Sorry Dewca I missed out your reply...
I'll edit that to post 51 ASAP. You will definitely be answered.

Vivi is uberdepressed! He is at the McDonald's now, using its wi-fi, half-dead from a football training sessions; he is not going to get back home before 10:30 PM due to a concert...
Definitely no update today! By the way, Vivi reckons the next chapter to be uberboring, so he may as well post Chapter 4 and 5 at once.

Here comes the character power thread...

The combat ability (or simply power) of a character could change frequently. If that's the case, I would list all the "versions" of the same guy.

I currently have three scales:

1. Spiral Cobalt Scale: Measures how much Spiral Cobalt Regulars can the character defeat at once. The number for a Spiral Cobalt is defined to be 1.

2. Nicholas relativity: Measures how much stronger/weaker the person is compared to Nicholas in Chapter 1; Nicholas' number is defined to be one; if you are twice as strong then your number is 2.0.

3. Bawssliness scale: Any integer from 0 to 5. 0: Puny shrimp wimp. 1: One-scener. 2: Not a bawss. 3: Half a bawss. 4: Is a bawss. 5: Bawss of bawsses.

Edit: Didn't work so I am gonna post Google Docs link instead
The Link

Chapter 6 out tomorrow. Thanks for your support, I know this stuff is rubbish but I gotta continue writing xD
I feel that my self-esteem is dropping to a historical low point with every chapter I write :w: just finished Chapter 11 at school today.

Sirius: No Almire is not bad, just another faction in the story. Pretty neutral with it. If you dislike being a cute Almirian I can put you together with Mordenus and Justiani...something like the "ragespam trio" of the Spiral Order.

Popoixd: Love!

Mordenus: Sure! I could always use one or two demolitionists here and there. You are surely giving me a hard time to research/make up all those explosive mechanical terms xD

Great idea Effer! Actually I wanted to only update each guy/gal's stats when they appear in the chapter...
But since it's you who is requesting, I'll do that now! Love!
I'll update the statistics table to include a section called "Character Apps"...Elis'll be there
When are you online? We can FSC together! Love!

I tried something different in this Chapter: More conversation, creating a mood, do something that's not fighting and brawling.
I failed. Wish me success in future.
Part One official finishes here; Part Two ensues. Thanks for your support in the past two weeks, writing even only one part is difficult beyond my imagination. If not for you guys, I couldn't have finished in the first place, let alone continuing till Chapter 12 (at the moment, wait for more!)

Song: Senbon Sakura
"A Thousand Shoots of Cherry Blossom"
Atalia's theme.

Chapter 6

Ride forward, Vog. Charge into their ranks, hammer fear into their souls; be the harbinger of destruction. Then I shall dispense my fire.

It was the fifth day. The Dusk Riders had barely slept since their Princess’ taming of the mystical Vog.

For five days they had rode non-stop, puncturing layers after layers of defence, scattering and routing battalions and battalions of Knights. Atalia always rode at the vanguard, a killing machine inseparable with her new mount.

Towards the east they rode, hurrying towards the Thousand Citadels. In their absence the Order had initiated an all-out, major offence; rare enough, even mercenaries and considerable militias were mobilised.

The situation was perilous. According to what she had collected, the outermost fortresses had already been stormed and taken. With faction conflicts rife and the army nearly paralysed by the lack of leadership, Almire was on the verge of defeat.

Almire’s fate may not be in my hands. Mine certainly is.

Fifteen minutes ago, her scout had reported the presence of two legions ahead of their way, blocking the main road. Her officers advised her to sneak around and organise an ambush, but she refused. Urging the Vog to prowl forward, she strolled along the path towards the enemy; the Riders could only comply and follow.

Let them fear. Fear and they will break. That had always been her theory. However, not only her enemies feared; the Riders feared too. They would embrace death bravely, but dying without a purpose, charging vainly into certain demise, was surely another issue.

She had to protect them. She had to become the great bulwark that shielded her Riders from harm, so they could battle without apprehension. She alone could not possibly do it, but with the Fang…

Fang, lend me your power.

Sure, little Princess. Wish you success in battle.

Instantly power surged in, fiery and hot, coursing through her arteries like excited steam. It was more than ample; the superfluous energy boiled inside, inescapable. Atalia felt a “pang” in her head; then the sensation came, an immense pleasure sated with flickering fervor.

The strength she had desired for so long. Now with the Fang and Vog both hers to claim, she was finally complete.

“Can’t wait…” she mumbled. Her hands burned. Her palms were searing, throbbing, impatient to discharge its scorching accumulation. She could spot the enemies, a curdling mass of battle-ready Knights neatly organised into ranks. The muzzle of their rifles and blasters glinted alarmingly, as if boasting of their power and the Rider’s futility before advanced weapons.

They could blast the whole squad into beehives before they approached. No single person could defy the might of hundreds of weaponries directed all at her.

Fang, bestow on me the immense power gathered in you. Make me invincible. Let your power be my shield, my sword, my wings. Let me overflow with it.

My pleasure, little Princess.

The lust of battle flared inside her. She was excruciatingly hot, submerged in red-hot lava; her eyes burned, flames flickering gorgeously inside, amber and yellow. The world discoloured before her, becoming but cascading tides of plaintive, monotone grey, except for the sky; it blazed luminously, burning.

Awaken your senses, Princess. Awaken what you are.

A multitude of sensual pleasure flooded into her perception---that of love, hate, bravery, and many more. They collided in her, clashing, swirling, transforming her mind into a chaotic matrix of tumultuous emotions.

She desired fire. Cleanse. Burn. Ashes would fly.

“Give me more…”

She could not withstand it anymore. Heat flowed flickering from every pore. More that escaped, more she drew from the enigmatic Fang.

