"Enough."

Breaths pumped heavy, and ragged. Ivory a plenty trickled, and yet the Praetor's halted their advance upon the lone half-breed. Sarid's inhales were long and plentiful, but the idle swinging of his makeshift roped kunai at his right hand told of his ability to continue. A sharp gash of a searing crimson was carved across his shoulder, the remnants of twinkling ice sprinkled atop the cloth and flesh.

Nevertheless, the great battle between this trio did still in silence at one man's word.

The Shepherd marched down from his step atop the throne, a stern and piercing look threading right into the Hunter that stood opposed; hunched and weary. His crisp robes swept over the dirtied marble and its ruined engravings, the hued blade hovering just above in the Saviour's motionless hold. Sarid's stark amethyst of his own could not ignore the welling power that merely rested beneath Artorias's steel.

He spoke, voice cold, cool and unfettered. "Praetors, dispose of the escaping intruders."

Oscar and Teresa did not hesitate, and instantly waded past the bewildered Barloc and towards the battling members of the menagerie; all who still desperately pushed back against the force that barred their way. Already weakened, they may falter against the intercepting Praetors. And still, did the strange Legate Melchior watch without any interference.

Sarid's teeth gritted, and he spared a look to the downed Velvet and the assisting Laphicet. She was hunched over now, still sore and racked with discomfort. But, the Therion was awake, and moving.

"Barloc."

Shepherd Artorias stood before him, spacious in their interaction. He gazed upon him with no identifiable emotion, just chilling sapphire unmoving.

"...What's your game? Going to talk me to death?"

The Saviour grunted with closed eyes, a disappointed shake of his head: ponytail swaying with the movement. "Brave, to tread across this city with such a sinful crest at your back."

Sarid protruded his chest forward slightly, presenting the very insignia the man talked down on to glimmer at his peck. "Every soul can know where I stand, for all I care."

Artorias's eyes darkened with a sigh, but nonetheless no change flickered in his expression; only intrigue.

"...I propose a remedy."

The Hunter's raised wind-whip fell, no longer held to a hostile poise. His eyes were lidded, and brows narrowed at the ambiguous suggestion.

"Your father was a traitor, an outcast, excommunicated and barred from setting foot in Midgand ever again. I am offering a chance to rectify his son, from suffering a worse fate."

Sarid was chilled frigid to a bitter silence from the outlandish statement, staring blankly upon the grand and unsettling figure before him. Playful and idle, did passing wind playel with the flayed strands of white in the heavy, dreading silence.

Artorias carefully planted the tip of his blade to root the marble below, and splayed out an open palm before himself.

"Do not stain that lineage any furth-"

"Shut up."

"...Excuse me?"

The half-malak's grip was tight upon the weapons he bore, almost shaking with its force. He took a single, profound step forward.

"You heard. This Abbey tarnished my family, and this world, when you and your scum moved in. Don't talk to me about remedy."

Artorias was silent, the pair of glinting teal orbs akin to celestial moons in his eyes. Glacial, contemptuous. His hand settled firm at the hilt, and a burdened sigh came to pass.

"...I see. Irredeemable."

Bwoom!

His palm flicked out, and an almost shockwave-like blast was swiftly cast from wind mana itself, burst outwards like the rumble of a great quake. It struck the Hunter akin to a single gale of a whirling hurricane, and ripped the oxygen from his lungs as he carted across the marble below with a rough yell. His grip was unfaltering on the knife held close, yet its roped companion was torn from its tether, sailing behind and away to stick out from the webbed stone.

"Dispose of the Barloc too, seeing as he will not listen to reason."

Steel scraped, and his muscles shuddered to wrench the aching body up from the ground; breath faltering as it attempted to pull air in. Sarid growled lowly through gritted teeth, and propped to a knee, scouting the flank with surveying lilac to see the two Praetors once again growing near. His eyes flicked upwards, and the dismissive Shepherd turned away from the downed half-breed, setting sights upon the vulnerable duo aside; Laphicet and Velvet.

