A New Hope, Palace in the Valley.

The mountains were giant sentries over this low laying valley-scape. The sun fought to rise above the massive ancient giants, their peaks looming over the valley. As If watching with weathered old grimm faces, upon the land that laid nestled in their protective embrace. As if yeilding to give it away to the rest of the lands, hoping it remained peacefull in serine beauty. Snow capped peaks made the sky sparkle as the sun was directed off of those peaks, as it loomed at the pinnacle of its rise. Trails snaked up the mountains and passes weaved their way through the massive range to the south.

It was upon one such pass that a man stood, his attire black as night, his gaze unwavering. Apocalypse stood on a ridge overlooking the valley, crimson eyes lit with wonder. Such was peacefull, almost reminded him of Azure Downs surrounding lands. This was it... what he had spent time to find, wandered the lands for. A place he could raise up his home, a place to get away from hard times.

Lost in thought he missed the light sounds of calls, the stopping of a caravan, the approaching soldiers. Soldiers that did not fly his banners, but instead carried a white eye broken by a red slash. This was the same banner of Darkness, that which now plagued the lands up north. Making his home, the center and nexus of battlefeild placements. It would seem this new home, might hold vipers ready to bite.....

The soldiers rode large mounts, warhorses bred for war and war alone. Each adorned with colored blankets worn under heavy armor. Spikes jutted from their nose-piece, nostrils flared angrily. They came up to Apocalypses' shoulder in height, muscles making the armor flex under their bulging strength. How different from the soldiers were these steeds?

Well, firstly, these muscular behemoth soldiers wore no or scant armor. Their muscles gleaming in the sunlight that struck overhead. Sweat and path dust, covered them slightly, and hung upon their torn clothes. In all appearances, these men were savage, giant humans that would not know the meaning of hygene. Their middles were around the size of oaks, their limbs held more muscle then fat. Still these men were big, and atop the steeds, they seemed some cruel nightmare, unleashed to raise havoc. A multitude of weapons hung at their side, creully made, yet effecient enough for their use. Each wearing a metal coded ring through their nose.

The man in front, closest to the hulking form of Vincent, would stop his horse just shy of him. A silver ring went through the right nostril, and a large broadsword readied at his hand. The big steed reared up, before again its shode hooves touched the ground again. " I am, Kazule, Emissary for the True Emperor of Light. You are in our way, so move peasent. Rwhol is a nobody, so go tell your King he too will submit a surrender or die." Such was the words, before a silence came over the pathway.

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Apocalypse would turn slightly, his form taking a sideways approach. " I see, so have you heard of this Rwhol? Can you describe the Lord whom had come here as a bastion of Hope to those, your Light... Subjects? Have you heard his armies are fewer then yours, and yet he stands in your way, like a thorn in your sides? Can you show me where he will build his palace?" His voice was calm, not shaken by anything they could say or do. No arrogance rang in those questions, perhaps just questions asked to himself. His black trench swayed lightly, revieling the large claymore underneith. Still, no hand reached for a weapon, not a muscle stirred.

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An angry glare came to wild looking eyes, his lips curled up in rage. " I will not sit here, and allow such treason to be spoke. This is Blasphomy in the highest, his Emperor majesty will have your head as a candy dish." Enough for talk, this giant of a man reared his horse up, those shoes aimed for Vincents head. And a massive Broadsword was in hand should he not get his kill. The others waited behind their superior, cheering him on with rude words about the rat he was fighting.

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Vincent shrugged as the horse raised up, a vital flaw was opened in that minute. One he wished he didn't have to take advantage of. His body crouched, and rammed forward. His shoulder pummeled the horse in the sternum, knocking the horse reeling. Soulstealer, would dance free of its sheath, a slight humm coming from the black blade. Turning beside the horse, his weapon was inserted into its ribs. Enough force to send blade home through lungs, bone, and spine on its way to the target. The Captain of this little party would soon widen his eyes, in shock, as the blade continued through leather and into his body. A swift upward yank, and it cleaved the man in half, on its way out his body.

