There was a thrill of being in a fight like this, always lurking in the shadows and waiting for when someone's guard was down did feel like cheating. Sometimes it felt too easy. She often failed but when it was easy it felt like stealing candy from a baby. Up high on the rooftop, dodging projectiles while throwing her special knives, her heart sang. This felt like freedom, and courage, and all the things she normally didn't feel being an assassin following orders and keeping her head low.

One of the creepy kids managed to get her when she wasn't paying attention, a sharp shard of a door hinge flew throw the palm of her hand with so much force it left a gaping hole as it continued its own pursuit of freedom. A moment later, the town was deciding to be a ghost town once again.

"Fucking shit," Solitude dived down, holding her injured hand up in the air above her, not wanting to infect it with the grime of this awful place. Stupid fuckers, Solitude seethed, finding that the missing piece of her hand was definitely causing her a whole lot of pain despite being gone. Blood was everywhere, matching her crimson eyes squinting in pain. Sucking in a hiss of air, Solitude could hear one of the ladies down below call to her. She hadn't bothered to listen about anything else, up on that rooftop, alone, she stared up at the fog.

They lost someone from their group. They want to search for him.

Her hand wasn't healing. Solitude got on one hand and both knees, began to crawl to where the shadows grew in a corner. There, she would find the Mother's embrace.

Something is coming.

Solitude felt her shadow stir, her sister getting anxious. Kinlocked, her twin wouldn't be able to leave, no matter how much she wanted to. If Sol stayed, so did Rosario. That didn't mean the living twin thought about staying. Shadows welcomed her with their cool whispers, ushering her deeper into that corner. She could feel the air still taste of danger and impending doom.

"So I should go?" Solitude asked aloud, stretching her bleeding hand out to the darkest part of the shadow. She began her favorite prayer, the first one she had learned by heart. It was one she recited often and it was definitely something not to brag about, especially among those of her faith.

Obviously, we need to hide then get out of here. Following those two who want to search around for a friend... her shadowkin spat unkindly at their stupidity. Solitude didn't always listen to the fox made entirely of shadows, but her sister was encouraging her to listen, pleading with her to swallow her foolish pride and to take Celosia's rational advice. The two women would be find without her. Her hand stopped bleeding, but the hole remained. Here, the Mother could only do so much.

"Fine," Solitude raised her head just enough. "Let's go."

And so the assassin parted ways with the trio, using darkness and shadows to slip pass like a fleeting dream before opening one's eyes. She wished the three of them luck, they would obviously need it. The only thing she regretted was wasting so many of her fire-starting blades and not going back to snag them. Her sister reminded her that her life was worth more than a few silver coins.
 
The statue did not hurry. It simply stood there, impossibly tall and utterly still, its iron wings scraping against the buildings on either side of the street. Rust flaked from its body with every minute movement, drifting down like reddish snow. Beneath the folds of its weathered robes, ancient joints groaned as the statue slowly straightened to its full height.

Its face remained serene. Beautiful, even. That was perhaps the worst part. No rage. No hunger. No expression at all. Only those empty, sculpted features turned toward the two figures before it as though they were something being studied rather than something that could possibly threaten it.

Then its head tilted, a slow, unnatural movement. The statue's gaze settled upon Osytha first, and its great iron sword shifted. The weapon came free of the ground with a shriek that set teeth on edge, and for one heartbeat the creature simply held it there, the tip hovering above the street.

Then it moved.

Far too quickly for something so large.

The sword swept across the street in a brutal horizontal arc, tearing through the fog and sending a wave of displaced air rushing ahead of it. The blade passed through the space where Osytha had stood a moment before, missing flesh by inches as its momentum carried it onward. The sword slammed into the nearest building instead, biting deep into timber and plaster with a thunderous crack. The statue did not pause to admire its handiwork. It wrenched the blade free and stepped forward, one enormous foot coming down hard enough to buckle the street beneath it.

Another step followed, and its wings shifted outward with a grinding shriek. The iron feathers screamed against the surrounding buildings as they spread, forcing the statue's upper body into the open street.

For just a moment, its back turned fully toward them.

And there, between the great wings, something caught the sickly light.

A single iron pin.

