Chapter 8: Trinity

Rohan: Helm's Deep Ruin

Persephone Killgore looked alternatively between her father and brother as they stood amongst the wreckage of the formerly great fortress, having extremely mixed feelings about the implications. On one hand with her father and brother here Eomer was going to get a beating worthy of cautionary tales, and it would be extraordinarily satisfying to either administer or witness that beating. On the other hand, she had already secured herself a humiliating loss, with further humiliation waiting for her when the all returned home due to that damnable side-bet she had made out of arrogance. It was hard to speak actually; thinking about that hanging guillotine…

Acheron, speaking from a decidedly uncomfortable looking supine position across the ruined ramparts, jolted her out of her reverie. "Hey, some time today if you don't mind. Other people here have things we want to be doing other than salvaging your mess."

She scowled and fumed internally, but swallowed her indignation and at least attempted to dictate her plan calmly. "As you ask. Eomer is gathering all the soldiers he can at Dunharrow, undoubtedly because he thinks that killing me will release him from the Evil Presence spell I put on him, which it would, but-"

Her brother interrupted her. "We get it, no need to give us the whole damn overview of how- OW!"

Her father calmly returned to his standing position three meters in front of her after giving Acheron a very firm slap on the back of the head. "As you were, Persephone. Take your time."

She smiled and gave her father a small wave in thanks. "Actually, I think I will cut this little chat of ours short and just give the bare details." She meshed her hands behind her back and started slowly walking back and forth along her little perch. "The plan is simple; Eomer is hiding at Dunharrow with his army. So we are going to go there and kill every last one of those soldiers, I don't care how, and I am going to grind one of my stiletto heels into Eomer's body until he cries for his mommy like a little baby."

Acheron started clapping sarcastically. "Awesome plan, points for originality."

Erasmus chimed in, in a sickeningly sweet, calm voice. "Acheron, are you subtly asking to get hit upside the head again? Because you're certainly being rude enough."

Her brother held up his hands. "Whoa, no, no way. It's a great plan, simple and to the point. I like the plan."

Her father looked between the two of them and clapped once. "Excellent." The family patriarch looked solely towards her. "And you have of course decided upon how we are going to get there, yes?"

She hesitated for a moment. "Er, I just sort of assumed that we'd walk there, or something. I mean, unless Acheron has been there before."

The man in question shrugged. "Nope, not at all. I just portal-hopped after you as you went out here. That's the whole of what I've seen of Rohan."

She smiled awkwardly. "Ok then, I, I guess we'll be walking."

Her father chuckled softly. "You know, there is another option." The blood-eyed god spread his hands wide and flexed his fingers. "If you care to get as close as you can to flying while not quite reaching it."

Skies Above Rohan:

Erasmus Killgore glanced left and right to the two young adults tucked under his arms. One daughter, one son; and both the former and latter were shrieking fit to wake the dead. It was quite funny to him that both were so frightened, and if either of them later asked him about it, he would tell them both to their faces that simple truth. It was also somewhat insulting to him that they were frightened at all. It was like they didn't trust him to not drop them. Not that it would matter to Acheron even if he did considering that "man-cannon" the boy had used in that pirate world. Although speaking of…

Rohan: Dunharrow Outskirts

Persephone Killgore stumbled away on unsteady knees from the spot where her father had landed from the last "super-jump," vision spinning like a bad carnival ride. She had, after a long while, started to semi-enjoy the sensation of pseudo-flying, even with how disorientating it was. Not that she had screamed any less, but at least Acheron couldn't make fun of her for it because he'd been screaming just as much. It was just very, very jarring…

A hand latched onto her shoulder and her father spoke. "Easy there Persephone. Eomer is the other way."

The hand lingered until her vision focused and she could stand unassisted. When she could see straight, she was looking right at the bright assortment of tents that broadcast the presence of an army. The cliff itself was as she had had it described to her, a sheer face of rock with only one narrow path that crossed back and forth upon itself up to a tiny ledge where the royals waited. Considering her parentage, both her mother and father, especially her father, she found this incredibly cowardly. She knew from firsthand knowledge that her father always led from the front of every assault and stood watch personally on every campaign for the sole benefit of his men. And her mother, oh the stories she could relate secondhand from that source. Battles fought, foes slain, valiant charges made. Real song-worthy stuff, and if she had a mind to she could probably do it all justice. If she felt like disclosing her secret hobby.

