" The creature hisses, as it circles around. The gargoyle levels out, flapping as it keeps up with the rising platform. Bela rolls back up, remaining in a crouch as he finds himself beside Donovan. Glancing up, he rolls his fingers, the claws already bloodied with own. "Guardians. Typical."

"Are those sufficently evil for you?"

COMBATSYS: Bela has started a fight here on the left meter side.

[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  <
Bela             0/-------/-------|

COMBATSYS: Obsidian Arremer has joined the fight here in the center.

[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  <
Bela             0/-------/-------|
                 [ |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||| ]
                 Obsidian Arremer 0|-------|-------

[DONOVAN]
Donovan offers no comment in reply as the mage contemplates his path forward. It seems the height of arrogance for Bela to believe that he can consider himself the arbiter of Justice, whatever that might mean to the man. That word is a perfidious illusion, an ideal held up for the betterment of mankind yet used to justify the worst atrocities by those whose minds are clouded with zeal or malice.

And yet, the monk cannot throw stones at that particular glass house. No one elected him to pass judgement upon the twisted souls that he has sent screaming back into the abyss. His 'noble' crusade to rid the world of evil could just as easily be seen in the very same light. No doubt he has taken actions that others would consider extreme in the pursuit of what his heart tells him is a worthy goal. Would others view his ruthless hatred for the dark as justified? Would he care if they labeled him as unjust?

The contemplation of such philosophical questions was something he spent decades considering during his long isolation in the old monastery. He had found his answers a long time ago, his resolve and purpose cemented in his heart well before he'd set a single foot beyond the temple grounds. He has his own idea of Justice and Bela has his.

The flash of black wings slices through the tension building between the two men like a pendulum, drawing their hostile stares towards the animated gargoyle. Donovan's reaction is swift. His feet spread a little wider as he takes up a firm stance upon the platform, shifting his position to ensure that the small girl is properly shielded from the darting claws of the guardian.

"Stay behind me, Anita."

Dhylec rises from the stone, still wreathed in fumes of golden energy. A single thrust from its master's hand sends the massive blade plunging straight back down into the pillar but instead of tearing into the marble pattern it seems to simply meld into the surface and vanish. A moment later a shimmering flash of aurum power explodes from the wall behind the flapping terror, the vampiric sword diving towards its back like a hurled javelin.

COMBATSYS: Donovan has joined the fight here on the right meter side.

[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  //////////////////////////////]
Bela             0/-------/-------|-------\-------\0          Donovan
                 [ |||||||||||||||||||||||||||||| ]
                 Obsidian Arremer 0|-------|-------

COMBATSYS: Obsidian Arremer blocks Donovan's Killshred - Summon.

[\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  //////////////////////////////]
Bela             0/-------/-------|=------\-------\0          Donovan
                 [  |||||||||||||||||||||||||||| ]
                 Obsidian Arremer 0|-------|------=

COMBATSYS: Bela blocks Obsidian Arremer's Obsidian Talons.

[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  //////////////////////////////]
Bela             0/-------/-------|=------\-------\0          Donovan
                 [  |||||||||||||||||||||||||||| ]
                 Obsidian Arremer 0|-------|------=

[BELA]
It was a dangerous form of madness, that was only growing more common.

Good, evil, duty, freedom. There were more than those four directions, but they were foundations. The Podiebrads had always struggled with them; any outsider could very easily find something to latch on to as the group's ideals and failing. Justice was there central pillar, and for more or less, it is what they used, if only to self-justify. In a way, it helped that the personality of the Podiebrad was being suppressed, the basic will of the Patriarch being pulled by his puppeteers. If Bela had full control of his senses, and instincts?

He would have very likely already tried to attempt ring out by now.

The swaying of the Podiebrad continues, as the guardian circles the air. The black-stone gargoyle flaps erratically, rising and falling to match the duo. Hollow sockets blaze with hellfire gaze, as the sword is launched into the pillar. Flapping, it prepares to dives at Donovan- and when the explosion errupts, the gargoyle is sent reeling, spinning as it is forced to turtle up. Dropping like a statue made of obsidian, it sinks swiftly out of sight.

It returns back up, swiftly skittering up the pillar.

Pouncing, it lunges at Bela, slashing with its claws as it throws upon the smaller man. The statue rends a claw with the left, the right, and then, a cleaving tear with both. Bela deflects them carefully, though audaciously even in possession. He breaks from his crouch, flipping backwards to bring his shins up to the initial claws. Twisting his legs, he turns. And with that, sparks flash around on each impact, shallow cuts tearing through the silver and gold swirling at his shins as flips backwards into a stand. As the double cleave comes, the Podiebrad straightens up, rising up to slams both forearms up into it. Indigo light bursts as the silver and gold from below, and now up at the forearms. The strength tears in again for glancing wounds, but the indigo light swirls around him. The gargoyle begins to lift off the ground, as Bela swings his arm around. The soul flame flares up, as he releases it in an underhanded sweep. The flame moves... slowly. Drifting steadily at the the guardian, the creature easily flies away before it connects. But the soul flame continues to follow it, tracking, homing at it. It could escape if it started normal evasive manuevers, of course.

But it had to contend with the monk's skill and strength as well.

[DONOVAN]
The vampiric sword, aglow with spiritual power, sails past the gargoyle after delivering its deadly sneak attack. Its trajectory through the air changes as it flies, curving around towards the platform again as if it possessed of its own mind and eager for another taste of the stone guardian's essence.

Donovan remains where he stands as the gargoyle hurls itself at Bela. While he's not yet decided that the strange mortal is worthy of being smited, he isn't in a hurry to help the man out either. Threatening to harm the monk wasn't that big a deal, plenty of people tried to intimidate him with promises of violence, but the Raven had included Anita in his threats and that is something that he isn't about to let slide so easily.

Besides that, he's more confident in Bela's ability to defend himself than the girl's. While she might have incredible powers, he is loathe to make her call upon them as doing so seemed to remind her of those traumatic moments when she'd been forced to cut herself off from the world in order to stay sane. No, he would be the one to suffer in her stead and that means he won't be giving either of these creatures a chance to harm her while he still stands.

As expected, the mage proves capable of holding his own against the demon's onslaught. Sorcerous fire lashes out to chase the monster away, too slow to catch the agile guardian but driving it into a predictable pattern of evasion. Donovan tracks the arremer as it glides away from the blazing power until it nears one of the stone walls and starts to shift directions.

Narrowing his eyes in concentration, the monk makes a gesture with his hand, folding it into the position of attack. Blazing orange flames erupt from his body into the air, the rising inferno giving form to a being wrought from his own will. The upper torso of a flaming giant manifests in the span of a few moments, its huge muscular body clad in mail that glows like freshly tempered iron. The swooping form of Dhylec spirals around to land in the titan's outstretched hand, the massive sword itself instantly turning orange-hot with searing power.

With a bellow of righteous fury, the spectral warrior sweeps the giant weapon upwards to intercept the gargoyle right as it stops to change directions, attempting to catch it in that one moment of predictable motion. A trail of crackling flame fills the air as the sword cleaves forward, the heat of a roaring furnace briefly overpowering the musty chill of the undercroft's damp air.

COMBATSYS: Bela successfully hits Obsidian Arremer with Ordeal Of Bitter Water.
- Power hit! -

[  \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  //////////////////////////////]
Bela             0/-------/----===|====---\-------\0          Donovan
                 [        |||||||||||||||||||||| ]
                 Obsidian Arremer 0|-------|-======

COMBATSYS: Obsidian Arremer blocks Donovan's Ifrit Sword EX.

[  \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  //////////////////////////////]
Bela             0/-------/----===|======-\-------\0          Donovan
                 [           ||||||||||||||||||| ]
                 Obsidian Arremer 1|-------|=======

[BELA]
There is no escape.

