Descent Unto Chaos [Quark]

OoC: A dwarf by comparison to your last. x3

BiC:

If the demonic sword had a mouth, it would have a smile broad enough to match the vampire. The man in front of it appreciated the situation: neither would die no matter how hard they tried. Not to mention the fact this contest would, most likely, unlock a lot of the weapon’s suppressed abilities.

“I like the way you think,” spoke the Hellfire Sword. “Today shall be the end of this city, for I accept your challenge, vampire.”

At first, the man looked mildly surprised that the weapon could talk. However, the grin on his face widened significantly as it continued. Meanwhile, the woman who wielded the sword had doubts floating around in her mind. On one hand, the genocide of this city would mean she could keep watching the sword. On the other, she could retain her morals, but be marked as an enemy and have to leave things up to fate.

Mioska found herself trapped in a difficult position, since neither option appealed to her. Reluctantly, she’d go along with the plan, merely nodding her head once to the vampire then looking away. It looked like she’d have yet another memory to repress until it faded away in time.

This was going to be one hell of a bloodbath.

His muscles tightened, eyes focused, breath steadied. He locked his knees, observing the movement of the platoon as it began to encircle them. Their spears and shields looked like blades of grass in the eyes of the behemoth. He huffed a puff of air from his nostrils, scoffing at their numbers. A handful of grunts facing two gods. He would have given them credit for guts, if they had known who they were really facing.

Styx lifted his knee high, then brought it down hard into the ground, stomping a small crater into the earth. The tremor caught all the guards off guard, causing some to fall over, other to stumble backward. A week or two ago, Styx wouldn't have been capable of that.

He barreled into their armor and shields, fists punching into chest plate after chest plate, pinching the armor against their flesh and bones, sending them toppling into each other, through the air, and across the streets. His fists rent through everything they passed through, exhuming blood and body organs from their bodies, displaying them on the ground for all to see.

He snatched his massive weapon, Bones, from the ground, using its hulking form to cleave multiple soldiers in half. Every human he eviscerated would send wayward limbs flying at insane speeds, some even skewering pedestrians and other armored fiends.

If one were watching him at a distance, all they would see was a tornado of blood and bones.

OoC: Still trying to recover from illness, don't expect anything spectacular.

BiC:

It all went by so quickly. Not even ten seconds into the contest, and already the man must’ve racked up about two dozen kills. This was unacceptable. The Hellfire Sword and its wielder dashed forward at unprecedented speed, cutting the guards down as though they were wooden cutouts. As they plowed through, Vaskalen took the opportunity to absorb every soul it, and the vampire, killed. It felt to it as a human would feel to a nice bout in a hot spring; warm and refreshing.

Mioska, however, had to bury her conscience into the shadows in order to go through with this, not even flinching at the occasional plea to spare their life. However, as the guards soon fell to the two demi-gods, both the wielder and the sword needed new targets.

“Villagers next,” Vaskalen said, using Mioska as a mouthpiece. “Women and children worth two times the points. Seniors four times.”

From somewhere behind them, the Sword could hear the man laughing, finding his sense of humor admirable. “Alright.” Vaskalen heard him reply.

With that, the two rushed out into nearby buildings, looking for more people to slaughter. The sword had to admit the vampire had an advantage: he could smell if there were people in a building before going in. However, this would get harder for him, since the sword set fire to every building it entered, regardless of occupancy or lack thereof.

The street they had been fighting on was already clean of life. Vaskalen fought well, Styx would give him that. He'd skillfully shredded each enemy in his path, leaving none alive. Styx had done much of the same, but this guy was surely keeping up. Still, he wasn't quite as fast as Styx could be.

The vampire launched himself onto nearby rooftop, crashing through its surface and into a cowering family, killing them instantly. Without slowing, he bulldozed his way through the wall, leaping into the nearest building, massive blade flailing.

He knew where everyone was. They couldn't hide. His heightened sense might as well have given him x-ray vision. He could hear every scream, smell every smell, and taste every taste. Yet, at the same time, none of it was overwhelming. He was enjoying it. He knew where they were. He could see them all.

He crashed into building after building, using his sword and armored arms to crush the foundations. Without his corpser leg, he would have imagined this technique as being difficult. However, with both legs and enhanced strength, he didn't even need the extra boost. The brick walls felt like twigs snapping in the path of a freight train.