Acheron said something. "Hey, call me crazy, but I think there's something just a little bit off about that army over there."

She glanced over at her brother. Acheron's golden eyes were narrowed to slits and staring off in the same general direction she had been, but with a startling intensity. What did he see that she was missing? After a long moment of staring herself she couldn't pinpoint it.

She broke, and voiced the baited question. "Ok, what's so off about an army of cavalry?"

Her brother raised a hand and pointed high towards the royal encampment atop the Dunharrow cliff. "A lot of those tents on top, the colors are way off considering the flags and crap back in Edoras." The young man pulled Soul Calibur off of his belt and held it up at chest height before openly speaking to the weapon. "Hey, babe can you maybe change into something with a scope? A rifle, a rocket launcher, something along those lines?"

The gun, and she would likely never get used to that concept, giggled aloud before producing an icy crackle and transforming into a large, bulky tube with one flared end. "Sure, I've been wanting to try something new. Does this work?"

Acheron shouldered the weapon and placed the small attached cylinder to his right eye. "So long as you make a really big boom when I shoot, it'll do just fine." A few seconds passed, and her brother let out a loud snort. "Well, what do you fucking know…"

Her father chimed in. "Let me guess, more elves? Specifically archers?"

Acheron slightly lowered his rocket launcher bride and shot a sidelong glance and the both of them. "Lucky guess?"

Erasmus sniffed derisively. "Not at all. Logic." The god made a grand gesture at the whole Rohan army. "Doubtless the moment he was able Eomer sent riders pleading for aid, and the fair stretch of time that he has been on the run has afforded this aid a good chance to muster." Her father produced a soft snort of derision. "Of course as things stand their presence makes little to no difference. We are far, far out of bow range, even for an elf. And once Rohan's cavalry commits they cannot fire for effect without invariably striking horse and rider. If we wished, I am quite certain that we could destroy the entire force from here with impunity."

Acheron finished the thought. "And I'm assuming that you don't think that that's all that much fun."

Erasmus flashed them both the impression of a smile. "You know me. I prefer my blade to any firearm or spell, although fire spells on the other hand…" The god of Evil trailed off into malevolent laughter for a short time. "However, regardless of what I think, it should be Persephone that decides how we proceed, no? What say you, daughter?"

The center of attention suddenly shifted to her, and rather than be stunned by it, she relished it. "I say I like the idea." She paused momentarily and her gaze flicked between her father and brother. "You, won't object to anything I propose, right?"

Acheron answered. "So long as you aren't going to make us do something fucking stupid. Other than that, fire away. Just make it snappy."

She drew in a deep breath, a full smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Ok then, this is the plan…" She turned towards her father. "Daddy, I'd like you to charge right on in and get their attention. Immolate as many as you like, just get the cavalry to charge." She turned to Acheron. "Brother, I want you to stay up here with me, shooting with whatever you turned your freak show of a girlfriend into."

Said "freak show" responded in a completely deadpan voice. "I take offense at that, just so you know."

She drew a hand up and elegantly placed it on her collarbone. "As I implied, I will be staying right here where I can work my magic to its fullest without getting interrupted by a stampede of filthy animals and horses. Which, Acheron, means that part of your job is protecting me if anyone is lucky enough to get this far."

Her brother scowled. "Then I sure as hell am making sure no one gets this far. I wouldn't want you to have the satisfaction."

Erasmus commented acidly. "It's so nice to see how much you both care for each other."

She ignored the comment and spread her hands, collecting the dregs of a lightning spell for imminent casting. "Whenever you're ready, Daddy."

