Chapter 48: Apocalypse Now

* ***Observer's Perspective*** *

 Tyrants Rest, a town on the constant verge of collapse due to heavy taxation and the threat of war would now play host as a stepping stone to an invasion against a rebelling kingdom.

 Cold and wet, a cool breeze carried the scent of freshly tilled soil on the wind.

 One would think a vital location would be outfitted with worth defense in the form of tall stone walls. Under normal circumstances it would be ideal, however bureaucracy runs deep within the Nala Alliance, and so it was decided to have the minimal viable defense for its denizens.

 So when a Government requires help for military matters without the use of their own army, they turn to the Mercenaries guild.

 Unlike the Adventures Guild, which ranks its members on their ability to deal with the many aspects of questing, the Mercenaries Guild ranks people solely by their talent for all aspects of warfare.

 Sadly this often resulted in a huge disparity between different Guild ranks based on separate criteria. Merchants saw this knowledge as a benefit, allowing an overqualified individual to achieve overwhelming victory. Thus the practice of 'Salting' came to be.

 ***

 Almost three hundred meters from the dark and dreary town of Tyrants Rest, two well acquainted warriors prepared for battle. They sat upon a small lone hill that broke line of sight from the settlement behind them.

 Visibility was sparse by design. The Fog of War and Shadow of Conquest did its job well. Each of these obscuring effects originated from the individuals preparing to take on an army that numbered in the tens of thousands.

 They sat around a makeshift wooden table created with several wooden crates and illuminated by a single candle.

 A human clad in exquisite black, red and gold armor fit for a cruel king, adorned with his signature maroon tailcoat stood up from his seat composed of a smaller wooden supply box to stretch. Thick pauldrons sat on top of his coat that bore the heraldry of a bone white horse skull.

 He had experienced enough battles to last a dozen lifetimes. Perhaps it was his nature, his destiny, to seek such violence, and yet he understood the cost of it more than any, for he was War, Second Horsemen Of The Apocalypse. 

 "You shouldn't have brought those kids. I'm not too fond of having the blood of teenagers on my hands, even if I have no choice. What good can come of their presence here?"

 Curiosity flickered in his brown eyes like the lone candle dancing in gentle wind on their makeshift table. No matter the response, his companion's words would not quench his thirst nor sway him from his duty. His loyalty to his cause was as steadfast as the inevitability of conflict.

 The man conveyed in the colors of greed, danger and fear. Leaned forward, he unsheathed his cursed claymore, sensing an enormous amount of people marching in unison towards them.

 Its name was Dainsleif. A greatsword almost as long as he was tall, with a long blade shaped like fire. Once drawn, it would refuse to let its wielder rest until death enveloped an opponent.

 "They're here because he needs hope and she needs to learn er' limits. They both got relics so shit's gonna fly their way no matter what. I didn't send em here to die if that's what yer thinkin'"

 Looking out towards the freshly planted farmland awaiting an army, a being known as a High-Drake responded to the human with a southern accent. Her body was half human, half drake, a monster entirely inferior to Dragons and yet this mix-breed race embraced the benefits of both.

 Her feet each consisted of three sharp claws, with the biggest resembling a sickle of hardened bone, covered in sharp dark crimson scales as thick as plate armor, and just as effective.

 As a High-Drake, her leg joined at the knee like a horse's hind leg. Her thighs, torso, shoulders and all the way up to her arms all somewhat resembled a human appearance. 

 Scales grew down her forearm and over her large hands, twice the size of any human with retractable claws instead of fingernails.

 Right above her glutes, she had a large tail twice her height, greater than most High-Drakes. Two black horns grew either side of her head, pointing forward with an edge sharp enough to pierce flesh.

 Standing at seven feet tall, she towered over all but a few races that evolved with magic. Her eyes pierced the darkness with their red and yellow glow, with her vertical black eye slits intimidating the uninitiated.