It was enormous, perhaps the width of a man's forearm, driven horizontally through the statue's upper back where the wings met the central body. Unlike the rest of the creature, the metal was not rusted. It was dark, almost black, and polished smooth from age or use. Several thick plates converged around it, as though the entire construction had been built around that one fastening point.

Then the statue moved again, hiding it beneath one wing.

Its sword came up.

The blow came downward.

Not at either of them, but at the ground between them. The blade crashed into the cobblestones with enough force to fracture the street, sending broken stone and splinters of masonry scattering in every direction. The impact left the weapon buried for a moment, and the statue leaned forward over it, its expressionless face peering through the settling dust.

Almost curious.

Then those great wings snapped open.

The sudden movement exposed its back once more. The pin was still there.

For the briefest instant, the statue's body seemed to sag around it.

A metallic groan traveled through the creature from its shoulders to its feet.

The statue straightened.

The groan stopped.

Whatever had happened, it had passed.

But the sound had been unmistakable.

Something within the creature had shifted.

Its head turned toward Margot. The sword came free of the ground, followed by a single step, then another. With the next, the statue lunged.

Its blade flashed through the fog in a vicious diagonal cut aimed across Margot's position, the edge passing dangerously close as the creature twisted its enormous body to bring the strike around. Before the momentum had fully carried it through, its free hand swept after the attack, fingers splayed wide as though attempting to catch whatever the sword had failed to cut.

The hand closed on nothing.

The statue's fingers curled slowly inward. It looked at them, then back at the two women.

And the awful, grinding screech of iron against stone began again as it dragged the sword across the street, lowering its stance for another attack.

Behind it, the great wings twitched.

And for the first time, the statue seemed almost protective of its back.
 
As they are taking a moment to regroup, Margot strips the cloak from her shoulders. It is a burden currently, and with a quick apology to Osytha, she begins to rip it into different pieces with her blade.
"I'll buy you a new cloak, but more importantly, I will help you find your friend. We won't abandon him here, I promise you this."
It was the clearest she had spoken to anyone in a long time, some fog had lifted from her brain. She could focus, at least for now. She wrapped each of her feet with a piece of the cloak, fastening them to her with smaller strips she had made. She secured them as best she could, they were not proper shoes, and would not operate as such, but it was better than slicing her feet apart while also trying to fight.

It seemed they could barely catch their breath before a deep tremble was felt beneath them, and ever more worrisome was the noise that traveled with it. Osytha reacted more quickly than Margot did, but her hiss of urgency quickly spurred Margot to action. The screech made the hair of her neck stand upwards, her body knew to be terrified, even if her mind was slow to the threat. Inches behind Guffers, she kept her eyes scanning their surroundings as Osytha looked for an escape route.

Margot turned her back to Osytha as she tried to manhandle a door open, her curses normally would have made the Dawnling chuckle...if things weren't so currently fucked anyways. The sounds were getting closer as they were stalled from escape, and then their enemy finally, slowly, with intent..revealed itself to the women.

"An Iron angel."
Spoken with almost awe as Margot's blue eyes fell upon it.

"Perhaps I am meant to die here after all.."
It was quiet musing to herself, unaware if Osytha had heard it or not.

The statue pulled its weapon from the ground, the noise driving Margot to clench her teeth as the sound of screeching reached her ears. It sound was almost worse than the being itself, it was enough to drive you mad. It moved slowly, slow they could work with. Margot was not prepared for the speed and destruction that quickly followed at the strike of its blade. Her voice called to Osytha, her eyes wide as she watched the utter destruction it rained down with just one blow.

Her heart beat fast, pounding against her ribs. She only bore witness of Osytha's safety before moving herself away from her fellow knight. The statue could not catch them together, surely that would spell the end of them both.

There was more fear in her as she turned her back to their enemy, she could no longer see when and where it would strike. The distance was important, and in an instant it was proven why. She could feel the wind from the strike, it had missed her by an inch. She whirled, eyes wide as her eyes found purchase on her enemy once more. Just in time to see a giant hand swing to grab at her. Another close call, but something had grabber her attention as she had made her move.

