Chapter 6
Warzones
Sigma's Note: you saw what Ritz as a Skarcastor can do. Now see what Marche the Soulvetar is capable of. It's quite a sight.
Marche: Soulvetar (Fighter x5)
(Ninja x3)- Expert Job that revolves around the use of multiple weapons simultaneously
Weapon: Blade x2 (Paradox Blades)
A-Ability: Arsenal
-Dante: Line attack using Fire
-Chaos Bomb: Causes massive dark Area Damage
-Blast Spear: Attacks with a piercing spear of holy might
-Raging Knuckle: Powerful attack that damages and breaks armor
-Dual Breaker: Strikes with two maces to knock back and damage
-Twin Cutter: An all or nothing attack with two katanas
-Knife Rain: A ranged knife attack
-Focus: Increases all stats
-Magic Wall: Uses MP to act as an automatic magic counter
-Prima Cross: Powerful Magic-superior to Ultima and Omega
A-Ability: Expert Fighter
-Scorpion Blow: Downward blade thrust with an explosive ending
-Gravity Slash: Heavy damage and stop
-Cross Blade: Attacks with four strikes simultaneously
-Dash: Moving attack that allows for increased move range
R-Ability: Sky Strike
-Attacks with a massive upwards slash that also damages upon landing
S-Ability: Brave
-Stats increase as damage is received
C-Ability: Rage Combo
-Failproof combo for Soulvetars
Lutia Pass.....
The Paladin Commander ordered the charge from his mighty Red Chocobo. The blizzard environment was harsh, and he could barely see the oncoming enemies. They appeared to be amorphous phantoms in the stinging snow. He held his Knightsword out, towards the phantasms, and charged, his complement of Soldiers, Warriors and Mages behind him. The sliver glint of the Save the Queen shone brilliantly in the storm, but its glimmer was soon stricken by a icy gale that intensified the storm.
"Forward!" he cried as they charged the enemy before them. The Paladin heard the frenzied war cries of the Humans and Bangaa he commanded as they rushed into the breach. Chocobos sounded their shrill call as the sound of giant talons beating the snowy ground approached the soldiers from beyond the freezing veil. They had met the enemy, and they were fierce.
....
Marche, Ritz and their new acquaintance and ally, Ivan the Black Monk rode through the mountains of Lutia as they headed back to Lawcasta to plot their next move. Their avian steeds cooed quietly as the first few flakes of snow began to fall from overhead. Ivan looked to the east, to the side of one of the mountains that made up Lutia Pass. An angry cloud of oblivion obscured the entire side, and it was approaching them quickly.
"We should hurry up if we want to beat that storm," he said, pointing his Petal Chaser to the brooding cloud bank. "We do not want to be caught in the middle of a White Demon."
"White Demon?" Marche asked, glancing at the storm. "Are the storms up here really that fierce?"
"Indeed. It is thought that the magic vein that runs through this land causes disturbances in nature. I have seen people frozen solid in storms such as those, their limbs and digits blackened by frost. It is something we must avoid at all costs."
"What an unpleasant place for a monastery," Ritz noted.
"These mountains, they are a holy place to us. In the Bangaa tongue, they are called Fedre Buroni. The best way to translate it would be as Crucible. It is through these harrowing passes that one can see the glory of God, should he survive. And many don't."
The three began to move farther down the mountain, separating themselves from the boiling storm above. They were just ahead of it, and so all that they felt was a gentle snowfall.
"What is that?" Ritz said, pointing to a strange shape several hundred feet away. It was a red figure who moved slowly up the snow slope. From that distance, all that could be told of it was that it was alive.
"That's a Soldier!" Marche remarked, spurring his Chocobo onward towards the figure. Ritz and Ivan followed rapidly as the movements of the soldier became less and less. He fell face first into the snow as they approached, a circle of blood staining the pristine ground.
Marche hopped of his Chocobo and ran over to the fallen combatant. He lay motionless. He grabbed him and turned him over, then recoiled. The soldier had a massive gash across his chest, and his red uniform was soaked with his own blood. He coughed, more blood spewing onto his shattered body.
"What happened?" Ritz said in shock as she arrived with Ivan. The soldier's lower lip quivered as he tried to speak, but nothing came out. Instead, he raised his right hand, seeing as he left had been cut off completely, and pointed towards the towering spire of a mountain. Specifically, he pointed to the middle of the raging blizzard half way up.
"Th-there..." he sputtered, coughing up more blood.
"What?" Marche said, looking up to the mountain. "What happened?" But without another world, the Soldier expired with a sigh, his raised hand falling to the ground, limp. Blood dripped down it and splattered on the snow.
