Dying Lights

January 27, 2018:

Darkedge finds himself in the middle of a fight between creatures born of darkness and light. (Emits by Ripclaw)

Characters

NPCs: None.

Mentions:

Plot:

Mood Music: [*\# None.]


Fade In…

Manhattan

The Tri-Cities though blackouts have stabilized, snow clearance has redoubled it's efforts to the point that even Damage Control has been hired to apply themselves. Motion, a city always in motion that is what New York is. It is also the epicenter of this record breaking storm of the century, during this wintery nightmare supernatural occurrences have been bolstered, a creature not of this world like Darkedge has no doubt found themselves encountering the more Otherwordly familiar. A spill over in many places, dimensional vortices weakened, some even opening in the wake of the Demon Bears rampage…

A night light this invites the anomalous, it's in the air maybe, a taste, a smell but there is a loud screech, a shrill thing that cuts through the atmosphere, bounds off buildings, down alleyways and is absorbed by muffling snowbanks. Immediately following the screech is a blast of glorious bright light, it washes through the dark, amplifies the pale snow to blinding levels and then snuffs out. The sounds that follow are guttural, varying in source and not in the least human and for Darkedge? It is likely somewhere near, a block, a street corner, a building over…

The trials of the humans meant little to Darkedge in so far as he checks on the exactly two humans who mean anything to him, and even then he checks from afar and never lets himself close enough to be seen. Sentimentality for creatures who will be dead and dust inside of a century. The dark-loving elf chides himself mentally and moves over, letting his sense of magic pull him as it will.

So, it is the screech that rends his delicate hearing, the light in the dark that even from this distance threatens to make him dizzy. The inhuman sounds are out of place and draw the elf like a moth to a flame.

Darkedge shadow steps the block between himself and the disturbance, tense and wary.

A winter flooded and high snow piled street, narrower than those around it as it splits off at an elbow heading towards Chinatown. Darkedge finds himself standing at that L with full visibility of a creature so brilliantly wrapped in light it's near impossible to look upon, the white wash being thrown free of it continues to inspire screams from the mouths of 'less-than-human' attackers, a pack formation of pale skinned, rag clad creatures with sharp teeth, bald heads and claws, they swarm that glowing pain of an entity like an unruly moshpit climbing the stage after their favorite musician, only a blade meets them, a glittering gold and silver weapon that sends blood in all directions, yet, those louder screeching, those primal monster sounds no human can make are being released from the 'Angel', yes, thats what human would call it. Flapping massive wings, shining armor, beautiful glowing flesh, hard to tell if its male or female…

As that horde brings the Angel to the ground in a flailing mess something peels back from the rear of the pack, shadows curling around it, unlike the bald ones in rags this one hosts black-ish armor that looks like bone, blades and spines jutting in places, off forearms, knees, its tongue long and pointed flicks out at the air, beady black eyes watching the scene unfold and it smiles… its lips peeling back very far, showing serrated teeth, 'Yesss my children, devour its flesh. Burn away in sacrifice to mee… our master expects no less. "

The moment that too-bright-to-look-at-light comes into focus, Darkedge recoils back around the corner. The modified snow-boarder's goggle May gave him ages ago are pulled from his belt and settled over his eyes. He peeks back around, grimacing as the light this winged person gives off is still too bright from him to see through. It leaves him dizzy, wanting to vomit, and blacks out the edges of his vision.

What details he can discern is that it is being pulled down and something foul wants flesh ripped from bone. There is no longer hesitation. The elf draws his blades and steps himself into the fray, behind the 'master' of these smaller creatures, seeking to slide the blade of what is quickly becoming a spaear of various gemstones, into his back from behind. For the moment the shadows curling about the larger figure isn't being used. It is not safe to steps into shadows that are controlled by a potentially hostile force, after all.

Sneak attack from behind, Darkedge doesn't wait to see if it worked, if it dropped this creature of foul and disturbing 'tasting' magic. As soon as he feels the blade slam home, and he quick shapes barbed spikes along it to keep it in place, the elf pulls a handful of cabochon's from his pouch to reform his twin blades, those having been 'sacrificed' for the short spear he's left with his first attack, so he can start dropping as many of the smaller creatures as he can.

Either he killed the big thing, which gives him a clear shot at maybe saving that vomit-inducing glowing person, or Darkedge has injured it enough for give himself a few seconds of hopefully giving the Glowing Person some breathing room. Either way works for him.

A rasp escapes the leader of that pack, through the bone juttings and fixtures in that weapon is slammed and eyes widen, those beady blacks turn to look over it's shoulder to find Darkedge is already preparing for further attack, "Whyy who are youu?" It's voice, it sounds like it's more breath than actual words, a rasp through a hoarse tunnel.

At catches the Dark Elfen scent and it's confusion only grows, evident on it's features as they contort and it staggers, half dropping in to black shadows like its stepping in water, the knees up visible.

