Stans in Umbra Mortis

“Hah, Royal flush! Pay me, bitches!” The pit fiend stands at the card table, throwing down his perfect hand of cards. The group of demons just stare for a moment as a fog rolls into the dock house. The place is piled high with crates of guns, drugs, and, strangely enough, bolts of imported lotus silk, crates stamped with Cambodian shipping tags.
Suddenly the card table is upturned, and all four demons have their guns in hand.
“Alright, fucker, I had two aces, there's two in the flop. How is it you managed to dig up a fifth? Clyde, what'd you have?”
The gnoll sets his measly hand down with a frown. “Shit is what I had.”
“Dante?”
The other gnoll shamefully tosses down his cards. He had two Uno cards. There is silence for a moment as the fog thickens, drawing the demons' attention from their botched game to their quickly obscuring vision. They haul their rifles up as the fog becomes so thick they can see nothing but feel their stomachs drop in dread. “C-Clyde. Call the b—” There is a yelp and a spray of warm liquid across the side of the pit fiend's face as a disembodied gnoll’s head rolls across his feet.
All at once, the docks erupt in a firefight, automatic gunfire and the squeals of demons echoing for acres as the fog spreads further into the Los Angeles streets. The thundering sounds from the docks rush into town. The horses and reavers, soaked in seawater and demon blood, separate into squads of five or six and spread out across each block. They descend on the city in an instant, running blades through every man and woman they can find and snatching up young children wherever they may find them. The police respond quickly, but bullets seem to be of no use. Even a lethal shot at most sends a devil rider to the ground for no more than a few minutes before the carnage resumes. Within five minutes, the entire docks district is paved in the blood of its residents and overrun with red-cloaked reavers.
The seas stir as more horsemen haul themselves from the depths. This group is heavily armored, with water draining from the inside of their platemail and seeping from the nostrils and mouths of their undead horses as they trudge up the banks. The simmering sea calms, the portal to Dis in the shallows closing.
“Dam’ien!” A red-cloaked rider approaches, bloodstained and mostly dry of seawater. “Securum Litus est. Quid scopium nostri?”
A rider on a grey stallion, loaded with heavy bronze platemail, waves a hand toward the small horde of dreadnoughts. “Opus novium reavers.”


“Take the city. Bring me any under the age of reality. You have two hours to collect as many recruits as possible and to cause as much carnage as you can. And if you run into any red bloods like last time, find me.”
There is silence as his dreadnoughts move out to oversee the destruction, their scarlet capes still weighed down with seawater. Damien takes a minute to breathe in the sweet chaos and destruction, the wails of the unfortunate echoing through the city like a symphony of mayhem. He urges Zygan forward until his hoofbeats go from gravelly sand to pavement, helm beneath his arm like a football, revealing the stalwart face of a reaver scorned.
Time to find a hospital.

Xxxx

The Hellhound was alight with life on a usual Saturday evening. Booze, drugs, and music flowed as if they were the very lifeblood of the city. Humans and devils alike enjoyed themselves like teenagers at a wild rager. On the barstool nicknamed “the king’s throne” sat the scariest man in town, sipping an extra salty margarita and watching yet another rerun of Friends on his phone. Uncaring as usual to the madness around him, his glass was never allowed to run dry, yet he still seemed stone sober.
The only thing that brought his attention from his Netflix binge was the ticker scrolling across the top of his phone screen. London, Eugenia, Denver, Vegas—all these cities were exploding to life.
“All my main men, in my office, now.” Isroh all but leapt from his chair. “Turn the music up and keep everyone inside, by any means necessary.” He ordered the bartender, who just nodded and turned to his own phone to relay the message. Within five minutes, the boardroom was packed to standing room only, all six televisions tuned to different news channels.
“Boys... and ladies, the world’s gone to shit.” He slouched down in his chair at the head of the table, but none of the people in his office dared to touch their seats as they were each glued to the horrifying visages shown. “I want all available resources routed to Vegas. That jackal-headed freak might be in Nevada’s desert, but I am not about to have my brand-new venue destroyed before it even opens. I—”
Just as Isroh was about to lay down the law, his eyes caught a ticker scrolling along the bottom of one of the news stations. “Hey, you, turn that to channel six and turn the volume up!”
“This just in, zombie horsemen have come from the Los Angeles docks. They appear to be killing everyone in sight. If you are in the Los Angeles area, be advised to evacuate the city.” Isroh blinked.
A shiver ran up his spine at the mere appearance of these things. Whatever they were, they were almost painful to look at, even through a helicopter’s camera.
“Change of plans. We have to defend ourselves. All men to the streets. Put these things down by any method you possibly can. My human ranks, please step forward.” There was a moment before ten humans stepped forward, seven women and three men. “I want you heading up evacuation efforts. Every car, van, and truck I want filled with people and headed to Texas. Starting with the party going on downstairs. I want you nowhere near the fighting.”
Those ten rushed out the door at breakneck pace, yet in eerie silence. “The rest of you, I do not know what those things are, but I know what you’re thinking because I feel it too. We have it pretty good here. If the city dies, we die with it. Fight with everything we have. I have some calls to make and some errands to run, but I will join you soon. With that, see you on the other side.” Isroh slumped for a moment, running through his contact list before setting his phone on his secretary’s desk.
“Lisa, I need you to call every one of these numbers. Tell them I’m calling in whatever favors they owe me, or I am about to owe them a favor.” And with that, the devil king stepped out into what would soon be a battle for the City of Angels.

