Knights of the Holy Mother – 10

The traitorous dwarves think darkness is their ally. They think that their experience has leant them an advantage. Eight on six may seem an uneven fight, especially on their home ground. You are Blade Cynthia Darkstorm, and you intend on proving them wrong.

The darkness is the Night Lady's domain. Not that of the dwarves. The blessings of Celeste allow you to see in perfect dark as if in the light of the full moon.

Knight Saturday warned you of the 'prana vials' they injected themselves with. It's only after you clash blades for the first time that your realize the wellspring of strength the potions has given them. The dwarf pushes you several feet back with a casual swing, cold eyes glowing blue under his helm. Your quick activation of shield spell spares you from his ally's warhammer caving your chest in.

You run the spell to cast a series of illusory copies of yourself, right before the warhammer crashes through the shield. He's about to charge when Sir Saturday swoops down and attempts to pull him into the air. The dwarf twists and slams his weapon into the harpy, and he bursts into a puff of smoke as one of the stone chairs to take his place. The stone explodes to pieces, Saturday takes advantage to appear behind him and drive a knife through the gaps in the helm.

Two more dwarves abandon their attempts to shoot down the other two harpies with their crossbows to team up on you, slashing through your illusory copies to reach you. You parry the first, grunt as the second clips your side with a greatsword in exchange for a stab in the gap in his armor, and twirl away in time to see the warhammer wielder throw Saturday across the room.

He pulls the dagger out of his eye.

And heals.

The dwarf growls, the blue light in his eyes fading slightly. The one you stabbed stumbles for a moment, but the blood pooling around him slows to a stop. Your heart hammers in your chest. What manner of potion did they take?

Sven smirks in the corner.

There's a brief pause. Bjorn is breathing heavily, the dwarf he's facing reluctantly approaching him in measured steps. The trio that attacked you get into position. After a few bouts, only Goldheart seems to have dispatched one of the dwarves, the decapitated head bleeding a sickly, almost glowing, purple. The remaining three dwarves on him are far more guarded, pulling Saturday's throwing knives from the gaps in their armor. Most your opponents have scratches on their army from where the harpies attempted to tear at them with their claws, though their attacks have been largely ineffective.

This is not the optimal situation for their talents. You're surprised they can even see in the darkness.

"They fight with the strength of wights!" Goldheart twirls his sword with a frown.

"Not to mention their regeneration." You grumble. "Are we sure they aren't vampires?"

"Nay, their speed is still lacking." He gets into position once more. "What manner of devilry is this 'prana?'"

"We're pretty sure it's some form of highly concentrated life energy. Harvesting it...isn't pretty." Emancipation answers, then addresses the looks March and Saturday send his way. "I don't think we can win this without revealing some of our cards."

Sven's grin falls somewhat upon the revelation. The dwarves step closer and ready their arms once more. There is no hesitation in their movements, only the resigned reluctance of men forced to do their duty. You recognize the telltale signs of warriors forced to fight via geass. You squeeze your sword tighter.

Bjorn's brother has betrayed the nation and his very people. For what? Even now his designs are obfuscated to you. This is why you prefer fighting demons; there are no schemes, no politics, no feints. Just violent hatred in need of eradication.

"Fine, then." Saturday cracks his neck. "No more holding back, believe it!"

The dwarves jump into action.

The three who've ganged up on you stop in their tracks as shadowy tendrils wrap around them.

Shadow magic!

You don't let your shock slow you down, rushing forward to drive your sword into the first one's throat. The other two begin tearing free of their restraints, yet you're forced to take your time sawing your weapon through your opponent's neck.

Try to recover from that!

You meet the one with two axes in a clash of ringing steel, grabbing his other hand to prevent him from cleaving through your side. You barely manage to slow your opponent, his blow digging into your side despite restraining him. The one behind him is slowed by an onslaught of Saturdays, each diving in from every direction in a flock of slashing harpies.

You don't grant your opponent the satisfaction of even a grunt of pain. Simply kick him in the face and pull yourself away, holding a hand to your side in an attempt to stem the flow of blood.

With the shadow magic cast by Saturday and Emancipation, you and Goldheart have successfully dispatched three more traitorous dwarves. The warhammer wielder's glowing eyes fade with every injury healed from Saturday's apparitions. From the way Bjorn's opponent is smoking from the glowing gray spears March had thrown into his body, the odds will soon be a lot more even.

