#3 - VIGILANT IN THE VATICAN

by **Alice the Chopper** Sat Jul 06, 2013 6:59 am

E V E N T # 3
VIGILANT IN THE VATICAN

*****

Feburary 12th
6:50pm, Sunday
St. Stephen of the Abyssinians

Thump.

A loud noise at the grand doors at the ancient temple built on pagan grounds, now converted to serve as a church for his servants. The noise was ignored as the preacher yelled out in reverend tongues and the pews full of worshipers called out, blocking out mostly every noise. The ethnic priest slammed his powerful hand son the podium as he read form the Holy Book, reciting verse after verse with increasing resolve. Another knock at the door, another sound blotted out.

Thud.

With this second and louder noise the great wooden doors slammed open, cracking as they hit the old walls of the church. Immediately, a dozen or so men clad in black combat gear wielding an assortment of stolen assault rifles and other firearms poured into the building, appearing anonymous as their faces were all covered by black ski masks. There were about thirty of them by the time they all poured in. The reverend ignored this at first, continuing to cry out his holy words, until finally stopping when a larger male carrying a book and a female figure entered the door, both obscured by the masks as with the others. The African quickly made these two out to be the leaders of this little robbery, and quickly yelled out to them as strong as he shouted the words of God, "You dare enter this place, what have you to steal from the LORD!" he had a clear anger in his throat, but his words quivered, he had never been in such a situation before.

The two figures did not hesitate as they made their way up to the podium. The larger man smiled and nodded at the female, revealing a mouth full of fake golden teeth. The female reacted with a quiet nodded, not returning the disturbing smile. Within moments she was at the stand, only inches away from the preacher. "L-leave at once! Re-repent!" The man's strong words began to stutter more and more as he was stared at with blank eyes. With a short smirk after hearing him out, the woman took off her mask, letting her long black hair down. As he looked upon her, he could clearly see some Asian features accented with a sharp gauntness. Her eyes were covered in a light blue eyeshadow, giving her eyes a creepy gaze.

The smirk was wiped from her face as she reached for her belt, grabbing what appeared to be a gun. The man instantly backed up at the sight of this, now clearly showing his fear. With a few pulls of the trigger, the "gun" sparked, letting it's true nature be known. A standard police taser, but obviously heavily modified, as the spark was far larger than it should normally be. With each bolt, golden teeth shined, and the reverend yelled out perhaps his final words, "Most sacred heart of Jesus, I accept from Your hands whatever kind of death it may please You to send me thi-" The frantic prayer was cut off as the intruder keeled down and forced the weapon into his mouth before pulling the trigger, lighting up his entire body like a light bulb. Blood poured from his facial orifices, slowly accumulating an entire puddle of the fluid, staining the floor of the church. Perhaps the first spilled blood in the Vatican in years. As his dead body flailed like a fish from the electricity built up, the woman spit on his corpse before uttering two words at long last: "Hail Satan." With this phrase, the rifle toting masked men began to execute the innocent worshipers in the church. Tonight would be their judgement day, and not one escaped alive.

The man with the false teeth took off his mask after the deed was done, revealing elderly features of the same origin as the woman. He adjusted his specs as he shoved the Bible off of the podium, placing the book he carried with him there instead. the book was wrapped in a black scarred leather and was heavily bloodstained. It's worn pages contained countless rituals and incantations, all with warnings from previous users etched in messily in eitheri nk or blood or both. Turning to one of the middle pages, the man smiled as he read the demonic text, having already translated it prior. As the terrorists dragged all of the lifeless bodies to the center of the room and removed their masks, a few of them were ordered to write out the sigil over the bodies, in blood, of course. the symbol looked like a strange combination of a pentacle and other demonic symbols that simply weren't natural to see on Earth. Sooner than later, the church looked like a cult dwelling.

When all of the activities were said and done, one of the henchmen approached the female leader and whispered into her ear, causing a minor look of frustration on her face. After some minor arguing in her native Japanese language, she approached the man reading the book and once more reached for her belt, instead grabbing a smaller object, this one in fact being a firearm: a .38 revolver, the standard of the Tokyo Police Department. With a single shot, the man's forehead erupted in blood as the bullet emerged from the other side, his golden teeth becoming stained with red as his head hit the podium. "We were one short." The Asian woman said coldly, referring to the number of sacrifices required for the ritual.

This Japanese woman with the icy eyes was known as Reis Arakaki, the leader of perhaps the largest cult in Italy, and one of the larger ones in Japan. She had been caught into this type of lifestyle since she was a teenager, and even practiced the dark arts during her time with the TRPF (Tokyo Riot Prevention Force) never truly being what one would call a "good cop". Possessed and bonding with many demons throughout her short life her emotions were still there, but far less outstanding than the common man, being only hollow shells of what they once were. Few knew who she actually was, but many more feared her.

A couple henchmen quickly retrieved the body and threw it in with the others. Now paying attention to the ruined book, she began to slowly speak the words, seeing that the stage was set. She hesitated at first, which could have been clearly seen by all the Ritualists in the room, possibly making some question her leadership. After all, this was going to be a big decision, one that would change her life forever. Just as the second thoughts breached her head, the voice that told her to do this in the first place resurfaced. Do it. It's right. You will be rewarded! Were along the lines of what it said, but exactly what it spoke would be unknown, but it surely convinced Reis, who closed her cold eyes for a moment, than spoke the first sentence of the text, in an outdated Greek language.

[INITIATE THEME]

"Bring us a change of order!" The verse rolled off her tongue, and with it, she felt the walls of the entire establishment shake. This was sheer mental, but it sure felt real. Not hesitating anymore, she began with the second evil verse. "Violator of souls, shake the grounds, Discordia, bring us new light!" The walls would seem to shake now for everyone in the building. two figures entered the building, both armed, at this point in time. However, they were contained from reaching the leader as she continued on with the demonic verse. A few cultists were cut down by revving chainsaws, but this sound was soon silenced by rapid gunfire followed by a couple grunts and thuds. Threat eliminated. It seemed that the Vatican was hasty to respond, or at least to send a party in to investigate the large group of armed men.

"Bring us chaos!" the final words were finally spoken, but nothing happened with this third and short verse. No wall shaking. No dead rising from their graves. No demon coming up form the depths of hell. No demon, even, or at least it appeared. After a solid minute and a half of waiting, one of the henchmen decided to speak up, "Did you say all of the words?" he asked dim-wittingly, which caused a sarcastic snarl from the leader, "Oh yeah, mostly! Probably! Of course I said all the words, fakku." She cursed in her native tongue before suddenly feeling like something just punched her in the stomach. Bringing her palms to her belly, she was quickly sent to her knees before violently puking up what appeared to be a stream of blood, further staining the holy floor. She convulsed, twitched, and screamed in pain until she finally keeled over, appearing dead as the corpses that lined the building.

A few of the cultists started to make their way towards their fallen leader to check her vitals, but didn't even make it close to her before her body sprang to life, makeup smeared and mouth covered in blood. The blood was comically shaped like a smile, as if she purposely had applied the red liquid as a sort of gruesome makeup. Manically running her fingers through her long jet hair, she grasped it, and then bean to let out a laugh that started in her native voice, but quickly escalated to something she had never been seen to do before. The laughter filled the small church, echoing powerfully and truly shaking the old walls of the Catholic place of worship. She at last made her way to the podium, speaking in a a different tone than before. This tone was springing with energy and emotion, manically changing volume from quiet to loud, "Ladies and gentlemen! Glad to be with you, finally!" She began to speak in the preacher's old spot. "Tonight we will make Lucifer proud! No, tonight, we will make ourselves proud!"

The bloody Ritualist stepped down form the stage and joined the ranks of her fellow cultists, going from henchman to henchman and speaking to them each personally. "It will be a hell of a night!" She made her way to the fallen Templar scouts, checking their pockets and taking anything that she wanted. She grabbed the bloodiest chainsaw of the two and holstered it upon her back before grabbing the sawed off twelve gauge that the other was carrying. Fairly primitive weapons for such a "Order". Making sure the weapon was well stocked on ammunition, she stuffed a handful of shells into one of her cargo pockets. there were plenty of such compartments in old riot gear, after all. Raising this shotgun into the air, she continued her little motivational speech, "Tonight! The Vatican falls!" This particular shout incited a cheer amongst the crowd, who raised their weapons up in a similar fashion.

Reis turned to the next Ritualist, which was one dressed vastly differently than the rest, perhaps to better style as well. She looked into his eyes with her dilated ones, "Moon Hunter! True to your name, I hope. Scout ahead and take out any sharpshooters, oh, and feel free to nab who-know-who." She spoke in an almost non-serious manner addressing the demon rather than the shell, being far more familar with that side of them. The woman's heeled boots clicked across the floor as she came to the next guest of honor. Looking him...er...her...er, him? It. Looking it up and down, she spoke to a purple haired ritualist not far from Jean and whispered into her ear, "Gron-Miro, make sure our little puppy doesn't get hurt." The whisper was actually loud enough for several people to hear, including the one who it might insult, but the woman simply laughed at this and moved on to her next subjects. After all, it was only a little motivation, no harm intended. At least not to them.

The next individual she would stop at was a silver haired man hidden behind a pair of thick shades. Staring into these glass eyes, she was unable to get a read on him, which made her both excited and uncomfortable. "I have no idea who you are! But you'll be perfect! So unpredictable...not even I know what you can do!" She laughed once more, at herself, of course. "Take eight of my boys and send em' into the left entrance with more destruction than you can shake a stick at." With that, eight of the terrorists came forth to the being not known to Eris as Aravad.

The girl with the bloody smile came next to the next individual she wished to have words with, who was a fair young maiden with blonde hair. Reis ran her fingers through this cultist's hair without asking rather ungratefully, probably accidentally pulling a few hairs. "Ah Lilith! Cause a similar distraction on the right wall, and I know you have what it takes to do so." The manic cultist spoke to her, hinting at her "distracting nature". Finally, the woman's boots clicked as she came to the last person she wished to speak to. this man was probably known by almost everyone in the room, and almost everyone in the world. After all, he was a damn rockstar. "Giving orders to Legion? Ironic, really." She jested with the superstar before handing him a single folded green bill. American money, and fairly useless in Italy, but still money. "Here's twenty dollars. Stick with me." With that, she turned away from David Bowie, and walked towards the great and broken doors of the church.

"I'm going in through the front doors, so let's keep the fire off that, kay?" The remaining four henchmen came to her side as she raised the stolen weapon in the air once more, this time firing a single shot. the wind caught her hair at this time, wickedly blowing it in the wind for a brief second. "C'mon, let's shake this town up a bit already!" The leader would wait for the cultists to start marching towards the Vatican before she moved out, intending to be one of the final ones there.

The war had begun.

Reis speaks English (scarlet) and Japanese (navy)
Facelaim: Ergo Proxy - Re-I Mayer

by **Lazarus Carter** Sat Jul 06, 2013 7:12 am

E V E N T # 3
POSTING ORDER

You'll be happy to hear that Event #3 has no posting order!
It is essentially freeform; for you to determine between your groups - however we ask you consider a few things.
First and foremost: Templars, the amount of Ritualists, even NPCs, is limited. Should this become an issue, Reis can call for a tentative backup squadron we can bullshit in, but we ask that you do NOT go insane with the killing of even NPC Ritualists. If you can, try to focus it on player-on-player skirmishes. More fun, last longer, evoke development.
Second: Ritualists. This is not some bullshit. The strongholds and outposts in the Vatican may be manned by few but they are tenaciously defended. The Templar numbers will reach around forty or so strong, but many more will be entrenched or scattered around. Your objective is to reach the Grandmaster before Reis dies (if she even does), but he may well move, or you may well not find him before he exits - but you have more lenience with NPCs, because the Vatican is filled with Swiss Guard, who, may I remind you, are very fleshy and prone to death by dying.
Third: MOST IMPORTANTLY, in order to receive the amount of stated points for a character, you must a) post at least three times (though I recommend far more), b) AND POST AN EXIT WHEN ASKED TO.
Fourth: This mission will cease mid-August 2013. This date is somewhat fluid and I may extend it; but basically, aside from these restrictions, post as much or as sparingly as you'd like between now and then. If #3 does not see much activity; I may extend it, or bring the Something Has Happened account in. I will make a post in this thread when people should begin to exit.
Fifth: INCLUDE WHO YOU ARE WITH IN YOUR POST TITLE

If you pre-establish a posting order with someone else, don't break it.

We recommend you post once every five days, at least, to keep the pace of the mission relatively dynamic; more frequently, then even better!

Other than that - if both halves are ready, may the battles begin!

by **David Bowie** Sat Jul 06, 2013 8:09 am

Urgh, these ski masks... So... So cheap and tacky... The eternal man walked into the house of the lord with the other ritualists, namely because hey; why not? It was amusing really, the reactions some had to seeing David Bowie arrive to their little shindig. Not many people really ever expected a rockstar to show up to a siege on the Vatican.

Why was he laying siege on the Vatican anyways? He used to be a Templar, actually, until he took an arrow to the knee. Eh. Anyways, he walked in, and watched as the lass and the old whippersnapper did their lame stuff, before realizing he was supposed to be killing stuff. "Ah, bloody 'ell. Knew I shouldn't have worn my favorite socks... These stains'll never come out." He sighed a woeful and weary sigh, vanquished by soiled footwear. No matter, as he drew his falchion, ancient and worn through the ages.

...

"Oi, Reis, luv. I am NOT dirtying my precious Rosso on these hideous ugh... things. Just throwing it out there..." Peasants. He sincerely hoped this wasn't all they'd come to do. And thankfully, he was proven to be correct, as they got on with business, after Reis killed the old man, to his laughter. "One way of using your men efficiently, I suppose."

Ahh, but then he heard the words she spoke, and now noticed what book she was reading from, and the revelation simply tickled him to think that he now knew what she was doing, for it was something he'd once seen before, ages ago; she was attempting to summon a demon, by all rights, quite infamous. From the Necronomicon, no less, ha! The Mockingbird... Hehe. They were in for quite a treat, it seemed.

The girl fell over, and Bowie didn't really care. "Better luck next time, I sup- oh?" And it seemed she rose back up, with some beeeeeeee-eau-ti-ful makeup. Bloody good work, he had to admit.

She went to a few others, giving them each instructions; first the cajun, then a purple-headed lass, then to a weirdo, but a stylish weirdo, nonetheless, then to another person, blah-blah, BORING, then finally to the star of the show himself. "About time, dearie- saving the best for last is simply dull, I'd have expected better from you, darling~" Ah, and she didn't even stop to compliment his new brand of cologne! THE NERVE!

Instead, she laughed at the novelty of giving orders to Legion. Puh. "Oi, I'll have you know I'm by no means Legion! Much. Only a little Legion, really." As she extended a hand though, his slightly peeved tirade ended, as he looked at it.

Twenty bucks, American!? TWENTY BUCKS!? AMERICAN MONEY!?!? WAS SHE DAFT!? "What'll this do me any good for, no, I don't-" Nevertheless, he felt a strange compulsion to accept it. Odd, really. It was such a petty amount! And useless to him! "Hm... Kay, deal." That said, as she turned to walk away, he snatched out at her right wrist with his left hand, donning a black sequinned glove, as he joyfully skipped along behind her. "Goin' on adventure, we're going on adventure!~ Onward, trusty steed!"

by **Aravad** Sun Jul 07, 2013 6:11 am

A mantle of command dawned upon him most curious as Aravad opted for the intellectual matter of actually DONNING a kevlar vest, garbing himself in a ski mask afterwards when given an order, and pulling back the slide of his AK-74, checking the weapon's ammunition to be all in order as he figured he may as well use his brain whereas the rest have opted not to do the same in obtaining weapons and retaining their identities secure, even to those that play the role of allies. He abstained from filtering the blood of the righteous unto the sanctified grounds of this Church, more on saving ammunition than really possessing a moral compass in those regards. It was not for him to fire when he could just SAVE IT and fire at those that actually pose a chance of firing back.

Blah blah blah. Intermission. Something about cultists doing some orgy of death, usual deal, hailing evil abomination that doesn't hold mankind's best interest at heart, some more evil stuff, and even MORE evil stuff to cement just how evil the cultists are. Then a bunch of hapless peeps being brought along to do the bidding of the cultists, then a bunch more evil stuff inserted like raping a priest's face with a bullet, blow one's load, except instead of a penis, it involves a gun, and no, that isn't metaphorical. Some other evil stuff, blah de blah blah, and then cultists whom no doubt were picked up from Evil R Us are somehow WILLING to go with a plan that'd make them completely unwanted by all the world or something with no possible gains besides just killing a bunch of old pedophiles hiding in their Temple Sanctuary with little Timmies strapped to their crotches are happening about, something a scandal is ALREADY DOING by emptying out their followers as more and more young people are becoming Atheists, thus destined to Hell and some other stuff, also just how much are they being paid, and WHY ARE THEY SO GLEEFUL OVER THIS?! SOME MORE EVIL THINGS spurred about, some talk about evil things, BLAH DE BLAH BLAH. Aravad just can't help but incline himself to think the Cosmos has cursed him into this mess of cliché... actually... WHY WAS HE EVEN HERE? He wasn't exactly being paid for his time, there is little gains, but now that he remembers it...