Satisfied he stood ready, for the battle he knew would come from such resolve in conflicts. This was no more the Rwhol Lord, but a man whom was in his enviroment. But, still the numbers were in the thousands, and he was one lone warrior.

Even as the parts of beast and man were on a collision course with the ground. The bodily entrails falling out to grease up the ground, bloodied gore sent flying into the faces of his lesser ranks. Soulstealer was again aimed and arced to take out another horseman, the captains understudy, would find his death the same manner that befell his supperior. But, that was not it, Vincent was a seasoned fighter, keeping his weapon in constant movement as ranks fell upon him. Horsemen wanned back to the rear, so they too did not find death so easily, their weapons of choice spears.

Infantry washed up upon him, like a chaotic see of flesh, armor, and steel. They used all different weapons at their new found enemy. Hell they would laugh more at his rash desicion if they knew he was Lord Rwhol, the man they were sent to execute and bring before the others as a trophy. Still many laughed, only to open their eyes in suprise, or not open them again as Soulstealer cut through rank after rank. It was not easy,wounds found even the General, and they threatened to slow his dance with death. But, inside was a defiant will, that which burned with inner rage, the exterior calm in precision of this act. Many lay dead, impeding the others like some small wall.

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Upon the higher ridge, a lone man sat atop a massive horse. Its hair like the night, its eyes embers of infernic rage. The armor was platinum backed with adamant braces. Making him look the white knight come to fight the evil ' wind of death' that washed through his men. His armor was covered in a fabric of silk, its white only broken by black devil wing, and and an all seeing platinum eye. Bracers, gauntlets, greives, all shone bright in the suns path. So much the monolith of good, was he to appear to his men. All thought themselves good, taught to sacrifice in order to win acceptance in their heaven. In their culture to make a name for yourself, or make your own wealth for selfish reasons was frowned upon. All was to be sacrificed for the people, or so they wished their teachings to imply. Why would your people starve and kept illiterate, if you cared? Anyways this man was newly commander of this entourage of assassins. His Lieutenant, or newly appointed Captain was a man only less holy dressed and no means a smaller man. They were easily ten ft in height, muscles like oak stumps, and ready to enter the fray after their opponent was wore down.

A hand of the Commander raised up, the gleam signalling hidden archers. Thus a single joined twang of string was released, making cruelly made arrows embark on the journey with intent to kill Apocalypse. More lines fired and so again did the first after the five lines fired. Constant seas of arrows, would bear down and strike for this man, and any ally that was caught inside range.

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He was fighting in the heat, the sun bearing down upon the valley casting rays of warmth upon a mid summers day. Wishing for shade, he soon suddenly found his wishes granted. But, is so there was a cruel genie that offered this. Realization almost dawned to late, his dance with death of these men making attention be called forth. But, their was a pull upon his mind, the symbiote making his vision all surrounding and pointing out their location and projected flight. Right, into them was his steps, and now quickened were they to make it to the ledge. It offered a place for his back to be safe, and harbor him from a wrath of seemingly never ending projectiles.

His right arm swept off the handle of his weapon, moving to his back. Loosening the straps while his left kept the blade in motion. Hitting arrows and men alike, constant motion never weavering. Finally released he brought forth his hidden sheild, its silverish surface made of zyrielian crystal. It was brought up in time as more arrows sought his demise, or atleast hinder his movement. Many reflected, but some struck him, just in minor places. To the ledge and its over hang did he make it, as seas fell upon the helpless men. Their death greusome, and sometimes slow. No tears were shed, only a realization of their lives wasted for a selfish tyrant.

Archers stopped, their bows let down, and swords taken up. New infantry born to take him on. Also the calvery seemed to dance in place, their formations he would admit to be perfect. So it seemed he would die this day, by all means their numbers seemed to have rose. The dead still high, but more seemed to take their place in reserves. A sigh would come from the General, his wounds either healing, or still acting to slow him. Some greater then normal men would survive. " It seems more will die this day, so I say may they find a heaven. And may their Emperor find the Hell he deserves for wasting them. Come at me yourself Commander, I will make sure you join him, even if I must take you there Myself."

