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WHO: Roy Fokker, Agrias Oaks, Setsuna
WHERE: Mundane Sector, Paris
WHEN: 2/3/07 - 2/5/07
WHAT: Agrias and Roy go demon-chasing. The result is bloody.
Paris
Paris is a city with something new to offer around every corner: monuments, architecture, historic avenues, parks and gardens... Paris is famed throughout the world for the beauty and variety of its monuments. Towers, churches, palaces, archways, bridges or fountains an extraordinary collection of landmarks that transports us back in time. Of course, Paris wouldnt be Paris without the Eiffel Tower, the Arc de Triomphe, Notre Dame or Sacr Coeur. And each evening a special magic takes over the city when all these splendid constructions are illuminated! A sense of romance along the Pont Neuf, a shiver in the catacombs or an exotic mood at the Mosque: Paris is also a mix of atmospheres and cultures. From the must-see to the more unusual, all these monuments relate two thousand years of the capitals history.
Sightseeing in Paris is like plunging into ancient history: remains of the old Roman Lutetia, grand medieval abbeys, gothic masterpieces, classical architecture, collections from Napoleonic times, perspectives defined by Haussmann. A remarkable density of artistic and cultural treasures to choose from at each visit! 180 museums and monuments for your enjoyment: discover internationally-renowned collections of paintings, sculpture and decorative arts, go in search of iconic emblems, symbols of the influence of an era, take inspiration from a wealth of contemporary heritage - all this makes Paris a capital of the arts, both past and present.
This is not called the City of Lights and Romance for nothing, after all!
Contents:
Agrias Oaks
Roy Fokker
Night over Paris brings out its nickname, and illustrates the beauty of the City of Lights. Cafes, sidewalks, glimmering lanes illuminated by beautiful lanterns on posts, and vibrant, verdant gardens... it's almost too much to take in.
Fortunately, there's plenty to look at, and it's always easy to lose oneself in the greenery. The City of Lights could just as easily pass for the City of the Green. Greenways, parks, gardens, and stands of trees seem to lurk at every corner; even in the dark, they're no less beautiful. They lend some much-needed colour to the old city.
Arm in arm with Roy Fokker, Agrias Oaks can't help but stare like a tourist as they wander down the Champs Elysees. Aptly named, the most beautiful street in the world is just as beautiful by night. Lights from the cafes and clubs mingle with the lanterns of the street. It's late into the night, and there' still some activity.
Agrias herself wears clothing fitting to a winter night in Paris. She wears a nice dress, as befitting a night on the town, though she wears a heavy coat over that. Perched at a rakish angle over her hair is a black beret, some of her bangs sticking out a bit. She's laughing, limping arm in arm with the Veritech pilot, chatting pleasantly about something or other.
Roy is dressed not quite as casually. He's actually caught a little off-guard at Agrias wearing a dress (even if the tunic + leggings gives the apperance of a dress). Commander Fokker wraps his hand over hers, the suit and tie that he wears covered by his overcoat.
They do seem to be having a wonderful evening together. Dinner, now a stroll. "I was thinking perhaps we could go dancing soon." the Veritech Commander comments to his fiancee. "Unless you are uncomfortable with dancing in public?" he asks, smiling playfully.
...she only makes the city more beautiful, he realizes. "Anyway, I haven't heard anything new on the Christina and Bernie front. I want to keep a blind eye to it - but if it starts to affect the Sheep, then I may have to step in." Roy shakes his head, lowering it a bit. "It's a damn shame at that. He seemed like a good kid. Just on the wrong side."
Paris may be beautiful, but it is an old city: one paved in old blood. The site of any number of violent revolutions, there is an aura of ancient death laid beneath the paving stones. Such things will attract certain entities, as surely as corpses attract carrion birds.
The evening turns cold, the gentle chill gaining a razor's edge. A familiar sensation crawls its sick grasp through the air: the feeling muted, but nonetheless redolent of death. It is the air that sinks into a place once one who has killed enters into it: causing life in all forms to shudder and shrink away.
Moonlight silvers along the unusual white hair of the one at the epicenter of this sensation, who walks in the opposite direction as the pair: just come quietly from off some side street. It reflects generously from the long white greatcoat slung about his shoulders. His long bangs, fortunately, hide the less-easily explained eyes: and they remain hidden up until the stranger passes the knight and the pilot, shoulder-to-shoulder with them.
At that, his gaze tilts upwards, and his eyes meet Agrias's. They are just as she remembers them. Completely unnatural, completely silver, save for the soft red glow that subsumes his pupils: welling up to cover the black like blood from a wound. The gleam is a special gesture, just for her. He remembers you, Knight.
A smile, a wink as if sharing some secret; and then his lashes flick downwards again, veiling his eyes away for an instant. When they lift again the red is gone, purely silver eyes focused forwards; and he moves on past with a quickness incongruous to his lazy, gliding bearing.
He fades away swiftly into the shadows stacked between the buildings, the thick darkness kind to him despite his white clothing. His malevolent aura he takes with him: the sickening sensation wrapping up neatly in his wake. Like a living thing, it moves on to other haunts: its presence still felt keenly, but elsewhere, as a distant thing.
Now... you could pass by on the other side of the road: or you could follow him into the shadows. Your choice.
The Holy Knight hardly seems her title, in elegant winter wear, walking the streets of Paris arm in arm with her fiancee. Tonight, she plays the part of a woman, and not a soldier. It's a part she plays gladly, grateful to hang up her sword for the night and to forget her duties... however temporarily.
"I would not mind." Agrias gives a small smile, though she does notice the approachng cold, pulling a little more securely into her coat and scarf. "I was required to learn, working among nobility and royalty... I was never permitted to join, of course, but I know nonetheless. I have had little opportunity to practise what I know, though... I would be honoured to dance with you. Perhaps in the moonlight again," she adds, voice playful. "Here? We could..."
Indeed, a passing stranger makes her forget all of that forgetfulness; all that pleasantry.
She stops, cold in her tracks.
Oh, yes. She saw you, demon.
"He's here." Her voice is chilled, almost haunted. She points towards the alley Setsuna retreats into, allowing herself a shiver as that feeling rolls up and follows after Setsuna. "The demon, the one that put me in the hospital. He just went into that alley. There."
"Roy..."
Not realizing that Agrias was stopping, Roy is caught off-guard by the sudden pause. He had written off the sudden burst of cold as a wind, or a sudden drop in pressure from a front. The Veritech pilot pauses as he sees the man passing by. Oh hey, it's a pretty boy.
Or worse. As Agrias explains to Roy exactly what it is that person is, the pilot's hand's and then his body tighten, the heckles growing on the back of his neck - not much unlike a dog preparing to protect it's mistress from attack. "...it is, huh?" the pilot says, frowning as he looks towards where Setsuna retreated to.
They can't just let him get away, can they? Roy's hand squeezes around Agrias's as he lets go. "I don't have the Veritech here, but I did come packing - did you bring your sword, beloved?" Roy asks, looking down the street towards the Cathedrals of Notre Dame. Why couldn't you have gone that way, freak?
"...and do you think we should follow?"
Her own posture seems to tighten. Even under the heavy coat, it's clear that she's tensed up, one gloved hand reaching for a sword that isn't there.
"No. It's in the hotel..." Her mouth feels dry, suddenly, and too clumsy to form any words. Faintly, she's aware that her hands are trembling. The fear lasts for only a moment, though, before she shakes it off. It's quickly replaced with that conditioned anger... more than conditioned, considering what happened the last time she met this particular demon. She swallows, a convulsion of her dry throat. Stupid. She should have taken her sword with her.
If the pilot's hackles are standing up, the knight must be positively quivering with rage. She's trained to destroy these things. She faced this one and it nearly killed her, instead. It has the blood of several lives on its hands. There's a blood of debt owed, as far as she's concerned, and not the sort that she once owed to Roy.
"We have to stop him," she snarls, taking another step forward. She stares at the alley like the eagle that's just spotted the hare. "We should follow, aye. He may not attack some place like this. A crowded city... but..."
"...it's a trap." Roy says. It's obvious. It got their attention and then headed down into a dark corner. "I used to do the same. Tag a battlepod, and make the rest follow me to ground that I can handle better."
"So. Here's the game plan." Pulling away from his fiancee, the pilot offers a smile. "Go get your sword. I'll go keep demon busy." Wait, that's the plan? Yes. That is exactly the plan. Kissing his wife on the cheek, he grins. "I'll be waiting. Love you."
And with that, he unbuttons his overcoat and starts towards the alley. This is crazy, you know that, Roy? Yes, yes, you do. But at the same time - if Agrias is right, and only her blade can harm it, then Roy needs to give her time to find a way to get her weapon or some weapon and come back.
Yes, Agrias, you're marrying a nut.
The alley opens up before the pilot gladly, like a pliant corpse on the slab. The same miasma of death certainly radiates from it: the same life-killing sterility that is so desired in morgues... and so horrifying here. The light of the moon is cut off by the tall buildings, managing only to illuminate the upper reaches of the area: its rays stop far above the depths of the alley, where they are most needed.
The demon is visible almost immediately despite that: perched lightly on a low stack of boxes, legs crossed. His attitude is almost peaceful, his posture drenched with passivity. There is an almost philosophical bent about him, couched in the way he watches the clouds and patiently waits.
Nothing about his outward appearance suggests the demonic, or even the fantastic: no horns, no fangs, no aura of fire. In fact, what little light there is is gracious to him, reflecting from his silver hair and white overcoat in such a way that he seems graced with a corona... afforded an appearance deceptively beatific. Nothing hints as to his true nature but that vaguely unsettling feeling: a subtle and omnipresent sense of unease that sinks deep into the chest.
At the sound of steps in the alley entrance, his left arm-- the one farther from the pilot-- dips to his side: reaching down to rest with a near-paternal air on something on the floor at his side. Whatever it is, it is hidden completely from sight... but soon enough, it is identified by the soft sobs that issue forth in the wake of his movement. A girl is on the far side of that stack of crates, her trembling head laid against the demon's leg, and by some stroke of serendipity she is yet alive.
His hand strokes along the side of her head, a gentle but firm pressure pinning her absently in place. His head turns slightly, the line of his jaw laid bare as he leans down towards the girl, and he murmurs something to her in a demonic tongue: the harsh language seemingly all sibilants and consonants. The words brand her ear: she twitches, and stills. He stops his sentence with a dark chuckle rather than a period, and straightens back up.
Setsuna smiles to himself. His gaze has not moved from the sky, but his awareness of his new company is keen. "I wasn't expecting an audience tonight," he eventually comments, his tone mild, and he taps a light and whimsical fingertip against his little 'companion's' temple. "Much less one that comes alone..."
"Right." She returns the kiss, hasty enough to miss. For once, she's not going to argue. He might buy them just enough time to destroy the creature, as far as she's concerned. Agrias stops in her tracks, kicking off her shoes and grabbing both, sprinting flat-footed towards the hotel.
By the time she comes back, she's changed her clothing completely. The evening dress was exchanged for familiar tunic and leggings, armour for the coat that held back the cold wind. Over her arm is buckled that familiar shield, silver tree bright against its dark blue background. Her sword is out, flashing moonlight against the bright steel. The beret is gone; she wears no helm.
By the time she skids into the alley, boots skiffing against crushed gravel, her face is set into a mask, those golden eyes bright.
"Roy... I came... fast as... I could," she pants. She's breathless, having run all the way. She's limping heavily by the time she arrives, staggering against a wall, eyes casting about for the creature.
She freezes at the sound of the sob, the sight of the girl, and then the demon's admission of an audience alone.
"Nae," she snarls, levelling the sword. Those eyes are blazing, righteous fury in the flesh. "He does nae come alone. Let tha' lass gae 'fore Ah finish tha' job Ah started," she growls. "Dae i' nae."
Just inside the alleyway, Roy loses that pretense of unfallable courage that he showed his fiancee. This is a holding action, and is meant to buy Agrias Oaks enough time to get to her weaponry and come back to support him. As his feet crunch against the cobblestone and trash, the Veritech Commander feels a driness form in the back of his throat - a lump of fear that is damn near impossible to swallow down. How long would she be? What can he do to keep the demon busy?
At first, Fokker does nothing, not even thinking. It takes him a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, each step slow, and steadying. This is more for his benefit than anything else.
Slowly he rolls his head to the left and right, taking in the situation. From the man standing in the middle of the alley.. to the view of the girl, possibly a magnate's daughter, more likely a prostitute.
Straightening himself to face Setsuna fully, Commander Roy Fokker starts forward a few more feet in a slow, yet delberate pace - much like a condemned man walking the last mile. No, no, keep that thought out of your head. She'll be here. Have faith, Roy.
Looking back up.. and then slightly down to meet Setsuna's upturned face, Roy tries to keep the anger and rage that he feels out of his expression. He'd love to tear this jerk to pieces for what he did to Agrias, but how? Well, we all have to start somewhere. "...Commander Roy Fokker, IPA. You're under arrest for the attack of Dame Agrias Oaks." he finally says, with as much strength as he can muster.