It was as if it was yesterday, a bunch of flashbacks, blah de blah blah, insert some sad youth, which Aravad didn't have, and doesn't care about, only thing he can remember is tacos, getting drunk, having a tattoo on his ass he has no idea over WHAT, waking up in some black van being told he is orchestrating the worst massacres to come in known history against Christendom's bastion itself, AND that apparently his ears are still ringing from the FUCKING HANGOVER he just had. He doesn't EVEN DRINK. Just what the Hell happened? It was as if some being played a joke on him, and decided to spike his drink. Whomever this bastard was, Aravad is going to find it, and burn it with FIRE. Also he is apparently being addressed by a comely lass who seems absorbed to blood, the pint sized Asian was talking to him. She was saying some stuff about him taking a bunch of soldiers with him, as Aravad still tried to clear his head just WHAT THE HELL DID HE GET HIMSELF INTO? But okay, whatever, he'll probably do this. Maybe this'll get him laid or something. Cults can be SOMETIMES fun like that, SOMETIMES, overlooking the evil damn your soul to Hell forever parts, the fact there should be sacrifices, and there are weird and creepy as fuck individuals gathered about whom he regarded with a stony and stoic demeanor all about and around him.

"I have no idea who you are! But you'll be perfect! So unpredictable...not even I know what you can do!"

He was going to say something.

"Take eight of my boys and send em' into the left entrance with more destruction than you can shake a stick at."

Then he didn't. She totally wants him. It's so obvious. So now given a quest by a chick, who is psychotic, whom in his experience, tend to bring knives to bed, and tend to not take rejection well, in one of his biggest mistakes in his life, he departs with the men as he clears his throat, heading onward to the Vatican with a bunch of ugly as fuck Ozzy Osbourne motherfuckers. At least Aravad had a mask on to conceal his identity if all this goes to shit.

"Uh... alright. So we're going to kill people... and stuff, because that psychotic bitch told me so? And I guess if I do that, I get laid? Dunno."

They all nodded vigorously as they were at his back, and he was leading at the forefront, taking the left wing entrance to the Vatican building, whatever it was he was going into.

"So... do we get paid in any manner for our work? Like any cash?" He asked smoothly in his thick Norwegian accented English.

One of the men laughed, "HAHA! Surely you jest, brother, for our only payment is the blood of those that serve purer purposes! Their death is its own reward! We shall serve his Majesty Lucifer himself, in that we shall be rewarded justly for our fealty to him, for all of us are damned in our own ways, we rejoice to see widows weeping, orphans made by our own hands."

Aravad was not amused.

"Riiiighhhht..."

This was going to be a long ass day, he can tell for sure. Aravad marched the troops as they all took SWAT-like tactics to the corridor that they entered into from the left wing entrance, dividing from the main group as the men take whatever cover they can from the abundance of columns in this artistic and gothic designed room made in mind for pious service and pleasing aesthetics, not combat. With much art drawn by those famed Italians and whatever have you. They all made sure there were no opposition, and they opened fire at the central body mass of whatever priests and guards they came across, taking them down as 9 priests were slain, and 3 guards shot whom weren't in cover, running to respond to the sudden inclusion of gunshots apart. Their vests did no good to the awesome fire power of the AK series guns, as it penetrated through them and put them down.

Aravad was in a different wing now, the left wing, and ahead of him was a T-intersection, with some large room that would led to the treasury perhaps, and behind him, just a long winded corridor that were anyone were to emerge there, would see the groups as small as a thumb from the distance that was present. Aravad didn't fire a shot to kill those civilians, he let those men do it, as they had precision, that much can be told.

by **Amadeus Edge** Sun Jul 07, 2013 8:30 am

February 12th
7:00 PM
Sistine Chapel

So it seemed that the time had come... The Ritualists had been stirring about for quite some time and, surprisingly, managed to keep their important movements hidden. Amadeus had known that they planned to move upon the holy city, he simply didn't know when. And if the horrors of what had happened recently were any indication, they were moving now. At this rate, nobody was going to be safe. No innocent spared, no holy soul left un-corrupted... But the Templar Order had been preparing for such an organized strike. Preparing for a siege on the city they all held dear. If the Vatican were to fall, so would the people's faith in the Templars who swore an oath to protect them from the influence of evil. As much as he wished to join in the battle directly, he simply couldn't in his current state. In their world, he was frail, weak. An easy target. If the beings that opposed them couldn't take the city, they'd try their hardest to ensure that he fell in the struggle. There were so many choices to make, so many lives that hung in the balance. On the inside, he could feel his heart beginning to pump violently, threatening to burst right out of his chest. But his expression betrayed no hint of worry. There was only the hard expression everyone had come to expect from him. Right now, Amadeus was the leader.

There were dozens of seasoned Templars in the chapel with him, waiting at the pew while their Grandmaster stood at the Altar. All of them were prepared to give their lives in defense of the city and the people within. While Amadeus didn't lack the words of encouragement, he lacked the time necessary to deliver them without sacrificing the meaning. Every minute wasted, the horde of sinners drew closer, their jaws gnashing at anything or anyone in their path. With his fists clenched and brow furrowed, Amadeus turned to face the crowd and the chatter that filled the room died almost instantly, "Today is the day where all of our hard work and training will be put to the test. The scouts have confirmed that the Vatican is under siege by a large group of Ritualists lead by an unknown female. We can assume that she will be the highest priority target. I want there to be NO survivors of this war." There was an almost collective gasp. Usually Amadeus preferred the targets be captured rather than killed, but this was an exception. They had already done their damage. He needed to make a statement, "I want you to assume that EVERYONE out on the streets today are out to kill anything in their path and I want you to show no mercy. For when your back is turned, a knife will find its way into it. Men, women, children, there is no distinction between them. Each and every person coming in our direction has allowed corruption into their souls. They share their bodies with Lucifer's court. And for this, they must not live to see the rising sun."

Amadeus paused, looking over each of the more prominent of his Templars. Tatyana, Damon, The Good Reverend and Ms. Helsing. Each of them were going to be key components in this battle, and Amadeus needed to assign them a job that played to their skills, "Tatyana: Your job is to take our best melee fighters and situate yourselves at the left and right of the oncoming mob. Pack them tightly together and keep them exposed. Do your best to make a straight path. We want the destruction concentrated in one place. Reverend: I want you to take our best mid-ranged fighters and take the opposition from the back. Force the mass that Tatyana gives you into narrow alleyways with gunfire, artillery, explosions. You have free reign to do whatever you want as long as the Ritualists are unable to move easily. Damon: You are to take the best sharpshooters and situate yourselves at the rooftops and focus your attentions on the bottlenecks created by the Reverend as he forces them along. Vanessa: Assist Damon and do EXACTLY what he tells you. You're both excellent shooters and I want you both on the rooftops raining death upon everything that is forced through the narrow corridors..."

With each person given their orders, Amadeus made the sign of the cross and paused for a silent prayer. Once done, he looked to the group and shouted, his powerful and authoritative voice filling the large room, "Once your job is complete, return here as swiftly as possible. There will not be enough guards to protect this one area for very long in the event that you fail. Try your hardest to keep them far away from this place... If they cannot fight us here, they may move to Inferis temporarily. In the event that this does happen, take comfort in knowing that I'll be there to greet them. Now GO!" He slammed his staff against the ground violently and pointed to the doors, "Go and show them why we are to be feared!"

by **Ceri Priddy** Sun Jul 07, 2013 3:45 pm

Itchy.... Were ski masks really the right choice? It didn't seem somehow... tacky? Despite how she followed the orders given her to the letter, she was really rather bored of it all even after she took the mask off. What made it so odd was that the face hidden beneath it was so... perfect. She frowned a little as she glanced down at the blood that was now smeared on her hands from painting symbols on herself and others. She was amongst those who stood off on the side while they checked on the woman that they were following. Reis, right? That was her name.... Why in the world was she here anyways? This was really more Sareph's area of expertise if one were to truly think about it. She was the one always going off and killing people, or beating them up. She was the one who flew off the handle. And Ceri? Ceri never, ever did such a thing. So again, why was she the one that was here?

Because things were boring in safe little London. There were barely any of her kind, she never got to do anything, and right now Sareph was elsewhere anyways. She may as well go live a little what with the rather substantial capital she had made over the years. What was the point of making lots of money if you didn't spend any of it? And she had never had a chance to make it down to Italy, land of romance and the fucking Pope. Lilith also seemed to want to prove herself useful and have a bit of fun, and Ceri had never had a chance to seduce a Templar before. She'd have plenty of options and access to them now, hm? She barely paid any attention to the screams and pleads of the victims, and she certainly was only vaguely aware during the ritual itself. So when Reis popped back up and was blathering at the podium, she instead turned those pretty blue eyes towards her fellows. She only knew one personally out of the whole bunch (David Bowie didn't count), and surprisingly enough, she found herself feeling rather happy that he was here. That was a first.

"Tonight! The Vatican falls!" Others cheered, but Ceri just folded her arms over her chest. Rather than her usual white outfit, she had chosen something more appropriate for raiding the Vatican and causing a bit of trouble. And yet.... it was so completely her. Black leather low heeled boots covered her legs up to her knees, with sheer black stockings with lace about the top of them covering the majority of her legs. She did wear a mid-thigh skirt that had a slight flow about the bottom and high slit, enough to reveal the fact she was indeed wearing a garter belt by the straps flowing up the rest of her thighs. Her shirt was tight fitting and low cut, a halter that perfectly accentuated those supple curves and delicious bosoms. Its design alluded to a corset, but was in reality a silky satin fabric with a matt sheen. A black collar was fastened about her neck and her golden hair was still pulled back into their normal two ringlets. Black fabric clung to her arms all the way up to the middle of her bicep, forming fingerless gloves that finished the almost gothic appearance. Honestly? She still looked like a sex-kitten, and that was half the point.

"Moon Hunter! True to your name, I hope. So that was his demons name.... She had never gotten it from that time, and him being here also obviously confirmed her suspicions about him before. A pity that they could not be teamed together, they had worked together so well before. Though that was without clothes. Still, a shame. Those sapphire orbs slid across to each demon that Reis spoke to, taking a moment to familiarize herself with their faces and apparent mannerisms. Her perfect lips hovered between neutrality and a frown. You should be more excited about this. But I'm not you. Lilith merely chuckled in the background, And yet you wanted to cause some trouble. Lets see what happens, hm? And then Reis came up to her, a hand running through one of her ringlets to which Ceri only offered her a sweet little smile. She didn't seem to care that she snagged on a few knots, her giggle multi-layered as both her and Liliths voice leaked through. "Ah Lilith! Cause a similar distraction on the right wall, and I know you have what it takes to do so." Ceri only chuckled knowingly as Lilith cackled in her mind. "Of course sugar. It's what I do best." She spoke, glancing back towards the rockstar that Reis addressed last.

She started to turn towards the doors, turning her head slightly back so that she could hear the rest of their orders, but she already knew her purpose was clear. "C'mon, let's shake this town up a bit already!" Didn't need to tell her twice. With that, Ceri immediately started forward, that alluring body of hers swaying gracefully and a smirk began to form on her lips. Now.... she could smile about being here.

***

Her heels clacked along the pavement as she strode up towards the Vatican. There were two guards at a gate that watched her approach, narrowing their eyes warily as one held up his hand. "I'm sorry miss, this entrance is off-limits to civilians." Ceri giggled and smiled as those sapphire eyes glinted in the moonlight. "Oh come now sugar, you won't let little old me in?" She saw them falter as she took his outstretched hand in her own, his friend flinching as he started towards an alarm. She turned her head towards him and fluttered her eyelashes at him, "I know they didn't tell you, but I was asked here special tonight. And I'm sure your superiors wouldn't be happy if I didn't arrive hm?" He slowed and stopped, both now staring at her as their eyes slid over her perfect form. She exuded the possibilities of what could happen if they listened to her tonight, slipping up between them as they lowered the rest of their guards. "No, that would not be wise. We'll escort you in." She rose up a bit and planted a kiss on each of their cheeks, a low chuckle resounding in her throat as she trailed a finger beneath the brunettes chin, "You're such a pair of peaches!" Two more came up with their rifles raised, her two thralls whipping about to face them. She didn't waste any time as she strode forward and touched a single finger to their hands. She could feel their nervous system pulsating within them and she focused entirely upon one spot in each of them. The G-spot. Both appeared confused as their breathing grew ragged and hot, wincing at the sudden stiffness that was in their pants. Yet the pretty girl just glanced back and smiled at the two strapping men staring dumbly at her. "D'you think you can help take care of some problems for me? I have this feeling your friends won't like me so much. Least unless we convince them how harmless I am." She giggled as the two men grunted and well, jizzed in their pants, sinking down to the ground as their muscles spasmed a bit more. She leaned close to one of their ears as her lackeys cocked their rifles and watched for snipers, ignoring her as she licked one of the spent mens' necks and purred, "And thats just a taste my pets. I can give you so much more."

She could feel how they resisted in their minds, fought against the twisting tendrils that she and Lilith were attempting to bind them with (without actual binds sadly), and she almost wanted to commend them for it. Weaker men had fallen much faster. But with another flash of thigh here, and gentle touch there, she now had four thralls with which to protect herself. The first two fired shots as shouts were beginning to ring out up above. Double checking her silenced pistols, she grinned as they strode inside. "Much appreciated my dears. Don't worry, you'll each get a turn later." One last chuckle rolled out as friend began to fire on friend, protecting her with each step they took as they continued onward. She remained ever so slightly behind, all finding cover when necessary as they began their rain of distractions and chaos. And yet all Ceri could think to herself was that Sareph would be very proud.

by **Tatyana Vladimirovna** Sun Jul 07, 2013 4:43 pm

War was nearly upon them. The sound of thunderous gunfire, the roaring flames, the screams.... She could already hear it all in her mind. The flash of explosions, the blood and the dying, the marching soldiers of their foes... She could already see it all in her mind. The smells... the ache of her bones... Times that had long since past were rekindling within her, and it only made her grimace. She stood off on the side near Damon, a hand on her hip as she wished that she could light a cigar in here. But no, she was amongst her equals, and more importantly, superior. She would not be rude and display such an act no matter how she would prefer to. It was a bit of calm and peace before the complete onset of the storm. And so a finger tapped softly, gently against her hip, staring intently upon the Grandmaster as he stood there at the podium. The warrior within her was growing restless, ready to go out and act against the threat of evil upon their doorstep, to protect those that were already most certainly in danger. She knew they already had to be on the move, knew that the forces of Lucifer had been growing more active across the board, she had seen it already in Irkutsk. From the Greek to her escapade with Damon, the activity had been growing.

So what were they going to do now? She was suddenly reminded of the generals before a briefing to their soldiers. Yet only two of her comrades from then were here with her. "Today is the day where all of our hard work and training will be put to the test. The scouts have confirmed that the Vatican is under siege by a large group of Ritualists lead by an unknown female. We can assume that she will be the highest priority target. I want there to be NO survivors of this war." All of it? Her lips tightened a little more. No... only half of their training would truly prepare them for it. Nothing was quite like when you had to protect your home and your superiors from a large, impending threat. She had wanted to scoff, but again, she was being polite. The unknown female was what worried her more, why hadn't they already known about her? Why hadn't they already had some information pertaining to such a person as this? Tatyana nodded her head once, one of the few who didn't appear shocked or appalled by this change. This was not a time to be surprised that they were to take no prisoners. This was not a time to be soft and merciful, to hesitate before laying down a strike. This was a goddamn war. It made her wonder at the people that they brought in. Her two subordinates (aside from Damon), Mikhael Alexandrovich and Anatoly Ivanovich, also stood stone-faced beside her, grim and quiet. They too, had not gasped.

"I want you to assume that EVERYONE out on the streets today are out to kill anything in their path and I want you to show no mercy. For when your back is turned, a knife will find its way into it. Men, women, children, there is no distinction between them. Each and every person coming in our direction has allowed corruption into their souls. They share their bodies with Lucifer's court. And for this, they must not live to see the rising sun." She glanced to the rest of the Templars gathered, and she saw how this had shaken some of them. She shook her head slightly as Anatoly and Mikhael shared a look. Had they grown so soft over the years? Tatyana made a mental note to make a suggestion to the Grandmaster when this was all over. It was true that they were the armed forces meant to battle demons in an ever continuous war, but those were demons. If these men were not comfortable with the thought of having to potentially kill humans as well, then they were not ready for this task. They were not ready for this war. And that meant that they were not ready to truly protect the home that they held dear even if they were willing to give their lives for it. Perhaps it was harsh of her, but it was a fact.