Sven scowls. He presses a button hidden on the wall, and a passageway opens as a horn echoes in the distance. The traitor slinks down the tunnel in a dead sprint.

"Sven!" Bjorn roars and runs after him.

"Emancipation, help him!" One of the Saturdays commands.

His position revealed, the dwarf with the warhammer grabs him by the neck and slams him into the ground. Instead of a dreadful crack, he simply melts into the omnipresent shadows. Emancipation flies after Bjorn, Goldheart intercepting to take on two empowered dwarves at once, blade dancing with supernatural speed between their weapons in an elegant display of skill and power. The warhammer wielder makes to join your opponent and you prepare yourself for the onslaught.

A hail of knives emerge from the shadows surrounding him, digging into his flesh and bouncing off his armor. His ally distracted, you take advantage by slamming the flat of your blade against his helm. Discombobulated, he swings his hatchets wildly, and you jump over the dwarf to slash your sword in exposed spot opposite to his knees. Tendons torn, he falls on his face and you finish him off by driving your sword through the back of his neck.

You get up.

Or you try. Why do you feel so lightheaded? Right, the injury. You force yourself up, feeling a slickness flowing down your leg.

You wince. The dwarf nicked you on your inner leg. That's not good.

The warhammer wielder, panting, eyes no longer glowing, approaches. You ready your weapon.

"We never wanted this, you know." He brings up his hammer.

"I know."

He never sees Saturday coming. The harpy erupts from the floor and drives a knife into the side of his throat.

Blood gurgles from his mouth. You don't see anger in his gaze. Only relief that it's over.

You crumple to your knees, bracing yourself against your sword. Saturday rushes to your side as you watch March slash at her enemy with her strange magic, then quick the swelling dwarf towards Goldheart's opponents. He explodes in a flash of gray and blue, sending his allies off their feet.

"You hid it very well." Your vision is fuzzing around the edges, but you can see the surprise on Saturday's face. "A random group of odd knights, finding us out of nowhere with valuable intel? I never suspected a thing..."

It's obvious, in hindsight.

There have always been rumors among the ranks of the Lunar Knights. Whispers. How would the Empyrean representing night, illusions, and shadows best enact her will? Through stealth, subterfuge, and spies. To rule is to be both the benevolent guide and the merciless judge. They are iron Lady Celeste has hidden from the world beneath layers of velvet.

The Midnight Shadows.

An elite branch, an Order within the Order, wholly dedicated to the Night Mistress. As such, she has personally taught them in the arts of illusion and shadow magic. Nobody knows who they are, where they are, what they do.

Who would expect a rag-tag group of harpies and exotic races in half-decent scrap armor?

Goldheart and March have dispatched the remaining guards, and join you at your side. You're already fading.

"It was an honor to serve Lady Celeste by your side."

Your sword drives through the demon’s chest, the holy energies immolating its body and spirit, destroying it completely. This demon would not return to the myriad planes of Niflheim, no matter how powerful it was.

You flick its foul blood from your blade and observe your haggard followers. The Holy Knights under your command are holding up well, their injuries quickly mended by healers like Lynette and that one elf that tries to to talk your ear off. Most squires are struggling to remain standing; the days of constant battle having worn them down to the bone.

Most, but not all.

You are Blade Ena Valorum. The two squires you’ve taken under your wing have blossomed since young Cho Zenwan joined you. No doubt they have been inspired by his immense talent and the spirit of friendly competition.

Squire April has been incorporating refined styles rather than her near-instinctual spear work. She’s allowed herself to open up some more around others, revealing the empathetic ray of sunshine behind the mask of devotion. Even now, she’s letting Zenwan rest his head on her lap as Lynette heals the injuries he’d gained from over-exerting himself once again. Her long ponytails have been finally cut short into pigtails, likely because Zellah applied enough pressure for her to finally see dangers of long hair in battle.

April was accepting, stating that ‘the spirit of the haircut remained’. Whatever that meant.

Squire Zellah found a reliable partner in April. There is still an odd tension between the two, but Zellah shifted from fighting demons on her own to fighting side-by-side with the bubbly spearwoman. Furthermore, she’s learned to take other people’s feelings into account, likely a result of April rubbing off on her. She’s still brash, but at least she reserves her barbs for those with ill will rather than everyone around her.