The man pushed hard, shaking like a leaf in a furious storm as his groans wretched out. Artorias's blade hummed close, trailing as he marched feet away from the two. The daemon's golden medallions burned, now lidded but open to glare right into the incoming Saviour. Yet, she was helpless. Even as the gaze boiled as if it would reduce the great Shepherd to ash, her wristblade clicked useless, and her body would still not obey.

Sarid's knife was akin to a plated weight in his palm, and still he pulled to a kneel. The Hunter's hand shot out, "Oi! I'm... right here...!" His words fell on deaf ears, as did they fall to a splutter no matter how he tried.

The half-malak did not even register the cacophony of stampeding boots racing towards him.

"Sarid! Six o'clock!"

The warning could only pull him to spare a glance. A pair of hostile verdant, blazing with an envious vengeance.

The spear swung vertical - and like a torch whisked with water - the leftmost violet light went out in a single, discomforting, blink.

As if adhering to a snap of fingers, a great isolating darkness overcame half of the man's once sharp vision. Confusion passed its short stay, and then came the searing pain. A wretched pulsing, torment beating in tandem with his crashing heart as every nearby nerve came alight like a blaring alarm.

The price for caring came swift.

Sarid stumbled back with a dreadful, gritted cry; hand slapping right upon his left eye instantly. The thick, iron fluid seeped between the draconic fingers, sloshing great droplets to the intrinsic marbling below. Hot, rapid breaths passed with a rushing river current, and with this sudden attack: the chaos around stilled to silence. Brief, for only a moment was necessary until they would notice the awful blow.

"Damn it!"

The Samurai was rapid on his feet, twisting fast as he bound from the chaos; streaking towards the turned Oscar with eyes ablaze crimson. And yet, the Praetor was perceptive, as the valiant longsword hardened to that of a boulder: an amber aura coating the deadly edge as he spun.

Screech!

Lone verdant pearl alive with contempt, the blade ground upon Rokurou's hurried block with a shower of shrieking sparks. A hacking grunt of exertion slipped past, and the Yaksha's already weary footing faltered as his twin knives were ripped aside. Another thundering strike from above, and Rokurou was sent flipping away in retreat; a fierce grimace present over his usual bloodthirst.

Back to back with the glowering Reaper, the pair scornfully scoured between the trio of malakhim surrounding them, and the Dragonia Praetor staring them down: blonde tufts still bristling from the exchange. Magilou shifted close to the powerful men with a frown, a trembling Bienfu hanging from the Witch's shoulder. Her keen lime irises flicked between the still recovering daemoness, and the vulnerable Hunter with an almost shaky sigh.

"Well, this is quite the mess now, isn't it?"

And before the injured half-breed, stood a frozen Eleanor Hume -- the supposedly useless and weakened Praetor with no malakhim. Betwixt shuddering palms, was the contemporary spear that shook with each pulse of her unsure heart. Vermillion gently trickled from the once poised tip of the weapon she bore, and the now widened eyes of a soft green; stared unblinking at the ruthless deed having been dealt.

The girl could feel the soulless, boiling medallions of death burn into the side of her skull. Her grip upon the spear was that of a dreadful vice; unable to even consider letting it fall.

"I... I don't..."

Sarid's right eye snapped open, the violet within a visceral narrow, sharp as it flicked to the indecisive Praetor beside him. The tight hand still led flat over this scorching wound, yet the leaking crimson dried quick: and the brazen Hunter stumbled to a stand with a rough and shuddering groan. The man's right palm still clenched the lone kunai inside akin to a lifeline, even as the aching weight stung the mind.

"I... won't let you hurt her!"

Purple flickered, and the sight wrung his mouth voiceless and dry. Stood before the two he bent and broke to protect, was the great Saviour, glowering with his sword alight; its blade that same glorious yet despairing hue. And to oppose the calculating Shepherd, was a young and blonde Laphicet -- verdant eyes ever so full of life, and defiant in the view of one so empty. The malakhim's courage brought a disappointed stare to the chilling blues of Artorias, and as the boy stood affront the vulnerable Velvet, so did the daemoness glare.