The gargoyle flaps harder, harder, faster and faster, as the soul flame closes in, building speed faster and faster. It could keep up with it, and was about to make the corkscrew turn to evade under it... only to meet the vampiric blade that was now rising to meet it. Instinctively, it brings his wings and forearms to defend the swipe. It rips across its craggy hide, cleaving deep into it's stony arms as it is knocked back up. But now, it was caught. The flame -rips- through it, the shadowy outline of it's own spirit projected around it as the soul flame consumes it in a pillar. Flailing, it collapses on the pillar, lashing out on its back as it lets out a hideous scream. Staggering up, it instinctively lurches at Donovan, attempting to seize it with its claws to rend it and gnash its fangs into the hunter, just to force some space to take flight. It was an opening.

But Bela wasn't taking it.

THe Patriarch stands back, indigo light still flowing over him. He doesn't chase after Donovan, he doesn't assist him. The same cruel neutrality between them, ruthless and wary. The Patriarch steps back, drawing his fingertips across his arms. Gold streams flow off it, twisting and folding into the shape of a scepter. As the eagle head comes to the top, he twirls it once, a surge of indigo light building around him, as the ghostly form of -something- appears behind him like a shadow. And then, mouth closed, a voice rises up.

"How I hate that wretched vampire."

The second voice rises out of Bela, as he grips the tip of his scepter long ways. "Oh, you can sense me, can't you? If it was anybody but you, I might have kept away. You know, she sets up these little games? These little events that she can observe, watch and study. I wouldn't be surprise if her eyes were on here now, from the walls, from this annoying little pest, even your own poor ward." The voice was getting less hostile, more jovial... and no less sinister. "You know, this miserable little woman would have torn at your throat if it wasn't for me. Can you imagine the theatrics, Donovan?" The name is slipped out. It knew him. From where? "You and the shrill little shrew going at it, all while the gargoyle meddles, dashing back and forth. And imagine that lace-riddled brat, sipping her tea and smirking as the cute little monster hunters all slap and argue over little things. Do you imagine it, sometimes, making your quarry truly suffer for their crimes? To truly make them feel regret and shame for ever defying the natural order? No, no, don't imagine that. You have your vows, you have your restraint." The indigo light builds around the Podiebrad, as the scepter gleams with that strange energy.

"You have vampires to kill, for all of our sakes!"

COMBATSYS: Bela gathers his will.

[  \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  //////////////////////////////]
Bela             0/-------/=======|======-\-------\0          Donovan
                 [           ||||||||||||||||||| ]
                 Obsidian Arremer 1|-------|=======

COMBATSYS: Donovan blocks Obsidian Arremer's Combo Mauling.

[  \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  //////////////////////////////]
Bela             0/-------/=======|=======\-------\0          Donovan
                 [           ||||||||||||||||||| ]
                 Obsidian Arremer 1|-------|=======

[DONOVAN]
The blazing titan at Donovan's back begins the fade only moments after the blade strikes home, the fiery form dwindling smaller and smaller as it melds back into the monk's body. The searing energy expended, Dhylec's blade likewise dims from a glowing orange-hot to the cold glint of steel as it whirls back into place behind him.

Donovan turns to face the stricken monster as it crashes to the platform, its stone body ablaze with the unnatural power of magical flames. Between his sword and Bela's spell he would have thought that would be enough to fell the demon but it would seem that this guardian is not so easily dealt with.

Snuffing out the worst of the mage's lingering power, the stone bat hurls itself at the monk in a frenzy of furious retaliation and Donovan steps forward to answer its aggression. Powerful limbs tipped with rending claws lash out at him but they never get the chance to land a solid strike. One of the monk's palms slams forward to hit the gargoyle in the chest arresting its forward momentum, shifting up to its neck to keep it at arm's length. The creature hisses and flails at him, its claws slashing wildly while snapping jaws full of monstrous teeth attempt to take his head off.

Dozens of tiny cuts open up along the monk's muscular arms, his limbs lacking the protection of golden armor. Were he a normal man such a frenzy would likely have worn him down with its sheer ferocity, the inhuman power of the creature shredding at his muscles in an effort to get past his guard. But the dhampir regards the arremer's efforts to harm him with all the concern of a mosquito noisily buzzing about his head. The shallow cuts that its claws open up begin to heal almost the moment they are created, the flesh simply knitting itself back together without so much as a scar to indicate the wound had ever existed at all. Some of the deeper lacerations continue to bleed for a few moments but they too start to mend themselves at a steady pace.

Bela's voice, or perhaps the voice of the thing controlling him, begins to speak again. Donovan turns his head slightly to regard the mage and his puppeteer, all but ignoring the pitiful threat that the stone guardian poses. He listens while that mysterious entity voices its hatred for the master of the castle, speaking of her with contempt that can only be borne out of familiarity.

He's never met Rachel Alucard, knowing of her only by reputation. A meddling creature that prefers to set wicked plans in motion and observe the outcome rather than dirty her own hands. Bela's ranting seems to mesh with that rumor. If the vampire had led both of them to this place in the hopes that they might destroy one another it would save her the effort of having to deal with either one of them. A cunning and devious plan worthy of a noble of the dark. His own tainted blood made Donovan something of a contentious subject among the Hunters of the Guild, some arguing that he should himself be slain like any other monster.

Donovan's eyes close heavily as the voice mocks him. Yes, he has vampires to kill. Those and many other abominations that would seek to prey upon humanity, their hearts dark and twisted with evil. That is the mission that he has sworn to complete so that others might be spared the tragedies that he and Anita have suffered.

And yet, there is something that the man says which is incorrect. For all the pain and suffering that they cause, these vile creatures do not exist in defiance of the natural order. Light and dark have always existed and must always exist, two forces of cosmic power meant to intertwine into a harmony of equilibrium. If anyone is working contrary to that balance, it is he, who has sworn to destroy the dark down to the its last mote.

"The sin of slaughtering my own kin... that is my eternal karma. It is not my place to inflict regret upon the wicked for I myself am one of them."

His eyes open once more and he returns his gaze to the struggling creature, expression hardening with steel and resolve.

"But, even if I am to be condemned by both good and evil, I will never give up! For the sake of those who pray for a brighter future!"

Pivoting at the waist, the monk brings his rearward fist around, palm slamming at the creature's stony maw. He drives the blow into the arremer's face with all of his momentum behind it, shoving his arm forward like a battering ram to send the thing hurling away as he releases his grip upon its neck.

COMBATSYS: Donovan successfully hits Obsidian Arremer with Power Strike.

[  \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  //////////////////////////////]
Bela             0/-------/=======|=======\=------\1          Donovan
                 [               ||||||||||||||| ]
                 Obsidian Arremer 1|----===|=======

[BELA]
"Then why not embrace your sin?"

The question comes with the air of a true hedonist, as the spirit behind exposes himself more and more. The shadow of it comes, the skull-like visage flaring behind the head of the distant, possessed Bela. The energy finishes build, as the Obsidian Guardian and Donovan continue to scrap and scramble. "This isn't an attack, oh monk. See, I -like- those who are bound by your vows." The guardian takes a -harrowing- blow to the jaw, snapping it off as it cracks and snaps. Collapsing to the rising pillar, it drags itself back up to once more fling itself at the monk. "But it's a sin you will never escape. You cannot escape your condemnation, your judgement. You won't even escape it in death! So why not embrace it? You know very well what vows you must keep, and which ones do nothing for you? Is your joy and happiness, your hope such an abomination, that you reject it? If that's the case-"

"Why keep the girl around?"

