The Battle of Death Mountain: Alpha

[Tearen Wover]

The array of mighty Primes dashed and stomped resolutely through the crunchy lava dust underfoot, determined to reach the summit before the horde had a chance to muster itself. Each had their own doubts about the tenability of Nealaphh's plan, but all errant thought was eradicated when they crested the lip of the caldera.

A shimmering, roiling lake of lava nearly a quarter mile in diameter splashed and frothed angrily within the shallow black bowl. Great geysers of molten death spewing melted stone high into the sky with tremendous explosions. Somehow, preposterously, a large island languished in the very middle of the lake, its black sides glinting with an interminable shower of winking fire motes.

The Primes squinted and shielded themselves as they adjusted to being pelted by a near constant stream of cinders. The acrid smoke was thick enough to completely obscure anything more than fifty feet away, and the roar of the implacable geologic monstrosity beneath their feet made shouting mandatory.

In spite of all of this, things seemed too quiet.

"Nealaphh. He is certain the beast is here?" Thor bellowed, hammer drawn and ready. Zack swatted an incoming bomb of smoking stone away from his face and hollared a reply.

"Look at this place! Where else would a legendary fire monster hang out?!"

Tom spoke now for what seemed like the first time that morning, having cast a relatively simple charm to keep the ashes and embers at bay.

"Perhaps we need to knock. Mr. Paleblood?" Tom asked, gesturing to the diseased maul in the Plague Marine's grip. Nodding, the cyclopean warrior gripped the Gigaton Hammer in two crusted claws and slammed it into the volcanic substrate with an overhead swing. The bang was enormous, enough even to startle Gildarts, who edged away from the field of impact as shards of obsidian were blasted in all directions. The Strongest Prime glanced back towards the lake, and noticed the central island shifting and crumbling.

"Bigger than I expected..." Gildarts grumbled.

Rounds: 3


Posting Order: Volvagia First, then individual calls lasting no more than three days.

Time Limit: After calling, PCs have two hours to post before calls open again

Word Limit: 1,200

Random Events: If Gamma squad fails to contain Volvagia's brood swarm, they will show up in the third round as a T3 Assist

[Storyteller]

From where the colossal fire drake slept within its mount of glittering obsidian cinders and coiling pools of molten rock, a strident bang resounded through the labyrinthine chambers of Volvagia’s den. Its nostrils flared and snuffed, a prismatic aura rippling the surrounding air as its titanic girth shifted into wakefulness.
 
Who would intrude upon such sacred rest?
 
The volcano’s gaping top belched out a massive plume of smoke, flames veiled in reddish heat hazily unfurling across the dusky sky. Seismic shocks vibrated through the landscape, only the glow from the scattered craters providing illumination by which those gathered could squint into the foggy chasm. Heat glistened upon their skin, pungent with salt and sweat.
 
With a deafening crack, the mountainside was split in twain; a luminous, blazing pulse sent a cloud of dirt and soot hurtling towards the warriors, driving them several staggering paces backwards from the stygian blackness that now stretched before them. A gaping fissure with its mouth frozen in perfect agonized rictus wailed back at them when they ventured to return their gaze, a chill like the polar inversion of fire overflowing within their noble warrior’s hearts.
 
A colossal form soared out from the darkest depths of the mountain in an ominous cloud of scarlet smoke, its eyes like diadem-shaped siphons of blazing gold that oozed and wept. Glares from the intense heat gleamed upon its black carapace as the dragon’s throat flared and it bared its jagged fangs.  A deep, jarring quake stuttered through the Ashen Steppes as its great head turned to glare scornfully at the battalion of primes that would dare challenge the magnificent Volvagia.
 
The dragon Volvagia’s maw slackened, a torrent of wet and vicious gorge dribbling out through its serrated teeth as it let loose a thundering, primordial roar that seemed to shake the very rafters of the heavens, the threads of reality itself fraying. Angry snarls and screeches echoed its cry, the drake’s brood surging outwards on winds of devastation and athwart the craggy, fire-veined earth.
 
Howling winds blew against the ground, churning up firestorms of dust and shimmering heat. In one swift lunge, Volvagia’s serpentine belly sent gusts crackling like bullwhips through the air as it swept over the cluster of primes, its talons shrieking piercingly over their heads. Volvagia’s neck bowed and curved in delight as it observed their frantic ducking out of the corner of its eye, ash and fire buffeting the little stinging ants as they scurried and danced.
 
As it arched back around in a corkscrew-like helix of gleaming scales, Volvagia spat a blast of white-hot flame into the smoke-clogged atmosphere, a phantasmagoric reverberation of heat hailing down upon its reviled foes. Flames leapt across its spiraling horns as Volvagia’s winding coils twisted and undulated through the air, an inferno of dripping yellows and oranges slicing in cyclically-inclined drafts through the air.
 
A brief scintilla of light glinted in its peripheral vision, certainly nothing more than an infinitesimal spark among thousands of others, and so the unbothered dragon continued to revel in its complete and total dominion over the group of unfortunate primes. That is, until a burst of light snapped upwards and crackled perilously near to its side, reining the large fire lizard’s attention back in with all its grand peskiness.
 
Whirling around with the wrath of a death-bringer burning in its gaze, the immense drake shrieked and made to dive-bomb the warriors scuttling about far below it, its curved beak gleaming as it upended a torrent of fiery rage upon them. A steady, sustained blast of blindingly bright fire soared over their heads as the dragon glided past. Red and orange tongues lapped against the gutted volcano’s smoky puffs, intermingling imperceptibly with the uninterrupted worms of lava already slavering out.
 
Out of the residual flames left behind in its jagged shadow, the primes burst forth with renewed vigor. They were determined to destroy this monster, this destroyer of homes and devourer of stone people. Their minds whispered of wealth, greed, hopes for the future and dreams long finished. Volvagia could not empathize; there was only hunger, roiling the ashes that gasped and spluttered ceaselessly in its heart.
 
Volvagia’s jawbones loosened as it reeled through a sea of smog and flickering embers, its soulfireheart razing the skies and the earth into volatile thickets of fire. Lesser beings shriveled and scattered like autumn leaves before its breath, and yet these foolish primes persisted. The dragon deliberated on this, perplexed.
 
Armor and weapons melt; organs and crispy skin broil into ash and create a crucible of bone. They would burn no rarer or more gallantly than the heroes of old, whatever their worldly cause.
 
That split instant of rumination concluded, Volvagia’s sides heaved like the bellows of a forge as ferrous liquid poured from the span of interminable paradise between its jaws.

805 words - wordcounter.net

[Gildarts]

Gildarts had been somehow in the right place, at the right time, to encounter such an adventure. The prime’s thoughts came to a collected halt! as his sinew body’s instinct caught up, or rather, intercepted his oblivious perception of the flow of events that had led him here. Here. Where he was standing, on craggy obsidian sharp enough to tear holes through the soles of his shoes, this very spot, where they had climbed partway up the mountain in order to face a creature he felt he was destined to meet, and it was here, where words had failed him.

Gildarts allowed the simple tilt of his head upward, his eyes followed sharply, keen to any movements that appeared attacks from the mighty beast. It was here where one of them would fall, it was either he or it, and he wasn’t willing to be defeated anytime soon. It was almost funny to think that he would rather die. That’s what he was here for, right? He and the others, just a few feet behind him, as he cast a casual glance over his right soldier, there was a young man with black hair, a creature who had slated bronze armor hung over the bulk of his being, a strange man that looked similar to himself, yet he was adorned with silver steel and protruding from his right hand was a mighty hammer, lastly there was a shape that Gildarts could not quite pick up out of the far-reaching corner of his eyes.

The wizard took a breath and felt the tension tighten in his shoulders. Danger, mingled with trepidation as it crawled like slithering snakes underneath his pasty skin. A fire-singed breath was drank into his lungs, this very well may be the last time he had to breathe. Using his insight and experience was second nature to him, not only did first like to size up his foe, but he also had sized-up his crew on their rigorous hike up. Gildarts felt the gentle weight of responsibility fall on him, usually the loner was dead-set on battling his enemies alone, yet even this time, he knew this was not something that a single man -not even with the magic he wielded- could defeat. There would be casualties. That was the reality, and this threat was all too real. Another lasting glance was cast back at those who followed and stood beside him, however he could not keep the mournful evidence from his eyes, he who had such a love for the future, could not bear to imagine just who of this group would live and who was destined die.

He’d rather die himself, than lament a fallen comrade. With this in mind, and with no tangible fear of death, Gildarts would fight like hell.

The haunting descent of a looming shadow poured over him and the others as they stood as but ants below the feet of the mighty beast. Immediately, a gust of smoldering smoke, resembling the climate’s already terrible wind began to tumble down on Gildarts’ shoulders, he had barely even blinked before he felt his toes sliding out from underneath him. The meager group behind him had barely stopped to puff out a breath of relief, yet the dragon whose essence was sheer destruction now seemed to be sniggering from his perched place in the shaded orange sky. His tail coiled like a python’s, while the luminescent scales flashed and flickered as it caught on any ounce of light, glittering from the spark-infested rocks below.

Gildarts found himself taking shelter with the others, yet his mind zoomed in on the fire-born imagine of the monster and its spiraling shape as it cut figure eights into the thick smoke pouring in from every corner of the sky. He did not have to stare at it for more than a second to know his eyes had lain on something that held such a devastating magic. It was the creature of his nightmares, a dragon, looking so distinctly like Acnologia.

The fear, if he had any, was invisible, and the group around him responded to the spewing rays of charisma that came with Gildarts’ character. Even in the face of fire, he seemed hopeful. The younger boy with flashy black hair even caught a shard of a smile on the grizzled man’s lips as he faced the impossible feat that flew in the sky a hundred meters up. The murderous beast seemed to excrete another laugh from it’s disgusting jaw, fire bellowed from its nostrils shaped in slits, and Gildarts faced the impossible challenge of hitting an enemy that hovered high in the sky, with only his fists and the magic that would extend from them. He’d have to communicate this to the others, the one with the blonde hair, yes, he looked like he had the strength enough to throw Gildarts at the beast, but first, a wave of fire burst forth, creating an inferno of hell in the air they breathed once more.

Fire raged in the wizard now, who could feel his expression seethe with a freshly wrought malice. He’d had enough of that, and suddenly a net of magic was thrown from his hand and crash magic erupted into the sky, intercepting the beam of hell that would have surely blackened his and his comrades’ skin. But it had worked against the fire to disrupt it, now his feet were heavier in the ground, and the prime knew he could not keep shooting out his magic into the sky to shield the team. Below Volvagia, the humans resembled nothing but pests. They had not the thoughts of a dragon nor the power to vanquish one, the haughty creature though, seemed curiously taken aback when it saw that the primes had managed to survive the creature’s last attack, yet, it had been quite a while since the beast had the opportunity for any fun. Now it’s eyes fell on an entire line of new toys that had marched up its hill and now presumed knocking...

The delay gave Gildarts a chance to mutter something to Thor, “I might need you to throw me up at it, I think I can get a clear shot, but not yet, I’ll need a distraction.”

Though in that time, the dragon had ceased the swish of its tail and decided that simply fire would not longer cut it. Prey was much funner to play with when it was scared. A smile slithered across the parting of its maw. Gildarts sensed the oncoming threat and from his hand a slice of magic extended into the sky, the beam broadened with the more distance it traveled and as the dragon’s bond with the air allowed it to dodge the main strike of this movement effortlessly as the serpent swept the sky and bashed the side of its body into the mountain’s rocks. “Watch out!”

It had created an avalanche.

[Thor]

“I might need you to throw me up at it, I think I can get a clear shot, but not yet, I’ll need a distraction.”

Thor laughed as Volvagia struck at the cave walls above them. The dragon was massive, and was more like a serpent than the standard dragon that could be found in Muspel. It would be good practice for Nidhogg, the world eater. Thor would not fall to this child of Surtr. He looked up as the ceiling shook with the monstrous strike of their airborne enemy and watched as the creature spun and coiled through the air. Large chunks of rock began to crack and fall. Thor brought his Hammer up, smashing the boulder into rubble.