Stretching her arms out wide, she closed her beaming, ruby eyes in thrill as streams of flame poured from her extremities. Enveloping around her arms, they transformed into crimson, burning wings, carrying her forward into the fevering fray.

Mira rode along the pebbled road. Though motorbikes and other mechanised vehicles were faster, horses still remained the staple transport in Almire countryside. Her horse trotted placidly, unhushed. Mira didn’t mind; having travelled so far, it wasn’t inappropriate to slow down and have a glance at the sceneries.

She hadn’t visited Almire in so many years. The various scenes she had viewed prior to her departure had faded and tumbled into a remote corner of her memory, all mixed up.

I wouldn’t have expected my return, anyway. Almire wasn’t a particularly fond memory of hers.

The road was flanked by a sparse growth of oaks and maples. It was early winter, and in such altitudes the weather was cold. Apart from her usual, heavy cloak, she had to swaddle herself with several blankets and an extra scarf to keep warmth from fleeing. Luckily, there was no snow.

Her horse made a melodic crunching as it trotted atop the dead leaves, yellow and still freshly crispy. Mira knew that behind the facade of woods were the farms and pastures.

Almire never lacked or wanted. Its rich soil, though only farmed twice a year, provided ample grain and barley for the entire population. Pastoral activities flourished on its vast and uninhabited hinterland, producing meat, dairy and wool; Almirian wool remained one of its staple exports even in times of war.

However, its inhabitants seemed reserved this year. Mira did not understand that---true, Almire was at war with the Spiral Order. Yet the belligerents had been at war sporadically for the last half century, with fewer time at peace than at war.

What’s so special this year?

When she first arrived at Almire, she sought a night’s residence at a peasant’s house. Following the full procedure she donned her ceremonial cloak (which she had always worn), displayed her chain of sacred runes, did a quick blessing to the farmer before requesting a bed and food. The farmer studied her suspiciously, challenging her identity several times before grudgingly leading her to a pile of hay.

The bread and cheese he offered was meagre at best. And why, he didn’t offer a single pint of beer or mead; Mira had really wanted to warm up on some alcohol.

She bade him farewell early next morning; he nodded in much reprieve watching her leave on her chestnut mare.

The following night was similar; though the household greeted her warmly, they confessed to their inability to provide for her copious food, as they barely had enough to fill their tummies; the rest had to be stored for emergency. Still, they provided her with enough food for two day’s journey. Mira thanked them warmly, blessing them with extra vigour.

I have no idea what’s going on. She decided to hustle the journey, reaching the towns quickly so to enjoy the convenience of civilization.

Last night she had a comfortable sleep at an inn; the first bed she had slept in a week. This morning she had taken the liberty to consume a hot breakfast before travelling. The chocolate felt so good when it ran down her throat, hot and gooey.

The payment was higher than she had expected; but no problem, she still had a pocket full of gold Crowns. Besides, she wouldn’t need money tonight; if what she had remembered was valid, she would very soon reach her old friend’s home.

It was about three or four in the afternoon. The winter sun hung suspended not very far above the horizon, its glaze white and weak. Mellow was the ambience, but frost seeped into every corner without sunlight. Mira hastened her pace.

Soon the Citadel appeared, a majestic, imposing structure of a castle looming above, cleaving a way out from the surrounding greenery. Riding to its gate, Mira shouted to the guards watching suspiciously on the watchtower.

“Who are you? What are you doing here!” the guards bellowed down at her, the volume of their voices dissipating through the winter breeze. Mira couldn’t figure out what they demanded, but she knew what to respond.

“I am an old acquaintance of your master. Tell him that Mira had come for a visit.”

The guards looked at each other in confusion, speaking in a hushed conversation that Mira couldn’t possibly overheard. Finally, one of the guards sprinted down the watchtower into the castle proper.

Mira smiled. The citadel hadn’t changed since her last visit; the same tall, gargantuan structure with solid granite walls; there wasn’t a crevice on it. The emblem of the family fluttered proudly atop a flagpole erected on the highest watchtower---a proud, roaring Snarbolax with bat-like wings spanning on its back.

The Last Citadel---or so it was called. The last castle on one’s path to the City of Almire, it comprised of the majestic castle, the trading town it protected, and the vast expanses of farmland around. Its masters often went to have tea with the King, only two hours’ ride away.

That’s how Mira first came to know her friend who resided here.

The great, iron door creaked open. Rust was apparent on its dull, grey surface, creeping across the frames and the knobs like red vines.

“Greetings, Mira. Nice to meet you again.” After the gate had been pulled open, the master of the castle appeared in person, greeting Mira fondly.

“Kai…” Mira studied the figure in front of her. His black hair was tied back with a bangle, resting lazily on his shoulder. A genuine grin was displayed on his face, and his eyes spoke of affectionate joy and surprise to see her again.

His ears were tall and pointed, his fingers particularly slender. His eyes were a pale grey, his lips a paler red---characteristics of a typical Almirian.

“You have grown a lot taller.” Mira estimated his height to be a head taller than her. “The last time we saw each other, I could still pat your head.”

“Yeah. Guess I grow up late. And I’ve also grown a lot darker.” Kai rolled up his sleeve, displaying his energetic, tanned skin.

“Now come with me.” he gestured her to follow. Entering the gate, they walked side-by-side across the bustling streets of the trading town.

Even with the eminent sunset the town teemed with life. Traders haggled on their goods, merchants negotiated and signed documents, honest farmers brought in their products in good faith that even if they were fooled, the tricksters would not take all. Guards, furbished in their shining steel armour, paraded the streets hoisting their spears.

“How are you doing recently?” Mira asked.