Her eyes raised as Amadeus looked out to them, her expression continuing to remain impassive and neutral. "Tatyana: Your job is to take our best melee fighters and situate yourselves at the left and right of the oncoming mob. Pack them tightly together and keep them exposed. Do your best to make a straight path. We want the destruction concentrated in one place." Creating a funnel eh? She nodded once, "Yes sir."[/i] She looked to Anatoly and Mikhael who straightened up and saluted her. She took note of what the others were told to do as well, already turning her attention towards those she knew would be in her unit. Many were from Irkutsk, but there was a scattering of those across the other areas of the world. As soon as the Grandmaster was done, her arms hung both at her sides, wearing a uniform very similar to what she wore when in Inferis. Kevlar, combat boots, pockets and pouches, holsters for guns... The difference was that she still had her old military coat, and lacked the blue beret.

"Once your job is complete, return here as swiftly as possible. There will not be enough guards to protect this one area for very long in the event that you fail. Try your hardest to keep them far away from this place... If they cannot fight us here, they may move to Inferis temporarily. In the event that this does happen, take comfort in knowing that I'll be there to greet them. Now GO!" Tatyana could already hear gunfire coming from the Right Wing, whipping around as her men rose and followed her. She already knew what she was going to do. "Go and show them why we are to be feared!" As soon as they were outside the chapel, she began to bark orders, "Anatoly, I want you to take half of the team and form up on the right. Mikhael, do the same on the left. I will have two with me. You know our old frequency, instruct your men to also switch to it. Do not hesitate if you need back-up. We cannot afford for heroics tonight." They nodded once and replied, "Aye Capitan." "Aye Capitan." And with that, they divided up the men, speaking in English as it was the common ground for all of them. Both of them took three each so it was two groups of four with her group of three making 11 total.

Tatyana took of two rather nervous looking Templars, unsettled she supposed by the proclamation to kill all things on sight. "You cannot afford to show weakness. These are not Demon Hunters that we capture. These are people here with the intention to spill our blood. Do not hesitate because they won't." They barely seemed reassured as the groups split off now, with the three of them heading down the center. They would condense and push the rest of the horde towards the kill zone for the Reverend, Damon, and Ms. Helsing. She glanced back to them and cracked a smirk, checking her pistols while pulling one out. "The Lord will forgive and understand these transgressions." And with that she turned and fired off three shots just as two Ritualists rounded the corner, the silver bullets burning into their flesh as smoke rose from the holes in their heads. And then... the war had begun.

by **Reverend Smith** Sun Jul 07, 2013 5:50 pm

What a coincidence. Marvelous, really, the sheer fact that on the very day that the finest of the Templars had assembled in the Sistine Chapel, that it should also be the day that the City of the Lord come under trials. Were Rev a simpler man, he'd have laughed at the rather comical irony of it all; were he a more serious man, he'd have thought nothing of it. As he was, however, he called it as a grace of God; why not have the Vatican well-defended when it was attacked? Would be a crying shame for it not to be, honestly. Thus, there he was, as Amadeus spoke to them of their duties and the likes. He glanced around at his comrades; Tatyana was there. Twenty years his senior, yet a Paladin before he'd even been considered; an impressive feat, surely, and a testament to her skill. Damon, a sniper of such renown that only eagles could compare, both to his sharp vision and the true lethality of his attacks, as well as his mere intent to attack; a target marked was a tomb awaiting, simply put. Vanessa was a legacy Templar, much like himself, and although much younger, he could trust her to handle herself well. I mean, if she couldn't, what could had he done? He had personally taught her his own combat methods. And of course, Amadeus himself; although many were present in the room, Amadeus held the presence of a hundred men, himself, even without using his augments. Astounding.

And Rev was quite prepared for what was to ensue. Battle-hardened, he was the second-eldest of the Templars present, by two decades, at the least, and had seen much more than they had in his forty years in Inferis, since the quite ripe young age of ten, with his father. Ritualists? Cake.

So it seemed that the leader was a female, eh? Not much to go on, but it gave Rev a bit to work with. Find the most strategically placed female, and take her on. Simple enough. And of course, no survivors was a relief for him as well. t was like telling a man that his favorite restaurant had opened an all-you-can-eat buffet. Further, he noted that even then, no holds were barred, no punches should be pulled; he could truly go all out. "I haven't been able to pull out all stops in quite a while, Amadeus... I see this means business, then." He listened then as the grandmaster gave his soldiers their orders. "I'm on it. We'll have this place cleared out in no time, ja? Should be done in time for a nice midnight sermon, if not sooner." Bold words from a bold man. Hopefully encouraging, nonetheless.

"Gunthar, Alabastor, Martinez, Hartmen. Assemble as many mid-ranged fighters as you can. You four are in charge, I expect nothing less than well-oiled perfection." The Crusader, often the most stoic of his four subordinates, was wide-eyed in at least a bit of surprise; no cheerful battle "plan," or pre-combat jokes? No, it seems that it really had reached that certain level of severity that even the Madman of the Order would be forced to take on a more grave demeanor. With few words left, Rev stepped away, leaving them to their own devices, and bidding adieu to the Templars.

His grin spread ear to ear, unnoticed.

[To note at this point, Rev's current weapons are;
- Blessid Thorns (Rapiers)
- The Crusadermobile (Motorcycle and Sidecar)
- Divine Light of Truth (Flamethrower)
- Ye Olde Repenter (Chainsaw)
- Heavenly Thunder (Cattle Prod)
- The Old Rugged Cross (Cross)
- The Judgement Horns (Flareguns)]

Entering the armory, he quickly assessed what he would need. His cross, obviously; he slung that over his shoulder, onto its back-holster of sorts, as he picked a few more toys. A flamethrower should be GREAT for crowd control, a chainsaw could cut through stuff. A vehicle to carry everything; he tossed the flamethrower and chainsaw in the sidecar. He'd need guns. Flareguns! For maximum explodey paindeath. And swords just HAVE to be necessary! His rapiers were sheathed at his waist. Hmmm... And his cattle prod. Who knows what he might come across?

At any rate, he drove off, armed with the rapiers first. As he drove, he came upon a few ritualists, two to be exact, and smiled a wicked grin as he braked, surprising them as he leapt with the bikes inertia, propelling himself at them, rapiers held extended, together, as he practically swan-dove at them. Like a horizontal Leaper, almost, quite a parodying tactic. But it was successful, as he skewered one, straight through the stomach, With a masterful sweeping arc of both blades, he quickly cut the Satanic fiend down to size. Quite literally. He turned to the other, bloody blades gleaming, as he peered down his spectacles, the evening lighting only caricaturing his already menacingly insane grin.

"Run." A single word spoken, and the Ritualist fled immediately, in what direction Rev simply hoped was the leader of the whole shebang. Quickly, he mounted his bike again, shifting weapons to his chainsaw, revving it even as he drove, chasing behind the escaping little baddie.

And soon he came onto a sight, a sight indeed; a female Ritualist in oddly familiar makeshift clown makeup, with... Was that David Bowie...? Honestly, White had to buy a lock for him...

No matter. With a wild and wicked grin, Rev jumped from the bike, charging at the woman like the madman he truly could be called, chainsaw extended like a spear. "Let's make this quick, now, shall we!?~"[/color]

by **Damon T. Ruger** Mon Jul 08, 2013 12:59 am

The small Templar squadron had landed in Rome a few hours earlier. There had been only four; Herr Alexandrovich and Herr Ivanovich were the German-Spaniard's junior in rank, being a decorated marksman of the Knight-Templar corps, yet their experience in the Irkutsk branch far outweighed his. The three of them were nothing but muscle, however; a personal group of armed Praetorians brought along as a notion of reassurance for a peace meeting, whose significance was only a priority in times of extreme strife. Theirs was to act as bodyguards; and act as bodyguards they did. There was glory in the Order; but playing diplomat's shield was not where it was to be found.

For, of course, they were not in the Vatican of their own accord. Chain of command dictated that the humble group of three bulky, well-trained, stoic armed men were to accompany she; the Russian who controlled all of the Order's doings in Siberia. Hell; in Russia. Anywhere between the European border and Hong Kong was her territory, on a longitudinal measure. Frau Vladimirovna. For lack of a better word: his boss.

She was his superior, and though their ages were similar enough, the weariness in her face displayed a wealth of experience far broader than he could ever hope to achieve in his thirty-six years of age to her thirty-eight. From the scar on her face all the way down to the gravity of her tiniest movements, she commanded far more authority than he had ever hoped to: but her talents lied not only on the battlefield, but in the boardroom. Hence the two-man parliament of the Paladins here, the meeting of Russia's station chief with someone who was even more important.

Grandmaster Edge was renowned throughout the Order. Of course - he was the figurehead, he was the man behind it all. His contacts were listless in quantity: he was essentially the puppeteer. The Order had been deemed fit to give unto him - an order of two thousand years at his disposal, one of the strongest societies in all the world, yet one of the most publicly silent. His occupation was nothing short of difficult - and yet for his age, the wizened old man was sharp as a knife - in psyche alone. Only horror stories were told of the few times he fully broached Inferis in full.

A meeting of two of the seven most powerful figures in the whole of the prestigious Order of Catholic elites was of course a great enough reason to have the guard on high alert - but this was something else. From the plane they immediately filed to the Sistine Chapel. And though he had never had the true honour of speaking to the Grandmaster himself - for he would be so humble in his diligence and loyalty to not know how to respond, one of the only situations in which he would feel truly speechless - he had laid eyes upon the man a good half a dozen times, and this meeting served only as an addition. Though, the sighting was brief: only a brief look through a sharp sliver of artificial light in the door as he continued up to the open gangway on the papal chapel's third storey.

The first report of the black-clad heavily-armed masked troops came a few minutes prior to 7PM through the shortwave. It wasn't specifically directed towards their leader, nor indeed the Paladin - but a common message across all Templar frequencies. On the gangway up until this point, Damon had done little save for establish an overwatch - his rifle still firmly clasped in the case to his right - over the city in full, a beautiful sight as the February sun began to set, a European sight he knew far too well in this comparatively tame winter to the lesser seasons of the frigid Siberian wastes.

But as soon as the hiss came through his radio, the sniper wasted no time. Templars assembled with distant chatter in the floor of the chapel below; but the bowman did not bother with adding his presence. He heard the faded yet powerful voice of the old Grandmaster delivering a speech; yet he tarried not and continued only his own independent activities. His directive was to protect the two most high-value Templar members present: and listening to an old man fire off what he called "inspiration" was not how he was going to eliminate any margin for error.

"Today is the day where all of our hard work and training will be put to the test." Had he been a more emotive man, Damon would have scoffed at the statement he heard in the distance, pulling the frame of his Jaeger free from its carry case and screwing in the barrel, pressed down on one knee as the fabrics of the ATLORS beneath his darkened, obfuscating longcoat tightened around it. Test? This was no test. This was no simple evaluation. This was reality. And here, there was no margin for error. Failure was not an option. And by readying himself now instead of later, he eliminated any chance for it. "The scouts have confirmed that the Vatican is under siege by a large group of Ritualists lead by an unknown female. We can assume that she will be the highest priority target."

Unknown female, leading Ritualists. Large group? What was the definition of "large" to the Vatican scouts, men used to nothing more than the occasional pickpocket or cutpurse? Did they consider a troop of a dozen a small army? For Damon had seen things in another world that dwarfed a dozen; he had seen scores of Demons that spanned beyond his own sight, he had seen... he had seen legions. These humans who gave their bodies as mortal shells to foul creatures posed only a danger to the unaware. And within the Sistine Chapel he would define himself the first and last line of defense with his rifle and his naturally-honed sense. Whilst he stood, knelt, even slumped, bloody and riddled with bullets, they would not reach the Grandmaster.

The rail along the top today held a scope as Damon slid that into place. In Inferis his eye would serve as a replacement for the dead weight of metal and glass; but here his patch held no use, so the sniper simply stared out with two irises of a vibrant, bursting gold, lips pursed tightly as he cradled the rifle still. One piece was missing from the puzzle yet. "I want there to be NO survivors of this war." A resounding CLICK echoed through the upper halls of the hallowed chapel as the five-round clip fed into the magazine well of the completed rifle, and he looked up with no smirk, no grimace, but instead a look of determination.

No survivors? No prisoners? That meant no casualties; that meant executions. That meant that there was no playing around, no fucking with them, no exercising new tactics or improvisation. This was by-the-book. This was the opportunity to stretch those muscles of pristine and deadly calculation that he held in such bulk within the echelons of his own psyche. This meant he was going for tried-and-tested, that what he was going for were the methods he knew. No playing around.

Damon Tomasz Ruger was aiming for the head.

For the moments of command upon the gangway, he spun around and looked down upon the masses of Templars, the Grandmaster situated now opposite him as he gave a specified order. "Damon: You are to take the best sharpshooters and situate yourselves at the rooftops and focus your attentions on the bottlenecks created by the Reverend as he forces them along." A deft salute and a bow of the head. "Vanessa: Assist Damon and do EXACTLY what he tells you. You're both excellent shooters and I want you both on the rooftops raining death upon everything that is forced through the narrow corridors..." The barrel pressed out of the window and he drew back the bolt as Amadeus finished giving his personal commands, knowing the true Templar recruits here by name. A smirk almost concentrated upon that ever-stoic pallor of his as he realised, in his own humility, that their very own leader had called upon him personally, by name and repute as one of the corps' greatest damn marksmen. "Go and show them why we are to be feared!"

But that was not of any significance whatsoever now. He wiped the makings of the look from his own tanned face as the horizon truly began to fall dark, and beckoned the girl. "Get to St. Peter's Square. Find a high vantage point over the plaza. They'll cross it sooner or later through the bottleneck." The authoritative snarl came as he lowered the bolt and slid it forwards, turning back to his scope as he watched Tatyana begin to move down the front aisle with two subordinates of presumably a lower rank. A dull clunk and a single fifty-calibre Browning Machine Gun round slotted into the chamber - a sound that Damon knew in the back of his mind, a sound that was now presumably sewn into the very flesh and membrane of his anterior lobes: a sound that defined him.

It was game time.

Clicking onto the shortwave, he called out to the frequency that Tatyana used on her own transmitter - one he had long-since committed to that tapered memory of his. Templar training encouraged not reaching the peak of the body's ability; but also the peak of the soul and the mind. "Paladin Alpha, this is Archer Three-Actual, over." Lifting the scope upwards, he let a brief sigh escape. The lens was nowhere near as accurate as the honed sight of his own modifiable eye; but... it was... adequate. Relatively. He could work with it. "Hunter Six-Actual is Oscar Mike to the Plaza, repeat, Hunter Six-Actual Oscar Mike to plaza, over." Hunter Six-Actual was, from now on, to act a synonym for the girl he'd been placed in command with. Part of his tactic had been to get coverage over the whole of the plaza, whilst he stayed here on his own with Amadeus and his personal score of elites - the other part had simply been to get rid of her. Two snipers served only to irritate each other in a competitive sense. "Archer Three-Actual acting overwatch, I have your position and am following, repeat, Archer Three-Actual covering. Turn corners and I will go blind, repeat, do not turn corners if you want me to go blind."

With that, he felt the weight of Weiss and Schwarz at his back; the Zerstorer propped against the wall in a case of its own; the frame of the brushed, oiled, and well-maintained black-and-green Jaeger he cradled between his own fingers, flicking up the bipod at the front and casting away the longcoat behind him before uttering the last of a lengthy statement over the transmitter. "Paladin Alpha, continue as usual, over and out." This was it: this was where it begun. This was where they made their stand.

This was where they drove back those abomination-loving fuckers to the Hell they should have rightfully been born into.

((Four: NPC Ritualists down already. Vi: Damon will continue to follow Tatyana and her group of three with his rifle. If you'd like, you can utilise him to essentially snipe at any Ritualists and I'll then play it out in my next post. Kume: from now on, Damon will address Vanessa as Hunter Six-Actual.

For anybody that cares, a list of codenames:

Archer Three-Actual: Damon
Hunter Six-Actual: Vanessa
Paladin Alpha: Tatyana
Silver Hawk: Amadeus))

by **Jean La Croix** Mon Jul 08, 2013 7:49 am

Blood. They could smell it on the wind as they approached the meeting place, and the hair on their neck stood on end. More then the smell of blood was on the air, but fear as well. Jean had to wonder what they had gotten them selves into with this little quest for vengeance they had set out on. Had he crossed a line? Would he cross more? He had to wonder what he was willing to lose and what burdens his soul was willing to carry. After all he was here to kill a man and to kill him in cold blood if he could. He knew that in the end that action alone would damn him to hell... But was that such a bad thing? He was a hunter after all, a hunter who's soul prey where men and women of evil repute so in a way Inferis was a paradise for him, filled as it was with the souls of murderers and villains. In fact he did enjoy his time there, the long hours of stalking and tracking, the thrill of the chase as he gave him self away... And finally the cold joy that filled him as he went in for the kill. He was not an evil man by any means but in the end he was a serial killer and like all serial killers before him he had a favored victim.