“I can do more than throw you!” Thor bellowed over the crashing of rocks around them. Thor knocked a boulder out of his path with a powerful swing, sending it crashing into an adjacent cave wall. as he dashed toward Gildarts. Thor began to swing his mighty Hammer in a circle, letting the momentum grow.

“Hold tight my friend!” Thor took his comrade by the arm and released his Hammer’s swing launching them both toward the dragon, Hammer first. Volvagia saw the red-caped warrior flying toward his mighty form, another prime dangling behind him.

“You face the power of Thor now!” Fire spewed forth from the beast’s gargantuan maw. Thor felt a burning, hotter than any he had felt before. He knew he couldn’t change course quickly enough. He tossed his passenger up and forward, aiming for above the flame and over the dragon’s head. The flames enveloped the Asgardian. He fell to ground, his smoldering cape flapping around him in tatters as crashed into the platform below. Using his Hammer as a crutch he slowly lifted himself from the ground.

“I imagined that going differently…” He stood, armor and cape still smoking with the power of the blaze. Thor spun his Hammer once more, letting go to launch it at Volvagia. Then he looked up to see a boulder falling directly toward him. “That is not good.” Thor put his arms above him and prepared himself for impact.  

[Okor]

Mummified entrails wrapped themselves around the God’s waist, dessicated intestines riddled with twisted barbs scraping against the silver plate of his divine armour, unholy strength pulling him out from the meteoritic descent of the boulder. Both the Asgardian and the stone hit the ash-strewn ground at the same moment, the plague marine grunting in exertion, a plagued claw wrapped in his own innards providing the needed strength to pull such a blessed being from their fate. Stoney shrapnel bit deep into his dead flesh as his bolter howled, spitting hatred and death as his internal organs slowly receded from the god, slithering back within his warp-touched corpse. A snarl issued forth from his battered helmet as he pressed onwards, the massive heft of the Gigaton Hammer strapped across his back. ”Get up.” The Asgardian scrambled to their feet as ancient hands performed the time-worn task of reloading, an emptied sickle clip dissipating into Omnillium as it fell from his weapon, a magazine that threatened to set off every geiger counter in the ‘verse taking its place.

The crimson length of the great Wyrm coiled in the fire-tinged skies above them, a fanged abyss of a maw dripping with molten flame turning as emerald eyes set into an Obsidian mask settled on the irritant of the infectious warrior. The beast sank lower, its wingless, lithe body surging through the sky as it roared its rage at the pathetic mortals that dared to challenge it, the flame that personified its limitless depths of anger bathing the Chosen in napalm.

He burned. There was no other way to describe the sensation. Rivulets of rusted iron dripped from millennia-old ceramite, superheated metal sizzling against deadened flesh, silvered droplets forming intricate patterns as they bonded with scarred skin. A laboured step brought the pyre that was once the Dean of Security forward, the bolter clutched in flame-wreathed hands screaming back a battlecry of its own as charred chunks of flesh fell from the conflagration. Irradiated shells burst against Volvagia’s ruby hide, shards of hazardous shrapnel burying themselves in nigh-impenetrable scales.

He could not fall here. The thought was unthinkable, Anathema. His every neuron cried for blood, every cell within his blighted body calling him to war. This was his reason for being, the validation for his existence. His tabard burned to cinders as singed claws pulled the trigger again, the savage sentience inhabiting his wargear howling in joy, the agony of its immolation secondary to the fulfillment of its purpose.

Kill. Maim. Burn. The words came easily, muttered beneath his breath as an accompaniment to the roaring flame that consumed him as he broke into a run, the coiling drake above them screaming its infinite hatred at the foolish Primes beneath it. Survival was not a priority. Nurgle watched over him, shielded his soul, strengthened his bones. To fear for his life was to fail in his faith, to doubt that The Lord of All would watch over his child in this accursed land. As if on cue, the sonic wave of Volvagia’s anger made manifest washed over him, the sheer power of it forcing Okor to brace himself, scorched remnants of dead skin flying from his carcass as the flame died out, extinguished by the beast.

Staccato bursts of fire met this latest exhalation, Primes responding to its fire in kind. A mercenary took cover behind a suitably scorched rock, the carbine in his hands peppering the flank of the Dragon with lead. Murmuring hell-born curses beneath his breath, he continued his fusillade, the distinct lack of combustion occurring about his person a noted benefit, his once rust-resplendent carapace scorched black, the molten steel that cocooned him cooling against his charred flesh. The murderous recoil of the bolt weapon was noticeably muted due to his augmented armour and the blasphemous blessings engraved into his soul as it added to the barrage, the explosive shells doing what damage they could to such a massive beast.

A figure caught his eye. Standing between the Onyx horns of the great Wyrm, Gildarts stood, one mechanical hand gripping an obsidian pillar as burning white geometry flowed into their flesh, a fist poised above Volvagia’s skull. Chuckling, he hammered the tetanus-infested trigger. The Primes showed spirit, at least.

The shattered shards of ebon bone set within his infested chasm of a mouth forced themselves into a grin.

The only question was whether that spirit could withstand the ever-burning wrath of Volvagia. The Ashen Steppes were littered with the remains of those who had dared, the souls of those sacrificed to the pyre of its rage howling their torment in the winds, the ash that was once their corporeal form whipping through the air.

He did not intend to join their Choir. His weapon spat defiance at the volcanic God before him, his Deicidal intent announced.

Kill. Maim. Burn.

[Zack Fair]

It was funny how things managed to come back around. It hadn’t been too long ago that Zack stood on that fated cliff in his own world, and was gunned down by the men and women he had once called allies. His only sin had been daring to serve the innocents before the interests of those in power. Now he stood in a caldera near the peak of Death Mountain, committing that same sin once more. This time, however, he was a part of the superior numbers taking on the lone warrior. Yet, he now understood what the grunts he faced in his own last stand must have felt. There may have been strength in numbers, but there was certainly no comfort.
 
Zack stood near the plague marine that would stop for nothing, not even his own immolation. The former SOLDIER had materialized the rifle given to him by the Koopa Kingdom’s best engineers, and poured bullet after bullet through the barrel and into the flying wyrm that ruled this Verse. Yet, all of his gunfire seemed to be doing nothing. Volvagia was moving just as quickly and striking just as decisively as before. Another magazine ran empty, and Zack decided that enough was enough. This time he didn’t reload, but instead threw the entire gun to the ground.
 
The weapon never touched the ash covered surface, instead dissipating into Omnilium well before it could complete its fall. Zack had already forgotten the gun, for he had reached back and drew his titanic sword just as soon as he was able. He held the massive weapon ready, watching only for a second as the dragon occupied itself with Thor and Gildarts. With a seemingly effortless jump, his Mako enhanced legs launched the young warrior high into the sky. While Volvagia had its focus on Thor, Zack descended rapidly on the best, stabbing the tip of his blade at its right eye as he closed in.
 
Volvagia lowered its head and dodged the stab, just as the sword came so close that Zack had already credited himself with the hit. Instead, the warrior had to rapidly switch to the defensive, and positioned the massive Buster Sword between himself and the dragon’s head. Volvagia swung its skull back up, connecting with the massive slab of steel.
 
Though Zack was spared the blunt impact to his body, he didn’t feel too much better off for it. He was tossed aside just the same, flying completely parallel to the ground beneath himself. Fortunately for him, Volvagia did not pursue as it instead shifted its focus to one of his companions.
 
Zack landed at a kneel on the very edge of the caldera, and found himself looking out at the Ashen Steppes from this incredible vantage. One simple jump, and he could disappear back into the wasteland of lava. This overpowered monster could be behind him, and he wouldn’t have to worry about experiencing another horrible death. A wise man would probably take that opportunity, but it didn’t tempt him for a second.
 
Instead, he stood back up and turned to face the battle once more. He couldn’t suppress the grin any longer, so he allowed himself to smile wide. The challenge of this battle was incredible, and he relished the chance to be a part of it. So, against what some might call common sense or a basic self-preservation instinct, Zack raised the Buster Sword and leaped at the dragon once again.
 
He rapidly approached as Volvagia found itself focused on Gildarts. It certainly wasn’t enjoyable to be the center of the dragon’s focus, but the opportunity it allowed the rest of the team could make it worth the risk, and Zack was grateful for the opening he was presented with. He slammed into the side of the flying monster’s thick, armored skull, blade first. He felt the Buster Sword’s blade sink ever so slightly into the thick armor that surrounded its head, though Volvagia did not seem to be anything more than agitated by the impact. The inertia kept Zack moving forward, and he only stopped himself by rolling onto the beast and catching one of its horns.
 
He took just a second to steady himself and stand up straight. Not long ago, he’d been on the head of another massive dragon that dominated the landscape of the Ashen Steppes. Drawing his next strategy from experience, Zack raised the Buster Sword high and prepared to drive it directly into the brain of Volvagia, or at least make his best effort at penetrating the rocky exterior of its head.
 
The chance to do so never came, however. In an instant, Volvagia snapped its head to the right, and just like that Zack’s footing vanished beneath him. As Zack fell, one of the monster’s claws swung at him. He countered with a slash of his own, hearing another disappointing dull sound effect as his sharp weapon impacted the thick, scaly hide of the dragon.
 
It allowed Zack all the time he needed to land again, however. He immediately proceeded to make several powerful, yet low hops backwards, weaving through the fallen rocks from the avalanche. Zack reached into his back pocket and brandished a glowing green orb, the most powerful of all his Materia. No sense in holding back against this thing.
 
The battle raged on before him. Spells and bullets collided with the dragon while others closed in for physical attacks. Zack spent this time focusing all of his power into the Materia, causing it’s soothing green shade to transform into a bright, blinding white. The orb let out a shrieking noise, as if some sort of demon was trapped inside and screamed for its own release. Zack was happy to oblige.
 
“Watch out!” Zack warned his teammates. Familiarity with the super powered beings of this realm caused those near the dragon to heed the advice without hesitation. Unimpeded, Zack was able to swing the orb upwards and release his own spell in Volvagia’s direction.
 
“Ultima!”

1020 words, according to the site.

Zack used Ultima (T2 Offensive) - 3/5 SP remaining.

[Tom Marvolo Riddle]

I had never been a brave Gryffindor; nor had I ever been anxious or overeager to die. The primal fear of the force that haunted me and my creator for so long always seemed distant even when the Basilisk's dislocated fang plunged into my heart. This though was something far more visceral. A being of flesh and fire. a dim animalistic cousin to myself in a lot of ways, but still entirely potent. It was that potency that I felt fear of, true fear.
 
I respected it all the same.
 
And through that respect I also knew jealousy. It was a cool slippery feeling and I was all too familiar with from my time in the orphanage. It was born from the things I coveted, a bad habit if ever there was one. All the same though, I would make it my own just as everything else soon would be mine as well. But now was not a time I could indulge in such a paltry emotion.
 
Passion made for a finer, more exemplified motivating force.
 
A manic grin gripped my face as I drew myself into a stiff stance, wrought with tension. My wrist and fingers though bore my wand into a ragged slash as I invoked the incantation for the fiendfyre conjuration. It was my favorite spell for a reason and a thin beam of living heat erupted from my wand that reinforced my conviction to it. Fire was life and death incarnated with its crimson, writhing form.
 
Regretfully though I dismissed it for later use.
 
With that abrupt fanfare the battle began with the crackling roar of earth shattering from a belching staccato of flame… it was an appropriately pointed milestone that marked our descent into a literal and metaphorical hell. A hell that was charging towards us, towards its own ultimate destruction just as we were charging to our own.
 
A wall of light and heat.
 
It also did not take a genius to point out that I had yet to recover all of my spells; my own shield spell was a dueling variant rather than something all encompassing… so I did what any sane wizard would do. I hid behind the metal clad man. As I said before, I am no Gryffindor. The hulking fortress that was Okor however may as well have been, and he served that purpose admirably.
 
