The Battle of Death Mountain: Gamma

[Tearen Wover]

They were on their own now.

Ever since the other Primes had dashed off, the constant wailing howls of the dragons had continued unabated. Everyone spoke of Alpha Squad as if they had the most grueling, dangerous job, but no one exactly knew how many broodlings Volvagia had spawned over the past decade. Sure she wasn't responsible for EVERY dragon in the Steppes, but being the de facto leader of all dragon-kind, she had likely drawn the groveling of more than a few different strains.

Suddenly, a momentous explosion sounded from the top of the Caldera. Had it begun? A nearby stream of lava began frothing and undulating unnaturally, and the collected Primes readied themselves for the onslaught. Harry was half-expecting some sort of bemusing anticlimax, but no, hundreds of slithering, crawling wyrms began to pour out of the molten notch like bats from a cave. Some had wings, some had horns, and some even walked upright with a humanoid gaite, but they all did possess one single defining characteristic.

Their eyes, those gleaming, aqeuous lenses, glinted with a fierce blue-green that marked them as one of Volvagia's kind. The Gorons in the clearing did not hesitate, and immediately started chucking explosive bulbs at the encroaching swarm. Another nearby crack in the mountain began spewing the draconic vermin, and in short enough order, hundreds of barking, hissing dragons were closing on Gamma.

"Well." Miranda said, bashing her steel knuckles together in a shower of sparks. "Shall we?" In response, Colonel and Connor immediately opened fire...

Objective: Fend off Volvagia's horde until either it disperses or Alpha Squad completes their objective.

Players can take four different actions:

Attack- Focus on directly damaging the horde, dealing equal points of damage to your ATK, or 10 dmg per tier of supermove. Power Ups and Forms give the normal ATL and DEF bonuses

Defend- Forgo dealing damage and avoid taking any damage, at the expense of either another Prime or the Gorons

Pull- Call the attention of the horde for an extra amount of damage you decide.

No Action- Deal no Damage and take full damage, with any defended damage automatically being alloted to you. (In other words, don't miss a round)

The Horde deals 16 damage each round, distributed evenly among Primes unless someone defends or pulls. Damage only hurts Primes when the amount alloted to them overcomes their defense, i.e., A 5 DEF Prime who draws 5 damage is unharmed.

There are 20 Gorons, which can serve two functions. Either they can each individually deal the horde 1 point of damage per round, or, you can use them as meat shields to block 2 damage per Goron used. Using them in this way obviously kills them.

The Horde has 1,000 HP, each HP representing one dragon. Extra damage may be granted for outstanding writing. 

Word limit is 800.

[Harry Dresden]

Harry pocketed his blasting rod as the ground shook, gathering his energy and preparing some ice magic within his staff. Originally, the plan was to cast Arctispinae, thin the horde's numbers quickly, but the sudden onslaught of too many dragons to count was... frightening, to say the least. Harry strode in front of the others, staff raised, Winter chilling his blood as it numbed the fear, and all he could think of was killing, maiming, fighting and fighting until he couldn't fight anymore. But that wasn't the way a wizard did things. Harry growled and clamped down on those instincts, instead planting his staff in the ground with a loud snapping noise from the ash crunching underneath it. "If anyone's got the big guns, now's the time to use 'em. Then get behind me." His shouted instructions to the rest of Gamma were cold as the ice that had begun creeping on the ground outwards from him, spiraling lazily from his staff. He poured all the fear that was trying to gnaw at the edges of winter into one spell, along with a good bit of energy from both his normal reserves and Winter, as he raised his right hand, free of any focus, and cast the spell.

"GLACIVALLARE"

The shouted incantation released ice into the volcanic air, weathering the heat without a care in the world. The ice of Arctis Tor was strong, though its Fae nature meant this wasn't to be a permanent fixture. The spiraling shards of ice coalesced into a wall, and the dragon horde took his shouted incantation as a challenge, a good segment of them breathing fire at it, hacking at it with claws, and battering it with tails. The Winter ice cracked somewhat, but, for now, it held. Harry, for his part, had already started preparing his next spell. If he was going to reforge this wall when it cracked, he'd need to time it exactly. He held the spell construct in his mind, and scraps of bastardized Latin and Spanish fell from his lips in a steady chant, a solemn song of cold and darkness, turning the evocation into a halfway-thaumaturgical working so that he could control it a little better, when the time came to cast it.