He was killing far more than he was actually counting, but he would underestimate his numbers for the sake of modesty. He didn't want to win by a lie.

The monster crashed into a library, slaughtering the few bookkeepers and scholars within. He dashed up the stairs, working his way toward the bell tower. He slew the few that tried to escape. Slamming through the wall, he quickly brought himself to the roof. Briefly stopping his assault, Styx poised himself on the roof of a tall bell tower to survey his work of art. It was still in progress. It was coming along nicely, and Vaskalen appeared to be catching up. However, something was missing. He had sword and bone, blood and fist, but there was a tangible element that was currently intangible on this canvas. It needed a little more... lead.

Pain and Panic were withdrawn from their holsters; one in each hand. A gray eye squinted in a smile-less smile. He could kill a boar with one finger, but with that same finger he could kill that boar from a mile away. While his strength was insurmountable, there was something about guns that had a nostalgic feel to them. Not less effective, not more effective, just... different.

Pointing the guns into the street, his mouth curled open into a pearly-white shark-like grin. He could smell where they were, he knew how many were in each house and where they were hiding. Stretching his arms outward, he pulled the triggers over and over again, pointing the twin guns toward the fleeing bodies below him. Armor piercing rounds rent through the walls like tissue paper.

Somehow, someway, he felt like a child. He found this all just so damn fun. Part of him couldn't help but chuckle, but he held it back. He needed to keep the appearance of control; the appearance of a feared god. A serious face, he should keep, but why keep it? Appearance was vital in art, but art was never so... confined. Art was never what the artist originally expected. True art wasn't, anyway. True art was an expression. And this piece of art was an expression of utter bliss.

Styx threw his head back, mouth torn open in a deep, crazed laugh, guns blazing furiously from his fists. The laugh rang hard and loud, drawing all still-living eyes in his direction. The setting sun reflected off his glasses, his eyes two glaring disks on top of the clock tower that began to ring.

It only rang three times before suddenly stopping. It would have continued, but Quasimodo was now lying in a pool of his own blood, bullet through the top of his skull.

A deep, crazed laugh sounded through screams and burning embers as Vaskalen finished slaying all the occupants of the local orphanage. Obviously, the man took great pleasure in the orgy of chaos and death. He was a demon after its own heart, had the sword one to take. The woman continued to stand like an emotionless doll in the torrent of flame that quickly engulfed the building.

For some time now, the Hellfire sword knew she achieved some form of enlightenment during their latest time apart. However, she had yet to betray it, so it would continue to use her. But, if so much as a shadow of insubordination arise… No, this was slowing it down. It wouldn’t let the man win while it stood around thinking.

Mioska jumped into the shadows, emerging in another building, in the middle of a family huddled in fear. Their expressions shined on the surface of the blade as it cleaved flesh from bone, ripping the family of six asunder in a single, foul stroke. The white whips of their souls entered the blood red jewel on the hilt… the demonic blade began to glow.

It was like the high of highs to the sword, as it’s power grew exponentially. It had devoured enough souls to get back an old ability, and it quickly knew how to use it.

Making the wielder jump out into the middle of the street, the Hellfire Sword let out an audible chuckle at the sight of a line of police. “S-stop right there, woman!” They called out, drawing swords and bows, severely underestimating the opponent.

“She is none of your concern,” the sword called out. The sudden, disembodied voice stunned the men, quite naturally, sealing their fate. “I am your real opponent. Bow, puny mortals, before Vaskalen, the one and only Hellfire Sword!” They refused. Ah well, it didn’t want followers anyway.

The police charged to their doom as the woman lifted the sword to chest level. Twisting a section of the handle, knowledge given to her by the sword, it fired forward like a shot towards them. Propelled forward by a blast of blue hellfire, more blasts came as more sections of the blade split, quickly impaling the line of men, some twenty feet long. Many of them collapsed to the ground in pained agony, alive, but wishing otherwise.

Wish granted.

