Round 2: Revenant (Sylvanas) VS. Berserker (Ra-Ja) - Judge LiveVoltage

[Queen]

Somewhere deep into the north land's, the stage has been set, The actors chosen, now they shall act and play to the one tune they desire, freedom.

Spoiler: The north land ruins 

The Steel Vigil: A series of old abandoned northern empire ruins, gates and forts leading to the gates of judgment.

The gates of Judgment: A massive cathedral that lies at the end of the Steel Vigil. It is said that only the worthy may pass through and that by passing the gates, you would have entered the only know land route into the northern realm.

Ra-Ja: It feels as if you have been walking for hours if not days up the massive valley. Your memory seems hazy and your unsure as to why you have been marching for so long, as if you have been moving towards the Gates of Judgment against your will. Hours ago, when you awoke, you were greeted by ghostly apparitions who had placed a metal collar around your neck and bid you to ascend the valley and pass through the gates of judgment. They said the metal collar had potent destructive magic powers and upon defying their word or attempting to remove the collar, would force it to explode, ending your life and existence. Your hazy state of mind makes you constantly question if that happened or if you had just hallucinated it but the metal collar around your neck still speaks a truth that something did happen, regardless if you could recall everything in complete clarity or not.

Sylvanas: There you stand with your back facing the massive gate, or what your masters bid you to call and guard it. The Gates of Judgment. The structure surrounding you and the gate is massive in size. Something that looked like a massive cathedral, but worn down and degraded by nature. A foot of snow covers the ground beneath you in most of the cathedral and the wind blows soft for now.

Your masters bid you one thing. Guard the gates and slay all intruders or people who try to pass you. You would do as your masters bid or die trying.

As Ra-Ja finally reaches what appeared to be a massive cathedral, he is quick to try and find a way in rather than admire the view. The door's were massive and looked as if they reached into the heavens themselves but with Ra-Ja's strength, he pulled one of the door's open and entered the Cathedral. There, his and the Sylvanas gaze would meet. As their gazes met, whispers coming from nowhere began whispering to them. "Slay her." "Kill him" "Fight" "Murder" "Maim" "Ravage" "Slaughter" "Destroy" as these whispers and voices began to erupt more and more, something akin to a pipe organ began to play. It sounded very close, as if it was somewhere in the Cathedral.

Spoiler: Pipe Organ 

https://homestuck.bandcamp.com/track/pipeorgankind

~~~Specifics~~~

You have 5 posts per person and 72 hours to respond between each post.

As the fight progresses, the pipe organ playing in the distance will get much, much louder, eventually drowning out the voices whispering to both players. The wind outside will begin to pick up, eventually resulting in a blizzard near the end of the fight.

I will make a GM post after both players have completed ten posts.

By the flip of a coin, Ra-Ja will go first.

[SikstaSlathalin]

"Who am I? a warrior? a champion? some kind of entertainer?" These words clouded the biting air around the Berserker's head as he trudged through the seemingly endless valley. The air was punishingly cold and the snow was nearly up to his knees, but forever on he stomped. His head down and eyes rolling back and forth in thought. The worry of the collar around his neck ,his armor, and his own scrambled thoughts were all that allowed the creature to ignore the cold and the constant hissing of Death at his back, allowing Ra-Ja to rebuild the walls or control broken down in the last battle. His body was encased in metal, but it was lined with a soft and surprisingly warm material, it didn't save his head or tail any though. Shaking snow from his head spikes, Berserker looked up, seeing the looming bulk of what he assumed was his goal. His head and tail were numb with cold, so at the very least the foreboding building above would provide a small break from this icy wind.

With a deep growl, and an agitated twitch of his tail the warrior began the slow ascent up the last of the valley. The Puppet Masters in charge of this torment had a strange sense of location, both of Berserker's last battlefields have been wide open and desolate. Did they know his skill so well that they forced him into spaces where his opponent can run? They must...it is the only explanation he could see... more questions to force them to answer if he got his claws on them. As he drew closer, Death's hissing increased and almost mimicked real words. They were still indistinguishable, but it was both comforting and slightly unsettling that his sword was gaining more sentience, he would never be alone, but he did not know the extent of Death's influence on him. It would be a puzzle for another time though, for as he approached the door, Death began to scream in the depths of his mind. Something was beyond this door...something familiar... someone familiar. It was almost like one of Death's kin was waiting for them in this bleak cathedral, but how could such a thing be possible? Death was an entity without form nor blood, it just was...how could it have family? Nothing in the warrior's addled mind shed light on the answers he was seeking...just like before. All he could do was see what was beyond the door and face it with the fury and skill he lived by.

The door, like the rest of this lonely vigil was extremely old and very impressive, someone had put years of time and skill into building this spectacle. The bite of the wind increased and Death's hiss was a constant buzzing in the back of Berserker's mind forced the warrior to forgo admiring the structure. He must try to stop at least one of these annoyances, grasping the ancient metal handle of the door he pulled, but it didn't budge. Berserker half-expected this though; why would such an old large door just swing open? With a determined growl he took a firm grip upon the cold metal and ripped it back with all his strength. The great door groaned under his power, seeming to hold on with a desperate will refusing the brute entry. But Berserker's will was stronger than the door's, and after another strong pull it gave way and the chilly lizardman saw the cause of Death's agitation.
A female was standing with her back to the door, entering the building, Berserker pulled the door shut and instantly cut down on some of the wind's rage. But its howling was replaced with much stranger sounds. Another chorus of voices commanding the Berserker's hand to kill without explanation and a soft almost memorizing music. He would have to fight these voices for as long as he could and hope the music stays at it's present level so as to not lose his focus.

Drawing Death from his back, the warrior felt the sword tug his hand towards the armored creature, for this is all he could think to call her. While humanoid in form and female in shape this was all that the big beast could tell of his opponent. She was fully encased in a black armor with only the opening in her helmet to tell him she was one of the undead, rotting flesh, a grinning skull, oozy black hair, and glowing blue orbs for eyes. The stench of death and darkness hung all about this female, and he felt a strange tiredness suddenly inching through his body. Was this magic or some kind of ability? He did not know, but it made him apprehensive. Luckily as the feeling reached the part of his mind where Death resides, Berserker felt the familiar fire of rage begin to boil and the tiredness seemed to falter. Death's hissing doubled and became angry sounding as if daring the feeling to try again. Berserker's energy returned slightly and he snarled at the female.
"Your tricks shall not work here woman. Not with Death present." He studied her sword and body, the sword was nearly as large as Death and the female was made of metal, and this would make her slow. The lizard's speed would help him here, even if the area didn't give much in terms of improvised weaponry and cover. The rubble could be used as well as the snow and ice, but this would require planning. He would also need to see if this female was more worthy than the last he fought.

Like before he would test her reflexes first. Reaching down he gripped a sizable chunk of masonry and weighed it in his hand. It would do, stepping forward he feinted like he was going hurl the rock directly at the creature, but instead he threw it over her head and made it strike some hanging icicles overhead. They crumbled and began to fall, they could be easily broken or dodged, but Berserker was already moving bolting past the female, he ran deeper into the cathedral looking for cover from which to strike.

[Vaidia]

Slyvanas.