However, I was alive despite some grievous singeing. Still the flames passed with a swiftness that signaled the beginning of the melee and the forward charge of my human bulwarks. Deprived though I was of defense, I could see a clear path before me. With the imminent threat gone I could at least begin my own offensive.
 
Arcane power sang through my veins as I pulled a long loping sweep of my arm that formed a lazy spiral. Magic, heat and life energy condensed on the of the tip the rod that was held aloft in my hand. I drew in more, for after an attack like that, I had heat in spades. It was dirty. Inefficient. But it required less effort and this place was saturated with kinetic energy. In my mind I began shaping the spell, articulating the words to perfection a hundred thousand times over. And of perfection I picked only those that bespoke: apotheosis.
 
As I drew more power from the air and mixed it with the life force of this body… my mind stored those three little words away and began the second bigger casting. The one that needed my passions, my hate, my desire to fill my jealousy with something far more satisfying, more than that, it needed the life of another. It was something I was happy to provide.
 
“With your leave, Mr. Riddle, I will begin broadcasting to the Dataverse with complete audio,” came the voice of my hat. Its professionalism filled my head.
 
I gave it my mental agreement. Begin.
 
With that thought, I wrought the full force of my power upon the world. With a guttural roar and flourish of my entire body I called out, “Magnus Totum LACEROVISIS!”
 
The area was rent with the last syllable; as fractured reality split before me like a beam of light. It cut the distance from my twisting jab to the dragon’s side in a sliver of a second and echoed with a meaty ‘whumph’. The sound was made more impressive with a maroon blast that erupted with a crimson spray of blood, signalling direct impact.
 
I did not halt, no, I moved. I spun back around without hesitation from my initial flourish to twist into another fencing jab. A jab that brought my wand to the fore of a wicked arc that heralded my next demand of the world, “SEMPER MINUO!”
 
An acrid sulphurous bolt of pale green followed through the cloud of blood and skin. It burrowed even further, deeper into the previous wound before detonating dark magic across the injury's maw. The gangrenous explosion was unfortunately far more muted and less majestic in auditory impact, but that also belied a hidden truth that was the beast's poisoned side.
 
I grinned even as I caught the demonic attention of the dragon’s glare from a distance. It seemingly ignored the chap with the man sized sword even after being wounded by the same. In that instant I knew it had judged me as game, dangerous but ultimately worthy of being considered an appetizer only.
 
Joy…
 
A thunderous crack of the Gigaton hammer though took us both by surprise as the sheer weight of it reverberated across the mountain range like so many explosions of the London Blitz. It seemed the appetizer that I was would have to wait. The entrée wanted to go first. Being the delicious gentleman that I was, I could only oblige Zack and Okor.
 
With its attention fully distracted for a moment I looked upon the hole I had opened and corrupted upon its flank. The answer for my forthcoming action was made obvious.
 
I readied my next spell even as I could feel the strain of the last two rapid castings fell their weight upon my shoulders. That though… I would not abide with. No, I was Tom Riddle, the most powerful sorcerer upon this plane or any other. The weakness of this land that was the twisting of my magic to weaken me with each use was only a stopgap for Omni to heckle me with.
 
I snarled at the indignity, even as I moved forward and to the right to reorient with the churning tide of battle so could I begin collecting my power. I pulled at the air and drew in my will in the form of anger. Anger at this newest slight. Its ignorance could not be forgiven. It only served to stoke the enmity until rage thrummed in my ears at the injustice of being ignored. That was a lethal mistake.
 
A mistake I would capitalize on.
 
“Avada Kedavra,” I commanded!
 
The world bowed its knee to me and obliged.

1174 Words, used Charged Invocation, Incanted Dark Magic, the Killling Curse and the Okor Shield Maneuver™

[Storyteller]

A sizzling fireball whizzed high into the sky, a hiss of gaseous fumes and sparks chasing after it. Its maker, Volvagia, thrashed violently about as a wave of dazzlingly variegated crash magic ripped with concussive force across the bridge of its snout, leaving a shallow, singed mark in its wake.
 
From somewhere over its shoulder, a piercingly loud whine agitated the massive wyrm as its tail struck the ground, sending a bone-rattling quake throughout Death Mountain. The beast’s eyes rolled in their sockets as it savagely tried to ascertain where the irritating sound was coming from, what felt like tiny hooks and barbs burrowing into its side as magical bursts of energy rent its flesh.
 
Screeching bursts of bright white struck Volvagia lengthways across its writhing body, exploding outwards in a conflagration of green energy that slashed agonizingly into the serpent’s side. Pain like the curved beaks and talons of giant eagles bore into its flank, the soot-laden consequences of its wild, erratic movements swelling beneath the dragon’s slithering girth in coagulating black clouds.
 
A wail was wrenched from Volvagia’s throat, the beast’s crooked claws grasping at empty air as it blindly struck in the direction from whence the painful strike had flown. The other prime perched upon the noble crown of its head was unceremoniously pitched into the dust, a wildly spiraling black-and-orange maelstrom burning like wrath incarnate in the Strongest Prime’s periphery view.
 
The dragon’s exoskeleton glittered like droplets of dark arterial blood as it reared up above the spiky-haired hero, the flames of its underbelly and throat flaring out like a lion’s mane, a wildfire snarling beneath its thick hide. Circling plumes of red, black and gold twisted into a ring about its impressive horns, a sheer imitation of the tail-devouring snake ouroboros. Dawn, recreation and the eternal return.
 
There was a still moment, flakes of dark ash drifting on the wind. Zack Fair stood upright, watching as something distinctly feral, destructive and completely, hideously, irreversibly furious burned within eyes that were as deep and all-consuming as his sword was big. Something loud and terrible, a deep, droning null that could only be death, swallowed him whole as the dragon’s steaming jaws slipped open, the rippling mass of sinuous fire and skeletal blackness plunging fast towards him.
 
He took in a shallow breath of acrid air, squeezed his eyes shut and waited— a hero, he would die a hero— only to be jolted roughly aside by what felt like a rampaging bull. A gross, armored, plague-ridden bull, horn and all.
 
Eyes wide as saucers, the company watched as the hammer-wielder, Paleblood, was caught up within the confines of Volvagia’s jaws, an abrupt and mortal sound marking his seeming disappearance from this worldly plane.
 
The cluster of primes remaining staggered, bodily and psychologically in shock. Fire ran along the cliffs in the distance, wreathing the immense dragon in a halo of gold and charting the shards of brackish liquid trailing from its maw. All that remained of the plaguefather’s Chosen.
 
Gildarts recovered first. A desperate tinge colored his words as he tore across the smoke-stifled battlefield, Thor soon joining him in the charge, as if there was any hope of saving the disease-encrusted warrior now. “No!”
 
Its eyes burning steadily like twin suns at a summer’s zenith, a contented thrum steamed from Volvagia’s nostrils as it eagerly considered the mage’s fast approach. There was a hellfire mixture in the air, destruction its fulcrum, seeping from the jaws of victorious death. A metronome of pounding footsteps and rasping breaths seethed towards those waiting jaws, unwavering and resolved.
 
Unexpectedly, the dragon’s skull jerked, a gurgle rising up in its throat as it heaved slightly upward into the air. Tortured winds screamed in protest, erratic pulses of fire and steam coalescing visibly where the creature’s massive horned helm connected with its neck. Volvagia gagged and spluttered around the hard, heavy point stabbing into its gullet, its jaws stretching unnaturally and reddish, jellied fumes spilling out from its eye sockets as it attempted to judder whatever was lodged in its throat free.
 
The regiment of warriors drew to a halt roughly a yard away, the wyrm’s glinting talons hanging high above their heads as they looked on in morbid fascination. With one great cough of fire and odious vapors, a blazing, malformed sphere of white-hot intensity ripped past the dragon’s saw-like teeth, trailing a comet’s share of fire and glinting metal.
 
Okor landed heavily, a plume of disturbed powder gusting up around him and igniting into crimson sparks as he knelt upon the ground. The hammer spiraled whimsically down soon after, the plague marine’s hand shifting just in time to catch it before the gravity-bending head struck the earth and reduced the surrounding area to rubble.
 
A wheezing chuckle trickled past his lips as he heaved himself upwards, warped and circuitous flames travelling along his limbs. His eye, a single, dark blot swimming in a yolky mixture of yellow and veiny orange, swiveled towards his compatriots. Gelatinous, pale-colored pus seeped out from the hairline fractures in his armor, the droplets hissing as they made contact with the ashen plain and the marine’s body jackknifed back into rhythm.
 
Dust, gasses, and shards of mineral crystal tore ugly red lesions across the earth as the dragon’s fire stuttered and became unexpectedly pallid, whitish flames withering down like the flickering wick of a candle. Nurgle’s gift crawled throughout its insides; intolerable, indescribable, invasively suffocating its inner fire, affecting the drake so that it choked and rattled like a sickly hag.
 
In a fit of rage, the beast arced into the sky and executed a circuitous loop, diving nose-first into the widening lake of lava which had leaked out from the mountain’s wounds. Another pool had taken shape parallel to it, overlooked by the primes during the shuddering fire of fight. Together, they formed a deep, simmering pit of fiery death below a tapering bridge of earthen crust upon which the weary warriors stood.
 
The drake had created an arena of sorts. Mr. Riddle curled his lip in a scornful manner, his wand humming with renewed potency. He had injured the creature once, however insignificant the wound was in actuality, and he would happily do it again.
 
As a collective entity, the primes gathered their wits and readied their weapons, spells and other enchanted trickery. Both pools of lava bubbled, the dual surfaces of a massive volcanic cauldron; the fire-drake could surface at any time, but from which vat of lava would it arise?

1142 words - Site.

[Zack Fair]

With Volvagia temporarily gone, the pause in battle was welcome, but there was no time for rest. The monster would be back at any second, and Nealaphh's chosen were already moving in preparation.

“Spread out! Grab a direction and watch the lava!” Zack’s voiced the plan everyone already had.
 
Okor’s eyes shifted to the Asgardian, the only man among them capable of true flight. The Dean of Security spoke briefly. It was difficult to tell if it was a request or an order, but it didn’t really matter. “Overwatch.”
 
Thor agreed to this use of his abilities with nothing more than a firm nod before lifting into the air. While the Asgardian took to the dark sky to better survey the battlefield, the other four watched for any sign of disturbance from the ground level.
 
The quiet was ominous, and almost wrong. They could hear Gamma team’s battle in the distance, a reminder that they were not alone.
 
Zack kept watch on his pool, letting out a grunt of impatience. “He’s got to come out of one of these.”
 
Tom was the first one to process that statement, and move to correct the young super soldier. “Not necessari- “
 
The ground rumbled as Volvagia tore its way upwards, exiting from a new fissure that poured more lava into the already lethal battlefield. Stone flew in all directions from the violent upward explosion, and Gildarts rolled across the ground at the end of a dive, having narrowly dodged being caught in the beast’s sneak attack. The dragon had scarcely taken flight once more before Okor’s shots resumed and Tom’s spells followed. Thor was already in descent, and Gildarts charged forward once again.
 
Zack held up the Buster Sword and stood his ground as a stray stone impacted it. The rubble broke and fell around him harmlessly, but he was already disregarding it. Just as soon as he destroyed the rock he gave a heavy underhanded swing of the sword, allowing him enough momentum to heave it over his back and return it to its typical resting place. He shot a glance over to the headmaster of Hogwarts.
 
Tom’s brand of magic seemed to be working, so Zack decided to give his own a run. Quickly reaching the conclusion that fighting fire with fire wasn’t an applicable strategy this time, he took his Ice Materia in his right hand and the Bolt Materia in his left. He began to pace sideways, being careful to avoid the lava flow. As he did so, he kept a steady barrage of his own magic pouring out of the two stones. The bolt spell was able to fire much quicker, while the icicle that the colder Materia released hit a little harder.
 
There seemed to be a perpetual whirl of frost in front of one stone while a thunderstorm surrounded the hand that held the other. Icicle after icicle slammed into the hide of the flying dragon, shattering on impact each time. The bolts of electricity zapped the beast, but it paid less attention to those. Volvagia let out a furious roar and turned its attention to Zack, having decided it had enough of that particular assault.
 