"Now, let the girl go, and we'll.. chat - all normal like." Yeah, right. Roy's hands rest in his pockets, making no overt movement yet. He's seeing what the situation is.. and then Agrias returns to his side, just in time.
Hmn. Not alone after all. He might have expected that that woman-- that Knight-- would not be so quick to let him go.
Confronted with two demands that he release the girl, his gaze drops. His head dips slightly, bangs swaying down before his silver eyes. His hand leaves the bound girl-- she's not going anywhere-- and in response to the declaration of his arrest... the demon laughs. It is a sick sound, subvocal, kept in the back of the throat: a wicked chuckle that sets claws right into the instinct-governing back of the brain.
"How droll."
The girl's frightened sobs escalate into the terrified bleat of a human scared right back into her most animal instincts. Roy's first guess was the correct one; she's a well-dressed girl, soft and smooth-skinned as only the well-cared for can be. Young. Maybe sixteen. She's probably never been out of the city, much less in these... dire straits. She was supposed to be home two hours ago. The worried voice mails are starting to pile up in her cell, and her parents are minutes away from calling the police.
Unknowing and uncaring, Setsuna uncoils suddenly from his sitting position with unnatural swiftness: picking the girl up in a single clean movement. His right arm slips down to vice about her waist, the other pinning her left shoulder, and he jerks her up off the ground with her back laid full against his chest: his mouth against her ear.
Lovingly, affectionately, as one would fondle a dog, Setsuna palms the girl's jaw in his left hand: his stroking fingertips smearing blood across her face. Where did that blood come from? Neither demon nor girl show any signs of cuts...
"I wish I could say your kind are interesting..." His gaze flicks downwards to the girl, and an expression of complete hatred guts his mock affection. His hand closes like a vice, and a snap heralds the effortless crumple of her jaw in his grasp. "But you're all the same. Nothing but posturing and false faces." A harsh touch smears makeup already runny with tears. "Disappointing, sometimes."
His hand shifts to collar her throat, and he pushes the corpse from his body: holding her aloft one-handed with a look of utter disgust. And then he throws the body clear at the knight and the pilot with a snarl, with enough force that it will shred messily on the pavement should it not be caught.
Agrias starts forward, plate pauldrons gleaming faintly in the moonlight and reflections of the city's lanterns and lights. Only her face seems untouched, shadowed beneath her long bangs. Her eyes, however, catch that light, anger.
When she hears the snap of bone, there's a mindless roar of fury. If there had been any chance of negotiation, it's gone, now.
Fortunately, she seems to come to her senses, forcing down that blind rage to whatever corner it had been lurking in. She doesn't joke when she claims she hates demonkind... particularly when confronted with such shining examples as this.
The Holy Knight snarls as she tightens her grip on her sword, the leather of her gauntlets creaking in protest to such pressure.
There's no point in playing around, this time, and little need to test the beast. She already knows its capabilties. On the other hand, there's no chance for blind rushes this time. even if her first temptation is to rush forward in a blind rage. No... she can't do that, this time. It landed her in the hospital for a week last time.
"I find your kind repulsive," the knight says, with effort. It's taking everything within her not to lunge forward. She does take a step or two, though, putting herself between the demon and Roy. "And I wish to destroy every last one of them. I will enjoy killing you and seeing the ichor leak from your lifeless corpse," she hisses. "I will pay back every life you have taken, with interest."
Roy was just starting to move as well, when he hears the snapping of bones as well. He hears Agrias's roar next to him, but his mind automatically pushes it aside. He's been in too many battles in the past to join in the cry of battle. However, just a little too late he yells, "No--!" But it is way too late.
The body of the girl is flung through the air, and the corpse, 90 or so pounds of dead weight, slams into Fokker sidelong. He gets pushed backwards, falling backwards with the corpse - which gives Agrias a chance to charge ahead, much to the Commander's chagrin.
One glance at the lifeless eyes of the girl tells Roy that there is nothing that he can do for her. This fight changes direction immediately as the knight, his Holy Knight, starts her attack.
Setting the body to the side, Roy rises slowly to his feet, looking down at the dark red blotches of blood that cover his hands. His eyes narrow dangerously as he moves to join the battle - the alley is too small. Too tight. Too crowded. It doesn't work for the type of battle either of them are used to, and Roy knows it.
"We have to draw him back, Agrias." Roy hisses. "We're on his turf and it won't work! /Think/."
Silence. The demon regards the raging knight with cold silver eyes: reading into every last twitch of her expression. Yes, a potent hatred. Almost as strong as his hatred for life. But simple hate is not enough.
"Do you really think you can kill me?" He reaches back calmly back to the crate, picking up his sword with a stained hand. "Do you know the rite to lock me back in Hell? I don't think so..."
His glance strays past her, then. It notices the way she steps in front of Roy. And as his gaze falls on the pilot, the silver of his eyes bleeds into a very virulent red: the last nail in the coffin for any thought that this demon might not be an actual creature from Hell.
...second to last, anyway, given the wailing, multi-voiced scream of torment that his black sword emits as it is unsheathed: the forceful motion ripping the blade from the scabbard.
"Nothing to stop me from claiming -his- body, if you manage to kill this one..."
This is not strictly true. But Setsuna is the last creature to be concerned with the telling of lies.
Fortunately, the pilot's caution seems to bring some measure of levity back to the knight. Faced with some voice of reason, however distant, she manages to halt herself from rushing headlong into battle. Such manoeuvres would be foolish, tonight. She's seen what Setsuna can do. In fact, something occurs to her...
"Tell me, hell-spawn. Do you have a name?" Her question is delivered with a sneer, and this time, she's sunken into that cold and calculating rage, pushing the blind fury back and away from her. "Surely I would love the pleasure of cursing something when I wipe you off the face of the multiverse."
What's a name among adversaries, eh?
She goes quiet, almost looking pained at the voices of the sword. Her grip on her own blade tightens, the leather hilt and blade almost laughably plain pitted against Setsuna's elegantly evil blade. It carries with it a secret, though. The blade isn't without its own secrets, though. Steel and leather are both blessed, annointed with oil and spoken over by priests of the Glabados Church. She may no longer be with them, but the words are power, and their effects remain.
The plain sword catches the moonlight, however momentarily, and seems to flare with its own white light. It dies down fast enough... but it doesn't seem to fade completely.
"You will take his body over my own corpse." Agrias' words are flat. Those golden eyes bore into the demon; the very height of fury. She doesn't break away, keeping her gaze locked on Setsuna. "And I promise you, if you kill me, I will make certain to take you with me."
Her grip tightens again, leather creaking almost imperceptibly.
"You are right." This she adds to Roy, very soft, as quietly as she can without losing her voice. "But how do you propose he will leave this hell-lair of his? Mm?"
"I'm sure she can kick your ass..." Roy starts to say, just as Setsuna decides to draw his black sword. The screams of the damned pierce his ears - a canphony of voices of the blood that sword as tasted - and it's almost too much for the Veritech pilot to take.
He can't hear fully what Setsuna just suggested to Agrias, but judging by the woman's reaction, it's most likely not something that Roy Fokker really /wants/ to know. The problem still exists though. Setsuna is playing them into his hands - they can only attack him one at a time here.
But finally, Agrias seems to be coming back around. The pilot considers for a moment, trying to gather his own thoughts over the cries of the damaned. But, his hand touches on the object in his pocket. "..."
"Duck." the pilot says simply, as he raises the object from his pocket. It's small, compact and black. Almost like a pistol. But instead of a projectile, there are two small prongs on the end of it.
And this is one of the times that Roy is blessed to be at least a foot taller than his betrothed. Firing the weapon, the two prongs launch out towards Setsuna - looking rather harmless..
... the 10,000 volts of electricity they carry, on the other hand..
The edges of Setsuna's eyes twitch slightly at the sight of the sword: and again, when that white light sparks off the blade. For an instant the red glow of his gaze dims: but as the white light fades, it flares anew. And it is angry, judging by the way it intensifies: especially when his eyes slit.
"I have many names," he replies her quietly. "Names in every corner of the world, and more in the circles of Hell. Were you from my own world, I would tell you that you already know my name; it would be written in your scripture and cursed in your faith."
He tilts his head. "But you are not. To you, I am nothing but a messenger."
His blade angles offensively. He seems almost ready to lunge. And that forward energy is perhaps what makes him unprepared to evade the pilot as Roy suddenly shows his fangs in a quick assault.
The electric force is daunting even to something as inhuman as the Messenger from Afar. He is driven back a step with a cry of surprise, folding convulsively to one knee, and for a satisfying few moments that punishing electricity does its work: carving burns along what little of his skin is exposed.
One hand to the ground, he laughs and spits blood. "Heh... so you can bite after all. But..."
He levers himself up with his blade, a dark electricity beginning to crawl across his skin. Slowly, beneath its cold ministrations, the external damage done begins to smooth over. "I am -made- of that."
A further surge of his demonic energy manifests with a crack as black lightning. It purls down his blade, trailing behind it in a black sheet as he lunges directly for the both of them: his weapon swiping diagonally upwards in a blurring uppercut.
"Aye, so you're one of those, with names whispered on a fell breeze at every turn, lurking in the dark hearts of darker men." Even caught up as she is in words, she's quick to follow the pilot's command, throwing herself forward into a roll, planting her shield to the ground to catch the weight.
She raises herself up with a grunt when Setsuna shakes off the attack. Dusting herself off, she marches forward, resolute; an unstoppable force.
Unstoppable, anyway, until she's too slow in blocking the blade. The blackened sword cuts a swift line through her arm, ripping through tunic, tendon, muscle, and lodging in bone. Her sword clatters to the ground from nerveless fingers. Agrias draws back with a scream, wrenching her arm away and lashing out blindly with her own sword. Blood runs fast, seeping through her tunic, sticky and warm in the cold air.
Her hand shakes as she retrieves her sword, backing up towards Roy. She moves to shield him again, seemingly heedless of the fact that she's bleeding. She's past caring. Her only thought is to keep him defended... she knows what this creature can do.
"You are made of darkness, and sin." The words are spat as though a curse. She shifts her weight, eyeing Setsuna balefully. "I will seek to sever that, and restore some order. It's the least I can do in my duty. I will destroy you," she hisses. "Utterly. I will leave not even /ash/."
When the electrical burst ends, Roy discharges the first cartridge, which lands on the ground with a clatter. As he fumbles to get the second loaded he hears the sickening crunch of the sword biting into Agrias. For once, he says nothing. He just reacts, almost on automatic pilot. As she backs against him, the Veritech pilot sets.
And then shoves the taser into Agrias's hand. "...overload it, should be enough to fry him." the pilot says. And then...
As if completing a dance, Roy twists, moving Agrias behind him and imposing himself between the knight and the demon. You want him, Setsuna - here it is, a free shot.
Blood hits the ground, and Setsuna feels the jolt of the hilt that means he's struck bone. Tearing through the resistance it presents, he rips his blade free with a snarl.
That horrible aura of his, previously kept quietly folded-- a subconscious thrum-- unfurls, a mixture of killing hatred and terror soaking the night air. He advances on the knight, and the crawling vines on the sides of the buildings wither and crumple. The alley empties of life, even the flying insects eschewing the area, and what does not manage to escape in time blackens into husks. There is little amusement left in him: now, there is only a dire, murderous seriousness.
That shot hurt.
"Die." The word is both a hiss and a growl; and his only response to Agrias's brave words. His eyes slit, the virulent hatred in his red gaze blazing beneath lowered lashes, and he slashes out with a diagonal blow from left shoulder to right hip: a stroke meant to open up her body like a purse.
Except suddenly, the target of his blade has changed.
The taser slips at first, Agrias' gauntlet slick with blood where the weapon lands. Her fingers tighten almost convulsively around it, though, and she staggers back with it in a firm grip. She's too slow to block Roy from passing in front of her, and she can only watch in horror as the black iron aims straight for her fiancee.
Before she's even aware of what she's doing, she husks an incantation, hands shaking as she tries to aim the taser and find its firing mechanism.
The lines whip out towards Setsuna again, but it's different this time. Instead of a silent bolt of electricity, the lines suddenly blaze into life, white lightning crackling around the heads of the taser's tiny fangs. Should they hit, it's definitely going to sting. Charged with its own energy, the lines are nearly overloaded with electricity; holy in a slightly less pure form, mingled with electricity and further mingled with the innate electricity of the technology.
Her throat works in another sound, almost strangled, fearful of the path she's watching that blade take. Regardless of whether or not the taser's blow lands, she staggers forward, lashing out with her sword. It's a desperate attempt to check the demon's blow, and stay the black iron from a lethal blow.
"/You will not take him from me/," she husks, though there's more fear than conviction. Checking the pilot aside with an armoured shoulder, she hunkers herself into a defensive position, raising her head and snarling. Some of her conviction returns to her, and hse raises her sword with a trembling arm, shoring up her shield on her arm. "I will not lose him. Not /him/. Not to you. Not to /your kind/!" The last words are a bellow, and she's lunging forward; not as quickly as before, but swift nonetheless.