“The usual business I guess. Managing the finances, striking new pacts with the merchants, training troops, bringing them out to fight. And levying troops.”

“Levying troops?”

“The King’s order. The frontier is crumbling, and we will soon be needed to supply fresh troops.”

“What did you demand from the king? You won’t go away from this empty-handed.”

Kai stopped abruptly at a food stall. Taking a coin from his pocket, he purchased two small bags of cubic snacks. “Apple crumple. Your favourite.” he handed one of the bags to Mira. Then he continued speaking.

“My father is discussing that with the King right now. Also, I forgot to ask: What wind has blown you here? You were absent from Almire for a long time; in fact, I didn’t think you’ll ever come back again.”

Mira hesitated. Should she trust Kai? Though she had known him as an honest, modest youth, things could change quickly. And for his position now, he had a lot to consider apart from aiding her friend. Finally, she laid everything out honestly; she sincerely needed his help.

“The Night is alive; soon it will rise and consume what is above. And you can tell that Almire is not in good shape; the peasants are disheartened, the kingdom is losing a war.”

“Should have known. You are a Priest of Divinity, anyway. What did the Goddess say?”

Mira stared blankly at Kai’s innocent face. “The Goddess never speaks to her servants. I thought everyone knew that.”

“I simply forgot.” Kai grumbled. “I am not a particularly religious person. So, what are you here for? Warn us about some mythical deities that would kill the world?”

Mira sighed. The power of religion had faded over time. Before it had a firm grasp on both its follower’s hearts and that of the ruling class. “No, I ask for peace.” she stated.

Kai could not veil the ridicule in his voice, “Mira, I thought you know who I am.”

“Of course...but what I ask for is really eminent. I believe we also have agents working on the other faction as well. Cradle truly needed to be united to fight against it.”

“‘We’? You mean Strikers?”

“Yeah. Kai, you got to know this.” The Night is strong. And vile. I felt hatred---lot’s of hatred and anger---in its voice. I believe it won’t be so ‘selective’ when it exacted revenge.”

Kai didn’t reply, and walked silently for a while. Finally he spoke, “Mira, I hope you still remembered my lineage. My grandfather was a Frontierlord, the first of its kind. My father inherited and expanded upon his position and finally acquired the land we are standing on through battlefield proficiency. Everything I have comes from war. I am not such staunch a militarist, but I couldn’t possibly risk alienating my family and subordinates.”

“What do you plan to do? Lock me up? Have me executed?”

“No, of course not.” the amusement in his tone was palpable. “You are my friend no matter what your stance is. Besides, it wouldn’t be beneficial having you dead---I wish not to offend the Temple.”

“That means I could at least have a nice dinner and a bed at your place.”

“Totally correct. Now, please follow me this way.” Kai waved to her.

Vercin followed closely behind his commander, full of awe and respect. She had transmigrated into a phoenix, a blazing, majestic creature. Vercin could not identify the proud Princess from the torrents of intense flames; all he knew was her boundless, searing enthusiasm for fire.

“Follow close behind, shelter in my flames. Do not spread out and attack.”

The air burned, a duo of fluxing cyclones. Colossal tails of elongated amber spewed, huge, shapeshifting feathers that composed into the form of wings. Air, hot streams of shimmering air, converged rapidly at the majestic bird.

“Charge in, kill as many as you can. Strike terror in them.”

Vercin knew what she meant. The victory only depends on morale.

As Atalia neared the Knights started to shuffle. The shielded troops at the front looked hesitantly at each other, then balked, refusing to engage the burning Rider in her glamour, only to be stopped by their comrades behind.

The officers ordered to open fire. The ignition of gunpowder populated the battlefield loudly, creating noise and smoke in abundance. Thousands of bullets darted, converging at one target---Atalia. Struggling to get through the scorching barrier, they were cremated in the process.

In surprise the legion fired another salvo to no avail. Realising the increasing proximity between them and the assaulter, the officers instead ordered the flanks to break and attack.

Too late.

Before they could board their armoured vehicles, Atalia had already crashed into their ranks, a flaming bullet wrested in immaculately beautiful crimson-and-amber. Consciously, Atalia had the temperature of the wings lowered, only to spread out in an even larger diameter.

Let it burn. Destruction I bring to those in my way.

Flaked skin, seared flesh; charred faces, blackened forms; bodies burnt, ashened and shredded, then blew carefree to the sky, infinite butterflies the colour of volcanic ash. Inanimate, yet they flutter; lifeless, yet they fly.

Exasperation. The Knights drowned in their desperation. The Riders immersed in their awestruck shock. Joy alone existed in Atalia’s burning palms.

The soldiers unsheathed their unsharpened swords---in reality no more than pokey sticks. The burning Princess browsed their distorted countenance in contempt as they charged in futility. Behind the Riders followed, their war cries undented by the rising smoke; retrieving their sharpened, steel-tipped javelins from their back, they struck fanatically at the disorder. Blood-tainted cobalt fell in waves.

The Riders charged on through the broken ranks, an arrow undeterred by patchworks of rotten hay, gaping through the demoralised, panick-striken soldiers. No one dared challenge the Princess, instead shied away and pleaded for mercy.

Death impended.

She struck anyway, her Fang extended into a gigantic, jagged piece torch of ill-fate. A single slash, and tens of bystanders drop, writhing in sheer pain. Her followers hooted a savage cry, exacting revenge on the fleeing soldiers, their cold swords shearing into their tender flesh.

“Time to go.” With the Princess indulged in her inhumane slaughter, Vercin had taken the command. Amidst the fray he remained calm, observant of the tides of war. Though the centre was disfigured, shattered, the flanks were clamping in.