He knew he was there when he saw the men in the masks and with a nod and a sigh he donned his own, the black material stretching over his handsome features. He nodded t the guards and opened the doors, his leather shoes echoing off the tile floor as he stepped inside the chapel and his nostrils flaring as the scent of blood grew stronger. With narrowed eyes he survived the scene, his gaze locking on the symbols drawn in blood then slowly... Ever so slowly moving up to the pile of corpses haphazardly thrown in the center. His eyes flashed with more anger then he could rightly muster as he beheld those innocent bodies, their faces locked in grotesque and fear filled death masks. He was more then surprised by this... He was infuriated. But he shouldn't have been, he knew the types he was working with, he knew of their murderous intent, an intent that he shared though for him this was not religious. No it was far more personal then any divine crusade. He was here for retribution against those that had wronged his family, he was here to take the weregilt owed to him and his clan. And this gilt was only payable in blood.

"Moon Hunter! True to your name, I hope. Scout ahead and take out any sharpshooters, oh, and feel free to nab who-know-who."

Their eyes turned toward the speaker, and with an effort they stopped themselves from springing forward through their teeth where bared in a snarl of anger. This was the one they knew that had ordered the killing of pups. This was the one that had killed the sick and the old, this was the one who was covered in the blood of those who could not fight back. It sickened them to no end and fed their already growing rage like gasoline fed a flame. They knew then that they would sink their fangs into that ones neck before the night was done, but for now they would wait patiently as was the hunters way for the time to strike. They breathed in deep, eyes locked on the source of their new found rage and locked its scent away in their mind for a later date. "Gron-Miro, make sure our little puppy doesn't get hurt. With out a word and with out a second glance they turned, their thick soled shoes once again echoing on the tiled floor as his long light coat flared out behind them. He did not wait for the person who was to accompany them and moved off on his own.

_______________________________________________________

He found him self outside not to long after, his mask discarded before he left that corrupted sanctuary and his hair brushed back away from his eyes. With their sharp predators gaze they looked about. Unlike the others he was not here for the grandmaster, he could care less about that man. No he was looking for someone else, someone who he had only seen from a distance, someone he knew only by the lingering scent he had left in his wake. He raised his nose to the wind and took a deep long breath letting the demon whom he called Moon Hunter scent the wind. IF he was here they WOULD find him, and if not? Well they would have to satisfy their blood lust with the woman that had so callously wasted the lives of those in the church and woe to anyone who stood in their path in ether venture.

With a flick of his wrists his wide brimmed fedora was yet again placed on its rightful perch and with calm relaxed strides he made his way over the ground between him and the men who stood guard over the entrance he wanted. Cold eyes locked on them, his hands and arms relaxed as he walked almost merrily up to them. "Sir you can't-" the first guards words where cut short as his fist snapped up and with demon born strength knocked him flat. Then before the other man had a chance to react his other fist moved mimicking the first and connecting squarely with his jaw not once, not twice but three times in rapid secession and like just like that two of the templar guards where put out of the fight. Reaching down he took one of their headsets and with a small blood thirsty grin he dragged both of the limp and unconscious men into the building after him.

A few moments later he emerged from a janitors closet, dressed in the uniform of one of the fallen men. Their black combat gear fitting the Cajun rather well all things considered.. Looking back at the two men, now tied and gagged with cable and cloth he had found he could only smile and tuck his beat up hat into his belt before setting off deeper in search of his quarry.Though he knew he could show no more mercy... The templar grandmaster had just declared open season on his kind.... Maybe they would pay the old man a visit after all.

_______________________________________________________

NOTES: Two templars down, Jean is dressed as a "friendly" and looking official

by **Nathaniel Nazbith** Mon Jul 08, 2013 2:13 pm

Vanessa's week had been less than stellar. First, she had been placed on lockdown at the Sistine Chapel pulling guard duty for a little incident involving a small Romanian village, a cult, and several dozen explosive bolts. Amadeus really didn't appreciate her brand of gung-ho attitude; sure, she had qualms with killing innocents, but my god, did she enjoy blowing evil up. Probably came from the years spent with the Good Reverend and his eccentric brand of demon-destroying. That morning had culminated most of her bad luck as well, having fallen out of bed to the sound of a crying alarm clock. She had to furiously kick off the sheets she was so enthralled in to get ready for the day.

That morning she was already half dressed with her black tank top and undergarments as she stepped right into the kitchen of her small boarding room. She looked among her meager store of food and decided on a quick bit of toast. With jelly, grape jelly, of course, because strawberry was just a non-tasty, pretentious grape jelly. So, as she took the first slice in her hand and was about to taste the crunchy, grapey goodness, a loud shudder pervaded the air and made her jump somewhat. The toast fell from her hand to the floor as Vanessa stared, with much hate, at the AC unit that had made the noise. "...Damn you, air conditioning unit. Damn you." She turned her head slowly to the floor, curiously looking at the downed toast. It had landed...jelly side down. Now, Vanessa wasn't TOO MUCH of a superstitious lass, but when it came to the toast, she didn't play around. She tossed that toast immediately, right into the garbage disposal.

She opened up the drawers underneath her full bed and brought out her attire for the day, her favorite pants, boots, hoodie, and her leather jacket. She pulled them on hurriedly, as well as the rest of the armaments she had, and got out of that room as fast as she could. As far away from those unlucky crumbs as she could. On the way, she saw the Good Reverend oiling up his chainsaw, just like back in the old days. He seemed cheerful, pleasant, yet his smile always tinged with that Smith brand of pure, unadulterated insanity that she couldn't help but smile at. Perhaps the toast was wrong, perhaps today would be a good day.

***

The toast did not lie, today was certainly tainted with that foul smell of evil, pissy demons. She sat in the pew, far off in the corner on her own. She didn't want others to see her hand shaking. Not Damon, not Tatyana, not even the Reverend (who had seen her in some of her worst times), not anybody. She was too prideful for that; she had a name to uphold and dammit, if she didn't stay calm, what kind of example did that set? None, or a really bad one at the least. Her weapons laid at the door, leaning on the coat rack where her leather jacket was hung. She only found it polite to leave them, but manners might not be the most important thing in the world, she thought, as Amadeus continued to speak. "I want you to assume that EVERYONE out on the streets today are out to kill anything in their path and I want you to show no mercy. For when your back is turned, a knife will find its way into it. Men, women, children, there is no distinction between them. Each and every person coming in our direction has allowed corruption into their souls. They share their bodies with Lucifer's court. And for this, they must not live to see the rising sun."

No survivors...she had only a few problems with it, till the women and children bit was mentioned. Who knows, some of her orphanage friends could've just been killed. It didn't matter, innocent people were being slaughtered and she would not stand for it. Or rather, she did stand, but only to click her heels over to the door where she began throwing on her gear. She slung on her shoulder holsters and her sheaths, slipped her jacket over her shoulders, then buttoned in her collapsed bow. Names and orders were given and her head only turned from her actions once her name was called. "Vanessa: Assist Damon and do EXACTLY what he tells you. You're both excellent shooters and I want you both on the rooftops raining death upon everything that is forced through the narrow corridors..."

Vanessa was none too happy about having a boss on this. Then again, she was in no RANKING position and going in ALONE on THIS particular mission was not going to help. She saw him go off to the window. as she nodded to Amadeus. "Understood sir." If Vanessa was going to follow orders, she might as well stick with her "commander" until orders were given. She took up post with him for only a couple of minutes, watching his set up. Watching him load his gun as he started to give orders. "Get to St. Peter's Square. Find a high vantage point over the plaza. They'll cross it sooner or later through the bottleneck."

As she laid there next to him, she remembered a few of his reports. How excellent of a marksman he was and how much he took his job seriously. A man to admire really, a prime example of a Templar. But Vanessa wasn't one for admiration (besides her own family tree), but she could appreciate. Before going off, she propped herself on her shoulders and gave that cheek of his a little peck. "Alright, sir. Watch yourself." With that, she jumped up and pulled loose her hair, shaking it out as she pulled forth Abraham and Gabriel. Those flowing golden locks looked fantastic as she walked out onto the roofs then began running.

Soon, she could be seen running on the right arch of the Square, those Retribution Match pistols held at eye height as she passed statue after statue until she found the dome, climbing up behind a marble statue as she pulled forth Diana, firing down explosive bolts. Laying a trap. A foundation for a final stand.

by **Heiwa Karasu** Sat Jul 13, 2013 6:06 am

Entertainment. Heiwa's sole purpose of being here. The slaughtering of many, most likely innocent people through incredibly gruesome means as entertainment. And it can be, Heath Ledger as the Joker killed many people in many ways and was one demented motherfucker. Yet it was entertaining. Buffalo Bill from Silence of the Lambs, that crazy fuck with the lotion, seemed to be that kind of laughy kind of insane and yet, it was still entertaining. Freddy Krueger, Jason Vorhees, all the great demonic serial killers from those fantastic 80s movies were all incredibly satisfying and entertaining. Though this was different on a few points. Even though Heiwa Karasu was a killer in her own right, she was mentally stable...moreso than the before mentioned killers, anyway. Another, this was real. There is no dispention of disbelief. This woman can slice you in half with string. She may say she has a demon in her head, but is as legitimate as the Gemini Killer from that one Exorcist movie. Only, this of course, is real.

Heiwa hadn't seen so many Ritualists around her. She was dressed in a tight, metro outfit with black denim, low riding jeans, a high cut top (to show off that magnificent midriff), and converse (black of course). Her hair was tied back in a loose ponytail aside from her shoulder-length side bangs. Her face was covered with, instead of a ski mask, a ninja mask.The silk tails of the tie tickled the back of her neck as Gron-Miro's voice tickled the back of her mind. "Oh, this will be fuuuuun~, my child. You will absolutely enjoy it, as will I. I haven't seen this woman in years...I wonder how she's doing...In any case, my child, you shall do what she says if we are to complete this mission. We must cripple this organization...so why not start with the foundation?~ God, his voice carried that allure that Heiwa found both entrancing and yet incredibly annoying. She sat there, talking with him with her arms crossed. "Because you can't get to the foundation without going underground or straight through the house. It won't be as effortless as you say, y'know." Gron-Miro laughed...that boastful laugh he always sported when he found something Heiwa said stupid. Needless to say that the sound was ingraned into her auditory nerves.

Soon, they found themselves at the church. The more armed of them filed in while Heiwa waited at the door. She heard some priestly yelling, gunshots and in the silence Heiwa entered. She eyed the old man reading that incredibly tattered book. "Oooooh, I recognize THAT book...every blood splatter tells a story~ A tragedy to rival Hamlet, every one~" Heiwa ignored Gron-Miro as best as she viewed the bloody scene. Many had taken off their masks, including a few she had cared to learn the names of. Jean, who was seven shades of sexy with those rugged Cajun features and that sort of primal undertone that could send a shiver up her spine. There was Ceri, OOOOH, she was tempting. Very, very tempting. Then, there was Avarad...she couldn't say much about him, except that he had a sort of carefree attitude. Last was the leader, Reis....she was kind of a bitch with a stick up her ass, really. The personality in itself made her angry. Sure, Heiwa could be a bitch, but she wasn't so much for having a stick up her ass; she partied with the best of them, really. Heiwa knew how to loosen up, but in this situation it was best to be serious. Once she pulled off her mask, her lips were turned to a indifferent frown and her eyes looked like they always did. Full of anger. She looked around at the bodies and blood then walked towards the pile, finding a spot beside Reis. Right as she blew the old man's head to bits. Some grey matter fell onto her lip and instead of her wiping it away, she had the strongest impulse to lick it. She did, then it landed straight into her stomach. "We were one short."

Heiwa looked at the old man, crumpled on the floor. "Glad it isn't me, that fucker was creepy..." She nodded to herself as she looked at him being thrown into the pile. She walked towards it and dipped in a finger and painted the symbol the others were drawing onto her midriff, which looked rather nice against her pale skin. She observed the Japanese woman closely, watching the gears turn in her head. But she made the decision as the words started to flow from her mouth, like some hammy video game villian summoning up demons. Then again, this wasn't too far off. Gron-Miro's excitement rattled like an aching pain in the back of Heiwa's mind as they watched...only to see that nothing happened after the third verse. She fell to the ground, seemingly dead. Well...does that mean she could go home? She had to practice for an upcoming gig..."Patience, my child...Eris was never one to EVER be on time." And as if on cue, the woman began laughing, cackling even, somewhat maniacally with her face clad in a clown like smile of blood. Gron-Miro's voice smoothly moved its way to Heiwa's lips. "Good to see you, old friend. Welcome to the world of the living." She was patted on the shoulder by this new leader, this Eris, as she moved along and made her speech. It was always clear when Gron-Miro was around, that cultured tone with that sweet, lyrical dynamic was far different to Heiwa's manner of speech. Her mannerisms also changed, standing straight, dignified, with a certain flow to her steps instead of her usual padding around or stomping.

She watched as Eris went to the Ritualists of interest, starting with Jean. Of course, as a demon, she recognized the demon, not the human, when giving out orders. After Jean was addressed, then it was Gron-Miro's turn. "Gron-Miro, make sure our little puppy doesn't get hurt." Gron-Miro smiled warmly with Heiwa's lips, bowing to her. "I'm not one for pet-sitting, Eris, but I shall try my best." Then Heiwa snapped her body back up, scratching the back of her head. "Not a problem, I'm on it." And on it she was, walking right beside that wolf of a man, sticking to his every step. He had a sort of animal magnetism which attracted Heiwa somewhat. Gron-Miro made several comments about this as they went, even when Jean was dealing with the two guards and went to change.

"You know, if you fancy him that much, I could get him into bed with you." Heiwa sighed in disgust, talking to herself...or rather the thing inside herself. "I swear, music, world domination, and sex, those are the only things you think about." Then once Jean emerged from the closet, he examined himself and went off. Heiwa followed behind him and examined him herself, biting her bottom lip some. "He DOES have a nice ass, though." Then she heard some heavy footsteps from the hallway to their left. She stopped as Jean went off, but it wasn't her mind that stopped her. "Gron-Miro, what the hell are you doing?!" He just chuckled as his will started to impose on her body, then HE wore the costume. The string then appeared on Heiwa's forearms. With Gron-Miro in the control of the body, he walked towards the group of guards. In the open corridors, a flash of light shone across her arms as the sky darkens which made the Hellstring glisten. Then thunder smacked across the sky as rain began to pour.

Then he started to sing.

The guards had their guns pointed toward her, screaming at her to stop. But the string unravelled from her forearms and formed around her fingers like puppet strings. The string snaked towards them, unnoticed as she continued to sing. Her voice floated on the air as one tried to open fire but a string coiled around his gloved hand and sliced it off, the gun falling to the ground in a scream and splatter of blood. The screams crescendoed as the music and cutting continued. There were only ten, but they were killed in the most gruesome of ways, spraying blood from stumps as they fell to the ground. It was gorgeous how crimson droplets and rain mixed together to accompany the beat of the song. There was just a blank look on Heiwa's face as the guards were, one by one, slaughtered. It was as if this killer didn't care what she was doing, but she did. Or rather, Gron-Miro did. Gron-Miro was elated in the shocked faces of his victims. The abject horror on their faces at the blank faced Japanese girl were priceless. It was entertainment. Pure entertainment.

He stopped to examine the body parts that he stood in the middle of and chuckled. It was such a lovely color. Passion, fire...but for now, it was entertainment. Soon, Heiwa was given back control as 'Miro ended his song and a smile, too, was on her face. Such violence to help relieve her stress. She returned back to the hallway and started towards where Jean was headed. She was almost like Elizabeth Bathory almost, bathed in that blood. She enjoyed it, he enjoyed it, and they thought, in unison, that this would be a fantastic night as the rain continued to pour and thunder still slammed the dark clouds above them. What a fitting setting for a castle seige. This performance would be fan-tast-ic~

((It's raining now...that's about it.))

by **Damon T. Ruger** Sun Jul 14, 2013 7:16 am

The directive to defend was one that Damon often found himself following. Snipers were best used for covering fire; from the halls and upper corridors of many a building had he found himself securing perimeters, defending buildings, standing guard on command posts and points of importance, escorting high-value targets - and even possibly one of the ones he found most abhorrent, securing landing zones.