"It made a weird noise, did you see anything? Notice anything?"
She shouted hopefully across the space she had traversed, her eyes finding Osytha again as the statue prepared to swing again. It was lucky the windup took so long, unfortunate that the strikes were as fast as lightning. She was confident the two of them could do this together though, unless the fates decided it was her time.

@Momoshiro @Osytha
 
“’Twixt t’ wings!” Osytha feels the gust from great, flaking fingers as they sweep mere feet away from her face, and she’s still backing up. But that odd, smooth black spike; why does it make her think of… “Some kind of— of lynchpin, Ah think!”

All the melding rust and grime makes them hard to see elsewhere, but those were clearly metal plates around its back, too. Osytha’s first thought had been a solid cast… but between that titbit and the noise Margot pointed out, a hollow construction seems more likely. So then, what was that sound from inside it? Machinery?

Or maybe, a pilot…?

Osytha spares a fleeting glance to check on the others. Guffy is cowering further back, yapping ferociously from around the safety of a street corner. And Margot’s playing it smart — spreading out from the badger, splitting up this nightmarish angel’s targets, its attention. Mobile skirmisher tactics.

“Perhaps I am meant to die here after all…” Perhaps. Many’s a Knight of Anathaeum who muses as much when they feel the reaper’s shadow falling over them; is this the day I die? But it gives Osytha no small amount of relief to see that Syr Margot Triss isn’t just accepting the swing of his scythe. She’s making him work for this harvest.

Is this what thou needed’st? wonders Osytha. Not cold infirmary cots and endless pity, but summat to stoke up thy embers?

Only a flicker, and then Osytha’s eyes lock back on target. Watching their angel of decay drop down into a ready stance for its next attack. “Notice anything?” Besides that pin, its construction — what have they seen that they might use against it?

“We’ve getten us a bull,” Osytha remarks.

A little more swordfighting jargon that, with any luck, only her dawnling will understand right away. ‘Bulls’ — the kinds of fighters who lower their horns and charge straight ahead, come hell or high water. They don’t need to worry about silly, frivolous concepts like indes or nach. Pick one opening play and commit everything you have to it, regardless of how your opponent responds.

The angel’s strikes are terrifying: quick as a blink, stronger than the Knights have any hope of blocking against. A single hit will spell near-certain death… but therein lies its flaw, too. It can’t easily abort those mighty swings once they’re underway, and it keeps getting that damnable blade stuck in things, like wooden beams and between cobblestones.

Hopefully that list is not about to include her… but they need to take Margot’s tactic a step further. Osytha draws her sword forth. It probably won’t be enough to save her from taking a direct hit, but you never know.

With a yell of “Hold position!” — presumably at Margot, possibly also Guffy — the badger powers forward.

But not reckless in the way of those fearsome blows from the angel’s great sword. Osytha flows by low and well-grounded steps; able to adjust direction on the fly, ready to evade. She also tries keeping just close enough to the wall that whatever attack she goads out of the thing will hopefully get lodged stuck before it quite reaches her. Right after its strike, that’ll be her real opening to re-position. She just need watch for that grasping hand as well. Plus its crushing feet. Oh, and the batter of those iron wings.

No biggie. But at least she’s not trying to actually close in on their foe — all she need do is get around to the other side, and they’ll have it flanked. Then, it won’t be able to face one of the Knights without presenting its back to the other.

If she can just make it.


Osytha rolled 1d20 to determine the success of her flanking manoeuvre, and scored a 12 (before applying possible modifiers).

How’s she looking, Sol?​
 
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The Rust Angel reacted the instant the formation around it changed.

Its head snapped toward the movement at its flank, those serene, sculpted features remaining utterly expressionless as its great iron wings shifted with a deafening shriek. One wing swept backward, a wall of rusted metal and jagged feathers meant to drive the attacker away before she could exploit the opening. At the same time, the Angel twisted its enormous frame, bringing its free hand around in a crushing backhand.

Neither found its mark.

The wing tore through empty air, scattering rust and flakes of ancient metal across the street, while the massive hand closed on nothing. The statue lurched with the failed attempt, its immense weight carrying it farther into the turn than intended. For a brief moment, the creature was caught between its two opponents, unable to bring its full strength to bear on either.

Then its head snapped toward Margot.