"Put his down," Ivan said. Marche complied, carefully lowering his upperbody back to the ground. Ivan removed his sword and drew a circle around the corpse in the snow, etching several symbols around it.
"What are you doing?" Marche asked, but Ritz silenced him. She had seen such things before.
With the circle complete, Ivan sheathed his Katana and raised his hand to his forehead, pressing his forefinger against his scaly skin, closing his eyes. Suddenly, a blue aura enveloped the fallen soldier as Ivan uttered a mantra in the Bangaa language. A small dervish of wind formed around the two, as a gale of life energy surrounded them. The aura faded, and Ivan opened his eyes, sighing.
"The revival Chakra has failed. His spirit has left his body, and will not return," said the Monk sadly. Marche and Ritz looked at the poor soul's broken form in pity. Ritz offered a silent prayer she had been taught by the Viera. Marche had a different reaction. He hopped on his Chocobo and turn towards he mountain. The snow had begun to fall more intensely now.
"What are you doing?" Ritz asked, already knowing and dreading the answer.
"I can feel it. Archemis did this, and there are others up there that we must save," he said, gazing angrily at the tall peak.
"You cannot! To do battle within the heart of a White Demon is to stand against the will and anger of God! No creature alive should enter one for the purpose of shedding blood. I will not condone this!" Ivan said sternly. But Marche had made up his mind, and so had Ritz
"We have to do this, Ivan," she said. "Go to the nearest town to get help, but we have to do this."
"I cannot be part of such a blasphemous act! You cannot expect to survive the Fedre Buroni without a guide. If you go into the maw of the Demon, you will not return," he said, concerned.
"We've done the incredible more than one time. We don't intend to die up there. You must get help, and we must fight," Marche responded, resolute. He and Ritz turned back towards the mountain and spurred their Chocobos. Ivan watched grimly as they headed towards the storm.
"May God have mercy on you," he said. "I pray that he has not deemed this your time to leave this world."
.....
The Paladin Commander slumped behind the natural rock bunker that his forces had located before the attack. It was not going as planned. Half his regiment was dead, slain by soldiers that fought with more drive and focus than he had ever seen before, even in himself. They seemed to pour out of the raging storm, like a wave of men at arms.
A Fighter, clothed in a protective animal skin cloak attempted to leap over the bunker for safety, but found an arrow lodge deep into his spine before he even touched the protective rock outcropping. He stumbled forward, the metal head of the arrow severing his spinal cord and disrupting his movements. His body jerking, he finally fell behind the bunker, dead. He landed next to the Paladin. He had long ago used up the last of his curative and revival items, and his White Magic had long since expired. The situation grew more desperate, he thought while looking at the young man lying next to him, with each man that was released from the mortal coil. And while their numbers diminished, Archemis's forces seemed to have an endless legion of soldiers, a sea of warriors trained to kill in an innumerable number of ways.
The Paladin raised his Save the Queen, planting it in the ground. He pressed his forehead against its leather hilt as the dying cries of his stricken men echoed through the howling tempest. All he could do now was pray for a miracle
.....
Through the glacial maelstrom, Marche and Ritz were suddenly assaulted with the death cries of dozens of men and the sound of clanging weapons that seemed to resonate eerily both through the icy oblivion before them and the tall mountains that seemed to encompass both the earth and the sky, like a hand reaching from deep within the underworld to grab any unfortunate souls that would find themselves in the frozen perdition.
"There's a battle down in there," Ritz uttered through the wailing storm. She squinted to see the clashing armies, but the snow was blinding.
"We have to help them," Marche said.
"We can't fight down there," Ritz replied. "I can barely see two feet away from my face."
"Which means that neither can they. We're both at an equal disadvantage, but we're much, much stronger." Marche was confident in their battle hardened abilities. He drew the long Javelin that he carried on his back, a weapon he had been given by the Monks at the Monastery. Unfortunately, Marche was deprived of his usual arsenal of weaponry that could turn him into a lethal twister of blades and magic. The spear and his Paradox Blades were the only things he had to rely on. They were more than enough.
They spurred their Chocobos into the fury of the storm and the fury of the battle field. The sleet struck their faces like needles falling from the sky, but they moved on, until they were deep within the heart of the breach. All around them, the sounds of swords and spears were heard clanging against each other, their angry din surpassed only by the cries of the fallen and the raging winds of the blizzard.
No sooner had they entered the battle when a familiar sound came through the cacophony of combat. It was an arrow, shooting through the thick air. Several arrows, in fact.
"Down!" Marche yelled as he and Ritz lept off their Chocobos as the barrage of iron tipped projectiles raced towards them. Several arrows embedded themselves in their former steeds. The giant fowls screeched in pain before falling to the ground. Marche and Ritz took advantage of the situation, running up to the carcasses and using them to shield themselves from the lethal salvo.