Bela strides at the melee, patting the scepter in his gauntled, bloodied palm. On every tap, it begins to change; flowing and morphing into a broad, waffle-like head, as the handle gets thinner and thinner. All while the spirit continues to rant, a hunger and lust building behind it. "That girl -proves- something within you. Some light in the darkness. After all, when properly committed, righteousness brings as much pleasure as sex, and self-righteousness is practically masturbatory!" Bela swings the flyswatter at the gargoyle as it tries to rend at Donovan, attempting to smack the gargoyle once, twice, three times. "The raw, indulgent delight of being rejected by good and evil, and still being a paragon of duty and morality. That you defy the very judgement of the world, by following its laws in spite of your failings! There is so little that feels good, when the straps of darkness bind you so tight! Let one of them slip, and you become consumed. And yet, you sip those little delicacies." A final slap comes, this time as a hammer, brought down with both hands to -smash- into the spine of the gargoyle.

"Isn't self-restraint indulgence the most satisfactory pleasure there is?"

COMBATSYS: Donovan just-defends Obsidian Arremer's Combo Mauling!

[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  //////////////////////////////]
Bela             0/-------/=======|=======\=------\1          Donovan
                 [               ||||||||||||||| ]
                 Obsidian Arremer 1|----===|=======

[DONOVAN]
Even with its face ravaged, the stone golem remains tenacious. Bat-like wings flap madly as it rises from the floor of the pillar to hurl itself in a berserker frenzy against the dark hunter. Claws flash out again, deadly rending talons that seek to bury themselves in his immortal flesh regardless of how pointless such an effort is. The creature does not have the reason necessary to restrain itself, merely a slave to its evil nature and the commands given to it to destroy all those who would trespass upon the castle's grounds.

A loud shriek of stone upon metal fills the air as the claws find purchase - not in Donovan's body but upon the unyielding edge of the vampire blade. The tips of the obsidian talons sheer off as they make contact with the sword and the arremer lets out a warbling hiss of frustration and pain through mangled jaws, staggering backwards from the sentient weapon.

"You misunderstand."

Though his gaze remains upon the wounded sentinel, he directs his voice at the approaching mage. His words are calm and measured but there is fire and conviction behind them.

"I have not abandoned hope. Nor do I believe happiness beyond my reach. Quite the opposite. So long as people do not lose their hope, light can still pave the way."

He looks away long enough to regard the girl at his back. As she always does, Anita seems to have a knack for understanding when he is thinking about her. Her head lifts, those large empty blue eyes returning his stare in silence. Though she shows no outwards emotion he can sense the pain in her soul, suffering so great that her only option was to wall out the world and all of its darkness.

"The girl is but another unfortunate soul."

His stoic expression changes, a hint of weary sadness creeping into his harsh features, his tone somber.

"She has lost her light. It was stolen from her by the demons who prey upon this world."

Anita says nothing at his words, her face a blank mask devoid of sorrow or joy. Cut off from her emotions, she is much akin to the doll that is held tightly in her arms, pitiful and broken and unable to feel the warmth of those that would hold her close. He reaches down and places a hand atop her head in a fond gesture that evokes no more response than his words.

"I will take it back for her. I am the hunter who will reclaim this world for the innocent by putting an end to the darkness. Her wish for a world that does not cause her such pain is one that I will do everything in my power to grant."

Bela's words of mockery ring hollow as he lays into what remains of the guardian with that gaudy glowing scepter. He speaks as if he knows the monk's heart, has seen into his soul to the motivations that drive him. Yet his speculations could not be more wrong. It is not self-indulgent pride that demands Donovan pursue the path that he has chosen. He does not struggle against the cravings of his tainted blood merely to sate some indulgent rebelliousness. It is a desperate war to maintain what remains of his humanity, to hold on with all his might to the good that still exists within him lest he be consumed by the tragedy of his birthright again.

"I care not what may await me. I shall do what must be done!"

Turning to face the wounded gargoyle, Donovan's body once again begins to shimmer with golden power. His hand flows through the familiar motions of a quick mudra, focusing his mind and his spirit into a specific form. Dhylec rises to hover at his side even as the air around the monk turns unnaturally frigid with a sudden biting cold. The prayer beads wound about his body separate and spread out to hover in a wide circle around him, each manifesting a diamond-like crystal of ice about it. From his back a surge of pale blue energy rises up in a formless mass that quickly morphs into the body of a beautiful woman. Long flowing hair is cast behind her as she whips her head in an indolent gesture, spreading out to flutter like a cape at her back as if swept up by an invisible wind.

Donovan extends a single hand towards the arremer in a gesture that is mimicked by the icy spirit. Dhylec floats up to merge with the woman's outstretched arm and this union gives birth to a massive crystalline snowflake at the tips of her fingers. It swells in size, growing larger with every passing moment until it is large enough to engulf a man whole. A flick of her wrist sends the massive construct sailing towards the doomed sentinel, a blast of raw arctic power that seeks to freeze the demon whole and shatter it apart.

COMBATSYS: Donovan successfully hits Obsidian Arremer with Blizzard Sword.

[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  //////////////////////////////]
Bela             0/-------/=======|=======\===----\1          Donovan
                 [                    |||||||||| ]
                 Obsidian Arremer 1|=======|=======

COMBATSYS: Obsidian Arremer endures Bela's Fierce Strike.

[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  //////////////////////////////]
Bela             1/-------/=======|=======\===----\1          Donovan
                 [                          |||| ]
                 Obsidian Arremer 2|<<<<<<<|<<<<<<<

COMBATSYS: Obsidian Arremer has been incapacitated!

[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  //////////////////////////////]
Bela             1/-------/=======|=======\===----\1          Donovan
                 [                         ||||| ]
                 Obsidian Arremer 0|-------|---<<<<

COMBATSYS: Bela auto-guards Obsidian Arremer's Thunderous Impact.

[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  //////////////////////////////]
Bela             1/-------/=======|=======\===----\1          Donovan
                 [                         ||||| ]
                 Obsidian Arremer 0|-------|---<<<<

[BELA]
THe gargoyle seemed to be smiling, as the duo descends.

It is quite hard to do when missing a lower jaw. But as his savage rending is neatly dismantled, it was impossible to conceal a strange pleasure. Donovan lashes in, the innner magic coming with a sultry woman. The spirit around Bela becomes hungry, its desires overwhelming. And yet, the woman's arms embrace the gargoyle instead, and it begins to freeze, icing over as Bela smacks it thrice. "Such a hero! Such -passion- and desire." The spirit breathes, Bela jerking as he wordlessly finishes the final hammering. The gargoyle turns, only glimpsing at Donovan briefly as the ice comes over. Upon the impact of the hammer, what little resistence it had left comes together, at it is shattered. It howls a defiant scream, and it explodes into obsidian shards. The blast comes surging over Bela, the Patriarch drawing back his golden scepter. Silver and gold flow over him as he stands fast against the barrage, arms apart as the blast tears into him... or rather, into the silver and gold. A hornets nest of shards, an open-armed defense, and with it, not a single cut or slice on him. JUst open handed applause, pulled by his puppeteer. "Well done, well... done." The spirit coos. "You are a miserable Buddhist, but what Buddhist isn't when forced to be good. The desire to do good is a desire, after all, and makes you a hypocrite by your own false god's eyes-" The smug air suddenly turns into a hiss of disgust.

The obsidian stones were coming back together.

The shards breath in hard, as the splinters fly back. It doesn't fully reform, the gargoyle cannot. But the shape of it begins to come together. The obsidian guardian was pulling the rock it was splintered into back together. "Idiot boy. Impotent WOMAN!" Howls the spirit as the gargoyle begins to reform. Brick by brick, it comes together. Bela flings himself at the spirit, long spiritual talons stretching from his fingers. Dipping in, he tears both claw at the center of the spirit, attempting to draw away the elemental soul that animated it. Should he catch it, he would brace it in place as he would lift up, attempting to scoop up the creature from down below, and flip it, sending it tumbling at Donovan.