[Miranda Frost]

Go in, kill Volvagia's brood, then go home. Simple. 

 Nah, nothing was ever this simple. When they approached the battle site, she saw how complex the situation was. Twenty four of Nealaph's allies against a thousand dragons. From the distance they appeared as a dark menacing cloud, but she knew they were closing in and quick. As the group began to space themselves out and break formation to prepare for the assault. She couldn't help but grin behind the ornate steel mask she wore. Now was the time she could break loose. What was there to lose? What could they do? Kill her? Hah.

 She stepped forward towards the charging horde, a fist hovering above her core. Her blood boiled and in that blood she found a spark of power. She followed that  spark throughout her body until it led her to the dark crystal in her chest, resonating with power. Like a hammer and chisel, she struck mentally at the crystal, and its retaliation filled her body with power a normal human could only hope to obtain. Her breathing increased and her teeth gritted together. She was furious: Angry at this horde that dared to challenge her, Angry at the world (This godforsaken, false world), angry at the little white man that sits upon all of it.

 Externally, Miranda's transformation was something to behold, if one was unfamiliar with such transitions. Translucent flames radiated from her entire body, and crimson, fiery wings sprung from her back and a blazing  halo flickered to life above her head. Her steps turned into a full-blown sprint as the cloud came in quicker. She didn't care if the others were charging with her or not. She had long lost the capacity to give a flying rat's ass about them, at least not now. The first few minutes of her transformation is filled with unbridled rage. For all that she is concerned, there is only her and her enemy.

 Soon they were upon her, flashes of reddish brown flying past her screeching angrily at the intruding party. Miranda only sighed, a little pissed that they largely ignored the  glowing fireball bracing against their torrent of scaly bodies. She'd have to grab their attention, and what better way than to leap up and catch the leg of one of Volvagia's dragonlings. Her grip tightened like a vice and the motors in her arm worked like clockwork, allowing her to drag it back down to earth. The dragon yelped and struggled, but there was no use. Miranda was too heavy to carry. Once her feet touched the ground, she grabbed hold of its wing, her grip shattering the dragon's bone, before slamming the heavy body to the ground and stomping her foot into its neck. The scales gave way and then bone.

 One down, nine hundred and ninety nine to go. She turned to find another roaring at her, the little thing starting to spew a jet of fire over Miranda's being. It was hot yes, but her transformation was more than capable than tanking it without much damage. Perhaps a few of her hairs were singed, but this young dragon was not doing any damage to her. She dove into the flames and grasped the smaller dragon's neck. This one was too fragile, but at least it was brave. A quick squeeze and it was toast.

 In her ear she could hear chatter on her communicator though Harry's came through on top.  She needed to get back, but she'd do a little more damage on the way. Immediately she turned and sprinted back to the others. All around her were dragons but they were all focused on something ahead, rather than the danger within their ranks.

 "Not smart", she breathed, her grip catching the tail of another dragon, allowing her to slam the creature to the ash, her heavy footsteps finishing the job as she trampled over it. A few more left this world this way before she was able to break through their lines, sliding over the icy buildup before she braced herself with the others. Harry released a massive wall of ice, which shielded them from the firestorm the horde produced. Her demeanor had cooled a bit after a few minutes, but she was still itching to fight. "Come on, run out of flames, out of breath. My fists never get tired", she muttered, her fists balled up at her side.

[The Rogue]

The mountain broke open and the terrible sound of hundreds of draconic warriors flying out filled the air. At first the young mercenary couldn't do anything but watch in amazement. Some in in front of him barked orders, and shook him from his daze. Connor stepped back and watched in wonder as Harry created a wall of ice out of thin air.

He heard the noises of the draconic horde trying to get through. The mercenary was legitimately scared. He took a deep breath, and looked up at the top of the wall. He felt heat off to his left. Connor turned to that side and saw that Miranda had transformed into a being of fire. She took flight and went over the wall. Connor jumped as high as he could, and himself going even high than he should normally. He took a guess that he was about 10 meters high. He braced on to the wall and jumped again, this time he landed onto a Draconian Warrior, but still stayed on the side of the wall that protected the team. He fired a short burst from his SCAR into his chosen mount. As they fall, Connor rides the dead beast and fires at the rest of the horde.