Blue Gyro

As the streets flooded with blood and bodies, a young girl crawled desperately towards the entrance of one of the nearby emergency shelters, as one of the monsters approached her, bringing it’s hammer up to deliver a final blow.  

From across the building beside him, a blue armored figure dashed across the wall before leaping towards dreadnaught, extending his leg out for a flying kick. “Not so fast, big guy!” Blue hit the dreadnaught like bullet, knocking him from his horse and onto the street.  

As the hero shifted himself to land on the street with a tuck and roll, he quickly moved between the girl and the others coming to assist their comrade. “Go, get to safety!” He glanced back, seeing the girl had managed to climb back to her feet, and was now running down the entrance of the shelter.  

“Okay...” He looked back, seeing that they were trying to surround him. “I don’t know who you guys are...” He shifted into a pose, a habit at this point. “But if you think you’re gonna turn my city into another London, then you got another thing coming!”  

Santo Dorado

The magic man seemed to be doing fine handling the monsters, but as he took one out, two more moved in.  

“Oi amigo...” A masked figure ran over the top of a car, without missing a beat, followed by leaping onto one of the dreadnaughts, pulling them off their horse with a perfect hurricanrana. “Didn’t anybody tell you guys, Dias de Muerte is in November?” He looked back at the monster he had just thrown to the ground, before looking over at Arcana. “Sup.”  

Another dreadnaught charged forward, their hammer primed for attack.  

“Un momento, por favor.” Santo said, before running at the monster, sidestepping part way to run over the top of another car, catching the monster in a crossbody. “And he’s down!!” He exclaimed as he rolled back to his feet the second they hit the street, his movement almost fluid as he placed a foot on the dreadnaughts chest, pumping his fist in the air as he counted with his fingers. “Uno, dos, tres!!”

The day had started ordinarily for him and his teammate. The occasional robbery or mugging was resolved with routine practice. Only when the day was heading towards noon did all hell break loose.

From the sea, an army of undead riders charged forth, wreaking havoc and mayhem. They slaughtered all who couldn't find safety in time or even despite it. The streets of LA soon ran red as hundreds were killed by this demonic force.

Green Ranger and Blue Gyro didn't waste words as they both sprang into action, saving people fleeing their cars or those maimed in sweeping drive-bys and hit-and-runs. Using their built-in systems, they located the nearest emergency shelter and sped off.

As they raced there, he sent an emergency signal to the rest of the Rangers, warning them of the dangers outside and requesting backup. He worried for Red Cross, who was probably still asleep at the base. He hoped she got the signal, but there wasn't anything more he could do for her at the moment.

He watched as Blue Gyro rushed forward to save a little girl from one of the monsters, only to find himself surrounded by the ravagers.

Several small explosions rang out, disorientating the monsters as he jumped from a nearby rooftop. Landing on one of the mounted riders, he plunged his shock baton into the gaps of their armor, unleashing several thousand volts into them. The rider spasmed before sliding off their mount as he jumped off, landing on his feet with grace. Drawing both of his batons, he assumed a guarded form and shouted at his partner.

"Blue, we need to buy them more time to seal the shelter! We make our stand here." Frank shouted in a commanding voice.

As one of the dismounted riders lunged at his head with a sword, he slowed the world to a crawl, sidestepping the attack and hooking them around the neck, pulling their momentum forward into a knee strike.

Time stopped as he took a moment to check the multiple camera feeds on his heads-up display, making sure none of them were sneaking up on him.

'8 riders, 3 dismounted. 3 moving towards Blue, 4 at me. The remaining are watching. Must keep mobile, and divide attention between me and Blue.' Frank thought to himself.

As he resumed time to a slow crawl, he parried another strike before dodging to the side as one of them tried to trample him under their steed.

He wasn't sure if they could fend off these monsters, but he would do everything he could to buy time.

