- Pronouns
- He
true or not, this author here is saying it is not the case in this story
(Fairy Tail/ Warhammer Fantasy) The Fairy Queen of Tilea
- Thread starter AllenWalker
- Start date
Neruz
Rogue Spiderbanana
- Location
- The Land of Fire and Poison
It mostly comes from various 'crossover' references scattered throughout the lore; the primary source is Richter Kless's visions of the origins and nature of the Chaos Gods that he wrote down in the Liber Chaotica.Good sir, I apologize for my confusion but which author said this? Where was this information released? Was there some sort of press breifing I missed or a statement within a larger publication such as much of what has been more recently said of Grand Cathay.
I've headcanoned this idea for years because it seemed very coherent to myself, however I never recalled seeing a statement from anyone representing Games Workshop definitively confirming this, if you have can you tell us about it in more detail?
A link or a quote would be very helpful.
Thank you for your time!
There's also a Fantasy story that I can't remember the name of where a mysterious figure who is heavily implied to be Khaldor Draigo shows up (though I think that has since been retconned into being a time-traveling Stormcast Eternal instead), and the various item rewards for the Dark Shadows campaign were blatantly Space Marine tech. There's a scene in the End Times where some Skaven find a Lizardman communications device and use it to talk to a being that is heavily implied to be an Eldar, and there are a number of landmarks in Fantasy that are described (or shown, in Total Warhammer) as being very similar to Wraithbone structures.
The connections between the settings used to be a lot more blatant; in the 80s\90s your Fantasy Chaos Champion could roll on a table and randomly find a bolt pistol or get a Space Marine added to his army instead of a Troll, etc. But GW have been slowly stepping away from having any overt connections between the settings due to licensing issues or something.
Supposedly during the launch of Age of Sigmar, one of the devs said that the internal design documents had the four primary Chaos Gods as multidimensional entities that exist across all realities as different 'facets' of the same whole, explicitly confirming that while Fantasy\Age of Sigmar and 40k were not the same universe, they were still connected through the Warp and the Ruinous Powers. Which is why we still get the occasional references like the Lizardman comm device showing up.
It's not like it really matters whether the Ruinous Powers are the same or not from the perspective of this story either.
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- Pronouns
- I/Dont/Konw
well shit atleast erza is going to be aware of chaos now?
Asarnil would have fit in at Dragnof where humans and Dragons do coexist similarly like Ulthuan and their Dragons do. And they fight together against the anti-human Dragons that threaten them.
He might even respect Irene pre-madness and her title of "Queen of Dragons".
On the other hand, Deathfang would have gotten along with Belserion the Sage Dragon as Mood Kindred.
Erza transforming into a Dragon would make her unstoppable as Dragons of Fairy Tail are ridiculously powerful and durable it required a specific Slayer Magic made to kill them. As demonstrated by the 7 Dragons from the Eclipse Gate that many Mage Guilds tried to fight them to no avail.
Any magic and physical attacks you throw at the Dragons of Fairy Tail? They outright laugh at you and find you cute.
So basically, the magic users of the Warhammer Fantasy world are goners when Erza is in her full Dragon form and nothing can actually hurt her.
Considering Erza being a Dragon, I wonder what will be her element? Perhaps like a fusion of Diabolos members: Suzaku's Sword Dragon Slayer Magic (sword beam attacks) and Mamdole's Armor Dragon Slayer Magic (formidable defense power).
It would fit Erza who uses both swords and armors. And there are plenty of swords and armors around for her to eat and replenish.
A Holy Knight Dragon Slayer Magic.
After all, the Dragon Slayer elements are bizarre and unique as shown with Diabolos, a guild of 5th Generation Dragon Slayers, in the 100 Years Quest.
- Pronouns
- He
Man, thanks for the feedback! I appreciate it.
The story continued further on sb, i gotta really update it here
The story continued further on sb, i gotta really update it here
You're welcome. Your crossover story is great so far. Erza is certainly making some massive impact on the world of Warhammer Fantasy with her actions while being unaware of it and wanting some cake too.
Nice, I'm excited for the updates long overdue.