The Riders followed in obidience. Butchering their last victims, they abandoned the unresisting preys and rode forward. Their speed was astonishing---even the mechanised Knights could not hope to rival their immense velocity.

See how they fear you, little Princess. You are the true victor.

The power began to sap in Atalia, though still more than enough. With her wings dissipating and vision regaining, she could finally figure out what was at front.

The rearguard, unwilling to admit their defeat, stood defiantly in her way; shields were raised, guns were trained on her, vehicles placed sideways as barriers. The officers grinned in sour satisfaction; sighting her waning power, they were confident to bring her down once and for all.

Fang...

Yes, my little Princess?

For one last time today, lend me your power.

Sure, Princess. Wish you luck in whatever you break.

A final surge of power, more intense than ever, surging---entirely into her right hand. The flowing potential became so strong that it was palpable, almost tangible; she felt her entire arm swell to the verge of implosion.

Thrilled, she lifted her arm level to shoulder. Then, as the flame multiplied on, she tossed.

Fire encased the Fang as it travelled in the air, creating a scorching orb of imminent neutralisation. As it landed among the panicked rearguard, it exploded.

Mushroom clouds were absent, but the effect remained shocking enough; a deafening blow followed by rifting impact waves traversing past the verge of the battlefield. Limbs and heads flew, spiralling ridiculously like torn ragdolls decimated by their angry owner. Cries were drowned in the explosion, yet the raw stench of blood and the queerly drooling smell of sizzled flesh clogged dead in the air.

Riding through the mayhem, Atalia retrieved her Fang. As she bent down she faltered and nearly lost her balance; the power of the Fang exited freely and left her weak.

The Riders followed out of the burning battlefield. For some minutes the ambience was tense---everyone firmly clutched by the thick smoke and the thicker scent of death.

Suddenly, the Princess waved for a halt. Gathering around her they could see their beloved Princess dishevelled and exhausted. They gulped back their cheers as she adressed them.

I am so tired. I feel drained. Empty.

“Vercin. Tie me tight to my Vog. I need a nice sleep.” With that she dozed off.

The Riders eyed each other, unsure what to do. Finally, Vercin walked forward, fetching a rope and tied the Princess to her Vog. “Let’s go.” He commanded.

Insatiable. Her remaining thought before the slumber.

“Dinner is ready.” Kai entered her room, holding a tray of food and a flask of wine.

“Thanks! Especially for the wine; you know how long I’ve missed good liquor.”

“For seven years, right? Bet you can’t brew anything nice underground.” Fetching two cups, Kai poured them full and handed Mira one. Mira sipped the wine gratefully.

“Nice wine.” Mira complimented.

The duo didn’t have dinner in the hall. Instead, Kai had ordered the kitchen to cook something “hot, tasty, and normal” for he and his gust; then he brought it to the guest room.

“Look what we got today...the usual meal I guess. I’ve told them to cook some more.” Sitting down opposite to Mira, Kai attacked his steak ravenously. Mira sniffed hungrily at the imploring fragrance of saffron, and delved altogether into her tasty dinner.

Baby potatoes, mixed greens; steak with gravy; a blueberry pie acclaimed to be the kitchen’s signature dish.

The meal was conducted in an awkward silence, with neither side accustomed to getting so near at their long-unseen friend. Apart from the sound of cutting, chewing and gulping, the room was entirely quiet.

Kai studied his guest fondly, marvelling at her cute, rusty hair and delicate features. When his gaze set on her ears, his heart sank; like many years ago they had again reminded the chasm between them. Mira’s ears, though pointier and sharper than her peers, were definitely not Almirian.

“When we first met, my father so opposed the prospect of you as my friend.”

Mira poured herself another cup of wine. “Typical. You should have watched his expression when I ruffled your hair. You were so short back then.”

If that was the reason things would be easier. “It was good. The time we spent together.”

“Yeah…” the boredom she had to endure was tremendous. Theology lessons, prayers and daily training; all she wanted was some fun, something adequate for a normal, playful girl. “You know, prior to meeting you, I had no one to speak to; my sister cares about her own business more than me, her father...though he kindly had me adopted, I know I’ll never grow close to him.” Mira reached for her third cup.

The image of Mira, swathed in her ridiculously oversized ceremonial cloak, appeared in front of Kai’s eyes. He saw a shy, depressed girl, plain and unsuited in the luxurious garment. The giant of a man that stood beside proudly displayed her to his family during their visit.

“Those were nice times…” Kai began, the slight instability in his voice caused by the intake of liquor. “When I first saw you practising with a sword, I felt strangely intrigued. I thought it such a strange combination, you and the sword...so in the end I tried the same. You know, I was famous for my reluctance to spend time outside of the attic.”

“I guess that’s why you father decided to keep me as a friend.” Mira sipped at her wine, largely ignoring the rest of the platter. “Practising swords with a girl is better than not practising at all.”

Kai assaulted his blueberry pie with renewed vigour. His appetite was extraordinarily strong this evening; same with his talkativeness. “It was always you and me, when we played and practised. Of course there were others around, but throughout the year or two I spent with you, I sparred with no one but you. My father encouraged it so much that he arranged extra meetings with the nobles and the King just to bring me with him. In the end...well, I really started to like swords.”

“I was so excited when I got my first real sword. I rode all the way by myself to your Temple and showed you the the sword. Then I laughed at your jealous eyes. Then you beat me up real hard.”

“I wonder what your father’s reaction was when he saw your bruises and cuts.” Mira’s voice was giddy and woozy; the alcohol was strong on her.

Kai shrugged, “Not much. Most of the bruises were from a fall the way back home when my horse tripped over some pebbles. I came the next day anyway; you were so happy because I brought you an identical sword.”

“Unluckily it broke.”