The ice wall behind him shattered, and then horde resurges. The hundreds of the draconic beast fly right towards the group. They fly with great fury and even knock into one another. Another draconic beast knocks Connor from his mount. He dives into a roll as soon as he lands. He sings up from his roll and lands onto the back of a four legged drake. He buries the muzzle of his rifle into the back of the creature’s skull and guns it down. The creature collapses head first and Connor jumps off and heads back to the team.

He reloads his SCAR, using one of the magazines on his shoulder, while running back to The Line. A large Draconian lands in front him. Connor doesn't stop and squeezes the trigger of his rifle, but it jams. Connor curses softly, then reaches down with his bracing hand and draws Lupa. He pelts the Draconian with the 9mm bullets and it falls. Suddenly a large rhinocerid drake slams into Connor. He is sent sprawling across the ashen ground. The young mercenary gets up and faces this drake.

“Éla se ména , sas áschimo karióli!”, he yells at it while attempting to unjam his rifle. The beast lowers its head and paws at the ground. It snorts and flames jet out of its nostrils.

“Loipón?”, he asks the drake. It bellows and charges. Connor stands there and at the last minute he rolls while drawing his knife. During his roll he scoured the side of the massive beast. It falls and gives a last few bellows. Connor stares at the carcass like a hungry wolf. Using his knife he takes some of the skin and a few bones from the dead beast. He quickly sticks them in his very deep pockets, then wipes the blade on his pants and grins.

He looks to his distance and runs to them. They are all fighting separately, facing away from each other and quite a lengthy distance apart. Connor knits his eyebrows together and frowns slightly,

“Sorry about that, our resident pyro kinda inspired me. Gamma team! Fall in, we have to hold the line together! For only as a team will we succeed!”, he yells over the coms. Connor turns around and starts firing at the horde. He drops the spent mag and reloads for the second time.

[Albert Wesker]

"We appear to be quite alarmingly outnumbered, sir," the synthesized voice of his digital assistant piped up. "If this were a straight numerical comparison, or even a true battle until one side's defeat, the outcome would be all but a foregone conclusion. Statistically speaking, even with the mission's current parameters—"

"I know." Colonel cut the helper navi off. "All we need to do is keep their attention and by time for the others. If we end up getting torn apart, so be it; at least some good might come out of it." He readied his saber as the ground cracked open and the draconic horde spewed forth. "Besides..." His stern expression took on an even more cold cast to it, his tone almost holding something akin to morbid humor as he continued, "...dying twice removes a lot of the fear. The third time might be final, or Omni might not be through with me yet, and it might not. I'm not going to let possibility slow me down."

"Your unwavering determination in the face of another possible dismemberment is truly admirable, sir. I will compose a suitable eulogy to mark your departure, temporary or otherwise, in the event you fall."

As the horde closed in, Miranda went on the offensive, showcasing a surprising amount of brute strength. The so-called wizard, Dresden, unleashed a spectacle of his own, drawing a huge amount of attention and firepower from the angry mob of dragonlings, the wall of ice holding surprisingly fast in the face of such a brutal onslaught. "....time to get to work."

His left arm shot out to one side, fingers slowly curling about the grip of some unseen weapon, even as it slowly formed into being, a digital blueprint of the hulking, multi-barreled missile launcher. It took several seconds, but finally it was fully formed, and his arm momentarily sagged under the weight of the immense weapon. Hauling it upright, he braced it on his shoulder, its trio of barrels pointing skyward. A targeting reticle shot out of one side, forming a holographic screen on which the weapon's missile payloads were displayed. "Maximum firepower....high explosive shells." Locking in the warhead selection, a single pull of the weapon's trigger and a swift triplet of pressurized hisses, the rockets were blasted out of the launcher, and tore a path through the hazy, ash-filled air straight up and out of sight.

