Descent Unto Chaos [Quark]

- Spring 2891, the city of Bellstance, Sarin, the economic engine of the country, falls to an unknown force, the population reduced to a mere fraction of its former self literally overnight.

- July 10, 2900, The Battle of Bellstance takes place, over 17,000 square kilometers of land won by Mistalin.

This is how history sees the events of that day.

*/\/\/\*/\/\/\*/\/\/\*

An air of quiet fear loomed over the city. For years, tales came of towns completely destroyed with no survivors, only for people to stumble upon charred remains and blood-drenched streets. For the longest time, the citizens of Bellstance lived in security and peace brought on by the mighty castle on the western end. Its mighty walls long deterred the evil Mistalians from taking the town. However, now a different threat came to mind.

A trail of destruction followed this unknown force wherever it went, and now a close trading town had fallen. Despite the lack of education among the populace, it didn’t take an idiot to know that they were next in line.

How right they were.

Normally, everyone would’ve ignored the purple-haired woman that walked the streets of their city, but her blood-red eyes caused many people to give her a wide berth. Not only did her appearance spook the townsfolk, but also the very long sword she carried on her belt.

Ah, how I miss the smell of fear, Vaskalen thought as its wielder walked the streets. Obviously my work has reached their ears, though they no not the lion that walks among the sheep. I will be know and feared like I should once I destroy this pitiful city!

However, the normally chipper and somewhat erratic woman was deep in though, troubled by recent events. Why don’t I just leave now? I mean, I can and I want to. In fact, I could leave now… but where would the fun be in that? One last good fight, then I’m gone for good. She used her magic to stop the sword from reading her mind, but she could tell it was getting suspicious. She’d have to play along as she was for now, Hellfire hurt like a b****, dead or not.

Walking into the Town Square, something hit them both like a large brick. Something else was here, something filled with malice and selfish desires. For now, they would leave it alone, but if it wanted to destroy the town too… well, Vaskalen wouldn’t stand for that.

Bellstance: A hovel of rich nobles and groveling peasants. A festering melting pot of various cultures and social standings. It was a large city, the biggest in the land. Merchants came from around the world to trade goods, pilgrims ended their voyage at its legendary gates, and assassins secretly passed through the gates each day to kill individuals who wouldn't be missed by the rest of the sprawling masses. Miles and miles of city, but only one central hub: The massive castle at its center.

Styx sauntered casually through the city gates, having just fed on an unfortunate traveler. Training with Knives had been productive, but he'd taken a break from that stuff for a little while to give himself the chance to practice what he'd learned. This city was home to the best soldiers and guards in the country, he'd certainly find a legion or two to toy around with for a bit. He was eager to test out his new strength.

The sun was young in the sky, the birds were chirping gleefully, and merchants were just opening shop. What a pleasantly disgraceful happy morning. In his own subtle way to make the day slightly less enjoyable for everyone, Styx swung his fist through the stand of a nearby merchant's stall, causing the ceiling to crash in on it, destroying everything he'd worked to gather for the week. He casually walked off as no one saw what he did, but at least a few more people were screaming and agitated.

He continued his walk, pretending to ignore the increasing madness behind him. He absently snatched an apple out of a passing kid's hands, taking a large bite out of the fruit. Looking around for any sign of excitement he could ruin.

He stopped. Something dark was near. He wasn't used to this new sixth-sense of his, but he knew what evil felt like. It was strong, very close. Usually he would have sensed it before now, but all the different bodies crowding the streets blotted out his or her essence to a certain degree. Still, there was no mistaking it: This person was powerful.

Ignoring the huddled swarms of peasants, Styx bulldozed his way through them toward the source of the dark presence, knocking everyone in his path to the ground. He turned off the main path and on to a less crowded street. It was there; somewhere on this street. He could feel it, strong and resonating with raw power.

He instantly spotted the source out of the crowd: A purple haired woman. Seconds after he laid eyes on her, she returned the gaze. The corner of Styx's mouth curled up into a half-smile. He strode confidently in her direction, tucking the rest of his apple into the side of his mouth.

A man most strange caught the woman’s eye as she walked the streets. His mouth curved into a half-smile when he saw his gaze returned, and proceeded to plow through people to get to her. Surveying him as she walked closer, Mioska would have found him attractive… had it not been for the sharp, shark-like teeth, and the red mist of a vampire flowing off his body as he walked.