Her boots faintly screeched across the faded marble, and as did her muscles shriek in torment while the woman pushed with all her might: stumbling only to a weak kneel. Velvet's heart roared with rage, painful emotion begging for the Therion to stand. And through it all, she just couldn't.

Laphicet was stalwart before the girl, the many arcane parchment floating and twirling about the innocent malak at his protective call. Velvet's words could barely muster even a whimper, indecisive between one of scorn, despair or sorrow.

Artorias's longsword scraped the very edge of the ground below with its tip, as he stared down the boy.

"You have no place in the matter."

The blade raised above, poised to thrust down into the stone. Its golden glow brimmed brighter, blinding with its glinting: like the sun.

Dread coalesced upon the air, thick with its presence that all could taste it. Even as the steel's sharp edge was not placed to gouge any flesh, only the end could be felt should the blade slam into the earth below.

Her heart pumped wild, uncontrolled, and out did the bandaged limb launch: desperate. Laphicet's pearls widened to plates, and the grand insignia overseeing all hummed akin to that of tasteful satisfaction. The longsword was inches from the floor, until she felt it.

A shock, jolting the palm of her sickly appendage. Velvet's auric medallions sprung wide, and her vision snapped left. The daemoness couldn't catch a final sight, before the chamber erupted with golden light; and a weight flung her body to a rough roll across this pious marbled ground.

It wasn't an eruption, or a gentle flash, nor an explosion. It was a single wave, a visceral rumble that racked eardrums to a tremble, like their ears could barely translate the sound that sparked them. Until suddenly, with the light it's warning, the blinding crack came; akin to thunder merely feet away.

BANG!

Velvet's entire figure felt as if it was aflame, the wounds having been largely healed, yet the incessant ache remained. Her fingers clawed - akin to that of an animal - as she desperately tried to pull herself up; grabbing at the remaining shreds of will within. Until, the soft touch of leather came. She paused, eyelids barely tearing open for that faint auric glimmer to pass, and felt once more. Steel, a blade, pronged in three; and a small hilt with a circular holed pommel.

It gently sparked against the Therion's touch, and then she realised.

"...That idiot...!"

With a sharp gasp that ended into a gritted growl, she tore through the aching barriers that reigned her muscles still, wrenching limbs up with her legs shuddering but firm. Velvet's teeth were bared, yet her eyes were alive with vengeful flame once more. She ripped the mysterious weapon from where it remained nestled, and frowned. Tight in her hands, sat a kunai; crackling from the remnants of its usage.

"Velvet, are you okay?!" Came the familiar caring call, and the short head of blonde hair waddled close, his face low, yet relieved. However, the daemoness stayed hunched, her breaths still pumping rapid and heavy, but as her orbs flicked to the young boy, and he desperately attempted to call upon the healing arte once more, the sorrow etched between his focused eyes was evident.

"I'm... fine," the Therion grumbled out, hand gliding across her lips to wipe free of ivory remains. "Where is that stupid half-malak?" she snarled out, the dagger sat betwixt fingers evidence of only one that could have spared the pair from their fate. "Where is he!?"

Yet, as she held up the sparking blade within her clothed palm, the young Laphicet's expression sank, almost failing to spare a look into the woman's eyes. The boy's viridescent pearls slid to a sight behind the woman's billowing cloak, and before the daemoness did she catch the stilled battle thought to be waged. The malakhim of the Dragonia Praetors remained, even battered from the onslaught, however the group fared no better.

Eizen and Rokurou could barely raise themselves to fend off and break through their opposition, and even Magilou had fallen to an exhausted knee; a contemptuous Melchior staring down at the Witch in disappointment. Nevertheless, their attention was no longer trained upon eachother, but at something that beared down at the daemoness from behind.

The Samurai's face was one of clear shock, completely enthralled by the profound arte displayed, its magnitude unbelievable. However, the Reaper could only growl with dark eyes, fists tightening into a tremble. Even the great Magilou couldn't spare notice, almost gazing upon the spell with lidded eyes through her hefty exhales.