The target indeed has changed. Such heroic nonsense, don't you know. He feels -- and tastes death coming upon him. And Commander Fokker does the only thing he really can in this instance.
Try to save the one that can save them both. He tries to push Agrias forward after twisting around - and the next feeling he has is the most pain that Commander Roy Fokker has felt in his years of existance.
The sword cleaves down Roy's back, the overcoat and jacket and shirt beneath it torn to shreds as the sword tastes the Veritech pilot's blood, casting down his back, parting the skin, fileting the muscle beneath it. As his blood flows freely, Roy pushes Agrias forward, towards the entrance of the alley. They can make it.. or they can fight.
Eyes wide, the Veritech pilot drops to his knees, stunned surprise overloading pain and fear at the moment. "..k-kick.." Roy starts to say, a splurt of red blood passing over his lips and staining Agrias's tunic. "...take him down."
And with that he falls to his knees as Agrias charges in.
The Blade of Eighty Days tastes blood: but at a cost. Extended as he is to complete that severing blow, he is unable to back away completely from the thrust of holy-charged lightning. He does his level best to, however: for in his sight, that lightning is unbearably bright and white-hot. He might be considerably less susceptible to holy artifacts than his lesser brethren, but the strength of faith and conviction can sometimes close the gap.
The damage caused by that blow-- even though it's not as direct as the first-- will not be as easily repaired. Stumbling back a few paces, he reels to a stop and braces: his stance widening as if to ground himself. A feral shake of his head to clear it, and his blade lifts to meet her inevitable assault. There is no time to finish Fokker: the downed pilot's fiancee is lunging for his throat.
But he is moving noticeably slower. The external burns may be quickly repaired, but the internal damage is more difficult to knit. The electricity has played hell with his reaction time, and as such he's barely able to block the knight's rage-fueled stroke. Her blade slides dangerously, and the edge bites deep into his shoulder before he can angle his own to stop it: catching it upon his stacked hilt.
"Loss is all your pathetic -human nature- amounts to!" he snarls: twisting his blade to deadlock it with hers. Despite the ravening hatred roiling in his red eyes and the strain of his twice-shocked body, he still finds breath enough to laugh in the face of her fear: a terror he helps along with his very presence. "It is all your free will buys you. Worthless choices! Meaningless sacrifices for meaningless principles. Futility, all of it: you all march to the same end, regardless."
There's a choked sound as she finds herself pushed away from the conflict, checked in the midst of her charge. Suddenly she's shoved forward again, just as the pilot crumples. She only catches it from the corner of her eyes, but that's enough for her.
Agrias Oaks sees red.
The Holy Knight is a sudden flurry of activity, heedless of the blood and the pain. Flung into a headlong counterstrike, she strikes quickly and often, taking no time to aim for vital areas. She only blocks wth her shield when the sword draws too close to her; otherwise, she only checks the blade if it's coming too close to a vital area. Tactics don't matter any longer. Nothing matters any more. She just wants to /hurt/ it. To /destroy/ it.
She doesn't notice the injuries she's accruing, either. Neither does she notice the slick, warm feeling of her own blood; or the fierce burn of the demon-sword's touch. All that matters is to beat this abomination until it stops twitching. To pound it until it stops becoming a demon and starts becoming something very dead and non-threatening.
Blades clash and part in silence, broken only by the grind of her boots against loose gravel.
She's screaming at him, throwing curses and insults at the demon in some foreign language. Whatever thing it is that her accent derives from, burred and twisted, heavy and ferocious. The same light shines in those golden eyes, murderous, a Holy Knight in high righteous fury and a woman scorned and afraid. Oh, yes. She makes no attempt to hide her fear. He's on the ground and he's bleeding, and she doesn't know if she's powerful enough to save them both.
Belatedly, some small corner of her mind notices she's crying. Agrias Oaks is actually afraid -- scared to death of losing the one thing she has in this world, and he's bleeding on the ground, and she's not certain how badly he was struck. Did that blade go all the way through? All she saw was blood on her tunic before he crumpled, blood in his mouth...
With a cry, she throws herself at the demon again, heedless of the blood. Like the lightning she had thrown into her sword, her attack is remorseless; desperate and blinding in its speed.
"And that is where you do not understand!" Her words are a bellow; as she sinks further into the battle, she seems to take heart, however little. Battle is a constant, for her. It's something she can always fall back into, where training is concerned. It's almost a comfort, if not for the tang of blood on the air and the knowledge of to whom it belongs. "It is our free will that defines us!"
White light lances down the blade; roaring, Agrias thrusts the sword forward, seeking to jam the blade through the demon's body wherever she can -- to the hilt, if the opportunity presents itself. Sweat beads on her brow; she's shaking openly at this point, her strikes unsteady. She's tiring, and that wound hurts like hell. It's lost a lot of blood from her already.
Should she be lucky enough to strike, the initial assault is quickly followed by a lance of holy energy. Torn free with an invocation and a cry, she throws everything she has left into the attack, if it does hit.
Staggering back, Agrias pants, spitting blood, herself. She seems dizzy and disoriented, but such is the price to call on something so pure and unsullied. Her own head shakes vigorously, as though to clear it. She hides behind her shield as she attempts to recover, before whirling towards the demon to face him again, throwing herself at him a second time. Her lunge is slow, though, and she staggers as she comes down.
There's nothing in those golden eyes but white-hot rage. Setsuna will burn in the righteous fires, if she has any say about it, and she won't stop until he's destroyed.
It takes Roy a while to reopen his eyes. It takes him even longer to realize that he's lying on his back. It takes even longer for him to realize he's been struck. But as he finally does, the spasms of pain that swept through his body are horrific and cause him to howl in pain. Where he was hit, how bad it was, how long he had been there, where Agrias is and many other questions that Fokker had would have to wait until the waves of pain that assault his mind subside.
Slowly, painfully slowly, Roy forced himself to drag in deep breaths, that sear his back with each moment. He ends up simply laying there, looking up into the night sky and waits. For Agrias, for Death, for deliverance. He's not sure which will get to him first. As he realizes what he really is waiting for, the thought takes root and he starts to listen and look about. From every direction, the alley echoes the sounds of battle, metal meeting metal or flesh, the sounds of thunder and a loud explosion. While this bothered him, he could hear his wife's distinctive voice and accent ringing through the alley.
Rolling his head to one side, and then the other, the pilot tries to start to assess his wounds. Though it was painful, the pain was starting to subside into a numbing throb - enough to remind him constantly that he has been struck, but not enough to stop him from continuing his slow exploration of the area from the ground. In the darkness, he can see liquid pooling around him - his own blood most likely. A look to the left revealed the girl that they had failed, her lifeless face thankfully turned away from the Veritech pilot, head bent at an unnatural angle.
Letting his head drop back down to the ground, Roy thought for a moment. Images of the last few seconds before he lost consciousness begin to tumble through his mind. The demon had struck him - he felt the taste of old copper in his mouth - blood. Agrias was still in the battle fully engaged with Setsuna at least - the sounds of their battle are very distinct.
That thought, however, triggered a new chain of thoughts. Roy's mind was still being racked with the occassional spasm of pain is still far from being fully functional. So each idea had to queue up behind another and wait to be dealth with in its turn. In this way Roy was able to piece together as clear a picture of their plight as possible. He and Agrias were still pinned in the alleyway. She was still engaged in battle. Now he was wounded, listening to the battle. It was these two thoughts that stuck in Roy's mind. Setsuna thinks he's dead - perhaps this could be used to his advantage.
Without any further need to consider the situation, Roy raised his head again and looked towards the battle, the two combatants illuminated in flashes of light from either the Demon or the Holy Knight, casting eerie shadows for a moment before vanishing again. For the first time since regaining conscuiousness, Roy began to. And though he was rewarded with pain for his efforts, Roy had a purpose now. And with that, he gets onto his stomach and starts to inch forward, shredded and wet overcoat clinging to him as he does so. He's got to get back to Agrias's side, one way or another.
The sanctified blade bites into him time and again, and the demon would be lying if he said it didn't hurt. Each wound smokes virulently with the sheer conflict of blessed steel and profaned flesh. Each wound takes far longer to knit. Setsuna's nameless demonic power is hard-pressed to simply overpower the blessings of the Glabados faith; for false though that church may be, there is some power yet at its core. A power which Agrias wields with enraged fury.
But there is one advantage he yet retains over her, and that is clarity of thought. Berserker rages are powerful to behold and difficult to meet head on: but the cold logic the demon yet possesses allows him to pointedly -avoid- that. His lighter, slimmer blade clashes against hers often, and then twists around it: its cold edge biting into her flesh again and again.
The power of her curses and her hatred is a near-tangible thing, smoking the air between Knight and demon with its fury. That, along with the naked fear in her face, only seems to feed the demon's hatred, spurring him onward: he was born amidst curses and fire, and no pale mortal imitation can phase him.
The only thing that -can- is that blade of hers: and soon enough, it finds its mark. Her thrust plunges home, sinking through the upper right side of his chest and clear through his shoulder. The blast of pure holy energy that follows makes a bloody ruin of his shoulder, and demon though he is he cannot help but cry out in pain. His head dips and sways drunkenly, his blade slack in his left hand: and then, with frightening tenacity, he forces a second wind, that black electricity twisting about him to lend him a sudden surge of strength. His head lifts, his grasp on his sword tightening, and he laughs as though taken leave of his senses. The howling, mocking sound is completely inhuman, a derisive sound ripped from Hell itself; it stands in stark contrast to the pure look of his attire, the brilliance of his silver hair. The line between angel and demon is fine indeed, delineated only by who has fallen and who has not.
"Yes, it defines you!" he replies, his snarled words limned with blood. Ripping himself off her blade-- likely doing even more damage in the act-- he lifts his own weapon to parry her weak follow-up strike: staring coldly at her through the crossed steel with the same callous carelessness a man would have inspecting an animal. "Whatever it was you believe created your kind gave you, -only- you, that gift..."
Hatred is there in his gaze: but despite his words, there is no spark of jealousy. This demon does not envy man his free will; he simply thinks it... sad that so many humans resort to using these same tired cliches as their crutches. "And you think, nearly to a man, that it distinguishes you. That it makes you masters of your own lives. When in truth... it is nothing but a distraction. Some illusion that you have more hand in your own fate than you truly do. The purpose of life is to end: nothing more. Free will is the anesthetic you're given to make that fact that much easier..."
Disgusted, he turns his head aside and spits blood. "Useless." His red gaze strays briefly to Roy, then, contempt lurid in his gaze for both pilot and knight, and a forceful shove of his blade aims to send the Knight stumbling back: out of his way. "His 'free will' put him there, my dear; and I will show you all it amounts to, in the end..."
Clawing his way to a dumpster, Roy pulls himself to his feet. "...Agrias!" he yells as he gets to his feet. "C-concentrate." he looks around, before turning and noticing something next to the dumpster. It's not much. Just a broken palet. It will have to do, unfortunately.
Leaning down because bending would cause too much pain, Roy rips one of the Two-By-Fours free, clutching it in his hands. "..you know what, you sorry bastard from hell.." he hisses, tasting the blood in his mouth.
"...it is free will that puts me here, too." Running forward -- wait, is Commander Fokker trying to commit suicide by charging Setsuna's sword? It's insane.. it's nuts.
And it's well practiced. Sidestepping at just the last moment outside of strike range as the Veritech pilot goes left, opposite of both Agrias and Setsuna's blade arm.
The reason for this is made clear as Roy heads into a Fokker's Feint and twists around behind Setsuna to strike at his back with the two by four. But really, the Commander knows he cannot do any damage. But if he buys Agrias Oaks a few precious seconds of time.
Words are beyond her at this point. The only thing left in her world is a searing rage. It nearly threatens to consume her, and to destroy the very purpose of that blade's wielding. She took up her sword for the sake of justice and to peace, but now it's threatened by this onslaught of hatred and blind rage. Such a rage against these creatures, however, always seems forgiveable in her mind after seeing the atrocities they commit.
The blade clashes against his, blessed steel screeching discordantly against the cursed blade. Sparks fly as Agrias lunges against the blow, throwing her weight against the stalled blow. She manages to check his strike even with the blood running in rivulets down her arm, though she's definitely weakening. Yet those golden eyes are alive; bright with hatred, bright with the will to keep fighting.
Willpower alone isn't enough to sustain a person, though.
"His free will put me here, and it put me here, but our free will... it will also end you." The Holy Knight's voice is a furious snarl. "I will end you on this blade, and see what is left of you burn into ash! Dinna ye think Ah will nae!"
And with that, she casts herself forward one more time. Seeking to lock blades, her own is too slick with blood to gain purchase, the age-notched edge skittering against the demon's. She doesn't have the strength to hold up against his assault, though, staggering back when he shoves against her blade. She slips against the gravel, going to one knee with a grunt of pain.
That's just in time to watch in utter astonishment as the pilot attempts to savage the demon with... a two-by-four.
Is he serious? Truly? Or is he just mad as a march-hare and suicidal into the bargain?
