the Rift - » every broken promise

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The droning, the buzzing, continued within her ears – barely even woven into her attention, presuming it was the crowd, the growing, nestling, hustling, bustling wings of creatures and cretins marching into commotion. She didn’t give it much of a thought, found her sentiments driven into the foreboding onslaught, the sensation of deceit clawing at the seams of their scene, then pushing it all away when Clementine approached (safe, secure). She smiled, because her sibling deserved ebullience, not strife, not fire, not the bastion of collected nuances (anger, righteousness, a fierce, bristling ferocity), placing her maw towards the other filly’s cheek in greeting, in familial grace. So when the girl recoiled from Melita’s form, the little honeybee child felt a pang of rancor steel over her veins – and the insistent humming, murmuring escalated (so much that even Sila began to complain, squeaking from her nest of wings and feathers). “Leaking?” Then she looked down, over the ramparts of her birdcatcher spots, inherited from her mother, and watched a droplet of some dark, sticky substance pool its way along her hide. What on earth? She blanched at herself, stumbled a few steps to the right, incapable of physically getting away from the abnormality, and understanding none of how it’d gotten there, why it was riddled over, what it meant, or how to be rid of it. “I’m sorry,” she whispered back to Clementine, trying to rise above the panic beginning its quivering, trembling, shaking source.

But she didn’t have a chance to ask anyone around her, the adults, the older youths, because her worries, her trepidations, were nothing in comparison to the chaos brewing below.

In a series of movements, motions, and bedlam blends, ghosts came to play – and she was utterly fascinated for a moment, gasping (not in terror, but in bewilderment), eyes rounding as the warrior Ampere was released from oubliettes and catacombs, as the sage Isopia bugled into the atmosphere.

Then all she could do was recall the events that had led them all here, in this dungeon of eldritch abominations, twisting, contorting madness, malice, menace. The scion swallowed down her flickers of delight and enthusiasm, and extended her left wing over Clementine, shielding, immediately protective of what was hers while the world bellowed, while Ampere charged, while Isopia coaxed. Then her thoughts ran towards Iskra, whose mother had once burst into pieces of dust and fire, then brought back to life before his eyes (altered; that wasn’t Ampere as she’d known her), taking an influx of breath and whispering to him: “Iskra,” trying to tie him to the wiles of the earth and not this unsettling, draining potency flying towards them – granting her other wing to him, in case he needed a safety, security, and a shelter too.

Melita

let me live that fantasy

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It was hell all over again.

For all her rebellious, mending, soothing purposes, she could do nothing as phantoms came back to life (except dread, except grit her teeth together, except pray that nothing else came from these abominations). “This has to stop,” she choked out to Imogen, who nodded, who growled, who hastened upheaval when there was naught much they could do. The Songbird’s heart thundered amidst the cool, cold apprehension, for she should’ve known, should’ve seen this coming, should’ve understood that Kisamoa would cross a thousand more lines, breach a million more wrongs, before he could be stopped. Amidst the boom, the din, the riotous throng, she swallowed down the bestial, barbaric, mercurial bombardments of those souls plucked from the dead – not allowed to rest, not allowed to return to the earth, their protections sealed – and began to sing.

It was a calming, soothing tone, meant to oblige, meant to assuage, meant to keep the panic down as the realm threatened to fall apart. The Songbird and her fox wandered closer and closer to more children, to the panicking flurries of devastation, trying desperately to convey that they could be more than shadows, more than strife, more than all these dastardly, haunting memories brought back to life. You’re strong, she sang to the silver-hued boy with glowing, skeletal jaws. You’re mighty, she whistled to Isopia’s children. You can overcome this, she hastened to Ampere’s scions, walking her way over, hoping somehow she could make a difference as the realm descended into further madness.

Lena
where there is love, there is life.

image by safetylast @ flickr.com
{sings to try and help calm everyone down – brief mentions to }

I O N A

Iona didn’t have a good feeling about this. I mean, I don’t think anyone with any sort of rational thinking mind was overwhelmed with positive feelings when Kaos showed up, but this particular brand of bullshit seemed like a bad idea. The painted mare watched, impassively, with her lips pressed tightly together. She knew this wasn’t the time to run her mouth, but she also knew that deities were capable of fucking up just like mere mortals. Hell, Helovia had been testament to that. So had Nocturne, in its own way. But there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it now except wait and watch. And be ready to get the hell out of dodge if things went south.