Icipall
Don't worry, we can fanfix that!
- Location
- Cold snow fields of Finland
Wait, what?! *runs to check*
Hopefully the story here is updated too as well. It's been long overdue.
Chapter 27
- Pronouns
- He
Chapter 27
Out of the forges and into the fires, it was an old dwarfen saying Emanuello heard over the years. There were a number of equivalents in other languages, Tilean had at least seven analogues for example, unsurprisingly with how common mercenary work, and its pitfalls, tended to be in his native land. He vaguely recalled hearing an Elven version during a party; he couldn't remember how it went, only that it had very flowery wording and interrupted his sampling of a fine vintage.
Emanuello wasn't sure why his mind went there the second they busted out of the burning tavern, shoulder checking a leather clad cultist then cleaving him open. Especially when he saw numerous other cultists turning around, and letting out inhuman shrieks.
Dozens of them were in sight, there had to be many more. Rushing the pair, Emanuello spared a second to wish he had a pistol bracer or two before he rushed in, sword swinging as Goric launched himself into the fray as he was wont to do, his stout form bowling aside several screeching monsters with a single swing, roaring a Khazalid curse as he attacked.
"Hyah!" Emanuello swung as well, managing to behead a woman flinging a spiked chain without rattling his arm too badly. He wasn't about to get shown up by a dwarf, his martial training was for more than showing off to the court. Right now, that meant cleaving through deranged former people as fast as he could, getting to the stone altar where Erza lay.
One man lunged on top of him, shoving his drooling maw filled by spiked teeth in a shriek as he used his sword as a block, punching him in the side so he lurched back, able to run him through and use his body to fling into another pair. Only to get jumped by another, feeling claws rake at his tender skin as he cut them open. Damn these twisted folk were fast.
"Come on!" He shouted, goading a burly man in a couple leather straps and hooks dangling from his skin, the opponent roaring and charging with twin sickles. He was quicker than he seemed, swiping down so closely he felt some hair on his arm get cut, but in doing so he lurched enough to temporarily off balance him. A great opening for Emanuello to skewer him through the side.
More and more foes were being drawn in, Goric clubbed them aside while Emanuello stabbed, slashed, and cut down anything in the way. Years of martial training were hindered by his recent experience, but even so he felt his muscles burning all too soon, his lungs aching from all the fast breaths, his throat raw from the constant shouts. He didn't realize he was slowing until an eerily handsome young man with gigantic ear loops caught his wrist mid swing, wasting time in cackling so he had the chance to knee him in the stomach. Just as he cut him down yet another took his place, another obstacle to the altar.
Just how many of these freaks were there?!
It was not that any of these 'people' were especially skilled or experienced in fighting. This was still a village of peasants after all, that possessed nothing like the different Tilean blade styles he had been taught since he was but a child. His dwarf companion meanwhile possessed over a century of experience fighting different beasts, mostly skaven and goblins as he had been so eager to brag in front of Asarnil. Not to mention actual battle armor and an -if damaged- warhammer. Meanwhile the villagers wore nothing but wool and maybe leather clothing, if they wore stuff at all.
The thing was… they didn't act and move like those facts would normally command.
They screamed and moaned when they hit them but not in pain but obvious pleasure. Stabbing one through the chest in a way that narrowly missed its heart, Emanuello beheld a moan that wouldn't be out of place in a brothel, only ending when he twisted and yanked. Even so, there was a twisted smile on that face which didn't belong on a freshly made corpse. His next opponent he actually managed to lop off his arm, and the damn cultist started rolling his eyes into his skull with a disgustingly pleased groan.
If he actually managed it out of here alive, he was going to have nightmares for years.
Cleaving through yet another screaming monster that at some point might have been a young woman, just as Goric sent a fresh enemy flying, Emanuello charged up the steps towards the blasphemous altar, flinging aside the last armed man. Aching fingers wanted to drop his sword, but he tightened his grip when he rushed to the side, where Erza was still sound asleep.
"Erza, Erza!" Emanuello shook her arm, snarling when she didn't awake.
"Won't work."