Still, she's not one to stand there and stare. He calls her to attack by giving her an opening, and she surges to her feet. One boot skitters uncertainly against the gravel, the sound of her breath and blood pounding harsh against her ears. She ignores them all. All that matters is to destroy this creature, this threat to her life and to Roy's. She will not tolerate losing him. She cannot.
Agrias lurches forward, willing herself to accelerate, taking one step after another. The holy blade glows again, silent white energy wrapping and enveloping around the blade, glimmering and casting her golden eyes and face into a light almost too brilliant to look at. Sweat runs down the side of her face in rivulets, muscle standing out in her neck. It's taking everything in her to charge this much into the blade.
"Die! Back tae white'er foul depths brocht ye faerth, an' may ye nae return!"
The battlecry is given at the same moment that Agrias lunges forward, seeking to drive the blade into Setsuna's torso, releasing the energy in a violent flare of dazzling, vivid light.
For a few brief seconds, everything in the alley is thrown into sharp-edged relief. The beaten knight, staggering forward against her own wounds. The battered Veritech pilot, raised up high with a nailed board ready to strike at the demon. The demon himself, bleeding and hissing, seeming to repel the very light in his malevolence.
The world is plunged back into darkness again, and a bass thunder rattles the very foundations of the buildings as the light ruptures. Whether or not it strikes, that's up to whatever gods granted her the power for such a display. She can only hope, as her world lurches violently underfoot.
Agrias drops her sword. She staggers forward a pace or two, before her knees buckle and the pavement rushes up to greet her.
The demon's blood splashes liberally to the ground from his ruined shoulder. It hits the pavement and boils: the unnatural ichor burning with a fierce and acidic intensity. The blazing blood scorches the very stone; one might imagine the effect it would have on the skin and flesh of a human, were they to fall in it.
The wood snaps against the demon's back. It smarts, but little more than that. His gaze twitches briefly towards the pilot, a snarl escaping him at the blow, but he does not face the man: doesn't even turn his head. "-You-... are irritating," he hisses, a longing to open Roy the rest of the way up lurid in his voice, but he cannot divert his attention from the knight long.
At this point, doing so would simply be fatal.
His black sword flashes in a parry as Agrias thrusts straight for his chest: but something about that holy force renders it impossible to fully resist. The blade carves a deep furrow out of his side, just beneath the chest, but that's not what truly deters him. It is the searing burst of light that does.
There is nothing human about the long howl of fury and hatred which that light tears out of the demon. Whatever it was, its effect was potent: and surprisingly so, to a demon who does not often find himself turned. It seems the multiverse yet holds surprises for him. This is one of them.
He backs away from both knight and pilot, leaning on his sword, hellish tones gnashing in his harsh voice as he curses in his own demonic language: spitting words older than civilization itself, in a voice still older yet. Presently the echoes of Hell die out of his voice, his language gearing back to a more earthly tongue, and his mouth twists in a cruel parody of a smile. Blood courses from the corner of it.
"Touching... but it nets you nothing. Typical. Now I would make an end of it..." But he looks more thoughtful than furious now, some dark and perverse consideration seated behind the red glow of his gaze. And he does not move to kill.
It's not quite as fun if she's not awake for it.
An annoyance that bought Agrias much needed seconds, that is. Roy glares at Setsuna as the demon falls back. The pilot moves quickly, despite the pain racing down his back as he slips his foot under the Holy Sword, kicking it upwards like a soccer ball and catches the hilt.
As he holds the blade as Agrias taught him, Roy steps backwards, leaning down to slip his arm under Agrias and hefts her up. "...this isn't over." he hisses. "But, you can flee now, or you'll see what I can do as well." Roy rumbles in a threatening tone.
Outside the alleyway, a new sensation enters the area as well. Blue lights, flickering on and off follow the noise of French Police sirens as the authorities start to arrive on the scene.
"Your choice, ugly." the pilot rumbles, huffing for breath.
Some of the demon's blood splashes against the arm that had already been cut, where Agrias falls. Yet the knight's either too weary or too far gone to notice the pain; the smell of corrosion and corruption. The ichor leaves a black burn along her skin, searing.
Enough of that, though, and she does notice. There's a growl as she scrabbles ineffectually against the pavement, slipping against her own blood and crashing back to the ground again. The threatening sound turns into a groan, almost a whimper. Make the pain stop, that's all she wants. Banish that taint. That shadow; the holy energies that still linger over her like a residue. It's like mixing oil and water. It burns without even doing anything.
Good to know that blow had some effect, though, even if releasing that much energy on a foreign plane almost killed her.
Agrias scrabbles to her elbows, casting a look of pure malevolence back up to the demon, though she looks too exhausted to look very threatening. Her fatigue does nothing to lessen the hatred, though. She might even say something if she had the presence of mind to dredge up words.
Slipping again, she lets herself fall this time, sinking back down with a groan. Only this time, an arm slips around her. Roy. The sensation almost brings a wild tide of relief -- so he's not dead. She had feared the worst when he'd fallen, and she had seen and heard nothing but her own rage past that point.
She coughs wetly, hacking and spitting something dark off to one side. The blood stains her lip, and she sags helplessly in the pilot's arm. Every fibre of her being wants to snatch that sword and chase after Setsuna. One last effort puts her on her feet, weight against her bad leg, and one last effort secures her blade from Roy. She balances precariously, sword slipping against a blood-slick gauntlet.
The Holy Knight props herself up, heedless of her tedious balance. "Go," she rasps, staggering back against the pilot. "Out... out of... of my sight. I... I'll finish... finish you. Don't... don't think I won't." She gives a wet, rasping laugh. "Don't think... I won't use the... last of my reserves... to do it."
The blue lights arrive, though, and she sags against Roy. It would be very good to just sleep right now, and ignore the pain gnawing at the entirety of her right arm. Part of her hopes it hasn't been lamed like her leg. It's her sword arm, and to suffer any permanent damage there would be debilitating.
"Sae... sae weel," she hisses, spitting another gobbet of blood. Her boot slips on blood-slicked cobbles as she tries to gain some kind of footing. "Git gang. Ye've... nae place... here."
Head slightly dipped, Setsuna regards Roy as the pilot picks up the sword. Beneath the shadow of his silver hair, the demon's red eyes are unwavering: their glow constant and unsettlingly lurid. For all the motion he evinces, Setsuna might as well be carved of stone.
His head tilts slowly as the two speak up, bravely making their threats. There is something almost coolly animal about the motion: a brutal cruelty to the callous look he gives both man and woman. In a way, it is almost... humoring. "So quickly children learn to boast," he laughs, and steps away: his progress slow, marked with blood, but passably certain.
He does not have the interest or the energy to orchestrate a massacre, and should he linger to meet the locals that -is- what things would come to.
The knight and pilot happen to block the only current way out of the cul-de-sac, and that direction will soon be swarming with police anyhow. But this is but a minor deterrence to one of demonic blood, especially armed with such a fell weapon as the Yasomagatsu Hinotachi. Without fanfare, Setsuna simply -makes- an exit with the blade of his weapon once he runs up against the dead end: one-handedly holing the very solid brick wall.
Here's hoping no one in that building was home.
Roy isn't exactly unwavering. He's been in much better situations than this one - then again, he's been in worse as well. Standing next to Agrias, the pilot may be afraid but he does not retreat or flinch. Instead he holds his ground even as Agrias's hand touches his back, she will find it warm and sticky with his blood.
And there is no way that they can go chasing after the demon. Roy's arm tightens on Agrias as she retakes her blade. He has been relieved for the moment. As Setsuna runs towards the backwall and pulls a Kool-Aid man impersonation rather poorly, the pilot can only hold his ground and keep Agrias from stupidly chasing after Setsuna. Because she totally will.
Setsuna tears into the building, causing it to collapse in on itself. Most of the lower floors of the building is occupied by shops - jewlery, a bakery, and a clothier. Items are scattered amongst the bricks and masonry dust - and the apartments above that are occupied could be a different story.
Roy hisses beneath his breath. "...going to get a beam saber for my bird. Then getting it blessed. Then I'm going to CLEAVE THAT SUMABITCH IN HALF."
Crushed mortar and fragments of brick rush out from the collapsed husk of a building, choking, turning the air a dusty red. The effect is almost eerie in the wake of the flashing blue lights, pools of blood on the ground catching and reflecting the light of the police cars.
The Holy Knight seems about to pursue, but all it takes is a light touch from the pilot. She knows she's down and beaten. She took out far more energy from herself than she ever should have, for such a wildly-aimed blow.
Worse yet, she could have missed completely and gotten both of them killed, or killed herself on the spot, with such a burst. As it is, she feels like she's been crushed in the fist of some Veritech or comparable machine. Everything hurts. Some things just hurt more than others.
Agrias staggers, blade slipping from blood-slicked gauntlets. If the pilot isn't quick enough to catch her, she slumps forward, collapsing onto the paving again. She struggles to rise, but she only ends up slipping in blood. She's not entirely certain whose it is -- hers, Roy's, Setsuna's. It doesn't burn, so that rules out the demon.
"Have to... stop it," she rasps, coughing up more blood. "Must... kill demon. Can't let... it..." She struggles, weakly, but the motion only serves for more of her blood to seep into her tunic. There's a groan, and she lies still. Just when it seems she may have fainted or worse, there's another cough, and she stirs. "Help... me."
Roy's arm moves to catch Agrias. This sudden movement to keep his fiancee from hitting the ground sends a shockwave of pain through his body which causes him to drop to his knees. "...we both need it." he hisses, arms wrapping around Agrias, pulling her wounded form into his lap as the police arrive.
"...Commander Fokker.." IPA.. RDF, no. "US Navy... we.. we need medical assistance, and fire units." the pilot says towards the bewildered officers, staring at the two bloodied blondes, the destroyed building, the sword.. wait, what sword?
The sword that Roy pilfered under his coat. The cops would not understand. They're only the French polizia, not Gate officers. "...bomb. There was an explosion.. we.. were hurt in the blast.. there's a young woman over there.." he murmurs, as he cradles Agrias's head in his lap. "My fiancee and I were walking by.. when the bomb went off..."
Wait a minute. She was holding her sword a moment ago. There's a brief spate of panic as Agrias tries to surge to her feet, eyes to the pavement, but the arms close around her and she's caught fast.
The first of the polizia to arrive takes in the tall pilot's words with an owlish blink, casting shrewd eyes to the blood and the red dust heavy on the air. He seems to consider a moment before waving his companions forward. While they search the area, he nods to Roy. As he addresses the pilot, a medic vaults from one of the cars, sprinting over to help. "We will call for an ambulance," he states, in heavily-accented English. "Help is on the way."
"We will see to the girl." The officer glances over one more time to assess the damage, and one can almost see the wheels in his head turning, searching for details. Type of explosive. Radius of explosion. Fatalities. Damage costs. Range of shrapnel. Where and how someone could have gotten ahold of such powerful munitions. "And we will see to the issue."
Rising and dusting off his coat, he turns and strides over to his fellows, while the medic -- a short little woman with dark hair and eyes -- rummages through her toolkit.
For her part, the Holy Knight stays silent, either in too much pain to speak, or aware of the delicate issue of natives and Gates. Instead, Agrias reaches up, taking Roy's hand in her own blood-soaked gauntlet, trembling. And though she doesn't say it, the relief is plain in her eyes. She thought he was dead.
Roy looks towards the medic and offers a weak smile. His usual tan has turned pale from the loss on blood as his fingers close over the gauntlet. "..I have called my ship to send medical units.." the Commander says, lowering his head as he uses his free hand to brush back Agrias' bangs. "They shall be here soon.."
And as he says that, a helicopter - looking much like a modern world SH-60 Sea Sergeant. As the blades whompf loudly, cutting through the noise and confusion of the attack as it lands and a medical flight team makes its way over to the knight and pilot with stetchers. "We'll take it from here." the head medic says, loading the two up on the stretchers and starting to attach medical diagnostics and applying pain relieving shots quickly.
============================== News Broadcasts ===============================
Message: 10/4 Posted Author
Explosion Levels Row of Buildings Mon Feb 05 The Associated Press
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Paris, France (AP) - Last evening, a massive explosion levelled a series of shops near the Arc de Triumph. At least five people were reported killed, including one Ashley Wilson, daughter of Wilson Meats Tycooon John Wilson who was in Paris for a wedding of a family friend.
Witnesses across from the shops described the scene as, "One moment we were all sitting around drinking wine and eating cheese and the next, chaos. A low rumble from deep inside the building, and then bang, every window and pane of glass is blown out along with body parts, paper, scraps of furniture, and huge yellow flames."
"Before we realize what's happening, the whole building comes tumbling down just like a house of cards. When we saw that, we all took off at a dead run towards the building, each of us praying that noone was hurt but knowing in our hearts that there was ... well, not much chance there of finding anyone alive."
Missing from the scene according to authorities is an American Naval Commander, going by the name of Fokker and his apparent fiancee. They were reportedly taken back to their ship, however, at this time French authorities still seek the two wounded Americans for further information.
