Defiance: Birth of the Renegades

Chapter 53

Descent: Fall back…

A/N: This is one of two chapters that made me want to amke this fic under the Mature rating. If anyone feels it's too intense for Teen drop me a line and I'll bump up the rating next time I log on. Warning, lots of gore, none of it implied, as all hell breaks out in the ruins of Silvaria.

It had been hard, bending desperation into action. So she'd applied an old formula of doubt and observation, when those two met most favorably, then and only then could changes be wrought. So changes she had wrought, and the blessed angels were soon despised. The Desian's grudgingly trusted the humans, and the humans barely tolerated the most hated of folk, but a truce was made.

All in the name of survival, such was the raw of miracles plumbed with abandon. Trust, grudging respect, it wasn't much long term, but for now it would serve. And it served well, with her as a coordinator they looked upon the holy slaughter and the devastation, they stared into the face of that destruction and struck back.

Granted, it wasn't much, a few angels tangled by net, an angle struck through the heart with a black quartz sword. It wasn't much, but it served, and it was a start.

Oblivious at first, now weary to the last, the angels of Cruxis wandered the debris of a fallen civilization with care. They dimmed their halos, they folded their wings to give the allusions of mortals wearing fanciful white capes. Yet, while cautious, they were not cautious enough. Loath to be clad in filth that was the human's norm, loath to be upon the ground that they –wing-ed blessed things they were- scorned, these little things dammed them. And they were cut down, cut down by bakers who'd seen their wives killed, their children butchered. They were tangled in nets an aged crippled old Izoolian fisherman had woven together, no, had been weaving when he'd heard his grandchildren's final screams. False and real Desian fought side by side, throwing impotent sorceries at the abomination against life and death, the wall to their backs overlooked by humans wielding hastily made bow and arrows and slings.

It had been this way for three days, and three nights, and the dawn of the fourth was coming around. Rubbing a weary hand, aching but not daring to sleep, one half elf ran a hand through her spring hued locks. She listened to the long –not needlessly so, unfortunate that- report and more or less summed up her scouts findings in a few words.

"The black quartz is running out, they'd just blasted the inn where we were holding our supplies and base…"

"Yes, Ranch-Mistress Rene." The Desian bowed, and Rene's lips quirked into a rare smile.

"How many times have I told you Verish, I'm not a ranch mis-"

"I've lost count." The Desian cut in with a shrug, his black eyes sparkling with humor. Typical Desian, he liked getting under her skin. The humor left his eyes, and he sighed. "Host- er human Gregory Clayfist is dead, Mistress. Killed in the blast. We could spare no one to retrieve the old man's body."

Rene nodded, and bit he lip.

"They're advancing." It was more a statement than question. She knew a grid search pattern when she saw it, and she had been seeing it for the past few days over the skies of fallen Silvaria. She'd also noted the violet glow, the unreal light that meant Origin's influence.

Thank whatever Gods there were that Bryan was out before Mithos had sealed them off. With a few of there own and a few of the others Bryan could make it to Triet, to home... That had been her troops first and only successful mission to date.

"Yes, Mistress. Lead by the blue winged demon, Derris Fa Sith."

So Mithos had cajoled Kratos into this, had forced the Seraphim into coming down at last. Rene had wondered what had taken Mithos this long to finish them off.

The bastard was probably paralyzed by laughter, or perhaps shock, or both. That was always a possibility. The idea of a rag tag band of humans, half elfs, almost all civilians, daring to challenge him… She chuckled at the thought herself, and shook her head.

"How far to arms district?"

Arms district, the only discernable district left standing. A place with buildings to duck into and ruined statuary to duck behind… It was the only defensible place left in this hell pit. She knew it, as did the Desian who'd introduced himself to her as Verish.

The Desian shrugged, hearing his death statement with a small mocking grin.

"Not near enough, Mistress. Pull back and regroup, My Lady?"

She nodded, and he chuckled.

