Author's Note: This is in fact one huge crossover featuring different stories (most of them anime and anime-related). Sorry if it's this long but you can say I wrote this when I was bored and tired from work. I can't say if it's a collection of one-shots because some of what I've got planned will be related. However, please know that there will be more. Feedback is appreciated but nothing too harsh as I tend to write this stuff with a tired mind and just wanted to let all these M:TGfanfic ideas out of my head.
000
Bolts of lightning flashed down upon the long rod atop the lone, lighthouse manor.
Yet despite this storm, not a single drop of rain fell upon the shingles of the coned rooftop. The wind still blew strongly though, as it always does in climates near the ocean.
The building stood close to the very edge of a steep cliff, overlooking the violent sea. The high but gentle crashing of the waves deceptively lulled all those who hear only to be once again shaken by the thunder.
The lighthouse itself rose high above the rest of the manor proper. Though technically regarded as a lighthouse by Nephalian locals, this was one sailors would sooner flee than flock to make port. The blue light it released from its beacon was most often faint, flickering strongly only when it receives another lightning surge.
The rest of the house below was as expansive as the tower was high. Its girth stretched along the remaining edges of the cliff. The ornate, mansard roof was of cobalt blue and crowned with six chimneys of black brick. Staring out of them was a single row of darkened windows. Their blackness was barely lit by the flashes of the storm above.
Then again, there was not much light in the windows below either. Two rows for two floors yet not a single sign of a soul in sight.
On the occasion that this did not frighten those passing by, one need only look at what lay between them.
Countless tombstones dotted the yard like ornaments chosen by someone of twisted taste. Encircling it all the way to the cliff was a high wall topped with arrow-shaped spikes.
Now unlike the famed, geist-ridden mist known as the Nebelgast, the climate that raged above was not natural for the residents of the coastal province.
Not natural, yet not surprising either.
In a region known for its black, necromantic Corpse Market, it's quite clear that this was the work of the twisted alchemists known as skaberen.
Recently, there have been a surge of these artificial lightning storms all across Nephalia. The brilliant energy they provided made for a new, unexpected source of power for reanimating the dead.
Be it ghouls or skaabs, these storms only made it easier for cadaver-obsessed madmen to command all sorts of rotting monstrosities.
The Church of Avacyn had begun taking action against these defilers of both the Blessed Sleep and now the rightful dominion of the archangel over the clouds and the sky. They have succeeded, so far, in eliminating those who didn't station their laboratories in isolated mansions and secluded castles (which means they never had much success to begin with).
"So... that is the so-called Toymaker's Tower?" spoke a man's voice.
The man in question stood from afar, surveying the lighthouse through a black, ornate telescope. The tails of his white coat fluttered in the wind while the rest remained bound by a heavy chest-plate of silver. The golden symbol of Avacyn's Collar was emblazoned upon its front. Around his waist was a thick leather belt where a single longsword was sheathed in its fine scabbard. Upon his head was a sleek tricorne, lined with gold.
He lowered the scope and stroked his auburn goatee when another man answered.
"Aye... and by the angels I swear, I hear that many of our brothers and sisters have fallen to bring it down. And yet look, it still stands!"
The first man shifted his stern, bluish eyes in this other man's direction. In contrast to him, the latter wore a ragged cloak that barely concealed the bulky armor underneath or the symbol of the Collar on his chest. The worn tricorne on his head was larger and shadowed most of what it rested upon.
"I assume that my fellow Inquisitors... were among them, captain?" the former asked.
The larger man gave slow, grave nod and replied, "Aye..."
The Inquisitor immediately scowled and nearly crushed the scope upon sliding it back to its retracted state.
"Then let us not deny them justice any longer..."
"But sir..." the captain began as the Inquisitor began walking down from the hill from which he was observing, "... what of our orders to wait for the Elgaud reinforcements?"
"We've tarried long enough." the man coldly replied, "Orders go both ways. We gave them a time where we would wait but that time will soon be past in the next hour. We might as well rally ourselves now. Come!"
The captain could only nod in grim acknowledgement of his superior's reasoning and followed suit.
"Make way! Make way!" cried an urgent voice in a crowded camp full of a readily armed militia.
The tense crowd it addressed was comprised of a heavily mixed bunch. There were rugged yet thickly clothed peasants, armed with pitchforks, torches, and blessed staves bearing Avacyn's symbol. The other half comprised of the cathars, holy warriors sanctioned by the Church to vanquish the fiends that ceaselessly haunt their world. Their swords, spears, and crossbows seemed stronger in comparison but a closer look would reveal rusts, dents, and the scars of tired fighting.
The captain and the Inquisitor had just returned when they heard it as well. Looking sharply through the throng, he identified the source as a young soldier who has yet barely entered manhood.
"Sir, the reinforcements of Elgaud have arrived!" he announced exasperatedly.
"Well it's about time!" cheered the captain, "Where are they?"
The young man however, looked surprisingly hesitant and just turned to the crowd that was now parting slightly.
The captain's face blanched at what stepped out.
One person. Just one person. One measly looking recruit dressed mostly in just a large blue cloak that bore Avacyn's gold sign. The collar of the cloak was unusually high, concealing most of this stranger's face while a tricorne hid the rest of the top. The only thing that wasn't concealed was a long flow of raven black hair, parted halfway down and tied into braids in either end.
"What's this! One?" exclaimed the captain, "Of all the-!"
"Calm yourself Captain Strouf." said the Inquisitor, his lips forming into an unusual smile as he looked at the stranger more closely, "She is all we will ever need."
"She?"
The figure calmly walked towards them and took off her hat, uncovering the maiden face underneath. Her blue eyes were nearly as pale as the moon, a shade far paler than the those of the Inquisitor. A pair of surprisingly large, round spectacles nested in front of them.