(OOC Contacts: Roy Fokker, Agrias Oaks, Setsuna)
==============================================================================
WHERE: Mundane Sector, Paris
WHEN: 2/3/07 - 2/5/07
WHAT: Agrias and Roy go demon-chasing. The result is bloody.
Paris
Paris is a city with something new to offer around every corner: monuments, architecture, historic avenues, parks and gardens... Paris is famed throughout the world for the beauty and variety of its monuments. Towers, churches, palaces, archways, bridges or fountains an extraordinary collection of landmarks that transports us back in time. Of course, Paris wouldnt be Paris without the Eiffel Tower, the Arc de Triomphe, Notre Dame or Sacr Coeur. And each evening a special magic takes over the city when all these splendid constructions are illuminated! A sense of romance along the Pont Neuf, a shiver in the catacombs or an exotic mood at the Mosque: Paris is also a mix of atmospheres and cultures. From the must-see to the more unusual, all these monuments relate two thousand years of the capitals history.
Sightseeing in Paris is like plunging into ancient history: remains of the old Roman Lutetia, grand medieval abbeys, gothic masterpieces, classical architecture, collections from Napoleonic times, perspectives defined by Haussmann. A remarkable density of artistic and cultural treasures to choose from at each visit! 180 museums and monuments for your enjoyment: discover internationally-renowned collections of paintings, sculpture and decorative arts, go in search of iconic emblems, symbols of the influence of an era, take inspiration from a wealth of contemporary heritage - all this makes Paris a capital of the arts, both past and present.
This is not called the City of Lights and Romance for nothing, after all!
Contents:
Agrias Oaks
Roy Fokker
Night over Paris brings out its nickname, and illustrates the beauty of the City of Lights. Cafes, sidewalks, glimmering lanes illuminated by beautiful lanterns on posts, and vibrant, verdant gardens... it's almost too much to take in.
Fortunately, there's plenty to look at, and it's always easy to lose oneself in the greenery. The City of Lights could just as easily pass for the City of the Green. Greenways, parks, gardens, and stands of trees seem to lurk at every corner; even in the dark, they're no less beautiful. They lend some much-needed colour to the old city.
Arm in arm with Roy Fokker, Agrias Oaks can't help but stare like a tourist as they wander down the Champs Elysees. Aptly named, the most beautiful street in the world is just as beautiful by night. Lights from the cafes and clubs mingle with the lanterns of the street. It's late into the night, and there' still some activity.
Agrias herself wears clothing fitting to a winter night in Paris. She wears a nice dress, as befitting a night on the town, though she wears a heavy coat over that. Perched at a rakish angle over her hair is a black beret, some of her bangs sticking out a bit. She's laughing, limping arm in arm with the Veritech pilot, chatting pleasantly about something or other.
Roy is dressed not quite as casually. He's actually caught a little off-guard at Agrias wearing a dress (even if the tunic + leggings gives the apperance of a dress). Commander Fokker wraps his hand over hers, the suit and tie that he wears covered by his overcoat.
They do seem to be having a wonderful evening together. Dinner, now a stroll. "I was thinking perhaps we could go dancing soon." the Veritech Commander comments to his fiancee. "Unless you are uncomfortable with dancing in public?" he asks, smiling playfully.
...she only makes the city more beautiful, he realizes. "Anyway, I haven't heard anything new on the Christina and Bernie front. I want to keep a blind eye to it - but if it starts to affect the Sheep, then I may have to step in." Roy shakes his head, lowering it a bit. "It's a damn shame at that. He seemed like a good kid. Just on the wrong side."
Paris may be beautiful, but it is an old city: one paved in old blood. The site of any number of violent revolutions, there is an aura of ancient death laid beneath the paving stones. Such things will attract certain entities, as surely as corpses attract carrion birds.
The evening turns cold, the gentle chill gaining a razor's edge. A familiar sensation crawls its sick grasp through the air: the feeling muted, but nonetheless redolent of death. It is the air that sinks into a place once one who has killed enters into it: causing life in all forms to shudder and shrink away.
Moonlight silvers along the unusual white hair of the one at the epicenter of this sensation, who walks in the opposite direction as the pair: just come quietly from off some side street. It reflects generously from the long white greatcoat slung about his shoulders. His long bangs, fortunately, hide the less-easily explained eyes: and they remain hidden up until the stranger passes the knight and the pilot, shoulder-to-shoulder with them.
At that, his gaze tilts upwards, and his eyes meet Agrias's. They are just as she remembers them. Completely unnatural, completely silver, save for the soft red glow that subsumes his pupils: welling up to cover the black like blood from a wound. The gleam is a special gesture, just for her. He remembers you, Knight.
A smile, a wink as if sharing some secret; and then his lashes flick downwards again, veiling his eyes away for an instant. When they lift again the red is gone, purely silver eyes focused forwards; and he moves on past with a quickness incongruous to his lazy, gliding bearing.
He fades away swiftly into the shadows stacked between the buildings, the thick darkness kind to him despite his white clothing. His malevolent aura he takes with him: the sickening sensation wrapping up neatly in his wake. Like a living thing, it moves on to other haunts: its presence still felt keenly, but elsewhere, as a distant thing.
Now... you could pass by on the other side of the road: or you could follow him into the shadows. Your choice.
The Holy Knight hardly seems her title, in elegant winter wear, walking the streets of Paris arm in arm with her fiancee. Tonight, she plays the part of a woman, and not a soldier. It's a part she plays gladly, grateful to hang up her sword for the night and to forget her duties... however temporarily.
"I would not mind." Agrias gives a small smile, though she does notice the approachng cold, pulling a little more securely into her coat and scarf. "I was required to learn, working among nobility and royalty... I was never permitted to join, of course, but I know nonetheless. I have had little opportunity to practise what I know, though... I would be honoured to dance with you. Perhaps in the moonlight again," she adds, voice playful. "Here? We could..."
Indeed, a passing stranger makes her forget all of that forgetfulness; all that pleasantry.
She stops, cold in her tracks.
Oh, yes. She saw you, demon.
"He's here." Her voice is chilled, almost haunted. She points towards the alley Setsuna retreats into, allowing herself a shiver as that feeling rolls up and follows after Setsuna. "The demon, the one that put me in the hospital. He just went into that alley. There."
"Roy..."
Not realizing that Agrias was stopping, Roy is caught off-guard by the sudden pause. He had written off the sudden burst of cold as a wind, or a sudden drop in pressure from a front. The Veritech pilot pauses as he sees the man passing by. Oh hey, it's a pretty boy.
Or worse. As Agrias explains to Roy exactly what it is that person is, the pilot's hand's and then his body tighten, the heckles growing on the back of his neck - not much unlike a dog preparing to protect it's mistress from attack. "...it is, huh?" the pilot says, frowning as he looks towards where Setsuna retreated to.
They can't just let him get away, can they? Roy's hand squeezes around Agrias's as he lets go. "I don't have the Veritech here, but I did come packing - did you bring your sword, beloved?" Roy asks, looking down the street towards the Cathedrals of Notre Dame. Why couldn't you have gone that way, freak?
"...and do you think we should follow?"
Her own posture seems to tighten. Even under the heavy coat, it's clear that she's tensed up, one gloved hand reaching for a sword that isn't there.
"No. It's in the hotel..." Her mouth feels dry, suddenly, and too clumsy to form any words. Faintly, she's aware that her hands are trembling. The fear lasts for only a moment, though, before she shakes it off. It's quickly replaced with that conditioned anger... more than conditioned, considering what happened the last time she met this particular demon. She swallows, a convulsion of her dry throat. Stupid. She should have taken her sword with her.
If the pilot's hackles are standing up, the knight must be positively quivering with rage. She's trained to destroy these things. She faced this one and it nearly killed her, instead. It has the blood of several lives on its hands. There's a blood of debt owed, as far as she's concerned, and not the sort that she once owed to Roy.
"We have to stop him," she snarls, taking another step forward. She stares at the alley like the eagle that's just spotted the hare. "We should follow, aye. He may not attack some place like this. A crowded city... but..."
"...it's a trap." Roy says. It's obvious. It got their attention and then headed down into a dark corner. "I used to do the same. Tag a battlepod, and make the rest follow me to ground that I can handle better."
"So. Here's the game plan." Pulling away from his fiancee, the pilot offers a smile. "Go get your sword. I'll go keep demon busy." Wait, that's the plan? Yes. That is exactly the plan. Kissing his wife on the cheek, he grins. "I'll be waiting. Love you."
And with that, he unbuttons his overcoat and starts towards the alley. This is crazy, you know that, Roy? Yes, yes, you do. But at the same time - if Agrias is right, and only her blade can harm it, then Roy needs to give her time to find a way to get her weapon or some weapon and come back.
Yes, Agrias, you're marrying a nut.
The alley opens up before the pilot gladly, like a pliant corpse on the slab. The same miasma of death certainly radiates from it: the same life-killing sterility that is so desired in morgues... and so horrifying here. The light of the moon is cut off by the tall buildings, managing only to illuminate the upper reaches of the area: its rays stop far above the depths of the alley, where they are most needed.
The demon is visible almost immediately despite that: perched lightly on a low stack of boxes, legs crossed. His attitude is almost peaceful, his posture drenched with passivity. There is an almost philosophical bent about him, couched in the way he watches the clouds and patiently waits.
Nothing about his outward appearance suggests the demonic, or even the fantastic: no horns, no fangs, no aura of fire. In fact, what little light there is is gracious to him, reflecting from his silver hair and white overcoat in such a way that he seems graced with a corona... afforded an appearance deceptively beatific. Nothing hints as to his true nature but that vaguely unsettling feeling: a subtle and omnipresent sense of unease that sinks deep into the chest.
At the sound of steps in the alley entrance, his left arm-- the one farther from the pilot-- dips to his side: reaching down to rest with a near-paternal air on something on the floor at his side. Whatever it is, it is hidden completely from sight... but soon enough, it is identified by the soft sobs that issue forth in the wake of his movement. A girl is on the far side of that stack of crates, her trembling head laid against the demon's leg, and by some stroke of serendipity she is yet alive.
His hand strokes along the side of her head, a gentle but firm pressure pinning her absently in place. His head turns slightly, the line of his jaw laid bare as he leans down towards the girl, and he murmurs something to her in a demonic tongue: the harsh language seemingly all sibilants and consonants. The words brand her ear: she twitches, and stills. He stops his sentence with a dark chuckle rather than a period, and straightens back up.
Setsuna smiles to himself. His gaze has not moved from the sky, but his awareness of his new company is keen. "I wasn't expecting an audience tonight," he eventually comments, his tone mild, and he taps a light and whimsical fingertip against his little 'companion's' temple. "Much less one that comes alone..."
"Right." She returns the kiss, hasty enough to miss. For once, she's not going to argue. He might buy them just enough time to destroy the creature, as far as she's concerned. Agrias stops in her tracks, kicking off her shoes and grabbing both, sprinting flat-footed towards the hotel.
By the time she comes back, she's changed her clothing completely. The evening dress was exchanged for familiar tunic and leggings, armour for the coat that held back the cold wind. Over her arm is buckled that familiar shield, silver tree bright against its dark blue background. Her sword is out, flashing moonlight against the bright steel. The beret is gone; she wears no helm.
By the time she skids into the alley, boots skiffing against crushed gravel, her face is set into a mask, those golden eyes bright.
"Roy... I came... fast as... I could," she pants. She's breathless, having run all the way. She's limping heavily by the time she arrives, staggering against a wall, eyes casting about for the creature.
She freezes at the sound of the sob, the sight of the girl, and then the demon's admission of an audience alone.
"Nae," she snarls, levelling the sword. Those eyes are blazing, righteous fury in the flesh. "He does nae come alone. Let tha' lass gae 'fore Ah finish tha' job Ah started," she growls. "Dae i' nae."
Just inside the alleyway, Roy loses that pretense of unfallable courage that he showed his fiancee. This is a holding action, and is meant to buy Agrias Oaks enough time to get to her weaponry and come back to support him. As his feet crunch against the cobblestone and trash, the Veritech Commander feels a driness form in the back of his throat - a lump of fear that is damn near impossible to swallow down. How long would she be? What can he do to keep the demon busy?
At first, Fokker does nothing, not even thinking. It takes him a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, each step slow, and steadying. This is more for his benefit than anything else.
Slowly he rolls his head to the left and right, taking in the situation. From the man standing in the middle of the alley.. to the view of the girl, possibly a magnate's daughter, more likely a prostitute.
Straightening himself to face Setsuna fully, Commander Roy Fokker starts forward a few more feet in a slow, yet delberate pace - much like a condemned man walking the last mile. No, no, keep that thought out of your head. She'll be here. Have faith, Roy.
Looking back up.. and then slightly down to meet Setsuna's upturned face, Roy tries to keep the anger and rage that he feels out of his expression. He'd love to tear this jerk to pieces for what he did to Agrias, but how? Well, we all have to start somewhere. "...Commander Roy Fokker, IPA. You're under arrest for the attack of Dame Agrias Oaks." he finally says, with as much strength as he can muster.