Her father turned from them both with a huff and pulled his giant greatsword from his back. With blade in hand the family patriarch tensed knees and took off into the sky like a stone from a catapult. She expected this, but what she did not expect was a giant fiery whip to lash out from Erasmus's left hand and attach to the earth before hauling Erasmus down out of the sky like a meteor to crash down in an explosion of flame only a stone's throw from the edge of the main army camp.

She shrugged as she stepped closer to the edge of the cliff. "Whatever works for him."

With a gesture she threw a lightning bolt into the heavens, forcing an overcast sky and creating an easy supply of thunderbolts that she would be dropping on Eomer's doomed army.

Dunharrow: Army Encampment

Erasmus looked up from his makeshift crater, relishing the shocked looks on the faces of Rohan's "finest." He was quite certain that, and he felt he wasn't exaggerating with a description of himself, a black armored goliath falling out of the sky in a fiery blast was disconcerting to those who weren't used to the sight. And the list of people that would be used to such a sight would be quite short.

He made a great show of slowly rising from his semi-crouched position, crossing his arms disdainfully when finished, all before he spoke a single phrase. "Good evening." He bowed mockingly. "It is my distinct pleasure to inform you…" He shifted his voice to the incarnation of malevolence as he drew his pistol. "…That you are all going to die."

He started firing with reckless abandon, completely by design. He wanted panic, bedlam, and to make these men hate him. His first shot tore a man's leg off at the hip, sending the severed appendage careening off into the crowd, spraying blood and viscera everywhere. His second took a man in the chest, puncturing armor like wet paper and exploding the chest cavity before carrying right on through to tear the head off of a horse. His third blew off an arm, and so on.

He kept shooting, leisurely picking off the random man or beast while he laughed. "Oh come now, is this all the men of Rohan can muster? A simpering collection of callow louts that scatter like roaches in the sunlight?" He stopped shooting and spread his arms wide. "I'm right here, hit me!"

And like his words threw a switch the men of Rohan started mounting their horses. One, then four, then twenty, and so on until the entire mob was thundering his way with lances and swords rattling. He gave ground, trying to make it seem as if he were doing so against his will, backpedaling in smooth, even steps as the hoard bore down on him. Only when the first lance was about to crash against his chest plate did he spring back, whirl about, and start "running." At a speed that amounted to little more than a light jog for him he led the soldiers of Rohan back, away from Dunharrow and the cover of the elven archers, mentally counting off the steps before he would signal Acheron to start shooting.

He counted his three-hundredth step and smiled to himself. "Showtime."

Mid-stride he lobbed a fireball straight up into the air, detonating it after a count of two. As prompted, a loud "plunk" sound reverberated through the air before he registered a sparkling blue explosion in his peripheral vision. He couldn't accurately grade the blast without looking, but the force was apparently ample enough to hurl a horse and rider, in several pieces, forward faster than he was currently jogging. He sprinted forward momentarily to make some space, whirled about and willed his most recently acquired power to the van, igniting his flesh and armor with a nimbus of orange and black eldritch flames.

He lashed out with the fire whip, grappling the ground in front of the lead horseman and catapulting himself towards the cavalry. "Now we get to have some fun."

Dunharrow Outskirts:

Persephone Killgore watched with smug satisfaction as both her father and brother tore into the opposing cavalry. Erasmus had somehow learned to set himself on fire, and while it didn't seem overly effective from her high vantage point it was most certainly terrifying. More so when the individual on fire was carving a bloody, hellish swath through charging cavalry without even getting touched. Acheron, he was blowing up six or seven riders at a time with that amorphous weapon/woman of his, in pretty blue explosions of crystal. She made a mental note to make fun of him later for it. And she of course planned to outdo him with regards to sheer body-count.

She raised both of her hands towards the sky, now fully clouded over, and gathered more magic. She fired one more thunderbolt skyward, and then flipped her hands over and brought them down. In unison, large bolts of lightning fell from the sky and crashed into the ranks Rohan's defenders. As many as thirty men were vaporized by one bolt, briefly illuminated in brilliant detail before flesh could no longer withstand the charge and turned to dust.

Acheron stopped shooting just long enough to look back at her. "And, how exactly did you let Eomer get away when you can do this?"