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Words cast towards the large shiny form atop his great steed of War. A tinge of a smile came at this mans words, and a notable laugh at the seal of Rwhol on his sheild. Seems like he caught his prey at last, this man would perish today, and find his own hell. " Brilliantly spoken Rwhol, Lord of Nothing but a valley. His own men to afraid to fight at his side, a nothing. If you wish to die at my hands, So Be It!" Fast as lightning, his steed would come down from the ridge he was upon. Through his men, dead and alive both seemed to look at him in awe. Their Lord Commander was about to show them why he was their Emperors right hand man.

Off the steed he came, with speed faster then his size would let on. A punch of a massive fist, directed at the Lord Rwhol. He crouched aswell, making his aim for the sternum between blade position and sheild.

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Suprising this man met his challenge, atleast their was an enemy that did not hid behind his men. Respected was such an act of Valor amongst enemies. And so this speed seemed doubled, Vincent was hurt and slightly hindered. As such the great ham of a fist, slammed into him like a freight train. Flesh seemed to act like steel in that blow, pushing him back. If not for his slight sheild, it would have broke the sternum and crushed his clavicals. Against the wall now, he lifted up it, feet dancing up it into a front flip. Over this crouched enemy did he fly. A rapid conscession of kicks issued and aimed for the mans back and head. Sheild planting against soil to steady him in this, as sword would be ready to strike when he raised aswell.

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The man smiled as his punch hit, it struck hard as he put much force into it. He felt the weakening sheild spell, knew now it was cracked. Its magical essence felt through his own gifts from a God. Commander Reace would however not smile, when Rwhol found a way to get behind him. Even now he knew he gave alot in that move. Crouched and slight off balanced, this man turned quickly. Not enough to stop a few kicks from landing upon his form. Back and side found themselves pummeled, but a large hand stopped the head strike. Gripping his foot in its hold, and flipping the man again. This time using his free hand to get his big great sword and arc the flat at his opponents middle.

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And so again his opponent came on and took a few blows to give one counter. This again respectable in his eyes, this blow hard and found his middle. Even so Vincent would not give in, and was tired of being tossed around. So when the blow came, his abs would tighten, letting steel be stopped by solid muscle. Giving him time to arc the sheild at the mans right shin, and sword upwards at the mans armors weakspot. Should it hit, it would drive up into the mans gut.

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Suprise when sword pinged off of muscle, as if it were armor. And again as the sheild force made him wince and drop his hold. Barely did he have time to back away, as claymores tip struck into a weak spot, and slightly into his belly. Blood would come out, staining white cloth. Enraged he would again swing, the sword so hard, the air was displaced and created shockwaves around him.

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Metal of the flat, hit him again, forced by shockwaves he was off balance and fell from the cliffs side. Hundreds of feet were what lay in wait for him, aswell as sharp edges that hit him as he glanced the sides. His sheild weakened and failed him, the thump against the final rocks felt hard on him. Amazingly he sought and found conciousness, and grabbed a limb. Enough did this slow his decent, that a light thud was him hitting the water below.

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Above the glaring eyes of the Commander shone bright against the glare of the sun against his armor. He watched as the man fell, hard and thought dead would any ordinary man. But, he was not sure, and so sent his second to fetch him the head....

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Each jagged rock pelted the sheild spell, each time jarring his form and creating a sence of vertigo. A long way to fall that was the truth of the matter, and now all he held was time. Time until he spilt off of the last rock, and into the air for the next fifty feet. Below him awaited a running river, the rapids causing the currents to be a veritable maelstrom. Finally the air gave way to a more solid form of substance, the liquid sound of a splash all that was heard. His form slapped the water enough to make the remaining specks of his sheild spell to give way. His protection was now gone, his form bruised and lacerated from the jumble he took to reach this point. Unconcious was he in this action, his strength wanning in the moments as again he was slapped against rocks in this ride. Tattered he was, though inside would beat his heart and with it burnt the will to live.