And letting him unleash his own coup de grace this time.

[DONOVAN]
For once, the mage's biting words ring true.

Donovan is most certainly an imperfect follower of the way of Buddha. The very first of the Five Precepts which guide a Buddhist in their daily life is to do no harm or kill any living thing. No one will ever argue that the dhampir adheres to that commandment in any way. The trail of blood, both mortal and demon, that he has left in his wake is deep enough to drown in.

Yet, what is the purpose of Buddhism but to bring peace and happiness to a troubled world? The founder of the way of enlightenment believed that human greed was the source of all suffering. Remove greed from the world and everyone's lives improve. It is a noble and just philosophy, one which creates that change by enforcing strict discipline upon the monk's own life. By seeing the righteousness of a Buddhist's words and deeds so too may others be inspired to cast aside their worldly desires in favor of a more harmonious existence.

But for all his wisdom and good intent, Siddartha was ignorant of the true depths of the darkness which lurked in the world. While mankind's sins most certainly bring about suffering, they are but pale shadows of the cruelties which dark stalkers are capable of. No amount of philosophy will ever convince a vampire to abandon their wicked thirst for blood. There is no example he could hope to set that might inspire a ravenous werewolf to cease its murderous rampages. One could argue that as a follower of Buddha it is not his place to strike down these evil beings. But to simply stand by and meditate on his own failings when to do so allows untold suffering and death to run rampant is not something that he can conscience.

Perhaps he is wrong to think that way. Perhaps his desire for justice is merely a sweet lie whispered into his ear by the demon that sleeps inside, a twisted justification for sating a hunger for bloodshed. Perhaps his quest for a better world is naught more than mortal arrogance, a belief that he might impose his own will upon the world to shape it as he desires. Perhaps in pursuing this path he has surrendered his chances to ever reach Nirvana, if such a thing actually exists.

So be it. If enlightenment comes at the cost of doing nothing then he gives it up gladly. If the price he must pay to destroy the darkness and bright light back to a ailing mankind is that of his own eternal reward then he will pay it and do so gladly. Though he has no eternal soul to be damned, the very same darkness that he would destroy flows hot through his veins. Who better to bear the burden of facing these evils than he?

"Cast your insults as you will, mage. I have heard them all before. They will not dissuade me from the path that I have chosen."

Once again the guardian proves resilient to their efforts to dismantle it. Bit by bit, stone by stone, it begins to reform, hissing insults and outrage at them as forcefully as if they were weapons. Bela is the first to react, being closer to the demon's half-formed body. The magical contrivances he wields against the creature are beyond Donovan's understanding but when the arremer is hurled in his direction his reaction is swift.

Another surge of spiritual energies erupts from the monk's back as yet another manifestation materializes in the form of a muscular male of blue-white hue clad in a tight sleeveless jacket. Arcs of crackling electricity flare to life in a blaze of power as the prayer beads once more separate from the monk's body, forming a crackling triangle at his back.

Spiderwebs of lightning tether themselves between Donovan and his avatar as well as the vampiric blade which lunges forward to meet the oncoming form of the gargoyle eagerly. Moving with the alacrity of a bolt of lightning, the blade erupts into a blinding flurry of thrusts that bombards the weakened creature, steel and crackling voltage slamming it into a hundred fold in the span of a few seconds, seeking to blast it apart into clouds of black dust.

COMBATSYS: Bela successfully hits Obsidian Arremer with Medium Throw.

[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  //////////////////////////////]
Bela             1/------=/=======|=======\==-----\1          Donovan
                 [                               ]
                 Obsidian Arremer 0|-------|---<<<<

COMBATSYS: Donovan successfully hits Obsidian Arremer with Thunder Sword EX.

[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  //////////////////////////////]
Bela             1/------=/=======|=======\=====--\1          Donovan
                 [                               ]
                 Obsidian Arremer 0|-------|---<<<<

COMBATSYS: Obsidian Arremer does not stir.

[ \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  //////////////////////////////]
Bela             1/------=/=======|=======\=====--\1          Donovan
                 [                               ]
                 Obsidian Arremer 0|-------|---====

[BELA]
"You lips betray you."

The spirit coos, as the pair continue to tear apart the gargoyle as it struggles to reform. It just... between the lightning, and the soul tearing, the stones are broken down more and more, down to dust and gravel. As Bela pulls away, the stones don't fully recover. ANd yet, they -try- to. THey -struggle- to return, all while the pillar keeps rising. The spirit growls, and then, falls quiet. Anger was rising. For a moment, the Patriarch seems ready to pounce again. ANd he hesitates. "No. Oh no. It's immortal. It's unkillable. Damnation and spite!"

"It's been a trap!"

Hissing rage pours out from Bela, frothing spit forced by the spirit possessing him. He faces the passing walls of the hellish ascent, those marble arches, those facades. "Is this your game, you nasty leech? To dance and fight forever with your guardian, while we rise to eternity? I will find you. You will learn FEAR, observer!" "But you want to be entertained? Fine Be entertained. Take the wheel, old friend. It's time for violence." Bela's eyes go wide behind his mask. Emerald energy floods over him, as a new savagery comes over. The spirit behind him doesn't leave, but an mirthless frustration builds. Bela swings his scepter around.

And he flicks his wrist.

Hurling the scepter skyward, the scepter spreads, a mass of morphic gold as is spins. Indigo light spills from it, as it takes the shape of a cross. As the pillar rises, it quickly catches up to it. Taking the four points of a cross, the momentum shifts dramatically. It craters downwards, hurtling straight down to drop harshly. Not on the gargoyle this time, no. But upon -Donovan- with a burst of soul flame. There, the Podiebrad was sweep his arms. Whether it connects with Donovan or not, the pull would draw the gold back to Bela, letting it flow like water back.

Hopefully before Donovan could do the same to him.

COMBATSYS: Donovan endures Bela's Calling From Heaven.

[  \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  //////////////////////////    ]
Bela             1/--=====/=======|>>>>>>>\>>>>>>>\2          Donovan
                 [                               ]
                 Obsidian Arremer 0|-------|---====

[DONOVAN]
Donovan frowns as his efforts to destroy the guardian once again prove inadequate. Whatever fel magics animate this creature they are apparently quite powerful, mending the statue back to its original state regardless of how much punishment is heaped upon it. While he is not well versed in the ways of magecraft, he does know that such an enchantment would require enormous amounts of energy or concentration from the one casting it. Even magic has to play by a few rules and nothing ever lasts forever.

Bela's exclaimed curse earns him a brief glance from the monk. That much had been obvious the moment that a second hunter arrived by the same path he had chosen to take. It is no surprise that the master of the castle would seek to keep away their kind while her misbegotten ilk engaged in whatever depraved festivities she had planned. If she could have two of her greatest enemies destroy each other at the same time, all the better. Of course, that plan relied upon one or the other of them being twisted enough to strike the other down out of suspicion or some other petty reason. Bela proves that she chose her pawn well.

The shifting mass of golden power causes Donovan's eyes to narrow as it flies high up into the air. Even before it moves to strike at him the monk seems to have surmised the mage's intentions. His feet shift slightly but he does not move to evade the falling cross, instead positioning himself between Bela and the small girl at his side. There isn't much room to dodge on this small platform to begin with and trying to protect Anita at the same time would be extremely difficult. He can endure a little pain to keep her safe.

The auric spear slams down into him from above like a sledgehammer. Agony floods into his chest as the soul flame lashes at him, searing his flesh with unnatural power. The monk's face twists into a grimace and he recoils a step but the pain inflicted upon his body does not interfere with his mind.