Together, the deadly duo can stand head-to-head with demons most Knights struggle against without their holy armaments. One wonders what they could do when they are knighted and given their own holy weapons.

You count the heads and nod, waving for the airships to lower their hover pads to pick everyone up.

You stand stoically, a picture of firm resolution amongst the Knights even as you are flown back up to the ship. They make to shuffle back to their dorms, their expressions tainted by mounting despair.

With good reason, this battle was the hardest yet, requiring an emergency rescue for your fellow Blade and a dozen other Knights. A few perished.

Most are confined within stasis fields in the infirmary, their injuries too severe for all but the most powerful healers. Lynette may be a Saintess candidate, but her stores of holy energy are not infinite. Her sunny disposition was tempered by the harsh reality of triage, and her dour mood was…infectious.

You are not one for speeches. Since you were young, you devoted yourself to the mastery of every martial weapon, honing your skills beyond mere mastery. To the point that your personality became as strict and unbending as steel. But these people, your fellow companions in battle, are not weapons.

Some are devoted to the Outer God, others seek to help Prillia, yet all require the same: Hope.

Hope that good will see the day. That there will be a new dawn. That after the clashing of steel and spray of vile black mixing with the red of the brethren in the dirt, there will be life again.

“Knights. Squires.” You call for their attention. “Just beyond the horizon is Weeping Mountain. Just beyond is our goal. I will not say the worst is behind us, for the worst is already assaulting the innocents, just beyond our reach.”

The mood takes a downturn. You’re not doing this right.

“But we are not alone. We are never alone! We are the arm of the Holy Spirit, hammering down onto the forces surrounding Weeping Mountain upon the unbreakable anvil of the sturdy dwarves.” For the first time in decades, you offer a prayer to the Outer God and the Empyreans in the hope that the city still stands. For now, your words bring them hope. “And with our combined might, we will crash into the demon hordes and purge! Them! To! Oblivion!”

You raise your sword high.

“For Prillia, and for the Outer God!”

“For Prillia!” Your men cheer. “For the Outer God!”

Their cheers echo throughout the ships and over the destroyed battlefield. You turn dramatically and leave for the helm room. Captain Faithful grips the wheel in a white-knuckle grip, visibly relaxing when you enter the room. By his side is your fellow Blade, Macy.

Captain Faithful glances at you fearfully. You gave him a scolding when he let the Saintess candidate steer the ship, but it doesn’t seem to be about that.

You are well aware of your reputation among the Holy Knights. You get far enough up the rankings, and you are either a brown-noser or a bitch. As someone who holds the rules in high esteem, you are the latter.

Macy Swiftaxe would be called the former. The human woman has a reputation for forming partnerships with various groups to secure resources and information. It’s a mentality that she encourages in those beneath her, one that shirks self-discipline in training. The Holy Knights benefit from this, but you find her skills unbefitting her rank.

She’s holding a trembling messenger pigeon in her hands. She’s still red in the face, so she must have been recently yelling about something.

“An inspiring speech.” She says sweetly. “Sadly wasted. We have our orders. The captain was just waiting for your approval to carry them out.”

She hands you the message and you frown. The orders come directly from the Paragons themselves.

“Captain.” You keep your tone even. “How far are we from Weeping Mountain?”

“Didn’t you read the message?” Macy growls. “We are to turn back and help the Paragons sweep Prillia. Those are the orders.”

“Five hours, if we don’t stop for every demon we spot.” Captain Faithful shrinks under Macy’s glare.

“Do you remember the lich incident about fifteen years ago?” You ignore the deepening shades of red on Macy’s face.

“I wouldn’t still be a Blade if I was around then.” Macy snipes.

“If you were there, you’d recognize the Paragons are quite capable on the battlefield…but not so much in terms of tactics.”

“So you want us to ignore orders and charge ahead?” Macy’s voice trembles with anger and fear.

She knows the battles have been getting harder. Not many are as capable of controlling their emotions as you can, but for a Blade to look for an excuse to tail turn and run? You understand her fear; Blade Edgemond was a far more capable fighter than her, and he’s lying in the infirmary. You don’t like disobeying orders, but the message Goldheart sent out made it clear that Weeping Mountain was a critical strategic asset.

You’re not one to ignore the advice of one of the oldest Blades of Prillia. And certainly not one to leave a fellow knight without aid.

You are forced to choose between your morality and the rules that you so strenuously uphold. Can you even get to Weeping Mountain with enough troops to make a difference? You shake your head and dispel your doubts.