"Greetings Inquisitor Stephus. I apologize for my late arrival." she solemnly spoke and bowed her head. "My name is Celes, Celes Steinholm. I have only just recently graduated from the Elgaud. I know my presence is disappointing but I shall do my best to make for whatever numbers you have been expecting."
"That's good so you can dispense with the false humility Celes." said the Inquisitor with a proud grin.
"Celes?" repeated Captain Strouf, "The Celes? Celes the Lunar Prodigy?"
"Oh so you have heard of her? Well that saves much of the introductions." said Stephus, "I for one already know much. Your graduation is but a footnote in the list of your achievements Celes. What say we finally hang this abominable toymaker up his own strings?"
"Sir, you need not praise me so highly." Celes nonchalantly replied, "I only seek to enforce the will of Avacyn and protect our people, wherever they may be. Honors and personal satisfaction have nothing to do with what I have done."
"I'm sure they don't." said the Inquisitor with a smirk but there was a fire in his eyes now as he looked to address the crowd.
"Brothers! Sisters! The time is now!" he declared. "Long has your town been terrorized by the mere shadow of that tower! Tonight, you shall witness it razed to the ground at last and its master brought to Avacyn's justice! No more shall the hallowed bodies of our dearly departed be desecrated and cobbled like stolen goods!"
Like a hesitant drizzle turning into a downpour, the effect of the Inquisitor's speech grew increasingly potent. It began with the soldiers, obediently answering with salutes and shouts of affirmations. The peasants, rousing themselves into the angry mob that they were always meant to be.
"Ready your arms! Brighten your torches!" he shouted on before drawing his sword, "For now... WE MARCH TO THE TOWER!"
"RRRRAAAAAAHH!"
With the crowd now rallied and riled, the Inquisitor began something that resulted in more of a clumsy charge than an actual march.
Regardless, not even Captain Strouf minded as he and his men joined in. A hardened fury etched on their faces.
It was only Celes who remained nonchalant. Her feet matching their pace but at the same time, not forced enough to diminish the calmness in her strides. When they were but a short distance away from the gates of the manor, she briefly stopped and looked towards the moon. The dark clouds of the artificial storm now obscured its light.
Meanwhile, from within the house, the approaching shouts and angry cries did not go unheard.
In the central window of the second floor, therein lied a room that seemed more frequently used than the rest.
On a desk lied thick, ancient tomes. Some in piles others spread out. Dust was heavy on their leather-bound covers but some had pages freshly opened. In the distant corner on the desk's right side, a few shelves stood up against the wall. Along with more books, a few trinkets and scrolls could be seen. A small round tea table stood before them. Its occupants were more books and charts though instead of teapots and cups. On the wall on the very right side of the room was a single wardrobe colored in fading, sky blue paint. The silver knobs were grimy, regardless of the metal's value.
Placed closer on the desk's left side was a very large, four-poster bed made of ebony. Its curtains were emerald green. The sheets were of brownish red.
Speaking of which, there was in fact someone lying beneath those sheets. And now, that someone stirs at the sound of the approaching mob.
"Ugh... it's too early for this..."
The male voice groaned and its owner groggily pushed off the blanket, showing a young man underneath.
His hair was of a dirty blonde. Whether or not it was the natural color or as a result of what he does, none can tell. Not much could be said of his face either as he kept it behind a peculiar ivory mask. A grill could be seen where the mouth should have been while the eyes resembled more closely the masks used in masquerade balls. Upon both his ears was a strange and roughly circular apparatus. Small clamps extended from these and clutched onto the mask. In contrast, the rest of him wore a regular looking set of plain, grey pajamas.
The masked youth irritably placed two fingers to the temple area of his mask.
Anya, get down here please.
There was a faint yet rapid beating of wings from behind his door and then, a sound that was like a brief rush of wind.
The knob gently creaked and turned as someone slowly opened the door. In the doorway stood a young maid. Her uniform was fairly simple: a white, frilly pinafore over a black skirt. The skirt in question however was very short, barely reaching halfway down her thighs. White lace lined its hem and matched the lace of her ivory, knee-high stockings. Similar lace can be found bordering the miniature sleeves that didn't conceal anything beyond her shoulders. Her frilled headband was much like any other in her profession. Her brown hair though was quite long and stylishly curled around the ends. In contrast, her eyes bore unnatural yellow irises.
"You called Lord Cain?" spoke her light, but otherwise toneless, voice.
"I'm not in the mood for guests. Ready the usual." spoke Cain.
"As you wish my lord. I have already taken the liberty of preparing the latest abomination." the maid calmly replied.
With a small curtsy, Anya turned and left. Suddenly, she made a small leap and her body burst into a black, smoky mass that rapidly shrunk into the form of a bat. The form solidified and the bat itself now took wing, flying down the dark hallway.
Cain wearily got out from his bed, his breath slightly wheezing through the grill of his mask. He lazily parted the heavy curtains. It was doubtful that these peasants were any brighter than the last bunch to know he was already observing them.
His blue eyes dwelt on them for a while until he noticed that one of them was indeed staring back.
Squinting his eyes somewhat, he managed to recognize the person as female. Her eyes in turn stared intently back at him. The irritable symbol of the Collar on her cloak appeared to shine somewhat brighter than the rest.
"Hmph... another one... " he grunted, "I hope at least you have something new to show."
He moved away from the window and sleepily walked across the room to his wardrobe. With an effortless pull, the wardrobe's door swung limply upon its hinges. There was not much variety in the clothing that hung before him. They were all leather coats of dark violet with iron-gray buttons. The same went for the black pants that lay folded beneath them and the pale gray shirts in the drawers.
