Kiyomi - The Vixen and the Maiden

Description: Someone has to stop the Children of the Nights from slaughtering anymore innocent humans and burning down villages. The Hound of Avalon sets up on this quest and takes on, on her own, as many Darkstalkers from this pack as she can... Alas, she might have underestimated the strength of this pack...

Darkness clings to the Romanian forest this night; not just in the shadows, the cloud-wreathed sky shifting about the stunning full moon to further deepen and darker them below the branches of deciduous trees. More than shade alone, it's a thickness in the air, the cloying scent of blood, and distant howls that taint the lightness and freedom of the wilderness. Legends fly wild from superstitious lips, but every suggestion that this place is anything but peaceful and beautiful is commonly a lie. A myth at best, the propaganda of paranoid fools at most. Tonight, though... tonight...

Knight Officer Amy Johnson is abroad with the witches and wolves, her knightly garb damp with twilight dew and slick in places with her sweat as she darts through the trees. The mist follows her, coiling about mossy trunks and licking heavenward as if to seek an escape from what it knows to be coming-- the mistress of the Dragon's Breath should not be there, and there's no mistaking that. This is a doomed mission.

'If they can do that to a village, I can't defeat them alone.'

She said it herself, and yet as she plunges through the wooded gloom one feverish stride at a time, darting and lunging around and over the undergrowth, her heart is pulsating like a battle drum. A half-gloved hand rests upon the hilt of her arming sword, the other used liberally to part thorns and raise boughs, her stormy gaze fixated upon the rapidly-dawning glow at the forest's edge.

'There's no sense in our lives being thrown away on a fool crusade.'

What did the miko say to her, back in Southtown? Amy doesn't recall the precise wording, but her challenge of the lady knight's martyr complex was resounding, and smacked down with equal ambition and force of personality. Denied. Perhaps it's a measure of the same ferocity that compels her to move forward now, or maybe Ayame Ichijo was simply correct; she's deluding herself, the Templar, throwing herself onto a pyre in order to justify some ineffable greater goal. She could die tonight...

'We'll return here.'

It it hubris, that drives her now? Surviving what felt so crushingly like the impact of an apocalypse ensuing, pressing past it and beyond it with the blessing of the most unlikely Christ figure she could ever have conceived... the knight feels invincible, she feels like a born hero. When the distress call was caught by the Order's cutting-edge equipment back in Croatia, she rose to it without thought. It's instinctive, then, this need to face the mysterious kitsune and her horde. There's something more there, however; that mystical allure she felt in Norway, when following the snow fox, the lingering urge to return to that exact spot, to seek out the enchantment... is that why she's here now? Has some terrible spell been cast upon her? Her resolve is such that it matters not, and when she finally breaks through the treeline to the final approach, Amy quickens her pace with a buoying surge of the Dragon's Breath, tendrils of mist catching her heels and thrusting at her back, all but hurling herself--

--into the fire, or so she thinks, before she collides with a fleeing woman.

A gasp, tears upon pale skin, blood in the Templar's nostrils, mingling with the harshness of panicked sweat and the sting of cheap perfume stretched to the limit of its power. Sadness. Fear. It's an overwhelming exchange that ensues.

-This- is why she's here. -This- is why she couldn't refuse the call.

"Listen to them moan like doves; watch them beat their breasts in sorrow..."

It's moments later that the Templar walks through the burning fury of the ravaged village, passing gutters strewn with bodies, her Katzbalger already drawn and dripping with the black ichor of a beast that dared to block her way into the settlement. It croaks its last behind her as she steps forth with pride and fury on her features, chin raised and stormy blues gleaming in reflected firelight. Screams echo on all sides, and she's aware that she walks deeper into the lion's den - into the valley of death.

"The people are slipping away," her voice lowers to a murmur, and then abruptly raises to a hoarse, full-throated scream as a werebeast lunges from the fire and darkness, baring a maw rounded by crimson as it roars in her encroaching face. Amy doesn't pause, the Dragon's Breath rolling in from every angle before lashing out with a furious storm that beats the creature back. "Stop!" Comes her own, replying roar, "Stop!"