Her blood-red eyes focused only on him, the shadow magic in her very soul casting everything else into darkness. This allowed her the ability to determine this man was the evil presence they sensed earlier.

Remember, Vaskalen whispered. If he wants to destroy this place and kill everyone in it, kill him first, then proceed with the others.

The woman gave a slight nod, the vampiric stranger now upon her as the rest of civilization returned to her sight. His ripped and toned body towered over her petite figure in a great contrast. An idiot could tell he harbored great physical strength, and not from muscles alone. The monstrous sword on his back surpassed Vaskalen in length, size, and mass. However, they doubted it was nearly as powerful as the Sword of Hellfire.

He came to a stop just a foot away, making her crane her neck in order to look him in the eye. She smiled at him warmly, trying to get back into her previous state of mind. “Hi!” She said bubbly. “What brings such a big guy like you to a tiny thing like me?”

Styx towered above the small woman, at least a full foot taller than her. He was certainly stronger physically, as he was in comparison to nearly everyone else on the planet. Even deep down, the dark source in her didn't seem quite as strong as his own, though maybe it was more developed. There was something else, though. Her power wasn't what attracted him. The source was closer than before, but it wasn't this woman.

"Hi! What brings such a big guy like you to a tiny thing like me?"

He grabbed the girl roughly about the neck, lifting her easily off the ground to his eye level. "Cut the crap, wench." He loosened his grip slightly so she could breathe for now. He stared her in the eye for a moment, his own eager glare betraying his desire for a good fight. The source of that power wasn't this girl, but what was sheathed in the scabbard at her side.

"Mind if I play with this?" Styx mocked in the same tone of voice she'd used before. He reached for the hellfire sword at her side, now curious more than anything.

It was a good thing Mioksa didn’t need to breathe. Otherwise, she’d be gasping for breath even though he had released his grip on her neck a little. His cold eyes looked into hers as a cruel smile came upon his lips before her spoke. Immediately she knew she wasn’t going to like him if this was how he treated anyone.

“Cut the crap, wench,” he spoke immediately. The shadow incarnate faked a little gasp, her feet dangling off the ground as people in the street stopped dead to watch. She understood why no one came rushing to her aid, but it still would’ve made her feel a little better if someone cared about her.

An awkward silence prevailed over the scene until the man looked down to the sword on her belt. “Mind if I play with this?” He mocked her, using her previous tone of voice. If she hadn’t wanted to make sure the sword met its end, she would have let him just take it. However, that was far from the case.

Using the shadows under his hand, she pushed back fiercely, causing him to lose her grip and allow her to jump back. “You aren’t very nice, are you? It’s my Mr. Sword, and I won’t let you touch it!” Quickly, she drew the massive Vaskalen from its scabbard and pointed it at him. “You can have it over my dead body,” she smiled.

Ooc: BLAH, I didn't realize you posted. xB

Bic:

Styx wasn't exactly sure what had just happened, so he just let it happen. An invisible power forced his hand open and the girl was free, weapon drawn for battle. He probably could have held the force back with the amount of muscle in his hand, but he was caught off guard.

This girl had some power of her own, apart from the blade. However, now that the blade was drawn, he could sense its full power. The scabbard itself stifled a great deal of its essence from first impression, but now the entire thing could be felt. It would have been overwhelming if Styx hadn't already tasted the sweet nectar of death. However, that's all it felt like: Death, nothing more. A powerful sense of death, but only death. Familiar. Still, that weapon looked badass.

He easily ignored the panicking crowd around him. The masses' asses didn't know what to do, other than nervously backing away with the hope that no fight would start, or at the very least they wouldn't be caught in the crossfire. It was a wonder none of them had bothered to reach the level of combat he had achieved, but they all remained slaves to the machine of peasantry.

How to act. She was just a girl, albeit with a small amount of power. There would be little sense in prolonging this fight with no lasting entertainment value. How such a flimsy person ever got her tiny little hands on such a powerful blade was beyond him, but he'd ensure it would receive a rightful owner soon enough.

His hand moved as a blur to his side, quick-drawing Pain from its holster and firing. He had no problem bringing a gun to a sword fight. Pure western style. That's how we role on Earth, baby.

With all the swiftness of a viper the man struck. Quickly, he reached from some strange devise in the tiny scabbard and let off a shot. It had to be some sort of crossbow, but Mioska couldn’t see the bolt or the bands that fired it. However, she didn’t have the luxury to marvel at the strange weapon, using the Hellfire sword to block the attack.

