Gebura cursed as an apostle swung a scythe at her, carving through the edges of her metal body and nearly reaching her core. Even with E.G.O, it seemed as though this body wouldn't be able to endure even a single direct hit.
A spear was thrust at her from behind at blinding speeds, she sidestepped the attack at the very last moment, barely avoiding a gruesome end thanks to her instincts—still sharp in spite of her metal tomb.
She never got the chance to counter attack, as a scythe was swung at her once again. Mimicry parried the attack, and in one smooth motion her E.G.O slid across the scythe's blade before landing on the apostle's shoulder.
She was unable to slice through, a guardian having suddenly appeared to stop her attack with its shield. Mimicry changed form, lengthening and turning into a scythe. Caught unprepared, the two apostles could do nothing as she spun, dragging them along and placing her foes behind her.
A thrust pierced both, the spear apostle's attack finding its mark on its allies rather than her back. Unfortunately, she was unable to take advantage of her successful manoeuvre.
One of her employees desperately fired star after star as a guardian marched onward with its shield held high, the monstrosity visibly reeling after each hit but still remaining unhurt by the end of it. A spear wielder suddenly charged from behind, taking advantage of the employee's distraction. Gebura intercepted, making over thirty meters of ground in the fraction of a second, Mimicry tearing into the charging apostle's exposed back.
The E.G.O shifted forms, enlarging as it took the shape of a massive club, still lodged in its body. The apostle was torn asunder from the inside, its thin body unable to hold itself together against the might of Nothing There.
She swung once again, throwing the corpse of the apostle into the guardian approaching her employee, putting it off balance and buying the veteran agent much needed breathing room.
There would be none for her, as the wielder of Justitia was pushed into a corner. The man held up remarkably well in spite of facing three apostles by himself, but exhaustion was clearly creeping in with each tiny cut that appeared across his body, protected by powerful E.G.O he may be.
Gebura crossed the department's massive main room in a single moment, all her momentum being thrown into a swing as club Mimicry completely broke the apostle's body. The two others turned to her in shock—her employee wasted not a single moment, his E.G.O bestowing its unrighteous judgement and rapidly tearing into the bodies of both apostles.
Her captain wielding Da Capo was engaged in a duel with a scythe apostle, every attack turning into a blur as both combatants hastened to defeat the other. Her captain was clearly winning, though that was soon about to change, with two staff apostles charging up their attacks from a distance.
Thinking quickly, Gebura picked up one of Burrowing Heaven's spears dropped by an employee in their delusional worship and threw it at the staff wielders. Both were pierced, the sheer momentum of her throw pinning them to the wall.
The three apostles who first attacked her had moved on to support one of their fellows who was attacking the employees kneeling in prayer. The four of them cut a bloody swathe through through the clerks, only somewhat slowed by an agent wielding Mountain's hammer.
The four apostles were tearing the agent to shreds, more of her blood now covering the walls than the dozens that lay dead. With each torn limb and crushed organ, a corpse of a clerk was immediately consumed by the E.G.O to heal the agent.
Ignoring the pain being inflicted upon her, the agent swung her massive hammer, shattering the floor surrounding her and staggering the apostles as they were thrown into the air.
Gebura charged in, and the four apostles never fell to the ground, their bodies reduced to a fine red mist.
In less than thirty seconds, she had engaged eleven apostles and killed nearly half of them, yet it was all for naught. A single pulse from the abnormality demanding their subservience, and all eleven apostles stood once more, not a single scratch upon them.
Gebura charged once again, her body groaning in protest, parts of it turning into scrap metal as it struggled to keep up with the might of The Red Mist. She cut a swathe through their numbers, yet they still stood.
She had used every little advantage.
Refusing to be tied down by a guardian, she ran across the battlefield at blinding speeds, systematically eliminating her foes while simultaneously ensuring none of her allies fell.
The weapons and the strength of the apostles were turned against one another, and with ruthless efficiency she had turned every tiny mistake of the enemy into a crippling blow.
Although she lacked the strength of Kali, Gebura was still worthy of a color.
Yet none of it truly mattered.
The bell rang, and the apostles rose, no matter how many times they were cut down.
Wielding the E.G.O of abnormalities beyond comprehension, she and her department had become wild beasts consumed by their emotions, yet still tempered by unyielding discipline. Together, they cut down the servants of WhiteNight.