“Right...Mira, you got to know: I was so sad when my best friend mysteriously disappeared. I cried a lot, and for some time retreated to my attic; over the years I still thought of you often. I didn’t believe you were back when the guards told me, but when I saw that it was really you...I was exulted. My heart nearly leapt out of place.”

It was only after he had finished everything that he saw Mira’s blushing face. He blushed too.

“Must be due to the alcohol.” Mira pushed herself off her seat, her motion swaying and unsteady. “If there’s nothing more to discuss, please leave my room. I want a nice sleep in case I hangover the next morning and waste my time clearing the mess over the basin.”

“Wait!” Kai stood up rapidly, hurrying forward. Gripping her shoulder firm, he pulled her towards him.

Mira turned, studying him with a quizzical look. “What are you up to?” she asked. “Don’t be fuddled by the alcohol, I know we are both a bit drunk.”

Kai’s blush intensified. “No, Mira, not what you think…”

“I’ve never thought of anything. I just told you to be calm.” Mira stated peacefully, albeit a bit high on spirits.

“Good. Then listen to me...I have decided to help you.”

“Huh?” frankly, Mira couldn’t believe her ears. Did the master of the greatest warmonger family in Almire just offered to help her to a mission of peace? “Drink some water. You are drunk.”

“No, I am sober...at least when I made the decision. I’ll offer whatever I can put up with to help you finish your mission.” he paused, then added, “Of course, without offending my father and friends too much.”

Mira decided to listen more before she judged. The chance of a deception was slim, especially after he had laid out his heart like this...but it wouldn’t harm to be careful.

“I’ll help you enter the City without being spotted, arrange a private audience with the King, and try what I can to persuade him. If you need any fund or other supplies, I’ll be happy to assist you with that.”

“But why, Kai? Things will definitely leak out. How would you cope with it then?”

“I have decided to believe you, Mira. You never lied to me during my two years with you, even if that may hurt my ego. Also, who would invent such big a joke? Even if what you witnessed or felt wasn’t totally valid, it could very much be true; I wouldn’t take such a risk. And besides…”

Mira spotted a frown. Why so?

“The Halfblood Princess had gone missing.”

“Pardon?”

“We have authentic information coming from the frontline; the Princess and her Riders were scattered and forced westward after a major skirmish, which was over two weeks ago. No one had seen them ever since.”

“Riders?” the term was novel to Mira.

“Dusk Riders. The Princess’ personal bodyguard that she selected and trained herself. Well, anyway, with the Princess now missing, Almire has lost one of her best commanders, the one that’s best at mustering the royal forces.”

“So you mean with her now missing the army is less coherent and more susceptible to defeat?”

“Not only that; some of the great lords have openly stated their refusal to participate in the war, while others held back their levying. We could not hope for victory; better to sue for peace before the country breaks.”

“I thought Almire was united and centralised.”

“Far from it. The royal army is large, but not large enough to fend off an invasion by its own. The lords and magnates fear their power weakened in the following war. They have long resented the loss of trade resulted from the war.”

Mira silenced. What he said was completely different what had been taught in the Temple. “I shall say thank yo.”

“Of course.” Kai beamed, his face instantly brightened. “It is always good to help a friend, especially someone as cute and beautiful as you.”

Mira frowned giddily. “That’s a bit too blatant.”

“Well, anyway, that’s all I have for the night. Suit yourself if you want to sleep; breakfast will be brought to the room tomorrow.”

“Good Night.”

Wake up, Princess. You have slept for too long.

I still feel weak and empty. Can’t I just keep my eyes shut?

You’ve arrived, Princess, I’m afraid. However…

Lend me your power, Fang. I shall be revitalised with heat.

Unwillingly, Atalia opened her heavy eyelids. Heat flowed through her, making her warm and energetic. Trying to sit up, she realised she was still tied to her mount. She looked up; the smoldered, smited walls of a castle loomed above. There were cracks and dents in the stone wall, and a quarter of the watchtower was missing; guards were absent.

“Vercin.” she croaked. Her voice was dry and weak from the deficiency of water. She had to call several times before her faithful officer could hear. Instantly he came over, his face flooded with concern.

“Princess. You are awake.” he said as he untied the rope and helped her to the ground.

“Yes. How long have I been sleeping?”

“Two days. Princess, we are all worried.”

“No need to worry now. I am awake. What is keeping you here?”

“We are resting; we have just reached a citadel.”

Atalia leapt back on he Vog, and rode forward. Vercin followed behind, shouting, “Princess, wait! There was no response from the citadel---it might be a trap.”

“What do you fear? Your Princess is here.” the fearless warrior strode forward. The Riders spontaneously followed, riding through the narrow, broken gate.

“So they have broken through the westmost citadel. I wonder where they have reached now…”

What is inside does not matter. I am here.

Whoever offends Almire shall burn with incinerating flames.

Wait for Interlude One! Would help explain some of the derpiness.

TY Vinny!

Luckily you didn't apply with Felicity, I forgot to add rule #0:
Boot Felicity out from the window!

Shadowsun is OK, AP and Sentenza are not (Sentenza reserved for later trololol purposes), I could give him a Callahan and another weapon that I would create from scratch xD may post pics on later if I sketched nicely
The background...meh, I'll need to edit Chapter 9...the general idea is ok but I need to change some of the wordings there to make Lance less impressive to that noob assitant curator whatever person.
If you want anything to happen/not happen between Nyx & Diana, say it...you got the finally decision for this...your privilege acquired when you became the first non-author poster here :3 (ok just some random reason I invented nvm.)

Btw isn't Nyx the Goddess of Night? Derpityderp -__-

Edit Vinny check post 86 I updated it
This post will be reserved for later purposes if it has a purpose at all

Post 82 updated to include specific character application number 5.
Please post guys xD your support is crucial.

