@PKMNB0Y@TheFake@Raineh Daze



Magnus, was for a moment speechless. He actually tilted his great, horned head, and blinked his one red eye under a brow that was furrowed in frank disbelief at the unexpected level of small mindedness he had just encountered. Then, inwardly, he groaned, so tired of dealing with the same stupidity that riddled the materium. Banishing himself back into Tzeentch's service was starting to have its appeal... if, that's where his soul-stuff would go when he died.

Nonetheless, he would give this whole run at material reality thing a sincere shot. Magnus sighed heavily, trying in vain to put things in proper perspective for his physical-minded friend. "A single, mortal being, ruling a single population, on a single planet, in a single galaxy for some single, meaningless flicker of time hardly compares to me, King. This impertinent plane of reality knows next to nothing of the great truths that lie beyond. A lordship, a mere claim to status, is nothing compared to the true power granted by knowledge and discipline."

At the same time that Magnus was vocally admonishing Gilgamesh, he also began another conversation psychically, reaching out to Soulcatcher's mind with his own with utter ease. Only she would be able to sense with clarity what Magnus was, to feel the magnitude of power that he contained. She realized that he was sheer magic incarnate, soul-stuff and willpower embodied in physical form. He had once been a prince, risen to father and to general, then to demigod. What Magnus was had been molded upon perfection itself, down to the genetic level. He was tens of thousands of years ancient, yet vivacious with untarnished youthful intrigue. And yet, the red being standing before her felt caged somehow, limited and wounded by the process that had manifested him here on this world. He spoke simultaneously into her mind, "You, in you I sense great magic, great potential, and great loyalty. What sense does it make to bind yourself to a fool with no vision? He has no care for you, no ability to understand your true worth. I know what that feels like."

The red king carried on pointedly in response to Gilgamesh's base character. "If your feeble mind ever begins to wrap around that concept, then you may come to call for me, Magnus, at the college of sorcery in Phoria. Until then, best of luck to you in finding your way back to whatever world you came from. The rest of us will be making the most of this miraculous opportunity to combine our knowledge and power in productive academic collusion. My invitation will remain open, for now. I bid you fairwell, most golden one."

The old Emperor also had a propensity for gold, a similarity Magnus found deploringly irksome as he began to leave.

The mind that turned its attention to Magnus was a seething den of madness. untold thousands of souls spoke back with a thunderous, battering voice in countless languages.

"You try to sway me, but do not know me. All that you think of me, my supposed loyalty and motivation behind my decisions could not be more wrong. Leave."

And then there was a brief impression of who she was. One that betrayed and was betrayed in kind. That destroyed cities, peoples and kingdoms with little more reason than that she became bored with them. She battle with her wits against the greatest military leaders, sorcerers and gods of her world and found them lacking. There was only one that would ever be her equal, in any world.

And then her mind was closed, perhaps with a distant feeling of disappointment and a more distinct one of contempt. Even The Lady, her own sister could not know Soulcatchers secrets, those held deepest in her mind. A stranger as alien as this never could.

To say that the King of Heroes took assaults on his pride well couldn't possibly be more wrong: if exposed to the Immaterium, you could place bets on whether his ego would be sufficient to give rise to another Chaos God on its own--which would make for the interesting scenario of two staunchly antitheistic gods in that universe. Consequently, if Magnus had known what the inevitable result of being so blatantly disrespectful would be, he might have chosen to employ tact.

"Mongrel, do you not realise the folly of your own words? Had you an ounce of the knowledge you claim, then recognising the King of Heroes would be effortless," Gilgamesh spat back, the air behind him rippling and glowing a brilliant gold, "In my treasury lie all the world's treasures and all human ingenuity. If I wished to leave this place so soon and not gather my treasures, I would have left before."

Emerging from the rippling pools were swords, spears, and weapons of stranger design that nevertheless shared a common feature: they ended in a point. "You considered yourself an equal, when only one will ever hold that position. You questioned the king's absolute law.

"Which requires my judgement."