Outside the mob had soon reached the front gate, their shouts for Cain's head carrying over the yard of headstones.
"You may do the honors young Celes." said Stephus, the men around him eagerly making way for the young prodigy.
Celes gravely stared at the chain-locked gate before her. The crowd only raising the volume of their angry battle cries.
"Inquisitor..." she spoke as she reached for something within her cloak, "... as per the law of the Church, skaberen are desecrators. However, they are still brothers and sisters, lost and fallen-away they may be in their heretical pursuit to recreate life. Surely you know our obligation to extend them one last chance at redemption?"
At this, the Inquisitor raised his hand in a powerful yet stern manner. The cries died out instantly as everyone saw the now slightly displeased look on his face.
"Even so, I was in the hopes of foregoing such futility..." he grumbled.
"Hear, hear!" Strouf angrily joined in, "Don't waste your breath lass! The bastard has had more than his fair share of chances!"
"Even so, I assure you that this one shall truly be his last." she sternly answered and approached the gate.
"Skaberen!" she called, her voice now raised, "By order of the Arms of Avacyn, you have been charged with violating the sacred grafs and cruelly depriving the tranquility of the Blessed Sleep from the faithful buried within! However, not all is lost for you! Turn from your foul craft! Embrace your humanity once more within the Church! Repent of your sins and rejoin your brothers and sisters! What say you?"
There was no answer and the only sounds heard were the thundering of the clouds and the returned grumbling of the mob. A gust of wind coldly blew from the unusual direction of the house. Its whisper carried a haunting tone.
Suddenly, there was the thick crack of breaking earth. A woman screamed. Soldiers shouted and rallied orders.
Now from the midst of the graveyard, rotted hands sprouted like clawed weeds. Bits of the earth flew as they began bursting through the ground. Arms soon followed (with some having only bone to show for).
Soon the skeletal heads emerged as an army of ghouls crawled from the graves. Their faces mutilated in manners unique only to the style that decay is know for. Despite that, they were mix as interestingly diverse as the mob. The worn and ragged clothes betrayed persons of different professions. Some bore the humble attire of peasant folk. Others donned the fashions and finery of nobility (woebegone those now were).
"Very well." she said stoically and took out a large silver Collar, its neck long enough to serve as a handle.
Without warning either allies or the foes beyond, she reared the Collar back. The light it gave soon collected more than its own.
Before the ghouls could even begin their savage charge to the gate, she thrust the symbol forward. Its light was now in full glow.
The Collar-shaped ray that burst forth literally blasted the gate open and its intensity even lit some of the incoming ghouls on fire.
"What are you waiting for Inquisitor?" she muttered whilst here eyes were still on the reeling undead.
Stephus awkwardly shook himself from his awe and clumsily cried, "Ch-CHARGE!"
The mob barged in. Swords were drawn, pitchforks were raised, and torches flew. The ghouls though weren't fazed in the slightest and met them head-on. Stephus drew his longsword and soon took his place leading the assault. With both hands, he cleanly cut through countless, rotting waists whilst Strouf smashed those that still moved with his massive warhammer. Meanwhile, Celes proved herself quicker than her appearance and kept appearing right between them all. Her Collar continued to shine and unleashed waves of holy light to the point that smoke now began rising from it.
Soon it became evident that victory was theirs. All that was left of the skaberen's defenses were either running about, covered in flames or barely crawling on their arms. Finally, Celes raised her Collar up high. The light shone its brightest ever as she gave one last thrust.
The Collar shattered and beams of light pierced from it and through the hearts of the remaining zombies. The walking corpses shrieked and moaned as they combusted into dust.
"The path is clear! To the manor!" roared Stephus and the fanatic mob eagerly followed him across the remaining half of the graveyard.
Celes took only one look at the corpses around her however, when suddenly she shouted for the first time, "Wait! Fall ba-!"
Horrified shrieks quickly stifled her command. More hands had suddenly sprouted from graves thought turned. And worse, these arms now clutched many a leg and thigh of living flesh. The hungry dead which rose forth were quick to sink in their putrid teeth.
Stephus got lucky, like most Inquisitors apparently, and even somersaulted backwards just to avoid the arms that nearly grabbed him. Strouf wasn't as fortunate and barely managed to escape through mere brute strength alone. His legs and even arms now bled heavily from bites. Less fortunate still were half their forces as they fell prey to more undead rising beneath them.
"Avacyn save us... how many of our dead has that fiend truly buried here!" Stephus cursed. It did not help that the sight of the corpses grew even more in diversity. His wrath was further kindled to see some bearing the armor of inquisitors, cathars, and even priests. The ravaged mark of Avacyn upon them seemed only to serve the purpose of mockery.
"There's enough ghouls here to fill half the grafs of Havengul!" Strouf swore.
"I noticed something was off the moment I saw these graves." explained Celes as they all slowly backed away. In a sickening twist of irony and fortune, the ghouls were still too busy slaughtering those they had caught. "For a skaberen, he seems rather skilled at ghoulcalling."
"Truth be told, I've heard rumors but these were so sensational, even the skaberen underground of the Erdwal dismissed them as fish wives' tales." said Stephus, "However, it was said that this 'Toymaker' has in fact mastered both of the foul schools of necromancy! First, he gathers bodies and raises them into an unhallowed army. And once he's had his fun sending that army on a suicide mission of massacre, he sends his servants to recover what's left..."
"... then stitch the pieces together into skaab abominations!" growled Strouf, "Though to be frank sir, I think these ghouls are trouble enou-!"
There was a loud bang and all the survivors turned their eyes back in the direction of the manor. Three windows away on either side of the house, there was in fact a cellar door underneath. However, these were both withered and covered with the moss of ages that their blackened color made it difficult to spot in the dark.