That was her name. Those reverent syllables, three anchors weathering against the darkness within her. The chains: her newly gained memory that was relief as to an addicts relapse. She craved more— the honey suckle sweet moment of agony, bitter moments of sentiment. Each, parts of a whole that intoxicated her as much as they unsettled her, a sobering tonic against the darkness that always threatened to consume her. So long as she was, she continued to be.

It was her ‘death’ that she remembered, a singular moment gift wrapped in thorns and red hot brambles. How beautiful the pain was, even if was but a ghosted and pale imitation. She remembered being afraid, watching as blurred phantoms of still forgotten times came with hostile intent, the soft hiss of a blade on a grass just audible above the rushing sound in her ears. There were voices too, booming echoes of sound that had no hope of making sense to her, even if she knew who it was that spoke. And then came her end. It was not the void of death that greeted her, but she knew that already.

Another Darkness awaited her, one that she was dragged into by defiling hands that sparred no inch of her body. She was corrupted. She was broken. She was taken from being. The sanctity of her soul was assaulted into a dirty thing, and she was Slyvanas no longer. There was no name to match what she had become. Until now.

She was Slyvanas.

The memory stood like a treasured jewel, her name the fixture on which it was placed. It was a beacon of shimmering light to control that Darkness that she could feel skulking like a beast at the recesses of every motion and fog clouded breath. She was more in control of herself now, the sensations of being within this twisted body, rather than merely a half minded observer to the whims of Darkness, was enthralling. Powers she remembered being made to use whispered at the back of her mind, begging to be used and wreck their dark ways upon whatever foe that may cross her. And now, she felt as if she could command them at will, needing only the will to make them happen and a victim to test them on.

She was alone.

It seemed only moments ago that she finished her last fight, an instant of time strung across an unknowable void. There was no concept of time in this strange game that she was forced to play. It could have been seconds ago that she finished the previous foe off. Or it could have an age—the only means to tell time that she had was the memory, the times before and after it defined only by fuzzy edged sensations. She felt was much like a fly on the edge of a web, the massive spider of the game makers slowly working its way toward her. A mere toy for greater hands to play with, baited into believing her struggling to be free was anything but futile.

The new ‘arena’ was both similar and quite different from the previous. She once again found herself in a church of some sort but unlike before, where there only seemed to a singular enclosed space of the cathedral, here it was open, the sky stretching infinitely overhead, as well as a mountainous vista around her. Where she stood was the shell of a once majestic building, built of stone with lofty roofs draped with fang like icicles and several girthy stone pillars faded into a uniform grey. Large windows lined the sides of the hall, some open to the outside, the decorative glass long since lost in some storm or other incident. The occasional dainty snowflake was blown into the cathedral, to join many other that layered onto the ground from anywhere between a dusting to her up what looked to be her knees in height. Every so often, a gust of wind would catch one of the snow drifts and send it into a whirling vortex. Sunlight, filtered as it was by the clouds above, streamed through the windows and reflected off the snow, turning it into almost blinding radiance. She did not want to imagine how bright it would be if it were sunny.

Sylvanas stood in the center of the place, a silhouette of unnatural darkness that seemed to clot the place and make it seem smaller. No light reflected from her armor, and the shadow she cast looked as solid as if it were stained there, rather than an omission of light, the tendrils of her hair seeming to move even when there was no breeze. Frostmourne rested with its tip on the ground between her feet, the pommel palmed in the overlaying hands. Even in the cold climate, ice continued to play across the blade, forming and vanishing in an unsettling dance of half formed shapes and nightmares. It seemed as she had always been there, a fixture as old as the stones of the place, but she knew that could not be true. Still, she felt a twisted compulsion to guard the place, to stop any foolish to try and pass her.

Smoke and mirrors. Those tricks were not needed, as she would fight her opponent regardless, through her own desire to regain those stolen memories.

More time passed, until she felt an edge of agitation from the Darkness within her. She tensed, preparing for an assault and an attempt to have control of her body and mind seized from her, preparing that jeweled weapon of memory and name, before finding herself to be unchallenged. The Darkness was merely reacting to... something, raising their awareness like a hound catching a scent, before seeming suddenly gleeful about something. Moments later, she heard something come barging at the massive door in front of her.

At first, it was merely a protesting groan as the frozen hinges were tested, the door remaining uncontested and strong. The hunger within her rose like a fire suddenly fanned into life. Here was another chance to gain another precious and terrible moment. Her next opponent, delivered to fight. The door did not for last another attempt at it by the new foe, a thunderous crash echoing through the cavernous heights as it was ripped open.

Light flared around her new opponent from the open door, a whorishly wailing breeze kicking up the snow into a new flurry of flakes, but she saw it clearly enough. Standing nearly as tall as she with almost twice the girth was a humanoid thing of scales, bronzy armor and pure brute strength. Danger seemed to reek from the foe, intoxicating and electrifying the air with the foreshadowing menace of bloodshed. As it entered it drew its blade, a wickedly curved sword of mighty size and adorned with its own cruel fangs along its edge. It was this that her Dark Gods seemed so interested in, and she could almost hear their whispering voices in her ears, seeming to call out to the other blade, causing it to twitch in the scaled man’s hands.

The thundering echo of the forced entry seemed to die down, but a new sound continued in its wake. It was faint as a sigh at first, so much that it could be doubted that it existed all, more a sensation than anything. It was made of the thundering echoes of the door and the shrill cries of the wind, sounds of both registers turned from barbarous soundscapes into form and express. Music. But, from where?

Sylvanas could not spare her mind to worry about something so minor, even as part of her mind hissed it was likely some ploy by the game makers, much like the stone trick from the previous round. She wondered if this one would die as the last opponent had, seemingly falling to her corruption before the stone could take her. The details blurred in her mind, those last frenzied moments becoming darkness, that darkness memory and now to here. Revanant and Berserker locked eyes.

The second round had begun.

This round she would not be so passive, not waste her time staring into the light dawdling on lofty ideals. She knew what she needed to do to receive another blissful beacon of sanity and self amongst the storm of her mind. Even is meant embracing the dark powers her existence had brought to her. She willed her corrupting aura forward, fanning it out like the smoke heralding a fire. She would murder. She would maim. She would...

Those words were not hers. She knew her mind, and she knew those of the Dark Ones. These pulsated with the faint music, interweaving into the growing progression, rooting into the sustained bass notes. No. It was her mind now. Not the Dark God’s. Not the Game Makers.

It seemed the one she fought was also of a strong mind, the corruption being slightly abated. She felt the ‘sight’ she gained from it blurred suddenly, as if a sudden fog had come upon those senses. She looked with menace at the scaled figure, eyes flaring with light and breath hissing out in a white cloud. She pushed her own will against the scaled man’s; it needed to perish, to fall to her so that she would have more than agony to know her life by...

And then, the lizard man spoke.

"Your tricks shall not work here woman. Not with Death present." It said in a throaty snarl. Its stare was intent upon her form, studying her more than likely. Sizing her up with caution laced malice—this was not some simple brute that charged with unceasing attacks, but an intelligent and tactical mind. She was not so desperate as to be rash. So, just as it studied her, she studied the scaled man.