The coming battle will have to depend on the airship modifications the new arcanomechanist team has been working on.

“Bridge to engineering.” You speak into the intercom tube. “How are the blessings holding?”

The Holy Knights differ from most other knight orders in that you have far more holy energy to go around. A single priest can bless weapons, armor, and even entire ships far quicker than a group of enchanters could work their magic. These blessings could be just as versatile as your standard enchantment, with the added bonus of being incredibly effective against the demonic and the undead.

Sadly, the more moving parts there are, the faster the blessing fades. Blessing more mechanical objects such as mana cannons and airships came with a time limit before they need to be re-sanctified. And if any part of the machine breaks, it saps the blessing faster until it is fixed, which removes the blessing entirely.

Making maintaining sanctified airships a costly affair.

That was common until Chief Engineer Sprocket and her team joined. She has a specialist capable of maintaining blessings on machinery, even after it has been taken apart. From what you understand, she’s fiercely protective of him.

“All green.” Sprocket says over the intercom. “My guy figured out a way to enhance the mana cannon’s holy energy output by over thirty percent. Give us the word and we can blast these demons back to where they came from!”

Such an output may be enough to permanently scour the weaker demons from all planes. Possibly even put down a named demon. Your decision is made.

You pat Captain Faithful on the back and nod, giving him the go ahead.

“Protocol states we need to take a vote.” Macy sputters. “We can’t until Blade Edgemond recovers.”

“As you so clearly pointed out, I have seniority.” You wave her away. “I will take responsibility.”

For good or for ill. Whatever those foul demons are planning, you are going to put a stop to it.

Sorrowheart Peak has everything you love.

A population of thick dwarves willing to get freaky? Check.

Gallons of ale to and tons of sharp weapons? Check.

Constantly under threat by legions of big, burly monsters that you can tear into whenever you feel like ripping something apart?

Check!

You are Halloween and you are pissed. More than normal, anyways. You’ve finally found a halfway decent place and those fucking stupid dickhead demons got their heads out of their asses and started seriously attacking Sorrowheart Peak.

All at once, like some dipshit set them off or something!

While you were a blender of violence in the middle of the hoard, they steadily overwhelmed the dwarves and tore down the walls. December rushed in and pulled you out before you could vent your rage on a thorny demon with a tail that would have fit perfectly in your tight pucker.

Something about needing to protect the city itself. He even has the gall to say that you’d eventually get overpowered, but you could have kept going for another couple hours! He plops you down at the city entrance and zooms off, his sabers cleaving through the first waves of demons rushing through the city streets.

“This is some bullshit!” You run after him, clobbering whatever demons remained into paste. “I’m not a fucking babysitter!”

It’s too late.

He’s gone, leaving you with the squires and some panicking civilians. This is not how you saw your day going. Growling, you slam your club to the ground. You want to keep slamming it, but now isn’t the time for a tantrum. You’ve got two minutes at best before the competent demons make it to the city gates.

“You, nerd with the glasses!” You point your club at the smartest looking dwarf. “Take Burdock to the biggest chokepoints closer to the city center and have him make them even choke-pointier!”

“I, uh, okay!” Burdock takes him on his shoulder and the dwarf points the way.

“Gobbos! Stupid lovebirds!” You point at the goblin squires, Plum, and Spruce. “Take the people who can’t fight and bring them to safety. I can’t be assed to take care of the weak.”

“I will not be placing my life in a goblin’s—” As a dumbass opens her stupid mouth, your hand snaps over to grab her tongue.

“Either these greenskin shitheads help you, or I use you as bait! Nod if you understand.” She nods, trembling.

You let her go and the dwarves who can’t fight hurry away, escorted by the squires. You’ll find that prude later and shove so many dildos inside her. What’s left is Iris, Nightshade, and a handful of dwarven warriors. They look at you with fear and something else you can’t really place.

Doesn’t matter.

You don’t like what you’re about to suggest. It’s a cowardly bullshit tactic that the weak use, but you can’t be everywhere at once. Quinn’s taint, it feels like you’re going to puke for even saying this.

“The rest of you, hit and run tactics. Be stealthy, be deadly.” Ugh, gross. “We’ll meet back up with Burdock and the nerd. There’s something I need to take care of.”

