Waiting...waiting. Strike!
The Ancient One sat in quiet contemplation above an open lava flow, the heat keeping his body limber and ready to move at any moment as the cold northern winds blew through his scales, his hands performing the well-practiced motions of cleaning and maintaining his blade.
There was no need to do so, even if it was not an artefact that could make Gods tremble his services towards it were flawless after so many millions of years with it at his side. But, he still did it to focus his senses towards the north where the first stage of the battle was commencing, the Guardian Penguin's defences cutting into the overconfident Angyls, practically obliterating their first waves.
But the Daemons always had more. No matter how many were butchered more came, and then more until they were pressing the icy walls so tightly that a trickle of their numbers could creep through. The smallest fraction of the numbers that tried desperately to press through, but enough that the battered remnants were still a mighty force.
And at last when their forces had bogged down the Penguins, came his responsibility. The Exalted, the Firsts, the Primes, the Incarnations. Over the millions of years, they had come up with so many names to glorify themselves, as their numbers changed, shrank and grew but it did not change what they were. The greatest abominable children, of aberrations of existence and the primary reason that the incursions could cause any damage whatso ever, their overbearing power opening up a true hole in the defensive line of the Guardians.
He watched the sky as the Daemon came, bursting through the Penguin's attack with its assembled bodyguard, expending vast amounts of strength to burst through the Guardian's barriers, flying as fast as it could towards the regions the Humans called home, its presence bringing forth a tsunami of lesser daemons that followed along in its wake.
Behind him he felt the whisper of power, his student creating a bridge of water to bare him to the humans. It might be necessary, given how readily the daemons were to sacrifice their guards to keep him away from accomplishing his task, cowards that they were. But, for now he had a chance to end this before it could begin. So rarely had the powers of the warp so obviously advertised their intent and it had been nearly 20,000 years since the pink one had bumbled into its first attempt and been slaughtered like a fool.
Rising to his feet, he stared into the distance where there was naught, but a gilded glow the region illuminated by the aura of the Archangyl as he readied himself, hiding his presence as best he could.
His muscles tensed as he aimed and prepared to strike, while at the last moment he unbound his weapon, for no technique he possessed could hide its supreme power, and threw it towards the horizon, leaping after his faithful companion.
He arrived a second after it had impacted, wrenching it from the heart of an Archangyl of the Second Circle that had leapt desperately in front of its Lord, their master hurriedly commanding that they delay him, for it could not hope to best him. None of them could.
But, as the second of its five strongest protectors fell dead within moments, and a coordinated withering hurricane of Weapon firepower followed his arrival, combined with the subsequent blasts of the primitive human space weapons slowing its advance, the First seemed to realise with horror that it would be unable to simply copy Skarbrand's plan and hope for success.
After all he had not managed to grow old by being unable to adapt.
You know the Ancient One is a smart cookie, and its not like it isn't obvious that an incursion is coming.
Perhaps he's up north already lying in wait to ambush the shit out the Exalted.
We can hope.
@Durin