Discarding the weapon, it returned to its digital blueprint state, glowing blue lines and shimmering lights, before it disappeared entirely, and the soldier navi brought his saber to bear, making a dash forward toward the cracked, but steady foundation of Dresden's ice wall, the energy of his blade flaring wildly and letting off a sizzling crackle of energy. "Time to cut a path..." A swift leap sent him flying up and over it, right into the sights of the horde. As he had predicted, their eyes all turned up on him for just a moment, the blazing energy in his saber shrouding his entire form in neon green light and harsh, flickering shadows.

"Neo Screen Divide!" A single slash from the blade rent a thundering void in the air, covering the distance between him and the horde in an instant, a sharp Z of vivid green, tearing through several of the dragonlings in the blink of an eye, even as the mechanized soldier's heavy frame landed heavily before the icy barricade, dropping to one knee from the force of his landing. He was immediately set upon by the mass of scaled vermin, clawing, biting, tearing at him, spewing fire and screeching maddeningly at him. He was hard pressed to do more than keep himself from being overwhelmed and born down, torn apart under a mass of writing, scaled beasts, but his saber continued to flash and flare amid the chaos, scoring more than one deep wound on the wyrmlings. It was a brutal contest, leaving a searing gash here, a sparking scratch in his metallic form there, giving as good as he got, and then some.

And then his skyward-fired missiles came back down, hitting the scorched, ashen earth with a resounding series of deafening impacts, like a short-lived rain of thunderbolts, tearing open huge craters and sending members of the horde flying this way and that. And above all, it provided Colonel time to break away and fall back, making a powerful leap to land amid his allies.

"Hold the line together, is it...?" he mused under his breath at Connor's shouting over the din of battle. "...my thoughts exactly."

"And here I thought you left thinking to the strategists, sir!"

Everyone was a critic.

[Tearen Wover]

It was evident, even in the reptilian, stolid faces of the dragon horde, that there was a measure of surprise in the fact they had not been able to simply sweep aside these arrogant intruders like all the others. Echoing screams and immense clamor rang down from the summit; Volvagia was in danger! Yet, these bipeds, these Primes, stood firmly in the path of the horde.

Some of the bestial riot decided to try and get crafty, skirting the edges of the path up the mountain to try and get past the rampaging Primes. Some even succeeded, only to be pulverized and blown to shreds by the wall of Goron warriors that stood behind the Primes. For those wyrms which were brazen enough to get close, the larger Gorons tucked into tight balls and ran them down as boulders might. The scrubling draked that tried to slink back to the horde were summarily pelted with bomb flowers.

White hot viscerae and boney fragments began to litter the charred landscape like motes of molten gold amidst the cindered scree that pocked the steep path. Even as Miranda snapped the neck of another writhing dragonling, she noted with some satisfaction the number of bodies being piled up.

In her brief survey, however, she did notice something; the dragons they were killing were slowly looking larger and larger. A hot, red wind that bore the scent of blood and fire returned her to the moment at hand. Details could be worked out after the punching had abated.

Harry Dresden pulls for 20 damage, and blocks with a t2 defensive supermove. He deals 5 damage to the horde and manages to get away with 3 damage to himself.

Miranda Frost goes on full attack, and uses a t1 powerup for 10 damage. Thanks to her naturally high defense, she walks away without a scratch.

Connor- Connor goes on attack3, dealing 10 damage as well as taking 2 damage.


Colonel- Full Attack, using a t1 super, dealing 15 damage and receiving 2

Gorons: deal 20

Horde HP: 145/200 dealt

[Harry Dresden]

Harry was going to have a hard time restraining the Winter mantle during this particular fight. Overwhelming odds, battling creatures of heat and flame, and no Laws of Magic for Harry to root himself on? Yeah, that was a trick that he wasn't sure how to pull, but thankfully, it had a fairly simple solution. He didn't restrain himself, for once. This wasn't killing, this was cleanup duty. Dragons weren't just a glaring exception to the Laws, they were a major power of Evil unto themselves, at least in his world. These dragons were helping terrorize an entire Verse, so Harry assumed the same rules applied. Namely, if you can kill them without dying, do it.