“Cool crossbow! I wish I had one,” she smiled, genuinely impresses at his weapon.

“Yeah, I bet you would,” he replied, a smirk coming across his face again.

Do not underestimate him. I sense great power lying dormant in this one, Vaskalen whispered to the ‘disturbed’ woman. She smiled at this and spoke aloud, “Of course I won’t Mr. Pointy. I just hope he doesn’t underestimate me.”

Without warning, she sprung forward, holding the sword in a ready position to strike the vampire down. She knew it wouldn’t hurt him, at least not now, but she was determined to beat him down before he hurt her, or anyone else. Worse still, he could’ve been after the sword in her hand. And if he got that… she didn’t want to think of the consequences.

This strange development puzzled the Hellfire sword to some extent. However the outcome of this fight, it would prevail: It’d be rid of a powerful rival, or be in the hands of a stronger wielder. After all, the woman, much like the amateur swordsman and archer, was disposable.

For now the woman would hold back, and let him think of hear as merely a weak little woman with a strong weapon and some little power for her own. Depending on how things went, she’d use her shadow powers to assist and bring him down. But first, some fun was an order.

Awesome. After his first shot, he didn't think the girl could have blocked his bullet so easily, but she did. How quick would her reaction timing have to be? She would have had to start moving before he even pulled the trigger. She either had more power than he thought, or the blade itself was imbuing her with this ability. He was still new to this whole magic concept, but through his short time on this world he'd already learned that anything was possible. Anything.

“Cool crossbow! I wish I had one,” she smiled, genuinely impresses at his weapon.

“Yeah, I bet you would,” Styx replied with a smirk. Part of him wished she'd said that because of all the designs he'd etched into its structure, but she was obviously just amazed at the function of a sort of weapon she'd never seen before. It was a shame his art always went unnoticed; he'd just have to demonstrate another sort of art for her.

He could continue using his guns, but obviously this girl showed more potential than he first suspected. He could probably draw this fight out for a little bit longer before killing her. After all, what did he have to lose? He was immortal, he was powerful, and... he was f****** stronger than Hercules.

The girl leaped toward him, albeit with a speed much slower than what she used to block his first attack. Styx holstered Pain, whipping out Bones in one swift movement, wielding with his left hand. She might as well have been swinging against a concrete wall. The blade glanced off Bones without Styx so much as twitching, his arm not giving to the blow in the slightest. The girl was airborne during the strike, completely thrown off balance as she slammed into the flat side of Bones' massive surface. Styx gently flicked the sword to the side, sending the girl and her sword careening into a merchant cart.

Barely a fraction of his physical strength.

OoC: Bad Pun Alert. x3

BiC:
Hues of red, yellow, orange, and a myriad of other colours obscured her view as the blur of colours and the whistling of wind came to an abrupt end. Hey hair, clothes, and very skin became saturated with all kinds of juice from the force her body exerted on the fruits. Slowly, she sat up in the rubble of the stand, not letting her wounds heal so she could surprise him in the end.

The Hellfire sword grew more anxious by the minute, not because its servant was losing, but what would happen when he found out she was immortal. Would he quit, and deny it of a truly strong wielder?

She stumbled forward, reeking of different kinds of juice, and somewhat of blood. Yet she wouldn’t let it get to her, tilter her head on an angle and smiling. “Nice shot, Mr. Pointy-Teeth, I was feeling a little thirsty. How about you?” To the surprise of the people in the crowd, she drew her sleeve up to her mouth and run it out, drinking the juice and licking her lips.

“Well what do you know. I do believe you’ve developed a fruit punch,” she joked, getting some laughs from the remaining members of the crowd. Suddenly, her mood shifted to something more serious. “Well, come on, it’s your turn to attack!”

This girl was acting as if she'd just shrugged off an actual injury. He'd barely done anything, so he wasn't impressed by her "cool girl" attitude of acting the part of being fine and dandy. He knew that game all too well. However, he took note of her rather manic endurance through pain, as well as sorry sense of humor.

He did feel a bit encouraged, though: She'd noticed his teeth, a piece of his own artwork that he was quite proud of. He had carved those suckers carefully for hours until... wait. He was a vampire. She was obviously pointing out his slightly longer canines. His encouragement vanished. So much for art appreciation.

"Well, come on, it's your turn to attack!" The girl tempted, looking a little silly with all the fruit coating her body, though Styx could admit all the juices made a delectable bite to her neck all the more inviting.