"Now, let the girl go, and we'll.. chat - all normal like." Yeah, right. Roy's hands rest in his pockets, making no overt movement yet. He's seeing what the situation is.. and then Agrias returns to his side, just in time.
Hmn. Not alone after all. He might have expected that that woman-- that Knight-- would not be so quick to let him go.
Confronted with two demands that he release the girl, his gaze drops. His head dips slightly, bangs swaying down before his silver eyes. His hand leaves the bound girl-- she's not going anywhere-- and in response to the declaration of his arrest... the demon laughs. It is a sick sound, subvocal, kept in the back of the throat: a wicked chuckle that sets claws right into the instinct-governing back of the brain.
"How droll."
The girl's frightened sobs escalate into the terrified bleat of a human scared right back into her most animal instincts. Roy's first guess was the correct one; she's a well-dressed girl, soft and smooth-skinned as only the well-cared for can be. Young. Maybe sixteen. She's probably never been out of the city, much less in these... dire straits. She was supposed to be home two hours ago. The worried voice mails are starting to pile up in her cell, and her parents are minutes away from calling the police.
Unknowing and uncaring, Setsuna uncoils suddenly from his sitting position with unnatural swiftness: picking the girl up in a single clean movement. His right arm slips down to vice about her waist, the other pinning her left shoulder, and he jerks her up off the ground with her back laid full against his chest: his mouth against her ear.
Lovingly, affectionately, as one would fondle a dog, Setsuna palms the girl's jaw in his left hand: his stroking fingertips smearing blood across her face. Where did that blood come from? Neither demon nor girl show any signs of cuts...
"I wish I could say your kind are interesting..." His gaze flicks downwards to the girl, and an expression of complete hatred guts his mock affection. His hand closes like a vice, and a snap heralds the effortless crumple of her jaw in his grasp. "But you're all the same. Nothing but posturing and false faces." A harsh touch smears makeup already runny with tears. "Disappointing, sometimes."
His hand shifts to collar her throat, and he pushes the corpse from his body: holding her aloft one-handed with a look of utter disgust. And then he throws the body clear at the knight and the pilot with a snarl, with enough force that it will shred messily on the pavement should it not be caught.
Agrias starts forward, plate pauldrons gleaming faintly in the moonlight and reflections of the city's lanterns and lights. Only her face seems untouched, shadowed beneath her long bangs. Her eyes, however, catch that light, anger.
When she hears the snap of bone, there's a mindless roar of fury. If there had been any chance of negotiation, it's gone, now.
Fortunately, she seems to come to her senses, forcing down that blind rage to whatever corner it had been lurking in. She doesn't joke when she claims she hates demonkind... particularly when confronted with such shining examples as this.
The Holy Knight snarls as she tightens her grip on her sword, the leather of her gauntlets creaking in protest to such pressure.
There's no point in playing around, this time, and little need to test the beast. She already knows its capabilties. On the other hand, there's no chance for blind rushes this time. even if her first temptation is to rush forward in a blind rage. No... she can't do that, this time. It landed her in the hospital for a week last time.
"I find your kind repulsive," the knight says, with effort. It's taking everything within her not to lunge forward. She does take a step or two, though, putting herself between the demon and Roy. "And I wish to destroy every last one of them. I will enjoy killing you and seeing the ichor leak from your lifeless corpse," she hisses. "I will pay back every life you have taken, with interest."
Roy was just starting to move as well, when he hears the snapping of bones as well. He hears Agrias's roar next to him, but his mind automatically pushes it aside. He's been in too many battles in the past to join in the cry of battle. However, just a little too late he yells, "No--!" But it is way too late.
The body of the girl is flung through the air, and the corpse, 90 or so pounds of dead weight, slams into Fokker sidelong. He gets pushed backwards, falling backwards with the corpse - which gives Agrias a chance to charge ahead, much to the Commander's chagrin.
One glance at the lifeless eyes of the girl tells Roy that there is nothing that he can do for her. This fight changes direction immediately as the knight, his Holy Knight, starts her attack.
Setting the body to the side, Roy rises slowly to his feet, looking down at the dark red blotches of blood that cover his hands. His eyes narrow dangerously as he moves to join the battle - the alley is too small. Too tight. Too crowded. It doesn't work for the type of battle either of them are used to, and Roy knows it.
"We have to draw him back, Agrias." Roy hisses. "We're on his turf and it won't work! /Think/."
Silence. The demon regards the raging knight with cold silver eyes: reading into every last twitch of her expression. Yes, a potent hatred. Almost as strong as his hatred for life. But simple hate is not enough.
"Do you really think you can kill me?" He reaches back calmly back to the crate, picking up his sword with a stained hand. "Do you know the rite to lock me back in Hell? I don't think so..."
His glance strays past her, then. It notices the way she steps in front of Roy. And as his gaze falls on the pilot, the silver of his eyes bleeds into a very virulent red: the last nail in the coffin for any thought that this demon might not be an actual creature from Hell.
...second to last, anyway, given the wailing, multi-voiced scream of torment that his black sword emits as it is unsheathed: the forceful motion ripping the blade from the scabbard.
"Nothing to stop me from claiming -his- body, if you manage to kill this one..."
This is not strictly true. But Setsuna is the last creature to be concerned with the telling of lies.
Fortunately, the pilot's caution seems to bring some measure of levity back to the knight. Faced with some voice of reason, however distant, she manages to halt herself from rushing headlong into battle. Such manoeuvres would be foolish, tonight. She's seen what Setsuna can do. In fact, something occurs to her...
"Tell me, hell-spawn. Do you have a name?" Her question is delivered with a sneer, and this time, she's sunken into that cold and calculating rage, pushing the blind fury back and away from her. "Surely I would love the pleasure of cursing something when I wipe you off the face of the multiverse."
What's a name among adversaries, eh?
She goes quiet, almost looking pained at the voices of the sword. Her grip on her own blade tightens, the leather hilt and blade almost laughably plain pitted against Setsuna's elegantly evil blade. It carries with it a secret, though. The blade isn't without its own secrets, though. Steel and leather are both blessed, annointed with oil and spoken over by priests of the Glabados Church. She may no longer be with them, but the words are power, and their effects remain.
The plain sword catches the moonlight, however momentarily, and seems to flare with its own white light. It dies down fast enough... but it doesn't seem to fade completely.
"You will take his body over my own corpse." Agrias' words are flat. Those golden eyes bore into the demon; the very height of fury. She doesn't break away, keeping her gaze locked on Setsuna. "And I promise you, if you kill me, I will make certain to take you with me."
Her grip tightens again, leather creaking almost imperceptibly.
"You are right." This she adds to Roy, very soft, as quietly as she can without losing her voice. "But how do you propose he will leave this hell-lair of his? Mm?"
"I'm sure she can kick your ass..." Roy starts to say, just as Setsuna decides to draw his black sword. The screams of the damned pierce his ears - a canphony of voices of the blood that sword as tasted - and it's almost too much for the Veritech pilot to take.
He can't hear fully what Setsuna just suggested to Agrias, but judging by the woman's reaction, it's most likely not something that Roy Fokker really /wants/ to know. The problem still exists though. Setsuna is playing them into his hands - they can only attack him one at a time here.
But finally, Agrias seems to be coming back around. The pilot considers for a moment, trying to gather his own thoughts over the cries of the damaned. But, his hand touches on the object in his pocket. "..."
"Duck." the pilot says simply, as he raises the object from his pocket. It's small, compact and black. Almost like a pistol. But instead of a projectile, there are two small prongs on the end of it.
And this is one of the times that Roy is blessed to be at least a foot taller than his betrothed. Firing the weapon, the two prongs launch out towards Setsuna - looking rather harmless..
... the 10,000 volts of electricity they carry, on the other hand..
The edges of Setsuna's eyes twitch slightly at the sight of the sword: and again, when that white light sparks off the blade. For an instant the red glow of his gaze dims: but as the white light fades, it flares anew. And it is angry, judging by the way it intensifies: especially when his eyes slit.
"I have many names," he replies her quietly. "Names in every corner of the world, and more in the circles of Hell. Were you from my own world, I would tell you that you already know my name; it would be written in your scripture and cursed in your faith."
He tilts his head. "But you are not. To you, I am nothing but a messenger."
His blade angles offensively. He seems almost ready to lunge. And that forward energy is perhaps what makes him unprepared to evade the pilot as Roy suddenly shows his fangs in a quick assault.
The electric force is daunting even to something as inhuman as the Messenger from Afar. He is driven back a step with a cry of surprise, folding convulsively to one knee, and for a satisfying few moments that punishing electricity does its work: carving burns along what little of his skin is exposed.
One hand to the ground, he laughs and spits blood. "Heh... so you can bite after all. But..."
He levers himself up with his blade, a dark electricity beginning to crawl across his skin. Slowly, beneath its cold ministrations, the external damage done begins to smooth over. "I am -made- of that."
A further surge of his demonic energy manifests with a crack as black lightning. It purls down his blade, trailing behind it in a black sheet as he lunges directly for the both of them: his weapon swiping diagonally upwards in a blurring uppercut.
"Aye, so you're one of those, with names whispered on a fell breeze at every turn, lurking in the dark hearts of darker men." Even caught up as she is in words, she's quick to follow the pilot's command, throwing herself forward into a roll, planting her shield to the ground to catch the weight.
She raises herself up with a grunt when Setsuna shakes off the attack. Dusting herself off, she marches forward, resolute; an unstoppable force.
Unstoppable, anyway, until she's too slow in blocking the blade. The blackened sword cuts a swift line through her arm, ripping through tunic, tendon, muscle, and lodging in bone. Her sword clatters to the ground from nerveless fingers. Agrias draws back with a scream, wrenching her arm away and lashing out blindly with her own sword. Blood runs fast, seeping through her tunic, sticky and warm in the cold air.
Her hand shakes as she retrieves her sword, backing up towards Roy. She moves to shield him again, seemingly heedless of the fact that she's bleeding. She's past caring. Her only thought is to keep him defended... she knows what this creature can do.
"You are made of darkness, and sin." The words are spat as though a curse. She shifts her weight, eyeing Setsuna balefully. "I will seek to sever that, and restore some order. It's the least I can do in my duty. I will destroy you," she hisses. "Utterly. I will leave not even /ash/."
When the electrical burst ends, Roy discharges the first cartridge, which lands on the ground with a clatter. As he fumbles to get the second loaded he hears the sickening crunch of the sword biting into Agrias. For once, he says nothing. He just reacts, almost on automatic pilot. As she backs against him, the Veritech pilot sets.
And then shoves the taser into Agrias's hand. "...overload it, should be enough to fry him." the pilot says. And then...
As if completing a dance, Roy twists, moving Agrias behind him and imposing himself between the knight and the demon. You want him, Setsuna - here it is, a free shot.
Blood hits the ground, and Setsuna feels the jolt of the hilt that means he's struck bone. Tearing through the resistance it presents, he rips his blade free with a snarl.
That horrible aura of his, previously kept quietly folded-- a subconscious thrum-- unfurls, a mixture of killing hatred and terror soaking the night air. He advances on the knight, and the crawling vines on the sides of the buildings wither and crumple. The alley empties of life, even the flying insects eschewing the area, and what does not manage to escape in time blackens into husks. There is little amusement left in him: now, there is only a dire, murderous seriousness.
That shot hurt.
"Die." The word is both a hiss and a growl; and his only response to Agrias's brave words. His eyes slit, the virulent hatred in his red gaze blazing beneath lowered lashes, and he slashes out with a diagonal blow from left shoulder to right hip: a stroke meant to open up her body like a purse.
Except suddenly, the target of his blade has changed.
The taser slips at first, Agrias' gauntlet slick with blood where the weapon lands. Her fingers tighten almost convulsively around it, though, and she staggers back with it in a firm grip. She's too slow to block Roy from passing in front of her, and she can only watch in horror as the black iron aims straight for her fiancee.
Before she's even aware of what she's doing, she husks an incantation, hands shaking as she tries to aim the taser and find its firing mechanism.
The lines whip out towards Setsuna again, but it's different this time. Instead of a silent bolt of electricity, the lines suddenly blaze into life, white lightning crackling around the heads of the taser's tiny fangs. Should they hit, it's definitely going to sting. Charged with its own energy, the lines are nearly overloaded with electricity; holy in a slightly less pure form, mingled with electricity and further mingled with the innate electricity of the technology.
Her throat works in another sound, almost strangled, fearful of the path she's watching that blade take. Regardless of whether or not the taser's blow lands, she staggers forward, lashing out with her sword. It's a desperate attempt to check the demon's blow, and stay the black iron from a lethal blow.
"/You will not take him from me/," she husks, though there's more fear than conviction. Checking the pilot aside with an armoured shoulder, she hunkers herself into a defensive position, raising her head and snarling. Some of her conviction returns to her, and hse raises her sword with a trembling arm, shoring up her shield on her arm. "I will not lose him. Not /him/. Not to you. Not to /your kind/!" The last words are a bellow, and she's lunging forward; not as quickly as before, but swift nonetheless.
