Threads of the Soul

As it turns out, self sustained flight is just a tad more complicated that simply spreading your wings, or in this case a feathered cloak, and hoping for the best. Who would have thought of that?

What Corvus was doing now could be called, at best, gliding. But even that was somewhat of a stretch with his lack of speed, balance and general control. The wing was absolutely catching his feathered cloak, don't be mistaken, but it was absolutely horrendous to control. No one thought to put a steering wheel on the damn thing.

Since he couldn't fly and could only partially glide, with some difficulties, Seth resorted to graciously allowing Corvus to do the next best thing.

Folding in his cloak, Corvus pointed his beak towards and plunged into a dive, tilting his body left and right to steer himself. Every second or so during his free fall, he would flip out his cloak and let it catch the air, rapidly slowing him down, before plunging into a fall once again.

Despite the situation, Seth had to be glad that it wasn't a stupidly high building his puppet had been take up to or that it had the cloak to slow it down. Or even, god forbid, that it could have been him being taken up there instead if he didn't fight through his puppets.

That certainly wouldn't have gone well, It's terribly hard to organise one's thoughts at terminal velocity you know.

Alas, he was thankful that of such horrible situation he could be here instead, watching his puppet bob up and down in the air like a drunken bee trying to make its way home to the hive after a very hectic night out.

The landing would absolutely be the furthest thing from graceful, so all he had to do was choose the right target and make it look intentional. Ah, and there is the perfect target right there. How kind of it to present itself so clearly like this to him, perhaps giving it a swift kick in the head would show his gratitude.

Folding his wings in once more, he plunged into another headlong dive, steering himself towards his perfect target and dearly hoping that he wouldn't miss. That would just be embarrassing.

***

The statues were no longer the only ones defending the wall anymore, which was good as many of them were starting to show signs of wear and tear, as they were simply not built for combat unsurprisingly. While the statue's strength was impressive, it naturally had its limits. That limit being the material they were made out of. Thankfully, the other defenders realised this critical piece of information and pushed their defensive line forward.

They had barely made it past the wall, bringing the majority of the fights away from the civilians, when they were met with the sight of the fearsome, thunderous charge of the tank-like Rhino.

Every stone shattering step sent shivers down their spines, many legs trembling at the sight of it carving a path through its own army and at the path of uncaring destruction it left in its wake. The Hemogoblins might not care for their lives, nor the lives of their comrades, but that didn't apply to the humans.

Unlike their enemy, they wouldn't be revived after having their rib cages crushed under foot or speared through the guts by that colossal horn. At least... they wouldn't revive as themselves. Their broken bodies being harvested of its blood and twisted into one of these... abominations, might be even worse than just dying.

Yet, no matter what painful deaths or horrific after lives they were faced with, none of the defenders fled. Perhaps it was because they were filled with a sense of loyalty to their fellow man, or because they knew that breaking formation would simply lead to those fates quicker. Or perhaps, it was simply because some of their legs were too busy trembling and showering in fresh urine to be concerned with running.

Regardless of their reasons, in the end all that mattered was that they stayed and fought. Using their power, and sometimes their lives, in the defence of those without. Even when they were afraid, they fought on. For that was the true meaning of bravery and sacrifice.

Yet they were so concerned by the danger in front of them, the beast that was quite literally rocketing towards them, that none noticed what was occurring behind them. The sound of titanic steps that cracked the ground filled their ears, their already shaking legs feeling the tremors of each step shuddering their bones. But all prescribed this to be beast charging towards them, even though the beasts feet had long left the ground, for what else could it be?

A final step echoed out, shattering the earth beneath them, as a figure launched themselves over the towering wall with a single, devastating leap. The figure sailed through the air like an artillery shell, clearing the wall without a single issue, before smashing into the ground with an earth trembling crash, directly in the charging beasts path.