First...replies! Replies!
@Mordenius: Derpityderp pretty sure you did this on a phone. Anyway, I really fail with writing xD. I am not confident with myself, and as a result, I tend to get things very certain and neat before I show them. In fact, this fanfic is the first thing that I showcased before I am sure how it would turn out...

Anyways. About the SCA (Specific Character Application) thing...
Character 1: Open.
Character 2: Mordenius, I could use your app, but change the name and provide more details...not only how he fights, but seriously, how he does politics and commands his army. We are talking about a general, not a berserker. Still open for other apps atm.
Character 3: Goes to Vinny. A waste if her app is not used.
Character 4: Thin's rejected; characters too cheery and flat, not much to play from them. And no more FF ><
Character 5: Same as 4. 4&5 are still open.

Also, during my Economics lesson, I did some doodles!
Kapstone-Night (KNight): http://imgur.com/Fehmt5D
PS-30 Dual-Aim + Nicholas' Alchemer: http://imgur.com/6rhSGjB
Evera's Valiance: http://imgur.com/UOy9Qiz
Normal Blaster: http://imgur.com/aQr19Vz

I did this free-handedly, so quality may suck a lot xD Was borrowing friend's automatic pencil, hard to get the feel :<
Bear with me my handwriting xD

Kapstone-Night: Nyx's specialised gun, precision sniper with both impact U-238 bullets (ikr that's OP) and shock energy shots.
PS-30 Dual-Aim: Oculi's standard weapon, a pulsar (shorter range, explosive thunderballs usable as an impact screen) and a legit sniper.
Evera's Valiance: Modified with a extra long gunblade attached, capable of firing 12 extra-large charges.
Spiral Order Standard Blaster: Just a blaster. duh
Nicholas' Alchemer: Meow... <3
V

@Mordernius: I'll change his name to Devian. Everything else is fine.
Guys, still need more applications on the SCA thing! Open until Monday evening.

As usual, this Interlude (not chapter xD) is an epic fail! I went down with style though...Enjoy if you can

Interlude 1

I am standing in a field of green.

Zytes constantly reminded himself that this is not a mere, bloated dream.

Reality. This is real. The lush emerald is not a recreated illusion.

The air---not only clean. He got plenty of sterilised air back on the vessel. The air---it is fresh. Vivid. Animate. The breezes did not move; they flowed.

He reached out for the cloudless azure above. A small bird, its body purer than sunlight, floated in the air, its wings a blur of rotation. Casual its drift towards his outreached palm, soft and satin the tactility. A simple brushing of its velvety feather against his callused skin brought him back to the time when the world seemed less desperate.

Its beady eyes glistened, a duo of polished obsidians capturing the luminosity of the planet’s maple sun. It blinked; it studied the war-torn veteran with the naivety of a babe exploring the world around.

Chirps. Musical, even lyrical. A lullaby.

It took off, wings spinning rapidly to lift its light body. A transient vacancy passed through his mind; Zytes felt a long lost piece of him retrieved, only to be wrought away again. Against the mellow warmth of the sun he stretched out for the cute creature---

Innocence. The bird’s serene flight spoke it all. Innocence.

His outstretched fingers stopped just short of its blue wings. Halting at the last moment, he gazed despondently at the vanishing figure of the blue bird.

His palm was rough, its surface abraded and regrew to the point of a patchwork of scabs and calloused. Senses,obscured beneath the thick layers of dead, lifeless skin, could only be found at the nimblest tips of his fingers.

It was a while before he discovered the peaceful feather resting calmly at his palm. Gently, not wishing to damage its exquisite shape, he slid the piece of bliss into his pocket.

A low, rumbling noise echoed on the grassy plains. The Skylark---the vessel and cradle of the exodus---now slowly disintegrated, laying itself onto the land that was soon to be the pilgrim’s new city.

Zytes didn’t bother watching; the metallic structures being erected were too monotonous. His gaze remained forward; beyond the green valleys and blue mountains, there were so much more to explore.

His fingers twitched in excitement; an uneasy smile broke the stillness of his expression. He felt his greatsword press against his back; for an impulse, he secretly hoped that he would never need to use it.

This is heaven.

Heaven. Do you deserve heaven?

The intruders...they don’t know. What do you want?

This is my realm. No one shall trespass.

Night, tell me. What are you going to do?

Why shall I? I alone possess the power to execute my wish.

……

The Core. A raw, pulsating mound of darkness, neatly shielded by its metallic appearance from the realms above.

The root.

Enthroned a pale man of purely dark dress. A dense shadow surrounded by paler shades of black, he adopted the form and outline of an Almirian; extremely tall and thin, pointed ears and lips drained of blood. His eyes were two globes of void, his complexion lighter than snow; the only thing he wore was a large sheet of opaque black, wrapped round his body.

The shades around him flickered and shimmered, fear emanating from their indistinguishable forms; the Night was furious, calmly furious. They all knew in his enraged state, he could nullify their existence with a single gesture.

Servants.

“Yes...yes, master?” ‘What can we do to please you?”

Above you shall go.

“Master, above? What are we supposed to do?”

Gather my people. Arm them. Command them.

“Why, master? You told us to leave them alone…”

Times are different. A new era has dawned; I cannot let the intruders dominate my realm.

Conquest, my servants. We shall reclaim the world that is rightfully ours.

The Swarm rose from its incessant strife for the lust of blood. For the first time in eternities, it adhered to a single destination.

Up the endless Depths they swept, a force impregnable in nature. The upstart Gremlins were conquered, their proud ammunition factories razed to the ground; their valiant last stand, the great Roarmulus twins, reduced to dust by the razor-sharp fangs of the Night.