Arrogance on a level an Asur would appreciate dripped off that tone, adding an extra edge to his glare when he looked up. While the portly man several body length's away appeared hardly different from the cultists he had already cut down, the intricate tattoos- no, scars. Brands and cuts by the look of it, some old, some still dripping wet. They alone helped mark him as a step above the fodder Goric was even now punting away.
"It's amazing she still breathes with how much sleeping potion she consumed." Never mind that disgusting smirk, Bertrand or whatever his name was, held up a handful of vibrant red hair. "Such a meager offering, but it should suffice for the moment. After I indulge myself on your flesh I'll deliver a better sacrifice."
He tossed it into a rune inscribed circle that hurt his eyes just looking at it; Emanuello's skin immediately itched like mad, recognizing fell magic even with his minimal knowledge. His body, no, his soul recoiled from the burst of awful purple energy rising in that blasted circle. For a split second he felt like curling into a ball and weeping, or giving in to a formless whisper in the back of his skull; clutching his hilt brought things into focus, enough that a hastily muttered prayer cleared the worst of it.
And then, something rose from that circle.
A tall, shapeless figure, more like a cloud than a physical object, colored as… he didn't know. Every shade he knew was outnumbered by those he didn't, filled by maddening patterns that forced him to look away. A thin noise reached his ears, a distinct ringing like when he was in a silent study, but not. It was like… was that screaming? Or laughter?
Betrand staggered away, his disgusting face widening in shock. Somehow it trew worse when the figure lifted the lock of severed hair using nothing, curling downwards as if to sniff. There was a ripple across its twisted surface, then it split apart, the blob of maddening nothingness becoming something physical.
Flashing colors became grey tinted skin, then fleshy tendrils, then sharp claws which belonged on sea crabs. Leather, or appearing similar to leather corsets covered their torsos, showing what could have been an attractive female form, if it was twisted beyond parody. Several pairs of clawed feet touched stone, which could have quivered if his eyes were to be trusted. And finishing his first glance was a demented visage, stretched into a sneering grin of so many indulgent moods, with a forked tongue reaching out to curl like a snake.
Emanuello had to manually control his breathing, otherwise he would suffocate from being so still. There was a creature out of his nightmares right there, sensually stepping onto the ground outside the circle, its form rippling like it was underwater. It and… one, two, four, five others, he had to count under his breath. Individually shorter than him though still taller than a dwarf, lithe and actually quite attractive-
He slapped his cheek, just as Betrand sputtered. "Wah? How? I was only beseeching you for a boost, how did five of your unholy-"
In the blink of an eye one of the Daemons, what else could they be? It crossed the distance between them and lopped off his head, sending the portly leader tumbling into the air, snatched before it hit the ground. Then the monster brought its stunned prize to its mouth, exhaling onto the cheek before dragging its forked tongue to lap up some blood. The way it did, that was just like a high class escort.
"Mmm, how nice. A prize to be claimed." The daemon's voice was as sweet as the best of wine and as repulsive as a leper. Emanuello wasn't sure whether to run like mad or throw himself to that thing.
His hands shook, but Emanuello brought his sword up. Mumbled prayers left his lips, clearing his mind of everything, save one; Erza was still blissfully unaware of what was happening, sleeping away with no sign of awakening. Emanuello had absolute certainty that these beings were here for her, just as he knew that he stood no chance on his own. How he knew was a mystery, only that he wasn't walking out of this without a miracle.
As one the Daemons swiveled, Emanuello feared turning his head until he heard a throaty roar; vaulting over a stone pillar with far more grace than his stocky form seemed capable of, Goric had a cultist's head in an arm lock, bringing it down on the stone. If not for the current situation Emanuello was sure he would wince at the sharp crack, cushioning the dwarf's fall as he landed in a huff.
"What are you standing around… oh." Goric blinked, his bushy eyes widening. Unless Emanuello had hit his head, he was sure he saw a flash of terror in the old dwarf's gaze; Goric had faced hordes of beastmen, goblins, and skaven, he fought off those Firmir without balking, and despite his grumbling he rode the dragon. But this was different.
For just a second, the two men shared the exact same kind of mortal terror.