With the second, she steps into a spin, following her conjured mist until she falls upon the beast with a vertical cleave of the seventy-centimetre blade, driving it deep into the skull before a small effort of will causes the wound to flood with the mist. It drives deep and then explodes outward, scattering chunks of flesh, fur and skull.

"Someone shouts," she continues, voice clear and empassioned now, loud enough to ring down the street to the village square, "But the people just keep on running. Hearts melt in horror, and knees shake." More creatures encircle here now, a black tide following the Templar and her eerie, rolling aura of chi. Until she stands in the midst of the destruction, her bloodied blade held aloft, her other arm extended and drenched in tumbling tendrils, the limb itself utterly steady. Let them come, she thinks.

"The people stand aghast, their faces pale and trembling."

Turning a slow circle, she smiles.

She is ready.

Humanity shall know fear : not just fear, terror. Kiyomi has sworn to strip away this sensation of security from them, making sure the fright will constantly linger in their hearts like the sword of Damocles.

Kill the majority, force the others to witness the loss of their beloved, fill their hearts with utter despair and let them flee... Spread the word of the chaos and destruction that is the result of the oppression and hatred they sowed. Kiyomi desires to take everything from them, just as they have taken everything from them...

The fate of those who were spared was an even more cruel one than before. She realizes that slaying all of them was a merciful way to end their existence : leaving them with a black void of nothingness in their heart was a much greater scourge and sweetful vengeance.

The howl of the beast that assaults Amy is certain to draw the attention of other beasts who lurk in this blazing inferno, who seeks only to satisfy their bloodlust and ravage other humans. Alas, this werebeast whimpers loudly when its skull is crushed by the mist blade, blood flowing down the street where its body spasm.

Fear not, lady Knight... Many spawns of hell lurks around and craves only to avenge their comrade. Venturing deeper into this whole carnage might be the foolish thing Amy has done as she literally gets straight into the maw of the beast.

All of those beasts were like a massive wave of darkness : this shroud that treatments to engulf and snuff away Amy's light. Soon, the horde will totally overflow her it is just a matter of time...

Two large beasts burst out from within the flames, foaming with rage. Their fur completely dark like the night, their built muscular and athletic : towering hell beasts with sharp claws and deadly fangs, their eyes red like blood, their body drenched in the blood of the humans they've eviscerated and torn asunder.

To them, Amy was just another prey -- another one who deserved to be crush at their hands.

The first one rush on all four, leaping at Amy and lashing out his claws at her in an attempt to leave deep gashing wounds into her flesh, using his massive body to try and empower her and shover her away with pure brutality. His maw attempts to snap at her neck and hold into her that way. If it succeeds, he'll simply try to choke her from his hold, raking her with his claws and shaking her body like a rag dog in his grasp before throwing her off some distance.

COMBATSYS: Hell Beasts has started a fight here.

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Hell Beasts      0/-------/-------|

COMBATSYS: Amy has joined the fight here.

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Amy              0/-------/------=|-------\-------\0      Hell Beasts

COMBATSYS: Amy blocks Hell Beasts' Threnody of the Sweeping Mists.

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Amy              0/-------/----===|=------\-------\0      Hell Beasts

Prepared for the worst, the raven-haired knight is not disappointed. Her smile disguises nerves of steel, but nerves nonetheless; she'd be an utter moron not to be horrified at what confronts her, to not fear for the blood in her veins, and worse still - she'd be a demon in human form not to be near-overcome by waves of empathy for the people of this ravaged village. It's worse than before, in Norway, because now the stakes are so very high-- she may not be able to SAVE them, not as a whole, but she can both extract a measure of vengeance and perhaps drag a few lives away...

If one more person survives because of her, it will be worthwhile.

Watching two of the beasts peel away from the others, Amy breathes a silent prayer to her Lord and lowers the flourished blade with a twist of her wrist. It spins about, the hilt brushing her palm before falling into place with a hard slap of grasping tendons. The mist-wreathed hand retreats, allowing the Katzbalger space to penetrate forth, angled to catch those nightmarish claws and deflect them past her flank. She grunts and then snarls, the impact harsh enough but the ongoing struggle almost forcing her to her knees; it's all she can do to stand, and she's forced to a hard stalemate.