"How can they hit us in these conditions?" Marche asked.
"They're not aiming! They hear something moving and they aim in that direction and let loose a simultaneous attack. They're bound to hit something."
"Cheap tactic. Okay, here's what we're going to do," Marche said as several more arrows struck their avian shields. "Send some tears their way to scatter them, and I'll go in and pick them off." Ritz nodded as she drew her sword. They waited for several seconds for a gap in the assault.
The instant that the opportunity presented itself, Ritz lept up from her hiding spot and struck with a devastating Burn Tear attack. The blow tore the air open and spewed fire from the rift. It drove towards the group of Archers cleverly hidden in the storm. As the vacuum of air expanded, it caused a bubble of clarity in the white heart of the Demon. When that happened and the line of fire raced towards them, the Archers, now revealed, jumped frantically out of the way in an attempt to avoid the infernal attack. It was a costly mistake.
The Archers distracted and his vision cleared, Marche flung into action, wielding the Javelin and Blades with such ferocity that it would make even grown Dragons cower in fear. Holy white light engulfed the head of the spear and Marche landed in the middle of the clearing that had begun to collapse once the vacuum dissipated. He attacked. The energy shrouded head of the Javelin struck the closest Archer, a human clothed in a heavy white animal skin. The force of the blow crushed his ribcage and sent him flying into the storm bank, dead. In a single fluid motion, Marche whipped around before a second Archer had even hit the ground from his initial defensive evade of the Burn Tear. He searing energy of the Blast Spear impaled him through the chest, much in the manner that it had his compatriot. He was driven into the cold ground, his body shattered.
Out of the corner of his eye, Marche spotted a third Archer standing up and preparing to launch an arrow at his target. But luckily for Marche, this area was flat, unlike Dorsa, and the Archer had no way to protect himself while he attempted to aim his arrow in the tempestuous flurry. He took to long. Marche raised his arm and trained a single finger at the offending Archer. Immediately, a line of raging fire erupted from the ground and bolted towards him, tearing up the ground with its burning trail of destruction. It struck the Archer, who burst into a column of flames that incinerated his body instantly. Only one remained.
The final Archer had strung an arrow and was prepared to release it. With seemingly unnatural reflexes, lept through the air as the arrow was released. It whizzed past him as he somersaulted. Up landing, he raised his arm and struck with a second Dante attack. The flame moved so quickly that the was just a flash of crimson light and the scream of a Viera that had been engulfed by the blaze. The last Archer fell, her body blackened by the burning holocaust.
"That's it, they're gone!" Marche yelled to Ritz, who was somewhere behind him. But the storm had reformed around him with a vengeance, pelting him with a relentless cascade of snow. "Ritz!" he called out, but there was no response.
Before he could call again, his instincts kicked in. He swung his Paradox Blades to his left as he pivoted his body to meet the attack of the Gladiator that had confronted him. Their blades struck, sparks bursting to life then quickly extinguished by the bitter cold. He heard the guttural war cry of the Bangaa, but Marche was simply to strong and too skilled. He knocked the attack away, sending the Gladiator reeling before he came down with his Blades. A fountain of red erupted in the oblivion of the squall as the Gladiator fell to the ground. No sooner had that happened then a Soldier attacked from behind, his sword drawn far over his head to deliver a head splitting blow. Marche turned around an released a ball of terrible black energy from his right hand, the Chaos Bomb. It struck the raging soldier directly in the chest. He soared well out of Marche's visual range, his body consumed by the intensely powerful dark energy.
"Back off!" Marche snapped as he spun around, his dual blades cutting into armor and flesh and bone at every turn. Apparently, the majority of the enemy attack force had swarmed him in an attempt to overpower him. It was a very big mistake. The Paradox Blades glowed with their characteristic dark and light aura, the power of Marche's anger flowing into them and amplifying them. That in turn amplified Marche's reaction time, stamina and strength, creating a feed back loop of unimaginable power that would have consumed a normal man. But for Marche, it merely continued to build as he thrashed in a ballet of destruction. Electrical energy arched around him, repulsing those that would attempt to attack him. Marche whipped out his Spear and drove in into the abdomen of a Mog Knight, and the piercing continued into the chest of a Dragoon behind him. Marche released the Javelin, which had begun to fracture, unable to bear the burden of Marche's compounding internal ferocity, the Holy energy running long fissures down its broad metal head. He launched his fiery Dante attack, causing a group of Bangaa Dragoons who had planned on attacking him together to erupt into a cataclysmic fireball. He continued to cast the Dante attack, sweeping a wide circle of burning destruction around him.