The Royal Jelly Palace was scorched; its nobility subdued and assimilated into the depthless vastness of the Void. Upward the Swarm swept, through the ancient chasms and passages, through the ancient city of Moorcroft, reducing its inhabitants into wisps of spirits.

Closer to the ground the Swarm grew irritated; unaccustomed to the intensifying sunlight, it thrashed and frenzied. The Snarbolaxes, its kin in effect, were scattered and forced to flee to the surface.

Soon nothing remained but a few layers of earth. Night was content of the progress.

Night, do you want no less than total extermination?

Only to retrieve what they have claimed.

I warn you, they are a worthy opponent even for the likes of you.

Only defeat shall be their reward. I represent a whole race. They cannot hope to stand up to one like me.

They represent something else; I feel it. They possess the crystal of hope and anticipation from a foreign race. They are strong even if incomplete.

What will you do? You are never as strong as I am.

…

You are not incorrect on this matter. It just contradicts my nature. I’ll not stop you, nor I have the ability to do so.

I am standing in a field of gold.

Lucielle inhaled the sweet scent of ripened wheat. Its freshness and nature appealed so much to her sense. A cool breeze tussled with her long, red hair, mischievously messing its fringes; the same breeze swept across the field, enticing the long, yellow stalks to dance in elegant unison.

It was so real. Natural. So contrasting with the enclosed greenhouses and chemically synthesised food. Vast and unending, Lucielle seemed lost in the sea of gold.

“Over here, Lucy!” in distance her friend waved; a young girl, perhaps no older than 18 (by human standards), with short hair the colour of mahogany. Quickly, Lucielle crossed the wheatfield and caught up with her new companion.

“Vasha, are you frank on what you are showing me?”

“Oh, of course. My father never allowed anyone to visit---but I decided you are trustworthy enough. Besides, to truly understand this world, the knowledge must be learned.”

Lucielle followed closely behind the cheerful girl. She had noticed her strange features in the first encounter, when she spotted and tackled the wandering Princess in a scouting mission. There weren’t any grudges between them, though; soon they became close friends.

Pointed ears, discoloured pupils; slender fingers and long hair for both sexes. The Almirians were indeed very similar to Lucielle’s race.

“Where are you bringing me? We are heading towards the border area.”

“I know, but who cares? The Knights won’t just come up and catch us, right?” Vasha’s pace was light and quick, her arms swinging cheerily. Again, Lucielle’s gaze was caught by the peculiar sword she held---a red blade of stone-like texture, extremely old and smells slightly peppery. When she inquired, Vasha replied by stating “I can’t use it yet; I’m just keeping it.”

“Vasha, you got to know...technically I am one of the Knights, and quite a high-ranked one. In effect I am a Striker---something different from them; and they dislike us a lot.”

“Why so? Aren’t you all one big family?”

“I got no idea. Maybe we’re better than them and they are jealously for that. Or maybe its just some kind of tradition.”

“Oh well.” Vasha strolled into the forest. “I guess we are near it.”

The forest was a completely different sight; thick overgrowth carpeted the sky, making it entirely impossible for sunlight to penetrate; the ground was a wet screen of mosses, rotten leaves and bugs. Lucielle frowned as her white boots brushed against the brown slime.

“Creepy place, I know. That’s why few people come in.” Vasha continued her speedy talk as she guided the way. Deeper into the forest they delved, until they had reached a particularly great tree. Ten to fifteen meters in diameter, its trunk was hollowed, immensely dark and deep.

“What is this…” Lucielle gasped. Staring into the void, she felt an inexplicable urge to turn and just go away.

“Chasm. The biggest secret...maybe I shouldn’t put it this way; the biggest difference of this world from all the others.”

“The planet got depths.”

“Depths…” a strange excitement rose in Lucielle’s chest; there was so much more to be explored apart from the exotic surface of Cradle.

“You can go in if you like. There are mysterious ‘elevators’ leading down to the depths. We never knew how they were created, so we seldom go; it will be safe I guess.”

“Cool. But Vasha, what are those eyes? They are...staring at me.”

“Eyes?” Vasha moved in front of her companion, leaning into the chasm for a closer look. There they were, gigantic glyphs resembling the outline of eyes, glowering in a dangerous, incandescent magentum.

“Weird…” she studied them closely. Suddenly, she remembered the ancient teachings she had read as a child. Back then she had dismissed them as stories intended to frighten kids to bed.

“It couldn’t be…”

Lucielle sensed a grave sense of danger; the blood-sated air rifted, tearing great holes through the tranquil forest. The eyes, portending innate destruction, blinked.

“Vasha! Watch out!” Lucielle dashed forward as she cried, but the shadows came faster. Out of the sparkling irises they hovered, crashing into her friend’s body, knocking her to the ground, feasting greedily on her fresh, innocent blood. They took forms as they landed in front of the startled Lucielle.

Beasts. Beasts of all kinds: wolves, serpents, myriads of chimeras. Black mane or skin they possessed universal, their eyes glowing orbs of red ghostfire.

What are these? Her reflex reaction was to reach for the scabbard at her waist; it wasn’t there.

She had left it in her quarters when Vasha invited her this morning. Now I am screwed.

She pulled out her blaster and fired. However, she was never a good gunner; the orbs bounced off the limbs and thick mane of the beasts, inducing a pale, grey smoke, only to have the uncanny animals aggravated.

Sword. I need a sword. Anything that it can cut things open. She glanced around; the most relevant she could find was a crooked twig infested by nameless bugs.

Her enemies didn’t bother waiting. Towards the Striker they attacked, some quick, some slow, all equally lethal. Using the body of the blaster as a short staff, Lucielle attempted to parry their claws. The first strike from a obscene-looking gorilla cracked its muzzle; the second ripped it clear from her hand.