*****

2:03AM, GMT+1
APRIL 13TH, 2002
10 MILES OUTSIDE OF WETZLAR
HESSE, GERMANY

The operation had come and gone fluidly. It was a simple in-and-out reconnaissance check; of course, the official dissolution of the Red Army had been almost three full years ago now, but only a real moron believed the so-called "official" truth of it, anyway. There were rumours of splinter cells in a small satellite-designated hamlet ten miles outside of Wetzlar; they left from the GSG headquarters in Sankt Augustin at 2100 hours sharp; landed in the designated LZ outside of Wetzlar at 2134 hours; and then from there, continued for a mile to the designated objective zone.

Upon arrival the hamlet had been completely empty; several weapons caches and important documents had been dotted around, and whilst looking as if they'd been ransacked, the houses were dead for human contact. Five of them - and none occupied in the slightest, though it looked as if their escape had been recent. At 2332 hours, after collecting documents, their team leader, Fw (Feldwebel) Gardner, had announced their departure, though to stay on their guard. And it was when they returned to the landing zone about midnight, waiting for their ride home, that the GSG-9 squad let their guard down.

There were six men. Uffz Ruger was the designated marksman; Fw Gardner the team leader; StGefr Abeln was a technical specialist, and Furst of the same rank was the close-quarters point man. That left HptGefr Holzer, the combat medic, and Gefr Janz, the newbie. Without any warning, the circle of hay bales surrounding their landing zone exploded with the chatter of gunfire, and from within emerged an eleven-man troop of ex-RAF members, each clutching either pistols or badly-maintained sub-machine guns, assault rifles; anything.

In the crossfire both Adeln and Holz fell to the storm of rounds; Gardner, Ruger, and Janz escaped to take cover behind the furthest bale unscathed, and though Holzer had taken a round through his thigh, with the assistance of his companions, he had managed to have been hauled to safety as the four of them sat there, the rookie hyperventilating, and their team leader tending to the medic's wound - ironically, which left him. Damon Tomasz Ruger. The sniper.

With his single-shot Gewehr 36 rifle kitted out with a PSO-1 telescopic sight, Damon inhaled deeply and threw himself around the corner, sight first snapping to the first shoddily-armoured target he could see. His hands tightened in a steely grip around the rifle's forward stock, and his finger squeezed down on the trigger; with a tremendous spurt of crimson, and a shot of pink mist from the back, the first target went down.

Having not expected return fire due to their casualties, the ex-RAF splinter cell members fumbled for their weapons - the Eagle Eye swung his rifle to the left and peppered the next two rifle-clutching insurgents that fell in his sights with two rounds apiece, felling them deftly, before he lugged the rifle and his head back behind the hay bale to look to his team. The team leader had given the duty of dealing with the wound to the rookie, and instead deemed it appropriate to retrieve his transmitter and begin howling down it, over and over, over and over. "We need evacuation, NOW! We have wounded!"

And no matter how the promises came from command, no matter how much Damon hoped to hear Ride of the Valkyries chime out and a fleet of Hueys emerge from over the hill as they had in Vietnam, they didn't. Perhaps this was the moment that the sniper truly gave up hoping - and instead begun doing. Until that single loaned Hind D arrived in the next promised ten minutes to get them out of here, they were on their own. Behind light and useless cover, dodging rounds as they spiraled over their head; at first the ex-RAF troop hadn't thought the GSG-9 were going to return fire, and simply thought they'd relent...

...how wrong they were.

*****

The polished glass lens of the rifle continued to line up with Tatyana and her group; for now they seemed not to be engaging Ritualists, simply pursuing rapidly down the line. Perhaps the hostiles were taking slightly more convoluted paths - or perhaps they had fashioned an ambush for his Paladin chief. Damon blinked. She was a good soldier and a fair commandant. It would reduce the Irkutsk station's efficiency should she fall today in battle. Meanwhile, as he continued his overwatch, Amadeus had thus far remained silent behind him.

Unfamiliar gunfire rang out from the left flank; moments later, civilian screams. A group of hostiles close to a dozen-strong emerged from a wide alleyway around five hundred metres down - though whilst still very much in the left wing, the clearing they had pulled into gave Damon a distinct advantage over them - and the element of surprise remained. They were growing too close to the Grandmaster: and, as he had said and thought, the directive had only been to defend.

Mechanically the sniper rose the radio transmitter pinned to his ATLORS' lapel, and barked sharply into it, informing Tatyana of his encounter. "Paladin Alpha, this is Archer Three-Actual. Hostiles sighted in left wing, switching to engage, you will be without support until stated otherwise. Over and out." Swinging Jaeger around to scope out one of the masked, rifle-bearing thugs, he counted a total of nine - including an enigmatic target clutching an Avtomat Kalashnikova rifle and wearing sunglasses - even at this evening hour - who appeared to be leading them, though he swiftly disappeared out of vision.

Well, irrespective, it was time to make an entrance. One of the balaclava-clad men fell into his crosshairs; and with a trigger pull, the grandiose BOOM of the .50 BMG rifle wracked the Sistine Chapel from floor to ceiling, pounded backwards into his shoulder with recoil in a way the sniper only found a therapeutic sense of familiarity within, and, nanoseconds later, turned the Ritualist's head into a scene not dissimilar from an exploding watermelon, spattering his comrades with a mixture of fragmented skull and a bloody conglomerate of pulverised brain tissue and blood, the universal crimson liquid that fueled all.

Finally, he rose a hand up to draw the bolt up, back, forwards, down, chambering another round with a clunk. The targets scattered as best they could, but Damon blinked with those apathetic, amoral grey eyes, and spoke only coldly into his radio transmitter. "Tango down. Kill confirmed. Continuing engagement. Over."

((Your show, Niko.))

by **Aravad** Sun Jul 14, 2013 12:02 pm

(OOC: JUST SO everyone knows, as in you know who you are, you filthy Vandals, Chivs and Chums, HERE IS THE MAP to the whole place. KNOW IT, LOVE IT, READ IT, or get a boot up your arse. Unless you enjoy that, then you are one sick fuck. ANYWAYS, consult link below for Holy See's locations and whatnot so you AREN'T CONFUSED.)

Spoiler:

SO, here he was. In a place, filled with stuff. He can do stuff here, like stuff. Maybe some valuable artifacts can be acquired or something? Then again, Aravad had finally recognized the place he was in. It was in fact not a Church as he thought as he had went outside with the men, and combed through the grounds to enter the building, but in fact... an office building. WOOOOOW. Alright, so he is in an office building. That explains the small amount of priests in place and what have you. The Civil Administration Building of the Vatican... it wouldn't EXACTLY have any information that Aravad was looking for per se, as it was delved upon dealing with civilians, and domestic affairs than anything incriminating to the Templars, so he needed some place which was the Templar headquarters, and he didn't have much of an opportunity to do so.

The group dispersed and moved out in a loose formation, there was no lining up as the windows shined in the sunlight, the men began opening fire in calculated shot, well a singular man, had opened fire on the lights. His AK's roar invited whimpers from the rooms adjacent to the corridor they walked in, within the confines of the ground floor. The humps from the shooter's chest had erased all notions this was a man, in fact, this was a woman, with hair leaking out of her balaclava from behind of brown lustrous texture. She seemed to be cackling maniacally if Aravad heard right, and further his above average hearing had noticed there were people along that were hiding. He knew those soft subtle whimpers and panicked hushed whispers among each other were signs of their location. Aravad's ears picked up upon it despite the deafening gunshots rattling its high roars. The lights were shot out and left the room dark, not pitch or the like as light from outside leaked in. This was a terror tactic really than actual strategy but coincidentally one of the men stepped onward the window behind the sortee as Aravad was stepping forth. He had moved apart from what visuals one would gain from the windows of the Administration Building, which left that man to suddenly have his skull burst like a ripe watermelon smashed by a sledgehammer. A roar echoed in the distance that Aravad could only recognize as...

"THOSE COWARDS, THOSE FOOLS! LOOK... LOOOOOK, THEY HIDE, THEY HIDE IN THEIR HIDING SPOTS, WE SHOULD SMOHKE THEM OUT FROHM THEIR HIDING PLACES. SPILL BLUD FOR TEH BEHTRAYER! OUR LOHRD LUCIFER." One of the cultists raved on, pointing the obvious to Aravad as he sighed. The sunlight that leaked into the rooms were reflecting against the marble floor, somewhat obscuring forms that Aravad simply stepped towards one of the doors, opened them with his Kalashnikov aimed with one hand at those that thought themselves hidden. Office workers and all that bunched up together, whimpering from such things.

"Sssssshhhhhhh, let the silence savor and stay in the shadows, hidden. When opted, run with whom I shall incite the help of, and stick to the left and apart the windows. A sweet dawn of mirrors shall play a tune for us, and let us see if this man of masks shall dance back, or be incapable of his own waltz, or if it were a she, furthermore do I gain forthcoming... impression of her abilities." Aravad explained, it was during that time WAY after the recently deceased cultist's death that they were out of the window's way anyways, concealing themselves in darkness and allowing the walls to assume the mantle of protection. Aravad himself was luckily next to a door to which a window had not faced.

"INFIDELS, do you wish to die? Your chance to live is ordained to be NOW from the COSMOS. Take it, lest I change my mind and rid your lives myself, you feeble sheep. Run, run like the wind." Aravad proclaimed with bombastic oratory that would've made him a fine politician in another life, as the people, hesitantly at first, some two dozen of them, stood up, warily going past Aravad, as he pointed to the direction he wanted them to go. Seeing the masked goons, soon enough they would crowd and run in droves not considering the direction's intent, just the fact Aravad implied safety by pointing the way to their salvation. At the same time, Aravad made sure to run to their left, as the same as the cultists did, keeping their heads down whilst the crowds concealed their presence, knowing this gambit be risky that if the Templar would shoot or not, but would at least help move a large body of cultists in the smallest amount of time without as much casualties that would prove most... debilitating. Aravad kept his sights all and overall everywhere, looking at the windows with glances that rose his head and lowering it down, he wanted to see any flesh, a sign where the sniper was situated at, aside from being to their right. But furthermore, he needed to get upstairs, which is where they would approach. Soon when such a thing happened, Aravad turned and rose up the stair, as the droves of people burst out of the door that led out, whilst the rest of the cultists followed Aravad upstairs. Aravad pointed his gun up, and upon seeing a man with a pistol out, instinctively pulled the trigger. The gun wildly danced on his hands as five bullets rose to riddle the guard with holes as he fell dead, his own pistol punching Aravad's kevlar vest as he staggered back. Feeling the sting as he gasped. This was his first time handling a gun, he gasped and stumbled back. It was actually mid-stairway this happened as he dropped down and held his chest, only to suddenly see the cultists pick up the pace and run in front of him. Guns held as one of them, the one with humps on her chest, checked to see his condition.

She mentioned a few things Aravad couldn't understand, or rather couldn't comprehend as he was in a bit of a shock from having been shot, that stinging painful feeling gnawing at his chest, sore from such a hit. Breathing in and out, feeling a tug from his arm as he was pulled up to the stairs whilst further AK gunfire ensued, apart from the windows of course as those were steered clear from, ridding of any oppositions. The man with shades breathed in and out, and recollected his cool, standing up once more, also apart from the window and not in direct view of it at all, concealed from it, as he looked at his vest to see that there was a tear but no holes. Had it been any weaker for a vest, he would've been coughing up blood and leaking blood from his heart.

"It seems I have my own guardian angel..." Aravad muttered, heresy to the ears of any cultists that were close by.

"What was that?" The female asked suspiciously, unsure of what she heard.

"Nothing that concerns you, let's carry on... take point and lead, I'll cover our six." Aravad ordered, she nodded, not as mindful anymore to whatever Aravad said in his Norwegian accented English that would've had them turned against him, or at least apprehensive of being led by such a man. There were gunshots eliminating further resistance upstairs, these men and women knew what they were doing, and they were clearly experienced in military combat. What tingled Aravad's curiousity forth would be the fact they are not as taken aback by the death of a comrade as Aravad was, even though he was a stranger to him, but perhaps a well known comrade to them. They certainly are zealots and fanatics by every sense of the word... and morale is not something that would be a worry about them, rather it would be their zeal. Nonetheless Aravad kept his cool, and remained in his enigmatic demeanor.

Also WHERE THE FUCK WAS A RADIO WHEN HE NEEDED ONE?! To deal with a sniper problem WITHOUT ANY FUCKING SUPPORT. This operation has a stick up its ass as far as he is concerned. Oh wait, there was no sunlight, Aravad's eyes deceived him as fortunes favored him as it began to rain. It was only sunlight lingered and left, dawning upon the horizon to leave behind the moon much earlier as Aravad mistook the lights from earlier to be sunlight when they are in fact from lamp posts, the sun itself shimmering upon the horizon as further darkness took hold of the Vatican had long left, further giving sway to stealth and camouflage, as the sniper in question would be a conundrum to deal with in these regards, but advantages are beginning to stack up with the inclusion of rain. It means less visibility as it is a heavy downpour, making the light from the lamp post dance around as it became ominously dynamic in state of vibrancy taking place from well lit with photon specks of dullness.

by **Jean La Croix** Sun Jul 14, 2013 5:52 pm

Rain. There had to be rain. As Jean had stepped out into the darkening evening and the narrow alleyway that had separated the buildings the sky had opened up as if god him self did weep for the restless dead that now littered this most holy of cities. His black combat gear resisted the water well, and as Jean glanced up and the water ran down his face he tried to clear his nose of the smell of blood, gore and the scent of death but the night was filled with it, almost seeming to stick to every surface he passed by. Still, the water helped to wash away the scents that clung to him and that in and of its self was a blessing to be thankful for. Though of course it would make tracking anything by scent next to impossible, unless they where already right on top of whom ever they where chasing. His gaze fell back to the earth, and with a small sigh he took a step forward, his black combat boots splashing through the shallow puddles that formed on the cobblestone walkways.

Then, like a bird on the wind a song floated to him and with this song came the smell of pointless slaughter. IT seemed that his companion had found men with which to play with, and though the very thought of the murder going on just yards away made him sick to his stomach a grim and vicious smile came to his face. After all those men that had just died had a fighting chance... Which was more then could have been said about those slaughtered in the church just a little while before. Shrugging, he shouldered his way past the door and into a back room off the Basilica itself.

Now there where both pros and cons in being dressed like the enemy. The pros of course involved being able to move about enemy held ground with greater ease, access to areas that would otherwise be denied to you. The down side of it being that those on your side generally didn't recognize you when they happened upon you in enemy colors, and that went double for when they only knew you for you if you where wearing a black ski mask. So when Jean walked into the building and was suddenly confronted by one his his cohorts wielding what looked like an evil obsidian bladed knife well he had to react in the only way he knew how, and that was to shoulder his rifle and put two shots right in the mans chest which in most circumstance would have made the man before him some what less scary, what with two gaping bloody holes in his body. But this wasn't most circumstance. And this wasn't most men. No, this was a ritualist, who was bound just as he was to a demon. And like him he had what you could call extraordinary powers that would have made him a super hero in a just universe, but here he was playing the part of the villain.

The man (Or what he hoped was a man because the thought of killing a woman was something that he didn't want to contemplate right then) just smiled and coughed up blood, the crimson liquid staining his teeth and making it seem as if his mouth was ablaze with an eerie and cold fire. Then with a small laugh he leveled the knife at Jean and let out an primordial howl before charging at the now astonished man.

Stumbling back a step from the sudden and unexpected assault, he raised his armored forearms to blunt the onslaught of heavy handed knife blows, but to little avail. This thing before him was filled with unholy passion and no mere man would hold it at bay. So he was forced back a step, then two as the knife hacked away at him, and he avoided or blocked the blows by the narrowest of margins. Still he found that wicked blade slipping in between the chinks in his armor so to speak and it seemed to almost glow with the blood that graced its blade, and as he weakened, as he bled the man before him grew stronger, his blows swifter, and the knife sharper.

Was this how it was to end? At the blade of some crazed eyed psychopath? Despair grew in his heart, his will to fight slipping from his fingers just as his stolen weapon clattered to the ground, beaten out of his numb fingers. Defeated, he was beaten to his knees by the thugs heavy handed blows. His killer raised his ritual knife above his head, Jeans eyes locked on its gleaming edge and watched as it descended on him as if in slow motion. The Cajun let his eyes drift close as he waited for the one thing that came to all men in the end.

His eyes snapped back open, and gone where the kind green eyes that had been there just seconds before. Staring up at the would be killer where eyes the color of blood, that seemed to glow in the half light that surrounded this scene of pain and despair. Gone was the fear, gone was the sympathy, gone was the man that had been their. In his place sat a beast, a hunter and killer of man.