The havoc wreaked on the city in a short period of time was staggering as surges of reavers flooded the streets, killing indiscriminately. However there was a bit more intellect to their form than what was usual for their kind. A rank of skirmishers and dreadnaughts would thunder down a street slaughtering every adult they saw, scythe wielding colossus slayers infiltrating buildings and leaving bloody red borders around the doors containing intended targets and scouts sweeping away children left behind in the sea of corpses or left in buildings marked by the blood on the doorway. It was an incredibly efficient system until resistance was hit on multiple fronts after mere minutes.

The reavers weren’t at all expecting a mage, or whatever the man doing backflips was. The horse that Sean had cut the legs from shatters into glass and smoke and the reavers lay in a bloody heep and for all purposes appeared to be dead. Closer inspection would show rapid regeneration taking place within their armor. As soon as real resistance was hit it seemed like all at once the swordsmen, the heavy cavalry and the scythe wielders were eager to disengage. The ones not caught up in Sean’s sudden rescue and Santo Dorado’s assault on the dreadnaught quickly disappeared, galloping down alleyways and sidestreets, ignoring all humans for the moment. What was left was the horse archers that quickly grouped up together 30 yards away in what looked like a charge only to unleash hail of arrows in Sean and Santo Dorado and quickly do an about face another thirty yards down the street and taking another potshot. They seemed to be retreating.  Further down the road was a roundabout intersection with multiple outlet streets and two major roads. The dreadnaught horsemen quickly formed ranks, lance and shields at the ready for a sundering charge. In each alleyway skirmishers ready to pinch in and fight lines up, shifting in their saddles as the scouts work to bait the redbloods into the middle of the roundabout and into the way of the first well organized cavalry charge of the night.

One scout breaks from the pack of archers, scrambling away entirely and breaking from the crowd, headed straight for LA’s largest hospital.

XXXX

It took minutes for the reavers to reach the shelters, picking people off on the way there. Damien had done well ensuring his reavers were trained in meeting resistance due to the last time he’d come to this plane of existence. However, he did not teach them what to do if they encountered a target to siege. In Dis, churches were often used as shelters, however peasants weren’t welcome within their halls. They were really more of a luxury for the clergy and the nobility to be kept safe while the common rabble had to pray city walls held up. To see a shelter opening its doors to all was unthinkable to the invading reavers.

Their goal was to kill as much as they could quickly and they only had two hours, fifteen minutes of which were gone. Inside that shelter was much blood to be shed so it made sense to siege it. However a good amount of men were tied up dealing with other resistances elsewhere. All they had to siege the shelter was two units of archers and a rank of skirmishers five across and two deep, thirty men total. They unleash a bombardment toward the shelters and those defending it, arrows launched into the sky streaming in silver as each single arrow suddenly splits into five, resulting in a rain of blades. Using the madness the archers would cause the skirmishers charge at the rangers as they took down multiple of their own. At the last moments the mounted cavalry drop for their saddles and get in close combat swords poised for the rangers. Each rank stepping over their own “dead” as their wounds stitch themselves back together and the previously downed riders stand, seemingly only dazed from the non-lethal attacks. They’d have to be hit much harder than that to be slowed. However the ones nailed with explosives did seem to be regenerating at a slightly delayed pace than the ones that were stunned with the baton or kicked off their mounts.

The reavers advanced relentlessly, not seeming to care how many went down as they only seemed to get back up and shove harder than before.

The sound of screeching tires and automatic gunfire rings through the streets as well as the yowling of some kind of angry dogs. Suddenly the area was being invaded by two blacked out vans that parked near the entrance of the shelter, throwing their doors open to reveal mounted turret guns operated by what looked like an imp. The belt fed gun rattled on and sent multiple high caliber rounds into the ranks of archers as the vans came to a stop on either side of the shelter’s doors. The twenty archers were sent scattering to attempt to regroup as they were shot off their horses and many lay in the street regenerating. The  archers that were sent away found themselves descended upon by demons that looked like giant rabid hyenas, each carrying a rifle strapped to their back and a flail on each of their belts.

From the back of the vans Isroh steps down to the pavement, which soon churns up with black vines erupting from the medians and decorative flower pots of the city and quickly spreading out over the ground like a crawling spider web. By the time the reached the entrance of the shelter a gesture in the devil's hand has the vines snaring themselves around the boots of a skirmisher and the dreadnought who’d just recovered from his dose of electricity and yanked them up before slamming them into the pavement with a bloody spray. With obsidian blades drawn he meets another skirmisher, fighting the urge to evade. Whatever these things were, they made him want to just run away, but he pushed the urge down. Isroh kept telling himself if LA was lost, so would he be lost.