The Daemons merely grinned. As one the fanged creatures circled the pair, stepping clawed feet without haste or any sign of unease, quite the opposite. They moved like they were either showing off at a seedy tavern, or putting on a show at the Reman coliseum for the crowd's enjoyment. Slow, utterly calm, lacking any fear. If the stories were even partly true, they had good reason to be so confident.
Two of them started to edge towards Erza, but the first to appear hissed, the whining pair scampering back into the circle. Emanuello was simultaneously relieved and disheartened by that, Erza was safe but their odds plummeted that much more. With the smell of smoke haunting him, he gripped his sword and muttered one last prayer.
He charged, putting in real effort into his swing, but as he expected the Daemon simply backed out of the way; the smooth movement reminded him of Asarnil in a way, eerily quick and utterly inhuman. But where the high elf had a sort of economy to his motions, these things whirled from a second then third slash like it was a game, tittering with skin crawling giggles as they practically danced around him.
Emanuello felt the pain after the blur crossed his vision, bright agony splitting across his shoulder. He staggered from the long gash that thing's claw tore, wide open by no reasonable metric for another to slash his back; the tearing sound, he wasn't sure if it was his tunic or his skin. Gasping, he swung wildly and hit nothing but air, the nearest Daemons actually closing enough to nearly, but not quite, let the blade pass over their skin.
Demented giggles fluttered around him, the dancing monsters looked like they were having a fun time in the fire lit gloom. And not just with his hissing self.
"Stand still!" Goric roared, swinging his hammer fast and hitting nothing but air. Around him two Daemons were circling, one leaped up when he next swung, jumping over the hammer then vaulting over the backhanded attack. Those ones actually sounded like they were having even more fun.
Gritting his teeth, Emanuello lunged while they lacerated Goric as well, swinging his sword as fast as he could. Fear had boiled over into frustration, he was done with these monsters; he snarled at each slash and stab, growling at the titters surrounding him, then gasped at the rapid cuts they left. Each one was long yet shallow, bleeding him out bit by bit.
Pausing while Goric roared in pain, he sent the nearest twisted monster a glare. All it did was giggle.
"This is so much fun~" it snickered in flawless Tilean, save for a raspy hiss.
In the span of a heartbeat it lunged at him, clasping the sharp claw around his throat, and using strength it's form shouldn't have possessed it shoved him past its unholy comrades. For the first time he made skin contact by accident, just coming close made his skin crawl, then he slammed into the stone pillar. Emanuello gripped the Daemon's claw, ignoring the impulse to wretch his hand away, and struggled to force the damn thing off of him. Every facet of his being was repulsed by that fanged grin leaning closer, flicking its tongue over its stretched, androgynous expression.
"But we have business to handle. This was great, now then-"
Distinctive flaps heralded sudden gusts of wind, for the first time breaking the being's amused smirk; it and Emanuello both looked up to the evening sky, right as the huge creature landed in a crash right over the altar.
Rearing back, Deathfang let out a screeching roar at the Daemons. Leaping from its back, Asarnil dashed into the fray with a swing of his own sword, deflecting a clawed swipe then unleashing a flurry of blows. Emanuello couldn't keep track of either of them, only that the daemon was on the backfoot for once.
The one holding him let go, allowing Emanuello to slump and heave as it dashed towards him, just as its companion had a sword hack it to its sternum, its body turning into noxious smoke even as it bled. The other three ceased taunting Goric, hissing and snarling like skaven as they closed in, ignoring the dwarf suddenly ducking under cover.
Deathfang crashed his claws before the altar, inhaling deeply. The Daemons realized their mistake just a second before Emanuello, drawing upon his reserves to drag himself behind a rock; a gout of flame left his maw, the roaring blaze drowning out the screeching of the monsters. The temperature became unbearably hot, Emanuello felt the air around him grow dangerously toxic, he coughed once the flames vanished.
Staggering out of cover, he saw a huge scorch mark on the stone which touched crackling glass. Emanuello had enough sense leftover to avoid the rippling heat, instead tightening the grip on his now oddly slippery hilt, staggering to where Asarnil and the Daemon dueled.
