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T H E  F I E L D S. // June 6. // H a m m e r  O f  T h e  A r m y.

There, within, was a profound wealth of pride, power, and excitement.

Hubris engorged the slick death of Caladbolg, grooves of unique fixture and ebon finish swelled to the mass with the venom of ichor drenched and flush down to the taut vice of her unwavering conviction. The impenetrable glacier of her stare brimmed and gleamed with the spirits embedded into her being, ingrained and fixated to the wrath and absolution of her physical might. Monika inhaled, swift tendrils of luminescence shimmering abroad and enduring the onslaught of the deluge coating her construct and stalwart stance; booted feet shifted in the mud, muck clumping thickly as her heels dug in, sloshing tracks into the deadened slop of Earth as the storm raged every on. Eternally fixated in the wiles of battle conduct and merciless fortitude, Monika hardly noticed the weight of her chaotic braid coming loose at the binding, ebonette threads were suctioned and wed to the planes of her hardened battle visage, and thin lines of waning carmine diluted from the downpour as her Guardian constitution spiked, allowing her former injury to begin the process of healing the bruised flesh. She had previously penetrated the earthen shell of the Mordrem, impaling her sword and being the initial strike of death and fury that led a champion effect onto her companions; she would later admit she was impressed by them, by their haste and reaction, and found a glimmer of dependency in their blows. Monika withdrew, only slight, witnessing with the eyes of an observer of critical deduction and conduct; each strike they would lay pinged a chord, a vibrating thread of intensity and something more correlating down to the centre of her being. 

She was. . . Enthralled.

The bewitchment was not lost to her, no, Monika was not so easily deduced by her own rigidity and obedience. Her soul and spirit were eclipsed in ice, in uniform severity and straight edges that refused to yield, but the esoteric monstrosity before her - burdened by pain and terrifying cries of anguish and vengeance - appealed to a yawning groan betwixt her physical and spiritual existence. It was an abyss of hunger, a pool of curling and swarming need and pit that roared for glory, victory, and the sin of Gluttony. Monika's self analysis, though, would have to wait; when reality came in droves of thunder and lightning and the sweltering heat of the field turned thick and suffocating, nearly assaulting to the frigid complexion of herself. The coolness of her skin was alive in shimmering hues, a light that was hardly noticeable in the purity of daylight, but here in the thicket of storm and ruin, she could see the whorl of spirits that thrived there - out in the open, being the shield and barrier against any and all. When Graham launched his assault, his daggers penetrating deeper into the hide, she had to applaud his ability to hold on whilst the creature thrashed and roared, attempting to dislodge the man who - unbeknownst - was proving himself to Monika when she fixated those icy hues onto him, her sword angled at her flank and cleansed from the sludge of the beast by the heavy pellets falling onto them. 

When Olivia pivoted herself from the broad spine of a literal mountain of gargantuan muscle and flesh - Rogart, she recalls him saying on the transports - Monika followed up behind her, barely avoiding the writhing tentacle she had successfully detached with her impressive grace. Monika had sparred and combated against her numerous times, she was well informed of the deadly efficiency in her traditional and initial prototype of a blade, so it was no shock or surprise to witness her rise and prove ability to Graham's jeer towards her previous stance. Champion to the call. Her acute sense alerted her to duck down then, immediately surrendering her weight to descend as she became parallel to the ground, mud grasping at her form compressed to the pitch as Olivia soared overhead and within her suspended position, Monika felt the vibrations of her impact that slid her onto the opposite sides of the field. Monika felt the spiritual wrath of the Mordrem increase, the bark ridged and planed over the body bearing mark of the gun blade, but was impenetrable nearly like her fortitude and will, she carefully considered the new testimonies to the battle and adjusted accordingly. Caladbolg never faltered, it never failed, for the blade that personified her strength and power was not allowed to fail.