"Your sin," she gasps, unable to do anything but -resist- as the monster comes over the top. "Is beyond the grace of God!" Her hand rises, forearm burning with the tendrillous force of the Dragon's Breath, forming an off-kilter cross with her straining, bending sword as it's presented instead of her throat for the foul maw to devour.

Blood spurts with immediacy, pumping from excited veins to stream down her arm as she's chewed upon and then lifted by it, a subdued scream catching in the Templar's throat. Whipped about, her shoulder popping from the socket, she's subsequently flung to roll onto her side, the Katzbalger spinning away. "It is mine to punish you..."

Her words come in a brutal whisper, wrenched from her heart and soul. Stormy blues blaze that early fury anew, as she focuses upon the temptation to fight darkness with itself. The mists sweep around the battlefield, looping until they thicken most perceptibly behind the woman and then dart toward her. She vanishes from view, devoured by her own earthly power, but her aura still thrums within-- she's there...

...and then she's somewhere else, stepping from another fold within the mist, behind the second creature, attracting its attention with a hiss that ascends abruptly to a coarse yell. Her right palm rises, thrown toward the werebeast's throat.

Through her comes the Dragon's Breath, a half dozen thick tentacles of fog sweeping past her shoulders, along her arm and past the hard culmination of the strike, imbuing it with force beyond her mortal muscle.

"Surrender!!" She snarls, willing the mist beyond her foe. "And I'll spare what claim to life you have."

COMBATSYS: Amy successfully hits Hell Beasts with Stormaiden.

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Amy              0/-------/---====|==-----\-------\0      Hell Beasts

The creatures that rose from the darkness to assault the Holy Knight were controlled by their bloodlust and rage, acting on instinct as they snarl and lash out to inflict pain and kill antyhing that moves. Their strength was tremendous, though they seemed little more than beasts of carnage and death.

The beast tries to force itself on Amy with his sheer power and brutality as he forces her to her knees, not seeking another way aside from the straight way to sink his fangs into her flesh and taste her blood. Though the taste of blood will hardly stop its savage spree -- if anything, the beast only longs for more as it rises to its full height and licks his lips in delight, snarling menacingly at Amy.

The mist that covers the battlefield doesn't seem to bother them or at least, the beasts don't seem to be paying much attention to them. When she vanishes though, the two beasts growl in rage, their eyes quickly turning about and scanning the area to find where this woman could have vanished.

The second beast feels Amy's presence behind him through her movements : though by the time he turns around to growl at Amy's face. It hardly has the time to react as he feels Amy's strike in conjonction with that mysterious mist that manages to knock the large beast back and sends it flying across the snow covered pavement.

The Holy Knight might be able to defeat some of those hell beasts, but sooner or later she will be overwhelmed and overrun by the sheer number of the pack.

Demons of the night joins in the fray : creatures with leather like wings, humanoid shape and skin the color of stone and as hard as leather, with horns like ram atop their head and dangerous talons in both hands and feet -- they soar down from the dark sky, diving at Amy and flying by to harass her...

The first two gargoyles claw at her face and shoulders as they fly by while the third one goes for a much bolder move as it attemtps to grasp Amy's body and lift her off into the air, carrying her just a moment before tossing her off roughly atop the roof of a burning house to hopefully send her inside the inferno.

COMBATSYS: Amy fails to interrupt Elegy of Lost Opportunity from Hell Beasts with Wyrm Waker.

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Amy              1/-------/=======|====---\-------\0      Hell Beasts

Hell Beasts falls asleep.

"Stand against me," the Templar continues over her extended arm, the mist drifting back toward her as though it were never striking in the first place - from extreme force to a natural ease, with a mere shifting of the lady knight's will. "And the Lord shall be your judge." She lowers her arm slowly, glancing from her scattered foe to the descending storm above; the smile is gone now, her mouth a grim line. It indeed seems an eventuality that she shall be overwhelmed, but she won't yield...

"I," she proclaims, with a toss of her head, sliding her working arm across to clap her palm - finally - to that dislocated shoulder. She can feel the joint shift uneasily, and nothing below, the arm hanging loosely. Gritting her teeth at the abrupt and painful change to come, she grips tight, -pushes- and -twists-. She doesn't scream, releasing only a breathless rush, denying the agony. "Your executioner."