"So we're taking turns now?" Styx concluded with an uninterested nod. He spun Bones in his hand like it were made of Styrofoam. Should he really kill this girl so soon? One full fledged hit and there would be nothing left of her beneath the rubble of a couple buildings. He almost didn't want to attack because he knew he'd crush her so very easily. Then again, she wasn't getting any more interesting. He'd test her once more and then end it if she continued to bore him.

He stood straight, breaking off from his attack stance into what looked like a casual dismissal from combat. He was trying to find something particularly witty to say, but nothing really came to mind. Instead, he lurched forward without warning. His powerful legs thrust him toward her with great speed. His sword swung into her, again at barely a fraction of a degree of his normal strength. If she were to block this one, her blade wouldn't be flung from her wrist. He'd keep himself maintained at this strength for now, at least until she failed to keep the game entertaining.

Like a runaway steed did the towering man fly, raising his massive sword before him. What to do? Oh, what to do? She could try to block the attack, or sidestep, or heck, even jump right over it. Nah, those were too trivial for her tastes. An idea quickly sprung to mind as his blade swiftly came to meet her flesh. She quickly jumped backwards, denying the blade the pleasure of cutting through.

As he readied another strike, she swung her master at his monster of a blade, the two colliding together to make a sound that rivaled a clap of thunder.

“I’m no weakling, shark-mouth. Get with the program,” she smiled. As the two blades continued to form a stalemate, an identical copy of the woman rushed out from the crowed and jumped on the man, placing her hands over his eyes. “Guess who~!” The clone said cheerfully as the original broke the stalemate and ran behind him.

Mioska knew he could sense her as much as she could sense him, but she made her clone perfectly, copying everything about her: essentially making a twin sister. In short time, the vampire threw the clone off his back, causing her to flying into a building and disappear back into the shadows. He smiled a little, showing off all those razor-sharp teeth again, possibly surprised, but pleasantly so.

“You’ve seen nothing yet,” she commented. The people in the crowed backed up more, for fear of the rapidly escalating fight. Vaskalen, meanwhile, enjoyed every second of this.

So what was this, a twin sister? When she'd thrown her little hands over his eyes, albeit smudging his glasses a bit with her grubby little fingers, he could still sense the other's every movement. Not only were his senses heightened through years of torment and mutations, but his recently gained vampiric state could pick up every drop of juice trickling down the skin of this girl's body. That's how he could tell which was his real target: The fruit from the stand gave her a very distinctive smell. He tossed the girl mounted on his back into the side of a building like a piece of balled-up tissue paper. It disappeared the moment it made contact, suggesting she used the dark arts to generate a copy of herself. Some sort of Shadow Clone? He grinned in slight amusement; he hadn't seen anything like that before. Impressive, but would it make this battle last any longer?

He lunged toward the girl again, this time only doing so to make sure his strength was balanced to fit hers. He adjusted his force the moment their blades made contact. Just as before, their swords locked in a temporary stalemate that suited him as satisfactory. Now they could begin fighting.

Styx pressed forward, more interested in how this dark weapon would hold up against his own fencing prowess. The little girl could toy around with her dark clones all she wanted, but he just wanted to see what made this weapon was so strong. Their blades met in a string of strikes and parries, each time no different than before. The girl must have been holding it back back, as he was with his own power. He'd keep this charade up a little more, but he was beginning to lose patience.

He was holding back: that much, the Hellfire sword, could tell. Although, it was still puzzled as to why he held himself back? Was it for a good fight? Or did he enjoy toying with people before killing them? Either way, the Hellfire sword came began to… well; it would never respect such an inferior being, so it was probably amused.

Several times did they clash, not one gaining an advantage over the other. Mioska could tell her was holding back; she didn’t need magic to tell her that much. She’d play along, for now, but if he wouldn’t get serious soon, she’d have to cut the fun short.

A break in the action presented itself. She’d throw him a bone to keep interest in the battle. Pressing down on Vaskalen’s pommel, razor-sharp appendages sprung out from the interior of the blade. As if that weren’t enough, she made a shadow copy out of the Hellfire Sword, a copy in every way, minus the lack of a spirit. Any remaining people in the crowd began to flee like they should have.

“Well? I’m waiting,” She spoke, twirling the shadow sword in her hand.