Monika launched to her feet, grasping her sword a new, and redoubled her efforts until the multitude of spores began to writhe and expand, their caps quivering and unleashed from their host. The fungi began to swell, a size that barely held any imitation, but the cloud of infectious spores was what gave Monika pause. Her brow surrendered, concentration blurring the border of her previous enthrallment until a cloud of the vile spew landed on her forearm slick with rain and mud, immediately the surface hardened, crystals of ice encrusting the entire limb and shimmering with the power laden in each of the tines that began climbing up to her shoulder, alarming her to the rate of growth. Monika lurched back, her sword descending in an acute whistle as it severed and cleaved, effectively decimating a contingent of the fungi before her until they began to swarm and spread onto the others. Her teeth ground, grinding against one another until her lip parted upon a cry, her sword before her and shimmering with the ribbons of her virtuous valor.

	"Don't let the spores touch you!" It was all of a warning she could supply, as the Mordrem host wobbled into a pitch and sway, the domination quickly vanishing, the disappearance enlightening her to a newly acquired method to vanquish her foe. Until a beam of plasma suddenly launched, the superheated rage reflecting in the diamond barrier and pitched a series of sighs from the raw power displayed. She recognized naught the Guardian, but his appearance poised atop the roof of the transport was almost surreal. She didn't know why, but somewhere within, she had been anticipating assistance, or rather, an appearance. Maybe, just maybe, a part buried deep beneath the tundra of her soul, she was hoping to see them.

Family. . . She thinks. Don't they always come when one needs to saved? Salvation.

Monika heaved her sword abroad, Calabolg swarming and shimmering, eclipsed in the holy wrath of her spirits that belted out cries of absolution and purpose, their mortal faces and vulpine attributes allowed in varying hues of gold. He was a joker, a light hearted aficionado much like Graham; but he was no salvation, he was not a hero no matter his position and power. Absolution and strength here would rely in only herself, Monika knew that. But then - her sword swung down once more, silencing her, and penetrating through more of the vile fungi and lanced overhead, spearing deep into the Mordrem that had turned to face her assault. The head a swirl of violated flesh and stream of ichor, and the terrible cry shuddering her down the marrow as another spear of light catapulted from the head of her Caladbolg to canter after the first. The sheer power launched her back, nearly several feet and closer to the transport where Monika nearly collided with the hull.

N E X U S  R E A C T O R. // June 6. // W i t h i n  t h e R u i n s.

They were hasty and efficient to the Reactor depths and ruins, and Ollie nodded in his mute satisfaction at that. Though he still compared the contingent to the silent followings of lambs onto the belt of slaughter, the brief reflection of their initial power began the process of proving valor and character to the man who personified his personality and morals as a thin sheet of silver laden glass infused with ebony corruption. No matter, his thoughts supplied, the Magus Bow carefully nocked as he gave a brief scope of the exterior. The Army was beginning to push back on the lesser hordes of Mordrem, securing the entry when the last of the Guardians vaulted up the steps, he released a final arrow and grappled for the door then, grunting in his excursion until the door came to and shut with a distinctive clang of metal and locks falling into their purpose. Ollie stepped back, observing the interior with fresh perspective now that they had a supply of efficient light.

	"Great idea, you take point." He instructed, holstering his bow in tandem with the sheath of Eric's rapier. "We'll go in a line, since these cat walks," he gestured to the grated path ways with railing welded to either side; the series and multitude of ladders and piping, the entire reactor a near maze like construct that was now revealed in assistance to Eric's spiritual orbs. "Won't provide much else room." Ollie glanced to the women then, swiftly analyzing with a curl of his lip lifting into a simper, one designed to cajole and smooth any inflection and a mere shadow and reflection of his usual aplomb. "I'll take the rear, you three stay in between, with your sniper and those chakrams, you make up an efficient range to mid range combatant should we run into any stray Mordrem here. We'll communicate with hand signals, I don't want anything knowing we're here."