The Angel on it's back is thrashing, it's colors, the light has dimmed to a low glow now and one wing has been ripped off, that swarm that has been crawling along it peeling back, many dead, what remains is realizing their prey has fallen incapacitated and now their alpha is being attacked, slowly they start to reposition, heads twisting left and right, odd animistic motions, theyre sniffing and staring, yellowed eyes that pupil to black beads studying Darkedge, they're beginning to corral towards him, a horseshoe forming; attempting to press him back from their lead.

"Ssso many attack ussss thiss night, flusssh uss from our home… why?" The Alpha hisses it's question.

A magical creature and it STILL tries to speak out loud to him? Darkedge sneers openly, decapitating and gutting as much of the swarm as he can get his blades on. The stagger was noted now that the light fades slowly, and something about that twists in the elf; partly in relief partly in something else he can't give a name to.

It takes a heartbeat for the elf to realize that he is being corralled - as if such barriers could hold him. He turns to the kisses creature, head tilting before Darkedge smiles.

This is not a nice smile. Not warm or effectionate. No. It's the smile of a cold-blooded murder who has spotted his next bit of prey.

Your magic is foul, an insult to the senses, and you think to rend such delicious magic limb from limb without savoring it? comes the elf's telepathy retort, thoughts pushed out into the open around him for any capable of hearing to collect and listen to.

You should have stayed 'home'. Darkedge adds, slipping from his own shadow through those near the creature. The twin blades in his hands coil about his forearms to leave his hands free to grasp the spear still lodged in this Alpha's chest. Shaped free and into a longsword in the same thought, Darkedge seeks to end this disgusting thing's presence here as quickly as he can, not only because the feel of its magic is not pleasant, but because this sort of being has no place on this world of humans. There are rules to this game of fae.

Foul indeed. It is wretched and wrapped in necromancy and dark sorcery, the very lifes blood of this pale monstrosity oozes it.

Those mockeries of humanity around Darkedge are slow, hardly more than a human, strong and vicious with a fanaticism but their weapons are hard bone, teeth and the attacks that are meant to work only in great number, given an opening and should they all converge at once, surely they could cause incredible damage but their numbers have thinned and Darkedge is swift, not likely to let them close in on him. One by one in quick action they will fall, as vulnerable as most Earthers, their snarls and moans heralding their pain, announcing their failures.

The spear is gripped and pulled at, yet it does not give, the things head rolls back and then snaps forward, "Home… " A chortle, black bile floods free of it's pale lips and open mouth, teeth now coated in it, as that long object transforms in to a long sword the bone talons of the extended arm fall away, severed and it lets out a growl, one arm sweeping out in an attempt to slash at Darkedge, it's lips, that blackness spreading further out of them, wider. It doesn't talk anymore. It's mouth is actually full of something that is coming out in the black ooze, a shiny thing.

Darkedge lands down near the creature. The glittering diamond and sapphire longsword in his hand is brought up to slice-parry that attempted slash made in his direction. Inhuman grace more than inhuman speed is Darkedge's gift as he slides himself under the creature's arm and in close. Close enough that the single long sword is easily reshaped into twin short swords for Darkedge to use up close, seeking to gut and decapitate the creature. His keen dark-loving eyes caught sight of the thing coming from it's mouth, but for the moment it's not reached for. Not with it still alive and lethal.

The creature's beady pitchblack eyes roll with an intensity, hatred, loathing and something more. That confusion has been there but theres something else. As the blades both scissor outwards, from one longsword to twin daggers the upperbody of the Alpha topples in to the snow with a 'puft' of white powder, black blood pooling out.

The thing coming out of it's mouth? Still happening, lips open up like flower petals splitting in all directions as Darkedge will witness a leg, a tendril thats chitonous and black, corded through with bone and in it's center is an orb, a gloss rounded thing thats swirling inside with a smoky mist, what looks like a symbol is inside of it, a skull perhaps. That 'thing' that was inside the Alphas mouth skitters sideways, much like a crab and begins to race along the ground, running towards the nearest cluster of shadows.

Darkedge will notice as well those 'bald cannibal' creatures have dropped to the ground, flat to their bellies and are sliding backwards, crawling quickly with eyes averted or down. It's as though Darkedge has just become the clearly superior predator and they're acknowleding it, their fear mingled with respect, a desire to live has them retreating.

A hiss, a moan and that Angel or what remains of it rolls to its side, what was once beautiful is no longer, it is hideous, its face shredded and peeled open, teeth showing, some broken and eyes dimly lit. It looks over at Darkedge, then around, blood runs along its mouth that it wipes clean, it's dying. "My service to the light, the Divine. It ends. Your world comes to and end soon. The things in motion… they will snuff out all life, hope and even the dark places." A cough and it falls back on to it's shoulders, eyes still open and mouth moving, "My mistress… " A hand reaches up, armored fingers opening outwards, "I have failed you. I do not deserve the honor of serving you."