Again.
Again.
And again.
Yet the bell still rang, and the disciples arose once more, sacrificing their bodies with reckless abandon.
With the regenerators inactive, each bruise and cut went unhealed, each crack in their sanity untreated. Unable to break the stalemate, Gebura and her employees were slowly being worn down.
If the apostles are to revive forever, then she must strike the heart of the beast.
Her captain cut down an apostle before moving in to support the wielder of Justitia, allowing Gebura a single moment of reprieve. Her eyes set on the grotesque winged fetus floating above, she threw a spear of Burrowing Heaven before charging in with Mimicry.
The spear found its mark, though it bounced off WhiteNight's deceptively durable wings. Her charge was stopped dead in its tracks, the apostle wielding a cross swinging its weapon like a hammer and nearly turning her into a pile of scrap.
Gebura attempted to circle around to attack WhiteNight, the apostle followed suit, still standing in her way. She attempted to goad the apostle into leaving its post unguarded, rapidly charging in before disengaging several times.
The one wielding the cross remained unmoving, guarding the path to her target.
And just like that, her window of opportunity had closed, another pulse from the abnormality raising the dead and forcing her onto the defensive, to make sure none of her employees were overwhelmed.
Slowly but surely, the battle was being lost, with even the wielder of Mountain's hammer beginning to show signs of exhaustion.
But just as Gebura was beginning to consider retreat, the doors to her department opened, and the assistant manager came running in.
A spear apostle charged, just barely intercepted by Gebura.
Holding Mimicry close, she slightly pushed the spear off course, the attack landing mere inches from the assistant manager.
"Non combatants shouldn't be here!" Gebura yelled out in anger, she couldn't afford to protect another while dealing with the abnormality.
The assistant manager completely ignored her words, running along the edges of the room while under constant attack from the apostles.
A scythe swing, a shield bash, a beam of energy. All directed at the assistant, all deflected by the Sephirot.
Gebura cursed, with each moment she spent protecting the assistant, her employees were being overwhelmed, unable to hold against the numerical advantage of the enemy.
But then, in just a few seconds, everything changed.
The assistant manager suddenly stopped before hitting a wall with surprising strength, her hands tearing through the steel wall and emerging a moment later with a broken pipe held in her hands.
Highly pressurised regenerator gas flooded across the room. Her team was returned to pristine health, and every employee previously kneeling in prayer rose to their feet, the gas reinstating their sanity and forcing them to carry out their sole duty—
"SUPPRESS THE ABNORMALITY!" The assistant screamed, her voice somehow seeming to come from every direction, no matter where one stood.
—To follow the orders of the manager.
The people rose against the truth, bewitched by the devil. Once only five, there were now dozens, all desperately struggling against prophecy.
Outnumbered they may be, the faithful were not deterred. Only the original five sinners could hope to match the faithful in strength, the rest nothing more than wheat for the harvest.
Ayin protected his Lord as the one in red charged at them, now free to rampage with his fellow faithful tied down by the heathens.
He needed to escape WhiteNight's influence, even a single apostle becoming incapacitated would make a massive difference.
Our Lord, Who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name. Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us, and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. Such be the truth.
He swung his cross to break the sinner's charge, preventing them from reaching the Lord.
Analyze the current situation, figure out the nature of the abnormality, come up with a solution to manage and suppress, same as always.
Glory be to the Lord, and to the Children, and to the Holy Spirit, as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end. Such be the truth.
The sinner's attacks were relentless, the amalgamation in her hands constantly shifting forms to strike him from every direction. But he would not be deterred.
WhiteNight affects the mind, forcing faith and prayers into one's active thoughts, only the subconscious remains to resist. A high functioning mind capable of subconscious logical reasoning would be needed to stand a chance of breaking free of its influence after one has become an apostle.
I only know that nothing will happen that was not foreseen by you and directed to my greater good from all eternity. I adore your holy and unfathomable plans, and submit to them with all my heart for love of you. Such be the truth.
A flick of the wrist, and the red blade on its way to be blocked by his cross suddenly twisted upwards, cleaving off half his head.
WhiteNight's cogito finds its origin in the sephirot, Carmen and me; many incidents preluding the breach relate to my past one way or another.