The two were like shots in flight, just blurs too fast for his eyes to track. A swish of an unholy claw, the flash of Asarnil's immaculately maintained blade, both combatants so quick that no human he knew of could match them. There was no opening for him, or for a snarling Deathfang who curled his lips back, unable to unleash the flames again. All he could do was lay a clawed hand by Erza.
Until all of a sudden Asarnil kicked, sending the Daemon back in a stagger. It snarled, screeching so his ears hurt, arms and legs spread for a lunge. Its back was to him.
Emanuello's sword plunged through its back, cutting off that dreadful noise, replacing it with an almost human-like hiccup. He ducked just as it whirled around, accidentally falling as it flailed, turning eyes that blazed with hate, vanishing upon getting smacked by Goric's hammer. It whirled around as a dazed mess, showing a surprised face as Asarnil dashed up, and showing no emotion under his helm, cleanly took off its head.
Silence descended over the hamlet, there was a hiss of the foul magic disapating, and the crackling of the fire spreading on from the tavern. Emanuello's legs gave out, dropping into a mess of limbs as he heaved, all the many wounds he had accumulated were returning in force.
"Erza…" his throat was raw.
Deathfang huffed, moving aside so they could see that she was alright, sleeping away the otherworldly event. Not even Deathfang plucking her to drape over his back woke her, she was blacked out.
"Come, it is time to leave." Asarnil spared a glare at the circle, using his foot to scuff the edge, yanking his limb away in obvious reluctance. Goric had to take over, sending it an odd look before bringing the hammer down to crack the stone; a faint noise at the edge of Emanuello's hearing suddenly disappeared, he rubbed his aching ears in confusion.
Goric and Asarnil had to help him stand, staggering the man to Deathfang. Around them the village burned, killing whatever remained of the foul place. Lifting the whole party, the dragon flapped his wings and took them away, too slow for Emanuello's liking. They couldn't leave fast enough.
Out of the forges and into the fires, it was an old dwarfen saying Emanuello heard over the years. There were a number of equivalents in other languages, Tilean had at least seven analogues for example, unsurprisingly with how common mercenary work, and its pitfalls, tended to be in his native land. He vaguely recalled hearing an Elven version during a party; he couldn't remember how it went, only that it had very flowery wording and interrupted his sampling of a fine vintage.
Emanuello wasn't sure why his mind went there the second they busted out of the burning tavern, shoulder checking a leather clad cultist then cleaving him open. Especially when he saw numerous other cultists turning around, and letting out inhuman shrieks.
Dozens of them were in sight, there had to be many more. Rushing the pair, Emanuello spared a second to wish he had a pistol bracer or two before he rushed in, sword swinging as Goric launched himself into the fray as he was wont to do, his stout form bowling aside several screeching monsters with a single swing, roaring a Khazalid curse as he attacked.
"Hyah!" Emanuello swung as well, managing to behead a woman flinging a spiked chain without rattling his arm too badly. He wasn't about to get shown up by a dwarf, his martial training was for more than showing off to the court. Right now, that meant cleaving through deranged former people as fast as he could, getting to the stone altar where Erza lay.
One man lunged on top of him, shoving his drooling maw filled by spiked teeth in a shriek as he used his sword as a block, punching him in the side so he lurched back, able to run him through and use his body to fling into another pair. Only to get jumped by another, feeling claws rake at his tender skin as he cut them open. Damn these twisted folk were fast.
"Come on!" He shouted, goading a burly man in a couple leather straps and hooks dangling from his skin, the opponent roaring and charging with twin sickles. He was quicker than he seemed, swiping down so closely he felt some hair on his arm get cut, but in doing so he lurched enough to temporarily off balance him. A great opening for Emanuello to skewer him through the side.
More and more foes were being drawn in, Goric clubbed them aside while Emanuello stabbed, slashed, and cut down anything in the way. Years of martial training were hindered by his recent experience, but even so he felt his muscles burning all too soon, his lungs aching from all the fast breaths, his throat raw from the constant shouts. He didn't realize he was slowing until an eerily handsome young man with gigantic ear loops caught his wrist mid swing, wasting time in cackling so he had the chance to knee him in the stomach. Just as he cut him down yet another took his place, another obstacle to the altar.