The road caved inwards, a plume of dust and debris tossing itself into the air as it obscured the beast, and the leaping figure, from view. If they didn't know any better, many would have thought that a meteorite had crashed before them. But as the dust cleared, they saw something much better than a lump of space rock.

Standing in the middle of her self made crater, was a towering woman with concrete skin, glistening obsidian hair and a garish, ill-fitting American shirt. Facing down the charging beast with a placid expression on her stone carved face, Alexandra sunk herself into a fighting stance.

Her legs spread wide, feet pointed perpendicular and back hunched forward slightly. Yet it was as she drew back her arm that things began to change.

Her already impressive muscles began to balloon and expand, her form gradually increasing in height until she stood easily over 8 foot tall even with the hunch. Her slate skin shattering as stalagmites forced themselves into existence, adding a primal energy to her already rough appearance. The shirt, which was once baggy and hanging loosely over her towering form, grew tight against her ever increasing size, until even the XXXL shirt gave out under pressure. The fabric tore apart across her back and under the strain of her bulging muscles, until she was in little more than rags that covered her decency.

Even her knuckles cracked, the stone breaking and reforming into spiked knuckles, as she clenched her hand into a tight fist and drew it back like the string of a bow.

Where before, Alexandra appeared to be carved from stone, now she appeared more like a mountain had come to life and torn itself from the ground. Loose rocks lifted themselves from the destroyed surroundings, whether it be fragments of buildings or the shattered road, and latched themselves on to Alexandra's bow draw arm.

With every addition it grew in size, bulking up as the Rhino drew ever closer, until eventually her fist was larger than her entire head.

Letting out a bellowing war cry, she launched her fist forward like the unrelenting force of Thor's hammer and dug her heels in, determined to be an immovable force. Her fist collided with the Rhino's head as it continued its rocket powered charge, sending an explosion of force rippling outwards from the collision of these two titanic forces.

The stone surrounding her fist fragmented and exploded outwards, sending shards flying like the shrapnel of a grenade.

Like a semi truck slamming into a steel bollard at 100 mph, the Rhino crumbled around Alexandra's fist and caused its unsuspecting rider to be catapulted from his seat due to the rapid change in inertia.

Alexandra dug her heels into the ground, being forced backwards by the Rhino's continuing rocket propulsion, although it was quickly fizzling out. She quickly changed her hand from a clenched fist and instead clamped both of them tight around the Rhino's horn, bracing against it as it forced her backwards.

Her feet carved furrows into the solid tarmac with every inch that she was made to retreat, as soon as she felt the propulsion beginning to sputter and wain, she heaved backwards. Lifting the Rhino further away from the ground, until it was suspended vertically above her head, before falling backwards and letting its own colossal weight slam it back down to the ground.

While Alexandra was busy suplexing a majestic beast, many eyes were being cast fearfully towards the rider which had been thrown from their saddle. When they had hit the ground, it was not a pretty sight, like many dressed for the ride and not the slide. A trail of blood was left across the ground, detailing where he had landed and where he had eventually stopped, as if he was nothing more than a meat crayon writing his own obituary.

However, despite his body and part of his arm being completely ruined, and mostly smeared across the ground, the crimson Hemogoblin stood on trembling legs. Its left arm hung limply by its side, chunks of its skin and muscle peeled away to reveal the void black bones underneath as its forearm clung on by little more than a few strands of muscle sinew. Rivers of blood trickled down what remained until they dripped off the ends of its fingers, most of which were bent in the wrong way and none of which in the same direction.

It lifted its head and revealed its face, which was already wretched and disgusting before but was now utterly disfigured.

It was completely missing an eye and the majority of its pitch black skull was on display, its lips removed on one side giving it a permanent snarling smile.Yet despite the damage, it puffed out its chest and let out a gut wrenching war cry, as if to say that it needed more than that to kill it. It was at that same moment, that a man clad in a raven feathered cloak fell from the sky like an angel and swiftly kicked the Hobgoblin in the back of the head.