The confidence with which the obviously-fuming Gilgamesh stated this, along with his unearthly charisma, was enough to drive the crowd back once again, shake even the confidence of those following Magnus. There was no doubt what the judgement would be, with those weapons hanging in the air. Weapons that shot forth, a barrage at speeds the human eye couldn't hope to follow and mitigated only by the limited number being used.

Each weapon a Noble Phantasm, the crystallisation of a heroic legend. Items of such might that they could serve as a Servant's trump card in a battle... gathered in the countless thousands before they were used or named by the King of Uruk and generally considered more for their ability as arrows than their own properties. They all shared some common qualities, like their peerless craftsmanship and immense magical power or their near imperviousness to damage.

Or their ability to harm spiritual bodies, such as Servants or wraiths. Or Daemons of Chaos.

As Set dashed forward his blade met with Vader's, and the two sword clashed in a shower of sparks. Each blade was a constant particle beam contained within a magnetic arc, a contained beam of light producing an unparaleled amount of energy, limited entirely to the length of the blade. Had the magnetic arc not contained this energy the power of the two blades would have burned Set to a crisp merely due to his proximity, but it was these very arcs that allowed the blades to feign solidity in combat. Each arc rejected the arc, hyper-powered magnets that refused to allow the beams to cross. Truly they were the most powerful weapons in the galaxy, capable of slicing through steel, titanium and almost every other known metal or alloy with unmatched ease. And yet they were not without flaw.

It would be impossible for Set to win a direct contest in this matter. Even without taking into account the difference in raw Force power, Vader's suit enhanced his strength to superhuman levels. It was only Vader's preoccupation with surviving multiple coordinated assaults that allowed Set to hold his own for even a moment, but he would certainly be overwhelmed if he kept it up for more than that moment. No, if he was to win this fight he would have to win it on his own terms. If he could not win through power, he had to win through wit and skill, two elements that he luckily possessed in abundance. Carefully placing himself so that Vader's armour shielded him from D.Va's constant assault he prepared for a maneauver that would end this battle, one way or the other. Either he would die, or he would inflict sufficient damage to Vader to force him to retreat, or kill him outright. Only one way to find out.

"Hold fire for a moment, then unleash everything you have when I tell you to. He'll be momentarily vulnerable." This was the message that Set sent telepathically to D.Va, all he could do in the moment. Together with this message he sent a concrete sense of where Vader was, which he hoped she'd be able to interpret. Considering that his next move would prevent pretty much all defensive actions on his part he really did hope she stopped firing. If she didn't chances were he'd sport a couple of nasty wounds, and, lacking armour, might even die in a rather humiliating manner. Locked in combat with the Dark Lord of the Sith, died by friendly fire from giant pink robot. Definitely not his favourite. Of course, that was assuming this plan even worked.

Goddamnit, why did these plans always have a chance of killing him? You'd think after a thousand years he would have learned to make better plans. Then again, he was still here, so....

Okay, no time for hesitation. No time for thought.

Breathe in....

Breathe out....

Move

Like quicksilver Set slipped past the blade, his free hand shooting upwards and onto Vader's shoulder. His mind empty, guided by instinct and the force alone, the Dark Jedi flipped up and over Vader, twisting in the process. A mid-fall slash to the side, a distracting attack, even as he landed. Flow to the side, like a river, feel the air around you. Twist like a leaf in the wind, around, then directly in front of him. Set opened his eyes, even as Vader's lightning-fast blade shot towards him. He was perfectly positioned for a strike, but his sword was on the wrong side for defence. He'd pushed too close, gotten inside of Vader's defences to make this move harder to block, but in the mean time left himself defenceless. But for one element, an unexpected wild card. Raising his free hand Set made to catch the incoming saber, even as his stance shifted into one of attack. Of course, there was no way that he could actually catch a lightsaber bare-handed, although some far more skilled Force wielders could. But in that instant where he should have been cleaved in half, Vader's blade sputtered, and then turned off.