Styx wasn't interested in her clone trick, he could sense the soul of the true sword. However, if this little girl had actually mastered the art of dual-sword combat, then at least that much was interesting. To humor himself, Styx unsheathed the machete strapped to his back, wielding the behemoth-weapon in his left hand and the much smaller hedge-trimmer in his right. He'd press her a little harder this time, increasing his strength by a small portion of what he was already using.

Styx stalked forward slowly, spinning the machete in hand while pointing Bones at the woman. "Only a matter of time before guards show up to humor me, so if you have something particularly interesting to show me you better show me now before I find the armored brutes as a more entertaining fight."

On the last word, he swung bones in as the girl blocked with both blades, this time visibly struggling a little more. He was nowhere near his maximum strength, but still twice as strong as before.

Vaskalen began to understand: he was toying with them… because he was far, far stronger then it’s servant or itself at the moment. If only the sword was at full power; then it would teach him the meaning of pain. Ah, but he probably didn’t realize that she was immortal as well, and that it couldn’t be destroyed easily. For now, the Hellfire Sword would let the disturbed woman fight on her own… until things got boring.

So, he thought some fat guards were more of a challenge then her? Well, he was right, but only in the physical strength department. Magically speaking, she could probably dominate over him any day of the week. Perhaps it was time to show him that?

She quickly broke the stalemate with her foot, shoving off from him and back flipping away. The shadow copy of Vaskalen quickly evaporated, leaving her wielding only the sword of Hellfire. She dropped her guard intentionally, wanting to see just what he could do. “What are you waiting for, and invitation?” The man rushed forward mid-sentence, faster then the eye could see.

A surprised gasp passed her lips as she felt the massive sword run through her, cutting off her lungs and breaking her spine, coming out the other end. She didn’t need to breathe, but she felt like putting on the charade for now. He lifted her and the monster sword up into the air, a look of disappointment on his face.

She let him hit her. It was either that or he had completely overestimated what she was capable of, which wasn't saying much. He was disappointed. She was coughing up blood and he'd shattered at least two or three ribs and cracked her spine in half. If this was going to be a finishing blow, he should have hit her harder. Still, he didn't like to show off his maximum strength unless his life depended on it. In fact, he wasn't even sure how strong he was since gaining his new power.

None of this mattered. She seemed dead by appearance, but her aura felt no different than from before. She was still alive. No ordinary human could survive such a blow. He would have been vastly perplexed by this fact a few weeks ago, but in this new world he had discovered virtually anything was possible. She was already dead when he first locked blades with her. Something else was keeping her alive.

He pushed back the slight urge to take a bite out of her neck, realizing that dead blood didn't taste nearly as good as live blood. Instead, he reached for his prize. The sword that still hung loosely in her hand. "If you can still hear me, little girl, now's your last chance at killing me."

His hand wrapped around the blade. The exposed spikes on the blade poked through the surface of his skin, but the metallic scales protecting his arms blocked it from digging in deep. He slowly pulled on the blade, expecting the girl to snap to life at any moment. Then again, the fact that she was immortal didn't mean she could regenerate.

Being a vampire, he probably knew by now that she’d been dead since before they first locked blades. As such, he probably hadn’t dropped his guard, expecting her to do something to stop him from taking ‘her’ sword. People standing by the scene watched the grizzly scene on horror, several people shouting ‘murder!’ and ‘call the guards!’

Well, she couldn’t keep him waiting. "If you can still hear me, little girl, now's your last chance at killing me," she heard him whisper.

She’d take that chance, but she had nothing on her that could kill a vampire. Ah well, injuring him would suffice. A smirk played across her face, even as blood continued to spill from her wounds. The shadows in the man’s stomach quickly exploded forward in a shower of spikes, like an agitated puffer fish defending itself.

The spikes exploded out in all directions; going out his stomach, back, rear, and even in between his legs. Vampire or not, if he could feel pain, this would have had to hurt. She used the chaos from the crowd to her advantage, each of their shadows turning into razor sharp blades the quickly came to impale the man.

Mioska and the Hellfire Sword quickly teleported to the nearest shadow, walking out from under the canvas roof of a cart unscathed. “I think we can stop toying around, don’t you agree?” Suddenly, the blade erupted in ethereal, unholy flame. “Vaskalen is sick of your games.”

A murmur came through the crowd. Could it really be Vaskalen: The second strongest of the fabled ‘Apocalypse Blades’? Either way, the remaining crowd took to the streets, screaming and warning others to seek shelter.

Ouch.