She says little until Naerys comes to stand at her side. She doesn’t verbally greet her niece, but does move herself so that the newborn Alerie is between her and her mother, before looking up at Naerys. If the situation went to shit, she’d make damn sure that Nae and her child made it to safety. She wasn’t willing to risk any of her family to Kaos, despite what she was presently lacking in stature.

Another speaks - Iona recognizes him as one of Tembovu’s children but watches as he struggles to place his own sense of recognition. Iona says nothing to clarify her identity, partially due to her own embarrassment, and partially because something is happening. Iona struggles to see over the sea of those gathered. She silently curses herself for leaving Iver back in Solanis with the remainder of the family. But when it is obvious what Kaos is done, Iona can only stare with an abject sense of horror. This is the darkest of magic.

“Nae, we need to get her away from here,” the painted mare-child says urgently to her niece, gesturing further up the ridge. The voices however make her turn, for many of them seem to be directed towards one in particular. One that she recognizes as the well spoken young colt from the Falls. Zero. Miss Iona he’d called her once. A twinge of fear flickers through her heart for the young stallion, but she can see that he’s surrounded by his own family, and in this moment she must watch over her own. However, she certainly means to check up on him as soon as Naerys and Alerie are away to safety.

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Interacts with and (but sorta indirectly because ~chaos~)

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S I D H R A

Sidhra’s experience with this Kaos was limited. She knew who he was, of course, after his last meeting. She’d heard the rumors of what he’d done from the Helovians. He claimed to be all that remained of the Gods of the Rift, but his behavior was strange. This behavior was strange. There was no significance to the pattern that this Kaos created in her own eyes, and it seemed like there was no familiarity to the others here either. Gentle murmurs of conversation flowed through the group, but the little blue fae’s gaze did not deviate from the diety.

Until the unspeakable, the unthinkable, happened. The dead were brought forth to the world of the living. The little fae had to stifle the gasp that threatened to tear itself from long-silent lips. She’d heard of such black magic before, heard of the cost of such things to mortals who tried. But to see it performed before her very eyes struck fear into her heart. This was a violation of the most sacred laws of life and death - upsetting the very balance of life that the fae valued so highly. She hadn’t even realized that she’d begun to step backwards and away from the scene. She truly could not even fathom that what she was seeing was real, and it most certainly tainted her perception of this Kaos. How could he be born of the Gods of the Rift? Even the most corrupt of the Gods knew that building a bridge between life and death was forbidden and dangerous.

Truthfully, Sidhra was ready to flee the scene of this horrific crime. That was until her ears flicked in the direction of singing, singing that helped calm the rising tide of panic in the little fae. Silver-white eyes identified the source of the singing as a bay unicorn, and Sidhra dipped her head in silent thanks. For it gave her the courage to hold fast on the banks of the river for a few more moments and see the situation through.

Mentions

EVEN THE STARS THEY BURN.

“It’s good to meet you, Zahra,” I answered, dipping my head in greeting to the older pegasus, “I’m Vesper.” The smallest of smiles danced upon my dark lips. I always worried that Vera would find her way to unsavory company in this place. Thankfully, it seemed like that was decidedly not the case today. Perhaps it was selfish, but I craved companionship of those my own age. I’d spent most of my live with Papa, and since we’d arrived here I’d spent every waking moment ensuring that Vera and Nea were safe.

The sound of hoofbeats draws my attention away from the scene below, and I turn to see a figure I’d been hoping and wishing to see since we’d falling into this place. My heart skips a beat and for a moment I forget where I am and the imminent danger that Kaos poses. “Mama,” I breathe against her coat, inhaling the familiar scent, letting the relief of seeing her here and alive wash over me. I have so many questions for her, but the fact that she was here answered many of them without needing an answer. But so many more bubbled beneath the surface and reflected in my eyes. When had she lost her hearing? Had Papa come through the portal too?

But there was no time for questions now. No time for reunions. For no sooner had Kaos placed his bonelights, did he call upon his magic once more. And what happened next was...incredible. Spirits burst forth from the earth, and I pressed myself closer to Mama’s side for a moment before gearing up the courage to look closer at who had been summoned.

“I know them.” I breathed, aloud, as the spirits came into clear view. “Knew them,” I quickly corrected. The blue mare I remembered. I’d tried to make a gift for her once with her son. And Isopia, she’d been the Seer of the herd at one time - had spoken directly with Grandmother. She was like Papa - a child that carried the blood of the Gods. And I’d seen them both die before coming through the portal that kaos had opened. Before they’d been dragged here, leaving Helovia behind to an unknown fate.