Witness to the crab thing sliding out of the larger creature's maw, and scuttering to those dark places that Darkedge is comfortable in, has the elf quirking a brow. Another reshape of gemstone weapons, and Darkedge alters the balance and the weight of a short sword so that he can throw it with his usual lethal acquracy. That symbol, like a skull, is the perfect target for the elf assassin, even as he notes how the smaller creatures bow and defer to his presence now.

That is how it should be. It is known in the Fae Realm that the Queen's Blade is not to be triffled with.

It is then, blade thrown (and hopefully crab thing pinned and/or killed) that Darkedge turns to look at the once painfully bright creature speaks. Such omnious words. They draw Darkedge until he is standing over the defiled being. It coughs, falls back, and Darkedge crouches.

"Speak of these dangers, and quickly; that I will see to their end," the elf speaks and sends his thoughts out at the same time. he is hopeful the creature will live just long enough to tell him of these threats. If not, he will have to begin locating them on his own. This world, and the few fae scattered still within in, are his charge and his responsibility to protect.

The thrown blade hits the crab in the center, it pierces and that orb rolls free to clank across the frosty earth coming to a stomp against the curb. Twitching in place the chitonous crab doesn't budge in one direction or the other. A sound escapes it, a hiss combined with clicks.

"The dangers, the Darkness, the Witchblade, they must not unit." The Angel mumbles, "Two of the three. Of the many. These misguided seek to bring them together, they will end all." A groan and it turns its head to the side, one of it's wings beginning to turn to ash, to puddle on the snow like grains of black sand in white, "Do not… not let them unite, none of the relics to unite. Destruction of my mistress of all… " A noise, a shudder and suddenly the entire creature is starting to spasm, wickedly and violently bucking as fire starts to course it's frame, brilliant white-blue flames that shine far too bright, enough so they'll seer a migraine in to Darkedge's skull if he looks on too long.

If he looks at all. The moment the flames flash to life, Darkedge backs away, eyes and face averting, hood being pulled up to try to hide his face in the shadows of his clothing. When that fails to protect his too sensative eyes and the light grows bright enough to make his ears ring, the elf turns away. There is nothing more he can do for this creature of Light, the opposite of himself, and so he leaves it to die, to brighten the night. He won't notice until later, but these few heartbeats of light exposure, to the Light of this divine creature, have already taken their toll on the small parts of his face that were exposed to the light: the tiny pink boils of hives have already begun to make themselves known. He will have the protective magic of his leather armor to thank for the lack of hives anywhere else. Had the creature lived and continued to glow at him, however..

Back to the brilliant blue-white flames, and vision once more starting to go white at the edges, Darkedge moves to the crab. The sword he has left is reshaped into a blunt short mace, its mass added to from the blade he had thrown at the crab in the first place, and Darkedge brings it down on the creature, to finish the job his throwing knife started, even as he kneels to collect the orb that had rolled free.

Orb in hand, and head throbbing from the light at his back, light he can feel burrowing into his skull even from behind, the elf moves to a shadow the light is creating, and steps himself into it to get to a rooftop just over looking the alley, the death of the Divine Creature, above and protected from the light (mostly) by the edge of the buillding. He pulls the darkened glasses from his face when the light fades, allowing a faint groan to pass his lips while he reshapes his gemstones into their smaller components, restoring them on his person by feel alone.

The orb is lifted to study the best he can with his light-burnt vision.

The creature's hissing and clicking is cut short. Felled entirely now.

Darkness descends on he streets again, the Angelus Warrior burnt to a crisp by it's own demise and those shadowy creatures no longer present, scurried away in to their holes and dark Undercity of New York.

The orb is both warm and cold, a magic that is ancient lies inside, primordial in it's birthing the feeling of it on Darkedge's hands instills a sense of 'older than time' the smoky mist contained inside of it swirls, twists and turns in on itself, like fluid mingled with vapors captured together, always rolling around and in constant motion. It's mesmerising, a purple-black trickle of energy flickers out and touches along Darkedge's fingers, curls up his forearm then sucks back in to the orb, if it was a living thing one might thing it just tasted him…

'Sampled' by the magic that he can sense, Darkedge seeks to 'sample' in return, but comes up with little more than 'older than stars'. He finds his small backpack, the one he uses to carry things that won't fit into the pockets of his uniform, before he lowers his throbbing head into his four-fingered hands. He can feel a chill setting in, which only happens when he's gotten too much light, since the enchantments on his armor prevents him from feeling any sort of temperature differences. Needed since he slips into the utter cold of the shadows so often. Faintly dizzy, he knows he has to get somewhere 'safe' so he can ride out the coming nausea and migraine he knows is about to overwhelm him.

The elf steps into the shadows them, carrying the orb with him, letting memory carrying him to a safer place to hide and rest.

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