Stormy blues remain upon the heavens, wide now with adrenaline, and as the twin demons rush forth, the raven-haired warrior throws an arm toward each of them. Her fingers curl like talons, pushing the creatures away at a cost to pale flesh, more crimson spraying into the heated air. Spinning about within the confines of her triple threat, she lashes out with both hands as one, striving to grapple the third gargoyle.

Her aim is off-- she scrapes a leathery wing, breath catching in her throat and heart leaping as she realizes the error. She couldn't afford to miss a single beat, not since entering the village, not since slaying her first foe. Now she pays in full; seized and hauled aloft, drawing air into her lungs furiously and darting a wild-eyed stare downward. Her struggle is brief and pure desperation-- a moment later, she's too high to WANT to thrash herself free, and she can only accept what's coming.

The Templar strikes roof tiles with a shattering crunch, her flesh bruising and bones creaking a horrified protest as ceramic shards explode around her. She bounces once and then hits again, upon the roof's edge, the flames licking upward to reach her form on the final descent. She hits the ground burning, tears streaking from her eyes and a whimper escaping her throat - betraying the instinctive fear of an animal - as she takes a knee upon the dry grass. The Dragon's Breath is with her still, descending to extinguish the flame with sheer pressure, only smoke remaining through the gray fog.

It takes a measure of her pride with it, but Amy moves to stand nonetheless, slipping into a loose grappler's stance. She's trembling all over as she faces her myriad foe, unable to focus upward or around-- she has to look -everywhere-. Stormy blues are bloodshot and crazed. She's got a lot left in the tank, physically, but the darkness is pressing around her. She's losing her wits, and all too rapidly.

"Is this your all?" She barks, her mouth dry, her words threatening to croak. That crisp accent carries through regardless for now, and her spirit - at least - is emboldened. "Cut me so a thousand times, and I'll resist! Your fate is sealed by your natures; you are cold, cruel beasts, not fit for this life or any other!"

She has withstood worse, she knows; but not alone. Never alone. Not until the bitter end.

Hell Beasts wakes up.

The werebeast that first attacked Amy rises on his hind legs to his full height, his eyes glimmering in the dark as he snarls threateningly at her, his arms open and ready to strike. He snarls back at her, snapping his fangs together, "Foolish human," He says with a deep beastial voice. "You truly believe you stand a chance against us?!" He spreads his arms wide, his voice filled with confidence.

High-pitched laughter echoes through the night coming from the winged demons that circles above the burning building Amy has been thrown against : like vultures, waiting for a good opportunity to dive into their prey and finish her off. The presence of the beasts felt overwhelming even if it was impossible to tell how many of them were hidden in the darkness. The hellfire from the many buildings shed enough light to lit most of the streets but it felt like the darkness was stronger and kept a constant supernatural veil to hide those beasts from sight, to make them more omnious.

The maiden's courageous behaviour seems to amuse the werebeast that stood before Amy. He tilts his head back and laughs : this might be the perfect opportunity for him to get back in Kiyomi's good grace, "Ahahah! Renard will love you -- that one belongs to her," He calls out, "Bring her to Renard! Let us see how she will judge you," His lips curl into a wide grin and he says, "Soon, you'll wish I would have had the mercy to slaughter you and feast on your flesh! Ahah,"

The werewolf doesn't risk himself against Amy this time he prefers to wait for the right opportunity to strike, howling at the moon instead.

The ground trembles for a moment as if something was pounding it : loud cracking noises can be heard from behind Amy as the house she has been tossed upon literally crumbles into itselft, the weakened and damaged frame collapsing into itself as a behemoth-like beast charges right through the molten flames and crash through various walls : a fearless beast, a force of nature that doesn't seem to pay attention to the searing splinters and debris left on its massive body as it charges right through going straight for Amy.

This juggernaut was, to put it simply, what seems to be a grizzly bear on steroids, probably weighting tons and much bigger than a horse in itself. It merely attemtps to overwhelm Amy with his sheer size, claws lashing out at her and his maw reaching out to her. His eyes were filled with a blood frenzy making it hard to believe this creature had actually any sort of intelligence... It just left its primal instinct control its action as it attempts to trample Amy what seems to be an unstoppable charge.