“Vera stay back. Stay behind me,” I said, taking a step in front of the girl, whilst unfurling one wing to use to block not only her view, but shield the girl from any harm that may make come our way.

- V E S P E R -

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Iskra

Let it go, just let it be, you be you, and I'll be me

Her aroma preceded her, so sweet and enthralling, that Iskra couldn't help but smile broadly as he turned his head to greet her approach. "Hey Mel!" he chimed as cheerfully as the current situation could allow, mindful that he kept his own aroma hidden, tightening his wings against his sides. As effervescent as her company made him, he was reminded once more of the dire straights they were all in existing in this realm, under the monster that tried to call himself a god. Iskra's smile faltered, and a glow seemed to leave his features as he curled back into himself thoughtfully. Though Melita said nothing sharp, her tongue was no less of an arrow, aimed at the heart of the matter.

Survival wouldn't be enough.

He was reminded of her words the last time they were together with Kaos, when he'd been so anxious to leave and do as bidden because it meant survival.
"But don't you want to fight back? Don't you want to punish him for what he's done?"
YES, Iskra had wanted to scream but was left instead speechless.

He had turned to look at her then, saw her in a new light he couldn't recall her standing in before. Gone was the newly born babe on the desert sand, his questions about her egg shells that were missing forgotten. Though she was just as much of a child as him, their experiences had already aged them faster than most, it had hardened them. He'd felt a connection with her ever since first seeing her in that pure moment of vulnerability, a protective pull that bid him to watch over her in friendship and otherwise. Yet here she was, reaching beyond him, fierce in ways he'd grown blind to in his belief that she needed him.

Iskra shook his head, trying to clear the droning buzz that echoed around him. It was as much Melita's magic as her words - and the fact she had spoken them. He wanted more than anything for them to return to familiar beaches to watch whales on a sunset horizon, to chase gulls across driftwood obstacles, to sneak around the temple lighthouse, evading an unamused tiger-striped mare. Why did they have to talk about survival, to wonder at the weaknesses of a false god that they wished to topple for the crimes he had committed against their hearts and their realm? Why couldn't it all go back?

'Stop'.
The single command stilled Iskra's frantic mind, if for a moment. He turned a teal eye to the corner of his vision, spying the air-whale that drifted there. Their bond was so new that Iskra did not realize how unusual it was that the Leviathan would wander so far and so frequently from him. He did not realize that the whale was without a born magic, or that they did not communicate nearly as much as they should. He did not realize that in this, the Rift was taking even more from him.

Castiel had a sense of it though, and even if he could not articulate it all, the wise beast would not let Iskra dissolve into the madness of want and why, but would remind him of his stronger moments, when the boy had conviction instead of doubt, when he had a resolve for justice instead of flappable cowardice.
An eye for an eye might make the whole world blind, but letting others go around taking eyes without reaction was little better. You cannot simply ignore evil.

Images of those last moments in Helovia leaked between their bond, flashing like a slideshow across the grain of Iskra's thoughts, dredging up memories he saved for his fitful sleep. Iskra's eyes widened in despair before they slammed shut, trying to hide from the devastation of his entire life; the bond persisted however, because it did not exist through the eyes alone. Castiel did not relent, not even when Iskra trembled and begged of the whale through their shared souls.

'Please,' Iskra moaned in the mind of the companion.
'Learn,' Castiel intoned, so stoic and serious even in his youth.
Each fragment of the memories they shared of that terrible day seemed to say:
He killed your mom, your sisters, your herd mates, and countless others.
He destroyed your home.
What will keep him from killing you just as easily?

Iskra wouldn't help Kaos willingly because he held some hatred for the Deceiver in his gut, but he was too afraid to outright defy or ignore him, and just a crack of that strong voice was enough to warrant Iskra's knees to bend. He wanted to think it was peace that held his ire in his gut and kept it from his blood, that he would not attack Kaos purely for vengeance - isn't that what had caused Kaos to act in the first place?

What Iskra had yet to decide however, was that he needn't act out of revenge, but he could surely take up the helm of justice. What Kaos had done was wrong, and there needed to be retribution for that.