The more heavily damaged reavers took longer to get up it seemed, with the archers still down as were the ones heavily pulverized by pavement. Isrohs mind races as the pieces together a plan, these two rangers seemed competent and able but they just needed the man power. “Once these are down we can push forward. If you knock them down I’ll keep them there.” Just as the Dreadnaught blue Gyro had gotten back up he found himself ensnared by barbed vines and pinned to the ground, the more he struggled the tighter the vines wound adding a bit of permanency to their efforts. Soon he had the archers covered as well as any others Blue and Green rangers managed to knock down.

XXXX
Damien finds himself smashing in the doors of the hospital with his warhammer. Nurses and Doctors sprint down the halls to barricade a further door and security returns fire with handguns that were only shrugged off. What bullets didn’t bounce off the tarnished bronze of platte and managed to wedge their way through the chain mail beneath and the padded gambeson beneath that found themselves stopped by the stony skin of the reaver.

The police are confused as the advancing reaver did not even bother with a counter attack, rather just walked through them, clearing the pitiful defense out of his way with one arm as bullets flew. The only death at the hospital so far was an unfortunate security guard that caught a ricocheted bullet. He trudges forth gaining entry to the freshly barricaded maternity ward with an easy kick of the door. All at once a horrible overwhelming shadow of dread hit the hospital like a tidal wave, sending the room into hysterics as Damien stops keeping his natural aura of despair in check. Doctors and nurses, patients and guards screaming as if they were being physically hurt by his mere presence as a few begin to claw at their faces and throats. One even gouged out his own eyes with a pen from the front desk as if to escape the vision of some perceived horror. The pandemonium only lasts for a moment before Damien exhales and a horrible green mist floods from him and quickly engulfs the hospital. The moment it made contact with a living creature their souls disintegrate into a fine dust leaving the screaming suddenly silent as the grave.

Hundreds dead in an instant, their souls in shambles upon the floor only visible to those with the sight to see it. Damien is surrounded by silent cribs as he reaches in to pick up a now soulless babe. His armored finger drags along the soft cheek in an almost loving manner. “Rescued from humanity. Better than to grow into one of those wretched things. They know no love, not even for their own.” It was then he placed the babe back into the crib before raising both hands and suddenly the hospital was alive with the wails of the undead. All the adult residents found their bodies suddenly wretching as horns exploded from their heads and nails split to claws. Their skin flushed ghostly white as their souls were stuffed back into their bodies as violently as they were yanked out, but more scrambled and amiss. Only some of the patients had such a violent reaction, others liquidated upon the floor.

Damien was unsure what would happen if a true reaver creation happened outside of its usual equine vessel, apparently the answer was that whatever flesh was nearby would suffice to build these babes a functioning body. Their reaction wasn’t nearly as violent however, no screaming or pain, rather the silence of sleep. What he did not expect was for the construction of the true reavers to take the corpses of almost every adult in the building save for 15. If he had counted right he’d started with about 100 and there were only 20 infants. By his math it took roughly four human corpses for one reaver but it was unclear where the rest of the flesh went. Only then did he realize something. Reavers formed with a mount, it was always the horse they were grafted to, but this time what was built was probably something else entirely. It was a question he’d have to answer later as his reavers gasped to life in a panic. They screamed, speaking in reaver tongue muttering their own confusion at the abomination of their life.

“Calm, you’ll grow used to it.” He raises a hand, his voice commanding attention, but still gentle and smooth like a parent. It was then a scout came thundering in.

“We’ve hit resistance. Redbloods showed up a few minutes after you left the docks. And we’ve started a siege.” Damien pauses, turning to face the scout.

“A siege? Why would we siege? We have a whole city to raise and we are sieging? Sounds like wasting time.” It was then the mistake was realized. He’d spent weeks teaching his reavers about strategic cavalry charges after the last time he was here, he hadn’t thought about fortifications. The new information would be put to use when they went home, he supposed, but for now he had to raise what he could and consolidate his gains. He had thirty five new reavers at his disposal, twenty of which were sound of mind and fifteen were cannon fodder.

“How are our collection efforts across the city? What do we have?”

“I have not checked. I’ve seen twenty myself.”

Damien just stares for a moment. “That’s it? Twenty?”

“The resistance is… fierce.” The scout laments, flinching from Damien.

The reaver sighs, calming his rising rage. Yes he was angry but it wasn’t his scouts fault, he didn’t didn’t deserve to fear failure. “I’ll handle it. Take these back to Dis and get them clothed and comfortable. When you're done I want you to pull every man off that blasted siege and have them back to spreading across the city. The men behind its walls are more trouble than they're worth and they cost too much time to get to. Spread the word, times moved up, one hour until withdrawal, proceed without me if i'm busy. I want every man I brought with me across that portal in an hour and everyone i turn.”