Afer its rough charges, the beast attempts to hug Amy and squeeze her against his massive frame, attempting to hold her and restrain her with his sheer power and brute strength as well as to neutralize her if she fails to break free. At least, it was the intention of that beast.

COMBATSYS: Hell Beasts successfully hit Amy with Requiem of Merciful Endings.

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Amy              1/---====/=======|======-\-------\0      Hell Beasts

"It's not about standing a chance..."

Flexing her fingertips, feeling her muscles quiver a response through the pain and rage, the sadness and desperation flooding her from all angles, the Templar draws upon her eldritch power. The earth is quick to respond to her call, and all the faster to demand a sacrifice be paid-- she quivers, from head to toe, her spine contracting momentarily as she willingly gives herself to the coming moments.

That oceanic gaze beholds the bellowing beast, and Amy merely shakes her head in dismissal of the claims it presents. She'll feast upon herself, drain her own life's blood long before she allows this one the same pleasure. As if in response to her very conviction, the cuts and welts in her form ooze all the faster. Blood pulses harder in and out of her veins, her heart -screaming- in her chest. She can feel the explosion behind her before she hears a thing. The planet vibrates. An angel yells a warning.

"It's about taking a stand." In spite and defiance, the Templar's voice is restored to that earlier calm. Digging deep - deeper than deep, far below her booted feet and the frayed, scorched skirts of her uniform - she begins to turn in response of the overwhelming sensation. Man's work shakes and falls, the building toppling before such primal savagery; and she beholds the demon, mindless, and cruel only in the manner of any instinctive predator. Her lips twist in a cold half-grin. "It's about delivering--"

As the behemoth comes on, so furiously, so unstoppably, Amy twists from her solid root into a full three-sixty spin. The Dragon's Breath follows her, twisting about, a tendril unfurling to dart overhead and come crashing down with the force of a bullwhip. For her part, the lady knight seems to do little beyond the turnabout; and her defences, whatever they might have been, are too slow to do more, the titan crashing against her with a stomach-churning, wet crunch. She's giving so much already...

Can there be deliverance? Can she bring to bear what she claims?

She's hammered back, ribs cracked and bloody saliva erupting from betwixt flushed, unpainted lips. Stormy blues widen and narrow, gasps emitting in a trembling flurry from her throat as she's pressed against the bear-like monstrosity. But her gambit succeeded, in part; the mist remains about its neck, and at an effort of will from the Templar it suddenly tightens, the outlying fog diminishing as she pours everything into this one, endlessly-defiant strand. It all comes to a single point.

"The Lord's judgement!!"

What should be a pained hiss is emboldened to a confident, tight yell by the self-same effort, and then the Templar is bucking and twisting. The coil of mist only tightens as she does, and if she can free herself for long enough--

It culminates in a twisting, tumbling leap from Amy, and a matching, brutal sway from the stormy centre of the Dragon's Breath. That coil will wrench and hurl with power and force to match the vast brute's, tossing it end over gigantic end toward the crowing werebeast in the village square. Crushing the windpipe first, unleashing second, wild and powerful enough to be a deathblow to all but the most resilient creature.

If all goes, against all reason and likelihood, to plan, the Hound of Avalon lands in a crouch, more of her blood pooling quickly upon the ground as she straightens and resumes her earlier stance with renewed vigour. She will not be broken.

"Delivered by His most faithful servant. Do -you- still believe you have a chance, abomination?"

COMBATSYS: Amy successfully hits Hell Beasts with Hound of Avalon.

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Amy              0/-------/-----==|=======\=------\1      Hell Beasts

None could withstand the might of this juggernaut : his sheer size made him a force to be reckon with, even the burning building did not stand against its powerful charge. The moment his broad and muscular arms wrapped around the holy knight, the werewolf's lips curl into a pleased smirk, his tail swashing behind him idly. He takes a few steps closer to her, totally obvious to the thin mist that spreads from Amy and slowly coils around his brethren. "Your light will never be able to extinguish the darkness," He says to Amy, his voice scornful.

When the mist tightens and coils around its neck like a trap, the bear squirms and seems to panic. It lets out a loud scream that echoes in the night, releasing Amy as it tries vainly to claw the mist around its throat. Upon seeing the beast's reaction as it is choked by what feels like an invisible force, the werewolf's eyes widen as he takes a few steps back...