Styx looked down at all the black tentacle-esque spike thingies protruding from every orifice in his body, plus some new orifices. It hurt. He didn't show any expression of pain, but he still recognized this as being painful. He'd already felt the maximum physical pain a human could possibly endure. He'd tasted the fiery pits of Hell, thanks to his lover, and nothing else in the world was more painful than that... even then, he bore through it. No matter what magic this girl, or its blade, could throw at him it would still inflict physical pain, something Styx had grown bored of years ago.

The girl materialized next to a merchant cart off to his right. “I think we can stop toying around, don’t you agree?”

So she was a part of this game just as much as he was.

Suddenly, the sword in the girl's hand ignited in a strange fire. “Vaskalen is sick of your games.”

Styx gave the girl a questioning look, face looking completely uninterested. "Who the f*** is Vaskalen?" He figured the girl was now referring to herself in the third person. "Well, doesn't matter. You want a straight fight? I'll give you one." He grabbed the tendrils of darkness that penetrated his body and gave them a tough yank, shredding them to nothing. The holes in his body sealed themselves up as if they were never there. "Just let me have a drink first."

Styx grabbed a small, orange can attached to his belt. He popped open the top and poured the flat soda down his thrown, chugging it all down to the last drop. It was funny; he hadn't noticed before, but flat, aged Moxie tasted a bit like blood. He crushed the can paper thin in one hand, casually tossing it behind him.

He cracked his neck to the side, regaining his mentality of a true battle. He pushed his sunglasses up onto his forehead so there was nothing blocking his vision. Now there were no filters: His power against her's and her blade's. Two against one. The odds were in his favor. Strength verses numbers.

"Now you dance in the river Styx, b****."

His speed was faster than her eye could follow, but she threw her flaming blade up to defend regardless. Styx's blade smashed into hers, then kept going. Vaskalen embeded itself through her chest while Bones pressing it in deep broke her spine again and sent her careening into the side of one of the stone buildings. The sheer force of the blast rent a hole through the surface, debris littering the streets in a dusty mess.

Eye for an eye. He wondered if she could regrow lost limbs. Or her head.

OoC: Immortal vs Immortal is fun~! x3

BiC:
Looking wound, the woman found herself, inadvertently, inside an active fireplace. The flames licked her body, burning clothing and cooking her flesh. She pulled Vaskalen out of her chest, Hellfire hurting her like nothing she ever knew. Despite being in blinding pain, she managed to pull herself out of the hearth, flames still on her as Hellfire continued on the sword.

He was strong, almost unbelievably so… yet she was an incarnation of an element. She wouldn’t die, no matter how hard he tried. She slowly walked over to the hole in the wall and smiled at him. “How did you know I was a wee bit cold?” Mioska called to him. “Thank you for the warm up.” Darkness from the shadows of the buildings and stalls quickly smothered the flames and repaired the damaged clothes.

A low click came from the sword she held in her hand. Obviously, the sword had something in mind, but she had no clue what. Still, she’d try to injure him some more, even if he did regenerate. Using his own shadow, she opened a portal to the shadow realm under his feet, closing it when his wait came level to the ground. Quickly, she ran forward with the sword and plunged the blade straight into his face.

Ooc: I'm not usually one for power playing, but I hope you don't mind this post. If there's a problem with it, just let me know.

Bic:

Styx screamed when the blade coated in flames stabbed through his nose, wedging itself squarely in his skull, actually cracking the bone. His nose had shattered, but his skull, like the rest of his bones, was nigh impenetrable... but it had cracked.

He screamed, actually screamed. Dammit, he should have dodged that one. He was distracted by the girl's teleportation ability. Apparently she used shadows for the source of her power, but he still could have dodged it. He let it slide because he wanted to experience its power. This was what its power felt like. It tore through him with pain almost as bad as that time he died. It was amazing.

His scream slowly morphed into laughter. True pain! This sword could actually hurt him! How marvelous! Maybe this toy would make a nice gift for Knives, given she wanted it. He would keep it himself, but he wasn't so sure if he wanted it anymore. He was invincible already. Sure this weapon could hurt him, but it could only hurt him... not kill him.

He firmly grabbed the blade sticking through his head, curling his middle finger through a small hole near its hilt. The skin on his hands burned off, revealing the the concealed scales beneath it. Somehow, he didn't feel as vulnerable as he was secretly feeling before. There was always that mild sense of dread in him that there was the possibility of death. When the day he died came, he accepted it openly, but death didn't take him. Instead, he lived. Now he realized, for the first time since meeting Knives, that he would continue to live.