It obviously was possessed of great strength to open the massive gate, as well as being able to wield such a blade. The lizard man was likely faster than her—most things were—but not many could beat her in terms of brute force. This opponent could likely equal her strength, and perhaps pass it if it were not for the wilting aura that surrounded her. Even though it resisted it, such attempts would be futile. Everything fell to Darkness. Humans. The Sun. Lizardmen and their talk of Death. She shifted her grip on Frostmourne, the blade frosting over completely as she raised it one handed into the air, wordlessly accepting the challenge.

The lizardman made the first move, sweeping one clawed hand down to the ground and picking up a sizable chunk of stone there, before hurling it in her direction. Her gaze followed the stone as catapulted towards her-- and several feet above, reaffirming its strength. To lift something of that much weight was no small task; to throw it was mark of many years of physical discipline and natural gifted physique. She heard it hit its mark moments later, a brittle staccato crunch resonating through the stone canopy as it made contact with what she could only assume to be the ice hanging above her. Almost instantaneously, the scaled one darted away, leaving her to deal with the falling icicles.

There were several that came diving down. Some fell with a muted thud onto the snow around her, only visible by the catching glint of sun on their lucid surfaces. There were three that hit her. Two merely shattered on contact with her iron frame, as she expected they would, but one caught in her armor at just the right angle near her shoulder, imbedding itself there by a few inches.

Sylvanas paid it no mind. Such paltry pain did not bother her.

Still with the icicle protruding from her shoulder, the Revanant turned to look for where her foe retreated to. She could sense his general direction within her field of corruption, but it was still cast into the fog of his resistance. But, she did not even need to rely on her powers. The opponent had left a clear trail to where it had gone in the ground in the snow beneath it, deeper into the cathedral. The notion displeased her, an abrupt sensation that was not in line with her current desire. More smoke and mirrors.

Sylvanas charged forward, following the path of trampled snow. As she moved, she removed the icicle from her arm, lofting it up in her hand before sending it forward like a frigid javelin at the Scaled one if she was able to see it, or in its general direction. It was not her intent to make landing with the attack, merely return the diversion in kind. As the shimmering projectile made its procession through the air, she would draw on that dark power within her, feeling it well up like a snaking hand that sent chills down her spine. Power under her command now, to help return the favor of her own impaired senses.

Dim his vision, and show him that Darkness was a thing to fear.

[SikstaSlathalin]

Slow-moving, slightly non-reactive, and exceedingly resistant to damage. Berserker was tallying up the female's physical abilities against his own as he romped through the snow moving deeper into the darkening ruins...except they weren't darkening themselves, the pale ghostly fingers of the sun still lanced through windows. Some were a riot of colors and reliefs plastered across the worn out stones on the floor and the broken down walls all around them, others were destroyed letting in only the pure light and the ever increasing bite of the arctic wind that was rushing around this ancient shelter.

The still strong and beaming lights set a deep unease in the lizard's split mind. Death only hissed in rage it's aura pulsing in his clenched fist, it was eager to know this woman's power and destroy it along with her body. But Ra-Ja, that quiet yet strong voice in the background held onto his control forcing Berserker to be calm and study what is happening. If the lights from the windows weren't dimming, this the big warrior gathered by studying the swath it cut in the shadows. They were no weaker than when he first entered this place, so the only logical answer was Berserker's vision was diminishing. This creature had cast some sort of spell on him, and now that he was focusing on it he could feel the tingle of dark magic inch across his skin confirming his worry. There was more magic afoot here, Berserker did not like magic. He could not place it, but something in his mind told him never to trust magic or those that use it. Magic was...unclean...deceptive...unnatural, these words flighted through his mind as Death continued to throb in his hand warning him of the approaching zombie warrior. She may be dimming his vision, but a true warrior has trained all his senses and could call upon any one of them should another fail. The creature's stench of death and darkness could easily be tracked even in the most expansive of hall. Her iron body would continually creak and groan in the cold and clank like a drum across the stone floor bouncing off the smooth stone walls and ceiling funneling her location directly to his ears. He would be able to feel the faint thud in the ground as she walked or feel the change in the air should she prepare an attack. Berserker may wind up blind, but he would be far from helpless.


Looking in the direction of the steady clank and clunk of the woman's iron body as it moved itself slowly across the stone floor, Berserker watched as she ripped the large icicle out of her shoulder like she was freeing a twig from her armor and hurled it at the beast. The strength of the throw surprised the warrior, but not as much as what happened next. The projectile was going too fast for him to smack down or catch, so relying on the strength of his armor he curled his arm up covering his face and allowed the icy spear to crash against it. The spear hit, but it did not shatter like he expected, it collided with his armor and thudded to the frozen ground intact. In sheer disbelief Berserker looked at his arm and noticed a dent in his gauntlet where the spear had hit. He growled at the undead glaring into her orbs and scanning her body for more he could use against her.

Damn this creature and her magic, some kind of dark aura that the zombie was projecting was weakening his armor. This angered Berserker, his armor was a thing of impeccable beauty and great defense, for it to be weakened as such was almost paramount to insulting his honor in battle. Such crimes must be paid in blood, but even as the familiar haze of rage began to boil in his heart, Ra-Ja snapped Berserker back to the now. This battle was not over, there was much to do and much that could lend to victory. But first a plan must be made, the creature was darkness or at least heavily infected by it as such Death's own dark aura might be negated should they get close enough to attack, he would need to put all his strength into every swing of the sword to even begin to damage the Zombie. In a short battle he could manage this, but in a longer one it would turn on him especially if these weakening spell effects his body as well as his armor. He would grow tired while the engine of destruction he was facing could keeping going. He would need something that counter's the woman's darkness or inflict such heavy damage she could never recover from it. Keeping Death in front of him to ward off any type of attack, Berserker began looking all around him for the tools that filled either of these criteria.

He started by looking for an object that could counter the creature's power, and as the ideas of holy objects began racing across his mind Berserker could feel Death almost recoiling in pain trying to avoid the thoughts, this told the lizardman he was on the right track. The ruins they were in looked like they may have held such objects in abundance once. Odd "T" shaped stains on the walls, soot marks from fires or candles, the remnants of tapestries, even a few broken stone cases with intricate carvings that no doubt held objects of great importance at one time. Most of the cases and their relics were destroyed as if in some great battle, others were still intact, but they were empty of the relics themselves. Maybe deep enough into the ruins he could find a complete and full case, but right now he needed to pursue his other options.

Giving up on his search for holy relics for now, the Berseker began looking for something big enough and heavy enough to crush the creature into a pile of rotting bones and gnarled metal. His first thoughts were the many piles of large rubble scattered throughout the ruins, many of the chunks of masonry looked plausible, but none big enough for that single massive attack. He could just constantly pick up the chunks and throw them, but he would stumble into the same trap as before. He would grow tired and the creature would keeping coming and with the weakening spell this could happen quickly, throwing some of the rubble could buy him time, but they would not win the battle for him. As his eyes scanned the remaining structure he could see he noticed the many crumbling pillars holding up an equally crumbly roof. It was then an absolutely mad idea came to him and it made both Death and Ra-Ja silent for a few seconds. The building itself could be his weapon, if he took out enough of the pillars or forced the creature to take some out for him, he may be able to bring the ceiling down on top of the woman. And with her lack of speed a big enough section falling would end her.