Harry dropped his blasting rod into his pocket and poured magic into his ice wall, re-freezing the melting portions, before shifting his concentration to another pair of evocations in rapid succession. With a shouted "Forzare!" and a sweep of his staff, Harry batted away a couple of the smaller drakes from himself with a sphere of force. Then, he reached for the Winter power, pulled it forward, and clenched the fist that had previously held the blasting rod. The wall shattered.

Reaching out with his connection to the ice, Harry worked his second major spell of the day. The wizard's staff slammed into the crust of ash covering the mountainside with a sharp crack, and with a cry of "Arctispinae!", Harry refroze the spiraling fragments of ice into spears before launching them at some of the larger members of Volvagia's horde with a grand sweep of his hand, the sheer might of Winter not requiring the aid of a focus for something as fundamental as unleashing pain and death on one's foes. The wizard slumped slightly, conjuring a shield from his bracelet to try and block some of the horde's onslaught but mainly trusting to his comrades to draw some of the enemy aggression.

[Albert Wesker]

From the look of things, they had managed to at the very least put a dent in the horde so far. There was a significant number of corpses and broken pieces of dragonlings piling up. The situation had gone from bleak at the outset, with the small group hopelessly outnumbered and locked in a contest to just try and survive and buy time, to one that actually looked like they might manage to hold the line after all. Just optimistic thinking? Maybe. But it was optimism or grim resolve in the face of death in a situation like this. And he'd already come to terms with death being just a stumbling block and temporary thing — hopefully, at any rate — but it was still something he'd rather not have to deal with.

Which meant only one thing: let fly with everything he had.

Induct Missile was still reloading for another volley and was offline. Using another Neo Screen Divide so soon might overload his saber systems and shut them down for a brief moment. That was a risk he couldn't take.

Again his left arm was flung out to the side, his fingers closing about the handle of another weapon as its digital blueprint materialized in his grasp. A flare of blue light suffused his arm as the thing was shoved entirely into a corporeal state, weighing down his arm with its sheer bulk. With a heave and a flourish he brought it up, bracing the massive frame of the tank cannon against his shoulder. He took a long moment ti sight in on his intended target, letting the so-called 'wizard', Dresden, take the focus for a moment with the frigid assault he let fly, only to immediately be met with a vicious retaliation as several of the horde's number crashed upon a shield he brought to bear.

"I believe this qualifies as quite the golden opportunity for some crowd-control, sir." his digital assistant piped up cheerily.

"Dresden! Hit the deck!" A single glance back his way was all the wizard needed to get the point. He let gravity do the work for him, and as the claws of the dragonlings raked against his shield, he fell back with the impact, putting himself between the ground and his barrier. And then Colonel depressed the trigger of the massive cannon, and it responded with a dull rumble and a belch of flame as its payload left the barrel, and hit the largest of the horde full-on in the torso, exploding in a massive blast of fire and thundering force. The space around the wizard was quickly cleared, and with the cannon discarded, Colonel himself wasted no time in charging into the fray directly.

"I feel I should point out the fallacy in judgement of this plan, sir; charging right at them is not exactly wise."

"I'm aware," the soldier program responded shortly.

And then he crashed into the mass of the horde, his saber and bare fist pitted against the claws, teeth and fire of the drakes and dragonspawn. And for a few brief moments, he held his own; flashes of green energy and bits of scale and hide were the predominant sight among the chaotic melee. Then shreds of his cape, and slivers of his armored frame began to join them. Flashes and sparks of electricity as his inner workings caught glimpses of the red light of the steppes soon joined the display, before the cybernetic soldier was slowly overwhelmed.

"I don't want to say 'I told you so', sir, but..."

"Save it."

His entire body lit up with a violet glow, and flickers of the same color showed through the struggle. His saber crackled with a surge of power that he could hear even over the din of the battle about him. A surge of strength as the dull glow about him surged into a powerful aura, blazing like violet flame, had him rising up out of the poor situation, throwing the drakes off of him and sailing straight up and back out of the melee. His cape shredded, covered in tears and scars in his coat and metallic frame and looking decidedly worse for wear, but he was still whole. "Screen...Divide!" And a single slash of his saber sent a blade of emerald lightning scything through where he had stood previously, carving deep wounds in many of the dragonlings, scattering the group this way and that, breaking their bestial, pack-focused attack apart. He landed heavily, dropping to one knee from the impact.