Damien clunks his way from the hospital mounting Zagan once more as the small army of competent reavers follow the scout, the 15 mindless zombie reavers stagger behind him as if they have to relearn how to walk. He was headed straight for the roundabout that was currently being charged.

Santo Dorado

“Aye, I am Santo Dorado...” He gave a quick bow to the magic man. “As for these things, la lamento, mi amigo, I have no clue what they are...” He motioned to his suit. “I’m just a guy from Mexico, not a demon hunter...” He looked up as the arrows came raining down at them, but were stopped by a sudden powerful gust of wind. “Whoa, now that is cool...” He looked over to the man. “Demons, possibly, these guys remind me of los muertes...” He quickly made a cross motion. “The last trumpet will sound, and the dead will be raised imperishable.”  

He looked over to the man as he inquired about him having powers, cocking his head. “No powers here, amigo...” He lifted an arm up to flex, mocking kissing the muscle. “Just pure talent and practice.”  

Blue Gyro

“Incoming!!” Blue stated as he looked to Green, before turning and jumping over one of the parked cars nearby, putting it between himself and the hail of arrows. Once the assault ceased, he jumped back up to his feet. “We gotta take care of tho...”  

Suddenly, two vans appeared, accompanied by gunfire as the sides opened up, revealing mounted miniguns insides, which whirred to life as they responded to the hail of arrows with a hail of bullets.  

Comparing the two, the bullets were clearly more effective, as the archers were torn to shreds, yet were still repairing themselves.

The closer monsters, however, weren’t so lucky, as the downed ones would find themselves wrapped in black vines that seemed to spread from every plant in the immediate vicinity.  

Blue looked to Green, giving a casual shrug, before looking up to the man who spoke. “That could work...” He looked over at the monsters that remained standing, who were slowly advancing towards them. “Come on Green...” He struck a fighting pose instinctively. “Let’s floor these creeps.” He then lunged over the car, moving quickly nimbly for a man in armor, as if he was somehow lighter, then heavier, as he charged forward.  

Then, as he jumped straight up, his body shot forward, like he was falling, except he was parallel to the ground. Feet first, he collided with the first monster in the line up, the force knocking the monster off it’s feet, and into others behind it. Blue then lightly landed on the ground, doing a quick kip up before jumping into the air again, corkscrewing as two of them swung their weapons from either side of him, one low, the other high. The blades mere inches from his body as he went horizontal. “Close...” He stated as he landed back on one knee. “But not close enough...” He jumped back to his feet, side kicking the one on his left in the knees, then the ribs, and finishing with a shot to the jaw. As the other one came back around with another swing, Blue jumped back, shifting his body sideways again to avoid the weapons path, and deliver a kick to the back of the monsters head, landing back on his feet again.

“Come on, how do you guys expect to beat me...?” He gave a mocking questioning motion, immediately regretting that decision as he realized in his moment of cockiness, that the other remaining monsters had moved in to surround him. “Good answer, good answer.”

The world froze once again as Frank took a mental pause. The battle had only been going on for at most a minute but to him, it had been raging for the last 20 minutes.

Every step he took, every slight adjustment, every breath was calculated and planned. While most would consider it an excessive amount of thought and effort to analyze each second with such attention, Frank was used to the laborious task.

A minute, an hour, a day, it didn't matter to him as he would take as much time as he took to think of the best possible move. He wasn't strong, he couldn't hope to beat these monsters in a fair fight, but he would give it his utmost effort to make sure those in need could, no, would, be saved.

He resumed time for a fraction of a second to adjust his eyes to get a better view of his enemies. Many had already risen from his and Blue's opening attack, no worse for wear. Even the ones his explosive marbles had caught were rising, albeit, a tad slower.

He came to the conclusion that whatever these things were did not care about injuries and would likely shrug off whatever he threw at them. This was not a fight he could end on his own if they kept coming back but he had no other choice in the matter. Formulating a plan over the next 10 minutes, he resumed time.

Narrowly dodging out of the way of a pommel strike, he grappled the reaver in an armbar before snapping their arm at the elbow. He threw the broken-armed reaver at two more before ducking under a wide swing and maneuvering behind another one. With quick hands he roughly gripped the monster's helmet and twisted, snapping its neck.

While he couldn't keep these things down, didn't mean he couldn't make the process slower. Normally, he would be more conflicted using such lethal force, but these were dangerous times and the monsters would kill every man, woman, and child they could if he held back. Besides, these things could take it.

Another 12 minutes passed as Frank slowly but surely inched his way through the hailstorm of arrows, finding the smallest spots of safety where he could and blocking the arrows when he couldn't. He saw the black vans approach and over the minutes of them steadily creeping down towards them concluded that they were either survivors looking for shelter, or aid.