He would have to be quick though, the limits of the weakening spell would remain unknown to him and the last thing he needed was to hurl himself at a pillar a few dozen feet off the ground and just crash into it before falling to his own death. Sheathing Death across his back the Berserker roared at the creature and bolted into an alcove just off the corridor. Using his speed, strength, and claws that dug into whatever hand or foothold they could find, the big warrior jumped onto the busted wall and scaled it quickly. He reached the top of the section and lined up a column that almost looked tall enough with the woman's location. Coiling his massive muscles the lizardman crouched on the lip of the wall before launching himself across the cold empty space. Drawing Death midflight, he slammed the battle hungry sword into the pillar and made it shudder from impact causing the bottom to buckle.

His momentum combined with the damage done forced the massive column to begin falling forward towards the woman. Freeing his blade Berserker leapt from crumbling monolith and landed in a backwards rolls further down the corridor. The plan was in motion, the pillar wasn't meant to crush the woman or even hit her for that matter, but if it did Berserker wouldn't complain. Not looking back he big warrior ran on looking for the next pillar to break.

[Vaidia]

Within the solitary ruins, there was a clash between Death and Darkness.

They seemed to be the only two living things there, but there was much evidence that once, long ago, the strange ruins were very much occupied. Still folded clothing that would dissolve with a touch in rotting wardrobes. Long rotted meals stored in cabinets with rusted locks, the bones the only testament to their once existence. In some rooms, there was even still writing upon the boards, faint chalk detailing strategies now made obsolete by the empty garrison.

Within the cathedral itself, things were quite scattered. Candelabra were pushed into the corners, stubby candles still fixed into their frames. Walls were barren, with only the faint outlines of discolored stone indicating that paintings and tapestries once hung there, the remnants of some on tatters on the ground. Rubble and glass coated the ground, hidden amongst the snow like silent cobras. The only thing that remained solid and steady was at the back of the Cathedral, a door even more massive than the one leading into it. It would take the strength of many men to move it now, the mechanisms that once operated fallen into disrepair and ruin.

It was this door that she could still feel the odd inclination toward, one that she did not recognize at first as it was so different from before. The Dark Gods who commanded her were the ones who willed such an action, but it was without the usual malicious zeal. If they could ever do anything halfheartedly, it seemed this was it. They often acted in strange ways, but it was always for the furthering of their art. Never something so... docile.

The strange music seemed to growing louder. Before it was a mere impression of sounds; a faint impression of sound that could be easily taken as the wailing wind then any type of music. But now, it was unmistakable. It seemed to resonate from the very stones that built the place, eerie tones echoing through the cavernous heights arching above them, a mark of the mastery of the ancient architects who crafted the place. Even as the battle raged on between the two, it seemed to superimpose itself above the cacophony of the fight, and even the strange and vicious voices. If it continued to get louder, the sound would likely swallow them completely, blocking out everything. The clang of the blades in the soprano registration. The crash of rubble the reedy bass of the pedal. And the sound of her armor lost in the music.

Outside, the wind began to pick up, a new host of snow flakes blown inside.

The ice projectile flew true, crashing into the raised arm of her foe, denting the armor. Sylvanas felt satisfaction, even at so minor a thing. It meant her powers were taking hold on the scaled one's armor, fading both strength and vision, even as it tried to resist the dark power. She could see the anger in its strange face in the form of bared teeth, hear the low growl of displeasure that seemed to rattle its armor. An angry foe was one often easily manipulated. But she did not see any leave of intelligence from this beast's eyes, rather a sharpening of it, like a light focusing to a needle point of intensity.

Its gaze darted about, twitching between the various derelict artifacts of the ruined cathedral, all the while keeping its fanged blade raised in defense. She followed his gaze when she could, seeing it linger nearby an alter-- it seemed to think such items would be of significant use against her. Broken trinkets of a hand-me-down faith were sometimes as useless as thrown snow against her.

The Revenant continued to observe. Any similar attack to before would easily be deflected now, either batted away like an insignificant gnat or simply avoided. She had little means to cover the ground between them, and simply charging would likely lead into her simply chasing the warrior about until it found what it was looking for. She felt the Dark Force shift within her mind--they were amused at her tribulations.

Sylvanas didn't have time to dwell on the Dark Force's ire. She was beginning to follow the foe's gaze again before she noticed it stiffen abruptly in the corner of her awareness. As she looked back at it, the warrior released a mighty roar that momentarily blocked out the music, before bolting away, a cloud of snow kicked up beneath its feet. Whatever it was that it saw-- something above the both of them-- it was satisfying enough to act on. She remained in the same place, Frostmourne at the ready to strike if needed, merely pivoting to follow the foe's path.

The Lizardman scampered away from her, vanishing for a moment behind one of the pillars before reemerging climbing up one of the walls like an overlarge spider. Another mark of the physical prowess of the foe. At the apex of the wall, the warrior only continued to show its worth, launching away from one side, and drawing its blade once again. A blade that was plunged into the top of one the many pillars of the cathedral with an almost thunder like collision. The stone gaze out, groaning mournfully before gravity took it, and it began to fall.

Fall towards her.

There was enough time for her to move from the path of the falling pillar, its decent slow in its beginnings. Something that would change in moments as nature took hold, to join the ground and the other piles of rubble. But she did not wish to yield to this stone, or to the attack of the foe. She brought her blade down to her side, resting both hands onto the hilt as she widened her stance, her breath billowing in a cold cloud. The shadow of the pillar fell over her. Then the rest of the stone came barreling down.

Another mighty crack boomed through the hall. A cloud of rubble formed around where the Revenant stood, one that cleared quickly in the growing wind to reveal armored woman still standing, albeit on one knee, her blade now in the air. The pillar was in two pieces around her. Cracks could be seen in newly uncovered ground around the pillar, as well as around Sylvanas's feet. What ground could be seen was oddly tinted in a patchwork of stains.

Sylvanas remained crouch for a moment more, still feeling the ringing of the impact through her armor. She could feel the scaled warrior was on the move, despite her show of strength. She remained still a moment more, before clasping her hand around on of the newly formed pieces of rubble. Turning herself around, she would give a searching gaze of the area, tracking where her foe was located, before hurling the stone toward it. The stone would be easy to dodge at such a distance, but hitting the warrior was not her objective. She grabbed another stone, and then began to move slowly toward her opponent and the large gate at the end of the hall.

The stones would indeed be easy to dodge right now-- on the ground. But, if the lizard warrior decided to try and climb again, it would be another case entirely.

[SikstaSlathalin]

The world continued to darken as Berserker ran down the increasingly cold and windy corridor. This creature was proving quite the challenge and it angered the massive warrior how easily the fight was turning against him, the blackness of his vision was rapidly being replaced with red. The shrill pipe music was drowning out the voices demanding he turn and fight the woman-thing toe-to-toe, but Death’s hiss and Ra-Ja’s proud growling made the Berserker remember he was never alone. His keen hearing was also suffering with the music reverberating off every surface around him and the wind increasing in its ferocity. The odds continued to stack up, but the haze of his memories told him he had overcome far worse. Now if only he knew what they were or how he had managed to do so, the red mist continued to form around his eyes when he heard the whizz of a stone fly past his head and collide with his next pillar.