Cortosis dust, kept in the palm of his off hand, and then thrown in a small cloud to block the incoming strike. What do you think abotu my trinkets now, huh?

Set's bright blue blade lashed out, aiming for Vader's life-support system. Whether he hit or not, he dodged backwards, knowing that it would be nearly a solid minute before Vader's blade would recover. Even as he was launched back, whether by his own volition or another one of Vader's force pushes he sent out a message, both to D.Va and Reinhardt.

"Now, hit him with everything you've got!"

@PKMNB0Y@TheFake@Raineh Daze (enjoy!)




His proposal having been refused, Magnus turned his winged back to the pride and ignorance behind him. Hated, mocked, it was always the same, yet he didn't retaliate. He had no desire to prove himself to the blind, nor coerce obedience where it was not freely given. His task was only to crush those who got in his way.

His offer was left like an open palm hanging in the air, waiting to join a hand that would never arrive. It seemed it would ever be his curse to walk alone. He accepted this, as always, but not without suppressing that twinge of melancholy that never failed to follow. Little did anyone know how deeply Magnus cherished true devotion, nor how far he would go to preserve it. The mages and clerics of the native denizens turned with him, wary of the standoffish strangers.

Instantly, Magnus felt the ripples of emotion as keenly as he perceived the amassing of magic behind Gilgamesh, and he turned around. He recognized the formation of a portal wreathed in golden light behind Gilgamesh. He watched as numerous weapons of all kinds suddenly emerged, floating individually, and all aimed at him. The intensity of Gilgamesh's ire stunningly rivaled that of a greater daemon, and if that was any indication of his power, Magnus couldn't afford to take it lightly. He faced his enemy and readied himself for a frontal, magical assault.

It was only hours ago that he had underestimated the white-haired girl's swords, thus he knew he couldn't risk the same mistake with any of these otherworldling's weapons. Each of them had the potential to be more than purely physical. He was going to have to bother defending himself rather than ostentatiously relying on his fortitude and armor.

The mortal humans and humanoids began to huddle in their intimidation, and Magnus stepped forward protectively. He didn't have time to formulate a response other than to glare furiously in the face of the oncoming barrage. He had to protect these beings and show them the value of magic.

The weapons suddenly streamed forth with deadly speed, which seemed to be the logical expectation. Magnus responded by putting forth a magic deflection field big enough to shield himself and the others. The projectile weapons slammed into it. A rare few of them blew up instantly, but most generated this high pitched shriek sound as they appeared to be thrown off in different directions by a wall of bent space. They pinged and ricocheted directly into the ground in front of Magnus' clawed, red feet, a few shooting off into the sky and vanishing entirely.

"Ah!" The daemon prince gasped unexpectedly as a single spear-like weapon made it through the magical barrier completely unaffected, wizzing past Magnus' shoulder and tearing a few feathers out of his wing. A scream from the mages behind him made clear that one of them was dead.

The appearance of fangs made clear that Magnus was infuriated by this. As the initial barrage ended, he clenched his hand into a fist toward Gilgamesh. "You self-serving Slaaneshi scum! You'll pay for that!" Standing straight, he clenched his staff in two hands and began to do... something. The deflector field was still active, should the king of heroes decide he wanted to keep throwing things to try his luck. Warp magic then emminated from the daemon primarch, touching and corrupting all the mortals around him. "People of Phoria, my friends and followers, do not fear your enemy while I stand beside you! Accept this gift of my power within you, and together, we will be victorious!" Magnus had just boosted and tainted about 20 mages with chaos.

The Phorian sorcerers had no reason not to trust their new ally, especially in light of their being clearly under attack, and so they accepted the extra power and knowledge Magnus unlocked in their minds. They were now psychically connected to him, able to coordinate their attacks or focus their power on him together. the effect was synergistic.

Stomping a foot, Magnus unleashed a gout of flame that was intended to burn and consume all the weapons before him that had been thrust into the ground. The magical fire was also headed directly at Gilgamesh and anyone still next to him.