Of course, there were other reasons Ollie was designating himself to follow, instead of spearheading their line, from the final construct of their unit, he could easily gather the information he required: the constructs of the Reactor, the internal hard drives left behind by those who operated the facility and to efficiently see that operations here continued without hindrance. Julian had special reservations with the Reactor and the primary location at the Dark Zone. Outside the storm continued to swell and brood and thunderous claps echoed from the exterior and seemed amplified by the depths of the Reactor awaiting their journey. 

	"Now. Let's see if we can't locate the breakers for these damn lights."

But, as they began to traverse the various cat walks, Ollie felt the sensation of peculiar wonderment and curiosity, it made his skin crawl and the penetrating ebony of his stare to narrow. Glancing over his shoulder, he attempted to inspect the shadows, that foreboding switch continuing to assault and violate his sense, and his steps almost faltered when he swore that the depresses of black conformed and moved and a quiver sent a swift rattle through the grating beneath his feet. So, something was following them. Ollie wondered if it was another intention of Julian's, perhaps there indeed was something he also desired here in the ruins of decay of metal and abandonment. He inhaled sharply, glancing up the line of his companions, wondering if they too felt and noticed anything amiss. He briefly considered aimless chatter, to diffuse attention and silence and simply hastened his stride, stepping close the Guardian nearest to him and kept his gazes and observation occupied. But, the flashing bulbs and dim luminescence reminded him of a previous endeavor, of where low lighting and vibrating cadences reined and the darkness swarmed and swayed, haunting and yet, inviting.

F L A S H B A C K — T H E  A F T E R  P A R T Y. // June 5. // A   c l u b   i n   N e w   A t r i a s.

When Ollie laughed it was rich and thick with charm, the timbre of his voice smooth and reminiscent of velvet desires. Though he was here on invitation, one that was taken by the refusal of another, he had taken it upon his own wiles to invite others from the Academy to join him. He had various associates outside Guardianship, common infantry troops that located Guardians as means to attention and attraction to these sorts of festivities. Ollie was nearly a regular patron, and his infectious laughter made swift purchase to the group of those surrounding him, creating a whorl of activity and jovial wonder. He was known to dress accordingly to the present state of fashion and his wardrobe reflected and testified to that eternally interchanging penchant of his. Most of his accomplices here donned for excessive and carnal sorts, with sequins and form fitting laces, and barely any imagination left to the oblique shutter of his eyes when he visually appreciated them. Ollie however was swathed in eternal monochromatics; with a button down of ivory over his front and the teasing glimpses of his ink embellished skin given through the material and rebellious lines swirling across the skin of his arms with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. He was artful and careful, deliberate and purposeful with a couple buttons undone and suspenders clipped and unused to blend with the aphonic thread of his dress pants, as if he had retreated from the formal dining of a reception.

Which in truth, he very much had escaped from the confines of a banquet, sired by his father and the BATW department upon his graduation. Ollie had shed and discarded the jacket and scarlet tie upon his entry into the club and a quick comb through his tresses had the strands nearly falling into his eyes. They had cheered upon his entrance, swarmed around him with sycophantic intentions and migrated to the dance floor without reservations for those already dominating there. The lights were hypnotic and searing, just the way he liked it. However his integrated practices of battle and simulations provided the habit of observing the fields, for even in the club, it was a battle. One of bodies, charm, and lust. It was at the bar where he saw them, quite the unique pair, he would later muse. Olivia and that curious Ezra fellow, in which, had he ever talked to the latter individual? Ollie processed that swiftly before the weight of a body swirled into his arms, severing his concentration and trading it for a quick dip and bend, his body conforming the one against him and dipping her low to the shimmering dance floor alive in colours as the song ascended in tempo and nearly demanded he keep in tandem with the beat thrumming through him.

K I N A B A L U  S U M M I T. // June 6. // P u r p o s e  a n d  F a t e.

She'll find the answer, not now maybe, but she'll bring herself to propose the inquiry another time when she's kneeling in the dirt, lost and spent and brought to the end of her measures as they fight on, it'll be in the last catches of breath when she finally finds the answer.

But there had been no answer; only pain.