"Press the attack while we have an opening..." he managed to get out, forcing more strength into his words than he really had in him.

[The Rogue]

“Form in a circle! Backs facing each other!” Connor yells over the cacophony of battle. He ignores the crystalline sounds of Harry’s magic and continues to fire at the swarming drakes. Suddenly, Colonel’.exe’ runs out into the foray, glows brightly and unleashes some beam. The strange man only says one thing while he drops down to one knee,

“Press the attack while we have an opening…”

Connor nods and reloads for the fourth time and and charges outward. He slides underneath a dragon and fires at its softer underbelly. It collapses after Connor clears the dead beast, and once he does so, Connor leaps. He barely reaches 5 feet high when a large sinuous red and golden drake swats him down. The rifle skitters off to the left and Connor groans as the Drake roars at him to stand. Connor rises slowly,

“Mitéra maláka,” he says to the beast. The ugly thing rears its head and out comes its terrible breath of flames. Connor rolls right several times and gets the beast to face away from the team. He lets Lycöan’s Electromagnetic Coil Chamber charge, while it is still in the holster. The dragon breathes out its flames again, and this time Connor slides underneath the stream of fire. He draws Lycöan and starts pulling the trigger, emptying the clip into the beast. It collapses into the ashen ground. Connor looks around and quickly harvest the horns of the drake.

Connor runs over to his rifle and checks it quickly,

“Tch, what a shame…,”

He throws the rifle away as it had been severely damaged. He drops Lycöan’s spent mag and slaps in a new one. He draws Luoa and reloads it as well. He heads back to the others when his shoulder feels a little too warm, he looks over at it and notices that it is on fire.

“Merdē!”

Connor bats at the flames and they die down.

“Goddamnit”, he keeps firing at the surrounding horde, looking a bit grumpy. He reaches the others and takes his post once more, still shooting at the horde.

[Miranda Frost]

The others had given their best, and even then the horde still stood strong. Only the vast weaklings of Volvagia's brood had been cleansed. What remained were no pushover. These appeared to be fully growned and while much fewer than their youngling counterparts, they made up for their raw power.

 They were fascinating to watch, circling the group, scanning for weaknesses before diving in for the kill. Miranda braced herself as a few dove in, only to narrowly missed the group. The goal here was simply to cloud the air with ash and dust, lowering visibility. Miranda didn't have trouble seeing through the dust, but her Goron company weren't so lucky. She witnessed one in particular separate from the group. Even now she could see a large one in particular close in.

 Miranda bit her tounge and sprinted over, hoping to catch the dragon in the act. To the Goron, she appeared as an angel of death, with her flames casting away the dust and shielding him from the descending claws of the dragon. Fool, saving him was never her intention.

 Her hand could barely close around a single claw, yet it was enough to stop it. The Goron behind her had stumbled over in shock. Annoyed, the towering angel flapped her fiery wings and shouted, "Stand and fight!"

 With a burst of rage her grip snapped the claw in half, her other hand already grabbing onto one of its limbs to keep it from flying away. In pain and hatred its crimson eyes met Miranda's and its maw dripped down.

 "You think you can stop all of us? Our numbers will overwhelm you puny whelps and the Goron villages will burn!", the dragon spoke, its other claw spearing towards her head. It was fast, so she couldn't quite move away but only slightly enough to where it wouldn't be lethel. However, saving the life of oneself often carries a price.

 The claw fell away and her head dipped slightly. Blood gushed from her eye socket, this battle taking her last original eye from her. The pain was dull, but the shock of having another part of her taken away was greater. Being an amputee, she knew this shock very well and experiancing it multiple times did not bring tolerance. She was stunned for a moment, but she did not  let go of the dragon.