Now they were both open. The eerie electric blue light now also shone from inside their openings. The sound of deeper yet more unified groaning heralded the arrival of the undead army's more resilient half.
They climbed out in two ordered rows. In comparison, the skaab grunts that now skulked out made the ghouls almost appear like citizenry. Whereas the ghouls wore more or less the same attire they wore in life, the skaabs all had the uniform lack of any clothing aside from either torn pants or a tattered loincloth (and the occasional worn boots). Each of their faces was a twisted patchwork of several others stitched together. One had stitches across its forehead while another had stitches holding its jaws. Their muscles, thicker and bulkier as they were, still weren't any less lopsided (given that they were taken from different bodies). Where parts weren't tied by wire or string, a sturdy copper plate or band was in place. Silvery blue runes could be seen inscribed on each of them. Some even still had metal stubs on their bodies from which sparks would fly. The way they walked was arguably slower and clumsier than the ghouls but they made up for it with the single-minded direction they moved in.
That direction being towards the survivors.
"What now Inquisitor?" asked Strouf, unease now hinted in his voice. "Retreat?"
"Out of the question!" barked Stephus, "I have heard that one Geralf has already planned a siege on our beloved Thraben. We cannot allow this Toymaker following up on his schemes!"
Immediately, he raised his sword and declared boldly in front of the approaching horde, "Steady your hearts brothers and sisters! Let the deaths of our fellows not be in vain! Avacyn is still with us! Fill your hearts with faith and we shall be spared from evil!"
As he said this, the remaining mob united in such a ferverent cheer that it was almost a chorus. An ethereal dome of blue swirled about the group and the ghouls who were once advancing, body pieces in hand, now fled as a divinely inspired terror supplanted the necromantic will governing their minds. The skaabs too groaned somewhat painfully. Their bulging arms raised to shield their faces.
"We make our stand HERE!" he roared and rushed forward. Those armed with the weapons of the fray followed bravely with their own battle cries. The situation soon reversed once more against the undead's favor. Pitchforks skewered their backs. Cleavers and axes lopped off arms. Spears and swords ran through their chests.
"Archers!" Celes commanded from the back and the bowmen of their militia promptly knocked their arrows.
"Fire!"
The archers aimed high and their strings sang, heralding the rain of wood tipped with blessed steel. Swordsmen carefully retreated behind those with pitchforks and spears. The length of their weapons easily allowed the forcing back of the undead. Even the most heavily muscled of the skaabs soon fell back to the combined force of their attacks. Some had even thrown the melee weapons in hand for good measure.
Watching this all was the maid Anya. A dark window in the lighthouse's midsection facilitated her survey of the battle without being seen.
The only thing that would give her away was if one soul would risk taking his or her eyes off the battle in front and gaze further upwards. The lightning strikes from above would even aid in revealing her as they apparently channeled down to what was behind her. Its light illuminated her form ever so briefly.
And yet, none did such a thing and therefore, she turned away both seemingly bored yet satisfied that she wasn't seen.
"Hurry up Ikor, a battle like this is easily won but Lord Cain wishes it over soon. Don't make him wait." she glumly spoke.
Before her was an entire laboratory array. Four tables stood in a cross-like arrangement, each retrofitted with operating equipment. Their needles, drills, and scalpels all bore the classic, grisly stains of a mad scientist's tools.
For further indication of to whom this lab belonged, one need only look to the occupants of these tables.
Their torsos clearly belonged to men, but nailed below the waist were the hinds of a clearly different species. Some still held rot whilst others were all bone. Either way, they were all somewhat reptilian given the lengthy, clawed feet. A whip-like tailbone could be seen in-between the legs. For arms, they had the winged limbs resembling some large specimen of bat. The flaps were disturbing patchworks of differently shaded skins sewn together. Goodness knows from what flesh each patch was originally peeled from. The trend of mixed body parts continued all the way up to their heads. Large bird-like skulls were bound to the base of where each torso's neck would have been. Whether they belonged to griffins or in fact some sort of flying reptile, Anya couldn't tell... nor could care.
"Only mashter commands me! Not you rat-leech!" a voice hissed from somewhere. In the center of the laboratory and towering all the way to the top stood a large gestalt of cogs, pipes, chains, and knobs. There were some switches too, along with a very large containment tank inscribed with a ring of runes around the middle. And like how a large stone would be set to such a ring, there was a small, glass porthole in the center where most, if not all, the electrical light blasted forth from.
An unusually lumpy shadow jumped from the darkness above this generator just as another surge ran down from the top of the lighthouse and erratically along its metal mass.
It appeared to have a beak of its own at first but in fact, it was a pointed mask that curved downwards. Well... at least it functioned like a mask despite looking more like someone took a bent cage and welded it to its face.
A heavy, torn assortment of rags was its only attire. It was particularly bulgy on one side. The other side though revealed a swollen arm covered in sickly red sores.
"Know your place..." it hissed, revealing itself as the owner of the voice.
"And I would appreciate that you remember yours Ikor..." growled Cain's voice.
Ikor gasped and turned, nearly backing into one of the tables from surprise.
"M-mashter!" Ikor wheezed, wincing as he felt his deformed back make contact with one of the table's cobbled occupants. Cain was now standing on a round platform engraved with runes and strangely attached to the wall by an assembly of gears. His attire of shirt, coat, and boots was now fully donned.
"Pleashe forgive me Mashter," he added, almost going down on his knees. "I only wanted to give you the honor of-"
"Enough." he irritably dismissed, "Raise the drakes."