You leap from roof to roof, occasionally punting a flying demon into a wall as you head towards the west side. Over the past week you’ve been here, you and your siblings have been having a lot of fun. Dwarves can be real party animals once they get drunk, and the stress from the siege made them more pliable to having their ECS broken.

Sucking, fucking, and fighting weren’t the only things you’ve done. You’ve spied on Bjorn so you can settle a debt.

You can be a real bitch, you know that. But being in debt to someone is something you’ll never accept. Bjorn, that damn midget, went out of his way to save Emancipation. Not just that, but he also spoke up for you! Fuck, you hate owing someone.

A giddy smile stretches across your face as you get close. If you save his wife, you’ll be even!

You land in the street, noting the demon corpses pincushioned with metal rods. The door is ajar.

Well, fuck. Did they get to her first?

You peek your head inside…and jump back in time to avoid a hail of bolts.

“What the fuck, asshole?! I’m trying to save your ass!” You scream from the neighboring roof.

A tiny dwarf woman with mousy brown hair and freckles pokes her head through the door. Her eyes light up in recognition.

“Oh, you must be Halloween!” She opens the door, swinging her autoballista over her shoulder. “Bjorn told me all about you. Would you like to come inside for some tea?”

What the fuck? Is this bitch fucking crazy? There’s a war going on! Screaming in the distance, roaring demons breaking shit, the whole nine yards! The Lunar airship unleashes a magic volley on the edge of the city, lighting everything in a bright blue color. That’s your cue to get the fuck out.

“Lady, I don’t fucking have time for this! Pack your shit or I’m dragging your ass to safety.”

“We’re almost done fixing the engine, though?”

Engine? You’re about to go ballistic when one of the walls of the house slowly peels open revealing…Quinn’s fat fucking tits, is that a tank? Dwarves pull the hodgepodge armored carrier out of the house, its treads slowly clicking as the massive cannon on the top swivels around. The orgy’s worth of dwarven engineers aside, the tank is a thing of violent beauty.

You’re not typically a fan of ranged weaponry. But that fat fucking cannon makes your pussy cream inside your armor.

Bitches love cannons.

“Roxxanne, we won’t be able to get the engine running for another hour.” One of the dwarves drops the chains pulling the tank. “Not enough time before we’re overrun.”

Fuuuck. Now that you’ve seen it, you can’t leave it behind. Grumbling, you push the dwarves aside and pick up the chains in one hand. You give it a tug…it’s heavy, but nothing you can’t manage.

“Alright fuckers.” You wave your club and they back away quickly. “Get in the tank…and tell no one what I’m about to do.”

Damn it, damn it, damn it! All you wanted to do was get even, and now you’re pulling a bunch of dwarves like an ass. The kind that pulls chariots, not the kind that gets sodomized!

You pull the tank in a rough jog, your legs cracking through the stone as you swing your bat through any demon that gets in your way. At least they’re helping by firing the cannon every now and then. It makes the humiliation of pulling an armored chariot a lot easier to bear. You almost burst into laughter when you see some three-story-tall angry turtle shithead get blasted into chunks. Roxxanne isn’t half bad either, popping her head out of the top to spray bolts into the air, showering you in a drizzle of flying demon’s blood.

Bjorn has good taste in women.

You reach the square at the city center, ragged warriors clearing the way as you move the tank into a position aimed at one of the chokepoints. There are plenty of injured civilians, scared children, and shell-shocked dwarves milling about. They step back in awe of the Demon-Enchunkener-1000 as the dwarves who hitched a ride on the sexy beast pile out.

A few of your squires are already there, helping in any way they can. Either helping dwarves reload their weapons or fighting side by side with them at the chokepoints. Roxxanne hops out of the tank as it blows another demon to pieces and walks up to you with a gentle smile that’s out of place in the middle of battle.

She gets on her tip-toes and pats you on the head.

“Thank you, Halloween.”

…You are only forgiving her because she’s shorter than you. Not because she reminds you a little bit of Labor.

“Did you drag that thing all the way across town?” December appears, jogging in place. “You’ve got to be the smallest donkey I’ve ever seen.”

You swing your club, missing his stupid snout by inches. Fucking speedster. His smirk disappears and he gets serious, updating you on the situation. <There’s trouble in the palace. Sven is a traitor, he had his guards use vials of prana to fight off the others while he made his escape. Darkstorm is severely injured, and the others aren’t much better off. If Goldheart wasn’t there…>

Shitdicks.