 Clad head to claw in thick overlapping armor designed to both protect and exaggerate her natural curves, one would think she would fight on the front lines. However her role had always been one of intense support, as she wielded a warbow that would always strike true.

 Leader and First Horsemen Of The Apocalypse, her name was Conquest.

 "Besides, Marge is lookin' over em'. She'll step in if need be"

 "I've seen what it takes to make a monster, now I'm watching my friend push someone along that same path. Are you sure this is what you wish for him?"

 With a heavy sigh the first Horsemen of the Apocalypse grabbed her gigantic war bow that had been sitting at her feet, hidden within the heavy mist. As she held the handle tightly its rather plain appearance changed rapidly to form a weapon fit for such a name.

 Spectral tattered rags holding the symbols of fallen houses, all eternally burning on thin strips of colored cloth covering her bow and armor from top to bottom. Over a thousand families, dead and buried, all at the hands of a single biblical warrior.

 A yellow cockatrice would soon join amongst the symbols of the dead

 "I made a promise to him. If he learned a spell I'd make him my apprentice, teach him the tricks of the trade. Hard not to see him as my own nowadays. You got kids, would you teach em' to protect themselves?"

 "Given what's going on with my family I get your point. Care to give an old man a hand?"

 "Heh, in more ways than one? Just make sure that fog stays knee high. Cain't let em' break till we're done"

 Claymore in hand, the brown haired man grabbed the lone candle and lit two rusted braziers on either side of their small encampment. Light illuminated the flags of Nala and their own party.

 Four horse skulls on cracked leather.

 "I could say the same to you. Now then, it's only fair to give them one last warning"

 "No point if you ask me. Any 'drums' you itchin' for?"

 Conquest ripped open the top of their makeshift wooden table. Inside, thousands of different arrows separated by multicolored feathered notches, several long black cylinders and a black box in the middle.

 Covered in monster leather, she opened it up to reveal a crude gramophone whose only amplifier was a single blue stone covered in connection runes attached to its reverb needle.

 "I think it's best to let the drummer chose, although if we pull this off, find something fitting"

 "Well, has to be 'MFN' by 'DS' annnnnnd, uh, T by-"

 "Do you even know what they are?"

 "It'll be fiiiiiine. Anyway, they're comin' over yonder. Merrah should be good to go soon, so we're set if you want to lay down the rug"

 The High-Drake dropped the pin and ominous music started to sound across the battlefield. A low hum of an instrument and a repeated phrase nobody in this world would understand. and yet, that was the entire point.

 To achieve their goal, a siren's song would need to reach out to one individual above all others and resonate with their soul as power accumulated through the death of thousands.

 What the outnumbered warriors set in motion was to replicate the strength of a god, then split it in two, as no mere mortal could ascend to a pantheon. Or at least, that is what they believed.

 Tonight, high above, further then out into the distant night sky, into space itself, a comet would pass by, aptly dubbed the 'Fools Moon'. Most could never hope to see such a sight in their lifetime, as in reality, it was no comet or moon, but a frozen goddess who had been tricked into being banished.

 Themis. Lady Justice. The original Third Horsemen Of The Apocalypse.

 It was only by her blessing could another take her place. An event so unlikely that future iterations would seek different methods to claim said title.

 Perhaps it was luck that led Merrah, the Nyx bounty hunter, to stay her blade at every chance, to endure the hardships of never ending training since she could walk, to watch her family perish one by one, and now to raise her weapons for the sake of the one she loved that would eventually sway the gaze Themis this night.

 ***

 "General Appius, I implore you head our warning"

 Ranking at the top of all bounty hunters stood a single lone wanderer.

 A Nyx by the name of Merrah, not that her name would mean anything after tonight. Power of the magnitude she was chasing would come with a price.

 Dressed in a brown duster coat, elegant black vest and dark leather chaps with accompanying boots. Save a pair of spurs, any outsider coming to this world would believe the tanned dark elf was some sort of cowboy.