 The strike and cut away her mask, revealing a wide grin on her face. It was not the smile of enjoyment but rather of malice. "You know... I don't remember much about myself. I do know though... that I tend to give more in return that what I take in.", she breathed out, her other hand gripping the dragons limb and tearing it from the dragon's body.   The dragon cried in agony, its wings pulling itself to safety. She turned back towards the goron, crimson light beaming down at it. "Get up, arm yourself. He isn't done with us"

[Tearen Wover]

The air of Death Mountain was alive with the screams of dying beasts, and the glittering of the ever present embers which eddied and twirled through the tumultuous winds. Perhaps a requiem fitting for the countless souls devoured by the fiery hearts of Volvagia's brood, and even the twisting dregs themselves which called that violent mountain home. The heady apértif of adrenaline had long given way to the hearty main course of pain and bloodshed on that fated morning, and what a bitter stew that had been brewed.

The beasts, fell though they were, were slain by the dozens at the hands of the four assembled primes and their geologic patrons. Miranda Frost, the Woman Incomplete, who was wreathed in her own scintillating flames streaked through air and soot, violently sundering the iron bones of the clamoring horde. Harry Dresden, the Winter Knight, who fought fire with its oldest foe. His cold sorceries offered no balm against the indignant flares of the mountain's own host of dreaded hellspawn, but in turn, showed that same flock that they were no alpha predators. Not here. Colonel, silent and driven, had heretofore been resolutely composed in keeping with his august nature. Such vestiges of the civilized ways of man had been abandoned by this point, and all that remained were the destructive lines of code that flowed through his own body as did the blood of his compatriots. Finally, there was The Hound. A simple man by any other measure, Connor was the rock of this band of heroes, the grounding in sanity that kept them all from losing themselves to unmitigated rage. What then might one ponder of the fact that he himself was beginning to lose the battle against his own primal nature? At what point along the path of rage does one cease to be truly sentient?

It was this thin line that served as the only separation between dragon and Prime, and fragile though it was, it was still weighty enough to give the opposing sides more than enough incentive to brutalize one another. Colonel uttered a heavy grunt as he was dashed to the ground by a wingless ground wyrm, who immediately pounced upon the Navi with predatory reverie. It was a misplaced joy, as not a moment later, Connor Hound crashed into the side of the screaming lizard and emptied his current clip into the fleshy underside of the monster's neck. Colonel may have considered thanking the human, if it wasn't for the fact that they had no time for such pleasantries.

There was only a job to be done, and there was still a long way to go.

[The Rogue]

Connor sees a flightless drake thrash his robotic comrade. He acts quickly and throws himself into the drake, emptying the current magazines into the creature's neck. Once it falls dead he pushes the lifeless form off of the robot. He lends out a hand and helps Colonel up,

“Always keep an eye out,” Connor says with a smirk. He reloads Lycöan and Lupa again.

“Alright let's go,” he steps forward and as soon as his foot touches the ashen ground a large wingless and limbless wrym shoots up from underneath the young mercenary. It swallows him whole, but the young mercenary won't be some draconic worm’s snack. He snaps…

A piercing howl is unleashed from inside the monster’s gullet. Streams of blood pours down from five points at about the halfway point of the wrym’s long neck. Then suddenly a mass of fur rips its way out of the monster. The wrym falls dead and the mass lands. It stands and reveals itself to be a 8 foot tall Werewolf with reddish brown fur and piercing amber eyes. It does have some intelligence, but it is primal at best. The Beast scans the battlefield, then gives a low growl. The beast takes a leap and at the top of its arch it grabs on to a large drake. The Wolf then starts clawing the sides and wing membranes of the dragon.

The drake screeches as the Wolf crawls over it. The Beast clamps down on the drake's neck and continues to tighten on the creature's neck. There is a snap and whimper as the pair falls, the Wolf leaps off of his kill and on to the back of the another dragon.

The Beast claws up and down the dragon’s back. The drake flails and screams as the Wolf bites into the shoulder muscles that lead into the wing. They fall and the Beast jumps off before impact, landing safely a few feet away. It searches for more prey.