This isn’t going to work. In such a deadly moment, she thought not of herself; the name that appeared in her head was Zytes.

I need a blade. A blade…

All of a sudden, she leapt forward, narrowly evading the sharp claws and paws that rammed towards her; out of the mass, she could spot her friend, lying face-down not far away, motionless except for an almost undetectable heaving---and the exotic sword still clutched tight.

A fierce lunge from a wolf missed as she leapt right. Two bear-like creatures struck next, their paws ready to rip open her face and stomach; she dodged the lower strike, but was forced to block the other with her left hand. The force of impact slapped her entire body to the left, leaping her arm bleeding and badly bruised.

Hurts. I wonder if it’s broken…

Not a time for such concerns. Continuing her dash, she reached her fallen friend and hastily wrestled the blade from her closed palm; Vasha didn’t object; could she?

With the blade in her hand, Lucielle transformed. She charged into the beasts, hacking left and right, shearing open their dark surfaces, revealing the muscles and tendons beneath. In effort she attempted specifically for the necks, but to her dismay, even those parts were guarded with fur such thick and sinewy that it is impossible to severe without a few seconds of good work---by then, the other beasts would have torn her to pieces.

Still not working. Lucielle never feared. She simply frustrated.

Master, I sense your irritation.

Lucielle was taken aback by the mysterious voice that came from nowhere; the split second of distraction caused a fresh gash to appear on her shoulder. What are you?

Master, I am the blade that you hold; I am the power that you hold.

Good enough, but what… Before her sentence finished, her sword bursted into flames. The beasts at the vicinity hissed in agony as their forms decayed before the majestic fire. Tentatively, Lucielle attacked; the sword cut through cleanly, efficiently incinerating its remains.

This is… she was unable to find a description for the marvel she held. Charging again into the black mass, she massacred.

The battle had turned one-sided, though the beasts refused to relent. Slashing through the masses of the strange creatures, Lucielle was invincible.

Sword.

Master, please call me Fang.

Fang, if you possess such great powers, why didn’t you save Vasha?

Ah, Master, that’s a good point. That girl is not worthy enough for me.

Worthy? What do you mean?

Master, that girl is weak. But you are not. You possess the power to own me.

That’s why you didn’t save that girl?

I see you are infuriated, Master. However, this is how I am.d

……

Lucielle stood amidst a field of blackened, charred compounds. Her arm and shoulder ached, a dull, burning sensation that locked her arm in place; inside she burned, the alien power of the Fang boiling.

Around her nothing moved. And Vasha---Vasha didn’t move. Lucielle rushed over to her side and turned her over. She gasped in terror when she saw the scene.

Blood covered her face and body, some already condensed into a dark red, some still fresh and warm, a bright crimson on her white dress. There were deep gashes in her chest, half of her right arm went missing; what did the beasts damage? A lung? Stomach?

Most horrid of all was her face; the left side was torn away, a bloody mess with strands of muscles clinging to the exposed cheekbone. Her eye vanished completely, red liquid pooling thickly in the empty socket. Another liquid was present---clear droplets, glistening albeit tainted by the dirty, sanguinary fluid, trickled down her tattered eyebrows, barely visible in the red.

“Oh my...Vasha!” screaming, Lucielle set into motion. Tearing strips of cloth from her skirt, she first tried to bound up her chest and stomach. When she saw that huge pool of blood piled at the stump of her arm, she hurriedly stuffed a swath of cloth against it in futility; it was soon soaked red. It wasn’t long before her hands and fingers were cloaked in the blood that soaked her friend’s body. It was sticky.

What to do? Without a first-aid kit and with the situation past what she could manage, Lucielle panicked. As she redoubled her effort to treat the arm, she felt a hand tap gently onto her shoulder.

Vasha spoke, her one intact eye blinking in agony. Her voice was extremely weak, wheezing; Lucielle was afraid it would be lost in the hustling breeze. “Lucy, don’t.” she tried to sound clear, but the blood had choked her throat, turning her short speech into a croak.

“Vasha, hold on. We got to find you a doctor. There must be something we can do…” Lucielle nearly choked when speaking; her nose was getting sore.

“Lucy, you know that I am past caring. You are not the one to blame.”

“Vasha…” Lucielle could hardly speak anymore. Tears streamed down her pale face, dripping onto the mauled body of her friend; they mixed like watercolours.

Vasha coughed with much difficulty. Pain had departed her; but so, her remaining consciousness. There is something I must tell. “Listen, Lucy,” she droned on dejectedly, too weak to make clear of intonations. “I am leaving soon.”

More tears flooded Lucielle’s pretty face.

“Go back to the palace, tell my father that the Night has come.”

“Night…? But, it is daytime!”

“Just tell him. He’ll know. Also, inform your kin. Tell them that a grave danger has rising. The only method to beat it…is to prepare and hope for the best.”

“I promise the message will be delivered.” sobbing uncontrollably, Lucielle gripped her friend’s remaining arm tight in her own bloodied palms.

“Good.” Vasha wanted to sleep. Maybe its time.

At least I don’t have to face the Night by myself. That’s a kind of consolation.

“In moments I’ll be gone.” not wishing to see her friend cry for her, Vasha set away her gaze uneasily. “Please...hold me tight. And good luck.”

She squeezed a feeble smile. “Do I still look good?”

Fang, I hate you. Another had perished before me.

Ah, Master, my condolences. Without my power, you cannot hope to avenge her death. And that of many more yet to come…

Apocalypse.

Things should be easier to understand after the Interlude. I do hope so. If not, bear with me my epic failure...its inevitable in my body.