The target indeed has changed. Such heroic nonsense, don't you know. He feels -- and tastes death coming upon him. And Commander Fokker does the only thing he really can in this instance.
Try to save the one that can save them both. He tries to push Agrias forward after twisting around - and the next feeling he has is the most pain that Commander Roy Fokker has felt in his years of existance.
The sword cleaves down Roy's back, the overcoat and jacket and shirt beneath it torn to shreds as the sword tastes the Veritech pilot's blood, casting down his back, parting the skin, fileting the muscle beneath it. As his blood flows freely, Roy pushes Agrias forward, towards the entrance of the alley. They can make it.. or they can fight.
Eyes wide, the Veritech pilot drops to his knees, stunned surprise overloading pain and fear at the moment. "..k-kick.." Roy starts to say, a splurt of red blood passing over his lips and staining Agrias's tunic. "...take him down."
And with that he falls to his knees as Agrias charges in.
The Blade of Eighty Days tastes blood: but at a cost. Extended as he is to complete that severing blow, he is unable to back away completely from the thrust of holy-charged lightning. He does his level best to, however: for in his sight, that lightning is unbearably bright and white-hot. He might be considerably less susceptible to holy artifacts than his lesser brethren, but the strength of faith and conviction can sometimes close the gap.
The damage caused by that blow-- even though it's not as direct as the first-- will not be as easily repaired. Stumbling back a few paces, he reels to a stop and braces: his stance widening as if to ground himself. A feral shake of his head to clear it, and his blade lifts to meet her inevitable assault. There is no time to finish Fokker: the downed pilot's fiancee is lunging for his throat.
But he is moving noticeably slower. The external burns may be quickly repaired, but the internal damage is more difficult to knit. The electricity has played hell with his reaction time, and as such he's barely able to block the knight's rage-fueled stroke. Her blade slides dangerously, and the edge bites deep into his shoulder before he can angle his own to stop it: catching it upon his stacked hilt.
"Loss is all your pathetic -human nature- amounts to!" he snarls: twisting his blade to deadlock it with hers. Despite the ravening hatred roiling in his red eyes and the strain of his twice-shocked body, he still finds breath enough to laugh in the face of her fear: a terror he helps along with his very presence. "It is all your free will buys you. Worthless choices! Meaningless sacrifices for meaningless principles. Futility, all of it: you all march to the same end, regardless."
There's a choked sound as she finds herself pushed away from the conflict, checked in the midst of her charge. Suddenly she's shoved forward again, just as the pilot crumples. She only catches it from the corner of her eyes, but that's enough for her.
Agrias Oaks sees red.
The Holy Knight is a sudden flurry of activity, heedless of the blood and the pain. Flung into a headlong counterstrike, she strikes quickly and often, taking no time to aim for vital areas. She only blocks wth her shield when the sword draws too close to her; otherwise, she only checks the blade if it's coming too close to a vital area. Tactics don't matter any longer. Nothing matters any more. She just wants to /hurt/ it. To /destroy/ it.
She doesn't notice the injuries she's accruing, either. Neither does she notice the slick, warm feeling of her own blood; or the fierce burn of the demon-sword's touch. All that matters is to beat this abomination until it stops twitching. To pound it until it stops becoming a demon and starts becoming something very dead and non-threatening.
Blades clash and part in silence, broken only by the grind of her boots against loose gravel.
She's screaming at him, throwing curses and insults at the demon in some foreign language. Whatever thing it is that her accent derives from, burred and twisted, heavy and ferocious. The same light shines in those golden eyes, murderous, a Holy Knight in high righteous fury and a woman scorned and afraid. Oh, yes. She makes no attempt to hide her fear. He's on the ground and he's bleeding, and she doesn't know if she's powerful enough to save them both.
Belatedly, some small corner of her mind notices she's crying. Agrias Oaks is actually afraid -- scared to death of losing the one thing she has in this world, and he's bleeding on the ground, and she's not certain how badly he was struck. Did that blade go all the way through? All she saw was blood on her tunic before he crumpled, blood in his mouth...
With a cry, she throws herself at the demon again, heedless of the blood. Like the lightning she had thrown into her sword, her attack is remorseless; desperate and blinding in its speed.
"And that is where you do not understand!" Her words are a bellow; as she sinks further into the battle, she seems to take heart, however little. Battle is a constant, for her. It's something she can always fall back into, where training is concerned. It's almost a comfort, if not for the tang of blood on the air and the knowledge of to whom it belongs. "It is our free will that defines us!"
White light lances down the blade; roaring, Agrias thrusts the sword forward, seeking to jam the blade through the demon's body wherever she can -- to the hilt, if the opportunity presents itself. Sweat beads on her brow; she's shaking openly at this point, her strikes unsteady. She's tiring, and that wound hurts like hell. It's lost a lot of blood from her already.
Should she be lucky enough to strike, the initial assault is quickly followed by a lance of holy energy. Torn free with an invocation and a cry, she throws everything she has left into the attack, if it does hit.
Staggering back, Agrias pants, spitting blood, herself. She seems dizzy and disoriented, but such is the price to call on something so pure and unsullied. Her own head shakes vigorously, as though to clear it. She hides behind her shield as she attempts to recover, before whirling towards the demon to face him again, throwing herself at him a second time. Her lunge is slow, though, and she staggers as she comes down.
There's nothing in those golden eyes but white-hot rage. Setsuna will burn in the righteous fires, if she has any say about it, and she won't stop until he's destroyed.
It takes Roy a while to reopen his eyes. It takes him even longer to realize that he's lying on his back. It takes even longer for him to realize he's been struck. But as he finally does, the spasms of pain that swept through his body are horrific and cause him to howl in pain. Where he was hit, how bad it was, how long he had been there, where Agrias is and many other questions that Fokker had would have to wait until the waves of pain that assault his mind subside.
Slowly, painfully slowly, Roy forced himself to drag in deep breaths, that sear his back with each moment. He ends up simply laying there, looking up into the night sky and waits. For Agrias, for Death, for deliverance. He's not sure which will get to him first. As he realizes what he really is waiting for, the thought takes root and he starts to listen and look about. From every direction, the alley echoes the sounds of battle, metal meeting metal or flesh, the sounds of thunder and a loud explosion. While this bothered him, he could hear his wife's distinctive voice and accent ringing through the alley.
Rolling his head to one side, and then the other, the pilot tries to start to assess his wounds. Though it was painful, the pain was starting to subside into a numbing throb - enough to remind him constantly that he has been struck, but not enough to stop him from continuing his slow exploration of the area from the ground. In the darkness, he can see liquid pooling around him - his own blood most likely. A look to the left revealed the girl that they had failed, her lifeless face thankfully turned away from the Veritech pilot, head bent at an unnatural angle.
Letting his head drop back down to the ground, Roy thought for a moment. Images of the last few seconds before he lost consciousness begin to tumble through his mind. The demon had struck him - he felt the taste of old copper in his mouth - blood. Agrias was still in the battle fully engaged with Setsuna at least - the sounds of their battle are very distinct.
That thought, however, triggered a new chain of thoughts. Roy's mind was still being racked with the occassional spasm of pain is still far from being fully functional. So each idea had to queue up behind another and wait to be dealth with in its turn. In this way Roy was able to piece together as clear a picture of their plight as possible. He and Agrias were still pinned in the alleyway. She was still engaged in battle. Now he was wounded, listening to the battle. It was these two thoughts that stuck in Roy's mind. Setsuna thinks he's dead - perhaps this could be used to his advantage.
Without any further need to consider the situation, Roy raised his head again and looked towards the battle, the two combatants illuminated in flashes of light from either the Demon or the Holy Knight, casting eerie shadows for a moment before vanishing again. For the first time since regaining conscuiousness, Roy began to. And though he was rewarded with pain for his efforts, Roy had a purpose now. And with that, he gets onto his stomach and starts to inch forward, shredded and wet overcoat clinging to him as he does so. He's got to get back to Agrias's side, one way or another.
The sanctified blade bites into him time and again, and the demon would be lying if he said it didn't hurt. Each wound smokes virulently with the sheer conflict of blessed steel and profaned flesh. Each wound takes far longer to knit. Setsuna's nameless demonic power is hard-pressed to simply overpower the blessings of the Glabados faith; for false though that church may be, there is some power yet at its core. A power which Agrias wields with enraged fury.
But there is one advantage he yet retains over her, and that is clarity of thought. Berserker rages are powerful to behold and difficult to meet head on: but the cold logic the demon yet possesses allows him to pointedly -avoid- that. His lighter, slimmer blade clashes against hers often, and then twists around it: its cold edge biting into her flesh again and again.
The power of her curses and her hatred is a near-tangible thing, smoking the air between Knight and demon with its fury. That, along with the naked fear in her face, only seems to feed the demon's hatred, spurring him onward: he was born amidst curses and fire, and no pale mortal imitation can phase him.
The only thing that -can- is that blade of hers: and soon enough, it finds its mark. Her thrust plunges home, sinking through the upper right side of his chest and clear through his shoulder. The blast of pure holy energy that follows makes a bloody ruin of his shoulder, and demon though he is he cannot help but cry out in pain. His head dips and sways drunkenly, his blade slack in his left hand: and then, with frightening tenacity, he forces a second wind, that black electricity twisting about him to lend him a sudden surge of strength. His head lifts, his grasp on his sword tightening, and he laughs as though taken leave of his senses. The howling, mocking sound is completely inhuman, a derisive sound ripped from Hell itself; it stands in stark contrast to the pure look of his attire, the brilliance of his silver hair. The line between angel and demon is fine indeed, delineated only by who has fallen and who has not.
"Yes, it defines you!" he replies, his snarled words limned with blood. Ripping himself off her blade-- likely doing even more damage in the act-- he lifts his own weapon to parry her weak follow-up strike: staring coldly at her through the crossed steel with the same callous carelessness a man would have inspecting an animal. "Whatever it was you believe created your kind gave you, -only- you, that gift..."
Hatred is there in his gaze: but despite his words, there is no spark of jealousy. This demon does not envy man his free will; he simply thinks it... sad that so many humans resort to using these same tired cliches as their crutches. "And you think, nearly to a man, that it distinguishes you. That it makes you masters of your own lives. When in truth... it is nothing but a distraction. Some illusion that you have more hand in your own fate than you truly do. The purpose of life is to end: nothing more. Free will is the anesthetic you're given to make that fact that much easier..."
Disgusted, he turns his head aside and spits blood. "Useless." His red gaze strays briefly to Roy, then, contempt lurid in his gaze for both pilot and knight, and a forceful shove of his blade aims to send the Knight stumbling back: out of his way. "His 'free will' put him there, my dear; and I will show you all it amounts to, in the end..."
Clawing his way to a dumpster, Roy pulls himself to his feet. "...Agrias!" he yells as he gets to his feet. "C-concentrate." he looks around, before turning and noticing something next to the dumpster. It's not much. Just a broken palet. It will have to do, unfortunately.
Leaning down because bending would cause too much pain, Roy rips one of the Two-By-Fours free, clutching it in his hands. "..you know what, you sorry bastard from hell.." he hisses, tasting the blood in his mouth.
"...it is free will that puts me here, too." Running forward -- wait, is Commander Fokker trying to commit suicide by charging Setsuna's sword? It's insane.. it's nuts.
And it's well practiced. Sidestepping at just the last moment outside of strike range as the Veritech pilot goes left, opposite of both Agrias and Setsuna's blade arm.
The reason for this is made clear as Roy heads into a Fokker's Feint and twists around behind Setsuna to strike at his back with the two by four. But really, the Commander knows he cannot do any damage. But if he buys Agrias Oaks a few precious seconds of time.
Words are beyond her at this point. The only thing left in her world is a searing rage. It nearly threatens to consume her, and to destroy the very purpose of that blade's wielding. She took up her sword for the sake of justice and to peace, but now it's threatened by this onslaught of hatred and blind rage. Such a rage against these creatures, however, always seems forgiveable in her mind after seeing the atrocities they commit.
The blade clashes against his, blessed steel screeching discordantly against the cursed blade. Sparks fly as Agrias lunges against the blow, throwing her weight against the stalled blow. She manages to check his strike even with the blood running in rivulets down her arm, though she's definitely weakening. Yet those golden eyes are alive; bright with hatred, bright with the will to keep fighting.
Willpower alone isn't enough to sustain a person, though.
"His free will put me here, and it put me here, but our free will... it will also end you." The Holy Knight's voice is a furious snarl. "I will end you on this blade, and see what is left of you burn into ash! Dinna ye think Ah will nae!"
And with that, she casts herself forward one more time. Seeking to lock blades, her own is too slick with blood to gain purchase, the age-notched edge skittering against the demon's. She doesn't have the strength to hold up against his assault, though, staggering back when he shoves against her blade. She slips against the gravel, going to one knee with a grunt of pain.
That's just in time to watch in utter astonishment as the pilot attempts to savage the demon with... a two-by-four.
Is he serious? Truly? Or is he just mad as a march-hare and suicidal into the bargain?