Suddenly, the line of men erupted in a burst of blue fire, incinerated, and souls absorbed almost instantly. With Snake Limbs and Blue Hellfire back, the blade could raise some real hell. Its wielder twisted the hilt of the sword, turning the blade into a bladed flail. The twenty-foot long blade cut into houses and buildings, destroying wood and stone alike as blue hellfire tickled the full length of the blade.

A welcome side effect that the sword missed was that blue hellfire set anything it touched alight, flammable, or not. This would greatly decrease the time it took to kill a person, since most would be ash in mere seconds. Indeed, it was the swords turn to laugh. Now, it had the strength and state of mind to track down one that would unleash all of its power on the mortal plain.

It just needed to become whole, and claim about two hundred more souls. Well, the easiest thing it could do now is polish off a huge chunk of villagers in one shot. But where?

The answer came almost immediately, as the blade and wielder walked out onto on of the town’s main streets. The fort! Of course. Where else would people flee to in an attack but the strongest, or center-most building in their town? Being both, Castle Bellstance would be the ideal hideaway… and the spot for a little bit of mass murder.

Unable to control the uncontrollable bloodlust, the sword pushed the woman into a run… straight for the castle. Hopefully, the vampire hadn’t gotten there first.

The entire city populace was scrambling for their lives. A great deal of the city guard were strewn about the streets in many different pieces, half the buildings were lying in their own rubble or worse, and the stench of blood was so strong that even the weak human nose could pick it up easily. It would take some time for the citizens of Bellstance to reclaim an ordinary life, given any were left living before the day was through.

They were all retreating to the large fortress at the center of the city. Clearly they believed the the castle was the safest place in the city. They couldn't be more wrong. Now, they were all gathering up into one smaller, more confined area. This would only make things much easier. Vaskalen had already caught on to their escape and was already heading in the direction of the fortress. Styx would get there first.

Having dispensed the last of his ammo, the brute holstered his weapons. Crouching on the roof of the bell tower, he gathered his strength. With a powerful thrust, his legs slammed out from beneath him, crushing the roof of the bell tower as he leaped. The building began to collapse, debris fell into what peasants were left standing.

Light lightning, his body left the building's roof and bolted through the air. So fast, he moved, he could almost believe he could fly. Wind coursing through his hair at G's that would kill a normal man, he braced himself for impact. Here's where the real game would begin. He wondered if he could kill everyone in the castle before all the peasants had time to take refuge within it.

The archers on the wall pulled their bows back, aiming toward the projectile hurtling toward them at unprecedented speeds. They were trained marksmen, experts at what they did.

But they were only human.

The arrows flew and Styx flew through them. The pain barely registered when they tore through his flesh. His mind was in a crazed state. Nothing but blood and violence would register any emotional reaction.

He slammed into the mid-surface of the massive, towering walls. His fingers dug into the stone. At the force that he'd hit it he expected the walls to cave in, but they were far too thick and well-fortified to simply kick down. No matter how strong he was, he'd only be chipping chunks off of it at a time. Far too boring.

Slamming his fists and feet into the side of the wall, he quickly began to ascend the castle's exterior. Despite their accuracy, the archers couldn't kill this man. Styx bore through the mild annoyance of pain as the needles pricked into his back.

Launching himself up and over from the edge, he whipped Morbid off his shoulder and slammed his finger down on the trigger. The minigun whirred to life as energized shells rained from its barrels, grinding the marksmen into red clouds of blood. When they were all dead, he slung the massive gun back onto his shoulder, pulling bones out one more time. His pace picked up into a run as he glided along the walls, weapon flashing through enemy corpses.

Coming upon the massive castle gates, the sword met a sight that greatly pleased it. The massive, wooden doors stood firm, unyielding to the people in front of them. They stood there, pounding on them, around one hundred and fifty people begging for solace in the fortress. However, their knocks and pleas fell on deaf ears; the sword could sense the vampire within the castle, slaughtering everyone in sight. It didn’t have a lot of time.

Quickly charging up energy with blue hellfire, the sword fired a devastating Hellfire Blast into the panicking crowd. The shot fired with the same ferocity of a cannon, alerting many to their impending doom. However, there was nothing anyone could due to stop the blue bolt of energy. Many tried to run, but the attack moved too fast for them.

It slammed into the castle’s massive wooden door, exploding in a sapphire torrent of flame, bones, and death.