Even as the scepter was flowing up into the air to prepare its attack, Dhylec had already begun to move in counterpoint to the perfidious mage's actions. The vampiric blade whirls silently around in a wide spiral until it hovers above Bela like blade of a guillotine preparing to execute the condemned. When the Raven Guard's magical construct launches itself at Donovan, so to does the unholy saber fall, driving downwards towards its target with a wicked desire to bite into soft warm flesh instead of cold hard stone.

COMBATSYS: Obsidian Arremer reconstitutes and takes flight!

[  \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  //////////////////////////    ]
Bela             1/--=====/=======|>>>>>>>\>>>>---\1          Donovan
                 [               ||||||||||||||| ]
                 Obsidian Arremer 0|-------|-------

COMBATSYS: Bela dodges Donovan's Killshred - Plant.

[  \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  //////////////////////////    ]
Bela             1/--=====/=======|>>>>>>>\>>>>---\1          Donovan
                 [               ||||||||||||||| ]
                 Obsidian Arremer 0|-------|-------

[BELA]
Contact.

The surge of power comes, as the gold flows back to Bela. Pain. When he was in pain, the Podiebrad drank it in. It was a mercy his attention was sparing Anita. Or perhaps, the girl's stoic nature protected her from the worst of the Podiebrad appetites. Painted lips smirking under his mask, he takes a single step towards the gold, as Donovan begins to make his own counter attack. As the sword hangs over his head, the spirit looks up at the blade. It falls, and in tandem, Bela makes his kneel. Crouching down, he rolls instinctively, barreling across the pillar towards the monk. It grazes him, just barely. But there is no blood; the gold had arrived in time, giving just enough of a protective buffer to keep blood being drawn. "Close!" The spirit howls.

"But not good enough!"

The spirit was now hammering against the boundaries between the deathless and the material realms. The strength of the spectre growing, building as he glowers from behind the tumbling Bela. The Podiebrad rises up, lashing his clawed gauntlets of gold and silver as it comes up. Yes, he would be standing up a full foot short of the monk even with the heels. But chest out, stance rigid and stable, he would attempt lift Donovan up into a gorilla press across his shoulders. Should he get him that far? HE would begin to slam him into the pillar floor once, then twice to catch him on the rebound, before catching a third to time giant throw him away with a spin. Ideally, at the -edge- of the pillar for the ring out, though something would now be in that path.

But it seems the Obsidian Arremer had reformed itself. %
It was more shards than substance now; almost an animated heap of volcanic glass dust in the shape of a gargoyle. But it had risen again. It seemed without the pressure of both opponents, it was able to regenerate itself. And leering wickedly at the duo, it flaps its wings, rising up.

And carefully considering how to attack the one that would please its master best.

COMBATSYS: Bela successfully hits Donovan with Fool Repeats His Folly.
- Power hit! -

[   \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  //////////////////            ]
Bela             1/=======/=======|>>>>>>>\>>>>>>>\2          Donovan
                 [               ||||||||||||||| ]
                 Obsidian Arremer 0|-------|-------

[DONOVAN]
For all his absurd pomp and pageantry, the mage is more dangerous than he looks. Perhaps whatever foul spirit seems to be controlling Bela is granting him an unnatural measure of strength. The speed of the approach catches Donovan off guard, his focus still on keeping his ward shielded from whatever dastardly forces the spell-weaver plans to hurl at them. He had not expected the man to rush him bodily and engage in a grapple.

Attempting to shift his stance to deal with the sudden lunge, the monk moves a little too slowly. The mage's precious metal gauntlets snap closed around his flesh and he is lifted high overhead by raw strength that the man's scrawny body should not possess. Twice he is slammed hard into the cold stone of the pillar, each blow rocking him with bone-shattering force. Were he any mortal man he would surely have broken apart from the ferocity of the attack but the dhampir merely lets out a grunt each time he is thrown down. Pain is no stranger to him and he has endured far worse than being tossed around a little.

When Bela moves to hurl the large hunter from the platform, a flash of steel quickly zips past him to intercept. Dhylec flies at incredible speeds, overcoming its master's velocity and turning flat in midair to serve as a backstop for him to land upon rather than go sailing into the abyss. The monk rights himself with a kick of his powerful legs, twisting like a cat to land feet-first against the tilted surface of his fel blade.

The moment that his feet touch down upon the surface of the blade, it darts back down towards the platform on an impact course with the treacherous mage. Donovan rides the sentient weapon like a surfer, his eyes aglow with righteous fury and golden light.

"You were given a chance. Now you will feel the wrath of my avenging blade!"

Though at first it seems as if the monk intends to simply ride the weapon straight into his opponent, at the last moment his attack proves to be a feint. He swerves around Bela like a surfer cresting the inside of a wave, placing himself back between the mage and Anita. Dismounting from Dhylec with a downwards thrust of his foot, he kicks the blade's handle flipping the weapon up and into his waiting hands. A quick but powerful overhead slash comes down at the wicked caster, attempting to slash into his glittering armor at the shoulder and drive him back.

COMBATSYS: Donovan successfully hits Bela with Random Strike.
# Disabling hit! #

[      \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  ////////////////////          ]
Bela             2/<<<<<<</<<<<<<<|>>>>>>>\>>>>>--\1          Donovan
                 [               ||||||||||||||| ]
                 Obsidian Arremer 0|-------|-------

COMBATSYS: Bela instinctively dodges Obsidian Arremer's Strong Bite.

[      \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  ////////////////////          ]
Bela             2/<<<<<<</<<<<<<<|>>>>>>>\>>>>>--\1          Donovan
                 [               ||||||||||||||| ]
                 Obsidian Arremer 0|-------|-------

[BELA]
The gargoyle was attacking again.

As Bela finishes his worrying assault, he turns to the creature, the beast having been fully reformed. Claws out, the Podiebrad sways, the spirit above him glowering fiercely. They are almost unaware of the sword coming in to rescue Donovan, seemingly checking off his return as either not happening at all, or coming with more time. The reformed beast lunges at Bela, and like a puppet on strings, he weaves around it, flickering into indigo motes as he slips past it. Repositioning himself, the spirit lets loose a foreign curse as he realizes that the monk had recovered far quicker than before, and was now attacking AT HIS SIDE NOW! The spirit grips upon Bela, as the Podiebrad brings up his arms, attempting to -force- through the driving slash. It was a valiant effort. But it seems someone has underestimated the level of abuse the Patriarch can take. The raw power of the blade is too much, the force crushing through the silver and gold pauldron of the Patriarch as he groans. The man's arm slumps, the shoulder bloodied and dislocated by the assault, as he staggers backwards. The gargoyle begins to circle, but the skull faced spirit clenches his fists, his burning sockets glares across at the monk.

"Feel MY wrath, you hideous half breed!"

He slams his fists in the air, as pulses of indigo spread across the sky. The boundaries between life and death, this world and the next. He was trying to force himself in. "Come now, my true power has been revealed." He chokes, his voice becoming less within and more outside, more real. And what's more, it was challenging him. "Why not let -yours- slip out? There is no serenity, no peace, no freedom from your chains. Only the innocence of children, and the lies with they are deaf and blind with!" The sounds of the hammer echo as the recursive hellscape swirls around them. Boom. Boom. BOOM!" "Prove your soul, prove your spirit! Let the ultimate trial take place!"

And the spirit breaks free.

Boundaries sunder, as the psionic haze builds. Indigo motes cascade around, as the spectre hurls itself straight at Donovan, it's very being furious hostile, soul-consuming energy. The Patriarch would soon follow, staggered by his dislocated, bloodied shoulder. But he would come, if only with the one good arm. The duo would begin to flash past the monk, cleaving past him with tearing swipes of energy faster and faster, claws and hate attempting to carry him into the air with every synchronous charge. Faster and faster and faster still, a blur of gold, silver, and horrible indigo energy. Should they manage to juggle him into the air, the assault would finish with the duo trying to seize Donovan from each end, finishing in what is -not- an Izuna Drop, an upside down piledriver to dive down and scatter the duo away from the monk.