Zack gave a twisted smirk, and pocketed the stones. He reached to his belt and grabbed the Chain Chomp that slept on it, waking his personal monster with a sharp snap. The chain that held it fully extended, and the orbed monster began to let out a sound that could be best described as a bark. The grin was still plastered on his face as Zack held his hand up and began to rapidly spin the Chain Chomp above his head.
 
“Come on, ugly!” Zack loudly challenged the all-powerful Prime. Volvagia was pleased to oblige.
 
Zack already began to push backwards as soon as the dragon flinched, and it was a good thing he did. Leaping backwards with a burst of energy, he watched as the dragon soared right past him. He seized the opportunity to strike, and brought the Chain Chomp downwards with an overhead swing, smashing the living weapon into the dragon’s hide. Though he aimed for the head, Volvagia traveled with remarkable speed, so he settled happily for a strike against the creature’s body.
 
Upon landing, Zack glanced in the direction Volvagia had traveled. He saw Thor ending a swing with his hammer, and presumed that his ally had also landed a satisfactory hit on the monster. The Ex-SOLDIER and Asgardian prince exchanged brief looks, finding some bit of brotherhood in this insane battle.
 
“Here it comes!” Gildarts shouted as he ran towards the two, and the dragon descended again.
 
Its maw was wide open as Volvagia approached Gildarts. The Strongest Prime took that moment to prove his title, and hopped upwards. With an open palm, he slammed his hand downwards and into the skull of the dragon as it went underneath him. Volvagia was knocked only slightly downwards, dragging its body through the ash covered stone. This slowed the beast down just enough, and Zack swung the Chain Chomp at Volvagia, again, this time connecting with the dragon’s neck.
 
Upon contact, however, the Chain Chomp opened its own jaws, and clamped into the thick hide of the dragon. Zack had less than a second to process what was about to happen as he watched the slack in his chain rapidly disappear. The next thing he knew, he was ripped right off his feet as he went on another ride on the back of a dragon.
 
Volvagia abruptly turned upwards, sailing into the air once more, leaving behind only the echo of Zack’s shouted expletive. The ex-SOLDIER swung freely as they traveled, but quickly used all of his strength to fight the momentum and bring his other hand up, clutching the chain in both. He then braced his feet against Volvagia’s hide, assuming a squatting position. It was about time to make all of those workouts pay off.
 
Just as he braced himself, the dragon took an abrupt downward turn, and made a nose dive for one of its pools of lava. Zack could feel the g-forces beckoning him to pass out as they descended, inviting him into the magma with his unwilling steed. He fought the urge, and pulled the chain with all the strength his arms could muster, and straightened his legs as best he could.
 
In an instant, he ripped the Chain Chomp free of Volvagia’s scales, and was thrown backwards. With an unexpected backflip that resulted from his posture, Zack slammed into the ground quite harshly, losing his grip on the circular monster he had weaponized. Small bits of Volvagia’s hide landed alongside him, while the dragon itself disppeared into the lava.
 
Zack shook his head to get his orientation back as Gildarts helped him to his feet. He looked around, only to see that the Chain Chomp had run off. He’d worry about it later. For now, he drew the Buster Sword once more as Volvagia’s head began to emerge from the molten pond.

1196 words, according to the site.

[Thor]

“Overwatch.”

Thor took to the air and began to circle the area. Thor was not sure he could ever call the laconic plague knight a friend but, after watching him force his way out of a dragon’s gullet, he had enough respect not to ignore his orders. Then Volvagia emerged, and all other thoughts were forgotten.


Thor flew as fast as he could at the dragon, Hammer held in front of him. The dragon looked up, and seeing the Asgardian spat forth a burst of flame. Thor had learned from his last mistake. He could walk through the flames of man, but the fires of this beast were too strong even for the gods of Asgard. He pulled his flight back and down. Volvagia passed over him like a Chitauri Leviathan. He followed. Thor watched his comrades fill the draconian god’s air space with hostile projectile after hostile projectile until Volvagia was forced to lower itself. However, the tactic only gave it momentary relief from the onslaught as only seconds later gildarts and the swordsman with the massive blade were slamming into the dragon with such vicious attacks that it was almost driven to ground completely. Thor used the slowed progress of the great wyrm as a chance to fly ahead. Thor landed just far enough ahead of the dragon to swing his mighty Hammer in a powerful uppercut that connected with the beast’s jaw. As the dragon began to lift into the air, Thor caught Zack’s eye and smiled. Zack smiled back. They were warriors and they enjoied it. Thor would share drink and stories with that man if he survived this fight. Then Thor watched the chain the swordsman was holding grow taut. The dragon pulled Zack into the air. With a spin of his Hammer, Thor followed but he was not able to keep up with the dragon’s twisting flight and watched as Volvagia dove into a pool of lava. Zack leaped from the beast’s back as the dragon and his giant weaponized pet disappeared into the molten pit. There was a moment’s pause. One breath. Then Volvagia remerged in a violent burst of rage. Thor would not let this monster disappear again.


Thor dropped to the ground, bring it down on Volvagia’s massive head as he passed. The ancient being of elemental rage began to whip its head up and around, its flaming antenna swing into the Asgardian. Thor felt the burning pain searing his unprotected arm, gritted his teeth, took hold of one of the antenna with his free hand, and brought his hammer down on the dragon’s head with the other. He howled as he swung, weather in pain or rage it was impossible to tell. Volvagia tried to rear its head, but Thor held tight. The dragon opened its massive maw and Thor saw the fire building in its throat. There was only one thing to do. Thor leaped into the air, spun his hammer, and launched it into the dragon’s throat. Volvagia lunged foward in surprise at the esophageal invasion, can chopped down on the Thundergod’s arm. Thor felt the massive fangs sink into his arm and a guttural scream escaped his lips. He might have avoided the deadly flames, but now his arm was trapped in the beast’s gullet. He closed his eyes, gathering himself after such immense pain. He released the beast flaming antenna and raised his now free arm. For just a moment the two were frozen. God of Thunder caught in the jaws of a god of fire. Then there was a cracking sound as Mjolnir collided with the back of Volvagia’s teeth. The dragon opened it’s mouth in a roar of pain, letting Thor fall to the ground. He landed Hammer first, and the earth around him cracked. He rose slowly and winced as he switched his Hammer to his “good” hand. He breathed heavily. His Asgardian healing factor had become temperamental in this world. He focused. He was a God. He was Asgardian. He would not fall here. His burns began to heal, the holes in his arm stopped bleeding. He was still in pain. His flesh still burned in the heat of this cave, but it was better. It would have do.

“For Asgard!” Thor charged at the dragon once more. He hoped his allies would do the same.

1 sp used to heal. 1 sp remaining.

[Gildarts]

Flecks of hot ash clumped in his eyes, while the same black snow coated his shoulders and dusted his fire-colored hair. Immense magic poured from around the Prime, who now had the shadowy form of a silhouette, with only red slits for eyes. He looked like a dragon himself, though without the serpentine body. Charges of magic began to fling from the air around Gildarts in bolts of white energy, while his legs pushed off the ground. The dragon’s head had sunk low enough for the mage to reach, since the warrior of Asgard had sent such a powerful attack into the dragon’s thick skull. Gildarts was propelled upward, as much as his jump would take him, and his form gracefully fell into the fuming beam of the dragon’s jaws.

The Prime was unyielding, and would not alter his trajectory, even for the fear of getting burned. A charged fist rattled uncontrollably as it grew with immense power and then was thrown in the distinctive shape of a curved uppercut. The darkened sky suffused with the light of his magic while his fist carried into the maw of the beast with a force resembling a wrecking ball, spurts of flame escaped from the corner of it's jaw and the volcanic dragon spiraled upward, only to come down on the Prime with a vengeance.

Spires of fire flared around the strongest prime, who had braced himself for not only the fall into the ground, but the ancient beast’s unearthly power. Gildarts had extended a hand, but the shield he would have liked to produce was not the one he had willed his magic to create. Instead, Gildarts had procured a smaller and more durable shield, enough to protect the Prime’s torso and the bottom half of his face, the rest were scorched by the dragon’s wrath.

Immediately, his suffered from the molten, bubbling heat atop his bones, melted into the rubber soles of his boots and the fabric of his shorts. The visible skin of his leg was charred and blackened, resembling much of the rocks around him, while the other leg now had its cloth stripped away by the roasting heat and revealed the shiny gleam of metal, sizzling from the after-effects of the flame. The joint where his leg met this inorganic limb was enough to make any man cripple with pain, yet Gildarts stood standing, the agonized expression of his face cloaked only by the black layer of singed, crispy skin and thick soot. The strip of skin around his eyes were shadowed like a bandit's.

But still, he was standing.

The wizard’s will to fight was stronger than ever, in this time, his allies had taken the dragon’s subdued movement to strike... While inside Gil's ears, a thunderous laugh caused him to cease the bombardments of his magic on Volvalgia’s underbelly and clamp his palms snugly to the sides of his head. His own throat numbed with a scream. Gildarts had thought the sound had come from Volvagia, who perhaps was having too much fun, but the glimpse of action Gildarts saw just before the darkness confirmed that the dragon’s mouth was full of fire, ready to burn a seething, gaping hole into the rest of his party. The mighty prime was flung off his feet by the shockwave of the creature’s thrashing tail and he fell back-first into a sharp, crystalline stone with the infallible strength of a diamond. As his body paved a way through the jagged rock of the ground and freshly unearthed soil, his skin began to bear the bloody signs of this tumbling... Until Prime’s spine collided with the stone, the impact of his body smashed into the boulder a loud and deafening Crack!

A voice slithered into the Prime’s thoughts using the path of pain created by every bleeding accessory of his body, Hahaha, Gildarts, you didn’t actually think you stood a chance in defeating this dragon without me, do you? Look what happened last time? And they don’t seem to be doing much better... The galling voice fed off of the weakness Gildarts had yet to admit to himself.

From his pile of ashen dirt, the wizard felt his head pounding with odious stabs of agony between every breath he heaved into the shattered cage around his lungs. The Prime clenched his silver fist, which the Malefactor had referred to, yet he also weighed in the fact that giving in also meant that the Malefactor would have the chance to kill every one of his allies with his own hands... Gildarts found his thoughts had been conquered by the voice he’d only just been introduced to, the same voice which now lived permanently within him. A trickle of blood rolled into the wizened creases of his fretted brow as the wizard looked beyond where his feet could take him. His eyes fixed on the group -no- the dragon, and anger unraveled itself in the form of immeasurable power, which still cascaded upward like a waterfall in the aura around Gildarts’ shoulders. The malefactor snickered, You know what you must do... That is, if you want to save your... the deep, resonating voice placed a balanced pause, as though searching for a vulnerable word....

"Friends."

Amber eyes flickered over to his group, which, in the tides of this battle, did not appear to be winning. With enough sheer power, perhaps they had a chance, but the Prime could not shake the feeling that had formed his his gut. One that told him, the Malefactor was right.

“Tch,” this was no time for the irate prime to argue with he creature who prided itself in its ability to thrive off of the darkest doubts in the man’s mind mind. “You foul creature, if I knew of a way to destroy you too, or lock you where you could never escape, that’s where you would be.” To anyone else, it would have seemed like Gildarts was talking to himself, but Gildarts found himself immersed in the battle, his anger had skyrocketed and in his veins, boiled like the hot magma that surrounded them in the mountainous backdrop. Meanwhile the barbaric beast was at it again, his howl echoed in the sky, while the ignoble foe had targeted the young man with black hair who wielded a sword, and Tom, who were both recovering from a blow Gil had not seen strike them. The pain was worn on their faces, and it became apparent to Gildarts that they had little means, and no time, to even dodge.

Gildarts grimaced and tears of pain cooled his inflamed cheeks while his hands dug into the ground and he attempted to stand. I can still fight. As his gait was restored to its full might, smoldering ash scorched the Prime’s black cloak, leaving a trail of fire as the Prime’s shape blurred into a jump, and put himself between his allies and the dragon’s destructive strike.