Just how many of these freaks were there?!
It was not that any of these 'people' were especially skilled or experienced in fighting. This was still a village of peasants after all, that possessed nothing like the different Tilean blade styles he had been taught since he was but a child. His dwarf companion meanwhile possessed over a century of experience fighting different beasts, mostly skaven and goblins as he had been so eager to brag in front of Asarnil. Not to mention actual battle armor and an -if damaged- warhammer. Meanwhile the villagers wore nothing but wool and maybe leather clothing, if they wore stuff at all.
The thing was… they didn't act and move like those facts would normally command.
They screamed and moaned when they hit them but not in pain but obvious pleasure. Stabbing one through the chest in a way that narrowly missed its heart, Emanuello beheld a moan that wouldn't be out of place in a brothel, only ending when he twisted and yanked. Even so, there was a twisted smile on that face which didn't belong on a freshly made corpse. His next opponent he actually managed to lop off his arm, and the damn cultist started rolling his eyes into his skull with a disgustingly pleased groan.
If he actually managed it out of here alive, he was going to have nightmares for years.
Cleaving through yet another screaming monster that at some point might have been a young woman, just as Goric sent a fresh enemy flying, Emanuello charged up the steps towards the blasphemous altar, flinging aside the last armed man. Aching fingers wanted to drop his sword, but he tightened his grip when he rushed to the side, where Erza was still sound asleep.
"Erza, Erza!" Emanuello shook her arm, snarling when she didn't awake.
"Won't work."
Arrogance on a level an Asur would appreciate dripped off that tone, adding an extra edge to his glare when he looked up. While the portly man several body length's away appeared hardly different from the cultists he had already cut down, the intricate tattoos- no, scars. Brands and cuts by the look of it, some old, some still dripping wet. They alone helped mark him as a step above the fodder Goric was even now punting away.
"It's amazing she still breathes with how much sleeping potion she consumed." Never mind that disgusting smirk, Bertrand or whatever his name was, held up a handful of vibrant red hair. "Such a meager offering, but it should suffice for the moment. After I indulge myself on your flesh I'll deliver a better sacrifice."
He tossed it into a rune inscribed circle that hurt his eyes just looking at it; Emanuello's skin immediately itched like mad, recognizing fell magic even with his minimal knowledge. His body, no, his soul recoiled from the burst of awful purple energy rising in that blasted circle. For a split second he felt like curling into a ball and weeping, or giving in to a formless whisper in the back of his skull; clutching his hilt brought things into focus, enough that a hastily muttered prayer cleared the worst of it.
And then, something rose from that circle.
A tall, shapeless figure, more like a cloud than a physical object, colored as… he didn't know. Every shade he knew was outnumbered by those he didn't, filled by maddening patterns that forced him to look away. A thin noise reached his ears, a distinct ringing like when he was in a silent study, but not. It was like… was that screaming? Or laughter?
Betrand staggered away, his disgusting face widening in shock. Somehow it trew worse when the figure lifted the lock of severed hair using nothing, curling downwards as if to sniff. There was a ripple across its twisted surface, then it split apart, the blob of maddening nothingness becoming something physical.
Flashing colors became grey tinted skin, then fleshy tendrils, then sharp claws which belonged on sea crabs. Leather, or appearing similar to leather corsets covered their torsos, showing what could have been an attractive female form, if it was twisted beyond parody. Several pairs of clawed feet touched stone, which could have quivered if his eyes were to be trusted. And finishing his first glance was a demented visage, stretched into a sneering grin of so many indulgent moods, with a forked tongue reaching out to curl like a snake.