The answer was apparent when the vans opened fire on the riders with mounted turrets manned by what looked like demons. Frank mused that seeing demonic drive-bys was not even the 3rd weirdest thing he had seen today.

A demon he could only assume was the leader stepped out of the van and said “Once these are down we can push forward. If you knock them down I’ll keep them there.” Before he started entangling the downed reavers with wicked vines.

“That could work...” Said his partner as he watched our reinforcements in action.

“Come on Green...Let’s floor these creeps.”

Frank nodded to him and adjusted his grip on his batons.

"Don't hold back, they recover from what we can do." Green Ranger advised.

Together they charged the reavers, Blue using his acrobatics and Green utilizing brutal and efficient takedowns. As he was shoving an explosive marble into the mouth of a reaver that was roaring at him he heard the taunts of his friend only to see him slowly being surrounded.

Reacting quickly, Frank grabbed the reaver as its mouth was exploding and with straining effort, lifted him over his head and threw him like a bag of bricks at the reavers trying to surround Blue.

The devil’s lotus crawling through the streets surges forth like a thorny tidal wave, Isroh’s hands urging it forward with slight hand movements, but giving a swift yank whenever a reaver was ensnared pushing it to the ground with even more force each attempt they made to get up. Holding them forever was not an option as they seemed to be resurrecting almost as fast as his goons or the rangers knocked them down. It came to the point his ability to actually fight himself became inhibited as the area of plants grew so large he had to focus on expanding and controlling all the moving vines individually. Each time one revived and pulled against his vines he had to push it back down as well as ensnare several more. Eventually he finds himself to the heels of his boots in blackened reaver blood as the constantly moving serrated edges of the thorny vines were slicing through flesh and leaving lacerations. Each cut pulled the line of thorns deeper, allowing them to burrow in and bury themselves into the muscle and eventually intertwine with bone, holding the horrid creatures down by their skeletons as their healing could not heal around the now embedded vines.

Each Reaver bound in this way freed up a bit more of Isroh’s mental capacity as he no longer had to focus on continually forcing the same few reavers into submission and could expand his space further, pushing out, engulfing more, grabbing reavers by the ankles, entangling hands, pulling armor from it’s leather clasps. Each time the rangers drew blood Isroh slipped a vine into the wounds for rake from the inside of their bodies ensuring they’d never get up again. In his advancing and focus he almost didn’t hear the approaching hoofbeats from behind.

A moment of instinctive panic grips the devil king and urges him to run, the overwhelming feeling of dread and horror a predator inflicts on his prey pushing him to wheel around, trying to push the thought of running from his mind just as a scythe dips down to catch him under the jaw. The demon yanks back, narrowly missing decapitation, but finding a nasty slice from the side of his throat to his right eye as the blade drags itself across his flesh. Isroh reels, hand moving to cover the profuse bleeding as a vine tangles itself in the horse’s hoofs, climbing quickly and winding themselves around the reaver as he fights. His grip on this fresh reaver was not good and the more he fought the weaker his hold became. Blood poured from the opening in isroh’s face, much more than there should have been for as shallow of a cut. A snarl of fear turned to rage as Isroh’s hand finds his own sword, whipping it across the throat of the bound reaver only for it to then be consumed by the ocean of vines and torn apart.

“Advance. They’re done here.” He growls, pushing forward with the rangers, only for another reaver to show up to. He yelled something in some foreign language lost upon Isroh, but all at once, the reavers turned tail and scattered into the streets, leaving their brethren behind. An eyebrow raises on the demon as he crosses his arms. “And just where in the fuck are they going now?” Isroh shakes his head before pulling a handkerchief from his slacks pocket and pressing it to his still bleeding cheek. Luckily he still had one of his violet eyes, even if it was constantly filling with blood and useless at the moment. “I’ll stick with you. I can cover this city if you can cover me.”

Xxxx

The sudden intrusion perturbed the juvenile reavers, shirking away from the void all at once as Damien raises a calming hand. “He’s a friend. You’ll know him well enough in time.” The mindless reavers he’d raised were shambling behind him as he walked.

Damien could not deny the odd feeling of pride, vindication on the overwhelming urge to prove his worth. The humans denied him any love or compassion, and by comparison even the slight interest his patron showed was enough to fuel the desire to please him. As he rode he spoke under his breath.

“I will do as I can to shatter this world, and every world after that infected with the abominable creatures. The more I come, the more I learn, and the more I can destroy.”

With a harsh kick Zagan launches himself into a gallop toward the roundabout, galloping through, his hoard of reavers following behind him in a charge from their positions, Damien taking point.