She momentarily considered dropping a lightning bolt on Acheron. After all, his "Devil Fruit" had displayed no ability to resist magic of any kind. But, her father would frown upon such action, and like it or not that carried a huge weight with her. Instead, she looked off into the distance, towards the opposite cliff where Eomer and the elves rested, and waited. She started dropping lightning into that camp, prioritizing the elven tents and few people/elves she could see milling about. Somewhat contradictorily, she sincerely hoped that she did not hit the king of Rohan with any of those blasts. She wanted him to suffer, and a quick disintegration was far, far too painless.

She wanted to start laughing but something hit her in the back, which caused her to pitch forward onto her face. She just lay there for a moment, stupefied by another unforeseen wrinkle. Had both Acheron and she missed a rider that had broken from the pack with unprecedented foresight?

She slowly picked herself up, rising to her knees and shaking her head to rid herself of disorientation. "Ooh, whoever did that is going to pay with their life."

There was a soft thud to her right, followed by an aged and, arguably, regal voice. "And I had dared to think that Evil had truly, at long last, been banished from this world. Perhaps it was folly of me to think that."

She scrambled to her feet, twisting her left ankle because of her heels, and turned towards the sound. An old, white haired, white bearded man in a flowing white robe, holding a long white staff was standing about six meters away while a white horse rode off only a short distance behind. The white was so oddly bright that it hurt to look at for too long. Although, considering that this man was obviously a wizard it wasn't hard to explain that.

A flash of knowledge raced through her mind. "Wait a moment, you're Gandalf. I thought you had already left Middle Earth."

The wizard, Gandalf the White, frowned and drew a long sword. "I had only just set foot on the docks when word reached Lord Elrond and myself of the fall of Gondor. Only adding to the distress of Lady Galadriel never reaching the Gray Havens. And then we hear of a horrible sorceress tearing through Rohan. We could not in good conscience abandon Middle Earth to your whims. As we could not abandon it to Sauron before you." The old man pointed the business end of his staff towards her. "And know, that you will be destroyed as he was."

She sneered. "Spare me the flowery hero-talk. You, are a distraction, and when I stomp you into the ground I'll do the same damn thing to Eomer, before I make him publically surrender to me in front of all his surviving people."

She raised her right arm, gathering a potent blast, and hurled the spell. Gandalf swung his staff down and to the right, which deflected her spell off into the dirt without any apparent effort.

She blinked slowly, momentarily dumbfounded. "Uh, oh shit."

Gandalf answered her attack in kind, firing a brilliant blast of pure, white light from his staff. Out of sheer reflex she swatted at the spell, swinging up and to the right with her right hand. The bolt, in a direct mirror of the wizard's defense against her attack, shot off high into the sky to her left before being lost in the distance.

Gandalf started advancing towards her, sword hand being favored. "Very well, this contest will be decided by steel."

As loath as she was to cry for aid, again, she really didn't have a choice. "Ah, Acheron? Help!"

Her brother looked back towards her. "What, you seriously can't deal with one old-" Whatever crude label Acheron was going to assign to the White Wizard was cut off by a bolt of light that struck Acheron in the chest and smote the young Overlord from the cliff top.

Gandalf did not relent with his assault. Despite the bolts of lightning she hurled from both hands the White Wizard twirled and parried through all of them, deflecting her spells with both sword and staff. With the apparent exertion of lifting a feather Gandalf got up in her face and smacked her across the cheek with his staff, knocking her to the ground and laying his sword against the back of her neck. This is what she got for not having real combat training before diving right into Overlording… she couldn't have even turned to run effectively because she had insisted on wearing high heels on a wilderness adventure.

Gandalf let out a sigh, betraying a whiff of weariness. "I know not from whence you come, nor who you are. But I hope that you find peace in death."

In that single instant all of her doubts, her hesitation, any thought beyond the now faded like a candle in a hurricane. She could accept defeat, but PITY? This old geezer pitied her?

Sheer, borderline psychotic rage boiled up within her and she slammed a clenched fist against the ground. "You dare to pity me?"

