The heat from her lips still imprinted on him, as she pulled her head back, her long, gold-adorned nail denying him the last sip of his drink of passion. His eyes openned to the feeling of the sharp nail against his lips. Her black eyes burning like charcoal, to the fires of the Dark Side.
"Now, then, you hunt." she whispered, in manner so serene, it provoked maddening rage within him. He knew well, this was not the work of
his mind, but the tendrils extended by the she-witch that had tasted the blood of his tongue. He knew the sensation of her spells, as the drive through which he flew his fiend of metal into battle.
"Come back with tales of glory..." Her words made of witchcraft, each phrased in a voice fueled by malice and depravity, turning ever more twisted as she spoke her last. "Or never return..."
He offered but a smirk.
She brought her palm against his lips, as if to collect his scent, befoe curling her long curved nails, weighted by gold and silver, piercing the inside to bleeding. Her palm then tapped against the wing of the
Hoplite, leaving a tinny yet mark of her own thick blood.
"I shall be there, to hear their Fear..."
He lifted himself from against the wing, and turned, climbing on the crimson craft of Athysian War Machine, adorned with bronze rims and sharp durasteel spikes. He slid into the cockpit, narrow and clustered with wires, cables and foul machinery as if the very consoles were gutted.
The transparreglass seals over him, as if the very Hoplite he piloted swallowed him in.
The Witch stepped backward, consumed by the roaring of multiple other engines of similar foulness, as the hangar grew restless.
"Come, now.... Roar for me, for we fly to battle." he muttered, as he wrapped his hand around the throttle. The engine silent.
"Roar, infernal one."
Rage built up within the Athysian, his eyes turning blazing flames, as lightning sparked by his hand, slid into the mechanical gauntlet.
"ROAR, damn you, SCREAM SCREAM SCREAM!!!"
He bursted in wrath, punching against the cockpit as with each of the strikes, yet another blast of lightning burned. And then...
ROOOOOOOOAR
The large turbines swung into action; The boosters vomitting hot-burn inferno; The very Hoplite itself shook as if the engine willed release from the chains of its own circuits. The deafening cacophony of the Hoplite's fiendish engines music to the ears of the pilot, who befell into maniacal laughter, as the weapons of his machine of Death twisted and calibrated.
One after the other, the Hoplites spilled out of the Belerephon, the second wave of the blasphemous choreography of ritualistic carnage unleashed by the Athysian Raider Fleet....
The void shined with blinding light and squaling of shells. The vanguard of the Athysian Fleet haloed by the purple circles of foul Force. The opennign barrage from the Copper Fleet finally biting onto the Athysian shields. Across her hull, the Belerephon was showered by blinding electric blasts of the EMP payload of the Slava Battleship. On the upper decks of the Belerephon, the very ground shook by the impact, yet more devastating was the strain put to the Force, defiled and flayed around the warship in manner most twisted and perverse, in place of Shield Generators.
Deep within the hollows of the Onyx Chamber, blood poured like rain from the hooked captives hung above her. The Eyerhea bent, falling on the ground as her arms stretch forward, her nails clawing the onyx underneath them.
PAIN
Her body bled black essence, blood decayed and stirred so far into corruption, no longer she was the one to feel, but bare mark of her Dark Patron. Wind blew, unseen and frozen, even in the absence of any a natural cause, sourced within the Realspace surrounding her.
The Eyerhea's body twists again; Irrespective of her surrender to the forces summoned by her own calling, the very tissue that composed her protested the perversion of reality inflicted upon her.
"F̷̘͎̫̩͙̀̑͗͒͌͐͐̿͋̀̄͊́͠Ị̸̢̱͓̀̋͒̊̅̈̀̈́̒͜͝Ȅ̷̢͈͛̎̓̆̀̾̅͆̎͘̚N̷̛̺̝̊͂̈́̓̏̈͂̃͂̊̚D̸̨̩̘̘̣̝̀̏̍̂̌̄̓̂̓̚͝Ś̶̛̯̹͙͎̪̝͓͒̑̆̐͠͝ ̴̼͉͇̮͚͐̑̋̅̀̽̃̅͂̈́̓̋̌̓ͅÖ̷̭́́̈́F̶̢̛͕͕͍̩͔͈͎̎̾͛̍̆͂́͑͌̕͜͝͝ ̶̗̑̊L̴̡̡̧͖̺̟̤̜̗̝͖̩̗̜̏̅̅̄͋̂͗̉́́̚͠Ỉ̶̧̢̨̭̝̳̝͎͉̱͖̟̀̄̓͛̍̿͆͑͘G̸͚̼̫͔͒̋͂͗̕͜͠͝H̴͓̱̪̏̾̾̀̇̏̋̈́̅̓̐̽̊͝͝T̶̨̡̲̗̭̖͂́̔̉̈́̋̄.̸̢̫͈̼̗͇͙̞̰͎̔̿̎̄̓̈͆̈̓̀̓́̽͠ ̷̧͇̙̦̟̐͑ͅB̵̧͙́̿̊̈́̿́̈́̈̅̓̂̀̕͝͝Ǘ̸͉͕͉̦̄̉͊͝͠R̷̛̰̪̘̥̈́̌̈́̓̀͒̔͘͝͝ͅN̶̛̰̭̰̙͎͖͙̺͙̣̜̯̳͋̔́̌̀̑̈̅͝͝͝ ̷͖͉̲̦͎͎̳̣͕́̅͊͆̓͌̏̌̓̇͠͠I̴̤̖̹̻͚̺̞͖̓̆̒̈̊̓͋͂͝Ņ̵͓͙̗̖̻̮̹̠̻̅̀̇̾͆͛̅͂̾ ̶̙͎̦͑̆̿͝ͅT̶̛̥͉͈̖̻̲̣̋̈́̆̾̓͒͊̋͂̏͠ͅͅH̸̱̍E̶̡̢̛̤͖͙̦̩̺͕̖͒͒̒̇̋̍͌̕͘ ̴̧̘͚̣̟̖͕̺͍͖̳̱̱̘̓͛̍͑̐̿͐͋̓̒̚̕͝Ḏ̵̺̳̮͆͊Ḁ̴̝̼̞̳̤̜̙̺̰͎͈̞̟̓͂̀̌͑̏͗͝R̸̨̠͚̗͇̲̥̝͚̜̅̃̅̅̈́̓͘K̴̡̡̨̗̞̜͎͈̞̟̣̱͕̦̊̇̅͋̅̓̄̾̄̒͂̉̋͜"
The voice exhaled demonic, composed of cries overlapping to form a cacophony that matched the grim reality of what was to come.
The Belerephon turned sharply to starboardside, the broadside gunports openning like gaping maws ready to devour. Her bronze-adorned forecastle bearing symbols of the Athysian Dark Gods, crowned by spikes on which mynocks were impaled against, in a mockery of fearmongering mentality reserved for the most horrid a mind to conceive.
Lightning sparked from the belly of the beast. Cannons charged, as the behemoth of a warship accelerated to engage the Copper navy, trailed by none, craving to join the battle that had already begun in earnest....