All while the Arremer repositions near Anita, only barely looking at the girl before focusing on its next flanking assault against the men.

COMBATSYS: Bela issues a challenge!!

[      \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  ////////////////////          ]
Bela             2/<<<<<<</<<<<<<<|>>>>>>>\>>>>>--\1          Donovan
                 [               ||||||||||||||| ]
                 Obsidian Arremer 0|-------|-------

COMBATSYS: Bela successfully hits Donovan with Mortuus Corvus.

[      \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  ////////////                  ]
Bela             1/-------/<<<<<<<|>>>>>>>\>>>>>>>\2          Donovan
                 [               ||||||||||||||| ]
                 Obsidian Arremer 0|-------|-------

[DONOVAN]
Donovan's normally stoic expression turns into a hard snarl as the massive blade bites into the mage's armor sending him staggering. The demonic hunger of his blade sings out in jubilation at the chance to taste fresh blood and he finds it unusually difficult not to join that twisted voice in crying out for more. Perhaps it is the nature of this foul place that calls out to his tainted blood, enticing him to give in to the need that he has so carefully avoided all of his life. There have been times where resisting that urge was all but impossible, the dark blood of each monster he slays seeming to rouse the beast within.

But now, as always, he endures. Not only for his own sake but that of the girl. What terrible fate might await Anita in this ancient evil place he dare not imagine lest it drive him to lose what control he has left.

The hateful screams of Bela's personal demon bellow a challenge to him and the monk stands ready. Reality sunders beneath the hammering fists of that skeletal apparition as it breaks free from the spirit realm, apparently no longer content to direct the mage like a puppet from behind the veil.

The shuffling movements of the reformed arremer come at precisely the wrong moment. Donovan's gaze snaps sideways as he senses the creature moving towards his ward, eyes ablaze with golden power. It is at that precise moment of distraction that the spirit hurls itself at him, wicked providence or vile cunning offering it a chance to take him off guard. Dhylec attempts to intervene in the coming onslaught but the ghostly form simply floats around the hovering blade, tearing with unholy ferocity into the monk's exposed flank.

Donovan lets out a cry of pain for the first time as the wicked duo's magical power rips into his body and spirit alike. Up and up they carry him into the air in a frenzy of flashing strikes, the half-blood unable to find an opening to escape their blinding assault. With every slash of claws both spectral and golden fresh wounds appear on his body, dark red blood splattering the surface of the pillar.

Only when the two rush him one final time to drive him back down into the stone does Donovan manage to ward them off to some extent. His hands snap out, a palm thrusting into the chest of both Bela and his spirit to keep them at bay. The two still manage to grab hold of him and drag him back to the ground but he lands in a low crouch rather than smashing his head upon the ancient sigil.

As the two retreat, Donovan's first instinct is to check on Anita. Another quick glance shows that the gargoyle seems uninterested in the girl, likely waiting until the two dangerous elements have been eliminated before turning its attentions to her. Whatever its reasons for leaving her be, he can now focus all of his attention on Bela and the wraith.

"Repulsive..."

The monk glowers at his opponents, his gaze shifting from one to the other. He looks a ghastly sight, his body covered in an array of cuts and bruises that would leave a mortal man incapacitated if not dead. But already the blood pouring from his various wounds has begun to slow, the horrible slashes seeking to mend themselves together with soft wet noises. They have inflicted grievous harm upon him but such things are little more than temporary inconveniences to one with his tainted blood.

"To allow yourself to be controlled by this fel entity. You are unworthy of the title of Hunter!"

Focusing his attention on the spectral skeleton, the monk lifts his hand and begins to move it through a series of mudras. Scintillating colors begin to dance over his body like a rainbow as he gathers up spiritual power in even greater amounts than previously displayed. The long braid at his back flutters madly in the headwind of an invisible current as swirling clouds of pale blue energy form a steadily growing maelstrom above the entity.

From the top of the churning mist a gargantuan figure begins to rise, a titan of epic proportions almost as wide as the pillar itself. The hulking giant flexes muscles the size of tree trunks as it emerges into being and bellows a roar of defiance at the twisted spirit below in echo of Donovan's rebuke.

"Get thee away from me, phantom! Return to the darkness from whence you came!"

With another stone-rattling roar, the goliath shifts its body as if moving. From the bottom of the pale whorl an equally titanic foot suddenly slams down at Bela's spectral puppeteer attempting to crush it underneath a veritable mountain of holy spiritual energy.

COMBATSYS: Donovan successfully hits Bela with Press of Death.

[             \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  /////////////                 ]
Bela             2/<<<<<<</<<<<<<<|>>>>>>>\>------\1          Donovan
                 [               ||||||||||||||| ]
                 Obsidian Arremer 0|-------|-------

[BELA]
As they slam down, there is shrill giggling.

"What fun, what fun!" The ghost chortles, spinning away from the final dive as he floats on. Circling back to Bela, the possessed Podiebrad is far less mirthful. He seems to have a sounding rebuttal at Donovan's accusations, in spite of his wounds. He leans in repose, floating over the shoulder of his host, as he looks down at the hunter. As the roar comes, he seems to be driving Bela forward. The Patriarch moves forward. But the spirit notices that the whorl isn't centering on his fleshy counterpart.

It's centered on him.

It makes a sound, it's a Hungarian sound, and it's an awful large volume of curses in such a short sound. Bela himself seems to be merely winged by the stomp, the force of Buddha coming down upon his legs with crushing, flooring force. He is the one who rises up, if slowly. But the spirit was utterly snuffed out, smashed into wispy vapors of indigo smoke and motes. For a moment, it's been banished to its realm. Bela staggers up into a stand; he's slower now; the force having done serious damage to his legs. And yet, the other puppeteer pulls the strings. He raises his golden scepter, and crosses his hands across it, muttering in Hungarian.

And then it begins to emerge once again.

"You aren't wrong, Donovan," The skull-faced spectre begins as he pours out of the scepter, taking about half of it in a long, fluid-like pull. "That Bela is hardly a hunter of your caliber." The tone's informal, and almost devoid of that otherworthly air. It sounded almost... stodgy. "But the rules at the Hunter Guild has changed, for the better for our purposes. The Patriarch must be a S Class Hunter. He -must- be as good as you, no, better." Glowing from the scepter, the indigo light builds, as the spirit begins to circle. Bela charges at Donovan, bounding into the air in a long arc. The golden scepter extends into a singular lash of energy, whipping violently as it turns. "See, I'm not some haunted spectre joining in with this effeminate idiot for a lark."

"And you're not the only one with a unique weapon."

Bela begins a second twirl, the lash building in volume as it thickens, psionic energy flooding it as it begins to bulge and twist. On that second long, horse-killing strike, Aurel joins in. Bringing his own portion of the scepter around, it takes the shape of a long, phallic rod, extending it as he mimics his host in carefully asyncronious timing. Two men are lashing out in tandem, building into a third. Bela's scepter had blown into a tree-like shape of countless, feathered tips, smashing and tearing through the air with indigo energy blazing. And the spirit's? He was using the rod to launch himself straight into the midst of Donovan, his very existence and being a hostile, consuming presence that feeds on souls. And as if to make things even more frustrating?

That Obsidian Gargoyle was scampering from behind, attempting to -sucker punch- Donovan in the mess of things.

COMBATSYS: Donovan blocks Obsidian Arremer's Improvised Punch.

[              \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  ////////////                  ]
Bela             0/-------/<<<<<<<|>>>>>>>\>------\1          Donovan
                 [               ||||||||||||||| ]
                 Obsidian Arremer 0|-------|-------

COMBATSYS: Donovan endures Bela's Lament Of Innocence.