Angel of God, my guardian dear, to whom God's love commits me here, ever this day be at my side, to light and guard, to rule and guide. Such be the truth.
Through the grace of the Lord, his wound was healed, that he may once again carry out the Lord's will. The devil's poison had dissipated, and the sinners no longer healed; they wouldn't last forever, much of them having already been cut down.
With the Lord's might at his back, he faced the red sinner once again, to smite a servant of the devil.
Likelihood of WhiteNight's core concept being related to me or the project at large: extremely high. Despite its resemblance to Carmen, it's unlikely for WhiteNight to be a reincarnation of any sort, as no other abnormality has ever been of the same mind as its origin. Most likely answer: a concept that constantly overshadowed the project at large.
Almighty God, my Eternal Lord, from the fullness of my soul I adore You. I am deeply grateful that You have made me in Your image and likeness, and that You ever hold me in Your loving embrace.
The devil's poison had dissipated, yet its corruption remained. As their fellow sinners continued to be cut down, some among them began to run, still refusing to accept salvation as offered by the Lord.
Noticing their encroaching defeat, the red sinner redoubled her efforts, attacks growing in ferocity and overwhelming any defense he attempted to put up. Only through the Lord's grace did he continue to stand.
Absolute faith? Highly unlikely. False salvation? Plausible, though unlikely. Belief in a single object to save oneself? High possibility. Either way, the most likely path to escaping its influence is to reject the worship instilled. Method with the highest chance of success: emotions strong enough to overwhelm its influence. Best method for the current situation: the execution of a loved one.
Most of the sinners had fled, and two of his fellow faithful had come to the defense of their Lord. The red sinner jumped back as she was nearly surrounded, a scythe and a spear grazing her metallic body. His two fellow faithful believed it a retreat, Ayin knew better.
In a mad rush the sinner charged forward, and in a great horizontal slash the disciples on his left and right were split in twain. Ayin had raised his cross to defend, yet even he found himself collapsed on the ground, only his spine remaining connected.
A pulse, and all three of them were back on their feet, but the sinner kneeled before them, her metallic body twitching erratically as sparks flew from the holes and scratches that now covered every inch of her body.
"Shit, this body and its limits." He heard the sinner say.
A cross was raised over his head, and a crunch was heard.
Yet it was not the sound of the sinner being crushed, rather, it was one of his bones breaking. Even in her final moments, the devil had his claws gripped tight around the red sinner, she remained ever defiant.
Ignoring the red blade piercing his abdomen, Ayin brought down the cross, and another crunch was heard. Nothing remains in front of him, nothing but scrap and crushed brain tissue.
The only thing to survive the impact was a single hand, lying separate from the rest of her body. There was something deeply familiar about the sight, and a feeling of quiet grief slowly settled into his heart.
God of all consolation, in your unending love and mercy for us, you turn the darkness of death into the dawn of new life. Show compassion to your people in sorrow. Be our refuge and our strength to lift us from the darkness of this grief to peace and joy in your presence.
With his prayer finished, Ayin stood to the sight of his fellow disciples slaughtering the fleeing sinners. He went on to join them.
Not enough it seems, but the idea holds merit. I need a stronger impact.
Driven by his subconscious desire, Ayin directed his eyes to a familiar hair of azure.
Angela cursed her foolishness as a majority of the lower ranked agents began to run, nearly all of the clerks already dead. Even the kill squad's morale was visibly shaken with the defeat of Gebura. Fighting on here would be pointless, they couldn't hope to defeat all thirteen of the enemy at once.
She should've gathered the employees to retreat and reorganize the moment they were returned to lucidity.
Thankfully, the losses resulting from her blunder were minimal. Gebura was already pushed far beyond her limit by the time Angela arrived, and every member of the kill squad was still alive. The lower agents and the clerks mattered little.
"All employees are to gather in the fourth hall of Central Command!"
Her voice resounded across the room, reaching the ears of every employee. Much could be said about the competence of their agents, but they certainly were obedient. Employees who could disengaged with their enemy before running, those who couldn't sacrificed one of their co-workers to do so.
She was just about to join them when—
—An apostle holding a cross slammed her to the ground, now standing over her with its cross raised high.
Ah, she knew that messy hair of black.
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