Ikor made a gurgled gulp and slowly nodded. He shambled towards the wall left of the electrical tank. There an assortment of gears attached to a hand crank awaited him. A single, rusty-looking knife switch was bolted to the wall above.
With his inflamed hand, he turned the crank in slow but strong rotations. The arrangement of gears turned and the cogs ground. The sound of even greater machinery creaking and clanking echoed from somewhere below the laboratory.
Behind Ikor, the four tables shook before gradually elevating higher and higher. A supporting pillar beneath each of them soon grew to towering heights. At some point, they reached a level with four tall windows. Each table in fact was aligned with one and as they neared, they began to open.
There was a resounding crunch and Ikor could no longer wind the crank further.
Outside, the battle continued to rage and more undead fell to the rain of arrows and periodic thrusts of poled arms.
Ikor took a deep breath as he grasped the switch's handle. "The drakes have been raished mashter..." he announced. Yet whilst he labored, Cain had already joined Anya in overseeing the battle below.
"The exoskeleton has already been grafted." Anya spoke. "The abomination is already in the final stages of armoring."
"Well then let's just thin out the number of test subjects and get this over with... I've seen enough and have much more pressing matters at hand." he grumbled before commanding to the back, "Ikor! Pull the switch."
"Yeeeeesh mashter!" cried the minion and promptly slammed said switch downwards. The resulting feedback obviously incited a screech of electrified agony from its holder.
The current though did not stop there as the power accumulating in the tank surged upwards to where the four raised tables were. A thin antenna was in fact placed right above them. The tips of their sphere-pointed ends aimed towards the chest cavity of each stitched drake.
The lightning coursed in dazzling blue arcs that shot from the antenna and right into the skaabs.
A loud screech announced each birth of new unlife as the drakes arched and writhed their stiffened necks. Their wings soon followed and began to dangerously flay about. Without even glancing up to them, Cain placed his fingers again to his temple. His eyes suddenly glowing blue and signaling to some below with their brightness.
"Up there!"
"It's him!"
"Toymaker!"
Celes too finally looked up but this would be the second time the two gazed upon another. The expression on her face was stoic yet somewhat challenging. Her hand reached into her cloak and drew out a another glowing, sacramental Collar. Almost immediately, the comrades around her began exhibiting a similar glow. An increase in speed, swiftness, and vigor spoke for its effect.
"The blasphemer now shows himself at last!" roared Stephus, furiously jabbing his sword in Cain's direction before swinging around to behead an incoming skaab.
Unknown to all, the skaab drakes had also began shining blue light from within their hollow sockets. Soon, the rest of the remaining skaabs below began emulating this trait. Whatever space or flesh their eyeballs previously occupied was now consumed in alien ether.
Go.
The lightning stopped. The drakes ceased writhing. Where they were now seconds in danger of falling from their tables, they now sat up almost like machines. Their legs carefully stepped on the table as footing and stood up. Their wings spread out gracefully before they each turned and made a sudden dive through the windows.
"Draaaaaaaaaaaakes!" cried one of the soldiers as the skaab drakes screeched and dove towards the militia. Some were snatched out right into air while others were fatally clipped by beaks serrated by decay.
Another surprise came from the skaabs below as their moves became more martial and surprisingly calculated. One knocked out a blade purely with the thick, rotten flesh of its arm before using both to pick up its screaming owner and hurling it to the stunned crowd. Another allowed the spears to stick in its gut so as to wrench them away (or at least snap their handles). Needless to say many deaths soon followed as it barreled towards them with all those sharp, broken shafts sticking out. Some had even resorted to hurling the still remaining ghouls by the body. In turn, the hungry unhallowed fell upon their hapless prey with open arms (and mouths). The shrieks in the night air soon raised their volume.
For the first time, Celes' face expressed more clear emotion. Her brow furrowed coldly and she raised her Collar even higher. Its light and its position almost appeared like the break of day on the horizon.
The survivors had only gazed upon it briefly before they felt an even greater strength well up from within. For each bite and each blow, a forceful spark would repel it from their now brilliantly luminous bodies.
Still, their greatest casualties were yet to follow.
From inside the lighthouse, an unearthly roar sounded from its deepest bowels. Rather unusual that it didn't reach all the way outside the windows.
"It's ready." said Anya, "Shall I release it Lord Cain?"
"Not yet." he answered as he noticed this last minute shift in power, "Dispense the oil."
Anya stared at him briefly before asking, "Are we beginning the next experiment ahead of schedule?"
"Well you did say that the oil was already prepared in case I wish to push through at an earlier date." he replied. "Now I say why not? It would make this farce more amusing."
"Understood."
The maid left the window and took care to watch her step. Her heeled shoes successfully dug in on an electrically singed mass that was the half-dead Ikor. Directly behind the tank was a complex panel of levers. Stamped above each of them was a rune inlaid with moonlight silver, each with a rather beautiful effect of glowing from the constant reflection of the lightning all around them.
Anya apparently understood what each rune meant for she only reached for one, forcefully pulled it down, and walked back to the window (stepping on Ikor again in the process). Down below, several shingles of the mansion roof had actually slid down to reveal wide shafts. Pouring was a glistening substance that indeed bore the black shade of oil. However, it seemed thicker, heavier and perhaps almost alive as it oozed out of the shafts, trickled down the roof before flooding down into the ground below.
"What in devils is this?" asked a bewildered Stephus. His cunning eyes looked up to where Cain continued to coldly observe.
"You think to frighten us with this new, foul craft Toymaker!" he shouted, "Behold!" He spread his arms wide, showing off the golden light his body and that of others shone. "We carry within our hearts the very light of day! Avacyn still lives within us!" he cried and all those survivors joined with him.
"Inquisitor..." Celes whispered as she started backing away, "Indeed, we are now invulnerable with the archangel's blessing... but something tells me that what we see is not something we'd want on ourselves..."