The woman was either trying to hit Berserker and missing, or she wasn't actually trying to hit him. She must be trying to keep him from climbing any more walls. He heard the stone of the pillar break from impact and the Berserker's ever moving mind was already adapting the plan. He doubted she'd be able to hit him every time a stone was thrown, but with his vision diminishing, climbing might not be his best choice of action at the moment. His arms were strong enough and Death heavy enough to destroy the pillars he needs, but if he could make the creature do most of the work for him it could give him the edge, even with his eyes dark and his ears full of screeching music and howling cold wind.

As Berserker reached the next pillar his claws quickly identified the extent of damage the creature had delivered forcing the monolith to lean slightly ahead of them...Berserker could use that. Taking a deep breath of the frigid snow filled air Berserker took a few steps back then charged the pillar ramming his shoulder into it. The column groaned under his efforts and began to yield, clenching his teeth he forced the stone to bow to his might. It cracked at it's base and tumbled, Berserker was on the move again before it was even half-way on its journey. Using his speed he stayed ahead of the pillar and smashed a sizable chunk out of the next two. The first pillar connected with the second and the big warrior's plan had worked. The second pillar crumbled and the lizardman let out a deep laugh as the roof gave a loud rumble and a piece of masonry came tumbling down somewhere behind them. Upon approaching the third pillar he took another swipe and let the falling of the second pillar do the rest for him. Sadly that would be where the domino effect ended, the next pillar had already fallen, daylight creating a beam of cold glittering snow on the floor.

This was a good sign though, the roof was already weakened from the many centuries of cold and disrepair of course some of the pillars have already fallen. The other cracks in the roof and full portions of crumbled stone hinted at the failing structural integrity of the building. Berserker was not sure how much of the Vigil was sound and how much was weak and ready to fall, all he knew was that if he destroyed enough of these pillars something would happen. Maybe the roof would fall and his plan would succeed. What would happen if the plan failed though? The woman would never stop coming, she was incapable of it, Berserker could tell this. If the ceiling failed to fall then he would be trapped with his back against the Gates of Judgement facing the darkness with only his blade and mind to ward off his demise. If enough supports were taken out the roof will fall, but it might not fall before the final blow is struck, it might in fact fall on Berserker and end his journey on these cold lifeless tiles. In the face of uncertainty and despair though, courage to fight stand strong as does the rage against defeat. Courage and rage were two things Berserker had in spades, these seemed to be the only two things he had going for him right now, the creature was unstoppable and pain hindered her not. Berserker could be stopped and pain could slow him, eyes dimming with each step, energy waning with each pulse of his heart and pump of his lungs. Losing seemed more true than the light or wind, as these worries sunk in Ra-Ja and Death combined their conflicting voices into Berserker’s body. And soon he found new energy and new will to live, the cheers from his memories joined in their chorus and Berserker banished the doubt from his mind. He would fight until he was beaten, this woman would not beat Berserker...not without putting all her wits and skill into her attacks and squaring off with the big warrior at the gates between life and death. Another pillar was in sight and the groaning of the ceiling gave the lizardman hope.

[Vaidia]

The Steel Vigil was no stranger to battle. At the height of its existence, it was a monument of legend. Songs filled its many halls of the triumphs won at the Gates of Judgement. Of invading forces stopped, of a Land protected from the evils that dared to try and trespass upon better grounds. Soon enough, it seemed the invaders stopped their attack. The songs sung joyously at meals became more somber affairs. The words celebratory, into those reverential. The Vigil stood strong as ever, but the people within it forgot, spinning those legends into things to worship, and the Gate of Judgement became an idol revered. Tactics and soldiers on parade became rituals more than training. But the stones that made the place did not forget the blood that had once been spilled upon it, or the honor It once held.

Nor did it care when blood was spilled on it once again. The blood of fools and many years of learned ignorance.

The wind grew stronger yet, fully revealing the ground. The patchwork stains were all that remained of the inhabitants of the Vigil. Memories of failure upon the stone. The songs no longer filled the halls, either secular or sacred. Only the echoes of a time long passed remained. Echoes that grew more bitter and pronounced as battle once again transpired in its halls. The trumpeting alarms in the soprano. The groan of the gate as it closed the pedal. And the screams of men, lost in the music.

They knew this song. They recognized it for what it was, even if the ones they commanded did not. It was a final requiem, for the Vigil knew that, after this battle, it would stand no longer, and all would be forgotten.

Sylvanas was not aware of the stone's song, or the Dark Ones recognition to it, her mind tuned toward battle. The fight sent a further electric sensation through her mind, made her feel in a way that was alien, like being struck by a force of almighty lightening. It was energizing. It was terrifying. It was exciting. She felt alive. To tread a so dangerous line, and have each choice of hers lead to beholding or betraying victory— it only continued to strengthen the bond to herself, to sanity.

The stones she threw seemed to achieve their purpose, belaying the scaled warrior to the ground. She continued to advance on it, keeping one stone in hand as a precaution. She was eager, but not reckless. Blindly destroying everything was what the Dark Gods would be inclined to, and that was not who she desired to be (and how strange it was to have her own desires?). It was a resolve she felt growing in her, like an ember revived by a gentle breath. To fight brought her life, but to think during it made her be.

Her advance continued. She could see the lizardman's body tense, watch the breath heave from it in expansive clouds of cold born fog, while hers remained constant. Despite the fiery sensation she felt, her body did not show it. She remained impenetrable. The foe seemed to be trying to test that, it taking initiative once again. She watched as it scrambled away once again, remaining on the ground now as it wreaked havoc upon three more of the pillars, using claw and blade to chip into the flesh of the stone. And like mighty timbers, they each fell. The first collided with the next, and that with the third came barreling down, the stone brothers used as weapons against each other with the thundering crashes as their cries. But still, the music could be heard above it, the lamenting song unceasing.

The ceiling shuddered, sending down clouds of dust and grime that had long clung to it in the years of desolation. Stones that were already worn with the passing of time and neglect became knocked loose, falling down to the ground in a dangerous rain. The entire Vigil seemed to shutter, like an aged beast taking its last few breaths. It seemed the lizard man intended to make a tomb of the place, burying the decrepit memories and fighters alike in avalanche of stone.

Some of the rubble fell onto her armor, metallic clangs unheard above the rest of the noise. Sylvanas paused in her advance for a moment to look up above her, and found the ceiling momentarily obscured by the cloud of dust from the fallen pillars. Anything that truly needed air would likely find the dust cloying to its lungs and find those senses using air blocked and restricted. The wind swept into the place a moment later, clearing up the air enough for her to see. Above her, cracks were forming as the assault accelerated the work of time’s decay. Light streamed through the new cracks and jagged holes in the ceiling, and a heavy of flurry of snow mixed into the dust, making it seem almost solid in consistency. The wind continued to intensify, rattling the remaining windows like a beggar begging for entrance, its wails heralding its treacherous chill.

The Revenant looked back down and ahead, continuing her advance. Though she could not see, she could feel the foe within her corruption. Feel the withering energies latch savage claws into its existence and fester there, like maggots upon dying flesh. It ravished both her foe and the surrounding stone, reveling in the spoiling of all things, be it living or simply made. The warrior’s life stood out amongst it all. It was an illuminating spark of life amongst so much death and forgotten bits of memory, guiding her forward. Her power was not to be denied, like the inevitable chill a cold hand brought. But her foe was quick— too quick to simply trust decay and darkness to secure her win. So she dangerously willed her powers further in reaction to its continued efforts to bring the place down. To not only weaken and blind, but to Decrepify its motions and steal the last advantage the warrior had. Its speed.