Emanuello had to manually control his breathing, otherwise he would suffocate from being so still. There was a creature out of his nightmares right there, sensually stepping onto the ground outside the circle, its form rippling like it was underwater. It and… one, two, four, five others, he had to count under his breath. Individually shorter than him though still taller than a dwarf, lithe and actually quite attractive-
He slapped his cheek, just as Betrand sputtered. "Wah? How? I was only beseeching you for a boost, how did five of your unholy-"
In the blink of an eye one of the Daemons, what else could they be? It crossed the distance between them and lopped off his head, sending the portly leader tumbling into the air, snatched before it hit the ground. Then the monster brought its stunned prize to its mouth, exhaling onto the cheek before dragging its forked tongue to lap up some blood. The way it did, that was just like a high class escort.
"Mmm, how nice. A prize to be claimed." The daemon's voice was as sweet as the best of wine and as repulsive as a leper. Emanuello wasn't sure whether to run like mad or throw himself to that thing.
His hands shook, but Emanuello brought his sword up. Mumbled prayers left his lips, clearing his mind of everything, save one; Erza was still blissfully unaware of what was happening, sleeping away with no sign of awakening. Emanuello had absolute certainty that these beings were here for her, just as he knew that he stood no chance on his own. How he knew was a mystery, only that he wasn't walking out of this without a miracle.
As one the Daemons swiveled, Emanuello feared turning his head until he heard a throaty roar; vaulting over a stone pillar with far more grace than his stocky form seemed capable of, Goric had a cultist's head in an arm lock, bringing it down on the stone. If not for the current situation Emanuello was sure he would wince at the sharp crack, cushioning the dwarf's fall as he landed in a huff.
"What are you standing around… oh." Goric blinked, his bushy eyes widening. Unless Emanuello had hit his head, he was sure he saw a flash of terror in the old dwarf's gaze; Goric had faced hordes of beastmen, goblins, and skaven, he fought off those Firmir without balking, and despite his grumbling he rode the dragon. But this was different.
For just a second, the two men shared the exact same kind of mortal terror.
The Daemons merely grinned. As one the fanged creatures circled the pair, stepping clawed feet without haste or any sign of unease, quite the opposite. They moved like they were either showing off at a seedy tavern, or putting on a show at the Reman coliseum for the crowd's enjoyment. Slow, utterly calm, lacking any fear. If the stories were even partly true, they had good reason to be so confident.
Two of them started to edge towards Erza, but the first to appear hissed, the whining pair scampering back into the circle. Emanuello was simultaneously relieved and disheartened by that, Erza was safe but their odds plummeted that much more. With the smell of smoke haunting him, he gripped his sword and muttered one last prayer.
He charged, putting in real effort into his swing, but as he expected the Daemon simply backed out of the way; the smooth movement reminded him of Asarnil in a way, eerily quick and utterly inhuman. But where the high elf had a sort of economy to his motions, these things whirled from a second then third slash like it was a game, tittering with skin crawling giggles as they practically danced around him.
Emanuello felt the pain after the blur crossed his vision, bright agony splitting across his shoulder. He staggered from the long gash that thing's claw tore, wide open by no reasonable metric for another to slash his back; the tearing sound, he wasn't sure if it was his tunic or his skin. Gasping, he swung wildly and hit nothing but air, the nearest Daemons actually closing enough to nearly, but not quite, let the blade pass over their skin.
Demented giggles fluttered around him, the dancing monsters looked like they were having a fun time in the fire lit gloom. And not just with his hissing self.
"Stand still!" Goric roared, swinging his hammer fast and hitting nothing but air. Around him two Daemons were circling, one leaped up when he next swung, jumping over the hammer then vaulting over the backhanded attack. Those ones actually sounded like they were having even more fun.
Gritting his teeth, Emanuello lunged while they lacerated Goric as well, swinging his sword as fast as he could. Fear had boiled over into frustration, he was done with these monsters; he snarled at each slash and stab, growling at the titters surrounding him, then gasped at the rapid cuts they left. Each one was long yet shallow, bleeding him out bit by bit.
Pausing while Goric roared in pain, he sent the nearest twisted monster a glare. All it did was giggle.
"This is so much fun~" it snickered in flawless Tilean, save for a raspy hiss.