If Sven gets away, he’s probably going to be some reoccurring villain or something. There’s nothing more annoying than a little shit who won’t let his skull get caved in. It’s like getting a dildo ripped out of you before you can even cum! You need to nip this shit in the bud. But how?

Roxxanne sets down her autoballista and fires a stream of silver bolts into the tide of demons as she hums a happy little tune. You angle your head her way.

<What are the chances Bjorn’s wife knows something?>

<Bjorn is married?>

Fucking idiot.

Thankfully, Roxxanne does know something. She tells you about the secret escape route that she and Bjorn hid in when they were teens, blushing and twiddling with her hair without letting go of the autoballista. Once she tells you where the exit is, December tucks you under his arm and rushes off.

The exit is hidden behind a big rock, and you easily break it apart. You head inside and hear some yelling that steadily gets closer. Sven is yelling some shit about how his family never loved him and that his brother left him all alone, Bjorn is shouting further down that it’s not too late…

Typical final battle angst.

<After you.>

December graciously lets you go first and you smirk. There’s a reason you let him use you as his onahole. Stifling a manic giggle, you rush ahead to intercept Sven. He’s yelling behind him as he rounds a corner and you cackle.

He looks up, but it’s too late. You clothesline him, he drops to the ground like a sack of bricks. You put your boot on his gut and laugh loudly. You can push down to cave his chest in, but you’d like to give Bjorn a chance to see you kick his brother’s ass. Sven snarls and grabs your ankle, but it’s not like this puny noble can do anything to you.

…Why is the silver gauntlet he’s wearing glowing?

Before you know what’s happening, you’re tossed twenty feet through solid rock. You blink and struggle to catch your breath, the realization crystalizing as you shudder in absolute rage. For the first time, someone is stronger than you.

“Don’t you see?!” Sven screams down the tunnel and shakes his magic gauntlet. “With the Silver Fist itself, none can stop me! 'Strength to move mountains,' brother! You cannot stop the Wielder of the Silver Fist!”

A gust of wind blows by and Sven screams as something clanks to the ground. You can’t see anything since you’re still face-first in a newly made offshoot tunnel, but from the slow rasp of the blade, you’re guessing that December cut off Sven’s hand and is doing that dumb ‘cool re-sheathing blade’ thing.

"I just did."

You know that fucker’s been practicing. And he wasted it with such a dumb line.

You manage to pull yourself free as Bjorn and Emancipation catch up to you. Bjorn stares at his crying brother and mournfully picks up the gauntlet.

“Brother…you have consorted with demons, thrown Prillia into chaos, and willfully sent our people down the path of death and dishonor.” He takes a shuddering breath. “Why?”

Sven staggers to his feet, not even bothering to hold his bleeding stump. He looks behind him, where you and December are blocking him. He looks back to Bjorn and Emancipation and lets out a weird laugh of relief.

“…I can’t tell you.”

“Enough, Sven. You must—”

“He’s telling the truth.” Emancipation cuts in. “He literally can’t tell us.”

Sven stands as tall as he can and sets his jaw.

“Be careful who you make deals with, brother. Beware those with old friends, those with untold riches, those with forbidden knowledge. Beware the third—third…”

Is it you or…no, his skin is definitely getting wrinkly, and his hair is turning white. Within seconds, Sven is decomposing while he’s still alive, still struggling to finish his sentence.

“…Avariel…”

Sven falls apart, his skin and bones dust before they even hit the ground. Bjorn stares in shock and falls to his knees. The only sound is that of bloodshed and pain echoing from the exit behind you. Bjorn sets his jaw and stands up, pushing past you to get to the exit.

Despite losing a brother, he knows the battle isn’t over yet.

You and your siblings join him at the exit, staring at the massive army of demons coursing through the city. There must be tens of thousands of them, each at least as strong as ten dwarves. Emancipation perks up, his harpy eyes spotting something before any of you do.

Four airships on the horizon.

They get closer and a battalion of demons breaks away from Weeping Mountain to intercept…

A golden light erupts from the ships, decimating the hordes of demons and leaving nothing but dust and charred corpses. The holy energy is so intense, you can feel the prickle on your skin from a mile away.

“Holy Knights.” Bjorn leans against the wall with a relieved smile. “Be glad, for they will purge Weeping Mountain of any demonic influence.”

December and Emancipation look at each other nervously.

Pussies.