He hadn't made that decision though because he was afraid. Was that so wrong, to be afraid? What could he truly do against a figure that his mother could not face? What could he accomplish that so many other incredible horses in Helovia could not? Was it truly nothing more than ignorance that would separate their attempt from those of the dead?
How could he bear the might of justice anyway? What exactly was it? He had seen versions of it, whether his mothers or others, but they frequently seemed self-serving; revenge with a different name more often than not. What would make him able to judge right and wrong?

Iskra's ears flicked, listening to but not hearing Vulkan's and Kiada's words (death, nothing but death). He didn't even register the arrival of Clementine, might have missed Patrick even if he was paying attention. He was lost, tumbling amid the vast gray sea of his inner turmoil - at least until a smaller, softer voice tugged on him.
Mauna

One look at the small boy at his side reminded Iskra of something stronger than himself - purpose. It had been there when he felt crumbled and defeated in his birth with the Rift, and he had found purpose then in the whale that he had so earnestly protected and hatched, a life that he was responsible for. He had found purpose when he combat the phantoms that were threatening Melita, when he had raced to assist Eleos. He found it now, again, when he stared down at his small, innocent kin, when the massive threat of Kaos and the stain of all he had done loomed around them.
Iskra would never find strength within himself - he would always find it within others. If he feared for himself so much that it rooted him with immobility and indecision, then he feared that much harder for Mauna, for Melita, for Castiel, and it was enough to drive action back into him.

Iskra stirred, stepping closer towards his nephew, wings lifting faintly in a (smelly) protective manner across the small boy. "Careful Mauna," Iskra's voice cut off abruptly. He might have said more, might have done more to keep his nephew safe, if not for the ground's seizing. The earth bucked, and Iskra wavered on his feet, wings spreading for balance, crest feathers lifting as uncertainty prickled down his spine. His vibrant gaze latched onto Kaos with a worried light, ears flicking back at the strange words the monster intoned and the way the realm seemed to react. The bright light caused Iskra's head to bow away, shielding his view behind feathers that he tried to peer through, anxious to watch their demise a second time.

As the blinding glow faded, Iskra was able to make out something he never could have imagined.
"Mom," he breathed, tears at his eyes in an instant, ravaging his heart with both grief and joy. He had no notion of how misplaced it all was, not even as his eyes stroked the unnaturally teal colors of her hide, not even as he heard the violent snarl of electricity escaping the gaps in her form. Those details didn't matter because even with them Iskra knew, this was mom!

He might have bolted out to her, might have run into the folds of her sides and blubbered apologies, if not for the arrival of another ghost. Loathe as he was to do it, his eyes left Ampere's form to hold another familiar figure, "Tae!" Iskra's voice withered as soon as he cried out, fully beholding her details, ones that seemed far less inexcusable than his mother's. Maggots shed from her form, and her voice was a mangled shout of hurt that caused Iskra to instinctively recoil into a defensive posture.
What is happening? his thoughts echoed his nephew's query, no longer sure.

Another ghost, familiar (Isopia), but it didn't matter to him as he was caught between the horrors of his mother and sister, both of whom were suddenly coming at them - or more specifically, at Zekle. Iskra's feathers bristled, and he shuddered as he listened to Zekle's chant of sorries, ones that echoed Iskra's thoughts, but they did nothing to still the advancing wrath of Ampere.
Torn between starting to recognize there was something wrong and his own sputtering anger at Ampere's assault (when would it end?), Iskra was beginning to come out of his stupefied daze. It happened fast, so so fast, and yet the moment seemed to slow. Iskra could feel every second stretch on, could remember ever find detail of his mother's feathers cutting through the air, of his elder brother's command in the same moment that he stepped forward (so brave, he was always so brave).

Already beside Mauna, Iskra didn't have far to go to shield the boy with his body, but the son of fire and lightning was focused more on his elder brother, on his mother, on his sister, and so Mauna slipped from his mind, lured by the siren of the Mountain. He didn't notice yet, too busy pulling the shield from between his wings with a tug of his magic, the air hot against his withers as he did so; honey wafted against his nose as he yanked himself from melita's solidarity and comfort. Dragon's Sun expanded with his will, the great steel shield enlarging rapidly. "NO MOM!" Iskra screamed somewhere amid the madness as he flung his (her) shield forward, attempting to block Zekle from her vicious attack with the metal protection she once proudly bore. Iskra wouldn't have enough time or energy to assist with Tae's assault, though Gaucho was invoked around his neck, the bone spikes sharply protruding and Iskra's body close to Zekle, his flesh as much as shield as the iron.