[              \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  < >  /////                         ]
Bela             0/-------/<<<<<<<|>>>>>>>\>>>>>>>\1          Donovan
                 [               ||||||||||||||| ]
                 Obsidian Arremer 0|-------|-------

[DONOVAN]
Still recovering from the last brutal assault, Donovan finds himself in an uncomfortable position. Had his focus been able to remain on the mage for the entire duration of this battle, he would have most certainly had a fighting chance against whatever dark force possessed him. But their initial stand off and temporary alliance against the obsidian guardian had robbed him of some of that initiative, particularly when the so-called Hunter turned upon him without any obvious reason.

There is no where to go from this place, no room to maneuver about for a better position or retreat to recover from the injuries inflicted by Bela's treachery. Even worse, Anita yet remains at his side, leaving her trapped along with him. To die in this foul place would not be his preferred demise but had he been alone it would have been a noble end to his crusade, struggling against the perfidious forces of darkness until his last breath. But with the girl still relying upon his protection he doesn't have the luxury of embracing an honorable end. He must live and do that he must keep fighting, for her sake.

A task much easier said than done, however.

As Bela's haunting specter regathers its power within the mage, the scratching of stone claws on the pillar behind him warn of another insidious threat. It seems the dog of this castle's vile mistress would use his momentary weakness to strike a cheap blow from behind. Unsurprising for one of their ilk to rely on such underhanded tactics. The demon's skullduggery will avail it not, however.

With deadly threats approaching him from two directions, the monk is forced to make a choice. He cannot turn his attention to both at the same time, not in his present condition, nor can he attempt to evade the fiendish sorcery and still protect the child. If he must die then he will do so standing firm in his convictions and upholding the promises he made to Anita. She will come to no harm so long as he stands in the way and he will not fall so long as he yet draws breath.

Dhylec whirls to life at its master's command, the demonic blade interposing itself between Donovan and his attackers - specifically, in the path of the sneaky gargoyle. The creature's lunge at his back finds no purchase in anything but cold steel as its stony fist rebounds off the flat of the blade with a resonating clank. The sword sweeps outwards in a wide swing, batting the golem away like a pesky mosquito and it tumbles off to the edge of the pillar in surprise.

His flank thus defended, the monk focuses his own attention on Bela. The lashing power of that golden scepter slams into him, fel magics tearing at his flesh yet again. The sound of grinding teeth fills the air as he bites down on the pain, dispersing the sensation to the back of his mind with years of mental discipline. Again the golden lash whips into his side and this time the specter joins in, adding its own cruel blow to the onslaught.

Donovan staggers under the barrage, one foot slipping backwards a step but he regains his composure only a moment later. Grim determined eyes narrow on the mage as he brings his bizarre weapon around for a final blow, blazing golden points of light flaring to life within the monk's gaze. His lips peel back into a harsh snarl that reveals pale white teeth stained with blood. The feather-frond blades of Bela's golden assault rip into his chest like a hundred tiny razor blades, shredding the front of his garment and revealing the bloody raw flesh beneath. And still he stands firm.

Only when the wraith hurls itself at him, its hungry eager claws reaching out to burrow into his very essence, does he finally relent. Not against the fury of his attackers, for their blows are but temporary suffering inflicted upon an immortal body, but the endless keening howl of the castle's dark spirit. It calls to him like a siren, a twisted haunting melody of power born from endless centuries of death and ruin. His blood sings in chorus with that wicked refrain, the caged demon within him smashing through his carefully maintained mental walls like an enraged bull.

Spectral purple fire erupts around the monk in a blazing circle of tainted power as he draws upon the slumbering dark god within. His faces twists into a mask of pure agony and gut-wrenching fear as something he has tried to suppress for decades starts to tear its way free. A bellow of pain throws his head back, his body arching into a taut bow as muscles spasm with uncontrollable inhuman power. And then he starts to change.

Flickering hues of impossible color play out across the monk's skin as his flesh begins to bulge and ripple with demonic strength. He swells up nearly a foot in height, the tattered remains of his skin-tight robes tearing and bursting as they fail to contain the sheer mass of his transformation. Something out of mankind's deepest nightmares takes shape from that shell of flesh, a demon of pure malice and need. Massive bat-like wings explode from his back, flapping in a mad frenzy of frantic energy. His fingers narrow into deadly claws, the wicked talons flexing at the air as if seeking out something warm and living to burrow into. His face becomes a bestial mask of fury, teeth elongating into deadly curved fangs that protrude beyond his lips.

A roar of pure frustration hammers at the air as the demon howls, still struggling to break free from the desperate grip of its mortal mind. The change had taken only a couple of seconds but it was enough time to give Bela's spectral symbiote a chance to close the distance. Vile skeletal claws dig into the demon's heavily muscled chest and it bellows again, this time directing its fury at the mage.

One massive black claws rakes outwards, slamming towards the ghostly puppeteer like a sledgehammer to bat it aside. With a flap of its massive wings, the half-formed vampire lifts into the air and hurls itself at Bela like a black comet of death. Crackling arcs of power spiderweb across its flesh as reality strains under the pressure of its very existence, the air kaleidoscoping around the hulking form like an aurora borealis. It dives straight at the mage, maw ajar to reveal dozens of jagged razors eager for a taste of his blood.

COMBATSYS: Donovan can no longer fight.

[              \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\  <
Bela             0/-------/<<<<<<<|
                 [               ||||||||||||||| ]
                 Obsidian Arremer 0|-------|-------

COMBATSYS: Donovan successfully hits Bela with Change Immortal EX.

[                     \\\\\\\\\  <
Bela             1/----<<</<<<<<<<|
                 [               ||||||||||||||| ]
                 Obsidian Arremer 0|-------|-------

COMBATSYS: Bela counters Stone Shoulder from Obsidian Arremer with Sin Offering.

[                   \\\\\\\\\\\  <
Bela             0/-------/------=|
                 [                      |||||||| ]
                 Obsidian Arremer 0|-------|-======

COMBATSYS: Obsidian Arremer has been incapacitated!

[                   \\\\\\\\\\\  <
Bela             0/-------/------=|
                 [                      |||||||| ]
                 Obsidian Arremer 0|-------|-======

COMBATSYS: Obsidian Arremer can no longer fight.

[                   \\\\\\\\\\\  <
Bela             0/-------/------=|

COMBATSYS: Obsidian Arremer successfully hits Bela with Medium Claw.
Grazing Hit

[                     \\\\\\\\\  <
Bela             0/-------/-----==|

[BELA]
"And now we come to the -finale!-"

The spectre giggles, peeling away from the Patriarch as he is knocked away by the surging claw. The full force of Donovan was coming out, his cursed blood dominating him. And for that, the spectre sees no reason to intervene now. As Bela lets loose his final strike, he draws back his golden scepter in time for him to look upon the full power of Donovan dully and dimly. Even there, it is a flicker a fear deep within. THe spectre, for his purposes, flings the golden scepter at his fleshy counterpart, the gold oozing over him.

That was the best assistance he would give, the only assistance he would give now, as the dark power floods out with vengeance.

Bela is rend into, the vampiric power tearing into the Podiebrad. He struggles to defend the clinch, the silver and gold flowing to guard against the claws, the tearing teeth, the -raw- violence. His blood is tainted; it is the only defense there is now. Bela groans in agony as he is helpless in the savage mauling of the vampiric force. And at the side lines, the spirit applauds as Donovan rends in, sinking near Anita as she it was a fellow audience members. "Is it delightful, young girl? It's your fate as much as his. You'll never escape the hideous trauma. It's your existence now, forever. Look upon, and let it sink in- Oh dear, that -thing- is ruining things again." The spirit groans, as the gargoyle once again comes diving into the melee between the two. It actually manages to connect, knocking the bloodied and ravaged Podiebrad cleanly from the grips of Donovan. The spirit kicks off after it, a blur of indigo motes as the Podiebrad comes closer, closer to the edge of the rising pillar....