 Over time her look had adopted a more feminine and elegant look with fancy cuffs and a black dress shirt underneath with its own lace to complete her look. She adorned her fathers magical leather satchel, allowing her to carry far more than a regular bag.

 Such objects were rare and often only owned by those rich enough to fill such vast pockets. Unlike a certain Witch, her bag was only bigger on the inside, instead of somehow connecting to another space entirely.

 Merrah found the look endearing. In her younger years of nearly unending training, she spent what little time she could in her home city's library reading books under the 'Non-Native Fiction' section.

 Tales of black powder and broken hearts, brought to an end by lone gunslingers with luck by their side. On the eve of her fourteenth birthday, a mysterious small cardboard box found its way on top of her stack of books.

 A Relic that had never been seen before, born from the interest of otherworldly weaponry and devotion to stoic justice. Those that yearned for the impossible granted life to a deadly deck of cards.

 "Someone of your stature should know my answer. I'm sorry Lady Merrah, while I appreciate your warning, I have strict orders and fail to see how five other people, to of which happen to be sixteen, could possibly pose a threat to the Empire"

 Side by side, Cardslinger Merrah and General Appius of the Eternal Empire walked through the fog next to a legion of marching troops half a kilometer from Tyrants Rest.

 Out of respect, the aging man turning gray had dismounted to discuss her warning face to face. He shared history with the girl, personally commissioning her for several capture missions, to which were completed flawlessly.

 His face painted a pensive picture of utter annoyance. Losing a potential prospect for the Empire caused him pain, and yet he would face it all the same, on equal grounds.

 He wore glimmering armor, sure to shine brightly under the light of the sun. Made of several layers of folded rectangles overlapping each other, it seemed all its segments came from the same crucible mold. Connected at the back and front with clamps and red laces around his torso, whilst covering his shoulders and thighs.

 The Eternal Empire had updated their armor design dating back to the Roman Empire with modern metallurgy and blacksmithing. Not as strong as full plate, but far easier to reproduce and fit for their vast armies.

 "As long as you understand, proceeding any further will be seen as a full declaration of war. Farewell General"

 "Now hold on Merrah, why are you doing this? You don't belong to the alliance, why not join us? That way you get to keep your record clean and not have to deal with being labeled an Aux. We only wish to deal with the Boree and their heretic leader. No Nala blood need be spilt"

 "Nala blood has already been spilt General. The family consisted of five farmers, two of which were children. Enda may not be here but you should not underestimate what is at Nala's disposal. Once again, farewell"

 Appius scrunched his face in frustration knowing full well what her words meant. He felt his arm reach for a Gladius of a nearby soldier only to be stopped by the sudden slow swell of music and a scout report.

 It was too late for him to stop Merrah as she had completely disappeared from sight even as the fog seemed to be lifting.

 A hymn of unknown instruments and vocals speaking of desire for something he had no knowledge of.

 "General Sir! We've identified the remaining mercenaries preparing to fight just ahead!"

 Camouflaged in a mix of multiple dark colors of foliage, a young hooded woman carrying several sheets of paper ran to meet their leader to present information.

 "What of it? Kill em' and be done with it"

 "Sir, I believe you should see this"

 "Hmph?"

 His face grew ever pale as he read the information to the rise of music filling the rolling farmland around him. Each second the mist hindering eyesight disappeared and the black clouds shifted aside to reveal a sight that filled his heart with pure fear.

 It was no moon yet it glared at them all the same. A milky eye trained right on their field big enough to block out a third of the sky. Seamless without any face attached. Such a sight was only possible by a God bending the laws of reality to their preference.

 However, that was not what scared him the most.

 "R-retreat..."

 "General?"

 "Sound the whistle. We never should have come here..."

 "Sir!?"

 The music had drowned out his trembling voice and all he could do was watch as a flurry of fiery rocks climbed over the horizon, aimed directly at his army. Meteors plucked from the infinite sky above to rain down hell on his parade.

 No, how could he see it as such. The music, their distant smiles on the opposite hill.

 This was a show alright, one of force.