The Angel abandoned the attempt to defend its back.

Its wings folded inward with a grinding shriek as its entire body rotated. The great sword rose with it, the blade dragging against the cobblestones and throwing sparks through the fog.

Then it lunged.

One enormous step erased the distance between them.

The sword came down.

At the last possible moment, the Angel's hands shifted, subtly altering the trajectory of the blow. Whatever unseen command governed the creature stayed its blade from the killing stroke, though only by the narrowest margin. The sword crashed into the street directly before Margot instead, the impact unleashing a violent shockwave that was scarcely any kinder than the blade itself.

The cobblestones erupted beneath the sword.

A thunderous shockwave burst outward from the point of impact, hurling shattered stone and debris in every direction. The sheer force of it caught Margot full in the body and launched her backward as though she had been struck by a charging wagon. Her feet left the ground, her body thrown violently through the fog before she crashed into the side of a nearby building.

The impact shook the structure.

Wood splintered around her, plaster cracked, and dust rained from the wall as her body struck hard enough to leave a visible impression in the weakened masonry. For several seconds, the only sound was the settling debris and the awful ringing left behind by the Angel's blow.

The statue tried to wrench its sword free.

The blade did not budge.

Its great hands tightened around the hilt, iron joints grinding as it pulled again. The sword remained buried deep within the fractured cobblestones, lodged by the sheer force of its own blow. The Angel gave another violent heave, its entire frame shifting with the effort, but the weapon held fast.

For several precious moments, it was completely committed to freeing it.

Its back was exposed.

The great wings hung partially open, rusted feathers trembling as the creature struggled with its weapon. The dark iron pin between them was clearly visible once more, surrounded by the overlapping plates of its torso. Another hollow groan reverberated through its chest as it pulled harder.

The Angel was vulnerable.

And it had not yet realized it.


The fog had swallowed Momo whole.

At first, there had been nothing but white.

Not ordinary fog. It had weight to it, pressing against his skin and filling his ears until even his own breathing seemed distant. Momo had tried to retrace his steps, but every direction felt identical. Buildings appeared where there had been none before, then vanished when he looked back. Streets curved in impossible ways, leading him somewhere he had never intended to go.

And beneath it all, the bells continued to ring.

Welcome home.

Momo's ears flattened.

“I'm beginning to dislike that song.”

His voice sounded wrong in the fog. Too distant. Too small.

Something moved behind him.

Momo spun.

Nothing.

His hand tightened around the hilt of his weapon as his eyes searched the whiteness. His instincts screamed at him that he was being watched, and for once even his ability to perceive spirits offered little comfort. His abilities didn't work here. The Shroud was all wrong. Yet even without those sense or powers, he could feel it. Too many impressions layered over one another, as though the town itself had become saturated with the residue of everyone who had ever suffered within it.

The fog shifted.

A shape emerged.

Then another.

Momo stepped backward as something crawled along the side of a building, its silhouette briefly visible through the haze before dissolving again. Another shape passed behind him, too tall and too thin to be human. Somewhere nearby came the wet scrape of something dragging itself across stone.

They were not attacking him.

Not yet.

Instead, they were herding him.

Momo realized it when he tried another street and found himself facing the same ruined crossroads he had passed through several minutes earlier.

His expression tightened.

“Oh.”

The bells rang again.

This time, something answered.

A chorus of distant voices rose from the fog, overlapping one another until the words became almost impossible to distinguish.

Welcome home.

Momo's ears lowered.

He looked toward the sound.

For a moment, he thought he saw a familiar shape standing at the end of the street.

White hair.

Yellow robes.

His own silhouette.

Then it smiled.

Momo went very still.

The thing at the end of the street tilted its head.


A figure coalesced near the fight between the two women and the gigantic angel golem, as if created from the fog itself. It formed into a body. It was tall, long white hair, big bushy tail, taut white ears. An almost exact recreation of Momoshiro, down to the particular patterns woven into his yellow haori.

However, it's eyes were completely white and foggy. Almost as if it was blind. It blinked once and the red irises appeared. A grin, but not like Momo's. This one was wrong, malicious and sinister.

It slowly started to walk towards the sounds of the fight.
 
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