The moment he grabbed the blade by the hole near its base, it felt vulnerable. It was as if... the girl staring down at him was just a girl. The sword embedded in his head was just a sword. But he, the man who couldn't remember his own name much less his own parents, was a god. He was in pain, still laughing, but in pain. He wouldn't die. He would never die.

He'd taken the gift of immortality for granted. It hadn't struck him until this moment that death would never take him. He would see the world through until it ended, and even then he would live on in some form.

Immortality. A nuke could strike him, wiping out the entire city, but he would have still been alive. Here, with the most deadly weapon he'd ever faced sticking through the front of his head, he wasn't going to die.

He wasn't going to die.

His laughter slowed to a stop, the resounding realization still sinking in. He tightened his grip on the blade, tempted to crush it in his palm. But... something stopped him. Why would he want to? With all the power he could sense, why would he want it destroyed? It couldn't kill him.

He climbed from the earth, pulling his legs sharply from the ground he was half-buried in, sword still in hand. The girl at the other end of the blade was no doubt trying to pull it free, yanking, struggling, stabbing him with more dark tendrils. He no longer cared about her. His mind was lost, caught up in a new power he sensed emanating from the weapon clenched in his fist. It wasn't the strength of the blade or the otherworldly magic stored within its steel, but a mind. The thing had a soul, an actual consciousness. It finally made sense. Nothing else in the world could possibly hold this much power unless it had intelligence. He stated. How he couldn't sense it before he didn't know, but now he could feel it. He pulled the weapon from his head, girl now dangling from its handle, desperate not to lose it. "So this is Vaskalen."

Styx tore his eyes from the surface of the weapon, facing the little whelp who continued to abuse his body with God knows what. The effort to regenerate lost tissue, stand firmly to the ground, and shrug off pain was all lost in his subconscious as he had reached two great epiphanies: He was invincible and this blade had a mind of its own.

Giving the weapon a hard shake, he knocked the girl free. He slowly wrapped his fingers around the weapon's handle, caressing its grip gently. It filled him with an undeniable sense of power, more than what currently flowed through his own veins. It was great, but he wasn't smiling. It was too great. Too powerful. Where would the fun be?

A third epiphany struck him as he spun the weapon in hand. His mind was still comprehending everything that had gone through him over the past minute, but staring at that sword, still wreathed in fire from Hell, caused a sense of wonder to wash through him: Was this getting too easy? He always enjoyed the thrill, the excitement, the adventure of facing a new threat that would have the opportunity to kill him. At first, he'd lost his mechanical leg at the hands of Knives, but he was going to manage. Now, he faced the strongest weapon of destruction he'd ever heard tale of, and he recovered from its attacks as well, he would manage. But what was happening to the thrill? The thrill of the fight was slowly fading. Here he was expecting a spectacle of war, a masterful duel to the death, but there was no death for either of them. Both he, and the blade, were invincible. Where was the fun?

He stood there with these thoughts reeling through his head, the girl several feet from him had already halted her barrage of attacks. He was clearly less interested in their duel, less interested in the blade, and more interested in something else that plagued the dark corners of his mind. However, when he saw the girl standing there, the darkness frothing in her heart, he knew what he was really after: The power itself. The thrill, in its own right, was power. Now, he was after another sort of power, the kind every man dreamed of: Glory, wealth, and bloodshed.

He tossed the weapon back to the girl. "Keep it. It's too strong for me to want. I came to this city with the desire to test my power, but I now realize that I'm unstoppable no matter how much power I gain." He looked down at her slyly, an idea slowly forming. "The risk of losing a battle is gone, because I cannot die. Before now, I fought to kill, to enjoy the art of battle. But... art isn't art when everything goes according to plan." He chuckled. "So why would I want to fight if I was always going to win?"

He bent over, snatching Bones and his machete off the ground. He sheathed the smaller weapon, stabbing the larger one into the ground. "I challenge you to victory, Vaskalen." He addressed the blade. "You and your wielder, my strength and its wielder, will fight a battle that can be won."

The sounds of metal boots and clacking armor grew louder as guards rushed their direction. Styx twitched his head to the side, just waiting for the soldiers to wheel into view. Yes. Glory, power, bloodshed. He wanted it all. "Let's tear this damn city apart. Whoever kills the most gets a free drink."