Again he lept through the air, he Paradox Blades slicing through the throats of a pair of Fighters before they knew what hit them. Marche noticed his vision grew hazy as he ceased to react on visual stimuli, allowing instead for his instincts and the Blades to guide his hands. A wave of energy flowed through his body reminiscent of when he struck out at Sagaro in Dorsa. It overwhelmed his senses, elevating his combat awareness to untold levels. He opened his eyes and everything seemed to move at a snail's pace. He could see the individual flakes of snow falling through the blank sky. He raised his Blades and held them out. He could sense the warm sensation of Prima Energy encircling them, almost as if the simple pieces of metal had fused with his consciousness and become a part of his own body, and extension of both his arm and his mind. Spheres of swirling dynamism wrapped around the Blades as he Prima Cross completed itself. Marche glared at his oncoming enemies. To him, they had suddenly appeared...insignificant. Nothing more than flesh and blood, with no discernible consciousness. He was determined to destroy them.
It happened in less and three seconds. Marche lashed out with inhuman speed. He assailants could only stare in awe as this specter in black leather approached at a velocity that was inconceivable by the normal mortal mind. The Prima energy had taken on a life of its own, flowing across Marche's Paradox Blades and around his arms like deadly serpents that he wielded with the delicacy of a skilled snake charmer. The Blades flashed and spilt blood as they cut through soldier after soldier, crushing Armor, Shields and Weapons like they were made of rotten wood. Archemis's warriors cried out a single, unholy wail as Marche decimated them, his Blades dragging their life blood across the white virgin snow, staining it a dark crimson.
And just like that, there was silence. Complete silence, with the exception of Marche's heavy breathing. He looked at his clothing. Not a drop of blood at touched him. Even his weapons, the terrible Paradox Blades remained unstained from both the speed of his attack and the purifying powers of the Prima Cross.
Marche heard footsteps behind him. Running. But he did not react. He sheathed his weapons, slowly turning around. It was a foolish move, but he sensed that he was in no danger. He turned to face Ritz racing towards him. He looked at her, and a sensation of relief washed over his body. To his surprise, all his rage, his anger, his immense energy simply melted away. He was certain that he would remain in that state until his body could not take the stress any longer, and yet, as he say Ritz running at him, he felt his power being released into the air.
"There you are!" Ritz cried as she embraced him. "I was worried about you!" Marche said nothing. He merely held her, taking in the fragrance of her perfume that she wore, even into battle. It masked the scent of the blood that covered her from head to toe.
Ritz look around at the carnage that Marche had created.
"What...happened?" she asked in shock. She had not seen such destruction since she confronted Pious at Ambervale.
"I...did this..." he said, surprised at himself. For the first time, he realized what he had done. Dozens of lifeless, mangled bodies lay scattered around the snow in pools of their own blood.
"You...?" She asked. Marche was speechless.
Suddenly, there was a sound. More foot prints. Marche and Ritz turned to see a Paladin walking their way. He wore a cape that signified he was a commander from the Judiciary. He limped oddly, his body spent of energy. He dragged a Save the Queen behind him.
"Stay back," Marche said as he felt a bizarre energy coming from him. The Paladin took another step and spoke.
"I have a message...." he said in an echoing voice, as if there were two people speaking simultaneously. "Beware....the Plague..." he said before collapsing. It was then that the long sword stuck in his back was visible.
"What?" Ritz said, but she soon received her answer. Before them, the raging snow storm split open like a curtain be drawn open. Behind it, there stood a tall man in a dark green coat. The coat obscured his entire body and featured a hood that shrouded his face from view. He carried a gnarled staff that looked as though its head had been filled with needles. He spoke, and a simple phrase was heard.
"Let your valience be rewarded with doom," he said in an ominous voice. He raised his staff and a green halo enveloped it. Marche and Ritz stared at him intently, until Ritz realized what it was.
"A Plague Castor! Like Strife mentioned!" she alerted Marche, drawing her Vent de Dieu. She charged the tall mage, but he was prepared.
"Life Crisis!" he said, declaring the name of his spell. He swung his staff forwards and released the green energy. It lanced forward, striking Ritz before she could react. She fell to the ground, screaming in agony.
"No!" Marche cried out, drawing forth a Chaos Bomb from his seemingly bottomless energy well. He thrust it towards the offending Plague Castor, but not before he fired a second blast of viral magic towards the Soulvetar. Both attacks met their marks. The Plague Castor couldn't even scream as the dark energy consumed his body, leaving nothing behind by a crackling singularity of power. But Marche too fell to the ground, stricken with the Life Crisis plague. He moaned as he body was overcome with intense pain that felt like a burning hellfire on the tips of every nerve in his body. The Life Crisis filled his body with agony until his writhing turned to convulsions as darkness filled his eyes.