A small four legged dragon, one of the ‘stragglers’, roars at the Beast. The Wolf turns and growls in response, and then dragon takes action. The dragon gives itself some air and speed with a great flap of its wings. It sends itself at the Wolf, and once it gets there the Beast smacks the dragon’s muzzle closed with a swipe of its paw. The Beast swings with its left, leaving several deep slashes on the four legger’s chest. The dragon howls with pain as the Wolf slams into the wounded drake. It actually lifts up the dragon and slams it back down into the ground. The creature opens its jaw slightly and bright flames glow from within. The Beast remembers something about its new found prey, they didn't just have teeth and claws for weapons, but another weapon laid dormant in them, the weapon of Hell Breath. The Beast pounces on the drake's head, making it slam into the ground, but the dragon keeps the flams brewing. The Beast points the dragon at one of its brood as the drake fires its Hell Breath. The shot missed but the Beast keeps on fighting it's best opponent yet. It holds the drake's upper jaw with one paw and the lower in the other. The Beast howls as it forces the two parts apart. A hideous snap breaks the drake's jaw, then the Beast starts tearing into the throat of the dragon. Once it eats its fill, the Beast leaps off, looking for more of its new favorite food. The First Prey, or the Scale flesh...

[Miranda Frost]

The battle raged on, the dragon army unable to break through the wall the Primes presented them. The mission had proved to be a tedious one. Miranda knew her job, but she aspired to accomplish more. They were to hold back the enemy so that Volvagia could be slain unhindered by her brood. Miranda would accomplish more. She, with her band, would crush the enemy rather than delay.

Even if they were on the same team however, it left a sour, nearly metallic taste in her mouth when the soldier, Conner, took her kill. Her remaining eye lowered upon him wordlessly. She took note of his mess, as if he were holding back a completely bestial side from the rest of them. This was a battle, where the truth of truths made themselves known. Attempted to defy this rule was a fool's errand. She watched, ignoring his shallow words, as he moved on to his next victim. When the fighting was over she'd have to speak with him.

The shepherd of fire's eye moved from her comrade to the final wave bounding towards the tiring primes. She couldn't hold her current form for much longer and fatigue began to hold its place in her chest. One could see her halo and wings flicker, and the crimson radiance in her eye start to fade. She would need to hold on for just a little longer. For what she saw that moment she could tell that they would either achieve victory or defeat at this moment. This time the group seemed to have many of Volvagia's eldest of offspring. Perhaps the battle with their younger brethren called to them, rousing them from slumber.

In either case it was either kill or be killed. At this point in the battle her coat had warded off most blows, but now it would do nothing but slow her down. She needed to help end this quickly, so shedding her armor would give her the boost she needed.

She  brought her hand up to the -ipper that held her coat together and pulled it down. The weight of the coat did the rest, shedding down from her form as she did so. From her short memory, she couldn't remember a time she ever freed herself from that prison. The feeling it gave her was one of weightlessness. Unhindered, her prosthetic arms and legs could perform at maximum efficiency.

Under the coat, one could find her wearing something a soldier would wear to battle in a more modern age. She wore tattered BDU pants with weathered black boots with an olive green shirt that at one time had not been sleeveless. The open mechanics of her arms had eaten into the clothing she wore beneath her protective coat. Any more injury to her body would surely force her to become more machine than human, though one could surely mistake her as something mechanical in nature.

She sighed and placed her hand on her chest as she walked toward the coming tide of fire and scale. Her form was about to expire, and even disappeared for a few moments.

Within her mind, words whispered to her "Call for us, the power in all of us", she spoke those words aloud, energy sparking from her hand into her chest to stir up the power within her anew. Her wing returned and her halo blinked to  life once more.

She crouched low and charged.

What happened then wouldn't be remembered. Her mind and memory had already been damaged and even now she was pushing it to their limits. The only thing she would be able to recall were flashes of red, the heat of fire washing over her, and the feeling and sound of scales cracking beneath her fevered fists. Her movements were a flurry, driven by pure instinct rather than skill. She could hear the voices in her ear: Her comrades, her enemies, the pulsating hum within her body.

When her mind returned to a working state she found herself upon her back bathed in the blood that could have either been hers or her enemies or perhaps both. Her body wracked in dull pain, but she could discern the injuries that had been dealt to her. Win or lose, she was spent. Her red eyes met the dark crimson of the sky above her. She found it odd that this world of fire and chaos would feel so peaceful. If it weren't for the pain in her chest and sides, it would have been relaxing.

"If any of you are still around... I may need assistance getting on my feet", she spoke softly into her coms. As embarrassing as it was, she would need them to help her get mobile.