The panic in the behemoth like bear is enough to allow Amy the chance slip out of its deathly embrace, and the feat of strength she pulls off afterward by managing to fling the large beast over into the werewolf's direction was impressive to say the least. Its windpipe crushed, the large beast crashes into the snow, its massive form leaving a trail as it slides to an halt, loud beastial whimpers escaping from the beast. It is fortunate to have survived this ordeal and not have its neck snapped and broken in half by the Dragon's Breath.

The sight was enough to strike a bit of fear in the heart of the werewolf for a moment, which is followed by anger and rage at how this pitiful human dares to insult them and single handedly defeat and kill, "They will pay a hundredfolds what they've done to us in blood and lives..." The werewolf murmurs to himself, repeating the words said by Renard, using them to fuel his hatred toward Amy and to strengthen his resolve.

The werewolf literally climbs atop his fallen comrade, standing atop of him and glaring at Amy. His clawed hands tighten into fists and he growls, "You... You will pay for this with every drop of your blood, suffer in agony every second left of your miserable existence!"

The beast tilts his head back and lets a loud beastial howl to the moon, finding in it the courage and energy he needs to assault Amy. He charges at Amy with a blood frenzy, foaming from his large and deadly maw as he unleashes a flurry of slashes with his claws at Amy, going head to head with her and growling with every strike he unleashes on her. He fights vicously, not caring for his well being either : he attempts to grab the woman's face with one of his claw and uses his superior strength to slam her once against the ground and lift her up against to slam her down again with all his fury, growling loudly with every cruel strike.

COMBATSYS: Hell Beasts successfully hit Amy with Tomb of Desperate Measures.
- Power hit! -

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Amy              0/-------/=======|=------\-------\0      Hell Beasts

It's hard to remain standing; nigh-on impossible, even, the toils of such a short and bloody battle leaving the Templar straining not just for consciousness but for life itself. Her lungs are ruptured, she's sure - every breath is a torture, and the bruises spreading upon her muscular form are threatening to seize muscle, halt motion, slow her to uselessness. All she has left is resistance, and the looping coils of the mist that seem so harmless as they drift about the would-be leader of the wolfpack...

No, she has more. She has her resolve. She has her faith. Nobody can take that.

Raising her head, her lips curl as if she were about to spit defiance now - literally - a frothing sneer sending flecks of bloody saliva out into the heated air. There's no good way for this to end, but perhaps, she thinks...

Perhaps there's a right way.

"What debt do I bear, you inhuman filth? You take lives because they dare to exist, wreak vengeance because you were unfortunate enough to be -born-!" She's ranting now, even as her knees tremble and her spine creaks in protest at bearing her weight. Amy has nowhere to run, so she doesn't even try; when claws like scythes bear down, she just rages against them, the material of her uniform torn asunder, baring pale flesh and then flaying it in the same blur of motion. She's thrown back, but pushes forward, bearing the brunt of every strike, seeming only to gain in strength and determination--

--until the last. Seized and hurled heavenward, she raises an arm, muscles popping visibly and sweat and blood soaking her skin. It's a worthless gesture, even as the mist flocks to her digits and wreathes each calloused tip, she is descending once more at the behest of the behemoth. Her collision with the ground shakes the village square from edge to edge, a crater surrounding her form as she's driven to her grave.

It's a long, horrifying moment before she stands, arms held at her side and head lolling. The Templar is broken, yet still she forces herself aright, like a marionette whose strings of grayish fog are manipulated by an unseen force, she seems part of the mist only because she can't be part of anything else. She's been struck by everything this impossible, huge and bestial foe brings to bear, but she refuses to stay down.

Or, perhaps, something greater than her refuses to allow it.

"The debt is yours," she mumbles, her voice indistinct and yet carrying with it an echo through the drifting field of chi that causes it to warp - the echo is clearer than the noise that creates it, the Templar's voice coming through loud and clear at the culmination. She moves in a twisted fashion, jerking and jolting toward the creature's fore, and then she's underneath, her mist-imbued arm rising in a singular snap. "The misery," she says, with the same bizarre quality, "Is yours. Bear your guilt."