Her advance continued. She entered further into the cloud of dust, feeling her steps reverberate on the barren stone ground more than she heard them. The glint of her eyes colored the cloud around them a sinister pale blue. Frostmourne was at the ready in her hand. Her silhouette, a phantasm of darkness amongst the ruin. Her breath was steady. Silent. She would not be stopped now, not when there was so much to be alive for. To not only fight to find more of her past, but to continue to make her future. She would fight.

Sylvanas charged ahead, slow steps increasing into a moderate run. There would not be much of anywhere for the scaled warrior to retreat to, lest it attempt to barge through the mighty gates the way it did the ones leading into the cathedral. An attempt that would be much like a fly trying to fell a tree. There had been enough running done in this battle, and she thought it time their blades crash, instead of these cowardly games.

The Revenant first threw the remaining stone in her hand, sending it flying through the dust to where she could feel the warrior to be located in her field of corruption. This was a heralding strike that's intent was to distract as much as damage. Moments later, she would follow the path of the stone, readying herself to strike if she got in range. If the foe did not try and escape her again, her strike would be a mighty slash from top to bottom-- a strike intended to end the battle if it made contact with flesh. If the warrior did flee, she would chase it, willing the Darkness to hold it still so she might land the blow.

[SikstaSlathalin]

Berserker was nearly at the next to last pillar wheeling his blade back making ready to smash his way through it. When the last few raindrops fell that would threaten to break the dam holding back the boiling rage. It had been slowly building since the womanthing started her black magic trickery. Depriving the big warrior of his sight, his armor, add in the screeching music depriving him of his hearing and the infant stages of a blizzard now swiftly ripping through the busted walls and ceiling of the old vigil chilling him to the very bone. He was running at full speed when he felt the cold fingers of black magic rip through his body and swipe his legs out from under him, his speed was taken from him and with it his control. Stumbling full force into the pillar, his weight, and forward momentum doing the job of destruction for him. Death, flew from his claws and clattered across the snowy floor coming to the loud halt at the base of the last pillar before the Gates of Judgement.

The great column cracked under his assault, but it was a wild and only half effective attack. The stone behemoth groaned and sent cascades of dust down upon Berserker's prone body, but like everything else in this place, it refused to fall so easily. As the dust and snow settled and the music continued to assail his ears all the voices ripping through his dragon-like skull were drowned out. With the sword gone from his grasp, Death's hissing ceased and the infectious music drowned out even the mightiest growls and roars of Ra-Ja. For once in as much of his life as he could remember Berserker knew silence within his own mind. There was only darkness and blood filling his mind's eye, but they seemed to be combating each other. The darkness was no doubt the woman and her black magic trying to completely overwhelm and beat the big lizardman before her blade even pierced his flesh. The blood could only be the rage he had been fighting since his very first battle, what once represented something that would bring about his lose of honor and destruction was now acting like the last line of defense against annihilation. It was comforting...it was familiar...it was empowering...maybe...just maybe it would be that which saved him from death.

Still on the ground Berserker felt the settling snow and dust whip up and pressed himself more into the ground as another hurled stone flew overhead and smashed into the pillar he had failed to bring down before. The Berserker gave a toothy smile as the woman furthered her own destruction again. His nose and the faintest clank clunk of her heavy boots signaled she was moving quickly towards him. Rolling to his back he delivered a very powerful double kick into the base of the pillar breaking the last inches of resistance. Thanks to angle of his kick and point of impact from the woman's projectile the pillar began to fall backwards, its shadow falling across the woman creature's path.

Even with half his speed gone Berserker was quick enough to roll out of the pillar's way shooting down a small side passage. At first he thought it was just a normal passage, but as he actually got into it he found himself tumbling down an incline created by the floor being partially collapsed. In seconds the big warrior was plunged into a pool of ice cold liquid, the shock of the sudden cold nearly froze the warrior's heart in his chest. At first the beast thought he was going to drown, but as his body was submerged in the medium depth pool he took a breath and felt something on his neck begin to shift slowly. Lifting his stiff fingers up he felt gills shifting in the water, while he wouldn't drown the cold was another matter entirely. The heavy armor and his own hefty size quickly sunk him to the bottom of the pool. The razor like fingers of cold sunk into every inch of his body, flooding into his armor and numbing the exposed flesh of his head and tail. Everything seemed to slow down, his gill-assisted breathing became like grass blowing in a soft wind. His extremities became like alien beings somehow attached to his body, but swaying independently of his mind. As if being jostled by invisible hands, each was numb and dead. The feeling of the fast approaching icy death soon began to fill his entire body, his head became heavy and he almost felt like letting go of everything...the fight was rigged against him from the start. He won the last battle by being stronger and smarter than the little human girl and from what his memories told him that is how he overcame most problems that came his way, by being better than his enemy.

But this creature...was different she had managed to either chip away at his power or take everything he could throw at her and carry on like nothing had happened. It was very demeaning, demoralizing, and damning all at once. As these thoughts began to file into his aggressively freezing mind, Berserker's ears were filled with the faint cheers of his memories and the images of these memories flooded his blackened sight. The many dead bodies around him, some crushed...others cut in half... some even split right open like a block of chopped wood. All killed by Berserker's own hand...so much death...so many lives cut down in their prime and most before they had even reached their full potential. He was a killer through and through, was he even worthy of living? Probably not, but as his eyes began to close and he was ready to succumb to the cold a single burning ember forced them open once again. What about redemption? Everyone could be redeemed...even merciless killers prone to slaying in a rage. If he won this sick game, maybe he could change his ways and make amends for all the lives he's ended prematurely. His desire to live...to be redeemed... took hold and brought him back, he clawed back to the surface of the pool and began climbing up some structure half-submerged in the water. As he clambered up what seemed to be some kind of fountain he could've sworn he felt the fingers of dark magic repel a few inches and his vision came back enough to see his whole body already covered in an almost second skin of quickly thickening ice. His limb were stiff, but his new found desire gave him the energy to reach up the wall to try and get back to the fight.

As his shaking hand moved up the smooth stone he felt a strange object attached to the wall. Using his shaking fingers he softly moved them over something small and metal. It felt like one of the strange “Ts” he saw before with the crossbar being too high up on the letter. He also felt some kind of figurine in the middle, following the worn down metal he discovered that whatever this figure was it's hands were nailed to the edges of the crossbar and it's feet were nailed and stacked on top of each other near the bottom. The figurine, whatever it was was thin man and he seemed to have some kind of wound carved into his side. Following the line of the weird "T", Berserker discovered it was directly above the icy water he had just climbed out of.

His numbing hand quickly roamed over the rest of the stone and found some worn letters slightly to the right of the figure on the cross.
"He who would wish for redemption need only bless himself in this holy water and drink deep the well of Christ." He again thought he felt the tendrils of dark magic abate a few fractions. This was his greatest chance at victory, jumping from the top of the fountain he landed at the edge of the pool and cupped the icy water in his hands pouring it over his already shivering body, this would kill him no doubt, but as long as it killed the woman too he would still call it victory.