"Been a pleasure, Mistress, I'd have to say you're the nicest bitch I've ever met."

And with that he was off, to give the living their final orders. In a few minuetes everyone would know which way to run, and how they were going to die. Drawing her sword, a weaposn stainred black with the blood of angels, Rene ran. Leading the near pacnicked withdraw. Voices rose around her, perhaps giving hte angels pause, perhaps not.

"To sanctuary! To sanctuary!"

To death.

X

You killed my family!" Screaming, the human lifted his lone remaining weapon. With a blink of an eye flame met wood. Wood burned, and the human who had been holding a rolling pan as a bludgen looked dumbfounded at his weapons' loss. Desperation filled those empty eyes, and he attacked with his fists, or meant to. One pass of the Flamberge had eatten the weapon to another, and the lazy counterstroke sliced into his gut. With the force of angelic srength behind it, the blade did not get tangeled in orgin, in bone, it passed through living matter as if it were paper.

The man fell in pieces, literally, at the angel's feet. Unmoved, he stepped over the carrion, his wings absentl flicking off the blood of thier hellish birth.

The angles at his side spread out, closed off the street, and the few remaining humans and half elves lifted thier weapons, and backed up. Soon their backs would be against stone, against walls, a fw grimmly spent the last moents of thier entrapment seeking higher ground, to by themselves more time in which to live, in which to kill or cause pain to the angels before them. Pearched upon crumbled walls, pinned by the flanks of shattered buildings, they looked ahead, looked upon thier executioners, shaking hands gripping weapons, eyes and lips pressed into thin lines of hate.

"Spread out until you touch only by wing tip to wings tip. Advance and kill all living beings you encounter." Kratos murmurred, his tone he used on the angels reminicent of one that a adult uses on a rather dense children.

The angels spread out with ponderous slowlness, and Kratos had to repeat his directions more than once. This gave the defenders an unexpected edge.

"Aim for the wings, break them! Use rocks, arrows, they can't function if you take out the wings!" Rene barked.

Derris Fa Sith's black eyes flicked onto her, considered her, than dismissed her all in once glance.

Rocks flew, a few arrows, Rene aimed and hit two of the lesser angels. As per to her orders they left the Seraphim alone. If somehow they survived the assault by the force of ten angels then Kratos would be thier executioner. They all knew that, and weren't going to waste thier lives attacking the Angel of Death. Soundlessly one of the angels sank to his knees, Rene's black quartz tiped arrow imbedded in his Cruxis Crystal. He died without screaming, without thrashing, died in a way that only the soulless could die. Indifferent to thier loss, the angels hesitated as at the fall of thier own broke thier ranks. Kratos barked some corrective orders, and they advanced again, closing the holes in thier ranks. But now the defenders had an edge, if they attacked and even slowed the angels they could stop the whole unit from attacking.

There were other problems too for the dimwitted angels. Mice, rats, lesser animals that had seeked sanctuary in the refuse of the defenders hiding place surged out and scrambled towards the light. Perhaps thinking only of finding sanctuary, perhaps for some other primal reason, they formed thier own line and charged in all directions. Angels that had been focusing magics were distracted, for thier orders were to kill all living beings, and though lowly was the rat, it still qualified.

"My Gods, what a bunch of idio- Leave the rats alone you..."

A farmer's wife, the daughter of a tradesman that had merely been visiting Silvaria swung her deceased husbands scythe, and decapitated one of the angels who had ignored the rats and had ponderously been climbing up a blasted mound of brick and mortar to reach her. The angels' wings had been broken by an urchin's rock, the dragged behind him, a silent testiment to two lucky throws the boy had managed to get off before being impaled on an enemy arrow.

The archer was down, two arrows in the eyes, and while not fatal -angels only truely died after thier cruxis cystals were destroyed- the wounds would take some time to heal.

"For the love of Origin, pull back, all of you."