The figure before the entrance into the mines drew up. The wealth of shadows teeming about them immediately rising higher, the claps of thunder overhead summoning strikes of lightning that penetrated the backdrop, the mountains peaks seeming to shudder with the amount of force and energy compounded within their spires and before their gates. The thicket of obsidian wraiths parted, briefly allowing the figure to step forward to meet the Guardians appearing through the cleft left within the fissure at the top of the path. Her eyes glimmered and narrowed, the sapphire depths darkening as she counted each, confirming what she had felt previously that morning. She continued her observation, her perspective altering just so, enough to provide a clear representation of her profile clothed in black. The figure was donned in uniform, a much older model of the current dressing most of Oak Ridge assigned to their students. On top of that was a literal cloak of a void, as if she wore her spirits in a literal sense despite the sheer mass of shadows swarming over the entire clearing. The eclipse of her own shadow began to yawn forth, stretching out in the swarthy imitation of a hand, fingers poised as if to grasp them.

But, stopped short at the inquiry offered.

"Who. . ." She breathed. It spurred a disturbance in the shadows, each of them vibrating, pulsating, as if the very question was a physical wound to their ruby cores. They continued to fluctuate, reminiscent of a heart beat as a shield of burning light made the figure flinch, the edges of the holy rapture combating against the shadows that fell back, retreating from the protective barrier and wailed in their protest and offense. The sounds were deep moans and wails, howls that shuddered through the air and accompanied the pounds of thunder increasing in their oscillating power as the storm came upon the threshold. The wind disturbed blonde tresses belonging to the figure until the shadows imparted once more and she came forth, toeing the circumference of light the shield projected and here, it was briefly noticeable, the resemblance and infamy of a Guardian that none spoke of, a family shamed, a family never uttered. She peered through the light with her sapphire eyes, penetrating each and finally they fell upon the wolf, where her apathetic glamour shifted, reflecting something within as her shadows wailed.

And then silence.

"You're correct. It is not safe here." Vermilion lines began to form, almost serpentine and cording around her iris in both of her eyes. The sclera bubbling with black, the lines of her corruption swelling until her stare was of infernal hell fire. "Who I am is not of importance, but what you want is. Has Fate seen you to these doors, has purpose designated you here, to meet me, to the now. I would know your intentions, all of you. For I protect this place and all that lies within it." Her shadow seemed to expand, teeming the edges of the light, testing the strength of the holy luminescence and began to push, just so, almost tentative as it tried to reach for each of the Guardians, to access their emotional depths and truth.

THE FIELDS — Monika feels something aside from her usual emotions, a hunger she cannot explain. But the battle distracts her, and she's impressed mildly by everyone present. When the fungi begin to move, her spirit of Diamant forms on her skin, trying to shield her from the effects of their spores. Attacking them and slicing up a number of them, she intends to attack G A S T R I D A M O N once more, but is distracted by the new Guardian. He makes her think of her family and salvation and in her need to silence those thoughts, she used her spirit Vergeltung twice to follow up on his attack and is thrown back several feet from it.

REACTOR — Ollie closes the door to the reactor, glad everyone has followed suit and gives out instruction to how they'll proceed. The depths of the Reactor is like a maze within, prompting further exploration as Ollie suggests they find the breakers for the lights. As they continue on, he feels something, a sensation of being watched and notices, he think, something lurking in the shadow. But he ignores it, thinking it's another part of his own mission and plans for the ruins. Here, in his thoughts, he thinks upon his memories.

FLASHBACK — Ollie is in the club, of course, after having escaped the reception held previously in his graduation. On the dance floor with his random partner and group of associates, he loses himself into the music and beat, intending to enjoy himself. He has noticed Olivia and Ezra, but made no move to join them. 

KINABALU — The figure is revealed as feminine and wears an old, forgotten version of an Oak Ridge uniform. She approaches the Guardians, ignoring those who had spoken and propels her own questions, intending to ask what they are doing here and their purpose, attempting to use Empathy to reach them past the shield of light.
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