He was too caught up in his family reunion to notice the rest of the chaos around them. He didn't see the white mare hurl herself at the Deceiver, nor the way Otem screeched at his defense (the background noise was just typical mayhem by now). He did not notice the way Otem and Vulkan and Volterra were lured towards Isopia, or how Mauna, snotty and sobbing raced for her either. He didn't see the monster pulled under by the souls he had helped dredged up, nor did he hear Isopia begging for Zekle. Iskra was panting, winded, having strained to keep concentration upon his magic and save his brother from their undead family. He was exhausted by the pounding of his heart against his chest, by the tears that tracked down his cheek as he stared into the face of his mother and forced himself to stay whole, something he likely only accomplished thanks to Lena's influences.

Holding onto something we don't need
All this delusion in our heads
Is gonna bring us to our knees

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UM SORRY in short Iskra has a momentary internal crisis and conflict about wtf to do about Kaos' shit, before GHOSTS. Iskra throws his shield in front of Zekle to stop Ampere's attack, and also has his bone necklace out to maybe help take some of Tae's blows. Stays a bit more calm thanks to Lena.

Speaks to
Mentions

I'm no hero and I'm not made of stone

Someone shouted as she hurled down through the air towards Kaos, a voice that she knew she recognized but couldn't quite place. A blur of color, earth and gold and a multitude of pinks, and a pair of fillies tried to block the path to the heretic god, the necromancer, the defiler, and Erthë recognized Otem alongside an unfamiliar filly. But it was too late to stop, and she wasn't sure that she would even if she could have. Hatred and anger burned too hot within her, grief blooming into outrage that anyone would even think to side with the Deceiver; thick, choking, nauseating disbelief, the stubborn refusal to admit what her eyes were seeing.

The magic struck her like a bolt of lightning from clear skies, without warning. Crackling wings of electricity enveloped her as the little mare crashed into the magical bird the pink girl had summoned, and she screamed when the currents drew black patterns of singed flesh and burning hair across her body. Even as Erthë felt the muscles of her body spasm and threaten to give in, something else was hurled at her, a darkness so complete that she could perceive it only by the absence of light in its path.

It struck, and darkness engulfed her.

Like a ragdoll the slender mare was thrown to the earth and landed with a sickening crunch as the bones of the right wing was crushed beneath her. The limp figure skidded down towards the water, rocked precariously close to the brink and came to a stop inches away from the surface and lay motionless on the ground, smoke rising slowly from the blackened welts that streaked across the white skin.

All around her chaos reigned, but around the slumped young mare a strange stillness had settled.

Right or wrong, I can hardly tell
I'm on the wrong side of heaven and the righteous side of hell

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Well fuck, that went way worse than planned. No, maybe it went BETTER. Bright crimson speckled eyes brightened as she watched the girl fly right into the two electric doves. The screeching and screaming from her maw was music to Castiella's ears. The crackling and roar of the electricity popped in the air around the white girl. Her masked face brightened, and a small chuckle fell from her maw.

She would be rolling in laughter if so many people were not around. The problem is everyone was around and watching, so the Fallen Angel lowered her masked skull to hide the laughter. How STUPID could one be? The white girl must not have understood that Kaos is protected, Kaos can KILL who ever he pleases. Her banded maw turned and looked at Otem. "Ouch.. that had to have hurt..." Her voice trails off as a crowd started to grow around the autumn filly.

Castiella mumbled and giggled softly as she watched the girl's body flung across the air and landed with a soft thud against the ground. ( Well it was more of a hard thud, but whatever.) Bright teal orbs closed with a bright smirk as she started to move away from the growing crowd. Tri-colored hooves peddled backward. She went away from everyone to hide in the shadows and continue to watch. She silently said not a single word of good bye. A small giggle escaped her maw as the fallen angel resided into the shadows once again.

Castiella

I'm Well acquainted with villains
that live in my HEAD

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C L E M E N T I N E
"Picture yourself in a boat on a river,
with tangerine trees and marmalade skies."

The apology stung Clementine in the worst way. She hadn’t even considered how her nearly involuntary reaction would have affected her sister, and she immediately wished she could have been a little more delicate in her approach, but she’d just been so surprised. “Don’t apologize! We’ll just have to find a way to fix it!” Clem muttered, determinedly, to her sister. Clementine had every intention of finding whatever cure out there existed to rid her sister of...whatever had caused this. This place was full of strange magic, but surely not all of it was tainted. Perhaps that was just beautiful, naive little Clementine - struggling to see the silver lining - but it did nothing to stifle her determination to help her sister. She was so fully involved in her sister that she paid no attention to Kaos and what he was doing in the river. Melita was the most important thing in her world now. They had to keep eachother safe. They had to.