The moment he saw one of his men alight with accursed magic flame a whole new fury burned within him. He’d promised never again would another of his reaver meet flame and fervor again, yet this demented man decided burning one was just far too tempting. It was in human nature to burn his kind so it seemed, this further vindicating the need to demolish any and all trace of their wretched existence. A low whistle from under Damien’s helm had and dreadnaughts breaking off into the side streets to wreak more chaos elsewhere as the scouts stay, suddenly hopping up into their saddles, one foot on the pommel, the other on the cantle, arrows nocked and loosed at once in a barrage at Arcana as the archers split off as well, leaving damien solely to barrel into arcana, putting himself between the burnt reaver and the mage, warhammer poised to blast down into him. Another combination of whistles commanded his reaver to the next part of the plan.

The mindless reavers break out into a sprint through the streets and seemingly out of sight, gathering up what corpses were around. Every so often one would peek out from behind an alleyway as literal piles began to accumulate in the wings, blocking off the alleyway as best they can while Damien demands this fight to be with him. Part of him was alarmed that these two and apparently only another handful of red bloods seemed to be putting up so much of a fight to send his scout back to him empty handed, but no matter. His goal may be slowed, but nothing could stop what’s coming.

“You beasts have no shame.” He felt the rage and the blind violence raging in him as he looked at these two, the aura of dread and monstrous terror bearing down around him as the few humans barely left alive in the now growing pile of corpses began to wail and attempt to flee, dragging themselves the best they could. Some bashed their heads into the pavement or clawed at the skin on their faces, driven mad as he dismounted with another brutal swing in their pair’s direction, the earth shaking beneath the shattering force. A sickly green smog leaks from beneath his helm for but a moment, before he regains his control. Not yet.

Santo Dorado

“Yo, you telling me to...” He paused, seeing the Reavers retreating away, scattering through the streets. “Leave?” As he was distracted, his body was shoved with a gust of wind, just in time for a massive hammer to just graze by him.  

“Oi, that was close...” He stated as he looked up at the figure wielding. “That must be the Leader...” He paused as he contemplated staying to help, even though he knew this was not a fight he was gonna win. But as the spellcaster attacked the big bad, Angel remembered the scattering reavers, realizing they were probably hunting down more victims. “Okay, so minion duty it is.” He then took off, getting clear of the blast zone as he chased down some of the retreating reavers.  

Blue Gyro

As the surrounding Reavers were closing in, a couple of them were knocked over by one that had been thrown at them. As they slowly scrambled to get to their feet, the projectile Reaver erupted into a decent sized explosion, blown to pieces, as well as damaging the other two.  

Caleb looked to Frank, giving a thumbs up as he pulled out his own explosive spheres, throwing them towards the others as he used the opening to get clear. The circle of Reavers erupted into balls of flames behind him as he landed in a pose. “Seems like they realize they can’t win here...” He replied to the man, seeing the Reavers retreating. “Judging by the sense of urgency in their attack, I’d guess they are on a deadline to collect as many people as they can, which we clearly delayed...” He looked to Frank, then the man. “Which means we need to stay on the offensive, they are in too much of a hurry to waste time trying to deal with us...” He pulled out a pack from his pouches, opening it up to reveal a medkit, which he handing to the man. “You’re gang here, is this all you got, or can you summon more, we don’t need to kill them, just slow them down enough to force them to move on.”  

Paladin

As the woman dealt with one Reaver, a second charged forward, looking to get to the young human while they were preoccupied.  

A whistle rang through the street from behind the Reaver, forcing them to stop their charge and turned to see a young man in a black hooded jacket slowly walking towards it. In his hand, resting on his shoulder was a silver longsword with a golden guard and pommel.  

The Reaver turned so it was facing Victor, scythe its side as it charged forward, looking to score what it believed was an easy kill.  

But as it closed the distance, Victor shifted into a full sprint, before the Reaver could bring the scythe into a swing, his sword in both hands as he brought it into an upward swing, cleaving the head of the Reavers horse clean off. He then rolled clear as the horse crashed into the ground, forcing the Reaver to fly forward, tumbling into a nearby parked car with a hard crash.  

As the Reaver climbed to its feet, it looked to its steed, seeing that the creature was not healing like it should be. It then looked to Victor, stomping towards him, swinging the scythe around at him in an attempt to cut him down.  

Victor guiding the scythe over his head as he parried, moving to the Reavers side as he slashed at its leg, cutting him at the knee. As the Reaver dropped onto the stump that remained, Victor spun, delivering a final swing of his blade. The Reavers head went flying as its body dropped to the ground.  

He looked over to the woman as she burst into an explosion of holy light. “Man, why can’t you do that?”  

”My blade can already slay any beast you come across, why are you asking for more?” A voice replied to Victor in his head, coming from the sword in his hand.