Kratos looked from angel to angle, between the wounded and dead he had two of the ten angels he'd started with only two were whole. And the only reason for that was because they were still trying to kill the few mice in the alley.

"Retrieve the dead." Kratos barked at the relitivly whole angels. Drawing the sword he'd slammed into its sheathe in frusteration, the Seraph considered the remains of his scattered opponets. He'd make quick work of them, of that he was sure. Nodding, his gave flicked upon the most isolated, Verish was still alive and kicking, perched upon a mound of half rotted wood that had once been a fruit cart. A dead angel lay twitching at his feet. Seeing the look, and its promise of death, the Desian laughed.

"I can't beleive my people even considered Cruxis wrth anything. You're all just a bunch of back stabbing bastards."

Easily leaping down from his pearch, the Desian strolled to the center of the alley, giving Kratos a clear shot, a clear path to charge. Leaning forward, he sneared at the angel, and his crimson splattered uniform.

"Come on old man, what you waiting for? An invitation? I'll send you all to hell with me!"

"So you try, like the thousands of fools who once lived here." Kratos whispered, then the Seraph obliged with a charge.

What plans he must of had, died in the first pass. He'd expected the humans to turn or at least ignore thier desian ally. A rock glanced off his shoulder the second he closed with the brash young half elf. With a flap of his wings he forced the half breed back and turned in time to be struck by another stone. Having pulled out a piece of black quartz from his bag of stones, the child looked on grimly while Kratos' burned under teh contact of his anti-thesis. Half of his face burned under mere contact with the stine, with a cry he wrenched the rock from his fleash. Roaring in outrage, he staggered back, only to get the half elf's sword in his vitals. Instinctivly he stiffened, feeling the sword peirce his fleash. But he remembered the weapon was merely steel. Snearing the Seraph kicked his enemy back, breaking ruibs with the raw force of his attack, he thrust blindly with his flambege, and an arrow from Rene's bow caused the weapon to dip too low and strike leg rather than vitals.

Had it been any other man that strike would have lead to frusteration. Anyone else would have to wrench th blade out nd strike again. But beign a Seraph, despite it's many disadvantages, did have it's compensations. Dragging the weapon, instinct guilded him as he draged it up and in, shearing through blood, bone, and vitals indiscriminatly. Kicking the twitching carrion from his weapon, he did not linger to watch the corpse smolder, rather he teleported, barely avoiding the barrage of rock and arrows that came from those scattered on thier perches. Death reappeared in the heart of fighters, and cut a blazing bleeding path through them, then with a flap of those powerful wings shot to the heavens. Folding his wings, he landed amongst a pair of children that had doggely refused to be seperated, and somehow through wit and luck had survived the first attacks of Cruxis.

Together they had survived, together they died, as Kratos slashed both thier throats with a low swing of his red sword.

"Bastard!" Rene howled, she fired a shot, and missed the Seraph's left primary wing by a hairs breadth.

Lightly landing on the earth, he passed through the ranks of fighters -all dying- and hesitated long enough only to kill on who dared try to rise, then he dissapeared once more.

A scream from the back told them he was now picking off those who'd formed ranks in the back.

"Soulless son of a b-" Light formed above her. Blinded by tears and light she fired unseeingly into the lights heart, and missed. The flat of the flamberge smashed into her helm, and her legs buckled mid piviot. Sliding on scree made of brick and stone, she slid down from her perch of blasted wall and only her helmet savd her frmo having her brains smashed to a pulp. Dazed, she looked up, vaugly aware of his footsetps s he prowled down the hill, towards her. Shaking, she pulled a knife from her belt, held it up in feeble defense. Nausious, weak, she was vaugly aware that a breeze that brought to her the sounds of death the scents of dying should have stirred her hair. Save that something wet and sticky held it down.

Looking down at her, he paused, froze, black soulless eyes went wide in shock as a vulnerability too soft and human touched the Seraph's face. He uttered one word, and that word followed her into the darkness as unconciousness dragged her down into the abyss.

"Martel..."