A volcano of lighting burst from the earth, bearing Gandalf aloft while forcing a pained cry from ancient lungs. She stood, unloading every scrap of magic she could scrape together from her generous reserves. Enough power to level a fortress, raze a country, destroy a continent; all of it dedicated to prolong the suffering of one old, outdated man that had dared show remorse at the prospect of ending her life. Gandalf spun through the air, suspended by violet light, groaning, twitching as his bones were temporarily shown in stark relief against the cloudy sky. She wished she had an artist on hand to capture it.

Out of nowhere, a blue blob of light struck the White Wizard in the chest, obliterating his body in a spectacular, and extremely disappointing, "splat."

Jaw agape, she tracked her eyes back along the path of the projectile till her gaze rested on the offending weapon, held in the outstretched arm of her own brother. "Acheron? What the HELL! I had him. I had it completely under control! Why the FUCK did you have to do that?"

Unfazed by her rant, Acheron coolly lowered Soul Calibur. "He knocked me off that cliff. Besides, I distinctly remember you ordering me to protect you." The young man waggled a finger at her. "Next time you have someone you want to mess up like that, make sure to call dibs. I promise next time I'll listen."

Her hands came up, pantomiming strangling her brother, but what was done was already done. Gandalf was dead, and she wasn't so angry that she thought it was a good idea to resurrect him just to kill him herself. Would it be satisfying, most assuredly. Was it worth it, not in a million years. She'd just have to find some way to get back at Acheron for robbing her of her justified vengeance. Endlessly making fun of him for using a "sparkly" weapon would be a good start. And then maybe ruining one of his endless dates with his multitude of mistresses…

Dunharrow: Cliff Base

Erasmus Killgore waited with one hand on his hip and one hand propping Soul Edge up in the dirt as his two children slowly approached. He sighed internally at the painfully obvious bickering between the pair, disappointed that they were always at odds. He couldn't remember enough of his own childhood to know if he had had any siblings. Granted, even if he did they would have probably died when he challenged his predecessor of an Overlord. But he had come to learn that family was a precious thing, worthy of great personal sacrifice. He would move heaven and earth, literally if need be, for either of his children. And yet they both brought havoc to the Netherworld with their prank wars. And others frequently got caught in the crossfire. Isabella in particular, due to her close relationship with Persephone, had gotten the blowback from a number of Acheron's "jokes." His second wife was still cross with the boy for replacing Persephone's blush with a highly adhesive itching concoction, which they had then shared.

He cleared his throat as the two drew close. "If I may be so bold as to interrupt…" Acheron and Persephone stopped arguing and looked at him, to which he responded with a casual gesture up towards the royal encampment. "… I believe we have a battle to finish. And if you are quite done haranguing each other for inconsequential trivialities, can we at least put on a show of unity for the conquered?"

The pair looked at each other for a moment, shamed by his tone, if only for a heartbeat, and Persephone answered. "Yes, daddy. I'll, umm, I suppose I should lead."

He waved his daughter forward with his free hand and as soon as Persephone had stepped upon the rising path he fell in behind her, leaving Acheron to bring up the rear. Soul Edge, he rested the blade on his shoulder as they climbed, a wary eye trained on the edge of the cliff high above. He did not know how many elves still lived, and it would be incredibly poor form to get caught unawares by arrogant fair-folk when so close to total victory. Sure enough, after only two more turns on the winding ascent he heard the subtle stretching sound of bow strings. When those prepared arrows were more or less dropped upon them, they were shattered upon the unyielding face of his standard Shield spell.

He glanced back at Acheron, who only nodded in understanding before creating a portal to the top. The elves, understandably shocked by being suddenly flanked, hesitated. And that hesitation cost the fey their lives as they were collectively blown from the mountainside by a barrage of flame, lighting, and magic bullets. Were he in the mood he would have commented on how dissatisfying such effortless victory was, but considering his words only moments before that would be rather improper. Not to mention, insulting to Persephone, to whom this victory mattered a great deal.