With a roar, it sprang forward. The arms and hands of its host changing with out a thought to something it was more comfortable with. And with a singular motion that was faster then human eyes could fallow the mans arm fell from his body. It didn't register as first, they could see the shine of victory in their enemy's eyes. But when it did the man would have screamed luckily he was incapable of doing so for before the arm had touched the ground, Jean or the being that rode him had ripped out the throat of this man who would do him harm. A sick gurgling sound escaped that mans gasping mouth and then all was silent apart from the drum beat of the rain. Blood dripping from his claws, Jean through back his head and howled. It was a dark primal sound that spoke to mans inner most fears, and it carried over the sound of the rain and cut through the din of battle as if it was something more then sound. His eyes closed again then slowly opened once more and the man was back where he needed to be. Glancing down, he cleaned his hands as best he could on the fallen ritualists blood stain clothes, picked his fallen rifle back up and with a shaky step set out once again to find the man that had done his family harm. The hunt was on.

by **Alice the Chopper** Mon Jul 15, 2013 5:28 am

"Uh, boss, not to be rude or anythin'...but did we go the wrong way?" A voice thick with Australian accent spoke out loud after traveling with the rock-star and deranged leader of this operation. he was fairly unarmed compared to the other Ritualists and only carried one weapon. But what a weapon that was, he was carrying a custom painted RPG-7. The details on it made it look like a toy, as the missile head itself was painted with a shoddy smiley face, sprayed on with a yellow coat of paint hastily and likely just before battle. He wore no mask, revealing his tanned face and broken teeth. The Aussie actually looked fairly normal compared to the rest of the crazy individuals. Stopping the whole group with a spread of her right arm, the leader slowly turned around to this character, looking him up and down. Her pupils were dilated as all fuck, well at least one was, she was obviously going through some intense mental trauma at the time. "We're getting close, but this corner, this fucking corner." It was the human's voice and not the demon's, but she sounded tired and broken, changing back and forth from English to Japanese.

"You two! Go check around the corner!" The two obviously more expendable henchmen who had not previously been described nodded their heads and detached from the group, leaving the clown, the Australian, and David Bowie. The masked individuals ran off with their AKs in hand and weren't seen again. Reis waited to move. And she waited. And waited some more. Finally, checking her wrist to see the digital time display, she noticed it had almost been a full ten minutes. "What the fuck..." The jet black woman said to herself, before hearing the frantic screaming of one of her subordinates followed by heavy footsteps. "THE TEMPLARS ARE COMING, THE TEMPLA-" Ritualist Paul Revere was cut off by not the British and sound of horses, but the roaring of an engine. Such...a familiar sound. The Japanese woman soon found herself losing control of her body to the demon again. Memories. So demons had memories, so what. They dreamed just like everyone else, thought just like the rest of us. But most importantly, they held grudges just like the common man did. That machine, no, it wasn't that machine. It was the man. The man upon the iron horse.

[INITIATE THEME]

As the motorcycle turned the corner in an instant, the fleeing Ritualist jumped out of the way, just saving his own life as the gasoline powered engine of another familiar machine filled the air with noise. Quickly grabbing the melee weapon from her back in a supernatural show of speed and reflexes Reis did not falter. She did not move. In fact, she smiled. A second noise soon filled the air as the teeth of her blade scraped against the attacking saw. The Ritualist did not move, but blocked the chainsaw charge with a simple parry of her own. She had a moment to stare into the speculated eyes of the priest, instantly recognizing them, as if she needed any more confirmation. "Adrianus!" The demon's voice cackled as she deflected the attack, proclaiming the first of the many names of the man that stood before her.

"DIE SCUM!" The previously panicked man interrupted his boss as he began firing his assault rifle at the priest, with incredibly poor aim, at that. All of the shots missed, breaking a few windows in the background and maybe nipping the mental Reverend's coat. The rattling of bullets was soon put to the end as the man exploded in half in what one could only describe as a mixture of a fine bloody mist and internal organs. Well, actually, it kinda looked like a bunch of ketchup and water balloons, if one thought in such a way. His very own leader had used the brutal weapon to rip him in half, making his very last sight his own disembodied stomach at the Templar's feet. "Sorry, son, but sometimes the team just has to make it's cuts." The clown said with a serious tone, bringing her chainsaw to a halt.

"Now, where was I? Oh! that's right! No, that isn't right." the demon had either taken over completely or Reis just hit mental breakdown. You know, the snapping point. But it was probably more likely the first, seeing that the demon was the one speaking, with her higher pitched voice. The possessed Ritualist put a finger on her chin, deep in thought, while the Australian lackey simply looked at her and the dead body of his companion in horror, not wanting to say anything to get on that side of her. "Oh right!" The woman lowered her hand and brought it back to the weapon, giving it a few pulls to get it started. Must've been an older model than the priest's. "Didja miss me, Revvy?" She cocked a wide smile at the priest before picking up the upper half of her dismembered lackey by his hair and fiddling with the chainsaw in the other hand. It seemed that a little bit of added strength was one of the perks to her bonding. Reis would than charge at the Reverend, intending to cut him clean with a horizontal strike, but would block with the bloody remains of the Ritualist if he counterattacked, using it as a human shield of sorts. Her strike was a bit shaky due to wielding the fairly heavy weapon with one hand, but it was still damn accurate.

But this was Reverend Smith, and the battle had just begun.

Total (Thread) Kill Count!
Two Dead Templars on the wall...
One Dead Ritualist on the wall...
Zero Dead Swiss on the wall...

by **Ceri Priddy** Mon Jul 15, 2013 9:39 am

She could hear the gunfire with its sharpened sounds ricocheting off of the old buildings across the Vatican Square. The Audience hall was relatively abandoned, looming up before her with the scattered bodies strewn about between her hiding spot and the building. Two of her four guards remained, and even they had sustained rather impressive wounds she had to admit. What was most glorious and entertaining, however, was how conflicted their friends seemed about it. Honestly it was rather pathetic to Ceri herself, but Lilith? She was getting a kick out of all of this. "Are you quite enjoying yourself?" "Oh darling you have NO idea." And with that a cry rang out as a gunshot as supersonic as a cannon rang out, her third guard falling down dead with half of his head missing due to a bullet wound in his head. Her eyes narrowed as she looked up towards the Basilica and Chapel, those cute perfect lips frowning rather intently. Snipers. Of course they had fucking snipers.

"Roger dearest, you stay right there." She crept further around the corner out of sight, rolling as she broke out into a run towards the back door of the audience hall, four eyes watching their surroundings as she reloaded one of her silenced pistols. She slowed as she came up to that door, glancing to the sides of it in case there were hidden panels or anything of the sort, biting her lower lip as she raised her gun to shoot out the lock. "Watch--" Click. Fuck. Ceri immediately dodged to the side, turning about as a hand jutted forward and gripped her throat tightly. She gasped and struggled, wriggling as her back was forced hard against the door behind her. A burly man flanked by three others was what she found as those crystalline blue eyes forced themselves open to look at her attacker. He was not a Templar. Her pistols dropped as she clung onto him, forcing tears to well up into her eyes as she looked as terrified as possible. "P-please--" She whispered pathetically, finding that getting air was growing more and more difficult with each second. But she was touching him, and she could sense his nervous system.

A band of three Ritualists descended from the right, completely distracting the three men that he had with him. Just a small squad. Good for her. She watched his expression as it began to change from a hard militaristic seriousness to confusion. He could feel how he was stiffening, how he was swelling at her beck and command, and his hand was trembling now as it gripped her throat. He coughed and sputtered as he suddenly orgasmed, dropping down while Ceri bent to grab her two pistols. She leaned close and whispered softly, "Do you want to thank me later? I'd certainly appreciate a return of the favor... You could even bring your friends." She whispered, glancing over to the Swiss militants as they tore down her comrades. Only one of the swiss had fallen while the Ritualists lay coughing in their own blood. Lilith frowned at how pathetically their demons attempted to help them.

Rogers came stumbling over, clutching at an arm wound as he stared with that blankness at the scene before him. It was truly sad the puppy-dog smile that he gave Ceri. The leader of the small Swiss band was starting to gain that same look as he turned to his men and ordered them in some other language. Probably Italian or maybe Swiss... whatever the hell those people spoke. Whatever it was, it was something that Ceri or Lilith didn't understand in the least bit. Excellent. She had replenished her supply of meat shields. She straightened up and smiled sweetly to the burly man, tilting her head slightly. "Whats your name sugar?" She whispered to him, leaning close to hear, "James." She was getting lucky with these simple names!! "James dearest, could you possibly get me close to the basilica? I've always wanted to get fucked in a church, but there are men on top of it that don't want us to go there!" She asked him, pouting as she looked at the three men behind him, Lilith exuding all of the charm within her flesh.

"Yes." And with that they snuck her behind another building just across, glancing carefully up towards the Basilica and its dome. There was another building before them that stood as a corner piece between the Basilica and the Vatican square, Ceri starting to grin as she saw its approach. However... it wasn't allowed to last long as the doors burst open and a squad of 4 Templars greeted them. The two on the left and right immediately fired into their small group, Ceri dodge-rolling away as she broke off towards the right a bit more, mindful of potential vantage points that could leave her vulnerable. They were shouting in some other language that was different from any other that she had heard, glancing over to her defenders to see Rogers and another of the Swiss had gone down. Pity. She only had 2 left. Drawing out her pistols, she fired twice at the two men in the center that were moving forward, startling as she saw them use their fists to knock down James and his remaining man.

MELEE FIGHTERS?! Of all the.... "Heh, don't let them "fist" you." She inwardly groaned, "Not now Lilith...." Her pathetic attempts to attack them only drew their attention and fire, making her squeal as she took off running along a wall within view of both the square AND the Basilica's rooftop. The concrete was dented by a shot to her right, its spot too close for comfort. When she started to run back towards the Audience Hall, she could hear cries and the revving of engines, her heels squealing against the ground as she stumbled a little. Shit, where the fuck could she go? She just chose to keep running as bullets shot off, barely missing her while those Russians still fought in hand-to-hand combat with the Swiss men. Yes, let them buy her some more time, let them die for her so that she could live. She hadn't dealt with all that fucking shit of her old life just to die here!

Her feet carried her behind some buildings as Ritualists, Templars, and Swiss men clashed about her, allowing for her to continue running while only occasionally needing to fire off her pistols. If she could get to the railway station, maybe she could hide out there. She could see the old building looming up in sight before her, but... A hand came out of nowhere and slammed into her back, making her yelp as she went rolling. Anatoly stood over the pretty, scantily dressed woman, iron knuckles glinting over his knuckles. Ceri coughed as she turned in time to see his fist coming down towards where her head was, rolling off to the side just as the ground cracked beneath the force of his punch. There was a new sensation in her gut as she panted and scrambled back, one of those great hands coming down to grip her ankles and wrench. She screeched as she could do nothing to fight against his strength, her voice piercing the sky as he brought his boot down on her knee cap. Hard. Tears welled up in her eyes at the pain that shot through her system, trembling as he gripped the top of her head tightly and lifted. A single sob flowed through her as dropped her pistols again, completely useless against the throbbing. Lilith was immediately doing her best within her mind to try and soothe the girl, taking over as her hands reached up once he began to squeeze her head as if it were a grape.

"Ceri. Focus. Focus dear, I KNOW it hurts." Where were his nerves? She whimpered as her head hurt, finding the tendrils that lead down and down, crying out in pain as he moved her. She was going to die. She was really going to-- There. The man grunted in frustration as his grip lessened slightly, still strong enough to leave her dangling there in the air, but she had found it. He growled and grunted, letting out a roar as he jizzed his pants and completely let go of her. Her body shook horribly as she stared with utter fear at him, her leg twisting at all the wrong angles. There was no more running for her in this fight. "P-please... please help me... P-please don't--" "Shut your whore mouth." The man panted gutterally, hands reaching down towards his nether regions as he slowly raised his head to glare at her. Anatoly was not happy to have been stopped so. "Capitan, bat at zone 3. Sheep is a snake." He knew that the commander would know what he meant as he knelt there panting, trying to get some semblance of control back to his body.

((Kill Count:
Templars: 3
Swiss: 1
Ritualists: 3))

by **Tatyana Vladimirovna** Mon Jul 15, 2013 1:07 pm

"Paladin Alpha, this is Archer Three-Actual, over." The radio crackled to life in her ear as they slipped through the Basilica, clearing out the halls as they came across Ritualists. They were scattered. The organization was terrible. "Hunter Six-Actual is Oscar Mike to the Plaza, repeat, Hunter Six-Actual Oscar Mike to plaza, over." Her lips tightened as blood flew from her fists flying with a mean right hook into the temple of some unfortunate soul, the iron knuckles quickly growing slick with each consequent hit. "Archer Three-Actual acting overwatch, I have your position and am following, repeat, Archer Three-Actual covering. Turn corners and I will go blind, repeat, do not turn corners if you want me to go blind." Another punch, another body hit the ground hard. The two Templars on either side of her were becoming more accepting of the kill order that had been given, their strokes less held back and tentative. They could see the lack of mercy that she had told them of, and it did fuel them.

And with the lower levels cleared, she watched as some of the Ritualists went pouring out the main doors towards the Vatican's courtyard, where the obelisk rose up towards the sky so majestically. It would end up stained red tonight. There was no getting around it. "Copy that Archer-Three-Actual. Running the lambs to you and Hunter-Six Actual." She spoke across the radio, slipping off one of her iron knuckles to pull out one of her pistols instead, cocking it as her eyes narrowed at the moonlight that spilled across the pale monuments of bygone era's. And with that she couldn't help but smirk ever so slightly, gesturing to her two subordinates to take the other edges to press them towards the center. She could already see where the blood would be spilt before them all. As for her? She took the center.

She did not run as they did. She merely walked, a rather creepy gleam of the light reflecting off of those cool blue eyes as she fired off careful shots that purposefully missed. She could see a group of four Ritualists pushing towards the center as they avoided the Templars and Swiss militants that were swarming everywhere. She could hear the sounds of chaos and singing all about the center of Catholicism. Her eyes narrowed as she fired off two more shots, the night air catching her blonde locks that still hung free. "Paladin Alpha, this is Archer Three-Actual. Hostiles sighted in left wing, switching to engage, you will be without support until stated otherwise. Over and out." Just as she heard that, she glanced towards the gunfire, a woman taking the time to crawl along a window sill above as she stared at the Paladin below her. She smiled to herself before leaping down with her arms spread, landing rather lightly behind Tatyana. "Understood." And with that, she whipped about and swung her silver toed (and heeled) boots into the face of that foolish little Ritualist.

The woman was thrown to the ground with a snarl and splurt of blood. She tried to get up, but Tatyana quickly strode over to her and drove her fist into her temple. Once. Twice. Thrice. She struck one last time and the woman didn't move anymore. Her eyes stared unseeingly down the expanse of the Vatican's courtyard, blood starting to pool beneath her. "Tango down. Kill confirmed. Continuing engagement. Over." She heard another shout nearby and saw that one of her lackeys was getting taken over by that group of five Ritualists she had seen before, narrowing her eyes disgustingly towards them. "Hunter-Six Actual, Archer-Three Actual, take those bastards down." She commanded in a cool, calm voice. But it wasn't what she said, but how she said it. There was a seething hotness beneath the surface that threatened to burn those that drew to close, now taking the time to move off towards the left to take over for the man that had fallen.

Her boots clacked against the pavement as she fired off her last shots into a Ritualist, not even reacting as his body thudded against the ground. The radio crackled again in her ear, "Capitan, bat at zone 3. Sheep is a snake." She paused in her tracks, narrowing her eyes as she turned to face where the railroad station was. "Understood. Sending backup." She spoke, her native tongue rolling so smoothly out as she spun and elbowed a Ritualist in the mouth, catching the knife they held with her hand. She wrenched their wrist back and stabbed the knife back into them, not even really paying attention to the motion itself. "Archer-Three Actual, there's a bogey dressed like a little slut whose got Anatoly pinned down. Can you assist?" That was more of a request, whipping around in time for a huge bulking man a bit taller than her that tackled her to the ground. He let out a low laugh as he quickly got her up and lifted her by the collar, throwing her with surprising force towards one of the pillars of the Vatican's Square. She hit off of it at a weird angle and snarled, immediately rolling onto her feet as she switched out her pistol for a combat knife that gleamed with a silver tinged edge, the iron knuckle stained with blood. Ow.... Fuck she was getting old for this kind of shit.

Ducking down, she moved with a speed that probably would have surprised most for a woman of her age, the knife flashing out before coming back. The man let out a roar before coming down with both fists, the Paladin barely dodging in time. Her fists jammed into his ribs in three quick jabs, the knife swinging to slash across his back but he instead barreled forward with her caught between his shoulder. The two of them slammed into the pillar again, forcing the air out of her body as she let out a roar of fury before stabbing that knife down into his neck. His body spasmed, the knife coming out and then vanishing again into his body in a very close spot, the blood pouring forth in great geysers that sprayed her and that pristine old stone. Nothing would remain sacred this night. With a last gutteral cough, the man toppled over, Tatyana glaring down at him with that gleam in her eye again. It was particularly creepy with the blood smattered all over her.