Sigma's Note: you saw what Ritz as a Skarcastor can do. Now see what Marche the Soulvetar is capable of. It's quite a sight.
Marche: Soulvetar (Fighter x5)
(Ninja x3)- Expert Job that revolves around the use of multiple weapons simultaneously
Weapon: Blade x2 (Paradox Blades)
A-Ability: Arsenal
-Dante: Line attack using Fire
-Chaos Bomb: Causes massive dark Area Damage
-Blast Spear: Attacks with a piercing spear of holy might
-Raging Knuckle: Powerful attack that damages and breaks armor
-Dual Breaker: Strikes with two maces to knock back and damage
-Twin Cutter: An all or nothing attack with two katanas
-Knife Rain: A ranged knife attack
-Focus: Increases all stats
-Magic Wall: Uses MP to act as an automatic magic counter
-Prima Cross: Powerful Magic-superior to Ultima and Omega
A-Ability: Expert Fighter
-Scorpion Blow: Downward blade thrust with an explosive ending
-Gravity Slash: Heavy damage and stop
-Cross Blade: Attacks with four strikes simultaneously
-Dash: Moving attack that allows for increased move range
R-Ability: Sky Strike
-Attacks with a massive upwards slash that also damages upon landing
S-Ability: Brave
-Stats increase as damage is received
C-Ability: Rage Combo
-Failproof combo for Soulvetars
Lutia Pass.....
The Paladin Commander ordered the charge from his mighty Red Chocobo. The blizzard environment was harsh, and he could barely see the oncoming enemies. They appeared to be amorphous phantoms in the stinging snow. He held his Knightsword out, towards the phantasms, and charged, his complement of Soldiers, Warriors and Mages behind him. The sliver glint of the Save the Queen shone brilliantly in the storm, but its glimmer was soon stricken by a icy gale that intensified the storm.
"Forward!" he cried as they charged the enemy before them. The Paladin heard the frenzied war cries of the Humans and Bangaa he commanded as they rushed into the breach. Chocobos sounded their shrill call as the sound of giant talons beating the snowy ground approached the soldiers from beyond the freezing veil. They had met the enemy, and they were fierce.
....
Marche, Ritz and their new acquaintance and ally, Ivan the Black Monk rode through the mountains of Lutia as they headed back to Lawcasta to plot their next move. Their avian steeds cooed quietly as the first few flakes of snow began to fall from overhead. Ivan looked to the east, to the side of one of the mountains that made up Lutia Pass. An angry cloud of oblivion obscured the entire side, and it was approaching them quickly.
"We should hurry up if we want to beat that storm," he said, pointing his Petal Chaser to the brooding cloud bank. "We do not want to be caught in the middle of a White Demon."
"White Demon?" Marche asked, glancing at the storm. "Are the storms up here really that fierce?"
"Indeed. It is thought that the magic vein that runs through this land causes disturbances in nature. I have seen people frozen solid in storms such as those, their limbs and digits blackened by frost. It is something we must avoid at all costs."
"What an unpleasant place for a monastery," Ritz noted.
"These mountains, they are a holy place to us. In the Bangaa tongue, they are called Fedre Buroni. The best way to translate it would be as Crucible. It is through these harrowing passes that one can see the glory of God, should he survive. And many don't."
The three began to move farther down the mountain, separating themselves from the boiling storm above. They were just ahead of it, and so all that they felt was a gentle snowfall.
"What is that?" Ritz said, pointing to a strange shape several hundred feet away. It was a red figure who moved slowly up the snow slope. From that distance, all that could be told of it was that it was alive.
"That's a Soldier!" Marche remarked, spurring his Chocobo onward towards the figure. Ritz and Ivan followed rapidly as the movements of the soldier became less and less. He fell face first into the snow as they approached, a circle of blood staining the pristine ground.
Marche hopped of his Chocobo and ran over to the fallen combatant. He lay motionless. He grabbed him and turned him over, then recoiled. The soldier had a massive gash across his chest, and his red uniform was soaked with his own blood. He coughed, more blood spewing onto his shattered body.
"What happened?" Ritz said in shock as she arrived with Ivan. The soldier's lower lip quivered as he tried to speak, but nothing came out. Instead, he raised his right hand, seeing as he left had been cut off completely, and pointed towards the towering spire of a mountain. Specifically, he pointed to the middle of the raging blizzard half way up.
"Th-there..." he sputtered, coughing up more blood.
"What?" Marche said, looking up to the mountain. "What happened?" But without another world, the Soldier expired with a sigh, his raised hand falling to the ground, limp. Blood dripped down it and splattered on the snow.