“Yes… Yes! YES!” Vaskalen shouted in delight. Well over a hundred souls perished instantly, the white wisps quickly flooding into the red jewel on the hilt. Soon, very soon it would be able to last out with about sixty percent of its total power… if only it weren’t damaged, then it could ramp it up all the way to full strength.

Even if it didn’t win the battle, the sword grew confident that it would win the war.

The puppet of a servant used her magic to seep into the shadows and appear on the other side. There waiting for them was the vampiric man who started this massacre. If anything, the sword had to guess it killed at least two hundred and fifty people so far. Fifty more and the damage could really begin once it unleashed the worst attack in its arsenal: Infection.

Infection, its apocalypse attack, but it could still use it on a smaller scale to wipe sniveling little town like this off the map for good. The land would become totally infertile, and even slightly cursed, for all eternity. Very little would survive, or remain standing: charred and tainted by Hellfire.

No! No, this was distracting it from the goal. Not now, not with the end in sight. It had to kill those remaining people, and claim their souls quickly. Already, the vampire moved on, out of the castle. As much as burning it appealed to the Hellfire Sword, it had fish to fry. Reluctantly, it made the unresponsive puppet melt into the shadows again, and appear in an untouched section of town.

Was that his 400th kill? It was so hard to tell because of all the accidental deaths he continued to dish out. He'd underestimate himself for the sake of modesty and guess around 350. Not the most clean score system, but he knew he was killing far more than he was counting. 352, 359, 370. He completely forgot about the score system the sword had placed, granting bonus points to elders and children.

The castle walls had already been picked clean. There were soldiers down in the courtyard, but the sword and his pawn was already making quick work of them. He'd assumed the blade had possibly 500 kills already. He could have been underestimating him. Styx had to kill more, kill faster, if he wanted to keep up. Then again, he could be vastly overestimating this sentient blade and his girly wielder.

There were more lives retreating deeper into the castle, most likely the royal family and their personal guard. While he might receive more kills within, there were far too few to worry about for this competition. Maybe later, but already more soldiers were amassing in the streets, originating from the royal barracks no doubt. How pathetic. Mere foot soldiers against pure, ungodly power. They were lemmings leaping to their deaths.

Blade flashing, Styx picked up the pace. 420, 421, 435...

In time, the sword would forget the exact events of the day. However, if it would remember one thing, it would be the pure ecstasy it felts as a myriad of souls, and gallons of blood flowed through the once proud streets. For now, it took the time to savour each soul and life stolen as it swiftly moved on to the next, the wielder soulless in abandonment of her body.

Buildings fell all around it as the fires of hell engulfed them, creating a silhouette of shadow they used to hop to the next district. Screams rang out from those brave enough to step into the open, investigating, or fleeing the towns fate. How ironic that they sealed their own.

Vaskalen gladly dismembered, decapitated, or disemboweled any that came across the fell blade. It spared no one, not the friendly old neighbor, or even the newborn son. Women, children, fit men, or disabled; they mattered naught.

“Excellent, just a dozen more souls, and then I can use it,” the blade spoke aloud before setting the buildings on fire.

OoC: Yeah, it's about time we hurry up and finish this battle. I keep putting it off, running out of interesting ways to kill mass amounts of people.

Bic:

Styx took a moment to take a breath, inhaling the carnage. Blood was thick in the air, clouds of it billowed from the city's rubble, taking their place high in the sky. The scent was so sweet, so delicious, but there simply was no effort in getting it. It was the journey to the reward that made the reward worth it, but the effort for blood was virtually non-existent here.

The typhoon bounded through the slowly thinning streets, his slender form barely visible as he whipped by in a blur. Blade flashing, teeth gnashing, painting the walls and floor red. Living bodies were getting harder to find, while dead ones were covering every inch of ground. If he had to guess, he'd say the majority of the remaining survivors were probably already trying to leave the city. His kill count was now over a thousand and steadily climbing.

He crashed his way through several buildings, entering a fresh, untouched city block. In mere minutes, it was reduced to rubble like the last few. He was running out of fresh ways to disembowel people; it was all starting to get monotonous. Regardless, the point was the competition, not the act itself.