Velvet finally turned with a frown, and soon felt the twinge of agitation within blossom to a wildfire. Frown burning away into a fierce scowl, as the grand licks of yellow hued the motionless Therion. Her brows quivered, twitching as the woman's pupils shrunk to searing dots.

"That barrier..."

If the sinful claws she imposed upon the kunai grew ever more forceful, it would snap like a twig.

Enshrouding half of the fractured Empyrean's Throne, was a grand and imposing veil of golden strings; conjoined and tethered wall to wall with their glistening aureate webs. And at the very centre of this sparkling cage brimming with mysterious power, was the great insignia of Innomniat similar emblazoned upon the Throne itself. The many strings crossing the magical wall barring their way, crackled and sparked, shedding their holy light upon them all alongside its echoing hum.

Velvet's hazel medallions darkened under the shroud of her swaying blackness strands, and her figure quaked with tight fists.

"Just like back then... the bird daemon... he tried to...!" The Therion's jaw was so tense, the very teeth clenched within felt moments from shattering. But, this gilded cage imposed upon the temple had failed to apprehend the devouring beast, and had instead bound one man to its unending confines.

"...Artorias!"

With the falling leaks of stone and wafting dust flaked from the embedded walls of this once pious chamber, did a figure shrouded in patches of soot struggle to rise. His coughs spluttered out, swatting away clouds of fine-powdered rubble with the pulsing pain of scraped skin. A passing arm flapped back the dirtied and torn tailcoat, and in a wave of trickling dirt did the man stand; palms harsh with a grip bound upon one weapon, and legs trembling from exertion.

Golden light sparked close to the risen back of this man, with the crossing webs of barring aureate string merely meters from the gilded crest emblazoned at his coat. With a shake of his worn tufts above, a weary scratch and rub of a single eye, parting only for the glint of violet to pass; Sarid Barloc grunted with a downtrodden stretch.

"...Shit..."

And before him stood: the ever powerful and incorrigible Shepherd, steel drawn to shine in front of the untouched, reverent throne. And Artorias Collbrande did not appear pleased by his intervention.

Here the half-breed stayed opposed, ensnared within an arcane cage and merely fastened with a shock collar meant for a beast that remained free. Sarid's face dropped to a grimace, attempting to wipe away the patch of crimson that fell over his injured left eye, rolling his neck for a few spry clicks before the man eventually turned his head minutely; the slight glance that could be managed capturing all the faces walled away from reach.

Laphicet's innocent green, encompassed by the shudders of fear, even as his tiny hands gripped the devil's black shredded jacket so tight.

The pompous Witch; Magilou seemed to even shed a look of surprise and disappointment, yet not exactly negative. With the signature fiendish smirk that arose soon after, it seemed this outcome wasn't in her cards.

Eizen's icy azure narrowed with knuckles clenched white, yet all he could do was pass a shake of his head with closed eyes.

Rokurou, the sharp lone ochre sorrowful for just a moment, wound into one of acceptance, the bloodthirst having dissipated into a grin - heavy and difficult - but nevertheless proud. He sent a small nod the Hunter's way.

All that remained, was Velvet Crowe. A calamitous lord of the future, a dreadful and murderous daemon, an all-devouring Therion. And yet, a loving sister. The monster that matched every single one of these descriptions, stood silent at the precipice of this shining coffin.

And this monster, was angry.

Pearls boiling nighly crimson glared betwixt still strands of sharp black; hazel dots burning through a raven's wing. Even she couldn't pinpoint the lone reason for the fire erupting within. Velvet Crowe, was an unreasonable daemon, after all.

So, Sarid could do nothing, but smirk, and leave a final 'wink' to flash through the webbed gate of gold.