"Put his down," Ivan said. Marche complied, carefully lowering his upperbody back to the ground. Ivan removed his sword and drew a circle around the corpse in the snow, etching several symbols around it.
"What are you doing?" Marche asked, but Ritz silenced him. She had seen such things before.
With the circle complete, Ivan sheathed his Katana and raised his hand to his forehead, pressing his forefinger against his scaly skin, closing his eyes. Suddenly, a blue aura enveloped the fallen soldier as Ivan uttered a mantra in the Bangaa language. A small dervish of wind formed around the two, as a gale of life energy surrounded them. The aura faded, and Ivan opened his eyes, sighing.
"The revival Chakra has failed. His spirit has left his body, and will not return," said the Monk sadly. Marche and Ritz looked at the poor soul's broken form in pity. Ritz offered a silent prayer she had been taught by the Viera. Marche had a different reaction. He hopped on his Chocobo and turn towards he mountain. The snow had begun to fall more intensely now.
"What are you doing?" Ritz asked, already knowing and dreading the answer.
"I can feel it. Archemis did this, and there are others up there that we must save," he said, gazing angrily at the tall peak.
"You cannot! To do battle within the heart of a White Demon is to stand against the will and anger of God! No creature alive should enter one for the purpose of shedding blood. I will not condone this!" Ivan said sternly. But Marche had made up his mind, and so had Ritz
"We have to do this, Ivan," she said. "Go to the nearest town to get help, but we have to do this."
"I cannot be part of such a blasphemous act! You cannot expect to survive the Fedre Buroni without a guide. If you go into the maw of the Demon, you will not return," he said, concerned.
"We've done the incredible more than one time. We don't intend to die up there. You must get help, and we must fight," Marche responded, resolute. He and Ritz turned back towards the mountain and spurred their Chocobos. Ivan watched grimly as they headed towards the storm.
"May God have mercy on you," he said. "I pray that he has not deemed this your time to leave this world."
.....
The Paladin Commander slumped behind the natural rock bunker that his forces had located before the attack. It was not going as planned. Half his regiment was dead, slain by soldiers that fought with more drive and focus than he had ever seen before, even in himself. They seemed to pour out of the raging storm, like a wave of men at arms.
A Fighter, clothed in a protective animal skin cloak attempted to leap over the bunker for safety, but found an arrow lodge deep into his spine before he even touched the protective rock outcropping. He stumbled forward, the metal head of the arrow severing his spinal cord and disrupting his movements. His body jerking, he finally fell behind the bunker, dead. He landed next to the Paladin. He had long ago used up the last of his curative and revival items, and his White Magic had long since expired. The situation grew more desperate, he thought while looking at the young man lying next to him, with each man that was released from the mortal coil. And while their numbers diminished, Archemis's forces seemed to have an endless legion of soldiers, a sea of warriors trained to kill in an innumerable number of ways.
The Paladin raised his Save the Queen, planting it in the ground. He pressed his forehead against its leather hilt as the dying cries of his stricken men echoed through the howling tempest. All he could do now was pray for a miracle
.....
Through the glacial maelstrom, Marche and Ritz were suddenly assaulted with the death cries of dozens of men and the sound of clanging weapons that seemed to resonate eerily both through the icy oblivion before them and the tall mountains that seemed to encompass both the earth and the sky, like a hand reaching from deep within the underworld to grab any unfortunate souls that would find themselves in the frozen perdition.
"There's a battle down in there," Ritz uttered through the wailing storm. She squinted to see the clashing armies, but the snow was blinding.
"We have to help them," Marche said.
"We can't fight down there," Ritz replied. "I can barely see two feet away from my face."
"Which means that neither can they. We're both at an equal disadvantage, but we're much, much stronger." Marche was confident in their battle hardened abilities. He drew the long Javelin that he carried on his back, a weapon he had been given by the Monks at the Monastery. Unfortunately, Marche was deprived of his usual arsenal of weaponry that could turn him into a lethal twister of blades and magic. The spear and his Paradox Blades were the only things he had to rely on. They were more than enough.
They spurred their Chocobos into the fury of the storm and the fury of the battle field. The sleet struck their faces like needles falling from the sky, but they moved on, until they were deep within the heart of the breach. All around them, the sounds of swords and spears were heard clanging against each other, their angry din surpassed only by the cries of the fallen and the raging winds of the blizzard.
No sooner had they entered the battle when a familiar sound came through the cacophony of combat. It was an arrow, shooting through the thick air. Several arrows, in fact.
"Down!" Marche yelled as he and Ritz lept off their Chocobos as the barrage of iron tipped projectiles raced towards them. Several arrows embedded themselves in their former steeds. The giant fowls screeched in pain before falling to the ground. Marche and Ritz took advantage of the situation, running up to the carcasses and using them to shield themselves from the lethal salvo.
