Aftermath: The Weak Die
The front being held by the Phoenix Guard was a bloody mess to be put lightly. A felscape hell of retreat and terror. The Legion crashed in with their demons before proper defenses could be established. Cleaving through the ranks all they could do was fall back with each demonic advance.
Zanarian’s Green eyes darted over the field. As their front line crumbled the Crushers moved on clearing room for their war machines. Praetorians and Faithbreakers took command of the assault shouting out orders and delighting in the havoc.
“Those shields won’t last much longer, they are going to charge up this hill, and if they don’t that cannon fire will” Running his hand over his face he shook his head. Against his better judgement he had stayed back to defend the healers. Two of his favored among the cabal and a contingent of Light users.
“Enough of this, If someone doesn’t help they’ll be over run. I am not waiting for them to upon us. I think it’s time for a snack.” Sliding off the rock he was perched on he walked over to Mara. A warm smile on his face. “The price is paid my Seer, so long as your heart beats I will keep going.” Leaning down he slid his thumb over her ear before giving her a kiss. First her lips then her forehead. Moving on he marched over the other illidari.
Claws wrapping around the back of Vilesun’s neck Zanarian knit his fingers into his friends hair. Holding his forehead against the ink binder he nodded. Felseared eyes boring into the other man. “Whatever happens, you know my orders.”
“I won’t disappoint Overseer.”
Releasing the man Zanarain nodded a second time. “See that you don’t, when this over gather who you can, we’ll have a party like we’ve never seen.” The joke never seemed to let him down and he smiled at his humour.
Turning to the field he charged down the hill his foot fall became heavy. Each step wider, each landing with more force. Blackened scales spread across his arms as spikes began to reach out from under his armor. By the time he slammed into the first demon he had finished the transformation.
Biting into his first target his draconic jaw clamped down hard on the fel lord. Closing on its neck he wrenched the flesh from the demon and with a spray of blood they hit the ground. Where one now struggled to breath the other was looking for his next meal.
In a battle he never had to wait long. The infernal let out a shriek as the construct greeted him. The lumbering machines were slow. Zanarian had more than enough time to dodge its ‘arm’ and capitalize on the strike. Claws aimed forward he pierced its vulnerable spot. The armor was weak below the chest. It was all too easy to grab onto its core. Pulling back he dislodged the molten center of the beast. With a second shriek it came undone and fell to pieces on the ground. He always liked the taste of Infernal, and with a delightful crunch he devoured the treat.
With the way open his real target was in sight. The Fel Cannons. Each war machine was pointed at a different location. Some near the healers, some at the front, and another at the casters.
The battalion of magi rained spells of all schools on the demons. This of course gathered their ire and as the cannons all changed to put an end to that threat.
With the force of the freshly consumed infernal Zanarian crashed into one of the cannons shattering it in his wrath. Tail flinging out he choked the operator before throwing him like a rag doll at the second cannon. He lived for this, and lept at the next one. In the midst of his wholesale slaughter he barely noticed the darkening of the sky, but the searing smell of fel-ionized air was a give away.
In a battle against the forces of the Legion the unexpected had to be prepared for, and when Baal’s forces marched on the Dawnspire there would be no difference. What was the point of a stable front line when facing aerial superiority.
The cry to look above rang out almost too late. In a rain of fire the green meteors shattered the clouds With a cataclysmic slam the sphere of stone and fel crashed into the ground. The final moments were here and Baal’s elite guard had arrived. Just as soon as the craft had obliterated the earth beneath it the behemoth inside surged outwards. Double edged spear swinging in wild arcs melting away the lines of casters.
Runes on the monster’s glave shimmered as he sent frost, flames, and lightning back at their casters. Sweeping the spells from the sky he advanced further into their back line.
Giving off a deeply satisfied roar the demon pierced another magi. Hefting their body up on the tip of his halberd he smiled as the weakened mage squirmed. “Your magic won't save you now wurm.” Plated hands clamping down on his target he dragged him forward on the spear until the reddened spike erupted from his back. “Pathetic”
Tossing the corpse aside the Praetorian was only able to react just quick enough. Slicing through a bolt of frozen fel flame he turned on his next targets. A pair of Suncasters one with hair like flowing honey, the other a raven’s quill. “Is that the best the Dawnspire can muster!” To end the sentence he sliced the second volley. Clearly the Dawnwards weren’t keen on talking. Eager to meet the Felravens the demon lept at them.
Glave held high in the air he was on them in an instant. With a cackling howl the Praetorian slashed at the pair. His spear stopped short and he was furious that instead of a clean cut and tattered cloth his blow was halted.
It wasn’t in Zanarian’s nature to protect people. There were only two types of people, the strong and the weak. If you couldn’t protect yourself you were weak, if you were weak you died…
At least that's what he always told himself, but he broke that rule often. Curling his arm he did the best he could to met the slash with his shoulder. Metal met demonic armor with a loud ring.
Dirt ground up over his feet as Zanarian was punished back with the blow. The sound of cracking scales filled the air followed by a wet thud the Praetorian was stopped in his tracks.
Blood flooding his mouth Zanarian coughed up the red fluid. His trio if eyes fell down on the fel steal of the spear.
It was strange to see a weapon sticking out of your stomach. The blazing hot sensation of split skin, the piercing ache of cracked bones, and the sense of what felt like frozen metal drinking in your blood. Though, to his surprise it didn’t hurt. Stumbling in shock Zanarian struggled to keep standing.
The Praetorian recovered far more quickly and went to free his blade from the lizard that clung to it. With a grunt he yanked his hand back, but to his dismay the Illidari insect refused to let go.
Biting down on his inner jaw Zanarian dug his feet further into the dirt. Wrapping his tail around the Praetorian’s arm his white knuckles held fast to the blade. Blood flowing from his mouth he gave a toothy smile. “The~ fuck you think your going~”
Dragging the spear deeper into his gut he knew the plan already. The taste of frozen air was one he had become well acquainted with, even missed it. As the ice began to race along the blade's edge it froze his tail in place around the Praetorian’s arm. The thought that neither would escape what came next was his only solace.
The worst of the ice didn’t touch him. Lovete’s magic merely helped to cement them in place. She was always kind to him, but for the praetorian there was a more sinister result of the freezing. His armor, his flesh, and no doubt his blood all ran cold.
From his dealings with her Zanarian knew that Melanei wasn’t exactly one for mercy… or restraint. With a score to settle with them both the heat of fel was only inevitable.
Sure enough the air began to crack as it was suddenly sparked ablaze.The bright green was a welcome sign, maybe she would calm down after venting this out.
An Inferno that could probably rival the core of Argus met the iced surface of an instant glacier. The result was a shattering blast that shredded the pair caught in the attack. Thrown to the ground in the violent reaction Zanarian had no idea what happened to his rival demon. No doubt he was in worse shape. As his armor was replaced with burnt skin he would have laughed at the situation if he could manage anything but ragged breaths. Darkness creeping into the edges of his vision his charred head slid to his left. Where he expected to see his arm he found the singed look of what appeared to be his legs.
Before the black took him he pursed his dry lips. “Fffff….”
….if you were weak you died…
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