Bold as he was, Stephus could not help but notice the unease in her voice and was compelled towards caution. With a simple step back, everyone got the message and promptly began a slow retreat. The fury in all their eyes though showed only an intention to strike when they were beyond the range of the black filth.
You really think it's that simple? Cain thought, the light in his eyes almost flickered as he rolled them. In a sudden movement however, he rigidly raised his hand, palm facing upwards, as if beseeching the oil. By now, overflowing puddles of it had accumulated and the shafts slowly closed, indicating depletion of stores.
The oil splashed and the retreat of the diminished militia slightly quickened as the black substance gradually began to animate with increased intensity.
They braced themselves as it reshaped into tendrils and lashed out.
Much to their shock, they didn't notice that the skaabs had actually ceased to pursue them and were standing still. There eyes still remained glowing even as the oil had now begun lathering itself over their bodies. It seeped into socket openings, loose stitches, along with the typical entrances of eyes, ears, and mouths.
The puddles eventually emptied as the oil apparently filled every cavity within. The excesses dripped disgustingly out of their eyes like inky tears, their mouths like black dribble. All the way down it trickled to their thick fingertips.
It took only a mere minute for everyone to register what this grisly process entailed.
For Cain, it was all the time in the world.
"SPEARS!" Celes commanded in full volume as skaabs charged in unison. Whatever few spear-men remained promptly lunged their weapons. Alas, the resulting punctures only released torrents of the black oil onto stunned faces.
These same faces immediately lost their golden glow, replaced with a pallid complexion. The dark poison literally seeped into their skin, blackening their veins, and even the pupils of their eyes turned deathly white. Some suffered even worse, with patches of their skin spontaneously solidifying into a unidentifed metal texture. The ghouls no longer even paid attention as they choose to scavenge the stiffened remains. Archers desperately shot their quivers empty yet it only gave more holes from which the skaabs expectorated their newly-acquired venom. Their toll has again gained an exponential rise.
Furious at more sudden deaths, Strouf finally went on a berserk rage, waving his warhammer side-to-side. Any ghoul that neared him was smashed so hard, bones and guts flew. At last, he was upon an enormous skaab. With a barbaric roar, he rammed his thick, plated shoulder into its chest. Some oil squirted and splashed onto his face but his strength and radiance only persisted.
The hammer swung right, swung left. The latter blow cleanly knocking the skaab's disfigured skull off the stitches binding its neck. A fountain of oil burst forth from the stump and rained on Strouf.
"ARRRRGGHHH!" he shouted on as he wildly wiped off the muck. His hammer reared its farthest yet. The weapon struck the flailing skaab's form with such an explosive blast, the metal grafts around its waist severely dented. The force launched the monstrosity back to the feet of the manor with the oil literally flying out of it.
The veteran cathar heaved as he took a few steps back. His eyes however, continue to eye any approaching ghouls with intimidating sharpness.
Cain watched this small skirmish and pulled out a pocket watch from inside his coat. His glowing eyes reflected upon its glass face.
"Anya, activate the leyline." he quietly ordered.
This time the maid bowed with no hesitation and went to the back to pull another lever. More blue light sprang forth, this time encircling the base of the manorr. Its smooth ethereal appearance made it unique in comparison to the wild and erratic lightning storm.
After a few glances here and there, Strouf reverted his eyes back to the corpse of the skaab he just vaulted. Its body had begun twitching suspiciously. At first, it appeared to be the final throes preceding a return to the Blessed Sleep where it should have always been. However, blue arcs that were all too unique to skaberen alchemy had begun running across its leathery skin. Certain metal ports were now emitting bluish light (with some originating from the runes inscribed on them).
Wide-eyed he stared as the headless monster rose again, perhaps stronger than ever with all the crackling power it pulsed.
The worst though escaped Strouf's eyes until it once again sprung up wildly and flowed back faster into its body.
It had stifled the light but relentlessly, the skaab marched back to Strouf.
It didn't take more than that to have him charging again, the light of his form still shining gloriously.
Then enter the two skaabs that were charging from either side to block him.
The resulting collision not only bathed Strouf in more infectious oil, but it could apparently vanquish the armor of the body as well as the soul. His tricorne flew off from his head along with the melted and mutilated pieces of his plate and mail.
Whatever was left, he tore off in a wild rage. All that was left now was his bulging muscular form. The mark of Avacyn shining blindly, tattooed onto his bare chest. His arms covered in luminous, holy runes.
"Avacyn! May you grant me the Blessed Sleep, for I'll be having it after these bastards!" he roared.
Noble. Courageous. Plenty other similar words could have described what transpired next.
It was also brief.
The effects of the oil soon grew evident. His light finally faded. His tattoos became mere markings of faded ink. His head easily submitted to the right uppercut the middle skaab threw him. His hammer wrenched away by the one on his left during this momentary stun. The remaining one grabbed him bodily as his dizzied spun turned his back on it. Its large arm slammed over his face.
The following crack of a twisted neck (and most likely spine) almost echoed to all those who remained alive.
That being, only Celes and Stephus.
"STROUF!" cried the Inquisitor as the dead cathar's large yet pale body was thrown back to the base of the manor. There the ghouls were now feasting on the dead and dying. Celes even began to look mournful and could only glare back at Cain.
The young skaberen in turn, simply pocketed his watch and turned to his maid.
"Loose the abomination." he finally said.
Anya went back to the rear for and pulled a lever for the third time.
The second roar reached new, screeching heights and this time it was loud enough to reach the ears of the two survivors.