"How can they hit us in these conditions?" Marche asked.
"They're not aiming! They hear something moving and they aim in that direction and let loose a simultaneous attack. They're bound to hit something."
"Cheap tactic. Okay, here's what we're going to do," Marche said as several more arrows struck their avian shields. "Send some tears their way to scatter them, and I'll go in and pick them off." Ritz nodded as she drew her sword. They waited for several seconds for a gap in the assault.
The instant that the opportunity presented itself, Ritz lept up from her hiding spot and struck with a devastating Burn Tear attack. The blow tore the air open and spewed fire from the rift. It drove towards the group of Archers cleverly hidden in the storm. As the vacuum of air expanded, it caused a bubble of clarity in the white heart of the Demon. When that happened and the line of fire raced towards them, the Archers, now revealed, jumped frantically out of the way in an attempt to avoid the infernal attack. It was a costly mistake.
The Archers distracted and his vision cleared, Marche flung into action, wielding the Javelin and Blades with such ferocity that it would make even grown Dragons cower in fear. Holy white light engulfed the head of the spear and Marche landed in the middle of the clearing that had begun to collapse once the vacuum dissipated. He attacked. The energy shrouded head of the Javelin struck the closest Archer, a human clothed in a heavy white animal skin. The force of the blow crushed his ribcage and sent him flying into the storm bank, dead. In a single fluid motion, Marche whipped around before a second Archer had even hit the ground from his initial defensive evade of the Burn Tear. He searing energy of the Blast Spear impaled him through the chest, much in the manner that it had his compatriot. He was driven into the cold ground, his body shattered.
Out of the corner of his eye, Marche spotted a third Archer standing up and preparing to launch an arrow at his target. But luckily for Marche, this area was flat, unlike Dorsa, and the Archer had no way to protect himself while he attempted to aim his arrow in the tempestuous flurry. He took to long. Marche raised his arm and trained a single finger at the offending Archer. Immediately, a line of raging fire erupted from the ground and bolted towards him, tearing up the ground with its burning trail of destruction. It struck the Archer, who burst into a column of flames that incinerated his body instantly. Only one remained.
The final Archer had strung an arrow and was prepared to release it. With seemingly unnatural reflexes, lept through the air as the arrow was released. It whizzed past him as he somersaulted. Up landing, he raised his arm and struck with a second Dante attack. The flame moved so quickly that the was just a flash of crimson light and the scream of a Viera that had been engulfed by the blaze. The last Archer fell, her body blackened by the burning holocaust.
"That's it, they're gone!" Marche yelled to Ritz, who was somewhere behind him. But the storm had reformed around him with a vengeance, pelting him with a relentless cascade of snow. "Ritz!" he called out, but there was no response.
Before he could call again, his instincts kicked in. He swung his Paradox Blades to his left as he pivoted his body to meet the attack of the Gladiator that had confronted him. Their blades struck, sparks bursting to life then quickly extinguished by the bitter cold. He heard the guttural war cry of the Bangaa, but Marche was simply to strong and too skilled. He knocked the attack away, sending the Gladiator reeling before he came down with his Blades. A fountain of red erupted in the oblivion of the squall as the Gladiator fell to the ground. No sooner had that happened then a Soldier attacked from behind, his sword drawn far over his head to deliver a head splitting blow. Marche turned around an released a ball of terrible black energy from his right hand, the Chaos Bomb. It struck the raging soldier directly in the chest. He soared well out of Marche's visual range, his body consumed by the intensely powerful dark energy.
"Back off!" Marche snapped as he spun around, his dual blades cutting into armor and flesh and bone at every turn. Apparently, the majority of the enemy attack force had swarmed him in an attempt to overpower him. It was a very big mistake. The Paradox Blades glowed with their characteristic dark and light aura, the power of Marche's anger flowing into them and amplifying them. That in turn amplified Marche's reaction time, stamina and strength, creating a feed back loop of unimaginable power that would have consumed a normal man. But for Marche, it merely continued to build as he thrashed in a ballet of destruction. Electrical energy arched around him, repulsing those that would attempt to attack him. Marche whipped out his Spear and drove in into the abdomen of a Mog Knight, and the piercing continued into the chest of a Dragoon behind him. Marche released the Javelin, which had begun to fracture, unable to bear the burden of Marche's compounding internal ferocity, the Holy energy running long fissures down its broad metal head. He launched his fiery Dante attack, causing a group of Bangaa Dragoons who had planned on attacking him together to erupt into a cataclysmic fireball. He continued to cast the Dante attack, sweeping a wide circle of burning destruction around him.