And they turn.

Gripping the gargoyle, Bela drives his feet down. Whipping the momentum around, he -slams- the creature straight down into the pillar. Indigo energy spreads out, as the skull-faced spectre comes alongside them. A sealing circle. The gargoyle was now trapped in the sealing circle. With an enraged Donovan coming in, there was little time. Half crouched forward, they take two small steps. Twirling, they straighten up, swaying their arms side to side two times. A second spin comes, this time with a small clap, before they turn their backs to the gargoyle. It was thrashing around, lashing out. But it was slowing down, as its elemental spirit pours out. It drags a claw along Bela. Blood is torn from the Podiebrad as the ritual concludes. The duo raise the left, and lower the right, dancing briefly like an Egyptian before reversing the arms, giving the final spin.

And there, the animating spirit is drawn out fully.

The guardian collapses into shards of stone. With that, there is a flash, indigo motes bursting out from the circle. The spectre clenches the stray spirit between his fingers, like a wriggling tadpole. Dangling it over his skull, it drops it in, swallowing it whole. He claps his hands silently, and then, unleashes a bow towards Donovan. "What a show! What a delightful act of THEATER! Are you not entertained?!" It wouldn't fight back if the vampire was charging him.

Where was Bela.

The Patriarch was gone, missing from the pillar in the wake of the flash. No presence from him, only around the strange skeletal spirit. The spirit would circle around once, pantomiming looking for him. But there is no gargoyle now. No Bela.

Only the mocking spectre, who was already beginning to disintegrate into motes.

[DONOVAN]
The taste of fresh blood pours into the demon's hungry maw like fresh ambrosia. Wicked teeth snap down upon Bela's body, worrying his flesh like a dog with bone. Claws tear and rend, shattering apart the golden mail as if it were no more an obstacle than brittle ice. Fury drives the beast's assault, a righteous outpouring of protective retribution twisted into a display of bloody carnage by the dhampir's loss of control.

Yet even this is but a fraction of the devastation that his true power could unleash were it given the chance, a momentary glimpse into the ultimate fate that awaits the monk should he ever truly give in to the beast within. For all its ferocity, the attacks of the titanic demon lack the sort of punch one might expect from an apex predator of the supernatural world cutting loose.

Claws slash through armor and flesh but they do not cleave apart bones. Teeth chomp and gnaw but they do not tear out his throat. Fury and power rattle the walls as it snarls but there is an undertone of desperate restraint in its otherworldly voice. Even against a treacherous fool such as Bela, the monk refuses to surrender himself to the sweet allure of violent indulgence. For all of his faults, the man is still a mortal and Donovan cannot bring himself to condemn him outright. Passing judgement upon mankind is not his purview - the only evil he has any right to slay is the monsters which plague them.

And yet, despite knowing that in his head, the fury in his heart is difficult to quell. Now that it has a foothold in his mind, the tainted blood fights hard to maintain control to be free of the shackles of discipline that the dhampir has forged to contain it. It is stronger here than it has ever been before, the castle's ancient blood-soaked stones lending it dark power and the fresh vitality of the mage empowering it with fel energies.

The arremer's final act of interference ends up saving the hunter's life, its wild blow knocking Bela free from the life-eating grip of the monstrous demon. Without his sorcerous blood to fed upon the monk's tainted alter ego finds itself momentarily caught off guard. It snarls, falling to its knees with a heavy thud as Donovan struggles to regain control. Powerful gusts of wind buffet the platform as monstrous bat wings flap with maddened resistance, turning the pillar's surface into a treacherous storm front.

Anita watches her guardian's battle for sanity with silent intensity, her gaze fixed upon the hideous thing that used to be Donovan. When the specter moves to stand at her side and spout yet more of its insane drivel she ignores him, her attention raptly centered on the monk's fight for his very soul.

The driving gale of Donovan's vampiric wings slams into the child with enough force to dislodge some of the stones from the pillar's fracture's surface. Rather than be cast away like a leaf in the wind, however, she seems almost completely unaffected by the powerful storm. Her long braids and the frills of her dress flutter slightly as if stirred by a strong breeze. She begins to walk towards the hunched over abomination, no sign of fear or concern on her ever-blank expression as she draws within range of its terrible claws.

A single hand reaches out, tiny fingers spreading wide as they come to rest against one of the demon's thighs. A ripple of energy radiates from her palm, a brief flare of neon crimson light that sinks into the vampire's flesh. The creature goes stiff at that gentle touch, ceasing its mad flailing and thrashing in an instant. Then it relaxes, a long exhalation of relief sighing noisily as it sinks to the floor on its side.

The oily black surface of its grotesque form begins to shrink and melt away, rapidly regaining the familiar healthy hue of human skin. Claws retract becoming fingers once again as wickedly curved fangs crack and sink back into its jaw. The transformation from demon to man takes only a few moments leaving a barely conscious Donovan sprawled upon the cold stone. His face contorts into a final angry snarl, one last show of defiance from the corruption within, then that too settles into a dazed but relaxed stare.

The mage and his ghostly patron complete their strange ritual just as the monk settles into silent repose, exhausted from the ordeal. It hurls yet more insane babble at the pair, taking obvious delight in its antics and the pain it has caused. Anita's gaze drifts sideways to the pile of crumbled rubble that once composed the arremer's body, as if unsure that it has truly been defeated. But after a couple of moments of regarding it in silence, she turns and fixes those empty blue eyes on the wraith.

Power the likes of which he has never before experienced radiates from that quiet stare, as boundless as the void of space and as mighty as the irresistible pull of gravity. It is almost a force of nature unto itself, its essence something primal and wild. The mere act of being noticed by that colossal presence threatens to sunder the ghost apart, his very essence withering under the pressure of its casual scrutiny.

And yet there is something strangely familiar about that wellspring of power, an immutable and unmistakable element of consuming hunger and abyssal corruption. Despite his claims that the girl is pure, there is no possible way anyone could mistake this strength as anything else than what it is - that of a slumbering vampire monarch.

The girl's stare lingers on the laughing wraith for only a moment, pinning him against reality like a moth being flattened into a child's collection book. Whatever means of escape it is trying to use suddenly proves utterly incapable of freeing him from the grip of that cold abyss, the magic simply guttering away like a candle flame snuffed out in a random breeze.

And then she looks away and that oppressive power vanishes just as quickly, leaving the ghost to vanish as it will as she turns to kneel at the monk's side, her hand still gently resting on his skin.

[BELA]
The spectre doesn't cease his spectacle just yet.

The spectre continues to mime around, looking for -something- someone. And then, he gasps. "Why, he's gone! Bela has gone and disappeared!" It was a show, an act. But to who, he would not say. But the pillar continues to rise up, up to the upper levels. And he would not be around to see where it stopped within the castle grounds. He squanders his time as it is to his delight, giggling as Donovan is forced back into shape by the little girl. He was ready to give a parting barb.

Except when he finds that gaze locked upon him.

That mirthful cruelty is gone in a flash, as he stares back. He did not mistake that power. It trapped him, dared to seal him. Seal him away from the scepter, the crypts. He was too BOLD. Too arrogant. Like his own little child. Horror, deep within the souls. But not a simpering terror. No, as he is released, the spectre shudders, gnarled hands groping at them. No. He had his business to carry about. But he speaks his mind. "Next time." He growls, as he scatters into indigo motes. There is a murderous wrathfulness now, not aimed at Donovan. But at his ward.

He is not able to describe what he will do next time, before he is gone.

Log created on 16:24:28 06/14/2021 by Bela, and last modified on 22:02:19 06/28/2021.