Finally did he turn, expression fastened into one of stern sincerity as he stared down the figure - plunged half into darkness - who awaited the Hunter, shrouded with the Abbey's royal colours at the edge of this dire throne room. Artorias watched, longsword planted just within the marble below, jaw tight and eyes staring in dispassion. Sharp, and carrying iced dregs of dismay.

"What do you seek to gain from this?" His voice boomed throughout the chamber, like a speech addressed to all that watched in stupefied silence. All except, a particular Legate Elder, that gazed onwards with growing interest. "Protecting them, protecting her?"

The half-malak made no move, the rugged parting of his hair aside ruffled and askew. A small smirk grew upon his lips, feeling dry and sore with the empty taste of this barren air. The savage sting searing his nerves still panged from his left eye.

"Absolutely nothing."

Artorias's vacant irises began to glower. "So, you wish to die for the lives of selfish criminals, a world that despises your very existence: people you could never think to know?"

Sarid fully faced the esteemed Legate now, expression firm as the glamour of his star-crowned crest glinted in the brilliant torchlight. "I don't have to know you all," his grip fastened hard to the kunai remaining in his right. "I'll do it anyway."

The Shepherd's icy blues hardened further, narrowed almost to slits. This didn't make a lick of sense to the herald of Reason, how could it? "The family who's crest you so proudly bear, had battled this daemonic scourge for the people - for generations - and now, you seek to end the lives of innocents on a meaningless conquest; just as your father did." Artorias's lone hand twisted roughly upon his hilt, slow and steady, yet firm. "You are no Barloc."

Click, click...

"But that doesn't matter, does it...?" Sarid's steps began to echo across the marble, boots clacking out his own march while the faded tailcoat behind swayed. His fists were tight, and the mild limp immediately steadied into a saunter of upmost confidence. "It's not about me, or you, or them, or whatever lies you spat on my father's name. It's about following your own damn path, to hell with what someone else thinks!" He stopped, the edge of crumbled ground and remnants reached, the closest he could get to the Shepherd for even a chance of victory. The half-malak's face was dark, isolated violet low as it sunk to the fractures beneath.

"I want to know that my life was worth something..."

His jaw slammed tight; a deep breath filling out abused lungs. Hostile pearl zeroed in, narrowed with its dark lavender, unhesitatingly poised upon this dangerous sight. His hand pulled up the necklace wound about his neck, a lingering familiarity humming from its silver. He balled it close, one final exhale to flow out as he glared down the unflinching Artorias.

"I'm Sarid Barloc, of the Barloc family; dynasty of daemon-hunters -- monster-slayers. And, dying, has never frightened me."

Silence. The air was still, almost as if the great Savior himself took in no breath.

"...Well then, 'Barloc'..."

Artorias's palm clenched the pommel rigid, and pushed the embedded blade to a sudden tilt.

WHOOSH!

And with a vibrant glint of the celestial insignia aloft the throne, the surrounding area encased by this gilded cage had its edges twisted into a revolving hurricane; ripping up the loosed debris below into a violent twirl around. The very wind roared, bellowing from inside the ensnaring arte as it whisked behind the two opposing figures within.

The bewitched translucent fingers of the manipulated element raced past, pulling at their attire and bringing hair to a whipping speed. Even as Sarid felt the friction beneath his boots loosen, he did not risk stumbling, glaring harsh at the unmoving Shepherd before the throne.

"Your father could never best me, do you think you can?"

A hand fell, tracing the belt tight upon his waist. Three kunai remain, one in his grip. With a sigh, the half-malak tore one free nestled at its sheathe, flicking it to a twirl about the knuckles as he called upon the wind mana burrowed deep one last time. They adhered, a verdant mirage overcoming a dagger's steel with its hue and stringing outwards, bridging the gap and bringing the same hue to the paired knife's hilt. He wrapped the great vine about his forearm, extending the potential reach before he pulled hard, stretching the roping wind taut and staring down the Shepherd at the opposite end of this volatile chamber.

"Probably not. But let's just give this one last go..."

Artorias glared back, ripping the longsword from its gouged resting place as the ferocious gales ruffled his brilliant robes.

"Shall we?"