 Most of his army had all lined up in their squads awaiting one last horn to charge and take Tyrants Rest.

 Twenty Five thousand troops trampling freshly tilled farmland. All to be slaughtered as one man was launched into the night sky so he could ride a ball of fire into a crowd of soldiers while an electric guitar riff filled everyone's ears.

 Another attack followed behind the molten falling rocks.

 Ninety nine silver spikes, all slightly sparking, and all originating from a single black cylinder. What use is a bow that strikes to someone who does not miss? Most people fail to imagine an archer shooting more than one arrow at once.

 General Appius collapsed to the ground as his knees gave out, clutching the vital information in his hands on the mercenaries who bore the symbol of four horse skulls.

 A reputation tied to the name of warriors whose titles remained a mystery to the world.

 Twenty years ago they faced far more than his measly amount of men, losing one of their own in the enormous battle. Whispering their party's name was taboo despite being inactive ever since that day.

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 Warren AKA: Red 'The Bloodfire Butcher'

Human, Male

 Mercenary Guild Rank: 1 : Apex

Hunters Guild Rank: 12 : Ranger

Adventures Guild Rank: N/A : SSS*

Craftsmen Guild Rank: N/A : Soft-skin

Merchant Guild Rank: N/A : Customer 

 Strength 8-10/10* Agility 8/10  Aura 10/10

 Ranged 6/10 Magic 3-10/10* Life Force NA/NA

 Intelligence 7/10 Tactics 10/10 Experience 10/10

 Mana 2/10  Stamina NA/NA* Constitution NA/NA*

 Note: Tireless, reports of this man running from city to city without stop at a steady pace. Has yet to be injured or become ill. Aided the Forgotten Heroes party in killing the Destroyer. On the Adventures Guild private rank list, public records list as S rank. Unconfirmed reports of him melding with fire and earth to fight.

 Party/Band/Company/Camp: Apocalypse Now

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_____________________________________________

 Rider AKA: V*

Crimson High-Drake, Female

 Mercenary Guild Rank: N/A : Butterknife

Hunters Guild Rank: NULL : Blacklisted

Adventures Guild Rank: N/A : SSS*

Craftsmen Guild Rank: 1* : Midas Touch

Merchant Guild Rank: NULL : Blacklisted

 Strength 10/10 Agility 6-10/10*  Aura 5/10

 Ranged 10/10 Magic 5-10/10* Life Force 10/10

 Intelligence NA/NA Tactics 10/10 Experience NA/NA

 Mana 7/10  Stamina 8/10 Constitution 10/10

 Note: Most guild records of Rider have been tampered with. Known to change names. Hated by representatives of several guilds. Questionable reports of agility, claims of enveloping lightning. The Grand Forge-Master has gone on record to insist Rider can craft mythical armor, artifacts and somehow, Relics.

 Party/Band/Company/Camp: Apocalypse Now

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 Appius could not muster the courage to use the horn tied to his waist to issue orders as loud cracks of explosions and gunfire joined in the symphony of war.

 "What have I done?"

 A second later his head was filled with a lead ball, fired from a single shot matchlock rifle two hundred meters away through thick fog overlooking the battlefield to the side.

 Merrah's first kill of many as her weapon faded to smoke and she drew another card.

 The Ace of Spades.

 It twisted, shifted and contorted to a weapon holding six rounds of explosive destruction. She had never seen this weapon in her life, but never before had she sought to condemn others to death before today.

 Being sleek and made of material that defied her understanding of firearms and sporting a black color scheme, she did not like its look, and yet it would help her achieve her goal all the same as she rained death from above, one thunk at a time.

 A rotary grenade launcher.

 Explosions followed by screams, after spending all its shots she threw the weapon at the ground in disgust, disappointed in herself.

 Running down the small slope and towards a squad of legionnaires with spears in hand she drew two more cards, one in each hand, that quickly turned to weapons that instantly felt more at home.

 Two lever action shotguns of the old west.

 Yes, this was more her style.