Her palm thrusts through massive ribs, without momentum, without force, and yet tendrillous swathes of the Dragon's Breath roar into the strike to create a vibration that carries astonishing power in spite of Amy's condition. It's not exactly her, but it couldn't be any moreso. Her heart, her soul, her spirit and the fire that carries her through life, it's all thrown into the strike - because it can't not be...

Any eventuality is inconceivable but that this horde be punished.

Fate cries out.
God says no.
And Amy Johnson -screams-.

COMBATSYS: Amy can no longer fight.

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Hell Beasts      0/-------/------=|

COMBATSYS: Hell Beasts endures Amy's Weakened Trembling Palm.

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Hell Beasts      0/-------/-----==|

All of the maiden's words only serve to increase the hatred and anger from the werewolf. His rage burns more fiercely inside making his attacks more reckless and all of his actions meant to inflict a maximum of pain at Amy, caring less about his well being, fighting like a possessed wild beast.

Speech and rhetoric has never been his knacks, unfortunately... Lune and Renard were the ones who had the talent to inspire others and convince them, they were the ones who were able to find the fancy words to turn one's argument against them, the ones who had the witty remark to counter things said by a filthy human like her.

His inability to find the right words to retaliate verbally at Amy manifests itself by a loud growl of rage : the beast leaning close to Amy's face to growl like this. She can feel the rotten stench of his bad breath, thick slurps of saliva drooling against her face as he roars at her with all his lungs. He looms over her after he slammed her down twice, claws wide open as if to show he's ready to end her miserable life at his whims.

The palm thrust against his ribcage causes the werewolf to shriek in pain : he bites his lips and braces himself, rooting himself in the ground by planting his paws deeply into the snow. He screams in pain and mixed rage, enduring the crushing grasp of energy he feels through his body, the heart, soul and spirit of Amy unleashing itself into him.

When it dies down, the wolf is still looming over Amy -- his knees buck and he falls on one knee, panting loudly, one of his massive paw going to the ground to support hmself. His jaw is open wide as he breathes loudly and glares at her with the muderous intent in his eyes.

He could find the strength to finish her off... All he had to do was lift his clawed hand up and slit his throat, it would take an instant.

No, death would be granting her mercy after what he had done, he knows it. "You'll soon wish I had killed you, scum..." He says between two ragged breath.

It seems to take him an ultimate effort to rise to his feet, limping away a bit. He lifts his gaze up to the gargoyles and barks orders at them, "Take her to Renard!" He glances over his shoulder at Amy, grunting with rage, "Your fate is in her hands now..." He says, spitting blood out of his muzzle. A twisted and sadistic grin spreads on his cheek, "... I wouldn't miss that for thousand human's lives," He admits under his breath.

As he departs, two gargoyles soar down from their perch, having stayed away from the rest of the fight and they reach out to get a hold of Amy so they can hold her arms and carry her off.

Once the scream dies in a gasp, the werewolf is not the only one kneeling. Amy has collapsed to both knees, her eyes closing and body trembling like a leaf. Her arm is twitching alarmingly, the other hand reaching across to cradle her wrist in a weak attempt to stall the frantic, unbidden motion. Slowly she unlids her oceanic gaze and looks up, her lips parted and blood streaming from either edge as she matches stares with the monster that has defeated her - albeit the cost by which he has done so...

"Thank you," she breathes, her lips quirking - in one final defiance - to a loose half-grin, sarcasm lacing the tone past the frothing blood and the dawning insensibility, "For your mercy."

It's all she can muster, before her head hangs and her body begins to slump. Only the intercession of the birdlike abominations 'saves' her, their grasp capturing her in cruciform as she drops limp and useless between them. She's a tough thing, the Templar, and she'll find her resolve again - she'll awake again - all too soon, but her physicality alone demands a few moments of respite. Passed out, she can't think or feel, can't have her faith challenged, can't do anything but wait.

Renard. The name resonates through a thoughtless mind. Should that even be possible?

Her brain can process nothing else, but the name, and the sensations that come with it...

Log created on 13:39:18 02/25/2015 by Kiyomi, and last modified on 10:06:45 02/26/2015.