"The desecrator has more devilry to spare?" began Stephus, his nimbleness and knowledge of skaab movement being the deciding factor of his survival. "Well then come what may! These monsters shall be put to rest soon before it shows its face!"
Oddly enough, he needn't bother.
As soon as the roar died down, all that was living dead, unhallowed and stitched, began a sluggisg retreat back to their origins. The ghouls in particular now bore the uncanny blue light in their eyes as well.
However, before Stephus could take a step to advance, the ground shuddered. Again, he tried only for a rise in magnitude to unsettle his footing. On his third attempt, the shudders became a choir of violent quakes.
In a last moment of reflex, the two Avacynians leaped back as a large drill erupted from where they stood. Drops of oil flickered from it and inevitably landed upon each of them.
Stephus actually gave a small cry of pain as it struck his face. The way he clutched his face was so wild and aggravated that even from Cain's height, he could tell the poison was at last doing its work on the Inquisitor. To his mild surprise, he saw that Celes had been simply pedaling back over the ground. The shadow of her tricorne had always made it difficult to glimpse her face when she was not looking at him.
As to what she was fleeing, it was clear that the drill had not yet ceased its function and had begun leaning dangerously towards their direction.
Then, it stopped but only when something else had burst underneath its base. The emerging form was something neither of them have ever seen.
It resembled neither skaab nor ghoul. The body was wide and squat, made of soiled steel. The style of its plate was curved, alien, and unlike any skabaren contraption Stephus has ever beheld in his years of serving the Church. The body was slightly curved and in the center, in a long, oval compartment, was a trap jaw. The long teeth suited its equally lengthy mouth and were just as pointed.
The drill in fact formed most of its right arm with a rough, steel tube running from the elbow to somewhere behind the mass forming its mouth. Its short legs were bird-like, as was the claw on its long left arm.
The mechanical horror then began crawling out of its hole. More traces of oil trickled from some of the vents it had around its chest. Plenty more could be seen running down the piths of its tunnel.
Celes snapped her head to where Stephus struggled to get up, despite the agony of the poison that was now scarring his face. The monster stood up further upright, a deep metallic groaning echoing from somewhere within.
Bolting, she had just whipped out her Collar in time before the creature could snare Stephus within its grasp. The Collar unleashed a rebuking blast, shaped again in its own likeness. The bright light formed an identical mark squarely in the creature's center.
Fire burst from its back and the drill stopped spinning. Steel groaned and it took all of Celes' strength to haul Stephus away before it crashed tremendously, inches before their feet.
"Sir, we must retreat." she urgently whispered as the man continued to grunt and groan painfully.
"Ngrn-NO!" he finally spoke through gritted teeth, "Many have already fallen but the tower still stands! It must fall today!"
"There's nothing we can do! We must return and request more aid!" Celes insisted.
"The Church has no more aid to spare." Stephus spoke, a surprising hint of sorrow now evident in his voice, "We are indeed all that's left of its sacred protection over this region of Nephalia... If the rumors are true, then the best we can do is prevent this Toymaker from aiding Geralf. The same man has declared the greatest stroke to fall against Thraben."
He stood up, leaning against his sword for support. His hand's departure revealing the horrendous result of the poison's touch. His face had almost gone skeletal but with steel flesh, still clinging his jaws.
"Come!" he declared, raising his sword, "Come before the shock of his creation's fall has ebbed and he recalls his army! Let us storm this manor together!"
Again he roared his battle cry and charged. The strengthening light was no longer there and he nearly looked no differently from the ghouls. His spirit however, fights on.
"Let it be known, that we had all at least died martyrs! Avacyn! THY WILL BE DO-!"
CRASH!
Something even larger than the previous monstrosity lunged out from the tunnel and the impact knocked Stephus again off his feet.
There was a pitiful scream and Celes gasped as the Inquisitor was engulfed from view by a massive bulk. The grotesque sounds of crunching bones and minced flesh were the only sounds that followed.
The creature turned and Celes soon recognized it as it displayed itself in full view of the moonlight.
At first she thought it was a large shadow but realized that the darkness was in fact the black color of its armor. The monster was heavily plated with it, as if readied for war. Stranger still were the streaks of golden light, orbiting it like weak, shooting stars.
Still, she knew exactly what creature was underneath this alien gear. From various reports she had read in the archives, another skaberen by the name of Ludevic conducted a series of secret alchemy experiments with a rare breed of Nephalian reptile as test subjects. The result was a mutant, unstoppable monstrosity that destroyed the lab in which he was performing the experiment (and obviously devouring all the unfortunate souls participating). Whether Ludevic himself was among the casualties, there was no evidence. But soon after, few other skaberen had somehow acquired the necessary information from the lab's remains to perfectly replicate the experiment and now the Erdwal underground has witnessed rising demand for these abominations. Celes herself was among the select group of Elgaud students who were forced to face one when it had escaped into their sacred grounds in Havengul.
There was something slightly more peculiar about this one though and it was not the armor it bore.
The last abomination she had fought had bluish, violet scales with patches of green. This one had a noticeably paler complexion and milkier eyes. It seemed to have more spikes on its back as well and she could've sworn some had their tips cracked off and were now giving off smoke. The two horns on its head were longer too, extending further to the back and giving off a sharp, bladed gleam.
As it crouched low and advanced hungrily towards her, she noticed that the back was completely bare and only the main body was armored. She realized that it was only unnoticed at first because the back was just as metallic as its armor and now she noticed that the arms as well bore signs of this inorganic exoskeleton.
Now all it took was the sight of it drooling that same hideous oil to fully grasp what had been done to this creature.
It was too late for her to retreat now. She was the only one left and this terrible yet pitiful beast demonstrated the full extent of this Toymaker's evil.