His symbiotic partner would awaken, the shock of his host great enough need. Mind raced with possibilities, pulses of electricity sparked within the brain. It talked to him, urging him from slumber, forcing him to awaken and save them from this pain. Pain that lit through him with greatness, it wore on him and forced him to push harder then ever before. Finally crimson opened to the rush of water that passed him by, hands would reach out, grasping for the heavens for aid. Instead only a nearby limb of a fallen oak, it offered him anchor in the tumult. He took it, letting his bearings slip into cognition, and then struggled against the current to be free. Free from the water that threatened to pull him under, to forever embrace him in its icy touch.


No, he was Apocalypse, a warrior whom had taken worse and rose again. So as the water streamed around his form, he rose forth to its surface, a phoenix rebirthed again. A look of determination was etched upon that face, his eyes only seeing the path he must walk. Little by little he continued, his strength returning and his regeneration taking all but the sting from his wounds. Pain, he lived with it all his life. And now he let it guide him to escape death, to embrace life. Out of the water his form came, and onto the shore with a wet look. Hair streamed over his eyes, but his sences let him know.....

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By now the second in command had made his way, tracked the once thought dead form of their rival. He had witnessed the birth, seen a man come back to life. And.... he was terrified out of his mind, what sort of being was this Rwhol. To survive this would be a miracle, to the commander, this was a cause of concern. Broken only by the knowledge that he was to bring a head in. So forth he raced, his actions taking him after his quarry. Attacking Apocalypse with quick and deadly grace. His intended prey was just out of the water, clearly still feeling effects of grogginess. So forth did his sword swing, aiming to take the Rwhols head clean off in one swipe.

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Even blinded this man could fight, Vincent was used to such forms of actions in battle. His sences guided him from the intended path, the sword harmlessly arcing over his head. Soulstealer was in hand, and arced upward, splitting the man in two upon hit. Only the head escaped this gore, it remained whole and soon parted in a second stroke. They wanted a head, he would give them one....

To the ones upon the cliff that watched, they would see their fellow warrior be victorious. He had caught Vincent with the stroke and bent to pick up the head. But, not all was as it seemed, for an illusion was cast to allow this deception to occur. Instead it was Vincent that grabbed the head and walked back up the path to those he called enemies. The symbiotic fluid had covered him and took on a cameleons form of the dead man, as Vincent changed the head to appear as his. Catching these fools off guard would be easier then he had first thought. This ruse would allow a close encounter they would never forget. To the leader he would see his fellow in arms, walk before him and hand over the head.

A smile would work its way over the leaders face, his foe was finally dispatched, he could return and get the fame to be promoted. Yes the Voidwalker would be pleased and grant him as one of the few generals to serve with him. It took moments for him to look again, the illusion would fade and his second in commands head would be held instead. His smile faded as he realized now he had been played a fool. Anger struck those eyes, eyes that soon would be dispersed of the spark of life. He had failed his leader, a leader that had been inside him this whole time, watching from the depths of his mind. And failure meant death, no attonement would come for this disposable fool. And thus the Voidwalker would kill this vessel and take it over for a short time. Enough to speak to his new rival, " You are better then the news I got. But soon you too will bow before my forces, soon this pathetic land will be mine." Last words as the body fell useless as the blade of a claymore smote it into Oblivion.

The rest of this unit was dipatched by quick precise teqniques of Vincent. Soon there would be nothing but a path covered in gore and flesh. Then the footsteps of the First File would round the bend. "The palace awaits us sire, we will make sure you have time to build her and your crowning seat of Wizards Keep. We have brought the supplies." Vincent smiled at the leader whom talked, a Daemier almost as old as he. " Yes let us begin the preperations, have the dragons released for this feast." With that said, he would follow the path down, and onto his work.