Still, she's not one to stand there and stare. He calls her to attack by giving her an opening, and she surges to her feet. One boot skitters uncertainly against the gravel, the sound of her breath and blood pounding harsh against her ears. She ignores them all. All that matters is to destroy this creature, this threat to her life and to Roy's. She will not tolerate losing him. She cannot.
Agrias lurches forward, willing herself to accelerate, taking one step after another. The holy blade glows again, silent white energy wrapping and enveloping around the blade, glimmering and casting her golden eyes and face into a light almost too brilliant to look at. Sweat runs down the side of her face in rivulets, muscle standing out in her neck. It's taking everything in her to charge this much into the blade.
"Die! Back tae white'er foul depths brocht ye faerth, an' may ye nae return!"
The battlecry is given at the same moment that Agrias lunges forward, seeking to drive the blade into Setsuna's torso, releasing the energy in a violent flare of dazzling, vivid light.
For a few brief seconds, everything in the alley is thrown into sharp-edged relief. The beaten knight, staggering forward against her own wounds. The battered Veritech pilot, raised up high with a nailed board ready to strike at the demon. The demon himself, bleeding and hissing, seeming to repel the very light in his malevolence.
The world is plunged back into darkness again, and a bass thunder rattles the very foundations of the buildings as the light ruptures. Whether or not it strikes, that's up to whatever gods granted her the power for such a display. She can only hope, as her world lurches violently underfoot.
Agrias drops her sword. She staggers forward a pace or two, before her knees buckle and the pavement rushes up to greet her.
The demon's blood splashes liberally to the ground from his ruined shoulder. It hits the pavement and boils: the unnatural ichor burning with a fierce and acidic intensity. The blazing blood scorches the very stone; one might imagine the effect it would have on the skin and flesh of a human, were they to fall in it.
The wood snaps against the demon's back. It smarts, but little more than that. His gaze twitches briefly towards the pilot, a snarl escaping him at the blow, but he does not face the man: doesn't even turn his head. "-You-... are irritating," he hisses, a longing to open Roy the rest of the way up lurid in his voice, but he cannot divert his attention from the knight long.
At this point, doing so would simply be fatal.
His black sword flashes in a parry as Agrias thrusts straight for his chest: but something about that holy force renders it impossible to fully resist. The blade carves a deep furrow out of his side, just beneath the chest, but that's not what truly deters him. It is the searing burst of light that does.
There is nothing human about the long howl of fury and hatred which that light tears out of the demon. Whatever it was, its effect was potent: and surprisingly so, to a demon who does not often find himself turned. It seems the multiverse yet holds surprises for him. This is one of them.
He backs away from both knight and pilot, leaning on his sword, hellish tones gnashing in his harsh voice as he curses in his own demonic language: spitting words older than civilization itself, in a voice still older yet. Presently the echoes of Hell die out of his voice, his language gearing back to a more earthly tongue, and his mouth twists in a cruel parody of a smile. Blood courses from the corner of it.
"Touching... but it nets you nothing. Typical. Now I would make an end of it..." But he looks more thoughtful than furious now, some dark and perverse consideration seated behind the red glow of his gaze. And he does not move to kill.
It's not quite as fun if she's not awake for it.
An annoyance that bought Agrias much needed seconds, that is. Roy glares at Setsuna as the demon falls back. The pilot moves quickly, despite the pain racing down his back as he slips his foot under the Holy Sword, kicking it upwards like a soccer ball and catches the hilt.
As he holds the blade as Agrias taught him, Roy steps backwards, leaning down to slip his arm under Agrias and hefts her up. "...this isn't over." he hisses. "But, you can flee now, or you'll see what I can do as well." Roy rumbles in a threatening tone.
Outside the alleyway, a new sensation enters the area as well. Blue lights, flickering on and off follow the noise of French Police sirens as the authorities start to arrive on the scene.
"Your choice, ugly." the pilot rumbles, huffing for breath.
Some of the demon's blood splashes against the arm that had already been cut, where Agrias falls. Yet the knight's either too weary or too far gone to notice the pain; the smell of corrosion and corruption. The ichor leaves a black burn along her skin, searing.
Enough of that, though, and she does notice. There's a growl as she scrabbles ineffectually against the pavement, slipping against her own blood and crashing back to the ground again. The threatening sound turns into a groan, almost a whimper. Make the pain stop, that's all she wants. Banish that taint. That shadow; the holy energies that still linger over her like a residue. It's like mixing oil and water. It burns without even doing anything.
Good to know that blow had some effect, though, even if releasing that much energy on a foreign plane almost killed her.
Agrias scrabbles to her elbows, casting a look of pure malevolence back up to the demon, though she looks too exhausted to look very threatening. Her fatigue does nothing to lessen the hatred, though. She might even say something if she had the presence of mind to dredge up words.
Slipping again, she lets herself fall this time, sinking back down with a groan. Only this time, an arm slips around her. Roy. The sensation almost brings a wild tide of relief -- so he's not dead. She had feared the worst when he'd fallen, and she had seen and heard nothing but her own rage past that point.
She coughs wetly, hacking and spitting something dark off to one side. The blood stains her lip, and she sags helplessly in the pilot's arm. Every fibre of her being wants to snatch that sword and chase after Setsuna. One last effort puts her on her feet, weight against her bad leg, and one last effort secures her blade from Roy. She balances precariously, sword slipping against a blood-slick gauntlet.
The Holy Knight props herself up, heedless of her tedious balance. "Go," she rasps, staggering back against the pilot. "Out... out of... of my sight. I... I'll finish... finish you. Don't... don't think I won't." She gives a wet, rasping laugh. "Don't think... I won't use the... last of my reserves... to do it."
The blue lights arrive, though, and she sags against Roy. It would be very good to just sleep right now, and ignore the pain gnawing at the entirety of her right arm. Part of her hopes it hasn't been lamed like her leg. It's her sword arm, and to suffer any permanent damage there would be debilitating.
"Sae... sae weel," she hisses, spitting another gobbet of blood. Her boot slips on blood-slicked cobbles as she tries to gain some kind of footing. "Git gang. Ye've... nae place... here."
Head slightly dipped, Setsuna regards Roy as the pilot picks up the sword. Beneath the shadow of his silver hair, the demon's red eyes are unwavering: their glow constant and unsettlingly lurid. For all the motion he evinces, Setsuna might as well be carved of stone.
His head tilts slowly as the two speak up, bravely making their threats. There is something almost coolly animal about the motion: a brutal cruelty to the callous look he gives both man and woman. In a way, it is almost... humoring. "So quickly children learn to boast," he laughs, and steps away: his progress slow, marked with blood, but passably certain.
He does not have the interest or the energy to orchestrate a massacre, and should he linger to meet the locals that -is- what things would come to.
The knight and pilot happen to block the only current way out of the cul-de-sac, and that direction will soon be swarming with police anyhow. But this is but a minor deterrence to one of demonic blood, especially armed with such a fell weapon as the Yasomagatsu Hinotachi. Without fanfare, Setsuna simply -makes- an exit with the blade of his weapon once he runs up against the dead end: one-handedly holing the very solid brick wall.
Here's hoping no one in that building was home.
Roy isn't exactly unwavering. He's been in much better situations than this one - then again, he's been in worse as well. Standing next to Agrias, the pilot may be afraid but he does not retreat or flinch. Instead he holds his ground even as Agrias's hand touches his back, she will find it warm and sticky with his blood.
And there is no way that they can go chasing after the demon. Roy's arm tightens on Agrias as she retakes her blade. He has been relieved for the moment. As Setsuna runs towards the backwall and pulls a Kool-Aid man impersonation rather poorly, the pilot can only hold his ground and keep Agrias from stupidly chasing after Setsuna. Because she totally will.
Setsuna tears into the building, causing it to collapse in on itself. Most of the lower floors of the building is occupied by shops - jewlery, a bakery, and a clothier. Items are scattered amongst the bricks and masonry dust - and the apartments above that are occupied could be a different story.
Roy hisses beneath his breath. "...going to get a beam saber for my bird. Then getting it blessed. Then I'm going to CLEAVE THAT SUMABITCH IN HALF."
Crushed mortar and fragments of brick rush out from the collapsed husk of a building, choking, turning the air a dusty red. The effect is almost eerie in the wake of the flashing blue lights, pools of blood on the ground catching and reflecting the light of the police cars.
The Holy Knight seems about to pursue, but all it takes is a light touch from the pilot. She knows she's down and beaten. She took out far more energy from herself than she ever should have, for such a wildly-aimed blow.
Worse yet, she could have missed completely and gotten both of them killed, or killed herself on the spot, with such a burst. As it is, she feels like she's been crushed in the fist of some Veritech or comparable machine. Everything hurts. Some things just hurt more than others.
Agrias staggers, blade slipping from blood-slicked gauntlets. If the pilot isn't quick enough to catch her, she slumps forward, collapsing onto the paving again. She struggles to rise, but she only ends up slipping in blood. She's not entirely certain whose it is -- hers, Roy's, Setsuna's. It doesn't burn, so that rules out the demon.
"Have to... stop it," she rasps, coughing up more blood. "Must... kill demon. Can't let... it..." She struggles, weakly, but the motion only serves for more of her blood to seep into her tunic. There's a groan, and she lies still. Just when it seems she may have fainted or worse, there's another cough, and she stirs. "Help... me."
Roy's arm moves to catch Agrias. This sudden movement to keep his fiancee from hitting the ground sends a shockwave of pain through his body which causes him to drop to his knees. "...we both need it." he hisses, arms wrapping around Agrias, pulling her wounded form into his lap as the police arrive.
"...Commander Fokker.." IPA.. RDF, no. "US Navy... we.. we need medical assistance, and fire units." the pilot says towards the bewildered officers, staring at the two bloodied blondes, the destroyed building, the sword.. wait, what sword?
The sword that Roy pilfered under his coat. The cops would not understand. They're only the French polizia, not Gate officers. "...bomb. There was an explosion.. we.. were hurt in the blast.. there's a young woman over there.." he murmurs, as he cradles Agrias's head in his lap. "My fiancee and I were walking by.. when the bomb went off..."
Wait a minute. She was holding her sword a moment ago. There's a brief spate of panic as Agrias tries to surge to her feet, eyes to the pavement, but the arms close around her and she's caught fast.
The first of the polizia to arrive takes in the tall pilot's words with an owlish blink, casting shrewd eyes to the blood and the red dust heavy on the air. He seems to consider a moment before waving his companions forward. While they search the area, he nods to Roy. As he addresses the pilot, a medic vaults from one of the cars, sprinting over to help. "We will call for an ambulance," he states, in heavily-accented English. "Help is on the way."
"We will see to the girl." The officer glances over one more time to assess the damage, and one can almost see the wheels in his head turning, searching for details. Type of explosive. Radius of explosion. Fatalities. Damage costs. Range of shrapnel. Where and how someone could have gotten ahold of such powerful munitions. "And we will see to the issue."
Rising and dusting off his coat, he turns and strides over to his fellows, while the medic -- a short little woman with dark hair and eyes -- rummages through her toolkit.
For her part, the Holy Knight stays silent, either in too much pain to speak, or aware of the delicate issue of natives and Gates. Instead, Agrias reaches up, taking Roy's hand in her own blood-soaked gauntlet, trembling. And though she doesn't say it, the relief is plain in her eyes. She thought he was dead.
Roy looks towards the medic and offers a weak smile. His usual tan has turned pale from the loss on blood as his fingers close over the gauntlet. "..I have called my ship to send medical units.." the Commander says, lowering his head as he uses his free hand to brush back Agrias' bangs. "They shall be here soon.."
And as he says that, a helicopter - looking much like a modern world SH-60 Sea Sergeant. As the blades whompf loudly, cutting through the noise and confusion of the attack as it lands and a medical flight team makes its way over to the knight and pilot with stetchers. "We'll take it from here." the head medic says, loading the two up on the stretchers and starting to attach medical diagnostics and applying pain relieving shots quickly.
============================== News Broadcasts ===============================
Message: 10/4 Posted Author
Explosion Levels Row of Buildings Mon Feb 05 The Associated Press
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Paris, France (AP) - Last evening, a massive explosion levelled a series of shops near the Arc de Triumph. At least five people were reported killed, including one Ashley Wilson, daughter of Wilson Meats Tycooon John Wilson who was in Paris for a wedding of a family friend.
Witnesses across from the shops described the scene as, "One moment we were all sitting around drinking wine and eating cheese and the next, chaos. A low rumble from deep inside the building, and then bang, every window and pane of glass is blown out along with body parts, paper, scraps of furniture, and huge yellow flames."
"Before we realize what's happening, the whole building comes tumbling down just like a house of cards. When we saw that, we all took off at a dead run towards the building, each of us praying that noone was hurt but knowing in our hearts that there was ... well, not much chance there of finding anyone alive."
Missing from the scene according to authorities is an American Naval Commander, going by the name of Fokker and his apparent fiancee. They were reportedly taken back to their ship, however, at this time French authorities still seek the two wounded Americans for further information.
(OOC Contacts: Roy Fokker, Agrias Oaks, Setsuna)
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