Frank gave a strained huff as he watched the Reavers suddenly retreat. He wasn't sure of the reason but had good suspicions about their goals.

The undead monsters came upon LA in a tidal wave of shock and force. Kidnapping children, attacking population centers, wanton destruction... This was the telltale mark of a raid. He shuddered as he thought about what their plans might be with those children. It seemed that the foul riders decided that Frank and the others were too much of a hassle. He wasn't sure if the riders were just going to another population center or if they were pulling a full retreat. Regardless, Frank wasn't about to let them go if there was any chance of them doing more harm.

He turned to Caleb and his new ally and saw their face and neck bleeding heavily. He reached into his utility pouch and brought out some gauze and passed it to Isroh.

"Here, it should help with the bleeding."

He looked around at the Reavers struggling and writhing on the ground before looking back at Isroh.

"Thank you for the help. Not sure we could have lasted much longer with these bastards getting back up. I'm Green Ranger and my partner here is Blue Gyro. Take some time to check on your men, I need to make a call."

He stepped away and tapped on his communicator.

"Eden, Marcus, Jakob, come in."

He waited seconds as static greeted him.

"Eden, Marcus, Jakob, report. The city is under attack and I need status reports." He said in a measured tone.

Silence followed.

Frank fought down a frown as he considered the possibility that his friends might be dead or worse. He was about to turn back to address Ishroh and Caleb when the communicator crackled to life.

Isroh went to spire the pooling black blood from his face only to find he wasn’t healing at all and worse yet he could feel his teeth through the gash as he held his hand to his face. Usually it took way more than a simple swipe of a blade to even draw blood but this much wasn’t something he’d run into before. He gladly accepts the medical help, holding the gauze to his cheek, pushing down hard enough to hopefully quell the bleeding.

“I sent my men everywhere. They started south so I have men stationed at every intersection and they‘re not to let them get past Compton. If I call more here I’d be calling them off at another intersection.” In the back of his mind, little adjustments to his vines were made, winding tighter around broken bones, expanding out further. This had to be the largest space that’s ever been under control, yet he had to keep expanding. His vines crept forward each minute, engulfing as much of the city as it could, taking root in planters, medians and any exposed earth along the way to boost its range. It was a task running at autopilot in the back of his mind as he pulled his phone from his pocket and sent a text.

Within moments each group had texted back with how many men were left. “Ten percent of those I brought are dead, but they haven't broken the line yet. They’re going to try to push up a few streets.” The sounds of gunfire echoes through the streets, inching closer and closer as the paladins invade and let his demons push even harder. “I’m Isroh. If they really are in a time crunch, that’s good for us. If we can keep them contained and run out the clock. My boys are telling me there's some paladins and clerics moving in so we have help.” They were gaining ground, but the carnage was still off the charts. All the ranks of reavers seem to have broken ranks they had scattered into unpredictable routes throughout Long Beach and Torrance.

Isroh swore if they survived the night, he’d be supplying top shelf liquor to anyone who helped shove these nightmarish monsters back into the hellhole from which they came.


Xxxxx

Things were going south quickly for Damien and he knew it. Twice he’d attempted an invasion of this world and twice he was meeting resistance fierce enough to make his goals even harder. It only made him hate humanity all the more.

Fires of death bathes the reaver- threatening his soul anchored into his body by the black beast, although still unpleasant. He could feel his skin trying to recoil at the magic. The walls pull up around him as Damien growls. Running through thousands of fights over hundreds of years in his head, his armor seemed to melt away into liquid.

After a split second a scythe suddenly flies from the black flames staking itself into the stone wall over Arcana’s head. A shimmer of black outlines the reaver as he dashes to the scythe, platemail gone and now replaced with studded leather and a single pauldron over the left shoulder. The face of the spiteful revenant is revealed and full of pure malice as he thunders at the mage getting in close. As far as he knew of mages, they needed to use their hands, their words, something that getting in close would interrupt. Each deadly swipe of the scythe leaves scores in the pavement and in the walls as the painted man refused to let Arcana have so much as a second to breathe without having something to block, dodge or redirect. The green smog escapes his nose with each step as he advances, threatening a hail of death around him.

Arcana had done a marvelous job foiling his overall plan, the mountain of corpses his men were gathering was useless to him until these walls crumbled as the spread of his smog would not be completely inhibited, but the range wouldn’t be enough to reach as far as he’d wanted and it wasn’t worth wasting for just Arcana… yet. “So it’s your city then?” His voice, despite the wild rage, despite the movement and exertion, still level and smooth. “Now I know who to bury beneath it.”

He was gone in seemingly an instant as the winds seemed to shift past arcana, repositioning behind him and thundering forward, scythes poised to drag across the mage’s spine.