To that end, his head tilted back slightly as his nose sampled the air. "Hmm…" After a long moment he voiced his findings. "A handful of men stood here, but moments ago." He sniffed a few more times. "Most, I can smell mixed with a fair amount of ash. So their fates are not in doubt. One, one that I can recall from the Golden Hall of Edoras, that one still lives. And has left a trail leading off…" He pointed off to his left, down a narrow crack in the mountain. "… That way."

Persephone needed no more prompting, and hurried off in that direction as fast has her heeled feet allowed. The air around her was already charging, crackling and sparking with built up electricity. One could almost pity Eomer, but that "one" would have to not be the father of the young woman about to murder the man.

Acheron took half a step to follow, but he reached out and grabbed the young man by the shoulder. "No, Persephone is more than capable of dealing with one defenseless royal. We've carried her this far, let the final step be hers alone."

His son met his gaze for a scant second before looking off after his sister. He couldn't be completely sure, but he suspected a shred of concern in that gaze. If that were accurate, it cheered him greatly. Perhaps there was hope for a future brother/sister relationship that didn't involve petty bickering and destructive, retaliatory practical jokes.

Dunharrow Mountain Pass:

Persephone Killgore had her facts straight. She knew this sheer-walled crevasse in the mountain was a dead end, emphasis on the "dead." Eomer had gotten lucky, stupid lucky, too many times already. In point of fact, now that she was about to find the erstwhile king she was heavily conflicted on what she wanted to do. She of course had planned to drag Eomer back to Rohan so she could stage an elaborate coronation for herself, but just killing him would be far more instantly gratifying. In which case she could just drag the corpse back for more or less the same effect.

A small clatter of pebbles froze her almost mid-step, and one of her father's oft quoted phrases sprung to mind; "The cornered beast fights the hardest."

She looked up just in time to see Eomer jump down from a tiny ledge with sword already drawn and leap back, but not far enough so that she could safely cast a spell without getting gutted.

The King of Rohan snarled as he advanced, voice a tad louder than she remembered it. "And so it comes to this, witch. I will not die on my knees, collared as your slave. I will meet my end fighting you, and if my arm fells you, those two abominations that you brought with you."

She met Eomer's sneer with one of her own. "Trust me, if by some miracle you did kill me, death would be the kindest thing in all of creation for you."

She wasn't going to bother trying to give the man orders. Obviously, Eomer would have deafened himself somehow to prevent that, just like his men had done back in Snowbourn. But it wasn't all bad; Eomer really couldn't get off a good swing in the narrow pass, and her heels weren't that much of a hindrance on the firm stone. And, not to toot her own horn, she was her father's daughter in more way than one.

Eomer drew his sword up, and she stepped forward inside the arc and caught his wrist in her right hand, stopping both blade and flesh cold. While she couldn't hope to hold a candle to the physical strength of her brother, let alone her father, she was still far stronger than her size and build would suggest. And it was incredibly satisfying to see that realization dawn on Eomer's face just before she brought her knee up into his groin. Yes, striking the king's armored body with her mostly bare knee hurt, but it hurt Eomer far more. The man crumbled like a mud statue in the rain.

She savored the moment for only a second before reaching down and feeling for Eomer's ears, removing the twisted wads of, undesirable material in one fell movement before reestablishing her domination. "So nice of you to stop running, even if I didn't give you much choice in the matter." She sighed and took a step back. "Now on your knees, just because you were so adamant about not dying on them." She pointed to the sword still grasped in Eomer's hand. "I would kill you myself, but I don't want to get any blood or ash on my dress. So I'm going to do the best I can. I want you to hack off both of your legs and your non-sword arm before you disembowel yourself. I'll be waiting in your tent until you've done that, and then I think I'll burn Rohan to the ground just out of spite."

She turned around and started walking away, a faint, bittersweet smile on her lips. The look of abject despair in Eomer's eyes made her feel good. It was ample recompense for the humiliation she had suffered at his hands, and while it was not a fully effective balm for the wound to her pride, it was worth something. Next time she set out from the Netherworld, and there would be a next time, things were going to go better. If by simple virtue of not being any worse than what she'd done in Middle Earth. Now she just had to deal with that accursed side bet she'd foolishly made…