In the span of a heartbeat it lunged at him, clasping the sharp claw around his throat, and using strength it's form shouldn't have possessed it shoved him past its unholy comrades. For the first time he made skin contact by accident, just coming close made his skin crawl, then he slammed into the stone pillar. Emanuello gripped the Daemon's claw, ignoring the impulse to wretch his hand away, and struggled to force the damn thing off of him. Every facet of his being was repulsed by that fanged grin leaning closer, flicking its tongue over its stretched, androgynous expression.
"But we have business to handle. This was great, now then-"
Distinctive flaps heralded sudden gusts of wind, for the first time breaking the being's amused smirk; it and Emanuello both looked up to the evening sky, right as the huge creature landed in a crash right over the altar.
Rearing back, Deathfang let out a screeching roar at the Daemons. Leaping from its back, Asarnil dashed into the fray with a swing of his own sword, deflecting a clawed swipe then unleashing a flurry of blows. Emanuello couldn't keep track of either of them, only that the daemon was on the backfoot for once.
The one holding him let go, allowing Emanuello to slump and heave as it dashed towards him, just as its companion had a sword hack it to its sternum, its body turning into noxious smoke even as it bled. The other three ceased taunting Goric, hissing and snarling like skaven as they closed in, ignoring the dwarf suddenly ducking under cover.
Deathfang crashed his claws before the altar, inhaling deeply. The Daemons realized their mistake just a second before Emanuello, drawing upon his reserves to drag himself behind a rock; a gout of flame left his maw, the roaring blaze drowning out the screeching of the monsters. The temperature became unbearably hot, Emanuello felt the air around him grow dangerously toxic, he coughed once the flames vanished.
Staggering out of cover, he saw a huge scorch mark on the stone which touched crackling glass. Emanuello had enough sense leftover to avoid the rippling heat, instead tightening the grip on his now oddly slippery hilt, staggering to where Asarnil and the Daemon dueled.
The two were like shots in flight, just blurs too fast for his eyes to track. A swish of an unholy claw, the flash of Asarnil's immaculately maintained blade, both combatants so quick that no human he knew of could match them. There was no opening for him, or for a snarling Deathfang who curled his lips back, unable to unleash the flames again. All he could do was lay a clawed hand by Erza.
Until all of a sudden Asarnil kicked, sending the Daemon back in a stagger. It snarled, screeching so his ears hurt, arms and legs spread for a lunge. Its back was to him.
Emanuello's sword plunged through its back, cutting off that dreadful noise, replacing it with an almost human-like hiccup. He ducked just as it whirled around, accidentally falling as it flailed, turning eyes that blazed with hate, vanishing upon getting smacked by Goric's hammer. It whirled around as a dazed mess, showing a surprised face as Asarnil dashed up, and showing no emotion under his helm, cleanly took off its head.
Silence descended over the hamlet, there was a hiss of the foul magic disapating, and the crackling of the fire spreading on from the tavern. Emanuello's legs gave out, dropping into a mess of limbs as he heaved, all the many wounds he had accumulated were returning in force.
"Erza…" his throat was raw.
Deathfang huffed, moving aside so they could see that she was alright, sleeping away the otherworldly event. Not even Deathfang plucking her to drape over his back woke her, she was blacked out.
"Come, it is time to leave." Asarnil spared a glare at the circle, using his foot to scuff the edge, yanking his limb away in obvious reluctance. Goric had to take over, sending it an odd look before bringing the hammer down to crack the stone; a faint noise at the edge of Emanuello's hearing suddenly disappeared, he rubbed his aching ears in confusion.
Goric and Asarnil had to help him stand, staggering the man to Deathfang. Around them the village burned, killing whatever remained of the foul place. Lifting the whole party, the dragon flapped his wings and took them away, too slow for Emanuello's liking. They couldn't leave fast enough.
- Pronouns
- He
it will once the fairy tail dresden files crossover i´m writing is done.
It´s in it´s finale stage
Icipall
Don't worry, we can fanfix that!
- Location
- Cold snow fields of Finland
Yay, it is back here as well.
Welcome to a Chaos cult, especially the Slaanesh variety.
Because you had no way of knowing just how great of a sacrifice Erza would be for the forces of Chaos!
Will be hell of a thing to explain to Erza.