Once his body was thoroughly coated he could feel the stiffness of ice forming on his armor, infecting the joints and adding to the woman's weakening spell, but something told him the end was near so maybe he could fight through the stiffness and the cold. The last thing he did was dip his head down and took a few deep gulps of the cold water, expecting the cold to shock him into coughing fits it actually freed him of the doubt the woman had managed to invade his mind with. His body did not feel any faster nor did his vision clear up. The organ battered his ears again and the cold increased with his new skin of ice. Stomping his way back to the main corridor the sub-arctic wind greeted him sending the creature reeling slightly as the water on his body reacted freezing completely. Bracing himself he followed his nose to the woman's scent and allowed the thoughts of her black magic tricks and seemingly unstoppable nature chip away at his carefully formed dam of control letting the ember of his new desire for redemption burn freely. Everything that had been stacked against him joined the mental assault, the blindness, the deafness, the constant weakening of his defenses, the screaming organ, the malicious wind and snow, the ice invading his armor dampening the warm inner lining sending his entire body into shivers. The rage he had been holding back would finally be freed, this creatures was about to have her mettle tested.

Allowing it to build, his blood began to boil and his body began to heat up warding off the shivers while not damaging his icy armor that still clung to the frozen metal of his armor. The emotion reached its peak and Berserker loosed a wall shaking roar of rage as the bloodfire filled his body and forced him to charge the approaching creature. With his claws coated in icy holy water and his armor backed by the same material, Berserker was ready to end this. Sensing the air shift of her downward sword strike he side-stepped the swipe and stomped down on her hands before he swung his holy ice claws in the direction of the woman's face. He was very nearly blind, but using his nose to follow the strongest hint of death and decay, his ears to judge the heavy boom of her sword hitting the stone, and his memory of what she looked like, guided him to his target. He followed the mental image up her arms,over her chest, and going for where he would assume her head was. She may have taken his speed, but his power was still his greatest weapon and his new desire to live would ensure he wouldn’t go down without a fight.

[Vaidia]

It was a funny thing to them, how well both the fighters and this place contrasted. Here was a place so old with memories, that it filled the stagnant air with forgotten songs. The bitter souls that remained as nothing more than whispered callous voices pined for more death and violence. Cries that were drowned as the mourning came, a dawn onto a sorrowful end of an age. And what were the fighters in this? Nothing more than empty dolls following the whims of a great power. No memories, and only the faintest imaginings of purpose that propelled them into beautiful and bloody matrimony.

But who were they to comment on such matter, when they had their very tool at work now? All would be darkness soon enough.

Sylvanas could feel her corrupting powers secure themselves against the foe, trapping it like a fly to a spiders web. She could hear the rock she threw make contact with something, but it was near impossible to tell what with the sounds of the music in the background. She continued forward, moving through the dust and snow, before another crash reverberated through the cathedral. But with this fight that was no longer such an alien sound, a percussive backing to the music that was already there. She felt that the foe fell to the ground, corralled by her power, but after that...

She could see the shadow of something great shift through the dust following the crash from moment ago, more pebbles rained down from above, but this time the sound of them hitting her armor could not be heard above the music. Another pillar was brought down, another stone behemoth leveled. Once again, this one's path of decent seemed to be where she stood. She paused in her chasing of the foe, readying Frostmourne again, before giving another might swing with the massive blade. A second pillar met its end severed in two, broken architecture falling around her.

Silence, but not that of no sound. Silence of action of battle. The Revenant returned her blade to the ready position. Above her, a more consistent rain of of stones came, both alike and opposite to the snow that gusted into the place. The Vigil seemed to shudder, the beast of a place taking its last few breaths, beaten by both brute force and rotting corruption. It seemed only moments more before it would fall-- perhaps even the wind would be enough to finish the job. The battle needed to make its end soon, or else they would both be crushed. Or, perhaps...

There was no sign of the Scaled Warrior, not in sight or not in her perception of corruption. How such a thing was possible, Sylvanas could not comprehend, unless the lizardman had some previously unused power of teleportation. At the edge of her mind, she felt a shift from the darkness within her. Amusement. She pushed away from the poisonous presence. It was her mind, and not one to be influenced by an outside force.

The Revenant continued forward, taking cautious steps in the direction where the foe vanished. She paused by the base of the pillar, as her foot crashed into something that was not another stone. A thrilling sensation shot up from her foot, through her mind and seeming beyond to the infinity, before coming back down through her again. She looked down, jerking her gaze away from the opaque surroundings to see a hilt sticking out from underneath the most recently felled pillar. It was her opponents, the blade trapped beneath several tons of stone-- too much for her to bother unearthing, and likely the blade would not be so easy to wield in her hands. She turned away from it, removing her foot and ending the wild sensation that seemed to originate from the blade.

A suddenly flurry of sound, audible above the pipe organ's cry, drew her attention to one end of the transept. Once again she could sense the presence of the lizardman, but its presence was muffled somehow, in a way she could not quite understand. She raised her sword again. The decisive blows were drawing near, and she could not be on the loosing end. The fate of her mind depended on it. She deserved to be, to exist as her own-

An earsplitting roar sounded above all sound. The groaning of the failing stone. The wailing of the outside storm. Even the mournful pipes seemed momentarily covered by the sound, a force only met by the explosion of malice and killing intent coming from her foe. She began to move in the direction of the it, readying her blade to continue the attack from before. To win. To regain those memories by her own might, as they were stolen away.

Amidst the fallen rubble, two warriors met in attack.

Her strike downwards met no resistance, the attack falling through empty air. Reflex gripped her first, as she attempted to jerk her body away from the oncoming attack. She did not anticipate the scaled warrior to stomp down on her blade, so it was caught easily beneath its feet. Combined with her reflexive pull back, the sword was easily torn from her grip. It snapped toward the ground, but she knew it would be foolish to try and recover it now, continuing to carry her force back as-

Pain. But this was another scorching sensation, once both dreadfully familiar and gloriously terrible in newness. It was like seeing light after years of darkness with the entire sensation translated to suffering. The Scaled warrior managed to land part of a blow on her with its mighty claws, but it was not the sharpness of it that wounded her, but the force around it. The power of a holy entity, and a righteous and burning belief behind it. Her leaning back managed to avoid what was the brunt of the attack, but it still caught her in a glancing blow across her face, causing her to snarl in shock, the sound like the protesting shriek of twisted metal. Her hair, caught in her motion, simply dissolved into nothing upon coming into contact with the holy force. She had no blood to bleed, but blue light shown where the strike landed, part of the stuff that made her up chipped away in diagonal slashes across her face. Her breath came out in chilled breaths. Labored.

And she felt a chill grip her in the wake of the pain from the attack, like a frigid draft seeping in. She knew the touch. Knew the hands that once defined her every move. Feel the smooth and dark presence edge towards her, a tide that threatened to engulf her once again. But it remained still, at the outer precincts of her sanity, waiting. It was a visage of menace, cackling at her incompetence. How dare she think she was the one who ruled this body?

The Revenant began to take another step back. Time seemed to slow for a moment, a dark haze clouding her mind. Time was often an inconceivable force to her, as one moment was often no different to the next when simply existing as a tool. Seconds were the same as years were the same as lifetimes and moments. And pain eternal, now punctuated by this new assault, this new moment of living. (Amusement.)