Pain blossomed in her right hip and back, forcing her to hiss in disgust. Damn. She really was getting older. There was a time when she could recover from getting tossed around easily, quickly. Panting, she could feel a couple of cricks there, slowly straightening up as she wiped the blood off before sheathing her knife. Both melee weapons were replaced for her pistols, reloading the one as she took a deep breath. No.... Not a single damn thing would be clean after this.

(( Kill Count:
Ritualist: 5
Templar: 1 ))

by **Jean La Croix** Mon Jul 15, 2013 4:09 pm

"So much blood..." Jean let out a disgusted sighs as he looked down at his newly blood stained clothes. You would think that the color being black would hide any blood stains just fine, but sadly that wasn't the case. No it seemed to seep through, leaving dark patches on the tight fighting combat gear. Much of course, just like these killings would leave darker stains on his already blackening soul. Not that he had ever done anything to deserve damnation. Far from it in fact, after all he had dedicated his life to putting away people who had done far worse then him. Murderers, rapists, child molesters. But no, his life style, his lifes choices had damned him to hell or so others would lead him to believe. It didn't matter that he had never done a thing in his life that brought harm to the innocent, it didn't matter that he lived in a constant state of torment as he denied his inner beast the succor it so completely hungered for. No, he was damned for no better reason then he had a deal with a figurative devil. And that he was a heathen, outcast by the church that would control the world with propaganda and fear mongering.

A single tear graced his face as he stepped into the Basilica its self, his keen eyes scanning for any sign of movement but seeing nothing. But he heard yes, he heard to much as the old wolf made its way to the for front of his mind, sharing with him his senses. He heard movement on the roof, he heard the sounds of death, he heard the fire of weapons all about him and... He heard a scream. A scream that cut through the haze that his mind had been locked in sense the moment he had killed the ritualist. Yes, he heard a scream and he recognized the voice. Could it be? Was she here of all places? He thought back to the chapel, his mind going over the scents there in as well as the bodies he had payed to little heed to it seemed. Yes, there it was. Ceri of the fine pair of tits was here, and she was in trouble. A crackle of static brought them back to their body and a voice came over their stolen radio speaking what sounded like nonsense. "Captain, bat at zone 3. Sheep is a snake." The voice was gruff and sounded out of breath.. Hell it almost sounded husky in tone. "Understood. Sending backup." A female voice this time, in a language nether he nor his partner understood. How... Odd. "Archer-Three Actual, there's a bogey dressed like a little slut whose got Anatoly pinned down. Can you assist?" Jean blinked slowly, there was only one person crazy enough to dress like a slut on the battle field.

He shook his head and turned to leave the basilica. It seemed his little foray into London would have more consequences then a remarkable night of sex after all, and it might likely get him killed. Of course just being there was likely to get him killed so the point was in a way moot. With out glancing at the bloody and still twitching body of his first kill he made his way back out into the rain and raised his nose to the air. Yes, he could spell her if faintly. That sweet floral scent was hard to mistake even with it being watered down as it where.

So his nose leading the way he weaved his way in between buildings but he feared he would not be fast enough. So he picked up the pace, not wanting a woman to die because he was to slow to stop it, even if said woman was one of mostly questionable morals. "Not going to make it..." But then, failure wasn't really an option if he wanted to sleep well at night.

Let loose then pup. Relax and untether me. Let me help!

Was it worth it? Letting go and letting his inner beast, his inner hunter roam free if only for a little while? Did he lose something by giving up some of his control? The simple answer was no. But Jean was afraid, afraid of his own inner demons getting loose. What if he was unable to control him self?

Trust me. Trust me as your family has always trusted me. I WILL keep you from running away with passion.

That was it then, he would trust and hopefully save a life. Jean closed his eyes and when they opened again but seconds later gone was the man that had been there. And with that change came others. His body morphing more then it ever had before. Claws formed it was true, but his legs changed to those of a predatory beast. Stronger, more sure and he knew at once that he was faster then any man could rightly be. His now clawed toes burst out of his black combat boots and with a grown he reached down and slide one razor sharp claw up the leather and his feet burst free.

His now red eyes flashed in the darkness and with slow animalistic intent he raised his head to the sky and breathed deep, drinking in the smells of the night. He could smell her again, but it was mixed with something else now. Fear, fear so palatable that it seemed to coil in the air in front of him. He hunched down then, getting close to the ground and then he was off, his arms and legs propelling him forward at a most inhuman speed. He passed scenes of gore and death, he passed fights still raging, he passed the living and the dying. He just ran, ran faster then he could have ever dreamed. He raised his voice to the sky once more and let out a howl of pure joy.

Then suddenly his voice fell and there was no sound but for the soft thump of his feet as he moved forward, past buildings and closer to what he could only assume was the railroad. His eyes locked in the distance could see two people through the haze of rain. One, the female was facing him the shock of pain clear on her face and as he stalked closer his red hued eyes where sure to be seen through the veil of rain. But the man? The man had his back to him and he looked... Weakened in some way. Now though there was a new scent on the air, male musk. Sex. A low growl rose in his throat and with out farther warning he sprang at the man. He never had a chance.

Jeans claws found purchase in his victims sides, his long claws easily slipping through the rib cage and into his lungs. His teeth, still human in nature, took the man by the back of the neck. There was a single sharp scream and then his claws found his throat and then there was nothing but then the sound of rain. He stood then, thick red blood dripping from his hands and mouth as he walked forward and with out a second his he hoisted the fallen woman into his arms and quickly moved away from the killing ground and into the relative safety of the building. Looking down, his eyes still gleaming in the half light a small smile graced his lips, the the blood on his teeth obvious. "Soo..." He almost purred. "What does this get me?"

by **Damon T. Ruger** Tue Jul 16, 2013 5:06 am

"Hunter-Six Actual, Archer-Three Actual, take those bastards down."

The retort came swiftly as he looked down through the scope. Many men took their positions at various points of cover; whilst he saw in a glance the silver-haired enigmatic leader turn and move into the Civil Administration building before he had so much as a chance to fire. With the round freshly prepared and loaded into the chamber, Damon released a short, stifled sigh, and spoke back into the transmitter. "Negative, Paladin Alpha." With that, he hoisted the rifle upwards an inch, trying to target one of the men that had vanished into the extravagant bureau-type official construction. "Cannot get a bead from my angle, Hunter Six-Actual will assist. Over."

There was no request, no please and thank you, when it came to the Templars; it was point and pull the trigger, do or die. But with a team - the dynamics had to be worked out perfectly. From here, if Damon tried to take out one of the Ritualists on Tatyana, he knew he could reap them all, but with one wide shot, whether it was the rifle's fault or his, the accidental manslaughter of his direct CO would end up on his record, and that was a court-martial waiting to happen. But irrespective of that; he had already made his decision. His focus lied now on the building that the squad of eight remaining men had called their own, and their supposed mystery of a leader.

As of yet there was no real return fire from any of the other parties, who all seemed to have taken cover; for now, most of the targets were out of view, and, to boot, blending in with the rain over the top, which was a real obstacle when it came to the visual aspect of things. But Damon Ruger had a virtue; and that virtue was patience, even as the rounds collided with the walls around him. Now, the leader was all but gone; and the only obligation the sniper had was to eliminate his other troops.

Silently he tilted the rifle ever-so-slightly from a position inches right of a pillar he knew that a particular Ritualist clutching his Kalashnikov favoured; and in the split-second that he revealed himself, the tightening of that trained finger pounded down on the trigger with formidable kilograms of pressure, unleashing another wild BOOM in time with a flaming roar of muzzle flash and the rifle pounding back into his shoulder. Damon took only a split-second to regard the round striking the man in the chest, and tearing through flesh and bone indiscriminately, felling him in front of his comrades with just a moment. "Tango down." Eagle Eye called out as habit, even though it wasn't over the radio, pulling himself behind the brickwork cover of the Chapel as he bolted the rifle once more, looking down to Amadeus. A more diplomatic Templar would have offered calm or otherwise.

Damon Tomasz Ruger was not a diplomat.

He arched now an eyebrow upon that olive-brushed complexion but instead returned to his station cradling the rifle - for a moment he had figured it would have been the best course of action to move to another vantage point, but as he returned and snapped his eye back into the scope with a low snarl, he caught the final glimpses of movement as his prey burrowed themselves into the fortifications much like their master, the last just diving into the official building and presumably regrouping upstairs, as the activity would display. Scanning the first floor windows, he could only see slivers of bodies, fragments of rifles; whilst their position was confirmed, for the moment, there was nothing he could do. Two down meant seven remaining, leader included.

There was no point in firing a threat shot through the window just to alert them of his position even further, even though they more than likely knew where he was exactly; so instead, for the moment, he spun around, back to Tatyana, and rose the transmitter to his mouth - just as another distorted line came through, accent heavy and all. "Archer-Three Actual, there's a bogey dressed like a little slut whose got Anatoly pinned down. Can you assist?" Now... that was slightly more... dissuading. But Damon pointed his rifle without prejudice and killed on order irrespective of clothing or preference. Many of these Ritualist scum had been proven to be sexual deviants - it shouldn't have really been any surprise.

"Tangos inactive over at the admin building, Paladin Alpha." Lowering the bolt decisively, the round primed, locked, and loaded, he scrolled the scope further up the battlefield, gritting his teeth and pulling back his lip in determination. It was only a matter of moments before she picked up on the heads of, first, Anatoly, someone he was, at best, familiar with, and then a few metres up, a hairy-looking official who appeared to be supporting the aforementioned deviant, and another apparent Ritualist, who he couldn't identify nor categorise. "Hostiles sighted. They're going down. Over."

Lining up the crosshairs with the single male-looking sympathiser's head, Damon slowly began to squeeze down on the trigger, with every moment passing another half-pound of pressure down; but it was too late to alter the scope's positioning when the Ritualists moved up and out of his view, and the moment had passed to ease off the trigger. A split-second before the tremendous roar of the high-power rifle rang out again, he could see the failure unfolding before his eyes, but it was inevitable; there was nothing to do, nowhere to aim but the wall that had moments earlier held one of the targets' heads in just metres in front of it.

With a resounding thud, the round made its way into a wall barely metres up from the unkempt, suit-clad, official-looking Ritualist - whose disguise was fooling nobody - and churned out a fount-like spray of ground-up brick and mortar. "Fuck." Damon mattered under his breath, expressing in his own error a vein that began to bulge on his head and apparent frustration, diving back behind cover to bolt the rifle once more.

((That was Jean Damon just missed a shot at.))

by **Ceri Priddy** Tue Jul 16, 2013 12:56 pm

Ceri was afraid. This wasn't the afraid from when she was a child and her father would beat her when he got drunk. That was the fear of being hurt. This.... This was utter terror. This was the terror of being killed. Her pupils had shrunk to tiny black dots as she stared, still trembling, at the man before her. Lilith was trying to tell her to move, to calm her down and distract her from the pain and fear clutching deeply within her bones. But it was to now avail, Ceri could not make herself move from that spot. It was true all those words that warned of how you could freeze up at the most important of times, and right now... She would have been doing her damndest to squirm away. Yet there she remained with her leg utterly useless and screaming at her in its pain. His panting was getting shallower. She couldn't use her skill again. He was starting to stand up, a fiery hatred burning in his eyes. "W...We've got--" "I SAID-" Anatoly towered over her now, a knife gleaming in his hand as a shadow rose up behind him. She barely even noticed it as her eyes focused on that gleaming metal, Lilith shrinking back as she knew it had to be silver or iron. "Shut your--"

The man stopped. He was being lifted. Her blue eyes followed as she whimpered and shrank, trying to process the sight of his blood gushing forth. Claws. There were claws coming out of him. How were there claws? Teeth ripped into Anatoly's throat as he let out a single scream that sent a freezing shiver down her spine. Blood spurted forth as the last wounds showered forward upon her. The rain pattered softly about them as Ceri continued to tremble, staring wide-eyed at Jean before her. Who.... A wolf? Who could be a wolf? "You're safe now. That is what matters. I believe its your lover boy." For some reason or another, that snapped Ceri back into herself. "Don't call him that." The name made her twinge oddly inside and she wasn't sure that she particularly liked that. She wasn't allowed much time for thought as he suddenly picked her up, letting out a small cry of surprise and pain. Her leg was not a fan of her being moved in the least bit at all. But what really startled her was the loud thud and spray of brick and concrete as a bullet tore into the ground far too close for comfort. "Jean--" Her voice was shaking, soft, yet calm as she wrapped her arms about his great neck while he walked her into the nearby building. The haven that she had tried so desperately to escape to.

The doors closed quietly as they stood now within the station, her head leaning against his shoulder as her lips pressed so tightly together. "Soo...What does this get me?" She looked up at her savior, the word as odd as the phrase "lover boy" from Lilith. She had never needed saving, had always been self-sufficient or able to find some way to make her life survive. She knew she hadn't been properly ready for combat, that this mission was probably the worst idea she had ever had, knew that she could very well be killed. Had she been alright with that? Was that why she had done it? As she stared at that smile of his, she felt a few more tears roll down her cheek as she sniffled. She shivered slightly from the cold, whatever fan they had running in the place chilling her soaked body. "Free dances for life sugar." She whispered with a weak, half-laugh. Lilith could only shake her head as she observed the two of them, most of her energy focused on the wound sustained.

"If you ever need a place to stay, or money, or help, or whatever it might be...for whatever reason... You'll have it in London." She answered far more seriously, those blue eyes staring up at Jean with a faint hint of a smile. With another shiver and rumble of pain, she nuzzled her head more into his shoulder, golden curls drooping about her shoulders. "Thank you Jean..."

by **Nathaniel Nazbith** Wed Jul 17, 2013 9:29 am

Vanessa was still laying out the explosives. She had at least one explosive for every column holding up the arcs that surrounded the square, as well as perhaps three on the obelisk at the center. These little things packed quite a punch, but were really handy for distractions or elimination. She fired them off in frequencies, the left arc had one, the right arc had one, and the obelisk had one, that way she could selectively destroy what was near. No one had yet arrived on the scene yet as she finished off her planting, admiring her work as she switched on her radio and putting it into the general frequency; an all call, a warning it would be. "Attention all units, caution around St. Peter's Square, explosives have been planted." Then she switched the frequency back to Tatyana and Damon's, so as to warn the comrades closest to her. "Archer Three-Actual, Paladin Alpha, this is Hunter-Six Actual. I have planted explosives along the arcs and the obelisk of the square. Explosives are dark, awaiting command for priming and detonation. Returning to overwatch, over." Vanessa did have a bit of pride in the forethought, even in not priming them before firing too. It wasn't too long afterwards that Tatyana and two of her comrades entered the square from below her. There had to be Ritualists here. Then she heard shots from directly below her and she leaned over the ceiling with her bow drawn with a brand new cartridge of spearhead tips. A Ritualist, hopefully a soon to be dead one. She fired but the Ritualist jumped down and inadvertently dodged the arrow. Vanessa swore under her breath as she drew her bow back again and then aim-...watched as the woman was struck brutally by Tatyana, until the pool of blood became visible.

Vanessa's ears were drawn to the sounds of beating and her head turned to a group of five ritualist, drawing her bow to fire. She loosed the arrow, nailing one right in the center of his forehead. "Kill confirmed." Vanessa soon had to draw back her bow, as Tatyana made her way into the fray beginning her assault on the Ritualists. Vanessa had to back off this time as it was true she was a great shot, but she wouldn't dare fire that close to her superior in that kind of movement. It was too dangerous for her to intervene. The paladin did her duty with gusto and quickly eliminated the lot with very extreme prejudice. 1 Templar life costed quite a few Ritualist ones it seemed. She was crouched down then slowly standing up and Vanessa almost didn't understand why she looked like she was in so much pain until she remembered that Paladins were rather old even when they took their positions. Vanessa watched from behind the statue, rain pouring as if God himself cried on this, a very unholy day. Vanessa was being soaked, shivering in the cold as the rain began to come down in sheets. Then a boom of thunder cracked the sky and Vanessa flinched. Thunderstorms, dammit, why thunderstorms?! No...no, Vanessa, she thought, do NOT get scared yet. Calm yourself. Deep breaths. Then suddenly, as the rain continued, she heard something that discorded the rhythm of rain. A rifle, an automatic one at that, coming from the right side. Vanessa stood up and looked at Tatyana, then her subordinate, then began to walk; her heels clicked against the ancient structure. She had her trusty pistols in hand now, Diana slipped safely back in her leather straps. "Paladin Alpha, this is Hunter Six-Actual. I'm hearing firing coming from my right, perhaps by the audience hall. It is most likely Ritualist activity. I request permission to assist, ma'am. Over."

It pained Vanessa to have to ASK permission to do something. She was so used to doing her own thing that she rarely did, but now was not the time to go and play hero. She would wait on the ledge, sitting in the pouring rain. This rain reminded her of her first visit to Inferis. It was so loud...the thunder, the lightning, the immense amount of demons around her. The only one that made her feel safe was the Reverend....