Used- Tier 1 transformation for this round only -1sp
Used- Supermove tier 1 crushing evil, spreading truth - 1 sp (into the dragon's jaw)
Used-defensive supermove Crash and burn- 1sp (at the VERY end of the battle, where Gildarts put himself between the attack and his allies)
3/8 used

1200 words exactly used according to the site (which I believe weighs in the italics and bolds)

[Okor]

The strength-sapping sulfurous heat of the wasteland permeated the air, twisted systems within his ancient armour registering the fatiguing atmosphere. The warnings, however, were not intended for one as Blessed as Okor, mummified limbs encased within several centimeters of solid steel scarcely moving as his bolter barked, his graves digging deep into the ash as he steadied himself.

The charge of the warrior was unfortunate, a deplorable lack of discipline, a selfless act of heroism in a situation that called for precisely applied, unrelenting, merciless violence. While they undoubtedly cast a noble figure as their shining armour carried them towards the great Wyrm, lifting into the air as their divine powers made themselves manifest.

Even more infuriating was Gildarts, the augmented arcanist still standing, albeit smouldering, after facing Volvagia’s wrath. While a testament to their force of will and physical strength, their foolish charge doing little but earning the Drake’s ire. The incandescent white light that accompanied their magic flared, a great gout of gluttonous flame dispersing upon their arcane aegis.

Heroes.

The word brought forth acidic bile from within him, the sulphuric spittle quickly being swallowed down as he organized himself.

The colossal corpse adopted a noticeably different tactic to the ambitious Asgardian and accompanying mage. Snarling out an order with a voice like an apex predator gargling broken glass, he began to move. ”Ten meter distance. Counterclockwise rotation, sustained fire.” Corroded boots trudged through the cinders of the weak, the fallen failures that had crossed Volvagia falling in a thick blanket across the volcanic vista. The verdigris-coated mass of his bolter howled, launching detonating rounds bathed in the lethal entropy of the universe, irradiated projectiles blossoming into ragged flesh wounds across its length.

They were many against one, haphazard barrages of magecraft and more conventional projectiles eliciting an earth-shaking roar of pain and primordial rage, the undulating figure of the fire-breather now scarred with the combined firepower of Alpha Team. Lightning streaked from the fingertips of the Dean of Unity, blackening the great beast’s hide, while the God of Thunder followed it up with a flying strike, the god-forged hammer cracking against its horned skull, the son of Odin quickly evading its frenzied retaliation with his gift of flight.

A net of searing white light cascaded against the writhing form of the beast, geometry forged from naught but willpower slicing into its scales, the rhythm of a carbine joining the cacophony, anthropomorphic ammunition adding itself to the fusillade.

Under this unrelenting rain of lead, explosives and witchcraft, no foe could stand for long.

Volvagia, however, refused to tolerate this great indignity.

It plunged beneath the earth, its rock-reinforced skull shattering the stone as it descended, geysers of magma erupting as the cataclysmic battle continued. ”Scatter. Maintain a minim-” It was at this point that the dragon chose to exact its vengeance on Okor, meting out some fraction of the shame and pain it had endured on The Chosen.

Fragments of obsidian flew from its point of egress, a red-hot maw opening, revealing flame-wreathed flames as it flew towards the plague marine, molten rock cooling over its wounds, fortifying its afflictions with the blood of the earth. His cyclopean eye opened slightly in surprise as fangs larger than a man savaged him, piercing his armour, shattering fused bone, and impaling one of his twinned hearts, napalm seeping into his lacerations, the savagery of the beast outmatching his antique armour. A skeletal fist drove a corroded blade into its gums, the twisted dagger burying itself in pink flesh, the necrotic infection carried within the unholy knife spreading into its still-living body. The Lesion-ridden legionnaire snarled out a curse from beneath its fangs as his flesh flowed freely and melted, leaving the sacral blade lodged in its mouth.

”Choke on it.”

With a crack, the marine was forced into the rock, the durability of the dragon shielding it from the impact, while Okor’s own impressive vitality was nothing in comparison. It quickly turned, its fire-feathered tail cracking against his shattered form as it moved along, its undulations carrying it onward in search of fresher prey.

Ivory ichor leaked from massive lesions upon his body, organs pierced, lying in ruin. Bones were broken, shattered, osseous shards burying themselves within his life-sustaining vitals. It was a massacre that not even one of the noble Adeptus Astartes could hope to walk away from.

The corpse clambered on broken limbs to its feet, the pulp of his body slowly reconstructing itself, the ooze into which he had partially dissolved sparing him from the worst of the impact. Shaking hands went to the weapon on his back, undying fingers wrapping themselves around the iron shaft as he approached the rampaging drake. A voice broke into his vox, the heavy blade and hair adorning the squad symbol indicating the speaker as the mercenary Zack Fair. “How in the hell are you still alive?” Genuine curiosity, perhaps a tinge of worry affecting his tone.

Through a mouthful of shattered teeth and blood, Okor spoke the truth.

”Force of... habit.”

859 words according to Google Docs, apologizes it's not longer.

Used Tier One Super Move: Septic Shiv. 4/5 SP.

[Tom Marvolo Riddle]

Fire scoured the area repeatedly as the battle raged on, largely leaving me unmolested despite my efforts to endanger my eternal existence. A fact which, in hindsight, had not been one of my more brilliant ideas, given the nature of my true body being of leather bound paper. Really someone should have stopped me before I had strolled upon a volcano. Maybe Dumbledore, he always seemed to have a talent of placing himself before me when I had particular bouts of stupidity. Looking back he had rarely been able to stop me though. Or perhaps maybe I should have controlled my own damn self! Either way, it was what it was. Changing things now would probably prove more suicidal than it was staying in the fight.

I cursed the oriental wyrm with a snort and pushed my doubts away. I had to focus on the situation at hand and that started with my weaving of more arcane power into my wand. For a spell like this, I neither needed concentration nor potency; I saved that for what was coming. What I had planned though was going to make things unpredictable enough as it was. But if I did it right…

Reaffirming my grip on my Ollivander's brand foci, I hefted the yew and phoenix feather about into a simple but marked jab.

"Everyone, look away- rubrum!" I roared.

Immediately it felt and looked like all the light and color in the area had drained out; as water colors of painting would in a rain storm. But it hadn't changed. No, I simply Added something far more potent. The world was washed white as a far deeper red nova sprang to existence from the tip of my wand and shot forward towards the beast. Slow in comparison to some of my spells, faster than others, just enough to catch the demon's notice as it reared away from the potential threat.

I whipped my wand away and detonated the spell mid blink.

The screech that was Volvagia was as magnificent in its pain as it was as its girth was in blotting out the sky. More so was the fact was that it did blot out the sky, as it could be seen through the lids of my eyes. Such was the contrast between it and the explosion of light that was the spark conjuration.

The sound didn't end as the blinded reptile howled through the air before impacting the ground. Claws were scraping every which way, though it didn't last long. The moment the curved tips of its limbs caught traction, it ripped itself upright into a wobbly form before being slammed back by a number of attacks coming from my allies.

Magic and physical force alike pounded it practically sideways with the advantage I had given them. The fist wielding Gildarts followed by the armored Okor seemed to have formed into a pair with a purpose to upturn the beast through a two pronged attack that rang like pointblank thunderclaps.

It was not to last, as another sweep of its body ended the barrage as quickly as it began.

Pain suddenly flared across my body and covered my face as something red shrouded me. The landscape itself was suddenly covered in liquid gore as my skin felt like it was peeling away with frothing heat. It was a sensation that while familiar I simply could not displace, the vision though of Volvagia did.

The lazy glare it had given me earlier was gone. Wrath was all that existed in that beastial visage which radiated with emerald light. Its hate was focused solely upon me. Only the deepest, least conscious portions of my pages even recognized that the roiling waves of aural heat had just intensified. Yet it was enough that I noticed.

I stumbled back against my will. A human reaction that I had thought myself above but I did it anyways.

It charged.

The world shattered.

Lava flowed.

For an eternity all I could see was scales, claws, and crimson light. I had not a hope to dislodge it despite the strength I had gained since first coming to this land. It was perhaps that strength that saved me from being destroyed outright, but it did not stop the monstrous thing from bearing down upon me further.

That task, it seemed, fell to another as I was pulled from its jaws and grip with a single inhuman motion.

Worse, though, was that the pain was gone. Then I noted that I couldn't even prop myself up. That particular attribute it seemed could be blamed upon the fact that I was missing half my body. Ink and cinders attested to such as I brought my remaining- darkening limb to my face. Shadows obscured it, a gloom that was filling everything around me.

---

...

Pressure filled my spine as I felt my flame weathered cover hit the ground. Sounds were muted to a dullness of vibration, sight, taste and smell gone, while all that remained was pain and pressure. Time lost its meaning.

For all the good that it did me to be immortal, it was times like these that I regretted not including some form of sensory enchantments when designing my horcrux. Then again, looking back, this entire horcrux venture had been a monumental error. Whatever had possessed me to do such a thing had left me with an inability to control myself. Even with patience wrought by decades of monotony…

I was broken.

It took one nearly mindless beast to bring me low. Greater than Harry Potter it was, but still a beast. Fate it seemed, was repeatedly conspiring against me to teach me this particular fact of reality. I was simply destined to be humbled and humiliated. As aggravating as it was, I had to failed to realized such in more any way more than in a scholarly aspect.

Knowing and understanding, a balance I was forever going to struggle with it seemed.

Slowly I shifted my thoughts toward creating a body again. Magic came to my beckoning and eased away my aches. I worked forward, drawing from my mind what little emotion I had left, other than apathy, into a form that could hold me.

---

Light blossomed into startling contrast followed by relief as my eyes focused on the clear red skies. Thunder- no, war rang around me as the Alpha crew struggled with our common foe. Sulphur burned my throat and seared my nostrils.

Pumice stone crunched under my fingers as I righted myself. A thrum of power and wariness battered my body but I ignored the latter and embraced the first. With only a moment taken I summoned my wand to the fore and raised it.

Mistake or not I would not take the insult of being forced into a melee without response or recourse. I was Tom Riddle.

I raised my wand and breathed. Buried myself in the humiliation, the regret, the fear I had been subjected to. Apathy had no place in one who wielded dark magic. Tom Marvolo Riddle did not fall to self-doubt in the face of such meager adversity.

With a savage slash, I hissed out, "CRUCIO!"

1,199 words by Word's count. Spark charm and Cruciatus Curse, also played with his Horcrux Body.

[Storyteller]

All around the battling primes the air moved like dense, sluggish oil. Blast after blast of fire was split into wide-ranging forks by Volvagia’s fangs, the long, curling tongs turning the ground to ash wherever they struck. Lava ran in searing rivulets throughout its corded veins, teeth and talons as viciously sharp as the spearheads of arrows tearing into its challengers.
 
Sulfur and odious bile the color of ink spilled out from the dragon’s jaws, its crescent teeth illuminated still in a faint, pulsing crimson light as a smudged tapestry of cracked earth flowed behind it. A terrible, piercing explosion of magical energies flared up alongside the side of its fanged maw, the vehemently powerful burst called upon by some spellcaster that the dragon had begun to dislike very much. In the eye of its mind, Volvagia could see them all burning in one immense funeral pyre already.
 
A shriek as thin and sharp as a blade cut through the air, giving the massive wyrm reason to pause in its relentless onslaught. Its head turned towards the volcanic mound that rested behind it, rippling tattoos of firelight coasting along its long, winding body. A brightly spinning cinder fluttered off from its tongue as it replied with a cavernously deep thrum, a curious sound which seemed to emanate from within the verse itself.
 
Phoom! A column of fire burst from the twinned pools of lava laying on either side of the gathered warriors, spitting jeweled beads of flame and blistering smoke into the air. Clefts of disjointed rock riddled with sharp abrasions and roughly the size of sacrificial slabs rose up below the stumbling feet of each Prime, raising them up onto waves of simmering molten fluid.
 
