(Nope, it wasn't an accidental post. I was asking where Cestus could find Obi, LOL)
క్కThe Montessi DaBrickashaw క్క
Like a titanic torrent of terror the False God had left a bloody portrait of savage violence in his wake. A legion of massacred Death Deacons lay scattered across the yet, still smouldering property. Taken by surprise, they had fought and died having never faltered in their ferocious defense of the esoteric establishment, but never the less were incapable of repelling the insurmountable insurrection ignited by the newly anointed God of Conquest.
What they had been capable of however was impending the genetic abominations path inside the sanctum santurum, allowing the formidable Knights of the Fianna a chance to enter the fray and unleash their unrivaled power upon the dictatorial devil.
But the Shaytan's ceremonial elite were being forced to reterat, their attempts to push the superior he-man back were dramatically failing, their numbers rapidly dwindling. Since his infamous war with the Modern Man, Azure Son, Alexander had taken relentless steps in the evolution of his fighting technique. Incorporating a visual level of disturbing cruelty aimed at shocking not only his opponent(s), but any of those unlucky enough to be caught in the observable sphere of devastation.
At one point the Little Horn had brutally ripped the bottom jaw free from one such unfortunate soul, carrying it around for a small duration of the battle in an effort to further promote his psychological propaganda. In the hours that followed the Montessi was host to a slaughter or epic proportions and when it was all over, the False God flew off with his prize, his objective, his weapon.
Nikademus...Just how many of these lairs did you have laying around? Abigail mused on her progression to "The Brick." An alien curiosity washed over her as the group of hooded figures closed in on her half-brother's sanctuary, but that was all she felt. She'd been all but desensitised to the ambivalence – the simultaneous dread and hope – that'd come with all her previous ventures to find closure with her family since her mother was first taken by Charlemagne; and in spite of their blood relation Nikademus hardly felt like family.
Four aides flanked her in a quincunx formation; in unison they moved, and in unison they halted, several metres from the entrance. All except Aensland, who took several confused steps before following suit. She glanced around at each questioningly, but her confusion only lasted a moment. Their fear was apparent, and understandable. The last time they were at The Brick, Nikademus had the True Shaytan's followers culled, sparing only those with apparent mystic potential. And despite their own, many, including those in her presence at the moment, deserted him because of it. For this reason they swore to serve Abigail Aensland once again as the last true Raysh al-Shaytan, to her reluctant sometimes-acceptance.
"You can all wait here if you want. Just the help with Vincent and getting here is fine enough," she said, moving forward again while offering a way out. The woman ahead to her right stepped directly in front of her then, shaking her head.
"As you proceed, so shall we. But my liege, be alert lest there be traps installed since last we were here. All has not been peace and quiet within those walls."
"If she's been through here there shouldn't be any traps," Abigail said back as she moved to the fore. "I'll lead from here on." It was a gesture of her own good faith. She still hadn't picked up a bow since the incident at Black House, since then taking up a handheld pistol for a semblance of a sense of security.
...But why not immediately establish contact to let me or Alastair, or someone know she's all right? Maybe she's still not fully free of Charles' influence. In which case...
She shuddered at the thought of fighting her own mother of all people, but shook it off. If that were the case, Vincent wouldn't have been alive to tell me anything.
The windy Irish air soon gave way to the languor of Montessi's interior and a gasp pushed past Abby's lips as the entrance gallery greeted her. At the other end of the hall, seemingly exiting, Emilie Aensland stood clad in a knight's armour and brandishing a shimmering red lance.
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