***

Everything was so red. The ground, the sky, the clouds....and so was the rain. But unlike Earth, this rain was warm...this rain was thicker than water. The little girl shakes in her cargo pants and jacket, holding onto the wooden grip of her machete like it was a lifeline. She sat in the sidecar of Mr. Smith's motorcycle as he surveyed the area, that big sweeping coat fluttered across the rocky ground. The land that lied before her was as alien as the planet Mars and twice as hellish...perhaps because it was hell.

As the motor cut out, a shiver, cold and jolting, ran up her back as the screeching of monstrous beasts neared. Logs...demonic logs. They shook and screamed and clawed at the motorbike, trying their best to get to the yummy little ball of flesh inside. The clang of metal against wood cracked above her curled up body as she screamed. Thunder accompanied the scene like a movie soundtrack, pounding away at her eardrums. Even when she thought it was safe to exit the vehicle, another nightmarish log threw itself at her and she held out her machete. With pained screeches and squawks, the log shuddered in front of her with its skeletal mask until it stopped moving.

Vanessa had killed something. And all that accompanied was the firm hand of Mr. Smith on her back, congratulating her on her first step to becoming a great Templar.

***

But even with her sitting on the ledge, doing nothing as others died, following other people's orders was definitely the way to go to become a great Templar.

by **Reverend Smith** Fri Jul 19, 2013 4:29 am

He'd slammed on brakes, narrowly avoiding a ritualist, and had been in the process of swinging his roaring blade of mass destruction, when he heard not only a familiar name, that being his own name, but also a very familiar voice... And yet, he'd never met this woman before in his life. Not only this, but with a chainsaw of her own, she parried his slash, causing both blades to be flung backwards in recoil. He'd been prepared to gore her with the blade again, disregarding the familiarity, when a man nearby charged at him. He moved to react, aiming to decapitate the ritualist, but wasn't fast enough; the possessed girl before him cut down her own comrade for interfering, to which a third backed away hastily, in shock, and a fourth... Well, he was sitting on the ground, playing five finger fillet, with what appeared to be a somewhat rusty, obviously well-aged falchion... Wait, isn't that- ...Bowie. Of course. Leave it to White's friend... Not even a good terrorist! Kinda sad, really... "David, what are you doing here...? Go home, you're drunk." His advice, alas, didn't seem to go to the ritualist, as he threw a rock at Smith, before continuing his idle game.

Though that did register his attention back on Reis, whom was seeming more and more familiar; particularly when she revved up her chainsaw again, prompting him to do the same, and spoke. Didja miss me Revvy...?

...Oh. Her.

He grinned. "I thought it smelled a little chaotic in the City today. Eris, a pleasure. Rematch, I presume?" With a chuckle, the priest lurched forward with the speed and agility of an Olympic sportsman, wielding his chainsaw in his right hand, leaving his left free, in case he needed it, despite the inaccuracy and amplified recoil of one-handing a chainsaw; generally not a wise idea in its own right, less so when dueling chainsaws.

As he charged forward, eyes widened, admittedly cackling like a bit of a madman, he didn't really notice the fallen man's body being used as a shield, rather, as she swung, he deftly ducked, twisting to face upward, slashing his own chainsaw up, aiming through the corpse, in an attempt to sever her hand, before, failure or not, swinging his blade down at her thigh, all the while regaining proper stance from his rather awkward position.

"Certainly hope you've got some new tricks up your sleeves, Eris, or this would certainly be no fun!" It was at this point he noticed it was raining; a storm had brewed over the holy city, eh? Straightening himself, he let his chainsaw sputter down, glancing up at the clouds. before turning to the chainsaw-wielding ritualist. "I'm sure a theatric such as yourself might enjoy the dramatic flair, ne? A splendid duel under the thunder and large cracks of lightning, haha! Should be twice as fun now, no?" And, as if to simply display the amounts of fun he was ready to enjoy, he gave his chainsaw a powerful rev once more, turning towards Eris with a grin, perhaps a little too mad for a man of the cloth. "Hmm... Already used my deadly dance line... And the other one... Oh, that one too... Screw it, I don't even need a good one-liner!~"

by **David Bowie** Sat Jul 20, 2013 9:28 am

Well, while it DID seem like it'd be a fun adventure following Eris around, it quickly grew completely and utterly boring. Yeesh, if she was going to pull out the Necronomicon, couldn't she, at the very LEAST, use it? Summon some tar crabs, a few kur, WHY NOT SUMMON THE BIG BAD HIMSELF? But nooooooooo, she wanted to summon herself, apparently, and then just NOT CARE. He was tempted to have some of the nearby members of Legion's host join him in the Vatican for a fun little ~~orgy~~ party, that'd really add some life to this joint. Ahhhh, but no. Legion didn't particularly care for churches, and the Vatican was essentially MADE of churches. Personally, Bowie and his mini-host didn't care one way or the other. Churches had great acoustics.

And, of course, some mooks came screaming up in his face, and as one bounded the corner, he grasped him by the collar of his shirt and slapped him with the mighty sequin-gloved hand of David Bowie. "Calm. Your tits. Right now. You little. Insignificant. Worm. Thank you." And at that, he released the man, who went screaming over to help Eris, before being promptly slain, good and proper, as Bowie sat down on the ground, drawing Rosso, his falchion. NOW IS HIS TIME! HIS ULTIMATE TIME TO SHINE! No, you moron, he isn't going to help Eris fight the chainsaw-wielding Templar he vaguely recognized. No, he spread his fingers out on the ground and began stabbing the spaces between them with his rather large blade.

As he rose in speed, he heard the Dutchman speak, and looked up at him, still stabbing. "Oh, shut up, you. I do what I want, luv." And so he threw a rock at him. Serves him right! Though one had to wonder how he managed to pick up a rock to throw with both his hands occupi-... Oh yeah.

Glancing down, he noticed his falchion stuck in the ground, in a little pool of blood, with two of his fingers next to it. "...You've gotta be kidding me. I'm running out of thread..." Peeved by his missing digits, which INCIDENTALLY, made repairing his missing digits much harder, he reached into his back pockets for a spool of thread and a pair of knitting needles. Not quite what doctors use, but he do what he want, y'know? And so he set to work, reattaching his fingers. Long, hard work, really, completely had him distracted from the fight at hand.

...

What? Yes, that's all he's doing. No, he didn't do anything else. Not everyone is a murderous psychopath, you know. And as he finished reattaching his fingers, he admired his finger nails, and his shoddy stitching.

by **Aravad** Sat Jul 20, 2013 4:34 pm

One of the troops ducked as he braced himself for cover, taking a reload from his weapon as it was fresh out of bullets. Replacing it with a fresh magazine from his pouch as he discarded the old one. Only for something to roar above him, exploding pebbles and stonework out into an ejaculatory spread dusting the once clean and pristine floor with grey. The cultist shook from the shot that would've torn him apart into beef stroganof. He was a bit shocked, a bit like Aravad, but clearly regained his calm, and knew that the sniper out there, well, he was out there somewhere, and clearly they were in danger. The casualty was alleviated, so the man sprayed his gun, more accurately shot out the lights just like downstairs as darkness took hold from his still prone position. By this point, the guards were killed, and all opposition were eliminated.

But then, stepped out of a room was a strange ripple in the folds of space, distortions bent light and perception of an area to highlight a humanoid form as the furthest cultist found himself soon feeling numbness below his torso, a line of red followed, and then his upper form slid downwards and fell as he gagged from the unexpected bifurcation. Stunned, the rest of the Cultists backed away, opening fire, but it was dark, another and a second bifurcated to leave about a paltry few as of this point standing. The distortion seemed to hold something immensely sharp, poising himself sideways to the wall as the men opened fire blindly to their general direction of where their compadres had fallen.

But from behind, Aravad stepped in, hand motioning forth as a burst of flame spewed forth, encompassing the whole corridor forth as it embalmed the bodies into cinders from the intense heat, with one invisible distortion soon catching into form with the strange manner of suit, suddenly brought to realization and perception of the cultists as they opened fire unto the dancing wavy flames that outlined the agonized form of the man, whom soon dropped his sword as popping sounds were heard, falling back and rolling, screams of despair ensued as he was turned into Swiss cheese from all the lead filling him up from the powerful AK rounds. The stealthy exoskeleton suit wearing ninja fell from the sheer amount of bullets that filled him, as his suit was not meant for taking so many rounds concentrated at once by a bunch of zealous cultists, finally gargling his last and dying, before disintegrating from what appears to be the fail-safe of his suit to prevent it from being reverse engineered. The same cannot be said of his sword as Aravad walked over to it, as in prone, laying below the window visage, picking it up to see that it was microfilament. Whomever this person was, it was no doubt a Templar as he heard the chatter from his team from the back. Aravad looked at edge, casually swinging it towards the door slowly as it got cut like hot knife through butter despite a lack of actual momentum. No wonder why these cultists were chopped up. Aravad made sure to keep the sword to himself as he had to find a way to sheathe it, but all during the while, flung his AK to one of his team members, pulling out a Glock 18 which he didn't think he had, but apparently did. Sword held at another hand as the team went forth, Aravad laying low whilst the team did the same in the dull lighting, as their eyes adjusted. Bursting through rooms and opening fire on all personnel within, scrounging through any documents till they reached the door with that killer ninja from whence they speculate emerged from. It looked like there were important numbers with statistics, a very huge luck on Aravad's chance as they scraped all information by and placed it into a duffel bag. Handing the load over to Aravad as he worn it over the shoulder. Finally deciding that the rest of the team were to run downstairs, relaying such orders to the rest of them as he felt that his time with these cultists were wanting. They were a morbid and disturbed lot with no precise goals besides to be pasted upon every wanted posted about, but nonetheless, Aravad had managed to look upon a single information that drew his very eyes to dawn upon a singular particular segment, a location that perhaps provides a Litany, a Litany that would pique his interests most astutely.

Whilst the rest of the cultists were leaving, Aravad decided to linger upwards in the 2nd floor, pulling about the least mangled body of a guard, whose Kevlar was messed up, but he has the least blood seeping into his clothing, as he went into a room filled with the deceased civilians. Something he had nothing to do with, had he come upon preventing their deaths, questions would arise, hence the greater secrecy for the greater good would call for it. Stripping of his effects, mission given attire and all, and stripping the guard, he soon found himself wearing his effects, as he took his weapon, a Five-SeveN, good weapon, with splendid penetration. Though it seems with such small armaments, they weren't prepared for the attack from the cultists. Aravad soon looked the part, save the shades as he lamented having to take them off. Pocketing them as he dressed up the guard with his former attire, save the kevlar vest. The one he wore was higher grade, and shouldn't stand out too much as he wore it underneath his clothing. Not unusual as other guards were the same. Aravad also made sure to take the radio from the guard as he heard crackles and orders in a tongue beleaguered Italian.

He put on his cap as it concealed his features, his eyes spied himself around the bodies as he opened the door, stepping out cautiously only to see humpy chest, as in the woman cultist, whom probably went to check up on him, out of reflex, start opening fire on him. He was wearing the uniform after all, but within a split second, a bullet pierced the spot between her eyes, rendering her inert. Aravad meanwhile had done so having thrown himself downward, avoiding the Kalashnikov rounds as he no doubt felt he had alerted a majority of the cultists, whom now would mistake him for an enemy in the dull lighting setting. His lack of shades made him even harder to recognize, thus, Aravad sprinted towards her Kalashnikov, stepping out of the sight of the window. Pulling out the female cultist's batch of grenades as he pulled the pin, and primed the grenade. The cultists coming upstairs would soon find a grenade rolling down, with only 3 seconds in timer and swift in pace. An explosion ensued that ruined the staircase, not enough to make it hard to embark downward upon. Killing about a good load of them into gory rain lacking legs, chests blown apart and the like with shrapnel embedded to the cranium as the other two cultists had found themselves taking cover. Aravad didn't waste time having to go on a stalemate as he begun to sprint to the other set of stairs. Steadying his pace as he quieted them down to silence, running onward to the other flight of stairs as he is now at the ground floor. When what was meant about 2nd floor, if taken to the British referral of flooring, it would've really been the 1st floor, but nonetheless, Aravad, with his duffel bag by his side, peeked to see the two cultists looking up the stairs. Their attention wasn't focused on him, he decided to chance it and run out stealthily to the main doorway outside. Keeping his head down as one of those two remaining cultists, had spotted him. He took place with his back to the door's frame, peeking out to take shots at Aravad, but Aravad was far too fast and by that time, quite far from having accurate shots taken at him. Making his way South.

From there, as his sprint has proven true and apart, having caught no rounds given the haste he took away from the AK rounds, and he calmly caught his breath, he spotted the turmoil between his leader, and the Templars. It wasn't dark as much, at least without his shades on, aiming his weapon as he sighted only one person in mind, having clear view of Reverend Smith. Pulling the trigger whilst in cover, his back to the nearest wall that obscured the Sistine Chapel's view, thick enough to withstand the .50 BMG as it were without scathing the silver haired enigma.

Accompanying cohorts with the Templars were ahead of him, and he could've ended now. And he chose his target's central mass. A bullet straight to the chest, as to puncture the lungs towards the frontal portion of such a prey that was most wasteful and disgusting, loathsome to behold as he had in his hand to further speed up things along to a point of getting the job done.

...

......

.........

That bullet sped towards Reis, having used a single window of opportunity, that small one, where stealth was to his advantage as he was shrouded by darkness, to fire that penetrative round inclined and aimed towards her. That single moment where he made sure to time it to a point she would actually slow and actually stop to engage in her lunacy, whatever it was. The bullet having whizzed underneath the Reverand's armpit as it was not aimed for him, leaving him unscathed, but towards her. She was 30 meters away from him, and he had a good shot having focused it so that when she stops even for a moment, that his hands were steadied, to deliver the debilitating blow. Now all there is, was to watch how it unfolds, with his fate now sealed and made clear in that single FN 5.7×28mm bullet exploding straight out of the barrel and onward to her. The accursed wench responsible for this tragedy that will bring no good to any of this, and all.

Underneath Aravad's armpit was the sword's handle though, so it was no problem lugging it around though anyways. AH WELL. It's like Aravad always said... to himself... in his alone time, that NEVER DATE CAREER WOMEN, so yeah, it's a bad idea, seriously. Like keep his PROFESSIONAL LIFE, out of his ROMANTIC LIFE. Speaking of which, when was the last time Aravad worked anyways? Besides now? Ah well, his boss is TOTALLY FIRING HIM for that one, or better yet, HE IS FIRING ON HIS BOSS! (Geddit? No? Ass.)

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#3 - VIGILANT IN THE VATICAN

#3 - VIGILANT IN THE VATICAN

Re: #3 - VIGILANT IN THE VATICAN

Eris/Reis, and Ritualists He Could Care Much Less About

Reis/Bunch of other Ritualists ---> Armed Team (Vatican Left Wing)

Amadeus/ Templars

Reis/Eris, Ritualists

Initially: Amadeus/Templars. Then: NPC Templars

Amadeus/Templars --> Eris(Reis)/Bowie/NPCRitualists?

Sistine Chapel, Upper Gangway || Amadeus

Out Building of the Vatican

Dome of St. Peter's Basilica|Damon

Back Courtyard of St. Stephen's | Jean

Upper Gangway, Sistine Chapel || Amadeus

Civil Administration Building (Ground Floor -> 1st Floor) - Damon the nub camper/Ritualist NPC's/Palatial Worker NPC's/Guard NPC's

St. Peters Basilica- NPC Templars, NPC Ritualists

Outside of Audience Hall | David Bowie/NPC Ritualists

WALL -> AUDIENCE HALL -> TOWARDS THE RAILWAY STATION|| NPC Ritualists/NPC Templars/NPC Swiss Army folk/Anatoly (NPC)

Inside the Basilica -> Courtyard || Damon, Vanessa, NPC Templars, NPC Ritualists, Anatoly (NPC)

Basilica -> Towards the Railway Station - NPC Templars, Ceri.

Upper Gangway, Sistine Chapel || Amadeus (COMBAT: Aravad -> Jean/Ceri), (RADIO: Tatyana, Vanessa)

OUTSIDE THE RAILROAD BUILDING -> INSIDE || Jean, Anatoly (NPC briefly)

Dome of St. Peter's Basilica: Tatyana (Radio: All Templars)

Outside of Audience Hall | Eris-Reis/David Bowie/NPC Ritualists

Outside of Audience Hall | Eris-Reis/Reverend Smith/NPC Ritualists/Who Even Cares LOL?

Civil Administration Building (1st Floor -> Ground Floor) -> Outside of Audience Hall, Facing Reverend Smith's back (NPC Cultists, Rev. Smith, Reis-Eris, David Bowie)

Re: #3 - VIGILANT IN THE VATICAN