She already knew pain and living in this body, as Sylvanas. First was the last fight... with the fire and stone, before she once again was here, suffering the holy strike. No, there was another time between there. One that was clouded before the touch of the Dark Gods reminded her. There were voices speaking, but she could not recall... The thoughts were like grasping at smoke, and the voices seemed to be coming from so far away. The chill within her grew, but instead of clouding her mind as usual, things seemed to become clearer.

The voices were of the game makers, and there was something she was to not know, something recent she was made to forget.

Slyvanas's foot made contact with the ground behind her, but it was one in retreat no longer. Instead, it was born down into the ground with a heavy fall, the forces within her tensing. Her vision was impacted by the previous attack, but she knew the foe would not have moved far. Sylvannas hunkered the mass of her body in, before doing something she didn't need the dark forces within her to say was foolish and reckless. She would tackle the lizardman, hoping to off balance it and knock it into the center of the cathedral, while she intended to remain in the same spot.

Upon coming in contact with the frigid protection, blue sparks would fly out into the air like vibrant parodies of the surrounding snow. They turned dark as soon as they made contact with the ground, before seeping into the ground. The corruption in the air was stagnating and putrid, seeping into everything around where the Revenant was. The ground. The walls. The ceiling. She felt her strength sapped from her in contact with the holy force, and would stagger back before falling to the ground regardless of the success of her tackle. It mattered not, for the Vigil, the once grand and proud building-

It began to fall.

The Darkness would assure that.

"I will not be owned," Sylvanas whispered. The game makers played too similar a game to her dark gods. She would not let them enjoy things so easily.

[SikstaSlathalin]

Rage...glorious rage...the fulfillment of a desire so deep it was branded onto your very soul. This was what Berserker felt, even as hampered as he was from the womanthing's black magic his remaining senses were on fire and taking in everything they could. He could smell the woman's ever present stench of death and darkness, he could feel the neutralizing force of his holy ice crashing against his opponent's once thought to be impenetrable defenses and actually denting them. The lizardman felt the ember of hope gained by the dip in the holy fountain growing into a steady flame.

Glee filled his heart as he heard the woman's snarl and felt his ice coated claws rip through part of her metal faceplate. He was readying for another strike when something happened that threw off his conviction, a sharp pain across his own face followed by his opponent planting her feet and trying to tackle him, while the hit wasn't hard, the angle of it, and Berserker's own unstable footing caused him to stumble back. He would've fully fallen had his tail not kept him balanced and stopped his backwards motion. This moment of stillness was not very long, but it did give the big warrior time to notice his earlier plan had begun to come to fruition.

The ancient building was coming to the end of its long life, whole sections of the heavy stone ceiling came hurtling down from the shadowy heights, they impacted the ground and set off a series of miniature earthquakes as each ton of rock hit the floor. With every rumble the chain reaction continued to the walls, the once tall and strong sentinels that had supported the Vigil for countless eons folded in on themselves and set down their heavy burdens for the first and last time. This fight was nearing its end, they would either both die under the massive stones of the Vigil...or Berserker could ensure his victory.

Recovering from the shove and the pain of his own attack backbiting him, the big warrior let out another deep roar. His voice being heard over the screaming Pipe Organ that was somehow immune to the destruction being wreaked throughout the Vigil, it was heard through the howling wind, and apart from the earth shattering booms the collapsing citadel was causing. This was a cry of rage against the games masters for daring to force him into this blood sport, defiance against the collapsing Vigil threatening to kill him, and a challenge to the womanthing to try and steal his victory from him.

Locating her distinct scent once more, Berserker began moving towards it, but something both familiar and alien stopped him, it's presence pulling on his mind. Looking in the direction of the pull he sensed Death was pinned under the last pillar he kicked over, reaching down he felt for the cool metal of the handle and freed the blade after kicking the pillar off it, but as it came in contact with his holy ice claws it quite nearly kicked itself out his hand and landed tip down into a snowdrift. Berserker heard the sword's pained hiss before it fell from his hand, feeling it he found a scorch mark in the shape of Death's handle scored across the palm of his right gauntlet. The cold kept the holy ice from shattering totally, but it was still beginning to crumble away from the point of contact.

His claws were still icy, but the warrior knew that wouldn't last long now that the solid structure of the ice was broken. Another level of urgency had just been added to end this fight quickly, waiting too long would mean losing his only weapon and protection against the nigh unstoppable engine of darkness and destruction he felt the dark strings of magic wan a little. A portion of her strength seems to have been taken away from being in contact with his icy armor, one more advantage to utilize. Leaving Death where it had fallen he once more focused on his rage, and went back on the attack. His speed was still halved, his vision fully gone, his hearing still shot, and he could feel cracks forming in his once mighty armor from the water and ice working their way into miniscule opening caused by the woman's magic. The situation was as bleak and unpromising as any suicidal creature could ask for, if it wasn't for the sheer luck of tumbling into a pool of holy water Berserker would never have made it this far.

As his heavy steps moved towards the woman-creature, his black and cloudy mind began wondering if it was really skill that had allowed him to live long enough to find himself in this place. The one short and ambiguous memory he has told him such, but looking back on these last two fights...the lizardman wasn't so sure. Sure he'd gotten this far using his wits, strength, and sword skill, but every time he got ahead it could have just as easily taken him back or even completely out. The tricks he played on the young woman in the field of decay could've been seen through and countered. The pillars he had been knocking over could've crushed him like an overripe fruit or not have fallen at all and forced him to keep moving to stay away from the woman's relentless advances. So much could've gone wrong in so many ways, so why didn't it?

As his keen smell began to hone in on the woman the answers to his thought began to form backed by the white fire of his desire to live and the holy influence. Things didn't go wrong because Berserker wasn't just some lucky fool with anger issues and a big sword...he was a warrior... a champion... maybe even a leader. Yes! Looking around at the faces of his clan he saw pride and respect. He knew none of their features, but an ingrained part of his instincts told him what those looks meant. They meant he was skill, he was determination, he was the blade that would go against all odds and be triumphant or die in such a way to inspire those that witness it to think back and marvel at it.

He located his enemy and planned his last attack before the Steel Vigil came crashing down on his head. He could just jump onto her and slam his claws into her body hoping the force and holy ice do the work needed to break past her shell and end her. But it could also put him in a bad situation, the woman could have found her sword again or some other weapon and be simply waiting for him to attack so she could skewer him through his crumbling armor. It would be a most foolhardy way to die... no he had to do something else...something unexpected. Like use his tail, he was sure the creature wouldn't expect to be slammed in the chest with a tail the size of a tree trunk and with it too being coated in holy ice it could really hurt her. Following his nose, he took another guess of where to strike. He didn't have the guide of stepping on her hands and arms this time.

As he ran up against brick walls in his mind trying to figure out a way around this problem a single word appeared in his mind, "Faith". He knew not what it meant, but it gave him some kind of comfort. Following the woman's dark presence and her smell he guessed once more. Leaping into the air he made it look like he was going to slam his clawed hand down upon her head. But he would jump over her instead and slam the tail onto her body if he timed it right. If the tail landed or not he wasn't going to chance it, as he landed he would spin on his foot and slash his claws across whatever part of the woman's body they found.