The abomination let out a guttural roar, baring its its spindly teeth and charged towards her. Given its size, it was easy to dodge (at least dodge well enough for her to deal the same countering blast that devastated the previous monster).
She rolled to the left and reared her Collar. Her following thrust was in full force and its shaped blast collided with the monster's side.
Much to her shock, no mark formed. There was only a deafening clang and the creature merely turned its head to send a menacing glare. The smoke from its back was now also rising from between its jaws and nostrils.
It took Celes only a split second to shield herself before the creature let loose a blinding cloud of oil black smoke. The surprise of this new weapon and its thick, battering force blew off her hat while the poisoned air whipped her face. The same face now struggled helplessly with a premature hold of breath that soon gave away. The smog eagerly forced itself wild into her lungs.
When it stopped, she fell on her rear. Her coughs painful and suffocating. Cain continued to observe, waiting for the inevitable sight that had always concluded these Avacynian comedies.
Celes stood up again. Her face unblemished. It seemed it was all just thick smoke after all, at least for her. Her breath though, remained labored.
"What...?"
"Master... she seems unaffected by the contagion."
Cain turned from the window and grimly strode to the platform. Its runes all lit up at the touch of his steps.
"You know what to do."
Anya obediently nodded and watched her master's back until it soon lowered out of sight. Another white flash signaled her attention back to the skirmish.
Celes was now entirely out of breath and her eyes now betrayed the full emotion of bewilderment. At her feet were the pieces of the second Collar that had broken that night. She had poured all her faith into summoning power from the moon itself to smite this monstrous horror. The beam of light pierced through clouds but not through the hide of dark, otherworldly steel.
The creature roared once again and now stood on twos. Its stance appeared unstable but the legs were still thick and strong enough to propel the body for a brutal swipe.
Celes closed her eyes, bracing for the pain of broken bones, the taste of blood to erupt in her mouth, and perhaps the sensation of flying as her body is flung all the way past the seaside cliffs then into the cold waters below.
Not one of that came.
There was only silence. Stillness. The return of the crackling thunder and the flash of lightning tempting her eyes to open.
When they did, they beheld the creature, its eyes now glowing blue. Its savagery completely absent as it towered a mere five feet away from her with its claw still raised. And were it not for its breathing, she'd have confused with it with a taxidermy specimen, mounted as a trophy in the Elgaud's hall of fame.
Almost rigidly, the creature lowered its claw and did an above-face to the hole as it were a toy soldier. The ground slightly shook as it dropped back on all fours and casually crawled back inside.
Celes remained rooted for a few seconds so as to make heads or tails of what just transpired. Once those seconds passed, her eyes went stern and she meant to firmly but slowly follow it down.
Now if only the hand that gagged her from behind was of the same mind.
The girl struggled instantly from the sudden pressure and the iron strength of her captor. The feeling of something soft pressing against her back quickly followed.
Whatever held her in place felt human enough and she saw that it was hand that clamped itself over her mouth. There was a certain coldness to it though which compelled her to struggle even harder, fearing that she knew who's grasp she was in. She tried to pry it off with her hands but it only held her more closely and in even more sensuous manner. The hand that held her face shifted her head a bit backwards, exposing the skin of her neck.
She felt a mild prick around the base and the feeling of something flowing into the spot. By the time it all abated, her mind felt noxiously heavy, her eyelids closed, and the last thing she felt was the hard earth on her shoulder as she fell on her side.
Anya stared morosely at the young girl's prone form. A fully spent syringe was held up in one hand. Staring at the carnage around her, she gave a bored sigh and said, "It seems I'll be doing the garden again today." Pocketing the syringe, she bent over and hauled Celes over her shoulder. The storm above continued to rage on.
It would be several weeks before Celes would wake again.
On one day of those weeks, Cain was observing his newly obtained specimen. Her body was now placed within a large glass tube. Its top and bottom rimmed with runes and attached to ceiling and floor respectively. Another combination of pipes, cogs, and gears served as the attachments.
The liquid suspending her was of luminous teal. Meanwhile a small, transparent mask was placed over her mouth and had two, thin tubes running to the top. Her clothes were irrelevant to his objective and he had them promptly removed. The brightness and clarity of the liquid made an accurate display of her bare body's every detail.
"My, and you were so insistent that you never had time for things like this." the smug voice of a female spoke.
Cain groaned but did not turn around to the source behind him.
"It looks like Ikor makes for a very poor doorman." he coolly replied.
"No, but I'm sure he'll serve a better job as your new doormat." the voice replied.
"And Anya?"
"Oh just the usual, enjoying some well deserved time off with my familiars. I'll soon be joining them myself. Why not come along?" she said, "Your recent acquisition would indicate that you'd very much like to, wouldn't you think?"
"I already told you Rachel. I am sincerely NOT interested." Cain snapped.
"Is that so?" Rachel answered, "My eyes tell me otherwise. Unless of course, the only alternative explanation would mean me drawing similarities between what you're doing and what your father has done?"
"Don't you dare compare me to my father!" he snarled but otherwise his body didn't budge and remained composed, "What I'm doing is nothing like that. I'm simply analyzing and have no intention of turning this girl into a mindless doll. She's not even a corpse yet for one thing."
"Even so," the voice playfully argued, "Your new knowledge, power, and methodology have become too similar to disregard. You even don a mask yourself now."
"And need I mention," she added, "that you chose to change your own name and not that which you shared with him, am I right... Cain Clover?"
000
Author's Note: Well, there ya have it. The first sign of a crossover and if you somehow didn't realize who these last two characters are, they're from the game BlazBluebut if you're thinking that there must be some major twisting of them on my part, then I'm guilty as charged. I won't divulge everything now though but as I said before, these are just some of the ideas I got running about in my head.