The beast had called and Death Mountain had graciously answered. Through the joint efforts of the volcano and Volvagia’s magic, each Prime found themselves suddenly adrift upon squarish vessels of stone, at the mercy of whichever course the lava chose to flow. While the immense lake of fiery sludge was relatively shallow, just deep enough for the dragon to dive below and sieve through, it would assuredly be enough to melt flesh down to a measly, shriveled gristle if one were daring enough to step into it.

If they were so inclined, stepping stones of earthen crust led towards the greater area of solid plain so that they could evade a swift and viciously fiery death.
 
Tongues of orange-gold flame lapped eagerly at the edges of Thor’s piece of teetering stone, the only thing standing between him and certain incineration. The golden-maned Thunderer grimaced, the hammer in his sweaty grip shifting as he turned to see how the others were faring. It was unfortunate that they could not achieve perfect flight as he could, but not all were endowed with the magnificent abilities of the Aesir, though from what Thor had seen of their many talents he was sure that his current companions might have come close.
 
The thunder god’s tattered cape flapped wildly as he then turned to observe the dragon’s wide, curving flight, seemingly no rhyme or rhythm to be found in its intermittently turning madness. Fire scrolled about Volvagia’s throat in a thick, smoky cobra’s cowl as it swept violently into the sky overhead, helical flares warping about its retreating frame. To all appearances, it looked to be soaring back towards its home, having decided that its unwanted interlopers were no longer a menace.
 
“Ha! Watch as the foul beast slinks back into its den, naught but a lowly mongrel with its tail caught between its legs!” Thor boomed, a wide grin on his ash-smeared face.
 
Predictably, the dragon chose that exact moment to reel back around, a positively terrifying screech barreling through the air towards them, almost as if it were personally offended by the god’s boasting.

Get you hence, horrid fools, or I'll spurn thine eyes like balls before me; Thou shalt be whipp'd with flame, and stew'd'in brine, smarting in lingering pickle.
 
Reptilian, slitted pupils moved like archaic machinery, locking onto the insignificant walking steaks which had yet to be cooked. Such an unsightly problem would be fixed posthaste. Body coiling for a divebomb, jaw unhinging like a bear-trap, the malicious wyrm then decided that it would be the time to commit to the ”Roast These Impudent Fucks Alive” charity organization. Donations were accepted, but it didn’t matter because it was going to simply roast the surly urchin-snouted talon-hooks alive.
 
Like the misguided mortal Prometheus, the battalion of primes was going to receive the fire of the gods, whether they liked the gift or not. Complex, primordial organs were sent into overdrive through the power of ancient magicks. A thick, palpable cloud of flammable, combustive gas began to bubble and overflow in the beast’s mouth. The giant mass of scales and leathery lizard skin began to spike ever downwards towards the lava adrift primes.
 
Five hundred meters.
 
Four hundred.
 
Three.
 
Two.
 
Like a flint striking stone, a glorious biologically engineered spark developed from millennia of evolution ignited the wall of gas as the dragon exhaled nonchalantly, eyes fixated not-so-nonchalantly on the whelps it sought to grill.
 
Ironically, the resulting stream of fire and death was not unlike a high-powered water hose, flame erupting with enough force and velocity to slow the dragon’s descent.
 
Hellfire would reign. Primes would roast.
 
Mmm… Steak.

928 words - Site.

You guys are now drifting upon a huge lake of lava with stepping stones all across it. Good luck!

[Thor]

Thor flew into the air, barely avoiding the wrathful flames of almost god-like dragon. Thor looked around at the other primes below. None of them capable of true flight, yet he could not save them all from the lake of lava that seemed to be trying to eat the land which they had been standing on. Thor flew down and scooped up the one Nealaphh had called Tom. He hadn’t taken a close look at this comrade as he had prefered the back of the marching order, but now that Thor had a good look at him he frond. 

“You are a child! Nealaphh uses children in his army?” Thor was enraged. He had watched this boy get literally ripped in half. This was not a fight for children of any race.

“I am not a child by anything but appearance, nor would it matter in this world if I were in the madness of this world.” Tom spoke coolly and with what Thor though might even be disinterest. The Asgardian hoped the wizard was hiding some emotion under that cold young face. He would need it to finish this fight alive.

Thor set the young wizard down on the edge of the solid coast of the churning river of lava Volvagia had created. Unfortunately, it seemed that the dragon found the god and the wizard be worthy enough pray to give chase. The others did their best to pull its attention, with stinging projectiles and flashy spells, but to no avail. Volvagia barreled toward the two primes that had aggravated it so.

“Get to safety!” Thor shouted over his shoulder. “I will hold back this beast, until the others can reach us!”

For a moment Thor could feel that the boy was not moving.

“GO!”

Tom began to move.

Thor turned his attention back to the task at hand. The mighty Volvagia flew at him, mouth open in a burning rage ready to devour his enemies. The Thunder God stood defiantly before the fiery god as its own magical flight quickly closed the distance between the two. Thor twirled his Hammer holding it behind him so that upon release he could fling it forward. His Hammer would need all the momentum he could muster. Thor released Mjolnir, sending it crashing into the dragon’s skull. Thor recalled his Hammer as Volvagia shook off the painful blow. Zack and Gildarts were doing their best to transverse the treacherous terrain but it would take them a decent amount of time to reach the Thunder God and the diseased revenant would take even longer. By then the dragon would be upon him. Thor felt the holes in his arm as he caught his Hammer from the air. He did not know if he could handle another bout with the beast. Thor raised his Hammer to the sky. He would find out soon enough.

Lightning careened down from the heavens striking Thor’s Hammer filling it with power. Volvagia drew closer, its mouth filling with raging flames. ‘No!’ Thor thought. ‘It is to close!’  The dragon was to close. Thor only needed one more moment. A thin bolt of white streaked over the thunder god’s shoulder leaving behind a fading trail as it sped toward the mighty beast. It struck Volvagia in the eye and while the hit seemed to do little more than anger the dragon more, it also caused the might being a momentary pause. Just long enough for Thor to finish charging his bolt. He looked over his shoulder and nodded his thanks to the mage, then turned his attention back to Volvagia. Lowering his mighty Hammer, he fired the Bolt of the Thunder God into Volvagia’s mouth just as the fire came spewing forth.

Thor felt himself thrust back by the force of the flame. He might die from that last stand, but hopefully he had done enough for the others to triumph. As Thor lay on the ashen ground of the battlefield, he watched his allies finally reach the shore. They could handle it from here. His eyelids felt so heavy. The Thunder God’s eyes closed.     

Spent 1 sp on supermove. 0 sp left. Thor might die unless someone helps him.

[Okor]

Incendiary gas ignited within the great drake’s maw once more, blackened blood spreading through crimson gums as flame flowed forth from within its fury-fuelled heart. Burning lances of all-devouring fire streaked towards the unfortunate victims of the Wyrm. A cloak, the finery of the very gods, was burnt to mere embers, the divine fabric doing nothing more than delaying the unrelenting onslaught of the inferno by the merest fraction of a second. The discarded cloak of the Thunder God was quickly consumed by the conflagration, the great boulder behind which the Nordic deity bled shielding them from Volvagia’s wrath. The limbs of the Crash Magician barely avoided the same fate as the god-touched garment, the fluctuating wave of force summoned forth from within them denying the fire the chance to unleash its ravenous, devouring appetites.

The heat, however, was a different matter. Delicate machinery within their appendage overheated and flowed freely, the intense energies of Volvagia’s breath causing springs to wither and burn, gears to lose their shape and fall to pieces, molten metal seeping into their arm.

Not many others fared better. Okor’s fellow dean crouched under a barrier of their own creation, their psychic focus bending and snapping as their mental shield withheld them from the flame, every near-silent forming of a crack in its wooden construction piercing the atmosphere above the roar of their funerary pyre.

The mercenary Fair, who took a far more pragmatic approach to combat than his peers, had avoided the worst of the inferno, minor burns across the right side of his body doing little more than discomforting him as he opened fire, eliciting a screech of fury from the dragon. They were little more than roaches in its ruby-tinted eyes, insects to be speared upon its onyx claws, to be cast aside and forgotten like so many others before them.

The thing about roaches, however, is that they were damned hard to kill.

Purifying flame washed over Okor, virulent corruption flowing from every pore to replace what was scoured away, the rush of power running through his veins bringing a crazed grin to the ruined face beneath the helmet, the call of combat superior to any mortal sensation. Every fibre of his ancient being was gene-forged for this moment, every cell screaming exultation as they writhed within his dessicated flesh, demanding blood.

And he was more than happy to offer it.

As blackened flesh fell from him, charred chunks of arguably living meat leaving his corporeal form, he screamed back at the undisputed ruler of the Steppes, millennia of violence and hatred focusing itself upon a new target, the broken vox of his armour distorting it into a daemonic howl. The filth that suffused his being warped and twisted under the flame, liquid corruption resolving itself into thick steel and synthmuscle, rusted and jagged spears of bronze sinking into his brain as he was hidden from the too-cruel world within his cage of steel. Taloned feet the size of a man brought the chassis of the mechanical monstrosity forward, the bulwark of brutality a nigh-invincible break in the flame, the snarling of gears accompanying the raising of a truly titanic hammer. Corroded fists that could tear apart tanks gripped the haft of a dreadnought-sized hammer, the rusted haft nearly as tall as the mammoth machine, the savage head of the weapon surrounded by coruscating wreaths of palpable wrath.

There are such things as memetic impulses. Wraiths of legends that have outlived generations, phrases and actions encoded deep into the genome over decades of constant exposure. When the situation arises, there is no chance to fight them: the momentary possession overtaking conscious thought and making itself manifest.

With a roar of fury that rivalled the Wyrm’s own, Nurgle’s Chosen proclaimed the end of the beast.

”It’s Hammer Time!”

The great gouts of soul-searing flame ceased, a look somewhat analogous to shock and surprise spreading across their draconic visage as The Gigaton Hammer descended upon them, the meteoritic descent of the Fist of The Gods unimpeded by the inferno blazing across their assailant. As hungry flames ran rampant across the diseased bulk, burning at the rot that infused the juggernaut, the Gigaton Hammer impacted.

The effects were immediate.

Entropic energies were released from the warhammer, the ever-present fires dying, robbed of their heat, denied their life. Shimmering scales turned sullen, obsidian cracking beneath his inhuman might as Volvagia screamed in pain and agony, the previously deified being suffering under the wrath of a mere mortal. Teeth, blackened by the infection seeping into the beast’s veins, came forth, closing around the trunk-sized mechanical wrist of the warmachine, glazed eyes blinded by pain and agony, shards of broken bone shifting within their skull as they struck. Fangs as long as a man’s arm dug into his adamantium carapace, tearing into pus-filled hydraulic pistons, shredding bone-wrought cogs, sprays of tainted arterial fluids adorning its maw as a fist collided into its side, the ear-piercing grinding of gears accompanying the motion.

Volvagia broke off of its assault, along with his arm, the cybernetic limb coming free in a wash of corrupted oil and warp-tainted octarine sparks, the Gigaton hammer falling to the volcanic ashes as his draconic foe spat out the diseased limb, plumes of cinders accompanying its impact.

Its attacker disarmed, the drake whipped around, its sinuous tail cracking against his corroded carapace, knocking the titan to the ground with the crack of splintering steel, redundant life-support systems straining to keep the occupant of the armour ‘alive’.

Dark laughter came forth from the prone titan, his mammoth machinery slowly melting away as his prey turned to savage the other hunters, the dim sensation of static feedback locking down his gauntlet, the sensation of his arm’s removal impossible for any mortal to merely ignore.

He found it irrelevant. Victory was at hand, the great god of fire and flame bled and wept, the savagery of the violence they had inflicted upon it insurmountable. His sole remaining functioning arm reached out and clasped around the haft of the drained hammer, sheets of metal sloughing off of his body as he rose, the legendary weapon in hand.

It was time to finish this.

Tier Two Transformation: Dreadnought used. -2 SP.
Tier Two Super Move: Gigaton Hammer used. -2 SP.
0/5 SP remaining.