Sooner than she’d have liked, Kaos called the attention away and down to the river. Again doing something nefarious that was outside of the flower child’s ability to comprehend entriely.

The sunshine girl felt that she could do nothing but watch in a state of both abject horror and complete helplessness. She had no idea what to do - what she could do - in the face of the dead that Kaos had conjured. The overwhelming feeling of dread kept her frozen perfectly in place. She had seen these figures explode into light and dust, and here they were - just as real as the last time she’d set her eyes upon them. She took the comfort from her sister instinctually, standing sheltered under Melita’s wing, uncaring now about the strange sickly-sweet honey that dripped from her sides.

A very real part of her feared the confirmation of her own mother’s demise. She watched in abject fear that Najya and A’mal would be the next to be produced from the bonelights, but did her best to quell the rising tide of terror by focusing on her friend that was already dealing with that very reality. Worried, orange eyes flicked over to Iskra, but Clementine had no idea of what to do or what to say help her friend. ”Melita,” she whispered, still looking at Iskra, ”what can we do?”

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WINDOW SEAT TO CHAOS OVERLOAD

She did not hesitate nor relent in any manner as Zekle's voice joined the noise of chaos. His apologies, his declarations of love, they did not still her - but they did affect her. The electricity around her, inside of her, seemed to stutter. It flashed for several moments, dimming intermittently almost as if fading and then surging back into full display. Between the recharges, the teal on occasion was replaced with her customary blue, a subtle change given the hues' similarity already. The jolts happened in quick successions and seemed of little note when Ampere continued to barrel down upon her first son with a savagery she rarely reserved even for her enemies.

He was so blindly open and accepting of his demise that she smiled with a preemptive satisfaction-

That is until a shield, her shield, swerved in-between her hooves and Zekle's flesh, the timing so impeccable she could not alter course. Ampere's wrath crashed down upon the steel barrier, sparks flying off in various directions as they ricocheted off the metal. Upon collision, flames leapt up from the engraved sun the shield bore, the light and heat were so intense Ampere's head should have jerked to the side, instincts hard to kick even in death. However the pet-symetary-Ampere gave pause. The lines of her features relaxed, the ugly shadows cast by hateful lines falling just as rapidly as the sparks around her. The core of her body went dark, the lightning innards shuddering off, her lines of disassembly merely darkness layered against itself. Her gaze reflected the fire as it roared up, hungrily licking across her forelegs, uncaring if it consumed living, dead, or un-dead flesh.

It reminded her of something, of someone.

It was only a moment, maybe two, where Ampere lingered in stunned stillness, enchanted by memories of a life she was torn from. "Little lightning, I'm sorry" she breathed softly, sweetly, as her gaze lifted from the fire and connected apologetically with Zekle.

The moments ended then, her electricity jolting back with a vibrant light amid the remnants of her core, and a wildness re-entered the softened edges of her expression. She now felt the pain of the fire and howled in agony as she threw herself back with a powerful flapping of her wings and haphazard kicking of her legs.

As she retreated sparks danced where her hooves struck the ground, and from them she bore three lightning eagles that she cast towards Castiella, Vesper, and Melita; her wrath seemed doubled with her pain and the confusion of the old life bleeding into this new existence. Her targeting extended beyond Zekle, content simply to obliterate.

As Ampere recoiled and regained footing, embers still peeling away her skin to expose the lightning that veined beneath it, she kept her gaze locked on Zekle. She bared her teeth at him, jaws clacking menacingly, and rushed again. This time however she aimed for Iskra, the one who interfered, the shield-stealer. She reached with a different magic for him, pulling the metal knife from his back, her knife, and aiming to slide it into his spine while he was focused with her frontal assault.

Everyone must die.

A M P E R E
darya87.deviantart.com

Iskra's shield blocks her attack on Zekle - she is momentarily herself when Zekle cries out to her and when she sees fire. She resumes her attacks however with a lightning eagle sent to Melita, Castiella, and Vesper. She resumes a physical attack on Iskra's front, while pulling his metal dagger from behind to stab him (he still owned the dagger in this thread).

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