Ooc: I just realized Vaskalen's red text. Is that in any way tribute to the red text I used for Sin way back in the day? xD

Although the man had just leveled an entire city block, the Hellfire Sword felt confidant that it would win the fight. In the minutes he spent on those buildings, the sword upped its kill count to a little over the number needed. It could now use its last and most deadly attack, although it would be extremely weak until the sword could become whole.

It looked around at the carnage lay about in all directions; fires licking splints of timbers, stone cracked upon the ground, blood soaked bodies littering the streets. It was almost too beautiful for the sword to describe, although the wielder would look upon the scene as more macabre then anything else she had yet to see… or ever hoped to see.

Sensing the contest had come to an end, the sword sought out the man. Mioska, who had rendered herself as a puppet to the blade’s dark designs, looked around in muted horror. Crimson tears dropped to the ground when she shifted into the shadows, hoping to find him quickly and end the slaughter. Given he was the only thing moving, the Darkness Incarnate had no trouble finding him in the middle of devastating a house block.

“Well played, Vampire,” Vaskalen acknowledged. “Together we have caused great devastation, and rendered this town asunder. I have not been in such a good mood in a while. As such, I yield victory to you. Enjoy your drink.”

With that, the sword fell silent once more. The woman found it strange the blade would yield to anyone… until its plan struck her. “So… It want’s to be repaired, huh? I’ll have to stop it before it gets there.” She looked upon the vampire with nothing but contempt, such a mindless and brutal killer made her blood boil in quiet fury.

Nonetheless, it had to do as the sword commanded… for now, at least. “So, what’ll you have?” Mioska asked, trying to put on a pleasant façade.

OoC: Er... maybe?

Styx spat at the girl's feet, though if Vaskalen would have had feet he would have spat at his. “Cheap bastard, you surrendered your honor too easily and didn't even wait to see the numbers.” His tone wasn't as angry as it should have been. He chuckled, “Though I probably had you beat anyway, if you give up victory on a whim like that in the future you'll end up regretting it.” He scraped his sword off on a broken wooden beam, dried clumps of blood and organs fell freely, but the effort in no way made the sword look any less dirty.

A still, strange silence hung over them for a moment. Styx wasn't all too angry, as he'd just enjoyed himself quite immensely. Nevertheless, the sword owed him a drink. He slowly advanced on the two, smile playing at his lips. “So, you owe me a drink, is that it?” When he was five feet away from Mioska, he stopped. “Alright, then.”

He lurched forward in the blink of an eye, mouth wide and fangs sharp. His teeth clamped on the girl's neck, jaw hugging tight around her jugular vein. He breathed in deep and sucked his fill. She wouldn't die, but she would feel the vampire's toxic drain soon enough. This was the ultimate drink, no alcoholic beverage could quench his thirst. He assumed the sword would agree, given he was the one who lost the bet.

Ooc: Short, but I don't have much else to do seeing how I'm assuming you have something else planned.

OoC: Not really, just wanted a proper wrap-up. =P

BiC:

She didn’t flinch, nor did she make any sudden movement or sound at all when the twin fangs pierced her skin. Instead, she just stood there, patiently waiting for the vampire to drink his fill. Mioska didn’t have a need for blood anyway, having already died, but she still liked to keep it flowing in her veins if only to prove she were human to doubters.

Although she didn’t need it, the drain of the fluid did have the same effects, making her feel increasingly light-headed and dizzy. Vaskalen, meanwhile, watch the spectacle with some amusement. He knew that she would offer up some blood to vampires she met, but this was something else. It was like she was an emotionless puppet, aside from the obvious impatience on her face.

She wanted to go. Now that it was painfully close to completion, she had an idea where the sword might head next. All that would remain is to destroy the sword, but she doubted it would let her come along. “Alright, that is enough,” Vaskalen said to the vampire. “Mioska, go collect Galan. Women aren’t welcome where I plan to go.”

This was disappointing, to say the least. However, she had to do as he said, so she vanished into darkness in an instant, leaving the vampire behind. The next moment, a young man and the Hellfire Sword reappeared a short distance in front of the vampire.

“It is time we part, vampire. It was a pleasure to wreak such havoc for once. Goodbye.”

Without another word, the sword and its wielder made off towards their destination, glancing not at the ruins of the once prosperous city of Bellstance.