[Gildarts]

A barrage of rock fell upon him with the churning vehemence of a storm while Gildarts surfed the mighty molten tides of where he had been corralled. Orange light glistened on his eyes, illuminating their charcoal shade to one of amber. Shadows passed over in the hollowed contours where bone evidently lay beneath the skin of the Prime’s face. Not too far from the wizard, one of his stranger looking companions looked as though he had finally laid a blow on the dragon that had done some damage.

A mighty screech shook the vats of lava below him, and the corners of his little island swayed in its place, threatening to succumb to the greasy liquid that splattered at his feet. Gildarts drifted nearly idle on this little island, but a single glance cast over his shoulder confirmed to him that the rest were as stranded above the liquid hell, just as he was. Meanwhile, the dragon, while the ancestral beast musthad been injured, yet it still slithered free, roaming above and using the trace amounts of sulfuric gas to conceal himself while his congealing wound might heal, this took but a moment, for now the predator’s sleek scales shone from high above as dazzling stars in the parting clouds. Upon seeing the state of the space marine, disarmed and all, Gildarts was forced to realize just how dire he and his group of battle-borne strangers were to becoming barbecued. The second the dragon should choose to pop out, they would all die.

It wouldn’t take much, they were already half-cooked. The sweat was now pouring from Gildarts’ brow, which he blinked blearily through, as the heat from the molten rock fell upward. Gildarts freed his neck of the last shreds of his cape, and let his eyes, though searing from the heat, glide with the trailing movements his foe. If the carnivorous vulture thought it was on the brink of death, backed into a corner, it would resort to a most primal instinct, one that would grant the beast the strength to survive. The carnivore would feed upon the fear coursing through its own black veins, the same fear that would deliver the news of its death with the outpouring of blood.

An eruption of fire created a sky that resembled the flaming sea below him, everywhere he could see was submerged in an inferno. He stared at the pit of hell, and within it, it’s king. Their enemy had staged an entrance of the utmost grandeur, as though it had already declared its victory. There were but scorches left on the last of the towering rocks of obsidian, rocks which now lay in the bubbling magma, as though the beast was offering its guarantee that they would be made a part of the stew which simmered below. With the swiveling arch of light, the dragon moved through the sky, rippling like a fish who’s path was unheeded.

A sickening laughter caused his stomach to churn, a sly, serpentine voice snarled, Well, what are you waiting for? Willfully, the Prime did not respond, however, a certain darkness had fallen upon his eyes, sparks shot out from beneath his floating island and crackled as they made contact with his perspiring flesh. Gildarts had tried nearly everything, and now, his muscles riddled with thorns of pain, his skin, charred to resemble coal scales as the dragon flaunted, and his mind was heavy, stirring as slowly as the thick vats inches from his chin.

Aren’t you going to... Kill it? To vanquish the monster before it kills your allies? The voice antagonized, yet held an appeal that was so very seductive. Gildarts knew what she was offering, and the idea was all too much like a snake, slithering too far into his head. She, the snake, beckoning him with promises of the forbidden fruit. The Malefactor, the apple, and power, he could have it all, and the temptation tickled his mind. I can see you’re holding your breath... What's the risk, now that you’re all going to die? Give in. It’s the only way.

It was a lie.

A surge of fire lashed at his back, he jumped up in pain, then teetered on the edge of the last piece of paradise. A splash warned him of his fate, while burning the edges of his toes, and he saw Zack and Tom had been able to block these malicious burns, but Gildarts could no longer fight the unforgivable truth that bombarded his thoughts.

They were going to die.

Upon a final thrill of fear for his allies who had fought so hard for their lives, Gildarts reluctantly agreed to the serpent. He would see to it that the mountain would be Volvagia’s tomb, for his sacrifice if it would save them, would be worth it, if his allies were delivered.

With a careful sweep of his eyes, he was off. His feet followed as they fell over a path of randomly strewn floating rocks, while the burns of gushing lava were driven deeper into the man’s bone and flesh, he carried onward, the islands bobbed under his weight, and his flesh sizzled, inches before it made contact with the bubbling pool. Volvagia raged on in the sky, its cursed body full of light and vigor, Gildarts felt his own body pulsating with new energy, one that would give him the strength to conquer ten dragons, let alone one runt who burped fire. Fresh adrenaline flooded his body, all while his mind felt cool and serene, as though it had overcome the torment sieged upon his body, and he were ready to fight with the last ounces of fervor he could muster.

Every muscle’s movement, calculated to such precision that he didn’t teeter on any of the flooded edges of stone his body balanced on. Finally, he dug in, a tidal wave of magma tore behind Gildarts and sprayed all in its vicinity, while Gildarts took to the sky in one, unyielding leap.

A silver fist raised upward, ready to bash whatever obstructed its path, and the sinewy body that carried it bore the marks of agonized destruction the very beast he targeted had caused. The prime’s tan body convulsed in agony as he had not expected the dragon to dive down at the last minute, and tackle him into the ground with its jaws. Spiked teeth, the size of blades sparkled as they tore into Gildarts flesh, luckily it was the side of his body that could endure the most of the pain, and his leg and arm molded in metal endured with a weary creaking.

With eyes narrowed, Gildarts gleaned his shot, and on his bloody lips gathered a confident but burdened smile. Shards of white fire burned from his fist as the Prime used his arm to aim in the beast’s mouth. Gildarts spoke, "Time's up," as the white flame tore through the innards of the dragon and Gildarts was tossed aside by the shocked dragon's thrashing wings.

1 sp used -malefactor (4/8sp total)+
T2 supermove the aftermath-2 sp used inside volvy’s mouth
used sp total 6/8 used in all

[Zack Fair]

Zack stood on a floating platform, amidst the lake of lava. The edge of the Buster Sword rested on the stone, and he was taking gathering his strength once more. After a brief moment on the relative safety on the shoreline, he’d had to get his bearings and jump right back into the fray. His entire right side felt as though it had been cooked to about medium rare, and all of this jumping and running just to stay alive, never mind fight, was getting exhausting. Still, everyone else was moving, so he didn’t have much of an excuse to take a break, as nice as it would have been.
 
He stood up straight, and hoisted the massive sword up, letting the flat end rest on his shoulder. An aura of pure green energy encapsulated him, supercharging every facet of his being. It didn’t do much for the exhaustion, but he felt he would be able to push his limits just a little bit further for the duration. At least, he hoped he could.
 
The Mako energy that pulsed through his blood was powered up, and helped the super soldier reach a new level of power. Temporarily rejuvenated, he slightly bent his knees as the demonic wyrm made a low strafing run over the platforms. It was fortunately distracted by another of his teammates, so Zack leapt directly at the monster.
 
Zack swung the sword straight down, letting the sheer weight of the blade and gravity add to his already mighty swing. The blade connected with the skull of Volvagia, causing the creature to scream out in agony. Zack continued to travel through the air, and landed on another floating platform. There wasn’t a lot of room for error, so he landed and made an additional small hop. Fortunately, that was all he needed to stop his own momentum and prevent himself from continuing on into Ashen Steppes’ newest retention pond.
 
With a grin plastered on his face, Zack turned around to survey the damage. That cocky smirk evaporated when he saw Volvagia closing in rapidly. The young mercenary awkwardly stumbled to the side, but took the opportunity to take a wild swing with his sword just the same. It was only a glancing blow, but every little bit helped against a monster of this power.
 
Though he had dodged the fangs of the dragon, Volvagia still had a set of mighty arms. One of those appendages was in range, and struck Zack in his torso, hurling the super soldier from his rocky raft at breakneck velocity. He impacted the shoreline in a heap, and quickly rolled to his feet while wincing in pain from the blow to his side. He grunted when he saw Volvagia closing in on him once again.
 
Zack had little time to do much else but flee, so he made another jump, this time sacrificing his ability to get an exit strike on the beast. Instead he landed on another platform, back in the lake, while the sounds of battle roared behind him. The others were still engaging the dragon, and it was distracted with them. He stood up straight, and took a deep breath while wiping sweat from his brow. Ash was running from his scalp to his eyes, carried by the moisture his body created on his head. He barely noticed it anymore, he was so used to it from his time in this volcanic land.
 
This was definition of a team exercise. None of them could do this alone. This dragon had certainly earned its place at the top of the Steppes’ food chain. It was almost hard for him to remember what it was like to trust and operate with a team, though. Even here in the Omniverse, his battles alongside allies had normally been everyone doing their own thing to attack the same threat. This monster demanded coordination, and so far that was what it had received. That was why Zack couldn’t falter now. Every member of this team was crucial. The weakest link could break the chain.
 
It wouldn’t be him.

Zack turned, and the Mako energy pulsed around him. Casting the consequences of failure aside, he leaped at the flying wyrm once more. It was preoccupied attempting to cook Gildarts alive, but the man was staying mobile. This presented Zack the opportunity he needed, and he approached the dragon’s back.
 
In a flash, Volvagia spun, however, and slammed its head into the flat side of the sword, rendering the attack useless. Zack was surprised that he had been detected, but even more alarmed with the monster directed its fangs at him. He felt like he was lingering in the air before this monstrosity, and time seemed to move slow as its razor sharp fangs approached him. Utilizing what little resources he had up here, Zack forced the Buster Sword into the maw of the beast. Volvagia bit down on the slab of metal instead of the flesh of its enemy, but then swung its head directly upwards as it released the blade.
 
Zack was thrown sky high, his feet now above his head. This was fortunate, because Volvagia released a fireball from its gullet to chase the flying warrior upwards. Zack took a swing at the attack with the Buster Sword, but the fireball knocked his trusted weapon clear out of his hands. The blade spiraled wildly through the air before stabbing into the ground near the edge of the caldera, fortunately safe from the rising lava, for now.
 
This was lost on Zack, who was forced to deal with his own deteriorating situation. The fireball had been deflected, but now he was without his weapon of choice. Volvagia continued to rise towards him. There was little other options, so Zack once more drew the Ultima Materia, and pointed the glowing stone straight down at his enemy.
 
The ancient magic that could shake the foundations of entire civilizations may have been stored in this seemingly innocuous stone, but the power to use it resided in his own body. To use it twice in quick succession was surely pushing his limits, but he found little other choice. The green stone turned white yet again as he channeled his own energy into it, so he could activate the world shaping magic once more.
 
It was far too late to worry about the consequences. Zack could only extend the last bits of energy he had into another powerful Ultima. One way or another, this fight would end soon. Someone was leaving this caldera, whether it was Volvagia or those Nealaphh had trusted with the task of driving it away.
 
So here was one more for the road.

1123 words, by the site.

Used Mako Charge (T1 Power Up) - 1 SP
Used Ultima (T2 Offensise Super (again)) - 2 SP

0/5 SP remaining.

[Tom Marvolo Riddle]

All things considered I wasn’t nearly as weary as I had been in my previous fights against the primes. That did not mean though I was untouched by it. No. My limbs felt deadened, almost numb, but not enough to limit me significantly. However in a situation such as this… even minor weakness would be far more deadly than what would be the norm against foes of the place.
 
The superheated air surged in another fury of monumental movements as those who remained in the battle engaged the beast. Their moves while impressive did not seem to overly phase the dragon beyond injury that were far from being fatal. No most of their effort seemed to be getting in range of it as it careened across the battlefield, spreading glittering orbs of crimson-gold light. This entire effort was entirely working out in Volvagia’s favor.
 
We hurt it, and by the end of this it would have several human sized roasts promptly ready to be served if nothing was done to curtail its efforts.
 
As I had no intention of being made a meal, metaphorically or otherwise, I began to work my way to a better position. With little preamble I forced myself to navigate across the network of platforms in a hopscotch like manner, to find a better location of attack. It was for not though.
 
The roar of synthetic thunder crackled in an explosion that wayload my movements further. That sound from the beast jerking suddenly as the aura covered Gildarts and Zack pressed whatever advantage they had created just moments prior.
 