Again he lept through the air, he Paradox Blades slicing through the throats of a pair of Fighters before they knew what hit them. Marche noticed his vision grew hazy as he ceased to react on visual stimuli, allowing instead for his instincts and the Blades to guide his hands. A wave of energy flowed through his body reminiscent of when he struck out at Sagaro in Dorsa. It overwhelmed his senses, elevating his combat awareness to untold levels. He opened his eyes and everything seemed to move at a snail's pace. He could see the individual flakes of snow falling through the blank sky. He raised his Blades and held them out. He could sense the warm sensation of Prima Energy encircling them, almost as if the simple pieces of metal had fused with his consciousness and become a part of his own body, and extension of both his arm and his mind. Spheres of swirling dynamism wrapped around the Blades as he Prima Cross completed itself. Marche glared at his oncoming enemies. To him, they had suddenly appeared...insignificant. Nothing more than flesh and blood, with no discernible consciousness. He was determined to destroy them.
It happened in less and three seconds. Marche lashed out with inhuman speed. He assailants could only stare in awe as this specter in black leather approached at a velocity that was inconceivable by the normal mortal mind. The Prima energy had taken on a life of its own, flowing across Marche's Paradox Blades and around his arms like deadly serpents that he wielded with the delicacy of a skilled snake charmer. The Blades flashed and spilt blood as they cut through soldier after soldier, crushing Armor, Shields and Weapons like they were made of rotten wood. Archemis's warriors cried out a single, unholy wail as Marche decimated them, his Blades dragging their life blood across the white virgin snow, staining it a dark crimson.
And just like that, there was silence. Complete silence, with the exception of Marche's heavy breathing. He looked at his clothing. Not a drop of blood at touched him. Even his weapons, the terrible Paradox Blades remained unstained from both the speed of his attack and the purifying powers of the Prima Cross.
Marche heard footsteps behind him. Running. But he did not react. He sheathed his weapons, slowly turning around. It was a foolish move, but he sensed that he was in no danger. He turned to face Ritz racing towards him. He looked at her, and a sensation of relief washed over his body. To his surprise, all his rage, his anger, his immense energy simply melted away. He was certain that he would remain in that state until his body could not take the stress any longer, and yet, as he say Ritz running at him, he felt his power being released into the air.
"There you are!" Ritz cried as she embraced him. "I was worried about you!" Marche said nothing. He merely held her, taking in the fragrance of her perfume that she wore, even into battle. It masked the scent of the blood that covered her from head to toe.
Ritz look around at the carnage that Marche had created.
"What...happened?" she asked in shock. She had not seen such destruction since she confronted Pious at Ambervale.
"I...did this..." he said, surprised at himself. For the first time, he realized what he had done. Dozens of lifeless, mangled bodies lay scattered around the snow in pools of their own blood.
"You...?" She asked. Marche was speechless.
Suddenly, there was a sound. More foot prints. Marche and Ritz turned to see a Paladin walking their way. He wore a cape that signified he was a commander from the Judiciary. He limped oddly, his body spent of energy. He dragged a Save the Queen behind him.
"Stay back," Marche said as he felt a bizarre energy coming from him. The Paladin took another step and spoke.
"I have a message...." he said in an echoing voice, as if there were two people speaking simultaneously. "Beware....the Plague..." he said before collapsing. It was then that the long sword stuck in his back was visible.
"What?" Ritz said, but she soon received her answer. Before them, the raging snow storm split open like a curtain be drawn open. Behind it, there stood a tall man in a dark green coat. The coat obscured his entire body and featured a hood that shrouded his face from view. He carried a gnarled staff that looked as though its head had been filled with needles. He spoke, and a simple phrase was heard.
"Let your valience be rewarded with doom," he said in an ominous voice. He raised his staff and a green halo enveloped it. Marche and Ritz stared at him intently, until Ritz realized what it was.
"A Plague Castor! Like Strife mentioned!" she alerted Marche, drawing her Vent de Dieu. She charged the tall mage, but he was prepared.
"Life Crisis!" he said, declaring the name of his spell. He swung his staff forwards and released the green energy. It lanced forward, striking Ritz before she could react. She fell to the ground, screaming in agony.
"No!" Marche cried out, drawing forth a Chaos Bomb from his seemingly bottomless energy well. He thrust it towards the offending Plague Castor, but not before he fired a second blast of viral magic towards the Soulvetar. Both attacks met their marks. The Plague Castor couldn't even scream as the dark energy consumed his body, leaving nothing behind by a crackling singularity of power. But Marche too fell to the ground, stricken with the Life Crisis plague. He moaned as he body was overcome with intense pain that felt like a burning hellfire on the tips of every nerve in his body. The Life Crisis filled his body with agony until his writhing turned to convulsions as darkness filled his eyes.