Everything quaked and rippled as our platforms rolled with a wave of lava. Nearly being unseated, I caught myself in a crouched that brought my gaze towards my target, its titanic form slamming to the ground before me, prone. Better so, was the wounds I had inflicted earlier were exposed and dripping with life’s blood.
 
That was it! My bull’s eye so to speak.
 
I breathed in the superheated air; the human action of respiration saturated me with the ambient primal magic and force that permeated the volcano. It would have to be enough.
 
My wand thundered in cadence with my voice, “Crucio!”
 
Lightning struck the gaping wound and the entire beast seized with great jerking spasms of agony. The lava around it practically frothed as the mountain itself in sympathy of my spell shook with each impact of the dragon’s body. It was almost wormlike.
 
All at once further attacks rained down from my compatriots. This what this spell was for. Disabling greater opponents so others could deal it superior injuries.
 
Fighting against my draining limbs, I flexed my arm to maintain the direction of the tip of my wand towards the chink in the dragon’s hide.  Cold cruel light tore through the air, undulating. It penetrated deep into the wound, radiating soul wrenching agony that kept it down. However like all things, the spell had its costs.
 
Every pulse of power brought me closer to a deeper wariness that I could not hope the maintain myself under. It was a burden I had expected but not truly understood to  any degree.
 
Each breath gained weight but with it another attack brought my efforts further value. Strike after strike fell from the heavens upon the mythical reptile; bringing it closer to its ultimate demise. However I knew two things that gave me worry. First was that I could not maintain this much longer, and second Volvagia was resisting the torture curse with increasing effectiveness.
 
Every seizure brought a growing succession flame that scorched me and the others.
 
If it was allowed to regain mobility we would be lost to the eternal heat of its maw.
 
We had to bring it down now, and I only had one thing left that could see to it that Okor could deliver the final banishing blow.
 
With a twist and ended the crucatus curse and brought my wand whipping back around.
 
In an instant, Volvagia was back on its feet and it was out for my blood again despite its maw being completely ruined. No it would end me for my insolence. I could see it in its eyes. That burgeoning sentience, just barely that of a muggle.
 
It was time to finish this.
 
Its head reared backward as the air vibrated and flowed with a massive intake of breath. A breath that ripped out my school robes and tie… and then the world was lost in a glow of light as its flame met my spell.
 
“AVADA KEDAVRA!” I screamed. My words took with it every last ounce of power within and without. Emerald lightning raced from the tip of my wand and then I knew only the burning sounds of power against power.

795, crucio and avada kedavra. 2 Sp remaining.

[Storyteller]

The harsh reverberations of battle accelerated until the igneous plains melted into a hellish amphitheater of carnage and hungrily dancing fires. Breathing deeply, Volvagia welcomed the flames into its lungs, swallows of sunlight piercing and severe as they slithered down its gullet.
 
Caverns within the belly of the Verse gulped, gasped, and spewed great mellifluous bursts of phosphorous and methane, igniting upon contact with the air. Chunks of earth the color of oil and tar were wrenched from the splintered ground, tossed about as if they were but measly pebbles in the wake of Volvagia’s rage.
 
Rockets and sparklers of blazing flame cast angry glares across the sky. Scores of futile attacks sliced at Volvagia from all sides, the occasional strident flash of light marking the hushed, sudden movements of the spellweavers. Like a moth drawn to a flame, the dragon’s jaws unhinged and its fiery skull curved towards them, vicious twists of gouged rock and volcanic sludge shifting with its immense bulk.
 
An abrupt implosion close to its right eye gave the fire drake cause to snap blindly in that direction, very nearly crunching down upon a disgruntled and battle-drained Zack Fair. Incandescent molten rock churned and bubbled beneath the spiky-haired warrior’s feet, causing him to almost lose his footing. Still, his legs bent and allowed for him to leap out of the way with a heaving effort as the dragon took another earth-shattering snap at him, settling into a crouch before vaulting once more into the fray.
 
In an eruption of flame gleaming like a thousand liquefied medallions fused with oozing absinthe, an artfully lethal spell whisked ‘round the dragon’s fire. A shallow and green curve of ferrous magicks tore boldly forth at Tom Riddle’s command, commingling painfully with the black scales of Volvagia’s hide and staining the great serpent’s skin a putrid sulfur-yellow. A cataclysmic lurch of its wingless body sent the conjurer of paper and binding tumbling, thin streaks of blood that seemed more like ink dripping down the side of his face.
 
Lighting still burned in Lichtenberg lines across the inside of the beast’s soft gullet, having plunged between its jaws courtesy of the intrepid thunder god. Similarly, white-hot magic had slashed through its inner mouth clear to its right eye socket from Gildarts’ fist, barreling jaggedly through the dragon’s jawbone and leaving a sluggishly salivating gash of metallic lifeblood behind. Black trickles of noxious, pestilential fluid gurgled still within Volvagia’s wide lungs, stuttering against the golden flame burning at its core.
 
Scintillating, burnished fangs spewed a plume of fire that melted stone like wax in return, building into a deadly dance of magical energies which flowed sinuously into one another— building, budding, growing, just before glacially splintering apart. Blood-stained and fraying towards an end, the contest of wills between beast and Prime continued.
 
Weariness spread like an inevitable wave, heavy and blanketing. To keep a watchful eye on the beast was uneasy; blood painted the stones, tattered clothing hung from battered frames, and centuries-old armor super-heated to hostile degrees. Those still with hair and skin found that the sweat-soaked deluge of battle had been replaced by a dry, prickly salve that pebbled their bodies with arid gooseflesh.
 
All the while, glittering crests of horned fire slithered and wove around them, the dragon remaining unwaveringly ruthless as its teeth clashed with weapons, sprays of colored light, and desperate fists.
 
The dragon hovered briefly, coiling and uncoiling its tail in displeasure, before cycloning in an all-consuming blast of fire and grit towards the pulverized earth. Pressure roiled down its spine in a carnal, fleshy pulse, flames rearing up about Volvagia’s dusky skeletal helm as it snapped its jaws and savagely sought to skewer and slash with its talons. Barely-harnessed wisps of drooling flame chased after the elusive Primes, pursuing vulnerable meat and bone.
 
They moved in a seamless pattern, an electric-rush-haze of adrenaline surging through clouded smoke and the sizzling, weightless fireflies of embers. A roar quaked down from the torrid skies above, the armor-clad and furious beast Leviathan stirring within its element: the swollen tide of fire, ash and utter decimation. Fairy strings of spells wove through the air, creating an exquisite cat’s cradle of vibrant color even as the horrid, wrenching scrape of talons snaked after them.
 
Occasionally, sometimes, constantly, the Primes would revolve in and out, celestial bodies drifting outside of the vile, inescapable gauntlet which starved their lungs of air, before slipping soundlessly within the tempest’s grasp again, tired down to the very marrow of their bones.
 
So it came to be that, as the weary, life-dripping forms of Zack and Gildarts recovered in silent camaraderie beside a smog-coughing crag for but a moment, there were only three still treading upon that fateful plain.
 
Everything smelled of scorched earth and metal. Tom Riddle, singularly out of place in his ragged and torn robes and not a single scrap of armor on him, raked his wand in a downward arc, twisting an angry, pained screech from the creature. His spell-casting energies were not so thoroughly sapped that he was not able to skirt around a wide swipe of Volvagia’s tail, but the resulting explosion of jagged rocks and white-hot flames turned his cloak grey with ash.
 
A harsh battle cry rent the smoke-clogged sky; a flaming blur of swaying golden hair and a long cloak hurled himself into the air, striking the serpent across the chin just as it reared above the exhausted Mr. Riddle. Stone-carved hammer revolving in his grip, Thor staggered with fatigue as a heavy puff of steam fanned over him, the dust swirling and the rippling red-gold scales of Volvagia shifting far too close for comfort.
 
Maw open and writhing, shifting lazily in lizard-like movements, the fire drake wailed, the yellow-gold yolks of its eyes rolling and weeping as it sank to the ground. Its burning mane sizzled and died, a simple campfire snuffed out by a light drizzle of hailing attacks, the curvature of its body flashing golden before plunging into the freshly disturbed veil of reddish-black dust.
 
Fletched with skittering flames and slavering disease, his ceramite-encrusted chassis crackling off in charred, infectious fragments but his steps thoroughly unyielding, Okor brought the Gigaton Hammer to the fore. The virulent hand that clutched the hammer’s handle was darker than a burnt wick, the digits shifting with a series of mind-numbing, putrefying cracks.
 
A noiselessly humming crater spilled singed rock and debris into itself. The three remaining warriors moved in for the kill, single-minded and collected, hurtling over the still-hot and pulsing crater in a blur of swirling, curling, furling embers, the volcanic deluge settling beneath their shifting feet at last. But the great beast’s movements had been far too quick, too erratic— tinged with pain, yes, but certainly not death throes.
 
The world filled with light. Volvagia’s roar, which seemed to emanate from everywhere at once— thousands, millions of tiny echoes singing in the air, drawn taut as wrist veins, conflagrating wildly from the near-nothingness and shadow-mired vastness residing within the gaping hole in the ground— swallowed them up, the golden tines and pikes of dread driving within the very depths of their shared reality.
 
Volvagia’s warmth, too, drawn up like a cobra about to strike, enveloped them in a curtain of rippling heat as gentle as a hearth-glow. Flowers of a whitish, fernlike appearance traveled along their forms, rupturing capillaries and etching fractals of red-hot sparks into their bodies, the heat swiftly diffusing until it became ill-suited to life. A burst of varicolored light spun outward— first green, then yellow, blue, lavender, red, and then green again— before disintegrating entirely, trickling droplets of shattered opalescence dwindling down to settle amongst the soot and dimly glowing cinders left behind.
 
An immutable quiet fell as the gates of Valhalla rang closed.

 
Victorious, basking in the devastation it had wrought, Volvagia turned its great head towards the obsidian-flecked vista. Fumes of the brightest red hissed out from its jaws and nostrils, the soft pallet inside intensely illumined as a single glowing eye razed over the mutilated steppe lands, pupilless and vulturine. Overlooking the two Primes left in the dust for the moment, the vast lizard listened raptly for the high-pitched cries and shrieks of its brood, flares of almost spiny appearance haloing its throat.
 
The reigning silence was distressing to the dragon. In truth, though the Primes challenging it might have once believed that they were dueling athwart some unfathomable pantheon of the gods, the beast was very much finite in its concerns and subsistence. And in that moment, Volvagia was no god. Gods could never have understood the terror, the bone-wrenching fear that gripped its heart in thorny brambles, smothering and cooling the incandescent rage that had burned ceaselessly for the past hour.
 
No, not a god; a parent. A guardian whose children had been slain by none other than the living stones who had chosen to uphold their silly, delicate little village on the front step of Volvagia’s mountain, knowing full well of what slumbered beneath the hill— or at least, this was what the wyrm suspected. This line of thought spawned questions, churning viciously within the serpent’s mind as it took to the air and flew at breakneck speed en route for Death Mountain.
 
Who possessed the hatchright to fire? The being which breathed it, lay swaddled within its warmth where only the most witless would dare venture, or the timid stones armed with sticks and bombs, guided by those on a mission of death? And who had decided, upon looking at the untamed, freely sweltering fires which spread and continued to spread all across the Verse, that turning Volvagia’s young into lifeless heaps of scales would be advantageous, when in all truth it had only made the situation worse many times over?
 
Worse, yes— Volvagia would see to it that the Gorons were devastated for their impudence, their village and people mere playthings at the mercy of its razor-tipped feet. It would encircle their world as the ancient serpent Apophis, lying in wait just below the skyline before devouring their sun and enveloping their lives in a long, perpetual dark.
 
Maddened by the blind fury rollicking throughout its skull, the drake glided brokenly about the tall mount, a deafening wail ripping free from its chest as it circled like a shark having scented blood on the waves.

This exceeds the word limit by a long shot, 1730 words.

Tom Marvolo Riddle, Thor and Okor have all been incinerated/killed. Each participant of this thread, dead or alive, may now make a totally optional  final post at their leisure.